Author's Note
Below is the script for the work above. It is recommended to listen while reading, as the above project is the way it was intended to be heard.
Hearth's Warming Morning
“Pickle, wake up! It’s morning already! Get your lazy butt out of bed!”
Pickle Barrel slowly opened his groggy eyes and stared up at his overeager sister, who was standing over him, practically hovering in place with the rapid fluttering of her wings between her incessant hopping up and down. The colt rubbed sleep from his eyes and blinked stupidly.
“Huh? What’s going on?”
This earned a swift bop on the noggin from his sister, who looked at him like he was the dumbest pony in Equestria.
“It’s Hearth’s Warming, you dummy! Presents! Now get up!” She punctuated her last point by hopping to the spot next to him and shoving her muzzle under his back, resorting to an attempt at force to pry him up and out of bed.
Pickle slowly sat up despite his sister’s urgency and rubbed his eyes again, the room becoming much more clearer, and so did his memory. He remembered it was, in fact, Hearth’s Warming morning and there was presents waiting downstairs for them. Still, the sun had not yet risen and the room was bathed largely in darkness.
“Barleeeeey, c’mon. It’s not even sunrise yet. There’s no way Mom and Dad will get out of bed yet, you know that.” he gave an exasperated groan and flopped back into bed, “Can’t we sleep for a little longer?”
This seemed to have the desired effect on Barley, who stopped hovering and sat down on the bed next to him with a thoughtful expression.
“I guess you’re right. But I’m really hoping we got those Wonderbolt scarves Grandma said she was gonna make us! I can hardly wait!”
Her giddy expression was certainly contagious, but the desire to sleep was moreso. Pickle grabbed one of her hooves and yanked her back down to bed. She gave in and flopped down next to him, kicking her hooves under the warm covers and snuggling up to her brother.
“I know, Bar’,” Pickle yawned loudly and hugged his forelegs around his excited sister, “But we just gotta wait until Morning first. The presents will still be there.”
A gust of winter wind breezed through the cracks in the windowsill and chilled the room so that both foals shivered. They were simultaneously thankful for the special Hearth’s Warming onesie pajamas that Grandma had made them last year. Mother has insisted they wear them to bed despite their inherent uncoolness, but if they were to receive Wonderbolt scarves in exchange, it was a trade-off worth making.
Trying to forget the promise of gifts and yummy breakfast, Barley pressed her muzzle into her brother’s neck. He smelled like the outdoors and faintly of mint and chocolate, but also the clean smell of the knitted jammies. Huddling together under Pickle’s blankets had given them the necessary warmth to stop shivering quite so much, and instead she enjoyed the moment.
Pickle’s hoof started to drift up and down Barley’s back, trying to soothe her as he always did whenever she started to get excited. It calmed her down, and he knew that well. Despite his eyes being closed and his breathing slowing down, she knew he was still awake, but barely.
Barley squeezed her brother, her muzzle nestled under the crook of his neck, and closed her eyes. Despite her best efforts, her mind wandered back to presents and that giddy excitement.
“Do you think Mom got us that Wonderbolt calender? And the Rainbow Dash official journal?” Barley kept her voice to a hush whisper so only Pickle could hear. Her brother grunted something in response, but she took it as a yes.
Barley had nothing else left to say, instead letting the comfy snuggle and backrub soothe her back to sleep.
Snap
“Aww, look at my cute little foals all snuggly-wuggly together. So precious! And wearing their jammy-wammies, too!”
Barley and Pickle opened their eyes at the same time and blinked away the fatigue to look around in confusion. Barley lifted her head and loosened her grip, but Pickle was less willing, instead holding her tighter and hiding his face in her chest fluff.
There, standing over them with a camera in her magical aura, was Grandma.
“Aww, Pickle-wickle is a big sleepy-head, isn’t he, Barley? He just loves cuddling his sister, huh?” Another snap of her camera echoed through the room.
Despite the annoyance of being woken so abruptly, Barley was unable to withhold a snicker. She knew her brother hated that name.
“Hehe, yeah. ‘Pickle-wickle’ is a big softy for sure.” Barley started to sit up, earning another groan from the sleepy-head next to her.
“And doesn’t Bar-Bar look so cute in her jammy-wammies! Do you like them, hunny?”
“Sure, Gramma. I like my, uh...jammies.”
This time it was Pickle’s turn to snicker from beneath his pillow. Barley kicked him from under the covers.
“Ow!”
“Are my two adorable little grandkids gonna come down and open presents or are they gonna stay in bed snuggling all day?”
