//------------------------------// // Crimson Capes And Checkered Flags // Story: Tangled Roots // by Bad_Seed_72 //------------------------------// Crimson Capes And Checkered Flags The daybreak was gentle and slow, Celestia and Luna meeting and separating, coming together and drifting apart over the horizon. Rays of sunlight peeked through Babs Seed's window. She felt herself stretch and rise in a trance-like vision, as if she were an observer in her own story. She felt no pain in her hooves, no kink in her neck, no tiredness in her muscles. Her mane was still mostly combed and in place—a sign that her slumber had been much more peaceful than usual. Whites of her eyes pure and free of all injury or irritation, her green irises sparkled in the glow of morning, pupils flooding with light. She strode over to the eastern window and thrust it open, breathing in sweet morning air. Autumn had arrived like a thief in the night, painting rows and rows of trees down the Manehatten roads shades of orange, yellow, red, and brown. The equinox had come. The days would be getting shorter. Looking down upon the Manehatten streets, watching the skies begin to come alive, Babs Seed felt like she had emerged from the other side of the fire. Something had changed in her, something irreplaceable and sacred and holy. Babs Seed took a deep breath, on her day of reckoning. ~ Bernie Madhoof rose to greet the dawn while Libra Scales snored beside him. The stallion stretched and yawned, hooves reaching to touch the empty heavens above. The utmost entirety of his injuries had been cast away, only a faint pain crying out in his groin as he moved. No matter. Bernie strode beside his bay window, pacing, watching the city below him begin to stir. The first transaction had been completed with the cutting of vendors' checks. The second would trigger the trap, snapping his wife’s treacherous hooves within its jaws. Whether it was for a candy apple or a new condominium, the second withdrawal would reveal the truth of her debt and his dominion. She would become as a slave to her master, begging for bits, relinquishing the upper hoof she held over him and falling to his hooves in mercy. The balance of power would restore at last; things would be as they should be. Oh, how he loved it when ponies would grovel to him. Bits. Money. Mammon. His god. The stallion served his deity well, paying tribute in the form of acquisitions and mergers, price hikes and expense-slashing. For twenty years, he had slaved and saved, enduring months of sleepless nights, years without rest, to build his empire. One would be quick to say that his hard work had paid off, but Bernie Madhoof knew no end of his offerings to Mammon. His god was a thirsty and unforgiving beast, roaring for more, demanding only the finest treasures and pleasures. Even the Orange Family Mansion had begun to disappoint him, blueprints beginning to formulate in his mind. New rooms were needed to properly revel in his status as the most powerful stallion in Manehatten. A pool hall, perhaps? A bar and lounge? Both were tempting options. Both would relieve him of the need to interact with the undesirables, to leave his castle and socialize among the subjects. No, this king met only with nobles, and only reluctantly. Briefly, as his stomach growled, Bernie Madhoof remembered a colthood of poverty and hunger, of squeezing out the last bit until it bled, of brewing stone soup when the cupboards went bare. Such a life of shame haunted him. Such a past made interaction with the lesser ponies of society an unbearable act of remembrance and mourning. Luckily for him, as each agonizing day of sobriety and servitude to Libra passed, less and less torture remained, and once he found himself free, he would drink away that memory. He would bury it where even the most determined of Diamond Dogs could never find it. He could do anything. He could rewrite the past, and create the future. Watching his wife slumber, oblivious to the knocking of Fate on her door, Bernie Madhoof found himself wondering out loud, “Perhaps it is time to upgrade… insurance policies.” ~ He was all cleaned out. Card Slinger stared at his forehooves, unsure if he was in possession of two or four or some other number the geniuses of Canterlot had not yet discovered. He was drenched in sweat, curled up into himself in one of the corners of his hiding place. The blackout curtains could not stop the arrival of Celestia forever, and she lit her fires in a momentous rage, her rays burning his wide eyes. Shuddering, hiding his face in his hooves, Card Slinger groaned. Insomnia had been his mistress, keeping him awake all night with her whisperings