Chapter the Fifth
Quick Note: From now on, I think I'm going to write up all of the authors notes and what not in the blog portion of my profile, so that I don't clutter the chapters up. So, if you're so inclined, head over there when you're done with this latest installment to find out what's going on, and to hear me bitch and blather.
June 9th, 2019
“Sweetie? Could you slow down a bit?”
The highway stretches out before them, the soft susurration of the tires on the asphalt a muted soundtrack as the road runs endlessly beneath the headlights.
“Ryan slow down, please.”
Out of the corner of his eye Ryan can see the dim, grey blur of the guard rail flowing past the oncoming lane, its slight dips and bends causing it to undulate like some tarnished, silver serpent.
Callie Williams looks over at her husband, a mixture of unease and annoyance marring her graceful features as she reclines in the passenger bucket seat. The diffuse glow of the dashboard instruments reflect faded jade accents along her cheeks and jaw line, picking out glowing highlights on the bun of her hair as one hand rests protectively on the pronounced mound of her belly.
Eyes intent on the road, he returns a non-committal grunt by way of reply. Distantly he can make out a set of headlights, the twin pinpricks of washed-out amber appearing as a single dot of color due to the distance, racing towards them along the amaranthine blacktop.
Ryan's not sure where it is they’re heading. All he knows is that they have to get there, and as soon as possible. Some deep and barely understood imperative is driving him, forcing him to hasten his pace even now. A furtive glance shows the speedometer creeping slowly from eighty-five to ninety, a velocity at which he knows no pregnant woman should be traveling while earth bound. Despite this however, he grimly knuckles down on the steering wheel, the gas pedal flush with the floorboard as he urges more speed out of their tired sedan.
“Ryan, what are you doing?”
Tearing his eyes briefly from the road, he takes in the drawn expression on his wife’s face. He tries to answer her, to explain and reassure, but all he can manage is another shapeless grunt. Vision sweeping back across their path in an arc, he absently notes the flat and infinite expanse of the desert flowing away in all directions, fading quickly to pitch blackness just outside the twin cones of his low beams.
They have to get to their destination, they have to. It’s the only way her and the baby will be safe. This thought runs constantly through his mind, repeating over and over like a drum beat. He doesn’t question the strange logic behind the thought. He doesn’t have time for contemplation. He can feel the urgency, the stomach tightening apprehension, tickling between his shoulder blades and down his back like spiders legs.
“Why are you doing this, Ryan?”
If she could just understand, could feel what he felt.
She’d be telling him to go faster.
“Why are you in such a rush, sweet heart?”
He wants to talk to her, to try to make her see, but all of his focus is on the road, on speed. He finds, unsettlingly, that he is literally incapable of anything beyond racing their car down this highway.
Why can’t he form the words?
“Are you so eager?”
His brow furrows, his eyes narrowing as his focused mind tries distractedly to place some sort of context to her question.
“Are you so eager to do this again? “
Giving up on what his wife is saying, all of his attention is once again on the road, his mind a narrow blade of purpose. The worn tires hum along, just kissing the center line and sending slight vibrations through the wheel and into his hands. Faintly he can hear the small metallic sounds of his key ring swaying gently back and forth beneath the steering column, its rhythm changing occasionally when it brushes against his knee. Drawing a breath he can detect barest odor of must, interlaced with just a tinge of antifreeze, wafting almost imperceptibly from the air vents.
He is focus. He is purpose. He’s going to keep them safe.
He has to this time.
Sitting forward amidst the small sounds of cloth rustling against cloth his wife looks at him, pausing to take a breath before her mouth opens.
“Are you so eager to kill us, Ryan? Again?”
The question slams into him like a hammer blow, an almost physical force that takes his wind and makes his eyes go wide. His stomach goes queasy as a sick sort of dread sweeps over him, threatening to devolve into gibbering fear. Looking cautiously towards her, he begins to panic. Callie is sitting fully upright, her eyes burning with accusation, boring into him like fiery augers. Blood is starting to run down her face in creeping rivulets, leaving bright, slow lines down her beautiful features and dripping from her cheeks to leave dime sized maroon spots on her white maternity blouse.
Terrified, Ryan sucks in a strangled breath, and as he blinks his sandpaper eyes the depthless black surrounding the highway changes in an instant, inverting to a dull white fog, its vast nothingness concealing the fuzzy outlines of large humped machine shapes. Barely seen orange and yellow blurs streak irregularly past the passenger window. They’re at the construction site.
No. Oh no, oh please God no, not again...
He’s been here before.
He starts to speak, trying to plead with his deceased wife. Her expression stops him cold, drying his mouth and rendering him mute. His beautiful Callie, always with a smile, her eyes always alight with a hint of mischief, now bears a different expression on her graceful countenance. The gentle curves and hollows have transformed, replaced by hard angles and planes. Stern, harsh, unforgiving. It is the expression of a hanging judge about to pass sentence, and seeing her look at him that way seems to crush a piece inside of him.
She runs a hand along her cheek, leaving dark smears trailing back towards her hair and coating her palm in a red glove. “You did this to me,” She lays both hands on her belly, leaving a bright crimson print on the white fabric that stands out like an accusation, “to us. But once isn’t enough. Not for you.”
She tilts her head slightly, long copper strands of her hair falling away from her sensible bun to sway gently with the motion. “You’re going to do it again. And this time, Ryan dearest, we’re all along for the ride.”
He stares at her, mouth agape. Callie...his Callie. The pain and loss wash over him like familiar surf as her words sink in, threatening to drown him. She was right, of course. He had been the one arguing with her, he had been the one not paying attention.
He had killed them.
“Daddy!”
Ryan’s head snaps forward, his eyes locking onto the rear view mirror.
“Daddy, don’t let them catch us! Don’t let them take us away! Please Daddy!”
