Earth, Wind, and Fire

by Silver Quill

Rating: mature
Tags: Big Macintosh, Sex, Main 6, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance
Length: 29128

Love is complicated, but it doesn't have to be.

Applejack thinks she's ready to start dating again.
Rarity thinks she's ready to admit her desires.
Fluttershy thinks she's ready to handle her fantasies.
Rainbow Dash thinks she can have everything she wants.
Twilight Sparkle thinks she understands romance.
Pinkie Pie thinks she can keep everypony happy.

They're all wrong, of course, but not for the reasons they all think.

Published 2013-03-23 06:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2014-02-28 06:50:29 UTC

Applejack: Seed

Applejack paces, her hooves echoing off of the ancient wooden floor of her room. The Apple homestead has stood since the family moved to Ponyville, and four generations of earth ponies have lived within these walls. Applejack's grandmother once slept in this room, before its walls were painted and its floor was sanded, back when Apple Acres and her great-uncle Jonathan were just stars in Great-Grandpa Pippin's eyes. Granny Smith, too, had paced in circles before the mirror screwed into the wall above the dresser, wondering how to deal with the next few hours. Had Applejack stopped for a second to consider, the farmer might have found the thought painfully ironic.

Steadily, she makes a circuit from the door to the dresser to the bed and back, round and round again. Her hooves move on automatic, just like bucking a field. Step, step, turn. Step, step, shake. She doesn't stop. She can't stop. Stopping might give her thoughts a chance to still, instead of sloshing inside her head like milk in a butter churn. If she stops, they might settle, and she's not sure she wants to deal with what she knows will rise to the surface. She knows the thoughts are there, lurking in the depths of her mind, but as long as she keeps moving, she can keep them submerged.

"A.J.?" The voice snaps her out of her twisting. She spins, hind legs pointed towards the door, head spun around to face whomever she's about to buck into the next town. Standing in the door is her brother, leaning against the doorjamb, one forehoof crossed over the other, that ever-present wheatstalk hanging from his lips. "Everythin' alright?"

"Landsakes, Mac!" Applejack drops her head, her voice shaking. Despite the tension in her legs, her knees feel ready to buckle, and she trudges over to her bed and drops on it, the springs in the worn mattress creaking. "You coulda knocked, you know!"

"I did," the older sibling drawls. "Twice." His eyes slowly meander from his sister, across the well-worn floorboards to the dresser and the mirror, then back again. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No." The denial escapes Applejack's mouth before she can catch it. "And what makes you think there's somethin' on my mind anyway?"

McIntosh doesn't say anything for several long seconds; he just shifts the stalk of wheat from one side of his mouth to the other. His bright green eyes are half-lidded, studying her, and she feels the heat rise in her cheeks. He doesn't call her a liar; he doesn't have to say anything. Her eyes slip away from his piercing gaze, desperate for any point in the room on which to find purchase. They fall on the shoe nailed above the door, a token of good fortune from Grandpa Wealthy. It's proof that Granny made it through the next few hours. So can she.

Applejack lets out the breath she's holding, and some of the tension passes from her back, "It's... it's a lot of things, Mac." She stops, wondering how much she can say. Her thoughts are painfully still, and part of the clump of emotion floats free, up from her subconscious. "There's...." She trails off, but as the thought crests the surface of her thoughts, the words follow like so many bubbles. "There's somepony I've had my eye on for a while. I've been tryin' to work up the courage to say something. I just...."

The brick-red pony finally steps into his sister's room, shutting the door behind him with a rear hoof. His own hooffalls are unusually light, exposing the years of practice he's put into understanding his own strength. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to Applejack and wraps a foreleg around her. She puts a hoof on his side to push him away, but then thinks better of it and lets herself be pulled into the hug. When a single tear escapes her eye, he brushes it away with the edge of his hoof. The two of them sit together for a time, Applejack leaning against her brother. No words pass between them. Occasionally his hoof brushes the back of her mane, or gives a firm squeeze around her middle, but the only sounds in the room are their breathing and the soft creaking of the ancient farmhouse.

Slowly, the silence between them grows thick, and Applejack coughs. "Look at me, hunh?" She laughs weakly. "Some big pony I am. Bucked a manticore, lassoed a hydra, fought my way through an army o' changelings, and here I am shakin' like a leaf thinkin' about asking somepony on a date."

The elder Apple just shrugs. "Least you're thinkin' about it," he says, his voice strangely flat. There's a heartbeat's pause, and then he perks back up again. "What's got you so worked up?"

Applejack takes a deep breath and cracks her neck, then drops back onto all fours, resuming her slow circuit of the room. "It's just... I want it all t' go right, you know? An' it's really easy to see all the ways in which it just...." She stops moving again, her mind churning. Flashes of the past flicker behind her eyes, of moments rejected because of the neighbors, or the foals, or her fears. Flashes of anger follow, and fights, then horrible, horrible silence. "It just goes all wrong." Her voice turns sour on the last word, thick and full of tears she still hasn't shed since that night.

McIntosh chuckles softly. "You got like this the night before the Canterlot Rodeo, too, 'member?" He rises onto all fours himself and trots over to his sister's side, laying his neck alongside hers in a hug. "Relax. Do th' best ya can. Th' rest'll take care of itself."

Applejack sighs wearily as she leans into the contact. "It ain't that easy, Big Mac. It's... it's complicated. It's always so complicated."

Mac takes a step back so he can look his sister in the eyes once more. "What's so complicated? All ya gotta do is ask."

The orange pony draws in a deep breath, then swallows it and looks back towards Wealthy's shoe nailed above the door. "It ain't--" She catches her voice rising and swallows her frustration, shoving it back into the depths of her thoughts. "It just ain't like that, Mac. An' no, I ain't explainin'. Just... let it go for now, okay? I got this."

The stallion shifts the wheatstalk around again. "Like that one applebucking season?"

"Sisters, Mac, that ain't fair!" Applejack snaps. Then, as fast as it comes, the flash of anger flees, leaving chagrin in its wake. She lowers her head, her eyes closed. "I'm sorry. You're right." She presses a hoof to her forehead, trying to forestall the headache is sure to come. "I know I'm stubborn. I just get it into my head how things're s'posed to go, and then when things go afield, I start tryin' t' drag things back. I'm just not real good at just lettin' go an' lettin' stuff happen."

"You sound just like Pa."

Once, reminders of her parents would have ground Applejack's mood into the dirt. This time, it's the briefest prick against her conscience, enough to break free a thought from the depths of Applejack's mind: that ain't a bad thing, really. She presses back into her brother, briefly, and then trots towards the door. "Yeah, well, Pa didn't win Ma's heart by twistin' in the wind or running 'round in circles, neither. I'm gonna go, Mac. I got somewhere t' be."

McIntosh's smile broadens a little further, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes this time. "You're gonna make some stallion real happy. Just don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Applejack pauses at that, then chuckles. "Can't make no promises, Mac, but I'll do my best."

Fluttershy's cottage sits on the edge of the Everfree, removed from the hustle and bustle of a major metropolis like Ponyville. Far from the markets and away from the press of other ponies, the pegasus keeps to herself and cares for the animals of the forest. However, the solitary life does not mean she's alone in any sense of the word. Birds frolic in the skies above the two-story building, and all kinds of forest critter scamper across the expansive yard. Few ponies seek her company, and for the most part, she seems to prefer it that way.

It's a lifestyle choice that both intrigues and confuses Applejack. She understands the simple joys that can be had in solitude. Working the orchards around Sweet Apple Acres, the farmpony's spent many hours enjoying the simple rhythms of hard labor, the singing in her muscles and the burning in her lungs. Step, step, buck. Step, step, shake. And yet, at the end of the day, she always looks forward to seeing the rest of her family, or her friends if they come by for a visit. The idea of a life without another pony in it scares her, just a little bit.

She'd had another pony in her life, once, but as she said to Mac, it just went all wrong. It had started out just as she'd imagined it, with days of dreaming and nights of passion away from home, and hugs and kisses stolen from the in-between times. Soon enough, though, it started drifting pretty far afield. Her special somepony started getting brazen, showing up at uncomfortable hours at the farmhouse, making demands and, worse, making noise. It had gotten to the point that Granny Smith had noticed and asked about that rainbow-maned filly friend of hers, and the farm-mare had had to learn to let go in a hurry.

Still, it's hard not to think about the other pegasus as Applejack crosses the bridge, stepping wholly into Fluttershy's domain. A pair of mice run up a nearby treestump to watch her, and a bluejay perches on a nearby branch, its head cocked to the side as she walks beneath. The pegasus' favorite rabbit, Angel, sits by the front door, lazily chewing on a carrot. He fixes her with a glare as she approaches the door, narrowing his eyes at her over his meal. The message is clear, if unnecessary: don't you dare hurt her.

Applejack knocks, her hoof rapping solidly against Fluttershy's front door. "'Shy?" Her voice quivers, and she clears her throat, pushing all of those thoughts back into the depths. "You home, sugarcube?" Inside, she can hear all manner of rustling and chirping, but no obvious sounds of the home's main occupant. The farmpony waits another few seconds, then knocks again. "Fluttershy, everything okay in--"

The door opens a crack, and one large cyan eye peers out through the gap. Then, suddenly, the way is clear, and Fluttershy's hooves are on her shoulders, dragging her inside. "Oh, Applejack, thank goodness! Quickly, there isn't a moment to lose! This way, this way!"

"... there," Applejack finishes, her voice falling. The inside of Fluttershy's cottage is a disaster. It looks as through a herd of hoofball players have used the living room as a practice pitch. The couch has been snapped in two, and feathers and shreds of fabric litter the floor. Several fresh gouges have been carved into the floor, and two of the light fixtures lay in twisted brass and shattered glass across the floor. "What in tarnation's goin' on?"

"I'll explain, there's no time, just... do you have any rope?" Fluttershy doesn't wait for a response; she's already turned away and is heading towards the back door, which is hanging on one hinge, the glass in a glittering pile below. "Here he comes!"

"Sure, but--" Applejack has just enough presence of mind to extract the aforementioned rope from her saddlebag when the backdoor slams against the wall, then crunches to the floor. An earsplitting roar makes the farmpony's ears ring, and she jerks up to see a wall of shaggy brown fur charging towards her. She jumps backwards, snapping her head to twist the rope into an impromptu lariat. A second toss, and the lasso's noose flies towards the rampaging bear, snagging one massive arm. She jerks, and the rope goes taut, pulling the bear's attention right at her.

"Shoot." It's an expletive muttered around a mouthful of stiff rope as the bear charges once more, both forepaws raised and teeth bared. Drool flies from its lips when it roars, and Applejack leaps from the floor to the broken remains of the couch just as the bear's teeth snap closed around where her neck might have been. The farmpony rises on her forehooves, and then two powerful hindlegs snap out and connect with the side of the bear's head, earning her two solid bruised knees and a fresh cry of pain.

"Shy!" She doesn't have time to see where the pegasus is or what's she doing. Her attention is on the bear, and on being where its teeth and claws are not. One massive paw swipes downward, splintering the back of the couch inches from where she'd just been perched, but she's already moving, letting the rope play out from her lips, judging distance, strength, and speed. She stops suddenly, turns, and tosses her head once more. A wave ripples up the rope and twists smoothly around the bear's other forepaw, and then Applejack bites down hard and holds on with everything she can, digging her hooves into the remains of Shy's carpet.

The bear, caught midswing, suddenly pitches backward, its own strength leveraged against the immovable pony. Its eyes go wide and its muzzle hangs open, one hindpaw in the air, comically flailing for purchase. Then it stumbles and slams onto the floor, its jaw hitting the ground with an ugly, hollow thud. Its tongue lolls from its open muzzle, and a deep groan resounds in its chest. It doesn't move after that, and from the sound of the impact, it probably won't for some time.

One disaster down, Applejack turns back towards the back door. "Shy, you--" The sight in front of her leaves her stunned, her own muzzle wide and speechless. A smaller bear of similar fur crouches near the back door, muzzle in her paws. Deep, rumbling chuffs roll up from her throat, and tears visibly roll down her cheeks. The pink-maned pegasus hovers in front of her, one hoof on the bear's shoulder, the other stroking the back of her head.

She looks up at Applejack's words, gives the barest shake of her head, then turns her attention back to the sobbing ursine. "It's going to be okay," she soothes, her voice warm and gentle, a poultice for the soul. "I know you didn't mean to hurt anypony. He was hurt and upset, and he overreacted." She taps the bear's nose with a hoof in the most gentle reprimand possible. "In the future, maybe you'll think a little more about how your actions look from the outside before you invite strange bears into your cave, okay?"

The bear nods and wipes at her eyes with a foreleg, then drops to the ground and lets out a plaintive wail. "I'll send him home once he's had a chance to calm down, but if he yells at you, you come back here right away, okay?" The bear nods again, then turns and trundles slowly back towards the Everfree, slowly shaking her head.

Fluttershy watches her second visitor depart, then wipes her brow and trots back over to the first, patting him on the forehead. "Poor Bjorn," she says softly. She offers a smile to Applejack, but her eyes are wide, the corners turned down in sympathy. "He and Ursula haven't been getting along all that well; the winter was hard on them both. They had a fight earlier in the week, but I thought they'd gotten better. Then Bjorn came home today and found another bear in their cave and... well, you understand. He...." She surveys the remains of her home and brushes her mane out of her eyes. "He took it poorly."

"It... ah... looks like, yeah." The farmpony is still shaking off the adrenalin from the fight. Her gaze keeps dropping back to the bear she dropped, expecting him to rise up and charge again at any second. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Bjorn? Oh, no." Fluttershy strokes Bjorn's head with a hoof. "He's a softie, really. As much as I didn't want to say it to her, this is mostly Ursula's fault; she was sharing fish with a stranger, and Bjorn got really hurt by it. What he did was wrong, and I think when he wakes up he'll be mortified, but he was understandably hurt by what Ursula did." She looks around the wreckage of her living room, then motions for Applejack to follow her. "Let's sit in the kitchen; we'll be more comfortable there."

Fluttershy's kitchen is remarkably untouched. She pulls a wooden chair with a small hoofstitched cushion on the seat out from her two-pony table and motions for Applejack to claim the other. Birds have begun to take up position on the windowsill again, and a few of the braver mice have crept out from the walls and cautiously approached the bowls of nuts and seeds that line the walls. Angel, the pegasus' favored rabbit, sits on the counter with his arms folded, looking irritably past Applejack's shoulder and at the bear out cold in the next room. "It's okay, everyone," Fluttershy says, disarmingly calm. "I'll walk Bjorn home later, once he's recovered."

Applejack gingerly takes a seat and folds her hooves before her on the table, just watching the pegasus. Fluttershy's gaze roams the room, chewing on her bottom lip as she surveys the results of the fight on her animal friends. She ain't got a care in the world for herself, the farmpony thinks. Her first worry's how everypony else took it. The selfless kindness seems to radiate off of her, a palpable aura of comfort, and Applejack leans forward, a small grin breaking out on her muzzle that, if she saw it in the mirror or on her brother, she would describe as "silly."

Slowly, life returns to the kitchen, as a family of ferrets slink down from inside the walls, and a small horde of rabbits pour in from outside. Fluttershy breathes in deeply, then lets out a sigh and smiles. "I'm really sorry about that, everyone," she says quietly to the returning masses. "I know that must have been scary." Then she turns to Applejack, focusing the full weight of her smile on the farmer. "Thank you so much for your help in there; I don't think I could have -- Applejack? Are you okay?"

"Hunh? Oh! I... uh... yeah, everythin's fine, sugarcube." Applejack tries to keep her sputtering to a minimum as she sits bolt upright on her chair. "Just... happy to help, you know?"

"But you didn't have to, and you did anyway." The pegasus smiles and reaches out a hoof to Applejack's, and the room grows subtly warmer beneath her touch. "You look like you're thinking about something. What's on your mind, Applejack?"

The question is like a kick to the side of the butter churn, knocking loose all kinds of thoughts that float, unbidden, to the surface. I'm thinkin' about how I'm gonna tell Big Mac he's gonna have to be th' one to give Granny her great-grandfoals. I'm thinkin' about what Big Mac said right before I came here. I'm thinkin' about how you can talk down a rampagin' bear an' care for an army o' critters, an' I'm wonderin' how I could keep up. I'm thinkin' about how close I came t' bein' that bear's lunch. I'm thinkin' how good it feels when you hold my hoof like that, an' I'm tryin' real hard not t' think about how I'm gonna feel if you say no.

"Oh, you know. Not much, really." It's not a lie in any sense that counts. It's hardly even a real question. It's just small talk, and small talk deserves small answers. Big answers will come later. "Still kinda rattled from, you know. Earlier." She waves a hoof vaguely in the direction of the living room and Sweet Apple Acres beyond.

Fluttershy smiles warmly and cups her other forehoof against Applejack's, and the temperature in the pegasus' kitchen rises again. "Bjorn would have felt just awful if he'd actually hurt you. He was just upset and he didn't know how to deal with his emotions. Some ponies get that way sometimes, too." Then, suddenly, she blushes and whirls away from the table. "Oh, where are my manners?" She floats over to her refrigerator and sticks her head inside. "Would you like something to drink? I have some suntea I brewed this morning, or some juice --"

"Water's fine if you're offerin', really." Applejack shifts her forehooves on the table, subtly covering the spot where Fluttershy brushed against her. "You gonna need any help with.. uh... Bjorn, later?"

Fluttershy comes back to the table with two glasses. "Oh, no, once he wakes up, he'll be terribly embarrassed, we'll talk about what happened, and he'll go home. He and Ursula have a lot to work out between them, but they both know they can come here." She sets the water in front of Applejack and picks up her tea. "So, what brings you by? Is Winona alright?"

