Saddled

"Ah don't like it."

The big red stallion sighed as his sister repeated herself, voicing her disapproval for the tenth time in as many minutes. She'd never been afraid to speak up, which was, in part, the problem. Usually, he wouldn't have minded, and it wouldn't have mattered if they been in Equestria, but travelling through the sandswept lands that housed the kingdom with which they hoped to establish good relations, neither of them could afford for her to be her usual self.

"Ah don't like it none, neither," he explained, watching the montonous landscape roll by. "Ah ain't exactly in my comfort zone here, but if we want what we're here t'do, we gotta do things we don't want t'do. Life's full of compromises, you know that."

"Talkin' seems like a light compromise," she scoffed. "Fancy switchin' roles? Ah think you'd look real fetchin' dressed up like one of their fancy mares, and ah think ah'd make a darn good stallion."

"Come on now, talkin' is easier for some," he reminded her, rolling his eyes at her ribbing. "If ah could let you do all the talkin', y'know ah would."

"Feels like empty words, Big Mac."

"Don't be like that," he complained. "You heard what Twilight said; they're gonna expect me front an' centre, an' if ah'm standin' back while you do everythin', they ain't gonna take us seriously. We'll be comin' home empty-handed, like the ponies from Manehatten an' Fillydelphia. We gotta try somethin' new."

"By keepin' me quiet, just because ah'm a mare?" the blonde mare asked. "What if they find out Apple Bloom's keepin' everything running while we're out here? Reckon they'd be too offended by a mare runnin' the farm to talk to us? Or if they knew granny ran everythin', near enough founded the place, 'fore she passed?"

"We ain't gonna find out," Mac warned. "Just..." He sighed and leaned forward. "Just for today an' tomorrow...don't say anything you don't need to. When we get back, you're free to rant and talk 'bout how darn rude they are, but we need to make a good impression."

"Buncha jackasses," the orange mare grumbled, crossing her arms. "Fine. Ah know what ah gotta do for the sake of the family, even if ah ain't happy 'bout it."

"You don't need to be happy 'bout it," he reminded her. "We just need to follow Twilight's advice. Ah reckon she knows a fair bit more 'bout them than we do." He glanced at the hat on the train's table, eyeing it suspiciously. He wasn't one for dressing up fancily, but if he was to make an impression, he had to at least present himself as if he was respectable.

"Don't give the stink-eye," his sister huffed. "All you gotta do is wear a hat, jacket, an' slacks."

"It's hot," he pointed out.

"An' ah'm dressed up like ah tripped an got tangled in my bedsheets!" she retorted, fidgeting in the black Abaya she'd been provided. Rarity had been kind enough to requisition one for the journey, no matter how much Applejack had complained about its appearance. To the fashionista's credit, she'd added a pleasant golden applique to the hems of the garment, elevating it from a modest piece of wear to something with a dash of flair. That didn't matter to Applejack, who pouted as the unicorn explained in painstaking detail the correct way to fit and wear it.

"You look fine." She sat back silently, clearly still unhappy with her compelled choice of clothing. "Just a day an' a half," he reasoned. "Ain't no more than that. If you want to burn it afterwards, ah'll help make a fire back at the farm."

The blonde continued to mutter under her breath about the stupidity of the rules as the stallion fetched the folded parchment from his jacket pocket and opened it up. His eyes scanned the words scribbled down, trying to commit them to memory before they arrived. Thankfully, Princess Twilight's handwriting was a pleasantly digestable font.

