Stalliongrad Nights

by TCSNxs

Rating: teen
Tags: Big Macintosh, Fleur de Lis, Slice of Life, Dark, Sad, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Romance
Length: 23710

Big Mac find his own magic in the Citadel of the Earth Ponies

Big Macintosh journeys to the 140th Annual Equestria Agriculture Convention held this year in Stalliongrad, a city nicknamed "Citadel of the Earth Ponies." During the course of the convention, he will learn more about himself then he ever thought possible.

Update 11/19/2012: Story on hiatus while I work on other projects and consider revamping this story. My apologies.

Published 2012-09-25 18:24:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-23 21:32:43 UTC

2. A Pony Of Worth

Stalliongrad Nights
by: TCSNxs

Chapter 2
A Pony Of Worth

It should be noted that while the citizens of Stalliongrad
value hard work a great deal, they also value wit, kindness
and compassion. Indeed, a pony could go a long way
within the confines of the city if they measure themselves
against those ideals.

~ Excerpt from "A Traveler's Guide to Stalliongrad"

The sun was bright that late summer day. Though autumn was approaching, it felt farther away than it really was. Under Celestia’s gentle sun, two foals played in a sandbox in the middle of the park. One was a dark charcoal pegasus. Her mane was onyx with streaks of white. The other was decked in cream colored fur with a two-toned mane of pink and white. Her eyes sparkled as the sand began to form into her creative rendition of Canterlot Castle.

She wasn’t adept at the magic of her heritage yet, but she had a sharp mind. Her brother was off playing on the swings, chatting with a few young colts. She admired her brother’s ability to strike up a conversation with anypony.

As the sand piled up, she looked to the charcoal filly who was busy stroking the mane of a doll. It was Smarty Pants! As the cream filly looked on, she silently decided to see if her brother’s social skills ran in the family.

“Whatcha doin’,” the words were layered in innocence, but mischievousness was there.

“Playin’ with Smarty Pants,” was the young pegasus’s reply. She tossed the doll as high as her hoofs would let her and caught it a second later.

“Can I play with her for a minute?”

“I have to go soon.” The pegasus gave the foal unicorn a sad glance. It was so pretty that day. It was one of thousands that the pegasus would experience, but youth always lived by the concept of Carpe Diem.

The little cream filly watched doll go up again. Whether by instinct or clever plan, she bolted as the doll came down. She snatched up Smarty Pants in her mouth and attempted her very first felony, Grand Doll Larceny. Sure, Smarty Pants would be produced for years, but one would never knew, hence the flight.

She didn’t get very far.

“FLEUR DE LIS!”

“Oh horseapples,” the young filly cursed as she was encompassed in pale gray aura. She lost hold of the doll as both floated off the ground.

The charcoal foal had tears building in her eyes. It all happened too fast, but she understood a few things. The first was her papa gave her that doll as a Hearth’s Warming gift. The second was that Smarty Pants was no longer in her hoofs.

As perpetrator and victim floated back towards the sandbox, the pony making the Citizen’s Arrest came into view. A tall, slender mare with a blond mane, bright eyes and a light grey coat cantered to the sandbox, a cross look on her face as she glared at her daughter. She maneuvered Smarty Pants back to the waiting young foal’s grasp. The young foal gave her hero a wide smile while her heart raced. Her small wings fluttered as she hugged and rocked the doll.

The good samaritan gave the now-happy filly a kind smile in return.

The young criminal was unwillingly hauled away in that magical grasp as her mother coaxed her daughter along. They didn’t spend so much time together for various reasons that adults called “Responsibility,” so each day was precious. Such events, though, tended to skew those days towards a negative light.

Fleur was resigned to her fate. She learned a long ago that she couldn’t break the bonds of those particular hoofcuffs, so she crossed her hooves in a final act of defiance as she awaited sentencing.

Under the shade of a random tree in the park, Fleur’s mother put her down and released her hold, her mother’s long horn growing still. Fleur looked up to her mother. She tried to act in even greater defiance, but against the penetrating stare that all mother’s get when they gain that title, the defiance was left to blow away into nothingness.

“You know better, Fleur,” came her mother’s soft voice. There was ever an edge of kindness, but mixed in was the contemplation of how many weeks the sentence would be, “Why did you take that foal’s doll?”

Fleur was left in a quandary. She could feign ignorance as to her motivations, but her mother had a particular knack for patience. Once she spilled some orange juice on a rug and was forced to pull an all-nighter until she fessed up.

She thought about blaming the other filly for some random reason. Perhaps she could make up the story as she went along? No. Odds are her mother saw the whole thing. She went with the last and only option. Loosing tears that all children do whenever the world seems to close in menacingly around them, she answered “Because I wanted it.”

“But you have one at home. Why that filly’s Smart Pants?” Mothers are also practiced psychiatrists.

Fleur watched as she dug a hoof into the ground. Why was it? Was she jealous because she didn’t have her’s at that very moment? Did she want to play with it so bad that she would hurt another pony to do it? There really wasn’t time to ponder. Her mother was waiting.

“I don’t know,” came the response as she continued to stare at the ground. She didn’t know why. The world was so confusing sometimes!

Her mother judged it an honest response and put a hoof to her daughter’s chin, ”Look at me.” She raised her daughter’s face so their eyes were level. Fleur saw a world of understanding there. Kindness. Compassion. Love. Also her pending doom.

“We don’t take what isn’t ours. You can hurt another pony’s feelings that way.”

Fleur glanced to the sandbox. The young charcoal pegasus was gone. Somehow that felt metaphorical, though she didn’t understand what that word meant. Maybe it was in one of those magazines with the pretty ponies that her brother kept under the mattress? The ones she wasn’t supposed to know about? Her mother continued on.

“Now why don’t we take what doesn’t belong to us?”

This was the same practiced slogan, though she understood little of what it meant at that age. “Because you want me to become a pony of worth.”

Her mother’s eyes sparkled a bit. This pleased Fleur to no end. Maybe she could get out of this with her fur intact.

“Good, my daughter.” She embraced the young cream colored filly in a hug. Fleur always marveled how her mother’s mane smelt like dandelions. It reminded her of a lot of things. Fleur almost smiled. Mom’s forgiveness seemed to make the world’s randomness meaningful.

The mother broke the tender hug and returned to looking into Fleur’s eyes.

"You’re grounded.”

“Oh...”

~(0)~

“Horseapples.”

The mare rounded a corner with all the agility of a airborn Wonderbolt. She was running late for a meeting with her brother, Fancy Pants. There was always much to discuss and their time was always limited.

Her body was a touch taller than the average pony, with an all-around lithe build around and sharp, angular features. A split second glance could cause anypony to confuse her for Royalty. It didn’t help that three of her namesake were her Cutie Mark. It was rumored her family tree had royal blood within it, but somehow the wings skipped a generation or six.

Fleur de Lis couldn’t give it much thought though. She was going. to. be. late.

The early summer day was spectacular as always within the confines of Canterlot. Princess Falls always provided a dramatic clash with the mountain. The capital wasn’t just built with purest grandeur mind. Being build high on the side of the mountain made it a very defensible location, while being the near the center of Equestria gave it a strategic importance.

As much of a fortress as it was meant to be, the consideration was secondary compared to the ocular spectacle it really was. The high towers of Canterlot Castle housed the Regents of the Sun and the Moon. Positioned opposite the mountain, the massive complex served to create a giant valley of living art.

The streets and shops were made with equal attention given to beauty and functionality. Tall shops and brightly colored manses decorated the thoroughfares of the Canterlot. Dashing down one of these streets tore the form of Fleur.

As she was approaching the headquarters of her family’s business, Pantshire Enterprises; she glanced up to see the falling form of a pale yellow earth pony. His two-toned light and dark brown mane wriggled violently as he tested the acceleration of gravity. “Hhheeeelllppp!!” was the cry born of primitive nerves.

With reaction born of desperation, Fluer de Lis’s horn lit up in a rose pink aura as she willed her magic to grab that the body before it became big hit on Broadway. As she eased the green ball capped pony to the street, he looked over his body to be sure it was still in one piece. “Well, sha-oot!”

She knew certain spells as all unicorn’s did. Fleur knew a few outside of those relating to her Special Talent. Teleportation was never her strong suit. It took her a lot of time to execute and given her radius was never very far anyway (usually the next room over), she often took it upon herself to simply walk. Telekinesis, she found, was much easier to the perform. See it. Touch it. Work with it. Simple enough really.

Fleur found a front hoof being shaken violently as she looked to the earth pony. His front teeth protruded just past his nostrils. “Thank ya miss! If y’all hadn’t caught me...”

“It’s no trouble, Mr...,” she left room for an introduction. Her voice carried the lyrical quality of an operatic Alto.

“Hayseed! Hayseed Turnip Truck!”

“Mr. Truck. A pleasure to meet you but I must get going..,” Fleur spoke with a smile as she resumed her trot towards the tall building where her brother was waiting. They didn’t see each other much and she didn’t want to lose a minute.

She also wondered for a split second the amount of love Mr. and Mrs. Truck had for their progeny to give one of them the name of Hayseed Turnip, but it left her just as quickly.

“Well, she seemed awfully nice,” the pale yellow remarked as he adjusted his ballcap. He grabbed a waiting rope and hauled himself back up the building.

~(0)~

“Ah, sister! So good to see you,” the monocled pony spoke with a slight accent. The cream colored fur provided a nice, stylish contrast to his black tuxedo coat, white dress shirt. and pale purple bowtie. His short, kept mustache was a light blue. His mane and tail sported the same color. “I trust your journey was...uneventful?”

“Not quite, dear brother.’” She ended with a soft chuckle as she moved to embrace her older brother. Unlike her brother, she usually didn’t need clothes look fashionable. Her two-toned pink and ivory mane, cream colored body and violet eyes were striking enough on their own. Her figure was one born of a dancer, a gift of her mother’s genes.

The dark wooden room had all the look of a classic business motif. Dark wooden paneling and decorative lighting gave it a formal atmosphere, as did the members of the Board that were present. Fleur didn’t really have a taste for them, but she couldn’t avoid this meeting either. Such were the games she had to play.

Pantshire Enterprises was started generations ago by the head of the Pants family, Formal Pants. Unlike a lot of self-styled “Canterlot Elite”, he never aspired to live up to that title. More or less a venture capitalist firm, it lived with a simple, unspoken motto: Don’t Be Evil.

Ultimately, the business succeeded by staying within the law and keeping it’s dealings honest. Contracts were contracts. It wasn’t unheard of, though, for those contracts to be renegotiated in certain circumstances. Acts of nature or a giant bear rampaging through a downtown district can’t really be taken into account when discussing interest rates on a loan.

That honor the business exhibited always seemed to drive those prime opportunities to seek out Pantshire backing. A few ventures failed, but savvy in multiple areas made these the exception rather than the rule. The company thrived where others suffered ill repute or failed outright by exercising common sense and a eye for opportunity.

Agriculture was one such concern. Unlike other countries, Equestria invested heavily in keeping the weather predictable and the seasons eternal. When the co-rulers of the land control the sun and the moon, it tends to have that effect. But whether it was farms or fashionable boutiques, it was always kept above board.

As such, Pantshire kept itself honorable and a cut above others for those reasons. The current generation that ran the company, Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis, were no exception. However, maintaining such a place in society required keeping a certain air and social station.

The members of the Board were the usual ponies found in the upper class of Canterlot, commonly called the “Canterlot Elite.” Snobby and persistently gullible to the world outside the capital, social intrigue and station were all that really mattered to them. That said, their influence had paid dividends in multiple areas. The laws governing companies traded on the Dew Jones 5000 also required their presence. Such were the compromises that had to be made.

One such member, Jet Set, was a living embodiment of all the wrongs such a station had. He kept his nose up so much that Fancy and Fleur wondered if he could actually see through his nostrils. The Co-C.E.O.s broke their embrace and moved towards the long meeting table. They wanted this done quickly.

“Now, Mares and Gentlecolts,” Fancy led off the meeting. The agenda wouldn’t be overly tedious. A few contracts (include a collective bargaining agreement with the local Trotsters in Fillydelphia) needed to be ratified and various other minutiae had to be addressed. Fleur thought that term fitting. Most of these matters were trivial.

While Fancy managed the house of cats that was the Board of Directors, Fleur found her mind elsewhere. While Fancy kept up the front enough, Fleur had little tongue for it. She glanced up at a painting of her parents that hung like a ghost over the boardroom.

Since Pantshire when public so many years ago, it was a not-so-subtle reminder of WHO’S company it was. While the various stockholders may have their say, a majority of shares still belonged to the Pants family. As such, they were calling the shots. Board members came and went, but the House of Pants was eternal. The absurdity of the line wasn’t lost on Fleur, but it was the way her mother and father said it, so who was she to change it?

She looked to the mother and marveled at how well the artist captured those eyes. Fleur, being on business end of many a stare from those orbs, understood them well. They could penetrate your soul with no effort. There was no sparkle in that painting, just as when she “borrowed” the Smarty Pants doll. She quietly sighed.

Her train of thought was shattered by a nasally whine. “Why do we have to bargain with these brutes,” Jet Set spoke out of turn. Fleur pondered how the world looked through a nasal cavity as he continued, “It’s not like they add any value to...”

Fancy gave Jet a glare that could freeze boiling water and his trademark monocle only added to the effect. “Because, Mr. Set, they asked for that representation. Would you deny them that right?” After Jet gave a nervous cough and resumed staring at his faux leather binder, Fancy continued on with the details of the hashed-out agreement. As the thought of throttling the arrogant sweatered colt gleefully and independently played itself out in each of the siblings minds, the Board gave approval of the bargaining agreement without a single dissent.

The games of the Canterlot Elite happened even here. It felt like a combination of poker, chess, a Neighspeare play, and improv. Ponies constantly jockeyed for favor and status. Only thing was there was real consequences for failing to find favor with those ponies who frequented the courts and parties of the Royal Sisters.

A consistent loss of status meant a lot, and ruin of all types wasn’t uncommon should a pony fail to play their hoof correctly. Fancy and Jet vied for dominance, but Fancy bested him more often than not. Fleur often thought Fancy enjoyed rubbing the would-be winner’s nose in it.

