Beauty of the Beast

Chapter 6: Bruised Apple

Spike dug his nails into the bark and climbed further up. He pulled himself onto the nearest branch, and once situated, jumped onto a higher one. There he sat, claws latched onto the trunk for stability and legs swinging off of the side. Amber light spilled through the lush canopy and glistened off of the apples hanging around him like Hearth’s Warming Eve ornaments. He admired the organic décor for a moment, then shifted his gaze out to fair Ponyville.

Perched on the highest branch of the greatest tree in the orchard, overlooking the sleepy town below from his vantage, and feeling airy and light as a feather, Spike wondered if that was how Rainbow Dash felt like on her bi-hourly breaks snoozing in the clouds. He looked up to the calm cumulonimbi above and wondered if the pegasus was lounging in some fluffy citadel amidst the vapors, and if she could spot the tiny purple dot hiding in the blanket of apple trees below. Or maybe she chose the acres for her siesta today, just like he did. Spike wanted to shout her name, to call for her to keep him company for the remainder of his break. But he’d feel foalish if, and probably when, he got no response, so he kept quiet and just relished in the idyllic midday. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned against the trunk. Everything was tranquil.

“Spike? You still up there?”

Ponyfeathers. Had it been thirty minutes already?

“Uh, Spike?”

“Yeah, I’m up here,” he called back. “Just give me a sec.” Spike took one last glance out at Equestria: softly rolling clouds above, sparkling Canterlot in the distance, homely Ponyville down below—all shrouded by a frame of leaves and apples. A content sigh and he was ready for work. He scooted off his perch and leapt down a series of branches. Apple Bloom, so accustomed to Spike’s feline grace, didn't bat an eye as he landed with a soft thud beside her. They exchanged familiar smiles.

“So, what’s next?” Spike asked.

“Next is cleanin’ the tool shed.” The young mare started towards the side of the barn and Spike followed. “With Big Mac sick in bed, it’s up to us to do his share of the work too, so get ready for some heavy liftin’.”

“Huh, it’s weird,” said Spike, curious. “He seemed just fine when I saw him yesterday.”

“Think he’s fakin’ it to get outta work?”

“Nah, he wouldn’t do that. It was probably the rain that got him sick, right? It was really pouring last night.” A mushy patch of soil bubbled under his step, as if to emphasize his point.

Apple Bloom shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s still weird that he didn’t want any guests comin’ into his room. Downright suspicious, if you ask me.”

Spike scratched the back of his head, rubbing and straightening his spines as he weaved his fingers around them. It was a habit he’d picked up during his home schooling sessions with Twilight; something about massaging his scalp—or maybe his brain—helped him think. Right then he was thinking about Big Mac and why the stallion refused his company.

After the night of the sleepover, he and Applejack had left the library extra early for their morning shifts at the farm. It was difficult maneuvering through the tangled limbs of their friends (the previous night’s showing, The Thingy, had turned out to be a gore-horror film with an engrossing plot that sucked the attention, and life in Fluttershy’s case, out of its audience, and at the end of the night the girls had voted to sleep huddled around Spike for comfort, which made for a strenuous obstacle in the morning.) After much slithering and a bit of tugging from Applejack, they had finally escaped the pony pile and made their way to the acres, twenty minutes late, to find out that they would be covering Big Mac’s shifts for the rest of the day. Spike did his usual work trimming the trees on the outer edges of the orchard and then went to visit the sick stallion, only to be stopped by an apologetic Granny Smith, who explained Big Mac’s desire for privacy during his sick day. This was weird to Spike for two reasons: one, Big Mac was never sick. Ever. He was the healthiest pony in town and had a body built for the harshest of conditions and a heart that could rival the steam engine of a train. And two, they were close friends—best friends in Spike’s mind, ever since Snips and Snails moved away years ago to pursue their ambitions. He just couldn’t fathom why Big Mac would deny his presence. A short get well greeting and he would’ve been out of his mane. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but it still bothered him nonetheless.

“Somthin’ botherin’ you, Spike?”

“Huh?” Spike glanced around and noticed that they had arrived at the northern most wall of the barn, the double doors leading into the tool shed right in front of him. Apple Bloom waited beside it with curious eyes. “No, I’m fine. I just have some things on my mind.”

“You should really take a break sometime,” said Apple Bloom. “You might overwork yourself, helping Twilight at the library, working here, and even volunteering at Fluttershy’s on top of it all. At this rate, you’re going to tucker yourself out!”

“No, it’s got nothing to do with work,” Spike yawned, waving his hand. “I just dozed off a bit.”

