Little Talks

by BronyDerp117

Rating: teen
Tags: Scootaloo, Slice of Life, Sad, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 4022

After a near-death experience, Scootaloo has a little talk with an old and isolated stallion who just might open her eyes.

Featured on Equestria Daily!
After a near-death experience, Scootaloo has a little talk with an old and isolated stallion who just might open her eyes.

Published 2013-06-21 14:30:03 UTC
Last updated 2013-06-21 14:30:03 UTC

Little Talks

Little Talks
Written by BronyDerp117
Preread by Zonfic and SilverDream

"How d'ya like your eggs, kid?" I asked her with my thick country accent. I was standin' behind the old and rotted wooden counter that separated the kitchen and living room in the worn down little shack I liked to call home. The kid was jus' sittin' at the kitchen table, watchin' every move I made like she was some dog watchin' her master grab a bag'a treats or somethin'. I didn't mind it. I kinda liked it, really. Reminded me of my little Hummingbird.

"Is scrambled okay?"

"Scrambled it is." I gave her a wrinkly smile—well, if she could even see it past my big ol' beard. My wife woulda killed me if she saw I let my beard grow out this much. Anyway, I turned back around and grabbed a rusty pan out of the dull and ancient wooden cupboard above me. It squeaked as I opened an' closed it. I let out a grunt as I picked up the cast iron pan with my mouth and set it down on top of the stove. My ol' neck and my ol' back made all kinds of poppin' sounds like I was a popcorn heap in a kettle. Or microwave. Whatever they use nowadays. I turned on the stove and cooked some eggs. Jus' about the only thing I know how to cook. I ain't complainin' though; it's food, it tastes good, and it makes me feel good. Jus' about all I can ask for at my age. I put a little under half of the scrambled eggs on my plate and the remainin' amount on the plate I got for the kid. First time in—what?—thirty years I got out more than one plate. I picked up the plates with my faded magic and walked over to the kid at the table. It looked like everything else in this little house: wooden, boring, old, and dark. Jus' the way I like it. I set down her plate with a little grunt 'fore I sat down at my chair opposite of the kid. My ol' withered joints screamed at me as I sat down in that chair. It was like a symphony of poppin'.

The kid thanked me an' started eatin'. Boy, could that kid eat! She musta been pretty darn hungry. Either that, or she was just a teenager that looked younger than she was. The sight actually got me to smile more than my normal thin upward line. I picked up a fork in my magic an' took a bite of my eggs and chewed it up slowly; I didn't have the jaw I used to have. I swallowed and looked up at the kid; she was already done and there I was, one bite in while she was already finished.

"You musta been mighty hungry, kid," I said to her as I took another bite.

"Um, yeah. But I feel better now."

"Good. That's good." She gave me a kinda funny look. Maybe it was my accent, or my beard, or my old wrinkly face, maybe even how slow I talked.

"So..." she said, trailin' off.

"So, you got a death wish or somethin', kid?"

She stood at the edge of the cliff. She didn't move a muscle. She just stared down the cliff face, not daring to step forward or step at all. She just stared. From the look in her eyes, I could tell she was thinking. I ain't never seen a filly think that hard before and since that moment. After a while, though, her face changed. It was like she got her solution. She took a step forward, but the rock was weak and crumbled under her...

"N-No!" she quickly rejected. She broke eye contact with me, lookin' to the right at the small room that was the entirety of my ol' shack. Ain't much of a sight; creaky, simple floorboards, an old ripped up green couch, some old windows, old walls, old roof, old ceiling, old this, old that, with some more old stuff. It was pretty dark in here, too, since I didn't own no lamps. The daylight was the light I got, an' it was overcast on this day. Gray light came filterin' through the nooks and cracks in the ceiling an' through the aged and rusted windows with dark spots on 'em. It's jus' your typical ol' wood cabin. Shack. Whatever.

"Only ponies with death wishes jump off cliffs, kid."

