Making Fire and Using Shampoo

by Zeck

You Put WHAT In Your Mane?!

“Buzzy, we really shouldn’t be here,” Bertha whispered.

“I said you and Bow didn’t have to come,” Buzzy shot back.

“And what if something happens to you?” Bow whispered. “Big Daddy would string us out to dry.”

The three sisters crept along the McColts’ mountain, keeping out of sight of both their home and that ramshackle settlement on the other side of the valley. Their destination was at the bottom of the mountains and a bit further in the valley.

The routine was the same as always. The three mares snuck out of their home once a week and slipped down the mountain. Their charcoal-grey manes helped them blend in, so that if a pony saw them from far off, they would appear as a flickering shadow.

The sisters reached the bottom of the mountain. Buzzy crept to the rock that they always hid behind and peeked over the edge. No sign of movement from home or those rotten Hooffields. She waved her hoof and Bow followed. Bertha came next, creeping along the ground so low that her two ponytails dragged in the dirt.

“Sis, why do do this?” Bertha asked as she pressed herself next to Bow. “We have a bathhouse.”

Buzzy scrunched her light purple nose. “You two can bathe in that stuff if you want. Not me. Now be quiet and follow me. Or, go back to bed.”

“No,” Bertha said, running her hoof through one of her ponytails. “You two might like wearing your manes short, but I don’t, so I have to wash mine.”

“Just hurry up,” Bow said.

“Right,” Buzzy said and stepped out from behind the rock. She made her way toward the dried riverbed and began to follow it. Before, when they were younger, the river still had a little bit of water flowing through it, so they didn’t have to travel as far, but as the years had passed, the Hooffields had dried the river up growing all the food that they constantly fired across the valley. It was such a waste.

The sisters followed the riverbed until they found the small pond where the water still pooled. Buzzy felt her light purple coat grow cleaner just by looking at the sparkling liquid. She looked at her two sisters, both of whom had their own smiles, and then the three raced toward the water.

Bow arrived first. She tore off her blue shirt and yanked the red tie out of her short mane, allowing it to spill down around her head and face. She jumped into the water, her greyish-blue coat vanishing beneath the surface with a loud splash.

Bertha and Buzzy reached the water next. Bertha stopped when her pale green hooves touched the water. She pulled off her shirt and set it gently on the ground, and then undid her red mane ties, allowing her two ponytails to merge into one mass of charcoal colored hair. She then undid the tie at the end of her tail and slowly walked into the water until it was up to her neck. She lowered herself in until her mouth was submerged and began blowing bubbles, giggling as they popped in front of her face.

Buzzy didn’t waste any time. She jumped over Bertha’s head, tucked her four legs, and crashed into the water. Her purple shirt was instantly soaked, but she didn’t care. She could feel the dirt washing away as she sank. After a few seconds, she broke the surface again, her mullet-styled mane clinging to her neck and forehead.

“See?” she said as she floated in the water. “Tell me this isn’t worth it.” She began to fiddle with her own shirt until she was able to wiggle out of it. She rubbed it between her hooves, cleaning it to the best of her ability.

“Ah, my mane needed this,” Bertha said as she floated on her back.

“It does feel nice,” Bow said as she swam up next to her sister. “Wish we had this back home.”

Buzzy scowled. “As if the Hooffields would let us. They’d fine some way to spoil it.”

“You’re right,” Bertha said as she spit out water.

“We’d better get going,” Bow added as she splashed Bertha. “Big Daddy might notice we’re missing if we’re gone too long.”

Buzzy rolled her purple eyes. Bow said that every time, and every time nothing happened. Big Daddy McColt slept like one of the logs their home was built from. Still, Bow was technically the oldest—by four whole seconds—so Buzzy and Bertha had to listen to her when push came to shove.

“Fine,” Buzzy said as she walked out of the pond. She began to wring water out of her shirt. “You two head back. I need to dry my shirt.”

“Every time you just jump straight in,” Bertha said as she tied one of her two ponytails.

“And every time, you end up staying behind because your shirt is wet,” Bow added. “If you’d just take it off before hoof, this wouldn’t happen.”

Buzzy shrugged. “Well, you two might like wearing those crusty old shirts day after day, but I like mine to at least smell like something other than dirt and sweat.”

Bow and Bertha looked at each other and then down at their shirts. Buzzy knew what came next.

“Could you…wash ours too?” Bertha asked with a meek smile. She and Bow held out their shirts and Buzzy rolled her eyes.

“Chores for a week, both of you,” she said.

“How about we cover for you so that Big Daddy don’t wake up?” Bow countered.

“And one day of chores,” Bertha added. “It’s only fair, Bow.”

