Author's Note
I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH: EVERYTHING YOU ARE GOING TO READ IS NOT TRUE (Or, mostly)
I only took stereotypes of each country for the sole purpose of establishing a plot for the Rainbooms. That is it. I am in no way saying that these are correct or true stereotypes, mostly because I just pulled these stereotypes from Google.
I am sure that the people in France are nice, well-mannered, lovely people who don’t yell at you for not saying hello. I am absolute in that a stunt flyer’s fans don’t break into their hangers just to get an autograph (or yell at said stunt flyer that they would do ‘something’ to her in Spanish because they won’t give them their autographs), this is all done so the Rainbooms have a plot in this story
Please, do not go into the comments to berate me about how all of this is untrue, I get that, and I know that. This is all fake.
Done
Final
Please don’t report this for discrimination
(Also, a follow goes to whoever can spot the Ghost Recon Wildlands reference)
The Rainbooms (Rewrite)
Rarity hated France.
Nothing about the country, oh no, oh no. She loved the country. It had a sense of beauty to it, a touch of elegance mixed with fine culture. She loved the cities, and their unique designs compared to Canterlot. She loved the nature and the beauty that a country can project, even if the remnants of the last world war were still scattered around the place (She once tripped over a dud artillery shell while hiking through the Ardennes). Oh, the country was a splendor to behold.
No, no, she didn’t hate the country, she hated the people.
Have you ever walked down Paris, to simply see the sights, and hear a Frenchman behind you yelling because you walked past him without saying hello? Have you ever just tried to enjoy a peaceful lunch, only to see a couple of Frenchmen come out yelling with a wine bottle in hand? Have you ever tried to just walk down the Parisian sidewalks to enjoy the night, only to get bombarded by a Frenchman (or women) trying to seduce you, or a rush of rabid tabloid reporters tries to jump you for the next scoop on your latest dress, or for a comment on some supposed ‘scandal’? (Poor Opel III was in the vet for a week after that event)
Rarity looked down the window of her 55th-floor condo in the Tour Montparnasse. As the CEO of her fashion empire/brand, she was able to negotiate some rooms in the section of the tower her company occupied to be remodeled into a condominium. It was a 2-level condo, furnished in the full Modern 21st Century style she had always envisioned back in Canterlot. Sleek, white walls, with Art Deco lighting and nice, decorative marble countertops. On the second level was her bedroom, with her large Queen-sized bed with Opal III’s bed to the side of it. A Queen-sized bed with only ever one occupant.
Rarity was lonely.
And in a lonely, forgotten depth of her cabinet full of High School memorabilia, a necklace began to glow.
Major Rainbow Dash hated the Mediterranian.
She’d like to say something nice about the place. The countries that she and her squadron of Wonderbolts were assigned to do stunts in were often very nice, with quaint towns, exquisite countrysides, and a gorgeous landscape that almost made her consider moving here (Though she would never admit that). The gentle spray of ocean water as the waves hit the beachhead always was a nice touch to the military base they were assigned to. They were a sight to behold.
No, she didn’t hate the country, she hated the fans
Irony always had a habit of biting her in the ass. When she graduated from Lackland Air Base, she wanted all of the attention. She was showered with medals as she ran sorties over Iraq, Kuwait, and Afghanstan, garnering some of the highest kill counts since World War 2. She had won close to all medals besides the POW and the Medal of Honor and was slated to be next-in-line for Marshal of the Air Force if she didn’t decide to transfer to the Navy and to the Wonderbolts. She got parties, promotions, and was loved by everyone that knew her, maybe a bit too much.
While she would often have some fans that went ‘over-the-top’ (Like her parents), she was not prepared for those that were dubbed fanatics. They were the ones that were screaming for her, the ones that would often go as crazy as jumping over the fence at the shows to even get a chance at shaking her hand, the ones that would send her long tirades of letters about how they loved her and were willing to do anything for her. One time, one of them even broke into the Wonderbolts hanger while she was working maintenance on her plane to get her autograph, and when they were detained by security, shouted at her in Spanish, which Spitfire only translated a little bit to her before stopping, saying ‘That man should be shot for what he said he was going to do to you.”
Rainbow Dash stared up at the barrack roof, listening to the soft sounds of her squadron members as they slowly went to sleep. The squadron members with wives and husbands and friends waiting for them at their houses
Rainbow Dash hated being lonely.