As the meeting wrapped up, Fleur and Fancy discussed a few matters that didn’t require the attention of the Board. “Now sister, there’s the matter of the Equestria Agriculture Convention this winter.”

“Mmm,” Fleur acknowledge while sipping some jasmine tea, “Where’s it being held this year?” Pantshire invested heavily in transportation and agriculture concerns, turning around or backing many a farm. Needless to say the Pants family were often participants at the convention.

“Stalliongrad.”

“Stalliongrad? An...interesting choice.” Fleur set the cup down and released her magical hold on it.

“Quite,” Fancy paused while levitating his own cup to his lips, “Mmm... This is quite good, isn’t it?”

“True enough,” Fleur attempted to get her brother back on track, “Shall you be participating this year?”

Fancy thought it over as the steam collected in his monocle. “I don’t believe I can make it this year. There’s the matters in Manehattan, meetings with the Princesses, and...”

Fleur cut off her brother with a chuckle and wave of her hoof. Fancy was often the face of the family, but Fleur often dealt with more the day-to-day matters. If Fancy was the prince on the throne, she was the Major Domo behind it. “Fair enough brother, I shall attend in your stead.”

“Thank you, dear. Shall we do lunch?”

~(0)~

The pair took a stroll down one of Canterlot’s many streets. They hit up a small sidewalk cafe that was a favorite of Fleur’s. A salad and grilled portabella steak sandwich, a bottle of spring wine, and idle banter. Life’s little moments were all the pair could have, but it was worth it.

Their banter usually became light and, away from the prying eyes of the Elite, they often acted in ways unbecoming of their status. They couldn’t help it though. Familial love often had that effect.

Celestia forbid if other ponies saw their sense of humor.

The wine loosened up matters a bit, but it wasn’t the sole reason. Often Fleur and Fancy acted outside their station when nopony was looking. Simply put, they were ones to keep a level head and an eye for opportunity.

The demands of the business often kept the two traveling and far apart a lot of the time. Though they always stayed close at heart, there was never enough time to spend together. Fleur often admired her brother’s decorum, strong will, and good nature. He was ever a fulcrum in the constantly shifting panorama that was the games of the Canterlot Elite.

Fleur gave a laugh as the walked after lunch, “Did you need to be so harsh with Jet Set?”

“Honestly dear, yes. That stallion is about as worthless as nipples on a ...”

The conversation came a crashing conclusion as Fancy collided with a marshmallow colored unicorn with three diamonds on her flank. The purple-maned mare was carrying an obscene number of bags with her magic and a small kennel strapped to her side. In the ensuing explosion of fabric and feathers, a bag landed on Fancy as Fleur looked on with a quiet, if shocked bemusement. Somewhere in the fracas, a white cat with a sour disposition popped out of the kennel.

Fleur grabbed the bag and lifted it off her brother’s head. Never one to miss an opportunity, Fancy struck a slightly dramatic, sexy pose that showed off his un-monocled eye and put his mustache in the best light. Without missing a beat, Fleur took it upon herself to set off little sparkles around her brother with a bit of her own magic.

The smaller unicorn gasped “Fancy...Pants...” She possessed a look like her walls were closing in. Fleur recognized it and it touched her. She glanced to her brother who was ever one to joke around when the situation warranted it. This was one of them.

Fancy got to his hooves, “I say, that’s one way to make an introduction.” Fleur gave the mare a soft smile as she put a hoof onto her brother’s shoulder, trying to assure the mare there was no harm, so no foul.

The purple-maned mare rapid fired an apology anyway. “Oh goodness! I’m am SO sorry. I..I didn’t see you there! I just got so many bags and I was just trying to get to my suite at the castle and...”

“You’re...staying at the castle,” Fancy broke in as he levitated the fallen monocle back to his left eye. Something about this pony was familiar, like they should know her, if not of her. He shifted from full to half mirth. One shouldn’t sap all the enjoyment from a situation.

“The princess invited me to stay in one of the suites,” the flustered marshmallow unicorn offhoofedly remarked.

“You know...the princess?” Fancy searched his mind. Where did he know her from? He glanced to Fleur who was using her magic to assist the young mare with fallen bag. She levitated over to the now-recovered unicorn, who seized it with her own magic.

“Hmm. A pony of expensive tastes I see,” Fleur struck something of a dancer’s pose. The situation was highly amusing to her. She glanced back to her brother and much passed between them. The inquisitive look and his words clued her into his line of thought, but she didn’t pay it much credence. The wine and humor of it meant she couldn’t take it seriously. Private time with her brother often did that.

“Oh! It’s for an ensemble I’m making for a friend,” the mare gave a bit of sheepish look and glanced away as if searching for something, “Her birthday’s in a few days.”

It became apparent there was still a layer of fluster the smaller unicorn was working through as she used her magic to deposit the cat head first into one of the bags.

Having packed her purchases and feline companion, she trotted along, “Again, I’m really sorry for having bumped into you.” She gave a slight smile over her shoulder as she proceeded along.

“I’m not,” Fancy broke in. Something about this mare... It was like an itch in the back of his mind that his memory couldn’t scratch. Was it something overheard at a party, or a meeting with Princess Celestia? Maybe a correspondence from Princess Luna? A news story? He was experienced enough to trust his instincts. Fleur let some of the mirth of the situation pass as she was along a similar train of thought now. Fancy spoke up, “Obviously, you are somepony worth bumping into.”

Fleur crossed her front hooves over her brother’s back. She preferred to be casual in these situations. No reason to put on airs with somepony from out of town. She let her brother work his own magic while she looked up at one of the passing clouds, head comfortably resting in her hoofs. Her elbows moved the small of her brother’s back. He was always good in these situations and this was a routine they had down to an art.

“Listen. I have a V.I.P. box reserved at the Wonderbolts Derby this afternoon,” Fancy was fishing, trying to keep her there for a moment. By the look she gave him, he hooked her. “Would you..would you be so kind as to join me and a few of my companions there, hmm?

“Me?”

“Of course, my dear!”

Fleur glanced over to the young mare. Her face lit up like a filly over a cupcake. “He’s so good,” she thought. She knew how her brother operated and trusted him enough to let him operate unimpeded. There was no harm in inviting a stranger to the Derby, after all. The Royal Guards would be present. Besides, if her face spoke the truth, this vaguely familiar mare would have the time of her life.

The marshmallow colored unicorn searched for her words, “Well...I...ah..sure.”

Fleur couldn’t join them, but she was hamming it up her own way with slight pose and her eyes closed. She didn’t really consider these situations deceptive. All things being equal, she preferred casual situations to those like the upcoming Canterlot Garden Party.

Fancy spoke up and played as he was ready to leave, “We’d love to see you there, uh...” he led the unicorn on.

“Ah. Rarity,” she spoke with a pleasurable smile. Her horn and bags were encompassed with a light blue aura, the same color as her eyes. Somewhere from one of the bags, the cat worked itself up with its forepaws, giving a dazed, cross eyed look as it peaked out of the bag.

“Rarity,” Fancy let the name roll off his tongue and went on his way, There was an almost content look on his face. Fleur was absent mindedly messing her mane. She heard her brother’s hooffalls and glanced over her shoulder. She turned back, gave a sheepish look and dashed to catch up to him.

She caught to Fancy Pants a few seconds later, “Rarity. She’s the Element of.. “ she was searching her own catalogs of memories, though was sure of her guess.

“Element of Generosity. Quite right, dear,” Fancy finished the sentence for her, “Definitely somepony worth running into.” Fleur thought of Jet Set at the moment and caught her brother’s meaning. She nuzzled him fondly as they went about their way.

What Fleur inherited from their mother, Fancy inherited from their father. A master of social graces and cues, he often played the social game like Garry Cantsperov in a high school chess club. Fleur was well versed with the game and she played it well. But Fancy was a master.

~(0)~

Fleur wanted to be with her brother at the Derby, but Pantshire couldn't run itself after all. Ultimately, through a multitude of letters, contracts, proposals and the like, she went through it with her usual grace. She wasn’t jealous of her brother. After all, somepony had to be the spokespony for the business.

The day-to-day trivialities were in her hooves. She had attended Canterlot University and graduated right before her parents passed on. It was hard work, but she made do while there. It didn’t keep her from her share of time spent in the Dean’s office for one reason or another. A feigned look a pain and a devastating smile often spared her from the worst consequences of the troubles she caused.

Fleur often used her marish wiles more often than not when dealing with other ponies. She wasn’t a harlot. Goodness no, but she understood the how to play ponies better the most. With a glance and the bat of an eyelash, a subtle sweet smelling perfume and cheesy smile, she could accomplish a lot.

That said, she preferred not to exercise such skills when possible. Sex always sold, but there was no reason to over saturate it.

While her brother worked the board meetings, business lunches, gave interviews and did the presentations, she was the one making sure it ran smoothly. She trusted the ponies under her to do their jobs. She had to. Still though, the tediousness and frustrations could give anypony a migraine.

“So, you see Miss di Lis, the proposal looks sound,” spoke one of the many “Vice Presidents" that answered to her. She shifted subtly in her chair, trying to look contemplative. She imagined how Celestia dealt with such drab meetings. Or her mother. The grey-colored pegasus stallion spoke, “I don’t see a problem here.”

“Fair enough. What’s the projected target?” Often Pantshire kept an eye on the bottom line.

“We’re anticipating 20% above the purchase. The price of the buyout seems reasonable versus the expected profits. There will be no issues.”

Fleur nodded. It was exactly what she needed to hear. She’d been through this many times before with so many different companies in trouble. Buy out, fix it, and sell it again. The turnaround was an easy enough process, though the company had a few hard rules and guidelines. Is it honorable? Is it just? She simplified it down to a simple credo. She had to be able to sleep at night.

Such was the legacy of her family. Pantshire had always held itself above others. It hired the best ponies for the job, made sure they understood those jobs, what they were supposed to do, and left them to it.

There were a few incidents that violated those ethos, but the legacy, the tradition was to make it right in the end. Her parents had fought to keep it that way and both she and her brother worked to do the same. Another portrait of her parents hung on the wall opposite her desk.

This one wasn’t intimidating like the one in the boardroom. It was gentler, a little more pure if such a thing were possible. This one was painted in lighter colors. It was joyful and more honest to the memories of them.

She missed them terribly.

“Go ahead then,” she had already decided to go through with it but she needed to look the part. The executive pegasus gave an acknowledging nod and left. He was good as his job and his family was taken care of. Pantshire always wanted honest ponies, but a fair wage helped ensure they stayed that way.

Fleur returned her gaze to that portrait. Backed by sunset reflecting off the waters of Princess Falls, the image was stunning to look at. She and her brother weren’t in the painting, but they didn’t need to be. Her parents were always a bastion against the world they knew. Such was the way of things. She pondered that if she ever had a foal of her own, would she be able to the same?

She sighed a little thinking of her mom and how much like her she became. She loved them both as much as her brother, but that time was cut short. Eventually, she moved from behind the desk as she adjusted her mane. She glanced to portrait, staring at the pigmented picture of her mom.

She was ever a kind hearted pony. While her father held Fancy’s role previously, she inherited her mothers. She was harsh when need be and unafraid to step on a few hoofs to get what she wanted, but she always did what she believed was right. A straight through business pony to the end.

Most of all though, her mom never forgot why they did what they did and how they did it. The fact there was financial benefit was nothing to be ashamed of. Perhaps there could be more if they bent the rules, perhaps stepped on a few unnamed ponies. But what price did you put on dignity and a good night’s sleep?

The life they lived required them to be, to a degree, something they really weren’t. But there was a benefit to it. For them and for others. Fleur inherited a lot of those traits and found a few of her own. In the end though, it was big horseshoes to fill.

“We don’t take what isn’t ours. You can hurt another pony’s feelings that way,” Those words ever echoed in the back of her mind, “Now why don’t we take what doesn’t belong to us?”

“Because you want me to become a pony of worth.”

“I miss you, mom.”

~(0)~

Fleur caught up with her brother again a few days later at the Canterlot Garden Party. It gave the siblings a chance to speak before the festivities began in earnest.

Fleur glance to her brother, half amused and wholly indulged, “She said what?”

“She said that the Element of Loyalty was the personal trainer to the Wonderbolts,” Fancy gave a bemused smile, “Can you believe it?”

Fleur instantly could believe it. From what she learned, the fashionista aspired to the echelon that was the world of Fancy and Fleur. As such, she was working hard to impress Fancy. But she was going about it the wrong way.

Fleur spoke in turn after a slight sigh, “How very...interesting. Tell me, do you plan on clarifying the situation to her?”

Fancy smirked at his sister with a slight sparkle in his eye, “Only as much as necessary, dear.”

Fleur smiled fondly to her brother. His heart was ever in the right place. In truth, she found herself liking the young mare the more she heard about her. Fancy went on about how she spoke out of turn at an art exhibition and how she bid on a worthless bauble at a charity auction for simply the reason of doing it. There was a innocent charm about the Element of Generosity. The siblings intended to keep it that way.

Fleur was surprised that Fancy had spent so much time with Rarity. She understood though. As an Element of Harmony, she would spend a lot of time in the confines of the court whether she knew it or not. Being a fashionista with a title and duty, she would spend of lot of time in the courts of the Royal Sisters and the Canterlot Elite.

Fancy, it seemed, wanted to show the young mare how the world was while reminding her of how it really was. Like so many of the Elite, that genuine nature could be spoiled within a few rounds of the game. It took a strong heart to keep from losing one’s self in it. Fancy and Fleur learned that early on. He intended to make sure she got that same lesson if it could be helped.

The Canterlot Garden Party was another affair where she admired her brother’s social graces. The music from the Grand Galloping Quartet were the usual classical selections of Beethooven and Foalzart. Luna’s moon shined above in the untouchable reaches of space.

Fancy Pants did his usual charm routine; a pure master at work. Fleur engaged in polite chit-chat off in the corner while levitating some punch and sipping once in a while. Alcoholic delights weren’t much of craving for her, but it did help loosen her up a touch.

