Apple Bloom Knows

Somehow, I’m Sweetie Belle. I’m Sweetie Belle and I’m standing my pudgy little candy white unicorn ass, there underneath the sun dappled leaves gracing the unfinished Cutie Mark Crusaders clubhouse. I’m standing here on four adorable little hooves, facing off against Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, up here on a strange wooden platform. We’re just down in the clearing beside the clubhouse, deep in an isolated part of Sweet Apple Acres. This thing I’m standing on used to be a wrestling ring. I hope it’s not going to be used as one again now.

Of all the worst possible ponies who could find out, Apple Bloom knows I’m not really her friend. She’s looking at me with such hurt in her golden orange eyes. She thinks—she’s not gonna be friends with me anymore! She looks so betrayed! Why didn’t I tell her? Why did she have to find out?

“Ah don’t think all you’re doin’ is forgetting things, Sweetie Belle!” Apple Bloom tells me distressfully, “You been acting so funny since you got hit with that thing. Ah don’t even know where to start!”

“But... but I do have amnesia!” I say, in a desperate sort of surreality. She’s the one who figures it out? “Why would amnesia not make me act funny?” I desperately bargain, “I even forgot how to walk!”

“Not that kinda funny,” Apple Bloom corrects me with an unhappy snuffle, “The kinda funny, where you’re hidin something from us!”

“Yeah, hiding!” Scootaloo adds supportively, if unhelpfully. Both have half circled around me, trapped at the edge of the stage here. But I’m not going to—I really want to run away. How would I even run away, though?!

“I’m... I’m not... what do you mean?” I ask her, not seeing any way to keep from blowing this whole thing wide open. I wasn’t ready to tell her yet! How could she figure it out? Is she going to tell everyone now?

I don’t even know how to answer her. I’ll just have to tell her a-and swear her to secrecy. How could she not know? I’ve been terrible at hiding it! Especially... especially around these two. They know Sweetie so well, of course they can see that I’m not her! I don’t even know why I thought I could fool them for even one minute!

“Ah think that thing granted your wish after all,” Apple Bloom asserts hotly, putting a challenging hoof against the white fuzzy chest containing my hammering heart. “An’ you know all about how to get us our cutie marks now, but you ain’t tellin’ us, because now you don’t want us to get ‘em, neither!”

...

I stare at her, literally uncomprehendingly. Did she just... say... cutie marks?

“Aww forget it,” Apple Bloom snaps angrily, yanking her hoof back and turning away from me to walk across the stage. I don’t even—did she just—

“You keep knowing things, Sweetie,” Scootaloo tells me, with a serious expression on her silly looking snout. Apple Bloom won’t look at me, but Scootaloo is looking my way with what looks like honest concern, and a little curiosity. “You always tell us stuff now,” Scootaloo says, “And you give us advice, and it turns out to be true! It’s really upsetting Apple Bloom, because she—because you’re not telling us what you learned! You’re just... pretending you don’t know, and telling us little by little.”

Apple Bloom has stopped stomping away at least, but she hasn’t turned around. Scootaloo looks at her with worry in her boyish charm. Then Scootaloo turns to me, getting my full attention, when she says, “When we were coming back from the Badlands, Apple Bloom never even thought about unicorns being more confused, since they were in the magic. A-and then you taught us about how it’s not always our fault, if bad things happen. I was feeling so guilty—I I mean, you just... I mean you just helped! Because you knew how!

“Then you weren’t scared of the bathtub, because you knew about it!” Scootaloo says earnestly, only to get shouldered aside by Apple Bloom who now right in my face too, adding,

“An’ then you forgot all about the cutie period, but instead you knew all about why the adults like us bein’ fillies, and why it’s good to be a filly! Ah never even thought about crawlin’ in smaller spaces, an’ it’s true!”

“You even made blank flanks sound good!” Scootaloo points out rapidly.

“Then you even taught Rarity how to—” Apple Bloom says excitedly, cutting off and looking at Scootaloo nervously.

“To um...” Apple Bloom mumbles.

She just segues on then, saying, “And you just knew that cherry pony was a balloonist, and you made me stop feelin’ bad like, when ah was skeered of trouble for goin’ to the junkyard, and then you told us why we gotta go to school!”

“And it made sense!” Scootaloo adds supportively. “And you knew how I could stop breaking my wagon!”

“I–It’s not that hard to figure out,” I say to Scootaloo. “Just go slow and then go um...”

“Yeah, but you knew about that stuff, all of a sudden,” she says assertively. “Because the meteor gave you ‘all the knowledge of the ages!’ It made you like, super smart!”

“We won’t tell nopony,” Apple Bloom says in a desperately needy tone to me, “We just wanna know about our cutie marks. A-ah don’t know if it took away your memory of it, but cutie marks’re real important! Ah don’t want an apple if’n all the apples are gonna go bad!”

“And I don’t even know what I’d have!” Scootaloo says equally stressed, “I don’t have apples or flowers, or anything!”

“Okay...” I say, my mind racing to deal with this—thing which isn’t as bad as I... thought? “Um...”

“How’d you know about fish?” Apple Bloom asks righteously. “All ah knew is it ain’t somethin’ ponies are supposed to eat, because it kills the fish! An’ maybe you were guessin, but how come you know mah own sister better than ah do?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Scootaloo admits, “That meteor gave you lots of totally freaky knowledge and stuff. Or, cave or whatever it was.”

“How long have you... known?” I ask tensely. Still tensely, yes. I am seriously on edge here.

“Well I didn’t know,” Scootaloo declares, tossing her head back dismissively, “But Apple Bloom has been figuring it out since like, I dunno.” She looks at Apple Bloom, who herself just shrugs. Which is to say, her sides rise and fall, in a motion that looks exactly like shrugging... if you’re standing like a pony, even though it’s technically not your shoulders at all. I think they’re called withers?

