//------------------------------// // 9: Family // Story: Growth // by Squinty Mudmane //------------------------------// Marble had never heard knocks sound as ominous as the ones produced by Applejack’s hoof against the front door of Sugarcube Corner. The sound stood in stark contrast to the brightly-coloured and inviting exterior of the building and the warm light streaming from the windows. It wasn’t even raining this time, and yet Marble was very nearly sweating bullets despite the autumn chill. Applejack was—of course—back to her stoically calm demeanour. She even flashed Marble a brief, comforting smile before the door cracked open and bathed them both in the glow of the building’s interior as well as that of Pinkie’s relieved smile. “Oh, there you are, silly fillies! You’re just in time for dinner!” she said enthusiastically, throwing her forelegs around their shoulders and drawing them inside. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Actually, you’re just a teensy itty bit late, but it’s okay! I distracted Mom and Dad with a few games.” Despite, or perhaps because of Pinkie’s assurances, Marble had a sinking feeling in her gut as her sister led them towards the door on the right at the back of the room; she knew how her parents reacted to Pinkie’s ‘games’. “Sorry, Pinkie. Work ran a little late, an’ then Rarity happened by,” Applejack explained. “Ooh, is that why you have that nice braid?” Pinkie asked, nudging the heavy braid around with her hoof. Applejack glanced at Marble, shooting her a silent plea for discretion. “Wanted to make a good impression, is all. Figured it couldn’t hurt,” her cousin replied airily after Marble had responded to her look with a surreptitious nod. Pinkie pushed the door open, revealing the living room in all its homely splendour. The walls were decorated with family photos, a few paintings and the occasional shelf lined with books or various knick-knacks. A long rectangular table dominated the center of the room, around which the other ponies were already seated. Immediately upon entering the room, Marble felt the nagging sense of guilt that always accompanied her father’s scathing look even before she saw the scowl on his face. The full impact of his disapproval was lessened ever so slightly by the colourful polka-dotted party hat he wore in place of his regular black hat, though it did little to ease the apprehension Marble felt. “You’re late,” he stated simply. He didn’t need to say anything else; the look in his eyes told her the rest. Marble opened her mouth to reply, but found it as dry as if she had been swallowing sand. No matter how well Pinkie had been able to distract them with her games, she hadn’t been able to hide the telltale clock on the wall. ‘Late’ was an understatement; ‘late’ was five minutes, perhaps ten at most. More than twenty minutes was off-to-bed-without-dinner late. Luckily, Applejack was as unaffected by the imperious tone as ever. She didn’t even bat an eyelid, but merely nudged her hat back and smiled at the others. “Sorry, y’all. We got caught up in work. Got here as quickly as we could.” Another furrow was added to Mr Pie’s brow, and the corners of his mouth dropped another notch. “Still had time to make your mane all fancy, I notice.” Mrs Cake, who had been conversing with Marble’s mother, quickly spoke up before Applejack could reply. “I’m sure she was just trying to make a good impression. Surely you’ll agree that it’s better than coming in here straight from the fields, work clothing and all?” Mr Pie continued to scowl, but said nothing. Eventually he nodded, grudgingly. “It’s all right, dears, the honeyed carrots weren’t quite done, anyhow,” Mrs Cake said, turning to Marble and Applejack with a kind, if somewhat tense smile. “Why don’t you two go wash your hooves and we’ll get everypony seated?” Applejack nodded. “Sure thing, Mrs Cake.” Marble followed Applejack towards the room’s other door. At the other end of the table, Blinkie and Flint were sitting across from a pair of tiny, adorable cream-coloured foals. Flint was uttering a bunch of gibberish nonsense and making ridiculous faces to the foals’ evident delight, if their squeals and giggles were anything to go by. Blinkie watched them with a little smile, but nodded in acknowledgement at Marble as she passed by. Pinkie scooted in between the foals and Mr Cake, adding her own brand of zany antics into the mix. A delightful, mouth-watering smell of cooked and baked vegetables mixed with something sugary and sweet all but billowed against Marble’s face as they entered the kitchen. Several trays covered by aluminium foil stood on the kitchen table, and something else was slow-roasting in the oven, likely just there to stay warm at this stage. Marble bit her lip as she watched Applejack trot over to the sink and turn on the water. Her cousin seemed calm now, but she remembered how badly the last meeting with her father had gone. Applejack stood tall, though; tall and proud and… and with the muscles in her hind legs tense, as if she were preparing to buck a tree. “Hey,” she said softly, stepping up next to Applejack to wash her hooves as well. “Hey, yerself,” her cousin replied. Her voice was friendly enough, but being closer, Marble noticed that it wasn’t just the muscles in Applejack’s legs which were taut; there was a vein in her neck which was preparing for a similar exercise. “You, uhm…” Marble cleared her throat. “My dad, he’s… I know he may seem a bit abrasive, but he’s really not that bad once you know him.” “Lotta ponies aren’t. Don’t make them any less of a pain in the backside those first few times.” Marble continued to wring her hooves under the stream of water, even though they were more or less spotless at this point. “He just… He isn’t very good at expressing himself. Makes him sound kinda gruff most of the time.” “Figured as much. Mac can be like that, too. Yer dad’s takin’ it a little far, though.” Applejack sighed and with it drained some of the tension in her muscles before smiling at Marble. “So are ya gonna stand there till yer hooves come off or what?” “Uhm…” Marble looked down at her hooves still being splashed by water, then held one of them up to show to AJ with a little smile of her own. “Well, think they look clean enough?” Applejack made it a point to inspect the hoof thoroughly and even went so far as taking it in her own to turn it around and inspect the back. “Well, I think I might’ve seen a hoof as clean as this one once. O’course, that one belonged to a fussy pony obsessed with keepin’ everything clean.” Marble decided the giddy sensation she felt in her stomach as Applejack held her hoof was just a result of her being ticklish there. Of course, that