Horror drops over him like a leaden blanket. Celestia and Luna are strapped into the back seat, battered and bleeding from dozens of small wounds. One of Luna’s eyes is a swollen mass of purple and black, riding above long, deep cuts along one side of her muzzle. Her remaining eye is clear and intact, a fact that does nothing to diminish the look of abject terror shining forth from the unblemished teal orb. Celestia leans heavily next to her, her beautiful white coat marred with alarming red patches and scuffed. Her head is lowered, her muzzle pointed at the floor boards. Tears leave damp trails along her snout as she weeps hopelessly. Her quiet sobs constrict his heart in bands of cold iron. He can see one of her wings sticking out slightly at an unnatural angle, clearly broken.
Swimming into focus through the rear window, he can see them now. Dozens of unmarked black S.U.V.’s filling out both lanes behind them, passing through the unbroken wall of mist lying across the highway like hunting beasts. The impenetrable windows above their government plates reflect the sourceless light of the low hanging fog as they slowly close the gap in pursuit.
“You’re going to do it again, Ryan. “ His dead wife cajoles him from beneath her scarlet mask. “You’re going to kill us. All of us, this time.” With a dusty laugh, she begins to sing song in a cracked voice, the sound like two stones rubbing together. “ All of us…all of us…kill all of us, dear Ryan…”
He struggles to move, to twist his head, to lift his arm. To do anything. His body is frozen, locked into place, his arms solid, gripping the wheel and holding their course steady. All he can move are his eyes, which swing slowly to the front at the deep rumbling of an approaching horn. Ahead of them twin globes the color of flame rush the car at a lunatics pace.
The vehicle they’re attached to is grossly huge, the vertical gunmetal bars of its grill looming up before them and disappearing into the changeless ethereal mists above the cars roof like a cemetery gate.
Ryan tries to cry out, to beg a merciful God to make it stop, but his body is stone, an unyielding, immobile statue with its foot pressed firmly on the gas peddle. All he can do is sit.
Callie’s gravelly voice intertwines with Luna’s hitching screams as the behemoth races towards them, horn blaring and tires squealing, ready to bring about their end in an apocalypse of sound.
Ryan bolts upright, a nascent scream dying roughly in his throat as his eyes shoot open. Taking deep, bellowing breaths he sits, blinking away the sweat that coats his face as his chest heaves. Slow minutes pass in the cool dark of his room as he finally wills his quivering muscles to relax, his heart slowing to a more normal rhythm as he rubs at his brow with an unsteady and shaking hand.
Lord, that was bad. That was a bad one. Leaning his head back, his other hand absently makes its way to his right knee, gently rubbing at the aching throb that emanates from it in slow, hot waves. His knee always hurts after that dream.
Glancing at the bedside clock he sees by it’s electric red glow that it’s just past four in the morning. Sighing, he throws his legs carefully over the edge of the bed, standing a bit uncertainly on his complaining knee. Draping his robe around his shoulders, he wanders to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light as he splashes cool water from the faucet onto his face and the back of his neck. The act helps to diminish the apprehension and unease left over from the nightmare.
Turning, he makes his way back through his darkened room and heads out into the dimly lit hall. He needs a smoke. In fact he feels rather strongly that he deserves one. After all, it’s not like he’ll be able to get back to sleep.
Stopping to check on the girls before he makes his way to the living room, he sees in the mellow wash of their night light that both are sleeping soundly. Their peaceful forms and quiet breathing causes the tension in his chest to loosen. Smiling a little in relief, he makes his way quietly down the stairs and out onto the front porch.
Leaning against the railing he closes his eyes for a moment and breaths deeply, drawing the gentle scent of the early summer stillness deep into his lungs. Releasing with a satisfied sound, he extracts a pale, slender tube from a red and white pack, pausing to tap its filter end against his palm before lighting up with a sigh.
It’s been a long time since he had last had that dream. His recurring nightmare about Callie’s death had finally stopped years ago, tapering off shortly after he had found the girls. It’d always been a bad one, real bad, and while it had had its variations this was the first time it’d ever been significantly different. His slight shudder has nothing to do with the morning chill as he remembers his girls in the back seat of their battered Olds.
Contemplating his cigarette, he’s pretty sure he knows what brought the dream on. Tapping his ashes absently over the wooden slat of the rail, he mules it over in his mind, before taking a deep drag and exhaling slowly, eventually nodding in agreement with his assertion. It’s a combination of things, really. A blending of his anxiety about the girls increasingly regular flights around the property, and his concern for their well being. Below all of that is a deeply rooted and barely acknowledged fear, that by teaching them what he can and encouraging them in their aerial efforts, he could ultimately be the cause of losing them to mishap or discovery.
And then there was Luna.
On top of everything else, the anxiety from Luna’s accident was more than enough to trigger a dream like that. True, it hadn’t been as bad as it could have been, but that afternoon two days ago when Tia had come bursting through the front door and screaming for him to come quickly, had probably taken years off of his life.
Sighing in resignation, he takes another pull from his smoke, seeking comfort in the habit. It’s not the first time one of his daughters has done something to cause the breath to catch in his throat and panic sweat to spring out on his forehead. The worst so far, but not the first, and he’s depressingly certain that it won’t be the last.
What can he do, though? He certainly can’t forbid them from flying. For one, it would be monstrously unfair. They absolutely love it, and he can’t deprive them of something they enjoy so much just to assuage his own fears. Besides which, it’s part of what they are. It’s part of who they are. He’s raising two Alicorns after all, and like it or not wings are part and parcel of the whole deal.
Turning and looking out over the front yard he finishes his cigarette, absently running a hand along the railing. The moon has set, and in the quiet space before sunrise the vast multitudes of stars shine out across the unblemished night sky with an almost painful clarity. Even after all the years, the sight of a night sky far from house lights and street lamps still has an effect on him. He drinks in the beautifully intricate vista before him, feeling his thoughts drop into order as his mind calms.
