The Blood Runs Crazy

The Previous Week...

Applebloom bounced her hoof against the window as the landscape slid by. The seat across from her already bore her suitcase, a preemptive strike against anypony who decided to assault the lonely mare with friendship.

She hadn’t been back to Ponyville in fifteen years. Not since she’d split for Canterlot with a grant to study urban planning.

The window was bound by a heart-shaped frame, a holdover from her quite mad predecessor. Between the setting sun shining off the glass and the shape of the frame, her face was turned into a parody of a glamor shot. She leaned closer into her reflection, inspecting her face for signs of age. A bit like looking over a building for signs of bricks, really.

She puffed out her cheeks in a weak attempt to stretch out some wrinkles, then stuck out her tongue. Her eyes slid crossways and out of focus as she lost herself in mocking the countryside.

“Miss, do you need any …” A filly in a blue uniform had paused by her seat. “Please don’t lick the windows, Miss.”

“I wasn’t gonna … um … I mean, I …” Applebloom cleared her throat and attempted to force some dignity back into her body. Fortunately, the stewardess hadn’t recognized her. Charity Bawl would love more ammunition for their arguments. “How much farther to Ponyville?”

“Just under an hour.”

The train surged into a tunnel, and bounced wildly in the dark. They had slowed considerably by the time they returned to the light.

The stewardess was calm as she explained, “That section of the track has been damaged for years. The infrastructure budget never seems to have the money required to fix what the government views as a minor hiccup on the road to some backwater.”

It had been said without accusation and in ignorance, but Applebloom felt the dagger all the same. She'd received more than a few letters from Ponyville complaining about the tracks. Still, if she dropped everything and came running every time somepony back home got a bee in their bonnet about a local issue nothing would ever get done. Applebloom had to remain objective in her job. The modern world had no room for crusaders.

The train disgorged her on the Ponyville platform and was gone again in an instant. Schedules got to be monstrous on the overnight trains.

As she walked through the old streets, she saw just how little difference time had made. The same buildings. The same fillies and colts that she’d left behind doing the same menial jobs as ever. Twist waved to her from the cafe she'd started working in while they were both still in school.

Following her memories, Applebloom made her way to Sweet Apple Acres. The fence, according to Granny Smith, had been the first permanent structure established in Ponyville. The gate stood in silhouette against the setting sun, its inscription hidden within its own shadows. It was open, welcoming as it always would be. Eager to swallow its wayfaring daughter.

Beyond, Applebloom could see the caravans, wagons, and trailers of the Apple family. It seemed everyone had come to see one of their favored relatives into the grave.

“You came,” Braeburn’s voice was flat. He may as well be observing the color of dirt.

“I got your letter.”

“Not in time to attend your sister’s funeral, though.” The Earth Pony, as always dressed like a gunslinger from those awful L'Amour novels, dropped off the fence where he'd been sitting.

Applebloom squirmed silently in her skin. Her cousin never talked so plainly before. The uncanny way he was acting only added to the overall awkwardness of her return.

A filly with a light green coat and pale yellow mane saved Applebloom from suffering further conversation. “Good evening, Ma’am. Good evening, Mr. Braeburn,” she interrupted.

“Apple Mosaic, this is Aunt Applebloom. She’ll be staying here for a few days.”

“It is well to meet you.” The filly curtsied delicately to Applebloom. “Will you be staying here or in the city?”

“She can stay in her old room. Unless you want to overpay for a room in the Ponyville Arms?” Braeburn turned back to the yellow mare.

“If … I think I already made a reservation at the Arms.”

“Oh, that simply will not do, Auntie. They have a terrible problem with insects in the city. Follow me, please.” Apple Mosaic turned without waiting and started to the house.

Applebloom followed the winding dirt road quickly catching up to her niece. The filly had been born after Applebloom had left for Canterlot, and so this was her first look at the Applejack’s youngest daughter. On closer inspection, Applebloom could see the filly’s namesake, an irregular pattern of yellow spots that stretched along her spine and down her rib cage.

The mare was so busy studying her niece, she nearly tripped over her when she stopped.

“That’s Uncle Macintosh,” Mosaic whispered conspiratorially as she pointed with one hoof.

Applebloom looked down the green hoof to see the immense shadow of her brother slowly rocking back and forth on a child’s swing. It was amazing the ropes hadn’t snapped under his weight.

“He’s simple,” the child giggled under her breath.

The yellow hoof was moving before the mind responsible for it had time to take offense or reconsider. The elder mare struck her niece on the ear as she snarled, “Don’t talk about your Uncle like that.”

“It’s what the doctor says,” Mosaic whined in response, “he says that something is rotten in his brain and he went simple. That’s what he told me.”

“Adults are allowed to say things like that. Fillies are not,” Applebloom sighed as her fury melted before the child’s pouting.

"I'm sorry." Apple Mosaic was good, nopony could deny that as tears peeked from the edges of her eyes.

“Just … I had a long train ride. Can you show me to my room?”

“Of course!” the green and yellow filly changed like a light switch, skipping up the road to the house.