Babs and the Hearth's Warming Gift

by scoots2

An unexpected gift

The pleasant holiday mood had been broken. The room seemed, on the surface, to be exactly the same—Babs on the worn red rug, Poppy in his favorite sagging brown chair, and Gramma carefully moving the bobbins on her pillow, making long strands of lace she would later stitch onto dresses—but some wet stains on her muzzle gave away that Gramma had been crying, and behind his copy of the New Yoke Post, Poppy was shaking with rage. Her favorite time of the whole year was slipping away in just a few hours, and somehow she’d ruined it by asking why more of the family couldn’t have shared it with them. Babs had never heard Poppy sound so bitter or so angry. He spent most of his time listening to ponies screaming at each other and saying things like, “All right now, break it up,” and “Uh-huh, lady. And then what happened after the cart entered the intersection?” in a calm, soothing voice. This was a Poppy she didn’t even recognize.

Oh, well, she might as well enjoy the tree on this last night, before Poppy and Coconut hauled it away tomorrow. She swiped a miniature pie off the side table. The satisfying taste was pure Apple Family sweetness. She could almost identify which orchard the apples in the pie had come from. Their generous cousins had sent such a large box of delicious treats that it had driven Babs’ mother Anisette into a frenzy of competitive baking. Among the cakes, pies, cheesecakes, and Hearth’s Warming breads, surely nopony would have missed a small box of cookies.

The apple smell was so suggestive of Ponyville that Babs remembered she hadn’t filed her report to CMC headquarters. She might as well plan it now, before she was put to work cleaning up from the holidays tomorrow. She stared into the glowing lights of the tree, eating the pie with one hoof and thoughtfully tossing a fragile Neightalian glass ornament up and down in the other.

CMC Equestria Headquarters, General Chairmares Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle:

CMC Manehattan Local 101, Babs Seed, President

Winter Quarter

Q4, Cutie Mark attempts: 5

Q4, Cutie Marks accrued: 0

Membership has been banned from New Yoke Stock Exchange (hay commodities fell by 800 points), and Maretropolitan Opera. Equine fly attempt partly successful. Suction shoes functional up to 14th story, which is pretty good for earth ponies, Scootaloo, and we could totally have made it down off of that ledge ourselves if Vice Pres. Cherry Blossom hadn’t panicked, so wings ain’t everything, just saying.

Anyway, we ain’t got too far yet, but we got plenty more opportunities in Manehattan. Hope you can come for a visit soon. Maybe your very special talents would only come out in the city, and we could sure have fun trying, so ask your families if you can come.

Hope you all had a great Hearth’s Warming season. I mostly did.

Say, you ever figure maybe getting a cutie mark makes you stupid? My big sis Avocado keeps saying there’s a bunch of stuff I’m supposed to get later on, like what’s so interesting about colts or why wearing extra-high horseshoes is worth it and like that. I’m kinda thinking maybe being mad forever is one of them.

See, the cool thing about you guys is that you said you were sorry for all that stuff that happened last summer, even though I started it and I was way more mean than all of you. I never would have guessed you’d have been my friends after that, but you are, and then we never talked about it again. All over and done with, like it never happened, so we can spend our time doing fun stuff instead.

So I don’t get being mad forever. I don’t see being mad at Poppy or Coconut or Avocado, or you guys now, for more than a couple of hours, and not talking to you ever again—well, if that’s what growing up and getting a cutie mark means, maybe I don’t want to.

Babs stopped writing the letter in her head. If she didn’t want a cutie mark, wouldn’t she stop being a Cutie Mark Crusader? No. This, she thought, tossing the glass ornament almost up to the ceiling and catching it again, was not a letter she was going to write.

---

Poppy stole a glance over the top of his copy of The New Yoke Post. There was his youngest, playing with one of the family’s oldest ornaments. Right hoof, left hoof, right—no matter how breakable they were, they never broke and she never missed. The kid had a good eye and good reflexes. Great reflexes, like—no.

“Sorry, Poppy,” Babs said, catching the ornament as she grabbed another pie. “I never should of asked. I wish I’d of met Grandpa Pepper.”

