Author's Note

A very special thanks to semillon and NorrisThePony for looking at this chapter.

Also, my editors thought it would be funny if instead of pony names I just left it as (pony name), since that was the stand-in I used for the doc. *shrugs*

Stop, Drop, and Rigmarole

Gallus brushed the curtain aside and peered outside. A tree rustled subtly in the night breeze. The moon shone with perfect luminosity, invigorating the dark field with enough light so that he could see, for sure, nothing in particular.

Gallus breathed a sigh of relief. After the events that transpired the previous night, he had been on edge for the entire day. It would be little things, such as the simple drop of a pen, that would cause him to stiffen his posture, the feathers around his neck sticking out.

Now he was back in his dorm room, ready for bed. After checking the closet and looking under the bed for any chastity fairies, and after ensuring that there were no method actors waiting out in the hall for their queue to barge in, Gallus fell in bed with a satisfied sigh.

Finally, he could get some much-needed rest. Gallus got very little sleep the previous night, and the sleep he did get wasn’t enough to fuel him throughout the day. But now, it was the end of the day. And he could sleep for hours. All he had to do was turn off the lamp, close his eyes, then allow bliss to take him away.

Gallus reached over toward his lamp, his talon cupped in a U-shape as it grabbed for the — as it grabbed for the…

Instead of the lamp string, Gallus instead felt his talon grasp onto a fistful of feathers. Turning his head, he pulled his talon back and nearly let out a squawk when he realized who was in there with him.

“Well, if you wanted to touch my breast that bad you should have just asked!” Silverstream chirruped. With a swift jump, she elegantly turned in the air and landed on top of him. Gallus would have been impressed by the athleticism if he didn’t have his breath knocked out of him.

“Ah,” Silverstream said. “Just seeing me takes your breath away!”

“Just seeing you makes me suffocate,” Gallus replied. It was more of a hint to get off of him disguised as a quip, although from Silverstream’s perspective it sounded like a cute remark about how love is all-encompassing and that we will all eventually run out of air. Neither of those things have anything to do with each other, it’s just how Silverstream probably heard it.

“Wow, what a beautiful metaphor about how love is all-encompassing and about how we will all eventually run out of air!” See?

Gallus shifted a little beneath Silverstream so that she wasn’t cutting off any airways, but now his head was backed up against the wall at a weird angle. “Hey Silv,” he said. “What do you need?”

“What do I need? Pffft!” she pffft. “What do you think, silly?” She playfully bonked him upside the head. Gallus tried to rear his head back, afraid that Silverstream would be the chastity fairy in disguise, but the wall stopped him from doing so. He was forced to endure the gentleness of the hippogriff’s hand.

“Listen, Silv, I’m tuckered out. Why don’t we do this tomorrow?”

“What!?” Silverstream sat up and threw both talons to her face in shock. “But I’m ready now! I even brought protection.” Silverstream lifted both of her forelegs up and Gallus saw that, indeed, Silverstream was wearing knee pads.

Gallus’s face fell. “Silv, that’s not what protection means.”

A sly smirk spread across Silverstream’s face. “Oh, I know what it means. This is a different kind of protection.”

Gallus scowled. “We’re not going skateboarding after, either.”

Silverstream’s sly smirk fell away, replaced by a look of utter despair. “Oh…”

He sighed. Sitting up so that he was chest-to-chest with Silverstream, he said, “Let’s try tomorrow. How about that? I won’t be tired, and it will be a Saturday anyway. We’ll have all day to desecrate each other.”

Silverstream’s talons flailed wildly in the air — nearly smacking Gallus in the face — before landing on her head. “But we have to do it today! I already hired the strippers.”

Gallus’s eyes widened. “You hired more people to spice things up after what happened last night?”

Silverstream shrugged. “What can I say? I want to have sex, and I like company. It’s an extrovert thing.”

“So…” Gallus rubbed a talon over the back of his head. “Are the things you wanted me to do to your… ‘Dad’ an extrovert thing?”

“No,” Silverstream said and didn’t elaborate further.

“Okay… so, uh, what are you going to tell them?”

Silverstream sighed and turned her head to the door. “Okay guys, come on in!”

Nothing happened.

“Drat,” Silverstream slapped a talon to her forehead. “I have to use the keyword!”

“What’s the keyword?”

Silverstream cupped a talon over her beaked and called toward the door, “Fuck me harder than a tax evader!”

The moment Silverstream said it, the door to Gallus’s dorm room burst open — seemingly by a swift kick from a rose-colored earth pony stallion wearing a firefighter’s helmet and sporting a firefighter’s mustache.

“Is somepony burning their tax documents?” he said. His voice was the very definition of endorphins. “Sounds like you need a firefighter.”

