Chestnut’s eyes widened with fascination.
“That’s your place? Rad!”
Fleur was no linguist. She was fluent in both Prench and Equestrian and she had picked up the basics of some more exotic tongues during her time in Shanghay, but even if she had learned all the languages in the world, she’d still have trouble keeping up. She didn’t mind the trilling ‘R’ much—though it was making the filly sound rrrather outlandish—but the teenage manner of throwing in bizarre words and catchphrases was downright annoying.
‘Rad’ was just one of many words Fleur had suffered on their way home, and if it wasn’t for the obvious context of ‘their place’, she would have never guessed that Chestnut was actually trying to compliment their house.
“I do share your enthusiasm, young lady,” Fancy Pants said as they walked through the front gate. “However, I would prefer you to work on your parlance a bit. Could it be arranged?”
“Yeah, sure!”
Fleur frowned. “It’s pronounced ‘yes’, and not, ugh, ‘yah’.”
“Uhm, yesss,” Chestnut hissed, then set off along the sandstone pathway at a gleeful trot. Halfway towards the house she jumped into a puddle like she was trying to match the prowess of her Orphanarium friends. She took a sudden flight as if she wasn’t expecting the water to be wet. She snickered to herself and waved at Fleur and Fancy Pants. “Come on, you guys! What are you waiting for?”
Fleur could think of at least several legitimate reasons to stay away from the batpony snooping around her parcel.
Regrettably, the front yard didn’t look as spectacular as in the warmer months when rock gardens were surrounded by a colorful variety of blooming flowers, and the well-ordered lawn was free from the dry leaves falling from their neighbor’s maple. At least the shrubs looked decent, though the one at the far side could definitely use some trimming. Fleur didn’t even enjoy gardening that much, but right now she would take up anything if it meant she wouldn’t have to deal with the biggest disappointment of her life.
She glanced at the porch.
Standing by a bronze and mahogany bench that was as comfortable as it was elegant, Chestnut was trying to hide the fact that she had left a wet hoofprint on one of the flat cushions. She turned it around by sliding her wing underneath and flipping it like a pancake. When the cushion landed it its place, she glared at her hooves, then wiped them against her own coat while murmuring something under her breath.
Fleur turned to Fancy Pants. “I hate my life,” she groaned. “All I ever asked for was a right and proper filly, and what do I get? An adolescent batpony, hmph! I swear, I’m going to pay Doctor Hugs a visit and set his stupid questionnaire en flammes!”
“Don’t be so negative! Didn’t I tell you not to inflate your expectations?” Fancy Pants replied. “I trust the doctor’s judgment, and if nothing else, I think this is a wonderful opportunity to learn more about the batponies. They aren’t that common in our neighborhood, you know.”
“That’s because there are none in our neighborhood, and for a good reason! Do you want your life turned upside down due to a brief visit of some orphan from beyond Equestria?”
Fancy Pants stopped in his tracks.
“A brief visit? Is that what you really think of it, Fleur?”
“Well, what if it is?”
“Then that’s it? You’re simply going to return her on day one, end the vacation before she even crosses the threshold of our house, and blame her for being different than our neighbors? Is that what you want?”
“It’s not—argh, it’s not fair when you put it like that!”
“Then show some good faith,” Fancy Pants replied, handing the mare a cardboard box Chestnut had brought from the Orphanarium. “There is a whole week ahead of us so let’s try to make the best of it, shall we?”
Fancy Pants trotted to Chestnut but Fleur didn’t move. She wanted to see her husband’s ‘good faith’ at work. Because that’s so simple.
It seemed the filly discovered that a doormat was far superior than her coat for wiping her hooves. Fancy Pants complimented her bearing as he searched his tailcoat for the keys while Chestnut pointed at the bench, reached to her neck in embarrassment, and apparently uttered an apology. The stallion just laughed and invited her in as if she was some old friend of his.
Taking a deep breath and bracing herself for the upcoming week, Fleur headed towards the house as well. She grabbed the box in her pink magic, but despite her intention of holding it as far as possible, she found herself intrigued by the crooked letters written on the side.
NuTsiE’s StuFF
How wonderfully avant-garde.
She gladly noticed that the atmosphere around the house had been in no way affected by the presence of the batpony. It was still her home.
Chestnut herself stood amazed by what the interior decorator had done with the hallway. First to the right there was a mirror stretching from the hardwood floor to the cream ceiling, wide enough for three ponies to comfortably stand in front of it at the same time. The fourth one would find himself walking into a cozy kitchen accessed by a white archway. Such a solution had been put into use on the opposite wall as well, where a wide passage opened to a spacious living room. Right outside the room, and to the left of the ponies was a long, wall-mounted coat rack full of elegant outerwear.
