The Life and Times of Forelle The Pear Pony of Ponyville

Chapters

Mornings On Market Day
Afternoon Apples
Conference With Confidence Artists
Giving of Gifts

Mornings On Market Day

Dear Mama and Papa

Things are going well here in Ponyville, I am living in the best place the town has to offer and the pear seeds you sent me have grown a great orchard. I am making lots of money. I have put some in this letter to help with the bills and feeding the little ones. Please let Bosc and Anjou know that their big sister is doing well, and she thinks about them every day, and give them a kiss on the cheek. They’ve probably gotten bigger since I left...I have enclosed a little extra, if you could, please send me a picture. I would love to see their smiling faces. Do not worry about me, I shall make enough to come home soon, I hope that when I do I find that you both are well.

Your Loving, if far away, Daughter,

Forelle Pear

Forelle placed the last of her savings into a rather old, brown envelope next to a letter written on equally old brown paper while sitting on an old brown stool in a small old brown room. The whole place in general had an old browness to it, like somepony had left it in the rain for a bit too long. She looked at the small collection of coins sitting heavily at the bottom of the envelope and quickly licked the glue at the top and shut it before she could change her mind. Her stomach growled at her angrily, but she silenced it with a look. Forelle briefly regretted placing the extra money alongside the letter, mostly because she didn’t have any extra to give. She knew she wouldn’t be getting a photograph back, as much as she might truly want one. It was just an excuse. If she hadn’t requested anything in return for the extra, her mother would have simply sent it back, no matter how much she needed it, roaman ponies were proud that way. She knew the old mare would go out, meaning in all honesty to get a picture of the little ones taken for her. She’d dress them up in the best clothes that hadn’t disintegrated yet and head out the door, but on the way to the photographers they had to pass the market. One of the small foal’s stomachs would growl. They never complained, the two little ones knew the family could not afford much in the way of food, but inside that sound would make the old mare’s heart ache. She would give in, buy a small loaf of bread with the money and split it amongst the two.

And that’s where Forrelle truly wanted the money to go.

Her mother would, in her reply, say that the photo hadn’t come out properly and she would have to wait until the next time they could make it to the photographers, then Forelle would act like she had forgotten she’d ever asked for one and the dance would continue.

The small mare looked up at the rather drab, cramped apartment she’d managed to acquire for the month and slumped down onto her haunches.

Or not.

She didn’t have anything else to give, and she knew it. The month’s rent would be due in a week’s time and she had no way to pay. Her landmare had been more than forgiving on many occasions, delaying and stalling until Forelle could scrape together enough to pay her. Still she knew the older mare was not in the best of situations herself. The only other tenants were a motley crew of immigrants and drifters from other parts of the world, and between the lot of them the poor mare could hardly cover the cost of the boarding house.

Forelle’s head made a thumping sound as it hit the small table in the corner of the room. She could not stomach putting such a kind mare’s own livelyhood at risk for her own sake. Her place could be taken by somepony who could actually pay the rent on time. She’d figure something out. Somewhere somehow...at some point...hopefully in the near future.

She beat her head against the table again.

There was a cracking sound as one of the legs gave and sent both it and her tumbling to the dust covered floor.

And she’d find a way to pay for that too, she thought ruefully.

With a heavy sigh, she managed to get herself standing again, she was terribly tired. Forelle was an honest pony, and lying to her family back home cost her something every time she did it. It kept her up at night sometimes, worse than the gnawing hunger in her belly, the drafty cold of the room, or what could only be described as the anti-comfort of what could generously be described as the bed in the opposite corner of the room.

She’d come to Ponyville in hopes of making her way in the world, and sending a bit of the resulting income that way would bring back home. She’d heard fanciful tales of the riches that awaited ponies here, how easy it was to make a dream come true, how much they happened to enjoy fruit. Still, she hadn’t taken one thing into account.

She grew the wrong kind of fruit.

She looked out the musty old window towards the rolling hills outside. She could see the apple trees from here, their green full leaves, strong thick brown trunks and most of all the shining red fruits they bore. The apples swung gently in the breeze, the light playing off their almost glowing, perfectly round and red surfaces, so crisp and smooth that a single bite might jus-

Forelle realized she was drooling. Her stomach gave another agonized groan as she forced herself to stop staring.

The Roaman mare let out another sigh as she walked dejectedly towards the small mirror she’d hung up on the wall. She’d been in ponyville for a few month now, and had barely managed to make any money at all. It seemed as though a lot of the native townsfolk didn’t even know what a pear was let alone wanted to eat one. But she couldn’t tell her parents that, they had to worry about her little brother and sister. They were growing foals who needed food and attention. She couldn’t add the fact she would be homeless in a week to that list. There was no money to bring her back home, all her parents would have been able to do was worry and fret that their daughter was sleeping on a bench somewhere.

And while she might soon actually be sleeping on a bench somewhere, they could at least believe she was happy and get on with their lives.

Forelle looked at her reflection, the light tan of her coat looking a bit dingier than she might have liked, her dark brown mane in unruly tangles from a night of tossing and turning. She shook herself a bit, relieving her coat of a fine layer of dust, and attempted to smile cheerfully at herself. Her father had always told her she had a lovely smile.

At the moment she didn’t see it.

Forelle frowned and set about making her mane more manageable. Her comb had broken a few weeks into her stay, so she had to settle for running her hooves awkwardly through the tangled mess. She fiddled with it for several minutes before giving in to the insubordinate mane and reaching for the hat she always left hanging on a hook by the door.

It was a small hat, one she’d had since she was a filly. She’d never grown all that much so it still fit her head and hid the less desirable aspects of her mane when she needed it too. It was a dull pink, with little white and yellow flowers spaced at random around the cap. She felt it for a moment, the fabric comforting her for the time being. It smelled like roasted pears, with cinnamon and nutmeg, cooked fresh by her mother on cold winter evenings, of the fragrant smoke of her father’s pipe and of the grabby little hooves of her younger siblings in games of chase.

It took a moment for Forelle to realize she’d been holding the hat to her nose for a several minutes, and a few more seconds to register that she was about to cry.

