http://pastebin.com/yZvq3Gp9
http://pastebin.com/u/StayedGolden







Thursday
	Partly through the night, a soft creak jostles you from your dream. Coated in the still present grip of dreams, you have a hard time making out what it is. A thin light reveals itself from your cracked door. Huh. The rest of your room is caked in darkness, looking like the inside of a coal pit. Your head still swimming with visions of shifty cats, epic dream quests, and some unknown place called Kadath, you slink over to the door and close it. The creak repeats itself, but barely registers on your dream-flooded mind, and you move quietly back to your bed. Submerging yourself in sleep once more, you fail to hear the muted breathing, swiping, and tiptoe footsteps. You do peek up when the creak and slit of light return, but when the creak once more repeats itself and kills the latter, your heavy head falls upon your pillow once more, and you think nothing of it.
	It’s Thursday morning, and you’re swaddled in a cozy blackness. A thick blur coats your mind, engulfing you in a pleasant oblivion. A ray of infantile consciousness reaches out of the pit, trying to reach an awareness of yourself and circumstance. It doesn’t get far, and once more you’re sunk into that cottony haze of sleep. But instinct pushes forward, sending more attempts to reach reality. Each new attempt brings new shocks of light into your haze, disrupting it all the more. A nature just as deep and ancient as the need to wake pushes back, a bearish grunt expressed in revolt. But just as it is broken everyday, the will of this lumbering presence is thwarted, the pull of life dragging you into the light. Mmph. Muscles twitch to life, new blood flooding arteries and capillaries. Slowly, your mind awakens to your body, the pampering weight of the blankets above making your form known to you. You shake your head, grunting at the harshness of the motion that yanked you into consciousness. You wake to yourself; you’re Anon, and it’s some weekday. Wednesday, or maybe Thursday. You contort your body, changing positions like a dancer, but never recovering the dull peace you exited. 
	When the discomfort of lying without tiredness can be taken no more, you whip the covers off your body. The cruel talons of the (relatively) cold room dig into your skin, and you whip the covers right back on. You’d forgotten about your morning foe. You poke your thin arm, the most resilient to her wicked clutch, out of the bed and take hold of your shirt and pants. Retracting your arm, the wintry emissaries are soon thawed to the temperature of your beloved cocoon. Delicately, you put them on, trying to keep from disturbing the borders of your silk and cotton paradise, knowing the hateful cold will seep in like a plague at the first opening. Fully clothed, you steel yourself, then take the covers off once more. The chilly bite hurts far less than before. But it’s only a matter of time before your feet succumb to the frosty air, so you quickly garb them in some socks. After a minute, you realize that the room’s not actually that cold, and that you might be a huge pansy. Like all men, you hold onto the hope that you aren’t, and soldier on. Sitting on your bed, you wipe the physical remnants of sleep from your eyes. What time was it? The clock reads 7:30, a good half hour before the time you usually wake up. The familiar morning itch runs through your body, and you obey its command, straightening out your limbs and taking a deep yawn. The urge satisfied, you reflect on what to do next. 
	Apple Bloom, of course. She’d know what to do; maybe you could catch a quick game with her. Gotta see if she’s up first. You slip on the apple slippers laying at the door, and move out. The whole house is perfectly silent, like fresh, untarnished snow on a field. You cross the hall in tiptoe, not wanting to crack that delicate peace. You grip her doorknob and carefully turn it. The door squeaks when you open it, but not too much. Congratulating yourself on your excellent stealth, you approach her bed. You suck in your breath when you see the girl upon it. 
	She’s a vision. The phrase blinks across your mind, a chorus that, while fading to the background, remains present for the whole experience to come. She’s just… Wow. You try to think of words, but they just don’t come. She’s lying on her bed, perpendicular to you, with her arms raised above her head. One lies off the side, the forearm rising up and her hand flopped down, almost touching her head. Her other arm is jutting out, with the forearm returning, making an acute angle. Her delicate hand is spread open, resting on her forehead. For once, you see Bloom with her hair down (not counting the time when she was in the pool), and you realize how long it is. The bright red spectacle flows down over her shoulders, reaching, pooling somewhere around her mid-region. As usual, a bright smile covers her face, and her eyes are pressed closed. She radiates happiness, sheer joy perfectly described by her perfect face. One of her legs goes straight down, while the other is bent slightly, the knee barely crossing over the other. Her white socks are long, almost reaching to the knee, but that isn’t the article that captures your attention. Somehow, she got ahold of one of the dress shirts you brought down, and wears it with only the lowest two buttons buttoned. The top portions cover part of her chest, but leave her light cleavage and a good portion of the middle of her torso open. Looking down, you don’t see any underwear in the shadows beneath the low-hanging shirt, and it doesn’t go THAT far down. The sun has risen, bringing a golden light to further remind you of her angelic beauty. Her soft, tan skin almost glows in the kiss of the morning’s light. You notice something else, which causes you to blush and let out an unintentional “unf.” The ray of light revealed the thinness of your shirt, showing the lines and shapes of her thin body within it. You can perfectly trace the outline of her thin body, the curves of her breasts and hips, in the partially-transparent garb. She shifts at your quiet outburst, and you realize you haven’t been looking at her for a short time. You turn to leave, not wanting to be thought a creep if she wakes. You turn on your heel and take a step, the cruel world obliterating your stealth through a loud creak. You halt immediately, listening for any signs that she heard you.
	“Mmmmmm. Mm? Anon?” Yep, she heard you. Your mind races, going through plans like fatties go through Cheetos. You hold onto the last thread of stealth, hoping you can make a secretive getaway. You keep on facing the door and take another step. Silence, from both floor and cousin. Okay, you can do this. You take another step, and the scene repeats itself. Creeeeaak.
	“Anon?” This time her voice is clearer, devoid of the groggy tempo that held the first question. You turn around slowly, playing it cool. Hopefully she won’t notice the flaring hue of your flushed cheeks. 
	“Hey, sup, Apple Bloomers, what’s shaking, bacon?” You’ve never hated yourself so much. She’s sat up now, the shirt covering her like a short dress, thankfully out of the light this time. Her arms are positioned as a V, with both hands meeting just in front of her hips. Her legs are splayed outwards, socked feet pointing upwards. Her head cocked, she innocently asks:
	“What’r ya doin’ in mah room?” The million dollar question. Honesty or Redirect? You go with the first, saving the question of your shirt for later.
	“I was gonna wake you up, see if you wanted to play some cards or a board game or something.” She nods slowly. It isn’t clear if she believed you, or even understood. She is, after all, very sleepy. She yawns, her mouth stretching wide while her eyes tightly shut. Her arms reverse their positions, both extending upwards and away from her, making a V above her now. Her chest also puffs out, and you can see them pretty well under the thin, stretched fabric. Hoo boy. You adjust your pants to better cover an embarrassing response. Her eyes fall back to you, a teary smile on her angelic face. 
	“Ok,” she replies in a soft voice, sounding almost like a hum. She drags her tired legs out of bed, and falls off, feet landing on the floor. She moves to her dresser at a zombie’s gait, and opens the top drawer. Immediately you spin on your heel, not wanting to be present for this. She’s your cousin, after all. 
	“I’ll be in my room,” your stammering voice informs her, to which a soft okay replies. Closing the door behind you, you take a deep breath and let it out. Your eyes close, and you repeat the process, opening them at the exhale. Emotions run lower now, and you return to your room to distract yourself with video games. But your door creaks open before you can even get in-game. Bloom floats in, her light form almost gliding across the threshold. She wears your dress shirt, now buttoned fully and with the sleeves rolled up just past her elbow, and pair of tiny shorts. Her feet are bare, and you can hear the almost indiscernable thumps as she treads across your floor. The only major difference between her now and her a minute ago is a red bow in her hair. This is a different one, not much bigger than a bowtie, and is fastened above the place between her ear and left edge of her forehead. Two small ribbons fall below, a slight curl twisting their path alongside the left portion of her jawline, ending at the level of her nose. Her hair is pulled back and hanging down, revealing a curliness you didn’t know of. Appearing more energetic, she grabs your arm and immediately begins pulling you to your door. 
	“Come on, Anon, I know just the game.” Her pull isn’t strong, but the sheer joy in her gait makes the pull irresistible to you. She bounces as she walks, the tune to a music you don’t hear. Maybe you’ll hear it, one of these days. Though your sluggish resistance to her pull, as the morning incites resistance to all motion, has long since passed, her grip on your arm remains. Down to the living room she leads you, stopping before a large cabinet. Your arm misses her touch as she withdraws it for her search. She plunges her arms into the cabinet, pulls back, then digs in again, as if digging in the dirt for some treasure. Her face lights up, followed by hands gripping a weird looking wooden rectangle. Once more your arm is gripped by a pulling teen hand, until you’ve found yourself at a table with rickety chairs. The chairs are made of the same white-ish vanilla wood as the table, and are placed opposite each other. The table resides by a great brick fireplace, which you long to see roaring in a colder season. Thoughts of a winter trip are whisked away by the low voice of a whispering cousin, asking you if
	“You ever heard of Cribbage?” No bells ring.
	“Nope.” Eyes bug out in fake horror, and you can’t help but laugh at her feigned disbelief.
	“Whattya mean ya haven’t heard a Cribbage? You been livin under a rack or samthing!? Huh!? Huh!?” Your laughter increases at the sudden New York accent in your Bloom’s voice. She laughs with you, though more in victory at having made you laugh. You look down at the table before you, taking in the whole picture. There’s a deck of cards, two pairs of little colored sticks, one red and one blue, and the wooden rectangle. It’s got a line snaking, split into red, blue, and green. It’s filled with holes, cut into five hole-blocks, and numbers denoting each measure of five, all the way to 120, with one hole after that. 
	“Ok, its real simple: ya gotta get points, which you get through hands and pegging. First, is dealing: you deal six cards to each player” –she does- “and you get to pick four of them to keep. The other goes in the crib, which is an extra hand, and that goes to the dealer. The dealer switches every turn, so it’s even. After you discard into the crib, the not-dealer picks up a portion of the deck, and the dealer takes the card at the top of the remaining pile and puts it on the top. This gets added to all three hands. Then we peg: the non-dealer goes first, putting a card down. Then the dealer puts a card on it, adding it’s total to the first –face cards are worth 10- until you hit 31 or can’t hit that or lower. Here, you get points if you hit fifteen or 31, if you pair them, or if you get a run. Runs are worth the number of cards in them, and everything else is 2 points. Oh! You also get a point if you put down the last card, unless it’s 31. So like, if you stop at 30 and the other person can’t go, you get one point, and then they have to start the next pegging thing. When you’ve played all your cards, you count your hand. Non-dealer goes first, then the dealer, who counts their hand and then the crib. Pretty much the same thing there: 2 points for fifteens and pairs, and runs get as many points as there are cards in them. Oh, and if you have a jack that’s the same suit as the cut card –that’s the card you pull up after dealing- you get one point and if you pull up a jack the dealer gets two points.”
	“Do runs have to be of the same suit.” She shakes her head from side to side, tossing the bow ever so slightly, and says
	“Nope! You got it?”
	“I think so. It sounds pretty complicated.”	
	“Everythin’ sounds complicated when it gets explained all at once like that. It’ll get easier once you play it.” She beams at you, removing your reservations about the game, or really anything. You get started, and play pretty rough at first. You’re forgetting to take points, throwing points in her crib, and so forth, while she just laughs at you. But soon you start getting the hang of it, finding the patterns in the game, and playing with probabilities. You barely avoid getting skunked in the first game –losing by more than 30 points- and lose by five in the second. It was a fluke anyway, you swear. As you shuffle for the third game, you hear a low thudding coming just outside the room. Big Mac, morose as ever, peeks his head into the room, followed by his hulking body. 
	He stares silently at the game for a minute, then shakes his head at you. What? You send him a look, half inquisitive, half get-out-of-here-I’m-hanging-with-my-rad-cousin, but it falls flat. To be honest, you didn’t really expect much reaction from the practical mute. Her dull eyes direct themselves Bloom-ways, and he makes an inquest of her desires for a first meal. She gaily affirms her desire for such, and when the almost blank question passes from his eyes to yours, you haltingly mirror Bloom. With paradoxical guile, his image whisks away, the cling-clang of metal locating him in the kitchen. The game continues, with sneaky peeks and clever calculations throughout, culminating in a history-setting record of your success by ten whole points. Your fortune and talent are rewarded doubly when, midst victory dancing, your nostrils are engulfed by the scent of bacon. 
	Eyes wide with joy and beastly avarice, like an archaic Englishman spotting a new and unconquered territory, you spy a morning feast in the giving arms of your male cousin. Plates and dishes fall upon the table like manna, and you don’t waste a minute shoveling your blessings upon your own plate. With the patience of a dozen saints, you halt your voracious assault just long enough thank God for providence. Then, you set upon the plate-placed victims like Cortez on the Aztecs, and with the same result. The children of vicious hens, the warriors of a tribe of swine and whatever sausage is are razed, washed down with the precious plunder of monstrous cows. This morning, Anon is king of the wild. Finishing, a great sigh of contentment bursts forth, signaling your entrance into heaven. With your trusty sidekick, you march to the kitchen to cleanse your weapons. A fierce scrubbing with rags and towel later, the porcelain shows no trace of the massacre witness, and is placed among its stone brothers for another riskless battle. 
	By this time, your hat-clad cousin enters the kitchen, elder in arm. You welcome her brightly, sharing your morning joy. She wears surprise, then trades for your own happy expression. Granny is helped to a plate of her own, along with AJ, and they chat happily away at a kitchen table. You return to the open arms of Bloom, ready to give her as many losses as she wishes for. Dropping yourself into a seat, you narrow your eyes and rubs your hands together, asking her
	“Ready to lose some more?” She rebuffs you with her tongue, an unanswerable strategy. She deals out the cards, and you set your mind to work. You think and plan, consider and strategize, filling the air with hmms and ah!s. Told to shut up and go on already, you obey the happy order of your cousin, and do so. If you had rebelled, you probably would have won. But such as it is, you don’t, and mock Bloom’s well-known pout. As you begin to deal for the next game, as is the loser’s prerogative, AJ interrupts you. 
	“Playing some crib, huh?
	“Yup,” you mimic Big Mac, but not so overtly as to be insulting. 
	“Can you deal me in?”
	“Uh… Can I?” You pose the query to Bloom, who nods happily. 
	“Yeah, three players can go. You just give everyone five cards and put one in the crib.” AJ chimes in as she pulls up an equally rickety chair and sits:
	“Yeah, and hands and pegging is done clockwise.”
	“Nuh-uh! It’s counterclockwise!” A wrinkly arbiter calls from beyond
	“No, it’s clockwise, dearie.”
	“But that ain’t how ah play with Scootaloo!” AJ chuckles, happily bearing the duty of informing her that
	“You an’ her ain’t been doing it right then!” You snicker at the retroactive judgment and begin dealing. The new style of play throws you for a loop, your previous strategies and considerations imperfectly translating to this new form. However, the lessened amount of choice, coming from having five cards instead of six, lower the amount by which you can control the outcome of your hand, and so your cluelessness does not terribly mar your score. As you move through the ensuing games, you’re dimly conscious of a new comfort you’ve entered into. Your shoulders fall back, your breaths come more easily, and your exuberance is less forced and pretended than it had been the past few days. The breakthrough of the previous day, though out of conversation and not likely to re-enter anytime soon, had altered how you were around the Apples. You couldn’t quite describe the changes, or even make yourself fully aware of them. But through it, you noticed the ease at which you could sit and enjoy the game, and the lack of obstructions that kept you from laughing along with them in that careless manner you saw, mostly in Apple Bloom. It was nice. You felt good. After a handful of Cribbage games, then you moved onto other games. Sorry came next, to include Granny and Big Mac. You and Apple Bloom teamed up, a pair against the three other colors, but even your combined brilliances failed to snatch victory. Three failures in, a double vote called for a new game, to which the three older Apples conceded. 
	Monopoly followed, the living room filling with the warmth of familial community. Big Mac even seemed to step out of his shell a bit, and you heard his triumphant laugh for the first time when he seized both blue properties. Not long afterwards, a stream of ill luck struck you and Granny, leaving you both doubly caught by Boardwalk’s charges. Declaring bankruptcy, the two of you retired, watching the gameplay unfold from the sidelines. No longer terribly put off by her aged appearance, you fell into a pleasant conversation with her. She explained to you the history of Sweet Apple Acres while you sat enraptured. After she finishes, you’re awestruck, suddenly aware of the monumental significance of your great-aunt. Struggling for a similar story, you pull out some notes on the celebrity of the Oranges in Manehattan. Though you do exist at a not-unimpressive place on the Social Register, the boasts ring hollow as you spill them across the air. Your listener gracefully provides a captivated pose, though you don’t see how she could be interested when you aren’t. Then again, Granny seemed to be genuinely interested in you, as noted from your brief contacts. It may have been that her such in interest spread to interest in the specifics of your life for their relation to you, if not due to innate value. With a strength bolstered by your recent growth, you decide to trust in Granny’s goodwill, rather than assuming indifference and pretense, as was your habit.
	The next game begins, and you quickly snag a monopoly on the oranges through lucky rolls and a seemingly innocent land-deal with an unobservant AJ. Apple Bloom moans as you repeatedly plunder her bank account, the die severely out of favor with her. You make it through the minefield of the opposite side of the board, where yellows and reds have all been captured by Apple girls. Grabbing a couple greens, you deftly doge the blues and leap onto the next round. Big Mac lands on Park Place, and is then blessed by a snake eyes onto Boardwalk, the fastest blue monopoly you’ve ever seen. Suddenly, your orange trio is looking less impressive. You trade your brown for a light blue of Apple Bloom’s, and both of you fill the first gauntlet with houses and an agreement not to charge each other. She immediately lands on Connecticut Avenue, and your head swings to the living room window while you whistle loudly in mock innocence. Ignoring AJ’s grumpy stare, you hold your hand out, receive the dice from Apple Bloom, then roll. Landing on a soon-bout railroad, you exclaim in mock shock:
	“Oh my goodness, Apple Bloom landed on me? Well gosh darnit, I oughtta have charged you. Oh well, I snooze, I lose!” Nobody is impressed, but you get a suppressed fit of giggles from Apple Bloom, well worth your scumbag cahoots. It continues to be worth it when AJ meets Apple Bloom, and you jump on her like a loan shark. A muttering of unfairness and a couple turns later, you find yourself on Marvin Garden’s, owned and operated by one Miss A. Bloom. You gaze into her eyes, pleading for an expected mercy, when you find yourself laughingly rebuffed. What? But-But. Your pleads and references to allegiance are promptly denied, as you’re told that such only refers to the first side of the board, meaning the browns. She’s right, but she can’t keep you from grumbling. Three passes around go, and you’re king of half the board, owning monopolies on orange, green, light blue, and parts of utilities, red and purple. Unfortunately, your only opponent is Bloom, who owns the rest, expect for a Short Line Railroad that, somehow, had never been landed upon. The trades are frequent and equal, with you straying below one hundred for a moment, then lifting back up. She loses favor with lady luck, and begins a massive unlucky streak, having to sell a good amount of houses. But one final shift leads you to a massive vacation on her properties alone, while she alights on the barebones luxury taxes and light blues, when she isn’t on her own properties. Once you mortgage your first light blue, the end comes quickly, the failures rising in exponents. She sits beside you, on her bare knees. At victories she bounces, and failures she narrows her eyes, like a soldier vowing to succeed at the next battle. And when you finally land on Boardwalk, naught but 10$ in your pockets, she leaps up in the air, swinging her arms in the air. The picture of pure joy seems to levitate, eyes closed and mouth open in a cry of bliss, the beloved cousin defeated at last. Her buoyant, curly hair follows her body just a tad too late. Rising after she’s airborne, and turning mid-air to fall only after her descent is completely. The rosy cascade blankets her shoulders once more, the spotless skin covered by the luscious tangle of long, wavy curls.
	The five of you move onto Pirate’s cove, where the aim is fame. You fight with cannons and men (the lowest number determining the number of die rolled in attack) and go first based on sails; you win fame on victory, and lose a turn on loss. Treasure stored in the hull and needing a dedicated turn to turn it into fame, and earning gold to buy the others or to turn it into fame along with treasure. Six different places to travel to hold different rewards for travel and different commodities to buy (all four aspects, then special fighting cards, then Treasure Island, where the burying occurs). Everyone chooses where to go and reveals it at once, fighting somebody if they end up at the same place (except Treasure Island). A legendary NPC pirate also makes the rounds, to be avoided or fought along with others. The game barely moves. The game starts off well for you, nabbing an early lead. AJ beats you and Granny in a battle, but you’re just barely behind her. But as the third turn comes around, Apple Bloom darts up. 
	“Oh no! Ah was supposed to meet Scootaloo ten minutes ago!” AJ, always helpful, gets up and hustles over to the car, your day suddenly devoid of the two Apple girls. You’d like to pretend you were just as happy as before, but the company of Big Mac and Granny can’t compare to you and your wonderful cousins. Still, Big Mac was your cousin too, and you can’t see any reason to give up trying to enjoy being with them. Family was family, right? Rejecting the thin grip of dysphoria, you take on an active role, pushing AJ and Apple Bloom’s pieces off the board. You act as if the game were always holding three players, and the game continues as normally. 
	As the game unfolds, you start to glimpse a different side of the two lesser known Apples. Granny does well, building up a powerful ship, as per the instructions; there’s no doubt she could take any fight with you or Big Mac alone, and maybe the both of you. And the way she stares at your ships and the locations to go, she ought to be raiding you left and right. She gazes at both, not with the vacant stare of a lifeless elder, but with a subtle cunning, like a chess master who avoids all boasting but that of their winning move. Yet you never fight her. She always goes to the places neither you nor Big Mac is at, even when she profits less. The only time you meet is at Treasure Island, where there is no fighting. Her score is lagging, and an untrained eye might assume the explanation of a doddering old lady who lucked into a good ship. But you know better. The whole game, she’s been chatting away with you and Big Mac, drawing just the threads of conversation out of him, and eagerly listening to the stories you reveal. She’s not in this to win; she’s in this for the two of you. Sure, she grins gleefully at the united attacks against the NPCs and gaining fame, but her purpose here is not a personal victory. You chuckle to yourself, an interested look of hers failing to discover your realization of her aim. You could see where AJ and Apple Bloom get their charity. A barely deserved first place falls into your hands, due to Big Mac dying at the last minute, and failing to bury his treasure as a result. He shoulda won, you think to yourself. 
	You set the next game up, this time adding two NPC pirates in, due to the lower number of players. Watching Big Mac, now the only major threat to your victory, warrants another couple insights. He plays simply, in almost a dumb fashion: where he needs to go, he goes. He pays little attention to the revolving NPCs or you, and ends up in a lot of fights as a result. Thing is, he isn’t losing. He wins more than his fair share of fights, and you find yourself avoiding him, not unlike Granny. He doesn’t seem like the brightest guy, and you’re about to chalk it up to luck when you find exceptions. Twice, there’s one thing he needs, but instead he goes to someplace else, ending up in a fight with you or Granny, where he wins both times. You’d think it was clever tactics, working around your expectations, but he then spends all his money on useless stuff. So he either gets lucky, or is using high-cost, high-reward strategies. Another small exception was when, out of cockiness, you ask him where he’s gonna go, so you can attack him (you’ve got a better ship than him at this point). He tells you he’s gonna fight one of the NPCs and asks you to join him; figuring the idea as good, you go there. But he doesn’t. One severe butt-kicking later, half of your treasure is lost, your ship broken, and your lead drops off. Worse yet, AJ returns just as you get your butt handed to you, her first sight of your advanced playing not one you’d like. She laughs and sits beside you, Apple Bloom’s spot, and you turn your thoughts back to Big Mac. As you try to reconcile these exceptions with Big Mac, you come across a middle-ground between what you’ve thought. Maybe he wasn’t doing carefully calculated high-costing strategies, and maybe he wasn’t dumb; maybe he was a clever guy who just wasn’t fully in the game. The explanation seemed to fit with what you know of Big Mac’s reaction to his parents dying, and his somewhat clever feints. It’s not solid, but you decide to keep an eye on Big Mac, if only to solve a mystery. The round concludes with united assault against both NPCs, the boatload of fame resulting from such netting Big Mac a victory, just a sliver ahead of you. 
	You yawn and stand up, declaring your weariness from games. Man, what time even was it? Geez, 2:00. You’d been playing board games for almost five hours straight. You guess they’re long games, but still. Wow. Granny asks you to help with making lunch today, and you happily accept. AJ follows, but Granny assures her this is a two-person job. Or rather, a one-and-a-half-person job, seeing as she’s just gonna be giving orders. Granny’s eyes follow her as she exits, then shift to you.
	“So,” she asks, “what’s for lunch?” You pause, thinking that her question belongs in your mouth, not hers. 
	“Huh?” 
	“Well, you’re making lunch, today. I was wondering what you’re gonna make for us.” You’re starting to get it. “You’ve cooked haven’t ya? Even sandwiches are okay, dearie.”
	“So I’m gonna come up with something and make it?” She grins and nods once,
	“And I’m gonna point out ingredients.”
	“Ah. Okay, gimme a second.” You furrow your brow, a technique known to increase mental productivity and efficacy. You’ve made a lot of meals over the years, so you have some preparation for this. Oh! You’ve got it!
	“Ok, I’m gonna need like six cans of clams, a cup of oil, minced garlic, a bit of parsley, some green onions, and noodles.” She directs you to them, and you start your work. Water in the pot, set to boil. Mince the garlic and chop the green onions. Dump that into some oil in a pan, and set it to mid-high. Once the garlic starts browning, dump the cans of clams in, water and all. Stir, lightly, then wait for most of the water to boil off. You lean up against the counter and breathe out, the tasks wearing you out due to their number, if not their difficulty. Meanwhile, Granny has sat down on a chair in the kitchen, pleasantly smiling and making light conversation while you work after her directions are made complete. She asks you how you’re doing upstairs, what your plans are for the rest of summer, and how her nephew and niece are doing. You pause at that, holding back a scowl, but you think she notices you discomfort. 
	“Not getting along, are you?” You sigh, a pained expression on your face. It’s not like she oughtn’t ask this, it wasn’t rude or anything. You just don’t know how to answer it. You look to the clam mix for help, and it’s perfection offers an exit. 
	“Uh, food’s ready. Would you mind getting them?” She smiles, the understanding look seeming more geared to your avoidance than your question.
	“Of course. I think they’re still playing games.” She enters the living room and informs them of the upcoming meal. Immediately they march past you to retrieve plates, glasses, and silverware. The table set, you tell them that the meal is clam pasta; take some noodles, cover it with the mix, and that’s it. 
	“Sauce seems a bit thin, and more clams than sauce.” AJ remarks, not having seen the meal before.
	“That’s how it’s supposed to be; you don’t need a ton, either. A little bit goes a ways.” She nods and helps herself, followed by the rest of you. You clasp hands and say grace, though you’re slightly distracted. At the touch of Granny’s and AJ’s hands, you recall that you’ve been holding Apple Bloom’s hand for the previous dinners. You miss that now. You try to stop yourself, thinking that it’s kind of weird to be missing someone gone for only a couple hours, and besides, you’d have to get used to missing her anyways. That makes you sadder, and you push thoughts of post-vacation summer away. Still. You wish she was here to taste your meal. Maybe it was weird, but you wanted her to tell you it was good. For the moment, however, you’d have to suffice with the compliments of the present Apples. 
	“Anon, this is really good.”
	“Eeyup.”
	“Yeah, thanks for making it.” You thank them, genuinely grateful for the compliments. You’d like to think that you’d be able to handle it if you had to cook for a girl, and this was as good an affirmation as any. AJ then asks you, in a tone that betrayed it being on her mind for some time:
	“So, what are your plans for summer?”
	“Me? Oh, uh, I don’t know. I’m supposed to find a job, so I can be set up for after I graduate.” You add, with distaste: “My dad was gonna set me up at the firm, get me an internship or something. To be honest, I don’t really want to.” Granny appears more attentive at this last bit, more so than the usual interest she displays. 
	“You don’t like that kinda work?” She asks.
	“Not at all. It’s so boring, and seems so purposeless. Like, what’s even the point, you know?” The two ladies at the table nod slowly, the AJ seems to pick up where Granny left off.
	“So what kind of work are you looking for?”
	“I don’t know, something more physical, hopefully. Ooh!” Your eyes open wide as you recall one pleasant experience from long ago “I wanna work with cars. My best friend, Steven, I told you about him, right? Well, his dad’s a mechanic, and he let me help out a couple times. Oh, that was so much fun! I’ve done a little work on my car, just tune-ups here and there, but man I’d kill to do that for a living.” Your blissful gaze rests above any of the conversationalists, set on a glowing memory.
	“Didn’t know you liked cars so much,” mumbles Big Mac.
	“Well, it’s not cars so much as what’s in them. All those parts, working together to push tons and tons of metal at huge speeds… I mean, how is that not incredible?” Your mechanical affections subside, and you return to the subject at hand. “So I’ll see if he can get me something like that. If not, I’ll look for something that has to do with machinery, maybe something in engineering. If I can’t get an internship or job like that, then I’ll do the internship with my dad.” You end on a lower note and a mournful face, a wish unspoken. AJ and Granny look at each other with unreadable expressions. Then AJ speaks of her own plans for the summer, working at Sweet Apple Acres. You don’t observe her fixed attention on you, instead listening happily to the sound of her own future. The dinner goes on as such, questions of futures and interests abounding, until you’ve had your fill. You’re excused without dish-duty, and thanked for preparing the meal. Retiring to your room, you fall on your bed, resorting to your good old Gameboy for entertainment. After all the strategizing and heavy conversations about your future, you need some mindless fun.
	The bright LED screen transports you into the early evening, sun partly through its descent. The sky still burns yellow on your bed, warming your skin. Sleepiness seeps into you, weighing your body down. Just as your eyes are about to shut from the gravity of your eyelids, your door slams open. Having too little energy to look up at your guest, you settle for listening. Short, light stomps declare the entrance of an angry Apple Bloom. Valuing the sight of her, both in general and for the purpose of consolation, your drag your heavy head to a place where you may see her. Upon engaging the Sisyphean task of upholding your eyelids, you spy her standing before your bed, armed with a grim pout and two fists.  Your chest feels crushed at the sight of her pained expression, a tight clenching of your stomach. Your left arm is thrusted out, the opening space below it an invitation to lie with you. She accepts your invitation, sinking into the soft blankets. She squirms into you, left arm resting over your stomach and head nestling into your chest. Her knees bend to keep themselves from falling over the bed, and touch your own legs. Your free arm rises and passes your body, its hand resting on her head, then softly stroking the thick ruffles of crimson. She doesn’t cry, but the stuffy silence tells you all you need to know; she’s not okay. Minutes of your gentle caressing pass before you hazard a soft question:
	“What’s wrong?” A short, unhappy grunt precedes her burying her head even further into your chest, slightly shaking her head from left to right. Guess she doesn’t want to say. You share her sigh and let your head fall back, staring at the ceiling above. But your tender touch barely resumes before she tilts her head up, enabling her sad amber eyes to pierce your heart again.
	“Diamond Tiara.” You know that name. You’d heard her tell you about that bully from her school at the pool. The evidence of the bullying brings your stomach to a tighter clench, and your hands to slowly formed fists. But your burgeoning desire for comeuppance does not overcome your concern, and with wide eyes you ask her what she’d done. 
	“She always ruins –*sniff*- everything. Me an’ the other Crusaders were walkin’ around the forest when she came up and started makin’ fun of us. She said that we were losers, and ain’t ever gonna get boyfriends. She said that nobody’d ever love a t-trashy punk, a girl that ain’t half as pretty as her older sister, an some h-hick like me.” Her words catch a few times, and she has to compose herself several times before she continues. “I told her to shut up, but she asked us if any of us had ever been on a date. I didn’t even know we were s’posed to be doing that! Sweetie started trying explain why none of us had ever been asked out, but Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon just laughed at us and walked away.” Immediately you hug her tightly, as if to squeeze out the hurt. You keep silent for a minute, not wanting to speak right away.
	“Bloom, you know she was just bein’ mean, right? You girls are beautiful, especially you.” At this, you lift up her chin, forcing her enchanting eyes to look into yours. “I bet you could get any guy in this town, easy as that.” You snap your fingers, illustrating your point.
	“Y-you really think so?” The watery eyes fix on you, your next words the foundation of her next mood. 
	“I absolutely do.” You wonder for a moment, unsure of whether you should leave the testament simple, or explain it. The former has more raw strength, but the latter can better bolster her confidence in the proposition once she’s set upon by doubts. You go the latter route, wanting both to give her reasons to believe you and to verbalize your appreciation for the beauty on your chest. Drawing on every poetic lesson you’ve learned, you set yourself to the task of describing the small goddess.
	“I mean, first, your hair is incredible. I’ve never seen a natural crimson like yours, which changes so much by the light it’s under. The darker hues indoors, the brighter rosiness in the light; it’s like the colors of the evening sky, when the sinking sun paints the sky every red it can think of. Your eyes are enchanting, like drops of gold, or two gilded plates too priceless to ever use. Every time I see them, it’s like I’m teetering off the cliff, about to fall headfirst into them. Your skin is the most perfect tan, the kind that all the city girls dream about. You’ve got the cute kind of freckles, the kind that perfectly accent your eyes and cheeks. You’re thin without looking sick, and short without looking like a midget. Trust me Apple Bloom, you are, hands down, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.” You finish your short list with a kiss on her forehead, slightly longer than it needs to be. Her rapt attention is halted when she closes her eyes at your lips’ touch, but her growing blush stays strong. She smiles, but it falters, a streak of unhappiness dashing her attempts to free herself from the bully’s words. 
	“D-do you really think all that?”
	“I do.”
	“Then why doesn’t anybody ask me out?” The question throws you; you don’t know enough about the town to give a good answer. Your mind races for an answer from your inadequate knowledge, something to satisfy her insecurity. Then, a thought arises. A question to ask, a wish disguised as a distraction. A wild idea, something every inch of prudence rebels against. But the idea captures you, and before you know it, it falls from your lips.
	“Apple Bloom, would you go out with me?” Her eyes are the size of dinner plates, cheeks burning bright red. 
	“W-what?” Too late to go back now, not that you would. You push on, hoping to either get a yes or make damage control easier. Your tone is easy and light, but your stomach is tight with the fear of rejection. Your heart races, while you try to avoid knowing how much you want this.
	“Let me take you out on a date. We’ll go out for dinner and movies, maybe some ice cream or something, and then you can tell Diamond Tiara that you did go on a date. With an incredibly handsome man at that.” She doesn’t chuckle your joke, retaining the same wide-eyed look as before. Burrowing her face once more into the space between your arm and chest, only her eyes are visible, still peeking out at you. You can barely hear her muffled question:
	“You really wanna go on a date with me?” You smile and nod your head, feeling an imminent victory. She closes her eyes, and you hear a very suppressed squee. Her eyes open once again, as do her lips, revealing a beautiful smile. 
	“Ah’ll go get dressed!” And with that, she leaps up and sprints to her room. You’re a little struck, not having thought of when you’d do it, and certainly not thinking it would be immediate. You glance over to the alarm clock. 5:30. Huh, guess this was as good a time as any. You continue sitting on your bed, your mind hesitantly searching for your true motivations for this. Not finding an answer, partially due to your own fear of finding the answer, you stand up and turn your thoughts to those of preparation.
	Tense legs ferry you to your dresser, and you open the few drawers you occupy. Your search is stopped halfway when you remember the clothes you’d packed. Everything was casual, save for one suit you packed, on your mother’s warning that you might be expected to go to church. Shaking your head, your mother exits your thoughts, and you pull out the suit. A solid black coat and pants, made thin and light for the warmer months; the color wasn’t particularly suited for the sun, but still, it’d be bearable. It’d been tailored to suit you, one of the few benefits of the wealthy family you had, and fit perfectly. A clean white shirt, and a plain red tie to add a bit of color. You had to admit, this was definitely your favorite suit. You strip off your T-shirt and jeans, replacing it with the comfortable cloth. Then buttoning all but the lowest, you smooth the shirt and coat down. Hmm. There’s a couple creases on it, probably from being folded and jammed into a suitcase. Well, you’ll go check it out in the mirror; you need one to make sure your tie looks right anyway. After that mishap at your junior prom, you make darn sure that you check your tie every time. Heading down to the bathroom, your eyes linger on Bloom’s door, your mind filled with visions of your future date. You enter the bathroom, greeted with an awful sight. Your jacket and pants are filled with creased lines, jagged and straight. Goodness knows how a simple suitcase ride screwed your suit up so badly, but you look atrocious. You hurry over to AJ’s room, the closest Apple, and ask her where the ironing board is. 
	“Why y’all needing that? And why are you wearing that suit?”
	“Gonna go on a date with Apple Bloom.” Like the question that started all of this, the explanation comes out of your mouth before you think. Her slight frown tells you your honesty might not have been so prudent. You chuckle inwardly, realizing that these people may have been rubbing off on you; you never would’ve been so careless before. But you retain some of your mindfulness, and hastily explain:
	“She was getting teased about never going on a date, so I figured this oughtta cheer her up. Besides, I thought it’d be fun to hang with, just me and her.” It’s the truth, if not all of it. AJ’s eyes soften, and she nods. 
	“Well, that’s real nice of you. I can tell you’ve been getting close to her, and I’m glad she’s got another friend who can help her out every once in a while. Same goes for you.” She smiles, happy at the connection between an Orange and an Apple: “So what’re ya gonna do?”
