Blade

       “Jeez, kid.” Pinkamena said dully. “It’s just toast.”

Scootaloo looked just slightly guilty.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mrs. Pie.” She apologized.

Though it was hard to make out what she said as her mouth was very full when she said it. Scootaloo swallowed loudly (but did so with a smile so bright she almost looked jubilant) and wiped her mouth with her napkin before opening her mouth again.

“It’s just that I’m so used to oatmeal and water for breakfast. This is just so, so good!”

Pinkamena looked at her black and burnt toast. It appeared to her that it was passable as safe to eat, but she couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of it actually tasting as good as the child made it sound.

Scootaloo finished her meal rather quickly. Pinkamena had hardly touched hers by the time the filly had wolfed it all down. With nothing in particular to say after that, Scootaloo took her plate and started toward the sink with the intention to start washing it. But she did something stupid again. Scootaloo proved worthless yet again when she tripped and fell to the ground, letting the plate hit the floor and break her glass, making the shattered bits go everywhere.

Pinkamena whirled around to see the mess and the child sprawled on her floor. Scootaloo had tried to scramble back to standing on fours, but she ended up slipping on a jagged piece of glass and cut her hoof. When she realized that Pinkamena was already looking, she gave up and lay on the ground, pressing the fresh cut as hard as she could and bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry.

Pinkamena grunted, frustrated and made her way over to the worthless wreck of a filly. As Pinkamena bent over to start picking up the glass, she noticed Scootaloo cowering.

“What are you doing, kid?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pie! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s just a glass. Relax.”

Pinkamena went past Scootaloo and picked up several shards of glass. Scootaloo looked up and stared at Pinkamena like she was some marvelous exhibit. Pinkamena looked over her shoulder and glared at Scootaloo strangely.

“What? What is it, kid!?”

“Y-…you’re not gonna hit me?”

“What? Why the heck would I hit you?”

“Mrs. Powell always hit me when I did something stupid. I’m really stupid sometimes, and I thought you were angry at me…”

Pinkamena opened her mouth but stopped herself before the first phoneme exited her lips. She looked at her guest and suddenly noticed how Scootaloo looked exactly like her. And suddenly, little Pinkamena was in the room, covering her face on the floor next to some mess she didn’t mean to make, waiting to be struck by her-

Rotten, blood-gutted, shit-eating, putrid, alcoholic, sadistic, cocksucking

-father. And she would have been given something she didn’t deserve, ever.

Little Pinkamena hadn’t had anyone that loved her in a long time and those who had loved her were dead, decomposing in the worm-infested underground. So Pinkamena realized she had an opportunity; little Pinkamena never had anybody, but why couldn’t she now?

Pinkamena took Scootaloo by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

“Listen to me. Right now. I would never ever hurt anypony that didn’t deserve it.”

Scootaloo looked back and saw that she was dead serious.

“D-do I deserve anything?” She asked nervously.

“You could never do anything to deserve me. I promise.”

Scootaloo relaxed her shoulders and smiled. Pinkamena let her go and resumed picking up the broken glass. After she had thrown it all away, she headed toward the basement door.

“Where are you going, Ms. Pie?” Scootaloo called, curious.

Pinkamena turned around and said nothing. Something about her eyes made Scootaloo lose her courage and turn back to the den. Despite having woken up only an hour ago, she curled up in her blankets and closed her eyes. Within minutes, she had dozed off.

Hay diddle doo da, hay doddle de. Tra-la-la-la-la-la sang the voice.

Pinkamena tried to ignore it. She was focusing.

Howdy, howdy, dah duh, sassa-frassa woop de doo!

“Shut up.” She said firmly.

Pinkamena had recently stolen a bottle of sulfuric acid from the construction offices the previous night. The reason for this was that the bodies had started to deteriorate and the smell was escaping the basement now. Not only that but she needed more space, as it was getting crowded.

Crowd of the sinning dead, ha!

“Shut up!” Pinkamena barked.

The bottle shook just hard enough to make a drop hit the concrete and started to sizzle. Pinkamena took a deep breath and calmed herself. She began to pour the acid into the container again. The acid guzzled out of the bottle’s mouth and splashed into the bucket where the rotting corpse of Flam was stuck. As the acid trickled down his remains, so did his flesh. The compound smoked as it ate through the cadaver’s flesh and muscle. Pinkamena had actually bought the rubber gloves and gas mask. There was no point in stealing those two particular items, as Pinkamena was pretty sure that purchasing everyday kitchen appliances wasn't suspicious.

Pinkamena watched in a dull daze of interest as the remains of the putrid soul that once was simply melted away into a goop at the bottom of the container. The bottle was nearly dry by then, and she decided it would be best to save the remainder. And she would have done that, had the voice not screamed at her from out of the blue. An ear splitting scream, maybe one of a young female being butchered, blasted in her ears, taking her by surprise so efficiently, that she threw the bottle up in the air. Gravity eventually got to it, and it struck the floor and broke, leaking the corrosive fluid all over the floor and on Pinkamena’s hooves.

“Ahhhh!!!!” was all she could expel when the acid touched her. “Goddamnit!” She screamed, jumping out of the way and behind the metal table.

Pinkamena hoisted her leg up to the table and examined the burns. She was bleeding and a scar had already developed.

“God damnit!! Goddamnit, I’m burned!! Ahhhhrggh!!!”

The words didn’t alleviate the pain, so she threw everything she could off of the table and smashed any glass within her reach. Within seconds, she had turned the basement into a wreck.

Pinkamena seethed and gritted her teeth, wildly tossing her head around to avoid more screaming when she heard the door slowly creak open.

She heard the quietest voice whisper into the enormous space.

“Ms. Pie? Are you okay down here?”

The door swung further open as whoever had whispered made straining noises, making it obvious how difficult it was for them to move the large metal door at all.

“Ms. Pie? Are you alright?”

“Scootaloo?” Pinkamena called, shocked.

“I uh… heard you screaming, and I saw that your closet was open. So I just thought that maybe I could see if you were okay.”

Pinkamena noticed something. The pain had stopped. It was still there, but she didn’t care anymore. Maybe it had something to do with the kid and what she said. Whatever it was, Pinkamena wasn’t angry, as if by magic.

She waited. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She moved away from the table and saw the mess she made. Pinkamena felt stupid. She needed to clean it.

Pinkamena used her adult voice. Over time, she had come to know that it worked very well in certain situations.

“Go back upstairs, kid.”

Scootaloo stuttered. “Oh-uh…yes, mam, I-I mean Ms. Pie.”

Scootaloo then clumsily ran back through the corridor and back into the house.

Pinkamena heard the filly’s little hoofsteps along the floor. They were light and cautious, but they tried too hard and ended up sounding goofy and cute.

Pinkamena didn’t mean to, but this sound made her grin.