“Finish your greens Sweetie.”

The stallion’s voice was especially cold at the dinner table these days, Sweetie Belle noted. She paused her game of air hockey with the lone green pea she had isolated from the herd to look up at her parents. Her mother, of course, had chosen to busy herself with the crossword puzzle from last week’s Ponyville Advocate, the black ring from her coffee mug staining through to the headline story “NIGHTMARE NIGHT ON THE SQUARE!”

“Sorry Dad,” She answered in hushed voice, the silence of the dining room only broken by her words and the dull hum of the yellow, moribund bulb overhead. Her father, not acknowledging whether or not he had heard his daughter’s words let his own fork clatter down to the plate to fish about in his shirt pocket for his last, bent cigarette.

“Don’t smoke that garbage at the table Magnum,” Cookie said with perfect timing despite her eyes never leaving the faded black letters of her puzzle. Magnum paused before slowly sliding the pack out onto the tabletop and scooting his chair back.

“Last time I checked Cookie,” Her father put emphasis on his wife’s name like that of a clearly unliked stranger, “I paid for this particular table in this particular goddamn house, thank you very much.”

Cookie Crumbles’ eyes shot up from the page at roughly the same time Sweetie felt her stomach lurch. Her mother had always had the habit of letting one of her back legs sway when she was focusing on her puzzles, lest she begin to absentmindedly chewing on the eraser in her mouth. This leg had ceased it’s movements as if the body was tensing up, determining whether or not to engage the larger stallion. After a moment-turned-eternity, the pencil clattered down in much the same way the fork had.

“Sweetie Belle take your plate to the sink.” The newspaper was folded hastily and tossed forward as the mare stood. No further words or glances followed as Cookie scooped up her dish, the long cold chunk of lasagna sliding precariously close to the edge on its short journey to the garbage disposal. With a quick glance at her father, Sweetie pushed back her chair and took the dish into her mouth. The glance wasn’t returned.

*****

As odd as it was for a young filly to treasure the twilight hours, Sweetie was well beyond questioning it. Much like every other night, the arguments would begin shortly after dinner and end sometime just before she fell asleep. Her father would shout something about her mother’s looks, and in turn her mother would shout something in a voice simultaneously hoarse and shrill. As much as Sweetie Belle knew her father was in the wrong, it was her mother’s shrieks that she despised the most nowadays.

The Hello Birdy pillow she pulled down over her ears did little to muffle the shouting creeping out from under her locked bedroom door. As a matter of fact, despite her best efforts to the contrary, she could give a rough description of what exactly had been said for the last few months.

Her father didn’t find her mother attractive anymore. Perhaps it was more complex than that though. Maybe Cookie Crumbles assumed her husband wished to speak in the same way she did with the girls at Thursday night Scrabble. It was equally possible that Magnum simply didn’t treasure his position in life anymore, and instead longed for the days where his accomplishments on the school hoofball team were currency enough for a different mare each week. Either way, what was actually said painted the picture rather clearly to any listeners unlucky enough to hear it.

Hearing and seeing were very different monsters though.

****

As beautiful as the season could be, Rarity would always be the first to remind you of the harshness of Spring humidity. The day was winding down and lampposts flickered to life one by one as Sweetie Belle and Rarity trotted back home.

“Honestly Sweetie, I could have arrangements made for a sleepover at my Boutique for you and your friends,” Rarity paused as she reached into the bushes for a discarded tin can, “I mean not that I mind you spending time with Applebloom but—“

Sweetie rolled her eyes, knowing full well what was coming next. It’s not that it isn’t nice…

“—the walk to Sweet Apple Acres isn’t exactly refreshing this time of year.” Rarity shook a slightly bent key from the can and wiggled it into place in the door lock. “I can’t imagine how badly you must sweat in this heat dear.”

“It’s not so bad when the sun goes down,” Sweetie said as she scrubbed the bottom of her hooves upon the welcome mat. “And I always have a bath before we go to bed.”

“I take it you’re the odd one out there…” Rarity mumbled as she stepped into the bright living room of her parents’ home. The baby-blue carpet below smelled of flowery cleaning powder, and the roaring vacuum in the far right of the room now fell silent.