She played the occasional wingpony to him in these situations, sometimes breaking off a pony or two from a group to allow her brother to do his magic. This was how tips on opportunities and contracts were made. A polite suggestion and a casual discourse often led to information afforded few others. That flow of information was often priceless. Fleur wondered more than once if the crowns of her brother’s Cutie Mark were representative of how much of a king he was among petty would-be nobles.

The party was a Canterlot tradition and was held every year outside the Royal Ballroom. The usual flow of events was dining, chit chat, music and the occasional drunken regret. All in all, the repetition bred boredom, but there was little either Fleur or her brother could do about it. The game was eternal as was the Canterlot Garden Party, and duties couldn’t be ignored.

That would be speaking too soon. What she couldn’t do about, another pony could.

Fleur was discussing something unimportant with Jet Set’s wife, Upper Crust. The snobbish mare wore a string of pink pearls and a sweater any lonely secretary wouldn’t be caught dead in while indulging a sordid romance novel on a Friday night. She was every bit the arrogant plothole her husband was, but such were the way of ponies.

While silently contemplating if a 1000 years of lunar isolation would be worth getting out of the conversation, the unmistakable sound of Rockafilly music unabashedly barged its way out of the ballroom.

That turned a few heads, including Fleur’s. She whispered “thank you” to whomever was audacious enough to interrupt the drool inducing pace of affairs. It was out of the corner of her purple eye that she spotted the Element of Generosity make her way to her brother’s side. She politely excused herself from Upper Crust’s presence and casually made her to within earshot of her brother.

She spied the marshmallow colored unicorn confidently stride up the garden walk. Fleur admitted to herself that Rarity cut a striking figure in her mostly yellow ensemble. Large flowers of various pink hues lined her hat and little flowers decorated her purple tail and mane. She announced, almost singing, “I’m here!”

Upper Crust was first to greet the newly popular unicorn, “Darling! I’m so glad you made it...”

Fancy was having none of it and intercepted the two. Rarity gave him a thankful look.

“Rarity, so happy to see you here!” He made it a point, politely of course, to keep Upper Crust out of the conversation.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she replied back, using some mannerisms befitting of the Canterlot Elite. She was an amatuer, Fleur thought, but she held promise. The slender unicorn spotted Upper Crust trying to maneuver her way back into the conversation. Fancy Pants glared daggers at her, as if, politely, telling her butt out.

Fancy caught an unmistakable scent on the wind and took in a nose full. “I say, what is that scent you’re wearing,” he asked. Inhaling again close to the living embodiment of Generosity, he remarked, “It smells like..is that..cake frosting?”

Rarity’s pupils shrank as she deadpanned, “Yes...I always dab a little frosting behind my ears before I go out.” After a quick, forced chuckle, she continued, “After all, who doesn’t like the smell of cake frosting!”

Upper was about to remark before Fancy cut her off again, “I know I do!” Not wanting to appear out of sorts, Upper Crust closed her eyes and nodded, “Mmm hmm.”

Fleur watched the entire exchange. In less than 10 seconds, Fancy asserted his social dominance and saved a pony he respected from social damnation. Fleur hardly needed reminders of how good her brother was, but she admitted to herself. She was impressed.

Rarity closed her eyes as if thanking Luna, before opening them up again, “Well. All this talk about cake has made me hungry,” Rarity was giving herself an out, “I think I’ll go and see what’s on the hors d'oeuvre table. If you’ll excuse me.” With that, she was gone.

Fleur cantered over to her brother and Upper Crust, who were engaged in idle banter. Fleur peeled off Upper Crust to allow her brother to continue about his evening. Ultimately, the intrigues of the upper sets of Equestria were a difficult game to play and could destroy a pony as easy as a vengeful Griffon. Rariy’s little grand entrance nearly ended in disaster. Fancy guided her on the path though.

That said, Fleur respected the attempt and promised to watch for her in the future. The physical side of things wouldn’t be an issue for the young mare. She was beautiful to look at and cut a striking figure. She also possessed an innate sense of fashion and had her marish wiles down to an art.

But she suspected her brother had taken a liking to the young Element of Generosity, and she would do her part. Ultimately, her brother’s happiness meant a great deal to her and if there were more than idle curiosity there...

Throughout the evening, Fleur made it a point to watch Element of Generosity apparently work herself into a frenzy. The purple-maned mare was back and forth all night between the Garden Party and the apparently Tartarus-inspired affair happening in the ballroom. A few inquiries were made as to “that racket” coming from next door. However, the guards were curt about it, stating it was a Royal Affair and would not be interrupted. Fleur suspected an innate apathy to the needs of pampered ponies went a long way to a successful career when guarding the castle.

Rarity continued the back and forth all night, even managing to steal a croquet mallet on one jaunt back to the ballroom. After with a while of this, Rarity was obviously wearing herself thin, but Fleur decided to leave her be. Whatever was going on, she was bringing a fair amount of entertainment to an otherwise dull affair.

Fleur and Fancy traded off on Upper Crust all night. Jet Set wasn’t much of an issue, being tied up with some stallions from the Canterlot Country Club. Upper Crust made it a point to keep up on Rarity’s activities over the past few days. Whatever she was thinking, it wouldn’t be good. The unspoken communication between the siblings kept the unmerciful mule of a mare in check throughout the evening.

Just as things were looking to wind down, the party came to a crashing end.

While she was on duty with Upper, she spotted a rather odd site. A conga line of ponies, lead by a cannon firing streamers and making honking noises, meandered its way through the Garden Party. The general look was one of stun, but Fleur simply reveled in it.

Rarity happened back outside, mouthing “Oh no...” as these Party Ponies (there was no other way to describe it) proceeded to make evening go from dull to memorable. The orange earth pony, who was wearing a Stetson hat and had a trio of apples as a Cutie Mark, was digging at the weeds, chiding everypony present “How come y’all ain’t gardening. This is a garden party, isn’t it?”

The pink pony, who seemed the living embodiment of the Rockafilly music that was blaring outside now, seemed to enjoying her party cannon to no end. Fleur wondered as the pink earth pony’s sugar levels, seeing as she literally ate a cake off the table. Fleur even swore at one point the chaotic pink pony called the cannon “Vera.”

A rainbow-maned pegasus was trying her hoof at croquet and failing rather miserably. At one point, the mallet went flying from her mouth and took the wig off some random pony during its flight..

A butter colored pegasus was making friends with the birds in one tree, who in turn displayed their unending excitement as a scared puppy does, much to the chagrin of the other ponies beneath the tree. The purple unicorn in a simple yellow dress looked like she was having a seizure to that wonderfully chaotic music, doing her best to dance in rhythm.

Fleur knew this pony. She was the Princess Celestia’s personal student and the Element of Magic. It made some sense now (if the whole situation could make any). Fleur suspected that being personal friends with the Princess and an Element of Harmony afforded a lot of leeway, and as such, the guards would do nothing to interfere. More than a few guards actually wore goofy grins though, as if expecting this whole thing.

Fleur spotted Upper Crust and Jet Set moving to socially shame the pony convulsing to the music. Apparently, they knew of her to and sought to make her future in Canterlot a little more uncomfortable. Fancy was quicker though. Fleur, for her part, moved to intercept the dastardly duo.

“Can you see what that pony is wearing,” remarked Jet Set to a heavily drinking Rarity. Fleur heard it and glanced to her brother, He nodded ever so slightly, apparently hearing it as well.

“Excuse me,” Fancy feigned some ignorance as Twilight paused mid-groove. At that point, the student of Celestia caught her tongue outside the safe confines of her mouth. Fleur thought it rather adorable. Fancy continued as he studied the Element of Magic, “might I ask where you got your ensemble?”

Twilight perked up, “Why yes! Yes, you may! A very, very close friend of mine from Ponyville made it for me.” Rarity somehow blanched enough to make her fur even whiter. She spat her drink out, dousing Jet and Upper in the process.

Fleur positioned herself in front of them while giggling. Some things were just too good. Jet looked as if the punch stung his eyes a bit. Having a fair idea what was in that drink, she thought, “Serves you right, you son of a motherless goat.”

“Ponyville? You don’t say,” Fancy remarked, allowing the young magically inclined mare some pride points.

She unknowingly took the offer, “I do say! Her name is”

“Fancy Pants!” It was the marshmallow unicorn, Rarity, “Why don’t you come with me? I want to show you the..thing..over there, on the other side of the room.” Her eyes were pleading while motioning towards the ballroom.

Fancy shut her down. There was a lesson here and he wanted her to learn it, “In a moment, my dear. This lovely young filly from Ponyville,” he spoke with a wink to Twilight, “was just about about to tell me who made her charming dress.”

Rarity continued to fight, “That dress? Oh come now, who cares? It’s a plain old...”

“Oh don’t be so modest,” Twilight naively interrupted, “this dress you made is beautiful!”

The gathering gave an audible gasp. The dress was a simple two-tone yellow affair with a pink scarf. Most of the high society types wouldn’t be caught dead in it. Fleur, who had lost Upper and Jet in the drama, understood their pretentious gasp, but she also understood a gift given from the heart.

The Party Ponies gathered around Twilight. The pink one still blithely wearing the dripping remains of the cake on her face as they all closed ranks with the Element of Magic.

“We all think so,” Twilight spoke in a subtle, but shrinking pride.

Fancy silently thanked Twilight for giving him a path to his final destination. He turned to Rarity with a bit of dramatic acting, “You know this pony?”

Rarity, being in such an exposed position, understood she needed to make stand. Her friends had a collective sense of growing embarrassment. She gathered her confidence spoke to the gathered Elite ponies, “Yes. Yes I do know them. They may not be as sophisticated as some of you Canterlot ponies. But they are my best friends and are, without a doubt, the most important ponies I know.”

“Good show, darling” Fancy Pants mentally congratulated Rarity for her bravado. His smile was subtle.

Jet Set wouldn’t miss his chance though, “Important ponies? These ruffians?” Upper Crust put in, “Don’t make me laugh!” Both gave a dark, forced chuckle as if they had the last laugh.

Fleur immediately wanted to sterilize the duo, but Fancy took it upon himself to neuter them for the rest of the evening, “I, for one, find them charmingly rustic.” The tone carried hints of finality.

The duo stopped as if they got hit with a cold fish. Fleur recognized the social execution for what it was. Fancy used his domination throughout the evening to his advantage and played his Ace. The gamble paid off.

“That dress you made for your friend is lovely,” he spoke with confidence, “I dare say that every mare in Canterlot will be wanting one!”

Upper and Jet, being the social sycophants they were, began to hound Rarity for orders of the dress. Rarity left them abruptly as they tried to crowd her. The two managed to conk their heads together as if the vacant space vacuumed the pair together. Fleur just shook her head and watched her brother.

“Mmm, yes...” he spoke as the Upper and Jet had their meeting of the minds, “Now, how about you introduce me to your friends.”

“With pleasure,” Rarity practically chirped.

~(0)~

The party wrapped up quietly. The Elements of Harmony enjoyed their evening and the Grand Galloping Quartet differed their performance to the Rockafilly beats. As the party dispersed, Rarity spoke with Fancy while Fleur pleasantly engaged the remaining Elements with some dance moves and honest laughter.

“Fancy Pants, thank so much for the delightful time!” Rarity worked some charms on Fleur’s older brother. Fancy was probably aware of it, but he let her play. No harm in a little practice.

“No trouble, my dear,” his smile was genuinely given. A bit of the remaining punch dripped off his stylish moustache, but Rarity didn’t point it out. “Do you plan on remaining in Canterlot for a while?”

"Would that I could, but I must to return to Ponyville. A boutique won’t run itself,” she quipped with a bat of her eyelash.

“She’s good,” Fleur thought to herself.

Rarity broke social protocol and grabbed the stylish stallion in a big hug. “Thank you for everything, Fancy. It’s been a grand time!” She looked into his face with a subtle smile and a hesitating blink, as if inviting him into the sea of her eyes.

“Think nothing of if, my dear! Should you find yourself in Canterlot, do look us up!”

The two groups departed while the moon was making its way west. Fleur and Fancy exited the castle proper into the streets of the quiet capital city. Both were silently lost in thoughts of the evening before Fleur spoke up, “You know she was flirting with you, right?”

Fancy glanced to his sister, his face a mocking look of shock, “You don’t say.”

Fleur laughed, her alto voice full of pleasant feelings, “I do say, brother! Why,” she paused for effect, “I would go so far as to say she was playing you.”

Fancy paused for a moment and shrugged as if it hardly mattered. His eyes, though, were ones of happy bemusement. Something about the way they caught the moon spoke of it.

Fleur thought about her mother for a moment. Always so expressive were her eyes. Fancy inherited it as well. Fleur’s heart ached at the memory, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She glanced to the moon again. In the pale moonlight, nopony could hide from the truth of things. Not after that night.

"A pony of worth?”

Fancy pondered it for a moment, “Quite.”

Fleur smiled at the thought. The marshmallow colored Element of Generosity had piqued her brother’s curiosity in multiple ways. Fleur craned her neck to her brother and held it next to his face. Fancy leaned in and closed his eyes.

After a moment of holding the pose, they continued on their way. Passing a few vacant sidewalk cafes and boisterous nightclubs, Fleur thought to her mother and father again. Random memories ever played a symphony of images and emotions. Such were the burdens of legacy.

“I do believe we made some friends tonight,” Fancy spoke up after a while

“One can hope. I rather do rather like them,” she forced herself to reply

Fancy paused for a bit while glancing to his sister, “Reminds me of mother in lot of ways.”

Fleur arched an eyebrow, “Which one and how so?”

“You, my dear.”

That rocked Fleur to her rear hoofs. She regained her composure for the most part, “How so?”

“She was always tried to be there. She was beautiful and kind. She always supported any of us...you, me, father. She was slow to judge another pony and was always honest with herself. Most of all,” Fancy paused here to let the point sink home, “she was a pony that stood by the family. She was a pony of worth, my dear. As are you.”

Fleur couldn’t hold it. She wrapped a hoof around her brother’s neck and let the tears come. She closed her eyes and just let the moonlight expose her. If Luna’s would judge her, the damn it, she would be judged for what she was.

Fancy Pants returned the hoof around his sister’s neck. Bonds of blood were nothing compared to the bonds of the heart.