of doubt and regret. He had never been a good son. His mane and tail a disheveled mess in his tossing and turning and pacing, the colt cursed his impatience. Throughout that long night, memories of a beautiful mare and handsome stallion had tortured and taunted him, whispering things that would never be in his ears. The demons had come out in full swing. They tore what little happy visions of the past, what fragments that had kept him sane, to shreds, and handed him bottles and blunts instead. From dusk ‘till dawn, Slinger had consumed the last of his reserves, downing and lighting substance after substance, sin after sin. How he was still conscious and not lying in a pool of his own vomit, he had no idea, thanking the toss of the dice for their mercy. Beyond sheer luck, there were no deities for him to pray to; his faith had died with his guardians in the desert. He had only himself and his crew to lean on, and he wasn’t so sure of either. Numbness overtook him, sleep calling his name. Wanting to fight its intrusion, Sliniger stumbled to his hooves, almost toppling over one of the decaying chairs of the gang-shack in the process. He mumbled to nopony in particular, “I’m… I’m fine. I’ll be… good fo'… today… I…” Sentence drifting off into blackness, he met the floor, limbs twitching as he lay spread-eagle and prone. Now that he had been depleted of all forms of escape—both budding plants and fermented liquid nowhere to be found anywhere except for his stomach—there would be no more waiting. He’d thrown his last party, indulged in his last binge. Now there were no more excuses to delay his final act of defiance. Feeling himself begin to black out, Card Slinger clung to the darkness, knowing that sobriety, however painful, would be his secret weapon. ~ The day seemed surreal to Babs, test answers flowing from her pencil from someplace other than her consciousness. She had never finished her homework from last night, she realized. In spite of being caught off-guard, she found herself blazing through the instructor’s inane test. Nuclear fusion… horseapples… I never even paid attention ta these parts… The writing utensil hovered over the last question, echoing within Babs Seed’s mind. “Why is nuclear fusion not currently being used in Equestria?” it asked mockingly, begging for an answer. Tapping her pencil on the desk, scanning every nook and cranny of her mind for an answer, Babs finally scrawled, exasperated, “Because we don’t know how to do it ourselves, yet. Just the sun can do it, hydrogen into helium. And nopony messes with Celestia.” Good as any answer, she grumbled silently, quietly walking towards the front of the classroom with her completed packet. The majority of the class appeared to be splitting atoms and manes of their own, heads in hooves, hind limbs tapping in panic, entire classroom as silent as the calm before the nuclear storm. “Here youze go, sir,” Babs Seed whispered, placing the packet on the teacher’s desk. He appeared more bored than usual, reading a Playpony magazine (whatever that was), ironed military uniform displaying a few unbuttoned cuffs. “Thanks, kid,” he replied. “Hey, befo' youze go, let me grade it fo' ya.” “Oh, no, dat’s okay, sir,” she said, looking uneasily towards the door. “I was actually wantin’ ta—“ “Stay right there, mook!” the stallion interrupted, his voice snapping a classroom full of worried foals up from their papers. Babs Seed chuckled uneasily as their eyes narrowed, her classmates jealous that she would be the first to escape this asylum as they turned back to their papers. The longest two minutes of her life passed Babs by, an angry red pen in the stallion’s forehoof threatening to send her plummeting years and years back to Earth pony kindergarten. With a smile on his face, the instructor returned the paper to his ward. “Good job, kid. Youze get an A. Nice catch on the last one, by the way.” Really? He liked DAT answer? I was jus' pullin’ dat out o' ma— Blushing, stumbling over her phrasing, Babs said, “Oh, um, thanks! It’s jus', uh, summat I put togetha last minute.” “Truth be told, I don’t even know dat answer maself, heh heh. Now, git outta heeya befo' I change ma mind, youze maggot!” The instructor turned his attention to the magazine again, his eyes growing wide and a smile appearing on his face at the page in front of him. Babs Seed took her cue and exited, stage right. The hallways and locker bays were empty, all other classrooms succumbing to the injustice of full school days on Fridays. Feeling only the tiniest bit sympathetic, she found herself skipping out of the schoolhouse and down the steps, hooves light. ~ Sharing a loaf of banana bread