It'll Be Just Like The Old Days.
Applejack knew she should have stayed home and watched Apple Bloom.
Part of accepting the responsibility that came with growing up and getting prepared to take ownership of the farm was dealing with running the stand. Today was especially bad, though; for whatever reason, it seemed like everypony had a hankering for apples. From the instant Granny Smith had flipped the sign to let ponies know they were open for business, they had been swarmed by an undulating and ravenous crowd. This, of course, meant that the anticipated load of apples (which had been calculated by Big Mac himself based on sales means) wasn’t nearly enough. When the young mare found herself scraping the bottom of their final bushel, Granny had sent her and Big Mac rushing back to farm to grab as much as they could.
“I ain’t got a clue why everypony is so starved fer ‘em today,” Granny hollered at them as she shoved her two grandfoals out into the throng of what seemed to consist of two-thirds of Ponyville. “But you know I ain’t one to to look a gift pony in the mouth! If these ponies want apples, we’ll give ‘em apples! Now hurry back and unless y’all are tremblin’ like a foal in the forest from the burden, I want you goin’ back fer more!”
“Don’t you worry none, Granny!” Applejack yelled back as she dove into the crowd. “I’ll come back with more’n Big Mac could ever hope to carry! Hay, send me on my own!”
“Now I don’t want none of that! Y’all best get along and bring these ponies their apples lickity-split!” Granny Smith shouted back as Applejack and Big Mac were sucked to the center of the crowd by the riptide.
Big Mac snorted, hopping over a small foal who was weaving in and out of the legs of adult ponies in an attempt to get further up the line. “If y’all think for a second I’m gonna let you use this to best me—”
“I don’t have to think it,” Applejack whooped with a toss of her head, grunting as she was squeezed between two overweight stallions. “I know it!” She hopped up to get her gaze over the surface of the crowd, locating her brother’s bobbing straw-colored mane amidst a sea of neon-haired mares almost immediately; he was just a few ponies ahead. She ducked down. She couldn’t let him beat her there. Applejack had to strain to show to Granny that she, above all, above Big Mac, had the gumption to run Sweet Apple Acres.
“Eenope,” Big Mac said once Applejack managed to get herself galloping beside him again. He shook his head as he skirted to the side to let a few excited ponies shuffle past the two of them. Quickly, he stepped in front of Applejack, blocking her; despite still not being fully grown himself, he was still stockily built and naturally strong. Applejack grit her teeth and skewed her hooves, sliding to an abrupt halt against her brother.
Big Mac barely even registered the impact. “And if y’all ever even wanna dream of runnin’ the farm—” He smiled cockily and turned his chin up for just a moment. “—Which ya won’t, might I add, since I’m the one Granny’ll pick for certain—” He stuck his hoof out and jabbed Applejack lightly on the chest. “Y’all better only think about nothin’ else but apples. What the apples need. What you need to do for apples. What’s best for apples. And what’s best for apples right now is that we don’t get caught up in some stupid contest.”
Applejack smirked and swatted her brother’s hoof away. “I don’t wanna have to tell ya why y’all ain’t gonna be runnin’ the farm ever right now. You’re just scared of losing. I can tell! Now come on, get outta the way so I can beat ya to gettin’ those—”
THUD
A pony slammed into Applejack’s side, sending her spiralling into Big Mac. She bounced off her brother, her vision growing hazy for a moment as she felt an unpleasant swooping sensation open up a pit in her gut. “—apples?”
“Sorry, just trying to get through the crowd! Not trying to get up in line!” the pony called, turning her head back. Applejack’s brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth angrily, to tell her she didn’t care about the stupid line and that she should still watch where she was going, but—
But—
Her mouth went dry. Her pupils shrank. Applejack stumbled backwards as the air caught in her throat, her expression contorting for a second as she gagged on the mix of poorly-swallowed air and spit. She looked back up. The mare was already moving back through the crowd, but she could still see the all too familiar wave of curls bouncing among so many others.
“Did you see that, Mac?” Applejack sputtered, her eyes still wider than dinner plates.
“I had my eyes closed. You hit me pretty hard.”
