Spring Broke

by kudzuhaiku

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Drama, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Sex
Length: 109866

Copperquick is broke, flat broke, but he's got seven free days.

Ah, Spring Break... glorious Spring Break. A magical time in the lives of university students everywhere. Copperquick, a determined single father, is hoping to have a pleasant vacation. Life, it seems, has other plans. An infant daughter that fears the dark, meeting his potential future in-laws, and an enormous backlog of schoolwork that must be done if he hopes to ever save his grades. Does he have any hope of meeting these challenges head on?

Only one thing might save him from cruel, terrible fate, and that is his daughter's emergency binky. Yes, you read that right. A new hero emerges, one unlike any other, the humble binky.

An entry in the Weedverse.

Buttermilk and Esmeralda.

Published 2017-10-06 17:20:07 UTC
Last updated 2019-02-05 20:21:44 UTC

Chapter 2

The Dales Delta train station wasn’t actually in Dales Delta. It existed outside of town, far outside of town, because one simply did not lay track in the middle of a marshy delta. Oh, one had laid track through a marshy delta, but that track had sank into the silt and the muck. The pony responsible for that debacle was very nearly fired—which is to say that he was almost shot out of a cannon and into the ocean by angry townsfolk, an act specifically warned against by the Party Cannon Mark VII, stating that live equine ammunition was not recommended by the manufacturer.

It was a sign of serendipitous fortune that ponies were inherently good: they left mattress tags alone and obeyed strongly worded warning labels. Most of the time. Here in Dales Delta, not looking both ways before one crossed the street could get one recorded on the public docket as an anarchist, a sad state of affairs indeed, but not quite as bad as being catalogued as a ‘track sinker.’

The air was salty, almost tangy, and Esmeralda was too caught up in sniffing to make anything resembling a fuss. Suspended from her father’s neck in her carrier, she made funny, adorable faces as she breathed in all of the new scents, all of which were altogether different than Canterlot.

“This is the part where I’d normally fly home,” Buttermilk said to Copperquick as she stood beside him, smiling. “We’ll have to find some other way. It’s the kind of walk that’ll stretch your legs, that’s for certain. My parents have their own little silt island. It’s not quite on the ocean, it’s a fair distance inland actually, and this whole place is spread out for about eighty miles or so in all directions. Maybe more by now. Looks like the place has grown since I left.”

Copperquick only heard about half of what she was saying because he was too busy looking at griffons, something he had never seen up close before. There were three of them here at the train station, standing about and waiting. These weren’t as large as he thought they would be, nor were they tawny and lionesque. One was black furred, another was greyish, or sooty, and the third was speckled.

“Griffons…”

“Yes, they live here with us, together but separate.” Buttermilk was filled with calm excitement and she brushed up against Copperquick, then rubbed against him in an almost feline manner. “Skyforge Pact. It goes back hundreds of years. They protect us from anything that might crawl out of the ocean or come oozing up out of the marsh. We let them live as hunter-gatherers on our lands. All of our crops, all of our farming, it attracts things they like to eat, like rats, which are a real problem here. Or would be, if the griffons didn’t keep their numbers thinned out.”

“Huh.” Copperquick looked down at the slight, slender mare beside him, gave some thought to everything she had said, and then turned his attention back to the trio of griffons.

“Not many unicorns live here,” Buttermilk remarked as she began to look about. “I’ve heard it said they don’t like the muck. So the griffons do a lot of fine, meticulous work that needs to be done with their marvellous, dexterous fingers. I like having them about, I grew up feeling safe because of them. They watch over us like hawks. I think it is a matter of pride for them, keeping us safe, but I can’t say for certain. They’re quiet, grumpy sorts that keep to themselves.”

“This is something you don’t learn about in school.” Copperquick sniffed and could smell something delicious, something fried. The train station had a cafe on premises and while he was certainly feeling peckish, he was also almost broke. “Stuff like this, this is what Equestria is really all about, but nopony ever talks about it. This is why I came here.”

“It’s easy to talk about the bad stuff, because it is noticeable, Mister Quick. In my experience, ponies get riled when something is broken, and are perfectly content to go about their business when everything is some semblance of normal. The Skyforge Pact, that is commonplace… it isn’t seen as special or even anything out of the ordinary. It is something we grow up with.”

“Yeah, but it’s meaningful…” Copperquick’s words trailed off and he stood flicking his tail in the breeze while his daughter cooed and clopped her tiny hooves together. “Me myself, I’ve been so focused on all of the rotten stuff in my life that I think I might have forgotten why I came to this country. I’ve become so resentful of the bureaucracy and everything that’s gone wrong in my life that I think I stopped seeing the good. I feel bad, Miss Oddbody.”

Overhead, seagulls circled. Everpresent optimistic opportunists, the seagulls gathered in places where easy pickings seemed plentiful. Nearby, goods from the train were being stacked within a covered depot, where they would be loaded onto a boat and floated down a canal or a waterway. Steam powered flat-bottomed ships went chugging past in the distance, navigating the shallow waters, with some coming to the cargo hub depot.

This was so unlike Canterlot that Copperquick was flummoxed. He had never seen anything quite like it. Canterlot had a sort of early era modernity, a pleasant mix of old and new. Everything was tasteful, fashionable, and clean. Manehattan was thoroughly modern, and Ponyville was like taking a trip back in time. This place, Dales Delta, was like being transported to another land. Like Ponyville, it was like rewinding the clocks, but steamships belching out clouds of black soot announced that this area was industrialising, something that Ponyville lacked.

Like so many other places in Equestria, this place had its own unique feel.

With his mouth hanging agape, Copperquick watched a pegasus push a boat shaped like an enormous green leaf over the water, an ingenious method of travel if ever there was one. Another boat was powered by an earth pony running within a paddle wheel. Reaching up with one hoof, Buttermilk closed his mouth with a gentle nudge and feeling her soft touch, he glanced down at her with wide, expressive eyes.

“You look like a tourist. Stop that.”

Blushing, Copperquick let out a sheepish chuckle, but had nothing to say.

“Moomy and Daddums don’t even know that we are coming. I would imagine that they’ll be quite surprised. Moomy always liked surprises. Daddums on the other hoof… um…” Shuffling on her hooves, Buttermilk stood there umming to herself for a time, and something about her expressiveness made it impossible for Copperquick to turn away.

Stretching out his neck, he surprised her with a quick peck on the cheek, which left her flustered, blushing, and umming even harder. Esmeralda, glad to be near Buttermilk, cooed and demanded her fair share of affection. Strands of the bespectacled pegasus’ mane fell out of her bun while she giggled and she began to tap her left front hoof against the wooden platform. Emboldened, Copperquick leaned in again, pressed his muzzle up against the back of her ear, and chuffed.

Squealing, Buttermilk darted away with her ears pinned back and her tail flagged high.

Entranced, Copperquick watched every move she made, the way her corded muscles rippled beneath her silken hide and how the sunlight glistened upon her well preened feathers. Her ears had a pinkness to them and the bright sun made them almost transparent near the tips. More of her mane had worked free from her bun and the loose tendrils offered him an enticing wave in the breeze, beckoning him to come closer, to give chase.

Chuffing behind Buttermilk’s ear gave her chills—tingles—and she had confessed this to him in a sweaty, humid embrace, whispering her words into his flickering, twitching ear while clinging to his neck. There were things he wanted to do with her—to do to her—dreadful things—awful things—sinful things of an unforgivable nature—unspeakable acts such as being a clingy, clutchy spooner on hot, sticky nights in a bed with flannel sheets, in a room with no climate control.

It was the worst thing he could think about doing to her.

Their relationship was defined by shared misery. Sleep deprivation. Stress. The unspeakable cruelty of Mister Blancmange. Strained eardrums. Endless schoolwork. It was their lot in life to suffer, and so suffer they did, together, and it seemed that the only joy to be found was in the random acts of kindness they did for one another. But spooning in a sweltering room, laying atop clinging, sweat-soaked sheets would be the sort of misery that was sure to bring them even closer together.

Copperquick was starting to think that he wanted to spend the rest of his life in shared suffering with Buttermilk Oddbody. But first, he had to meet her parents. Esmeralda would have to be explained. Then, if everything went as planned, there would be heaps of misery, enough to go around, as he bore the shame of being a single father that had a tryst with a dancer. Eyebrows would be raised. Silent accusations would be made. Judgmental narrowing of the eyes would take place, and he would endure almost a week of absolute torture, if everything went as expected.

At the end of it all, he would still have Buttermilk, he was pretty confident about that, and he would have his daughter, who seemed to delight in spitting up on him at the most inopportune moments. Who knew that warm dribbles of spit up could be so special? So treasured? Being in love had mutated his brain, warped his perceptions, he had stopped worrying and learned to love the barf. Esmeralda was special and could do no wrong. Love, the cruel tyrant that it was, had made him blind and left him as a slave, a willing slave that left his head bowed in humble supplication to his daughter’s whims.

Buttermilk batted her eyelashes behind her thick, square spectacles and said, “Come home with me, Copper.”

“Right. How are we getting there?” Something about the salty air cleared Copperquick’s head and left him feeling invigourated… or even frisky.

“Well, to start with, we’ll walk, and then see what comes up along the way. Maybe we can hitch a ride.” Like molasses left out in February, a slow smile spread over Buttermilk’s face, and she let out a breathy little whinny that sounded an awful lot like happiness. She shifted her weight a bit, her folded wings flapped against her sides, and somehow, she managed to be beautiful without awareness of it or even trying—she just was. “I need some Celestial Glory tea. I feel a bit lethargic. I am in sore need of a pick-me-up.”

“Perhaps when you get home…”

“Yeah! Perhaps when I get home!”

The Kissing Moon River was wide, slow, and deep, fed by thousands of tributaries. A bit muddy and rather more brown than clear and blue, it flowed through the delta and left behind deposits of rich, fertile soil. This, combined with the love and care of earth ponies, created a lush, green place, full of life, the sort of breadbasket that could feed a nation.

Copperquick walked along a gravel path atop a packed-earth berm, following after Buttermilk, who led the way. His saddlebags slapped his sides a bit—painful and annoying—and Esmeralda was almost asleep in her sling, her head nodding with each step. This almost felt like main street, only instead of a road, there was flowing water. This sliver of an island had a great many shops with alluring window displays that hoped to lure in tourists from the train station and there were quaint cafes tucked in between the multi-story brick buildings that served as both stores and residences for the merchants.

Like Canterlot, ponies wore clothing here, some of them at least. Unlike Canterlot, these ponies weren’t particularly fancy. A top hat could be seen here and there, but these were working ponies that descended from hearty stock. Clothing here was practical and comfortable, but also somewhat muddy, a bit sooty, and left a bit worn from hard work.

A tapping hammer distracted him and Copperquick turned his head to see a blacksmith practicing his trade on a flat bottom skiff that bobbed in the current of the flowing river. Never had he seen such a thing, nor would he have ever thought such a thing was practical. The big burly earth pony hammered out what appeared to be a metal hinge, perhaps for some door or a gate. The idea of piloting your entire place of work right up to where you needed to be fascinated Copperquick and he began to see the appeal of living on the water.

For a brief, brief moment, Copperquick entertained the amusing notion of dropping out of school to become a boat captain in a place like this one, but was distracted by a low flying airship passing overhead. It was little more than a long canoe suspended from a crude nacelle and the craft was towed by a stout looking pegasus. On the side of the canoe was a sign: ‘Cousteau’s Crustacé Compagnie.’ Something about the sign bothered him, it didn’t read quite right, but that probably didn’t matter. The bright red crab on the sign said everything that needed to be said without the words.

“I think I just found a ride home,” Buttermilk remarked and her wings unfurled. In an eyeblink, she was airborne and buzzing away like the world’s fuzziest-wuzziest mosquito. “Ripple Rusher! Hey, Ripple Rusher, how have you been? It’s been so long! Hi!”

Copperquick desperately wanted her to drink her fill from him.

Author's Note

Arr, become a sea captain, matey, and have an adorable first mate.

Chapter 4

When a rather large island came into view, Copperquick felt Buttermilk tense up beside him and he heard a gasp come from her. The skiff was slowing, which, in a strange turn of events, made the ride choppier. Esmeralda fussed a bit, kicked her legs around, and let out a fatigued yawn of protest at the unwanted jarring. Knowing that he would soon be overwhelmed, Copperquick took a moment to take everything in.

The island had quite a rise in the middle, with some steep places along the sides. A winding switchback trail could be seen, along with a dock. Atop the highest part of the island was a tall, sturdy looking house, and a small barn. Trees lined the shore, along with some kind of berry bushes, forming a network of roots that gave the island a means to hold onto its own foundation. A water wheel turned with the current of the river, but Copperquick did not know its purpose. Several windmills also turned, their purpose also unknown. Goats and cows grazed along the slopes. There was a wooden bridge that connected it to another island and on this island there were a collection of treehouses of the most amazing, most breathtaking design.

It was as if an apartment block had collided face-first with nature.

Everything was green and glorious and Copperquick found his spirits lifting. An airship went chugging by overhead, pooting out a minimal amount of soot from its backside. It descended and drifted closer to what appeared to be some kind of factory that was some distance away, an enormous, sprawling structure that swallowed up the entire island that served as its foundation. As the skiff continued ever-onwards, a sign for the factory came into view and it showed a vibrant pictogram of rice, but had no words.

“Looks like Moomy expanded the electrical grid,” Buttermilk said in a voice that was more than a little squeaky with emotion. “She taught herself electrical engineering because she was tired of lanterns and candles. Moomy is like that, and you’ll probably get a lecture at some point about how the Crown is not obligated to provide anything for you, like power or running water, and that you are more than capable of getting those things for yourself.”

Too stunned by everything he was seeing, Copperquick had no reply.

“It’s been a long time…” Buttermilk exhaled these words and one foreleg wrapped around Copperquick’s once more. She clung to him as the skiff neared the bobbing dock and the little mare began to sniffle. “I’ve missed this place more than I thought. My entire life was this island… this place… these trees… I had so many adventures here and I chased butterflies and bugs and at night when I was allowed to go out I’d chase moths and glow bugs and my Daddums would follow along after me and make sure that nothing tried to gobble me and the griffons would be playing their banjos and their drums and the night was filled with the sound of music and flapping wings and everything was perfect…”

Buttermilk only stopped because she ran out of wind and she made a sharp inhale.

There was a nervous laugh from Buttermilk, a strange sound, an out of place sound that was quite unlike her. Copperquick turned his head down to look at her and could see the worry on her face, her total lack of poise. This was not the mare he knew, no she seemed almost… foalish at the moment.

“Moomy and Daddums made it very, very clear that I was to never allow a colt to set hoof on this island… surely by now the rules have been relaxed a bit… heh… heh heh… hah… heh… I’m too old to be grounded, right?”

Just as Copperquick was about to reply, Buttermilk’s head jerked around to look at Ripple Rusher, and he heard her say in a muted whisper, “Maybe it was for the best.”

Whatever words were there abandoned him and Copperquick found himself looking at the three foals in their little pen, with the oldest staring back at him. The skiff bumped up against the dock with a thump of wood on wood and they came to a halt, though the craft bobbed up and down in the current.

“Well,” Ripple Rusher announced, “welcome home, Buttermilk Oddbody. Now hurry up and get moving before your mother sees me here and trouble starts. I’m not welcome here anymore.”

Copperquick heard Buttermilk sigh as he stood up and made ready to disembark. This was an emotional time for her and he didn’t know what to say or do to make her feel better. He gave himself a shake, causing the heavy bags he was burdened with to slap against his sides, and Esmeralda let go with a froggy belch that was really quite impressive, but couldn’t be appreciated given the circumstances.

“Go stand on the dock,” Buttermilk said to Copperquick, “and give me a moment to talk to my old friend Rushy… I’m going to see if there is anything I can do to help her.”

More nervous than a cat let lose in a room full of oldtimers in rocking chairs, Copperquick stepped off of the dock and onto solid earth. Right away, Esmeralda’s fussing ceased and she hung in her sling, quiet but squirming, a foal in sore need of a nap. The short and simple truth of the matter was, Copperquick was terrified of meeting Buttermilk’s parents, and he had no idea what was going to happen.

Buttermilk was hugging her friend, squeezing her, and he couldn’t hear anything that was being said between them. Birds trilled in the trees along the shoreline and the grass that grew on the slope swayed back and forth, to and fro in the light, salty breeze. No sign of a welcome—yet—and Copperquick was thankful that he had a moment to look around, to take everything in.

Tilting his head back, he looked up at the house. It appeared to be made from stained cedar and had a fine tin roof painted in a brilliant yellow-green. Each and every window was framed by heavy, sturdy shutters, which along with everything else, gave the home a sturdy, durable appearance.

The barn was red, because of course it was, and Copperquick knew why. Barns were painted with linseed oil to keep the wood from rotting and rust was mixed with the oil to poison fungus and moss. It was a simple, practical solution to an age old problem and as he stood there, staring, and thinking this now-useful bit of trivia, he wondered if his knowledge would endear him to Buttermilk’s parents.

While he stared, the skiff went skimming away and Buttermilk now hovered near him, looking around with wide, worried eyes, all while looking more than a little foalish. Her wings buzzed, but only just a little, to get the full mosquito buzz she needed a few cups of tea to get her wound up. She darted left, then right, and then returned to hovering near Copperquick’s head.

“Where’s Moomy?” Buttermilk asked, speaking more to herself than to Copperquick.

She took off, her hooves skimming the tops of the swaying grass, and paused to examine a cow, who stood chewing its cud on the corner of a switchback. Buttermilk introduced herself, said a few kind words, and patted the cow on the head. In response, the cow udderly ignored the gentle pegasus and stared at nothing in particular.

“Moomy!”

It was then that Copperquick saw her, the mountain that had birthed the tiny speck of a pegasus that he was so fond of. She stood on the crest of the slope, looking down, and even from this considerable distance Copperquick could see plain as day that he was looking at one of the largest earth ponies he had ever seen with his own two eyes.

Buttermilk started to go buzzing off, but halted, hung in the air with her wings flapping, and then flew in confused circles for a time before returning to be close to Copperquick while her mother traversed the hill to come down and greet them. Buttermilk placed her hoof upon Copperquick’s neck, then she put on her best smile and her bulging, rounded cheeks pushed up against the bottom of her chunky, square spectacles.

“Oi,” the big mare cried out, and to Copperquick’s ears, it was the sound of home. “What’s this, then?”

“Moomy!” Buttermilk cried out again, and she pressed her front hooves against her cheeks, squishing her face. “Moomy, you haven’t changed at all!”

The big mare skidded a bit on a steep section, hit the flat of the switchback path, and then resumed her descent with a steady trot. Bees went buzzing by, flitting about in the berry bushes and the flowers. Buttermilk’s mother was the spitting image of her daughter, but bigger, so much bigger. Broad-backed, with well-muscled, stocky legs, she was nothing at all as Copperquick had expected.

“Oi! My baby Beezy has come home!” The big mare picked up the pace and Copperquick was pretty certain that he could feel the ground trembling—not because Buttermilk’s mom was heavy—no—but because the ground was terrified of being disrespectful. “And baby Beezy Buzzy brought a friend.”

“Moomy!”

“Beezy!”

Buttermilk flew in a confused circle for a moment, started to go to her mother, paused, flew back to Copperquick, and then hovered, not knowing what to do. “Moomy… this is Copperquick—” Buttermilk made an odd squeak, covered her mouth, and tried again. “Moomy, this is Copper Quick. Mister Quick. And his daughter, Esmeralda Verde.”

Unable to contain herself, Buttermilk flew right at her mother and slammed right into the massive mare. There was a meaty smack, a terrific sound of impact, and Moomy didn’t budge an inch. Buttermilk began squeezing her mother’s neck as hard as she could, and Copperquick just stood there, awestruck, with his mouth hanging open.

“Copperquick, this is Moomy… I mean, this is Butter Fudge Oddbody, my Moomy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mister Quick.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Ma’am.”

At this, Moomy prised her daughter from her neck and came closer to inspect Copperquick, who now stood very, very still. Buttermilk’s mother was taller than he by a few heads, her withers were more than twice as wide, and she had muscles in her neck that were bigger than his legs.

“A runner,” the big mare said as she looked Copperquick up and down. “Not just any runner, one made for speed. Look at you”—she sucked in a deep breath when her eyes locked onto Esmeralda—“Oi! Look at you!” Not caring the slightest about personal space, Butter Fudge pressed her snoot against the foal hanging from around Copperquick’s neck and chuffed.

Esmeralda exploded with exhausted giggles and tried to squirm away, but it was of no use. Butter Fudge was as affectionate as she was big, and Copperquick found himself smiling as the big mare cooed and clucked her tongue. Buttermilk hovered just inches away, tears spilling down her cheeks, and she watched her mother’s affections with a wide smile plastered across her muzzle.

“This foal needs a nap.” This statement left no room for argument nor disagreement and Butter Fudge lifted her head up as she drew herself up to her full height. “I’d also like to know where this foal’s mother is, as I find it most peculiar that Mister Quick, polite as he is, is here with my daughter when he clearly has a wife that he should be tending to.”

“Uh, Moomy… about that…” Buttermilk’s smile went south like a flock of birds fleeing winter. Just as she was about to say more, her mother cut her off.

“Mister Quick, are you a widower?”

“Moomy, stop.” Buttermilk’s voice was hard now, flinty, and once again Copperquick found himself terrified of the smaller pegasus. “You will get the explanation that you are owed, but we’re tired, I need some tea, and there is quite a story here. I’m probably going to marry Copperquick… I followed your advice and fed him hot, buttery cheese toast and it worked, just like you said it would. Right now there is a whole heap of trouble and we’re trying to sort everything out and I swear on Princess Celestia’s merciful teats, if you don’t behave yourself, we’ll leave this place and our shadows will never darken your door ever again.”

There was now a strange smile upon Butter Fudge’s face, the look of a mare that was entirely too pleased with herself… and maybe… pride? It was hard to tell, but there was something about her face and the way she looked up at her daughter, who was now hovering with a significant height advantage. Something secretive, something smug, and the evidence was the raw cunning that could be seen in Butter Fudge’s eyes.

“Come on up to the house,” Butter Fudge said in an inviting tone, “and get settled in…”

Author's Note

Oh boy, here we go...

Chapter 5

Silence reverberated through the long, narrow kitchen, thudding to and fro along the walls while casting its oppressive force upon those gathered around an oval wooden block-top table left scarred by the chopping of many vegetables. Citrusy-scented steam rose from the spout of the teapot in lazy curls, but lacked the motivation to rise for more than just a scant few inches before it vanished, going wherever it was that steam went.

Copperquick had never seen Buttermilk Oddbody ever look quite so miserable as she did now, and he had been with her through some rough times indeed. She had told her mother everything, sparing no detail, saying both the good and the bad, and even included the part where he had threatened to snap Mister Blancmange’s neck by twisting his head off. Everything that could be said had been said, and now, there was silence.

A short distance away, sprawled out on a spread out blanket, Esmeralda Verde was sound asleep, her mouth open in much the same way her father’s mouth tended to hang open, her chin shiny with drool. She had fallen asleep even before her body was laid down and now slumbered with her stubby little legs twitching, perhaps from dreams.

“Well,” Butter Fudge whispered as she reached up and scratched her neck with the hard edge of her hoof. “This is a proud day. My daughter came home as the mare that I hoped that she would be. Everything turned out just the way I wanted. There’s a lot to sort out and I—”

“What?” Buttermilk leaned in closer to her mother, every muscle in her body tensing, and for a moment, Copperquick feared that the tiny pegasus might explode. “Just the way you wanted?” Her voice was an angry whisper and her thin, delicate fetlocks quivered as the tendons within drew tight. “Just the way you wanted?”

Butter Fudge didn’t seem the least bit concerned by her daughter’s growing fury.

“You didn’t really want me to go to university. You didn’t want me leaving home. You didn’t want me doing a lot of things, life-enriching things, and you restricted me from almost everything. Your rules were almost draconian when I became a teenager and you picked apart almost every little thing I did and found fault with every hope and dream I had… you were downright… monstrous.”

“I see you picked up some courage and a backbone while you were away,” Butter Fudge remarked, and Buttermilk’s mouth fell open in startled shock.

So did Copperquick’s.

“I did what needed to be done.” Butter Fudge smiled, reached over to her daughter, and booped her on the snoot. “You had your head in the clouds from the moment I pulled you from my teats. You were flighty and full of daydreams and I loved you for it. If I hadn’t made this nest so unbearable, so miserable, you would never have been motivated enough to leave. I told you that I didn’t want you to go to university, and of course, you did it to defy me, which was the plan right from the beginning. It was so easy to get exactly what I wanted from you. All I had to do was tweak your nose and make you angry and then you’d do exactly what I wanted.”

“Moomy…” Buttermilk’s glasses fogged over and her cheeks darkened.

“I rode your skinny little ass right into the ground and I don’t regret it. Look at you now… educated… you have what you want in life. You’ve found yourself a nice beau. I didn’t let you throw your life away. I didn’t let you wander off into some barn with some mouth breathing hick like your little friend Ripple Rusher did and screw your life up. I goaded you into doing exactly what needed to be done so you could be the responsible young mare that you are right now and I didn’t let anything pull you away from your dreams.”

Lifting up a solid, sturdy mug between her front hooves, Butter Fudge had the smuggest of smug looks upon her face when she slurped her tea. It was at this moment that Copperquick felt some spark of affection for this enormous, vivacious mare. Buttermilk sat in her chair, her expression blank, her glasses still fogged over, her ears rising and falling like two well handle pumps.

“Truth be told, I don’t need to agree with anything you’ve done, it’s not my business, but I am still so very proud of what you’ve accomplished.” Butter Fudge’s fuzzy lips were wet and dark from moisture and her eyes glistened with a mother’s pride that could not be contained. “Beezy, you got it into your head at a pretty early age that you wanted to be educated… but you lacked the temperament for it. You did awful in school. You had a lack of focus and all you wanted to do was run around, chase bugs, and hurl mudpies at stinky little colts.”

In response, Buttermilk squeaked.

“My job, as your mother, was to prepare you for the adult life that you thought you wanted. You wanted to be educated? Fine. I had to crack down on you and make you pay attention so you’d have the grades to get accepted. You wanted to go to university? Fine. I told you that it was a bad idea and pretended that I was against it so you’d rebel against me. To make sure that you actually got a chance to go to school and not mess up your life, I had to keep you safe from the stinky little colts that you threw mudpies at. You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Moomy… I…” Buttermilk’s mouth moved, her lips contorted, but no other words seemed forthcoming.

“I don’t need to agree with the choices that you make as an adult. Not at all.” Butter Fudge turned, glanced at Copperquick for a moment, and then let out a soft chuckle. “I do agree with what you’ve done here, though. A pony should live their work, plain and simple. Live by their trade. I make soaps and cheeses. I wash with my own soaps and I eat my own cheeses. Well… there was that one time when you were a colicky little filly and I was exhausted and tired and hadn’t slept in a while and I tried washing with my own cheese and I ate some of my own soap. Oi.” The big mare recoiled in disgust at the mention of the memory.

A single tear rolled down Buttermilk’s muzzle and splashed into her teacup.

“You know what a bleeding heart is, Beezy?” Butter Fudge asked.

At this, Buttermilk bristled. “Moomy, we were getting along so well—”

“I’ll tell you what a bleeding heart is, Beezy. A bleeding heart is a whinging, cringing, mewling little whiner that complains about how unfair life is and will loudly protest how awful everything is. They are the worst ponies in the world, because all they do is make noise and drown out the voices of reason. You”—Butter Fudge nodded her head at her daughter—“you are not a bleeding heart and that is why I am so proud of you. No crying, no whinging, no useless bleating about how unfair everything is… you are working to fix things. You had the ways and means to save Copper here and his daughter when they were in trouble. You can either talk or do… and I raised you to do.”

Again, Buttermilk was at a loss for words and all she could do was stare at her mother.

“It feels good to let all of this out,” Butter Fudge confessed as she focused her warm, expressive eyes upon her daughter. “Beezy, I had to keep you angry with me so you’d stay motivated… truth be told, I’ve had a lot of nightmares about you hating me. It was a risk, Beezy, and your father kept telling me over and over, almost every night in fact, that at the end of it all, you’d be my friend. I was so worried that he was wrong and there were so many times that I almost lost my resolve and went soft and everything might’ve been ruined.”

Turning his head, Copperquick glanced at his daughter out of the corner of his eye and thought about everything that Buttermilk’s mother had to say. Would he go to such extreme lengths to make sure that she had everything she needed? He didn’t know. This was a colossal unknown and it loomed before him like some vast, bridgeless chasm that demanded that he cross it. Butter Fudge had sacrificed much for her daughter and even risked their relationship.

Suddenly, his own situation didn’t seem so bad. Mister Blancmange didn’t seem so bad. Being homeless wasn’t so awful. He had a job—sort of—and as Butter Fudge had suggested, he was starting to live by his trade. Learning to help others meant learning how to accept help for himself. The exact nature of his job, his position, all of that was still unknown to him, but Copperquick had made equinekind his business. A little flicker of pride flared to life within his breast, and he started to see his own situation in a new light.

“We’re going to the movies tonight. You might want to get some rest.” Butter Fudge set her mug down upon the table, reached out, and booped her daughter on the snoot again.

“What about Esme?” Copperquick asked.

“What about her?” Butter Fudge blinked a few times in response.

“I can’t take her to the movies… I don’t have a sitter and I—”

“It’ll be fine, trust me.” Butter Fudge offered up a warm, reassuring, maternal smile.

“But nopony likes a crying foal at the movies—”

“Oh, it’ll be fine.” The big mare waved her hoof to silence further protests. “Fine.”

“But—”

“Fine.”

Shrugging, Copperquick acquiesced and gave up. “Okay, fine.”

Sniffling, Buttermilk took off her glasses and began rubbing at her eyes with her cardigan sleeve. Her lips trembled and the ends of her mouth couldn’t decide if they wanted to go up or down. Ears splayed out, her nostrils flared and her thin, delicate barrel rose and fell with restrained sobs of distress. Copperquick wanted to give her a quick peck to set her right, but was fearful of Butter Fudge—he didn’t know where he stood with her, not exactly.

Not knowing what else to do, he bowed his head and began lapping his tea from his cup.

“Moomy, we need to talk about Esme and it is very important that you listen to me and take me seriously.” Buttermilk’s eyes were red and somehow, she managed to smile. It made her beautiful, precisely because she wasn’t perfect but chose to be a ray of sunshine anyway. “There are some rules, very important rules.”

“Of course, Beezy.” Butter Fudge’s ears perked.

“Esmeralda suffered some…” Reaching up, Buttermilk wiped her eyes with her sleeve once more, sniffle-snorted a few times, and then leaning forwards, she looked her mother right in the eye. “Esmeralda suffered some abuse and some neglect as a newborn. She is recovering from it, but she is not better. You cannot raise your voice and begin shouting, because that does bad things to her. She’ll just shut down and become despondent. She has some abandonment issues. You can’t just put her down and say that she’ll be fine if she’s left to cry it out. She won’t. She’s afraid of the dark and Mrs. Velvet believes that it is because Esmeralda can’t see us. It isn’t enough to hear our voices or to touch us… and don’t cover up her face with a blanket to play peekaboo because she’ll freak out and have the worst meltdown you could possibly imagine.”

Butter Fudge’s ears rose, then fell, rose again, then fell again, and then one ear stood up while the other dangled, limp and dejected. Copperquick thought she was taking all of this rather well, until he noticed the look in her eyes. His blood froze in his veins, there was a chilly, icy feeling in his groin, and it felt like something was compressing his lungs, preventing him from drawing enough air. He slurped in his tongue and his head rose away from his mug as his legs telegraphed the pressing need to run.

“You damage the herd connection and that does a lifetime’s worth of harm.” Butter Fudge’s voice was husky and was like two millstones grinding together, more of a rumble than an actual sound. “There are things that you just don’t do. You just don’t do.”

“Moomy, this is why I went to school,” Buttermilk said, keeping her voice low. “This is more of a problem than you realise. I see this every day and too many ponies just ignore it, which is why it is such a problem. Copper has chosen to face this problem head on and he remains committed to his daughter… and this is why I am committed to him.”

“If this is such a problem, why isn’t more being said and done about it?” Butter Fudge asked.

Reaching out, Buttermilk placed her comparatively tiny hoof upon her mother’s immense foreleg. “Well, Moomy, there are these whiny, bleating, entitled bleeding hearts that have been trying to tell everybody that there is a massive crisis at hoof, but nopony wants to listen to them. Ponies think they have some kind of agenda and just want to stir up trouble. They keep begging for help because they’re overwhelmed, overworked, and underpaid, but ponies are content to ignore them.”

“Beezy… I… you…” Swallowing, squeezing her eyes shut, Butter Fudge found it within herself to try again. “Beezy, I’m proud of you.”

Author's Note

That moment when you realise that your parents might actually be smarter than you give them credit...

Chapter 6

Nothing felt right about being home again and Buttermilk was lost in her own thoughts. Her mother had given them the guest room and then she had winked. Winked. It was bad enough to make Buttermilk wonder if her mother was a changeling. Nothing felt right and her mother was a stranger… her mother wasn’t her mother. It seemed as though the dynamic had been altered and Buttermilk just wasn’t ready for such drastic changes.

She didn’t know how to feel about sleeping with Copperquick to begin with, but doing so in her parents house was almost too awkward to bear. They had slept together a few times, innocent sleep, both having fallen asleep on his couch together and there were times they had slept in his bed with Esmeralda tucked between them. Even worse, she longed for those blissful moments, the closeness, the intimacy, the affection, but everything felt so complicated. It didn’t feel prim, nor proper, and there was just something about it that felt so very… wrong.

Pressing her lips together, Buttermilk turned to look at the bassinet in the corner of the guest room where Esmeralda slept. Fetched from her old room, the bassinet filled Buttermilk with vivid memories of tucking her stuffies in and then kissing them goodnight. Not long ago, she had lain the slumbering foal into the bassinet, tucked her in, and kissed her. Esmeralda hadn’t even woke up.

Something that was almost a smile appeared upon her lips when she heard the sounds of Copperquick singing in the shower. Things had been hard for him—being evicted had crushed him—but the sounds of him singing were a sure sign that he was feeling better enough to do something super-embarrassing.

“Drink a little buttermilk, Buttermilk?”

Startled, she tucked her tail between her legs as her head swiveled around to look at her mother, who stood in the door. Her mother had some unreadable expression upon her face and Buttermilk just didn’t know how to handle her mother right now, at all. Nothing made sense. Turning about, she flicked her tail to fluff it back out and ambled in her mother’s direction while thinking about what to say.

“I am having some trouble with the fact that you seem to be encouraging Copperquick and I to sleep together,” Buttermilk confessed to her mother in a muted whisper. “You said some things… some truly terrible things… bad things about birth control and premarital sex, and you had this whole spiel about doing the right thing, and I guess none of that matters now? Is that it?”

“Things are different now. You’ve grown up. You’ve become responsible. You’ve done all of the right things and you are in a position now to keep doing the right thing. You are managing a career, a relationship, and you are fulfilling the role of a mother. You might as well enjoy the rewards and benefits of being in that position with everything you’ve accomplished.”

This response did not satisfy and Buttermilk scowled. Looking into her mother’s eyes, she saw her own bespectacled reflection and the intensity of her own discomfort. “Moomy, I—”

“Oh, come off it,” Butter Fudge whispered. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. You went off to college—”

“University.”

“Right, university and yet your head is still stuffed full of clouds. You’re killing me, Beezy. I want you to think about the fact that our anniversary and your birthday are five months apart.”

Gasping, Buttermilk’s lungs inflated with far too much air—so much so that it stung—and then everything came out in a huff. She started to say something, but the words were lodged in her throat like a salty corn nut that refused to go in either direction. Sweat poured from her wingpits and soaked into her cardigan, forcing her to wonder just how ripe she was from her travels.

“I had a farm,” Butter Fudge whispered to her daughter. “I had this farm. I had this house. I was established and secure enough that if things didn’t work out between your father and I that I could deal with the consequences. I had the ways and means to take care of you all by myself, if necessary.”

A deep breath was taken, then another, and then more deep breaths were required. Buttermilk closed her eyes and focused on breathing while her heart pounded inside of her throat and the roar of her own blood rushing through her ears made everything else sound distant. The only conclusion that she could reach was that her mother knew what she was doing, and wasn’t the out of touch mare that Buttermilk believed her to be.

“I protected myself and I protected you. It’s a right shame what happened to Ripple Rusher, but I kept it from happening to you. She brought it on herself—”

Eyelids fluttering open, Buttermilk looked into her mother’s eyes once more and replied in a low, hissy whisper, “How is this her fault? What sort of backward thinking is this?”

“What did she tell you?” Butter Fudge asked and she reached out with one foreleg to steady her trembling daughter.

It seemed the upsets of this day would be unending and Buttermilk continued to focus on breathing as the back of her neck grew unbearably hot. She wanted to tear her cardigan off and she now worried about the foul miasma that must surely lurk in her wingpits. Was this rage? Anger? Buttermilk didn’t know. Whatever this feeling was, it was gross and unpleasant.

“Little Ripple Rusher, she got herself on the pill and then she went on a spree.” Butter Fudge backed up into the hallway and dragged her daughter with her. Pulling Buttermilk close, she continued, “One day, she gets her sights set on somepony and she has the brilliant idea to stop taking her pill. It didn’t take long before the consequences manifested. She told her father and expected her father to make a nice little marriage happen, but he didn’t. He tossed her right out and disowned her. The colt she was seeing dumped her and was so scared that he skipped town to go and live with his aunt. Her bright idea caused a lot of upset… ripped apart the community. When she got desperate and scared, she accused Mister Tartan of propositioning her. His wife, Mrs. Spool, very nearly lost her mind and chased Ripple Rusher halfway across the delta threatening to kill her. After that—”

“Okay, I get it,” Buttermilk blurted out, unable to bear hearing another word.

“Now she tells her sob story to anypony that will listen.” Butter Fudge pulled her daughter even closer—doing so until their snoots bumped together—and Buttermilk let out a foalish, fearful squeak as she cowered beneath her much larger mother. “Beezy, I love you more than anything, but I had to keep you safe until you were big enough to look after yourself. This world is not kind to mares, not at all, not even in the slightest. The whole game is rigged against us. Right now, you are free… free to pursue Copper. Not because you have to, or because you are desperate, or because you need him to survive, to work for you, or to provide for you, to keep a roof over your head and keep you fed, because you are capable of doing all of those things for yourself.”

Butter Fudge took a deep breath and with her snoot still pressed tight against Buttermilk’s she continued, “I raised you to be free as a bird, little Beezy. You are beholden to nopony but your own whims and desires. You are free to pursue Copper because it makes you happy. A lot of mares don’t have that luxury.”

“Moomy, I—” Buttermilk’s words were squeezed out of her with a crushing hug and no other words lept up to replace them.

“You have a little filly that calls you ‘Mama.’ That’s the best thing in the world, Beezy. One day, if you’re lucky, you’ll be able to pass all of this along to her, and she’ll be a free, independent mare, and the world will be a little better for all of your hard work. But that is your choice to make and I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

Buttermilk wrapped her forelegs around her mother’s neck, squeezed her, and was grateful for all that she had been given. She didn’t care that she might be stinky, at the moment, all she cared about was clinging to her mother once more like she had done when she was young. Her mother was still so big and Buttermilk was still so small, so it was easy to almost imagine that she was a foal again, seeking comfort from her mother.

The hot shower was just what Copperquick needed to set him straight. He pushed his way into the guest room and found Buttermilk standing next to the little decorative bassinet where Esmeralda slept. A quick inspection revealed that the bed had fresh bedclothes and this gave him pause as he took a moment to consider the things that might be done in the bed that might soil the sheets. Not that those things would happen, but Copperquick tried to be polite and he had no idea what the proper etiquette for this situation was.

“You don’t seem like your usual, perky self,” Copperquick whispered.

To this, Buttermilk nodded and replied, also in a whisper, “I am not my usual perky self.”

Lowering his head, Copperquick brought his jaw to rest upon Buttermilk’s back, and then just stood there, feeling the rise and fall of her spine as she breathed. Having just come out of the shower, he couldn’t help but notice that she was just a little stinky—but she had been far, far stinkier, so this was okay. Esmeralda was frequently stinky too, and he didn’t love her any less, but there were times he questioned his own sanity, like when he was faced with a poo-bomb.

Poo-bombs: the terror was real.

“When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to leave home. My parents were stupid and out of touch. This place was a backwater, filled with backwards ideas, and I longed for a more enlightened place, like Canterlot.” Buttermilk sighed and backed away from the bassinet, causing Copperquick’s jaw to slide along her spine.

When her tail brushed up against his forelegs, it was difficult to contain his emotion, his excitement, and he could not deny it: he wanted to feel her back against his belly. It was more than a casual need though, something about it was complicated and more than a little scary. While it had something to do with scratching his own itch, it actually had more to do with making her feel better, communicating and expressing his desire for her while making her feel good at the same time. It was a language that his body understood and he wondered if it was because he was an earth pony or just because he had gone without for quite a long time now.

“Canterlot is just as backwards,” she whispered, shaking her head. “And I wish I had spent more time listening to my mother and what she had to say. I wish I had spent more time searching for the values that I admire in this place instead of dwelling on everything I hated about it. I’m in a weird place, Copper.”

He began to slide his head up along her back, over her withers, her neck, her crest, but she was on to his sly moves and sidestepped away. Now, she was looking up at him, almost smiling, her ear flickering even though he hadn’t chuffed behind it. Not one to be denied, he advanced with scalliwag eyebrows and a hooligan’s look upon his face, which gave away his intent.

Buttermilk suppressed a giggle and then mouthed the word, “No,” while shaking her head from side to side. A little sadness lingered upon her face, but it was fleeing from Copperquick’s goofy expression. Trapped in the corner with the bassinet behind her, there was nothing that she could do.

The kiss—not unwanted—still caught her off guard even with Copperquick revealing his intent. It was the best—and worst—sort of kiss, because he made silly faces and crossed his eyes while doing it, and Buttermilk’s scarcely contained laughter made it almost impossible to get a good lip-lock. Good, delightful, tail-flicking, ear-twitching friction remained elusive and out of reach.

But that didn’t mean that the kiss wasn’t satisfying.

Author's Note

Next chapter: Daddums comes home.

Chapter 7

Copperquick awoke to an empty room and experienced a surprising amount of panic when he saw that his daughter, Esmeralda wasn’t where he had left her. Bleary-eyed, he stumbled about for a bit, not quite remembering when he had enjoyed such a restful sleep, which had become a treasured, wonderful thing. The golden rays of late afternoon or perhaps early evening pierced through the drapes and he realised in his half-awake state that the room had a westward exposure.

This was a much, much nicer room than the one he had been sleeping in, but he couldn’t complain. Technically, he was homeless, but he was also a volunteer at the Ministry of Foal Services, taking the late night on call role when he was done with school. It was a roof over Esmeralda’s precious head, so he didn’t make too much of a fuss, even when he was woken up to do his job, which happened more than one might think.

All in all, he liked his job enough to keep doing it, finding a satisfying amount of meaning.

As Copperquick came down the stairs, he heard the sound of Buttermilk’s voice coming from the kitchen. His pace quickened, but he was careful so he wouldn’t take a tumble down the hardwood stairs. Only one pony in this house used the stairs, and they were clearly made for her, with broad steps and sturdy construction.

The sound of laughter came from the kitchen and he now passed through the living room, curious as to what was so funny. His ears perked at the sound of Esmeralda burbling and he hurried through the arched doorway into the kitchen, not stopping to think about why the door had such a high arch.

He came to a sudden stop on the threshold, his hooves clicking on the tiles. A cat meowed, perhaps saying hello in the manner of cats, but Copperquick ignored that. A dark blue pegasus pony with a pale purple pompadour was staring at him. The pegasus was small, not much larger than Buttermilk, and he shared her slight, delicate build.

“Daddums, this is Copper Quick. Copper, this is my Daddums, but I think he’d prefer it if you called him Mister Midge.” Buttermilk was holding Esmeralda in her forelegs and Esmeralda was holding her stuffed carrot.

“Pleased to meet you, Sir.” Copperquick bowed his head a little and then just stood there, not quite knowing what to do, say, or how to react.

The middle-aged blue pegasus was quiet, but smiling, which Copperquick took to be a good sign. It was a reserved smile though, revealing very little, and this was rather worrisome. Having a daughter himself now, Copperquick had something of an understanding about what Buttermilk’s father might be feeling. The pony touching his daughter had just walked into his kitchen and was now being introduced.

Awkward.

“Well, come on over and sit down so we can eat… make sure you leave a little room though, we’re going to see a movie,” Butter Fudge said as she gestured at the table. “Don’t worry, Mighty Midge doesn’t bite… much.”

“Moomy, you’re terrible.”

“Try it, Beezy, you might like it—”

“Moomy, you’re terrible.”

Doing as he was bid, Copperquick sauntered over to the table and sat down. Esmeralda was plopped into his forelegs and then Buttermilk went streaking off to help her mother move stuff from the stove to the table. Copperquick found that Midge wasn’t looking at him, but at his daughter, and for some reason this made Copperquick squirm a bit in his chair.

A heavy cast iron pot with a hanging handle was plunked down upon a crocheted potholder and then Buttermilk was off again, her wings moving in a blur. Butter Fudge had a platter of biscuits on her wide back, and she moved with a smooth gait that suggested she had a great deal of poise for her immense size.

“I’m going to put you down on the floor, and you’re not going to cry,” Copperquick said to his daughter.

Blinking her amber eyes at him, Esmeralda seemed to be considering her father’s words and then she replied, “Erglerp?”

“I am going to put you on your blanket right over there and everything is going to be just fine.” Doubtful, Copperquick’s ears bobbed as he stared into his daughter’s face, trying to discern her mood. Before he could reach a conclusion, she was plucked out of his embrace by Buttermilk and flown over to where her blanket was spread out over the floor.

When she was put down, Esmeralda made a sad face, her lower lip quivered, and she hugged her bright orange stuffed carrot for comfort. Buttermilk hovered overhead, waiting, and smiling down to let the distraught filly know that everything was okay. The squall, dreadful though it might have been, passed and Esmeralda continued to hug her carrot while giving her father a longing, heartbreaking stare.

Copperquick decided that he was okay with that.

Supper was simple, hearty fare. Buttery red potatoes and broccoli florets with globs of gooey white cheese, ears of corn, biscuits, and baked beans that filled the kitchen with the mouth-watering scent of molasses when the lid was pulled off. All of this gave Copperquick a moment of pause as he considered the meal and the consequences of said meal. He was supposed to be sharing a bed with Buttermilk later.

When he looked up, Butter Fudge was smiling at him and one eyebrow was raised.

Oh, she was good.

His unflappable Grittish politeness was in grave danger and a Trojan Pony was at the gate—his lips—demanding to be let inside. Undaunted, he smiled when Buttermilk began loading down his plate with food and did his best to stare Butter Fudge down, revealing that he was on to her and her nefarious plans. A tall glass of no-doubt fresh milk was served with the meal.

“I hope you don’t mind onions… I find they give the beans a savoury flavour along with some brown sugar,” Butter Fudge said to Copperquick as they continued to stare. “And lots of garlic, of course.”

Across the table, Midge was now smirking, but Copperquick didn’t see it. Buttermilk noticed though and then, with a faint gasp of shock, she realised that her mother was knee-deep in mischief. She plopped down in her chair beside Copperquick, cast a quick glance at Esmeralda, and then she too, joined Copperquick in staring at her mother.

Clinging to her carrot, Esmeralda was fretful and watched every move her father made with wide, fearful eyes. When she began gnawing on the top of her carrot plushie, she calmed a little, but never once took her eyes off of her father. With her ears sticking up, and with the way she nom-nom-nommed on her carrot stuffie, she looked like the world’s saddest rabbit.

“Oi, that’s a real heart-ripper of a face,” Butter Fudge said when she turned away from the combined stare of her daughter and Copperquick. “I’ve never seen a mane that shade of green before. She’s pretty. Cheer up, luv, and I’ll give you a snuggle when I’m done.”

This promise did nothing to improve the sorrowful foal’s mood.

“Moomy, your accent seems a little stronger. Is it because of Copper?”

“Might be, Beezy,” Butter Fudge replied and she shrugged her wide withers. “It’s nice hearing a voice from home. I don’t miss home though, not in the slightest.”

Too hungry to talk, Copperquick tucked into his food. He started with a buttery, cheesy baby red potato that still had the skin on it—of course it still had the skin on it, he realised. In Canterlot, where there were a plethora of unicorns, potatoes were peeled because the skins were dirty. Potato peeling was no simple task for earth ponies, who tended to toss their tubers into the pot with their skins intact.

This was not the upscale, trendy flavours of Canterlot, this was downright rustic. Salty, buttery, cheesy, peppery, the taste was like a slap in the face that woke all of his senses. Nothing complicated that you needed a sophisticated palate to appreciate, everything was simple and straightforward, take it or leave it. Without realising that he was doing so, Copperquick lived up to his namesake and began to gobble down his food.

Nopony else was using silverware and there was none even laid out on the table. There was a lot of lip smacking and slurping, sure signs that he was far, far away from Canterlot. He always felt out of place eating with unicorns, because he had real trouble with trying to use silverware. Here, in this place, he was free to be himself without judgment, sneers, or snide glances… and it was glorious.

“Beezy…”

Hearing Midge’s voice was quite a shock. It was a raspy baritone, which Copperquick did not expect—nopony would expect—to come from the slight little pegasus. He turned just in time to watch Buttermilk—Beezy—lift her head up from her plate. She had a baked bean stuck to her snoot, and for reasons he could not explain, it made her beautiful.

“Yes, Daddums?”

After a long pause, Midge asked, “What has this done to your grades?”

“Oh.” Buttermilk seemed surprised by this question, but Copperquick couldn’t be certain. She squirmed a bit, perhaps she was still a filly on the inside that worried about what her father thought, and it took her a few moments to respond. “Daddums, my coursework is mostly done. Almost everything now is hooves on stuff… real world stuff, not classroom stuff. I’ve completed my required one-thousand hours as an intern. All of this has made my grades, if you could call them that at this point, go up. I guess… I don’t know for certain. I get progress scores now, and not grades, and so far all of my progress scores have consistently remained over ninety percent.”

“Huh.” Midge stared at his daughter for a moment, blinked once, dropped his muzzle back down to his plate, and resumed eating.

Copperquick’s eyes darted over to Buttermilk just in time to see a wide smile spread over her face and she looked quite pleased with herself. Her eyes, bright, shiny, were now misty and her ears settled into a splayed-out nine-o'clock and three-o’clock position. One little ‘huh’ had made her happy, so perhaps this was high praise coming from her father? He didn’t know, but it left him curious.

Esmeralda, who swayed from side to side holding her plush carrot, had this to say: “Foosh.” She delivered this statement with as much eloquence and aplomb as she could muster, still looking rather distraught, but there was something else in her eyes that could only be described as devious intelligence. She was, as her father was quick to point out, a manipulator, and she knew how to get her father’s attention.

Copperquick was the first to notice and he almost choked on his food as his eyebrows took off and flew north, off to discover new and exciting territories free of stink. Lifting his head, he coughed, and a second later, Buttermilk was fanning the air in frantic desperation with her wings. Midge’s pompadour lost its poomf and fell flat upon his head, the slick strands falling down into his eyes. The only pony unphased by the sudden deadly miasma was Butter Fudge, who leaned back into her chair and sniffed.

“Oi, that’s healthy,” she remarked, not bothered by the death fog in the slightest. “Formula… it just isn’t good for foals, but goat’s milk is. It’s quite rich, you know. Little Esme quite seemed to enjoy it, but I don’t think her stomach is used to anything that rich. Oi.”

“Egads.” Copperquick managed to choke out the word but could do nothing else.

“What’s wrong with all of you? It’s not like you lot have never cracked one off, I’m sure.” The big mare inhaled, breathing through her nose, and then turned to look at her daughter. “If this bothers you, Beezy, you’re in the wrong line of work.”

“I left the farm while my nose still functioned,” Buttermilk replied and she covered her face with her wings.

“Oi, Copper, I hope you like sleeping with the windows open—”

“Moomy!”

“—because Beezy is a buzzy little bee and her backside packs quite a sting.”

“My life is over.” Rolling her eyes, Buttermilk pushed her plate away, let heave a sigh of exasperation, and then her head clonked down upon the table, snoot first. This pushed her glasses into her face and caused her features to distort, an effect visible from the sides. It appeared as though she had melted into the table and several strands of her mane came loose from her bun.

Butter Fudge pushed herself away from the table, her barrel rising and falling with her laughter, and she made a dismissive wave with her hoof. “I have this. All of you relax, I’ll look after the little stinker. I’ve missed doing this.”

Esmeralda, all too glad for the attention, now appeared quite pleased. She smiled, she burbled, and began blowing spit bubbles of victory. Squeezing her carrot, she bounced around a bit, which caused her ears to flop, and then she fell over onto her back when Butter Fudge drew near.

“Flebirbeberb,” Esmeralda flebirbeberbed and she began to kick her hind legs around with glee.

“Oi, you’re cute.” Butter Fudge, still unphased by the face-melting fumes, smiled down at the little filly while lowering her head. “I’m going to give to you a bath in my sink just like I used to do with little Beezy when she had a blowout. As a little teeny, tiny, teensy weensy pegasus, she had dreadful fun breaking the wind, but she lacked the proper muscle control.”

“Over. So over.” Buttermilk’s words were muffled by the table that her face was mushed against and she covered her head with her wings.

Humming a happy maternal tune, Butter Fudge lifted Esmeralda from the floor—picking her up by the nape of her neck—and carried her off to the sink so that the foal could get cleaned up before going out with them to the movie. Meanwhile, those at the table tried to recover. Copperquick and Midge looked down at their plates, hoping for their appetites to come back, very much like the birds of spring returning from their sojourn, and Buttermilk’s dignity needed time to recuperate from the savage discomfiture visited upon her by her mother.

Author's Note

Let's go see a movie...

Chapter 8

Butter Fudge’s island had not one, but two docks. One was at the east end and Copperquick had seen that one when he had first arrived. The second was on the west end and it was connected to a storage shed—garage—boathouse? Copperquick did not know what these things were called. A wagon was of limited use here and a boat was far more practical. This boat was of fair size, appeared to have some sort of strange looking motor, and was propelled by an airscrew.

Far more interesting than the boat however was the sight of Buttermilk interacting with her father. They both buzzed about, flitting from one spot to another—more like hummingbirds than pegasus ponies—and they flew circles around one another in an obvious bit of fun. Copperquick envied them, wishing that he too had the freedom of movement that they both enjoyed.

Crickets and frogs serenaded the arrival of evening and the cries of whippoorwills came from every direction. Fireflies skimmed over the water and drifted aimlessly over the grass. Light and soft music could be heard from the island covered in tree houses—not annoying music—but soft, pleasant music, the kind that enhanced a moment rather than took away from it. The long day of work was done, it seemed, and now, the locals were winding down for the night.

“We had a billionaire visitor, Beezy.”

“Moomy?”

“That Mariner fellow, he came out and paid us a visit. He wanted to buy our share in the rice factory. Nice enough, I suppose, and stood right here on our dock. Had a long chat with us. He seemed pleasant enough, but he left disappointed.”

“You and Daddums kept your shares?” Buttermilk asked.

“I laughed him right off my property,” Butter Fudge replied as her hooves thudded against the wood of the dock. “He was a bit peeved, I think, but there is just no way that I’m selling my share in the rice factory to him. It is in our better interests to keep ownership local, but a few dunderheads did sell their shares to him. They got taken in by slick promises and fancy words, I suppose.”

Intrigued, Copperquick asked, “Shares?”

“The previous owner of the rice factory was a real git.” Butter Fudge’s expression became rather sour—the opposite of the sweetness her namesake promised—as if she had a bad taste in her mouth, and her tail whip-cracked from side to side. “A real git… didn’t want to pay his workers a fair wage and the quality of his product left a lot to be desired. So, a bunch of us locals banded together and made him an offer in such a way that he couldn’t tell us no…”

Something about the way Butter Fudge left the sentence hanging made Copperquick’s eyebrow arch as he stepped onto the bobbing skiff.

“We ran him out of town,” Butter Fudge continued, “and us locals shared ownership of the factory. I think we do a pretty good job of running it, a fair wage is paid, the rice farmers get a good price, and we sell a quality product. The rice costs a little more, which means we don’t export it to other areas, but we buy it local and that’s fine. Ponies are willing to pay a little extra for it and we’re real proud of what we have. It worked out so well that community ownership started to be established for everything. That Mariner chap, he wanted to buy up everything owned by the community and he came into town throwing his money around, trying to impress us.”

Copperquick sat down, settled in, and listened to his daughter as she babbled out a nonsensical stream of gibberish. She smelled wonderful, she did, having just had a bath, and every inch of her was extra snuggly with a softness that had to be snuggled to be believed. Perhaps Butter Fudge’s soaps had something to do with the remarkable transformation. When Buttermilk sat down beside him, Copperquick was thrilled to feel her against him and he thought about leaning over and giving her a kiss… but her parents were watching.

“We own a share in the movie theatre too,” Butter Fudge said as she settled herself by some controls and placed her hoof upon a short brass lever. “There’s a real nice theatre in the town proper, but it is too far away, and so we made our own. Everypony local banded together, pooled our money, and we made something out of nothing. Everypony that owns a share gets to watch for free and we have merchant’s rights, so we can sell food and goods there. And some of us do. That’s why I told you to save some room.”

With a smile, Butter Fudge yanked down on the short brass lever and a hum could be heard beneath the deck planks of the skiff. The entire craft vibrated and a buzz could be heard coming from below the control panel. The motor sprang to life with a surprising quiet and the airscrew began to spin. It gained a little volume as it began to spin faster, but Copperquick was impressed by how little noise the craft made. It appeared to be entirely electric-powered, but he couldn’t be certain.

Pulling on another long brass lever, the skiff shuddered to life and began moving as Butter Fudge shouted out a warning: “Hang on everypony, this boat of mine goes mighty fast!”

The electric skiff moved with heart pounding speed and skimmed over the water like a skipping stone. For the second time this day Copperquick found himself traveling by skiff, and much to his own surprise, he was starting to enjoy it. The electric motor droned like an angry beehive and at speed, it had some volume to it, but it was nowhere near as loud as a coal-fired steam engine.

Copperquick was grinning without realising it and Buttermilk was clinging to his foreleg. Midge buzzed alongside the skiff, expending no effort whatsoever to keep up. The night air was cool and held the promise of a chilly night. There were other boats around them, some powered by steam, others by eager pegasus ponies who strained to keep up with their mechanical competition. Overhead, an autogyro with pontoons for water landings went sputtering past, trailing a stream of sooty smoke.

These ponies were all daredevils, Copperquick decided. All this going about at ridiculous, break-neck speeds. Life in Canterlot happened at a sedate pace, at least, for the most part, though Copperquick had done a lot of running during his old job. This place was spread out though, while Canterlot was not, so there was a need for speed if one wanted to get somewhere within a reasonable time.

It seemed as though there were quite a few boats ahead and Copperquick saw the warm, inviting, golden glow of a great many electric lights. Trembling with anticipation, he couldn’t wait to see whatever was ahead, what wondrous creation had been built by these industrious, clever ponies who lived in the marsh. The night air was filled with the scent of popcorn, of sweet treats, and other things, spicy and savoury.

The movie ‘theatre’ was an island, an open island with a collection of buildings—shacks really—and a marina for the many boats. A long metal pole was being lifted between two tall trees, and from this metal pole was a white expanse of sailcloth—the movie screen. Many ponies scurried about, helpful pegasus ponies were setting up the screen and the sound system, while earth ponies finished up last-minute preparations.

It was, without a doubt, the most amazing thing that Copperquick had seen since his arrival in Manehattan's harbour. What a sight it was—what a monument to ingenuity it was—what a stunning example of technology without magic. The warm yellow-orange glow of electric lights was dazzling to the eye and Copperquick could see an enormous projector being secured to the top of a post by a crew of capable, nimble pegasus ponies.

The island itself had a gentle slope, with the screen down at the lowest point. Blankets were spread over the grassy rise and there were still many spots available. Some ponies lounged in the grass, sans blankets, and others had brought wooden folding chairs. Still others remained in their boats, with the marina having a good view of the screen.

Overhead, the twinkling stars went almost unnoticed because of the astounding brilliance of the electric lights. The darkness of the night was pushed back and the island was more than a patch of earth, it was a fortress of brilliance where the darkness could find no purchase. Not just light though, no, the darkness was also held at bay with comforting sounds. An orchestra of sorts was getting set up to the right of the screen and it seemed that tonight’s feature would have a live score.

“Shiny,” Esmeralda said in a voice that made her father’s ears perk.

“Yes, Esme, shiny.” After a moment of consideration, Copperquick added, “Hey, that’s a new word for you. Shiny!”

“Shiny,” Esmeralda said again, repeating herself.

“I’ll take my victories wherever I can get them.” Pleased and proud, Copperquick’s barrel puffed out and he held his head a little higher. “Stunted development… phooey. You’ll talk when you have something to say, won’t you, Esme?”

To this, Esmeralda did not respond, not with words, but her head bobbled on her neck while she looked around at the many sights to see. Angling his head a bit, Copperquick kissed her on top of her head, and then, feeling bold, he snuck in a quick peck on Buttermilk, who squeaked in startled shock. This did not go unnoticed…

The skiff pulled into a spot at the marina, to a post that had a brass plaque with the number ‘32’ etched into it. Butter Fudge killed the motor completely and Midge secured the skiff to the post with a length of rope. Other watercrafts bobbed around them, some bigger, some smaller, but all of them appeared to be cobbled together and not mass produced. Each of them held no small amount of charm and were reflections of their creators.

“Mighty Midge, go and find us a good spot and lay claim to it with a blanket,” Butter Fudge said to her husband. With a satisfied smile, she watched her husband grab a blanket, and waved as he departed. With a turn of her head, she faced the remaining passengers in her skiff while she powered down the console. “Don’t worry about bits… Midge and I have this. Our treat. I want this to be a magical night for the both of you.” Her brown-black mane was tossed about in the salty breeze and her eyes glittered with the reflections of the dazzling electric lights. “You kids have had a rough go at things… it’s time to be kids again for a while. Now come on, let’s go get some funnel cakes or something.”

What was a Buttermilk Oddbody? It was a relatively tiny organism—cute, adorable, rather just the right size to be cuddled—and this remarkable creature was powered by common fuel sources, such as caffeine and sugar. Once properly fueled, this creature became a living explosion of energy that flitted about, her hooves seldom touching the ground as she buzzed to and fro from place to place like Equestria’s busiest—and cutest—bumble bee.

At the moment, she was flying laps around Copperquick’s head as she gobbled down yet another funnel cake dusted with powdered sugar. Her muzzle was dusted with sugar, as was her mane, her cardigan, and her forelegs. More powdered sugar was sprinkled upon her like falling snow as she snipped off tiny bites with quick nips of her square, perfect teeth.

Darting downward, moving with alarming speed, she smooched Esmeralda and left behind a considerable dusting of sweet, sweet, (and more than a little sticky) powdered sugar. Before the foal could even sort out what had just happened or even respond, Buttermilk was gone again, flying in tight circles around Copperquick’s head, trailing little flurries of sugar dust behind her.

“I can fly!” Buttermilk cried through sugar-coated lips. “And it’s amazing! Wheeee!”

“Oi, she’ll be up all night,” Butter Fudge grumbled as she watched her daughter’s dizzy circuits.

Copperquick could not reply, as he had a huge bucket of buttery, cheesy popcorn held in his teeth. His head was craned off to one side so the bucket wouldn’t disturb Esmeralda, who was now rather sugary and sweet. He followed after Butter Fudge, who led the way, and his ears rotated to take in every available sound.

“Once, there was a filly who dreamed that she could fly… and then, she did! And it was amazing!”

There was a wry smile upon Butter Fudge’s face when she gave Copperquick a sidelong glance back over her withers. “It’s not so bad… you get used to it after a while. It’s like being in love with a hummingbird. If you can catch one, and trust me, catching them isn’t as hard as you might think, just leave something sweet lying about, but if you can catch one and hold on to it, all of that energy gets redirected elsewheres.” The mare winked one eye and then turned her head back about to see where she was going.

Copperquick almost dropped his popcorn due to this revelation’s effect upon his brain.

“Whee! Beezy is a breezy! Woo! Woo! Woo!” The funnel cake was gone, devoured, its remains were being licked off of Buttermilk’s lips with quick flicks of her orange tongue. “I need another! Be right back!” With a whoosh, Buttermilk was gone, leaving a sugar-scented breeze in her wake.

