Chapter 1

Applejack stared at the painting.

Hard.

After a long, long appraisal of the picture, she had only four words to offer to her companion.

"I don't get it."

"Oh please, darling," Rarity daintily reached up and adjusted her beret (an essential accessory for art viewing) to the proper angle, "you're not even trying. I know you've had a somewhat...rural upbringing, but...honestly, Applejack, can't you see it?" The unicorn turned and fluttered her eyelashes just-so. It was a practiced look. The faint sounds of a classical string quartet somewhere else in the art gallery only added to the effect.

"Mmmnope." Applejack said. "Sorry, Rarity. I just can't read fancy."

"Fancy?"

Applejack pointed to the painting's caption.

"Oh! You mean French! Ah, now I understand. My apologies, darling- I should have translated before. You just didn't understand the context, that's all! Here, look. 'Ceci n'est pas un pomme,' roughly parsed into the vernacular, says 'This is not an apple.' The translation's a little rough, mind you- I'm not...entirely fluent, but I know enough to get by. Still, for the circumstances, I think you understand, no?"

"Uh." Applejack scratched her head. "Now I'm just gettin' more confused. I mean...ya said it's not an apple. But it is an apple. Lookit!" Applejack pointed at the painting. "That's an apple. Round. Got a stem on it. Good color. Nearly ripe enough for buckin', iffin I ain't wrong. And iffin' there's anythin' I know, it's apples."

"Ah! But that's it!" said Rarity. "Don't you see? It's not an apple. That's why it's so delicious! Artistically speaking, that is."

"Say what?"

"Think of it this way. Applejack, are you hungry?"

"Welp, now that ya mention it, I'm a trifle peckish. Them horse-devours-"

"Hors d'oeuvres, you mean?"

"Whatevers they were, them weren't nearly 'nuff for dinner. I think these high-falutin' schindig's would be a lot better iffin' somepony had enough sense ta bring some sandwiches or fritters or somethin. You'd think with all the deep pockets rollin' 'round, somepony'd spring for proper catering."

"Well, putting that aside, dear,...think about it. You're hungry. I bet you'd like an apple, wouldn't you? Something properly juicy and delicious, no?"

"Shoot, now that ya say so, that would hit the spot..."

"Well, there you are, then." Rarity smiled knowingly, and pointed to the painting. "There's your apple. Dig in."

"What."

"Don't you see?"

"Rarity, you sure you haven't been hittin' the open bar too hard? I can't eat a paintin'."

"Aha!" Rarity laughed, delightedly. "That's it exactly! You can't eat a painting. You can eat an apple. And this," Rarity waved one hoof arily at the canvas on the gallery wall. "This is not an apple. Just like the caption said. Do you see?"

Applejack looked from Rarity, to the painting, and then back to Rarity. "Mmmnope." The cowpony shifted nervously from one hoof to the other. "Sorry Rarity, I'm just not very arty, I guess."

"Oh please, Applejack. Don't sell yourself short! You just haven't had the opportunity to broaden your horizons, that's all. Which is why I brought you here, darling." Rarity reached up to stroke Applejack's cheek with a gentle hoof. "Not to mention these gallery openings are so much more enjoyable with the proper company."

"Iffin' you say so." Applejack smiled wanly. "I mean, I ain't ever been to anythin' as fancypants highfalutin' as this. But, it ain't really what I thought it'd be like, either. I mean, I thought all the paintin's would be, um, different. Y'know, like, more paintin's of normal stuff. Like vases of flowers, or ponies sittin' on couches all-" Applejack suddenly stopped, and freckled cheeks flushed red.

"Oh?" Rarity said. She slyly slowed the single syllable 'til it sounded seriously salacious. "What was that about ponies on couches?"

"Uh. Nothin'." Applejack's blush deepened.

"Applejack, you're a terrible liar."

"Fine." Applejack said, pulling in a breath. "I was talkin' 'bout them old arty pictures where the pony's sittin' on it all...y'know. Come-hither-y. Or she's walkin' outta a seashell for some reason n' there's tiny li'l pegasuses holdin' banners in the background and....stuff. Y'know. Art. This? This stuff's just kinda...confusin'. And this paintin' actually looks like somethin'! Half of the stuff on the walls here looks like somepony just spilled the paint can or whatever."

“That's the point, darling. Not all art has to look like something. And, as while...ponies on couches, as you put it, do hold some artistic merit, it's just too...traditional, if you ask me. Now this?” Rarity pointed to the canvas, “This is fascinating. It's so avant garde!”

“Beg pardon?”

“It's fresh! It's new! It's exciting!”

“It's confusin'.”

“I know.” Rarity brimmed with enthusiasm. “Such thematic uncertainty! Isn't it grand? It's what Art is for!”

“It is?” Applejack turned to look over an intricately-detailed painting of a soup can. “I thought it was to, y'know, look purty and stuff.”

“Of course, there's an aesthetic value to certain works. It's expected- particularly when works in a medium such as mine.” Rarity smiled, knowingly. “Why, I wouldn't be nearly as successful as I am right now if I didn't make everypony who walked into my boutique look absolutely beautiful.”

“Whattabout that one time ya made them dresses the way me n' Fluttershy n' Twilight n' Rainbow n' Pinkie wanted, n' then everypony laughed at ya?”

“Ah.” Rarity's expression fell. “Yes. That. In that case, I might note I was only following what was requested of me. By my best friends. Because that's what they wanted.”

“Eheh. Yeah. Uh. Sorry 'bout that.” Applejack scratched the back of her neck.

“Regardless!” Rarity said, “that's all behind us now. And entirely beside the point.”

“So what is the point?”

“The point is,” Rarity smiled, and pointed to the canvas, “this is not an apple.”

Applejack stared at the painting. Harder. “Mmmnope, still don't get it. Sorry?”

“No need to apologize, darling.” Rarity said, even if the unconsciously haughty tilt of her nose implied there was.

“Lookit, maybe I'm just...uh, distracted, that's it.” Applejack said, “here, lemme just make a quick visit to the li'l fillies room, n' I'll look at yer apple-picture even harder when I get back, 'kay?” The cowpony turned on a hoof and meandered off in search of a restroom before Rarity could reply. This itself was a bit of a blessing, Rarity realized, as she had absolutely no idea how to respond to such a statement. She sighed (only slightly melodramatically) and plucked a wineglass from the tray of a passing waiter. Not for the first time, she wondered why she'd brought Applejack to the gallery opening in the first place. On the one hoof, Rarity'd been wanting to spend some more time with her, and there was a rather conspicous “and guest” listed on the invitation. On the other...well, Applejack seemed bored, at best, but at least she was trying. Of course, it was terribly bad form to drag one's...companion to an event they wouldn't enjoy. Unless, of course, Applejack knew she wouldn't have a good time, in which case her attendance could be seen as a sign of dedication, which Rarity found equal parts flattering and concerning.

