Introduction
"You're doing this again, Twilight?" asked a befuddled Spike as he sat gawking at the piles of books towering over him; in one claw he held a tub of strawberry ice cream while the other clutched a large spoon, which he was currently using to scratch the back of his head.
Hovering up to one of the topmost bookcases, Twilight answered, "Of course I am, Spike. Princess Celestia may have crowned me as an alicorn princess, but that doesn't mean I should fall behind and shirk my studies." Her face brightened up as she pulled a big red book out of the shelf, then magically lowered it to the tallest pile beside her work desk. "After all, the debacle with Sunset Shimmer delayed me long enough; I gotta catch up."
Twilight made a clumsy decent to the ground and walked towards her desk. "And I'm only going to tell you this one more time, Spike: take the day off."
Spike placed the cover back over his carton of ice cream and set it aside. "No way, Twi. Doncha remember what happened the last time you gave me the day off?"
Twilight looked over her shoulder at Spike and blushed. "Heh-heh, uh... that was a bit of a weird week for all of us." Spike looked down at his feet with his hands folded behind his back, lost in the ugly memories of what happened last time with the Timberwolves. Twilight slowly approached her assistant with a warm smile. "Spike," she said, "it's unhealthy to dwell on the past like that. Just go out and have fun. Try something a little different. I mean, there's bound to be something you like." Just as Spike opened his mouth to speak, Twilight quickly added, "Rarity has a large dress order to fill out. Sorry, champ."
Spike rubbed his arm, unsure of what to do. "Well... I guess Fluttershy—”
“Housesitting.”
Tapping his chin, he countered with, “Then I’ll see if Rainbow Dash—”
“Is at a Wonderbolts show.” Spike glared at his employer and caretaker, to which she shot him a sheepish grin.
“Pink—”
“Sompony’s birthday party.”
Spike threw his hands up in the air with a groan. “Applejack! Does Applejack need help on the farm?!”
“Um... no.” Twilight’s ears flattened against the sides of her head. “Well, sorta.”
Hands on hips, Spike's eyes narrowed and he began tapping his foot. “How does she ‘sorta’ need help on the farm?”
“Well,” Twilight began, “she’s kinda sick, so—”
“Argh! Well, scratch that!” Spike threw himself back-first onto the ground and put both hands over his eyes. “Great. I don’t have anypony to hang out with today on the one day I’m given off.”
“Spike,” said an impassive Twilight, “I give you the day off every Sunday. You just spend it cleaning the library until it’s spotless.” Seeing that her words were lost on the spaced-out little dragon, Twilight let out a defeated sigh.
“Who else am I gonna hang out with?” dramatized Spike, his eyes searching and hands grabbing at the ceiling for answers.
Twilight’s face brightened up when an idea suddenly popped into her head. “Hey, why don’t you spend the day with the Cutie Mark Crusaders?”
Using his tail, Spike sprung back up on his feet and immediately objected: “No way, Jose! You’re not getting me to hang out with those little demons! Not on your life! I’d sooner tell the whole world about my crush on Rarity!”
“But Spike, everypony already knows about your... ugh, nevermind.” After shaking her head, Twilight took a step towards Spike and rested a wing on his shoulders. “What’s wrong with the Crusaders?” she asked.
“What’s wrong with them? What’s right with them!?They always create a mess in the library, get me into trouble—”
“Oh for pete’s sake, Spike!” snapped Twilight, growing tiresome of her assistant’s constant bellyaching. “I need the day alone to study, so get your lazy butt outside and quit acting like such a baby!”
“But I am a baby!” As she began magically pushing him out the door, Spike dug his claws into the hardwood floors and begged, “No, Twilight! I don’t wanna go! Don’t make me hang out with the Crusaders!”
“I’m... not!” seethed Twilight, struggling against the baby dragon’s incredibly solid grip hooked into the floor.
Changing tactics, the rosy glow around Spike’s body dissipated and reappeared as small “puddles” of magic on the ground under his claws; his fingers instantly phased through the floor and Spike was flung right out the door as if he was fired from a slingshot.
