//------------------------------// // Stained Class // Story: Tangled Roots // by Bad_Seed_72 //------------------------------// Stained Class A gentle ringing of the butler’s bell at her door woke Babs Seed. She had dreamed of running through the same cobblestone streets, the exact ones she had roamed that night before, only, this time, Turner was running with her. It was nice ta have somepony care 'bout me like dat, iffa only fo' a night. “Madame Babs Seed?” Greyhoof said, rapping a hoof on her bedroom door. “It is time to get ready for school. Breakfast is on the table, m’lady.” “Thanks, Greyhoof,” she called, rolling out of bed reluctantly. Never an early riser, always a night owl, Babs groaned as she stretched. Too early. Why can’t school start at noon o' summat?! Sheesh. Forcing herself to trot out of the bedroom and into the second-story bathroom to get ready for school, Babs felt her thoughts turn to her dream once more. Now that she could reflect on it, she realized how was strange it was, what that Turner did. Why didn’t he immediately assume Babs had stolen the cider? Why had he been so nice to her? He hadn’t been responsible for what had happened, and had made no investment, placed no derivatives on Babs Seed’s happiness. She was not his foal, nor his ward. And, yet, the weathered stallion had not only not called for the law and not accused her of any crime, but stayed up for over an hour repairing her mane and talking to her… talking to her as if she were an equal. Such kindness was strange in this city of bits and bloodlines. “Prolly felt sorry fo' me,” Babs growled under her breath, flicking a light on in the bathroom. A few splashes of cold water made reality more tolerable, if not more tangible. Babs Seed didn’t have anypony she could truly call “friend”. There were a couple foals at school who were nice to her, or at least tolerated her. Truly, other than occasional foals joining in the teasing, Card Slinger and his thuggish followers were her only real antagonists. Those facts didn’t comfort Babs at all. To her, the bullies weren’t as bad as the void left by everypony else. Ain’t it too early ta be throwin’ a pity party fo' youzeself, already? Babs scolded her thoughts. Sighing, she finished getting ready for school, brushing her teeth and new manecut. Staring herself down in the mirror, she couldn’t help but agree with Turner’s words once more. She did look tough, and mysterious. Heading down the stairs, she said, “Hope everypony else thinks so.” ~ Thankfully, the journey to school was devoid of any theatrics this morning for Babs Seed. Fog had settled over the city while she slept, dissipating with the slow rise of Celestia’s burning ball of fire. The stores were beginning to open, vendors busily firing up their snack carts for yet another day of sales madness. Reaching the door of the schoolhouse, Babs Seed took a deep breath. She had read once, in one of her mother’s books about something called depression, that deep breathing was a good exercise for centering oneself before a stressful event or experience. Every morning, she did this, and it seemed to keep her cemented to the steps, rather than galloping away from them. It’ll be a good day ta-day. The little seed was a late bloomer in more ways than one, usually one of the last foals to slip inside the classroom before the bell accused them of delinquency and tardiness. Today was no exception. Babs trotted to the back of the classroom, grabbing one of the last desks available. The teacher, a mysterious, stern stallion addressed by the students only as “sir” or “mister”—he had never given them the pleasure of knowing his name—cleared his throat and rose from his desk at the head of the class. “Good mornin', foals. Please take out youze pencils an' settle down. Today will be the last science final o' the quarter befo' harvest break…” Harvest break? Shoot, how could I have forgotten ‘bout dat? Two weeks o’ freedom from dis stinkin’ joint! A smile spread across her cheeks. Just one more day. One more test. Not even eight hours. On test days, school was finished as soon as the students gave up their last shreds of hope and faith on the test papers—as soon as they turned their academic fates into the gleeful hooves of their no-nonsense instructor and his angry red pen. Babs Seed often found herself trotting happily back home, a spring in her step, usually less than an hour after her forehoof first met paper. Today would be no different. A rough forehoof with an overgrown fetlock poked her from behind. Babs Seed whipped herself around in her seat as the instructor continued to drone on about the ramifications of failing to demonstrate proper knowledge of rock identification. “What are youze grinnin’ 'bout, blankflank?” Boone, one of Card Slinger’s cronies, said. “Youze think youze got off easy, didja?” he jabbed, mocking her with his cutting tongue. From her peripherals, Babs came upon a startling discovery. Fencer, Lucky Toss, and even Slinger himself were absent today. The fifth member of Slinger's crude crew, a filly named Switch, was not here either. Many of the foals in her class were known juvenile delinquents and troublemakers. Fights, harassment, and truancy were ridiculously