Cloudsdale was a wondrous place.

The streets of the city were cloud highways, encompassing the heavy traffic of Manehattan and the eastern cities, and highlighting the bright lights of Las Pegasus and the west. Equestria’s capital of Canterlot also had its fair share of influence on Cloudsdale; the city was established in districts, a cumulus cake separated layer-by-layer. Every now and then, a flock of pegasi would go soaring up—provided access by one of the many crossroads strategically placed to allow transitions between the various levels—on their way to one of the many family-owned establishments, be it a quiet tavern for a mid-day drink or a grocer for the evening’s meal.

Either way, the crossroads provided Brandished Plumes ample opportunities for ponywatching.

To those that noticed the peeping pastel-periwinkle pegasus pony, they paid mind to the light articles he wore over himself: a tan vest—which was more pockets than vest—that had weathered a great deal of storms, and a wide-brimmed straw hat that appeared to be trying desperately to pull a style more refined than the sum of its parts. Brandish noted that incoming gazes were always passing, never lingering long enough to gather the same degree of detail he drew for himself. That was fine enough for the stallion, because the appeal of ponywatching was that he lived his life through others.

With a sigh, Brandish adjusted the straw stetson atop his plum mane. With the sun beating down hard on him, the need for a cool drink was forthcoming.

“Hi!”

Brandish’s gaze shot to the filly that had popped into existence beside him. “Make it a stiff one,” he muttered.

Gravity pulled the light-rose filly’s head into a tilt. “Huh?”

“Eh, nothing.” A winning smile lit his face. “Do you need something?”

“Yep; all of your bits, please!”

“I’m afraid you’ve run into a bitless pony, filly. Better luck next time.” Brandish spoke easily, holding his smile as he tilted his hat.

She made a noisy display of spittle. “Dang it, that almost always works.” Plopping herself down beside him, she rolled over onto her back to watch the crossroads alongside Brandish.

“Maybe for your father, sweetcake, but that’s because he knows how to use his brawn.”

The filly sighed. “He got caught again.”

That got the stallion’s attention. Feather Felt’s father had a truly terrible habit of approaching ponies in a less-than clandestine manner, and it often led to a great deal of time spent behind bars. His habit also had the nasty effect of turning a good stallion into a monster, and while Brandish—who had never met the pony, thankfully—knew that the pony was no foal-beater, his foal was not in a healthy environment to grow up in. Like breakfast, a pony's foalhood was the most important time of their life. Brandish had thought a long while back that Feather Felt would start to see her father more as a bad pony rather than the guardian she needed, but ever since her mother had passed, her view seemed solidified.

“And why aren’t you with him then?”

Feather Felt went silent.

Brandish leaned towards her, his mouth abruptly drier than he thought.

“Felt, sweetie? Where’s your daddy?”

“I couldn’t find him.” Felt rolled over to face Brandish with her soft emerald eyes. “I went to the station and asked to see him, but the officers looked at me like I said something funny. I sat there and waited, but then they just kept coming over to ask if I wanted to fill out a missing pony report, or if I had lost my parents.” Felt took a moment to pull herself together before continuing on through stinging tears. “Brandish, I’m scared. I don’t know where they took my daddy…”

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay.” Brandish’s hooves wrapped taut around the filly. “Listen, how about we go together to the station? I’ll make sure the adults listen to you this time.”

“Okay…”

Brandish carefully pulled his hooves through the filly’s light-yellow mane.

“Felt, trust me, no matter what happens, I’ll be here for you. Now come on, let’s go find your daddy.”

“Excuse me?”

The policemare sighed and set her clipboard down. She kept her tone towards Brandish neutral.

“Yes, how may I help you?”

“This brave little filly right here has a question to ask you, ma’am.”

With encouragement, Feather Felt managed her way onto Brandish’s back with a few swift flaps.

“We’re looking for my daddy, a grey pegasus with a dark red mane. He was supposed to be here… do you know where he is?” Felt’s voice was tentative and wracked with nervousness.

“Oh, him.” The mare paused, stuck in contemplation for a moment. “I’m sorry to say it, but they took him to Canterlot.”

“Why would they do that?” Brandish asked.

“That pony has been around the cell-block more times than I can count. He certainly isn’t the worst we’ve seen here, but considering the amount of… well, incidents he’s had… Anyways, I can’t tell you exactly why they took him there, but odds are they’re taking him to get verification that he’s actually a citizen; we had his crimes down, but no documentation he could provide. No stated residence, either.” The mare’s stern demeanor softened. “I really shouldn’t be telling you all this, or what I'm going to say next, but I think it’s going to be very hard to see your father right now, hun.”

Brandish allowed the filly some time to think to herself, but no words came to his friend. Felt’s expression showed a great internal conflict bouncing around her head; it was a pained and bitter look.

“Are you okay, Feltie?” Brandish tried desperately to hide his worry, but it was clear, and she noticed.

“What can I do?” Feather Felt pulled herself up by Brandish’s withers. “Can’t we just go to Canterlot and talk to him?”

“You could try, but it’s still likely they won’t let anypony see him. That’s all I can say, sorry.”

Acknowledging that the conversation was said and done, Brandish gave the policemare their thanks and carried Feather Felt out of the police station.

Once more on the streets, it was hard for Brandish to not let his frustrations loose on the world. He focused hard on refraining from cursing in public, especially in front of his little friend, instead processing what would come next for the duo. Brandish pondered the options he had concerning how he could help Felt; she sat quivering upon him, miserable and seemingly on the verge of tearing up once more. He hated to see the little filly cry, and her aching motions reinvigorated his urge to vent his anger. Suppressing his emotions once more, Brandish took a deep breath and readjusted his hat from where it had previously sat on the scruff of his neck.

“Feltie? Do you want me to fly us to Canterlot? I can get us there in under a day. We just have to do a little bit of packing and then—”

“No! I don’t want to go see him!”

Brandish nearly jumped in surprise. Her tone was sharp and biting, and it became obvious that she was shaking out of rage rather than sadness.

“Sweetie, are you—?”

“I want to go see my mom,” Felt whispered breathily.

His options were quickly waning; Brandish wasn’t the pony readily prepared to face the mental onslaught that Felt had given him to overcome.

“Your mother… is… she’s… ”

Feather Felt blossomed forth with purpose.

“Alive. She’s alive. Daddy told me. Daddy told me that I couldn’t tell anypony that she was alive, and that if anypony asked about her that I tell them that she was dead. He wouldn’t tell me where she is, and not even what her name was. I don’t remember what she looked like, but I remember feeling her holding me when I was born. I don’t know where she went, or where we lived. I always thought I was born in Cloudsdale, but daddy told me yesterday that we used to live in a better place. A smaller place. A quieter place. A place where we didn’t have to worry about money, just about enjoying our lives. He told me that it was her fault that we couldn’t be a proper and happy family, because she wanted us to move to Cloudsdale and he wanted to stay where we were. Daddy told me that he was going to ‘fix things' today.”

Shuddering, Feather Felt slipped from Brandish’s back and stood before him.

“Daddy always tells me that ‘if you want a job done right, you do it yourself.’” Felt blinked, sniffled, and took a resolute step forward as she stood on the tips of her hooves to look up. “Can we go find my mom?”

Staring at the filly, Brandish’s chest swelled with pride. He sat on his haunches and opened his hooves up; Felt slammed into his chest, and he took her sobbing body in with quiet and warm affection.

“You never had to ask.”

Author's Note

With writing heavily inspired by kudzuhaiku's style and associated works, I present to you my own kind of weed. Not really sure how this one is going to play out, but either way, I hope you will stick around!