She choked it down with a little sound at the back of her throat, sniffing gently. She wiped and eye on the hat before gently placing it on her head. She collected herself, and quietly gathered the few things she would need for the day. A small basket she kept in the closet, its rim painted red with a little pear at the top, hoofmade, her saddlebag, an old hoof-me-down from her mother and a little water canister.

With a final sigh she opened the door and walked out of her room.

The boarding house was place with history in that, like most things with history, it was about to fall apart. Forelle made sure to avoid certain floorboards that she was fairly sure would give way any minute. Dodging the occasional tenant as they milled about. The landmare, Ms.Button, was, as Forelle had heard the Griffon in 7B put it, “Ancient going on decrepit” and had no qualms about letting anyone stay in her boarding house. A few griffons nested on the roof while several diamond dogs slept in the basement. Forelle often felt like she was the only pony mad enough to stay there. But then, she reminded herself, she might not have that problem long.

She pardoned herself as she skirted around an older mule and headed towards the small dragon who took up the majority of the first floor. His tail replaced a large section of the stairs that had crumbled shortly after she moved in. He seemed fine with the arrangement as he hardly found a reason to move in anycase. Still Forelle always felt a bit odd walking over him as he slept, and often opted to jump onto the large couch he used as makeshift teddybear before leaping onto the floor, mostly to be polite, but she also had to admit that she found it a bit fun to do so. In her current situation she took fun where she could find it.

She nodded to a few more denizens of the house before heading to the front door. She shivered a bit as she opened it. The winter was coming and the air was cold. She’d had a scarf when she’d moved, but she’d lost it shortly thereafter when it had been eaten by a small flying creature she couldn’t identify. Still, she’d seen colder days with less than she had now, and it wasn’t going to slow her down. She walked out into the early morning, down the cobbled back alley behind the house, where, towards the fence, lay a little circle cut out of the brick where soft earth poked through and from that earth, a pear tree.

It wasn’t the biggest she had ever grown, nor the strongest, but while she was in Ponyville it was hers, and despite all the troubling thoughts that spiraled through her mind, she loved it dearly. Even though it was cold, it still bore a collection of bright green pears, swinging gently in the breeze. She managed a smile and nuzzled the bark of its trunk, though it was cold against her cheek.

“Hello little one,” she said fondly, in Equestrian, her accent still a heavy weight on her voice. “Did you miss me through the night?”

A gust of wind shook the branches as it passed and her smile grew a bit wider.

“I missed you too. But I see you bring presents for me.” She stood on her hind legs, tapping a pear experimentally with a hoof. “Thank you, I bet they are sweet.” Her fond smile took on a twinge of sadness. “Perhaps the ponies of ponyville will change their tune today eh?” Another breeze shook the branches. “I hope so too.” She placed her basket on the ground next to her legs. “I will accept your gift for the day. Thank you little one.”

Forelle picked several pears from the small tree’s branches. From her love, for its size, it yielded a rather impressive crop, and her basket was soon full. She looked at the plump green fruit, and her stomach gave another low growl.

The branches started to sway again.

Forelle smiled. “No, little one, these are not for me. I must at least try to make some money eh? Still, I thank you.” She picked up her water canister. “Though my stomach may growl, you must still eat to stay healthy and strong for me. Okay?” She tilted the little can sprinkles of water falling into the moist cold soil quickly vanishing. “There we go. It is yummy, see? Now, do not worry about me. I shall find away, I always do....somehow.” She looked down the alley towards the street where Ponyville was beginning to wake up. “I must go, you never know when luck may change. Be good little one, and I shall return when I can.”

She gave the tree a little nod, and walked out into the building traffic, her own hooves adding to the beat of Ponyville as it woke up, her basket of pears swinging as she carried it towards the market.

Afternoon Apples

The ponyville market was at best competitive, and at worst cutthroat. There was a lively rhythm of dropping prices and rising voices, each vendor offering the best deal in Equestria if you let them tell it. Forelle arrived, as always, deafened slightly by the noise as she walked to her spot. It was the only one she managed to keep with any regularity, just close enough to still be considered the market, but just far enough that she’d be hoase by the end of the day from trying to get anypony to hear her. She looked around the market square, sighting the usual suspects, vegetable stands, ponies selling jewelry, flowers, hats, saddles and all manner of things. Forelle sat her basket on the ground, and from her saddlebag she pulled a tiny sign, hoof written in her own fine looping script. There were tiny marks where she had scratched out previous prices and written in new ones. She was quite hopeful this newest price might bring in some adventurous customers, because if it didn’t she wouldn’t have room for another.

She took a deep breath, cleared her mind of all the little niggling distractions and worries in her head, put on a smile, and called out into the market square.

“Ciao ponies of ponyville! I bring with me pears so sweet and juicy they’ll melt on your tongue! Perfect for all your cooking needs! Pear salad! Pear crumble! Even pear pie!” Her rich Roman voice filled the air. She knew it would be lost among the cacophony of the market, but it did feel good to let her voice out every once in awhile. As she yelled her inner salsepony looked for potential customers, changing and adjusting her words for anypony who happened to walk by. She yelled about how pears could make good food for foals if crushed when she saw a mother walk by, about how good they were for your eyes when an older stallion wandered too close, even about several things she probably ought not to have known pears were good for as a young couple walked by. Still none of it seemed to have any effect as the day wore on. It passed fairly quickly, the sun seeming to speed across the sky as her voice grew steadily quieter against the never ending press of market voices, her basket of pears just as full as it had been when she’d come.

Her stomach let out a dangerously low growl as she stared at her own stock. She really didn’t have to use much in the way of hyperbole to make them look good. They did a fine job of that on their own. She flopped down onto her haunches sadly as she finally gave up yelling all together, settling into what she was sure was a fairly pathetic staring contest with a particularly plump example of her wares. Her stomach gave another complaining growl, this one came with a shooting pain that settled dully in the pit of her chest. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and that had only been a daisy or two she’d managed to afford with her meager, now non existent savings.

The bad part about yelling for hours on the subject of how good her product was, was that she’d had to listen to every word. So now she sat there, stomach a notch below empty, staring at what she herself had said was the single most perfect basket of pears in the universe.

