SteelEagle

Who is in front of me? I know I am waiting on just one person

Understood! What characters would you want to involve

in the long haul?

Gimme your suggestions!

Okay, Doc is back and on a roll, the RP is alive and kickin'. Any takers on the offer of Canterlot?

Within moments of his exclamation and realization that the soup was not for him that day, Valen got the attention for his battle-wounds that he deserved. The dentist, Sunrise Wisp, quickly took control of the situation and didn't seem to waste much time in diagnosing him with a chipped tooth. lucky that these folks weren't like the ponies back in Manehattan; that diagnosis would have taken five trips and at least a hundred bits to get.

She asked Applejack about what had happened, and as the farm pony responded, that sympathy fire that was once stoked for her burned slightly again. She was just being herself, being a simple little farm pony doing farm pony things on a farm far removed from proper behavior. He finally realized why so much of the day had been so difficult; She had thought he was having fun the whole time. It struck him cold how unaware she was of the dozens, if not hundreds, of tiny little wounds he would carry from muscles that were likely at the point of breaking down to the many pecking sores. Plus, his mouth still tasted like trough. But she welled up and he felt bad for her, though it was matched by how angry he was at his treatment. The two canceled each other out and he settled on focusing on his pain, rubbing his cheek as he did so.

When Gerty spoke in an effort to calm Applejack down, his first thought was to take offense at him being called fragile. He wasn't fragile! He was cultured. A large difference existed. Then he heard about her own accidents and felt a twinge of pity for her as well, since hitting your head so often that you have adapted to it is as horrifying a thought as it is a wonderful development to have. It may have worked on Applejack, however, and Valen decided to shelve momentarily his own pain and anger to soothe the heart of the kind-hearted, if excessively physical and borderline crazy, mare.

"Itth okay Applethack Thunrith will-" He began, bravely marching towards forgiveness before Granny Smith silenced him with what was effectively a muzzle, the white cotton ball being securely locked in place by the tight, circulatory system crushing force of the white bandanna. She may have been elderly, but she still held some terrifying measure of strength as far as Valen was concerned. He tried in annoyance to force the thing off, desperately pawing at it to no avail. After a few moments, he settled on all fours near Sunrise, a deadpan look on his face. Now he looked like a pet.

Hey thar Spike Rainbow Dash!

Have ya been picking up the bits I've had Valen very purposely drop?

His struggles against the possibility of a grape-y death continued for what seemed like hours but were probably just minutes, his wild flailing and great exertion both making wonderful grape juice and making each of his hooves feel like they weighed a ton. Almost out of energy, Valen looked at the grapes around him and the juice that was slowly being poured out and knew that the only option available to him, the only available recourse, was also a relatively delicious.

He would eat and drink his way out. It may ruin his figure and mane forever, but by Celestia, he was going to survive. And it would be delicious, he told himself. Delicious and he would live. A great, great combination for action. With a great big gasp and with eyes closed, he raised his head up as he jumped up, ready to dive head first into the grape sea around him.

"Geronimo!"

He heard Applejack cry out as she jumped in, eyes opening briefly as he was up long enough to see a flash of her smile before she cannon balled into the grapes next to him. Whether she felt it or not, her weight came down on his tail and he was briefly overwhelmed by a sharp, sudden, blinding pain. He froze at the apex of his jump and instead of diving down and taking a bite out of his grape tormentors, slid back under them like they were a vengeful sea. He clutched his tail and let out a moan, a poor move as grapes and grape juice flowed through every opening. In a panic- a common theme- he shot back up, flailed, and tried to regain himself. He did so long enough to turn towards Applejack with the intent of telling her she needed to try and not kill the little foal.

He had turned to her in the middle of a panther like pounce, the farm pony momentarily looking like a scary carnivore. The next few seconds were all together too confusing, the foal struggling meekly and with no effect against the hyper-strong farm pony, wrestling with him and eventually putting him in a headlock. Valen had no idea what was going on, wondering whether he was supposed to say something(which was mighty difficult given the fact his head was unceremeniously dunked under the grape juice in the middle of the headlock) or if she was trying to make him cry. Before his oxygen-deprived, stress rattled brain could develop any coherent line of thought, he found himself tossed into the air and coming back down onto Applejack, who was on her back and promptly tossed him high into the air as if her legs were spring loaded.