Applejack takes the glass in her hooves and slowly brings it to her lips, letting her thirst buy her some time before answering. "She's fine. She got some burrs in her tail chasin' one o' Angel's friends through a patch o' clover, but aside from havin' t' sit still while Bloom plucked 'em out, she's happy as a puppy." She set down the glass and pushed it away, then popped her neck. "As for why I'm here, I... uh... I wanted t' know what you're up to this Canterday."

Fluttershy tilts her head to the side, her cyan eyes widening. "Canterday? Wh -- why do you ask?"

Applejack nods. "Yeah, I... thought maybe you'd like t' take a walk out t' the Whitetails, maybe take a picnic lunch. There's plenty o' trails, an' with summer comin', there's bound to be plenty o' birds and such. It could be, like...." Her muzzle goes dry, and she lifts her glass again, but it's already empty, and she sets it down with a thunk on the wooden table. "A date, maybe?"

"Date? On Canterday?" Fluttershy's voice rises in a squeak. "Why, Applejack, I'm flattered, but... well, I--" She takes a heavy swallow of her tea, her wings shifting restlessly at her sides.

The farmpony lowers her head, pulling her everpresent Stetscolt down to shade her eyes. "Oh... uh... right. I guess I shoulda maybe asked if you were interested in mares first. I... uh... just kinda assumed."

The pegasus makes a soft strangled noise around a muzzle of tea, trying to talk and swallow at the same time. "Ngh. No, no, I--"

The blonde pony shakes her head. "It's okay, really." She slides off the chair, her hooves hitting the ground harder than she intends. "I'll just see m'self out, then. Sorry t' trouble you."

"Applejack!" Fluttershy doesn't raise her voice, but that tone could be heard in Twilight's library from here if she'd meant for it to travel.

The farmer freezes, a shiver running down her spine. "Yes'm?" She doesn't quite mean for her question to come out that way, but those are the words that leave her muzzle, strangely familiar but from where she can't recall.

Fluttershy folds her forehooves, wings flapping lazily to keep her upright. She glares down at the farmpony, but her expression softens as she talks. "I... I was just... caught by surprise, that's all. I wasn't expecting... I mean, I knew you were interested in mares, but I already have a... I have something planned on Canterday afternoon already, so I...." She stops, her cheeks flushed, and takes a deep breath, then smiles and settles back down on the ground, holding out one forehoof to Applejack. "How does Friendsday evening sound instead?"

Applejack stops. It takes several seconds for the words to register, but when they do, she feels as if she could buck through stone. She takes Fluttershy's hoof in hers. "Friendsday night sounds mighty nice. I'll be by after chores, prob'ly around six. Plenty of time for a nice long walk an' a chat. Sound good?"

Fluttershy nods, smiling tightly like she's about to burst with excitement. "That sounds lovely. I'll see you then, okay?"

"Friendsay, then." Applejack takes a step, then forgets quite where to put her hooves. "I, uh... I better go. I got... apples t'... yeah." The smile on her face passes "silly," sliding dangerously close to "goofy." Thank ya, Shy." She gives the napping bear a tap on the shoulder on her way out. "Be nice t' her, hear? Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Rainbow Dash: Mount

High above Ponyville, Rainbow Dash stands statue-still on the edge of a waterlogged cumulonimbus. It took her all morning to gather enough free cloud on a clear summer day to make a patch big enough to support her, half an hour to fill it with water from the reservoir, and the same again to carry it, sopping wet, this far into the atmosphere. Her mind, however, is on neither the lost naptime or on the clamminess in her coat. Her eyes closed, she runs through the trick in her mind a final time. Her legs, shoulders and wings all shift rhythmically as she shuffles, matching motion to thought. At one point, she crouches with her hindlegs, the shift in weight squeezing a few drops from her cloud. Then, as she snaps her legs straight once more, a broad grin splits her face. Here we go.

The pegasus unfurls her wings, tilting them instinctually against the high winds, pinions tilting this way and that in a hundred tiny adjustments to keep her position. She feels the winds caress her like a lover, whispering their moods and intentions to her. She folds her wings once more, then crouches like a cat, chromatic tail whipping once behind her. Then she pushes off the cloud, thrusting it behind her as she spreads her wings.

Instantly, the winds are under her, lifting her upwards. She tilts her head and shoulders back, wings rolling, curving into a graceful loop. Green and blue dance before her eyes, trading places as she inverts. She pumps once hard with her left wing and flips, a perfect Immelmare. As soon as she's righted, she raises her forehooves and lifts her head, unfurling her wings to their fullest extent, cupped downward to catch the wind.

As soon as she's in position, her pectorali begin to burn. A proper Golden Sun is one of the hardest tricks for any pegasus, perfect celestial stillness held aloft purely by the power of one's wings and the air currents beneath them. She swallows hard, sweat starting to bead on her forehead as she counts breaths. One. The ache spreads across her sternum, shoulders quickly starting to ache. Two. Her forehooves begin to tremble and the pain ripples down her sides. Thr--

It's too much. She can't hold it, and her wings cramp, snapping shut in self-defense. The instant they fold, she starts to drop out of the air, her forehooves grazing the cloud that would have been perfectly positioned if she'd held out another half-second. Rainbow takes a mad swipe at the traitorous cloudmass on her way down, but she gets only a hoofful of wisps for her troubles.

It's several hundred hooves straight down before Rainbow Dash gets her wings back under her, and by the time she does so, the cloud's drifted even further afield. With a grumble, she flaps up behind it, then shoves it back into position. Satisfied, she pats underneath, then slowly pushes a hoof inside; it's drier than when she started, but it's still soaked enough to give a good thunderclap if it's kicked right. Okay, no need to rehearse it this time. She hops back up onto the edge of the cloud and crouches, then springs into the air once more, this time shoving the cloud hard behind her.

The Immelmare is easy; she can pull off that move in her sleep, and again she ends upright, forehooves overhead. She spreads her wings, but the ache in her chest spreads rapidly to her back as soon as she unfurls them. Three seconds. Two sec-- The air rushes out of her lungs, her wings snapping back down to her sides as she falls once more. This time the cloud she brought isn't even in reach as she sails past it.

Halfway to the ground, Dash spreads her aching wings once more and catches a thermal, lifting back into the sky towards her practice pad. The underside is dry by the time she reaches it, and inside is barely damp; it'll give a rumble if she slams it at full force, but little more. She rolls her eyes and drops atop it heavily, taking several minutes to catch her wind. With the soreness across her withers, any chance at a Golden Sun of more than a second would be a waste. Okay, fine, more strength training, but for now, let's get the rest of it down. She rises to all fours and perches once more on the edge of the nearly-spent cloud. The pegasus draws in a deep breath and, for the third time, launches herself skyward, pushing the cloud behind her.

Even as her forehooves leave the spongy surface, she can tell the routine is doomed. Her knees aren't even, and her left pastern is damp. Buck. Her Immelmare is shaky, tilting too far and then frantically righting herself with hasty flapping on her right side. She looks down to see her cloud companion twirling merrily off to her left thanks to the scrape of her hoof, drifting away nearly perpendicular to its intended flight path.

Wearily, Rainbow Dash flaps over to the cloud and shoves her foreleg inside: dry and cold, all the moisture either frozen or evaporated. Kicking it would do little more than make it spit out a limp flurry. She groans and turns, lashing out with both hind hooves at the offending puff. There's a moment of light and then with a soft whump the cloud dissolves into wisps that vanish. Tartarus. She hurts from her withers to her knees, and her wings ache, but what hurts most of all is the frustration. She can see the motions perfectly in her mind's eye. She can feel every necessary twitch and flex of her muscles, every impact in her joints. And yet, a week of practicing and she still feels like a clumsy foal stumbling through her first routine.

She forces herself to stop, hovering over Ponyville. She draws in a deep breath, tensing all the muscles in her neck, then lets go as she exhales, forcing the air out of her lungs and most of the irritation with it, leaving a few glowering embers and exhaustion. Fastest flyer in Equestria, she reminds herself. Lead pony at Wonderbolt Camp. Beat Discord. Saved Rarity's life. Best Young Flyer. The words are almost a mantra, a litany of her accomplishments, both on her own and as the Element of Loyalty. They don't quite erase the knot in the pit of her stomach, but they help.

I think I need a nap. That thought, at least, lifts Rainbow's spirits. Her chest and back ache and her wings feel ready to fall off, but she holds herself in a steady glide. Her home hovers at the edge of Ponyville proper, just far enough from Sugarcube Corner to make breakfast doughnuts a rarity instead of a routine, just close enough to library to make Daring Do a habit instead of a hassle. As her hooves touch down on the roof, she lets out a sigh. Her hooves sink slightly into the welcoming surface, and her eyelids droop just thinking about letting her whole body do the same into her mattress--

"Oh, Rainbow Dash! Oh, thank goodness you're back!" --only to try to force them open again again at the sound of Fluttershy's panicking. Rainbow sways her head to try to clear some of the fatigue and squints over the edge of the second-floor landing. In front of her front door, Fluttershy's shifting uncomfortably from hoof to hoof. Her pink mane covers one eye, but the other is wide and watery. "I... I really need your help."

"Hey, Fluttershy." She can't quite push the soreness out of her voice, and she can't quite care enough to try harder. "What's up?"

Fluttershy squeaks, glancing behind and down at the ground below. "It's... it's really personal, I'm sorry. Can we talk inside?"

Rainbow doesn't roll her eyes, but she can't quite keep her mouth from twisting into a frown. "Flutters, I'm, like, really sore. Can this wait until after I've had my nap?"

"Oh, um...." Fluttershy chews on her bottom lip and takes a half-step backwards, but then stops at the edge of the cloud and puts her hooves down. "I don't think so, Dash." Refusing to be put off , but then the mare continues. "I'm really sorry, I know you must be tired or you wouldn't ask, but I really need somepony I can talk to about... um...." She looks down again, her mane spilling in front of both eyes. "Please?"

Rainbow draws in a deep breath, but she doesn't sigh. She just breathes out slowly, spent. "Just let me get a shower, okay?" She doesn't wait for an answer; she hops down from the roof to the second-floor balcony, then ducks inside through one of the many wide-open windows. "I'll be in the kitchen in ten."

Rainbow's bathroom is just outside her bedroom, somehow managing to be both messy and barren: her tiny mirror and the clouds beside it are dotted with toothpaste, a smear of dried soap bubbles clings to the wall under her private raincloud, and musty towels spill haphazardly around her overflowing hamper. Wrinkling her nose, she dodges the laundry pile and raps the raincloud with a forehoof. Instantly, a torrent warm spring rainwater soaks the pegasus to the bone.

The pegasus turns her face up into the rain, then puts her forehooves on the wall in front of her and spreads her wings. The water rushing over her back helps wash away the soreness. As she turns herself around under the shower, her mind turns around the memories of her workout. Strength, definitely a priority. She grimaces; she's built for speed, not power. Power is Applejack's thing.

Applejack.Her muzzle bends like she's bitten into something bitter. Even now, the memories are tart, even acid. Being in a relationship with Applejack had been like flying into a headwind; the harder she pushed, the harder Applejack pushed back. As long as all they did was kiss, everything was sunshine and clear skies. As soon as Rainbow went for more — an intimate caress, a hint of romance, even just a blatant demand for physical attention — Applejack shut everything down, and shut it down hard. It wasn't my fault! She grits her teeth. She's the one that quit on me!

Her hoof strikes the raincloud harder than she intends, knocking a thunderclap out of it when it hits the back wall of the bathroom. Rainbow cringes at the muffled boom, noting with chagrin that at least the water stopped when she hit it. She shakes the water out of her mane and shoves the rest of her thoughts to the back of her mind as she pushes her shower back over the tub. Yesterday's storm, she reminds herself. Applejack's still a friend, even if they do have a history, and she doesn't have time for any more anger. It's been eleven minutes. Fluttershy's waiting.

Rainbow's mane and tail are still damp when she gets to the kitchen, and her feathers are still a tangled mess, but she pushes the itching along her wings into the back of her mind. Fluttershy is at the sink, tackling the backlog of dishware. The Qilinese takeout cartons have been moved from her cheap powderboard table to the trash, as has the pizza box lid she'd been using as a plate. Her cheeks redden as she rubs the back of her head with one hoof. "Uh... yeah. I wasn't expecting guests. Sorry."

"It's okay." Fluttershy's tone is anything but. She scours a glass between her hooves as she talks. "It gave me something to keep me busy. I checked on Tank, too, while I was here. He had plenty of greens and a tomato slice left, but I filled his water bowl."

Rainbow ducks her head. "Yeah, I... forgot to do that when I left. I took him out flying earlier, but then I had this great idea for a trick." Watching Fluttershy clean her kitchen reminds her uncomfortably of flight camp. She takes a seat on one of the two flimsy folding chairs that came with the table and drums her forehooves. "So... you said you had something important to discuss?"

The glass slips from Fluttershy's hooves and clatters in the sink. "Rainbow... I think... I think maybe I've done something bad."

"Hunh?" Rainbow stops drumming. "Where did you get that idea?"

Fluttershy taps the sink and looks around the kitchen, then dries her hooves with a paper towel, dropping it in the trash as she slumps into the other seat. "I..." She stops, then takes a deep breath and blurts out, "I have two dates in two days with two different ponies and I feel terrible!"

Rainbow's expression twists rapidly, flashing through wide-eyed surprise and squinting envy before settling on curiosity, head canted slightly to the side. "Uh... why?"

"Oh, um... just...." Fluttershy pulls back her hooves to the edge of the table, wringing them against each other. "Well... it's complicated."

"Uh-huh. Complicated." Rainbow nods slowly, but her eyes remain narrowed and her muzzle slightly open. "Like, how is this complicated? You go on one date on one night, and another date on the other night."

Fluttershy's wings shift as she brushes her mane away from her eyes. "It's not that easy. I mean, I like both of them."

"Well, duh." Rainbow drags out the interjection. "If you didn't like them, you wouldn't have agreed to go out with them." She raises one eyebrow. "Right?"

Fluttershy looks down at her hooves. "Well, no."

"Good. So, it's not like you're going out with some loser because you were afraid to say no." She ignores Fluttershy shrinking back into her chair. "So, what's the issue?" Rainbow hops down from her chair and trots over to the sink, grabbing the glass Fluttershy just washed. "Hey, you want anything?"

"No thanks." Fluttershy shakes her head. "And, the issue is, they..." She wrings her hooves. "So, these two ponies might know each other?" Her voice rises nervously, turning the statement into a rhetorical question. "And, well, I don't want either of them to get the wrong impression. So, I'm not really sure how to bring this up to either of them."

Rainbow pauses in front of her icebox, one hoof holding a couple of cubes. She looks back at Fluttershy, sitting at her table. "Right. Complicated." She drops the ice in her glass, then presses the cold hoof to the bridge of her muzzle to try to stave off the headache she knows is going to follow. "Let me ask: do I know either of these ponies?"

Fluttershy's first response is to duck her head so that her mane falls over her face, the other cheek darkening in a blush. Several awkward moments of silence follow, broken only with a squeak. "Maybe? I don't... that's not really important, is it?"

Rainbow narrows her eyes. "Is one of them...." She stops, then shakes her head. "You know what? It's none of my business." She trots back to the sink and fills her glass, then drains half of it instantly. Even if it is.

She glances to Fluttershy, who is slumping forward on her chair, visibly relieved. She fills her drink again and heads back to the table. "So, let's talk about you. There's Pony A—" She stresses the letter, and Fluttershy bites her lip. A tight grin spreads across Rainbow's muzzle in response as she continues. "—and Pony B. And A and B know each other." Fluttershy nods. "So, let's talk worst-case scenarios. What happens if they find out?"

"Well, I don't know, is the problem." Fluttershy shifts on the cheap folding chair. "They might get mad at each other." Her eyes widen. "They might get mad at me! I don't want them to think I lied when I said I liked them, but if they find out I'm dating somepony else as well—"

Rainbow sets her glass on the table and holds up a hoof. "Listen to me. Are you anyone's special somepony right now?" Fluttershy stops and shakes her head. "So, what you're doing isn't cheating on anypony, is it?" Fluttershy opens her muzzle, then closes it again, staring at the wall. "It's not like either of these ponies who I don't know have any kind of claim on you."

"But they might!" Fluttershy's voice goes up the barest fraction of a decibel. "What happens if both dates go well? At some point, I'm going to have to tell one of them no!"

Rainbow Dash inhales slowly, then breathes out. Here goes. "Why?" The silence that follows is heavy, awkwardly squatting on Rainbow Dash's thrift-store table. Dash's breath is stuck in her throat alongside her heart, and her stomach does an Immelmare of its own waiting for Fluttershy to speak.

When Fluttershy does finally speak, her words are barely above a whisper, but Dash's ears flatten regardless. "What do you mean, 'why?'" She narrows her eyes. "What kind of pony do you think I am, Dash?"

Rainbow presses her hoof more firmly to her forehead. "Okay, let's try it this way. You like birds, right?"

Fluttershy rears back at the non sequitur. "I don't see what that—"

"Just... humor me, okay?" Dash tries not to stutter, but her mouth's gone dry despite the glass of water. "I've got a point, Pinkie swear. You like birds?"

"Well, of course." Fluttershy sits up straighter in her chair, warming to one of her favorite subjects. "They're so bright and colorful, and I just love it when the bluebirds start singing after winter wrap-up every year."

"Right, right." Rainbow nods encouragingly. "Birds. And you like bunnies, too, right?"

Fluttershy's smile softens as she relaxes again. "You know I do. I love my little Angel, even if he can be difficult sometimes."

Rainbow nods again. "Right. So, does liking bunnies mean you don't like birds?"

"Well, no, of course not." Fluttershy ducks her head and bites her lip. "It's not really the same, though. I mean, they're both really sweet and adorable in their own ways."

"Exactly." Dash finishes her water and manages a tentative smile. "So, if you can like both bunnies and birds at the same time, why can't you like two ponies at the same time?"

Fluttershy's eyes widen, and then her whole body retreats, yanking her hooves back up to her chest. "But Dash, that's different. I mean, it... it is, isn't it?"