-Unlike Equestria, Saddle Arabia regards the male sex as duty-bound to lead and protect all within their society, and have developed certain social norms which may seem counterintuitive or unpalatable. Although the gender roles are inverted and are far more extreme, do your best to tolerate these differences, and recognise that they do not see females as superior to males. While away, Big McIntosh should act as the figurehead of the business. Applejack should try to remain quiet as far as possible.
-Despite their kingdom's vast wealth of spices and jewels, Saddle Arabians do not appreciate ostentatiousness for private individuals, as they believe it is a sign of greed and immodesty. When visiting, do not wear more than one or two pieces of jewellery.
-As mentioned in the above point, modesty is a great virtue, and so as much of your body as possible should remain covered. Do not go anywehere shirtless, and do not show your shoulders, legs, or torso. Your manes should be covered insofar as possible. Big McIntosh should wear a hat, and Applejack should wear a headscarf.
-It is customary to present a gift to your host when arriving, but the Saddle Arabians do not appreciate material gifts. Opulence is seen as arrogance, as previously mentioned, and so the best gift is one which is practical rather than a measure of status, and one that carries notable longevity. Avoid jewellery, spices, scents, or precious metals, and instead provide something that they can use, particularly something that they cannot easily acquire themselves.
-In relation to the above point, it is important to remember that attempts at trade deals have been hindered so far as a result of a fundamental misunderstanding of Saddle Arabian culture and their views on giftgiving. The first ponies to initiate trade talks did so without any gifts, and so were regarded as being an unworthy investment, and the proprieters who reached out from Canterlot presented bars of gold, which was received by the Saddle Arabians as an attempt to flaunt wealth without any merit. The closest that anypony has gotten to offering an appropriate gift is the Pears of Vanhoover, who extended an invitation to visit their orchards at no cost to witness their products, which was received with gratitude, but rejected as a result of the unwillingness of the Saddle Arabians to travel so early in a budding business relationship.

A quick glance out of the window revealed that they were approaching the city, the featureless desert now laden with stone buildings and towering structures, as if everyone were confined to a small area. He supposed they were; Mac wasn't the most learned pony in the world, but his area of specialty was agriculture, and irrigation was perhaps the most important facet of that. Equestria was, mostly, rich and fertile, with numerous sources of water and mineral-laden soil in which to plant crops and seeds. In a land defined by loose sand, the best hope for a settlement would be centred around an oasis, or the banks of a major river.

The rest of the notes talked about how to address the dignitaries and basic phrases in their language that would make a good first impression, and he muttered some of them under his breath as he donned his hat, adjusting the unfamiliar item so it looked something approximating professional. Turning to Applejack, he watched as she tied up her headscarf, scowling as she folded and tucked the fabric into place, ensuring she was presentable. Her frustration was understandable, but that wasn't what worried him. He knew his sister, and she was always vocal as a child, and even as an adult. The last thing they needed was an outburst, even if it were justified. He sighed internally as the train decelerated, standing up and praying to no one in particular to give them both the fortitude they needed to get through this ordeal.

The train hissed to a stop after a few minutes of coasting, and the two of them gave each other one final look over before steeling themselves and waiting, the door opened from the outside after a few seconds. Not wanting to appear indecisive, he stepped from the carriage and onto the platform, expecting to be met with the scorching sun that he'd seen from the window. Instead, his hooves clacked onto cool stone, and he was met with the gentle breeeze of an air-conditioning. The station was plain, but sturdy, and far from primitive or crafted without care, tinted windows letting in light while filtering out the worst of the unforgiving sun's glare. The white of the walls were criss-crossed with patterns and symbols, and the air was abuzz with the comings-and-goings of passengers. Aside from its design, the atmosphere of the place was almost like an Equestrian major railway centre. If he closed his eyes, he might be forgiven for believing he was in Manehatten.

"Masa' alkhayr!" called a voice, clear and enthusiastic, and the stallion jumped, startled. Turning to its source, he saw a tall pony walking confidentally towards him. No, not a pony - a horse, and one dressed in the traditional wear of Saddle Arabian, the long, loose-fitting robe that Twilight had called a thawb when he'd consulted her. He was as tall as the red stallion, though less broad, and with a more natural elegance and fluidity that exuded confidence, the turban covering his mane framing him as sophisticated and important. Alongside him, two other horses marched, looking stonefaced and stoic, their dark robes plain and wraps covering their muzzles and the top of their heads, leaving only their piercing eyes visible. They must've been his bodyguards, if the daggers at their side were any indication. "You must be Mister McIntosh Apple, yes? My name is Tajir Hisan, with whom you corresponded. Ahlan wasahlan."

"Ahem...As-salaam 'alykum, sayidi," the stallion replied, bowing his head. He felt out of place, the suit compressing his body, the hat feeling like it might tumble from his head at the slightest movement, and his accent far too thick for the foreign words. It was like chewing food that wasn't meant for him, and he forced a smile onto his face as he butchered the language in front of his host. Instead, the horse beamed widely, clapping his arms to the stallion's shoulders, and gripping him in what Mac assumed was a friendly gesture.

