Author's Note
The thrill that comes from writing "I" as "ah".
I feel like a God.
That'll fix your wagon
A beautiful day and no mistake, but with one key drawback. It was far, far too hot.
At least as far as JB, local human, was concerned.
“Oh this weather does not agree with me, not one bit,” he said, wiping his forehead with his hand again and regretting doing this, again. He followed up the forehead wiping by wiping the hand on his leg. His leg was already damp from having done this before. Everything was just awful.
“This shirt was a bad choice. Hell, going outside was a bad choice,” he said, trying to circulate some air but only really succeeding in moving heat around.
That the dirt track he just-so found himself on had basically no shade whatsoever didn’t help.
He was all set to keep complaining to himself in the searing sunshine when a noise from up ahead made his ears prick up. It had sounded like someone swearing. JB was always down for that and so, curious, cut a brisk pace to see what the deal was.
Around a bend in the track - previously hidden by a bush the curve of the wooden fence that sat either side - was a wagon. On the wagon were what JB thought were called bushels, but he wasn’t an expert so wasn’t willing to bet money on that. The wagon itself looked to be on a bad way, listing painfully to one side and apparently shy a wheel.
Of the owner no immediate sign. JB drew in closer, quiet-like.
Closer, whose wagon it was became pretty obvious pretty quickly. If the apples weren’t enough of a giveaway then the hat hung off the side certainly narrowed it down, the muttering and swishing tail from beneath only serving to confirm. JB found himself grinning as he picked the perfect spot on the nearby fence to lean nonchalantly.
Once certain he looked as casual as possible he asked:
“Having fun there?”
The muttering ceased though the swishing continued and a second after that a sweat-streaked and dirt-smudged orange face emerged and squinted in the brightness a second. A squint from a pony is no joke. They have a lot of eye to work with.
“JB?” She asked, as though anyone else in town might have been that shape.
“AJ,” JB said, doffing a non-existent hat.
That whole the-two-persons-in-town-who-have-names-everyone-shortens never stopped amusing him. Applejack remained, as ever, nonplussed. With a grunt she extricated herself from underneath the wagon, wriggling out across the dirt track and getting back onto her hooves. The first thing she did, naturally, was replace the hat. Shaking off the dust came second.
“You been standin’ there long?” She asked once everything was back in place. JB nodded, reclining against the fence. It was a pony-sized fence so he was halfway sitting on it, but it still worked.
“Hours. I have a thing for women swearing while under wagons. Not often I get to scratch that itch,” he said.
Applejack wasn’t rising to that.
“...right. What you doin’ out this way anyway?”
This particular dirt track not being anywhere close to where he normally went, at least as far as she knew. She wasn’t wrong, either.
“Finished up work for the day so I was seeing if this route might have been a shorter route back home. It is, I have discovered, not. Such is life,” JB said with a shrug.
“How is the typewriter repair business?” Applejack asked with what might have been just the slightest suggestion of a hint of a glimmer of a sly smirk. JB sniffed very deliberately and tried to appear as dignified as possible. It didn’t take him very far, but points for effort.
“Slow. I blame you lot for not having fingers, personally,” he said.
The smirk stopped being a possibility and became a reality, edging into a smile.
“Ever considered gettin’ a different job?” Applejack asked. JB nodded, shrugged, waggled a hand. He ran the gamut of body language before resorting to that old fallback: words.
“Have, have. Nothing beyond considered though. Typewriter repair runs in the blood, you see?”
He held up an arm. Applejack looked at it and saw nothing related to his point.
“...right,” she said. Again. JB dropped the arm and gave her a pout.
“I’d hardly ask if you’d considered moving out of apples, would I?”
“Yeah, but ah make money,” Applejack pointed out.
“Pffbt. Details. Anyway! Stop sidetracking! Enough about me and my troubles, it looks like you have some immediate concerns. What’s the deal here?” JB asked, heaving himself off from the fence and sauntering over to the stricken wagon. Giving it the once over he concluded that it didn’t look so great. Angle was all to cock.
