Wakey Wakey, Eggs and Hay-key!
Author's Note
As the co-editor, I really enjoyed working on this piece. It has a very satisfying ending and flows relatively well! Massive thanks to Autin Brony for doing the amazing cover picture
Cheers to more in the future,
-Pone-Dancer.
As the original author. I'm happy with the improvements made. and I am deeply touched that I finally found somepony as kind as Pone-Dancer to help me live out my dream of making pony fictions 😌 I hope you all enjoy it.
-Autinbrony.
Wakey Wakey, Eggs and Hay-key!
In the early morning of a Las-Pegasus autumn, beyond the glitz an glamour of the city proper; In the far more humble, but lesser seen suburbs. Inside a peculiarly bricked house that stood out a country mile compared to the cloud rock homes of its neighbors, a mother found herself at her wit's end.
“Biteeeey!” Pinkie yells up the stairs. And it isn't the first time this morning. Nor this week for that matter. Indeed, her son seems to be in one of his famous moods. And it is finally getting on the aging mare's nerves.
Unfortunately, there's no reply...
“Biteolomew Aim's Pie!” She stomps. "Get down here this instant! The school cart already came and left!"
Still nothing.
“Every morning this week.” She mumbles, tossing her hooves up in annoyance. Fed up with yelling, Pinkie walks into the kitchen returning only moments later carrying a steaming frying pan between her teeth. Placing the pan on the ground, she then unfurls her wings and begins fanning the delightful scent as far as it'd go. “This'll get him!” She smiles mischievously.
Third time was definitely not the charm.
“Ugh! Biteeeeyy! Wakey wakey eggs and hay-key!”
For a while there is nothing. Then just as the mare looks away a brutally coarse, yet unmistakably childish, voice calls back down. “No!”
“Please don't make me come up there.” Pinkie pleads yet again. Unfortunately, nothing beyond more sounds of youthful stubbornness and the squawks of a frightened bird in the windowsill.
“Ohh, what I'm I going to do with you.” With a harrumph, Pinkie flaps her large wings and begins her ascent up the stairs. Approaching the second door on the left, she reaches the one having a fairly unchanged growth chart clawed into the frame and a few bad drawings pinned to its surface. Pinkie knocks, making one last futile attempt at being fair.
“Biteeey,” she beckons, trying to sound more loving than angry, “I know you're in there. You're going to be late for school...again.”
A soft thud hit the door, followed by a metallic slam and some muffled mumbling. Pinkie sighs and pushes the latch. “I'm coming in!” Less than a few steps in Pinkie briefly closes her eyes, silently wishing she was the least bit surprised at the sight of the pigsty that was her son's bedroom. It is not untypical for any six year old's room, with toys and clothes scattered about haphazardly amidst the never-ending piles of crumbs from Sparkle knows what. There was a certain air about this excessive state of disregard that felt deliberate. Worse yet, there's a possible extension of his recent acting out. This is found cemented in passing with his favorite toy. A rockwool rabbit he had named Ash, laying upside down in a rather sad looking pose, still smoldering from the fire that had jettisoned it.
Tip-hoofing past the chaos, Pinkie approaches a single barbecue grill that lay in the center of the room, its hood down, and roaring on a low flame. "Just as I suspected.” She pouts. “Why are you doing this?”
“Go away! Bitey no want go to school! Me comfy!”
“If you miss another day, you'll be written up.” Pinkie said, fidgeting at the hood's handle to no avail.
“Me no care! School stupid!”
“What happened now-w...” She sighs. “You didn't eat the teacher's geodes again, did you?”
“Nothing happen! Me fine!” He snarls.
Recognizing that tone all too well, Pinkie let go of the handle and sat down next to the grill. She takes a deep breath, allowing just a few moments to calm herself. ”Come on sweetie.” She began in her most caring expression. “What's wrong? You've been so mean all week. And It's making me all worried. You don't want me to worry do you?”
“Me.......Me no want talk about it.....Momma please no make Bitey go to school?”
“But I thought you liked going to school. You get to play, read, and do all sorts of fun things.”
“Bitey no care!”
“An-n-n--d.” She smiles slyly. “If you go to school you get to hang out with Rainsong.”
There's a sudden flinch beneath the hood, hard, fast, and nervous. “Bitey no want talk with Rainsong!” He yells. “She have cooties!”
“Cooties?” Restraining a laugh the mare settles for an amused grin. ”Yea, right! You're going to tell me that my strong little avocado is afraid of cooties.”
“Bitey no avocado. Me dragon!”
“But you look just like one!” She grins.
“Me dragon!”
“I know, I know,” she giggles. “But doesn't that make it worse? Dragons are supposed to be fearless. But look at you. You're just sitting in your grill, so afraid your filly-friend will give you cooties that you've tried to miss school all week.”