Rainbow slumps back into her chair and groans, mashing her hoof into her scalp. "Fluttershy, you're talking about a date. Well, two dates." Her tone is flat, every word painfully even. "Just... go on them, and worry about what happens after... after. If you don't enjoy one, you know what to do. If you enjoy them both... well, we'll talk later about that, okay?"

"Oh, I... okay." Fluttershy sinks a little. "I'm sorry, Rainbow Dash. I know this is really complicated."

Dash waves a hoof. "Yeah, sure."

Fluttershy cocks her head and reaches out a hoof to brush against Rainbow's foreleg. "Are you okay, Dash?"

I gave you a solution to your problem and you brushed me off. I think you're dating my ex. I couldn't pull off that routine earlier. My wings need preening and and the feathers rubbing itches like crazy. I'm starting to fall asleep on my chair. You've got two ponies in your life and I can't even keep one. "Yeah, awesome. Just, you know, tired." Rainbow yawns. "Can I get that nap now?"

"Oh!" Fluttershy rises quickly, then grabs Rainbow's glass and returns it to the sink, then trots back over for a brief hug. "I'm sorry, yes, please rest up. I'll see myself out." She turns, then heads out the front door. "Thank you again for listening!"

Rainbow waves with one wing, then heads back to her bedroom, sprawling out on her mattress. She rolls onto her stomach and drags the blanket up over her head. I wonder who Pony B is.

Author's Note

Many thanks to Horizon for not only beta-reading, but also helping me clean up some of the backstory on this.

Twilight Sparkle: Interaction

Twilight Sparkle stands behind the reference desk of Golden Oaks Library, studying her day planner. Neat rows of hornwriting spell out the weeks ahead of her. Beside that is a checklist, most of its contents transferred to the organizer. Publication schedules for popular titles, confirmed spa visits, and group outings with friends all migrate into their appropriate boxes. The day planner is her life, spelled out in neat little lines.

Her eyes are mostly open but with brows lowered. She holds her ears up and forward, indicating attentiveness, and she keeps her lips lightly curved in a toothless smile. It's a look meant to signify warmth and gladness without the tensions that would indicate mania or desperation. At least, that was the gist of the descriptions in the art books she studied as a filly. It's a comfortable expression for her; she practiced it in the mirror for years.

Spike does not practice his expressions, but the one he wears is familiar nonetheless. His eyes linger hungrily on the grandfather clock, watching the pendulum sway back and forth, ticking away the seconds towards five. His emerald ridge quivers with nervous energy, and his lips curl back into a rictus of anticipation. He shuffles back and forth from one leg to the other, occasionally wringing his claws or tapping them against each other.

Twilight pulls her attention away from her weekly schedule and focuses on the dragon. "Spike," she says in what she's sure is a gently supportive tone, "we're still open for another three minutes."

"Oh, come on, Twilight!" the dragon whines. He clenches his claws into fists and stamps one foot in impatience. "Nopony's come through that door in hours!"

"All the more reason to be ready in case somepony does!" Twilight cheerfully ripostes. Deep down, she knows the likelihood of anypony actually coming by on a Hornsday afternoon after lunch is near-infinitesimal. Not zero, but unscheduled visits after lunch drop sharply on every day but Hoovesday and Canterday. Canterday is obvious: it's everypony else's weekend, but the library is still open. Hoovesday's consistent jump in patronage is a mystery, one that she occasionally entertains solving.

Hornsday, however, is neither. Spike is probably right that closing the library two minutes early is unlikely to disrupt anypony's last-minute reading plans. At this point, though, it feels like she'd be violating a principle. The posted hours for the library were eight to five when she moved into Golden Oaks, and it simply never seemed appropriate to change the time. Even just adding an explicit hour for lunch to ensure she ate on schedule seemed at the time like a dangerous precedent. It smacked of shifting around the rules willy-nilly to suit her tastes. The idea was... uncomfortable.

The minute arm of the clock face snaps one closer to five, and Spike lets out a low whine. "Twilight...."

Twilight looks at the clock, then her assistant, then back to the clock. Her practiced smile slides into an impromptu frown. She bites her lip and rubs one foreleg against the other. "I don't know, Spike."

She does her best to turn her tone up at the last minute, to make doubt into teasing, but the dragon turns away from the clock and fixes his eyes on her. His brows are raised in the middle, but drooping at the sides. His snout is turned up in a smile, but the corners of his lips are pulled tight. He draws in a deep breath and lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, Twilight. You win."

Pity. Twilight Sparkle recognizes his expression from the art books. She's seen it on the faces of her parents, her teachers, even Princess Celestia when the diarch didn't think her student was looking at her. The idea of something being out of place or behind schedule gave her a visceral sensation like a hoof scraping across a chalkboard. Even something as simple as watching her brother color outside the lines of a drawing made her cringe. She'd made great strides over the years in dealing with what her family called her special traits, but they had never truly gone away.

She knew the look they gave her when they thought she was going through one of "those issues," one also paired with a physical response. A blush spreads across her cheeks and forehead. "No, Spike, you're right." She draws in a deep breath and shoves a mental hoof into the voice insisting that she's breaking a rule. "It's close enough to—"

The front door snaps open on its hinges and bangs against the wall, exposing the slim figure of Rainbow Dash shaking out her wings. "Hey, Twi, you still open?" The pegasus strides into the library and gives a nod to the dragon. "Hey, Spike."

Ignoring Spike's groan, Twilight jumps out from behind the desk, eyes alight and horn still shining. Flush with vindication, she grins hard enough to make her cheeks hurt. "Yes! I knew it! I knew it!" She dances from hoof to hoof in self-congratulation, spared the agony of violating the sign. "Yes! Please, come in! What can I help you find?"

Rainbow Dash takes a step backward, lips curling in a grimace. "Uh... maybe I should come back later—"

"No! I mean, one moment." Twilight clears her throat, takes a deep breath, counts to three, and lets it out, then glides her expression back to practiced comity. "Spike and I were just debating closing a little early, but there's no need since you're here. Were you looking for something specific? The next Daring Do isn't going to be out until summer, but I've been collecting a list of similar authors I think you might enjoy, if you're—"

Rainbow Dash holds up a hoof, still slightly withdrawn. "I'm actually here about a book on strength training if you've got one."

Twilight's eyes widen slightly. "Oh! Athletics! Of course we do." She turns and trots towards one of the shelves that lines the walls, then stops and looks back over her shoulder towards her friend-cum-patron. "Oh, wait. What kind of strength training?"

"Hunh?" Rainbow tilts her head to the side. "What do you mean, what kind of strength?" She unfurls her wings and gives a hard downward thrust, sending a circle of wind out from around her that ruffles the pages of the open books around the edges of the room. "Strength!"

"Yes, but what kind of strength?" Twilight repeats, trying to keep the expression so recently on Spike's face off of her own. "Are you talking about speed or endurance? Is this for a sprint or a marathon? With equipment or without? Pegasus-specific or pony-in-general? Front, back, or whole-body? Are you trying to beat Applejack in—"

For a moment, at the mention of the farmer, Rainbow grimaces and her wings unfurl against her sides, then snap tightly closed again. To anypony else, the microexpression would have gone unnoticed. Probably Rainbow Dash didn't even realize she'd made it. For Twilight, it's enough to briefly derail her from her speech. Twilight coughs to cover her pause and finishes her sentence. "... in a wrestling match, a race, or a bucking contest?"

Rainbow Dash leans forward, cocking her head to the side. "How come you know so much about this stuff?"

Twilight lifts her head and lets her smile slide from glad into the tiniest bit of smug satisfaction. "I study all my friends, so I can help them out in situations exactly like this one. It's why I knew you'd love Daring Do so much, and why I'm trying to get you into the Quartermane series. It's old, so you have to forgive how the zebras are portrayed in it, but Daring Do is obviously based on him and Wild Ride's an excellent author."

Rainbow nods slowly. "Y-yeah, okay." She pauses for a few seconds, then shakes her head and chuckles. "You're such an egghead, Twi."

Twilight ignores Rainbow's acknowledgement of the obvious. "And you haven't answered my question. What's your scenario?"

Rainbow pulls back again. "My what now?"

"Your scenario? Your reason for needing a book on strength training?" Twilight forces down the urge to sigh exaggeratedly as Spike did earlier. Spike. "Oh, sorry, one second." She turns to where her assistant had been watching the clock a few minutes ago. "Spike?" He's already gone. "Spike!"

"Yeah?" The dragon's voice echoes out from the kitchen. "I'm making a snack before I head over to Rarity's."

Twilight rolls her eyes but smiles. "Okay! Try not to get underhoof, though, okay?" She doesn't wait for the dragon's response, focusing back on Rainbow. "Sorry about that. So, if you tell me exactly what you're looking for, I can help you find the book that's right for you."

"Hunh." Rainbow Dash considers and takes to the air. "So, there's this technical trick in open flight competitions called a Golden Sun, which is one of the hardest tricks you can do, 'cause you're holding yourself up without moving your wings." She spreads her wings wide to demonstrate, holding herself stock still in mid-air for a moment before dropping back to the ground. "I can hold it for two and a half seconds, but to really show off, I need to be able to do at least three, and if I can do five it'd blow everypony away. The Cloudsdale Open's coming up, and I've got an idea for my finishing pass on the technical, but I need that move to do it."

Twilight chews briefly on her bottom lip, rolling Rainbow's words around in her head, extracting the essence of her needs. Golden Sun. Strength. Aloft without flapping. She pulls her focus inward and taps one forehoof against the floor, and the front door of her memory palace spreads out before her mind's eye. It's a technique she found in a book on feats of memory, useful for organizing her thoughts, mapping hierarchies of knowledge into physical locations, using spatial awareness skills to enhance her natural recall. Her own hall of memory once looked like Canterlot Castle, but has expanded vastly beyond the original grounds, built to house the structures of her thoughts. Into the depths of recollection, she dashes forward, hooves drumming against the ground as she races through her thoughts.

Rainbow Dash's voice comes to her as she searches. "Uh, Twilight? You... okay?"

"One moment," she mutters. "One moment." Motion without effort. Pegasus physiology. She runs into the biology hall. Distribution of alicorn. She waves one forehoof, and walls shift and slide, creating a fresh hallway leading to thaumatology. Just within the passage, she hangs a portrait of Rainbow Dash, then trots down the newly formed hall. At the far end, she stops short, staring at a picture of Pinkie Pie. Her eyes snap open, forehooves banging against the ground. "That's it!"

Rainbow scrunches her muzzle. "What."

Twilight jogs over to the stacks and begins scanning titles, head craned to read the spines of the books. "The Golden Sun sounds a lot like the exercises unicorns are taught as foals for sensing magical resonances. Pegasi don't stay aloft just because of your wings; you're too heavy to fly that way. You'd have to have the wingspan of a dragon to pick yourself up, and you couldn't use them if they were that big."

"Yeah, and?" Rainbow flaps her wings a few times, as if to prove her wrong, but she remains on the ground. "What's your point?"

"The point, Rainbow Dash, is that you don't need strength training. You need mental training. Do you remember Pinkie's Pinkie sense?"

Rainbow's expression passes readability, kinked and bent. "Twilight, you lost me. I'm not an egghead. Explain like I'm a foal, okay?"

Twilight's sigh of exasperation finally leaves her, and she mashes a hoof to her forehead. Then she remembers that Rainbow Dash is still in the room, and she straightens herself up. "Sorry. Okay, listen. All ponies have a certain amount of a certain naturally occurring material called alicorn that's responsible for their magical talents. Got that much?"

Rainbow nods, but her eyes are narrowed and her lips are a tight line. "Alicorn? I thought that's what the princesses were."

"That's right. The compound is named after them. That amulet Trixie had was probably made of the same stuff, which is... kind of creepy when you think about it." Twilight shoves aside that sudden connection as superfluous. "The point is that in unicorns, it manifests in the horn, in pegasi it forms the bulk of the wings, and in earth ponies it's mostly in the hooves and limbs. With me so far?"

"Right, wings." Rainbow nods again, then looks at her wing. "Wait, you're saying my wing is made of the same stuff as your horn?"

"Yes, though it's obviously in different formations." Twilight pulls down one book with her magic, then flips through the pages before putting it back. "I suspect that Pinkie sense is actually due to an overabundance of alicorn in some kind of weird distribution that makes her incredibly sensitive to magical currents. Anyway, it occurred to me that when you described the Golden Sun, it sounded a lot like the magical centering exercises I used to do as a filly."

She grabs another book, then stabs a hoof at the page. "Ha! There it is." She turns the book and holds it up for Rainbow to see. "Magical Meditations for Everypony."

Rainbow ignores the book for a moment, peering at Twilight curiously. Then she takes the text in her forehooves and settles down to read through it. "Routine meditative practice not only benefits unicorns' control of magic, but pegasus flight and earth pony strength, as the fully-charged alicorn helps reinforce each pony's natural abilities." She closes the book and looks down at it. "Hunh."

Twilight puffs herself up in pride. "Just another job well done for an egghead librarian. Bring that to the counter and I'll check you out." Check you out. She starts walking to the desk, but then freezes mid-stride; the unintended double-meaning only makes her awareness of Dash's relationship history more embarrassing. "I mean... well, not that I'll... that is, I'll help you check out that book."

Having made the pun, though, she can't help but do just that. Rainbow Dash isn't a classic beauty in the way that Rarity or Fluttershy is, but every line and curve of her form is clearly built for a purpose. Her chromatic mane and tail—a naturally recessive trait and interesting in its own right—hang unkempt, as though the pegasus had better things on which to focus than appearance. Her muscles are taut and smooth, visible beneath her coat when she moves, lean and lacking any body fat. Her wings aren't large, but they're expressive, constantly in motion as she talks. Every motion seems intentional, deliberate. The sense of intent that hovers like a cloud around Rainbow Dash is... intriguing.

Rainbow Dash's eyes follow Twilight's, glancing down at herself, and then back up to her. Her eyes half-lid, and a slow, languid smile spreads across her muzzle. Her expression is... not one in the art books. "Checking me out, hunh? I like the sound of that."

Twilight's cheeks redden. "It was just a slip of the tongue, Dash."

The pegasus grins more widely. "Sure it was." She smirks and trots—no, prowls—over to the counter, her flanks swaying slightly with every hoofstep. "You're kinda cute when you blush. It's adorkable."

Rainbow's full attention and the compliment that follows make Twilight feel light-headed. Is she hitting on me? She takes a step back from the counter, trying to put space between her and the thought, but part of her mind is already turning the concept over, examining it from every angle. Rainbow's the only friend she has who reads anywhere near as eagerly as she does, and she's obviously smart, even if most of her attentions are on her physical skills. That thought starts leading to others, but she pushes those aside. That they arise at all, though, says at least part of her is interested in the idea. She feels like butterflies are dancing in her stomach, but it's not a bad feeling.

Twilight tries for a coy smile, ducking her head so she can look up at Dash through her bangs. "Now you're just trying to tease me. That's not even a real word."

"No, it totally is," Rainbow counters. "I just made it up. Seriously, though, I'm no good with the mental stuff, but if that's what I need, I can't think of anypony better to help me figure out it. I could use your help. Let's make a date of it. I'll come over Canterday night. We'll order a pizza, we can read Quartermane, and you can show me how to do those meditations." She blinks and waves a hoof in front of Twilight's face. "Hey, Twilight, you okay?"

Canterday is pasta and salad, not pizza. I feel like I've just realized that you're really attractive, and I feel weird that I hadn't really noticed before. I haven't practiced basic meditation in years. I really want to test that theory about Pinkie, but I said I would give up on figuring out how she works. I wonder what Princess Celestia would say about this. I hope you don't like olives and I have to pick them off. Wild Ride was the wrong example; I should have picked Barrowwright and his Land of Discord series. "I—I'm fine. It's just... it's complicated."

Rainbow Dash chuckles. "I've heard that word a lot today. It's not complicated. You say yes. We go on a date. If you enjoy it, we go on another. If you don't, we go back to being friends. What do you say?"

She looks down, lifts the date stamp and chunks it against the card in the book. As she sets it down, she passes the book across to Rainbow Dash, letting her hoof touch the pegasus' for a moment before pulling away. Her fur is coarse, but clean. "Yes."

"Alright, it's a date. See you Canterday." Dash tucks the book under one forehoof and lifts off again, then sails for the front door. "Thanks for the book!" Then she's gone, back into the skies.

Twilight slowly steps out from behind the reference desk and makes her way to the front door. With her magic, she gingerly flips the sign from Open to Closed, then makes her way back to the checkout desk. She flips her day planner to Canterday, and picks up a quill in her magic. She scratches out the reshelving plans. Next go the mixed greens, tomatoes, and cucumbers from her shopping list. Finally, she adds a single note: date.

Then she walks slowly up the stairs to her bedroom. She curls up on the bed and lets out a cracked squeal, a bright rainbow scrawled right across all her neatly-drawn lines.

Author's Note

Thanks again to Horizon and to my coltfriend for prereading. Horizon's been instrumental in helping me keep a setting bible.

The sexy times come soon, honest.

Rarity: Tension

The monthly wall calendar in Rarity's workshop at the back of Carousel Boutique is dotted with scraps of multicolored paper, each with a few notes scrawled in hasty hornwriting. Most of the dates have a single broad black stroke across them, but Friendsday and Canterday are both clear. The latter has a single yellow square in the corner. The rest of the day has been hastily cleared, quick lines slashed through other scheduled appointments.

On the desk beside her sewing machine, Rarity's notebook sits open. Sketches of dresses dot the page, along with columns of measurements. Question marks sit beside a few of the numbers, an exclamation point beside another. A blue circle sits on the side of the page, next to measure and next Wingsday's date. A blue slip of paper sticks out of the book a few pages down, a visual reminder of the appointment. Several other colors jut out from the pages, each an upcoming event not to be forgotten. None of the paper tags is yellow.