Spike scrambled up from the dirt and made a dash for the door. “Bye, Spike!” Twilight called from the library. “See you soon!”
Just as Spike thought he’d make it inside, the door abruptly slammed in his face. With haste, he peeled himself off the door and whipped his claw at the knob, but was quickly obstructed by an oversized padlock that appeared out of thin air and latched around the handle.
“Bye, Spike!” sang Twilight, sounding a little more than chipper about her strict parenting methods.
The dragon grit his teeth and kicked a lone pebble lying on the road, sending it straight up into the air, only to come back down and bop him in the head. Spike rubbed his scalp, grumbling; he knew there would be no way of getting back in the library, even if he was desperate enough as to climb through the window and that's suggesting that he's even tall enough to do so.
Scanning the world before him, Spike saw only the usual fare of Ponyville bustling about their everyday lives, shopping and working in the like; disgruntled, he knew there was only one thing he could possibly do now:
"I guess... I guess I'll see the... the..." Spike grabbed at his throat, feeling he may choke at the mere suggestion, "...the Cutie Mark Crusaders."
When Spike and his owner, friend and boss, Twilight Sparkle, first moved into Ponyville, there was much talk and gossip floating about town.
At the time, Spike was very young and very peculiar. In fact, many say he has been quite the anomaly for the past three years, ever since the duo first made their bed in the sleepy little town. His fame was largely garnered by how passionate he was about his work in spite of his seemingly young age, and as a dragon no less-such a thing was unheard of. Not to mention, he had the kindly manners and upbeat attitude that only the finest of Canterlot gentlecolts were known for, as these were traits also rarely expressed by dragons. If that wasn’t deemed worthy of town gossip, then there was certainly his hopeless crush on the Carousel Boutique proprietor, Rarity, to gossip about. While many see it as innocent puppy love, the dragon still holds powerful feelings for this pony even after three years to the day.
So when they see Spike out on the streets, head slacked and not obscured by arm-fulls of books or papers, it’s found to be very peculiar. Any who were lucky enough to catch a close look of him on this busy Sunday morning saw that it wasn’t out of heartache or similar depressions, as his claws dragging through the soil would indicate, but by the folds of tangible boredom hanging low from his eyes.
“So bored!” groaned the dragon as he shuffled through the park; as with every Sunday, it was busied with a horde of ponies enjoying a town-wide brunch. Several gave him curious stares but kept to themselves.
“Bored… bored-bored-bored,” Spike sang upon exiting the park.
He continued along the dirt path with his legs on autopilot, never glancing up as the trees grew denser and nearly swallowed him in shadows. Spike marched with dread, each footstep sounding in his ears like a nail being hammered into his own coffin; to the uneducated bystander, his face would have fooled them into thinking he was attending his own funeral (though in Spike’s mind, he very well was).
The packed dirt road slowly evolved into a grainy sand the further he traveled, reminding him like a festering rash that he was nearing Sweet Apple Acres. The warmth of the sun soothed his spines upon exiting the scenic trail and he was accompanied by the farm’s white picket fence. You’re the only friend I’ve got within a quarter mile radius, he thought to the fence, hoping it would read his mind and take him away from this dreaded nightmare.
Thunder and a villainous scale on the piano played in the back of Spike’s mind when the farm house came into view, red and pompous-like. Swallowing his pride and inner-turmoil, Spike veered a left into the farm’s perimeter and approached the humble abode.
He gave the door a single rap. Seconds passed until it swung open with a rustic squeak and Granny Smith appeared, propped on top of the double-door’s upper half. “Hmm? Wha’s that?” Granny Smith blindly looked about the pasture in the horizon until her eyes were brought down on Spike. “Spike? Well howdy there, lil’ fella!”
“G’morning,” said Spike, barely rising above a mumble. He never gave Granny Smith the pleasure of seeing his face as he asked, “Is . . . Apple Bloom home?”
Granny’s tired face burst into a shrewd grin. “Well ah’ll be a pie on the moon!” She laughed. “Lil’ Bloomy’s got herself a coltfriend! An’ with royalty, no less!”
