Part III
It's Monday morning. I don't have to go to work until noon and the store closes at nine, so I've got a long afternoon and evening ahead of me. I had the dream again. Rather, the nightmare. Every soldier who has felt the sting of battle, surrounded by death and screaming and all sorts of noises does, to some degree remember those moments. Some can go through life and be bothered far less than others who fear it so much they are terrified to go to bed at night. I've never had a night terror, but I have woken up plenty of times in a cold sweat, remembering that day and the distortions the dreaming does to it. Some things are more vivid than others when you dream. For me, it's the face of the kid I shoot bursting around the corner of a building and spraying at the guy next to me with a machine gun half his size. I don't think and I'm just reacting, the simple act of pressing the trigger back and staying on target forever scarring my mind.
Yeah, I know I probably saved my life as much as the life of the guy just shot, but you don't forget the faces of people you kill at close range. You just don't. Young, old, man, or woman, they stick to you and follow you forever. Carrying the past with you is the burden all humans bear, but it's how we carry them that counts. Mine happens to leave a scar on my own sense of self-worth.
I think my burden was too much for me to keep my family intact. It's like something within me died that day, the part that gave a damn about what happened to me. I told a psychiatrist once I felt as though my sense of deserving anything even remotely resembling happiness was forever denied me because I murdered a kid trying to murder me. I was told that was perfectly normal, was smiled at, and was told to try and certain exercises.
Killing is killing. You're ending a life. It's as simple as that. Isn't there a commandment saying you shouldn't kill another human being? Why can't we live by that? Are our opinions so vastly different that we need to kill another person to get what we want? Oh, sure, you can throw whatever excuse you want to justify giving someone the gift of death. Hell, some of them even ask for it. Despite what people might think of me, a part of me died that day.
Well, maybe die is too strong a word. But I did lose it. I can't feel it. Maybe I just lost interest or it lost interest in me. Did I lose my desire to care? Was it my desire to fight for something I needed? Or was it something I wanted? The doctors at the VA always insist I take some pills for my PTSD and have me go in once every month or two for an evaluation. It's the same questions. They don't help and I can't afford the gas to drive a hundred miles both ways only to be told by some expert to keep taking my pills.
What a joke.
Did I forget to mention my ex pointed out one of the reasons for leaving me was my mental unbalance? Somehow she got a hold of some confidential information in regards to the tests they conducted on me while I recovered in Germany. I think the new boyfriend had something to do with that, but I'm not about to start banging on the drum of paranoia on that. I feel I'm in a hole that will only get deeper if I try to do anything to see my daughter. Even my mom took the ex's side. A court order granting her full custody of my daughter had somehow been fast tracked within a week after she finally decided to pack up and leave me. I honestly don't know if it's a battle I can win, should I chose to fight. I think that has been beaten out of me.
Maybe I am going crazy.
Yay me.
Chrysalis stirs next to my head. She's warm, soft. One of her hooves is draped across my mouth and she stretches, yawning and adjusting herself. She snuggles closer to my neck, not wanting to wake up quite yet. It's a nice change from the way yesterday morning started. I don't have to move to see the clock is a few minutes shy of seven in the morning. It's kind of weird having a creature with lots of features you'd find on a bug actually have a warm and soft body, save for the carapace on her back. I find I'm rather enjoying having her with me. She's shifted her chin and its on my chest now, the hoof shifting from my mouth to across my throat. her little crooked horn is all I can really see as I don't want to disturb her.
I wonder at that moment how long it will take before she's too big to do this, or if even she'll be around that long. I'm suddenly thinking there is a very good chance I'll lose her much like I lost everything else in my life. With my left hand, I seek out and find the top of her head just behind her horn and knead my fingers gently through her tangled bed head hair and on her skull. She responds by pushing her head into my hand and I can see an emerald eye pop up and focus on me with a wink. I can't see her other eye because of her profile, but it seems like a wink to me. The next thing I know, Chrysalis is shifting herself so she can move her muzzle to my nose and greet me with a little nudge. The filly buzzes her wings as she comes to full wakefulness, shaking out her mane out and yawning. Slithering off my chest, she half crawls and half pushes herself over the edge until I can hear all four hooves land. She trots out the door and I assume towards the bathroom. I had put a step ladder in there yesterday so she could use the toilet.
I hope she remembers to flush. I really hope she doesn't miss.
She does remember and returns. By now I've moved to my side and I'm propping my head on an elbow, watching for her to return.
