There were several basic facts concerning the universe which Applejack felt herself to simply know on the level of her heart, and chief among them were that Sun had to be lowered, Moon needed raising, apples were nature's most perfect fruit, and Strawberry Sunrise was the single most pointless pony ever to exist.

...all right: if you were going to be all technical about it, then that last one was a opinion. (It usually took an exceptionally good day for the farmer to admit the same regarding the third.) But it was an honest opinion, and Applejack knew she was allowed to have those. She could be completely truthful about her opinions within her own mind -- or, just as frequently, within a voice which might have been just a little too loud -- and not have to worry about forfeiting her position as a Bearer.

Strawberry Sunrise was a pony whose existence made absolutely no sense. That was Applejack's honest opinion. And she fully was prepared to back it up.

All right: there were ponies who didn't like apples. Applejack understood that, usually on the same level which recognized deep mental illnesses to exist and in both cases, since there was no current cure for those conditions, isolation of the insane made quite a bit of sense. But the pegasus didn't merely dislike apples. The mare's openly (and frequently, not to mention erroneously) expressed opinion had gone well beyond loathing. Strawberry's hatred of nature's most perfect fruit had burrowed into the earth and uncovered a mine of pure sarcasm. One where there didn't seem to be any risk of having the vein run dry. Ever. And she was always ready to put her latest discoveries on open display.

(On a related note, Applejack was also completely certain that when it came to potential violations of her Element, there were other things which didn't count. For example, she knew sarcasm was safe because she usually thought of the pegasus as Strawberry Smugrise.)

Strawberry dropped by Applejack's cart on market days, mostly so she could make an open point of not buying. She would take the time to explain exactly why she wasn't spending any bits on perfection. Every word would be conveyed in that high-pitched, almost childlike voice: something which took memories of playground insults and layered on a thick, red, dripping coating of mockery. Dripping and, given that it was Strawberry, probably seeded. Those horrible tiny seeds which got stuck between your teeth and didn't come free for at least three days --

-- the point was that she could find something wrong with everything Applejack sold. The pies were too flaky. Pastries which were supposed to be flaky contained rather too much in the way of fruit. The colors inherent to Zap Apple jelly were on the outs this year. Strawberry could fail to make a purchase in a way which drew everypony's attention to just how happy she was about keeping the bits in her saddlebags. She was a non-customer who relied on having an audience, and the fact that there was always a bunch of ponies around when she went into her little soliloquies of satire was most of what had kept Applejack from just kicking her in the teeth.

Strawberry seemed to exist for the sole purpose of giving Applejack a bad day, and the farmer was starting to wonder how much that paid and, if there was a decent salary attached, exactly how much wealth Apple Bloom was hiding because a few years of Crusading would have been hauling in the bits. But with Strawberry... Applejack had never seen the pegasus doing any work.

...all right, Strawberry had a greenhouse. The easily-bruised, fast-rotting, red-staining mistakes which the pegasus somehow favored presumably required a lot of tending, or they would go bad all the faster. Strawberry did spend a lot of time in the greenhouse, none of which seemed to involve cleaning it because the air near her house always smelled faintly of rust.

But she had never been seen indulging in the joys of employment, and Applejack had asked: nopony had spotted Strawberry engaged in anything which might earn a living. Which meant the natural presumption was that she was selling her so-called fruit -- and really, what was a pegasus doing in that business anyway? Applejack could understand taking an interest on the hobby level, but true farming was for earth ponies and when a pegasus --

-- no. She was being unfair, and honesty meant admitting that to herself. You could argue with (or about) a pony, but you didn't argue with a mark. Strawberry's icon had clearly consigned her to a horrible life of dealing with a tiny-seeded fast-rotting fur-staining menace, and there was a theoretical chance that Applejack might eventually work up some sympathy there. But if you wanted to make a living, then you had to sell the results. And nopony had ever seen the pegasus doing that either.

Add up the math on all of it, and Applejack's total showed a pony who had no job (but somehow possessed plenty of bits, none of which were ever going to be spent at the cart), no true friends, and no purpose.

That was her honest opinion. And there was nothing sarcastic about that at all.

(She occasionally worried about whether honest personal opinions, combined with occasional bouts of open sarcasm, served as qualifiers for bearing her Element. There was a measurable-if-horrifying chance that Strawberry had been destined as her backup.)

Of course, when it came to Strawberry just knowing that Applejack existed, there was a pony who needed to take the blame. And on one rather fine, freshly-ruined autumn day, that particular unicorn made the mistake of approaching the market cart -- doing so just as the pegasus was leaving.

"Good morning! Is there any chance that I might get to see you later?" It was common for the unicorn to tilt her head to one side when awaiting the answer to a question: most of what caught Applejack's attention was the little wobble at the end. "As I do have that commission awaiting your pickup."

"Absolutely!" the high-pitched voice chirped. "I'll be happy to try it on! I'm sure it's just as perfect as always!" The ugly eyes (which were just about exactly the same shade as Applejack's own) focused on the unicorn's face. "Is the Boutique going to be open for the normal hours?" With what had to be expertly-faked concern, "I know which day this was for you, and you look a little --"

"-- I'm actually here to begin recovery," the unicorn assured her. "Standard hours, Strawberry."

"See you around three, then!" And with that, the pegasus glanced back at Applejack, precisely aiming the sarcastic gaze through a bemused audience of eight.

"Until you get to disappoint me again!" She giggled. "Oh, I'm sorry! That was a territorial infringement!"

