//------------------------------//
// Hi Friend 
// Story: Hungry 
// by Cryosite 
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Purple eyes peered back at Scootaloo, while she contemplated her reflection. I might meet Apple Bloom on the way to school if I hurry. She set her coat-brush down, inspected her teeth in the mirror, then gave herself a quick once-over. Her mane and tail had their customary windblown look instead of the knots and snags acquired during sleep, and her coat was smooth and free of “the fuzzies.” While she didn't spend much time on her appearance, she at least took care of the minimal amount needed to look presentable and avoid being teased.

She hopped up on the countertop, twisted in place, then leaped through the open bathroom doorway with wings spread. She used the precious bit of height gained to glide down the hall. She was tempted to try to flap her wings, but she knew the result would be a loss of lift, and she'd be on the ground again sooner. The clatter of her hooves against the hardwood flooring of the kitchen meant she'd managed to clear the entire carpeted hallway again, but the indignant voice from within the kitchen preempted any celebration.

"What have I told you about buzzing around inside the house, Missy? Just because your father isn't home yet doesn't mean it's safe to be careening through the air. I don't fancy a faceful of filly in the morning."

Scootaloo gave an uneasy smile, tucked her wings to her sides and slid to a stop near her spot at the table then promptly sat down. The smell of oatmeal greeted her in the steam rising from the bowl in front of her, and she tucked in. It was bland, but that was normal. As it was unable to hold her attention beyond the minimum needed to consume it, she shifted her attention from her breakfast to watch her mother prepare herself a mug of coffee.

Misty Meadows' expression, as usual, was like her drink: a relaxed mix of warm and bitter. Scootaloo often wondered how much of the drink she favored every morning was absorbed by her mother. It matched her coat and demeanor well. Her green-gray mane reminded Scootaloo of a foggy field as she often saw on her way to school this season. Her mother's most striking feature were her golden eyes, which stood out like the sunrise on an otherwise gloomy day, set in perpetually drooping eyelids as if she were always just waking up. 

She chewed on a warm, lumpy mouthful of oats, while her mother slowly plodded towards the table with the handle of her mug held in her mouth. Scootaloo tended to view the world around her as a variety of places to climb on, launch from, land on, or ramp off of. Her mother had the broad back and shoulders typical of an earth pony, and perching there as a foal had instilled a lot of fond memories. They were a thing of the past, though. Like her mother’s rules about the surfaces within the house, her back had long been off-limits.

The scrape of her spoon against the bottom of her empty bowl as she went for another bite brought Scootaloo’s attention back to more important matters. "Mom, may I have another bowl please?"

"I think one bowl is enough this morning, Scootaloo." Misty Meadows glanced over her newspaper as she spoke.

"Daddy wouldn't say it was enough." Her brief frown vanished, chased away as she thought of her father’s return to Ponyville.

"Of course he wouldn't; you inherited his gluttony. All the same, we need to make it last until next week, and I only cooked enough for one serving. Wash up your bowl." With her piece spoken, Misty Meadows turned her attention to the newspaper in front of her and took a long draught from her mug. The conversation was over.

Scootaloo carried her bowl to the sink in her mouth, dropped it in and splashed a bit of water from the faucet into it. Good enough.

She dropped her lunch, a wild dandelion and grass sandwich wrapped in waxy paper, into its special pocket in her saddlebags. Scootaloo saw everything else she needed was there after a quick glance in the main compartment, so she donned the bags and cinched them comfortably around her middle. Scootaloo headed out the door, hooves a bit shaky as she fastened the chinstrap of her helmet. Though not as full as she would have liked, her tummy was warm with oatmeal, and the early spring weather was cool but no longer cold. Don't think I'll need a scarf or anything. Maybe Apple Bloom will have an extra apple for me at lunch.






“Bye, Mom!” was her daughter's cheery farewell.

As usual, her young filly seemed absorbed in her own little world of school and friends, and she appeared to pay no notice to her annoyances. Scootaloo often had the attention span of a gnat it seemed.

Misty Meadows had never been much of a morning pony. Another missed day of work and nothing in the newspaper was interesting enough to hold her interest until her train. The mare's thoughts were buzzing around in her head gnat-like, while she made futile attempts to distract herself from them by occupying her hooves with cleaning.


