The thing about tourist traps was that they had a tendency to invite the unseemly sort of folk. You know the types: the ones who see a pretty picture on a postcard, read the books with bits of pulp poking out the pages, and think the papers might look better in pieces on the floor. It wasn’t that they came here to be cruel. More so that cruelty was all they’d known. See, they loved the town at first. Thought the rustic nature charming, the food hot in their bellies.
But they got mad after learning when the next train back would come, and the longer they stayed, the better they learned that Dodge Junction’s not at all like the stories they know.
Cherry Jubilee did her time, serviced with spit-shine and a smile. They always liked when she did that last part. It meant more mouths to feed, maybe, but they were mouths used to spending money. So they got to stay, for as long as they were welcome—and for as long as they had bits choking their throat—before the sound of metal on metal sung throughout the whole square and they returned upstate in flocks.
That was why she didn’t quite turn her head to the saloon door when it creaked open. She had heard the tracks outside earlier in the day; anypony coming to the saloon this late was sure to be gone by tomorrow’s dawn.
It was an old story.
Still, Cherry pitched her voice up. Plastered on a grin. Called out, with the sort of sugar used to lure flies away from fruit, “Welcome in! Take a seat wherever you’d like and I’ll be with you in just a sec, alright?”
Hoofsteps replaced the entrance bell’s steady chime. She took a rag between her teeth and scrubbed at a stubborn spot of jam on the counter, but it wouldn’t come out. Chairs scraped across the hardwood, a pony or two taking their seat. Somepony was talking. That quiet kind of chatter. Secret-sharing.
Cherry had only just left the counter, the stain a lost cause, when the bell above the door rang again. It made her start. The usual greeting rested on her tongue, but she didn’t have to use it. Because there was only one pony in the shop: a mare, sitting alone.
Through the screen door, she caught a glimpse of a perfectly-tailored silhouette as it swept off into the town.
The mare inside wasn’t nearly so put-together, and Cherry could actually see her. She couldn’t have been too much younger than Cherry herself, but the makeup she wore made it hard to tell. It looked like somepony had dumped an entire rainbow cloud on her eyelids. Pretty colors, sure, but they didn’t look right, smudged down her face. Maybe she knew it, because the mare’s head was dipped so low Cherry could scarcely see her.
Cherry’s expression softened. So did her voice. “Hey, there,” she said, sliding a menu across the table. She tucked the extra in her apron. “Gonna be just you, tonight? Or do you got more comin’?”
The mare shook her head. “Just me,” she echoed. If the place wasn’t so empty, she might have needed to yell to be heard. She spoke quiet. “Nopony else.”
“That’s perfectly fine, sugar. Less chances of me droppin’ a glass on a guest, the fewer there are. Can’t really carry six drinks by yourself. Not that I’d know, ‘course.” Winking, Cherry withdrew her notepad and turned to a clean page. “Speakin’ of, could I get you somethin’ to drink while you look on the menu? Those are on the last page,” she tacked on, when the mare seemed to flounder. “I know it’s a bit dauntin’. We got lots of good eats. No rush.”
“I’ve never been here before.” The mare shifted in her seat. Cast a look at the window. Then she turned back to Cherry, pawing at the table. “Would you happen to have anything with lemon?”
It was all Cherry could do not to laugh. “I’m afraid you’re outta luck there,” she replied. “That’s what the east is for. Here, it’s just cherries. Though them Reiniers got the same color, if that’s what you’re after.”
But yellow wasn’t quite the mare’s calling, even if she had a smear of it by her left eyebrow. She ducked her head. “Oh,” she said. “Okay. Do… um, do you have tea? Sweet or unsweet? Or both?”
“Down here, it only comes sweet.”
“Then I’ll have the sweet tea, please.”
“I’ll have that right out for you. And just so we’re familiar, I’m Cherry Jubilee. I own the ranch just down the road. You need anythin’ from me—a straw, a napkin, a chat, anythin’—you just holler and I’ll come runnin’ over, alright? Not that I’d have to run too far, ‘course.” She eyed the main counter, barely three steps away, and cast a look at the mare. “Can’t deny that the practice’s nice.”
“Thank you so much, Miss Jubilee,” she said softly. “I know I probably didn’t come at the most convenient time.”
Tutting, Cherry waved a hoof. “Oh, none of that,” she said. “You’re here now and there’s a nice, tall glass in the back with your name on it. No need to apologize, y’hear?”
“I know. I’m sorry—” The mare cut herself off with a sheepish smile. “I mean, thank you. Truly. And my name is Rara.”