Author's Note

But what is an Esmeralda Verde?

Chapter 9

Love. Perhaps of all of life’s great mysteries, love was the greatest. It had been lust, not love, that had been the force of creation for Esmeralda Verde. His fling with Cielo del Este was just that, a fling, a conquest, a meaningless act done to satisfy juvenile pride. It was the worst sort of sex, done for the worst sort of reasons, and while it had felt good at the time, it was ultimately unfulfilling—unrewarding beyond the sense of conquest.

Two things had come from this act of lust: bragging rights—a reward squandered, rendered meaningless, pointless, due to newfound maturity—and Esmeralda Verde. The moment that Copperquick had encountered his daughter, he had no choice but to love, and what a love it was. Young, carefree, Copperquick had spent far too much time loving himself and looking after his own needs. Like so many his age, he was oblivious to the needs of others. Self-focused, he lived and acted as if he was the only pony who existed.

But with the arrival of Esmeralda Verde, all of that changed. Copperquick was forced to acknowledge that other ponies existed—they existed, had needs that were sometimes contrary to his own, and in the case of little Esmeralda, she was utterly incapable of looking after her own needs. Understanding these needs, anticipating these needs, it required a certain amount of empathy, of understanding, it demanded awareness, patience, sympathy, mercy, forbearance, and ultimately, love, which was the root of all of these things, the wellspring, the source.

Not that these things were impossible without love; but they were things made far more difficult and limited without love as a motivating force. Such as it was, Copperquick was forced to feel love for another, and this had been an awakening. In feeling these first few moments of love, when it was its most tender, most fragile, Copperquick became a creature compelled by love to act in the better interests of another.

This in turn, perhaps as a fickle twist of fate, put him into contact with another who was compelled by love to do extraordinary good; a one Buttermilk Oddbody, who had given over the entirety of her life to the service of others, asking nothing in return. In opening his heart to his daughter, to feel and experience love for her, he had unknowingly primed himself to feel and experience love from others.

Love communicates in strange ways, odd ways, manifesting itself in the most mysterious, most cryptic of acts: in this instance, it was Miss Oddbody following her Moomy’s advice and fixing hot buttery toast with cheese. It was a question, an invitation, a means for the love within to make a query, and Copperquick had responded.

And so it was, Copperquick had opened his heart to experience and feel two profoundly different types of love, forever altering his life, his outlook, and his future. The switch located deep within his heart had been flipped from ‘selfish’ over to ‘selfless’ and this could be seen in his actions, his interactions, and his reactions to the world around him.

Copperquick became a devoted, fervent servant to the whims of love…

With a gentle tug, Copperquick tried to pull the hovering pegasus a little bit closer, but to no avail. His insistence encountered resistance: when he tried to pull her in for a sweet little smooch, her wings buzzed and she held back. This wasn’t a no by any means, she had his fetlock held tight in hers and at any time, she could let go, but her grip on him remained strong.

She smelled of cinnamon and sugar, an inviting, almost intoxicating perfume that tickled his nostrils while inciting his desire. He pulled again and once more there was resistance to his insistence. Copperquick had no hold on Buttermilk whatsoever, other than perhaps his eyes, and the game continued to play out.

The movie was an older black and white film, Sinister Dark Versus the Despicables. Copperquick gave the movie very little attention, and that was only during the beginning. Sinister Dark was a wizard from House Dark, with a front left hoof that had a prominent deformity: she had been born with a dreadful case of clubfoot. Sinister Dark was barking mad, as it was claimed that the Darks tended to be, and she waged a one-mare war against a cabal of nefarious no-goodnik wizards who were rather keen on taking territory from Equestria.

Said wizards were just not prepared for the wrath visited down upon them and the film was a bonanza of special effects. No amount of magical might was a match for the sheer stark raving madness that Sinister possessed. The wizards, who had come to filch territory, were losing in a bad way and Equestria’s borders were expanded during this historical conflict.

But Copperquick paid very little attention to any of this, so focused was he on the pegasus maid flitting around his head. Esmeralda lay on her back on the blanket, dozing, somehow sleeping even with all of the noise. Nor did he notice how Butter Fudge and Mighty Midge were watching every bit of interaction between him and Buttermilk. They had ignored the film to watch a far more interesting show.

Buttermilk’s hazel-green eyes were aglow with inner-fire and Copperquick was thoroughly bewitched as he gazed into their depths. Her grip on his fetlock grew tighter and he noticed for the first time that her touch was just a little bit sweaty, even on this somewhat chilly spring night. Once more he tried to pull her in, and this time he had success. She was still pulling away, and he had to work for it, but pull her in he did, only stopping when their snoots bumped together, leaving him dusted with cinnamon and sugar.

The entirety of her body vibrated with her buzzing wings. She clung to him and he could feel her hot, heavy breathing against the tender, sensitive pad of his snoot. His lips reached out for hers like a drowning pony hoping to snatch their rescuer and once more, she pulled away, but only just a little, remaining teasingly out of reach. When she giggled, his ears rose, fell from disappointment, rose again, and then quivered from his frustration. He wickered, expressing his consternation, and she whinnied in reply.

“Beezy,” Butter Fudge said and then she began to chuckle a bit, “don’t be teasy.”

Blinking, Buttermilk became aware of the fact that her mother was watching, and her cheeks darkened. She darted in, undeterred, and planted an affectionate smooch right on Copperquick’s outstretched lips. For a brief second, the drone of her wings lessened, but then resumed speed and volume as she pulled away with a wet pop. Copperquick was left stunned by getting exactly what he wanted and he sat there with a now vacant stare, a blissful, stupid expression.

“Well, that does it Mighty Midge, we’ll have to talk with Beezy about the birds and the bees now.” Husky, rollicking peals of laughter erupted from Butter Fudge, and the mountain of a mare shook with her mirth.

Overcome with the giggles, Buttermilk let go of Copperquick, flitted about to and fro, and then reached down to brush away a bit of sweetness she had left behind. “The birds and the bees? I am a bird and a bee! Whee! Look at me!” Then, humming a merry tune, she took off with lightning speed, off to secure more sugary treats to satisfy her sweet tooth.

The film wasn’t quite in focus, it was a little blurry, a little grainy, but that didn’t matter. It was also damaged in places; again, that didn’t matter, a dedicated projectionist kept it repaired and held together. Being an old film, it had no sound, no voices, no nothing—but that didn’t matter. Being a clever, industrious community, they took great pride in their makeshift orchestra and a great many voices read the ornamental text boxes when they appeared on screen. If anything, the audience interaction added to the film.

In short, the movie, and by extension, the float-in theatre, was more than the sum of its parts. It became an experience, a rallying point for the community, a community that very much like the float-in theatre it had created, was more than the sum of its parts. There was a certain localised pride here—a culture of doing things for oneself and making do with whatever one had. The theatre, the vehicles, the houses, the buildings, even the very sense of the community itself, it all spoke with a voice of independence.

Copperquick heard this voice, though he did not realise it, and it had a profound effect upon him. As the film entered its final act, as Sinister Dark stormed the very gates of Tartarus itself, preparing to make the most noblest of all sacrifices, Copperquick held his half-awake daughter in his forelegs, trying to soothe her.

The screen had his attention now, but so did Esmeralda, who had just had a bottle and hadn’t yet decided what sort of mood she was in. Kicking and squirming, it was almost as if she was protesting the fact that she was not the center of attention. Copperquick rocked her and made wordless shushing noises in an attempt to appease her.

Meanwhile, Sinister Dark suffered in a manner most horrendous. The worst of the wizards was a unicorn known as the Golem Lord; he had mastered the dreadful trick of living without a body, and he jumped from one creation to another, having created an army of bodies. But Sinister had tricked him—the Darks were many things, but they were mostly mad and boxing clever—and she had fused a golem core within her own body.

Now, the Golem Lord was trapped within her and the very gates of Tartarus opened before her, yawning like some terrific abyssal maw. Copperquick watched, shivering, trying to understand this level of sacrifice. She was laughing, laughing fit to split, and though the film made not a sound, Copperquick could still hear it somehow, the mad, barking, gloating laughter as she reveled in her own smug superiourity.

One simply did not walk into the open gates of Tartarus, and neither did Sinister Dark. No, she pranced, limping on her lame leg, but still somehow making a jaunty entrance. Copperquick was certain that he could hear the creak of the massive, black iron doors being shut, the squeak of old hinges. Just before the door was shut completely, the hands of some otherwise unseen entity put a heavy iron collar around Sinister’s neck and secured it into place.

Then, the doors shut and the credits appeared in slides that had no movement, no animation.

Well, that was kind of a downer… ignoring the credits, Copperquick gave his daughter the attention that she craved. When he looked down at her, she perked up almost right away and had the promise of a far more pleasant mood if she could just get what she wanted. He thought about Sinister Dark, and though he hadn’t paid much attention to the movie, her sacrifice stood out for him. That had seized his attention, his imagination, and now, as a father, he wondered how much he was willing to give for the sake of his daughter.

Potentially, everything.

“Cold, Esme?” he asked and he gave her a bit of a squeeze.

“I’m sad!” Buttermilk blurted out and she pressed her front hooves into her cheeks. “I hate the story of Sinister Dark… I don’t like stories that don’t have happy endings! I don’t like them!” Frantic, she began to fly around in tight, frenetic circles around Copperquick’s head while making distressed whinnies.

“Mama?”

The words, little more a murmur that might have been lost in the sea of noise all around them, made Buttermilk halt and her ears perked. It also made Butter Fudge halt and the big mare turned her head to look as her own daughter flitted down. Buttermilk plucked Esmeralda from Copperquick’s embrace and pulled her into a tight, snuggly hug.

“I know what you want,” Buttermilk said to Esmeralda as she swooped about. “You want your Daddy and I to cuddle you together, don’t you? What little routine you have has been broken and you hate that, don’t you?”

“Herd bonding.” Butter Fudge spoke in a wise, knowing voice. “If that’s actually what she wants, that means she’s healing a bit. You need to stay on top of that. Now you settle down, Beezy, and you get to cuddling, right now, this minute.”

“I try, Moomy, but everything has been so stressful and then all of this stuff happened and we came home and we went to the movies and I was having a wonderful time right up to the point where the movie ended because I don’t like movies with bad endings and—” Buttermilk inhaled with a near wheeze but all of her words died when her mother snorted.

Copperquick wasn’t sure what was going on, but Butter Fudge had this most curious smile. A secretive smile and a merry twinkle could be seen in her eye, or maybe it was just the dazzling electric lights. Buttermilk plopped down to earth, landing on the blanket just in front of Copperquick, and with one swift motion, he pulled her close, somehow having her mother’s approval to do so.

Right away, Esmeralda brightened and began to babble, making nonsensical foal-talk.

Buttermilk, totally glitzed and blitzed on sugar, had trouble sitting still. She squirmed a bit, squeezing Esmeralda, and wiggled a little closer to Copperquick. Blinking a few times, she focused her bespectacled stare upon her mother, and she had this to say: “It’s really tragic, Moomy, but foals raised by a single parent are less socially adjusted than foals raised by two parents. And foals raised by herds… those are some of the most gregarious foals of all. I’ve been studying the data, now and again, and when I go for my doctorate, and I am going for my doctorate, make no mistake, I plan to have my doctoral thesis focus on this issue.”

“Beezy?” Butter Fudge looked absolutely baffled.

“I have a plan to create a support group for single parents… a sort of pseudo-herd… a social network of disadvantaged parents who can help one another. They can interact with one another and their offspring, and it is my hope that the pseudo-herd has a positive impact on the social development of the foals within a group. If I can get them all interacting enough, it should mirror the beneficial herd structure of extended families, and it would also give the parents a helpful network of other like-minded parents in similar situations that would understand the troubles, trials, and tribulations of being a single parent, which has problems that are greatly magnified in animals with a deep, innate herd-mentality such as ourselves.”

“Beezy… I’m sorry… but it’s like you’re speaking a different language. I only understood about a half, if even that, of what you said. Slow down and try to explain this to me, because I want to understand.” Butter Fudge’s ears sagged and there was a look of deep concern in her eyes. “I can’t abide by ignorance and I feel like there is a lot that I don’t know at the moment.”

In the distance, another film was being loaded into the projector and there was quite a rush to get more snacks from the vendors. Copperquick, looking a bit serious, wrapped a foreleg around Buttermilk and gave her a reassuring hug, which made Esmeralda babble even more.

“Beezy,” Mighty Midge said to his daughter, “if you don’t mind me asking, what brought all this on?”

“Copper,” Buttermilk replied without hesitation. “About a week or so after meeting him, when everything fell apart, when all of the trouble really began to pile on, when I began to feel the very real fear of losing a client and somepony that was dear to me, I was… motivated. I saw how ponies fell through the cracks and so I began to wonder how do these cracks appear in the first place, and then there was a lot of questions, and I talked Mrs. Velvet’s ear off, and then I wore out Princess Cadance’s ear, and then after that Princess Celestia and I had a conversation that lasted for all of about… I want to say, twenty or so hours? And I listened to her because she’s been alive for a bloody long time and she has a lot to say on the subject and then after that I began to arrive at my conclusions.”

“And those are?” Mighty Midge leaned in and his ears were angled out over his curious, serious face.

“Family and herd structure decay.” Buttermilk blinked behind her thick glasses, sniffed a bit, and gave Esmeralda a squeeze. “Take Ripple Rusher… she is most obviously a single parent. She is also ostracised… shunned in laypony terms.” Here, Buttermilk paused and gave her parents a meaningful raised eyebrow. “She is raising her foals in an environment detrimental to their development, one that is not conducive to them making healthy, well-adjusted herd-connections. These foals are going to grow up into adults that have compromised herd-connections, and these conditions will be passed on to their future offspring. This is already happening and we can see the evidence of this by a number of problems already present in society. By slut shaming and shunning Ripple Rusher, no matter what awful things she might have or might not have done, we are placing the onus of her punishment, the millstone around her neck in laypony terms, around the necks of her foals as well, and all of society will suffer for it, and not just Ripple Rusher.”

Butter Fudge’s lips pursed into a tight, sour pucker, but she said nothing. Mighty Midge was also quiet, musing on his daughter’s words, and both of them suffered from some intense bewilderment. As for Copperquick, he reflected upon Buttermilk’s words, understanding them well enough and appreciating the fact that she had courage enough to challenge her parent’s beliefs. He also had immense pride that he had fallen in love with an intellectual who was eloquent and impassioned enough to challenge his own beliefs.

“Daddums, could you please go and get me a drink? I ate too much sugar and salt and I’m really, really thirsty and right now, Esme needs her cuddle time.” Batting her eyelashes, Buttermilk spared no mercy and gave her father a hopeful smile.

Grunting, the blue pegasus rose into the air, then went buzzing towards the concession stands, as Copperquick began to wonder about the mysterious power that daughters held over their fathers.

Author's Note

'Tis an ill wind that blows no minds.

Chapter 10

“Esme, you’re killing me,” Copperquick said to his daughter, sighing out the words. “It’s almost midnight and you’re not showing any signs of being sleepy. I have schoolwork I need to do and I didn’t get anything done today. Why can’t you be sleepy?” Reaching out with his hoof, he poked her right in the pudge and got an indignant glare in response.

“Nyuh!” she whined as she waved her front legs about and her face became stormy.

The bedroom door opened and when Copperquick turned his head, he saw Buttermilk, still damp from her time in the shower. Her mane was down, spilling all around her face, her neck, and her withers. She had left her glasses on the small table by the bedside and she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing, which made his heart race just a little. The pegasus mare was clean now, free of sugar and cinnamon dust, and she clucked her tongue as she approached the bed.

“Somepony isn’t sleepy,” she said when she stood beside the bed.

Buttermilk then lept up onto the bed, turned around in a circle three times, laid down on her stomach, and began to preen her wings. Copperquick stared, his eyes narrow, curious, and one eyebrow raised. Esmeralda lost her balance and fell over, landing on her back with her four little legs up in the air. She whined to express her displeasure at this turn of events, and then very much like an overturned tortoise, she flailed about to try and get turned over, which proved impossible to do on the soft surface of the bed.

“Why, Miss Oddbody, this is new.” When Buttermilk did not reply, Copperquick continued, “You’ve always sought out privacy or sent me out of the room before. I’ve never fully understood why, either, but I suppose it has to be a pegasus pony quirk. So, what’s changed?”

Perhaps because it was rude to talk with a mouthful of feathers, Buttermilk had nothing to say in return, but she did endure a ferocious, fiery blush as Copperquick continued to stare. It took him several seconds before he realised that she was struggling, and it occurred to him that she was trying to include him in the more intimate moments of her life. Now, blushing himself, he turned his attention to Esmeralda, who still struggled to turn over.

With his hoof, he pushed against his daughter’s ribs until she was righted, and she rose into a standing position, her little knees flexing as she tried to keep her balance on the soft mattress. She almost tripped on the blanket, whined, and then toddled closer to her father. Esmeralda didn’t sit down so much as she allowed her bottom to hit the bed, and then she braced herself with her front legs as she was now sitting in the slope where her father’s body had made a depression.

“I worry, Esme,” Copperquick said as his daughter lost her balance and tumbled into his foreleg. “You should be talking more. You should have more to say. Your mother messed you up and sometimes, sometimes I worry that I might be doing the same. With the eviction and everything that’s happened, you just haven’t had a good, stable foalhood so far. It scares me, Esme, that I might be doing you further harm.”

In response, the little filly began blowing slobbery, flatulent raspberries.

“I do my best, but sometimes, I wonder if it’s enough,” Copperquick continued, and then he remembered that Buttermilk was on the bed with him. His cheeks darkened, going from their usual cheery copper hue to a dark, dark bronze. Somehow, he had lost track of that little detail. Ears drooping, he pushed his snoot against Esmeralda’s cheek and chuffed.

The filly squealed and tried to wiggle away, but to no avail. Turning her head, she wiped her wet muzzle against her father’s face, let out a muffled coo that turned into a gurgle, and then went still, content enough with her situation that there was no need for her to struggle. Copperquick lifted his head, shook it a bit but failed to be rid of the glistening slobber, and then looked down at Esmeralda with something of an amused expression, a wry, dry, amused expression that somehow made him appear both older and wiser.

Unable to resist, Copperquick gave Buttermilk a sidelong glance and caught sight of her mid-preen. She was tugging a long feather through her lips, which were darkened and slick with moisture. Her mane—which had surprising length—framed her downturned face, obscuring most of it behind wavy, clingy, damp strands. The overall effect was near-instant arousal, but much to his own shock and confusion, it wasn’t physical arousal, not yet.

This was new territory for him and he returned his gaze to his daughter before the sight of Buttermilk could gorgonise him. His wing fetish was still a presence in the back of his mind, and it made a very polite inquiry for him to have another look at the preening pegasus on the bed beside him. Esmeralda too, seemed fascinated by what she saw and watched while blowing spit bubbles.

“Things are so complicated, Esme,” Copperquick said to the little filly pressed against his foreleg. “The doctor said I’m supposed to spend an hour a day talking to you to try and socialise you and develop a rapport. One hour of focused talking… an hour seems so short until you spend it trying to think of what to say. And then I have all those hours of school, and homework, and everything else that takes up my day, and it seems that the only time I get any real sleep is when you are sleeping, and you hardly ever sleep for very long. There are only so many hours in a day and no matter how I try to arrange them, there are never enough of them to accomplish everything that needs to be done.”

Blinking, Esmeralda looked up at her father and sounding quite solemn, she said, “Plish.” Then, she yawned, wiggled her legs a bit, yawned for a second time, and then she closed her eyes.

Sighing, Copperquick spilled over onto his side and pulled his daughter closer. Her eyes opened, but only for a moment, perhaps checking to see if she would be abandoned. When she was pulled close and snuggled however, she was content to close her eyes once more and went still. He wickered, a robust, protective sound, and much to his surprise, Buttermilk answered with a muted whinny through a mouthful of feather.

Sprawled out, Copperquick rested his head on the pillow, delighting in the cool sensation against his cheek. Esmeralda was a warm ball of fuzz pressed against the base of his neck and the contrast of sensations, the cool of the pillow and the warmth of the tiny body held tight to him, his brain revelled in the sensate experience. The room was cool, but not chilly, a promise of ideal sleeping conditions.

Copperquick closed his eyes, intending to only rest them for but a moment…

When Copperquick opened up his eyes once more, a stinky green tendril was probing the depths of his nose. His eyelids flew open like a pony throwing open the shutters on a window so that they might greet the dawn. But this wasn’t the dawn, no, the room was still dark and this was something else entirely. Approximately one eighth of a second after gaining some semblance of awareness—a condition most unwanted—Copperquick realised that he could taste it.

“Foosh,” a faint voice said in the darkness and Copperquick quivered from fear.

There were moments—challenges—in being a father, difficult moments of forbearance, perseverance, dedication, devotion, and duty… and then there was doody. It was time to face the dragon—it was time to be awesome—who was he kidding? It was time to die. Buttermilk was sound asleep in the bed beside him, or perhaps she had already succumbed to the stench and had since crossed over into the verdant fields of forever green that was the promised afterlife of the good and virtuous.

He went to grab his daughter—to pick her up by the scruff of her neck, but failed. To do that, he had to get too close to the source, it meant placing his nose near the sundered gates of Tartarus and breathing in the sulphurous musk wafting about. Shuddering, tears welled up in the corners of his eyes and Copperquick gagged almost to the point of coughing.

“Somepony made a fooshy-whooshy out their tushy-whooshy.” He choked out these words, whispering them in the darkness that was devoid of hope. Every muscle in his body told him to run, and even his mind agreed; Buttermilk would wake up soon enough and this was a problem that would fix itself.

At this moment, at this time, he was Sinister Dark, preparing to make the ultimate in sacrifices. Gripped by a strange calm, Copperquick steadied himself, knowing what must be done. Embracing the moment, he said, “Quite an experience to live in fear, isn’t it? That’s what it is to be a father.”

With his teeth, he picked his daughter up by the scruff of her neck and then slipped out from beneath the blankets. Like a newborn, he emerged from the warm, snug bed, and wobbled a bit until his legs were steady. It was cold in the room, not cool, not chilly, but cold, and gnawed away at the residual heat still trapped in his pelt from being in a warm bed.

Esmeralda, who dangled from her father’s teeth, squeaked in protest of the sudden cold, then kicked and wiggled when she was rained upon. Tears—big ones—rolled down her father’s face and struck her, leaving behind dark, damp spots that were invisible in the inky blackness of the lightless room.

There truly was no light: Canterlot had light at all hours of the day and night, streetlights, signs, brilliant illumination bled in through every crack and crevice in the blinds, shades, curtains, and drapes. But this place? It was dark. Nothing shone through the window. Copperquick began to worry about his daughter, who did not like the dark, and he could hear her worried snuffles.

A night light was needed.

Copperquick began feeling his way through the darkness, hoping beyond hope that he would not stumble, trip, slip, or fall. He couldn’t remember where the light switch was, and the one lamp that was by the bed was on Buttermilk’s side. Esmeralda was starting to wake up more and with her growing awareness she began protesting the current state of things.

The stench? Unbearable. Darkness? Impenetrable. Somehow, Copperquick persisted, and found his way to the bedroom door. Beyond was the hall, and down the hall on the left was the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, he would find the light switch—while somehow still holding his daughter—he would peel off the diaper that may or may not have already leaked, and then he would pull his daughter into the shower with him.

That would fix things, or so he hoped.

There was a light on in the kitchen, but not the bright overhead light. A soft, gentle light was turned on above the sink, which left the room just about perfect for eyes just waking up. The stove ticked and pinged with heat, but was no longer turned on. A pleasantly warm bottle sat on the counter and a pot full of something wonderful sat atop the stove. It smelled of chocolate, of cinnamon, and other scents, but he did not know what it was.

Esmeralda, smelling of soap, was dropped upon her blanket on the floor. She took a moment to balance on her haunches, then burbled out her demand to be fed, right now, this instant, and she made it clear that there would be trouble if her demands were not met. The little filly was cranky, and it was no wonder really, she had gone for hours without a bottle and had awoken in quite a mess.

“Florp!” she florped and then she began to wave her forelegs around in annoyance.

There was something about the filly that reminded Copperquick of her mother, Cielo del Este. She was manipulative, she was demanding, fussy, and wanted to have her way. Unlike her mother, Esmeralda was affectionate, appreciative, and was generally likeable. There was only just a little diva there, just enough to be noticeable, but not enough to be monstrous, or so Copperquick hoped.

“Florp!” she florped again, and this time with a good deal more insistence. As if reinforcing her point, the little filly’s stomach gurgled and she let out a long nasal whine to let her father know that she was starving. “Florp!” Esmeralda’s mouth hung open and she pointed at her gaping maw with her hoof, demanding that her father do something.

Picking up the bottle in his teeth by the nipple, he had a bit of warm goat’s milk squirt into his mouth and Copperquick smiled. It certainly tasted better than foal formula, anyhow, which Copperquick imagined tasted a bit like plaster, not that he had ever eaten plaster, but there was something about the smell and texture. Esmeralda was bouncing now, reaching up with her forelegs and making frantic whimpers.

When he returned to where he had left her, he dropped the bottle down to the blanket. She looked up at him, annoyed, and her lip curled back in a sneer. Forced to retrieve her own breakfast, she fumbled a bit with the bottle before she managed to lift it up in her forelegs. It took even more of a struggle to get the bottle uprighted, and then she attacked the nipple, biting down upon it with all of the ferocious savagery the little filly could muster.

Copperquick winced and felt immense pity for mares who went a more natural route.

Being an earth pony kind of stunk, and it was important to learn how to handle stuff from an early age. Letting Esmeralda get her own bottle was teaching her valuable life skills, though Copperquick did feel just a tiny bit guilty from the glare that his daughter gave him. He sat down beside her and oh, how she glowered at him, letting him know that she was not pleased with the state of things or the delivery of her breakfast.

There wasn’t so much as a hint or suggestion of pink, golden light in the windows and it was still very much dark outside. The clock over the sink said it was ten minutes past five, which meant that Esmeralda had slept through most of the night. Copperquick counted it as most. He couldn’t remember when he had fallen asleep exactly, but it had been somewhere around midnight. Yawning, he thought back to the glorious days when he had slept. Those days would return, he hoped.

“You had a rough morning, didn’t you Esme?” He looked down at the filly looking up at him and felt bad for her. “You woke up in the dark, and you don’t like that. You made a big stinky and that emptied you out. You slept a bit longer than you usually do and I bet you were really, really hungry. I have to think about these things and why you might be so upset because it keeps me from losing my patience with you. All of this is made worse because you can’t communicate everything that is wrong… all you can do is cry and hope for the best. Your mother certainly didn’t do what was necessary when you cried… and so it falls on me to try and make up for that.”

Esmeralda’s sulky expression softened a bit and she leaned up against her father while she suckled on her bottle. She closed her eyes, relaxed a little, and then made tiny squeaks with each and every slurp. When the back door was opened, so did her eyes, and Butter Fudge tromped into the kitchen.

The big mare stared at Copperquick and something that was almost a wistful smile could be seen tugging at the corners of her mouth. Hay was in her mane and she had brought the sweet fragrance of a hayloft into the kitchen with her. Esmeralda closed her eyes again and was content to continue suckling on her bottle.

“I missed this,” Butter Fudge said to Copperquick in a husky, muted voice. “It breaks up the routine a bit… I wanted to have more foals, I did… but I had a plan and I stuck to it. Too many immigrants come to this country and then have far too many foals. Stirs up resentment, and I suppose I understand why. Most of them stay poor and end up in tenements and such. I made a plan to avoid that. I had me some high hopes that Buttermilk would give me the big sprawling family that I wanted, and I worked day in and day out to try and give her the means where she could do that. Of course, she had other plans, and that’s fine, but I still have my daydreams.”

Copperquick didn’t know what to say, but being as polite and considerate as he was, he gave Butter Fudge his full attention while Esmeralda slurped down her bottle.

“It’s going to be a rough day, Copper, when you come to the realisation that your daughter might have different plans than you do. You can do one of two things when this happens… you can act like you know what is best for her and you can try to make her do what you want… or you can be objective, sit down, and try to get a broad sense of what it is that she wants, and you can do all you can to try and prepare her for that. Now, one of these is right, and one of these is wrong, and with you being a smart pony and all, I’ll leave it to you to determine which is which.”

The big mare strode through her kitchen, went to the stove, lifted the lid off of the pot, and then began to stir it with a large wooden spoon that she held in her fetlock. As she stood, stirring, she said, “I did a little preparing for both, I suppose. I never quite let go of my dream. I built this house as big as it is for a large family. I’ve squirreled away a fair bit of fortune for quite a number of rainy days. I own shares in quite a number of local businesses and while it isn’t as much as I would like for it to be, it is still better than what most first generation immigrants manage to scrape together.”

Satisfied with her stirring, she turned around to face Copperquick and there was something about her eyes, something hopeful, something happy, something joyous. Her tail swished from side to side while her immense barrel puffed out, perhaps from pride, or maybe she just couldn’t contain her emotion. This mare was larger than life itself and her good mood was infectious.

“There’s malted wheat porridge on the stove. Buttermilk adores the stuff, just like her father, and when she smells it, she’ll wake up. Maybe. She was pretty buzzed last night. Anyhow, help yourself and eat as much as you want. I made quite a bit. I have to go back out and finish up my chores.”

“Thank you,” Copperquick replied.

“Don’t mention it,” the big mare said as she strode for the back door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Author's Note

It just happened this way...

Chapter 11

“We need a night light,” Copperquick said to Buttermilk, who sat at the table with him. “When I got up this morning, it was dark, and Esme just about had herself a complete and total freak out. Once I got her into the bathroom with me, she was fine, but I don’t want to tempt fate. You do remember what has happened the last few times there was a freak out…”

Nothing more needed to be said and Buttermilk nodded in reply. Esmeralda’s meltdowns were something to be feared and worried about; this was no mere exaggeration. She was capable of crying for hours at a time, exhausting herself, or worse, dehydrating herself. One particularly nasty freak out resulted in a trip to the hospital, and the overall experience had left quite an impression upon Copperquick. His daughter had issues, developmental issues; this was bad, because his daughter suffered, but also good, because these developmental issues had been diagnosed and determined, meaning that her mother, Cielo del Este—the cause and source of said issues—would have a much harder time getting custody back if it came to that.

“We are a we now, aren’t we?” Buttermilk asked and she paused from gobbling down her malted wheat. “I thought about it, last night after you went to sleep. It is why I made myself preen with you in the room even though I was uncomfortable with it. I laid awake for a while thinking about the fact that I was deeply involved with a stallion that has an infant daughter that calls me ‘Mama’ and I thought of many things that troubled me.”

When Esmeralda burbled, Copperquick’s ears perked, but she seemed content to play with her stuffed toys. At the moment, she was squeezing her stuffed eggplant while babbling at her stuffed carrot… at least, that was what she seemed to be doing. It was hard to tell. Licking his lips, he looked into Buttermilk’s eyes so that he might better understand her mood.

“With as troubled as Esmeralda is, I’ve become involved. Invested. Walking away is something that I simply could not do. It would crush her… and well, you as well, but for Esme in particular, after suffering whatever abuse that happened at the hooves of her mother, and then finally forming a bond with me, if I broke that bond, I would be thoroughly wrecking the life of another pony. She’s already been damaged, but she can heal. But if I was to walk away now, in the middle of her healing process… this kept me awake last night. I couldn’t go to sleep. I just laid there staring up at the ceiling for quite some time.”

“I had a similar moment of awareness one night…” Copperquick found that he could no longer look Buttermilk in the eye, so he stared down into his bowl full of porridge instead. The malted wheat had chocolate in it, raisins, cinnamon, and overall, it was quite a treat. “It was like my brain made the connection, ‘I am now a father.’ And just like that, I couldn’t sleep. I laid awake in a particularly bad state of mind and wondered how badly I was going to mess all of this up. That night, I had a dreadful nightmare of little Esme, all grown up, being locked away in a sanitarium for the mentally disturbed, and it was all my fault.”

And then, as an afterthought, he added, “I can’t even tell if she’s getting better, sometimes, I worry—”

“These things take time, Copper, and I think she’s getting better. You have to be patient.”

“I can’t be patient.” Lifting his head, he looked into the eyes of the pegasus mare sitting across from him. When he started to speak, he found that it was hard to keep his voice down and he had to struggle against his own welling emotions. “This waiting is killing me. I need to know that she is okay now.” Changing the tone and depth of his voice, he began reciting everything that had been said on that horrid day and he mimicked the doctor. “Terribly sorry, Mister Quick, but it seems that your daughter has suffered considerable neglect and emotional abuse. We’re still doing some tests but it seems that your daughter has some developmental disabilities. She clearly suffered some sort of horrible emotional trauma at a moment when she was most vulnerable. Terribly, dreadfully sorry—”

“Copper, stop. Stop now before you get yourself all worked up—”

“I’m already worked up,” he said, spitting out the words in a forceful whisper. “Developmental disabilities, Buttermilk. That’s quite a mouthful, wouldn’t you agree?” When the sting of tears became overwhelming, he stared back down into his bowl, shuddered, and then sat there, almost panting. Thinking back to that day at the Weeping Sister Hospital was unbearable and he could feel a real, physical pain down in his guts.

“You are going to pull yourself together and you are going to hit the books. I am going to look after Emse and do a little butter churning.” Buttermilk’s voice was firm, commanding, but also gentle and full of affection. “Once you are done studying for the day, we’re going to do something nice. Together. I don’t know what just yet.”

“Okay.” Copperquick sighed out the word and his withers slumped as his whole body sagged. “Holding myself together. I can do that, I think.” He took a deep breath, held it for a bit, and then let everything out in a huff. Ears perking, he reminded himself that he was championing the cause of social reform, not just for his own daughter, but for foals and disadvantaged parents everywhere.

This did not stop the shudders, however.

Perhaps he needed his own psychological evaluation.

“Copper!” Buttermilk burst through the back door and into the kitchen in an almost breathless state. “Copper! You have to look at this! You won’t believe what has happened! Look, Copper!” Wings buzzing, she flew into the kitchen with Esmeralda held secure in her foal sling and a warm, balmy breeze flowed through the now open backdoor.

A moment later, Butter Fudge also came through the back door, galloping into the kitchen with a worried look on her face, perhaps because she didn’t know what was going on. Copperquick looked up from his book, rubbed his eyes with his foreleg, and then looked down at the newspaper when Buttermilk tossed it down on the table in front of him.

SCANDAL ROCKS JUDICIAL CIRCUIT!

“Is that—” Copperquick started to say, but he never had a chance to finish.

“Yes, that is the judge that is supposed to be handling your preliminary trial!” Buttermilk was loud, excited, but she wasn’t quite shouting. She landed near Copperquick, stood on the floor, and began poking at the picture of the pony on the front page of the newspaper. “Justice Heavy Gavel, the pony that specialises in family law cases and has championed punitive laws against stallions has been found to have over a dozen illegitimate foals. He slept with mares in exchange for handing out harsher, tougher sentences on wayward fathers and husbands.”

“He’s supposed to be a defender of the common mare,” Butter Fudge said as she stood there, stunned, and clearly in shock. “And the bane of philandering husbands everywhere. How… how could he… how could this happen?” The big mare now stood with her mouth hanging open and it appeared as though she was having trouble even blinking.

Copperquick too, was having trouble taking this in. The hospital bill that he had been stuck with, the so-called punitive measure, that law had been introduced into the legal system because of this judge, this champion of justice. He felt a slap on the back of his head and when he turned Esmeralda clobbered him again, this time catching him on the ear.

Reaching out, he nudged Buttermilk and asked, “Do you… do you think that Yam did this?”

“Probably,” Buttermilk blurted out; then with a worried expression, she shot a meaningful glance in her mother’s direction and by making a stern face, she urged Copperquick to say nothing else. “It’s not just one judge though. The entire judicial system of Canterlot is under investigation and a whole bunch of judges and magistrates just tendered their resignations for reasons unknown. Every single trial for the next year is being delayed or postponed.”

Grunting, Butter Fudge whip-cracked her tail, turned about, and stormed out the back door, her hooves thudding with each strike. Buttermilk’s face fell, as did her ears, and she stared at the spot where her mother had stood. Copperquick could sense that Buttermilk was upset, and he tried to read her face while Esmeralda attempted to pound his skull.

“Oh no… Moomy is a firm believer in the sanctity of the legal system… oh no… I can’t imagine what this must be doing to her.” Buttermilk began to tremble and her eyes misted over. She blinked a few times, drew in a deep breath, and leaned against Copperquick. “Moomy has deep, deep beliefs about cutie marks and what a pony is born to do. She tends to think that those with legal cutie marks have infallible powers of judgment and are moral pillars of a community. She and I have tussled on this issue before and she’s very passionate about what she believes in. Oh dear… poor Moomy.”

“You can’t even become a judge or a magistrate unless you have a clearly defined cutie mark that is specific to legality or justice… I was just learning about the foundations of Equestria’s legal systems just before we left. My civics class… the professor is seen as a radical and is intensely disliked for suggesting that maybe we shouldn’t do this.” Copperquick ducked his head away from Esmeralda’s swinging hooves and then, reaching up with his left front hoof, he began to rub his temple.

Reaching up, Buttermilk pulled Esmeralda out of her sling, gave her a quick squishy hug that made the little filly giggle, and then put her down on the kitchen floor. Down on the floor, Esmeralda stood near Buttermilk for a moment, looking cautious, then, she dropped her nose down to the floor, sniffed, and began to toddle around on wobbly legs.

“Do you think that Mrs. Velvet sicced Yam on them?” Copperquick asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” she replied while shrugging with her wings, “maybe? She’s had him working around the clock for weeks, even before you showed up. I thought that maybe she was working on the next phase of the plan, but maybe the plan changed and now this is the next step. She hasn’t filled me in on the plan lately and she’s told me to remain focused on you.”

There was a dreadful sinking sensation in Copperquick’s stomach and he started to feel a little sick. Esmeralda was beneath the table now, sniffing at the table legs and getting accustomed to this new place. He slumped down against the edge of the table, closed his eyes, and tried not to think of the immeasurable ruination that this would surely cause.

Without warning, Buttermilk took to the air and flew away, her wings almost—but not quite—buzzing. She flew to the stove, fetched the teakettle, flew to the sink, filled the teakettle, when the teakettle was filled, she flew back to the stove, and she put it on to boil. Next, she began to raid the cupboards, pulling out everything needed for tea, all while looking quite solemn.

She pulled down not one, but two teapots, and had two different boxes of tea on the counter. One box was familiar—Celestial Glory—and the other box was something else entirely: Madam Oolong Rouge’s Royal Red Blend. From where Copperquick was sitting he was able to read that this tea was a fine blend of oolong and rose hips.

The warm, ruddy light of morning blazed in through the kitchen windows now, warming the air and filling the room with sunshiny cheer. It was almost as if Princess Celestia herself had arrived and was now trying to gladden those in low spirits. Beneath the table, Esmeralda seemed content and toddled about in circles.

“There are certain careers,” Copperquick began, “that one can only get if they have just the right cutie mark. Certain positions within society. I cannot help but wonder, Buttermilk, if this sudden upset in our legal system will cast a shadow of doubt upon cutie marks in general. I know that I, for one, understand very little about them, but they seem to rule every aspect of our lives.”

“And now, I am thinking of Mister Blancmange,” Buttermilk remarked as she placed a plate down upon the counter. “His comments about my cutie mark and how I was unsuited for my job. Ooooh, what I wouldn’t give to smack him in the face for what he did to—”

“Esme, cover your ears, your Mama is going to start blurting out swearies—”

“No I’m not!” Red-faced, Buttermilk hovered in place and waved her forelegs around. “Okay, I thought about it, but I was only thinking about it. I wasn’t going to do it. But I really, really hate that pony. He’s a buggering git, so he is.” Scooping up some mugs, she held them in her forelegs and flew over to the table to set them out. “I think Moomy will feel better after a cuppa.”

From beneath the table, Esmeralda said, “Buggery-oo-oo!”

Wide-eyed, Buttermilk covered her mouth with one hoof and very nearly dropped a mug on the floor. “Why, Copper, how could you?”

“But I—”

“Copper!”

“But you—”

“Copper! Tsk, tsk, tsk!”

“No, that was—”

“Copper, I told you this would happen,” Buttermilk said from behind her hoof and she gave Copperquick a withering, accusatory glare that was somehow made worse by her mane being pulled back into a severe bun.

“Oh, sod it,” he swore and this made the hovering pegasus gasp at him.

“Shut your gormless gob,” Buttermilk said to Copperquick, and then she began to snicker as she flew away.

As he watched her go, he could not help but smile and feel a little better.

Author's Note

Whoops.

Chapter 12

Butter Fudge was distraught, and Copperquick found that he felt bad for her. This was no mere case of passing sympathy, no, this was a deep and genuine concern, because what affected Butter Fudge also affected Buttermilk. The two mares, so very different, also had remarkable similarities, though he was still sorting out what those were.

Chores and study had been delayed for tea and sympathy.

Esmeralda, perhaps feeling brave, ventured a little further away than usual to explore the kitchen. She didn’t go very far; every few steps she would stop and turn about to check and see that she was being watched over. For those most observant, for those who understood what was going on, it was the actions of a foal who did not trust—that is to say that Esmeralda did not trust that her father would be there when she turned around, hence the need for constant checking. For those who had some understanding of what these behaviours meant—such as Buttermilk Oddbody—these constant mistrustful actions were deeply troubling. It was evidence of damage, of harm, of injury done.

Butter Fudge too, was also troubled and it could be seen in every wrinkle upon her honest, forthright face. It could be seen in every furrow of her brow, the crows feet around her eyes, and the clenching of her powerful jaw muscles. Copperquick tried to read her face—going by what he knew about Buttermilk—and what he saw was outrage and sorrow.

“It’s funny,” Butter Fudge began, breaking the oppressive silence. She set her mug down upon the table and when she pulled her hooves away, they were trembling. “I had this belief that a cutie mark defined all that you were and all that you would be. I was raised to never question what I was meant to do, and that I should not question what others were meant to do either.”

Reaching up, Butter Fudge closed her eyes and rubbed her chin. “The one time that I did question the authority of the mark, my father, he paddled me for what felt like half a day with my mother’s breadboard, and he made my brothers and sisters watch. When he got done, I couldn’t sit down for a week or more, and since I couldn’t sit down, I couldn’t sit back and have myself a good think, either.”

Copperquick winced, having been paddled himself, but nothing too bad.

“I got my milk pail and that was it. I was what I was and nothing could be done about it. I was destined for dairy work, but I suppose that my father didn’t paddle me nearly enough, because I still had questions left in me… some doubts. I tried my hoof at soap making, just to see if it could be done, and… I guess that satisfied my questions and doubts… or maybe it was because Buttermilk was on the way. I… don’t… know… but I learned how to make soap just to see if I could and I guess that was the end of my little rebellious streak. After that, I had a husband to satisfy and a newborn to look after, and so I focused on what I was good at. Dairy.”

Unable to resist pointing out the obvious, a trait that had cost Copperquick much in his life, he couldn’t hold back the sudden dreadful observation that he had just made. “But you taught yourself electrical engineering, at least, that is what Buttermilk said and you—” His words trailed off in a strained squeak as Butter Fudge stared at him as if he had grown a second head.

Clearly, Butter Fudge was in no mood for such observations.

“I did that…”—she paused, cleared her throat, and lowered her voice—“to be a better dairy farmer. It was never my goal to stray away from what I was meant to do. I had reached the limits of what my farm was capable of and to do better, I had to employ new methods. I needed freezers, refrigerators, storage tanks, pumping systems, milking systems… I didn’t buck against what I was meant to be, I refined myself to be better.”

Alas, Copperquick, being young, had a mouth ready to betray him: “Maybe so, but you proved that you can do better. Be better. That anything is possible. That you—” Once more, he went silent and he didn’t like the stormy look in Mrs. Oddbody’s eyes. Nope, he didn’t like that look at all. His own mother sometimes looked at him like that, usually when he had tested her patience just a little bit too much. Once more, he was a cheeky little colt shooting his mouth off, and now, perhaps, it was time to run.

But where? This was an island.

“Moomy”—Buttermilk now became the focus of Butter Fudge’s baleful expression —“is this why you don’t like voting?”

“Beezy?” The big mare’s expression went from stormy to befuddled in a single eyeblink.

“Well, you know, a common dairy farmer having a say in politics… something outside of their cutie mark—”

“Beezy, don’t you be cheeky right now, I’m in no mood.”

For a moment, Copperquick was certain that Buttermilk would back down, but the brave little hummingbird of a pegasus remained defiant against the mountain that was her mother. His eyes darted from one to the other, back and forth, and all of the muscles in his back went tight from the growing tension.

“Moomy, you’ve already seen that judges and the like aren’t as infallible as you had thought. Having a cutie mark or a set destiny or a fixed course of action doesn’t make you right. It doesn’t make you perfect. You’ve made bad batches of cheese and a judge can have poor judgment. Mistakes can be made—”

“I don’t see how that is relevant. Having a bunch of entitled loudmouths with conflicting opinions and differing views all having a say on an issue as important as governance is anarchy. It is the Sisters place to rule, rule over us and not coddle us. It is our job to be productive. We make and create so that society benefits as a whole. It is the job of the bureaucracy to handle the nuts and bolts of governance. That is how it should be. And a cutie mark sorts out where one falls in this system.”

“Ah, good old Grittish sort-you-out-right-quick classism is alive and well in Equestria—urk.” The stormy glare in Butter Fudge’s eyes had returned and Copperquick found that what he had to say probably wasn’t a good idea. No, it was a dreadful idea. Drinking tea was a good idea, because it kept his mouth busy, so he did so. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to be witty, he realised as he picked up his mug. He almost fumbled it in his nervousness and a bit of tea sloshed over the side.

“Oh, come off it.” Buttermilk’s voice was low, but forceful, and her eyes narrowed in challenge. “You almost sound like a pony I know… a one Mister Blancmange… and he is a detestable creep. I fell madly and completely in love with Copperquick because he threatened to twist this repulsive, despicable little pony’s head right off for talking to me in a manner most uncouth. He tried to tell me that I didn’t have what it took to do my job because of my butterchurn cutie mark.”

“Beezy, I didn’t mean—”

“Oh yes you did.” Eyes narrowing into paper-thin slits, Buttermilk held her verbal ground. “You can’t have it both ways, Moomy. You just said that a cutie mark sorts out where I fall into place in this system, did you not?”

Butter Fudge’s ears fell back in a submissive posture and the big mare now had a meek expression upon her face. No longer angry, but thoughtful, it was obvious that she was having herself a good hard think before she opened up her mouth and said something that would make things worse. Copperquick found himself admiring her for it. She was clearly in the wrong here, but rather than be defensive, or obtuse, she was thinking. It was now clear where Buttermilk herself had inherited this trait from, and was evidence that the two mares were more alike than one might first think. Sipping his tea, he remained silent for the sake of the moment between mother and daughter.

“Nopony dictates anything to me,” Buttermilk said in a cold, chilling voice as she leaned in her mother’s direction. “I am not giving up my dreams. I will not give up my plans. I might have faltered a bit after my encounter with Mister Blancmange, but I have since recovered, due in no small part to Copperquick. We have a relationship based upon fair and equal exchange. He doesn’t diminish me, or expect me to give up everything I hope to do to become a spineless, meek, welcome mat of a housewife. He’s mostly okay with the fact that I’ll be the breadwinner of this family. He’s come to grips with that, and I’m really, really happy about that because I don’t want Esme hiding in her room and crying her eyes out because her parents are busy shouting about money at one another. I’ve seen too much of that already. I am more than the butterchurn on my backside… I’m also a mother, I’m probably going to be a wife soon, and I am a dedicated professional who really, really enjoys her butter making hobby.”

Every muscle in Copperquick’s body was at maximum tension, almost to the point of cramping, or so he thought. Something happened however, that proved that his muscles still had more to give, a dreadful occurrence that made his spine kink and his neck crick. Down on the floor, Esmeralda turned around in a circle, flicked her tail, and then looked up at the adults at the table.

“Foosh.”

Three heads all turned at the same time, and Copperquick’s face contorted into a painful rictus of terror, having been conditioned with a fear response to this now semi-regular component of his daughter’s developing vocabulary. Esmeralda blinked once, flicked her fluffy tail once more, and wiggled her backside.

“Foosh.”

As Copperquick gibbered in fright, Butter Fudge sniffed, and so did Buttermilk. The kitchen was not filled with death fog, yet Esmeralda had said the most dreadful of all words twice now. Esmeralda now had something of an expression upon her face that could only be described as ‘hopeful’ and she stepped from one hind hoof to another, performing an urgent dance.

“Oh!” Buttermilk cried out as she reached a vital realisation. “You need to make a foosh!”

Wings unfurling, Buttermilk was airborne in less than an eyeblink and she shot off with such acceleration that the wake she left behind made Copperquick’s ears pop as his mane was sucked into her wake. Never had he seen Buttermilk fly so fast or with so much force, and Esmeralda let out a startled cry as she was snatched off of the floor. Buttermilk, he realised, was flying faster than the speed of need to potty, and it was a race against time.

Before he could blink for the second time, she was already out of the door with Esmeralda, leaving behind a quivering rumble that suggested that the sound barrier was a bit miffed at the pegasus pony tribe at the moment. With a slow turn of his head, he glanced over at Butter Fudge, who had a dumbstruck expression lodged upon her face.

Awestruck as much as Butter Fudge was dumbfounded, Copperquick only had one thing to say: “My little filly is going to go foosh.”

A short time later, Buttermilk returned to the kitchen bearing a somewhat damp foal. An enormous smile was on the pegasus maid’s face and she hugged and squeezed the damp foal as she carried her through the air. Squishing the giggling filly, Buttermilk rubbed her cheek against the little foal’s body, which knocked her glasses askew.

“Did she make it?” Copperquick asked. “Did you make it?”

Buttermilk plopped the happy little filly down upon the table right in front of her father and replied, “She didn’t quite make it, but I still managed to get her onto the toilet. She was a bit confused about it, but a few kisses and kind words made everything better. Then, I gave her a quick clean up in the shower and now she’s all fluffy-wuffy.”

“Florp!” Esmeralda pointed at her mouth with her hoof and kicked her hind hooves against the tabletop. “Florp?”

“Quick, fix a bottle, we need to reward her trust!” Copperquick started to say, but Buttermilk was already a moving blur before the word ‘need’ had left his mouth. Turning to look at Butter Fudge, he offered her a bit of an explanation. “We have to recondition her to counter the harmful conditioning that was done to her.”

“We never unpacked the bottle warmer!” Buttermilk whined as she flew around in a frustrated circle, just narrowly avoiding bonking her head on the ceiling. “She’s going to lose her trust in us! Argh!” Reaching up, she pressed her front hooves into her cheeks and began to squish her own face into ridiculous, unnatural shapes.

“Florp?” Esmeralda looked hopeful—optimistic even—and Copperquick was quite stricken by this new expression upon his daughter’s face.

There was an ache in his barrel—in his heart. Reaching out with his forelegs, he swept up Esmeralda and crushed his daughter against him, squeezing the stocky, sturdy little filly who smelled like soap. He began distracting her with kisses while Buttermilk flew off in search of the bottle warmer, because it was obvious she didn’t want to heat the bottle up on the stove.

“Florp!” Esmeralda sounded a bit exasperated now, but she also seemed thrilled to be getting more kisses, so nothing escalated.

“The foosh goes out and the florp goes in.” Copperquick spoke in the manner of proud papas everywhere and squished his filly so hard that her eyes bulged. “You’re talking, sort of, and communicating your needs with something other than screams. This is great! So great!”

Author's Note

This has had minimal editing. My editor seems to be AFK for an extended time, so I apologize. Sorry for the delay and the inconvenience. :twilightblush:

Chapter 13

Getting Lost in Equestria: An Essential Slice of Equestricana was a short novella necessary for Copperquick’s passing grade. It was a good book, extolling the virtues and values of small-town Equestria, all of the little places that could be found off of the beaten path. Part travel guide, part history book, part treatise on Equestrian culture, the book was considered a hallmark of unique Equestrian philosophy, enough so that it was required reading in most schools.

As vital as it was to read this book and understand it, Copperquick was distracted.

Buttermilk was churning butter and it was the most magnificent thing he had ever seen. It was glorious. She had removed her cardigan so it wouldn’t get sweaty and her mane had fallen out of its bun. Up and down she moved, pushing and pumping the shaft protruding from the churn barrel. Brown-black tendrils of her mane clung to her damp, sweaty neck and her fetlocks—which had a tight grip around the wooden shaft—glistened with the moisture caused by her efforts in the springtime sun.

For Copperquick, who already fetishised pegasus ponies, this was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. It was the manifestation of a masturbatory spank-bank fantasy that he wasn’t even aware of wanting; a hot, sweaty pegasus farm filly straining away at a device that was in no way phallic. Nope, not at all. All of Buttermilk Oddbody’s frantic, manic energy was being expended with her frenetic, aggressive working of the shaft.

Esmeralda too, seemed equally fascinated by Buttermilk’s activities and sat on the porch, watching while gnawing on her hoof. When Buttermilk paused for a moment to wipe her sweaty brow with her foreleg, Copperquick held his breath without even realising that he was doing so because it was the single most captivating thing he had ever witnessed in his short life. She was a perfect, beautiful creature, and it wasn’t just her raw sex appeal that attracted him, but also her joy, the sheer happiness with which she worked. Buttermilk was doing the very thing that she had been marked for and now, it was as if some mysterious, mystical force was rewarding her with ridiculous happiness for doing what she was best at.

Overall, it was the most satisfying thing that Copperquick had ever seen.

“Like what you see?”

“AH-GAH!”

At the sound of Butter Fudge’s voice, Copperquick’s forelegs flailed about and his book went flying. Buttermilk, who had no doubt heard his outburst, turned her sweaty head in his direction to have a look and he saw something of a smirk on her face. Copperquick turned his own head to look at Butter Fudge, who had somehow manifested out of the nothing in total silence beside him.

“I’m flattered, really,” Butter Fudge said in a low voice. “I worked hard on that. I take a lot of pride in all of the things that I do right. I don’t mind you looking because it seems that you’re willing to do right by her.”

“My intentions are good!” Copperquick blurted out as a cold sweat began to trickle down the back of his neck.

“Sure they are.” Butter Fudge let out a knowing, husky chuckle, reached out, and gave Copperquick an affectionate poke. “Look at how little Esme watches Buttermilk. It feels a bit a funny to me that Buttermilk is… well, it feels right funny that Buttermilk is that filly’s mum. Now, don’t get upset, it’s just something that it is going to take me awhile to get used to. I like it though, it makes me happy that she found a way to get what she wants in life without compromising her goals.”

Copperquick tried to process everything that had just been said and his mind lingered upon the issue of pregnancy, which could really throw a wrench into a mare’s life. He spent a moment trying to comprehend what had been done to Cielo del Este—what he had done to Cielo del Este—and with these thoughts came a stabbing pang of guilt. Not a second thought had ever been spent on the consequences because for him, after having his fun, he had walked away while Cielo del Este had endured eleven months of unpleasantness. What fears might she have had? What doubts? How might she have worried about her own future?

Anger—fury—rose in his mind and he thought about Esmeralda. This anger, this fury, it pushed the guilt for what he had done from his mind, but he still felt conflicted in a way that he could not comprehend. Now, everything was muddled in such a way that right and wrong felt like nebulous, unknowable concepts.

“There was a time where my intentions might not have been so good,” he confessed in a low whisper to Butter Fudge. “I made a dreadful mistake and the evidence of that is sitting over there watching your daughter. There is no way that I can make things right. I’ve done things that I am no longer proud of, a feeling made worse because of Esme… she’s a filly… and one day, somepony like me might come along and do the things I used to do to her, and that’s how the world is, and I don’t know how to protect her from that, and it scares me, and I lay awake at night thinking about it, and there are these moments that I feel like I am a right shit and I get angry but I don’t know what I am angry with, but I think it is at myself, because I’ve become a hypocrite.”

“That’s a mouthful.” Butter Fudge clucked her tongue, then added, “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

The bitterness that welled up within Copperquick could be tasted.

“I need to know...” Butter Fudge whispered these words, and there was something dangerous in the soft way she spoke them. “Do you plan to marry Buttermilk?”

“I want to,” Copperquick replied without a second’s hesitation, “but I can’t.”

“Why not?” There was no anger, no upset in Butter Fudge’s reply, just calm curiousity.

Sighing, Copperquick thought about all of the complicated reasons, and began to sort out which ones were most relevant for making a meaningful answer. “For the system to change, and it needs to change, I have to stay single. It’s complicated. I have to appear to be in dire straits… single, homeless, jobless, struggling to get by. These are all conditions that can be exploited—”

“So to fix the rules, you have to bend them first?” Butter Fudge asked, and from the way she spoke them there appeared to be no judgment, just curiousity.

He nodded. “Yes, I suppose. I find myself in an odd position of having to do contemptible things in order to make things right. I don’t know how I feel about… all… of this just yet. There are so many who try to exploit the system in a bad way for personal gain, I’ve witnessed that. There are those just trying to get help and they are in danger of falling through the many cracks in the system. And now, I am involved in an effort to actively turn the system against itself to see what breaks and it leaves me troubled.”

“As it should.” Butter Fudge eased her bulk down to the wooden floorboards of the porch and had a seat. “Any time we take drastic action, we should feel a little antsy about it. We should feel cautious, worried, and anxious. If we don’t feel these things, then perhaps we shouldn’t be the ones taking extreme measures.”

“I don’t understand.” Copperquick shook his head, then reached up and brushed his mane out of his eyes.

“It’s like… it’s like being a parent… and having to discipline your foal after they did something wrong. You should feel worried and anxious about giving them a spank or any kind of corrective action, really. It isn’t something that you should want to do, and the same can be said for your situation, I think. The law is something that you should care about, so you should feel apprehensive before taking corrective action. Beating a foal senselessly and without feeling is abuse and abusing the law without remorse is hooliganism. I can’t abide hooliganism.”

“So, under normal circumstances, you’d be disgusted by what I am doing.” Copperquick glanced over at Butter Fudge, trying to read her face and gauge her reactions.

“Yes. Without a doubt. But, I trust my daughter’s canniness and if she says something is wrong, then something is wrong. She’s dumped too much time and money into her education and it would be wrong and disrespectful of me to just dismiss everything outright. So, I find myself in an odd position that I’m not real comfortable with… I have to somehow support her… support the both of you, even though I don’t fully understand everything. I’m not keen on it, but, I’ll confess, I’m keen on the two of you, and I might get a grandfoal out of this, so I’m going along with it.”

“That’s…” Copperquick trailed off, not knowing how to finish.

“Practical.” Butter Fudge grinned and gave Copperquick a hearty slap on the back that very nearly disconnected every vertebra from one another in his spine. “I’m a practical mare and I look at every single situation and I think about what I might get out of it. Now, that foal over there, she’s cute. I don’t care much where she comes from, so long as Buttermilk loves her, that’s good enough for me. I just want somepony I can spoil rancid now and again.”

“So that’s it then… that’s all you care about?” Copperquick asked and he found that he was quite shocked by Butter Fudge’s words, her confession of being out to get whatever she could.

“Well, there are hopes and dreams, and then there is what is possible and attainable. I have hopes and dreams of Buttermilk becoming a pretty alicorn princess—I’d like that, I would, I think it would be great. She could be the alicorn Princess of Foal Services and that would suit me fine. I’d go to her coronation and I’d embarrass her in front of everypony. I’d be the hick mother that’d talk too loud and tell funny stories about what she did when she was little.”

The big mare’s eyes became misty as she stared over in her daughter’s direction. “Now, as for what’s possible and attainable… odds are good that she’ll have a husband someday soon. This is something I want for her and her having a family seems likely. I want her to be good at her job, and it seems to me that she shows a lot of promise. I want her to be worshipped and adored in the same way that I’m worshipped and adored by Mighty Midge, and that seems like a perfectly reasonable desire that is possible and attainable.”

Turning his head, Copperquick focused upon Buttermilk and tried to see her as her mother saw her, and as if by magic, he saw a very different mare working the butterchurn. She was more than a bit of eye candy—more than a hot, sweaty, sexy pegasus that he wanted to do unspeakable things to—more than the object of his desire. She was a vessel of hopes and dreams, a container full of the best laid plans. Buttermilk was a time traveller, prepared and sent out to explore a future that Butter Fudge might not reach.

“I think I’ve said enough,” Butter Fudge said as she stood up. “There’s still work to be done. For both of us. You get your nose back into that book and do what needs to be done or you’ll catch a lecture. I’d hate to add that to my to-do list.”

Hearing this, Copperquick thought about what Butter Fudge had said about disciplining foals and after a few moments of reflection he came to the conclusion that the big mare—a relative stranger really—must have some sense of affection for him. It confused him, baffled him even, but it also made him feel good. She cared, and it showed.

As the big mare strode away, Copperquick’s eyes fell upon Esmeralda, and in much the same way that he had seen Buttermilk in a new light, he now studied his daughter. She too, was a vessel of hopes and dreams, his hopes and dreams, but what hopes and dreams did he have? He didn’t know. Esmeralda was his gift to the future, his time traveller that would brave an uncertain future that he might not see. Within an eyeblink, Esmeralda became infinitely precious to him, a fragile, wonderful, priceless bit of treasure. Copperquick now had a profound understanding of the value of life, and it floored him.

It also depressed him, because he realised that others—others such as the pony that he had once been not all that long ago—were cretinous, lecherous perverts that would only see his daughter as something to stick their willies in. He shuddered, overcome with some unidentified emotion from the radical shift in perspectives.

He would only walk beside her on this journey for so long, a short precious time. At some point, she would pull ahead and he would be left behind. She would go out and blaze her own trail ahead and he would watch her from a distance measured in a span of age. If all went well, she would find just the right pony to walk with her, and the distance would grow even greater.

At some point after a considerable trail had been blazed into the future, old age would slow him down and each step would come slower than the last, while Esmeralda would be picking up speed. She would see a different horizon than he would, she would have the advantage and be able to peer ahead, to peep at a promising future that was beyond him, beyond his reach.

Some dreadful day, his step would falter, and advancing the horizon would become impossible… he would have to face a fixed horizon, a finite horizon that would mark his end of days. At some point, he would have to stand in place and watch as those he loved became tiny dots in the distance, and eventually, they would venture so far ahead that he would transition into memory, something discussed and remembered in past tense.

This realisation was sobering and Copperquick’s stomach dropped down into his groin.

Author's Note

Sorry for the delay.

Chapter 14

In need of a break, Copperquick arose from the table and began to stretch his kinked up spine by arching it in a rather catlike manner. When his spine began to make the most alarming crackles, his ears rose, fell, rose again, and pivoted from the sounds. Wincing, he kicked out one leg and gave it a shake, only to regret having done so a moment later when he felt the pins and needles creeping up his hocks. It took a few moments to get both of his hind legs sorted out and it felt as though he was back in school.

There was so much more he needed to study, but he needed a break. One day of travel wasn’t exactly a vacation, and one of his five precious free days was already almost half gone. Five glorious days… turning his head, he watched as Buttermilk bathed and played with Esmeralda in the kitchen sink. Both looked happy. He cast a sidelong glance at his pile of schoolwork on the table and then focused once more on Buttermilk, who stood on two legs.

Esmeralda’s laughter was a precious sound.

Buttermilk wasn’t very tall standing up—she wasn’t very big at all—and she was just able to clear the edge of the counter where the sink was. After meeting her father, Mighty Midge, Copperquick knew that Buttermilk wouldn’t get any larger, and she would remain forever slight. She was small enough to be confused for a filly in her late teenage years, but she was a mare, no mistake. Just looking at her left Copperquick feeling aroused—and conflicted from that arousal.

Head low, he crept up on Buttermilk with mischief on his mind. Flirtation wasn’t enough, no, Copperquick wanted to make his intentions clear. He wanted her like he had wanted nopony else. After watching her churn butter, and watching her now as she played with his daughter, he was in quite a state. He wanted more than physicality, it was more than a need, more than an itch, more than a longing need to feel her from the inside and know her depths.

Earth ponies had their own way of showing affection.

When his cheek grazed the inside of her hind leg just above her hocks, Buttermilk squealed and giggled at the same time. It was, without a doubt, the most intimate flirtation he had engaged in, new territory was being explored, and Buttermilk danced from one hind hoof to another while he raised his muzzle, grazing the inside of her fuzzy thigh. For his efforts, she flicked him with her tail, trying to shoo fly him away. It was a calculated move and he came as close as he dared before pulling his head away.