“What!? No!” Spike shrilled as he waved his arms in denial. “No! I’m not Apple Bloom’s coltfriend!” Granny’s smile waned, though still remained prominent, in tune with Spike’s urgency. “I’m just . . . a friend, I guess,” he said after calming down.
Laughter suddenly burst from her lips. “Ah was just messin’ with ya, lil’ guy. Apple Bloom’s over yonder, in the western orchard.”
Spike gave a curt nod and vanished into the trees. “Just follow her groans of failure!” Granny called after him. Spike still heard her wheezy laughter as she receded back into the barn and returned to whatever it is Granny Smith exactly does on a sunday morning.
Just as she playfully advised, Spike followed the sound of a filly clearly having a rough day, as the trail of sparsely-filled apple baskets and increasingly-barbarous growls would indicate.
“C’mon, ya dumb apples! Fall!”
Deeper he delved into the farm’s western orchard. The trees around him grew to towering heights, never given a moment of silence as the ceaseless whisper of leaves remained as prominent as the strong scent of nature that refreshed his senses. Spike eventually came up to a large bush that he had to swat his way through using his raw draconic power. He emerged from the other side to find Apple Bloom coated in a rank mixture of earth pony sweat and dirt, trying to buck the trunk of an apple tree. Her brows furrowed, hind legs sprang outward, which only yielded a dull smack against the bark and not much else.
Huffing, Apple Bloom tiredly looked up. Her face struggled to brighten up in between gasps. “Oh . . . howdy, Spike,” she said, forcing a smile. “Wha’ . . . brings ya . . . ‘round here?”
“Twilight’s having another one of her ‘Study Days,’” he explained with air quotes. “She kicked me out, and now I gotta find something to do.”
“So ya came to me?” asked Apple Bloom, leaning over an empty bucket with a crooked brow.
Spike could only shrug. “I guess so.” He couldn’t find it in his heart to tell Apple Bloom that she was just a last resort, as all of his “real friends” were busy. Can you really blame me? We’ve only said, like, twenty things to each other since I moved to Ponyville! And sixty percent of the time it involved me getting roped into one of their—
“Say,” he asked suddenly, “where’s Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo?”
Apple Bloom tapped her chin; as she did, she tried wiping away some of the dirt on her forehead, though it only seemed to smother deeper into her fur. “Sweetie Belle’s fishin’ with her daddy, I think. And Scoots is spendin’ this fine day locked up in detention with Ms. Cheerilee.”
“Again, huh?” Spike asked in faint disbelief, getting only a shrug from the tired filly. “Alright, what is it this time? Fighting? Vandalism? A complete disregard for the peace?”
Apple Bloom shook her head. “Nope. Lollygaggin’.”
Spike burst into laughter. “Seriously?”
“Super seriously.” Now Apple Bloom was laughing, louder and more boyishly than Spike, even snorting a little in between bouts.
But like a one-night stand, it inevitably ended and an awkward silence fell upon the two, with only the rustling of leaves to accompany them. Apple Bloom gazed around the canopy shading her while Spike rubbed his arm. Spike turned to the side to mask his grimace and kicked up some dirt that he pretended was Twilight. This is so awkward.
“Well Spike,” Apple Bloom finally said, “thank ya so much fer comin’ down, but ah’ve got alotta work to do. Of course, yer welcome to stay an’ help . . .”
Spike cringed at the thought of hard labor on the apple farm with Apple Bloom. She’d probably come up with some ludicrous scheme to buck these apples faster, or start devising a plan to get her cutie mark while doing this. It’ll end in disaster, and then I’ll be the one getting whopped upside the head with a newspaper like always. He sought for a way out, and by sheer luck he noticed the small green orbs hanging from the branches.
“Uh, Apple Bloom? Not to intrude on your field of expertise, but those apples don’t look exactly ripe to me.”
“Ah know.” Apple Bloom deadpanned. Groaning, she threw her gaze up the tree’s bole, which dwarfed both her and Spike by comparison. “Ah swear t’ Celestia, Granny Smith’s tryin’ t’ kill me. She’s asked me t’ buck all these unripened apples outta the trees so she can make this disgusting tart paste she calls jam.”