After a few minutes, they broke the embrace as Fleur regained her senses. Her brother was a remarkable pony in a lot of ways. To hear such words from a pony she dearly admired and loved were all that mattered.

~(0)~

Fleur glanced over the sheer scale of Stalliongrad. The sun was setting while she relaxed in her room on the 12th floor. Her room suite was a bit more grandiose than anypony really required. A large tub with jets in it was off in the corner. Track lighting bathed the room in a pleasant glow. The bed was a long, lavish model that looked too comfortable for it’s own good.

She admired the scenery of the city, so different yet like Canterlot. She often thought of a lot of things when alone, but something kept dragging her to the series of events while in Stalliongrad. She thought back to that night and how far that group had come. The Elements of Harmony were becoming influential in their own way. Being heroes had that effect, she surmised.

They had done battle with three separate entities that could rightfully be called deities, and persevered. The last battle against the being named Chrysalis and her minions really brought the group a measure of respect they truly deserved. Taking place during the the wedding of the season between Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Shining Armor, Captain of Canterlot Castle’s Royal Guard forced that respect upon Elite.

They didn’t do it because of any measurable gain. The feats they accomplished and the things they did were simply for the betterment of the whole. Fleur de Lis understood those ideals and respected group for it.

Her brother started seeing Rarity more as of late. Whenever Fleur pressed her brother for information, he would always brush her off with his usual manner, citing the social maxim “A true gentlecolt never tells.”

She figured her brother had grown quite fond of the Element of Generosity, but she kept those suspicions to herself. She knew her brother would tell her when he felt it was the right time.

Fleur glanced back towards the sprawling city. She was familiar with the city proper, having been there many times. That said, something about this trip felt different, something intangible she couldn’t place her hoof on.

She shrugged it off as the air grew too cold to tolerate without a coat. The din of the crowds below, the organized confusion as the ponies went about their lives. Even for a pony like her, born amidst the pomp of Canterlot, there was something to be had here. If the tales she heard were true, a pony could find the measure of themselves here. What was that measure? No pony had a clear answer.

As she drew the windows closed, she thought she heard a distinctive “eeyup” above the commotion of the streets below. She shrugged it off. The city didn’t answer her back, did it?

She let it go before she locked the windows and drew closed the blinds.

3. Mighty

Stalliongrad Nights
by: TCSNxs

Chapter 3
Mighty

Of all the places in Equestria, the city of Stalliongrad
has perhaps the bloodiest history of all. A good number
of battles have taken place within the city proper, some
being among the most storied and gruesome affairs in
the history of Equestria. This is due to a number of
factors, with strategic and economic considerations being
primary among them. That said, holding a jewel like
Stalliongrad always has had political importance.

~ Excerpt from "Military History of Equestria"

Mac never made it habit to visit the confines of bars too much. All things being equal, the libations of alcohol were few outside of the family cider he drank. It wasn't that he was unfamiliar with the effects of too much drink in such settings, he just didn’t make it the foremost pleasure of his life. But the night was still early and there was little else to do.

He ran a brush through his yellow short mane and adjusted his trademark yoke before exiting his room. “Ah want you to enjoy yourself while down there,” he recalled his sister's instructions. She didn’t get into specifics of such things though. Ultimately, his choices were to count the points and crevices in the spackled ceiling, read the same notes for the discussion panel as he had a hundred times times, or find some entertainment for the evening.

He decided to warm up in one of the Waltrot National’s many bars that littered the main floor. The hotel sported a wide variety of establishments in which to lose one’s self, but all had the same purpose of working towards tomorrow’s hangover. Or regret depending on amount of bits one was divorced from and the depth of the goggles such spirits naturally engendered.

Mac took a casual saunter into one where Jazz was emanating from. Mac usually felt one place was as good as another, though the he purposely stayed away from the one blasting the screeching moans of Dubstep and Techno. Mac tried not to be picky about his music, but to him such “music” sounded like bullfrog mating noises that a blow horn was announcing to everypony.

Big Mac strode to the bar while taking in the fragrant atmosphere of flavored tobacco and whiskey. The earth pony tending bar looked over the farm pony. He had seen a more then a few such ponies this evening, though certainly none that large, “What can I get for ya?”

Mac realized he’d have to raise his normal volume to be heard over the din of musical notes and casual conversation, “Y’all have any cider?”

“Might that I do, though it’s more of a hard variety,” the barkeep spoke as he dried his front hooves. He didn’t take his customers for idiots, but a pony had to be sure.

“How about the Woodbuck? Any good?”

The barkeep shrugged as he let the towel swing down on a small rack, “Good as any other. But you want something with a bit of a kick?”

Mac thought about it for only half a second, “Sure. What ya thinking?”

The barkeep smiled as if he were letting Mac in on a little secret treasure. Moving gainly to a tall refrigerator, he opened it and leaned down. Reaching to the back of the bottom shelf, he found that treasure and worked his way back to his hoofs. Mac spied the dark brown bottle with a small grin, being familiar with the design of the label.

“Marticolt’s Pleasure,” Mac said with touch of approval.

“It’ll be 15 bits.”

Mac swore the bartender’s voice winked at him. After dropping the required coinage on the counter plus a few extra for a tip, Mac grabbed the bottle with his teeth and moved through the smoky atmosphere. Mac took it in. Though he didn’t indulge shisha, it didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the myriad of smells that competed for his olfactory attention.

The bar was spacious enough to allow Mac’s frame to move easily, but still busy enough that he had to navigate through a number of bodies without knocking them over. The music came courtesy of a band paying heed to the genre's Neigh Orleans roots with some bows to few modern ideals within it.

Mac found an empty table across the room from the bar and placed his form down. After working the top off the bottle, he took a casual drink. Marticolt’s Pleasure was something he didn’t indulge much though not for a lack of trying. Stocks just weren’t available very much as runs were limited.

The sweet apple taste blended nicely with the hints of aged oak. It created a smooth draw while the aging created a nice kick. Of course Sweet Apple Acres did it’s own hard cider, but it didn’t mean Mac couldn’t scout the competition, right?

Mac relaxed as the sounds and smells invaded his senses. He watched as a few ponies danced as they paying homage to the genre’s past paragons. Though Mac didn’t dance much, he could appreciate the sheer liberation it engendered as hooves flailed with near abandon.

Sometimes, life was good.

~(0)~

Fleur de Lis was looking through the choices to partake a drink. Ultimately, she decided on a bar that seemed a bit more lively. Few ponies would know her here, so she was free to indulge herself. Her wore a fur-lined coat that nearly covered her form save for her flanks. She moved through the morass of equines to the Jazz bar. With a passing glance to one club that had some weird noise a few ponies with spiked manes called “music,” she arrived at her destination.

“What’ll be your pleasure,” spoke the barkeep as he delivered a few lagers to their eager recipients.

Fleur wasn’t rightly sure. She fumbled with her mane for a second, “Spring Wine?”

“We’ve a few vintages,” the keep spoke as he motioned to a wine rack.

“Ahh. Les Champs de Printemps ‘98. Good vintage,” Fleur spoke her alto voice a touch louder than normal.

“A pony after my own heart,” the bartender spoke with a smile. Bartenders partially made their living by judging their clientele, and this one was a good. He worked his hoofs dexterously as he popped the cork and poured the tall glass for the mare. He replaced the cork, “20 bits, my lady.”

Fleur produced the change and grasped the glass with her magic Having spied a seat near the end of the bar, she practically had to slalom around the seats and their occupants while making a mental note to keep her glass high.

Fleur took a snoutful of the smoky air. She let it settle inside her lungs with that lovely burning sensation and decided she may have to indulge it later. She set the glass on the counter and herself on a chair. Halfway down the bar, a white earth pony with a trowel for a Cutie Mark watched Fleur. His mane was a stark black as were his eyes.

Deciding that the band wouldn’t take requests for Charlie Maneiels’ “Discord Went Down To Appleloosa,” he moved towards an empty seat next to Fleur. Alcohol ever begged ponies to try and impress as many ponies as possible, but why not aim high.

“Excuse me, do you have directions,” the earth pony spoke a touch of country in his voice.

“To where,” Fleur asked, barely paying attention.

“To your heart,” the earth pony flashed a triumphant grin.

Fleur turned away to hide her wince. She was used to pick up lines. Most were cheesy, a few were good, while others still alluded to liking her haunch and wanting to wear it as a hat. She pondered for a second how to deal with this particular intruder in her space. She wasn’t particularly looking for company that evening, but she decided to run with it. She knew more than a few ways out of social situations in any case.

She turned to look at the would-be wooer and gave a small bat of her eyelashes. The white earth pony took the signal and parked himself. He was bit shorter then Fleur and though he wasn’t entirely unpleasant to look at, neither would he win any beauty pageants.

“Mmm,” she took a sip from her glass, “Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Cement. Cement Truck.”

“Oh by Luna’s farting arse.” “Really! Do you have family?”

The worker pony took a drink of his lager, “Yeah. I got family from here to Canterlot.”

“Interesting," she lied, but her curiosity was peaked, "You wouldn’t happen to be related to a Hayseed Turnip, would you?”

The white pony’s eyes opened wide for a second, “He’s my cousin. You know him?”

“I had an occasion to... meet him one morning,” she took another sip of her wine, “he was attempting make a hit on Broadway last I recall.”

“Really? Hayseed never told me he was a writer!”

“The acorns never fall far from the tree.”

~(0)~

Big Mac finished off his Marticolt’s. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but Mac wasn’t really in a hurry while taking in the entirety of the bar. Many ponies were indulging in idle conversation. Of course, most was fueled by alcohol to ridiculous levels of claims and verbosity. The band had retired in place of another. Their music was a bit slower, but still full of it’s own flavor.

A number of hookahs were in full action as ponies took turns inhaling the charcoal-lit tobacco. Between the smoke, music, and conversations, the atmosphere was casual but lively. Mac turned his attention to the bar. A few ponies looked ready to make the walk of shame to where ever they would be from. He noted a cream colored mare talking with a white earth pony.

Mac couldn’t hear the conversation, but could guess the earth pony wasn’t quite making the impression he was aiming for. There was a half-dozen empty bottles in front of him, while the wine a single, half-full glass was in front of the mare. Mac looked over her form. The two-toned mane of pink and white complimented her angular features well. Mac wondered if she were a model?

Mac appreciated the subtle warmness his body was experiencing thanks to the Marticolt’s (as well as the tingling on his sleeping posterior) and decided to head out for some air. He nodded to the barkeep as he took his leave. The bartender nodded back in acknowledgement to the departing red stallion.

~(0)~

The fine example of the Truck family was noticeably snoring as his head rested on the bar. Warm drool was beginning to form a pool below his mouth when Fleur decided to take her leave. The wine was enough to make her warm as she decided to take in the evening air outside.

She drew tight her coat and strode into a park cross the street from the Waltrot. Bushes lined the walkways as some vestiges of snow covered the grass, a fair portion of it loose from a recent storm though the walkways were clear. She moved along as a casual pace with no particular destination. Soon she found a tall fountain. The moonlight overhead gave it a near mystical illumination.

At the center of a large circular pool, three earth ponies stood erect on the base, their forehooves holding up a disk with with two alicorns striking a regal pose. The sculpture itself looked quite old as the facial expressions were nearly worn away and while sculpture was green in certain spots. Still, there was beauty in it that drew Fleur in.

“You got a date, honey?”

Fleur whirled around as she faced three ponies looking at her, a pegasus, unicorn and earth pony. They were larger than the usual Stalliongrad stock. The earth pony had a wicked looking dagger in his mouth while the unicorn had a spark of magic on the tip of his horn. Fleur could easy enough guess their intentions as she looked for an escape route. The earlier indulgences of the evening still begged to answer despite the situation.

“Can’t say that I am. Perhaps you know where I could find one? I’ve had horrible luck with the classifieds.”

"Might that I do, miss," the unicorn approached a few steps while the pegasus and earth pony fanned out, "Might that I do."

Fleur considered her options, well guessing that whatever spell was on the mind of the unicorn wouldn’t be to her benefit. She could attempt to grab one of them with her telekinesis, but she doubt she could do much with it before the other two ponies overwhelmed her. Obviously teleporting was out of the question.

Yelling and running were the only options left to her and she chose to execute both. She bolted to her left, trying to angle past the pegasus. Not caught entirely by surprise, the winged pony gave a sharp snap of his wing, disrupting Fleur's progress before it really began. As she clumsily fought to regain her balance and avoid toppling into the pool at the base of the fountain, she realised she didn’t need to bother as she were seized in a green aura.

As the three assailants moved off to a secluded area behind a row of bushes with her in tow, Fleur desperately wanted to be elsewhere at the moment.

~(0)~

Mac was looking up at the sky within the park. The cold wasn’t bothering him as much as he thought it would as he looked up, recalling the stories associated with the designs painted in that sky. Though he knew what the constellations were,but they were somewhat out of place as if it weren’t his sky. The snow-filled park was quiet enough as he kept to himself within a field of white.

His solitary repose only lasted a few moments as he caught a glance of group of ponies walking past him. A green unicorn, a darker green earth pony and magenta pegasus seemed to be stalking something. Mac knew the look from having done his fair share of hunting Fluttershy’s rabbits in his orchards. It was a predator’s look, and one that didn’t sit well with him in this instance. Of course, Mac had never hurt the butter colored pegasus' animals, but looked to scare them away from his precious apple trees.

It didn’t take much to realize they weren’t looking for a apple stealing rabbit with the earth pony’s dagger sheathed within easy reach, so Mac took it upon himself to follow. Normally, he wouldn’t involve himself with others business, but neither would he let somepony come to harm if it could be helped.

Mac followed as a distance, trying to keep his hooffalls as quiet as possible. Watching the scene unfold before him a fair distance away, he took some stock of the situation. Mac wasn’t entirely used to magic, but he could well guess what the unicorn could do. As such, that marked him as the most dangerous in Mac’s mind. The earth pony was next in his mind due to this rather sharp instrument on his possession.

Mac watched the tall mare, the same one from the bar he realized, make a break towards the pegasus before she was knocked off balance. Mac continued to move as silently as he could as they hauled off their catch to the secluded area. He watched the unicorn lower their prey to the ground as the other two ponies grabbed her forehooves, the earth pony having resheathed his weapon.