A little alarmed at the prospect of JB sticking his oar in and messing up her hard work a rattled Applejack quickly came in to stand beside him, to make sure he kept his hands to himself. Thankfully he did, content as he was to just stand with his fists on his hips, clucking his tongue at the wagon.
“Nothin’ you need to worry yourself about, I can manage,” Applejack said. He gave her a sideways look. Sideways and downward, really.
“I’m sure you can manage. You’re a capable lady, AJ. But I’m hardly going to just walk on by with a nod and a wave, am I? Couldn’t live with myself. Now come on, what needs doing?” He said, clapping his hands together and giving them a brisk rub.
“Really JB it’s fine, I got this,” Applejack said.
“Come on. Humour me. What happened?” He asked.
After a moment’s hesitation Applejack yielded. She explained what had happened.
There was a lot of unnecessarily complicated wagon-jargon involved but as far as JB could follow it seemed the case that, while pulling the thing, a wheel had caught an unexpected rut and had a bad bump and as a result the wagon was - to put it into terms JB could comprehend - all fucked up.
Applejack had already done most of the work that needed doing to the undercarriage, it was just the last few big bits she was, well, not having trouble with but which were not as easy for her to do on her own.
“You know I would have expected you to have help already on this. Didn’t you have at least one sibling? They make you take this thing all on your own?” JB asked once she’d wrapped up.
“Hah. Pullin’ a wagon ain’t hard and there’s other work needs doing. Accidents happen, is all,” Applejack said. JB nodded.
“They do indeed. And sometimes those accidents are offset by unexpected good fortune - e.g. me passing by. So what’s the score? What happens now?”
“This really ain’t your problem.”
A lot of people might have started feeling a little insulted at this point, or else have taken the opportunity to avoid having to do something heavy and awkard in blazing sunshine and sizzling heat. Not-so JB, who just frowned at Applejack.
“AJ. I’m here. You’re not getting rid of me. Besides, I’ll have you know I’m quite handy! Put my skills to use!” He said, holding up his hands wherein which lay his skills.
“This ain’t a typewriter,” Applejack said.
JB raised his eyebrows in mock-shock.
“Could have fooled me,” he said. His eyebrows then dropped and he threw up his hands (wherein which lay his skills) instead, in exasperation. “Come on, AJ! Don’t make me keep walking! I’ll feel like such a tosspot. Just tell me what to hold or lift or shove and I’ll hold or lift or shove it.”
Applejack recoiled, this time unable to stop herself. She was not entirely sure if she should be completely disgusted or not.
“You’re not...makin’ some kinda...lewd joke, are ya?” She asked.
Difficult to tell with JB sometimes. The human rolled his eyes.
“You think so little of me. Wounded. And no, I am not. Just - just what needs to happen here? Come on. Let’s get it done, eh?” He said, stepping up to the wagon and giving it a pat. Applejack grimaced and caved.
“Fine. Like Ah said ah’ve done most of the fixin’ underneath, it’s just about gettin’ the wheel back on the spoke. It ain’t strictly speakin’ a one-pony job. Ah coulda managed it, just woulda taken me a while is all. And since you’re insistin’ on helpin’...”
“That I am. So! Wheel needs shoving, huh? And wagon needs holding during the shoving. Alright, I can do either one of those - which do you need me to do?”
She looked him over.
“Don’t take this the wrong way JB but ah don’t think you really got it in you to lift the wagon.”
He looked the wagon over. That was an awful lot of apples.
“Wheel shoving it is,” he said.
There followed a fair number of sweaty, strained minutes wherein which Applejack hoisted the wagon up enough for JB to struggle the wheel in position and then struggle it actually into place.
This last part involved a lot more whacking than he had initially suspected, and he regretted having left his sledgehammer - normally reserved for typewriter repair - at home. Kicking it into place or hammering on it with the heel of his palm was less than ideal.
Still. Got it done though.
“There,” he said, flushed, stepping back. Then he noticed the missing bit. “Oh, right, wheel pin thing.”
This was promptly shoved into place, something which involved more heel-hammering. Everything now looked to be in order, at least as far as JB could see, but he wasn’t an expert.