He flew in the air for a few seconds, then his fevered descent began. He frantically kicked his legs out in any direction, hoping that luck would favor him and he would suddenly become a pegasus. Cold reality hit him as he impacted once again on the bottom of the grape barrel. He wished it had been soft, but the rapidly decreasing number of grapes made for it to be more of a dive. His face smacked against the bottom hard, his mouth open, and he could feel a sharp pain inside his mouth. It throbbed as he stood himself up slowly, the grapes and juice lowered to such a place where he could sit on his haunches and his head would poke out. And indeed, that was the best he could do, his head swaying from side to side as Applejack stood across from him. She looked to have a playful, mean look on her face and gave a growl. Her face softened a moment later with recognition.

"Aww, Sugarcube, are you OK? I didn't mean to hurt you!"

He couldn't really hear what she said, but the look on her face and what he could piece together was enough. He nodded his head slowly as she did the work of strapping him to her back and then leaping out. His thoughts were many, but jumbled. This was just the farm pony way of life, apparently. They did not see this as unusual, and he was here to learn from them...something. And they meant no harm, and his cousin was no liar. He knew these things. He would try really, really hard to continue to remember them. But patience has a limit and he had almost reached his, but what response would he have? His mind held no answer.

"Looks like lunch is about ready. You want to take a break from all the work and grab a bite, Valen?"

He nodded again, still not really speaking, though the mention of food drew a somewhat dreamy look from him. His mouth really, really hurt, and as a matter of fact, so did the rest of his body. She washed him off again, his mind not taking any offense this time, and Applejack started trotting away. He slowly and weakly drew himself on all fours and started following, his back legs shaking and wobbling along the way.

"Com'on Valen, and bring that jar of juice we jus made. We can use it!"

This time, he had recovered enough to hear her well. He dutifully grabbed the jar and put it on his back, giving a small yelp as he drew closer and closer. The sound of the triangle sent spears of pain through his brain, and he knew he had not made good time as he entered the house and found everyone else sitting. He put the jar down and gave everpony the same sort of 'hello' wave a drunk stallion may, taking his seat and looking at Granny Smith pouring what smelled like delicious, heartwarming, life-affirming, Celestia-blessed, world-rebuilding soup. He wasted little time taking a spoon, getting a spoonful...

"THis sthmels tho good! I- OWWW!" Valen said, putting his spoon back down as the hot, hot soup coursed through his mouth and found his chipped tooth. He covered his mouth with his hooves and winced.

He looked over at Sunrise, who he had heard earlier was a dentist, and then back down at the soup.

No, NO, NOOOO, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I CAN'T EAT THIS SOUP NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

His eyes welled up sadly and his tiny little foal heart broke.

I want to apologize for my inactivity today. I've never worked this long in my life(I've had a few twelve hours and a fourteen hour, never sixteen before) and am in no condition to post. I will reply to my threads tomorrow after my normal shift at work.

The water continued to assault the foal more earnestly than any foe had before this day, and he strained his form to fight it off for longer than he thought he would have to. By the time he was done, he felt like he had just survived a waterfall. He was sure the waterfall wouldn't have tasted this bad, pieces of hay and trough mix in his mouth and forced down his throat.

He was wobbling when the head of the hose smacked him multiple times across the face like an outrages filly, each slap being absorbed by a punch-drunk foal. It died off, leaving the foal nearly concussed and once again in the depths of confusion as AJ started drying him.

It would have been another time when he may have previously been outraged- he always had a thing for privacy, which these farm folk seemed to have no sense of- and her country towels had nothing on the sweet feeling of a nicely stitched personal towel he had in Upper Crust. Her shaking did little to help him regain his mind. It also made him feel like he was a teeny tiny foal that needed all this help and Applejack was his mother. The embarrassment...it was like he was being broken down to be remade. Was this how boot camp worked? He doubted they washed and dried you, but the effect may be the same.

She then tossed him on her back and started racing towards Celestia knew where. He held on tight, almost out of a panicked, confused fear at first. When he realized what was happening, and he started to feel the great warmth and almost comforting, radiant charisma she had, a bit of him started to relax and have fun. His own started racing and a small smile formed, though the Upper Crustian in him remarked it was probably due to some form of brain damage.