It was a slow day at Barnyard Bargains that morning. Her paperwork was all caught up, so she left her office to see how her subordinates were doing. Following her intuition, she checked on Lyra first, and she found her staring off vacantly into space, humming to herself. She startled the mint-green mare and sent her off to mop some floors, to remain busy. The two colts working registers were chatting with each other, but they tried to look busy when they noticed her approaching. She sent one to spot-check the shelves and make sure they were displaying correctly. Misty Meadows shook her head and sighed. A typical slow day, with unmotivated employees. 

At the sound of the little bell hanging over the door, she turned to greet whatever customer had entered and was startled to see the serious expression of her boss. He gave her “that look” then walked with purposeful strides to her office. Something wasn't right. It was turning into an atypical day.


A towel and a plate performed a frenetic dance in her hooves. Speaking out loud to herself, Misty Meadows mimicked her boss's drawl, “You can't even manage a single filly properly, how can I trust you to manage my employees?” Some of the details were a little hazy in her memory, but the implications were clear enough. Scootaloo had gotten into a fight with the boss's daughter, Diamond Tiara. Filthy Rich didn't fire her, since she was a valuable and experienced employee, but she had been demoted with a corresponding cut in pay. Of course, the “official” reason was poor performance, but that was clearly a lie. They’d spent most of the meeting covering clearly fabricated faults and frivolous customer and coworker complaints. If it weren't for her, work wouldn’t get done at all.


Secretly, she hated the cheap-looking blue vest but wore it like everyone else around her and made sure she looked proud to be doing so. Her eyes roamed the shelves, while her hooves darted out now and then to adjust a can or turn a small box around, so the label showed clearly. Making the presentation on the shelves just so helped with impulse sales; she knew many of these little errors were on purpose though. She could hear Lyra and Roseluck laughing near the front of the store and had no doubt it was at her expense.


She slammed a cabinet door closed, rattling the dishes inside. Even when in this foul of a mood, she was always restrained enough to not break anything. She could hardly afford to replace dishes every time she had a bad day.


She met her new boss today. Silver Filigree had only been working with them for five months but was already promoted to manager. She didn’t know this pegasus from the jewelry department. Probably a cousin, friend of the Rich family, or something. At least it wasn't lazy Lyra or gossipy Roseluck taking her old job.


Misty Meadows put on a friendly grin each day and volunteered for anything. She knew her job security was far from guaranteed; getting back into Mr. Rich's good graces and getting along with her new manager were smart goals. Even if Mrs. Filigree spent a great deal of time in the office on paperwork and never seemed to put the other employees to task. Maybe she'd grow into competence after a few months.


“Brown-noser? Ha! Of course my nose is brown! My whole coat is brown!” she laughed and snorted. A bowl she was about to dry off still had oatmeal residue inside; she threw it back into the sink hard enough to make it bounce around in the basin.


Her first payslip after her demotion had brought with it a dull shock. She knew she'd be paid less but seeing the details on the little scrap of paper destroyed what remained of her defensive denial. She spent the walk home that day brooding over her place in the economy. While diminished, it was still more than she could dare to expect elsewhere. Restaurants and cafes would pay minimum wages for a lot of dreadful drudgery. She didn't have the bits to start her own business in the market, nor did she or her husband have the gardening skills to produce anything to sell like Roseluck did on the side. As she passed by the hospital she mused that, considering how expensive every little pill or treatment was, the nurses and doctors must be paid well. Probably the only place in town that paid better than Barnyard Bargains, if you had the education for it. An education like that would cost a lot of bits.


After cleaning a bowl, Misty Meadows stared at a fresh chip in its rim. Still usable though. She placed the bowl on the drying rack with exaggerated care. I should stop before I do break something. This isn't calming me down.

She sat back at the table and stared at her reflection in the remaining dark liquid in her mug. Indulging in a whim, she spoke to her “twin.” “My job may suck, but at least I still have it. I'm sure I deserve some sort of frequent-customer discount at the hospital by now. Food needs to be on the table for my family and poor Morning Dew can't keep any kind of job with his chronic illnesses. I need the bits. Miserable or not, I need that job and every hour I can get my hooves on.” She then downed her cooling audience and witness to her monologue.