The mare’s horn lit with a rose pink aura as she tried to break free. A quick hoof in her stomach knocked the wind out of her. They placed a strange looking ring on her horn after the brief tussle and the aura died away. As they physically restrained her, Mac’s cheeks flushed with adrenaline and anger. This wasn't sitting right him and he couldn't live with himself if could have done something to prevent it. As his father told him, a stallion never harmed a mare.

Mac plotted his course, still purposely keeping his hooffalls silent on the walkway. He wasn’t a hoof boxer, now was he skilled in any particular martial art. However, he had seen his fair share of foalhood fights and he knew how to use his body to his advantage in close quarters.

Mac moved a quickly as stealth could afford him before he broke into a gallop, his muscles preparing to tighten. If Mac didn’t know better, he could have swore he was actually smirking before he quickly closed the distance.

~(0)~

Fleur meant to fire off a spell to grab the unicorn. She meant to do a lot of things before she felt her magical touch die away. Restrainer rings were usually a tool reserved for those who dealt in justice, but there was no justice in this! She tried to break free, but the weight of numbers proved too much. The struggle to regain her breath was enough of a challenge.

She closed her eyes as the unicorn approached with an aggressive avarice in his eyes. Fleur closed hers, again wishing she were elsewhere at the moment.

"Eh, grab her coat," she heard one of ponies speak.

"And what else? It seems like such a small haul," said one of the others in a higher pitched voice.

Still a third spoke, "Maybe we could take something else? She did say she was looking for a date." Fleur grew pale as her mind waged a war to keep those images out of her head. It was all she could do at the moment.

What came next though was unexpected as she heard a loud smacking thump, as if ponies were colliding in Hoofball. She felt the hoofgrip on her right was gone and loosened on her left.

She opened her eyes quickly to see a mess of limbs and bodies rolling away. Fleur swore she saw a big green apple half on the flanks of the an unfamiliar red stallion. It hit her quickly that the stallion, either intentionally or sheer dumb luck, bought her what she needed. A chance.

She turned to see the pegasus looking rather nonplussed about the change in the situation as he backed a few paces. Fleur resorted to instinct. Having just enough of angle to the pegasus, she turned her body quickly and buried a hoof between the assailants rear legs. As the pegasus toppled over, Fleur hurriedly fumbled for the restrainer ring. Her hoofs weren’t as dexterous as she would have liked though.

~(0)~

Mac didn’t exactly think his plan through to completion. There wasn’t much time to work out the details, so he resorted to improvisation. Mac was at a full gallop when he collided with the unicorn followed by the earth pony. His sheer and speeding girth plus added impact of his large yoke had the desired effect of stunning the other two ponies senseless.

After the tumbling morass of limbs and tails fell still, Mac scrambled to his hooves and waited for a target. His body was coursing with adrenalin while his muscles corded. The green unicorn was the second pony to recover. He gained his hoofs just before his sight exploded into a bright light and disfigured stars, courtesy of the hook from the big farm pony.

While waiting for the knife wielding pony to gain his hoofs, Mac kept his smirk as shifted his weight to his forehooves. The dark green earth pony finally regained some composure before focusing on a giant, muscled rear. Mac was still smirking when he loosed a devastating snap of his rear legs. The farmpony could drop a tree’s worth of apples with a half-hearted kick from one leg. He could well imagine what damage he’d done to earth pony’s bones had he time to consider it.

The earth pony became the first of his family in generations to take flight. He could have lamented on that fact had the trunk of a tree not so rudely interrupted his flight. He unceremoniously slid down the trunk and into dark unconsciousness. By that time, Mac turned his attention to the unicorn but found him holding his hoofs to this snout. The snow turned a dark crimson below his devastated face.

Mac looked quickly for the pegasus and found him near where he left him. As the cream colored unicorn regained her dignity, the pegasus was fumbling for his though his hoofs were in the wrong place for it. He tried to gain his hoofing again, but Mac was behind him. The large farm pony snapped a hoof between the pegasus’ rear legs. The magenta stallion was unwillingly lifted off the ground before falling back down into a fetal position. It was perhaps dirty pool, but Mac always did what worked.

Mac checked around for the cream colored mare, but she was nowhere to be seen.

~(0)~

The green unicorn kept clutching his destroyed snout. There was a feeling somewhere in that sea of pain of something being slid over his horn. Then there was a feeling of floating as he tried to regain his sight. The view of the world had a slightly pinkish glow to it as he felt the wind blow softly in his mane. It was soothing in a way.

His view then focused sharply on the approaching statue. In his delirious thinking, there as an odd beauty to it, like all the meaning of life could be found in it if he stared long enough. There was also the sound of whistles?

He kept staring at the statue. When he was younger, he used to imagine himself as belonging there with the Royal Sisters. Perhaps he could have had dominion over one of the planets? He understandingly failed to notice his approachment of the statue before a final burst of speed put his face square into the one of the earth ponies holding up the royal pair. His view exploded again into bright light before he felt the ice cold water. His reality drew back into a sharp, perfectly clear experience then.

~(0)~

The police of Stalliongrad were surrounding and pouring through the park as they arrived. Their police whistles were linked magically to one another so if one was sound, the rest within a certain radius were clued into the location. The racket of loud yells and unnaturally flying bodies drew the attention of one officer. The rest were there quickly enough.

The initial responders found Fleur as she dropped the green unicorn into the pool. They quickly located the others. One wasn’t moving due his own shattered sexual pride, the other because of his shattered body. Mac was quickly taken into custody, but as information exchanged between the lawponies, Mac was let go and actually thanked. The brief time of shackles didn’t bother Mac too much. He understood in the chaos of the situation, things happened and they had a job to do. As the adrenaline wore off, he found that he wasn’t angry. Most if it had spent in ensuing scuffle.

The uniformed ponies kept a presence around Fleur as she was shaken. They didn’t overly press her for information after the initial statements as the story coincided with the mangled ponies and what the first officer had seen. The ponies who tried to assault her were wanted anyway for a long string of offenses and they would get their day before the magistrate now.

Fleur was furious for a lot of reasons and frustrated for none. Ultimately, she tried to find some peace again in the statue in the daze of the scene around her. Something about the sisters of the sun and the moon gave her a sense of perspective. This would be a blip in her life and nothing more compared to the broader meaning of existence. No physical harm was done to her in the end, but it wasn’t something she cared to repeat. Ever.

Fleur felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. A quiet sigh escaped her lips as she turned her head to see a massive red stallion look at her, a look of soft concern on his face.

“Ma’am, you okay?” Mac spoke with his typical deep voice. The adrenalin had completely worn off, leaving the normally passive pony in a slight physical daze.

She closed her eyes and wrapped the big farmpony in a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered as she let a tear escape for the first time that night. She wasn't sure if it was appropriate, but it hardly mattered at the moment.

Mac breathed out the remaining stress, his steam from his breath escaping into the night as he wrapped a forehoof around her. He didn’t know really what to say, so he remained silent. The moon wound it’s way overhead, a passive spectator to the events of the night. At length, he decided that no words need be said.

The giant red farm pony was bruised and sore from the collision, but otherwise okay. He watched as the three assailants were taken away, the earth pony being carried on a stretcher. That didn’t bother the normally gentle stallion one bit given the necessity of the situation.

Fleur held the healing embrace for a few minutes to let her mind sort through the experience, which Mac obliged her in silence. He actually needed to collect his composure as well. It seemed that they were in their own private reality as the rest of the world moved without them. The reporters and onlookers such scenes drew were kept a respectful distance from the pair.

Fleur eventually decided she needed to thank this giant of an earth pony in some fashion. She released the embrace and looked to his green eyes, “Can I buy you a drink? Celestia knows I could use it.”

Mac always believed that a good deed was it’s own reward, but he wasn’t going debate her surprisingly sound logic, “Eeyup.”

She looked over the tall stallion. He was surprisingly as tall as she was, but well muscled with deep green eyes. In truth, he was an impressive sight. “Thank you again, Mr.,”

“Apple. Macintosh Apple, ma’am.”

Fleur smiled a bit as her breathing resumed it’s normal calm pace. She was typically a strong willed mare, but she needed some company for her own sake, “Please call me Fleur. I do believe we are well past formalities at this point.”

4. Cider, Wine and Evening Time

Stalliongrad Nights
by: TCSNxs
Chapter 4
Cider, Wine and Evening Time

Prior to the founding of Canterlot, Stalliongrad was the
home for the royal House of Earth Ponies. As such,
I speculate that being the seat of power for those stallions
and mares with such deep connections to the earth, it
stands to reason that’s where the magic of Stalliongrad
comes from. Not of the horn or of the wing, but the
very spirit that makes those ponies who they are. It’s
not willfully manifested, but touches one on a level below
the conscious.

~ Excerpt from “The Chronicles of Starswirl”

The duo continued their evening at a piano bar away from the park. The Tavernacle, as it oddly enough called, was suggested by one lawpony to Fleur. It wasn’t very far, but it was enough to give them some sort of mental distance from the events earlier that night.

As they sauntered in, the first thing that assaulted them was a lively rendition of Hoagy Carmanechael’s “Heart and Soul” emanating from two pianos on stage. Drinks were plentiful and conversations were upbeat, being interspersed with laughter. A barkeep and few serving ponies kept the bacchanalian atmosphere going. It seemed promising enough.

The two approached the ebony bar and found space enough for them both. The barkeep was working furiously to keep up with the demands for libations to pay homage to the festive atmosphere. Mac looked to the tip jar near the register that was flowing to the top with currency and surmised it was indeed a good night.

The beer slinger finally spoke after a few minutes, “What can I getcha?”

“A wine for me, and…” Fleur spoke over the festive din. She glanced to her tall companion.

“Cider,” Mac spoke with his bassy voice.

The barkeep hoofed through the bottles and glasses. Fleur’s horn glowed softly as her magic reached for her coinpurse in the folds of her coat. Mac was moving to produce his own coinage when he spotted Fleur’s magic at work and arched an eyebrow, “Don’t fret. Ah got this.”

“Macintosh, it’s only fair. I owe you this at least,” she managed to get her purse out. It was, of course, a pale pink color with a Fleur’s namesake symbol on the bag. Two long straps made it useful for carrying or as an impromptu flail.

Mac shook his head as he quickly craned his neck backwards to produce his own money. Fleur was set to produce the required coinage as one of those straps haphazardly caught on a spoke on Mac’s yoke. A quick tug of war ensued as Mac’s strength worked against Fleur’s magic.

The barkeep came back and spotted the unicorn vs. earth pony tug of war. He figured to save the bag from demonstrating any divided loyalties, so he politely coughed. As Fleur and Mac stopped in the middle of their struggle, the barkeep spoke up. “Might I suggest the lady buy the first round, and the gentlecolt the next?”

Mac and Fleur glanced at each other with Mac giving a brief nod. After dropping the coinage, Fleur wrapped the drinks with her magic as the two tall ponies moved to an empty table where both parked their haunches. Fleur was about to speak when a particularly boisterous laugh stole their attention. Mac figured the joke must have been good.

“Macintosh,” Fleur finally spoke at length.

“Please call me Mac. Most folks call me that, or Big Mac,”

“So I see why,” Fleur gave a soft chuckle, “are you from around here?”

“Nope. Ah’m from up around Ponyville.”

Fleur searched her mental catalog. A good ice breaker was to allow somepony to speak of their home, “Sweet Apple Acres?”

“Eeyup,” Mac grabbed the bottle with his teeth and took a quick slug.

Fleur decided to allow him some pride points. “Mmm,” she took a quick drink of her own, “Do you know a pony named Applejack?”

“That’d be my sister.”

“I ran across her at the Canterlot Garden Party this year. She really is a gem.”

Mac gave a bassy chuckle, “She is. Though it’s hard to picture her at a garden party without actual gardening.”

“True. Though she gave a good account of herself against this weeds.”

“Ah imagine. Ya ought to see her against the varmints stealing our apples.”

“A spitfire then?”

“Somepony just needs to bring the fuel,” Mac replied without missing a beat.

~(0)~

The next few hours were filled with dueling pianos and loud conversations. Fleur was matching Mac drink for drink, though it wasn’t really a contest as much as courtesy. Both were warm and a bit mentally fuzzy, but neither complained.

Fleur allowed Mac a good deal of discretion in the course of the conversation. His proximity allowed her to push the events earlier that night out of her mind. She regained much of her usual composure and the company was nice. Mac spoke of a wide variety of subjects and she made mental notes of her own out of habit. Mac wasn’t sure why he was speaking at length, but found he didn’t mind.

Fleur allowed herself to drop some pretense in the face Mac’s honest appraisals. The candor was refreshing and the stallion wouldn’t likely hold it against her in the morning.

“When I say those ponies that frequent those parties with aren’t worth the air they breath, I do mean it,” Fleur was as close to railing as she got.

Mac nodded. He understood something of station and pretense, “About as useful as nipples on a bull.”

“Quite right, dear. Sometimes, I wish I could escape it,” Fleur gave an exaggerated sigh, “but I can’t.”

“A measure of a pony is in the things they do, not the things they say,” Mac offered, his accent only adding to the effect.

Fleur beamed inside at the comment. She recounted a bit of her life and business to keep the conversation moving. Also, it was simply nice to vent, “As do I, Mac.”

“Maybe ya should take a vacation to Ponyville? Mah sis says some nice things about the spa in town.” Mac spoke more from Rarity trying to coax Applejack there, but the farm pony would have none of it.

“Mmm. A massage does sound nice, but it’s difficult to get away.”

“Ah understand that,” Mac offered again. He took another drink of his cider, and suddenly forgot how many he’d actually had. His sheer size provided some defense against inebriation. That said, he had more than a few that evening.

“You know,” she gave a slow blink of her eyes and gave him a soft, firm stare, “there is something I don’t get.

“What’s that?” Mac’s head was a swimming a little.

“Your harness,” she figured there must be some pride behind it to wear such a pronounced, almost loud accessory, “I assume you wear it everywhere?”

“Eeyup.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” her tone carrying genuine curiosity, “why?”

“It was my pa’s.”

“Really? It seems such so large.”

