When Buttermilk returned home, she found Copperquick asleep on the kitchen floor; some kind pony had covered him with a blanket. Esmeralda was awake—though she was struggling—and her father had one foreleg wrapped around her. Buttermilk could see the foal looking at her with pleading eyes and inches away on the floor—just out of reach—was her pacifier.
Sometimes, life was tragedy.
With a huff, she put her bags down upon the counter and then flew over to comfort Esmeralda. She landed, silent, and folded her wings, an action that required no thought to accomplish. Looking down, she saw Esmeralda looking up at her, and the little filly appeared to be downright miserable. She had been crying and her face was still snotty, but since Copperquick was snoozing, her face had been left dirty.
Poor Copperquick probably needed the sleep.
“Mama?”
“Yes, Esme?” Buttermilk picked up the fallen binky, which was covered in a bit of snot and lint. With a flick of her wing, she tossed it behind her without looking and it clattered as it landed in the sink. A broad smile of satisfaction appeared on Buttermilk’s face and her tail flicked to and fro as she stood looking proud of her accomplishment.
“Mama.” Esmeralda blinked and her eyelashes, crusty from crying, tried to cling to one another. Trapped beneath her father’s foreleg, she reached out with one foreleg, wiggled, and then bleated to protest her captivity.
“Poor, poor, Esme, snuggled to death,” Buttermilk whispered to the distressed filly.
“Haroo-oooh, Mama.” Somehow, Esmeralda managed to convey that she was indeed, quite cross, and had suffered long enough, thank-you-very-much.
“I’m having a hard day too, Esme… I just spoke to my old friend Ripple Rusher again, and I’m pretty sure that she lied to me.” Buttermilk’s ears went limp and fell against the sides of her face. “I also sent a telegram to your Godmother, Twilight Velvet, requesting that Miss Rusher be thoroughly investigated, because I fear for the welfare of her foals. I wasn’t too keen on doing the right thing, no I wasn’t.”
“Mama, foosh.” Esmeralda blinked again, trying to express her pressing need and then wiggled beneath her father’s heavy foreleg. “Foosh, Mama.”
In response, Buttermilk did two things at once: wings unfurling, she took to the air, but as she did so she also reached down to pluck Esmeralda from her slumbering father’s embrace. She hauled the foal free, hugged her, kissed her, and then flew off with her towards the bathroom, off to the toilet that went ‘foosh’ when the cord was pulled.
When Buttermilk returned to the kitchen, she found a sleepy looking Copperquick blinking his eyes and rubbing his nose. At moments like these, she adored him the most, because there was just something about him when he was only half awake and trying to make sense of his surroundings.
“She’s losing a milk tooth,” he said, mumbling out the words through stiff lips that didn’t want to cooperate.
“Oh, Moomy was right it seems…” Even as she said the words, she cringed, not wanting to think about what else her mother had been right about. “If she’s starting to lose teeth, it’s time to switch to solids.” Still holding the squirming filly, Buttermilk wanted to fly over to Copperquick, cling to him, and bawl her eyes out. Somehow, she managed to resist her overwhelming desire, but she did fly over to where Copperquick was and put Esmeralda down upon her blanket.
“No!” Esmeralda thrashed about, kicking and grunting, demanding to be picked back up.
“She’s miserable, Buttermilk.” Copperquick rubbed his eyes with his foreleg, still trying to sort himself out, and then with a sigh, he looked down at his fussy filly. “I couldn’t get her to take a nap. I don’t even know how she’s still awake.”
It was a struggle to hold everything in, and more than anything, Buttermilk still wanted to throw her forelegs around Copperquick’s neck so she could have a good cry. But now wasn’t the time for crying, it seemed, as Copperquick was just waking up, Esmeralda was cranky, Daddums would be home soon, and there just wasn’t enough time in the day to fall apart and weep about the potential destruction of her foalhood friendship.
Just as her eyes were starting to sting with tears, Buttermilk felt a light touch on her snoot. In response, her eyes crossed and as she peered through the lenses of her glasses, she saw Copperquick’s coppery pelt. His hoof was resting on her snoot, but only for a moment, and when he pulled away, Buttermilk felt a great many things all at once.
There was a profound sense of love, first and foremost, and that felt good. She also felt a delightful tension in her loins as she thought about that light touch on her snoot touching someplace else: it could start as wonderful tummy rubs and progress to something better, something lewder. There was sadness too, because thoughts of Ripple Rusher lurked in the back of her mind. Then there was the practical stuff; now emptied, Esmeralda would need to be fed and then maybe, just maybe, once she was fed, she might go to sleep.
And if Esmeralda could go to sleep, premarital booping with Copperquick could continue.