“I wish you had, too,” Poppy said, his insides burning with shame as he dropped the paper. He shouldn’t have taken his anger out on his daughter. It wasn’t her fault for asking. “Dad was the best. You would of liked him. Everypony did what bothered to meet him. It’s why he was so popular, see. He was a great dancer, yeah, but he got out there on that stage and he liked you, an’ nopony could help liking him back. He was everypony’s friend before they even met him. After he was gone, we came here, ‘cause we didn’t have noplace else to go.” A great bubble of grief began to surface from within. He hadn’t talked about Dad in years, and never to his own children. Now he’d started, and he wasn’t sure he could stop. He was being rushed backwards in time to his own colthood, when he was even younger than Babs, a small, miserable bundle huddled nose to tail in the railroad car taking him away from Dodge Junction, and away from his father for good. “That’s how we wound up in the Broncs.”

“At least you had here to come to, right? I mean, comin' here, there was a good side.”

Good side? What good side?—

—The train clicking, pulling him away from Dad, ka-chick, ka-chick, ka-chick. Ma and Sesame and him moving into the little walk-up, two rooms, five stories up, back to Dad’s family, who they didn’t even know.

—The Seeds, Pepitis, Semillis, Samens, and Zoymans, who didn’t care if they hadn’t met them yet, because they were family.

—Ma making lace and running the sewing machine day and night, making dresses for other fillies’ cute-ceañeras. Waking up hungry and going to bed hungry.

—The filly at the corner bakery who slipped him cookies that he ate for lunch.

—The letters that always came back from the Pears, Persimmons, and Oranges, who had forgotten Ma as though she’d never been born.

—The boxes full of apples from the cousins who never forgot her.

—Cold winter mornings, selling papers, dropping out of school to support the family.

—Knowing the neighborhood so well that he could walk it blind, which came in handy for a police pony.

—Anisette. Three beautiful foals. So, yeah.

“Yeah,” Poppy said slowly, rubbing his hoof across his dark brown mane, “yeah. There was a good side.”

“Anyway,” said Babs, “I just wanted to know, ‘cause I met the Oranges a couple months ago. At the reunion.”

“You met the Oranges?” said Gramma, suddenly looking up from her lacemaking. “Did you like them?”

Babs shrugged. “They was ok.”

“They nice to you?” asked Poppy.

“Yeah, I guess. They was ok. They asked where we lived and where I went to school an’ stuff, and they said ‘oh’ and that it was a pleasure and like that.” She lay back on the rug, juggling the ornament, first on her front hooves, then on the back, backwards and forwards, making sharp little clicks against her horseshoes: tappity-tap-tap-tap.

“They got twins, Tangelo an’ Pummelo. Kinda boring ‘cause they’re colts an’ prac’ly still foals, but anyways still kinda cousins, and they kept wanting to talk to me an’ Apple Bloom, so I sent ‘em some cookies. And a box of matches. Relax, Poppy,” she said, as her father’s eyes bulged, “I’m just yanking your bridle. I only sent the cookies. I felt sorry for ‘em.”

“You felt sorry for the Oranges?” Poppy said incredulously. Colts who probably lived on Park or Fifth? Babs felt sorry for them?

“Well, yeah. Their mom doesn’t even bake.”

Poppy chuckled. “That’s true. Your ma’s spice cookies are the best anywhere. I tell you, I sure was lu—“ The word froze on his lips: that cursed word “lucky” that he never used, because it brought such bad luck.

“Yeah. I thought we was pretty lucky too.”

Poppy’s heart sank. Oh, Babs, never say “lucky.” Sweetie, no.

Babs balanced the ornament on one hoof and sat up. “The twins sent somethin’ back. I dunno what it is. I was gonna open it up when we was all together, only Coconut and Ma went to bed and Avocado went to work, and—“ she let out a breath and continued wistfully, “seems like we’re never all together at the same time for long. Go ahead an’ open it up, Poppy.” She put the ornament down and lay back down next to the tree.

Poppy trotted over to the hall. A moment later, a burst of laughter echoed back to his mother. “Ma,” he called, “this is something you gotta see.”