Forelle said something under her breath in Roaman, leaning down and simply smelling the fruit for a few moments. The sweet bouquet of emanating from the basket almost enough to satiate her hunger on its own.

Almost.

Her stomach gave yet another, almost pleading whine, and she knew it was hopeless. With a heavy breath she took the smallest of her little crop gently between her hooves, and lifted it to her mouth.

Forelle’s teeth clanged against each other as she bit down on empty air. A wooden bat sending the small fruit tumbling to the cobble stones.

She stared at her empty hoof for a few moments, then at the bruised and battered pear on the ground. Anger rose in her chest seeing her hard earned produce so roughly handled. She whipped around to face her attacker, only to have quite a few unpleasant words die on her tongue as she saw a red stallion about five times her size. He seemed a bit disoriented, at his hooves was a young filly with brilliant red hair and an older orange mare in a cowboy hat. They didn’t look terribly pleased.

Forelle’s heart began to beat faster in her chest. She’d heard stories from the other tenants of the boarding house about the seedier elements of the ponyville. Terrible stories of protection rackets and less than equal competition. She wasn’t exactly sure what “Getting a pair of cement horseshoes” would entail but she was fairly certain she didn’t want to find out.

She tried to make herself look as small as possible.

The orange mare in the hat stepped forwards, looking serious as the little filly beat the bat against the ground several times.

“How much?” she asked, tapping a hoof against the cobbles.

Forelle actually flinched.

Were they asking for money? She didn’t have any to give...And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the penalty for not paying up. Forelle subconsciously placed herself between the encroaching ponies and her basket, running several replies through her head. She thought it best to feign ignorance.

“Mi scusi? non parlo l'inglese,” she said quickly.

The mare’s serious demeanor vanished.

“Oh great! She’s speaking fancy! Now, Applebloom, how do you expect to properly apologize to the lady?”

Forelle blinked. Apologize?

The little filly, who Forelle assumed was named ‘Applebloom’ walked up sheepishly.

“Uhh...” She started. “I...” She pointed to herself with a hoof speaking slowly. “Am.” She waved her hooves in a wide circle. “Sorry.” She gestured to her face and made a frowning expression. “About hitting.” She swung her tiny hoof in a batlike motion. “Yo-”

Forelle silenced her with a gesture, looking questioningly at the trio.

“Um...I am sorry?” She said tilting her head a bit. “I am not sure I understand what is happening.”

Applebloom looked physically relieved.

“Oh thank Celestia. She speaks Equestrian.”

The older mare pushed her sister aside, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly with a hoof. “What my little sister’s trying to say is, she’s sorry for hitting your fruit earlier. She’s been trying to earn a cutie mark in baseball, and has been hitting everything ever since. Including my brother’s noggin.” She gestured to the dazed giant behind her. “She wants to pay for it, right?” She cast a quick glare at the little filly, who shrunk back a bit and nodded. “So I was asking how much for the...whatever these things are.”

Forelle’s ears perked up at the mention of pay. “Pears!” She said quickly. “They are pears.”

“Pears...” The mare tried the word on her tongue experimentally. “Well, alright, how much for the pear?”

Forelle briefly considered lying. The fact that she did hurt a little inside, not matter how poor she got she always wanted to remain honest. Still, it was tempting, this was her first sale in recent memory. But she couldn’t do it.

“Two for one bit...” she said quietly.

The orange mare blinked. Twice.

“What? That’s ridiculous!”

Forelle felt a bit of anger rise in her her again. “They are worth three times that much!” she said, a bit louder than she’d intended. “It is the best deal I can give!”

The mare leaned back a bit, surprised at her outburst, then put a gentle hoof on her shoulder.

“I know sugarcube, that’s why I’m surprised...you can hardly get seeds for that little...”

Forelle anger’s anger vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by a much heavier, more insidious emotion. She looked at the ground, staring at her little basket blearily.

“It is...the best deal I can give...” she repeated softly.

The hoof on her shoulder pulled her a bit closer to the mare, who smiled softly.

“Not much luck in the market sugarcube?”

Forelle simply shook her head.

“That’s a mighty shame, these look like good...pears.” She patted Forelle’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll take the one Applebloom whacked, one for me and my brother, for no less than two bits a piece mind you, and as a show of good faith, I’ll give you two apples to replace your lost stock.”

The roaman pony looked up sharply at that, eyes wide. “Really!?” She caught herself suddenly, and tempered her enthusiasm. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, us market folk have to stick together don’t we? And I hate to see a good pony go hungry. You take one of those apples and you eat it, you hear? You look like if I hugged you you’d snap right in two.”

Forelle blinked away a tear, and managed a small smile. “I...I think I am willing to take that risk.” She wrapped her hooves around the orange mare, who discovered that Roaman hugs are not something one forgets quickly.

After she worked a bit of feeling back into her spine she offered a hoof to the pear pony. “The name’s Applejack, you?”

“I am Forelle.” She shook Applejack’s hoof enthusiastically. “Thank you so much for this kindness. You do not know how much it means to me.”

“Shucks, it’s nothing. Never killed a pony to be kind once in awhile. I know we’re supposed to be competition, but there’s far too much of that going around the market without us adding to it.” She fished the bits out of her saddlebag and passed them to Forelle, who quickly hid them away in her own, making sure to put them in one of the pockets without a hole in it. In turn Forelle picked three of the biggest, freshest looking pears in her basket and doled them out among the three ponies. The largest didn’t seem very responsive, so with a little hop she left it sitting on the top of his head. Applejack quickly replaced the pears with two large red apples. She smiled. “Now, we have to go back to mind our own store, but you take care now. Feel free to come by and say hi when you get a minute, okay sugar cube?”

Forelle smiled widely, her face hurt a little, probably because she hadn’t used those muscles much recently, not genuinely. “I will, I will! Where is it that you live?”

“Sweet Apple Acres, just down the road apiece. Hope to see you there! Nice to meet you sugarcube!”

The little filly jumped onto the giant’s back, and Applejack nudged him forwards, he seemed to need little more instruction than that to start the journey back to their own cart on the other side of the market.

Forelle stood frozen for several minutes.

Sweet Apple Acres...

The place she could see from her window....The largest producer of apples in town, and one of the reasons she had made so little since coming here. Her main competition.