Just as he started to feel like his heart would have a chance to move from his throat, he was launched from the relative safety of Applejack's back high into the air. He flipped end over end, hooves flailing as he let out everything he had in him vocally by this stage- a concerned, resigned moan.

He crashed into the giant barrel of grapes so fast that he smacked against the bottom, sending a giant splash of grape juice splashing out of the barrel. He was shot back up due to the impact, covered in purple juice momentarily in the air before he came back down on top of the grape pile. There he lay near motionless for a few seconds, nearly knocked out by the impact. He slowly regained his mind as he sunk into the grapes, coming back when he was at the bottom. Struggling, he pushed himself up- and found he was still under the grapes. They were piled taller than he was, and this meant one thing to him: He could suffocate in there. In a panic, he would leap up and pierce the surface, all four limbs flailing violently as his garbled voice pleaded for help. Of course, all this flailing was both messy...and highly effective at making grape juice.

So for some reason the words 'shipping by popular opinion' popped into my head out of nowhere. Half an hour later, I have a scheme that may or may not fall flat on its face entirely. We'll see, we'll see.

ANYHOW, here's the idea! Basically, it'd be a matchmaking service of sorts, as run by a small handful of ponies whose duties are mostly keeping track of applicants, helping to arrange blind dates between compatable ponies, and figuring out who is right for who! These characters would be kept to a small handful, and will probably be invite-only to avoid a beareaucratic mess.

Applicants, however, can be anybody! It's open to any mane-RP character to apply, once I get the thread up and running. How that'll work can be in one of a few ways : either a quick RP wherein the applying character visits the actual offices, which will probably just be an open thread (unless there are too many people, in which case several threads), a letter written by the character to the matchmaking service, just as a sort of drop-in thing, or people can just PM the players directly and ask to have their characters in the roster of matchables!

From there, matches would be decided upon in-character, possibly through a log you guys can read if such things interest you, and from there either one of the matchmakers could start a blind date thread, or simply infom the players/characters of a match found and leave players to come up with their own thread.

I'm not actually going to start the IC threads up just yet, but I'd like an idea of who'd be in with which characters on this madcap experiment!

Idea: People can RP meeting with the service if they want, but no matter what, they need to PM their 'biography'. Likes/Dislikes/Physical Characteristics/Whatever else/One Paragraph biography.

The second part can be where the applicant tells you what they are seeking.

You match them up and then PM the 'couple' with the other's information.

No names are used.

Pathfinder would like this.

Valen didn't even see Applejack as she hoisted him from his warm, if constricting, home in the hay. He hadn't had time to hear her great failures at comphrending the seriousness of his fight against the Hens of Ponyville and their sadistic leader Savannahock, nor would he have been able to mutter anything intelligible in response with the hay so heavily plastered on his face.

"Ok, Valen, I can see you're having lots of fun, so I've decided to let you so something I wasn't planning on letting you do just yet. Since you're having such a great attitude and all, you get to help me make a batch of grape juice. But first, we need to clean up."

He hit the ground with a thud, working his way back up in order to retain a shred of dignity. He had been so roughly handled that if she hadn't been family and if her voice didn't ring with what he believed were his honest thoughts, he would have contacted the authorities to report some form of torture. Was this how farm ponies lived?

"Stay right there."

He stood there, working the hay off of his face slowly in an effort to actually see what was going on around him. The gag inducing trough odor still hung around his head like a sinister ghost, and his mane, coat, and tail were roughly patched in brown and black and nothing like they should be. He felt battered, bruised, and quite literally pecked to oblivion. He was finally coming to grips with his situation and got a clear look-

- "Now hold still, youngin'."

A moment later, a burst of water slammed directly into his face. The force was powerful enough to send his head pushing back, but there were some benefits. He could feel the ice-cold water blasting away the hay, the mud, and the dirt, slowly but surely working him into a pony with a less offensive physical form. It came at a price, however. The force was almost strong enough to push him down to the ground and as the water was jetted into different parts, his body moved unwillingly.

