Feathermay Chapter Expansion · 1:52am Aug 11th, 2022
Source: https://www.deviantart.com/mycreationsawaitme/art/Feathermay-924728184
As noted about a month ago in the Diamond Rose blog, I'm still working on expanding the earlier chapters (as well as the next chapter, Sweetie Swirl), but the good news is I've embiggened five of the earlier chapters of 16. You have the option of going back and rereading each of the chapters individually, but I'm posting the newly added scenes in separate blog posts for each of the characters. There's too much to do a single blog post. Way too much. Diamond Rose, Feathermay, and Flitterheart have all had more than 5,000 words added to their respective chapters.
This is completely optional reading. No major plot points are revealed in any of these scenes. No retcons!
Much like when I was posting the character interviews, I'll space these out so as not to overwhelm everyone at once. If you want to rush out and read them, you can go back and reread these chapters - the additional content is already there. For some of these chapters, it's been there for three months. So if you've recently read through the story, you might be left wondering what's new.
Chapter status:
Cherry Pie: No recent changes; will be expanded
Daisy Dreams: No recent changes; will be expanded
Dewdrop Dazzle: No recent changes; will be expanded
Diamond Rose: https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/990898/diamond-rose-chapter-expansion
Feathermay: You're here
Flitterheart: Expanded, blog post coming soon
Honeybuzz: Updated in February; more to come
Lily Blossom: Currently in progress
Lulu Luck: No recent changes; will be expanded
Ploomette: No expansions planned
Plumsweet: Expanded, blog post coming soon
Rainbow Flash: Expanded, blog post coming soon
Snowcatcher: No expansions planned
Starbeam Twinkle: No expansions planned
Sunny Rays: No expansions planned
Sweetie Swirl: Still unposted
Without further ado, the new additions to Feathermay's chapter! Feathermay's Uncle Mayweather was mentioned several times in the original cut, and now he makes a few appearances. Warning, this chapter's additions range from cute & silly to sad. Oh, and some romance too, as May's beau, Swiftspeed, gets a little more time in the spotlight. 'Slice-of-life' can be considered 'all genres combined', because life is made up of triumphs and tragedies, adventure and the mundane. Oh, and some Dutch... courtesy of Snowliasion.
Source: https://www.deviantart.com/itsjustmeg/art/MLP-Feather-May-324732006
Steedville: nine years, four months, and nine days ago
“Whatcha doing?”
“Tap dancing.” Uncle Mayweather’s response was sarcastic, as he dipped the paint roller into the tray next to him. “I’m painting, smartflank.”
Obvious answer is obvious, but that’s what I get for asking such a stupid question.
“And what are you doing, little missy?”
“Watching you.” Two can play at the obvious answers game!
He rolled his eyes as he hovered in front of his house. A fresh coat of chocolate brown paint covered the faded slate blue of his two-story home. “Why are you watching me work?”
“Supervising. You missed a spot over there.”
He turned to look, but there was no gap in the paint. “You’re a real pain in the rump, you know that?”
I nodded.
“You want your own pain in the rump?”
I shook my head. His threats of spanking me were just that – he’d never laid a hoof on me in all the years I’d been pestering him.
“You sure? Cause I’d be happy to send Honeydew home with you.”
Aunt Honeydew opened the kitchen window. “I love you too, ya old goat. You keep an eye on him, May. Make sure he ain’t slacking out there.”
“Why don’t you come out here and help me paint, dumbflank.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and slammed the window shut. They bickered like an old married couple, which technically they were. Uncle Mayweather was more than twenty years older than my Dad. He’d once explained to me that Dad was an ‘oops’ for their parents. I loved that about him – he never treated me like a foal, and was always willing to tell it to me straight. When the other adults talked about things in whispers, I knew I could always count on him to tell me about it later. It would be nice if everypony would treat me like they treat each other. I’m not a foal anymore.
“If you’re that bored that you’ve got nothing better to do than watch me work, grab the other roller and start helping me.” He dropped his roller in the pan and watched me fumble with the other one.
“You missed a spot.”
“Nice try, but I’m not falling for that!” I couldn’t stick my tongue out due to the roller in my mouth.
