//------------------------------//
// Parental Guidance is (Un)Advised 
// Story: Woundsalt, Mother Bucker. 
// by OneUppington 
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	“So even though you are living in her library, you say Twilight might not be the princess of the ponies like they try to spin it in the news?” The cellist asks. 
“I doubt it. We are talking about a pony that lives in a very high society which is a student of Celestia… If anything, she’s the closest thing we’ll have to a princess of the ponies.”
“What about Cadence?”
“…Who?”
We both laugh as we pass another Canterlotian lamppost. It is so nice to find somepony with the same opinion of royalty as me and asks about what I think.
As we walk back to her place, all I can think of is how nice this night has been. Besides from the pretty piss-weak show from Page, which is not his fault admittedly but somepony has to teach him how to fucking drink, I got to say this is the best night I had in a long time. Granted, not much competition knowing that the last five years my nights were all spent floating in my own vomit in West Canterlot spare the debacle that was last night… but still, I can’t believe something so nice like this date would ever happen to me.
I need to thank Vinyl Scratch for this. … Ooh! Speaking of…
“Hey um… Octavia. I um… got something to say to you.”
She turns to me, her eyes being... Fuck, you know…
“I…I’ve got something to say to you, too.”
Oh, wow. Okay. Well, I better make her go first.
She comes closer to me with her mouth quavering as it waits to reveal whatever in Tartarus this is about.
“I’m sorry.”
… Okay?
“For what?”
“For leaving you with that contract.” She says, looking away. “It was a terrible deal.”
“Was it?”
She looks back in a perplexing manner. “Are you kidding me? You got little to no pay, no dental plan, all of your intellectual property was owned by Mint; that contract was one word away from being illegal! And he had the audacity to make it a prize in a children’s competition!”
…
“Is that the reason why you didn’t take it?”
She looks down. 
“No… That’s my mother’s reason. My reason is that… I felt like I cheated. Woundsalt, one thing you must know from back then was my mother is a force that I thought was futile to stand against. She did everything and then some to let me win.” 
“Like everyone else’s moms, I imagine.” I say, nodding.
She’s shaking her head. “Not like mine. The strings she pulled were unbelievable and quite frankly disgusting. She bribed Mint’s caddy to drop my name if the subject of the competition ever came up when he went golfing, she found out what time Ink had an appointment for a manicure at some spa she paid twice the amount to have an appointment at the same time, broke that poor Heartstring filly’s harp ‘accidently’, organized play dates between Page and I… I’m actually quite surprised he didn’t recognise me back there.”
I shrug. “He was off his tits to be fair.”
“True, true, very true.” The cellist nods before continuing. “Then one play date, it turns out he got his cutie mark. I asked him about it, and he said he wrote a poem after reading one from the competition. The one he read out tonight, actually. Some ponies were saying he’s doing a bit of soul searching at the moment, so I’m not surprised he decided to pull that one out.”

“… He got his cutie mark because of me?”
She nods again. Wow, I never knew that. I mean, I remember him saying that he got his cutiemark later than I did but… Why didn’t he tell me that I was he got it because of m-Oh wait, that’s right. If he ever dared to give me credit for anything when Mint was alive he would be punished for it.
Page said it best, his dad’s an asshole.

“Anyway,” the mare continues, “He told me about you. Some eight-year-old colt in West Canterlot, living in an orphanage, suffering from some unknown condition that makes him unconsciously curse anything and anyone… I kind of felt bad that my mother would let us do all of this just so I can win and those who deserve it, and I mean it when I say you deserved it… lose.
I wasn’t happy with me winning the competition, but I was happy when my mother said we don’t need the contract. So I told mother I wanted you to win, she had a heated discussion with Mint, made him sign you up instead and my conscience clear… until I realize why my mother didn’t want me to have that contract. I mean, sure, I was a young foal, how would I known and…?”

Uh oh, she’s tearing up… what do ponies do when one of them is crying? Um, uh… Okay, when I was crying in the Apple home, AJ… Oh no. Don’t tell me I have to… No, I have to. Here goes nothing.

I hug her.

