//------------------------------// // Chapter 27 // Story: Spring Broke // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// With no other options left, Copperquick corked up his daughter’s cries with a pacifier. She seemed surprised by this, confused, and when she tried to spit it out, he pushed it back in with his hoof. Esmeralda was clean, mostly, he had done his best, had fitted a fresh diaper, and she had no good reason to cry—but cry she did. With his teeth, he lifted her by the nape of her neck from the counter next to the sink, lowered her to the floor, and let go. Still blubbering, Esmeralda rose, wobbled a bit, flicked her stubby tail, and then took off in the general direction of her ball. Copperquick watched her go, hoping that she might calm down, and wondering if Buttermilk would want to leave. Perhaps leaving would be best at this point, as things felt so awful that Copperquick wasn’t sure if they could be fixed. This was a blow up that had been long in the making, with Buttermilk being a little too much like her mother, Butter Fudge. Both mares were headstrong, stubborn, and thoroughly convinced of their own rightness. The issue, as Copperquick saw it, was that Butter Fudge lived in an ivory tower, or, in this case, on an island. This little island was a perfect world, if one did not look beyond the shoreline, if one kept away the Ripple Rushers of the world. Butter Fudge lived on her island and focused entirely upon her business. Buttermilk, on the other hoof, lived in Canterlot, and made it her business to focus on lives other than her own, and as such, had no choice but to confront the troubles of the world, because they could not be avoided. To deny them would be to fail in her job. “I feel bad,” Seville remarked and then he let out a miserable huff. “Like I caused this to happen.” “Butter Fudge and Buttermilk have been at one another since our arrival.” Copperquick did his best to sound reassuring, but he did a lousy job, and he knew it. The sound of his own voice left him disheartened and his spine sagged. “It’s been on again and off again since we got here. A little tiny blow up and then they’d make nice and then there’d be another not-so-tiny blow up… and I don’t think this could have been avoided.” Tapping his hooves together, Seville appeared apologetic. His ears sagged and something about the fatigued look upon his face made him appear old. “It’s hard to love somepony and have very different views from them. My parents love me, I know they do, and I know that they would do anything for me, but I also know that they think I am a fool for leaving home. There was a bit of a blow up before I left. I’d like to think that my parents just wanted to protect me, and they were right, the world is a cold, heartless place… they’ve been right about a great many things, but I’ve been right too. There are stories that must be told, and I want to tell them.” “Sounds like your parents also live on an island.” Seville paused for a moment just as he was about to say something, and then reconsidered. He raised one hoof, held it aloft, thinking, and then lowered it as his teeth clicked together. Recognition and keen intelligence glittered in his eyes, and then he began to nod. “You’re right, they do live on an island of sorts. They’re sheltered and quite cut off from the world. All of their needs are provided for in exchange for the work they do and they are happy. They are simple ponies with simple needs. In their tiny island of awareness, the world is just perfect. And I left the island.” “I too, left an island,” Copperquick said. “Came to Equestria. Found a completely different world. There were complications here that I couldn’t even have imagined in my old life. I have had my horizons forcibly expanded. I don’t want to say that I am wordly, but I am more aware.” “That’s quite a thought.” Seville leaned back in his chair and began to rub his chin. Esmeralda made muffled fussy noises, but she had quieted a bit. Now, she sat on the floor beside her ball and looked in her father’s direction with wide, expectant eyes, as if she was waiting for something, but Copperquick was lost in thought, and so she remained disappointed. “I suppose it could be said that some of us leave our islands, then hurry off to find or create a new one.” Seville’s ears sagged a little more, he blinked a few times, and then he rubbed his red eyes with the back of his foreleg. “The world is nothing like I thought it would be and there are times I want to go home with my tail between my legs, but I don’t want to go home a failure. Tell me, Mister Quick, do you believe that ponies have issues with denial? Is it something ingrained within us?” “I think we do, Mister Orange. I live in total denial that my daughter is going to grow up. In my mind, she is going to stay little and cute, and I will never, ever have to deal with the dreadful problems that will surely come about when she comes of age.” “Seems reasonable.” Seville shrugged and then blinked his bleary eyes. The back door opened and Copperquick saw Buttermilk poke her head in. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, and then, when she saw that it was clear, she entered, looking apprehensive. The first thing she did was go over to where Esmeralda was sitting and she planted a smooch on the filly’s head. Afterwards, she returned to the table to finish eating, having said nothing, nothing at all. “Are you okay?” Copperquick asked. With her mouth full of cold au gratin potatoes, Buttermilk shrugged, then nodded. Meanwhile, Copperquick thought about denial. Being professional meant putting aside all doubts, and Buttermilk was professional. Gripping her pen in her primaries, she took a deep, calming breath and did her best to appear as if she wasn’t taking a deep, calming breath, but just a normal, everyday, run of the mill inhale. She didn’t even know what it was that she was feeling, just that she was overwhelmed by it. Her father had come out to the barn to speak to her, but she had sent him away with a stream of vulgarities that was quite unlike anything she had ever said previously in her life. He deserved all of that and more, and so did her mother. A sound comeuppance would do Butter Fudge some good. But Butter Fudge would never get her well-deserved comeuppance, because Butter Fudge was the