A blast to the face sent his cheeks wide as water forced its way into his mouth until his cheeks were over capacity. Not that it helped, as bits of hay, mud, and trough-material made its way into his stomach, which stopped any thought of his to protest. His eyes were peeled back as if by high winds, strands of his mane went missing, and his balance was lost as it hit his legs and he went tumbling to the ground, only to get back up and nearly be brought back down again.

Valen started to believe this was what farm ponies did for fun.

He also started to believe they were insane.

"...Sunrise Wisp....Dentist."

It sounded like a dream, someone who wasn't a farm pony. He noted the name so he could talk to someone who wasn't going to try and kill him later.

Applejack's orders were received in a haze of fury and disbelief by the foal. His victory was short-lived and the sheer insanity of the entire situation started to formulate inside of him an inner rage that started to boil over as a teapot left on the kettle.

The farm mare trotted off to attend to whatever it was that farm ponies attended to after they successfully crushed the souls of foals, but he would have none of it. He placed the basket of eggs down and stared off at her departing form.

"Hey now, that's not ri- GAAHHH!" he screeched as Savannahock once again attacked him, this time launching herself at his flank and pecking at him viciously. He jumped due to shock and then haphazardly turned around to face his tormentor.

He never got the chance to do what he so desired to do to the hen, as the rest of the hens in a wave of pecking fury rolled over him. He soon found himself on the bottom of a crazy pecking hen-pile, every inch of him not covered by his flailing hooves being pecked at relentlessly. Ina burst of crazed survivalist energy, he finally leapt off and galloped away from the small herd of crazed hens.

He ran from cover to cover, resting for a second just as the hens would show up. From one part to the other in the farm, he tried to avoid the herd. And, after a few minutes of frantic, terrified galloping, he was afforded peace.

Is this what farm ponies did in their day to day lives? How did any of them survive?! Pig stampedes and crazy hens trying to peck your hooves out, not condusive to a successful life in Valen's mind. That foul, miserable odor from the trough stung deep through him as he gasped for air, every inch of his body full of pecking sores and his body feeling soft, tenderized from the stampede. He had been working a grand total of, what, ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and he already felt like he was worn down. His eyes darted to the road- He could make a break for it! Run to the train, hop on, live on it for a while. he could become a traveling folk artist, spinning yarns about the dangers of pig stampedes and taking chickens for hens. He could earn enough money to get back to Manehattan and from there, never leave the Upper Crust district again. It would be beautiful!

He sighed, looking back at the farm. He might have been a foal, but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't good at spinning yarns, he'd never make enough money to make it to Manehattan. That meant he was stuck here and if he was stuck here, he had to do as he was told. he didn't have to like it; he just had to do it. Valen stood up meekly, looking past the hay that he was hiding behind and at the coop. No chickens to be seen. This was his chance.

Valen tippy-toed back to the coop, taking his time as he would dive behind any cover that presented itself. He reached the coop and took the basket in hand, peaking inside- no hens here, either. Good. He walked slowly inside and, one by one, put the eggs back in place. He turned to leave-

"Bakaw." Savannahock squawked lowly, in front of the other hens who now lined themselves up at the entrance to the coop. She looked like she was processing what she had just seen.

"H-h-hey there, Madame Savannahock, your eggs are a-all back now, ta-da!" He said with what enthusiasm and pizazz was left to him.

The hens advanced.

"Oh no, please, I didn't want to, I DON'T EVEN LIKE EGGS- ARRGH!" Valen could be heard, if rather weakly, from outside the coop. For a few moments, nothing but the sounds of a good old fashioned kerfuffle could be heard. At the end of it, Valen was sent shooting out from the coop like a missile. He hit some stacked hay with enough force to actually pass into a section of it. For a few moments in time, he was content in this rather warm, safe location, until he remembered that breathing was a wonderful thing. Struggling with all the strength he could muster, his head finally burst forth from the bale of hay.

And that was all he could do. His body seem twisted and stuck and his face, sticky as it was, now featured hay stuck to it like glue.

"Great." He mouthed, trying and failing to blow away the hay on his face.

Valen ended his concerned trot next to the unicorn foal, who seemed to have made it through the crash with te vat majority of her physical form intact. A good sign to start things off. It would have been much worse if her body had been torn up or if her horn was found implanted in a nearby carnival attraction.