didn’t explain why the ticklish sensation had traveled up to her stomach rather than staying put in her hoof like it was supposed to. “Rarity?” she asked softly. “Got it in one.” Applejack let go and took a deep breath, letting out a little more tension when she exhaled. “I jus’ hope things turn out better this time. You ready?” Marble nodded and straightened up, trying to mirror her cousin’s pose. “Ready,” she said, putting on her best confident smile. “Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.” Applejack smiled back and pushed open the door, taking a seat next to Pinkie after they had entered the room. Marble was about to sit down at the table end next to her cousin, but stopped for two reasons: Firstly, no one else was sitting at the other table end. Secondly, and much more pressingly, her father was giving her a pointed look, one foreleg resting on the empty chair next to him and opposite of Applejack. She hurried over to the appointed seat and sat down with a subdued apology; after all, it was rather rude of her not to have noticed the empty seat until now. The Cakes disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning shortly after with the previously covered trays, their contents now unveiled in all their agonisingly appetising glory: roots, daisies, carrots, cauliflowers, corn and a wealth of other plants and vegetables, most of which were coated with a fine, thin glaze of honey. Marble’s mouth watered at the sight of so many things they would have considered luxury delicacies back home, and she wasn’t the only one. The whole table had fallen silent, all eyes on the enticing meal arrayed before them. “Well, thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Mrs Cake said, smiling warmly. “I know Pinkie really appreciates it.” Pinkie nodded enthusiastically in confirmation. “We, ah, don’t really have a whole lot to say other than dig in, and, well, enjoy!” Mr Cake declared with a flourish of his hoof. Marble’s father held up a hoof. “If I might ask we wait a few moments?” The Cakes looked at him curiously, but nodded. “Now that we’re all here,” he said, adding just enough emphasis on ‘all’ that Marble felt the little sting of guilt, “we would like to thank our hosts for their generosity, and to thank the Sun Princess for providing us all with the bounty of her blessings.” Marble dutifully lowered her head reverently, as did the rest of her family, even though her stomach was protesting against this torture of procrastination. “May She watch over us eternally,” the old stallion said, echoed by the other Pies. Marble kept her eyes down and her hooves neatly folded as was customary. After what felt like a full minute, but was likely just mere seconds, Mr Pie looked up again and nodded at the Cakes. Mr Cake cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly and quickly put a smile back on his face, grabbing a spatula for the trays. “So, ah, Mrs Pie?” he said, his voice muffled somewhat by the instrument held between his teeth. “Would you pass me your plate so I can do you the honours?” After her parents, Marble, Blinkie and Flint were the next to receive food, followed by Applejack and Pinkie. The poor foals were apparently still too young to eat solid food and made their displeasure over being passed by on the delectable food known in no uncertain terms, though they were somewhat mollified when Mrs Cake brought them each a bowl of something semi-liquid and not altogether unpleasant-smelling. Once the Cakes’ plates were full as well, Marble could finally dig into the meal that had been tantalising her for what seemed like hours. For a moment, quiet fell around the table except for munches, crunches and appreciative noises as everyone simply enjoyed the food. Marble stole a few glances around the table at the other ponies in between bites. Pinkie, however, seemed to have forgotten most if not all of her manners from back home, her muzzle buried in the food on her plate with gleeful abandon. At the other end of the table, the foals were giggling and cooing; it seemed as if as much of their food were going on themselves or each other as in their mouths. The unicorn foal flicked a little lump of the porridge-like substance on the other’s nose, making him go cross-eyed trying to look at it. Marble had to try her hardest not to laugh at the sight. When Mr Cake leaned over to the foals to gently admonish them, the pegasus foal reached up with a messy hoof and pressed it firmly against his father’s muzzle tip. “Da!” the foal declared happily. And then there was Applejack; Marble glanced at her cousin in silent awe as the mare helped herself to her third plate. Her stomach was a bottomless pit, or so it seemed, which made Marble feel less guilty about going for a second helping. Her mother dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and smiled. “My compliments on the food. It’s some of the best I’ve had in a while. I especially liked the glazed honey on the parsnips.” Mrs Cake smiled back graciously and inclined her head. “Thank you, dear, but we can’t take credit for that; Pinkie spent the better part of the afternoon in the kitchen making all this, glazing included.” Pinkie beamed and leaned forward, whispering in a not-very-conspiratorial voice: “The secret ingredient is sugar! And more honey!” “Ah. Of course,” her mother said, her smile flickering only for a brief moment. “I learned it from the Princess!” Pinkie explained happily. All of the Pies except Marble stared at Pinkie in blatant disbelief, although Marble was somewhat skeptical as well. Then again, considering she’s friends with Twilight… Blinke and Flint spoke almost simultaneously. “You’ve met Princess Celestia?” Pinkie giggled and shook her head. “No, sillies! Princess Luna!” When the wide-eyed stares persisted, she continued: “You know, Princess of the Moon! Good at spider tossing, likes a good prank…” She tapped a hoof against her chin. “Although I've met Princess Celestia as well, only... we never have a lot of time to talk.” “You’re full of it,” Blinkie said, matter-of-factly. “There’s no way you’d have met one of the Princesses.” “Yuh-uh! They're nice. Applejack met them too! Right, Jackie?” “Yeah, we—” “That’s a load of crap,” Blinkie spat. “Limestone Pie!” her mother cried, horrified, while the Cakes rushed in vain to cover their foals’ ears with their hooves. Blinkie pointed a hoof at Pinkie and glared at her. “If you’re friends with the Princesses, I’m the bloody Lady of Silver Lake!” Pinkie held up her hooves placatingly. “No no, it’s true! Luna comes here every Nightmare Night and plays games with us and—” “The Princess plays games with you?!” “Uh-huh. We run away from her when we all pretend to be scared and