You are Anonymous Junior, or just Junior to most. It's friday afternoon and school is almost out. A lesson dragged on forever and pushed recess to almost the end of the day, and the game today?
Hoofball. Perfect for venting all the frustration of a long day.
"Hike!"
You grab the hoofball passed to you and dart through a hole in the other team's linemares, who clash with the linemares on your team.
You rush as fast as you can on three legs since one of your forelegs is holding the ball, almost flying over the grass in your haste. Your heart thunders in your ears and your breathing gets all your focus. In the corner of your eye, you can see Peachy sprinting right at you, but Apogee comes in with a tackle that knocks the yellow earth pony filly off her hooves.
Scootaloo moves into your path and plants herself to intercept, her face determined, so you just grin and lower your stance as you run.
The pegasus tries to tackle you, but being a mutt means you've got dense human muscle flowing with magic, so you blow through her. You hear the wind get knocked out of her as you carry her along for about a yard, then she falls and skids through the grass, staining her coat.
With your superior green coat, grass stains aren't a thing for you.
The in-zone comes into view.
Yes! Just a few more yards and you've got this! You grin a toothy grin as the chalk line of the in-zone gets closer, but you see somepony coming in hot from your left.
Eyes narrow and angry, Applebloom bullrushes you, making you snarl. If there is anyone as strong as you in class, it's Applebloom.
There is a flash of black and white on your right, and without thinking, you pass the ball before Applebloom slams into you, making both you and her fall in a jumble of limbs that slide across the grass.
"Touchdown!"
Zala you beautiful zigger. Her voice tells you that your gamble paid off.
You untangle yourself from Applebloom, not bothering to offer her any help as you rise.
”10 to 2, baby!” Apogee cheers with a flutter of her wings as the team regroups around you. “We win!”
You, Apogee, Zala, and the other fillies cheer as the other team sulks on the other side of the field. You look over, seeing most of them taking the loss pretty well. Luftkrieg got picked for the other team and doesn’t seem bothered, but both Applebloom and Scootaloo are miffed.
”Of course the team with the hulking freak wins!”
Your roll your eyes and turn further, finding an angry Diamond Tiara covered in dirt and grass stains. She’s in the process of putting her namesake tiara back on as she stomps up.
'Euh. Bringing an actual diamond-studded tiara to school? How gaudy could you get?'
The pink filly finishes putting her headwear on before scowling even more. "You hear me, you half-monkey mutt?”
A few of the girls hiss and you fight the urge to turn around and buck Tiara right in the mouth. Instead, you smile nice and wide, putting your sharp teeth on full display and stalk closer to her, head held low like a predator ready to sprint.
To Tiara’s credit, her expression doesn’t change even when you stop less than an inch away from her face, but you do see a short shiver run down her back. Even full-grown mares hate ‘the look’, and Tiara is no different.
“Wanna run that by me again, little miss perfect-flank?” You quietly ask, toothy grin still in place. “Maybe actually try in the game sometime rather than worry about chipping a hoof like a colt, and you’ll win, or maybe not be picked last.”
Her face burns red.
Being rich and popular means Tiara is almost never picked last, but she had to suffer the shame of being last before, and did it again today because Zala and Applebloom were picked as the hoofball captains. Neither one wanted dead weight on their team. It must burn Tiara something fierce that you of all ponies pointed it out, since you’re the first pick and top-scorer damn near every time.
”Maybe if our captain wasn’t a biased blank-flank who picked her blank-flank friends first, that wouldn’t have happened and your smug, freak-of-nature self would be in the dirt,” Tiara grounds out, pointing at a wounded-looking Applebloom, furious Scootaloo, and worried Sweetie Bell.
Oh the teats on this one for talking about bias.
Before you can retort, the bell rings and signals the end of recess.
She shoots you one last glare, then trots off to find Silver Spoon and her clique of other hanger-ons.
You snort, then turn back to your friends and fell into step as you all walk back to the school
”Jeez, Junior. I thought she was actually going to throw a punch, there,” Apogee says, fiddling with the hoofball under her wing. “She looked really mad.”
You shake your head. “Nah. Tiara is all hot air and mommy money. She can talk shit she'll drop like a little colt after one hoof to the jaw and she knows it.”
”Still, perhaps you should not goad her?” Luftkrieg asks as the group stops by the door with the other mass of fillies. The germane pegasus flips it bit of her blonde mane out of her green-ish eyes. “It’s only a matter of time until she is angry enough to attempt something.”
You scoff. “Like what? Bitch and moan to daddy that the mean green filly is bullying her? Get real. If she wants to go screaming about bullied, then I’ll actually give her a reason to cry.”
The colts all walk past the fillies into the school, getting the privilege of being first as is usual, and once the last colt passes, the fillies start filing in.
