//------------------------------// // Public service announcement // Story: House of the Rising Sunflower // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// “Sundance!” Corbie’s voice was particularly loud and carried over the commotion in the dining hall. Turning his head to look at her, he could see her waving, beckoning him to come over. It was the perfect chance to get away from Express Delivery without any awkwardness, and he was quick to seize upon the opportunity. “Excuse me, but it seems I am needed. Make yourself at home.” Before she could respond, he hurried away from her, his hooves thudding on the wooden floorboards, which were in dire need of a good sweeping. Lots of ponies had been in and out of here today, and it showed. Bits of grass, clods of dirt, what appeared to be breadcrumbs, and other assorted debris covered the floor. “Amber keeps asking for her daddy,” Corbie said in syrupy, cheerful tones. “It took us a while to figure what she meant, because that’s the only word she said. I think it hurts her lip.” Sundance became keenly aware of Hollyhock’s eyes, which now threatened to burn a hole right through him. As far as glares went, it could only be described as unkind at best, and downright hostile at worst. Something clearly needed to be said, but whatever it was, Sundance had no idea what it was. Perhaps some manner of explanation was in order, or clarification of some kind. But then he looked at Amber, and his heart lodged in his throat. Ignoring Hollyhock completely, he sat down beside the stricken foal, got himself comfortable, and then, as carefully as he could, he scooped up the miserable filly. She was warm—perhaps too warm—and he could feel exceptionally hot places as he pulled her against him. He heard a noise, as if something was muttered, but he couldn’t make out what it was. Within moments of getting situated, she rested her head against the base of his neck, closed her eye, and went still. Hollyhock looked furious, but he continued to ignore her. Corbie, whose head turned back and forth, going from Sundance to Hollyhock, said in a quiet, far more subdued voice, “Something don’t feel right here…” “Amber and I are friends,” Sundance said to Corbie. “It’s nopony elses business what she calls me.” With the foal tucked in the crook of his foreleg, he used his wing to gingerly brush her mane away from her face. “If it brings her comfort, if it makes her feel better”—he allowed his gaze to fall upon Hollyhock for a moment—“it would be downright cruel to take this away from her.” Grimacing, Hollyhock, now snubbed, turned away. “Sometimes,” Corbie said, her eyes large and soulful, “a girl just needs her daddy. Or a daddy. I’ve called my Uncle Seville my daddy and nopony got mad about it. I was sad.” “How’s the book reading going?” asked Sundance. “She kept asking for you,” Corbie replied. “So we stopped and took a break for a while. She cried for a bit.” “Aw, Amber, I’m sorry that I didn’t come check on you sooner. I’ve been a busy baron. New ponies keep arriving. Ponies keep asking me to look at stuff. Trouble is brewing. It’s been one of those days. Are you having one of those days too?” Amber’s uninjured ear twitched once, and then she returned to stillness. “You got something to say to me, Hollyhock?” The mare’s jaw firmed, her neck muscles went tight, and for but a second, she bared her teeth. Sundance thought of how she reacted to Turmeric and Amber getting along, and now this. She almost said something, her mouth opened, her ears pricked, and her nostrils flared wide—but then her jaw snapped shut with a click of her teeth. “If you have something to say to me, say it,” Sundance said to Amber Dawn’s mother. “Spit it out. I’m not going to kick you out or send you away or do whatever stupid thing you think I’ll do. Honestly, it’s insulting that you think so little of me.” “It’s not that,” Hollyhock blurted out. Sundance felt eyes on him—pretty much every eye in the room—including Express Delivery’s. “Then what is it? Clear the air, Hollyhock. Either say something or wipe that look off your face, ‘cause I don’t like it. Also, I don’t like the example you’re setting for your daughter right now. She’s gotta grow up here, and live here, and this attitude of yours is doing harm to our shared future. Now what is it that you gotta say?” “I need some air,” Hollyhock said as she stood up. “You want foals? Here, look after mine. You don’t mind, do you?” Before Sundance could respond, Hollyhock hustled for the door, her hooves thudding with angry, heavy stomps. He almost said something as she approached the door, but then thought better of it. Enough had been said already, and he found that he didn’t want to upset Amber. The newborn, still unnamed as far as Sundance knew, lay on a blanket spread over the floor, and Lemongrass almost hovered over his sibling. Hollyhock exited, and slammed the door behind her. “What’s going on?” Corbie asked. “I wish I knew,” Sundance replied. “Don’t feel right to make assumptions.” Her eyes now downcast, her glasses crooked, Corbie squirmed. “I don’t feel comfortable right now. I hate it when grown-ups bicker.” “A mother can’t stand it when her foal wants something that she can’t give,” Express Delivery said as she shook off some of her gear and stacked it in the far corner. “It’s probably not my place to say anything. Sorry. Oh, that feels good to take a load off.” Amber’s slow, laboured breathing left