War troubled Sundance, more so now that he had a better, broader understanding of it. Head bowed down, he stood beneath the shower and allowed himself a luxurious soak. His head was full of everything that he'd learned last night, and this knowledge had cost him some sleep. How long had he laid awake and stared up at the ceiling? Understanding was a dangerous thing, and a bell could not be unrung.
The whole of the world was at war, in some form or another, and wars produced orphans. Not just any orphans, but troubled orphans. These orphans grew up to be troubled adults, and in war-ravaged nations, these adults exacerbated a whole host of problems and extended the time needed for the nation to recover. As bad as this was, as awful as this was, it was now made worse by the fact that the world had grown smaller. Orphans and refugees regularly crossed the oceans, the seas, and found themselves in Equestria. These tortured tots grew up, and so the problems of other nations became Equestria's problems. It was a drawback to compassion.
A whole flood of refugees arrived on Equestria's shores daily, seeking some place of solace, some shelter from the world that spiraled into chaos. Unless something was done, all these young ones would grow up to become Equestria's next generation of adults—and then there would be trouble. Real trouble. So healing these tribulated tykes was now a priority; Equestria's very future was at stake.
And Sundance, at his own request, had been made to understand all of this.
He wished he hadn't.
His brain just wasn't big enough to hold all of this in, as evidenced by the pressure just behind his eyes, a sort of throbbing pulse that threatened to uncork his eyeballs and let all of his head-wine go pouring out. It would trickle down his nose, blood-red, and then swirl down the drain of the shower. When his head was full like this, it put him in a lousy mood. It made him worry about things like his eyeballs uncorking. Some problems were just too big to fit into a common pony's head, and this was one of them.
Corduroy would understand this problem, and probably have something meaningful to say about it. But she wasn't here. He tried to steer his thoughts away from the trouble ahead, but failed, and started to wonder what his grandmother might think of this, or his mother, and yes, even his father. While he didn't know how his grandmother might think of this, he knew that his mother didn't have a high opinion of immigrants. They arrived here by the boatload, caused problems, begged for help, and contributed to the crime statistics.
As for his father… Sundance had no idea.
His thoughts lingered upon his mother. Officer Mom saw the worst that ponies and others had to offer. It was the nature of her job. She was a cop, and as such, she only saw creatures at their respective worst. This in turn coloured her perceptions and reinforced her opinions, her views, and beliefs. There would be no way that he could convince her that she was wrong, as she would only cite everything that happened on the job.
Wait… did he want to prove his mother wrong?
Astonished, he swallowed and raised up his head. Yes, yes he did want to prove his mother wrong. He wanted to find something that would shake up her world view and rattle her opinions, just as his world view and his opinions got all shook up. Hot water poured down into his ears and stung his eyes. He wanted his mother to meet Corduroy, but more than that, he wanted his mother to meet Corduroy and admit that she was a good dog.
More than anything, Sundance wanted his mother to acknowledge that his views were valid.
The thermometer was a little plastic sculpture of Princess Celestia and the bright red mercury had already traveled up the length of her horn, almost to the tip. It was chintzy, tacky, tawdry even, and Sundance thought it was just perfect. It stood perched atop a metal spike, which was poked down into the decorative flower bed that was beside the path that led out to the bungalows.
"Hello there."
Glancing in the direction of the voice, Sundance saw a timid pegasus mare. She was resoundingly normal, and nowhere near perfect, which was something of a relief. Something told him that she didn't work here, and filled with curiousity as to why she was here, he gave her all of his attention. She was thin, leggy, and the colour of muted turquoise. More than anything else, she seemed afraid. Of what, he did not know, but he hoped she wasn't afraid of him.
"Hi," he said at last after he remembered that his mother had raised him to have manners. "Good morning."
"It's so hot already," she said in an attempt to make small talk. "My name is Sassy Squalls. I'm here to have a therapy session with my son. I have to change if I want to help him. It's all very overwhelming."
"I'm sure it is," he replied. "Tell me about it."
"My son developed behavioural problems in school after his father left," she said, practically blurting out all the words at once. Distraught, she frowned, blinked once, took a deep breath, and this time, when she spoke, it was slower and clearer. "My son became a bully. He's getting better though. At least that's what I'm told. His aggression is being reconditioned into leadership skills and the protection of others. I hope he can come home someday."