Poppy trotted back, four gold boxes of graduating size stacked high on his hindquarters and a card held in his teeth. Gramma Seed took it and read it while he slid the packages down his rump to the table.

“Thank you for your continued patronage. We wish you and yours all the joys of this holiday season. Best regards, Stodge and Company.”

“That’s a corporate gift if I ever seen one,” he said, tears stinging his eyes as he wheezed with laughter. “You mean they just grabbed it off of the pile without even telling anypony?”

“Prob’ly,” Babs said, yawning. “That's the kinda thing they do. What’s inside?”

Poppy pulled the lid off the boxes and whistled. “It’s nice. You had enough candy for tonight, though.”

“Chocolates, Ma. The real fancy kind. Champagne. There’s silk scarves in this one,” he added in an undertone, so that Babs couldn’t hear him. “Don’t Babs even know the difference?”

Doesn’t she know we don’t have much? Doesn’t she know that the cute-ceañera dresses her gramma makes are so expensive that only rich little fillies’ families can afford them? That Avocado couldn’t have one, and she wouldn’t have one herself? Doesn’t she understand that everypony in the family works hard all the time, and that’s why we almost never are all together?

“It’s hard to tell,” Gramma Seed said, thoughtfully tying off some strands. “Sometimes I think she doesn’t know which ponies are rich and which ponies are poor, and sometimes I think she does, but it just doesn’t matter to her. It didn’t matter to Pepper, or to me.”

“They’re just presents,” said Poppy, looking down into the chocolate boxes. “And she sent cookies to the Oranges ‘cause they’re littler than her an’ they’re cousins, and it’s Hearth’s Warming and she felt sorry for ‘em. Well,” he said, sighing, “she’s prob’ly right. You,” he added to the plump little figure, snuggled close to the tree, “are a very smart young filly.”

But Babs was asleep.

Author's Note:

I've never thought of Babs as the Orange's daughter. In fact, I was Babs-obsessed enough to ask:

Is Babs the Orange's daughter?

Yep, that was me. Still, she didn't say "no," right? And I thought this comic by supersheep64 was pretty darned funny.

Manehattan is no longer safe

Another inspiration for this fic was Italo Calvino's "Santa's Children," although there, the "poor children" do give the rich kid a box of matches. Dark comedy ensues.

Anyway, I hope fellow Babsians enjoyed this. Trust me, reverse Babs pimpage shall happen.

Comments

[Bad_Seed_72]

1924836

Thanks! I definitely am enjoying it! I'll have to read the last chapter and let you know what I think! I'm sure you pulled it off great

[Bad_Seed_72]

Well, this was a nice little fic. Always cute to see things through a child's eyes. Warmed my heart. Thank you very much, Scoots2. Well done.

[scoots2]

1970182 Thanks! I'm glad you liked it. I'm hoping to add a bit more to the Babs-iverse later; not the same as yours, but hey, it keeps things interesting. To me, one of the things that's neat about Babs is that she's just as much of a kid, or an innocent, or not, as the other CMCs, but she lives in a less Sugar Bowl environment. It could be really awful or just slightly grittier, depending, but it's not the sheltered place they're in. I think it makes her fun. I worked a bit on something I'm not going to keep going on, but as I wrote it, Ponyville is strange to her: everypony talks weird, not normal, like you do, and stuff smells wrong, and the quiet is way too loud. Anyhoo, there must be more Babs of every kind, right?

[Bad_Seed_72]

1973939

Agreed. More Babs is needed. But yes, she is an interesting character indeed...lots of possibilities for her.

[that1dude]

This fandom needs more Babs Seed.

[scoots2]

2063865 Egg-zackly. I just want to read more Babs.

[Squinty Mudmane]

That was a nice, engaging read. The setting you work with for Babs and her family (and the city in general) works very well. A lot of fics involving the "big cities" of the fanon - such as Vanhoofer, Fillydelphia and whatnot - tend to have a present-day approach to the environment, such as ponies having cellphones and similar modern tech. The whole late 1800's/early 1900's vibe I'm getting from your setting is interesting and rather compelling. Hope you'll make more stories in the same vein.

Also, nice little throwback with Cherry Blossom.

Also also, for some reason Babs' real name amused me to no end.