and three mugs of steaming hot coffee between them, the mares of the Orange Family Mansion chatted amongst themselves, waiting for the inevitable knock at their door. Knowing that today was test day and hoping that Babs Seed had studied hard, Citrus Blossom, Libra Scales, and Allspice kept their ears pricked in the kitchen. “How’s the banana bread, ma ladies?” asked Allspice, caffeine just beginning to kick into her weary bones. “Excellent!” Citrus said, flashing a smile. Libra nodded. “Indeed, Allspice, you have made a fantastic breakfast.” “Thank youze kindly, Madame Orange,” Allspice said. “Pity the little foal beat me awake dis morn. Musta been excited ta go get done wit' dat test already.” “Probably. She told me last night that she would be coming home for a nap, and then there’d be a Manehatten CMC meeting once mid-afternoon rolls around,” Citrus Blossom explained, taking a deep sip out of her cup. “Napping? In the middle of the day? That’s not like Babs,” Libra said, concerned. “Is she feeling alright, Citrus?” Waving her mother’s worries off with a forehoof, Citrus dismissed, “Oh, Mother, everything is just fine. She’s just been working hard at her studies, that’s all.” This filly had never been as good of a liar as her sibling, and Libra glared at her in suspicion, not quite sure if she should believe her or not. The sound of hooves stomping down the stairs broke her thoughts. Dressed in a finely-pressed, hoof-stitched, three-piece suit and a pair of blue trousers, the stallion of the house made his way to the front door. He called out to the mares as he made his descent, “Gonna be out all day and night, darlings. All-day conference to attend to in Trottingham.” Libra Scales jumped from her stool, trotting to meet her husband at the door. “Bernie, why is this the first I’ve heard of this?” “Well, um, sweetie,” he stuttered, “I, ah, forgot to mention it to you last night. You were already asleep and I didn’t want to disturb you.” “But I came home after you did, Bernie. You were the sleeping one.” The mare’s eyes narrowed, accusing him of what she had come to expect, in spite of her attempts at positivity—lies. “Oh! Ha, ha, well, I guess I really was tired,” reasoned Madhoof, his mask beginning to crack at the corners. “But, either way, honey, I’ve forgotten, and I’m sorry. But the train awaits at the station, and I must be going soon to catch it.” “Babs Seed will be home this weekend for the first time in two weeks, Bernie. Don’t you want to spend some time with her?” Libra Scales accused, taking a step towards her husband. Madhoof hesitated as he stepped back, jumbling together a proper response in his twisted circuitry. “Of course I do,” he began, speaking as gently as possible. “But this is an important client, Libra. If I miss this conference tonight and lose his sales, how will we get through winter? You know that we are going to have to rely on back stock soon. Have you seen the leaves?” Sighing, Libra relented at last, “Fine. I’ll see you in the morning.” She threw her forehooves around his neck, pressing her muzzle to his. “But… no more late-night meetings for a while, alright?” “Yes, my love,” he cooed, and kissed her on the tip of her snout. He offered her one last grin, teeth as pure and white as those of a piano, as he exited into the cool morning mist and out of his prison. Citrus Blossom trotted over to her mother, placing a hoof across her shoulders. “It’s okay, Mom. He’ll be back in the morning, just like he said. Maybe we can do something as a family, go to the lake, maybe have a picnic?” Libra turned to her daughter, eyes full with a combination of sadness and doubt. “That would certainly be nice, wouldn’t it? We haven’t done that in years.” “I can start makin’ some sandwiches fo' youze,” Allspice suggested, putting on her brightest smile. “That’s alright, Allspice. I wouldn’t want to create extra work for you, things as they are.” Mother and daughter returned to the kitchen, pulling up their stools to their now-tepid mugs. “I know things must be hard on you and the other two lads now," Libra sympathized. Pleased at her self-control, holding back a dam of complaints, Allspice painted her smile with brilliant strokes and commented, “Oh, no, Madame Orange, it’s no trouble at all.” ~ Once home, Babs Seed found not one speck of sleepiness within her. It was nearing noon now, the Manehatten Cutie Mark Crusaders meeting at least four hours away. That time stretched and dragged, taunting her, threatening to swallow her sanity whole in its wake. Driven by boredom, the foal passed the hours that remained with a sudden attention to detail and cleanliness, going through each shelf, corner, and