Down in the pit of her stomach she felt a bit sick. She’d, at the back of her mind, hated everything about that place since she’d arrived, the trees, the leaves the...admittedly delicious looking... apples, and the ponies who she imagined owned it. She internally reprimanded herself for judging them so harshly. But at the same time knew that she had very little chance in the marketplace because of them, and that’s the way it would stay.

“Wow, those look delicious! How much?” A voice shook her from her thoughts. Her face lit up as she saw a brown stallion standing in front of her looking at her basket hungrily. She quickly straightened her hat a bit and put on her best face.

“You my good stallion are a pony of great taste! These are the finest pears in all of Ponyvi-”

“Pears? Yuck, no, pears are rubbish, I meant the apples. Those look lovely.”

Forelle’s face fell as she looked down at the two apples sitting in her basket. “Oh...um...” She sighed, she did need the money. “Two bits?”

“Deal!” He passed her the money. “Give me that one over there on the left, the one that’s not touching the pears.”

Forelle did as he instructed, a bit more forcefully than necessary and the stallion left, munching happily.

Her previous good mood evaporated a she watched him leave. She felt a familiar coldness creeping back into her body, one that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. She layed down on the cobbles and curled her body around her little basket, staring almost ruefully at the single apple she had left. Her stomach let out what could only be considered a roar, and for the first time that day she gave into it. She nosed it out of the basket and onto the ground in front of her, where she took a bite.

She had to admit one thing.

Next to her own pears, it was the single best thing she had ever been lucky enough to eat.

Conference With Confidence Artists

The apple was gone in seconds and Forelle missed it dearly once it had departed. The day slinked by with nary another word in her direction, let alone a sale. Ponies trotted throughout the market going about their day around her, apparently unaware of her existence. Still, she’d managed to make eight bits, that was eight more than she’d had when she’d left this morning and that gave her a little solace that it was not a wasted day. As the sun began to set below the hills to the west, she collected her basket, got up onto her hooves and dusted herself off. She still needed visit the post office to mail the letter she had written to her family that morning. So, a bit weary, she headed towards the town’s center, passing mares and stallions as she went. Because she was tiny, no matter which direction she seemed to go she felt as though she were trying to go upstream. There was much ducking and weaving to avoid distracted ponies as they went about their daily business. As she passed a peculiar grey stallion she tripped over a loose cobblestone, sending her toppling into his side. She apologized, though he barely seemed to register she was there, his eyes intently focused on the local preserves shop. When he was gone she noticed her mane was now a bit sticky, and smelled slightly of blueberry jelly for some reason. Forelle shrugged it off and continued on her way. There would be time to wash up later.

Eventually the crowd thinned out and she came upon the small, modest building that was the post office. She opened the door and took a step inside.

“Well look at what we got here brother of mine,” said a voice from behind her.

Forelle whipped around to see who was speaking but found the street empty of anyone who might have addressed her. She shrugged and opened the door again, only to trip over herself stumbling backwards from the lanky smiling stallion who now stood in the doorway.

“I say that is a peculiar sight, brother of mine!”

Forelle almost bumped into a nearly identical stallion standing behind her, except this one had a mustache. She jumped in surprise, losing her balance again and falling to the ground, the contents of her saddlebag spilling onto the street. She saw a flash of gold as her eight bits went spinning onto the cobbles.

Before she even realized it she was hunkered over them protectively, teeth bared at the strange stallions.

“Oh dear, Flim, I think this one believes we mean to rob her.” The stallion on the left pouted slightly.

“Why Flam, I know we haven’t been back to Ponyville in a while.” The stallion put a hoof to his heart. “But surely our reputations have not gotten that bad! I am wounded!”

“It just hits you right here doesn’t it?”

“Cuts me deep, brother! Very deep!”

“Right to the bone!”

“Right to the soul!”

The two flailed their hooves about dramatically, groaning and moaning as though they had suffered some grievous injury. They fell in perfect synchronization next to Forelle on the ground.

"That such a lovely mare would be driven to treat us like scoundrels at the very sight of us!” lamented the mustachioed one.

“That she would go so far as to bare her teeth at us like we were some wild game to be prayed upon! Oh woe is me!” his twin wailed. “Woe is you?”

“Oh so woe!”

Forelle tried to look at both of them at once and got a bit of a headache, her cheeks warming just a bit at being called a ‘Lovely mare’. She suddenly felt a bit bad for assuming the worst, but not bad enough to move away from her bits.

“Who are you two?...” she asked warily.

They both froze utterly still.

“She doesn’t know?” said one.

“She doesn’t know,” said the other.

They were both back on their hooves before she even had time to register they were moving, large, brilliantly white smiles plastered on their faces.

“Why I’m Flim.”

“I’m Flam, and together we’re...”

They both removed the odd hats they were wearing and waved them about enthusiastically.

“The world famous Flim Flam Brothers!”

Forelle tilted her head. “World famous?”

“That’s right,” said Flim.”

“World Famous,” said Flam.

Forelle looked from one to the other, still wary. “Then why have I never heard of you, in either ponyville or my homeland?”

Flim and Flam shared a look.

“We’re working on the details,” they said in unison.

Forelle lifted herself slightly, quickly collecting her bits in her hat and sitting it firmly atop her head in one swift motion. “And why is it that you have stopped me on this day?”

Flam pranced a bit closer settling to her left, his smile took on a slightly wolfish quality as he lidded his eyes. “Why is it a crime to say hello to a pretty filly on a fall evening?”

Flim took up the space to her right. “Why no brother I think it isn’t.”

Forell’s face quickly flushed red again at their proximity, she jumped back, shaking away the blush. She gave them the best glare she could manage. “If you are interested in me I must decline. I do not share that interest.”

Flim and Flam shrugged in unison. “Just a compliment.”

Forelle huffed with an angry glance. “I do not need your kind of complements. State your business and please be on your way if you would be so kind.”

“Ah! She wants to talk business!”

“Now, this is where it gets interesting.” Flim took his hat off and placed it over his heart. “I have to be honest, it was more than your looks that caused us to stop you today.”

Flam removed his hat as well. “Indeed it was, indeed it was. You see we have a proposition for you.”

