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Stallions on Strike!

by Aegis Shield

Chapter 1: Big Mac Breaks

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Stallions on Strike
Part 1: Big Mac Breaks



Breakfast. Marketplace. Plow. Buck Trees. Repairs. Plow. Shipments. Dinner. Soreness.
Breakfast. Marketplace. Plow. Buck Trees. Repairs. Plow. Shipments. Dinner. Soreness.
Breakfast. Marketplace. Plow. Buck Trees. Repairs. Plow. Shipments. Dinner. Soreness.

Big Mac, had had enough. It was his whole life. Every second of it. He was tired of it all. Not of apples, mind you, they were just fine. He was tired of pullin’ the biggest (and only) plow on the farm. He was tired of carrying the giant crates on his back. By the salt of his brow did he and his fathers before him forge this farm from the wild earth, and that was kinda it. The fathers. Anypony could buck a tree and get an apple to fall from it, but no, leave it to the stallions to do all the tough stuff. He can do it, he’s big. He’s a stallion. It’s a stallion’s job to pull the plow, that’s the hard stuff. Don’t worry about that giant crate full of Faust-knows-what-metal bits-of-whatever-machine they were installing wherever. If he complained, he’d only be told that was a stallion’s place on the farm. In life in general.

Meanwhile it felt like every time he turned around, the massive red stallion saw his sisters running off with their respective groups of friends for shenanigans. He was sick and bucking tired of seeing that while he slaved away, day after day, work-work-work. There was more to him! He was good at fancy mathematics! He could smell a thunderstorm hours before it started! He could do… stuff! He could! One morning, after much careful preparation and a super-early breakfast, he made a plan and set it into motion.


=-----=-----=-----=-----=


“Hey big sis, what’s ‘strike’ mean?” Applebloom came into the kitchen after grooming for school. Granny Smith and Applejack paused their dish washing at the sink, looking back at her. “I saw it on a sign,” she added quickly, in case the word was bad for some reason. “What’s it mean?”

“Well, it means like when ya hit something real hard. Strike!” Applejack clopped a hoof hard on the kitchen tile, making a loud sound. Applebloom looked puzzled. There was a short silence, and she frowned at the floor for a few moments.

“Does that mean Big Mac’s gonna hit me if ah wander past him for school?” the little filly said in a small voice, looking frightened.

Applejack and Granny Smith looked at each other. “Uh, what?” The orange mare furrowed her brow. “What do y’mean by that?” she cocked her head when Applebloom pointed towards the front of the house. All three ponies went to go see, and Applejack pushed the door open.

“Well Ah’ll be.” Granny smith gaped alongside Applejack.

Big Macintosh was standing in his own front yard, a scowl-y look on his face, holding a picket sign. Clumsily painted on it was ‘Stallion on Strike!’ in big red letters. When he saw they were looking he began to slowly pace back and forth in procession, stomping his hooves. Set up nearby was another sign that said ‘too much hard work!’ and next to it ‘more off time!’ and next to it ‘buy one get one free!’ He gave pause at the last one, cocking his head. Coughing a little, he turned it around so it now read ‘mares should work too!’

“Is he gonna hit me or naw?” Applebloom said, a little frightened.

“No, go on to school now, Applebloom.” Applejack said slowly, not sure what to make of the scene. “Er, you go on and finish the dishes, Granny. I’ll sort all this out.” She reassured the ancient mare. Her little sister scuttled past the massive stallion, and he gave a mild wave when she went. “What in tarnation d’you think yer doin’ out here, Big Mac?” He lowered the sign into her face. Stallion on Strike! “Yeah, ah see that.” She said frownily, pushing it aside so she could see him. “What? You want days off? That’s fine, take a few! Me and Applebloom can keep things going okay for a few days. The stallion moved silently behind the ‘too much hard work’ sign, sitting on his haunches. “You gotta pull your weight around here, you just weigh more!” the mare said stubbornly, frowning at him.

“Nope.” He said, turning his nose up at her. He moved on to his ‘mares should work hard too!’ sign, and planted his butt again.

“Big Mac ah do just as much hard work as you around here! Ah buck trees and feed the chickens and Applebloom does ev’r’thing her liddle body can handle at her age!” Applejack was having none of this. What had gotten into her red sibling all of a sudden? CLANK! She jumped. Big Mac produced his plow from precisely nowhere, dropping it at Applejack’s hooves. Then the straps, the buckles, and the blade sharpeners. “Aww no, that’s stallion’s work, Big Mac! You know mares ain’t sturdy enough to pull that thing around through rocks and junk!” she stomped a hoof.

Feeling rebellious, Big Mac lowered his head and slid his yoke off. She gaped at him. CRASH, it hit the ground. How heavy was that thing? He shuffled his lips in a horsey snort of righteousness, then resumed his pacing about. Applejack was red in the face, she was so angry. How dare he shirk out of his responsibilities! Everypony had their part in this-here farm, and he was gonna do his too if he wanted to live here! He caught her eye and smirked, tilting his head up. “Nope.” He said.

“Big Mac, you go to work like yer supposed ‘ta!” Applejack demanded, stomping a hoof again.

“Nope!” he said snootily, pacing back and forth. The red letters of ‘Stallion on Strike!’ went back and forth like a red cape in front of a bull. Now and then he would glance at her while he paced.