	“Eh, get some dinner, then go see a movie.” You pause: “This town does have a movie theatre, right?” She laughs at you, placing her hand on your shoulder.
	“Course we do! This town ain’t that small!” 
	“Cool, cool. So, about that iron…” She looks down at your suit and purses her lips.
	“Yeah, you’re definitely gonna need that. C’mon, I’ll show you where it is.” As she leads you to a closet and produces the tools from within, you realize there’s one more thing you need.
	“Hey, can I borrow the truck?” She looks up thoughtfully, then shakes her head.
	“That’s Big Mac’s, and you’d have to ask him. But Granny’s got an old Caddy in the garage if you wanna use that.” She grins coyly at you, midway through setting up the ironing board: “Me, Ah’d prefer getting taken out in that one.” 
	“No sh-way! What kind?” 
	“1987 Fleetwood Brougham, V8, painted grey with a navy blue interior.” Sounds familiar…
	“That’s the one that’s real long, right? Like, a foot longer than most of the others?”
	“Sure is. An’ it’s got an Astroroof too.”
	“… an Astroroof? Like a sunroof?”
	“Yup. I think it’s cause it’s bigger. Or they just wanted a fancier name for it. One a’ the two.” You laugh, then thank her for showing you where the iron and ironing board were. As you turn and head back to your room, she asks you:
	“Well, aren’tcha gonna use it?”
	“Not unless you want me to strip down to my underwear in front of you,” you retort, sending a red flush into her cheeks. 
	“Nah, I think I’m good there.” You head into your room, change back into your casual clothes, and sling your formalwear onto your arm. As you’re passing Bloom’s room for the third time, you notice the door slightly ajar. Two female voices converse within, and you head right on, not wanting to eavesdrop. Still, your ears are perked, straining to hear what they’re speaking about. You think you hear the word “handsome,” and grin, choosing to believe you heard right.
	Your bare feet tread the carpeted floor along the way to the iron, set up far from your room. Your pace is easy, relaxed, as you’ve learned to make it. But another story is told by your less-voluntary portion: your heart beats to the rapid cadence of power metal, while your lungs suck in air as if it were going out of style. Trying to get ahold of yourself, you attempt to slow down your breaths and heart rate, to a moderate amount of success. But you couldn’t deny it: you were excited. Reaching your tools, your drop the coat onto the ironing board and set to work, working long strokes down the sleeves and body. You move it around, making sure you see it from multiple perspectives, so as not to miss anything. Once it looks sleek and flat, you drape it over your shoulders, savoring the sauna-like heat melting your shoulders and back. The pants rise and fall on the table, followed by the shirt, both receiving the same treatment. Then it’s back to the bathroom, fingers crossed for a better looking image than before. You undress, then pull on the still warm pants and shirt, followed by the coat. Oh yeah, you’re looking good. Next step is the tie. Just as you pull your collar up and place it on your neck, where it hangs down both sides, the door bursts open. It’s Apple Bloom.
	Your complaint over the intrusion is stopped in your throat; gulping, you gaze entranced at the stunning model in the doorway. She’s wearing a long, black dress, with red accents over a mesmerizing pattern flowing down both of her sides. The linings on the neckline and cuffs are frilly, like a fancy lingerie, with patterns resembling those on her side. Horizontal black lines, so minute that they look almost like grooves in the material, separate the upper chest from the midsection, and such from her hips. Vertical lines cross down the lower half, extending to the bottom, which lies just below her mid-thigh. The lining of this is the same frilly form as that on the neckline and cuffs, but twice as long, the pattern visible on her delicate knees. She wears a small red coat, ending just beneath her pronounced chest, with sleeves barely reaching past her elbows. Her feet are barefoot and her face unpainted, clearly having yet to receive treatment. 
	“Oh, sorry, didn’t know you were in here.” She cocks her head. “Why are you in here? Do you wear makeup too?” Her tone says she’s joking, so you refrain from mentioning your punk rock phase. 
	“Just making sure my suit’s fine, an’ my tie’s done right.” You look her in the eye, exuding seriousness. “You don’t want a badly tied tie; it’d put you in a bind.” She leans back, looking you up and down.
	“Riiight. Well, you’ll be happy to know that that suit is indeed fine.” She looks to the mirror, mumbling to herself, “F-I-N-E fine.” You smile and turn to the mirror, catching her reflected gaze. She looks away, her cheeks supplying the rouge. Bringing your attention to your tie, you miss her captured stare, following you throughout the whole process. As you pull the larger end through the knot and tighten it up, her body unfreezes. You shake the knot a few times to test the comfortability, then, satisfied, pull your collar back down over it. The top buttons get buttoned, and you’re ready to go. Stepping back, both you and Apple Bloom check you out in the mirror, and reach a positive conclusion. Her lipstick stays an inch from her face, arm stuck while she holds your image in her eyes.
	“Alright, I’ll be hanging out in my room whenever you’re ready.” She blinks out of her open-mouthed watch, then murmurs a rapid 
	“K.” Just as you’re leaving, you lean back in, looking at her partly made-up face. For the third time in just a handful of minutes, her hand freezes in mid-air as she responds to your attention. 
	“By the way, you look great,” you flirt in a low voice, and exit before she can react. Ok, let’s go through that checklist: Clothes: check. Compliment: check. Money; you back pocket. Not finding it, you realize your failure to transfer it, and retrieve it from the back pocket of the jeans in your arms and make sure you’ve got cash. You do, and you put it into your current back pocket. Check. Ride? You make it to your room, drop off the clothes you’d just changed out of, and make your way to Granny’s room. The door creaks open, revealing a content-looking matron lazily knitting. She’s in a rocking chair covered in complex patterns, reminding you of the pulpit of a cathedral you’d visited whilst in Europe.
	“Granny?” She peers up at you, her kind face looking like one of those old saints you’ve read about. Her gracious smile seems to encompass you. You hadn’t noticed until now just how far she’d 	been from your idea of her: the image of the hateful, bigoted old lady was so unlike her, you could barely believe you’d expected it at all.
	“What can I do for you, dear?”
	“I’m taking Apple Bloom out for some food and to see a movie; AJ said you had a car I could borrow?”
	“Is that so? Well, that sounds awfully nice.” She continues rocking, ever so slightly, in that ancient wooden chair. “Yes, I do. Barely used it since the accident, all those years ago.” Her eyes glaze over, revisiting that tragedy. You heart aches for your ancestor, wishing something could be done to fill the kind of gap that can’t ever be filled. Her pause ends, though your ache doesn’t:
	“Ah guess it could use some lovin’, and you seem like the type to do it. You’ll find the keys with the others, on the rack in the kitchen. Can’t miss ‘em.” You smile gratefully at her.
	“Thanks Granny,” you reply, then exit into the hallway. Traveling to the kitchen now, you see a rack with four sets of keys, one pair catching your eye. They’re smaller than the others, and noticeable thinner; but more than these, they look as if they’re covered in gold. It’s chipped or peeled off, obviously never being that thick, but you know that these keys were once encased in a tiny layer of gold. There’s two main keys, one square and one circular, as well as a much smaller, less ornamental one. You don’t remember that much about Cadillacs of this year, but you can tell the last is a gas tank key; the others are for the door and ignition, though you can’t remember which is which. Eh, you’ll figure it out. You drop them in your pocket, then go through your list: clothes, money, and transportation. Yup, all good. Heading back to your room, you remember the thinness of your plan: you don’t know where you’ll eat. It won’t look suave at all if you just drive around without a plan. You turn on your heel, and direct yourself towards AJ’s room. A flash of black and red disappears in a shutting door opposite you, probably Apple Bloom having finished her makeup. 
	“AJ, I need some help.” 
	“What’s up?”
	“I don’t know where to go to eat, or what movie to watch.” You touches her chin with her pointer finger, and looks up, thinking.
	“Let’s see... there’s Hey Burger, Ah know she likes that. Red Lobster, if you’re itchin’ for something real fancy. Oh, and Graze; they’ve got some real nice sandwiches there, especially the Sexy Time.” She narrows her eyes before you raise your eyebrows, apparently expecting that reaction. “It’s a sandwich, that’s it. Move on.”
	“Sounds like you got teased about that.”
	“For days.” She rolls her eyes, an exasperated sigh telling you who it is.
	“Apple Bloom?”
	“Gee, how’d ya guess that one? Anyway, only good ones out now are Independence Day 2 and Finding Dory. Ah think there’s a civil war one –not the Captain America kind- and some other ones, but I’d go with one of those two.”
	“Finding Dory sounds good. The first one was pretty rad.”
	“Yeah, Ah thought so too. Uh…” she pulls out her phone, clicking away: “Ok, show times are 7:30 and 8:45.”
	“Ok, thanks.” You don’t mean to rush out of there, but Apple Bloom’s waiting. 
	”Anon, wait.” For the first time this evening, your heart stills, and leadenly drops into your stomach. You freeze a smile on your face, hoping not to show the worry that flows through your every inch
	“Sup?”
	”You’re sure this is just for fun? This ain’t you tryin’ to get.. Ah dunno, closer to Apple Bloom, or anything like that?”  Ok, her face looks only moderately concerned, slightly apologetic, probably from the accusation. Think, Anon, think. What do you say? Best guess: press on that guilt, give her the same answer
	“Yeah, I AM trying to get closer to Apple Bloom. She’s my cousin, and right now, just about the best friend I have. She looked unhappy, and I thought I could repay her, if just a small amount, for everything she’s done for me. She reached out to me, and now I’m reaching out to her.” This first part comes out a little snappy, but it wouldn’t work any other way. “AJ, I’m not trying to court your sister; I’m just being a friend when she needs one. Just like you and Bloom were to me.” This comes out sweeter, a kinder plea, which serves the double function of finishing your explanation on a positive note and assuaging your guilt for playing on AJ’s own. The firm response and the gentle follow up both serve to draw out the apology written in her face. After a moment, she verbalizes the expression
	”Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I just get kinda protective about Apple Bloom, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
	“It’s fine,” you reply, a heavy weight lifted off your chest. You smile with nearly unforced carelessness, then remind her you’ve got to finish getting ready. Leaving, you realize you don’t have anything else to do. Heading back to your room, you try to plan the night out in your head, all the conversation topics and things you could do. Man, these things take a lot more time than you remembered. Or maybe it just feels that way, on account of the short time you have.
	Entering your room, the figure on your bed immediately steals your attention. Apple Bloom, a vision in black and red, sits coyly on the edge, swaying legs crossed. A small bow, dipped in the flaming hues of the evening’s light, hung on her hair, just up and to the left of her left eye. Regal curls hung about her lightly bronzed face, framing the Aphrodite within it. Shadows darkened the shining coils and twists, a dim auburn making its way through the ever fading light of day. Her cheeks lightly brushed with rouge, a pair of blazing embers echoing the luscious lips that warm you so. The deep, flaming hues she adopts is perfectly complemented with the paler skin, like luminous sand containing howling bonfires. Her dazzling eyes, the hearth’s furnace that could capture hours of stares, was bordered by thick coal-black lashes, dragging in any observer to be trapped by that entrancing amber. Holy lips opened to reveal priceless pearls, the illimitable value of a Venus’ happiness. And like a camper to his crackling fire, he was loathe to leave it, wishing to stay gazing into that very particular magic for eternity. But twice, now thrice he was called, a giggling glee from a girl who didn’t mind the awe of her star struck admirer. But though your eyes managed to tear free from your reverie, your heart remained ignited, your whole body feeling ablaze. 
	“Anoon? Earth to Anon?”
	“Uh- Hey. Sup?” A coy smile and flirtatiously blinked eyes threaten to enrapture you once more, but you fight it off. “Ready to go?”
	“Yup!” Her excitement in jumping off the bed surprises you; the sudden motion and the vibrant energy within was shocking. It was as if a marble statue of Aphrodite were to suddenly wink at you, or take your hand and lead you into some lustful tango. Accommodating yourself to the vigorous life of an animate goddess, you recall the proper treatments, and hold out your arm. Beaming up at you, she takes it, and you’re on your way. Down to the Cadillac you escort her, opening her door as any true gentleman would. After a brief interruption caused by using the wrong key, of course. Two coughs cover up your embarrassed look, and you cross the car and enter the driver’s side. Fitting the key into the ignition, you notice that delightful embrace of the soft leather holding you. Lounging back, you feel the engine hum to life, taking a moment to appreciate the smoothness of the car. Hulking, aged beast that it is, a pseudo-limo, it feels and sounds like a much newer, much tinier car. Your turn aside to your precious partner, both of you immediately grinning like kids finding home on a playground. You shift into reverse, and the purring behemoth slide out the open garage. One more turn, and you accomplish that greatest of American dreams: driving off into the sunset. 
	On the open road, she prophesies a right-turn five minutes from now, to bring you into the town proper. Trusting her here, as you would anywhere, you affirm her directions and set your plans accordingly. And so you drive, sinking deep into your cushy seat, a veritable lounge chair that found its way into a car. You take a moment to appreciate the smoothness of the ride, only the smooth rumbling of the engine and the dated road filling the air. The thin grip of the wheel, not those fat explosions of cheap material that other cars have, but a smooth circle fitting perfectly in hand. You tilt your seat back, a laid-back position an absolute staple of a knowing driver in a luxury car like this. But your enjoyment of the treasure you drive transitions to the background as your focus shifts to the beloved girl not two feet from you. She stretches out, legs extended, and with her right arm lazily lain on the door’s armrest. Her left arm crosses the armrest in the middle, delicate fingers dangling in the air between yours and hers. Her head tilts slightly downward, eyes sleepily locked on you. Your cheeks almost hurt by how much this girl makes you grin. Slyly, you engage in a devious plot; taking the wheel in your left hand, you drop your right hand onto your armrest, hanging you hand not an inch away from hers. Oops, did I accidently shift it to be a little closer? Oh, did the turn of this car cause my hand to slide a little bit, touching yours? My goodness, did your hand end up sliding between my thumb and fingers? Gosh, are we holding hands? Well, that’s so weird. Well, it really can’t be helped at this point; might as well just keep doing it. She mirrors your mischievous smile, possibly catching onto your ingenious plan. But her hand is in yours, so the uncovering fails to bother you. 
	Just then, a forgotten question shucks off its status, returning to the front of your mind. The important detail shames you at having missed it into your execution of the plan.
	“So, there’s a couple places we can go, and I haven’t really decided. I’ve been hearing good things about Holy Crepes, but I’ve always been a pretty big fan of P. F. Flanks. Red Lobster’s my personal favorite, but Texas Roadhouse is pretty high up
 there too. Oh, and I think there’s one place you’ll really enjoy.” Her hard concentration breaks as she asks
	“What?” You crinkle your eyes and direct them to hers, smirking heavily:
	“Applebees.” She narrows her eyes, sending a light punch into your gut with the hand previously holding yours. Luckily, it returns to yours, the cool fingers weaving through yours, distracting you from the hurt. 
	“Uhff! Okay, okay, we don’t have to go there.” You chortle through the mild pain in your side. It looks like she’s even chuckling a bit too, though she’d never admit it. Back into deep thought she returns, touching the pointer finger of her right hand to her chin in the same way her older sister does. 
	“Hmmmmm.” After a steady amount of time, the best Apple nods, coming to a confident decision: Texas Roadhouse.” You nod at her, happy with the decision.
	“Texas Roadhouse it is.” In a second, her hand –the right, her left hand is still attached to your right- reaches to the radio, and turns it on. For the second time this week, you’re faced with RaeLynn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T551UQYQU2g. You sigh, trying to keep your cringing grimace from being seen. The low light of the car helps hide it, while the jubilant singing of Apple Bloom and the continual glances at you during the chorus help diminish the distress over having to listen to country. Her hand leaves yours as she does her best to dance in the passenger seat, but the perfect happiness of her short-range dancing is enough to remove any misery that might have resulted.
	At the end of her rocking out, you place your forearms on the wheel, and clap with your now-freed hands. She sends another radiant grin your way, and takes a little bow. 
	“Alright, it’s my turn.” You press the seek button, looking for a better station. Pop, pop, alternative (pop), hard rock, classic rock, pop… what’s this?
	“Weeeelcome back to Rewind 92.5, WREE! All oldies, all the time! Next up we’ve got the late, great, king of Dixeland, B-B-Bob Crosssby!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ir1A74UA2YE. Oh, heck yes. Apple Bloom looks at you questioningly, questioning your taste in music.
	“Oldies? Really? 
	“Ain’t nothing wrong with ol’ Bob Crosby,” you respond, between your staggered singing of the half-remembered song.
	“You realize this is the kind of thing Granny listens to, right?”
	“Well, now it’s the kind of thing Granny and your awesome cousin listens to.” She chuckles just a bit, watching you belt out as much as you can. At the end, she joins you, drawing out the final refrain in her adorable little voice. The two of you continue flipping stations, singing along with whatever songs stayed on. The exquisitely formed car continues gliding into the town proper, open windows accepting the warm air of the incoming summer night. The blackening fields yield to lighted houses, then yielding to the bright signs of stores. Indistinguishable figures zip by, the out-of-focus blurs having no cognizance of the two riders in that beautiful car, and the destiny that connected them. Like a space shuttle, the laughing kids traveled as if through empty space, the immense importance and happiness of both thrusting all else into an inconsequential nothingness. The car streaked along the sparse streets, faint music and wind-combatting hands leaving the window and cutting into that pleasant night air. A final turn brings the two partners into the parking lot of Texas Roadhouse.
	You turn the car off, then get out. As she crosses over to you on the way in, she reaches for your hand. Instead of taking it, you cover her shoulder with your arm, then pull her close. Appreciating the intimacy, she leans into you, both arms encircling the middle of your chest. Her face pulls close to your body, and you swear she just smelled you. Good thing you remembered to shower and use deodorant today. Looking down at the girl attached to you, you beam at her, simultaneously grateful that she somehow finds you worth attaching to and proud of being worth such invaluable attention. She looks up at you, matching your ecstatic expression, and the two of you enter into the restaurant. Sat down by a server, you’re asked if she can start you off with anything. Glancing at the menu, you order a Pepsi and some Cheese Fries to start you off. The first is denied, and Coke is offered in its place. You shrug and agree; your date mirrors your drink order, told that she’d be sharing the appetizer. The server disappears into the already quiet restaurant, and the two of you are left alone with your dinner options. 
	“Whaddya thinking?”
	“Well, this Pulled Pork Dinner looks good, but it’s a tad expensive.” You can tell she’s testing the waters, seeing what she can order. It doesn’t bother you; you’ve had to do that a couple times when others offered to buy you food. Also, you got to give her the best answer possible:
	“Bloom, don’t worry about the price. I’m loaded.” Not expecting this answer, you’re greeted with a disbelieving look.
	“Really?”
	“Well, yeah. I mean, my parents are pretty rich, and they’re big fans of the give-the-kids-money-and-they’ll-shut-up approach, so… yeah.” She can tell you’re having trouble focusing on the good fortune over the unfortunate source of it, and tries to displace your attention.
	“Well then, I’ll get that. What are you looking at?” She finds no hesitation in your answer.
	“Porterhouse T-Bone.” The suddenness of the answer causes her to laugh a bit at your solid response.
	“You’re pretty confident in that, huh?”
	“It’s a steak. It’s a T-Bone. That’s all there is to it.” The two of you talk idly while the server returns with the appetizer. Minor lapses occur, when one of the parties trails off in their speaking or fails to listen, instead dreamily staring at the other partner, neither of which could be bothered by the compliment. How she came to be so interested in your appearance, and so evidently pleased, was not quite certain to you; you didn’t look bad, but you’d never considered yourself the apple of anyone’s eye. As the thought passes through your head, you make note of it, knowing the pun would be worth pulling out later. Your date, however, was unequivocally the best girl you’ve taken out: the adorable laugh and voice, the majesty of her dress and makeup, the easy and intimate conversation and connection, it was almost too perfect to believe. Her looks and personality, the combination of simple kindness and the elegance of her outfit did not clash, but came together perfectly, reminding one of those carefree, fair princesses in children’s storybooks. The nobility of her outfit and virtuous kindness, which you had not seen stop for one moment, made her seem royal, and deservedly so, not like some usurper king or scheming aristocrat. The memory of her calling you’re her knight, and before that, her noble steed, cross your mind, and you take an immense pleasure in imagining yourself either. To serve her… your thoughts trail off, your eyes once again blissfully stuck on her dignified countenance. 
	Conversation and ogling halts as the steaming pile of fries, covered in cheese and bacon liberally piled on it. The two of you, more famished than either of you had realized, dug in. The white plate beneath the food is quickly and steadily uncovered, and both parties sit back, satisfied. The conversation resumes as the mostly empty plate is pushed to the side. 
	“So, what are your plans for the summer?” 
	“Well, mostly looking for a job that doesn’t suck. Something to do with cars or something. You were there for that, right?” She nods. “Yeah, that’s… really the only thing I have planned. Probably just call on some pals and tear up the town.” A confusing look appears on her priceless face.
	“Ah don’t really know what that means…”
	“Oh, uh…” You pause, trying to figure out what exactly it is you do. “Just going to clubs and whatnot. Drink, maybe a bit more…” You trail off, not particularly fond of sharing this part of your life with Apple Bloom. “I dunno, whatever people do when they hang out. It’s more about the people than the activity, know what I mean?” She nods her head vigorously.
	“Exactly! That’s why hanging out with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle is always so much fun! Even if we end up in trouble or making a mess, we always enjoy it.” You nod your head, happy that she gets it.
	“Yeah, as long as you’re with good friends, just about anything can be fun.”
	“So who’re your friends?” Uh. You weren’t prepared for that either. 
	“Well, I guess there’s Zach and Taylor. They live pretty close to me, and our parents know each other from work. I guess they’re ok...” Apple Bloom raises an eyebrow at this, sensing your hesitance to call them friends. You respond, deciding honesty is the better course in this situation. “I guess the only real friends I had were Katrina and Carl. I’m not super close with them any more though.” Her eyes, wide and open, draw you out, as if telling you to go on.
	“I met them both in sophomore year, in the band. I think they were dating at the time, but they weren’t super serious. Anyway, I got real close to both of them, and we’d hang out every day after school, talking about anything: metaphysics, our parents, emotional problems, and so forth. They’d broken up sometime around then, but they were still really good friends. Anyway, we would talk for hours on end, either one-on-one or all three of us.” You laugh, interrupting the story when you recall the next part. “We’d usually walk as we did it, and forget where we were going. Like, one time me and Katrina were getting really into this conversation about cloning, and then this real loud, gruff voice starts screaming at us. Turns out we’d wandered right into a construction site, right as they were going home for the night, without even knowing!” Apple Bloom snickers at the predicament; you continue once her attention’s returned. 
	“Yeah, stuff like that happened all the time. We’d end up miles from our homes, right when night was falling. Once I interrupted Carl to point out this straight up commando-looking dude marching towards us, all decked out in camo and everything. I still don’t know what it was, cause we just up and ran.” Now Apple Bloom’s looking almost shocked, afraid for past-you’s safety.
	“You what?? Anon, that could have been some big ol’ military thing? That guy coulda shot you or sumthin’!” You aren’t catch the concern, instead noticing how her accent grows more pronounced when she gets surprised or emotional about something.
	“It’s fine, Bloom. I mean, I’m ok now, right.”
	“Ah guess… Watch where you’re going from now on, though!” You laugh, but remain appreciative of her concern.
	“Alright, Apple Bloom. I promise.” You hold out your pinkie, offering the unbreakable promise of your youth. 
	“Cross your heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in your eye?” You stare at her for more than a few second, uncomprehending. It takes you a second to voice your absolute lack of understanding.
	“W-What?” She revels in her ownership of a mystery, and the resulting puzzlement, before deciding to reveal her secret.
	“It’s a very special promise that my friend Pinkie made up. It’s literally unbreakable.” Wide eyes of credulity and a fervent head nod make you wonder whether she’s being serious or not. Even so, you’ll humor her.
	“Ok, I cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a-
	“Wait!”
	“What?”
	“You gotta do the motions!” She repeats the promise, crossing her heart, making wings with her hands, Napoleon Dynamite style, and hits her eye with a palm in accordance with the three vows. Man, this was some pretty serious business.
	“Ok, ok. I cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a… cupcake… in my eye.” You go along with the motions as she did them, much to her delight.
	“Okay, now that that’s settled, tell me what happened with Carl and Katrina.” Oh yeah; you’d kinda forgotten about them.
	“Well, Katrina started flirting with me, more than a little bit. We never really got anywhere, just a couple makeouts, but like, it still made things a bit weird. Then I guess she went back to Carl, cause they started hanging out a lot more. Anyway, we just kinda drifted apart. I still talk to them now and then, but it just isn’t the same." As you finish your story, you look back up to the girl across you. Your eyes don’t quite bulge, and your heart doesn’t quite stop, so perhaps your sudden horror wasn’t as visible as it felt. Why did you tell her about an ex-girlfriend? That’s rule fucking one of the dating guide! You remember a pit in your stomach, urging you to pick another story, but you ignored it. The no-doubt catastrophic story disguised itself as a story about friends and a meaningless half-relationship, passing your cursory inspection of whether it was appropriate for tonight. 
	You’d forgotten that she might share your dismissal of it as just another bland happening of your life. Still, you should have been more vigilant; this was first meaningful date in years. There’d been gray outings, unmemorable dinners and dances with faceless girls; it was not so much that you pursued them, but more because they just happened to you. They happened to everyone. It was what people did back home, regardless of actual enjoyment. But it wasn’t like that here, and though it may be possible to explain the utter lack of gravity of your kind-of ex, it was probably just better to not mention that.
	A quick shake of the head and a short look out the window helps you clear your head. The chilly world outside gave you a clean, solitary feeling, like that of a walk in the crisp air of summer’s dawn. Turning back to Apple Bloom, you feel the warmth of her care and company creep back into you, the fuzzy feeling lowering your guard once again. Still somewhat alert from the pessimism and the short break, you realize that this whole night has been filled with that heavy joy that ended up in your typically reliable vigil failing. You’d have to be careful; the indescribable comfort she gave you might lead to more mistakes, and you can’t have that. Keeping a portion of your mind out of the happy connection of the date, you launch an investigation of how she felt, as well as an attempt to drive the conversation on more pleasant paths. 
	“So, uh, why don’t we talk about something else. Like, your plans for the summer. I’m sure they’re much better than mine.” She seems somewhat concerned at your push for the change, but still content. It’s possible she overlooked it, or missed it. You’d known girls that were too preoccupied to notice anything but their own motions, and girls that would wave away anything that wasn’t part of their plans. As you pray that a similar situation has occurred here, Apple Bloom’s face lights up. A smile forms, stretching from cheek to cheek, as she recalls an upcoming event.
	“Apploosa! We got Apploosa coming up,” she says with excitement. “That’s the big Apple family get-together. Oh my gosh, it’s so much fun! There’s dancing, and singing, and apples! Braeburn hosts it, an’ it’s just outside a town. He’s got this big ol’ animal farm, and it’s practically a zoo!” She continues, excitedly waving your hands around as she describes the celebration, half family-reunion and half-4th of July party. You nod interestedly, your gaze stuck on her expressive hands twirling through the air. You breath a sigh of relief while watching her animated retelling of an accident involving Big Mac punching a cow and a soiled shoe; it looks like you were in the clear. Her face falls a bit when she thinks of your absence: 
	“Wish you could be there, though…” You smile reassuringly.
	“Hey, maybe I could come back down for that. When is it.”
	“About two weeks from now.” You nod, touching your finger to your lip. Her eyes notice, tracking the motion. She looks perplexed for a minute, trying to figure out why the motion looks familiar; then triumph, when she does recall. 
	“Yeah, I think I’ll be able to do that.” She smiles wide, both because of your imitation and future plans. 
	“Awesome!” Right then the main entrée comes along, great piles of meat placed before shining, eager faces. And again the conversation pauses as the two of you devour your meals. Oh man, this is absolutely delicious. Halfway through and slowing down, you remind yourself to come back here again. Slowing down, you set the rest of your meal aside to be boxed for later. No way was this going to waste. Looking across the table, you find your date slowing down as well. The ravenous feast subsiding, you ask her something that’s been on your mind. 
	“So, how did the Cutie Mark Crusaders get formed?” She beams, and after wiping off her face with the napkin, begins the retelling. You can just feel the excitement exuding from her, like water off a girl climbing out of the pool. 
	“It all started back in the sixth grade. Wait.” She stops herself, shaking her head. “No no no, let me start again. Ok, so I told ya about Cutie Marks, right?”
	“Yeah, a little picture symbolizing your purpose or dream.” She nods seriously, your definition found acceptable.”
	“That’s it. So what we do is go over to Rarity’s –she does all the fashion stuff- and we tell her what our purpose is, what we’re gonna do. Sometimes you get a little image in your head, and you tell describe that for her. Then she’ll make a little badge for you. But it’s usually only the kids that wear those; adults keep em somewhere safe, and get the symbol sewn onto pieces of clothing, possessions, you name it. So that’s important for later. 
	“In third grade, everyone in my class but me had their own Cutie Mark, and those girls Ah was telling ya about kept pickin’ on me. Wait no, there was one other girl who didn’t have hers. Anyway, we got teased a ton, and it was just awful! Diamond Tiara was having a party celebrating hers, and Ah was gonna try to get one for myself. Rainbow Dash told me that the key was to try as many things as possible as quickly as possible, so Ah did a whole buncha stuff with her and Pinkie, but nothing’ felt right. Ah even tried lying to Rarity, saying Ah got mine in cupcake makin’. Ah think she found me out though, cause she got all squinty an’ asked me to demonstrate. An’, uh,” she looks sheepishly to the side, “that didn’t turn out so good.
	“So Ah was just gonna not go, but they were holding the party at Rarity’s! Where Ah was! Ah have no idea how everyone got there without me seein’, but there was a whole mess a people between me an’ the door! Ah tried sneakin’ out, you know, hiding under tables and whatnot, but then AJ,” at the mention of the then-impending obstacle, Apple Bloom glares in the direction of home, “AJ blocks my exit, an pushes me back in! Diamond Tiara an’ Silver Spoon were right there! So Ah told em that Ah did have one, an’ they asked if they could see it; Ah had a Power Rangers badge in my pocket, a little sticker thing, so Ah-“ You hold up a hand, not letting that slide. 
	“Hold on a sec. You were carrying around a sticker of a Power Rangers badge.” She nods, and tries to continue.
	“Yup, so-“
	“Apple Bloom, why did you have a sticker of a Power Rangers badge?”
	“Cause Power Rangers are awesome!” She shouts, a little too loud. Seeing the stares of the two other patrons, a faint blush makes its way through the already red cheeks. “Now, if you don’t mind me finishin’…
	“Ah almost fooled em; those girly girls probably ain’t ever heard of anything cool in their lives. But then that gosh darn Snips came up, all ‘Cool sthticker, Apple Bloom! I didn’t know you liked Power Rangerth!’” she imitates a lisping, nasally voice. “An then they found out! Just when Ah was about to be the laughingstock of Ponyville, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle came to my rescue. They told off Diamond Tiara, and everyone suddenly thought we were cool! We decided right then we were gonna be best friends forever, and made a secret club dedicated to finding our purpose in life.” She ends with a little flourish and a bow. 
	“That’s awesome, Apple Bloom! Man, I can see why you’re such good friends with them.” She nods proudly,
	“Yup! The best part is, they were transferring into my school the next Monday, so we all gotta sit next to each other! We still haven’t found out what we’re all supposed to do,” she frowns slightly, obviously not unaffected by the failure. “But you know what? Ah’ve had some a the best times of my life with those girls, and Ah’m gonna have even more fun in the future!”
	“Sounds like your group’s a success then.”
	“That’s how Ah’m seeing it. Ah used to be real bothered, not knowing what Ah’m gonna do, or if Ah even have that special talent.” Her gaze grimly focuses on the table, but only temporarily. She looks up towards you, filled with determination: “But we’re gonna find it!”
	“Well, I don’t think you gotta worry too much about not finding your special thing, Apple Bloom. Most of the people I know don’t have a clue what they’re gonna do, or what they wanna be.” Your server comes and clears your table, except for a couple boxes for your leftovers. You make use of them, then check your watch: 6:45. You still had another forty-five minutes to be at the theatre, thirty if you count bein’ there early. 
	“Hey, we still got some time. Wanna get some ice cream?” She pats her stomach, making a displeased face at the thought of more food. 
	“Right now, Ah’m stuffed. But how about after the movie?”
	“Yeah, sounds good. But we still got, like, half an hour to kill. What do you wanna do?”
	“Well, there’s a little arcade by the theatre? Ah hear that’s pretty fun.” It sounds pretty fun to you. 
	“That sounds good to me.” You set down some money in the black leather foldy-thingy the server left you, the bill and a handsome tip, and head out. She’s a few steps ahead of you, so you call out: 
	“Hey, what’re you doing?” She whips around, looking confused. “You just gonna walk out of here without your escort?” You get up next to the giggling girl and offer your arm. Taking on a posh accent, she says
	“Oh, why thank you, good sir. I can’t imagine how I could’ve forgotten! What ever would I do without you?”
	“Oh good heavens I haven’t the slightest idea, my dear!” The two of you look at each other, and break out in simultaneous noblewoman laughs:
	“Oh ho ho ho ho! Oh ho ho ho! Oh hohohohohohoo!” Seeing the patrons and associates staring at you, you pick up the pace:
	“Come on, let’s get out of here before they throw us out.” She giggles again, and the two of you powerwalk over to the gray sedan. Strapping yourself into the seats, you drive out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Your date leans heavily on her left armrest, golden eyes settled firmly on you. Her body faces you, the small red coat slightly open, framing her chest in a way that makes your own tighten. Noticing the rapt, undeserved attention centered on your face, you lean back a little more and jut your chin out a tad, like the cool kids do. Yeah, I don’t think this is working. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to be aware of your failure, or perhaps she just doesn’t care. Glimmering eyes still shinning, the melodious notes of her southern voice request stories.
	“Ah wanna hear more about the city, Anon. Tell me what you do for fun. Like, if we were there right now, what we be doing?” Man. You know what, enough about you. You mean, you love yourself and all, but it feels like a huge chunk of this trip has been wasted on every detail of your life. You’re willing to spend so much time focusing on yourself for the sake of entertaining her, but you’ve gone pretty far past your preferences. There’s a girl, a vision wreathed in the colors of a roaring fire, beside you; no way are you gonna saturate this date with chatter about you when you could focus on here.
	“Apple Bloom, I feel like I’ve been constantly telling everyone about myself this whole week. How about you tell me more about you, instead?” Her eyes seem slightly regretful, partially due to her failure to achieve another story and to her worry that she’s made you uncomfortable. She purses her lips, and hesitantly agrees. 
	“Fine, but what am Ah gonna talk about?” You shrug your shoulders, gaze darting off the road and onto the radiance in the passenger seat, then back. 
	“I don’t know, anything. Something you did, something you like to do…” You head moves up and down as you throw out ideas, knowing anything about her will be worth hearing. She faces forward, turning her body back to the windshield. The warm light of the interior lights, located just below and in front of the seat, gives the thinking figure a faint glow. The light is brighter towards the source, the girl’s outline growing fainter as it runs to her head, but illuminating the spotless legs. They almost looked white, or a lightly browned silver in the soft glow . The smooth legs were crossed, kicking ever so slightly as she thought of a story. A grinding rumble tears you away from your cousin’s lithe, perfect legs. As the boring road jerks itself into view, you sullenly accept the necessity of staring at the black and yellow picture, rather than the much lovelier image of Apple Bloom. As you inwardly lament your ocular setback, your ears run into their own fortune.
	“Ah got it!” You feel excited, the impending story somehow sending your heart beating faster. You blame it on the night; dates always brought out the romantic in you. That’s pretty much half of their purpose anyway. Still, you can’t suppress that small part of you that holds the undefeatable truth: you are captivated by this girl. 
	“What is it?”
	“Well, I’ll tell you what Ah did today.” 
	“Sure, I’d love to hear it.” Your focus drifts of her for a moment, as you remark to yourself the influence the Apples have had on you. That sentence would never sincerely come from you before; what are these people doing to you?
	“Alright, so I was supposed to meet Scootaloo at her house, right around 12:00…”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	This game’s harder than you thought it’d be. You stare intensely at the board, trying to remember all the rules. To be honest, you were kinda preoccupied at the time Anon was explaining the rules. To be fair, it was by his voice, but you couldn’t be blamed for that, could ya? Every once in a while that tone a his would hit this level; you couldn’t really explain it, but it just caught you all up. All you could do was just nod along, hoping those entrancing notes would continue. Still, you were left without a clue what you where supposed ta be doin’. Now where do Ah put my ship this time? Huh. Come on, Anon, why’d ya hafta pull out the one game in our cupboard that Ah haven’t played before? About to tug on your cousin’s shirt for help, you notice the clock behind him: “1:10.” Wait, weren’t you s’posed to be… Oh no! 
	“Oh no! Ah was supposed to meet Scootaloo ten minutes ago!” Your big sister immediately jumps up, running into the kitchen. You’re in close pursuit, your thoughts all devoted to worry. What if she left without you? What if you were a bad friend? You shake your head, feeling you’re the small ribbons of your bow tickle your face. No, you’re not gonna fall into that trap again. You’ve wigged out too many times over nothing to not learn anything. A firm nod of determination forces the last specters of anxiety from the front of your mind, and you jump into the waiting car. 