“Sorry,” Applejack said quickly, barely sounding sorry at all. “But did you—I mean, you didn’t—”
She looked up. The mane was gone, replaced by some horrible magenta and chartreuse clash. “Hold on.”
She took off.
She knew she shouldn’t have. She needed to help Big Macintosh bring more apples to the stand for Granny. In fact, that’s what he was yelling at her, although it sounded so distant to her that he may as well have been on the top of Mt. Canterlot. But this was her last chance. She had to find that mane. She had to see it again. That was the most important thing in the world right now. Granny and Big Mac and all these ponies and their dumb apples could wait. There was a warmth welling up, a burning determination that left her feeling as if her entire body had fallen asleep like an oddly-curled leg.
She pushed herself forward back into the thick of the crowd, wrestling her way past an overly excited mare who was cultish chanting “Apples! Apples! Apples!” and climbed atop the back of a large draft pony in order to get a better scan over the crowd. The stallion turned and looked inquisitively at Applejack. She blushed.
“Sorry! I’ll just be—” She stopped. There she was! There were those light-orange locks, bobbing in the weird and mostly artificial breeze generated by the many milling ponies. Just as soon as she was spotted, she disappeared again. But now she knew which direction she was heading, and Applejack kept this in mind as she launched herself back into the fray.
As she ducked under a stilt-legged pegasus, she caught the mare’s curled tail slip out of sight behind a large and frankly unsightly stallion rump. She shuddered, working her way around him until she once again caught sight of the mare’s mane about six ponies in front of her.
She wanted to call out. She wanted nothing more than to open her mouth and call out for her, to get her to stop, to make her pause and turn around and then rush back towards her. But something kept her mouth resting slack in the bottom of her mouth. Something kept her from shouting out, from calling her name, from getting her attention in the easiest way possible.
She had to be sure first.
The voice... she had heard her voice. That would have been the most obvious tell of all. That would have been what cemented it. What solidified it. She had heard her voice...
It was hard trying to remember exactly what it sounded like. It had been a while. But she was sure of it. She was sure they were the same. Her ears couldn’t mistake that, even though the hustle and bustle of the other ponies stomping and galloping and whooping and shouting had distorted it and made it hard be certain.
There was no other option.
So, Applejack pushed through the crowd, knocking ponies aside, desperately throwing and ramming herself forward each time she caught even just a glance of the mane or tail. Even as a small, nagging voice in the back of her head told her that it didn’t make sense, told her that it couldn’t happen, told her that she was still sleeping underground, Applejack charged her way through the crowd diligently and relentlessly in pursuit of the mare.
And just like that, she broke free. Applejack shot out between two mares who were sitting on the fringes of the mob idly discussing the current Canterlot couture, and skidded to a halt on the relatively empty road.
She was walking away, slowly, evidently unaware that Applejack had followed her. Applejack lifted her head and called out, her tongue finally let loose after all this time.
“M—!”
The word died in her throat as the mare turned at that exact moment back to face her.
Applejack let out a defeated wheeze, the exhale raspy and painful sounding. With each inspection of the mare’s face, another layer of her dream vanished. The cheekbones were too high, the snout was too narrow, the coat was several shades too light, and—
The mare’s horn lit, an orange that had gone previously unnoticed by Applejack levitating up from the ground and sliding back into her saddlebag.
There was no way this mare was Buttercup.
The mare then looked up, only now for the first time noticing Applejack staring intently at her looking as though she’d just been hit in the stomach with a support beam. The mare stared back for a moment with a blank expression before her eyes darted around awkwardly for a moment. Coughing softly, she turned back and continued on her path.
Applejack could have sworn she felt herself deflate. The strange energy that had just been coursing through her, the overwhelming feeling of self-assuredness and relief and joy and downright hope—
Big Mac pushed his way through the crowd. “Applejack! What in the hay has gotten into you? Why’d y’all sprint off like that?”
Applejack grit her teeth and stared down at the ground, her vision growing blurry.
“Applejack?”
Applejack knew she had to stop lying, especially to herself.
But some truths were so hard to face.
