For a few long moments Applejack just stands next to the slumped stallion, unsure of what to do. She tries to theorize what could have caused his stupor, the vacant stare, the labored breaths that don’t quite make it to a sob, but nothing comes to mind: as far as she can tell Gladmane sure seems to be doing well, fulfilling his cutie mark of cascading coins and sparkling stars with aplomb. She recalls the instances when Doug’s visage turned as gaunt and hollow: after Rainbow Dash lost her magic and nearly everything else helping Scootaloo. When the catapillt attacked Ponyville, and his insistence on bringing the trio along almost got them killed. When Nightmare Moon tortured him and the young’ins, and he relayed the anguished tale. She thinks about herself, how she reacted when Applebaum ran away to fulfill her mark, or when her parents were claimed by chaos magic.

What has Gladmane lost, or might have lost, that would bring him to such despondency? His so-called friends? He seems to refer to everypony that way! She doubts he’s as outgoing as Pinkie Pie, who legitimately could call everypony in Ponyville her friend.

She takes a cautious step forward, then another, until she stands withers-to-withers. “Ya okay?” she whispers. When he doesn’t respond she tries again, slightly more insistent. “Anythin’ Ah can do t’ help?”

Gladmane closes his eyes. “You’re the Element of Honesty,” he states, struggling with every word. Applejack slowly nods, even though he can’t see. “That makes…” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what, that makes me wanna be honest with you. Uh-huh-huh.”

Applejack reaches up and gently tugs away one of the hooves covering his eyes so he can see her beaming at him.

Gladmane lets out a low, unsurprised chuckle, so different from the forced laugh before. “Should’a figured,” he drawls, slowly pushing himself up. He opens the top drawer of the desk, fumbling with the latch, and pulls out a rolled up blueprint labeled ‘The Grand Plan’. It shows not just Gladmane’s Resort but every hotel on the strip, each with a little picture of a grinning Gladmane.

Applejack frowns as she tilts the blueprint to get a better look. He wants to… own everything? That sounds like a Rarity problem, but Gladmane seems to have no problem with Generosity. Wait, that’s what Trixie teaches; should she find the unicorn to weigh in?

“At first,” Gladmane explains, choking up, “it was a struggle to succeed. Just startin’ out with a little plot of cloud an’ the hope that Celestia might smile down on me. After all, ponies crave the familiar, an’ woe to the entrepreneur who dares think she can break in with somethin’ new.”

Applejack’s gut twists. She knows the feeling first-hoof. Granny Smith pounded into her, like she was one of the budding trees, what it was like being an Apple, how things are done on the farm, and how any deviation from tradition was to be regarded. It chafed, more often than not, and yet those lessons sank in regardless, leaving her as the one unlikely to buck tradition. Well, mostly unlikely, if’n she’s being honest. Doug, pigs, increased wheat farming, the abattoir, and now the Cider Squeezy…

“Ponies know what they like,” Gladmane continues, as though she needs the explanation. She lets him ramble, knowing how cathartic just laying out the problem can be, something she picked up from Doug and Lemon. “An’ not many ponies like tryin’ something new, uh-uh, uh-uh. They want to see the mark of approval, the three-hoof rating, the ‘nod’ from their friends. Gettin’ ‘em to try something unfamiliar? That’s worse than pullin’ teeth, uh-huh-huh.”

Applejack nods along. Just like with herding; a stallion, even one everypony considers a good catch, might remain a bachelor long after he gets his mark purely because nopony else has made a move. And then, when one bold mare does, it’s a rush to fill the slots, leaving those left behind stamping the ground in frustration and going back to waiting for somepony else to move in first.

Gladmane steps up, turning to the window with a pensive look. “But then, one day, somethin’ changed. Maybe I became familiar. Ponies started givin’ me a chance. Well, not to brag or nothin’, but before I knew it business was boomin’! It was like I had Celestia’s own touch, turnin’ everythin’ to gold; ponies crowded in to see the sights, the attractions, anythin’ and everythin’ I could find. It was then I vowed to always give a pony a chance, even two, no matter how unknown, how downtrodden, how hard their luck might have been. And so my circle of friends grew, and grew, with no end in sight. Ah-huh-huh.”