	“Hold on,” the heavier voice of AJ comes, your hands automatically clinging to the armrests of the Big Mac’s truck. You can hear her foot on the gas pedal before the engine roars, followed by the car swerving out of the garage and into the dirt road leading up to the house. The sudden motion, even though you’re used to it by now, still elicits a small “eep!” from you. As the kicked up dirt forms low clouds in the rearview mirror, a small bit of your heart sinks upon seeing the shrinking house. You didn’t say goodbye to Anon. Just a small thing, sure. But you wish you had.
	Minutes later, speed limits sacrificed by your older sister’s sympathy for your goals, the truck coughs a dying breath in front of Scoot’s house. 
	“Are ya sure you got everything?” your sister says, always looking out for you. You can’t help but laugh at her sticking to the presently needless tradition.
	“Ah don’t need anything, so yeah, Ah think I’m fine.” Your sister tries to force a frown outta that smile. Even she knows she can be a bit silly at times.
	“Well alrighty then. You have fun now, y’hear?”
	“Wait a minute!” You think for a minute, then stop your request short: “Nevermind. See ya, sis!” Turning away from your older sister’s confusion, you hop up the stone steps to the house. The screen door dangles from a couple screws, all located at the top left. You pull it out of the way, using a nearby plant to keep it from swinging back at you. Ignoring the numerous treasure’s your friend’s family has accumulated, you enter into the living room. Hairy legs protrude from the couch, a few grey wisps over a sparkling dome appearing just over its armrests. 
	“Hi, Mr. Dash!” A vague grunting tumbles over the blue leather, potentially an answer. “Is Scootaloo here?” Another ominous wheeze floats over to your ears, definitely an answer, definitely not English. Just when your fears of a failed hang-out return, AJ’s friend makes her way through a clogged hallway, pizza box in hand. Tossing it near the trash, she notices you fidgeting by her father’s couch. 
	“Hey Apple Bloom,” the tomboyish voice yawns, hand outstretched and ready to tussle your hair. You duck out of the way; not this time, Dashie! Her hand retracts automatically, the owner’s failure to notice showing the motion to be unconscious. “You looking for Scoots?”
	“Yeah, is she here?” You timidly ask, hoping she is.
	“Nope.” NO! “She said to tell you she’s at your, uh… secret place. Oh, and Sweetie was able to make it too.” YES.
	“Cool, thanks Dash.” You dodge the treasures stacked up as high as you, and leap through the remains of the sliding glass door. Moments later the crunch of your shoes on broken glass and concrete gives way to the soft thumping of grass. Making sure not to tread on any of the brightly covered flowers popping out of the colorful property, you run into the forest beyond. 
	This was already going better than you’d thought it would; you were sure Sweetie wouldn’t be able to make it. As your legs propel you over a log in the path, you grin at the momentary feeling of weightlessness. You’d ran through these woods often, though rarely without your friend. Running had always been a tremendous joy for you, the feel of your legs pumping and springing forward holding a particular kind of freedom that could always be relied upon. It was no secret that you felt cooped up by this town, sometimes in your own home; Scootaloo felt the same way. And so the two of you had decided to run together, through fields and forests, anywhere that bore the possibility of holding something new. The forest had almost been mapped out in your heads, the time to cover old ground rushing towards you. But that didn’t bother you too much; for one, you’d loved every minute you’d flown through the thick leaves, and the forest was so big that old ground might feel new. But there was something else the wood had brought you.
	About two years ago, the two of you had found a small clearing, not five minutes out from the house. It wasn’t big, just a rough circle of thin trees with a diameter of about 30 feet. The trees thickened around the perimeter, making it somewhat hard to get into; they were hard to get by, and thick bushes lied around it, further isolating that circle. As it wasn’t so thick (the forest was pretty full, anyway), one’s path would naturally get routed around it, unless some adventurous spirit called them to brave the branches and bushes. So far, only you and Scootaloo had been called by that urge to conquer ever inch of the wild, and you’d never found a trace of another in that area. But the spot was so much more than that natural perimeter. The trees surrounding it didn’t have intruding branches, leaving the area ceiling-less. So in that wide area, the sun shone unhindered, one of the few places in the forest where such a wide area of uninterrupted light could be found. Scootaloo swore it was man-made, though you weren’t so sure. Maybe nature, or God, set aside this little place, just for the two of you. Well, make that three. After you’d found it, it become the spot for your secret clubhouse. 
	Rejecting the notion of any outside help, the three of you had spent countless days working on this area. One entrance had been opened, the trees and foliage around it trimmed and cut, leaving a short entrance for the short residents. A blanket had been covered with glue and tape (Sweetie Belle and Scoots couldn’t decide which was superior), and then bushels of leaves dropped on it, followed by similar coats. This was hung on the trees on either side of the entrance, creating a surprisingly effective secret entrance. A couple tents had been pitched, then fused together, a nylon Frankenstein rising from the grass. This two had been systematically covered with leaves and refuse from bushes, so as not to alert any outsider’s to its presence. Within, furtive meetings were led, mysterious crushes announced, and classified Cutie Mark escapades executed. 
	One remnant from the last of these remained, a large garden constantly added to. A pump was brought in, along with a large container; with it, you could siphon water from the nearby stream and bring it back into the container. There was a hose too, and with the pressure brought in by the pump, you could spray the plants, if only for a couple minutes. The idea was all yours, and you were darn proud of it; watering with cans took way too long, and needed like, a hundred trips to the river and back. So you’d gotten just a little mechanical advice from Big Mac, who totally didn’t expect anything, and fixed it up yourself. 
	Your mind turns back to the lush forest around you, and open your mouth in wonder at the sight created. Moving into the thicker part of the forest, the light had taken on a strange tone, one that never ceased to amaze you. Staring up at the scattered canvas of greens and browns, with just enough light flowing through the gaps, the world had taken on a kind of mid-day twilight. The dense foliage and greenery around you did not look like some plain forest in the day, but such as touched by that particular magic of dusk or dawn. It was a darkness filling your vision, but not the coal-black or shadowy kind; rather, it was a very restrained filter, the point before the eyes had to squint. Only this particular sight was prolonged, being caused by the partial blocking of the potent sun by the mild roof of leaves, rather than a failing sun falling. 
	This must be what the explorers felt like, those who’d lived their whole life in one place and found another fundamentally different. For no matter how many times you’d seen this strange half-light, you found yourself the recipient of a mysterious burst of energy. You were taught early on the wonder of the Earth, the beauty of God’s creation. And it was a lesson that stuck; everywhere you went you searched for that unique property that made a place special, and very rarely you failed to find it. You always feel kind of silly and old-fashioned when you told people it, but you couldn’t bare not to share this needless secret: life was incredible. It was unclear why the beauty of this place, or any place for that matter, was made private, something unusual to notice, even by those who lived there. What could you do but try to share it, to uncover the beauty inherent in everywhere God worked?
	But today, your thoughts were not on philosophy. Today, you were a girl running in paradise, and there was nothing you’d rather be. Invigorated by the perfection surrounding you, your legs accelerated, moving forward by leaps and bounds. You couldn’t help but to laugh gaily as you did so, running your hand across the outstretched leaves that lined the walkway. A tall, fallen log had set itself in your way, and like every time, you grinned as you prepared to clear it. Two feet away, you take one slower step, crouching down with it; then extend! You push the ground with all the might in your legs, and spring over the obstructer with practiced ease. You raise your arms in triumph, letting out a small “woo” through your heavy breathing. Not long after you see a landmark declaring the end of your journey.You could hear the spray in the distance, confirming the base’s close proximity to you.
	Not too long after, the entrance appeared in its distance, your eye trained to catch the trees near it. You run up to it, and duck under the heavy curtain. There you see your two best friends in the whole wide world. Sweetie Belle is setting up a tall mirror, which looks as if it folds in half. Near to her, leaning against one of the tent walls, is a thick roll of shiny material, looking somewhat like aluminum foil, except it’s almost three feet long and six inches thick. Your gaze wonderingly lingers on it, then passes to the other girl. Scootaloo stands casually over the thick flora coating most of the inner perimeter. Her back is to you, her head turned to the left, as she speaks with Sweetie. The weak deluge is missing the plants entirely, falling instead on the trees behind. Immediately you rush over to the nozzle of the jury-rigged container, and turn off the water. 
	“Come on, Scootaloo! You’re gonna waste all the water!” You chide her, remembering the struggle of bringing the water up from the stream. 
	“Oh. Sorry.” She responds, also recalling the need to be careful. She drops the house on the ground. “So Sweetie Belle had a different idea for today than we did.” You turn over to Sweetie, who’s successfully set up the mirror, just tall enough for each of you to see yourself in. 
	“Ah’m guessing it has something to do with that mirror.”
	“Not exactly,” Scootaloo replies, pointing to the large roll of the reflective material. Closer to it now, you can see your reflection more clearly. It’s a lot closer to a mirror than foil, your semi-sharp features visible on the surface of it, though somewhat warped due to the curvature of the roll.
	“Nope! That’s just because we need a little more homey feelings around here. Also, we could see if our Cutie marks are in make-up, or fashion!” Her voice squeaks, not unlike yours, on that last syllable. Scootaloo looks at you with both a grimace and eyes hoping you feel the same. You return the look; makeup and fashion are fine and all that, but it ain’t really your thing. Ah mean, for special occasions, yeah, but you aren’t aiming to make it a common thing. 
	“Alright, so what were you thinking?”
	“Well, instead of seeing if we could get our Cutie Marks in, uh, long-distance hiking,” her displeasure at the prospect is nearly palpable, “we could try dancing!” Scoots is skeptical, but you’ll hear her out. You were hankering for some exercise, something to do with your constant energy, but this seemed as good an option as hiking. 
	“Ah’m listenin’.”
	“Ok, well, I found this weird stuff in Rarity’s room today,” she explains, moving over to the roll. The sound it makes is metallic, confirming its similarity to aluminum. Gesturing inside the tent, she lugs it in, followed by the other two Crusaders. “I thought, hey, we could wrap the inner walls of the tent with this, make, like, a mirror room, and then have a dance party!” That sounds awesome!
	“That sounds awesome!” You shout, jumping up in excitement. Once you saw a music video for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and there was this one part where a guy got in a box that had its insides covered in mirrors, and he danced around with those airplane traffic directing flashlight things. The memory sparked immediately, and that was all you needed. You turn to Scootaloo, who still looks unimpressed.
	“Come on, isn’t it a little dark in here for that?” She does have a point. Not a bunch of light makes it through the tent walls; and even with the battery operated lamps you brought in, it’s still kinda dim. But Sweetie Belle has no such qualms.
	“Yeah, but that’s what makes it so great! Rarity took me to one of those dancing clubs for high schoolers up in Manhattan, and it was just as dark there.” Your mind veers off the debate while you wonder if Anon goes to those clubs. Maybe you could visit him sometime, and do that… Your finger drops off your lips, where it’d made its perch, and you tune back into your friends. 
	“I say we should take a vote,” declares the firm Sweetie, dead set on the dancing. 
	“Uh, ok…” comes the sullen agreement, the purple-haired youth far less sure of her victory than her marshmallowy opponent. She looks over at you, the only undecided party of the three. Her face is pleading as much as the face of a punky rebel can “Come on, AB, don’t you think that long-distance hiking is more likely to be your purpose than dancing? Think of all the runs we’ve had.” You were leaning pretty heavily towards dancing, but Scootaloo kind of has a point there. Hiking was something you really liked, and even though you liked dancing, you never felt like it was your thing.
	“Uh…” You look to Sweetie, ready to hear the other side.
	“Maybe she’s right, but I gotta bring this back today, before Rarity finds out its missing. And we can do that hiking thing any time. Besides, this could be my Cutie Mark, even if it isn’t yours.” An excellent rebuttal; you take the arguments as a means to unleash your inner desire to imitate Anthony Kiedis. 
	“Sorry Scootaloo. Gotta vote for dancing.” Sweetie Belle jumps up, performing the very rare mid-air, double fist bump combo.
	“Yesss!” Scootaloo shrugs, not as opposed to the idea of dancing as Sweetie Belle and you had thought. 
	“Fine. We’ll do the hiking thing next week.” Sweetie Belle’s cheerful façade falters for a moment as she realizes she hasn’t yet escaped the hike. But when she spies the mirror wallpaper, she grins again, happily anticipating the next few hours. Right as she and Scootaloo are about to unwrap it, she jerks her head up.
	“Hey!” She looks over at Scootaloo. “Don’t you have a disco light in your room?” Scootaloo nods, a huge grin forming on her face once she realizes Sweetie’s plan.
	“Yeah, I do. Here, let me go get it. Apple Bloom, can you get this for me?” You sure can. Scootaloo jogs out of the tent while you head over to Sweetie. The two of you discuss plans to coat the inside of the tent. The end plan is to just tape the end to one side of the tent’s door, then walk around the large, octagonal tent, taping the tops and bottoms to the walls and floors. That way, it’ll be solid, so you can just take off the tape and wrap it back up, instead of cutting it up. As you start the work, Sweetie Belle furtively asks you
	“So, is Anon still here?” Your heart beats a little bit faster as you answer.
	“Uh, yeah, he’s still here.” You’re suspicious of her eyes. They’re crinkled and squinty, while a thin smile spreads across her face, like she’s poking fun of something.
	“Oooooh,” she says, like it’s a juicy bit of gossip. Though considering how little time you spent around gossipers and juicy stuff, this was probably up there by your group’s standards. ”So, didja kiss him yet?” 	Your eyes widen, not expecting that question. You lean back, feeling your face burn. Sweetie Belle still has that conspiratorial look to her, unfazed by the horrified face of her best friend. “Did you kiss him yet? Or are you waiting for later?” So, when you heard that Anon would be visiting, you may have been a little bit excited to be living with an older boy from the city. And when he arrived, looking careless and exhausted from the train, you may have been just a teensy bit infatuated with him. The laid-back pose, the sunglasses; he was everything Rainbow Dash had taught you about coolness. And then, after he’d been injured and you’d tended to his lips… well, let’s just say that sharing your feelings with Sweetie Belle was a heat of the moment thing. And boy, was there a lot of heat. 
	“Uh, you know, Ah’m not even sure if Ah’m gonna.”  you answer your friend hesitantly, no longer feeling the passion of that moment. Sweetie looks stricken, and moves in close. 
	“But, you said you were gonna…” Yeah… there may have been a small plan to kiss him involved. In fact, there may have been a solid hour of plotting together with Sweetie and Scootaloo after walking in on Anon walking out of the shower. Sources state that that definitely might have been a factor. “You’d better get on it fast, before Scoots does.” your friend warns you, forming a pit in your stomach. 
	Scootaloo had mirrored your fierce desire, having been flirting with him since square one. She was up for helping you “get closer” –as had been the code word- since you’d started talking about him, but after seeing him, had become a fierce competitor. The thought of her kissing Anon, arms wrapped around each tightly, his hands slowly moving to- You shake your head, trying to get the thought out. Expectant eyes greet you as you exit the frightful fantasy, obligating you to answer. The inescapable "yes" of your desire to win Anon floats through your head, but you’re not ready to give into it just yet. You mean, what could you do? This wasn’t exactly an area you’d had a lot of expertise in.
	“But Ah’ve got no idea what to do! 
“Ah mean, what if he thinks Ah’m weird, or doesn’t wanna hang out with me?” You protest, your courage failing. 
>But while you were faltering, Sweetie stood straight before you, an iron will in her gaze.
	“Apple Bloom, you are AWESOME.” her voice cracks on the last word, as she closes her eyes to accent its importance, “He isn’t gonna think you’re weird, or not wanna hang out with you. Heck, if anything Rarity taught me is true, he’ll probably wanna hang out with you more.”  Her pep talk is slightly hindered by her very high-pitched voice, but the words are appreciated. “You want to kiss Anon, right?” You’re tempted to say no, the dramatization of a chance desire feeling out of place. The thought of Anon’s lips return to your mind, a rose-colored memory bringing out a happy smile from you. But still, this wasn’t the hyped up, heart-bursting crush your friend wanted to make it. Nevertheless, you did care for Anon; the fact that he lived inside such an awful tragedy broke your heart. And the fact that he could still be so strong throughout it, so kind and caring to you and everyone else. A soft sigh breaks through your smile: no doubt about it, your cousin was really something. Even though it wasn’t as consuming as your friends made it out to be, it definitely felt like more than an attraction to a cute boy. There was this weight to it; you’re not really sure how to describe it. But you’ve wanted to kiss boys before, and this was definitely deeper than that. This was Anon, not some boy. The cool kid from the city, the kind cousin who’d shared his heart, the silly boy who’d given you piggyback rides.
	Your attention falls from the rosy dreams, and problem of your feelings. What did you feel for Anon. There was a little bit of push from the other girls to make it into a crush. Heck, even a little bit from yourself; it just felt better to put a label on it, and it was fun to make something of it.
>So you assumed it was just a little crush, not entirely wanting to deal with the unknown. Still, treating it like this felt… you don’t know. Just kinda wrong.
>Problem was, you didn’t know if it was because you didn’t like him that much -Ah mean, it’s only been a couple days- or because you cared about him more than any of your other crushes. You groan inwardly, and put your attention of the uncomfortable topic and back on Sweetie’s query. That was definitely something you could be sure of: you wanted to kiss him. Heck, maybe it’d even clear things up for you. Despite worrying about your deep affection appearing as the latest turn of a capricious heart, you affirm your friend.
	“Yeah, Ah do.”
	“Well then go get it! He’d be lucky to have you do it.” You grin at your friend, genuinely appreciating the cheers. You bring her into a hug, thanking her for the support, and promising
	“Sure. Soon as I get the chance. Now can we get this mirror stuff going?” 
	“Oh yeah.” Her position, two fists pumped and in front of her, fades as she goes from encourager to worker. Together the two of you steadily roll out the shiny wrap, taping it as you go. It falls just short of the top of the tent walls, but it suffices. Just as you’re about to finish up, you hear a rustling and a crank of the hose. You’re guessing Scootaloo’s back. The two of you turn towards the door of the tent, while some water hits the side of the tent, then falls off as the pressure decreases.
	“Guys, it’s Anon!” The third musketeer’s voice comes from outside the tent, sounding giddy. What in tarnation- did she bring him here?? You trade shocked, then excited looks with Sweetie Belle, then come bounding out of the tent. You’re met with Scootaloo and only Scootaloo. She’s posing, turned to the side, while holding up one arm and flexing it; the other arm is busy holding the hose… right between her legs. The green tube went under her legs, and twelve inches protrude from just beneath her groin, gripped by a small hand. Spurts of water push out, the sign of a mostly empty water container. You and your innocent friend stare transfixed at the sight, now grunting and flexing in different positions, the impromptu phallus swinging around her thighs. The presence of water on your shoes breaks the daze, and you run up and start smacking her on the back.
	“CONSARNIT SCOOTALOO, THAT AIN’T FUNNY!” you screech, while your purple-haired friend laughs off your open-handed blows. Sweetie Belle disagrees, laughing at your fury, until you give her the death glare. 
	“Come on Apple Bloom, it was a joke.” You lay off the assault, instead turning away from both of them. You tilt your nose into the air, mustering all your vocal might to produce a loud: 
	“Hmph!” 
	“You can’t stay mad at me forever, babe.” The voice of Scootaloo says, moving closer to you. You feel something on the back of your leg, something wet. You look down, seeing the metal head of the hose brush past the inner, upper portion of your thigh just as Scootaloo presses into your back.
	“Ah!” you shout, getting a whole lotta air as you leap away from your friend. The other girls erupt in laughter, while you try to hide your crimson face. After a bit of howling and cringing pass, you feel the hand of Scootaloo touch your shoulder.
	“Apple Bloom?”
	“What?” you sullenly reply.
	“Do you forgive me?” You look at her, not answering. A slight glare makes her take one step back. She raises her eyebrows, and offers a new question. “What if I told you I had a peace offering?” 
	“Ah’m listening.” Her right arm appears from behind her, a fist clutching a dozen glowsticks, with at least twice as many glowstick bracelets and necklaces dangling from her forearm. Yup, you forgive her. Grinning, you nod and walk towards the opening, your friend at your side. A small punch helps to push away the stubborn dregs of your animosity, and the two of you enter into your private dance hall. Sweetie bell in on a step latter, disco ball in hand. The multi-colored light has a thin rope tied to its base, the other end of the rope being hooked onto the tallest part of the tent. Successful, she clicks the switch on the side, igniting the pendulous ball with bright spheres of color. The bright spears fly in every direction of the tent, reflected by every wall. The spinning of the disco and the swinging of the ropes creates a perfect chaos in the reflecting lights. Scoots doesn’t wait a minute before doling out the glowsticks, and the three of you get down. 
	Scootaloo starts off with her signature: the chicken dance. Hands ball up and are wedged into her armpits, the elbows flapping up and down, while she violently throws her head forward and back. Through the thick music Sweetie Belle has put on, loud bawcks can be heard. That being a good place as any, you and your non-dancing bff join the wildly gesticulating girl, throwing up kicks and jumping around as the beat demands. You’re the first to break out of the classic, going freestyle. Many lessons learned from repeated viewings of Napoleon Dynamite and the dancing sequences of Hot Rod, you limber up and mimic the skilled dancers. You spread your legs out, then wave your arms in wide arcs: palms lands face down on the side of your legs, then fly up and clap above your head, then repeat to the tune. Sweetie Belle, always a fan of pantomimes, engages in The Shopping Cart. She bounces up and down to the music, both hands forward and curled, as if holding a shopping cart. She looks from side to side as she slowly walks forward, then looks surprised and mimes taking something off a shelf before returning to the usual dance. Following her lead, Scootaloo hunches over and grips an imaginary walker. She squints heavily and constantly grunts, ever few seconds moving the imaginary walker an inch or two forward, then taking a tiny step. A perfect rendition of The Old Man. 
	You aren’t gonna be left out, so you run between your friends, and try The Sprinkler. You stand on one leg, the other bent back with the knee pointing down and your hand gripping the heel, like that one stretch in gym class. You place your other hand on the back of your head and push it forward and down at the same time that you move your knee up and forward, all the while trying to rotate your body clockwise. You get one or two good iterations there before you lose your balance and fall down. Not a small amount of dirt has clung to you as you rise and hear laughing behind you, the tomboyish voice of Scootaloo claiming ability. She makes it a good three iterations before she too falls. Sweetie Belle abstains wholly, not aiming for the somewhat filthy clothes of you and your friend. A three-person wave is attempted, then halted due to being kind of lame. 
	You and your friends party in the most radical club in town, possibly the state, not worrying about the possibility of other finding you. You spring up and down in buoyant maneuvers, loving the expression of the happiness and excitement so natural to you. As you leap across the floor, twirling as you do it, you take a moment to sigh with happiness. You’ve got your two best friends in the most awesome secret base ever, and Sweetie made it into a dance party not even the middle school dance could keep up with. Sweetie and Scootaloo were the best friends you could ask for, you thought to yourself, as you went up and pulled them into a hug. The hug was returned, followed by an impromptu triple can-can. A couple hours of dancing pass, the three of you trying every move you could remember and teaching it if you were capable enough. 
	Finally, you collapsed onto the dirty ground, not caring about the state of your clothes. Scootaloo falls to the ground right beside you, placing her hands on top of her head to provide some elevation. Just as you mimic her, Sweetie Belle lays down on top of you and your purple-haired pal, citing some worry about not getting close dirty.
	“Well, why’d you wear them if you knew we were coming to the secret base,” Scootaloo says. Sweetie turns over to you, possible expecting some support.
	“Uh… she kinda has a point there.” Sweetie looks up to the ceiling, answering.
	“I told you guys, me and Rarity are going out tonight. She’d want me to wear something nice, and this means I don’t have to change into something later.” Remembering her appointment, she looks at the small, crystal watch on her left wrist, which reads 4:00. “Oh geez! Guys we gotta go!” She jumps off the pinned bodies of you and Scootaloo, who immediately follow. With haste, the three of you remove the tape from the mirrored walls and roll it back up. Looks fine. Mostly fine. There’s a couple sticky spots where the tape was, but Rarity wouldn’t notice, right? Yeah, probably not. Scootaloo turns off the disco ball but leaves it:
	“I think this is a pretty awesome thing to have here. We should just leave it.”
	“Ah was thinking the same thing.” Sweetie Belle interrupts the appreciative looks at the Crusader’s new light fixture. She’s trying to pick up the silver roll, but having trouble.
	“Come on guys, we gotta go!” The two of you fly over to help your friend, eager to ease the load. Six hands on it, the three of you head out the tent flaps and the secret entrance. Back in the forest, you hustle back to the established walking path, heading home.
	“How we looking, Sweetie?” 
	“Huh?” she responds, not understanding your question.
	“Are you gonna be late?”
	“Oh.” She looks at her watch again, then turns, smiling, to you. “No, I think we’re good. I guess I’d thought it’d take longer to pack up.” You nod your head, glad that she won’t be late. A song subtly enters your mind, your step unconsciously matching its cadence. Feeling that light comfort and ease that comes from good friends, you feel free to open your mouth and let the words out. As you happily sing, the other girls end up joining you, familiar also: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ggzxInyzVE. The three of you bounce up and down the walking path as your voices reach the heavens, a smile on every face. Coming closer to the landmark declaring your journey half over, a fourth voice crosses your ears. The three of you stop singing, turning to each other with questions of “who’s that?” and “did you hear that?” A moment of silence later brings the return:
	“Yes, ma’am. Right this way ma’am.” The three of you continue vacillating between staring at each other, dumbstruck and searching for the owner. Not a moment later, two older men emerge from the path ten yards up. They’re balding, each with pencil mustaches, fancy suits and giant girly backpacks. Their eyes look mostly shut, and their heads are tilted up. As they near you, one casts a haughty eye down at you, saying in unison with the other:
	“How do you do?” Sweetie Belle stares open-mouthed, not sure how to respond to characters you’d only see in the dream. Scootaloo mutters a quiet 
	“What the fuck…” and you mirror the greeting.
	“Fine, thanks. How are ya?” Absurd as this is, you knew to be polite. Especially on fancy occasions or to fancy people, since it was more important to them. The two gentlemen nod at your question, then turn back to the trail behind them. The mystery is solved by the presence of your only enemies, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. They’re dressed similar to Sweetie Belle, pink and purple costumes to match the huge backpacks on their manservants. The frilly girls move up to your group, sneers growing like the distaste in your stomach. This wasn’t going to end pleasantly. It never did.
	“Well well well, if it isn’t the Cutie Mark Losers.” Diamond Tiara says, stepping into your personal space. You sigh, wishing she wasn’t here to ruin your day. 
	“Hello, Diamond Tiara.” Sweetie Belle just looks off to the side, while Scootaloo tries to stifle a glare, partly successful.
	“So what are you doing in my woods?” At this, the growing anger of Scootaloo comes out in a bitter correctiuon.
	“These woods aren’t yours. Your dad doesn’t own everything, you know.” She’s met with a bigger sneer than the one Diamond had begun with, her face distorting with contempt.
	“Well, he might as well. And who knows, maybe he’ll buy it for me some time?” You can’t help but respond to the ridiculous idea.
	“Why would he give ya a forest? That’s kind of a dumb gift, if ya ask me.” 
	“No-one’s asking you,” Silver Spoon interjects, trying to mimic her friend’s tone and sneer. You glare at her, your limited patience with these bullies running out already. Silver narrows her eyes and takes a step towards you before Diamond Tiara stops her.
	“Hold on Silver, you don’t want to get to close to these girls. You’ll get their stink on you.” Her cohort wears a cruel grin, then backs up. 
	“What's that supposed to mean?” Scootaloo growls, her hands leaving the roll and clenching.
	“Why, you. I mean, look at you. You’re absolutely disgusting!” 
	“Revolting!” Silver affirms, nodding her head.
	“No wonder you losers are always alone with each other. Nobody would want to be your friend.” Diamond goes on, searching for sensitive spots. A flash of fear and increased rage on Scootaloo’s face tells her she’s found it. “And you can just give up on getting a boyfriend; nobody’d ever want a trashy punk like you, that hick, and a girl that isn’t a tenth as pretty as her older sister.” 
	“Shut up!” you shout, your anger matching Scootaloo’s. “That ain’t true!” Though she aimed to prod Scootaloo, Diamond Tiara is pleased to find an outburst from another. A dersisive smirk coats her face as she taunts you.
	“Oh really? Has any of you ever been on a date?” You’re speechless, not knowing how to respond, apart from giving in. 
	“Yeah, I thought so.” You try to hold Scootaloo back, knowing that she doesn’t react well to these two. Her beastly visage looks at you, the tears in your eyes bringing her back. But only for a moment. Scootaloo was a scrappy kid; growing up in this part of town, confrontations involved more fists and nails than up-turned noses. And as is the case for most disreputable junktowns, however paradoxically, respect was a severely important subject. Scootaloo had won it several times, at the cost of nothing more than a couple of scars. As such, she wasn’t used to disrespect, except from the occasional snot-nosed child who didn’t know better. But then the school system expanded, to include her neighborhood. As she transitioned to a higher standard of living, now involved in a respectable school –not the unqualified excuse she’d been previously appointed for-, she’d had to learn quickly that fights didn’t solve much. And gaining friends, she’s begun to bear insults directed towards her, learning to live with that sinful disrespect. You’d spent all that time with her, trying to show her that violence wasn’t the way, and that turning the other cheek was the right thing to do. And for the most part, she’d grown into that, bearing a patience you’d never dreamed of when you’d first met that grungy girl at that party.
	But there were still things sacred to her, things that couldn’t be harmed without an undeniable call of justice. Sweetie Belle and yourself were two of these things. Seeing the former so sullen and defeated, and the latter trying to maintain peace through her tears, Scootaloo returned to the teachings of her youth. Swift legs brought her forward, fist ready to rearrange Diamond’s face. But before the nose-job could be completed, one of the fancy men stepped in front of her, gripping her shoulders. With a quick twist, she’s thrown back, falling into a nearby mud puddle. You cry out, running to help her friend up. Almost there, Diamond Tiara’s foot reached out, tripping you. She was sent into the mud as well, landing on top of an anguished Scootaloo. Head ringing, you miss whatever proud insult the villains were sending your way. Scootaloo struggled to get out from under you, but you tried to keep her down; even if all you could do was prevent further confrontation, you’d settle for that. You just wanted this to be over.
	With two girls in tears, and one baring her teeth in fury, the royal brat ordered her servants to keep moving. Pleased at the victories, but slightly afraid of Scootaloo, she and Silver Spoon walk away with their heads held high, but don’t continue their scorn. You take one hand off your cargo and place it on Scootaloo’s shoulder, hoping to keep her from pursuing them. Sweetie’s looking at the path beyond the girls, hair covering her eyes and obscuring her mood. 
	“Come on guys. Let’s just go.” She mutters, a blank lowness to her voice, rather than the usual energy and exuberance that could be found in it. The three of your look down, trying to ignore the continued jeers of the hateful girls echoing through your heads. You trudge on, ruminating on the ruination of what could have been a perfect day.	Spurts of conversation come occasionally, each of you trying to spark some happiness back in the group. But each attempted ignition ends in failure: The day was too good, and thus the fall too far to be resolved by any light conversation. It wasn’t for lack of trying; nobody wanted to stay in that darkened mood. But the continued experience of those two girls, the cruelty taken for years and years weighed heavy on all shoulder. Heads bowed, even your own bow feeling as though it drooped, the Cutie Mark Crusaders made their way into the home Scootaloo. No sooner than you’d returned to the house than Rarity entered through the other side. Spotting Sweetie Belle, she immediately grew worried over her clothing.
	“My goodness, Sweetie Belle! What happened to your clothing?” Fashion wasn’t the first thing on the dull-eyed girls mind, and so she murmured some automatic explanation of outside play. She seems still concerned, but her eyes fall on the other dejected girls. With all sincerity, she replies “Well, I hope you had fun. Now, let’s get you home and changed.” Sweetie mumbles an affirmation, and grimly smiles at you and Scootaloo as she waves goodbye and follows Rarity. But the older girl pauses, seeing the roll Scootaloo is leaning against the wall. 
	“Is that my…” Her brow furrows, spying the minor theft. But when she looks down at Sweetie, whose gaze is firmly stuck on the wall opposite Rarity. You see a slight grimace, but she says nothing more; she simply walks over, tucks it under her arm, and continues walking out. You had to give it to Rarity; in the past, she’d probably have thought only of the state of Sweetie’s clothes and her material, perhaps even give a lecture on the importance of cleanliness and not messing with her things. Though it didn’t seem it, you could see that she noticed the Crusader’s unhappiness, and was trying to cheer Sweetie Belle up with the sister-date. She didn’t always know how to act around Sweetie, being somewhat tasked with both sisterly and motherly roles, not fully reconcilable; but you could see she tried. You hope Sweetie noticed, and hoped that she would be cheered up.
	Watching the regal gait of the older girl and her formal attire, you think back to your sorry state. Getting dirty rarely bothered you; in fact, it was a sign of a successful day in the woods. To go into that magical paradise and not come out carrying some of it with you was silly, a sign of restraint in one of the few places where perfect freedom can be found. But your usual position wasn’t held now. Somehow the badge of successive, of utilization that freedom to play like a child, had become a sign of shame. The words of your opponents return to your mind: nobody would ever want you, nobody would ever date you… A bolt of shock runs you through, as the memory of your guest returns. None of your family would mind if you came home looking like that; you were Apple Bloom, and that was just what you did.
	But there was another member of your household, a new family member. You didn’t know what he’d think. The jeers of the oppressors haunt your mind, conjoined with horrible fantasies of a disgusted-looking Anon. You bolt past Scootaloo, working through the filled household until you find the shower. AJ would be here any minute, but you can’t risk coming home like this. Even if you were you fly directly to the shower, he might see you. And though you would feel free on any other day to walk proudly with your grimy exterior, the guest and the bullies convince you to take another course of action. You immediately strip and turn the nozzle. Holding back a shriek as the cold water slaps your bare body, you grasp the soap with a nervous swipe. 
	The shower takes too long, your motions doubled in an attempt to be as clean as possible. When you finally finish, having taken no pleasure from the usually comfortable experience of a shower, you hear the voice of AJ downstairs. Judging by the answer, you deduce that she’s talking to Rainbow Dash. You say a quiet prayer of thanks; that marks a lessened probability of wait-induced irritability, and you’re too fragile right now to bear a lecture. Drying off, you slip back into your clothes, looking at yourself in the mirror. You look alright. Certainly better than you did before. Anxiously, you hop down the stairs to see AJ and her close friend deep in conversation. Your sister turns to you and smiles, apparently in good spirits:
	“Hey Apple Bloom. Ready to go?” You nod slowly.
	“Yeah. Let me just say g’bye to Scootaloo.” You turn back to the hallway, walking over to your fellow crusader’s room. She’s nose-deep into one her comics, sitting in a great bean bag chair next to a massive pile of Batman’s adventures. A twig falls from her still grimy head as she pulls up, smiling faintly.
	“So, my sis is here.”
	“Yeah, I heard.” You match her sad smile, trying to pull some encouragement out of the situation. 
	“Sorry our trip got all crappy at the end.” 
	“Yeah, they really fucked it up. But before that, it was pretty radical.” You feel a little better when you think of the day before that meeting. The girl’s words were empty, mostly devoid of living emotion.
>But there was a small amount, the hint of a heart beginning to recover.
	“Totally. We should see if we can snag Rarity’s stuff again.” She sighs, but looks more content than before. 
	“Well, I’ll see ya. Still on for tubing tomorrow?” A small but genuine smile, revolting against the pall upon your spirits, rolls across her face. 
	“Yeah.” 
 At least two crusaders were beginning to shrug off the heavy weight. There's not much else you can do for her. Wishing you could do something to heighten her spirits, you close the door behind you. Thinking about tomorrow, and the adventures (hopefully to include Anon), helps lift your spirits. Unfortunately, it isn’t quite enough to dispel it entirely, but it is held off a bit. Heading down to Applejack, holding up a happy visage for her. You don’t want her to worry about something she can’t fix. She sends a goodbye in Rainbow’s direction, then the two of you hop in the idling truck. 
	“Boy, you missed a good meal and a lot of fun.” AJ says happily, obviously having had a pretty good day at home. 
	“What’d ya have?” 
	“Anon made this clam-spaghetti thing. Honestly, I had my doubts, but it was actually pretty good.” Surprise paints itself across your face, your understanding of Anon not including cooking skill.
	“He can cook?”
	“He sure can.” She looks at you and smiles conspiratorially, not unlike the look Sweetie had given you earlier. “Maybe if you ask him real nicely, he’ll make something for you.” The wink goes unnoticed, your mind filled with thoughts of Anon cooking for you. You try to hide a guilty grin out the window, the eyes resting on the house in the distance. Coming closer, you can see the individual glows of each window, and try to guess which one shines on Anon. The heavy feeling of your day and the continual conversation and thoughts of Anon drive you up to his room once the car parks. Amid the grinding noise of the truck’s wheels over the gravel, you small body creates its own crunch as you hop out before the car’s stopped. And without thinking, you find yourself at the door of your cousin, Anon Orange.

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	“Is that it?” you whine, your Captain Falcon flying off the screen. “You left out all the best parts!”
	“No Ah didn’t. Ah told you about my secret base didn’t I?” Apple Bloom returns. You nod, understanding that secret bases are indeed the coolest thing in the world.
	“Ok, yeah, that was rad. But I wanna hear who you have a crush on.” The question burned in your mind ever since she mentioned the subject of the discussion, then skipped to the dance party. It just felt important. 