Hunched in front of her desk, Rarity squints through her work glasses, brushing a stray lock of her mane from before her face. In her horngrip, neatly-sheared sections of golden velvet and pale buckram come together with a precision edge, which she then catches in her hooves. Without turning her head, she casts forth and snags the needle and thread she'd prepared earlier. She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply, then lets it out and lets her focus draw down to the exposed edges of the cloth. Then, with a satisfied nod, she draws the first stitch.

The shadows in Rarity's workshop slowly crawl across the floor as Celestia's sun traverses the sky, but the unicorn sits unmoving. Her attention is on her hooves, on the repetitive traversal of the needle, on keeping each hornmade stitch as even as possible. Push, pull, tie, tug. Push, pull, tie, tug. Slowly, slowly, she works her way along the edges of the cloth, making four pieces of fabric into one.

Before tugging the last stitch free at the top of the seam, she loops the needle back through one last time for a neat double knot. She casts over to her desk for her shears, then snips the end of the string. The seam finished, she lifts her head, but her neck protests the movement, and her right hind leg is equally unhappy. Beads of sweat dance on her brow, and her head throbs just below her horn. Her mane lays in untended waves along her back, which itself has begun to protest her lack of motion.

She twists her neck until the joints pop, then lets out a sigh of relief and rises from her workbench. She trots over to one of the pardequins and drapes the folded cloth over it, then turns to the pinboard just beyond. A hoofdrawn pattern hangs from the board, to which she's delicately clipped several pre-cut pieces of gold and violet velvet topped with a tissue paper cutout. In the corner hangs a full-color pencil sketch: a pair of stallions, one teal unicorn in a purple tuxedo with gold accents, and a dun earth pony dressed in his complement. The bottom edge of the drawing carries Rarity's signature in indigo ink, tight cursive loops ending in a curl reminiscent of her mane.

Two of the spaces are empty, and Rarity places a small checkmark in each, wincing as she sets down the pen. Then she shuffles back to the pardequin and unfolds the fabric to drape over its back. As soon as she does so, though, she frowns, the tension in her cheeks putting more pressure on her forehead. Instead of buttery gold, only a pale yellow can be seen between the buckram layers. The panels were stitched backwards. The last two hours have been a complete waste.

Rarity draws in a deep breath and begins to count under her breath. One. Two. Three. At ten, she lets out a deep sigh and snags a thread-puller from her desk and brings it to the pardequin. With her lips pressed into a tight line to tamp down her headache, she delicately but mercilessly pops the stitches holding the front panels of the tuxedo jacket together.

As she nears the end of the seam her right hind leg throbs, then suddenly clenches, jerking up against her body. The sudden shift in weight sends her stumbling, and the thump against the ground is enough to break her concentration. Too late, she snatches out with her horn, but cloth and thread-ripper have already met at an unpleasant angle. The sharp point of the tool goes right through the golden velvet, leaving an exquisite little puncture wound in the middle of the breast.

The pale blue glow around Rarity's horn fades, and the tools of her trade flutter to the floor. "One. Two. Three." She very slowly and deliberately counts once more, this time aloud, every word dripping with frustration. At ten, she returns the seam-ripper to the desk, then forces herself to all four hooves, stretching out her cramping leg. She hobbles stiffly from the room, leaving the ruined patch of velvet on the floor behind her as she returns to the main room of the boutique. She snuffs the lights, one by one, then veers briefly through her kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine and a glass before heading upstairs to her room.

Rarity's four-post bed dominates the bedroom, covered in an overstuffed comforter. The sheets and pillowcases are thousand-thread cotton, pale blue and arranged neatly atop the downy mattress. In the middle of this luxury, Opalescence sprawls, occupying as much of the bed as she can manage. She stares upside-down at her primary servant and haughtily purrs, as if daring the unicorn to dislodge her.

"Opal, darling, mummy has had a very long day and is not in the mood," Rarity says, lowering the wine and glass to her nightstand. She snatches up the cat in her horngrip and escorts the thrashing ball of fluff to the bedroom door. With a firm shove, she deposits her cat in the hallway, then quickly shuts the door to cut off Opal's hissing protest. She uncorks the wine and pours herself half a glass, not even bothering to let it breathe before she takes her first sip.

The alcohol hits Rarity's tongue in a velvety wave, and she moans appreciatively as she empties her glass. Her stomach clenches when the wine hits it, but it's just one more complaint from her body. Her hind legs and back ache from poor posture. Her horn is sore from two hours of continual stitchwork. It even feels as though her mane hurts.

After several minutes of lying down, letting the wine seep into the corners of her mind, the headache starts to recede and the tension in her neck starts to fade, but the rest of her still hurts and what parts of her aren't sore are trembling with unspent energy. The last five days, she's been a virtual shut-in, stepping out for food and air and little else, all her time going into her latest project. What she needs, as much as the wine, is relief from a highly stressful week.

Relief. Rarity giggles at the euphemism. She returns the glass to the nightstand, then pulls open the bottom drawer. With only a small hiss of breath, she settles her pale-blue aura over the contents as she rummages, then extracts a small egg-shaped piece of glass and ceramic, with a silvery thread trailing off of the flat end. Runes and lines etched below the surface catch the touch of her horn and begin to glow.

Dropping the egg in her hooves, she shifts her attention to the top drawer. Shuffling aside an opened envelope, she retrieves her padded velvet blindfold and threads her mane through the elastic at the back. As she drops it over her eyes, the world goes dark, and a calm settles in Rarity's chest. That's not your responsibility, she thinks, and a gentle warmth rises between her thighs. You're just here to serve.

Service is what she'd been doing all week, hoofcrafting tuxedos for a Canterlot noble's wedding. In context, though, the word has a very different meaning, one loaded with intimacy and empathy. She bites her lip and breathes deeply, letting the rising heat between her legs spread upwards through her barrel. She strokes one forehoof slowly over her pelt, the filed edges gliding smoothly down her chest. Good pony, she tells herself. You've had a hard week. It's time to put all that down.

Rarity's breath grows ragged, a little throaty, a little raspy. The hoof trailing over her barrel finds one teat just above her mons and rolls slowly around it, not quite touching the stiffening nub of flesh. The edge of her hoof glides around one nipple, then the other, stoking the fires between her thighs. From there it slides further down, stroking her mons, reaching into the flames to brush against her netherlips, feeling the dampness of her fur. Good pony. We've got a treat for you.

A breathy moan escapes Rarity' lips as she carries the egg between her legs and touches its tip to her labia. She can feel it glowing as she slowly presses it into her sex, spreading her hind legs to welcome it. There's a brief moment of discomfort, as there always is, stretching to take it, but then it's gone as the egg slides into place. She focuses on it, her horngrip briefly caressing her nethers, and then it begins to pulse inside of her, each magical flare sending the fires inside her higher. Such a good pony, yes. That's it, lie back and—

A bang downstairs pours icewater down Rarity's spine. She jerks upright in bed, tearing the blindfold off of her eyes as the muscles in her back cramp, threatening to send her sprawling again. Sweetie Belle! If that's you back from Sweet Apple Acres early I shall—

"Rarity?" Twilight Sparkle's voice rising from downstairs has an uncomfortable edge to it, reminiscent of the morning before she brought Ponyville to its knees with an enchanted rag-doll. "Rarity, are you home? Your sign says you're open. I need your help."

Mentally, Rarity kicks herself. Of all the things to forget! The fires inside her have faded, overshadowed by the call of service. "Just a moment, darling!" she calls out from the bedroom, hoping her uninvited visitor can hear her. She groans and rolls out of bed, hitting all four hooves with a thud. She reaches between her hindlegs with her horn to extract the egg, but then her eyes drift to the nightstand and the letter jutting up from the open drawer. An ember stirs inside of her, and she reactivates the toy, then fetches one of her robes from her closet as she heads downstairs.

Twilight shifts uncomfortably from hoof to hoof in the foyer of Carousel Boutique, head bobbing this way and that, the tip of her horn glowing like a fuschia beacon. "Rarity?" Her voice rises awkwardly across all three syllables. She turns as the designer steps off the stairs, shining her horn directly at Rarity. "Oh, thank Celestia you're home. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were asleep. I really need your help. I think I've exhausted the library's ability to help, and that alone meant I needed to talk to someone. I think I did everything correctly but there's just no way for me to know, and that never sits well with me. Even on essay tests there's a most-right answer and I think I gave that but now I have to change my plans and I'm still not even sure I'm ready." Her eyes go wide as she pours the full weight of her attention onto the designer. "What if she doesn't understand? Or I don't?"

The magical energy pouring out of Twilight hits the egg inside her, which responds by throbbing hard. Rarity has to take a second to simply stand, lips pressed tightly together, haunches clenched, lest she moan in response. That would make for a most awkward conversation. "Twilight, darling, you're rambling like Pinkie after a frosting binge. I understood perhaps one word out of eight in that." She measures every word, keeping a tight rein on her voice. "I'll put on a kettle and you can come explain everything." She latches onto the one part of Twilight's torrent that she understood. "I wasn't sleeping, really." She pushes a smile to her face as she lights the candles around the room. "I was simply relaxing with a glass of wine. It's been something of a busy week."

"You've left the house twice in the last five days," Twilight says automatically, the glow of her horn fading as the boutique brightens. "Pinkie Pie said you came by Sugarcube Corner on Moonday afternoon; she mentioned something about stocking up on sandwich rolls. And Applejack said you brought Sweetie Belle to the farm on Wingsday night." She talks as if expecting a grade for her analysis. "Aside from those, none of the other girls said they've seen you since last Sunday's pet picnic."

Rarity raises one sculpted brow, considering. Has it only been twice? I could have sworn I've been taking more breaks than that. "You may be right; I've taken up a large client, and it's had me busier than I expected to be." She nods towards the drawing pinned to her workboard. "I know you don't read the Canterlot Banner—"

Twilight squints and wrinkles her muzzle, the name of the paper clearly leaving a bad taste behind. "That's not even news."

"Yes, well, when one works with celebrities and nobility, it pays to keep on top of their petty feuds," Rarity ripostes; her voice is more strained than she'd like thanks to the egg still merrily pulsing inside her. She keeps her thighs clenched as she walks, flanks shifting awkwardly as she shuffles towards the kitchen. "At any rate, Bright Young's and Nutmeg's marriage is looking to become one of the events of the summer, and guess who they've hired to assemble their ensemble?" The designer pulls down a kettle, gingerly carrying it in her horn, and fills it at the sink. "So, I have roughly eight weeks to produce two tuxedos and twelve suits, all hornstitched."

Twilight's eyes bulge at Rarity's timeline. "Eight weeks? Do you need any help?"

Rarity shakes her head and lets out a small sigh of relief as the throbbing inside her fades to a simple buzz. "I'm afraid Fluttershy's the only one that could really help, and she just doesn't have the time." She takes the kettle from the sink and sets it on the stove. "You're not here to talk about my problems, though."

"No." Twilight casts her head down as she slinks towards Rarity's kitchen table. She takes a seat and folds her hooves in front of her, tapping them together nervously. "Something's come up outside my fields of research. I need a subject-matter expert."

Rarity titters. "You make me sound like some kind of professor." She takes a seat opposite the other unicorn, biting back the whimper that wants to escape as the egg presses up inside of her under her robe. She reaches over the table and lightly puts a hoof over one of Twilight's. "You're fidgeting, dear. Relax. Now, how may I be of assistance?"

Under Rarity's touch, Twilight's hoof drums out a steady tattoo against the tabletop. "Rainbow Dash asked me on a date last night, for tomorrow. I have absolutely no idea how to act." Her voice is flat, near monotonous, falling to almost a whisper at the end.

"Well, did you already say yes or no, for starters?" Rarity withdraws her hoof and folds her own before her.

"Yes," Twilight answers instantly.

"And do you want to go?" Rarity brushes at her mane. "Was it an enthusiastic yes or a reluctant one?"

Twilight hesitates. "I'm... not entirely sure. I was excited in the moment I said it, but I was also... nervous? I mean, it threw off today's shopping, tomorrow's reshelving plans, and my reading schedule. I had to send Spike to the market today just so I could get my chapter finished since I won't be able to do it tomorrow. I also had to read up on and make a list about dating etiquette, but there were so many books I'd have barely had time to compile an index, so I thought I could come get a summary from you."

Rarity smiles gently and leans forward. "I always wondered if perhaps you had a touch of Grassburger Syndrome."

Twilight's ears flatten against her head and her cheeks darken. "I didn't think it was that noticeable."

"Oh, no, not really," Rarity lies. "It was more a hunch than anything else. Regardless, your secret is safe with me." She waves a hoof. "If I may interrupt very briefly, what do you think of Rainbow Dash? Intellectually, emotionally?" She lets silence linger for a moment. "Physically?"

Twilight lifts her head. "Intellectually, she's not my equal, but then, it's not really bragging to say that few ponies would be. I approve of her taste in literature, but her writing could use work. Emotionally, she's..." Twilight's hooftaps grow closer together. "She's very passionate. Intense. When she works out, her focus seems absolute. When she relaxes, she relaxes totally. That's really familiar. She's very easy to read that way. It's... interesting. Physically...." Her cheeks redden further. "It's too early to say, but she's definitely graceful."

"Graceful, yes, that would be a word for her." Rarity's smile broadens. "I'm not hearing any reasons to change your mind, which is good. As for how you should act..." Rarity folds her hooves and rests her chin on them. "In all honesty, I would advise you to simply be yourself. Don't try to pretend to be somepony you aren't."

Twilight scowls in response. "I'm sorry, Rarity, but that runs counter to every lecture I've ever gotten."

Rarity opens her muzzle to respond, but the whistle of the tea-kettle interrupts her. "Oh, I'll get that."

"No need." Before Rarity can register a protest, Twilight's horn is aglow, as is the kettle, the cabinet doors, two mugs, and, inadvertently, Rarity's toy. The designer's eyes bulge, breath caught in her throat as Twilight casually magics up a storm, pouring two cups of tea and summoning sugar and milk for her own cup. "You were saying?" She tilts her head to the side. "Rarity, are you okay?"

I think you just gave me a small orgasm from that much magic. I'm not convinced Nutmeg's jacket is cut right. I need to buy those train tickets for next week. I wonder where Opal went. I can't imagine you actually think anypony doesn't know about your condition. I need to pattern a ruffle-front to go with the tuxedos. While I'm in Canterlot, I need to put in an order for bulk cotton velvet and dye. Oh, and I need to thank Velvet for the recommendation. Rarity lets out the breath she's holding. "Oh, just... thinking. Design elements. It's complicated."

"Ah-heh." Twilight rubs the back of her head. "That sounds familiar, at least. I get that way with magic theory."

Rarity nods stiffly. "I know." She shifts on her chair, all too aware of the damp spot on her robe and the toy still vibrating inside of her. "We all do, I think, in our various ways. As I was saying, I don't imagine Rainbow Dash to be the sort to be impressed with an act. If she asked you out on a date, it's because she's interested in the real you, the pony you are and want to be. Don't try to put on airs to impress her. She doesn't need that, and neither do you."

"But—" Twilight's lip quivers, but she swallows heavily and forces her expression back to evenness. "Rarity, if you know what Grassburger Syndrome is, you know it's all an act!" She stops, then immediately backpedals. "Well, not all of it. The emotions are real, but expressing them takes practice. I've been working at it since I was a filly, and I still can't always do it right. And reading others is... difficult."

"I understand that, Twilight, and if Rainbow Dash cares enough to find out more, so will she. She's not asking you because she wants the act, I'm sure. She's asking because she wants the pony underneath the act." Rarity lets just a bit of a frown slip onto her muzzle, which is easy because the egg is actually starting to hurt. "If that's not the case, then I shall be very cross with her."

"Oh, no no!" Twilight waves a hoof quickly. "You don't have to do that. I was just taken by surprise, and I don't always deal well with surprises." She blushes. "My brother used to tease me that if Mom and Dad left my Hearth's Warming presents out before the morning of, I'd deduce what they were in advance."

Rarity smiles. "And did you ever?"

Twilight's blush returns. "I found where my parents were hiding them, so I didn't have to. I told Mom one year she got me a book I already had. I was just trying to help. I... didn't get Hearth's Warming presents that year."

Rarity's heart melts slightly. "Oh, poor thing. I'm sure this whole situation must be difficult, then. It's a brand-new situation for you, and it may change your relationship with someone who is a very dear friend. Still, I think the best thing you can do is be honest with yourself and with her. Explain if you feel you should, and don't sugar-coat it for her, but don't play it up as the great Equestrian tragedy. Honesty and compassion will get you both much further than acting in this case."

Twilight hesitates, then nods slowly, sipping at her milky tea. "Okay, Rarity. I trust you. I won't tell her if it doesn't come up on its own, but if she asks, I won't hide it. I just hope she understands."

"I think she will." Rarity shifts uncomfortably on her chair; the egg has definitely overstayed its welcome. "And as I said, if she doesn't, the rest of the girls and I shall have words with her."

Twilight holds very still for a few seconds, then breathes out deeply and offers up a genuine smile. "Thanks, Rarity." She drains her cup and drops down from her chair. "I suppose I should let you get back to relaxing with your wine."

Rarity nods crisply and slides out of her chair. "I think I should, yes. Actually, I need to run upstairs to the facilities, so...." She lets her voice trail off there, then realizes she's asking Twilight to pick up on a hint. "Would you mind seeing yourself out, and reverse the sign as you go?"

"Oh, no problem. Thanks again, Rarity!" Twilight sets down her mug, then trots back to the front door, tail bobbing behind her. "See you on Sunday! Pet picnic!" Then the front door latches closed behind her, and then the sign rattles as it flips from OPEN to CLOSED.

