50 Shades of Hay

50 Shades of Hay.

“Ah hate her so much right now,” I state under my breath as I glare at myself in the mirror.

Damn my mane – it just won’t stay put, and damn Rarity for being sick and putting me through this entire ordeal in the first place. I should be on the farm, helping Big Mac with applebuck Season – which ends next week. but nope, here I am, trying to brush my mane and make it look all pretty. Taking a slow, calming breath, I attempt –  once more – to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the freckled, blond-maned mare with green eyes staring back at me and give up. Why do I need to make myself look all pretty anyway? Rarity knows how much I hate all this frou-frou crap. My only option is to tie the end of it with a hair band and stuff the rest under my old, worn, sun-faded Stetson and hope that I look good enough.

Rarity is my roommate, in case you couldn't tell, and she’s gone and decided that today – of all days – is a good day to come down with the flu. Therefore, she can’t attend the interview she’d arranged to do with some hotshot CEO I’ve never heard of, for the Equestrian Insider. (That's the paper she works for, the Equestrian Insider, it's the biggest gossip/news paper in all of Equestria, so I'm told.) And so, I have been volunteered to fill her place. I still have over half of the orchard to buck, and I’m supposed help Apple Bloom with her homework, but nope – today I have to take a carriage ride to Canterlot in order to meet this 'brash and boastful' Pegasus mare. As an ex-captain of the Blue Angels, her time is extremely precious – much more precious than mine, apparently – but she has agreed to give Rarity an interview. A real coup, she tells me.

Damn her, and her extracurricular activities...

As I exit the bathroom, and make my way down the short, L shaped staircase of our farmhouse, I spot Rarity. She's huddled on the couch in the living room.

“Darling," she begins, "I’m so sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview, and it will take another six to reschedule, and by then somepony else would have beat us to an exclusive. As the editor, I cannot cancel this. Please,” Rarity begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. Suddenly, I feel very guilty, as all my anger towards her fades away. How does she manage to do it? Even sick she looks gamine and gorgeous. Ruffled violet hair with bright blue eyes, although now red-rimmed and hazy. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

“'Course Ah’ll go, Rare. Ya should get back ta bed. Would ya like some Aspirin?”

“Yes please." She uses her Unicorn magic to levitate a small, compact digital recorder over to me, along with a small, folded piece of paper. "Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all.”

“Ah don’t know nothing 'bout her,” I murmur, feeling somewhat anxious as I snatch the recorder and paper from her weak magic hold, and stuff them into the breast pocket of my jacket..

“The questions will see you through. Go. It’s a long trip. I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay, Ah’m goin'. Get back ta bed. Ah made you some soup ta heat up later.” I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Rare.

“I will. Good luck. And thank you darling – as usual, you’re a lifesaver.”

Gathering Rare some aspirin and a glass of water, I smile weakly at her, then head out the door to the carriage. I can’t believe I've let Rare talk me into this. But then again Rarity can talk anypony into anything. She’s a damn fine journalist. She’s articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, and beautiful – and she’s my best friend.

I hastily make my way out the front door, and down the dirt path that leads to the road into town. There is a carriage waiting form me at the white, picket gate to our property - just like Rare said there would be. Fortunately for me, Rare pulled a few strings, and was able to get a high quality carriage with four strong, handsome stallions to pull it. I greet the stallions briefly, before I climb into the carriage, and set off for Canterlot. The roads are clear as we set off. It’s early, through, and I don’t have to be there until two this afternoon.

My destination is the headquarters of the Equestrian renowned Wonderbolt Incorporation. It’s a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel. A very modern looking building, although it doesn't really strike my fancy. The words “Wonderbolt” are written discreetly in steel over the glass of the front doors. It’s a quarter to two when I arrive, I feel greatly relieved that I’m not late as I walk into the enormous – and frankly unnecessary – glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.

Behind the solid sandstone desk is a very attractive, groomed, pale rose maned mare who smiles pleasantly at me. Her coat is a light cerulean and she's wearing a sharp charcoal suit jacket and white shirt.