	“Ah don’t have one. Not really.” Her commitment to the first statement wanes with the second, a hint you pick up on.
	“Not really, huh? Then why did you say you and your friends discussed crushes?” She falters, leaving her Pichu open to your Falcon Punch. You didn’t get the answer you wanted, but hey, you won. She looks away from you, then notices the clock on the wall.
	“Oh hey, look at the time, we better get goin’.” You want to want to press forward, but she quickly diverts your train of thought. Her small hand, a little warm from handling her joystick, grabs yours. You’re led towards the exit, reduced to the singular function of following the pull of that soft touch. Captain Falcon and Pichu pulse in place as their operators disappear behind the opaque door of their home. The air outside is barely chilly, only a faint breeze reminding you that this is indeed night. Though you feel you don’t need your coat, Apple Bloom reports a different feeling by pressing close into you. Pushing for off for a moment, you pull of your black coat, then place it over her shoulders. And though it’s still a little dark, you can make out the crimson crescent on her face. You pull up your sleeves, folding them in at the elbow; the temperature permits it, and you prefer that look anyway. Not a minute passes before she’s at your side again, merging her space with yours. Apparently your coat didn’t do quite the trick. Her right arm attaches itself to the small of your back, your own left responding by coating her shoulders. 
	The distance to the theater was about a block away, the distance feeling far too short for you. But you pushed thoughts and musing of brevity from your mind, resolving instead to enjoy this walk with her. It almost felt too good, like you shouldn’t be so happy to hold your Apple Bloom on a simple walk like this. But any guilt you had over your potentially excessive joy was melted when Sweetie raises her left hand and weaves her fingers through the hand laying over her shoulder. She does it naturally, as if it would be odd for her hand to be anywhere else. Over these days, you’ve felt this sense of belonging unparalleled to your own home; Apple Bloom gave you similar sense of belonging, like your rightful place was next to her. 
	Together, you walked into the movie theatre. The clerk gave you a wink as you bought the tickets, informing you that you can get a great view in the upper left seats. Flustered, you thanked him and tucked the tickets in your pockets. Realizing that you’re going to need them in a minute, you take them back out, not noticing Apple Bloom’s concentrated look, which began at the clerk’s advice. Before that, you need some popcorn. Turning to her wide golden suns, you ask her if she wants anything. She wants some soda, and some candy, as reported by the meek voice. Your own voice translates the message to the deadeyed vendor. Her orders carried out, you and your date step over to the ticket collector, sick gains in hand. Fumbling with your mad loot, you manage to hand him the tickets. He waves you by, and the two of you proceed. She steps ahead of you, eagerly pulling you along. As you pass by the middle section, you tug Apple Bloom back.
	“Hey, where are you going?”
	“Well, the guy said the best seats were up here.” She responds, biting her lip and looking directly at you. You can’t help but laugh at her innocence.
	“Bloom, he thought we were dating. You only sit up there if you’re planning on making out.” You pull her into the middle seats, noticing her pout. “Trust me, Apple Bloom, those seats are the same as these. She mumbles something, but you don’t hear it. To ease her small pout, you lift up the arm-rest divider, then bring your right arm over her hand and around her neck, pulling it close. There’s a little bit of fear that you’re over-reaching, but the way she snuggles into you help to put your pessimism at ease. Neither of you breaks out of the close connection through the entire movie.
	You don’t pay too much attention to the movie. It was nice to see Dory and Marlin again; not so much Nemo, though. It’s kind of repetitive thought. You get déjà vu like, five times. Still, it was a pretty good movie overall. The jump scares were definitely appreciative, since they sent Apple Bloom dive into your chest, squeezing you tightly. She looked pretty into it, as far as you could tell. Still, there were a couple of times that she’d take her eyes off the screen and look at you for a minute, usually after the jump-scare-hugs. Your eyes met hers and smiled, hugging her tightly and looking back at the screen. You were glad you came, the date feeling like it was a good plan. And as far as you could tell, she was feeling better than she was when your gaming had been interrupted so long ago. 
	The credits roll, and an attempt to stand up is met with your date pulling you right back down. 
	“Sup?” Blonde, wide eyes can still be made out in the blackened room.
	“There might be something after,” comes the voice in the dark, to which you assent to the wait. All it really meant was that the embrace could continue. And so she remains close in your arms for a few more minutes, the ravings of an orchestra accompanying a scroll of unknown names. After a lovely minutes, a small ounce of movie is revealed, then the screen goes completely dark. You turn to the girl sitting half in the chair beside yours and half in your lap, her face so close to yours. Her face is almost blank, except for a curious intensity in her eyes, heavily focused on yours. Some sentence concerning leaving freezes in your throat, then dissipates as you fall into her eyes. The intense look continues for a moment, before her eyes fall to your lips, and yours to hers. Just as the realization that you’re moving forward hits, you sit up quickly, still flustered. What are you thinking? This wasn’t what you came here to do!
	Outside of your attention, three looks cycle through Apple Bloom’s face: disappointment, determination, and then the sweet, happy look that is most often found. You look down to see her blithe expression, not looking as disappointed or uncomfortable as you’d thought. It’s almost as if it didn’t happen to her, a position you found ideal, though perhaps not particularly comfortable. She got up and dusted herself off, and throws out the trash with you. Her hand reaches yours again, and a happy look accompanies a genuine thanks:
	“Thanks for taking me here, Anon. I had a lot of fun.” Ok, she seems happy to you; you’ll go with that. You walk with her, pushing down the feeling of remorse, pretending you didn’t just miss out. And as you enter into the still comfortable night air, nothing could be further from your understanding than the devious plot behind her soft eyes. Heading to the care, she gives into the grin, that kind of grin one has to have whenever one makes a brilliant plan, just when you aren’t looking. You step into the luxury car, seeing your date enter from the other side, all cunning hidden behind an honest happiness. The key turns, and the car wakens, ready to transport an Apple and an Orange safely home. 	
	Back in the caddy, you and Apple Bloom relax in your seats, which are practically lounge chairs. Though it’s only about 9:30, the roads are mostly empty. Probably has something to do with this town being so small. That works for you; that sweeping black road stretching beyond sight is far lovelier than some kaleidoscope of differently colored boxes, all honking in their angry lateness. A relaxed happiness enters into your body as you gaze into the infinite gravel rushing to meet your bumper. Your dad has a Cadillac, one you were allowed to drive a long time ago. It was a bit older, but handled and felt similarly to this one. Whenever you could find the time and permission, you’d fill it up with gas and just drive. It didn’t matter where you went, just that you were going. The current ride had a similar tone, only it had less to do with escaping, and more to do with wanting this moment to last. Your head turns, the lax figure of a happy Bloom entering view. A hope flutters in your chest, the wish for her gentle comfort to mirror yours, with no desire beyond this moment. 
	Your hands lightly grip the thin wheel, moving on autopilot as you turn to strange streets and unknown neighborhoods. Idly, the right moves over to the radio and turns the knob. Music fills the car, and a smile fills Bloom’s face. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZ8wVKPUN_g. Once a few verses pass, the song is remembered, and you can’t help but mirror Bloom’s expression. It’d been a long time since you’d heard these guys, way too long. Apple Bloom turns to you, her excitement making every word seem to bounce off her lips and into your blessed ears. 
	“Hey, so ya do ever listen to a single album or song or whatever while doing something, and than everytime you do that thing or listen to that song, it reminds ya of the other thing?” After thinking for a few seconds, the meaning becomes clear, and memory retrieves examples.
	“Yeah. Like, I listened to a bunch of RHCP back in middle school, and now the band always reminds me of 7th grade.” 
	“Yeah yeah,” she nods her head, bouncing as much as one can bounce in a car, “that’s it. So, Ah got that for this album, ‘specially this song.” Your look at her with interest, a bit excited to hear another story from her. “Alright, so waay back in sixth grade, Big Mac was trying to paint our fence all by himself -Ah think AJ was feeling sick or something- and he was just making this huge mess a things. Like, he was tryin’ ta go real fast, but there were a ton of missed spots, paint all over the nearby bushes and ground, and he still wasn’t anywhere near finishing. So Ah went up and told him that he was doin’ an awful job, even though AJ was tellin’ me to leave him alone. He looked real mad for a second, then just sat down and laughed.” She laughs too, transported to that happy moment. 
	“He tells me that he guesses he ain’t doin’t it right, an’ Ah offer to help. Still takes us like two days –that fence is huuuge-“ here she spreads her arms wide and opens her eyes as much as possible to stress the size, “but the whole time we were listening to Third Eye Blind.” She closes her eyes to better take in the faded scene. “Ah can still remember sittin’ by the wall, eating some of the apples that fell off the tree. This song was on then, an it’s the one Ah most remember.” 
	“That sounds pretty amazing,” you respond, gleaning some joy just by bearing near the fount of such. 
	“It really was,” comes the voice of your beaming cousin, eyes still glazed in reverie. You take a moment to appreciate it, understanding that these moments with your beautiful date are limited. Gosh, she looks beautiful right now; her gaze is tuned to some spot in the distant night sky. Her lips are curved, not in the delight that is so often found in her, but in a subtler way, a result of nostalgia’s soft bite. Turning back to the road, a potential destination rises in your memory, and you bring it to Apple Bloom.
	“Hey, did you still want ice cream?” She looks at you thoughtfully, then shakes her head.
	“Nah, let’s get that some other time. Ah’m pretty sure they’re closed by now anyway.” She’s probably right. But now that the topic of ends are at hand, you can’t help but as the only question that follows.
	“So what do you wanna do now? We could go home,” your tempo slows almost to a crawl at this option, then immediately speeds up as you try to shift attention to the preferred one, “or we could just drive around for a bit. You don’t have a bedtime during the summer, do you?” 
	“Ah do, but Ah don’t think it’ll matter tonight, just as long as we don’t come home around one in the morning, or something.” Your heart soars as the eventual green light, jumping to the conclusion that she’ll want to keep the night going. She continues looking thoughtful, then flashes the sly look from before.
	“Sure,” she says to the latter option. “Sounds fun. But there’s something Ah wanna do before we go home.”
	“Oh? What’s that?” The sly smile only grows when she responds.
	“It’s a secret.” You’re at a total loss here. You push the mystery out of mind for a moment, due to a lack of leads. If the trail gets hot, you’ll try to follow it later. 
	“Well, alright then.” The song changes to some weird indie song, so you turn the dial some more. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfOdWSiyWoc. 
	“Oh! Oh! Ah was just talking about this song today!” 
	“Really?”
	“Yeah! It’s like, the best song ever!” You can’t dispute her there: these guys have some pretty dope songs. Both you and Apple Bloom do your best to dance within seatbelts, with very limited success. A whole lot of bouncing and mangled attempts to sing along to the word salad lyrics ferry you through the end of the city proper and into some unlighted farm road. The lack of light alarms you a bit, and start looking for a place to turn around. 
	“Hold on, I think I got myself lost.” To your surprise, Apple Bloom corrects you.
	“No, you’re fine. This is on the way to that thing.” Ok, now you’re totally lost.
	“Bloom, what even…” She looks to you, a faint pleading in her eye.
	“Trust me, Anon.”
	“You sure you’re not pulling my leg?”
	“Ah’m sure.” You squint a little, as is apropos her, then shrug. Attention back on the road, the next song comes up. The first notes of some Creed song bleed from the speakers, eliciting a groan and change from you. Next up is some classical station, playing some morose melody: https://youtu.be/oL_HFnnywEU?t=7m17s. An idea pops inside your head, something you’d do while driving around the city and suburbs at night. You’d done it with friends sometimes, even convinced a couple girls to cut loose and do it. You switch the boring music off, then replace the silence with your own tone.
	“Hey Bloomers.” There’s no need to move, her gazed is already focused on you. 
	“Yes?” 
	“You wanna know how to be a cool kid?” She chuckles a bit, then nods earnestly.
	“Ah was actually hoping you’d teach me.” You roll your window down, the tepid air flowing into your car. Then, confirming that your cruise control is on, you unbuckle your seat belt and lean forward. Your right hand grips the top of the wheel alone, the left holding the edge of the window. Then. You stand up as much as you can, pushing your head and most of your torso out the window. Then, making sure your car is headed straight, you tilt your head back and howl.
	“Awoooooo!” You can hear her cracking up down in the cab. Twisting a little bit, your bring your left hand over the roof and bang on it. “Come on, get on up here!” More laughter, then a sunrise of red, made into a deep crimson by the darkness, rising up the passenger side. Soon you can make out her sunny face, illuminated by the light from the cab. You turn to the road, making sure you’re still going straight, then look back at your date. Her hair is flying back, no doubt messing up a lot of work, but she doesn’t seem to care at all. Showing her pearly whites to you first, she follows your lead. 
	“Awooooooooooo!” Her hands having a freedom yours lack, she raises them high. Starting to get worried about your driving, you sit back down, but still find the time to poke your head out. She continues sitting of the edge of the window, one leg folded on her seat and the other extending in the lighted matt below. After a couple more, she comes back to the cab, still convulsing with giggles. You put on the most serious face you can –not very, given your high spirits- and inform her with eyebrows raised:
	“That’s how you do it.” The light staccato of her continued laughter warms your heart, then gradually fades into a beaming crescent stretching her cheeks. Suddenly, as her look lazily touches the road, she turns to you with near-alarm.
	“Slow down, slow down!” You check your speed with newfound alertness, scared of having driven too fast. But nope, you’re still going just above the speed limit. Still, your foot eases off the gas and switches to the brake. Apple Bloom scans the road with stern fervor, as if something were to pop out of the thick walls of grain any second. It’d escaped your notice, but the entire field of vision swelled with the ripe stalks. Not that you could be blamed or anything; the rest of your vision contained a 1987 Cadillac Brougham and Apple Bloom. How could you be expected to notice anything besides? A few long moments pass, the expectation of a soon-found prize giving why to inquisitiveness over your now crawling car.
	“What is it?” Not even a twitch of her head accompanies her slow reply.
	“Almost there…” Her strict vigilance prevents her from receiving the confusion your raised eyebrow sends. But it doesn’t really matter, as the shrug of your shoulders suggest. Another minute of slow driving finally yield a response.
	“Stop!” It’s a little patch along the side of the road, a dirt rectangle carved out of the field. Well, it doesn’t really answer any questions, but at least it promises to. 
	“There?” You ask, and she confirms your destination. The caddy’s parked in the spot and turned off, taking up about a quarter of it. Opening the door, you get out of the car and look around. Still nothing. Apple Bloom opened her door at the same time, then paused. Checking to make sure you weren’t looking, she turns the radio on and at full blast. A little present for when you turn the car back then. After she sets up the prank, she exits the car too, then crosses over to your baffled person. The only answer is a coy look and a hand grabbing yours. Leading you to the wall of dark grain, she steps into it, bringing you with her. The pre-wheat leaning in does a good job of hiding it, but there’s a small walkway of dirt and crushed greenery, just large enough to walk through with minimal obstruction. As you’re led, you recall the movie Signs, and how it’d scare you right now if it was a scary movie. But soon enough, another small clearing meets your eye. It’s another dirt square, about ten yards on all sides. In the middle is what looks like a picnic bench, one of those things you see at parks. There’s two rectangles for sitting sandwiching a larger one, all made of plastic and connected but metal bars underneath. 
	“Ok, I still don’t get it.”
	“Ah tried stargazing with the CMC, but it ended up in a two-hour game of tag in the field. An’ since they didn’t wanna do it again, Ah never really got the chance.” A step closer brings her body into contact with yours, her big eyes asking you to believe the unbelievable. “So Ah figured you could help me out with that.”
	“With stargazing.”
	“Yup.” You can see her wrestling with her lips, trying to keep a straight face. And naturally, you don’t believe her for a second. But her chest is ever-so-slightly pressed into yours, and you’re completely fine with stargazing with her, so you play your part.
	“Okay,” you say, barely stifling a laugh. “Let’s go see if you’re an astronomer.” Her chest departs from yours when she swings over to your side and grabs your arm. Walking alongside her, you reach the table and fall back on it, dangling your legs from the edge. Eh, not as comfy as you want. You scooch yourself up, bringing most of your legs onto the surface. She mirrors you, lying closely to you. Your arms touch, but that’s far too little contact for you. Time for the moves. Thankful that Orion’s out, you draw on your sparse knowledge of astronomy;
	“So, I actually know some constellations. Thing is, it’s kind of hard to point at something and have someone else see it, since they might see you pointing at something else. I can’t exactly remember why, but I think it has something to do with the angle of perception. Anyway, it doesn’t really work unless you’re looking straight down the person’s arm. So here, let me just-“ You let the sentence fade into the air as you move a bit closer, moving her arm under her neck. She lifts her head, allowing the intimate touch, and you pull her closer. Now your elbow is just beyond her neck, so when you point to the sky, your forearm touches her face.
	“See, now when I point to something, you’re more likely to see what I’m trying to show.” Two can play this game of unpassable lies. She turns to you, her nose grazing the side of your cheek. Unable to turn your head towards her without kissing her, your eye falls into a corner to see her. The conspiratorial humor is written across her face, apparently having caught onto your deceit. Oh no. Whatever will you do? 
	“So, there’s Orion over there,” you point out the only constellation everybody knows and she feigns being impressed. Luckily, you’ve got four other things. Across the sky, you make out the bigger dipper, pointing that out. “Ok, and see those last to stars of the cup part?”
	“Yeah.” 
	“Well they point to the north star, which is riiight over here.” She actually looks interested now. “And to the right of that, just below it, kind of like a reflection of the Big Dipper, is Medusa. I mean Cassiopeia. It’s the one that looks like a sideways ‘M.’” You always mess that one up. You scan the sky for a planet; they’re usually pretty easy to spot, since they’re a lot brighter and don’t twinkle. But you’re not finding one. Hmm. You turn to Apple Bloom, moving your head back so you can look at each other without more than the tips of your noses touching. She actually looks impressed right now; thank you, beginner’s astronomy. 
	A moment passes, and her face grows somber, like they did in the theatre. The moon’s risen, unnoticed, bathing her face in milky white. The pale light reflects off her skin, the dark red of the shadowed lips threatening to captivate you once more. Your attention moves to your eyes, unmoved from you. A single subject distract from those eyes, almost worrying you. What was she thinking? The thought would never have been put forth, but now it seems almost undeniable that she’s captivated. Her open eyes blink occasionally, held open, as if to not miss you for a moment. What was she seeing in this moment? What captivated her? A dozen self-judgment break the meeting of gazes, your head cast downwards, almost shamefully. Your confusion at what appeared to be a high estimation is broken when her soft hand lifts your chin. She’s moved just a bit closer to you, her nose now alongside yours. Her face is kind, giving strength to you, as it had done so often this week. Lips so close to each other, you can hardly restrain yourself. When this date had become so real, you didn’t know. But one could only stare so long into the perfect eyes of a perfect girl; you lean forward, closing the little distance between you and Apple Bloom.
	Your lips meet, a soft melody playing in your chest. Her rouged kiss touches lightly on yours, a sudden lightness emerging. Though little attention is given to the whole, your body releases the small bit of tension held. A feeling of freedom, like stepping outside into fresh wind after a day of hermiting. The kiss lasts only a few moments, small, soft motions of two pairs of lips caressing each other. Still, every texture and taste of her lips is imprinted in neurons never to go unused long. It wasn’t the great, sloppy kiss you’d imagined several times tonight, but it was enough. And while you looked at her, a bashful rue rosifying your cheeks, a battery of butterflies grew in your stomach. Ease runs through you, the feeling of belongingness coming into great, spectacular fruition. 
	On the other end, Apple Bloom can’t hide the explosive glee within her. She’s kissed you. She’s kissed you, and it didn’t disappoint. True, it wasn’t the longer kiss she’d spent not a small amount of time planning, but it answered her question. And judging from the skittish wonder on your suddenly shy face, she’d made you happy. Her elation was multiplied by her ability to give you that happiness that grew with your smile. And boy, your lips tasted good. She hadn’t kissed a boy since that awkward, half-accident at sixth grade prom; and that barely counted anyway. Doing the simple math, more kisses were found beneficial, and so she moved in again. You find yourself peppered with the little kisses, some on your mouth, some on your cheeks, some meant for the former but landing anywhere from your nose to your chin. 
	Laughter erupts from you at the onslaught, to which Apple Bloom soon becomes a part of. You hadn’t thought that she might not know what kissing is, and assume that nothing went further than these little pecks. And that was perfectly fine; your affection for your lovable cousin, though deep, wasn’t the heavy hunger you’d felt for other girls. The lighthearted delight you experienced as you laid down your own amorous assault was just what you needed. Save all that serious stuff, you wanted kisses and laughter, and seeing Apple Bloom with both made you want the same for her. 
	She squees in her ecstatic bliss, almost tackling you from the side. Her arms grab your sides in a hug, her face pressed into your chest. Your coat her with your own, the two of you almost rolling as she looks up and starts laying kisses on your chin, neck, any skin within her lips’ reach. Some of these end of being more ticklish than anything else, and you may exude a couple “eeps” as you twist and turn your head in half-hearted attempts escape. The affectionate play continues for a couple minutes more before she lays off, now on top of you. You look up, meeting the crinkled gaze of the buoyant girl. 
	“So Ah kind of have a crush on you,” she cheerfully discloses, face propped up by palms on her cheeks. You can feel her trembling as your stomach convulses by your chuckles.
	“You know, I think I might have one on you too.” The almost meek smile gives way once more to the full beaming of the satisfied girl. Her eyes almost shut in pleasure, the night going better than any of her plans. The well-groomed head rests on your chest, outlines by the pale moon. Her face is darkened by the contre jour lighting, but the reflected light still illuminates the glimmering eyes. As you stare into her, a piece of that minor solemnity from earlier comes into you. It’s clear that your happy look is fading, for her own falters.
	“What’s wrong?” Nothing’s wrong. Everything's right. A sad smile crosses your face, then you speak without thinking. Man, that just keeps happening with this girl.
	“I love you Apple Bloom.” Sensing that you’re feeling tenderer than the carefree bliss of the past fifteen minutes, she mirrors your own soft smile. Before she can respond a gush of words burst forth, born from your realization of your own buoyancy. You hadn't realized you could be happy like this. Like Apple Bloom. “No, I mean it. Like, I was a huge fuckin’ mess before I came here. I still kind of am. But you made me feel like I was part of a family.” She’s hesitant to interrupt, but really wants the clarification:
	“Me, or all of us?” 
	“All you guys, but you especially.” Your hand reaches to cup her cheek; she leans into it, much to your joy. “Apple Bloom, you’ve been the best thing that happened to me in a long time. These past few days have felt like…” you struggle to find the words. “Christmas. Every Christmas. I don’t know- I’ve just been really happy, and that’s mostly because of you, and…” your words fall off again, and you fall back on the only phrase that could come close to conveying your feelings: “I love you.”
	She moves upwards a bit, so that her head is close to being over yours. You’re still lying on the table with her on top of you, even her legs stacked on yours. Her left forearm lies just to that side of your head, propping her up while she plays with the hair above your forehead. Confusion crosses her face as she struggles for the words to respond.
	“You know we love you too, right?” Looking into your big eyes, the most tender and fragile she’s seen you, even counting your confession. Understanding that importance of this moment, that it might be remembered for years to come, she chooses her words carefully. “All of us. AJ, Granny, even Big Mac, though he don’t show it.” As she names her kin, her eyes roam above you, gone to some memory proving each. But then she looks back at you, while her hand begins stroking your cheek. 
	“Especially me. Like, when you came off that train. An’ when you confided in me. It’s just- You- Uh…” Despite her best efforts, she falls to the same inability to articulate her heart. She’d never spoken to anyone like this, someone who’s kin, but unlike her regular family; someone she feels so familiar with and to, but is still so unknown. A helpless, then exasperated look seizes her expression as she looks down on you. And like you, she comes to the only message she has left, the one that can’t be misinterpreted. Her lips fall on yours, this time staying for a minute before another shower comes. More than a few seconds later, you climb out of your daze and see her with the same expression, along with the hope that you got the message. You did. Moving your head up, you return a small affirmative kiss, then fall back down. 
	She lets her own head fall on your chest, a contented sigh leaving her lovely red lips. There you lay for a while, echoing that wish from the drive up here: that this moment wouldn’t end. Some of her soft curls tumble over to your neck and face, most dark except for the occasional shine of brilliant crimson in the moonlight. You push them off to the side, then lay your hands on the girl atop you. You can feel her weight on your body, rising and falling with your breaths. Somewhere her legs fall over yours, each ending up on the outside of yours. Her right arm is at your side, while her left arm remains close to you head, still idly playing with your locks. Your left arm moves down beside hers, your hand touching hers, then mixing fingers. Now and then a soft coo is heard from the content girl. Your eyes start to close, your mind fading out in the perfect night air. But you realize the need to get home, and more yet, to not fall asleep in the middle of somebody’s field. You nudge Apple Bloom, who looks up to you with tired eyes. Unable to help it, your lips rise to meet hers once more, the small kiss eliciting a sleepy smile. Goodness, you love that.
	“Hey, we should probably get going.” 
	“Hmph.” She pouts, banging her fist very softly on the table. 
	“I know, I know. But this doesn’t have to be the last time.” She looks satisfied as that, and commences getting up. Crawling off of you, she hops off the table. Her hand extends as she waits for you to do the same. You take her up on her offer, and allow her to lead you through that almost invisible trail back to the car. Tired but not exhausted, you walk through the bluster of the skinny plants. A small skip ends up in your step, but she definitely doesn’t notice. She giggles, at something else probably, and you emerge into the moonlit patch of dirt. It takes a minute to go your separate ways to your respective doors; your hands seem unwilling to part. Eventually, you do, and get into the car. Still struck by your brilliant night, you absent-mindedly turn on the car. The radio was still on and at max volume, striking you with a roaring https://youtu.be/L0bcRCCg01I?t=4m24s. 
	“Ahhhhhfuck!” you cry, thrashing your hands around the knobs in a struggle to turn it off. Dexterity compromised by panic, it takes a couple seconds longer than it should. Finally Holst’s onslaught is silenced, and you sit back, now fully alert. Looking over to Apple Bloom, she’s got her ears covered and is laughing at you. 
	“What? Why?” you ask in your confusion. She stops laughing long enough to explain:
	“Ah had to make sure you were awake for the drive home. Y’know, for safety reasons. An’ it looks like you’re awake!” You narrow your eyes and grumble at her, even though you couldn’t possibly be mad at her.
	“Grumble grumble grumble.” Then, putting the car in reverse, you leave the small dirt patch and start heading home. Turning the radio back on, but at a much lower level, the song actually sounds pretty cool, for an orchestra thing. Kinda sounds like Star Wars, now that you think about it. Apple Bloom, wakened also by the thunderous brass, is chatting happily about that one time Granny took her to a concert. It isn’t the most gripping story you’ve heard, but the speaker and the sweet voice that delivers it is enough to keep your ears on her. 
	Through the comfortable ride of the high-class sedan, buzzing thoughts send your mind away from your date’s storytelling. What happens now? Aren’t you still gonna leave? Immediately, you kick the thought out with the fierce staunchness of a military dad. Boarding up your mind like an apocalypse prepper’s house, you resolve not to let that question enter again. Nothing can be done about it. Nothing can change it. No point to letting it ruin the little time you have left. As your knuckles whitely grip the wheel, the change of the song accompanies the change of your thoughts: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nz0b4STz1lo. But little jollity is brought to you when you consider the future before you. As if reading your mind, the slightly concerned face of Apple Bloom gives voice to your thoughts.
	“So what are we gonna do now?”
	“Well, we probably shouldn’t tell AJ.” Her finger rises to her lip as she muses:
	“Ah don’t know… She had a little something with Braeburn not too long ago. Now that Ah think about it, she does seem a bit exited for Apploosa, which is when they see each other. But Ah don’t know.” You raise your eyebrow as she goes on: “An’ Granny didn’t seem to have a problem with it.” You feel like you should have an issue with this, but if it gives you any kind of approval, you’ll go with it. 
	“So maybe just kinda hint at it, see what she feels? And if she’s hyper against it, we can just keep it on the down low?”
	“Yeah. An’ anyway, Ah’m pretty sure she won’t mind us being all close with each other. That’s what kind do around here.” You nod, happy to have some chance of permission and some intimacy acceptable. But there was another problem that opened up here. What exactly is it that you want to have accepted? Turning to Apple Bloom, you go with the transparent option, not wanting that secrecy that happens in most relationships to happen here. Hesitantly, you ask:
	“So… what are we?” She looks at you seriously, remembering the answer found in your lips.
	“Ah think we’re two people that like each other a whole lot, and kinda need each other. We don’t have to make a big ol’ relationship out of this. Besides, Ah’m pretty sure both of us have pretty different idea of what that’d mean.” You agree, but it’s still kinda vague. 
	“Ok, but where does that leave us?”
	“Ah think we just keep doing what wer’e doin’, only with more cuddles and kisses.” She says this slowly, still holding a trace of fear. But it’s needless: that sound just right for you. Besides, that’s about all you can do in this short time you have together. And who’d say no to vacations with secret kissing? The positives slightly mitigate the horror of your Orange future, but not so much that you’ll allow it’s trespass. Pushing it out of your mind once again, you answer Apple Bloom.
	“I think I’d like that.” She holds out her hand, which you take with your free one. Suddenly, she almost throws herself out of her seat to give you a kiss on the cheek. Then, settling back in, she watches in amusement as you grin like an idiot. The rest of your ride goes like such: two hands clasped inside that sublime moment, hearts deeply connected. Jollity brought, she casually changes the stations with her right hand. Landing on the pop station, a live version of one of your old favorites comes up. And judging by the sudden excitement in the passenger seat, she’s a fan of it too: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_6f95WzDQaM. 
	Late night pop brings your car home in a sweet haze, hands never parted. Dashboard Confessional returns for an encore, followed by The Airborne Toxic Event crooning about something happening at midnight. The grinding of gravel ends the fading notes of Coldplay’s Yellow. Quietly as you can, you exit and close the doors. The gravel crunches beneath you, the unavoidable alarm hated with fervor. But all lights remain off, and you enter the unlocked door with no other auditory obstacles. Moving quiet as a mouse, the kitchen passes you and your ninja cousin, the oven clock informing you of the proximity of midnight. Guess the drive and the kissing took longer than you’d thought.
	Sneaking into the bathroom, you brush your teeth together. You wash off the numerous red kiss marks, suddenly thankful nobody was up, and that lights were off. Though light, the mere number of kiss marks is ludicrous, appearing as if you’d been set upon by the sum of the Bacchante. Both of you suppress those excited giggles, home only to new lovers who haven’t yet accustomed to the most unimaginable of joys. She turns to exit, and you spin her around, kissing her on the mouth. Worried and excited about the danger of being caught, she pulls away without wanting to. Suppressing a jubilant smile, she disappears into the dark of the hallway. 
	After entering your own room and changing into pajamas, your missing of Apple Bloom is dashed when she enters your room. She wears her own night gown, a beautiful golden dress going to her knees, with an inch of white lining and spaghetti straps. Her tanned legs bear no shoes at the bottom, the long figures grabbing your attention. Most of her makeup’s been removed, but her lips still remain rosy, and the lashes long. Her posture reveals no sleepiness, despite the late hour. Instead, she leans back on your door, flashing a furtive smile, as though realizing for the first time that she’s a girl in a boy’s room.
	“What, we still have prayers,” she nonchalantly explains, at your questioning expression. 
	“Ah, I forgot,” you respond, thinking that she probably could have (and would have) done this on her own. Happy for the opportunity, you kneel down next to your bed, and she does the same, not a foot apart. You recite the now-learned askance, then look at Bloom. 
	“So.”
	“So.” She repeats happily.
	“High-Low?” 
	“Ah think that’s pretty obvious.” 
	“Still wanna hear it, though.” She lets out a single laugh, wanting the same from you.
	“Alright, so my low’s the thing with Diamond Tiara,” she says without a hint of sadness, the bullying far negated. “An’ my high was finding out what your lips taste like.” Your heart feels like it doubles in speed, and you wonder how you’re gonna sleep tonight. Her lips entrance your gaze once more, the luscious curves beckoning a wanting boy. She nudges, urging your return.
	“My high was seeing how sad you were today.” You place your hand on her jawline, just to the right of her chin, and stroke her cheek gently. “My high was seeing how happy you were tonight.” And with that, you remind her what your lips taste like. Somehow resisting another bout of kissing, she gives you her kiss one last time, and exits your room. And as you lay on the bed with thoughts of Apple Bloom, your Apple Bloom, you finally feel at home. 


Friday
	Errrrrg. Rosy dreams of Apple Bloom cut off, replaced by a grim awareness of the world at hand. The imaginary sensations of Apple Bloom part too fast, hatefully replaced by the lifeless touch of soft blankets. Recollection is attempted, a desperate pull for those lost caresses; little success is found, and that soon lost to the imposing demand of the uncomfortable heat of the bed. You twitch and squirm, aware of the bad warmth, but not enough to see the solution. Another minute of discomfort brings you closer to your senses, and you toss off the coverings, exposed to the mild air of your room. You’re awake.
	A stir of emotions swarm within you as you try to recoup, the persistent slumber making your head swim. What’s clear is this: some part of you is awake, while the rest needs sleep. Another groan falls to the floor while neck muscles strain to turn the resistant head. Faint moonbeams are found, tirelessly dragging themselves through the window; but their obstacles and distance was too great, the illumination they set out to bring is barely passable. If not for eye grown accustomed to the dark over several hours, nothing could be seen; as it was, you were able to make out the shapes of the room, if not the details. Working with memory, a map of the room in drawn in your head, and you stand up to leave. Now prepared to dodge obstacles and locate the door, you exit the room, in pursuit of warm milk to dull an anxious mind.
	Stepping silently down the halls and stairs, the deep blue kitchen meets you. Cold tiles clasp your feet, which in turn hop away, preferring the less chilly carpets. A glistening, hazy mirror reports itself as the face of a refrigerator, beckoning your gait. Soundless it opens, only the wild scream of its outward rays to make any alert. Unheard by other eyes, your quest remains solo. This insensitive body is your only defense against the twin assaults of the burning lamp and biting tiles, eventually overcoming both by man’s insurmountable capacity to accustom. The blinding light fades to its typical glow, revealing sundry containers of uninteresting nourishment, save for one. Its plastic container is pulled from a lofty perch, delivered to lower counters. Meeting it, a crystalline chalice, chosen for its poetic reflections of sparse moonlight. Thickly, that white liquid charges into its destination, some drops lost on the counter beside. Solution made, the combination of glass and milk transports to the microwave. Subjected to its namesake, it’s swirled, tested, and finds favor. Disorganized drops are wiped, gallons replaced, and the door is shut, finishing all steps of the quest, save the reception of its reward. 
	Leaning back on the counter, the unlit world is shrouded. That adaption to the light removed its counterpart to dark, leaving you lost in the dark. Still, a dim window is found, through which the stars call for attention. Freely and wisely given, they twinkle and shine as you drink your warm prize. Insides nearly melt as the old remedy cures festering anxiety. Slowly drained, the cup barely imprints itself on your nearly dazed countenance, nearly entranced by inner warmth and the celestial bodies winking in the distance. A final draw realizes the end of the drink, it’s fruitlessness revealing the previous to have finished it. Tiptoes summon the dishwasher, and carefully opened, it quietly consumes your unrequired shell, then closes its maw. 
	Ends met, the way back home is carefully executed, much harder with darkness unfriended eyes. But home is got, no expense beyond a smarting toe and a softly cursed table. Relaxing in the quiet cloak of unfinished night, breaths softly come in the apple-clad guest room. Inside you, the war against yourself is waged, desperate attempts to stave off dread thoughts of family and family not, those truly kin and those with title solely. Unwinnable strife halts when the girl moves through mind, all silent at the golden and red visage. Queenly banish relieves one, sending black terror far into hiding. And princess-like, memories of her kiss bring final freedom, sweet reentry into dreams.
	Legendary tales of bravery pass through your head, loyal knighthood and rightful kingship assigned to you in those vivid fantasies. But no sooner than your third dragon is slain does your kingdom fall to pieces, ruined by a kind girl shaking your body. Like any good king, you try to defend the citadel, holding to your precious domain.
	“Mmmmm. No. Sleep now.” But the gentle rocking sends violent waves to rend your sojourn, a catastrophe too great to be fixed. The soft face of Applejack, unknowing of her ruinous effect, greets you, as friendly as any amnesiac, deposed king could be.
	“Urng. Mmph. Go ‘way.” 
	“Come on, Anon, it’s nearly eleven.” Still missing the disappearing life, you manage to crawl above the blankets, your head and bare chest entering the clean air. Your hands beat out the sand in your drowsy eyes, which attempt to accustom to the fierce light of near-noon. The sight of your room is awash in autumnal colors, including the heavily tanned girl with her dirty-blonde hair. She, sitting on your bed with hands in lap, good-naturedly inquires of your status.
	“Y’all awake now?” Mouth still indisposed, you softly nod, becoming the vacationing city boy entirely. A series of blinks brings clarity and distinction to the objects of your room. The most important part of the day comes to mind, and you question its status in regards to your person.
	“Is there still breakfast?” Your priorities appear humorous to her, as evidenced by the quiet chuckle. 
	“First thing on your mind, huh?” 
	“Well, yeah. It’s the most important meal of the day, you know.” You inform her, the facts on your side.