Cherry returned the gesture. This time, the corners weren’t so tight. “The pleasure’s all mine, Rara.” And she swept away into the kitchen.
The thing about tourist traps was that the decision as to who might come through the door was put in the hooves of the same ponies in charge of lottery numbers—that is, some very unreliable folk. You could make guesses all you wanted, take note of the stickers smacked on luggage and the way ponies carried themselves. Some trudged. Some strutted.
To Cherry, the biggest sign was presentation. How did they dress? What did they say? Would they smile back?
Rara’s clothes were upscale. Stray glitter clung to the mare’s cheeks, her hair in tight curls. The only lines on her face were the ones drawn by her eyes.
Cherry had been to Manehattan—she knew the labels to watch for, even if she could only sneak peeks through a cab door. That was a bit like how she felt, now, as she heaved a pitcher down from the rack. Looking from the outside.
Rara’s makeup was smudged. Rara didn’t come in alone. She talked so, so quiet.
The ice cream wasn’t part of the order, but Cherry hadn’t been writing stuff down either way.
When she nudged the door open again, tray clutched in her teeth, Rara had her face close to the window that overlooked the helm of Mane Street proper, all the businesses lined up in a neat curve. Even with the sky so deep in sunset, Cherry couldn’t deny the view.
She called out, “Order up!”
In the booth, Rara startled, head jerking back from the window. Her shoulders seemed to slump when she saw it was only Cherry. In relief or exhaustion, it was hard to tell.
“Oh, you’d think I’d learn,” Cherry muttered, half-chastising. “Nopony ever yells at this hour unless somethin’s gone bad. And the sound really does carry, in here. Got your tea for you. My apologies for the noise.”
“No worries,” Rara said. It was a convincing performance. Her hooves shook as she settled back into her seat, keeping her back to the glass. “You don’t have to be sorry— I just didn’t hear you come in. Thank you for the tea, Miss Jubilee. It looks delicious. I’ve never…”
Her words trailed away as gaze landed on the ice cream. A question hung in the air. Cherry took up the mantle.
“A treat,” she said simply. When Rara didn’t move, she tacked on, “Of the house variety.”
Rara’s face fell. “Oh, I can’t—”
But Cherry held up a hoof. “House variety means you don’t gotta pay. You looked like you needed it, anyhow.”
“What… flavor is it?” Rara asked. “Cherry?”
“Nope, that’s just what’s on top. Vanilla, made in-house. You’ll never taste anythin’ better.”
Somehow, that made Rara’s expression sink further. “It’s very kind of you,” she began, “and I appreciate the offer, but it’s just—I can’t.”
“Allergic?” When Rara gave a shrug, Cherry nearly cursed herself for not asking. “I’m awful sorry,” she said. “I can get you somethin’ else, if you’d like?”
“My—well, Svengallop’s my ‘boss,’ really, but he prefers ‘manager.’ He used to come out here all the time with his family. He even said he stopped at your orchard, once. And he says that the yellow cherries taste worse than the regular kind. Sour, I think he said? But I’ve always wanted to try them.” Here, she hesitated. “You… you did say you had some, right?”
Cherry’s face split with a grin. “Oh, some? Sure. Just acres and acres of trees full of ‘em. I’d call that some. You’d like a bowl, then?”
“If you can, that would be great.”
“Give me just a moment, dear.”
The thing about tourist traps was that the novelty tended to stick around even after the paint started to peel off in strips. The bulbs in the sign still flickered, the wood held firm despite the weather. See, it took pride to keep places like these running. Cherry did her best to supply it in spades.
There wasn’t quite a tower of Reiniers in the bowl, but it was still precarious. When she set it down on the table, Rara wouldn’t stop gawking at it. Cherry just smiled.
“I didn’t even know they could come in that color,” Rara breathed. She reached out a hoof but drew it back to her side in almost the same instant. Looking at Cherry, she seemed almost bashful. “I thought you were joking, earlier.”
“No jokes here. This one’s house variety, too.” And Cherry pushed the bowl across the table. “For real this time.”
“Oh, I can assure you, I don’t mind at all about paying—” Reaching for her purse, Rara began to move the bowl back towards Cherry. Cherry felt the strangest sense of deja vu as she held up a hoof to stop her.
“You may not mind, but I do,” Cherry said firmly. “I feel just rotten for givin’ you somethin’ you couldn’t even have. Let me do this much.”
Rara frowned. “You aren’t going to get in trouble?”
“What for?”
“Two things on the house… it’s just—too much, isn’t it?”
