//------------------------------// // Reunion And Dissolution // Story: Tangled Roots // by Bad_Seed_72 //------------------------------// Reunion And Dissolution Beaming with pride at her new Cutie Mark Crusader cape, Babs Seed excitedly waved goodbye to Applejack, Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo through the train window. She waved and waved until her new friends became dots on the horizon. In spite of all that had happened, Babs Seed liked Ponyville. Far more than she imagined, really. Listening to Citrus Blossom’s description of the town, she had expected to be taken to a series of slums full of careless, uncouth ponies shouting obscenities in the street and throwing mashed alfalfa at each other. While Citrus was not as haughty as her parents, and did not assert that Manehatten was the be-all-end-all of Equestria, it had been hard for her to hide her displeasure while seeing Babs off. Sitting down in the sleeper cab, Babs's thoughts drifted to the promise she had made to the Cutie Mark Crusaders. She intended to keep this promise, unlike her broken vow to Turner. But how am I supposed ta start a new Cutie Mark Crusaders chapta? I’m the only foal in ma class without a cutiemark… Frowning, Babs felt discouraged from the start. The numbers were against her already. It required at least two foals to have a club. Having only one would look, well, just pathetic. “Think, Babs, think, think, think." She groaned, whacking herself in the head with a forehoof as she did so. Only foal in ma class without a cutiemark… Only foal… in ma class without… … In ma class… Now, it was Babs Seed who needed Scootaloo’s conveniently-placed lightbulb above her head. She shot up from her seat as she realized it. “O' course!” ~ For the first time in weeks, Babs Seed finally saw her parents again. They were sitting on a bench in the Manehatten train station, bored, her father with a newspaper and her mother giving herself a hooficure. Citrus Blossom was there too, impatiently bouncing her hooves on the marble floor of the station. Cantering over to them, Babs exclaimed in joy, “Ma! Da’! Sis!” “Babs!” Mother Orange called out, dropping her hoof-file on the bench and rushing over to her daughter. The white, tangerine-maned mare caught her daughter in a tight embrace as she jumped into her hooves. “Oh, Babs, honey, it’s been far too long!” Squeezing her mother, Babs said, “I missed youze!” “I missed you too, darling!” “You were late,” Father Orange barked, folding his newspaper and securing it under one of his shoulders. “What, don’t they have clocks in that dirt town your niece loves so much?” he jabbed, casting a disapproving gaze at his wife. “Seriously, Bernie, do you really have to start this crap up already? The poor dear hasn’t seen you in two weeks!” “Dammit, Libra, I told you not to call me that name in public!” he snapped back. Father Orange’s real name was “Bernie Madhoof,” a terrible combination of names he swore his guardians had bestowed upon him out of pure spite. In the business world, he was “Sir,” “Mister,” “Boss,” or simply “Mister Orange”. At home, he was “Sir Orange” or “Master Orange” from the servants, “Father” or “Darling” to foals and wife. He was seething at Libra Scales’ use of his past name, the name that cursed him until he had enough bits to will it away out of pure power and prestige. Libra Scales released Babs, who sensed a storm brewing and decided to catch up with her sister instead. As the guardians of the Orange Family began to tell each other how they really felt, in public, to an audience of several confused station customers, Citrus Blossom quietly led Babs Seed outside to the awaiting taxi-carriage. “So, um, hon, how was Ponyville?” “It was ah-mazing!” Babs said, smiling brightly. “Well, at first it wasn’t real good—“ Familiar tales crept back up Citrus's spine. “Did… did anypony tease you?” “Well, um,” Babs said, “a little. A teeny, tiny little. Nothin’ like back heeya. But… I sided wit' dem bullies.” Citrus paused, pricking her ears towards her parents, waiting to hear the inevitable heavy hoof-steps and frustrated harrumphs that translated to "we are going home now and everypony shuddup or it’ll just light our fuses again". She