“Be careful in the kitchen girls, the floor is still drying,” Cookie’s horn had lit up a bright lime green as she coaxed the vacuum’s cable to bundle itself back into its plastic dock. Without the vacuum to drown her out now, the voice of Misty Glamour from the “Nightlife of Canterlot!” show was clear to be heard, the thick and nasally Neigh York accent and all.

“Rumor has it Fleur de Lis has been spotted with a certain backup dancer for Sapphire Shores…Think someone should tell Fancy-Pants??”

Sweetie giggled as she caught a glimpse of her sister’s sour expression, knowing full well her envy for the Canterlot elite. A life in the city of the Unicorns was one her older sister had only tasted, and that was afforded by the gallons of blood, sweat, and tears she poured into an independent fashion line.

“Sweetie dear, are you feeling hungry?” Rarity asked with a quiet sigh, sinking down into one of the dinner table chairs. “Mother saved you and father some of the pancakes.”

“Dad’s not home yet?” Sweetie had busied herself balancing one of her mother’s teacups out of its place in the cupboard, her juvenile magic just enough to coerce the delicate ceramic to hold steady.

Rarity sighed deeper this time, leaning forward to snatch a wrapped chocolate ball from a small glass bowl on the table. Perhaps it was to be expected once or twice from a stallion with her father’s background, but rumor placed it at nine. Nine. She was only too sure her father was holed up in the Lucky Horseshoe, nursing a glass of firewater and trying as best a middle-aged stallion with a mid-life crisis can to pick up an easy mare.

“I…guess not?” Sweetie Belle willed the cupboard to close as quietly as possible, choosing not to pursue her father’s whereabouts. She wasn’t old enough to understand what it was her father was running from, but she was old enough to understand her Mom was part of the problem. Rarity herself took after their mother’s fussyness after all, and Sweetie took after….well definitely not their father that was for sure.

Sweetie nudged her chair back and climbed up the side, letting the teacup hover behind while she gained her footing. Upon reaching her seat, she let the teacup down as gently as she could with a small “clak.” Rarity smirked as she fidgeted with the foil wrapping on the chocolate ball, waiting for the filly’s request for assistance.

“Think you could get some juice sis?” Levitating teacups and balls of yarn were simple tricks for the little filly to master, but she was still too nervous to try pouring liquids lest she lose her “grip.” Letting the smirk turn into a full smile, Rarity lit her own horn and plastic bottle of apple juice danced its way from the refrigerator to Sweetie’s teacup. Even though she was usually awestruck to watch her sister’s control with her magic, Sweetie couldn’t help but look past the stream of amber liquid at the unicorn now thoughtfully chewing.

“Dad was home wasn’t he?”

“You know our parents dear, both are too prideful to just talk.”

Of course not. Screaming was more than adequate these days.

As if on cue, the girls’ mother wandered into the kitchen and set her purse down on the stove. With a faint glow of her magic, she floated a bottle of aspirin down into the waiting maw of the leather bag. Rarity watched wordlessly while Sweetie contented herself with draining her cup, the foil of the chocolate now a tiny and shiny ball shooting into the trashcan.

“Be good for your father Sweetie,” Cookie said as she crossed the room, taking a second to smooth down her youngest daughter’s mane. “Will you be staying the night with us baby?”

Rarity returned the smile her mother offered and stretch her back, suddenly feeling the weight of the day catching up into her shoulders.

“I believe I shall if my old room hasn’t been turned into a storage space.”

Cookie rolled her eyes and leaned over to peck Rarity on the cheek, the smell of flowery perfume mixing with her daughter’s lavender. The frustration that had been on Rarity’s mind melted away a bit at the moment of comfort, letting in a moment of hope that things would soon be good again.

