MLP: Divergent Days Ch. 1

Chapter 1

The sun slowly rises on yet another glorious day in Equestria, just barely cresting over the distant horizon. The Princess of Equestria and controller of the sun, Celestia, has promised that today would be as bright as ever. The Pegasi ponies who manage the weather overhead promised it to be a clear sky as well. While most of Equestria is still in slumber, one particular place rises with the sun. More specifically, its residents. Along the outskirts of the small town of Ponyville resides a large farm that covers acres upon acres of land. The farm grows several different foods on its land, but one particular fruit is held in higher regard than the rest: Apples. Spread across over half of the farm land, a metaphorical sea of apple trees flows with the shape of the land, ascending and descending hills and valleys alike.

In the center of this massive farm sits a vibrant yellow two story house, similar to a Victorian-era design on Earth. Roughly one hundred feet behind the house sits a large red barn. Its general state of neglect shows that it has seen better days, though it stands proud despite its age. Leading to and away from the farm stretches a long dirt road leading towards Ponyville. Along this road, sits a simple wood sign with red letters across the face saying "Sweet Apple Acres". A rooster call echos throughout the farm, signaling the wake of morning. The rustling of the sheets to a two-pony bed as its occupants wake up show that the call did not go unheard. Barely sunrise, a dim light is cast over the bed.

Framed photos line the room on every surface they could possibly be; on walls, dressers, even the lone desk, photos ranging from two to a half dozen ponies engaging in activities could be seen. The ponies themselves are of nearly every color: an orange mare wearing a brown cowboy hat over a blonde mane contrasts quite heavily with another stallion, this one blue with a brown mane, but here they are just two of the bunch. Once again the rooster call echos through the bedroom finally succeeding in forcing one of the bed's occupants to rise.

There is a rustling of the sheets as one figure sits up. Rubbing its head with a hoof, it groggily steps out of bed, each hoof clopping as they strike the wood floor. With a groan and a stretch, the pony begins its slow walk towards the bedroom door. As it opens the door, the door creaks slightly, causing the pony to look back at the bed. With no movement, the pony sighs with relief and continues out onto a small balcony. It continues to trot towards the stairs. Taking a slow, cautious step onto the top stair, it casually glances at the pictures lining the wall. These pictures, black and white, show other, older ponies, likely from the past generations.

The pony takes another step, but gives a start upon receiving an all-too-familiar surprise: a warped stair caught its hoof, nearly tripping it. The pony glances quickly seeing the too familiar warped stair trying once again to foil its attempts at walking down. The pony stumbles, but is able to catch itself. Cursing under its breath, it vows to take more caution going forward, as it didn't want to wake anypony in the house. It stops at a door directly across from the bottom of the stairs and nudges the door open. Stepping out onto a porch, the pony takes a deep breath of fresh air; a gentle breeze brushes its mane, giving the pony a "good morning". Even though the sun is rising from behind the house, it is now light enough to get a decent visual of the pony.

Standing tall, despite his age, is a fading blue stallion with a gray mane. His wrinkled face stands out among his worn features, showing his age. With another yawn and a flick of his tail, he takes his time in rounding the corner of the house to enter the warmth of the approaching sunlight. Smiling as he trots along the porch, his hazel eyes focus on his surroundings. All around the house are hundreds upon hundreds of apple trees. Bright and juicy apples of nearly every kind dangle from the branches, waiting to be bucked. Tragically, his age has gotten the better of him; he is too old to do the bucking himself. Luckily, he has his foals and a few grandfoals living with the Missus and himself on the farm assisting with work. This kept the apple bucking in the family, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

The first thing this stallion does every morning is come outside to watch Celestia's sun rise over the horizon. This is his only time of solitude before the chaos of the day begins; the grandfoals screaming about usually put a quick end to any serenity. After a few moments of walking, the stallion reaches the next corner of the house. Sitting on the porch, facing the horizon, lie two simple rocking chairs, with a small table in-between. This is where the stallion preferred to sit every morning. Carefully, he takes a seat in the chair, resting his front hooves on the extra long runners shooting forward. Sitting still in the chair, the stallion just waits, watching the beautiful sunrise of the morning. Its warmth fills the stallion with the energy he will need in the hours ahead. Even if he can't buck apples anymore, he can still do other work.