My eyes shift to the warped bottom half of my bedroom door, the victim of a tempter tantrum I interrupted before she could splinter the wood. I made her sit in a corner for fifteen minutes while I more or less assumed a cross legged position in front of the damaged door and stared at it in amazement. It's like she was trying to just push the door open by sheer force of her magic, not even thinking to simply turn the knob on the door. There's no lock on the door. I don't think she's figured out doors have doorknobs on them yet. I'd like to know how the door was able to do that without splintering. I can see the cracks in it, but why could I not hear the wood splinter?
I guess there's a lot in the application of magic I have no clue about and her understanding is only slightly better than mine. Chryslais is entering the door now, a happy little grin on her still sleepy face. Not as wakeful as I first thought, I note dryly. It was probably the urgency she was feeling that perked her up out of necessity. The decision to get up hasn't been finalized yet and I just stretch while she tries to hop up into bed with me. This time, she whines a little and hops, the top of her head and horn visible. Rolling forward, I rest my chin on the edge of the bed.
"Want up here?" I ask, assuming a rather plain expression.
"Up!" she tells me.
"Are you going to use your magic again?" I ask suspiciously, pointing at the door.
She looks over her shoulder at it, then back at me, abashed. "Nooooo," she replies, drawing the word out. I know she's lying. It's in the tone of her little voice and the guilty little way she's saying no.
"Promise?"
"Yes!" She's flinging her hooves at me, ears perked forward and eyes alight with joy.
No, I am not going to make a changeling make a Pinkie Promise. What do you think I am? Sadistic? Besides, I can never remember the lines. I've only seen the episode once or twice.
I pick her up, roll on my back and I've got her hovering over my body, arms locked up, my hands holding her by the chest and belly. Chryssie kicks in the air, squealing happily as I drop her to me, bop her on the end of her snout with my nose.
"Boop!"
I push her up into the air. The princess flails her legs wide, shrieking with utter delight at the game, her little mane flopping with the up and down movements of her body. I repeat it again, give her another boop on the nose. Then another. Once more for good measure!
By God, I think I've completely forgotten the nightmare now. The giggling changeling is now in my lap as I've sat up and I'm getting ready to get the day started. Setting her down on the ground, I get up, gather my clothes I'm going to wear and head for the bathroom for my shower. This is probably the only time of day I'm sober. I can already feel the withdrawls. I shower, telling Chryssie to not blow up any doors (I'm nice about it). I think while under the hot water, not noticing the door has quietly opened until it squeaks wide and I feel it thump against the stopper at the baseboard. I peek around the shower curtain, that music from Psycho playing in the back of my head. Only, I don't have Norman Bates in a dress and a wig holding a kitchen knife. This is much, much cuter.
Chryssie is staring up at me, sitting on the floor and under the cloud of hot steam from the running water. "No broke door!" she chirps at me happily.
Okay, she just figured out doorknobs. "Hello, sweetie," I say to her warily. "How did you get in?"
It's one of those stupid question stupid adults ask when they already know the answer. I think they call it a rhetorical question. Correct me if I'm wrong. Kids will and do often figure things out they're not supposed to figure out. Why? Because stupid adults assume kids are going to learn at a given pace instead of using their brains to figure out two plus two does not equal 'you'll know when I tell you'. Honestly, it's a doorknob, so I shouldn't have been surprised. She's seen me use them. I should not be at all surprised she's in here, staring at me with those huge and currently unblinking eyes.
"Door," she says, pointing at it with wide-eyed innocence. A raspberry is blown at me and she smiles, proud of herself for figuring out the magic of opening doors...with her magic.
Yeah, I really need to get her to start forming full, cognitive sentences.
There's nothing I can really do now, she's in here, she's staring, and all I've got to preserve my modesty is the plastic protection of a flimsy shower curtain. As I really don't want a toddler seeing me sans clothing (that's just wrong, even if the toddler in question is of equine build). "Go wait in the hallway, Chryssie," I tell her firmly.
Her ears droop, her happy little face falling a little. "No want to be alone," she says to me, just loudly enough to be heard over the shower.
"I'm just taking a shower, Chryssie." I laugh, clutching the curtain tightly. She does not look like she's going to be leaving any time soon. I should have put a movie in for her, I'm thinking right now or give her something to distract her while I get ready. I'm also thinking with approaching dread I'm going to have to leave her alone in the house while I work.