Closing my eyes, and taking a breath, I decide to do what might be the stupidest thing I’ve done since coming here. “Okay,” I tell the two young fillies, “I may have gotten some ...extra knowledge from the meteor. I didn’t think it was... extra knowledge, but it sorta... is. I’ll tell you what I can, but it really did give me amnesia sort of, and there’s probably more I forgot than... stuff I learned.”

“Wow, you mean it’s really true?” Apple Bloom asks, going all doe eyed with surprise.

“You were calling my blu҉ff?!” I shout at her in outrage with all the mighty force of a gnat.

“Well, I suspected, but um...” Apple Bloom paws the stage nervously. “What’s it like?” she asks, straightening up to look at me with open curiosity.

Amazing. They came within the barest hair of figuring everything out, and I still got off scot free. Not scot free since I... have to tell them about my show knowledge and stuff, but they don’t know that it’s enough knowledge to be a whole new different person. They still think I’m Sweetie Belle. They’re still my friends. I’m so lucky.

...her friends. They’re still her friends.

“It was like watching you through a window,” I tell Apple Bloom, with an odd flutter of relief in my chest at the relative honesty in which I can speak. “Seeing things about you and... other ponies, that I couldn’t have seen if I was in there, being my...self.”

“Did it say anything about our cutie marks?” Scootaloo blurts out, with an insincere, and too eager smile.

“No,” I say, looking at her thoughtfully. “It gave me a lot of ideas though, for what they might be.”

Man, that show. They did so well in painting a picture of this world, and these fillies, but it was only a matter of time before the show gave the CMC their marks. Just too temptingly sensational to avoid. Time moves on, after all! Imagine if this happened to me after that episode, whenever it was gonna be! I’d be in serious trouble then, because if I messed up horribly, I’d know it from the marks that they didn’t get. I feel like I dodged the bullet there. Whatever marks we get, they’ll be the right ones, because nothing from the show is going to invalidate them!

“Well?” AB and Scoots both say, crowding right up close to me.

“Well,” I say, pushing their faces away with an arm, “It also made me forget a lot about cutie marks. So I wanted to study them again, so that I could be sure about it.”

“Sure about what?” Apple Bloom asks in bewilderment.

“Well, um, like...” I flop my butt down on the stage, making my tail give an unsettling clunk from the brush stuck in it. “When do ponies get their cutie mark?” I exclaim, touchily.

“Durin’ the cutie period?” Apple Bloom says with reservations. “Ah could swear ah told you...”

“Yes, but—that’s a long time!” I whine at her, my voice at its least sweetest, which is still pretty sweet. “When do most ponies get it?” I interrogate the filly right here in her own apple orchard. “In the beginning? Near the end? Maybe we really are too young, even if we knew our special talents!”

“Diamond and Silver are older than us,” Scootaloo admits, returning from nibbling at a wing. “But I never heard anything about when you’re supposed to get it, only that it will come in its own time. Does that mean oldered?”

“Are those two fillies the only ones in our... class who have them?” I ask skeptically.

“Most’ve the ones who do are older’n us,” Apple Bloom says, “But what if maybe special ponies get it earlier?”

“What if special ponies get it later?” I counter. “Didn’t your sister say she was... the last in her class to get a mark?”

Apple Bloom looks down at her hoof in serious thought.

“I don’t wanna wait until later, though,” Scootaloo snorts, “I want it now!”

“Do you really?” I ask her skeptically, “There’s so much I don’t know. What if you’re forgetting something important about cutie marks, that would make you want to wait? I wouldn’t be able to tell!”

“All that’s great and all,” Apple Bloom says testily, “But ah don’t care when other ponies go and get theirs. Why would that stop you from tellin us about what you learned our marks were gonna be?”

I would eye Apple Bloom solemnly, but my tail insists on giving an irritated swish behind me. Feeling too frustrated to answer her seriously, I just reach back and use my hoof to slide the brush out of my tail. No seriously that thing is starting to get really annoying. I’m not sulking!

“That’s not all I don’t know,” I tell her having laid it aside, feeling a little calmer and less snappy, “There is one thing I don’t know, that made me not want to tell you what y—what our cutie marks are going to be.”

“Can you at least tell us what that is?” Apple Bloom asks, with a doe eyed pout.

“What if you can’t get your mark,” I ask her anxiously, “If you are trying to get it?”

Both fillies blink at me uncomprehendingly. Golden orange and vivid violet. God these ponies are beautiful.

“You asked—” I try again, querying hesitantly, “I mean—we asked a lot of um.. ponies how they got their marks, right?”

“Ugh, and even Rainbow Dash got totally sappy about it in the end,” Scootaloo says, looking aside with a roll of her eyes.

“Putting that aside,” I remark, “Were any of them trying to get their marks, when they got them?”

Apple Bloom tilts her head at that. Scootaloo cuts in though, saying,

“Rainbow Dash was trying. She was trying to win the race! And she did! And she did a Sonic Rainboom!”

“But was she trying to get her cutie mark?” I say to Scootaloo. “Was she even thinking about it? Or was she thinking about racing instead? And doing the impossible?”

“It sure was funny what mah sister said,” Apple Bloom remarks suddenly, “She already had everything figured out what she was gonna do, and ‘That’s when this here appeared’ she said. It was like she didn’t even care about it!”

“Was Diamond Tiara trying to get her mark when she got it?” I ask, “Or was she just doing something else, and didn’t even notice at first, when it appeared?”

“I don’t... really know how Diamond Tiara got her cutie mark,” Scootaloo admits in a puzzled tone. “They just stick their butts in our faces, not their life stories.”

“Probably something boring like leadership,” I grumble quietly.

