Part 5: Anon Still Hates Apples

>well fuck
>you allow your arm to flop away from your face and hang off the bed
>your hand allows the letter to flutter down to the floor
>Applejack?
>why does she give a shit?
>and why her in particular?
>you reckon that if you hurry, you can probably write her a letter telling her to shove her hat up her cunt
>no, mail's not instant; it probably wouldn't get there until tomorrow, which would be too late
>wait
>mail's not instant
>this had to have been sent yesterday
>and tomorrow from the point of view of yesterday is today
>the wording on that letter is straightforward, to-the-point, and simple
>you're pretty sure you're interpreting this correctly
>you're having a visitor today!
>well fuck
>but what fucking time?
>fuck
>you get out of your room to stalk the halls
>eyes downcast, hands clasped behind your back, you prowl about in search of nothing
>occasionally your head and eyes flick to your peripherals, noting your location every few seconds
>wait a second
>you take a few steps backward and examine a piece of paper taped to a door
>"Patient Kitchen - Feel free to use what you like, just CLEAN UP after you're done."
>huh
>you've never noticed this before
>the door creaks open at your touch
>it's a kitchen all right
>there's a fridge, an open pantry full of dry goods, an oven, sinks, counters, and hooks carrying various cooking tools
>on the other side of the kitchen there's a big open window set over a long countertop and facing into a passageway, probably for serving a line
>hmmm
>i-it's not that you particularly care about Applejack or anything
>but somehow, an idea pops into your head just the same
>you move about the kitchen just to see if they have what you have in mind
>hmmm
>flour
>sugar
>apples
>uh
>eggs?
>it's all there
>this could probably work
>you find a bowl and a spoon and set them down on the counter
>how much flour sounds reasonable for pie crust?
>three cups?
>into the bowl it goes
>now for the sugar…
>probably… one cup?
>you mix it in with the flour
>now the question you have is
>will one egg be enough?
>there's one way to find out
>you crack an egg open and hold it over the bowl
>as you watch its contents ooze down, someone addresses you from the window
>"Uh, hey, Anon."
>you look over and behold Amber Ember, resting her upper body on the counter to get a better view
"Oh, uh, hello."
>she cranes her neck a bit
>"Wat'cha doing?"
"I'm just, uh, baking a pie here."
>her ear twitches
>"You're… making a pie?"
"Uh-huh."
>"With… eggs?"
"What?"
>"Anon, you don't make pie crust with eggs. Or, I never would. Hang on, did you stir that thing in yet? Don't move!"
>the sound of galloping hooves moves away from the window
>and finds its way around to the door
>Amber flings it open and strides in
>"Okay. Let's see about that egg."

>Amber wastes no time in getting her upper body on top of the counter with a measuring cup clenched between her teeth
>she dips the cup into the bowl and resurfaces with the remains of an egg in tow
>"There. Some of it soaked into the flour, but it should be fine."
"Uh."
>she sniffs the air above the mixing bowl
>"Oh, so you've already got the sugar in too. It smells kind of… bland, how much did you use?"
"A… cup?"
>"And how much flour?"
>"Three cups."
>"Whoah! That is way too much flour. Let's just start over on this."
>she promptly takes the mixing bowl to the trash and pours its contents in
>what the hell
>this horse ignores you all week
>and now all of the sudden she has the right to shit on your pie crust?
>she grabs the bag of flour, and pours a little in the bowl
>"So what kind of pie are we baking, Anon?"
"It's, uh, apple."
>"Oh great! Are there apples?"
"Uh huh."
>"Perfect! You make the filling, and it's probably better if I handle the crust."
>Amber promptly sets about acquiring various components and tools
>she buries her head into a low cabinet
>and in the process of doing so sticks her ass way up in the air
>what the hell is that picture on it?
>it's like brown… chunks?
>is it shit?
>you lean in to get a better look
>the social implications of your actions don't occur to you until Amber clambers out of the cabinet and sees what you're doing
>she spits out a pie tin onto the floor, jumps back, and flits her saucer-sized eyes around before finally setting her pinprick-sized pupils upon you
>"Anon! Wh-wh-what are you doing?!"
>you're still in your bent-over butt-staring position as you try to explain your intentions
"I was- I was- I-I-I was just looking at-at-at-at your-your butt, your butt, your-your-your-your butt… your butt picture!"
>the mare before you turns dark red as she tries to make sense of your half-comprehensible explanation
>"M-my butt?!"
"Y-your butt picture!"
>she pauses before relaxing a bit, and looking back at her own butt
>"My… my cutie mark?"
"Yeah!"
>Amber gradually stands up straight, which prompts you to do the same
>finally, she gives a sincere smile
>"It's… caramels. I make sweets for a living. Sorry, I maybe should have explained that before barging in on your baking. I do this sort of thing for a living."
"Oh."
>her smile turns snarky
>"Now. Are you just about ready to make that filling?"
"Uh, n-no, I'm not really sure how."
>Amber frowns
>"You went to bake an apple pie without knowing how?"
"I-it was sort of a… a spur of the moment thing."
>"Right. Get about eight apples. Peel, core, and slice them into itty bitty pieces. Then mix it with, say, a teaspoon of cinnamon, a teaspoon of brown sugar, and a quarter cup of water. Then stir it up in a saucepan. Don't heat it too long, mind you, it'll heat up enough in the oven."
"You want fries with that?"
>she struts past you and flicks you with her tail as she does so
>"Don't sass me."

