Language Barrier Chapter Three [New]

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PART ONE
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>The door opens with a little ringing sound and you finally enter the gingerbread house.
>So many cakes.
>The designer of this place clear had candy on his mind.
>Candycane-style red and white stripped collumns.
>Walls colored with different shades of chocolate.
>A large cloud of cotton candy behind the counter.
>Is that cotton candy moving?
>Upon closer inspection, it appears to be a tail.
>The owner of the pink poofy appendage raise her head and begins what you assume would be a greeting.
>She stops midway through a word when she notices you and lets out a loud gasp.
>About half the air in the entire shop must now be in her lungs.
>She bolts to your side in a pink blur.
>That was ridiculously fast.
>Then, she starts speaking.
>That's even faster.
>And now she's running around, inspecting your person.
>You feel her touching your left shoulder and by the time you turn your head, she's already poking around your right arm.
>Tired of having her jab you in various places, you grab her by the tail.
>Lifting her to eye-level you put a finger on your mouth and shush.
>Nope, still speaking.
>You slowly bring a hand to her muzzle and twist around to face Twilight, a perplexed expression on your face.
>"‹Pinkie Pie.›" she sighs.
>You nod and turn back your head towards the pink pony.
"Anonymous."


>You settle the bubblegum pony back on her hooves.
>Good, she slowed down her talking pace.
>It's still twice as fast as what you're used to, but it's not like you could understand her anyway.
>She seems to be asking some questions to you.
>You can see Twilight about to interrupt her, but your stomach is first to object with a loud grumble.
>Chuckling, you pat the protesting organ.
>The unicorn at your side takes advantage of the brief moment of silence.
>Quickly, she replies to Pinkie with a long string of words.
>The hyperactive pony lets out another comically exagerrated gasp and begins to shove you towards a small table.
>Pinkie Pie then bounces to another room, mumbling.
>Twilight joins you at the table while you try to get comfortable on a miniature stool.
>The aroma of freshly baked pastries is driving you insane.
>You're pretty sure being in a building that looks like it is made entirely of sweets isn't helping either.
>Soon enough, a platter cupcakes appear on the table in a pink flash.
>Good thing too, because you were about to go gnaw on the walls.
>You grab one of the cupcakes and take a bite.
>Sweet sugar-soaked Satan on a stick!
>Just how much sugar did she put in those things?


>The two ponies in your company each grab a pastry and begin to chatter.
>Since you can participate in the conversation, you stuff yourself with cupcakes.
>They haven't yet finished their own small cake and you already ate the rest of them.
>These things were delicious, but not very substancial.
>Pinkie Pie eventually notice your lack of words and put a hoof on her chin, pensive.
>She perks up and pulls out a few crayons and some paper from behind her back.
>When did she even get those?
>As Pinkie drops the drawing material in front of you, Twilight jumps off her stool with a look of sudden realisation on her face.
>While burting out something to Pinkie, she picks up one of the crayon with magic and hastily scribble down some doodles on the paper.
>When the unicorn bolts out of the bakery, you throw a confused look to the pink pony.
>She pushes the sheet of paper closer to you and leave the table to go serve some new customers.
>Okay, let's see what this is all about.
>A scroll, a... tiara? and the sun.
>What crazy non-sense is this?


>The line at Pinkie's counter keeps growing.
>Twilight Sparkle just left to go do god knows what.
>And you're sitting alone in front of a now empty platter of cupcakes.
>Maybe you could just leave and go on an ADVENTURE!
>And by adventure, you mean finding more food.
>Those four cupcakes you ate weren't very filling, but all the sugar was starting to upset your stomach.
>So you'll be looking for something healthier.
>But first, you need to explain your sudden departure to Pinkie.
>Using the varied spectrum of crayons, you try to draw her the situation.
>The combination of your meager drawing skills and ever-growing sugar-induced tummy ache results in a bunch of squiggles.
>A puff of pink hair pops out next to you.
>Pinkie is wildly pointing and shouting at your scribbles, apparently trying to guess what it represents.
>She's too absorbed by the drawing to notice you make your way to the exit.
>Even though she's still shouting and flailing, you wave her goodbye and then walk out of the bakery.
>You really hope those customers are patient ponies.