"Are you okay, Miss...?" He asked, extending his hoof out to help her out, seeing as it was the polite thing to do. There would be time to belittle that foolish Cynogriff later, though the extended claw improved Valen's opinion of him somewhat.

Only now did he notice that the bits were slowly leaping out of his saddlebag. It was just money and besides, he was sure ponies were, even now, helping to pick it up.

Excellent application

Valen gave a nearly voiceless eep as Applejack roughly pulled him by his tail and dropped him on his hooves. Never had he been so roughlt handled, as if he were an item rather than well-to-do foal. If it had been anypony else, and if he had been in a more solid mindset not rattled and shaken by the stampede of pigs, he would have fired a few verbal salvos of disgust and angst at her. But as he wobbled behind her, he found his toungue being bitten. Part of it was fear, since these country folk seemed like the type to react negatively to such comments. Another part of it was respect, as he was a guest and it would be rather unkind of him to say anything uncouth. Lastly, his face covered in the muck of the trough knocked him out mentally for more than a few seconds.

Applejack started her next round of chore-related fun time propaganda, Valen more than a little unnerved by her excitement. Were all the farmers in Equestria as excited by pigs and chickens as these folk were? Valen certainly hoped not, if not for the sake of the farmers, for the animals. His lack of enthusiasm showed.

"Oh, now come on, Valen, this one's gonna be fun, I promise! Just get inside and grab as many eggs underneath the chickens you can and put them in this here basket."

That didn't seem fun, but he didn't have time to protest as she tossed the basket at him, his reaction too slowed to catch it. It slammed against his face and temporarily disoriented him even more.

"Apple Bloom loves doing this chore. I hope she doesn't get mad cuz I'm lettin' you do it."

Apple Bloom was that...little filly, if the letters were true. And if she liked it, then it couldn't be that bad! Valen's smile grew.

"Okay, Applejack. I will do this quick and easy, you'll see!" He said as he grew close to the hens. He couldn't smell anything anymore, so he could only assume that the coop smelled like scrambled eggs. He was always a positive foal.

"Quick and easy!" He said, approaching one of the smallest hens. There was a nice oval egg under creature, and she looked at him with her head cocked. No doubt, she was wondering who this egg-fetcher was.

"Hey there, Missus Hen! I'm just here to take your egg." He said with a wide smile, reaching right under the hen and grabbing-

-OWW!

The hen had none of it. Perhaps it was because he was rather impudent in just reaching under her and snatching the egg, or maybe it was because he was a stranger and she was expecting Apple Bloom. It didn't really matter, because a moment after he reached under the hen, the hen had made a beeline for Valen's face and now launched a vicious sortie against him, that tiny little beak moving far too fast for him to respond to besides fall back and try to cover his face.

"Hey- wh- hen! Chicken-hen-Ahhh! No! No! Get off of me!" Valen said, finally clambering on all fours and running around the coop, that crazy hen following him and pecking his hooves wherever they presented themselves like some demented specter of annoyance. He didn't even have time to process what, if anything, AJ was doing or saying as he flew around the coop like a pegasus. Finally, the hen ran into a pillar and fell unconscious for a second. He sat down and took a deep breath in relief before he looked up around him.

All that for one egg?

He sighed, picked the basket up, and went about gathering the rest. It was a blur, each hen apparently deciding to use him as target practice for a few seconds of their lives after he stole their eggs. As he gathered the last one and hoof-over-wobbly hoof wandered over to AJ, he decided that he was the chosen warrior of all ponykind against the dreaded chicken menace. Or he was just a walking sore.

Well, so we're all in agreement that Boss can post, and I know I'm ready to move this thing forward.

Maybe you could involve her in your boutique thread since that acts as a sort of 'all things boutique' place?

Stories of stampedes were one of many things even cityfoals like Valen had been read. There was something rustically heroic about a single pony stopping a stampede of buffalo or bulls or whatever else stampeded towards innocents. However, none of those stories included getting ran over by pigs, and was therefore not nearly as heroic a deed.