Before Rarity could dwell on the subject further, she heard someone calling her name.

“Ah, Rarity.” The older unicorn strutted across the gallery floor with all the confidence of the exceedingly wealthy and the slightly drunk. “Such a pleasure to see you.”

“Upper Crust!” Rarity switched on her best high society smile. “I didn't know you were stopping by.”

“Neither did I.” Upper Crust flicked her mane back, not bothering to meet Rarity's eyes. “It was merely a slow night, and I thought I'd stop by. You know how it goes.”

“Oh, yes.” Rarity said, even as she recalled the long train ride from Ponyville to Canterlot, and the proverbial hoops she'd had to proveribally jump through to get an invitation to the gallery opening. “One's got to find some way to pass the time, no? Though, if you don't mind my asking-” she craned her head, trying (and failing) to look past the other unicorn. “Did Jet Set come with you?”

“I'm afraid not.” Upper Crust said. “He had something pop up. His business at the firm keeps him quite busy, you know.”

“A shame. He's always such pleasant company.” Rarity lied, as she was obliged to do.

“He is, yes. Still, there's something a little...liberating in attending one of these functions on one's own.” The corner of Upper Crust's mouth turned upwards in a calculated smirk. “I mean, it's almost a state of enlightenment- some ponies just get so...desperate that they'll bring anypony with them, just so they can say they're not alone.”

Rarity narrowed her eyes at the taller unicorn. “I wouldn't know.”

“Of course you wouldn't.” Upper Crust said. “But haven't you seen her?”

“Who?”

“You know. The pony with the hat.”

“You're...not referring to me, are you?” Rarity reached up and tilted her beret to the proper gallery-viewing angle.

“No no, not you. If I were talking about you, you'd know it.” Upper Crust said. “Honestly, as sharp as you are, I would've thought you'd noticed by now. Or didn't you see her? Earth pony, blonde mane...some sort of...rustic hat. I cannot fathom why she's here.”

“Well, isn't that interesting.” Rarity narrowed her eyes. “As it would just so happen that my...dear friend Applejack is in attendance, and she does have a penchant for more...practical headgear. And I would be terribly, terribly aggrieved if somepony were to take issue with her attendance.”

“Perish the thought!” Upper Crust held a hoof to her chest. “Why, you know me, Miss Rarity. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Still, certain tongues may wag- not for your friend's choice in fashion, but rather...well, you've just got to look at her.”

“And whatever are you trying to say?” Rarity's voice was icy enough to frost glass.

“I'm not saying anything, Rarity.” Upper Crust shrugged. “Opinions are quite unfashionable, you know. I'm just making a few key observations, is all. Really, you should be glad I'm the one observing. You never know what somepony else might say.”

“No, you never do. Still, Applejack's...not entirely out of place, you know. You wouldn't think it to look at her, but she's got quite the sophisticate streak in her. Why, did you know she spent some time in Manehattan as a filly?”

“Rarity, everyone's spent time in Manehattan. The help has spent time in Manehattan. Haven't you?” Upper Crust turned to one of the passing waiters (the only notice she'd given to them all evening). The waiter nodded silently, though whether or not in agreement with Upper Crust or just as an excuse to get out of her way remained up for debate.

“Ah. Yes.” Rarity said. “Still, my friend is...quite the sophisticate, you know.”

“Hey Rarity!” Applejack's voice cut through the polite murmur of the art gallery with all the subtlety of a piece of farm equipment. “Lookit here! I found some real art! It's got a bowl of fruit n' everything!”

“Is she?” Upper Crust arched one brow. “She seems...opinionated.”

“Of course she is!” Rarity blurted, “why she's got more talent in her hind hoof than a good many so-called-artistes that I could name.”

“Is that so?” Upper Crust angled her ears forward by a few critical degrees, switching from 'politely attentive' to 'vaguely interested.'

Suddenly, Rarity became well aware of several other ponies who were decidedly not eavesdropping on the conversation. She forced a cultured laugh.

“That....is so.” Rarity stalled by draining her wineglass. “Of course, I shall decline to name said names, for politeness' sake. But...yes. My dear friend Applejack is something of a prodigy when it comes to painting, you know. It's just that she's terribly shy about it. Yes.” Rarity surprised herself as she spun the lie, each word building momentum like a snowball careening downhill “In fact, so shy, you shouldn't ask her about it. Ever. It's...that artistic temperment, you know. She's...just waiting for the best moment to make her debut. Which may or may not be anytime soon. But, rest assured, once she gets over her particular personal hangups, it's going to be...big.”

“Big?” Upper Crust echoed.

“Huge!”

“Coming from any other pony, Miss Rarity, I would dare think such a notion to be...exageratted. Only slightly.”

“I like to think I'm just slightly more reliable than 'any other pony.'” Rarity took a step forward, and stood a little taller. “Why, I've even heard Princess Celestia herself heap praise upon Applejack. At length.” Which, Rarity reminded herself, was entirely true- even if it had nothing to do with Applejack's hypothetical artistic talents (or lack therof).

“Well!” Upper Crust said, “I have to thank you, Rarity, as I wouldn't have known otherwise.”

“No need to thank me, darling.” Rarity smiled. “As honestly, this is the sort of thing best kept between you and I, hm?” She added a conspiritorial wink, just to make sure Upper Crust would tell everypony she knew. “Remember. Artistic temperment. Applejack hates talking about art. In fact, she's so opinionated, she barely deigns to recognize any of the more popular modern trends. Too mainstream, you know.”

“I see.” Upper Crust said, “I'll just have to keep that in mind, Rarity. Thank you for enlightening me.”

“Any time!” Rarity forced her smile a little wider. “Don't be a stranger, dear. Always a pleasure to talk to you.” She lied, politely.

As Upper Crust faded into the crowd, Rarity slumped her shoulders and looked around to see where Applejack had gotten off to- or, barring that, the nearest drink-bearing waiter. Rarity briefly hoped she might even find both in the same place. After just a few minutes, she found flute of champagne, but Applejack herself had faded into the background somewhere. Rarity wondered how such a loud and opinionated earth pony could disappear so easily. Rarity huffed, and began heading deeper into the gallery to continue her search- the place was small enough that she knew she could find Applejack in just a few minutes, provided no more distractions popped up.

This is, of course, when Fancy Pants made an appearance. “Miss Rarity!” He was, as one would expect, impeccably dressed. “What a pleasant surprise! To be honest, I should have expected you here.”

“Oh!” Rarity's lips turned up in a sly smile, “Of your many talents, Fancy Pants, I was unaware precognition was one of them.” Rarity fought down the urge to swear; the only thing worse than running into someone you didn't like at a proper social function was running into someone you did. At least, such was the case whenever one had something important to do.