>Maybe you should go back to Minty and CandyFlank's- you mean Lyra and Bon Bon's house to grab your stuff.
>You don't want to impose after all.
>Walking towards your destination, you start to look through the book Twilight gave you.
>Your belly growl as you flip to a page with an apple on it.
>Oh shush you, you've been complaining since we woke up.
>You begin to rub your stomach and a yellow pegasus comes flying to your side, keeping herself at eye-level with you.
>"What's wrong little guy?"
>Heh, little.
>You show her the red fruit in your book.
>"Oh? You want some apples?"
>"Well, one of my good friends own the orchard over there. I'm sure she won't mind a little visit."
>You follow her hoof and notice a rather large apple plantation in the distance.
>Yes! So much food!
>You grab the yellow pony in a hug.
>She squeaks and hurriedly flies away as soon as your arms unwrap from around her.
>Guess she's a pretty shy pers- pony.
>...
>Did that pony just say coherent words to you?
>...
>Naaaah, all that sugar must be getting the best of you.
>She just saw the apple in the book and pointed to the orchard, that's all.


>Since it's only a small detour, you're going pick your stuff up before heading to the orchard.
>While approaching the residence, you notice the door opening.
>Hey! It's Bon Bon!
>And she's bringing your violin case outside for you.
>What a nice girl.
>She carelessly drops the case on the ground and re-enter her house, closing the door behind her.
>It hits the ground with a light thud.
>...
>She must be really busy to not have time to speak with you.
>Oh well. These apples aren't going to eat themselves.
>ONWARD!

>Soon enough, you arrive at the edge of the field of apple trees.
>You look at one particulary big apple hanging from a relatively high branch.
"Soon."
>You jump up and grab a low branch.
>Hoisting yourself up, you start climbing the tree.
>Slowly but steadily getting closer to your fine prize.
>You extend a hand to grab the apple.
>Its slightly out of reach.
"Come oooon~"
>You stretch your arm a tad more, your fingers touching the fruit.
>A sudden quake makes you lose your grip on the branch you were hanging from.
>You fall flat on your back.
>It wasn't really pleasant.
>You stay still for a moment, laying on the grass and looking at the apple you were trying to grab.
>That smug motherfucking apple.
>Silently mocking you from up high.
>Its demise has only been set back a little, it can sit there and laugh at your failure all it wants.
>But it can't flee. Literally.


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PART TWO
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>An orange face appears upside-down in your vision, interrupting your flow of hatred towards the treacherous red fruit.
>You roll to your belly and begin to stand up, your back aching like if you just took a 15 feet fall.
>Oh wait.
>As you finish standing up, the orange pony starts to speak loudly and angrily at you.
>She's jabbing a hoof in your stomach and pointing at the tree.
>From what you understand, and by that you mean 'not a goddamn word', this might be her orchard or something.
>She has the right to be angry at some alien coming over to steal her apples.
>You bow down in apology.
>When you straighten back up, you can still see an angry pout on her face.
>This is too much.
>You burst out laughing.
>She's just so adorable!
>Just look at her!
>She's like a little country pony!
>The stetson hat, the freckles, the angry little pout.
>It's like a little girl played dress up with her!

"Pffff-HahahahahaOUCH!"
>Your back chooses this moment to make you know it's still hurt.
>The angry look on the blonde pony is slowly changing to a confused one.
>You arch your back and a worrisome crack is heard.
>You feel a little better, but it still hurts like a bitch.
>The hat-wearing pony's face lost all sign of anger, worry and remorse taking its place.
>Well, she got over you stealing her apples pretty fast.
>Maybe she feels bad for hurting you?
>That's cute.
>You push her hat down on her head, chuckling.
>A surprised yelp escapes her muzzle.
>She pushes the hat back up with a small coy smile.
>Then jab you in the stomach again.
>Ow.