Forelle raised an eyebrow. “A...proposition?”

Flim nodded. “We’ve been in town for a little while now, crossing through on our way to Manehatten. We were here in Ponyville once before you see.”

“Terrible stuff, gross misunderstanding and all that.” Flam shook his head.

“But now that we’re back, we’d like like to mend old bridges while we’re here, show these ponies the good we can do, and we’ve heard that you have something nopony else in this town has.”

“And...where did you hear that?” Forelle said still wary, though she felt a small pang of sadness. “Nopony even knows who I am...”

Flim tisked. “Not true, not true, what you mean to say is.” He sidled a bit closer, placing a consoling hoof around her. “No one has realized who you are yet.”

Forelle blinked, looking up at him. “What is it that you mean?”

Flam came up at her other side smiling softly. “What he means is, they don’t know just what you’re going to be and we do. We’d like to get in on the ground floor. Right now apples are the main thing in Ponyville, but they’re getting old.”

“Downright stale,” Flim nodded.

“Old hat really,” Flam continued. “My brother and I believe that it’s time for a new food to take the stage!”

“Something with novelty!”

“Pizzaz!”

“Chutzpah!”

Flim paused and looked at his brother “...Chutzpah?”

Flam nodded. “Chutzpah.”

They looped their armed together and waved their forelegs with a flourish. “Chutzpah!”

Forelle tilted her head, trying to figure out what was happening. “And...”

Flim pointed to the small basket of pears that had fallen earlier. “And we think, you have it.”

Forelle tilted her head. “I have....Chutzpah?”

“See! She agrees!” Forelle felt a hoof slap her heartilly on the back as Flam looked on in approval. “Chutzpah! Now, I’m happy to have your agreement, we’ll get started post hate, we’ll need your basket of pears to start and th-”

“What!? I agreed to no such thing! And my pears will stay where they are, unless you are willing to make payment for them!”

The brothers shared a look, before Flam’s smile snaked back across his face. “Why that’s exactly what we plan to do. But my dear have you never been to a business meeting before?”

“Business meeting?”

“Why yes, that’s what this is, is it not?”

“We are in front of a post office.”

Flam looked around for a moment, before stabbing a hoof in the air. “Business can happen anywhere! And it does! What I mean to say is, the pears are an...investment in us, so that we may make an investment in you.”

Forelle frowned. “I am...not sure I understand.”

Flim chimed in at her left. “What he means to say is, your pears are not selling well correct?”

Forelle didn’t say anything for a moment, then simply nodded.

“Well, we are salesponies.”

“Not just any salesponines,” Flam chimed in.

“The best salesponies,” Flim added.

“Why you could say, nonpareil!” They said at once.

“And,” Flam continued. “If your pears aren’t selling well, we’re the ponies you want to have on your side!”

Flim nodded. “Just takes a little trust.”

Flam nudged her side. “A little good faith.”

Flim nudged the other. “At most you’ve lost a few pears you can regrow. They’ll be bad in a few days anyway right?”

“And that’d be a shame.” Flam shook his head.

“Dead shame.” Flim agreed.

Forelle attempted to catch up for a moment. She looked back on the past few weeks. She’d seen many a basket of pears slowly waste away on her dresser. She tried not to eat them in case they could be sold later. She always hoped that someone would come by and buy them before they turned brown and mushy...but thinking back it was nearly every week that the only thing she had to eat were the mushy pears that nopony wanted.

Forelle sighed, looking at her hooves.

Flim tisked and wrapped a hoof around her. “Now, now, none of that frowning. Just give us the pears and we can turn that frown upside down.”

Flam’s hoof wrapped around the opposite side. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Forelle looked up at the pair of them. Today had been a strange day, it had been quite a while since anypony had really given her the time of day. Yet today she’d not only met the ponies she’s secretly loathed and had them turn out to be not only kind, but customers, now she was faced with two strange stallions who promised to help her.

She looked down at her little basket of pears. She knew it was silly, but she felt as though they didn’t want go. They wanted to be sold, to be enjoyed by ponies for all her hard work, not given to suspicious strangers.

Forell’s stomach growled. She suddenly felt the weight of the letter in her saddlebag, of her family back home. She thought of her sister and brother, were their stomachs growling like that? If she did this...could she send them more bits? Perhaps afford a bit of food for herself? Pay her rent? What if things didn’t improve, could she really forgive herself if she didn’t at least try?

Forelle cast an apologetic glance at her basket, before grasping it gently between her teeth, and handing it to the pair of brothers.

The two of them were in front of her holding the basket before she could blink.

“You’ve made the right choice there miss!”

“Oh most certainly, you won’t regret it!”

They bowed, holding their hats out to the left.

“I...I hope I will not...if the two of you turn out to be...what is the word...con artists...then I...I will.” She started looking for something to threaten them with.

Flam tilted his head raising an eyebrow. “Now, now, we are indeed con artists.”

Flim nodded looking up proudly. “Best in Equestria!”

Forel blinked. “Uh...I am...lost again.”

Flam patted her shoulder. “Quite understandable, not your first language and all that. But do you know what con artist is short for?”

Forelle frowned. “Short...for?”

Flim swung a hoof up into the sky. “Why yes! Every word has a root young lady, and con artist is the same. Here in Equestria, and across the world.”

Flam’s hoof joined his brothers. “Confidence artists. And that’s what we are, because you my lovely mare, need a bit of confidence!”

Flim smiled widely. “And we are artists in confidence. So if you hear anyone call us such it’s a compliment!”

“Oh the very highest!” Flam nodded.

Forelle looked at her basket of pears, suddenly very worried.

The brothers caught the look and she found herself being pushed into the post office.

“Now, now, don’t you worry, just meet us in the market first thing tomorrow and we’ll start turning your luck around! Bring some more pears and we’ll get you started being the hot new thing in Ponyville!” Flam said at her left.

“Yep! Not a thing to worry about, now go about your business, don’t give it another thought.” Flim said at her right.

With a final push she was through the doors, she looked back as they closed to see the pair of them smiling at her.

“Bye!” They said simply, and before she could say another word, they were gone.