Not that he was heroic at all as he turned around and saw the incoming wave of pink, pudgy beasts as they rumbled towards the trough in all their energetic frenzy. He opened his mouth to finally let out a sound, but was ran over by the swarm of pigs, who seemed to carry him towards the trough with the sheer inertia of their charger. It smelled awful, and Valen was being dragged along in the dirt. Any concerns he had once had about his hoof touching those dastardly apples were dashed when he realized he looked like he had just crawled through mud. His mane felt sticky and rough, no longer pilfered and perfectly attuned. That matched rather effectively the rest of him being trampled over by pigs was a decidely unpleasant experience.

He tried to stand up, but found himself pinned against the trough facing the apples he had just placed inside. Behind him, the pigs were jostling for position, their snouts leading their impudent faces as they searched for a way in. One pig tried to leap over Valen, instead landing on him. This forced the poor pony's head into the trough.

There was more than just apples inside. Unsatisfactory crops, bad corn and carrots, old, rotten cider, the whole shebang of rotten farm produce. Valen's head was dunked for what seemed like hours, though he guessed no more than ten seconds, in this awful, pungent mixture. The taste, the smell- his senses overloaded and he almost felt a searing numbness about his head. The pig on his back fell off, and Valen pushed off and managed to climb atop the pig behind him.

Face drenched in the vile juices of the trough and body both battered from the stampede and dirty to the tenth degree, he stumbled over the backs of the pigs in a comical fashion until he was over them and fell to the earth. His eyes floated inside his skull for a few seconds.

"Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiid anybody get the name of that carriage driver...?" He asked in a woozy fashion, stretched out on the floor of the barn facing the front.

I'd be fine with moving on. When he returns we can use the silent participant rule so he doesn't get left out.

Firebolt has been AWOL from a few RPs.

He allowed Rarity to take all the measurements she needed, somewhat used to it due to his time in boutiques such as this one in Manehattan. The biggest difference is he felt no feeling as if the designer was being rushed or looked at as just another customer. He never held it against them- after all, he was just another customer to them- but rarity had a much more personable approach. Her kind words and uplifting attitude certainly made the time fly by, and her confidence was infectious. After she was done with the measurements, he stepped off the pedestal and walked towards the door of the shop.

"I am sure that it will be fantastic, Miss Rarity. If you need longer or you need to order more fabric, I would be more than happy to pay for the materials. Thank you for your time, Miss Rarity." He said with a customary bow and left the shop, trotting about town gaily when he spotted a ball being tossed somewhere and instinctively chased it.

Valen trotted behind Applejack, her eagerness infectious even if he believed partially the reason he followed so swiftly was to try and get out from under the spell of seeing Sweet Apple Acres in her vastness. He would later wish he had been less excitable in following her.

The smell of the barn hit him like a bag of bricks directly into his face, leaving him bleary eyed and dazed as he tried his best to follow the farm pony further inside. It was the smell of earth, all right, but not the sort of earth that one would actively seek out unless one had a penchant for seeking out foul odors and what he assumed was the aura of sadness.

He heard Applejack speak, but could process no response to her words until he heard the barn door close. He turned around as quickly as his dazed head woozily turned around to mutter a complaint. However, the opening of his mouth allowed the foulness to have a taste, and he quickly shut it. He made the decision to hold his breath as he turned around to the barrel of bad apples as if he was facing his executioner.

He was barely tall enough to reach in and grab the apples, each one seemingly less digestible and agreeable than the last, their squishy exterior and odd smelling juice launching a one-two attack on his senses as he very slowly started to transfer the apples to the trough. It was evil, evil work- what animal could possibly eat these? He knew no reason why ponies even kept pigs, what good did they serve beyond being pets for some ponyfolk? He made a note to never let one touch him as the transfer continued slowly until he heard Granny Smith's kind, generous, life-saving offer.

he turned to the front of the barn to shout out his agreement with the whole, "Get food in the foal's belly" plan, but still had his mouth shut to prevent what he assumed were noxious gasses from entering. He settled on a few muffled affirmations to her offer and, in desperation, jumped up and down a few times and waved his hooves in the air like he really cared, nudging the barn door open- or trying to- with his non-icky front hoof.

Then she is hopeless. If she is *that* against the idea of even watching it, then she'll have her factually incorrect opinion for as long as she chooses to hold onto it, regardless of any effort of yours.