A/N: Man, I suck at crossposting... Anyway! I wrote this for Femslash February. I saw someone mention this song in the Femslash February tag on Tumblr, asking for an f/f version of the story, and this is where my mind went immediately. I know Hoitty Toity is a critic, but since his design is based on a designer, I've taken the liberty of assuming he's also done design work himself (and this is an AU anyway, so). The stallion with Rarity is no one in particular. Enjoy!
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Smiling, Applejack flops into the shade of her wagon and hooks her hat off her head with a hoof to use as a makeshift fan. It's been a good sales day so far, her precious apples selling in bushels. Setting her hat back in place, she bites into one out of her own lunchbox, savoring the juices as she chews.
The clip-clop of hooves and the turning of smooth wheels catches her attention and she cranes her neck around the wagon to get a look at her next perspective customer. She does a double-take at what she sees; blinks rapidly and shakes her head, then looks again. The carriage is still coming towards her, drawn by a handsome and meticulously groomed stallion. For a moment she wonders if her Aunt and Uncle Apple have come to visit her, but dismisses the thought at once; she can't imagine either of them deeming to glance down a country road, never mind drive it, and anyway it doesn't look like any carriage of theirs. While grand, this carriage isn't nearly gaudy enough.
Bewildered but raised to be properly welcoming, Applejack stands as the carriage draws close and tips her hat with a smile to the stallion. He offers her a smile and a nod in turn, but doesn't slow. Her smile goes wan but doesn't falter; it's disappointing that she won't be making a sale, but she didn't exactly expect one.
She even more doesn't expect the smooth, feminine voice calling out from within, "Oh, stop here just a moment."
Frowning, almost pouting, the stallion does as directed, coming to a stop right as the carriage draws level with Applejack's wagon. The curtain of the window is drawn back and a pretty unicorn mare with an elaborately curled mane pokes her head out, smiling. Applejack is reminded for a moment of her aunt's and uncle's smiles, then promptly feels bad for it; this pony's smile is more genuine than any smiles from either of them, even if she does look to be breathing snootiness out of the air around her.
What this pony could be doing around these parts is a mystery to Applejack. She sure can't imagine that it's to buy apples (not something Applejack thinks lightly).
"Hello, there," the pony says. She hardly glances at the wagon before fixing her eyes on Applejack. "I'm afraid we're just a teensy bit lost."
The stallion huffs and pointedly turns his head, but doesn't argue.
Ignoring him, the pony goes on, "If you would be so kind, what is the best way to get back on the road to Canterlot?"
A snort of laughter bursts out of Applejack before she can stop it; she quickly turns her head to smother it in a hoof, but she can tell it's too late. The stallion stares back at her, affronted. She grins her apology, tips her hat again, and turns to address the mare.
"I don't rightly know how you ended up on this here road, ma'am, but you'll be glad to know that you are just a teensy bit lost from here."
"Oh, good," the pony gushes. She leans out the window a bit to call at the stallion, "See, I told you stopping for directions would be the best way to go." Then, to Applejack again, "Thank you so much, I was so worried we'd miss the opening of the gala."
"Happy I can help," Applejack says, and she is– happier than she can account for, under the light of this stranger's smile. Clearing her throat, she points on down the road and says, "Now, you'll wanna keep on following along this way past the duck crossing– watch for the ducks now, blessed little critters don't know from traffic– 'til you come to a little country store with a broken sign. We, uh– we keep meaning to fix that," she paws at the ground for a moment before she can help it, sheepish. "S'long as you're passing by there, you really oughta pop in and ask for a glass of Granny's spiced cider, made with our own apples."
"Oh?" the pony asks. It might be condescending or dismissive, but her eyes alight on the wagon of apples again with a touch of interest softening the tone.
"Honest truth," Applejack says, puffing up a bit with pride. "Once you're good and refreshed from that, you'll go on a little ways past the store to a fork in the road. Hook left and follow the signs, that'll get you back on to the main road to Canterlot. The right'll bring you right back here to me."
"Thank you," the pony says; she sounds sincere, but her attention is still on the wagon. The stallion shifts his hooves, but she doesn't order him on, instead asking, "Those apples– they are for sale?"
"Sure are, ma'am," Applejack confirms, and she can feel her smile reaching for her ears. She might make a sale here after all. "Got a real good price on 'em today, too, one bit for one or ten bits for bushel."
"That does sound like a steal," the pony agrees, and the door of the carriage swings open, revealing her in all her glory.
Folks around Applejack's neck of Ponyville don't tend to dress at all, never mind dress up. Applejack herself doesn't much see the appeal– though, admittedly, she'd only ever gotten the opportunity when visiting her aunt and uncle, and that was a bale of bad memories– but she can still appreciate the pony's finery. It's elegant and refined in a way that she's realized her aunt and uncle mostly just play at. So out of place that it ought to be absurd, the pony carries herself as such that she manages to look like a well-placed decoration.
The thought crosses Applejack's mind that she wouldn't mind the pony decorating her own house, but she quickly stomps it down.
"Oh, uh, careful there," she's quick to put in when the pony starts to descend the steps of the carriage. "This ain't a paved road, after all– don't wanna make a mess of your hoity-toity gown."
The pony jerks a look at her, eyes wide, and repeats, "What was that?"
"Er…" Applejack hadn't meant to insult the pony, the word had simply slipped out. "Sorry, I–"
"You thought this gown was a Hoity Toity?" the pony speaks over her, eyes shining. "Oh, I'm simply beside myself that someone would mistake one of my designs for one of his– his work has been such an influence on mine!"