“Hey, Misty, could you cover for me this weekend? The new schedule interferes with my plans, and Bonsy and I are going to…” Lyra looked at her with wide, pleading eyes while rattling off the details of some inane romantic date. Part of her wanted to say no to the conniving unicorn. Perhaps she could point out some of the things Lyra had done to earn a refusal, but accepting would mean more hours and overtime to. She grunted something sounding like “yes” while turning to the schedule to memorize when she'd have to come in. The tone of gratitude in Lyra's babbling told her the unicorn had understood her reply as they went back to work.


So why was she missing a whole day of work? To pick her husband up from the hospital in Canterlot. He'd had a particularly bad bout of whatever. It was not that she didn't care about her husband or ignored his illness; his condition seemed to make him more vulnerable to colds and things other ponies shrugged off in the winter. It was spring, and he'd caught something late in the season this year, rather than mid-winter as usual. It was just difficult to keep track of what was wrong with him this time. The local hospital didn't have the specialists for his condition, and they couldn't afford to live in Canterlot. She hated paying for train rides so often, but it was necessary. She was already out of sick days for the year, but her boss knew of her situation and let her have unpaid time off for this sort of thing when it was needed.

Midday, she chewed through a plain meal of raw hay, as she decided staying in the kitchen to cook might not be the best idea. A glance out the window toward the sun let her know her train would arrive soon, so she closed up and cinched her saddlebags in preparation for the trudge to the train station. Nothing else had been damaged, but setting out for the walk early would help to avoid taking the chance.

A gray messenger pegasus with blonde disheveled mane and a lazy eye accosted her at her doorstep to deliver a folded note. Do pegasi even bother grooming their manes? Yet another interruption to her destination. It was helpful in dispelling her introspection though, and the note would be something to read on the trip to Canterlot. Without even meeting the postal worker's weird eyes, she continued on her way, offering only a grunt of acknowledgment over her shoulder. She wasn't in the mood to be polite today; she wanted to go see her husband. 

Then again, she was probably expected to tip the mare for the special delivery. Internally, she complained about the expense, but she turned back and flipped a bit with her lips from her saddlebag up to the cheerful pegasus courier, who caught it clumsily between her fore-hooves. Misty Meadows thanked her for the speedy delivery then resumed her journey.






Scootaloo had been admiring the new leaves in the trees that had been so bare when she zipped around a curve in the road and saw a pair of fillies off in the distance. They were waiting on the shoulder, in the shadow of a tree. The silhouette on the left had a pointy looking head. Sweetie Belle isn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow, did she come home early? She grinned at the prospect of meeting up with the only two who would be waiting for her, and began to slow her scooter down. She adjusted her approach, intending to pull up beside them. 

Her mistake became plain with a few words spoken in that unforgettable, superior tone. “Good morning, Blank Flank!” Diamond Tiara called out to her, the words slithered through the air, seeking to bite.

The pair stepped into the better-lit center of the road and shared snickers as Scootaloo drew nearer. Gray and pink coats, instead of the yellow and white she'd been expecting to see. Diamond Tiara wore a downright predatory looking smirk and her trademark pointy tiara, while Silver Spoon had a more curious, aloof expression. Both were pretty and well-groomed, a striking contrast to their personalities.

Scootaloo shifted her body forward and revved her wings to full speed to regain her lost momentum and plotted a few course corrections to take her around the bullies. Since they were in the center of the narrow dirt road this forced her through the rougher, less well packed edges. Wet mud with a dry-looking crust and a concealed large rock within the puddle conspired against her efforts to swerve and she found herself airborne for a couple of seconds.

Scootaloo's pride was in competition with her frail little body for the “most hurt awards” after the less than graceful landing; pride claimed victory for now, but the sight of a mud-spattered Diamond Tiara stomping towards her created the fear of an imminent overturn. She scrambled to her hooves, righted her scooter and started her wings abuzz—only to find herself back in the dirt, accompanied by round of laughter from her tormentors.

She had spilled over the handlebars of her scooter. From her vantage point now in front of the scooter, laying on her back, she could see the cause. The front-left wheel was at an odd angle. Adding injury to insult, Scootaloo discovered as she rolled over and onto her hooves that her left wing hadn't escaped the impromptu meeting with the ground unscathed. It hurt to fold it back to her side, her resistance gave out, and she gave Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon what they wanted: tracks of cleaner cheek fur appeared below her eyes, striping her muddied cheeks.

