Chapter Text
“Open the damn window if y’all’re gonna do that in here,”
Neither Rainbow nor Pinkie tear their focus away from the flatscreen, their thumbs mashing the buttons on their controllers as colorful characters beat each other silly onscreen.
Dash deigns to respond, her voice distracted. “Yeah, sure, just gimme a sec…”
“I’ve given you plenty of secs already,” Applejack regrets her own words with an almost violent turnaround. It’s too late, they’re already out there, and Dash cackles at her expense.
“What? What is it?” Pinkie, roused from her deadlock gamer focus, looks from Dash to AJ in confusion. “No, did I miss something funny?” She appears anguished at the prospect.
“No—” AJ attempts, only for Rainbow to bulldoze over her with a raised volume, declaring “Apples just said she’s giving me plenty of sex.”
Anguish turns to delight on Pinkie’s face within seconds. She affects a gasp, the likes of which reveal her roots as a theatre kid. “Whaaat! You guys are doing it again?! How come you didn’t tell me?!”
Applejack has half the mind to bludgeon the both of them with the rock-hard frozen salmon she just picked up from the grocery store. She decides to spare their lives if only to avoid any more court proceedings.
“Shuddup,” AJ tells Thing 1 and Thing 2. Then, she plunks her grocery bag cargo onto the countertop, passes through the kitchen and into the living room, walks past the TV(eliciting an offended cry from Dash) and the coffee table where two scraggly blunts lie discarded, all to arrive at the apartment’s one and only functioning window. She cranks the dusty handle, really throwing her elbow into the motion ´til the stubborn thing relents and a gust of crisp spring air rushes in.
At least that little bit of freshness can fend off the worst of the weed stink. With that taken care of, AJ sics a dirty look on her good-for-nothing roommate.
“No need for the evil eyes,” Dash says, good-for-nothingly. She’s got the decency to look at AJ instead of at the TV screen, which allows AJ a clear view of the pinkish rim circling her eyes. “We were gonna air the place out before you got back,”
“Yeah, but you were really fast at the store!” Pinkie’s tone is one of disproportionate awe.
“Which is weird, cuz aren’t you all about going the speed limit?” Rainbow’s words are such obvious bait that Applejack ignores them altogether. She addresses Pinkie instead.
“When ya go in with a clear plan you can wipe out a fifty item list in a half-hour,” AJ says this with some degree of pride. As it turns out, big city superstores require similar strategies to the town square markets she mastered back home. They’re a lot easier to navigate, too, especially without her overeager kid sister asking to add every shiny doo-dad they come across to the cart.
“Wow,” Pinkie says, always prepared to be impressed by incredibly mundane things. “And you don’t even get distracted by all the stuff?”
Applejack suddenly gets the sense that her younger sister and Pinkie Pie would hit it off.
“No, sugar. I don’t. Anyway— would the two of you get off your butts ‘n come help unpack?”
“Fiiiine,” Rainbow pauses the game and pushes herself upright. Pinkie follows suit, albeit with a great deal more pep in her step.
“It’s gonna be so weird to see the fridge fully-stocked,” she chirps, wandering into the kitchen. “Dash only ever has yogurt in there,”
“Uhh, so not true. I’ve got milk and shit, too.” Dash grins as she says this as though entertained by her own appalling grocery habits.
Applejack pops the offending fridge open. Sure enough, it’s home to a few packets of fruit-flavoured yogurt with kiddie packaging and a carton of milk two days past its expiry. There are a handful of other things; an ice-pack which should be in the freezer, a wayward stick of butter, and leftovers from yesterday’s Chinese takeout feast.
AJ’s ashamed to have allowed the fridge to exist in this sorry state for an entire week since moving in. She’s been caught up with settling in at work, figuring out her truck’s GPS(she never needed it back home), and refamiliarizing herself with being in close quarters with Rainbow Dash after six years apart. But now it’s Friday night, and she figures she’ll get no better opportunity to put this to rest.
With the three of them working at it, the fridge makeover is done within the hour. AJ finds the process of slotting everything into its rightful place passively enjoyable. Not unlike checking inventory at the end of a day out on the fields back home.
Pinkie chats nonstop the entire time. She’s a good multitasker, though, so AJ doesn’t mind.
“Ooh, and there’s a thing coming up at my bar! You should totally come, Jackie!”
