With exaggerated slowness, Buttermilk gave the ball a light tap with her hoof and sent it rolling. The ball—bright red and blue, and also covered in golden stars—rolled over the tile floor, captivating Esmeralda’s attention. Ponies, for reasons unknown, loved rolling balls, and even being all grown up as she was, Buttermilk found herself possessed with a curious compulsion.
Esmeralda, a foal who should already be in the advanced stages of walking, toddled after the rolling ball on wobbly knees that threatened to give way. Why had her walking development been slowed? The exact cause was unknown, but all of her development had been stunted and now the task of correcting this issue fell upon Buttermilk, who treated it as a scholastic project.
Walking, pronking, bucking, gamboling, these were all things that little Esmeralda should be doing at her current age, and couldn’t. When the ball came to a halt, so did Esmeralda. Lowering her head, she touched a golden star with her nose; when the ball began to roll, she jerked her head back up, mystified and then teetered after it while it rolled once more.
“Oi, Copper, what was the Sanitation Proclamation?” Butter Fudge asked of Copperquick at the kitchen table. “I know she’s cute and all, but right now you need to focus.”
Esmeralda was cute and it occurred to Buttermilk that the little earth pony filly was hers. Yes, little Esmeralda was her daughter. At some point in the future, Buttermilk would begin the process of adoption and lay claim to the fantastic little fuzzball—but that was the distant future. For right now, it was in both the filly and her father’s better interests to remain as they were so the system could be gamed for the purpose of betterment.
“The Sanitation Proclamation was the Crown’s mandate of sanitation,” Copperquick replied while his eyes lingered on his daughter, who toddled after her ball. “It was also one of the largest instances of the Crown’s spending in the modern era, with Princess Celestia providing funds to the major cities to upgrade sanitation services. All public restrooms had to meet a new standard, which included a hygienic water jet for cleansing and a hot air drier. It was believed that the increased levels of hygiene would reduce communicable disease, and over time this has proven to be true, with smaller towns in Equestria still using outhouses and having greatly increased rates of what we now call preventable disease.”
“Well, that’s all quite the mouthful.” Butter Fudge, who was holding Copperquick’s Equestrian Proclamations textbook in her hooves, gave him a nod of approval. “Very good. Beezy had to learn some of this stuff in secondary school, and it gave her fits. She wasn’t much of a scholar at the time, she just didn’t have the discipline for it, and we’d go round and round when I’d try to get her to learn it.”
Hearing this, Buttermilk’s glasses fogged over just a bit, because it was embarrassing. She followed after Esmeralda with careful, gentle steps, and gave the ball another nudge to set it rolling at greater speed. At least for now, Moomy had stopped and now, Buttermilk could breath again.
“A pony can learn almost anything, with repetition,” Butter Fudge continued as she closed Copperquick’s schoolbook. “Look at her now… she’s planning on being a doctor of some sort. I can’t even understand half of what she says. I taught her to do, and now, she does. Oi, it’s a proud feeling.”
With a snort, Esmeralda tumbled over and Buttermilk almost went into panic mode. She stood over the filly, worried, and using her snoot, she prodded the flopped-over toddler a few times, but had no response. It took Buttermilk several seconds to realise that Esmeralda was sleeping. She had just toppled over and had gone to sleep.
“They do that at that age.” The voice of her father was reassuring and Buttermilk turned to look at him. “You did it a lot. You’d be a real livewire and you’d run around all over the house until you ran out of go-go juice and then you’d just fall over and sleep.”
“Oh.” Buttermilk didn’t quite know what to say.
“Beezy, tuck that tot into bed and then come chase fireflies with me. Please?”
Lifting her head high, she looked over at her father while thinking of all of the times they had chased fireflies together. Even at his most exhausted, those really dreadful days at work, he still somehow found the means to chase after fireflies with her. With a turn of her head, she looked down at Esmeralda for a moment while thinking about her father’s selflessness, and it was then that Buttermilk had what could only be described as a ‘maternal moment.’ There would be days when she was tired—exhausted even—and little Esme would need her attention, just as little filly Buttermilk had needed her father’s attention. The very thought of it made Buttermilk’s eyes misty, and there was a tightness in her ribs that made it tricky to breathe.