“Seriously. You missed a spot there, and there, and over here too.”
I spotted just a hint of slate blue in my peripheral vision, and when I turned my head I saw that he wasn’t yanking my chain. I groaned at my sloppy workmareship.
“Painting takes finesse, May. You can rush through life doing a half-baked job, then have to go back and fix the mistakes, or you can take the time to do it right the first time. In the end, the rush job takes longer because you have to do it again. There are no shortcuts in life. What’re you in a hurry for, anyway?”
I sighed. “I just wanted to get done so we could play cards.” I loved playing games against my uncle – unlike my parents, he never let me win. Whenever I beat him, I did so fair and square… even if Honeydew and I usually had to gang up on him.
“We’ll play another day, May. Ha! Look at me – I’m a poet and don’t know it.”
“Don’t quit your day job.”
“Bah! Everypony’s a critic.”
“Get your flank down here and eat up!” Aunt Honeydew brought out some lemonade and oatmeal raisin cookies for us, and I moved the paint bucket and roller pan out of the way so we could eat.
Uncle Mayweather dropped the roller in the paint tray and sniffed at the offered cookies. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Would it kill you to make chocolate chip cookies? At least the lemonade’s appropriate, ya old sourpuss.”
“No, but it might kill you, ya bitter old grump. The doc said your blood sugar level’s more sugar than blood.”
“He’s a quack that don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“I’d be sad if anything happened to you, Unk. Don’t you want to see me graduate from school? Don’t you want to be a great-uncle someday?” I chuckled. “You’re already a great uncle, but you know what I mean.”
He sighed and bit into one of the oatmeal raisin cookies. “Only for you, little chickadee.” He tousled my mane, and I leaned into his hoof.
After our snack, I stepped back to admire our work. We’ve made good progress on the west side of the house. Clip clop clip splash. Right, that’s where I put the paint bucket so it would be out of the way. Smooth, May, smooth. I turned to look at my left hind leg, which was now chocolate-colored from the hock down. Brown was also the color of something else, which everypony was going to assume I stepped in. “Horseapples.”
Uncle Mayweather burst out laughing and Aunt Honeydew whacked him with a wing. “Why’d you teach her that word?”
“She was gonna learn it eventually anyway.” He picked up the hose. “Get your flank over here and let’s see if we can wash that out.”
We couldn’t. In the end, it only made things look worse. My leg went from being entirely brown to fuchsia streaked with brown. I’d gone from looking like I’d stepped in something to looking like I’d had an accident. “Horseapples.”
Uncle Mayweather looked at my leg. “Exactly. You gotta stop eating that spicy food. Just runs right through ya.”
I couldn’t help myself, and giggled.
“Well the good news is now you won’t be tracking paint all over the place. The bad news is you look like you just ate at a cheap taco place. Again.”
I felt the heat in my cheeks. “I was three!”
“I remember, I was there. I’m amazed you remember that. You were still knee-high to a grasshopper’s rump.”
“You won’t let me forget it.”
“Parents love to embarrass their foals.”
“You don’t have any foals!”
“Yup, so I have to embarrass my brother’s kid instead. That’s you, by the way.”
“No foolin’. If your memory’s so good, why don’t you ever talk about when you were a colt? I’d love to know what dinosaurs were like!”
Uncle Mayweather pulled a razor out of his saddlebags. “Is that any way to talk to the stallion who’s about to shave your leg? I’m an old stallion, you know how it goes. My wings and hooves are a little shaky. Oops, I slipped. Sorry about the blood loss.”
I started backing up. “Why are you going to shave my leg?” He motioned to the brown paint that still stained my coat. “Oh, right. It’ll grow out.”
“The question is, do you want it to be brown while its growing back, or bare?”
“I think I’ll just invest in some socks. But thanks anyway, Uncle Mayweather.”
“Suit yourself, but I reckon I’ll take care of the painting from here on out. You don’t look good in brown.”
“Neither does the house.” I stuck my tongue out as I left. Ugh, and he’s going to paint the trim orange. Who does that to their house?!? Earth tones might’ve been in style forty years ago, but it was a mistake then, and there’s absolutely no excuse for orange trim whatsoever.
