//------------------------------// // 28 - Rutabaga's Boy // Story: Sunny Starscout and The Mystery of Magic // by OneLonelyPickle //------------------------------// “What I know of tha Starscouts, what history can yet afford us, is that they were one of tha original families chosen to advise Rockhoof and Meadowbrook when Equestria fell apart.” Sunny’s brows pointed down, but she did not protest right away. Regan cleared his throat and continued. “Ye see, many of our founders came to tha Realm from elsewhere in tha country, specifically to tha Smokey Mountains. That’s where they found tha Hooffields and McColts, who each already had a large homestead protected by walls. With their permission Rockhoof and his entourage were allowed to stay. There were many refugees, but tha Starscout patriarch or matriarch – history doesn’t tell us which, lass…” Sunny’s eyelids were dangerously close to shutting completely. Regan shook his head. “Ack, fine, I’ll skip tha history lesson!” He shuffled his chair closer to Sunny’s. It was a rather cozy affair, the two of them in the small room lit only by the crystal on the wall. “At some point, tha Starscouts lost their position at tha side of tha realm’s Protector, superseded by tha Hooffields and McColts alone. They gained a lot of power from their estates, which tha Realm was founded on of course. Still, tha Starscout family never lost their spark to dream for a united Equestria. That was until your great-grandfather took ill.” Sunny swayed sleepily. She stayed awake but barely. Regan, impatiently, sighed. “Right, let me try and condense this further: yer great-grandfather liked to go on adventures, and he took his only daughter—aye, yer grandmother—with him everywhere he went. As for your great uncle, well, I guess he wasn’t tha type for it. Anyway, Argyle used his voice a lot in tha encounters they’d have with tha wildlife, especially to tha west – nasty sort out there.” Sunny’s interest piqued. “Yeah? Like what, like monsters?” “Ack, oh ye. Great big grizzlies, mosquito flies as big as a stallion” — Regan stretched his hooves out from either side of him as far as he could, and Sunny lit up — “and tha timberwolves! Vicious runts, them. Course they’re not like tha old magical ones, these ones are just normal wolves, bu—” “Did you say magic?!” Regan facehoofed. “No—well yes but… ack, I’m digressin’ ‘ere, I’m digressin’!” He motioned with two hooves straight forward as if to compartmentalize the discussion. “Listen, tha point is, your great-grandfather got ill, very ill, and now I’m starting to believe it was from using that voice of his! When he finally passed, well, he was very beloved, most of all by your grandmother. An’ that broke her, a lot.” Sunny looked down. She imagined her grandmother’s sad old face and felt bad for the anger she held towards her. Then Sunny remembered what her grandmother had said earlier that very day and Sunny soured. Regan continued. “Plus, imagine too, she later lost one of her daughters and her only son, your mother and uncle. And on top of that, after thinking for so long that your father and mother were living quietly in some corner of tha Realm, she learned that they died! It was crushing for her! Tall Tale was never tha same after that. But it got even worse when she learned about you.” “Me?” “Aye, she never knew about ye for tha longest time. Nopony here did. Tha pony who reported tha deaths of your mother and father to yer grandmother didn’t realize they had a daughter. They’d only heard about tha accident. So, Cerena only learned about you when news of a Starscout being hauled off to Castle Rockhoof hit Tall Tale, and you can imagine it didn’t take long for that rumor to get ‘ere!” Sunny cradled her head and slowly shook it side to side. “I’m confused… so she knew where mom and dad were but never came to say sorry?” “She didn’t know, or so tha rumors say. She only barely found out about tha ship accident. Maretime Bay is tucked away in a corner of tha Realm, rarely even considered. That’s why tha rumors travelled so fast when news broke that Tha Titan was personally travelling to take you for questioning. Usually, tha Realm neglects that part of tha land. “Moving on, I can’t say more than that about your grandmother, I don’t know her personally. But I think that gives a good description about why she acted tha way she did. Can you still blame her, after hearing that?” Sunny snapped. “Uhh… YEAH?! She tried to brainwash me with a potion, and she wanted to give Izzy up to those jerks at the Castle! Seriously Regan?” Regan sighed and leaned back, his head against the chair. “I don’t proclaim to agree with her actions. But I understand them.” He sat back up and looked at Sunny. His face looked so gentle and simple that Sunny calmed down. “Ponies have lost a lot, Sunny. Not just from tha last war, but from tha society we live in. We need each other to survive and to thrive, at least that’s what I believe.” He