The Old Man and the Foal

by legendary_Jelly

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Flurry Heart, Shining Armor, Random, Slice of Life, Alternate Universe
Length: 1590

Shining looks at Flurry

Inspired by The Old Man and the Sea.
The moment in time were shining looks at flurry heart, but what really going on beneath those light blue eyes?

this was made for the "Shining Armor is a Terrible Dad" contest [found here]

Published 2024-03-23 17:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-03-23 17:00:00 UTC

He was a Old Man

Shining Armor is an Old Man. Despite that his wife decided it was a grand idea to have a child. The Old man’s wife was an old woman. Although you would never guess that by looking at her. She was an alicorn. Alicorns live ‘forever’. Despite her being the ‘princess of love’ she never wanted any children when she and The Old Man were a young couple. And The Old Man was happy. The Old Man was wholly unprepared when in his old age (and her ‘young’ age), his wife made a decision. This decision was to have a foal. A foal? The Old Man thought how will I produce a foal?. The Old Man was ok with the decision. But The Old Man was uncertain if he could help his wife. The Old Man was even more unprepared when fate turned against him to give The Old Man’s wife a child.

But destiny wasn’t done with The Old Man’s life. The Old Man’s wife had The worst pregnancy in the history of pony kind, in the most denotative sense. The Old Man loved his wife. He loved her more then himself. The Old Man toiled with all his endeavor. Even with all of what The Old Man did, His wife anguished.

But fortune was not on The Old mans side. The Old Man's wife died of child birth. The Old Man was left alone. Alone with The Foal. (The Old Man’s wife had called the filly ‘Flurry Heart’, but the Old Man has always call the filly ‘The Foal’)

The Foal was an alicorn. The Old Man did not care. The Old Man prides himself to have perseverance. The act of pushing through one’s trials and tribulations, and puts one’s shoulder to the wheel. The old Man will follow his responsibility and sire The Foal to the best of his ability. As a father should.

But anything would be better then this. Thought The old man as he stood frozen in the doorway to The Foal’s room, staring at The Foal. The Old man had walked into the young foal’s room. It had only been a year since The Old Mans wife had given birth and died. The Foal was difficult to raise. The Old Man did his best to show The Foal a life full of comfort and joy.

As the Old Man looked at The Foal, The Foal look right back at The Old Man. Her eyes full of the innocence only a foal could have. But her eyes gave away something deeper to The Old Man. Something beyond the surface level of innocence. The Foal’s eyes gave away that she knew what she was doing was wrong. She may not know what was wrong, but some how she knew.

When The Foal looked at The Old Man’s eyes she saw something that she did not know how to describe. What she saw, she had never seen before in The Old Man’s eyes. What The foal usually saw in The Old Man’s eyes was a quiet determination, or a mix between neutrality and content. The Foal did not like what she saw. She could only assume that she was the problem, or that she had done something wrong. She didn’t like this feeling.

The Old Man continued to fixate his eyes on The Foal. Had The Foal been holding anything else, he would have thought that this exchange was cute. As it was The Old Man seemed to have caught The Foal in the middle of what he thought that she could only see as ‘playtime’.

The Foal wasn’t a regular foal. She was an alicorn. Carrying the traits of an unicorn, an earth pony, and a pegasus. She was one of only four in the world. As such The Foal had an enormous amount of power. Powerful earth pony muscles, fast and enduring pegasus wings, immensely magical unicorn horn. But right now she was not using her horn nor was she using her wing. As far as The Old Man could see, The Foal wasn’t using any magic. But that’s impossible reasoned The Old Man. What The Foal is dong is only possible with magic.

The Old Man was not looking down towards The Foal, but rather he was looking up. The foal was standing as if nothing was wrong, and that she was doing something that happened every day. Everything to The Foal was normal except that her vision was upside down. To her, up was down and down was up. Her eyes weren’t messed up. She was just upside down. And not just Upside down, standing perfectly on the ceiling of her room.

As The Foal looked down at the Old Man, or rather up at The Old Man, she found that what she saw was humorous to her. She had never seen The Old Man upside down and she found the visual quite funny. Had The Old Mans expression not concreated her own body to the ceiling, she would have giggled. The Foal would have giggled a lot.

But then I would drop what I was holding. She deliberated.

The Old Man fought with himself to decipher what his next move would be. He had always thought out his every move in relation to The Foal. Inasmuch as he could, he always did what he thought was right. but, there is no right here... his mind failed to see a optimal outcome.

A glob of what The Old man could only describe as blood choose this moment to drip onto the floor, although The Old Man’s eyes never left The Foal’s eyes.

The Old Man had a lot of skills he learned over the years. One of his favorites was cooking. He found immense joy when he was able to put together a meal that was more then just mere rice or noodles. What he cherished most while cooking was the application of sharp objects to malleable foods. All of the knifes he kept in the kitchen where hoof Forged by The Old Man himself, and sharpened to a razors edge after every use. The Old Man knew each and every knife he uses by heart and name.

When The Old Man walked into The Foal’s room he immediately recognized his favorite knife, Ramsay, with its corresponding burnt oak handle in The Foal’s mouth. In The Old Mans peripherals he could see the chips in the blade, and the dullness thereof, but The Old Man didn’t care.

As The Foal looked deeper into The Old Mans eyes, she caught a sliver of fear flash across the irises of his eyes.

But The Old Man is never afraid. The Foal reminded herself. Is he afraid of me? The very thought of it made The Foals eyes widen a smidge-ameter.

As The Old Man looks into The Foals eyes and sees her widen them, he finally takes his eyes off of her eyes and looks at his knife, or rather he looks at what the knife is coated in. The Old Man sees his knife covered in a crimson gel. The Old Man looks away almost as quickly as he looked, looking upwards towards The Foal’s hooves. The Old Man saw what he thought to be mud caked onto each hoof. Flabbergasted, The Old Man looks into to The Foal’s eyes to try and discern any intention from The Foal.

As The Foal looks into The Old Man’s eyes, and sees him flicker them to the applicator she is holding, then going to her dirty hooves, then coming back to her eyes looking more dilatational, The Foal is filled with a deep confusion backed by innocence. A confusion that reaches her eyes.

When the Old Man saw the confusion in her eyes, he made up his mind on what his next move will be.

He blinked for the first time in the exchange between him and The Foal.

The Old Man proceeded then to turn around, closing the door behind him, and walked back to his room, down the hallway, leaving The Foal alone.

When the door closed The Foal stood, watching the door, her body unmoving, eyes locked to the spot where The Old Mans eyes were. After a few seconds she blinked. Huh? she contemplated. The Foal turned her head to her bed below her, to look at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she was trying to make. She had seen The Old Man make the classic sandwich hundreds of times. She looks to her peanut butter covered hooves, the sticky peanut butter adhering her to the celling. The Foal then looks at the long piece of metal that she had used to spread the jelly. She then looked back at where The Old Man’s eyes were and reflected on the emotions The Old Man showed.

Ohhhhhh A look of understanding washed over The Foal’s face.

“I’m just bad at cooking.” As she talks the knife in her mouth drops down onto the floor, sticking into it with a twang, the jelly on it splattering to make the floor look like it spurted blood out from the impact.

The Foal didn’t care about the knife any more, as she had just covenanted to herself to never touch a kitchen ever again.

“Now” She looked around her “how to get down”

Up the hall, in his room, The Old Man was sleeping again. He was sleeping on his face. The old man was dreaming about the lions.