Apple Bloom stared at him for a moment, then looked away. She nodded mechanically. “Still sleepy from the slumber party, huh.” There was an edge to her normally sweet voice. Spike tensed. “It must’a been fun, doin’ who knows what with a bunch of mares cooped up in that dusty ol’ library.” She bucked open the entrance and stepped inside. Her voice echoed out of the darkness, along with the sound of her rummaging around. “Nothin’ much to do in a library, is there? ‘Sides readin’—but ya’ll did more than that, didn’t you?”

“Um, yeah,” Spike answered warily. “We didn’t really read at all; that’s more of a book club kind of thing. We played games, ate some pie, watched a movie, wrestled—”

“Wrestled?” Movement in the shed suddenly ceased.

“Yeah, me and Rainbow Dash.” Spike’s smile was audible. “She’s definitely better than Snips and Snails, I’ll give her that, but I think I could’ve taken her if the girls hadn’t shown up for the sleepover right then. She’s lucky they did.”

The silence in the shed continued briefly, then a sigh. “You going to come down here and help me, or what?”

“Oh, right.” Spike descended into the shed cautiously, watching the tunnel around him become gradually darker until the only indication of his progress became the squeaks of the old wooden steps. He almost fell over when the next step became leveled and he was at the bottom. Through the musty, unventilated air he picked up Apple Bloom’s faint scent and the smell of cheap candles, a sign that he was getting close. Eventually he caught the dim glimmer of fire and followed it to a lantern hanging above a wide wooden closet, open, a pair of yellow legs and buttock sticking out of it.

He walked up next to her.

“Took you long enough,” Apple Bloom said from within. She whipped her head out of the closet and gave him a stern look, nulled by the thick layer of dust blanketing her muzzle. “Now c’mere and help me organize these.”

Spike held back a chuckle and made his way next to, but a comfortable distance away from, the galled mare. He then began arranging the dusty tools by size and purpose: spades and shovels, plows and hoes. Work was a good distraction from his friend’s peculiar behavior, and they worked in silence. As he semi-consciously did the menial task, his mind drifted again to Big Mac and the stallion’s unusual want for privacy, as opposed to his normal, quiet sociability. But whatever worry or care Spike still had for the old topic was soon exhausted, and he thought about the previous night instead.

The sleepover was a hit. The girls were enthused with his addition to their private sisterhood of slumber partying, and the movie was appropriately scary. Bedtime was hot, but pleasantly cuddly, thanks to the blanket of ponies. The only thing Spike felt unsure about was the talk on the balcony with Rainbow Dash—specifically the last question she asked. No was his honest answer, and torn was his state of mind when he’d said it. It reminded him of his estranged relationship with Rarity. Years of gentle rejections and all the awkward moments when he’d passed by her and whatever pony she was going out with at the time had worn their relationship and Spike’s unshared affection, until all that was left was an intimate acquaintanceship. This acquaintanceship existed only in the presence of their mutual friends, and awkwardness ensued in moments alone. It had been going on so long, in fact, that when Rarity had dared him yesternight, Spike felt almost nostalgic, regardless of whether she meant only to include him or was bandwagoning. And as Spike remembered this, he came to a realization: that he missed Rarity. Not her nonexistent romance, but her friendship.

“Hey,” Apple Bloom asked through the broom in her mouth.

Spike took the broom and set it aside, next to a mop. “Yeah, boss?”

“How come we don’t play together anymore?”

Spike pondered for a moment, then answered. “I… huh? I don’t know.”

Apple Bloom stopped her rhythmic cataloguing and turned to face him, smiling wanly. “You remember all those shenanigans we used to get ourselves into? Me, you, the Cutie Mark Crusaders, and sometimes a few other schoolmates... I miss those times.”

Spike shrugged. “Well, we’re too old to play like we used to. I could hardly fit in the clubhouse anymore.”

“But you played with a whole bunch of ponies just yesterday night,” she retorted, almost whining. “And I don’t mean just playin’, but spendin’ time together, like we used to, before every pony moved away.” Apple Bloom gave him the look; the sad face she involuntarily—or perhaps deviously—made whenever she was grieved by something. Spike mirrored it; he knew what she was feeling.

She must feel left out, he related, old memories of Twilight leaving him in his basket as she went out with the girls still fresh in his mind. Fresher were the several tear-jerking goodbyes he and his childhood friends shared as they were separated by life. This topic of bittersweet reminiscence and abandonment had been the forefront of Spike’s angst in younger days. He knew it well, had resolved it, and had moved on. Apple Bloom hadn’t, apparently, but that wasn’t surprising. She had taken it the hardest when the others moved away, especially when the Cutie Mark Crusaders disbanded.