	“Yeah, Ah’ve heard about that. Well, don’t you worry; we’ve finished, but Apple Bloom gettin’ some ready for you now.” She closely observes your brightening appearance as her little sister tugs at your heartstrings all over again. As you ponder who’s supposed to be giving the breakfast in bed (it’s the guy, right?) she asks you about last night. “So how’d the date go?” You nod your head, candidly retelling the way the night went. 
	“Pretty rad. We went to Texas Roadhouse, and that food was incredible.” A pause. “Oh geez, I think I left the food in the car.” She shakes her head.
	“Don’t worry, Apple Bloom got it.” Oh, good. 
	“Alright. Well, then it was the arcade for a bit, but that was mostly Smash and Marvel v. Capcom. I let her win a fair amount of them, since I’m not a huge jerk. And then the movie, which was alright. Pretty funny, I guess. And after that, we went stargazing.” She raises her eyebrows.
	“Stargazing, huh?” You’d forgotten your guile, and realize the mistake. Trying to handle the situation –you’ll wait for Apple Bloom’s OK before you reveal anything- you try to play it cool.
	“Yeah, stargazing. It’s pretty fun.” She nods, then assents:
	“Yeah, it is.” She leans back and smiles, lost in some past experience. Ah used to go all the time with Big Mac or Braeburn. Got to know quite a few constellations too.” She turns to you, blinking away the glazed look. “Well, Apple Bloom’s been gushin’ nonstop about last night, and what a gentleman you are and whatnot. Wanted to make sure you actually had a good time, instead of… you know, getting dragged along from place to place without her realizing.” 
	“Nah, I had a lot of fun with her.” You respond, assuaging her concerns. Stomach unclenched, you relax in the sudden absence of an interrogator. All along, she was a friend, not some scheming girl trying to put you in a bind. 
	“Ah’m glad to hear that.” Just as she finished, closing her eyes in a happy smile, a clamor arises from below, then growing as it comes closer. Through the approaching din of stomping and clanging, you make out three clear words from three voices: 
	“CUTIE! MARK. COOKS!” AJ seems to relish your shocked, almost fearful look. You can hear a faint snickering held deep in her throat, and write it off as some auditory hallucination. Easy to mishear things when the soundtrack of the apocalypse is playing outside your door. Bang bang bang, cries the innocent wooden door, heralding guests.
	“Anon! It’s us!” The unique tone of Scootaloo shouts, soon joined by cohorts.
	“The Cutie Mark Crusaders!” All three shout with way too much energy for the morning. Then again, it wasn’t exactly morning, so no fault there.
	“Come in,” your frail voice permits, the upper end of the loudness scale barred by half a day of disuse. Apple Bloom blows through the door, followed by a cavalcade of food-bearing girls. 
	As usual, you notice Apple Bloom first. Her hair is long, falling behind her back. It looks wavy, with only minor curves to it, suggesting a morning straightening. The soft morning light falls softly on it, bringing out its natural rosy brilliance. She wears the large bow again, attached to the back of her head, where pony tails are usually located. The makeup from last night is missing, but you can detect a hint of new cosmetics. Her lips are pinker than usual, a faint glossiness making them shine and catch the eye. Just a hint of eyeliner encircles her eyes, making them pop. She wears an odd combination of shirt and dress. Around her stomach, it appears as a dress shirt, though with sleeves ending midway down her upper arms, and with a thick pink ring as its border. Below the midsection, it transitions to a pure dress, made up of large horizontal stripes. These lines, alternating between pink and white and having no larger number than twelve, encircle her down to her knees, billow out as it goes lower. Over her shoulder is a round purse, the same color as her bow, which in turn wears a bow matching her hair. Small, princess-like blue shoes cover her little feet, but are soon kicked off.
	Scootaloo is at her left, and wears an adorable version of a gold uniform. Over her head is a dark green visor, enclosing hair cut short and pulled to the right. Although she wears no discernable makeup, her bright eyes are naturally accented by her dark eyebrows, which twist and bend in her many, capricious expressions. The happy expression on her face reveals a facet you hadn’t noticed before: dimples. They’re subtle, just faint divots in both pink cheeks. She’s got a dark green vest that matches her visor, as well as a white short-sleeve shirt underneath. She wears a pair of white shorts, with numerous black lines, both horizontal and vertical, making it appear similar to some huge graph. A small blue backpack, matching Apple Bloom’s shoes, bulges from behind, noticed only when she turns to round your bed. Pink and white sneakers, mirroring the shade of Apple Bloom’s dress coat her feet.
	Sweetie Belle has her hair down, like Apple Bloom’s, but obvious care has been given to it. Manufactured ringlets falls about her head in sweet curls, similar to that of yesterday’s DateBloom, but filled with swilrs of her multicolored hair. The light and dark pinks are held in check by a dark purple bow, matching the thick sweater she’s somehow decided to wear. It looks good, matching her style, if not the weather outside. Her vibrant green eyes, looking like lush fields of grass, are wide open; together with her open, crescent-shaped mouth, she looks both innocent and eager. Over the sweat is a dress not unlike Blooms: the white and pink hues, along with the billowing lower half are mirrored. However, the style is closer to Scootaloo’s shorts: thin pink lines going up and down, left and right, fill up the whole. It’s held with a belt-like ribbon near the top, just below her breasts, tied in a small bow. Tight black legs protrude from underneath, ending just below the knee. Pale white legs go further, ending in a pair a brilliant pink shoes of the same kind as Apple Bloom’s.
	AJ, grinning throughout their introduction, puts her hands up and excuses herself. Her place on your bed is filled threefold, a trio of plate-wielding girls setting themselves down. Apple Bloom sits closest to you, her back falling on the headboard, as yours does in your half-sit, half-lie. Scootaloo is situated by your torso, with a supporting arm planted over your body, forming a tent over your critical zone. Sweetie is at your feet, cross legged and beaming. Each lays a plate on the bed-covered legs, though only one is in reach. 
	“We made ya breakfast!” Apple Bloom cries, then plants a quick kiss on your cheek. Ok, so they probably know. The three of them simultaneously checks to see if the door is closed, then, seeing it is, admit the cause.
	“We wanted to get today off to a good start,” Sweetie Belle peeps, her pale skin glowing in the brightened room.
	“And congratulate you two, on you know.” Scootaloo dawns the biggest shit-eating grin, pumping her eyebrows up and down at furious speeds. You cock your head, feeling she’s got the wrong idea. Seeing the confused expression of your face, she confirms your suspicion by making a circle with one hand and poking her finger in and out of it.
	“What! No!” You turn to your cousin, who appears similarly horrified. “Apple Bloom, what did you tell her?” 
	“Ah just said we hooked up!” You introduce your palm to your forehead, then explain the difference between hooking up and what you’d done. She nods, “ohhhh”s, blushes, and glares at Scootaloo all in record time, who’s still got sky-high brows. “Come on, Scootaloo you know Ah wouldn’t do that.”
	“Sure, sure. But hey, if you guys ever wanna try one a those ménage a trois, go for it.” She throws a hefty wink at you, ignoring the nonunderstanding face of Apple Bloom. You and Sweetie Belle are the only shocked ones among the audience, put off by the invitation and the pronouncing of the “s” in “trois” alike. You look off to the side, trying to change the subject before Apple Bloom asks you what Scootaloo wants with you and her.
	“So… what are you three up to today?” Apple Bloom’s arm snakes around your neck, the almost hidden bra moving closer to your cheek. 
	“We were planning on going tubing down near Scootaloo’s neck of the woods. We figured, swimming up by Sweetie’s was so nice, and my sister won’t let us go to the old swimming hole-“ Here Scootaloo grumbles something about being told they’d seen enough. “so the only place left is the river.” Pulling you closer, her hand softly caressing the skin just below your shoulder, she adds: “we were hopin’ it’d be us four, though.” You hesitate to accept the offer, memories of the putrid slum returning to warn you. Seeing it, Sweetie quickly adds:
	“The river’s actually really cool now. They cleaned it up so it’s not all polluted. I mean, it still looks kinda crummy, but tubing down it’s real fun.” The argument from the most prim and proper girl of the group goes further than she suspects: you trust her standards most. Scootaloo leans in from the side, face close:
	“And more importantly, we’ll be alo~one,” she practically sings, a seductive smile on her face. Instantly you turn towards Apple Bloom, and your mind goes to several unacceptable places. She seems to hold a similar look as yours, one of held back excitement, with just a trace of hopeful debauchery. Thinking on the option, it’s not really a contest: you wanna do something while you’re here, and something with Apple Bloom’s practically an automatic yes. You’re not gonna miss an opportunity during your short stay.
	“Sure, I’ll go. I would like to eat though.” You call attention back to the most important part of the day, which is solidly respected by your pals. 
	“Ok, we’re leaving in like an hour.” Scootaloo says, suppressing her small glee.
	“No, it’s like half an hour.” Sweetie Belle corrects her.
	“Eh, we can push it back. Just don’t take forever eating,” comes the response. You nod, and view the meal before you for the first time; sometimes it’s hard to focus on the important things when cute girls are around. Oh. Uh, ok. So the meal isn’t perfect. Burnt toast, a cold slab of overcooked eggs, and milky apple juice lie on the plate before you like some hideous burn victim. You subtly push the plate away, feeling both sorry and averse to the tragedy. All three girls, who’d been watching you with bright expectation, laugh aloud at your attempts to be subtle about your rejection.
	“Ah was wondering what you’d do,” Apple Bloom chirps, picking up the next two plates and placing them before you. The same food appears here, but less destroyed and potentially destructive to your health. 
	“I thought you’d just try and eat it,” Scootaloo chuckles, “You don’t want to offend Apple Bloom, do you?” In response, you turn to Apple Bloom and assume a look of the tenderest love. Softly cupping her chin, you slowly move in, your lips just an inch away from her. Surprised at the sudden affection, Apple Bloom stares frozen at you, while you speak:
	“Apple Bloom, I love you.” You lean in and lightly kiss her lips. Moving back a bit, you finish your sentence, still with that soft voice: “But I’m not gonna eat that gross food.” The other girls snicker at the subversion, and Apple Bloom huffs, retracting her arm. 
	“Maybe Ah shouldn’t cook for you, then.” You laugh, trying to pull the staunch girl back.
	“Come on Apple Bloom, I was just kidding. If you really wanted me to, I’d eat your burnt food.” 
	“You know, Ah’m tempted to ask you to.” You keep up your happy expression, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. Then, in a grateful tone, you take the offensive:
	“And I’m so glad you aren’t. That’s why I love you, babe.” She blushes at the term of endearment, forgetting the pretense of indignation. You settle back in the bed, and start in on the delicious meal. Sweetie Belle sweetly warns you:
	“Better watch out, Anon. You came pretty close to having to eat our rejects.” You’d reply, but it turns out CMC successes are actually pretty good. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, though already having eaten, help you out a bit; after all they brought way too much food. Apple Bloom, trying to pilfer a cup of undiluted apple juice, explains that they wanted to cover all their bases. The waffles and pancakes were from the family breakfast, but they whipped up the toast, eggs, and apple juice themselves. It’d taken a couple tries, but the girls were persistent, if nothing else. Still, you were grateful, and designed to show them in the most undeniable fashion: devouring all of it. After nothing remained, –ok, maybe there were a couple cakes left, but willikers, these girls made so many- you shooed the girls out of your room. 
	“Aw, why?” Apple Bloom whines.
	“Because I need to get changed, and that’s still something I prefer to do by myself.” You can tell Scootaloo is trying to come up with some sultry reply, so you double your efforts: “Come on, out. Out.” Sweetie Belle remains alone in her quick exit; it takes Apple Bloom and Scootaloo a little effort to force themselves to leave. Geez. A few minutes later, you’re clad in some trunks and the French Club T-shirt you found at Goodwill. Thinking to take a shower, you discard the notion: not really any point if you’re just gonna get wet later. Instead, you head downstairs, finding four girls playing Pirate’s Cove.
	“Hey, you ready to go?” asks Scootaloo, clearly anxious to get going. A quick look at her pieces shows her to be severely lagging, and the reason why she’d like to go.”
	“Yup. Should we go after this game?” Before Scootaloo can turn her groan into a rescheduling to now, Sweetie Belle affirms the time.
	“Yeah, that sounds alright. How much time do we have left?”
	“’Bout twenty minutes,” comes the blank response of a concentrating Bloom. You sit down by her side, to her delight. The two of you soon become an unstoppable team, demolishing the opponents. There’s a minor sticking point that your competitors keep focusing on, being your loss at the end, but the both of you insist that it’s unimportant. What matters is that you’re rad as heck, and that marks you as the true winners. 
	“Are not!”
	“Are too!”
	“Are not!” The debate goes on like such, measures of success being based on who can achieve the greatest volume. None of you are too mad, though; the four of you just get caught up in the fun of yelling and seeing AJ confused. However, AJ soon breaks up the heated argument.
	“Come on girls-”
	“Hey!”
	“Come on, girls and Anon.” She fixes her sentence, sarcastically placing heavy emphasis on your name. “There’s no need to get so mad. Now shake hands and make peace, or y’all can find another ride to Scootaloo’s.” Not finished playing the injured combatant, you deliver a serious gaze at AJ.”
	“I don’t know if I can do that, AJ. Sweetie and Scoots really blew my hat in a creek,” you say without breaking the stare. Only confusion is returned, however:
	“What? What’s that mean?” The four girls look questioningly at you, not having heard the phrase before now. The confusion passes over to you, who’d thought that she’d know the country-ism. Choosing not to explain, you stretch your hand out to imaginary foes, who promptly take it. Sweetie shakes it with her nose high in the air, the perfect imitation of a haughty noblewoman forced to interact with the proletariat. Scootaloo gives you the response you feared, squeezing your hand for all she’s worth. 
	“Ah!” You gasp in pain, not fully expecting it. You’d respond in kind, but you don’t exactly have the proper grip for such. All you can do is plead with the young girl to release you. Before you do so, a glimpse at the triumphant look in her face convinces you to search for another route. Her head is jutted forward in what she thinks is victory, giving you an idea. Quickly, you thrust your head forward, entering her personal space. Your face is only an inch from hers, the pained hand growing either numb or accustomed to the hurt. Taking your free hand a brushing her face, you whisper softly, in the same voice you’d used on Apple Bloom earlier:
	“Dearest Scoots, if I say that you’re my one and only, the girl my heart pines for, would you release my hand?” Blushing heavily, the first time you’ve seen her that embarrassed, she quickly retracts her hands, taking a step away. Her open eyes are still fixed on you, however. You thank her in a normal tone: “Thanks Scoots. You’re my one and only, the girl my heart pines for.” Apple Bloom and the others look at you bewildered at your tactic, the former more so than the latter.
	“What? I needed my hand back.” 	“Well, I think that’s as good place as any to go,” says AJ summarily, marching off towards the family van. As the four of you happily follow her, you notice that Scoots is neither addressing you directly nor looking at you. Looks like she can’t take teasing as well as she gives it. Devious plots run through your head, leading to a grin Apple Bloom asks you about directly. Should you tell her? You hesitate, but seeing the benefits of her as a partner in crime, you decide to go for it. Whispering in her ear finally warrants you a look from Scootaloo, the slightest amount of worry appears on her face, as brief and obvious as lightning. Plans of spontaneous butt-grabbing and hugging her while kissing each other flow from your mouth, too lost in your thought to fully consider Apple Bloom’s reaction. A moment of hesitation halts the flow of prospective teasing. 
	Closed-mouthed, you nervously fear for your esteem; eyes hiding worry search for signs of discomfort and disappointment on the nodding girl’s face. At your silence, her head turns to you, the slow bobbing ceasing. When a wily smiles grows upon her face, golden globes lit with sly excitement, the fear subsides. She’s in. She glances over to dear Scootaloo, now purely defined by a compulsion to check on her future teasers and the complete inability to hide such. Grin growing wider, she lifts her mouth to your tilted head and whispers her own designs into lowered ear. Returning your own nods of agreement, you find yourself somewhat shocked at the number and lengths of some of these. Visions of the both of you each grabbing a boob of the poor girl, of laying next to her and draping legs and arms over enter your head. Trying to douse her high-flying dreams and your libidinous rise, you mention that, perhaps, we should not go so far. A finger on her lip brings forth an understanding acceptance, and the unexpected deviance lowers once more. Trying to lower your own self, you switch thoughts to other environments. 
	The van lies before you, its faded door open for enter. As you sit down on the far side, just behind the driver’s seat, the touch of Apple Bloom greets your side. The sight of the dull brown interior explodes with visions of escapades with the girls beside you. Ahem. You cough to yourself, shaking your head a bit; you wished that Apple Bloom hadn’t gone so far with her suggestions, but you don’t wish too hard. Two more freshman enter, and one fellow junior. Or, rising senior? Your title during the summer always kinda confused you. A slender arm goes behind your arm and circles back as your loving cousin interlocks herself with you. Caught between soft affection and uncomfortable heat, you attempt to strike up some conversation. Questions of Canterlot High stimulate the rest of the van, all of whom nearly bounce in excitement of their reports.
	“Oh, it’s sooo awesome!”
	“There’s this crazy counselor who always wears these multi-colored suits-“
	“He was kind of a jerk before Fluttershy’s rabbit bit him-
	“The music teacher is so creepy-“
	“No, she’s great!”
	“Yeah, everybody loves her!”
	“Yeah, so did I, before she made everyone sign a petition that’d make her the principal.”
	“Oh, right. That was really mean.”
	“Good thing AJ and her friends told Principal Celestia about it.”
	“It wasn’t a big deal, girls.”
	“It sure was! If it wasn’t for you girls, we woulda had the worst time ever!”
	“There was like, this super buff gym teacher that kept yelling at every kid.”
	“Uh-huh. He even got in a screaming match with the principal, totally cowed her.”
	“But then Twilight got super fu-friggin pissed and just screamed at him. Really let him have it.”
	“Dude quit pretty soon after that. Getting’ told off by teenage girl really took it outta him.”
	“Oh man, remember when the school almost got demolished?”
	“Wait, when was that?”
	“Like, right before we started goin’. Those two contractors wanted to make a freeway right through it.”
	“AJ, weren’t you the one who stopped ‘em?”
	“Not really.  Ah just reminded the board that they were scam artists.”
	“Yeah, they wanted to do it to our farm, ‘member?”
	“Ah sure do…”
	“Oooh! Remember when that magician lady tried to get Twilight expelled?”
	“Trixie?”
	“Yeah!”
	“Dude, how do you forget her name? And she wasn’t trying to get her expelled; she can’t do that.”
	“Well, what was she doing?”
	“I think get her kicked off the math team? Or replace her as president? I don’t know, something like that.”
	“Yeah, and she did!”
	“For like, half a day. Then Cheerilee found out she was hiding a the answers in that weird brooch.”
	“Still, Ah got a bit scared.” The girls continue to regale you with stories of their high school. It isn’t clear if they’re exaggerating or if the place is actually the center of these storybook dramas. Either way, you feel a clear note of jealousy rising up in you. Sapping the joy of your physical connection with your cousin, thoughts of your distant school, Apple-less, threatens to engulf your whole mind. A frigid smile and fixed crinkles are put forth in the hopes of masking the tumultuous depression beneath. Put off so long, those awful gravities grew to unavoidable strengths. What had been a mere background, a faint shadow with delusions of entrance, now gained that presence you’d fought so hard against. The heavy cloud had surrounded you at the first spark of joy, flickering in the presence of newfound kin. And the murky gas, with its single-minded aim of diffusing, sought every crack of your mind. Hastily you’d sped to each opening, marked by the tangible dark seeping through, and plugged it. The feverish chase that had so come to be, almost the norm of your mental action, had failed in sort. And for the first time since Apple Bloom had light that fire in you, that miserable mire had seeped in once more, choking the anguished flame. All you could do was sit frozen, masked with turgid joy and connection, and wait for the spell to pass.
	But the solo quest was interrupted, a variable unaccounted for setting new paths before you. The notice of your stilted replies and nods, like a poorly used puppet, had come unto Apple Bloom. Her face worried, perhaps not seeing the muck that had flooded your head, but suspecting something of its ilk. The first thought to cross her mind is a tightening of your physical bond, drawing you closer. But the small spark fails to catch, just as a second solution crosses her mind. It’s a simple sentence, spoken with the typical earnestness of the energetic girl, but the effect’s profundity is inversely proportional to the statement’s lack. 
	“Hey, you should come to Canterlot High next year.” All eyes turn towards you, save the driving AJ, who goes silent in a severe attentiveness.
	“What?” What do you say? This wasn’t a solution you’d foreseen, let alone considered. 
	“Ya got another year to go, right?” 
	“Yeah…”
	“Well, move down here!” It isn’t a well-thought out proposition; rather, it was the first answer to the distance that she too feared. At the first crossing her mind, she’d treated it as prophecy, and at the first opportunity, she’d thrust the inevitable choice forward as a request. Before you the weighty smog dissipated, like an ignited balloon. Clear air filled your head, which swam with visions of a full year with Bloom, and who knows what beyond. Playing in fields, valleys, in schools, hanging with AJ and the CMC, pleading to see the clubhouse, skinny-dipping, game nights, and more dates. 
	The effect of these numerous pictures was great; before, it had only been bright enough to forget the poisionous vapor outside. But now, it seemed as if it could be banished entirely, as if your frantic scramble to keep your head above the water could be ended, that solid ground could bless your flailing feet. In these visions, you saw as you had not seen before. Disorganization was revealed in the dim glow, a wainscoting of remaining sludge of the walls of your psyche. The filth of Scootaloo’s home was here echoed, a grime filled house testifying to your poor state. Your long face was cast out as you focused on the new centerpiece, the crackling bonfire warming the once wintry house. Perhaps in time the grime could be wiped, the thoughts organized. A small hand squeezed yours, a happy burst of flame leaping up. At the promise in her touch, the hope of one day being healed, you set your mind to it. You had to stay. Not being the most extroverted person, you don’t express the whole of your impassioned decision. A small but firm:
	“Yeah, I will” exits your lips, a solid nod hinting at the great resolve behind it. Still, you end up doubling back, not yet brave enough to make such a promise: “I mean, I’ll try.” But Apple Bloom saw your wish, and took it as the unavoidable conclusion it was. 
	She’d made up her mind days ago, but only recently realized her pure faith in Anon’s stay. He had to stay, she’d thought. Her young mind still couldn’t grasp the nature of the world, that “ought” did not always translate to “is.” She wanted him here, even needed him. How or why, she didn’t know; only the pure gravity that held her form was seen, and this indisputable. It is there, pulling her in since that first step off the train, and grew greater every time a barrier to his heart fell. Those kind eyes, often geared towards her own, set her heart aflutter. The soft grip of his hands on hers, the not unappreciated visits of his gaze to her chest, the careless laughter she’d drawn out of him, which so contrasted with the weight on his heart. All of these things and more set him as her favorite boy, the best cousin imaginable. 
	And didn’t he need her? Amid fears of being a nuisance and unwanted, she’d seen proof that he wanted her as well. The way he went along with her jokes, reached for her hands or grasped them back when she reached for his, and the bearing of his heart to her were proof enough. Her grip on his arm tightened, and eyes met. Hers filled with radiant pleasure at a future not to be doubted, lending him strength to believe in the same. They needed each other, she thought, so they must end up together. A world that didn’t work that way was unbelievable. Reminders of the cruelty of her parent’s departure and his’ isolation were pushed out, two dark specters not to be allowed in her happy mind. And with their arms snaked together, visions capturing a horizon holding hope, the rest of the trip passed easily. 
	Soon enough the welfare wasteland came into view, still shocking you with the gross atmosphere. But rather than going down those previously known roads, the garbage choked alleys gave way to a more natural arena. The forest you’d seen before, hiding behind great trash mounds, had burst forward, thrusting aside all of man’s works. The grassy floor had shaken off the refuge, and now laid itself bare before you, a pure, waving green under the flourishing canvas of thick trees and bushes. The great trunks of giants sat beside the empty dirt road, jumping up and down at every bump in the road. The van grinds to a halt at a rectangular patch of dirt by the side of the road, the vibrancy of the natural world urging you to escape the metal confines. Hopping out, you immediately hear the greatest track of nature, the theme of all youthful expeditions: running water.
	Chipper female voices arise from around you, but the contents aren’t discerned. Somewhere along the line, your pants come off, revealing the swim trunks underneath them. They’re tossed in the car, as well as the outer garments of your compatriots, now dressed in choice suits. AJ gives the lot of you a “come on” look and wipes the discarded clothes off the tube. It’s one of those double ones, shaped like a figure eight, with a little square in the middle for drinks or whatever. She pulls out a pump and tosses it to you, along with the deflated ride. With a little help from a sweet belle, you find the little opening and stick the tip of your pump in it. Setting up the main body, you grip the two handles and begin pushing down, forcing air into the tube. It isn’t too long til you get a bit tired, embarrassing though it is. However, luck isn’t far, and a Scootaloo shoos you off, eager to provide some help.
	You let her have it, turning around to look at the lush woodland around. It really is beautiful; the events behind you fade out, relegated to some corner of your mind while you take it all in. The trees aren’t as thick as they were in the beginning, but roughly one or two within every twenty feet. However, being so deep in the forest, there are plenty of trees behind all those in the immediate background, leaving no visual exits of the wood in their graded rows. Bright pockets of flora abound, little rows and spots of multicolored flowers, all backed on the many shades of brown and green. The calls of birds play in tune with the rushing clamor of the living river, hypnotizing you. Needless to say, you didn’t get out often, and certainly not into this level of untouched perfection.
	“Alright, Ah’m headin’ out! You guys have fun!” The bellowing AJ wakes you to the human element once more. Slightly embarrassed at your singular reverie, you stumble back into the crowd of three yelping girls, and wave goodbye to your older cousin. The van exits, the smoke soon after, and the four of you are left with nothing but each other and the mostly full inner tube. Noting Scootaloo’s obvious tiredness, barely masked by her unwillingness to show weakness, you tap her shoulder. She lets you finish up, the grabs one end while you take the other. Sweetie Belle guides Scootaloo down a rocky path, and you follow their lead, a skipping Bloom at your side.
	The nearby river explodes into view, the few cracks of blue between the trees suddenly giving way to the full picture. Though the roar makes it sound as if it were some foaming rapids, it actually looks pretty mellow to you. The water glows a brilliant azure in the further parts, the bright suns speckling it, as if by it’s own bound stars. Near, the lower concentration offers a clearer picture, revealing dark brown rocks and deep mossy green beneath the surface. Where the occasional rocks juts out, or at odd shifts of direction, white form leaps into being then fades almost instantly. A rocky bed beside the river proper is covered with an inch or two of placid water, and the tube is set down here. 
	Scootaloo stretches out a bit after carrying the awkward luggage, then looks around, as if to make sure nobody is around. Then, with a devious smile, she opens up the small purse still carried. Her hand descends, then ascends, clutching a small brown bottle. To the three shocked faces before you, a massive grin responds, followed by a wild shout:
	“Who’s ready to get waaaasted!?” Wait. What? In your bewilderment at the beer-toting Scootaloo and her apparent belief that it’s enough to get four people wasted, Scootaloo takes action. Her small hand clamps down on the lid, trying to rip it off. An awkward moment later and it’s screwed off. She presses the bottle to her lips, inciting you to action. A few brisk steps forward brings the bottle within arm’s reach, and you easily confiscate it. Faced with such a betrayal, Scootaloo lets loose a mighty whine:
	“Awww come on!” 
	“Look, that’s really not a good idea.” You respond, commanded more by duty than by a reasonable objection. 
	“Why not?” She tries to take back the bottle from you, hitting you several times as you move it out of her grasping hand. Truth is, you can’t really think of a reason why this is a bad idea. It’s only one beer. Still, it doesn’t sit right with you. Thinking of what you should do, you come up with a compromise.
	“Because you guys are way to young to be getting wasted,” you explain, banking on the delusion that this amount of alcohol will get anything wasted. “And I’d be letting down AJ if I were to just stand by.” A look around show the three girls are slightly disappointed, but without rebuttal. Now’s your chance to pick it up: 
	“However.” Their eyes light up with this. “I don’t see anything wrong with a swig each.” The lit up faces signal a partial return to coolness. Lined up before you, you pass the bottle to Sweetie Belle first. You wouldn’t think she’d be into that, but she’s looking pretty determined. She grasps the bottle in her hand, staring at it intensely. You’re alright with waiting for her to muster her courage, but Scootaloo doesn’t wait to egg her on.
	“Come on, SB, don’t make us wait forever!” She doesn’t appear to respond immediately, instead continuing to stare at the bottle for another few seconds. Then, filled with determination, she nods then takes a huge pull. She manages to swallow, though her face contorts in disgust. She coughs a few times in another direction, thrusting the bottle away from her.
	“Ack! Geez, that was way gross!” Seems Apple Bloom is next in line. Huh. You wonder why Scootaloo’s moved to the back, but only for a moment. Apple Bloom looks hesitant to drink, her gaze flickering from her friends and you to the bottle. She doesn’t stare at the bottle as Sweetie Belle had done, but more looked at her audience. Hoping she’s not feeling pressured or anything, you open your mouth to tell her it’s fine if she doesn’t. But before any words can cross your lips, she pulls the top to her mouth and throws it back. The effect is similar to Sweetie Belle, with a quick swallow followed by a hacking cough. She turns, grimacing, to her partner in suffering.
	“Ah shoulda listened to you, Sweetie. That was awful.” Scootaloo grabs the bottle out of the offering hand, and with only a brief moment of hesitation, takes a long gulp. She takes much more beer than the others, judging by how long it stands upside down over her mouth, and has to gulp twice to het it all down. Her mouth contorts just a little, nowhere near as disgusted as the other girls, but you can tell she wasn’t a huge fan. As she speaks, her voice wavers with somewhat cloaked nausea:
	“That was… uh… great!” The lie’s pretty obvious, but you don’t call her out on it. The bottle returns to your own hands, and a new problem presents itself. What do you do with it? It’s not as if there’s a trash out here or anything, and you can’t exactly keep it with you (what if you forget, and AJ finds it?). Geez, you don’t want to litter… Hopelessly, you turn to Scootaloo and the girls:
	“I’m guessing there isn’t a trash anywhere near here.” She shakes her head.
	“Nope. Unless we wanna go into somebody’s backyard.” That doesn’t sound so bad, but you remember the trashy village coating the forest. Being a wealthy city kid, you can’t differentiate between the kind or indifferent poor and the violent poor. For all you know, a step into a backyard is grounds for execution. Maybe that’s classist or something, but you aren’t taking any chances. Sensing your negative answer, Scootaloo takes the lead: “Just throw it anywhere, ‘cept in the river.”
	“Yeah, but then it’s gonna look awful; I don’t wanna do that to this.” You wave your arm around the perfect scenery. Scootaloo shrugs.
	“Well, bury it then.” You don’t like it, but it sounds like the only option left. You head to a little patch of dirt, and dig a small hole. 
	“Wait!” Sweetie Belle cries, the descending bottle tilting sideways to fit. “You can’t do that!”
	“Can’t do what?”
	“If you bury it like that, the beer’s gonna spill out!” You’re still unclear on the issue.
	“Ok…” Her expression remains slightly panicked, hand still outstretched in a “stop” gesture.
	“I just read that alcohol is really bad for the environment! If you dump that out there, nothing’s gonna grow for 10 years.” That sounds suspiciously like a flat out lie, and you raise your eyes skeptically. Scootaloo joins in with a gleeful smirk.
	“Yeah, I read that too!” What’s she playing at? “We can’t pour any of it out!” Oh, now you get it.
	“Scootaloo, you can’t have any more.” You reply flatly, to which a ridiculous exaggeration of innocence comes up. Eyes and mouth wide open in innocent shock and a hand pressed to her chest, she speaks in the voice of a criminal who’d never conceived of being caught.
	“Whaaaat? Nooooo,” she shakes her head, the performance becoming ludicrous. “What I meant was, you’d better finish it off.” Oh wow, you didn’t expect that. You look at the unwanted booze, then to the three girls. Sweetie is nodding her head seriously, obviously buying into the plan, while Scootaloo is grinning wildly and nodding vigorously. Looking to AB, she shrugs her shoulders:
	“Sounds like that’s the only thing to do.” The lack of inflection in her voice doesn’t tell you if she’s bought into Sweetie’s mistake or if she’s following Scootaloo. But faced with three cute girls asking you, your small ability to resist peer pressure is found wanting. You bring up the bottle, taking a moment to sigh before you try to chug it. A couple swallows pass before the urge to cough pushes the bottle away from your mouth. That out of the way, you set yourself to finishing it off. Man, the girls barely took any of it! Finally, the last of the bitter liquid burns through your throat, and you toss the empty bottle into the hole provided. Blech. You were never much of a beer guy, even if you’ve had it before. The familiar burning of your throat reminds you of why you tended to abstain.
	The stares of the girls upon you only last a moment, being interrupted by the sound of the tube on the rocks. Apple Bloom turns, then speeds off. Only a second later the rest of you see the tube starting to move towards the stream proper, threatening to escape. Your cousin moves in an amber blur towards it, unconcerned with the wet rocks that hold her speeding feet. But safely she exits the slippery floor, through a grand leap onto the bloated figure eight. The craft sinks slightly under the thin frame, then bounces up, still continuing its wayward path. Three figures fly towards it, though more slowly, impaired by the safety concerns of the tallest. Little distance is made between their careful pursuit and the quickening raft. The float-bound girl reaches a heroic hand toward a rock, the head of which pierces the foaming lid of the river, trying to grab on. A slip carries it away, but another attempt is made upon the next. At this second skyward stone, the grip excels, but rather than anchor the ship, it serves only to pull her from it. Her torso moving slowly off the temporarily stopped escapee, she quickly releases the unhelpful pillar. Precious seconds are spent righting herself. As soon as her position is secured, she throws it away by leaping over the side. Two hands grab black handles atop it, while bare feet are tasked with anchoring. Successful, she takes steps towards bringing the captured prey to a less speedy zone. Patiently waiting for her troupe, she spies a nearby boulder with a promising grip. Grabbing it, she hoists herself back onto the raft and grips it, triumphant in keeping it still. 
	You and your protected companions arrive at the grinning Apple Bloom, the savior of the day. Noting the possibility of Apple Bloom losing, you direct the rest of the girls onto the boat.
	“Come on guys, before it slips away again.” Unthinking, your boarding places you on the ring opposite Apple Bloom. Sweetie Belle climbs into the Bloom-inhabited ring, and Scootaloo leaps onto you. She scrambles for proper positioning, in the meanwhile slamming an elbow directly into the critical zone. Eyes bulge and hands fly to the injured groin, while you hold in a pained groan. Outside your small world of torment, you faintly catch the conversation of your agony-inflicting friend and your kin.
	“Hey Bloom, ya don’t mind me sitting on your man, do ya?” A cocky voice comes. Apple Bloom scoffs a bit, not so jealous or so possessive as to deny her slightly heartbroken friend a favor. 
	“Not at all. But Ah’m gonna take him back in a bit.”
	“Fine by me,” Scootaloo responds, with more relief in her voice than she wanted. She scoots back and forth, a somewhat bony butt not feeling so great on your upper legs and groin. Just as she gets comfortable, you lose your own comfort, and adjust yourself. Picking yourself and taking a more reclined position, the small girl is lifted too, yelping as she does so. Finally, the two of you find some comfortable position in the small space. 
	“Come on, let’s be off then.” You say, and Apple Bloom releases the held anchor. The heavier float takes a minute to move, but with a little push, you find yourself in the stream proper. It isn’t as fast as you’d thought when you’d been chasing your present seat. Or perhaps the river just slowed, if that’s a thing. You weren’t exactly versed on the physics of streams. 
	In any case, the drift was leisurely, a slow pull through the enchanted forest surrounding you. The cloud of trees surrounded you, reaching to the shockingly blue sky. Several clouds were present, leaving a mottled cloak in that light blue. The sun was covered by a single cloud, made marvelously vibrant by that infusion. As a result, only the indirect, reflected light made it through the great towers. You and the girls were touched by that soft light, a mellow illumination that made on think of those magical hours before the sun sank completely. It fell perfectly on the trim girls, each of them shining like starry attendants. They were suits of purple, red, and swirling pink and purple, each attached to the girl holding the matching hair color. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom were lying side by side, arms cloaking each other in a lax hug. Thin, perfectly curving legs hung over the edge in a tangle, and their relaxed heads rested on the center. You found yourself a little jealous of the marshmallow Crusader, being so closely tied to your Apple Bloom. Your position was much the same as her, mirrored with Scootaloo. Only instead of being side-by-side with your companion, she laid on top of you. Your head rested on the center, not too far from Apple Bloom’s, while Scootaloo rested on your shoulder.
	Your resting head moves upwards, settling its gaze on Apple Bloom. Her gaze was already fixed on you, kind eyes drawing you in. A smile crosses your face at that perfect girl, which she returns. She’s too far to kiss, and the girl on you prevents any small motion. You could push her off, but that’d be rude. In the middle of devising a means of kissing, Apple Bloom once again demonstrates the synchronicity between both of you. Her soft hand extricates itself and moves to her lips, which kiss the tips of her pointer and middle finger. The two extended fingers then move over to your mouth, alighting on lips which receive the kiss. You can’t help but grin widely at the sign of affection as she returns her fingers to her own lips, to take the kiss you’d given. 