Applejack made a mistake.

"A terri --"

"-- only your dates get to say that! Bye!"

The yellow wings spread, and the laughing tormentor flew away. The other ponies in front of the cart, who had initially approached for apples and wound up staying for street theater, found themselves satisfied with possession of the latter alone and departed.

The unicorn committed the error of finishing her approach. Applejack glared at her.

"Ah blame you," she declared. "Y'know that, right? Wouldn't have those rounds with her if'fin you hadn't gone up t' her door. As little as anypony sees her around town, she probably wouldn't even know Ah exist. This is all your fault."

The white head tilted a little too far to the right. Curls swayed within the purple tail, and did so off-rhythm.

"I was attempting to make a point," Rarity said. "About the open expression of opinions. Even honest ones."

"Yeah," Applejack tightly nodded. "Ah got your point at the time. Problem is, she keeps tryin' t' make it. Over an' over. Never seen a mare make such a production out of not buyin' something." Her ears tightly pressed against the hat, and did so just in time to prevent the combination of aggressive snort and half-rearing up from sending it flying. "What Ah wouldn't give to have words with her..."

"You have words with her just about every week," the designer openly noted.

"Ah don't," emerged as a mutter. "Mostly gotta stand there an' take it, so Ah don't scare the other customers off by sayin' what Ah really want to. Haven't had a real chance t' talk 'bout anythin'. Much less what Ah'd like t' do --" she just barely stabilized the hat, and had to do so again when her forehooves came crashing down "-- which starts right after the words run out --"

"You both have your opinions," Rarity primly stated.

"Yeah. But she's wrong."

The unicorn sighed. Stepped closer, swayed slightly before coming to a full stop, and looked down at the nearest barrel of fruit. Squinted a little.

"Am I missing the Golden Delicious?" Rarity asked. "I'm supposed to be consuming something high in --"

"-- how do y'get along with her, anyway?" Applejack demanded. "How d'you even know her?"

The designer paused. Looked up again, and it took a few very visible seconds before her gaze focused.

"You likely overheard that part, actually. She's a customer. Not among my most frequent, but she typically commissions a design at least once per season." With a small frown, "She has an odd fondness for lace. Mostly in black, with white trim. And she recently asked me about adapting a corset."

"A..." Applejack tried.

"Minotaur lingerie," Rarity sighed. "Let us simply say that when it comes to the same display for a pony, the relevant anatomy is intermittent, relocated, and not particularly enticing. But she wanted to try the look."

"An' y'take her bits," Applejack snorted. "When you know the way she an' Ah --"

"-- and you," the unicorn stated, "sell to Thistle Burr."

The name of Ponyville's angriest contrarian produced the expected result: Applejack winced. A number of shopping ponies began taking care to steer around the conversation, because it was usually best to give even a small gathering of Bearers some space. It helped in dealing with the potential blast radius.

"One of the very few who does," Rarity added. "And when a thoughtful mare considers his rather open -- let us say, honest opinions of the Bearers --"

"...he likes Jonagolds," the farmer finally said. "Ain't many who'll use 'em when they ain't making pies. An' his bits taste almost the same as everypony else's."

"Almost?"

"They're kinda bitter," Applejack admitted. "Figure he kinda rubs off on his own money."

Rarity eventually nodded.

"I will not claim that Strawberry and I are friends." she told the farmer. "But we have a relationship of sorts. One which both of us wish to maintain. So we generally do not discuss matters which might threaten that connection. I know that you are having issues with her, Applejack, and --" The sigh was soft. It was also sincere. "-- I do regret my part in that. I have been trying to stitch the tear. But it is rather difficult to bring up the topic with her. She makes deliberate efforts to change the subject -- "

Then she swayed.

Four slender white legs tilted above the hooves. Left. Forward. Back to center.

"...Rarity?"

"Yes, Applejack?"

With open concern, "Y'okay there?"

The smile came across as a little weak. "There's nothing to be particularly concerned about. It's simply that time of the moon."

"Usually doesn't hit you that hard --"

"-- that other time," Rarity quickly clarified. "I just saw Redheart."

Oh.

It was, perhaps, a natural thing. The hospital always needed donations, to the point where the blood drive was effectively constant. Applejack, who needed to keep her strength up in order to put in a full day's work, typically didn't visit until winter had fully closed in. Rarity, however, allowed her blood to be drawn exactly as often as her body's recovery would allow. It was one of the smaller gifts offered to the community by Generosity, and Applejack imagined that it also assisted the designer in pulling off some of the more dramatic fainting spells.

"And as my visit coincided with a market day," the unicorn concluded, "I came to you first."

The farmer quickly nodded. "Golden Delicious it is." The designer needed to eat something which was high in iron, and fairly quickly. "Ah didn't have that many, so they're mostly on mah side of the cart. Was waitin' to clear some space before Ah put 'em out. Jus' gonna bag those up for you."

Rarity nodded. Applejack began to sort through produce.

After half a minute, "Ask y'somethin'? It's 'bout Smugrise."

"...your pardon?"

"Sunrise."

The swaying resumed. "It sounded like you said --"

"-- never mind what it sounded like. What's she do?"

"For a living?" Rarity frowned. "You could just ask her --" the expression deepened "-- actually, no. I suppose you can't."

"An' nopony seems t' know," Applejack firmly stated. "Ah've asked around. But you two --" she managed not to spit the word "-- talk, so Ah figure it would have come up. What's the job?"