“Daddums, this is your tot too, if you’ll have her. You can tuck her into bed, if you’d like. I know how much you enjoy that.” Sucking in an almost panicked breath, she added, “That is if Copperquick doesn’t mind and he’s okay with all of this. I keep thinking that Esme is ours and it gets confusing some of the time and I keep having to remind myself that for the big decisions, Esme is still his, and this bothers me, because I want her to be ours.”
Feeling foolish and panicked, she stared down at the floor, unable to look anypony in the eye at the moment. She took a deep breath, then another, and with the third, she felt a little lightheaded. In each of her ears a heart was beating, the sound was almost deafening, a dull, steady roar. Looking down at Esmeralda’s face, Buttermilk could almost feel her own heart bursting.
“This is harder than I thought it would be. I thought to myself, ‘Hey, I think I love Copper and I really don’t mind if he comes with a little something extra.’ So I rushed headlong into this, and everything was fine, and everything was wonderful, until one day I had that realisation for the first time that Esmeralda was his and not ours. It was a bad day for me and I stayed distracted, and I was troubled, and I had a hard time doing my job. And since that day, I keep thinking that, I’m the stepmom. It bothers me. No… no, I gotta be honest, it hurts me. It really, really hurts me that I’m the stepmom. I’m the replacement. There is this dreadful fly in the ointment and that is the fact that Esme was birthed by another mare, and that just eats at my insides, and there is nothing that I can do to change that, and now I understand—oh gosh do I understand—the difficulty that step-parents have in integrating families together. There is this awkwardness there, and doubt, and fear, and this undefinable dread, and this constant state of worry about being a step-parent.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Buttermilk stood there, overcome by her own perceived foolishness and her fear. A volcanic heat lurked just beneath her cheeks and she imagined her parents making all manner of expressions at her, with none of them good. The emotional pressure became a painful physical pressure, and this made her eyes sting to the point where they began to water.
“Beezy… Buttermilk—”
The sound of her father’s voice made her flinch and she hated herself for her reaction.
“—we’ll put her to bed over here on her blanket by the table and then we’ll go outside and chase fireflies… and talk. Now buck up.”
Opening her eyes, she fought to hold in her sniffles and lost. The sound of her father approaching made her ears twitch, and when she turned to look at him, her neck muscles tensed so hard that everything from the withers up was wracked with ferocious cramps. Daddums was smiling, a soft, warm, wonderful, reassuring smile and for some reason, it made her feel better.
“We’ll sort this out, Beezy… now, come on, let’s put this tot to bed.”
Copperquick couldn’t wait for his head to hit the pillow. Making a few clumsy swipes with his hoof while he held his daughter by the nape of her neck with his teeth, he somehow managed to roll back the blankets and then he dropped his daughter upon the bed. She murmured, almost rousing, and then with an impressive yawn, she tumbled back down into the cosy depths of dreamland.
The night light—a magical one that Buttermilk had very clearly splurged upon—was already sitting on the bedside table. Now, Copperquick was yawning, having watched his daughter yawn. This seemed to be a special magic all of its own, and every pony that had ever lived or would ever live was born with this extraordinary talent. There had been times that he had amused himself by yawning and then waiting for his daughter to yawn, and this had been done with such frequency that she now gave him sullen looks for infecting her with drowsiness.
That was potentially one the best parts of having offspring; you could mess with their heads and have a bit of fun with them. Esmeralda was starting to become interesting in a good way. She showed some signs of intelligence, she could be engaging, affectionate, and just a little while ago, she had been kicking a ball around the kitchen. Overall, this was mind blowing in very much the same way as wondering why clocks ran clockwise, how did aspirin find a headache, or contemplating as to why ponies parked on driveways and ran on parkways.
Dropping his head and turning it off to one side, Copperquick rubbed the side of his face against the soft sheets. The sensation of the smooth fabric against his ear was divine and the exquisite coolness of its touch caused a fit of piloerection along his spine. This continued for some time, and then Copperquick turned his head over to rub the other side.
Esmeralda stirred in her sleep and this made Copperquick pause. For lack of a better response, he chuffed and then stared at his daughter as she squirmed in her sleep. Was she cold? She wasn’t covered, so she might be. Did she realise that her father was a silly pony? Perhaps, but that seemed doubtful given her current comatose state. Maybe the shaking of the bed had disturbed her? The subtle flaring of her nostrils with each inhale and exhale was hypnotic, a fascinating, entrancing display of life.
