June 2nd, 1001 Domina Solaria

Pomarbo grits his teeth as he loosens the last nut holding the Cider Squeezy’s oil filter in place. There has to be a better way, so the oil doen’t flow so freely when undone. He and dahm Twilight have improvised a number of modifications, enough changes in the two months it’s been here to deserve an upnumber. The Cider Squeezy 7000, if not higher. Some are minor, like dismounting the motor from the wheels and disabling the barrel chucker. Some are major, like installing access points so he could get to every inch of the machine, and reconfiguring the thaumic power matrix to draw more from the batteries than the bad apple chute.

The rest of the room has been reconfigured as well, mostly by the mares that continue to hang around after school and on weekends. Sunny drawings and paintings line the walls next to hanging tools and crates both empty and brimming with apples. DT and Silver Spoon stay by their table while Cozy flits up to the rafters, even though he’s gotten quicker at pulling his hoof away and only splattering a little bit. Besides, what’s wrong with getting your hooves dirty? All it takes is one glance at his dam in the orchards or his uncle with his plow to see that soil holds the sweetest scent. Maybe one day he’ll join them, if he gets the right mark; his dam sure hopes that is the case, as plain to see as her love for Apples and apples.

Blackened gunk gushes out as soon as the seal is broken, thick globs that drench his hoof and drip down into the prepositioned pan. Too late to pull away, he sits there waiting for the torrent to end, grimacing not at getting his hoof dirty but from the tiny flecks of metal dotting the oil. More of the engine corroding away, more than the filter can remove. After DT got covered he hammered a set of wheels onto a board, making a miniature wagon. It works, even if it won’t steer, and he doesn’t have to take it far to the newest and youngest addition to their merry band.

Born a mere month ago, Roil easily fits inside his saddlebags when he travels from the Everfree hatchery to the Cider Barn. Her caramel chitin, smooth and lustrous, shines like the engine oil she expels rather than the metal-flecked gunk that balloons her small stomach when she gorges, a far cheaper - if somewhat gross - option than the exorbitant prices Flim and Flam charge for replacement oil and filters. (It was funny to hear Chrysalis rant about charlatans and thieves, but she got over her fury quickly and went to Doug instead of doing something to his cousins.) Her teal irises glimmer with anticipation; her wide, thick tongue that scarcely looks like it fits inside her long jaw flicks out to moisten her lips in preparation for the ‘treat’. He supposes he should be thankful Chrysalis bred her with a taste for the metallic, but he has to keep her from gnawing on scattered tools and loose nails.

“Mm,” Roil moans after taking a long, slow slurp from the oil pan. She eyes his darkened hoof, bits still dripping off, and darts forward to steal a lick, then grasps his foreleg to hold herself in place as she cleans him off.

“That tickles,” Pomarbo giggles before spotting the barely repressed smirks of the other three mares. “What?”

“Silver Spoon says she’ll lick that oil off anywhere,” Diamond Tiara claims, snickering while Silver Spoon shoots her a venomous glare. “And she’s jealous.”

“Am not,” Silver Spoon returns, scowling.

“Am too,” Diamond Tiara says, miming how Roil takes quick cat-like laps from the pan, then an entirely too long slurp.

“Ah don’t get it.” Pomarbo’s spit-shined hoof gleams, but the Rich mares’ bickering only gets worse. His muzzle scrunches up; he’s not sure why they’re upset, and thought they liked being clean. Well, he still needs to scrub out the filter, but that gets the brush dirty, not him.

“I’m pretty sure,” Glow Glow remarks as she drops to his side, “that they aren’t coming over just for the fritters.”

“Huh?” Pomarbo looks over at the plate on their table that used to be piled high with apple fritters. For some reason (maybe she’s getting old?) Granny Smith keeps baking too many, and insists he take the extra with him when he goes to the Cider Barn. Silver Spoon tags along with Diamond Tiara and scarfs them down, not that he minds or anything, it just gets crowded with the three mares (and sometimes Rainbow Dash) cramming in the barn. And with Roil joining them whenever the oil needs changing, which is every other week what with the cruddy metal used for the engine (did Flim and Flam not expect it to be in use this long)?