Butting his smoke in the small coffee can sitting on the railing, he lets out a pent up breath and turns to go in. It’s very simple really, there’s nothing to do about it. Kids are kids, and his are no exception. There’s no way he can keep them from taking the occasional tumble. He can only continue on as he has been, reminding them why they need to be careful, and taking care of them when they’re not. All of the fear and anxiety, the panic sweat and the drastically shortened lifespan are just part and parcel of being a father. He imagines it’s the same regardless of what species your children are.
Closing the screen door quietly, he heads towards the kitchen to get the coffee started. There are a lot of chores to catch up on this week, and as he idly picks at a splinter lodged in his palm he adds re-sanding the porch railing to the list he carries around in his head. Making the coffee strong, he glances at the digital clock on the stove before leaning back against the counter to wait for it to brew. It’s going to be one of those days.
Luna stirs tiredly, opening her eyes slowly as she wakes. Glancing over, she sees in the muted morning light the still, white mound of her older sister curled up beneath the sheets. Blinking slowly and shooting a look of bleary eyed resentment at the slow rise and fall of Tia’s blankets, she yawns and rolls onto her side, giving her legs a careful yet satisfying stretch that leaves them partially uncovered and poking off the side of her bed.
Gathering herself, she tucks her hooves and rolls onto her stomach, wincing as she inadvertently lies on top of her bandaged right foreleg. With gritted teeth she manages an ungraceful stumble onto the floor, clattering softly about on the carpet before taking a moment to yawn again and orient herself. It’s a little early yet, but she can already smell the strong scent of coffee drifting up from the kitchen, which means dad is already awake.
Shooting another half-heartedly rueful glance at her still slumbering sister, she turns towards her bed, reaching over a little clumsily and favoring her leg as she noses her sheets into a semblance of neatness. Tia always makes her own bed in the morning, and she just knows her sister will say something if Luna doesn’t, hurt leg or no.
Favoring her leg a bit more, she heads downstairs at an unsteady gait, quietly grumbling to herself as she limps along. Dad said she was lucky it was only a sprain, but right now she doesn’t feel very lucky. She feels tired and awkward and a little grouchy, and the bandage makes her leg hot. Also she’s hungry. Reaching the bottom step she can hear her father humming softly to himself, the abstract melody almost subsumed by the lovely sound of something sizzling in a pan. The sound, along with the faint scent wafting through the living room, buoys her spirits, and she makes her way stiffly into the kitchen to see what’s for breakfast.
Her dad is standing over the stove, sliding the skillet in his hand around as he adds some seasoning or other. Looking over his shoulder at the sound of her hooves on the tile he smiles warmly. “Morning sweetheart, how did you sleep?” Turning back, he sets the pan on the burner and grabs a nearby bag, sprinkling yellow and white shreds of cheese into the mixture before him.
Walking carefully over she nuzzles his side, being mindful not to bump her horn on his arm, which is already reaching for the spatula. “Alright, I guess. My leg kept waking me up.”
“How’s it feeling?”
“It still hurts, but not as bad.”
“Well it sounds like its better then it was.”
Feeling a little more hopeful, and sniffing at the enticing aroma drifting from the stove, she wanders over to the fridge, pulling at the handle with her mouth. After debating for a moment, she selects a glass of orange juice from inside, turning to set it on the table before nudging the door closed again.
The kitchen setup is a little awkward for everyone, but it has so far proven to work very well. There are usually several glasses of juice and tea on the shelf, each with a straw poking up beneath the cellophane wrap that’s secured over the top. Milk still has to be poured, since Dad doesn’t feel comfortable letting it sit like that, but overall it’s worked out a lot easier than trying to pour something by mouth when he isn’t available. It’s certainly a lot less messy. The success of the technique has caused it to be expanded to a variety of different snacks and meals, each plate or bowl covered with Saran Wrap and set on a shelf where it can be easily grabbed by mouth. It helps make the two fillies feel more independent.
Dropping the plastic wrap into the trash and taking a sip, she sits down on the kitchen floor, settling with most of her weight on her left leg. “What’s for breakfast Dad?”
Still humming quietly to himself, Ryan flips the pan up once more, before setting it aside and turning off the range. “Omelets with hash browns. How does that sound?”
“Oooh, omelets.” She smiles, taking another sip of her juice. A clattering from the stairs draws her attention, and she turns to see the larger form of her sister trotting through the kitchen doorway.
Celestia walks over and gives Ryan a quick nuzzle while he finishes up at the counter. “Good morning sis, morning Dad. What’s for breakfast?”
“Omelets.” Luna returns absently, nosing at her bandages.
“Oooh, omelets.” Tia grins as she trots happily to the fridge.
Turning, Ryan begins setting the assorted components of their meal on the table, yawning and taking a drink of his coffee as the girls sidle up. “After we eat and you girls get cleaned up, we’ll take another look at your leg Lunabelle.”
“Do you think it’s almost better daddy?” she asks, nosing her orange juice over next to her plate.
“It’s only been a couple of day’s honey. It’ll be a while yet before you can go running around on it again.”
Groaning quietly, she situates herself and tucks into the folded eggs on her plate. It’s been forever since she hurt her leg. Why does it have to take so long for it to get better? Why can’t it be better now? It’s not like she broke it or anything.
“Tia, what are your plans for today?”
Chasing a mouthful of hash browns with her apple juice, Celestia looks across the table brightly. “Go fly up around the canyon, look around for a while.”
“You’ve done that for the last two weeks. Don’t you want to take a day off and relax a little bit?”
Sipping her own juice, Luna looks resentfully at her sister. It’s so unfair. Tia gets to go flying, while she has to sit around the boring house reading or watching T.V. The fact that these are activities that she normally enjoys is shoved rudely into the back of her mind. She wants to go play outside.
“I like it up there,” Celestia responds with a grin. “Besides, you always say the more we fly, the better we’ll get at it, right?”
“I just worry, Tia Marie.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad. I promise I’ll be careful.”
