When The Colt Comes Around

The golden rays of the sun shone down upon the plains of Equestria, a light wind swept across the grassy expanses. The Buffalo tribes were out in force, taking their young on hunting and foraging trips. The citizens of Appleloosa were not wasting this beautiful day either. They were out fixing up their properties, shopping, or out tending to the apple orchard. Celestia had indeed made the perfect day.

Only one colt in all of the Southern Plains wasn't up yet. Braeburn. He was currently laying in his soft bed on the second level of the local saloon. Most of the residents had already commented on the lazy state of the Apple Family member, saying things such as: 'That boy'd do good to roll off his bedroll by noon' or 'That lazy good-fer-nothing sure don't work like an Apple.' I think you get the point, they thought he was lazy. Lazy, he was. Often in the late hours of the morning he would pull his hat over his eyes to block the offending sun from his eyes. Today was no different.

"Braeburn! Get up, yer lazin' about like a sack of potatoes!" The lovely and scalding voice of the saloon owner, High Price,  assaulted his ears. He only gave an ear twitch as a response. "Fine, you wanna lay around all day like a slug? Then we better make sure you don't dry out.." Braeburn heard the sound of hooves on thin metal, then the sound of water. Before he could, or even be bothered, to react, water hit the colt straight on.

"Gah!" The shaggy-maned colt fell off the bed, his now-soaked stetson fell off of his face and onto the floor in front of High Price's hooves. "What the hay was that for?" Braeburn spit water and stood up, shaking himself dry. "Ah was gettin' up.." He quickly found his leather vest and put it on.

"Sure ya were, ya looked about as lively as a foal in a cabbage patch." High Price was a nice looking mare, not Braeburn's type though. He wasn't a fan of green manes...or green coats...or any mare that didn't have more than one color on her. "Now head on down, ah think there's a letter for ya." She kicked the hat at Braeburn.

"Dern mares, never lettin' a fella get his 80 winks, ah tell ya.." The tan colt grumbled and wrung his hat out, then slapped it on his head. "An' messin' with mah hat just wasn't called for. Ya don't just go kickin' a colt's hat around." Braeburn loved his hat more than he loved his own ma...well, maybe not that much. But he loved it about as much as he loved his ma! "Couldn't even bring me a cup o' coffee. Some kinda hostess.." Braeburn grumbled and headed down to the main level.

High Price Saloon was like a typical southern saloon. One side of it was completely overtaken with a bar with every kind of liquor imaginable, including the family hard cider. The rest of the glorified bar was filled with tables, and in the back, a poker table. Braeburn didn't care for the drinks or the ponies that congregated there, he did like the look however. The dried  and cracked wood interior reminded him of the barns back home, he supposed that's why he chose to stay here.

"Alright, ah'm here Sunshine. Get me mah coffee and mah letter." He went over to the closest barstool, the one he had dubbed his and even painted his cutie mark on it during one of the alcohol induced episodes of amnesia he got every time payday rolled around.

"Hold yer hooves, Mister Morning. Ah'm busy, this is a business after all." High Price was on the other side of the bar tending to a customer, from what Braeburn could see, she was pouring a waiting stallion a tall glass of Hard Apple Cider.

"Business? Ah coulda sworn this was a glorified waterin' hole." Braeburn and High Price enjoyed their constant barbs at each other. It was a love-hate relationship. Braeburn loved to poke fun at her establishment, and High Price hated everything he enjoyed, simple.

"Shut yer trap, ya lazy good-fer-nothin'." High Price grabbed a steaming mug on the counter behind her with her tail, she turned around to get more alcohol ready for the gentlemen by her, launching the mug down the bar towards Braeburn with expert precision.

Braeburn stopped the mug with ease, sure the first few times the mug either shattered or spilled piping hot coffee on his hooves, but now he was a master of coffee mug catch. "Thank ya kindly." He tipped his hat to the hostess. Just because they poked fun at each other doesn't mean Braeburn forgot his manners.

He raised the mug to his lips and took a long, savoring sip. The scalding temperature didn't bother him anymore, he was pretty sure his mouth had developed calluses to protect from it. But oh sweet Celestia, he loved coffee. He liked it like he liked his nights, black.

"Ah ever tell ya that ya make one mean cup o' joe, Price?" Braeburn took another long sip: Coffee beans imported from  the Griffon Kingdoms and ground fresh right in the saloon. The perfect cup of coffee in his opinion.

"Every day, Braeburn. Every day." High Price took some bits from the stallion she had served and trotted leisurely over to the colt with the stetson hat. "Wanna see that letter now, or wait 'til yer awake?" Over the year he had been in Appleloosa, High Price had become accustomed to his routine, and had usually gone out of her way to cater to it...or screw it up. Depended on her mood really.

"Give it to me." Braeburn downed the rest of his coffee in one go. He never liked to rush his morning drink, but he had business to attend to.

"If ah had a bit for every time ah've heard that.." High Price chuckled and put a letter on the bar.

"Ya'd have exactly one bit, from me." Braeburn snatched up the letter and opened it. "Dirty minded mare.."

"Didn't have one 'til y'all came around, sugar." The mare sauntered away with that line, leaving Braeburn to his personal business...and to stare as she trotted away.

Braeburn,

The Equestrian Agricultural Society is pleased with your performance in Appleloosa. We are rather surprised that you brokered a treaty with the buffalo tribes. We have been sending agents out there to try and halt their aggression to the citizens of Appleloosa, all failing.

Due to your success, we are giving you a new assignment. A caravan is leaving Appleloosa for Fresh Springs in the morning, when you arrive, Swift Justice will fill you in on the situation.

Signed,

Slow B. Bureaucrat

Braeburn saw the caravan details on the back. He meant this morning?! Braeburn silently cursed the Equestrian Mail Service and looked at the clock on the wall. The Caravan was leaving at ten thirty-five and right now it was....ten thirty.

The colt in the leather vest stood up slowly, and rushed upstairs. He got his burlap sack that held everything he brought with him. So, an extra vest or two, his toothbrush, a picture of the whole Apple Family, and his pa's old compass. Everything was there, good. He quickly slung the sack over his neck and galloped down the stairs out of the saloon, and out of Appleloosan's lives.