When a Kirin gets a B

by TwiFan6789

Rating: everyone
Tags: Kirins, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Random, Slice of Life
Length: 1070

A for Average, B for Failure, C for Disownment.

Every Kirin dreads the day they get a B...

Cover art by Sparkling_Light.

Published 2022-11-23 07:20:00 UTC
Last updated 2022-11-23 07:20:00 UTC

When a Kirin gets a B

Aquichen dreaded coming back home.

It was a quaint, small house in the suburbs of Ponyville. But it was home.

Today, however…

“Okay son, so you got the report card?”

It was his father.

“Uhh…yeah.”

“Come, come, what you get?” the elderly Kirin probed, his expecting eyes boring into Aquichen’s own.

Aquichen swallowed. “I…got an A in Loyalty?”

“Okay average we take, what else?” His father’s eyes remained judgmental.

“An A in Kindness…?” Aquichen raised his eyebrows, bringing his hoof up towards his father.

His father jerked back. “A again? Two average!” His muzzle scrunched.

Aquichen’s heart sank. “Another A in Laughter?”

His father slammed his hoof onto the table. “A—AVERAGE AGAIN! Why didn’t you get A+? You laugh all the time with that stupid face of yours…!”

Aquichen’s teeth clattered. “Dad…an A is good…”

“What you say?” His father whipped his glasses off.

“I…” Aquichen sighed. “I didn’t say anything…”

“What about the rest of the results?” His father jerked his head up.

The moment was now. He sighed. “I got…a B.”

His father practically fell onto the couch. “What the hail in Celestia’s name did you say?”

“...in Generosity.”

The couch deflated. “How the hail you get a B in Generosity? You tell me you are kind, loyal and laughter but you can’t be generous?”

Aquichen could only feel his head sinking downwards.

“I walk all the way from the Peaks of Peril for you to get B in generosity, back in my days, I had to walk twenty mile uphill—both ways—twenty-seven hours a day—on one hoof!” he seethed. “I provided the entire village with fresh water for twenty year! And you can’t get B in gen-er-osity!”

Aquichen rubbed his face thoroughly with a hoof.

“In those days, I had to climb ninety-seven degree angle to the top of the mountain. And then, fight two manticores. Everyday…the same two manticores!” His father swung his hoof exaggeratedly. “Then I carry three hundred gallon of water to the village well—”

Aquichen plucked up his courage. “It didn’t rain back there?”

“Rain?” His father’s lips curled disapprovingly. “Do I look like a pegasus to you? Do I look like Element of Loyalty? I singlehoofedly prevent the entire village from dying of thirst and star-vation. My mountain water—once everyone drink—instant one hundred IQ. The vegetables growing faster than earth pony farming.”

“...okay…” His father’s logic transcended reality, he reminded himself.

“So how you…you going to become alicorn princess now?”

Aquichen’s eyes popped open. “Wha—what? I’m not—”

“Remember what Princess Twilight Sparkle say? Creature equality.” His father pointed to a small, crude spin-wheel that has the arrow pointing to the section of ‘Alicorn Princess’, instead of ‘doctor’, ‘lawyer’ or ‘wizard’. “See this? We already decided for you already.”

“But I’m not a—”

“It’s okay ah, gender in-clu-siv-ity,” his father retorted. “Stupid. Can’t even study for generosity.”

“I did study…I studied through the night, except when I’m exercising with my friends—”

His father slapped his hoof onto his thigh. “You were not studying when you were exercising? Back in my days, my friend and I used to run and recite flashcards at the same time. Train the mind and body at the same time. Maximum effect, instant A+ for exam and PE.”

Aquichen had to question this. “But how can you learn stuff when you’re trying to focus on your run?”

“Oh, back in my day, mental capacity hadn’t been in-vented yet,” his father fired back. “Nowadays, you all have books, stationary, teacher, shelter over your head. Run with your textbook or something.”

“But they ask you questions outside of the textbook—”

“Then you make your own textbook ah, you think I took my exams without making my own textbook?”

Aquichen’s jaw shook. “Y-Yes! That’s exactly what you said.”

“No. I never said that, you failure,” his father spat. “Now you stand in front of the wall for thirty minutes, and reflect on what you do.”

Bound by tradition, the young Kirin begrudgingly dropped his saddlebag off, and faced the monotony of the wall in solitude.

Time slipped by. His mind whirled in a miasma of fear, anxiety and disappointment. Sweat dripped down after the exchange. The marble wall stared impassively back.

Suddenly, the door knocked.

His legs answered, but so did his father.

“You stay there and reflect. I answer the stupid door.” His father trotted over to the door, and swung it open…revealing their Kirin neighbor.

“Do you know my daughter is studying for final exams tomorrow? Why you make so much noise?” A fiery pink hue ominously graced her mane.

“I…I don’t know ah, I think the birds fly by and make the noise,” Aquichen’s father turned to look everywhere except his neighbor’s face, “what your daughter studying?”

“Oh, neurosurgery,” the neighbor replied, struggling to hide a small smirk that emerged from the side of her mouth.

“Neurosurgery?” Aquichen’s father’s lips quivered. “Not bad.”

“So what about your son? What he studying?” the neighbor probed, savoring the troubled expression on the father’s face with glee.

“Twilight’s School of Friendship, second year already,” the father replied, waving a hoof.

“...Oh, not bad, not bad,” the neighbor reiterated. “But no future.”

Aquichen could feel something within him shatter into pieces.

“Your daughter too, when my son invent new spells to cure brain tumors,” his father deftly parried. “My son got A+ for magic. And his score was normalized to the unicorn’s grading curve, what about you?”

“Oh my daughter, she is triple PhD in medicine, physics and economics. She invented Googol at 9 years old and managed to do a sonic rainboom at 12,” the neighbor touted like a street vendor. “Also played the entire Ponyville buckball team by herself and won.”

His father stopped. “Not bad. But why you not working today?”

“My daughter such a failure, can’t even study by herself, need me to accompany her,” the neighbor spat in distaste.

“No, my son such a failure, he got a B in gen-er-osity at Twilight’s school.”

The neighbor swiveled back and kept her eyebrows high. She noticed the reflecting Aquichen.

Aquichen, despite him facing the wall, could feel his back becoming peppered by an unspeakable force of disappointment. The silence grated his skin and his nerves. His legs wobbled.

And Aquichen collapsed into the floor like a rag doll.

His overlay read: “EMOTIONAL DAMAGE.”

“Why your son can’t even stand straight for two minutes?”