I was having an image of a crater where my house once sat after a certain changeling throws a tantrum. It's not a pretty picture, but at least in my head it's animated. I cringe inwardly, sigh and try to think that one out in the few minutes I've got left to think before Chryssie decides the curtain is too much of an obstacle between herself and me.
I hurry up, turn the water off and reach for a towel.
The princess whimpers impatiently.
"Don't do this to me," I take a quick moment to pull the curtain aside and plead at the little dark form. "I only have the one bathroom."
It's beginning to occur to me she needs to be sociable because of what and who she is. As I'm wrapping my head around that simple realization, she's hopped up on the toilet lid and is trying to nose around the edge of the shower curtain. I see her little shadow appear and the edge pushed, the dark muzzle appearing...
"Chryssie, no!"
I've got my towel around me quick and she's staring up at me. Her head withdraws upon seeing my shocked expression, herself shocked at my shock. There's a crash as she slips off the toilet in her haste, her hooves slipping on the condensation from the steam. I can hear the trash can fall over, the aluminum metal making a loud noise, which in turn startles Chrysalis even more. She's yelping, her hooves scrambling as she tries to right herself. By now, I'm watching her, seeing her backside as she runs from the bathroom, turning with skidding, clattering steps and doing a very good impersonation of a stampede of rhinoceroses. She slides left, towards the bedroom, the garbage can bouncing and spinning in her wake at the door.
I'm laughing my ass off the whole time.
I finish drying off, dress quickly and go to find the little princess. She's under my bed, her green eyes glowing emeralds in her agitation. It's not hard to coax her out. Privacy is going to be one of those things we'll just have to work out, mostly from her end at this stage. Because her temper is going to fuel her magic, and it doesn't take a genius to figure that one out, I'm going to have to be very careful when setting the boundaries. I realize she's a filly and she has a need to be with somebody she thinks she can trust (in this case, me). She's probably still not aware of where she is, nor who she is. But, this seems different.
For one thing, there was no box and no little note or instruction book on how to care for your love-sucking future queen. Even the show was vague, as I mentioned earlier. I've got theories. Based on the fanfictions I've read, everybody has a theory on changelings. This could very well turn out badly if everything goes to hell in a hand basket. I could get rid of her, but why? It's not her fault she's here on Earth, is it? Considering she is here, and I have been thinking about this since she arrived in the middle of a storm, was she sent or was this some magical experiment gone terribly wrong?
Or was she intended to come here? Was she meant to be placed with a broken man who's pretty much done everything he could to shut out the world?
I don't know. At this point, does it really matter? I've got a child who looks to me for care and comfort and teaching. I've got...what do I have?
She's no pet, that's for sure.
A daughter?
Okay, that's even strange just thinking about. With all due respect to the guy who raised Rainbow Dash, brother you did not have a changeling. You, sir raised a lovely and awesome chromatic pegasus everyone knows and loves and follows religiously (you fanatics know who you are, don't deny it). I, on the other hand, just inherited the responsibility of raising the cutest living bomb on the planet. I would like to say I'm exaggerating, but at this point, I really don't know what a changeling queen is capable of other than mimicking my voice, warping my door, and - according to the show - infiltrating magical castles by replacing another princess and imitating her in both speech and appearance while preparing for a wedding while the aforementioned castle is "under threat". I like the two part story arc, but gaps...good lord, the gaps! Keep in mind Chrysalis had enough power to outduel the Sun Goddess Princess Celestia.
So yeah, Chrysalis a freaking living bomb living under my roof.
Yay me.
Either way, I've still not made up my mind about her. She is impossibly cute as a filly. I feel compelled to care for her, and I don't mean because she's trying to influence me. All kids try to influence those they identify as their caretakers through emotions and expressing their wants and needs. This little thing on my lap vying for my attention as I try to watch the news is no different. We've already had breakfast and she can tell I've been lost in my thoughts. I consider getting the internet hooked back up, thinking I'm going to have to find a way to educate her, teach her about this world.
Maybe teach her about Equestria?
I don't know at this point about that. Would you want to show a filly three seasons worth of other ponies while the changeling sitting on your lap basically had screen time in her natural form for just half an episode? How would she identify with that? How would she understand it?
As for the father issue, I think I'll let her decide if that's what she wants me to be. Right now I need to weigh the options of taking her with me or leaving her here while I go to work. If she comes with me, I'm taking the car. I'd love to see her reaction to a car ride. Hell, it's not really much of a decision. Chrysalis is too young to leave in the house by herself. Then there's that image of the crater I envisioned in the shower.