“Precognition? No. Intuition. Though really, it doesn't take a crystal ball to assume a lady as charming and cultured as yourself to attend the premiere art opening of the season. I'm glad you could make it all the way from Ponyville.”

“That makes two of us,” said Rarity.

“Still, Miss Rarity, even I couldn't have predicted your choice in company. Your friend's causing quite a stir, you know.”

“Oh no.” Rarity paled (which, given her immaculately-kept white coat, was saying something). “What did Applejack do?”

“Oh, it's not what she's doing. It's what everypony else is. I dare say, everypony in the gallery is keeping an eye on her. From a distance, mind you. It's like they're just waiting for her to do...something.”

“Something like...what?” Rarity's mouth went desert-dry, despite the wine she'd been quaffing.

“Nopony's sure yet,” said Fancy Pants, “but something tells me we'll see soon enough.”

Chapter 2

Elsewhere, Applejack roamed through the gallery, trying to keep out of everypony else's way. This wasn't too hard; wherever Applejack went in the gallery, unicorns tended to subtly slink out of her way. She paid the various artists and patrons no mind. Like a soldier on patrol, Applejack resolutely marched from one painting to another. Upon reaching each new canvas, she squinted, and leaned forwards, looking at it as hard and fancy-like as she could. No matter what the subject of the instillation was, and no matter how hard Applejack looked at it, she invariably reached the same conclusion.

“I don't get it.”

Upon making this verdict, Applejack would trot to the next painting, and take anywhere from a few seconds to a minute staring at it. She knew Rarity would be able to go on and on and on about each painting, which Applejack knew would only confuse her even more, but that was alright. It was enough for Applejack to just listen to Rarity, even if she didn't know half of what she was talking about. She was just so enthusiastic about such artsy stuff, that it had to be important.

Which frustrated Applejack even more when she didn't see why.

Applejack stomped over to the next painting, paying no mind to the small gaggle of high society unicorns that gathered in her wake. She didn't notice the ensuing ripple of whispered gossip that came with each of her proclaimations, nor the few more ponies that drew closer to see what the gossip was about. Applejack almost didn't even notice the purple-maned unicorn who pushed her way through the crowd with a barely restrained sense of panic about her.

“Oh, Applejack!” Rarity feigned disinterest. “There you are. I'm so sorry, you know how easy it is to get tied up in a gathering like this.”

“Yeah, sure.” Applejack didn't take her eyes from the canvas.

“Oh, I see you've found one of the choicest pieces on display.” Rarity nodded. “You wouldn't believe the trouble they went through to get it. The price was...exorbitant, to put it politely.”

“I don't get it.” Applejack said.

An audible, collective gasp echoed through the gallery. By now, all the ponies present had their attention focused on Applejack, and her verdicts on each painting.

“Are you sure?” Rarity said, stepping in a little closer, even as she felt untold pairs of eyes drilling into her back. “I mean, it's an Andy Warhorse original. Surely you've got more to say about it than that.” Rarity gave Applejack a subtle nudge and a not-so-subtle smile.

“Mmmnope.” Applejack said. “I mean, lookit. It's just a can of soup. Who paints a can of soup?”

“Andy Warhorse? That's...sort of what he does.”

“Welp, maybe he should do somethin' else. I mean, lookit. It's not even a good can of soup! Everypony knows the cream of mushroom's a lot better than the tomato soup.”

“I don't think that's quite the point.”

“I get it, you're gonna start goin' on about how this isn't really a can of soup, now?”

“Well, technically, it isn't, yes. Good to see you're paying attention.” Rarity looked over her shoulder at the indifferently attentive crowd. “But, uh, maybe we should talk about this later?”

“Why?” Applejack said. She kept her eyes on the painting. “Like, is it gonna look better iffin' I'm hungry? 'cuz if that's true, I dunno why they're givin' out horse-devours.”

“Hors d'ouvres.” Rarity corrected, by reflex. She wondered if she'd been hanging around Twilight Sparkle too long.

“Yeah, those.” Applejack said.

“Actually, you know, that may be a valid point, Applejack- maybe you just need something to eat. I mean, as delightful as the apertifs are, wouldn't you prefer something a little more, uh...substantial?” Rarity leaned in as close as she dared with the collective gaze of Canterlot's artistic elite focused on her back. “A trip to Pony Joe's, perhaps?”

“Nah, I'm good. Ate a fritter back at the palace.”

This caused another ripple of gossip from the crowd, though whether it was from Applejack's choice in food, or from the fact she'd been staying in the palace remained up for debate. Rarity could feel the flow of gossip as well as an old sailor could feel the shifting of the tides. She cringed. Applejack didn't notice.

“Well, speaking of the palace...” said Rarity, “it is getting late, after all. Perhaps we should adjourn?”

“Don't mind me, sugarcube.” Applejack turned, favoring Rarity with a heart-meltingly genuine smile, one that stood out all the more in comparison to the false faces put on by the majority of the Canterlot elite. “I know how much you've been lookin' forward to this here schindig. No need ta leave early on my account.”

“Perish the thought!” Rarity said, “in fact, I dare say I've seen everything that warrants seeing. So, shall we?” Rarity nudged Applejack's shoulder, and nodded for the door.

“Shall we...what?”

“Go.”

“But I already told ya, we don't have ta go. I know this is 'portant for ya. Just go on n' schmooze, Rarity. I get it. Imma just stick 'round n' try to figure out what these ponies were thinkin' when they started don' arty stuff.”

“Ladies don't 'schmooze.'” Rarity huffed, “they...mingle.”

“Yeah, well, go do that.”

“But I'm done schmoozing! Mingling. Whatever.”

“Issat so?” Applejack finally looked over her shoulder at the crowd of not-so-discreetly eavesdropping ponies. “'cuz it looks like everypony here's starin' at ya.”

Rarity bit at her lower lip, and leaned daringly close to Applejack, murmuring into her ear. “They're not staring at me, darling. They're looking at you.”

“They are?” Applejack blurted, and looked over her shoulder. The gathered gallery ponies immediately set about ignoring her until the moment the cowpony stopped looking. “Aw heck, I'm sorry, Rarity. I done went n' ruint yer whole evenin', didn't I?” The pieces began to fall into place in Applejack's head. She blinked prettily, then splayed her ears back in embarassment. “Was I s'posed ta use a special fork ta eat the horse-devours or somethin'?”

“You're not supposed to eat h'ours d'ouvres with a fork, no- so you're fine. In fact, everything's fine.”

Applejack narrowed her eyes. “Don't lie to me, Rarity. Somethin's goin' on- I can tell 'cause your eye's all twitchy.”