He is happy to have been able to keep a family and the farm going, even during one of Equestria's greatest depressions. His younger sister-in-law, Applebloom, had left during that time to try and make something of herself. Though her true talent was carpentry work, not many ponies were lining up to have a table built, or a cabinet fixed. Applebloom had been gone a number of years when they received a letter one day. The depression was, for the most part, over at that time and she had wanted to return home. She gave a small glimpse of her life after she had left. She was now married, with a little colt (though not so little now). The stallion and the missus welcomed the three with open arms, and now they, too, lived on the farm, helping with the usual work that his foals do. Whether it was apple bucking, plowing, or simple pruning, there was a pony for each task.

There is a sudden ruckus from inside the house, as many steps can be heard marching down the stairs. It's always easy to tell when everypony was waking up, as they seem to have no regard for the older ponies who are trying to get a few additional minutes of sleep before they have to wake. Especially the foals; with no school for the summer, they all were eager to wake and start the day. Hearing the clanging of dishes inside the kitchen window to his left, the stallion closes his eyes to bathe in the sunlight. He knew breakfast would be ready soon, which would give him the last little bit of energy the sunlight couldn't.

There was a subtle squeak of the kitchen door as a small filly comes bouncing out from the kitchen.

"Hey, Grandpa! Breakfast is ready!" a high, squeaky voice calls out.

The stallion jumps a little, but he quickly recognizes the small foal's voice as one of his grandfoals, Honey Apple. Her little voice was full of excitement matched in her bright eyes and large smile. Seeing the batter in her mane and a small red apron around her neck told the stallion it must have been her turn to help prepare breakfast. The old stallion looks over to the joyful filly, smiling once again.

"Alright then, lets go eat." The stallion speaks, in a low raspy voice.

The old stallion rocks the chair forward, in an attempt to propel himself off. He lands onto his four hoofs, followed closely by a loud "Crack" from each. He cringes, feeling a momentary pain from his rear legs, clearly not used to that treatment. The stallion quickly brushes the pain off when his little grandfoal jumps in front of him.

"C'mon! Its gonna get cold before you get there!" the little filly says, jumping around the stallion in excitement. "I want you to try my Apple pancakes! Mama let me make them all myself!"

The stallion cringes from the thought, remembering the little fillies first attempt at making the customary breakfast. Cooking was clearly NOT her talent, but everypony would eat the food anyway. The filly tries her best, and that is all the stallion can hope for. Her talents were better put to use cleaning and keeping the house spotless, with no trace of dust or untidy bedsheets. If it wasn't for that filly, the house would look like a pigsty. The stallion continues his slow pace towards the kitchen door, the little filly rushing ahead and opening the door for him.

After a while (an eternity for young Honey Apple), he finally makes it to the door. Using his right front hoof, he holds the door open and smiles.

"Ladies first," he chuckles, looking down at the filly.

The little filly smiles and trots inside. The entire kitchen was one loud cluster of commotion. Ponies were eating, cooking, and talking with one another, making each interaction indistinguishable from the rest. The stallion let out a happy sigh as he steps into the madness.

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Some time after the morning madness, most in the house evacuates; the adult ponies going to begin work on harvesting while the foals go out and play. Back in the day, it was just the stallion and the missus, along with her brother, to manage the farm. But a serious back injury left her brother unable to continue work on the farm, leaving it to just the other two. They worked on their own for quite some time, until their foals were old enough to assist. They had three of them, two colts and a filly. And to this day, all three of them help out on the farm. The two colts were even married and had foals of their own, though the filly, carrying on the stubbornness found in her mother, continues to keep the farm as her main focus.

