//------------------------------//
// Chapter Two: Botany Day 
// Story: G'day! 
// by The Inky Brick 
//------------------------------//



The soft light of dawn bathed Ponyville, slowly warming the town after the cool respite of night. It looked to be a fine summer day, no scorching inferno like the day prior, but a pleasantly warm day. Birds, rising early with the sun, acquired the complimentary worm that came with such earliness and sat twittering and singing their chirpy songs in trees, revelling in the pleasant caress of the morning sun.

That is, until a can half filled with cold tea hurled with pinpoint accuracy knocked them out of the tree and in some cases right out of the world of consciousness.

‘Shut the hell up you bloody feathery bastards!’ A red eyed and very annoyed Bruce disentangled himself from his sleeping bag and glared at the birds hovering overhead. A few considered staying an enacting revenge for such an insult, but quickly changed their minds and vanished when they saw him levering a rock out of the dirt, a harsh, calculating look on his face.

‘Hmph.’ Bruce snorted, dropping the rock. His gaze shifted to the grey lump that was Skippy, who had appeared to have slept through the ordeal. Grumbling slightly under his breath, Bruce dropped his hat onto the sleeping bag, dug a small case out of his saddlebag and still muttering, staggered over to the river. He glared at it for a moment, then, with a sigh, collapsed into it. A few seconds later, he broke the surface, gasping slightly. Scooping up the wooden cases bobbing beside him in a reddish brown aura of magic, he gently removed the top and extracted the prize within: A single bar of soap. Yawning hugely, he slowly began cleaning away the grime of previous day.




Twenty minutes later, a far more awake Bruce sat in front of a small fire whilst his billy, now retrieved and refilled with fresh water and teabags,  heated up. As he waited, he pulled a paper bag for his saddlebags. Extracting the loaf of bread from within, he cut two thick slices with a knife that appeared seemingly from nowhere, which vanished just as suddenly. Then, levitating the slices above the fire, he turned back to his saddlebags and, with an air of reverence, Bruce drew a jar of what any normal, sane, creature would quite fairly accuse of being a mass produced, highly toxic biological weapon. It said ‘Vegemite’ on the label.  A few minutes passed, and the toast was ready to eat.  After smearing the two slices with brown toxic paste, he prodded Skippy in the back. Several pokes later, the kangaroo shifted and opened his eyes and glared at Bruce.

‘Breakfast.’ Bruce said, proffering the slice and a tin of water. Grunting, Skippy snatched the two from the brownish aura and stuffed the toast in his mouth and then coughing and chocking on the heat, downed the water.

‘Goin’ for a look ‘round town after breakfast.’  Bruce announced. ‘Coming?’ 

In response, Skippy managed a huge swallow, laid his back on the ground and shut his eyes. Skippy was as much a morning roo as he was a pretty pony princess, which is to say, not at all.

‘Guess not.’ Bruce said, taking a bite out his own slice and washing it down with a gulp of tea. ‘So, I’ll meet you back here later today then. Try to keep outta trouble, okay mate?’

After finishing his meal, he carefully extinguished the fire, jammed his hat on firmly and packed away the campsite. Levitating his saddlebags onto his back, he strode off into the morning sunlight, ready to explore Ponyville.




As Bruce wandered the dirt paths of Ponyville, studying the houses and the shops, he noticed that most of the ponies he saw were all drifting in roughly the same direction. Figuring he might as well check out what was going on, he too began ambling in that direction. A few minutes of strolling led him to a large, open area filled with stalls being prepared, a wide variety of goods already visible on the half constructed stalls.

‘Ah. Market day. Beauty.’ Bruce smiled, he’d always liked markets back home, and this looked awfully familiar. Weaving through the stalls being unpacked, Bruce came to a stop when he heard a crash of pottery and cursing.

‘Oh, for Celestia’s sake…’ A cream coloured mare turned and glared at a dark pink mare scrabbling in the dirt, trying to scoop up the remains of several clay flower pots.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ the mare whimpered. ‘Ah!’ she jerked her hood back from the shards, bleeding slightly. Moaning in frustration, she reached out again, but sopped as the shards were enveloped in a rusty glow. The remains of the pot, along with the dirt and flowers they had contained, floated up into the air and coalesced into a ball. 

‘You alright mate?’ Bruce asked. “Where’d ya want me to put this?’ 

‘Oh, thank you. I’m fine. If you could put it on the cart, ’the mare waved at a nearby cart, laden with, amongst other things, trays of pots very similar to the ones floating nearby, except they were intact. ‘That’d be great.’

‘No worries.’ Bruce replied carefully dropping the ball of clay and soil. ‘Need a hoof with the rest of them?’

‘Oh, no, that’s okay.’ The pink mare said, idly rubbing her cut.

‘Yeah,’ the cream mare spoke up. ‘We wouldn’t want to take up your time.’

‘No worries mate. I was looking to use to up some time.’

‘Oh. Really? Well, in that case, thank you, Mr…?’ The cream mare looked inquiringly to Bruce.

‘Bruce.’ He grinned and extended a foreleg.

‘Roseluck.’ She replied, shaking his hoof. ‘But just call me Rose.’

‘And I’m Lily. ’ The pink mare stood, extending the hoof with no cut. Bruce smiled at her and shook it.

‘Right. Where do you want these flowers?’ Bruce asked, horn lighting up.

‘Put as many of the trays on the stalls as you can. Then we usually put the rest that don’t fit on this table.’ Rose said, pointing at a folding table on the cart. ‘We can handle the rest, thanks.’ 