And in her plane cockpit, next to a picture of her friends, a necklace began to glow.
Fluttershy hated Africa.
Nothing against the animals, no. She loved the animals. Elephants, Cheetas, Lions, the whole shebang. She loved the feeling of pride as she helped a vulture nurse its wings back to health, the gentle caressing of a baby flamingo as she saved it from getting stuck in a salt lake and returning it to its flock. She even conquered several fears in her life thanks to this, such as her fear of heights when she climbed a small mountain to return a lion cub to its den, or her fear of large scary noises when said lion roared in her face the first time.
No, it wasn’t the animals she hated, it was her partners.
When she first signed up, she saw corruption on a scale no one could imagine. Rich kids who thought it would be an easy life helping animals to earn some baby points with the girls back home, only to delegate the actual task to her when they didn’t want to it themselves. She saw shady men take hundreds of thousands of dollars in bribes to transport some of the exotic animals they ‘released’ to rich billionaires overseas who wanted to put them in cages to show to their rich friends. Most of all, she hated the government.
When she graduated, she ended up working in Africa with an NGO called Hands Over Africa. They were dedicated to helping the local wildlife in the Congo against poachers and billionaires who wanted to hunt the animals for sport. She loved it, they were one of the only true organizations dedicated to helping the wildlife, and with seemingly endless amounts of money, she thought they would do some good. Until the leak spilled. Turns out, some suits from the CIA and the NSA hired the people in Hands Over Africa to double as spies in the Congo, Botswana, and other countries in the midst of a rebellion that could end in them as communists or socialists (The CIA had a vendetta against socialism). Her rep was tanked, as she was lumped alongside all the spies. The only way her reputation was saved was when evidence was leaked that she hadn’t participated in the spying. The evidence had also painted her as one of the most hard-working employees there was, actually increasing her credibility and reputation as a name in the animal endangerment sector. She, however, had no idea who helped her by leaking the evidence, with the only thing close to a identity was that the evidence was brought by a ‘nomad’ she met in the wild.
She had a vague memory of a man coming into her trailer asking her to patch up some bullet holes he had endured while attacking the local cocaine industry, but she had always put this off as a heat-induced imagination because her AC broke.
Fluttershy tossed and turned in her bed, her mind unable to go to sleep as the soft snoring of all the animals she was helping tomorrow slept outside. Animals with family, with lives, and friends. As she turned one more time, she looked around her empty trailer. It was a 7-seater, to bunk 7 people in to save on space, and yet she was the only one inside it.
Fluttershy was lonely,
and in a lonely high school drawstring bag, right next to an older Angel, a necklace began to glow.
Pinkie Pie hated her work.
Oh no, there was nothing against her job, not at all. She loved it. When she got herself out of rehab, she had sulked around on welfare for about 2 months while trying to decide what to do with her life now she got that junk out of her system. A man ODing on Heroin in a back alley of her apartment made her decide what to do. You see, before she got out of rehab, the Cakes had decided to cash in their 401k’s and left Sugarcube Corner to Pinkie. When she got out of rehab, the place was transferred to her fully, and she intended to use it. She hired some old classmates from the baking club to run the place while she poured her heart into creating new candies upstairs. Her big break came when she managed to create an honest-to-god infinite Gobstopper (She was sued by Paramount and Warner Bros for copyright infringement, but those were paid off by the US government in exchange for the exact recipe she used to make an item that should break the Law of Conservation of Mass).
This set Sugarcube Corner on the world map, as new candies and toys and sweets began churning out of the Canterlot Business. With the new capital, Pinkie set out to do what she wanted to do all along. She created private rehab centers that helped to pull people off of the drug-induced poverty they put themselves in and to teach children the problems about drugs and how to resist them. On the legal side, she gave the city MASSIVE amounts of cash to put into the Drug division to crack down on the dealers, suppliers, and cookers in the city. Oh, she loved her job, and the job loved her back.
No, no it wasn’t the job she hated, it was the business.