sensed that there was a long, long story for Babs Seed to tell, and didn’t want it to be interrupted by the foalishness of their parents. However, there were no such hoof-steps. The taxi-carriage driver cast a quizzical look at Citrus Blossom and asked, “Ma’am, ah… where’s the otha two o' youze?” “Um… it might… be a while on them.” “Ah. Well… dat’ll cost youze. Time is money.” “That’s fine,” Citrus Blossom said. “We’ll pay the extra. Um… will you excuse us for a moment?” The taxi-pony shrugged, unhitching himself from the carriage. “Sure. Whateva, lady,” he grumbled, heading off towards a bench down the road to light his tobacco pipe. “Come on, Babs. Let’s talk in here for a second until Mom and Dad are… finished.” Babs turned around and saw that her parents were still near that same train station bench, her father’s forehooves in the air and a vein beginning to twitch in her mother’s neck. Ha, dis’ll be a long, good one. “Okay, Citrus.” Following her sister into the taxi-carriage, making sure her cape didn’t get caught on the steps, Babs Seed couldn’t help but worry. Is she gonna scold me iffa I tell her what I did back in Ponyville, how I sided wit' dem bullies? Patting the seat next to her, Citrus beckoned, “Come here, little sis.” “Uh, Citrus, why did we have ta go in the taxi?” Babs asked, scooting next to her. “I just didn’t want youze to feel embarrassed talking about things in front of the taxi-pony,” Citrus Blossom lied, putting her pearly whites on display. In truth, she was attempting to shield Babs from their parents' latest fight, which sounded like it was going to be a long one. Citrus had noted the pure, unrefined joy in Babs Seed’s eyes when she was talking about how great Ponyville had been. She was not naive—she knew her sister had lied to her before, and was capable of lying again—but something in her vibrant eyes told Citrus that Babs was not fibbing. Whatever caused her happiness, she wanted to seek and find, treasure and keep, utilizing it when it would be needed in the future. “Oh. I don’t mind him.” “Good, sweetie. Annnyway… tell me about Ponyville.” Cautiously, Babs Seed recounted the near-two weeks of torment she had inflicted on the Cutie Mark Crusaders, words tingling with regret, but not as difficult to recount this time. She would never be truly over the guilt, but, for now, it was but a scar—a little uncomfortable to pick at, although the bleeding and pain had ceased. She left out no sin, however small it was, and her sister laughed, gasped, and muttered incredulously appropriately. Just how had Babs Seed crawled out of that movie screen, anyway? “So… they saved youze from crashing into the lake, huh? That’s pretty sweet of them. You were lucky they have the hearts they do,” Citrus scolded, shooting her a disappointed glare. “You, of all foals, should’ve known better.” Celestia, I did know better, but it’s not so easy ta do the right thing all the time, don’t youze realize? Babs sighed, nodding slowly. “I-I know. But… we forgave each otha, an' now I have dis awesome Cutie Mark Crusada cape!” Holding out the fabric to her sister, proud of its crest, the filly shot a most hopeful smile towards her sister. Citrus Blossom examined the cape, impressed with its craftsmanship. “My, my, this is lovely fabric, Babs. You say the Crusaders made this?” “Sweetie Belle made it. Out of her sister’s fabric, that is.” “… And who is her sister?” “Hmm… I think it’s… Rarity? Yeah, Rarity.” Citrus Blossom's eyes grew large as bits. “Rarity? The Rarity?!” She gasped, shaking Babs Seed by the shoulders. “Are you serious?!?!” “Y-y-yes C-C-Citrus!” What the hay’s gotten inta youze?! “S-s-stop it!” Shocked at her foalishness, Citrus Blossom immediately released her sister, who fell back into the cab seat with an OOF! “I’m sorry, Babs, sweetie! It’s just… Rarity…” Her eyes began to sparkle and shine, fashion lines of past and present rushing through her mind. “She is such an excellent designer! I have several from her collection, and… oh, I didn’t know she lived in Ponyville! If I knew, I would’ve come along with you just to meet the mare!” Babs face-hoofed as Citrus Blossom sat in her own, fangirlish world, muttering excitedly to herself about rhinestones