“Howdy," I greet her, "Ah’m here ta see Ms Dash. Ah'm Applejack, fillin' in fer for Rarity.”

“Excuse me one moment, Miss Jack.” She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand casually before her. I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I should've borrowed one of Rare’s blazers, instead of wearing my red denim jacket with green plaid. Hey, at least I made some effort before coming in. Working on a farm you’re entire life doesn’t exactly get you into the mindset to care what others think of your appearance.

“Miss Rarity is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Jack. You’ll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor.” The receptionist mare smiles kindly at me, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR stamped on the front. I can’t help but smirk. Surely, it ain't that obvious that I’m just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all. I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators past the two security stallions who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut grey uniforms.

The elevator shoots me up to the twentieth floor faster than you can say “Whoa Nelly.” The doors slide open and I step into another large lobby – again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I’m confronted by another desk of sandstone and a pale rose colored mare with a light cerulean mane dressed impeccably in black and white, she rises to greet me.

“Miss Jack, could you wait here, please?” She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there’s a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Canterlot skyline that looks out through the city toward Cloudsdale. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m momentarily stunned by the view. Wow.

I sit down, fish the questions out of my pocket, and go through them, inwardly cursing Rare for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this mare I’m about to interview. 'Cept for the fact that she's a mare, and her name is 'Rainbow Dash'. She could be ninety or she could be thirty. The feeling of uncertainty is killing me, and my nerves aren't helping, making me fidget. I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, that being said I can strike up a mighty fine conversation, so long as it entails apples and apple farming. To be honest, I prefer my own company, working the fields or relaxing under an apple tree. Not sitting, twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone fortress.

I roll my eyes, and mentally chide myself. Get a grip, AJ. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess grey is in her forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the ponies here.

The previous mare steps out of a large door to the right. Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

“Miss Jack?” the mare asks.

“Yes?” I croak, and clear my throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded better.

“Ms Dash will see you in a moment. May I take your hat?”

“Uh sure.” I reluctantly part with my beloved head cover, I shake my mane that had previously been contained under my hat loose.

“Have you been offered any refreshments?”

“Uh, no.” I answer slightly confused.

The mare frowns and shakes her head slightly, averting her gaze.

“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her attention back to me.

“Ah'm fine, Thank you,” I murmur.

The mare nods and marches over to the large desk, her hoofs clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and continues her work.

Weird. Maybe Ms Dash has a thing for twins... I wonder idly if I’m looking too far into it, when suddenly, the office door opens and a well-toned bright gold Pegasus mare with a brilliant orange and amber mane wearing a brown bomber jacket exits. It's nice to know I'm not the only pony who went casual today.

She turns and says through the door. “Don't forget this this weekend, Dash.”

I don’t hear the reply. She turns, sees me, and smiles, her brilliant orange eyes sparkling at the corners. The receptionist has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to be a might good at jumping from her seat. She’s more nervous than I am!

“Good afternoon, ladies,” she says as she leaves through the sliding door.

“Ms Dash will see you now, Miss Jack. Do go through,” the receptionist says. I stand, shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my Rare's notes and recorder, I make my way to the partially open door.

“You don’t need to knock – just go in.” The receptionist smiles.

I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own hoofs, and falling head first into the office.

Pony feathers! – Me and my two left hooves! I’m on my stomach with my limbs outstretched in the doorway to Ms Dash’s office, and gentle hoofs are around me helping me to stand. My face feels like it's on fire, I'm so embarrassed, I can’t believe that just happened. I have to steel myself to glance up at her, and… Holy cow – she’s so young.

“Miss Rarity.” She extends a hoof to me once I’m upright. “I’m Rainbow Dash. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?” her voice is raspy and smooth, at the same time.