closet within her room. There, she found both forgotten treasures and confusing artifacts of days long past. Both foalhood toys and those ever-missing socks were found, bearing layers of dust. With Allspice’s assistance, after about three hours of work, the little seedling had whittled down her possessions into three piles—keep, donate, and trash. “Why are youze gettin’ rid o’ so many o’ youze things, Babs?” Allspice asked, trudging slowly down the stairs with the filly, saddlebags full of charity-ready toys and books nearly bursting upon her back. “It’s jus' time ta move on from some things, youze know, Allspice. Don’t youze ever feel dat way?” Pausing, Allspice sighed. “Yea. I know what youze mean, kid.” ~ The intercom buzzed, pulling him from fantasies of might and magic. In his mind’s eye, he was sailing on a yacht in the seas beyond Equestria, sail hoisted proudly towards new lands. Orange Enterprises was becoming far too big for ponies alone. Perhaps dragons and griffons would see his genius as well. “Sir, you have a visitor,” his receptionist announced through the device. “Send him in,” he answered, pressing the button back in response. A short, fat stallion, gray mane thinning, trotted in the door, carrying a thick stack of legal papers. “Ah! Sir Orange. Such a pleasure to see you on this fine autumn day.” “Cut it, boy. I’m a busy stallion today. Did you bring the paperwork I requested?” His visitor smashed his flank into the seat provided to him, nearly crushing the chair under his weight. “Yes, sir,” he said, feeling sweat trickle down his neck at the effort. “Life insurance, correct?” Madhoof nodded. “What is the highest-paying policy you offer?” ~ Galloping at full speed through streets bustling with capitalism and commerce, Babs Seed was a mere blur, all orange fur, red-and-pink mane, and crimson cape. The Cutie Mark Crusader banner displayed proudly on her most prized possession, Babs Seed stopped for nopony, retracing her hoofsteps back to the Manehatten schoolhouse. Allspice had required more assistance than she’d assumed to transport the donated goods to the nearest thrift shop in town, but Babs didn’t mind. The receiving-pony’s genuine smile of gratitude had made up for all the work, and it made that treacherously slow drip of Time’s candle wax pass by even quicker. Now, she was closing in at 1500, getting down to the wire, to the initiation ceremony, to the day when Rustler, Flora, Quick Step, and Turn Key would join her in the ranks of the caped and the crusading. Today would be the day that the sins of her past would finally have been worth it—for, if it had not been for her own darkness, Babs Seed would have not been able to bring a small packet of light to the schoolhouse halls. Babs Seed had lit a candle in the dark. Rounding the corner, pivoting with grace, the filly reached her destination. She ran up the steps just as the bell sounded its final cry for the week, foals of all ages and sizes bursting through the doors at her. With what seemed like a hundred cries of, “Excuse me! Sorry ‘bout dat!” Babs Seed finally climbed to the top, and dashed inside. Slipping past her classmates, who seemed as depressed as if all the strawberry milkshakes in the world had slipped into the gap between dimensions, never to be seen again—stop it, youze are makin’ youzelf teary again!—Babs took a deep breath, and opened the door to the classroom. Inside, the four foals waited patiently, sitting on top of the desks in the front row. A stack of crimson capes was given its own honor, placed on the instructor’s station in expectation of the leader's hooves. “Sorry I was late, youze guys,” Babs said, blushing slightly. “Guess I jus' lost track o’ time.” “Dat’s alright, Babs Seed!” Quick Step chirped, a wide smile upon her face. “We waited all week ta become Crusadas, we decided we could wait a few mo’ minutes.” Flora giggled. “Yup, an' we left the capes up there, fo' youze ta pass out.” “So… youze already tried ‘em on, made sure dey fit all o' youze?” Babs asked. Four smiling foals nodded in affirmation. “Well... in dat case… let us begin.” The four new recruits stood at attention as their leader cleared her throat. Lacking bongos or a mile-long canned speech, Babs Seed spoke from her heart, letting her words flow from a place within her soul she had never tapped. “I’m jus' gonna start by sayin’, I’m real proud o' youze four already. I know we haven’t discussed it—nor do we need ta, really—but I saw how youze all stood up ta Toss. An' it was… dang near inspirational, fillies an' gentlecolts.” She paused, taking a deep breath to hold back her joy and pride, overcome by the depth of their strength. Such