She was hoping for gossip juicer than an apple (and Strawberry would have said that simply required having any juice, but the pegasus was a bitch that way). Something illicit. Immoral. 'Illegal' would have been a nice kick-in. Anything which continued to prove that the mare was incapable of truly contributing to the world, and that lack would make her all the more pointless.

But instead, Rarity simply said "She sells strawberries, of course."

Green eyes slowly, carefully, and blatantly examined every visible market cart and booth. The open evaluation uncovered a complete lack of smug.

"Where?" felt like a natural question. "'cause Ah know she ain't doin' it here. An', speakin' from experience here, when you've mainly got the one product plus all the derivatives, it don't make much sense t' get a full-time storefront. An' she's jus' got strawberries."

The unicorn nodded. Then she frowned. Blue eyes went out of focus. The white head dipped, followed by an abrupt head shake --

"-- Rares? How much did y'give?"

"This is... odd," the designer told a portion of the ground. "I do recall asking her about this. She had paid me with a rather old coin, something which had not been in circulation for centuries. I told her not to let such a rare piece go, and -- she laughed. Told me that some of her customers simply paid that way. And I wanted to know more, for surely no numismatist would casually spend their best finds. And then I..."

The lowered gaze turned oddly... misty.

"...I visited her business," Rarity slowly said. "By invitation. I remember that I dropped by, and... she is vital. A crucial enterprise. Something which must be allowed to continue..."

Another head shake, even faster than before. The horn seemed to be vibrating. And then Rarity looked up again.

"Strawberry sales," she shrugged. "Out of her greenhouse. Nothing more. And from that, she earns a living."

Applejack, now wondering if the white coat was preventing her from seeing just how pale the skin had gone under the fur, planned on having a few words with Redheart about not allowing patients to call 'stop' and moved to the next question.

"When? 'cause Ah've been by her place a few times. Sometimes she's in the greenhouse, breathin' in strawberry fumes an' whatever's producin' the rust." She snorted. "Ain't sure which one's worse. But there's never anypony there with her."

A little too casually, "Well, you would naturally go by during the day."

"An'?"

"She sells at night. Once per moon." The unicorn frowned. "The same night each moon, if I recall correctly. I'm almost entirely certain that she would be active tonight --"

"-- at night."

"Yes."

"Y'sure you saw everything?"

The blue eyes briefly misted. "Yes. Why?"

"'cause there ain't many businesses," the farmer half-snarled, "which don't want Sun seein' what they're up to --"

"-- that," Rarity immediately declared, "is insulting."

"Ah know. Ah also don't care. Not when it's --"

The white forehooves tightly rotated against cobblestone. "-- insulting to Luna. To all those who trot under Moon. Multiple perfectly legitimate businesses are open at night, Applejack. Exclusively at night, if the needs of the enterprise dictate it. And there will always be ponies bound to the small hours. It is our duty to respect them."

With open disbelief, "A fruit booth?"

"It is..." The grinding of keratin paused, mostly in confusion. "...vital. I know it..."

Or maybe you jus' didn't see the drugs gettin' packed into the saddlebags. Under the strawberries.

It was possible that the drugs were somewhat less fatal. Or, if the personality of the pegasus was somehow passed into the berries, just less likely to make the consumer wish for death.

"Night sales on strawberries," Applejack thoughtfully voiced, and that was completely honest because it described what she was thinking about. Just... not the whole of it. "Got it. Thanks for clearin' that up." An' now Ah've got t' get that iron into you before y'fall over right here an' Ah wind up draggin' you to the Boutique. By the tail. "Wanna taste the first one here?"

Rarity ate.

Applejack planned.

Strawberry Sunrise, vital? No. There had to be something else going on. Something Rarity had missed. And if the next sale was scheduled for tonight...

She wasn't stupid. When you were going off to spy on one of the town's biggest idiots (and again, it was a fully honest opinion, plus keeping it to herself was clearly minimizing damage which wouldn't occur anyway), matching that level of intellect wasn't going to do anypony any favors. Or rather, it might wind up doing one pony a favor and since the recipient was just about the last mare Applejack ever wanted to help...

So she completed a normal sales day. Went back to the Acres, had an early dinner, and told her family that she needed to head back into town. The reason was described as 'private', and there was a chance she might have to stay overnight.

They knew she was telling the truth. They assumed it was a Bearer matter. Not a mission, because she always let them know when one of those was going off -- but at the very least, a friend probably needed to talk about a problem, and the amount of discussion required might turn the whole thing into a sleepover. It was an entirely natural presumption and in order to keep them from worrying, Applejack made sure to plant the actual explanatory note in that part of the barn which Apple Bloom would enter at just about an hour past Sun-raising. The text included the full (scant) number of actual details, quite a few suspicions, and ended on a request: if the older sister wasn't back by the time the younger finished reading, gallop for the police.

Applejack had decided to go alone. Approaching the situation with numbers offered the possibility of reinforcements. Doing it when the backup was being provided by her friends created a stealth situation roughly equivalent to the Crusaders trying to get a mark in it. The group didn't do sneaky. Rainbow's natural tendency was to let everypony know she was there at all times, and that was before the crash. Rarity had trouble keeping her belly and barrel low against the ground, because that was where the dirt could be found. Fluttershy might be naturally silent, but she was also skittish, and it made her slow: any approach would see Sun raised around the halfway line. Asking Pinkie to be quiet generally required a life-and-death situation, plus a wall of drying paint. Spike was willing, but dragons moving across cobblestone had their scales scrape.