“What’s boring about—” Apple Bloom starts, but I add hastily,

“So my point is that maybe yes, the thing did tell me what your cutie marks might be. But maybe if I tell you, then you won’t be able to get them! If um... if Rarity knew that her talent was gems, then she’d be thinking about it as a filly, whenever she was covering stuff with gems.”

“Her talent is... gems?” Scootaloo asks, looking at me with a mystified expression.

“Her talent is literally gems,” I say giving Scootaloo a flat look, “But it’s about bedazzling things, and making them look spectacular. She knows how to make anything look good, and the gems just... are an example of that. A rock turned into a geode, get it?”

Scootaloo shakes her head.

“Rocks are ugly, compared to geodes,” I tell her patiently. “Boring and gray and rough. But if you know to open it up, then there are beautiful crystals inside. And that’s what Rarity is good at. She knows how to bring out the hidden beauty in things.”

“Makes enough sense,” Apple Bloom admits, “Probably’d have to ask her again to clarify it.”

Because we can. We can just walk over and ask Rarity. She’s right over there, just miles away in Ponyville! This is so freaking amazing~!

“Are you... hugging yourself for a reason?” Scootaloo asks me, after that particular thought. I stop um... hugging myself, and bat nervously at the hair hanging off my head, with a,

“Heh heh... just thinking,” chirping sweetly out of my mouth.

Straightening up and facing them, I say again, “Anyway, my point is...” Can’t I get to my own damn point already? “If Rarity was at that play, she’d be thinking ‘Oh, my special talent is putting gems on things, and that’s what I did here! Maybe my cutie mark will appear now!’”

Uh. Woah.

I have to pause a moment. I’m... actually sort of bad at imitating Rarity, in the exact way that Sweetie Belle is supposed to be bad at imitating Rarity. Which itself is kind of uncanny. Apple Bloom talking like Applejack is bad enough. So, no more imitation for now.

“If someone told her that her cutie mark was gems,” I say, “Then every time she would get it, she’d be thinking about getting it. So then maybe she’d never get it!”

They’re giving me stunned looks now, and I didn’t mean to make it sound that bad! “I don’t really know though!” I protest, waving my hooves in front of me. “I don’t remember anything about cutie marks. Do you only get your mark when you aren’t thinking about it? I don’t know! That’s why I want to find out, and why I wanted to... wait to tell you.”

Not exactly true, but it makes sense enough to me. I definitely would want to know before I went and jynxed their cutie mark acquisition program.

“Well... alright then... ah don’t rightly know either,” Apple Bloom says carefully. “But maybe we can find out, at the library?”

Oh. Oh, shoot.

“We already tried the library,” Scootaloo whines at Apple Bloom.

“Yeah, but we weren’t reading the books,” Apple Bloom responds easily, “We were tryin’ to reshelve them!”

“Oh, right,” Scootaloo says, relatively mollified.

“Wait, so you two were more worried about my memory than the fish?” I ask a bit belatedly.

“Oh right, the fish,” Apple Bloom says with an ill expression on her face.

“I don’t care if ponies say it’s evil,” Scootaloo says looking at me appeasingly, “I totally don’t mind at all.”

“Well, it is evil though,” Apple Bloom states. “Applejack says that ponies don’t gotta go killing some innocent fish, because they don’t gotta eat it. It ain’t even that good for us! She said, ah mean.

“We can eat grass,” Apple Bloom declared, thumping a hoof on the stage. “An’ we’re all cooking fish? It just ain’t right!”

“My dad told me something,” I say to them. “He was um... trying to use the fish to remind me of home. In Baltimare.”

Scootaloo blinks, and Apple Bloom exclaims, “Oh, that’s right! You did used to live in Baltimare.”

“I don’t remember it,” I make sure to specify, “But he said that not very much grass will grow there. So that’s why ponies eat fish... um, more than here. And I don’t think it’s evil, just... maybe not a good idea. When there are other foods to eat.”

“Creatures like dolphins and seals have to eat fish,” Scootaloo points out. “Because grass can’t exactly grow in the water!”

“Seaweed grows in the water,” I mention idly, “But dolphins can’t eat it, so they do have to eat fish instead.”

“See?” Apple Bloom points out in exasperation, “You know like, specifical stuff like that!”

“I c–could have known that, before,” I protest, feeling a little slighted at that.

“Yeah, it’s just... it’s a different feelin’ alright?” Apple Bloom sighs. She doesn’t look satisfied with the answer either.

“So... library?” Scootaloo cuts the silence. “I only read the story books there before. You really think they’ll have cutie mark books there?”

“Well, it has a foal’s section,” I say, “And foals like to know about cutie marks. So... yes, I guess?”

“Then it’s settled,” Apple Bloom says definitively. “We’re goin’ to the libary!” And now I’m going to have to tell them about that too? That I can’t even read? It’s humiliating!

“Wait—” I cut in, “We have all day right? Could we... work on the clubhouse a little, first?”

Apple Bloom shrugs. “If’n you feel up for it, Sweetie,” she offers easily.

“I might not be very good at it, but as long as we’re here, we could. We can always go to the library this afternoon, right?” I fumble a bit bashfully, “Yeah I... really want to get it built, or... repaired or whatever happened to our clubhouse to make it this way.”

“Applejack’s old clubhouse used to be right here,” Apple Bloom explains, turning her head to look up at gleaming green trees, and the unfinished frame of a clubhouse amidst them. “It was kinda rotten, and fallin’ apart, so we hadta take down the walls, and the roof was about to cave in. Applejack did most of it. She was sorry she’d been too busy with the whole farm to keep her old clubhouse in order. Ah told her she did a good enough job with the whole big old farm, but she still wanted to clean up her mess.”