Unsure of what to say, but fearing that anything he might say might seem insincere, he nodded.
"What about you? Why are you here? Do you have a son? A daughter?"
"I'm here to adopt," he said unabashedly.
"Oh." Some of her timidness went away, her eyes widened, and the corners of her mouth had a dramatic upturn. "Oh, I've heard a little about the program that they have here. Cute, adorable, cuddly little refugees that have suffered so horribly. Oh, it's terrible what happens. I've read the pamphlets they keep around here. You adopt them in groups, right?"
"That's my understanding."
"You're a good pony for doing that. Good on you."
A hot flush threatened to raise blisters on Sundance's neck, and he shuffled in place as he tried to cope with what the mare had just said. It felt awkward for some reason, but it also felt good. Yes, it felt good to have one's goodness recognised by others, but this wasn't the reason why he did it. He did it because it was the right thing to do, and because it allowed his barony to prosper. The fact that he helped others was secondary—but it still felt good, no, great… it felt great to have others recognise it.
A plump chicken went strutting past, followed by a parade of yellow chicks.
"I'm Sundance, by the way. Sorry, it slipped my mind."
"Oh, I'm nervous too. I don't have any coping skills. What about you?"
"Uh"—just how did he answer this without making himself look bad—"I dunno, I just sort of somehow manage. My friends get me through the tight spots."
"Would you like to go and get breakfast with me?" she asked. "I don't like going into the cafeteria alone. Makes me think of my school days. Not a good thing." With a quick turn of her head, she averted her eyes and appeared to be looking at the Princess Celestia thermometer. "I think I'd rather not eat than have to go in there alone. I'm sorry, please don't feel guilted into this. I can't help it."
"I had some awkward days in school too," he said, and was more than a little surprised at what had just come out of his own mouth. "Never fit in. Truth be told, I didn't make much of an effort. Couldn't talk to girls."
Eyes bright, moist, almost brimming with barely contained liquid, Sassy Squalls' smile of gratitude was somehow more radiant than the early morning sun. Her hooves made clip-clop sounds as she pranced in place, and her wings rustled as they slapped against her sides. She did nothing to hide her excitement, her enthusiasm, and there was something suddenly schoolgirlish about her. But her happiness, her joy, it was infectious, and Sundance couldn't help but feel better about life in general.
"Thank you," she said to him. "Thank you so very much."
"Thank you," Sassy Squalls said as she stepped away from the door, because standing in front of a door to converse was incredibly rude. "Thank you so very much. It was nice to enter the cafeteria and not feel like everypony was judging me when I walked in. And even if they were, they saw me with you… a handsome fella. You were the perfect gentlepony."
Sundance, also mindful of the door, stepped aside as well.
"You're not like other guys," she said to him in a much lower voice.
"I'm not?" As much as he didn't want to be, he found himself intrigued, and he wanted to hear more about himself from the perspective of another pony.
"You're not." She moved aside a little more, a little further over onto the patio, until she stood beneath the eave and out of the sun. "You… you keep your ears back, mostly. You don't walk around with your withers squared. This makes you approachable. And not to sound tribalist, but it is especially true with pegasus fellas. It's like some of them just walk around looking for a fight. All that dominance. But you're not like them."
For a moment, Sundance was taken back in time, and his memories placed him back in school once more. After a few seconds were lost to contemplation, he asked aloud, "I wonder if that's why I got called a sissy in school." Then, as he thought more about it, he realised that Turmeric and Rustic both also kept their ears back and maintained a more submissive posture. It made him think a great deal about himself, and he wondered how others must see him.
"It was nice having breakfast with you," she said to him. "The therapy session starts at eight, so I really must be going. Best of luck with your adoption. Goodbye, Sundance."
"Goodbye, Sassy. Good luck with your son. Don't give up. I'm sure he'll come around. He has an excellent mom."
Her face reddened beneath her turquoise pelt. For a moment, it seemed as though she might say something—she stood there chewing on her bottom lip—but whatever words waited in the wings failed her. As she retreated, she kept her eyes on him, and for whatever reason, he kept his eyes on her sooty eyelashes, which begged to be explored in great detail. He watched her go and she left with whatever final words she had in mind left unsaid. Sundance too, found himself tongue-tied, but he knew that he would recover from this—eventually.