she— “Enough!” their father barked, making everyone at the table jump in their seats. “—goes trick or treating with us,” Pinkie finished meekly. Mr Pie fixed her with a disappointed glare. “You know better than to tell tall tales to your sisters like that, young filly.” Pinkie shrank back, her ears pinned back against her head. “I… I’m not…” “Actually, I met one of the Princesses earlier today,” Marble said timidly. She had no intention of becoming the target of her father’s wrath, but lying would be worse. She told herself she should feel good about telling the truth. It faded rather quickly when her father’s baleful stare fell on her, however. “Marble, what have I told you about telling lies?” he asked sternly. “I-it’s true!” she stammered, feeling the cold touch of panic seize her as her father’s scowl deepened. “Applejack was there with me! Her name is T-Twilight Sparkle! She’s the Princess of—of B-Books!” Applejack suppressed a snicker. “Yeah. She’s the Princess of Books, alright.” She looked over at the Pie patriarch and said: “As Celestia is mah witness, I swear they’re tellin’ the truth.” It was only after her father’s gaze had moved on, likely to settle on Applejack, that Marble remembered to breathe. It wasn’t blasphemy if it was true, right? She really had met a Princess. “And why is it, then, that I have not heard of this supposed third Princess?” her father asked in the slow, measured voice that Marble was sure preceded another outburst. “Her coronation was only recently. She's been living here in town for years now, and she comes in for pastries every so often,” Mrs Cake explained. “She’s the town librarian. We passed her home on the way into town,” Mr Cake added. “It’s the house built into the large tree, if you recall.” Mr Pie remained silent for a long while before grunting. His face returned to normal—which was to say that he looked around with only slight disapproval—and Marble let out a sigh of relief, silently thanking their hosts for their intervention. “So, who wants some more glazed carrots?” Mr Cake asked with a bit of forced cheer, after which the dinner more or less resumed, barring a Pinkie whose lip was still quivering and an Applejack who had taken a break from eating more in favour of patting her friend on the back comfortingly. The twins, who had become silent and wide-eyed during the brief outburst, were slowly becoming pacified and cheerful once more under the patient and fairly inventive antics of Flint. Pinkie watched them enviously from her place at the other end of the table, shifting restlessly in her seat. Being the only one to have finished her dinner yet, she was evidently becoming bored rather quickly. Just when it seemed like things had settled down again and Marble turned her attention back to her food, Pinkie suddenly spoke up. “Hey, how about a limerick?” Before anyone could reply, she continued in a cheerful singsong voice: “There once was a pony named Cake Who liked to cook and bake He loved a pony named Cup Totally buttering her up And look at the foals they both make!” Marble almost choked on a slice of carrot, hardly able to believe what she heard but unable to stop the laughter bubbling in her throat, which did not get along well with the food she was trying to swallow. She knew of poetry, of course, and had even read a few pieces, but she had never heard anything so… so bawdy! She was evidently not the only one to think so; Applejack was chuckling silently while Blinkie and Flint both stared at Pinkie, the latter with a grudging wry little smile on her lips. Marble’s mother looked shocked, and both of the Cakes look flabbergasted and more than a little flustered. “P-Pinkie!” Mrs Cake stammered. “Not in front of the guests, dear!” “Or the twins!” Mr Cake whined. Pinkie, however, seemed to revel in the attention and positive reactions she got from the others. “Oh, I got another one!” she declared, turning her head to look at Applejack, mouth splitting open in a grin. “It's a sight you don't always see Ponyville calls her: Rarity She's got fashion smarts And breaks ponies' hearts But she's big on generosity!” “Be nice to her, Pinks!” Applejack chastised, even though she was almost breathless from laughter. The twins giggled excitedly as well, though they were probably more entertained about the rhyming than the meaning of the words. Marble smiled as well, though she dwelled on Pinkie’s words for a moment. It didn’t really come as any great surprise for her to hear that Rarity was that kind of mare. She’s certainly pretty enough for it, she thought. Glancing over at Blinkie revealed that her sister likely shared that notion, though with a far less positive reaction, if the scowl on her face was anything to go by. Flint gently put a hoof on Blinkie's shoulder, which seemed to relax her just a little. “Oh, oh!” Pinkie almost jumped in her seat. “How about—” “Quiet,” her father growled. “Don’t tell that kind of tawdry filth at the table.” Pinkie’s expression fell and she sank back in her chair. The Cakes exchanged glances, and Applejack frowned a bit at Mr Pie, though she said nothing. Marble winced internally, though she couldn’t help but feel relieved that another shouting match wasn’t imminent. Biting her lip, Pinkie glanced over at the twins, who were watching her with puzzled expressions on their little faces. She hesitated for a moment before brightening up again. “Oh, does anypony want to hear a song?” she asked, looking around the table with a wide smile. Applejack gently reached out with a hoof towards Pinkie’s shoulder. “Not yet, Pinks. Folks are still eatin’—” Pinkie bobbed her head from side to side in time with her lyrics. “When the rain's a-plinking on your roof-tip-top And you're sitting snugly in your chair But you wanna go on out with a hop-di-hop Oh, you just—” There was the scraping noise of a chair being pushed back, followed by a hoof slamming into the table with such force that the plates all clattered and one of the glasses fell off and shattered against the floor. “Pinkamena Diane Pie!” their father bellowed so loudly that Marble instinctively clutched her ears and cowered. Pinkie, who had been mid-bounce in her song, flailed her legs frantically for a moment before falling head first against the table edge. Applejack was with her almost instantly to help her back on her hooves. Tears were welling up in Pinkie’s eyes as she clutched her forehead with her hooves, behind which a nasty bruise was already forming. Marble risked a glance up at her father, though she almost wished she hadn’t. She could scarcely recall ever seeing him so livid. The party hat had fallen off his head when he stood up and lay forlorn on the floor next to the glass shards. “I’ve had