"Good, very good," he complimented, his teeth so white they practically glinted. He seemed youthful in general, the fur of his face - the little that could be seen of his coat - trimmed and groomed, and his face was smooth, without wrinkles or grey hairs. If he was older than twenty five, he didn't show a single sign of it, something which Mac was usually able to determine fairly quickly and easily. "We shall have you fluent by the end of your trip. Come, now, we shall take you and your servant to your accommodation."

The wording confused Mac, who turned and looked behind him, only to spot Applejack standing awkwardly, her jaw clenched. His eyes widened, and he shook his head as vigourously he dared, receiving a death glare from his sister. Trying to tell her to keep calm with nothing but subtle nods and shakes of his head, he cleared his throat and turned to his host.

"Actually, sir, this here's my sister, Applejack," he spoke up. "She's my business...associate."

"I see," the horse commented. "My apologies, Miss Apple. I should have realised that an industry involving such degress of cooking would have a female involved so significantly in its workings." He bowed his head respectfully, just in time to miss her eye twitching in restrained fury, rising when she'd managed to force her face into a stoic visage. Glancing at the two small cases they carried, he looked back at them. "Is this all of your luggage?"

"Not everything, no," Mac answered. "We do have somethin' else, though it isn't for us. It's at the back of the train." He gestured to the caboose, receiving a quirked eyebrow from the horse, who walked with the two new arrivals to their destination. "As a symbol of our new relationship, we hope that y'all...you and your kin...accept this small gesture on behalf of the Apple family, Sweet Apple Acres, an' Equestria." Stopping at the carriage, he opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the horse to see what it contained.

There was stunned silence, the horse gazing in awe at the item within. Laid carefully on its side, hugged carefully and prepared so as to preserve it in its entirety, was a fully blosomed apple tree, bushels of bright red fruit adorning its branches. Its leaves were still richly green and vibrant, and its wood was untarnished, absent of knots or growths. If there had ever been a tree more suitable for display, or more ideal for a photograph, then it had certainly never been recorded.

"What...is this?" Tajir asked, turning back to the stallion, eyes wide and face full of curious wonder. "Is it...a sample of your trees at home?"

"It's a gift," Mac explained, swallowing nervously. Had he misjudged it? Was this an insult in their culture? Something he'd overlooked? Despite the cover of the roof and the platform's AC, he felt beads of sweat begin to coalesce on his forehead. "Somethin' we hope y'all can enjoy...you and your children...and..."

"It's marvellous," he whispered, eyeing the tree with disbelief. "It can be planted? It can grow fruit?"

"Eeyup," Mac answered, falling into his regular speech patterns as nervousness overtook him. "We'll even help y'all plant it if you need the help. N-not that ah'm sayin' y'all don't know how trees work, just that we can...uh, do it for you. W-with you! We're here ta help if you decide y'all want to receive any help."

"It's so gracious," the horse fawned, reaching out and stopping, as if scared that touching it would mar it or break it. "It's so generous, so kind...whatever could we do to repay such a gift?" He shook his head, an overwhelmed smile cracking his muzzle, until he glanced over his shoulder, dread overtaking his expression. "Eud 'iilaa almanzil 'ayuha alfasiqatu! Nahn bihajat 'iilaa hadaya 'afdal!" The tone he took seemed hostile and fearful, completely out of place with his previous demeanour, and Mac froze for a second, wondering what had happened. It was only when he looked over that he saw the other figures he hadn't noticed before.

There were women on the platform, so still and quiet that it had taken the horse's outburst before he even realised they were present. They flinched at his snapping tone, hurrying towards the exit into the street, leaving Mac a few scant seconds to see them before they disappeared from his view. In the time he had to observe them, he noticed that they weren't horses; there was a griffon, a hippogriff, and even a pony, as far as he could tell, but the expected appearance of a tall, slender native of Saddle Arabia was completely absent. Even more jarring was their clothing; he'd been told that it was customary to cover oneself, to leave as little coat, feathers, fur, scales, or skin exposed as was possible - something Applejack would readily confrm - but the three skittering females wore little enough that he could identify their species at a quick glance. They were far bearer than he'd been led to believe was allowed, showing bellies, arms, and even legs, but they hurried out of sight before he could fully guage what they were, nevermind why they were wearing so little. The bands on their muzzles, or at least above their mouths on some of the women, looked decorative, but out of place on a member of their kind. Was it custom? Why hadn't he read about it?