Okay, okay, you guys flapping your arms in the air and screaming, "How can you call yourself a casual fan if you claim to have only seen the episodes a couple of times, but have all this knowledge?" The answer is simple, my good friends. One word, actually.
Internet. You're welcome.
Seriously, I am a casual fan. I don't get into the muddled details of head canons of other people all that much. I do like reading stories and a few online friends suggested I start checking out the show and its characters. Having a daughter living with me at the time, I felt I wanted to find something for her to watch when she got older. Most of the current shows are crap. In my opinion, they're just there to turn brains into mindless mush. I know they're aimed at a very young group and all, but I want to be able to enjoy a show with my kid. It's called bonding. I never wanted to end up like my parents, divorced at that time of my life.
How's that for irony?
Long story short, I tend to research things to a certain point before making a final decision of my every-changing opinion of things. I had already decided My Little Pony would be a good show to get my daughter and watch with her on my free time, but we've already covered what happened since, haven't we? I haven't watched the show since and as I just thought of getting internet again, I've been without for quite a while and that was by choice. If I give up drinking, I can afford it.
Considering alcohol and children don't mix, I am not going to choose inebriation over the well being of a child. By now, I am looking at her as not an animal, but as a child. A toddler with four hooves and fangs. And magic with possibly an obscene amount of power behind it. Yeah, that prospect scares the living hell out of me. But it's one of those things guys get a hold of, know it's like some sort of adrenaline rush they can't live with out and just go with it.
Guilty.
I get ready for work, we have lunch after spending the morning watching the television. I really don't think the gas station is going to be much of a problem for Chrysalis. First of all, she's small. Secondly, the owner's cat is also black, so if someone happens to see Chryssie, they'll think she's...
...eh, I don't think so, either.
She's going anyways. There's a little bed for the cat under the counter she can stay in. The place isn't really that busy and I know when the regulars show up. There's the occasional lost traveler who took the wrong turn off the main highway and needs to be pointed in the right direction. I might see all of ten people on any given day in a ten hour shift. I normally go to the diner for lunch. The people knew my grandparents and they like me, even feeling sorry for me when my ex left with Crystal. They're always offering me a bowl of soup on the house. I'll sometimes take them up on the offer, but that's on days when the owner decides he wants to hang around because he really doesn't have anything better to do.
I suppose there are other choices available to me, but I can't think of them at the moment. Chrysalis is coming with me to work. Even if someone asks, I suppose I can tell them she's some sort of...
...crap, there's nothing on the whole damn planet even remotely looking like a changeling.
I don't think she cares for the way I'm looking at her right now. Standing on her hind hooves while on my lap, she lays her ears back, eyes flat as she gives me another raspberry while nose to nose with me. I'll admit was giving her an odd look, so I take her forehooves and hold them up, swinging them back and forth. She laughs, her wings buzzing and buzzing. I'm laughing with her. I'm feeling good about myself. I haven't felt that in a long time.
I don't want it to end.
"Do you want to come to work with me?" I ask her, stopping our game.
"Work?" she squeaks my voice back at me.
I scratch her between the ears. Her eyes close blissfully, mouth slightly hanging open as her tongue lolls out a little. "Yeah, I've got to make money so I can afford to feed you, you little glutton."
"What money?" she asks, tilting her head in that way I'm finding adorable.
"Money is a way to buy things so we can live comfortably," I reply, wondering if that might have been too simplistic.
"Work hard?" comes her second question, her head tilting the other way.
"No, not really. It's boring." This is very true. I've got the cleanest convenience store in the state since that's all I do between customers. That and reorganize the shelves. I think Twilight Sparkle would approve the way I keep the place tidy and organized. "But I'll have you to keep me company, so long as you're good and behave."
Chrysalis beams at me and promptly licks my face repeatedly. I think she knew I had been wrestling with leaving her or having her come with me. She'd been quiet since the shower incident and I've had these little tingling sensations in my mind, sort of like a light tapping. I really can't describe it visually save for if Chryssie were to be sitting right in front of you and batting an earlobe with one of her hooves ever so slightly. You have to pay attention to notice it.
Clever girl.
I even ask her if she's reading my mind. Her answer is an ashamed sigh, casting her eyes down at my chest. "I sowwy," she mumbles. "Just feels."