You find your desk near the back and sit down as Ms. Cheerilee clears off the chalkboard. To your left, Apogee sits, and beside her, Zala. Luftkrieg sits in front of you.
”Welcome back everyone!” The teacher greets everyone with a smile. “Sorry about how long the last lesson took. There isn’t much left today, so we’ll just be doing a bit of review for the math test next week!”
You groan and can hear Apogee sigh next to you. In front of you, Luft perks up like the goodie-perfect student she is. Cunt.
Cheerilee ignores the groans and moans. “Also, the fillyscouts will be let out a bit early today in preparation for their camping trip to the Whitetail woods. Fillyscouts, please head home at 2pm to get you things please!”
Now THAT is some good news. You look over at the clock and are delighted to see it’s 1:05pm already. With a smile, you pull out your textbook and pretend to read.
”Okay, fillyscouts! You’re free to go! Go home and come back here at 4pm to meet Scoutmaster Sweet!” Cheerilee announces after what feels like the longest fifty-five minutes of your life.
You throw your book into your bookbag and are out of your seat along with about a fourth of the class. You, Luft, Apogee, Zala, and a few others beeline for the door and out into the blessed freedom of the weekend.
”You girls already packed?” Zala asks as you, she, Luft, and Apogee canter down the path into town.
”I think I am?” Apogee replies with a sheepish smile. “I’ve never really been camping before and I’ve got all the stuff on the fillyscout list, but I get the feeling I’m forgetting something.”
”No need to worry, mein sister made sure to help me pack extras of the essentials. If you are missing something, I’m happy to share!” Luftkrieg smiles.
Apogee smiles back and bumps flanks with the other pegasus. “Thanks, sis.”
”How about you, Junior?” Zala asks you.
You shrug. “I’ve got everything on the list, and my old man is bringing a gigantic backpack worth of stuff, so I’m sure I can bum off him if I need it.”
You aren’t joking about how big dad’s backpack is. It’s a huge thing filled to the brim and even has metal braces on it. You tried to lift it last night for kicks and barely got across the room before your legs began to wobble. It must weigh more than a grown mare.
”Will mister Heart need help with his things? Did he pack a lot?” Luft asks, focusing on you.
You roll your eyes. “Don’t get any bright ideas. My dad doesn’t need help, and you’d throw your back out trying anyway.”
You split off from the girls after a short goodbye and start the trot back home through Ponyville. One the way, you spy the town’s new librarian and her… dragon out and about.
The purple unicorn has her nose buried in a notebook as she slowly walks by, and her saddlebags are filled with what looks like books. The short dragon with her rides on her back, too engrossed with a Sugar Cube Corner cupcake to notice much else.
Supposedly, Princess Luna came back on the night of the last Summer Sun Celebration a few weeks ago, the same night that the librarian came to town. She and a few other mares fought Nightmare Moon and freed Princess Luna, or that's what the rumor mill says. You didn’t notice anything and slept through it, if it actually happened. Personally, you don’t believe it, but dad’s serious warning to be both wary and respectful of the purple unicorn trumps your reluctance to believe.
Dad is a lot of things, but a liar isn't one of them.
Deep thoughts over, you find yourself at your house and walk inside, shutting the door behind you to enjoy the air-conditioned interior. Man, it’s hot outside.
You trot up to your room, get your (dumb-looking) fillyscout uniform and trade your bookbag for your camping bag before coming back downstairs. “Hey, Dad!” You call. “I’m home!”
Silence is all you get in return.
With a frown, you trot to the kitchen and look around, not finding your lug of a dad, but a sticky-note stuck to the fridge. With a hum, you take the note and look it over.
Junior,
Went out to get a few last minute things. Home soon.
Love, Dad.
“Huh, okay.” You shrug and ball the note up in your hoof before tossing it in the trash.
With nothing to do and well over an hour and a half until you need to leave, you check your things one last time, then trot down the hall past the kitchen and living room to the den. You push the door open and take in the large room.
Inside is a human-sized loveseat facing a fireplace, mom and dad’s favorite place to relax. The mantle of the fireplace has several trophies and pictures, including a picture of mom and dad’s wedding and foal pictures of you and your little brother Redcross.
You look up at the wedding picture, not really seeing any noticeable difference between your parents back then and now, thirteen years later. Mom is as healthy as they come and everyone says dad ages like wine. You don’t know much about wine but assume it's a compliment.
Away from the mantle, you see dad’s gigantic backpack. It’s almost ridiculously huge and filled to bursting. A (probably custom) sleeping bag is rolled up and strapped to the top while a large shovel and an axe are strapped to the side. Well, the shovel and axe are large to you, and probably to any pony, but they’re probably more like an entrenching tool and a hatchet to dad.
Even further past the backpack and bookshelves, you see mom’s desk against the wall in the corner. It has several medical texts on it and a half-full crystal decanter of some amber booze. No doubt mom is using both studying to get some sort of license or a new degree.
