Yea it's a oneshot cry me a fuggin river
Scootaloo was practically bouncing off the walls.
Granted, this wasn’t a monumental task. As useless as her wings were, their excited buzzing combined with her energetic pacing seemed to multiply the sheer amount of joyfully anxious power in her movements. The sound of the buzzing was amplified by her orange t-shirt, which seemed to be like a small lake of cloth over her form as the wings moved underneath it, waves of fabric running over her upper body.
“Today’s plan, I’m SUPER psyched about,” Scootaloo blurted, her bright smiling face turned towards her two fellow Crusaders. “This is gonna be the THING! This is gonna get us our cutie marks, I know it!”
Her compatriots in the room were entranced for two reasons. Scootaloo being so amped up about something generally meant that they were going to do something awesome. However, said thing might result in an injury or two. Scootaloo giggled a bit, as she was more than aware of this, but her face turned serious for a moment.
“C’mon, guys! This is really good, trust me!”
“Scootaloo,” Sweetie Belle said, sitting upright on top of a stool, “Last time we did something ‘really good’ we almost had to go to the hospital!”
Scootaloo merely laughed. “Hey, we could’ve hit the sycamore. That would’ve hurt really badly.
“Anyways!” She continued. “I won’t leave you guys in the dark any more! The super-awesome-swaglicious-by-twenty-percent plan is…”
The other Crusaders leaned forward on their stools, until they were on the front two legs.
“Paaaaauuuuse for dramatic effect…”
Scootaloo then reached up and pulled down a screen, poking at it with one hand. Taped to the screen was a crude crayon drawing, of the trio that made the Cutie Mark Crusaders wielding long, gray objects. Scootaloo read the big print off of the bottom in the most theatrical voice she could muster, deep and booming in an almost humorous way.
“CUTIE MARK CRUSADER SHOTGUN SURGEONS!!”
The reaction wasn’t as immediate, emphatic or as enthusiastic as Scootaloo had imagined. The other Crusaders leaned their seats back properly, and sat upon them. Sweetie Belle murmured a bit, and Applebloom rubbed her shoulder, as she had been doing the past hour or so. Heck, Scootaloo surmised, Applebloom had been rubbing her shoulder most all day.
“…What? It’s a good plan, right?!”
“Errrrrrrm…”
“Oh, c’mon, guys! It’s easy!” Scootaloo cried, stamping a foot in frustration. “We find- ask permission politely and nicely to borrow the INFAMOUS Apple family shotguns, we go out into the orchards, and we shoot down some apples from far range! Cutie marks, snap!”
“Well,” Sweetie Belle said nervously, “I dunno, I mean, if we screw up, we could hurt somebody else REALLY badly, not like usual…”
“That’s why we get Applejack to teach us how to use a shotgun! Applebloom!”
“Huh?” Applebloom stopped her wincing, shoulder-rubbing reverie for a moment, having missed the discussion prior. She looked at Scootaloo with the same unsure blankness Sweetie Belle was using a moment ago.
“You’ve seen Applejack hanging around the farm with her shotgun, right? Has she ever shown you how to use one?”
“Uhm. Yeah…”
Scootaloo tilted her head. “Applebloom, you’ve been rubbing that should of yours all day. What happened?”
“Applejack was showing me how to use her shotgun.”
Scootaloo’s eyes lit up. “Omigosh! Really?! Tell us all about it, then! We might not even have to learn how to use one if you do! If you can just show us-“
Applebloom winced again, and held her shoulder. “Really, Ah don’t think it’s a good idea, Scoots.”
“Why not?”
Applebloom winced again, and raised the sleeve of her oversized T-shirt.
The day before, Applebloom had woken up, and anticipation hung in the air with the triangle her sister always used to wake the family up, along with her long list of what Applebloom referred to as “good mornings”.
“Rise and shine! It’s a brand new day! Up n’ at ‘em! Wakey, wakey, eggs n’ bakey! The sun’s up an’ so should ya’ll be!...”