He glumly shakes his head. “But, then, something changed again. The musicians I hired, the chefs, the performers, they began to leave. I couldn’t figure it out. It ain’t like I was treatin’ ‘em poorly, or payin’ ‘em peanuts. I treated ‘em like they were friends!” He scowls, and only shakes the scowl off his muzzle with determined shakes of his head. “I thought I saw the silver linin’. Ponies leavin’ meant I had openings, more performers I could give a chance.” He motions to the closest hotels to his resort. “But all I was doin’ was stockin’ my competitor’s halls. They… enticed ‘em away, with bigger bonuses and lofty promises. Or they went on tour, and why go all the way to Las Pegasus when there’s a concert right in your hometown?”

He motions toward the employee dossiers in his drawer, becoming more and more dour. “The only act that’s stayed with me all these years is Big Bucks and Jack Pot, an’ I’d bet bits to bagels that’s ‘cause I turn a blind eye to the, open door, they offer the assistants they invite on stage. Ah-huh-huh.”

Applejack’s left eye twitches. She’s heard about that practice being common among celebrities. It doesn’t sit right with her traditional Apple values; ya oughta be herded up if’n you’re plowin’ the field. But to each their own.

“...I’ve thought about ways I could keep ‘em on, ah-huh-huh” Gladmane confesses. His laughter, the deep, soulful laugh that would make Pinkie Pie proud, rings hollow. “Make ‘em think they ain’t as good as they are. Or turn ‘em against each other, always arguin’ instead’a makin’ plans together.”

“Hold on, now,” Applejack interrupts. Lying and cheating? How’s that supposed to help!?

He huffs, a spark of anger against the gloom, and that spark quickly fades. “I know what you’re gonna say. That it ain’t Honest.” He motions at the map of the strip. “If I owned everythin’, then all my friends would be workin’ for me, no matter where they end up.” He huffs, short and pointed. “But they could still go on tour, and Gladmane’s ain’t doin’ well enough to force it, ah-huh-huh.” He turns to her, pleading with his eyes, a fearful, haunted timber to his voice. “What should I do?”

At first, Applejack can only stare back. What advice can she give? Keep doin’ what you’re doin’, and everything’ll work out? That’d be the Honest way, but it sounds like he’s tried that, and is on the verge of giving up. “Well,” Applejack says slowly, considering every word. “Ya sure seem to know ‘bout Honesty. Ah’m glad yer… takin’ it into account. Have ya talked to anypony else about this?”

“‘Course not,” he spits out. “How would it look for me, the foremost connoisseur of friendship, if I came to them with my problems? I’d be losin’ the one thing they respect!”

“Really? Nopony?” Applejack frowns. He sounds a lot like Starlight Glimmer, unable to confide with others for fear of rejection. “See, when Ah’ve got a problem that needs workin’ out, the first ponies Ah go to are mah friends’n family. Ah’m honored that ya see me as enough of a friend to share this. But, not to be blunt or nothin’, when ya refer to all those other ponies…” Her muzzle pinches closed, but she has to ask. “How do ya know they’re friends?”

His muzzle tightens, aggravation replacing despondency, which she takes as a good sign.

“‘Cause what Ah see,” Applejack hurriedly continues, “ain’t what Ah’d call Friends. Acquaintances, maybe. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothin’ wrong with treatin’ ponies the way yer doin’, friendly-like, and Ah see ponies linin’ up outside those fancy doors, every one-a them glad t’ see ya. And yet, there ain’t a single soul here who’ll be bluntly honest with ya! If’n what yer doin’ don’t go past a friendly wave, how can they tell ya when yer doin’ right and when yer gettin’ it wrong?”

Gladmane chews on his tongue, his stare just shy of a glare.