So young – and attractive, very attractive. Despite her tomboyish appearance, her cyan fur looks both smooth, and soft to the touch. And her features are so well-defined, and yet, still vague enough to compliment her appearance - it's like she has the perfect blend of both masculinity and femininity. She’s tall, too, at least two inches taller than me, dressed in a fine grey suit, white shirt, and red tie. Her unruly rainbow mane breaks gracefully around her shoulders as her intense, bright crimson eyes regard me shrewdly. Rainbow hair, I suppose I should have seen that coming, although with a mane as beautiful as hers, I have to wonder, why is everything so bleak and colorless? It takes a minute for me to find my voice.

“Uh. Actually–” I mutter. If this mare is over thirty then I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a daze, I place my hoof against hers. As we touch, I feel a strange shiver run down my spine. I withdraw my hoof hastily. Musta been static. Yeah, that was it. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision.

“Miss Rarity couldn’t make it, so she sent me. Ah hope ya don’t mind, Ms Dash.”

“And you are?” Her voice is warm, possibly amused, but it’s difficult ta tell from her impassive expression. She looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

“Applejack. Ah own Sweet Apple Acres with Rare, uh… Miss Rarity in Ponyville.” I state proudly.

“I see,” she replies simply. I think I see a ghost of a smile in her expression, but I’m not sure.

“Would you like to sit?” She waves me toward a white leather-buttoned L-shaped couch.

Her office is way too big for just one pony. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a huge modern dark-wood desk that six ponies could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white – ceiling, floors, and walls, except on the wall by the door where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are… interesting – a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. I’ll admit I’m not one for fine arts - that's more Rares forte, but they do look impressive.

“A local artist. Trouton,” Rainbow notes, when she catches my gaze.

“They’re mighty pretty. Turning the ordinary inta something… extra-ordinary,” I murmur, trying to make polite conversation. She cocks her head to one side and regards me intently.

“I couldn’t agree more, Miss Jack,” she replies, her voice soft and straggly comforting.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the pony who sinks into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head and clear my thoughts while I organize the piece of paper Rare gave me. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder on the coffee table in front of me. Rainbow Dash says nothing, waiting patiently – I think – as I become increasingly fidgety. When I muster the never to steal a glance from her, I find she’s watching me, one hoof relaxed in her lap and the other rubbing her chin and occasionally resting it on her lips. I think she’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Sorry,” I stutter. “Ah’m not used ta interviewin' ponies like this...”

“Take all the time you need, Miss Jack,” she says.

“Do ya mind if Ah record your answers?”

“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder – you ask me now?”

I open my mouth to reply, but quickly close it. I’m usually pretty good at reading other ponies, but I can’t for the life of me get a read on what she’s thinking, I blink at her, unsure what to say. But I think she playing with me, because she relents. “No, I don’t mind.”

“Did Rare– Ah mean, Miss Rarity, explain what this interview was fer?”

“Yes. To appear in the opening column of the ‘Equestrian Insider’ as I am currently the youngest Pegasus ever to acquire her own company.”

Oh, really? Well, shoot, this is news to me! And now I’m temporarily preoccupied by the thought that somepony not much older than me – maybe four years or so, and maybe mega-successful – is currently the CEO of her own company!. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hoof.

“Good,” I swallow nervously. “Ah have some questions fer ya, Ms Dash.” I tuck a stray lock of my mane behind my ear.

“I thought you might,” she says, deadpan. She’s laughing at me. I furrow my brow and try not to look too far into it. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

“You’re very young ta have amassed such a title. Ta what do ya owe ya success?” I glance up at her. Her smile is rueful, but she looks vaguely disappointed.

“Business is all about ponies, Miss Jack, and I’m very good at judging ponies. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivise them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” She pauses and fixes me with her crimson stare. “My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good ponies. The bottom line is it’s always down to good ponies.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” That isn’t really on Rare’s list, but, damn it! She’s so arrogant. Her eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

“I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Jack. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right ponies on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ‘the growth and development of ponies is the highest calling of leadership.’”

“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize I've said. ME and my stupid big mouth...