There's going to be no avoiding that. Somehow she's linked herself to my mind and she's trying to figure out how to 'connect'. I'm wondering if it's a hive mentality or something akin to that. I stroke her cheek, giving in. "That's okay, Chryssie. There's a lot about you I don't know and can even begin to understand."
Hell, maybe it might speed up her education.
Or ruin it. There are a lot of dark places in my head I don't want her to see. I already know she can sense and feel my emotions and what I'm feeling. I know she's feeding off my positive emotions and I think I'm developing an attachment to her. No, I am developing one. Still not sure on the love. I care about her well being and I care about her happiness, but this is just the start of my second full day with her. There is a long, long road ahead for the both of us, should the world decide to allow it.
Of course, there's Murphy's Law. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. I just hope Mr. Murphy gives us time to be... a family? I'm still trying to wrap my head around that concept. It's too surreal.
"Too much," she suddenly blurts, tapping my head with a hoof. I can feel her withdraw from my head suddenly. I think I just went through a whole crapload of emotional turmoil her little mind was not ready for. I get a headache from the sudden departure. It's bad enough I'm combating the shakes.
I tough it out, grab my keys and my new working buddy, and head for the barn where I housed the car.
I never mentioned it, did I? Mostly because the driveway doesn't go up to the back of the house where the old barn it ends at can be seen. It's located more to the front side of the house and to the left facing it. It's not a big barn; only for about six horses back in the day. About thirty years ago grandpa got rid of his horses and turned the barn into some sort of a workshop. There's an old 1965 Mustang resting beneath a heavy canvas that hasn't been seen in a decade. I looked at it once. It's about half restored. All the parts are scattered about the place, but I'm no mechanic. I don't want to sell it, either. It was my grandpa's.
My car isn't really all that spectacular. My magnificent horseless carriage is a rusted, sun-blotched 1985 Chevrolet Cavalier wagon backed neatly into the barn with plenty of room on both sides. Once, it had a nice gray color to it. Once it had nice upholstery. It still runs decently. There's a nice long crack running down the center of the windshield. Other than that, it runs imperfectly.
Chrysalis eyes it with trepidation, having trotted after me on her little hooves. The expression she gives me is, You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding. We're riding in that? It's followed up by a whimper.
"It's perfectly safe," I say with a shrug. "Nothing to worry about."
She's clearly not convinced or impressed with either the car or me. Plopping squarely on her rump, she's shaking her head violently.
It occurs to me. I note loudly, "This will be your first car ride."
She hisses at the car, then gives me a pleading look, coming over and butting her head against my leg, keeping me between herself and the evil gray rusty thing on four wheels. I jingle my keys and go to the driver's side door, opening it and sliding onto the seat. I fasten my seatbelt and put the key in the ignition. I start the car.
The little princess jumps in the air and back, landing on hooves spread in an aggressive little stance, her rump in the air and her neck bent as she growls with flat eyes and a glowing horn. Her wings are buzzing intensely. I find I'm feeling her fear. Not just seeing it, but feeling it!
I reprimand her. "No!" Holding a hand out to her, I wait. I also should have expected her to react this way. The truck from yesterday should have been an indication. "This is just a means of transportation. It's easier than walking, Chryssie. Come on, get in. Don't be such a baby."
Her eyes dart about, unsure of herself. Chrysalis relaxes, the filly straightening herself. She simpers again, puffing out her cheeks repeatedly. With slow, hesitant steps, she starts towards me, one hoof at a time. Seeing the car is not eating me (I'm assuming that's what she thought) and satisfied I'm not being chewed on, she's now sniffing at my had as if she's trying to take my pulse, or something.
"Safe?" she queries in her own voice.
"Yes."
She lets me pick her up. I set her on my lap. Instinctively, she has to stand her front hooves on the steering wheel and peer out the windshield, her eyes huge and curious. Gently I pull her away and set her in the back seat. Chrysalis starts sniffing around, her wings making me think I have a giant bee in the car. I put the car in drive and slowly ease of the brake. "We're moving," I call to the back. "You'd better sit down, Chryssie."
I accelerate, my foot slowly pushing the gas pedal. Behind me, I hear the sound of a flopping body and feel something bump firmly into the back of my seat followed by a startled yelp.
"I warned you." To be fair, I should have checked to make she she was seated. I immediately felt like a bully for doing that to a filly.