For, once, Barley had almost forgotten. She flung the covers off of herself and jumped out of bed, nearly dragging Pickle along with her. He was left displaced and stunned.
Barley rushed past the elderly mare in the doorway and raced down the stairs to the living room. Her parents had just settled in with their mugs of coffee on the sofa, smiling as their daughter raced down the stairs.
“Good morning, Barley. You’re up surprisingly late.” Her Dad gave her a wave.
“And still wearing your pajamas, too. See, they’re not so bad. You look cute in them.” Her mother reached out for a hug.
“Morning, Dad. They’re Fine, Mum.” Barley reciprocate the hug halfheartedly, her eyes glued to the wrapped presents under the big evergreen tree in the middle of the living room.
Pickle and Grandma were both making their way down the stairs just as Barley had finished hugging her parents and raced over to the tree. Grandma joined their parents on the sofa while Pickle sat next to his sister. As was customary, he let her pick the first present.
“How about this one, Pickle. It’s addressed to both of us, and looks big!” She shook the box a little to feel its heavy contents. Pickle silently agreed with a yawn.
“Sure, Bar-Bar. Your pick,” he teased her with a light giggle. Barley’s eyes narrowed.
“Careful, Pickle-Wickle,” she cautioned.
With the large gift between them, both tore open the wrapping paper at the same time.
“Ohmygosh, a Scooter!” Barley squealed.
“We can totally do tricks with this!” Pickle shared in the excitement, eyes sparkling.
They passed the box between them a few times, admiring the pictures. Their father took the box away, telling them he’d put it together with some of his tools later. Reluctantly, Pickle let go of it. He was clearly more excited than he showed.
Moving to the next presents, the foals address two smaller packages addressed to them individually. A new red hat for Barley and a new sweater for Pickle, as his old one was worn out and torn.
“Open this one next, Barley, I got it for you!”
“Oh, then you open this one. It’s my present to you!”
The two foals tore open the smaller gifts. A Wonderbolt pencil set for Barley, and a sticker-book for Pickle. They giggled and gave each other a hug, always knowing what they liked best.
Snap went Grandma’s camera.
“I’m saving this one to the photo album!”
“Ugh.” Barley groaned. “Do you have to take a picture of everything?”
“Yes. I love keeping track of all my memories, especially where my two little cuties are concerned! Now, those two in the middle of the tree are from me. Why don’t you go ahead and open it next? I think Barley is going to love hers!”
Barley didn’t need much more encouragement than that. She grabbed her present at the same time Pickle grabbed his. They looked each other in the eye with giddy excitement, and tore open the packaging.
“Oh my GOSH! A Wonderbolt scarf! It looks so cool!” Pickle nearly screamed, grabbing the scarf, holding it up to himself and giving it a big hug! Barley had just finished tearing open hers, anticipation at its highest...
...And she came face-to-face with a bright pink-and-purple striped monstrosity. Her face fell.
“Do you like it, Bar-bar? You’re always trotting around with so much red like your brother, or those Wonderbolt things. You’re a growing filly, so I thought you might like something to make you feel a little more...girly!”
Barley wanted to puke. Girly? Pink? That was not what Barley was about at all. She wasn’t like those other girly fillies at school. She liked doing stunts and playing sports with her brother and his friends. Wracked with disappointment, she sucked in her pride and gave a pitiful smile.
“Uh, I love it, Gramma. Thanks.”
From the corner of her eye she saw Pickle give her a worried expression. He knew her too well and saw right through her. He guiltily put his scarf down and to the side, quickly trying to change the subject.
“Mom and Dad, Barley and I got you something, too!” He reached under the tree for a small package and delivered it to them.
They slowly pulled back the wrapping to see a handmade macaroni picture frame of both foals smiling and sitting still. A rarity for them, to be sure. The twins’ mother picked up the picture frame and hugged it.
“Oh, it’s lovely, kids. Thank you!”
The morning went along much like any other Hearth’s Warming. They had hoof-painted pictures and cards for their Grandma, who cherished them lovingly. They received matching Wonderbolt Journals and a Calendar, just as they’d asked.
It wasn’t until when breakfast finally came around, when both foals sat at the kitchen table that Pickle nudged his sister. She had been sitting there, seemingly fascinated by the festive designs on the sleeves of her pajamas and uncharacteristically quiet.
“You okay, Barley?” he whispered, too low for their father, who was currently making pancakes on the other side of the kitchen, to hear. Barley looked up, slightly startled, and shrugged.
“Yeah. M’fine,” she muttered. “Why?”
“You seemed really down earlier. Is it...about the scarf?”
“No!” she snapped, “Why would that matter. I’m just a stupid girl anyways.”