"I-I didn't jump!" she said real quick-like, her voice crackin' at the end. She had a pink blush on her already orange cheeks. Her eyes shifted over everythin' except mine. "I-I fell."

"A pony who's got the truth don't need no stutterin'. A pony tellin' a lie does, 'cause they got somethin' they don't like to cover up." I jus' sat in my chair and looked at her, giving her the same little smile I always had on my face. I never broke eye contact. Jus' what I was taught when I was young. Look me in the eye when ya'll talks to me, you little— And then my auntie would cut off my uncle right there.

"Well, I just—" She stopped and gave a little sigh of defeat. Slumped her little shoulders, too. I still jus' smiled at her. "So, um..."

"So, why'd ya feel the need to go an' jump off a cliff, kid?"

She fell through the air, the wind blowing back her mane and tail. In her eyes was a deep fear like no other; the fear that one has when one realizes they are about to have an untimely death; the 'I just made a huge mistake' factor. An ear-shattering, high-pitched scream came out of the filly, a scream so loud it didn't seem possible for somepony so small to be so loud. Of course I heard her; shoot, I could see her plummeting...

"I didn't mean—Er, I didn't want—" She gave another little sigh.

"Hmm?" I gave her the same smile. I think it was makin' her feel uncomfortable.

The kid shifted in her chair a bit. "Um, I just, er, um..."

"How about we start at me askin' 'why?'" I said.

"Why what?" she asked. She tilted her head a little. She jus' keeps remindin' me of my little Hummingbird.

"Why ya jumped? Maybe why ya wanted to end yourself. I know you kids seem to have a phobia of the word 'die' or somethin'."

"I don't wanna die!" she exclaimed. Even seemed honest. She had a none-too-happy frown, too. I could see past it, though. Twas her eyes. They were a dead giveaway. Ain't nopony got eyes like them without somethin' weighin' heavy on them. So dull, so bleak. Filly her age oughta have bright an' clear an' happy eyes.

"Hmph. Ya sure? You jumped—slipped, whatever—and you're a pegasus, little filly. I didn't see ya sprout out your wings an' take flight."

"Well, that's because, er, um... Well, why should I have to tell you? I don't know you. How can I trust you?" she asked in a harsh sort of tone.

I made my ol' smile grow a bit. "You can't. But I don't know you either, kid. Yet I caught ya, stopped you from killin' yourself—don't gimme that look—brought ya here instead of makin' ya wander out in the cold forest, and I fed ya. I don't know you. How can I trust you?"

Suddenly, the falling filly stopped. I entrapped her in a field of my withered magic. Took a lotta strength to catch a filly fallin' so fast. Kinda hurt, too. She kept screamin' even after I caught her. I drifted her over right in front of my face, smilin' at her with the same smile I always had. She realized she had stopped fallin', and she opened her eyes real slow-like.

"Howdy."

"Wh-Who are you?"

"Jus' some old stallion takin' a mornin' stroll."

"Well—! Um... I guess you can't." She hung her head low. Made me feel a little bad for the poor thing.

"Called common courtesy, kid. It's somethin' this world really lacks. Shame, too." I shook my head, still with my ol' bearded smile, of course.

"Yeah. I agree with you there."

"So ya do got some sense. Good. That's good. So, if you ain't got no death wishes, why'd ya go to that cliff?" I asked. I could tell she was keen on strayin' from that question for as long as she could. The little hope in her eyes had a little and unfortunate death, an' her shoulders slumped again. Made me feel bad. She shifted for a few seconds, opened and closed her little mouth a few times 'fore she finally spoke with her little voice.

"I was really desperate to fly," she admitted with a pink blush. She rubbed the back of her neck with her orange hooves. Kid's tomcolt-like purple mane was much too short to get in the way.

"Filly your age don't know how to fly?"

"Nope. I don't really have anypony to teach me. Well, I kinda do, but it's still really hard for me to. I thought... I thought that if I just jumped off a cliff my body would just, like, go into a panic and make me fly."