Chestnut followed the hallway, peeking into both rooms with curiosity only natural to a foal her age. She stopped by an intricate, pinecone lamp imported straight from the Crystal Empire. When Fancy Pants cleared his throat, she took a step back. The stallion flicked the switch and the hallway filled with the pleasant light that finalized the first impression which—much to Fleur’s satisfaction—rendered the filly speechless for a few blissful seconds.
“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Fancy Pants said, causing Chestnut’s jaw to drop even lower. “Now, ladies, I would like to establish a couple of rules that every member of this household is expected to follow in this upcoming week.”
“Wait!” Chestnut shouted. She dashed to Fleur who instinctively shielded herself with the cardboard box which turned out to be just the thing the filly needed. After a moment of rummaging through the contents, Chestnut took out a creased piece of paper and presented it to the stallion. “According to this Totally Legit Guide to Batponies, I don’t have to obey any rules!”
Fancy Pants adjusted his monocle and enveloped the paper in the saffron mist of his magic. “You made it yourself, didn’t you?” he chuckled and passed the guide to Fleur.
TOTALLY LEGIT GIUDE TO BATPONYS
“Totally Legit—ugh, my eyes hurt from reading the title alone,” Fleur said, drawing a rebuking stare from Fancy Pants. She did her best to ease her frown that just wasn’t leaving her forehead. “Uhm, it’s nice.”
Chestnut shoved the paper back into the box. “Yeah—I mean, yes, sorry, I know it’s not so good. Doc Hugs was too busy lately to teach me letters and stuff,” she said with a shrug. “Reading is hard but can be really fun, but writing sucks when you have no magic but only your mouth and hooves.”
Glimpses of terror danced in Fleur’s eyes.
“You mean you have never learned to read and write properly?”
“I can totally write my name!” Chestnut replied with undisguised pride.
The state of affairs graduated to a whole new level of absurdity. Fleur couldn’t believe that there were still ponies out there who were illiterate, and though she had never been a student in the Equestrian education system herself, she was willing to bet that it was still covering the basics the filly lacked. She then realized that Chestnut wasn’t even a real Equestrian, but came from some unimportant, poor, and underdeveloped country to the east. While it certainly helped Fleur deal with the shock it did not ease her grief, as she had to kiss goodbye to the much anticipated scenario in which her daughter was a famous playwright.
Upset as she was, Fleur retained her composure of a classy mare and let Fancy Pants entertain his guest.
“How about a little tour around the house?” he proposed. Chestnut’s wide grin and vigorous nods sufficed for an answer, so he showed her upstairs and turned to Fleur who instantly deciphered ‘the look’ on his face. “I’m sure we’ll reach some consensus regarding the rules, won’t we?”
“Fine by me!” Chestnut replied, then threw him a questioning stare. “What’s a consensus?”
Fleur looked in the mirror. This was going to be one long week.
The tour concluded in a spare bedroom which Chestnut was offered for her temporary place of residence. Since Fleur and Fancy Pants had no idea whom to expect, they didn’t outfit the room in any particular way, but even if they had known they would be accommodating a batpony, they could have done only so much. Without a complete makeover there was no way for it to suit Chestnut who, as far as Fleur was concerned, would do well in a crude, unlit cave. The filly’s coat was plain and boring in comparison to the vivid colors of sunflowers and fresh grass put on the walls, her wings didn’t match the furniture made of bright wood, and her sharp teeth represented everything that the soft and fluffy rug was not.
Aware that Fancy Pants was watching her every move, Fleur was trying to make the best of a bad game. She even managed to help the filly unpack her things. The NuTsiE’s StuFF box was, unsurprisingly, full of ‘stuff’.
“One poster, I think?” Fleur said, pulling up a long roll. “Oh, Gemtrance. What’s a Gemtrance?”
“They’re my favorite band. Surely you’ve heard of them,” Chestnut replied, but the unicorns exchanged clueless glances. “Oh, come on! They’re the. Bestest. Band. Ever!” she shouted, waving her hooves around. “I also have one of their albums, see? It’s not the latest one, but it’s still great.”
Fancy Pants put the record aside. “I wonder if the old gramophone is still working. Perhaps we should give it a try later? I’m curious to hear what the younger generation is listening to nowadays,” he said with genuine interest. “My, what do we have here? Daring Do and the Rainbow Rupture?”
Chestnut nodded. “I got it from Doc Hugs so I could practice my reading. It’s harder than these”—she took out an issue of the Power Ponies comic—“but I’m already almost halfway through.” She turned to Fleur. “Do you like Daring Do?”