Steedville: seven years, one month, and three days ago
Uncle Mayweather was sitting on the porch reading the newspaper when I trotted up to his house. He folded the paper up as I approached. “May, did you hear about the cheese factory explosion in Prance?”
“Oh my gosh! Is everypony okay?”
“Everypony’s fine, but da brie is everywhere. Get it? Da brie, debris?”
I groaned and he chuckled.
“You’re so gullible, little chickadee.”
I pouted and sat down in front of him. “Be serious!”
“I am serious. You’re very gullible.”
“Hey! That’s not what I meant!”
“May, you’re naïve and innocent. You’re adorable, but there are ponies out there who take advantage of ponies like you. We don’t have many ‘round these parts, but that’s mostly ‘cause we don’t have many ponies ‘round these parts, period.”
I shrugged. “So then why’s it matter?”
“‘Cause ‘not many’ ain’t the same as none, and ‘cause I can see the ol’ pegasus wanderlust in your eyes. It’s as plain as the snout on your face. Ain’t no way you’d be satisfied to stick around these here parts the rest of your life, and I ain’t always gonna be around to protect you. I don’t know much about what comes after the final curtain call. Some ponies think you go to the Eternal Fields if you’re good, and rot in Tartarus if you’re bad. All I know is if somepony hurts you, you bet your sweet little rump I’m gonna do my darnedest to come back and haunt them.”
“Don’t say that. You’ll be around a good long time to come.”
“Cut the horseapples, kiddo. I’m more than sixty years older than you and my health has been seen better days. Quite frankly, I didn’t care about taking care of myself and I’ve reaped what I’ve sown. I ain’t got much longer for this world and we both know it. Five years ago, if you’d asked me, I would’ve told you I didn’t regret a thing. Now that it’s too late I finally have a reason to stick around. I wanna watch you grow up, but it just ain’t meant to be. All I can do is fill that pretty little head of yours with the wisdom of my years and hope some of it sticks with you so you don’t make the same mistakes I made. Stars above, you’ll make enough of your own. But there’s days when we talk when I think your head’s nothin’ but a tunnel for my words to pass through on their way out your other ear.”
“Hmph.”
“Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you. This is important, May. You’ve got a brain in that head. I know, because I’ve seen you use it. You’re a clever filly. But you can’t focus worth horseapples. If you memorized your schoolwork like you do the woods, you’d be sittin’ pretty. You wanna be outside all day? I reckon I can’t blame you none. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. But you’ve got to utilize your time better. Like when it’s rainin’ and you can’t be out in the woods. Or when it’s cold and windy. Then you should be doing your schoolwork. Maybe even get ahead with it so you don’t have to miss out when the weather’s nice. What’s the point of staring out the window, hoping the rain’ll stop soon? We have a weather schedule, May. You know darned well when the rain’s going to stop.”
“But…”
“No buts, little missy. You want to waste your life being a cloudpusher, more power to you. Stars above, we could use more weather pegasi around these parts. Maybe that’s what you’re best suited to, always on the move, wrangling storms. I think that’s a waste of your talents, personally, but if you want to drift through life, you can do that. Move from town to town, staying with the storms. But if you want to make it in this world, you need to apply yourself.”
I sighed. As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point.
Steedville: five years, eight months, and twenty days ago
Sitting still was never my forte. I’d always been an active filly, preferring to be out and about, playing in the woods, exploring nature, not sitting around the house. It was the reason I was glad I was homeschooled; I wouldn’t last long in a public school. I could do my classwork and homework on rainy days, humid days, or bitterly cold days. There were a lot of all three in the middle of nowhere.
It was ironic that the sun was shining. I fought the urge to fly up there and make the sky weep like I was.
Uncle Mayweather was gone and it wasn’t fair. He had so much more to teach me, and I had so much more to learn. He had so many more corny jokes to tell for me to groan at. So many more games to play.
From now on the only game he’d be playing was the quiet game. Permanently. He’d tried that on me once when I was a little foal. It hadn’t worked on me then, and I wished with all my heart that it wouldn’t work on him now.