Rarity counts slowly to ten again, waiting for Twilight's hoofsteps to recede from the front door. Then she bolts for the staircase, slamming the door to the bedroom behind her. She catches the silver string dangling from her legs and tugs, not caring about the discomfort until the egg has been removed. The immediate absence of sensation after such a workout is itself so delicious that her knees wobble with relief, but the fires it stoked have not yet been quenched.

She crawls onto the bed, tail raised, and kneels long enough for her to pull the letter and a hooftowel out of the top drawer of her nightstand. The egg she deposits on the latter, while the former she unfolds in front of her, her eyes eagerly devouring the words on the page:

Mare,

I think it's time that the two of us admit to ourselves that we're both interested in pursuing this further. I've made arrangements for you to visit Canterday evening and remain overnight, if you wish. If you agree, you need only respond. I hope you will accept my offer, and all that it entails.

Madame

Rarity's forehoof drifts between her thighs as she reads and rereads the letter. She folds it carefully, then closes her eyes and arches her back, muzzle slightly agape as she rolls the edge of her hoof against her swollen netherlips. After the pounding of the toy, the delicate touch is a balm, and the fires build quickly. Her mind swims with anticipation, breath ragged in her throat as she gently but insistently caresses herself, stoking her inner flames.

Behind Rarity's closed eyelids, visions dance: her forehooves bound tightly together, an iron suppression ring placed upon her horn, a bridle fitted to her muzzle. Each one lasts only a few seconds before slipping away, while the edge of her hoof drifts closer and closer to the hot nubbin of flesh at the top of her labia. The thought of being dressed as a literal carousel pony comes to mind, draped in silk ribbons that expose more than conceal. Blindered and bitted, her dock is tied to her barding, lifting her tail and exposing her for all to see. Led by a satin halter, she prances down the middle of the street, suffering the gaze of everypony she passes.

The frog of Rarity's hoof finds her clit and presses down, and the second climax of the evening flares up from her loins, waves of heat pouring up her spine. She gasps, panting, her body shaking from the force of her release. She slumps forward onto the bed with a groan. The tuxedos can wait. The wedding can wait. For the moment, there is only relief, and warmth, and a bit of stickiness in need of a hot bath.

Actually, a hot bath sounds like a lovely way to finish the evening. She lays still a few more moments, letting the last of her fires pass, then slips from the bed, snatching wine and glass in horn as she makes her way to the bathroom to finish out her night.

Fluttershy: Anxiety

"No, Angel bunny. No, please. Angel, please stop. Angel, please. Please, Angel, that's...." Fluttershy sighs. and settles her wings. Compared to her pet rabbit, Ursula and Bjorn had been perfect guests the last time they visited, and she still had to ask poor Mr. Davenport to honor his lifetime warranty after they left. For the moment, Angel sits atop one of Fluttershy's bookcases, holding a glass jar full of silvery-green bundles. He watches her intently as she rises to reclaim the jar, then plummets from his perch, diving between her outstretched forelegs to dash beneath her brand-new couch.

The pegasus lands and folds her wings against her sides, but they shift and twitch uncomfortably, never quite stilling. She takes a deep breath and holds it, letting the air curl around in her lungs before letting go. "Angel, that's not yours, and I would very much appreciate it if you brought it back to me."

The rabbit pokes his nose out from under the couch, staring up at his caretaker, and frowns, his whiskers twitching in irritation. He gives a firm shake of his head, then pulls back beneath the sofa and gives one of the cushions a solid thump of disapproval.

"Angel!" Fluttershy stops as soon as she hisses the name, cupping one hoof over her muzzle. Temper. She closes her eyes and breathes again, in through the nose, out through the mouth. "Angel, if you keep running away with my medicine, I'll have to go to Zecora's to get more. If I have to do that, I won't have time to get to the markets before lunch. If I can't get to the market, I can't make you that salad you wanted. I don't think either of us wants that, do we?"

Even as the words leave her muzzle, she can feel her chest growing tight, like a leather strap tied around her lungs. She sinks to her cannons, rests her head on one of the cushions of her new couch, and tries to get her breathing under control. She knows what will follow, what's always followed ever since foalhood, well enough that she can never quite tell if it's happening or if it's all in her mind. All she knows is that her stomach feels like it's ready to turn inside out and her face feels flushed. She scrunches her muzzle, squinting her eyes and gritting her teeth as though that will push aside the symptoms, but her breath comes in short gasps and her wings ache, like she's been trying to outfly the sunrise.

Fluttershy breathes in as deeply as she can, holds for a few seconds, then exhales again. She spreads her wings wide, until the tips quiver, then lets them fall back to her sides; they shiver and twitch, but she's used to that. Even the stomach upset and the shallow pant are just physical insults, and she can mostly ignore those. They're a discomfort, but she's worked through worse. It's the mental assault that she can't resist. At its best, it's merely a litany of her recent failures, recited to her over and over. At its worst, it's every mistake she's ever made, gleaned from the mutterings of others both overheard and imagined, all whispered back at her in her own voice turned callous and cold. She's heard that voice ever since she was a filly, long enough to give it a name, plucked from the pages of a storybook: the Dragon.

Pathetic. It's an old standby, so common in the Dragon's parlance that it almost doesn't have meaning any more. She's gotten so used to that one that it doesn't really hurt. Crazy. That one stings, but it's not objectively true, even if she did hear a few fillies at flight camp whisper it. Addict. Now that's a clean hit, striking right in the gut. Fluttershy's wings snap up as she ducks behind them, cheeks darkening and tears lining her eyelids.

Narrowing her eyes, Fluttershy straightens her back and forces her wings back out to the sides. "I am a grown mare, and I can make my own decisions." The words are weak, but they're there. "This is my home and I'm safe here. You can't get to me while I'm in here." It's a nice sentiment, even if it isn't strictly true; she's been rendered incoherent with grief, shame, and even rage all while hiding in her bedroom with the blinds drawn. Still, it's enough to push back the Dragon a little bit, enough for her stomach to stop trying to crawl out her throat.

She swallows heavily, then closes her eyes and forces herself to take as deep a breath as she can. "Angel, I don't want to have to ask again. I said I would make you that salad, and I will, but I'm in no shape to face the markets today without a little help."

The rabbit pokes his head out from under the couch, and a very different sort of frown crosses his muzzle. He sighs and drags the bottle over to his caretaker, then taps the glass against her forehoof. He waits patiently, then suffers to be swept up into a warm embrace, doing his best to ignore the few tears that drip onto his back and to hug her in return.

"Thank you, Angel." Fluttershy kisses the top of her pet's head. "Thank you for being so understanding." She trots into the kitchen, jar under one arm, and cranks up her oven. She melts butter on the stove, then adds half of the silvery-green leaves and stirs quickly, watching them swirl around in the pan. Leaving the butter to bubble, Fluttershy then flits up to her bedroom, ignoring Angel's exaggerated gagging routine as she passes through the living room.

In the drawer of Fluttershy's nightstand sits a glass pipe and a ceramic firestone, the latter painted in black and white stripes and etched with the Zebrican runes for "sun," "peace," and "joy." She grimaces as she picks it up, reminding herself to look — probably in vain — for something a little less tacky the next time she visits Vanhoofer. This, however, isn't the time to worry about social statements. She cracks open the window above her bed, then sits on its edge and prepares an emergency preparation.

She fishes a small bunch of leaves from the jar and drops it into her pipe, then taps the stone to call forth its flame. She breathes out, then brings the glass stem to her lips and puts fire to the herbs, drawing the smoke into her muzzle. It's rich and acrid, and it makes Fluttershy want to cough, but she keeps inhaling, until her lungs are full. She taps the stone again and sets it on her nightstand, then pulls the pipe from between her lungs and presses the frog of her hoof over the end to keep any extra smoke from seeping into her room. After a few seconds, her eyes begin to water, and she exhales sharply out the window, blowing most of the herbal scent outside. Twice more, she repeats the small ritual, until her lungs feel raw and her eyes are lined with tears. For now, though, the Dragon has retreated: her cramps have subsided and her wings no longer feel like they're fighting with each other. Then she shoves the firestone and the pipe to the back of drawer and slams it closed, noisily clearing her throat as she speeds back downstairs.

Thankfully, the butter is a glistening emerald by the time Fluttershy returns to the kitchen, and she sinks into the rest of her preparations. She pours it through the sieve, lightening to a creamy jade as she combines it with flour, sugar, and a pinch of salt. Eggs and vanilla follow, and then she whisks quickly, pouring the batter into a shallow pan that she slides into the oven. "Be good and watch the oven, Angel," Fluttershy says, her voice rough. "I'll be back before they're done."

True to her word, by the time Fluttershy returns, the house is filled with an herbal-sweet scent. Her rabbit is waiting for her when she steps inside. She slides her saddlebags from her back as she trots into the kitchen, then talks as she picks through heads of endive and romaine. "I'm very sorry about earlier, Angel. I'm just not at my best first thing in the morning." She peels carrots and cucumbers, then deftly slices them. "Today and tomorrow are going to be stressful and... well, what happened earlier didn't help. I tried talking with Rainbow Dash about this weekend, but she wasn't very helpful." She tosses oil and vinegar together with the vegetables, then slides the bowl in front of the rabbit. "There you are, Angel. Just as promised."

As Angel greedily tucks into his salad, Fluttershy pulls the fresh blondies from the oven, pausing a moment to breathe in their aroma. A pang of guilt stabs up from her gut, and she starts talking to try to mask it. "This isn't easy for me like it is for Rainbow," she says, a hint of the Dragon slipping into her voice. Then she sighs and drops the pan. "No, that's not fair, and I know it." She pours hot water over bulgur wheat, then starts slicing scallions and mint. "It's not easy for her, either, but she's just... she doesn't have to worry. When something bad happens to her, she doesn't stew on it for days or let it eat her up inside." Tomatoes and parsley come together with vinegar and a few drops of honey. "I can barely make it through a day without something upsetting me. It'd be nice to have that kind of confidence."

Angel looks up from his lunch, then looks pointedly towards her bedroom and waves his paw in front of his nose before glaring at his owner again. Fluttershy pouts in response and bites her lip. "Now, Angel, don't give me that. I'm not happy about that either, but I didn't have a choice!" She stomps one hoof, then turns back to her preparations, tossing everything together in a glass bowl. She makes it to the count of three before sighing again and looking back towards her rabbit. "Oh, Angel, I'm sorry, I don't mean to snap. I just feel awful enough about it without you getting mad at me, but it works, when everything else didn't. That's worth it, isn't it?"

Without waiting for an answer, Fluttershy finishes up her salad, then puts it in the refrigerator to chill. "Now, I have to check on Ursula and make sure she's alright, and then I have to visit that cardinal family that flew in yesterday; they're expecting their eggs to start hatching in a week or so and I want to make sure they're ready. Then I had better go stop by that raccoon nest I found and make sure she's not hoarding any more keys. When I get back, I expect to find that pan intact." She fixes the rabbit with a pointed look, not quite a Stare but more than enough to show she means business. "Okay?"

Angel rolls his eyes but nods, then hops over to hug his owner before scampering outside. Fluttershy lets her gaze linger briefly on the blondies, then turns away with a sigh. "Okay, then, Fluttershy," she says to herself as she approaches the front door. "Once more into the outside."

Applejack stands beside the road to White Tail Wood, her hat drawn down to shield her eyes from the trailing rays of Celestia's sun. The pack across her back bulges at the withers, with the ends of a blanket roll poking out of either side. At Fluttershy's approach, she lifts her head and smiles. "Howdy, sugarcube. I was startin' to worry."

Fluttershy's eyes go wide , wings quivering at her side with embarrassment. "Oh, Applejack, I'm so sorry! My errands ran long — Ms. Raccoon had a huge collection of keys and a few earrings I had to return — and then... " She pauses out of habit, but the Dragon stays blissfully silent; a whole blondie will quell even her temper. "Well, I was just so nervous, I ended up losing track of time." Applejack tips her hat back with a hoof — she's replaced the leather band, fastened with an apple-shaped charm — and wipes at her forehead. The farmer's eyes are a deep and familiar green, and Fluttershy cringes slightly at seeing herself reflected in them.

"Nervous? I was the one who asked you, remember?" Applejack chuckles, her own cheeks lightly flushed. "I'm the one that oughta be nervous; you're doin' me a great honor like this." She gestures to the pack on her back. "I made supper. I hope you're hungry."

"Famished," Fluttershy admits. She looks past Applejack to the trail ahead of them. "Did you have a spot in mind for dinner?"

Applejack's cheeks redden further. "Actually, I found a really nice hill 'bout a mile in, if you can hold out that long." Fluttershy nods, and the farmer holds out a foreleg, bent at the pastern. "Ma'am?"

Fluttershy's smile spreads as she takes the offered hoof in her own. "My pleasure." She lets Applejack set the pace, a gentle trot that carries the two of them towards White Tail Wood. Applejack walks in silence, seemingly content just to share in the pegasus' company, and Fluttershy revels in the lack of pressure to fill the void, glad for the silence both inside and out.

As they reach the trees, a steady wind starts to blow, tousling Fluttershy's mane. She lifts her face into the breeze, then her wings, letting it tickle her primaries. She tugs gently at Applejack's hoof, then slips her leg free and pumps once, rolling her shoulders as she rises from the ground. She flits along behind the farmer, a lazy smile spread across her muzzle.

Applejack looks back over her shoulder as she trots. "Everything okay there, Shy?"

"Mm," Fluttershy responds, her smile spreading. The breeze just feels so good flowing through her feathers and coat. She tucks her hooves against her chest and rises, then turns a slow and graceful loop before settling back to the ground beside Applejack. "This really is wonderful."

Applejack blinks sharply, then turns away and ducks her head. "Heh. Yeah, well, I wanted this t' be special, you know? Really... really special."

"It is special," Fluttershy insists. "It's a shared experience. It's not the experience itself, though this is lovely. It's the sharing that makes it special." She cocks one ear, then lifts a foreleg and whistles. A bluejay drops down from one of the nearby branches and settles on her pastern, then chirps back at her. "That's right, Mr. Jay," she says with a nod. "This is a special friend of mine, Applejack. Applejack, say hello."

Applejack lifts a hoof. "Uh... hi." She extends her hoof, and the bird hops inquisitively onto it, chirping more insistently at her. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

Fluttershy giggles. "He just said he hasn't seen you before, and whatever you've got smells wonderful, and I agree." Her stomach rumbles in accord, making her laugh some more. "Excuse me. I had a really early lunch."

"I ate late, but workin' the fields always gives me an appetite." Applejack lowers her hoof, and the jay takes wing back into the branches. "We're not far, just up that hill." She nods to her right, off of the trail into the trees. "Come on."

Fluttershy nods, and the two canter toward supper. As she breaks the crest, she gasps; the hill sits at the top of a small cliff, and the land falls away below, putting them just above the treetops. The forest canopy spreads out before them, brilliant greens dotted here and there with specks of blue and red as birds dance from branch to branch. The wind whistles over the hilltop, sending a shiver down the pegasus' back as she gazes out at the woods. "It's beautiful."

Applejack beams and rolls her shoulders, sliding her pack to the ground. "I saw this when I was out here helpin' set up the Runnin' o' the Leaves. I figured it'd be a great spot to take somepony one day." She spreads out the blanket, then starts laying out a mouth-watering banquet: a heaping bowl of pasta, a massive salad, and a heavy-looking tart. "Bloom tried t' help, so let me know if anything's burnt," she chuckles.

Fluttershy mock-scowls and lightly taps the brim of Applejack's hat with a wing. "Be nice; she's trying, really." She pulls out her own bowl of bulgur salad, along with tongs and some napkins. "It all smells delightful. What's in it?"

Applejack waves one hoof over her dishes as she extracts plates and glasses. "The pasta's an ol' Fillydelphia recipe, with apple, onion, an' celery. The salad's a Waldorf. The tart's a classic Neightalian specialty, with gorgonzola, pear, an' a little honey."

"Pears?" Fluttershy's eyes go wide. "Not apples?"

Applejack smirks. "Why's everypony think all I eat is apples? I like carrots, too, despite what Golden Harvest says."

Fluttershy giggles at that. "She only says those things because she's jealous of your success."

"I ain't got time for jealousy," Applejack says as she dishes up a little of everything, then takes a scoop of Fluttershy's bulgur salad as well before passing over the plate and serving herself. "I got too much to do."

"Well, I'm glad you had time to cook," Fluttershy says as she takes her plate. The pasta has slivers of fried garlic in it, little flavor bombs that erupt in her muzzle as she eats. The Waldorf has fennel and celery seed as well as apple and nuts, crisp and dense flavors that roll around inside her. Each nibble of the tiny slice of tart covers her tongue in sensations, sweet and salty and smoky. Even her own offering, a staple of her diet, seems rich and complex, the fruit and mint contrasting with the sourness of the dressing. By the time she's lifted her head, her plate is bare, and her stomach is warning her that she's pushed its limits. "Applejack, this was amazing."

Applejack grins, halfway through her own plate. "Hearty appetite. I always imagine you eat more like a bird, all delicate and dainty."

"Rarity eats like a bird." Fluttershy smiles, breathing in deeply and relishing the way she can actually breathe all the way down into her lungs. "I have to chase ferrets and rescue baby birds from manticores."

"I remember you dealing with those two bears last time I was over." Applejack nods and pulls an an amber bottle from her pack. "How'd those two end up, anyway?"

Fluttershy sighs and resettles her wings. "Bjorn and Ursula have things they have to work out. Every couple does. They just have to be a little more careful about when and how they do it." She lifts her glass so that Applejack can fill it. "What's this?"

"A little of the Apple family reserves from last winter." She fills her own glass, then lifts it in a toast. "To talking things out?"

Fluttershy nods. "To Bjorn and Ursula." The two clink glasses, then drink. The cider has hints of clove and nutmeg in it, and it sends bubbles into her nose, making the pegasus giggle. "This is really good." She sets down her glass, then clears her throat. "So... speaking of talking things out, I hope you don't mind me asking a few questions."