"Oh, uh–"
"What collection did you have in mind? This one didn't take any cue from anything in par– oh."
Embarrassment itches under Applejack's skin as the pony takes a long look at her, visibly deflating. Even her hair seems to droop with the rest of her as disappointment overshadows her initial burst of excitement.
"Hoity-toity," the pony says, words falling flat between them. "Not Hoity Toity– the fashion guru."
"Sorry," Applejack says again. Worse than possibly having insulted this pony, Applejack thinks, is having brought her to a peak of happiness with an offhand comment only so realization could push her off the edge. "I didn't mean nothing by it."
"No, no, I understand," the pony says, not quite managing to mask her gaze sinking to the ground as a considering look at the dirt road. "I let my own head get away with what I heard– as I said, his work has been a big influence on me."
Not knowing what to say, Applejack shoots a desperate look at the stallion, who only shrugs. She wishes she could reassure the pony, but she doesn't know from fashion and can't very well say whether the dress measures up to whoever this fashion guru Hoity Toity is. She's just about to open her mouth to apologize again when the whole of what the pony has said catches up to her, setting a spark of astonishment in her chest.
"Just a second there– you mean to say that you made this dress? Designed it and everything?"
"Oh, yes, it's just something I threw together, really," the pony says, and her disappointment dims just a bit. "A bit of a rush job, I admit, since I only secured a ticket to the gala last week."
"No way– you mean to say you tossed this outfit together last minute?" Applejack says, not trying to hide how impressed she is. "I may not know much about fashion, ma'am, and I sure can't say anything about this Hoity Toity fella of yours, but I can tell you that I am rightly amazed. That's some right impressive work."
Her words seem to have a rejuvenating effect on the pony, whose head is now held high, smile shining in her eyes, as she turns subtly to show off the dress to its best effect.
"Why, thank you," she says, and somehow sounds sincere even as she preens. "Rush job or not, I am proud of how it turned out."
"As well you ought to be," Applejack insists. She catches the pony's eyes right on and her breath stalls in her chest. She starts herself up again with a cough, heat prickling beneath her coat, and hurries to move the conversation along. "So, uh, you were interested in my apples?"
The pony doesn't step out after all, instead selecting her apples from the safety of her carriage and using her horn's magic to secure them inside. They chat a bit as she does, mostly about the quality of the Apple family's apples, though the pony sneaks in a comment about making Applejack a dress sometime, since she likes hers so much. Applejack thanks her but laughs, assuring her that she has no need of anything so fancy. The stranger pays, leaving a handsome tip on top of her total, and shuts herself back inside. She and Applejack spend perhaps longer than necessary just smiling at each other before she clears her throat primly and directs the stallion, who's beginning to look restless, onward.
Applejack calls a goodbye and good luck after them as they go. The moment they're over the swell of the hill and out of sight, she snatches her hat off her head and throws it to the ground, quick to follow after it with a groan. All that twitterpated gazing and she never even thought to get the stranger's name, never mind her contact information.
So much for that, she thinks to herself. Rolling onto her back to rub an itch between her shoulder blades out on the ground, she laughs at herself. Honestly, just what did she suppose she saw in a high-class pony like that, a pony closer to her snobbish aunt and uncle's stock than her own? The stranger had been out of their league even, and less of a sneering pain in the flanks for it too. Even if Applejack had asked, would the pony have answered? Likely not– or, if she had, she'd probably have thought Applejack was interested in her offered services as a designer and seamstress. Not that Applejack can imagine being able to afford such clothes even if she did have any need or want for them.
Sighing, Applejack gets her legs back under her and tucks herself into the shade again. She'd thought the stranger only pretty at first, but her excitement and pride in her work had shone a light on her, showing off a rare beauty. Maybe that was it, Applejack thinks. It's only natural she'd feel an attraction to someone so hardworking, who took such pried and pleasure in their work, even if it was work outside her own scope. Which does nothing, she reminds herself, to change the fact that she'll probably never seen that pony again. Well, maybe someday on the news, if she ever makes a name for herself in the fashion industry as seems to be her aim. Applejack imagines herself buying up all those fashion magazines she never looks at twice, searching out the pony's face and work and name, and laughs at herself again.
Ten minutes acquaintance and she's so deep that her hooves are sunk into the bottom.
More customers come, keeping her mind occupied only as long as it takes them to make their purchases and go on their way. Between them, and even between their words, are visions of that pony and of what might have been.
Settling down for another rest after saying her goodbyes to her latest customer, she snorts another laugh at herself, more derisive this time. It's been nearly an hour already, and still she can't steal her attention back from the beautiful stranger. Said beautiful stranger will be getting on to the main road by now, going on her way to some fancy party to rub flanks with some fancy ponies. She'll have forgotten Applejack by the end of the night if she hasn't forgotten her already, and here's Applejack so preoccupied thinking about her that she could swear she hears the clip-clop of her escort's hooves and the smooth wheels of her carriage.
Actually, Applejack does hear hooves and wheels. Blinking out of her daze, she gives herself a shake and stretches, then looks around the side of the wagon. She does a double-take, blinks rapidly, and looks again. The carriage is still coming towards her, drawn by a handsome, meticulously groomed stallion with a wry grin on his face. He turns the smile on her, nods as he passes and draws to a halt as the carriage comes level with her wagon. The curtain of the window is drawn back and a familiar smile shines out at her.
For a moment, Applejack is speechless. Then, she manages, "You, uh– You took the wrong turn there."
The door of the carriage swings open and the pony descends the steps, no longer dressed but looking no less regal for it. She stops right in front of Applejack and looks only a little shy when she responds, "That rather depends on who you ask."