Steedville was a small village, and everypony loved my uncle. The entire town had turned out, and even some ponies from surrounding communities had made the trek for the funeral. In our small corner of Equestria, that was the norm. Unlike larger cities, our community was exactly that – a community. Everypony came together in times of need. Albeit, for some, it was mostly an excuse to gossip – the downside to living someplace where everypony knows your name… and what you did last summer. And the summer before that, and the summer before that, and so on.
There was a podium next to the casket, and ponies paid their last respects to my uncle. I heard their words, but couldn’t focus on them. My parents urged me to go up and say something, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t find the words, and I couldn’t have stopped crying even if I’d had a beautiful speech ready to go.
My buddy. My mentor. Gone. He wouldn’t get to see me grow up and graduate school and get married and have foals. And those foals would never know their great-uncle, and have no point of reference for how great he really was when I inevitably rambled on about him.
Dusty stood next to the podium. He didn’t say a word. He dipped his head and started playing his steel guitar. It wasn’t one of his own compositions, but a traditional dirge. He didn’t preface his performance with his normal jokes about the rest of his bandmates not being able to make it because they were sick… of him. If I hadn’t already been crying, I would’ve lost it then and there. Dusty was usually so full of life, but standing there he looked every year of his age and then some. It was a stark reminder that he wasn’t as young as he used to be either and it wouldn’t be much longer ‘til we had his funeral too.
As Dusty played, the pallbearers picked up the coffin and carried it to the waiting pyre, gently placing it on top. I’d helped decorate the pyre, covering large sections in some of Uncle Mayweather’s favorite jokes. My drawing skills were middling at best, but I’d insisted on being the one to draw his picture. Nopony, not even Aunt Honeydew, was taking that from me. I’d poured my all into that image, and it showed. It was the best thing I’d ever drawn, hooves down.
Aunt Honeydew lit the fire and we watched as the flames consumed the mortal remains of one of the greatest stallions to ever live. My parents each draped a wing over me as I struggled to pull myself together until the end of the ceremony.
Uncle Mayweather had once told me that the pegasus funeral pyre was an ancient tradition started before the unification of the tribes. A tradition borne of necessity, to prevent unicorn mages from reanimating deceased pegasi and using them to attack pegasus settlements. In reality, he’d made that up to make a tedious ritual seem more exciting to an impressionable, easily bored filly. The truth had turned out to be much more mundane – pegasi traditionally lived in cloud cities, and burying things in clouds was an effort in futility. His version was better. Why let facts get in the way of a good story?
Pegasi were uncommon in our predominantly earth pony region. As such, funeral pyres were rare in Steedville, happening only when a member of my family passed. Earth ponies preferred to be buried, letting nature reclaim them and serving as fertilizer for the crops. I’d never been to a unicorn funeral, so their traditions were a mystery to me.
One by one each of the attendees added something to fuel the flames. Dusty added a guitar pick emblazoned with his band’s logo. The Pony pick wouldn’t contribute much to the combustible mass, but that was only part of the tradition – the better attended the funeral, the brighter the fire would burn. The other part was sentimental symbolism. The pick had meaning to Dusty, and it was a tribute to Uncle Mayweather.
I added an old rag doll to the flames. A much loved toy from my fillyhood, it had seen better days. I’d carried it around everywhere back then, including on many trips to see my aunt and uncle. As I watched the flames consume my once-favorite toy, I thought back on those good times. There’d be no going back in time, those days were gone forever. Uncle Mayweather wasn’t coming back, a point hammered home by the fire.
The fire burned bright, fueled by the pyre, the ceremonial coffin, and the town’s offerings. The heat was intense, and we all backed away, watching the last goodbye of Uncle Mayweather from a safe distance.
Hours later the fire had burned itself out, much like my uncle’s star. The smoldering remnants had been reduced to ashes, which were then scattered to the winds, leaving behind nothing but a few shards of bone. I was overcome by an overwhelming urge to grab the biggest piece of bone I could find, so I did so and stashed it in my saddlebag. I’d heard of ponies keeping the ashes of their loved ones in vases, but I had a different idea in mind.
