Fifteen-year-old Scorch huffed as he stormed towards the bench and sat himself down, folding his forelegs.

Scarab was seated a few feet away from him; within seconds, he noticed the red changeling’s unhappy state. “Scorch?”

“Mmrgh…”

The general scooted a bit closer. “…What’s wrong, kid?”

Scorch stayed quiet for a few moments. “…Aster’s been hitting on me again,” he mumbled.

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“...Dad?”

Scarab yawned and sat up. “Griff? What are you—”

“Hey... your room doesn’t have a closet, right?”

“Um... right? Why?”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“...Of course.”

Griff walked over, laying next to his father as the changeling wrapped him in an embrace. Scarab couldn’t help but wonder; what had happened to this poor kid?

“Griff? Griff, are you in here?”

Griff didn’t answer, still tossing dough like a pizza making zombie.

“...Griff? Griff!” Scarab stepped in front of his adopted son, pounding a hoof on the counter to get his attention.

“Ahh!” He yelped in surprise, the dough flying onto the ceiling with a wet slapping sound. Griff looked up, glaring at the wasted dough. “...Damn it. It took me half an hour to get it thin enough. Thin crusted pizza ain’t an easy job, Y’know.”

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Griff snarled, sending another rock flying with a free hoof.

He hated this. Why couldn’t his mother see that his “dad” wasn’t right for either of him? Why couldn’t he have a good father?

He sighed heavily, dropping down to the ground and laying his head against it, curling up in his alicorn wings.

He wanted a good father.

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“Hey, Cornalis?”

Upon hearing the general’s voice, the corporal looked up, his eyes widening. “S-Scarab! Heheh... long time no see!”

“No kidding. I see you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Heh... same with you. Honestly... I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Eheheh...”

Suddenly, two all-too familiar changelings popped out and leaned into the scene;

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