“It is?” Rarity clapped a hoof to the side of her face, and forced a smile, “Well, ah, thank you for catching that. Must be, uh, an allergic reaction. To the horse-devours. H'ours d'vours. That's it. I do hope it isn't serious.” Rarity wilted melodramatically, supporting herself on Applejack's side. “Don't worry, I've just enough strength to get back to our room- you won't have to carry me.” She nudged the cowpony towards the door. “Unless you'd like to carry me, that is. I wouldn't object.”

Applejack planted her hooves, solid as any statue in the gallery, if not moreso. “I ain't headed anywhere 'til ya lemme know exactly what's goin' on, Rarity.”

“Fine.” Rarity hissed. “But...not here, not with everypony watching.” Rarity shot a warning glance over her shoulder, and some of the more timid members of the audience scattered as quickly as politeness allowed. They'd be back, Rarity knew, but she'd at least bought some time. She trotted over towards the bar (which, Rarity was glad to see, was a few steps closer to the door than she had been before). She settled in at the end, and pulled Applejack in conspiritorily close, resting her forehead against the cowpony's. It would've been quite pleasant, Rarity realized, were it not for the extenuating circumstances.

“As I told you before, don't worry. This isn't your fault.” Rarity began. “It's just that somehow, through an entirely unforseen course of events, everypony here might have gotten the sudden impression that you're a brilliant artist. A painter, to be precise.”

“What.” said Applejack.

“Oh, you know how these things go. A new face shows up, and all of a sudden everypony is making...assumptions, leaping to wild rumor and conjecture.”

Applejack leaned far enough away from Rarity to glare at her properly. “Why do I get the feelin' you're the one doin' the conjecturin'?”

Rarity's stomach twisted in a way certainly unrelated to the appetitzers. “I may have phrased some things in a way I shouldn't have.” She looked away from Applejack. “But, for the time being, I think it's best if we just let things play out on their own.”

“You want me to lie for you.”

“I never said that.” Rarity huffed.

“Ya didn't have to.”

“I wasn't going to.” Rarity glared at Applejack. “All I'm asking is that we make a polite and timely exit before things get any more out of hoof. I'll make it up to you later. I promise.”

“Ain't later I'm worried about. It's now. What am I s'posed ta do iffin' somepony starts talkin' arty at me?” Applejack paused. “Somepony 'sides you, that is.”

“That's why we should go. Now. With any luck, nopony will even notice we're gone.” Rarity forced a carefree smile, and nudged Applejack towards the door.

They made it about a dozen steps before Upper Crust ambled into their path, shakily levitating her cocktail. “Ah, Miss Rarity!” Her lips pulled back in a smile too wide to be friendly. “This must be your friend you've been telling us about.”

“Y'all been talkin' 'bout me?”

“Oh, ah, yes. In passing.” Rarity said. “Minor introductions and such, you know how it is.”

“No need to be humble,” said Upper Crust, “why, Rarity has been absolutely raving about you, Appleslack.”

“Applejack.” Rarity snipped.

“Yes, that's what I said.” Upper Crust sipped from her martini. “In any case, after hearing so much about you, and after listening to your...enlightening commentary on the collection on display, I was rather hoping to talk to you. About art.”

“Art?” Applejack's voice cracked like a hot plate suddenly plunged into cold water.

“What else?” Upper Crust pushed forward before Rarity could interject. “I mean, you've been creating quite a commotion, you know.”

“Sorry.” Applejack splayed her ears back. “I only ate the last horse-devours thingie 'cuz I thought there'd be more comin'.”

“Ah, the starving artist cliche. How quaint.” Upper Crust smiled, even as her eyes glinted with catty glee. “But really, Miss Applejack- after hearing your commentary on most of the pieces on display, I must ask- what art do you like? How would you define your style? Your influences? Which artists inspire you? Please, be specific. Name names.”

“Uh.” Applejack shifted from one hoof to the other. “I guess my favorite artist would have to be Rarity. She makes purdy dresses. N' stuff.”

“Oh!” Upper Crust cackled politely, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “No need to flatter your...friend just because she invited you, Applejack. Why, Rarity hardly even counts! She works in an entirely different medium. Not to mention her style is decidedly Haute Couture, which is frankly archaic in comparison to the Postmodernist tone of this gallery, wouldn't you agree?”

“Archaic?” Rarity gritted her teeth as politely as she could. “I wouldn't go...that far.”

“Perhaps, but that's beside the point.” Upper Crust said. “But, you must admit, Miss Rarity, you're working in an entirely different medium. Fashion's too...practical to be real art. I mean, at the end of the day, Rarity's works are hung up in the closet, not on a gallery wall. Entirely too pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?”

“I don't agree.” Applejack growled, and stepped forward, looming over Upper Crust. “I don't much care for the way you're talkin' 'bout Rarity, either. Even iffin' I ain't quite sure what you're talkin' 'bout.”

Upper Crust shrank back just a step, as one would when confronted with an irate and well-muscled earth pony.

“Now now, Applejack, she doesn't mean it.” Rarity lied. She put a hoof on the cowpony's shoulder, pulling her back. “No need to start a scene on my account.”

“Ah, yes, Rarity's right.” Upper Crust's words came just a little too fast. “Just making idle conversation, that's all. The art world fascinates me, that's all- on the one hoof, it can be entirely sublime...while on the other, well, one never knows when one might run into a poseur. I mean, somepony claiming artistic talent without proving it would be entirely gauche. Especially if that particular pony happened to be ruffling feathers with certain loud and opinionated comments.”

Applejack narrowed her eyes, and glared harder at Upper Crust. “Hold up. Y'all's talkin' 'bout me, aintcha?”

“I have no idea where you're getting that implication.” Upper Crust said, smiling, “Unless, of course, you have a guilty conscience?”

“Please, Applejack.” Rarity pulled at the cowpony's shoulder, to little avail. “We should go. Now. Sooner than now, really.”

“Aw hay no, Rarity.” Applejack said, “Y'all told alla these folk here 'bout me bein' a painter...so Imma do a paintin' for 'em.”

Rarity paled, and barely caught herself before she fell to the floor in a shocked swoon. “What?”

“Oh! This must be that artistic temperment you mentioned!” Upper Crust crowed. “And, as it would just so happen, I believe there's some extra art supplies laying around.” A few other ponies stumbled out of the crowd and set up paints, canvas, and an easel with suspiciously well-coordinated speed. “There they are!”

“Well, ain't that convenient.” Applejack glared around her and stepped forward, fixing the blank canvas with an initmidating stare. “I ain't ever backed down from a proper challenge, n' now ain't gonna be the time to start.”

“Applejack, please- you don't have to do this.” Rarity rested a hoof on the cowpony's shoulder.