“And then we went in,” Scootaloo emphasizes proudly.

“The three of us,” Apple Bloom adds, “You don’t remember it but we got all that frame up, an’ we’re gonna have it lookin just like new once we’re done!”

“It looks like there’s a lot left to do,” I say, looking at the poor thing all skeletal in its bare frame. “And if it rains, that tarp might sag... maybe.”

“We need a real roof,” Scootaloo agrees. “And real walls too.”

“And a real whole gosh darn clubhouse!” Apple Bloom points out. She walks in a circle on the wooden platform we’re standing on, looking thoughtful as she says, “So anyways, we need to put the boards up mostly, an’ cut them so’s they fit around the door frame and windows.”

“There was a giant branch growing through the old roof!” Scootaloo says, pointing up at the massive limb, practically a trunk, growing right between the roof struts. “We’re gonna build the new roof right around it. Then maybe we can climb on it!”

“This sure is an ambitious project for... um... never mind,” I say stupidly. “I think it’ll be so cool if we can do it!” I add enthusiastically, so they won’t ask... what I meant.

“The coolest thing will be the displacing,” Scootaloo says. “I never got to even see that before. I think we might have room for two rooms, maybe even a closet, or a chest!”

“Don’t go gettin’ all crazy on that, Scootaloo,” Apple Bloom states. “It’s just a little building, and we ain’t never done none of that before. But oh boy is it gonna be cool!” She’s really into it too, it seems. I don’t blame her! “We can hang our posters,” she says excitedly, “And put in a telescope, an’ ah bet we can see all the way into town! We’re up on a hill here, so we might even be able to see the schoolhouse!”

“I’m getting kind of lost...” I admit to them less enthusiastically, but still full of hope that it’ll work out somehow. “You said we should get the boards up next, Apple Bloom? I really hope I’m not the one who was supposed to be planning all this, because I don’t remember anything about building this clubhouse.”

“Ah got it covered,” Apple Bloom says smugly, puffing out her chest. “All you gotta do is hammer in the nails, or hold up the boards, or uh, figgur out how to cut the boards for the door frame. Any idea how we could build a roof with a branch in the way?”

“Only that it’s really hard to keep it from being leaky,” I say leerily. But I climb to my hooves too, and add, “We can work on the walls easy, though. All that’s left to get are the boards, and some way to measure them.”

Apple Bloom gives me an amused look and asks, “The boards?”

I blink her way, saying, “You know, for the walls?”

“We’re standing on them, Sweetie,” Scootaloo informs me. I look down... oh!

“You already hammered them in?” I say worriedly. “How are we going to pull them all out?”

“They’re just temporary nails, Sweetie,” Apple Bloom says with a swat at one of the er... floor boards. “They should break off right easy if you try to pull ‘em off. And most of the supplies are under these boards anyway. We sorta built like, a box to hold stuff and keep it from gettin’ wet.”

“Then we turned it into a wrestling ring,” Scootaloo adds with a pleased smile.

“Then we went to the Badlands...” Apple Bloom sighs. Both lose their smiles, at that.

I’m busy looking down at the box myself, and abandon my companions for the moment. Crawling to the edge of the platform, I look over the edge. The boards are sticking out unevenly with a pronounced lip underneath. I can grip my hooves against that lip, and swing my butt around, with my tail counterbalancing futilely, to drop myself down off the edge to the earth below. There on the ground, I crane my neck around, peering at the lip from underneath. Do you just...?

“You just lift ‘em up,” Apple Bloom says, as I startle a bit, suddenly realizing she’s next to me. She hits one of the boards with a sunny yellow hoof, and it just pops right up off the stage with a clitterclack sound.

Apple Bloom cringes then, and says, “Uh, oops. Didn’t mean ta actually pop it off yet.” She jumps up and hooks her hoof over it, pulling the board back down, but it doesn’t settle snugly against the floor anymore. “We made a door in the side to get stuff,” Apple Bloom clarifies blushing embarassedly as she abandons the now loose floor board, “We’ll take the box apart last, for the roof boards.”

Scootaloo’s already got her head in the other side of the platform... box thing, and from it she pulls a pink, flower patterned toolbox with hammers, a can of nails, and some other things in it. “You think you can carry a board, Sweetie?” she asks, reaching in and siphoning out thinner boards than the thick red ones our platform is made out of.

“I can try!” I say. “I remember how to hold stuff with my um...” Butt. “...back.”

With a grin, Scootaloo slaps a board down on top of me. It actually slaps down worryingly close to my horn, but I duck my head a bit, and my hair keeps it pretty high anyway. And the rest of the board is on my rump, so I can just... push into it... with my butt. Yeah, this is really weird. I lift my tail and wrap—woah, my tail just freaking wraps around it like a snake! I didn’t hardly even mean to do that!

...I hope I can get it untangled. Was that just a reflex, or what?

“I think I got it,” I say in a bit of a flabbergasted tone, looking down at my hooves, currently the most ordinary part of my little horse body. Okay, step with 1, then the back one... 3, yeah okay I can do this.

Splay legged, I announce, “Yes, I can!” and I just let myself start walking. Trying to find a rhythm to it. I can’t—sway correctly with a board stuck to my butt. But I have such a short distance to go, that soon I’m at what looks like a plywood plank leading up to the platform of the treehouse.

Climbing up it is easier than walking, because I can just pull myself up by my... huh, I actually don’t know why it’s easier than walking. But once I’m at the top, I look behind—or, try to look behind me. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom are both charging up with 3 or 4 planks stacked on them like mine. It’s kind of really embarassing that I only have one.

And they just drop theirs and go running down for more, and tools respectively. Me? I somehow got my tail tangled around it, and... I have to wiggle a bit before I manage to figure out how to relax the grabby thing, before the board finally slides off my rear, and out of my... tail, to land broadly askew from all the others.