>You sit down to relax your back, leaning against the tree you just fell from.
>Your eyes catch a glimpse of your fruit nemesis.
>Just you wait apple. Soon, your flesh shall be devoured.
>That orange pony can't protect you forever.
>Speaking of orange pony, she notices your angry glare towards the apple.
>She trots over to your side and lift one of her hind legs.
>With a swift kick, a familiar quake resonates through the trunk and your spine.
>An apple, YOUR apple, falls on the ground in front of you.
>You pick up the fruit and take a vengeful bite.
>Tastes like victory.
>You make short work of your snack and throw to core over your shoulder.
>Standing up, you extend a hand to the mare next to you.
"Anonymous."
>Her hoof grasps (how does- You know what? Fuck it, magic pony land) your hand and shakes it.
>"‹Applejack.›"


>You give the mare a quick nod as a goodbye.
>Then, you walk back to the violin case you left leaning against a nearby tree.
>You've been trespassing on her property long enough and you managed to have a taste of sweet, apple flavored revenge.
>There's not much else to do around here, so you bend down and gra-
>Nope. It's with a grunt of pain that you confirm that your back is officialy locked.
>Fuck.
>The case is just out of reach.
>You flail your arms towards it, vainly hoping they would magically stretch or something.
>After a few seconds, you stop flapping your arms around and your head droop.
>With your inverted perspective, you can see a set of orange hooves getting closer to you.
>You turn to face the mare.
>There's a certain look of concern with a hint of pity on the pony's face.

>She trots over to your stuff and lean her back against your violin case.
>As she gets back to a walking position, it sticks to her back.
>Meh, you're getting used to those guys doing stuff that makes no sense.
>The orange mare beckons you to follow her with her head.
>These guys really are hospitable, not that you mind. It's not like you have anywhere else to be.
>You comply and go after Applejack.


>A few minutes of walking later, you are lead to a barn-like building.
>Applejack takes you the a door on the side of the... house?
>Is it weird for you to consider it normal for ponies to live in a barn?
>Maybe that makes you a racist.
>Or is it speciesist?
>Absorbed in your semantications...
>Semanticizing? Semantalisa...
>Fuck this.
>Absorbed in your semantics-related thoughts, you didn't notice you just followed the pony through the door.
>You snap out of it when you see a red stallion looking at you, perpexingly raising an eyebrow.
>This guy is HUGE!
>Well, he's only about chest-height for you.
>But he towers over all the other ponies you saw.
>His tallness could be somewhat intimidating, if he wasn't wearing an apple-themed apron.
>You stifle a snicker and Applejack begins a conversation with the stallion.
>Well, 'conversation' might not be the best way to describe it.
>It's more like a pony having a riveting discussion with a brick wall.
>A brick wall that nods. Sometimes.

>After a few more words, the orange mare lifts a hoof and points it towards you.
>"Anonymous!"
>She moves her hoof so that it now face the stallion.
>"‹Big Macintosh.›"
>The apron-wearing pony gives you a nod of salutation.
>You return it.
>Silent type, huh? That's fine with you.
>Suddenly, your eyes meet.
>A fiery staredown occurs.
>Both of you are standing still, the earth trembling as your gazes lock.
>You can feel his emotionless stare peer into your very soul.
>Slowly chipping away your sanity with is unwavering look.
>...
>Or maybe it's just bullshit.
>The guy is probably just curious about the alien in his kitchen.
>Really, the only unnerving thing in this room is the awkward silence.
>Applejack gets behind you and pushes you to the next room with her head.
>As she forces to another part of the house, the mare speaks to you.
>You give a shrug to the stallion, who answers with one of his own before going back to cooking.