When it came closest to her room, Applebloom nearly burst out of the covers, unable to contain her excitement. Today was the big day. The day she’d been looking forward to all year. She’d marked her calendar and everything. She had counted the days, she had reminded Applejack the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that, but not the night before that because that would make her seem a bit too excited.
It was a day that held so much promise that Applebloom couldn’t help but rush about her room, throwing open the closet and nabbing the clothes she’d need for the day, realizing that she didn’t really have a shirt. She slowed only to wait in her doorway until Big Macintosh lumbered out of his room, yawning and smacking his lips. To him it was just another day, but no, to Applebloom it was the big day, the biggest day of the year. As soon as his thunderous steps had made it downstairs, Applebloom rushed into his room. It was an understated sort of clean, a few pictures of women on the wall that Applebloom was pretty certain Granny Smith wouldn’t approve of, but the poor old lady could barely make it up the stairs in the first place and that was all really irrelevant in the end because today was the big day.
Applebloom raided the dresser and pulled out a shirt that had the words “CRUSH KILL DESTROY SWAG” printed on it. She slipped it over herself, and it enveloped her like a massive blanket. It was so big on her that it hung down almost to her knees, which was fine with her, because after all, today was a big day, the biggest day of the year, and she needed loose, movable clothes anyways. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she left his room, a small, sticklike girl of eleven years old, a massive pink bow in her strawberry blonde hair, the huge shirt acting almost like a dress over her diminutive form. She smiled at the sight of her own bright green eyes, and slipped out of Macintosh’s room as if nothing ever happened.
She bumped into Applebloom in the hallway, who had an eyebrow raised. Applebloom barely came up to her sister’s chest. Applejack was an intimidating form, especially for someone so small. She had her trademark hat in one leather-gloved hand, a green flannel draped over her gray t-shirt. Her almost bleach-blond hair fell to her lower back. She was tall, lean, and muscular, more akin to a worker than to the trademark “farmgirl” seen in the movies. She looked down upon her little sister, and her previously skeptical look was broken by a warm smile.
“Ah told ya ta stay outta Mac’s clothes, little lady,” she said, unable to keep the words hard underneath the obvious excitement that coursed through Applebloom. She stifled a chuckle, and turned around. “Well, you better get breakfast before Mac eats it all. Then we’ll go down tah the basement and get what we need, then-“
“ThenwegodowntotheoldbarnandIGETTOLEARNHOWTOUSEAGUNSOTHATICANGETMYCUTIEMAAAAARK?!”
This time Applejack didn’t stifle her laugh. “As ya’llve reminded a thousand times over the past week…”
The “Old Barn” was really just another one of the structures on Sweet Apple Acres that hadn’t withstood the test of time, a small thing meant to hold cows but had never materialized. The Apples had never gone into dairy, since being the only apple traders around and staying that way was the easiest way to gain profits (Twilight would throw around words like “monopoly” to describe the phenomenon, and whenever Applejack heard this, she’d emphatically deny that it was such a thing. Applebloom had no idea what a monopoly was, but since Applejack was clearly insulted she would be). It was surrounded by ample, now-blooming apple trees, paint peeling off the outside, a structure that was infinitely intimidating, but not then.
Because then, Applejack had a bandolier on, and Applebloom almost skipped around with a bag that made tinkly plastic noises as the contents bounced with her excitement. The door to the Old Barn was unlocked, the bar lifted, and the pair entered.
The old barn had a purpose, which was why it had yet to be knocked down. It held the Apple family’s firearms. They didn’t have very many, despite rumors to the contrary. Applejack didn’t find it very practical to have massive walls of guns and ammunition like many farmers did. It was too much temptation to do something stupid with them. Rather, they kept their arms to one weapon per family member, and kept the ammunition in a separate bag in the basement of the Apple farmhouse.
Granny Smith owned an aging over-and-under shotgun that arthritis had made impossible to use and rust had made impossible to sell. Big Macintosh wasn’t a very big fan of guns at all- He saw no real purpose in them, or something, he was never very vocal about why. However, he did own a small handgun, a Single Action Army. Nothing too fancy or big. It had never been fired, and the entire family doubted it ever would be fired. Even Applebloom had a little BB gun that Applejack had taught her to use, and the lever was wearing out. In her excitement, she’d been going down to the shed and hitting pop cans with the BB gun.