"My apologies," Tajir spoke up as the ladies left the station, disappearing to some other place. He collected himself and clasped his hands together. "I hadn't expected such a gift from a pony, and so I wasn't readily prepared. I shall need other servants to properly tend to your gift, rather than the eahirat you saw there."

"Th-that's no matter," Mac said, clearing his throat. "If you're worried about it bein' too heavy, ah'm more than happy to lend a hand."

"Heavy?" the horse replied. "No, not at all. It is simply not the place of a...well, of course. It requires special care, and we would not burden such a destinguished traveller with a menial burden of carrying such a weight. Do not worry, my friend; your gift shall be kept here until those properly equipped to handle it are able to transport it to my estate. I thank you again for such a generous gift. Come, you shall be shown your rooms in my home, and then we can discuss business more comfortably." He clapped his hands together, and the two guards marched towards the exit, Tajir beckoning the two ponies to follow.

"We already have rooms booked at an inn," Mac explained, wondering if there'd been a miscommunication. Was anything going right? He wasn't sure. Applejack was always he planner in their family, as well as the outgoing social pony. He was far more comfortable working and taking care of things that needed a strong arm and a dependable work ethic. He fit the role well, and having to negotiate and nagivate foreign social norms was like tossing a foal in a pool and expecting him to learn to swim.

"Your booking shall be cancelled at no cost to yourself," Tajir replied, barely turning to address them. "Any expenses shall be reimbursed in full. Without any arrogance intended, I do believe my abode will be more comfortable for yourselves than the basic amenities of a city dwelling." He chuckled lightly, striding out of the station and into the bright glare of the sunlight, eshewing the protection of the building. With a glance back at his sister, Mac hefted his luggage, and hers, and followed their host.

The heat of the day hit him like a sledgehammer, baking him inside his formal clothes before he'd finished descending the few stone stairs that led to the street, and he could already feel the sweat seeping from his pores. He'd heard of the arid conditions of the deserts in the south of Equestria - his cousin Braeburn had written plenty of times to describe life in Appleoosa, after all - but this was seemingly inhospitable. He couldn't understand how anypony could ever hope to live in such a place.

"Mind slowin' down?!" Applejack groused at him, running to keep up. The stallion halted, glancing back as she almost pranced to keep pace, and tried to move slower, finding that he couldn't manage to keep up withTajir and ensure his sister. The result was an awkward shuffle between the two figures, his usual pace enabling him to walk just behind the host and his bodyguards, then having to stop to allow Applejack to keep up, then jogging back towards the horse. "Ah said, mind slowin' down!"

"Ah can't rightly slow down," he told her, trying to keep his voice down. He felt the gazes of other pedestrians, her speech drawing their attention. He cowered a little, uncomfortable enough as it was. "Can't you walk a bit faster?"

"Not in this bundle o'blankets," she retorted, huffing at her clothing. "An' before you say anything 'bout it bein' easier, why don't you try wearin' it an' ah'll try wearin' your slacks! Ah've never had such trouble runnin' in jeans before." Seeing his uneasy expression, she shook her head, muttered something under her breath, and strode forward, picking up the hem of her Abaya to allow her just that bit more movement. With little choice, Mac followed, the toned orange calves of his sister now directing his path.

A burst of chatter from the side caught their attention, though neither Mac nor Applejack knew what was being said. Tajir clearly did, because he turned around in surprise, glancing at the speaker, and raising an eyebrow skeptically. A horse approached, dressed in street clothes that were comparatively plain compared to Tajir's own dress, babbling incoherently as he walked, his features set into an angry scowl. Switching between Applejack and Big Mac, he jabbed a finger at them, his voice loud and full of accusatory judgement.

"Ah don't understand what you're sayin'," Applejack told him, her words going unheard amidst his ranting. "Ah said, ah don't understand ya!"

"He says you were acting inappropriately," Tajir spoke, walking over to them. "And that Mister McIntosh should have better control over your behaviour."

"Excuse me?" she asked, her features shifting from confusion to indignant disgust.

"He claims you were trying to, what is the word? Not undress, but...flash? I believe that is how you say it. He claims you were flashing the street like a woman of imodest status, and demands you learn how to behave."