“Go ahead and get cleaned up Sweetie, Mommy will be back in the morning~”

*****

There are moments in the night where sleep graces us in all the most perfect ways. For some of us, it’s quite simple: a fan blowing a cool breeze across our fur, a nightlight that isn’t too bright nor too dim, or perhaps even a pleasant white noise in the background like a beloved family member running a shower faucet. For Sweetie, all of these factors were present in the minutes leading up to midnight. She had a pleasant dream she didn’t quite understand nor remember later, save for the vision of eating an apple under a tree. The time was late afternoon in this faraway land under the tree, the horizon a mesmerizing blend of orange and red paints. She could hear the muffled strings of a guitar being strum on a loop, and the rumble of an electronic kick drum drowned out the crunch of the apple in her mouth. As she swallowed she could feel a weight in her stomach beginning to itch, and the music changed to a more fussy piano riff being played. Another bite and the weight grew, and the itch became a slight burn. The music changed once more before all went quiet, the red and orange blotted out immediately by an inky black.

Pushing herself up from the slightly damp pillow, Sweetie noticed that a muffled hiss and the drone of her fan had replaced the strange music from before. She had also noticed that the weight in her stomach had not left either, signifying a trip to the restroom was in order. Lighting her horn did little to steady her little hooves as she leapt down from her bed, the thick veil of sleep still clinging to her fur like an inky cocoon.

As she stumbled down the hallway, she noticed a pleasant humming mixed in with the hiss of the shower faucet. No doubt one of Rarity’s notorious three-hour showers was in progress, so Sweetie marched past the bathroom door in favor of the toilet joined to her parent’s room. And had Sweetie been a bit more awake to notice the significance, she might have noted that the light was on in this particular bedroom.

The sleep-induced obliviousness also masked the smell of alcohol present in this room, as well as the tie haphazardly thrown across the bed. Had she waited another few seconds before closing the bathroom door and sitting down to do her business, she might have noticed the stallion climbing (perhaps even dragging himself up) the stairs. She sighed in relief as the “apple” left her system and gave herself a quick cleaning with the paper roll that had been sat on the window sill. Sweetie stood then, flushed the toilet, and stepped back out into the bedroom en route to the hallway.

As said before, there are moments in the night where sleep graces us in all the perfect ways. For some us, that feeling of a healthy rest cycle unfortunately comes with a haze that only a quick shower or a mug of coffee can clean away. Sweetie, on that particular night, saw something that only added to the drunken mist swirling about her young mind.

A rather familiar stallion stood at the door to the main bathroom, the light from the inside shining upon a yet even more familiar bushy mustache. His head was cocked in such a way to give his dominant eye a clear view into the bathroom, where a familiar voice sang an equally familiar song about a long lost lover. The stallion smiled a familiar smile and brushed a hoof across the mustache, never for a second taking his gaze away from the unicorn bathing under the tap.

What wasn’t familiar to Sweetie however was the object protruding from this stallion’s stomach. She couldn’t see it clearly in the darkness of the hallway, but it swayed and bobbed with his slight movements. As Sweetie stared, and uncomfortable understanding began to ebb up from the back of her mind.

“Remember, it’s never ok to touch another pony’s ‘special places’ without their permission. And it’s never ok for them to touch your special place either!”

` Mrs. Cheerilee’s cheerful voice felt so out of place in the darkness of that hallway, like a bright color in the background of an old black and white photo. A photo of a sick pony frozen forever with a grimace only the terminally ill could muster.

What finally prompted Sweetie to gallop past her father that night was a quick movement and a sound. The object bobbed once, then bounced up to meet Magnum’s stomach in a wet “slap.”
He didn’t notice his youngest daughter charge past him, instead choosing to focus on the young mare massaging lilac scented shampoo under her tail.

Author's Note

It's been a while Fim, a long long while indeed. A lot has happened in the three years I've been gone and for whatever reason I was drawn back here. Upon arrival there was a message from someone called Biker_Dash waiting for me to finish this story---so here I am.

I've been busy with a lot of different things lately, with particular focus on music. As a matter of fact I jumped back on to a Brony tune I had written with a friend years ago and finally finished it. I submitted it to Equestria Daily, and what do ya know? It made it into the Bonus Music show. I'm honestly a bit surprised it made it in considering the second half of the song is about sex haha....ah well. I'll be dividing my time between my music project and this story. Hopefully I get back into the swing of things soon, as I'm fairly sure my writing has suffered since last you guys saw me.

As always, criticisms and flames are welcome! I didn't have time to scan over this chapter before submission as I have work in a few hours---be sure to point out anything that might need work!
"Irony's Sway" by Hop-Skip & The Chewtoys