A Midnight Legends Press Production  

Charmingly Rustic

Written By: Your Antagonist & Starwind Dood

Edited By: TheWattsMan

Chapter 4: Lonely in the Rain

Outside the Chief Editor’s office of the Canterlot Chronicler, Photo Finish and Hot Tip stood with grins on their faces and the breakthrough story of the year in their hooves. All they needed to do was put it through Chief Deus ex Machina, and they would reap the rewards of their snooping come the morning edition of the paper.

“This is gonna be all over the news for weeks! I’ll probably get a promotion outta this! Who woulda guessed that Canterlot’s own Fancy Pants was a colt-cuddler?” Hot Tip said enthusiastically.

“I vish I could see ze look on Fancy Pants’ face when ‘e finds out tomorrow. Ahhh, but ze backlash to ‘is reputation will be like music to mein ears,” Photo Finish mused.

“Hold on a second, doll, we still have to get the story to pass the chief’s scrutiny.”

“Vat, are you kidding me? A story zis big, would be in zat rag in ten seconds flat.”

“Yeah, I guess you got a good point there, doll.” Without another word, Hot Tip knocked on the office door, and moments later it swung open to reveal the kindly faced Chief.

“Hot Tip, Ms.Finish, how are you? Please come in, and take a seat.”

“Don’t mind if we do chief,” Hot Tip replied, pulling up a comfortable chair for himself and Photo Finish.

“Did you find anything newsworthy about Fancy Pants?”

“And then some.”

“Well, it’ll make for a great morning edition tomorrow then. Great work, Hot Tip!”

Hot Tip shot the chief a look of disapproval and shook his head. “Chief, I think you may want this one to go out with today’s edition.”

“But we’ve already finished today’s issue, and it’s to be delivered in two hours.”

“Zen you vill just ‘ave to rewrite it, yes?” Photo finish suggested.

“What could be so important that we’d have to delay the release of the morning edition?”

Hot Tip stood and trotted over to the chief —who gagged after catching a whiff of Hot Tip’s now four day old body odor— and began scrolling through the camera’s memory. Hot Tip knew he was about to get what he wanted when the chief’s eyes went wide like dinner plates.

In mere moments, the chief snatched Hot Tip’s camera and dashed out the office screaming down the halls. “Stop the bucking presses! We have our new top story! Let’s move lively with this one people, this one is sure to boost sales ten-fold!”

The meek voice of a reporter could be heard be heard as it interrupted the chief’s hysteria, “But sir, what about the story I wrote on the Royal Bird sanctuary finally being opened to the public?”

“Birds suck! I’ve got a front-page story right here!”

It's raining. Fancy Pants found himself out in the dead of night. He was tired, out of breath. What am I doing? All around him the spires and towers of Canterlot were growing, and the rain fell harder. He looked down at his hooves, and he saw the water rising on him. I'm going to drown! He looked around, desperate for higher ground, but he was locked in by the growing towers. He was nearly submerged, holding his hoof out to a crimson sky. "Help!" he cried, "Help!" The world disappeared.

Fancy Pants opened his eyes, his fur clinging to his body from the cold sweat of the nightmare. "I'm... alive," he sighed. Alive and back in this wretched role. He looked to his side, and found that Fleur De Lis was not next to him; he was alone in the bed. A clock on the other side of him told him that it was almost afternoon. He got out of bed, dragging his sore body and swollen eyes to the bathroom, praying to Celestia that a shower might rejuvenate his weary soul.

His body cleansed, Fancy Pants dragged himself to the kitchen, where Fleur De Lis sat, her forearms crossed, and a newspaper unfolded in front of her, reading 'Colt-Cuddling Cobbler Caught in the Act: Fancy Pants Exposed'. "You have some gall!" Fleur De Lis instantly started on Fancy Pants.

Fancy Pants felt all the blood drain out of his face. He tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths to get some feeling back in his voice before he addressed her. "I have gall now?"

"Yes!" Fleur De Lis yelled at him. "Do you have any idea what this has done to my reputation!? I'm a victim in all this! No agency is going to want to hire the model that Fancy Pants threw away in favor of a stallion!" she fumed, directing all her ire at Fancy Pants, who stood there, awaiting his judgement.

"I... I..." Fancy Pants tried to form some semblance of a comeback, if only to defend himself, but in his mind hew knew this was just the start: all of Canterlot knew now. They knew he kissed a stallion and he liked it, but to him it wasn't just any stallion: it was that stallion. "What do you want from me?" he pleaded.

"I want you to be a little more considerate of the feelings of others, Fancy Pants," Fleur De Lis responded before storming out of the suite, tears in her eyes.