When he heard a faint giggle, he lifted his head and saw Buttermilk in the doorway. Her mane was down, she was bunless, and she didn’t seem as distressed as she was earlier. She looked happy, near as he could tell, and this made him feel good. Happiness also acted as an aphrodisiac, but that was something that would have to be addressed later.
“Earlier today, at Flapper’s,” Buttermilk whispered.
Looking his precious pegasus in the eye, Copperquick waited.
“When you held me… when you were holding me”—Buttermilk blinked a few times and her posture shifted, though to what, Copperquick could not say—“I had a claustrophobic moment where I wanted to break free. With violence if necessary. There was this… moment… and it was difficult, and I was scared. You’re bigger than I am, Copper, and that’s intimidating. In fact, that can be really scary when you’re a mare my size, and I am painfully aware about my size. I hear things, Copper, about us, about me, about you, so when you were holding me, not only was I suddenly claustrophobic, but I was busy thinking about what every other pony around us might be thinking… how it must look to them to have a big strapping earth pony smooching on what appears to be a teenage filly, and this… this is just some of the stuff that goes through my head and I just talked to my Daddums about it and somehow, I didn’t die of embarrassment.”
“And how did that go?” he asked as one eyebrow arched in interest.
“Not as good as I would’ve liked,” she replied in a whispery huff.
“I thought you and your Daddums were close.”
“We are, but he’s… he’s… well, he is what he is.” Buttermilk’s words could scarcely be heard but her guilt over saying them was loud and clear. “He told me that I shouldn’t worry about what other ponies think, and that if a grown stallion wanted to be frisky with a consenting teen filly, it wasn’t my place to judge, and then he started to talk about how disappointed he was with all of the talk of raising the Age of Majority. He seems to think that doing so will somehow destroy traditional family values.”
Copperquick stood there, not knowing how to respond.
“He’s changed, just a little, it seems, but he’s still real insistent on this family value thing. He’s come to a conclusion on his own that gays, freaks, and weirdos are fine, just fine really, just so long as they somehow start families and raise good, honest, hard workers that will keep the labour force growing rather than shrinking. I’d almost be proud of him for this change of heart, but I am left feeling rather conflicted.”
“That’s…” Copperquick’s words trailed off, unfinished.
“Immigrants are fine, really, but he feels that they should marry native Equestrians so that they adjust well and get a correct view of the culture. Offspring should be raised as Equestrians, not as foreigners with funny, freaky ways.” Sighing, Buttermilk shook her head from side to side. “This is why I left home. This is rather trying, Copper, and I apologise for dumping this on you.”
“Immigrants—”
“Yes, Copper, I reminded him that you are an immigrant, and he told me in return that you don’t count, because you’re already like us. You don’t require setting straight on what is right and what is wrong. Equestrians are the authority on right and wrong. Isn’t that special?”
Brows furrowing, Copperquick stood there, undecided on what to say, so he said nothing. He took a deep breath, but that didn’t help much, so with a huff he let it out. His mouth opened and then he made a valiant attempt to apply logic to this situation, but that backfired, and then Copperquick backfired, but this was good because the chapel creeper served as a worthwhile distraction.
“Ew, rude.” Buttermilk fanned the air with her wing and then made a supreme effort not to giggle. “Stinky immigrants are the worst.”
Copperquick almost made a sound that would have most certainly caused his daughter to awaken and it was a sheer miracle that he held back his whoop of laughter. A dangerous game was being played and it was called ‘Don’t Wake the Baby.’ It was a risky game, but it was considered far, far safer than such alternatives as ‘Go and Find the Landmine’ and ‘Pin the Tail on the Manticore.’
“Come to bed with me,” he said, hoping to coax the pretty pegasus pony into bed with him. Maybe, if he was lucky, she would touch him with her wings, and then life would be pretty special before he drifted off to sleep.
“I need to preen first. It must be done. But I’ll let you brush me.”
That made his pulse quicken, but he did his best to hide his excitement. “I guess I can.”
“Thanks, Copper.”
“For what?”
“For letting me vent. For not being judgmental. For being the decent sort that my parents approve of. It’s made all of this easier. When the time is right, I am going to make this worth your while.” Buttermilk winked her eye, waved her wing, and then backed out the door, leaving Copperquick all alone with his sleeping daughter.
Giddy as a school colt, Copperquick climbed into bed…