“No, sorry. I wouldn’t consider myself a fan,” the mare replied indifferently.
Fancy Pants examined a black figurine of a batpony which he found tucked in a piece of cloth.
“Now this is a work of art! Polished onyx, I believe, but it doesn’t look Equestrian. Where did you get that?”
Chestnut chuckled nervously. “What, this little thing? It’s a—uhm, it’s just a trinket from the old country. It looks like a real deal, but it’s probably fake,” she said, then grabbed the figurine and carried it to a bedside cabinet. “Hey, you guys want to see something cool?” She darted back to the box and presented the couple with a slightly worn-out plushy. “That’s Garibaldi the Griffon. Do you want to know how I got him? Well, there was that one time when Doc Hugs invited a history teacher, and she was also a griffon, and she was old, and…”
Fleur stopped paying attention. She didn’t care about the figurine, the toy, or the batpony herself, and she did not feel wrong about it.
Several hours later, when Fancy Pants was already fast asleep, Fleur sat down in bed. Her forelegs crossed, she was staring blankly ahead while trying to rate the first day of the trial period like it was a fashion show. Those consisted of three major parts: the model, the ensemble, and the act bringing the two together.
The model was a batpony, not a charming unicorn filly Fleur had always dreamed of having. She wouldn’t even call her a filly, considering that Chestnut was growing into a teenager both in size and in character. When it came to her social ensemble, so to speak, she was clothed in the lack of sophistication and quite uninspiring mannerisms that didn’t fit the bearing of the Canterlot Elite. As for the act, the brash behavior was not far from becoming obnoxious, which made the verdict definite.
That didn’t resemble Fleur’s vision of parenthood. At all.
The stallion next to her snored.
Fancy Pants was a crucial part of that vision, but his ensemble and act were both in a class by themselves. When he and Chestnut were looking for a spare gramophone needle, he was full of energy, and when they eventually found it in the attic, only the late hour stopped them from giving the record a spin. ‘First thing tomorrow morning,’ he said. Taking the mantle of fatherhood seemed so easy, so natural for him. Why being a mother had to be so much more difficult?
There was a third participant in that show of life: Fleur herself. She doubted Fancy Pants would judge her performance favorably, even if she was only trying to represent their social stratum to the best of her abilities. Maybe that was her problem? Maybe she got so stuck up in the high society’s expectations that she had forgotten about the times when she didn’t care much about such things. The times without nosy neighbors around which she had to pretend, and without the standards she needed to uphold. The times when only she and Fancy mattered while the rest of the world was spinning somewhere in the background.
Fleur looked at the stallion. The life they were living had opened them many new doors but it had its price. They never really talked about it. Perhaps he was tired of that endless rat race as well?
Promising to herself to look into it in the morning, Fleur gently lifted her husband’s muzzle and closed his mouth.
Free from the snoring, she slid under the covers.
* * *
Once upon a time, when midnight was nigh, an airship sailed across the inky sky.
Her daring captain—of jolly good looks!—was on a journey to plunder some books.
She had crewed the deck with reason and care, but then she came by a poor, lonely mare!
The mare who then joined her, having no choice—
“Fleur?”
The story got blurred because of a voice.
“Fleur, are you asleep?”
Fleur moaned.
Luna be praised for such a wonderful dream! It had it all: pirates, mutinies, companions, adventures, and treasure! Too bad a nudge to Fleur’s side caused it all to go out of focus and dissolve into a series of messy snapshots, gradually replaced by a view of Fancy Pants staring at her from the other side of their bed. The band of imaginary pirates didn’t stand a chance against her very real husband, but Fleur would rather set sail with them if that meant staying in her berth a while longer.
Getting up early was pointless.
With her face still deep in a pillow, the mare replied, “Fleur is, indeed, sleeping. Would you care to leave a message?” She turned to the side and threw a drowsy glance at Fancy Pants. “Isn’t it Saturday? You don’t work on Saturdays, and you’re rich enough to not have to wake up that early.”
Fancy Pants sprang out like the middle of the night didn’t bother him. He grabbed his burgundy dressing gown and pulled the curtains, allowing the merciless, blinding light to fill the room. “Come along, dear, it’s already past eight! No time to sleep!” he said with unusual cheer. “You know, I was just thinking about making some sort of a welcome breakfast for Chestnut. What do you say? Are parents supposed to do things like that every now and then?”
“I’m pretty sure it was about the fathers rather than parents in general,” Fleur replied. She covered her head with a pillow. “Wake me up when it’s served, husband.”
Fancy Pants rolled his eyes. “And they say that we are the lazy ones! Get up, Mrs. Fleur, or else—”
FOLLOW YOUR DREAAAMS!