I glance down at them already headed back over with another load, then I just dip my head down and bite the board, quickly pulling it over so that it aligns with the rest of them. Perfect.

Once we have 12 boards queued up, three hammers, a bunch of nails, and the support beams already installed, work here is refreshingly mundane. Apple Bloom spices it up a bit by climbing up with a step ladder, sized down for a filly to climb on. And from there it’s just, lean up a board, hammer it into the supports, move on to the next board.

Hammering is really cool too. I mean, not mind blowing or anything, but I don’t even know how to swing a hammer, and even I seem to hit the nail on the head most of the time. It doesn’t take more than two whacks, either. So these nails are either super weak, or I’m super stronk. And Scootaloo is just buzzing through planks all by herself. Apple Bloom slows to keep an eye on me I guess, but she pretty much climbs the ladder, goes bam, bam, bam, bam, and comes down to wait for me to finish.

Here I am a young unicorn girl, clumsy and incompetent with my body, and trying to hammer with my neck muscles, with a hammer clenched in my teeth, and on top of it all, Apple Bloom still has to hold the nails since I haven’t figured that out yet. But I’m building the Cutie Mark Crusader Clubhouse! I’m so happy, I could squeal like a little girl! Thankfully I have a hammer in my mouth.

The second wall is entirely complete by the time we get tired. Which is pretty shocking, because we even have time to nail in the frames for the windows, easily accessible thanks to aforementioned stepladder. You’d think a bunch of horses however magical, with one gimpy Sweetie Belle, would be at least a little bit hindered in this. But man, those boards just keep going up! With Scootaloo and Apple Bloom each biting one handle on a saw, and me holding it in place, the spaces for the windows to fit is easy to cut out! Just follow the guidelines Apple Bloom drew on the boards with the help of a pencil and a... bright pink T-square. I’m not contributing a lot, but... and I don’t want to admit it, but even I’m more effective here, than I once was be from my memories repairing a fence as a human.

Maybe it’s just my enthusiasm that’s different. Here, I’m building a wall to erect a wonderful place for us to call our own, whereas before I was building a fence that would block me from being able to talk with the neighbors, and cut off the view of a lovely field beyond their yard. Nobody but me back then seemed to have a problem with these 8 foot tall fences on everyone’s property, blocking each other off, for “privacy’s” sake. Privacy in a building, I can understand, but outside? I won’t say humanity is inherently evil, not by a long stretch, but they sure can be bizarrely complacant sometimes, about some very disturbing things. Here, though. Here in Equestria, building this wall feels more like... defining myself, rather than futitely throwing myself into the self destructive desires of other people.

There’s also the lack of having to bend down and kneel, or having to lift a heavy human body from a squat into a standing position. Praise opposable thumbs all you want, but when you’re a pony, you can go from standing to sitting and it doesn’t involve a great change in height. You can do so much without nearly as much energy expenditure. Slim tendons in my wrist aren’t screaming at me from being abused by the hammer’s stiff blows, because I don’t have a wrist! If anything, what my wrist would be is more like... a turny uppy place on my hoof. Really it’s hard to even imagine using a spindly little wrist to swing a hammer with, when we’ve got these thick, strong, supple necks to do it with.

...but it does really mess up my hair.

“Whew!” comes Apple Bloom’s voice at last. “Ah guess that’s good for now.”

Dropping the hammer, I ask, “How much of the wall is finished?”

There’s a bit of a pause, at which point Apple Bloom’s hoof comes into my vision and pulls my candy colored raggedy looking curls up over from completely blocking my eyes, allowing me to see what we’ve done.

“Oh!” I realize, not disturbing her hoof, peering out from under the hair that had been obstructing my view, “The whole wall is finished!”

“We could probably do the other two walls today,” Apple Bloom says dropping my hair in front of my face again. I push it up with my own hoof, somewhat futilely. “But we had some stuff to do, going to check on your sister, and seein’ if we caint find stuff on cutie marks at the lahbry.”

“Oh, right...” I say with a nervous gulp. “The library.”

“We can’t go see Sweetie’s sister like this, she’ll flip!” the voice of Scootaloo points out helpfully.

“Yeah, we better clean up a bit before we head off,” the voice of Apple Bloom says. “Poor Sweetie looks so...”

She doesn’t clarify, but the sound of a filly somewhere beyond my mane trying not to giggle communicates Apple Bloom’s intention well enough.

We sit on what will become the clubhouse floor, a flat platform high up in a sturdy apple tree. Apple Bloom retrieves the brush from where I left it, then brushes my hair out, brush held in her mouth just like a hammer. And oh my god does it feel good. My poor hair just... relaxes under my friend’s attentions, the patient combing of the long bristled brush smoothing everything out into nice even ...curls. I can actually see again, and my tail feels so much better with all the loose hair taken out of it.

There’s plenty of time in brushing each other, to talk about stuff besides what parts of us feel good to brush. Which is to say when I can see her, Apple Bloom looks at me seriously and says,

“Y’know, maybe you wanna talk about somethin’ besides what feels good to brush?”

I think I know what she’s getting at.

“I’m so sorry about the fish,” I say to the two of them, while Apple Bloom runs my hairbrush through my hair. “I thought it was just something you weren’t used to eating.”

“I ain’t used to eatin’ it, alright!” Apple Bloom retorts in a hurt tone, pausing in her affections to say so.

“It’s not evil,” I try to reassure her, “Because it’s not wasteful. I mean, if it isn’t wasteful, then it... um. D-did the Parasprites come to Ponyville?” I barely manage to avoid saying ‘yet’.

“That’s what mah sister said,” Apple Bloom says sullenly, going back to brushing. “None of us were there though, we were off at Clamor Falls, with Miss Cheerilee.”