“That look good to you?” He asked Applejack, who was off to the side working out some of the knots and strain that had resulted from her having to hold the wagon in place while JB had faffed around with the wheel. Wincing and with light - but only light - grumbling she stepped over to have a look at what he’d done.
To her mild and pleasant surprise it didn’t look half bad. Circling the wagon she gave it a few knocks in a few places and it didn’t immediately collapse, which was a good sign. All available evidence indicated that the job was a good ‘un.
“Looks good,” she said with a nod and a smile having circled the wagon all the way back around to JB again.
“Fancy that. Wagon repairman now. Man of many talents,” he said, tucking his thumbs into imaginary braces.
Applejack gave him some prime side-eye.
“No doubt. Maybe your new line of work?” She said. Not moving his thumbs from braces that weren’t actually there JB pointed an accusing finger.
“Hey, watch it. One of these days you’re going to need a typewriter fixed, AJ, and on that day you’ll be thankful I’m here.”
As tired and worn-out as she was she found she couldn’t help but start smiling again.
“Ah’m sure. Pretty thankful now, truth be told. You helped me out, JB,” she said while JB winced and peeled his shirt away from his body. It just flopped back again and clung even more.
It was less a matter of him having a shower on his return home, more a question of whether he’d ever leave the shower.
“Bah, think nothing of it. Like I said, could hardly keep on walking, could I?” He said.
“Still, you didn’t have tah do that. I ain’t got anythin’ right now but if you swing the farm later ah’m sure I can rustle up somethin’ to say thank y-”
JB saw where this was going and cut in:
“No, no, none of that. No payment for charitable acts!” He said firmly. Applejack, interrupted, glared, but polite-like.
This put them at loggerheads, an it’s-not-a-problem-don’t-worry-about-it faceoff!
JB was pretty good at these, but Applejack was better and got in first before he could consolidate his position.
“How ‘bout I buy you a drink in town?” She said, jerking her head over her shoulder, back down the track.
That gave him pause, given how he was near-insensible with thirst at this point. He’d just come from town, to be fair, but a drink was a potent offer. All that sunshine simply wasn’t good for you. He tried to think of objections to this offer but came up empty.
The offer of a drink fell below the threshold of what was unacceptable as thanks, he decided.
“I suppose that’d be acceptable...as long as I buy you one, too!” He said, warningly. This was nonsensical, at least from where Applejack was standing.
“Why would you be buyin’ me one? This is tah say thank you, ah didn’t help you!” Applejack said, folksiness reaching dangerous levels. JB blinked at her, mind chugging.
“...oh yeah. Sorry, it’s the heat. Brain’s cooking,” he said, gesturing vaguely upwards at the sun. The damn sun. Who did it think it was? Applejack shook her head and set about getting herself back into the wagon again to pull it.
“Come on. Sooner we get movin’ sooner we get there,” she said.
“Can’t argue with that!”
And off they went. Mostly in companionable silence, it being simply too hot to talk. The wagon creaked but no more than wagons normally creaked and - more importantly - it showed no signs of collapsing. Applejack did keep an eye out for other ruts, however.
It did not take long for Ponyville to come into view, wobbling alarmingly in the heat haze.
“Bloody sunshine…” JB grumbled, only to add on a brighter note: “On the plus side this is a PR coup.”
“What is?”
“This! Not helping you, I’d do that anyway. Fixing the wagon, I mean! Think of how much business it’ll drum up for me once word gets around! ‘He can fix a wagon’ they’ll think ‘He must be even better at fixing typewriters! I should get one and break it, so he can fix it!’,” he said, holding up his hands in front of him the better to support this mental image.
Applejack could not work out if this was a joke, a sincerely-held position he had or the result of burgeoning heatstroke. The look on his face suggested joke, but you never could be sure with JB.
“You know...strictly speakin’ this is a cart, not a wagon,” she said, lightly, tail flicking. JB poked her in the side.
“Nothing you say can dull my triumph at having fixed a wagon,” he said.
She laughed.
Too hot for anything else, really.