In the other corner is dad’s collection of strange human things, the most notable being the mannequin.
When you were younger, that stupid thing scared the hell out of you and dad had the gall to laugh about it before giving in and comforting you.
The wooden dummy is garbed in what dad calls armor, but you’ve never seen armor like it before, as it’s nothing like the shining gold of the Royal Guard. So much stiff, blotchy, mismatched forest-colored fabric, interlocking buckles, so many pouches of weird sizes. Bits here and there in the arms, shins, and chest have what feels like metal plates under the fabric, and the open-faced helmet exposes the dummy’s blank wooden face to the world. It weighs so much and looks so cumbersome that you have lingering doubts dad actually wore this get-up at all, even if he says he did.
Above that in a locked glass case, is dad’s [rifle].
There is no Equestrian word for [rifle], nor is there a word for its classification as a [gun], so you have to refer to it in English. He said it’s a weapon, but refused to say more. You can plainly see where it is supposed to be gripped like a crossbow. You can almost feel the sensation of what holding it would be like in the phantom fingers your human-side sometimes thinks you have. The odd ghostly sensation makes your spine tingle, and looking at both the armored dummy and the [rifle] makes you vaguely uneasy.
There are other things in the corner, like a hilariously wrong world map dad drew from memory, some photos of dad’s late family and places from Earth, a few journals written in English, and a locked trunk you’ve never seen the inside of. No matter how many times you've asked or how hard you’ve begged, dad refused to open it.
Your eyes move over to the photos from Earth, to one of your grandparents.
It’s heavily faded, but the two humans are smiling and holding a much-younger Anonymous Sr, probably younger than you. He looks grumpy in the picture, and like always it makes you smile but still feel a strange mix of emotion that you don't really have a name for.
From the front room, you hear the muffled sound of the front door opening. “I’m home!” Dad’s booming voice announces.
You look away from the photos to turn to the door. “In the den, Dad!”
It only takes Dad a dozen or so strides to reach the den, and you can’t help but blink when you see his outfit.
Normally Dad wears something modest yet casual, but now he’s clad in a black, long-sleeved shirt that hugs his arms and torso tightly, showing off every line on his body. Below that is a set of rough pants the same blotchy, forest color as the armor on the mannequin, and you see a few spots where tears in the pants have been sewn up. His feet have plain brown boots worn from use, but you’ve never seen them before.
‘Oh Faust the girls are going to go apeshit when they see this,’ you think, looking at Dad’s torso.
”Oh, admiring the photos again?” Dad asks with a knowing smile, stepping closer.
“Yeah,” you reply, turning back to the one of Dad’s parents. “The one with you looking grumpy is always a laugh and a half.”
He lets out several deep laughs. “Ha! You’re not the first to say that. Your granduncle, who went by the name Peewee, told me when I was your age that cameras steal souls. Right before this picture, he finally told me it was a joke and I was sour the entire day.”
“And you believed him?” You ask, looking up at Dad incredulously.
”I did,” he says with one final laugh. “Uncle Peewee had a silver tongue and used it only for evil.”
You snort and turn back to the pictures. “Dad?”
”Hmm?”
“What were grandma and grandpa like?”
For a long second, Dad doesn't answer, then he reaches out and touches the glass of the picture frame, rubbing away some dust with a finger. “They were… intense, [daughter dearest],” he begins wistfully. “We were a poor family without much to our name. They both worked to support me and my sister, your aunt. They wished us to have better lives than they did, so their love was strict, seemingly unfair, or even harsh at times. Your aunt and I thought they hated us sometimes and were taking their misery out on us. I was your age when I ran away from home the first and last time. I spent four days in the cold winter before I gave up and returned home. Do you know what happened when I returned home?”
You shake your head, too caught up in the story to talk.
”Both of your grandparents fell to their knees, praising [the Lord] that I returned home safe, and saying aloud how they [loved] me. That was the first time I ever saw either of them shed tears,” Dad says quietly, picking the picture up and kneeling at your side. He drapes an arm across your back and pulls you into a half-hug that you step into. With the warmth of Dad’s side seeps into you as he continues. “It’s only now that they’re gone and that I have you, your brother, and your mother do all the things they taught me make sense. It’s only now do I really appreciate them. They were the best sort, and I can only hope I do as good a job with you as they did with me.”
You’re silent for a second as all the emotions inside you settle. “I think you're the best dad there is.”
Dad lets out a single laugh. It’s a short thing, just a sharp exhale through his nose as he hugs you a little tighter. “Thank you, [daughter dearest]. It means the world to me.”
After what you feel is an appropriate time to be mushy with your Dad (IE about 5 seconds), you pull away. “Ready to go?”
He gives you the same sharp-toothed grin you see in the mirror each morning, eyes dancing with an eager light. “Of course. Let’s be off, the great outdoors call!”