“Rainsong no Bitey filly-friend, just friend filly..... And Bitey no afraid...just...”
“Just wh-a-a-a-t?” Pinkie prods jokingly.
Popping the hood open with one hard push, a small green dragon accented with purple fins (not that anypony could tell with the layer of soot coating him) emerges from the roaring grill alongside a cloud of pitch black smoke. “Just, Bitey no want be made fun of.”
“Whaaat!?” She gasps. “Rainsong's so nice. Why would she wanna make fun of you sweetie?”
“Not Rainsong.” He sighs. “Other foals... Hearts an Hooves day next week. Bitey want....make card.”
“And whats wrong with that?” Pinkie asked, fearlessly reaching past the flames of the grill to run her hoof through Bitey's head fins.
“Bitey no write so good. Me afraid Rainsong not read right.”
“Couldn't you ask a friend to help you?”
“Nooo!” He growls, adamantly stomping his foot against the bars. “Rainsong Bitey only real friend. Everypony else make fun of Bitey. Say Bitey stupid and talk weird. Me no want anypony help Bitey.”
“They said what now?” In an instant Pinkie's outstretched hoof stiffens. The grueling memories of her last parent-teacher conference (where she thought this had been settled) came rushing back to her. It is at this point the crimson on the mare's face could only be surpassed by an angry blush so verdant it almost showed through her neon pink coat. She's about to say something in his defense but is cut off by a sudden claw wave.
“That why Bitey want make card.” He smiles meekly. Which in his case, meant bending the edges of his permanent toothy grin up a few degrees. “Rainsong only pony nice to Bitey at school. Me want show appreciation.”
“Oh, I get it .” she lies, realizing his mind is made up and that nothing she could say to him would matter. Five long years with the boy taught her that much. Faking a smile, Pinkie resumes patting Bitey's grimy carbon-coated head. “Don't you worry sweetie. If you want to make a card so badly I'll help you write tonight when I get off from work.”
“No-o!” He shouts, cringing awkwardly at the idea. “Momma too silly. Embarrass Bitey! No want Momma's help either.”
“Oh please!” She waves her hoof nonchalantly. “I've been around the block way more than once kiddo. Let me help you, and you might even land yourself a little Hearts and Hooves day kiss.” She emphasizes this statement with a foalish display of puckering that probably would have gotten a laugh had present company not been avoiding eye contact.
“Rr-Rel-Really!” He looks up with amazement, the moment the words reached whatever implement reptiles hear with, only to turn face back to the ground seconds later. “....Bitey mean gross... No want Rainsong kiss!”
“Sure you don't.” Pinkie giggles, playfully jabbing her son in the shoulder. “That'd get you cooties, no doubt.”
“Bitey no afraid of cooties either! Momma crazy.”
“Crazy is as crazy does.” She jokes, fanning out the flames of the grill with her mighty wings before shifting back to an amused smile. “But if you don't want help then how about this. After school lets out, you could say some things you wanted to put in Rainsong's card. While I just happened to be around holding a pen and paper. And I might just accidentally write it down and drop it into your school bag.”
“Really!.... Uh, Bitey mean me think about it.” He scoffs, kicking some crud off the hot bars.
Lifting the small drake from his grill, Pinkie snuggles him gently against her chest. “If you say so, sweetie.” She smiles, looking down into his unfocused purple eyes
“Gross momma!” The drake flails, knocking himself to the ground. “Bitey no want momma cooties either.”
“Course you don't, hehe. So, are you ready to go to school now?”
Stubbornly crossing his arms, he looks to one side. “Maybe!”
“Okay good. Now you already missed the cart. So I'll have to drop you off on the way to work."
“Okay Momma.” The defeated young drake laments.
“Great! Alright, you go shower really quick. I'll get changed. Then we can eat breakfast on the way.”
“OHH! Do Bitey really need shower?”
“Yes! “ She states matter-of-factly. “All those stripes make you look like a zebra. Now get ready. If you hurry, I'll let you use your flames for the Balloon.”
“Really!!!! Bitey get to drive Balloon?!”
“Well, heat the air.... I'll still be the one steering.”
“Woo-hoo!” He shouts, leaping dramatically into the air.
“Sweetie. Don't think I'm going to let you.”
Clearly not listening the young drake began his march, striding across the room whilst singing a joyful rendition of ♫Bitey Gonna Fly Balloon,♫
“Bitey? I'm not goin...”
Slam! In an instant, the bathroom door is shut. This is quickly followed by the roar of the water faucet and louder yet less comprehensible singing.
Rolling her eyes and leaving out the way she came, Pinkie smiles. “What am I going to do with you.….my little avocado.”