Rearing up, he stood on his hind hooves and brought himself to his full height, towering over the diminutive mare that was his fancy. Reaching down, he grabbed her just below her wing sockets, lifted her, turned her around to face him, and then plopped her plush posteriour down upon the edge of the counter. Now, she was just about at the right height and he closed the distance between them. When he touched her, she trembled, and he could feel the insides of her fuzzy thighs pressing against his ribs.

“Dada!” Esmeralda cried and she splashed in the shallow water.

Wrapping his forelegs around her, Copperquick squeezed Buttermilk and then began to slide his left foreleg down her neck, past her withers, and along her spine, mindful of her wing on the side which his foreleg traveled. She was shaking, quaking, and her trembling body spilled out a flood of nervous giggles. Copperquick felt her forelegs slip around his neck and he took this as a yes, as an invitation, as a welcome. When he crushed her small, lithe body against him, he felt a warm, humid heat pressed against the small of his stomach.

“What are you doing, Copper?” she asked in a heated whisper.

“Trying to figure out how you got this turned on so fast,” he responded as he slid his body up and down against hers, which produced all kinds of crackling static. “I mean, I came over here, goosed you, and already there is quite a fire in the furnace.”

Closing her eyes, Buttermilk began giggling and she rubbed her neck against Copperquick’s. “You doofus, I was already turned on. I’ve been in quite a state for a while now—”

“Really?”

“I hate to break it to you Copper, but we mares aren’t so different.” While she spoke, Copperquick felt a brief nip against the soft, tender flesh of his neck, and his whole body spasmed in response to the painful, pleasurable sensation. “We don’t just wait around, doing our mare’s work, minding our own business in a shut off state. We don’t have switches that turn us on and off… though we do have a button. I woke up in the mood. I’ve been waking up in the mood.”

Now, as he began to knead the soft curve of her croup, he did not know what to say.

“A mare has always been a sex object for you, admit it,” Buttermilk demanded.

A hot flush consumed Copperquick’s cheeks, and he closed his eyes as his face burned. “Yes. But I’m trying to change.” He swayed against Buttermilk, moving up and down and side to side, and he could feel her rubbing her body against his in return. “I had a routine… offer dinner and a few drinks and keep chipping away until she said yes or didn’t push me away. I will confess, I thought that mares were something you had to turn on. I, uh, thought I was being the respectful nice guy sort by making the effort to turn them on rather than just having a go. Can we chalk it up to youthful stupidity and the fact that I never gave it much thought?”

“I don’t know…” Buttermilk stiffened in his embrace, going rigid, and for a moment, Copperquick thought there was going to be a problem. But then, she started laughing and returned his affections once more. “Copper, I’m a little stunned by just how stupid you were… how selfish and self-absorbed you were. How very primitive and disconnected your views about sex are—”

“Look, in my defense, when I was a colt back home, they didn’t teach us much about this subject in school. None of us colts wanted to hear about ‘conjugal duties’ or ‘marital congress’ or ‘coition’ or ‘coital obligations to the Crown.’ It was bloody embarrassing, and the fillies didn’t get much help on the subject either. ‘Just hold still, dearie, grit your teeth, and think of your duty to the Isles.’ I came here to Equestria and found a sexually liberated country and it was the best thing ever! A mare was willing to give up the goods without marriage and all I had to do was buy her food and a few drinks.”

“Oh, Copper… what am I to ever do with you?” Buttermilk asked, sighing out her words and rubbing little circles with one of her front hooves against the back of his neck. “Copper, Copper, Copper...”

“Dada!”

“Yes, Esme, Dada. Very good.” Buttermilk sighed—an exasperated sound—and continued to cling to Copperquick. “Esme, your Dada shows signs of being a working class twit—”

“Hey!” Copperquick cried out in protest and he gave Buttermilk a squeeze while his hoof continued to knead closer to her rump. When he opened his eyes, his gaze fell upon Esmeralda, who was sitting in the sink, looking up at him with bubbly glee. For some reason, she was always happiest when he was being close and affectionate with Buttermilk with her in close proximity, like now. “Miss Oddbody—”

“Copper, if you please, I thought we’ve moved past that.”

“I’ve had a couple of profound moments this morning. A few epiphanies, if you will.” After pulling the little mare in his embrace as close as was equinely possible, he rested his chin atop her head. “I love you, Buttermilk.”

“Keeping it simple, eh?” Though Copperquick did not see it, Buttermilk’s eyebrow arched beneath his jaw. “And I love you in return, though sometimes I find myself wondering why. Some of your behaviour… well… it was bad, but you are getting better, and I have no such plans to beat you up needlessly for past mistakes.”

“Thank you, Buttermilk.” He felt her ear twitch and quiver against his cheek; this gave him the shivers and he shuffled a bit on his hind hooves. Buttermilk’s hind legs were wrapped tight around him and this position allowed for quite the intimate embrace. There was a soft whinny from the mare he was holding and he reflected that it was a happy sound, a content sound.

“I need to get Esme out of the sink before she becomes a prune and she’ll probably be getting hungry soon,” Buttermilk said to Copperquick. “I like this, Copper, I do. You should come along and surprise me a little more often. This makes me feel good and I feel appreciated.”

“You are appreciated,” he replied as a new sense of worry took root and blossomed in the fertile field of his mind. “I would have never made it this far without you. You’ve made all of this possible—”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

How could he respond to that? Rubbing his forelegs along her back and feeling the bumps of her spine, he thrilled in the warmth of her touch and what it did to him. Inhaling, he drew in her scent, she was buttery, but there was another familiar scent that drove him crazy. For a second, he thought about taking her right here on the counter, as they were in the perfect position for it, but this wasn’t a good time.

Instead, he did the most grown up thing that he could do in this situation: he pulled away. Right at once, cool air flooded against his stomach and made his muscles clench. Buttermilk clung to him, and when she let go there was lip-biting reluctance. He looked into her eyes and she into his and there was something new there, some spark that hadn’t existed a few seconds ago.

“Oi! Now what did you go and do that for!”

Gritting his teeth, Copperquick turned his head to the left and saw Butter Fudge peeking in through the window. The big mare was watching with great interest while nibbling on a wedge of cheese. Buttermilk, still sitting on the counter, covered her face with her hooves right away and let out a wailing cry of near-fatal embarrassment.

“And here I was, thinking that I might have me a nice grandfoal come about a year from now,” Butter Fudge said in a voice dripping with disappointment and annoyance. “This whole time, I was like, ‘will he or won’t he?’ and for a time, I started to think to myself, ‘why, self, I think he will!’ but all I got was my hopes dashed!”

“Moomy!” Buttermilk whined from behind her front hooves. “How could you?”

“Easy, Beezy. Same way I watch the goats do it,” Butter Fudge replied.

Dropping down to all fours, Copperquick took a deep breath, held it, and thought of the Isles. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t look at anypony right now, so he just stood there, listening to the sounds of Esme splashing and giggling in the sink. Loving Buttermilk meant having parents-in-law and all that went with that. It also meant that Esmeralda might have grandparents to spoil her.

“Oh come on, Beezy, it wasn’t like I was going to start offering advice or tell you what to do. I’m not rude. I would’ve been quiet and kept to myself.”

There was a splash when Buttermilk fell over into the deep sink filled with shallow water and then Esmeralda started laughing—not giggling, but laughing, a loud, boisterous sound that was quite unlike her usual rather quiet expressions of happiness. It made Copperquick open his eyes so he could have a look, and when he saw Buttermilk’s four legs stucking up in the air, he started to chuckle himself. As it turned out, the large farmhouse sink was big enough to hold both Esmeralda and Buttermilk. It was big enough to hold a whole peck or two of potatoes, no doubt.

“Oi, if you two wanted to slip off into the barn or upstairs, I could watch little Esme. I think she’d be okay with that. It’d give me a chance to get to know her. Let’s be honest, shall we? This little vacation is your best chance to have a go at one another and get completely knackered. You’ve got a foalsitter, you’ve got some free time, and trust me… I know how hard it is to have a good shag with a toddler around.”

“Moomy…”

“Beezy.”

“Moomy, I can’t even…”

“Oi, come off it.” Butter Fudge took an aggressive bite from her cheese wedge and grinned right at Copperquick. “Copper is right, you know. Equestria is sexually liberated. They don’t flog ponies here for fornication or publicly shame them. I was just floored when I came here and after I met your father, Mighty Midge, I found out that the whole, ‘just stand still and think of the Isles’ stuff wasn’t so bad—”

“Moomy!” Buttermilk’s whine was profoundly nasal in quality. “Just how long were you standing there?”

“Long enough.” The big mare took another bite of cheese and never once took her eyes off of Copperquick. “Who wants some lunch? I’m starving! I’ve worked up quite an appetite sitting here watching the three of you. I kept making funny faces at Esme and she kept giggling, but neither of you were paying her any attention.”

Cringing, Copperquick thought about all of the times he heard his daughter giggling…

Author's Note

The cringe is real...

Chapter 16

Letting go was hard. The world was a less than perfect place and there were no promises of safety, of security, of return. With a firm, but gentle grip, Copperquick held onto Buttermilk’s fetlock, squeezing it in his own. It had been a long, meaningful morning, fraught with emotion and epiphanies, rife with reasoning, all of which had awakened some sense of existential dread. There was also a profound realisation of just how much he adored this flighty little pegasus.

“I’m just going shopping so I can find a night light, don’t be a sap.” Buttermilk’s cheeks darkened a bit and the buzzing of her wings seemed to falter for a second. “You look so sad right now, stop that. You’re as bad as Esme.” Reaching out with her free foreleg, she tapped Copperquick on his square chin.

Swallowing a painful lump in his throat, Copperquick let go and allowed his hoof to fall to the sturdy planks of the porch. He took in every detail, every loose strand of her mane that had fallen free from her bun, the way the sunlight glinted from her glasses, the muted shades of lavender, mint, and orange that was her fresh, clean cotton cardigan.

“What’s gotten into you, Copper?” Buttermilk asked as she lingered in the air in front of Copperquick’s face.

“I think I’m having an earth pony moment,” he replied. Why had he said that? What had made him say that? What had gotten into him? What was this feeling? Buttermilk Oddbody was free to fly, free to flit about, able to go zooming around in a wide-open sky that was filled with all manner of danger. To an earth pony, most of the worst threats came from the air and he was unable to explain his own anxiety.

Was this a tribal issue? How could he talk about it without being rude? Without being offensive? There were too many thoughts rattling around inside of his head and Copperquick felt quite overwhelmed by whatever it was that was going on. Earth ponies stayed together and tended not to go off on their own. With a huff, he dismissed his own silliness and blinked his eyes a few times to give himself a good sorting out.

“I’ll be fine,” Buttermilk said as she reached out and caressed Copper’s cheek. “Try to study, if you can.”

“Right.”

As Buttermilk began to zoom away, Copperquick watched her go, wondering why he felt the way he did…

“She was okay with me while you stepped out,” Butter Fudge said to Copperquick as he came in through the kitchen door. “Mind the cat, I don’t want her getting out.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Copperquick shut the door and this got him meowed at. “Sorry, cat.” Esmeralda did seem fine, more or less, perhaps a little stormy, but not squalling. At least she hadn’t cried, or freaked out, or had a meltdown in the few minutes that he had been outside with Buttermilk. But was she happy? No. Not in the slightest. Her mood had soured and being the seasoned, somewhat experienced father that he was, he knew the solution.

His daughter needed a nap.

Also, it seemed, all of her extra time spent in the bath had turned her mane into a floofy, unruly mess. A shock of green tangles stood straight up right between her ears, and try as he might, he could not resist smiling at the sight. Almost daydreaming, he imagined his little diva having a bad mane day when she was a little older, and then when he realised that he was spacing out, he blinked a few times to regain his focus. Maybe he needed a nap.

“Oi, I don’t mean to be rude, but there is a little bit more that I could be getting done today,” Butter Fudge announced as she gave Esmeralda a soft pat. “I’ll be taking my leave. Oh… before I go…”

“Yes?” Copperquick trotted over to where Esmeralda and Butter Fudge were sitting together.

“I saw you and Buttermilk on the back porch—”

“Watching us through the windows again?”

“Oi, well, it’s my window to watch through.” Butter Fudge’s ears splayed out sideways, but the left corner of her mouth tugged upwards into a devious smirk. “Copper… you have to trust that they’ll come back. They’re not like us, Copper. Now, I know that there is all of this codswallop about tribalism and how we’re all ponies and such, but we are ponies separated by tribe. This might not be a popular opinion, but it is true.”

“Do go on…”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Butter Fudge’s ears stood up as she did. “For about the first year of marriage, not a day went by when I didn’t have my heart up in my throat when Midge flew off for work. Scared me something awful, it did, and there was always this horrible sense of worry. Even after I got used to it, there were still days that just got to me. They’re pegasus ponies, Copper. They’re all fancy free and flitting about and flirting with the clouds, all while we’re down here being all stodgy and doing all of the hard work. The point I’m trying to make is, celebrate your differences and make the most of it.”

“How?” Copper asked.

The mountainous mare shrugged. “It’s different from pony to pony. This is something you have to find out on your own, Copper. You fell in love in with a hummingbird, same as I did, but that’s about all we have in common on this subject.”

“Huh.”

“When we go out, it is a major undertaking. We go on journeys. We cross vast distances the hard way. We work, and we toil, we sweat and we labour, and every mile we travel is a mile worked for. For a pegasus pony, flying from horizon to horizon is effortless. They don’t even get a sense of accomplishment like we do. It’s as natural to them as breathing. They’re not like us at all, Copper, but we can love them without understanding them.”

“Thank you… I think I’m going to put my daughter down for a nap now.”

“Good luck with that.” Butter Fudge paused for a moment, pawed the floor with her hoof, and then a happy-sad sympathetic smile could be seen on her face. “You know, one day… Copper… you might have yourself a little pegasus foal… the odds are good. And if you think having a flighty little pegasus wife is tough… well, just imagine the most precious thing in the world to you and you can’t keep up with it when it goes flapping off. I bought myself a tether, so I did, and while many criticised me for being a bad mom, or a lazy mom, that tether was peace of mind, let me tell you.”

With that, Butter Fudge took her leave and left Copper to his most unwelcome thoughts.

No matter what he said to her, Copperquick could not impress upon his daugher his need to study. She was in a mood, she was, and naptime? Nope. Not now. Not ever. Not in this lifetime. He lay on the floor beside her, thinking of his studies, and of Buttermilk, and then there was everything that Butter Fudge had said, which didn’t seem like tribalist nonsense, not at all, but good practical common sense.

Reaching out with her foreleg, Esmeralda whacked her father a good one right in the snoot. Copperquick’s ears stood up, his scalp went tight, his eyes narrowed, and he looked his daughter right in the eye, only to find that she was glaring right back at him. This might just be her being fussy, or it might be a behaviour she might have learned from her mother. He had no way of knowing and it was one of the many things that drove him to distraction as well as kept him awake at night.

“Hey, that’s not nice.”

“Nyahnehyah!”

“That didn’t sound very nice either.” With a grunt of effort, he lifted his head from the floor and let out a huff of annoyance. “You’re not wet, you can’t be hungry, I know that you are sleepy… so what is your problem?”

“Flibbish!”

“Flibbish yourself,” Copperquick replied and this was clearly the wrong thing to say because the storm in Esmeralda’s amber eyes intensified tenfold. When his daughter reached out to take a swipe at him once more, Copperquick pulled his head back. She missed by a country mile and the momentum of her failed strike caused her to lose her balance and she tipped over onto her back.

Like the proverbial straw that broke a camel’s back, or like pulling out a cork, this was the act that undid her. First came the warning whoop—an impressive sound to be sure and Copperquick had a morbid sense of pride about it—and the whoop was followed up with shrieks of foalish rage. There was a muffled thump when his head hit the floor, landing just a scant few inches away from his precious kicking, thrashing, wailing little fuzzball.

“Ah,” he sighed, “the joys of parenthood.”

Ears twitching, Copperquick listened to the sounds of his daughter, who was currently doing her impression of an axe murder victim, mid-murder. She had impressive volume and a wide range of pitch at her disposal. Darting off to one side, he glanced over at her bag, which sat on the edge of the blanket. Then he glanced at the screaming, shrieking lump that made him think of confusing questions regarding the nature of love.

The binky was an option: a good option that brought immediate results, most of the time. However, use the binky too much, and it would cease to be an option. It was a weapon of surprise, and like any weapon of surprise, if it was used to often, the effect would dull and it would become commonplace, ordinary. A banal binky was a useless binky, Buttermilk had said, and she would know. He trusted her on this issue. Jaw set, brows furrowed, he considered this option, wondering if now was the time to deploy it.

Lifting his head, he stretched out his neck and picked up her carrot in his teeth. It was quite soggy, cold, slimy with drool, and right away he wanted to spit it back out. Being an earth pony sucked sometimes, and what he wouldn’t give to have magic right now. So repulsed was he that he began to gag, and it was a struggle to bring the carrot to Esmeralda.

Who, as it seemed, did not want her carrot, and shrieked even harder when she was touched by the cold, damp, soggy stuffed vegetable. One kick sent it flying and Copperquick was not sorry to see it go. Shuddering, he eyed the stuffed eggplant and had no desire to pick it up. Entertaining the idea of the binky, Copperquick decided to exhaust his other options first.

Lowering his head down a bit, he looked down at his daughter, trying to feel sympathetic towards her needs, he tried to feel pity, and not anger. When he got close, she bit him on his chin with a savage chomp. His first response was a visceral reaction to the pain, but his second response was emotional: had her mother taught her to do that? Had Cielo del Este bitten her? It was too horrible to think about, but it made a nagging bit of sense. Perhaps because of the pain he was feeling, a deep and abiding rage filled him, a terrible, dreadful, impotent rage that he could do nothing about. It was awful to assume the worst about somepony, but at the moment Copperquick was too emotional to be rational.

“Oh, fronk it all!”

Crossing his eyes, he tried to look at his chin, even going as far as to making his jaw protrude, but he couldn’t see anything. Angling his head, he looked down at his daughter, peering right into her wide-open maw, and he noticed something. A tooth jiggled as she thrashed around. No doubt, another tooth had to be pushing on the milk tooth, and maybe, just maybe, this was the reason for her crankiness.

With a sigh, Copperquick lifted himself up from the floor so that he could go and fetch the binky…

Author's Note

It was a troubling day when Princess Luna enacted leash laws for public safety.

Chapter 17

When Buttermilk returned home, she found Copperquick asleep on the kitchen floor; some kind pony had covered him with a blanket. Esmeralda was awake—though she was struggling—and her father had one foreleg wrapped around her. Buttermilk could see the foal looking at her with pleading eyes and inches away on the floor—just out of reach—was her pacifier.

Sometimes, life was tragedy.

With a huff, she put her bags down upon the counter and then flew over to comfort Esmeralda. She landed, silent, and folded her wings, an action that required no thought to accomplish. Looking down, she saw Esmeralda looking up at her, and the little filly appeared to be downright miserable. She had been crying and her face was still snotty, but since Copperquick was snoozing, her face had been left dirty.

Poor Copperquick probably needed the sleep.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Esme?” Buttermilk picked up the fallen binky, which was covered in a bit of snot and lint. With a flick of her wing, she tossed it behind her without looking and it clattered as it landed in the sink. A broad smile of satisfaction appeared on Buttermilk’s face and her tail flicked to and fro as she stood looking proud of her accomplishment.

“Mama.” Esmeralda blinked and her eyelashes, crusty from crying, tried to cling to one another. Trapped beneath her father’s foreleg, she reached out with one foreleg, wiggled, and then bleated to protest her captivity.

“Poor, poor, Esme, snuggled to death,” Buttermilk whispered to the distressed filly.

“Haroo-oooh, Mama.” Somehow, Esmeralda managed to convey that she was indeed, quite cross, and had suffered long enough, thank-you-very-much.

“I’m having a hard day too, Esme… I just spoke to my old friend Ripple Rusher again, and I’m pretty sure that she lied to me.” Buttermilk’s ears went limp and fell against the sides of her face. “I also sent a telegram to your Godmother, Twilight Velvet, requesting that Miss Rusher be thoroughly investigated, because I fear for the welfare of her foals. I wasn’t too keen on doing the right thing, no I wasn’t.”

“Mama, foosh.” Esmeralda blinked again, trying to express her pressing need and then wiggled beneath her father’s heavy foreleg. “Foosh, Mama.”

In response, Buttermilk did two things at once: wings unfurling, she took to the air, but as she did so she also reached down to pluck Esmeralda from her slumbering father’s embrace. She hauled the foal free, hugged her, kissed her, and then flew off with her towards the bathroom, off to the toilet that went ‘foosh’ when the cord was pulled.

When Buttermilk returned to the kitchen, she found a sleepy looking Copperquick blinking his eyes and rubbing his nose. At moments like these, she adored him the most, because there was just something about him when he was only half awake and trying to make sense of his surroundings.

“She’s losing a milk tooth,” he said, mumbling out the words through stiff lips that didn’t want to cooperate.

“Oh, Moomy was right it seems…” Even as she said the words, she cringed, not wanting to think about what else her mother had been right about. “If she’s starting to lose teeth, it’s time to switch to solids.” Still holding the squirming filly, Buttermilk wanted to fly over to Copperquick, cling to him, and bawl her eyes out. Somehow, she managed to resist her overwhelming desire, but she did fly over to where Copperquick was and put Esmeralda down upon her blanket.

“No!” Esmeralda thrashed about, kicking and grunting, demanding to be picked back up.

“She’s miserable, Buttermilk.” Copperquick rubbed his eyes with his foreleg, still trying to sort himself out, and then with a sigh, he looked down at his fussy filly. “I couldn’t get her to take a nap. I don’t even know how she’s still awake.”

It was a struggle to hold everything in, and more than anything, Buttermilk still wanted to throw her forelegs around Copperquick’s neck so she could have a good cry. But now wasn’t the time for crying, it seemed, as Copperquick was just waking up, Esmeralda was cranky, Daddums would be home soon, and there just wasn’t enough time in the day to fall apart and weep about the potential destruction of her foalhood friendship.

Just as her eyes were starting to sting with tears, Buttermilk felt a light touch on her snoot. In response, her eyes crossed and as she peered through the lenses of her glasses, she saw Copperquick’s coppery pelt. His hoof was resting on her snoot, but only for a moment, and when he pulled away, Buttermilk felt a great many things all at once.

There was a profound sense of love, first and foremost, and that felt good. She also felt a delightful tension in her loins as she thought about that light touch on her snoot touching someplace else: it could start as wonderful tummy rubs and progress to something better, something lewder. There was sadness too, because thoughts of Ripple Rusher lurked in the back of her mind. Then there was the practical stuff; now emptied, Esmeralda would need to be fed and then maybe, just maybe, once she was fed, she might go to sleep.

And if Esmeralda could go to sleep, premarital booping with Copperquick could continue.

Reaching out, Buttermilk returned the boop and was rewarded with an electric thrill. Yes, without a doubt, Copperquick was at his most attractive—at his sexiest—when he was half awake. Those half open eyes, his befuddled expression, the way his ears struggled to do anything meaningful, like standing up, Buttermilk nibbled her lower lip as her feeling of attraction spiked to an overwhelming level. What made a half awake stallion so sexy?

“Florp!” Esmeralda demanded, oblivious to the needs and desires of others.

“The toilet goes foosh,” Buttermilk said in response. “But I wonder, what goes florp? Why does she associate that sound with being fed?” She watched Copperquick shrug, and even that was kind of attractive, just because he looked so out of sorts. He needed more sleep, by the looks of things.

To cheer herself up, she bumped snoots with Copperquick, engaging in snoot-to-snoot contact, and she took a moment to look deep into his eyes. When he outstretched his forelegs, perhaps hoping to grab her and hold on to her, she darted away and then hovered just out of his reach. Hearing a rumbling wicker of frustration, Buttermilk’s ears perked and she felt a tense heat radiating through her belly.

“I’m going to fix Esme a bottle,” Buttermilk announced, and then she flew away.

While Esmeralda suckled on her bottle, Copperquick watched Buttermilk as she unpacked her bags. A new night light was placed upon the counter—magic or electric, he couldn’t tell—and a bright red and blue ball covered with golden stars was set down near the night light. A brown paper bag with something inside of it was set down and Copperquick had a bit of idle curiousity about what might be inside of it.

Reaching out, Copperquick stroked his daughter’s mane and she gurgled around the rubber nipple between her lips in response. Perhaps the warm milk might do the trick and maybe, just maybe, she was exhausted enough to get some sleep. She leaned into his touch, so he kept rubbing the top of her head and her little ears waggled with what appeared to be bliss.

“You got a ball for Esme,” he said and while he spoke, Buttermilk turned to face him.

Buttermilk nodded. “I want her to chase after it and develop her legs. Also, I think it will be cute.”

Copperquick agreed, it would be cute. With a bit of effort, he picked up Esmeralda and held her while she suckled. She squirmed at first, fussy, but then melted in his embrace. He hoped this was a sign that she would finally succumb to sleepiness and take a nap. Still not quite awake, he yawned and enjoyed a blissful moment of warm fuzziness while holding his daughter.

“So…” Buttermilk’s lips pursed and her brows had a light furrowing. “Are you curious about what is in the bag?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded, but didn’t wish to look too eager.

“I had to face a bit of embarrassment to secure it. No doubt, ponies will talk. I’m sure they’re gossiping right now, I bet.” Buttermilk’s face darkened and her glasses fogged over just enough to be noticeable. “But I figure, since they sell it at the pharmacy, somepony has to buy it, and none of the containers had any dust on them, so they must be getting restocked regularly.”

“So what did you get?” Copperquick asked.

Buttermilk, in preparation of her response, sucked in a deep breath and looked Copperquick right in the eye. “Slick & Silky Slit Sauce. A gentle glide for a better ride. I got the raspberry flavour because I know how much you love those raspberry hard candies.”

Hearing this, Copperquick very nearly dropped his daughter, and she grunted in protest of his carelessness while being jostled around. It took him a moment to recover, and he gave her an apologetic squeeze to help silence her. Summoning his dry wit, Copperquick swallowed once and then responded, “Why, Miss Oddbody, are you trying to seduce me?”

“No, you dolt,” she deadpanned. “I don’t need to try. Before spring break is over, I’m getting rid of my virginity.”

“Oi, are you now?”

Again, Copperquick almost dropped his daughter, and he had to struggle to keep her from hitting the floor. It wasn’t much of a fall, with him sitting on his haunches, but it was the principle of the matter. Good fathers didn’t drop their daughters, ever. Buttermilk’s face was turning new shades of red and purple while her glasses fogged over completely, obscuring her eyes.

“Moomy…”

“Midge and I are partial to the banana flavour,” Butter Fudge said through the window.

“I think I am about to find out if embarrassment can, in fact, be fatal.”

“Does it actually taste like banana?” Copperquick asked, blurting out the words before he had a chance to think about what it was that he was saying. He blamed his outburst on the fact that he wasn’t fully awake.

“Not really,” Butter Fudge replied. “It’s more like the weird taste of banana taffy.”

“I can’t believe the two of you are talking about this.” Buttermilk covered her face with her wings and stood there, trembling. “I suppose I should be happy that the two of you are getting along so well.”

“When things get really hot and steamy it starts to smell like a banana buttie,” Butter Fudge remarked in a casual tone.

“Huh.” Copperquick turned to look and saw Butter Fudge’s smiling face in the window, in the exact same spot where she had been sitting the last time. “Um, Mrs. Oddbody, would you like to be my mother-in-law?”

The big mare reached up and began to rub her chin with her hoof while her eyes angled upwards into a thoughtful position. Her ears fell, rose, fell, and rose again. While this was happening, Buttermilk was making distressed equine noises from behind her wings as she turned round and round in circles. Esmeralda, who was done with her bottle, tossed it and bounced it off of her father’s head with a ‘thonk!’ sound.

With a practiced gesture, Copper flipped his daughter around to burp her, even though she was now old enough to do it on her own. He felt her relax against him and he hoped that this would make her sleepy. Rocking on his haunches, he swayed from side to side while patting Esmeralda on her back.

“I wouldn’t mind having a son-in-law,” Butter Fudge said and she sounded rather distracted. Ignoring her daughter’s distress, the elder Oddbody tapped her chin and her eyes were now focused on Copperquick. “Normally, this isn’t how these proposals are supposed to go, not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

Pulling his hoof away from his daughter’s back, Copperquick used it to point at the filly that he held. “Say yes and this could be yours—”

“Oi, I wasn’t prepared for high pressure tactics!” Butter Fudge pressed her face up against the glass and eyeballed Esmeralda. “I’d have a hard time saying no to that, but I’m still trying to get over the fact that my house is going to smell like a fresh-baked raspberry tart later and I—”

“Moomy! You are the most embarrassing mother alive!” Still turning in circles, Buttermilk kept her face hidden behind her wings. “My face is on fire right now! Moomy, you are the worst!”

“Why, Beezy, that is so kind of you to say.”

“Ugh!” Now, Buttermilk stomped her hooves against the kitchen floor while she went round and round in circles. “Even my back is burning! Everything is burning! I feel sunburned! My stomach is full of butterflies!”

“Beezy, you look a bit pink, maybe you should go have a cold shower—”

“Moomy!”

It was at this moment that Esmeralda burped. But it was no simple burp, no. She brapped. In a terrifying display of violent vulgarity, her maw fell open and she let fly. With a belly full of goat’s milk, she had the ways and means to temporarily ascend into the Alicorn of Foghorns, and so she did. Everything in the kitchen rattled, the table, the chairs, the things on the counter, and even the windows rattled. Butter Fudge’s eyes went wide as she pulled her face away from the glass, leaving behind a face-shaped smudge.

Buttermilk pulled her wings away from her face; as she did so, her glasses slid from her muzzle and clattered to the floor. Copperquick, stuck at ground-zero, could do nothing but hang on to his daughter and hope for the best. Perhaps he had been a bit too vigourous with his back-pats.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Copperquick patted his daughter, but he was too stunned to praise her. She made something like a hiccup and then burped again, a tiny, petite sound that was quite ladylike in comparison to the frog song aria that she had just belted out.

“Wow.” Buttermilk Oddbody sounded stunned and she picked up her glasses with her wings.

“Wow.” Echoing Buttermilk’s sentiments, Butter Fudge sounded very much like her daughter and her hoof came to rest upon the windowsill.

With a bit of worry, Copperquick felt his daughter go limp and it was only after he had started to panic that he realised that his daughter was now asleep. Her little head was nodding against his neck and she made contented little sniffle-snorts as she slipped off to slumberland. Holding her tight against him, he thought only of how precious she was, and he was rather proud of her accomplishment.

Just as Copperquick was about to say something, Buttermilk went buzzing off out the back door saying, “Daddums will save me from this embarrassment…”

Author's Note

If I keep spending ten or more chapters on a day, this will become War and Peace. :raritydespair:

Chapter 18

Watching Buttermilk play with her father warmed Copperquick’s heart and he stood on the back porch wondering if one day Esmeralda would play with him. The pair of pegasus ponies tried to boop one another, a game of speed and skill that Buttermilk seemed to be winning. They circled each other, wings buzzing, and moving at such speed that Copperquick had a hard time seeing anything other than blurs. These slight, fragile-looking pegasus ponies were fast.

Darting to and fro, Buttermilk couldn’t help but tease her father. “Getting slow in your old age!”

Midge’s anger was playful, part of the game, and Copperquick couldn’t tell if he was letting his daughter get the best of him. It was like watching a pair of hummingbirds jousting, a marvellous display of speed and dexterity. The sound was quite unlike anything else Copperquick had ever experienced, a constant and steady stream of bzzt-noises could be heard from the furiously flapping wings. It sounded like a bug zapper having an apoplectic fit. Visible arcs of static electricity could be seen shooting between them when they were too close to one another.

The sight of all of this inspired Copperquick to be a better father.

“We’re going out for flapjacks,” Mighty Midge announced after dodging a boop to the snoot.

“Daddums, no, we just got Esmeralda to settle down—”

“Flapjacks.” Mighty Midge waggled his thin eyebrows. “Besides, a tired enough foal can sleep anywhere. She’ll be fine.” One hoof flew out in his daughter’s direction, but she just flitted out of the way without effort. “If she gets exhausted, she’ll sleep through the night, which means you’ll sleep through the night.”

“Well, I don’t know, Daddums—”

“Trust me, Beezy.”

From where he stood on the porch, Copperquick asked, “Should we bring a foal to a restaurant where ponies are trying to eat a meal?

“It’s a family restaurant,” Butter Fudge replied from inside the kitchen. “Daddums, you’re getting slow.”

“Shut it, Moomy!” Midge cried before he was forced into retreat by a flurry of attempted snoot-boops from his now-aggressive daughter.

“Oi, telling me to shut it. Sod off.”

Turning about, Copperquick looked into the kitchen and saw that Butter Fudge was swaddling Esmeralda in a blanket. She was quick, well-practiced, and his daughter was completely out, oblivious to the blanket binding. Butter Fudge was like some enormous spider, cocooning his daugher, and in no time at all little Esmeralda was neatly wrapped up in one of her blankets.

“Moomy keeps embarrassing me, Daddums.”

“She’s bad about that, Beezy. Should I paddle her with a hairbrush?”

From in the kitchen, there came an, “Oi… do that and I’ll misbehave more often.”

“That’s a little embarrassing, Daddums. I just don’t deal well with embarrassment.”

“You’re like me, Beezy,” Mighty Midge said to his daughter. “Moomy is a teaser. She’s brain-damaged and a socially maladjusted misequine. Now be a good filly and remember that I raised you to take pity on the mentally feeble—”

“Oi, calling me a feeb… so rude. You’ll get yours later, featherbrain. I’ll sit on ya.”

Unable to help himself, Copperquick started laughing. It felt good to laugh, to let go, because everything had been so stressful as of late. Butter Fudge had a sour smile and when he turned about, he saw that Midge and Buttermilk were no longer boop-jousting, but hovering near one another, grinning the same smug grin. Their faces had remarkable similarity and Copperquick noticed for the first time that their wing-beats had synchronized into a harmonious hum that was wondrous to behold.

“All of this talk isn’t filling my belly with flapjacks,” Mighty Midge said in protest. “Beezy, go help your poor feeble-minded mother get ready—”

“Oi, ya git… why I oughta—”

“Ya oughta be getting ready, Moomy.” Mighty Midge winked while his daughter stuck out her tongue.

“Birdbrains, the both of ya,” Butter Fudge huffed from inside the kitchen. “Fine, I’ll get ready. Wouldn’t want to go out smelling like I just cut a whole bunch of cheese, which is what I’ve been doing this whole afternoon.”

Unable to stop himself, Copperquick began to snicker, and he felt rather bad about it.

“Oi, Beezy, look out, he’s having a giggle at a bad joke, you might want to rethink your plans—”

“Moomy!” Buttermilk rubbed her cheeks with her hooves and let out an exasperated grunt. “Moomy, you are the bad joke! Now go get ready!”

After a bit of a walk, crossing several bridges, and travelling a few islands over, Copperquick found himself staring up at a twenty-foot tall sign of a fat pegasus pony mare that said, ‘Flapper’s Henhouse,’ in bold red letters. In smaller blue letters, the words, ‘3~~3~~4 flavours of syrup,’ could be read. The smell was indescribable, but mouth watering, and even Esmeralda—sound asleep in her carrier—began to smack her lips.

“Okay, Copper.” Mighty Midge paused in place and hovered right beside Copperquick’s head. “There’s some local customs here that you need to be aware of. When we go in, you’ll make your order of what kind of flapjacks you’ll be wanting. There are many. Get something you’ll want to eat a lot of, because the waitress will keep bringing them out for you. You can change the type of flapjack you’re getting, but that might cause some confusion in the hustle and bustle, so most of us just stick to one type to make their lives a little easier.”

“Got it,” Copperquick replied and he understood the reasoning behind Midge’s instructions. Being kind to waitresses was one of his priorities, because he was a polite sort, and waitresses had enough to put up with without having to deal with additional headaches.

“I almost took a job in this place.” Buttermilk hovered near her father and she drew in a deep breath. “Looking back, it feels funny now… I had this feeling that if I took a job at this place, it would trap me here. I can actually remember thinking to myself that I’d end up stuck in a rut doing the day to day grind if I took a job.”

“Oi, and then you’d end up with some mouth breathing hick, and I wasn’t having that.”

Copperquick, who was half-listening now, noticed another sign: ‘Kinder-corral for your convenience!’ Off to the front of the restaurant, there was a fenced off area filled with playground equipment, and it was packed with sugar-buzzed tyrannical tykes, the very thought of which gave him cold chills. Esmeralda was little, sweet, and mostly manageable—and he desperately wanted her to remain this way.

At least she wasn’t a pegasus.

The restaurant was chaos and then some. All of the waitresses seemed to be pegasus ponies, and they flew from table to table. It was what one of Copperquick’s professors called justified tribalist hiring practices—making certain ponies suitable for certain types of jobs. Above was open rafters, ducts, and even a few cosy nooks that could only be reached by flying. The cacophony of voices, the rustling of feathers, the flap of wings, the great many lips being smacked, it was all almost too much for Copperquick—however, Esmeralda, asleep in her carrier, hardly stirred. Glasses clinked, plates clattered, and silverware could be heard squeaking against plates.

As a group, they were hustled off to a table and seated. Copperquick, still overwhelmed, hadn’t seen anything quite like this in Canterlot. This was an experience and as he settled into his overstuffed booth seat, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Not far away, a group of griffons were eating flapjacks, a strange sight indeed.

“Drinks?” the waitress asked.

“Banana milk,” Mighty Midge replied, “and keep it coming. I expect a flood.”

“Chocolate milk for me, thanks.” Buttermilk smiled, nodded, and made a polite wave.

“Banana milk,” Butter Fudge said.

At this moment, Copperquick desperately tried not to think of banana flavoured lube. “Strawberry milk for me, I guess.”

“Sure thing.” The waitress scribbled down the drinks on her pad and then squinted while she smacked her gum. “I’ll be back in a jiffy with your drinks and you can tell me what you’ll be eating.” Then, with a flap of her wings, she flew away, slaloming through the rafters, and left behind a bubblegum-scented cloud.

As the waitress departed, Copperquick asked, “Where are the menus?”

“Check the table, Copper,” Butter Fudge replied.

Looking down, he found himself surprised by what he saw. The laminated tabletop was one big giant menu, and he was looking at it upside down. That was okay though, as he was able to make it out well enough. At first glance, it wasn’t complicated, not in the slightest, this place served flapjacks. That was it. There was literally nothing else on the menu. No eggs, no other breakfasty items, no pies, no desserts, just flapjacks.

But there were flapjacks. Many of them. Savoury ones, sweet ones, made from all manner of ingredients, and the sheer abundance of what was available was mind-blowing if one took the time to consider all of the options. And there were options for those who had exotic tastes. All of the syrup came from the north, from Vanhoover, with everything else coming from everywhere else. A little taste from each corner of Equestria could be had here, the menu promised.

In what seemed like no time at all, the waitress returned with ginormous glasses of frothy, whipped fruity milk. Copperquick could see actual flecks of strawberries in his glass and his mouth began to water. The pegasus waitress set the glasses down on the table, stabbed straws into each one, and then hovered overhead, waiting.

“I’ll take my usual,” Mighty Midge said to the bubblegum chewing mare above him. “Malted barley flapjacks with beer syrup.” Then, when he was done ordering, he plucked a snoozing Esmeralda from her carrier, much to Copperquick’s surprise. Leaning back, he cuddled the snoozing filly and made contented cooing noises.

“Savoury onion and herb for me, with garlic syrup.” Butter Fudge grinned as she gave her order and her eyes had a coy look about them. “Oi, I’ll have me a fantastic stink for romancing later, so I will.”

When the waitress laughed, Buttermilk turned a bright pink and let out a squeak.

“Coconut chocolate chip flapjacks.” Buttermilk, embarrassed yet again by her mother, took a moment to clear her throat. “Choco-Loco syrup, please, and double the whipped butter.”

“Good choice,” the waitress replied, and then she turned to look at Copperquick. “And what about you, Hun?”

“Red velvet flapjacks with the sour cream maple syrup, and I’ll also take doubled whipped butter.” He caught a glimpse of Buttermilk out of the corner of his eye and Copperquick found that she was quite attractive when she was blushing. When he thought of her churning butter, his own cheeks felt heated.

“I’ll have those right out!” the waitress called out as she flew off to turn in the order.

While waiting for their food, a syrup sampler was brought to the table and left for them. Copperquick eyeballed it and was curious about the thirty four concoctions that had a guarantee to titillate any tastebuds. Some of the flavours were common, like the fruit flavoured syrups, some were unusual, and a few were just bizarre, like the cayenne cranberry.

As he sat there watching, Butter Fudge helped herself to the one labeled, ‘Banana-Razzle-Dazzle-Deluxe.’ With a swift motion, she popped off the top of the little plastic container with her teeth, tearing it away, spat it out on the table, and then she drank the contents of said container. It took several seconds for it to sink in that these ponies were drinking syrup. For a few seconds, he was actually afraid of what this might do to Buttermilk, and then his fears were realised when Buttermilk picked up the ‘Butter-Rum-Rumpshaker.’ Like her mother, she tore off the plastic nubbin with her teeth, spat it out on the table, and then drank down the sampler bottle.

There were thirty four flavours and already, two of them were gone.

Reaching out, Copperquick grabbed one at random, and holding it in his fetlock, he read the label. By luck, he had picked up one called, ‘Choco-Loco-Psycho-Syrup.’ Bracing himself for an experience, he tore off the plastic nubbin with his teeth, spit it out on the table, as seemed to be the custom, and then drank down his sampler of syrup.

The taste of chocolate liqueur was almost overpowering; there was an unexpected bitterness that Copperquick was not prepared for, and a bit of heat as well. Not spicy heat, but a pleasant burn from what had to be just a smidgen of alcohol. It warmed his throat and his belly and then crept up into his sinuses. It was amazing in every sense of the word.

“You numbskull, you stole the chocolate syrup,” Buttermilk said, almost whining.

In response, Copperquick made a bold move—he kissed her. Wrapping his forelegs around her, he pulled her in and touched his sticky lips to her syrupy lips, which warmed from his touch. She resisted for a moment—no doubt embarrassed, if the sudden flush of heat was any indicator—but then melted into his embrace. The kiss was sweet, with hints of chocolate liqueur and rum.

It was Buttermilk who pulled away, and she did so with a wet pop. Flustered with her glasses fogged over, she licked her sticky lips with her orange tongue, glanced at her mother, and then looked back up at Copperquick, her eyes moist with affection. For a moment, it appeared as though she was going to say something, but she licked her lips once more, blinked a few times, and tried to control her heavy breathing.

With a reckless gleam in his eye, Copperquick reached for another random syrup sampler…

Author's Note

Copperquick has got himself into a sticky situation, it seems.

Chapter 19

Sugar-fueled Buttermilk was an entirely different beast than normal, regular Buttermilk. Clutching his stomach, unable to eat another bite, Copperquick watched as Buttermilk played with a half-awake and rather grumpy Esmeralda. Much to his concern, Buttermilk was breaking the rules. With reckless, gleeful abandon, the pretty pegasus maid was pressing her sticky, syrupy face against the foal’s tummy and blowing raspberries. She had also given the foal a few sips of syrup, and now, his daughter seemed rather discombobulated as the sugar began to take hold.

Butter Fudge was still eating, packing away flapjacks a half a dozen on a plate at a time, and Copperquick found this quite alarming. She was, after all, a big mare, and she had worked hard all day, but this was disconcerting. Buttermilk let out a cry when Mighty Midge plucked Esmeralda out of her grasp, and then, he too blew sticky raspberries against the filly’s stomach. Unlike Buttermilk, his daughter, Mighty Midge made Esmeralda giggle, and this made Buttermilk frown at her father.

Then, Mighty Midge poured even more syrup down the filly’s gullet, inviting Disaster to come over, have a seat, and stay awhile. There was no way that this could go right and Copperquick awaited the inevitable crash that was sure to come. At this point, it looked as though the kettle had been put on and Disaster had been coaxed into staying overnight as a guest. Pegasus ponies and their reckless, ne’er-do-well daredevil attitudes… why couldn’t they be sensible, like earth ponies?

Now, Esmeralda was reaching for the syrup bottle while whimpering for it, a sight that seemed adorable at first, until as a parent, one considered all of the ramifications of the act and then suffered a debilitating stroke when the inevitable outcomes presented themselves in a mental slideshow of abstract horror playing on a loop within one’s head.

Disaster was now a live-in roommate, the bad kind that left soggy teabags lying about.

Butter Fudge was now waving for another plate and Copperquick, for the very first time since his arrival, began to wonder what he was getting himself into with Buttermilk’s family. Mighty Midge and Buttermilk had Esmeralda pinned between them, and they were zerberting both sides of her little ribs. Was there anything worse than sticky and hairy? Copperquick wasn’t sure, but he was almost certain that this query was one of the great Questions that one needed to ask if one desired to have a rich, fulfilling life.

Two squirrelly pegasus ponies were letting his daughter drink syrup while showering her with sticky, zerberty kisses. The relationship with Disaster had now progressed to full on flirting, an act that could only progress towards further risky, questionable life choices—very much like having a go with an exotic dancer and rogering her in the just-as-risky-as-too-much-whisky hole—which would then lead to a filly left on one’s doorstep just before one had to go to work.

Copperquick it seemed, had come full circle in the Disaster relationship oroborus.

Risk translated into rewards though, and with this in mind, Copperquick reached out to Buttermilk. She jumped a little at his touch, and a giggling Esmeralda slipped into Mighty Midge’s embrace as Buttermilk turned around to face Copperquick. Slipping his forelegs around the sweet, sticky pegasus, he looked down at her and could see his own reflection in her glasses. He looked far too serious at this moment, but that was okay, he was meant to be a well respected pony, his cutie mark said so.

“Hi there. What’re you doing and why are you so close? Do you have mischief on your mind? You have butter on your nose. A long time ago, ponies rubbed themselves down with butter to have sleek, shiny coats. You’re my best friend, did you know that? I want to have adventures with you and try new things, exciting things, like skiing and hot air ballooning and falling in love and raising a family, because you’re just the right kind of friend to do all those kinds of things with. Oh, wow, you’re getting closer, and my heart is racing right now, and I feel warm all over, and I—”

The pegasus that he held went silent when the tip of his snoot bumped up against hers. She was trembling, her wings quaked, and he could feel her hot, syrupy-scented breath blowing against him. He had pulled her close with the intention of giving her a quick, polite peck, but now he was savouring the anticipation of it, and he slid one foreleg down along the gentle curve of her spine, revelling in her splendiferous twitchy reactions.

“This is super embarrassing right now,” she breathed in a voice every bit as soft as a foal’s blanket. “Daddums is watching and for some reason that’s even worse than Moomy, I don’t know why, but it just is, and it might be because I am Daddums’ girl and Copper, this feels really weird right now, but I really, really want you and Daddums to get along and be friends, because deep down inside I am really insecure because I am a shy, nerdy girl and both you and my Daddums are the only males who have said I was pretty and all of this just feels so important right now.”

While he looked into Buttermilk’s eyes, Copperquick could not help but wonder about why a pegasus of all ponies would want to go hot air ballooning. With his heart pounding against his ribs, he felt lightheaded, giddy, he felt many of the same things as he did when he held his daughter and she was happy. Buttermilk was twisted around in her seat to face him and one of her forelegs was now snaking around his neck.

“You looked so bewildered when you came to me for help… so scared.”

When she spoke, he could feel her lips brushing up against his and he wanted to give her the sort of passionate kiss that authors wrote six-inch-thick novels about. But this, this was also pleasurable in its own way, this closeness, this intimacy, and all of the spine-tingling sensations that went with it.

Chancing a sidelong glance, Copperquick saw Butter Fudge and Mighty Midge huddled together with his daughter held between them. The big mare was nodding encouragement in his direction, her eyes misty, and the dark blue pegasus beside her was bouncing Esmeralda up and down. The waitress was coming with more flapjacks and he refocused his eyes on Buttermilk, who had tantalising, sticky lips that captivated him.

Lips that he could no longer resist, and so he kissed her, intending it to be a quick peck. But, as it turned out, one simply did not peck a sticky-lipped pegasus, no, because Buttermilk had other plans. Tilting his head off to one side, Copperquick let the moment happen and tried not to think too much about her parents watching. The hardness of her hoof pressed into the back of his head, just behind his ear, and she was almost hanging off of him at this moment, due to him being taller when sitting down. Sweet, sticky friction caused her lips to rub against his in the most shiver-inducing ways, creating a truly remarkable heat between them.

And then, far too soon, Buttermilk pulled away, breathless and disheveled.

In a low, low whisper, she said, “I have plans for you… for us…”

The sun dipped low on the delta and appeared to set the tidal shoals on fire. Entranced by the sheer indescribable beauty of it, Copperquick stood in one spot to drink it in while Buttermilk flew erratic circles overhead, drunk on syrup. There was much beauty in the world, so much so that Copperquick felt pangs of regret at knowing that he would never live long enough to see it all. Of course, there was also having the means to travel to see it too.

Buttermilk, who had Esmeralda in a carrier slung from her neck, took a few precious moments to huggle-snuggle the sugar-buzzed foal mid-air while saying, “Once upon a time, there was a pretty, pretty pony princess, and she dreamed that she could fly!”

Copperquick looked up, his ears twitching in time with Buttermilk’s wing beats, and then he turned to face Butter Fudge, who was giving Mighty Midge a pony ride on her back. Clearing his throat, he asked Buttermilk’s mother, “The whole thing with Buttermilk being so happy about being able to fly… it’s because of the tether you kept her clipped on, isn’t it?”

This seemed to catch Butter Fudge off guard, and she shuffled her hooves in the dirt for a few seconds while she thought about her response. Blinking, she replied, “Oi, I don’t know!”

Sitting on his wife’s back, Mighty Midge began to chuckle while he stroked her neck.

The water burned a glorious orange with bands of pink and yellow. Boats of all kinds cruised by, some fast, some slow, and far overhead an airship meandered seawards, pulled by a team of stout pegasus ponies. Even now, at the end of the day, this place bustled with hustle from the hard working souls who populated the delta.

An orchestra of sensation threatened to overwhelm Copperquick: the colours, the beautiful rosy hues of the fantastic sunset; all of the sounds that graced his attentive, quivering ears, the beating of wings, the sound of ships on the water, and of gruff voices giving commands; and then there was the smell of this place, of which there was so many that his nose had trouble making them all out. It was too much, really, and Copperquick was forced to stop thinking of all of the great many things that troubled him so that he could take it all in. There was only the moment, as glorious as it was, and he drew in a deep breath to fill his lungs with briny air.

“Wheee! I can fly and I have a little flying buddy!”

His existence had been terrifying for quite a while now and the strain on his mind had been unrelenting. The danger of losing everything had unnerved him, unsettled him, and then there was the humiliation, the shame, and having to bend his proud neck, like the day he had accepted help from Sapphire Shores. Tossed into the swirling maelstrom, he had seen the best and worst that equinity had to offer. The resolute, dignified goodness of Twilight Velvet and the coldhearted lack of compassion of Mister Blancmange.

Out here, existing on the very edge, where the danger of falling off consumed his mind and left him terrified, he had met the most fantastic ponies. The sheer magnanimity of Princess Cadance and Princess Celestia had floored him, restored him—healed him. Now, he strove to live by their example, to do good, to be good, to be a right and proper pony.

With a flick of his tail, he took off at a run, overcome by his earth pony senses. Stuffed with flapjacks, he still somehow ran and his hooves cut divots out of the soft earth. This island, large as it was, wasn’t big enough for a good run and Copperquick would run out of space soon enough. It felt good to run, to be free, with the sound of his own hooves thundering in his ears.

In an eyeblink, Buttermilk was right beside him, her wings buzzing, and she had no trouble keeping up with him. Copperquick poured on more speed, but this only lasted for a few seconds because the end of the island was fast approaching. He would have to turn around and run in the other direction if he wanted to keep going, and he wanted to run, to outpace all of his troubles.

With fluid grace, he cleared a wooden fence, flying for a short distance, and then he had to slow down with the end of the land approaching. It formed a narrow spit of land, a sandbar really, and his hooves skidded over the loose earth. Crossing the fence had taken him out of bounds, right up to the shoreline. Making a quick turn about, he dug in his hind hooves and took off again.

For the second time, he cleared the fence and kept going, this time sprinting in the direction of Butter Fudge and Mighty Midge, who were right where he had left them. Buttermilk was almost at eye level, whizzing along, and in her carrier, Esmeralda was hooting while waving her forelegs about. Copperquick slipped into a gallop without even trying and he pulled away from Buttermilk, who let out a snort of annoyance. She too, poured on the speed and caught up in a fraction of a second.

He soared over the soft earth, his hooves barely even touching, and remained in the air for whole seconds at a time. Head down, ears back, it felt good to run, to be a pony, to move entirely on instinct and leave behind complex, complicated, conscious thought. Already, he was running out of island again, and satisfied in ways that he could not explain, Copperquick slowed his pace.

Bucking, he kicked out his hind legs and gamboled about on the soft ground, revelling in the glorious sensation of horsing around. He pronked a few times, twisting and turning in the air, and made a few stiff-legged bounces just to get it all out of his system. When he recovered his senses, he found Buttermilk staring at him, along with his daughter.

“Why, Miss Oddbody, I do believe I am ready to go home and do a bit of studying.”

Author's Note

Say what you will, Disaster puts out...

Chapter 20

With exaggerated slowness, Buttermilk gave the ball a light tap with her hoof and sent it rolling. The ball—bright red and blue, and also covered in golden stars—rolled over the tile floor, captivating Esmeralda’s attention. Ponies, for reasons unknown, loved rolling balls, and even being all grown up as she was, Buttermilk found herself possessed with a curious compulsion.

Esmeralda, a foal who should already be in the advanced stages of walking, toddled after the rolling ball on wobbly knees that threatened to give way. Why had her walking development been slowed? The exact cause was unknown, but all of her development had been stunted and now the task of correcting this issue fell upon Buttermilk, who treated it as a scholastic project.

Walking, pronking, bucking, gamboling, these were all things that little Esmeralda should be doing at her current age, and couldn’t. When the ball came to a halt, so did Esmeralda. Lowering her head, she touched a golden star with her nose; when the ball began to roll, she jerked her head back up, mystified and then teetered after it while it rolled once more.

“Oi, Copper, what was the Sanitation Proclamation?” Butter Fudge asked of Copperquick at the kitchen table. “I know she’s cute and all, but right now you need to focus.”

Esmeralda was cute and it occurred to Buttermilk that the little earth pony filly was hers. Yes, little Esmeralda was her daughter. At some point in the future, Buttermilk would begin the process of adoption and lay claim to the fantastic little fuzzball—but that was the distant future. For right now, it was in both the filly and her father’s better interests to remain as they were so the system could be gamed for the purpose of betterment.

“The Sanitation Proclamation was the Crown’s mandate of sanitation,” Copperquick replied while his eyes lingered on his daughter, who toddled after her ball. “It was also one of the largest instances of the Crown’s spending in the modern era, with Princess Celestia providing funds to the major cities to upgrade sanitation services. All public restrooms had to meet a new standard, which included a hygienic water jet for cleansing and a hot air drier. It was believed that the increased levels of hygiene would reduce communicable disease, and over time this has proven to be true, with smaller towns in Equestria still using outhouses and having greatly increased rates of what we now call preventable disease.”

“Well, that’s all quite the mouthful.” Butter Fudge, who was holding Copperquick’s Equestrian Proclamations textbook in her hooves, gave him a nod of approval. “Very good. Beezy had to learn some of this stuff in secondary school, and it gave her fits. She wasn’t much of a scholar at the time, she just didn’t have the discipline for it, and we’d go round and round when I’d try to get her to learn it.”

Hearing this, Buttermilk’s glasses fogged over just a bit, because it was embarrassing. She followed after Esmeralda with careful, gentle steps, and gave the ball another nudge to set it rolling at greater speed. At least for now, Moomy had stopped and now, Buttermilk could breath again.

“A pony can learn almost anything, with repetition,” Butter Fudge continued as she closed Copperquick’s schoolbook. “Look at her now… she’s planning on being a doctor of some sort. I can’t even understand half of what she says. I taught her to do, and now, she does. Oi, it’s a proud feeling.”

With a snort, Esmeralda tumbled over and Buttermilk almost went into panic mode. She stood over the filly, worried, and using her snoot, she prodded the flopped-over toddler a few times, but had no response. It took Buttermilk several seconds to realise that Esmeralda was sleeping. She had just toppled over and had gone to sleep.

“They do that at that age.” The voice of her father was reassuring and Buttermilk turned to look at him. “You did it a lot. You’d be a real livewire and you’d run around all over the house until you ran out of go-go juice and then you’d just fall over and sleep.”

“Oh.” Buttermilk didn’t quite know what to say.

“Beezy, tuck that tot into bed and then come chase fireflies with me. Please?”

Lifting her head high, she looked over at her father while thinking of all of the times they had chased fireflies together. Even at his most exhausted, those really dreadful days at work, he still somehow found the means to chase after fireflies with her. With a turn of her head, she looked down at Esmeralda for a moment while thinking about her father’s selflessness, and it was then that Buttermilk had what could only be described as a ‘maternal moment.’ There would be days when she was tired—exhausted even—and little Esme would need her attention, just as little filly Buttermilk had needed her father’s attention. The very thought of it made Buttermilk’s eyes misty, and there was a tightness in her ribs that made it tricky to breathe.

“Daddums, this is your tot too, if you’ll have her. You can tuck her into bed, if you’d like. I know how much you enjoy that.” Sucking in an almost panicked breath, she added, “That is if Copperquick doesn’t mind and he’s okay with all of this. I keep thinking that Esme is ours and it gets confusing some of the time and I keep having to remind myself that for the big decisions, Esme is still his, and this bothers me, because I want her to be ours.”

Feeling foolish and panicked, she stared down at the floor, unable to look anypony in the eye at the moment. She took a deep breath, then another, and with the third, she felt a little lightheaded. In each of her ears a heart was beating, the sound was almost deafening, a dull, steady roar. Looking down at Esmeralda’s face, Buttermilk could almost feel her own heart bursting.

“This is harder than I thought it would be. I thought to myself, ‘Hey, I think I love Copper and I really don’t mind if he comes with a little something extra.’ So I rushed headlong into this, and everything was fine, and everything was wonderful, until one day I had that realisation for the first time that Esmeralda was his and not ours. It was a bad day for me and I stayed distracted, and I was troubled, and I had a hard time doing my job. And since that day, I keep thinking that, I’m the stepmom. It bothers me. No… no, I gotta be honest, it hurts me. It really, really hurts me that I’m the stepmom. I’m the replacement. There is this dreadful fly in the ointment and that is the fact that Esme was birthed by another mare, and that just eats at my insides, and there is nothing that I can do to change that, and now I understand—oh gosh do I understand—the difficulty that step-parents have in integrating families together. There is this awkwardness there, and doubt, and fear, and this undefinable dread, and this constant state of worry about being a step-parent.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Buttermilk stood there, overcome by her own perceived foolishness and her fear. A volcanic heat lurked just beneath her cheeks and she imagined her parents making all manner of expressions at her, with none of them good. The emotional pressure became a painful physical pressure, and this made her eyes sting to the point where they began to water.

“Beezy… Buttermilk—”

The sound of her father’s voice made her flinch and she hated herself for her reaction.

“—we’ll put her to bed over here on her blanket by the table and then we’ll go outside and chase fireflies… and talk. Now buck up.”

Opening her eyes, she fought to hold in her sniffles and lost. The sound of her father approaching made her ears twitch, and when she turned to look at him, her neck muscles tensed so hard that everything from the withers up was wracked with ferocious cramps. Daddums was smiling, a soft, warm, wonderful, reassuring smile and for some reason, it made her feel better.

“We’ll sort this out, Beezy… now, come on, let’s put this tot to bed.”

Copperquick couldn’t wait for his head to hit the pillow. Making a few clumsy swipes with his hoof while he held his daughter by the nape of her neck with his teeth, he somehow managed to roll back the blankets and then he dropped his daughter upon the bed. She murmured, almost rousing, and then with an impressive yawn, she tumbled back down into the cosy depths of dreamland.

The night light—a magical one that Buttermilk had very clearly splurged upon—was already sitting on the bedside table. Now, Copperquick was yawning, having watched his daughter yawn. This seemed to be a special magic all of its own, and every pony that had ever lived or would ever live was born with this extraordinary talent. There had been times that he had amused himself by yawning and then waiting for his daughter to yawn, and this had been done with such frequency that she now gave him sullen looks for infecting her with drowsiness.

That was potentially one the best parts of having offspring; you could mess with their heads and have a bit of fun with them. Esmeralda was starting to become interesting in a good way. She showed some signs of intelligence, she could be engaging, affectionate, and just a little while ago, she had been kicking a ball around the kitchen. Overall, this was mind blowing in very much the same way as wondering why clocks ran clockwise, how did aspirin find a headache, or contemplating as to why ponies parked on driveways and ran on parkways.

Dropping his head and turning it off to one side, Copperquick rubbed the side of his face against the soft sheets. The sensation of the smooth fabric against his ear was divine and the exquisite coolness of its touch caused a fit of piloerection along his spine. This continued for some time, and then Copperquick turned his head over to rub the other side.

Esmeralda stirred in her sleep and this made Copperquick pause. For lack of a better response, he chuffed and then stared at his daughter as she squirmed in her sleep. Was she cold? She wasn’t covered, so she might be. Did she realise that her father was a silly pony? Perhaps, but that seemed doubtful given her current comatose state. Maybe the shaking of the bed had disturbed her? The subtle flaring of her nostrils with each inhale and exhale was hypnotic, a fascinating, entrancing display of life.

When he heard a faint giggle, he lifted his head and saw Buttermilk in the doorway. Her mane was down, she was bunless, and she didn’t seem as distressed as she was earlier. She looked happy, near as he could tell, and this made him feel good. Happiness also acted as an aphrodisiac, but that was something that would have to be addressed later.

“Earlier today, at Flapper’s,” Buttermilk whispered.

Looking his precious pegasus in the eye, Copperquick waited.

“When you held me… when you were holding me”—Buttermilk blinked a few times and her posture shifted, though to what, Copperquick could not say—“I had a claustrophobic moment where I wanted to break free. With violence if necessary. There was this… moment… and it was difficult, and I was scared. You’re bigger than I am, Copper, and that’s intimidating. In fact, that can be really scary when you’re a mare my size, and I am painfully aware about my size. I hear things, Copper, about us, about me, about you, so when you were holding me, not only was I suddenly claustrophobic, but I was busy thinking about what every other pony around us might be thinking… how it must look to them to have a big strapping earth pony smooching on what appears to be a teenage filly, and this… this is just some of the stuff that goes through my head and I just talked to my Daddums about it and somehow, I didn’t die of embarrassment.”

“And how did that go?” he asked as one eyebrow arched in interest.

“Not as good as I would’ve liked,” she replied in a whispery huff.

“I thought you and your Daddums were close.”

“We are, but he’s… he’s… well, he is what he is.” Buttermilk’s words could scarcely be heard but her guilt over saying them was loud and clear. “He told me that I shouldn’t worry about what other ponies think, and that if a grown stallion wanted to be frisky with a consenting teen filly, it wasn’t my place to judge, and then he started to talk about how disappointed he was with all of the talk of raising the Age of Majority. He seems to think that doing so will somehow destroy traditional family values.”

Copperquick stood there, not knowing how to respond.

“He’s changed, just a little, it seems, but he’s still real insistent on this family value thing. He’s come to a conclusion on his own that gays, freaks, and weirdos are fine, just fine really, just so long as they somehow start families and raise good, honest, hard workers that will keep the labour force growing rather than shrinking. I’d almost be proud of him for this change of heart, but I am left feeling rather conflicted.”

“That’s…” Copperquick’s words trailed off, unfinished.

“Immigrants are fine, really, but he feels that they should marry native Equestrians so that they adjust well and get a correct view of the culture. Offspring should be raised as Equestrians, not as foreigners with funny, freaky ways.” Sighing, Buttermilk shook her head from side to side. “This is why I left home. This is rather trying, Copper, and I apologise for dumping this on you.”

“Immigrants—”

“Yes, Copper, I reminded him that you are an immigrant, and he told me in return that you don’t count, because you’re already like us. You don’t require setting straight on what is right and what is wrong. Equestrians are the authority on right and wrong. Isn’t that special?”

Brows furrowing, Copperquick stood there, undecided on what to say, so he said nothing. He took a deep breath, but that didn’t help much, so with a huff he let it out. His mouth opened and then he made a valiant attempt to apply logic to this situation, but that backfired, and then Copperquick backfired, but this was good because the chapel creeper served as a worthwhile distraction.