Buzzy smiled. This was the deal they always came to. Her sisters had never quite gotten the hang of washing their clothes in the water, and so Buzzy did it, and in return they took care of her share of the chores for a day.

“Deal. Leave them by the rocks. I’ll meet you two back home in half an hour or so.”

“Don’t be late,” Bow whispered. With that, she and Bertha began to make their way back up the riverbed. Buzzy watched them go and then washed their shirts. She soaked them and scrubbed them until she felt sure most of the dirt was gone.

“Now to find some wood for the fire,” she said to herself. She trotted over to the far edge of the pond and rummaged through bushes until she found enough branches to get a fire going. Then she walked over and found her spot. It was a small area, free of burnable materials, and she had placed several stones in a circle there. The ground inside the circle was charred from the many times she had built a fire.

Humming to herself, Buzzy sat down and began to work. She got a small flame going, and she immediately hunched over and sheltered it. She blew on it a few times until it grew to a decent size.

“Now all I got to do is dry our clothes,” she said as she laid the clothes on the drying rock next to the fire. She sat down and let the fire’s warmth fill her body. This was a much better way to dry off than just shaking her body like her sisters did. How did they not get cold walking back home?

The sound of splashing reached Buzzy’s ears and she rolled her eyes again. Apparently Bertha hadn’t had enough playtime.

The purple mare stood and walked toward the pond, calling, “Girls! We had a deal. How are you supposed to—?”

Buzzy stopped when she saw the pony sloshing in the water. It wasn’t Bertha, or even Bow.

The pinkish pony stayed perfectly still, like prey caught in a predator’s gaze, as her greenish-yellow eyes stared at Buzzy. Her curly, tangled mane was just starting to get wet, slowly losing it fluffiness. The stalk of some small plant was balancing on the edge of her open mouth, and in one hoof she had a bottle of something.

“Hooffield!” Buzzy growled.

“What’s a McCold doing here?”

“It’s pronounced, ‘McColt’!”

“Oh, my mistake. You’re all so sick, I was confused.”

“We ain’t sick! We’re perfectly healthy.”

“You mean you all look like that all the time?” The Hooffield put her hoof to her mouth and gasped. “How horrible!”

Buzzy gritted her teeth. “Yeah, well…says the pony who looks like her mane exploded!”

“I hardly think a pony with a mullet has any right to make fun of my appearance!”

“Why you little…!” Buzzy bit her lip and then turned up her nose. “Hmph! Whatever! Just hurry up and get out of our swimming hole!”

“Your swimming hole?” the Hooffield shot back. “Hardly. It’s because you McColts chopped down all the trees and clogged the river with your logging that I even have to come here! All the water we have back home is used for growing food. If anything, this is my pond! I’ve been coming here for years!”

“You’re lying! I ain’t never seen you here, and I’ve been coming here since I was a filly!”

“How like a McColt. Lying to change history. I’ve been coming here and I’ve never seen you neither!”

Buzzy was starting to shake with fury. This stupid Hooffield was ruining her and her sisters’ secret spot! “Grr! Just…hurry up and get out of here! Or I’ll call my sisters!”

“Not until I wash my hair and tail,” the Hooffield said as she turned her nose up.

“Fine! Just dunk it under the water and get out! You got ten seconds!”

“First, washing my hair and tail takes much longer than that!” The Hooffield raised her flank out of the water and revealed a soaking wet tail. “Second, despite what your simple mind thinks, this ain’t your pond or water, so you have no right to tell me how long I have. And thirdly, you’re a McColt!”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Hooffield!”

“McColt!”

Buzzy was so furious that she sat down and crossed her front hooves across her chest. She looked back at her fire to make sure it was still going, and then turned back to the pony in the water. “Fine! Wash your mane! But I’m watching you! No funny business!”

“How like a McColt, watching a lady bathe,” the Hooffield shot back. She turned in the water so that her back was to Buzzy. “I suppose you all go to the bathroom in the open too?”

Buzzy scooped up a pebble and tossed it at the Hooffield. She missed—by a large margin—but the Hooffield still looked over her shoulder and scowled at her. Buzzy returned the favor by sticking her tongue out.

“Rude and childish,” the Hooffield said as she turned back around. She raised her bottle and shook it until a white cream came out onto her other hoof. She then gently tossed the bottle back to shore; making it land in a basket she had placed there, and began to rub the cream on her hair. It foamed until it covered her entire mane and she still continued to rub it all over her head.

“What the hay are you doing?” Buzzy asked as the Hooffield’s auburn mane disappeared beneath a swarm of bubbles.

“Washing my hair.”

“No you’re not. You’re rubbing gunk into it.”

“It’s called shampoo!”

“That sounds disgusting! Why would you want to rub animal droppings in your hair?”