“O...K, but parasprites don’t eat meat. But they eat too much,” I say with conviction. “You can’t ever feed them enough, they just eat and eat, and all the crops, all the apples, all the... pies... and then you have no food left, and a bunch of parasprites. That’s evil, without even eating one bit of meat!”

“Yeah, well what if they ate ponies?” Scootaloo asks with a confrontational glare.

“...have you ever got a bug bite?” I ask her in response. Scootaloo blinks at me.

“Yes?” she tries, an ear tilting sideways. “What does that have to...

“That doesn’t count as eating a pony!” Scootaloo exclaims, hopping up with a hot snort.

“Because it’s wasteful!” I shout right back. “Eating a whole pony uses up so much, and eating a tiny bit of a pony uses up so little, so that’s the difference. One is wasteful, and the other is just... annoying. Would you say ponies were evil, if they went and started eating parasprites?”

Both fillies stare at me in speechless disgust.

“There’s no other food,” I suggest tenuously, “All their food got turned into parasprites. So what’s so bad about eating the parasprites?”

“I bet they taste terrible,” Scootaloo says sticking her tongue out in disgust.

“If they do, then it’s wasteful,” I insist. “They took delicious food, and turned it into something icky and bad tasting. That’s when eating is evil, when you eat too much, and don’t give others anything delicious to eat.

“...you don’t have to stop brushing me, by the way,” I grumble to Apple Bloom, who startles, and then starts dutifully combing the bristles through my candy colored locks. Aww yis.

She finishes with my mane and tail, and puts down the brush I brought, and reveals that she brought along (pause for dramatic effect) a curry comb!

That filly, I swear I could hug her! Maybe when I’m not at risk of getting impaled by a curry comb in doing so. I say again, a body brush, or curry comb is a piece of evil looking, metal, sharp, pointy heaven. I don’t think I’ve ever leaned into a brush more before, than with one of these things scrubbing out the fur on my sides. It doesn’t matter that it looks like a torture device, it’s just perfect for the whole pony furry... thing.

“Can ya lay on your back, Sweetie?” I sense Apple Bloom asking through my haze of pleasure.

“Sure thing,” I tell her happily. Then I um... figure out how to lie on my back. That’s what she was asking, if I can, not if I’m willing. How hard could it be though? I crouch on my belly, and let my legs slip to the side. And then just... pushing with the legs on the lower side rotates me over... onto my other side. I try it again, and Apple Bloom hooks my hoof in hers, steadying me at the crucial point.

I lie there with my cute little hooves curled forward over my chest, looking at her with curiosity for a moment, then my eyes widen as I see her intention. Oh nononono(yes). I can’t help but spread my forehooves a little, as Apple Bloom starts scraping down the fur on my chest and belly. Forget belly rubs, this is where it’s at. My leg is even kicking at the feel of it, I swear. I watch fascinated as she combs all the loose fur off my belly. Not even Rarity did this! She goes front to back, from my chest to my belly, to—

Uh oh.

Blushing intensely, I barely have time to realize what she’s doing before Apple Bloom starts brushing below my belly. She combs my abdomen very delicately, carefully scraping out loose tufts, and with good reason too, because I’m so sensitive down there. The fur is thinner on my lower belly, so she doesn’t spend as much time down there, but that just reminds me why my fur is thinner down there, where it wouldn’t be thinner on a male pony. She combs the fur up my inner thighs, getting all the way to my withers. And not once does her wicked curry comb even come close to touching my little pony vulva! Not that I want it to. But I really want her to touch it.

Suffice to say I’m a bit of a mess by the time Apple Bloom is done with me. An emotional mess. Emotional mess! “A little warning before you do that down there would be nice...” I manage to mumble.

Apple Bloom spits out the curry comb then, saying abashedly, “Aww, ah know you’re sensitive down there, but ya gotta brush out all your fur once and a while. Was I too harsh? Cuz ah could go lighter next time, if that’s a problem.”

“No, no you were fine, it’s just...” No no, don’t hide behind your forehooves, there’s nothing to be embarassed about! I force myself to meet Apple Bloom’s gaze, saying very convincingly, “It was perfect. It felt really good.”

Apple Bloom chuckled, saying, “Yea it does feel purty good now don’t it.”

Scootaloo butts in then, getting in my face and saying, “Ooh, me now! Do me!”

Do... ugh, does she even realize what it sounds like she’s saying? Of course she doesn’t. I’m the stupid pervert here.

Scootaloo wants me to brush her hair. Not sure if the two of them decided on that because her hair is the least challenging, or just randomly. She keeps her hair short, in a rough swoop that’s pretty easy to brush. But uh... Scootaloo is kind of picky about being brushed.

“Not so close, Sweetie Belle!” she insists, pushing me at hoof’s length, making it harder to reach her hair. I’d argue, but... brush in mouth, so I just try to make do. “C’mon, really dig it in!” she asserts contradictorily. I can’t tell if she’s just being difficult about it, or if there’s something about pony anatomy that I’m not seeing. They could stretch their necks awfully long in the show... but that definitely seems to be a property reserved for cartoon physics, because I do have to stretch out a lot just to reach Scootaloo’s head, without being allowed to put my hooves on her back like Apple Bloom did with me.

Scootaloo seems to be looking at me in a new light, and as a baby faced, soft, little, marshmallow unicorn child, who has been shown to be carnivorous, I can understand her sentiment. When it’s my turn to brush her hair, I’m working out her tail and she asks, “You’re really okay with eating ...fish Sweetie Belle?” in something resembling awe or concern.