“Sounds rough,” Spike muttered. “Why not get Big Mac to do it?”
Apple Bloom returned to the empty bucket she was leaning over. “Mac’s workin’ double shifts today; southern and northern fields, because Applejack’s sick as a dog.”
When looking to Spike for his input on the matter, she noticed he was just pacing back and forth, as if in deep thought. ‘Hm’, he thought, ‘Rarity’s birthday is in four months. Will she really like that thunder topaz I aged for her? Maybe I should just go with ice crystal. Or grass gems. Are grass gems even a thing?’
“Spike?” The dragon left his thoughts to find the sweaty little pony shooting him a half lidded stare.
“What?” he said dumbly.
Apple Bloom rolled her eyes. “Ah asked if ya wanted t’ help me.” As expected, Spike shook his head “no” like a bobble head. “Granny Smith’s always got hot apple cider for us after a hard day’s work,” she sang.
Spike’s mouth watered at the thought of Apple Family cider. But still there remained an unwillingness that even Apple Bloom could see by looking him in the eye. “Ya know what?” she asked, turning round with a flick of her tail. “Nah, you shouldn’t bother. Ah’ve got this.”
Now, Apple Bloom was expecting Spike to throw himself at her hooves and beg her to let him help; the titter from behind wasn’t quite what she had in mind. “Either you guys have got sasquatch with a hankering for apples ‘round these parts,” he said, thumb jerking towards the orchard behind him, “or you just plain stink at this job.”
“Care t’ repeat that!?” Apple Bloom whirled, her face flushing under all the sweat-and-dirt running down her cheeks.
Spike crossed his arms and shot her the slimiest of slimy grins. “I said you just stink at this. I bet I could clear this entire orchard long before you can.”
“No ya can’t! Yer not even an Apple!” Apple Bloom shrilled, taking an aggressive step forward.
Spike remained with a smirk plastered to his face, clearly enjoying the exchange. “I get more work done in a week than you did in your entire life!” he claimed, stealing a step towards the filly himself. “How old were you again? Three? Four?”
“Nine,” she said through gritted teeth. Now Apple Bloom was smiling as well, and chuckling coldly. “At least ah’m young an’ fit. Yer just a big fatty with a belly bigger than mah soup kettle.”
“It’s baby fat! I’ll lose it when I’m older! At least I know what I’ll do with my life.”
“It’s a cutie mark; ah’ll know it when ah’m older. Yer still a fatty ‘till yer fifty, fatty fat-pants!”
“You’ve got crooked horse teeth; they really show when you smile!”
“At least ah’ve got a family!”
“At least my sister trusts me!”
“Wingless!”
“Cutie mark-less!”
“Dragon!”
“PONY!”
Spike and Apple Bloom tore away from each other, just as their japes brought their snouts together, and made a beeline for the nearest apple tree. Both were in hysterics, giggling like the children they were as the adrenaline from their little duel was being expelled into the task at hoof. Apple Bloom laughed in her preteen southern drawl, happily bucking trunk after trunk and not looking back to hear the symphony of premature apples fall into the baskets. On the flip side, Spike was scaling the trees like a monkey, clawing his way up with a hungry gleam in his eye he only got when looking upon a tasty plate of jewels. Perched on the sturdiest branch, which was never hard because of his light weight, he’d take a deep breath and engulf the bushels in emerald-green dragonfire. It would clear in an instant, leaving the tree bare, apple and leaf and all, with only a skeleton left behind. Every time the two would pass each other they’d randomly share a hoofbump or a wink, just out of friendly competition.
An hour’s work passed and the western orchard was completely picked of apples. They both met where they started, by the now-filled bucket near a large bush. Sweat and dirt now caked Spike as well and tree bark packed his worn claws. “I . . . win,” was all he could manage to whisper, as his heart suddenly felt like it was trying to burst out of his chest.