The Hooffield turned around, and a look of genuine shock was on her face for a moment, but then it quickly changed to one of cruel mockery. “I don’t believe it! You’ve never heard of shampoo? I mean, I know you McColts are as sharp as a watermelon, but I had no idea it was this bad!”

Buzzy blushed. “Well, um…okay then! What is it?” She tried to sound snide, but her voice cracked.

“You’ve at least heard of soap, right?” the Hooffield asked. She submerged her head for a moment and the bubbles stayed on the surface of the water. She rubbed her head vigorously for a few seconds and then came back up, her once fluffy mane now limp and clinging to her face.

“Course we’ve heard of soap!”

“Shampoo is soap for your mane and tail, McColt!” the Hooffield laughed. “Although, with a mane like that, I can see why you’ve never heard of it.”

“Yeah, well…do you use it on those giant eyebrows of yours too?” Buzzy shot back. “Because they’re just as thick as that rat’s nest on your head and rump!”

Buzzy would have continued the attack, but the look on the Hooffield’s face gave her pause. Buzzy, her sisters, and her entire family had been feuding with the McCotls for generations. They screamed at each other day in and day out and launched hay bales and food at one another constantly.

But Buzzy had never seen any of them look like this Hooffield now. Her eyes were blinking rapidly and her bottom lip quivered, much like Bertha’s did when she was upset. She sniffed a few times and then looked down at the water, and Buzzy suddenly felt like the bottom end of the lowest Hooffield in all of history.

“I’m…” she started, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the word. No McColt had ever said that word to a Hooffield, and she wasn’t going to be the first one, no sir! “I’m Buzzy,” she said instead.

The Hooffield looked up, and Buzzy couldn’t tell if the water on her face was from the pond. “I’m Lucky Barrel.”

The two mares stared at each other for a long time, suddenly realizing that neither had any idea how to talk to the other that didn’t involve hurling insults or objects. Buzzy found the moment strangely calming.

Lucky Barrel shook her head. “I better get going,” she said as she made her way out of the pond. She stopped at the edge and collected her basket. She pulled out a small rag, although Buzzy would have been hard pressed to call it even that, and began to run it through her mane and over her body. She sneezed several times and Buzzy could see her shoulders shiver in the moonlight.

“You’re not going back like that, are you?” Buzzy asked as Lucky Barrel began to walk up the riverbed. “You’re soaked! At least dry yourself off!”

Lucky Barrel turned around and raised a bushy eyebrow. “W-W-Why d-d-d-o you c-c-c-are?” she asked between chattering teeth.

“Because if they find your body down here, they’re going to think I had something to do with it! Worse, more of you Hooffields are going to come around here looking for answers!”

“N-N-Not much I-I-I-I can do about that.” Lucky Barrel held up her little rag, which was already soaking wet. “T-T-T-This is all—”

“Oh, would you stop your shivering!” Buzzy yelled. “It ain’t even that cold out! Come over here. I have a fire going. It’ll warm you up!”

“R-R-R-Really? Y-You don’t—”

“Now, Hooffield!”

Lucky Barrel trotted over to Buzzy and they sat down by the fire. Neither one of them spoke for a long time, but Buzzy noticed that Lucky Barrel had at least stopped shivering. And her mane seemed to be coming back to life, slowly getting its poof back.

It was also starting to look really soft in the moonlight.

“This fire’s nice,” Lucky Barrel said at last, startling Buzzy. “Wish I could build one. It’d make drying off a lot easier. My towel got destroyed when you McColts launched that hay bale two days ago.”

Buzzy pretended she didn’t hear Lucky Barrel’s last sentence. “It’s simple, really. Just need to know what wood makes the best fuel, and what sticks to rub together.” Buzzy turned and looked at Lucky Barrel again. Her mane seemed nearly dry now, and it looked like it was glowing. “Say…where’d you get that shampoo stuff anyway?”

“Oh, I made it,” Lucky Barrel answered.

“You did? How?” Buzzy asked, stunned. She had no idea a Hooffield could do anything other than grow plants and be pests.

“Oh, it’s simple,” Lucky Barrel said as she met Buzzy’s gaze. “You just need to know what planets make the best ingredients, and what herbs to mix together.”

“Heh.”

“Heh.”

The two ponies sat by the fire in silence long into the night.

Author's Note:

No, I couldn't find the names of any of the McColts or Hooffields besides the two leaders. So I came up with Buzzy because she has a buzz saw cutie mark, Bow for the bow saw, and Bertha because I wanted to. It seemed to fit.
And Lucky Barrel because she has a barrel and that little hat she has in the show.

Comments

[bahatumay]

>grow planets
There's cosmic power in those ponies!