Through her blurred vision she saw the pink blob of Diamond Tiara draw near and swing one hoof toward her. Scootaloo shied away and tried to wipe her tears away so she could see to ward off incoming blows.

“Hey, Diamond,” Silver Spoon’s voice seemed to cause the pink blob to stop moving, while Scootaloo cleared the tears from her vision. “If you head home to get cleaned up, I’ll cover for you with Miss Cheerilee, OK?” With her vision restored, Scootaloo caught the tail-end of a glare from Diamond Tiara who then turned away and stomped off.

That could have turned out worse. Righting her scooter and steadying herself against it, she tried to work her wing around a bit, winced at the pain and settled on folding it to her side. It ached a little, but as long as she didn’t move her wing, it didn’t seem to hurt as much. That she could move it meant it wasn’t broken, and she didn’t seem to be bleeding anywhere.

“You should learn to control that thing better if you're going to be riding it everywhere.”

Scootaloo wiped her snout with a clean fetlock then looked warily over at Silver Spoon. “I'm pretty good already.”

“So that was, like, on purpose then?” Silver Spoon’s raised eyebrow indicated her reluctance to accept the claim of skill. “Why do you keep antagonizing Diamond Tiara and me? Just like everypony says, you’re a troublemaker.”

Her mouth opened, but at first no words came out. Me, antagonize them? Scootaloo closed her mouth and shook her head at the sheer gall of the other girl. She inspected her scooter but found no other damage. Deciding it would be impossible to ride and beyond annoying to drag, she folded the handlebar column against the running board then eased the whole thing onto her back with her good wing.

Silver Spoon seemed to be waiting for some sort of answer. Rather than argue about the nature of their less than amicable relationship, Scootaloo chose short and truthful to end the conversation. “It was an accident.”

Silver Spoon rolled her eyes, turned in the direction of the school and began walking. “I'm so sure.”

Scootaloo held her tongue and started walking as well. Daddy will be home tonight. We'll have a nice dinner. Lost in more pleasant thoughts, she didn’t pay attention to the fact she matched pace with Silver Spoon the rest of the way to school.






The feel of a stick of chalk held in her lips was a special sort of joy for Cheerilee. The taste of the dust left in her mouth after wasn’t pleasant, but the act was tied to the wholly fulfilling task of nurturing young minds. The lines and shapes she drew would reveal to her students the secrets of working with numbers: the basic building blocks of every exciting thing they would all be doing with their lives.

After a brief pause to look over her work, she dropped the chalk on the ledge beneath the board, dropped back down onto all-fours then turned to regard her students with one of her trademark cheery smiles. That smile was less bright this morning as she looked at the few still-empty seats. It was a Monday, and it wasn’t unusual for little foals to be reluctant to come back to class after a weekend of fun and adventures. If the seats filled while she was setting up for her lecture, even if after the morning bell, she wouldn’t have minded. She was finished preparing and this was more than a quarter of an hour past that bell though…

Two fillies entering the classroom drew her attention, though the unusual pair prompted a slight double-take from Cheerilee. Scootaloo and Silver Spoon split up, the former heading to her seat without a word, while the latter made a beeline straight for her, drawing most of her attention. “Glad to see you could make it to class you two. Do you know where Diamond Tiara is, Silver Spoon?”

Flashing a bright smile, Silver Spoon nodded politely before answering. “I do, Miss Cheerilee. She had to head back home to get cleaned up after a little bit of an incident on our way to class. Scootaloo decided to drive her scooter through a mud puddle near us, and Diamond Tiara didn’t escape the splash.”

What little enthusiasm she had managed to muster up felt like it was draining through her hooves into the floorboards. She would never think of calling any of her students bad, but Scootaloo was one of the more rambunctious. Still, she had been improving since making some friends. “So what did you and Diamond Tiara say or do to antagonize her?”

As expected, Silver Spoon’s expression morphed into an endearing look of innocent shock. Although not the best example she’d seen the filly pull off, there was a certain feel of genuineness to it this time. “We didn’t do anything, honest. Scootaloo did claim it was an accident though…” The uncertain tone hinted at what Silver Spoon thought of that.