“Take mah brother,” Applejack plows ahead. “What’s he like doin’? An’, ya might say farmin’, an’ ya’d be right, but that’s too simple. Too surface-level, if’n ya’ll pardon the pun. He likes the strain of the plow against his chest, the feel of muddy hooves sinking into fertile ground, and the satisfaction of a long task finally done, and done well. But ya know what he loves more’n that? He loves doin’ that with me, with Granny, with ‘Bloom’n ‘Baum’n ‘Bo. Even with Doug. Did you know that?” She points at his desk and the row of files within. “Would ya’ve recommended a mare that’d be with him on the farm, and not just there when he wakes up before flyin’ off to her job?”

“Then what?” Gladmane begs, stamping a hoof in frustration. “I heard Flim and Flam are starting up some sort of Friendship Correspondence Class, and-”

“How’s about,” Applejack interjects, not about to let whatever foalhardy curriculum those two collate get any more traction, “Ah set you up with Princess Twilight herself?” She doesn’t like dropping the title, but Gladmane sure seems to appreciate it, his ears perking. “Ah’m sure she’d be more’n happy to get ya whatever ya need.”

Gladmane snorts. “Now, why’n the hay would I settle for the Princess of Friendship when I’ve got the Element of Honesty workin’ with me? Ah-huh-huh.”

Applejack chuckles. “Ah appreciate that. But Ah don’t know enough ‘bout yer situation to give any really great advice. Ah’ve always had the opposite problem on the farm, not enough hooves to work the orchards, an’ since Ah can’t get ‘em to step on the fields Ah haven’t needed to worry ‘bout ‘em steppin’ off.” She pats her pregnant belly. “This here’s another way to tackle that problem, if’n a bit more long-term, though mah track record ain’t the best in that regard. Not like Trixie and her sire.” Applejack pauses as she realizes Trixie left Las Pegasus in exactly the manner that confounds Gladmane. “Okay, maybe that ain’t the best example.”

“If I had a herd and a dozen years,” Gladmane returns with a jovial moan, torn between hope for the future and the lack of a clear path forward. “I don’t suppose you have any, cousins, that might want to work here?”

“I’ll keep ya in mind, but that ain’t helpin’ in the here and now,” Applejack echoes, muzzle drawing tight as she concentrates. Show biz mares among the Apples? She can worry about that next reunion. “If pressed to say somethin’?” She recalls Flim and Flam selling her and Granny Smith on the idea of using their Cider Squeezy on the farm. “How about… how about a little rebrandin’? Rather than lament ponies leavin’, embrace it.” She draws a hoof across the sky, as though proclaiming with a broad banner, “Gladmane’s’ll be the place to see up-and-comers, every kind’a act under the sun, a variety ya won’t get someplace more… entrenched. New ponies’ll come here hopin’ to make a name for themselves, an’ Ah’m sure ya could convince others to come back for reunion shows. Plus, it ain’t like Equestria’s worse for all the ponies ya’ve helped showcase their talents.”

Gladmane thoughtfully nods along, on the verge of talking to himself. “That… that might work. Embrace turnover. The folks that come would get a unique experience, each and every time! Too chaotic? Ponies want - no, crave - stability. A predictable reordering? Term limits, obviously. Easy enough to get rid of the successful ones; I could get Triumph to come up and bellow ‘You’re fired!’. Too garish? Harumph. But what about those that don’t make it? Quietly let them go? No, no, I can’t have that; everypony can succeed, and everypony will one day be fired!”

Applejack chuckles as Gladmane rambles through the ins-and-outs of the new system he’s coming up with, more pony-management than she’d ever like to shake a stick at, only for a sense of pure euphoria to hit her, sending her collapsing to her knees. “Ah think mah work here is done,” she ekes out as pulsing red lights brighten the room.

“Thank you, Applejack,” Gladmane gratefully says, extending a hoof to help her up. He turns it to a crushing hug that she gladly returns. “Thank you. Thank you very much. Uh-huh-huh.”