And Twilight still thought the stealth suit worked.

If she told any of the others, they would insist on trying to help. And in the best case, six ponies and a dragon, attempting to sneak up on a target, was mostly good for comedy. So it was going to be a solo gallop -- or rather, it wasn't. Get close to Strawberry's house, then quietly find a place where she had a good line of sight on the greenhouse. Get into position, slowly: galloping hooves tended to make a lot of noise. And then Applejack would... watch. See exactly what was going on and if the actual business of the greenhouse was what she wanted --

-- suspected. Technically, it was 'suspected' --

-- then she would go to the police herself. Possibly with photographic evidence, because Applejack was bringing a camera along. She just wouldn't use it unless she absolutely had to. Applejack felt that her testimony should be enough for the police chief to at least launch a more formal investigation and besides, few things drew attention like a flash.

She left the hat in the barn, near the note. Applejack didn't like doing it, but -- ponies associated her with the hat or, more often, the other way around. Taking off the hat was one tiny hoofstep towards becoming a little more anonymous. Besides, in the truly unlikely event that something went critically wrong, Apple Bloom was first in line to inherit and the hat would be right there --

-- she didn't want to think that way. Or at least, it couldn't become her central focus, to the point where it became a distraction from what she was trying to do, which was -- the thought made her smile -- sneaking up on Sunrise. A pony really couldn't hope to ambush Sun. The pegasus was presumably going to be somewhat easier.

Applejack waited for Moon to be raised. (It wasn't a long wait, not in autumn.) Then she started down the old road towards town, and stayed on it just long enough to reach the place where it had to be abandoned. She was a Ponyville native, one of but two among the Bearers. Living in the same area for a lifetime had benefits and in this case, they included knowing exactly where to go in order to roll across a patch of loose, dusty soil. When it came to stealth, orange fur was something less than cooperative.

And then she resumed her trek towards the outskirts of the town's northern residential section. Taking the back paths, sticking to the shadows. She knew exactly what she was doing and as long as she remained focused upon her goal, she wouldn't be stopped. Certainly nothing Strawberry could do had any chance to derail her efforts...

For the very little it would turn out to be worth, she was absolutely right.

She couldn't really say that there was something strange about the greenhouse. 'Something' seemed to imply a singular quality and when it came to the sheer number of things which felt wrong, Applejack had entered plurals early and never looked back.

Strawberry lived in a fairly isolated part of Ponyville. She didn't have much in the way of neighbors, which Applejack put down to most ponies having good taste. It gave the pegasus plenty of room for the big greenhouse, and the glass structure was...

...hard to see.

It was night. But Moon was nearly full. There was plenty of ambient light to work with and, just to add onto that, the greenhouse was well-lit from within. Applejack could see the twisting, glowing lines embedded in the clear ceiling: active enchantments offering up lumens. Everything within should have been perfectly visible, and yet...

There was a lot of glow available. It wasn't at an intensity which produced pain. And yet, there didn't seem to be enough illumination, at least not in the sense that it let her see. The radiance emanating from the devices almost seemed to be serving as a sort of -- placeholder. As if it wasn't really light at all, and simply existed to indicate a location where a shadow currently wasn't.

She'd have to ask Twilight about that, after it was all over. If nothing else, her friend would certainly want to know about any innovations in security spells.

There was light in the greenhouse, and yet there wasn't. There was also light around it, and very little seemed to touch the glass. Moon's radiance got through, but when it came to the houses on either side... the front windows were lit, and the surfaces which faced away from the greenhouse showed signs of ponies moving about.

Windows were also present in the walls which looked towards the greenhouse. Every last one was dark, and the heaviest of curtains made sure they stayed that way.

Got the neighbors trained, was actually one of the less dark thoughts. Too afraid t' look. But Ah ain't...

Not that she could see much, and not all of that was from the strangeness of the light. Strawberry's house was partially surrounded by what were normally fruit-bearing bushes. Under normal circumstances, the seeded staining menaces had the heart of their season in early summer. They weren't producing now. They were just tall, solid, and hadn't lost enough of their leaves for letting her look completely through.

The fruit had a fairly short season, and that was why a pegasus -- Applejack still refused to question a mark -- needed a greenhouse in the first place. And she could tell that somepony was moving within the glass enclosure, because there were sometimes places where the shadows pushed the light aside. A suggestion of feathers told her who the occupant was, because Strawberry tended to move with her wings partially unfolded: halfway towards the challenge position, and also possibly considering the most obvious escape route because eventually, she was going to meet somepony who didn't take sarcasm all that well. But the pegasus seemed to be alone --

-- she's -- wearin' something? Outline's a little weird.
Ah think her head's movin'.
Maybe if Ah got some altitude...

Applejack put a stop to that thought in a hurry: there was a tree nearby, and one of the surest signs of insanity for a pony was trying to climb one. The best she could do was use its shadow, keeping her darkened body well within the shelter offered by the trunk and what remained of the autumn canopy. But she wasn't seeing enough. At some point, she would have to risk finding a better angle.

Knocking on a neighbor's door and asking to use the window didn't feel like the best idea.

...yeah. She jus' moved towards that little gap in the bushes. Ah think...
...waterin' can.

The pegasus' head tilted. Over and over. Tending to the plants. So much liquid for each, and no more. It was exacting care.