I chuckled. So naive. Reminded me of my little Hummingbird. "Nopony to teach you, hmm? No mamma or poppa?"

"My dad is in the Royal Guard in Canterlot and my mom died giving birth to me." I could feel the regret in her voice. Poor kid. Sounded sad. Guilty. I know the feelin'.

"Who d'ya live with, kid?"

"My uncle."

"Ah. Good ol' Uncle, eh?"

"Um, sure? He's nice when he notices I'm home."

I chuckled. I know this poor little filly. How she feels. How she hurts. I can't even remember what hurt feels like anymore. I've grown immune to it. After a life like mine, and when you get this old, you learn to jus' not care. I looked the filly in the eyes and jus' continued my little smile.

"So why was you so determined to go flyin'?"

She traced her little orange hooves along the creases in the wooden boards of the ol' table we were still sittin' at. She kept swishin' her tail back-and-forth, real uncomfortable-like.

"I thought it could be my cutie mark. See, my friends and I have a club devoted to discovering our cutie marks; it's like a mission! I just... I thought this would finally be it. I rode my scooter all the way out here because I thought I could finally get my cutie mark." She stopped and hung her head real low with her chin actually touchin' down at the edge, looking down at the table. "I was really wrong. And... maybe I didn't really care if it worked or not."

"So ya do got a death wish, kid?" I asked.

"No!" she protested real quick, nervously runnin' her hooves through the creases in the old table. She jus' looked at her small hooves move, her eyes a little dimmer; her eyes a little sadder. Like some kinda fire of hope in her eyes got stomped out. But it's better than a wildfire, I'd say. "I mean—I dunno. I love my friends, my uncle's okay, I'm not bullied too bad. It's just..."

I jus' smiled at her. She looked up at me. My smile was peakin' through my ol' beard, my eyes soft and heartfelt behind the wrinkles around 'em. I knew how that filly felt. And I knew that all she needed was to get it off her chest. If she stopped bein' so stubborn like my Hummingbird, she'd feel better. But I jus' smiled and gave her a little nod to go on. "I'm jus' an old stallion who ain't got much left, kid. Ya'll can feel free to tell me anythin' ya want."

Kid gave me a slight nod. Some silence passed between us. She looked down at her orange hooves as they ran along the creases of the rotted wood of the table. The filly got the same look of thinkin' that she got at that cliff face. She furrowed her brow, blinkin' a little oddly an' takin' forced breaths. After some time, she finally got her words out of her head.

"I dunno. I have good friends, but we've been arguing a lot lately. My uncle's nice, but he doesn't really pay much attention to me. I get bullied in school, but so do my friends and we deal with it together. I just... I wanna live, I do! But..." Kid trailed off again. Little filly was tryin' to put her words together right. I understood. I jus' waited for her to piece it together. "Sometimes I just don't care, I guess. My friends and I had a really bad argument this morning, and my uncle didn't even say 'hi' to me today. I guess I just had a bad day."

"You wanna know what I think, kid?"

"Sure."

"I think ya care too much. Don't get me wrong, it's important to care, but ya can't let life get ya down so much. Friends are gonna argue; it's jus' a part of strengthenin' and seein' who your actual friends are. An' I don't know your uncle, but he could jus' be waitin' for you to talk. He might think you're gettin' into some kinda 'I don't need no guardian' phase."

"I guess I never thought of it like that before..."

"Maybe ya should start." I widened my smile and chuckled. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh at ya. Ya just remind me of somepony."

That perked her up right quick. You can only talk to a filly about serious stuff for so long before they run outta things to say.

"Really? Who?"

"My little Hummingbird."

"Your little what?" she asked with a frown as she tilted her head to the side in confusion. Looked adorable. I couldn't help but make my ol' smile bigger.

"My daughter." I looked past the kid to the shelf behind her on the dull wall where a few dusty ol' black and white pictures were. It was a picture of my little Hummingbird, my sister, and myself. It was real strange lookin' at myself an' not seein' a thick Santa Claus-like beard.