Today, however, was a big day. A day that was simply beautiful because it was the day Applebloom was going to learn how to fire a shotgun.
More specifically, Applejack’s shotgun. Applejack and her shotgun had a very long, loving history together, of proper maintenance combined with liberal usage. Nobody in town denied that Applejack was a good shot. She had been in many a fair, and she was a captain in the local militia whenever they got together. The tanned beauty of Sweet Apple Acres used her weapon like it was just another part of her arm.
And yet she’d never actually hurt anything with it. She’d fire off a few rounds at rabbits and other varmints that would try to get into the apple stores, but she simply didn’t have the heart to kill anything with her shotgun. Not to mention that Fluttershy would throw a fit if she found out. Or break down into tears for weeks. Applejack wished neither thing on her friend. She had gone hunting in the Everfree once, but came back with nothing.
It was just as much an ornament as it was a tool. The body of the weapon had intricate engravings, the ashwood stock polished to a shine that made it seem to meld with the bluish gray gunmetal. It was a pump-action, long and intimidating, much like its owner. The stock was embellished with a crude carving of three apples, a more geometric version of Applejack’s cutie mark. It was the most ornate part of its owner, but to Applejack, it was as much a tool as it was an ornament.
Applebloom sat the bag of shells and bullets onto the ground, making a small clinking noise. Her sister had retrieved the shotgun, with a small smile on her face.
“Alright, Applebloom, what do you think is the first thing we do?”
Applebloom thought for a moment, before asking gently, excitement tingeing her voice. “We load up the shotgun?!”
Applejack’s expression soured. “Nope, we put on somma these.”
With that, Applejack reached into the rounds bag and pulled out two massive pairs of what looked like headphones without wires. She stuffed some over Applebloom’s ears, and put some over hers, stuffing the headphones under her hat. They seemed to muffle out the world almost entirely, encompassing almost all of her tiny eleven-year-old ears.
“Here’s the thing about this here weapon,” Applejack said, almost shouting to be heard in the earphones. “Or any gun, for that matter. One of the reasons Granny Smith’s goin’ deaf is cuz she never wore any ear protection when she was shootin’. So step one, is put on your headphones!”
She shouted the last few words extra loud for emphasis. Applebloom nodded enthusiastically, causing her sister to smile.
“Alright, now I think we can load it. Make sure you’ve got the safety on…”
Applejack grabbed three shells from the bag and loaded them into the shotgun, before holding the weapon out to Applebloom. The little girl took the hint, and grabbed three shells from the bag, using her other hand to try and nab the shotgun. Applejack’s expression soured again, and she pulled the weapon away.
“Applebloom!”
“What?” Applebloom pleaded.
This time Applejack wasn’t charmed. “Always ask before you take. Especially with this. You might not know what you’re doing and knock off the safety.”
She held the gun out again, using her other hand to direct Appleblooms own appendages, and in a moment she had let go of Applebloom’s hands, and the shotgun was now resting in them.
It was heavier than Applebloom expected, and it felt so big. She could barely reach ahead in order to put a hand on the pump. She held it loosely at her hip, as she had done with her BB gun, which made Applejack grimace again.
“Applebloom!”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t hold it like that…”
Once again, Applejack was directing Applebloom’s movements, helping her to hold up the weapon vertically, the barrel pointing into the air. It was quite hefty, especially for the small girl. She began prancing over to the range. Once there, Applebloom lowered the weapon, and took aim, though it took her a moment to get used to the sights. They weren’t like the ones on her BB gun. They were more designed for close-quarters.
The weapon seemed so HUGE in her hands. In this position, she couldn’t reach the pump, it was too far forward, and the weight was almost too much for her. Applejack was behind her know, hands on Applebloom’s shoulders, correcting her stance.
“Feet shoulder width! Stock to your shoulder! C’mon, Applebloom, ya know this! Back straight!”