Applejack twitched.

She should've swapped out that can moons ago. Smells like rust.
Smells worse than rust.
Almost smells like --

And she would have recognized it then and there, if not for all the wings which suddenly passed overhead.

She didn't quite jump, managed to keep her body's reaction down to a single intense vibration: one which still left her within cover. Sound alone told her that wings were far too small to signify the passage of pegasi. Add that to experience...

...fluttering. Fast, but soft. Kinda leathery.
And it don't sound nothin' like a bunch of leaves going' up and down real quick.
Bats. An' not the fruit type. (A brief image of the red seeded variety going after the greenhouse served as an appealing-if-temporary fantasy of revenge.) Regular critters.

She tried to focus on the sky above the greenhouse, saw the suggestion of wings and vaulted ears as they moved towards the glass. Her best guess was that there were about eight of them. Big bats, but... normal.

Most of the normal ones go for fruit. Maybe they can smell what's in there.
...an' they want it anyway.
For some reason.
Even when it mostly smells like rust from here.
Hope they don't get hurt goin' into the glass --
-- nah. They're good in the dark. They'll be fine.

She refocused.

Are those some of the berries?
Pretty big.
Red.
Real red.
...are they supposed t' be --

The colony dipped below the upper levels of the bushes, moving out of sight. Applejack heard the greenhouse door open.

"Good evening," Strawberry rather formally said.

...she talks t' bats?
Maybe she jus' feeds them the stuff which can't be sold. Which is t' say, nearly all of it --

"Gut ewening," said somepony else. Somepony whose voice came with traces of embedded grit, as if the tongue wasn't quite used to speech any more and had to clear off a lot of dried saliva between syllables. It was a voice with an accent that suggested somepony had heard about Eastern Saddlezania's native dialect once, and decided to stop right there. It was a stallion's voice, and it came from a pony whom Applejack was sure hadn't been there ten seconds ago.

"You're a little early tonight," the pegasus declared. "I wasn't quite finished."

"But ve keep the peace while ve vait," said a new mare. "Are they almost ready? I haf much thrist --"

"-- do not talk about thirst," snarled another stallion. "This is vhat I do instead of slaking thirst, and yet the thirst is still there --"

"-- easy, Veintru," Strawberry half-whispered. "Easy..."

Applejack's mind was spinning.

Does her house have a back door?
Gotta have a side exit, jus' t' reach the greenhouse. Maybe they were in there all along, an' jus came out.
Except Ah didn't hear anypony move.
Nopony at'tall.

"So ve begin?" asked a fourth new voice. A mare, this time, and the syllables mostly seemed to be arranged by rough suggestion.

"Whenever you're all ready," the pegasus promised.

"No," the fourth voice said. "I mean, do ve begin before or after ve do something about that earth pony who was trying to hide next to the oak tree?"

Silence slammed down onto the street, pressed Applejack's fur against her body and flattened her ears as she began to spin, getting ready to gallop --

-- a very familiar kind of light arced over the half-dead bushes, and it remained so right up until the moment when it surrounded and lifted her, pulling the farmer up as the corona bubble carried her towards the greenhouse --

-- she kicked. She tried to push her way out, because you could do that if the unicorn was well under Twilight's level: having a distracted caster also helped. But she didn't have any leverage. Her hooves parted from the street in under a second, she couldn't reach the trunk in time to use that, and --

-- there was something... wrong.

Even in the middle of the near-panic, within her desperate attempt to escape, she recognized it. Normally, being held with a unicorn corona produced the distinctive feeling of having a limb fall asleep, only carried over to the entire body. This was closer to having her nerves deadened. Applejack was fully aware that her body was present, and she could make it move. She just seemed to be doing so from a significant distance. As if it was all happening to somepony else.

The corona itself was a pale red. Too pale, with nearly all of the natural base hue completely washed out. And the sparkles were but pinpricks of glow, ones which barely moved.

It carried her over the bushes, and deposited her onto the ground. Still within the bubble, but within the center of a semi-circle of eight new pony forms, ponies she'd never seen before...

There were earth ponies there. Pegasi. Two unicorns. Stallions and mares, assorted hues and builds and marks. But they all had three things in common.

The first universal aspect was a certain issue in the fashion department, and Applejack hated that she knew that. But you couldn't hang around the Boutique without picking up a few things through both osmosis and being at the center of the bombardment, and so the farmer was perfectly aware that all of the new ponies shared two qualities. That they were all dressed would have been visible to anypony. However, you probably had to spend a little too much time around Rarity before becoming aware that they'd all gone for the vintage look and overshot. By several centuries. One had apparently emerged from the non-legendary Time Before Belts and somehow still managed to land in The Era Of Truly Excessive Pouches. Applejack had no idea how that actually worked, but the proof was right in front of her and distant half-memories of the mark switch insisted that it was supposed to be horrifying.

All eight of them were... pale. Slicked-down fur and manes gave the impression of ponies who'd been left out in the rain for a few hours, and the weather schedule had been for scattered bleach with a smattering of grease.

And their upper lips were distorted. Bulging outwards in two places near the front, as if trying to contain a constant dual toothache. The expressions of dulled want and impatience seemed to indicate that a rush on the medicine cabinet was but minutes away, or at least a rush on Applejack --

-- but they weren't moving. The one with the lit horn simply deposited her onto the ground, still within that corona bubble. And, worst of all, he put her down in front of Strawberry.

Who smirked.