Immediately, one after the other, strippers started to file in, all of which wore firefighter helmets and were in top shape. Except for one, who wore an eyepatch and a hat with a skull and crossbones on it. That, and he had four peglegs.

“Arg, who be committin’ fraudulent acts?” said the pirate.

Silverstream waved a talon at the pirate and proceeded to clap. “Ooo, ooo, that’s me. I’m committing fraudulent acts!”

“Arg, ye be but a girl!”

All of sudden, Silverstream became serious. “I know. But a life of crime is the only life this gal knows.”

Gallus tapped her on the shoulder. Silverstream turned to him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he said.

“Oh!” Silverstream exclaimed, slapping a hand to head again. She turned back to the group of strippers. “Sorry guys, but you all have to go. I wish we could have had that slumber party like we planned.”

All of the strippers dropped their heads down low and sighed sadly — except for the pirate, who arged sadly.

“But Silverstream,” the first firefighter that came in spoke up. The emblem on his helmet read Chief Rosebutt. “You’ve already paid us for our time. What are we supposed to do?”

Silverstream shrugged. “I don’t know. Go strip somewhere else, I guess?”

“But is it possible to strip when there’s nowhere a stripper is needed?”

“Who the fuck cares!?”

Everyone in the room turned to a red unicorn wearing sunglasses (and a fire hat, yes, that’s important). He picked up a chair and slammed it against the ground so that it exploded into a thousand splinters.

Where did he get that chair from? Gallus thought.

“Foxtrot!” yelled Rosebutt. “Now’s not the time for this!”

Foxtrot reared his head around to face the lead. “Who cares anymore?” he spat. Even with the sunglasses on, Gallus could tell that he was on the verge of tears. “It’s like I told you, the world has no need for strippers anymore. Not while there are such things as internet porn and virtual wiafus.” he said the last part with absolute disgust.

“That’s nonsense,” Rosebutt said. “There will always be a need for strippers. So long as there’s always a teenager desperate to get laid or some psycho with a weird fetish —” Silverstream made a weird noise that only Gallus could hear. “ — there will always be a reason to fight against the fire.”

Foxtrot jabbed a hoof into the lead’s chest, tears sprawling down his cheeks. “Why should I listen to you? You’re not the chief. The chief is dead. Dead! He died in that fire, trying to save that child. He died a hero and a great leader, and now you’re in his position. Well, do you feel like a great leader? Huh?”

Slowly, Chief Rosebutt brushed Foxtrot’s hoof away from his chest and placed his own on the subordinate’s shoulder. “I think you should leave. We will talk about this tomorrow.”

Foxtrot opened his mouth, fixing to say something, but all that came out was a loud choking sound. He looked around the room — to the other strippers and to the two young birds sitting on the bed — then his gaze dropped to the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your manes.”

Without another word, Foxtrot quietly ran around the group of strippers and exited the room.

“Sheesh,” Silverstream said. “That was a buzzkill.” The room was quiet for a moment. “Okay, but now I’m really wet.”

Gallus was instantly concerned.

Chief Rosebutt walked up to the bed. “I apologize, Silverstream. He’s new to this. That, and… he isn’t taking the loss of the chief very well. I’m afraid we might have to cut him from the team soon.”

“Oh, psh,” Silverstream waved a talon. “It’s all good.”

“Right. Now we must leave. Let’s go, everyone.”

One after the others, the strippers started leaving, and Silverstream waved each of them goodbye.

“Bye Chief Rosebutt, bye Sweltering Heat, bye Hot stuff, bye Foamy Stream — because fire extinguishers, you sick-o — bye Flaming Lips, bye Fire Cracker, bye Golden Shower, bye Long Schlong Silver. Stop by again some time!”

🔥🔥🔥🔥

Foxtrot hung his helmet on the coat rack next to the parlor’s fireplace and sat down at the hearth. As he stared into the crackling embers of deforming firewood, a brigade of tears began to well up behind his sunglasses. He staved them off, in case his wife or children happened upon him.

No, he was not the emotional type. Emotions were for mares and people who read books as a source of entertainment. Hard books. No pun intended there. Although, even if it was intended, Foxtrot lacked the attention and depth to recognize such “clever” wordplay. He was a hardheaded stallion (both professionally and mentally); married to his wife yet devoted to his job: that was fire fighting.

But sometimes he felt like he was fighting the wrong fire. He never got to live his dream of becoming a real firefighter. He tried. Oh, did he try. It wasn’t until his first week into the academy that he learned about his lung condition that presented itself as a metaphorical blockade to the rest of his life.

