applejack dropped the crate of apples onto the table with a heavy thud, the sound sharp enough to make rarity flinch. “for the last time,” she said, voice edged with frustration, “you can’t just stroll in here and start rearrangin’ my stand like it’s one of your fancy shop windows.” she shoved her hat back, arms crossing over her chest, boots planted firm in the dirt.

“folks come here for the apples,” she went on, leaning forward just a bit. “good, fresh, straight from the farm. they ain’t expectin’ some glitter-covered fruit pyramid.”

rarity opened her mouth to protest, something about “presentation” and “appeal,” but applejack cut her off. “this is my family’s livelihood. we keep it simple, we keep it honest, and we keep it free of rhinestones.”

her jaw stayed set, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward, like she was almost looking forward to rarity firing back.