In Which Our Heroine Is Engaged In Intellectual Repartee By An Individual Whom Has Partial Control Of Her Fate
"Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you to stay behind after class." Cheerilee rolled her eyes. "Or at least what you have to do to convince me to let you go."
"Actually, I'm wondering if I'm going to get to Sugarcube Corner in time for their friday free drink hour," Scootaloo replied, leaning back in her chair. "But now that you mention it, why did you ask me to stay after class?"
"Well, as your teacher, I am required to make sure that your education and application of education is progressing acceptably. And, unfortunate as it is, grades really only measure retention and problem-solving skills." Cheerilee shrugged. "Which means I need to know how you're doing outside of school."
"What, you want a report?"
"Actually, I want to talk to your parents."
Scootaloo's eyes widened. "You... don't. You really really don't."
"Maybe I don't," Cheerilee conceded. "But I have to. Part of the job, like I said. And if they're... if they're hurting you," she added, her tone sympathetic, "you need to tell somepony anyway, so we can help you get somewhere safe."
"Nah, it's not like that." Scootaloo's eyes darted left and right. "It's... they're... super busy. Super duper busy."
"My schedule is very flexible," Cheerilee replied. "I could talk to them on weekends."
"Yeah, uh, they're gone for... weeks at a time."
"That could be considered negligence."
"Oh they're not negligent! They leave me with a butler!"
Cheerilee rose her eyebrow. "A butler."
"Yep! His name's... Chalkboard."
"Well, I could talk to him about--"
"He's mute," Scootaloo interjected.
"...mute."
"Uh-huh, total not-talk. It's a thing."
The teacher leaned back in her chair. "Well, I do know hoof-language--"
"Yeah, actually, he has this pegasus wing sign language thing going on, you know?" Scootaloo laughed in embarrassment. "It's kinda a sort of cultural thing--"
"It would be quite easy for me to provide a notepad and pencil for him to write his answers in."
"Funny thing, actually, he's allergic to paper."
Cheerilee frowned. "What."
"Yeah, it's weird!" Scootaloo spread her hooves wide. "I remember this one time, I was just a little filly and I'd done one of those stick figure family things fillies do, and I showed it to him and he SWELLED UP. Yep, totally freaked me out. I thought he'd become a zombie!"
She smiled, a little too broadly, as Cheerilee examined her.
"So. You have a butler, who is mute and allergic to paper, that communicates solely through wing-language, that takes care of you for weeks at a time while your parents are away."
"Yep!"
"...Scootaloo, you know I wasn't always a teacher, right?"
"Well, yeah. You used to go to those crazy dances where ponies looked weird."
"I... was a disco fiend, yes," Cheerilee ground out. "More relevant to the situation, me and my friends would... occasionally play games of poker--"
"It was every saturday, wasn't it?"
"...No."
"Come on," Scootaloo wheedled. "Whenever a grown-up says they did something 'occasionally' what they really mean is 'this is a thing I did regularly that I don't want you doing.'"
"...it was Thursdays," Cheerilee admitted reluctantly.
"Okay, so you spent your thursdays playing poker. What does this have to do with my mute paper-allergic butler?"
"In order to get good at poker, you have to learn how to read other ponies. How to tell when they're confident, when they're nervous. When they're telling the truth, and when they're lying." Cheerilee idly brushed something off her chest. "And while I don't encourage the idea of gambling, I did get very good at poker."
Scootaloo winced. "Really?"
"Mmmhmm."
The filly stretched her wings out. "So. Let's say, for whatever reason, I wasn't able to arrange a meeting between you and my parents--"
"Or your butler."
"--or my butler. What, exactly, would happen?"
"Well, as your teacher, I would legally be compelled to contact the authorities and inform them that I suspect a student of mine is, in fact, without legal guardianship. From there, if their investigation does pull up a lack of guardians, you would be moved to a temporary location while you were filed with a nearby orphanage or foster care system--"
"Back up. Orphanage?"
"Well, yes." Cheerilee smiled reassuringly. "They're not nearly as bad as they're made out to be in stories."
Scootaloo snorted. "I know that. It's never the orphanage that matters. It's the orphan."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Cheerilee rubbed her chin. "What do you mean by that?"
The filly rolled her eyes. "Look, to be an orphan, you've got to go through three steps. First: You have to have a parent. Maybe two. Second: they have to be removed from the equation. Maybe they die. Maybe they abandon you. Maybe you run away because they're horrible. Whatever the reason, you don't have those parents anymore."