“Ew, rude.” Buttermilk fanned the air with her wing and then made a supreme effort not to giggle. “Stinky immigrants are the worst.”

Copperquick almost made a sound that would have most certainly caused his daughter to awaken and it was a sheer miracle that he held back his whoop of laughter. A dangerous game was being played and it was called ‘Don’t Wake the Baby.’ It was a risky game, but it was considered far, far safer than such alternatives as ‘Go and Find the Landmine’ and ‘Pin the Tail on the Manticore.’

“Come to bed with me,” he said, hoping to coax the pretty pegasus pony into bed with him. Maybe, if he was lucky, she would touch him with her wings, and then life would be pretty special before he drifted off to sleep.

“I need to preen first. It must be done. But I’ll let you brush me.”

That made his pulse quicken, but he did his best to hide his excitement. “I guess I can.”

“Thanks, Copper.”

“For what?”

“For letting me vent. For not being judgmental. For being the decent sort that my parents approve of. It’s made all of this easier. When the time is right, I am going to make this worth your while.” Buttermilk winked her eye, waved her wing, and then backed out the door, leaving Copperquick all alone with his sleeping daughter.

Giddy as a school colt, Copperquick climbed into bed…

Author's Note

I apologise for the delay...

Chapter 21

A perfect morning that seemed to stretch forever was a rare treat for Copperquick. A sturdy mug of tea sat cooling on the table just inches away from his completed paper for school and his neck had only a slight crick in it from all of his writing. What time was it? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. It wasn’t lunchtime, it was just a good time, a great time, a pleasant time.

Buttermilk was flitting about the kitchen, saying nothing about whatever it was that she was preparing. Just a smile, or maybe a giggle when asked about her efforts, but no answer. On the floor, Esmeralda was learning how to chase after her ball, which took surprising coordination, keeping one’s eyes on a moving object while managing to move four stubby legs and run in a straight line. The ball seemed to be doing exactly what Buttermilk had hoped it would do.

Armed with a cleaver, Buttermilk went to work chopping up some chives and Copperquick took some time to stretch his neck. This was ideal, all of this, spending time in a comfortable kitchen, with a foal frolicking about, work accomplished, and something delightful being prepared. Thoroughly enjoying himself, Copperquick picked up the newspaper to have himself a read.

Being an earth pony, it took a little effort to unfold the paper, but somehow he managed. It rumpled a bit, which made his ears twitch, and Copperquick was quite unaware how serious and studious he appeared while reading the paper, or that Buttermilk was gazing at him with warm, expressive eyes. Eyes narrowing, he began to scan the headlines on the front page.

The big headline was about Mister Mariner: to celebrate his dominance of the Equestrian coal industry—now being the owner of all of it—he had announced a stock split to help share the wealth a bit. Copperquick had no idea what a stock split was, but it warranted the biggest, boldest headline on the front page. The reporter seemed excited by the prospect, as the split dropped stock prices down low enough for the common pony to buy shares once more. Everypony, it seemed, had a chance to become wealthy if they already had the wealth and means to acquire more.

Lower lip protruding in concentration, Copperquick kept reading, though he didn’t understand many of the bigger headlines. He was having to squint a good bit and it occurred to him that he might need glasses. This was worrisome, so he squinted even harder and did his level best to ignore it. Glasses were expensive, squinting was free.

Along the bottom of the front page in medium print there was an announcement that the bonus for joining the guard had been increased. How much? The paper didn’t say and Copperquick saw it for what it was: a clever ruse to get warm bodies into the recruitment offices. Shaking his head, he let his eyes go elsewhere.

Nothing seemed of interest to him and after a few cursory glances, he gave up. Folding up the paper, he decided that he had seen enough. He tossed the now folded paper down upon the table, picked up his mug of tea, and took a cautious slurp. Ah, Celestial Glory, a tea he was starting to get a taste for. Or perhaps an addiction, which was worrisome.

“What are you making, Buttermilk?”

“Food,” she replied.

Sighing, Copperquick had himself another slurp and with a turn of his head, he watched his pegasus companion as she chopped up chives.

Meanwhile, Esmeralda was having herself a bit of a sit down and was planted on her haunches with her forelegs resting upon her ball. She sat there, blinking on occasion, and she too watched Buttermilk with great interest. Perhaps because of the change of soaps, the filly’s jade green mane was especially poofy and the tufts now had a definite waviness to them. She looked very much like a tiny diva in need of a fabulous mane dresser.

“About what you were saying yesterday—”

“Yes?” Buttermilk responded while her cleaver made rhythmic thump-thumps against the wooden cutting board.

“About Esmeralda being mine and how you fretted about her being ours… I’ll be happy to share her with you. You can have half—”

“Oh, delightful! Which half?”

“Why, the poopy end, of course—”

“I was afraid of that,” Buttermilk deadpanned as she cut Copperquick off. “I’ll take it though. Thank you, Copper.”

“Don’t mention it.” He had himself another slurp of tea, then a second, and afterwards, he set his mug down upon the table. Turning himself to one side of his chair, he stood up, tried once more to unkink his neck, and winced when he heard a terrific crackle.

After taking a few steps, Copperquick sat down upon the floor and then gestured at his daughter. He waited, hopeful, and watched as his daughter did the required mental gymnastics. She was thinking, and the effort of doing so made her fuzzy little ears twitch to and fro. Lifting his hoof, he gestured again, but said nothing. Esmeralda had a somewhat decent grasp of the command to come, even if a took a few tries, but this was something new.

Esmeralda's tiny brows wrinkled with concentration and she lifted up her hoof from where it rested upon her ball. Blinking, she looked down at it, then, mimicking her father’s motions, she reached out and made the same gesture. Having done it once, she did it a second time, and then a third. Ears still twitchy-twitching, she burbled a bit, blew a spit bubble, and then Copperquick saw her stare at him in a confused, bewildered manner.

Non-verbal communication was still beyond Esmeralda’s reach at the moment it seemed and Copperquick realised that he would have to help her out. He gestured again for her to come over and while doing so, he said, “Come here, Esme. Come to Dada.”

This was something she understood and her eyes shone bright with understanding. With a grunt, she shoved her ball away, stood up, wobbled until she found her balance, and then came toddling over to where her father sat to join him. Stopping proved to be far more difficult than walking and she crashed into her father’s leg, leaving it shiny and slick with slobber.

“Good filly,” Copperquick said in an over-exaggerated happy voice because he knew that praise was important. Esmeralda responded well to positive reinforcement and there were times that she seemed starved for it. Reaching down, he steadied her, and sat her down with him. With his leg pressed up against what was most precious to him, he compared their shared coat colour and marvelled at how she had a little part of him.

With a swiftness that surprised him, his daughter latched onto his leg and squeezed. Frozen in place, Copperquick cherished this moment of his daughter’s affection. He didn’t mind that she was drooling, but rather, he appreciated this for what it was: his daughter was trying to hug him. When the mood struck her, she was affectionate, a cuddler, and had moments where she was content to be held in silence, which was a pleasant diversion from being held while shrieking.

“It’s funny,” Buttermilk said, and the sound of her voice jolted Copperquick into startled awareness. “I can remember being scared of my Moomy when I was little. She was just so… big. I mean, she’s as big as most stallions, if not bigger. She’s bigger than you are, Copper, so just imagine what it was like to be Esme’s size and looking up at her. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Moomy, I really, truly do, but I think I’m closer to my Daddums because he wasn’t as scary. He was approachable because he was tiny, like me.”

Now, Esmeralda was chewing on his fetlock—not hard enough to be painful, but hard enough to be noticed. He thought about her loose tooth and wondered if she understood that others could feel pain, just as much as she could. It was almost… affectionate, the chewing, and she was making happy ‘nom-nom’ noises as she tried to satisfy herself. Ah, slobber, the unit of happiness measured in smiles per gallon.

“After lunch, I think that we should do something. Go for a walk. Go outside. I haven’t really even explored this island.” It was true, he hadn’t really explored the island, even though there wasn’t much to see. He intended to remedy that and have a good look around. Maybe say hello to the cows and the goats. Perhaps he could find a pleasant spot to sit and watch the river go flowing by.

“If you’d like to have an adventure, we can go and visit the Faucet after lunch.” Buttermilk put down her cleaver and then turned to face Copperquick while hovering in the air. “It’s a bit weird, the Faucet, and it can be rather uncomfortable to visit. It tends to make one’s ears pop sometimes, though this doesn’t always happen.”

“What is it and what does it do?” Copperquick asked, intrigued but also worried about how Esmeralda might react.

“Ah, I can’t tell you. It would ruin the surprise. We should go and see one of the local natural wonders.” Buttermilk rubbed her front hooves against one another, drew in a deep breath, and then flew over to where Copperquick was sitting.

“Esme, do you need to go foosh?”

Upon hearing her name, the filly paused in her efforts to gnaw upon her father’s fleshy fetlock and looked up. She blinked from intense concentration, pressed her lips together, and a scowl of cogitation could be seen on her face. Copperquick was amazed by how much effort she was putting into thinking about Buttermilk’s question.

To make things simple, Buttermilk tried again with fewer words. “Esme, foosh?”

One tiny hoof was raised and Esmeralda rubbed the side of her head with it, making faint scritch-scritch sounds. Then, the light of realisation manifested as a fierce glow in her eyes and her left ear began to bob up and down. “Foosh!”

Buttermilk nodded, making a big show of it and exaggerating her movements. “Yes,” she said, still nodding while Esmeralda watched, “go foosh.”

“Yes foosh?” Esmeralda shook her head from side to side rather than up and down.

“Close enough,” Buttermilk replied while she snatched up the foal in need of foosh. “It’s settled, Copper, we’ll go and see the Faucet after lunch. I think you’ll be amazed.” Then, without further ado, Buttermilk was gone.

Hearing a knock upon the front door was the very last thing that Buttermilk expected, and, upon hearing it, she froze for a moment while her mind did twisty, complex mental acrobatics. This wasn’t her house, not any longer, she was a guest here, wasn’t she? She had been gone for so long and having returned, she was sleeping in the guest room, not her old room. Overcome with weird anxiety, Buttermilk suffered a brief moment of crisis.

It was difficult to come home after an extended absence and the rules had changed.

Wings buzzing, she planted a kiss on Esmeralda’s head and then put the filly down on the floor near her father. She had gone foosh, was cleaned up, and hadn’t made a fuss at all, which was praiseworthy. Before departing, she booped Copperquick on the nose, took a moment to enjoy his cross-eyed expression, and then with a giggle she went careening off to the living room to answer the door.

Looking up from his daughter, Copperquick watched as Buttermilk walked into the kitchen. The cat, fearful of pony hooves, scrambled to get out of the way, then took off with a yowl of fright when Esmeralda took an interest in him. Buttermilk seemed distracted, enough so that she might have stepped on the cat had it not hurried away, and in her wing she was holding a canary yellow piece of paper.

“Buttermilk?” Copperquick said her name to get her attention and then he waited, worried and a bit apprehensive.

“It’s a telegram from Mrs. Velvet.” Buttermilk straightened out her glasses with her other wing, took a shaky step, recovered herself, and then crossed the kitchen with purposeful strides. “I’m surprised… I did not expect such a prompt response. That mare never misses an opportunity, I guess.”

“What does it say? Are you upset? Are you okay? You look a bit out of sorts, Buttermilk.”

Unsure of how to respond, Buttermilk huffed out the words, “I don’t know how to feel about what is about to go down. I have set certain events in motion that can’t be undone. Ripple Rusher was my friend… and I have done something that is going to drastically change her life.”

“I see.” Copperquick waited for a moment, pulled Esmeralda closer, and huggle-snuggled the wiggling toddler. “So, what does it say, if you don’t mind sharing?”

In reply, Buttermilk held out the canary yellow paper so that he might have a look.

Squinting again, Copperquick had to strain to read it, and had another reminder that his eyesight was going, which did something dreadful to his mood. Was it study? Stress? A problem that had always been lurking and was just now manifesting? He didn’t know.

AGENT BUN -(STOP)- YOU HAVE DONE WELL IN BRINGING THIS TO MY ATTENTION -(STOP)- THIS PRESENTS A UNIQUE OPPORTUNITY TO TRY RELOCATE & REHABILITATE PROCEDURES -(STOP)- FOR NOW STAND DOWN AND OTHER AGENTS WILL MOVE TO ASSIST -(STOP)- COMMENCE STRESS RELIEVING ACTIVITIES WITH AGENT BOWLER -(STOP)- BEST OF LUCK -(STOP)- AGENT SOFT TOUCH OUT

“She must really care, she took time out of her busy day and paid extra just to embarrass me,” Buttermilk muttered while holding the telegram. With a sigh, she set the piece of paper down upon the kitchen table, and then Copperquick saw her looking into his eyes.

“You’re squinting,” she said.

“No, I am not.”

Eyes narrowing, Buttermilk retorted, “Yes, you were.”

“No I wasn’t.”

From the floor, Esmeralda watched the verbal tennis match and her head went from side to side while her ears rose and fell with each word said.

“Were too.”

“Was not.”

“Liar.”

Copperquick cleared his throat and scowled while turning away. Refuting that would only compound his guilt and he knew it, so there was no point in saying anything. It was time to be silent and hope that she lost interest in pursuing this further.

“I’ll take that as an admission of guilt.” Buttermilk let out a haughty snort and then turned about. “I’m going to let Moomy know that lunch is almost done. When I return, I shall expect an apology, forthwith.” Tossing her head about, she strode away.

While she departed, Copperquick could see her just fine, every wonderful detail, every twitch of her tail, and the smooth, inviting way her hips rocked from side to side. His vision was fine, just fine, and this was proof. It was probably just eyestrain from studying too much too often. From where he sat, he had a good view of both of Buttermilk’s butterchurns. A fantastic view.

His vision was just fine.

Author's Note

When you hate to see her leave but you love to watch her go...

Chapter 22

Belching, Copperquick pushed his plate away from him and then just sat there, satiated. All of Buttermilk’s hard work had paid off with a meal of macaroni pie and chopped salad greens. No doubt he had eaten far too much, but he would survive this somehow. The entire time he had been eating, Buttermilk kept looking at him—staring at him—and he knew why. Reaching out, he took her fetlock into his own, and gave it a tender squeeze.

“I know what you are up to,” he said in a low voice as Butter Fudge gave him a wry smile from across the table.

“Up to?” Buttermilk adjusted her glasses with her wing and went rather duck lippy at what Copperquick had said. “I wasn’t aware I was up to anything.”

“Oh but you are—” Copperquick was cut off by Buttermilk pulling her foreleg away and snorting. “You’re still trying to win me over by being all domestic—”

“What?”

“Even though you’re a scholar; and will be the breadwinner of the family; and you’re smart, and funny, and kind, and generous; you’re still trying to win me over by showing your domestic side—”

“Poppycock!”

“Oh, but you are… you’re still trying to show me that you can be a traditional mare that fits a traditional role, and I think it’s cute and adorable.” Copperquick saw Buttermilk’s cheeks take on a rosy glow; her lips began to move, but no words came out, and there were no further interruptions. Reaching out, he took her fetlock into his own once more, and gave her another squeeze. “You’ve already won me over. Now you’re just showing off.”

“She always was a little showboater.” Something very much like laughter could be heard in what Butter Fudge had said, and it flowed like a hidden current in a river with every word she had spoke. “So, we’re heading out to the Faucet? Sounds like fun. Lots of fond memories of that place. I think it’d be nice if the two of you made a few memories there. It’s why we love that place, it’s what we do there, and these traditions must be passed on.”

Leaning over, Copperquick planted a quick peck upon the cheek of the flustered, grumbling pegasus beside him. She quieted, but only a little, and he knew from her reaction that he was right with what he had said. For whatever reason, Buttermilk, a thoroughly modern mare, was still trying to win him over with a more traditional approach.

“Lucky for the two of you, I got all of my work finished yesterday, so today there wasn’t much to do. Just the usual chores.” Butter Fudge sighed, a contented sound, and then turned to look at Esmeralda, who was almost napping on the floor with her carrot and her eggplant. “It’s a shame that Midge has to work… but that’s the post office for you. Nothing keeps him from his appointed rounds.” The big mare sighed, tapped her plate with her hoof, and then sighed again.

“Moomy?”

“I just wish he was here, that’s all. I’m having an earth pony moment, I suppose. I’d like to have my family all together. You just got here and already there’s not many days left. I’ve already got a pretty good idea of how all this ends, it ends with me getting a son-in-law and a granddaughter, and I’m real happy about that, but I’m also sad because the two of you will be so far away.”

“Moomy, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Butter Fudge groused as she made a dismissive wave with her hoof at her daughter. “You were gone for years, Beezy… years… and you were in such a hurry to fly away, too. Now, you’ll be leaving again soon, and I can’t help but wonder, how long will it be?”

“I’m sorry,” Buttermilk repeated and Copperquick felt her grip on his fetlock double.

“I’ll even pay for the train ticket… or even an airship. How long will it be, Beezy? Will Esme even remember me the next time I see her? Or will I be a stranger? Look, I get it, okay? Some of this is my fault… I had you pretty worked up and I kept your dander up so you’d stay motivated. Maybe I went too far… and maybe I should be sorry.”

“We’re all adults now, and I have finished school, and I hope that I’ve grown up a bit. We can sort this out, Moomy. You’re absolutely right, we need to make an effort to come back together as a family. Yes, I was angry, angry with you, and I suffered a severe rectal cranial inversion.”

It took several seconds for Butter Fudge to begin snortling and chortling at these words. The big mare wiped her eyes with her foreleg, smiled, and began to sniffle even as she snickered. Copperquick had a warm, squishy sensation in the depths of his barrel, and he found his own eyes growing misty.

“We should clean up so we can go,” Butter Fudge said while she blinked a few times. “We have a lot to catch up on. I feel a need to make up for lost time.”

Feral clouds rolled in from the west, but they didn’t appear threatening, at least not yet. Copperquick watched them as the skiff skimmed over the water and his daughter Esmeralda waved her forelegs around every time the craft bounced a little. There were a lot of islands out this way—some big, some small—but the river passages were quite narrow, with some being so much so that there were signs stating that water traffic could only pass in one direction.

Enormous cypress trees stood as silent sentinels over the islands, and there was no telling how ancient these trees might be. Wads of stringy moss dangled from the branches, which swooping birds collected to make nests. There were so many birds, many of which were species that Copperquick had never seen before and couldn’t name.

A unicorn went galloping past, his hooves splashing along the top of the water. Even though he knew better, Copperquick stared, because it wasn’t every day that you saw a unicorn go racing through a busy waterway. It must be nice to just walk wherever you felt like it, over pretty much anything from water to clouds. If Copperquick wanted to cross the river, he’d need a boat or he’d have to swim for it.

Copperquick had his head turned by Buttermilk just in time to watch as an Equestrian naval frigate went steaming past, its gleaming iron hull glistening with fresh goop to guard it against rust. The sight of it was enough to make Copperquick’s heart start pounding and his pulse raced with a delightful sense of patriotism that he did not understand; nor did he need to. His country had the right of it, and Equestria was his country.

“That Mister Mariner fellow, he’s building a naval shipyard here, a coal resupply station,” Butter Fudge said as she piloted her craft through traffic. “He owns the shipyards in Vanhoover, and most of the navy on this side of the continent is made there. The resupply station is expected to bring a lot of jobs this way, and Dales Delta is going to grow.”

For some reason, hearing this made Copperquick smile, as he liked seeing progress.

Faucet Island, as it was called, was wooded. The trees were quite gnarled, strange, and as they approached, Copperquick felt weird tingles in his hooves. There was something about this place, something off, something that made his dull magic sense tingle. It wasn’t often that he felt his magic sense react to anything, and sometimes, he forgot that he had a sixth sense.

The skiff drifted closer to the dock and Buttermilk took to the air to help secure the craft. Esmeralda came to life in her holder, squirming and burbling; overall, she seemed to be quite excited and happy, which eased Copperquick’s mind after hearing about potential discomfort. Only one other boat was tied up at the moment, a rowboat.

With a bump, they hit the dock, and Buttermilk went to work with some sections of rope. Copperquick hopped off of the skiff with Esmeralda hanging from around his neck. Cool, tingly sensations crept along his spine and he felt a static charge building in his pelt. What was this place and why did it have such an effect on him?

“This whole place was created by nature and magic,” Butter Fudge said as she powered down everything. “It’s all sediment and whatnot pulled up out of the delta. Head towards the middle, and you’ll see what we call the Faucet soon enough. You can’t miss it.”

Stepping off of the dock and onto the ground, Copperquick felt a curious jolt, which wasn’t unpleasant. The ground was silty, pale, a bit sandy, and smelled of salt. Overcome with curiousity, Copperquick took off along a well-worn path, moving with a brisk trot that made Esme bounce and giggle. There were bushes here loaded down with berries, even this early in the spring. He could recognise stinkberries and belchberries, along with blueberry and raspberry thickets.

Ahead, a he saw a pale white column, and he picked up his pace, gawking like some tourist. With each step closer, he felt curiouser and curiouser, and now he was most certainly aware that he had a magic sense. It was like standing in sunshine and having the heat seep deep down into your bones. It was then that he noticed it; a tiny grit of sand swirling upwards, born aloft by some unseen force.

He froze and went cross-eyed trying to get a better look at it as it swirled upwards on some unseen, unknown eddy. There was magic here, impressive magic, and he had never seen its like. Esmeralda giggled while she squirmed and kicked in her carrier, but Copperquick hardly noticed as he was too entranced by what he was seeing. A light touch startled him, almost causing him to run, and he gave Buttermilk a bewildered look while she stroked his neck, trying to soothe him.

“Go and look,” she said while gesturing at the white column with her other hoof.

Awestricken, Copperquick went forwards with Buttermilk, feeling very much like a foal once more. The world was too big, too mysterious, just as it had been in his youth, when stairs were impossible obstacles and playground puddles were vast oceans. A few years ago, he had crossed the ocean in search of a better life, and the memory of those puddles was never quite the same. Everything became a confusing jumble of remembrances, such as his father seeming to shrink in size as Copperquick grew older, or his mother’s pies growing smaller and less filling.

When he drew closer to the column, he saw bits of rock crumbling off it and falling down to the ground below. Even more curious though was the water; it flowed up the column, rolled off the sharp tip, and then fell upwards into the sky above. This was… Copperquick struggled to think of the name… A stalagmite? No, it couldn’t be, a stalagmite was formed by water dripping down from above. He reconsidered and came to the conclusion that this was an upside down stalactite, because the water dripped from the tip of it.

The water came up from below somehow, from the river, from the ground; it filtered through the island, leaving behind sediments; and whatever mineral content was left behind formed this column, the Faucet as it was called. By the looks of it, parts of it crumbled off and formed more earth. But what caused this?

“It looks different,” Buttermilk whispered into Copperquick’s twitchy-twitchy ear. “The last time I saw it, it was a whole lot taller. Somepony probably broke it off and it had to start over. It is soft and fragile.”

The water flowed upwards in a steady stream, defying gravity and falling into the sky. What became of it, Copperquick had no idea, and thinking about it too hard gave him a sense of almost-pleasurable vertigo. With a gasp, he noticed that his mane was floating, and so was Esmeralda’s, which was now tickling the underside of his jaw.

“I have such fond memories of this place,” Butter Fudge said as she joined them.

“Like what, Moomy?”

“Making you.”

“Moomy!” Buttermilk now cringed from behind her front hooves, which covered her face. “Must you be so embarrassing?”

Groaning, Butter Fudge rolled her eyes. “Get over it, Beezy. I was actually trying to share a good memory, not cause you to die from embarrassment.”

“But it is very embarrassing,” Buttermilk replied, shaking her head. “And this is a public place. How could you even know, anyhow? I mean, conception and all of its various complications—”

“Beezy,” Butter Fudge deadpanned, and Buttermilk went silent. “It was a ways over there that I pulled Midge into the bushes with me and I sat on him. We’d already had our way with one another a few times, but I wanted to know what his intentions were with me. It was about midnight or so, and we had the whole island to ourselves… it was just us and the fireflies.”

Buttermilk’s glasses were now completely fogged over and Copperquick stood listening.

“Midge and I talked about the things we wanted from life… he made it clear that he wanted a son and he was a pony of simple, straightforward needs. I don’t know how long we talked in those bushes, but things eventually got a bit heated, and one thing led to another, and then we did what young ponies in love tend to do. It wasn’t like the other times, not at all. At the end of it all, I had this… this… feeling. It was like my earth pony senses were all screaming at me. I walked over to the Faucet, and I did what I wasn’t supposed to do, and I touched it. It shocked me. Afterwards, I felt really weird inside. Midge and I ended up watching the sun come up together and I’m pretty certain that was the night we made you.”

“Um, thank you, Moomy.” Beet red, Buttermilk buzzed over to where her mother stood, lowered her head down, and kissed her mother’s cheek. “That was actually a sweet story and my only regret other than being painfully embarrassed right now is that Daddums wanted a son.”

Butter Fudge chuckled and angled her head upwards to look up at her daughter. “That never mattered to Midge. After you were born, he lost his mind because he was so in love with you. There were times that I was jealous and I hated him a little bit. I was never one to share the affection I felt I was owed, which is why it was just Midge and I. There’s no way I could ever share him with another mare. I had fits just sharing him with you… took me a long time before I made peace with it. Beezy, you get your possessiveness from me, I think. I hope it never brings you harm.”

Backing away a little bit, Copperquick gave the two mares a little much-needed space.

Author's Note

"Hey, Beezy, let me tell you a story about two ponies that fell in love..."

Chapter 23

Almost all equines shared a common trait no matter what their equinality might be; all of them were possessed by a powerful urge to belong. With the herd instinct being what it was—the single most important factor that ruled almost all aspects of their lives—there were powerful motivations to cease being a stranger and fit in. Evolution and biology had weeded out the loners and the individualists—those who stood out—and rewarded those who grouped together.

It was this very factor that Copperquick pondered as he stared at the Faucet while sharing the company of Buttermilk and her mother, Butter Fudge. His kind, his species, were friendly almost to the point of being foolhardy, with strangers never remaining strangers very long, and potential family members pulled in and adopted into family herd structures with great haste. At this moment, at this time, he was living out events that his textbooks had described in great detail, and he was fairly certain that this could only help his grades somehow if he applied himself.

Butter Fudge adored Esmeralda, so much so that it was difficult for Copperquick to determine if it really mattered that there were no blood ties. Even now, the big mare was hugging, squeezing, and smooching the little tyke, and Esmeralda was devouring the lavished affection. Biologically speaking, little Esmeralda had been accepted into the family herd structure as a member, but as a matter of social mores, of sociological conventions, ritual still had to be satisfied. Equines held their rituals in high regard; each of the individual tribes had their own rituals; and then there were the rituals and customs that stretched across all of equine society, all manner of acts to mark certain occasions. The cute-ceañera marked one of the most important events in a pony’s life, but this wasn’t a custom that Copperquick was familiar with, as it was distinctly Equestrian. Then there was weddings and funerals, rituals that marked transitions in a phase of life.

It was during this long, thoughtful stare that Copperquick decided that he liked sociology and equinology the most out of all of his studies, because he could digest everything that he had learned and then observe it in the world around him at large. School would be over soon, he had done his time for a two year degree and at some point, he had lost track of how much time he had left to go. But sitting here on a weird little island with a Faucet that dripped upwards into the sky, he had somehow put his head back into perspective and he had remembered that his time in education was drawing to a close.

“Buttermilk,” Copperquick said, breaking his own silence, “I think that I’d like to stay in school if such a thing is possible. Maybe continue learning about sociology and equinology. Hippo studies.” In response, Buttermilk stared at him, blinking, her long eyelashes brushing up against the lenses of her spectacles. Something about her at this moment was quite fetching and he found her desirable. “Affording it will be tricky.”

“We'll manage,” Buttermilk replied without hesitation. “If that is what you want, we’ll find a way. We’ll be flat out broke, we’ll work long hours, and spend even more hours studying, but we’ll manage. Hopefully Esme won’t turn out too neglected.”

“I think I’ve grown up a bit more,” Copperquick continued and he wasn’t too bothered by saying this in front of Butter Fudge. “Before, I was directionless… aimless… I was content to be average and just take whatever life saw fit to offer me. My cutie mark arrived after I made a conscious decision to remain as average as possible and become a well respected member of the labour force.”

“Oi, there’s nothing wrong with that, but you can do better.” Butter Fudge put Esmeralda down upon the ground and waited for the filly’s wobbly legs to steady before she pulled her hoof away. “I wish that Midge and I could help, but we’re resource wealthy and cash poor.”

Copperquick felt the muscles in his neck tighten and he knew well the kindness that Butter Fudge had just shown him. “That’s very kind of you to say, thank you.”

Now free to walk around a bit, Esmeralda waggled her tail from side to side, stared down at the ground while she poked at it with her front hooves, and she spent much effort sniffing at the curious earth. When she went to lift her head up, her mane remained over her eyes, and she made little panicked snorts as she tried to see. A few experimental head tosses almost toppled her over, but she somehow managed to get most of her mane out of her face.

The tyke toddled around a bit and suffered the fate of awkward tiny foals everywhere; her hind legs, being longer, moved faster than her front legs, and she was forced to compensate for this unfortunate condition. After watching her for a bit, Copperquick determined that she might grow up to be a runner, just like he was. She was going to be a very attractive runner and this was going to make his life difficult, he just knew it.

Esmeralda wandered a bit, sniffing about, and keeping a wary eye on the Faucet. With each sniff, her tail twitched a bit—which made her diaper crinkle—and Copperquick was fascinated by her every move. When the filly was about two yards away or so, she became quite alarmed, made an almost-pronk, somehow didn’t fall on her face, and then gamboled back to Buttermilk.

“Mama.”

“Good girl, stay close,” Buttermilk said, praising the bouncy little earth pony filly.

“Girl?” Esmeralda turned her disproportionately large eyes upon the mare she called, ‘Mama.’

“You’re a girl!” Reaching out, Buttermilk booped the curious, twitchy-tailed filly.

In reaction to this baffling revelation, Esmeralda sat down and appeared to be having herself a think. A bit of sand was leftover on her nose after the boop and poofy tufts of her vivid green mane were starting to spill down onto her face. Her brows furrowed, forming shallow wrinkles, and this pulled her ears forwards over her face while also making more of her mane go tumbling down into her eyes.

“Why?” Esmeralda asked, and Copperquick began to flog his memory, trying to recall if she had ever said this word before.

To his recollection, she hadn’t, and he was filled with dread without knowing why.

“Because some of us have to be girls,” Buttermilk replied, and this got a snort from her mother. “And some of us are boys, like your Daddy.” Pointing with her hoof, she gestured in Copperquick’s direction. “Boys are smelly and gross, stay away from them.”

“Beezy!”

With a turn of her head, Buttermilk turned a wide-eyed innocent stare upon her mother. “Do you want me to teach her to run off and play with every little colt she finds?”

Rolling his eyes, Copperquick let out a huff but had a hard time refuting Buttermilk’s logic. Butter Fudge seemed to be having the same problem, with her mouth opening and closing, but no words seemed to be forthcoming. Meanwhile, Esmeralda seemed to be thinking, and was doing so with great effort. After tossing her head back again to get some of her mane out of her face, she turned, lifted up one hoof, and pointed at her father.

“Smelly?”

“Yes!” Buttermilk cried, blurting out the word in her overexcitement. “Your father is a boy and he is smelly! I can’t believe you put that together on your own! Good girl!”

“Why girl?” Esmeralda’s solemn inquiry silenced the eye-rolling protest that her father was about to make. “Girl why?”

Nudging Esmeralda, Buttermilk then pointed at the Faucet. “Look, Esme… see how it drips upwards into the sky? Isn’t that neat? There is something to ask why about, but I can’t tell you why. It is a great mystery.”

“Uh...” Tilting her head off to one side, Esmeralda looked up at the stone spire, which dwarfed her. “Girl?”

“No, Esme, as far as I know, rocks aren’t girls, but I could be wrong.”

Tilting her head back, Esmeralda stared skyward, watching as rivulets of water poured from the stone. Her whole body wobbled, her hind legs gave way, and she sat down on the gritty ground with a soft whump. In awe, her eyes went wide, then wider, and then, somehow, wider still, until they had to be the size of saucers. Copperquick could only imagine what his daughter had to be thinking, to gaze up and see a sky that you might go tumbling into, falling upwards forever.

“Sky is blue, Esme… can you say, ‘blue’ for Daddy?” With bated breath, Copperquick waited, hoping for a response.

“Sky?” Eyes darting about, the little filly didn’t seem to know what the sky was exactly, and she looked at everything above her as she tried to understand the world.

“Way up there, far, far above us, is the sky and that is where your Mama flies.” Copperquick watched his daughter’s eyes, hoping for some spark of understanding, some glimmer of recognition. “It’s blue and it is filled with clouds. You’re sitting on the ground… as an earth pony, the ground is very special to you, and you have a connection to it. The ground is special to us, Esme.”

This was something the filly seemed to understand. Jamming one front hoof down, she poked the soft, silty soil. “Ground. Ground. Ground. Ground. Girl?”

“Uh…” Buttermilk’s sentence didn’t quite form and she sat there with her mouth hanging open while Copperquick took over.

“There are some who call the planet female… a girl. A she. Mother Nature—”

“Mama?” Esmeralda asked.

For lack of any better response, Copperquick nodded. “Yes, Esme, the ground is our Mama and we are connected… a family. We’re earth ponies.”

“Erf.”

“Earth.”

“Erf?”

“Maybe once you get past this teething you can say it better.”

“Ground.” Esmeralda caressed the gritty soil with her hoof and smiled. Then, with a look of fearful alarm, the filly lifted her head high and said, “Foosh!”

In all of his life, Copperquick had never even contemplated a floating ice parlour. Only it wasn’t much of a parlour, really. Ice cream boat? It was a bit like an ice cream wagon that trundled through the streets of Canterlot, blaring out tinny organ grinder music. This vessel was moored to a dock and had a small fleet of various types of crafts secured around it.

It sold goat’s milk ice cream in a selection of flavours, and much to Copperquick’s shocked surprise, it was fantastic. Esmeralda seemed to think so too, even though she kept getting brain freeze because she was too overeager. It was pleasant to watch Buttermilk sharing her ice cream with Esmeralda, and it did not escape Copperquick’s attention that Butter Fudge watched every little detail.

“Oi,” Butter Fudge said in a subdued voice, “it blows my mind how well she deals with travel and being out and about. Yes, I know what you told me, Beezy, but hearing it and seeing it… she is just so laid back and easygoing.”

“Moomy, this is pretty much what we do, day in and day out. We go out to get things done and Esme comes with us. She really is rather good about it, and Copper and I are pretty lucky. She’s special, that’s for certain.”

Esmeralda stopped licking the spoon and made a face, a dreadful face—it was as if she was going to swallow her own muzzle while her flap-happy ears tried to fly away like butterflies fleeing some impending disaster. Waving her forelegs about, she let out a bleating cry to announce that she was in pain and that life was horrible.

Then, after a few seconds of recovery, she resumed licking the spoon held in Buttermilk’s primaries and acted as if nothing was wrong.

“Oi, she’s a drama queen.” Butter Fudge began to chuckle as she held her waxed paper bowl of ice cream between her hooves. “She’s determined to get as much as she can though… she’s not shying away from the pain. Tough little filly.”

Water—a mix of briny and fresh—left a lingering scent in Copperquick’s nose. The scent of ice cream, the sound of the ponies around him, it was in this environment that Copperquick realised that he was living his salad days, the very best and most important days of his life, the formative days that would transform him into the pony he was meant to become. Even his youthful indiscretions had worked out in his favour and aided his transition.

Buttermilk would join him for his salad days, glorious days such as this one, and it was with some sorrow that he realised that these days couldn’t last. Salad days became something else. A pony changed, grew, horizons broadened and a pony adapted. What came after one’s salad days? He didn’t know, but he had some idea of what to look for. A pressing need to be responsible, to be mindful, to have some sense that there was something in one’s life that could be lost if they didn’t work hard and apply themselves.

He had no home, but he had prospects, and more than anything, Copperquick had hopes and dreams. Something almost like a direction was now visible for him, and even though things were quite difficult for him right now, he could not deny that these were the best days of his life. These would be the days he would remember when he was older and looked back. Esmeralda being young and getting brain freeze. Buttermilk sorting out her relationship with her mother—and his future mother-in-law. Eating ice cream while enjoying the unique, distinctive smell of a tidal marsh.

“NYUH!” Esmeralda clutched at her head with her forehooves and squeezed her eyes shut.

Yes, these were the best days that he could hope for.

Author's Note

Sorry for the delay. This was done much, much earlier, but had to be edited. My apologies.

Chapter 24

Buttermilk’s every touch was electric and Copperquick was almost drunk on love. After the visit to the Faucet, something was different with himself, but he was unable to determine what it was. Now, it was almost as if he was floating, as if his body was a balloon, and if he wasn’t careful, he would do like the water dripping from the faucet did: fall upwards into the sky, never to be seen again.

Keeping his hooves off of her was pretty much impossible, and he didn’t care if her mother was watching or not. Buttermilk seemed happy, and a happy pegasus was appealing to Copperquick. He pawed at her, nuzzled her neck, chuffed behind her ear, and was in general, a romantic pest. Perhaps it was the spring season that was the cause, but Copperquick was in quite a mood.

Love had a funny way of easing the pains of poverty, the agony of being stuck on the bottom, love made these things tolerable, bearable, for if there was one thing that the poor and the rich shared, it was love. It was a powerful anesthetic to the pain of living, and like alcohol, it dulled the senses while offering a delightful euphoric stupour. Love was fuel for poets, a balm for the aches of the working class, and precious respite for the mad. Copperquick reveled in his new addiction and Buttermilk indulged him with playful rebukes that only spurred his amorous advances.

The world around them was a busy, busy place, with a surprising amount of air traffic. Airships now hovered overhead, lowering and raising bulk goods with cranes. Under most circumstances, Copperquick would be fascinated by this, but at the moment he only had eyes for Buttermilk. One airship, dressed in the red and gold livery of the fire department, went chugging past with its hoof-cranked siren blaring.

This was a world that never seemed to stay still for long.

Laughing, Buttermilk held up Esmeralda and used her as a shield. She giggled as she was used to hold off her father’s advances and squealed with delight when she was kissed. After the awful times, the truly wretched times, these good times, these delightful times, these wonderful times filled with such marvellous simple pleasures seemed so much better by comparison. It took coping with the worst that life had to offer to have this sort of gratitude—this appreciation—for this moment of respite.

Sitting in the back of the skiff, Butter Fudge watched all of this with a knowing smile.

The skiff drifted sideways towards the dock and a faint hum could still be heard from its motor, which smelled of electricity and hot metal. They were home with a sliver of power left showing on the indicator and Buttermilk began mooring the craft to the dock. Ropes were secured and the electric skiff was plugged back in so that it could recharge.

Esmeralda kept yawning, but was still overstimulated and excited. She was happy, so much so that Copperquick could not recall a time when she had been happier. All of this time spent laughing, giggling, being held, tickled, and smooched, it had left her in an exhausted state of euphoria. It would be awhile before she came down, and no doubt, she would likely just flop over at some point.

“There’s somepony here,” Butter Fudge announced as her heavy hoof struck the dock. “Hang on, I gotta go throw somepony in the drink—”

“Moomy, no! We’ve talked about this! You can’t just go throwing strangers into the drink!”

“Yes I can! Private property means private property! No trespassing means no trespassing! Only griffons have a right to drop by unannounced and that’s cause of the treaty!”

Butter Fudge took off, huffing and puffing like a furious locomotive, and Buttermilk buzzed along beside her mother’s head. Not wanting to miss the commotion, Copperquick scrambled off of the skiff, onto the dock, and hurried after the two mares, who were still arguing. It was a shame, really, they had been getting along so well but this was something that both of them held strong feelings about and it seemed that only one of them could be right.

“Moomy, this is assault!”

“Property rights are inviolate!”

“So is the social contract where we grant one another a measure of safety in exchange for our own!”

“All those fancy college words is a load of shit and nothing more!”

Cringing, Copperquick hoped it would not come to blows.

The stranger was a yellow-orange earth pony and atop his head was a battered, beat up green felt fedora that had seen better days. Butter Fudge was going right for him, but Buttermilk was doing her best to impede her mother’s progress. Copperquick, polite to a fault, could only think of one thing to do, and being Grittish, he fell back upon his upbringing with the hopes of finding some manner of resolution.

“Dreadfully sorry, but you seem to have caused a bit of a commotion by coming here. Might I inquire as to the nature of your visit? I trust that you have reason to be here, stranger.”

Begin sentence with an apology: ✓

Use a wagonload of words when just a few would do: ✓

Make trusting, gentle assumptions so as to not offend: ✓

Disarm the situation with irrefutable politeness: ⍻

“You have no business being here!” Butter Fudge hollered as her daughter Buttermilk seized her mother by the ears with her fetlocks and pulled back. At any moment now, this was going to turn into a mother-daughter-rodeo.

Copperquick waited, hopeful, and the earth pony stranger was now quite scared. Butter Fudge was snorting and pawing at the ground, but Buttermilk held on and refused to let go. Esmeralda burbled and giggled a bit, but she was subdued and tired from the sounds of things. Seeking to reassure the unknown earth pony, Copperquick placed himself between the stranger and Butter Fudge.

“My name is Seville… Seville Orange… I am trying to be a reporter, but I’m not having much luck at it. I came here to find a story. I’ve come a very long way… had to hop a train. There is… I… I have nothing left and I’ve exhausted every resource I have trying to find a worthwhile scoop that will get my hoof in the door. Nopony wants to hire an earth pony reporter. We can’t fly, like a pegasus, or use magic like a unicorn, and every single door that I have inquired at has been slammed in my face.”

The stranger, Seville, let out a sigh and then slumped in exhaustion. “You are Copperquick… I’ve heard about you. I came to Canterlot to find you, but you weren’t there, so I did some checking and after a lot of searching, I found out about Miss Oddbody’s parents, and I came here, hoping to speak to you. If you would rather I leave, I will. I am sorry for any disturbance I have caused.” As he finished speaking, his stomach let out a resonating squelchy gurgle and he flinched in response to the awful sound.

And, just like that, Butter Fudge’s entire demeanour changed. “When was the last time you ate?” she asked as she now stood still as a statue. “It’s not right that we earth ponies get shafted and can’t get a job because we can’t fly or do magic.”

“It’s been awhile,” Seville replied. “I used the last of my coin to buy some film. Canterlot wasn’t exactly friendly to me, but maybe I just met the wrong ponies. Things have been hard since I left the family farm. I just can’t seem to catch a break.”

“And you were going to throw him into the drink, Moomy.”

“Shut it, Beezy.”

“Oh, I’ll shut it, but my smug sense of satisfaction remains,” Buttermilk remarked as she finally let go of her mother’s ears.

“Smart ass.” Butter Fudge rolled her eyes to look up at her daughter, who hovered over her head, but she did not seem angry. If anything, Copperquick was almost certain that he could see pride on her face.

“Mister Orange, would you like something to eat?” Buttermilk asked. “I made some macaroni pie earlier… there is a lot of it left and I don’t mind sharing. After we get a meal in you, we can talk. I am positive that Copperquick would love to share his story with you.”

“That would be much appreciated,” the sunny yellow-orange earth pony replied as his stomach gurgled in anticipation of a meal. “And Ma’am, if for some reason you do decide to throw me into the drink later, I ask that you spare my camera and my film. Somepony has already smashed my other camera, and this old black and white one is the only one I have left.”

Heaving a sigh, everything on Butter Fudge sagged. Her ears, her tail, her back, the corners of her mouth, everything. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she muttered as she turned away. “Come inside. Have something to eat. I promise I’ll wait at least an hour after you've finished eating to throw you into the drink.”

“Ma’am, you are exceptionally kind,” Seville replied.

Cradling Esmeralda in his forelegs, Copperquick listened to her yawn. She was being stubborn, because there was a stranger and she was altogether too curious for her own good. He leaned back in the creaky wooden chair and watched as Seville scarfed down cold macaroni pie. Fluttering about the kitchen, Buttermilk was making tea while her mother had begun the work for supper.

Seville’s tattered bags sat on the floor by the back door. How they still functioned, how they held together was a mystery, and the waxed canvas was tissue paper thin in some places. His battered fedora hung from a peg on the wall and from the looks of it, the old hat had a few stories to tell. It had reached such an advanced state of dilapidation that even idioms such as ‘it has character’ failed to adequately describe the hat.

“Can your parents help you at all?” Buttermilk asked as she began to pour water from the kettle into the teapot.

Seville took a moment to swallow and then replied, “It’s complicated… my parents are farmers… they, uh, work the land but somepony else handles the bits—”

“They’re peasants,” Butter Fudge said, bringing her bluntness to bear. “Remnants of an era that lies on its deathbed.”

“Yeah,” Seville sighed and then he resumed eating.

“There’s no shame in that.” Butter Fudge ducked her head as Buttermilk put the hot kettle back on the stove. “No shame in that at all. So long as they are happy, well cared for, and have their needs met, more power to them.”

“Moomy, I’m surprised.” Buttermilk, her lips puckered in a thoughtful way, zipped over to the fridge, pulled the door open, and pulled out the cream pitcher. “Given how you talk of home and our ancestral lands. I’ve never heard you say anything nice about being a peasant.”

“Beezy, let me tell you something,” Butter Fudge said as she turned about to face her daughter. “In its heyday, Equestrian feudalism was an example for all of the world. The peasants had remarkable privilege and considerable rights. It existed as an example to all the world… our very first ancestors came to this country to be a part of this grand society… this great social experiment—”

“Yes, and then they left,” Buttermilk interjected.

“And came back… and left… and then came back… just as I came here… and I can safely say that this isn’t a case of the grass being greener. You… Beezy, you’ve never been to the Isles, and it is my sincere hope that you never, ever go. That place is either an industrial cesspit or a seemingly idyllic backwater of agrarian mouth breathing ignorance. Copperquick could tell you, if you don’t want to believe your dear old Moomy.”

Refusing to take the bait, Copperquick remained silent even though he had much to say. As a father, he would prefer to raise Esmeralda here in Equestria, rather than his homeland.

“Beezy… your Great Grandfeather fought in the Great Equestrian Civil War, you know—”

“Yes, Moomy, I know,” Buttermilk said, humouring her mother as she buzzed to-and-fro.

“Midge’s Grandfeather, he battled the separatists and was a loyal Monarchist. Had those separatists won… Equestria might be a lot more like the Grittish Isles, or worse. Beezy, you were lucky to have been born in this place. You don’t know what the rest of the world is like.”

“The world isn’t what I thought it is.” Seville lifted his head and his words made Esmeralda coo at him. “Since leaving home, I’ve had an astounding introduction to the true nature of the world. I can’t go back though… not until I’ve done what I’ve set out to do.”

“And just what is it that you hope to do, Mister Orange?” Buttermilk asked as she lifted the tea service tray from the counter.

“I want to tell the truth,” he replied. “The hard truth… the bad truth… the truth that nopony wants to hear. The media has become a fortress of fabrications and lies. Everything is more about sensationalism and spin rather than telling the truth. I want to inject some good old fashioned earth pony honesty into the industry. I want to reintroduce integrity back into journalistic standards.” Seville wiped his mouth with his foreleg, inhaled, and again he rubbed his foreleg across his muzzle while he chuffed out his nostrils.

Then, turning to face Copperquick, he added, “And I’d like to start with you. No spin, no twisting of your words, all of my quotes about you will be whole and in context. I don’t want this to be a hit piece… I want to present the facts as they are to the public without bias and let them decide for themselves how they feel about it. How does that sound to you?”

It only took Copperquick a moment to respond, “I think I’d like to help you, Mister Orange.”

Author's Note

Next chapter will be a heavy one. I'm not looking forward to it.

Chapter 25

Buttermilk sat ready with an inkpen, a kind gesture to help Seville. Mighty Midge, home from work, was cuddling Esmeralda, who was sound asleep, secure in his embrace. Butter Fudge moved about the kitchen, fixing supper and making scrumptious treats. As for Copperquick, he sat at the kitchen table, his frogs sweaty, and a mug of steaming tea sat cooling before him. Seville’s battered black and white camera sat on the nearby counter, ready to take pictures when the time was right.

“Copperquick, I’d like to begin,” Seville said in a soft voice and Buttermilk was ready to begin dictation. “First off, what attracted you to Esmeralda’s mother? What motivated you and what were your intentions?”

By the stove, Butter Fudge let out a snort that made the drapes over the sink flap.

Reaching up, Copperquick rubbed the back his neck and blinked a few times. No punches pulled and these questions went right for the throat. Clearing his throat twice, he then responded, “I’d like to call it youthful indiscretion, but that would reflect poorly on me. Cielo del Este was a conquest, plain and simple. She was an exotic dancer, a mare way out of my league. I spent far too much money on food and drinks… I guess I spent enough for her to feel obligated to give up the goods, so to speak. We both got what we wanted and then went our separate ways.”

“And what about contraception?” Seville asked as Buttermilk’s pen travelled over the notebook, leaving behind a fluid script.

“We started out with protection, but, uh, well, Cielo didn’t like the taste of whatever condoms were made out of.” Copperquick could feel sweat beading up along his brow and his ears felt heavy. These were not things he wanted to say in front of Buttermilk and her parents. “She said she was on the pill, and she was, I guess, but, uh, well, Esmeralda happened anyway.”

“Earth pony stallions have a tendency to defeat the pill.” Seville leaned forwards, his brows furrowing, and he looked Copperquick right in the eye. “Did you know about this?”

Rubbing his neck once more, Copperquick squirmed in his seat and thought about his reply before saying it. What was Mighty Midge thinking right now? Butter Fudge? Was he burning his future relationship to the ground with the things he was saying? Now, his belly was sweaty, but even worse, it was itchy too.

“I thought it was superstitious nonsense… something to scare the rubes. My sexual education was minimal at best. To be honest, it was outright neglected and I didn’t start to learn about this stuff until after I came here, to Equestria. Look… I’m not excusing my behaviour, because I can’t. Esmeralda is going to grow up someday and I am going to have to hold myself accountable to her so that maybe I can teach her something.”

While one hoof rubbed the back of his neck, Copperquick’s other hoof scratched at his stomach. “There’s a lot of stories about earth ponies, you know, and I never really knew which of them were true and which of them were false. There are all these myths and urban legends and tall tales about what earth ponies are capable of, and I am aware that almost all of them are about our sexual prowess. I made a very, very stupid mistake and have since learned from it.”

“Mister Quick, I did not come to cast judgment, I only came to hear your—”

“I judge myself pretty hard!” Copperquick blurted out and he sat there trying to look as apologetic as possible. “I made a serious mistake and I acted out of ignorance and now there is another life in the world, one that I created, and all of these consequences have become very, very real to me. Every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month, I live with the consequences. I have a daughter now, and the world is full of ponies just like me. Now I have to hold myself to the fire and do right so I’ll set a good example for Esme. I’m terrified. For the past few weeks, I’ve been on the verge of a nervous breakdown. My blood pressure has been too high and the doctor says I need medication to calm me down, but I can’t be doped up right now with everything going on and I am under a lot of strain…” His words trailed off with a faint squeak and then he sat there, his throat tight, trying to breathe.

“Have a sip of tea, Copper,” Mighty Midge whispered, “and try to be calm.”

“If anything”—Buttermilk paused in her writing while looking at Copperquick—“perhaps this story will help dispel some of those myths. Have some tea, Copper, you look awful.”

Hooves trembling, Copperquick lifted his mug of tea and almost sloshed some onto the table. Huddled in his chair, he could not help but feel miserable, and thought about the night that he had collapsed in class. Fatigue? Exhaustion? Stress? It had been one of the memorable low points during his eviction.

Seville waited, silent, his expression thoughtful, and no matter how hard Copperquick tried, he could not tell what his fellow earth pony was thinking. No judgment seemed to have been cast and with nopony around him appearing to be angry or hating him, he began to feel better. Sipping his tea, Copperquick did his best to compose himself while listening to the somehow soothing sounds of a metal spoon scraping the insides of a steel pot.

“Has there been a paternity test?” Seville asked, breaking the silence with a few gentle words.

“Of course,” Buttermilk replied while Copperquick tried to swallow his tea. “Copper had to see a doctor and while he was getting examined, Twilight Velvet put in an order. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, but we had to make sure.”

“Yes, the coat colours are quite distinctive.” Seville’s gaze now lingered on Esmeralda, who fidgeted in her sleep, her stubby little legs kicking. “So, Mister Quick, you have chosen to raise Esmeralda and be a father. A single father. Would you mind sharing some of the challenges you face? What is it that you want the world to know about the difficulties that a single father faces?”

Lowering his mug of tea, Copperquick said two words: “Public restrooms.”

There was a clatter as something metallic landed upon the stove and there was much in the way of muttering from Butter Fudge, who swore under her breath about whatever it was that had just happened. Seville’s face remained neutral for at least ten whole seconds, and he broke, baffled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Public restrooms are the bane of single fathers everywhere,” Copperquick replied as his voice leveled out and reclaimed some of his refined Grittish cucumber coolness. “No sanitation stations in the male restrooms. No means to change a foal. No little fold out table, no little sink and nozzle to scrub little poopy behinds, nothing. In just about every public restroom for females, you will find these conveniences. And if I try to go into the mare’s restroom…” Shaking his head as his nostrils flared, Copperquick began to gnaw on his lower lip.

“I hadn’t even considered this.” Seville leaned forwards and his eyes glanced over at whatever Buttermilk was writing.

“Even worse, there are the times when I take Esmeralda into the restroom with me, and panic breaks out—”

“Say again?” Now, Seville’s eyes were locked on Copperquick’s.

“When I take my daughter into a public restroom, panic tends to break out. Usually, what happens is, one busybody mare freaks out and then the resulting panic tends to spread through the herd. Sometimes, the police are summoned. Other times, I emerge to face an angry mob ready to take Esme and trample me. It’s so bad that Buttermilk and I have had to surrender to gender roles when we’re out and she has to take Esmeralda with her just to prevent headache and hassle.”

“Is this true?” Seville asked as he turned his inquisitive gaze upon Buttermilk. When she nodded, the corners of the earth pony’s mouth were pulled down into a concerned frown, and his ears pinned back against his head, disappearing beneath his light green mane.

“It has happened so many times that I am now well rehearsed in trying to explain myself,” Copperquick remarked, and then he took a sip of hot tea.

With perplexed expression, Seville began tapping his front hooves together while deep furrows formed in his brow. Behind him, Butter Fudge was still cursing and stood shaking her hoof in the direction of her stove. Esmeralda yawned, but did not wake up, and squirmed a great deal while she slipped back into the depths of slumber, secure and content in Mighty Midge’s forelegs.

“It is as if the world expects fathers to do their fathering at home.” Copperquick held his mug just a few inches below his mouth and his eyes focused on nothing in particular as he tried to collect his thoughts. “I have since become aware of how hard it is to find good fathers, it is a common sentiment shared by many. Equestria’s orphanages and orphanariums are overflowing with foals whose mothers couldn’t take the strain of trying to raise them alone. I have learned that this is a major crisis for our society. That said, as a parent, as a single father, my life has been made even more difficult, more stressful, the frustration has been greatly increased because it seems at times that the world is not ready to watch a father do his job out in public.”

“Huh.” Seville’s brows furrowed a little more.

“Then there are the various social services, none of which are available to single fathers. Welfare. The dole. Public assistance. None of it is available to me. Ponies wonder why more single fathers don’t step up to do their job, to do what is right, to do what is expected of them, and this is why. I can’t seem to get any help and society at large is quite uncomfortable with the idea of a stallion alone with a filly. When Buttermilk is with me, things are fine, but when I am alone, mares stop and stare. I get watched. Police officers follow me while giving me suspicious glances. It feels, at times, that I am not trusted to do the very job that society expects of me, and that is to be a father.”

“You seem to have a lot to say about the subject,” Seville remarked.

“Well, when I lay awake at night, these are the things I think about, and sometimes, I have conversations in my head—test scenarios, if you will, where I put myself into an awkward situation and then try to think about all of the things I can say to save myself and sort things out without being nasty or threatening.”

“You rehearse things?” Seville seemed to be surprised for a moment, but then his expression changed to one of curiousity.

“Of course I do,” Copperquick replied as he lowered his tea a bit and narrowed his eyes. “I roleplay each scenario a dozen times, and I fret, and I lose sleep, and just when I think I have all of the right things to say figured out, something new happens out in public that throws me off and leaves me at a disadvantage. To make things clear, Mister Orange, I am having to fight to keep my daughter. Her first doctor that we saw didn’t think I should be raising her alone, because she might grow up warped and maladjusted without a mare’s proper guidance. Nevermind the fact that it was her mother who abused her, hurt her, and neglected her, causing her developmental issues in the first place.”

Seville’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line and his ears angled forwards into a more aggressive position, reaching out over his eyes.

“My daughter is behind,” Copperquick continued, “and this is her mother’s doing. Her development was stunted and now she is rather slow to do certain things that she should already be doing at this age. She has been handicapped. Stunted. And when some mare or some social worker tells me that my little filly is going to suffer without her proper mother, and I should give her up, and then I tell them that it was her birth mother who left her stunted and developmentally disabled, these ponies, they get mad at me for daring to challenge their perceptions. Most of them can’t even make a cohesive argument, but just insist that a foal, especially a filly, is better left in her mother’s care, or in the care of a mare, and that I am doing more harm than good.”

“And you have to subject yourself to this frustration, because you keep asking for help, so you keep encountering these sorts of ponies.” Seville rubbed his hooves together and looked quite fretful as he spoke.

“Yes, yes I do.” Copperquick spat out the words and gave his head a hard shake. “I can’t avoid them. These are the sorts of ponies I keep having to confront when I go to apply for help. Everypony has a notion for how things should be, and if you challenge their narrow little worldview, you had better prepare for their ire. Buttermilk and I get it in spades, and it all started with a detestable fellow named Mister Blancmange.”

“You sound as though you have a lot of anger bottled up inside of—”

“Oh, you have no idea.” The coldness of his own words shocked him and Copperquick realised that he was shaking hard enough to cause his tea to splash.

“—you.” As Seville said this word, he seemed to deflate and slumped down in his chair. “Oh cheese… I had no idea it was this bad. You’re not just challenging a broken, corrupt system, you’re bucking up against all of society’s preconceived notions and stepping on a lot of tender hooves in the process. What you’re doing is a twofold problem… forcing ponies to recognise a system they hold as sacrosanct is potentially broken, and you are forcing them to examine their own values as well.”

“Mister Orange, I am impressed by your grasp of the situation.” Buttermilk did not look up from her writing as she continued, “You have just summed up all of the frustrations that Copperquick and I have in one neat little paragraph.”

“Why, thank you, Miss Oddbody.”

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, my wing is getting cramped. Might we take a short break?”

Author's Note

More is coming...

Chapter 26

Before Copperquick could fully emerge from the bathroom, he was ambushed by Buttermilk. One front hoof hooked onto the back of his neck while the other rubbed his cheek, and she stood on her hind hooves, with a look in her eye that left him feeling weak in the knees. She moved in, closer, closer, and somehow closer still, until her snoot was a hair’s breadth away from his. Her eyes—hazel-green—were bewitching, but her words were even more so.

“I am so very much in love with you,” she breathed, and he could feel her hot breath against his nose. “You’ve done wrong, but now you strive to do right. You’re fighting to be the father that Esme deserves. One day, I might give you a few foals. We’ll have to wait and see, but I’ve already made up my mind that I want you. It wasn’t a mistake to feed you cheese toast.”

With a furious blush that turned his copper cheeks a dusky, ruddy brown, Copperquick stood in silence, spellbound by Buttermilk’s sexual allure. The muscles around his dock went tight, his cheek blazed beneath the pegasus maid’s hoof, and his earth pony senses demanded that he take action, right now, this instant, at this very moment. His brain suggested that he yank this mare into the bathroom with him, and he struggled, because now was not the time.

“Before this trip is over”—she continued while she brought her wings into play and started to tickle Copperquick with them—“we’re going to do a little butter churning. I’m not going back to Canterlot until I’ve made you mine.” Waggling her eyebrows, her hoof slid from Copperquick’s cheek and she pressed it over his lips, silencing any potential replies. “And no Copper-Quickie. Butter churning is a long, involved process, so be prepared for a lot of hot, sweaty effort and hard work.”

From behind Buttermilk’s hoof, Copperquick let out a bellowing whinny.

“Seville awaits… go do the right thing, Copperquick…”

The kitchen was now a fragrant haven, a wonderful, mystical, magical place that made Copperquick think of home. Thinking of home made him think of Buttermilk in a most peculiar way, and he thought of how he needed to sort out his living situation somehow so that he would have a place to call home with her. It was a powerful need resonating within his very core, to do right, to do well, to provide, to have a home and family. It stood out in sharp contrast to the wanderlust that had motivated him to leave home and find his fortune elsewhere.

Mighty Midge was still holding Esmeralda, making Copperquick feel a pang of jealousy to see his daughter’s face buried in the pegasus’ neck. Butter Fudge had a bright red burn on her nose where something had bubbled up out of a pot on the stove and had landed. This, of course, hadn’t improved her mood at all, and she appeared to be quite cross, if not outright grumpy.

A jittery apprehensiveness had settled over him once more and Copperquick consoled himself by thinking of Buttermilk. It was a peculiar state of affairs though, as he wanted to do so much more than have a good tumble on the bed with her—what he really wanted was a cementing of their relationship, something that would guarantee permanence. Since becoming a father, he had endured all manner of strange, disturbing instincts, as well as a total shift in his values. This was something more than just mere growing up and gaining maturity; but what it was exactly was impossible to say. A powerful compulsion, something that felt almost magical at times.

The nerdy little librarian-looking pony had just talked dirty to him, and had set his brain on fire.

“Supper is almost done, if you want to hold off on your interview for a while,” Butter Fudge said to everypony in the kitchen. “Oi, made a few desserts, too. Midge has to be hungry.” The big mare shuffled on her hooves a bit, sniffled, licked her sore, blistered nose with her tongue, and then said to Seville, “Don’t you worry about it getting late. You can sleep on the couch, if you’d like, Mister Orange. I’m sorry for my earlier outburst, something about a stranger on my land rubbed me wrong. I suppose I’m feeling territorial and protective due to Esmeralda, but then again. I’ve never taken too kindly to trespassers under the best of circumstances.”

“I understand,” Seville replied with his ears held low. “And I thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

“Right. Good then.” Butter Fudge let out a snort of relief while focusing her stare upon her daughter. “Beezy, set the table.”

“Sure thing! Right away!” All too happy to oblige, Buttermilk rushed to do her mother’s bidding.

Copperquick’s mouth watered when Buttermilk plopped a spoonful of butter-drenched green beans onto his plate. This was followed up by tiny cabbages and a ladle full of cheese gravy. Potatoes au gratin made up the bulk of the meal and Copperquick couldn’t wait to devour the crispy, chewy pieces that like alchemy, had formed along the edge while it had baked. Then to top it all off, Butter Fudge had made butter fudge for desert, and it had a scrumptious look about it.

Leaning over to one side to be closer to Seville, Mighty Midge had much to say: “I can’t help but notice that orange press of yours. That seems specific, it does, and I’m curious as to why you’re not embracing it. No offense meant, I’m actually quite impressed that you’d have enough nerve to do such a thing. Beezy, she never paid much nevermind to her butter churn, and just look at her go.”

His eyes bulging at all of the food before him, Seville did not look at Mighty Midge when he responded, “Any pony can tell the truth. It is not a trait exclusive to a mark, but rather, something we have to work and strive for. I aim to tell the truth, even if it kills me.”

“I have to confess…” Mighty Midge drew out his words while he squirmed in his seat. “My daughter, she challenged everything I thought I knew. In the spirit of honesty, I thought that Beezy would come home from school wrecked and broken from bucking the system. I mighta kinda sorta thought that she’d find all of the work impossible. I mean, she has a butter churn. It is not a mark that is conducive to higher education. A mark like that… I thought that whatever mystical force had given her that mark would bring her home, sort her out, and she’d have a happy life making butter. I am completely baffled as to how things worked out different.”

Lifting her hoof, Butter Fudge said, “Midge—”

“Everything I thought I knew has been challenged. I’m a bit shook up about it, maybe even a little upset about it, but being a father, I am also sorta happy that my daughter is happy, even if I don’t understand a thing about her and she’s become a stranger to me.” Mighty Midge’s eyes glanced in Buttermilk’s direction for a few brief seconds, and then he returned his gaze to Seville once more. “Also, that interview from earlier… it has left me shaken and a bit upset. I have this strange feeling that ponies like me might be part of the problem.”