Reaching out, Buttermilk returned the boop and was rewarded with an electric thrill. Yes, without a doubt, Copperquick was at his most attractive—at his sexiest—when he was half awake. Those half open eyes, his befuddled expression, the way his ears struggled to do anything meaningful, like standing up, Buttermilk nibbled her lower lip as her feeling of attraction spiked to an overwhelming level. What made a half awake stallion so sexy?
“Florp!” Esmeralda demanded, oblivious to the needs and desires of others.
“The toilet goes foosh,” Buttermilk said in response. “But I wonder, what goes florp? Why does she associate that sound with being fed?” She watched Copperquick shrug, and even that was kind of attractive, just because he looked so out of sorts. He needed more sleep, by the looks of things.
To cheer herself up, she bumped snoots with Copperquick, engaging in snoot-to-snoot contact, and she took a moment to look deep into his eyes. When he outstretched his forelegs, perhaps hoping to grab her and hold on to her, she darted away and then hovered just out of his reach. Hearing a rumbling wicker of frustration, Buttermilk’s ears perked and she felt a tense heat radiating through her belly.
“I’m going to fix Esme a bottle,” Buttermilk announced, and then she flew away.
While Esmeralda suckled on her bottle, Copperquick watched Buttermilk as she unpacked her bags. A new night light was placed upon the counter—magic or electric, he couldn’t tell—and a bright red and blue ball covered with golden stars was set down near the night light. A brown paper bag with something inside of it was set down and Copperquick had a bit of idle curiousity about what might be inside of it.
Reaching out, Copperquick stroked his daughter’s mane and she gurgled around the rubber nipple between her lips in response. Perhaps the warm milk might do the trick and maybe, just maybe, she was exhausted enough to get some sleep. She leaned into his touch, so he kept rubbing the top of her head and her little ears waggled with what appeared to be bliss.
“You got a ball for Esme,” he said and while he spoke, Buttermilk turned to face him.
Buttermilk nodded. “I want her to chase after it and develop her legs. Also, I think it will be cute.”
Copperquick agreed, it would be cute. With a bit of effort, he picked up Esmeralda and held her while she suckled. She squirmed at first, fussy, but then melted in his embrace. He hoped this was a sign that she would finally succumb to sleepiness and take a nap. Still not quite awake, he yawned and enjoyed a blissful moment of warm fuzziness while holding his daughter.
“So…” Buttermilk’s lips pursed and her brows had a light furrowing. “Are you curious about what is in the bag?”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, but didn’t wish to look too eager.
“I had to face a bit of embarrassment to secure it. No doubt, ponies will talk. I’m sure they’re gossiping right now, I bet.” Buttermilk’s face darkened and her glasses fogged over just enough to be noticeable. “But I figure, since they sell it at the pharmacy, somepony has to buy it, and none of the containers had any dust on them, so they must be getting restocked regularly.”
“So what did you get?” Copperquick asked.
Buttermilk, in preparation of her response, sucked in a deep breath and looked Copperquick right in the eye. “Slick & Silky Slit Sauce. A gentle glide for a better ride. I got the raspberry flavour because I know how much you love those raspberry hard candies.”
Hearing this, Copperquick very nearly dropped his daughter, and she grunted in protest of his carelessness while being jostled around. It took him a moment to recover, and he gave her an apologetic squeeze to help silence her. Summoning his dry wit, Copperquick swallowed once and then responded, “Why, Miss Oddbody, are you trying to seduce me?”
“No, you dolt,” she deadpanned. “I don’t need to try. Before spring break is over, I’m getting rid of my virginity.”
“Oi, are you now?”
Again, Copperquick almost dropped his daughter, and he had to struggle to keep her from hitting the floor. It wasn’t much of a fall, with him sitting on his haunches, but it was the principle of the matter. Good fathers didn’t drop their daughters, ever. Buttermilk’s face was turning new shades of red and purple while her glasses fogged over completely, obscuring her eyes.
“Moomy…”
“Midge and I are partial to the banana flavour,” Butter Fudge said through the window.
“I think I am about to find out if embarrassment can, in fact, be fatal.”
“Does it actually taste like banana?” Copperquick asked, blurting out the words before he had a chance to think about what it was that he was saying. He blamed his outburst on the fact that he wasn’t fully awake.
“Not really,” Butter Fudge replied. “It’s more like the weird taste of banana taffy.”
“I can’t believe the two of you are talking about this.” Buttermilk covered her face with her wings and stood there, trembling. “I suppose I should be happy that the two of you are getting along so well.”
“When things get really hot and steamy it starts to smell like a banana buttie,” Butter Fudge remarked in a casual tone.
“Huh.” Copperquick turned to look and saw Butter Fudge’s smiling face in the window, in the exact same spot where she had been sitting the last time. “Um, Mrs. Oddbody, would you like to be my mother-in-law?”
