Sons and Lovers

Shining Armor ended up getting nearly everything he wanted, not the least of these being Cadance. The two had known of each for a couple years by the time they started courting—with Cadance often using her job as a foalsitter for little Twilight as a front—and it did not take long for them to realize that they were truly in love. By the age of twenty-one, Shining was married, and by twenty-three he had a daughter to call his own; she was incredibly rambunctious, but Shining didn't mind that so long as he made sure to get an afternoon nap every once in a while. All of this seemed to happen at a fast pace, but it was a good life nonetheless.

But today was not going to be part of that so-called good life, for Shining had to pay a visit to his physician. Flurry Heart, his daughter, had been taken cared of by Twilight—now herself in the position of foalsitter—for the day, so that Shining and Cadance could go about their business with more relaxed motions; they would need the attempt at relaxation, since hospitals started giving Shining a tensity that bordered on a phobia since the latter days of his teen years.

Dr. Bloodmoney, a husky stallion whose physique balanced out the fact that his otherwise sandy-brown mane was starting to grey, gave the much younger Shining a queer look. "Are you sure you haven't been overexerting yourself, my boy?"

"Well, uhh, not more than what's expected of me, I'd hope," said Shining. He frowned and eyed his wife for a moment.

Shining, for his part, sat on the hospital bed with obedience (you could tell he was a military guy), his firmly muscled body rivaling that of Bloodmoney's. Cadance sat close by, huddled in the corner, her slim figure a stark contrast to the stallions before her.

With sympathy for his patient, Bloodmoney looked at the results on his sheet once more before saying, "I mean to ask, my dear boy, because while you say you're twenty-three years old—your birthday was in May, was it not?"

"Y-Yeah." Shining rubbed the upper section of his right front leg; he had been given an injection there.

"Right. So from what I've gathered, you're in good physical shape—for the most part. Your blood pressure is decent, not too high for a stallion of such a trying position as yours, and you're not suffering from failing eyesight or hearing." Bloodmoney then added, "Oh, and you needn't worry about suffering from a hernia."

Cadance smiled in a way that was too sweet to be genuine. "I would sure hope my poor Shining doesn't have one of those. It would ruin some parties we hope to attend soon." She winked at her husband, and his cheeks reddened.

Shining turned to Bloodmoney and said, "But then what am I not doing so well on, Doc?"

The doctor readjusted his glasses with a hoof, for he was an earth pony, and replied with:

"You're supposed to be twenty-three, and a stallion of your age is supposed to be in the prime of his life with regards to physicality. But, my dear boy... your heart. It doesn't exhibit the youth of the rest of you, I'm afraid. The heart may be a sturdy organ, but ages like the rest of the body, and yours seems to have aged faster than the rest of you."

Silence. Shining's mouth hung open an inch; he looked at Cadance; then he looked at Bloodmoney. Although he did give the good ol' college try, he couldn't find words that fit his reaction.

"Are you saying he has... heart disease, Dr. Bloodmoney?" asked Cadance, who decided that among the three she should be the first to say something, anything other than air leaving one's lungs. "At his age?"

Bloodmoney was quick to reply with, "No, not heart disease. It's something else; it is hard to describe, as I don't think I have seen anything like this in a stallion of Shining's age. His heart seems to be—well—older than it should be. Why, I would say Shining here has the heart of a stallion nearly twice his age! And that isn't very good, is it?"

Shining continued to sit there, mouth agape. It didn't make any sense to him; last time he got a checkup, his heart appeared to be in good shape—except the doctor still told him he should not be working himself so hard. It couldn't have been just the workload, could it? Something else had to be factoring into his rapidly aging heart since his previous visit six months ago. But why now?

Twilight Velvet decided to pretty herself up for a birthday get-together (it wasn’t much of a party), as a good friend of hers—Starsign Blaze—was turning forty-nine. It didn’t take long for Velvet to make herself look more presentable than usual, since she was already the envy of those whose looks have been hijacked by the bandit of time.

The get-together was a bore, naturally, because ponies of Velvet’s age were slowing down; they had to rely on colts and fillies of the younger generation to keep the blood flowing, so to speak. Starsign’s son, Gladwell, and his buddies were at this poor excuse for a party as well—though they clearly did not want to be there.

Still, Velvet felt that she served as the beacon of youth that mares her age (who also looked it) could turn to and ask question in a passive-aggressive way.

Starsign was a year older than Velvet, but that didn’t stop her from asking, “So Velvet, you crazy girl, how’s it feel to be forty-eight?” She turned her head to her friends, who were not Velvet’s, and added in a quiet but clearly condescending tone, “She’s always got the funniest answers for these things. She’s like a mystic now, if y’ask me.”

“It doesn’t feel like anything,” said Velvet, smirking. “You should try being forty-eight, Starsign. You must have skipped that year by chance.” She coolly strutted past Starsign and the others, and left for the balcony of the birthday mare’s house. It was a nice place; Velvet didn’t want it. The mares continued gossiping.

Truth be told, Velvet didn’t care that her faux-friends often talked ill of her behind her back; she knew what she had, and she knew she looked as if she had never aged past college while these crusty specimens continued to slowly deteriorate. Rather, somepony must have turned back the clock on Velvet’s body. She was a real beauty, nopony could deny that, but she had also developed in recent years a kind of death glare that gave the impression of a predatory animal in the jungle.

Velvet rested her front hooves on the balcony railing and peered out over the hills and far away. It was nighttime, and the moon was near-full. She sensed somepony coming up beside her; it was Gladwell, who had evidently abandoned his chums for the time being.

Velvet realized, upon inspecting this strapping young thing, that he must be—assuming he had such experience in the first place—a dynamo in the sack.

So Velvet said, “Hello, Gladwell.” Only the corner of her fiery eye faced the colt.

“Hello there," Gladwell said, leaning against the railing. "Nice evening innit, Mrs. Velvet?” He sniffed, for the air was dreadully cold.

“It is,” said Velvet. A few seconds later, “Forgive me, but how old are you?”

“Oh, just turned nineteen. Just a month ago, actually. My mum had me pretty late, I know.”

Velvet saw that the boy smiled sheepishly at himself. She found it cute. This was not the first time she had interacted with Gladwell, but as of late she noticed that he was growing into his well-toned form quite gracefully. He was arguably the pinnacle of youthful masculinity.

Mmm...

Velvet’s lips parted. “I think she had you at the right time, handsome.”