Forelle was left alone in the office, staring at the space where they used to be. She took a deep breath, suddenly feeling as though she’d either done something terribly wrong, or terribly right. She had the feeling those two often made that impression, but she hoped her choice was the latter. She reached into her saddlebag grabbing her letter between her teeth. She felt the meager bits she’d enclosed inside jingling as she placed it in the mail slot. She closed her eyes and released it.

As it fell into the dark she made a little wish. It was an old habit, from her days as a filly watching ponies throw coins into the fountains of Rome. As the bits rattled at the bottom of the shoot, she wished things would get better. Today had been strange...but a good kind of strange. She’d made some money, and had a bit of hope for the deal she’d made...even if she worried Discord might be in the details. She wished that tomorrow could be better than today, that her family would be well and that she’d see them soon and with a small whisper in her home tongue she opened her eyes.

For the moment, she was still in the post office, still terribly poor, and now quite pearless. But tomorrow was a new day, with it she hoped for new things. She turned and headed back to the boarding house, working her way through the crowds of ponies.

None of them noticed her stomach growling.

Comments very much appreciated
-Squeak

Giving of Gifts

Forelle felt uneasy as she headed back to the boarding house. The longer she thought about her pears in the hands of those brother the more unsure she became. Still, what was done was done, there was no going back on it now.

She sighed as she worked her way through the streets, wishing she were a touch taller. If she were, she might get jostled less, maybe even noticed every now and again. As it was, she had to duck and weave her way through the end of the day traffic.

It took her quite a bit longer to get back to the house than it had to get to the market that morning, but eventually she made it.

Forelle looked up at the rather dilapidated building, then at the steadily sinking sun. The week would be up in a few days, then the rent would be due. She felt the bits she had made this morning jingling under her hat. They wouldn’t be enough to cover it she knew, but perhaps they were a sign of good things to come?

As she thought that one of the shutters fell from one of the top floor windows. It fell to the ground with less of a crash and more of a splat a few feet away.

She sighed again. That was seeming steadily more unlikely. Still, she had the rest of the week and maybe the brothers would come through. Things were not totally hopeless.

She walked through the front door as she did at the end of every day. She made nods of acknowledgement to a few of the other tenants, putting on her normal, amicable smile. She really didn’t feel like smiling, but no one could say she wasn’t polite.

There was a small sense of comradery among the residence of the boarding house. Ms.Button took in anyone who wanted to stay and could manage to sometimes-maybe pay her. Because anybody could stay, only certain people did. These were the kind of people no one really wanted around, so they were bound in that. From Dragon to Diamond Dog, this was the best they could do. So there was the general sense that they might as well not make it worse for themselves by being cruel.

She nodded to a diamond dog peeking out from the basement as she passed by before ducking the swinging tail of a large griffon making his way down the hall. He apologized to her briefly and made his way to the roof. Forelle followed behind until she reached the dragon sleeping under the stairs. She still felt odd about using him to get to the first floor. Instead she opted to use the couch once more.

At this point in its life the piece of furniture was more springs than cushion, it was a simple matter of getting a running start.

With a bounce Forell sailed through the air, leaping over the banister and landing in the second floor hallway with practiced ease.

She couldn’t help but smile whenever she did that. It made her feel like the acrobats at the Roamin circus back home. She could remember the first time she’d seen them, it was a good memory.

She allowed it to distract her as she walked to her room, nodding to the mule 2b, the ‘Learned Chimera’ in 2a and finally the strange pegasus across the hall. He always wore strange armor and claimed to be from an ‘Alternate Timeline’. Forelle had no idea what an ‘Enclave’ was, but she was fairly certain she didn’t want to know.

She reached her door and walked back into her small room. The table still lay broken in the corner. She’d have to fix it at some point or pay for a new one. Ms.Button probably wouldn’t make her but if she took any more of the sweet old mare’s kindness she was fairly certain she’d explode. Her Roamin pride simply wouldn’t allow for it.

Forell gave a heavy sigh sitting her saddlebag on the bed and slumping onto the uncomfortable mattress. There were still a few hours of mild daylight left though the market had closed. She wondered what she ought to do with herself. She never held well with sitting still for long periods of time. She had her hobbies, a pair of hoof warmers lay nearly complete in the corner. She’d picked up knitting after her scarf had been eaten a few weeks back. Her mother had showed her the ropes as a child, but only recently had she put them to any real use. There was a sheep who lived on the first floor. When anyone asked his name he only responded in a series of clicking noises. He was an odd tenant who claimed to be a changeling who got stuck that way, but whether Forelle believed him or not he didn’t mind letting her rid him of his overly thick and cumbersome wool. It was odd as she found out while working with this wool that she didn’t have to worry about dying it....it simply seemed to change to whatever colored she happened to be thinking of at the moment.

She eyed the pair of needles sitting against the wall and briefly contemplated knitting a house. If she could do that she wouldn’t have to worry about rent. She’d gotten fairly good, and could knit pretty quickly, if she layered the walls right...

Forelle buried her head in her pillow. The ‘Confidence Artists’ really were her only hope, and she was pretty sure they knew it just as well as she did. She could only hope that they would pull through in the morning.

Peeking out from her pillow she could see out the window into the distance. The orchards of the Apple Family. Her stomach gave a low growl as her eyes took in those full red apples. Forelle groaned out loud. Her meager lunch of a single apple had done little to ease the hunger of several days worth of hardly eating anything at all. She felt her insides clench painfully, begging her for food she didn’t have.

She groaned again, quite a bit more pitifully. Her thoughts shifted from knitting a house to knitting a plate of breadsticks. With some salt maybe...

She watched as an apple, ripe and ready, fell out of view. Further up the hill she could see an orange shape with a basket, collecting produce as as smaller red shape bounced around happily. A smile managed to creep up on her, the little one she had met that morning reminded her of her own siblings, Bosc and Anjou, the way they used to prance around her father at the end of the day when he came home. They were just starting to learn the trade. She wondered if they were helping in her family’s orchards now?

Looking back on the events at the marketplace Forrelle remembered the orange pony’s invitation; “Come by when you get a minute.”

She had a minute now.

She had several minutes.