more than enough of your inane ramblings and infantile antics! I came here hoping to find you had at least matured a little, but every single moment here has been nothing but a disappointment!” he snarled, drawing himself up to his full height. With how slumped he had become with age, it was easy to forget just how large a stallion he actually was. “You are every bit as irresponsible as the day you ran away from home, and I am ashamed that you still carry our family’s name!” The words seemed to hurt Pinkie as much as if he had slapped her across the face. More so, in fact. She quivered from head to hoof, her eyes moist and threatening to overflow. “B-but—” “And you should be ashamed of yourself! You abandoned your home and your family to do what? Throw parties? Make balloon animals? All those letters you sent, filled with nonsensical babbling about frivolous things you waste your time with! You are supposed to be a grown mare, yet you live and act like an overgrown foal! Is this what you threw us all away for?!” There were a few sobs followed by full-blown wailing as the twins at the other end of the table began screaming their lungs out. Mr Cake frantically did his best to try and soothe them to absolutely no effect, Mrs Cake being too mortified by the old stallion’s words to help out. The twins weren’t the only ones crying; tears ran freely from Pinkie’s eyes as well, shrinking further and further back into Applejack’s protective embrace. “Don’t listen to that old coot, Pinkie,” Applejack said, glaring balefully at Mr Pie. “He’s just full of sh—” “You’re a failure, Pinkamena.” The old stallion all but spat the words out. “You’re a failure as a pony, you’re a failure as a daughter, and that is all you’ll ever be.” That was too much. With a final heart-wrenching sob, Pinkie tore herself loose from Applejack’s grasp and ran out the door. The sound of her hoofsteps sprinting up the stairs echoed through the room. Everyone had fallen deathly silent except for the twins, who continued to bawl their eyes out. Marble stared, horrified and wide-eyed, at the stallion she called ‘father’. At the other end of the table, Flint was half out of his chair, his face wracked by indecision, while Blinkie’s expression mirrored Marble’s own, though she was rapidly slipping towards anger. Her mother was still seated, but even she looked appalled at her husband. Slowly, very slowly, Applejack rose from where she had been sitting with Pinkie. Her whole body was taut with pent-up aggression, and her eyes all but smoldered with anger. For a moment, Marble feared she was going to charge at her father, straight through the table and everything, and try to punch him, or worse. From what Marble had seen so far, her cousin could snap her father in half like a dry twig, if she really wanted to. Before Applejack could do either of those things, however, she was brought to a halt by Blinkie’s voice. “You lied to us,” she said in a faintly trembling voice. Her father turned his head to look at her with a scowl. “I don’t—” “About the letters,” Blinkie continued, shrugging off Flint’s hoof and pushing past her mother until she was face to face with the old stallion. “All these years, you told us Pinkie hadn’t written to us, but you just said she’s been sending us letters!” “You—” “And I spoke with the mailponies here in town today! They told me Pinkie’s been sending a letter every week on the dot ever since she moved here!” Blinkie’s voice was rapidly escalating in volume until she was all but shrieking. “You’ve been lying to us for ten years! Ten! Bloody! Years!” “Limestone Pie—” he barked in his most authoritative voice, but his words were quickly drowned by Blinkie’s far louder voice. “Don’t ‘Limestone’ me!” she shrieked back, jabbing an accusing hoof in his chest. Her father took a little step back, probably more from shock that his daughter would lay a hoof on him than from the force of it. “You made me hate her, you bastard! You made me hate my own sister! Why?! Why would you do that?!” The old stallion glowered at her, looking more indignant than anything else. “I did it to protect you! Had you read the letters, you might just have been tempted to follow her. A city like this, with no rules or boundaries, is no place for a young filly to be in! She spent half the time pursuing her hedonistic whims of soft living, and the other half making up ridiculous stories! If even half of them were true, that’d be all the more reason for no daughter of mine to ever set hoof in this place!” “They’re all true, ya blisterin’ git!” Applejack yelled, stomping closer to him and completely ignoring Marble who was caught between them. “Stopped Nightmare Moon? We did that! Beat down Discord? We did that! Savin’ the whole soddin’ Crystal Empire? We did that! And you’d know it to be true iffen ya didn’t live with yer head stuck up yer backside!” Mr Pie whirled towards her with a snarl. “Don’t you start! You’re part of the problem! If you knew Pinkamena even a little, you’d know she has an overactive imagination, and you and the others feeding her flights of fancy just makes it worse!” Marble had to interpose herself between Applejack and her father to keep her cousin from reaching him, but the larger mare simply stretched her neck above Marble’s head, glaring venom at the old stallion. “You callin’ me a liar, sir?” “Not just a liar! You and your friends are lazy good-for-nothing layabouts who wouldn’t know work if it bit them in the rump. I know you’ve already been trying to rot Marble the way you did Pinkamena! I will not let that befall another of my daughters, and if your parents think your behaviour is allowed, then they should be ashamed of themselves!” A pained look flashed over Applejack’s face, momentarily replacing the anger. Mr Pie’s eyes narrowed with vicious intent. “Or perhaps they are ashamed of you, and that is why they refused to speak with us when we visited your ‘farm’.” “Dad!” Marble looked over her shoulder at her father, horrified at his behaviour. She had never known him to be so… so callous. She felt Applejack try to push past her and instinctively turned to block her cousin’s path. She had a brief, awful moment to realise her mistake when she saw the steely anger in Applejack’s eyes focused solely on her father before she was roughly shoved aside with enough force to send her stumbling over the nearest chair. For a brief moment, in a strangely detached kind of way, she was left to wonder why the ceiling was swimming and why her hind legs were pointing at it. The other voices in the room, though still audible, were oddly slurred. Chief among them was her father’s voice. “What do you think you’re d—” The rest of his words were cut off by a sickening