My daughter's cottage is just a few walks ahead. The long trip, as well as the shopping, was such a tiring errand; my legs almost feel like spaghetti from traipsing around Ponyville for two hours straight, but it hardly matters since I got to shop with my precious daughter.
"Ugh! Finally!" I groan as I walk up to the cottage's door, happy that I'll get some R and R. For a little while, anyway. I'll need to take a quick shower and get suited up for my date. Although I'm reluctant to, considering that Twilight is keenly fond of the dreadful purple suit and pants I'll be wearing for the said date.
Fluttershy trots ahead and kindly opens the door for me. I would do it myself, but my arms are preoccupied with holding the groceries.
Dinky hurriedly zips in, still carefully balancing the peach on her head. I'm the last to walk right in after my daughter and beeline for the coffee table so I can set the groceries down on it. Various woodland critters, including Angel, scurry away to give me a clear path, thankfully.
Once I've done so, I roll my shoulders. I then rub my aching back while ambling to the green couch and plop myself down onto it. What with the couch being small, and designed mainly for ponies, it creaks and groans underneath my weight.
It would probably be better if Fluttershy had gotten a bigger one, but it is what it is. I pat the back of my pants to check for Silver, and, to my relief and luck, it is still there.
Like a seal, Dinky balances the peach on the tip of her snout talentedly before tossing it into a bag. The one that has the carrots, specifically. My OCD goes off as my left eye twitches.
"Father," my daughter calls out to me softly, "do you think you can help take the groceries out of my saddlebag?"
Despite the soreness in my leg's muscles, I acquiesce, "Of course I will help you." Fluttershy smiles at me, grateful. I grunt as I rise from the couch. Then, I make my way over to her and kneel beside her.
"I want you to put these on the table. And this here, too." She says, pointing the two bags in her saddlebag with a hoof.
I nod and pull them out of her saddlebag and carry them over to the table. As I carefully set them down next to the other two that I carried, I return to Fluttershy and unbuckle her saddlebag's strap - luckily without too much difficulty - and hang it up on the rack next to the front door.
Fluttershy stands there, beaming at me. It warms my heart to see her smile with the daughterly adoration and love she has for me as her father.
"Thank you, Father," my dear Shy says. No longer burdened by the groceries and saddlebag, she stretches her wings outward far as they can go. As she stretches — her top down and plot up in a cat-like way — she tilts her head until the joints in her neck emit a soft, hearable pop. "Ah, much better," she sighs, relaxedly, folding her wings back to her sides before standing upright.
My daughter then turns her attention to the bags of groceries. She takes a few steps forward and begins picking out the items from each bag.
I kneel beside Fluttershy again and begin to do likewise. She's probably reassuring herself that every fruit is accounted for, and checking for bruises or any blemishes they may have.
Dinky squeezes in between us. "Can I help?" she asks.
"Later, you can," I answer, gently ruffling the unicorn filly's mane. "Why don't you sit on the couch and wait until then, okay?"
"Okay!" Dinky says cheerfully without any protest. She rears herself out and starts bounding towards the couch. I do find it amusing that the filly has slight difficulty climbing up the furniture on her own. But she manages, and she sits down on her haunches, quietly watching us like a hawk.
I've always wondered why Dinky hasn't used any magic yet. Last time I visited Twilight's place, Twilight expatiated on that unicorns around Dinky's age should be able to levitate small objects or even themselves around a scant twenty centimeters high. She did add that age doesn't adequately factor on how a unicorn utilizes magic. I'd annotate her entire lecture on here, but, that would require an indefinite number of pages to write.
Maybe at a later point I'll ask Ditzy about Dinky.
I flash the filly a closed-lip smile before turning back to the bags. I then speak up after a minute of subdued silence. "It was rather lively down at the marketplace," I begin, conversationally.
"Oh yes, it was. I was surprised to see so many ponies down there," Fluttershy replies.
"No kidding," I agree. "But at least when they were around me, they seemed a bit more, uh, lenient, if that's the right way to put it. I overheard the mentioning of my solo down at Canterlot, and their feedback seemed neutral rather than negative."
Fluttershy nods slowly. We've emptied the bags completely, and my daughter pores over the pile of fruit thoroughly. A satisfied smile blooms on her visage.
"Well that sounds like an improvement, Father," she replies.
"Right? Initially, I had my doubts. But I'm happy and relieved that today didn't go so bad like I thought it would." The cheery smile I had falters. "I'm still bummed out about the puking incident there, though. So damn embarrassing that I did that in front of a large crowd."