and glitter. I love youze, sis, but youze is damn crazy. Just before she was about to slap her sister out of her jeweled reality, Citrus continuing to babble about fashion over and over again like a psychotic record with its needle stuck, the door to the taxicab opened. In came Mother and Father Orange, both with frazzled manes and unimpressed expressions. “Scoot over, Babs." Father Orange growled, buckling himself into the carriage. “Hey, where is that damn driver?” Sticking his head out the window next to his wife, he barked, “Hey! Jockey! Can I get some service here?! Horseapples!” With many hasty apologies and a quick fitting of a horse-collar, the Orange Family clan was on its way back to Manehatten Hill, where it belonged. ~ At the dinner table, Babs Seed couldn’t help but note the contrast between this dinner and the one at the Apple Family home. She was beginning to annoy herself with her observations, contradictions seemingly popping up at her everywhere like crude jack-in-the-box toys planted by a gleeful prankster. She couldn’t help but feel that something was definitely... off here. Greyhoof and Allspice sat the foot of the table, saying nothing to anypony but springing to their hooves whenever Father Orange pointed a hoof at his glass, refilling it with cider or wine to his liking. Mother Orange was not much better, and halfway through the meal complained that the kale was overcooked, prompting Allspice to prepare a fresh batch for her. Why don’t dey jus' do it demselves? Why do we have ta have servant-ponies? Is cookin’ real hard anyhow? Applejack sure made it look easy. “Babs, honey, how was Ponyville?” Mother Orange asked, nudging her husband in the side. Her silent stare read, Why don’t you ask her too, you mook? Clearing his throat, her father tossed in, “Er, yes, Babs, how was… Dirtville?” “It’s not dat dirty!” Babs snapped. “It’s not dirty at all. Just because dey stay on a farm, doin’ real work, doesn’t mean dey’re pigs!” Citrus Blossom mouthed “Don’t!” to her, sensing yet another storm rolling in. Babs Seed felt it, too, and began to summon her mental prowess to calm it. Give the ol’ stallion credit. He hasn’t left Manehatten in years, the haughty— “Young filly, don’t you dare raise your tongue at me!” Father Orange growled, knocking back another shot of cider. “You’re damn lucky we sent the bits to get you to that crapshack in the first place, Celestia knows what for.“ “Heh, heh, she just wanted to see the Harvest Day Parade, right, Babs?” Citrus assured him, winking at Babs. Ha! “Yea, o’ course. Sorry, Pops.” Babs Seed feigned a frown as best as she could, secretly busting up in laughter within her mind. Oh, it was sundown and he was already buzzed, she could tell. Normally, she would be fearful of her father when he met with his first and true love, alcohol. Being a Cutie Mark Crusader now, she felt no fear, because she could tell him off, just as she had told Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon where to go. “Bah, whatever. Anyway, how was your stay? Did they have a room, or did you stay in the pigpen?” Allspice and Greyhoof exchanged curious glances. Master Orange was rather rowdy on a night that was just beginning. How many more shots and glasses would they be ordered to pour him until he lost himself and his consciousness in the yeast? Snickering, Babs said, “Oh, no… it was much mo'… comfortable than dat.” “Please tell me, dearie, they at least had a guest room for you?” her mother offered, attempting to inject some positivity into the conversation. Babs Seed shook her head. “Nope, I slept in Apple Bloom’s room.” Father Orange nearly spat out his wine. “… You shared a room with that filly?” Huh? Her eyes narrowing, Babs hissed, “What do youze mean…’ dat filly’?” “Well, in case you didn’t notice, darling,” Bernie Madhoof spat mockingly, “she doesn’t have a cutiemark.” Oh, no, no, no, no. Not dis crap again. This wasn’t the first time the subject of cutiemarks had been brought up by the Orange patriarch. In fact, he sometimes seemed obsessed with the subject, braying on and on to his daughters—his youngest daughter in particular—about how he received his, how old he was he was when it appeared, how proud he was