When Sugarcube Corner proved to be too large for Pinkie to handle, she got some of the big names from the candy industry on the Board to help her. She immediately regretted the decision. These asshats never cared about the workers, or the product, or anything besides making money. If there was a way to cut costs to line them with more money, they took it. Lower worker's pay? Done! Use aging machinery instead of the newer, safer ones? Easy, Hershey was selling theirs at a fraction of what the market sold them for. Dear god, use TRANS fat because it was cheaper to manufacture and buy? That one nearly got all of them booted out of the company entirely when they had to testify in front of a Senate Investigations Committee, and they were nearly forced to liquify all their assets to the state.
Worst of all, Pinkie couldn’t do a damn thing. She wanted to, oh she wanted to. She was fully willing to give all of them the backhand and run the place herself, and if she had the ability to, she would throw on a hairnet and go to the factory herself to help give it that Pinkie touch. Except she couldn’t. Stockholders and investors didn’t like what they called a ‘frat party girl’ in charge, preferring to work with someone who looked more professional and who looked like they knew what they were doing. Pinkie hated it, the 9-9 slog of having to act cold, cruel, and in charge. There were times where she would have to yell at an employee to prove to her Board she had the ability to run the place. Where she had to act like those asshats from Crystal Prep just to prove she could keep her spot, otherwise the Board would just boot her out.
Every night, she would go home, slam the door, and cry to herself. There were times where she had to forcibly stop her hand from taking more drugs, from stopping herself to go down that path one more time. She would just sit there, at the kitchen table, as she watched the stock market rise and fall until it eventually closed for the day. She would shut it off, and trudge herself to her room. Her big, empty room, devoid of any life, color, or anything that made Pinkie... Pinkie. There wasn't even a sign of Gummy anymore, the poor alligator was taken by Fluttershy to be released into the wild before Animal Control came for her instead. Pinkie cried herself to sleep that night, and the next, and the next, and every night after that.
Pinkie was lonely and depressed.
And buried in her closet, inside an old party favor bag, a necklace began to glow.
Applejack hated her company.
Nothing about Sweet Apple Acres, oh no. She loved the place. When Princess Twilight came, she was in the middle of deciding how to upgrade Sweet Apple Acres to the next level. Pinkie’s acquisition of Sugarcube Corner and the upgrade she gave it made her decide what to do. She converted an old barn they had into the first distillery of Sweet Apple Acres LLC, creating the first Sweet Apple Brew. It shot up almost immediately, with its popularity skyrocketing after Rarity used her influence to endorse it. With it, she had more money than she could ever imagine. She set out to flaunt it off, to show herself as a farm girl who was able to build her way to the top. Aged wine from France was imported over, alongside fancy silk dresses from Asia. She got ancient art from Greece, alongside pottery from Africa and the Native Americans. She even got herself some old tools and weapons from the Pacific Islanders. Hell, she got herself a pair of pistols that were verified to have been owned by Billy the Kid.
No, she didn’t hate her company, she hated the company.
When word got around about her upbringing, people flocked to her like vultures to a carcass to take advantage of her. Rich sugar daddies offered to give her the ‘parental figure’ feeling she never got in her youth (She clubbed them with a 9 iron). Farmhands from Mexico, the Midwest, California, heck even Texas, tried to appeal to her with their ‘Southern Charm’. People flocked to apply their children in the same schools that Applejack’s children went to to try to get them to make friends and to win the approval of the mother.
It all came to a near-bloody head when the Pears from her mother's side, angry that they weren’t getting the recognition the Apples were getting, tried to rob her blind in the one Family Reunion she agreed to hold. Thank god that Braeburn and his family were sheriffs and had experience with robbers and that Canterlot PD was understanding with why some of the Pears have bullet holes in them (Though they asked Braeburn to not bring a shotgun next time).
Applejack stayed up in bed. Her big, lonely bed, in her big, lonely house. There wasn’t even the sound of her children anymore, as they were taken by Braeburn at her request to let them learn in Appleloosa under their protection. Where that had the chance to make friends with kids that didn't try to get them from their money.
friends
Applejack hadn't heard that word in the 20 years between graduation and Princess Twilight coming through the portal again. It felt weird, alien. It rolled off her tongue like how a foreigner from China would try to say apple or any other English word.
Applejack dozed off to sleep,
and in the ‘Historic’ section of the Sweet Apple Acres campus, in an old farmhouse, untouched by time, inside an old dresser with an old stetson next to it, a necklace began to glow.