“Midgy?”

“Copperquick here, he’s trying to do everything he can to change the world so his daughter benefits,” Mighty Midge continued while ignoring the way his wife was staring at him. “And here I am, thinking that the world was fine as it was and I’ve done my part to keep it from changing. Looking back on everything, I let Butter Fudge do all of the foal rearing. Well, almost all of it. I did most of my fathering here, at home. And if I am to be completely honest, a part of me deeply resented Beezy for choosing to do something other than homemaking. I thought she had joined those nutters that wish to tear down our great society, our family values, and tear apart everything just for the sake of change, even if things aren’t broken. Course, I have everything I want in life, more or less, so the world doesn’t feel too broken to me. But after hearing everything that Copperquick had to say, it feels wrong to deny it.”

“You resented me?” Buttermilk’s voice could only be described as ‘icy’ from Copperquick’s point of view, and the prim little pegasus mare squared her steely gaze upon her father. “You resented me? You resented me? Let me tell you something, if there is a mess in this country, it is because your generation made it worse! Copper and I are stuck cleaning it up. We didn’t make this system, and you didn’t either, but you have damn sure profited from it! And you made sure that the rules stayed rigged so others wouldn’t profit! All of the checks and balances necessary for a healthy system to maintain equilibrium, you called it radical leftism and you tarred and feathered it every chance you got! Anything that might have helped the system, anything that might have fixed it, you badmouthed it and made a mockery of it!”

Ears drooping, Mighty Midge nodded. “I did.”

Biting her lip, Buttermilk’s ears made many random pivots and rotations, until at last she reached a breaking point. Leaping out of her chair, she landed with a clatter on the floor, turned tail, and then marched for the back door. During the commotion, Esmeralda woke up, and perhaps sensing something wasn’t right, the little filly sounded off like an alarm klaxxon to let everypony around her know that something was wrong.

The backdoor slammed after Buttermilk’s hasty departure, and Copperquick could only think that her supper was going to get cold. Sighing, he too rose from his chair, because his daughter needed him, and he heard Mighty Midge let out a sigh. His own supper was going to get cold and there was nothing he could do about it. Dragging his hooves along the floor, he went over to where his daughter lay upon her blanket to get her sorted out.

The truth was a dangerous thing, or so Copperquick reasoned. Holding his daughter in his forelegs, he tried to reach around her with his neck so that he could nibble from his plate. Esmeralda seemed to be inconsolable at the moment, so he let her cry and slap away upon him. The little cabbages could only be eaten when hot, and these were rapidly becoming warm. Past a certain point, they would be inedible.

In a birdlike fashion, Mighty Midge pecked at his food, his expression unreadable. To say that he looked sorrowful or miserable was inadequate. Butter Fudge, who had been burned while cooking supper and was in a lousy mood, she ate her food in silence while giving her husband furtive glances.

“I had always believed that the system worked.” Mighty Midge pushed his plate away. “Sure, it had some issues, but I believed that it worked overall. From this little island in this great big delta, with the newspapers that we get, everything sure seemed fine. I supported punitive measures for fathers who cut and run. I supported a lot of things that seemed like good ideas at the time. But after having met Copperquick, and after having that long talk with Beezy, I’m not so sure about anything, anymore. Beezy isn’t a frivolous sort… I didn’t raise her to be that way. It was something I pounded into her head, to be practical and straightforward. And if she is this upset about everything… these can’t be made up problems or minor problems just blown out of proportion. Beezy has thrown her entire life into fixing these problems and getting ponies to see that something is wrong.”

“Do you feel better for having been honest?” Seville asked, his voice low and his posture submissive and unassuming.

At this, Mighty Midge’s eyes went wide, he drew in a deep breath, and his cheeks bulged, forming crinkles around the corners of his eyes. His ears rose, fell, rose again, and then went limp as he opened his mouth and deflated. “I don’t know. My daughter is upset with me. And for good reason, too. I’m not about to disrespect that—”

“What she’s doing is disrespectful,” Butter Fudge muttered, cutting her husband off.

Raising himself to his full, unimpressive height, the little blue pegasus’ nostrils flared and his sadness was replaced with something that looked an awful lot like anger. “You’re wrong, Butter Fudge… and don’t you dare make me say it again.”

“She could have at least behaved herself with company over—”

“Shut up, Butter Fudge.” Mighty Midge’s voice was filled with gravel and his ears angled forwards over his eyes. “You’re guilty too. You cried and boohooed your little eyes out when you realised that Beezy wasn’t going to be a homemaker. Sure, you did right by her, and you pushed her towards what she wanted, but you also did a lot of bitching and complaining. Of course, I did it right along with you. Do you think she’s wrong? Do you? Do you want to march yourself out to the barn where’s she’s hiding and tell her to her face that she’s wrong?”

“Oh, sod off, Midgy! You don’t get to be high and mighty and self-righteous right now!”

“Neither do you.”

“Why don’t you tell her what you said to me last night in the bed, Midgy? About how everything would be so much better if she hadn’t’ve left home and got infected with all those ideas of hers? That everything would’ve been fine if she had just stayed at home and stuck with what she knew? Feeling brave, Midgy? Tell the whole truth! Say it to her face!”

The little blue pegasus seemed to double in size, his feathers fluffing, and every hair on his coat now seemed to stand on end. “That was before everything I heard today. Butter Fudge, we don’t have the moral high ground here. Beezy didn’t get infected with strange ideas, she saw the world beyond our isolated little island. This is our fault—”

“How the bloody fronk is this our fault?” Butter Fudge demanded while her eyes narrowed into aggressive slits.

“We told her how we thought the world should be rather than how it is!” Mighty Midge snapped in return. “We failed her! She had to leave home to learn all of this stuff, and this is important stuff! Stuff she should have learned from us! But I have the distinct feeling that we’ve had our heads up our asses! We blew it, Butter Fudge… we blew it. We failed. Beezy had to go elsewhere to be a better pony, because we failed to do it here at home.”

Shoving her plate away, Butter Fudge scowled at her husband, and with her eyes never leaving him, she spilled out of her chair. Then, with a snort, she turned away, flicked her tail in his direction, and stormed out of the kitchen, almost stepping on the cat, who wasn’t motivated nearly enough to get out of the way in time. The sound of heavy, stomping hooves could be heard on the stairs, and each thump made Mighty Midge’s ears twitch.

With Esmeralda squalling just inches from his ear, Copperquick continued to try and eat his supper.

Author's Note

Sorry for the delay. Writing comes in bursts, when I am clear headed enough for output. It is getting better, though. Little by little.

https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/785913/spilling-the-beans

Chapter 27

With no other options left, Copperquick corked up his daughter’s cries with a pacifier. She seemed surprised by this, confused, and when she tried to spit it out, he pushed it back in with his hoof. Esmeralda was clean, mostly, he had done his best, had fitted a fresh diaper, and she had no good reason to cry—but cry she did. With his teeth, he lifted her by the nape of her neck from the counter next to the sink, lowered her to the floor, and let go.

Still blubbering, Esmeralda rose, wobbled a bit, flicked her stubby tail, and then took off in the general direction of her ball. Copperquick watched her go, hoping that she might calm down, and wondering if Buttermilk would want to leave. Perhaps leaving would be best at this point, as things felt so awful that Copperquick wasn’t sure if they could be fixed. This was a blow up that had been long in the making, with Buttermilk being a little too much like her mother, Butter Fudge. Both mares were headstrong, stubborn, and thoroughly convinced of their own rightness.

The issue, as Copperquick saw it, was that Butter Fudge lived in an ivory tower, or, in this case, on an island. This little island was a perfect world, if one did not look beyond the shoreline, if one kept away the Ripple Rushers of the world. Butter Fudge lived on her island and focused entirely upon her business. Buttermilk, on the other hoof, lived in Canterlot, and made it her business to focus on lives other than her own, and as such, had no choice but to confront the troubles of the world, because they could not be avoided. To deny them would be to fail in her job.

“I feel bad,” Seville remarked and then he let out a miserable huff. “Like I caused this to happen.”

“Butter Fudge and Buttermilk have been at one another since our arrival.” Copperquick did his best to sound reassuring, but he did a lousy job, and he knew it. The sound of his own voice left him disheartened and his spine sagged. “It’s been on again and off again since we got here. A little tiny blow up and then they’d make nice and then there’d be another not-so-tiny blow up… and I don’t think this could have been avoided.”

Tapping his hooves together, Seville appeared apologetic. His ears sagged and something about the fatigued look upon his face made him appear old. “It’s hard to love somepony and have very different views from them. My parents love me, I know they do, and I know that they would do anything for me, but I also know that they think I am a fool for leaving home. There was a bit of a blow up before I left. I’d like to think that my parents just wanted to protect me, and they were right, the world is a cold, heartless place… they’ve been right about a great many things, but I’ve been right too. There are stories that must be told, and I want to tell them.”

“Sounds like your parents also live on an island.”

Seville paused for a moment just as he was about to say something, and then reconsidered. He raised one hoof, held it aloft, thinking, and then lowered it as his teeth clicked together. Recognition and keen intelligence glittered in his eyes, and then he began to nod. “You’re right, they do live on an island of sorts. They’re sheltered and quite cut off from the world. All of their needs are provided for in exchange for the work they do and they are happy. They are simple ponies with simple needs. In their tiny island of awareness, the world is just perfect. And I left the island.”

“I too, left an island,” Copperquick said. “Came to Equestria. Found a completely different world. There were complications here that I couldn’t even have imagined in my old life. I have had my horizons forcibly expanded. I don’t want to say that I am wordly, but I am more aware.”

“That’s quite a thought.” Seville leaned back in his chair and began to rub his chin.

Esmeralda made muffled fussy noises, but she had quieted a bit. Now, she sat on the floor beside her ball and looked in her father’s direction with wide, expectant eyes, as if she was waiting for something, but Copperquick was lost in thought, and so she remained disappointed.

“I suppose it could be said that some of us leave our islands, then hurry off to find or create a new one.” Seville’s ears sagged a little more, he blinked a few times, and then he rubbed his red eyes with the back of his foreleg. “The world is nothing like I thought it would be and there are times I want to go home with my tail between my legs, but I don’t want to go home a failure. Tell me, Mister Quick, do you believe that ponies have issues with denial? Is it something ingrained within us?”

“I think we do, Mister Orange. I live in total denial that my daughter is going to grow up. In my mind, she is going to stay little and cute, and I will never, ever have to deal with the dreadful problems that will surely come about when she comes of age.”

“Seems reasonable.” Seville shrugged and then blinked his bleary eyes.

The back door opened and Copperquick saw Buttermilk poke her head in. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, and then, when she saw that it was clear, she entered, looking apprehensive. The first thing she did was go over to where Esmeralda was sitting and she planted a smooch on the filly’s head. Afterwards, she returned to the table to finish eating, having said nothing, nothing at all.

“Are you okay?” Copperquick asked.

With her mouth full of cold au gratin potatoes, Buttermilk shrugged, then nodded.

Meanwhile, Copperquick thought about denial.

Being professional meant putting aside all doubts, and Buttermilk was professional. Gripping her pen in her primaries, she took a deep, calming breath and did her best to appear as if she wasn’t taking a deep, calming breath, but just a normal, everyday, run of the mill inhale. She didn’t even know what it was that she was feeling, just that she was overwhelmed by it. Her father had come out to the barn to speak to her, but she had sent him away with a stream of vulgarities that was quite unlike anything she had ever said previously in her life.

He deserved all of that and more, and so did her mother.

A sound comeuppance would do Butter Fudge some good. But Butter Fudge would never get her well-deserved comeuppance, because Butter Fudge was the undisputed queen of her domain—right up unto the point where Mighty Midge put his hoof down and then she would just roll right over, because that was traditional family values in action. Buttermilk was all too aware of the unspoken ultimatum present, that mares had to capitulate in matters such as these, because if they didn’t, husbands might go off and find a mare who did. Such was the economics of living in a world with far too many mares and far too few stallions.

Just thinking about it made Buttermilk feel sick, and the queasy sensation made it hard to be professional.

Copperquick would never do such a thing… would he?

The sudden feeling of doubt made her feel jittery, panicked; it made her muscles tense, quiver, and her movements were jerky. Not professional. No, Copperquick would never do such a thing because he needed her. Thinking about it in such a cynical, bitter, and jaded way made her stomach lurch and she began to wonder what this brief exposure to her parents had done to her optimistic worldview. Copperquick wasn’t exploiting her, no, he loved her, she was certain of that, and she felt awful that she even had to remind herself of that. This was her mother’s doing, making her somehow think nasty, unpleasant thoughts.

“Buttermilk, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, and then she realised that she had snapped, and Buttermilk was sorry.

“I don’t think you’re fine—”

“I’ll be fine when I have something to do to distract myself,” Buttermilk interjected and she focused her determined stare upon the pony that she was pretty certain that she loved, who loved her in return, and was almost certainly not exploiting her.

Her mind wandered back to the argument with her mother about cheating, and Buttermilk was unsettled when she thought about how her mother had won that round without actually winning. Moomy had proved her point without proving anything, and that left Buttermilk with some lingering unease. The importance of keeping a mate satisfied, or else problems like Ripple Rusher would happen, and Copperquick’s eye would go a wandering.

“You’re young, Beezy, and you want to believe the world is a certain way. I’m trying to tell you how the world actually is. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but this is wisdom and age speaking, and you’d do well to listen for once. This is the world as I’ve seen it, and I’ve seen a whole lot more of it than you have. I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to be your ally. Right now, I am trying to be more than your mother because you’re all grown up now and I want to be your friend, Beezy. Friends warn each other about danger and things that might hurt them.”

Buttermilk could hear her mother’s voice echoing in the hollow between her ears, and she hated how she could recall every single word spoken between them.

“Beezy, I hate to do this, I hate to say this, but your little friend Ripple Rusher, she gives a lot of married stallions what they’re not getting at home from their own wives. Now, I am not saying that Copper is the cheating type, but it doesn’t hurt you to hedge your bets. Mighty Midge knows where and how his bread is buttered, and he comes home to me without the stink of other mares on him. I’ve never given him a reason to stray and he does the same for me. We stay satisfied.”

Gritting her teeth, Buttermilk tried to get her mother’s dreadful words out of her head.

“We don’t have to continue tonight,” Seville said, his voice gentle, kind, and soft.

Buttermilk turned to look at him, her vision fuzzy, blurry, and indistinct. After a few blinks, Seville came into focus for but a second, but then her eyes lost focus as the tightness in her barrel became too much to bear. Try as she might, she could not stop thinking, and her thoughts were awful. If she broke down right now, would that give Copperquick a reason to stray? What if she was less than perfect? What if she argued or disagreed with him? Her mother’s words burned through her like a lingering poison and Buttermilk felt her resolve wearing down, growing weaker, and she almost jumped out of her seat when the pen she had been holding clattered down to the table.

All of her mother’s doubts crawled through her thoughts like worms, unwanted parasites.

When she was touched, she started, gasping, and would have flown away, but Copperquick was faster than her nervous impulses somehow. Squirming, she tried to resist as she was lifted and pulled to him, but he just overpowered her. Copperquick was stronger than she had realised, as well as being bigger, and she thought about her claustrophobic feelings as she was subdued. Getting away, while not impossible, would be difficult, and he swept her forelegs up with one of his own as she was pressed against him.

Buttermilk was utterly unable to look up at him, and her glasses went askew when she pressed her face against his broad neck. Her backside came to rest against his fuzzy thigh, which tickled, but she was in no mood for laughing. The knowledge that she was crying crept into the edges of her thoughts, along with embarrassment, because there was a stranger no more than a yard away. Copperquick was warm, solid, and something about the way he smelled overwhelmed her senses.

“My mother broke my brain.” Buttermilk’s mewled words were difficult to say with dulled, numbed lips. “When I was away from home, I got better, but now that I’m home again…” Unable to finish, her words trailed off as she snuggled against Copperquick, needing comfort.

“It’ll be okay, Buttermilk—”

“No, Copper, it won’t be! What if I break Esmeralda’s brain in the same way my mother broke mine?”

The sudden unwelcome silence was not at all reassuring.

Closing her eyes, Buttermilk went completely limp and allowed Copperquick to support her. With her forelegs crossed over her barrel, she could feel the pounding of her heart and her face was damp with tears. Doubt was the worst thing, because it was so hard to dispel—doubt persisted, and even when you thought it was gone, doubt lingered somehow, because one worried when it might return. As such, it was always there, and Buttermilk realised that it had been there all along, it had been there with Blancmange, when Copperquick had kissed her, and it was here with her now.

Doubt was her constant companion, and she hated it.

“I just need a few moments to pull myself together…”

Author's Note

A wild chapter has appeared! It uses fascinate!

Chapter 28

With a sigh, Buttermilk allowed the high-pressure water jet to slip back into its dock mounted on the rear of the sink. Cleaning the dishes had settled her mind and now, with the kitchen tidy, she was free to accomplish other things without worry. With a slap of her hoof, she turned off the water and her ears perked at the sound of the faucet lever squeaking. While she stood there, pleased about a job well done, her mind posed a most curious question: how did earth ponies and pegasus ponies wash dishes before the invention of the sink-mounted high-pressure water jet?

Thinking about getting a mouthful of soap, she stuck out her tongue and her ears pinned back in disgust.

Doubt lurked like a distant storm and fearing its return, Buttermilk glanced over in Copperquick’s direction. Esmeralda was smacking him with her carrot, which she gripped in both of her fetlocks, and she cooed at him while he made funny faces. The little filly needed to be put to bed and it appeared as though Copperquick was allowing her to wear herself out. Buttermilk needed to believe that her mother was wrong, but feared that she might be right.

A defiant flame flickered, burning within her breast, and Buttermilk wondered if she was being manipulated again. Somehow, her mother had herded her into going to school and sticking it out: could the same thing be happening with Copperquick? Through some nefarious emotional exploitation, was her mother pairing her with Copperquick?

No, Buttermilk decided, because this was an issue long before Copperquick was present. This was the ‘traditional family values’ she had been raised with, with a foundation of distrust, wariness, and suspicion. A mare had to behave and act a certain way, lest a stallion look elsewhere. Buttermilk found that she didn’t want to live this way, and she wanted to trust in Copperquick’s seeming inherent goodness.

Yet, doubt persisted. Ripple Rusher made a living somehow. She found customers. And there was a tiny herd of fatherless foals that offered proof of careless stallions who cared nothing of the evidence left behind by their philandering. Copperquick himself had been indiscreet—but—he had also owned up to his mistake in the best way possible and that was the difference; reminding herself of this made Buttermilk feel better.

An idea popped into Buttermilk’s mind and she was overcome with giddiness rather than despair.

Copperquick’s ears perked at the sound of Buttermilk’s voice because her mood had changed—again. “Mister Orange, I don’t want to hijack your project, but I had an idea on finishing this piece. A lot of negativity has been brought up… I thought maybe we’d end on a more positive note.”

“I’d be glad to hear it,” Seville replied with his rural Manehattan accent now more pronounced because of his obvious fatigue. “I have a lot of good material to work with… maybe some real good material to work with because of your parents. But, uh, I dunno how they’ll feel about that.” The sunny yellow-orange earth pony shrugged and then leaned up against the table.

Esmeralda’s carrot was a bit soggy, but Copperquick didn’t mind too much. Soon, she would be worn out, exhausted, and she would succumb to the peaceful slumber of innocent, worn out foals—or so he hoped. She was already showing signs of slowing, and it was only a matter of time now. Esmeralda had been tired earlier, but then had found her second wind after a bit of shut eye. To wear his daughter down further, he pressed his lips against her neck and blew a powerful raspberry, which set her off.

Over at the table, Buttermilk armed herself with an inkpen.

Thrashing about and kicking, little giggling Esmeralda was a heart-stopping sight to behold, and Copperquick did his best pegasus impression: he flapped his ears like mad, at least until the dreadful cramp in his scalp made him stop. Over at the table, both Buttermilk and Seville were laughing, which made Copperquick feel a little bit better about his eye-watering scalp cramp. Ooh, that smarted! Much to Copperquick’s surprise, Esmeralda too, flapped her ears, but she was slow and clumsy; given time though, she would be as skilled as he, and Copperquick was delighted to see that his daughter had inherited something from him.

“This whole thing started because Copperquick made a bit of a mistake, and that can’t be readily dismissed,” Buttermilk said while she scratched out her words on the paper in front of her. “But it is unfair how society seizes upon these mistakes, these indiscretions, and grants them a cruel sense of permanency. If we see Copperquick as a stallion who made a mistake, and do nothing to look further, we’ll miss so much. The same could be said for many.”

From where she lay on the floor, Esmeralda tried to blow a raspberry, but her efforts produced copious amounts of slobber for the most part, and she tried to wipe her muzzle on her carrot, which was already damp. When things didn’t quite work out as planned, she started to fuss, and Copperquick, fearful of a squall, did his best to comfort her.

“Some might look at Copperquick, see a single father, and then cast whatever judgments come to mind because of that. The same can be said for single mothers, too, because there is a lot of stigma in our society. Doing this is shortsighted. There is so much more to Copper when you look past what many might perceive as a mistake. Since taking up his case, and then taking up his cause, I have been on the other side of society’s snap judgments. I too, have bore the brunt of the worst of it.”

Seville, tired and perhaps a bit sleepy, nodded while Buttermilk’s pen continued scratching.

“Beyond being a single father, Copper is patient, sometimes more so than I am, and I, being a mare, am supposed to be the one that society’s biases favour. I have lost my temper and my calm far more than he has. He’s neither a biter nor a kicker, I’ve never seen him act abusive, and I certainly wouldn’t tolerate him if he did… yet Esmeralda's mother was an abuser and she did lasting harm to her own daughter. Esmeralda’s mother gave up on her when the going got rough, but Copper, when faced with even worse circumstances, he chose to be a father… a dad. I don’t think he has it in him to quit—”

Buttermilk made an abrupt pause that caused Copperquick’s ears to prick while his daughter kicked and fussed.

“As a potential mate, I think—I think that I should take this as proof, as evidence that if he is this devoted to his daughter and staying strong through troubled times, I think I should take this as some assurance that he will do the same for me. Rather than be wary of Copper because of the mistakes that he has made, I should be reassured because of how he works so hard to fix them.”

“This is a good way to counter all of the garbage your mother crammed into your head,” Seville remarked, his words hesitant, cautious, and slow-spoken. “Sometimes the evidence of what we see is better than what we think we know, or something like that. I’m too tired to be all fancy and hifalutin.” Now, Seville sounded even more like a rural hick than he had previously.

“Copperquick’s indiscretion gave him an opportunity to show his best. He is genuinely a good pony and because of Esmeralda, he gets a chance to show this off every single day. This all started off with him seeking help, and somehow, this became a chance for him to help others. He’s out there in the trenches fighting the good fight and trying to counteract all of these damaging stereotypes… some of which I have lodged in my own head.”

Again, Buttermilk paused, but this time, her pen ceased its scratching, and Copperquick was stricken by how she was looking at him right now. It left his mouth dry—thirsty—and filled him with a curious sense of desire that wasn’t entirely physical. The pause did not last and the pen began moving several seconds before she continued with what she had to say.

“When dealing with a pony that might’ve made a mistake of some sort, we can do one of two things. We can dismiss them and cling to our biases, which does nothing for anypony…” Buttermilk’s words trailed off but her pen never slowed. “Or we can choose to look past our initial assumptions and take the opportunity to be better ponies. We might find proof that our parents might’ve been wrong—that the biases and stigmas that we’ve inherited and that we learned from the circumstances that we grew up in do us a disservice. If we cling to what we think we know, we might be robbing ourselves of some of the greatest moments of our lives, or the greatest loves of our lives, or holding ourselves back from becoming the truly great ponies that we have the potential to be. We shouldn’t rush to make assumptions, but we should rush to offer assistance.”

With a sigh, Buttermilk set her pen down upon the table, shook her head, and with her glasses askew she whispered out her final thoughts: “I wish I would have had this epiphany before meeting with Ripple Rusher. I wonder if there was more that I might’ve done. Was I a good enough friend? I don’t know if I can answer that with unflinching honesty. Was I loyal to what our friendship once was?”

Seville too, sighed, and it was a tired, worn out sound. “We might never fix the broken stuff in our heads, but we always have a choice on how we act on it. As I explore the world, I find that some of what I was taught as a foal was just flat out wrong… except for those times when it is exactly as my parents said it would be and those moments hurt the most. Those instances of confirmation are the worst and sometimes, they’re really discouraging.”

“Seville,” Buttermilk said while she turned to look at the earth pony beside her, “you sound like a pony of remarkable education. How?”

“Books.” Seville shrugged. “Speaking of biases, books have them too. There have been more than a few times where being book-smart has failed me. Books are their own special ivory tower and we have to trust that the author has our best interests in mind. Sometimes, they don’t. As I’ve travelled about, I’ve been getting a real-world education, and it’s been rough.”

“Yeah, well, don’t give up.” Buttermilk reached out, patted Seville on the foreleg, and then leaned back in her chair. With her wing, she finally straightened out her glasses, and then she let out a weary huff. “Are we done for the night?”

In response to this question, Seville nodded. “I think so. I have plenty of material to work with. Thank you… for everything. I don’t know if this will ever get published, but I am grateful for the experience.”

“Thank you as well,” Buttermilk replied. “I’m sorry about my parents. Things are strange right now.”

Copperquick, whose face was damp with slobber, lifted his head away from his daughter. “I think it is about time that I put Esme to bed and then I am going to catch up on more reading. I’ll be upstairs.”

“If there is anything that you need, don’t hesitate to ask.” Buttermilk offered up her best reassuring smile for Seville. “I’ll help you get settled on the sofa with some blankets and such and if you want to take a shower or a bath, you can. Once you’re situated, I think I’ll be joining Copperquick for a bit of quiet. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all… you’ve been a wonderful host, ma’am. Thank you for all of your remarkable kindness.” Seville bowed his head and his forelock spilled down into his eyes. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a good sleep. I think I’ll go to bed early.”

“Good night, Seville.” Copperquick looked down at Esmeralda when he heard her yawn, and felt relief. “I hope you sleep well. Buttermilk, I’ll be upstairs.”

“I’ll be up in a bit, Copper. Good luck with Esme.”

And with that, it was time to put his daughter to bed.

Author's Note

Spoonin' time!

Chapter 29

Esmeralda had quieted, but was not yet asleep. She gnawed on anything she could get in her mouth; Copperquick’s schoolbook, Buttermilk’s cardigan that she had left on the bed, her stuffed eggplant, her father’s hoof, the corner of the pillow, the wadded end of the blanket, and then she settled on her carrot, which she chewed on with her eyes closed. When Copperquick looked at her, all he could see was how much she had grown, something that only a parent would notice. She lay on her back with her carrot resting upon her stomach, chewing on the green foliage end while making contented little hoofy kicks.

A gentle knock on the door got Copperquick’s attention, and he checked Esmeralda first to see if she was disturbed before looking up at the door. Was it Butter Fudge, he wondered? Had somepony come to apologise or to discuss what had happened? Whatever it was, there was no point in keeping them waiting, and Copperquick was mindful to keep his voice down.

“Do come in,” he said in a hushed whisper, and he hoped that he was heard.

When the door opened, Copperquick saw a flash of blue and when Mighty Midge entered, he was carrying a piece of paper beneath his wing. The small stallion, slight of build, took a look around the room for a moment and then his eyes came to rest on Esmeralda. For a time, he looked as though he was about to say something, but nothing came out. In silence, he moved closer towards the bed, and then extending his wing, he set the canary yellow sheet of paper down near Copperquick’s open schoolbook.

“What’s this?” Copperquick asked.

“I am having a crisis of conscience,” Mighty Midge replied.

“I don’t follow.” Copperquick eyeballed the paper and saw loopy, carnival like print.

“Gambling is wrong, and I feel that it causes moral decay in a community. I believe that ponies who gamble are wrong. Money is wasted on gambling, when you can provide a sure thing by paying for food and the cost of living.” Mighty Midge now looked guilty, and his wings sagged against his sides, which caused his primaries to brush against the floor. “I have spent the whole of my life campaigning against gambling in our community.”

“What’s this all about?” Copperquick lifted his head and looked who was sure to be his future father-in-law in the eye, but found that Mighty Midge would not meet his gaze.

“There is going to be a derby… a gambling event. Thankfully, it is for a good cause and the money collected goes towards charity, and that’s the only reason why I’m doing this.” Mighty Midge cleared his throat a few times, and when he spoke again, his voice was husky with shame. “Winner of the derby gets one-thousand gold bits and it costs one hundred gold bits to enter.”

“What’s this got to do with me? I don’t even have that kind of money—”

“I’ve already paid the entrance fee.” Mighty Midge’s ears pinned backwards, and his pupils grew in size while his eyes turned glassy. “Alicorns be damned, you’re fast. This money isn’t much, but it’ll give you and Beezy a bit of money to live on. Do right, Copper.”

Stunned, Copperquick’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Day after tomorrow, Copper. Stretch your legs and do whatever it is that you need to do to be ready. Don’t blow this opportunity. I watched you run when we were coming back from Flapper’s. Nopony moves like that, least not round here. You gotta gift, Copper, use it.”

The blue pegasus gave himself a shake to regain his composure, cast a final glance at Esmeralda, and then was out the door before Copperquick could recover enough to respond. With a click, the bedroom door shut, and one stunned father cast a sidelong glance at his sleepy, teething daughter. Then he looked at the paper once more, began to read it, and deep within his barrel a peppy spark of hope ignited.

It was obvious that Esmeralda was fighting to stay awake now and the little filly yawned in between halfhearted chomps on her stuffed carrot. She lay against her father’s side, no doubt trying to soothe the incessecent ache in her gums. Meanwhile, Copperquick was trying to read his textbook, but was doing a poor job, because he was a little too excited about the derby. For a few moments, he had wondered why Buttermilk’s father had done this, but then realised that it didn’t matter; what mattered now was that he made the most of it.

Kicking her legs, Esmeralda banged them against her father’s ribs, but he ignored her while staring into his Equineology textbook. It wasn’t that the filly was in a bad mood, but that she was just in a mood. Her eyes opened wide for a moment just after a yawn, she looked around, tilting her head to look in the direction of her father’s face, and then she battled to keep her eyes open. Her fuzzy little chin was slick with drool, her carrot was soggy and limp, and it was obvious that she had nothing left. One eye closed, but not the other, and she gave her stuffy a moody bite before the other eye shut.

Then, with a whine, she succumbed to sleep.

Copperquick, whose fatherly senses told him that his daughter was asleep and breathing, and wasn’t dead and not-breathing, relaxed a little. To suddenly have one’s daughter go still was always a fright, it never failed to unnerve him, and both of his ears pivoted around to better listen to the reassuring sound of each breath she drew.

One day, perhaps one day soon, Esmeralda would talk his ears off before bed. Why, she might whine, kick, and cry. She might demand that a story be read to her, or she could very well try to bargain about what sort of snack she might have before going to sleep. Someday soon, she would have opinions, ideas, and questions—but for now, she was quiet. For now, she was sweet and these precious moments were to be treasured.

Content, smiling, Copperquick settled into his studies and was able to pay attention to what he was reading, which mentioned the importance of empirical analytical investigation in societal phenomenon involving the various interactions of equines with one another. This new study section focused heavily upon the nuts and bolts of equinology, the hows and the whys, and would delve deeply into how pattern recognition of certain behaviours could affect everything from societal policy, social welfare, and even individual agency, because awareness brought changes to an observed system.

One of the study bullet points was sexuality, deviancy, and the societal mores involved.

Copperquick was a deviant, he knew this, because he fetishised wings and feathers. He found them appealing and they were the primary focus of his sexuality. He lived in a time where earth ponies and pegasus ponies got along with one another and interacted, but this wasn’t always the case. In the past, his deviancy would have caused all manner of social upset, should he of acted upon it somehow. It might have been enough to have him cast as a social pariah, an outcast from the specialised herd known as earth ponies.

Of course, he had other fetishes that had recently developed, and this had to do with the sociological impact of uniforms; visual indicators of a recognised standard. Society had all manner of uniforms that carried with them a weighty understanding; police officers were recognised as figures of authority, so were guards, and of course the royals, who wore crowns. Copperquick had a thing for librarians now, and there was, in fact, a recognisable uniform for librarians, who also bore the vestments of authority in society.

It was hard to describe, but Copperquick knew it when he saw it, and he saw it with Buttermilk. Her frumpy cardigans, her bun, her eyeglasses, her clean, approachable, studious nature, she was very much a librarian type even if she was not in command of a fortress of books. Buttermilk Oddbody was a pegasus librarian type, which mashed all of the right buttons and triggered his attraction factors.

Speaking of attraction factors… Buttermilk pushed the door open, stepped through, and shut it behind her. Her mane was down, the long, wavy tendrils spilled down her neck, her withers, her shoulders, and clung to her forelegs. Her return to the room brought the scent of floral soap and what Copperquick could describe as ‘damp pegasus smell,’ which was distinctly different from the scent of dampened earth ponies.

His studies forgotten, Copperquick watched her every move and did nothing to hide it. She blinked at him, which made his heart flutter, and her hazel-green eyes bewitched him. Copperquick’s ears rose into an erect position, but slowly, and pivoted forwards in anticipation of hearing anything that might come from Buttermilk. The pegasus mare froze in place, shy, reserved, and this only fanned the flames of Copperquick’s desire.

Buttermilk’s lips moved, forming words, and Copperquick couldn’t tell if she was speaking in a low whisper or if he was imagining the sound of her voice—both were possible and every muscle in his body tensed with what she had to say.

“You’re in a mood to make a sibling for Esme right now, aren’t you?”

Licking his lips once, then twice, Copperquick nodded. That sounded perfectly pleasant right about now, consequences or no. His mind flooded with all manner of feverish fantasies involving wings and Buttermilk’s book return. Chuffing, Copperquick wickered; much to his surprise, Buttermilk returned the sound, though her wickering was muted and far more feminine. It was enough to make his heart start racing though.

“I feel so dirty for having said that.” Buttermilk’s voice was little more than a whisper or imagination, Copperquick couldn’t tell, but her lips continued to move. “I feel as though I should return myself to the shower at once.”

Reaching out his foreleg, Copperquick patted the bed, inviting the pretty pegasus maid to come closer and join him. Buttermilk hesitated, blushing, and when she did move closer, she almost tripped over her own front legs. She flapped, all gawky limbs, and somehow managed to keep herself upright. Recovering herself, she lept up onto the bed, landing as light as a falling feather, and then, after turning around in a circle three times, she lay down.

Making a bold move, Copperquick stretched out his neck, lowered his head, and buried his nose into Buttermilk’s flowing tail. She let out an alarmed squeak while drawing in her hind legs to protect her vulnerable places, but Copperquick ignored her panic while having himself a good sniff. When, by accident, his snoot grazed the gentle curve of her hindquarters, mere inches away from her butterchurn, his whole body jerked in startled response.

“That’s very forward of you,” Buttermilk said in the lowest whisper she could muster.

“Am I bothering you?” Copperquick asked, breathing out the words and playing the dangerous game of, ‘don’t wake the baby.’

“A little… yes…”—Buttermilk’s face darkened and she tucked all four of her legs beneath her while she rolled over onto her stomach—“Copper, you’re bigger than I am by far and that scares me. I told you about my claustrophobic response already. You scare me. When you’re bold, aggressive, and forward, I have these scary nightmare moments that I won’t be able to tell you no. I had a pretty frightening moment earlier when you held me at the table. You overpowered me and wouldn’t let go. It’s left me shaken, Copper.”

Unnerved, Copperquick pulled his head away and his ears pinned back, conveying his submissive intent. Buttermilk’s expression was difficult to read, but it worried him, and after studying her face for a few intense seconds, he found what he was looking for: fear. This was the last thing he wanted, for her to be afraid of him, but because he had listened to what she had to say about this previously, he understood why.

“I never meant—”

“I know…” Buttermilk gasped out the words and her lips made exaggerated movements to make up for her lack of volume. “It’s me, Copper, I’m having a silly filly moment. I’m plotting the event that will change our relationship forever and I am scared. I’m terrified. I keep imagining all of the ways it might go wrong. It’s rough, Copper, because I want to please you and make you happy and I want you to be happy with me, and I keep thinking about all of the dreadful things Moomy has said about keeping a stallion happy, and my head is not in a good place right now, Copper. I’m a mess and it is all coming out as fears that can be known because I have so many fears of the unknown plaguing me.”

Copperquick was a bit uncertain of a few things that Buttermilk had said, mostly because he didn’t understand, but he did his best to show that he was listening. Real listening, not just the nod-along listening that he had done in the past so he could have his way with his infatuation of the moment.

“Moomy has filled my head with so much garbage,” Buttermilk continued in a scratchy whisper and her lips contorted into a fierce scowl. “Now I can’t even be sure about my own motivations for doing the dirty deed with you. I can’t tell if this is something that I want, or if I am doing it because I’m scared that you’ll lose interest in me and leave me if I don’t. What am I doing? Why am I doing it? I feel like I am flying in a deadening fog, and I can’t tell which way is up or down. She has me second-guessing myself again, and doubting everything I do, just like how it was before I left home for school. I hate this, Copper, because now it is messing with my relationship with you and Esme. And… and… and… I’m… I am… I’m mad.”

Gritting her teeth, Buttermilk went silent.

Pulling himself forward on the bed, Copperquick did his best not to disturb Esmeralda too much, and he could feel the bedspread wadding up beneath him, which was a bit uncomfortable. But that didn’t matter, because Buttermilk was uncomfortable, and that made him feel bad, mostly because he didn’t know how to fix it. With a sigh, he rested his head upon Buttermilk’s croup and let out a weary sigh.

“Copper, you’re heavy.” Buttermilk’s words came out as a faint whine and she turned her head around to look back at him. “Feeling that heaviness back there is freaking me out.”

Even though he felt bad, Copperquick did not budge, even when Buttermilk wiggled beneath him. With his ears drooping in total and utter submission, he kept his jaw resting upon the smooth, supple curve of Buttermilk’s rather skinny backside. Relaxing his muscles, he went limp and then just laid there, unmoving.

“What are you doing?” Buttermilk demanded with as much volume as she dared, and she too was playing the dangerous game that ended when the baby woke.

In silence, Copperquick waited to see what might happen.

“What am I? Your perky pegasus pillow? How is it that your head weighs a ton, Copper?” Buttermilk squirmed, she wiggled, but try as she might, she failed to get the earth pony resting upon her backside to budge. “How is it that you haven’t crushed poor Esmeralda in your sleep?”

At this, Copperquick wanted to smile, but didn’t.

“What sort of game is this?” Buttermilk’s ears splayed out to the sides, making them look more like horns, and then they pivoted so the insides faced downward. Her tiny nostrils flared, the corner of her eye twitched, and when Copperquick still did not budge, she bared her teeth at him.

Beneath his jaw, Copperquick felt Buttermilk’s dock wiggle and a second later his neck was given a stinging slap from her tail. Even with the risk of upsetting her, he refused to budge, understanding that this was important for some reason, without knowing why. He was doing this to help Buttermilk, even though he couldn’t comprehend his own actions, and he thought to himself that maybe, perhaps, he just wanted to prove to her how gentle he could be and that there was nothing to fear.

“Fine, be that way,” Buttermilk huffed and she narrowed her eyes at Copperquick. “I have to preen my wings. “Try to not be in the way.” The tone of her voice changed and her ears took on a new position, one not so aggressive. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do right now, but you’re making it really hard to be angry with you with that face you’re making. If Esme inherits that from you, we’re both in big trouble.”

Figuring it was safe to relax a little bit, Copperquick did so, and he continued to peer at Buttermilk out of the corner of his eye, watching her every move. She appeared to be calming down a bit and flexing the muscles of his neck, he rubbed himself against her croup, sliding back and forth to offer a gentle massage. This got Buttermilk’s attention, he could feel her whole body tense, and she made a strange face, a sort of drowsy, excited expression that was almost blissful.

“If we were doing something… you know, that thing that ponies do.” Buttermilk paused for a moment, closed her eyes, and relaxed a little. “But if we were doing that and it was just starting to get good, and if I asked you to stop because it was hurting me or scaring me or whatever, would you?”

“What sort of question is that?” Copperquick asked, his words muffled from laying on his own jaw, and the volume of his voice was dangerously close to enough to end the game, because Esmeralda murmured in her sleep. He almost felt insulted—he was right on the verge of it—and he couldn’t believe that Buttermilk would say such a thing.

“It’s my mother,” Buttermilk moaned and her face twisted into a contorted mess of emotions. “Copper, I’m having a hard time so please, don’t be angry with me.”

“Out with it.” Copperquick lifted his head and with a swift turn, he looked Buttermilk directly in the eye.

“Oh, I can see that you are angry—”

“But not at you.” Copperquick gave his thoughts a quick examination and determined that his words were true. He was angry at the situation, and not with Buttermilk, even though he was taken off guard. Mindful of how Buttermilk might be scared, he gave careful consideration to his demeanour. “Now out with it.”

“It’s embarrassing—”

“Out with it.”

“It’s awkward—”

“Out with it.”

“I’m having a really hard time with—”

“Out. With. It.”

“Fine.” Buttermilk spat out the word in a huff and she turned away from Copperquick so that she could stare at the wall. “Moomy, she told me a few things when she was giving me a talk about the way of things. She kinda suggested that once the deed had started, it was best to let it finish, and that asking a stallion to stop was a good way to invite trouble. If I was hurt, or scared, or I didn’t like it too much, she said it was best to grin and bear it, and let him finish, because things could always be sorted out later, once it was over. She said there was no good reason to make things hard on myself, and she said that even if the deed was bad and didn’t feel so good, or that it was unpleasant, it would be a whole lot worse if it turned violent. ‘It’s better to bear it,’ she told me.”

Dumbstruck, Copperquick recoiled in disgust, and his first thought was to go and find Butter Fudge so he could give her a piece of his mind. When he realised that such an act would accomplish nothing, he ground his teeth together and was torn in two by his sudden compulsion to grab Buttermilk and hold her. Doing so would be counterproductive right now.

“As bad as it might be, it could always be worse and keeping him happy would keep it from hurting a whole lot more,” Buttermilk muttered, more to herself than to Copperquick. “Look, I’m trying to sort out all of this stuff so our first time will be special. Moomy put a lot of garbage in my head and I’m trying to do some house cleaning before I invite you inside. This is really, really hard on me and I’ve been trying to act like everything’s okay, because that’s what a good mare’s supposed to do.”

In silence, Copperquick tried to think of something meaningful to say.

“I’m really, really glad that the experimenting that I did in school was put on hold,” Buttermilk said in a vulnerable, scratchy whisper. “Copper, I wasn’t as grown up as I thought I was. I was being reckless and stupid because I was suddenly free, and I was rebelling against everything, and it all felt so good, but I’m pretty sure that if I would have done anything I would be suffering some immense regret right now. I’m just not the sort of pony that can forget my own mistakes and move on. Looking back, I was on the verge of disaster, and I feel so confused right now because I can’t figure out if it was what Moomy taught me that saved me from hurting myself, random chance, or my own common sense. I can’t sort it out and it is killing me.”

No words came.

“I don’t want my mother to be right… if she’s right about one thing, then my brain will tell me that she’s right about all of the things, and I don’t know if I can live with that. If Moomy really is the one that kept me from messing up in school and doing something that I’d regret, that’d be terrible, Copper, really, really terrible, and I don’t think I could live with it. I can’t stand myself right now.”

“Look, Buttermilk, I don’t know how to say everything I want to say, so, I’ll just say this…” A sudden case of the jitters overtook Copperquick and he knew—he knew—that everything in the future hinged upon this moment and whatever he said next. “I can’t promise to be perfect, but I am going to do everything, everything I can to make you happy, so that way you’ll have nothing but good things to tell Esme about marriage, and love, and all those complicated things. I am not gonna mess those things up for her.”

Buttermilk doubled back somehow and glomped Copperquick, causing the whole bed to rock. Esmeralda snuffled in her sleep, kicked her legs, but did not wake as Buttermilk clung to her father’s neck. Drool reflected on her chin in the overhead light and the sound of eager, affectionate kisses did nothing to disturb her.

“Coming from you, that means an awful lot,” Buttermilk whispered and then she planted more tender kisses upon Copperquick’s cheeks. “That’s just the sort of reassurance I needed, thank you so much. Now, if you don’t mind, I really do need to preen my wings while they’re still a little damp from the shower I took. When I’m done, you and I are going to spoon together, and you’re going to do your schoolwork, and I’m going to sort out this mess in my head.”

When Buttermilk pulled away, Copperquick was certain that he hadn’t messed this up too badly…

Author's Note

So now we see the mane event. The big finale.

Chapter 30

The kitchen was quiet in the hours before dawn and a yawning Copperquick had fond memories of the days when he had slept. Esmeralda had screeched to let everypony know that she had a foosh emergency, and somehow, she hadn’t soiled herself in the night—a miraculous occurrence if ever there was one. Though clean, she was still quite grumpy and was now making demands for florp while making sweeping, imperious gestures with her front legs.

If there was any lingering upset from the night before, Butter Fudge showed no signs of it. She had remained in the kitchen for but a short time, and then had gone out to the barn for morning chores. Buttermilk was minding the malted wheat simmering on the stove. Seville Orange, bleary eyed, sat at the kitchen table and was trying to read over his copious notes.

“Kish?” Esmeralda blinked a few times while looking in her father’s direction and then made an impatient huffy sound when her demands were not met.

Copperquick, unprepared for such a direct and to the point request, stared at his daughter in half-awake awe while trying to process the request she had made. The little filly puckered up her lips and then made sloppy slurping sounds while her body bobbed up and down. A slick ribbon of drool spilled down from her lips and her bright, shiny eyes showed all the signs of a coming storm.

“Kishes!” she cried, which was then followed by more slurping sounds.

A flash of understanding struck Copperquick and when he leaned over, two things happened at once; the first of which was getting a dreadful crick in his neck—the pop could be heard all throughout the kitchen—with the second was that he kissed his daughter, but failed to satisfy her.

“Kish!” she demanded again whilst her father rubbed his aching neck.

After a second kiss, Esmeralda quieted a bit, but the hint of the storm remained. Food was needed—now. Kisses—or kishes, as the case may be—of appeasement would only last for so long and then the floodgates would open wide. Copperquick tried to straighten himself out and his spine crackled; sleeping with Esmeralda and Buttermilk in the bed led to odd positions that left his spine kinked. When he sat up, everything popped, from his neck down to his dock, and he saw stars in his vision.

“She woke up with a new word,” Copperquick said to anypony who might be listening. “I think… she’s starting to come around. The doctor said that foals are resilient. I feel better.”

“Now we have to reinforce that word.” Buttermilk stepped away from the stove, shuffled over to the fridge, pulled open the door, and began pulling various items out. “Repetition and repeat exposure.” She yawned, made a silly face while doing so, and covered her mouth with her wing. “Copper, how are you even awake? You were up later than I was reading that schoolbook about proclamations.”

“The Manehattan Proclamation…” Copperquick’s lips felt almost numb and murky thoughts percolated upwards through his grey matter. “Year four hundred and seventy-seven: the earth pony city of Manehattan drafts legislation guaranteeing earth pony clannish democratic rights to pegasus ponies and unicorn ponies, to grant them the right to vote in mayoral elections and matters involving city governance. This sets off a firestorm across Equestria, highlighting various inequalities that still existed four hundred and seventy-seven years after tribal unification. Anarchists burn half of the city of Vanhoover to the ground. Unicorn separatists protest the growing influence of the democratic earth pony clans, claiming that it is destabilising the aristocracy’s ability to effectively rule. The militaristic factions of Cloudsdale institute a ban on voting to prevent instability and chaos from spreading to their city. It is said that tribal relations are set back by at least two hundred years or more by this incident.”

“Copper”—Buttermilk’s voice became strained when she yawned once more—“even I don’t remember all of that.”

“Study more,” Copperquick muttered in reply while he conked himself in the head with his hoof to shake the last of his thoughts free. “Get on my level, mare.”

“Well, I never!” Buttermilk huffed while she began to set the table and a wry smile could be seen on her face. “I’ll be sorting you out later today, Copperquick. You just wait!”

Not fully awake, Copperquick failed to catch on to the meaning of Buttermilk’s words.

Little Esmeralda had a visibly distended tummy and she lay on her back, half asleep with her carrot grasped tight to her neck with her stubby front legs. It was only obvious now that she had eaten too much, then kept eating, and was now full as an engorged tick. She was also fussy and was in no mood to be disturbed, as Copperquick had discovered after a good natured prod to her well-rounded pudge.

Again he was reminded that his daughter had impressive vocal pipes.

Butter Fudge had ran up a flag and now, in the early hour of dawn, when the sunlight poured like maple syrup across the land, they were waiting for a ship to arrive. What sort of ship hadn’t been specified, but Butter Fudge had assured Seville Orange that she had a way that he could get a ride back to Canterlot. Other than that, Butter Fudge had been remarkably quiet and Copperquick wondered if she had some simmering resentment from yesterday.

Buttermilk was gathering supplies to churn more butter and Copperquick couldn’t wait to watch. Birds were chirping, the sun was rising, the breeze was delightful, and he had a good feeling about the day. Today was a day of promise. Sure, another fight might break out between Buttermilk and her mother, but today was full of promise. In the yard a herd of goats grazed in a protective circle around their kids, which were tiny, cute, and adorable.

A foghorn blast could be heard in the distance and within moments, Butter Fudge poked her head out of the barn. Copperquick, somewhat startled, looked about, his eyes darting left to right, right to left, and back again. Then, low over the water, he saw the source of the foghorn blast and his mouth fell open in unabashed awe.

What might have been the largest airship that Copperquick had ever seen approached, floating in the way that bricks found to be quite difficult. Black sooty smoke trailed behind it and he had no idea just how long it was, but it was huge. Griffons could be seen on the deck as the ship hovered just above the trees.

“What in bloody Tartarus is that?” Copperquick gasped.

“Oi, that is a distinctly Equestrian invention,” Butter Fudge said whilst she trudged through the yard, “a factory freighter. Common sight around the delta. He’d better see my flag or I’ll have his beak.”

“But what is it?”

“Oi, Copper, are you slow?” Butter Fudge smiled, a good natured sight, and she let out a chuckle. “It’s a factory freighter. It’s a whole factory that flies. That one in particular processes crustaceans and fish and what have you and turns it into frozen meals while it flies into Canterlot. He also carries my dairy products to market there. Captain Goldfrost is a good sort.”

At a loss for words, Copperquick stared, still baffled by the sheer size of the vessel. It was bigger than Butter Fudge’s island, or seemed to be, being both broad and tall. The hull was metal, somewhat rusty, and two massive doors were opening on the sides, revealing a crane arm that swung out.

“All of Equestria would starve without the factory freighters. There’s millions of mouths to feed and the food stretches from coast to coast. It’s a bright idea, processing it as you move it about. And when it arrives, it’s nice and fresh. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got business to attend to and a few tons of cheese to send off.”

The vessel floating above his head had to be at least five or six stories tall and was maybe half as wide. A profound amount of pollution was pooted out of the back end in great chuggy blasts, rhythmic bursts that happened about every four seconds or so. With the sliding doors wide open, parts of the inside could be seen, a vast cargo hold filled with wooden crates and blocks of ice. Griffons flitted about, flying inside of the vessel, and one griffon had flown down to speak with Butter Fudge.

Cheese was being raised with the crane, and wooden pallets were being lowered down to replace the ones taken with the cheese. Much to Copperquick’s alarm, Buttermilk was rounding up the kids and he had a terrible suspicion as to what would happen next; the kids were consuming a resource that Butter Fudge needed to make cheese. Such was the way of things, this was how life went on.

When two griffons with nets flew down, Copperquick did a quick turnabout to look in the other direction. He heard the bleating, the baa-ing, the mournful sounds of protest accompanied by the screaming of the kids. It was awful, and he tried not to think about his own daughter, but failed. Buttermilk it seemed, having been raised on a farm, had a much harder heart and was made of sterner stuff than he.

Some things were just too terrible to witness.

“Oi, Mister Orange.” Butter Fudge had a broad grin and she seemed rather pleased with herself. “Mister Orange, I spoke to Captain Goldfrost and he has a spot for you to bunk, so he does. No charge. But, if you are looking for a little work, there’s some to be had. He’s agreed to take you to Canterlot and drop you off safe and sound.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Oddbody.” Seville’s battered green felt fedora was tugged on by a stray gust but remained lodged upon his noggin. It was amazing that the hat wasn’t mere tatters and beneath its torn, shabby brim, Seville’s sheepish smile could be seen. “Thank you for having me as a guest.”

“Sorry ‘bout the unpleasantness.” Butter Fudge seemed sincere and raising one hoof, she patted her fellow earth pony on the neck. “Keep working hard, Mister Orange. It’s all us earth ponies have. With hard work and a little luck, hopefully things’ll sort themselves out. When you wasn’t looking, I had Beezy slip some cheese sandwiches in your bags.”

“Thank you again, Mrs. Oddbody.”

Feeling a bit mournful, Copperquick watched as the two earth ponies stood neck to neck to say their goodbyes, and when they pulled apart, he moved in to say his own. It seemed that Buttermilk had at that moment the same idea; when he and Buttermilk moved in, Butter Fudge sauntered away, only to vanish behind the barn doors.

Sad goats bleating their loss could be heard within.

“Did you find your story, Mister Orange?” Buttermilk stood close, peering through her glasses in an owlish way that Copperquick adored.

“I did,” Seville replied, “thank you, Miss Oddbody.”

Ears rotating backwards, Copperquick listened for the sounds of his daughter’s distress, because she was alone on the porch, napping off her breakfast. When nothing could be heard, he gave his fellow earth pony a friendly nod. “Good luck, Mister Orange.”

“Mister Quick, when you do settle down and marry this pretty pegasus, try to contact me. I’d love to do a follow-up story with a happy ending. The world needs happy endings, if you ask me.”

Smiling, Copperquick felt Buttermilk lean up against him, her feathers tickling his foreleg. “I suppose you plan to make a go of it in Canterlot then?”

“I do.” The earnest yellow-orange earth pony seemed a bit downcast, but his stout smile remained. “Canterlot is a city in need of truth. Our nation’s heart holds many secrets and there are stories to be told. The distance between Manehattan and Canterlot sometimes feels like its a whole world away. I have some crazy ideas, like a national news agency… a bureau that enforces rules… standards… and makes certain that the truth is told. I hope to be more than a reporter… I want the whole world to remember me and know my name. I want truth to be my hallmark and integrity to be my calling card.”

A griffon landed, waiting with impeccable politeness, and Copperquick knew it was time to say goodbye. Waving, he said, “See you in Canterlot, Mister Orange. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you know where I can be found.”

Extending her wing, Buttermilk waved and gave Seville Orange a brave smile.

In response, Seville waved in return, then, turning about, he departed, and trotted over to where the griffon stood, waiting to carry him up to the factory freighter. The griffon took wing and with great care, Seville Orange was lifted, along with his bags. Copperquick watched as the griffon rose, his broad wings pumping, and in no time at all, Seville vanished through the side doors of the massive airship.

Copperquick hoped that Seville Orange would find what he was looking for.

Author's Note

So... how many days in are we? :trollestia:

Chapter 31

Copperquick was watching. Copperquick was watching and Buttermilk revelled in having captured his attention with such a mundane task. Never believing herself to be a looker or a pony of great beauty, Buttermilk was almost intoxicated with the very notion that Copperquick was watching and she allowed herself to explore every new sensation for being an object of adoration.

Churning butter had always been what she was best at, it was her special gift. But now, knowing that Copperquick was watching, churning butter had taken on a whole new thrill. Copperquick was watching her do what she was best at and he found her attractive while she was doing it. Did cutie marks have a special magic that reacted when one did what one does and said action helped to attract a mate? It sure felt that way. Buttermilk was a sexy milkmaid and Copperquick, who was watching, couldn’t keep his eyes off of her while she performed the task that was arguably her destiny.

It was a philosophically sexy moment, the first of its kind for Buttermilk, who savoured it.

While Copperquick was watching, it was easy to entertain such silly thoughts, thoughts such as quitting as a social worker and establishing a dairy farm. Just so Copperquick could watch. Of course, this was a foolish idea, but Buttermilk could see the appeal in it, and something in the back of her mind suggested that she would be a happy mare indeed if she did just that. To entice her, it cranked up the rickety old projector and loaded in a fine fantasy film.

After a taxing, sweaty morning of churning butter, when her back was a little achy, when she was feeling that tired, lazy feeling that happens as noon approaches, when she was sweaty and disheveled, Copperquick would take her… and she would be his butterchurn. Yes, she would be his butterchurn and he would drop the plunger in. Up and down, in and out, with slow, steady, rhythmic motions, Copperquick would churn her butter. After pouring in the heavy cream, following a great many churnings, Buttermilk would have a Butter foal… something delightful and buttery, a brother or sister for Esmeralda.

While working the shaft of the plunger, Buttermilk had a delightful case of the shudders.

She had folded clouds into this batch of butter, making it extra special. It would be light, fluffy, soft, and have just a hint of current on the teeth, giving it an exceptional mouthfeel. When she was younger, her cloud-butter won a surplus of blue ribbons at the fairs and dairy shows. It was something that only a pegasus could create, and very few pegasus ponies had butterchurns for cutie marks, so most pegasus ponies would never bother. With each stroke of the plunger, a faint whiff of ozone whooshed out of the churn and tickled her nose, which in turn only heightened her growing arousal.

Spring fever was a thing.

While the scent of ozone and cream was a fine thing indeed, the sound was also something to be enjoyed. Buttermilk listened to the squishy squelches, the sucking slurps, and the moist mucking as the plunger was plunged into the very depths of the churn. She alternated between slow and steady, then fast and hard, and then slow and steady again, gaining an appreciation for the sound and how it affected her rising excitement.

This afternoon for certain, Buttermilk planned to act upon her fantasies.

“Numwah?” Blinking, Esmeralda looked up at her father with big, soulful eyes and it appeared as though she was thinking deep, meaningful thoughts. “Bwahuwha?” she bwahuwhaed whilst blowing a spit bubble.

Esmeralda was having a perfect moment. She was awake, she was aware, and she was—for the moment—in an ideal, perfect state of being. Hunger did not gnaw at her, sleep did not call for her, there was no pressing need to potty, and so she was in a perfect state to make keen observations of the world around her.

She sat on her blanket, which was spread over the floor of the back porch, and watched with great interest the whole of the world around her. A ship went steaming past and she turned her head to keep her bright eyes focused upon the object that now held her interest, her father all but forgotten. With each sound, each little noise, her ears pricked, rotated, and reacted.

Copperquick realised that his daughter was developing. Right now. This minute. Right before his very eyes. As he watched, no less. With all of her needs met, she was free to have a moment of development. And his luck was such that he could watch and share in this treasured, perfect moment.

“Boat, Esme.” Reaching out, Copperquick pointed at the passing vessel.

“Boab?” The filly did her best to look confused.

“Boat.”

“Boad?”

“Boat.” Copperquick made a very deliberate over-pronunciation.

It was then he saw it in his daughter’s eyes: frustration. Nostrils flaring, she sucked in a deep breath, puffed out her barrel, and her lower lip protruded. Ears quivering, she looked up while he looked down and for a moment, there was a very real possibility that his daughter was about to throw a tantrum. Tiny wrinkles appeared upon her brow and sitting upon her haunches, she began to wave her forelegs around.

“Boat!”

“Yes, Esme! Boat!”

Just like that, the tantrum vanished and Esmeralda began burbling to celebrate her great accomplishment. The wrinkles on her forehead vanished and reappeared in the corners of her eyes, where her broad smile was shoving her chubby cheeks. Copperquick too, did his best to smile, a broad over-exaggerated grin that no doubt made him look silly, but he did it anyway because the doctor said it was good to do.

Distracted, Copperquick cast his eyes in Buttermilk’s direction, felt a moment of anxiousness, and then returned his attention to his daughter. “It’s tough, Esme. I used to be a cad. Wasn’t the best sort of pony. Then you came along and I had to do better. You’ve put me in a rough spot, Esme. Between you and Buttermilk, I’ve had a crash course in being a better pony. There is a lot of pressure to do right.”

“Butter,” Esmeralda said in a most matter-of-fact way, as if she was announcing the time.

“Yes, Buttermilk. Your mother is churning butter and it is driving me crazy.” Copperquick allowed himself to look in Buttermilk’s direction once more. “Your mother said some stuff to me last night that messed with my head. I’m not the smartest pony, Esme. You’ll figure that out soon enough and that worries me. I’m scared, Esme… I can see how Buttermilk’s parents tried to do right, and I do think they’re good parents, but mistakes were made. What if I make mistakes with you? What do I do? How do I fix them?”

“Butter,” Esmeralda replied while she smiled.

“Poor Buttermilk has messed up crazy thoughts in her head because of things her parents said and did.” Copperquick sighed, shook his head, and let out a snort. “I don’t want to do that to you, but I probably will. I’m sorry, Esme.”

“Butter?” Esmeralda burbled for a moment, thoughtful, blew a spit bubble, and with her eyes bright and cheery added, “Butter!”

With yet another sigh, Copperquick reached out one foreleg, hooked it around his daughter, and scooped her up. Bouncing her a bit, he allowed her to settle into the crook of his foreleg and to come to rest against his barrel. As she almost always did, she kicked and wiggled for a bit, then settled against him, content to be held.

“It’s not fair, Esme,” Copperquick whispered, keeping his voice as low as possible. “I’m supposed to be living my salad years. Sowing my wild oats. I’m supposed to be taking everything that life has to offer. Funny, I don’t know what happened. Crossed the ocean, came here, found a new land, a new way of life, and a new way of living. Sure, I enjoyed myself, but then I went and got stodgy. Got myself a job. An apartment. Applied myself at college. Went and made myself responsible. Oh sure, I occasionally went out and had a nice night out, and I chased a little tail, but I was too busy trying to build a future for myself. After I went and got stodgy, you came along.”

Feeling a little ashamed, Copperquick stared down at the grass. “You showed up and I don’t even have the option to go out and kick up my heels. Oh, I could do that, but it would feel wrong now. I suppose I could have surrendered you to Crown care, but I’d be a right git for doing that. Esme, I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I feel anxious settling down even though everything feels so perfect most of the time. A part of me wants to run away and go home… or just go elsewhere and not have to face all of this. Why me? It really isn’t fair. Why’d I have to go and make this my fight?”

“Boat! Butter boat!”

Now, when Copperquick looked in Buttermilk’s direction, he saw something else entirely. A life that he had some responsibility for. Somepony that he had some obligation to respect. She was more than a hot librarian type or a sexy pegasus with fascinating wings; Buttermilk was a mare with her own hopes and dreams. She had feelings, thoughts, and fears, all of which he had to be mindful of.

Yes, she had all of the fears that her mother had given her, Copperquick could barely understand them all, and she was afraid of him. Buttermilk was a fragile little hummingbird of a pegasus. Consummating their relationship—whatever their relationship was now—was going to require a lot of trust and patience. She was already asking the tough questions that he had never really given much thought to before. Where before, other mares had been conquests, flings, Buttermilk was somepony he wanted to spend his life with, so that meant not doing caddish things like having a go at her while she cried into a pillow, not that he had ever done that sort of thing.

As awful as it might be, Copperquick could see how that would be easy to do when one so easily discarded their conquests. He thought back to the night when Esmeralda had been made, and after a moment, felt a keen sense of regret. His daughter had been created during a meaningless encounter. Copperquick had taken what he felt he was owed after an expensive night of dining and drinking. That is what it was; an exchange. Esmeralda was the result of an exchange.

A deep and abiding sense of shame overcame him and he gave his daughter a squeeze.

Was this the pain of growing up? He was grown, sure, he was an adult in every way that mattered, but he was certain that he lacked mental maturity. How silly his goals and ambitions were in the face of all of this. To just muddle through life, being average, to be a well respected pony, to be conservative and cautious. Where had that brought him? What did his cutie mark mean? Why was he who he was?

There was a direction to be had now, though; to be a good father and a good mate, because in his mind those two things, being so entwined with one another, were one in the same. He couldn’t even imagine being one without also being the other. Everything else would come second. Overcome with some weird manic need, he rose from where he was sitting, and once standing, marched on three legs over to where Buttermilk churned butter, still clutching his giggling daughter.

Reaching Buttermilk, he put Esmeralda down upon the porch, snatched the startled milkmaid, pulled her close, and then kissed her with all of the savage, passionate ferocity he could muster. Buttermilk freaked out, and, with her wings flapping, she tried to get away, but couldn’t. After a moment her struggles slowed, then ceased altogether. Then, she returned the kiss with the same vim and vigour while her stiffening wings sprung out from her sides.