Fluttershy extends her right wing and drapes it on my shoulder. "It's all right, Father," she says to me in a soothing, motherly tone. "It's just like what we talked about before: it was not your fault, and you had no idea about your allergy. Regarding your performance, I think it was beautiful, and my friends thought so, too. And I didn't know you had such talent. How come you never told me anything about it, even way back when we were on Earth?"
I remain silent for half a minute. I never intended to share my past trials and tribulations more than I need to. Even when after I've imparted a portion of it to Twilight.
But this is Fluttershy I'm dealing with here. I can't muster the heart to say no to her questions; she can be persistent, and would do everything she can to cheer me up in order to swat away the shrouding darkness, as is part of her kind-hearted nature. In this instance, my shift from a happy to a melancholic mood is enough to confirm her worries as she looks at me, concerned. I put on a straight face.
"If you don't want to talk about it, Father, I understand," she says, brushing my back with her wing tenderly, "and I don't want to press if it makes you uncomfortable."
I blow out a sigh, and a gulp to follow it up. It felt like there was a pebble in my throat.
"No, no. I think you deserve to know. You see, my dear Shy, the reason I didn't tell anyone is that I had a terrible teenage experience with the violin. To make the story short: my foster mother had me play it in front of an audience at some community talent show, and...well, I ended up soiling myself on the stage." My bottom lip would tremble, threatening to shatter my stolidness before I try to finish. "It was so upsetting when some of them laughed at me, even. I felt so humiliated, and I wanted to die that day."
And here, the corners of my mouth give way as they droop. I quickly put a hand over my mouth to mask my frown, hoping she hasn't noticed it. My daughter has seen it, however, and promptly scoots over. She extends her other wing and wraps it around me.
"Shh, it's okay, Father," my daughter says under a consoling whisper. She snuggles up to my side, her wings closing around me where my body is now fully wrapped in her feathery embrace. "It must have been so scarring of a memory, and I now understand why you don't want to talk about it, Father. But it is good that you are. It's certainly not healthy to repress those feelings when they should be let out."
I clench my teeth together as a means to suppress the emotions that keep irritably surfacing. "It's how I was taught, my dear Shy," I say, some words having a slight hiss to them due to the clenched teeth.
"It's not good for you to do that to your teeth, either," my daughter chides, yet her voice remains soothing and soft. "Please, look at me, Father."
I amend by cocking my head up, and my sullen gaze meets her compassionate gaze. While my lips bear a frown, her lips, however, are that of a smile.
As I stare into those beautiful, aquamarine eyes of hers, my mandible muscles relax, and all the sorrow, all the anger, disappear, like a strong wind blowing away the storm clouds eclipsing the sun. The clouds represent my sorrow and anger, whereas Fluttershy's smile represents the sun.
Her smile brings solace to my soul. Even my heart begins to beat more lively, as though it is being fueled by her love, and this causes my lips to perk up a warm smile in turn.
Words needn't be said then. Fluttershy's kindness, along with her love, has swept the negativity away.
I slowly raise a right hand and reach out for my daughter's angelic face. She voluntarily inches herself closer, aware of my intentions. My palm lands on her left cheek gingerly, and I sigh pleasantly when my skin makes contact with her soft fur.
It still astonishes me to this very day how she keeps her coat pristine and soft. It's a sensation akin to touching silky fabric.
Her eyelids lazily droop, and she lets out an adorable, pleased hum. Her eyes have completely closed, that blissed smile of hers stretching more by my gentle ministrations. I bring my other hand to cup her other cheek.
Her cheeks have just the right amount of pudginess to them, and I relish in their softness when I lightly press my palms on them. She continues to make relaxed, cute noises and purrs as she snuggles up closer into my chest, nuzzling it. I could not hold back a chuckle when she starts wagging her tail happily.
My daughter perks her head up and opens her eyes with a radiant smile. Happiness washes over me as I stare back, glowingly. I lower my forehead onto hers — carefully so as to not bonk her forehead against mine — and nuzzle her snout with the tip of my nose.
My heart flutters with joy when Fluttershy lets out the cutest giggle, and I continue to delight in the combination of caressing her soft fur and hearing her reactions.
I plant a soft kiss on her forehead and wrap my arms around her, giving her a long embrace. She rests her head against my chest, breathing a contented sigh.
"Do you feel better now, Father?" she asks.
"Very much so," I whisper.