Once home, I raided Dad’s toolshed for a drill brace and bored a hole through the bone. Tears stung my eyes I dug through my meager collection of jewelry, looking for an old necklace. Once I found one with a good chain, I yanked the cheap pendant off and strung the chain through the hole I’d drilled. Other ponies might call it morbid, but this way I could always keep a piece of my uncle close to me.
Once I’d accomplished my task, I buried my face in my pillow and cried myself to sleep.
Heiferson City: two years, eight months, and eleven days ago
I was lying in a pile of hay in the back of a wagon as I was pulled to ‘the city’. Steedville lacked a restaurant, so our dinner reservation was the nearest population center. Six hundred ponies do not a city make.
Not that there were all that many options in town either. Just the cheap taco place and Irma’s Diner. Irma was a middle-aged mare with an unkempt white coat and stringy black hair that was almost as greasy as the food. Her hairnet was purely decorative – it did absolutely nothing to prevent her hair from getting in the food. The fact that her cutie mark was of said hairnet, and not a picture of something edible, should’ve been a giant flashing warning sign. The truly mind-boggling part was that none of the other ponies in town were better cooks. Statistically, there had to be at least a few good chefs in town. If any of them ever decided to compete they’d run Irma out of business in less than a week.
My date brought the wagon to a stop and I fluttered out. As far as colts went, Wheat Bread wasn’t unattractive. He still had all of his teeth, which was a small miracle considering even ‘the city’ didn’t have a dentist. Unsurprisingly, every time a pony left town with the intention of becoming a dentist, they set up their practice somewhere with more patients.
I sighed as I stood outside the restaurant. I’d eaten at Irma’s a few times previously. Once because I didn’t know any better; the rest under protest. This would sadly have to fall into the latter category, and our date certainly wasn’t starting off on the right hoof.
Once he’d hitched the wagon to a post, we went in and took a seat at the counter. The taco place had booths and tables, but Irma’s just had a counter. I was already regretting that we hadn’t gone there, but Wheat wanted to impress me. Irma’s isn’t going to cut it in that department, but I can’t hold our geography against him. It would be better if he had a family that could cook. Or better yet, if he was a good cook personally.
I ordered a plain salad, with nothing but iceberg lettuce. I figured it was something even Irma couldn’t mess up. The fact that it was served to me burnt wasn’t a good omen.
“It’s something new: salad flambé!”
“Seriously?”
“Sorry little darlin’, we had a small kitchen fire. Just tryin’ to make the best of it.”
As soon as she turned tail my head hit the table in defeat. It was a reminder as to why I packed a lunch on the days I was selling in the market.
Wheat Bread’s meal looked even less appetizing, though he bravely ate every last bite of it. Most impressively, he did so without gagging even once. I nibbled at my salad, but burnt lettuce had little appeal. When my date asked if I was going to finish it, I happily shoved my bowl over to him. If he wanted to eat it, more power to him. He was paying for it, after all.
“So what’s the deal with your necklace? It almost looks like it’s made of bone.”
I nodded. “It is. This was the biggest piece of my uncle left after his funeral pyre.”
He spat out the mouthful of salad he’d just bitten into. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “Very.”
“That’s weird.”
“It is?”
“Very,” he parroted me.
I shrugged. “He meant a lot to me. Still does.”
“He’s dead.”
“I know.” It was a good thing the food was unappetizing to begin with, because the conversation would’ve made me lose my appetite either way. “He was a great stallion.”
“I remember him. I don’t remember there being anything special about him.”
Of course. Everypony in Steedville knows everypony else.
“Then you didn’t know him like I did. Are you done yet?”
He slurped the last of the salad dressing from the bottom of the bowl and then went to pay while I sat there fuming.
Dinner had been unpleasant, and I really didn’t want to spend any more time with Wheat Bread, but he insisted we see a movie while we were in town. Rather than move the wagon we trotted the three blocks to the picture house.
It was a short walk, but Wheat Bread absolutely freaked out when a robin pooped on him. He tried to throw a rock at the bird, but he was way too slow and the bird was out of sight before he’d even picked one up. He stood there cursing until I nudged him toward the theater. Whatever good will I’d had left for him disappeared at that moment. Even the birds don’t like him, and they’ve never led me wrong.
