Scraps #1

Have a little unfinished Rarijack snippet. I kinda like how it turned out, though I really don't have any plans to take it further.

“It ain’t fair,” muttered Applejack, bucking the tree a little harder than she had to. She heard bark crack under her hooves, but the ripe fruit still tumbled neatly into the baskets.

“What ain’t fair?” asked Big Macintosh from the adjacent row.

“Nothin’,” said Applejack. She trotted to the cart, grabbed another stack of baskets in her strong teeth, then moved to the next tree and began slamming the baskets down around it. Big Macintosh did the same in his row, albeit far more gently. She could feel him watching her all the while, and she grimaced: she knew the big red stallion could read her like a proverbial book. The title was probably The Grouchiest and Most Miserable of Ponies, by Applejack Apple.

“Nothin’?” echoed Big Macintosh.

Applejack snorted. “It’s nothin’, Big Mac.”

Big Macintosh was silent for a long minute, then very carefully said, “Is this about Miss Rarity?”

Applejack felt something twist in her chest. She rounded on her brother and took a deep breath to tell him that it was most certainly not about Rarity and she would appreciate it if everypony would just leave her love life alone, thank you very much—and then she sighed, sank to her haunches, and nodded. She did represent the element of honesty, after all.

“It just ain’t fair,” she said, pawing at the ground. “At first it was just a day or two here’n there, but now she’s spendin’ weeks in Canterlot! And when she comes home, she spends all her time shut up in her workshop, snippin’ and sewin’ and Celestia knows what else! I’ve hardly seen her at all these past couple months! I—” Applejack stamped a hoof, barely noticing the tears trickling down her face. “I want my marefriend back! Doesn’t she want me?”

Big Macintosh walked over and sat down beside her, gently putting a massive foreleg around her, just like he had all those years ago when they had gotten the news about Ma and Pa. “I reckon she does,” he rumbled quietly. “I also reckon she’s mighty busy and excited ’bout her business. I know she don’t mean to hurt you, Applejack.”

Applejack hung her head. “I know, Big Mac. I feel terrible for feelin’ this way. I should be happy for her. She’s doin’ what she always wanted to do. That shop in Canterlot, and all them fancy ponies wearin’ her fancy dresses . . . it’s a dream come true for her. I know I’m bein’ jealous and foalish. I just . . . ” She sighed and leaned against Big Macintosh. “I just wish she’d come home,” she whispered. “I just wish she’d come back to me.”

Big Macintosh patted her head. “I know, sis. Maybe you can—”

He was interrupted by a flash of magenta light that deposited a familiar lavender unicorn a few steps away.

“Twilight?” said Applejack blankly. “What brings you out here, sugar cube?” She frowned as she noticed the grim, panicked look in the unicorn’s violet eyes. “Uh . . . is everythin’ all right?”

Twilight shook her head. “I just got a letter from Princess Celestia. It’s . . . it’s about Rarity.”