As one mare hurried away, another approached.
"Mister Sundance, I am Houseparent Jewel Jangle. Would you please come with me?"
The somewhat-older-but-showed-no-signs-of-her-age mare stood there, blinking at him expectantly, and Sundance could not help but feel that she was artificial somehow. Not a hair out of place. It was already approaching one-hundred degrees and she didn't even appear to be sweating. Nothing on her body sagged, she appeared to be svelte and trim by any standard, and muscles rippled under skin that was as taut as a drum.
Unable to help himself, he stared at her—no, he gawped at her—and tried to understand the mystery before him. She was one of the perfect ponies of Applewood, by the looks of it. Sassy Squalls certainly wasn't one of them, and he found that he prefered her imperfection. This mare who stood before him now had a million-bit smile, and he wondered if she ever used her perfect teeth for chewing—or any activity really other than smiling.
"Is something wrong, Mister Sundance?"
"No," he was quick to reply. "Nothing wrong. Just a bit hot… I guess. It's warm here."
"It's a dry heat," she said to him, still smiling her perfect plastic smile. "You get used to it. Apply plenty of moisturiser, or you'll turn leathery. Remember the words of the Guru: 'Sympathise and moisturise if you wish to live a happy life.' Words to live by."
"Uh, yeah, I suppose they are." He had no idea who this 'Guru' was, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know. "Lead the way. I'll follow."
"Excellent, Mister Sundance. Allow me to lead the way!"
The walls were pale powder blue, almost the same shade as bureaucratic colour-coded paper. Everything was trimmed with naked glossy pine wood that had a rosy golden glow; the furniture and the window frames all matched the trim and did so with exquisite perfection. Overhead, the ceiling was painted in a shade of off-white that held more than a hint of blue to it. The floor—polished to a mirror finish—was tiled in blue and white. Something about the room made Sundance feel intense discomfort, the sheer sterility of it all.
The two ponies present certainly didn't help either.
"I am Gleeful Gambol," the earth pony said in dreadful deadpan to introduce himself. "And that is my assistant, Silent Satisfaction. She will be writing down your responses and logging her many observations. As for myself"—he inhaled—"I am an empath and trained in the Crystal Empire. An empath is not a telepath. I can't read your mind, only your feelings. I'll know if you are lying to me, or if you give me a response that you think I'll want to hear. Be honest, utterly and completely, and there won't be a problem."
Sundance couldn't help but notice that Gleeful was anything but.
"Do you have any questions before we begin, Mister Sundance?"
"Not particularly," he replied.
"Fantastic. Do sit down. Be comfortable. Right there, in front of the desk so I can see you and read your body language." Gleeful's voice had something of a nasal quality, as if he had a kazoo stuck in his sinuses. "Go on, do have a seat."
With a hurried rush of movement, Sundance did as he was bid.
"Your responses will be studied in an academic setting," Gleeful said. "If you do not agree with this, you are free to leave. Do you understand?"
"Um, I'm fine with this." No matter how he tried, he couldn't get comfortable upon the wooden chair, which Sundance was certain was designed to be a pain in the hindquarters.
"Good. Good." The kazoo quality of Gleeful's voice intensified. "Take all the time you need to answer. Think about what you wish to say. We are in no hurry here. Do you understand?"
Kazoo, Sundance thought to himself as he nodded.
With Gleeful in front of him, and Silent behind him, Sundance couldn't help but feel a bit of tension. Not much, not yet, but his anxiety manifested as a tightness in his guts. Breakfast gurgled a bit and he wondered if he should have eaten seconds and thirds. The fried oatcakes with rosemary honey glaze were delicious, and he'd gone all in with no sense of restraint. Now, of all the worst possible times, he had himself a case of gurgle guts. He was a scared colt in school taking an exam once more, and this was beyond terrible.
Yes, this was a special sort of Tartarus, but at least he could sort of talk to girls.
Eyebrow arched, Gleeful seemed studiously alert. "Why are you here today, Mister Sundance?"