common, and her three attackers were the biggest offenders of all. However, she could not help but feel an eerie sickness in her stomach at their absence. At least when they were in the instructor’s eyes, on the city’s clock, Babs Seed would be safe from their eyes and hooves. Where are dey? Are dey gonna ambush me? Did somepony else catch dem last night? Will I be seein' dem again? One of her classmates was handing out copies of the geology test. Babs took a copy and watched with shock as the instructor yawned and headed out of the back door of the classroom without a word of warning to anypony, seemingly abandoning his salaried position for greener pastures. Dis crazy bunch musta finally got ta his head. Excitedly, the schoolfoals began to talk amongst themselves, neglecting their test papers or folding them into paper airplanes. Only the most studious bookworms began scribbling out answers. The rest rejoiced in their newfound anarchy. “Heh, heh." Boone chortled, nodding in the direction of the empty teacher’s desk up front. “Looks like youze guardian ain’t heeya now. Maybe somepony will give youze another manecut… looks like youze need one.” “What do youze know 'bout dat?” Babs snapped back. “Enough. Iffa youze snitched, youze is as screwed as Luna right befo' she became a part o’ the moon,” Boone warned. An impish grin spread across his speckled muzzle. “Iffa I was youze, I wouldn’t be stickin’ in town durin' Harvest Week. An Orange bitch like youzelf might get squeezed.” “What did youze jus' call me?!” Babs jumped from her seat, raising a hoof to strike Boone. Dat’s goin' too far! “Youze filthy piece ‘o—“ “O’ what?!” Boone was now the one to rise and met her gaze, hoof pointed straight at her. “At least I ain’t no pussified blankflank like youze! Cowerin’ in the streets, not even savin’ ma own flank!” Volume amplified in his vocal cords and he leapt upon his desk, several foals turning to watch the spectacle. Height could no longer offer any feeling of power to Babs Seed. She was big for her age, possessing height and weight on other fillies, but would never be able to match a colt in size, especially one standing tall on a desk. Looking down at his prey, Boone said, “But youze ain’t have nothin’ ta save, do youze? Do youze know what a blankflank is? It's worthless, garbage!” Displaying his cutiemark proudly—a liquor bottle, of all things in the crazy, topsy-turvy world, his was a liquor bottle—he mocked, “See, even I have one. It’s a crappy mark, sure, I’ll give youze dat, but it’s worth mo' than every bone in youze body! Oh, but youze got no bones, do youze? Well, wit' dat manecut, maybe youze is hidin’ one….” Nearby, a couple of colts busted into laughing fits, catching the innuendo. Babs blushed with a mixture of embarrassment and rage. The teacher’s absence accelerated this vicious brand of teasing and mockery to new levels. Not even twenty minutes into the school day, Babs was ready to leave. Not befo' I have some fun. Babs Seed drew her hoof back somewhere between Appleloosa and Manehatten and pushed forward with a year and a half of burning rage, meeting Boone across the cheek where his wretched smile began. Her hoof connected with marvelous accuracy for such an unskilled fighter, and she felt and heard a satisfying WHOMP! as bone struck bone. Time seemed to slow as she watched Boone stagger backwards, falling off the desk, landing on his rear end on the floor, his eyes incredulous and pained. A filly screamed somewhere behind her. A colt’s hooves met the floor and began rushing towards her. Her heart pumped excitedly, erratically, and in her muscles she felt righteous, hot, sweet, delicious anger. She cried out in surprise as a strong forehoof snaked around her neck, lifting her up. Boone was lying on the ground, his eyes barely open, with a steady stream of blood dripping down his chin. Her fun had been short-lived. The instructor was back from his venture—he had simply graced the outhouse with his presence for a few minutes—and had seen the whole thing. “Youze rotten little filly!” he barked in her ear, making her flinch. “Get outta ma classroom!” As the teacher roughly carried the squirming foal out of the classroom and towards the steps of the schoolhouse, a room full of fillies and colts watching with wide eyes, Babs Seed only had two thoughts in her head, both circling and chasing each other in a sickening carousel of exhilaration and dread. I finally did it! I finally freakin’ did it! And… Oh, Celestia, I’ve really done it now, I've really done it now... ~ Knock, knock. Greyhoof looked up from his newspaper, enjoying one of his legally-obligated fifteen-minute breaks on his master’s plush recliner. “Who could that be?” he wondered audibly. Master Orange and Mistress Orange were not expected to return until tomorrow evening. Madame Citrus Blossom was up in her room above the stairs, reading a celebrity gossip rag he had picked up for her from the marketplace. Madame Babs Seed was at school, hopefully performing well on her much-anticipated geology test. And, of course, all of the hired help possessed keys to the premises, so that ruled out Allspice or the other servants. No, Greyhoof knew this was truly an unexpected arrival seeking