"He says what?!" the mare asked, colour building in her face. "That good for nothin', lyin', rude son of a-"

"I do agree," the horse continued, diplomatically cutting her off. "I saw no such thing, and making an accusation against a guest to our kingdom like this is not proper. I find it to be a fault on his part." Addressing the other horse, he switched to his native language, his tone calm as he interjected. The accosting horse spun to Tajir, still pointing accusingly at the two ponies, and was met with measured, soft tones.

"Huh," Applejack muttered to Mac, watching the event unfold. "Ah assumed he'd be sidin' against me."

"Does it help put your mind at ease?" Mac asked. "Maybe the place ain't so bad as you thought."

"Maybe," she agreed. "Ah guess it ain't so bad if we have at least one reasonable stallion taking charge of-"

SMACK!

One of Tajir's bodyguards, on a signal from the horse himself, strode up and backhanded the stranger across the face, sending him sprawling into the dust. Groaning, he picked himself up, shouting something in retaliation, and received a sickening thud as a hoof met his gut, tossing him back again and knocking the air from his body. He lay wheezing, having nothing else to say.

"The matter is resolved," their host spoke up, turning back to his two shocked guests. "It was a simple misunderstanding, and it shall not happen again. Let us continue our journey, and put this unfortunate incident behind us." He turned to continue their journey.

"What in the hay do you call that?!" Applejack asked, her voice rising over the din of the streets. "He was talkin', and you just up and smacked him? Is that how y'all treat each other around here? Is that all stallions are good for, anywhere in the world? Fists and aggression? Ah'm hotheaded, but even ah know ya don't just hit a creature for bein' rude!"

"Appejack-" Mac tried to interrupt, stepping forward cautiously.

"Stallions might be like that in Equestria too," she continued, ignoring him. "But at least there we know to put mares in charge to cool their impulses! Stallions might make good guards, but there's a reason we have mares callin' the shots! Is that where you went wrong?"

"Applejack, don't be sayin' things like-"

"I appreciate this might be strange for you," Tajir answered cooly. "But this is the way we operate around here. In your culture, perhaps he would not have approached you at all. Here, however, he did, and we have dealt with it appropriately."

"Appropriately?!" she asked, exasperated. "He's on the floor! Would y'all have accepted that if ah'd knocked him down?"

"If, assuming you could, it would be seen as improper," the horse answered, his expression stoic in the face of her rant. "We do not have females assaulting males in the streets here. Perhaps it is different in your lands."

"We don't have ponies assaultin' ponies," she shot back. "An' we don't have these damn clothes, either! Speakin' of clothes, he was upset because ah supposedly flashed in public, right? How? Ah'm covered up to my head! How am ah gonna flash anyone?"

"The minds of females taken by rebellious impropriety are not my specialty, I am afraid. You will need to talk to the shurta about the manner in which females attempt to overcome barriers to their decency."

"Do you realise how insane you sound?" she asked. "Do you wanna know what ah did? What caused him to flip? This!" She hoisted her Abaya up to her knees, the orange of her coat visible to everyone on the street. There was a omnipresent gasp, and even Tajir's unflappable countenance balked. "Ah tried to run, because y'all wouldn't slow down, and because this ain't made for runnin'! Apparently, that was enough to make a stallion come up and tell me ah was commitin' a sin, and that was enough for him to earn a beatin'." Scoffing, she dropped her clothes back into place. "Gimme my luggage, Mac. Ah'm goin' to the inn. You can deal with the rest of the trip."

"I am afraid that won't be the case," their host stated, his voice cold. "You shall not be allowed free reign of the city, and you will have to serve your time here in the local sujin."

"Mister Tajir sir, ah don't think this is goin' the way we expected," Mac spoke up, sweating bullets. "Maybe we could talk 'bout this at your place, and figure it all out."

"I am afraid we cannot, Mister McIntosh," the horse answered, gesturing around him. Mac looked where his vision was being guided, spotting several horrified onlookers as they were pointed out to him. Some mares, dressed similarly to Applejack, shielded their children's eyes, while stallion shook their heads in overt disgust. "Your sister's rather...unpleasant...outburst has attracted far too much attention. I cannot ignore this insult to our customs, even as powerful as I am. If we do, there will be outcry at court, and my own position shall be brought into question. I am sorry, but your sister must serve her due punishment for her recklessness."