Unlike the cities that had big multiplexes, we had a single screen picture house, meaning we were at the mercy of whatever the cinema had chosen to show for the week. They’d picked a sci-fi epic about an alien invasion, and I couldn’t help but notice that the aliens looked suspiciously similar to humans. They were bipedal with furless bodies and long, gangly limbs, but more colorful than the humans I’d seen pictures of. And they had long, leonine tails, which humans also didn’t have. At least not to my knowledge – maybe they were hiding their tails under their clothing?
Ugh. Playing on the fears of ponies. Humans are different than ponies, and hence obviously evil. Themes like that were common in works of fiction, and especially popular in the heartland of Equestria. Wheat Bread ate it up, of course. He spent half the movie making snide comments about humans, and continued taking potshots at them as he attempted to convince me to abandon my plans to go to Earth. I hadn’t told anypony that except for my parents, so it wasn’t hard to guess who’d tipped him off.
It had started to rain while we watched the movie. That would be unheard of in most parts of Equestria, but there just weren’t enough pegasi in the area to keep rogue storms from wandering in, especially not at night.
Wheat’s hooves splashed in the puddles as he trotted towards my home, while I rolled around in the pile of hay like a filly, concealed by the darkness and the canvas top.
As I played in the hay, my mind wandered to all the small-minded ponies I knew – Wheat, my parents, most of the town. I was starting to see what Dusty meant about this being a place to retire, and not a place to live. Steedville was stagnant, a place that was trying to stay frozen in time because things were better ‘in the good old days’ decades or even centuries earlier.
Times change, ponies change. Steedville didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. The community tolerated our family because my parents said the right things, but mostly because somepony needed to wrangle the weather so they could grow their crops. If not for that, they’d probably tie us to the next train heading out of town.
The wagon came to a stop and Wheat poked his head under the canvas top. Raindrops cascaded off his finely sculpted jaw. He was certainly attractive physically, if not mentally. “How about a roll in the hay?” He wiggled his eyebrows for some odd reason.
“Nah. I rolled in the hay the whole way here.” I stood up and dusted bits of hay off my dress, then stretched my wings and took to the air. “But the wagon’s all yours if you want to pick up where I left off. Thanks for dinner, but I really don’t think you’re my type. Sorry!” He stood there in the rain, watching me fly out of his life.
In a small town, everypony knew we’d been on a date. It also meant everypony knew I’d left him standing in the midnight rain. Not that I cared – I was leaving town anyway. My parents had set me up with the only eligible colt in my age bracket in a convoluted attempt to keep me from going to Earth. Pity he was a teenage dullard. Nice rump though. Celestia knows I had a perfect view of it the whole way to the city and back as he pulled the wagon. I’m positive that was intentional. Chivalry my wing feathers, he just wanted me to stare at his hindquarters all night. Darn my raging adolescent hormones for falling for it. I’m glad I got rolling around in the hay out of my system before he asked. Who knows where that could have gone otherwise…
You can do better. My inner voice sounded a lot like Uncle Mayweather. Regardless of whether it was a message from beyond the grave, or just my overactive imagination, I couldn’t argue with the message. My sample size was one immature colt, and I certainly wasn’t going to settle down with him just because he was the only boy in town within five years of my age. It was tough because he was hot. He worked on a farm all day and it showed – muscles that rippled when he moved. My breath caught in my throat as my heartrate sped up. I forced myself to stop remembering watching his rump as he walked. But I’d rather be alone than be with him. No sense fantasizing about a pony that makes my skin crawl.
Ponyville: sixteen days ago
I was supposed to be staying with Bifröst and her roommate, Honeybuzz, but I’d invited myself to stay at Swift’s. He was obviously a night owl, and the clanging coming from his shop at all hours of the night explained why he didn’t have any nearby neighbors. I’d adjusted as best I could, but I’d always been a morning pony and it was hard to keep my eyes open much past midnight. Not that it mattered – Swift only had one bed and insisted I take it. When I woke up the first morning I found him sprawled out in the back of a wagon.