As the kiss intensified, one of Buttermilk’s hind hooves clopped hard against the boards of the porch and the eager little mare tried to push her way closer to Copperquick, and both were mindful of the foal down near their front hooves. Her glasses fogged over, went askew, and her tail flagged high.

Copperquick only broke the kiss because he desperately needed air.

While he stood gasping, panting, he heard Buttermilk say, “I’m taking you upstairs later. Maybe sooner.” She too, was every bit as breathless as he was, and she heaved out each word with breathless excitement.

It was too much to think about, and Copperquick responded in the only way he knew how; he kissed her, again, a reckless, oxygen-starved lip-lock that overpowered his senses and left him reeling. He was ready for her now, at this very moment, and he attempted to express the urgency of his need through the feverish, fuzzy-lipped, friction-filled sweaty kiss.

Down on the porch, Esmeralda giggled and clapped her front hooves together.

Author's Note

I am suffering more than usual at the moment and it is impairing my writing just a bit. Dealing with doctors is frustrating and not much is being accomplished.

Chapter 32

Anxiety and anticipation made for a dreadful combination that left Copperquick with the jitters and his head felt light. Buttermilk had plans, he had desires, and the two of these things were set to collide. It wasn’t like other times, other encounters; no, this had so much more riding on it. This felt more like signing an agreement, committing to a deal, something about this seemed an awful lot like binding. After this, nothing would ever be the same.

Arousal and terror made for strange bedfellows.

Making everything worse was the weirdness with Butter Fudge; this was her house, her home, this was being done with her knowledge, and Buttermilk’s mother was still willing to foalsit even after the blowout, which only made things feel even weirder, driving it into the territory of being rather unpleasant. There was tension there—real tension—and it was made worse by the fact that Buttermilk and Butter Fudge seemed to be pretending that everything was wonderful.

Esmeralda sat with her face in the breeze, her eyes half-closed, and her ears limp. She looked wise somehow, in that strange way that foals sometimes had. It was pretty obvious that she needed a nap, but the little filly steadfastly refused to give in and she watched the world around her, her little head turning now and then to focus upon something interesting. It was almost as if she had woken up this morning smarter, or with a better-developed brain.

Something about the way his daughter sat watching the world around her reminded Copperquick of her mother, Cielo del Este. A pegasus, she too sat still for extended periods, just watching everything around her. It made her appear mysterious and deep, and was one of the things that Copperquick found attractive about her. Too bad that Cielo had the depth of a teaspoon—but he had high hopes for his daughter. Surely his daughter would turn out better if he worked hard and did all of the right things.

Sitting behind Esmeralda, Buttermilk wrapped her wings around the foal and covered her eyes. Copperquick heard a befuddled whimper of distress—a heart-wrenching sound if ever there was one—and he leaned in closer for the big reveal. Buttermilk was giving him a look and somehow the use of her wings in family-friendly fun left him excited in weird ways.

“Where did Esme go?” Copperquick said with exaggerated enunciation of his words. “I cannot seem to find my Esme. Where did she go?”

“Here she is!” Buttermilk cried as she pulled her wings away.

More than anything, Esmeralda seemed relieved and after a few blinks, she glared up at her father, upset that he had disappeared. Peekaboo was a confusing, sometimes frustrating experience for Esmeralda, a game that she sometimes played and had fun with, but other times had a meltdown over. Today, more than anything, she just seemed annoyed by the vanishing and the sudden reappearance of her father.

With a secretive smirk, Buttermilk moved her wings and obscured Esmeralda’s view once more. The tiny filly let out an exasperated sigh and there was something indeed amusing about his daughter’s frustration. Did this make him a bad parent, Copperquick wondered. Just beyond Buttermilk’s feathers, the little earth pony filly made adorable sounds of distress.

“Nyah!” she whined, expressing her displeasure about this confusing set of circumstances that had befallen her.

“Esme’s gone.” Copperquick glanced around, and then looked Buttermilk right in the eye. “Have you seen Esme? Little? Short? Goes by Esmeralda?”

And with that, Buttermilk once more pulled away her wings. “Here she is!”

Pressing his front hooves against his cheeks, Copperquick’s mouth made a large round ‘O’ of surprise while he looked down, and he saw his daughter looking up at him, somehow looking grumpier than ever. In a truly foalish expression of upset, the little filly blew a mighty raspberry and Copperquick knew it was time for the game to end. Esmeralda appeared to be at the end of her patience and was looking around with wide, expectant eyes.

Copperquick changed tactics; scooting himself closer on the kitchen floor, he gave Buttermilk’s space a thorough invading and almost smooshed Esmeralda between then. Buttermilk scooped the filly up before she could be sandwiched and Copperquick pulled the little pegasus closer to him. Esmeralda wiggled against Buttermilk’s chest and neck, while making happy burbles of excitement about this development.

This was, after all, Esmeralda’s favourite thing—getting affection and lots of it. During moments like these, the little filly was at her happiest, when he and Buttermilk were close. He looked down, Buttermilk looked up, and Esmeralda squirmed between them, no doubt wondering what might happen next.

“Kissy?” Esmeralda’s eyes were shimmering, expectant pools of excitement that darted back and forth between the two ponies holding her.

She wanted kissy? Well, kissy she would have. With his eyes, Copperquick tried to indicate his plan to Buttermilk, glancing down while puckering his lips. When he saw a nod, he went for it—he ducked his head down, puckered up even more, and pressed his lips against his daughter’s head, just below her ear, all while Buttermilk did the same. Esmeralda was smooched from both sides, which seemed to overload her senses. She shook, she trembled, her ears waggled, and she let out a joyful squeal.

When the kiss was over, the filly closed her eyes and settled against Buttermilk’s neck.

“I think she’s worn out,” Buttermilk said to Copperquick. “She also really enjoyed that, I think. Mrs. Velvet would be pleased to see her warming up to affection and having a good, healthy, positive response.”

Slipping one foreleg around the smaller pegasus maid, Copperquick had mischief on his mind when he pulled her closer to him. Balanced on his haunches, he pulled Buttermilk as close as equinely possible, until they both sat belly to belly on the floor. For a moment—for the briefest second—Buttermilk’s breathing ceased, and when she did breathe again, she shuddered while she shivered.

“I… really should take Esme to the potty before she gets too sleepy.” There was the faintest tremour to Buttermilk’s words and while she spoke she pressed herself up against Copperquick. “Our time is coming… just you and I… Copper… I’m really enjoying these moments leading up to it. I want today to be special and tomorrow, tomorrow you’re going to win that derby, because I can’t imagine that there is a faster pony than you.”

Leaning his head down, Copperquick only had one thing to say, but it was something that couldn’t be expressed with words…

Feeling timid, Buttermilk approached her Moomy, who was scrubbing and sanitising her workspace. This was the way of things, pretending that nothing was wrong, that nothing had happened, this is how things had always been, and no doubt always would be. Butter Fudge was scrubbing an open vat with hoof-held brush and the whole of her body shook with effort.

“Oi, plan to do the deed with Copper?”

Startled, Buttermilk didn’t expect this as an opener and she was taken off-guard by the bold question. Her mother was good at that—she had always been good at that—and now Buttermilk felt foalish. Butter Fudge was the wise, all-knowing mare, and Buttermilk was the naive foal that knew very little. Feelings like this made it quite difficult to approach her mother and she hesitated, uncertain if this was worth it.

“There’s a few things you should know before you seal the deal, Beezy.”

Buttermilk waited, knowing that her mother would go on, acknowledged or not. How truthful her mother would be remained to be seen, or relevant for that matter. For all Buttermilk knew, her Moomy might be preparing to dump a great deal more garbage and mental clutter into her brain box, all of which would need to be sorted out later. Or maybe this would be reverse psychology, subtle manipulations that she had a hard time resisting.

“There’s a few things that you need to know about earth ponies, Beezy.”

Oh, she thought to herself, this would be one of those sorts of talks. Buttermilk prepared herself, knowing that her mother would pepper the facts with outrageous stereotypes, outright falsehoods, and opinions posed as facts. For a moment, she thought about backing out, leaving her mother’s workshop, and avoiding this mess entirely. But, for whatever reason, her legs wouldn’t budge and she found herself rooted to the spot.

“Oi, first off… there’s no two ways about it. Earth ponies are sex fiends. Even if we’re trying to be polite and act like we have interests in doing other things… we want to shag. If we say that we’d love to cuddle, that really means we want to shag. We don’t want hugs and kisses, no, we want shagging. While supper and dancing is nice and all, all of that can be skipped and we’re fine with getting right down to the shagging. Even if we’re trying to be nice, and we tell you that we’re having a lovely time and that there is no rush to do anything… there is actually a big rush to do something, and that something is shagging.”

Hearing this, Buttermilk held her breath and wondered if this was even remotely true.

“Right now, at this very minute, while I am scrubbing crusted bits of whey out of this vat, I’m thinking about shagging. I’m thinking about your father’s face wedged into my old garden row. All of my thoughts are perverted and while I love your father very, very much, and as much as I like doing fun things with him, what I like the most is shagging… there’s going to be some angry shagging later when he and I sort things out, and that’s a good shag, let me tell you.”

A fat droplet of sweat rolled down the back of Buttermilk’s neck.

“On anniversaries, special occasions, and birthdays, I don’t need gifts, or special nights out, or any of that useless dreck. No, I need shagging. Everything else is rubbish, absolute rubbish. I’ll bloody guarantee you that Copper’ll be the same way. While doing something nice is pleasant and all, scratching that itch of his’ll be a whole lot nicer.”

Now, Buttermilk’s wingpits felt damp and she felt a rising panic welling up inside.

“There’s also the physicality of it all,” Butter Fudge continued while she scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, which made her whole body jiggle. “I’m a bit worried about that, so I am. I’ll be completely honest, Beezy, it scares me a bit. Might be a bit much for your first time—”

“Moomy… I…”

“Oi, listen to your Moomy… please.” Butter Fudge stopped scrubbing, kicked off the scrub brush from her hoof, then turned about to look Buttermilk in the eye. “Earth pony stallions aren’t like pegasus ponies or unicorn ponies. For one, they’re hung, and two, they’re made to breed. That’s what we do, Beezy. We don’t have magic horns or wings, our magic is tucked right between our legs.”

Face turning redder and redder, Buttermilk stood in silence, wishing that her mother hadn’t turned around, because it was hard to look her in the eye.

“Earth pony stallions take a lot to satisfy, Beezy. Oh, they can go gentle and slow, don’t get me wrong… and this is why they make good lovers and are desired as mates. If you set a slow pace and keep the excitement to a minimum, they can go for hours. The blessing is also a curse, Beezy. With minimum stimulation, they can’t climax, but they will get frustrated. For them to get off, they have to get vigourous and go hard and furious—”

“Are you trying to say that Copper is going to hurt me?” Buttermilk demanded.

“No, Beezy… and that’s just the problem,” Butter Fudge replied. “Copper is the gentle, passive sort. If you go at it slow and soft, he’s never going to get off. And rather than hurt you, he’ll back off unsatisfied, I think. He strikes me as that type. But if he’s going to get his rocks off, he’s going to have to get a little rough and go hard if he’s going to work out his frustrations.”

A cold prickle crawled down Buttermilk’s spine and she had the dreadful, awful terror of suspecting that her mother was right, that she was telling the truth.

“Working out the frustrations is the hardest part, Beezy. In general, blowjobs just don’t work—”

At the mention of the word ‘blowjob’ Buttermilk’s face ignited.

“—because they don’t provide the sort of heavy stimulation required. A mare’ll break her jaw and run out of wind before she finishes that job. Sometimes, a clever mare can use her fetlocks, but this takes a whole lot of endurance, just like churning butter does. A mare might go at it for hours and wear her legs out with no results. In general, the best thing that can be done is to grit your teeth, bear down, and let a stallion have a go at you, unfettered. Even then, it might take a while, depending on how pent up he is, and you’re no earth pony, Beezy, but a pegasus, and a little tiny one at that. This… this is why I worry.”

Overwhelmed, Buttermilk had no idea how to respond.

Blinking, she broke the connection between her and her mother and turned away in search of something—anything—that could be looked at, but nothing stood out as a distraction. Panic gripped her as she thought about her claustrophobic responses to Copperquick bearing down on her—the weight of him on her body—and this panic threatened to turn to outright terror.

“Last night, when I was all by myself and angry, it occured to me that Midgy turned out to be a damn fine husband and even better father—”

Some of Buttermilk’s terror fled and she asked, “What made you think that, Moomy?”

Butter Fudge, interrupted, stood there, and she seemed to be thinking. When her nostrils flared for a moment, it appeared as though she had something to say, but her words escaped as a hefty snort. She smiled for a moment, a warm, affectionate smile that made her ears rise, and a far-away look could be seen in her eyes.

“Copperquick is an awful lot like Midgy, Beezy. If you sat down and had yourself a good think about it, you’d see it plain as day. Gentle, soft-spoken, affectionate… a good sort. I guess… I guess that maybe I didn’t see it, which is an awful thing to say, and I feel bad for it. I was trying to piece together what you saw in Copper… trying to understand why you fell for him, and when I was by myself last night, I was able to sort it out. You fell in love with a stallion that is a lot like your Daddums—which meant that he did something right. He did right by you, Beezy, and the proof is with Copperquick.”

This felt like truth, which was exactly why Buttermilk was immediately suspicious of it.

Shuffling a bit on her hooves, Butter Fudge turned around, retrieved her brush, slid it over her hoof, and resumed scrubbing the dirty vat while Buttermilk stood in silence, not knowing how to take her mother’s words. She wished that she trusted her mother, and a part of her still did, she supposed, but everything her mother said would forever be cast in a shadow of doubt. This… this felt so reasonable that it was hard to believe that it wasn’t a clever ruse.

Nothing would—or could—ever be the same between them.

“Beezy…”

Buttermilk’s ears pricked when she heard the pain in her mother’s voice and suspicious or not, she was sensitive to her Moomy’s suffering.

“Beezy… my Beezy little bumblebee… your grandfather… my father… the one I never talk much about even though I’ll talk your ear off about your gran…” Butter Fudge’s words were slow, halting, and she seemed to be having great difficulty in saying them. “He was a cheater. It’s part of why I left home, though ‘twasn’t the only reason… but I couldn’t face what he did.”

“Moomy?”

The scrubbing stopped and all of Butter Fudge drooped. “Mum was tired all the time. There were a lot of us and only one of her. Dad was on her back every chance he got, didn’t matter if she was tired, or worn out, or sore, or had just given birth… he was on her, he was in her, and as I grew older, I realised just how rough he was on her. I’d get upset and cry about it, and my Mum… she gave me the talk… she gave all of us fillies the talk, about how important it was to grin and bear it. Dad was a big stout earth pony, and he had needs. He had a powerful drive.”

Now, Buttermilk was chewing on her lip.

“One day, Mum snapped. He had jumped her, as he was wont to do, and she let out this… awful wail. The whole house just echoed with it. She bucked him off, she kicked him, she bit him, and they fought something awful. After that fight, the house went quiet and stayed quiet. Dad spent more and more time at the pub, drinking with money we didn’t have to spend. And the house stayed quiet. No more did we hear the sounds of Dad huffing and puffing and grunting away. And that silence was awful, let me tell you.”

It was with awful dread that Buttermilk realised that her Moomy was pouring her heart out.

“I had a best friend,” Butter Fudge continued. “She was a summer older than me. We’d been best mates since the day we met. She was a baker and I was a milkmaid. It was one of those friendships that would have lasted into adulthood no doubt… we might’ve even gone into business together.”

Without realising she was doing so, Buttermilk backed away from her mother.

“One day, Dad jumped her, and it was awful. Constables got involved. There was a trial. It wasn’t so much the fact that he jumped her, because that kind of thing happened all the time and nopony cared, but it was the ferocity of the assault and the resulting injuries that caused the upset. My Dad said she was flirting with him, leading him on in the way that young maids do, and he explained to the court what was happening at home.”

When Buttermilk backed into a table, she let out a stifled, startled yelp.

“In the end, the court decided that my friend Daisy Belle had brought this on herself, but my Mum was also blamed. If she had been doing her spousal duties, Dad might not have been so pent up and frustrated. The whole damn town turned against my Mum. Shamed her. Shut her out. When Daisy Belle started getting fat, the magistrate signed an order saying that my Dad had to marry her and do the right thing. Everypony saw this as a good thing, and my Dad, the victim in all of this, he would get a young wife that could look after his needs, and Daisy Belle learned a lesson that she shouldn’t be flirty.”

“Moomy, I—”

Butter Fudge ploughed on, oblivious. “Daisy was just like the rest of us… taught to respect her elders, be polite, and do as she was told. She never flirted with my Dad… I don’t believe a word of that. I knew her, Beezy. She was quiet… submissive. We all were. We didn’t dare raise our heads or say no about anything. I couldn’t bear to watch all of this go down, so I left home the first chance I got.”

Tail and ears drooping, Butter Fudge resumed scrubbing and the brush bristles made a soft rustle against the steel sides of the vat. In shock, Buttermilk stared at her mother’s bobbing backside, stunned by her new awareness. So many things now made an awful amount of sense. One by one, the pieces fell into place—even ones with Ripple Rusher—and Buttermilk had a perfect, terrible understanding of her Moomy’s motivations. Even the talk about earth ponies now made sense in a most terrible sort of way.

“Oi, Copper’ll be a good mate for you, Beezy. I believe that. I want to believe that he’ll stay loyal and true, without a wandering eye, but I have a real hard time with that. I want to believe it though. You be grateful for him, Beezy… you be grateful and thankful that he’s not a total shitestain on the plot furrow of equinity. Do whatever you think it takes to keep him, because he’s worth it. I’ve got a good sense about him, same as I do about Midgy. I’ll be done here in a bit, and I’ll be glad to look after Esmeralda. Do me a favour, Beezy?”

“Sure, Moomy, anything.”

“I need a little time alone, if that’s alright.”

She wanted to stay, but Buttermilk respected her mother’s wishes. “Okay, Moomy.”

“Thanks, Beezy. I’ll keep Esmeralda busy so you and Copper will have the time you need.”

“Right, Moomy.” Flicking her tail, Buttermilk turned to go.

Author's Note

Yesterday, my mental state was such that not a lot of good writing got done. Sorry.

Chapter 33

“Oi, you look sleepy, tyke. Did ya not get enough nap? No, don’t you get grumpy. You’re not quite the grandfoal I expected, but I’m glad to have ya all the same. Oi, no… none of that.” Butter Fudge gave the filly a gentle squeeze before she could work up a good squall, and much to her relief, it was enough to distract, for a moment.

“I have something special for you, so I do. Some rice pudding. It’ll be good and runny, and for you, it’ll be a treat, I think. I bet you’re hungry. Just be patient, it’ll be done in no time at all.”

Esmeralda blinked once, looked around the kitchen, and then asked, “Dada?”

In response, Butter Fudge smiled, a wide, broad grin that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. “Your Dada and your Mama are upstairs. I’m a bit miffed about all that, I am. It’s all out of order. Oh, I’m happy they're together, but I’m sore about what’s keeping them apart. All these circumstances and the like. They should be married before doing what they’re doing, but your Dada… he’s a good and proper sort. I’m trusting that he’ll do right by my little Beezy.”

“Beezy?”

Hearing Esmeralda say this caused Butter Fudge’s face to make an exaggerated look of surprise. Her eyes widened, her ears stood up, and after they pricked, she made them waggle, which made the little filly almost smile. “Oi, that’s right. Beezy. Beezy is your Mama, and I am Beezy’s Mama, so that makes me your Mama’s Mama. Sure, the marriage hasn’t happened yet, but I’m sure it will… I hope. I really hope… otherwise, I’m going to hate myself for letting this happen with my blessing. Esmeralda, I’m not a trustful sort, so I’m not. It gives me fits that this is happening. Little Beezy… I think I’ve made a few mistakes, and, well, now I’m relaxing my better judgment to try and make up for it. It’s hard, Esmeralda. So hard.”

“Beezy?” Looking hopeful, the earth pony filly turned a pleading stare upon poor Butter Fudge, perhaps hoping that the kind mare might make Beezy appear.

On the stove, the lid on the simmering pot clattered, and from up above, a steady, rhythmic thumping could be heard. Butter Fudge glanced upwards for a moment, and then she shifted her bulk because sitting this way was causing her hip to cramp up. Though she hated to admit it, she was getting older, though not yet old. But a lifetime of hard labour was catching up to her. Sometimes, her back ached, or her hips, but not enough to slow her down.

“They’ve been up there for over an hour, and that thump-thump-thumping has been going on for at least forty minutes or so. Now, Esmeralda, I’m not one to judge or to stick my nose where it don’t belong, but I have to tell ya, that’s impressive. No doubt, you’ll be hearing a lot of that as you’re growing up. Curds and whey, I hope Beezy is okay. She’s such a little thing.”

“Florp!” Pointing at her mouth with one hoof, Esmeralda made the saddest eyes she could and then repeated herself, “Florp!”

“Hang on, I’ll have to put you down so I can check on the rice pudding. Don’t you dare start crying. I can’t do two things at once, and if you cry, I’ll have to quiet you, and that means waiting longer for food.”

Her patience having reached its end, Esmeralda had but one demand: “Florp!”

Fearful, Butter Fudge put Esmeralda down upon the floor and waited for a moment to see what would happen. Esmeralda. Such a funny burro name; upon first learning the foal’s name, Butter Fudge had a lot she wanted to say, but she had held her tongue. Now, for some odd reason, she couldn’t imagine calling the filly anything else. The name was perfect, and suited her.

“Florp?’ Again, Esmeralda pointed at her mouth with her hoof, and then moving her hoof down, she patted her tummy. “Ow.”

“Hang on to your nappy, tyke. Oof! I really need to cut back on the cheese curds and gravy over fried potatoes.”

Standing up took a bit more effort than she would have liked, and Butter Fudge was a mare all too aware of the jiggle in her backside. Mighty Midge insisted that he liked her jiggles, but she was mistrustful and uncertain. As was often the case, stallions said one thing while doing another—typically doing that young mare that was half his age and whose backside had not grown flabby with age.

The trip to the stove was a short one and so far, so good. No crying had happened just yet, but there were a wide variety of fussy noises; sniffles, snorts, whimpers, and whines. When the lid was removed, a delicious scent wafted out, filling the kitchen with the heady aroma of vanilla. It was still pretty runny, which was perfect. Now it just needed to cool, which was a problem. She was going to have to get creative, otherwise, Esmeralda’s patience was sure to run out, and that would be a disaster. Before she forgot, Butter Fudge turned off the stove.

“Oi, there’ll be a need to do laundry later. Mind you, I’ll not be doing it. Beezy’s a big girl, and she can do her own laundry. Curds and whey, what’ll the neighbors be thinking if I hang the sheets out to dry? It’s not my washday… bugger. They’ll be talk… everypony will know something’s amiss.”

“Curds?” Esmeralda did her best to look both hopeful and sad.

Humming to herself, Butter Fudge stirred the pot with a large wooden spoon, and somewhere about mid-stir she decided that she didn’t mind the thumping from upstairs too much. Maybe this would only lead to good things. It didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would, and really, this would be the way of things if Buttermilk returned home to raise a family here in this well-established homestead.

Honestly, Butter Fudge wouldn’t mind that at all.

A stick of butter was tossed into the rice pudding, and Butter Fudge began stirring, hoping it would cool off a bit. Esmeralda fussed, but didn’t cry. No, she pantomimed her own imminent demise, squirming while gesturing at her mouth and stomach. If her sad eyes were to be believed, she was dying, and would expire from starvation any second now.

“Curds and bugger!”

This caused Butter Fudge to drop her spoon. “Oi! That’s enough out of ya! Oi, what a little rascal! Where'd ya learn such language! I know yer hungry, ya wee little scrap, but language! What do yer Dada and Mama say around ya?”

“Florp!” Sitting on her fresh-diapered backside, Esmeralda waved her forelegs around in protest.

“It has to cool, tidbit!” Recovering her spoon, Butter Fudge continued to stir the pot while keeping one watchful eye on Esmeralda.

“Whumumulumum!” Sticking out her tongue, Esmeralda blew an angry raspberry and continued to wave her forelegs around. She bounced once on her bottom, almost lost her balance, and let out a whoop when she just about fell over. Red-faced, she let out a whinny of frustration; afterwards, she just sat there, looking cross and sullen.

Something about all of this struck Butter Fudge as being supremely funny; every single one of her expectations about her daughter had been subverted, and by extension, her granddaughter as well. Yet, here she was, in her kitchen with a foal that most certainly wasn’t Buttermilk’s, and Butter Fudge’s ever-increasing fondness for the little filly couldn’t be denied, nor could the fact that her daughter called this foal her own.

It occured to Butter Fudge that she was set in her own ways, and there was a chance that the way she viewed the world wouldn’t survive this. Her daughter was upstairs, in the guest room, unmarried, with an earth pony, the tribe that Butter Fudge trusted the least, even though she was one. Even worse, Butter Fudge had allowed this, she had allowed this to happen in her house—she had given her daughter over into a nightmare scenario from which there might be great harm—the worst sort of harm, because who knew; Copperquick, for all of his seeming goodness, was still an earth pony.

And everypony knew what was said about earth ponies.

All of this caused a dreadful sort of anxiety to build up in poor Butter Fudge. What had she done? What was she doing? What had she been thinking? How could all of this happen? Shaken, she stood near the stove, her muscles tense, dancing, and there was an awful heaviness in her heart that disturbed her a great deal.

“Oi, Esmeralda… you know what… I don’t think anybody says to themselves, ‘I’m going to grow up and be a bigot.’ Or maybe some do, but not me. I didn’t plan it.” She sighed, a long, drawn out groan that almost became a wicker. “I’m fierce irritated at Buttermilk over everything… everything. She turned out so perfect and good. I can’t prove her wrong, Esmeralda. Oi, parts of me want her to be wrong… and I think it’s because I don’t want to be wrong myself. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Bugger!”

“Yeah, that about sums it up, tyke.” Too disheartened to chastise her granddaughter, Butter Fudge nodded.

A single terrifying, intense scream rent the peacefulness of the moment and every single hair along Butter Fudge’s spine stood up on end. Tilting her head, she looked upwards, at the ceiling, and before she could respond, there was another shriek, this one even louder than the first. Butter Fudge found herself in the most horrible of places, and her first instinct, her first response, was to go upstairs and rip Copperquick a new one. She remained frozen in place though, unable to move, with a seldom-heard voice in the back of her mind saying that Copperquick, earth pony or not, would never intentionally hurt the pony he loved.

Even now, after the screams, Butter Fudge could not deny that her daughter was loved. Something dreadful must have happened, an accident. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, stuff happened, even to the best of lovers. Why, even Mighty Midge sometimes banged upon the back door, unannounced, and he was always so apologetic afterwards. Though her heart was pounding upon the back of her tongue right now, almost choking her, she refused to believe that Copperquick would harm Buttermilk on purpose.

From upstairs, there was a third and final yell…

Buttermilk was absolutely soaked—drenched even—disheveled, and smelly. Butter Fudge still had to stop herself from pulling her daughter into a cuddle, because that would be weird. Butter Fudge’s little pegasus filly—she was a mare now, now more than ever—wore a spooked expression and panted with every breath. She stood in the kitchen doorway, her tail tucked tight between her hind legs, and whatever maturity she had gained while away from home now seemed departed.

“Beezy, what happened?” Behind Butter Fudge, Esmeralda began to fuss, because she still hadn’t been fed. “You look a frightful mess, Beezy… what happened? Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“Moomy!” Buttermilk somehow choked out the word and then squeezed her eyes shut. Sweat—mingling with tears—ran down her face, dripped from her fuzzy cheeks, and left dark splotches on the floor around her front hooves.

“Beezy, are you hurt?” Butter Fudge waited for a response, something to ease her growing state of terror.

“Moomy!” Buttermilk blurted out, her eyes still squeezed shut, the whole of her body inflexible and rigid. “The condom broke! It burst! It couldn’t hold everything!”

There was just no good way to respond to this and Butter Fudge’s mind went blank. Her ears rose and fell, her mouth opened and closed, and her eyes blinked in some odd, almost mechanical way while she tried to process what her daughter had just said. A jumble of words that outnumbered the stars blinked into existence within her mind, too many words to conceive, too many words to say, too many words for any sort of rational response.

“What do I do?” Buttermilk sounded like a filly once more, quiet and meek. “There is so much of it inside of me. A flood.”

“Go back upstairs, Beezy—”

“Moomy, what? Help me!” Buttermilk’s eyes opened in shock.

“Beezy… go back upstairs. You’re being selfish right—”

“What?” Hurt, confused, a look of betrayal in her eyes, Buttermilk squirmed in place.

“Beezy”—this was, perhaps, the hardest moment that Butter Fudge had ever experienced as a mother, and she longed to comfort her daughter—“poor Copper is probably dying of fright right now and you’ve just left him. If you think you’re scared, try to imagine what Copper is feeling. Go upstairs, Beezy. It’s time you left foalish things behind. Go be a mare, Beezy.”

“You’re right…”—Buttermilk’s ears collapsed and her head dropped low—“poor Copper.”

When Buttermilk turned around to go, Butter Fudge was certain that her heart would burst. Esmeralda’s fussiness could no longer be contained and the little filly, perhaps having seen her mother in such a frightful state, began to squall. Butter Fudge still wanted to rush to her daughter to comfort her, to reassure her, to somehow make all of this okay, but Buttermilk had grown up—little Beezy had flown away. But there was still another foal to comfort, and that was the only thing that made this whole awful situation bearable.

“Oi, Esmeralda, Grandmare’s coming, don’t you fret.” For just a second longer, Butter Fudge lingered, and watched as her daughter vanished beyond the kitchen doorway. The sound of hooves on the stairs could be heard, a sound that held such solemn finality. “Poor tyke,” she muttered to herself, “I’d say you’re about to have a brother or a sister. Oh sod everything… poor Beezy must be damn near pissing herself about her future. I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t want this to happen.”

Shuffling through her kitchen, her hooves too heavy to lift, Butter Fudge went to tend to Esmeralda’s needs.

Author's Note

A chapter entirely from Butter Fudge's point of view.

Chapter 35

Rainbow fireflies flitted in the advancing dusk, blinking all colours of the spectrum. The chorus of night was just getting started, warming up really, and sleepy bats were just waking up for the nightly feast. It was the perfect sort of night, the sort of night that could only exist on some delta or bayou. The salty tang from the ocean tickled the nose and with every other sight and sound, the senses were left dazzled.

For Buttermilk, it was a night made all the more perfect by sharing it with somepony. She and Copperquick sat on the porch together, enjoying one another’s company, that soul-satisfying feeling of just being close. Little Esmeralda explored the grass while Mighty Midge remained close to her side. This filled Buttermilk with joy, because Esmeralda was getting to know her grandfather—at least, this was how Buttermilk saw what was happening. It was a perfect night, filled with perfect dreams, and all hopes for the future seemed possible.

The fuzzy-headed intoxication of love made everything better.

“Copper”—she kept her voice low, above a whisper but below her normal volume—“Moomy said some stuff about earth ponies, and rather than live in fear of it or wondering if it was true, I thought I’d just ask some questions and know the truth for myself.”

“She got inside your head, did she?” he responded, his soft tone matching hers.

“That’s what worries me, Copper. There’s probably a grain of truth to some of what she said, at least enough truth to build a really believable lie, or to give credence to her distortion of the truth. I refuse to live in fear and doubt though, so I want to sort these out. If there is some truth to it, and there probably is, then I hope to find it.”

“Seems reasonable, Miss Oddbody.”

“You’re being flirty… I like that. Calling me, ‘Miss Oddbody.’ You’re a funny pony.” Reaching up with her left foreleg, she touched Copperquick on the neck, just so she could feel his life-force with her frog. “Some of my questions might be shocking, Copper, so let’s try to maintain a scholarly bent during our exchange. And I need you to be honest. I can’t stress that enough. Don’t hold back for fear of being embarrassed or for the sake of being polite. I’m a big filly now, I’ve been bred and everything, so you don’t need to worry about causing irreparable harm to my delicate, virgin ears.”

“You really are serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I need a serum to get my mother’s poisonous words out of my head.”

At that moment, Buttermilk realised just how serious the problem was with her mother. It had occurred to her before, but never with the clarity she had right now. Butter Fudge was a product of her upbringing, the sum of her collected experiences. Thoughtful, reflective, Buttermilk wondered if there was some way she might help her mother, but other than getting her mother to question her long-held beliefs, not much came to mind.

Something about the way Copper smelled right now intrigued her senses. There was the invigourating scent of soap; beneath that, there was something else, something that could not be described—she could not say what it was—only that it left her feeling giddy and excited. Could trust have a scent? It was a curious question that lingered in the undercurrents of her thoughts. She had trusted him, she had laid on the bed, legs wide, with everything she kept concealed now left exposed and vulnerable to him; in doing so, she had claimed a most extraordinary reward. Since then, there was something about how Copperquick smelled to her and it had a curious reaction with her perceptions.

She longed to bury her face into his pelt and breathe deep, but maintained her composure, because she was focused and had purpose. Later though… later tonight, she would rub every inch of her body against every inch of his and breathe in his essence until she found whatever satisfaction was there to be had. The very thought of doing so was titillating—and distracting.

“Copper, how much do you think about… you know. Are you thinking about it right now?”

He turned his head and his ears, splayed out in relaxed position, stood up. “Just what did your mother say to you?”

“Nevermind what my mother said, let’s keep this scholarly and preserve the outcome. I don’t want what my mother said influencing your answer. Just be candid and let’s try to sort out the truth amongst ourselves, shall we?” As she asked her question, she heard him sigh, a resigned sound. She applied light pressure with her hoof and felt a chilly-hot thrill when his light, corded muscles rippled beneath her touch. “Now, out with it. Are you a pervert that has constant thoughts of copulation?”

“That is suggestive language, Miss Oddbody and I feel that—”

“Give me an answer, Copper.”

Again, he sighed, and then responded in a low whisper, “The thoughts of sex are pretty much never-ending. They’re just there. It’s part of being an earth pony. It’s like an itch in the back of the mind. Yes, even now, especially now, I am thinking of all the things I’d like to do with you. And to you. And how you might respond. And what you might do to me in return.”

“But… we just did… it. Not all that long ago.”

Copperquick’s silence spoke volumes and after what felt like several minutes, Buttermilk realised that she wasn’t going to get a response. It occurred to her that they had different needs, different expectations; she was sore and sated, while he was ready and willing to go again, no doubt at a moment’s notice. So there was an element of truth in what her mother had said. She had so hoped that her mother was wrong, that she was lying, that her words were baseless, so all of this was rather crushing.

Buttermilk chose a different approach. “Copper, tell me, what’s it like being an earth pony? Help me understand you. I don’t want our future spoiled with thoughts of fear, doubt, and uncertainty. My mother, she put a lot of gobbledygook into my head, and it’s stuck there. It’s not coming out or going away until I find something to replace it with.”

“The itch starts young,” he said, his words only barely audible. “My father said it’s a type of magic… our magic. Pegasus ponies fly, unicorns cast spells, and earth ponies, we make more ponies. My dad gave me the talk… I don’t recall how old I was. Almost ten?”

There was a long sigh followed by a deep breath.

“He told me that pegasus ponies have to learn how to fly and that unicorns have to learn how to focus magic. Pegasus ponies have to learn all the rules of the sky and unicorns have to learn what they should and shouldn’t do with their magic. He called it being responsible. Then he told me that earth ponies have to do much the same. We have to learn to control our magic and use it responsibly. Unicorns can go bad with their magic, hurting others, and so can earth ponies.”

Feeling him shudder, Buttermilk leaned in a little closer to Copperquick and listened.

“I’ve tried to be good. I’ll admit, I went a little wild for awhile when I first came to Equestria. But nothing that wasn’t consensual. Just… reckless I guess. Sowing my oats. I was aggressive in my pursuance, but understood that no meant no. I did make mistakes though, and I’ve told you about that. You slapped me. But I can behave myself… I’ve slept next to you in bed and didn’t jump your bones unawares, or wake you up with surprise sex. I’ve been tempted though… you’re a warm body and I have strong needs. The itch gets pretty bad sometimes, but like a unicorn controls his magic, or a pegasus pony controls the wind, I keep my magic controlled.”

A heaviness settled over Buttermilk, an actual physical sensation, and she was keenly aware of the fact that she had slept with Copperquick. She had trusted him, she had trusted that she could sleep unmolested, and while it was unsettling to hear him admit to being tempted, it was reassuring to know that he knew how to behave himself. Therein lay the difference, perhaps; somepony had a talk with Copper and instruction had been given. A sense of responsibility had been instilled. Perhaps her mother’s father had never received such a talk, or a sense of control hadn’t been established. But Copperquick, while driven by powerful magical compulsions, was no mindless sex fiend.

Control or no, it didn’t change the fact that he had powerful urges, and she found herself reflecting upon these. There was, afterall, a grain of truth to her mother’s words, and poor Moomy had seen what happens when somepony had failed to take responsibility. It had scarred her, and rightfully so. Left her wary of her own kind. There was no excuse for bigotry, but there were explanations for its cause. Butter Fudge had seen the worst of what an earth pony could do, which was very much the same sort of destruction that a unicorn might do with no control over their magic, but on a different scale. The outcomes were similar though; harm had been done to others, irreparable harm that stemmed from a lack of control.

A blue-blinking firefly zoomed past her nose, but Buttermilk failed to notice.

“I’ll try to be considerate of your needs—”

“No, no it falls on me to be responsible for myself,” Copperquick said, quick to assert himself and to establish his position on the issue. “I know what you are about to say, and my father warned me about this. It’s easy to use this as an excuse for poor behaviour when and if the circumstances change. You’re not beholden to relieve my needs.”

For some reason, this frustrated Buttermilk, though she could not think of why. This was a problem—a real problem—and Copperquick it seemed, was determined to face it on his own. Even worse, what he said made sense. Whatever lessons his father had given him had sunk in and now that Copperquick was maturing, settling into his role as both a father and soon-to-be husband, he was taking these lessons to heart.

Still, it went without saying; Copperquick had needs and possessed a sex-drive greater than her own. While she wasn’t beholden to him—there was an important distinction in this thought—she could choose to be supportive of these needs or indifferent. Therein lay the distinction; she had a choice. This is what her mother had failed to grasp. For Butter Fudge, marital duties were more like a contractual obligation—you did them, frequently and often, or you faced the consequences, either real or imagined. Butter Fudge had witnessed these consequences, though they stemmed from different circumstance, and they were very real to her.

Buttermilk was lucky to have parents from two different tribes. Her father had taught her pegasus stuff—important pegasus stuff, and from her mother, she had some earth pony perspective, though perhaps flawed. These perspectives, flawed or not, still had value, they had meaning, they were something that could be learned from. Perhaps she had learned more from them because they were flawed, and they had come from an earth pony that had inherited faulty values. Little Esmeralda would learn about being an earth pony from Copperquick—and for some reason, this thought was immensely reassuring. But… if Copperquick stayed with Moomy due to circumstance… every feather on her wings fluffed out and she suffered a dreadful case of piloerection down the length of her spine.

Some of Moomy’s awful teachings could rub off on poor Esmeralda.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied, right away and without hesitation.

“You’ve doubled in size—”

“Shush, you, I had a troubling thought about Moomy. I’d rather not mention it.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I’m glad we had this talk. I think I understand you just a little bit better. Understanding your needs and what they are have given me a lot to think about. I know what you said, and I respect that, but that doesn’t stop me from being mindful about your needs. Our needs are very different though, as I’m sure you’ll find. I have nesting urges, for example. They started when I was young. I’d construct extravagant nests and Moomy, she always thought they were a bit silly, but Daddums encouraged me to build bigger, better nests. I’m not sure our needs compare though… I just want to build nests and you… well… you—”

“Those nests have to be filled,” Copperquick murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

A hot flush burned along the base of Buttermilk’s neck, rose along her throat, and set her face ablaze. “Indeed. Quite. Perhaps our needs are more complimentary than I first thought.”

Biting her lip, Buttermilk thought of a new way to indulge in her quirk, of making a nest and luring Copperquick into it. The very thought of doing so ignited a fire in her loins that rivaled the inferno blazing upon her face. All of her belly muscles tightened when her groin clenched and she realised that, even with as sore as she was, or as tired as she was, she could most certainly have another go; it was just a matter of arousal, of getting the fires stoked again.

But the day was long and Copperquick had a race to win on the morrow…

Author's Note

The first version of this chapter was full of dialogue and little else. It got reworked and now, Buttermilk has more internal monologues. I think it says more of her character to be thoughtful with her growth.

Feedback, as always, is welcome.

Chapter 36

Copperquick awoke to a punch in the snoot followed by a demanding, “Foosh.” This sort of awakening fell well outside of the boundaries of normal, and because of this, it took his sleepy brain some time to process and determine exactly what had just happened. He never reached his conclusion though, because there was another punch, a harder one this time, and then came the command again, only angry: “Foosh!”

“Ow!” Nothing woke one up like a good punch to the snot locker. Eyes watering, Copperquick came to an unintended conclusion: his daughter had some strength in those stubby little legs of hers. When he lifted his head to address her, she got him a third time and this one, this one hurt.

“What’s going on?” asked Buttermilk while she half turned over to find out what the commotion was.

Just as Buttermilk was about to say something else, Copperquick, his nose throbbing with its own heartbeat, heard a meaty thump and then the pegasus in the bed beside him shouted, “Ow! Oi! What in the name of cheese was that for?”

“Foosh! Fooshy-foosh!”

Copperquick looked at Buttermilk with teary eyes, Buttermilk looked at Copperquick, and there was a filly between them, sitting up and looking quite distressed. When she raised her hoof once more, it was Buttermilk who reacted; with lightning speed, the pegasus departed the bed, wings buzzing, with Esmeralda held in her forelegs.

Mighty Midge snatched Esmeralda away from an unsuspecting Buttermilk and then flew away, buzzing through the kitchen while cooing at his stolen prize. Copperquick, his nose still achining, was a little surprised to see Midge, because he was usually gone. Buttermilk’s father seemed quite taken with Esmeralda and was eager to spend his day off spoiling her. Her breakfast was already on the floor; Midge plopped her down so she could eat and then sat beside her, humming to himself.

This felt nice, this moment of family togetherness. The excitement and anticipation of the coming race only served to further heighten the moment, but Copperquick wasn’t quite awake enough to fully take it all in. Crossing the room, he sat down at the table, turned his head, and watched while his daughter buried her muzzle into her bowl of mush.

“One thousand gold bits, Copper,” Mighty Midge said, his voice far too chipper for this early, almost sunless hour. “All you have to do is go fast, and you can do that, right?”

“Oi, Midgy, it’s too early for that kind of talk.” Butter Fudge’s right ear rose from its relaxed position and her tail swished around behind her. “Not sure how I feel about this gambling. It’s for a good cause though, I suppose.”

“I don’t see it as gambling,” said Buttermilk to her mother.

“How so, Beezy?”

“Gambling has an element of chance, like rolling dice or getting just the right cards. This is a matter of skill and the random factors are well-controlled, such as having different races for pegasus ponies, unicorns, and earth ponies. It comes down to the fastest, and the fastest gets the prize money.”

“Oi, still a gamble. No guarantee Copper’ll win. Though, if I were a betting mare, I’d drop a hefty portion of my considerable savings on Copper making the other ponies eat dust for lunch.” Butter Fudge’s right eyebrow rose to join her raised right ear and gave her daughter a pointed stare.

“Oh, you’re talking about the gambling that is going to happen on the race itself—Moomy, that’s different.” After a moment of concentration, Buttermilk’s eyes widened. “Moomy, what are you planning? You’re not about to do what I think you are, are you?”

“You keep saying I need to change, to be more flexible, to be more open-minded about stuff—”

“Moomy, if you and Daddums want to help Copper, giving him the bits directly is a better, safer method.”

“There’s my smart filly,” Midge remarked while Esmeralda rooted around in her mush. “Your mother and I discussed doing just that last night, Beezy. A bit of pillow talk just before bed. We’re confident—”

“Daddums, every gambler feels confident about winning! It’s a fool’s game, you said so yourself.” As she was prone to do when challenged, angry, or threatened, Buttermilk fluffed out and when she did, her father scowled. Then when he too, fluffed out in response to his daughter’s aggressive posturing, Buttermilk became even more distressed, and she gave her father a silent, challenging stare that was distinctly pegasus in nature.

“Oi, stop that, you two.” Butter Fudge, having shared her living space with two pegasus ponies for so long, knew exactly what was going on. “You both look like excited feather dusters and seeing you like this puts me in a mood to clean house.”

Mighty Midge’s ears stood up and he gave his mate his best, most offended stare.

“The way I see it, Copper’s going to work for it, and that satisfies my sense of what’s right. I’m paying him to win.” Butter Fudge ignored her husband’s bulging cheeks and the throaty, warbling noises of challenge that he made.

“This is not the home I grew up in,” said Buttermilk in a matter-of-fact way while her father waved his wings about in a threatening manner.

The problem with living with pegasus ponies, as Copperquick saw it, was that they were not earth ponies. Having observed Buttermilk’s reactions for quite some time now, and now witnessing her father’s response to being challenged, Copperquick realised that living with pegasus ponies was for the birds, but he was far too polite to say anything.

It was impossible to have a serious conversation with a challenged pegasus.

The skiff bounced over the choppy water and the ride was more than a little rough. Overhead, the sky was overcast, but it did not appear that it would rain. It was warm, without it being overbearingly so, and the pleasant, constant wind—while the cause of the choppy water—was just what was needed for a perfect spring day.

Copperquick held his daughter in the crook of his foreleg and she reached out for Buttermilk, who flew alongside the skiff, expending no real effort at all to keep up. There was heavy traffic in the waterways and it seemed that everypony were all going to the same place—the derby. It seemed as though everypony who was anypony was out to watch the races.

In the distance, there was a massive yellow and orange striped pavilion set up, along with several other smaller pavilions set up around it. Signs were everywhere, guiding visitors in, and advertising who had made this possible: This year’s derby is sponsored by the joint efforts of the Solanum Incorporated Consortium and Pie Family Industries to celebrate our new frozen, ready-to-heat-and-eat potato pot pies! Buy now in your grocer’s freezer section! No hassle! No fuss! No mess in the kitchen! In just one hour, supper is done!

Another sign said, We made a mess in our kitchen so you wouldn't have to mess up yours!

Copperquick sighed. It must be nice to have meaning and importance tied to one’s name. He was a Pie—technically speaking—but that technicality did nothing for him, it did not improve his life in any meaningful or significant way. Perhaps that was the purpose of life; make your name mean something. Build a legacy. Butter Fudge Oddbody made cheeses that the wealthy elite of Canterlot went gaga for and her soaps fetched a premium price. Buttermilk could easily ride on the success that her mother had made with her name, but Buttermilk had chosen her own path; that of a public crusader.

Even if he was somehow successful, his name wouldn’t mean anything. If he gave up his foalhood moniker and became Copper Quick, or Mister Quick, he would be, at best, a social worker, and he could not see this establishing a legacy for his name no matter how hard he tried. He had different goals, different dreams, though he wasn’t entirely sure what those were at the moment. He strove to be well respected and average. Beyond that… well, what else was there beyond that?

Casting a sidelong glance at Buttermilk, he felt a mild spike of envy. She knew what she wanted and nothing would get in her way. Not even an unplanned pregnancy. There was no doubt in his mind that she would keep going and would have a successful career. Honestly, becoming a stay at home father didn’t sound so bad. He didn’t feel diminished by the idea, he didn’t feel gelded by the idea of being a devoted parent. Of course, this didn’t conform to societal norms, so he wasn’t sure what this might do to his hopes to be well respected and average.

His eyes lingering upon the zooming pegasus, he knew what he wanted in life: her. It didn’t matter what he was doing; what did matter was her. Everything else was a means to an end; career, parenting, the day to day stuff that when all crammed together, was life. He gave his daughter a squeeze and knew that Esmeralda wanted the same thing; even now, she reached for her mother, she kicked, she fussed, and she fidgeted in his grasp.

Today, if he won, the winnings would go a long way towards getting started on a better life. It was spring, he was in love, and life—while far from perfect—was pretty good right now. Knowing exactly what he wanted in life had simplified things. It had taken a heavy load off him, and he felt lighter, light enough to run. Today, he would run for the roses…

Tonight, he would eat them with Buttermilk.

Tilting his head back, Copperquick took a gander at the world’s largest cast iron skillet. Princess Celestia herself had flipped flapjacks and served breakfast for the Equestrian Foreign Service Auxiliary after a successful, tremendous fundraiser to aid crippled veterans. Of course, the Solanum family had provided the massive skillet. It was, indeed, so big that it would take an alicorn to lift it and flip flapjacks. How was such a thing even made, anyhow? And who could eat a four yard wide flapjack? How much syrup was needed? Butter?

Thinking of butter brought Buttermilk’s churning to mind, and this left him a bit sweaty.

Esmeralda squirmed in her carrier, kicked, and made fussy whimpers in between yawns. Sooner or later, she would go to sleep, and all would be well with the world. Overhead, Buttermilk circled the skillet with her father, getting a pegasus-eye view of the cast iron cookware.

“Oi, I never understood the fad of making things big,” Butter Fudge said while standing beside Copperquick. “A few years back, I saw the world’s longest scarf. Some mare has been knitting it for years. It’s over a mile long. I don’t see the point, so I don’t.”

Copperquick wickered in response.

“Registration was nice and painless, at least. Now there’s a few hours to kill, Copper. Tell me, do you need anything to go fast? Need Buttermilk to give those legs of yours a rubdown? It’s a five mile stretch, Copper. Think you’re up for it?”

One eyebrow raised and Copperquick engaged his brain. Five miles? When he was doing delivery work, he would run all day from one end of Canterlot to the other. Five miles was a sprint. If he paced himself, he could easily go for two-minute miles. Of course, if he pushed himself, he could probably do five laps around the one mile track in seven or eight minutes.

“It’ll be easy,” he said at last while thinking of the posted record time for earth ponies. Eleven minutes for five miles was not a good time. If that was the best that the locals had to offer, the race was already won. Today, and only today, perhaps, gambling was easy money.

A sea of equinity flowed around Copperquick, with some pausing to look at the giant skillet. There was much to see, to try, to taste, to smell, to hear. This was a feast for the senses and he had stared at the cast iron skillet long enough. Nearby, a new model of steam-powered tractor chugged to life and the deafening clatter of mechanised progress thrummed in his ears.

“The Wonderbolt Equestrian Guard Recruitment Show begins in ten minutes, ponies! Ten minutes! Remember your patriotic obligation and sign up for the Equestrian Guard today! Rainbow Dash says the golden armor will make you twenty-percent cooler!”

Ears perking, Copperquick thought about the guard after listening to the announcement. He had no intention of signing on, no desire to join, but he thought about the recruitment effort itself. How many families might go home later with one family member in the guard? How many sons would soon give their mothers a tearful goodbye? How many couples—couples like he and Buttermilk—would soon be seperated? How many rushed weddings would be performed, with hastily spoken vows followed by rushed goodbyes?

Suddenly, he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere but here, but had no choice but to stay. Already, his thoughts troubled him and he couldn’t help it; the thought of families being pulled apart from one another bothered him in some abstract, fundamental way. Why? He couldn’t say why.

“Oi, there’s about to be a lot fewer young faces around here,” Butter Fudge muttered while her ears lay back into her mane. “There’s already too few young faces round these parts. I’m all for doing one’s duty to country, but maybe they should go and ask elsewhere. We’ve done been bled dry, almost. It’s causing a labour shortage.”

When Copperquick turned to look at his future mother-in-law, he saw storms flashing in her eyes and something about the way her lip quivered made his belly muscles tighten. She was angry—or perhaps something beyond anger, it was hard to say. He took a step closer, thinking to comfort her, but then took a step back when she snorted.

“Those recruiters always come, and it is always with a show or some means to dazzle and impress. And they come here, to this place, ‘cause there’s a lot of ponies here that aren’t well off or maybe they’re just bored with a simple, peaceful life. The Equestrian Foreign Service Auxiliary made this bloody big skillet to help needy veterans and they had themselves a big gathering just like this one. No doubt, the recruiters were there too, ready to pick off whomever they could.”

“You seem upset—”

“You’re bloody right I’m upset, Copper. I’m all for doing our duty, but we’ve given enough. Let the foal-catchers prey on somepony else for awhile.”

He considered her words for a short time and reached one conclusion: he was part of today’s entertainment, part of the lure that brought ponies in, or would be. Desperation motivated him and that same sort of desperation would no doubt have an impact upon others. The need to survive, to provide, to do right by one’s self and one’s family made one mull over otherwise unthinkable options.

Desperation: it made the need to win all the worse.

Author's Note

Place yer bets now.

Chapter 37

The air reeked of vinegar, dill, but the other faint aromas were lost to the scent of brine. A pickle eating contest was soon to begin and registration was still open. Registration cost a few bits—a pittance, really—and all of the money collected went towards charitable causes. Sniffing, Copperquick looked down at Buttermilk beside him, and realised that he very much wanted to watch her eat pickles.

It was too late to back down; the lewd floodgates had been opened in their relationship and the bell could not be unrung. He’d given her a case of the shudders several times over; being the proper Grittish gentlepony that he was, he had apologised for it, because that is what one did after causing another to go crosseyed and lose control over their ability to reason.

It didn’t hurt that Buttermilk was fantastically cute when she had the shudders.

All that slurping, crunching, lip smacking; the more he thought about it, the more appealing it was. Buttermilk was an enthusiastic eater. She could be delicate, sure, and she had impeccable manners when the situation demanded them. But she was also a competitive, fierce, pint-sized pegasus scrapper with a lot of pent-up aggression.

“Oi, Copper, what’s with the staring at my Beezy?”

With an almost guilty gasp, he jerked his head around and attempted to look as respectful as possible. Butter Fudge was giving him quite a look, one he was unfamiliar with and couldn’t read. Now Buttermilk was also looking up at him, smirking, but also a little embarrassed, no doubt because her mother had just caused a fuss.

“Tell me, Copper… were you just thinking about my sweet girl eating pickles?”

He needed to find some way to deny it or shift attention to something else. “Uh—”

“Aye, that’s funny. What a bloody pervert, having those thoughts about my beloved Beezy wrapping her lips around a pickle.”

“Well,” Copper began, thinking fast on his hooves, “I wasn’t having that thought until you mentioned it. But now that you’ve brought it up…”

For a moment, nothing happened, and Copperquick tensed, fearing that the situation had soured. But then Butter Fudge brayed with boisterous laughter; her whole body shook with it, with her ears bobbing up and down from it. Buttermilk’s face turned pink, then red, then a deep shade of purple associated with eggplants, royalty, sunrises, and sunsets.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the laughter stopped, and narrowing her eyes, Butter Fudge focused a hard, hard stare upon her daughter. “Beezy… I bet that I can eat more pickles than you can.”

Mighty Midge’s ears pricked up straight and his head tilted off to one side as he shot his mate a quizzical look. Copperquick wondered if Mighty Midge shared similar thoughts. Who wouldn’t want to watch a mare eat pickles? All of Mighty Midge’s feathers now stood out and the diminutive stallion appeared to have doubled in size.

Mighty Midge was in a tough spot, Copperquick realised. He was going to get to watch his wife eat pickles, which was delightful. But he would also watch his daughter eat pickles while another stallion ogled her. Copperquick knew it for what it was; a dad dilemma. Being a father himself, he immediately sympathised with Mighty Midge. This was officially awkward.

“Moomy… really—”

“What’s the matter, Beezy? You ain’t got the stones?”

A terrifying, terrific transformation took place and Buttermilk became the scary pint-sized pegasus that Copperquick so feared. “Oh, it’s on, old mare! I was trying to spare you from embarrassment, you addle-headed geriatric granny.”

When Butter Fudge’s eyes narrowed into paper thin slits, Copperquick’s blood ran cold.

“I’ll make you eat those words, feather duster. Go on, sign up.”

Buttermilk made a sweeping gesture with her wing. “Age before beauty. After you, you gobby old gabber.”

“So be it, you tart-tongued cuss. Let’s settle this like mares.”

One had to be careful what one wished for, lest one suddenly get it. What had started with a passing bit of fancy—a daydream—had become a curious situation of social awkwardness. Not only was Copperquick getting a chance to watch Buttermilk eat pickles, but also his future mother-in-law as well.

These were not regular pickles, but the sourest of pickles—a part of the challenge. Copperquick knew by looking at them that about five or six pickles made a pound. These were bumpy-lumpy pickles, fat at one end, a bit narrower at the other, and from the looks of them, would be a real challenge to eat. Just the smell was enough to get one’s eyes a bit watery.

“Quite a pickle we’re in, Copper,” Mighty Midge remarked with casual aplomb while squaring his wings against his sides. “I’m going to guess that the moment you saw or smelled the pickles, you had the same thoughts about my little Beezy that I did about Fudgy.”

“Speaking as one father to another, does it bother you that I’m with Buttermilk?” Copperquick focused upon Mighty Midge and did his best to read the pegasus’ expression, in case his face didn’t match his response.

“Everything is fine now, I have a replacement to protect and fawn over. She left the nest and returned with something wonderful.” Reaching out with one wing, he touched Esmeralda’s cheek, which caused the filly to giggle. “Honestly though, just so long as Beezy is happy. I knew that one day, sooner or later, she’d spread her wings and leave. It’s the way of things.”

Some of the awkwardness abated, but not much.

“So is this normal? Buttermilk and Butter Fudge, I mean. They seem competitive.”

“Oh”—Mighty Midge’s head bobbed up and down—“perfectly normal.”

When nothing else seemed forthcoming, Copperquick decided not to press the issue further. Esmeralda bounced in her carrier, but she wasn’t quite as energetic as she had been earlier. If anything, she seemed to be slowing down. He was going to have to run soon and already, the day felt long.

“Among us pegasus ponies, competition is natural. It’s like breathing to us. Everything is sport. Quite literally everything.” Midge gave himself a little shake, smiled a somewhat sad smile, and gazed into Esmeralda’s eyes. “Fudgy wanted to connect with her daughter in some meaningful way, so I told her to get competitive. They got competitive, alright. Look, I know it sounded terrible a bit ago, but I assure you, they’re good sports about this. I wouldn’t have it any other way. It was our attempt at being multicultural as well as multi-tribal.”

“Want to hold her? Carry her for a while?” Though Copperquick already knew the answer to his query, he asked anyway.

“I’d love to,” Mighty Midge replied with the same perky enthusiasm that Buttermilk had. “I’d like that a lot.”

Buttermilk Oddbody had one magnificent pickle pucker. A bell had rung and now, the contestants had five minutes to eat as many pickles as equinely possible. The only drink allowed? Only the finest, sourest pickle brine. Quite a number of pregnant mares were present and this gave Copperquick all manner of anxiety, wondering if Buttermilk was secretly among their number.

Esmeralda held no interest in watching others eat pickles, but was content to sit in the grass with Mighty Midge. She made no effort to get away, no attempt to run. The little filly sat with her face pointed towards the sun, her eyes mostly closed, and a rather serene smile could be seen upon her face. Copperquick hoped that this was a sign of what she would mature into, a quiet, serene sort, content to let the sun shine down upon her. That would be ideal.

It was curious how one’s imagination could be captured by another. Copperquick only had eyes for Buttermilk; it was as if life had fuzzed over, gone blurry, and she was the only thing he saw with any sort of clarity. She was good to him, loving him when doing so was difficult, challenging, and she stayed with him through the hard times. He owed her the best parts of himself and while he watched her scarfing down pickles, his mind thought of the race to come.

The very best that he had to offer would mean winning the race.

It weighed on his mind that he was no longer a singular individual; rather, he was part of a collective whole with Buttermilk and Esmeralda. This became a poignant moment, one of those defining milestones that existed in life that once crossed, meant maturity. He’d been resistant to change, mired in who and what he once was. What had happened to him? Once, he had crossed the sea searching for a new life and then… he had settled, in a sense.

Sighing, he thought of his plans to be perfectly adequate and average, a well-respected pony. Being exceptional meant that demands were frequently made of you. But if one kept one’s head down and one held one’s self to middling mediocrity, one never had to feel the stresses or pressures of exceptionality. He had aspired for averageness and then had become a pony satisfied in sameness.

All of this was fine, but Buttermilk was exceptional in every conceivable way.

She was putting up quite a fight, that tiny, pint-sized pegasus. She looked like a filly among mares—doubly so with the stout draught earth ponies—but was as equally ferocious. Her mother was easily twice her size and this posed a real pickle of a problem with the pickles in that said pickles were proportionally larger for Buttermilk than they were for her mother, Butter Fudge. This meant that poor Buttermilk had to work twice as hard to accomplish what her mother did with ease.

Butter Fudge made whole pickles vanish in a single chomp, while Buttermilk had to take two or three bites in quick succession. The sourness of the pickles made it difficult to open one’s mouth, which meant the pucker-factor was in play. Buttermilk, being smaller, had a tiny mouth, which meant the pucker-factor hit her harder and she had to strive against shrinkage.

Copperquick admired her fighting spirit and knew that her small, diminutive size put her at odds with the world. Buttermilk had little-pony syndrome and she was a scrapper just looking for her next big fight. This applied to every aspect of her life, from the love of her chosen profession, fighting the good fight, and yes, even in the bedroom. No challenge was too big.

The hummingbird pegasus ponies—very much like the hummingbirds they were compared with—were pint-sized powerhouses. Fierce, mostly fearless, aggressive poofy pygmies of feathers and fluff that were just a bit flighty—and as Copperquick was discovering, made ideal mates. Mood could be adjusted with sugar, which meant variety. A mare with a range of moods, Buttermilk could go from excitable to somber, as the situation demanded.

Emotional, Copperquick’s feelings overwhelmed him. He remembered how things were when he was still a wee colt. Memories of home flitted through his mind like a too-fast slideshow. The sting of tears caused his vision to double, then blur a bit as his first real memories all came back to him in a flood.

“I miss me mum,” he murmured aloud.

Gone was his refined accent, the very thing that afforded him a chance to have a better life. Stepping onto the docks, he had immediately tried to mimic the Equestrians around him. Here, a pony could be anything they wanted and Copperquick was desperate to be something other than he was. His reasons became whatever he could think of at the moment, but over time, something almost like a narrative had formed.

What would his mother, Banoffee Pie say if she saw him now? Almost weepy eyed with remembrance? She might comfort him—there was a chance of that—or she might clobber him upside his head and tell him to shake it off. Life in Liverypool left her hard. The sooty, dirty factory town had a way of wearing the life right out of a pony. Grey skies. Constant rain. Dead grass that barely grew, barely even existed because every available inch was paved over or had a row house constructed upon it, if not a factory.

He had been in such a hurry to leave—to flee the oppressive greyness. The endless factory rows. Such was life in Liverypool; the very first of the row houses were built against the factory walls and then spread outwards like great, grasping fingers. Streets were narrow, hardly ever wider than two wagon’s width, because it was important to pack in as much population as possible.

Esmeralda would know wide open spaces.

Copperquick had run from such oppressive claustrophobia and he felt it now. He felt that hated sense of confinement returning. That feeling of being trapped, with all of his life’s choices all lined up in neat little rows, with all choices little more than illusions. Oi, Copper, of course ye’ll have fine options right here at home, his mother had said not long before he left. Ye get ta choose what side of the street ye live on… odd or even. Says a lot about a pony if they choose odd. A respectable pony choses even, d’ye ken?

“Copper?”

The sound of Mighty Midge’s voice jolted Copperquick from his thoughts.

“Copper, are you okay? You have this thousand-yard stare. Like what they talk about in the newspapers.”

“I miss me mum,” he said again.

Mighty Midge’s ears leveled out over his eyes like tiny, fuzzy sun visors. For a moment, his face was stoic, emotionless, but then his eyes changed in a way that could not be described. He looked around, his gaze going right, left, right once more and then left again. He started to say something, his mouth fell open, but after his jaw opened and closed once, only silence could be heard. Whatever words of reassurance or comfort might have been spoken were left unsaid.

“What am I doing?” Copperquick shook his head. “I need to pull myself together. I have a race to run. Esme is counting on me. I don’t need to lose my nerve right now.”

“That’s right, Copper.” Mighty Midge offered up a nod of approval. “Steady on. I think that’s how Fudgy puts it. Steady on. Eyes forward. Right then.”

Author's Note

Next chapter: no matter how fast you run, you cannot outrun your past.

Chapter 38

“Don’t be a sour loser, Beezy—”

“We both lost, Moomy.”

“Aye, but I beat you, didn’t I?”

“By one pickle!”