	You manage to move a hand over to the center, while she does the same. Comfortably resting, with hands clasping and then intertwined, the next few minutes pass in a peaceful bliss. Soon, the sun escapes from its cloudy prison, its full light blazing down on you. It’s pleasant; not so much the sight, but the noticeable warmth it offers. You yawn and stretch, not unlike the lazy motions of a well-pleased cat. Just as you’re settling back into a comfortable position, Scootaloo’s voice comes softly to your ear.
	“Hey, Anon.”
	“Sup?”
	“I need your help putting some sunscreen on.” Her voice is noticeable quieter than before, the question seeming honest. You look over to Apple Bloom, who’d heard the question. The smile perfecting her face remains, and you see a small nod. You’re not a huge fan of those guys that have to get permission, but you don’t want to hurt Apple Bloom, and this might be one of those things. But she seems fine with it, even encouraging you. 
	“Uh, yeah sure.”
	“Really?” Again, the question lacks the bluster and sarcasm, one of which is almost always found in her speech. Maybe she was actually needing this; you didn’t know her backstory, or really very much besides the facts that she lived in a slum and seemed slightly more interested in you than other people did. Still, it was given the OK, and you did like this girl. She was pretty fun to hang out with, and if there was something you could do for you, why not? 
	“Yeah. Where’s the sunscreen?” 	The middle compartment opens up, and Scootaloo fishes out a small bottle of suntan lotion. 
	“You sure you got that right?” You ask, not sure of the difference between suntan lotion and sunscreen.
	“Yeah? It’s sunscreen.”
	“Well, it says suntan lotion.”
	“Well, that’s what we packed, so that’s what we’re gonna use.” Still uncertain, you take it just as she flips herself over. She’s facing down now, head resting on the centerpiece while her legs are curled up and resting on the edge. Her back is face up, directly over your lap. Before you start, you notice something that wasn’t there on the pool day. Two tracings of thin black wings, located on each shoulder blade, both spread out and rendered in surprisingly skillful detail. 
	“Hey Scoots, what’re these?” She turns her head so the left side is lying on the middle, where her right eye can see you out of its corner. Already having committed to relaxing, her voice is almost sleepy.
	“Mm-what? Oh. Yeah, I was talkin’ ‘bout tattoo ideas with my sister last night, and I decided on some wings. Pinkie was there, ‘an she offered to do some for me.” Both the other girls are staring at her back too, obviously sharing your ignorance. 
	“Wow, that’s so cool!” exclaims Sweetie Belle.
	“Sure is,” agrees Apple Bloom.
	“Yeah, I’m pretty psyched about it. She took a picture so I could show it to the artist.” Her eyes close, some lost sleep apparently catching up with her. Noting her gradual fade from the scene, the other two girls immerse themselves in a conversation concerning Pinkie’s heretofore unknown artistic ability. Scootaloo shifts a few times and you worry a few times when her elbows move a little too close to your groin. But she comes out comfy and you come out un-elbowed, so everyone on this side of the float is happy. 
	Taking the bottle, you squirt a small amount onto your hands and rub them together, a mild coating present. You start at the area closest to you, the right side of her back. Two hands come down, the cool liquid sending a shiver through your subject. You send your hands apart, moving to the upper and lower-right of Scootaloo’s back. Fingers splay as they move out and come back together as they return to the center, just to add a little variety to the massage (and after all, that’s really what these things are about). For the same reason, your hands start slowly turning, your fingers 45 degrees inward on their outward motion, then 45 degrees outward on the converse. After a minute, you turn the motions wider, making circles over her back. Hands are now pointing towards each other on the middle-right of her back, then move to the middle left side, followed by small swirls back to the starting position. 
	Here and then you squirt a bit of lotion where you’ve missed or put it on lightly, pressing harder on these areas in order to hurry the rate of absorption. To be honest, you kind of wished she was facing away from you, instead of having her back horizontally placed on your lap. It made left-right synchronicity difficult, and upper-lower synchronicity was far less meaningful. So instead of trying to paint patterns with one hand and reflect or mirror them with the other, you take inspiration from Pollock: just random stuff in random places. As the intricate motions continued, still with a hint of artful design, you found yourself hoping Apple Bloom would see you. You’re tempted to check, but maintain the urge, staying focused on tracing intricate patterns on Scootaloo’s back.
	You can feel the curve of her back, tracing it with one hand all the way up to her neckline, the back down with the other. Her back moves slightly with each deep breath. In your slower movements, you can even feel the faint vibrations that follow her sigh of contentment. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the you-ward stare of your younger cousin looking at your hands, an almost hungry look in that solid gaze. Suddenly, this much treatment feels a bit odd, so you finish up those untouched place right quick, then declare the end. 
	“Alright, I think I got it.” You receive a happy groan in response, the purple-haired girl doing her best to sit up and stretch in the small space. 
	“Ah’ll say!” Apple Bloom comments, somewhat breathlessly. “Ah’m next!” You get the notion that your plan worked. The red-clad girl tries to get up while the purple-clad girl does the same. Both are on their knees before the center, attempting to switch sides without putting two much weight on one side. They start forward several times, then back up quickly when the rocking raft threatens their dryness. Their eyes lock, plans forming like rabbit babies in their minds. 
	“Here, let’s-“ Scootaloo starts, reaching for Apple Bloom’s hands. Hands meet, and slowly they rise, conjoining the two girls. It isn’t clear to you what they’re thinking, but it’s the same thing, that’s for sure. Perfectly synchronized, each lifts up their left leg and slowly brings it over to the other side. Shifting torsos, both girls are now sitting on top of the centerpiece with legs in both camps. Slowly they try to rise once more, in order to get the other leg over, and to complete the transferring of spots. The water isn’t moving too fast, and luckily there are no rocks; nevertheless, you worry for both girls’ safety. Your worries come to awful fruition when Sweetie takes that moment to adjust herself, the temporary change of weight distribution causing the side opposite you to sink just a little bit. Scootaloo’s hands, near you, immediately grasp onto your immovable shoulders, steadying herself. Apple Bloom’s hands are near no such mount, and they flail wildly before she falls backwards into the water.
	“Shit!” You shout, jerking forward. The sudden noise and worry blocks your conscious to the second splash. At the edge of the inner tube, you stop yourself, realizing the problem is a very minor one. Apple Bloom surfaces in no time, adjusting her displaced top and laughing. Her wet hair falls over her shoulders and face, and she corrects the latter inconvenience. She swims up to your side, now conspicuously Scootaloo-free. Your turn backwards, and find a similarly drenched Scootaloo spitting some water off to the side. She looks over to Sweetie Belle right before the inner tube smacks her head. One small arm reachs up the downstream side and yanks the rest of her body up. Scooting in close to her bestie, she levels a withering look towards her. Sweetie Belle returns with a nervous laugh.
	“heh heh heh…?” Surprisingly. Scootaloo takes it up.
	“Hah ha ha ha!” Seeing that her sins are forgiven, the initiator laughs a little more confidently.
	“Ha ha ha ha ha ha! 
	“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Right as Sweetie Belle begins to get suspicious, Scootaloo leans back, then extends her arms, pushing Sweetie right out of the inner tube. Her shrill cry is cut short by her inundation, all but a flailing hand falling beneath the rippling water. Beneath the white residue of the splash, her form can be seen, distorted by the chaotic currents. The almost-foam disappears, the progeny of a splash never knowing long life, and the blurry image of an angry Sweetie Belle comes into full view. The clearness of the water does not last, however. Sweetie Belle leaps up out of the waiting, a great gasp tearing through the giggling atmosphere. Wiping great strands of interspersed pinks from her eyes, Sweetie Belle gives her bestie a mean eye, the kind you’d never expect from such a pretty girl. 
	“Oh, it is on!” she says, an attempted shout ruined by the squeaky rage and a mortifying crack on the final word. She strides towards the pathetic escape of your slow-moving raft, unable to run in the thigh-deep water. 
	“Oh no!” Scootaloo laughs, in that particular tone belonging to someone both having fun and foreseeing a comic vengeance. The deep awaited her, and she knew it. She scrambles back as far as she can, which really isn’t very far. She sits on the far end of the tube, almost flipping her side over, then hastily leans forward to avoid such a fate. But the thin escape provided a valuable scheme for Sweetie Belle, who saw a way to recreate it. Scootaloo, mind adrenalized by her near dive, did not see how the information could be used against her. Instead, she only sat ready for Sweetie on that end, awaiting the only recourse she could think of: Sweetie climbing on and pushing her off, the same motions she herself had done. But the preparations to keep Sweetie off came short when Sweetie Belle grabbed the nearest edge of the tube, the side opposite to Scootaloo’s, and heaved it upwards. Up the tube tilted, Scootaloo’s tube approximately 70 degrees in the air, and yours’ and Apple Bloom’s only about 30 (the length of the craft didn’t allow for a full translation of the tilt). As a result, you and your guest needed only to grab tightly to each other and the handles to stave off the terrible plunge. 
	Scootaloo was far from lucky, and was tipped off, open mouthed, in seconds. A short “Waa!” erupted from the chaotic non-fruit side, cut off by a loud splash. The mirrored effect of Sweetie’s plight brought a grin to the agent of justice, who then tried to climb in. She grabbed both handles and hoisted one leg over the inflated border. But no sooner had her slipper foot touched the inner edge than, for reasons unseen, she let out a fierce cry.
	“AHHH!” She tilted her head back to let out the mighty squeak. She then dipped down a few inches, as if something beneath pulled her. The whole scene evoked a horror-movie feel, with the beautiful girl being horrified as something beneath yanked her unsafe leg. She clung madly to the handles, desperately trying to fight off the underwater pull. Fearfully, she managed to stay, though the tube threatened to turn over in her direction. The pull subsided, and she gained a few inches in height as the natural float prevailed. Gasping breaths blew water droplets off the interior as she rested. Then a spiky bomb of purple flew up behind her, the necessary intake of air preceding a warlike bellow:
	“HUUUUUUHHH- YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” Tan arms reached upwards, as if to pierce the heavens, as their owner rocketed upwards. Then, as her descent began, both arms fell onto the screaming victim, clutching her body. The sopping monster clung tightly to her, trying to pull the girl away from the tube and into a watery demise.
	“NONONONONONO-“ came the marshmellow lady’s howl, her tight cling not lasting against the might of Scootaloo. For a moment, hope shone through when the plain tug didn’t work. But tan legs soon arose and pressed feet against the side, the extension of which then propelled the mess of terror and pink into a shock of white spray. The tangle of friends had long sent you and your Apple into hysterics, both of you not expecting the show. Two hair-covered heads arose from the water, ceasing their battle to look at the laughing cousins. One looks at the other, who nods, and they both silently move towards the previously safe duo. A falsetto speaks from behind a curtain of pinks:
	“Something funny?” The sudden attention of the voice and the veiled threat seizes your attentions, blinding you to the disappeared partner. You’ve come to sit crisscross, like a Buddha statue, with your arms around Apple Bloom, whose legs fall over your right side and whose arms have clung to your neck, unlike a Buddha statue. You feel her arms constrict, as she tremblingly replies, in that same half-jocular, half-nervous tone from before.
	“Uh, no sir! Not at all!” But the laughter remains in Apple Bloom, breaking forth in an unhidden “pffft!” Your accuser’s pale hand peels back the curtain, a pair of happily menacing eyes fully stopping Apple Bloom’s humor. You try to bring the threatening party over to your side of things.
	“Come on, Sweetie, it was kind of funny.” She shakes her head and gives little, quick nods.
	“Oh yeah. Real funny.” She moves forward as she speaks, a small expression of malevolent joy growing on her face. With all your efforts spent on not appearing as terrified as you are, you fail to be properly aware of your situation. Only when her hands rise and surreptitiously grasp the handles do you begin to feel as alarmed as you ought to be. “You know what else is?” Your alarm comes too late: before you can make any securing motions, her hands push down with all her force. Behind you, Scootaloo had pushed upwards, the two motions using the combined weight against you. Sweetie almost moves out of the way, but her left arm is subject to the tumbling mass of you and Apple Bloom. 
	Underwater, you’re blind to her shaking the pain from her arm, caught up in a flash of colors. They fade quickly as you shut your eyes against the uncomfortable touch of the river. Vestibular senses completely out of order, you feel an acute sense of panic as your spatial awareness disappears entirely. There’s water, some skin, and a rock touching you, and that’s about the sum of your knowledge of the world about. Gradually, the spinning stops (though it was only one rotation, it feels like twenty) and external knowledge grows. The slippery rocks under your feet, the departing grip of a lost hug, and a whole lotta wet. Pushing yourself up, your upper body escapes the watery atmosphere. Water rushes off of your body, passing its grip on you to a sudden chill of the cold air. You suck in new air, then cry out as your arms cling to your cold chest. 
	“Ahhh!” A moment passes, and the temperature returns to a more reasonable degree. Besides you is a similarly emerging Apple Bloom, who mirrors your gasp. Her hair is clings to her face, the only unfortunate aspect about those beautiful strands of rose, now made a dark crimson by the moisture. You look around, quickly finding the figure eight not too far downstream. Two girls occupy the two seats, both crisscross and with supporting elbows on their knees and hands on their chins. They watch you, grinning, feeling safe in their lofty perches. Apple Bloom shakes her head, then brings her hair to rest on her shoulders, sight regained. 
	She looks to you, a call to vengeance in that playful determination. You nod, reading her intention, then kneel down and gesture to your shoulders. She lights up as your plan is understood, then climbs aboard. She climbs aboard, thighs resting on your shoulders and legs dangling over your shimmering bod. Standing up, Apple Bloom clears the water line, and points towards the now worried girls. 
	“FRIENDSHIP FUSION TEN: ASSAULT CHICKEN!” she screams, and you hide a chuckle in your serious business face. Attagirl. You walk forward, not too fast –gotta keep your pilot safe- but quickly enough to gain on the enthroned opponents. Sweetie Belle actually looks alarmed, her hands grasping at the safety promising handles. Scootaloo looks happy, the joy of battle clear in her earnest grin. She too grasps the handles, but only with one hand: the other is cocked and ready to grapple. Naturally, you pick the former, her being an easier target. Your march slowly brings you to the tube-bound girl, and you slow a bit, keeping pace with her craft. A foot from her, you shout your intentions, both to comply with the theme your team has taken and to give Apple Bloom a heads up.
	“BATTLE ATTACK TWELVE! APPLES FROM THE SKYYYY!” Immediately, you fall forward, bringing a detaching Apple Bloom onto Sweetie. The last thing you hear before your head falls underwater is the battle-cry of your jockey mixing with the scream of your target. This time you recover more quickly, keeping your balance as you rise to the surface. You see a mess of teenage girl tangling in the small space, and the small part of you not dedicated to the campaign wondering why mud-wrestling is a sport and inner-tube showdowns aren’t. Realizing there’s little you can do in the Belle-Bloom struggle, you turn your attention towards Scootaloo. 
	Her eyes are glued to the nearby thrashing, and so don’t immediately notice your approach. She does catch you before you get too close, dissolving your plans of a sneak attack. Immediately, she shifts position, moving her body to a less moveable position, and arms ready to parry yours. Still you move closer, laying your hands on the rim and leaning in. She responds by placing flat hands on your chest and pushing. What folly! Expecting this, your hands were ready to reach up and grab her wrists. Doing so, you allow her momentum to bring you back, using your weight to add to the momentum. Her push and your pull combined, you succeed in wrenching her partway out of her seat, an alarmed shout telling of your partial success. Tilted back, the water cushions your momentum, stopping with her only partly out of the tube. You quickly muster some balance and pull again, taking advantage of her precarious position and moving all but the lower part of her legs out of the seat. With her center of gravity out, she falls into the water, the close proximity to the water resulting in a small splash. 
	Naturally, you join her underneath, having spared no effort to keep yourself above. Your short intake of air lasts a moment, but not long enough to stay for more than a few seconds. You rise to the surface, only to see a Scootaloo already waiting for you. In your terror you suck in some breath, not having enough time to fortify your position as hands push you back under. Not ready to give her any more time than you can, you immediately thrust yourself skywards, arms outstretched and ready for grappling. Your hands collide with hers, and you lock arms. Both parties push with all their might, but your greater strength is negated by the lack of solid position and the inability to find one. Every time your feet get close to finding a solid position, you pushes, or pulls, keeping you from finding it. Darn, this girl is good. You try your previous tactic, trying to use the force of her push to bring you both down, but she’s ready. She moves along with you, but positions herself on top of your falling body, mounting you while you go underwater. 
	Her legs clamp on both sides of you, her torso upright. The water reaches up her chest as you sink, but her head remains above. A handful of plans surge through your head, but none of them are found acceptable. The only potentially successful responses you can think of will take much more energy than you have. Not exactly a super fit person, your stores of energy are depleted much faster than you’d like. Your body goes limp as you signal your surrender, the triumphant girl hopping backwards. To secure the point and dodge any more attacks, you raise your hands as you emerge, open-palmed in a secondary gesture of surrender. You cough, then verbalize it.
	“Alright, I surrender.” You try not to gasp as you speak, and succeed in holding back the sign of exhaustion until you finish. She grins, then raises her hands in victorious fists. Her eyes close in jubilation, a guttural 
	“WOOOO!” exiting. She turns to the inner tube, greeted by a cheer from Sweetie Belle, who formed peace with Apple Bloom already. Apple Bloom offers you a comforting glance, a respectful “you did good” in her eyes. You’re glad you didn’t completely let her down. As you and your water-bound friend approach the dryer party, Scootaloo asks them:
	“Who won?” Sweetie Belle looks away, pretending to notice something interesting. Apple Bloom beams, proud of the truth that turned away her friend. 
	“Ah did!” She announces the circumstances of her speedy victory, the wrestling ability of the farm girl exceeding that of the pampered fashionista. A few deft moves and a near fall had prompted Sweetie to surrender soon after you’d pulled her partner off. Scootaloo doesn’t seem too upset at this, and claps her hand on Sweetie’s shoulder.
	“S’alright, I made up for you.” About to climb in the circle opposite that shared by Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, the latter calls out.
	“Hold on a minute!” One leg awkwardly in, she cuts her climb short.
	“What?”
	“Ya already got your turn with Anon.” Apple Bloom gets halfway up and starts moving towards the circle Scoots is about to get into. “An Ah still need some a’ that sunscreen treatment.” Scootaloo raises her eyebrows, and huffs good-naturedly. 
	“Sure, sure.” She takes her leg out and moves over to Sweetie Belle’s side, crawling over the side. Sweetie Belle, who’d dried off a bit, is set upon by her partner’s soaking form. The cold water renders the sun’s work pointless, making the girl cry out.
	“Ahh! Cold!” Scootaloo only laughs and snuggles up to her, the small space a perfect excuse to get her friend thoroughly wet. Amid the continued shouts of the poor girl, you look at your future tube-mate. She grins at you, while her open arms invite you in. You return the happy expression, looking forward to the lotion-application as much as her. Climbing aboard, you mirror Scootaloo’s effect, though your shipmate doesn’t seem as upset as her counterpart. Laughing happily as you reach each other, you hug briefly. Then, fumbling a bit, you position yourselves as Scootaloo and you had before, with you crisscrossed on the black net that formed a floor of the tube, and her laid out on your lap, facedown. Just as you’re about to fish the lotion out of the zipped middle compartment, you hear shouts from a distance. 
	Looking around, you see no sign of anybody, despite the shouts clearly marking the area inhabited. The visual environment remains natural, the same river lined with grassy mounds and grand trees. Your party looks around, then to Scootaloo. After all, she’d probably know better than the rest of you, this being her neck of the woods. She shrugs her shoulders half-heartedly, a curious expression in her face implying that she does have some clue what was going on, and looking for confirmation of such. The ruckus grows, and your troupe looks downstream, realizing the source lies in the immediate future. Sure enough, a colorful pack of raucous adults are partying on the left side of the river. Nearing them, a couple adults in brightly colored shirts take notice of your voyage. One of them, just shy of placing a lampshade over his head, calls out.
	“OI! SCOOTS, IZZAT YOU!?” Far from embarrassment, Scootaloo does her best to stand a wave to them.
	“SUP, LENNY!?”
	“AY GUYS! IZ SCOOTS!” Jubilant cheers erupt from the wild festival as Scootaloo’s comrades join Lenny in his salutation. They line the river, about twenty in all, and wave frantically to your small group. Mad hellos ring through the small section, interspersed with the twang of a guitar and clinks of beer bottles. It looks like Scootaloo’s more popular than you realized. Bright lights shine in the leaves, spotlights filling the place of the cloud-hid sun. Spots of red, blue, green and yellow swirl around, the source unfound.
	A couple of them wade into the river, hands flopping wildly back and forth in drunken greetings. This is enough to make you uncomfortable, not wanting your party to be joined with this one. Fortunately, they don’t come out much further, having less influenced friends drag them back, some of them after falling facedown. Apple Bloom and Sweetie wave along with Scootaloo, calling out the names of some of them. If they’re comfortable around these people, you should be too. Not that you are; you still know nobody here, and certainly haven’t a clue as to how to interact with the proletariat. But they seem to have an idea of how to interact with you. 
	“HEY YOU!” comes a shrill cry from the clamor, a twenty-something calls out to you. She’s got hair dyed red, white and blue, and wears a bright red bikini. Her hair’s a bit tangled, and she’s got a bit of a slouch, but neither takes too much from the apparent beauty. You aren’t interested or anything, but it does differentiate her from some of the other, less attractive members. “HEY! HEY CUTIE!” Your natural reaction to an attractive woman calling you cute combines with the discomfort of being addressed by the unknown, as well as the confusion over what to do in the context of your thing with Apple Bloom. It results in a neutral response, a sheepish wave hello, born from absolute confusion. What she does next doesn’t help. Her hands grip the edges of her top, pulling it down in one smooth motion. 
	Like a wave, the trend spread, with other girls of a similar caliber ripping off their tops. Shortly, you passed by them, yours eyes fixed on a point at eye level, just west of the ship. Luckily, you’d moved past the spectacle before the males figured they’d try their hand at exposure. Still, that sudden flashing, and the subsequent wave had brought the motions of your mind to a single question: what? The situation had changed so suddenly, and you weren’t the quickest to adapt and react. Apple Bloom broke you out of that minor catatonia with a strange expression and a tug on your arm. You turn to her and continue pursuing the key that might bring meaning to the turn of events:
	“What. The hell. Was that?” She shrugs, an almost pitying understanding in her eyes. 
	“Scootaloo’s friends,” she says, hoping that the simple phrase will be enough to satisfy you. She looks caught between a distaste of the activities and the long work of getting used to it. Innocent as Apple Bloom was, she could still walk past some pretty raunchy activities and not bat an eye, the result of visiting this neighborhood for years. You press a palm to your hand, muttering the follow up: 
	“Why?” But there’s no answer from Apple Bloom, who had ceased to look them herself. Trying not to be too classist, you do your best not to assume that’s the norm. You look confusedly to Scootaloo, who seems to be enjoying your perplexed countenance at her side of the world. 
	“What’s wrong, Anon? Don’t ya like Shelby?” You tilt your head back and sigh, choosing to ignore the questions. The partying, now filled with yelps and shouts, slowly moves away. Scootaloo continues: “Come on, you coulda hurt her feelings.” 
	“You know, she seemed a little too out of it to notice.” Scootaloo crosses her arms, pretending that she isn’t just playing with you.
	“So she drank a little, so what? That’s how you celebrate birthdays.” She pauses, then looks at you with a slight sneer. “Well, maybe not you, seeing how you handled that bottle from earlier.” You’d take offense, but this was from a girl who nearly gagged when she took a minor pull. It doesn’t cut too deep. You ignore the comment, not wanting to play into her teasing. Right now, you’d rather just relax. 
	You close your eyes, blocking out the external world. The sounds dim as you breathe slowly, trying to distance yourself from the supremely uncomfortable position. Out of the clouds, the sun begins to peek out, casting bright light on your party again. You shake off your discomfort, hoping to return to the sillier part of the day. Relaxing, you guess you kinda made a bigger deal out of that than you needed to: just some people celebrating a birthday party; that’s all. Feeling calmer, you tune into Scootaloo asking you
	“Hey come on, I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?” The same strain of mockery was clear from within her tone. You shrug it off, but the next question piques your curiosity. “Here, does this make it better?” You open one eye, focusing on her. Her small, tan hands have gripped the upper lining of that purple top, and her eyes are focused intently on you. Seeing you seeing her, she busts out a huge grin and yanks it down, mimicking her friend from the shore.  
	A pair of perky breasts greet you, these shocking you far more than the stranger’s. They’re small, the lines around them not as definite as the bigger ones presented to you on internet pages. “Pull yourself away from them!” comes the fierce internal order. Inwardly nodding, you prepare your pulling away muscles. But as you try to put motion to intent, some awful force sucks all the energy out of you. “Turn yourself away!?” some shocked constituent cries from within. These are boobs! Boobs! A heroic attempt is made to push the dancing globes as far from your mind as possible. Despite your best efforts, your reeling mind is filled with short reports, avoidable as glasses made of neon lights: Tan! Bouncy! Jiggles! Nipples! But eventually, your will overcomes the great constructs of evolution and condition: your eyes swivel to the row of trees opposite. It’s kind of a disappointing sight, your former appreciation failing to reemerge under this new context. Though there was little you could have done better, pangs of guilt angrily chastise you for the delay. Your sight lowers to the lap-bound Apple Bloom, to search for some external reprimand.
	Scootaloo watched with unhidden glee, even shaken her chest a little bit during that time you were stuck. The plan had begun at the sight of your furtive scheming with Apple Bloom earlier in the day. You’d caught her off-guard, the resulting lack of footing setting the stage for those rare moments of embarrassment. Normally, she’d be fine with her feelings, admitting them to foil other’s schemes to embarrassment and owning them in such a fashion that would end up flustering the teaser. But not this time. She’d known she’d have to get you back, and fast. If she could beat you to the punch, not only could she avoid future humiliations, but maybe even turn the tables. It helped that this game of teasing was her primary method of catching boys: what it hadn’t achieved in success, it had in some damn good fun. 
	And so, during the long van ride, she’d filled her head with sundry plans of one-upmanship, trying to pick just the right kind of lewd to stagger the city boy. Ever the improviser, she’d only set a vague plan centered on flashing. Opportunities for slipping out of her suit, “accidently” unhinging the clasps underwater, and full on flashes were planned out and searched for in the moment. Several good moments had passed, much to her dismay. But when she saw Shelby, who was always itchin’ to show some skin, she knew the wait was right. Making sure Anon didn’t see, she’d mimed pulling her bra down, sticking her thumb at Anon. Her neighbor performed perfectly, setting the stage for her coup de grace. 
	This wasn’t the first time she’d gone topless in this river, nor was it the first time with the other girls. This was a comfortable place for them, a safe place. However, this was definitely the most fun she’d had doing so, the pure shock of Anon’s face more valuable than gold. And so, she stood before that befuddled boy, not turning away before those brightly burning cheeks confirmed her victory. The amount of time spent looking wasn’t too bad either: she expected more, but it was still satisfactory. Now, his face was facing the opposite way, unmoving; she knew he was still seeing her. 
	Suddenly, a prick of discomfort finds its way into her in the form of her friend. She’d pushed away thoughts of Apple Bloom upset, thinking that she’d understand, maybe even laugh alongside her. Only after the act was complete did the worry grow strong. There wasn’t anything that the purple-haired girl treasured more than her friends, but sometimes she just got so caught up in her little games. Though things had been always patched up before, and she believed that things always would be patchable, she still despised the thought of its necessity. She looked down to her friend, an urgency in her anxious search for a note of accusation in her eyes. 
	Apple Bloom remained face down, arms hanging over the edge of the tube. She had not moved since laying down in Anon’s lap once he’d begun relaxing and ignoring Scootaloo. Both parties found themselves wanting, no answer in the apparently unknowing girl. But unbeknownst to them, the occasion was fully foreseen, ever since Apple Bloom had noticed the giddy directions sent to the first flasher. And as she turned over, yawning innocently in the eyes of two of her dearest ones, she smiled. This was perfect. While it she wasn’t known for it as Scootaloo was, Apple Bloom had a hidden passion for scheming. Every once in a while, she’d take the lead for the CMC’s more secretive missions, or make plans that encompassed those set forward by her friends. It was uncommon for her to fall into this deviousness, a candid and simple mindset being far preferred. But in these occasions, involving a scheming best friend and a crush, she knew she’d have to play her cards carefully. 
	Her plan from the start was skinny dipping. It was just a bud when she’d come up with it at the swimming pool, carefully kept within the back of her mind. Like her friend, she would forego those overcomplicated plans contingent on too many uncertainties. Rather, she decided on the theme, and tried to guide situations through to her goals. And also like her friend, the perfect means had been found in passing that strip-happy girl on the bank of the river. Scootaloo had done well to mask her signals from Anon, but the speedy motions weren’t missed by either girl. Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes, sighing as she resigned herself to a very dramatic future. Apple Bloom saw a chance to piggyback off of Scootaloo’s plan, and shed some clothes herself.
	The subject of nudity wasn’t a terribly important one for Apple Bloom; growing up where she did, it wasn’t unheard of to have seen most of your friends at least once. There were definitely a handful of times that the CMC had slipped out of uncomfortable hiking clothes or swimsuits and enjoyed their secret place or the river in reflection of the style of those places: unaugmented, the way God made them. It wasn’t the norm, sure, but it could be pretty fun. The addition of Anon to the group did set a small part of her in worry, making her question whether or not she oughta be following Scootaloo’s inevitable example. But the more she thought about it, the more natural it seemed; Anon was a friend. No, closer than that. She’d gone in the buff her with her friends, why not him? And besides, if he bore his heart to her, would it really be so wrong to bear some piece of herself to him?
	Mind made up, she blinked lazily at the worrying Scootaloo, whose bra was still out of place. She looks interestedly at the poorly reclothed Scootaloo. Doing her best to appear as if deducing the events from the clue, she offhandedly asked her holder
	“Did she flash you?” Uncomfortable, he nervously replied:
	“Uh… yeah, kinda. I mean, yes.” She could tell he was feeling a little guilty, and a small wondering of if he liked looking at her gave her stomach a small wrench. The worry was pushed down, an answer predicted in the near future. She blinks her eyes lazily, giving a cute little yawn. 
	“Oh, ok. Is it cool if I do it too?” She laughs softly, trying to add a little levity to the shocking asking. It’s a stretch, the words sounding unnatural as they passed through her relaxed façade. Part of her regrets not thinking through her lines to a greater degree. She quickly adds an explanation: “We’ve gone topless before, plenty of times.” New fears of the explanation being needless, or raising skepticism in itself. Amid worries of suspicion and detection, she finds her fretting needless. The previous anxiety of the two viewers had blown away any chance of them accusing her of any faults, let alone considering the possibility of any devious plotting. And the current shock of her casual request hadn’t left much room for suspicion. Scootaloo nodded a little too vehemently, eager to please Apple Bloom, so as to keep her from any thoughts of betrayal. Anon, nearly accustomed to being stunned by his cousin, was not ready for this. Dumbly, unthinking affirmations fell from his dazed countenance.
	“Uh… sure.” Happy that her goal had been met, she turned over on her back and pointed to the clasp. 
	“Thanks. Could you get that for me?” Scootaloo, still caught in the rush of escaping the terrible fear of a friendship harmed, sits quietly in her own seat. Sweetie Belle greets her partner with raised eyebrows, seeing a doomed plan meet its failure. Anon was still Apple Bloom’s. Scootaloo rests by her friend, outstretched arms pulling her into a tender hug. Together, they sit quietly, finally ready to just chill, after all the action and drama on their part subsided.
	On the other side, Apple Bloom’s top is undone, the straps falling to the sides. And though all you see now is a completely bare back, his heart beats ten times faster than before. The situation still seems surreal, the designs of the two girls with hidden founts of cleverness still beyond your sight. You were drifting, and then there was other people, and then there were boobs. That’s the best timeline you can construct right now. The freed girl below you grabs the front of the red circles and turns a little towards you as she deposits it in the center, giving you a quick glimpse of both beauties. Secretively, you adjust your embarrassing confession of lust, hoping it goes unnoticed. She doesn’t give any sign of noticing, so you cling to that ridiculous hope of secrecy. It grows harder to cling to when she resumes lying down, the warm skin on your bulging pants informing you that your adjustments did not move it out of the way at all. But still she gives no indication of noticing it, save for a growing smile pointed away from you. 
	Her back is presented to you again, a perfect, spotless image. At a small prompting, you remember your task of applying sun lotion. She presents it as a simple act, as if you weren’t being consumed with passion and this wasn’t the kind of thing that made you burn all the hotter. If the date last night hadn’t ended with that beautiful outpouring of affection, you might have just assumed that her intentions were innocent. But even you weren’t that oblivious; this couldn’t be the simple desire to relieve herself of an unwanted garment. Chances are, part of this, if not most of it, was for you. And you were more than happy to play this game with her. Clearly, this wasn’t going to be some big sensual moment with her, not with the other girls around. But you had her back on your lap, and hands that knew how to work; if she was gonna allure you with her exposed chest, you were gonna show her just what you could do with a massage. 
	The first thing you do is to twist yourself to the right, so that you’re almost facing the same way as Apple  Bloom. You then lean a little to the left, so your shoulders are a little closer to being over her body. This way, you can have a better ability to synchronize hand motions on both sides of her back. The issue with Scootaloo’s massage mostly done away with, you place your hands on the hot skin beneath you. Your hands are cool, but won’t be for long; quickly, you take advantage of the additional sensation. 
	You raise your palms slightly, so only your fingers tips lie on her back, but these pressing down enough to be felt. Slowly, you drag them down to just above her hips. Then your fingers curl, leaving the top two knuckles on her, which rise up to your starting place. You repeat the process with the first knuckle of your slightly damp fingers pulling down, then pushing the backs of them upwards. On the third run, you introduce a little swerving to the rise and fall, letting your fingers naturally splay and close in the course of the curving motions. After completing the third trip up, your hands rise further, hands grasping onto the shoulders. A small pull and a large lean down brings your head to the side of her neck, where you lay a prolonged kiss. You hear her breathe in sharply, telling you that you’re doing well. 
	You feel your own lungs breathing deeply, a certain pressure rising in your chest as desire grows in you. After the wet kiss ends, you blow lightly on the damp mark, then lean back up. You task one hand with lightly rubbing her back in a random pattern –sometimes it was best to just go wherever the whim of your hand wished to go- and reached for the lotion with the other hand. Your caress moves to the upper center of her back, and begins painting a small circle there with its four joined fingers. Applying pressure, and moving a little faster, you build up a little heat and bring her full attention to that area. Then, without warning, a hefty drop of cold lotion splashes onto the golden back. She yelps a little bit, the sudden chill causing her to twitch. 
	Your deft hand wipes to it the left, smearing some on the top of her back and some on your hand. You quickly rub your hands together, trying to coat the front of both hands with a thin layer before it loses the coolness. Different sensations are key to these things, thus the importance of quick administration of the material. The same goes for the curving motions and shifting attention; straight lines alone and the caressing of only one or a few places leads to accustomization, which not only diminishes the overall effect (including enjoyment), but also interest. And this needs to be a ride, a show for the subject, keeping their attention rapt as you trace incredible journeys across their backs. 
	The next placement is just below her shoulders, to the sides of that area you’d placed the lotion on. It was important to create sensations, but they couldn’t be too stark. For one, there has to be some build-up, some sort of indication of where you’re going next (if it’s going to be a large sensation), otherwise the variety feels random, instead of being directed by a clever and knowledgeable mind. Your coated hands begin spiraling on both sides of her back. Each hand made an occasional foray into the center, ensuring that it received the same amount of love as the sides, where the motions were centralized. 
	The next step was to begin the decent, the spotlighted sensation being the warmed lotion upon dry skin. You introduce the new feeling methodically, placing hands on a higher spot with more lotion, and then slowing bringing your swirling motions down, damping an area beneath. After one iteration, you’d rub up and down in overlapping vertical lines, bringing them slowly into the center. Thus, a row was established, after which you’d add a small dab to your hands, rub it into that lower area, then repeat for an area just below it. In this way, you made sure to cover the whole back, not missing a single spot. Throughout, her only noticeable reaction was the heavy breaths, known by the slight motions of her back. But overt reactions weren’t always the rule; you knew to be satisfied with the pleasure of the work alone. 
	Still, you had one finishing touch in mind. You swivel back into your old position, your Apple Bloom lying horizontally on your lap once more. Noting your motion, she also shifted a bit, showing her transition to a place where she’d be ready to move again. You slid your hand across her back, letting it come to rest on her left shoulder, which pointed away from you. You pull it, and she receives the instruction to turn over to you. Sleepily, she smiles as she turns over, her fully exposed chest in plain sight for the first time. Before you enjoy that well-earned sight, you lean down swiftly, and kiss her. Her lips, after meeting yours, immediately starting to move away, the girl thinking kisses were exclusively pecks. But you keep on her, opening your lips and letting your tongue barely out. It brushes along her lips, which naturally permit entrance. And there, you give Apple Bloom her first real kiss.
	The kiss goes long and slow, the unpracticed girl enjoying the French kiss. Her tongue is unsure of what to do, but pretty soon follows your lead in moving into your own mouth and exploring. At the touch of her tongue, you find yourself shocked at the experience, your whole body feeling as if it’s crackling with energy. It isn’t your first time doing this; in fact, you had kind of brushed aside the notion of kisses being mind-blowing as some middle school fantasy. But this felt like it was your first time, your heart nearly exploding with happy affection for the perfect girl in your arms. 