[scoots2]

2211974 Thank you so much! I'm actually kind of proud of this one, and you picked up on so many of the reasons why. I figured Ponyville has a vaguely retro feel and it's run by unicorn magic, so why not Manehattan? I don't know when I'll get around to another one, but I did have another idea.

[The Princess Rarity]

Awww. This chapter was so bittersweet, I can't even describe how much my heart is trying to stay steady. A wonderful ending to a very beautiful story, like always.

[scoots2]

4066372 Aw, thanks. Actually, this is a persistent problem of mine, and I'm never sure what to do with it. I was going through my stuff, and so much of it seems both sad and funny--sort of bittersweet. So how do you tag something like that? I HAVE considered bringing Sweetie Belle in for a kind of sequel with Babs, but remember: Poppy doesn't want her even setting hoof in a theatre. He's dead serious about that, and also about never using the word "lucky." Which makes it fair game for a fic, I suppose.
Very few people seem to have read this one. It doesn't have much of a plot, and most of the characters are OCs, so there's not to interest a reader. I'm always pleased when someone does, though.

[The Princess Rarity]

4067096 I gotta admit, I am one of those people who often do avoid OC-centered stories (despite making one or two of my own), but seeing how you're a really good writer, I gave this a chance and I must say, I was far from disappointed.

[FanOfMostEverything]

Huh. This is certainly a fascinating take on Babs's talent, immediate family, and the history of both. (I always figured she had Pinkie Sense-level intuition for investment opportunities; in other words, she knows where to plant seed money. ) It also sets up a wonderful conflict in the future as Poppy struggles between keeping his daughter from her destiny and risking her ending up like her grandfather. As much as I love your CheesePie work, I hope you explore this idea further in the future.

[Walabio]

This is a nice simple story. Some ponies do not like it because it is simple. One should remember the simple 3-word sad story:

Sale:
BabyShoes, Never-Worn.

[scoots2]

4915322 Thank you! Yes; "baby shoes, never worn" does potentially tell a sad story.

I think "leather" is ok, simply because there's no other material that conveys the kind of stuff used for reins, saddles, and Braeburn's vest. I've got shoes made of vegan leather, whatever that is, not because I'm a vegan but because they're snappy-looking. But it is a point to consider.

[scoots2]

4528026 I've definitely considered picking up this thread, but I'm so consumed with the EG story right now! Still, I do always have Babs and Babs' family at the back of my mind (although, per the comic books, she now comes from Hooflyn.)

[Walabio]

4915748

> “I think ‘leather’ is ok, simply because there’s no other material that conveys the kind of stuff used for reins, saddles, and Bræburn’s vest.”

Princess Lauren Faust states that all Cetartiodactyla and Perissodactyla are sentient sapient beings. This raises questions about the source of the leather.

[scoots2]

4916791 Did you miss the bit about "vegan leather?" That stuff is still called "leather," although whatever it is made of contains no animal products whatsoever. Besides, I'm not going to write that a book is covered in "simulated leather-like substances."

[Walabio]

4916816

I just figure that ponies would be weary about anything called “Leather”, especially if it is an import from a Gryphon-Dominated country because the Gryphons are omnivorous, while the only animal-products ponies eat are milk-products and eggs. Ponies probably would want a guarantee that the leather is plant-based. This reminds me about a story called the 800-Year Promise:

The 800-Year Promise

A stallion bought a blank book from a DiamondDog 800 years ago.He wrote in it. 800 years later, a mare who is his descendent possesses the filled book as a family-heirloom. She is curious about the book, so seeks out a dragon over one thousand years-old who might have some knowledge about the book. The dragon identifies the material as vellum made of unhatched drakes. This nearly leads to all out total war between dragons and ponies.

As a pony, I would not buy anything made by DiamondDogs unless I could positively identify the material.

Basically, as a pony, I would only my leather-like materials only if they would be made in Equestria and only from hoofed beings.

Post Scriptum:

While proofing this reply, I realized that I severely over thought this. Oh well.

[Carnation83]

Babs being from another branch of the family and not the Oranges makes sense. The Apples seem to be related to EVERY Earth pony family out there.