“That’s still a win—”

“Not much of a win. Just shows you’ve got a big mouth.”

Copperquick could feel the tension and just when it became unbearable, Butter Fudge reached out, snatched her daughter, and pulled her close. Buttermilk resisted for a moment, but then relented and returned her mother’s affection. The big mare showed no outward signs of having been in a contest to eat pickles, but little Buttermilk had a swollen, rounded stomach that sort of made her look pregnant.

It was enough to make Copperquick’s whole body go tense.

“Oi, it’s a bit scary, so it is, seeing as you’re so tiny and all. Where’d you fit all those pickles, Beezy?”

There was no response. Buttermilk leaned against her mother and the two of them sat in the grass, having what appeared to be a mother-daughter moment. Blowing raspberries and spit bubbles, Esmeralda teetered over to the two mares, walked head-first into Buttermilk with a soggy splat, and then sat down so that she might join them.

“One of us, Esme?” Butter Fudge asked while giving Buttermilk a gentle, yet still hearty squeeze. “You left your motor running and you seem to be leaking coolant. What a mess you are.”

“Pbbbltbippithy!” After one final flatulent burst, Esmeralda slurped in her tongue; then the little filly smiled a smile that was shiny and glistening with drool.

“Hey, Copper… when the love of your life was little, one of her favourite snacks was buttermilk and pickles. Once, I left a pitcher of buttermilk out on the counter along with a big jar of pickles. I had to go off to the loo and when I’m sitting there, trying to do my business, I hear Beezy making a fuss—”

“Moomy, no, this is embarrassing.”

“So I come out to see what is going on and Beezy is upon the counter, soaked with buttermilk and pickle brine. There’s a huge mess everywhere, the counter and the floor are flooded. And little Beezy… she’s got her head stuck in the pickle jar. She’s wearing it like it was a deep sea diving helmet. It’s a wonder she didn’t drown. She must of stuck her head down into it, got stuck, and then lifted her head up, because all the brine went running out. But she’s got her head stuck inside of the pickle jar and she’s just casually eating the pickles all packed around her head. I still don’t know how she got her head into the jar in the first place, and I had to squirt grease in there to try and get her out. Midgy came home at the worst possible moment.”

Rolling her eyes, Buttermilk let out a perturbed huff while pulling Esmeralda closer.

“I had to grab her little hind legs and pull while Fudgy hugged the jar.”

“Daddums… no… please!” Buttermilk held out one front hoof in protest.

“The little corker finally popped free, and I swear, her neck was longer. Fudgy and I just looked at one another and not a word was spoken, but we were both thinking the same thing. We both kept looking at her little neck. And she had a little pot belly just like the one she has right now, because she ate most of the pickles in the jar while she had her head stuck in there.”

Heaving a sigh of protest, Buttermilk covered her face with one wing.

“And that was the first time Buttermilk got her head stuck in a jar.”

First? The faint suggestion of a smile appeared upon Copperquick’s face. Distracted from his own troubles, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment, to savour it for what it was. This was family history, the sort of intimate knowledge only known by family members, and Copperquick understood the purpose of sharing it. There were ways and means to bring somepony into a family, starting from the initial acceptance and then moments of storied lore just like this one.

“Raising little earth ponies is mostly easy,” Butter Fudge remarked with her attention focused upon Esmeralda. “Putting things up on a counter is a good way to keep them out of it, until they learn how to move chairs and climb. But a little pegasus? Nothing but trouble. Why, I once lost a whole vat of buttermilk ‘cause little miss here decided to splash down and sample some. Scared me almost to death. I thought she’d drown, but it turned out she was a natural swimmer. She went paddling around in the buttermilk like she was a duckling. She even quacked.”

Pulling her wing away from her face, Buttermilk gave her mother a pleading stare.

Perhaps sensing that her daughter had reached critical mass as far as embarrassment went, Butter Fudge relented. Her expression softened, and though her smile remained, Copperquick saw something that he thought was sadness in her eyes, he imagined it had to be some kind of forlorn wistfulness. What an experience it must have been to have raised a pegasus filly. All of the mistakes, the trial and error… the spoilt vats of buttermilk.

Perhaps, if he was lucky, Buttermilk might give him a little pegasus to share life’s lessons with.

The one mile oval was packed dirt and clay, with banked curves. Copperquick heard that the track’s pack was suited for farmers, not racers, and looking around him, he could see why. Plough ponies—plough ponies everywhere. He was easily the smallest and the lightest of the stallions entered in the race. While this was reassuring, he knew better than to get cocky. These ponies had endurance and were used to day-long exertion. He would need to be cautious and pace himself if he hoped to win.

The earth ponies had the first race of the day and the stands were already packed. A hot air balloon drifted overhead and the gleaming eye of a camera could be seen protruding from the bottom of the basket. From the west, a warm, salty breeze blew eastward, though the intermittent gusts promised a shift in the weather. Princess Celestia’s sun was almost directly overhead now, and running would be a hot, sweaty affair.

It was almost time to run.

A bad case of the jitters had snuck up on him and try as he might, he could not maintain his unflappable exteriour. So much depended on this. It felt as though his very future depended upon the outcome. He needed a win, if only to make up for everything he had recently lost. At least, it felt like loss. So much had gone wrong that he needed something to go right. Even his relationship with Buttermilk was now haunted by a terrible spectre, all because the stupid condom had exploded. He needed a clear win, a clean victory, something that wasn’t darkened by the shadow of disaster.

“Oi, Copper, pay attention!”

Something about how Butter Fudge said these words caused him to snap into focus.

“Don’t you dare lose your nerve.” The big mare leveled her heavy stare upon the jittery copper-coated pony. “You’ve already won, Copper. Tell yourself that.”

In response, he blinked.

“No, say it. I want to hear you say it.”

“But I haven’t won—”

“You big galloping dimwit, yes you have. No matter the outcome, you already have little Beezy’s heart. You have a little filly that loves you, adores you, and worships the very sight of you. None of this will change. If you win, Beezy will be there to celebrate with you. If you lose, which is bloody unlikely, she’ll be there to make everything better. Midgy and I, we’ll be there too. No matter the outcome, the important bits won’t change.”

Butter Fudge was a voice from home, even if her accent was a bit off. Again, he thought of his mother. Like most colts, he reached an age where he ran from her and her affections, too embarrassed to allow her to touch him, but now, right now at this very moment, he wished that she was here. He wouldn’t flee from her, no, he would welcome her reassurance in whatever form it took, even if it happened to be painfully awkward.

“We all believe in you, Copper.” Buttermilk peered up at him with half-closed eyes and there was something almost seductive about her smile.

The love of his life had stinky pickle-breath, leaving Copperquick to imagine that her kisses would taste of brine and garlic. Mindful that her parents were watching, he smooched her anyway, and came away more puckered than when he went in. She was sour, intensely so. The brine had soaked into her fuzzy lips, leaving them salty and vinegary. She now stood with her eyes closed, her lips still puckered, and her ears quivered as if blown by the breeze.

One kiss wasn’t enough and he was surprised when Buttermilk’s muzzle pressed into his. Nothing was held back and she delivered a sultry, somewhat sloppy kiss with both of her parents watching. When she pulled away, Copperquick’s lips were left warm and salty. He saw her eyes open and he felt his pulse quicken. She had that effect on him—she would always have that effect on him.

Looking into her eyes, he found his courage, but was also reminded of his troubles. He suffered from broke. Financially, he was broke. His life was broke. The condom had broke. Yet, for whatever reason, whatever odd, unexplainable reason, she loved him. Why? What had he done to be deserving of such love at a time in his life when everything was broken? He had nothing to offer except for…

Himself.

It dawned upon him that with only himself to offer, that was enough. He had no money, no rich parents, no great inheritance waiting for him, he had no great family name that promised him a life of privilege and ease. Copperquick was a pony that had hit bottom and had nothing, nothing at all. Just himself. And that, that was enough. With this realisation came other conclusions; he would never have to face the sort of worries that others had, such as love being conditional on wealth, status, or societal position. He was in the clear. All he had to do was be himself, and Buttermilk Oddbody would be his.

It was a tremendous relief, a weight pulled from his back.

“Now go,” said Buttermilk, her ears pinning back while she made a gesture with her wing. “I’ll be waiting for you at the finish line. Hurry back to me.”

“Esme, say, ‘bye bye.’ Your Daddy has to run.” Mighty Midge bounced in place, jostling Esmeralda.

The filly, quite sleepy, and not at all caring that a big race was about to take place, yawned. Waving her forelegs about, she managed to utter the following: “Bubble bye.” Then, nodding off, her head bobbing as she failed to resist the gentle tug of gravity, she settled into a half-doze.

“Copper… before you go…”

“Yes?” When he looked at Butter Fudge, he saw cunning in her eyes—raw earth pony cunning.

“These are plough pullers, through and through,” she replied, keeping her voice low. “They only know straight lines and corners confound them. The mob all tries to pile into the curve of the corner and try to keep to the inside as much as possible. Can you turn a corner, Copper? I think you can. The corners is where you’ll make your mark. Keep to the outside as much as possible and pour on the speed. Sure, you’ll be running farther and harder, but you’ll be trampled if the mob surrounds you. They won’t play nice, Copper. Body checks aren’t just allowed, but encouraged. The crowd loves to see a body being carted off the track. The bloodier the better. Ponies aren’t here to watch a race, they’re here to see a crash.”

Copperquick gulped.

“Keep to the outside, Copper, and you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Oddbody—”

“Call me Mum, or Moomy. I don’t want you in a bloody heap, Copper. You mind what I say now.”

“Right.” With his confidence bolstered a bit, he nodded.

It was Mighty Midge who had the final word: “Good luck, Copper.”

The starting line was anarchy. Ponies just sort of stood around, with the biggest, burliest stallions all standing wither-to-wither in a row up front. Not everypony was given an equal start, and Copperquick chose to begin a bit behind. How far behind? Far enough behind that he stood with the few rough-and-tumble looking mares that had also entered the race. One of the mares had an enormous chaw of tobacco, and she spat greasy gobs of tarry, oozy goo at regular intervals.

If Copperquick were to hazard a guess, the front liners were the local ‘good ol’ colts’ that seemed downright ubiquitous with these rural areas. Mares fawned over the lantern-jawed-chiseled-from-the-rocks stallions, which left him feeling annoyed and vaguely resentful. These sorts always struck him as being the worst type of ponies to encounter. Typically bigoted, brash, arrogant; Copperquick could not help but be thoughtful of how they might view Buttermilk, shy, quiet, cerebral Buttermilk and all of her fancy multi-syllabic words. No wonder she left home. Upon having these thoughts, he smiled and felt quite pleased with himself, because meeting Buttermilk’s standards made him feel good about the standards he held himself to.

Though that hadn’t always been the case. He thought about Buttermilk slapping him after his confession. That was deserved. Poor choices had been made but that was okay, because now he had a chance to make up for them. Not to mention he had Esmeralda to think of. Now he had to hold himself to the highest possible standards so he could set a good example for his daughter. He cast a final sneering glance at the lantern-jawed males and thought about how good it was going to feel to make them eat his dust.

A cannon was fired; a loud, sudden sound that left Copperquick a bit startled. By the time he realised what was going on, it was too late, everypony else was running and he was standing there like a slack-jawed yokel. This was embarrassing and no doubt, he would hear about this later. Gritting his teeth, he took off like a copper-coloured blur.

The first challenge of the race was getting past the wall. Everypony was holding back and if somepony surged forwards, one of the big, broad stallions up front would cut them off. No ground was given in the straightaway. Copperquick bided his time, cautious, and he kept to the very outer edge while waiting for his opportunity.

Beside him, a little blue-white mare kept pace. Her pelt was almost the colour of chalk, while her mane and tail had a faint pinkish tint that almost couldn’t be seen in the bright sunlight. She was almost glued to his side, keeping to the outer edge just like he was, and though she was shorter, she kept pace with his long-legged gait just fine. Overall, he was impressed with her athleticism, but also concerned because for the first time, he saw real competition.

His hooves cut divots into the clay and soil of the track. The curve was coming and Copperquick prepared himself to make his move if the opportunity presented itself. Five laps. That’s all he had to do. Lowering his head, he made himself sleeker in preparation for the burst of speed that would put him ahead. It would be a brief burst, and he would only expend enough effort to put himself a quarter-of-a-track ahead of the others. Then, he could slow his pace to maintain his lead and so long as he kept to the outer edge, this would be an easy win.

The first corner was a massacre that gave Copperquick just the opportunity he needed. All of the big brutes that formed a wall slowed down too much to try and hold their formation, and the ponies just behind them failed to slow their pace in time, leading to collisions. Flailing bodies hit the dirt and many of the racers came to a dead halt in a tangle of bodies. Now was not the time for rubbernecking though.

Clinging to the outside edge, Copperquick saw a narrow opening and he poured on the speed. Beside him, the little mare did the same, her shorter legs working double-time. For a second, he thought she might push him, or cut him off, because the narrow gap was just that—narrow. A pile of ponies were down, but struggling to get back up to their hooves. His fears were unfounded though, and the mare lept over the writhing pile and surged ahead.

Somehow, she landed without losing speed and Copperquick gritted his teeth while demanding that his body give him more. By the time they were coming out of the corner and into the straightaway, they were running neck to neck again, well ahead of the racers now behind them. At least she wasn’t fighting dirty—he admired her for that—and though he tried to be a gentlepony, he wasn’t going to let her win just because she was a mare.

As the straightaway loomed before them, the mare spoke, panting out the words, “I have… a son… that needs… me… to win!”

Some powerful emotion reared up inside of Copperquick, which was, perhaps, the point. He gave no ground, he held nothing back, but he did reply, “And I… have… a daughter!”

“See ya!” the mare called out as she went tearing down the straightaway.

For a moment, Copperquick was stunned by her sheer speed, but this did not last long. He too, could go faster, but he was trying to pace himself. However, she was easily a dozen lengths ahead already and still accelerating. Eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring, he dug down deep, thinking about how awful it would be to fail.

Every emotion that had beset him returned in force and he could feel the turmoil churning within him, twisting his guts into knots. He needed this win. Only with victory could he restore his sense of self, his self-esteem, his sense of self-worth. His longer legs, his greater stride, these allowed him to catch up, but it was harder than he thought and took far more effort.

But the mare was struggling too. Had she gambled and lost? Thrown everything she had into an initial burst of speed that hadn’t proven enough? Perhaps they had both lost, digging so deep in the very first lap. Already, the next curve was approaching and the first mile was almost done. The others were far behind now, with the distance increasing with each passing second.

The guilt, the shame, the pain of his past nipped at his heels and Copperquick ran like a pony possessed, determined to leave it all behind. Somehow, he had to outrun it all. He needed the win, not just for Esmeralda, but for himself. His breath came in cannonball snorts, his sides heaved, his ribs expanding and contracting like bellows.

So wrapped up in the race was he that he failed to notice the faint copper glow around his hooves...

Author's Note

Must... go... faster.

Chapter 39

Behind him, he had his past nipping at his heels, driving him forward at a breakneck pace, and stretched before him was his future, the great unknown. Not just his future, no, his daughter’s future. Buttermilk’s future. Everything hinged on this moment. What sort of pony was he? The sort that pulled through in a pinch, or a failure? This wasn’t about winning, but providing.

The cold claws of desperation raked him, bringing to mind his recent eviction. That had been a low point. Mister Blancmange appeared in his mind’s eye and Copperquick felt the unsettling rage of that day kindle to life like a malnourished, ravenous flame that had just found fresh kindling to devour. For the first time in his life, Copperquick had felt as though he could kill another and the unease had never truly left him; he dreamt of it often enough to regret it during his waking hours.

Like relentless, slavering hounds, his past memories pursued him.

He and the mare beside him ran neck to neck, nose to nose, their hooves pounding out an odd rhythm, with her striking eight beats for his every four. It was as if the ground rose up to meet his hooves; he did not sink in and he felt light as a feather. Why, he almost flew. It almost felt as if the ground pushed his hooves away and kept the full brunt of his weight from settling in.

Huffing and chuffing, he pushed himself even harder, tearing down the straightaway.

Seeing a glow from out of the edge of his vision, he turned his head and saw the mare beside him engulfed in blue-white flames. This was alarming, but he too was engulfed in flames. Glancing down, he saw that his legs and body were surrounded in a nimbus of fire that did not burn him. Together, they blazed, the flames leaping between them like conductive electrical arcs.

There was no time to stop and marvel at the curious conflagration.

One mile was already gone and the next mile wouldn’t last long. Copperquick could not recall ever running this fast. In a weird way, even though he exerted himself, this was effortless. Yet, it wasn’t. A new fatigue was setting in already, one that he had never experienced before. He hungered, as if he hadn’t eaten in days, even weeks. Holding tight to the edge, he began to round the corner, the small mare keeping pace beside him, their shared flame burning bright.

Did a shared flame burn brightest?

The pack was ahead of them now, with some of them crossing the mile marker that doubled as the starting line. Soon, Copper would catch up with them and he would have to pass them. The corner was gone, consumed in the span of just a few eyeblinks, and now they tore down the straightaway. Somehow, Copperquick coaxed out more speed, and curiously, the mare kept pace beside him. It seemed as though no matter how fast he went, the small, lithe mare was his equal. Yet, she seemed to gain no ground either. When she attempted to pull ahead on the straightaway, Copperquick felt some mysterious pull upon his body that allowed him to keep pace.

For whatever reason, the magic bound them together and kept them together.

“Ladies and gentleponies,” an announcer shouted through the public address system, his voice causing the loudspeaker to crackle. “Are you seeing this? The rarest of all miracles! We’re seeing earth pony magic at work! It does exist! It does!”

Was the crowd roaring? It was hard to tell with the hammer blows just inside of his ears. He couldn’t tell if it was his heart thumping or the frenzied, furious beat of his hooves against the earth reverberating in the soft cartilage down in the inside of his ears. The sensation of static danced along his pelt, it crackled through his mane and tail. It was as if he wore a cloak made of thunderstorms. Electric sparks flew from his hooves and though he did not see them, he left faintly glowing hoofprints behind him in his wake.

Already, they were coming up on the pack, the slow, ponderous, plodding plough ponies. Copperquick, his brain on fire, knew he wasn’t one of those ponies. He wasn’t made to pull a plough, haul a heavy load, or do hard, manual labour. That’s why he left home. The tight, narrow, claustrophobic streets made it hard for him to be himself. They made it hard to run. Canterlot was no better, it was a tight, twisty maze built atop a mountain peak.

But out here on the track, he could run.

And so he did. He couldn’t even feel his frogs touching the track now and it was almost as if he was weightless. The announcer was screaming something, but Copperquick could not make out the words. In front of him, the ponies almost came to a stop as they all scooted out of the way, their eyes wide, their jaws slack. They stared in astonishment as Copperquick approached and gaped as he went blazing past, the smaller mare keeping pace beside him.

He had been born Copper Quick but was so fast as a colt that to get his attention his name had merged into a single word. Head down, his neck a straight line with his spine, his withers flexing as though he had pistons beneath his gleaming, sweaty copper pelt, Copperquick surged forward with impossible speed, and behind him the track blazed with flickering aetherfire.

His mouth was dry, his throat burned, and it felt as though his ribs would shatter from the force of his heaving sides. Drenched with a foamy lather, it bubbled as if it were boiling off of his pelt. Though unseen by himself, Copperquick’s bright amber eyes blazed bright with dark amber flames which trailed back along his flapping ears.

Beneath his hooves, something reacted in the earth, something electric, something magical, and Copperquick’s coppery pelt, which had always been rather metallic, now gleamed as if he was made living, breathing metal. Beside him, the bluish-white flames rising from the mare intensified, becoming brighter. Together, they were a furious fireball that devoured distance.

It was the last straight final stretch, followed by a curve, and then the finish line. The track was empty now, save for the two blurry speedsters. With the others gone, Copperquick was free to blaze a path to victory with his odd companion. He would not win this; somehow, he understood that, but he was not bothered, not even in the slightest. This was bigger than both of them. They would cross together, bound as they were by this strange magic. The magic only worked while they ran together and for whatever reason, separation was not possible.

He didn’t have to think, or worry; he only had to act. Somehow, he had in fact left his past behind him. Mister Blancmange was no longer a worry. His eviction? Not even a concern. The fact that he was broke? All those things were weights. Heavy things, all jettisoned so that he could do what he was born to do.

Back home, his mark was called a bowler hat, but here in Equestria, it was a derby hat.

It was here, in Equestria, where Copperquick finally came into his own. Right now, at this moment, there was only the purity of speed. Why, he was almost floating over the earth. It was as if his hooves weren’t even touching the ground anymore, somehow mysteriously stopping just a few molecular widths away before being lifted away and kicked forwards. He could not hear the thunderclaps caused when the magic in his hooves reacted with that of the earth beneath him, for such was the constant roar in his ears. Each step was almost an explosion that lifted him and carried him forwards, both he and his companion.

Traction was treacherous at this breakneck speed, but only if he lost his concentration. With the past left behind him, he had no distractions, nothing holding him back. He had outrun desperation, fear, worry, and doubt. There was only speed, glorious speed, and speed was enough. Speed would somehow see him through. Everything would be fine, because no trouble was fast enough to catch him.

Going into the curve, both he and his huffing, puffing companion leaned. Never before had he leaned this far down in a curve and perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, but it seemed as though the ground rippled, rising up so his hooves would find purchase. Each hoofprint he left behind him was surrounded by cracked, dry soil that almost seemed as though it had melted, or perhaps had the life drawn out of it.

The curve only existed for mere seconds and then Copperquick pounded over the finish line. There was no stopping now, no way to stop, no desire to stop, and he fairly flew down the straightaway like a copper cannonball, trailing coppery flames behind him. Stopping seemed impossible, but also vitally necessary. A quiet voice of warning told him that if he kept going, he would burn up. Already, the next curve was approaching fast as he seemed to skim over the ground. He couldn’t feel his hooves striking anything at all now, even though they went through the full range of motion. No connection, no sense of touch.

Looking down, he saw dead earth where he had trod previously, dried out, dusty, drained ground. Lifeless soil. He had taken too much and this sudden awareness, this flash of insight, this realisation of knowledge jolted him from whatever altered state he existed in. Almost stumbling, his hooves struck the ground and dug deep into the powdery, dusty, dead soil. Momentum dragged him forwards while gravity exerted its dominance once more.

Whatever spell had carried him was now broken. Beside him, the mare tumbled into the dirt, rolling and bouncing, her four quivering legs going askew. A moment later, he joined her, and as he tumbled through the dirt, the sweat from his glistening body gave moisture back to the ground. At long last, he came to a skidding halt and then lay there in a heaving, gasping heap, his ears ringing with a deafening tone.

He gulped and gulped, trying to swallow the air he so desperately needed, but no matter what he did, there just wasn’t enough. His lungs were filled with countless tiny, stinging, biting insects, a nest of fire ants, and cruel spikes of agony lanced through his frogs. Every muscle in his body clenched with enough force that it felt as though his bones would snap.

Copperquick had quite literally ran himself right into the ground.

Author's Note

Yes, sorry about the shorter chapter. And the pacing makes it feel even shorter. It felt wrong to stretch it out.

Chapter 41

Nine plates of cheesy fried potatoes later, along with a whole apple custard pie, the empty ache in Copperquick’s belly finally began to subside. His daughter, Esmeralda, watched him with wide, terrified eyes, and her little mouth hung open in horror, as if perhaps she was witnessing the end of all things. It made him feel a little bit guilty, the way she was looking at him while he ate, and he lamented the fact that he had no means to explain to her why he was so hungry.

Across the table, Sodalite was still grazing, a slow, steady process, and she showed no signs of stopping. Together, they sat beneath a bright blue and yellow canopy, which had been cordoned off so they wouldn’t get mobbed. Buttermilk kept a wary eye on the crowd just beyond the rough rope that had been tied from post to post, and so did her father, Mighty Midge.

A few officials from the Derby Commission stood together a short distance away, talking to one another in hushed tones. Copperquick really didn’t care about whatever it was they were saying, though he figured that he should. He was just too tired to work up any feeling of concern, and really, what he wanted more than anything right now was a nap. Yes, a nice nap, with his daughter, and Buttermilk fanning him with her wings, because that would be fantastic, even if it was a lot to ask of his pegasus companion.

An unexpected flashbulb went off and Copperquick was left blinking to clear his vision.

“I think,” Sodalite began, and then she paused for but a moment to chew her food a bit more, “that what you are doing is good. There needs to be more help for single parents.”

Still blinking, Copperquick took in the unexpected compliment.

“I’m relieved to hear you say that. Most mares react with disgust when they find out what Copper is doing. Or anger. Anger is a very popular option.” Buttermilk turned her head just enough to glance at Sodalite while still keeping a wary eye on the crowd beyond the rope.

“Why anger?” the grazing earth pony mare asked. “I don’t get it?”

“Most mares are under the impression that if Copper does get assistance, there will somehow be less assistance for them. And being a stallion, they feel that he should just suck it up and deal with it somehow, and leave what little help there is to be had for them.”

“That’s sexist.” Sodalite wiped her muzzle with her foreleg. “That’s sexist and gross.”

Tossing her head about, Butter Fudge snorted.

“Don’t mind my mother,” Buttermilk remarked, which made her mother snort again, but harder this time, with a great deal more attitude.

“Our society is such that stallions are shamed if they ask for help for anything.” Mighty Midge made a point of absolutely ignoring the open-mouthed stare his wife now gave him and he focused instead on Esmeralda, who was still quite alarmed about her father’s eating habits. “Mares too, if I can be honest. I’m guilty of it too. I raised Buttermilk to look after herself and to only depend on herself. I’ve been thinking about that lately. Been thinking about a lot of things.”

“And this is why you're the best, Daddums.” Buttermilk smiled at her father and then, expression souring, she cast a cool stare in her mother’s direction. “Moomy’s trying at least. Just a bit ago, she made me so proud of her, and now she’s back to being a judgmental ass again—”

“Oi!”

“If you don’t want to be called a judgmental ass, then don’t act like a judgmental ass. It’s the same advice you gave me, Moomy. You told me that if I didn’t want to the world to think I was a whorish slattern, then I shouldn’t give them cause to believe I was. Which is why I became a prim and proper, wholesome-librarian type.”

“Point made, Beezy.” Rolling her eyes, Butter Fudge turned away from her daughter, and her ears pricked so she could listen to the Derby Commission members speaking to one another better.

“My mother won’t even talk to me,” Sodalite muttered whilst her expression turned deadpan. “She told me not to get involved with a flighty pegasus pony. She kept telling me that I’d get my heart broken. After Fleet was gone and I found out I was preggers, she reminded me that she told me so and then she kicked me out of the house. Now she won’t talk to me at all, which is why I want to move. It’s hard seeing her out and about, with her pretending that I don’t exist.”

“Ah yes, the friendly, family-oriented ponies of the Dales Delta. Great ponies. A real model of the finest that Equestria has to offer.” Buttermilk shook her head from side to side, blew a raspberry, and her tail flicked about as if slapping nonexistent flies. “We should all aspire to be just like them. Imagine how fine society would be—”

“Beezy”—Butter Fudge’s voice cracked mid-syllable—“you’ve made your point. Please stop.”

“Beezy, you seem to have a bee in your cardigan.”

“Yes, Daddums, I do.” The annoyed bespectacled pegasus extended her wing to point at Sodalite. “This is why I do what I do. Ponies like you and Moomy made my job a necessity. I’m angry… I’m unbelievably angry. Copper just ran his legs off and so did my new friend and neither one of them are going to get anything to show for it. Sodalite’s situation is everything that is wrong with this place… and the ponies who live here. And I just got a reminder of why I left… and how much I really hate this place sometimes.”

A defeated sigh was heard from Butter Fudge, but nothing was said.

Mighty Midge took on a more submissive pose. “That’s a bit harsh, Beezy—”

“Not as harsh as being unable to provide because some judgmental asses think they know what is best for you!”

Some of the gathered crowd departed, their faces angry, their ears pinned back, and they cast dark looks at Buttermilk as they retreated. Copperquick wasn’t sure what to feel exactly, he was too tired to feel much of anything but exhaustion, and the tension in the air proved quite unpleasant.

“Copper deserves better!” Buttermilk blurted out while every hair along her spine stood on end. “Sodalite does too! The fact that they might get nothing has me steamed! Ponies keep calling this a miracle, but it seems to me that a miracle isn’t worth much these days! They’re raising money for charity, but also ignoring two ponies with a great and pressing need! And I am ANGRY!” A terrible transformation overcame the slight pegasus, and she almost doubled in size as every single hair and feather on her body now stood on end. Trembling with rage, Buttermilk stood with her teeth bared and there was an awful sound as she ground them together.

“Mama mad-mad.” Esmeralda whipped her head around to have a better look, and then, after watching the irate pegasus for a time, she turned to look up at her father. “Nap?”

“Yes, Esme, your mother needs a nap, I think.” When Buttermilk turned her attention on him, Copperquick cringed, but offered no apology. He instead looked at Sodalite, smiled, and pointed in Buttermilk’s direction with his hoof. “I fell in love with a pegasus too. They’re not like us at all. I think that’s the attraction. It’s great how they double in size.”

Sodalite burst out laughing and then covered her muzzle with one hoof.

Buttermilk wouldn’t stop sniffing him and Copperquick—worried about how he might smell after all that running—felt self-aware and unassured. Even worse, she kept rubbing the side of her head and her ears against him, almost as if she was a small winged cat of some kind. Sodalite was playing with Esmeralda, cooing at her during a rousing game of peekaboo. Butter Fudge appeared to be fuming, but also thoughtful. As for Mighty Midge, he stood discussing something with the Derby Commission ponies, and had an occasional loud outburst.

Yet another pony snapped a picture and then hurried off, as there were other interesting things to see.

Chilly tingles danced up and down Copperquick’s neck as Buttermilk’s nose snuffled against his mane and unable to cope with her weirdness any longer, he said to her, “You keep sniffing me. It’s quite strange.”

“I like the way you smell right now,” was her reply, speaking as if this was perfectly normal. “Sweaty. Kinda earthy.” As she spoke, she rubbed her ear against the bottom of his jaw while groping his neck with her delicate little front hooves. Then, pressing up against him, she added with a low, throaty whisper that only he could hear, “It makes me think naughty thoughts when I sniff you. I think I want to get you sweaty later, if I can.”

“You are a peculiar pegasus.”

“Would you like to see my wingspan? I’d love to show you. For my size, it’s quite impressive.”

This put a little starch in Copperquick’s spine and he sat up straight, even though it was quite painful to do so. Something about how he smelled had put Buttermilk in quite a mood. Or perhaps it was the spring. It was certainly something. When she rubbed up against him, he could hear contented, rather brutish grunts from deep within her throat. The last time she had grunted like that…

“If I could have your attention for a moment…” A large dun earth pony broke away from the group so he could approach Copperquick and Sodalite. “After much discussion, we’ve decided to give each of you the winner’s pot. Charity does, indeed, begin here at home. The two of you put on quite a show. The show of a lifetime. You will receive a full payout before the day has ended. If you will excuse me, I must hurry off to speak with a bank agent.”

“Thank you!” Sodalite’s voice cracked and her eyes glazed over, glassy with tears.

“Yes…” Copperquick’s spine sagged once more and he shuddered with relief. “Thank you, thank you so very much for your decision.”

Mid-step, the earth pony paused. A somewhat older stallion, he stood still for a moment before he lifted his right front hoof and pointed at Buttermilk, who clung to Copperquick’s neck. “What you said touched me. In talking to your father, I called into question quite a number of decisions I’ve made, young miss. I suppose I realised how much my choices can hurt others. It’s not something I’ve given a lot of thought about before. And your father helped me to see that this is one of those decisions where what I do will have a tremendous impact on not one, but many lives, including two foals. For me, and my fellow commission members, this became a matter of conscience. Thank you.”

Buttermilk made a noise, but no words came forth. The dun earth pony bowed his head, smiled, and then with a slow, plodding pace, he departed. Copperquick watched him go, and the other commission members all bowed their heads as well, then followed. Stunned, Copperquick wanted to say something, anything, preferably something meaningful, but no words lept to his tongue.

“Somepony will be along shortly to speak to you about what happened,” a mare said as she stepped out of the cordoned-off confines of the canopy. “Please wait, if you can. It is of the utmost importance. Best of luck to both of you, and I hope that life gives you a break.”

Copperquick watched them go. On the outside, he was the same as ever, almost stodgy even, but on the inside—on the inside he was practically coming undone. A thousand bits was not a lot of money, but right now, it felt like a lot of money. Money might not buy happiness, but it could buy peace of mind, which was the next best thing. Beside him, Buttermilk’s wings buzzed to life as if she had just drank a gallon of syrup.

Now the little pegasus mare effortlessly flitted around his head, almost as if she was a bee, or a hummingbird. She darted to, then fro, then to again, and then just buzzed aimlessly with no real direction in mind. Copperquick watched her and he enjoyed his profound sense of relief. After the fear, worry, and doubt of getting no payout at all, this was a welcome bit of fortune, made all the better by the not-knowing.

Even Esmeralda seemed happy, perhaps because everypony else was happy, but then her expression changed, as foal’s expressions tended to do. For a moment, she was thoughtful, as if she was engaged in a bit of cogitation, and then alarm could be seen upon her face. She bit her bottom lip, reached upwards for her mother, and kicked her stubby hind legs against the table.

“Foosh,” she said, trying to get Buttermilk’s attention.

Pausing in mid-air, Buttermilk turned her bespectacled gaze upon the little earth pony filly. “Foosh? Do you need to go foosh?”

After thinking about it for perhaps a whole of a second, Esmeralda nodded. “Foosh… now?”

“Say, that’s a pretty good attempt at a sentence. Prepare to go foosh!” Swooping down, Buttermilk snatched up the foal, and then she went zooming off in search of a restroom.

Confused—and rightfully so—Sodalite turned to Copperquick and said, “Foosh?”

“What sound does the toilet make when it is flushed?” he asked of her in return.

“Oh!” The light of recognition flashed in Sodalite’s eyes. “Say, that’s pretty smart. Mine’s not old enough for potty training. Not yet. He’s a chatterbox though. Said his first word a week after birth. After that, there was just no shutting him up. He doesn’t know what most of the words mean, but he loves to repeat everything.”

“Esme is just now figuring out this whole talking thing. There’s been some complications.”

“Aren’t there always?” Sodalite replied.

Copperquick’s unsinkable good mood remained buoyant and he changed the subject: “I’m still thirsty. I think I might venture out in search of something to drink.”

“I’m on it!”

Before Copperquick could protest, Mighty Midge was gone.

Author's Note

:trollestia: - All the shippers are out in force today. It's hilarious. Even with zero definable points of connection, people be shipping. With no attraction factors in play, people be shipping. Quick, call Fedex, we have a shipping emergency.

Chapter 42

Astrid Anemone was a mare who had reached middle age but somehow defied the description. Nothing had greyed, her pelt was still a pleasing, pleasant, vibrant purple-blue that was almost the colour of brand-new denim, while her mane and tail were a dark, almost subdued shade of red. Glasses, red-rimmed, sat on her muzzle, and a large brass-bodied hearing aid was mounted to one ear. One leg—her right rear—was wrapped in a steel-framed brace that creaked and squeaked with every step.

Yet, even with her handicaps, this mare seemed somehow larger than life.

She was an archivist from the First Tribes, and was the area’s resident expert in earth pony magic. Copperquick had told her everything, and so had Sodalite. Every thought, every emotion, every feeling, even some detailed info into their respective living situations. She had been told everything that seemed even a tiny bit relevant and now, the attentive mare sat thinking.

Esmeralda was a bit fussy, and while she hadn’t quite entered into tantrum territory, it was obvious that she was heading there. It had been a long, long day for her, and Copperquick was proud at how well his daughter had done. Mighty Midge was doing his best to keep her quiet and so far, his luck held. For how much longer was anypony’s guess.

It was disconcerting to compare one’s daughter to a ticking time bomb.

“This is the rarest form of earth pony magic, and the one that is least understood,” Astrid began in a well-spoken, scholarly tone, the sort of voice one developed after years of educational lectures. “One earth pony by themselves isn’t very magical. Most of the time.” She paused, thoughtful, and her right hoof pressed against the edge of the folding picnic table.

“There are exceptions to be had. From what little is known about earth ponies, their magic typically takes one of three forms; exceptional strength, exceptional speed, and exceptional cogitation. What isn’t known by most is that the smartest ponies in Equestria are all earth ponies, and they are living equine calculators. Word has it that the Crown keeps the smartest of them under lock and key as assets. I can neither confirm nor deny these rumours, but they are just that, rumours.”

There was a faint groan of concern from Buttermilk; though she had a reaction, she said nothing.

“Maud Pie might be one of the strongest earth ponies alive. Like most earth ponies with exceptional strength, her magic works through the manipulation of gravity and inertia in localised areas. She can lift a boulder by making it feather light with a touch, toss it, and then, in mid-flight, manipulate its mass, momentum, and inertia. To simplify, she can toss a small rock and the impact will be that of a mountain falling from the sky if she so wills it.”

“I’m a pretty good rock chucker,” Sodalite said, “but nothing like that. I can’t seem to miss when I throw, though.”

“Given the magic that you’ve just displayed, I’m not surprised,” Astrid replied.

“So Mister Quick and I… we’re fast… and somehow, we were faster… together?” Sodalite glanced at Astrid, then at Copperquick, and then back at Astrid once more. “Would I be wrong if I guessed that Mister Quick and I manipulated gravity and physics in some way?”

“Short answer, yes.” Astrid offered a scholarly nod of confirmation. “And together, the both of you accomplished what you could not do on your own. As a group, earth ponies become stronger. It is an unseen effect, but it can be measured. Get enough of them in close proximity and together, they can perform tasks that would be otherwise impossible. No one quite understands how this works and it largely remains a mystery.”

Sodalite had all of the eagerness of an apt student. “Would a group of earth ponies be smarter together, if they were that type?”

“It has been theorised, yes.” Astrid leaned forward to study Sodalite and her piercing gaze locked onto the curious mare for several long seconds. “Really, you should be in school.”

“Things didn’t work out that way… and school never suited me. I could never sit still that long. Got bored. I like running. Gotta go fast.” Sodalite smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile. “Wasn’t smart enough to save myself from a bad situation. I just ask really good questions, I guess, but I never ask them when it would be smart to do so.”

Copperquick didn’t feel that smart either. His feather fetish had been his undoing. Even now, it was easy to rob him of his senses and Buttermilk would be quick to figure that out. For far too long, he had only sort of existed, with only a minimal plan for the future. And what a vague plan it had been. Now, he had very little plan at all, and the future felt rather bleak even as it felt exciting and hopeful. For every moment of promise, there seemed to be a half-dozen moments of soul-crushing despair. But he had a daughter, the sex was the best that it had ever been, and on the horizon, he had the promise of a career filled with intrinsic rewards.

Extending his foreleg, he hooked it around Buttermilk’s slender neck, pulled her close, and after bending his neck, he kissed her upon the top of her head. Perhaps tickled, she squirmed, squeaked, and twisting her body around beside him, she angled her head to look up at him.

“What was that for?” she asked, her eyes fairly glittering with curious excitement.

In response, he shrugged and replied, “Just because. I don’t know.”

“Well…” Buttermilk fluffed out a bit, made a faint warbling sound in the base of her throat, and her ears splayed out sideways. “You keep that up and you’ll see what happens. You gave me a case of the scalp-tingles and now all my feathers have this odd prickle about them.”

“Good.” He felt secure enough in their relationship to be a little antagonistic. With luck, Buttermilk would reciprocate and this would be ideal. A little mutual antagonism was like seasoning in a fine stew, pepper on creamy mashed potatoes, a splash of cream in a cup of strong tea.

“Rude.” Ears still splayed, Buttermilk squirmed a bit and turned away, her cheeks flushed with colour.

“We have a unique situation here… evidence of the divine.” Astrid leveled a deadpan stare upon Buttermilk for a moment and sat there, thoughtful, her brow furrowed with concentration.

“I don’t see anything divine about this,” Buttermilk said, which caused her mother to snort. “This is just magic. Magic happens.”

“All magic is divine.” Astrid’s brows furrowed a bit more. “Cutie marks. Manifestations of magic. All evidence of the divine. Goddess Celestia’s will—”

“I happen to know Princess Celestia,” Buttermilk said, interrupting. “She’s really quite put out by words like those.”

All of a sudden, Astrid Anemone looked as though she had chomped on a particularly lemony lemon. Her cheeks drew in tight against her teeth, her nostrils flared, and her lips became an almost knotted pucker. A low, throaty groan could be heard, and Astrid’s ears stood erect, rigid with outrage.

“It is heresy to claim to know the mind of the Goddess. Her will is mysterious. Unknowable.”

“Her will is to hide the biscotti so others don’t get into her strategic biscotti reserves,” Buttermilk countered. “There is no sin greater than plundering Princess Celestia’s secreted snacks.”

Biting his lip, Copperquick struggled to maintain his serious mien. It was a good thing he was unflappably Grittish. He made himself think about pleasant cups of tea, chartered accounting, the fine, fascinating details of international trade, the fundamental advantages of row houses, cities laid out in perfect grids, and every other thought that suffocated laughter.

Copperquick’s face had a pleasant, blank smile whilst his sense of humour was throttled to death in the deepest, darkest alleyways of his mind. For good measure, his mental accountant, the quiet, dominating voice that kept his mental books balanced, it kicked over a few dustbins to show it meant business. Then, clucking its tongue, it retreated back to the primordial cellar, the base of operations where it balanced the books and occasionally enjoyed a spot of tea with Copperquick’s common sense.

“This miracle”—Astrid paused and gave Buttermilk a pointed stare— “has brought two ponies with a common cause together. For the good of our tribe, the two of you should marry.”

“I’m sorry… what?” Sodalite was the first to respond.

Buttermilk sat in terrifying silence.

Copperquick cleared his throat, but found speaking to be quite impossible at the moment. A veritable army of chartered accountants emerged from his primordial cellar and went to work. What dark deeds they did, mostly acts of violent subtraction, monitoring every potential expenditure and going door to door to the row houses where his thoughts dwelled, they ended any reaction right on the spot. Passive-aggressive resistance was the Grittish way because it was cost-effective.

Sarcasm was the only infinite, self-replenishing resource in existence.

Shaking her head, Sodalite let out a nervous chuckle and then said, “Yeah… no.”

Astrid’s expression became as stony and frigid as the arctic tundra. “Your magic was meant to intermingle. This is more intimate than any act of mere sex. Your souls have touched one another. You are bonded. Destiny has brought you together for the greater good of our tribe. We’ve fallen on hard times, we earth ponies. We need miracles. If you conceived foals, they would be exceptional… blessed with divinity… magic beyond imagining.”

“What a load of codswallop!” Buttermilk blurted out.

“Beezy, have a little respect—”

“No, Moomy! This mare is preying on the insecure and the vulnerable with superstition! Vague promises… there’s no way of knowing if the foals will be magically gifted. This is monstrous! This… this is exactly why the First Tribes are so hated and despised! This… this vulgar manipulation is despicable! Disgusting!”

“Beezy!” Mighty Midge’s voice had a hard, flinty edge to it. “Beezy, I raised you better. Have some respect!”

“No!” Buttermilk slammed her hoof against the table, startling Esmeralda. “Daddums, you told me that respect is earned, never just given! Listen to you… going back on everything you taught me! Are you… are you trying to appease this mare? Kowtow to her somehow? You can’t be serious!”

“I’m not asking you to give up your relationship,” Astrid deadpanned. No trace of emotion could be seen nor heard. The mare’s expression had gone cold and there was an almost clinical air about her. Dire deadpan professionalism was the only thing she projected as she focused on Buttermilk. “This is bigger than any mere emotional attachment. Mister Quick and Miss Sodalite have something to offer the world, regardless of your bigoted views on the issue.”

“Bigoted?” Buttermilk sucked in a deep breath and her right eyelid began twitching. “How am I bigoted?”

“Well, to start with,” Astrid replied, “you were the one that tried to justify hatred of the first tribes just a moment ago. Yes, we’re disliked and hated for our faith. Over the years you strangers to our shores have used all manner of excuses to persecute us and kill us—”

“I’m no stranger to your shores, I was born here!”

“You are not First Tribes, but you live on our land… and brazenly condemn me for my faith.”

“Your faith is fine,” Buttermilk retorted, “but hiding behind your faith to commit such monstrous actions must be called out. You show up and right away, you make vague promises, assumptions about a pony that I know and care about, and I’m talking about Princess Celestia by the way, and you try to manipulate the lives of strangers that you know nothing about, interpreting ‘divinity’ in your own biased way. And then, when you’re called out on your absolute gibberish, you attempt to discredit me by calling me a bigot. How about you go and fuck off, you sodding salty twat!”

“Fuck off.” Esmeralda blinked a few times and made a face like she had tasted something that didn’t quite agree with her. “Twat salt?”

“Oh, bleeding Tartarus, that’s never going away,” Butter Fudge groaned while rubbing her face with her hoof. “Nice work, Beezy. Your daughter is now one of us.”

“Twat off, salt fuck!” Flinging her forelegs around, Esmeralda appeared as though she would throw a tantrum at any moment.

Shaking his head, Mighty Midge pulled the filly close and immediately tried to quiet her.

“Would sharing Mister Quick be so awful?” asked Astrid in a calm, unflappable deadpan.

Trembling, Buttermilk underwent a violent reaction. Every hair on her body stood out, every feather, and she shook so hard that her bun collapsed, causing her mane to spill down. She looked wild now, downright feral, and the first of the red spiderwebs appeared in her eyes as her face reddened. A droplet of sweat appeared just below her ear, glistened for a time, and then rolled down her pelt for a ways before being absorbed.

“I. Don’t. Share.”

“Beezy… you need to calm down—”

“No, Daddums… what if somepony told you to share Moomy for cockamamie reasons?”

Now there were two outraged pegasus ponies and Copperquick sensed that the situation was rapidly disintegrating into something truly unpleasant. It was easy to see exactly where Buttermilk got her temperament, as Mighty Midge suffered the same unpleasant transformation. Red-eyed, grinding his teeth, with every hair and feather standing out, Mighty Midge clutched Esmeralda to him in a fierce, overprotective manner while his burning stare focused on Astrid Anemone.

“Midgy, stop that!” Butter Fudge shook her head while rolling her eyes. “You know I can’t take you seriously when you’re like that. What’s got you so riled up? Why are you like this? I don’t get it.”

“I. Don’t. Share.” Mighty Midge’s words came out with just as much vehemence as his daughter’s.

“Midgy, I—”

“You know, Moomy, if you did something other than be a passive-aggressive doormat and actually talked to Daddums, you might learn something about how he and I are. It might put your mind at ease. But no, you won’t say a word because that would upset your carefully constructed world view, and you just have to suffer in silence, believing all the while that Daddums would cheat on you if you did so much as make a sodding bloody peep or upset him in some way!”

“What?” The word came out as an angry squawk and Mighty Midge’s head swiveled around to face his wife. “You think I’d do what?” Quivering with outrage, he squeezed Esmeralda to try and comfort himself. No other words seemed forthcoming as he bit down on his lower lip and chewed with savage effort.

Astrid let heave a sigh of defeat. “The fortunes of earth ponies sink ever-lower. This isn’t even about the First Tribes, but earth ponies as a whole. The two of you hold such promise… such a precious thing was witnessed today, surely we can all agree on that. It seems that miracles aren’t worth what they once were, and it is easy to cast them aside. When at last we collectively sink to the bottom, hindsight will allow us all to look back and see this for what it was, a missed opportunity.”

“Oi, what do you mean by that?” Butter Fudge asked.

“Moomy, don’t be a rube, it’s manipulation meant to draw you in.”

“Well, Beezy, it’s working. I want to know what she means by that.” Ignoring her daughter’s fierce gaze, Butter Fudge turned and gave Astrid a nod. “What do you mean by what you said. All that doom and gloom. I’m not sinking to the bottom. What are you going on about?”

“I think I’m done here,” Astrid replied. “If all is going well for you, then surely it must be so for all of us. No words of mine will convince you otherwise. Celebrate your good fortune while it lasts. I must be going.”

“No, wait, what are you going on about?” Butter Fudge craned her neck and her ears angled forwards.

“My portents of doom and gloom are just superstitious drivel. There’s no dark future, no end times, no need for every exceptional pony that can be mustered. There’s no necromantic goat lurking in the shadows, waiting to destroy everything we hold dear. And there’s certainly no need to seize upon precious miracles when they happen. Good day, all of you. I’ll be taking my leave.”

“No, really… I’d like to know—”

“Moomy, it’s codswallop. She’s a charlatan and right now she’s trying to emotionally compromise us because she didn’t get her way. It’s a con job, and nothing that she says has any basis in fact.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Astrid said to Buttermilk. “You’ve called me out. So, there’s no point staying here and wasting my breath. There’s nothing left to say.”

“Good riddance. Begone!”

Butter Fudge banged her hoof against the table’s edge. “Beezy!”

“Leave Beezy be, Fudgy.”

“Midgy?” Butter Fudge turned a hurt, confused stare upon her husband.

Copperquick, who felt that the center had not held, did his best to be pleasant even though the situation was far-beyond salvation. As was his way, he began with an apology: “I’m sorry.” Ears sagging, he did so again. “I’m dreadfully sorry that things didn’t work out as you had hoped. If I might speak for myself, I am thoroughly committed to Buttermilk. Even if she hadn’t have exploded the way she did, things would not have worked out. If I am to be perfectly blunt, I’m a freak with a feather fetish. I’m a sexual deviant.” After a bit of much-needed self-depreciation, he heaved a contented sigh.

Astrid’s ears fell, and the one with the hearing aid sagged down to the point where it rested against her cheek. “Yes, I understand. That’s the way of the world, today. We’re all so wrapped up in our own needs and desires that none of us put the needs of our tribe ahead of our own. For a time, that was our engine of survival, but we’ve abandoned that. I wish you both the best of luck, whatever your individual endeavours are. You both seem like fine ponies, I hope the coming tide doesn’t sweep you both away. Good day.”

With that, Astrid Anemone rose from her folding chair and began to gather her things, avoiding the eyes of others, and saying nothing else. Copperquick, feeling some strange sense of sadness, watched as Astrid readied to leave. Perhaps he was missing out on something, it was impossible to say. He had been part of a shared magic with another, and that on its own was pretty miraculous.

Whatever could have happened might have been more so, there was no way to tell.

“Astrid”—he tried to be as warm and sincere as possible—“I’m sorry.”

But the mare had nothing to say. She hurried off, limping, leg brace creaking and squeaking. He watched her go and some strange fear gripped him as he wondered what might have been. It wasn’t too late to change things, but he couldn’t see himself doing so. He was set on his course of action and was willing to face the future, come what may. Buttermilk was his future, for good or ill.

Astrid Anemone vanished into the crowd and he could not help but wonder if he would see her ever again.

Author's Note

A lot takes place in this chapter. Perhaps more than what most people will realise.

Chapter 43

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of what you and Copper shared together. The two of you did something amazing together. Something spectacular happened, something that might only happen once in a lifetime. I’d like for us to be friends, Sodalite. You and I have something in common. We’ve both shared an intimate moment with Copper, though in very different ways.”

Sodalite blushed and when she turned her head away, Buttermilk looked over at her parents, who were speaking to one another in hushed whispers. They seemed to be arguing, perhaps, or having a heated, animated discussion. Maybe not arguing, but good old fashioned marital bickering. As for Copper himself, he was trying to console Esmeralda, who was in a terrible mood. A thousand tantrums lurked within the filly’s stormy eyes and no known force—not even a father’s gentle love—could contain them.

“Is he the one?” Sodalite asked while still turned away.

“He is,” Buttermilk replied without hesitation. “He’s not perfect, but I find his flaws endearing. Look at him. Just look at him trying to comfort poor Esmeralda.”

Sodalite started to say something, but instead, nodded in silence.

“I can help you relocate,” Buttermilk said to her new friend. “Assistance is hard to come by, and there isn’t much to go around, but I am pretty sure I can wrangle up something. I’m starting to think that being a social worker means being a miracle worker. Making something from nothing. I can see my whole life stretching out before me, and there are moments when I feel some doubt.”

“Do you think you’ve made it harder on yourself by getting involved with Copper?” Sodalite asked in a low voice.

“Maybe.” Buttermilk shrugged. “Possibly.” She shrugged again for a second time. “Probably.” Taking a deep breath, she started to shrug once more; her withers rose, her back stiffened, but then she went limp with a heavy sigh. “What good are dreams when there is nopony to share them with? There is meaning in a shared struggle. Copper is waking up to his potential. His eyes are open now and I’m pretty sure that he’s starting to understand just how much he has to offer the world. My mother, she raised me to work. If necessary, I’ll lift both myself and Copper up so we realise our potential… together.”

“I hope I find love like that.” Sodalite looked Buttermilk in the eye, her lips moved, but whatever words she had remained unspoken.

“You’re worried about your son getting in the way.”

“How’d you know?” Sodalite’s eyes were now wounded and darted about, unable or unwilling to meet Buttermilk’s gaze.

“Call it a hunch, I guess. Or maybe because I have some understanding of how the world is.” Buttermilk flashed a smile that she hoped was reassuring. “I got involved with Copper because of Esmeralda. Don’t give up hope. The right one might come along—”

“It’s different when a mare has a foal.” Sodalite’s eyes dropped down to the grass which she sat on. “So many stallions want foals that are theirs. I’m so worried. I feel like there is so much I have to protect my son from. Sometimes, I’m tempted by these proposals I’ve received. It shames me to admit it. Being as young as I am, I know exactly what they want from me and they’re willing to tolerate my son to get it. I don’t know if I’m willing to whore myself out in return for so much uncertainty.”

“You can’t assume the worst of everypony,” Buttermilk said, and she took a moment to determine the truth of her own words. “There is some truth in what you say though. The stallions around here, I’d grudgingly admit that most of them probably want to take advantage of you and your situation. As an extra added bonus, they’ll get bragging rights about how they took in your son and raised him as their own. That’s just the sort of thing I’d expect from Dales Delta.”

Unsettled by her own words, Buttermilk felt her stomach shrivel into a knot.

“What insidious power does this place have, that I shame myself for speaking bad about it?” Buttermilk shook her head from side to side, and raised her wings as if they could somehow ward off the unknown.

“You’re not like the other mares around here, if you don’t mind me saying. You’re smart. And not in the way that is acceptable. Smart at business is one thing…” Sodalite’s words transitioned into a weary groan.

“I left for a reason,” Buttermilk replied, whispering these words with the hopes that her parents would not hear them. Her ears pricked as she tried to make out what her parents were saying, but she failed to make out any relevant details.

This was the place where she was born and raised. Buttermilk had discovered herself here. Perhaps because of how the ponies here happened to be. She stood out. As her father had once said, she stood out like a star in the night sky, a brilliant, beautiful light. That she felt so guilty for speaking ill of this place left her shaken, unsettled, and filled with questions. Perhaps a good chat with Twilight Velvet was in order. If something was broken, Twilight Velvet could sort it out.

Of course, there was the distinct possibility that nothing was broken, and this was normal. What did she know, anyhow? She was just a naive farm filly with a butterchurn cutie mark. How could she possibly understand the complex ways of the world? With a shudder, she shoved the spectre of Mister Blancmange from her thoughts and focused all of her attention on Copper.

She had a Copper to save and couldn’t do so with all this negativity.

“I don’t want to go…”

“What?” Buttermilk, taken off-guard by what had just been said, leaned in close to Sodalite and looked her new friend in the eye.

“I don’t want to go.” Repeating herself, the sad earth pony shook her head from side to side, clearly despondent. “I love this place. Even with all of the problems. I love the sights, and the smells, and I love the way the tides come in and out. I don’t want to leave. But I feel that I am being forced to abandon everything I love because nopony will give me a chance. I’m an earth pony. This land is a part of me. I don’t expect you to understand. I’d stay if I could. But I feel like I have no choice. Ponies keep taking my choices away from me and now it feels like I have to run away.”

Whatever words Buttermilk had were caught in her throat.

“When ponies like you and I leave, it means that nothing ever changes here. Everything stagnates. This place is like a soured tidal pool. It needs fresh water. But I can’t even take care of myself or my son, so I am leaving. That’s the worst part of being poor. You have no chance to make things better. All your time is spent just surviving.”

Buttermilk thought of Copper; he was surviving by trying to change the world. She felt good and bad at the same time, proud of Copper, and sympathetic to Sodalite’s plight. In some ways, Copper was pretty lucky, but he was also having a hard go at it. A real hard go. He was hitching his wagon to an uncertain future. And for what? For Esmeralda. Buttermilk’s cheeks grew warm, knowing that Copper had other reasons that motivated him.

She motivated him.

It felt good, too.

Really, it felt wonderful.

They had motivated and it was everything she hoped that it would be.

It was the best sort of motivation, honestly.

There was something about knowing that she was worth it that left her feeling giddy and it made her want to fly heart-shaped loop-the-loops. But right now, that would be inappropriate. Taking a deep breath, she settled her mind and wished that she had some Celestial Glory tea. Now was not the time to be a giddy-girly, now was the time to help her friend.

She just didn’t know how.

“Miss Sodalite…”

The sound of her mother’s voice yanked Buttermilk from her distracted state.

“Just Sodalite. Or Soda.”

“Right.” Butter Fudge stood up, took a few steps to be closer, and was followed by her husband. “Oi, here goes. Sodalite, Midgy and I, we’ve been talking. Tell me, what do you know about cheese? About dairy products in general?”

Sodalite’s head tilted off to one side, which caused both of her ears to go leaning over. “Not much. Why?”

“Look, hear me out, okay? I can’t afford to pay you very much. Most of what I make is already earmarked and I do a lot of bartering. What I can do is give you room and board. At no cost. As in, I will not charge you rent or the cost of your meals. I’ll even pay for things you and your son might need, as I have several lines of credit. I have a spare room and my workload is about to increase substantially. I’ll need a helper.”

Utterly gobsmacked, Buttermilk stared at her mother, unable to respond in any way, shape, or form.

“Why do this?” Sodalite asked.

“Because… I…” Butter Fudge faltered, and as a pleading expression fell over her face, her gaze fell upon her daughter. “Sometimes a mother makes mistakes. We spend all those years thinking we know best. That we know what’s best. That’s not always the case. If you stay here with us, you’ll have a chance to reconnect with your mother. Might take a while. Midgy and I, we’d like a chance to do right.”

Turning her head, Sodalite cast a sidelong glance at Buttermilk. Meanwhile, Buttermilk was looking at her mother, Butter Fudge. Mighty Midge smiled and nodded at Sodalite while Copperquick—oblivious to the drama at hoof—rocked his daughter from side to side to avoid what was sure to be quite a squall.

Sodalite averted her eyes. “I don’t know—”

“You won’t need to look for a foalsitter for your son.” Butter Fudge, a big mare, drew in a deep breath, a long, slow process that took a while. It came out in a heavy, titanic snort, a sound that shook the earth. “I’m not like my daughter. She’s a better mare than me, which, as her mother, is everything that I’ve hoped for. I can’t even pretend to understand her, but I can be inspired by her. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to go about doing it. But this is something I know I can do. If you give me a chance, I can make this right. If I can’t make this right, then maybe I can still make this better, somehow.”

Buttermilk could feel her mother’s sincerity, her eagerness, and was touched. Turning to her friend, she said, “You were just saying about how change begins here, at home. This is your chance to stay. Isn’t that what you wanted? I know it isn’t ideal, but it’s pretty good. Plus, if you stay with my parents, it will be easier for you and I to stay in touch.”

Reaching up, Sodalite began rubbing the base of her skull with her hoof, making tight little circles while she thought about everything that had just been said. Meanwhile, a different sort of tension crept up Buttermilk’s spine. She knew, she understood what her mother was doing. Inviting Sodalite to come and stay was the ultimate test of her father’s devotion, and her mother was making a leap of faith. This was appreciated by Buttermilk, and she wanted to kiss her mother and give her extra-squeezy Beezy hugs.

This was a chance for change.

A much-needed opportunity for change in the community.

Butter Fudge was big enough, and stubborn enough to shrug off whatever backlash came from this. And there would be backlash. Ponies would talk. There would be gossip. Buttermilk realised and knew that horrible things would be said about her Daddums and her Moomy. Awful things. Ponies would insinuate and make assumptions. When she glanced at her mother, Buttermilk knew that her Moomy had to know what she was getting into, and love swelled in her pegasus heart.

“I’d like to stay,” Sodalite confessed. “More than you know. I’m not ready to give up on my mom. Not yet. I’d like to sleep on it, but my answer is, tentatively, yes.”

“We have a guest room, and there is Beezy’s old room.” Mighty Midge leaned himself up against Butter Fudge and smiled. “It’ll be nice to have some life in the house again. Hasn’t been the same since Beezy left. With her coming back, and little Esmeralda, it’s been a reminder of just how quiet and empty the house is. I don’t like it. Really, I don’t like it at all. We have all this space for living, and living implies life. Emptiness goes against the whole purpose of having a big house. It’s wasteful, not using that space. I can’t abide wastefulness.

Buttermilk was in such a fitful state that she was almost chewing on her hooves.

“Excuse me,” a pegasus pony said as he approached. “I do not mean to intrude. My name in Stingy Rich, and I’m a bank agent. I’m here to provide payment. I’ll need some signatures.”

Buttermilk knew this pony, but hardly recognised him. Once, a very long time ago, he had asked her to accompany him to an ice cream social. Well, he didn’t really ask, no. He had told her when they would be leaving and that was that. Being an obstinate cuss, she had stood him up. After the fact, horrible things had been said about her and she had been teased mercilessly in school.

She thought about punching his lights out, for old times’ sake.

Just a simple straight-leg haymaker, right to the kisser.

Instead, she smiled, and was as pleasant as possible. Stingy acted as though he didn’t even recognise her, the cad. An uppercut to the chin might help jog his memory. From the corner of her eye, she caught her mother looking right at her, a silent ‘no’ in her eyes. She knew. Of course she knew. It was her business to know. Buttermilk wondered if one day she would know when Esmeralda was up to no good.

Stingy was a horrible, terrible, awful, dirty, yellow-bellied, cowardly heap of dung, a feast for flies.

Still smiling, Buttermilk waved at him with her wing. “Hello, Stingy,” she said, as pleasantly as possible.

“Mister Rich, if you please. No time to catch up on days gone by, I’m here on business.”

He was so haughty! The unspoken ‘no’ still lurked in Butter Fudge’s eyes. Stingy had gone through a phase where he wore a monocle. To school. And if anypony did so much as giggle about it, the detentions were assigned hard and fast. Stingy had made his earth pony classmates do his assignments and his homework, because that was the way of things. The natural order. All of Buttermilk’s foalhood rage still felt pretty fresh for having been in storage this long.

Buttermilk’s glasses began to fog over just a bit.

With one wing, he smartly pulled a portfolio from his saddlebag, flipped it open, and held it out. “Mister Quick, sign here, if you please. Or just scribble an X on the line if you are incapable of writing your own name.”

Oh no! Did he just suggest that Copper was an illiterate hick? Behind her flawless smile, Buttermilk’s teeth ground together, and the only outward evidence of her distress was the clenching of her jaw muscles. Buttermilk was keenly aware of her mother’s heavy stare, and she could feel her father’s eyes on her as well. The plucky little pegasus did her best to appear placid.

Some ponies just had far too many teeth, more than they needed, more than they deserved, and Buttermilk thought of amateur dentistry.

Copperquick took the proffered pen, a sad, dreadful looking thing, and Buttermilk saw him look Stingy right in the eye. Stingy looked away, and Buttermilk, all she could focus on was the sorry state of the horrid pen. Of course, Stingy wouldn’t keep a nice pen for earth ponies to sign with. Her glasses fogged over so much that it became difficult to see.

With a few deft movements, Copperquick signed his name. Stingy opened his portfolio, to the back this time, and with a smirking sneer, pulled out a check, already signed and stamped. Buttermilk’s quick, observant gaze inspected it for the brief moment she saw it, and much to her relief, she saw no discernable errors.

“My college professors tell me that I have excellent, flowing script,” Copperquick said while holding the pen in the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, quite,” Stingy replied with more obvious distaste than Buttermilk believed equinely possible. “Here you go. One-thousand bits.”

Before Copperquick could react, Mighty Midge snatched the check from Stingy’s wing and with a few quick gestures, the valuable bit of paper vanished from view, almost like magic. Buttermilk was relieved that her father had the check. Sitting on the grass, Esmeralda let out a loud, ear-pricking screech, flopped over onto her back, kicked her legs around, and then began to bawl. Butter Fudge, with one eye still on Buttermilk, went over to soothe the distressed filly.