“We’ll see,” is AJ’s automatic response. She’s in the middle of stacking the sour cream atop the tzatziki atop the cream cheese to conserve as much space as humanly possible.
“You mean Elimination Karaoke night?” Dash pipes up. “Yeah, AJ, you should come. People get, like, super into it. It’s crazy,”
Applejack suspects Dash is one of these alleged people. A smile touches her lips. “Do all of y’all go to it?”
Pinkie throws her head up and down rapidly in one of her signature over-enthusiastic nods. Anybody else who tries it will surely give themselves whiplash. Pinkie is exempt as she’s grown immune to head injuries. “Yup! Well, not really. ‘Shy only came that one time. But other than that, yup!”
Applejack can imagine why Elimination Karaoke in a tiny overcrowded bar wouldn’t appeal to Fluttershy. She’s more surprised to hear that the girl ever attended one of these events at all. “Alright, I’ll think about it. S’pose it’d be fun to hear Dash fudge the lyrics to Life’s a Highway again,”
“Quit slandering me that literally never happened,” Dash appears ruffled by the reminder of what must be high on the list of her most embarrassing moments— which consequently means it’s high on AJ’s list of most treasured moments.
It happened all the way back in highschool, the night they raided Sweet Apple Acre’s hard cider reserve and drank themselves silly in the town’s sorry excuse for a beach.
Everyone sang their fair share of songs that night, the shyest amongst them included. Dash was well and truly sloshed, but determined to subject them all to the entire Cars soundtrack. Someone must’ve recorded it, right? Maybe the video’s still around somewhere.
“P-Pinkie, hey, weren’t you telling us about your new drink recipes?” Judging by Dash’s eagerness to change the subject, there is definitely a video. Applejack elects to ask Twilight about it later.
Once the fridge and pantry are thoroughly restocked, Pinkie and Dash reclaim the couch. They’ll probably be up playing games and messing around all night. AJ idly wonders what smoking weed adds to the gaming experience. Then, she realizes there’s a joke to be made here about high scores.
“Yes! Suck on that, Pinks!”
“Awwwe, I thought I had that one!” No one has ever sounded as happy as Pinkie does after losing.
AJ could plop down on the couch and join them. It’s been a long while since she last played a video game, another luxury left behind in her high school days, just like boozed-up karaoke, and fooling around on a not-beach.
But it’s coming up on 5'o'clock. She needs to get that pesky Skype program set up on her desktop so she’ll be ready to accept Applebloom’s call. They agreed on Friday afternoons for check-ins, after all.
It’ll be good to see her little sister, if only through a screen.
She should be looking forward to it.
…the lightheadedness she’s feeling must be from the leftover weed particles.
There are more job openings here in the city than there are in Applejack’s hometown. Coming down to work here was a practical decision. They’ll all be better of for it, of that much AJ is sure.
These thoughts are recurring guests in her brain. So much so that they might as well be tenants making a little apartment of their own in her subconscious.
Never are the thoughts more amplified than when she’s working.
She’s got a good gig, working as a handywoman for the humble Chicks With Chainsaws repair company. She works off commission, taking calls from all over the city to rescue the fine people of Canterlot from the horrors of faulty household appliances.
She thought it might be similar to the upkeep she did ‘round the farm. It’s not. Turns out most calls are false alarms, and when they’re not, all the fixing she needs to do amounts to turning the fusebox on and off.
She can’t step back from her handiwork at day’s end and appreciate the visual proof of her usefulness. In the city everything is intangible and spaced out and convoluted. Not worse, she reminds herself. Different. Just different.
When Applejack answers the house call which will shove the trajectory of her life a hard left, she’s sitting in her truck with the windows rolled down, drinking from the Yeti water bottle Rainbow lended her that morning. AJ had to wash it three times over to get rid of the lingering Gatorade aftertaste.
“Hi,” a woman’s voice croons into her ear from the finicky speaker of her iPhone 4S. “Hi, I saw your ads— I’m having AC trouble, at the moment. Could you send one of your repairmen to 300 Queen Street East?”
Applejack straightens up, vitality returning to her atrophying muscles. “Hi there, sure, we’ll get right on that,” she remembers one of the girls saying the Eastside of town is where all the day traders and dentists live. For a moment she wonders why somebody up on the Eastside would seek out the services of an inner city small business repair company with a grand total of three reviews on Yelp. Then again, maybe buying cheap labour is another way those hoity-toity types hoard their wealth.