>Alright, now you think you just entered the living room.
>Couch, front door, staircase and grandma on a rocking chair.
>Yeah, living room sounds about right.
>Applejack finishes pushing you through the room and stops next to a couch.
>Guess you'll just sit down.
>She drops your violin next to you.
>The orange mare walks to the green elderly and begins a vaguely familiar speech.
>Probably the same one she gave to Big Macintosh.
>You guess that it might be how and where she found you.
>She finishes with the presentations once again.
>"‹Granny Smith, Anonymous. Anonymous, Granny Smith.›"
>The old mare gets on her hooves and shakily move closer to you.
>She extends a hoof towards you.
>You carefully grab it, that thing looks like it could snap in two if you put too much force onto it.
>Suddenly, you are yanked out of your seat and pulled to your feet.
>God damn, Granny's on steroids!
>She shakes you around by the hand like a ragdoll.
>Even after she let go of it, you still feel like your arm went through a clothes dryer.
>While trying to make your arm stop quaking, you feel your shirt lifting a little in your back.
>The wrinkled mare is poking at your lower back, grumbling.
>Woah, what the-
>She gives you stronger jab, right next to the location of your back pain.
>-FUUUuuuooohh...
>You feel the ailment in you back satifyingly melt away.
>With a relieved sigh, you sink back to your seat.
>Applejack chuckles and Granny Smith slowly makes her way back to her rocker.
>Note to self: Ponies get super powers as they grow old. Also, don't mess with Granny Smith.


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PART THREE
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>You can hear a small clip-clop coming from the stairs.
>Turning your head, you spot what's making the noise.
>It's a young pony!
>She seems to be throwing some inqueries to the ponies downstairs.
>Oh god, she even has a cute little country accent like the rest of the ponies that live here.
>The filly notices you and stop dead her track.
>Slowly, she passes her head between the railing of the stairs
>She then stares at you with a pair oversized gamboge eyes and an even more oversized red bow on her head.
>It's downright adorable.
>Heh, 'gamboge'. When did you became a color swatch?
>Applejack turns to the foal and says a short sentence that ends with your name.
>The young pony nods then joins the three of you downstairs.
>And she doesn't stop staring at you the entire time.

>Once the filly is closer to her, Applejack takes a deep breath.
>Oh boy, here we go again.
>You could probably repeat this speech word for word by now.
>Hopefully, this is the last time you'll have to sit through it.
>As soon as the mare finishes her last sentence, a light ringing is heard from the kitchen.
>The head of Big Macintosh slips through the doorway connecting the two rooms.
>You chuckle as you see him still wearing the apron.
>Applejack turns around and asks the red stallion something.
>He answers with a nod and a single word, dragging the first syllable longer than what you're used to hear.
>As you wonder what she could have asked him, the aroma of freshly baked food fills the room.
>Smells great.
>Dinner must be ready, so you'll take that as your cue to leave.


>You stand up and make your way towards what you assume is the front door, waving goodbye to the occupants as you do.
>Your exit is suddenly obstructed by a great adversary.
>The yellow filly blocking your path gives you the biggest puppy eyes you've ever witnessed.
>You kneel down to her level.
>She looks straight into your eyes and asks you a question, her mouth changing to a pout once she's done speaking.
>Low blow little one.
>How could you say 'no' to that face?
>You sigh in defeat and nod.
>Whatever it is you accepted, it can't be that bad.
>She jumps and let out a little squeak of joy.
>You can't help but wonder what was her question as she runs past you.

>You follow the filly with your eyes as she enters the kitchen.
>She walks by Applejack, who is standing in the doorway and looking at you.
>You give her a shrug.
>The mare chuckles while slowly shaking her head.
>She probably knows that you can't understand what any of them are saying by now.
>With a wave of her hoof, she motions you to follow her in the kitchen.
>Maybe that's what you signed up on.
>Staying for dinner.
>Might as well do it, lest you disappoint that poor kid.