A question with an obvious answer. Aware of his own sarcasm, Sundance sent it away, shimmied on his chair to try and find some comfortable position that he might have somehow missed, and he couldn't but be curious as to what Gleeful thought of him right now. Surely the gurgle in his guts was audible, and from the way he squirmed in his seat, it probably appeared that he was plagued with the most terrible of all pegasus maladies—The Poots.
Once, when he was young, after he'd just cracked one off in class that very nearly killed his classmates, his teacher had asked him what that was. It was obvious what that was, and his teacher, a stern, strict mare, had a reputation for destroying foals with detention and demerits. Doomed as he was, and knowing that there would be no saving himself, he'd replied with as much cool confidence as his squeaky-voiced self could muster: "Oh, that's just some asshole behind me talking shit."
Officer Mom's reaction to his behaviour was as opposite of amused as a pony could be.
"I am here today because Twilight Velvet sent me here to adopt some troubled tots. I have an established history as a yes-pony, so here I am. Just doing as I was told. If you tell me to be good to the tots, I'll do that too. Just how I am."
Leaning over his desk, Gleeful turned the full force of his deadpan expression upon Sundance. His chair creaked and the earth pony's eyebrow arched just the teensiest bit more, barely even registerable except by the most observant of ponies—and pegasus ponies in general. Sundance saw it and immediately wondered if he'd just blown the interview. Behind him, he could hear a pen scribbling and scratching words onto paper.
"As a father, what do you hope to accomplish?"
The question seemed a bit vague. A bit too open-ended. Accomplish what? Send a foal off to college? Just what was fatherhood, anyhow? A trophy that proved that one procreated and then bravely stuck around to face the consequences of one's own actions? Well, not in this instance, because he was adopting. Did one become a father because it felt good, or because one wanted to establish a legacy? He wasn't even married yet, so just what was he doing adopting? This was putting the sky truck before the pegasus.
"I'll be a caretaker," Sundance said with great care. "While I'll be involved, I'm not sure if I qualify as a father. Ultimately, I am doing this to secure the future of my barony."
More scritchy-scratching could be heard behind him.
"I suppose that we'll skip ahead to more relevant questions." His nostrils broadened and Gleeful's eyes offered no hint to his mood. "A foal becomes possessive; they take the toys of others and refuse to share. What do you do?"
"Well, I would hope that their primary caretaker, Hollyhock, would do her job."
Nothing on Gleeful's face moved but his thin lips. "But this is about you. What would you do?"
The trickle of sweat in Sundance's left wingpit tickled, but there was nothing he could do about it. "Well," he began, thoughtful, "I suppose that I would pull them aside, and give them a good talking to. I would try to impress upon them the importance of sharing… and caring. Do I sound incompetent right now? Because I'm pretty sure that I do. I'm not sure what this interview accomplishes. I mean… well… I mean, I'll be somewhat involved as a caretaker, but I'll be more of a friend. It feels like I can only give bad answers."
"A foal refuses to go to bed, and furthermore, their protest disrupts the sleep hygiene of others. They are adamant that they will not quiet down and go to sleep. What do you do?"
For only the briefest of moments, Sundance thought of duct tape.
"Uh"—he hesitated, uncertain—"first thing I would do is get them someplace away. Someplace quiet. So the others could go to sleep. Wouldn't want that sleep hygiene disrupted. Once I had them somewhere quiet, I uh, well, um, I think I would start asking questions?" Aware of the mental metaphorical question mark that followed his words, he demanded that his brain do something.
"I'd ask them if they were afraid of something under the bed, or if something was bothering them, or if they needed to pee, or wanted a glass of water. I guess I'd try to find the cause of the issue, because there's no sense in punishing them or being upset if they don't want to go to bed. If they just couldn't sleep, I would try to do something to tire them out, I suppose. Or maybe read them a story. Maybe there's a real problem… and you shouldn't punish them for something they can't help."
Pee? Really? Why hadn't he said 'urinated'?
"A foal requests assistance for an issue regarding their genitals. How do you respond?"
Before he could respond, Sundance's stomach beat him to it, with an audible gurgle that surely could be heard in the next county over. For a few seconds, he found it downright impossible to breathe, and when he could do so again, he found it rather difficult. The wooden chair he sat on somehow grew even more uncomfortable, and Sundance concluded that perhaps he wasn't ready for the whole parenthood thing.
"I… well, I uh, well… I would find some way to help them. That question is too vague for me to say much else."