crunch followed by a cacophony of screams, shouts and the sound of splintering wood that snapped Marble’s senses back into focus more effectively than a bucket full of ice-cold water. She scrambled to her hooves in time to see her father lying on his back amid the remains of a chair and clutching his muzzle with his front hooves, behind which a steady stream of blood leaked. Applejack towered over him, quivering with rage and her right front hoof still half-raised. Blinkie watched them, her expression torn between shock and vindictive satisfaction. Mrs Pie and Mrs Cake both stood with a hoof clasped over the mouth, while Mr Cake rushed off into the kitchen with the wailing, terrified twins, frantically whispering soothing nothings to them and trying to cover their eyes and ears simultaneously. Scarcely had the kitchen door closed shut before Mrs Pie rounded on Applejack, pointing a trembling hoof at her and looking more angry than Marble could recall seeing her in a long time. “You! You thug! You beast! Get away from my husband! Don’t even think about laying another hoof on him!” Applejack ignored her, her eyes still focused squarely on the old stallion on the floor. He glared back up at her, laboriously pushing himself up with one hoof while trying to staunch the bleeding with the other. “Feel proud of yourself, girl?” he said, his voice slightly slurred. “You want to hit me again, don’t you? Shouldn't expect any less from a brute like you. Well, go ahead. I’m sure it’ll make your family so proud.” It was like watching a sheep goading a wolf to attack. Marble saw Applejack’s front hoof rise, her cousin’s expression one of raw anger. In her dazed state, one thing was abundantly clear to Marble: Her idiot father was going to get himself maimed, or worse, if something wasn’t done. Head still spinning, Marble bounded forward and did the only thing she could think of. She charged straight ahead, ramming into the side of her surprised cousin and wrapping her forelegs around her, bringing them both down to the floor. Applejack twisted reflexively as they fell, and Marble heard—and painfully felt—the long table groan under their combined weight as they collided with it on the way down. Even though her right side ached fiercely from where she had hit the edge of the table, Marble quickly rolled on top of Applejack and pinned her cousin’s forelegs down with her hooves. “Stop it, Applejack!” she implored. “Leave him alone!” Applejack looked at her in stunned silence, the anger rapidly draining from her face. “That’s my girl!” her father said behind her. There was genuine pride in his voice which made Marble feel queasy. She glanced behind her and saw her father pushing himself to his hooves, wiping away the blood trickling over his lips and glaring at Applejack with cold hostility. “Cloudy, Blinkie, get your things. We’re leaving!” What? In the brief moment that Marble hesitated, Applejack stirred beneath her, pushing Marble off as if she was little more than a toy and disappearing through the door to the front. A moment later, there was the sound of another door being forced open, along with the sound of a merrily chiming bell. Marble rolled over and stood back up with some effort, her head still spinning a little. Flint was easing her father into a chair, pressing a bunch of napkins to the old stallion’s muzzle. Her mother was behind them, whining and fussing over the old stallion. Blinkie was still just standing there, watching. “Mrs Cake, could you get some more napkins an’ some ice?” Flint asked of the plump mare still standing frozen on the other side of the table. She nodded and went into the kitchen. The awful crying of the foals rang clearly from the other room in the brief moment the door was open. Marble’s father waved a hoof dismissively. “Don’t coddle me, boy. I’ll be fine. Go get your things instead.” “That’s gonna take a bit. They’re at the Apple family's farm,” Flint pointed out. “Then you better get to it right away, don’t you think?” Mr Pie grunted, knocking Flint’s hoof away and taking the napkins himself. “And if you see that treelicker or her no-good parents, tell them—” “Dad, please.” Marble didn’t know if her courage to interrupt came from the adrenaline still coursing through her, or from the fact that her normally so indomitable father had been knocked flat on his back from a single blow. “Don’t talk about them like that. Applejack isn’t—” “Marble, don’t interrupt,” her father said sternly, though rather than making her curl up internally, the rebuke only served to increase Marble’s exasperation with her father. The kitchen door was nudged open again, and Mrs Cake returned with a pack of napkins and a bag full of ice cubes, carrying both with her teeth. “It’s clear her parents have no idea on how to raise a daughter. They’re as much to blame as—” Mrs Cake dropped the napkins and bag of ice cubes unceremoniously on the floor next to the old stallion. “And you call her a brute?! Her parents are dead, you mule! Show some respect!” she snapped in a tone at odds with her previous warm demeanour. “The poor Apples are lucky to still even have their grandmother! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check in on your daughter!” With that, she stomped out of the room to the stairs, slamming the door shut behind her. The living room was deathly silent for a moment. Marble’s father was dumbfounded, staring at the closed door, and it was her mother who eventually had to pick up the ice bag and fresh napkins and apply them to his muzzle. Marble paid neither of them much attention right then, though. She had been right after all; the four names on the towel, Applejack’s pained and violent reactions to the shaming of her parents… Her thoughtless father had practically been stomping on a barely healed wound this whole time! And the years of lying to her and Blinkie, making them think the worst of poor Pinkie out of some demented desire for control… For a brief, fiery moment, Marble wondered if perhaps she would have been better off without a father. The thought was quickly quashed, though, and it made her feel ashamed to even think it. As bad as her father was, to wish for a kind of loss she had no way of comprehending was abhorrent. She shook her head and looked back at her father slumped in the chair, this bitter old stallion with his broken nose and broken ideas of family, and for another brief moment, she felt a pang of pity instead. Where did it go wrong, Dad? she thought sadly. When did it stop being about us and became about you? Was it when Pinkie left? In the years after? Or was it before even that? “Marble, Blinkie,” her father said wearily, his voice distorted by the blood in his nose and the ice and