The rear view mirror shows a pair of emerald eyes slitted at me as if I had done that on purpose. "Not fun!" she complains, minding herself a seat this time. She leans forward slowly, supporting herself on the small center console arm rest. I may have pressed the pedal a little harder than intended. She's suspecting my actions had less than innocent implications behind them and those large harlequin eyes are letting me know it right now as she gives me another raspberry.
We get to work with little incident, the little changeling peering out the window with a curiosity overcoming her fear. She discovers riding in the car is actually sort of fun, though the trip takes just a few minutes. Two miles isn't really much of a distance by car. I park on the side of the gas station where I normally park, grab my mechanic shirt with my name tag sewn on to the breast. I don't bother buttoning it up or tucking it in until I get inside, using the shirt to keep Chrysalis hidden from the few onlookers who might be bothered to glance in my direction. It's a nice, lazy town, but it's also a dying one. There are quite a few shuttered businesses in the lone main road cutting through the tiny town of Owen.
Once inside, I smuggle a changeling princess who keeps staring at me with those big, trusting eyes and get behind the counter and tell her to stay under there as I put her in the empty cat bed. Chryssie sits, stares up at me and smiles, her two little fangs gleaming. Kneeling, I give her a little peck on the muzzle, make her promise to be quiet and be a good girl. I go to work.
Which means cleaning the same things over and over. I don't get my first customer until an hour after I get started. During that time, I sneak my little guest some things to snack on, a few treats, nothing too sugary or fattening as the store's goods would allow. I write them down on a list I leave for my boss, who deducts any snacking I do off of my paycheck. I've never cheated the guy and he was my grandpa's good friend. He doesn't care for my drinking, but it's never gotten me in a position to where I've broken his trust.
He actually comes in, having been in the adjacent garage and working on somebody's car. The old man is in his seventies and he can still turn a wrench. This means he's working on an older car. His eyes are on me almost immediately. More specifically, my shaking hands.
"No drinking?" he asks, placing a firm grip on my upper arm as his way of saying hello. I'm currently mopping the floor, so instead of the usual handshake, he just puts that vice grip on my bicep. He grins.
"Trying to quit drinking," I say honestly. I'm also hearing little hooves clopping together somewhere under the counter. I think. My imagination?
He's surprised. "Oh? Well, that's good to hear, son! That's very good to hear." The old man is very pleased. "None of my business to ask, but would you mind humoring an old man and telling me why?"
"I really can't explain it," I reply with a helpless smile. Would you be able to? "But it seems the best thing for me to do right now. Maybe it's time I tried to do something positive with my life. I don't know. It's something I have to do."
"I reckon that's about as good an answer as any man can give. Hear anything about your little girl, Mike?" He avoids mentioning the ex by name.
"Nothing I'm ready to talk about yet, sir." No, I don't want to talk about it. I know the old guy means well, but there are some things I'm just not willing to talk openly about. I'm really a private person.
We converse a bit, talking about the storm from the other night, mostly. I was surprised when I was told it never showed up on the radar. But the whole town was drenched by that storm and it seemed to linger through the night. It was supposed to have just been a rain shower, not a heavy thunderstorm. The front was weak and should have brought only the rain. So where did that storm come from? It had been the talk of the town all Sunday. I'd missed it because of a certain little filly named Chrysalis. They tried calling me, but my phone line was down, knocked out by the storm. Ground strikes had taken out all the phone lines in and around town and blew out all the transformers. The county had just now restored them as I was getting to work.
I still had power. Of course, the power lines feeding the town go by my house. Past that is the first transformer. I'm no expert on how they distribute the power, but I'm assuming at that point of the conversation and even voice my observation. It seems logical. My boss agrees. He tells me he's got other things to do and reminds me to lock up before I leave in seven hours. Wishing me luck with my cessation, he departs for the day, leaving me to mind the store as the afternoon wears on.
I go back to mopping. I feel little hooves wrap around one of my legs. I pause, smile, and look down at Chryssie. She's wanting attention again. My little princess is bored. Her little wings flutter and she whines. Grinning, the mop is set aside and I pick her up. She's been a very good girl. There's a pitiful little toy section in the store, exactly two feet wide and four feed tall at the end of one of the aisles. I find a squeaky toy, a little football and give it a squeak.