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Jack,” she says without a trace of humor in her smile. I stare at her, and she holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens.

Ii it just me, or does she have this intense, overwhelming... unnerving quality to her? Is it her good looks, maybe? The way her eyes blaze at me? The way she strokes her hoof against chin? I really wish she’d stop doing that…

“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things,” she continues, her voice soft.

“Do you feel that you have immense power?” Control Freak.

“I employ over forty thousand ponies, Miss Jack. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business, and sold up, twenty thousand ponies would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.”

My mouth hangs slightly agape. I’m staggered by her lack of humility.

“Don’t you have a board ta answer ta?” I ask, disgusted.

“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” She raises an eyebrow at me. Of course, I would know this if I wasn’t thrown head first into this mess. But holy moly, she’s so arrogant. I change direction.

“And do you have any interests outside your work?”

“I have varied interests, Miss Jack.” A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Extremely varied.” Her eyes are alight with some wicked thought.

“But if y’all work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”

“Chill out?” She smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. She really is beautiful. Seriously, No pony should be this good-looking.

“Well, to ‘chill out’ as you put it – I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits.” She shifts in her chair. “I’m a very wealthy mare, Miss Jack, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies.”

I glance quickly at Rare’s questions, wanting to get off this subject.

“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?” I ask. Why does she make me so uncomfortable?

“I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?”

“That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.”

Her mouth quirks up, and she stares appraisingly at me.

“Possibly. Though there are ponies who’d say I don’t have a heart.”

“Why would they say that?”

“Because they know me well.” Her lip curls in a wry smile.

“Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” I regret the question as soon as I say it. It’s not on Rare’s list.

“I’m a very private pony, Miss Jack. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews,” she trails off.

“Why did you agree to do this one?”

“Because I’m a benefactor of the Equestrian Insider, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Rarity off my flank. She badgered and badgered my PR ponies, and I admire that kind of tenacity.”

I know how tenacious Rare can be. That’s actually why I’m sitting here right now, uncomfortably, under her penetrating gaze, when I should be work’in the farm.

“You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?”

“We can’t eat money, Miss Jack, and there are too many ponies on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.”

“That sounds very… philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?”

She shrugs, very noncommittal.

“It’s shrewd business,” she murmurs, though I think she’s being disingenuous. It doesn’t make sense – feeding the world’s poor? I can’t see the financial benefits of this, only the virtue of the ideal. I glance at the next question, confused by her attitude.

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle – Carnegie’s: ‘A mare who acquires the ability to take full possession of her own mind may take possession of anything else to which she is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control – of myself and those around me.”

“So you want to possess things?” You are a control freak.

“I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”

“You sound like the ultimate consumer.”

“I am.” She smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch her eyes. Again this is at odds with somepony who wants to feed the world, so I can’t help thinking that we’re talking about something else, but I’m absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it’s just me. I just want this interview to be over. Surely Rare has enough material now? I glance at the next question.

“You were adopted. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?” Oh, well that's personal. I stare at her, hoping she’s not offended. Her brow furrows.

“I have no way of knowing.”

Okay, now I’m curious.

“How old were you when you were adopted?”

“That’s a matter of public record, Miss Jack.” Her tone is stern. Of course – if I’d known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research.

“You’ve had ta sacrifice a family life for your work.”

“That’s not a question.” She’s tense.

“Sorry.” she makes me feel like a filly. I try again. “Have you had ta sacrifice a family life for your work?”

“I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”

“Why, are you gay, Ms Dash?”

She inhales sharply, and I cringe, I kinda, really wish employed some kind of discretion before I blurted that out. How can I tell her I’m just reading the questions? Damn it Rare! This is all your fault! Well, not really, but still!

“I fail to see the relevance of your question, Applejack.” She raises her eyebrows, a cool gleam in her eyes. She looks pissed.

“Uh, sorry. It’s uh… one o' the questions written here.” It’s the first time she’s said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.