“Pre’y weirld, humh?” I mumble to her feeling oddly a bit shy about all this. Bit of a giggle escapes my breast. I really can’t talk around this brush. Leaving it for the moment in Scootaloo’s tail, I tell her honestly, “I like salad a lot better.” I certainly wouldn’t equate the taste of fish, to the flavor explosion that had me face diving into my plate when I first had salad. “I just forgot that ponies don’t—”

“Your stupid amnesia!” Apple Bloom seeths, giving me a glare over her shoulder at me. “Ah want to get mad at ya Sweetie, ah really do,” she says, her anger more of a wavering candle than a hot flame at this point. She walks up to me jabbing me in the chest saying, “Apples. Don’t. Eat. Fish.”

“At least it wasn’t a pear,” I mumble.

“What?” she says in cross-eyed confusion.

“You don’t hafta stop brushing you know, Sweetie,” Scootaloo says irritably. Oops.

Her tail is a lot easier to brush, since I can just comb it away from her body. I really don’t get what Scootaloo’s deal is with this whole touching thing. She was pressed right against me when we were riding her scooter, and she almost seemed to use wrestling as an excuse to get touching up close to each other. And wasn’t she snuggling me last night? But now I can’t touch her? I don’t get that filly.

She’s picky about the body brush too, brushing herself everywhere she can reach below her shoulders, and then letting Apple Bloom get her chest and the nape of her neck. I ask if she needs anything for her feathers, and she says, “Nah, I preened just a while ago.” And it’s funny, because she totally did, and neither of them treated it like anything but an ordinary, mundane occurrance. I certainly would have been uncomfortable with doing that, if I was the one with wings. Amazing what you can get used to if you’re raised that way.

With Scootaloo and myself taken care of, Scootaloo gets to comb out Apple Bloom’s bright, cherry red mane and tail, and her soft yellow hide.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know it was so serious,” I tell Apple Bloom, while Scootaloo is working Apple Bloom’s hair straight. I mean it too. As funny as her reaction was to eating fish, I didn’t mean for any of them to get genuinely hurt by this.

Scootaloo works pretty quickly, and soon Apple Bloom’s hair is straight and gleaming, only curling around at its very ends. Compare that with mine, which is all wavy and curly and harder to deal with, and with Scootaloo, whose hair is... straight. Scootaloo moves on to the body brush then, or curry... whatever I called it. Apple Bloom doesn’t look nearly as mussy as I did, but she leans into it nonetheless.

“I don’t remember a lot of things,” I add, still miffed that I have to use amnesia to excuse the gaps in my knowledge. Apple Bloom looks guilty at that, in a way she has no right to be, so I reach forward and touch her warm withers, moving my hoof to her shoulders as an afterthought, saying, “I’m glad you didn’t get in trouble for the fish. I was still worried, even though I said you would be okay.”

“It’s okay, Sweetie,” Apple Bloom says with open, easy welcome in her amber eyes. “Ah shouldn’ta got so mad at ya. Wasn’t as big a deal as I thoughtr’d be.”

“Besides, it didn’t taste that bad, did it?” I can’t resist teasing. Apple Bloom mumbles something that even my freaky radar dish ears can’t pick up, looking away from me, self consciously. I think I can get the gist of what she said, though. I’m touching her chest, so maybe I could just reach forward with the other arm and... oh, yes, hug success!

Any hug where they hug back is a success in my opinion. I may love touching this little pony’s soft responsive body—she’s honestly like a furry oven—but what really warms me is when she’s hugging back, and I feel like I’m in some little way helping her feel better, just by being there to be hugged.

“Scuze me, Sweetie,” Scootaloo mutters around the brush, until more blushingly than I hugged her, I separate from Apple Bloom again.

Scootaloo works her way quickly along Apple Bloom’s back and flank, and down her spine, making the filly’s yellow coat of fur shine with health. Apple Bloom rolls belly up, by some unspoken understanding, and Scootaloo works the brush right under her chin, down her chest, and down her... belly.

I’m just trying not to stare at Scootaloo getting closer and closer to Apple Bloom’s snatch, and be rational about this for once. Gosh, how low is Scootaloo gonna go? And the noises Apple Bloom makes, nickers of downright bliss! Was I making those noises? Just a hair’s breadth away from cunnilingus, Scootaloo starts combing up the inside of Apple Bloom’s thighs, just like Apple Bloom did with... me...

“So um... fish could be evil,” I admit, trying to rub my cheeks into submission,

“But I don’t think my dad is evil, and... and that boat pony is weird, but not evil, and we’re not evil. It’s sad the fish had to die, but... well, even more might have had to die, if the fish lived.”

“How so?” Apple Bloom asks skeptically.

“Most big fish are carnivores,” I point out. “Every day they go not being eaten, they’re eating fish after fish.” I really hope that’s a commonality between our worlds. “Plus some fish are dumb,” I roll my eyes. “They get caught in nets and on hooks, and the smart fish get away. If no one ate the dumb fish, there wouldn’t be enough fish food for the smart ones.”

“How d’ya know you’re only eatin’ dumb fish?” Apple Bloom asks, pulling away from Scootaloo the brush to look at me curiously.

“You could ask them?” I shrug. “I bet the smart ones could tell you they weren’t dumb.”

“Oh, huh. That... huh,” Apple Bloom says, settling back on her haunches and looking at a hoof.

“Hold on, there’s this really big clump of fur,” Scootaloo says around the brush, somehow.

“Aw, don’t go easy on me Scoots,” Apple Bloom rolls her eyes, standing up, “Just get ‘er done!”

“Higher on mah knee, Scoots,” Apple Bloom prompts, “Real itchy up there.”

Am I blushing? I shouldn’t be blushing. She’s... she’s so real.