The big mare reached up and began to rub her chin with her hoof while her eyes angled upwards into a thoughtful position. Her ears fell, rose, fell, and rose again. While this was happening, Buttermilk was making distressed equine noises from behind her wings as she turned round and round in circles. Esmeralda, who was done with her bottle, tossed it and bounced it off of her father’s head with a ‘thonk!’ sound.
With a practiced gesture, Copper flipped his daughter around to burp her, even though she was now old enough to do it on her own. He felt her relax against him and he hoped that this would make her sleepy. Rocking on his haunches, he swayed from side to side while patting Esmeralda on her back.
“I wouldn’t mind having a son-in-law,” Butter Fudge said and she sounded rather distracted. Ignoring her daughter’s distress, the elder Oddbody tapped her chin and her eyes were now focused on Copperquick. “Normally, this isn’t how these proposals are supposed to go, not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
Pulling his hoof away from his daughter’s back, Copperquick used it to point at the filly that he held. “Say yes and this could be yours—”
“Oi, I wasn’t prepared for high pressure tactics!” Butter Fudge pressed her face up against the glass and eyeballed Esmeralda. “I’d have a hard time saying no to that, but I’m still trying to get over the fact that my house is going to smell like a fresh-baked raspberry tart later and I—”
“Moomy! You are the most embarrassing mother alive!” Still turning in circles, Buttermilk kept her face hidden behind her wings. “My face is on fire right now! Moomy, you are the worst!”
“Why, Beezy, that is so kind of you to say.”
“Ugh!” Now, Buttermilk stomped her hooves against the kitchen floor while she went round and round in circles. “Even my back is burning! Everything is burning! I feel sunburned! My stomach is full of butterflies!”
“Beezy, you look a bit pink, maybe you should go have a cold shower—”
“Moomy!”
It was at this moment that Esmeralda burped. But it was no simple burp, no. She brapped. In a terrifying display of violent vulgarity, her maw fell open and she let fly. With a belly full of goat’s milk, she had the ways and means to temporarily ascend into the Alicorn of Foghorns, and so she did. Everything in the kitchen rattled, the table, the chairs, the things on the counter, and even the windows rattled. Butter Fudge’s eyes went wide as she pulled her face away from the glass, leaving behind a face-shaped smudge.
Buttermilk pulled her wings away from her face; as she did so, her glasses slid from her muzzle and clattered to the floor. Copperquick, stuck at ground-zero, could do nothing but hang on to his daughter and hope for the best. Perhaps he had been a bit too vigourous with his back-pats.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Copperquick patted his daughter, but he was too stunned to praise her. She made something like a hiccup and then burped again, a tiny, petite sound that was quite ladylike in comparison to the frog song aria that she had just belted out.
“Wow.” Buttermilk Oddbody sounded stunned and she picked up her glasses with her wings.
“Wow.” Echoing Buttermilk’s sentiments, Butter Fudge sounded very much like her daughter and her hoof came to rest upon the windowsill.
With a bit of worry, Copperquick felt his daughter go limp and it was only after he had started to panic that he realised that his daughter was now asleep. Her little head was nodding against his neck and she made contented little sniffle-snorts as she slipped off to slumberland. Holding her tight against him, he thought only of how precious she was, and he was rather proud of her accomplishment.
Just as Copperquick was about to say something, Buttermilk went buzzing off out the back door saying, “Daddums will save me from this embarrassment…”
Well it's very sad to see that Ripple's tale turns out to be Mostly to Entirely False. That she played on her friend for sympathy like that. It's really disheartening to have to do the right thing sometimes, and risk loosing someone you were once close to.
Your writing isn't as dense as Tolstoy, thankfully.
*reads part about Copper getting a baby bottle bounced off his head.* I actually pictured this in the animation style of the show and promptly laughed a tail off!
*reads Esme's brap description and aftermath* keep Sunbutt and Twinkleshine away from her! O.o
Nah, this will become The Chase.
Wait a sec...
Edit: For reference, according to Google, War & Peace has about 587k words. The Chase has nearly 4x that.
8520058
Sir, I like how you think !
I love these little simple reminders you drop in each story that the realistic horrors and humane tragedies of the Weedverse are still all taking place in Magical Talking Cartoony Pony Land!
Keep it up!!!
Like I said previously, Butter Fudge is best/worst mother. The Alicorn of embarrasments.
Eh, the way things are going, it might spawn a sub-verse all its own
So you say now
War and Peace? More like Burp and Fart.
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Pootin.
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...on the Ritz?
I would certainly not be opposed.
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It may be, but still the stigma and the unavailability of any kind of other job would be an issue.
Currently is a bit unclear how much all the bad choices are conditioning vs the reaction and condemnation of the community are to blame.