Suppressing a sigh, Ryan takes another drink of coffee as Celestia smiles reassuringly at him from across the table. Swallowing a bite of her breakfast, Luna casts hopeful eyes at her father. “How much longer do you think it’ll take for my leg to get better, Dad?”
Setting his cup down, he gives Luna a commiserate look. “It’ll take some time sweetie. We’ll see how you’re doing after your shower.”
“How long does it usually take?”
“Well that depends on how long you stay off of it.”
“But it’s not like I broke it or anything...” Luna trails off, unable to keep a hint of a whine from her voice.
“No, but you either strained it or sprained it, which can be almost as bad.” Turning back, he gives Celestia a serious look. “I want you to watch out for snakes while you’re up there, Tia Marie. It’s warmed up enough for rattlers to be out.”
“I will, Dad.” Tia responds with a hint of exasperation. Stopping for a moment, she looks back to her father. “The poisonous ones have a different shaped head, right?”
Nodding, Ryan leans back, swallowing some of his eggs. “That’s right honey. Venomous snakes have a wedge shaped head. Regular snakes have an oval shaped head.”
“Why do rattlesnakes have a different shaped head?” Luna asks curiously.
“Well, their heads are shaped differently because they need room fit their fangs and their poison glands in them.”
Finishing her orange juice, Luna tilts her head a little. “So why does it have to be warm before they come out?”
“Because they’re cold blooded.” Celestia answers brightly, looking to her dad for confirmation.
“That’s right Tia. See, snakes, like all reptiles, are what’s called ectothermic, which is a fancy way of saying they can’t make their own body heat. So they have to use the sun to keep warm...”
Both girls lean forward, listening intently. Neither could really understand it, but they loved to hear their father explain things, and to have him answer questions. It was, they will realize later in life, part of what made school such a joy for them. Losing herself in the meal and the morning conversation, Luna’s annoyance is soon forgotten as she enjoys breakfast with her family in the strong June sunlight that splashes through the windows.
“How does it feel when I bend it this way?”
Gritting her teeth, Luna hisses quietly as Ryan gently tucks her hoof part way back. “That hurts, Dad.”
Watching her carefully, Ryan continues holding her right hoof partially back, his hands tenderly cradling the appendage. “Mmm-hmm. How far can you lift your leg, sweet heart?”
Drawing a double lungful of the still humid air, Luna begins to slowly bring her ankle up towards her shoulder, the intense shooting pain stopping her before she can even get it half way. Lowering it back down, she gives her head a short, bad tempered shake. “It’s still not better, is it Dad?”
Carefully releasing her hoof, he rises gingerly from his crouched position, briefly wiping the moisture from her damp coat onto his pant legs. Hearing the disappointment in her voice he leans over, cupping her cheek gently before reaching back to comb his fingers through the dewy strands of her mane, straightening out the small tangles and knots. “Sorry honey. It’s going to be a while before its back to being one hundred percent. These things take time Luna.”
Sighing dejectedly, she leans back as her dad straightens her mane. It really had felt a lot better under the hot spray from the wall nozzle. Now it’s right back where it was when she got up this morning.
Dumb leg. It’s not fair. She didn’t know there was a branch hiding in that tall grass. If Tia hadn’t been chasing her, making her land without looking, she wouldn’t have gotten tangled up in it, and she wouldn’t be stuck in the house with a stupid hurt leg.
Unbidden, the memory that it was her idea to play air tag in the first place tries to enter her thoughts. It’s a memory that she studiously ignores as her dad finishes untangling her lank hair and reaches for a brush next to the sink. It wasn’t her fault. Mostly.
Her dumb leg is never going to get better.
Idly she watches as the leftover steam from her shower mixes with the cooler air coming in from the partially open bathroom door, painting mystic and constantly shifting patterns upon the mirror. She’s starting to relax as her father runs the brush though her cobalt mane, humming quietly as he works, stopping occasionally as he hits a tangle he missed earlier.
This is one of her favorite times. Feeling fresh and clean after a good, hot shower, the pleasant hint of soap and shampoo still drifting on the warm eddies of steam. The comforting presence of her father as he hums softly in a mellow baritone. The soothing strokes of the brush. Everything always feels right during this time, everything always feels sure, like it couldn’t ever be any other way.
She sighs again, this time in quiet contentment as the ritual comes to an end. Ryan makes one last pass with the brush, studying his handiwork a moment before setting it back on the bathroom counter. Straightening, he opens the medicine cabinet, taking out a fresh elastic bandage and a tube of ointment. Some of her contentment leaves her as he sets these items on the wash stand.
Eying the tube sullenly, distaste wrinkles her snout before she turns large, pleading eyes to the man before her. “Daddy that stuff smells.”
“I know it does, but there’s still some swelling going on, and this stuff,” He holds up the green and white tube, “helps with that. It’s also supposed to make it hurt less.”
“I don’t like it. And it doesn’t work, my leg still hurts.” She grumbles quietly, leaning her weight onto her left side and shifting her wings in annoyance.
Squeezing out a handful of the admittedly foul smelling ointment, he begins gently massaging it into her ankle. “I’ll get you a couple of aspirin when we’re done here. And I don’t want you moving around on it too much today. It’ll never heal if you keep trying to walk everywhere on it.”
“But it’s boring sitting around all day,” she responds in the most plaintive voice she can muster, “And I wanna go outside.”
“No sweetheart. You’re staying off of your hooves as much as possible.”
“But Daddy…”
“No ‘buts’ Luna, and no whining. A little boredom is a small price to pay to get better. Hopefully next time you’ll look where you’re landing.”
Ryan tries not to chuckle at the martyred groan from his youngest daughter. It’s sometimes easy to forget how dramatic everything can be at that age. At least it was just a strain, and not a break. Had it been, he wasn’t sure what he could have done about it on his own. That would have meant finding a doctor, or more realistically a veterinarian, and there are a whole slew of reasons why that thought makes his stomach tighten uncomfortably. Taking another palm full of the evil smelling goop, he gives his daughter a smile that’s two parts consoling and three parts genuine relief, as he begins diligently working it up her leg toward her knee joint. Kids never seem to realize how lucky they are.