Foxtrot couldn’t hold it in anymore. A thin line trailed down his cheek, drip, drip, dripping from his chin, onto the hardwood floor. He would never be a firefighter like his dad. He would never sit next to his kids on their bed, like he once did with his father, and tell them stories of breaking into buildings with an axe to save a damsel in distress. If his father could see him now, Foxtrot was sure that he would be disappointed.

“Foxtrot?”

He didn’t need to turn around to know who was speaking to him. He already knew who the voice belonged to, because no other pony had the very velvety smooth falsetto that his wife carried

“Y-yes, honey?” he managed to choke out.

“Is everything alright?”

“Everything is peachy.” Drat. That was a poor choice of words. Velvet Falsetto — yes, that’s her name — knew how much he hated peaches, and she knew how much he hated it even more when it was used as a form of expression.

Foxtrot heard her approaching him from behind, but he remained fixated on the churning embers. Oh, how he wished they were a house… so he could put them out, of course.

He felt something warm brush up beside him as Velvet Falsetto sat down at his side. Foxtrot brought a hoof to his face and wiped the tears away quickly, pushing his sunglasses up further at the bridge of his nose out of fear that they would slip off and expose the reddening of his eyes.

Foxtrot felt Velvet nuzzle her head against his neck, which brought so much warmth. Not warm like how a fire is warm — which he much preferred — but warm how an electric blanket that’s set to its highest setting and could cause a sudden electrical fire if left on for too long is warm. So, pretty comforting, he gandered.

“Leftovers are in the oven,” she said.

“That’s fine. I’m not hungry.” Why would he be? How could there be time to eat when there were so many fires to put out.

Still nuzzled into his neck, Velvet brought a hoof up and brushed it against his cheek. “I know you want to be a firefighter, but you have to let it go. What are you going to tell your children?”

“How could I tell them anything?” Foxtrot’s voice cracked as tears once again began to well up behind his glasses. “How could I tell them that their father isn’t a real firefighter? How could I tell them that the only fires I put out are the candles at the birthday party of a mare who just turned twenty-one? How do I tell them that the real fire in life is a sense of purpose that will forever grow and enrapture the plain of their existence until there’s nothing left but a barren husk?”

The dam broke. Tears fell down his cheeks. He brought his hoof up and wrapped it around Velvet’s. The two sat together, entwined and staring down at the crackling embers. “How do I explain to them that I am the fire?”

Velvet sniffed. “That was very poetic, dear. How much of it did you understand?”

Foxtrot’s gaze fell to the floor in defeat. “None of it.”

“It matters.” Velvet moved away from him. A hoof brushed across Foxtrot’s face, forcing him to turn his head. His wife’s eyes glistened beyond the dying embers of the fireplace. “It matters that you find those words meaningful. You might not be a firefighter, but you’re still successful. You have a wonderful home, a lovely wife that cooks meals for when you return home, and children that want to be like you. Tell me, Foxy: would you want to let (pony name) down? How about (pony name)? (pony name) even? Not to mention (pony name), (pony name), (pony name), (pony name), (pony name), and (pony name). What about the oldest — the ones who are about to enter middle school? Would you really want to let (pony name), (pony name), or (pony name) down? They all look up to you. When they grow old, I don’t want them to remember their dad as someone who spent his entire life feeling sorry for himself. I want them to remember him for the passionate kindling that ignites his heart.”

Foxtrot wrapped his hoof around his wife’s, and for the first time ever, he was fine with someone seeing him cry. “That was a beautiful fire metaphor, honey.” He said. “And we should really stop having children.”

Velvet smiled and nodded her head slightly. “Yeah, maybe then my ovaries will return to normal shape.”

They embraced each other with a long and passionate kiss as the final embers died out.

🔥🔥🔥🔥

The next day Foxtrot sat in the locker room, getting ready for another day of stripping. He had just put on his fire-proof speedo and was now buttoning up hisfire jackett when he heard Cheif Rosebutt’s endorphin-filled voice behind him.

“Foxtrot!”

Hesitantly, Foxtrot slowly turned his head. How could he look the chief in the eyes after what he had said to him last night? He uttered a few harsh words, yes, but they were empty words nonetheless. Foxtrot had always considered Rosebutt to be a good friend. He didn’t deserve to be berated like Celestia just second-guessed him into existence. He was more than that. He was the Chief. He was a leader.

Foxtrot had expected a harsh barrage of words to reign down upon him, but when he turned to the Chief he was shocked into a dumbfounded silence. There, instead of Rosebutt, was a stallion with a short, scraggly mane of gray and a mahogany coat wrinkled with age. Chief Willoughby. The very chief that had died in that fire saving that little girl.