Additionally THERE ARE customers for her. Saying "She is a whore, and she ruins families" is not really fair. Obviously we can't make any assumption on the issue of the various proposition, and on the general state, but a lot of issues apparent in our world seems to carry over a lot in this universe. And it still appears that the common reaction to multiple partners is the age old "He is a stud, She is a whore"
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And with each customer she takes on, the worse the stigma becomes, some of those customers are married, families are driven apart, and the blame is piled upon her, because, stigma.
This was supposed to be a background theme, but it expanded more than I expected.
8520269
Eh that's the exact problem, both there and here, and the hypocrisy of it is galling...
[Let me be clear that I'm NOT criticizing your writing, in any way, I'm just discussing the argument. You are quite excellent in how you are representing the issue.]
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i swear, butter fudge has some Pie in her blood, with how she can just manifest into existence at the most opportune/inopportune time.
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The problem is, it's difficult to see just how exactly where her Facts END and the Lies BEGIN. Maybe she DID manage to get herself preggers without even checking to make sure the boy was ready an other stuff. Then again maybe she did it to trap the poor man into marriage/relationship without doing things right.
What we DO know is that her sob story of being super innocent seems to be full of Lies from what this chapter seems to say.
If I had a mother like Butter Fudge I think every I would be dead. Every inch of my body would blush so much that every blood vessel within would burst at once. Death by embarrassment.
8520021
Is taking her kids away the right thing? If she's a whore she'll at least have steady income, so she should be able to take care of them. And the alternatives we've seen are really really bad, with kids being eaten by rats.
8520630
She operates off of her boat.
The same boat where she keeps her kids with her.
Those same kids who are left unattended if she steps off of her boat to go somewhere for privacy.
These are facts that the reader can easily put together with what has been presented.
8520635
...and? Is the theory that an orphanage or foster home will be less neglectful? At least she actually has a reason to care about them, even if she can't give them as much attention as she should.
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Well, you know, kids who grow up watching their mother whore herself out turn out to be so healthy and well adjusted...
8520346
In general, being unscrupulous will cause this sort of thing to fall on anyone. In her line of work, she takes any paying customer. Has to. Same time, no one else is her. They see someone they loved and trusted breaking the sanctity of that relationship with someone else - they blame both people, but for love's sake usually the one WITH them gets it less. Because if someone hadn't been around offering to any and all, maybe their loved one wouldn't have been so tempted.
It's so easy to say blame the spouse who did it, blame the spouse who didn't, as a reader. Just because the characters are blaming someone else. But it doesn't mean said characters are wrong automatically because of it. In this writing style WE are the ones in the dark. There's more at play here than we know, it doesn't have to be in terms of large-scale and notable events.
Too often real people prey on the gullible in this manner. Appearing victimized, the story concocted meant just to move a heart without tickling the logic centers too hard, because passion standing in for justice and truth has been the cause of WAR let alone unrest from manipulated parties, showing how powerful it can be.
In a society of mostly females where males are a rare commodity, it would also be socially understood that most might never find a male on their own for themselves. Leading many through history to steal them away from other females. With that historical backing, and seeing what appears to be the very same thing going on in their little mud-town, real fears with factual representation and anecdotal evidence come into play. It's easy to feel bad for the singular, put-upon person, but do remember that they are not always the one in the right, it's very easy to be taken in that way. Even if she was, if she's causing issues in the community through her own fault or not, it's better for that community she not be there.
Not pretty, not nice, not fair - if she's in any way telling the truth, but it is true. We'll have to see how things develop, as we know less than the characters.
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Hm this is a bit unclear, what is the male/female ratio around here?
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Well, It's not JUST an orphanage, it's being look after by Twilight Velvet, that is reforming the whole situation so that the system IS for the best for the children.
On the other hand the main issue with growing up with a mother whoring herself out is the whole stigma of the profession. And on that you also have to take in consideration what would be the psychology of the equines as there would be a LOT of diference compared to what is current psychology of humans.
You say that like it's a bad thing...
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You mean the same Twilight Velvet who is reforming the system precisely because it is horribly inefficient, understaffed and underfunded? I'm sure the orphanages are far better at least visibly but the 'Foal
LabourServices'' building was described as looking condemned, as-in unsafe for use and possibly liable to collapse on its own. If you remember the Treasury building was immaculate up until the entrance to thebasement of sufferingunemployment office, an area unlikely to be seen regularly by people with any power to do anything about it. I hate to imagine what the inside of an underfunded equestrian orphanage looks like beyond the visiting areas.8520371
duno about butter fudge but copper is a pie on his mothers side
8520232
I literally just watched Young Frankenstein yesterday.
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Butter Fudge Smudge...hilarious!