“So what do you want to do?”
“I dunno.”
Sighing in exasperation, Celestia shoots her sister an annoyed look. Luna, for her part, continues paging half-heartedly through an issue of their fathers Time magazine, not really reading it. From the picture on the front, Celestia can tell that she’s not really reading it. Tia doesn’t know what the START Treaty is, or how it failed, but the giant fireball on the glossy cover is not really the type of thing either she or her sibling are into.
Snorting in irritation, she settles back onto her haunches, watching her sister. “Well Dad asked me to keep you company, since you haven’t been able to go out all week. So, what do you want to do?”
Finally looking away from the magazine, Luna rolls her eyes, before turning to look at her sister. The added height of the couch puts them at almost the same eye level. When Celestias sitting, at least. “I can’t really do anything, Tia. Dad keeps telling me not to walk around too much.” Taking a deep breath and releasing it, she glances down at the magazine lying next to her on the cushion. “All I can do is watch T.V. or read. There’s nothing good on right now, and I’m bored with my books.”
“You read all your books?” Celestia asks, her eyes widening a little as she leans forward.
“No, but I’m tired of them. Why do you think I’m trying to read this?” She motions at the magazine, distaste tightening her features momentarily. “And this is just a bunch of boring outside stuff. Adult outside stuff.”
Celestia’s irritation begins to damp down as she feels a wash of sympathy for her little sister. She has, after all, been out flying and exploring all week, while Luna’s been stranded in the house. Settling back again, she starts thinking. No T.V., and no books. Glancing at her sister’s white-wrapped foreleg, she quickly rules out most of their toys. They need something to do that doesn’t involve a lot of standing or moving. Absently pawing at the edge of the living room rug with one hoof, she looks around, her vision coming to rest on the stairs.
“Well, there are those board games upstairs in the school room. Do you want to try one of those?”
Considering for a moment, Luna slowly nods her head, her dark mane swaying gently with the motion. “I guess, although I don’t know how much we can play without Dad there.”
“We can make our own game, if we want to. It’ll be fun!” Tia returns, smiling cheerfully. “And maybe when he finishes up, we can all play.”
Luna smiles back, her mood visibly brightening as she begins to carefully work her way off of the couch. “Ok, let me go tell Dad what we’re doing, and I’ll meet you up there.”
As her sister makes her way up the stairs in a gentle clatter of hooves, Luna walks carefully across the living room. Her leg is feeling quite a bit better, compared to the beginning of the week. She’s hardly limping at all now. Nosing the screen door open, she steps half way onto the porch, searching about before finally spotting her father’s legs sticking out from beneath their battered tan and brown pickup. “Hey Dad!”
His legs jerk, and there is a muted bang, followed by a string of barely audible curses. His voice drifts out, the sound reflected in funny ways by the truck above him and the gravel beneath. “Yeah honey?”
Suppressing a giggle at the scene, she leans out farther, pitching her voice to carry. “Me and Tia…”
“Tia and I, sweetheart,” He corrects, scooting out from underneath the vehicle and sitting upright. “It’s ‘Tia and I’.”
Rolling her eyes again, this time with a smile, she continues. “Tia and I are going to go upstairs and play a board game.”
Pausing a moment to wipe his hands on a nearby rag, Ryan stands and makes his way over, his tattered tennis shoes crunching along the gravel. “That sounds good sweetie. I’ll be done with the truck in about half an hour. After I clean up I’ll make us some lunch.” Mounting the three short steps of the porch, he bends low, making certain to keep his stained hands at his sides, and brushes the top of her head with a kiss. “Do you need another aspirin?”
“No thanks, it’s feeling a lot better.” She answers, picking her right hoof up off the ground and bending her leg back and forth a little. She grins back up at him. “I think it’s almost better.”
“You do, do you? Hmm…” He trails off, reaching up to rub his chin. Luna has to suppress a fresh set of giggles as his oil darkened fingers leave a broad smudge below his mouth. It looks like a crooked beard “Well, we’ll take a look at it after dinner. If it’s feeling good enough, we can probably quit with the ointment and wraps.”
Stretching and twisting his back, he continues. “Just remember that feeling better isn’t completely better. You can probably start going outside again, but you still need to take it easy, even without the bandages.” His voice takes on a stern tone as he adopts a very serious dad look. “And don’t let me catch you trying to fly until I say it’s alright, Luna Maybelle.”
She beams at the news, her smile losing only a little of its edge as her father tempers her enthusiasm. “I’ll be careful Daddy, I promise.” She responds in a solemn voice, the effect of which is spoiled somewhat by the excited gleam in her eyes and the ear-to-ear grin on her muzzle. Looking at her for a moment longer, he nods his head and turns back towards the truck. “You girls have fun, and don’t make a mess, OK?”
“We won’t, Dad.” Backing into the house, Luna lets the screen door swing closed with a soft rattle. Turning and making her way towards the stairs, she tries to walk normally, but even despite the slight limp, there is still a noticeable bounce in her step.
Nearing the room at the end of the hall where they usually do their learning, at least when they’re not off for the summer, Luna catches the sound of something thumping onto the carpeted floor, accompanied by her sister’s irate voice. Pushing the door open fully, she beholds the strange sight of her sister standing oddly, with her head near the ground and her rump swaying in the air. Laughing at the ridiculous spectacle, Luna walks over and gives the pink brush of a tail a gentle tug, eliciting a startled squeak from ground level. Looking down, she breaks into fresh laughter as she sees that Celestia has her head tilted sideways and shoved part way into one of the deep shelves on the bottom. “Tia, what are you doing?”