undisputed queen of her domain—right up unto the point where Mighty Midge put his hoof down and then she would just roll right over, because that was traditional family values in action. Buttermilk was all too aware of the unspoken ultimatum present, that mares had to capitulate in matters such as these, because if they didn’t, husbands might go off and find a mare who did. Such was the economics of living in a world with far too many mares and far too few stallions. Just thinking about it made Buttermilk feel sick, and the queasy sensation made it hard to be professional. Copperquick would never do such a thing… would he? The sudden feeling of doubt made her feel jittery, panicked; it made her muscles tense, quiver, and her movements were jerky. Not professional. No, Copperquick would never do such a thing because he needed her. Thinking about it in such a cynical, bitter, and jaded way made her stomach lurch and she began to wonder what this brief exposure to her parents had done to her optimistic worldview. Copperquick wasn’t exploiting her, no, he loved her, she was certain of that, and she felt awful that she even had to remind herself of that. This was her mother’s doing, making her somehow think nasty, unpleasant thoughts. “Buttermilk, you okay?” “I’m fine,” she snapped, and then she realised that she had snapped, and Buttermilk was sorry. “I don’t think you’re fine—” “I’ll be fine when I have something to do to distract myself,” Buttermilk interjected and she focused her determined stare upon the pony that she was pretty certain that she loved, who loved her in return, and was almost certainly not exploiting her. Her mind wandered back to the argument with her mother about cheating, and Buttermilk was unsettled when she thought about how her mother had won that round without actually winning. Moomy had proved her point without proving anything, and that left Buttermilk with some lingering unease. The importance of keeping a mate satisfied, or else problems like Ripple Rusher would happen, and Copperquick’s eye would go a wandering. “You’re young, Beezy, and you want to believe the world is a certain way. I’m trying to tell you how the world actually is. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but this is wisdom and age speaking, and you’d do well to listen for once. This is the world as I’ve seen it, and I’ve seen a whole lot more of it than you have. I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to be your ally. Right now, I am trying to be more than your mother because you’re all grown up now and I want to be your friend, Beezy. Friends warn each other about danger and things that might hurt them.” Buttermilk could hear her mother’s voice echoing in the hollow between her ears, and she hated how she could recall every single word spoken between them. “Beezy, I hate to do this, I hate to say this, but your little friend Ripple Rusher, she gives a lot of married stallions what they’re not getting at home from their own wives. Now, I am not saying that Copper is the cheating type, but it doesn’t hurt you to hedge your bets. Mighty Midge knows where and how his bread is buttered, and he comes home to me without the stink of other mares on him. I’ve never given him a reason to stray and he does the same for me. We stay satisfied.” Gritting her teeth, Buttermilk tried to get her mother’s dreadful words out of her head. “We don’t have to continue tonight,” Seville said, his voice gentle, kind, and soft. Buttermilk turned to look at him, her vision fuzzy, blurry, and indistinct. After a few blinks, Seville came into focus for but a second, but then her eyes lost focus as the tightness in her barrel became too much to bear. Try as she might, she could not stop thinking, and her thoughts were awful. If she broke down right now, would that give Copperquick a reason to stray? What if she was less than perfect? What if she argued or disagreed with him? Her mother’s words burned through her like a lingering poison and Buttermilk felt her resolve wearing down, growing weaker, and she almost jumped out of her seat when the pen she had been holding clattered down to the table. All of her mother’s doubts crawled through her thoughts like worms, unwanted parasites. When she was touched, she started, gasping, and would have flown away, but Copperquick was faster than her nervous impulses somehow. Squirming, she tried to resist as she was lifted and pulled to him, but he just overpowered her. Copperquick was stronger than she had realised, as well as being bigger, and she thought about her claustrophobic feelings as she was subdued. Getting away, while not impossible, would be difficult, and he swept her forelegs up with one of his own as she was pressed against him. Buttermilk was utterly unable to look up at him, and her glasses went askew when she pressed her face against his broad neck. Her backside came to rest against his fuzzy thigh, which tickled, but she was in no mood for laughing. The knowledge that she was crying crept into the edges of her thoughts, along with embarrassment, because there was a stranger no more than a yard away. Copperquick was warm, solid, and something about the way he smelled overwhelmed her senses. “My mother broke my brain.” Buttermilk’s mewled words were difficult to say with dulled, numbed lips. “When I was away from home, I got better, but now that I’m home again…” Unable to finish, her words trailed off as she snuggled against Copperquick, needing comfort. “It’ll be okay, Buttermilk—” “No, Copper, it won’t be! What if I break Esmeralda’s brain in the same way my mother broke mine?” The sudden unwelcome silence was not at all reassuring. Closing her eyes, Buttermilk went completely limp and allowed Copperquick to support her. With her forelegs crossed over her barrel, she could feel the pounding of her heart and her face was damp with tears. Doubt was the worst thing, because it was so hard to dispel—doubt persisted, and even when you thought it was gone, doubt lingered somehow, because one worried when it might return. As such, it was always there, and Buttermilk realised that it had been there all along, it had been there with Blancmange, when Copperquick had kissed her, and it was here with her now. Doubt was her constant companion, and she hated it. “I just need a few moments to pull myself together…”