“Aw, it’s no skin off my flank. Really,” she added, when Rara’s ears drooped further. Cherry nudged the bowl closer, meeting her eyes all the while. “Not much trouble you can get into, in this business. My boss won’t mind.”
This time, Rara kept the bowl where it was. But she still looked uneasy. “As long as you’re sure,” she said.
“Sure as the sun. More tea?”
“Oh—um, yes, yes. Please.”
The thing about tourist traps was that nopony really ever said words like that, when they were there. Not so often, and not so frequent. The phrases that were rough on the tongue came easy. The ones like “hey, you” or “gimme another.” That was the way they were meant to go. They weren’t supposed to feel good. Slid down, thick as molasses. You can get far enough, being nice, but not all the way.
Clink. Rara took the proffered glass with a grateful smile, and nearly downed half of it in the first sip alone. She wiped her mouth, sort of dainty-like, and reached for the bowl again. Half of the fruit was already gone.
“Anythin’ else I can get you?”
“No, no,” Rara said quickly. But she seemed to hesitate. “Unless… you wouldn’t mind me saying something? Nothing bad—the tea is wonderful, if you were wondering.”
Cherry wasn’t. Not really. But it still was nice to know. Amused, she slid into the booth opposite Rara. “Figured as such. What’s eatin’ at you, then?”
“I’m not allergic to milk. Or dairy. Though I guess those are the same things. But I’ve always been told that it coats your throat, you know? When you eat stuff like that. Make you sound like you’re sick.”
That made Cherry’s brow crease. “Are you sick? I don’t have any honey for that tea, but we do have cherry tea. Might not be quite the same, but I still like the taste.”
“No,” Rara said gravely, “worse. I’m a singer. Tour Equestria. Headline shows. I do just about everything a popstar does.” She plucked another cherry from the bowl, pulling off the stem with her teeth. “My crew and I are staying at the inn down the road. The one with the red roof? Just until the next morning. This is a sort of… pitstop, I guess.”
Of course, Cherry thought. Still, she smiled. “Well, that’s a fine place for spendin’ the night,” she said. “Only place in town, really, but the praise is earned all the same. I trust Surefire’s been givin’ you no trouble? You can shout if they are. I know their daddy.”
“Oh, no!” Rara said, shaking her head. “No, no, they’ve been just splendid. Very courteous. That’s the way everypony around here has been.” She chewed on the cherry, deep in thought. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well—it’s just… I’m from Manehattan. You can probably tell. Back there, everypony is friendly. I’m not saying they aren’t. But—you sort of keep your head down. Keep to yourself. I’ve got my business, you’ve got yours. You know?”
“Some,” Cherry admitted. “It’s not so much like that, here. Is it?”
“Oh, absolutely not. All there’s ever been is just… nice ponies. That’s all there is. Back home, it’s only ever… you know. Really, I shouldn’t even be talking so much as it is, or Svengallop’ll—” Cherry’s eyes had gotten wide at that. She never did have the best poker face. Hastily, Rara added, “He won’t do anything bad! That came out wrong. He… just cares a lot about my wellbeing, that’s all. And as my manager, he’s right to, you know? Because if I can’t talk, then I can’t sing, and if I can’t sing…” She let the words trail away. They told a tale all their own.
Cherry gave her a knowing look. “Should you need it, I can keep up a conversation with nopony but myself,” she said. “I’ve been told I drive ponies mad, sometimes, but if that’s what I need to do, then I’ll do it.”
“No, you’re fine. You’re wonderful. And I like talking.” Rara’s voice got small. “It’s more so that I just shouldn’t be doing so much of it. Not now, anyway. I have a show tomorrow.”
An eyebrow raise. “In town?”
“West. In Appleoosa. We were going to spend the night there, but I was the one who suggested finding a place here. Svengallop wasn’t that pleased, of course, but I figured it would be more efficient than going through the city. With all the traffic there, it probably would’ve taken twice the time. It’s almost funny. I’ve always heard that things move slower, in small towns, but here, it seems like everything just goes by so fast.”
“I can attest to that,” Cherry said with a chuckle. “You came through the train, yeah?”
“Yes. That’s the only way we knew.”
“Well, I’ll tell you this much: I’ve not ever seen one cut through a town so quickly as that train does. Can hear it from a mile away, practically. It’s that loud. They’re not meant to blow the horn, on account of the fact that ponies live and sleep here, but it’s never stopped ‘em.” Cherry whistled. “Gotten used to it, ‘course, but I can’t say it doesn’t get annoyin’.”