"Now you just wait a darn minute!" Applejack challenged, stepping back towards them.

"Applejack, please!" Mac stated, raising his voice. "Let me handle this." She huffed, scowling as he turned his attention to the horse. "Isn't there somethin' we can do?"

"I'm afraid not. We can only do what is appropriate, and what is appropriate is for her to serve her term for this trip of yours."

"Ah...ah see. Can you promise me she'll be released when ah go home? And that she won't be hurt none?"

"Of course," he replied. "Ealaa sharafiin, she shall be returned to you no worse than when she was taken in. I believe she shall be better, in fact, given a chance to learn the error of her ways. When we part company, she shall hopefully be less hostile."

"Then let me talk to her. Ah'll make sure she understands, an' co-operates."

"As you wish, Mister McIntosh."

Nodding his thanks, the red stallion turned and walked towards his sister, who had crossed her arms over her chest. He winced at her expression, feeling the burn of her disapproval more than the beaming of the sun above.

"This ain't gonna be what you want t'hear, but-"

"You want me to go with them?" she guessed. "How can you say that, Big Mac? They're barbaric! They treat their stallion's like servants and their mares even worse! Ah ain't gonna just let 'em take me in an' beat me like they did that stallion!"

"He wasn't the friendliest of creatures to begin with," he reminded her. "If y'aint as bad as that, ah reckon they won't treat you nearly so harshly."

"Great deal of help you are," she groused. "So what, ah'll just get a light beatin' instead of a kick to the gut? Is that it?"

"No, ah ain't sayin' that. Ah've talked to Tajir an' he's said you'll be left unharmed an' let go as soon as we leave."

"An' you believe him?"

"What choice do we have?" Mac asked, a frustrated growl entering his tone. "Ah said before we got off the train that you needed to keep your opinions to yourself, and now you've gone an' got yourself in trouble because you couldn't let a situation go."

"They beat a stallion on the street!"

"For talkin' to you like a piece of meat!"

"Like they're doin' right now! How are any of 'em any better than any other of 'em?!"

"It was workin' itself out, an' you let yourself get angry! You could'a let it go, an' we'd be in the shade drinkin' water an' discussin' how many bits we'd be makin' a year from this deal. Instead, we're out here talkin' 'bout how you need to spend a night in jail for arguin' with someone over customs you don't understand!"

"You don't have a right to tell me to not do my job, Mac," she seethed at him. "Ah'm the Element of Honesty! It's my job to call out things ah see goin' wrong! Ah didn't choose this! It's what ah've gotta do! Ah was chosen to fill this role, an' ah ain't gonna just stay silent when ah see things that are obviously wrong!" She straightened up, glancing past her brother. "Maybe if they hear that, they'll understand. Ah doubt they know what the Elements of Harmony are, but they'll definitely know the name 'Princess Twilight' when we tell 'em."

"Applejack, no."

"Don't you give me this 'Applejack no' business. Ah'm here to look after you, not the other way 'round. Ain't that what ma an' pa told us? Ain't that what granny told us? It's our job to make sure stallions ain't bein' takin' advantage of by others. Seems to me like you are. You've always been kind, Mac, and it's endearin', 'specially for a stallion, but right now you're bein' fed a lie."

"Seriously, we ain't gonna do it. Think 'bout how it'll affect us."

"Not 'bout how bein' locked up will affect me?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Love ya too, Mac."

"No, ah mean...this trade deal we got goin'. The negotiations. So far, we've made one good impression, one bad impression. Far as ah can tell, if we agree to go along with their customs, have you spend a night in jail, they'll look past it, an' we can get on with finishin' up the arrangement. You'll be out 'fore you know it, and we wouldn't have come here for nothing. If you refuse, they'll probably turn us away, an' we'll have to go home." He leaned in, whispering the final part of the sentence. "An' we both know we ain't gonna be able to keep treadin' water on the debts forever."

His words rested on the smaller mare, and she ground her teeth, acknowledging his point. The reason of his argument burrowed through her stubborness, nearly creating sparks from the effort of digging through that hard shell of hers. Seeing she was close to giving in, Mac delivered a final push.

"Twilight's a stickler for the rules, anyhow," he reminded her. "She wouldn't be happy none if you used her name to get out of servin' a punishment for breakin' some rules. An' 'sides; it ain't right to use your friends to get some advantage from their status. She wouldn't approve of that none ether."