“Yeah. But it’s been in mah family for generations,” he took another drink of his cider that was growing more tasty as time passed, “My ma and sister wanted to replace it. The wood’s worn and its been patched up more times than ah can remember. But just cause somethin’ is old don’t mean ya throw it away.”

Fleur found it kind of poetic and let the matter drop, “Indeed. I, for one, find it charming.” She raised her glass in salute. Fleur loosed a small hiccup while her magic blinked a split second. Maybe her head was swimming to.

He smiled as if thanking her for her discretion. His deep green eyes sparkled in the light. Fleur found herself staring into emerald like orbs when Mac spoke up, “Eeyup. It has a lot of worth to me.”

Fleur broke her trance, “What else then, Mac? What holds worth a pony who professes to simple things?”

Mac shrugged, “Mah family and mah farm. Not much else to life.”

“Oh! So you have a special somepony then?” Fleur gave a good natured tease though she misinterpreted the statement. Fleur wasn’t sure why she was fishing though.

“Nope. Nopony to buck mah trees.” Mac ventured to joke. He normally would never speak as such around a mare, but between the alcohol, the company and the conversation, his tongue was looser than normal, “Ain’t had much time for it.”

Fleur laughed and put a hoof on his shoulder, pushing off as she smiled. Mac found her simply beautiful to look at and those lavender eyes were devastating weapons to any pony on the business end of that gaze.

Mac indeed understood a portion of his lack of manners was in the company. She wasn’t judging him beyond the scope of the conversation and her mind was sharp. Mac respected that.

“Funny that. One would think a stallion, such as yourself, would be quite the catch.”

If Mac’s coat could have turned any redder. Still, he took the compliment in stride, “Thank ya, ma’am.” Mac needed to find a comfortable crutch and his manners worked as well as anything.

Fleur read the social cue for what it was and decided against pressing much further, “Sometimes it’s hard to get away.”

“Eeyup.”

~(0)~

They left the Tarvernacle a while later. Mac and Fleur walked side by side in the chilly night air. The wind was blowing, but Mac found his countenance warm and his mind returning from its swimming escapades. The park was cleared as if nothing happened while the street lamps bathed the area in a pale glow, casting soft shadows that melted into the night. Fleur thought that it were metaphorical.

“You know, Mac.”

“Eeyup,” Mac acknowledged.

Fleur was growing to appreciate the versatility of the word, “I wonder, are you in town for the convention?”

“Eeyup. Ah got a letter from the Chaircolt of the E.A.C. invitin' me to do a discussion panel,” the word rolled out like a curse.

“Oh really? I suppose then you’ll be town for the next few nights then,” Fleur spoke the obvious. There wasn’t a reason to note she’d be in the panel at the moment, “Would you care to take in a show tomorrow evening?”

Mac smiled as his eyes sparkled, “Ah’d be honored.”

They walked into the Waltrot National. It was late in the evening the main floor was clear of ponies. A part of Mac was thankful for the quiet. He needed time to think. Fleur wouldn’t give it to him as they entered the elevator, “I don’t suppose I could interest you in a nightcap?”

Mac was fairly sure the alcohol was running its course, “Thank ya, but Ah’m a bit tired.”

Fleur smiled again and noted she was doing it a lot that night. It wasn’t the forced kind of expression she was used to, but something genuine, “I understand dear. Perhaps another time?”

Mac nodded as the elevator doors opened. The two ponies walked casually down the hall. They passed by Mac’s room. Fleur took note of that as they approached her room. Fleur worked her key and opened the door, “I shall see you tomorrow, Mac. Thanks again.” She offered her hoof. She was curious about something.

Mac took her hoof and the bait, planting a soft kiss to it, “It was mah pleasure. Sleep well and sweet dreams.” Fleur was beaming inside as she watched the red stallion move towards his room not far from hers. “A gentlecolt indeed.” She silently closed the door, hit the light and fell to the bed.

Indeed, he was a little reserved at first. Once she opened him up, he proved himself to be kind and chivalrous stallion. For Celestia’s sake, he risked himself for somepony he’d never met. Most of all, there was a depth of honesty there she appreciated.

“And that flank...” she softly cooed.

There was a lot to this Macintosh Apple. Her short experience with his sister had been a guide she used to pry him open in honest curiosity. More or less, he was a pony of worth.

Fleur sobered up a bit as that thought struck her, but she didn’t lose her smile. She looked outside to Luna’s moon. Big Mac was going to make for an interesting companion the next few days.

~(0)~

Mac flipped the light switch and removed his yoke, setting it aside. He breathed slow and closed his eyes as he took in the entirety of the evening. It was eventful and, he figured by his measure, he at the very least gained a friend out of it. He looked into the mirror and messed with his mane casually.

“What am Ah doin’,” he spoke and not in reference to his mane. He chuckled a second later though as it didn’t matter. In truth, he felt like a teenage colt again. He lost some of his characteristic reserve tonight and it didn’t bother him.

He moved his form to the bed and thought of Fleur. She was a stunner to look at and a mind to match. She didn’t mind his slip in manners and probably even encouraged it. He’d need to thank her later. She had a certain defiance about her as well. He spotted her little act of vengeance in the park and couldn’t blame her one bit.

“Those eyes..." he spoke to nopony.

Mac felt warm again as he relaxed. There was something there he couldn’t deny. At the very least, he wouldn’t be alone while attending the convention. Stalliongrad was indeed a place he wasn’t familiar with and he never put much stock into legends, but he was wizened enough to know that all legends held some matter of truth. Perhaps he would have to pay more credence to it.

5. A Charming Prince

Stalliongrad Nights
by: TCSNxs
Chapter 5
A Charming Prince

“If anypony wants to know the difference between
true sentience and other life, it’s the ability to empathize,
to put one’s self in the hoofs of another. All animals,
in some form, display an ability to reason and love.
Only the ability to empathize is what keeps equinekind
in a position of dominance. Failure to keep that principle
would lead to equinekind’s fall from grace.”
~ Excerpt from “To Be Among The Stars

Fleur had woken up early. She was expecting to meet with Chaircolt Delight and be on with her day. She had plans to keep, including meeting with a gorgeous hunk of red stallion later on. She shook her head, as much to get her mane to spread as to get the thought out of her head. Fleur was a little surprised she was moving quickly. Between the slight hangover, lack of coffee, and late night, she normally would have required the better part of 30 minutes before moving in any sort of pace.

Her magical grasp was working a brush through her mane and applying just a touch of blush. She didn’t usually need makeup to set off her natural features, but she decided on just a touch today. A knock on the door stole her attention and almost caused her to smear blush up to her ear. She set down her beauty tools, wiped away the colorful faux pas and grasped the door with her auric grasp. Coffee and crêpes were awaiting her.

After a brief exchange of bits for goods and setting up her coffee just so, she thought back to the previous night. Fleur was a little surprised at the honest nature of the large red earth pony. The well toned flank and large yoke certainly gave the stallion a pleasant, almost Roaman Gladiator like image. Fleur could easily let her mind fantasize about a piece of that Apple.

The coffee helped to sort her thoughts. Mac had risked himself on her behalf though they'd never met, and he was honest and an intelligent sort. Fleur thought he may be a touch shy, but that didn't bother her. In fact, it was cute in a way. Most of all, those green eyes expressed an unassuming nature and a confidence that most mares would find instantly appealing.

It struck Fleur was a little odd she was spending so much time thinking about him. She sighed, playing through the routine of glancing to the clock, deciding she was late, and hurrying out the door with her coat in tow.

~(0)~

“Mr. Delight, a pleasure,” Mac extended his large hoof. His normally free flowing short mane was slicked back and held in place by a cart's worth of manespray. His smile was a little forced and slightly goofy. His trademark yoke was left sitting by the wall in his room, “Ah see a lovely gal...pardon, mare with ya. Ya never mentioned you had a sister!”

The mirror reflected his goofy grin and nearly manic eyes. Mac held the pose for a moment before closing his eyes and shaking his head. He took a quick drink of his coffee, the taste of the black liquid as bitter as his performance. “Ah ain’t gonna get this right,” He mumbled while parking himself on the edge of the bed

Applejack and he spoke at length about this. He needed to look as professional as possible for the panel and for the Chaircolt of the Equestria Agriculture Council. A proper performance would mean big things for Sweet Apple Acres and the family as a whole. The only thing is Mac wasn’t sure what was considered "proper".

He usually let other ponies lead the conversation, offering a polite nod or small “Eeyup” or “Nope". The only time he spoke at length was if he felt it were appropriate or asked a question directly. Admittedly, he was slightly awkward when first meeting ponies in social situations. His hoofs were rubbing his temples, trying to cure his hangover. The books and other reference guides weren't of much help. Sometimes guides didn't have all the answers.

He looked to his bowl once full of oats and hay then to his yoke. He noticed then how utterly naked he felt without it, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed to be business like as possible and the yoke wouldn’t have a place in that image. He nearly cursed his awkwardness, but it was what it was.

"Relax Mac, it won' be all that bad," he said more then once that morning. If so though, why was he fretting so much. He wondered if that mare from last night had cursed him in someway. Mac shook that thought away as quickly as it came. The cream colored unicorn was nothing but a delight.

Her beauty was simply natural, inside and out. Fleur's sharp features, amethyst eyes, and tall lithe build could easily occupy his waking and dreaming thoughts. Her mannerisms definitely put him a little out of his comfort zone, but it wasn't unpleasant. Actually, she had tacitly encouraged his normally reserved pride. That was important to him, though Mac wasn't entirely sure why.

Mac snapped himself from his stupor and looked to the clock. It was time to face the music or the firing squad. Mac moved for the door without his yoke and the butterflies in his stomach just beginning to flutter.

~(0)~

“Wait!” Fleur was nearly galloping when the elevator door was closing. The doors had nearly shut before they burst open. She was inside in a second later. “Thank you so much,” the cream unicorn commented with a slight, formal smile.

“Eeyup.”

Fleur’s head turned quickly, “Mac! I didn’t recognize you without your yoke.” Mac gave a nervous chuckle as the elevator doors closed before beginning its descent. “This is not the pony I met yesterday.” “What happened? Did it break?”

“Nope,” Mac was searching for an excuse, but he decided on the truth, “Ah got to meet with the Chaircolt of the Equestria Agriculture Council this morning, Ah figured the old thing weren’t proper.” Mac's hair was slicked back and his eyes lacked that luster from last night. His nervousness was nearly tangible.

Alarms were going on off in Fleur’s mind. She went about analyzing the situation. The large red stallion was without the security of his most important possession and his look was all wrong. Most of all, there was no confidence. This pony was already trying too hard to impress ponies for the wrong reasons. This was something she had experience in. For what this prince-as-a-pauper pony did for her last night, she would not let that slide.

The doors popped open and Mac gave a polite nod before stepping out. He felt a yank on his tale that surprised him, but not as much as when “Nope.” didn’t come from his lips. Mac turned a suspicious look to the cream unicorn, who in turn gave him a serious expression built of supreme confidence, “This won’t work dear. You will fall before you even walk.”

“Whatcha mean?” Mac gave a curious tone to his voice as the elevator doors closed.

Fleur telekineticly pushed the button for the 12th floor. Mac was very curious now as the unicorn shifted to a sympathetic expression, “Mac, you said yesterday that the yoke has been in your family for a long time now, right?”

“For generations,” Mac gave the direct quote.

“Everypony needs something of a personal trademark about them. Whether you call it ‘flair’ or a ‘momento’ is simply semantics. But you need it as much as your Cutie Mark. That yoke is your ‘flair’, dear.”

Mac was processing the words as the elevator door opened. Fleur motioned him down the hall as she stepped out, “I also assume you normally don’t wear your mane like that?”

“Nope.”

“Then why are you now?”

Mac kept opening his mouth to speak but then kept shutting it. Whether it was confusion or logic traps, he found himself silent. Mac wasn't used to being psychoanalyzed. "Somethin' new every day." his mind quipped.

“Exactly,” Fleur read his expression as they approached the door to his room, “Dear, the number one rule of impressions and advertising is that, along with cute fluffy animals and foals, sex sells the most. Do you know what’s sexy?”

Mac was working the door's key while his mind was racing against the lurid images coming from every corner of his brain.

“Confidence.”

“But Ah’m not selling myself,” Mac spoke, catching the double entendre too late as he opened the door . In truth, he was taking in everything while moving into his room. He knew the unicorn was speaking the truth. Mac was a master in dealing with ledgers and organization, but he found himself lost in those meetings where he had no leverage.

“Aren’t you? Dear, you want to make a good impression I assume. You are going to be proffering yourself and the image you are hoping to imprint upon them. In a sense, selling yourself is exactly what you are doing. Now,” Fleur pointed to the bathroom with her horn, “get in the shower and do be quick.”

Mac wasn’t up to debating the point as he moved towards the bathroom. The hot water was helping him relax and gave him space to think. He understood exactly what she was saying, and found himself agreeing with it to a large extent. What he was doing didn't feel right.

Fleur was waiting on the edge of the bed when the large red stallion exited the bathroom, steam following in his wake. His mane was weighed down due to dampness, “Now what?”

Fleur rose and pulled the chair in front of the desk out. Mac parked his haunch as commanded while Fleur fumbled in her purse for a comb and compact mirror. Finding both, she took to the damp mass of hair on both ends, “Mac, you must be yourself. Trying to be somepony else is a waste of the pony you are.”

Mac closed his eyes and nodded slightly.

“Do be still for a moment dear. Now I beg your pardon in advance, but you are first and foremost a farmer, correct?”

“Eeyup.”

“That should be the image you wish to project. A flowing mane and tale, your rather...impressive size, and that yoke compliment that image so well. Most of all, this is an agricultural convention, not the Grand Galloping Gala. There is no reason to put on airs like you were. These ponies respect the worker, not the pretender.”

“But...”

“Mac, the pony I met yesterday had confidence befitting any noble pony. What you were, my large friend, was not that pony. This is,” she floated the mirror in front of him.

Mac smiled. His mane was styled a touch, which was to say straight but still loose. He glanced to his tale and it was much the same. The farm pony's eyes sparkled as he got re-acquainted with himself. Fleur used her telekinetic grasp to bring Mac’s harness over. Mac took it in his hoofs and slipped it on like it were a crown.