Fancy Pants stood there for a minute before yelling into the air, "Considerate of others?! What about me! My life is a bloody joke! Screw you!" He was seething with a complicated mix of anger and anguish. "Now what do I do?" he asked himself. "My life... is over."

Rarity was cooking breakfast in the kitchen of Carousel Boutique when she heard a familiar thump at the door, indicating her copy of the Canterlot Chronicler had arrived —though it was an hour later than usual. Thinking nothing of it, she called out to her sister, “Sweetie Belle, be a dear and stir these grits for a moment, would you?”

“Coming, sis!” Sweetie Belle galloped into the kitchen, but slipped on a rug and skidded across the floor into a shelf, causing Rarity to wince. Without acknowledging any pain, the filly trotted up to Rarity, who gave her younger sister a stool to stand on while she stirred.

“Sweetie Belle?”

“Yes, sis?”

“Please just stir that, don’t use any of mother’s cooking advice, whatever you do, okay?”

“Got it, sis!”

I doubt that highly, but no matter: I must be kept informed of the happenings in Canterlot! Rarity opened the door of the boutique, allowing the sun to shine through and fill her vision.

It’s going to be a beautiful day, maybe I should take Sweetie Belle and Opalescence out to the park. Looking down, Rarity noticed the newspaper and levitated it up to her eye level so she could read it. From the moment her eyes fell upon the initial headline, she knew all of her plans for the day were going to be scrapped in favor of town-wide gossip.

“Sweetie Belle, turn off the stove and have some cereal for breakfast! Something has come up, and I must go to Sweet Apple Acres!”

“Okay, sis!” As she listened for the sound of the front door closing and hoofbeats leading away from the house, a spry grin crept onto Sweetie Belle’s face as she dug through a drawer in the counter and found one of her mother’s hoof-written recipe books.

“Grits...grits...grits... here it is! Turn the stove temperature up to five hundred degrees, use lots of jalapeno peppers, chipotle, and onions while stirring violently.” Never one to question her mother’s teachings, Sweetie Belle set out to create the best possible breakfast for her big sister ever.

Hoity Toity groaned to himself: He needed to have the next fall line ready soon, and an afternoon of designing had amounted to little more than rags in his eyes. "Why can't I design anything!" he yelled into thin air. Deciding to take a break, Hoity Toity left his studio, hoping to find a distraction to calm his frazzled mind.

In front of his boutique, he found the latest issue of the Canterlot Chronicler shoved into his mailbox. He took the newspaper and tucked it under a foreleg, idly trotting to the nearest cafe.

"Welcome to Café Rosa Caballo Loco," the barista greeted Hoity Toity. "What can I get for you?"

"A cup of your finest," Hoity Toity replied, "I'll be at reading the paper at the booths." His order taken care of, he trotted over to an aisle of booths and sat himself down. "So what's going on in Canterlot?"

Ten minutes later, the barista approached Hoity Toity, balancing a large tray with a single tiny cup of tea set atop it. "Your order, sir."

"Thank you," Hoity Toity replied, taking the cup. "Can you do me a favor and stand there for a minute?"

"Of course," the barista replied, "but whatever for?"

"Just stand." Hoity Toity took a sip of his tea, turned his newspaper back to the front page, and spat his tea at the barista. "Thank you."

"No problem," the barista groaned.

Sapphire Shores’ agent stood outside the door of her client’s penthouse. “Ms. Shores, the new issue of the Canterlot Chronicler is here, and please hurry up; you are running late! The recording session in less than an hour!” She cried.

“Just a minute!” sang a voice from inside. Moments later, the door opened to reveal Sapphire Shores in all of her gaudy glory.

“That took you long enough, Ms. Shores. I don’t think we’ll have enough time for breakfast if we want to get there in time, besides, I don’t think they’ll wait for—”

“Honey, of course they’ll wait. We’re talking about the Sapphire Shores here,” Sapphire interjected pridefully.

“Did... did you just refer to yourself in the third person, Ms. Shores?”

“That’s not important right now. Now let me see that paper.” Sapphire snatched the newspaper from her assistant and began scanning the front page. Her eyes grew wide, a slight blush played across her features, and she giggled slightly as she soaked in the top story. She somehow knew from the moment she saw those two yesterday something like this might happen.

“Do you know what you’re going to be recording today, Ms. Shores?”

A sudden burst of inspiration hit Sapphire as she read more of the article. “I do now: I need you to get me a pen, some paper, and some breakfast about nowish. I’ll be waiting for you in the carriage, and don’t be late,”  the diva said with a smirk, as she trotted towards the elevator, leaving the assistant dumbfounded by the irony of that last statement.

Big Macintosh trotted into the estate at Sweet Apple Acres, swollen-eyed from crying during the entire trip home from Canterlot. He snuck into the foyer attempting to avoid his family members, so it must have been a lingering act of Discord that Rarity of all ponies would find him.