"Darn it Mac, you're right," she conceded, grumpily, letting out a displeased sigh. She looked pained, as though he'd slapped her with a wet fish, and she averted her eyes from his, visibly upset with herself for considering using her closest friend's name for her own gain.

"You'll go along with it?"

"Yeah, ah will. Let's just get this over an' done with. Ah'll be talkin' your ear off 'bout it when we get home, though." There was a brief silence before she hit him lightly in the shoulder.

"What was that for?"

"The snark."

"Ah didn't say anythin'!"

"You were thinkin' it."

"Ah wasn't."

"You were thinkin', Ya usually do." He didn't say anything, and she snorted.

Tajir was waiting patiently for the two of them, and smiled as they approached. "I take it you have reached an agreement."

"Yeah, we have," Applejack grumbled. "Ah'll come along an' submit to whatever punishment you've got waitin'."

"Very wise of you, Miss Little McIntosh." He turned away to gesture to his two bodyguards, managing to miss Applejack's renewed temper flaring up, which thankfully subsided with a shake of the head from her brother, and several deep breaths. "You shall be escorted to where you shall be detained for the duration of your stay, which shall hopefully be rather short. The same stallions shall escort you back upon your release. Ma'aasalaama, for now."

Mac watched with an uneasy heart as his sister walked away, flanked either side by he stallion's who'd up until just now escorted his host. He didn't recognise her from the back, everything that identified her as her covered and disguised, all the way down to her independence. A small group passed in front of her, and he could no longer distinguish which humbled mare she was among the various others.

"My apologies, Mister McIntosh, for the inconvenience," Tajir said, breaking Mac out of his reverie. "It was unfortunate that it needed to be done. I wish that were not the case. She is a spirited mare, which I am sure makes her a good business partner for yourself. Unfortunately, we do not do things this way in Saddle Arabia. I hope you understand."

"Sure," he murmured, nodding unenthusiastically. "Seems only right, ah suppose."

"With that sour note out of the way, then, perhaps we should continue. I shall have my servants provide us with refreshments, and we can discuss our business with much more civility and decorum, yes?" He smiled warmly and made to continue, expecting Mac to catch up. With a final glance in the direction his sister had taken, the red stallion pushed back the gnawing concern and strode after the horse. Applejack was a tough mare; she'd be able to handle whatever was thrown at her.

Applejack wasn't concerned.

She'd been in tighter spots before when embarking on quests to save Equestria and the world beyond, and some stallions with bad attitudes weren't enough to compare to angry dragons, territorial diamond dogs, or supernatural tyrants. She could've laughed when they brought her to a squat stone building, barely high enough to contain two floors. She'd encountered worse when she'd first been summoned to Starlight's village and found herself locked up in the impromptu jail. There, she'd had to remain until they'd come up with a way to escape. Here, at least, she'd have to stay for no more than two days. She could handle that.

She wasn't concerned when they brought her inside and led her down some stone steps into the cool, dark cellar, or basement, or whatever name they chose to give to the underground section of the hut, or house, or whatever name they chose to give to the building. After being outside for so long, the cool air of the interior was a welcome change, and there was enough light flowing in from upstairs to not leave her in darkness, besides. All things considered, her situation had improved.

She wasn't concerned when they were joined by another couple of stallions, these dressed in garments not dissimilar to the bodyguards, but far less intimidating. They looked like something between a clerk and a janitor, though she didn't say it. She'd already managed to get herself into enough trouble by voicing her opinion. They said something to her in their strange language, and she shrugged to show them she didn't understand. They seemed to realise, and motioned to her clothing, gesturing to remove it. She raised an eyebrow, confused as to why there were happy to have her reveal parts of her coat after doing exactly that had gotten her landed in here in the first place, but after lifting it up a little and receiving a nod, she did away with the thing, lifting it up and off herself, and undoing her headscarf. It felt good to be able to toss out her long, blonde mane again.

In her own skin again, she took a certain amount of pride in the looks she got. She thought they were disapproving, but she wasn't particularly bothered. It was their perception of her body that landed her here in the first place, so why should she be ashamed of it now? Her calves and thighs were firm and sharply built from years of relentless applebucking and lugging cargo to and fro, putting the stallions to shame. She doubted they'd done much heavy hitting or carrying in their lives, and while she matched or outdid them with the tone of her muscles, they didn't even her thin waist or perky c-cups to compensate. She felt their eyes burrowing into her midriff, clearly caught off-guard by the outline of her six-pack, and didn't try to hide her satisfied smirk at their reaction, handing over her discarded coverings with a subtle flex of her biceps, just enough to make their eyes flick to her arms.