“Yer more’n welcome.” Applejack doesn’t want to extract herself from the hug and the waves of pleasure coursing through her body, especially because Doug’s a long ways away and her body is begging for release. “Now, don’t be afraid to write, ya hear? Ah’ll be sure to make the trip to Las Pegasus next year, but Ah sure won’t mind gettin’ a letter in the meantime. Hay, even just writin’ the letter is good. It helps make the problem more real, more grounded, an’ sometimes just layin’ the problem out proper-like jolts ya in the right direction. Makes ya realize ya knew the answer all along, even if’n it ain’t the one ya want.”

“I suppose I’ll have to give that a try,” Gladmane agrees, reluctant to let her go. “Y’all take care now, ya hear?”

“Back at’cha.” Applejack waves as she staggers out of the office, Gladmane already muzzle deep in planning. The atrium is eerily empty, many ponies already off to their discounted beds, leaving the blinking lights to compete with her flashing cutie mark. She steadies herself against the wall, catching her breath and trying to quench the fire raging inside her. It doesn’t subside easily, though Doug being nowhere nearby certainly helps. She spots Trixie limping from the Pone Fantastique theater, star rod cutie mark glowing as if it was her horn. A quick wave draws Trixie over, though Applejack is bothered by the lack of grandmares trailing behind, and it gives her something else to focus on.

“Howdy,” Applejack greets, Trixie barely managing a grin in return. She can certainly understand why, this being her second time dealing with the burst of Harmony-infused pleasure. “How long ago did the grannies head off to bed?”

“Bed?” Trixie frowns, a feat given how her tongue lolls out as she pants. She glances back at the entryway she just came from. “...Not long?”

“...Alright.” Trixie’s evasive answer doesn’t really bother Applejack, being somewhat used to the often ornery unicorn. She finds the sign leading to their rooms. “Well, Ah’m plum tuckered out from chasin’ down leads. Ya ready to hit the hay?”

Trixie scratches at the back of her head, poorly stifling a yawn. Applejack feels the same way. “Err, not yet? I… The Great and Powerful Trixie fears the room may be… occupied.”

Applejack cocks her head to the side.

“Give it,” Trixie continues, glancing upward and counting to herself. “Another twenty minutes? He looked fit, for a pegasus.”

Applejack stares at Trixie for a long moment. “...Ah see.” She follows the unicorn’s furtive glance back at the Theater entrance. “All’a them?”

“It’s not weird, is it?” the showmare asks, uncharacteristically unsure. Normally her bravado covered any hesitation. She squats down to hold up one forehoof, then the other. “Your grandmare…” She awkwardly taps the two hooves together, grimacing. “My sire…”

“Oh.” Applejack lays down, Trixie quickly following suit. It does bother her, but it’s family. “Ah mean… they’re both grown ponies.” She looks up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the flashing lights. It’d probably be better to close her eyes, but she doesn’t want Trixie to think she isn’t paying attention. Neither does she want to think about what is going on. “Did’ja know, the Gold Horseshoe Gals? Time was, all four’a them was in a herd together.”

Trixie blinks before joining Applejack in laying ponyloaf. “Really?”

Applejack nods. “This was way back, ‘round the time Ponyville was founded. The orchards, new as they was, needed lots of hooves to get ‘em growin’ nice’n strong. Way more’n one mare could hoof, but a solid herd of five’n their fillies’n colts gave the ground a good lickin’. Al Mus, mah grandsire, stationed Granny Smith there once Bright Mac’n Buttercup, mah parents, could keep it goin’ on their own.” She taps a hoof against her chin, lost in thought. “That’s around the same time the Pears left and we bought their farm. Dunno why they left, though.” She snickers. “Pears just ain’t as good as Apples, that’s what Granny always says.”

“If you say so.” Trixie yawns, not bothering to hide it this time. “The great and powerful Trixie is happy sleeping under either.”

Applejack chuckles as Trixie lays her head against her withers, soft snores quickly coming from the spent unicorn. She feels exhausted too, the burst of energy now depleted. She tips the brim of her hat to cover her eyes, quickly fading to dream of times long past.

Next Chapter: Ch. 163 - Ancient Waystones, Part One Estimated time remaining: 6 Hours, 19 Minutes