The Annoying Prince

Apple Pies, Stupid Prince Charming, and Wheelbarrows

  Aww, fiddlesticks.

  I need more apples.

  I heave a sigh of frustration as I calculate the ingredients I need to make 10 apple pies. One for myself, two for the Equestrians, and seven for the Joker.

  Ugh, the Joker.

  I hate making pies for him.

  All he does is roll his unicycle around town, laughing his butt off and slamming people's faces with pie.

  Why is wasting precious food not a crime?

  Oh yes, pardon my sudden outburst there. I'm Jeanette. I'm the best apple farmer in this neighborhood. I grow the freshest, homegrown apples that could ever exist in the world. I hate wasting my precious apples on anything other than eating - unless I'm fighting crime and apples are the only things I have. I'm also known for making the best apple treats. Apple pies, apple ice cream, apple cotton candy...

  Basically, anything related to those big, juicy fruits.

  I groan again when I think about the Joker's antics. Once he tried to fly by jumping out of a window.

  Yeah, that didn't go too well.

  Another time, he tried to tame a wild bull with his red hanky.

  Might be time for him to look for new ones.

  Ones that aren't red, that is.

  As much as I hate making pies for criminal food wasters, he's the customer, and the customers get what they want. I can't do anything about it.

  I grab a basket, ready to pick some fresh apples for my orders. As I open my front door and skip towards my prize tree, I tripped on a huge stone and fell face to the ground...or rather face in the basket.

  Apart from being known to make delicious apple pies, I'm also known for being clumsy.

  I sit up on the grass and attempt to pull my face out of the basket. As I keep turning it around, trying to manoeuvre my head out, the wood keeps slapping and rubbing me in the face, causing me to make all sorts of weird facial expressions.

  I need a bigger basket.

  Finally, I turn the basket to the corect angle, and I carefully ease my head out.

  Oh, finally!

  I can see the grass!

  The birds!

  The sky!

  I am alive!

  I get up to my feet and march towards the apple tree. I grab a yellow ladder that leans on the side of my house, and I prop it up against the tree. I climb the tree and sit on the highest branch.

  From here, you can pretty much see the whole village. Living right across from my cottage is the Equestrian's, which as you can guess by their name, love horses. On the right, there is Priscilla's cottage. Priscilla is the  grumpy old lady with fearfully white hair and a saggy chin. While most old ladies like her tend to chatter and cluck like chickens, she's the rather quiet one. Her voice is deep and frightening enough to send shivers up your spine.

  I turn my head into the distance. There, at the end of the path, is my best friend Stacey's house. Stacey and I have been friends since childhood. Back when our parents had died, a very nice man (whom I'll introduce you to later) took us in and took care of us until we were old enough to live by ourselves. During that time, Stacey and I built a strong friendship. We did basically everything together. We ran around town together, we played Pick Up Sticks together, we laughed and joked together, and we even stuffed small cactuses in the village boys' pants together.