At High Noon
The sun slowly crawled to the zenith, breathing heat on everything below. Eerie mirages floated on the barren wastelands surrounding the border town of Appleloosa, only the occasional screeches of the circling vultures interrupting the dead silence. Apart from a few rolling tumbleweeds (Appleloosians prided themselves on their fine, homegrown tumbleweeds), the streets were almost empty. The residents had long since learned it was useless to try working at midday; most of them were napping in their homes, napping in their shops, napping in the shades of apple trees or napping in the stables – it was a tough land for tough ponies. Not one soul seemed to move... apart from two figures in front of the saloon.
Here, even the silence felt pregnant with ill omens, as the two ponies stared at each other: one a pristine white unicorn with fabulous purple locks, the other unicorn coloured lavender, wearing a star-shaped golden insignia and a giant, raw sienna sombrero adorned with tiny bells along the brim. No words were spoken; their deadly glares told more than a thousand sentences ever could.
At long last, the white one opened her mouth. “So, it has come to this, Six-Shooter,” she said. “This town isn’t big enough for the two of us, and you know it.”
“You’re messing with the wrong pony, El Bandito,” Twilight ‘Six-Shooter’ Sparkle answered. She slightly pushed back her giant agate-blue bonnet with the begonia on it and pointed to the badge on her chest. “I’m the law around here!”
‘El Bandito’ Rarity smirked. “You underestimate me, Six-Shooter. I didn’t become the most feared pony in the West simply by having a fascinating fashion sense and charmingly sensual eyes. My horn is the fastest you have and will ever see.”
“We’ll see about that!” Twilight shouted and pushed her giant, amaranth-ribboned chupalla further back on her head. “Your reign of terror and trendy vogue, but mostly terror ends now!”
“So be it! At the first sound of the bells tolling high noon, we both cast our most powerful spells! Do you accept my challenge, Six-Shooter?!”
“You just made a grave mistake, Bandito! I am Governor Celestia’s number one student!” Twilight gloated from under her giant tricorn, decorated with way too many peacock feathers. “You have no chance of winning!”
“Oh, don’t I? Only the better spellslinger will walk away from this place alive, you know!”
Silence again. Hell-bent blue irises stared daggers at narrowed purple eyes. It was pretty tense for the first twenty minutes or so, but after that the two western heroines started to squirm awkwardly and blink their gazes away from each other.
“So, have you read anything interesting lately?” Twilight interrupted the silence, glancing at her rival from under the brim of her giant viridian homburg.
“Not really. What’s the time?”
“About half past ten, I guess.”
Rarity cleared her throat. “Not to be tactlessly sanguinary, darling, but could we perhaps kill each other a bit sooner than noon? I have some pressing business to attend to, if you don’t mind. My fashion empire isn’t going to conquer Canterlot by itself, you know.”
“But of course.” Twilight scratched her neck, pushing her giant periwinkle ushanka forward. “How about we both turn back, walk ten steps in the opposite directions, and then fire?”
“Perfect,” Rarity answered.
They both turned, stepped once, then suddenly span around. Two horns flashed in unison as two unicorns yelled magical incantations, calling forth powers unimaginable.
“Summon Greater Fainting Couch VII!”
“Maximized Star Swirl’s Infernal Hellfire Hailstor– wait, what? Summon fainting couch? Are you even serious?”
Rarity shrugged. “We can’t all be incredible magical prodigies, sweetie. I don’t want to name names, but some of us, particularly those who have talents in more... refined and elegant areas, are glad they can cast anything resembling combat magic at all, you know.”
“Whatever.” Twilight looked around under her classy giant velvet top hat, noticing the unusually low amount of fainting couches present. “It didn’t even work!”
“Oh,” Rarity smirked smugly, “I beg to differ. I did indeed summon the couch, thank you very much.”
“What? But where–” Twilight noticed a rapidly growing shadow under her. “Oh f–”
***
“And that was the last one!” Rarity announced. “Thank you so much for helping me out, Twilight! I really needed a model for all these petite hats! How can I ever repay you?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, it was my pleasure.” Twilight hopped down from the podium. “Come on, Dash, we’re done here! ...Dash?” She waved a hoof before the pegasus’ eyes.
“Bwuh?” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Oh, sorry, Twi, I sorta... zoned out for a bit, y’know.”
Not Much
“Ouch! Oh, sorry, didn’t notice you there!”
Sorry, didn’t notice you there. Those words could have been the cornerstone of Carrot Top’s life. Countless times had she heard that sentence and its different variations; she was the kind of pony others tended not to notice. Not out of contempt or carelessness – Carrot Top was simply unremarkable.
She was neither beautiful nor ugly. She was neither clever nor annoyingly dim-witted. She was neither funny nor boring, for the sole reason that other ponies seldom stopped to talk to her, apart from a few formal pleasantries. On the rare occasions when she did get invited to a social event (usually by Pinkie Pie), she mostly just stood and smiled in the background, greeting other guests who largely ignored her, or, more likely, just didn’t notice her. Yes, background: that was the right word to describe her life. No matter the angle from which you viewed any scene involving her, Carrot Top somehow, against all odds, managed to blend into the background, unimportant and unremarkable, like a piece of nice, but by no means necessary set dressing in a play where she’d never have any role.
She had few friends and even fewer enemies, she had few passions and few secrets, and even they were those common everyday secrets which wouldn’t really interest anypony, no matter how anxiously she hid them. She was a kind and polite pony, the typical ‘nice gal’ whom you couldn’t remember five minutes after asking her what the time was or where the souvenir shop was, which she probably couldn’t answer anyway. And why would she? She obviously never visited the souvenir shop, as she didn’t have anypony to send souvenirs to.
Every year she spent a week in a dusty maritime village, tricking herself into believing that she was actually ‘summering at the seashore’. Every year she wrote a postcard to her family; always the same sender, always the same addressees, always the same words. The weather was always lovely and she always wished her family were there, but she always promised to tell them about her holiday when she got home. Carrot Top’s life consisted mostly of tending to her garden, selling her carrots, probably reading some cheap books in her spare time and, when the few friends she had remembered her, having not very long, not very exciting meetings with them. This was Carrot Top: a simple mare living simple dreams.
A simple life devoid of the heights of passion and the depths of despair, yet you never saw her moping about it. She was always smiling, always there when one her few friends needed an ear, never hanging her head in angst. And indeed, why would she do so? Why would her life be less worthy just because she happened to spend more time in solitude and preferred her own thoughts while tending to her own business, instead of going on wild adventures? Who had the right to declare that a quiet life was ultimately less valuable than a loud one?
Carrot Top smiled. “No problem,” she said.
