• Published 11th Mar 2012
  • 2,054 Views, 16 Comments

Going Home - -Mazer



When Pinkie Pie's father grows ill, she is requested to return home. Can she overcome her past?

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8: Father's Request

Granita and Mother were already in Father’s room by the time Octavia and I arrived. I stood just outside the threshold, unsure if I had the guts to step into that dark room. Mother was at one side of Father’s bed with Granita at the foot. Father was whispering something to my youngest sister who was staring at the floor with her mane covering her face. Once he was done with whatever it was he had been saying to her, she and Mother stepped out of the room.

“He would like to talk to you two individually.” Mother exclaimed. She brushed her cheek against mine, removing the last of my tears. “You first.”

“Mother,” I whispered, my bottom lip poking out. “I don’t think I can.”

“You must.” She encouraged. “He misses you.”

My heart tightened up. I gave my mother a tight hug before, slowly, entering the bedroom. Granita stepped out of the room without so much a glance in my direction. I looked back towards the door. Octavia nodded for me to keep going before closing the door, sealing me in the room with my estranged Father.

“Father?” I whispered as I approached the bed. He was laying on his back with the blankets pulled up to his chest, his front legs resting on top of it. He had a beard now – one that went down to his chest and his coat had lost some of its luster. His weathered face had gained several more wrinkles and he was now wearing a pair of glasses. He sat up a bit when he heard my voice.

“Pinkamena,” He said. My heart skipped a beat when I heard just how soft and raspy his voice had become. The Father I remembered had a deep, booming voice. This soft, teeny voice was not the voice of the stallion that raised me. “It’s been far too long.”

I bit my bottom lip. “I’m so sorry for that,”

He looked me over, from the bottom of my hooves to the top of my poofy, fluffy mane. “Just like that afternoon.” He said.

“Sir?” I blinked.

“Your mane. It looks just as messy as it did on that day when you threw us that party. Have you been so lazy that you couldn’t brush it out?”

I frowned while running my hooves through my mane. “It’s not my fault, Father, I promise you it isn’t. I try to brush it out but it just goes POOF, like this.”

“You were so much prettier with your mane straight.” He gave me another look over. “Though, this look. Fits you better it does.”

“Father?”

“This,” He waved his hoof at my mane. “Is not the mane of Pinkamena, but the mane of Pinkie, the filly you grew up to be. This is the mane that fits you proper.”

I felt the corner of my mouth turn upwards, just a tiny bit. “I hope that is alright with you.”

“Why would it not be acceptable?”

“Granita said,” I hesitated, then continued though my eyes were now staring upon the floor. “She told me everything. How sad you were when I left the farm and how I disgraced the family by going by a different name.”

My father stared at me for several seconds then said, “Pinkamena, help me here. I wish to sit up to look upon you better.”

I slipped my arm under his and around his shoulder. I was horrified to feel just how frail he had become. Gone was the stallion who could shatter boulders with a single kick, replaced with a stallion who weighed less than quadruple-layered chocolate cake with sprinkles, ice-cream, whipped cream, and cupcakes on the side. Once he was able to sit up, I took a step back.

“Pinkamena, let us set things straight.” Gone was that whispering, raspy tone of voice, replaced by the strong, powerful voice that woke me up every morning before dawn. “When you asked me to leave the farm, I was devastated.”

I felt my heart crack into a thousand little pieces.

“I was losing my daughter,” he explained. “To a world that was strange and unusual. She was leaving the safety of the farm and all I could think about was your safety. You were not raised around other fillies and I did not know how you would act around them nor did I know how they would treat you. Worried was I for your safety that I couldn’t sleep for days, but there had not been a day that went by where I regretted letting you leave.

“You were different,” He continued. “Since the day in which you came into this world, I knew that you were different. Your sisters, they accepted the farm life easier than you. Where they accepted their duties without a complaint, you wanted to explore and play. When there was quiet, you wanted noise, when met with loneliness you wanted company. Our home, our way of life, was not for you. You needed friends and it weighs heavy on my heart that I was forced to keep you away from others but it was needed for the good of the family.”

“Then why did you let me go?” I whispered, trying my hardest not to cry.

“Because the farm was killing you,” he answered. “Not literally, but emotionally.” He looked down to his hooves while taking a deep breath. “Pinkamena, I was raised never to give in to my emotions. My parents raised me with the idea that fillies and colts should be seen and not heard. We were not encouraged to talk about our problems. We had to keep it all to ourselves. We swallowed our feelings and kept on working, for the good of the family, for the good of the farm.

“So when it came to be that I found myself with fillies of my own, I raised you as I was. It was all I knew but after you threw that party, I realized that you were meant for a life outside the farm. I would have to pick up your slack, but it was a sacrifice that I welcomed to know that you were happy.”

“But Granita…”

“She is jealous.” He explained. “Jealous of the both of you.”

“Jealous? Why?”

“Because you got to follow your dreams while she stayed behind to help me with the farm. I had told her that if she so wished, she could too, leave and explore Equestria, but she refused, feeling it was her responsibility to stay behind. Not a month went by where I tried encouraging her to leave, but as stubborn as your mother she is. Yet her jealousy remains.”

“She feels like we abandoned her,” I gasped.

“Life gets in the way, sometimes.” He clarified. “Life kept my daughters stuck on a farm during their childhood. Life kept you away from your family, your sister busy in Canterlot. It happens, Pinkamena.”

“So, you weren’t upset with me?” I blinked.

“No. Never. I just wanted you safe.”

“Oh Father,” I couldn’t keep myself from lunging forward to embrace him. He kept his hooves off to the side for several seconds before slowly returning the hug, though a bit awkwardly. That’s okay. A hug is a hug, no matter what! “I was so worried.”

“Your worries may not be over just yet,” He said. I gently pulled away while tilting my head. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“There is a reason that I asked you and your sister to return home.” His voice was growing soft again as his energy began to dwindle. “Pinkamena, I am selling the farm.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “You are what?”

“I am selling the farm. Your Mother and I would like to retire and I would like some of the bits to go to you and your sisters to help you with whatever it is you want in life. Your sister insists that she can continue working but that would be unfair. It is time for her to live her life.”

“Okay,” I tried to smile. “What can I do to help?”

“I have invited a group of investors to come and examine the land. I want Granita to take care of the guests as she understands the business. Concertia will be here to entertain them while it is your job to set up the festivities.” His eyes suddenly grew serious. “Nothing like the party you threw for us all those years ago, something more somber but still welcoming. This is not time for streamers and confetti, understood?”

I gnawed on my bottom lip for several seconds while literally hundreds of ideas began flying through my head. Somber? I guess that means Pink is out of the question – that’s a bummer! Who could ever have a party with pink? I guess I could use a darker shade of blue. Yes, that could work. Maybe some banners welcoming ponies? Oh! I could serve bite-sized cracker treats! Apples and Oranges would be a must, and of course cake, oh I love cake! Now, what to drink?

“Somber,” Father reminded me. “And listen to Granita. She will know whats appropriate and what isn’t. Understood?”

“Yes, Father.” The idea of hosting a party in my father’s honor was enough to brighten up whatever depression I had been feeling. I cannot wait to go back into my room to sketch out all the different ideas I had. “I won’t let you down.”

He nodded slowly. “You never have, Pinkamena.”