smiled so wide the tops of his cheeks closed his eyes. “Try and have an even hoof – everypony’s got two eyes that see differently than ye, and a heart that beats to its own tune.” He tilted his head and looked at Sunny seriously. “Or is it that ye think ye have all tha answers, Sunny Starscout?” Sunny thought for a moment and responded in her usual impassioned way, but with the occasional vocal trip. “O-obviously I don’t! But I wouldn’t do that… I wouldn’t hurt the ones I love… like that!” She looked down right away and silently stewed. Regan nodded. “Okay, okay. I understand, ye’re yer own mare. Just… give it thought, ye?” He stretched, and Sunny heard his bones creak. He grumbled tiredly. “I’m spent. Ye don’t mind if I hit tha hay, do ye? Ye can go see Rutabega, near tha top o’ tha tree. She can tell ye more about yer father.” Sunny broke out of her thoughts and scowled at Regan. “Hey! But you still didn’t tell me about this tree and the secret club!” Regan grinned. “But I thought all tha learnin’ stuff bored ye.” Sunny closed her eyes and crossed her hooves. “If it can help me accomplish my dream, I’ll take the chance at being bored to death!” She opened one eye. “So tell me!” Regan laughed. “Alrigh’. I think ye might like what I have to say. But—” He yawned loudly and smacked his dry lips. “I’ll tell ye tomorrow with tha rest of tha crew. Before we go off on that journey of yers.” Sunny leaned forward to get up and follow the departing Regan. “Wait, WE?” Regan waved goodnight. Sunny took off after him and pestered him all the way to his personal chambers – a good two-minute stroll through the Tree. Even as he went to close his door, Sunny stuck her head through the door. “I’m not tired anymore! You can’t leave me hanging like this Regan!” Regan’s jovial patience became a less-than-ecstatic one. “Go see Rutabaga, Sunny! She’ll keep ye entertained until bedtime – don’t stay up too late though! Big day tomorrow!” Then he closed, and locked, his tree-ring-patterned wooden door. Sunny grumbled at the door and stomped her hoof down. “That should be illegal, getting a mare all excited about something then just saying ‘oh ack, now ah’m goin’ ta go ta bed’!” Regan complained from the other side of the door. “Ack, I don’t sound like that!” “Tell me Regan!” “Go see Rutabaga, Sunny!” Sunny pouted angrily then wandered off aimlessly down the dim wooden hallway. She eventually stumbled upon a staircase and went up it. It turned and turned, a spiral that surely took her all the way to the top floor of the Tree. Sunny meandered around the top floor, noticing outside of the sparse few windows when she came upon them that she was indeed very high up on the tree based on the distance to the cave floor. Sometimes a closed wooden door like Regan’s would appear, but Sunny tried the doorknobs and they did not budge. By the third one she tried she became frustrated. “Fine! Bed it is!” But a soft, orange glow caught her eye near the end of the hall. Sunny reasoned it was candlelight, since the wavy glow reminded her of the sort that flames produced in the dark. Sunny silently strode down the hall and peered into the room. “Hello,” she said plainly. Tucked away at the edge of the tiny room, on an old rocking chair, was a scrunched up, wrinkled mare. A poofy grey bonnet adorned her crown, where no mane could be seen around the hat. Her fur was pale and peachy, and the aged lines on her face and especially around her mouth made her seem severely dehydrated or dried out like a raisin left in the sun for days. Despite that, the mare, covered in her grey shawl, had a kindly disposition. She looked up with greyed-out eyes, her body naturally shaking as Sunny saw happen a lot with the elderly. The old mare stopped the slow movement of the needle between her teeth and spit it out onto her lap. She had been sewing a cushion. “O-Oh. The voice of a y-young filly. Who are y-you, my deary?” The room was indeed lit by candlelight, coming from a single candle to Sunny’s left. She walked further inside. There was a bed with a thick checkered-pattern comforter (the same pattern as Regan’s sash) and a wardrobe as well. “My name is Sunny. Sunny Starscout. Are you Rutabaga?” Rutabaga’s face slowly lit up into the picture of wizened jubilation. She cackled joyfully and patted her knee. “Yes child yes. And you’re Argyle’s girl aren’t you? My my! I can… hear your mother in your voice!” Sunny nodded and smiled. “That’s right! Argyle was my dad and Caela was my mom.” Rutabaga’s head lowered and she tsked. “Was… oh, my boy. I forget sometimes that he’s gone. Imagine that—an old bird like me, forgetting something.” Sunny stepped closer. “Wait, YOUR boy!?” Rutabaga nodded. “That means you’re his mom so that means you’re…” Sunny inhaled sharply. “My grandmother! My other grandmother! N-Not other like lesser than my OTHER grandmother, but…” Sunny anxiously hopped in place, an electric smile on her face. Rutabaga cackled