“Sure I do, darlin'. Somepony's told 'em how great a painter I am, so they gonna see me paint. Funny how that works.”

Rarity forced a pained laugh, and draped one leg over Applejack's shoulders, clutching her like a spar of driftwood in a shipwreck. “Yes, well, but everypony knows you can't rush artistic inspiration. I mean, the whole process of creation's so intimate, wouldn't you think that it might just be a teensy bit...embarassing, with all these ponies watching?”

Applejack smirked. “Y'all really think I care what these folks have ta say 'bout me?”

And before Rarity could protest, the cowpony-turned-'artist' took a paintbrush in her mouth and got to work. Rarity recognized Applejack's expression. The gritted teeth, the set brow, the defiant gleam in her eye- they all meant Applejack was going to accomplish something. It was almost enough to make a pony swoon, if one were so inclined. Rarity decided against doing so, mostly for convenience's sake. There'd be the time (and furniture) for that later.

Meanwhile, Applejack set to the task with the same determination she took to her farmwork, or any other challenge that crossed her path. She worked her paintbrush up and down, pausing every now and again to dab the bristles back into the paint as needed. A ripple of gossip spread amongst the various artists, critics, and other hangers-on as they watched each pass of Applejack's brush. The cowpony ignored them all, focusing only on her work.

And within moments, it was over.

Applejack spat out the paintbrush, and looked over the crowd, smug. “There ya go. One coat a' paint, free of charge.” She looked over the canvas, and nodded approvingly at the uniform shade of barn-red she'd painted it with, corner to corner. “Woulda gone faster iffin' I had a paint roller, but hey, ya work with what ya got, right? 'sides, li'l canvas like that ain't nothin' when you're used to paintin' whole barns, right?”

The gallery crowd stared at her in silence.

“Okay, so maybe ya ain't used to paintin' whole barns.”

“Well.” Upper Crust said. “That was...something.”

“Isn't it?” Rarity tried to keep the nervous quaver from her voice.

“It certainly was!” Fancy Pants gracefully stepped out of the crowd, “I mean, look at it! It's a brilliant commentary on the nigh-industrial conditions of the modern art market! Why, it's one of the most brilliant pieces of improvised art I've ever laid eyes on.”

At Fancy Pants' verdict, the other ponies in the crowd began to murmur amongst themselves in vague agreement.

“Her choice in color is brilliant- do you think the red represents blood?”

“No, it's not that red- it's more of an earthy, elemental look, if you ask me.”

“Nevermind the color, look at the brushwork! It's so absolutely even, there's not a drop of empty space, or of wasted paint! I don't understand how Fancy Pants can say it's industrialism, when it's obviously more of a tribute to old-fashioned craftsmareship.”

“This Applesnack is an up and comer!”

“I absolutely must have one!”

“Does she do commissions?”

With each outburst from the crowd, Applejack felt her tomach twist into a new knot. She'd done something worse than embarassing herself at the fancy-pants art gallery.

She'd become popular.

“Well.” Upper Crust did her best to ignore the chitchat echoing through the gallery. Given her finely-tuned ear for high society gossip, this proved easier said than done. “That's...certainly not what I expected.”

“'n just what did you expect?” Applejack said with just the right combination of politeness and vitriol. It was enough to make Rarity proud.

“I'm...not entirely sure.” Upper Crust said. “But that's part of the unpredictability of modern art then, isn't it? One never knows when there may be a...fluke.”

“Wha'd you just call me?” Applejack said.

“Oh, would you look at the time!” Rarity cut in, and began shoving Applejack away from Upper Crust before the situation got any worse. “We honestly must be off. You know how it is.”

“Hold up, Rarity,” Applejack braced herself again, and the unicorn nearly bounced off of her solid frame. “I'm thinkin' me n' that lady here gotta have...words.” Applejack snorted, and drug one hoof over the floor, deep enough to leave scratches in the hardwood.

“Oh, fine.” Rarity huffed. “If you're going to be stubborn about it, there's nothing more I can do. I'll just leave on my own. I'm sure I can find some fine gentlecolt to escort me back, if need be.”

“That s'posed ta make me jealous?” Applejack switched her ire from one unicorn to another.

“Of course not, darling.” Rarity smiled. “You know I wouldn't think of playing such games with you. Besides, you're a grown pony. I'm sure you won't have any trouble dealing with your sudden popularity. There's a whole crowd of ponies who're just dying to talk to you. Alone.”

Applejack mulled over those words for a few long moments, and glanced towards the still-gossiping crowd. “Y'know, when ya put it that way, I think headin' back ta the palace sounds like a good idea.”

“I knew you'd see it my way, Applejack. Now, shall we?” Rarity guided Applejack out the door and out into the street as fast as politeness could allow. The evening air was far cooler outside the little gallery, refreshingly so. It had apparently rained lightly sometime during the exhibition, leaving small puddles across Canterlot's cobblestones.

“Uh, I think we already shall'd.” The cowpony looked over her shoulder at the gallery as it receded into the distance. “Ain't they gonna make a fuss over us leavin' early?”

“Applejack,” Rarity said, flatly, “after all that's happened, are you really concerned about making 'a fuss?'”

“Y'know, when ya put it that way, it sounds pretty silly, don't it? Still...what 'bout all them folk that're goin' on 'bout me bein the best painter ever or somethin'? Seemed ta be a big deal. Ain't they gonna wanna see more?”

“For...now, yes,” Rarity said, “but you've got to realize, the art world is quite...fickle. Give it enough time, and they're bound to forget you as soon as the next big thing comes along.”

“How much time we talkin' 'bout?”

“Not much at all. Why, so long as you don't do anything...noteworthy, they'll probably forget about you in a few days. A week, tops. Something else is bound to come up to distract High Society soon enough. I'll make sure of it, if I have to.”

Applejack eyed Rarity warily. “'n just what're ya gonna do to make sure?”

“It's probably best if I don't answer that.”

“Welp, so long as all this is blown over by next Friday, I ain't gonna complain. I'd hate to miss the the Haymarket Hootenanny on account of some damnfool highfalutin' fancy pants malarkey. I've been' lookin' forward to takin' ya there for weeks now.” Applejack smiled, and leaned in for an affectionate nuzzle. “That is, iffin' ya still wanna go.”

Rarity felt most (if not all) of the evening's stress melt away at Applejack's touch. “Well, when you put it that way, how could I refuse? One thing, however...”

“Whassat?”

“Just...what exactly is a hootenanny again?”

Chapter 3

“You don't have to do this.” Applejack said, not for the first time.

“Of course I do! It's only fair, darling.” Rarity nodded, resolute. “That's what we agreed, wasn't it? I'd take you to to an art gallery opening, and you'd take me to...uh, whatever this is.” Rarity looked at the barn and fought down the sudden rush of apprehension. “A...schindig, you called it?”

