"Come on, Allie. You can do this; you got it this time!"
THUNK-thrumthrumthrum-thoomp
"Ugh! It jus' isn't fair, papa! I can't throw the ball right," a buttery, minty-maned filly cries out, stamping her hoof into the floorboard. Her father, a dark tan-furred stallion with a greying blue mane only smiles, getting up and moving from the seats several feet behind her. Her lips purse and tremble slightly and she begins sniffling through her nose as she plops down on her hindquarters. The stallion chuckles lowly, shaking his head as he makes his way to his daughter.
"Don't fret none, darling. Was just a fluke is all, understand?" His daughter doesn't look up to him as he tries to explain.
When he realizes he's getting no response, he calmly sits down next to her, draping his forehoof over her shoulder. "Look," his voice is calm as he gazes down the lane with a small grin, "bowlin' isn't exactly meant for us pony fellas now, y'hear? The darn balls were designed by and for Griffins; ain't exactly a pony game, but that's no reason to get all pouty faced over it, babygirl." He notices, in his peripherals, young Allie's head turning to look up at him and his grin grows into a toothy smile, encouraging him to continue speaking.
"Bowlin', now it's somethin' else for an Earth Pony, the way the ball feels in our hooves; I say it jus' feels right. But you, you, my little girl have somethin' I don't." He moves his eyes back down to his daughter, her own caught between confusion and intrigue. "You have that there horn of yours," he uses his other forehoof to gently tap the tip of her horn, "you can use that to send those balls a'flying down the lane. You're so caught up in tryin' to be like your old man, you keep forgettin' to use that little blessin' of yours!" At this comment, he chuckles out; the little bout of amusement brings a similar smile to his daughter's face. He nods his head back down the lane, drawing the little filly's attention to the pins.
"Why, I'm sure if you were to start usin' your horn, you'll do a ton better. Now that's not speculation either, I've seen plenty of Unicorn folk beat old fashioned Earth Ponies like myself. But let's not get into that right now, darlin'. You still got about four frames left. Try usin' your magic this time 'round, alright?" He tilts his head, a radiant smile seemingly forever gracing his features.
"But pa, I don't wanna use my horn. It'll feel like I'm cheatin'," she counters, raising a hoof up to wipe at her watery sky blue eyes only to stop as her dad beats her to it. Using the hem of his black and purple camp-shirt, he wipes away the translucent liquid.
"Nah, darlin'. Just like how some Pegasi use their wings and how Griffins use their claws, you Unicorns can use your magic. It's all fair; sure, us Earth Ponies don't have a big advantage, but we try our best. Just like I want you to try yours, Allie. Now go on, I'm gonna head back to the seats. Use your magic and show this game what-for, alright?" Unwrapping his forehoof around her, he pushes himself up off of the floor and nods down to her. Her response is a wide smile in return.
She gets up on all four and returns to the ball rack, casting a glance over her shoulder to her dad—he only mouths a 'go for it'. Being all the acknowledgment she needs, she flares up her horn with a light blue aura. Her cheeks puff out in concentration. A red tint paints her cheeks as she struggles to start up the levitation spell needed to lift the only eight-pound ball on the return chute.
"Come on!" She grunts out and only a spark flitters from her horn. "Come onnn!" Another spark, lasting a little longer than the last, appears. "Come onnnnn!" With a final burst of energy, the aura that encases her horn surrounds the two-toned ball, and she slowly begins to carry it over to her. "Oh Celestia, this is harder than I thought..." She mumbles out, her face still red with minor strain; her horn flickers every few seconds, but the spell remains intact. With a large intake of air through her nostrils and a release through her mouth, she stares down the dreadful lane with a glare that could level a mountain.
"You got this sweetheart! Throw when you feel ready!" Her father exclaims loudly from behind. This serves to bring the lanky filly a confident smirk and she launches the ball from her magical grasp! The ball, the aura no longer grasping it, soars down the lane seemingly into the gutter-
THUMP-thrumthrumthrumthrum-KERSH!
-but curves and smacks straight into the headpin. The ten pins that were minding their own business clank and thrash about before settling in a heap at the end of the lane. A perfect strike. Allie's eyes have never been so wide, she beams as she looks back to her father. He had, after all, been right about using her horn. "Pa! Did you see that! I did it, I really did it!" Her father is smiling right back at her and then looks up to the scoreboard.
"Sweetie, I did more than just see it, I knew you were able to do that all along." His eyes cast back into hers, "you keep doing what you did, and soon you'll easily be able to beat me, Allie. I am so proud of you. Now,-" the automated pinsetter lowers down, sweeps the mess into the back, and lowers a new set. At the sound of new pins standing once more, father and daughter stare at each other in a playfully competitive manner, "-think you can do that again?" A glow beginning to emanate from Allie's hindquarters stops the duo before either can retort.
"U-uh, papa? What's happenin'?" She says, her ambitious demeanor shattering as she stares at the strange occurrence. Now, it is the father's eyes that widen.
"Hon, I-I think you found your special calling." He states, his hoof going over his eyes as it began to brighten. His daughter shields her own pair by looking away, clenching them shut, the light becoming too much for the filly's eyes. As it dims, she only stares in pure, silent awe.
Now on her flank, plain as day for all to see, was a cutie mark. Three toy jacks; two, a light pink with the third, final one being blue. Allie's eyebrows furrow in pure confusion, her lips a flat line—
—"what," her voice, deadpan.