Okay you guys would have guessed by now, I’m not a fan of hugs. Or at least, receiving hugs. I never really gave a hug before. I’m not sure I’m doing it right. Is it supposed to be above the shoulders like this or underneath? Am I holding her too soft? Too strong? I’m hoping I got it just right, because I kind of like this.
Maybe I’m a hug giver and not a hug receiver. Is that a thing, or did I just thought up some stupid crap that even a mare magazine wouldn’t want to publish? Probably the latter…
Maybe it’s who I’m hugging with? I mean, let’s list all the ponies who I have been in hugs with so far; Fluttershy, Apple Jack, Rarity, Blue Curaçao and now Octavia Philharmonica. As much as I admit I kind of appreciate her kindness she is renowned for, I find Fluttershy to be secretly insane. Like my mother would have probably told me before she dumped me in an orphanage, never trust anypony with too many pets. AJ’s got a few issues, too. She’s very… butch. I mean, fair enough if you’re into that sort of thing, but all I know is I’m not into butch fillies. But I don’t like overly feminine fillies neither, like Rarity. Also, you can tell by the décor of her shop, she’s trying to be a Canterlotian… The wrong kind of Canterlotian. And Blue… Celestia bless him for being the chirpy butterball who couldn’t hurt a fly now, but the multiple trips my face took to a toilet’s U-bend courtesy of him and his brother still haunt me. So, out of all the ponies I had been in hugs with so far, I found things to be afraid of them, dislike them or even hate them.
Octavia on the other hoof… I can’t find anything wrong with.
Is it too early to say I love her? I feel like it is, but… everything about tonight makes me want to… 
“Um, Woundsalt? You have a bit of bird shit on your back, there.”
“Hmm? Oh son of a bitch!” 





“Your sink’s… blue.”
“Vinyl.” The cellist says in a disappointed tone. “She keeps using the hair dye that stains the sink. How it doesn’t get on anything else is beyond me. If you don’t want to risk it, we can try the one in the kitchen.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” I say as I start flushing away the poop stain. “Thanks for letting me come up here, by the way.”
She smiles shyly. “Thanks for accepting.”

Vinyl and Octavia’s apartment definitely looks like two fillies live here. For one, it’s clean. Also, it feels like the two had a debate on what the style is going to be and eventually compromised by having half of each. I’m willing to bet which furnishing was whose idea. A neon pink sofa with neon blue lightning-shaped cushions does sound like something a night life library crasher like Vinyl Scratch would want in her apartment. Same goes for the cabinet of sunglasses and the painted portraits on the wall connected to the open kitchen of those robotic ponies who do those annoying repetitive techno songs. What are they called? I don’t know. Something daft, I imagine.
Octavia’s decisions has got to be the sleek, modern things like the coffee table, the kitchen appliances and definitely the top of the line washing machine in the laundry here. Pretty expensive stuff. Trying to get rid of the Gala paycheck with the top brands, I imagine.

“So…” the cellist says hesitantly. “What were you about to tell me?”
“Hmm? Oh, right.” Gee, how am I going to say thank you, now? She thought she put me through hell! I DID go through hell, and I’m going to thank her for it? You know what? I’ll just stop wasting time and say it. What is the worst that could happen? “Well, I was going to say...”

I hear a knock on the door. “Uh, Tavi? If you’re in there, can you open up? I think I left my keys in the bowl again.”
Looks like Vinyl Scratch the match maker interrupted our little moment.
She looks towards the door and back. “Sorry, you don’t mind if I…?”
I’m guessing the rest of the sentence is ‘let her in’. 
“Sure.”
She smiles as she leaves me in the laundry to fetch the door. I kind of understand the relationship between the two. I’m not sure whether or not they are lesbians but they are close. Damn close. So close that I am not surprised ponies like Rainbow Dash think these two are an item. For me on the other hoof? I don’t know. Maybe if I see them in the same room… as they are right now… and being suspiciously quiet. Okay, something is up.
I better put this jacket down and go into the lounge room.

Oh, hey! Vinyl brought a friend!

A griffon friend.

A griffon friend with her claw on Vinyl’s head.

… Oh fuck.