"Good afternoon, darling," she greeted him with her characteristic vocabulary.

"R-Rarity?" Big Macintosh stuttered. "W-what are you doin' here?"

        "Why, waiting for you, of course!" she replied, grinning in a way that made him and him alone feel uncomfortable. "In one evening you've gone and become the talk of Canterlot; I'm almost jealous."

"Miss Rarity, what are you talking about?" Big Macintosh inquired, growing fearful.

"I guess you don't know, but you're front page news!" Rarity suspended a newspaper before him, the top story’s headline read clear as day.

"What!?" Big Macintosh felt his heart almost stop. I-I, what have I done!?

"I do admit, it comes to a bit of a shock that you're into stallions, but-" Rarity turned to find she was alone in the room. "Big Macintosh? Where did you go?"

Big Macintosh sat against the door of his room, his hulking weight the perfect lock against anypony. His mind was racing from thought to thought, trying to form some rationalization that would make the world the same as it was before that fateful trip to Canterlot. I just kissed him. It's not that weird. Like, just a friend kiss, but now it's all over Canterlot and they're saying things like I enjoyed it. He brought his hooves to his lips. But I did enjoy it, but he's just a friend. Big Macintosh stared up at the ceiling. A friend that actually cares what I have to say and listens to me. He hung his head low, his uncertainty making it harder to think. What should I do?

A knock came from his door. "Big Macintosh..."

Big Macintosh felt his stomach lurch. Granny Smith.

"Ah kin hear yer yellow-bellied breathing in there, now open up!"

"Yes, Granny," Big Macintosh replied, feeling powerless as he opened the door.

The sour green mare shot him a reproachful look. "Why does that newfangeled Canterloty paper say that yer runnin’ around with stallions?!" she yelled at him.

"W-well, Granny, Ah made a friend on my last shipment to Canterlot."

Granny Smith gave a swift kick to Big Macintosh's shins. "Made a friend, huh?"

"Please, Granny, it's not like the paper makes it." We're just friends. I doubt he would ever feel the same way about me that I feel about him anyway. "You know how reporters like to muddy the truth for sales."

"That is true." Granny Smith never took her eyes off Big Macintosh. Her agonizing scrutiny cut into Big Macintosh like a knife. "I best not find out you're running with stallions, or I'll whoop you and kick you off the farm: a pony's no good to the farm if they can't make foals to keep it going." She left Big Macintosh in his room to think over what he had done, the threat of expulsion lingering in the air.

Off the farm, but this farm is my home. Big Macintosh buried his hooves in his mane, allowing his head to rest as he struggled to hold in his tears.

"Big Mac?"

Big Macintosh flinched, his head shooting up to catch sight of his sister at the doorway. "Hey, sis."

"Yeah, hey." She rubbed a forehoof on the back of her head, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. "So... Rarity told me about the... thing in Canterlot."

"Yeah..."

"You... must have made quite the scene," she laughed weakly. "A farmpony, going and getting himself the heart of one of them stuffy noble ponies. It's almost like one of them stories... mom would read. Well, only in those stories it was usually about a mare and a stallion."

"Yeah..."

Applejack trotted to his side, sitting herself down. "I guess Granny Smith let you have it, huh?" Big Macintosh didn't respond. "I'll just take that as a yes," she sighed. "Do you... like that fancy pants guy? What's his name again?"

"Fancy Pants," Big Macintosh replied immediately.

"Oh, that is his name. Noble ponies sure have weird names." Again, everypony in the room went silent. "Do you... do you like him?"

“Well Ah... Ya know....”

“Big Macintosh, yes or no.”

Applejack seldom if ever used Big Mac’s full name, the exception to this rule being when she was gravely serious about something. Applejack reached out a hoof, raised Big Macintosh’s chin, and gazed directly into his eyes expectantly.

“Ah...” Big Macintosh swallowed hard before responding “Yes, ah like him more than any mare Ah’ve ever been with AJ. Somethin’ about that moment just felt... right; and now, Ah don’t know what to do. Granny threatened to kick me out on ma flank, but some part of me just wants to be with him.”    

Applejack smiled at her brother’s honesty and rested her head on his shoulder. Big Macintosh was taken aback for a moment but allowed it to happen. “Big Macintosh, I understand your feelins’ completely, and I know exactly where you’re coming from, I’ve uh, been down that road myself,” Applejack said while blushing.

At this, Big Macintosh raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as Applejack continued. “Besides, Granny wouldn’t kick you out: cain’t nopony else around here pull that dang plow!” Applejack playfully slugged Big Macintosh in the shoulder, causing him to grin weakly. “I think she’s just a little shocked about you bein’, well a...”