A sudden burst of music quaked the house and sent Fleur to the floor.
NEVER GIVE UP, NEVER SURRENDER!
ALWAYS BE YOURSELF, NOT A PRETENDER!
“Quel est ce bruit?” she shouted, tangled in the covers.
“Why, it must be Gemtrance, also known as ‘the bestest band ever’.” Fancy Pants put his hooves in the air in an attempt to mimic Chestnut’s weird gesture from the day before. Fleur raised an eyebrow, to which the stallion shrugged. “It’s called rock and roll, for your information.”
She tossed away a ball of bedclothes with her magic.
“That I know! I only question why it is so loud!”
They hurried to the filly’s room.
Chestnut, with her eyes closed and her mane in disarray was too engaged in her one-mare performance to notice them come in. She bobbed her head up and down, imitating the drummer who had just become the most important member of the band. As the percussion solo rumbling from the gramophone was getting more intense, Chestnut spread her wings and flew up, her face stretched in the happiest batpony grin that either of the unicorns had ever seen.
When the percussion faded back into the background, Fancy Pants took the needle off the spinning record.
“Hey!” Chestnut opened her eyes. She was upset at first, but when she noticed the couple she cheered up. “Oh, hiya! I haven’t seen you guys since yesterday! Sorry if I let it get too loud, but this song is just so awesome!”
Fancy Pants put on an amicable expression. “Yes, the lyrics are inspiring, I give them that. Tell me, did you sleep well?”
“Sure thing!” Chestnut flew to her bed and kneaded the sheets like a cat preparing for a slumber. “That’s one comfy bed, so comfy I didn’t want to get up!”
“Ah, then it seems that you and Fleur have at least one thing in common! Isn’t that right, dear?”
Fleur pricked her ears. She barely finished massaging her temples after the proclaimed ‘bestest band ever’ obliterated her eardrums, and now Fancy Pants was going to make the day even harder for her? What was she supposed to say, anyway? She didn’t want to have anything in common with the filly, but Chestnut looked like she was content with their connection, which made it only harder for Fleur to respond.
“I… I believe we also share a desire for some breakfast?”
“Fine by me!” Chestnut leaped over the bed and was outside the room in a jiffy.
“And by me, as well,” Fancy Pants added, giving Fleur the stare.
The mare sighed.
During the meal which Chestnut was devouring with her eyes as much as with her mouth, Fleur pondered on the food she had put on the table. Fresh vegetables, fried bread, toasts, rolls, honey, marmalade, and the finest blend of black tea to be found in Canterlot were all regular components of her breakfast diet, but to Chestnut they were a royal treat. Judging by the appreciation in her eyes, it didn’t take much to make her happy. The kids at the Orphanarium probably lived off cereal or something equally mundane.
Fleur almost felt bad for her. She certainly would if it wasn’t for what happened next.
“Now, young lady,” Fancy Pants said, “Fleur and I both have some matters to attend to in the city. Perhaps you would be interested in—”
“Oh, oh!” Chestnut cut him off, her mouth still full. She swallowed her toast with a loud gulp. “Can I come with you?”
The stallion laughed. “I was getting to just that! However, we’re not going in the same direction. It would seem that you can either come with me to the art gallery for an exhibition which, unfortunately, might be quite unappealing for an adventurous filly such as yourself”—he turned to Fleur—“or…”
Fleur put her cup down with a clumsily loud clink. What gives? First rock and roll, and now this? That was happening too fast, and involved too many unwanted interactions! If she was ever going to give Chestnut a chance, if this whole endeavor was going to work, then it had to be done her way, with the smallest steps possible. Like saying ‘hello’ to each other from time to time. Politely nodding in the hallway. Sending a postcard for Hearth’s Warming.
“Or you can take a stroll around the city with me,” Fleur said. “I have things to do.”
She tried to make it sound as insipid as possible, but in all honesty, she was looking forward to her meeting with Rarity, a designer from Ponyville and an influential figure in the world of fashion. They had first met a few years ago, and Fleur remembered her as a pony of expensive tastes, but it wasn’t until much later when she began modeling her astonishing dresses. Ever since, even with Fleur in retirement, they still kept in touch as good friends.
Chestnut rubbed her chin. “Art gallery?” Fleur’s heart skipped a beat or two. “Meh, not my place to be. I’d rather go do that things stuff in the city, if that’s okay with you.”
So that’s what it meant to be caught between a rock and a hard place. Reluctant as she was, Fleur couldn’t find enough strength to douse the hopes and expectations of the orphaned filly.
“Why, it certainly is,” she replied, her voice not even half as confident as usual.