Cheerilee glanced over at Scootaloo, who seemed to be doing her best to become one with her desk and not be noticed by anypony. After getting a better look at her, Cheerilee noticed her usual rough and tumble style was sporting a bit more obvious dried mud than usual, though it didn’t stand out much against her orange coat. “Is this true, Scootaloo?”

While it counted as a response of some kind, the muffled grunt Scootaloo made did not indicate affirmative or otherwise. Cheerilee could feel various muscles in her muzzle tighten. While she would never go so far as to scowl or even frown in front of her class, her face felt odd to not be smiling. A quick glance around the room revealed a growing uneasiness and restlessness among her students. Maybe a five-minute recess would get those who were on time back in the mood to learn.






Canterlot was big, bustling, and beautiful. Misty Meadows hated it. The tall buildings and crowds of ponies reminded her she was just one little earth pony, and her accomplishments were a drop in the bucket compared to what the average resident here had achieved. Given the choice she would avoid ever coming here, but life didn't cooperate. The capitol was a grand sight she was familiar with and unimpressed by.

It was already a bad day. She was already missing a day of work. The little scrap of paper she'd read on the train sabotaged all the steam-letting she'd done this morning. She was thankful she was not at home, or she'd be breaking things.

The note had been from Cheerilee. It was never good news from the school teacher:



“To Misty Meadows and Morning Dew,

On the way to school, Scootaloo was involved in some sort of incident which caused her and two other students to be late to class by almost a half an hour. One of the other two students needed to go home to clean mud off of herself before returning to class, making her miss much more valuable learning time.

Those two other students claim Scootaloo was at fault for the incident, and when I tried to get Scootaloo's side of the story, she refused to speak to me. While her behavior has been generally improving since she made friends, I'd like to avoid a relapse into her old self. Perhaps we should meet up this week at a convenient time for you to discuss this in more detail?

~Cheerilee”



The hospital in front of her brought her out of her brooding. She entered the familiar lobby, and a brief and forcibly polite conversation with the receptionist set things in motion. A short wait later rewarded her with the sight of her goal. All her anger drained, forgotten for the moment with a quiet sigh. He's so pretty. Even at times like this.

An orderly wheeled her husband, Morning Dew, into the lobby. His deep blue mane was clean and tidy, but hung, limp without its usual volume, down his neck. The lines of weariness under his blue eyes contrasted that lively sparkle he always had when he saw her. His golden coat shimmered as he moved out of the wheelchair with her help. He was thin and had a sure, almost feminine grace about him. Even after all these years, he could still make her heart flutter.

The two shared a careful kiss. A calm, affectionate greeting between lovers who have long since grown comfortable with the idea they have no need to rush anything. “Lets get you home, hon. A hospital is no place to get rest, and you've been here over a week this time.”

He gave her a weak chuckle. “You're right. A stallion my age can handle only so many wild nights of dancing and parties. Canterlot is for the young.”

She casually swatted him with her tail as they walked together to the train station, making frequent stops every block or two to let him rest. An errant smell of salted hay fries from a little corner shop along the way drew her attention. She had a fleeting, wistful desire to detour inside and dine with her dear husband. Those fries smelled much better than her own brunch had been.

They couldn't afford it though. She hated Canterlot. This unicorn city was no place for a pair of poor earth ponies.






Scootaloo entertained the idea of ditching her scooter somewhere. After school she had examined it, and sure enough, the front axle was bent. She could ask Big Macintosh to hammer it straight again, but he'd told her last time an axle can be bent only so many times before it’s too weak to trust. “Won't survive another accident,” he'd warned her. With how easily it’d bent this morning, she believed him. She'd need a new one, and she doubted her mother would consent to that expense. Who knew when she'd be able to ride her scooter again?

The sandwich she'd had for lunch hardly put a dent in her hunger, and she felt weak. The weight of her scooter was an added burden. Miss Cheerilee had put her on cleanup duty after school. The sun stayed out longer these days, but was still low by the time she made it to her front door. Thoughts that her daddy would be home waiting for her, as well as the dinner they'd have celebrating his coming back, buoyed her through the trek.

She parked her crippled scooter at the side of the house in its normal spot with her helmet hanging from the handlebars. She cantered inside, greeted by the smells of rice, tomatoes, onions, and cooking wildflowers; mom was making daddy's favorite pilaf. Scootaloo sighted her father in the living room, smiled and darted in towards him without hesitation.