again. “Suppose I am, aren’t I? I was Argyle’s mother but, have a seat deary, there’s a tale to tell first.” Sunny did as suggested in the wink of an eye. The bed squeaked constantly as she failed to contain her happiness. “Oohhhh can I hug you granny? Or do you prefer grandma? Grandmother? Nanny? Nana? Oma?” Rutabaga rocked back and forth and waved a decrepit hoof. “You call me what you will deary, just don’t call me late to dinner!” She cackled. Sunny frowned. “I don’t get it.” Rutabaga regained herself and wiped at her eyes. “Nothing, deary. Okay, come give me a hug – but be gentle with my old bones.” Sunny managed to only squeeze the old mare a tiny bit. She smelled of moth balls, as did the room – it was a rather stereotypical grandmotherly smell. Sunny sat back down. “You said there was a story, and I want to hear more about my dad, but you have to know granny, history puts me to sleep.” Rutabaga overenthusiastically replied. “Ohhh, is that so, deary? Well let me cut to the chase then.” Sunny got an idea in her head. She waved her hoof just in front of Rutabaga’s face. The mare didn’t flinch or react. Rutabaga opened her mouth and Sunny sat back, smiling wide and guiltily. “Your father was an orphan. I was not his birth mother.” Sunny’s brow tightened close to her snout, though she wasn’t exactly sure how to feel. She leaned imperceptibly closer. “It’s a sad affair. You said no history but… hmm… how to tell it… hmmm… ahh, okay. It happened when Argyle was just a foal…” 40 Years Ago… Sideways rain pounded against the concrete structures of Trotonto. Many of them were half-built and covered with various tarps that blew in the harsh winds. The dirt and pebble streets, about two wagons wide, were filthy and wet, with visibility reduced due to the storm. A mare, umbrella tight within the grasp of her free hoof, hurried down the street. “How could I delay so much? Mister Argyle is going to fire me for sure! There must surely be an end to his patience! Ohhh…” She never liked Trotonto much. It was an up-and-coming city, built out of necessity, or so the rumors back in Tall Tale said. Apparently, each of the pony races needed to trade with one another to keep food on the collective tables, to keep the populations happy despite the constant on and off battles and wars between the races. “Nothing to do with me,” Rutabaga thought. “But Mister Argyle asked me to come here on an errand—and here I am getting soaked because of it. Ohhhhh but it’s Mister Argyle! I couldn’t say no to him!” The only ponies who would risk it in the torrential rain were the soldiers, who had no choice. Their stone helmets did little to stop the rain, and altogether may have made it worse for them. Rutabaga passed two of them standing outside an alleyway. A couple of young ponies were huddled under a piece of cardboard opposite the soldiers, and down the alleyway Rutabaga could see the signs of tiny fires desperately clinging to life amidst the dripping rainwater. She saw more young ponies. Something made her stop. “This is…” she thought out loud. One of the soldiers barked at her. “Orphan Alley, yep! Listen lady, it’s bad enough having to be posted here during a rainstorm. Move along unless you’re feeling like taking a ticking timebomb into your house!” The other soldier chuckled. “Heh, yeah ma’am, here. Look at this one!” He pointed his spear down at a shaking pony. “The freak was dropped off by Hornheads, one of theirs, and no horn! Looks like a flipping Earth Pony! You wouldn’t even know any better!” Rutabaga’s eyes followed the direction of the pointed spear to see the foal, green-furred, shivering from the cold, but a bitterness and an edge made him snap back. His companions also glared at the soldiers. “Whatever, jerkhead! I bet we could all beat you up if we tried!” The other ponies agreed. The soldier stepped forward. “What did you say, freak?” His fellow soldier stopped him. “Relax Carl, it’s not worth it. If Sir Aurelius found out that you caused an incident, you KNOW you’d be getting a hundred lashes! Imagine if one of the Featherfreak or Hornhead troops came through here when we weren’t looking!” The soldier grumbled and positioned himself back into place. Rutabaga’s mouth hung down. “So it’s true! An alley where they put all the abandoned ponies born of a different race than their parents!” As Rutabaga had heard, many ponies of all three races were happy to have a place they could dump their unwanted offspring off but not spell their guaranteed doom by doing so. Even evil parents hold some glimmer of kindness, Rutabaga supposed. She glared at the soldiers. “Shame on you! These children should be housed in proper orphanages!” “These freaks? Get out of here, lady! Don’t you know where we are?” A tiny throat clearing down the alley drew Rutabaga’s attention. A small foal, his fur a light blue, a wave of striking midnight-colored hair swept up for a mane on his head, stepped forward. A little blob of snot