"Oh, look, everypony," said the pegasus in the black-and-white lace dress: something which additional unwanted Boutique experience told Applejack was far too tight, rather restrictive around the coracoid, and mostly seemed to be trying to push around anatomy which Strawberry didn't have: the central effect was to place most of her sternum's fur directly under the base of her lower jaw. "It's the guest of dishonor!" She took a small step forward, and the smirk's intensity increased. "I guess I should have expected you one of these nights. At least you're just as bad at sneaking as you are at everything else! Well, my customers will just have to deal with you in the usual way --"

The farmer was still in the corona bubble.
She was also on the ground.
Applejack pushed.

The washed-out light broke against her snout, shattered around her ears and came crashing down upon browning grass as she thrust herself free, charging directly into Strawberry and knocking the lighter mare off her hooves and onto her back while the stupid overly-tight dress kept wings from working normally, the pegasus who had just so clearly threatened Applejack was grounded, grounded and on the ground and staring at the earth pony in open fear when all Applejack had to do was get a forehoof up over the yellow head and then bring it back down --

"-- pleaz," said an oddly calm stallion. "Do not. Ve will starve."

Applejack froze.

"Or vorse," declared a mare whose fashion sense was Third Century Oops, with a voice so much older than that, "ve will not."

"Ve can't fight you," said what sounded to be the youngest. "Not here, not with elysium upon these lands. And I sort of understand if you want to fight her. But you should let her explain. Ve need her." With open, almost mournful regret, "Because if it isn't her, then it might have to be you..."

She stared at them. At as many as she could see, in case they tried something. But none of them made a move. They simply watched. And yet, she did not bring the foreleg to the ground.

"Let me talk," Strawberry gasped. "Even you should have enough brains to be curious, or you wouldn't have gotten this far! Let me --"

"-- where," Applejack forced herself to say, "did this lot come from? 'cause Ah was watchin' for a while. Didn't hear a door open --"

"-- they flew in," Strawberry smugly declared.

"Didn't hear pegasi neither."

"You wouldn't have," the yellow mare stated. "Because everypony here came over the bushes as a bat. They're vamponies."

Applejack blinked.

She looked at the eight washed-out, too-pale specimens half-surrounding her. Went back to Strawberry, and blinked again. The blinks didn't seem to be doing much.

"Ain't no such thing as vamponies," the farmer stated, and dearly hoped her very honest opinion was about to be the truth. "Closest we ever got was Twi messin' up that one spell with --" and stopped right there, because it was something Strawberry never needed to hear. "There ain't!"

The oldest-looking among the pale ponies smiled.

It was almost a friendly expression. It also displayed most of his teeth, and thus showed exactly where the fangs had been pushing the upper lip out.

"And yet," he very nearly mused, "here ve are."

Several hundred fireworks went off in Applejack's mind. None of them seemed to be producing very much light or heat. But when it came to disbelief, the little explosions were doing a lot to knock out the foundations.

Rust.
It all smells like rust here.
Except it ain't.

"You... you drink blood," she whispered. And there were eight of them, and they were going to drink hers --

"No," said a mare with a young face and ancient voice. "Ve do not. Ve are here because ve do not. Let her stand. Let her speak. This is the Gardener's realm. For none to be hurt, while ve still fail to truly live... let it remain so. Pleaz."

It had been a plea.

Applejack's right foreleg came down. Slowly, with the hoof well away from Strawberry's face. And then she backed away.

The pegasus lay in place for a few seconds. Feathers shook. Joints tried to work, and found the dress fighting them. Lace mostly went everywhere.

Eventually, she got up.

"Will you listen?" the pegasus sarcastically asked, because some things weren't going to be resolved without the actual kicking. "To somepony else, for once? Will you let me tell you something you didn't know, and not kick it away?" And with all smugness almost momentarily gone, "Because we all know how much trouble you have with the idea that somepony might enjoy a different diet!"

"'Enjoy'," the oldest stallion mildly observed, "is a rather strong vord..."

Strawberry winced. Applejack instantly felt better about life.

"So talk," the farmer offered. "An' make it good."

The pegasus sighed.

"Come into the greenhouse," Strawberry told her. "I have to finish packaging anyway."

It was a fully professional setup. The plants had been precisely spaced, making sure none of them would interfere with any of the others. Prunings had been performed with care. Applejack could tell that each bush was receiving individual attention. There were well-organized rows, plenty of light (and now that she was inside, she could see), the temperature was just where it needed to be, and the berries were large and plump and red.

Far, far too red.

There were also several shelves dedicated to the art of making jam and preserves. A number of jars had been filled: the light shining through the contents stained the world. And everything smelled like rust, because blood had a lot of iron in it and Applejack was standing in the heart of what her snout told her was a wound, it was taking so much of her willpower simply to stay in one place and the pegasus was just casually trotting through the miasma as if it was nothing...

She wanted her hat back. The hat would help.

"Vamponies," Strawberry unnecessarily repeated. "These are all the ones who have territory in this part of the nation. At least, all of the ones who are willing to do it this way. The oldest, or the wisest. They... took care of the ones who wouldn't."

"Vamponies," Applejack tried.

"I could ask Cappa to turn into a bat for you," the pegasus smugly smirked. "She's the pale one -- no, the really pale one. But she'll just be hungrier after. And I've only got so many of these. Enough to get through one moon."

She looked around. Nodded to the jars of preserves, and the berries.