Chrysalis loves it. With a huge open grin and round eyes, she takes it in her hooves and starts squeezing it between them. The squeaking begins and I immediately regret giving it to her. It'll probably occupy her for a little bit, but I've got to finish my mopping and go measure the tanks. Reminding Chrysalis to be good and she can have the toy, under the counter she goes and the little football squeaks away. The last thing I see before I resume my mopping of the little filly is her happily chewing on the thing with this adorably mindless look of contentment on her. The squeaking goes on for a good fifteen minutes. Endlessly. It's worse than getting your kid something that requires batteries.
Sighing at myself for being dumb enough to give her the only distracting thing I could think of, I check on her one more time before I go outside to measure the tanks. As I do so, I see the boss's cat Mr. Whiskers slink by lazily. He's lean black and gray tabby tom cat and comes and goes as he pleases. I don't mind cats and had even considered getting one for a time. The cat looks at me indifferently, his tail twitching behind him as he goes through the open front door. It never occurs to me there's still a filly inside as I'm still hearing the toy make its infamous noise.
I'm putting the measuring stick away, having made a mental note to write down only the unleaded tank had gone down some. As I go to the door, I realize Chryssie is no longer playing with her football. I don't think I was gone for more than ten minutes. Usually, Mr. Whiskers is napping in his cat bed. Unfortunately, as I soon discovered, Mr. Whiskers met Chrysalis.
Somehow, she had pounced on the poor cat, maybe using that mental ability of hers or whatever, but I see she's just put the animal in a green cocoon just under the cash register and on the floor. The world freezes as I stare at the wide and terrified eyes of a cat trying to get out of whatever the hell Chrysalis just put him in. In the meantime, there's another cat - looking just like Mr. Whiskers - smiling smugly up at me with glowing harlequin eyes.
Three things: Firstly, Chrysalis is very proud of what she did and is even preening herself at her accomplishment. She probably thought the cat was hunting her and reacted accordingly. Maybe it was the other way around. I don't know. I was not there to see how everything ended up in this little calamity before me. Secondly, I totally missed her first transformation from changeling into something not her natural form. My heart fell a little bit as I realized this was a first I would not be a witness to. Lastly, the old man is going to kill me if he finds out an alien creature under my care just entrapped his cat with a semi-transparent substance I can't even begin to identify.
She knows I'm not happy. I'm covering my face with both hands and saying, "No, no, no, no, no," and a whole lot of 'nos' after that. I take a deep breath and look to see if anyone is coming. Rushing to the front door, I peek outside.
Here comes the old man.
Yay me.
I make a strangled noise, arms flailing as I disappear inside.
"I do bad?" Chryssie asks me when I'm looking down at her, my eyes wide as I try to think. Okay, there's a changeling in the form of a cat talking to me. I know it's Chrysalis, but I'll be damned if that isn't the damnedest thing I've ever seen!
"No, honey, you did what your instincts told you to do," I tell her. "Now let him out for me, please?"
"Why?" she asks, confused. Chryssie brightens, points a hoof and the cat I know is yowling, but the cocoon is completely muffling his meows. "Dinner!"
"Baby, that cat belongs to my boss," I say patiently, feeling a little sick at her suggestion we eat Mr. Whiskers. "Please let him go. For me?"
I hear the boss calling my name. He's seconds from stepping through the threshold.
Chryssie smiles up at me, masking her obvious disappointment. "Okay." Her horn glows and the cocoon thing literally turns to goo and melts away from the cat. Mr. Whiskers, in obvious shock from his ordeal, scrambles to his feet and is off like a black streak of panic, darts between the boss's legs just as he enters.
He's staring at the direction his cat just went, having nearly tripping over the running feline wearing a scowl and shaking his head. "What's up with my cat?" he asks me, perplexed and scratching his balding head as he approaches the counter.
I'm beginning to notice the remnants of the cocoon has a rather gross smell to it, like sweet vomit. It's curling my toes and even Chrysalis is trying to shy away from it, a little hoof over her nostrils. I think quickly as my boss' nostrils catch the none-too-pleasing odor.
"What is that god-awful stink?" he demands.
"Mr. Whiskers threw up," I lie, going around the counter to get the mop bucket. The old man blinks, not sure if my answer seems plausible. I point at the spot where the green mass is, take a gamble and add, "Want to see it? It's an amazing look at what he's had to eat today. I think there's a mouse here."
"Eh, no thanks. I came because I forgot my car keys. Remembered I left them here after I had some pie at the diner." He makes a gesture at me. "Are they by the register? Ah, there there are! By the bobble head doll. Could you hand them to me?"