Trying to extract herself gracefully, and failing, her older sister finally regains her footing, rising to give Luna a dangerous look. “I’m trying to find the board games. They used to be on the bottom shelf.” Glancing at the books scattered around her immediate vicinity, she nudges one with her hoof. “They’re not there anymore.”
“Did you check the other bookcase?”
Gesturing towards a similar mess in front of the neighboring cabinet on her other side, Tia raises an eyebrow, returning a level look. “Of course I checked the other bookcase.”
Shrugging a little in embarrassment, Luna’s eyes begin wandering around the room, trying to spot the narrow rectangles of the missing game boxes. It’s not that big of a space, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find them. Tia’s already checked the two bookshelves standing along the far wall. Across from that, in the middle of the room, is the table they share as a desk, which sits in front of an actual desk that their dad uses. On the other side of that is the door way, flanked by a short couch on one side and a small end table on the other. Eying the end table, she gives her head a brief shake. They obviously couldn’t fit in there. Continuing her survey she can’t spy anywhere else they might be hiding. There’s nowhere else they really could be. Besides the furniture, and discounting the framed pictures and the tall mounted white board for obvious reasons, there’s only a potted plant tucked into a corner behind the desk, and some books stacked along the back wall.
Looking back to the desk she gives her wings a small shrug, walking over to it. Coming to the nearer side, she hesitates for a moment as a faint wave of apprehension comes over her. The desk is dads, and she probably shouldn’t be poking around it… but the board games have to be somewhere. Behind her she can hear Celestia muttering sullenly as she begins replacing the books she discarded on the floor. Glancing back at her sister, she gives herself a quick shake and approaches the polished chunk of dark wood. It’s pretty nice, actually, if sort of tall. Tall for her anyway. Angling behind it, she notices a couple of small cardboard boxes stacked next to the base of the plant.
Smiling in triumph, she steps over and noses the top one open. They have to be in here. Looking inside, her smile fades as she sees that the box is full of…stuff. Not the hoped for board games, but strange, thick folders, sitting on top of a bunch of papers. Curious now, she pulls out an odd blue folder, setting it on the floor and flipping it open. She draws her eyes down in bewilderment, studying it briefly before realization dawns, and she flips it right side up. Able to make sense of it now, she sees that inside is some sort of certificate. The words are written in a difficult to make out cursive script, but she can read University of Nevada across the top in an arc. Several lines below that her father’s name is printed, Ryan S. Williams.
“Hey sis? Look at this.”
“Loo ah wha?” Her sister replies, glancing over with a book in her mouth.
“This thing with Dad’s name on it.”
Placing the faux leather volume on the shelf next to its companions, Tia pads lightly over, squeezing in next to Luna in the narrow space between desk and wall.. “What is it?” She squints down at the paper, her eyes roaming the script.
“I don’t know, it’s sort of hard to read.” Luna tilts her head a little, her eyes trying to follow the curly-cue writing.
Studying it a moment longer, Tia’s eyes widen in comprehension. “Oh, I think Daddy got this when he finished college. It’s a what-do-you-call-it…a diploma.” Reading further along the document, she comes to the bottom of it. “Dad got a batch-o-lurs in business?” She asks, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.
Glancing at her sister, Luna’s brow furrows. “What’s that mean?”
“I dunno. I think it means he knows how to run a business,” Leaning forward, Celestia takes a look in the box. “There’s another one.” Twisting her head awkwardly, she is just able to snag a second blue folder with her teeth. Pulling it gingerly free by its corner, she deposits it on the floor next to the first one, before flipping the cover open with a hoof.
Watching her sister, Luna quirks an eyebrow. “Why would he need to know how to run a business? Aren’t we rich or something?”
Studying the second certificate, Tia’s brow beetles as she reads the name printed across the bottom line. “Who’s Calandra A. Anders?” She asks, looking in confusion at her younger sister.
Face mirroring Tia’s perplexed expression, Luna glances down at the other document. “I don’t know. What did she get a batch-ola-thing in?”
“Music... history?” Celestia responds hesitantly, unsure what those two words mean together.
“What does that…”
“That means she knew a lot about music, sweetie.”
Twisting in alarm, both sisters look back to see their father leaning against the doorway, the hands shoved casually into his pockets nearly hidden by the clean t-shirt he had donned. “Those are college diplomas. You get them when you graduate from a university.”
Back peddling, both girls move out from behind the desk, turning abashed looks towards their father. “We’re sorry Daddy, we didn’t mean to snoop…” Luna falters, as Ryan waves her comment off with one hand.
“It’s alright girls, I’d actually forgotten those boxes were there.” Approaching the two, he runs a hand along their manes, smiling down at them gently. “Here, let me show you something.” Motioning them out of the way, he walks behind the desk, picking up both diplomas. Gazing at them for a moment, he turns and sets them on the wooden surface to his right. Bending, he shuffles the boxes around, setting the top most off to the side and opening the bottom one, from which he draws a thick, odd looking book with tan binding.
Walking back, he considers the couch for a moment, before taking a seat on the floor and leaning back against it. Settling himself comfortably, with his legs stretched out and the strange book in his lap, he motions them over.
Tia joins him amicably enough, taking the spot to his left and laying neatly on the floor with her hooves tucked, where she can lean partially against his side and still see what he’s holding. Luna approaches more slowly, almost hesitantly, and as she glances uncertainly at the tan book her mind flashes back to a dark brown folder and a gray, rain soaked afternoon. Settling herself in a similar fashion as her sibling, being careful to keep her right foreleg where she can stretch it out, she takes a deep breath and releases it. Seeming to sense her anxiety, Ryan reaches an arm around her and gives her a brief squeeze and a comforting smile, and she feels a tightness she didn’t realize had taken hold of her chest loosen appreciably.