Scootaloo handily works the flesh on Apple Bloom’s upper thigh... and poking curiously at my own back leg seems to indicate that we actually do have knees, just they’re right where our ankles are. It’s like I have such a tiny lower leg that all it is, is just a teeny little kink in the back of my foot.

“That’s the spot,” Apple Bloom says gratifyingly, laying back and kicking her other leg in the air, “Aww, yis.”

Soon the three of us are presentable as three ponies could possibly be, given only each other to clean up, and not a scrap of clothing covering up our sublime beauty. I know that I can’t... you know, impregnate them or anything, but I can’t get the thought of our closeness out of my head as they walk me back to the wagon and I get inside. I remember seeing under both their tails on the way to the lake. I just wish I could—I dunno, just lick them or something. I just want them to know how good this sort of thing feels! I mean, satisfying them would be a lot easier if I had a dick to pound them with until they squealed, not to mention satisfying myself in the process. Yeah, a nice, hot, fat phallus just shoving into me and—

A-and, not thinking about that. I don’t even know—I haven’t even tried to see how much I can ...stretch... at this young an age. I really don’t know much about how eight year old girls work, especially down there, much less ponified ones. As interested as I might have been in learning about the subject, known information is under tight lock and key, and you sort of go to buttrape prison if any nine year old girl tries to inform you on the subject. I don’t feel like I can’t—like I can’t want to put anything inside. Do girls actually want it, even that young? Do ponies? I just don’t have enough information to work with!

The sun’s high in the sky, and I’m starting to get hungry again. “Should we um, should we eat lunch?” I ask unsurely. Unsure, because are a bunch of little girls supposed to manage their own meals? How do ponies expect that to work?

Apple Bloom turns her nose up, looking high overhead, but she smiles and says, “Naw Sweetie, we still got some time to visit with Rarity. You wanted to go check on her, right?”

“Maybe we can eat lunch with her,” Scootaloo suggests hopefully. “She makes the best daisy and jelly sandwiches!”

“Well, we have to eat lunch somehow,” I point out. “Might as well be with her, if she’s... okay with it.”

“Yeah... she’s fine with it,” Scootaloo says a little unconfidently. “We’re still learning of ways to help other ponies, so ponies will help us out until we do. Or that’s what Miss Cheerilee said.”

I’d really like to meet that mare.

We all pile into the wagon, which is to say they pile me into the wagon, and Apple Bloom runs alongside. As Scootaloo engages her wings, the wagon accelerates smoothly, and I find myself thinking about that crazed trip we originally took in the wagon. Were we going faster then, or was that just me not being used to riding in a small wagon? Apple Bloom runs alongside us because, well... because she loves running, and I’m honestly terribly jealous that she can just do that. I just have to sit here like a lump because I can barely move around and it’s... really frustrating. But whether I’m fidgety or not, Scootaloo and her scooter take me and the wagon through the cathedral of apple trees, finally emerging on a hill overlooking Ponyville.

“Wait!” I shout suddenly, an idea hitting me that totally isn’t stalling to go to the library. Scootaloo hauls to a stop and looks at me worriedly, but I wave a hoof at her dismissively and say, “No, no there’s nothing wrong. I just think it might help me remember some things if I can look at the whole town from here.”

“That’d be awesome, Sweetie!” Scootaloo tells me, trotting up happily to help me out of the wagon. Behind us, the trees loom overhead like the entrance into a cave of wood and greenery. Before us, I shamble with difficulty to the point where the hill starts turning sharply downward. Sitting down there, giving my uncertainly quivering limbs a rest, I finally get a really good look at Ponyville from the hills high above.

It’s a clear, sunny day, so there isn’t anything obscuring our vision. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom join me to either side as I take in the scenery with wide eyes. It’s so beautiful, and not just because it’s a city of idyllic hamlets nestled in fertile farmlands, but because it’s a city I recognize. This could’ve been the view from where the opening in the show started, except that the detail is so much richer. The buildings look the same as what I remember, but among them there are the little spots of color moving around, hundreds of ponies heading to and fro, taking off into the air or landing again. They’d never show that in the show, because it would just be too noisy to have the maximum effect on the audience, but that just makes it even more real for me.

I can see the creeks now, their contours as they cut their way through town. Ponyville’s boundary here is at those creeks for the most part. The houses run up right against them, and beyond their bridges mostly it’s forests, fields and hills. There’s a windmill right downhill from us. I can’t help but wonder if it’s the windmill beside my house. Town Hall is further ahead and to the right, with those strange, colorful tents erected around it, different from the straw thatched roof buildings that make up a bulk of the town. The train is moving far below us, puffing along its single, solitary track down there. Headed for somewhere far to my left.

There are some—interesting buildings, that really stand out just from their color, but I don’t remember what they would be from the show. I wonder if that clump of green over there is the library tree. It seemed strange to see that tree used as an actual public library, rather than Twilight Sparkle’s personal place. Far to the distance on the right, the buildings look less like dry straw, and more like bushy greenery. That must be where Fluttershy’s cottage is, but there’s more than one green roof there. I wonder if the bowling alley is over there too. I wonder if they even have a bowling alley yet.

“Sure is pretty when you look at it,” Apple Bloom says, breaking me out of my gaze, sounding so loud in the silence.

“Can we go yet?” Scootaloo says even louder, hopping up on her hooves. “I wanna find out about my cutie mark!”

“Yea,” I tell her looking away from the beautiful townscape, down at my hooves. “Nothing’s coming back to me,” I mumble. “I just wanted to see if it would.”

I wish I could tell her I just wanted to see how beautiful it is.

Close call, there. So Apple Bloom is still blissfully ignorant of Sweetie’s true condition. And really, does the truth matter so much? They have each other, and as long as they know their strengths and limitations, whether she’s got the mind of a neurotic alien monkey doesn’t matter at... okay maybe it matters a little bit.