The next night I made him promise to join me in bed. I awoke the following morning with him on the far side of the bed, facing away from me, like he was intimidated by me. I rolled over and wrapped my hooves and wings around him, pulling the unicorn tight against me. I was half his size, so my trying to be the big spoon probably would’ve looked ridiculous to any outside observers. Fortunately, there wasn’t anypony around to see me draped over him like a blanket. I could feel him breathing and it felt nice to be close to my special somepony. That gave him the hint, and from then on I woke up to find him cuddling me. Aside from my language practice with Bifröst, I had no place to be, so I’d just lay there until he woke up, usually around noon.
I could feel he was waking up. “Morning, sleepyhead!”
“If it’s still morning, it’s too early.” He yawned, never opening his eyes.
I wiggled backwards, snuggling up against him. “What do you call a fish with no eyes?”
“Fsh.” He yawned again. “You’ve gotta get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on me.”
I could feel his heartbeat slowing as he relaxed back into sleep. “Yeah, really early. Noon, at least.” He was already fast asleep and my ironic retort fell on deaf ears. I was impressed though – even at his worst, first thing in the morning, he was witty and sharp enough to answer silly jokes correctly. I vowed to come up with one that he wouldn’t guess the answer to.
I wiggled out from under his embrace and made my way to the kitchen. Swift’s apartment was directly over his business, and the neighborhood had given the smithy a wide berth – there were businesses nearby, but no residences. I watched ponies shop as I sat at the table eating authentic Manehattan bagels with real Fillydelphia cream cheese. Steedville was too far off the beaten path for the general store to stock such niche goods, and it was nice to experience things I’d heard about in magazines.
The scent of freshly toasted bagels was enough to rouse Swift from his slumber, and we chitchatted about everything and nothing as we enjoyed our midday breakfast. He’d been up most of the night straightening the frame on a wagon that had been in an accident. I was surprised to learn that wooden wagons had metal frames for strength and rigidity.
He went downstairs to work, while I headed to Bifröst’s apartment to practice languages. Bifröst had an advantage, since her roommate Honeybuzz was also headed to Earth. But they hadn’t ended up picking the same languages, so I practiced French and Dutch with Bifröst, and German with Honeybuzz. English was mandatory, and the three of us practiced that one together. Nopony else I knew had chosen to learn Arabic, so I did the best I could with that one solo.
We started with English, and once Honeybuzz left for work, Bifröst and I switched to Dutch.
I opened a European tour guide booklet and placed it on the table between us – it had pictures and basic descriptions of all of the countries on the continent. I flipped to the pages highlighting Netherlands and the Low Countries.
“Nederlands is niet zo moeilijk als ik dacht, wat vind jij van de locaties in dit book Bifrost?”
“Ze hebben kastelen in Nederland en veel windmolens, zijn tulpen bloemen die wij ook hebben?” Bifröst’s reply was steadier than mine, with less hesitation. She’d been living in Ponyville since before the portal to Earth had been announced, and had the benefit of having attended one of Equestria’s foremost schools. She’d had ponies to practice with and it showed.
“Geen idee maar ze zijn erg kleurrijk, hoezo? Wil je er een paar proeven?” My reply was shaky, and my pronunciations were probably awful – human vocal chords were different than pony vocal chords, and their languages didn’t roll off equine tongues nearly as easily as they did human tongues.
“Misschien wel ja, maar niet uit een kas, Ik wil ze uit het wild of van een veld, om te zien of het weer dat zonder pegasus ponies word geregeld de smaak van bloemen verandered.” Her reply was almost instantaneous and I was jealous of her speed and accuracy.
I continued our Dutch conversation as best I could, “Ik wil lokale vogels zien als we daar zijn, de meeste zijn dezelfde als dat wij hebben maar misschien zijn er subtiele verschillen.”
“Wel dan hebben we in ieder geval een plan, misschien monumenten of steden bezoeken terwijl we toch bezig zijn?”
“Goed idee, toeristische steden zoals Amsterdam of Rotterdam klinken leuk.”