Returning her father’s smile warmly, she turns her attention to thick leather bound volume resting on his legs. The cover is simple and unadorned, the rich khaki leather slightly pebbled. Where the cover meets the spine the surface is humped and wrinkled, as if the book has been opened a lot. The hints of dust in the small dimples across its surface suggest that this hasn’t been the case for some time. The pages in between the covers don’t look like any paper Luna’s ever seen before. They almost look like cardboard wrapped in paper.
Shifting his eyes back across the room towards the blue folders on the desk, his gaze takes on a far-away look. “Those boxes are full of old papers and documents, things I never got around to storing in the attic. The diplomas are from when I went to school in Reno.”
Following her dad’s gaze for a moment, Celestia looks back to him. “Who’s Calandra Anders, Dad?” She asks, carefully pronouncing the unfamiliar name.
Fetching a deep sigh, he glances down, meeting her rose-tinted eyes. Luna becomes a little worried at the expression on his face. He seems…sad.
“Calandra is long for Callie, sweetheart.”
“Momma Callie?” Luna asks, her eyes widening in surprise as her mind flashes to the small handful of framed photographs hanging about the house. She rarely even noticed them anymore, just like the other pictures. They’d been present for her entire life, and had become just another part of the background, as such things are wont to do.
Looking at her he nods. “That’s right. Calandra was her full name. Callie is just what she preferred to be called. We met at the university, around our sophomore year, I think.” A small, wistful sigh escapes him, and he reaches down to flip back the cover of the mysterious book.
Watching with interest, both Luna and her sister study the newly exposed page. Unlike the weird thick pages behind it, this one is made of normal paper. Stark white, it has one word, Memories, printed in flowing cursive across the middle. The word has been embellished with sprays of elegant and detailed little flowers and birds, drawn in black ink. Looking down Ryan chuckles quietly.
“Momma Callie majored in music history, but she got her minor in art. She was always doodling little things like this. Even her grocery lists would have little flowers, or birds, or trees…” Trailing off he absently runs a finger along the marks on the page. “She was always the creative one,” He says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself, “She was always the dreamer.”
“What kind of music, Dad?” Luna watches her father’s eyes as they linger along the drawings, her face open and filled with curiosity. “Like the stuff you listen to?”
“She’s the one who got me listening to that type of music in the first place, sweetheart. Oh, she liked most everything, but she loved jazz and the blues. The early stuff. Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, those were her favorites.” Giving another quiet, almost rueful chuckle, he reaches out and turns the page.
Filling the next sheet are photographs behind plastic squares. Eyes traveling the page, Tia motions to one with her snout, a slightly faded picture of a man and woman smiling with their arms around each other. “Is that Grandma and Grandpa Williams?” They look different from the other pictures she’s seen of them around the house. Younger, and with less grey but still recognizable. Staring at them, she belatedly recognizes her own house in the background, though something about it looks off. Taking a moment, she realizes that the front porch is missing. Instead of the stained wooden decking with its slanted roof, a short set of stairs occupy the space before the front door, flanked on either side by flower beds.
“Yep. That was one of the times we came up here to visit Grandpa when I was younger. My grandpa, your great-grandpa.” Pointing with a finger, he draws their attention to another picture, a bearded man with salt and pepper hair sitting at a table. His eyes are crinkled below the set of glasses that rest pushed up on his head, looking at the camera merrily above the large grin that’s plastered on his face. “That was when grand dad was still fixing this place up, after he retired and sold his share of the ranch. You girls remember how I told you he worked in the ranching business?”
Nodding, Luna dips her chin at a different photo near the bottom of the page. Set in front of a broad grassy area surrounded by trees and brick buildings, a stern faced man looks unsmilingly out at the camera, while a younger couple stand next to him. The younger man is wearing some sort of uniform, small multicolored ribbons sit in a bar across the left breast of his dark blue coat. A faint smile peeks out from beneath the shadow cast across his features by his weird hat. The woman is dressed in jeans and a checkered red shirt, a huge smile shining forth from her lightly freckled face as she stands with her arms around the two men flanking her.
Squinting a little at the much younger seeming woman, Luna looks uncertainly back to her father. “Is that Momma Callie in the middle?”
Nodding his head again, Ryan gives her a gentle smile. “That’s right, honey,” He begins softly, touching each person in the picture lightly with a finger. “That’s Callie’s dad- I guess he’d be your Grandpa Anders- and her older brother Raymond. Ray was a Marine. This is from when they dropped her off to start school.”
“Where’s Grandpa Anders now?” Tia asks, studying the lined and sever countenance of the older man on the left.
Ryan hesitates for a moment, and a strange combination of anger and guilt briefly passes over his features like a shadow. “Ambrose- Callie’s father- never liked me very much. After Ray was killed in Afghanistan during the war, he didn’t like anyone very much, except for her. Momma Callie was just about the only person who could make him smile. When she passed, we…had a sort of falling out, and stopped talking. I moved back here, and he stayed at their place in California. I imagine he’s still there.”
Leaning against him, Luna looks up with a bewildered expression. “Why didn’t he like you, Daddy?”
“It’s complicated honey. He was never easy to get along with, and he and I didn’t agree on a lot of things. Some people are just born sour, I guess.” Shaking his head, as if to clear it, he frowns down at the picture.
Looking across at her sister before returning her eyes to her father, Tia hesitates. “Momma Callie passed away…in a car crash, right Dad?”
Nodding slowly, Ryan looks over at her, blinking a few times. “That’s right, sweetie.”
“And that’s how you hurt your leg?”
Receiving another nod, she looks away, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. Shifting, she leans against his side, her eyes picking over the three people in the photograph.
“I wish I could have met her.” Luna says quietly, looking down at the young woman in the picture, a faint longing delicately painting her graceful features.
Setting the album back in his lap, Ryan wraps an arm around each of them, his hands slowly stroking the delicate pink and dark blue of their manes. “I do to, dear heart. She’d have loved you girls.” Releasing a deep breath, he smiles. “She’d be proud of you two.”
“What about grandma and grandpa?”