brave, brave little crusadas dey are… an' will be… “I had no idea dis would be so easy,” Babs continued, locking eyes with each of them, one by one, as she strode back and forth in front of the desk. “I was expectin’ nopony ta show up, maybe one foal iffa Lady Luck smiled down on me. I was expectin’ ta hafta fight tooth an' hoof ta get youze recruits ta band togetha, ta accept one ‘nother. ‘Cause blankflanks like us, well, we’ve gotta stick togetha, ain’t I right?” Nodding confirmed her pearl of wisdom. “Exactly. But, youze see… there’s summat I gotta come clean ‘bout…” “What’s dat, Babs Seed?” Rustler asked. Come on, Babs, dis shouldn’t be so hard… “Well, I… I was a bully, once.” All oxygen in the room split from its gaseous form, covalent bonds breaking under the tremendous force of her words. With wide eyes and flattened ears, the new Crusaders stood in shock, muzzles blazing with questions as to how and why. “I… I know. I was awful. I… I went ta Ponyville, youze ever been there? … No? Well, it’s a beautiful place, dat town. It’s… it’s nothin' like Manehatten. Dis city heeya, she gives no bothers, she cares not fo' youze. But Ponyville, it’s full o’ carin’, youze see. An' I went there, an' I was scared. I went there ta get away from heeya, ta get away from the teasin’ an' the torment. Lucky Toss didn’t jus' tease some innocent little colt, youze see.” “Oh, Babs,” Flora whispered, frowning. “I… I had no idea he—” “No,” Babs said. “No. Dis is not ‘bout him, youze see? Dis is lesson time. Lesson time fo' youze Crusaders, so youze don’t walk in ma hoof-steps, understand?” Acknowledging their affirmation, Babs Seed started her speech back up again once more. “Anyhoo… there was these two fillies, mean ol’ fillies, dey are. Pompous. Arrogant. An' dey picked on the foals dat welcomed me, ma cousin an' these two otha little fillies. An' dey picked on me, too, but jus' a lil’. But, it made me scared, youze know, ta be in dis new place an' already everypony’s judgin’ me. I wasn’t even given a chance, youze know? “So, I sided wit' dem, the bullies. I teased ma own cousin an' her two friends, jus' so I could feel better. I destroyed their float fo' the Harvest Day’s Parade, followed dem all ‘round town, made their lives pure hay. Yeah, I was a grand ol’ bully, all right.” Silence. The room chilled, becoming immensely cold, as if winter had conquered autumn, stealing her throne and reigning from on high. Babs rubbed her hooves together nervously, scanning the blank faces in front of her for any indication of response. Breaking the ice that froze beneath them, Rustler asked, “So… so, what changed youze?” “Well… ma cousin an' her friends weren’t too happy wit’ me, as is their right. An' dey got back at me, scheme o’ their own. Dey rigged the float I ended up drivin’ at the parade, made the steerin' wheel go out o’ whack an' lose all control. I would've crashed inta the lake. I was fallin’ ta ma doom, when dey caught up ta me, leapt in pushed me out. Dey weren’t hurt, so I don’t think anythin’ too bad would’ve happened, but it was still real scary. Like, life-flashin'-in-front-o-youze-eyes scary.” “Wow.” Quick Step shook her head. “So… wait, why are youze tellin’ us dis again?” Babs smiled weakly. “Youze see, what I’m tryin’ ta get at is dat I ain’t no perfect filly. I paid ma bits an' made ma choice, an' I paid in full price. We worked it out from there, an' dey made me a Cutie Mark Crusada in Ponyville, gave me dis cape,” she explained, displaying the crimson fabric with its blue and yellow crest. “An' I vowed then ta neva bully again, an' ta create ma own lil’ chapta in Manehatten. An'… well, dat brings us ta youze all heeya, an' wowza, are all o' youze smarter than I was!” “But… youze ain’t stupid, Babs,” Turn Key challenged, raising a hoof in protest. “Youze jus' made a mistake. Nopony is perfect, right? An' yea, maybe we neva bullied nopony, but we’ve barely crossed paths wit' the likes o' Lucky Toss.” “Really?” Babs's eyes grew wide in disbelief. “Yeah,” Turn Key said. “In fact… come ta think o' it, we’ve only really been harassed by him when Card Slinga was around. Now dat he seems ta have up an' left, Toss has calmed down a lot, don’t youze think?” The other foals murmured in agreement. “Hmm. Well, regardless, ma point still stands,” Babs reiterated, striding before them. “I’m all so proud o' youze. Youze make a great team, stickin’ togetha like dat. Youze proved youzeselves ta be true Cutie Mark Crusadas, an' I’m proud ta have brought youze togetha.” Rustler trotted up to Babs, sticking out his right forehoof. “An' we’re lucky ta have been brought togetha by somepony like youze, Babs Seed. Past o’ no