Hours of talking shouldn’t have been as exhausting as they were, but it was mentally taxing trying to think about everything I wanted to say in one language, and then have it come out of my mouth in another.
By the time we were done, it was after dark, and I stopped at Sunny Meadows’ All-Nite Café on the way back to Swift’s place. I’d almost started thinking of his apartment as ‘home’ and that would be dangerous. Nothing is forcing me to trot through the portal. I haven’t received my stipend yet. I can back out anytime. I shook off the traitorous thoughts and reminded myself I didn’t owe it to Equestria, I owed it to myself. Equestria doesn’t care if I stay behind as long as I don’t take the money. But this is what I want. This is what Dusty wants for me. It’s what Uncle Mayweather would’ve wanted for me.
“Hey May.” Sunny Meadows greeted me with a smile. I’d been coming in long enough for her to learn my name.
“Hi Sunny!” I’d adapted to eating later so I could get meals at Sunny’s instead of Sugarcube Corner. Sugarcube Corner had great food too, but Pumpkin Cake rubbed me the wrong way. I didn’t like her teasing Swift – that was my job, and only my job. Sunny was everything the tween Cake brat wasn’t – polite, mature, and respectful.
“The normal?”
I nodded and she passed me a box. She didn’t need Pinkie’s training to have a dozen cream-filled powdered doughnuts ready to go for me.
I could hear the clanging from halfway down the block. It didn’t matter that it was past sundown – there was a job to do, and Swift was going to get it done. I walked through the open garage door. It didn’t matter that it was almost Hearth’s Warming, his shop got hot and he needed ventilation.
I’d hung around Uncle Mayweather and Dusty long enough to know the fastest way to get a stallion’s attention was food. I could’ve walked in wearing the sexiest little skirt I could find and he probably wouldn’t even look up and notice it. But doughnuts? One whiff and he stopped what he was doing.
If I really want his attention, I should just roll around in powdered sugar. I filed that thought away for our honeymoon. Assuming I could convince Swift to marry me. For a pony that spent all his time working with metal, he treated me like I was made of glass – like I might break if he touched me. There’d be time to convince him – little love letters I could send him from Earth, to stoke the fires of our love. To let distance make his heart grow fonder.
From what I’d managed to gather, it had been years since Swift had last dated. I couldn’t help but wonder if I had enough time to worm my way into his heart. I don’t know what happened to him, but there’s a fortress around his heart. He’s so guarded, he never lets anypony get close. Will our romance survive me trotting through the portal?
“Somepony’s been to Sunny Meadows’.”
“No manure, Sherclop.”
“I should hope not. I’d expect that kind of service from Pumpkin Cake.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He’d picked up on my disdain for the young Cake. “So what have you been working on all day?” He’d been hammering when I came in, but I couldn’t see anything in the shop. Whatever it was, it wasn’t as obvious as a broken wagon.
“Just a little somethin’.” He’d already started munching one of the doughnuts. “If you want to see, look in my saddlebags.” He pointed to where they were hanging across the shop.
I grabbed one of the doughnuts before Swift could eat all of them, then trotted over to the saddlebags. I don’t remember them being this shiny. I stopped in my tracks as I got close. Is that… Oh my gosh, it is!
Pinned to his saddlebags was a life-size replica of my cutie mark, with sapphires, cymophanes, and rubies set inside three golden feathers. “It’s beautiful!”
“Open the bag.”
I did so, and found it contained a matching cutie mark – Swift’s. Also made of gold and set with precious gems.
“Figured we could keep them as reminders of each other. You know, when you’re far away. You can pin it to your saddlebags, or to clothing, or just keep it someplace safe. I’ve never worked with gold before, and as tricky as it was, the hardest part was bribing the diamond dogs to find me gems.”
It was the nicest thing anypony had ever done for me, and I was speechless. So I did the only thing I could do – I kissed him.
Source: https://www.deviantart.com/turbo740/art/Feathermay-Take-2-347093682
I see what you did there.
Oh, those cutie mark pins are such a cute idea!
Nice. :)
(I teared up during the funeral scene, writing evoking sadness when intended is its own sort of nice, of course.)
Thanks for writing!
(And again for spacing these out. :D)