"A foal becomes dispondant, unresponsive, and withdrawn. How do you help them?"
This question was almost a relief after the last one, and Sundance sucked in a huge lungful of much-needed air. "I talk to them. Maybe try to bribe them with cookies. But I do what I can to find out what's going on, and what's causing them to be sad. Wait, despondent means sad, right? Every kid gets sad sometimes. Sometimes, there's nothing you can do but wait it out. But I would try to be there for them until it passes."
"A foal commits arson and must be punished. What measures do you feel are necessary?"
At that moment, the spectre of Officer Mom arrived, and Sundance grew uncomfortably sweaty. The clenching of his tailhole proved to be a powerful distraction and he wished that his body would behave. To answer this, he felt he needed more information, but before he asked his questions, he took the time to choose his words with great care.
"What sort of foal am I dealing with?"
"Just answer the question, Mister Sundance."
"I can't." He folded his forelegs over his barrel because he didn't know what else to do with them and then sat up as straight as possible. "If I am dealing with an earth pony foal or a pegasus pony foal, I'd have to figure out how they caused the fire in the first place. It's not impossible, but I live with a sizable population of earth ponies, and they have some real trouble lighting candles and oil lamps, let me tell you. Which is why a unicorn was needed to keep the lights on, and there's an evening ritual to make sure the fires and lamps are lit.
"Now, if I am dealing with a little unicorn, I suppose I would correct his behaviour and then encourage the little firebug to burn the things I want burned. Like… unwanted brush, brambles, and bunnies. Yeah, I'd put the little pyromaniac to work for the betterment of the barony."
Gleeful's eyebrow quivered almost imperceptibly.
"Not every problem behaviour is a problem," said Sundance with some sense of smugness.
"A foal keeps swearing and using unacceptable tribal slurs. How do you apply cessation to this unwanted behaviour?"
Upon hearing this, Sundance frowned. Of all the things he feared, tribal tensions scared him more than just about anything. If left unchecked, they could ruin his barony. He reached up, scratched at the scars on the back of his neck, and gave serious thought to what he might do in this situation. Then, with much relief, he had himself the answer. Not just any answer, but the best answer.
"I warn them about Corduroy and her dislike of potty mouth. And then I leave them to their fate."
Wearing a quizzical expression, Gleeful asked, "Who or what is Corduroy?"
Sundance realised that his answer made Gleeful ask a question, and he felt accomplished.
"She's a two meter tall diamond dog. My nurse. Likes cleanliness. And takes no guff. I can save a foal from all manner of trouble, even an owlbear, but there's no saving them from Corduroy." Fearing that Gleeful took all of this in the wrong way, Sundance offered up a bit of clarity for the sake of charity. "I'm pretty sure that she'd scrub the potty mouth right out of them. She's threatened to do that to me. Let me tell you, that dog, she loves to scrub. She's ridiculously happy when she's scrubbing something or somepony, and her tail wags. But it feels like she's about to scrub your skin right off, and oh boy, is it ever an experience. You don't forget it."
"I see." Something about Gleeful's voice suggested that he was unsettled.
"She's great, my nurse. She gave me mouth to mouth and kept me alive after I got a lethal dose of giant spider venom. Spider season was exciting this year at the barony." Then, Sundance was truly inspired. "If you happen to know any pyromaniac foals, do you think you can send them my way? I want to be prepared for spider season next year. Give those spiders what they deserve."
Gleeful's kazoo deadpan wavered slightly when he asked, "A foal bites you. What do you do?"
"Well, I don't bite them back," Sundance was quick to reply. "I guess I try to sort out why they're angry enough to bite? In my experience, foals aren't vicious. Something would have to be really wrong to make them bite. I'd help them, and not be angry. Maybe they've gone mustang, as the expression goes. If that's the case, I'd risk being bit to help them. I've stared down the gullet of an owlbear… a foal can't be that dangerous."
"A foal with a history of lying and false claims makes troubling accusations of a sexual nature about a loved one or a member of your household. What do you do?"
This gave Sundance serious pause, and he almost blurted what was sure to be a terrible answer. He reined himself in though, collected his calm, took a deep breath, and more than anything else, he held his emotions in check. This was a loaded question for certain. What would he do? How did one trust a lying liar? A foal that cried wolf? An accusation of molestation was impossible to ignore, but the chance of hurt feelings over a false claim were sure to cause a firestorm of emotion.