Spike looked over at her and saw that the filly from when he had first moved to Ponyville had changed. She had grown into a strong, charming young mare, much like her sister, but not quite. Apple Bloom was much slimmer and had a more feminine appearance about her, despite the subtle muscularity. She had long since abandoned her pink ribbon, shortly after she got her cutie mark, a pale pink flower settled against an apple, as if to symbolize her shedding from foal to marehood. Her smile, once the brightest part of the acres, had become restrained as she grew older, but she still resembled the same little filly, warm and fun, sensitive and easily lonesome.

“Let’s go out to town.”

“Huh?” Apple Bloom blinked, dumbfounded by the spontaneity.

“We could hang out when we’re done here, just you and me,” Spike said with a serious look, softened by a sheepish smile. “It won’t be like the old days, when all of our friends were still here, but it could still be fun. We haven’t spent much time together since we grew up, and something new might be a nice change of pace.” He hoped dearly that she would say yes. Spike knew he could never replace Sweetie Belle or Scootaloo, but Apple Bloom needed a good friend to help her move on, old or not. He hoped to fill that role.

“Okay!” A genuine smile shone across her lips. It was free, youthful, and contagious. Nostalgic.

They settled on a destination, Sugarcube Corner, and Apple Bloom galloped out of the shed to inform her family of their outing, while Spike volunteered to finish up. He haphazardly grabbed an armful of the remaining tools. They were smaller instruments; pruners, knives, weeders—all caked in dust from rarely being used—obsolete ever since the dragon’s employment into the farm. He felt almost guilty putting them away, using the very claws that had put them out of business to do so. But the excitement he felt quashed any negative thinking. Of course, he still had Fluttershy to help later in the day, but that wasn’t until afternoon, just before sundown. Until then, noon was to be spent with Apple Bloom, catching up.

And maybe, if they had the time, he’d pay Rarity a visit.

Applejack watched longingly as the two figures left the acres. Their carefree smiles were visible even through the sun’s haze and the dust clouds that billowed in their wake, and as they turned past the fences lining the Apples’ property, Applejack caught a glimpse of their propinquity: they walked side-by-side, Spike’s hand on Apple Bloom’s withers. They proceeded further along the trail and were soon obscured in the thick hedges bordering the road and Sweet Apple Acres.

Applejack sighed. With Big Macintosh sick, his share of the work became her responsibility, and she was aware of that. But jealousy still nagged at the weary mare as the image of her sister and Spike’s careless departure replayed constantly in her mind. Of course, Apple Bloom had asked if she wanted to tag along and had even offered to help finish bucking the rest of the trees, but it was clear that she’d asked only out of familial courtesy, rather than a genuine want for more company. Her unnatural smirk and shifting eyes were indications of that, and Applejack took the hints gracefully, waving them off with her most convincing smile.

Now, looking back at all of the apple trees yet to be bucked, the lone farm mare wondered if that had been such a good idea. She grumbled something along the lines of, “Rotten, trodden apples,” and went back to work. Channeling all of her jealousy into her hind legs, she launched a mighty buck. The sound of piling apples came from behind, followed by a loud snap and a yelp. Applejack turned around at the odd series of noises, and winced at the splintered crater in the bark where her hooves had impacted. Then her look turned into one of annoyance as she regarded the squirming pegasus beside her apple basket.

“You were here the whole time?” Applejack deadpanned.

“Sleeping,” Rainbow Dash yawned, walking away on unsteady hooves. “So, what are we waiting for?”

“Pardon?” asked Applejack as she positioned her baskets under the next tree.

“Let’s move it! They’ll get away at this rate.”

“What, you mean Spike and Apple Bloom?”

“Yep. Apple Bloom said they were heading into town, right? Well then let’s go join them.”

Applejack gave a withering stare. “You just want me to distract Apple Bloom, don’t cha?”

“What? No!” Rainbow Dash snickered uneasily. “It just, uh, wouldn’t be the same without you!”

Applejack sighed. “Well, I can’t. Still got Big Mac’s share of the work to do.” Buck.

Rainbow Dash caught one of the apples and polished it against her coat. It came off with a sheen of dried sweat and dirt. She shrugged and took a bite. “You need some help?”

Applejack’s next buck missed, and she slid belly first onto the ground. “Did the Rainbow Dash, laziest pegasus in Ponyville, just offer to help me?”

“Payback for the apple," Rainbow Dash said in between bites.

"Apples," Applejack said with an emphasis on pluralizing it. "And sure, I reckon I can use some help."

Her chores were done in ten minutes flat, and they were soon off to Ponyville.