“This is bigger than a schindig, sugarcube.”

“Oh. So, uh. A hoedown, then? I vaguely recall you mentioning hoedowns at some point. Does it have something to do with garden tools?”

“Nope. Bigger n' that.”

“What's bigger than a hoedown?”

“A hootenanny!”

“I have absolutely no idea what that is.”

“A hootenanny's like a hoedown, for the whole town.”

“That's not exactly helpful. I mean, would you say that this is a black tie, or white tie event? Er, proverbially speaking, that is. What's the equivalent? Black hat or white hat?”

“Uh.” Applejack turned her green eyes upwards. “My hat's brown. That help?”

“Not...exactly, no.” Rarity huffed. “Look, I just need to know how important this event is in your particular social circle. I'd hate to ruin the hilight of your social calendar, Applejack.”

“Aw shucks Rarity, you ain't gonna ruin anything. Stop worryin'. Sure, this is a right proper hootenanny, but it ain't gonna be a barnburner, so you're fine.”

“What's a barnburner?”

“Bigger n' a hootenanny.”

“That doesn't help!”

“Welp, lookit it this way. The barn ain't on fire, so you ain't got anythin' to worry about.”

“On fire? That's...a euphemmism, I hope?”

“Aw, don't get your purdy head all worried, Rarity.” Applejack reached out to ruffle Rarity's carefully-coiffed mane, but the unicorn shrunk back and gave her a warning glare. Applejack ignored it. “Just relax, have a coupla drinks, n' have a good time. Aint' like ya gotta be all polite-like, y'know? S' just a good time to cut loose. Not worry 'bout rules, y'know?”

“Gasp!” Rarity said the full word. “No rules? That's terrible! How else am I supposed to fit in?”

“I dunno. Take a coupla shots of whiskey?”

“How is that supposed to help?”

“It'll slow ya down, for one. Really, Rarity, I think you're just overthinkin' everythin'. Little bit a booze'll put things inta perspective.”

“I'll...take that into consideration.” Rarity's steps slowed as the barn grew closer, and the noise from within the barn grew louder. “...are you absolutely sure I should be tagging along, though? I'd hate to embarass you, Applejack.”

“Shoot, iffin' you can put up with me at your fancypants schindig-”

“Gallery opening.” Rarity corrected.

“Whatever. After that, shoot- you'd have ta try really, really hard to embarass me, darlin'.”

“So you're saying it's possible!”

“I s'pose so. N' that's just a risk I'd have to take.” Applejack turned her head to give Rarity a reassuring peck on the cheek.

Rarity felt her cheeks flush pleasantly, and she watched Applejack open the barn door. The ensuing wave of sound hit Rarity hard enough to make her flinch. The sounds of laughter, clinking glass, and shouted conversations all roiled over each other, each individual noise trying its damndest to be louder than the others.

“A bit loud, isn't it?” Rarity said.

“Shoot, this ain't nothin'! They ain't even started the show yet.”

“Darling, are you sure-” Rarity trailed off as Applejack walked brazenly into the fracas. The unicorn wondered if Applejack had even heard her, but followed anyway. As she walked deeper into the hootennany, Rarity did her best to take it all in. The arrangement was simple; a handful of musicians had set up shop at one end of the barn, mostly with stringed instruments: guitars, banjos, fiddles, an upright bass, and one grizzled old donkey with a jug that he was either playing or drinking out of, Rarity wasn't sure which.

At the other end of the barn, a makeshift bar had been built from old boxes and cider barrels. A steady line of thirsty ponies crowded around the rough lumber, while several enterprising ponies shuttled back and forth, providing libations as needed.

Between the bar and the stage, dozens of ponies chatted, drank, flirted, and otherwise socialized with each other. The crowd was mostly earth ponies, though Rarity was relieved to see she wasn't the only unicorn in attendance. There were even a few pegusai flitting around amidst the rafters. The barn smelled of sawdust and spilt beer; Rarity hadn't been in enough barns to know if this was an improvement or not.

“Soooooo.” Rarity finally said, once her ears had adjusted to the general noise level. “What's a pony supposed to do at a hoedown-”

“Hootennany.” Applejack corrected.

“-at an....event like this?”

“Just have a good time, is all.”

“Yes, right. And how am I supposed to do that?”

“Have a coupla drinks, listen to the band, do some dancin. Normal stuff.”

“Ah. Yes. Normal.” Rarity adjusted her mane, even though a quick scan of the barn showed she was the best-coiffed pony present. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing. “So...what should we do?”

“Welp, first thing, we gotta start drinkin'.” Applejack made her way towards the wetter end of the bar.

Rarity followed. “That does make sense, yes. It's already a little warm in here- I can see the appeal of a brief refreshment.”

Applejack shouldered her way over to the bar, and pounded a hoof down on the rough hewn wood. “Two whiskeys! Neat!” The moustached pony behind the crates and barrels nodded, and poured two intimidating tumblers of bourbon in front of Applejack. The cowpony immediately took one of the glasses between her lips and kicked it back, downing the booze with practiced ease.

Rarity, meanwhile, stared at the remaining glass. “That...might be a little too refreshing for my tastes.”

“Aw heck, Rarity. I knew I shoulda bought you a drink, too.” Applejack downed the second whiskey, and a faint blush began to color her cheeks. “What's yer poison?”

“Well, if I must, could I get a Manehattan?”

Rarity's request earned a blank look from both Applejack and the bartender.

“An alfalfa martini, then?”

The bartender shifted uncomfortably from one hoof to the other.

“Hold up, sugacrube. You're makin' the poor feller look uncomfortable. Remember, we're in a barn. Ain't like they're gonna have anythin' too highfalutin'.” She rapped her hoof on the rough-hewn planks again. “How 'bout two apple ciders?”

“Coming right up!” The bartender, relieved, poured two frothing mugs and set them down with practiced ease. Applejack scooped one up, and pushed the other towards Rarity.

Rarity closed her eyes and sipped daintily at her cider, grateful for the cold beverage in such a warm barn.

“I suppose this isn't so bad, all things considered. Now, where do we sit?”

“Sit?” Applejack squinted at Rarity, as if she'd suddenly started speaking in another language (which, for the record, she did, on occasion).

“You know, for the concert.”

“Concert nothin', babe. This is a show. Ain't nobody get to sit down, 'cept maybe the drummer! N' even then that's only like half the time.”

“No seating? That's terrible! How else are we supposed to know who's who, if we all stand around like plebians?”

“Uh, maybe you could ask 'em?”

“Applejack, look at how many ponies are present- I certainly don't have anywhere near the time to talk to each and every one of them in depth. Wheras, if this were a proper outing with proper seating, I could surmise everything I needed to know based on where they were sitting- or, rather, who they were sitting next to. Why, one time in Canterlot, I was able to predict the next season's fashion trends based simply on who was sitting next to who at an evening at the Opera.”