napkins pressed against it. “Go get your things.” He looks so old. Did he always look this old? Marble looked over at her sister, and the look in Blinkie’s eyes told her everything she needed to know. It was a moment of mute agreement and mutual understanding. “Girls. Get your things. Now.” There was still the same authority in his voice, though it was diluted by exhaustion. Taking a deep breath, Marble turned her eyes back to her father. Slowly, she shook her head, and it was as if a great burden was shook loose at the same time. “No, Dad,” she said. He stomped a hoof onto the floor and half-rose despite Flint and his wife’s best efforts to keep him in the chair. Disbelieving indignation flashed across his features. “This is not a discussion! Get your things this instant!” “We’re staying,” Blinkie said, and the gleeful satisfaction in her voice and on her face was unmistakable as she continued: “And there’s nothing you can do about it.” The indignation turned to shock, then outrage. He twisted around and glared at his second daughter, pointing a hoof that trembled slightly at her. “One more word like that from you, Limestone, and I will tan your hide! Your things! Now!” “Dad,” Marble said, almost gently, as she watched the impotent rage in her father’s eyes. He was like a predator past its prime; gaunt, toothless, limping, crippled. “We’re not going.” “You’ll stay here with these… these city-ponies and hedonists rather than your own flesh and blood?” her father demanded, whirling back to face Marble. A look of hurt warred with the anger and bitterness on his face. It was almost enough to make Marble feel bad. Almost. “We’re staying with our other family,” Marble said, unable to keep a note of anger from her voice. “The one you decided wasn’t worthy to be called that.” “We’ll happily see you on your way, though,” Blinkie added with a vindictive smile. “Heck, we’ll even carry your luggage to the wagon for you!” The old stallion looked from one to the other, his jaw working wordlessly. Little droplets of moisture ran from the ice bag and mingled with the crimson seeping from his nostrils, soaking into his muzzle and chin. “Girls, please, can’t we talk about this?” their mother pleaded in a thin voice. Marble and Blinkie both shook their heads. “We’re staying, Mom, and that’s final,” Marble said. There was silence for several seconds. Marble absently noted that Mr Cake seemed to have calmed the twins down at last; the crying had stopped. When her father finally spoke again, his voice was dull and lustreless. His entire body was heavy with something so rare to see in him that it was almost uncanny: Defeat. “Cloudy, would you get our things, please?” His wife nodded mutely and quietly headed for the door, limping slightly on her bad leg as she went. After a moment’s hesitation, Marble followed; right now, Pinkie needed to know she still had family that cared about her. Her mother gave her a wan smile as they ascended the stairs. “Did you change your mind about going, sweetie?” she asked hopefully. It was almost a little pathetic. “I know what your father said might have been a bit… harsh, but he doesn’t mean any ill by it.” Marble shook her head firmly. “I’m going to check up on Pinkie. That’s all.” “Oh.” The smile fell from her mother’s face, and they climbed the rest of the stairs in awkward silence. The top lead to a hallway with two doors on either side and a second flight of steps at the end leading up another floor. Marble could hear Mrs Cake’s voice echo down from it. “Pinkie, honey, please just open the door. That’s all I ask.” There was a note of desperation in it. As Marble came closer to the stairs, she could hear faint, muffled sobbing as well. Her mother stopped next to the second door on the right, pushing it open. “This is our room,” she muttered. Marble ignored her and headed up the staircase. Mrs Cake stood at the top of the stairs, her left ear pressed to the door and distress written across every inch of her face. She glanced at Marble as she approached, a slightly puzzled look crossing her face for a moment. “How is she?” Marble asked tentatively, climbing the stairs until she was right next to the plump mare. Mrs Cake said nothing. The pitiful sobs from behind the door told Marble all she needed to know. “Pinkie,” the baker said gently, turning her attention back to the unyielding door. “Your sister is here to see you. Won’t you talk to her, at least?” “Just so she can say goodbye?!” Pinkie yelled from behind the door, her voice thick with tears. Marble winced; it hurt to hear her sister this distraught. Mrs Cake shook her head sadly and headed back down the stairs while Marble moved closer to the door. “I’m not going anywhere, Pinkie, I promise. Blinkie and I are staying.” “Liar! Pinkie shrieked, her voice breaking. “I heard Dad yell! That’s what always happens when Dad yells!” She went quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was so quiet that Marble had to strain her ears to hear it. “I get left alone.” Marble shook her head fervently, even though she knew Pinkie could not see it, and desperately tried the door handle. It was locked, of course. “No, no, it’s not like that, honestly! We’re right here! We’re not leaving!” Something heavy slammed into the door with enough force to rock it on its hinges, and Marble instinctively leapt back, almost tumbling down the stairs for it. “You’re lying! It’s just like it always was! I’m just a… a stupid little foal who likes stupid little things, right?! You don’t care at all! Just go away! It’s what you all want anyway, isn’t it?!” “No! Pinkie, I promise—” The door shook again, and the colourful wooden balloon cutie mark that decorated it fell to the floor. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! I don’t want to hear it anymore! Go! Away!” Marble hesitated, wanting desperately to pound down the door and make her sister understand, but at the same time painfully aware that all she was doing right now was only making things worse. She swallowed and reached down to pick up the cutie mark on the floor, putting it back on its place before moving back down the stairs on leaden hooves. “Just leave me alone,” she heard Pinkie whisper softly. “It’s what I deserve, anyway.” Are you happy now, Dad? Is this what you wanted? Marble thought bitterly, blinking away the tears in her eyes. I hope you heard that. I hope you know how much you hurt her. By the time she came back downstairs, Mrs Cake and Blinkie were clearing the table, and Marble joined them in doing so wordlessly. Blinkie in particular seemed to be in no mood to talk. Flint, meanwhile, had gone upstairs to help their mother with the luggage. Their father was leaning back in a chair, glaring