	The kiss doesn’t last, but even as you break away, the joy of you and your Apple Bloom remaining strong. It goes from that active excitement of new experience to the softer joy. Heart still beating fast, you lean back and extend your feet across the edges of the tube, lying parallel and beside your beloved. She grants you a massive grin, then kisses you several times before resting her head on your shoulder. Both of you would like to continue, but all the effort of today, combined with the presence of several companions is enough to convince you to wait. You wrap your arm around her and pull her close, her chest pressed into your side. And together, as if isolated from the rest of the world, you float down the river in peaceful silence. 
	Settling in, you glance down at her. The tangle of rosy hair pulls back to reveal a smiling girl, eyes wide and bright. Her eyes shine like two small suns, grabbing you in their loving gleam. Little flecks of white are scattered throughout, begging to be counted. The small shake of a quiet laugh moves her eyes, stopping your count. Her eyes are crinkled, the truest expression of happiness you’ve ever seen directed towards you. You can’t believe it’s you that’s made her like this, you who somehow managed to be the source of joy for her. It fills you with a sweet sort of pride, as if the happiness of the tanned princess on you was some great prize for a grueling gauntlet. It was a trophy of sorts, something you felt you could hold up to yourself and say: look at this. Look at that happy girl. I did that. 
	She shows off her chest a few times, pretending to yawn or scratch her back, the two perfect breasts bouncing slightly at every motion. They’re actually a little large for a girl her size, noticeably bigger than the other girls. There’s not much of a tan there, not enough bikini adventures to bring out that typical whiteness that contrasts against the skin. Small areolas coat the hardened nipples, just large enough to be felt when she presses into you. There’s an odd feeling in your embrace and the casual motions of the easygoing girl. The word plain comes to mind; not meaning she or that incredible chest is. Goodness no. No, it’s like, what’s going on isn’t abnormal.
	You furrow your brow as you try to put your finger on it. It feels like this is how it’s supposed to be. It’s special of course, but it doesn’t have that some feel as other exposures you’ve seen or heard about. Part of this whole thing was that you were a boy and girl that loved each other very much, and that gave this that unique, almost sacred feeling of intimacy. But at the same time, her languid motions and your own easy heartrate testified to something else. It was still intimacy, but that of a couple long together, not newly discovering each other, though you obviously fit the latter category more. Still, you were her cousin, her friend, and all that pressure to perform that had captured your other experiences with girls was absent. You could just be with her, and she could just be with you. And her in a more natural state, was simply that: natural. Hugging her tightly, you hold back a latent sentimentality moistening your eyes. You felt at home. 
	The short bursts of wind push her closer to you, shivering slightly. A couple more blasts, and the worst happens. She pulls her top out of the center console, and drapes it over her front. Holding it up with her left hand, her right moves back to fiddle with it. Following your heart, you gently touch her supporting hand, your other deviously guiding her clasp-tying away. Immediately she catches on, smiling happily. She hadn’t expected you to be so obvious attracted to something she saw in the shower every day, and she was flattered. Your continual gaze and shameless taking advantage of those ogle-opportunities had swiftly removed any fears that you’d jump into Scootaloo’s waiting arms. But although she did treasure your treasuring of her, she was cold.
	“Come on, Anon, it’s getting too windy.” You keep staring at her chest, playfully batting her hands away from the top. The exchange goes on for a minute before, sorrowfully smiling, you give up your attempt to keep her boobs in view. They’re swallowed up by the bright crimson suit, which then falls on your chest in exhaustion. The colder fabric is a poor substitute for what came before, but you’re still fine with her close proximity. 
	Settling in, you glance down at her. The tangle of rosy hair pulls back to reveal a smiling girl, eyes wide and bright. Her eyes shine like two small suns, grabbing you in their loving gleam. Little flecks of white are scattered throughout, begging to be counted. The small shake of a quiet laugh moves her eyes, stopping your count. Her eyes are crinkled, the truest expression of happiness you’ve ever seen directed towards you. You can’t believe it’s you that’s made her like this, you who somehow managed to be the source of joy for her. It fills you with a sweet sort of pride, as if the happiness of the tanned princess on you was some great prize for a grueling gauntlet. It was a trophy of sorts, something you felt you could hold up to yourself and say: look at this. Look at that happy girl. I did that. 
	She shows off her chest a few times, pretending to yawn or scratch her back, the two perfect breasts bouncing slightly at every motion. They’re actually a little large for a girl her size, noticeably bigger than the other girls. There’s not much of a tan there, not enough bikini adventures to bring out that typical whiteness that contrasts against the skin. Small areolas coat the hardened nipples, just large enough to be felt when she presses into you. There’s an odd feeling in your embrace and the casual motions of the easygoing girl. The word plain comes to mind; not meaning she or that incredible chest is. Goodness no. No, it’s like, what’s going on isn’t abnormal.
	You furrow your brow as you try to put your finger on it. It feels like this is how it’s supposed to be. It’s special of course, but it doesn’t have that some feel as other exposures you’ve seen or heard about. Part of this whole thing was that you were a boy and girl that loved each other very much, and that gave this that unique, almost sacred feeling of intimacy. But at the same time, her languid motions and your own easy heartrate testified to something else. It was still intimacy, but that of a couple long together, not newly discovering each other, though you obviously fit the latter category more. Still, you were her cousin, her friend, and all that pressure to perform that had captured your other experiences with girls was absent. You could just be with her, and she could just be with you. And her in a more natural state, was simply that: natural. Hugging her tightly, you hold back a latent sentimentality moistening your eyes. You felt at home. 
	Feeling the giddy happiness that’s been so present within your time with her, you smile out of sight. Lifting your head just a tad, her head raises in interest of you. Flashing her a devious grin, you plunge your head down on her bellybutton, giving her a fantastic raspberry right there.
	“PBBBBBT!” She yelps at the slobbery assault, bucking her hips as she tries to remove your head. Your follow is a quick nibble at the small tummy she’s got, earning a hysteric laughter. She doubles her counterassault, batting your head with light hits, made pats by her uncontrollable laughter and unwillingness to actually harm you. The motions doesn’t help, but the quick twists that follow manage to dislodge your mouth. She quickly squirms over to your belly, planting her lips near enough to your own bellybutton. 
	“Pbbbbt!” You respond with your own thrashing and a girly shout as the weird sensation pulsates through your stomach. In your attempt to retreat, you find yourself waterborne. The cold water enveloping you thoroughly distracts you from any joy of escape, and your mouth continues the same lines of noises.
	“Aaaahh!” It’s cold. Keeping your head above water, you see a laughing trio safe and dry. Focusing only on yours, you maintain a scared expression while you prepare yourself for an attack. Legs in position, you fly forward and grab Apple Blooms’ crosses arms, then yank her into the water. There’s one beautiful moment where her breasts flop onto your face, squishing into you as the water welcomes both of you. A small tangle ensues, followed by a quick surrender on Bloom’s side, who’s more affected by the cold than you. Climbing back into your seat, you curl up with your Bloom, hoping to recover some of that lost heat.
	The short bursts of wind push her closer to you, shivering slightly. A couple more blasts, and the worst happens. She pulls her top out of the center console, and drapes it over her front. Holding it up with her left hand, her right moves back to fiddle with it. Following your heart, you gently touch her supporting hand, your other deviously guiding her clasp-tying away. Immediately she catches on, smiling happily. She hadn’t expected you to be so obvious attracted to something she saw in the shower every day, and she was flattered. Your continual gaze and shameless taking advantage of those ogle-opportunities had swiftly removed any fears that you’d jump into Scootaloo’s waiting arms. But although she did treasure your treasuring of her, she was cold.
	“Come on, Anon, it’s getting too windy.” You keep staring at her chest, playfully batting her hands away from the top. The exchange goes on for a minute before, sorrowfully smiling, you give up your attempt to keep her boobs in view. They’re swallowed up by the bright crimson suit, which then falls on your chest in exhaustion. The colder fabric is a poor substitute for what came before, but you’re still fine with her close proximity. 
	The scene before you is gorgeous. The slow, lingering ride through the river, especially with your Bloom resting quietly on your chest is nothing less than divine. The sky is a clear blue, with white clouds speckled throughout the otherwise perfect hue. To the front and the right side of you are close mountains, covered in a thick fur of evergreens. The vibrancy of the colors is almost shocking; the large side of the covering is a thick green, ranging from a deep emerald to an almost lime, based on where the light can pass unobstructed by billowing clouds. Some of the trees lack that color, leaving dark browns and yellows where death and premature falls have altered it. Where the hills aren’t covered, mostly towards the top, is the purest amber, like America’s waves of grain. It has a bare, balding sort of look, only singular patches of trees scattered through the sparse summit. 
	The smell is indescribable, that fresh scent that only nature has. It’s not clear where it comes from, if it’s one plants, many, or just the absence of a man-made world. But wherever that scent comes from, it blesses your nose, and you breathe in deeply. A contented sigh exits, a smile reaching up the sides of your face. The air here is clear, easy to breathe. It’s not something you really notice, but each lungful feels fresher, holding more oxygen than the impeded breaths of your home, which, looking back, felt like a house filled with smog. You thought of a man nearly drowning at sea, then being saved, and swallowing great snatches of air, more precious than anything else. Perhaps you weren’t quite as desperate, but the simple enjoyment of the cool, delicious air was satisfying in a way you’d never thought air could be. 
	Trees crawled up to the sky on every side, nearer at the right and left portions than that in front of you. The twisting path didn’t offer a clear view of the end, but rather a field of wild goliaths signaling an impending turn. The water remains low, but not too much that the water didn’t crash into foaming waves at directional changes and junctions. The mostly clear water, with occasional patches of white, not unlike the sky above. Dark rocks could be seen below, along with the infrequent fish. The feeling of being summoned to some snowglobe-like enclosure, a small part of nature kept safe from the encroaching grasp of man, was made complete when a small deer strolled to the middle of some shallow part and leapt the rest of the way over the river. At this, Apple Bloom rockets upward, nearly tumbling off, to point and shout:
	“Didja see that!?” She looks to you excitedly, that beaming smile never to get old. You nod with the quiet happiness of a more wearied person, but still touched by that infectious joy. 
	“I did.” She sits down, trying to find a comfortable position. You shift with her, and in the shuffle, you find yourself in curled up with your head on her chest. She’s curled up towards you, with her arms falling along your back. In this place, she doesn’t move, and you’re glad for it. It wouldn’t be your first suggestion, but once you’d begun, lying with your head just above her perfect breasts was somehow irresistible. The dry fabric of the swimsuit was an unwelcome juxtaposition to the otherwise soft and warm skin of your girl, but… Hmm. 
	Realizing that you could find a solution, your re3ach your hand up and grab the material, flipping it down. You look up to make sure it isn’t uncomfortable for her, and her thankful expression tells you she’s just as alright with it as you are. Lying down once more, you feel the soft texture of her breasts against your lower face as you close your eyes. You don’t rub into them or anything; right now, you just want to relax on the best pillow in the world. There’s a small thumping, and you realize it’s her heartbeat. It maintains a steady rhythm, slightly decreasing after the initial excitement of exposing herself to you. Thump-thump-thump. Those soft, repetitive beats hold your attention close, the rest of the world quietly fading out. And after a few minutes, you’re fast asleep in the arms of Apple Bloom.
	On the other side of the tube, the audience had watched with open-mouthed gapes at Apple Bloom’s overt exposure. The moment she’d asked permission to flash Anon, heads lazily fallen on the tube’s edge had snapped up at the entirely unforeseen plan. True, Apple Bloom had gone topless with them before, but there was a boy here! And she was in her lap! And although no other answer could be expected, the barely discernible “sure,” had opened their mouths to unheard-of circumferences. Just as they had thought the situation partially defused by their crushing friend’s placement (facing downward was much less…hot), the massage had begun. Sweetie Belle’s breath had stopped, then continued in heavy, halted breaths. Scootaloo, distracted from her failure of her halfhearted plan to snatch up Anon, mimicked the girl next to her, with one major difference. As the massage continued, the intricate patterns more fully realized and their friend’s occasional moan becoming more audible, Scootaloo bit her lip, and her hand started sneaking its way down into her bottom. Noticing this, the light-skinned girl gasped and slapped the hand from the lascivious friend, though the same thought had occurred to her. Several more times Scootaloo’s hand had to be kept from her own places. Sweetie Belle had to wipe away the slightest of nosebleeds at the kiss, and was unable to silence Scootaloo’s loudening breaths. Luckily, the boy and girl in the seat beside were so entranced with each other that they didn’t seem to notice. Shortly after, the pink and purple haired party lied down on their own end, in positions that implied sleep. They might have fallen into such, or stayed awkwardly awake at the slightly lewd playfulness in the starboard side, had not vivid fantasies filled the heads of both closed-eyed girls.
	A gentle rocking, followed by a tender pat on the head, brought Anon back to the world. The three girls were conversing happily, as if nothing had happened. It would have been a perfect showing, had not the eyes of Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle not kept moving back to your sleepy self. Apple Bloom, tragically clothed, patted you once more, then pointed to the shore. 
	“That’s where we’re goin’ tomorrow!” You don’t understand. Your tired reply eventually comes:
	“W-what? Where we goin’ again?” She chuckles at the cute mumblings.
	“To the vineyard, remember? Our neighbor told us that she could use some help crushin’ grapes tomorrow, and we could even keep some grape juice after!” Were you ever told about this? It seems to ring a bell, but you can’t find the moment. Not that it really matters.
	“Oh yeah, cool.” Your head’s found its way onto her lap, where her hands absent-mindedly brush through your hair. Her fingers are graceful and gentle as they flow through your hair, the fingers running along the head beneath. Losing yourself in the feeling, you don’t pay attention to Apple Bloom’s attempt to point something oput and the other two girls shushing her immediately. Not hearing that it’s a secret and no boys allowed, you tilt your head upwards to a sorrowfully nodding Apple Bloom. All you’re comprehending is the mild unhappiness of her disappointment, and you reach out a hand to caress her face. Stroking her ample cheeks, which have just the right amount of chubbiness (enough to be seen without making the face appear fat), you smile lazily. She returns the expression, your happiness at touching her all she needs to brush off the disappointment. A moment passes, and a clearing in the tree-filled lining appears. In it is a van, the same that brought you up here. 
	A shock of fear bolts through you, an anxious untangling from Apple Bloom following. The realization that there still isn’t anything to fear from Applejack hits you moments later, bringing a dim regret over the lost few seconds of cuddling. Several shouts and waves from the girls are given to the van, which offers no response. The silent port confuses you, but doesn’t faze Scootaloo or Sweetie, both of which have already hopped out and scrambled to port. Sweetie’s department was almost immediate and speedy, but Scootaloo’s was a little slower, and maintaining a short gaze at the two remaining shipmates. Masking her desire to be part of that cozy group, she hollers a summoning, and waves her hand in a “come on” gesture.
	“Come on!” Apple Bloom grants you one last hug, her backwards moving head hesitating on the exit. Sadly deciding not to kiss, you stare at each other for a quick moment. Her shining eyes still maintain that mysterious aspect of vitality, as if they were so mythical, curing fountain. Drinking deep of their waters, you smile at the jubilant girl, who beams at the attention. Her lashes are light but thick, the delicate whispers of colors flashing in the light as she blinks. Her cheeks protrude slightly as her pearly whites greet your welcoming eyes, reminding you of the ruddy-faced smiles of those children kept safe from worldly wisdom. You lean in slowly, tilting you head to place a gentle kiss on her cheek. A blush fills that perfect face, while both hearts beat furiously. 
	The two of you exit your ship, almost causing it to tip over on both parties when all the weight fell on the edge. A dull crash follows its descent to its proper place on the water, and you begin pulling it to shore. Apple Bloom meets up with the crouched partners ahead, her question concerning their position shushed. They put pointer fingers to their lips, indicating the need for silence. A small hullabaloo occurs when you land your ship, and eyes bug out while the gesture is directed towards you. The girls, unappreciative of the docking, wave at you to join them beside the still unmoving van. They’re on their feet, almost sitting on their heels, by the driver’s side door. 
	“What’s up?” you whisper to them. Sweetie Belle turns her face up to you, which is a little too close for comfort. Feeling the same way, she leans back a bit, then informs you of the situation. Apple Jack’s sleeping, a hat over her eyes and a half-read book flopped down on her lap. Guess she’d been here a while. Anyway, the plan was to spook her; two girls would jump up and bang on her window, while another would bang on the passenger’s side. You know, for surround-sound. You were tasked with jumping up on the very small hood, slapping the window and yelling; this would be the signal for the other girls. Thinking twice about terrifying your second-favorite cousin, you make the hard decision to favor comedy over comfort. Scootaloo crosses to the other side, and you move in front of the van. Wait, was this safe? Ah well, too late to turn back now. You leap up far, blanketing the thin hood with your torso, granting your arms enough reach to bang on the window. At the small thump of your body on the car, the other girls leap up, ready, while AJ stirs slightly. 
	“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUGGHH!”
	“WOOOOOOOOOUUUGGH”
	“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!”
	“BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The four of you shout in unison, while pounding hands on the vehicle. AJ leaps up in her chair, as much as she’s able to, and lends her own cry to the noise. Her face assumes a horrified visage, qualifying her for a place in horror movies, while her hand grasps her hat in an attempt to keep it from falling. 
	“AAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” As she settles back into her seat, shock turning into a pouting menace, you and your squad of trouble-makers laugh heartily. AJ sees that your body still remains on the hood, and sends a heavy feeling to your stomach with the devious grin. Uh oh. Her hands slam on the horn, the screaming F# filling your poor ears. You hurl yourself off the front, tripping on a rock behind you. As your butt heartily greets the ground, your hands clasp over your ears. The horn soon subsides, and you stand up, rubbing a slightly harmed posterior as you do so. You find yourself the target of a foursome’s laughter, and begin to feel empathy for AJ’s previous plight. Exaggerating your pain, you glare at the lot of them, who have begun to file into the van. 
	Scootaloo takes the front seat, while the three remaining enter the middle. Apple Bloom sits in the left, followed by you, then Sweetie Belle on the right. They continue their laughs, now quiet chuckles, as AJ shifts into reverse, and begins the exit. Apple Bloom combats your harrumph and crossed arms with a close hug, the good-natured appeal melting even the pretense of grouchiness. You hug her in return, then tilt your head back in exhaustion. 
	“Anybody wanna get that tube? I’d like to take it back.” AJ announces, stopping the car. You groan, knowing the task would fall to you and your racked reserves. The three in the back hop out, though yours is more of a tumble, and walk to the bright figure eight by the water. Letting the air out of it takes a minute, and you sit on a rock to wait it out. Not following your example, the energetic girls fall upon it, rolling around over it. They giggle as they do so, looking like the kids who’d stick their legs together and arms to their sides and roll down grassy hills. Not having that much space, these two only roll back and forth. They seem to be having the same kind of fun as those kids, though how much help they’re giving to the displacement of air is questionable. You watch them from the sidelines, with the feeling of a parent who watches those kids, holding a certain joy of witnessing that kind of life. Once the air is almost all out, you work to roll it up, then tuck the rumpled mess under your arm. You drop it into the back of the van, the door to which happily opened by Apple Bloom. Grinning at the girl, so eager to please, the three outsiders enter the van once more. You slouch into your seat once more, happily sighing as you relax into the thick, carpet-like covering. AJ’s voice comes from the front:
	“So, y’all were out a lot longer than I’d figured. So how’d y’all like to eat out?”
	“Wow, is it dinnertime already?” Sweetie asks, not knowing where the time had gone. Then again, none of you really did. Looking out the window, you can see the dim tones of an impending sunset.
	“Yeah, we got kind of a late start.” 
	“Sure doesn’t feel that late,” says a partially perplexed Apple Bloom, looking at you. 
	“Probably all that time you guys spent sleeping,” pipes Scootaloo.
	“We didn’t sleep that much!” You respond.
	“How would you know?” asks Scootaloo, voicing the question that had only just entered your head. You don’t reply, instead sinking into your seat once more, under the spell of some mysterious sleepiness.
	“So where we goin’?” AJ interrupts, as stores enter your vision. 
	“Dairy Queen!” Scootaloo shouts immediately, the hope for such long held in her mind. The rest of the group drops a drawn-out: 
	“Ehhh,” followed by Sweetie Belle’s argument.
	“Their food isn’t very good.” Everyone but Scootaloo agrees with this, and Sweetie Belle, still holding the platform, offers up an alternative. “How about Sonic’s?” Sonic’s? It sounds familiar, but you don’t think you’ve ever been there. 
	“What’s that?” She turns to you, excitedly describing her favorite fast food place:
	“It’s like a drive-in, and they roller skate your food out to you!” She continues describing some of their specials, but you don’t listen closely to these. Fast food pretty much all tastes the same, but this particular gimmick sounds kind of cool to you. 
	“Sure, I’d be up for that.” Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle cheer at the majority vote, while Scootaloo grumbles in the front. AJ nods, then takes a quick left. In just a minute, the car brings you to your destination, the typical gaudy markings of fast food advertising shining through the windows. The van pulls up into one of these horizontal driveway-things with a huge menu on either side. You set yourself up with some Coney Island hot dogs, while the girls order various burgers. Before you’re finished, Apple Bloom elbows you. 
	“We gotta get ice cream, remember?” Oh yeah. You’d forgotten about your plans from yesterday; it wasn’t with her alone, but it’d have to do. Ignoring the pit in your stomach, arising from the unnamable thoughts about why you wouldn’t have time to do this alone, you order a hefty milkshake. Peanut butter and fudge: heck yeah. A chirping, slightly robotic voice tells you that she’ll be right out, and the lot of you climb into the back of the van. There’s a lot of empty space there, even with the mess of a deflated tube covering the bottom, enough for all five of you to sit with adequate space. As you’re climbing over your seat, you feel a firm smack of your hind quarters; you think Apple Bloom, but she’s already mostly in the back. By the time you can turn back to look, all three girls behind you wear innocent masks with barely hidden snickers. You blow some air out of your mouth, muttering:
	“Girls.” You sit down next to Apple Bloom, with Sweetie Belle soon joining you on your right. On the other side of the van is AJ and Scootaloo, who sit cross-legged. AJ opens up the back door, letting in a rush of cool evening air and yellow-orange light. Your sweetest cousin lifts her eyes to the sky above, the light from above shining on her beautiful face. You turn towards Sweetie Belle, who looks blankly at you, as if searching for something.
	“What’s up, SB?” You ask, feeling as if you ought to try to connect with her. You’ve been focusing almost entirely on your Apple Bloom, and the remaining attention has been spent on the purple-haired girl. The latter just kept pushing her way into your line of sight, so you didn’t really get a chance to speak with the shyer girl. From what you’ve seen, she seems pretty nice, and you kinda feel like you should get to know her better. At your question, she shakes her head a bit, as if she were lost in thought.
	“Oh, uh- nothing. Just hanging out. In the back of a van.” She sounds kinda nervous, as if she wasn’t expecting you to talk to her. Which she wasn’t: she’d assumed partly through the tube trip that whenever you were around, all attention would be drawn either to you or the new couple. There was a small pang of jealousy for the spotlight: Apple Bloom and Scootaloo had the crush, and it was you. Feeling left out, she’d tried not to blame you, after a thin spurt of guilt made her go back on a wish that you’d go. As a result, she’d been left almost aimless, not wanting to be mad at feeling left out, but not knowing what she could do instead. It’s a little awkward.
	“Cool, cool. That ride was pretty fun.” She looks off into the distance.
	“Yeah, I thought it’d never end.” Suddenly she realizes the surfacing of the latent bitterness, and doubles back. Her eyes widening and her mouth open, she tries to move in a different direction. “Scootaloo and Apple Bloom really seemed to like those massages you gave.” You nod, feeling like there’s something you’re missing here. 
	“Yeah, I’m alright at it.” AJ and Scootaloo have started talking interestingly about something or other; you catch wind of a few comments about sports and next year. Somewhere along the line, Apple Bloom’s scooted up to them, joining their conversation. You and Sweetie Belle are left alone, similar to that little bubble you’d shared with your golden princess earlier, though without the comfort. Still, the semi-isolation does allow for a deeper question you wanted to ask. Still a bit nervous about it, you take a moment before deciding to go through with it: 
	“Sweetie, did I do something wrong?” She looks taken aback, a clear answer coming before any words. 
	“No, nothing like that. It’s just…” she looks up at you, and seeing your soft look, decides there’s no reason to keep it secret. Staying hidden was never her passion anyway. “I dunno, I kinda felt left out. I guess.” She looks over to the trio of girls, hoping her words didn’t reach them. She’s not looking for a big deal about this right now. They remain entranced by Scootaloo’s future soccer career, and you remain looking gently at her. You understand what she meant.
	“That’s not what I meant,” she replies to your hesitant offer to give her a massage as well. She look at her two best friends, chuckling as she does so, then turns back to you. “Sorry, but I don’t feel the same way they do. 
	“That’s cool with me. That’d be pretty awkward for everyone if you did.” She snorts, imagining the dramatic scene, which would probably be really awful if it happened in real life. Then her face becomes serious again for a minute.
	“I don’t want you to think I want you gone or anything, I really don’t. It’s just, you’re kind of all they talk about right now.” You try not to smile at that, enjoying the grand compliment that it was. After some difficulty, you do achieve your sympathy once more, and try to make the situation better. 
	“I’m sorry about that. But it’s gonna pass, you know. That kind of thing doesn’t last forever.” Sweetie nods her head, more able to believe the truth now that you’ve stated it. 
	“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Seeing that her mood is rising, you see an opportunity to keep improving it. 
	“Why don’t we just take a step away from all this? Tell me about yourself.” It’s not the smoothest transition, true, but you’re not the smoothest guy. Her curiosity is peeked, and her head is tilted to the side. You follow up, trying to amend the awkward suggestion. “I know a lot about Apple Bloom, and I’ve picked up on a lot about Scootaloo, but I still don’t really know anything about you. I mean, besides the fact that you’ve got a fancy sister, but that doesn’t tell me a lot about you.” She sits up and smiles, happy that she’s neither overshadowed by her sister nor neglected. Before she can begin, a teenage girl rides up to the back of the car in roller blades. She’s got this minty blue-green hair, and a dazzling white smile. Too many bags sit on top of a circular tray, but she manages to move each and every one of them with incredible skill as she passes out the food. Greeting you is a bright and chipper
	“Good evening!” followed by a sly look at you and your conversational partner. AJ reaches out with a card in hand, which is taken by the roller-waitress. She looks at AJ and benignly says:
	“I’ll be back in a minute.” She leaves, not before throwing a wink towards you and Sweetie Belle. Your face blushes slightly, eliciting a soft laugh from the departing girl. You cough, then turn your attention to Sweetie Belle, trying to ignore the previous flirtation. 
	“So, you were saying?” She beams again, happy to be remembered. This girl probably doesn’t get a lot of attention. 
	“Well, I absolutely adore arcades and crocheting. Which is pronounced ‘cro-shay-ing,’ not ‘crotch-et-ing’.” She adds this final part with an accusing glare. Scootaloo looks confused at the sudden attention, then returns to her circle. The waitress comes back, looks at you for a few moments, then leaves, apparently disappointed. Near you, Sweetie Belle continues, spilling out the most delicious secrets of crotchet; you do your best to listen, but this is so far from your own interests, it’s all you can do to nod and smile. You work through part of your food while she speaks, deeply disappointed in the quality of the hot dog, but nothing else. When she finishes her lecture on proper techniques, she switches over to her love of video games.
	“So, there’s this one, super-awesome game called Smash Bros. Have you ever heard of it?” You hold in a scoff as you reply. 
	“Yeah, I’ve heard of Smash.”
	“Oh my goodness it’s sooooooo cool! I’ve been playing it since I was like, 10! I mean, the main reason I started playing video games was because it annoyed Rarity. She HATES video games, you know.” She drops a huge emphasis on the verb, bugging her eyes out and waving her hands. Apple Bloom looks to the two of you, drawn away from her own conversation. “But then it turned out they were kinda fun! I got my dad to start playing too, and now we play all the time! Sometimes Scootaloo comes over to play, but she’s not as good as I am.” She whispers this last part, trying not to draw Scootaloo’s attention. However, she does draw the full interest of the other crusader, who sidles up next to you:
	“What are y’all talkin’ about?” Golden eyes looks up to you, then to Sweetie Belle. Absent-mindedly, you pull her a little closer, so she’s leaning into you. All three of you are sitting with legs crossed and half eaten meals in laps or besides such. Apple Bloom turns so that she faces away from you, then falls back to you, so that her back is leaning into your side while she listens to Sweetie Belle go on. Again your arm acts of its own accord, draping itself across her neck, with your dangling hand soon grabbed by Apple Bloom. You notice AJ look over to you, then back to Scootaloo; she seemed unfazed, so you allow yourself to keep the happy position.
	Sweetie Belle’s tale continues, becoming much more interesting than you’d thought. Apparently one of Rarity’s friends had babysat her –“It’s not that I’m a baby, it’s just that my stupid sister treats me like one”- and they’d go out all the time to Hey Burger or the arcade. She’d pretended not to really know how to play, just cause he seemed to enjoy teaching her, but in the end, she’d actually learned a whole lot from him anyway. Eventually, Rarity found out, and straight up banished the dude. But then he got this managerial position at the local arcade, got Rarity to let him near her again, and they won this huge tournament thing. You were kinda surprised that anything that fantastic could happen in a town like this, but what do you know? Your attention slowly becoming rapt as the story went on, you’d forgotten even to sip your milkshake, or notice Apple Bloom’s stare. 
	“Wow, did that really happen?” you ask, not fully believing it.
	“It sure did,” the sweet girl under your arm responds, corroborating the facts, “Ah saw it myself.” She turns to look at her cheerful friend and asks, “but Ah’m not really clear on where y’all are now? Is he your fella yet?”
	“Nah, I’m still not allowed to date. But you can bet that by the time I turn 16, he’s gonna be.”
	“How old are you now?”
	“15! Turnin’ 16 in two weeks!” Suddenly, Scootaloo appears next to her, her sporty discourse over.
	“What are you talkin’ about?” She looks to you, then adds with a grin, “is it how ya spanked him?” Immediately, all eyes fall the girl with the bright red face. Her answer comes out in a stammer:
	“N-N-No! I never did that!” Scootaloo laughs at the protests, and Sweetie Belle hides her face. Apple Bloom looks at you, far less confused than you’d thought she’d be. You look through the girls, but no answer besides some snickering and face-hiding greets you. Turning to AJ, you ask her. Honesty’s her thing, right?”
	“AJ, what’s going on?” She looks at you flatly, then over to the window.
	“Ah wasn’t gonna say anything, but-“
	“Scootaloo dared me to!” You look to Scootaloo, who’s trying to suppress that mischievous grin you’ve come to know so well. The blushing girl stares worriedly at you, not as used to being caught as Scootaloo was. Rather than give her the punishment she foresaw, you break out in laughter at the ridiculous bet and how worked up Sweetie’s gotten over it. Seriously, that horrified expression was priceless. But as soon as she finds out about your lack of concern, she returns to a neutral, slightly uncomfortable expression. After you calm down a bit, you assure her that it’s fine. She seems to agree with it, and you look at the nearby Bloom. 
	It felt like it’d been a long day. All the exercise, which you weren’t used to, along with all the effort you expended to not think of the incoming end, had worn you out long before dusk. You slide yourself to the edge of the van, hanging your legs over. They just barely touch then ground, only the tips of your down-pointing feet doing so. Turning to the abandoned Bloom, you pat the area by your side. Right now, you just want to be with her. You hold up your milkshake, barely touched, and smile, inviting her to partake. Soon enough she scrambles over to you, sitting with her side against yours. This is what you wanted. 
	But something was off about it. That sadness that had been pursuing you the whole day had caught up, your mind losing the strength to fend it off. Your eyes began to flicker, your heart feeling like it was beating against some insurmountable pressure. You could feel your chest tighten as a slow trickle of misery pours into you. All day you’d fought against it, tried to banish the thought and all its promises; but that didn’t work. It never did. Unbeknownst to you, your body had slumped forward, partly leaning towards the Apple Bloom on your left. Your expression fell, and a deep sigh escaped under a lax guard. The rosy-haired girl held the small weight you’d put on her, then hugged you tightly, sensing that you’d needed it. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed the heaviness in your spirit, but it was one of the first time’s she felt capable of doing away with it. 
	It wasn’t done away with. You were still going. She was still going to disapp- You stop yourself from finishing the thought, feeling those slight tremors that precede tears. Maybe you couldn’t be the happy guy you’d like to pretend you were, but you didn’t have to bring down the whole mood. AJ and the two girls, understanding that something of a moment was occurring on the edge, moved to the other side to converse about the trip. Apple Bloom’s arms remained around you, providing some comfort to you. A small flicker of joy leapt in you, before fizzles out. A squeeze of her arms brought you another small flame, this one lasting slightly longer. 
	Your eyes lift to meet hers; hers full of concern and care, and yours showing a truer despair than you’d ever let yourself if you could have stopped it. Resting in her sight, you felt a change coming over you. It wasn’t your best moment; the control you had over yourself, so highly valued, was dwindling. But you weren’t weeping, as you’d feared you would. The swirl of emotions within you had faded to a few remnants, a few discernible feelings made clear through the thick veneer of exhaustion. There was just that little bit of joy that she never failed to give you, and a clear sort of pain. There was that sharp cut of the future knowledge, but it didn’t dominate you as you’d been so afraid. A quiet, sad smile formed on your face as you drew strength from Apple Bloom. A part of you wished you weren’t so messed up, wished you could be as cheerful as she was. Right now, you didn’t feel like the greatest companion.
	But she was fine with you. Seeing your expression change from crushed to hopeful had written a huge grin on her face. She’d closed her eyes as she smiled at you, then took the milkshake from your nearly limp hands. Her eyes open, then stay on yours as she takes a long pull, then offers it to you. Cheered, you take it and place your lips on the straw where hers were a moment ago. The indirect kiss doesn’t pass by unnoticed, and you feel a slight fuzziness at the twinkling eyes that hold the secret. 
	The minutes pass, the others fading into the background once again while your attention carved out a special place for two. The cars and people flow by in small groups, barely being registered as more than ephemeral bursts of color. Blues and green, reds and yellows on hurried bodies speed through your vision, like thick fireworks in the gentle sunlight. The sky grows darker, the brightness of the world being turned down with it. Laughter and happy words stream into your ears, the unheard meaning allowing for little more than the sounds themselves to be registered. The sights and sounds continue in front of you and your Apple Bloom, each of you enjoying the performance of a summer day. You exchange the milkshake, passing it back and forth; the touch of your hands sending sparks through your bent figure. You don’t hold hands, but it feels as if you do.
	On Apple Bloom’s reception of the shake, when it’s most of the ways gone, she pulls the top off and sticks her finger in. Your attention flies from all self-centered thoughts at the notion that she’ll do the finger bite. Oh man, do girls actually do that? She smiles as your eyes glue themselves to her finger, the furthest third coating in the treat. Then, without any hint or forewarning, she thrusts her finger forward, a splash of peanut butter and fudge flavoring left on your nose. You reel back, the dark cream coloring still on your nose. Interrupting the happy laughter, you reply in pseudo-rage:
	“Oh, you!” You snatch the shake and dip most of your forefinger in. She sees the motion and leaps off the car. You follow the girl, screaming that very particular scream that children and girls do when they’re being chased by parents or boyfriends (respectively, of course). Through a handful of wide-eyed onlookers you weave, your cousin’s agility being a match for your adrenaline-heightened speed. She crosses behind a table and faces you. You feint left, and she matches you, trying to keep you on the far side of the table. You make a couple more attempts to the side, each expertly countered by Apple Bloom. Heh heh heh; just as planned. 
	Her smile grows triumphant, thinking she’s got you beat for the current challenge. She sticks her tongue out, closing her eyes in the process. At that moment you step on the seat beside the table, the place the other on the table proper. By the time she’s reacting to you, Gordian’s knot has been cut. You reach an arm around her left side, keeping her steady while your right finger moves to her nose. She screams again, the sound mixing with her laughter, the girl not entirely upset at losing. Just as you wipe off the smallest remnant of milkshake onto her nose, you hear an unhappy coughing behind you. Some guy with a hairpiece is grimacing at you, tapping his foot.
	“You’re gonna have to stop that. Now.”  You pull Apple Bloom close, trying hard to pull off a genuine smile. Your girl laughs nervously, burying her face into your shirt. Not noticing the new smear of ice cream on you, you answer the old man in the most insincere tone.
	“Oh, of course sir. Very sorry sir.” Apple Bloom continues giggling into your shirt as you walk back to the van, not paying attention to the grumpy customer. Three pairs of hands clap as you reenter the van, pats on the back for you and “there theres” for your defeated date. With radiant teeth and closed eyes, you’re the target of yet another snuggle. The two of you sit close to each other again, one of your arms finding its way across her shoulder once more while hers snakes around your waist. The milkshake is rediscovered, and finished off soon enough. 
	Once the shake disappears, you lean forward. Your feelings still remain to some extent, that sticky murk that you have so much trouble shaking off. But there’s definitely further in the distance. You sit beside Apple Bloom, still breathing heavily. Inside you is a torrent of emotions, the multitude and flux of such drawing your attention to them. Not exactly content, not exactly ecstatic, but still appreciating where you are, and who’re you’re with. You remember a speech given by somebody, some girl you knew back in high school (you think) that speaks to you now. The sweet urgings of that girl, ignored and scoffed at then, are valued now: “Can’t we just accept where we are, and be there? Can’t we appreciate the moment we’re in, instead of constantly worrying or fantasizing about being somewhere else? Can’t we look at a moment, and say that while it isn’t perfect, it’s good enough?”  You look at the freckled face of Apple Bloom, her skin looking copper in the fading light. You weren’t perfect, and this moment probably could be better; but fuck it. It was good enough. You lean over to plant a small kiss on her forehead. Seeing you coming in, she closes her eyes and smiles gracefully, a quiet happiness in her reception. The moment doesn’t last forever, but you try to be okay with that too. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle join your party of two, poking their heads in between you and Apple Bloom’s.