“This ain't the opera, hon.”

“Perhaps, but the principle's the same! Or, well, at least it's similar.”

“Ain't nopony gonna start singin' 'bout a spear n' magic helmet, iffin' that's whatcha mean.”

“That's...not what I mean.”

“Course, ain't everypony s'posed ta wind up dead at the end of an Opera? That's kinda like a proper country song, innit it?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“Welp, you're gonna know! Ain't nopony put on a show like Fiddlesticks!”

“Who?”

“Fiddlesticks. She's my third cousin' twice removed. Or second cousin thrice removed, I forget.”

“I don't think I've had the chance to meet her.”

“Well, that's fine, 'cuz she's goin' up on stage right now!”

“How y'all doin!?” A vaguely familiar looking pony with a yellow coat and a violin yelled at the the crowd. Rarity wasn't sure how one pony could be so loud without either using a microphone or being of royal stock. A deafening whoop rose up from the crowd in reply. Rarity looked at Applejack so she could observe proper whooping etiquitte.

Applejack drained her cider (at least, Rarity hoped it was cider) in a single, messy draught, and looked over to Rarity with a not-entirely-sober glint in her green eyes. “C'mon darlin', it's time ta throw down!” cried Applejack, “at the hoedown!”

“But I thought it was a hootenanny?” Rarity squeaked.

“Hold up!” The yellow coated pony on the stage said. “I said, HOW Y'ALL DOIN'?!”

An ever louder chorus of whoops and yells rose up from the crowd.

“That's better!” The pony with the violin laughed, and put her instrument to her shoulder. “Anyway, I'm Fiddlesticks, n' these here fellas are the Brokebottle Boys, n' we're here to get ya'll right n' rowdy!”

This earned another enthusiastic (and not entirely sober) cheer from the crowd.

Fiddlesticks belted out a “One, two, three four!” and the show began.

The band threw themselves into their instruments, and the ponies on the dance floor threw themselves into each other. The yellow-coated pony with the fiddle immediately started singing a rowdy, fast-paced song about having whiskey for breakfast. To judge by the crowd's enthusiastic response, Rarity guessed this was a somewhat common occurence in earth pony circles.

Applejack whooped and yelled even louder than the rest of the crowd. The boards of the dance floor shook and trembled as a gaggle of ponies stomped in applause. Rarity daintily chipped away at the hardwood with her own hooves, just to blend in. Nopony seemed to notice. Nopony seemed to notice anything, caught as they were in the sudden eruption of music and dance.

The dance floor wasn't violent so much as chaotic- ponies bumped and bounced off of each other, often spilling the better part of their drinks on themselves or on the floor (before downing the rest). Rarity let out a few squeaks as she was jostled about, though each bump managed to send more cider out of her mug and onto her coat. And, like a sudden, violent summer shower, the song ended as quickly as it began, leaving a crowd of disheveled (but no less enthusiastic) ponies in its wake.

Whoops of approval and stomps of applause echoed from the rafters, dying down as Fiddlesticks tipped her hat to the crowd. “Hey y'all, we're just gettin' started!” she said, “hope y'all can keep up!”

Applejack yelled something unintelligeble but enthusiastic back at the stage.

Rarity realized it was going to be a long night.

Despite the uncouth surroundings, the absolute lack of seating, and the propensity of certain ponies to bump into her on the crowded dance floor, Rarity still found things to admire about Fiddlesticks' performance. The band's enthusiam impressed her, of course- but on top of that, Rarity appreciated the musical complexity of the songs performed; from Fiddlesticks' violin to the drummer to the donkey on the jug, each of the musicians on stage knew exactly what they were doing. It was just a shame about the songs' subject manner. Fiddlesticks and her Brokebottle Boys kept returning to darker subjects more often than not; broken hearts, lost dogs, and a whole gamut of crimes: murder, robbery, cheating at cards, and so on. As the evening progressed, each song seemed to blend into the next- which, Rarity told herself, wasn't at all influenced by the two ciders Applejack had foisted on her over the course of the evening.

Or was it three?

“Hey y'all, lissen up!” Despite the sheen of sweat on Fiddlesticks' coat, and the heaving of her sides, the violinist looked even more energized than she had been several songs before. “Imma need some help singin' this next song!” No less than a dozen ponies shouted their willingness to assist.

“Hey y'all, shut the hell up!” Fiddlesticks laughed, and drained a glass somepony had helpfully foisted on her. “There's only one filly here who can sing this song right- n' that's my third-cousin, twice-removed, Applejack!”

“Applejack?” Shocked, Rarity turned to the cowpony- but before the unicorn could ask any more questions, the crowd pushed Applejack towards the stage with all the inevitability of tectonic movement (albiet at a much faster pace).

“Uh. Hey.” Applejack murmured into the microphone.

The crowd (save for Rarity, it seemed) hollered in a nonsensical but enthusiastic reply.

“Don't be shy, Applejack!” Fiddlesticks clapped Applejack across the shoulders. “There ain't nopony who can sing this here song like you can!”

“Which song?” said Applejack.

“You know the one.” Fiddlesticks raised her violin to her shoulder, and shot her third-cousin twice-removed a wink.

“Oh, that'un.” Applejack said. The band behind her launched into a slow, steady country tune, and Applejack didn't miss a beat, pulling her microphone close.

“Ya once said ya loved me, / n' that's all that I heard!”

“Ya just fluttered, yer lashes / and I believed every word.”

Rarity raised a hoof to her muzzle, unsure if she should've been flattered or mortified. Still, she admitted to herself Applejack's heart was in the right place, as it usually was. Rarity shouldered her way towards the front of the crowd to see better. Applejack continued to sing with scratchy-voiced enthusiasm.

“But now I know better / just seems so absurd!”

“And that's why I'm singin' this song!”

“Well I woke up, this mornin', / with a poundin' in my head.”

“Which got me, to thinkin' / 'bout all that you said.”

“And I guess that explains why, / I'm in an empty bed!”

“'n I ain't seen you since dawn!”

“Well you're better off gone!”

“Yeah, you're better off gone!”

“It just dawned on me / hell it took way too long!”

“Shoulda known from the start,”

“You'd break my damn heart!”

“And that's why you're better off gone!”

By this point, every pony in the barn (except for Rarity) was singing along. Applejack shut her eyes and belted out another verse.

“Ya said I was your only, / but how was I to know?”

“That all of your lovin' / it was just for show.”

“You'd use me, n' leave me / then pick up and go!”

“Guess it's time for me to move on.”

“Well ya spent all my money, / and ya just wouldn't quit.”