AJ puts those thoughts out of her mind for the time being. “Y’all said you’re havin’ AC trouble?”
“Yes,” comes the woman’s voice again. It’s a mature voice, with a richness to it like the gourmet dark chocolate Rarity orders in from Burkina Faso. “It’s making this awful thumping sound. Nonstop since yesterday evening. I haven’t slept a wink,”
Thumping sound? That’ll be easy enough to get fixed. The blower must have come loose and is hitting up against the other parts inside. “Well, I’m mighty sorry to hear that, miss. I’ll head over to ya now and see what I can do,”
“Thanks, hun. Oh, and come in through the backdoor, would you?”
AJ’s not about to question a client’s request. “Will do,”
They hang up after that. Applejack breathes out a sigh of undiluted relief. And here she was thinking she’d go an entire workday without getting a single call. She’s still not used to having to wait around until someone else gives her permission to do her job.
She’s curious if Canterlot’s upper Eastside will have anything like the extravagant five story mansions she’s seen in TV shows and movies and the like. There sure as hell wasn’t an entire rich neighborhood in her hometown. Most of the wealthy families back home elected to blend in with the commonfolk. In fact, they wouldn’t call themselves rich if money ever came up in conversation. They insisted they were just ‘comfortable’.
AJ pulls up to 300 Queen Street East after a twenty minute power struggle with her truck’s GPS.
The house isn’t as crazy as what she was picturing, but it’s definitely nice to look at. The driveway’s wide enough to fit three cars and a half, and the front lawn is damn near neon green. The house itself is beige apart from the snow-white roofing, with elegant brown accents.
Applejack parks her humble truck beside the Ferrari 599 suntanning in the driveway. She grabs her toolbox from the passenger seat(she always makes sure to keep it buckled up) before venturing outside.
She must look out of place here, lugging around a toolbox in her washed-out jeans with a flannel tied ‘round her waist, wearing an honest-to-goodness cowboy hat. AJ smiles dryly at the thought of one of the surrounding neighbours spying her from their window and calling the cops.
She heads to the backdoor as advised, and gives it a couple hearty knocks. There’s some rustling from inside, and then the door whips open to reveal a lady in a bathrobe. Applejack blinks.
“Uh— I’m here for…your AC trouble?” It should be a statement but it comes out a question. Did she get the address mixed up?
The bathrobe-clad lady smiles. She’s got a couple inches on AJ, and she’d wager a couple decades, too. Her wealth of jubilantly curled red hair falls down her back, just about the same shade as her matte lipstick. “Yes, of course. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m still sorting through my laundry,”
Applejack feels as though she’s wandered onto the set of one of those god awful X-rated videos she and Dash watched as teenagers. She blinks again, then remembers to put on a customer service smile. “That’s no problem at all, miss. If I may…?”
“Right, right. Come on in.” The lady turns and pads deeper into the depths of her nice beige house. AJ hesitates only for a moment before following her.
It’s an easy fix. Just like Applejack knew it would be. She gets to work, crouching down on the immaculate hardwood flooring and cracking open the AC unit’s outside vent.
“Sorry, dear, I don’t believe I caught your name?” The bathrobe lady watches AJ work from nearby. Some clients prefer to supervise her from start to finish, so she’s grown accustomed to having an audience.
“Applejack,” she offers, glancing back at her. She’s taken a few gigs where she and the client never end up exchanging names. Most gigs are impersonal affairs, she’s coming to understand. Her small talk skills are getting rusty. “And yourself?”
“Applejack. I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” the lady smiles an unknowable little smile, her lipsticked mouth curling into a crimson half-moon. “Forgive my manners. You can call me Cherry.”
Fitting. Applejack turns back to the AC unit. “Well, Cherry, I figure I’ll be outta your hair in a half hour. Just need to readjust your blower ‘n the thumping will stop,”
Cherry draws closer to join her in scrutinizing the unit. “That easy, huh?”
“Yup,” with the other woman hovering so close, AJ catches a whiff of her perfume. AJ can tell it’s one of those fancy ones, with a name like Putain des Brouhahas État Libre d’Orange.