Pickle, startled by her outburst, blinked multiple times.
“Barley, you’re...not okay. I’m not dumb. We’ll talk later, okay?”
Barley simply ignored him as pancakes were delivered to the plate. They ate quietly but wolfed down their sugary sweet breakfast anyway. They had their fill and then some, bloating themselves to the brim on delicious pancakes, fruit and orange juice.
Pickle was inherently clumsy at breakfast and had always been, so he had been downgraded some months ago to a sippy cup, much to his chagrin. Today, his cup was as festive as their pajamas. He held it up and waved it in from of Barley, in an attempt to make her feel better.
“Mom and Dad are really trying to make me feel bad now, huh? Wanna trade?” Pickle giggled, and Barley actually cracked a smile.
“Heh, yeah. I guess they are,” she smiled.
“Knew I could get you to do that.” Pickle gave a smug grin and nudged her in the side with his foreleg. “Wanna go put away our presents upstairs?”
Before Barley could respond Pickle had grabbed her hoof and dragged her along. They hoisted their gifts up the stairs while thanking their parents and Grandma, profusely. Pickle was slightly more genuine to the latter.
In their room, they sat on Pickle’s bed again, their various gifts laid out before them.
“It’s the scarf, isn’t it.” Pickle addressed the elephant in the room.
“...Yeah,” was the only answer.
“’Cause it’s pink?”
“Yup.”
He held out his one-of-kind blue Wonderbolt scarf, hoof-made by their Grandma, and put it in Barley’s lap.
“You take it. You should have it.”
Barley fell silent, her eyes growing wide and tearful. She blinked back the tears, opened her mouth to speak a few times, but no words came out. She wanted to protest, to tell him to take it back, but she also recognized the profoundness of such a gift from her brother. He loved the Wonderbolts as much as her, and he loved that Scarf, too. Finally, she lurched forward and pulled him into a crushing hug.
“P-p-pickle. You d-don’t have to,” she bawled, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, Sis’. It’s important to you. You’re different than the other fillies at school; you don’t need to wear pink and look girly to know who you are and feel good. Grandma just doesn’t understand that.”
The hug tightened tenfold, crushing his back until he wheezed.
“Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou! Pickle, you’re the best!” She squealed and squeezed him again.
“Eugh! I know! You’re crushing me!”
Barley could have sworn she heard a creak from outside their door, the sound of a hoof on the stairs. Or was that just her imagination?
Later, when breakfast had been cleaned up and they’d gotten a chance to try most of their gifts, Barley and Pickle stood outside in the cold snow, bundled up in poofy jackets, hats, and their scarves
Barley hugged the Wonderbolt scarf to herself, treasuring it as the the best gift all year. Pickle, wrapped up in the pinks scarf and looking positively silly, dove into the nearest snowbank.
“Hey, Sis, think fast!” A ball of snow came whirling past her head and she dove away to avoid it.
“Eeee! No fair, Pickle! You didn’t say we were having a snowball fight!”
“Too slow, too bad!” he chanted, grabbing another ball of snow and hugging it over his makeshift wall next to the drift that had formed when Dad shovelled the sidewalk.
Barley grabbed a hoof-full of her own, taking extra time to pack it together and make it rounder. She hurled her snowball, watched it arc into the air, and land directly on Pickle’s face. He fell backward in a feigned defeat, sprawled out in the snow on his back.
Barley didn’t waste any time, taking a running start, leaping over the drift, using her wings to slow her descent, and flopped right onto Pickle’s exposed chest. By instinct his hooves came up, wrapped around her barrel, and hugged her tight.
“Gah!” Pickle was winded. Barley grabbed more snow, and shoved it directly into his face.
“Take, that, cheater!”
“Wahhbggll” He howled beneath his faceful of cold powder. Wiping snow off his face, laughing heartily, Pickle raised his head.
“I win.” Barley said, smugly.
“Only ‘cause I let you, dork.”
Barley rolled her eyes, driving home her point by shoving more snow into his face.
“I suppose you let me do that, too, huh?”
Desperate to escape the cycle, he squeezed around her barrel, flipped her over, and drove her head into the snow. She thrashed playfully, hooves beating against his chest, and wiped the already melting slush out of her fur.
“Gah!”
“Told ya.” It was Pickle’s turn to be smug.
Barley leaned up and pressed her nose right against his, smooshing them together and causing them to scrunch. She wiggled her nose back and forth and watched him blush at the positively embarrassing level of cuteness that he could not get away from, nor had the heart to resist.
“Baaaarley, c’mon. If Gramma saw...”
Snap