He knew how to answer.
"I would seek out River Raider. She's a"—the words night terror almost slipped out, but he somehow managed to hold them in—"nocturnal pegasus. She's a nocturnal pegasus and she can read minds. She's an actual telepath. I would seek her out and find out the truth of the matter right away, and then I would act accordingly once I knew what the deal was."
Even though he'd answered well, or believed he did, the question left him too jittery to sit still. Sundance tried to bestill his thudding heart, but the painful pounding would not subside. There was another gurgle from his guts and then, without warning, he had a nearly unquenchable desire for a cup of tea. Not just any cup of tea, but something that would make the spoon stand erect. He also wanted to hear his father's voice, because that would be mighty reassuring right about now, even if his father didn't say more than a word or two.
It occurred to him that he wouldn't be leaving today; he'd never make it home before dark.
"A foal displays homosexual tendencies and shows an interest in the same sex. How do you respond?" Gleeful's deadpan was now extra-cold, frosty even, and his voice put the dead in deadpan.
Caught completely off guard, Sundance thought of his own foalhood. Was it wrong to think of himself, he wondered. He did everything he could to keep his expression neutral, but he knew he failed. When he tried to breathe, it got caught in his windpipe, and his barrel hitched a few times while he strove to recover. Out of all the questions, this was the worst one, and even though he hadn't said a word, the fear of failure soaked his wingpits with excessive moisture.
His vision blurred for a brief time, his eyes stung, and his stomach rudely informed him that if this kept up, breakfast would face violent eviction. All of his frogs turned clammy, cold even, and he shivered from the sensation of phantom frost. Gleeful Gambol was perfectly still, almost a statue, and Sundance couldn't recall when the earth pony had blinked last. This moment seemed to stretch into a brief eternity, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could bear it.
"I would… I would"—his own words were almost his undoing as he nearly choked—"introduce them to Uncle Rustic and Uncle Turmeric. They're my friends. Both of them are gay… the sort of gay that invents new stereotypes… the sort of gay that makes new jokes about being gay. Both of them are a bit lispy and when they get excited or argue it sounds like a steam boiler about to let go. More than friends… I love them dearly.
"But I would introduce them to my best friends, and I would tell them that they are special, and that everything was normal, and that everything was fine, and that there was nothing to worry about. Even if she were a filly, I'd still do this, because I don't think good role models are restricted by gender. And I, uh… I have so much more that I want to say, but I would be gushing and not giving an answer."
The deadpan mask over Gleeful's face held, but something in his eyes changed. Then, bit by bit, the mask cracked to reveal some strong emotion. A quiver in the corner of his mouth. The flutter of his left eyelid, accompanied by a twitch of his left ear. Movement in his neck as he swallowed. Sundance watched as it all came apart and knew that they were having a moment together.
"I wish somepony had done that for me," Gleeful said in somber tones. "At the risk of allowing my professionalism to lapse, but with the hope of making an equine connection, I wish somepony had done that for me. My father put me in a mental hospital. I was treated for mental illness." He sighed, a short interlude, and then added, "It messed me up. I went to the Crystal Empire to get help. To get better. My treatment was to help others… which has done a lot for me. Because of what was done to me, I lost my connection to my fellow equines, and I became an empath to restore it. For whatever it's worth, I think you'll make a fine caretaker."
Sundance, who did not know what to say, tried to think of useful words, but failed.
"The purpose of this interview was to establish how you deal with pressure, and I think we've done that." A sad smile manifested upon Gleeful's muzzle, and there was something hopeful in his eyes. "You'll have my recommendation, Mister Sundance. Congratulations, you've passed the first stage of the gauntlet. You've kept a remarkably level head and maintained your wits. When and if a crisis comes about, I think we can reasonably assume that you'll find some way to manage it."
"Thank you," Sundance managed to say.
"I think we both need some time to collect ourselves. Will you be alright?"
"Will you?" asked Sundance.
"Oh, I have hope for the world. I'll be fine. There's good ponies in the world."
"I… I do my best to be one of them."
"And I believe that. Thank you for your time, Mister Sundance."
"You're welcome…"