It took a few adjustments, but now Applebloom was standing correctly, holding a shotgun that was almost as big as she was tall, almost shaking with anticipation. Here she was, being a big girl now. She had an actual shotgun in her hands. A big person shotgun. A shotgun a person with a cutie mark would be found wielding. Applejack reached around and clicked a small button on the trigger guard.
“Safety’s off, but don’t fire yet.”
Applebloom relaxed her hand. The trigger seemed really hard to pull anyways.
“I justed wanna warn ya, Applebloom-“
“Ah’m ready! Ah’m ready! Shotgun cutie mark, here Ah come!”
Applejack smiled again. “Well! Alright then! If ya’ll so keen on gettin’ that cutie mark, let’s hop to it! Now…”
Applebloom sighed. Here goes nothing! Her big moment. Because this was the big day, the day she was going to learn to fire a shotgun, the day she got a shotgun cutie mark, the day she made Applejack proud.
“Breath in, gently now…”
Applebloom breathed in.
“There ya go! Now stop being so tense, just relax…”
Applebloom let go of her tense muscles, the shotgun swaying downwards a bit as she stopped being so tense and excited. Here goes nothing.
“Alright,” Applejack said. “Reeaaaaaadyyyy…”
Here it was.
“Aaaaiiiiimmmm…”
Her big moment.
“Fire!”
She was going to make Applejack proud.
She fired.
Applebloom had never felt anything so powerful in her entire life. It was like Big Macintosh had thrown his entire weight into her shoulder. The boom it made was tremendous, like thunder mixed with a lion’s roar, and she didn’t know how really dim the old barn was until the muzzle flash exploded in front of her eyes for a split-second. Even with headphones on, she felt her ears pop with the sheer power of the noise, like Sweetie Belle had just shouted into both of her ears. It was powerful enough to sweep Applebloom off her feet, send her flying backwards with a yelp. If Applejack hadn’t been there to catch her, she most certainly would have landed flat on her back.
In a few seconds, her shoulder began to throb. Applejack pulled her hand back and helped her pump the shotgun. She was chuckling, although Applebloom couldn’t hear it.
“Dammit, Applebloom! Feet shoulder width! Do it again!”
Applebloom nodded. She was going to make her sister proud. The clank of the plastic shell against the floor went ignored, as she took aim again, and breathed in.
And she fired again, and the shotgun pounced. It leapt into the air with the recoil, forcing her cheek and head up, giving another aggressive bark, popping Applebloom’s ears again. It smashed against her shoulder, and the throbbing doubled.
“Applebloom! Is that shotgun up against your shoulder? Ah’ll bet it ain’t! One more time!”
Applebloom held back the tears from the throbbing this time. It was like Applejack’s shotgun was intentionally attacking her. She lifted the gun, breathed in.
The last time was admittedly the cleanest, and it brought a smile to Applebloom’s face, despite the throbbing intensifying again. The shotgun let out its dragon roar again, and this time Applebloom could see what effect it left on the bottles twenty feet or so away. It missed its target completely. She let out a sigh of disappointment.
She fired it about four more times before asking if they could be done for the day.
“But Applebloom, we just got started-“
“Ah don’t feel like doing this anymore.”
The rest of the day was routine. Applejack and Big Macintosh worked the fields, Applebloom helped Granny Smith prepare dinner. But throughout it, there were two things that were getting Applebloom down.
One, no cutie mark. She went into the bathroom and checked her right hip. Blank. As always, it was blank again. She cursed under her breath. It wasn’t even worth it.
Two, her shoulder hurt like Tartarus unleashed upon it. It throbbed, it ached, it pulsed with intense pain that seemed to accentuate and work alongside her disappointment. It was the worst part of the day. She could barely hold back the tears sometimes, but she didn’t want to make anyone worried. Instead, she kept her mouth shut and, throughout the day, went through the motions, like a wind-up toy on it’s last legs.
Her biggest day ever. Not so much, now. It was just another day with an aching shoulder.