Applejack shakes her head. "Nah, not at all." She pauses a moment and takes another draw on her glass. "Well, maybe a little, but ask away."

Fluttershy chuckles and rises from the ground, floating over the blanket to settle in next to Applejack. She lifts one wing, then hastily snaps it back to her side; she'd been about to cover the other mare with it before realizing just how... committal... that might look. She turns to face the farmpony. "What happened between you and Rainbow Dash, anyway?"

Applejack's face freezes, and she quickly tugs down the brim of her freshly-brushed hat. "Ah... I didn't know you knew 'bout that."

"It wasn't much of a secret, really," Fluttershy chides gently. She reaches out one hoof to touch Applejack's, but the farmer pulls hers away. "I'm sorry, I did ask. I thought the toast was an invitation."

"I... I suppose it was," Applejack's voice quavers, but she clears her throat. "What's Dash told you?"

Fluttershy shakes her head. "I've heard her side. I'd like to hear yours."

Applejack sighs. "Not much t' tell, really. She was my first. I didn't know what in Tartarus I was doin' — excuse my language — an' I... I wasn't really comfortable talkin' about it with family at th' time." She waves one hoof back in the direction of Sweet Apple Acres. "I got so nervous thinkin' folks might find out, and Dash had all the discretion of a brass band."

"Rainbow's not really subtle, no," Fluttershy agrees. "It's not always a bad thing, though; you always know how she feels." She reaches forward her hoof once more, leaving it in reach without pushing it against the other pony's. "So what happened?"

Applejack shrugs. "Dash started pushin', and I started pushin' back, up until I started thinkin' if I pushed too much, Bloom would end up hearin' about it, an'..." She shakes her head. "I made a mess of things. I just wasn't ready."

Fluttershy leans down until her head is near Applejack's ear. "Are you more ready now?"

Applejack's quiet for several seconds, but then she reaches out and takes Fluttershy's hoof in her own. "Yeah, I think I am." She pushes back the brim of her hat and lifts her head to meet the pegasus' gaze. "Are you sayin'...?"

"I'm just saying I've had a really nice time." Fluttershy pulls back and takes to the air, spreading her wings and letting the wind ruffle her coverts. "This whole evening has genuinely been wonderful, Applejack."

Applejack chuckles and finishes her glass. "You're makin' a mess o' your feathers, there, Shy."

"Oh, I don't mind," she replies. "I'll just preen when I get home."

Applejack grins. "If'n you don't mind, ma'am, I'd be glad to take care o' that for you."

Fluttershy's eyes widen as she drops back to the ground, her heart picking up at the thought. "You... would?"

Applejack nods and wipes her muzzle with a napkin, then deliberately licks her lips. "Call it a bit o' proof that I know a little more 'bout what I'm doin'."

Fluttershy can feel the blood pulsing in her temples. She bites her lip, shifting her weight between her hindlegs, which have begun to tingle at the idea. "I... I don't know. That's—"

Applejack rises and bows her head. "Fluttershy, I'd be right honored if you'd do me the courtesy of lettin' me preen your wings."

The earth pony's words send a shiver down her spine, her wings rising even as she tries to think of anything but. Her mind a near blank, she rises and turns around, then extends one wing. "Alright," she whispers.

The blanket shifts under Fluttershy's hooves as Applejack approaches, and then warm breath washes over the edge of her wing as the farmer catches one of her primaries between her lips. There's a brief tug, and then the slow, smooth caress of a tongue against the root as she straightens the feather out. Then another, and another. The pegasus' wing trembles as Applejack works her way along its length from tip to ribs, sending liquid warmth rippling up Fluttershy's side.

Fluttershy's muzzle hangs slightly agape as the farmpony moves from her primaries to the secondaries. She's gentler than the pegasus would be, but even the light tugs are enough to catch Fluttershy's breath in her throat. By the time Applejack's finished with each row, Fluttershy's almost gasping, panting shallowly as the sensations all flow up inside her.

There's a last tug at the leading edge of her wing, and then the brush of Applejack's cheek against it. "That one's done," the earth pony murmurs as she steps back. "Want me t' do the other one?"

"Please," Fluttershy whispers, closing her eyes. Her breath grows shallow; is it from Applejack, or is there something else? Her stomach clenches; she ate too much, and now it's sitting heavy inside her. She stretches out her other wing, but it shakes slightly, and she squints her eyes tightly shut as the Dragon wakes up, smirking up from inside her. Taking advantage of a friend, are we? "Applejack."

"Yes'm?" Applejack's voice comes from beside her, soft and low.

"Keep going. Please." The Dragon scowls, hissing her displeasure, but Fluttershy breathes in as deeply as rising disquiet will let her, forcing the air into her lungs as Applejack starts to straighten out the feathers on her other wing. This time, guilt mixes with the pleasure, knotting her stomach even as the rest of her body responds. Does she even know what this is doing to you? She pants, keening quietly as the farmpony works, struggling to keep her hooves firmly on the ground, to keep her breathing as even as she can.

Applejack nuzzles against the front of her wing again to signal she's done, and Fluttershy snaps it against her side as she turns to face her date. "You've done that before, haven't you?"

Applejack rubs the back of her neck, smiling abashedly. "I mighta studied up on it. It was one o' the few things I could do for Dash that didn't feel awkward."

Fluttershy nods at that, heat rising in her cheeks. "I had a lovely time. Thank you." Her voice is a whisper, her stomach still knotting.

"Pleasure's mine, sugarcube," Applejack replies, brushing her cheek against the pegasus'. "We better get back. It's gettin' late, and I said I'd help Bloom an' Belle with their homework."

Sweetie Belle, hmm? I wonder why she's at the farmhouse, the Dragon hisses in Fluttershy's ear. "Oh, is there a Crusader slumber party?" she asks, forcing herself to smile.

"Nah, that's tomorrow," Applejack drawls. "Rarity asked if I could take her an extra night so she could get ahead on that commission o' hers. Her folks're back from Whinnyapolis come Sunday afternoon, so I'm helpin' keep an eye on 'er 'til the pet picnic."

"Oh, that's—" Fluttershy's wings start to cramp, cramming in against her side, making it hard to breathe. "That's really kind of you."

Applejack tilts her head to the side and steps forward. "Somethin' wrong, sugarcube? You sound kinda tense."

Sweetie's going to tell Rarity. I hope Angel hasn't made a mess of things at home. You're all going to be angry at me, I just know it. That preening felt really good, and I feel really guilty. Is your family really so obsessed with foaling? That sounds so... stereotypical. Either you're confused about your breakup or Rainbow is; probably both. This is going to fall apart before any of it has a chance. I should've put half a blondie in my saddlebag. She shakes her head quickly. "Oh, dinner's just sitting a little heavy and I'm starting to get tired."

"It's gettin' late, yeah, 'specially for early risers." Applejack looks back at the picnic site, then chuckles. "Tell you what, sugarcube. If you don't need that bowl, I'll just bring it over later. I'll clean up here; why don't you head on back? You sound like you could use a lie-down."

Fluttershy opens her muzzle to protest, but the way her stomach clenches says she'd better accept that offer. "You really don't mind?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. You go take care of yourself, hear? I'll see you on Sunday. Winona'll be happy to see you again."

"Thank you, Applejack," Fluttershy whispers. "I'll see you then. I really did have a good time." That's why I'm so nervous. Then she takes to the air, making a beeline for home before the Dragon can make things worse.

Author's Note

And this is where I lose everypony. **chuckles** I've made a few minor edits to previous sections to ensure consistency of narrative; this is the joy of posting as I write. Many thanks again to Horizon for his feedback on everything.

Pinkie Pie: Knee

Pinkie Pie bursts into the Cakes' storage room, her eyes narrowed and her mouth set into a tight line. Furrowing her brow, she looks down at her left forehoof, the tingle confirming her suspicions. "Warm." She strides up to the first bank of shelves lining the wall, but the tingle fades. "No, cold." At the second rack, the itch in her frog picks back up with a vengeance. "No, warm!" She squats, peering at the bottom shelf. "No, colder again." The one up from that makes her hoof itch a little more, and the one above further still. "Warmer! Yes, warmer!"

By the time she's at eye level, Pinkie's left forehoof feels like it's sweating, and she hops desperately, trying to peer at the shelf above that. "Yes! Warm warm warm hot!" She dashes out of the room, then charges back inside, past the shelves towards the bags of flour and sugar on the far wall. Her hooves hit the lowest sacks, and then she leaps, springing from the top of one stack to the next, until she's running back along the tops of the shelves. "Red hot!"

As Pinkie Pie jumps on top of the shelving unit that first caught her hoof's attention, she hisses. "Ow! Red hot!" She waves her left forehoof theatrically and blows on it, then spins and kicks up dust with her tail, sending something small and glittery flying. "Ah-hah!" She leaps from the top of the storage rack and lands in front of a small glass bottle. She picks it up, then twists off its cap and sniffs at the contents. One exaggerated sneeze later, she holds up her prize triumphantly. "Found it!"

Carrot Cake watches the young mare trot back into the kitchen of Sugarcube Corner and chuckles. "How'd the nutmeg get up there, anyway?"

Pinkie grins and flips the bottle onto the counter. "Oh, I bet Pound picked it up when we were playing hide-and-seek and dropped it. Or maybe Gummy carried it off and hid it! Or maybe Gummy tried to hide it and then Pound carried Gummy off and Gummy dropped it! Gummy likes nutmeg. Who--"

Pinkie yelps as pain jolts across her right knee, a throb hard enough to make the leg kick. She mutters ouches and owies as she hobbles in a tight circle, trying to walk off the spasm. "Pinchy knee! Pinchy--" She freezes and her eyes go wide. "Oh no."

Carrot rears back, his eyes going wide; Pinkie standing still is always a little unnerving. "Pinkie? What's--"

Giant blue eyes dominate Mr. Cake's field of vision as Pinkie suddenly presses her nose to his. "I gotta take the rest of the day off something really super-fantastically scary is going to happen to somepony and only I can stop it I gotta go thanks Mr. Cake bye!" Then, just as quickly, cotton-candy pink tail sweeps in front of his face, followed by heavy hoofbeats as Pinkie dashes up the stairs.

Pinkie Pie's room looks like a freshly-shaken ant farm. A tangled knot of pink and yellow blankets hovers at the edge of her bed, poised to tumble into Gummy's wading pool at any second. Toys indiscriminately cover the floor like so many interrupted stories. Comic books in and out of bag sit scattered around her room, along with building blocks and the occasional cooking utensil. The closest the room comes to order is the neat row of records in the shelves below her player, but even those defy any attempt at pattern.

Faded pink canvas saddlebags decorated with balloons lay at the foot of her bed, the left one drooling hard candies from its open flap. She scoops the loose ends back into their pouch, along with several other toys, then tugs the buckle closed with her teeth. She slips her head beneath her bags, then gives a deft toss of her neck and spins, the strap between them falling across her back. She tugs the buckles around her tummy, then darts back out of the door. "Be good Gummy listen to Pound and Pumpkin but stay out of the nutmeg!"

Carrot Cake raises a hoof as his assistant breezes past him. "Pinkie, don't forget about--"

"I know Mr. Cake foalsitting tonight I'll be back just gotta go save the world be home soon bye!" The words blow out of Pinkie in a rush as she charges out the door. The sunlight hits her face alongside the warm spring air and she pauses long enough to take a deep breath, letting the scents of baked sugar inside mix with grasses and dried hay. She turns and waves, then hooks one hindhoof and swings the door shut before turning back to the road.

"First up, Apple Acres!" Pinkie proclaims as she canters through town. It's a fast trip, comparatively; she only has to stop four times, and two of those were practically the same thing; poking her head into Bon-Bon's shop to share a laugh and ease some ruffled manes between the confectioner and her marefriend put her in the right place at the right time to save Twist's lemon-ginger sticks from becoming tongue-burners. Not only that, but it gave her a chance to buy a bag of brightly-colored candies to share. So, a bonus triple win, and it only puts her a little bit behind schedule as she strolls onto the orchards.

"Applejack!" Pinkie's voice rings out as she trots between trees, head craning this way and that, looking for the farmer. She wends across Sweet Apple Acres, straining her ears to pick up on the telltale thunk of hoof against tree, the plunk of apples into waiting baskets. "Yoo-hoo! Anypony home?"

Seconds pass. Pinkie twitches her ears, neck straining forward at all angles as she trots between neat rows of trees. "Applejack?" she calls again. "Big Mac?" She stops and blinks. "Hey, a rhyme!" The giggle starts in her nose, little tickles that roll down the back of her throat and into her tummy, putting a hop into her skip. "Applejack, Big Mac, Applejack, Big Mac...." The names becomes a cadence as she wanders the orchard, in search of her friends.

The younger farmpony stands at the crest of a hill near the back of Sweet Apple Acres, leaning against one of her signature trees. Her hat's pulled down to shade her eyes, and her tail swishes lazily back and forth. "There you are!" Pinkie dashes up to Applejack and presses her neck to Applejack's in a hug. "I had a pinchy knee while I was looking for the nutmeg Gummy lost or maybe Pound lost it or probably Pound helped Gummy lose it, though how you'd actually help somepony lose something when that means you'd know where it is and suddenly it wouldn't be lost any more is beyond me, but anyway my Pinkie Sense told me something really scary is going to happen to somepony important and here I was thinking I'd find you hard at work, but it looks like you're hardly working! What's wrong?"

Slowly, Applejack turns to face the baker, pushing her hat back with one hoof. The farmer's eyes are green, and Pinkie can see depths of longing in them, surrounded by frustration and fear etched in the wrinkles around them. She smiles, a full open-mouthed smile, and a soft laugh escapes parted lips. "Wrong? Oh, nothin' really, sugarcube. I finished up checkin' the new sprouts about--" Applejack lifts her head to Celestia's sun and strokes her neck. "Oh, 'bout an hour ago, maybe two. I was gonna go check the trees, make sure the bugs hadn't gotten into too many, but then I got t' thinkin'." She waves a hoof off towards Whitetail Wood. "Lot on my mind."

"Well, what are you thinking about?" Pinkie drops to her rear and rummages in her saddlebags for a freshly-acquired lollipop and pops it into her muzzle. "Tell your Auntie Pinkie all about it."

Applejack squints and tugs at her hat. "You... do know I'm older'n you, by about a year, right?"

"Yupperoonie!" Pinkie grins around the lollipop stem. "That's the great thing about being an aunt! It doesn't matter how old you are, or how old I am, just that my parents were older than yours!" She shuffles the sucker to one side of her mouth, her words less garbled by the paper stalk. "So what are you thinking about? You didn't mortgage the farm, did you?"

"What?" Applejack blinks, startled. "That ain't how that works, I don't think, and what in Tartarus makes you think I'd do somethin' like that?"

Pinkie folds her forehooves and crunches noisily on her lollipop for a few seconds. "Well, some things cost a lot of bits, or so I've heard, but don't worry! So what's got you so scared? If I were that worried about money, I might bet the farm myself!"

Applejack's frown pulls at the corner of her muzzle, but then she just shakes her head. "Pinkie, I believe you know what you're talkin' about, but I got no clue. I was just thinkin' about somethin' that happened last night, an' somethin' that happened a long time ago. I ain't scared -- well, maybe a mite nervous -- but I'm happier right now than I've been in a long while."

Pinkie's eyes narrow to slits. "So... there's nothing wrong here?"

Applejack shakes her head. "Eenope."

"Nothing at all?"

Another shake. "Eenope."

"You're just thinking a lot?"

Applejack smiles, a little goofy grin that spreads all the way to her eyebrows. "Eeyup."

Pinkie leans in close, her eyes mere slits against Applejack's wide-eyed bemusement. She opens her muzzle, but before the baker can say a thing something rumbles deep inside. It's a twisty, twitchy tremor shaking down her back, turning her elbows and knees to jelly. Her right ear itches, her left ear twitches, and teeth rattle from the clatter of her jaw. She clamps down hard, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, but the dizzy, fizzy ripples spread up out from her spine, down to each hoof and then all the way back, bones quaking and muscles aching from the top of her scalp to the end of her flank.

Then, as soon as the sensations come, they go. Pinkie drops to her hinds, jaw hanging slack as she stares up at Applejack, her eyes wide and her brow furrowed in concern. "You alright there, sugarcube?"

"Oh, wow," Pinkie breathes. She jumps back to her hooves, then looks down at each in turn as if surprised they're supporting her. She hasn't had a reaction like that since Twilight and the falling anvils and the hydra and the Pinkie Sense about Twlight and Pinkie Sense. "That was a doozy."

The color drains from Applejack's face and beads of sweat dot the edge of the hat. The farmer swallows hard, her eyes darting all about the orchard but never quite landing back on Pinkie. "What do you think it was about, do you reckon?"

"I don't know!" Pinkie squeaks, "but I'll bet my last cookie it's way more important than a pinchy knee. That wasn't the dooziest of doozies, but it sure was a doozy of a doozy!" She pulls herself to her full height, chest thrust forward, head held high. She coughs, then speaks in as solemn a voice as the farmer has ever heard. "Applejack, everypony is okay if you're okay." She holds up out a hoof, turning her head away. "Don't tell me; it's not time. Whatever's on your mind, it's going to be fine." The baker darts forward and pulls her friend into the tightest of hugs. "I have to go. Somepony's still about to have a scary day, and I need to be there."

When Pinkie lets go, Applejack staggers back against the tree, then looks up to see the party pony bounding off between the trees. "Just don't bet the farm!" she shouts over her shoulder.

The road from Sweet Apple Acres back to Carousel Boutique passes through the market, and on Canterday morning, that means oodles, maybe even boodles of ponies at which to wave and smile. Lyra and the Flower Trio join her for an impromptu singalong, and Blossomforth and Flitter pause in their cloud-wrangling to provide an aerial display to accompany it. After the song and a round of hooves from the onlookers-turned-audience, one of the sisters lands beside Pinkie and whispers a suggestion to her, one followed by a flutter of her wings and a raised eyebrow. Pinkie laughs and nods, then hugs the pair before skipping past the stalls and up to the door of Rarity's home-and-business.