"You have a daughter?" she asked. She began lookin' around the room like she was expectin' a small filly to come boltin' through the room.

"Used to. Used to have a wife, too," I said. I pointed to the picture behind the kid. She twisted her little back around to look at the picture. She sorta cooed at it. Then the kid turned back to me.

"What happened to them?" she asked, looking at me again.

"That mare there in the picture ain't my wife. She's my sister. My sister passed a few years back. My wife died givin' birth to my little Hummingbird," I said real stale-like. I don't feel too much hurt from that no more. When you get to my age, you sorta just grow stale to it. Immune. The filly sure wasn't, though. Her little eyes bulged and widened. I could almost pop them with a pin.

"Oh... I'm so sorry." Been a long time since I've received pity. Sympathy. It's why I moved out here in the middle of the forest: ain't nopony here to give me sympathy.

"That was around thirty years ago, kid. I've grown immune to the wounds."

"Oh..."

I chuckled. "You know who you remind me of?"

"You said your daughter."

"Yeah, and my daughter reminded me of myself." I still smiled at her.

"Really?" Her eyes showed honest curiosity. Don't see much of that these days whenever I visit town.

"Yup. Growin' up, I wasn't no rich pony. I didn't get no education, no money, no nothin'. My dad was an ex-soldier alcoholic and my mom died giving birth to my younger sister."

"Oh. Well, I don't think we're that much alike then. My life isn't really that hard. Just... a little hurtful, I guess."

"My life wasn't hard, kid. I grew up happy. My dad was the funny type'a drunk. He'd always have us—me, my sister, my aunt and uncle—laughin' our tails off. We preferred him drunk over sober. Old coot was boring sober. Though it did shorten his life by a lot. And I remember, when I was young and without a cutie mark, my head was always up in the clouds. I was always rushin' around, doing all kinds of reckless and stupid stuff."

"Hey, it's not stupid!"

"Let me ask you something, kid. When was the last time you just sat back and relaxed? Observed ponies as they walked by? Listened? Learned? When was the last time you stopped, breathed, and jus' went to the park in Ponyville and jus' sat there and watched?" I asked. She looked at me like I was some loony pony in a mental hospital at first. But then she stopped and seemed to actually put in some thought. It was a nice sight. She went back to them dim eyes and furrowed brow again.

"Well, never."

"And you wonder why you don't have your cutie mark. I was jus' like you. Then my pop died, and I was forced to stop. Jus' stop. Think. Breathe. Cry a little, too. It was when my pop died I realized jus' who I was. I spent all my time runnin' around, wastin' time when I coulda been home, hangin' with my pop." She looked down as I talked. I think I hit pretty darn close to home with the look she had. I could feel and smell the regret in the air like it was some type of perfume.

"So, what was your special talent?"

"Scooterin'."

"Wh-What?!" I ain't never seen a more surprised filly than her at that moment.

"I was amazin' on my little scooter. I could pull off tricks other scooter riders couldn't even dream of. It was amazin'. I even went on to be a pro." Ah, the golden days. Me an' my daughter, travelin' around, enjoyin' life. Such a perfect little dream.

"I-I have a scooter, too! Ponies say I'm real good on it. Hey, if you were a pro, why haven't I heard of you?"

"Look at me, kid," I began, still with my little smile, "I'm old. Withered. When I was young, scooterin' was brand new. Unpopular. But it still paid, and a lot too. You know, if a lotta ponies tell ya somethin', it might be true. But it depends."

"On what?" she asked me. She was leanin' forward now. Made me chuckle, how much attention she was givin' me.

"You trust the word of those ponies? Depend on them to be honest?"

"Most of them, yes."

"Then when you leave, go to the park. Sit. Breathe. Relax. You might jus' walk away with a fresh cutie mark."

"You think so?!" Her face lit up like a Hearth's Warming tree.