“It’s okay,” Cozy Glow reassures, bringing the distracted colt’s attention back to her. “Golly, I didn’t understand Friendship for the longest time, either. But you’ll get there!”

“Like bein’ honest ‘bout how yer feelin’?” Pomarbo brightens; he knows all about that! He watches with mild amusement as Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon wrestle, each trying to tip the other into the half-full pan. Coil hisses at them, torn between guarding her prize and imbibing it as fast as possible.

A loud thump against the barn wall brings their struggles to a temporary halt. A blond maned gray pegasus sticks her head through the open door. “Mister Pomarbo?” she inquires, one eye searching for him while the other scans the ceiling. Or maybe the floor.

“Howdy, Derpy!” Pomarbo says, drawing the bubbly mare’s attention. He likes how the word ‘howdy’ sounds. “What’re ya lookin’ for me for?”

“I’ve got a package for you!” Derby exclaims.

“That’s what he said,” Diamond Tiara japes, drawing a snicker from Cozy Glow.

Pomarbo doesn’t understand. Why would he say that? Derpy’s the one bringing in a small crate with a letter strapped to the top.

“Now,” Derpy begins apologetically, misreading his perplexity as stemming from her delivery, “I know it’s a little small, but it’s what’s inside that counts!” She winks, then takes off, zooming off like his dahm Rainbow Dash and narrowly avoiding the cloud planters Hedge has been putting up all over the farm with help from Misty Fly.

“That’s what he said,” Cozy Glow echoes, getting a snort from Diamond Tiara and a crack in Silver Spoon’s stony facade.

“Ah’ll get the crowbar,” Pomarbo says, his chest puffing out. “Ah can’t wait t’ crack ‘er open’n get inside!”

“That’s what he said,” Silver Spoon tries, drawing bursts of laughter.

“Err, yeah,” Pomarbo says, confused. “That is what Ah’m sayin’.” He rolls his eyes as the mares keep snickering, grabs the crowbar from its spot on the wall and tries to jam it under the lid. It slips off on his first two attempts - he’s far more experienced hammering crates together than taking them apart - and he shoots DT an apologetic smile. “Ah guess Ah’m a lil’ rusty. But ya know what they say, practice makes perfect!”

“Here, let me help.” Diamond Tiara steps forward, hunching down so she doesn’t tower over him so much. She hides her disdain well as she takes the tradesmare’s tool, her hooves pressing down against his as she helps guide the tip between the wooden boards. She feels soft, and smells like earthy sweat, even though she rarely runs about. It feels good, hearing the rapid beat of her heart, but they have work to do!

“Ah know what Ah’m doin’,” Pomarbo protests, but weakly, as the point wedges in. He shrugs her off, only for her hooves to slip past his and attack his belly with a barrage of tickles. He squeals, or tries to, too busy laughing and squirming to mount any sort of effective defense. The assault is short-lived, as she withdraws with a heady smirk, hauling him to his hooves so he can pop the top off.

The crate is packed with small dirty boxes, short cylinders and plates of broken metal, and shattered cobblestones.

“Huh,” Diamond Tiara says, taking the words right out of his mouth. Pomarbo frowns in disappointment. Who would ship such a mishmash of junk?

“There’s a letter,” Cozy Glow points out.

“It’s from Applebaum.” Diamond Tiara opens the letter with a practiced slip of her hoof, clearing her throat before beginning to read.

Dear Pomarbo, I hope the excitement's died down, and all five mares are taking to the simple ways of our small town. I can hardly believe it. Our uncle, married?! I thought his only lover was the packed dirt he plowed. I hope Lemon isn’t too disappointed, but she should have known better. I bet Discord put her up to it, just to mess with Uncle Mac, and her for that matter.

Canterlot’s the same, underground all the time and packed like apples in a crate. Mr. C’s having me inventory the Mausoleum, so I get away from the hustle and bustle, and it's where Totem and I found all this stuff! I thought you might be able to put it to use. Most of it is pretty minor, bits of enchanted mail and boards more costly to cobble together than to just make something new. The cobblestones used to be part of a hidden cache; they’re enchanted to be less magical than ordinary building material, to help disguise whatever might be stored inside. Let me know if any of it helps, or you want more.