Apple Bloom wasn’t faring much better, but this time with a few bruises on her forehead and one rimming her eye that were the results of unripe apples bonking her in the head. “No . . . Ah did . . . ya big galoot.”
Whether or not she noticed the graveyard Spike reduced the western orchard into, she made no mind of mentioning it. Together the pair sat with their backs leaning on one another, recovering their sapped energy while watching the clouds play peekaboo with the orchard canopy or listening to the birds sing a late-afternoon ballad.
They finally realized they were not zombie ponies when Spike belched a spurt of flame, carrying with it a bad odor and a scroll. Spike unlatched the Princess’s Seal and read the letter to himself:
My (Former) Faithful Student,
I do so admire the silent but blunt message voicing your desire to see me improve my diet. That really took an ingenuity only a pony like yourself can conceive.
The leaves I’m still trying to understand. Do you want me to take better care of the royal gardens? Is that it? I will admit, the plants are looking a bit frail in these late summer months. I’ll have the groundskeepers see to this at once.
But sadly, I regret to say that I do not know what to do with over five hundred unripe apples. I know you probably worked so hard to make this silent protest feasible, and I promise to make it up to you in some way. I suppose I will have a royal caravan transport these to your friend Applejack. I’m sure she’ll find a use for them.
Thank you again for your consideration,
Princess Celestia
P.S. Princess Twilight, this is Princess Celestia’s steward, Written Script. Her Grace has now locked herself in her room and is gorging herself with cake. I think I may hear her crying as well. Please, get over here ASAP!
“What’s it say?” the filly behind him asked softly.
Wow. That went exactly as I planned. Well . . . except for the cake part. Twilight doesn’t need to know about that. The letter turned to ash in Spike’s hands. “Junk mail.”
“Oh. So . . .” Apple Bloom elicited a tired giggle from Spike as her tail brushed against the small of his back, “. . . that was pretty fun.”
“It really was. Never knew farm work can be so competitive. Reminds me of the days Rainbow and I would face off in a triathlon.”
“Haw! You? In a triathlon? With Rainbow Dash?”
He felt Apple Bloom turn her head. “Hey—” Spike said, turning his head as well so the two were looking right into the other’s eye, “—you’d be surprised at how much stamina we dragons have.”
“Ah still am,” she admitted. “You guys are like work ponies.” To that Spike, had no reply; he simply turned his attention back to the darkness of the orchard ahead. Apple Bloom suddenly wanted to know if he smiled at the compliment. Land sakes he’s a tough pony—err, dragon, t’ read. Ah hope ah didn’t hurt his feelings earlier.
“So . . . uh, do ya want yer cider now?” Apple Bloom asked as she drilled her hoof into the space of dirt between her hind legs.
Spike wordlessly got up to his feet, brushing the dirt off his knees and claws. “No thanks,” he said, half occupied with cleaning out his nails. Man, I really gotta get home and take a bath. “You can have my share.”
Apple Bloom suddenly got a squeamish feeling in her belly, and it wasn’t from the plump earthworms wriggling their way through the hole she was creating. “Fer free?” she asked lightly.
“Sure, yeah. Think nothing of it; I hardly get paid for working with Twilight anyway.” Before receiving a reply, Spike began to make his retreat from the scene, still occupied with his filthy fingernails. “I’ll see you around, A.B.,” he called back before disappearing in the large bush.
Apple Bloom never moved from her spot that afternoon until she started hearing crickets singing all around. On her way home, the farmfilly couldn’t keep her mind off the young drake. He’s funny, and really helpful and surprisingly strong too, she thought with an unnoticed skip to her trot. I’m glad to have him for a friend. Ah mean, how many ponies can say they have a dragon fer a friend? I guess ah’m pretty lucky that I can.
When the farmhouse came into view, a shadow against the vibrant orange sky, the smell of hot cider came wafting in from the kitchen window. An he was generous enough t' give me his share o' cider! That's ah think an entire two flagons to mahself! Big Mac's gonna be so super jealous!
Smiling, Apple Bloom broke into a gallop towards the welcoming glow of her home, debating along the way whether or not Spike should have been the Element of Generosity instead of Rarity.