hung from his nostril. A wooden necklace hung on his neck—Rutabaga surmised that the symbol was some sort of star. He had a Cutie Mark of a falling yellow star. The foal adjusted his dirty, crooked glasses. “Actually, ma’am, I s-suppose they have reason. These soldiers here. Well, you see…” He stumbled over his words somewhat. Rutabaga was intrigued. “T-The orphanages are horribly run, very expensive to the Realm, which has to pay for half the cost. It’s much more commercially viable to keep us here in this, well, hmmm, s-slum.” The foal sniffed his snot back into his nose. He hazarded a glance up to Rutabaga, but quickly looked down. “Hello, I don’t have a name but, might you stay for a chat, f-for a minute or two? I’m very bored, the other ponies here don’t really—” “Can it Starbrain!” The other foals laughed and prodded. “Yeah! Take your stupid necklace and your fancy words and get back there with the garbage—you both belong there!” They all laughed. One of the soldiers chuckled quietly until his buddy flicked him. Rutabaga glared at the foals. “You treat your own misfortunate companion this way? Shame on you as well!” The bespeckled foal adjusted his glasses again and looked down to the wet pavement. “N-no, they are quite right, ma’am. As I am smaller and weaker and I have a more advanced vocabulary—well, the nail which sticks out tends to get hammered, as they s-say.” Rutabaga glared first at the foal, then her gaze softened. She drowned out the laughter of the others, the pitter patter of the rain, the occasional creaking of a passing wagon. The foal looked up at her, and their eyes truly met. His were grey but vibrated with a hidden passion tainted by a longing sadness. She wanted a foal more than anything else. She had wanted one when she was pregnant the first time, and the second time as well. When both of those failed, she had still wanted one. Even after her husband passed of the pony pox, even then, she had still wanted one. Fate works in mysterious ways, my dear Rutabaga, is what her master Mister Argyle would say. Apparently, a wandering hermit taught him that. She risked a tiny smile. “Okay. I’m going to do it! I hope Mister Argyle doesn’t really fire me after all!” The little foal cocked his head. “Uhh ‘M-Mister Argyle’, ma’am?” She snatched up that little foal, and never again did she willing let go of him. She placed him on her back and ran as fast as she could away from the Alley. He clung to her tight. “P-PARDON MY INQUISITION BUT… W-WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?” the foal roared about the downpout. Rutabaga smiled from the heart. “Home.” Sunny smiled from cheek to cheek, her tail swishing and her ears flickering. She had heard something about a concrete city, some rain, and some giant jerkface soldiers of the Realm, but most importantly she heard that Rutabaga had found her dad in a scary alley and saved him. Rutabaga cackled nostalgically. “Ah yesss it was so long ago now. Before the last of the wars, mind you. Scary times, but Argyle made it worth it. It wasn’t always easy… especially at the start, hmm. We never had a dull day, him and I. Between the work I had to perform for your family, and Argyle, and the fun times we all had together, it was a life worthy of recounting.” Sunny opened her eyes. “So that’s why my dad has the same name as my great-grandfather! You named my dad after him, right?” Rutabaga nodded. “But of course! I named all my pet gerbils after him, too. And my cat, Argyle Fussywhiskers. Your father and I lived just down the street from the Starscout home, back when that street used to be filled with all sorts of ponies down on their luck. Your family always helped the less fortunate, always made everypony seem wanted.” Rutabaga sighed, and hearing such an old, kind soul make such a sad noise made Sunny’s heart throb. “But such things are in the past. So, I am here now, with the Society, in this Tree.” She smiled. “I have learned a lot about Equestria’s past, what with having all the time in the world now that I am retired. I like being here.” Sunny shuffled in place on the bed. “Were my dad’s parents Unicorns or Pegasi? Did you ever find out?” Rutabaga sighed for a long time. “Argyle was a Unicorn child. That necklace, I learned not long ago, has an image of a Cutie Mark that is very important to the Unicorns. A famous princess of theirs once had it.” She paused to swallow. “T-though none of the books here go into much more detail. Argyle said that necklace was the last thing he had of his family. We never learned what his family name was, so I gave him Starshine.” Sunny looked down sadly. “The necklace… he never took it off. It was lost… in the accident.” Rutabaga made a pleasing noise. “But you know, I am happy that he pursued what he loved. Oh your mother—he was quite taken with her, as you can guess.” Sunny smiled. “But what they did, taking to the sea, charting the sky and navigating—that was always what