when Citrus Blossom’s mark had came, etc. etc. ad nauseum. Sometimes, when he thought Babs Seed wasn’t listening, he would remark to his wife that he was afraid Babs would never get hers, and her development would arrest, transforming her into a basement-dwelling mare who sat around and wrote Daring Do fanfiction all day. “So what?” Babs challenged. “I don’t have ma cutiemark eitha. Do youze call me ‘dat filly’ too?” CRASH! A wineglass fell to the ground, dropped by the careless hoof of… Citrus Blossom? “Oh! I’m so sorry! Um, uh, Greyhoof, can you, um assist?” Citrus Blossom stuttered, eying her sister sternly. She turned to her father, laughing nervously. “Sorry Da’, I didn’t mean to inter—“ “Yeah, I do.” The dinner table went silent, Greyhoof freezing in mid-rise from his seat as he reached to grab a broom to clean up the broken glass. Youze… youze… “Really?” Babs sneered. “Are youze serious right now?” The stallion rose from his seat and threw the stool on the ground, wood hitting marble with a CRACK! of splitting cellulose. “Yeah, I am. You know what? It’s been almost two years since a buckin' mark should've appeared on that huge flank of yours. Yeah, I said huge.” The stallion uttered a low growl, swaying as he spoke. “For a daughter of mine, you look like a colt.” Stay strong. Babs smirked and remarked, “Ma manecut looks good. Other ponies like it.” “Fillies, I bet!” The stallion laughed cruelly at his daughter as a blush graced her cheeks. “Oh ho, so I was right. Knew it from the moment we brought your ungrateful hooves into my house.” Another stool shattered into pieces against the marble flooring as Citrus Blossom had had enough. “Dammit, Dad! Go to bed, you’re drunk!” Citrus whipped past Babs Seed, blocking view of the filly from her father. “You’ve said enough. The cider is just talkin’ through youze.” 'Gain, Babs Seed mentally added, rolling her eyes. “Bernie, that’s enough,” Libra Scales said, throwing a hoof around her husband’s shoulders. “Luna is starting to bring the moon down. Let’s go to bed. We can talk about this tomorrow morning.” While sweeping up the remains of the wineglass, Greyhoof said, “There is going to be a comet passing by tonight, sire. Perhaps if you retire soon, you’ll be able to see it?” Bernie Madhoof gazed about the scene, barely registering the words spinning around him. He had just been angry, but with which pony? Somepony had just called him out, but which one was it? They all seemed to blend together, like paper pony dolls at Hearth’s Warming Eve-time. He decided it was that gray one over there, in the corner. Babs Seed saw the forehoof coming down against the butler's cheek, heard the cracking of bone on bone, felt the vibrations in the marble as the elderly stallion landed hard on the floor. She just couldn’t believe it. “Greyhoof! Greyhoof!” She rushed over to his side, where Allspice had propped him up against the wall and was examining his wounds. Mother Orange dragged her husband out of the dining room, even as he continued to drone on and on about cutiemarks, telling the same familiar story of his own self-discovery to an audience of none. “Greyhoof, are you okay?” Babs whispered, her eyes filling with tears. The butler opened one of his eyes, the other beginning to swell shut. He smiled weakly, answering breathlessly, “I’m fine… better I take the blame than you, Madame.” But nopony should’ve taken blame fo' anythin’… nopony should’ve given him dat much. Dat, o' he shouldn’t drink anyway! Pleading with her sister for guidance through pained eyes, Babs Seed kept looking back to Citrus Blossom, then back to Greyhoof, then back to her again. Citrus, unfortunately, was just as stunned as the foal below her, and had no wise words to offer, nothing to say to turn this sudden act of violence into a life lesson. Greyhoof took the reins instead. Wobbling on his hooves, he slowly began to stand up with the aid of both mares, and politely asked Babs Seed to bring him some ice. As she galloped away towards the ice chest in the basement below, the withered old butler-pony turned to Citrus Blossom and remarked, “M’lady, consider this my resignation. Once I can stand well enough to pack, I’m leaving this Celestia-damned mansion.”