Forelle frowned. She could not simply walk up empty hoofed, stomach growling. Once again her inner pride balked at the mere idea. If she was going to visit she’d have to bring something at the very least. She rolled over in bed staring at the ceiling. Did she even want to visit? She’s spent quite a while hating the ponies who owned that orchard, they were part of the reason she was in the state in which she found herself. Still...she couldn’t blame them could she? They were just trying to make money, same as she was and from their earlier meeting she knew they harbored no personal ill will towards her. They’d even been kind...

Still, some childish little voice inside Forelle’s head brooded. They had everything they wanted. A nice place to live, a steady income, the respect of nearly everypony in town...family to come home to.

She banished her jealousy with a shake of her head, trying to dislodge to negative emotions that came with it. She wasn’t a little filly. She knew better than to think that way.

Still, knowing better doesn’t always equal feeling better. Paradoxically knowing better made her feel a great deal worse.

Her face set in a more determined expression. She would visit, if only in penance for thinking various nasty things about the family during her time here. She was from Roam, she owed them better than that. They’d been kind to her and she needed to return that kindness.

Forelle got to her hooves, as looked around her room, and despite it’s lack of space, it suddenly felt too big. Too sparse.Too lonely.

She tapped her hooves together. A bit more than she wanted to admit, the thought of spending another evening in this room was more than she could take.

That decided, there was no way Forell was showing up with nothing...but what did she have to give?

As she looked over her meager possessions, her eyes glanced over her knitting needles and a rather large pile of wool.

She smiled.

A while later Forell walked out into the hallway her saddlebags a bit more full than before. The sun was getting lower by the moment. She’d have to be quick about this visit. She didn’t not fancy the idea of walking home alone in the dark.

As she started towards the stairs, the door across the hall opened with a creak. The pegasus who roomed there peeked out, in the dim light she could see his blue coat and dark mane. He looked up and down the hall warily.

Forelle paused. “Um...hello?” she offered.

He looked momentarily surprised to see her. “Hi.”

She stood there for a minute unsure what to do next. It felt rude to just continue on her way, yet the strange pegasus had never been particularly chatty. She was fairly sure his name was Blue Sky, but that was mostly through word of mouth. Still, as her mother taught her, it was never a bad idea to be friendly. It was the Roaman way.

“...How are you? It is a nice evening, yes?” she attempted a smile.

He blinked, sizing her up. “Yes. Yes I suppose it is. That’s terribly unusual.” he muttered something to himself looking at the ground. Forelle could only make out the words ‘Box’, ‘Stable’ and ‘Grenades’ “

Forelle shifted uneasily. “Um...yes. I supposes it has been raining recently.”

He looked back up at her, he seemed to have forgotten she was there. “Yes...raining...and things...are growing...nothing like where I’m from.”

Forelle tilted her head. “And um...where is it that that was?”

His eyes hardened before he swung his forelegs in a sweeping gesture. “Far away...so far away.” He glared at her. “Someplace that would eat a nice mare like you alive.” His eye twitched.

Forelle backed away slowly. “Um...well, that is very nice. Here is to hoping you will someday return....um...I will see you at a later date.” she turned and attempted not to run down the hall to the stairs.

“Beware the wasteland!” his yell followed.

Forelle jumped down to the couch a bit faster than what might have been polite, and quickly made her way out the door.

Now that the majority of the day had passed, the streets were mostly empty. There were a few ponies milling around, but Forelle could walk more comfortably. She took a breath, it was a nice change of pace. The air was a little warmer than it had been that morning, and though she still didn’t have anything warm to wear, she found the weather rather enjoyable.

She allowed herself to walk at a gentle pace, it wasn’t often she enjoyed going anywhere. The last few weeks had simply been the hopeful trek to the market and the solum return to the boarding house. She’d rarely felt the inclination to go somewhere simply for the sake of it. She had to conserve money and, despite her time here, hardly knew anyone outside the boarding house.

She had a vague idea where the farm was, but then it was really hard to miss. It was a very large patch of land towards the edge of the town proper. If she kept walking in its general direction she’d reach it eventually.

Forelle hummed a little tune, interspersing bits of a lullaby half remembered from her childhood. She knew the melody even if some of the words escaped her. It had been a song about a mare who’d gotten lost in a forest, trying to find her way out. The ending escaped her, but whether it was happy or sad didn’t really matter. It was familiar and therefore it was comforting.

She passed by the market square, she almost never saw it empty, it was slightly odd. Every morning it was so full of hustle and bustle, ponies who could hardly spare a moment between their mad dashes for groceries and the madder dashes to sell them. Now it lay quiet. She could see a family having dinner near the fountain, which she’d never really bothered to look at for all the time she’d spent near it. All the shops and stores were closing up, their owners and workers heading from home with warm smiles and warmer bundles of leftovers in their saddlebags.

Though she felt the usual pang of jealousy for their comfort, she found she was still smiling. If she closed her eyes she could see a similar picture of the markets of Roam. The bakers closing for the day; Mr.Panini attempting to give her mother a loaf or two of day old bread with his usual easy smile, and her mother’s gentle decline. The sweet shop run by Ms.Gelato who would give Bosc and Anju little treats so long as they promised not to tell. She felt that same gentle heat in her heart watching the ponies of ponyville end their day. There was a connection there. This may have been their home, but she could feel a tie to hers for a moment.

Ponies were the same wherever you went.

The thought still drew a sigh from her, though her smile remained it took on a wistful, sad nature. Her pang of jealousy turned to an ache of homesickness. Ponies may have been the same...but all the same...she missed the ones that were hers.

Eventually, lost in her thoughts, she made it onto the Apple property. She had to squint as the sun set in front of her, burning like a red coal in a warm fire. She was thankful for her hat and the bit of shade it offered.

She stepped forwards onto the moist, rich soil. It gave beneath her hooves, still maintaining the moisture of the rain earlier in the week. The land smelled sweetly of earth and apples. She inhaled deeply, though it made her stomach give another groan of complaint.

She shushed it and continued forwards.

The house wasn’t far from the road, it was almost as big as the boarding house she lived in, and far better kept. She could tell it was old, the marks of age and were everywhere, though she could tell it may have been rebuilt several times. There was new mixed in with the old, a puzzle of ancient doors and freshly painted walls. It all came together into a welcoming facade, a warm glow of light spilling from the windows into the shrinking light.