That night, she lay in her bed, completely deflated. Big Macintosh had gently retrieved his shirt, and Applobloom lay in a nightgown, not even under the covers. That morning was supposed to be the best part of her day. Her big day. Not so much, now. It was just another day with an aching shoulder.
“Applebloom?”
Applejack knocked on the door, and then entered, still dressed in her work clothes.
“Hey, sugarcube, you okay? Ah’ve seen ya mopin’ about all day. Granny’s really worried.”
Applebloom didn’t respond. Applejack sighed, and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Shoulder hurtin’?”
Applebloom turned over, trying not to show the tears. She nodded. Applejack responded with a sigh.
“How about Ah tell ya a story about how Ah learned ta shoot?”
Applejack crossed her legs, and laid back, closing her eyes.
“Ah was your age, exactly. Not around it or anythin’. Just your age. Eleven years old, and Pop- And I mean Pop, Pop, not old Granpa Smith, Celestia bless his soul, and Pop’s too… Anyhoo. You might not believe it, but Mac had a bit of an issue with guns. He’s a real big softy, ya know, so he’d always just chase the animals away with a stick or somethin’. He told Pop that guns were inhuman or somethin’ bizarre like that, and almost got whooped for it. Pop was quite a bit disappointed, but there was no convincin’ Mac, so he decided that he’d pass down his knowledge of shootin’ to me.
“Ya know how I was laughin’ when you flew back like that on your first shot?”
Applebloom nodded.
“Same thing happened ta me. ‘Cept Pa didn’t catch me. Fell flat on my back, and Ah was certain Ah’d broken it. And we spent the whole day learning everything. Cleaning, maintenance, firing techniques, everything. Ah sorta wished you’da stayed so that I coulda taught you all that, but… Ah mean, Ah understand. It hurts like hell. But that’s life.
“Here’s another story. That mornin’ Pop passed away Ah did nothin’ but shoot for a whole day. My arm felt like it was gon’ shrivel up and fall off, but Ah didn’t care. When something like that happens, well… It hurts. It aches and throbs and pulses with pain. Ya feet can barely move your feet, because you’ve cut ‘em up on glass shards from the bottles you’ve been shootin’.
“Ah just want ya to know, Applebloom. You don’t have to know how to fire a shotgun. Ya’ll just have to know how to take the pain. And I think you’ve taken it like a pro. Ya didn’t whine to me or Mac or Granny about how your shoulder hurt. Ya didn’t groan or moan or nuthin’. You’re a tough cookie, Applebloom. You’re just like Pop.
“Life hurts, Applebloom. It pulses and throbs and makes you wish you’d never even started. But that’s why you gotta rearm and fire again. As long as ya do that, nothin’ can stand in your way. Ah just hope you understand that.”
Applejack got up. “Welp. G’nite-“
“Sis?”
The tears were flowing freely from Applebloom’s face now, and she looked up at her sister with giant green eyes.
“C-can we practice s’more tomorrow mornin’?”
Applejack said nothing, and simply sat onto the bed and held her little sister closer to her.
“…So that’s why my shoulder’s all sore. We fired from seven to nine, reloaded from nine to ten, and we were about ta learn cleaning when I realized ‘Oh gosh! It’s eleven, I aughta head to the clubhouse! See-Em-See meeting!”
Scootaloo sighed. “So nix on the shotgun idea?”
Applebloom nodded. “If Ah ain’t got a mark from it, you guys prolly won’t get one either.”
She stopped rubbing her shoulder. It hurt. But it was the sort of pain that was good. It was a rewarding pain, the sort one gets after winning a race or lifting a big rock out of the way. It was an ache that told her that she had been doing something that was good for her, maybe even good for someone else. It was an ache that told her of Applejack in the old barn shooting bottles and hoping that that would bring Pop back. It was an ache that said that despite it not working, that was fine. Life was painful, but so was success, and life, like pain, would all fade away someday.
“Alright! No worries, I have a plan B!” Scootaloo cried, her wings buzzing yet again. She pulled down the screen that was behind the screen.
“CUTIE MARK CRUSADER CUSTOMER SERVICE PERSONS!... No? C’mon, guys, throw me a freakin’ bone here…”