"Be careful with those, you hear?" she said. "My friend made 'em, an' she'll be mighty unhappy if ah bring 'em back torn an' rumpled." She didn't like the articles - they were intrusive and ugly, in her opinion, but she'd long come to value Rarity's tailorship, and she felt responsible for what happened to the items her friends gave her. To her approval, they took them with a due amount of respect, folding them neatly and deftly, and carrying them back upstairs, leaving her in pair of boyshorts and a sturdy, albeit plain, bra; in her mind, a far more comfortable choice. She was glad to be out of the rags they called clothes. An odd choice for them to be okay with that but not half a mare's leg being visible on the street, but she'd long since given up trying to make sense of their ways. Placing her hands on her hips, she cocked her head. "What now?"

One of the remaining horses raised his hands, clasping his arms together. She frowned, unsure of what he meant, and he beckoned her forwards. When she obliged, he lifted her arms above her head, ensuring she kept them there. She wasn't concerned until she heard the metallic clanking of chains and felt the cold brush of thick, heavy iron, the shackles clicking loudly around her wrists. Her instincts called out in indignity, but she forced herself to stay calm. This was a jail, and she was being jailed. It made sense they'd keep her restrained.

She was a little more concerned when one of them approached her with what looked like a decortive band. No, not a band - a bridle. She shook her head at him, clenching her jaw and keeping her mouth shut. Shackles were enough, but she didn't need to be gagged or belittled any further. She realised as they pressed it against her muzzle that the leather was all there was to the simple contraption; there was no bit. She shook her head more fervently, trying to dislodge the humiliating device, her mane whipping back and forth as she did. With no bit to stop passing between her lips, she voiced her objection, telling them that they could back off, that she didn't have a need to humiliate her further. They didn't listen, grasping her face more firmly than she would've liked to hold her still, gradually securing it around her head. If she hadn't already been in hot water with them, she would've lashed out, giving them a taste of a farm mare's two honest hooves.

She was concerned when, with a final click, the bridle seemed to tighten, conforming to the contours of her face, the leather pressing against the skin of her cheeks and glowing white-hot. She winced, shaking more violently and managing to throw her jailors off, though they seemed happy to back away irrespective. The sudden sensation caused her to yelp, her body reacting before it realised she wans't in pain. It was strange, instantaneous, and unsolicited, but it wasn't painful; just intensifying, and spreading throughout her body. She felt the tingle atop her muzzle, alongside and behind her head, the intrument connecting like a live circuit, buzzing with some intangible, unfamiliar energy. When she took a breath, the material moved flawlessly with her, doing nothing to constrict her movement, but she was intimately more aware of the taste of the air around her, the dryness to it, and the more sour smells present in the room.

"Jayid, jayid," one of the stallion's voiced, a smug, satisfied grin plastered across his muzzle. "Hadha hu aleadl." The others nodded or murmured their agreement, sounding pleased.

"Wh-what is this?" Applejack panted, every breath she took invigorating her, even as the act of breathing exhausted her. "What did you do to me?" She couldn't focus, and the reply she recieved didn't make any sense to her. She shook her head, the bridle refusing to budge even an inch. The tingle that had started at the point of contact had spread to the rest of her face, a pleasant warmth seeping through the fur and the flesh.

"Clothing, no wear," one of them said, addressing her in a way she could finally understand. "Now, wear. It make real woman. You become woman. Woman as woman. Proper woman." Having said his piece, he turned to the others, discussing something she couldn't and didn't want to decipher. Even speaking in her language, what they'd said made no sense to her. Proper woman? Wearing something? Whatever they meant, she knew they'd tricked her; they had something planned, and she needed to find a way out. If only she could focus, and if only her face would stop buzzing. Why was she both aware of everything around her, and too hazy to find a way out? Applejack was very, very concerned, though second by second, that concern was melting into a swamp of undirected general unease.

She was more than a little concerned.

She was concerned.

She thought she should be concerned.

Was she concerned?