Argyle wanted to do. To be free from the land, to see the oceans and the clear blue yonder. Your mother loved adventures as much as your great-grandfather, and I suppose everyday was an adventure on the sea.” She closed her eyes and sat back, humming joyfully to herself. “What was it like, that place where you lived?” Rutabaga asked. Sunny scratched her cheek. “Where to start? Maretime Bay… hmm…” Sunny and Rutabaga went on and on into the night talking about Sunny’s foalhood, where she was raised, and what she remembered of her parents. And Rutabaga shared all manner of insights and stories about Sunny’s parents. Rutabaga was the head servant of the Starscouts, though from her recollection of her exciting life it sounded like she was a servant only by title. Sunny envied the position by the time she dozed off during Rutabaga’s recital of her family history. Rutabaga nudged Sunny under the covers of the bed. She was accustomed to sleeping in her rocker anyway, Rutabaga reasoned. She watched (and heard) Sunny’s snoring. She cackled quietly. “Just like Mister Argyle.” She got up, snuffed out the flame, and retrieved her ancient earbuds from her wardrobe. “Never thought I would use these again…ohoho… extra insulated.” And then she joined the world of sleep alongside the rest of the ponies inside the Tree. Cerena’s room was thoroughly trashed. She had upturned every dresser’s drawer, spewed all the contents of her wardrobe over the floor, broken all the valuable picture frames of all the photographs she had yet remaining on her vanity. They were rare things—an Earth Pony did not come upon the means to produce Unicorn-grade photographs every single day. But Cerena had not cared. She found herself heaving, staring at the ceiling, all her earthy robes cast upon the floor. She looked at her hooves. Then she looked over at the mirror of her vanity. She got up as she did and saw herself. It was like her mother looked back in the old times. Her stern mother—it was always a mystery why she chose Cerena’s father as her life partner. Perhaps it was his status. Perhaps his good looks. Perhaps his infectious personality. His charm. His kindness. His love of life and his humor. Cerena teared up. “Mother would ensure me I am doing the right thing right about now. Father would—” Cerena bit back her tears. “It does not matter.” She descended her double box spring bed and searched for a photograph among the mess on the floor. Finding the one she had in mind, she straightened it out on her bed and observed. Willder, Caela and Argyle, her daughter’s husband, smiled up at her. Three youthful faces, laughing, almost mocking the old crone. Cerena sighed sadly. “Did I fail you?” A knock at the door. “Grandmother? We haven’t had any luck yet finding them. My guys want to go home now. Uhh, I’m kind of tired too… and hungry…” “Furyis!” Cerena was startled. She rubbed her eyes and looked about her room as if she could clean it all up in a jiffy with the right plan. She realized her foolishness and collapsed onto her haunches with a defeated sigh. “Very well. Call them off for tonight. Come up here with tomorrow morning, please.” Cerena heard the sound of hoofsteps gradually diminish. She looked at a bunched-up dress not far away. She smiled. It was white and of an intricate design. Many ponies saw it one day long ago, but only one stallion saw it in on her in that room. Cerena felt rage welling up inside. “You just had to go off and fight in that stupid battle! Why?” Cerena looked around and saw a clean-cut suit hanging in her wardrobe. She hadn’t touched that one. She went up and grabbed the suit at its neck. “Why did you leave me to go fight when the other Earth Ponies could have done it? You should have been here with me, if you had stayed, everything could have been different, and now I’m alone and look at all the mistakes I made!” She shook the suit as her crying resumed. “Why did you go, my love? I—” Cerena let herself fall to the floor in front of her wardrobe. She quietly sobbed into a scarf. In her head she once again watched her father pass away, reduced to nothing but skin and bones by the end. Then she relived seeing the bundled remains of her husband come back to the Starscout mansion. She relived the looks of her children that day, the sadness and the horror. She relived seeing them leave her, one by one. Even Lumina had become so distant… Or… has it been me? Cerena was beside herself. The light waned on. Her eyes and throat sore, the scarf she had cried into thoroughly drenched in salty water, Cerena looked up and caught a glimpse of a drawing at the corner of her vision. She sniffled and reached for it. She held it up. The young mare was sketched out in pencil—whoever it was that gave the report to Cerena, he was an excellent artist. He had captured her granddaughter well. He did a great job getting the fire in her eyes. “Oh Sunny…” Cerena traced her hoof along the cheek. “What have I done?”