“Then, I’m glad I called you instead of Creek,” she says the name as though Applejack has any idea who that is. “I’d do it myself, but I’ve always been useless with these kinds of things,”
Applejack aims for reassurance. “That’s what companies like Chicks with Chainsaws are around for, sugar. You’re in good hands, don’t you fret,”
Cherry’s ensuing laugh is like the clinking of porcelain against porcelain. “Yes,” she says, her gaze finding AJ’s. “Very good hands, indeed,”
…Applejack wishes, not for the first time, that her skin wasn’t so gosh darned blush prone.
She’s done with the air conditioner repair in under 30 minutes. She should head right out and clamber back into her truck— which will be hot as sand on the beach after festering in the late summer sun as long as it has— and be on her merry way out of this fancy shmancy neighborhood.
She’s about to do exactly that after graciously accepting the three-fer of twenty dollar bills that Cherry hands her. It’s twenty dollars more than she’s actually owed, so it seems Cherry is a very gracious tipper.
She opens her mouth to say her goodbyes and remind the older woman to call them up if she ever has any more misbehaving appliances, but Cherry beats her to the punch.
“I have a roast in the oven, if you’d like to stay for dinner?”
Applejack stops short. She takes in Cherry’s face, calm and assured as though she’s seen every possible outcome of this situation and is perfectly content with every last one. Her heavily-lashed eyes regard AJ with something resembling amusement.
Applejack will deny this offer. She will deny it, because she needs to get back into the inner city and spend the rest of the workday waiting on more house calls. She will deny it because she gets off at seven, and it’s only minutes to six. She will deny it because there’s absolutely no reason she should spend the rest of the evening learning Cherry’s life story over drinks, and complimenting the slight char on the roast chicken skin, and figuring out how a charming lady like her wound up in this big ole house on her lonesome.
So she says exactly that. “That’s a mighty kind offer, Cherry. Can’t promise I’ll stay long, but sure. I don’t see why not,” no, wrong, why did she just say that?!
Cherry smiles again. “Lovely.”
Fluttershy is sitting at the kitchen island. She glances up from her phone when Applejack comes out of her bedroom.
“Good morning, AJ,” she says, soft as ever, as though perpetually keeping quiet to avoid waking her parents in the other room. Presently, the only person left to wake up is Rainbow Dash and that girl might as well be comatose when she’s sleeping.
“Mornin’, Shy,” Applejack is a little startled at first. She doesn’t remember Dash saying anything about Fluttershy coming over, least of all so early in the morning.
“S-sorry. I used my spare to get in. I know I should’ve asked first,” Fluttershy tugs at her fingers, gaze downcast.
“Hey now, no need to apologize. You’re always welcome here, sugar.” Applejack crosses into the kitchen. She begins assembling the fixings for pancakes.
Fluttershy has gone quiet. She keeps her gaze trained on the countertop as AJ whips up the batter. Now that Applejack gets a better look at her, she realizes the other woman is wearing their highschool grad hoodie. She remembers the huge fuss their graduating class made out of voting for the finalized design. AJ remembers thinking all the options looked identical.
Does she still have hers? Maybe it’s in the back of her closet back home. She didn’t touch it once after the initial photoshoot. It’s silly how the thought of it makes her nostalgic, now.
Never mind that. It’s clear to Applejack that something's up with Fluttershy, but when it comes to this girl, coming right out and asking her pointblank is almost never the way to go. It’s better to let her share on her own time.
Then again, how long has it been since Applejack’s been in this position? It could be that Fluttershy’s less cagey with her troubles these days. AJ’s no authority on her friends’ habits anymore.
“Um,” Shy pipes up as Applejack sprinkles ground cinnamon into the batter. AJ’s eyes lock onto her in an instant. “Um.”
Applejack gives a slight nod. Take your time, she hopes to communicate.
“We had a fight,” once she gets the words out, Fluttershy ducks her head, like admitting it aloud drained the life out of her.
“Oh,” Applejack buffers. What was the name of that guy Fluttershy was living with, again? Something with a D, right? AJ’s never met him in the flesh. Everything she’s learned about him is secondhand from the other girls. Suffice to say he’s a polarizing figure in their friend group. “You and your fella?”
“Mhm,” Fluttershy wilts further.
“Aw, sorry to hear that, Flutters. It was serious, then?”
“Not really. It wasn’t a big deal, or anything. I just…well, I just needed some space,” she sighs, light as a feather. “I’m sorry. I really should’ve asked—”
“Nope, you hit your apology quota, sugar.”