That made Rara light up. “Oh, it’s the same with the trains where I’m from!” she said. “I know that they get ponies places, and I think that’s fantastic, but sometimes, I just wish they’d be a little quieter.”
Outside, almost on cue, horn blared. Neither could quite contain their laughter.
The thing about tourist traps was that anypony could get stuck in them. Even if they wouldn’t be there forever, it was only ever a matter of who, and when, and why.
“You know, she’s not that scary, anyhow.”
Rara tilted her head. “I’m sorry?”
“My boss,” Cherry went on. “The one you seemed to be all worried ‘bout, with the cherries? Most she could do is raise her voice a bit, but even then that’s only so she gets listened to.” She chuckled. “Doubt she’d even notice there’s even any missin’. She’d probably sit and chow down on ‘em by the hoofful, if she could.”
“Oh. I mean—just as long as you’re sure. I wouldn’t want her to be mad.”
Cherry’s lip curled. “Well, you’re lookin’ right at her, so I couldn’t imagine she’d be that scary. Unless you’ve been hidin’ your fear under all that nice makeup?”
“You don’t have to lie.” Rara looked down, cheeks tinted pink. “I just know I look awful.”
“Now I should be the one tellin’ you not to lie,” Cherry tutted. “There’s nothin’ ugly about you other than your words about yourself. Y’hear?”
Rara’s face got twisted. “But Svengallop—”
“—ain’t here right now. Unless he’s hidin’ in the back. Though I think I’d’ve noticed, had he done that. The way you tell it, he’d have probably torn off my ear for even thinkin’ to give you somethin’ so ruinous as a dish of ice cream. Doubt he could keep quiet enough to hide behind a box of mareschino cherries for as long as the two of us have been chattin’.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t do that,” Rara said immediately. “He would’ve been upset, sure, but nothing like… that. I owe so much to him as it is. The least I can do is my own part.”
The words sounded rehearsed. Cherry wondered if she was used to that. She cleared her throat. Rara looked up.
"I can give you the check now, if you're ready. You'll need your beauty sleep for the train tomorrow. And I can give you somethin' for the road, too."
"If it's on the house, I promise—"
"Not the house," Cherry corrected. "Just me. Here."
Easing out of the seat, she trotted over to the bakery display. There wasn't a whole lot left, but she scooped up what had the most remaining and set the tin on the table in front of Rara. A cherry pie. Not so freshly baked now, but still serviceable.
Cherry went on, “You don’t have to share, exactly, or even take it at all, I’m just offerin’. This pie won’t go bad unless nopony touches it, and even then, I know folks who’d eat it anyway, no matter how long it’s been out.”
“But we’re supposed to leave early,” Rara said, after a moment. Her eyes never left the dessert. “Before the sun comes up. It's a long trip. I don’t think Svengallop would be happy to see a pie tin among all our luggage, no matter how tasty the pie itself is.”
“Then prop it up against the wall before you go. Anypony’d be a fool to take it. They’d make too much of a racket if they tried.”
The corner of Rara’s lip curled up, a rueful but gentle thing. “Worse than the train?”
From the crack in the door, the soft breeze of a night deep in summer crept inside. It tickled Cherry’s cheeks. She told Rara, “Oh, you don’t even know the half of it.”
The thing about tourist traps was that the good ones never stay long. You know the kinds: the folk that tip well, say “please” and “thank you,” look at you when they talk, and spit the pits into a bucket instead of the ground. Cherry liked to view it as a positive. That leaving made sure those seeds of niceties might be spread elsewhere, even if they wouldn’t bear fruit on the soil she was so used to.
The pie tin had fallen over sometime in between the sun’s rising but landed hollow-side down on the side of the shop. That made it easy for Cherry to stoop down and catch the rim in her teeth. She would’ve been content to carry on like that, even through the crumbs of day-old pastry crust, had she not seen what had fallen out of it.
Dusted with confectioner’s sugar and printed with spotty ink was a ticket stub. On the pavement, it looked so little. There was a moment where Cherry was certain it was meant for the train, but when she squinted, she could make out music notes.
“I have a show tomorrow.”
Some of the words were crossed out and rewritten with a steady hoof. Others were scarcely visible even with daylight. Cherry kept squinting.
ADMIT ONE
COUNTESS COLORATURA
Rara
PRESENTS A NIGHT OF GLITZ AND GLAMOR
7:00 P.M.
Whenever you’ll have me
APPALOOSA CENTER THEATRE
And then, just below that, in the same looping, fine script,
Dodge Junction
The thing about tourist traps is that sometimes, if it’s feasible, if they like it enough, if there’s enough reason to, the ponies make plans to come back.