Foxtrot blinked, although from Willoughby’s perspective he probably looked expressionless since he still had his sunglasses on. In a rush, Foxtrot brought a hoof up to his face and swiped them off. The stylistic shadess hit the floor, one of the lenses shattering. That was okay. He could get a new pair.

“Ch-chiff Willoughby! You’re alive…”

Willoughby bobbed his tired, old head up and down. “Yes, that I am.”

“Buh-but how? I saw you run into that building. You never came out!”

“I faked my death because I thought it would be better for you.”

Foxtrot blinked, shaking his head side-to-side rapidly, thinking that Willoughby was nothing but a mirage. What did he say?

“H-how… what do you mean?”

Willoughby walked up to Foxtrot and placed a hoof on his shoulder. “I know that you’ve always wanted to be a firefighter. Oh, I know how badly you’ve yearned to be one. But, life has presented many obstacles for you to get there. And now, here you are, thinking that you’re on par with the lowest of the low, scrounging up every morsel a customer throws your way. I faked my death because I thought it would motivate you to find kindling within your heart and become the male stripper I always dreamed of you being.”

Foxtrot’s head perked up slightly. “What do you mean, ‘always dreamed of me being?’”

“I was hoping to never tell you this, Foxtrot, but now the time has come: I am your father.”

Foxtrot slapped his hoof away and stepped back. Willoughby didn’t even flinch. “That’s impossible. My father died in a pipeline explosion when I was a young colt!”

“I faked my death then, too.” He blinked slowly.

“What you’re saying is crazy…” Foxtrot said, but… he was starting to believe him. Although his dad supposedly died before he hit puberty, his father’s face was almost perfectly etched into his memory. Now, looking at the tired, old stallion in front of him, he could see it. He always saw Chief Willoughby as a father figure, and some part of him always based that off the vague familiarity that Willoughby shared with his actual father. Only... Willoughby was his actual father.

“Papa…” Foxtrot choked. His eyes welled up with tears. “But… why would you fake your death twice?”

“I do that to all my children,” Willoughby said. “To teach them the importance of living.”

“(Pony name), (Pony name), (Pony name), and (Pony name)?”

Willoughby nodded.

“(Pony name), (Pony name), and (Pony name)?”

Willoughby nodded again.

“Even (Pony name), (Pony name), (Pony name), (Pony name), (Pony name), and his twin brother (Pony name)?”

Willoughby nodded for the third time. “Including (Pony name), (Pony name), (Pony name), (Pony name), (Pony name), (Pony name), (Pony name).”

Foxtrot smiled, tears spreading down his cheeks. He sniffed. “I only recognized three of those names.”

“Uh…” Willoughby brought a hoof up and rubbed it over the back of his head sheepishly. “You tend to have a lot of kids when you’re living the stripper life.”

“I still don’t get it,” Foxtrot said. “Why did you quit firefighting to become a stripper? Unless you…”

Foxtrot’s eyes widened as the realization kicked in. “You were never a firefighter to begin with. You lied to me because I was too young to know. You’ve always been —”

“Yes,” Willoughby interrupted. “Stripper blood runs in your family. Along with a few sexual diseases that we will get into another time. Otherwise, you were born with a long schlong for a reason.”

Foxtrot’s nostrils flared as he exhaled air. Then, he let loose. He leaned into his father’s shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. Meanwhile, Willoughby stroked his son’s mane with all the comfort a loving father could give. They remained that way for a while until an alarm blared throughout the locker room.

Willoughby brought his son’s face up and stared into his eyes. “Enough of this sappy bullshit.” He spoke loudly so that Foxtrot could hear him over the ringing. “Emotions are for girls and people who read books for entertainment. Hard books. You have a fire that needs putting out.”

Foxtrot wiped his tears away with a hoof and gave his father a single firm nod. “I’ll make you proud, pa,” he said. “I’ll be the best damn stripper this world has ever seen.”

“Then go. Make some hoes weep with ecstasy.”

It was all the momentum he needed to spring from his spot, toward the firepole in the center of the room. His mind explored a hundred different memories at once. There he was, telling his children goodnight and wishing them a better tomorrow. There he was, cuddling with his wife by the fireplace. His mind wandered back further, and he saw himself applying for a mortgage. He saw the day he joined the academy, the day he learned of the condition that would forever impede his dream, and he saw the day that he met Velvet Falsetto.

Foxtrot had succeeded all along. Sure, it wasn’t the way he wanted to succeed, but he succeeded nonetheless. And now, he could tell his children — (Pony name), (Pony name), (Pony name)... the others — his life story, and for the first time ever, be proud that it’s his.

As he ripped off his jacket and watched it go flying in the air, and as he spun down the pole onto the stage, all he could think was about one thing…

I was the fire all along.

🔥🔥🔥🔥❤🔥🔥🔥🔥