//------------------------------// // Chapter 24 // Story: Spring Broke // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// Buttermilk’s every touch was electric and Copperquick was almost drunk on love. After the visit to the Faucet, something was different with himself, but he was unable to determine what it was. Now, it was almost as if he was floating, as if his body was a balloon, and if he wasn’t careful, he would do like the water dripping from the faucet did: fall upwards into the sky, never to be seen again. Keeping his hooves off of her was pretty much impossible, and he didn’t care if her mother was watching or not. Buttermilk seemed happy, and a happy pegasus was appealing to Copperquick. He pawed at her, nuzzled her neck, chuffed behind her ear, and was in general, a romantic pest. Perhaps it was the spring season that was the cause, but Copperquick was in quite a mood. Love had a funny way of easing the pains of poverty, the agony of being stuck on the bottom, love made these things tolerable, bearable, for if there was one thing that the poor and the rich shared, it was love. It was a powerful anesthetic to the pain of living, and like alcohol, it dulled the senses while offering a delightful euphoric stupour. Love was fuel for poets, a balm for the aches of the working class, and precious respite for the mad. Copperquick reveled in his new addiction and Buttermilk indulged him with playful rebukes that only spurred his amorous advances. The world around them was a busy, busy place, with a surprising amount of air traffic. Airships now hovered overhead, lowering and raising bulk goods with cranes. Under most circumstances, Copperquick would be fascinated by this, but at the moment he only had eyes for Buttermilk. One airship, dressed in the red and gold livery of the fire department, went chugging past with its hoof-cranked siren blaring. This was a world that never seemed to stay still for long. Laughing, Buttermilk held up Esmeralda and used her as a shield. She giggled as she was used to hold off her father’s advances and squealed with delight when she was kissed. After the awful times, the truly wretched times, these good times, these delightful times, these wonderful times filled with such marvellous simple pleasures seemed so much better by comparison. It took coping with the worst that life had to offer to have this sort of gratitude—this appreciation—for this moment of respite. Sitting in the back of the skiff, Butter Fudge watched all of this with a knowing smile. The skiff drifted sideways towards the dock and a faint hum could still be heard from its motor, which smelled of electricity and hot metal. They were home with a sliver of power left showing on the indicator and Buttermilk began mooring the craft to the dock. Ropes were secured and the electric skiff was plugged back in so that it could recharge. Esmeralda kept yawning, but was still overstimulated and excited. She was happy, so much so that Copperquick could not recall a time when she had been happier. All of this time spent laughing, giggling, being held, tickled, and smooched, it had left her in an exhausted state of euphoria. It would be awhile before she came down, and no doubt, she would likely just flop over at some point. “There’s somepony here,” Butter Fudge announced as her heavy hoof struck the dock. “Hang on, I gotta go throw somepony in the drink—” “Moomy, no! We’ve talked about this! You can’t just go throwing strangers into the drink!” “Yes I can! Private property means private property! No trespassing means no trespassing! Only griffons have a right to drop by unannounced and that’s cause of the treaty!” Butter Fudge took off, huffing and puffing like a furious locomotive, and Buttermilk buzzed along beside her mother’s head. Not wanting to miss the commotion, Copperquick scrambled off of the skiff, onto the dock, and hurried after the two mares, who were still arguing. It was a shame, really, they had been getting along so well but this was something that both of them held strong feelings about and it seemed that only one of them could be right. “Moomy, this is assault!” “Property rights are inviolate!” “So is the social contract where we grant one another a measure of safety in exchange for our own!” “All those fancy college words is a load of shit and nothing more!” Cringing, Copperquick hoped it would not come to blows. The stranger was a yellow-orange earth pony and atop his head was a battered, beat up green felt fedora that had seen better days. Butter Fudge was going right for him, but Buttermilk was doing her best to impede her mother’s progress. Copperquick, polite to a fault, could only think of one thing to do, and being Grittish, he fell back upon his upbringing with the hopes of finding some manner of resolution. “Dreadfully sorry, but you seem to have caused a bit of a commotion by coming here. Might I inquire as to the nature of your visit? I trust that you have reason to be here, stranger.” Begin sentence with an apology: ✓ Use a wagonload of words when just a few would do: ✓ Make trusting, gentle assumptions so as to not offend: ✓ Disarm the situation with irrefutable politeness: ⍻ “You have no business being here!” Butter Fudge hollered as her daughter Buttermilk seized her mother by the ears with her fetlocks and pulled back. At any moment now, this was going to turn into a mother-daughter-rodeo. Copperquick waited, hopeful, and the earth pony stranger was now quite scared. Butter Fudge was snorting and pawing at the ground, but Buttermilk held on and refused to let go. Esmeralda burbled and giggled a bit, but she was subdued and tired from the sounds of things. Seeking to reassure the unknown earth pony, Copperquick placed himself between the stranger and Butter Fudge. “My name is Seville… Seville Orange… I am trying to be a reporter, but I’m not having much luck at it. I came here to find a story. I’ve come a very long way… had to hop a train. There is… I… I have nothing left and I’ve exhausted every resource I have trying to find a worthwhile scoop that will get my hoof in the door. Nopony wants to hire an earth pony reporter. We can’t fly, like a pegasus, or use magic like a unicorn, and every single door that I have inquired at has been slammed in my face.” The stranger, Seville, let out a sigh and then slumped in exhaustion. “You are Copperquick… I’ve heard about you. I came to Canterlot to find you, but you weren’t there, so I did some checking and after a lot of searching, I found out about Miss Oddbody’s parents, and I came here, hoping to speak to you. If you would rather I leave, I will. I am sorry for any disturbance I have caused.” As he finished speaking, his stomach let out a resonating squelchy gurgle and he flinched in response to the awful sound. And, just like that, Butter Fudge’s entire demeanour changed. “When was the last time you ate?” she asked as she now stood still as a statue. “It’s not right that we earth ponies get shafted and can’t get a job because we can’t fly or do magic.” “It’s been awhile,” Seville replied.  “I used the last of my coin to buy some film. Canterlot wasn’t exactly friendly to me, but maybe I just met the wrong ponies. Things have been hard since I left the family farm. I just can’t seem to catch a break.” “And you were going to throw him into the drink, Moomy.” “Shut it, Beezy.” “Oh, I’ll shut it, but my smug sense of satisfaction remains,” Buttermilk remarked as she finally let go of her mother’s ears. “Smart ass.” Butter Fudge rolled her eyes to look up at her daughter, who hovered over her head, but she did not seem angry. If anything, Copperquick was almost certain that he could see pride on her face. “Mister Orange, would you like something to eat?” Buttermilk asked. “I made some macaroni pie earlier… there is a lot of it left and I don’t mind sharing. After we get a meal in you, we can talk. I am positive that Copperquick would love to share his story with you.” “That would be much appreciated,” the sunny yellow-orange earth pony replied as his stomach gurgled in anticipation of a meal. “And Ma’am, if for some reason you do decide to throw me into the drink later, I ask that you spare my camera and my film. Somepony has already smashed my other camera, and this old black and white one is the only one I have left.” Heaving a sigh, everything on Butter Fudge sagged. Her ears, her tail, her back, the corners of her mouth, everything. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she muttered as she turned away. “Come inside. Have something to eat. I promise I’ll wait at least an hour after you've finished eating to throw you into the drink.” “Ma’am, you are exceptionally kind,” Seville replied. Cradling Esmeralda in his forelegs, Copperquick listened to her yawn. She was being stubborn, because there was a stranger and she was altogether too curious for her own good. He leaned back in the creaky wooden chair and watched as Seville scarfed down cold macaroni pie. Fluttering about the kitchen, Buttermilk was making tea while her mother had begun the work for supper. Seville’s tattered bags sat on the floor by the back door. How they still functioned, how they held together was a mystery, and the waxed canvas was tissue paper thin in some places. His battered fedora hung from a peg on the wall and from the looks of it, the old hat had a few stories to tell. It had reached such an advanced state of dilapidation that even idioms such as ‘it has character’ failed to adequately describe the hat. “Can your parents help you at all?” Buttermilk asked as she began to pour water from the kettle into the teapot. Seville took a moment to swallow and then replied, “It’s complicated… my parents are farmers… they, uh, work the land but somepony else handles the bits—” “They’re peasants,” Butter Fudge said, bringing her bluntness to bear. “Remnants of an era that lies on its deathbed.” “Yeah,” Seville sighed and then he resumed eating. “There’s no shame in that.” Butter Fudge ducked her head as Buttermilk put the hot kettle back on the stove. “No shame in that at all. So long as they are happy, well cared for, and have their needs met, more power to them.” “Moomy, I’m surprised.” Buttermilk, her lips puckered in a thoughtful way, zipped over to the fridge, pulled the door open, and pulled out the cream pitcher. “Given how you talk of home and our ancestral lands. I’ve never heard you say anything nice about being a peasant.” “Beezy, let me tell you something,” Butter Fudge said as she turned about to face her daughter. “In its heyday, Equestrian feudalism was an example for all of the world. The peasants had remarkable privilege and considerable rights. It existed as an example to all the world… our very first ancestors came to this country to be a part of this grand society… this great social experiment—” “Yes, and then they left,” Buttermilk interjected. “And came back… and left… and then came back… just as I came here… and I can safely say that this isn’t a case of the grass being greener. You… Beezy, you’ve never been to the Isles, and it is my sincere hope that you never, ever go. That place is either an industrial cesspit or a seemingly idyllic backwater of agrarian mouth breathing ignorance. Copperquick could tell you, if you don’t want to believe your dear old Moomy.” Refusing to take the bait, Copperquick remained silent even though he had much to say. As a father, he would prefer to raise Esmeralda here in Equestria, rather than his homeland. “Beezy… your Great Grandfeather fought in the Great Equestrian Civil War, you know—” “Yes, Moomy, I know,” Buttermilk said, humouring her mother as she buzzed to-and-fro. “Midge’s Grandfeather, he battled the separatists and was a loyal Monarchist. Had those separatists won… Equestria might be a lot more like the Grittish Isles, or worse. Beezy, you were lucky to have been born in this place. You don’t know what the rest of the world is like.” “The world isn’t what I thought it is.” Seville lifted his head and his words made Esmeralda coo at him. “Since leaving home, I’ve had an astounding introduction to the true nature of the world. I can’t go back though… not until I’ve done what I’ve set out to do.” “And just what is it that you hope to do, Mister Orange?” Buttermilk asked as she lifted the tea service tray from the counter. “I want to tell the truth,” he replied. “The hard truth… the bad truth… the truth that nopony wants to hear. The media has become a fortress of fabrications and lies. Everything is more about sensationalism and spin rather than telling the truth. I want to inject some good old fashioned earth pony honesty into the industry. I want to reintroduce integrity back into journalistic standards.” Seville wiped his mouth with his foreleg, inhaled, and again he rubbed his foreleg across his muzzle while he chuffed out his nostrils. Then, turning to face Copperquick, he added, “And I’d like to start with you. No spin, no twisting of your words, all of my quotes about you will be whole and in context. I don’t want this to be a hit piece… I want to present the facts as they are to the public without bias and let them decide for themselves how they feel about it. How does that sound to you?” It only took Copperquick a moment to respond, “I think I’d like to help you, Mister Orange.”