“And I kept on givin' / down to my last damn bit.”

“But those days are over, ya lyin' piece of-”

Rarity gritted her teeth and shoved her way to the back of the crowd. Thankfully, the barn's accoustics weren't the best, so between the general din of the crowd and the less-than-perfect sound system, Applejack's song degraded to rhythmic warbling by the time Rarity reached the bar.

After entirely too many verses, Applejack's song wound down, and the crowd (except for Rarity) let out a rowdy roar of approval. Applejack hugged Fiddlesticks, and a few other members of the Brokebottle Band besides, and then daintily stepped down from the stage (at which point somepony helpfully thrust a fresh mug of cider into her hooves).

Rarity shoved her way through the crowd, and met Applejack just as the farmer was raising her well-earned free-drink to her lips.

“Applejack. We need to talk.”

“Beg pardon?” Applejack said. Even when the band wasn't playing, the barn was ridiculously loud. Perhaps louder, as everypony took the opportunity to start talking during the lull between songs.

“APPLEJACK WE NEED TO TALK.” Rarity repeated, at volume.

“OH. OKAY.” Applejack said, at an approrpiate volume. “WHAT'S UP?”

Rarity paused, then leaned in to yell into Applejack's ear. “PERHAPS WE SHOULD DISCUSS THIS MATTER ELSEWHERE?”

“WHERE?”

“SOMEPLACE QUIETER?”

“LIKE OUTSIDE?”

“THAT'LL DO!”

Rarity pushed the barn door open. The sudden change from the inside to outside temperature made her shiver. She rubbed at one of her ears, wincing at the ringing within them. She ignored the pain, and turned a Look upon Applejack.

“You could have told me, you know,” the unicorn said.

“Told ya what?”

“Everything!” Rarity prodded Applejack in the chest. “Of all things, did you have to sing a song? In front of everypony?”

“I...don't follow, sugarcube.”

“Don't call me that!” Rarity shrilled. “After everything you said- or, well, sung, you're going to try to call me pet names? So fine, the gallery opening in Canterlot could have gone better, but you could have just told me! In prose! In private! But nooooo, you just had to go and sing a song in front of all your uncouth friends!” Rarity sniffed, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I hope you're happy.”

“Hold up.” Applejack raised a hoof. “You gettin' all riled 'bout that song I done sung?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“I mean, it was just an old song. Or, wait-” Applejack looked at Rarity from the corner of her eye. “Y'all didn't think that song was about you, didja?”

“No!” said Rarity. “Er, ah...yes. Maybe?”

Applejack broke out laughing.

“Stop that! It's not funny!”

“Sorry.” Applejack bit down on her lip and stifled a snigger. “But think 'bout it, Rarity. Iffin' I was mad at you, why do you think I'd sing a song 'bout it? Don't ya think I'd just tell ya upfront?”

“That...” Rarity took a second to process this. “That does make a little more sense, yes. It's just...that song was so terrible.”

“You sayin' I'm a bad singer?”

“No, not that. In fact, I dare say you're a rather accomplished vocalist...too good, in fact.” Rarity sighed, and pushed her hair back. “You sounded so...genuine. Like you were legitimately mad at somepony.”

“Yeah, well,” Applejack scratched at the back of her neck. “I guess I was?”

“I knew it!” Rarity sniffed again, “I should have known this was only going to be a fleeting-”

“Not you!”

“Why not?”

“'cause I ain't mad at you- lookit, here's the thing. Long time ago, there was this one feller. Nothin' that serious, mind- but, turns out, he was cheatin' on me with Fiddlesticks...or maybe he was cheatin' on Fiddlesticks with me, so once we found out, the two of us got together n' wrote a damn song 'bout 'im. For revenge. Had nothin' to do with you. Heck, had nothin' to do with anypony- I think that feller went n' moved to Phillydelphia or somethin'. So really, it was just me n' Fiddlesticks reminicin' 'bout the good ol' days, y'know?”

“But why couldn't you sing a happy song?” Rarity said, “why can't any of them be happy songs? It seems like every other one was about getting one's heart broken or getting into a fight or having too much to drink-”

“Or all three!” Applejack said, cheerfully.

“Exactly! In fact, the more terrible the subject matter, the louder the audience got!”

“Well, that's how the country blues work, darlin'. Way I figure, it's better to just sing 'bout all that kinda stuff instead a' havin' it happen to you, y'know? It's like...relaxin'.” Applejack looked over to the barn at the sound of breaking glass and another rebel whoop. “Sorta.”

“Wait.” Rarity's eyes went wide in realization, “it's catharsis, isn't it?”

“Catharsis? I think my Granny Smith's got that. 's why her knees hurt when it rains.”

“That's...not the exact definition.” Rarity said, “but I think I'm seeing your point- there's something to be said for releasing stress and emotion out through song. Why, now that I think about it, there's a slight similarity to classical opera-”

“Oprey? Like when everypony's dead at the end 'cept the big lady with the helmet with horns on it?”

“That's a simplistic way of looking at it, but yes.” Rarity sighed. “But the general principle's the same.”

“Hold up,” Applejack raised a hoof, “I know where this is headed. Y'all's gonna drag me to the oprey next, ain'tcha?”

“One, it's pronounced 'Opera,'” Rarity drew an extra syllable or two out of the 'o' word. “Two, I doubt I could drag you anywhere you didn't want to go, stubborn as you are. And three, well...with how your big Canterlot Society Debut went...I'm slightly disinclined to bring you to any more social events. Something tells me we're on the same page here.”

“Sounds 'bout right.”

“If that's the case, let me propose an...agreement. From now on, Applejack, I promise not to take you to any high society functions...unless you really want to go. For some reason.”

“Don't think that's gonna be a problem.”

“I thought you'd say that. But...in return, I must make a request.”

“Whassat?”

“Please, Applejack, whatever happens-” desperation tinged Rarity's tone as she pulled the cowpony close. “Never write a country song about me.”

Applejack stared into Rarity's eyes, and she felt her heart beat a little faster- at least until the two of them broke out into laughter.

“Welp, I don't think that's gonna be a problem, darlin.” Applejack leaned in and kissed the unicorn on the nose. “I mean, what rhymes with Rarity anyway?”

“Clarity? Hilarity? Disparity?”

“Welp, when ya put it that way, I guess I gots ta write a song, don't I?”

“Now you're just taunting me on purpose.”

“Eeeyup.” Again, the pair broke into subdued laughter.

“Really, Applejack- we've got to find better ways to spend our time together. Maybe next time we should just spend the evening...in.”

“Why would we do that? Sounds kinda borin'.”

“I wouldn't think so. I mean, there's something to be said for just lazing around, sometimes. Perhaps we could just relax-” She fluttered her eyelashes.”On the couch?”

“Oh.”