Fluttershy cracks a smile at the reminder of their inside joke from years past. “Okay. I’ll stop, I promise,”
“Does he know you came here?”
Shy’s gaze wanders. “Oh, yes, I let him know. We, um, try to always keep each other posted.”
“Well, stay as long as you like, hear? Dash’ll prolly be lazing around all day, so I’m sure she’ll appreciate the company,” Applejack has her back to their guest, now. She pours a perfect circle of batter into the middle of the frying pan.
“You’ll be going out?”
“Got some stuff to take care of around town,” around city, more like. “But, we could meet up with the girls tonight. Grab something to eat,”
“Oh, that would be nice. Maybe we can introduce you to Zooter’s,”
“…to what now?”
Zooter’s is a godless place. Applejack knows her dear Granny Smith would have another stroke if she ever stepped foot in here.
“Hiii, girlies! Table for 6?” The hostess greets them with a pep rivalling Pinkie Pie’s.
Pinkie, of course, rises to the challenge. “You got it! We’re introducing Jackie here to the best eats in Canterlot, and where better to start than Zooter’s, righttt? We usually come here to pregame but everyone’s gotta work tomorrow so we’re staying sober! Oh, and, d’ya think you could set us up in a booth? Loving the nails by the way!”
The hostess pales in the face of the pep goddess that is Pinkamena Diane Pie. “Oh— uh— thanks? And, yes, for sure. Please follow me…”
She leads them into the fray of the heathen establishment, sidestepping the various gleaming poles that extend from floor to ceiling. Pinkie heads off the group. AJ is towards the back walking alongside Rainbow Dash.
“What in the fresh hell is this?” Applejack asks her in hushed tones.
“It’s Zooter’s, duh.” Ever-helpful, this one.
“Y’all brought me to a pole-dancing restaurant???”
“Cool your tits, AJ, it’s not like anyone’s stripping down or lathering up in baby oil or whatever. It’s just a little entertainment to go with your meal,” Rainbow grins at her. She looks very happy with herself.
“You people are insane,” is all Applejack has the wherewithal to retort. They’ve arrived at their booth towards the back of the restaurant, and the peppy hostess is handing out laminated menus.
Once she’s gone, Pinkie zeroes in on AJ with a look of pure shiny happiness. “I’m SO glad we finally get to do stuff like this with you, Jackie!”
Applejack gives her a very flat look. “Stuff like eating dinner while waitresses dance on poles in front of us?”
“Yes! Exactly that!”
AJ turns to Rarity, who’s rummaging through her checkerboard patterned handbag(one of thousands in her collection, no doubt). “Y’all’re ok with this??”
Rarity offers a graceful half-shrug. “Their cocktail selection is rather good.”
“It’s really not as depraved as it sounds on paper,” Twilight chimes in. She sits in between Rarity and Pinkie, opposite to AJ, Dash, and Fluttershy.
“C’mon Twi, not you too…”
“Genuinely, it’s like having dinner with a movie. Completely above aboard,” Twilight laughs a bit. “Anyway, It’s probably a good thing we’re throwing you into the deep end right off the bat,”
“Yeah, if you can’t handle this then there’s no way you’re surviving Elimination Karaoke night,” Rainbow nudges AJ, a teasing lilt to her raspy voice.
Applejack sighs. She picks up her glossy menu, squinting at the cursive font. The topmost section is titled Foreplay instead of appetizers. “Christ almighty,”
“I must know, how has it been with the two of you living together?” Rarity says, eyes flicking from Dash to Applejack to Dash again.
Pinkie perks up, shoulder brushing Twilight’s as she leans in to say, “Applejack stocked up Dashie’s fridge!”
“Well that’s a given, darling, no-one besides Ms. Dash can live off yogurt alone,”
“I had milk in there, too,” Dash’s attempt to defend herself is met with an unimpressed look from Rarity.
“Yogurt and milk. Much better, then.”
“The place is cleaner, too,” Fluttershy says. “Um. From what I saw, at least.”
“You guys are acting like I was living in, like—”
“Squalor?” Twilight supplies.
“Yeah, that. Like ok sure the place didn’t look like a Zillow listing, but that doesn’t mean I’m some kind of slob,”
“You are some kind of slob and y’all know it. Should’ve charged you by the hour for all the cleaning I did,” Applejack scoffs for emphasis. Dash retaliates by flicking at her wrist.