The windows around the ground floor of Rarity's shop are dark, and the sign on the front door apologizes that the boutique is closed. Pinkie peers intently at the words, then rears back and raps her hoof repeatedly against the wood. "Rarity? Are you home?" She waits the appropriate three seconds, then knocks again. "Rarity? Is everything okay?"

Pinkie chews on her lip, tail bobbing in agitation behind her. "I know I shouldn't just go in, but... what if she's in trouble?" One hoof drums a nervous tattoo against the boutique door. "What if she isn't answering because she can't come to the door?" Both hooves snap to her muzzle, her eyes going wide. "What if she's the reason I had the pinchy knee and the scary thing I'm supposed to be saving her from is happening right now?" The party pony gasps, then grabs the knob and twists. In the space between her hooves, reality bends, and the lock warps in response to Pinkie's frantic actions. As soon as she drops to all fours again, the effect passes and the latch snaps back to true, but the front door now hangs slightly ajar.

Pinkie dashes inside, oblivious to her own workings; magic is something unicorns do with their horns, right? The boutique itself is mostly dark; Celestia's sun just peeks in beneath the blinds and glances through the open doorway, leaving scattered patches of light around the edges of the main room. Half-dressed pardequins line the walls, a doll parade frozen in time. Racks of costumes sit around the room, roles forever waiting to be played. The kitchen is equally quiet, as is the guest room. At the top of the stairs, though, a crack shines out under Rarity's bedroom door, and muffled thumps echo from within.

"Rarity! I'm coming!" Pinkie's hooves are on the bedroom door even before she's registered stepping on the stairs, and then she twists and tugs, yanking open the bedroom door. On the edge of the bed is a small suitcase, and arranged in neat bundles around it are a plethora of very special toys. The heart-shaped crop is easiest to identify, as is the Signature Colt Steel Original. Beyond that is a veritable pick-a-mix of cuffs and collars, ribbons and reins. In the middle of it all, the unicorn stands transfixed, her cheeks and ears bright pink, one eyelid twitching behind her red-rimmed glasses.

"Pinkie," Rarity breathes, "how in Celestia's name did you get in here?"

"Your front door was open!" Pinkie bounds over to the bed and presses against the ramrod-stiff Rarity in a hug. "I was at Sugarcube corner helping Gummy unlose some nutmeg and then I had a pinchy knee and then Applejack gave me a doozy at Sweet Apple Acres and I said everything was going to be fine and then I came here thinking maybe you were the one with the scary night, and I was right!" She picks up the portable stallion in both hooves. "The first time I tried one this big, I couldn't sit for a day afterward!"

Rarity's pale-blue aura engulfs the toy and tugs it firmly from Pinkie's hooves, then tucks it back into its carrying case. "Pinkie Pie," she says with a clearing of her throat. "It is rude to go through another's private effects without asking." I quite clearly recall closing the boutique early, yet here you are. May I ask why?"

Pinkie shuffles back half a step from the bed. Rarity's smiling, but her eyes are narrowed and one eyelid continues its up-and-down twitch, kind of like a Pinkie Sense for bad ideas. "But, Rarity, somepony is about to have a really scary day and I'm trying to help!" Her voice rises on the last word, stressing just how important it is to her. "I saw the shop was closed and I thought maybe it was because you were scared and I had to do something!"

Rarity sighs and puts away her glasses. "I appreciate your earnestness, Pinkie, but I'm not scared. I am a trifle nervous, but...." She gestures to the bed. "If you must know, I'm going on an overnight trip to visit somepony... special."

"Ooh!" Pinkie brightens at that and clops her hooves together, a grin splitting her muzzle. "You've got a special somepony!" She blinks, and as fast as the smile appears, it fades, replaced with a squint. "Hey, if you've got a special somepony, how come you never told us?"

Rarity puts her hoof on Pinkie's withers and pats her comfortingly. "I didn't say I had a special somepony, Pinkie; I said I was visiting somepony special. It's... well, it's very complicated, and I don't want to bore you with details."

Pinkie rubs her muzzle with one hoof. "So... you're not scared either?"

The seamstress favors her friend with a gentle smile. "No, not really."

"Just nervous?"

"Only a little."

Pinkie thinks about this for a few seconds. "Well, alright then! I'd better get back to figuring out who that pinchy knee was for. Just go slow and take your time. Colt Steel's a doozy!" And with that, she dashes back downstairs and out of the boutique, making sure the door locks behind her.

Golden Oaks isn't too far from Town Hall, which gives Pinkie time to pop in and see the mayor and check to see if the permits for her bounce castle dance club idea have been approved. Unfortunately, the paperwork comes back with a lot of red marks -- who needs safety inspectors with the Elements of Harmony in town -- and a big stamp of REJECTED across the top. She grabs another stack of business proposal forms on her way out of Town Hall; maybe Mayor Mare will like her treadmill-powered pancake factory better.

Unlike Carousel Boutique, the library sign still prominently says Open -- no surprise there; it's still before five. The door swings open at a touch, and Pinkie cranes her head inside. "Twilight? Anypony home?"

Spike dashes over to the door and takes Pinkie's hoof in his claws. "Oh, thank Celestia!" He tugs the pony inside and points towards the stacks. "Can you go talk to Twilight, maybe calm her down?"

Pinkie's eyes widen and her smile lights up the entryway. "I'm on the job, Spike!" She raps her hoof to her forehead in a royal salute, then trots into the library itself, stopping dead just inside, jaw hanging. The air of the library is filled with books. Big ones, small ones, some as big as her head all go swimming past one another in a merry gavotte around the room. Occasionally one will duck into a shelf, only to have its neighbor pop loose and join the widening gyre. In the center of it all, Twilight Sparkle sits in the middle of the floor, forehooves rapping against the ground in nervous succession, her eyes and horn aglow, wordlessly muttering beneath her breath.

Spike puts a claw on Pinkie's back. "She said she was going to skip reshelving today, but... well, it's Twilight. What are you gonna do?"

Pinkie pushes her jaw closed with one hoof. "Wow. I mean, I knew Twilight was powerful, but...!"

The dragon shrugs. "Normally she waits until after the library's closed to do this, but she's got a date tonight, so she--"

Pinkie spins to face face the dragon. "A date? Oh my gosh! That's so neat!" She charges forward and sweeps the librarian up into a hug. "Congratulations, Twilight!"

"Augh!" Twilight's eyes fade to violet, and the books around her tumble like so many dominoes. "Pinkie! What are you doing? I don't have time for this!"

"But Twilight, you said you were going to skip reshelving today!" Spike waddles over and folds his arms across his chest. "I think you almost gave Mr. Wattles a heart attack when his newspaper flapped away."

"Yes, well...." The librarian huffs and rises from her seat. "I just couldn't skip it, Spike. It's Canterday. That means reshelving. It's part of the job description."

Spike grimaces. "Twilight, you wrote that schedule yourself. Nothing says you can't change it every once in a while."

"Hold on a minute!" Pinkie turns and puts a hoof on each of the other's shoulders. "You're both missing the most important part of everything that's been said so far."

"What?" ask both Twilight and her assistant as one.

Pinkie's grin broadens as she pulls both of the others into a fresh hug. "You said 'date', and that's like a really super-duper important private party, and guess who knows all about parties!" She grabs a notepad and pen in her teeth from the front desk, then flips the paper open. "So, who's it with, what are you doing, and when should I ask if it went okay?"

Twilight cringes under the barrage of questions. She starts to open her muzzle, then closes it again. One hoof rises, then falls. She looks at Spike with pleading eyes, but the dragon just shakes his head. The books rise and begin an orderly march back towards the shelves. "Rainbow Dash. She's bringing a pizza and we're going to study meditation and focus training for pegasi and then read Quartermane. And... tomorrow at the pet play date, I guess?"

Pinkie ignores the book parade as she makes tick marks on the page before her. "Hmm." She squints at the paper, then frowns. "You've forgotten a dessert."

The librarian pales. "D-dessert? Nopony said... I mean... I didn't know I needed one!"

Spike quickly dashes forward to put his claws on Twilight's shoulders. "You don't! It'll be fine without it, promise!" He shoots Pinkie a scowl, unmistakably saying fix that with his eyes.

"Oh, sure!" Pinkie nods rapidly. "If you and Rainbow settled on pizza, then pizza it is!" She sweeps forward and hugs Twilight again, sending a few more books sprawling to the floor. "Oh, I'm so happy for you! You're just going to have to tell Auntie Pinkie all about it after!"

Twilight pulls away rapidly and sends the last of the books back to their homes, dust-free and ready for reading. "I'll share what I can. And I'm older than you."

Pinkie giggles. "Oh, Twilight, you're so silly. Applejack said the same thing when I went to the farm! That pony was about to bet the farm on a doozy." She keeps on talking through Twilight's non-plussed stare. "Then I went to Rarity but I can't talk about what we talked about because I Pinkie-promised, and then I came here because I'm still trying to find whomever set off my pinchy knee!" She blinks rapidly, one and one finally summing to three. "Oh my gosh! Are you scared your date's going to go badly?"

Twilight steps back and whips her head back and forth. "No! I mean, not really. I'm nervous -- this is my first date -- but I've done all my research. It's like any other exam, really."

Spike rolls his eyes. "She's been talking to herself in the mirror again. It's like Mr. Smarty Pants found a marefriend."

Twilight shushes Spike, but Pinkie leans forward and rubs her cheek against the librarian's. "Oh, it's okay, Twilight! There's nothing to be scared of. It's just a date! It's like hanging out with a friend but maybe with kissing!" Both hooves jump to her mane, and again reality bends just enough for her to find a pair of dress-up dolls within, one purple and one blue. Before Twilight's slack-jawed gaze, she proceeds to make lip-smacking noises while pressing their heads together awkwardly.

"How did you do that?" the librarian finally asks.

Spike puts his claws on his hips and huffs. "You've seen her pop out of a potted plant without blinking, but you're surprised by this?"

Twilight puts one hoof to her forehead, mashing just below the horn. "No! I mean, I felt... anyway, this is all a distraction from the central thesis, which is that I am not scared. I am...." She hesitates. "I don't like change, and this is a lot of change all at once, and I'm trying to cope with that."

Pinkie looks up from her dolls. "So you do have Grassburger Syndrome?"

Twilight's voice drops. "What."

"It's not really a secret, silly filly." Pinkie smiles, then scoots forward so she can sit right in front of her friend. "All of the girls guessed, but it's okay. We still like you!" She hesitates a moment, then says. "Like, a lot."

"I like you all, too," Twilight mumbles, looking towards the door. "If it's not really a secret, then I guess I don't really have much reason to be nervous. If it's all the same to you, then, Pinkie, thank you for stopping by, but I should finish up my cleaning before Rainbow gets here."

Pinkie nods again and smiles. "Okay, Twilight. I'll see you tomorrow at the pet play date and you can tell me all about how it went!" She rises to all fours and trots out of the library. The corners of her muzzle tug upwards at the thought of demonstrating just how much a lot might be, but Twilight has enough change to manage right now.

Dash is just touching down beneath her home as Pinkie approaches. The party pony throws herself at the pegasus before Dash's hooves can reach the ground. "Oh! You're here! Congratulations!"

Dash hugs back awkwardly, trying to extract herself out from under Pinkie. She's made a cursory attempt to brush her mane and tail, and her wings are freshly preened minus one enthusiastic tackle-hug. "Hey, Pinkie. How's it going?"

Pinkie jumps to her hooves, bouncing rapidly from left to right. "I just got done talking with Twilight about a pinchy knee, but it wasn't her, but she said she was going on a date, and I asked with who, and guess what she said! Guess guess guess!"

Dash chuckles. "Me?"

Pinkie gasps and cups her hooves to her muzzle. "You guessed! Are you psychic?"

"Pinkie, you are so random." It's an old joke, one that brings a shared giggle to the prankster pair. "Yeah, I'm gonna go pick up a pizza from Cavallino's. She's got a couple of books picked out for us to read. It's gonna be a pretty chill evening."

Pinkie nods in response. "So you're not scared, are you? "

Dash buffs one hoof against her chest. "Me? Scared? Nah, I'm cool. I got this."

"You're sure?" Pinkie waves a hoof back towards Sweet Apple Acres. "You're not still thinking of Applejack, are you?"

Dash's eyes narrow. "No. Fog before the sun."

Pinkie pauses, then puts her hooves together. "And you're not still thinking of--"

"Don't." The word is a command. "I don't need to hear about her either. And no, I'm not. This isn't me trying to prove anything. I'm fine."

Pinkie squints, waiting for some sign that Dash is bluffing, but the pegasus stands loosely on her hooves, wings slowly rustling at her sides. The smile is gone from her face, but even the tension from bad memories is passing quickly. "You don't look scared."

Dash barks a laugh. "That's 'cause I'm not." She waves with a wing. "I gotta get going; it takes Cavallino's, like, forty minutes to bake a pizza; the faster they start, the faster we can get started." She takes to the air and soars back towards the market. "Catch me next week; we'll go swimming!"

Pinkie's smile tightens a little. "Okay, Dash! Have a great time tonight!" She watches until her friend vanishes between buildings, then turns towards the outskirts of town.

Fluttershy's cottage sits almost on the exact opposite side of Ponyville from Sweet Apple Acres, and as Pinkie trots up to her front door, she's starting to feel the burn from all the cantering around she's done. She lifts one hoof and knocks wearily. "Fluttershy? Are you home? It isn't anypony else so it must be you! Are you okay in there?"

The door cracks open, and Fluttershy peeks one bright blue eye out at her visitor. "Oh! Pinkie. I wasn't... I mean I just... um...." She pulls back for a moment, then thrusts her head back through the doorway, her gaze on the ground. "This really isn't a good time for me to have guests."

Pinkie cocks her head to one side and smiles. "If you're afraid of something, then that's the perfect time for guests!"

Fluttershy shakes her head rapidly, primrose mane flicking back and forth. "No, I mean, I'm having... that is... she's around, and my tummy feels like it's full of butterflies and my chest hurts but there's nothing wrong; it's just nerves and I know it."

Pinkie's mane deflates a little, but she nods and offers the pegasus a one-legged hug. "I understand; it's just a bad day for you. Have you had a brownie? Would you like me to bake some for you?"

Fluttershy blushes. "No. I made them the way you showed me, and they work, but I needed to be clear-headed later, so I haven't had any." Even her forced smile lights up her face, despite the dampness at the corners of her eyes.

Pinkie smiles in response, feeling her own eyes watering slightly. "It's okay, really. Oh!" She drops on her rump and rummages through her saddlebags, then comes up with a white paper bag that she noses over to the pegasus. "Here. Salted caramels. They're pretty strong, but one should do wonders if you need a little help. Just go easy on them."

Fluttershy eeps softly at the suggestion, but after a moment's pause, she grabs the sack in her muzzle and tugs it through the door. "Thank you, Pinkie. I will. The last thing I want is... oh, we've talked about all of this. You understand."

Pinkie nods encouragingly. "I do. I really really do." She remembers all the times she's seen Fluttershy yell at somepony and then cry, or cry even without yelling at anypony just because she wanted to, to say nothing of all the times she knows she didn't see Fluttershy because she was hiding. This isn't fear; it's her mind playing tricks on her, meanie-mean tricks that aren't funny for anypony, least of all herself. Pinkie's all too aware of those kinds of unfun games. She still remembers Rocky's admonitions about her friends. She remembers how quick she was to believe them.

Fluttershy flicks a wing. "Um, Pinkie? Is something on your mind?"

Pinkie blinks, then nods. "Yeah, there is. Something is eating at Applejack who wouldn't say what it was. Rarity has some really interesting secrets. Twilight didn't know we knew about her Grassburger's. Dash still really isn't over Gilda or Applejack, but she's about to date Twilight. You're still dealing with your dragon, and me...." Pinkie smiles wanly. "Well, I'm everypony's friend, so I'm fine, but I'm also really tired from doing all this running around trying to figure out why I was getting a pinchy knee!"

"Oh, um... that's unfortunate." Fluttershy nudges the door a little further closed. "I would invite you in, but... this really isn't a good time, like I said."

"Oh, no problemo!" Pinkie knocks the door open long enough to give Fluttershy a big hug, then pulls back. "If you're okay, or you will be, then I'll just head home. I promised the Cakes I'd babysit tonight for the twins! Enjoy the caramels, one at a time!"

Back at Sugarcube Corner, Pinkie lets herself in the front door, wearily sliding her saddlebags to the floor so she can drag them upstairs with one hoof. "I'm home!" She leaves the bag by the stairs, then trots through the storefront to the living room. "Mrs. Cake? Mr. Cake?" Neither of her employers are anywhere in sight, and the twins' room is devoid of twins. They're not even hiding in their toybox.

Pinned to the refrigerator is a note in Mrs. Cake's curly cursive. Pinkie pulls it down and reads it quickly. "Dear Pinkie. Carrot said you looked busy when you left, so we've taken Pound and Pumpkin to Mother's for the weekend. We'll be back late tonight. Have fun with your friends!" She sets the note down on the counter, brow furrowed. "But all my friends are busy! Applejack's all goofy-eyed and Dash and Twilight are on a date and Rarity is busy and Fluttershy isn't up to guests and the twins are gone and even Mr. and Mrs. Cake are out, so the only pony left is--"

Pain lances through Pinkie's right knee, dropping her on her rump and bringing tears to her eyes. As soon as the sensation comes, it goes, but the meaning is suddenly obvious and unmistakable. Pinkie's eyes widen to fill her face. "Ask not for whom the knee pinches," she intones. "It pinches for me!"