"And step three?"
Scootaloo leaned forward, her expression completely serious. "Miss Cheerilee, is Apple Bloom an orphan?"
Cheerilee opened her mouth... and paused. True, Apple Bloom's parents had died in a freak windmill accident, but... "I... don't actually think so, no. She's being raised by her family."
"That's the difference. Step three, you have to have nobody willing or able to take you in. You have to acknowledge that for at least one moment in your life, you were too much of a burden for any single pony. That you were, in essence, not worth the effort."
The schoolteacher frowned. "Scootaloo, that's not--"
"See, that's why all the uplifting stories exist," Scootaloo interrupted. "They're all there to remind ponies who feel worthless that there is always some worth. Hope and all that. But nopony ever wants to be called an orphan, you know? It's a shot to the self confidence." She shrugged. "Problem is, if you go to an orphanage, you get called an orphan. Simple as that."
For a moment or two, Cheerilee let her stare at the floor, examining her carefully.
"...Friday Free Drink hour?"
"What?"
"You said you didn't want to miss Friday Free Drink Hour."
Scootaloo looked up and nodded. "Yeah, Sugarcube Corner's got great milkshakes."
"Ever go to Hayburger's?" Cheerilee asked absently.
"Oh, yeah. Saturdays their fries are half off!"
"And tuesdays at the local chapel..." she prompted.
"There's a--wait." Scootaloo narrowed her eyes. "Why are you asking this?"
"Oh, just trying to figure out how your schedule works. Yours and Chalkboard's, I mean."
"Chalk--? Oh, yeah! My butler. Yeah, he takes me... places."
"Do any of these places," Cheerilee suggested casually, "have insulation against the weather?"
"...weeeeeell, I mean... Berry Punch always leaves her cellar open, and Chalkboard might be a little fond of the wine."
"Your butler steals wine from my sister?"
"Wait, Berry's your--? I mean NO. No, of course not! He, uh, just... sniffs."
"It must be so hard for him," Cheerilee offered sympathetically. "Given that all the wine labels are made with paper."
Scootaloo chuckled awkwardly. "I keep telling him to stop, but addiction is a powerful thing, you know?"
"Oh, yes, I'm sure."
They sat there, silently.
"So," Cheerilee said. "Let's say, in theory, there was a way for somebody who had no family to be adopted, without anyone ever knowing."
Scootaloo's ears perked.
"Nopony would ever have to know they were ever abandoned," the mare continued. "As far as the rest of the world was concerned, they just moved in with their new guardian one day because of budget reasons."
"Weeeee-eeeeell," Scootaloo mused, "that would be a very tempting offer for the filly in question. Obviously she'd want to know more."
"Quite reasonable. The offer would come with the usual conditions--the legal guardian sets the rules and disciplines the filly, but provides a home with food and shelter." Cheerilee shrugged. "I don't know if she'd be called 'mom' or anything, I think that would have to be negotiated."
"Sounds a little convenient," Scootaloo commented. "How does she propose to keep this arrangement secret?"
"Well, it would take some paperwork shuffling, and perhaps a few connections on the part of the mare. But... it could probably be done in a month or two, and the filly can just pretend to be visiting while things are finalized."
"Well. I guess the filly would be quite happy to take up the mare on this offer, so long as it remained entirely secret."
"Oh, of course. On an entirely separate note," Cheerilee asked, "I was wondering if you'd like to come over to my place at some point. There's some scooter-things lying about that I was thinking of giving away, and I would like an educated opinion on them."
"Hmm. I guess I could do that. I might even make it a long term sleepover," Scootaloo offered.
"Really now?"
"I know mom and dad are thinking of laying off Chalkboard. The paper allergy is just... getting to be too much."
"Well, so long as you obey my rules, you're welcome to stay at my place as long as you like." Cheerilee glanced at the clock. "Now, if you don't run along now, you'll miss Friday Free Drink hour."
"Oh! Yeah, wouldn't want to miss that!" Scootaloo got out of her chair and rushed for the door, pausing as she pushed it open. "I'll.... be over at eight?"
"That sounds good to me. You remember where I live, right?"
"Oh, yeah. After the love poison thing--"
Cheerilee narrowed her eyes.
"...Heh..." Scootaloo grimaced. "FREE DRINK HOUR GOTTA GO LATER MISS CHEERILEE!"
The schoolteacher watched her rush out the door. She looked down at her desk, slumping into her chair with a sigh. "And I thought I'd be able to get this done in ten minutes..."