“Mmm,” Fleur looked him over, “Much better. Now, shall we go?”

~(0)~

The convention floor spread out in all directions. A number of ponies were setting up their booths and displays. Mac caught more than a few things he’d like to buy for Sweet Apple Acres. Newly designed plows, seed distributors, and various other implements competed with areas for classes, informational booths and even some financial institutions promising “instant relief from any monetary drought.” All of it for the eyes of the trafficking ponies that would be attending.

Mac even watched as a central stage was getting some finishing touches. While entirely unusual, it struck him as important. His nervousness had settled before seeing it, but his stomach exploded with butterflies again upon seeing the construction.

The duo were hoofing to a side door. Upon arrival, they were greeted by a large earth pony nearly the size of Mac. Orange fur lined his coat underneath the golden armor he wore. Mac had seen the design enough around Ponyville to knew it was a Royal Guard. Upon spying their name tags, he motioned his head towards the door. Mac’s intestinal butterflies were starting to riot.

Fleur leaned into Mac and whispered, “Follow my lead.” Mac wasn’t about to argue the point as he walked into a large office. A large white unicorn with a compass rose Cutie Mark and perfectly coiffed blonde mane was speaking with a slightly smaller brown earth pony, sporting black mane and a quill crossing a plowshare as a Cutie Mark.

Mac knew of the white unicorn from his sister and wanted to have a rather terse dissertation about “carnival fare” food, but he wisely held his tongue. A pegasus and two other earth ponies were in attendance though Mac didn’t give them much notice.

The brown earth pony coughed before speaking, “Ahh, so good of you to make it.” His voice surprised Mac as being a bit on the high pitched side. The brown earth pony turned to the white unicorn, “Prince Blueblood, may I present Miss Fleur de Lis, of Pantshire Enterprises, and Mr. Macintosh Apple, of Sweet Apple Acres.”

“Your Highness,” Fleur dropped her head in a bow. Mac followed suit, “A pleasure as always, though I am happier it is under less trying circumstances then the Gala.” Fleur smiled a little on the inside while referring to one of Blueblood’s more spectacular failures. Sometimes, a pony needed to be blunt, even in the games of the Canterlot Elite.

“Indeed. A pleasure as always,” Blueblood spoke in a rehearsed tone. Despite herself, Fleur shot him a quaint smile as the Prince turned to red earth pony, “Mr. Apple, you are the brother of the famous Applejack, the Element of Honesty, are you not?”

Mac nodded in his own way and chose his words deliberately, “Yes, Your Highness. Ah’m awfully proud of her.” He got the sense that unicorn was trying to put him on the defensive.

Blueblood, for all his practice, couldn’t hide his smirk, “I can well imagine. You know, I had the pleasure to sample some of her cuisine at the Gala last year. There were delightful!”

Mac could feel his cheeks flush at the prodding. Fleur interrupted him, “Truly! Tell me, what were they like? Macintosh will not elaborate on his family’s home cooking no matter how much I coax him.” Fleur gave a slight flutter of her eyelashes.

“Ahh, yes! Well they were, ah, quite delicious! Yes...Appletastic,” the Prince groused. The other ponies in attendance were taking note of the exchange.

"Truly, they are that good?" the brown earth pony spoke in an honest curiosity, "Mr. Apple, your sister must be quite the cook then."

“If y’all come down to the farm, Ah’m sure I could talk my sis into cooking you up something delightful,” Mac was wanting to glare daggers at the Prince, but he kept his trademark blank look directly into Blueblood’s eyes.

Fleur was counting on that, “Indeed? I, for one, would be honored at such an invitation,” Fleur slightly pouted as she put a hoof to Mac's shoulder.

“Ahh, yes! I shall take you up on that later then, Mr. Apple," the Chaircolt gave a soft smile.

Mac looked to Chaircolt and returned the smile. It was a what he set out to do. The giant farm pony gave a quick glance to Fleur, who just smiled in her usual way.

The rest of the meeting went off without much bravado. The Chaircolt covered what content was expected and various other minutiae. Mac found himself thinking back to the exchange between the two Canterlot unicorns. At first, he was a bit disappointed that Fleur seemingly lied on his behalf. But the longer he let his mind replay the scene, he began to understand the subtle currents of the exchange. Somewhere towards the end of the meeting, Mac’s smile switched from forced to genuine.

~(0)~

“Mares and Gentlecolts,” Blueblood spoke from a podium setup on the stage, his voice carrying the amplification of magic, “On behalf of the Princesses Celestia and Luna, and the Equestria Agriculture Council, I welcome you to the 140th Annual Equestria Agriculture Convention!”

The mass of ponykind in attendance stomped their approval while Mac and Fleur were in the back of the crowd. The Prince of Unicorns, for all his pretense, was a gifted speaker when it suited him. "Or when Celestia threatens him with something monetary," Mac's mind was guessing. The speech ran the gamut of how the farms of Equestria were its most sacred asset and how much relied on the food they had grown. Little inflections and direct eye contact made nearly every pony in attendance feel honored to hear it. In truth though, Mac and Fleur didn't pay it much credence for different reasons.

As the Royal pony finished up and the gathering broke, Mac and Fleur found themselves walking along a length of merchant booths. Ponies looked over the wares that were present. Mac promised himself to do a little shopping. It just occurred to him though he wasn't really paying much attention to various farm tools and flyers.

“Ah’m not sure why, but thanks just the same,” Mac was speaking in his usual bass voice as he just finished looking over a few tools.

“My dear Mac, think nothing of it. Blueblood is such an insufferable arse anyway, and to be honest, I was not expecting his presence in the meeting.”

“So Ah guessed,” Mac chuckled, “It seemed like ya knew him.”

Fleur smirked slightly as she addressed her companion, “Not on a friendly basis, no. In truth, he pursued me for a while. I had to...politely decline the offer,” Fleur minced her words as a silver plow caught her eye.

Mac didn’t, “Didn’t leave him with his stallionhood?” Knowing how she worked, he could well guess how the exchanges went.

“My dear, that would be being polite about it. I could not suffer a disingenuous pony as a partner," Fleur huffed slightly, "He isn't a pony of worth."

"Pardon?"

"Sorry dear, just something I say once in a while."

"Ah see," Mac let the matter drop. The red stallion then looked towards the exit, “You hungry? Mah treat.”

Fleur turned to Mac again, “A bit now that you say it, yes.”

Mac’s green eyes sparkled again, “Ah think Ah know just the place.”

~(0)~

Trottin’ through this world all alone,

Luna takes your soul, you're on your own.

The crow flies straight, a perfect line,

On Discord’s back until you die.

The lyrics were blaring as the band kept up their tune. It wasn’t even close to happy hour, but the ponies in attendance didn’t care. The Roadhouse was mentioned in a few guides, particularly noting the Garlic Soy Burgers were delicious. The atmosphere was jovial, with a surprising number of ponies wearing faux leather vests and sporting a surprising amount of muzzle hair.

This life is short, filly that’s a fact.

Better live it right, you ain’t coming back.

Gotta raise some hay before they take you down.

Gotta live this life.

Mac was nursing his cider while Fleur looked as if she were analyzing it. It was sweet, with a bit of age. Though not having nearly the tartness of her usual Spring Wine, it was more than passable. The music only added to the taste as Fleur glanced over her food. It really was a charming place.

“Now where did you hear of this place, Mac?”

“Ah’ve heard it mentioned in passing,” Mac spoke while murdering his burger.

“I see,” the cream unicorn was working the burger with her magic. While it wasn't sophisticated, the garlic combined with the sauteed onions created a bold flavor. The hay fries had a touch of sea salt that only begged her to have more cider. Fleur made a note about the place. The motif and cuisine held a lot of promise.

A sound of shattering glass stole the attention of the duo. A pegasus pony, apparently bent on vengeance for his shattered lager, pushed an earth pony away from the bar, which was answered with a hoof to the jaw. In short order, the area around the bar erupted into a general melee.

"Whelp, here we go," Mac remarked off hoofedly.

“I do believe that’s our cue,” Fleur lamentingly was setting her burger down.

“Eeyup,” both went towards the exit as an earth pony went flying towards the table a moment later. The pony wore a jacket with the patch that said "Mareyans". He was followed by another earth pony with a unkempt blonde mane and stubbly growth at the base of his mouth. A worn looking "Colts of Anarchy" patch was proudly stitched on the back of his coat.

Mac was taking point as the two were working towards the exit. A unicorn came trotting towards, only to be laid low by Mac. Fleur reached the exit, magically holding it open, first for a Mareyan pegasus flying not under his own power followed by Mac exiting very much under his own power.

"Jax, you ok?" an older looking earth pony with grey hair spoke while trotting over to check on his charge. He extended a hoof.

The blond stubbly earth pony took the offered hoof, "Yeah, I'm alright pop."

1. Mr. Macintosh Goes To Stalliongrad

Stalliongrad Nights
by: TCSNxs

Chapter 1
Mr. Macintosh Goes To Stalliongrad

Stalliongrad, since it's founding some 3000 years ago,
has always held its own sense of magic and style apart
from that of greater Equestria. It's been speculated and
noted though a number of legends and tales that the city
has always had a magic akin to the earth ponies that
founded it. Indeed, I believe it a subject worthy of study
should anypony take the time do so.

~ Excerpt from "The Chronicles of Starswirl the Bearded"

Stalliongrad: Citadel of the Earth Ponies. As much as Cloudsdale was the home of the pegasi and Canterlot was the “City of Unicorns,” the city was a magnificent metaphor for the ponyfolk that created it. It was said to hold it’s own special magic, just as the earth ponies did. It wasn’t as flashy as that produced by the horn or audacious as those graced with wings, but a subtler, deeper kind.

What the city lacked in the pomp and circumstance of the capital and the sheer cumulus spectacle of Cloudsdale’s rainbow factory high in the atmosphere, it made up for in sheer industry. Most of Equestria’s industrial goods were manufactured and machined within the sprawling complexes of the city.

Beds, plows, carts, and nearly everything in between were made there. Even the famed tomes of the “Daring Do” series were printed and bound within the metropolis. The buildings were subdued in nature and color, as if screaming “utility” and reflecting its heritage. The urban canyons created by the multistory dwellings and factories weren't without some form of decoration though. Fluted doors and a grand sweeping facade marked the theater of the famous Stalliongrad Ballet Company. Small shops and open carts dotted the landscape. Art shows and nightclubs. All were part of it. Life thrived within those bastions built upon the backs of Earth Ponies past.

The perpetual dark smog one would expect was kept in check by the eternal war the Weather Teams waged. Only by those seemingly eternal efforts was Celestia’s Grace allowed to shine upon the inhabitants of the town. The effort was monumental one though. Even one as fast as the famed Element of Loyalty wouldn’t be allowed a moment’s rest in that war.

Such a thought caused Big Macintosh to chuckle. The hulking red frame of the gentle giant betrayed it as the thought ran through his mind. He liked the prismatic colored pegasus well enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t entertain tormenting the very self-assured pegasus once in awhile.

The massive member of the Apple family checked his saddle bags before leaving the train station. The sun was high overhead and the winter day was in full swing as he trotted on in his own methodical way. Embracing the sights and sounds of the city, he appreciated it on a deep level. Though his heart belonged the farm he faithfully worked, there was a certain part of this place that appealed to him.

Industriousness. Simplicity. Those were values he held dear. Ponyville was once the same way, but since a certain protege of Princess Celestia took up residence in the town’s library, moments without intrigue or outright danger to life and limb were rare.

It couldn’t be helped, he supposed. When the protégé of the Regent of the Sun happened across, it seemed nature would oblige it’s sense of humor. Ursa minors, dragons, embodiments of chaos, the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Such things were simply part of life now.

He also understood that a city the size of Stalliongrad wasn’t without its own torturous moments as well. Just like the rain that happened over the Everfree Forest, it was going to happen with no method of control. Such things simply didn’t concern him in the end. Within his own thinking, there wasn’t time for matters of intrigue and anything that was a personal danger resulted in one simple decision: Fight or flight.

Mac came to the convention hall a while later and found a flyer in the advertisement window, announcing the “140th Annual Equestria Agriculture Convention.” Set to begin the next day, he tried to not give it much thought. The stallion adjusted his trademark yoke and continued down the thoroughfare. The irony of holding an agricultural convention in the midst of the most industrial place in Equestria wasn’t lost on him, but he let it go as he made his way to the local hotel.

He’d attended them before, but mostly as a goer. As such, he understood the sheer size of the gathering meant you didn’t hold it in a tent. Stalliongrad’s convention hall was among the largest in Equestria, so it made sense on a practical level.

The streets were crowded with a plethora of ponies moving about their daily lives. A horn or a set of wings decorated the crowd in spots, but a majority were earth ponies. Most of their coats, like the buildings, were more subdued in color, reflecting more earth tones then not.

Bodies draped in winter garments mingled as steam released by hot breaths rose skyward. Store keepers shouted about their wares while songs from the occasional stereo each competed for attention. There was a simple elegance that Mac surrounded and lost himself in. He gave a shake of his shoulders to help blood flow before continuing through the morass of equine kind.

Standing a full head above a majority of the bodies that were present, Big Mac lived up to his namesake. Muscles rippled with the slightest command while his mind was ever observant. His girth alone allowed him a certain space not granted to the usual pedestrian traffic. Mostly due to the fact he could bowl them over without slowing him down. Sometimes, to, as a result of perceptions about him away from home. One doesn’t pull the tail of a bull that’s perusing the plates in a china shop.

Big Mac didn’t mind though. Most thought him all brawn and no brain. He wore the mantle of a farmer openly, daring those stereotypes to be placed upon him. Quiet, shy, slow witted, and dull in matters of life.

The truth was Mac simply didn’t care to share his thoughts on current events or gossip on the lives of other ponies. If it didn’t involve him, it wasn’t his business. Provided nopony was hurting, he wouldn’t make it his affair.

As such, he wasn’t so much shy as he didn’t care about the little trivialities that happened. He had his family, his farm and his life. Why complicate things?