past, youze got guts fo' bein’ who youze are, an' we like the pony youze are.” Though she stuck out her forehoof to meet his, Babs found it useless, the other foals clamoring around them and squeezing them into a group hug. ~ Quick Step proved herself to be a budding seamstress—all four crimson capes fit like a charm upon their new bearers. Babs Seed had granted them each her blessing, welcoming each colt and filly into the Manehatten Cutie Mark Crusaders as a fellow fighter in the battle against hatred and malice, and as a fellow wanderer in the journey to discover who they truly are. She had no prouder moments than the feeling of tying each of the four capes around her new friends' necks, seeing their eyes shining with unfiltered joy back at her. After the christening and initiation, the Manehatten CMC took their first shake at crusading for cutiemarks, building up large piles of fallen leaves on the recess fields and diving in until they were silly with glee. Sure, “Cutie Mark Crusader Leaf Rakers” wasn’t exactly possible without rakes (and spreading the leaves in their jumping didn’t help the cause, either) but it was all in good fun. The foals laughed and laughed, creating and destroying their mountains and molehills until Luna threatened to steal Celestia’s crown, autumn day beginning to fade. “Well, thank youze so much fo' comin’!” Babs Seed called, her wards beginning to group together in anticipation of the long walk home. “I’ll see youze all on Monday, okay?” “Alright, Babs!” Rustler replied, smiling. “'Ey, wait, do youze wanna walk home wit' us, too? We all live downtown.” “Ah, no, I’ve got it. Thanks, though,” she said kindly, touched by the offer. “Okay, then. Well… see youze Monday!” Rustler exclaimed, the group beginning to turn away towards the Manehatten streets below. Four pairs of hooves waved goodbye, and a fifth returned the gesture, watching them leave until they were dots on the horizon. Today was a good day, Babs thought as she began to head off towards her own home on the hill, hooves picking up speed as they thrashed against the cobblestones. Dey know now, an' dey accept me still. Maybe I ain’t so bad afta all. ~ Citrus Blossom lazed on the couch in the living room, fighting the hollow sleep that only comes when boredom ceases to release its grasp. The day had been uneventful, Allspice and the two stallion servants performing a deep cleaning of the house, Citrus finishing the last pages of her latest fashion magazine, and Mother Orange pouring over financial documents in the upstairs office. There had been no discussion of her father’s absence beyond the mid-morning exchange over coffee and banana bread. Libra Scales seemed to accept the lack of one more set of hooves in the increasingly drafty and empty Orange Family Mansion, busying herself with more work. Citrus couldn’t help but notice that work had seemed to become even more of an escape for her parents in the absence of alcohol. Citrus had brought no attention to the trash can full of drained wine, cider, and whiskey bottles at the front gate, hoping against all hope that this would be the last time she would see another cursed bottle from their home fill a Manehatten dump. Citrus Blossom, in her youth, had experimented with alcohol, as did most foals, but events as of late had persuaded her to seek other interests. Her liver couldn’t help but thank her. Knock, knock. Citrus groaned, pulling back one of the curtains to check the skies. It was still light outside. Hadn’t Babs Seed told their mother that she would be back once Luna reigned supreme? It was too early. Perhaps something had happened? Citrus Blossom rose on her hindhooves, standing out the couch, peering out the window to the front gates of the Orange Family Mansion, searching for a clue to her guests’ identity before opening the door. There, in front of the iron gates, a taxi-carriage was beginning to be hitched back up, the driver excitedly counting his bits. The black-and-white checkered pattern on its side, along with a flag of similar appearance, meant that her visitors could be anypony but Babs. She never carried bits on her. Knock, knock. An impatient hoof drummed on the oak again. “I’m comin’, I’m comin!” Citrus called, annoyed as she rose fully from the couch and walked over to the door. As she opened the door, sending gusts of wind spiraling through the living room, Citrus Blossom could not stifle her gasp. There, on the doorstep, stood an orange Earth pony mare wearing a grizzled Stetson hat, a little yellow Earth pony foal with a crimson cape and a big red bow in her mane standing next to the mare. Both of them displayed eager grins. “Well, hooooowdy, cuz!”