Her smile faded and she hesitated when she saw his expression.






The hospital stay had been normal: the nurses had woken Morning Dew up every few hours to prod at him or ask him to turn this way or that for whatever reason. Lots of needles and pills. While he was used to it, he doubted anypony enjoyed the experience. Perhaps the nurses did. Deep down, he suspected them of sadism, but he knew they were trying to help him get better. Probably. He always kept a smile for them, no matter how irritable he felt. Maybe the cute hats they wore helped him put up with their abuse.

Now Morning Dew was home again with his wife, his quiet bed, his flowers, and his daughter; he no longer had to force a smile.

His daughter, Scootaloo. He read the note again and scratched idly at his foreleg where his coat was stubbly: the healing, recently shaved site of his IV. He had been told pegasi used to be a proud warrior race of ponies, and to expect her to be temperamental when he and his startled wife discovered their newborn daughter had wings. Morning Dew always hoped after one of their talks she would mellow down. After the last time had almost cost Misty Meadows her job, he thought it had finally gotten into Scootaloo's head.

Morning Dew rested on the couch and enjoyed the smells from the kitchen. It was peaceful until the front door opened, and an orange and purple ball of fur clattered inside. Scootaloo smiled at him but lost her smile when he frowned back at her. She looked dirty; she wasn’t covered in mud, but the results of whatever efforts to brush out her coat had been proved they were minimal at best. She looked the part of the ruffian. His heart sank a little. What would it take to get her to behave?

“I'm … disappointed, Scootaloo.”

“Wh-what? Why, Daddy?”

“You were fighting again. You promised me you wouldn't.” The dull ache behind his eyes had him battling the siren-call of his bed.

“I wasn't—”

“Just because I'm not here at home doesn't mean you can go back on your promises!” Morning Dew could fake a smile for over a week for the near-strangers but could not do so for his own daughter at that moment. If those nurses saw him grinding his hoof into his arm they would be sure to chastise him.

He might have continued to berate the filly, but the sight of his crying daughter brought an unpleasant tightness in his stomach.

“Just … go clean up, then go to your room. Now. You're grounded for a week.”

She hung her head low as she left his sight. He almost didn’t hear the quiet sound of her door closing. Morning Dew and his wife ate dinner devoid of conversation, though he barely tasted his favorite dish. He retired to bed early, still wishing he could afford the ointment the doctor had prescribed.






Her eyes burned from being cried out, and her wing ached still from her fall this morning. She tried to focus on these details, the pains of her body, rather than think of her daddy and the worse pains of her heart. He yelled. I disappointed Daddy that much, though I dunno how. Mom yells at me, never Daddy.

Stop. Just sleep.

If her injury couldn’t distract her, at least she could try to reduce one of her aches. Stretching her wing out hurt, but once extended the pain faded. She shifted about until she found a position that lessened the ache at her side a little further then turned her pillow over to expose a dry surface. Finally, she succumbed to the weariness.

Her stomach rumbled before she could drift off. Ugh. So much for getting to sleep. She opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling and noticed the brightness in her room. Sunshine was streaming in through her window. She had slept, though she didn't feel like she had.

Her wing complained as she shifted her body around to get out of bed. Gritting her teeth, she folded her wing, extended it and rotated it around a few different directions to test her range of motion. It felt a little better than yesterday but still achy. The motion brought protest from her wing but at least once folded, the ache almost went away. She was used to dealing with this sort of thing. Asking to see the doctor was reserved for: bleeding, burns, fever, and broken bones, according to her mom. Her wing would stop hurting if she took it easy. Not that she could ride her scooter at the moment anyway.

She let out a quiet hiss, folded her wing back to her side then dragged herself to the kitchen for breakfast. Maybe they'd let her have a little extra, since she missed dinner.

Daddy was still asleep, recovering from his stay at the hospital, so she stayed quiet. Mom surprised her by letting her have seconds of oatmeal this morning. That helped a little bit. Taking a break from crusading for the week would let her rest and heal up.

It would be hard to crash with her scooter broken, so there was little risk of adding more trauma to her wing. Just have to leave for school a little earlier and go on hoof…