Another matter of truth was Mac was more intelligent than he cared to let on. “Ah strong mind serves ah strong body,” was the motto of his father and the credo of the existence. Contrary to those perceptions, he was versed in matters of business, art, philosophy, and so on. He knew enough subjects to make any pony pause. Provided they bothered to engage him as such. Of course, it hardly mattered whether or not they did. Such prejudgments gave him an advantage when discourse was required.

The simple, hard work of Sweet Apple Acres left the stallion a lot of time to think while the muscles of his body continued to exercise the concept that “more is better.” Plowing the fields simply didn’t require much in the way of attention. Bucking trees, after summers of practice, was simple action of muscle memory. In his downtime, the red giant enjoyed a good book, a warm fire, cool cider and the sounds of nature that surrounded him almost constantly. The simple pleasures. A simple life. Just the way he liked it. While he couldn’t win a contest of wits with the town librarian Twilight, his life was bred of a slow, practical wisdom braced with years of a cerebral foundation.

Approaching the hotel, he found his way to the desk through the bodies that packed the main hall. A green earth pony with a coal colored mane glanced over Mac’s form as he approached. Mac saw the respect in his eye, albeit it was probably begrudgingly given. Mac chuckled to himself.

A few books, courtesy of Twilight, on Stalliongrad’s history had helped him to prepare. It’s one thing to know what the “Traveler’s Guide” says (though he familiarized himself with that too). It’s another thing to understand what really makes a place and the ponies that inhabit it.

The residents of the aptly nicknamed “Citadel of the Earth Ponies” were hard workers and measured a pony’s worth as such. Big Macintosh’s size, yoke and cropped mane were all the credentials he needed.

“Welcome to the Waltrot National,” the pony spoke that stood behind the reception desk. His voice was baritone and his words spoke like a practiced recital. The name tag on his suit indicated his was the manager while his Cutie Mark was a desk bell. “Can I help you?”

“Eeyup. Reservation for Macintosh Apple?” Mac looked the pony in the eyes with a hint of respect. Give some, get some.

“One moment.” The pony glanced through his reservation book, hoofing through a few pages. “Ahh, Mr. Apple. Are you in town for the convention?”

“Eeyup.” Mac saw no reason to give away more than was necessary.

After a pause that lasted a few seconds, the manager nodded. “Very well. Tote!”

A beige unicorn decked a red uniform outlined in black cantered to the front desk. His luggage Cutie Mark gave a good indication of his existence. “Yes sir!”

“Take Mr. Apple and his bags to Room 1212. Mr. Apple, welcome to the Stalliongrad and enjoy your stay!”

Mac craned his neck backwards. Grabbing his bags within his teeth, he set them on the ground a second before an off-tan aura encompassed them and lifted them off the ground. “This way Mr. Apple.”

The lobby was a bit more posh than Mac cared for, though he understood the need. Gold-colored wallpaper liberally decorated the edges of the room, interrupted ocassionally by a dark oak column. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling that dealt light to every nook of the massive room. As the two ponies made their way to the elevators, Mac caught a trio of mares glancing at him from the corner of his eye. As the watching mares spotted him at the elevators, he purposely extended his rear leg a bit and made his muscles grow taught. One of them shot open her eyes before catching herself as while the other two did well to hide their expressions. Eyes, however, were the immortal snitch of lust.

As the door opened, Mac followed the bellhop in while releasing a chuckle.

Tote spoke while he punched the button for the 12th floor, “Get that alot?” The bellhop wasn’t oblivious to the scene as well and guessing by the yoke that the large stallion didn’t care for station much.

Mac nodded slightly, “It happens ah lot where ah’m from. Truth is though, ah don’t mind overly much.” His deep voice and smooth, slow drawl filled the elevator as it worked it’s way up.

His sister was always trying to find the right mare to steal his heart. Mac was obviously a physical specimen, but most of those dates were awkward and, to him, largely a waste of time. Mac wasn’t overly big on conversation so he didn’t speak much. He figured that he’d eventually have a family. There was time though and he wasn’t in a rush. It’ll happen when it’ll happen.

His mind did shutter as it recalled a date with a certain pink mare that nearly resulted in half of Ponyville being burned to the ground. He made a note thatfrom that day forth, Pinkie Pie was to kept far away from the family’s secret cider stash.

The elevator ride was quiet afterwards, albeit brief. As they entered the hallway and moved down a bit, Tote wrangled with the door for a second. Once it opened, the room was bathed in a soft artificial light from the lamp on a nightstand. The room was mostly a simple affair. A desk, long bed, and various other knick knacks were in the room. The air was cool and almost moist. In short, a typical hotel room.

“Enjoy your stay and call to the front desk should you need anything.” Tote released the bags near the bed. The young unicorn held a hoof out. Mac dropped a few bits for his trouble. The bellhop gave him the key and went about his day.

“Thank ya kindly,” Mac called out as the door closed thanks to that beige aura.

Mac sauntered to the window and pulled back the blinds. He admired the view for what it was and, if certain legends held true, what it could be. He’d been to Canterlot, Las Pegasus, and various other locales. Contrary to popular opinion, he was a well-traveled pony. Stalliongrad was a city of its own life and its own rhythm, so it was said. It was something different than anywhere else within Celestia and Luna’s realm.

Mac took in the scale of the sprawling city as he recalled how he got himself into this in the first place.

~(0)~

“Thank ya kindly, Miss Derpy,” Mac remarked as the wall-eyed courier departed on her route. After closing the door, the workhorse moved casually to the table. It was around Noon or so, but Mac was done for the day. Applebuck Season was still some time away and there simply wasn’t much else to be done until then. A few hired ponies dotted the expanse of farm, fixing up a fence or tending to the cows (and making sure their rent was on time).

He seated himself and opened the letter. The return address on the envelope was unfamiliar, though it read from Canterlot. Unfolding it’s contents, he took in the words as Applejack made her way through the door. “Hey ther’, Big Brother! Have a good day?”

Mac shook his head, his short blonde hair dancing a bit with the movement, “Nope.”

The orange mare adjusted her trademark Stetson and sauntered over to her sibling. “Something the matter?”

Mac laid the letter on the table and stepped back, allowing his sister to glance over its contents. The farm-mare had a subtle nervousness building in her stomach. Were the taxes wrong again? Was there some issue with a permit? In truth, Sweet Apple Acres had been turning a fair profit as of late, but these things seemed to find a way to threaten the clan’s livelihood. Granted, times were good, but experience is a persistent teacher. She moved past her brother and read the parchment.

From: Autumn Delight
Chairpony, Equestria Agriculture Council
Canterlot, Equestria

To: The Apple Family
Sweet Apple Acres
Ponyville, Equestria

Dear Apple Family,

A representative of your choice is hereby requested to attend the annual Equestrian Agricultural Convention to be held this year in Stalliongrad. We do humbly ask you to participate in the panel discussion regarding harvesting techniques and produce distribution. The knowledge you possess on these matters should be of great insight.

Please reply to confirm your attendance at your earliest convenience. Should you choose to attend, lodgings and expenses shall be taken care of.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Autumn Delight

Chairpony, E.A.C.

Applejack blew a low whistle and looked to her big brother. The most respected minds participated at these events. Such things were usually reserved for the influential ponies in those matters. More or less, it was an honor and a sign of what they’d achieved over the past few years. Applejack turned her head to her big brother, who looked to be lost in thought.

Sweet Apple Acres had long supplied a fair amount of produce to their region of Equestria. Improving the supply and distribution of apples (among other items) wasn’t much of an issue when Ponyville was first settled. You just planted more trees. Once the railroad was built, distribution ceased being an issue.

The farm sprang up in a similar manner as other farms in Equestria. That being in a haphazard manner. As the farm grew while Ponyville was a small frontier town, trees were planted with little thought towards organization or the long term future.

But as Ponyville continued to grow and the town proper began to encompass the available land, there was simply nowhere else to plant. Gradually, time caught up and the expenses piled up with it. Over the course of it’s history, Sweet Apple Acres existed, but it never thrived more than one season at a time.

Once their parents passed on, Big Mac and his sister took over the farm full time with the same results. Life continued as normal for the Apples: Just “existing.” The long term needs continued to outstrip the farm’s ability to provide. Granny Smith needed a new hip. The renovated barn the family called home needed repairs. Taxes always seemed to add up despite campaign promises from Mayor Mare to the contrary. In short, it was the same thing. To a degree, this was tradition. And traditions can be hard to break.

Mac tried to put the stress out of his mind as much as possible, but consistent worry dragged him down as it would anypony. Those thoughts were with him as much as the sun. One day though, the red stallion happened upon another thought as he was plowing the soil in the south field as part of the normal crop rotation. It was the same furrows, the same lines as his father did before him, and so on up the line of his lineage.

He began to take note of spacing for the first time. Why were the rows of uprooted dirt so far apart? Mac understood the plants he worked with. Season upon season of experience breeds such knowledge. He understood that the carrots and cabbage didn’t need so much space to grow. He glanced over the farm’s bread and butter producers, the apple trees.

He noted the layout of the orchards was chaos. Having lived on the farm his whole life, he knew the layout as intimately as Pinkie Pie knew pastries. But the issue of efficiency, and the lack there of, just occurred to him. Ever a patient pony, he began to formulate an idea. After many discussions with Granny and Applejack about his observations and a few books regarding planning and business negotiations, the idea became a possible plan.

Mac understood a simple adage. If you can’t work harder, work smarter. One couldn’t make the growing season any longer for more produce, but Mac was ever one to use whatever tools were available to do the job.

Apples, as a fruit, were ever in steady demand due to the dietary needs of the citizens of Equestria. As such, the economy of the farm was simple. More produce, more supply, a growing demand as the nation grew, and more profit as a result.

Over the course of that winter, the Apple siblings plotted the new layout that the farm would have and how the orchards would look. A few terse conversations aside, the brainstorming sessions resulted in a method, a time table, and an end result. The plan was solid.

Obviously uprooting all the trees as once wasn’t an option. It was always a few seasons before a transplanted tree began to fruit again, which would naturally leave the farm high and dry. However, over the course of a few years, it was feasible to get the farm “organized.” The trees were either re-planted or cut down outright depending on ease of moving. This always pained the family on some small level, but there was a schedule to keep. As time wore on and with whatever help was available, the layout of Sweet Apple Acres became more organized, plotted down to the last inch. Cutting down supply did mean some lean times. The Apples weren’t ones to complain about such situations though. The plan would work.

Certain factors added stress (such as the Flim Flam brothers and Applejack’s duties as an Element of Harmony) to the situation, but they would make it through. Macintosh poured himself into the work and powered through it in his usual fashion. He had some downtime such as winter. It was much though, but it was also matter of his family and his own sense of pride. What the body knows, the heart can forget.

After the hard part was done, new trees were planted with the newly won space, which amounted to nearly half the farm. Eventually, those trees began to bare fruit.

The idea then was that they wouldn’t just supply Ponyville anymore. Canterlot, Fillydelphia and Manehatten were target markets now that the supply was there. With more supply, Mac took it upon himself to stronghoof the local railroad into sizable discounts on their contracts. He went so far as to suggest starting “Sweet Apple Freight” if they weren’t accommodating. It pained the soft hearted Apple to even make such a threat, but it is what was needed and they knew him to be a stallion of his word.

Sweet Apple Acres products began showing up all over Equestria and selling just as quickly. Long story short, the losses were recovered within a single season and the family prospered shortly there after. More ponies were hired to help with the harvests and doing the day-to-day chores on the farm. As the apples, carrots, cabbages and every other type of edible plant grew, the farm prospered. Big Mac left the management of it all to Applejack and Granny Smith. His passion was in those orchards and he wouldn’t give it up for all the bits in the Royal Vault.

The farm and the family had also become a name in business circles. Trade magazines spoke of the “new face” of Equestrian agriculture. The farm turned out a steady stream of products and the bits were coming in more than ever before. Granny Smith got her new hip, the home was fixed up as good as new, and Apple Bloom’s future was set. Applejack would become the face of Sweet Apple Acres, but Big Mac (who shied away from that limelight) was its soul.

Applejack took it all in like a thunderclap. Through all the heartache and trials, through all the work and pain, it had paid off handsomely. To the Apples, family was first in everything. Through everything, the orange mare understood that. Whatever success they now had, she owed a large part of it Big Macintosh.

“Uh...Mac?”

“Eeyup.”

“Ah'm gonna cry now. Don’t tell Dash, will ya?”

“It’s between us, sis.”

The green eyes of the farm-mare closed, as if the entirety of the endeavor just hit her. A rim of wetness surrounded her closed eyes as she wrapped her hooves around the thick neck of the stallion.

Mac gave a silent smile. He knew his sister well and no words were needed. They’d accomplished a lot.

Life was good, but the issue of the panel left something to desired. Mac wanted to go about his life without the demands such terms as “discussion panels” sparked in this mind.

It would be up to Big Mac in the end though. Applejack was needed to manage the prospering farm and Apple Bloom was still a too young to give such talks. Granny Smith, the matriarch of the Apple clan, had done her bit for Princess and Country. It was one thing to do “Family Appreciation Day” for Apple Bloom’s class. This was a different thing entirely.

The “request” wasn’t one that could be ignored either. The Equestria Agriculture Council was a group that had more influence than such names as “Agriculture” implied. In the end, the lifeblood of the nation was it’s farms. A well-fed populace was a happy populace, so such matters tended to draw Royal interest. One did simple turn down such summons lightly, and the Apples were ever loyal to what the Royal Sisters stood for.

As Mac resigned himself to his forced spotlight, he began to lament those simpler times of cider mugs and books, but he would never shirk a job that was needing to be done.

.

~(0)~

Celestia’s sun was hanging low in the western sky. Big Macintosh, while lost in his thoughts, had opened the window. He would be in the city for three days while the convention ran its due course. He inhaled the air that burned his lungs a bit. The cold light of the winter sunset played with the clouds.

With a final exhale, he closed the window. Mac was always one to “know what there is to know.” So be it, then. Stalliongrad was ever a city of legend. Mac would see exactly that there was to see.

“Eeyup.”

Author's Note: This began a small exercise to get to know Mac as a character and evolved from there. Any feedback is welcome, of course. Also, I'm currently searching for an appropriate piece of art with the proper permissions.