“Colt-cuddler?”

“Well, yeah. But don’t think yer the only one in this family who swings that way.” The sound of something crashing into the side of the house punctuated Applejack’s thought. “And I guess that would be my rope,” she sighed. Applejack galloped over to the window in Big Macintosh’s room, stuck her head outside and began yelling, “Rainbow dash, what in tarnation was that!? Crashing into the orchard is bad enough, but now ya went an’ wrecked my house!? You just wait right there!”

As Applejack turned and galloped out of the room, Big Macintosh noticed his sister wore an expression not of irritation, but rather one of content, oddly enough. Maybe I’m not wrong for havin’ these feelins’ but—

“Big brother?” Called a voice from the hallway.

"Oh," Big Macintosh turned, "Apple Bloom, you're not out crusading with your friends?"

"No," Apple Bloom trotted close to Big Macintosh, laying her head on him. "Granny Smith said she was going to kick you out for kissing somepony?"

Big Macintosh sighed. "It's complicated, Apple Bloom." He placed a hoof on her shoulder to comfort her.

"Why?" she asked innocently.

"Because... he's a stallion."

"So?"

So? That one word pierced Big Macintosh. So... what? Nothing. "You know, I don't know either." He picked up his sister, wrapping her tight in a hug. "Apple Bloom, thanks."

"What did I do?"

"Just be yourself, Bloom." He kissed his sister on her forehead. "Thanks, I needed this."

"Is Granny Smith going to kick you out now for kissing me?"

Big Macintosh couldn't contain his laughter. "Somehow, I don't think so."

He set his sister down on the floor and after another glance back at Big Macintosh, Apple bloom scurried out into the hall. I wonder how Mr. Pants is handlin’ this...

After hours of debating with himself and an empty fridge, Fancy Pants begrudgingly immersed himself into the streets of Canterlot in search of breakfast. He didn’t even bother with a disguise this time: instead, he just allowed the tide of paparazzi and gawking passers-by to wash over him as they whispered behind his back. The entire day, all of the television networks and radio stations were belittling and discussing him as though he were some filthy pervert.  

Even Fleur De Lis was on the air a few times with Photo Finish, making those same baseless accusations, only she decided to take it a step further by humiliating him. She exposed his personal secrets, and even put him down ‘performance’ wise which he knew for a fact was a bold faced lie because during whenever they were intimate, it was he who had to feign any sense of pleasure.

He was on his way to Pony Joe’s, when one particular member of the paparazzi cloud that was surrounding him reached out and physically stopped him. “Hey, Fancy Pants, Hot Tip from the Canterlot Chronicler. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.” The reporter took a sip of the coffee he was holding.

Fancy Pants was struck by deja vu, as though he’d heard that name before. Hot Tip... Hot Tip...

“So is that a yeah or wha—”

“It was you...” Fancy Pants said under his breath.

“What was that Fancy Pants? I can’t understand ya.” Hot Tip put hoof to his ear and leaned in close.

“This is your fault.”

“Just a bit louder, please.” Hot Tip inched closer

“You’ve ruined everything...”

“Look Fancy, this—”

“I’ll kill you for this!” Fancy Pants lunged at Hot Tip, swinging one of his forehooves at the reporter’s head.

Hot Tip ducked the swing and began backing up as Fancy Pants came in with another clumsily aimed swing, to which Hot Tip ducked again, only this time the reporter pulled the lid off of his coffee cup and whipped the contents of it at Fancy Pants, which caused him to grab his face out of panic as the burning liquid connected, and crash into the ground.

Hot Tip straightened his stained tie before trotting up to Fancy Pants again. “So anyway, I wanted to ask you some questions. How long have you been a colt-cuddler exactly?”

Fancy Pants could only lay on the street weeping while the surrounding cameras went off. He wept not because of his shattered reputation, or the burning in his face. Those were just gateways to the rest of his current emotional trauma. As the tears streamed down his face,  he could only think of the red stallion that dashed into his life so briefly. Am I ever going to see him again? The cameras continued to flash, capturing him at his weakest, most down-fallen moment. All they care about is seeing me ruin my life. I never wanted this.

        "So how long have you been one?" Hot Tip asked again, burying his nose in a notepad. "I'm just sure our readers are dying to know."

        "A day..."

        "Just a day—"

        Fancy Pants punched Hot Tip in his face, leaving the pony reeling on the floor, clutching his broken snout. "What the hay was that for?"

        The reporters all around Fancy Pants started taking notes of his sudden outburst.

        Oh dear, I've gone and given them something else to write about. Fancy Pants looked off in the distance, in the direction of Ponyville, where he knew the stallion of his dreams was. Why did you give me happiness, and take it away so abruptly? More flashes, more pictures, more caught misery. Where do I go now?