"If ya stop and think for a sec'. I'm warnin' ya though, scooterin' your whole life will get ya to have old joints that creak like mine." I smiled at her with the same smile.

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" She zipped over to me like a fly and gave me one tight hug. I let out an "Oof!" from the force of that kid's little arms.

I chuckled and patted her back. "Easy there, you're gonna pop me." She giggled and went back to her old, dull and noisy chair. Some silence slipped between us. I jus' smiled. She smiled back. Was real peaceful-like. I actually felt good. Rare for me. Was nice to have somepony to talk to again.

"Um, Mister? You never told me what happened to your daughter."

For the first time in, oh, twenty years, my heart skipped a beat. I was still immune to the hurt, stale to it, but it did catch me off-guard. I took a deep breath and let out an elderly sigh, the kind a pony's grandpa makes when asked about an old story that's boring to them but as excitin' as a concert to everypony else. "My little Hummingbird, that's what I called her. She was a little orange pegasus like her mother. She'd flap her little wings so fast it was like a hummingbird. And when she was still in my wife's womb, whenever my wife hummed, she'd kick. So we named her Hummingbird. Good ol' little Hummingbird was jus' like me; jus' like you, too. But..." I trailed off, sighing. But I still smiled. "She died when she was a teenager." The kid's face took on a degree of shock. "Her and her friends were horsin' around on a cliff edge. They fell to their deaths. They couldn't open their wings fast enough."

The kid just stared at me. Her mouth opened. Purple little eyes widened. Shoulders drooped. Made me feel bad. Kinda sad. Strange, since I was immune to hurt for so long.

"So that's why you caught me," she said like she was uncovering some great revelation.

"Partly, yup. I saw a little orange filly fallin'. Reminded me of my little Hummingbird."

"I'm... I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault, kid. Jus' the way the world works." I looked at the clock, an'... an' actually felt something. I actually felt sadness. Was so strange. So foreign. It was like some vaccine I had constructed myself failed. Died. It was starting to get late, which meant the kid would have to leave. "I'm afraid it's getting late, kid. I'm sure your uncle is worried."

She looked at the clock an' the same sorta sadness came over her. Well, not the exact same, of course.

"Aw, I have to go. It was really nice talking to you, Mister..." She trailed off.

"You can jus' call me Mister Claus." My coat is a sorta faded crimson, and I got a thick white beard. I figured she'd think it was funny.

Kid giggled, got up, and trotted to the door, stoppin' at it to turn an' look at me. "Okay, Mister Claus."

"I never got your name, kid."

"Scootaloo."

"Well, Scootaloo, I hope to see you again someday." I smiled the same smile at her.

She nodded and opened the door. But before she walked completely out, she stopped and looked at me again. "Oh! Mister Clause?"

"Yes, Scootaloo?"

"During this whole time, you never stopped smiling. Even when you talked about your wife and daughter. Why?"

"When you get to my age, and you can't wake up without smilin', ya shouldn't be wakin' up." She absorbed what I said into her little head, her mouth hangin' open a bit with her eyes showin' some understandin'.

"Thank you, Mister Claus. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Scootaloo. I enjoyed our little talk." She smiled at me and nodded.

Click. The door shut.

I smiled.

Ten years later

Somehow, I'm still kickin'. The kid visited me the next day with a fresh and pretty new cutie mark. Blue scooter, jus' like her actual one. Kid followed my advice. She came by every day and still does now. Even though she's now one'a the most famous scooter riders in Equestria, she still finds time to visit this ol' coot. And she credits me for it. Just last week in the paper, I read that she said I opened her eyes, got her her cutie mark, made her see the world different. Actually made me blush. Made me feel somethin'. Ain't nopony done that to me in a long time. I thought I was jus' immune to everythin' now. Everythin' was jus' dull like my shack. But that little filly was jus' like my little Hummingbird. She jus' got to me, I guess. Jus' the way we'd talk. She made an old stallion enjoy his twilight years.

And even after all these years, even if it's jus' for half an hour...

I enjoy our little talks.