shelter at their door. Hoping it was not salesponies with suitcases full of chocolate bars—again—or traveling preacher ponies denouncing the evils of money-worship and cutiemark-envy—again—Greyhoof rose from his comfortable seat and headed over to the door, grumbling to himself. Knock, knock. “I’m coming!” Greyhoof opened the front door to his master’s majestic mansion, eyes alighting upon his visitor with a gasp. ~ It had been a typical day, nothing to write the folks back home about. Allspice had prepared a scrumptious breakfast of buckwheat pancakes with orange marmalade. Greyhoof had courteously finished the two that were presented to him, although his stomach growled for a third. Mindful of manners and calories, he had refused anything further, instead offering a stack to Madame Babs Seed before she departed for school. The foal looked despondent, sitting at the table with her head hung low, taking reluctant sips at a glass of orange juice in front of her. “Here you are, my dear. Buckwheat pancakes with orange marmalade. Your favorite,” he encouraged, smiling. He noticed that she had not been eating well lately. It was such a shame. She was beautiful, but would remain stunted if she continued to neglect her nutrition. Babs Seed pushed the plate away. “I’m not hungry.” The butler frowned. “Surely, Madame, you can find it in yourself to take a few bites?” “No, thank youze.” Babs shook her head. “I oughta be goin’ ta school anyway. I don’t wanna be late.” “Well, if you insist.” Greyhoof rose and took the plate away, discarding the remains into the trash. “I do wish you good luck today, Madame Babs Seed. I know you studied hard last night.” Ha. Ha. “Thanks, Greyhoof.” She offered him a weak smile before grabbing her saddlebags, heading out the door into the early morning mist. Allspice looked up from the sink of dishes to Greyhoof, worry shining on her muzzle. “She didn’t eat 'gain, did she?” Greyhoof sighed. “I tried my best.” ~ “Madame Babs Seed! What happened? Why are you not at school?” Brushing roughly past him, the foal ignored his questions, making a beeline for the stairs. There was only one pony she could speak to at this moment, and that pony did not parade around in a suit to please ponies who threw her crumbs. “Madame…?” Greyhoof closed and locked the door, then took a few, cautious steps towards his employer’s foal. Although he had yet to witness it for himself, the butler had heard the depths of Babs Seed's rage before, merely a week ago towards her sister this time. Citrus Blossom had hidden in her room for hours afterwards. He dared not tread on the same flaming road; he was getting too old to argue or deal with such foolish, uncouth behavior, such lack of class. “Go away, Greyhoof,” Babs barked, turning to meet his eyes. He could clearly see tears shining in the deep, green pools of her soul. The windows were threatening to break. “Madame Babs, I—“ “Just… go... AWAY!” ~ Babs Seed rushed up the remainder of stairs, reached her sister’s door, and began to pound on the oak with such force that she was afraid she might break it. Come on, sis, come on, please, I need youze now, fo' real, fo' true, please, open… She knocked over and over again, scraping her hooves desperately against the door, to no response. It’s a cycle. It’s jus' like yesterday. It’s repeatin' itself. Panicking, Babs knocked harder, reality spinning around her, over and over again. She needed out. Now. Out of what? Everythin'. Anythin'. Nothin'. To where? Ta anywhere. Wherever her hooves could take her. Wherever the wind could lead her. Wherever she didn’t have to deal with the bullies anymore. Wherever she could be with other ponies, other ponies who didn’t wear masks, other ponies who had never known her before. Babs was losing control, scraping against the door faster and faster, losing the ability to perform a proper knock. Tears were streaming down her face at last, the events of the night before and this morning combining and multiplying in their biting memories. “Sis… Citrus!... Sis!” she cried, praying for a response, just a murmur, just a whisper. “What?” She spun around. Behind her. Citrus had been in the bathroom across the hallway. She was here now, her eyes wide. She said nothing, extending a forehoof to Babs. The filly leapt upon it, leapt into her grasp. Thoughts were short now. Tears were thick and salty. Crying into Citrus Blossom’s chest. Feeling hooves tightening around her. Vaguely hearing Citrus whisper words of comfort into her ear, though she could not distinguish them. So many tears. Her sister’s fur became matted and wet. Sobs racked her body, making it hard to breathe. Babs Seed wheezed and coughed, gasped for breath. Her inhalations were getting shorter, more rapid, trying to compensate for the demand for oxygen within her cells. Her heart was racing so fast it hurt. Blood rushed rampant in her veins, filling her muscles with adrenaline, her whole body on fire. She wanted to run, to run and run and run until there was no energy left, no caloric reserves to allow her any last words. But she sat there, in the hall, latched to her sister’s hoof like a buoy in an unforgiving, treacherous ocean, as it all crashed down around her. I’m… I’m breakin'.