“Oh, do spare us your roughhousing,” Rarity flaps an admonishing hand at them.
“Awe, hey, d’you guys remember the time Jackie and Dashie were shoving each other in the courtyard and a teacher came over to break it up ‘cuz he thought they were fighting for real?”
Applejack grimaces at Pinkie’s words. She does, in fact, remember. They’d been bickering over something stupid, maybe about a faulty call a ref made at one of Dash’s games. It started with a nudge, which evolved into a shove, which ended in a bout of play fighting that anybody with sense could tell was completely unserious. But the teacher who caught them was an older man whose mind was starting to go, so all he saw was a pair of delinquent high-schoolers moments away from tearing each-other’s hair out.
“Didn’t we have an assembly the next day on violence prevention?” The moment Twilight brings this up, AJ is treated to a vivid memory of sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor of their high school’s puny gym along with the rest of the student body, enduring the principal’s hour-long lecture on non-violent problem solving.
“Ughhh, oh my god, I haven’t thought about that shit in years,” Rainbow shudders.
All of that feels so faraway, now. It’s weird, because her memories of school as a whole are distant, but random little anecdotes like this one feel close enough to touch. Applejack shakes head wryly. “Not our best moment, I’ll tell ya that.”
“It was a little funny,” Fluttershy says, and then they all nod sombrely, because it really was.
It’s been three days since Applejack met Cherry Jubilee(she learned her last name during dinner. She’s not fond of it, cuz she got it from her ex-husband. Changing it would be too much of a hassle, though, since it’s on all her documents and files now). Three days, and a message pops up on AJ’s homescreen while she’s waiting outside Rarity’s changing room in an outlet store at East Canterlot Mall.
Cherry Client: Here with a friend?
Applejack immediately scans her surroundings, her heart rate spiking. Sure enough, standing outside the store is none other than Cherry. She wears a pencil skirt and a button-up blouse, her wealth of blood-red hair gathered atop her head with only a few face-framing strands let loose.
Applejack wills her heartrate to even out again. She lifts a hand in a half-wave. Cherry returns the gesture. After a beat, AJ figures she should respond in text form. She types out a message, glancing at the door to Rarity’s changing room before sending it.
You: Yeah shes trying clothes on. Nice to see you
Cherry glances down to read the message. Parentheses form around her coloured lips as she smiles.
Cherry Client: You wouldn’t want a third?
Applejack battles against the flow of blood rushing to invade her face.
This is ridiculous.
More ridiculous still is the fact that it’s managing to affect her at all.
She pointedly shuts off her phone and slips it into its rightful place in the back pocket of her jeans. She turns away, focusing wholly on the row of change rooms in front of her. Still, she can see Cherry’s eyes gleaming with amusement in her mind’s eye, lingering for another few moments at the entrance of the store, before sauntering off to join the relentless crowds of the mall.
Applejack should delete her number. There’s no reason for Cherry to have her personal number when all calls to Chicks With Chainsaws are already wired to the contractors. Maybe one of the other repairwomen will be better suited to deal with her.
The door to the change room is flung open with dramatic flair. Out walks Rarity, wearing the off-the-shoulder jumpsuit she spotted on the clearance rack. The black makes a fine contrast against her olive skin, and AJ isn’t fashion-minded but she knows her friend looks great.
“What do you think?” Rarity turns this way and that, her curled violet hair flouncing with the constant movement.
“Looks great,” at Rarity’s unimpressed look, AJ elaborates, “It’s real elegant. But not over-the-top, or anything.”
“That’s what I thought, too!” Rarity eyes herself in the huge mirrors they’ve got rigged up all around the change room area. It reminds Applejack of all the mirrors they had in the dance studio Applebloom used to go to.
“Think you’ll go for it?”
“Hmmmm…I shan’t commit so early,” Rarity pauses in her self-admiration, refocusing on AJ. “How long do you have until, again?”
“As long as you need, Rares,” Applejack wasn’t ever this willing to endure a day of shopping back in the day. But the little things that used to drive her up the wall when it comes to Rarity don’t bother her nearly as much anymore. She figures growing up means learning to appreciate doing mind-numbing stuff with your loved ones.
Besides, it’s best she keep occupied for the time being. Lest she be left to her own devices and click on Cherry’s contact again.