resentfully at the ceiling while keeping the towel and ice pressed to his muzzle. The bleeding seemed to have slowed down, at least. As Marble went into the kitchen with a bunch of dirty dishes, she caught a glimpse of Mr Cake quietly disappearing through the other door, the twins resting on his back with their eyes closed. She placed the dishes in the sink and began to rinse them, hearing another set of hooves coming back down the stairs, followed shortly by the chiming of the door bell; her mother and Flint—or more likely just Flint—moving the luggage to the cart, she assumed. She had just finished cleaning the last of the dishes in the sink when Mrs Cake nudged the kitchen door open, balancing another stack of dishes on her back. “Let me take care of that, dearie,” she said gently as Marble was about to reach for another plate. “Your parents are getting ready to leave. You should see them off.” Marble nodded silently and went back into the living room. Flint was helping her father to his hooves while her mother held the ice bag in her teeth. With Flint’s help, the old stallion limped along on three legs, the fourth keeping the towel to his nose. Blinkie watched him coldly as he passed by, only reluctantly following them to the front. No one spoke a word as they stepped out into the dark. Flint led the way towards the wagon, which was parked next to the Cakes’ own cart between Sugarcube Corner and one of their neighbours. Mrs Pie looked fretfully from her husband to Marble and Blinkie walking behind them. “Girls,” she said almost desperately as they neared the wagon. “Please, please reconsider. We can just… put all this behind her and forget it ever happened. Just come home with us.” Marble felt bile rise in her throat despite her mother’s pleading tone. Forget it ever happened?! she thought, wanting to scream the words in her mother’s face. You want us to just forget Dad lied to us about Pinkie for ten years? You want us to just forget about her? That she’s up in her room crying because she thinks—no, because you did abandon her?! She didn’t say any of it, though. From the disgusted expression on Blinkie’s face, she could see that her sister shared her sentiment, but unlike Marble, she had fewer problems in expressing her disapproval. “Are you really that blithely stupid, or are you just willfully blind?” Blinkie asked, the corners of her mouth drawn back in a sneer. “This lying rat has been keeping us in the dark for all these years, and you just expect us to pretend everything is fine and dandy? Sorry, but we can’t all be like you, Mother.” “Forget it, Cloudy,” their father growled, not even bothering to look back. “If they want to stay here, they can stay here for good. As far as I am concerned, I have no daughters anymore.” The sheer coldness with which he said those words made Marble flinch, and they would have been all the more terrifying had it not been for the faintest little tremor in her father’s voice as he spoke. “Well, believe me, they’re glad to be rid of you too,” Blinkie spat back, her voice dripping with venom. “They were the last daughters you’ll ever have for the rest of your miserable years.” Their father froze and tensed for a moment, but then simply continued walking towards the cart. Flint looked from one to the other with concern written across his broad face. “Sir, Blinkie, I think you’re both bein’ a bit too—” “Mind your own business, boy,” Mr Pie said wearily. “There’s nothing left to talk about.” It’s not raining, a detached part of Marble’s mind observed. She glanced up at the overcast sky; her family was falling to pieces and tearing each other apart before her eyes. By all rights, there should be torrential, miserable downpour, with razor winds and rolling thunder. Instead it was only mildly chilly with a light breeze. It felt wrong. “Hey, Blinkie,” she heard Flint say behind her, “can we talk for a second? In private?” “Eh… sure, I guess?” her sister replied, her voice tinged with puzzlement. Marble heard the crunching of gravel under hoof as the two ponies moved away from the others. Presumably to snog, or something. She watched as her father walked over to the front of the cart and tried to clumsily put on one of the two harnesses with his teeth alone. He dropped the ropes several times, and her mother eventually had to go help him. “Pinkie was crying, you know,” Marble said softly. Neither of her parents so much as looked at her. “She was in her room crying because she thinks we're abandoning her. She thinks none of us care about her.” She took a step towards her father, hearing her own voice grow in volume in spite of her best efforts to keep it down. “Do you? Do you care about her at all?” Her father looked up at her, his gaze heavy with age, exhaustion and—if Marble pretended hard enough—just a sliver of regret. “She made her choice,” he said evasively. “Just like you are doing now.” Marble ground her teeth together for a moment. “That doesn’t answer my question,” she said when she was certain her voice was not going to quaver. Her mother looked at her with something halfway between sympathy and exasperation. She opened her mouth to respond, but her father cut her off. “Cloudy, is the harness affixed properly?” The old mare nodded mutely, tugging at one of the straps for good measure. “Why must it be your way or nothing?” Marble demanded, taking another step forward. “Pinkie just wants to live her life. We just want to live our lives! That doesn’t mean we don’t want you in it as well!” Mr Pie nodded in acknowledgement his wife. “Get in the back, dear.” “Dad, please stop and think for a second,” Marble said, quickly moving in front of her father before he could start walking. “How are you going to get the wagon back home on your own? What if one of the wheels breaks again?” “Why do you care?” her father grumbled back. It was such a… a petulant and foalish response that Marble didn’t know whether to laugh or scream in frustration. “Why? Why?! For Celestia’s sake, Dad, your nose is still a bleeding mess, you’ve got your crooked back, Mom’s got her bum leg, and you’re asking me why?!” She was almost shouting now, but she couldn’t help herself, and her father’s impassive face did nothing to soothe her temper. “I’ll tell you why! It’s because you’re being a big bloody brain-blighted bonehead!” Marble’s chest rose and fell rapidly, little puffs of vapour escaping from her flaring nostrils. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a little filly quailed in terror and curled up in fear of the impending retribution for talking to her father like that. The greater part of her simply glared at this stubborn oaf of a stallion, daring him to speak up. Her father opened his mouth to reply, but it was not his voice that spoke. “Marble’s got a point, sir,” Flint said. She looked over her shoulder to see him and Blinkie coming back towards them. Blinkie looked less than happy, which was hardly unusual, but at least this time it was all directed solely at their father. “Ain’t no way you’re gettin’ this big ole wagon back to the farm on your lonesome.” All eyes were on him as the younger stallion picked up the other harness and deftly put it on. “That’s why I’m comin’ along.” “What?” Marble and her father said simultaneously. “You’re gonna need help pullin’ the wagon, an’ if worst comes to worst, carryin’ the luggage the rest of the way,” Flint replied good-naturedly. “An’ the way I figger it, you could also use a hoof around the farm until the girls come back.” “There’s not a blighted chance in Tartarus either of these fillies are ever setting foot on my farm again,” Mr Pie growled, glaring at the other stallion. “As you say,” Flint said, nodding calmly. “Anyway, we should get goin’. Ain’t any daylight left to burn.” He smiled over at Marble and Blinkie. “You girls take care now, right?” “Wait.” Blinkie trotted over to Flint and hesitated for a moment before giving him a kiss; a rather deep, hungry kiss involving a gratuitous amount of tongue. Marble swallowed involuntarily. “That’s enough, Limestone!” Mr Pie barked, a dark scowl on his face. Blinkie stepped in close to her father, smiling saccharinely. “Please, please break something else when you’re going back, won’t you, Daddy? Your hip, maybe?” “Blinkie,” Flint admonished her gently, and the smile melted away in favour of a contemptuous sneer that she treated the old stallion to for a moment before moving back next to Marble. Their father stared fixedly ahead for a moment before he wordlessly started moving. Flint followed suit, and together, the two stallions pulled the creaking wagon out on the street. In the back of the wagon, Marble saw her mother huddled under the canvas roof, silently looking back at her and Blinkie. The sisters stood and watched quietly as the cart rocked down the street. Only once it had faded from sight did they turn around to head back into Sugarcube Corner. “Is that what he wanted to talk to you about?” Marble asked softly. “That he was going with them?” Blinkie simply nodded. “So… why did he?” Her sister let out a little sigh and flipped her grey mane out of her eyes with a toss of her head. “He said he wanted to try to ‘smooth things over’ with Dad. He got worried about the old puke-stain talking about disowning us and all that crap.” Marble was silent for a moment; that had been a lingering nagging worry of her own. “Do you think Dad’s going to do it?” “I don’t care,” Blinkie said bluntly as she pushed open the front door to the bakery. “He and Mom can rot, if that’s what they want.” “You don’t really mean that…” Blinkie stopped and turned to face Marble. “Don’t I?” she asked, her face hard. “He wants to cut us off for not blindly obeying him? Well, he can bloody well do it. I’ll be glad to be rid of him.” Marble could almost believe her. “Girls?” Mrs Cake asked, coming down the stairs with a tired and haggard look on her face. “I hate to sound rude, but could you please keep it down? We just got the twins to fall asleep.” “Sorry, Mrs Cake,” Marble mumbled, and Blinkie looked suitably chastised, or at least disinclined to be picking another fight. “Is… is Pinkie all right? Has she said anything?” The exhausted mare shook her head. “She still won’t talk to anypony. The poor dear; I can count on my hooves how many times I’ve seen her like this, but it hurts me every time. Sadness just seems wrong on a mare like her.” Marble glanced at Blinkie, whose dour expression flickered to one of concern. “Maybe we should… talk to her,” her sister offered hesitantly, but Mrs Cake shook her head again. “I wouldn’t try just yet, not after how she reacted to Marble,” she said. Marble winced internally at the memory. “You should wait until tomorrow; give her a bit to calm down.” “Just how bad is it?” Blinkie asked, looking from Mrs Cake to Marble. “Like that time Dad told her to stop throwing so many parties?” “I don’t know. She didn’t say anything about imaginary friends, but she was… violent,” Marble said with a little shudder. Blinkie furrowed her brow a bit. “Violent how?” “The door barely stayed on its hinges.” “Oh.” Marble bit her lip as she looked up the stairs. It might just be her mind playing tricks on her, but she thought she could still hear a faint sobbing from somewhere above. “Maybe Rainbow Dash knows how to help her. She mentioned she’s seen Pinkie acting in a way kind of like this before.” “Who’s Rainbow Dash?” Blinkie asked. “A pegasus. Applejack and I met her when we—” Marble’s breath caught in her throat. With everything that had been going on, she had almost completely forgot about her cousin. “When we were out in the orchard,” she finished in a faint voice. “I don’t think you’ll be able to get a hold of Rainbow at this hour,” she dimly heard Mrs Cake say. “Her house is in the clouds, and she’s a heavy sleeper.” “Right…” Marble nodded and glanced over her shoulder at the front door; she hadn’t seen Applejack since… “Uhm do you need help with anything, Mrs Cake? Otherwise I… Perhaps we should—” Mrs Cake gave her a tired but kind smile. “It’s all right, dears, you head on back. We’ve had worse messes than this. We’re almost done cleaning up as it is.” Marble returned the smile gratefully before turning to her sister. “You coming?” “I guess,” Blinkie said, casting a look up the stairs. “You’ll keep an eye on Pinkie, right?” she asked at Mrs Cake, who nodded solemnly. “We’ll watch out for her, don’t worry.” Mollified, Blinkie followed Marble out the door and onto the street. They both paused briefly to look up at the window on the top floor of Sugarcube Corner. The curtains were drawn shut, but a bit of light still seeped through them. “Do you think she’ll be all right?” Blinkie asked in a surprisingly soft voice. Marble watched the curtained window for a few seconds more, but no shadow moved behind it. “I don’t know,” she admitted, tearing her eyes from the window and forcing her legs into motion. They lapsed into silence as they walked, and Marble’s thought drifted back to Applejack. Was she all right? Had Marble hurt her during their struggle? And what about the things Marble’s father had said? Was she also in her room right now, miserable and alone? No, Applejack was all right; she had to be all right. She was strong, stronger than both Marble and Pinkie. She could be hurt, yes—of course she could; she was still just a pony, after all—but she would carry that hurt stoically and with her head held high. …Wouldn’t she?