>peeling, coring, and slicing apples into itty bitty pieces is a bit of a long process
>fortunately, Amber doesn't have you beaten with the crust yet
>she had the dough mixed and the tin lined with it a good number of minutes ago
>but she's doing the basket-weave thing with the top crust, which is an even longer process for a pony who has to use hooves
>at last, you pour your expertly sliced apples into the saucepan
>on top of them you sprinkle the other ingredients
>you turn on the stove and begin to stir
>it's funny how magical horse land is selectively primitive
>like, lighting is all done through candles and music is still played on mechanical record players, but for some reason they've got modern stovetops and refrigerators
>you should have learned something about electrical engineering back home
>it would have come in handy here
>the scent of apples permeates the air and creeps into your senses
>bellissimo
>a fuzzy pony head nudges you in the side
>"Anon, that smells great! Is the water mostly gone?"
"Yeah."
>"It's done. Go ahead and pour it in the crust."
>carrying the pan over to the counter, you see a complete, baket-weaved crust sitting next to the tin
>damnit, it looks like she did beat you
>as you pour your apples in her crust, Amber attempts to lift up the crust top with her hooves
>"Anon, can you get this crust on there? You've got those, uh… claw things."
"Fingers?"
>"Yeah."
>in short time, the pie is covered, and you're crimping the top down over the bottom crust with Amber
>"Okay, the oven's pre-heated. Just pop it in, Anon."
>Amber digs out a small-ish hourglass and flips it upside down
>there's that selective technology shit again
>"Okay. 15 minutes."
>you stand together, watching the sand fall through the glass
>maybe about five minutes pass in silence
>"So, what were you baking a pie for?"
>the pie?
>oh
"A, uh, friend is visiting me today."
>Amber averts her gaze a bit
>"A friend?"
"Or, uh, one of Princess Twilight's friends anyway."
>"Oh. Which one?"
"Her name is Applejack."
>"Element of Honesty?"
"What?"
>"You know, from the Elements of Harmony."
"The what?"
>"The magical thingies that Princess Twilight and her friends used to save Equestria."
"To do what?!"
>"Anon, do you seriously not know that Princess Twilight and her friends have saved Equestria, like, seven times over the past five years?"
"W-well I'm new in this world."
>she laughs out loud
>"You were living with her!"
"Y-yeah, well…"
>the amber-coated mare giggles and smiles
>"It's fine."
>you sigh
>"So, uh, if Applejack is coming to visit you, that's gotta be a good sign, right? Maybe they'll let you out soon. Any word on that?"
"Man, I doubt I'm getting out of here soon."
>"Oh, well…"
>you see she's giving you that expectant look again
>oh
"Do you know when you're getting out of here?"
>she smiles, the looks away, then she looks back up at you and frowns a little before smiling again
>"Today!"

"Today?"
>"Uh huh! I'm just waiting on the office to finish up some paperwork, and then I can pick it up and go."
"Oh."
>"Yeah. I… I saw you in here, and I-I know you're mad at me for what happened with the foals, but…"
"Mad at you?"
>"W-well, you weren't talking to me, so I figured…"
"No, it's just… I thought you thought I was pathetic. The way I got beat up by those foals and all."
>"What? No, I…"
>the pause that ensues more pregnant than a Mexican rabbit on welfare
>Amber cuts it open it with a slight smile
>"Well that's dumb."
"What is?"
>"We've been avoiding each other and being alone all week long for no good reason. We could have been friends the whole time!"
"Uh, yeah, I guess so."
>Amber glances at the hourglass
>"Just about there."
"So, where are you going?"
>"Oh, I don't know. I might have to stay in the city for a little while, but really, I wanna get out of Canterlot as soon as possible. There's no one in this town who gives a darn about me; I just wanna start over somewhere else."
"All right."
>"What about you? Are you going back to Ponyville after you get out?"
>somehow you knew she would reply with that
>but you haven't thought that far ahead at all
"Man, I have no idea. I dunno, maybe if this meeting with Applejack goes well. Otherwise… I don't know if I'd be welcome there."
>a crackling sound accompanied by an echoing voice interrupts the conversation
>"Amber Ember, administrative office. Amber Ember, administrative office."
>Amber gasps a little
>"Well, those are my papers. I guess I've got to… go now. G-good luck with Applejack!"
"Y-you too."
>she turns around and begins walking toward the door
>before she gets there, she looks back a little and addresses you
>"I'd really like to meet you again, Anonymous."
"Yeah, me too."
>she pushes the kitchen door open and begins walking out
"Uh, hey Amber?"
>"Uh huh?"
"Why did you, uh, why did you try to help me the other day anyway?
>she pulls her head back in and gives you what may actually be the warmest smile you've ever seen in your life
>it's not saying much, but it's probably still warmer than what most people in general get
>"Because you sat next to me."
>her tail disappears beyond the door, which clicks shut behind her
>the last grain of sand falls to the bottom of the hourglass
>the crackling voice resonates through the hospital once more
>"Anonymous Faggot, visitors' center. Anonymous Faggot, visitors' center."