All the stallion wants is for his foals to be happy, and if apple bucking is what did that for her, then he supported her 110%. One of the colts had went down a different path, choosing to go into teaching, and is now the Ponyville school's assistant teacher. During summer, when he wasn't needed at the school, he helped out on the farm. The last colt, the youngest, also stayed on the farm to help. He found his calling in caring for the farm animals; dogs, cattle, pigs, and more.

The stallion, standing on the porch once again, begins to walk towards the back of the house. He has several jobs that need to be finished from yesterday, one of which is fixing one of the plows. But as he makes his slow progression to the large red barn, four little foals jump in front of him, all with large smiles on their faces. The stallion peers into their large, bright eyes. Seeing those faces, each as bright as can be, all of them looking excited in unison can only mean one thing, it's Friday.

"It's story time, isn't it?" the stallion asks, looking at the little foals with a smile. The question was rhetorical.

Simultaneously, they all nod their heads and rush over to the rocking chair he had previously sat in that morning. The stallion takes his time in joining the bouncing foals. He chuckles again, noticing a small red bow stuck in the colt's mane. Being the only colt of the four, he was often stuck with "girly" things, and thoroughly embarassed because of it. The stallion lets out a small snicker as he bends down and grabs it with his teeth, removing it from the little colt.

The colt blushes from embarrassment, hating to be seen wearing that. The stallion sets the bow down on the table and takes a seat in his chair. Looking out into the fields again, he can focus on the massive apple fields now that the sun had elevated some more. He remembered the good times he and the missus would have out there. Though the work was tedious at best, they somehow made the most out of it. They enjoyed the time together, alone, with no pony bothering them. It was out there in that very field where he had asked her hoof in marriage.

"So, what story is it gonna be this time, Grandpa?" One of the fillies asks.

Her voice breaks the stallion's concentration, and he focuses back onto the four foals.

"Ah yes, story time. Well, which one would you like to hear?" the stallion asks.

"How about the one of you and grandma's first rodeo?" One filly asks.

"Naw, that one's boring. How about the one with the monster in the Ever-Free forest?" another filly asks.

"I'm sick of that one!" the last filly says, then turns to the stallion. "Grandpa, is there one you haven't told us yet?" she asks the stallion.

The stallion places his right hoof at his chin, thinking. He just happens to glance at the small colt who has been quiet the entire time. He's been looking at something; focusing on it with all his attention.

"Watcha looking at there?" the stallion asks, trying to sneak a peek for himself.

As old as the stallion is, his vision is still, by some miracle, as perfect as when he was no older than these foals. The little colt turns to the stallion, then back in the direction he was looking and points his right hoof.

"That metal thing. You always tell us not to play around it so we don't get hurt. But it's nothing like I have seen before, not even in our history books in school. What is it?" the colt asks.

The stallion then focuses on the large mass of steel. It's completely brown, presumably from rust, broken and misshaped. Whatever happened to it had pretty much mangled it. It resembled a carriage in shape, though it had four doors on it instead of the traditional two. It had a front section protruding from where ponies would normally stand to pull it. Instead, there sat a large metal block with several wires and hoses running to other parts. It was quite like nothing else in all of Equestira.

The stallion smiles, knowing all to well what it is and what happened to it. Though the story would sound quite far fetched to a normal pony, to four little foals it would make a very entertaining one.

"Well, that thing happens to be called an 'Automobile'." the stallion speaks. All four pairs of the listeners' eyes enlarge with curiosity. "And, it just so happens that it was used to save Ponyville."

"A automo-what?" the colt asks, his face stricken with confusion.

"Save Ponyville?" one of the fillies asks, looking no less confused than her brother.

"Yes, save Ponyville," the stallion says, with a laugh.

"So, are you going to tell us the story?" another filly asks in excitement.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt, I suppose." The stallion smiles to himself, knowing he had grabbed their attention, the way he had intended it. He leans back into the chair, rocking back and forth at a leisurely pace. "It began, about 60 years ago..."