>Entering the kitchen, you can see what the stallion was preparingg earlier.
>Apple salad, apple stew, apple juice, cider, applesauce and, of course, apples.
>You sit at the table with your hosts.
>A conversation begins around you as you start to fill your plate with various apple based food.
>Since you can't participate in the discussion, you start to let your mind wander around a little.
>It's quite a nice family you stumbled upon.
>Applejack and Big Macintosh have the cutest kid.
>They work the orchard together
>They make a business selling apples and apple byproducts.
>And they take care of Applejack's mother.
>Yup, real nice family.
>It's entirely speculations, though.
>You wonder how close you are from the thruth.

>Lost in your thoughts, you eat silently and pay no real attention to the ponies talking around you.
>Time flies by and soon enough, everyone's done eating.
>And all eyes are turned towards you, a smile under each pair of eyes.
>...Is there something on your face?
>You palm your face to check if there's some food sticking to your skin.
>Applejack plant a hoof on her face.
>She then starts to gesture something.
>One hoof lifted to shoulder-length, about a foot of distance between said shoulder and hoof.
>The other hoof moves back and forth in a line perpendicular to the space mentioned earlier.
>You ponder for a few seconds, probably with the stupidest confused look ever, before you understand what she means.
>Lifting yourself from your chair, you nod to the mare.


>Leaving the kitchen, you go back to the living room.
>And walk to your partner, who's sleeping comfortably in his wood and velvet coffin.
>Freeing him from his restrains, you pluck each string to see if it's still in tune.
>You then pull out your bow and feed it some of your rosin cake.
"Time to shine, buddy."
>You grab the instrument and move back to the kitchen.

>As you re-enter the room, you can see that Big Macintosh is tuning an accoustic guitar.
>You improvise for a minute or two to warm up, while you think about a song you could play for them.
>Oh yeah, this'll do nicely.
>You stop playing for a moment, trying to remember how it goes.
>And then you begin.
>goo.gl/RuYbu
>The red stallion plays along nicely on his guitar.
>Applejack and the filly are... dancing? Maybe?
>You're not an expert in pony dances, so you can't really tell.
>Granny Smith is tapping the table in rythm with the music.


>The rest of the evening is spent playing music and dancing with your hosts.
>You all stop when the little filly is too exhausted to continue.
>Actually, you all look pretty tired.
>Granny Smith is nodding in and out of sleep while mumbling.
>Applejack is yawning loudly.
>Big Macintosh has the kid on his back and is leaving the kitchen, probably to get her to bed.
>And you, you're laying your partner back in his casket so he can go back to his silent slumber.

>Time to get home now.
>...
>Fuck. You forgot that you don't really have a place to live in.
>Well, you could go back to Lyra and Bon Bon, you don't think they would mind that much.
>You pick up your stuff and walk to Applejack, extending your hand to her once you get closer.
>She shakes it and give you a nod.
>You move to the door that you first entered when you got here and open it.
>Aaaand it's dark as hell outside.
>Double fuck.
>How are you supposed to find your way back to Lyra's place in this darkness.
>You hate to do this since they already were so hospitable to you, but...
>Sighing, you walk back to Applejack, who eyes you quizzically.
>You put your palms together and bring both hands to the side of your head, pretending to sleep on them.
>Applejack put a hoof to her chin and thinks for a while.


>Oh great.
>A barn.
>A real one this time, not a home-barn hybrid like the country ponies live in.
>Welp, beggars can't be choosers.
>You lay in a pile of hay an try to make yourself comfortable.
>...
>'Try' is the keyword here.
>That shit has to be one of the most unpleasant thing you tried to sleep on.
>You'd have to be insane to like it.
>Nevertheless, after a few minutes of turning and twisting around on hay, you manage to fall asleep.