She went over and snatched his sign right of his hoof. “Yeah-huh back to work!” she insisted. He looked mortally offended that she took his sign, and snatched it back. He garruffed loudly, throwing his chest out in a threatening way. She jittered back a little, but held her ground. He tossed his head angrily, turning and resuming his pacing. “You can’t just not work, Big Mac! What’re you gonna do all day if you’re on strike, huh?” she wanted to know. Big Mac’s life was the farm, what could he possibly do with himself if not take care of it? “Just go to town and laze around like a big lump’a’nothin’?”

Big Mac stopped. He pondered for a bit. Narrowed his eyes. Ohh, there was a good question. He worked his mouth a bit… then his expression lit up. “Eyuup!” he turned on his heel, collected his set-up signs, and started away towards Ponyville. Applejack stood there with her mouth a little open, stunned.


=-----=-----=-----=-----=


Big Mac had never felt so alive. He looked back and forth. Ponyville plaza was open for business, the marketplace where everypony in town did their shopping in the mornings for food, supplies, and entertainment. He smiled, feeling light as a feather without a yoke or a barrel of apples on his back. “Hey Big Mac!” Mrs. Cake wandered by, balancing a tray of huge rolls on Mr. Cakes back. The poor guy’s skinny legs were quivering. It must’ve been those new ‘pound buns’ Mrs. Cake had named after her son recently. “Setting up the stand late today?” she asked, eyeing the bits of wood he had with him, sticking out of his saddlebags. “Ohh, I bet you made a new one! Isn’t that darling, darling?” she asked her husband.

“Sure thing honey!” Mr. Cake said in a strained way, wobbling about with a tray of heavy food. Big Mac felt pity for the poor guy, following his wife’s every command.

“Nope.” Big Mac threw his chest out.

“Not setting up the stand today? What are you doing at the market, then? Shopping?” she smiled in a friendly way, but there was sommmmething in her tone that was just a little bit prudish. Big Mac didn’t like it at all. What, he couldn’t be at the market if he wasn’t working there selling apples? He snorted.

“Nope.” He repeated.

“Running errands?” Mrs. Cake sure was nosy. Big Mac rolled his eyes, gave up, and turned on of his signs over. She stared at it. “On… on strike?” Mrs. Cake’s face fell for a moment, and she tilted her head. “Why, that’s silly! What’re you on strike from?” Big Mac shrugged in a neutral way. He’d wanted to say his job, but that wasn’t it. Just life in general. He didn’t enjoy constantly toiling away, he wanted more than that. “Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for and get back to it when you’re feeling better!” she waved, leading her tottering husband along with the tray of pound buns.

Big Mac frowned, deeply insulted. Feeling particularly saucy, he went to the nearby ice cream stand, and wasted two whole bits on a cone of vanilla. He wolfed it down shamelessly, thrilling at the naughtiness of spending money on himself. He was getting some on his nose and paused to lick it off. Hmm. Havin’ a day to himself wasn’t so bad, but he wanted more days like this. He bought another ice cream cone, just to be a buckin’ rebel. Snarfing it down and slurping rather noisily, he walked through the market to peer around.

Everywhere he looked, he… he kind of saw the same situation. Stallion’s moving the heavy loads. Stallions up on the roofs doing repairs. All the guards, putting their lives on the line to preserve the peace? All of them were stallions. Big Mac couldn’t recall having EVER seen a female guard, come to think of it. He turned his head wildly back and forth, peering about with wide eyes. Stallions having angry shoving competitions after the mares had started an argument. Stallions struggling hard at this and that and another. It was so… so sexist! He couldn’t believe it! How had he not seen this before?! He sat hard at a picnic table, just trying to drink it all in as he messily ate the rest of his ice cream cone.

He tried looking at the mares instead. He saw mares behind most of the counters at the market. The mayor was a mare. Ponyville’s main school teacher, the librarian, the vet, the weather ponies, tailor, chefs—all mares! Why were the stallions doing all the physical labor while the mares basked in the glow of the leadership positions in the community?!

Big Mac’s mouth fell open in awe. It was a conspiracy! It was sexist! It was—! “Hey Big Mac, shouldn’t you be plowin’ about this time of day?” a random mare stopped to ask. He rounded on her, snapping his mouth closed. “You’re usually so on-time with your stuff, I can practically set a watch by your day!” she chuckled. “So how come you’re not hitched up, handsome? Today your birthday?” she smiled, wanting to know. Plowing? Hitched up? His BIRTHDAY?! In an instant the red pony slapped her right upside her fool head! She yapped, startled back and almost crashing into a cherry stand behind her. Big Mac was startled at himself, his eyes wide. Why had he done that? Why did it feel so good? It was like some pressure had been released from within him. “Wh-what was that for?!” she didn’t make to hit him back, but was very upset. Who would hit a pony like Big Mac and hope to do any damage, really? Plus, you didn’t hit a stallion. You just didn’t. Ponyville had so few as it was. It was taboo. “D-did I say something wrong?” she said, soft-eyed and apologetic at having offended the handsome creature.

Big Mac suddenly saw his mission laid out before him. It was wrong. It was all wrong. This entire town was all wrong, and he wouldn’t stand for it! Clambering up from his picnic table, he threw out his chest and heaved his sign high. Ponies all around turned to look as he slammed it into the ground like a soldier planting a flag on an enemy hill. Stallion on Strike!



End of Part 1

Author's Notes:

Oh-ho-ho, Big Mac I am so sorry for always writing about you getting the short end of the stick. Time to step up and be the hero, big guy! :D

Next Chapter: Mr. Cake Crumbles Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 43 Minutes
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