‘Right. Let’s get to it.’ And with that, the trio began setting the stall up.

‘So Bruce, ’Lily started, arranging some flowers into a more appealing display, ‘Looking for anything in particular today?’

‘Nah, not really.’ Bruce said, floating a pair of trays onto a stall with a click. ’Just filling in time, like I said.’

‘What’re you waiting for?’ Lily asked.

‘I gotta go see some bloke called Filthy Rich about a house to rent. Until then, I gotta find something to do.’

‘Oh? Are you moving  here?’ Rose said, looking up from a bouquet she’d been arranging.

‘Yep. For a while, anyway. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.’ Bruce said, setting down another set of trays.

‘Well,’ said Lily, looking at the trays stacked neatly on the stalls, ‘I think you’ll be a great addition to the community. Glad to have you, Bruce.’ She gave him a shy smile.

‘Thanks mate.’ Bruce said, returning the smile.

‘What was it that drew you to Ponyville?’ Rose asked. ‘I mean, I love it here, but what made you choose it?’

‘Well, when I looking for a new place to stay,’ Bruce began, ‘I heard about a little town out in good farming countryside. It was growing quickly, but still a pretty small place. Peaceful sounding. Close to a big forest. It sounded like where I grew up.  So I figured I’d give it a try.’

‘So why the move in the first place?’ Rose asked. ‘Not that we’ve got a problem, but if Ponyville was just like where you grew up, why not move back there?’

‘Home changed.’ He said simply. ‘That and, well… There was a bit of a falling out. Going back now would end in tears, I can tell you.’  Bruce’s normally chipper tone faded slightly, and an awkward atmosphere surrounded the three ponies.

‘Oh. Lily shifted uncomfortably, staring at her hooves. ‘I’m, um, sorry to hear that, Bruce.’

Bruce shook his head, banishing whatever dark thoughts he was entertaining. ‘Nah, no worries mate.’ His cheerful tone returning, Bruce grinned a grin that someone who knew him might call mischievous. Unfortunately for the two mares, they did not and therefore didn’t see the trap they were about to fall for.

‘You two are into plants, right?’ Still grinning, Bruce continued, ‘How’d you like to hear about the native plants of Australia?





Daisy trotted marketwards. Today, she decided, would be a good day. Nothing to do but deliver some breakfast to her cousins, spend a few hours helping them run the store whilst relaxing in the shade and chatting and then getting paid for it. The getting paid for it was an important part, she felt.

As she approached the stall, she noticed that there was already a third pony behind the counter. Her faced curled into a smirk when she realised it was a stallion. She needed to tease the two about this, she felt. It was her duty as close family to make things awkward. As she strolled closer, she wondered what embarrassing memory she should bring up in front of the stallion. It was cruel, but sometimes you needed to be. And who could you do it to if not family? As she got closer still, however, she noticed their expressions were not of a mare talking to a cute boy. They were a combination of horrified disbelief tinged with curiosity.  Her face hardened into a scowl and hurried closer, taking a deep breath in preparation to give this stallion a first class tongue lashing.

‘… and it’s a pretty bloody useful tree, I can tell you. You can make all sorts of things with it apart from just the wood. Good paper, eucalyptus oil, damn good quality honey from the flowers and a bucketload of dyes. And they look pretty nice, too.’

Daisy deflated mid-snarl. They were… discussing trees? Trees didn’t usually cause this sort of expression, she would know. She cleared her and her cousins started, whipping around with a somewhat wild look in their eyes.

‘Celestia!’ Daisy exclaimed, ‘Girls, what happened to you? Who is this stallion?’

‘Daisy!’ Rose grabbed her shoulder, pulling her closer “they- he –the trees, he has trees, t-the trees, they, the Widowmakers, they’re Summer Killers they call them!’ She gibbered, clutching Daisy even harder and closer and whispered ‘Branches like spears. Falling from the trees. One minute walking, then the trees just...’ Her eyes opened again, they had gained a slightly crazed gleam. ‘So they look up. He, him,’ She gestured to Bruce ‘They. They look up. Not down. Up! Because of the Widowmakers. Everywhere. And they get even worse…’ Rose sank to the ground, still clutching at Daisy.

‘I…What’s going on here? Rose?’ Daisy looked to Lily, who seemed relatively more stable.  Relatively being the operative word.

‘The trees. The Eucalyptus trees. Widowmakers, they call them. They, they, they explode.’ Lily’s voice seemed to be acquiring some the mania her sister’s possessed as she thought about what she was talking about. ‘They, when they catch fire. They explode! A-and, then, then the burning shards spreads fire to more and they explode and then….’ She trailed off and shuddered at her next thought. ‘Some of the trees need the fire. The trees there, they need to be burnt to spread seeds! Like, like some sort of demon plant that needs fire instead of water!’ She lapsed into silence trembling slightly.

Daisy turned to Bruce, who was looking on with an expression of slightly guilty amusement. Her face hardened into a glare so sharp you could have shaved with it. ‘What in Celestia’s name did you DO to them!?’

Bruce shifted around and then, with a worried grin ‘I, uh, told ‘em about my country. ‘

‘What?’ Daisy stared at Bruce, and then took in the akubra at the same time that her brain recognised his accent. Unlike her cousins, she hadn’t been born in Ponyville and possessed a slightly less, well, ‘country’ education. She had heard o the nightmares of Oatsralia before.  ‘Oh. Oh, right. I see.’ She looked her cousins, still shivering, and, in Rose’s case, still clutching her leg and whimpering. ‘That’d do it.’