Forelle caught herself. Though it was a great deal larger and different in many ways she felt that pang again. A pang of similarity. She could tell this was not just a house, like hers back in Roam, this was a home.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, took a breath, and knocked.

Before she could get to the third knock the door flew open and she found herself looking at something she’d rarely ever seen. A mare shorter than she was.

A wizened green earth mare looked out at her, or at least Forelle thought she was, it was hard to see her eyes past the wrinkles.

“Um...hello?” she attempted. “I am here to vi-”

The old mare smiled, Forelle was shocked at how young she managed to look when she did that.

“A visitor! Well my, how nice! Well why don’t you just come right on in and make yourself at home!”

Before Forelle’s brain could even begin to process making a reply she found found a pair of hooves around her shoulders dragging her bodily into the house with a yelp.

“My, my it’s so nice of you to visit dear, eeh, tell me have we met somewhere? My memory t’aint what it used to be and I’m afraid I might’a forgot you.”

Forelle opened her mouth.

“No no! Don’t tell me!” she said ignoring that she’d just asked Forelle to tell her. “I’ll get it! Tell me, is your name Sassafras?”

Forelle was a quick learner and simply shook her head.

“Er..um...Posey?”

Another shake.

“Well butter my flank and call me breakfast, I’m starting to think we’ve never me at all!”

Forelle nodded.

The old mare smiled again, all the more brightly. “Well then girl! What are you waiting for! Introductions are in order!” Forelle found her hoof being shaken quite a bit faster than those old bones should have ever been able to manage. “I’m Granny Smith, what’s your name?”

Forelle waited a moment to see if she would be interrupted before answering, though she couldn’t help but smile at the old mare’s enthusiasm. “Um...I am Forell, it is nice to meet you Granny Smith.”

“Oh well now!” Granny Smith looked her over. “So polite! Is that an accent I’m hearin? Where you from girl, you speak fancy?”

“Well no, I spea-”

“Oh I know! You must be from Hoffany, how do you feel about cheese? Never met a hoofin who didn’t like cheese. Put some on the top of an apple pie and you got something you won’t soon forget! I tell you what, I went there...er...when was it?...during the second World Party I think. Never had it till you’ve had it in the trenches!...”

Forelle’s eyes were spinning by the time Granny Smith was finally interrupted by the back door opening. Applejack walked in with Applebloom peeking over her large hat from her position on the older mare’s back.

“Shoot, Granny now just who are you in here ramblin’ too-” She paused as she laid eyes on Forelle, a smile spreading across her easygoing features. “Well now, look who the cat dragged in!” she walked over and shook Forelle’s hoof. “Why I didn’t expect you to take me up on that invitation so soon. Not that I can’t say I’m not happy you did.”

Forelle smiled in turn, a bit sheepishly, she was far from used to all this attention.

“Um...yes, I thought I would to be stopping by seeing as I did not to be having anything to do this day.”

Applejack tilted her head

Forelle fiddled with her bag, she could feel her cheeks heating up. “Um..apologies, my accent is to be coming out stronger when I am of the nervousness.”

She heard a laugh from somewhere close to the floor, she turned to see the little red filly giggling into her hooves.

“It’s kinda funny!” she said.

Forelle felt her ears lower as Applejack shot her sister a look.

“Now Applebloom, you know better than that. How’d you like it when Diamond Tiara and her friends made fun’a the way you talk?”

Appelbloom stopped giggling and looked at her sister for a moment before turning to Forelle.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.” she said hanging her head.

Forelle couldn’t help but smile. “It is alright.” she leaned down and looked about the room conspiratorially. “It is of the being a little amount of the funnies.” she whispered.

She and Applebloom shared a laugh while Applejack rolled her eyes. Forelle suddenly remembered the gift in her bag. She cleared her throat, constructing her words more carefully.

“Um, I brought a gift for you and your family.” she said reaching into her saddlebag. “I apologize, I only had enough for two sets.”

From the bag she produced two sets of hoofwarmers, a small red pair which she handed to Applebloom, and a larger green one that she passed to Applejack, both had little red apples on the front with the two mares’ names in the back.

“I hope you will enjoy them.”

Applejack smiled. “Well shoot, this is lovely Forelle. Did you make these?”

Forelle nodded sheepishly.

“I love’em!” Applebloom yelled attempting to pull them over her forehooves. “How’d ya make them?”

“A sheep claiming to be a changeling let me sheer him. After that it was simple to knit them.”

The family blinked.

“Uh...” Applejack said waving a freshly clad hoof. “Well they’re downright spiffy in anycase.” She examined her foreleg approvingly. “Thank you kindly.”

Forelle found herself blushing. “Well...you are welcome, I am glad you like them.” she felt a warm feeling in her belly, it chased away some of the cold that usually nestled there. Unfortunately it brought with it another sensation from that area.

Forelle’s stomach didn't grumble, that would be an injustice. It roared.

Forelle’s face flushed as everyone in the room looked directly at her empty stomach.

It was quiet for a moment before Applejack smiled and put a hoof on Forelle’s shoulder. “Um...sugar cube, would you like to stay for dinner?”

Before Forelle could reply her stomach made a sound akin to a hydra falling off a cliff.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Applejack chuckled.

Forelle opened her mouth to say something only to find it filled by Applejack’s hoof.

“And none’a that fancy declinin’ of yours. You’re thin as a rail and pail as a ghost girl. You’re at Sweet Apple Acres and here we feed our guests. Besides, I just made an Apple Pie and there ain’t no better dessert to share with visitors.”

Without another word Applejack marched off into the kitchen with the determined air of a person who is going to be feeding someone whether they like it or not.

Forelle decided it was safer to just nod to the room in general until a thought occurred to her. She turned to Granny Smith and Applebloom.

“You can make pie out of apples?”

Author's Note

Comments dearly appreciated.

I'm in the market for a new editor if anyone's interested, shoot me a message and help me out sometime!

-Squeak

And Trivia, alternate titles for this chapter included:

Wool Waistlines and Wastelands

Knowingly Knitting

and

Interesting Evenings