I do so, happy to please. It would also be a good idea if he leaves before asking more questions or comes around the counter and sees something most definitely not Mr. Whiskers lying on the bed down there.
He pauses, a little abashed. "I'm sorry about the cat. I should clean it up."
"Don't worry about it, sir. I can handle it," I assure him with my best smile.
He peers at me suspiciously. "So this is you sober, eh?"
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I ask, wondering if there was something I should be worried about. As it turns out, it's a good thing.
"I could grow to like it. This new old you is more like the kid I remember. Keep it up." He waves his keys at me and trundles out the door, pinching his nose on the way out. The smell is pretty ripe.
I spend the next hour cleaning, using a liberal amount of bleach and about five fresh buckets of mop water before the stuff is cleaned up and the smell is reduced to something. The whole time, I'm hearing a half-hearted squeak of a chew toy every minute or so, making a mournful little sound every time Chrysalis bites into it. I peer down at her. She stays in the cat bed, dejected as once again, she thinks she's done something wrong. During my conversation with my boss, she had reverted to her natural form and looked adorably pitiful. Every once in a while, every fourth or fifth squeak of her toy, I would hear her sniffle.
I'm not really in a rush to comfort her. Let her think about what she did. I'd talk to her about it when we get home in five hours.
She lies there quietly the rest of the day, very quiet and ignoring my little offers of snacks, looking away from my hand and curling up into a tight little ball. Every time I do steal a glance at her when not doing something, she's got an eye on me, never blinking. It's a little sad, as if she knows she's getting a scolding when we get home.
You can only let things go for so long before you have to put your foot down. I thought she was too young to worry about certain boundaries and I would like to refer to the comment I made earlier in regards to stupid adults. I'm feeling like a jackass right now and the feeling persists even though I fake pleasantries with my regulars and greet a couple of faces just passing through. I restock what little was sold that day and count the drawer down at closing time. I make the meager deposit into the safe and finish up cleaning. It doesn't take long as I'm reduced to just doing a final sweep and getting the register ready for the next day. Finally, with little left to do than shut off the lights and lock the doors, I beckon Chrysalis to come out from under the counter.
"Let's go home, Chryssie," I say to her with a gentle smile. She's in my arms, wanting affection, but the memory of earlier still lingering on her little visage. Cradling her in the crook of my left arm, I turn off the lights, shake out my keys, and go out to lock the doors.
We go home and we do have a one-sided talk. I was going to have to establish the rules early if we were going to have any chance of getting her to survive the world.
We never did see Mr. Whiskers ever again, by the way.
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this is adorable, i cant wait to see what you have planned for this
I want to thank you for frequently updating this very enjoyable and adorable story and look for to seeing where you take it.
you just made this fic 20% cooler with that new cover art.
3154255 At some point I'll make an improved cover from my original. Thank you!
this really needs more likes.
you changed the cover art! my heart exploded with adorableness! *squee*
When i saw that story on DA i though it will be some lame copy, but now i see its soo damn good :D I can't throw out idea of Chrysalis eating random cats like that pic ;p
derpicdn.net/img/view/2013/4/13/296944.png
3163527 It's a homage to MLD, but with a crooked twist to it. And that's an awesome pic to share, by the way.
3156878 Thank you for the compliment. It's early and people are going to be wary because of the title and what they think the story is. But that's okay. The people who stick around to read the end will get the last laugh!
3163609
MLD had semi good plot (narrating was tragic but not that matter) and so lame main hero. You made somebody with actually good characterisation
3163645 Thank you.
i kinda feel bad for the cat
3376222
Yeah. At least it was smart and ran off though.
I hope he lets her hunt random animals, but tells her what is off limits. It would be cruel not to let her hunt.
Can't stop laghing.
3156878 Agreed.
The only thing I dislike in this story is the repeated use of "yay me". I'm not being mean but it's irritating. Other than that, it's a great story!
I had a ferret called Mrs. Whiskers.....she always stole any shiny stuff and hid it so I had to root around in my house like a old goat to find my car keys 3-4 days a week until I gave her to a family with kids who could play with her like I used to..I miss her.
Poor Chryssie.
Snrk, the cat was wise to leave.
Cats pretty much take care of themselves, and seem to practically disdain any help you give them. As such, they're an excellent choice for people who don't want a pet. >_>
7154828
It's called a Running Gag, son.
9761130
Or in the spirit of the fic... A galloping gag :P