"They eat those?" Applejack asked -- and then got to measure the fractions of a second before the smugness intensified: just barely enough to count. "Ah thought all the legends said vamponies couldn't eat. Jus' drink. An' those ain't blood --"

"No," declared a new smirk. "They're bloodberries."

...the blinks really weren't helping.

"As long as you've got to be here," Strawberry grumbled, "then help me package. Rarity helped me package and I didn't even have to ask. They usually take the bulk of their orders to go. And keep it light. No more than fits in those paper containers. Don't top off. It has to be carried by a bat. And clean up the fur around your mouth first. You're all dirty."

The two mares had just about nothing in common, and one of them openly delighted in standing against nature's most perfect fruit -- possibly because hers wasn't natural at all.

There was almost no point of connection. But they were in the greenhouse, preparing a product for the customer. And the icons on their hips declared both of them to be farmers.

The fruit surrounding Applejack wasn't natural. The first raised topic was.

"How do you grow 'em?"

"It isn't easy," Strawberry admitted.

"Special seeds?"

"No. The seeds are actually normal. If you took one from these plants --"

Which brought out an abrupt snort.

"-- not that you ever would," the childish voice continued, "it would grow a normal strawberry. Not that you ever could."

The earth pony forced herself to hold her tongue.

"It actually starts with the watering," the pegasus proudly said. "That takes dedication. I can't miss a night or the whole batch goes bad. And I've never missed a night."

This was followed by silence, as they both shifted berries. It was the sort of quiet which was waiting for a prompt, and Applejack really didn't want to fill the requirement. But there was nopony else.

"Let me guess," Applejack finally provided. "Blood?"

Strawberry nodded. "I need a ninth-amphora just to prepare the soil. That's per plant. And it has to be pony blood. Not just that: virgin blood --"

Applejack was trying to remember how vamponies were created. In particular, she needed to recall whether being shocked into a state where one's skin went white beneath the fur was enough to do it.

"-- that would kill a pony! That's enough t' almost completely drain --"

"-- it doesn't," Strawberry calmly-yet-sarcastically said, "have to all be from the same pony."

"...oh. An'... virgins? Actually, where d'you get the blood? And how d'you know --"

"-- there's ways to tell," the pegasus told her. "Redheart knows all of them."

"So she's in on it."

"Of course." Almost politely, "And when it comes to the 'virgin' part, some of your friends are very helpful. Especially the ones you wouldn't suspect. Or maybe you would, since you clearly haven't slept with any of them. I'd ask you to thank Rarity for keeping up her end, but it's not like that's going to..." Even the giggle came across as smug. "Oh, look at your face! Was that actually news to you? I'm so sorry that your close friendships with all of them don't reach the point of talking about their sex lives! Or lack thereof! Or we could talk about yours instead, but we only have all night and that's just over infinity past the time required..."

The earth pony's teeth briefly ground against each other.

"A ninth-amphora t' prepare the soil," Applejack said, because it kept all of the other words from getting out.

"And then seven drams per night, per plant," Strawberry lectured. "Which doesn't have to be virgin or pony -- but it still needs to come from a sapient. And then I need to tend them. It's not an easy process, Applejack. It takes a mark."

The farmer nodded to that, and it almost felt like a nod of respect.

"How did y'even get a mark for that?"

All it got her was a shrug. "It's a family business."

"An' the lace?"

"They like lace."

More packaging.

"An' they can eat these."

"The other option," Strawberry informed her, "is drinking blood. Drink enough of it and ponies start to die. Or worse."

"What's worse than --"

"-- they start to feel bad about it, decide they have to save whoever they just drained, and then you've got more vamponies. These are the smart ones, Applejack. The stupid ones last about as long as you do in an argument. They don't want to hurt anypony. They know there's an alternative. So there's families, and secrets, and greenhouses all over the continent. We grow the bloodberries, and ponies don't die. The vamponies get to keep going, until there's a night when they can all be cured. And they'll be normal again. It's -- what keeps them going. The dream, and bloodberries."

The farmer looked at the nearest bush. At the fruit, ripe and luscious and far too red.

"What do they taste like?"

"To a pony? Normal strawberries. But somepony told me that if a living pony eats one and goes to the palace within a week, Princess Celestia just stares at them."

"Stares..."

"For a really long time. Maybe it's part of the whole Sun thing."

"So they really can't go outside in the day?"

"No."

"An' they get their bloodberries from a pony named Smu -- named Sunrise."

Strawberry shrugged.

"Malkie calls that 'dramatic irony'."

"Malkie --"

"She's the one who spotted you. You'll know her when you hear her. If somepony says something you can't understand and you want to beat your head against a wall to keep not understanding it, that's Malkie." She paused. "She hangs out with Pinkie once a year. I think they work on pranks together."

"...sounds 'bout right..."

Another package was sealed.

"What's 'elysium'?" Applejack asked.

"They swear not to fight each other here, or hurt a sapient. Or interfere with the living. Bringing you over the bushes doesn't count, because you didn't get hurt and you weren't doing much of anything before. Plus they didn't know how much you'd seen or heard, and keeping the secret always comes first. But it's a sacred promise. None of them will break it, because they might lose access to the bloodberries if they did."

"An' you showed Rarity all of this?"

The pegasus smirked.

"Once," she said. "I showed her once. Work faster. They're hungry."

In time, the first packages were carried out. Each had a bloodberry carefully balanced on top of the folded lid.

"Go ahead," Strawberry told the waiting, thirsty vamponies. "Whoever wants to go first."