Author's Note

For those of you who don't know, I'm both a board member of Pegasi -- the group behind [url=everfreenw.com]Everfree Northwest, which runs the first week of July -- and on the executive staff for [url=rainfurrest.com]RainFurrest, which runs the end of September. Needless to say, the time period between about June and October is very busy for me. This year was my first time trying to be a high-ranking member of two conventions so close to each other, and I just wasn't prepared for the workload. Next year, my role for both cons is changing slightly, so I should be less swamped overall. Plus, I learned a lot about time management and planning that I should be in good shape to apply next year around the same time. This means I should have more time to actually focus on writing!

Applejack: Shoot

The front door to Sweet Apple Acres' farmhouse isn't locked and never has been. It's a testament to both Ponyville culture and Apple family hospitality that the three-story building has only ever had a simple spring latch to keep it closed. When Applejack leans on the bar, the bolt inside retracts, and the door swings wide, sending a gust of warm afternoon wind into the front room.

The parlor room of the farmhouse is a museum, showcasing the history of the family. One of Aunt Rose's cross-stitch patterns hangs on the wall, and some of Uncle Strudel's wooden figurines sit on a shelf that Grandpa Wealthy made. He also carved the rocking chair in which Granny Smith now naps, snug beneath one of the quilts Auntie Applesauce made. Keeping watch over the room are Great-Grandpa Pippin and Great-Grandma Summerfree, smiling like saints down from the portrait that her mother painted and her father framed.

Applejack eases the door closed behind her, her eyes riveted on Great-Grandpa Pippin's. Even for his age, he's an oak of a stallion in the picture, all solid trunk and sturdy branch. A snow-thatch of white mane tops his head, and laugh lines cover his face, but his leaf-green eyes are as bright as they ever were in every story Granny Smith ever told about him. She's told Applejack she has her great-grandmother's smile, but her coat is the spitting image of Pippin's, and it's to him that the young mare's gaze always travels. Every time Applejack comes home, she can't help but look up to him. He's the first Apple in Ponyville's orchard, and the founder of the farm as well. His presence on the wall is a reminder of her own commitment to the farm and to those who should one day follow in her hoofsteps.

With a grimace, Applejack pulls her gaze down from the wall; she doesn't need that kind of thought right now. She treads lightly around the room, past her snoring grandmother and into the kitchen. McIntosh, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Belle sit at the table, a spread of papers before them. Her brother has his reading glasses perched on his muzzle, placidly studying the fillies and their awkward figures as they try to wheedle their way through long division.

"So... nine goes inta sixty... um...." Bloom pauses, drawling out her numbers around the stub of a pencil. "Nine times six is..." She pauses and looks up at her brother, hoping for a sign.

"It's... fifty-four, isn't it?" Sweetie looks up and to her left, tugging the answer sheet closer with a hoof as she waits for McIntosh to respond.

Bloom presses down and pulls it back, the paper wrinkling in the middle from the stress. "Naw, it's... wait, is it?" She lets go of the page and starts writing out sums on a scratch sheet. "Nine, eightee--"

"Hi, Applejack!" Sweetie Belle's shout interrupts the other filly's counting. "Want to help us study?"

Before Applejack can respond, Bloom spits the pencil onto the table, then drops from her chair and dashes over to her, wrapping one foreleg around her sister's. "Y'all were out all day! I was startin' to think y'all were gonna miss supper!"

Applejack returns the hug and nuzzles at the top of Bloom's head. "Tonight's Granny's cellar casserole; nothin's keepin' me away. I just got a lot on my mind." She looks up at McIntosh, who's been studying her placidly since she walked into the kitchen. Her eyes dart to the staircase, then back. He follows her gaze, then nods in response. "Mind if I borrow Big Mac for a bit, you two?"

"But he's helpin' us with our 'rithmetic!" Bloom stamps one forehoof. "Miss Cheerilee says we got a pop test come Moonday mornin'!"

"An' I'll have him back to you before supper," Applejack soothes. "I jus' need a bit o' time for some big-pony talk."

Bloom's frown deepens. "I am a big pony."

"Here." McIntosh ducks his head and snaps up the pencil with a practiced flick of his lip. He quickly jots down a series of problems on the page, then slides it across the table and drops the pencil on top. "You two work on those. I'll be back 'fore you're done." He then trots up the stairs, pointedly ignoring the groans behind him.

McIntosh's room used to be his father's, back when Jonagold was a colt. The furniture has all been upscaled and the door's hinges have been replaced twice since her brother claimed the space, but her father's yoke still hangs from the same iron hook it did when he first inherited it from Great-Uncle Jonathan. A small bookshelf sits beneath it, its shelves bowed with leather-bound hardbacks. A vase sits on the window, with fresh flowers turned towards the afternoon sun.

The stallion trots to his desk and drops his glasses on a sheaf of paperwork, then takes a seat and turns to face his sister. The wheatstalk shifts from one corner of his muzzle to the center; he's waiting for her to talk.

Applejack nudges the door closed behind her, then leans back against it, bracing herself for the torrent to follow. "So, I wanted to let you know my date went well... well enough we're lookin' t' do it again, I think." She swallows. "I just... wanted to make sure you didn't have any problems if I said--" She stops, hard, Pippin's eyes leering down at her inside her mind. First in Ponyville's orchard. And I'm the last.

She grits her teeth and forces out the words. "If I said... I wasn't gonna be the one to carry on the family line." Reflexively, she pulls back towards the door, but Big Mac remains fixed in place, watching her placidly, his eyes half-lidded like he's not even listening. The silence stretches out uncomfortably between them, sliding past awkward into painful, until Applejack stammers into the gap again. "I like mares, Mac. I'm not gonna have foals."

Big Mac slides the wheatstalk over to the side of his muzzle. "I know."

The simple acknowledgement knocks the wind out of Applejack's sails harder than any bellow could have. "You... you knew?"

One corner of McIntosh's muzzle rises in a half-grin. "You an' Dash weren't exactly a secret. Maybe for you. Not for her."

Applejack doesn't know what to do with this information; indifference wasn't one of the outcomes she'd spent the afternoon since Pinkie's impromptu visit preparing to face. Anger, denial, and sorrow, but not simple acceptance. "But... but this means it's gonna fall to you to carry on the family line!"

"Or Bloom," Big Mac counters with a shrug. "There's time yet."

The quietude eats at Applejack; this isn't how she expected the confrontation to go at all. She starts to pace in front of McIntosh's door. "Granny's gonna be furious. She's been after great-grandfoals for years." McIntosh raises one eyebrow, but the farm-mare doesn't notice. "The farm's been in this family since it was founded. It's not just a tradition; it's a legacy! This here's Apple property, and it should go to an Apple! It ain't right if nopony carries on the line!"

"Sounds like it ain't Granny who's worried about havin' foals," Big Mac opines around his wheatstalk. "So adopt."

The sound of that makes Applejack rear back, the whites of her eyes starting to show. "What?"

Big Mac shrugs. "There's foals lookin' for homes. Take one o' them in, if you an' yourn decide you want a family."

"But that's not--" The next word sticks in Applejack's throat when she sees the scowl spreading across McIntosh's face. "I mean...." She trails off again, her gaze past the flowers on Mac's windowsill, out towards the clouds past the edge of the farm. "I suppose Scootaloo's kinda turnin' into Dash's sister, so maybe." She looks back to her brother's relaxing face. "You think Granny'd be okay if that's how I did it?"

McIntosh shrugs again. "I think Granny'll be happy if you're happy, sis."

The mare drops her head, the weight on her mind visibly settling out of her shoulders. "Thanks, Mac. I gotta think about it s'more, but at least it's somethin' t' think about." She turns around to head back downstairs, then stops and looks over her shoulder. "You really don't mind, do you?"

At that, McIntosh glances towards the window, then back his sister. "Eenope."

Downstairs, Bloom and Sweetie Belle have descended into squabbling over whether long division is worse than history for pop tests, and the papers have scattered to the floor. While McIntosh helps gather the pages into a pile, Applejack starts washing piles of carrots, potatoes, onions and turnips fetched from the cellar. Granny Smith comes in from her afternoon nap, and soon afterwards she has a pot of gravy simmering on the stove. While Applejack peels, McIntosh carves, and Granny layers vegetables and gravy with slices of fresh cheese, and then the casserole goes into the oven.

While the farmhouse fills with the smell of roasted vegetables, McIntosh washes pots and knives, while Bloom and Sweetie Belle argue over what a cutie mark in table-setting would look like. In the parlor, Applejack sits with a deck of cards, dealing out solitaire to kill the time and help keep her thoughts from churning; she can feel Great-Grandpa Pippin looking over her shoulder as she puts six on seven, bailiff on minister. His presence permeates the room, first of the Ponyville orchard.

Adopt. The word lingers in Applejack's mind, unsubtle like a hammer on glass. It's the kind of word foals used to hurt each other, to say their real parents didn't love them enough. She moves two onto three, eight onto bailiff. She remembers Uncle Orange telling her about how they grow seedless fruit in those fancy greenhouses in Manehatten. You take a branch from one tree, and you cut away the bark on another. Then you tie the branch in place, and you tend it very carefully, and in a few seasons, it's like the branch was always part of that tree. She glances over her shoulder at Pippin and Summerfree, smiling down on Sweet Apple Acres, on the fruits of their labor. An orange growing from an apple tree was still an orange, wasn't it?

Granny Smith rocks in Grandpa Wealthy's rocker and takes up her knitting, waiting for supper. Applejack watches her add rows of deep blue knits and lighter purls to a scarf whose other end already brushes the floor. "I hate t' break this to ya, Granny, but Winter Wrap-up was a couple months ago."

"Gonna be a short summer this year, I reckon," she talks as she works, the needles between her hooves clacking as she talks. "'Sides, it's always the right time for a family-welcoming gift."

That perks up Applejack's ears. "New family member?"

"Eeyup!" Granny holds up the scarf between her hooves, eying her stitching, then grumbles and starts tugging out knots. The scarf is shorter than when she started by the time she's satisfied. "Cousin Honeycrisp, up in Whinnyapolis."

"Well, that's mighty thoughtful, Granny!" Applejack picks up a deck of cards off of an end table and starts riffling them in front of her as she talks. "Red finally buck up and find himself a mare?"

Granny sputters for a moment, then lets out a tight cackle. "Well, no, not exactly."

Applejack raises an eyebrow. "Is...." She can feel her face flush again and her ears press against the top of her head. She wants to ask. She doesn't want to ask. She wants it to be okay. She wants to be okay, but she can't shake the feeling of Pippin's eyes on her. "Is Red into stallions, then?" Honeycrisp isn't exactly a stallion's name, but then, Applejack isn't exactly a mare's name, either. "He always did seem kinda light on his hooves,"

Granny's cackle subsides only slightly. "You can ask yerself at the family reunion," she manages around her laugh.

Before Applejack can figure out a response to that, the timer in the kitchen chimes, followed instantly by Apple Bloom's enthusiastic shout of "Supper's on!" The Apple family kitchen table is set for five, and Applejack escorts her grandmare to her seat. McIntosh serves out heaping plates of caramelized onion and roasted carrot topped with melted cheese and bubbling gravy. Bloom's got the fork in her hoof as soon as the food is before her, but a ringing tone from Granny Smith's glass reminds her to fold her hooves and bow her head.

"Pippin and Summerfree," Granny intones at the head of the table, "please keep watch over all your kin. Help us keep our tables laden and our troubles light. Help us be kind to one another, and show us the path of righteousness, until the day when we all return to the earth."

"Until the day," echoes around the table, followed by the frantic clatter of silverware. The first few minutes of dinner are always quiet, as everypony digs into the meal, but then McIntosh rises and asks if anypony wants cider, followed quickly by four hearty assents and the clunk of heavier mugs hitting the table. Applejack lifts her mug and offers a toast to the coming harvest, followed by a round of cheers, and the conversation flows with the apple brew.

After dinner, Applejack helps McIntosh tidy the kitchen, while the fillies head to their clubhouse to meet with Scootaloo. Granny Smith returns to the parlor, to nap or knit or some combination of both. The last dish dried, McIntosh nods to Applejack. "You need anything else 'fore tomorrow?"

Applejack shrugs. It's an occasional ritual of her brother's, out Canterday evening, back Sunday afternoon. She's okay with it; it keeps him happy. She wonders what he does on his off-nights, and with whom, but she tells herself again that he'll share when he's ready, just like she did. "Nothin' comes t' mind. You'll be back by sundown?"

"Eeyup." McIntosh leans down and presses his neck to his sister's in a hug, then lightly trots upstairs and ducks into his room, leaving Applejack to finish tidying the kitchen. Celestia's set the sun, and Luna's got the moon up over the Whitetails. She heads to the back porch and sits on the two-pony swing hanging from the eave. She reaches one forehoof out and tries to imagine Fluttershy sitting beside her, the almost-ticklish softness of the pegasus' feathers pressed to her side. It's not hard to envision the mare's neck pressed to hers, the comfortable weight of her, sharing the evening looking out at the sky.

Applejack fetches another cider from the kitchen, this one from the special reserves at the back of the pantry. She twists off the cap, then trots back outside. Ponyville's weather team has cleared away the clouds, and despite the approach of summer a chill quickly settles over the farm as the sky shades from blue to black. The hard cider is cold, but it sends a warmth out from the pit of her stomach.

Back inside, Granny Smith snores lightly along with the creak of the rocking chair, the light from her reading lamp casting long shadows across the parlor floor. Upstairs, McIntosh's door is closed, as is Apple Bloom's, and silence echoes behind each. Canterday evenings at the farmhouse have felt empty for a while now, but the thought of Fluttershy following her up the stairs makes the night feel a little less alone.

Applejack's bed is big enough for herself and a few blankets, but the thought of Fluttershy takes up hardly any room at all. She tosses her hat onto one bedpost, then crawls into bed, dragging her winter comforter over her,. As her head hits the pillow, the idea of the pegasus snuggles into her barrel. The farmpony smiles and lifts one hoof, then drapes it over the heavy blanket and the image of Fluttershy nestled under her foreleg.

The farmpony closes her eyes and breathes slowly in and out, letting the thoughts of the day subside. As she tries to relax into sleep, though, a familiar itch begins to tickle her. Applejack grimaces and rolls onto her other side, the dream of Fluttershy wrapping her forelegs around the other mare. The blanket weighs her down, its normally well-worn smoothness tugging this way and that at her pelt. She squirms, trying to find some position that helps ease the need, but the thought of the other mare keeps teasing, the edge of her hoof gliding along the inside of Applejack's thigh.

With a groan, Applejack rolls up onto her knees, her forehead against her pillow. Thoughts of Dash used to inspire the same feelings, the same uncomfortable ache that demanded satisfaction. Whenever the other mare had pressed herself to Applejack's side, whispered in her ear, or struck a pose with with a come-here smile in her eyes, that awkward and incessant itch would start insistently twitching between her legs. She would do her best to put it out of her mind, to push it away and focus on the romance and the emotion of the moment. The more she denied it, though, the more urgent it became, until she would angrily shove Dash away, lest she be forced to give in to her needs.

Here, in her bedroom, alone with the idea of Fluttershy, one forehoof slips between hindlegs, gliding along her slick thigh to the cleft between them. Below her, the thought of Fluttershy throws back her head, muzzle agape as Applejack grinds down against her. The image of the other mare trembles beneath her as she grits her teeth, and her body responds to the fantasy, her ears flattening against her head as she slowly rolls the edge of her hoof along her lips.

Applejack rolls her hips, grinding into her hoof with steady thrusts. The dream of Fluttershy gasps, the pegasus' wings spread, pushing back into every one of Applejack's bucks. The farmpony's breath catches in her throat, raggedly panting as she rubs herself, hoof slick with anticipation as the thought of Fluttershy begs for more and she struggles to give it.

With a groan, Applejack deliberately slows her thrusts, her foreleg steady beneath her as she pounds her hips into it. The edge of her slick hoof slides between her lips, flicking over the nubbin of hot flesh and sending ripples of heat up her spine. The image of Fluttershy lies on her back, her wings spread wide against the one-pony bed, her back arched in ecstasy as they grind themselves together. The pegasus' high-pitched keen echoes her own gasps of passion, their bodies moving as one, dragging Applejack ever closer to the moment.

"Fl-- Flu--" Applejack tries to gasp the name, to bring herself fully into the fantasy, but her stomach clenches as the first syllable leaves her lips. Too late, too late, she tries to push aside the thought of Fluttershy exposed beneath her, to pull back to the dream of the other mare cuddling innocently against her, but her urge will not be denied. Her hips shiver and twitch, grinding against her hoof even as her body rebels. The first spasm hits her like a buck in the gut, her whole body locking up as the aftershocks rattle her bones.

A second, then a third, and Applejack throws aside the comforter and snatches a towel from the floor. She furiously scrubs at her loins, sopping up her excesses before wiping her hooves on it and tossing it back to the ground. Her breathing is still ragged, her eyes watery and red. She feels awkward and flushed, quietly wishing she could get it out of her system once and for all. She hasn't, and she won't, but that doesn't stop the dream.

The urge satiated for tonight, spent in body and mind, Applejack rolls back onto her side. She pulls the covers back up over her and huddles up beneath them, trying to get her breathing back under control. She closes her eyes, waiting for sleep, silently hoping the dream of Fluttershy will forgive her, will come back and hold her, will tell her that it won't always hurt like the dream of Dash never could.

Author's Note

Stars, but it has been forever. My apologies to all, but things are finally starting to settle. For those who didn't see my comment before, the last six months have been a pressure cooker for me:
* I had -- and in some ways am still having on a small scale -- a scare regarding my ongoing employment.
* I bought a house.
* I got caught up in a very complicated social situation requiring a lot of emotional investment among several members of my extended social circle.
* I staffed three conventions.

Most of these are in some fashion resolving, but there's still some ongoing stress, and I was already out of practice. Writing is a muscle, and the less you use it, the harder it gets to get back in the habit of using it. This chapter took me over a month from inception to execution, but the words are flowing easier and maybe the next bit won't be nearly so long in coming!