a moistened place upon his neck, but Sundance didn’t mind. She was a heavy, solid thing, his foreleg was already cramping up, but he didn’t dare put her down, not after her mother’s temperamental outburst. He could hear her soft, muffled snuffles, and her nose sounded just a wee bit snotty. Smiling, waving her wing, Express Delivery asked, “If it’s not too much trouble, might I get a cup of coffee?” “...I implore you”—Princess Celestia’s voice was hard to make out over bursts of crackles and pops—“unity is needed now more than ever. We live in troubled times, but division and disagreement will only make things worse. What benefit is there to be had by rioting? We regret the recent implementation of martial law in Fillydelphia, but after the violence that took place and the senseless tragedy of those lives lost, there was no other choice.” The soft sound of slurped tea was heard during the brief pause. “The recent fires caused by looting and burning has only made the housing crisis in Fillydelphia worse. Why do this to yourselves? You burn your own houses down and then beg the Crown to shelter you. This is untenable; it cannot continue. Fillydelphia will remain under martial law until such a time that order is restored and these senseless acts of arson are put to an end.” Sundance, his eyelids heavy, listened to the static-filled silence that followed. For being so crowded, the dining hall was remarkably silent. Gringineers, his subjects, there was barely any room left at all as everypony had crowded in to hear the emergency radio announcement. With Amber cradled in his forelegs, Sundance, almost sleepy, wondered if he’d get an influx of new residents from Fillydelphia. It seemed likely. “I wish to be kind,” Princess Celestia continued at last, and Sundance could not tell if her voice was cracking or if the radio was the cause for her broken words. “More than anything, I wish to be kind. But you resist those who have come to aid you.” There was a long staticky pause. “You have brought harm and even killed those who have come to restore order, guardsponies who have sworn an oath to keep you safe, secure, and free. During your spoiled tantrum, you have murdured those who have paid for the cost of your liberty with their own blood.” Raw anger could be heard in Princess Celestia’s voice, the serenity for which she was known was gone. Sundance couldn’t imagine how bad it must be right now, but things had to be awful. Princess Celestia was a mare known for her patience, her composure, and for her to crack in the middle of a public address—Sundance just could not imagine the circumstances. “Examples will be made. That is all.” The terse final words had remarkable clarity and then the broadcast cut out. A second later, generic patriotic music could be heard through the tinny speaker, and a faint murmur grew in volume as ponies in the dining hall reacted. One voice rose above the others: “They’ve automated the shipyards of Fillydelphia. Sure, there’s still a lot of factory workers, but thousands have been laid off. The old, inefficient pony-powered machines have been replaced with steam and electricity. Now they need ponies to maintain and fix the machines, and none are needed to run to power them. Earth pony strength has been replaced by hydraulic actuators.” Another replied: “The constant state of war has accelerated the rate of production. We have no choice but to improve. Sometimes, it seems that we lose ships faster than we can build them. It’s not like the old days where the loss of a single ship was a newsworthy event. Whole fleets go down. It’s unthinkable. Something has to be done so we can keep up.” Express Delivery had this to say: “Almost ten-thousand logging jobs have been lost in Vanhoover because of mechanised logging. What’s a pony with a logging mark supposed to do for a job? Nopony will hire them… because they have a logging mark. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a pony with a saw mark or a plank mark to get a job in a bakery or working as a clerk in a department store? Our marks hold us back. They’re the real problem.” “But our marks make us who and what we are. They make us special.” “Not if our mark represents something that is no longer relevant.” “Yeah,” a young earth pony said in a shrill voice. “Not all marks are equal. It used to be that jobs were created so that all marks were purposeful, but society has moved on. Too many ponies, too many marks, and the job market simply can’t support them all.” “So what’s a pony to do?” The resulting silence bothered Sundance. Nopony had anything smart to say. No clever words were spoken. Not too far away, a distressed Corbie sat hugging herself while also chewing upon her lip. The Gringineers were all looking at one another, their heads turning every which way. Sundance could not help but notice that his subjects, the oldtimers, each of them looked solemn and a bit sad. The world had moved on and now, more than ever, they were relics of a bygone era. “There’s no way to get a new mark for a new purpose if your mark and your purpose no longer have meaning,” a young mare said. “I’m lucky, I have a mark for masonry. My job seems pretty safe. At least, I think it is. My father has a masonry mark, and so does my mother, and all of my brothers, save one. But I think he’ll get a masonry mark too, once he stops being a wee teat biter.” Sundance thought of his own mark, and its uncertain meaning.