The one who'd eventually been identified as Veintru took a reluctant hoofstep forward. Then another, until he finally lowered his head over the container. Bit, chewed --

-- Applejack had been watching his face, mostly to see if the fangs were going to make a try for her neck. It meant she saw the moment when the absolute revulsion took over. It was the expression of a pony who'd just bitten into an apple and found themselves with a taste of pure worm, and she knew what it looked like because you didn't let Rainbow sort more than once.

"Ain't good, is it?" she asked, and felt she'd done well in keeping most of the satisfaction out of it.

The stallion paused. Looked up.

"Do you drink... wine?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "Hard cider's usually better."

"Imagine," Veintru proposed, "that you vere in a place where you had to drink wine. A party where you could only drink wine. And you knew that you should not, because you are, let us say... a very mean drunk. So you smuggled in pond water. Stagnant. But red. With a trace of alcohol. And you spent the night pretending it was wine."

Strawberry Sunrise was rather deliberately not looking at anything.

"And that," the vampony finished, "the night lasted... for what ve hope not to be forever." He sighed. "That is vhat bloodberries are like, young one. Always. From every Gardener, across all the nights we have."

He lowered his head again. Finished the berry, swallowed --

-- in a way, Applejack had seen it before. But when it had been the memory spell, with the discordant changes reversed... the rush of color had pushed back grey, moving in a wave across the body from the point of the horn's contact. This time, somewhat-brighter hues suffused the vampony, starting at the roots of the fur and moving up.

The fangs receded, just enough to make it look as if the teeth were somewhat misaligned. Bleaching was brought down to having been caught in a passing drizzle. And the vampony straightened.

"I still thirst," he said. "I always thirst. But this lets me stay at the party. Without hurting anypony or anyone. Until the night ends, and ve all see Sun once more. Thank you, Gardener Sunrise. For another moon in which all are safe."

The pegasus simply nodded.

"Every moon," she said. "Until the true sunrise. That is the pact."

The other vamponies began to step forward. Moving towards their containers. Applejack watched.

"So what happens after?" she asked Strawberry.

"The ones who eat some here will take a few minutes to digest everything. Get their strength back," the pegasus said. "And then they'll wipe your memory."

Applejack's blinks hadn't provided a single bit of assistance during the entire night. The jaw drop wasn't an improvement.

"For the twelfth time," Strawberry smugly added.

"For the --"

"-- you believed that!" And the high-pitched laughter began. "You actually think you were smart enough to come here twelve times? No way! This was the first, Applejack!"

"...oh," the farmer managed. "So they ain't gonna --"

"Oh, no," Strawberry smugly said. "They're totally going to wipe your memory. Just like they erased Rarity's, only she agreed to it in the end. After she understood that all they want is to be harmless, and the secret has to be kept because somepony might decide my customers are the stupid ones and start the hunts all over again. They take care of the stupid ones, and I take care of them. That's how it works. But you can't be allowed to remember, and the wipe is harmless. So it doesn't violate elysium. Besides, I don't think your brain would know what to do with basic education. It's probably safer if you lose it. And don't waste your time with the camera. They won't show up on film."

Applejack took a long, slow breath. Looked at the vamponies, as they began to casually chat with each other. A smaller part of the renewal. The return of hope.

Eight of them.
Too outnumbered t' try anythin'.
Rarity said yes. But Ah ain't --
-- Sundammit.
...maybe that should be Moondammit --
-- Ah'm gonna let it happen, ain't I?

She was going to forget all of it. Go home, go to bed, wake up, and never remember anything.

But Strawberry would know. And the pegasus would be... smug.

...wait.
Yeah.
Maybe...
Well, one way t' find out.

Applejack smiled.

It wasn't quite the usual specimen. This smile was thin, a little twisted around the edges, and slightly -- mercenary.

"This 'elysium' thing. That's a big deal t' them, ain't it?"

"It's a sacred rule," Strawberry smirked. "One of six. There's no point in telling you about the other five."

"Sacred enough," the earth pony noted, "that they didn't step in when Ah had you down."

"They can't --"

"-- so," Applejack peacefully said, "no matter what happens tonight, between me an' your stupid, smug, condescending no-taste self... Ah ain't gonna remember it."

She turned, doing so quickly enough to make the rope-bound dirty mane whip around, and the weight of the hemp loop caught the pegasus across the jaw.

The pegasus stumbled back. And as Applejack calmly stepped forward, the vamponies merely watched.

"But Ah'm pretty sure you will."

There were certain basic facts concerning the universe which Applejack just simply knew on the level of her heart. But it took a rather stubborn mare (or at least, one who was somehow even more stubborn than she) to never change their mind and on the next market day, the farmer caught a glimpse of familiar, much-loathed yellow fur at a great distance: one where the mare's limping path was clearly coming nowhere near the cart. And she just knew that Sun had to be lowered, Moon needed raising, apples were nature's most perfect fruit, and Strawberry Sunrise was a mare who had a great purpose. Something which was vital, potentially even noble, and the best thing to do was leave her to it -- especially since she was also just as deeply certain that the Smug would never Rise over the apple cart again.

She wasn't entirely certain as to just how the pegasus had wound up so heavily bruised, and the reason why her own hooves had been sore for a few days was an equal mystery. But she felt oddly good about it.

Based on a concept from FanOfMostEverything which arose when the ancient magic item listing was mentioned in chat, and used with permission.