She cocks her head to one side.

“These aren’t your own questions?”

The blood drains from my face. Pony feathers.

“Err… no. Rare – Miss Rarity – she compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues at the Equestrian Insider?” Oh pony feathers. I have nothing to do with the EI. It’s her extracurricular activity, not mine. My face is suddenly on fire.

“No. She’s mah roommate.”

She rubs her chin in quiet contemplation, her crimson eyes examining me.

“Did you volunteer to do this interview?” she asks, her voice deadly quiet.

Hang on a minute here - who’s supposed to be interviewing who? Her eyes burn into me and I’m compelled to answer truthfully.

“Ah was drafted. She’s not well.” My voice is apologetic.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and the receptionist enters.

“Ms Dash, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Aloe. Please cancel my next meeting.”

Aloe hesitates, gaping at him. She appears lost. Ms Dash turns her head slowly to face her and raises her eyebrows. She flushes a bright pink… eh, brighter pink color.

“Very well, Ms Dash” she mutters, then exits. She frowns, and turns her attention back to me.

“Where were we, Miss Jack?”

Oh, we’re back to ‘Miss Jack’ now.

“Please don’t let me keep you from anything.”

“I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” Her crimson eyes are bright with curiosity. Where’s she going with this? She places her elbows on the arms of the chair and clops her hoofs in front of her mouth. Her mouth is very… distracting. I swallow.

“There’s not much ta know,” I state calmly.

“What is your current employment? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Well, currently Ah own Sweet Apple Acres back in Ponyville.”

“Yes, you mentioned that before, I seem to recall that name coming up a few times in my reports, tell me. Do you have any greater aspiring life goals?”

I shrug, thrown by her interest. I haven’t really thought it.

“Ah haven’t made any plans, Ms Dash. Just work’in the farm,” Which I should be doing right now, instead of sitting in your swanky, sterile office.

“We run an excellent internship program here,” she says quietly. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is she offering me a job?

“Oh. Ah’ll bear that in mind,” I murmur, completely dumbfounded. “Though Ah’m not sure Ah’d fit in round here.” Oh great, me nad my big mouth again.

“Why do you say that?” She cocks her head ta one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I’m under dressed, scruffy, I’m no business pony.

“Not to me,” she murmurs. Her gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from her and stare blindly down at the question list in my hoofs. What’s going on? I have ta go – now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

“Would you like me to show you around?” she asks.

“Ah’m sure you’re far too busy, Ms Dash, and Ah do have a long trip ahead of me.”

“You’re heading back to Ponyville?” She sounds surprised, anxious even. She glances out of the window. It’s started to rain. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” Her tone is stern, authoritative. Why would she care? “Did you get everything you need?” she adds.

“Yes Ma’am,” I reply, packing the recorder into my pocket. Her eyes narrow, speculatively.

“Thank you for the interview, Ms Dash.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine,” she says, polite as ever.

As I rise, she stands and holds out her hoof.

“Until we meet again, Miss Jack.” And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I’m not sure which. I frown. When will we ever meet again? I shake her hoof once more, dumfounded that that odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.

“Ms Dash.” I nod at her. Moving with athletic grace to the door, she opens it wide.

"Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Jack,” She gives me a small smile. Obviously, she’s referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into her office. I flush.

“That’s very considerate, Ms Dash,” I snap, and her smile widens. I’m glad you find me entertaining, I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I’m surprised when she follows me out. Aloe looks up, equally surprised.

“Did you have a coat or…?” Dash asks.

“Yes.” Aloe leaps up and retrieves my hat, which Dash takes from her before she can hoof it to me. She holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I snatch it from her an place on my head. Her hoof presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on hers. The doors open, and I hurry in, desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When I turn to look at her, she’s leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with her hoofs crossed in front of her. She really is very, very good-looking. It’s distracting. Her burning crimson eyes gaze at me.

“Applejack” she says as a farewell.

“Rainbow,” I reply. And thankfully, the doors close.