Stay safe,
Applebaum

P. S. Looking forward to seeing you trot behind us during the Games! Canterlot Rules!

Diamond Tiara scowls as she crumples up the letter.

“Hey!” Pomarbo objects, snatching the paper before it bursts into flames. He carefully smooths out the wrinkles. “Ah’m sure we’ll still wow ‘em all with our routine!”

Diamond Tiara huffs before stalking back to her table. Pictures of everypony competing cover every available inch, some teetering dangerously close to the side, and marked-up lists of the events.

Pomarbo gnaws on his lip. Part of him wants to sift through that treasure trove, brainstorming all the ways that they could use the bits and pieces. Maybe they could completely refurbish the inside of the engine! Iron is clearly insufficient, so maybe some… aluminized steel? Where did that come from? And it wouldn’t need much, a quarter inch or so, conforming to the insides of the cylindrical engine. He can feel his hindquarters rising, as images of engines disassembling and factories assembling paint the back of his eyelids.

No, he can think about that later. He trots after DT, heavy again. “You doin’ okay?”

Diamond Tiara closes her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Oh.” Pomarbo glances back at the box, then at the mare pledged to him. The box is enticing, so very enticing, but his sire doesn’t let his mares stay angry with him. “I was worried…”

“You should be worried about getting your cutie mark,” Diamond Tiara shoots back.

“I thought you might need help with yours.” Pomarbo’s apple-eating grin only grows when the mare turns her sour expression on him. “Unless ya wanna help me sort through that box of junk?”

Diamond Tiara scowls. “Yeah, no.”

Normally it’s her bumping into him, casual touches that leave his coat tingling, and it seems to have the same effect when he lays down ponyloaf next to her, withers touching her foreleg. She gasps, then lays down, pressing more of her weight against him. He has to take slow breaths to keep his heart from beating quicker, especially as her tail flicks over to cover his. “Does it have to do with our routine? Ah know Ah could practice more, but-”

“No,” Diamond Tiara cuts in, “our routine is fine. Perfect, even.” She flicks her mane out of her eyes, even though the ponytail she has it in doesn’t allow much to drop down, not like the wavy style she had before.

“Diamond Tiara thinks everypony’s going to blame her when Ponyville loses,” Silver Spoon claims, eager to repay her sister when DT shoots her a venomous glare. “It was her plan, after all.”

“It’s not my fault they’re performing better in some areas and worse in others,” Diamond Tiara returns, scowling.

“Is too,” Silver Spoon says, smirking back. “Especially when those ‘worse areas’ are going to cost Ponyville gold, if not an entire medal.”

“Hey.” Pomarbo snuggles closer as Diamond Tiara sags. He wants more than anything to console his mare. “What’s that Twilight’s always sayin’? Everything will be hunky-dory? No, um, everything’s gonna be a-o-kay? No, that wasn’t it either.”

“Everything’s going to be just fine,” Diamond Tiara snaps, only to realize she said it.

“Yeah!” Pomarbo claps his hooves together. “An’ it ain’t about winnin’ or losin’. It’s about workin’ hard an’ doin’ yer best. No givin’ up or mopin’ around ‘cause ya lost, but tryin’ somethin’ different. That’s what daddy says. An’ Ah’m sure everypony’ll forgive ya, even if Ponyville gets less medals than the griffons.”

Diamond Tiara scoffs, “I will take a bath in motor oil if the griffons leave the Equestria Games with more medals than Ponyville.” Her scowl quickly turns to a smile as she wraps a foreleg around him for a quick hug. “And thanks.”

“Awww,” comes from the open doorway, Applejack wiping a tear from her eye. She flicks her hatted head toward the Carrot House. “Train’ll be leavin’ soon, an’ Ah know y’all need to make sure yer equipment’s all packed up. Ponyville’s flag carriers don’t wanna disappoint the town, right?”

“Right,” chorus the ponies, gathering up their things and replacing tools along the walls. Pomarbo has to grab his screwdriver from Coil’s maw, grimacing at the tiny teeth marks along the grip. He needs to take her back to the hive, otherwise there might not be a Cider Squeezy left when they return.

Next Chapter: Ch. 187 - Overwhelming Odds, Part Two Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 29 Minutes