	“OOOOOOOOOH,” they almost shout, making fun of your moment. They grin at each of you, the grins of kindergartners who see a boy hold a girl’s books, just before singing about them kissing in a tree. You’re still a little tired, enough that you don’t get drawn in, unlike the blushing Apple Bloom. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo immediately take advantage of the moment, and make a quick song that concerns a future marriage and children. From the slightly distant position, you are able to see that Sweetie Belle’s enjoyment is genuine, something you’re grateful for. You wonder where AJ is on all this, and direct your gaze over to her; she seems amused, nodding her head slightly to the tune. Seeing you glance at her, she smiles at you, holding in a snicker as she points with her thumb to the duet impaired by her sister’s protests. You don’t exactly get what she’s laughing at, but she doesn’t seem to be too upset with the implications, which is just fine with you. The giggling girls stop their song, and Apple Bloom almost stops blushing. Trying to change the conversation, she asks aloud: 
	“Alright, so what are we gonna do next?” You shift uncomfortably at the thought of the future, and turn your head away. Sweetie Belle’s confused voice comes from behind you.
	“Weren’t we gonna make wine? Oh, I mean, grape juice?” 
	“Yeah, but that’s just tomorrow. What about afterward?” Scootaloo answers this one, in a similar state of Sweetie Belle.
	“Well, ain’t he leavin’ the next morning?”
	“Ah know, Ah know. But what about after?” You nearly wince at the subject, a motion not unnoticed by Apple Bloom. Grabbing your shoulder and turning you towards the group, she speaks to you as well as the others. “He’s coming back, and that’s that. So we oughta get to planning our next adventure.” Her speech is firm, no doubt lying behind those words. In her mind, you’ve achieved a kind of permanence, a magnetism that would inevitably bring you back to her. In all your attempts to escape from the future, you hadn’t really thought to plan on a return trip. But now that thoughts of the future had forced their way into your head, you were able to make such plans; and nothing was going to keep you from returning. A jolt of happiness rushing through you, you scoot up closer to the trio, and start making suggestions.
	You suggest the arcade; you might be able to check out Sweetie’s moves and maybe get that sexy tutor thing going with Apple Bloom. Scootaloo nods her assent, referencing a score that needed to be settled. Apple Bloom, ever the neutral party, assents based on the facts that the tubing and grape-stomping was her idea, the hike and skate-boarding was Scootaloo’s, so it’s Sweetie Belle’s turn. The trip to the arcade chosen, and after Sweetie Belle are finished trading the glare of rivals with each other, the subject turns to the next event. AJ joins the conversation, sneaking in between you and Sweetie Belle. 
	“Sounds like y’all all got plans for what you wanna do. But what about Anon, here?” Six eyes open wide, your littler cousin’s the widest. Goshes and gees enter your ears, followed immediately by avid questions of your interests. The trio of crusaders get up on their knees, their faces filling more of your vision. 
	“What are your interests?”
	“What do you like to do?”
	“You like cars, right?”
	“Yeah, he loves ‘em!”
	“Do you wanna see some cars?”
	“There’s a car show in a couple weeks, come back then!” 
	“What about the park?”
	“Yeah, do you like the park?”
	“Bowling!”
	“Kite-flying!”
	“Sewing!”
	“Rainbow Dash Fanclub!”
	“Church Youth Group!”
	“Choir Club!” Questions and suggestions assail you, your opinion just as distant from the conversation as before. You don’t really mind, the antics of the girls being entertaining enough to distract. But somewhere AJ comes along, parting the sea of youthful cries. 
	“Now, you’re almost there, but Ah think your best bet in figuring out what Anon wants to do is asking him about it.” The three girls look to you, the question written on their very near faces. 
	“Uh…” You try to figure out the answer, but nothing’s coming up. What do you like to do? Bum around with your friends, dance at a club every once in a while? You decide to center your plans on the car show, and figure the rest out later. “Why don’t I come back when the car show happens, and we’ll just play the rest by ear?” They smile and nod amongst themselves, the look of politicians hearing a refreshing speech of an up-and-coming ally. 
	“Yeah, that sounds great!” 
	“Sure does!” 
	“Ah’ll plan for it!” The three girls high five each other, then hold out hands to you. You reply in kind, not willing to let down the earnest friends. AJ seems satisfied by the resolution, and whispers over to you:
	“Sometimes ya gotta speak up, otherwise these girls’ll walk right over ya.” You nod, understanding how that could happen. Then AJ interrupts the chattering girls, who’re already planning what they’ll wear and so forth. “Alright, Ah’d say it’s about time to go home.” The night seems imminent, the sky fading much quicker. The five of you struggle to bring full bellies into their original seats. Eventually succeeding, you buckle up, and are off. The twisting path home is mostly uneventful: the long day, the summer heat, and good food brings a sleepiness to all parties involved. The winding road makes your two seatmates lean into your sides, but only the gorgeous ginger makes an attempt to remain. Falling into your lap, she stays there, turning herself so her shoulders and the back of her head fall lie on your lap. She seems the most alert of all of you, her brilliant eyes shining up at you with her signature smile. Gosh, she looks happy. You spread your own crescent above her as you slowly begin brushing her hair in a simple, loving gesture. Her eyes shut, not out of exhaustion, but bliss. 
	 Sweetie and Scootaloo are both dropped off in turn, waving sleepy goodbyes at the fruit team, and thanking them for an exciting day. You tell them you can’t wait to hang out with them tomorrow, and they return the sentiment. It’s surprisingly warming, having these two girls tell you that you’re cool and fun to be around. It’s not how you’d describe yourself, but you’ll take the compliment. Finally, it’s just the three members of the fruit team, two Apples and an Orange. The van pulls in slowly, the crunch of the gravel marking your entrance into the Apple estate.
	The three of you hop out, you and your older cousin much more weary than the still energetic Apple Bloom. She skips partway to the front, then, seeing you lagging behind, returns to your side. You can’t manage to summon the energy of her, but you can try. You skip a couple of steps before returning to your trudge. Entering the house, AJ directs you to prayers before letting you go to sleep. You feel some resistance, just wanting to go to bed already, but you assent. In robotic form, you go through the motions of the prayers, too tired to really feel it. The game of High-Low does spark enough interest to get your mind moving, and you report the joys of sleep-tubing avidly. After denouncing the shame of losing to Scootaloo in your bout of water-wrestling, you turn attentive ears to the next in line, Apple Bloom. She starts off with her low, being pushed into the water by Team Purple, then moves onto her high: getting to play with her friends and Anon together.
	You feel a little bit dejected, though you don’t think you ought to. Still, a part of you had hoped that her high would be your massage. As soon as she finishes speaking, her eyes turn to you. Swallowing a disappointment you don’t want to show, you send a smile her way, telling her you loved hanging with her and her friends too. You see her shine with your affirmation, but don’t notice her gaze staying on you just a little longer than necessary. The rest of the family finishes up theirs, and you quietly excuse yourself to your room. Passing the bathroom, figuring you can always brush your teeth tomorrow, you saunter into your own room.
	The minute you’d come into the home, there’d been that particular smell of home, the kind of comforting smell you barely notice, but remains with far-reaching effects. It is was this smell that had secretly put your nerves at ease when you’d come into the house. The secondary form of this was that of your room, a truer home than the rest of the house could achieve. And once you set foot in your room, there was this feeling of tranquility, like a thick blanket draped over a nearly napping body. The isolation of the room, detrimental to the more socially advanced types, was a necessity for you after so much hanging out. Being with the Apple family was one thing: they were family, and being with them gave such a welcoming atmosphere that the intimacy and ease of the situation might be compared to hanging out with one’s own self. You’d need a break from them, of course, but far less so than you did today. Constantly being surrounded by girls, without some radical injury to limit the experience, resulting in a more tiring day than you’d foreseen. But you were by yourself now, in that reliable haven of your room.
	A part of you wished you were at your room back home. Not that you missed the house at all, but there was just something about a permanent residence that gave it a great hominess than a guest room could. Besides, that room up in your house was relied upon so many times to serve as a sanctuary that you always defaulted to a longing for it whenever you got to this level of exhaustion. Still, the location of it was sub-par. Ideally, you’d replace the Oranges with the Apples, or make this room your permanent residence, but both seemed implausible. Choosing to enjoy the comfort of this room rather than devalue it, you flop backwards onto your bed. In spite of all the issues that had been sprung on you today, you felt pretty good. You reach over to the bedside table, and pick up the DS on it. Placed side by side with your Gameboy, you manage to retrieve the intended device.
	As the screen lights up and Mr. Nook introduces you to casual wage slavery, there’s this slight feeling of something being off. It’s not immediately clear: you’re in a place you like, doing something you like, so what’s the problem? You continue playing, somewhat apathetic to the events: you finish a dinosaur collection and succumb to a pit-fall hidden behind a tree. The lack of any real feeling towards these makes you question the vague discomfort more. Suddenly it dawns on you: you’re in the middle of a temporary stay with the Apples, and you’re wasting it on some game you can play anytime. The notion of waste enters your mind, increasing that feeling of malaise. You should be with your family, not waiting for the day to end.
	At this juncture, a war begins to be fought within you. The lethargic and isolationist side argue vehemently for remaining. They cite the sufficiency of your socializing for today, pointing out that you oughtn’t strain yourself. They’d understand. It wasn’t worth it. But the conclusion of your values remains steady, an unchanging commandment repeated at every thrust of its opponent. Soon the arguments cease, and the two parties begin using emotions. On one side you’re struck with long-learnt distaste towards leaving your comfort zone, to jumping back from any notions of over-exertion, to despair over your family’s love for you. On the other, you have your want, plain and simple: you want to be with them, even if you’re not in the greatest shape to do so. You veer close to finding the strength to carry out your will when another change of tactics arrive. The game had continued in your hands, the NPCS hobbling around at intervals. Your hands do what they do, and you begin playing the game again, the engagement blocking out the results of the former arguments and any questions of its rightness. But one mighty jolt of desire explodes in your heart, propelled by the terror of regret; with the temporary strength, you shut it off immediately. With the blackened screen, you find two allies in the quest to go downstairs: the removal of the obstacle of engagement of the game, and the aversion to that asshole Resetti. On the tides of victory, you set the DS aside and sluggishly set yourself on the edge of your bed. Standing up, you walk over to the door of the room, opening it to reveal a cousin pre-knock. Apple Bloom stands there in the darkened hallway, her fist raised to beat the door, somewhat off-put by your having made it needless. 
	“Sup, Apple Bloom?” You ask, spirits lifted at the girl with the frozen fist. At your words, her trance breaks and the arm falls back to her side.
	“Ah was gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie with us. Ah know you’re a bit tuckered out, an’ AJ said ya might wanna be left alone, but I figured Ah’d come see if you wanted to anyway.” You can tell she’s unsure of the answer by her hands idly twiddling. Reminded of your tiredness, you yawn.
	“Yeah, I’d be up for that. ‘Sides, I’m not really that tired anyway.” It’s true: the weariness of before seems almost like an exaggeration now. There’s still a bit of lag in your motions, but nothing to prevent watching a movie. “So, who’s in? Is it just you and me?” You ask the final question before you think, being more forward than intended. However, she only smiles at the apparent wish before debunking it.
	“Uh, me, you, AJ and Grannie. But Grannie’s probably not gonna stay for the whole thing.” That’s still good with you. By this time, you’ve been turning towards the stairs and begin walking, Apple Bloom perfectly synchronized with you. Heading down the stairs, you notice the blueish light of an early night barely illuminate the house. The faint yellow of a distant light that accompanies it is enough to light your way, but not enough to make it seem optically loud. It’s kind of a comfortable little walk, just you and Apple Bloom in the quiet hallways. And though the staircase is only a few seconds, you decide to fill that moment with handholding. Your hand reaches out and touches your cousin’s, who immediately responds positively. The staircase’s approach slows as both parties try to draw out the pleasant experience. But soon enough it arrives, and you separate. 
	Moving downstairs, that low, mosquito-like hum of a TV draws your attention. You’re led into a different part of the house, one you hadn’t been through before. Along the way, you pass along a room with the door open, bright light shining out of it. Looking in, you see Big Mac in his room, playing with a deck of cards. The room itself is sparse, with little decoration apart from the Apple-themed wallpaper. There’s a generic looking oak desk with a matching chair, a bed made from the same material with a glum red comforter, a black metal nightstand with what looks like a picture frame on it. You don’t want to linger too long, but Apple Bloom seizes the moment to rush in and give him a big old hug.
	“Are ya suuuuuure ya don’t wanna watch Aladdin with us?” Big Mac looks up from several stacks of cards to slowly shake his head.
	“No.” You wait awkwardly outside the door, thankful that he doesn’t bother looking at you. Still, you feel as if you ought to add your invitation to the mix:
	“Come on, man. It’ll be fun.” Although he’s not your favorite person, Big Mac is a pretty chill dude. You could see playing a game of cards with him or something, but the chance of him accepting this offer are pretty unlikely. He repeats his answer to you, then looks back down at his cards. You remember what AJ told you about how he used be real outgoing before his parents passed away. Poor guy. Feeling obligated to extend some sort of friendship to him, you resolve to try to reach out to him now and then. Who knows, maybe you could help him out a bit. Apple Bloom hugs her brother one more time, then exits with a sorrowful.
	“Well, alright then. Maybe some other time.” She smiles on the last word and as she walks away. But as soon as she’s out of sight, she lowers her voice and lips. “Ah wish he’d say yes at least once.” The words are faint, and taper off towards the end, but you still pick them up. But while you may not be in a position to give Big Mac anything, you could be there for Apple Bloom. Stepping closer, you wrap her in a big hug. The walk stops as she returns it, the fierceness of the embrace momentary, but noticed nonetheless. She let’s go a little earlier than she usually does, then begins moving forward briskly. In no time you reach the TV room.
	You’re shocked at how big it is. You’ve never really noticed the grandeur of their home, but one fact is slowly dawning on you; these guys have money. Whether it’s from a good farm or some inheritance (that’s where you think the Orange fortune came from), they aren’t in any financial trouble. They’ve got this great big plasma right in the center, and two theater-like rows of lounge chairs, loveseats and a great big couch. Your eyes immediately focus on the loveseat, hoping to use it. The walls are a very light blue, the hue indiscernible in the low light. The screen is lit up, showing the repeating menu screen of Disney’s idea of the Middle East. You move towards the loveseat in the front center, already planning out your invitation. Before you reach it, AJ raises her hand from the decadent couch in the back row. 
	“Howdy, Anon!” She gestures for you to join her; she sits on the leftmost side, with Granny Smith in a lounge chair immediately to her left. Patting the space beside you, you foresee a night with hands kept to themselves. Reluctantly, you put your dreams on standby, the proximity of AJ forbidding any major loving. Still, some casual cuddling might be in your future, and you plan accordingly. You seat yourself beside the country girl, followed by her little sister to your right. Somewhere along the line she got a blanket, and drapes it over both of you, which AJ doesn’t bat an eye at. Huh. AJ grabs the remote and hits play, and the show begins.
	As the opening credits come on and the totally-not-the-genie merchant tries to entice you to watch a movie you’re already watching, you yawn unexpectedly. You sing along to “Friend Like Me” the best you can (which is basically only the chorus) in conjunction with Apple Bloom. Surprisingly, AJ chimes in, adding her own unique voice to the sound. If Granny follows along you don’t hear her: the three of you and the movie are pretty loud. Leaning back after the song ends, you find yourself entering into the outstretched arm of Apple Bloom. She’d carefully positioned herself so that when you did fall back onto the couch (you’d been leaning forward), you’d wind up in her arm. She steal a glance at her, noticing a completely innocent expression and a small smile trying to force its way out. You chuckle at her devious plot, and follow suit. Yawning, you thrust your arms up into the air. Oh, did my right arm fall onto your shoulders? Huh. Well, nothing I can do about that.
	The movie continues, and you find the second wind arising, a tiredness returning to you. A pleasant tiredness, of course, but there’s still that desynchronization between you and the movie. Laughs come a second late, and a little slower at that. A sweeter song place, that romantic one you can’t remember the name of. As you listen, trying to keep your eyes open, the screen tilts to the right. When it’s almost made a 90 degree turn, the soft fabric of the couch touches your left cheek, the armrest having risen somehow. Not thinking clearly enough to investigate, or even notice, the mysterious situation. Slowly the words fade out, the lights and sound turning off. 
	Clang! The thunderclap of fallen iron jolts you up, adrenaline giving you a little more of your Friday. You blink a few times, trying to clear your eyes of that initial blurriness caused by disuse. Looking around, you see an empty room with still image of a genie on the TV. There’s a yellow overtone on part of the wall, sourced from an open doorway. Some noise comes from within, but you’re still too close to sleep to identify the sounds. Struggling to get up, your legs hesitantly allow you to, and carry you into that glowing rectangle. Moving closer, the noises clarify, revealing a conversation of the female Apples. 
	“Ah geez, sis! That almost caught me!”
	“Sorry, Applejack. Musta slipped or something.” Her voice trails off as she finishes her explanation, which is overlapped by her sister’s reply.
	“S’alright. Just be a little more careful next time.” 
	“Sure thing!” The concluding answer is bright and chipper, an odd tone for this hour or in those circumstances. You saunter in, scratching the back of your head tiredly. 
	“Well, look who’s up?” AJ says in conjunction with Granny Smith, the former’s hands placed on her hips. Granny Smith looks about as tired as you do, her body looking as if it drooped as a whole. All except her eyes, which stuck determinedly open. Her hands are extended towards Apple Bloom, who sports her trademark grin, along with a big metal pot.
	“G’morning, Anon!” Your neutral expression, the sleepiness making you hard to faze, twists into one of shock, with a little bit of fear mixed in. Was it morning already? You didn’t feel like you’d slept THAT long. And why was the movie still in then? Your eyes dart to the kitchen window. It’s completely dark outside. Turning back to the family, they’re all wearing Bloom-esque grins, trying to keep from laughing. At the sight of your awareness, they laugh to themselves. 
	“Ah didn’t think you’d fall for that,” AJ says in something between an explanation and a taunt. 
	“Me neither,” adds her little sister in a kinder tone. She finishes handing the pot in her hand to Granny Smith, who hoists it onto a burner. Apple Bloom moves over to your side, patting your arm sympathetically. You throw out your lips in an exaggerated pout.
	“You guys are a buncha jerks.”
	“I stayed out of it,” Granny says matter-of-factly, picking up some olive oil and dumping it in the pan. 
	“-except for Granny,” you say, without missing a bit. “Granny is the tops.” You hear her chuckle to herself, appreciating the relabeling. Apple Bloom, having stayed at your side after the conciliatory pat, makes a case for herself:
	“Awwwww.” Her eyes bore into yours, as big as she can make them. Just below her cute little nose is a pout to shame yours. She moves her head forward, so the chin of her upturned face is resting on the right side of your chest. Her hands are low, moving from the middle of your chest to your hand. Yours is given a prolonged squeeze as she melts your heart, and you correct yourself immediately. Bringing an arm up and over her, your hand comes onto the back of her head, pushing her gently into your chest. She naturally moves into a slight nuzzle and you rub the back of her head softly.
	“Ok, I take it back.” 
	“Yay!” She moves back, her touch immediately missed, and raises two triumphant fists. Before you or AJ can say anything, an odd sound catches your ears. It’s like hundreds of little, light rocks being poured into a bucket. Looking over to Granny, where the source of the sound is, you see her holding some orange-ish plastic container upside down over the pot. You tilt your head and rack your tired brain for answer, but come up with nothing. 
	“Hey Granny,?”
	“Yes, dear?”
	“Whatcha got over there?”
	“Popcorn,” she says simply, the singular word unraveling the mass of confusion that had been swirling within you. She moves to the side, and you see the tiny little kernels pouring out. The vegetable rain soon stopped, and the pot was given its lid once more. She turned the heat on and swiveled to face three other members of her family.  “Alright, that’s all I’m good for. You young’uns make sure to clean up afterward, and go to bed at a reasonable time.” 
	“Sure Granny!”
	“Will do, Granny.”
	“Yes, Ma’am” come the three replies. Granny gives all of you a sweet expression before walking out of the room and off to bed. The mention of sleep brings a reminiscing wave to your head, and you yawn heavily. Leaning back of the counter, you struggle to keep your eyes open, unaware that the challenge would so suddenly arise. Apple Bloom looks at you hard, asking: 
	“Are ya sure you’re gonna make it?” You honestly don’t know, but you don’t want to disappoint Apple Bloom. AJ offers a similar sentiment:
	“Ya know, ya don’t hafta finish if you don’t want to.” You do want to! Thinking as quickly as you can, which is really not all that fast, you try to assuage their concerns.
	“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry, I’ll stay up.” Hold on a second. You’re promising this to avoid disappointing Apple Bloom, but if you fall asleep (which you probably will), won’t that disappoint her more? If your face wasn’t already downcast with sleepy rest, it might convey your frustration with yourself. Curse your tired brain! Meanwhile, AJ’s been nodding her head while looking at you. She walks past you to the refrigerator, and pulls out a can of coke. Holding it out to you, she says:
	“Well, we don’t have any coffee made –‘sides, that’d keep y’all up longer than you wanna be, Ah’m guessing- but sometimes this does the trick.” You smile gratefully and take the can from her, opening it with the familiar sound of released carbonation. After letting out a yawn, not wanting that to come out mid-sip, you toss the can back and chug a good half of it. The sudden rush of the crackling soda down your throat threatens a cough, but you overcome the reaction. Being in that sleepy place, you let loose that ridiculous “ah,” after you finish. Fortunately, the dumb exhalation doesn’t bother you too much, for the same reason that it came about in the first place. You don’t feel any extra energy yet, but that could always come later, or under suspicion.
	Apple Bloom, still beside you, is drinking her own. She takes smaller sips than you, the little motions and ending sound being cute in their daintiness. But she doesn’t keep the dainty, proper form for long. A couple kernels pop, the noise bringing your attention to the pot. As soon as you figure out the cause, your neck becomes subject to a chilling touch. Apple Bloom’s left hand had traded it’s soda for the back of your neck, the icy coolness of the can unfortunately transferred to you. 
	“Ah!” Failing to conceal a girlish squeal, your hand rockets up to your neck, replacing her retreating offence. You rub it hastily, quickly removing the painful cold. Looking to Apple Bloom, you ask her: “What gives?”
	“Well, did that wake ya up?” No! Wait. You know, the minor adrenaline rush actually did help clear out some of that fogginess. It hadn’t been entirely present, but rather lurking at the lower layers of consciousness, ready to seep out at the first halt of action. But now you were feeling pretty awake, even if your body proper didn’t have all the energy it would have at an earlier time of day. Begrudgingly, you accept the fact. Still, you make your own plans of avengement while you affirm her.
	“Yeah, it did.” She makes that face again, the one where she smiles so widely her eyes almost close entirely. It’s so sweet that you consider not exacting righteous justice on her. You smile back, mulling the question over in your mind. Nah, you’re gonna go with the righteous justice. As she pulls back, you turn towards AJ, who is now shaking the mostly full pot around, making sure all the unpopped kernels go the bottom. Just as planned, Apple Bloom follows your gaze, watching the semi-interesting sight. Your hand, the one holding the soda, is beginning to get crazy cold, having passed the point where you’d have moved it to your other hand. Ready to exact some righteous justice, you look at her from the corner of your eye. The back of the neck is too obvious. Probably shouldn’t go for the boob with AJ here; same goes for her butt, too. Then you remember a similar experience with one of your childhood friends, who’d attacked the inside of your arm with a spoonful of cold jam. He explained his superior strategy to your madly washing past-self as due to the inner part of your bicep, the part that lies against the skin, never receiving ill-treatment from the world, and so never gaining the sturdiness of the outer layer.
	You look up to the ceiling and yawn greatly, stretching your arms up to the sky. The infection spreads to Apple Bloom, who yawns in turn. She raises her arms in an imitation of you, a step you weren’t sure would be successful. As soon as her arms go straight, you pass your can to your other hand, and attach the cold appendage to the soft flesh of her upper, inner arm.
	“Yikes!” Her arms retract instantly, thrashing downward into a cross-armed posture. Her right hand frantically rubs the spot, her eyes still bugged out from the unexpected sensation. She looks to you, and you say with a smile:
	“Just thought I’d return the favor.” Her rival-like like changes to her innocent you-got-me smile, and she chuckles a few times. AJ looks over her shoulder to observe the shrill response, confirming your rightness of your decision to avoid her chest and back. 
	“What are y’all doing over there?” You straighten up and give her a military salute, a position immediately mimicked by Apple Bloom. 
	“Nothing, ma’am. Just some good, honest, clean fun.” You speak in your gruffest voice, staring straight ahead.
	“Yes ma’am. Nothing but good, honest, and clean fun over here.” Apple Bloom follows your lead brilliantly, though her deep male voice, like most girls’, is more hilarious than realistic.
	“Yup. Sure is nothing but that.”
	“Affirmative, not a thing to be worried about.” AJ interrupts your mockery with that semi-skeptical narrow-eyed expression you’re becoming well acquainted with.
	“Yeah, yeah. Now come over here and get some popcorn.” You gladly follow orders, grabbing three bowls from the cabinet, and handing one to both ladies. AJ denies yours, telling you that one of you is gonna holding the main bowl. “Probably you, granted that you’re in the middle.” You put your own bowl back, leaving two out. AJ grabs this big honkin’ thing from a different cupboard and dumps the lion’s share of the popcorn inside of it. Then she passes it to you, followed by both her and your favorite Apple dipping their smaller versions in. All set up, you and your cousins pass back into the TV room, the last of the party shutting off the lights during the exit. You take your place in the middle of the couch, with Apple on both sides. An exaggerated shiver, completely with a pretty loud “BRRR” precedes a blanket being tossed over to Bloom. You pull it over yourself nonchalantly, hoping to make up for her slightly overzealous performance. Not wanting to bring the notion of a couple to mind, you hold up the end and offer cover to AJ. She declines politely, the lack of skeptic eyes setting the minor worry at ease. 
	“Alright, I’m ready,” says the cocooned Apple Bloom, only her head peeking out from the thick cloak. You repeat the sentiment, after which AJ picks up the remote, and hits play. The rest of the movie passes rather quickly, your heightened awareness allowing for greater attention to be paid, which results in an immersion your previous run lacked. Man, this movie’s a lot better than you’d remembered it being. When Jafar does his gross snake act, laughing all the way, Apple Bloom let’s out a soft “eep!” and clings to your right side. You doubt that she’s actually frightened of that guy, but hey, you’re not one to question a clinging Apple Bloom. Under the blanket, your hand slides over to her back, holding her close. You can feel that familiar bliss of her nuzzling into your chest, her eyes on the screen but her mind on you.
	The climax comes and goes, Jafar’s forgotten storm of puns bringing a few laughs to you alone. How people could be so unmoved by such linguistic brilliance was beyond you. The popcorn is steadily devoured, the reaching hands of Apple girls surprising you with their refilling rustles. Everything ends happily for everyone except Jafar and all the people whose homes were destroyed by the falling pieces of the severely harmed castle. It was a pretty good ending; heck, the whole thing was pretty great, even though it was clear that Robin William’s could be credited for most of its value. 
	Standing up, you release the returning sleepiness through the duel actions of yawning and making a “Y,” like in that song about the YMCA. You can hear the other girls yawning and stretching in their seats before getting up. Feeling a soft arm still encircling you, you look down to see Apple Bloom attaching herself to you, humming happily. Inside you your heart explodes, blooms into that kind of perfect joy that rarely comes outside of late-night affection. You glance at AJ, who’s rotating her shoulders, groaning at the unused muscles. You pull her in with your arm, a brief gasp accompanying her facing you. You smile, the sleepy ease releasing you from everything that held you back from the simple joy of the girl to your right. You feel happy, and it shows. AJ smiles back, and accepts your offer, the three of you hugging tightly. 
	“I love you guys,” you say, barely keeping the unchecked words from being mumbles. “You guys are the best.” Your words come instantaneously, without the usual second thoughts that filter out any potentially embarrassing sentiments. And as you grin and hold the two girls tight, you’ve never felt a more honest and real moment. True, most of your happiness is due to your younger cousin, but AJ’s kindness has been important too. You know that you don’t, and probably can’t, know how much she’s affected you. But you’re thankful for it, for both of these girls. You give them an additional squeeze, just to make sure you’ve expressed your care. They both respond in kind, so happy to have you here.
	Finally you part, your heavy lidded eyes pleading for rest. The second wind is disappearing, and you can feel it sapping at your strength. Your legs move like heavy logs, defiantly fighting at your efforts to move. The other girls seem far less affected as they happily walk you down the wall. Each of them remains at your side, walking at arm’s length apart. But you know that a closer proximity is mandatory, so before either of them could slip away or correct it on their own, you pull them both in once more. Your arms twist around each other’s, hands meeting and clasping at the bottom. No sneaky joy in the hand-holding here: only the simple bliss of a boy not alone in the slightest. 
	On you walk, a vague notion of a tooth brushing destination in your mind. As you go on, a familiar rectangle of light places itself along one of the walls, the loud glow setting some light upon the hallway around it. Taking note of the pictures and recalling the structure of the massive house, you figure out the source before its reached. Thanks to the memory of the walk here, your foresee Big Mac’s room just before you step foot into the grand deluge of light. Within it is Big Mac, looking the same as he did before. He’s bent over a desk, the same card game before him. Had the cards not been different, you could have mistaken him for a bright painting. 
	“Howdy, Big Mac.” He looks up to his older sister, and smiles. Huh. That was unexpected.
	“Hey.” His low voice comes, the deep timbre surprising you. He speaks so rarely that you’ve never really set down a complete definition of what he’s like: there just isn’t enough information. AJ unravels herself from your love bundle and heads into the room. In order to fit through the door, you do the same, but not without a semi-apologetic, long glance at Apple Bloom. Upon seeing her similar response, you do so, and enter his room. AJ leans over his desk, placing one hand on the back of his chair and another on his desk.
	“Still playing, huh?”
	“Yup.”
	“Alright, well I’ll jump in after you finish.”
	“Ok.” The monotonous replies continue, as does your confusion. Luckily, AJ clears that up right quick. She looks up to you and her sister, and grins. 
	“Y’all want in? Me and Big Mac were gonna get a little Gin Rummy going, maybe some Poker after that.” The thought of playing a game stirs up your weary center: you needed to be asleep before now. 
	“Sorry, I don’t think I can.” You give them a little half-smile, apologizing for your inability to keep up with them.
	“Don’t worry about it,” consoles AJ, flashing you a smile. “Apple Bloom?” You turn to the fourth, who stares for half a second longer before responding. 
	“Oh! Uh, yeah! Sure!” She looks at you with her big eyes, giving you that heart-melding, pleading look. “Are ya sure ya don’t want to?”
	“Oh no, I want to. But I’m just beat.” Softly smiling, you give her one last hug, wave to the older Apples, then head out. Your walk to your room is a solo one, but still enjoyable. The house is warm, that comfortable level of heat that almost makes it feel like a blanketed fort. You walk up the stairs, smiling to yourself, and cross the hall. Standing in front of your door, that desperate urge to stretch overwhelms you, and you obey without thinking. Then, your body calm and relaxed, you open the door and walk into your room.
	*phew* You collapse on top of your bed, exhausted equally from the day's events as you are from that perfect summer heat. You feel a yawn coming up, and, releasing it, you stretch out your limbs in all directions. Taking up as much space as possible, you roll your shoulders back and give a loud conclusion to the yawn. It's been a long day, and boy do you deserve this. Your head lolls to the side, and you experiment with its position, trying to find the comfiest one. Finding success, you close your eyes and curl up, ready for a nap. Naturally, a frenetic knocking at your door stops you in your tracks. A deep groan resonates from you as you give the door a sleepy glare. Adorable as she is, you really just wanted some time alone. But what could you say?
	"Come in,"  you start to yell, but finish in a mumble. Apple Bloom leaps in, once again exuding energy from her very being. Seeing you sprawled out on your bed, she decides she's found a prime cannonball spot. 	“Anoooooooon!" she bellows, and sprints towards the bed, planting a foot on the trunk in front of it, and leaping into the air. Giggling, the forces of gravity soon pull her down. Terror obliterates all tiredness, and your adrenaline filled body flings itself to the side, almost escaping. Your cousin's tiny body slams down hard on your right leg, though much of her weight was focused on the bed. Enough to hurt, not enough to cripple, which was a condition you very justifiably expected. A half-faked howl of pain echoes through the room, and the giggling girl looks up in worry. Her arms were under her, and she was half turned towards you. Defenseless. You stop your howling and leap onto her, tickling her sides for all you're worth. Her giggles return, then evolve into full blown laughter as she feebly tries to hinder your works.
	Raucous laughter fills your ears, and you find yourself beaming at the girl beneath you. Sensing your weakened efforts, she retaliates, her precious little fingers finding your sides. AHHAAJEEZNOOHMYGOODNESSAHHHH. The second her fingers start digging in, all energy exits your arms, leaving you fully at her mercy. Your attack gone, she places all her strength into tormenting your poor sides, a devious grin capturing her face all the while. You fall onto your back, laughter and a little pain gripping you. After a minute, you muster your strength, and bring back the devilish assault on her sides. A few minutes of laughter interspersed with giggling shrieks of "stop!', and the two of you are lying on your backs, breathing heavily, you find your right arm trapped underneath her, the elbow barely poking out from right side. Your forearm is raised, tilted slightly to the left, with your hand hanging down over her exposed tummy.
	Her shirt must have slid up a bit, leaving the cute little mound exposed. Absent-mindedly the tips of your fingers begin brushing her tummy in small, light circles. You shift your body a little to the right, moving right up against her, so your elbow moves further from her body and gains a little more leeway. Now your whole hand can touch her belly, which it immediately does. Your open palm begins tracing large circles, with the unspoken perimeter of an inch away from the beginning of her bra and the upturned edge of her shorts. Your hand presses down, firmly but not too much so, as you make the initial circles. Then you shift it up a notch, dividing the motion into two crescents, one light and soft, with the other being firm, slightly depressing her skin. Your hand, once flat for the whole iteration, starts turning, so the inside of your hand massages her partly, then just the edge of your pinkie (while you make the turn), then the back of your fingers, before your repeat the whole process. As you work, you talk to her. 
	“So, what’s up? I thought you were gonna play cards with your fam.” Her eyes turn towards you, a subtle deliriousness seeping into them.
	“Yeah, Ah was gonna, but Ah got tired in a hurry. Ah figured Ah might as well go to bed.”
	“I get that. This isn’t where you sleep though.” Her reply comes a little bit slower as your motions draw her in.
	“Ah know that, silly. Ah wanted… Ohhhh, yeah… Ah wanted to say good night to my favorite cousin first.”
	“Awwww. Well, I appreciate it.” You show her you appreciate it with a small peck on her lips, eliciting a smile from your entranced sweetheart.
	She breathes in deeply as you do this, not saying a word. You can feel her breaths begin to match the tempo of your strokes, breathing in as you make the light crescent, and breathing out when you press down more firmly. Every few iterations you stop, and move your hand in lines, almost petting her small tummy in vertical lines, then horizontal ones. Eventually your arm, still subject to the weight of your cousin, begins to feel tired, and you retract in from under her, earning you a sincere pout. You meet her asking gaze with a reassuring smile, then lean on your right arm while your left arm comes over to assume its position. You repeat the whole process, using variations of light and soft touches, and different patterns, just to keep it from becoming monotonous for her. You exhale, not realizing you've been holding it in, as her eyes lazily drift up and under the lids, halfway closed. 
	Her eyes then shut completely, a blissful smile interrupting her audible breathing. You note the gentle curve of her little belly, just barely protruding from her thin frame. The soft, malleable skin reacting to your hands is incredible, and you find yourself enjoying this almost as much as her. She groans and stretches her limbs, not unlike you had moments before, and you gaze in wonder at the beauty on your bed. Feeling like you're nearing completion, you press your hand down firmly, and resuming the large circles you'd begun with, decreasing the pressure at every interval. Finally, your last circle just a ghost of a trace, you lift your hand up, and lie down beside her. She turns over to you, eyes still closed, and shifts closer. Her head falls on your shoulder, and she curls up close, whispering sweetly in your ear
	"You know, the massage was my high.” You tilt your head toward hers, asking quietly:
	“Really?”
	“Yeah. I didn’t really wanna say it in front a’ Granny. But yeah, it was.” You can hear the smile in her voice, the sight of it not necessary. You want to answer, to return some gift like that she’d given you, but you’re gone. Apple Bloom remains beside you, not wanting the motion of getting up to erase the still-present traces of your touch. She knows you’ve fallen asleep, and feels a special sort of happiness in draping her arm over your slumbering body. In that sweet relish, she finds one final surge of energy in an impulse: she lifts herself up just barely, and pecks your lips ever so lightly. Then she falls back down on you, the taste of your lips being the last thought on her mind.


Part 3: http://pastebin.com/Zmtgdt0W