The portfolio was flipped around—Stingy managed to do it without looking—and opened to another place. Holding it out, he said, “Sodalite. Spare me your pleasantries. Sign here.”

In a moment common and shared by earth ponies everywhere, Copperquick passed Sodalite the pen. Buttermilk was too flustered to even suffer a momentary twinge of jealousy when their snoots touched. Slobber had been swapped and Buttermilk failed to react, to notice. Trembling with anticipation, Buttermilk watched and waited for Stingy to cross the line.

Sodalite signed her name, moving slowly, deliberately, each motion a self-conscious one. The scratching of the pen against the bank ledger’s paper made Buttermilk’s ears quiver. As each letter was scratched out, Buttermilk thought of Mister Blancmange and somehow, she felt even worse. She was reaching some unknown point of critical stress, and she knew it.

“Sodalite, a bit of advice if I may?”

Did these two know one another? How? Why? The tension in Buttermilk’s muscles grew unbearable. Never had the need for violence been this strong. She wanted to feel hot blood on her frogs. No, she needed to feel it. Every nerve in her pegasus body sang with the need for release. Bloody combat. The ancient pegasus way. Her father had pulled her aside one day, and far, far away from her mother’s ears, they had The Talk.

Saying nothing, Sodalite stood there, unmoving, the pen held in her lips.

“Make better choices. Your past suggests that you won’t, though. How tragic that—”

“Oi, Stingy, you bedwetting plonker, why don’t you have a good and proper fuck off? Yer a tragic example of what happens when a mother teat-feeds for too long.”

“I beg your pardon.” Stingy raised his head, his body posture became perfect, and his ears formed well-bred angles away from his skull. “Why, I—”

“Yer mother should have kicked you away, but that sweet, sweet suckling was the only attention she had, ‘cause yer father was busy shagging his whore secretaries. Not a fucking wonder, really, as your mother is a shrill shrew of a mare, a real sodding cunt. Ever wonder why you don’t have any brothers or sisters, Stingy?”

The pen fell to the grass as Sodalite’s mouth hung open.

“Word has it though, that you do have brothers and sisters. Half-ones. Going to be quite a day here in Dales Delta when they read your father’s last will and testament.” Butter Fudge grinned, a predatory, wolfish grin, and her eyes had a nightmarish gleam. “Now be good colt and give Sodalite her check. After that, you can go home and cry to yer mama. That is, if you can stomach her voice.”

“Mrs. Oddbody, I should warn you—”

“You should what, Stingy? It’s a small town, Stingy. We only keep secrets as a sort of half-assed effort to remain polite to one another. That’s how we do things. We keep so many secrets and we all have so much dirt on one another. It’s the only thing that keeps us nice. Well, I’m done being nice. I’ve had it up to here with this place.” Butter Fudge pointed at some non-existent spot over her head.

“We’re so bloody awful that we drove my daughter away. You, in particular, had a hoof in some of that nastiness. She flew away, and I’m stuck here, in this awful place, constantly paranoid about what everypony thinks of me and every action I do. I know every dirty secret, I listen to every horrendous line of gossip, and I know exactly what is going on behind every closed door. For some reason, unknown to myself, I play along and I do my best to fit in, and I’m polite, and I do my part to be a good mare for the community. Well, I’m tired of being nice. I’m sick of being afraid. I’m so skittish about causing a scene or being the target of gossip that it has actually held me back from doing right. Doing the right thing. I’m done being afraid. I’m causing a scene right now and it feels great. This is me, from here on out. Now give Sodalite her check and fly away, or I’ll give Buttermilk the go-ahead to beat your sorry, prissy, pompous little ass.”

“Now you just wait a—”

“Fifty bits on the featherweight,” Mighty Midge said, cutting Stingy off.

Stingy Rich’s well-maintained composure shattered. With trembling wings, he fumbled through his portfolio, somehow managed to fish out the check, but failed to pass it to Sodalite. It fluttered to the ground as the now-panicked pegasus stuffed his portfolio into his saddlebags, and then, with no thought of the pen still on the ground, Stingy took wing.

He departed with truly remarkable speed.

Sodalite—who put her hoof down upon her check to keep it from flying away, turned to Butter Fudge and said, “I’ll need a few days to pack up my stuff. I’ll probably need some help moving. I can report for work in about a week.”

“That sounds fine,” Butter Fudge replied. “I’ll help you move.”

Buttermilk, stunned, stared at her mother in utter astonishment. In one spectacular moment, her mother had just threatened to burn down every bridge in Dales Delta. It was only a start, but what a start it was. Overcome with love and profound affection, Buttermilk flew at her mother, full force, and collided with her broad, stocky neck. She threw everything she had into squeezing, as if squeezing was the only conceivable way to express her gratitude, her appreciation, and her love.

“Say, that felt pretty good,” Butter Fudge muttered. She was an immovable stone against her daughter’s aggressive affections. “My name is probably mud now.”

“Let’s go home.” Mighty Midge looked up at his wife and daughter, smiled, and gave Sodalite a nod. “See you soon, Miss.”

Going home sounded like the best thing in the whole wide world.

Author's Note

Whew. What a relief.

Chapter 1

The yawns of Esmeralda Verde were so very precious to her father, Copperquick, who listened to each and every one of them. For the most part, the little earth pony foal was bored, but quiet, provided that she was held. The moment that she was put down however, she would become over-anxious and shriek like a siren. After the neglect she had suffered, this was apparently a good sign, showing that she had trust and could make attachments like a healthy, normal foal.

Pastoral farmland rushed past the windows and the train, a newer model, had only a faint sway to it, not the constant back and forth rocking of the older trains. Technology was progressing at a rapid pace, moving along at the same breakneck speed as the fastest of trains. What few trees there were went whooshing by and the train tracks ran straight along an elevated embankment near a curvy, flowing river.

“Copper…”

Lifting his head just a little, Copperquick glanced over at Miss Oddbody, who sat across from him, and he found himself lost in the owlish eyes behind her oversized square-framed glasses. Her bun was extra tight today, with every strand of her mane tucked into its proper place, and the scent of lilac laundry detergent clung to her cardigan.

“I know that you are in dire need of rest and recovery, but your grades need to recover.” Buttermilk Oddbody flashed a prim—but also wry—smile and then returned to looking quite professional. “You are hanging by a thread and the only way you will get a passing grade is if you do all of the available extra credit work. You were given a chance by your professors, which was quite kind of them. I’ll do what I can to help you.”

Sighing, Copperquick had nothing to say and he rested his head against the glass window. He found it amazing that he was still in school at all, being homeless, jobless, and in dire straits. Rather than feel bad about all of the things he didn’t have, he chose to remain focused upon all of the things that he did, and he looked down at his daughter, who was looking up at him. She didn’t appear hungry, her diaper was dry, and her chin was slick with dribble.

“Seven days,” Buttermilk remarked and she sat in her seat tapping her front hooves together. “Well, five days, actually, because of one day of travel each way, but that is how it is. You get to meet my parents. I get to explain to my parents about everything going on. You get a much needed break from everything. I get to wrangle with my parents and face a very stressful situation. Five whole days.” Sighing, the lithe little pegasus leaned forwards, reached out, and booped Esmeralda right on the snoot.

“I’m worried about the preliminary trial—”

“No!” Buttermilk’s tone was scolding and Esmerelda jerked her head back, startled. “No, you don’t get to worry about the trial. No. Bad Daddy.” At this, the foal relaxed a little, turned her head, and shot an accusatory glance up at her father, all while a teasing smile spread over Buttermilk’s muzzle. “You are only allowed to focus on schoolwork, having fun, playing with your daughter, and having a nice time with me. Mrs. Velvet said so.”

Avoiding eye contact with the pegasus sitting across from him, Copper lowered his voice a great deal and said, “At some point, Mrs. Velvet slipped a ‘fruit salad selection’ box of flavoured condoms into my school bag.” Before he had finished speaking, Buttermilk Oddbody was already changing colours in an chameleonesque manner, going from pink, to dark pink, then new shades of reddish-purple appeared, which spread over her face and flowed down her neck. “Said on the back of the box that the lubricant had delicious fruity flavours, making it a real treat to wrap your meat.”

“That”—Buttermilk’s voice cracked and became quite shrill—“was so very generous of her. We shall have to write a thank you note on our best stationarey to show our appreciation for her concern about our well being.”

“That sounds like serious relationship stuff.” Copperquick felt the back of his neck growing hot and his daughter burbled with contentment. “Are we at a point in our relationship that warrants having shared stationary?”

“It would seem so.” With her face now a new, experimental shade of mauve, Buttermilk yanked her gaze towards the window for something to look at—anything but the pony across from her. With nothing better to do, having no gum to chew, she began nibbling on her own lip while the colour began to drain from her face and neck, leaving her a pale shade of buttermilk.

“These past few weeks,” Copperquick began, and then he was distracted when his daughter began chewing on his foreleg. He smiled down at her, not minding the copious slobber, and used this brief pause to choose his words with a bit more care. “These past few weeks have been some of the best in my life, even with the awful stuff that has been happening. As bad as it’s been, I’d go through it all again because you’ve been worth it, Miss Oddbody. I feel like I owe you so much.”

Blushing, Buttermilk attempted to respond, but failed. She drew in a deep breath, held it, and her cheeks bulged outwards like a greedy squirrels. At this, Esmerelda laughed and slobbered all over her father’s now glistening foreleg. Buttermilk’s cheeks bulged so much that it pushed her glasses up muzzle and her eyebrows bumped into her thick lenses. Then, she let everything out in a flatulent raspberry that was still somehow dignified.

Then, she tried again: “Our encounter with the feces-feasting cave troll, Blancmange”—she spit out the words, shuddered, and her glasses slipped back down her muzzle—“left me in a low place. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express just how awful it made me feel. I was ready to quit right then and there. You picked me back up, dusted me off, got me on my hooves, and you gave me confidence back. I have no words to explain to you just how much what you did means to me.”

“I also kissed you—”

“Yes, you did that as well, and looking back on that incident, that kiss helped me feel like an empowered mare again. It woke me up and reminded me how much this job means to me. It made me think of my professionalism. I had a reminder of just how much hard work I had done and how foolish it would be to throw it all away. At what was quite possibly the lowest moment of my life, you kissed me and gave me near-perfect clarity. For that, I am grateful.”

Pulling his cheek away from the window, Copperquick sat up straight, his ears perked, and he gave some thought to everything that had just been said. He knew Buttermilk well enough to know that she was earnest and forthright. A blossoming warmth filled his barrel and he looked down at Esmerelda, who was still gnawing on his foreleg. These weren’t empty words, or base flattery, these were words that Buttermilk meant and Copperquick was touched.

At this moment, there was so much he wanted to say, but the words eluded him. He wanted to wax poetic, to quote the greats, to show off his education. Sentences and snatches of Princess Luna’s sonnets from over a thousand years ago tickled his brain—she was known for scribing lewd, hilarious poems, way, way back when she was the Element of Laughter. Shall We compare thee to a floppy teat? Allow Us to count the sways. These lofty numbers that I have tallied, let them be Our days. They could be read in Ye Olden Canterlot and sounded even better, at least to his ear, but he had trouble remembering all of the flowery words.

Even though he was sitting still, it felt as though he had been in a flat-out run for miles, given the way his heart slap-thumped against his slight (by earth pony standards) ribs and he could feel the blood squirting through his veins. Lifting Esmeralda in the crook of his foreleg, he gave her a squeeze—holding her tight enough to make her giggle-squeak with happiness—and then he held her out to Oddbody.

“This is yours, if you want it,” he said to her as he gave his daughter a gentle shake. “I have to go and take care of some private business.”

“Oh, I do want that,” Buttermilk replied, and she reached out with her forelegs. “I’ll be happy to take that.” Reaching out with her forelegs, she took the squirming foal into her embrace so that Copperquick could depart.

The train continued on to Tall Tale at a steady pace, but Copperquick, Buttermilk, and Esmerelda would be getting off in Dales Delta, a farming community that existed between Tall Tale and Vanhoover. Dales Delta was a vast expanse of marsh and floodplain that sat right on the coast. It was said that ten thousand creeks and streams found their way to the ocean there and emptied out. Salmon were common, plentiful even, and the tidal flats represented endless opportunity.

The settlement was divided into two halves by the Kissing Moon River, which emptied out into the North Luna Ocean. North of the river was the province of Vanhoover, and south was Tall Tale. Buttermilk Oddbody’s parents lived south of the river in a community of well-to-do farmers.

“Hang on, Esmy, it is going to get dark.” Buttermilk, still holding the foal after Copperquick’s return, covered the little filly with her wings. “Big long tunnel through the mountains. I won’t let anything get you.”

“Nuhuh-nono.” Looking quite alarmed, the filly clung to Buttermilk while making fearful, squeaky whimpers.

“Copper, this is quite a long tunnel and you know how she is about the dark.” Buttermilk had a magnificent frown ready in anticipation of the situation.

“She’ll just have to have a good cry about it and get over it,” Copperquick replied and his lips pulled back from his teeth as he too, began to cringe with dreadful anticipation. Not only did his daughter have stunning good looks, she also came with singer’s lungs and a terrific set of pipes. “Ugh, here we go…”

Sure enough, as predicted, when darkness shrouded the train, little Esmeralda began to wail. She sucked in one impressive breath to fill her tiny barrel, her eyes bulged unseen in the darkness, and then she belted out her wailing song, railing against the impenetrable inkinesss that robbed all sight.

As all traces of illumination were snuffed out and as sepulchral darkness bled out from every surface, devouring every last vestige of sight and light, Esmeralda Verde fought back against the terrible, all consuming blackness the only way she knew how. She sang. Sure, it was the song of banshees and those poor damned souls in the blackest bowels of the Abyssal plane in Tartarus, but it was a song and Esmeralda sang it with as much soul as she could muster.

Just as Esmeralda was reaching a pitch and volume that was sure to disrupt the seasonal mating migrations of nocturnal pegasus ponies and the local population of bats, a miracle happened. Electric lights turned on, banishing the darkness and sending it into retreat. The lights flickered a bit, going dim for whole seconds at a time, but then they grew in intensity, offering comfort to the passengers stricken with terror by the dark.

None of this mattered to Esmerelda though, who decided that now of all times was the perfect time to see how loud she could scream, and for how long. It didn’t matter that the lights were on, or that she was being snuggled, or that she was wrapped in two safe, secure wings that were both tickly and warm: no, now that she had driven away the darkness with the power of her voice, now that she had restored the light, she had to ensure that the dreadful blinding gloom would not return.

Resigned to his fate, Copperquick stared downwards, not at the floor, not at anything in particular, just downwards, perhaps as a symbolic acknowledgment that Tartarus existed way down below and he was now one of its denizens. Yes, now he was one of those ponies, one of those ponies that everypony else hated, that jerk with the crying baby on a train. When he inhaled to sigh, his ears rose just a little, but then fell while he exhaled.

And Esmeralda's shrieks continued unabated.

This was his life now. He was the proud father of a wailing shriek-beast. After a tryst with a dancer, he had fathered a banshee that had no concept that other creatures possessed eardrums, and that they could be damaged. Across from him, Buttermilk wore the perfect blank expression of mothers everywhere when they had their hopes dashed against the sharp, jagged rocks of defeat. This wasn’t even her foal, but she wore this expression all the same, knowing that in the eyes of the public—in the opinion of said present public—since she was the one holding the aria-slinging aural assaulter, she was as guilty as sin.

Tears squirted from Esmeralda's eyes in great, fat droplets, and her uvula could be seen swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Perhaps feeling that screaming just wasn’t enough to convey the depths of her emotions, she banged her tiny front hooves against Buttermilk’s cardigan, thumping out a funky rhythm to accompany her wailing song of dread.

“There are only two words to describe this situation,” Buttermilk said as she reached into her nearby bag with her wing and began to fish around.

“Birth control?” Copperquick quipped while his eyes lingered upon nothing in particular.

“Quite.” The bespectacled pegasus mare found what she was looking for, and she drew it out of her bag. Fumbling with it in her primaries, she jammed her secret weapon into Esmeralda’s mouth like a cork.

Startled by her own pacifier, Esmeralda’s screeching was now suddenly stoppered and with her eyes crossed, she stared down at her binky. The tiny filly with the long eyelashes blinked a few times, trying to process this new development and make sense of how the situation had changed, all while her father held his breath, waiting, wondering, and hoping.

To continue singing meant spitting out the binky, and Esmeralda didn’t want to spit out her binky, because it was special. Soon, it would go away, back into Buttermilk’s bag, and then there would be no more binky. She would be binkyless, a dreadful state of affairs. Blinking, she gave the binky an experimental suckle, found it to her liking, and then settled against Buttermilk while closing her eyes.

The time of song was over and now it was time for a nap.

Author's Note

And here we go... I would love to know what you think of... binky.

Chapter 3

Ripple Rusher was not at all as Buttermilk Oddbody remembered her and the young mare standing on the skiff having a break appeared as though she had aged far more than the years that had passed by since seeing her last suggested. Three foals huddled together in a small pen near the rudder, with the oldest being a well-developed yearling and the youngest looking very much like an infant.

“Ripple Rusher, it’s me… Buttermilk.”

Recognition sputtered like a fire igniting wet wood and Ripple Rusher, a pegasus, reached out one wing to rub her chin. Something tugged at Buttermilk’s heart when she looked at the three foals and realised that her foalhood friend was their mother. The crow’s feet around Ripple Rusher’s eyes deepened as her lips pulled back from her teeth in a weary, worn out smile.

“Buttermilk… it’s been forever. How’ve ya been?”

And to this, Buttermilk didn’t know what to say. She squirmed only just a little on the outside, but on the inside she was doing complex mental gymnastics. Three foals, all of which looked a little hungry, a whole lot bored, one beat up looking skiff that had seen better days, and one pegasus whose sides held a gentle swell to them—a sign of recent birth or yet another pregnancy—it was impossible to tell.

“I’ve been fine.” Even as she said the words, Buttermilk winced, as this was just the wrong thing to say to an old friend, but what else could she say? Right now, she wanted to fly away and be gone from this awkward, cringe-inducing moment, but she needed a ride home and maybe, just maybe, Ripple Rusher needed her friend. “University. It’s been stressful. I’m about to graduate and then I guess I’ll be moving onwards to an even more stressful career.”

The young pegasus mother coughed, her ears waggled, and she replied, “I wouldn’t know anything about that, university stuff, but I do know about working and stress.” Ripple Rusher chuckled a bit and looked her old friend up and down. “You never grew up and filled out. You’re still the little gawky filly that I remember.”

Blushing, Buttermilk didn’t know how to respond, so she pushed past it and got to the point. “Think I could get a ride home? I’d be willing to pay a fair fare, at least I hope it would be fair. I don’t know the going rate.”

“I’d be happy to take you home,” Ripple Rusher replied, her head nodding up and down. “I haul whatever I can to make a living, from ponies, to cargo, I carry it all.” The pegasus mare’s chuckles became bawdy laughter. “Most of my customers only have one kind of ride in mind and a mare’s gotta do what a mare’s gotta do to make a living.”

Standing on the dock, Buttermilk had second thoughts. Turning her head, she looked at Copperquick, squinting in the sun, and then she focused on her foalhood friend once more. What terrible fate had she escaped by leaving this place and seeking education? This wasn’t the sort of place that took kindly to the thought of welfare—everypony here was responsible for pulling their own weight somehow and failure to do so would get one shunned. Excuses would be met with derision and sneers of contempt.

There were no valid excuses and Buttermilk began to remember why she had left this place.

“Thanks, Rushy, I’d be happy to catch a ride with you.” The words clung in Buttermilk’s throat like a wooden carrot that refused to be swallowed and she had trouble looking her old friend in the eye. But look her friend in the eye she did, and Buttermilk tried to be as compassionate as possible.

“Who’s your beau?” Ripple Rusher asked and from what Buttermilk could tell, there was a sincere look of interest upon her old friend’s face.

“That is Copperquick. He is very dear to me—”

“Yeah, well, don’t fronk it up, you hear?” Ripple Rusher leaned in and Buttermilk’s eyes began to water from the stench of rye fumes. “He looks like a decent sort… don’t mess that up. I messed up… I gave away the goods because of a promise, and that promise wasn’t kept.” Ripple Rusher’s eyes turned a sidelong glance in the direction of her foals, and then she looked Buttermilk in the eye once more, breathing soured wind.

“After that slip up, he went and done told everypony what we did. What I did. He got to be a stud with bragging rights and I got to be a…” Words trailing off, Ripple Rusher coughed and her expression became one of intense bitterness. “I lost my job as a clerk in the dry goods store because Mrs. Spool didn’t approve. I found a lot of doors slammed in my face. I was stupid though, and didn’t learn, and gave it away again on a promise because I was desperate and needed a daddy, and that didn’t end well at all. I thought it might fix my problem.”

“Rushy, I’m sorry.” Buttermilk was sorry, and she felt a little guilty now about leaving for school.

“Now I have a reputation,” Ripple Rusher said and her words were laced with rye whiskey, regrets, and sorrow. “There’s only one thing that ponies expect from me now and I gotta keep my little ones fed somehow. It’s rough, Buttermilk… I’ve missed having you around… having somepony to talk to. Somepony to sort things out with. Why’d you have to go?” Her eyes narrowed, became unfocused, and her ears sagged down until they came to rest upon the weathered sides of her face.

So I wouldn’t end up like this, Buttermilk thought to herself, and as she did, she winced in pain. She hadn’t said the words, but just having them in her mind was too much. Much to her own shock, surprise, and horror, she found the truth slipping out from between her lips, unbidden. “There were things about myself I had to improve, to make better, and there was no way that I could have done them in this backwater. Let’s be honest, shall we? Mares aren’t expected to be educated here, just compliant. We do what we’re told, we follow the rules, and the best we can hope for, the best we can hope to achieve is to be ‘respected’ for keeping our heads down, working hard, and doing what is expected of us. That’s something I couldn’t live with, Rushy.”

“Well, welcome back to the backwater, Miss Oddbody… everything should be just about the same as when you left it.” Ripple Rusher laughed, a cynical, sardonic laughter that held no joy, the sort of laughter that were tears pretending to be something else and exiting elsewhere. “Hopefully my bad reputation won’t rub off on ya.”

The flat-bottomed boat skimmed over the water and Copperquick quite enjoyed himself, but he worried for Buttermilk, who seemed a bit subdued. She was quiet, a bit morose, and hadn’t said much since departure. What she needed was her tea, no doubt, and then she would be right as rain, she would return to her perky pegasus self.

Ripple Rusher piloted the craft with awe-inspiring skill and speed. She had her front hooves braced against the back of the skiff and it pushed it over the water with seeming ease, steering the craft to avoid collisions while pushing down on the back to raise the front to take on incoming waves and wakes from other vessels. She was good at what she did and he marvelled at her ability. Pegasus ponies made for awesome means of propulsion, an engine that ran on oats rather than coal.

Esmeralda was scared, but quiet. Secure in her carrier, she watched the world go whizzing by, her eyes wide, fearful, and her ears remained pinned down against the back of her head. Copperquick kept one foreleg tight around her to keep her hushed and he tried to take in the multitude of amazing sights all around him. Some of the islands were quite large, large enough to have streets with wagons. It was like some town had been broken up into pieces and could be reassembled like a puzzle. There were department stores now, well-to-do establishments, signs of wealth that would not be too out of place in Canterlot.

Some of the islands seemed to be pony-made, mounds of shaped earth and stone that rose from the water to offer more space for the city to sprawl out. Some islands had vast, sprawling estates upon them with noble manor houses that exuded the quiet dignity of old money. There was traffic in the water now that they were in the town proper, away from the train station, which was now miles behind them.

Arched bridges connected some of the islands, and drawbridges allowed for larger ships to pass. The skies over the water were filled with pegasus ponies and griffons and Copperquick recognised some of the uniforms as those belonging to delivery workers. There was a thriving, bustling city here with a need to communicate, for goods to get from one point to another, and an earth pony such as himself would have a rough go of things doing delivery work here.

Canterlot was a city with an enormous population all crammed into one itty-bitty living space. Tens of thousands lived and worked in the teeny, tiny city atop the mountain, built in a spot where no city should ever be, the most illogical foundation for a city ever conceived. This place, this city, it had spread out as much as possible in all directions. It was no short walk to get from your home to a store, no, to Copperquick’s eyes, it appeared as though leaving your home was an adventure.

He was distracted by Buttermilk’s foreleg slipping around his own and when he looked down at her, he saw that her eyes were glassy with tears. There was something wrong, but what? Emotions about being home? Was she worried about the reunion with her parents? She was shaking, trembling, and her ears were quivering in the strong wind. When she redoubled her grip, Copperquick began to worry and he saw the corners of her mouth tugging about from twitchy face muscles.

When the water became choppy and the skiff began to bounce a bit, Esmeralda let out a few alarmed burbles, but didn’t start crying, much to her father’s relief. A houseboat went chugging by, belching out sooty black smoke from a pair of tarnished copper stacks that glistened green in the salty, moist air.

Feeling for his companion, Copperquick tried to imagine himself in her position. Coming home after all this time away, he would probably be trying to hold back the tears as well. Little Miss Oddbody was an emotional sort, and she wore her fragile heart on her cardigan sleeve for all of the world to see. When the first tears began to fall, he turned away, much to his own shame, fearful that he would suffer the same fate. He missed his parents, he missed his home, and after sniffling for a time, he returned his gaze to Buttermilk, who was now pressed up against him, trying to hold back the sobs that could not be contained.

Salty tears slipped into the salty air and Buttermilk pulled off her oversized square framed glasses with her wing. They were tucked into a pocket on her cardigan and then she buried her face into Copperquick’s side. Esmeralda, perhaps sensing that something was wrong and with her being none too happy about her own situation, she began to blubber. Not shrieking, not screaming, just a quiet, exhausted meltdown that was a clear indicator that she was in dire need of a nap.

The sweet, comforting sounds of a banjo, a guitar, and a fiddle could be heard from a passing boat. He only got to hear a short sample of the rollicking tune—just enough to lift his spirits in a strange place that had both sorrow and joy in almost equal measures—and then the song faded into the cacophony of the world around them as the passing boat gained distance. Had Copperquick been in a more philosophical mood, he might have mused upon the situation and thought that happiness came in small doses, it was precious, and each second should be thoroughly enjoyed.

But all he could think of was the wet, soggy face pressed against his side and the exhausted sobbing of his daughter. From their little pen, Ripple Rusher’s three foals watched in silence, saying nothing, moving very little, and clinging to one another, with the biggest trying to hold the two smaller ones tight against him while staring at Copperquick with wide, wary eyes, a distrustful expression if ever there was one. Had Copperquick a bit more situational awareness, he might have noticed, but he was lost in his own thoughts, distracted by those he held most dear to him.

Hungry—empty even—exhausted from travel, Copperquick wondered what it would mean for him to go home.

Author's Note

This chapter just sort of happened. This wasn't what I had planned. Sorry.

Chapter 15

Buttermilk hovered close to her mother, who laboured at the stove. Butter Fudge was doing something with the breakfast leftovers, adding milk and making a thin, runny paste… a gruel? Buttermilk wasn’t sure if she had ever seen gruel in the traditional starving-orphan sense. The rice cooker—sitting a short distance away on the counter—made faint hissy sounds. On the front of the rice cooker was a golden anchor that emanated a faint but noticeable glow, an indicator that the device was working.

“Esme is starving, Moomy… she’s going to start crying soon,” Buttermilk said as she began to fret.

“Beezy, we want her hungry, so she’ll try this—”

“You’re giving her solids, Moomy?”

“She’s about that age, Beezy. Relax a little.”

Unable to comply with her mother’s request, Buttermilk continued to fret, but she also changed the subject. “Moomy, about you spying on me…” She approached this conversation with a great deal of hesitation, knowing all-too-well the potential for embarrassment. “Were you going to keep watching if something actually happened?”

“Beezy, you’re a silly pony—”

“Moomy, please…” Buttermilk kept her voice down low so Copperquick couldn’t and wouldn’t hear. “Moomy, this is a really confusing time for me right now. I’m scared, I’m terrified actually, and I’m in love, like, really, really in love and I have butterflies in my stomach all the time now and there are so many things I can’t control and I don’t know what is going to happen and I love more than just Copper, but Esme… Esme is mine and if somepony ever tried to take her from me I would probably go medieval pegasus pony on them—”

“Beezy, calm down.” Butter Fudge’s voice was firm, but soft, a comforting whisper. “If things would have heated up, I would have left so you two could have a private moment. You need to understand, my sweet little Beezy, that I like seeing you happy. You’ve been away for so long. You’ve changed, and grown, and you come home and you dumped this complicated life situation on me and I’ve chosen to embrace it, all of it, rather than risk pushing you away. I was only watching because I want to see if Copper over there”—Butter Fudge’s eyes darted over to where Copperquick was trying to keep his daughter from fussing—“makes you happy. I want to see if he’s the right fit for you. You have to let me be a mom, Beezy.”

“I believe you.” Buttermilk’s words came out in a relieved huff and she slipped her forelegs around her mother’s neck. She clung to the much larger mare and watched as her mother stirred the pot, holding the big wooden spoon in her fetlock. “Is he right for me, Moomy?”

“You tell me, Beezy.”

“Moomy, I asked your opinion. I promise not to bicker if you tell me something that I do not wish to hear.”

The big mare grunted and then let go of her spoon, which clunked against the rim of the pot she had been stirring. “Beezy, I don’t know. I hope he is. I want him to be right for you, I truly do. There’s passion there that is more than lust, so that’s a good start. That’s a good foundation, Beezy, and love is like a house. You have a good foundation, and I’ll leave it at that.”

“Fair enough, Moomy… fair enough. Thank you.” Buttermilk squeezed her mother’s neck again, and then kissed her cheek.

“You did well, Beezy. He’s handsome enough to look at but not so handsome that you have to worry—”

“Moomy…”

“A mare is responsible for protecting what is hers—”

“Moomy, you’re being backwards again…”

“Beezy, let me tell you about a sad fact of life. There are more mares than stallions by far. There are mares out looking and it falls on you to protect your claim. You have to keep him interested in you and you have to keep those interested in him away—”

“Moomy, any stallion I have to worry about cheating isn’t the sort of stallion I want to share my life with.”

“Beezy, it happens. It happens and I see it all the time. Marriage gets a little boring, the fire goes out, the bedroom becomes a place for sleeping and little else, or worse, you schedule it for just one night of the week, or the month, or even the year. This happens, Beezy, and then the eye starts to wander.”

Grimacing, Buttermilk let go of her mother’s neck and tried to read her face. “This is so terribly backwards. Really, Moomy, this is horrendous and it just assumes the worst about ponies. I… I just can’t understand these views of yours. It’s like you assume the absolute worst about ponies and just expect all of them to be bad… to be wicked.”

“Beezy, I hate to do this, I hate to say this, but your little friend Ripple Rusher, she gives a lot of married stallions what they’re not getting at home from their own wives. Now, I am not saying that Copper is the cheating type, but it doesn’t hurt you to hedge your bets. Mighty Midge knows where and how his bread is buttered, and he comes home to me without the stink of other mares on him. I’ve never given him a reason to stray and he does the same for me. We stay satisfied.”

“Moomy…” Buttermilk shook her head but didn’t break eye contact.

“You’re young, Beezy, and you want to believe the world is a certain way. I’m trying to tell you how the world actually is. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but this is wisdom and age speaking, and you’d do well to listen for once. This is the world as I’ve seen it, and I’ve seen a whole lot more of it than you have. I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to be your ally. Right now, I am trying to be more than your mother because you’re all grown up now and I want to be your friend, Beezy. Friends warn each other about danger and things that might hurt them.”

“Fine, Moomy… I will keep these things in mind and take them into consideration.” Buttermilk heard the rice cooker ding and when she turned to look, she saw the golden anchor dim a bit as it went into warming mode. It galled her that her mother might have a point on this issue, or worse, might even be right. She also felt sickened and disgusted by what her mother had said about Ripple Rusher and didn’t want to believe that it was true.

It was a dangerous truth to acknowledge, because doing so allowed cracks in the floodgates, and cracks in the floodgates led to raging torrents if ignored. Frowning, Buttermilk flew off to set the table, frustrated that her mother had somehow successfully managed to prove her point without actually having proved her point, or so Buttermilk felt.

“I think,” Copperquick whispered into his daughter’s ear, “that those two mares are plotting against me, Esme. I’m doomed. Doomed, I tell you.” He lifted his head when he heard a ding and hoped that both his lunch and his daughter’s lunch was just about done, because Esme was getting stormy.

The kitchen smelled wonderful—spicy, fragrant, exotic even—and while he had no idea what had gone into the rice, he couldn’t wait to eat it. Something about the smell reminded him of home, of curry dens and kebab shops, but this was also different… distinct somehow. Glancing over in Buttermilk’s direction, he could see that something was bothering her, and his scalp tightened as his ears rose.

Just what were they talking about over there?

There was still no bottle, a fact that Copperquick was baffled about. He looked down at Esmeralda, saw her stormy eyes, and gave her a sheepish, apologetic smile when she scowled up at him, furious about the delay. He wondered if her pacifier might keep her happy, but he doubted it. Esmeralda had just one thing on her mind.

“Set the dishes on the floor, Beezy.”

“What, Moomy?”

“On the floor, Beezy,” Butter Fudge said again. “Trust me. Over there where Copper and Esme are.”

“Okay, fine, Moomy.”

Copperquick felt an electric spark when his and Buttermilk’s eyes met for a moment. She was within his reach as she put bowls down on the floor and he could see that she was now upset and baffled. For a moment, he thought about catching her for a quick peck, but taking a moment to think was the undoing of his plan—she flew away to get other things, leaving him wanting.

“Ugnug!” Esme blurted out and this exclamation was followed up with a shrill whine.

“Um, I think that translates into, ‘hurry, call foal services,’ or something like that.” Copperquick smirked a little but was still worried. Still no sign of a bottle and Esmeralda was becoming more than a little distressed. Copperquick began to feel the mild frustration of parents everywhere as his daughter reached her breaking point.

It was Butter Fudge who came to the rescue. Carrying a colourful bowl in her teeth, she set it down in front of Esmeralda, and then sat down beside the upset, starving filly. In the bowl was malted wheat from breakfast, but thinned down with milk. Ears twitching, Copperquick looked down at the bowl placed in front of him on the floor, and he began to understand what was going on here. Buttermilk returned, bearing a serving bowl filled with fragrant, fluffy rice that was almost orange with seasoning.

“Look Esme, food.” Copperquick dropped his head down to be closer to her and he touched the edge of her bowl with his hoof. “Mmm, mmm, mmm. Food.” Lowering his head down even more, he sniffed her bowl and waited, wondering what might happen next. Much to his relief, Esme also sniffed the bowl, and he heard a confused burble coming from his daughter.

“Oi, Esme, have a go at it.” Butter Fudge let out a husky chuckle and sat back to watch. “She looks keen, she does. I think she will, if she sees us eating. Horsey see, horsey do.”

At this, Buttermilk covered her mouth with her hoof and let out a reserved giggle.

Esmeralda leaned a little too far in and her snoot got dunked into her bowl full of thin porridge. She pulled back in a hurry, panicking, trying to breathe through her nostrils but couldn’t because they were clogged with porridge. Even though her mouth was open, the filly struggled, making little sniffle-snorts, and then with a mighty blast, she cleared out the blockage.

Copperquick, who was at the receiving end of the explosion, tried not to think about the fact that he was now covered in snot and malted wheat. He could feel it dripping down into his ear canal and into his eyes, which he blinked. The sound of Butter Fudge and Buttermilk laughing echoed in his ears, and little Esme was still sniffling, no doubt trying to get the last bit of the blockage free from her nose.

“Beezy,” Butter Fudge wheezed between blurts of laughter, “go fetch Copper a towel. Or better yet, go help him wash his face in the sink. He’s a mess. I’ll help Esme try to eat.”

“Dada?” Esmeralda looked up at her father and her eyes blazed with such innocence that it was impossible to be mad. With very little warning—only a rapid expansion of her barrel—she sneezed, blasting out the last of the blockage in her schnozz, and for the second time her father was coated in goo.

Undaunted, Copperquick persisted through the unpleasant moment and smiled to let Esmeralda know that she wasn’t in trouble. The very same moment that she saw that everything was fine, she resumed sniffing her food once more and stuck out her tongue to have a taste. Copperquick watched, hopeful and filled with anticipation, knowing that this was a milestone in his daughter’s development. If he went to wash his face in the sink, he would miss this, and he didn’t want to miss this.

Esmeralda seemed confused, befuddled about the bowl and its contents. The little filly licked her lips, catching a little dribble from her nostril, and continued to check out the thin, runny porridge. It wasn’t until she stuck her tongue into it that she had a reaction, and what a reaction it was: she froze up, unmoving for a time, and then had a full body quiver. Gurgling from her efforts, she pushed her muzzle into her food, soaking it, and then began licking it off with her tongue.

“You were a hoofer, Beezy.”

“Moomy?”

Butter Fudge’s face was aglow with happy-sadness and her eyes were distant, out of focus, perhaps because she was gazing into the distant past. “You were a hoofer, Beezy. You’d dip your hoof into your food and then you’d lick it off.” The big mare paused and a bittersweet smile spread over her muzzle. “In the beginning, you just wouldn’t eat, you wanted our time together when you’d suckle and you put up quite a fight when I started trying to feed you. After a rough day… I lost my patience with you… I was quite put out by the whole situation and I spent the afternoon just bawling my eyes out because I felt like a failure.”

Eyes glistening, Buttermilk listened with rapt attention.

“Your Daddums came home, he saw the state that I was in, and with the way you were screaming at the top of your lungs, I honestly thought that he was going to turn around and head back out the door. But he didn’t. He flew over, booped me on my nose, and then flew off to deal with you. He never even got a chance to rest after coming home from work, and I know he works harder than I do. Made me feel a little guilty, it did.”

While the story was being told, Copperquick’s messy face dripped while his daughter continued to lick her chops clean.

“But Midge, he took you into the kitchen, sat you down upon the counter, and when I followed him in there, I saw him sitting on the counter with you, sticking his hoof into your food and showing you how to lick it off. You watched everything he did and then, after you calmed down for a bit and stopped crying for the first time in hours, you tried it yourself.”

With a turn of her head, Buttermilk watched as Esmeralda dunked her muzzle into her bowl of thin porridge once more. Copperquick felt himself choking up with emotion as he thought about all of the times he had returned home to Esmeralda crying her eyes out and Buttermilk somehow hanging by a thread. He experienced a profound sense of understanding that made his eyes misty and his vision lost a little focus for some odd reason.

“After he took care of you, he fixed me hot, buttery cheese toast and then he took care of me.” Reaching up with her foreleg, the big mare rubbed her eyes and then sniffled a bit. With her barrel rising and falling from her deep breathing, she watched as the little filly tried to figure out how to eat, and the smile that was now on her face could only be described as ‘contented.’

Reaching out his hoof, Copperquick dipped the edge of it into his daughter’s bowl…

Author's Note

I just... I can't even... :facehoof:

A friendly reminder: characters can have views independent of the writer. Let's not start trouble over this. Again.

Chapter 34

Teatime was a ritual that summoned the fine spirit of calm. On the floor, a fat, lazy foal was a fuzzy, sleepy lump with her legs all askew while she slowly succumbed to the siren’s song of slumber. Hovering near the stove, a small, slight pegasus that was fresh out of the shower appeared pensive, her wings buzzing like some industrious, but inattentive bumblebee. She watched the teakettle, this pegasus, thus challenging the long-held notion that it would refuse to boil beneath these oppressive, overbearing conditions. An earth pony, a mare, sat upon the floor beside the sleepy foal, watching the battle between wakefulness and sleepiness with a distracted, subdued expression upon her wizened face. A second earth pony, a stallion, sat at the kitchen table, upon which he rested his forelegs and most of his bulk. His face was lined with worry, his beetled brows heavy, overwrought with concerned frustration. Though his expression resembled anger, this was misleading.

What should have been a joyful, celebratory time was now smothered in an atmosphere of pensive worry. The pegasus reached up and while her lower lip protruded in a distracted fashion, she began rubbing the back of her graceful neck. On the stove, the teakettle ticked and pinged, the metal growing warm, but it did not boil. A spirit of silence peered over each of their withers, it bore down upon them and gained potency with each passing second.

Bearing the weight of the earth pony, the kitchen table creaked, the wood protesting its burden, but there was no relief to be had. His lower lip quivered and his ribs expanded like bellows with each weighted breath he took. For a moment, it seemed as though he would say something—as if he dared to challenge the oppressive silence—but as his mouth moved his eyes closed and no words came forth.

Ears in a restive, relaxed position, the earth pony mare gave the foal a gentle nudge, poking at the irresistible, rounded, full pot belly on display. The tiny filly groaned, kicked her legs a bit in protest, and after giving up, she went limp again while the mare managed a half-smile. The pegasus hovering near the stove somehow did so with her head mere inches from the ceiling, but never once bumping her noggin.

Opening his eyes, the earth pony sitting at the table drew in a deep breath…

“This silence is driving me barmy. There are clearly things that need to be said, even if only for my own benefit. Not knowing is certainly maddening, but having no idea of what to do is worse by far. We need to talk about what happened.”

Wincing, Buttermilk shook her head. “In front of Moomy?”

Nervous, Copperquick licked his lips and appeared shaken. His head swiveled, looking in Butter Fudge’s general direction, and then back again at Buttermilk. A sigh escaped from him, his barrel rose and fell, and then, tilting his head back, he looked upwards at the ceiling. “Let’s just get this out of the way, shall we? I fear I must apologise for being coarse. Here we go.” Another sigh, this one held for several seconds before being dispatched like a hesitant messenger.

“It’s been a while for me. I’ve been focused on school for quite some time and so I had quite the build up. When the moment happened, I had quite a release, as I am positive you have guessed by now. As a result, your daughter’s womb was absolutely flooded. That’s right. Flooded. I was a firehose of liquid seed. I had to get a good grip on little Buttermilk so she wouldn’t go shooting off across the room like a cork.” Pausing for a moment, Copperquick listened to the faint sound of the washing machine.

“So now that we’ve got that out of the way, we need to discuss the consequences.”

Covering her mouth with her hoof, Butter Fudge began snickering. She fought to hold it back, coughed, snorted, pressed her hoof against her mouth, but it was to no avail; the chuckles could not be contained. Buttermilk suffered a peculiar shift in her colouration and the entirety of her body took on a rosy pink glow, as if she had been sunburned.

“In the event that Esmeralda might have a sibling on the way, I feel that the responsible thing to do would be to have some sort of plan.” While Butter Fudge battled with her need to snicker-wicker from behind her hoof, Copperquick turned to look at Buttermilk, who was now a rather pink pegasus. “Come what may, I’ll do the right thing. If number two is indeed, on the way, I’ll drop out of school and be a stay at home father. You have a lot more invested in your education than I do, and your career has already started.”

“Copper… no… you can’t—”

“I can always go back to school later.” His words were accompanied by an apologetic sagging of his ears and punctuated by a heavy sigh.

“Copper, I’m not so sure about that. That poses quite a number of problems. With one foal, it’s not so bad, but with two—”

“Are you… are you saying that I can’t? I don’t want to be confrontational right now, so I’m asking for clarity.”

Buttermilk’s eyes darted around behind her spectacles like a bird trapped in a cage. “I wasn’t trying to say that, not exactly—”

“Then what is being said, exactly?”

“You’ve cut me off three times now, Copper. How rude.” Wings buzzing, Buttermilk’s forelegs went akimbo with her fetlocks coming to rest upon her narrow hips. “Moomy, would you please stop laughing?”

“I can’t, Beezy, I can’t. I has this mental image in my head, so I does, and it’s left me fit to split.”

“I’m pretty sure that I can take care of two foals.” Copperquick’s jaw set tight and his chin jutted out in defiance. “While I lack certain bits of equipment, bottles exist. Somehow, even with the mistakes that I’ve made, I’ve managed with Esmeralda. Two couldn’t possibly be that hard.”

“A really disturbed part of me now wants to be pregnant just so you can eat those words, Copper. Just one has been exhausting. For both of us. We’ve barely managed.”

When Buttermilk was finished, Copperquick replied, “If I dropped out of school and was a full time father, it’d be easier. No homework, no classes, no nothing but being a father. I’m pretty sure I could do it.”

“There’s no house! We have no home!” Buttermilk’s sudden outburst caused Esmeralda to let out a startled snort, followed by a panicked poot. “We’re already hanging by a thread, Copper, and we’re committed to trying to change the system. We have obligations, you and I both. The only reason we have any kind of shelter at all is because of what we do!”

Butter Fudge stopped chortling just long enough to say, “Oi, Copper, you can come and stay with me. Beezy can fly home on the weekends until something can be sorted out.”

“Moomy, don’t make jokes. This is a serious matter.”

Unsure of what to say or how to respond, Copperquick now wore his best bewildered pony expression for all of the world to see. Butter Fudge was still having it out with her chuckles and wasn’t faring well, though she made an extraordinary effort. Buttermilk fumed; wearing an expression of supreme discomfort, she reached back and rubbed her tender backside.

“Moomy, this is serious. My career and livelihood is on the line. So is Copper’s.”

“Have a seat, Beezy,” Butter Fudge said, still snicker-wickering, which was in grave danger of transforming into giggle-snorts.

“I can’t,” was Buttermilk’s deadpan, leaden reply to her mother.

“This whole thing is ridiculous.” Try though she might, Butter Fudge could not bring herself under control. “It’s absurd is what it is. My daughter wants to be the career mare, Copper here wants to be a stay at home dad, you don’t have a home for Copper to be a stay at home dad, the world has turned topsy-turvy, and you aren’t married because it would cause problems for Copper, because he’s fighting to get the same rights as a mare. This whole thing is rich, I tell you—”

“Moomy, are you saying that Copper couldn’t be a stay at home father?”

“Beezy, just a second ago, you had your own doubts.”

Fuming, Buttermilk rubbed her backside even harder and brought her spare front hoof to bare. “I was being practical! You’re probably being mean or just plain rude, Moomy!”

“Well, you were right to be practical,” Butter Fudge said to her daughter, “he ain’t got the teats for it. Which is why I offered to let him stay here so the foals won’t get too messed up.”

“Excuse me?” Copperquick’s voice held a dangerous tremour to it and his left eyebrow jittered, jerking up and down in time with his twitching left ear.

“Oi, no offense, Copper—”

“But I am offended, nonetheless.”

“Look, Copper, your heart is in the right place, and you’re a good father, I’ll give you that. But it isn’t natural for stallions to be foal-rearers. Like I said, you ain’t got the teats for it. It’s biology, Copper. Oi, Midge had to look after Beezy a few times and it wore him down, so it did. He did his best, but he just wasn’t meant to do it. I love him for trying, though.”

“Moomy, your bigotry is showing.”

“Some call it bigotry, I call it horse sense. You can’t go against nature, Beezy.”

“Moomy!”

“Beezy, you can’t go around rearranging the natural order just because of some misplaced sense of enlightenment. It’s why the world is so messed up right now, Beezy. Everypony is running around trying to be what nature didn’t mean for them to be. Mares are mares, stallions are stallions, it takes a stallion and a mare to make a foal, and that’s the way of things. Everypony is rushing around trying to go against their own natures and the world is flooded with angst as a result. If we’d just go back to how things were, everypony would be a whole lot happier.”

Buttermilk ceased rubbing her backside and folded her forelegs over her barrel in a bold display of defiance. Copperquick, dumbfounded by it all, couldn’t even fathom a reply. Butter Fudge was now as serious as a stone and her eyes glittered with a keen wit, perhaps knowing that she held the advantage here. Ignored by all, Esmeralda let out a thunderous belch that made all three of the adults present almost jump right out of their skins.

“We’re so busy trying to prove that we can that we forget to ask if we should,” Butter Fudge said while glancing at Esmeralda. “Yeah, sure, we’ve come a long way. Two dads can raise a filly. But what does that filly learn about marehood from them? How can she possibly learn the practical concerns that a mare has in life? How can two stallions explain things about heats and the health concerns unique to mares? They can’t. They can’t. It’s neglect, Beezy. What’s your textbooks have to say about that? We should all have open minds, but we also have to be practical.”

Copperquick recovered himself enough to say something. “No offense meant, but I’m not so sure I’d want to stay here.”

“So your pride is more important than the needs of your foals?” Butter Fudge asked.

Just as he was about to make a bitter retort, Copperquick thought of what Sapphire Shores had said. The big, boisterous mare stood, in his memory, shaking her head at him, her wise, worldly eyes staring him down. He cast a glance at Buttermilk and saw that she was just too angry to say anything, as evidenced by her aggressive lip-chewing.

“There we go.” Butter Fudge’s words were stern, but held no anger, no hostility. “You just acted like a proper father right then and there. For a second, I thought you were about to have it out with me, and I was worried that you’d make that mistake. But you didn’t. You’re a good pony, Copper. No matter what you think of me right now, I mean that sincerely.”

Copperquick looked into Butter Fudge’s eyes and searched for words that just weren’t there.

“My door stays open, no matter what. See, that’s the right thing to do.” Reaching out, Butter Fudge stroked Esmeralda’s rounded pudge and the wise mare’s ears took on a more submissive posture.

Much to Copperquick’s shock and surprise, Buttermilk had this to say: “We appreciate your offer, Moomy. If it comes down to that, we’ll do what is necessary.” He studied her face while she spoke and he could tell that she was choking back her anger so that she could remain civil.

“Moomy, why?”

Ears perking, Butter Fudge studied her daughter. “Why would I do this?”

“Yes. I mean, we’re kind of fighting right now. You and I just can’t see eye to eye. Esmeralda isn’t even mine and as you said, Copper and I aren’t married. So why?”

“The otterdoers.”

“Say again, Moomy?”

Copperquick too, was puzzled.

“I refuse to fall prey to the otterdoers,” Butter Fudge said, her face solemn and stern. “Well, she otter be doing more for her family. Oh, she otter be doing the right thing. The otterdoers… the whispering, nattering gossipy masses… of which I am no doubt one. Look, I’ve made some mistakes and there are those who give me no end of grief. I won’t let this become fuel for the fire. I’m doing the right thing for my own sanity.”

Withers squaring, ears leveling out, splayed from her head, Buttermilk asked her mother a pointed, terrible question. “Am I one of those mistakes?”

Butter Fudge snorted, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. “Beezy…”

“Well, am I? Your daughter left to live in the big city and go to some big fancy university. She left behind her small town values and she got her brain scrambled with a bunch of gobbledygook from books, right? She’s turned into one of those weirdo leftists with those weird ideas that will tear down our once great society.”

“Ponies talk, Beezy.” Butter Fudge averted her gaze and stared down at the floor, which was in sore need of sweeping. “For whatever it’s worth, Beezy, I don’t think it’s a mistake. I used to, I’ll confess. I thought you’d come home in a year or so with a husband, but you left me disappointed and you were gone all these years. You came home with a degree and what one day might be a fine husband. There’s some things in this world that I don’t rightly get and maybe those things need fixing. Maybe you’ll be the one to do it. Over the past few days, I’ve reconsidered my position on a lot of things, and have even grudgingly admitted to myself that you’ve made some fine points. Which is all the more reason to let Copper stay here. You’ve got your work cut out for you, little Miss Oddbody.”

“When listened to in the right way, that might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me, Moomy.”

A rushing whoosh came from the kettle, which threatened to boil at any moment now that it wasn’t the center of attention. Buttermilk’s posture relaxed a little, and so did her mother’s. Copperquick, flummoxed, remained silent, not knowing what to say. It felt as though he was right back to where he started, fighting the silence.

At long last, the kettle began to whistle…

Author's Note

Awkward, Tender Moments With a Bigot is brought to you by Celestial Glory tea.

Chapter 40

Buttermilk fanned away with her wings while Copperquick lay gasping in the grass with his tongue lolling out. A five-alarm fire raged along his sides and white-hot stabbing pain caused his legs to jerk. Mighty Midge’s attempts to hold the crowd back were almost drowned out by the roaring in Copperquick’s ears. At this point, his thoughts were a jumble and he could make sense of nothing.

Flashbulbs popped, an endless stream of brilliant blue-white flashes. Flying reporters circled overhead, kept at a distance by Mighty Midge. Somepony was shouting. Crying could be heard. Writhing in the grass, his body cramping and aching, Copperquick could see the mysterious mare curled into a fetal position less than a yard away. Butter Fudge stood over her, trying to hold back the crowd.

Somepony dumped a bucket of water over his head. Shocked, drenched, Copperquick spluttered and coughed. It was wonderful and just what he needed. Licking his lips, he tasted salt and something that could only be described as metallic. His hooves were full of searing-hot needles and his clenching guts demanded food of some sort. Still coughing, he somehow managed to get his hooves beneath him so that he might sit up.

The tent smelled of mildew, old, musty canvas, and disinfectant, no doubt sprayed to get rid of the funky smell. Sunlight streamed in, yellow-orange through the thin, worn canvas, bringing with it unwanted warmth. Not a large space to begin with, the tent was absolutely crowded with ponies, and one griffon, a ship’s sawbones who had once been a Doctor of the Equestrian Guard.

Copperquick was feeling better, but the mare, who had struggled twice as much, was slow to recover. The griffon had her laid out on a folding table and was currently feeling her neck, trying to find her pulse with his thumb-talon. Buttermilk plunked down a steel bucket filled with lemonade and Copperquick’s mouth began to water.

Almost right away, he began to drink while Buttermilk flew off to fetch another bucket.

“Can you tell me your name?” the griffon asked the heaving, hitching mare. “My name is Geoffruez.”

“My name… is… Sodalite,” the mare panted, her voice a landslide of gravel.

“Well, Miss Sodalite, you’ve experienced a bit of a miracle. Very exciting. Do try to slow down your breathing, if you can. You make me worry.”

“I don’t… think… I won.” Sodalite struggled to turn her head to look at Copperquick, did so for a moment, closed her eyes, and then held still while the old griffon took her pulse, pressing his thumb-talon hard against the soft of her neck.

Buttermilk returned, carrying another glistening, sweating steel bucket filled with lemonade. This was set down on the table and then the attentive pegasus pulled out a steel dipper from the bucket, held it up to show the doctor that it was there, let it go, and then landing on the crowded floor, she made her way over to Copperquick.

With his muzzle in his bucket, Copperquick continued to drink, alternating between greedy gulps and careful sips. He wanted to know what had happened. What had just gone on? He felt as weak as a newborn at the moment and it was difficult to even sit up. Fatigue robbed him of strength, sapped him of his vitality, and no matter how much he drank, he could not make the dry scratchiness in his throat go away.

“The both of you ran five miles in five-point-eighty-eight minutes.” The griffon pulled his thumb away. “I don’t think I need to tell you how impossible that is. Well, under normal circumstances. With magic, anything is possible. And the two of you shared the most curious magic. An expert is being brought in.”

“It’s a photo-finish,” Butter Fudge said, her voice soft, firm, and reassuring. “It’s being looked at right now. My guts tell me that the both of you crossed the line at the same time.”

“What happened?” Buttermilk asked, the corner of her eyes crinkled with worry. “What happened and how is this possible? What did we see on the track? Copper and this mare here, they were on fire.”

“I’ve seen this in the trenches.” Geoffruez lifted out the dipper and held it up to Sodalite’s lips so that the parched mare could drink. “Though nothing quite like this. You get two emotional earth ponies with a like minded goal… such as surviving and going home… things happen. Strange things happen. Don’t know why it happens. Earth pony magic is not well-studied or understood.”

“I thought we only had strength and our connection to the ground.” Butter Fudge leaned in a little closer to Sodalite, her face curious, and then she turned to look at Copperquick. “Though Copper isn’t what you’d call strong. He’s a bit of a wet noodle. What was that, anyhow?”

“Two earth ponies united with a common cause?” Geoffruez waited patiently while Sodalite slurped lemonade from the dipper he held up to her lips. “Both of you clearly wanted to win. No doubt, both of you were emotional. At least, that’s my experience. I might be wrong. Don’t correct me, keep drinking, both of you.”

“She has a son,” Copperquick said, his muzzle dripping lemonade back into his bucket. “We spoke to each other on the track. She probably needed to win for the same reason I needed to win.” When he was done speaking, he dipped his muzzle back into his bucket and continued to attempt to drown his thirst.

“If you have a son, where’s his father?”

Ears pricking, Copperquick heard Butter Fudge in an entirely different way—an unpleasant, dreadful way—and he thought back to their first meeting. Lifting his head, he turned to look at Sodalite and saw a hard, bitter expression upon her face, as well as a bit of exasperation. How often did she hear this? Without even knowing the circumstances, it seemed as though Butter Fudge stood ready to cast judgment.

As thirsty as he was, he remained distracted from his need to drink.

Buttermilk was staring at her mother now, but said nothing. Mighty Midge, who had Esmeralda hanging from his neck, had retreated into the corner. His ears rose and fell, his expression alternating between two unreadable faces. Geoffruez took a moment to study his claws while still holding the dipper. Butter Fudge, ignoring her husband and her daughter, kept her attention locked on Sodalite, one eyebrow held high. Copperquick didn’t like the look on her face, not at all. Not in the slightest. He found it rather infuriating, but his need to keep things civil kept him from saying anything.

At least, not yet, not at the moment.

Sodalite raised her head and lemonade dripped from her chin. Her ears quivered and anger, like furious thunderheads, flashed in her eyes. For a moment, Copperquick thought about saying something, but then he changed his mind; Butter Fudge deserved whatever was about to happen next.

“His father… who totally wasn’t… my… husband…” The mare’s slight barrel heaved with every breath and her cheeks jerked, contorting her face in unpleasant ways. “He is over… in yonder… cemetery.” She took a deep breath to calm herself, then another, and then a third. When she spoke again, her hitching voice cracked multiple times. “He made promises… I was in love… I wanted him to love me… he signed up to be a soldier… I foolishly made… I foolishly made his goodbye memorable… I had hopes that he’d marry me before he left… he proposed… but then he left.”

Copperquick saw Butter Fudge’s expression soften.

“What happened, if I might ask?” There was no hardness to be heard in Butter Fudge’s voice.

“Training accident.” Sodalite’s anger dissipated and was replaced with sorrow. “Mid-air collision. Fleet never was one for listening… or being told what to do.” The mare looked away, her eyes narrowing, and she pushed the dipper away with one hoof while she struggled to rise into a sitting position.

Geoffruez plopped the dipper back into the bucket and then helped the sad mare sit up.

“I can’t pay the bills… I can’t even keep a job… ponies keep telling me I need to be a better mom and they send me home. Others tell me I brought this on myself. Because Fleet and I never married, I don’t even get a widow’s pension. I tried… I begged them for one, but they flat out refused me. I need the money to move away from this place.”

Reaching out, Sodalite grabbed the dipper from the bucket, lifted it to her lips, tilted her head back, and emptied it in a gulp. Licking his lips, Copperquick contemplated saying something, but what could be said? His own situation would take too much explaining, and if he said anything, he feared it might sound patronising.

“I’m sick of everypony telling me that I’m a bad mother for trying to work… if I don’t work, I can’t pay rent or bills or buy groceries. Lots of marriage proposals though to help me fix my ‘problem.’ Pfah! Most of those proposals come from stallions old enough to be my father. It’s like they all got together and concocted a secret plan to keep me desperate so I’d give in and say yes to one of them. Well, I’m not doing that.”

“That’s probably exactly what they are doing. Mares too. All of them deciding what is best for you.”

Copperquick’s ears went rigid with shock, and he was not alone. In absolute astonishment, he stared at Butter Fudge, scarcely believing what she had just said. Buttermilk too, also gaped at her mother, and Mighty Midge as well. The pegasus looked ashamed for a moment, his mouth opened as if he was about to say something, but then he turned all of his attention to Esmeralda, who snoozed in her carrier.

“So I’m not crazy?” Sodalite leveled a deadpan stare upon Butter Fudge.

“I might be guilty of doing that very thing,” Butter Fudge confessed. “Lot of us talk about how things ought to be. Most of us tend to think we know best. I’ve recently had my eyes opened by my daughter. I’m so focused on how things ought to be that sometimes I’m blind to how things are.”

“Moomy…” Buttermilk’s eyes fluttered a bit, and then, her barrel rising and falling, the little pegasus yanked off her glasses and rubbed her eyes with her foreleg.

“I need some air,” Butter Fudge announced, her voice raspy. “That mildewy smell is getting to me. I’ll be outside.”

Before anything could be said to dissuade her, the stout mare departed, stepping out of the tent while her daughter, Buttermilk, continued to rub at her eyes with her foreleg. Copperquick wanted to say something, anything, but it seemed that he was tongue tied. Wickering, his eyes flashing, Mighty Midge took off after his wife and he took little Esmeralda with him.

“Keep drinking,” Geoffruez said as Mighty Midge slipped out the flaps.

Everything about the photographs upon the table were astounding. Copperquick saw himself and Sodalite, both of them were ablaze, and practically levitating across the finish line. Nose to nose, it was clear that they had crossed together. The second camera, which snapped a picture from a different angle, confirmed this, and the overhead camera on the hot air balloon, though not zoomed in, showed that he and Sodalite moved as one, streaming trails of light behind them.

“There is no way to determine a winner.”

The pony speaking was a wizened, wrinkled old mare with crooked reading glasses perched on her nose, and her name was Tulip Twirls. A unicorn, she had magic to almost bring the photos to life, causing the images within to leap out so that depth could be discerned. Tulip was a forensic photographer, whatever that was, and was the local photographic expert.

“It is obvious to me that your mutual magic wanted the both of you to win together, though I’m positive that there will be some debate about this later. The Derby Commision is dirty, I’ll tell ya that much, and there is a chance that both of you might walk away with nothing at all, as no clear winner can be determined. Or they might accuse you of cheating, because of the spontaneous happenstance of magic that took place.”

“Spontaneous happenstance is an odd turn of phrase,” Copperquick remarked.

Tulip Twirls stared through her crooked glasses, her expression weary, and she had a light sheen of perspiration that left her face and neck damp. “I can’t think of a better way to put it.” The older mare sighed, rested one foreleg upon the table, and then added, “The Derby Commision has already declared all wagers invalid, so if you had any bets riding on the outcome of the race, they’ve been zeroed out. Without a clear winner, there’s no way to cash in on those bets.”

“That’s just dirty.” Sodalite crossed her forelegs over her barrel and her lips puckered into a sullen pout. After a moment, her lips unpuckered, she wickered once, and then added, “The last bit of money I had, paid the fees to enter. I should’ve known better. I was a fool to gamble. With all these plough ponies, I thought I had a sure thing.”

“Yeah…” Tulip drew the word out considerably, almost to the point where it became a groan. “This happens. Nothing is ever a sure thing.”

“What if one of us ceded to the other so that one of us—”

“No!” Sodalite held up her hoof as she interrupted Copperquick. “I’ll not let that happen. That’s not winning. I couldn’t live with myself.”

A bit dejected, Copperquick slouched, having accomplished nothing even though he tried. The old mare glanced at him, then at Sodalite, and then her eyes angled back down to the photographs on the folding table that stood in the middle of the mildewed tent. It pained him to know that he had put out so much effort only to achieve nothing. Sure, he had a victory of sorts, he’d been part of a miraculous display of magic, but that was cold consolation.

He was tired, weary, hungry—no, he was ravenous. All of his muscles ached and had annoying, irritating twitches that he could not control. The small of his back felt like it was on fire and all four of his fetlocks felt as though they had been crushed. His frogs were swelling—and for what, exactly? A tie with no payout.

“Ceding wouldn’t work.” Tulip Twirl stacked the photographs atop one another and then slid them into a folder. “There’s no provision set up for ceding. No legalese. There’s never been a tie before. Ever. At least not here in this district. The Derby Commision for this district tries to keep things as simple as possible, and only ever adds provisions after something has taken place. Otherwise, everything would be mired down with bureaucracy and that’d be bad. Ponies would constantly be trying to contest the rules so they could get a leg up.”

Sodalite heaved a sigh and replied, “That actually makes sense. But I still don’t like it.”

“How… how could ceding be exploited?” Copperquick watched as the old mare tucked the folder with the photos into her bag. “I don’t see how that could be a bad thing.”

“A faster more capable pony might cede to the crowd favourite that has higher returns on their odds, and then the both of them might split the pot. If there is no provision for ceding, this can be avoided.” Tulip Twirl slipped a canvas strap through the brass buckle on her bag and then cinched the flap in place. “I have to go and get these notarised as evidence. Excuse me.”

“Thank you,” said Copperquick, though he wasn’t sure why he was thanking her.

Sodalite had the last words before the old mare departed: “I’m starving.”

Author's Note

A totally unfair state of fairness.