His smile growing, he looks from one to the other. “Grandma and Grandpa would have loved you just as much. They’d have spoiled you rotten, too.” He chuckles softly.
Leaning against their father, giving him comfort while taking their own, the three sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts as they quietly contemplate the photographs before them. Eventually, after giving each of them a final hug and a kiss, Ryan settles his hands again on the book, and flips the page.
“…Daddy, why is that mans hat on fire?”
“Well honey…” Ryan falters lamely, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, “See, sometimes when you’re in college, it can be funny to try to play a prank on your friends…”
They spent the rest of the afternoon in the converted sitting room, the girls asking questions and exclaiming over the photographs. At one point, after a glance at his watch, Ryan had left briefly, returning a short time later with a plate of sandwiches and cool glasses of sweet tea. Munching happily, they poured over the old album, laughing and talking about people they had never met, and places they had never seen. Lost, in what is to the girls at least, the distant past.
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It has been quite a while since this story has updated, and I have to say, I remember now why it's one of my favourite stories on Fimfiction.
880348
The story likes you as well my friend, the story likes you as well. It repeats that to itself over and over as it watches you from the shadows, hiding in your bushes and riffling through your garbage in the dead of night.
Seriously though, thank you. Comments like that make spending a whole Sunday finishing and posting worth while.
I have been waiting for an update from this story. It's just so sweet. I never liked similarly themed and more widely known stories like my little dashie, but this one is just so sweet and nice and real feeling. And that ending for this chapter makes me feel all warm and nostalgic inside somehow. After a long day working late and driving home in the rain at night I see this story updated and I get to read it and relax. I should just call it a night and end the day on this feeling.
I wonder if the in the next chapter they'll learn how to do magic.
Only one word: Yay!
880488
Sounds like all you need to round it out is a cold beer and some music. 
I'm glad I could make your evening.
"I wonder if the in the next chapter they'll learn how to do magic"
Mmmaaaayyybbeeee.....*shifty eyes*
880495
I'm glad you liked it! This would've probably been out yesterday, if not for a crippling hangover. In all fairness though, I consider that my penance for not having it done by Friday.
An excellent chapter friend, really looking forward to what comes next
880868
But if there's one thing I've learned in writing (and I've learned at least one thing, at any rate), it's that you're never fully satisfied with your own work, or at least I'm not. But I digress (I've always wanted to use that in a sentence
). Thanks for the read, and here's hoping it stays entertaining.
I'm glad it didn't disappoint, although I'm not very thrilled with the ending. It seems rather...flat, in my opinion.
It's good to see something that I had given up on come back to life. I get the feeling that you like to take long breaks between chapters, which I can relate to, but please, I beg of you, don't let this fic die.
Onto commentary on the chapter itself.
We get quite a bit of back story, as well as the rather interesting section about the girls looking back in fondness on school. It amuses me that you didn't specify whether it was a pony or human school, but it does imply that their isolation from the human world isn't permanent, as well as implying that the (for lack of a better term) "first contact" went well, which warms my heart. If you are in fact going down this path, of not having the government be dissection-happy, then not only are you getting more realistic (in my subjective opinion) than most fics, but you are moving towards relatively fertile and unexplored territory for writing. If I've guessed correctly, than good luck. If I've not, than have some good luck anyway.
It's interesting that the girls haven't figured out that they can do magic yet, but it makes sense. After all, how would they know they can move things with their minds? I look forward to them finding out, if they do at all.
Overall, this chapter feels like it started the plot moving. The previous chapters, including most of this one, have been a slice of life story about the trials and tribulations of Alicorn parenting. They've been a joy to read, but haven't been important to any overarching plot (besides showing the development and skills of the girls). This chapter, on the other hand, feels like part of a greater whole. It sets up plot threads (the school thing I mentioned earlier, as well as the girl's grudge-bearing grandfather), and mentions something happening in-between chapters. I sincerely hope that I'm not just reading things into it, as while this has been a joy to read so far, there's only so much "single father raising mythological daughters without the rest of the world knowing" that you can do before it goes from endearing to merely cutesy. In my subjective opinion, this story requires a true plot, and since it looks like you're introducing one, I'm walking away from this chapter happy.
In summary, this chapter bodes either even better things coming from you, or pretentious analysis from me. I really hope it's the former.
OMC it updated!
Great chapter, so sweet. I like the way it shows the normality they live in... and lets not forget the foreshadowing,
This story is so awesome,
I really hope it gets finished.
Thought this story was dead, but now it's back, and better than ever.
I wish it wasn't 04:00 so I could have something better to say, but great job!
oh I've waited so long for this
881071
Oh it'll get finished, I just hope to get it finished in the next year or so
In the mean time, I'm glad you enjoyed it!
881398
Not dead, just had some real life nonsense crop up. It's still cropping up, but I'm working on getting a better writing schedule in place, so that it won't be a chapter every five weeks. Thanks for the read, and I'm glad you liked it!
882034
That says it all
882239
Here's hoping the next one gets done quicker
Glad I could ease the waiting a bit.
886907
Real life crap tends to get in the way, unfortunately. I'm working on fixing that, however.
Fantastic. Reading this fills my heart with glee...
...But anxiety at the same time with me considering when you'll drop the ball...
Go on.
Wow, PMAD! This chapter was absolutly beautiful. You deserve much, much, MUCH more attention. When I read this fic, every chapter feels like a really good movie. Have you seen Forest Gump? That movie gave me some smiles, some laughs and some tears (MANY TEARS)...
I'm gonna be completley serious to you and say that this fic is fully filling out all those cards, and you've only released five chapters so far! Please, hurry up with the rest of your chapters!
Oh! and one more thing... MMMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The writing in this story is exceptional! Everything just flows right off the page, as if the reader personally wrote it. Take a mustache.
1276425 Agreed.
888 likes! a nice tidy figure, but I can never figure out why so few for such an awesome work.
5238940 I made it 911!
I'm just waiting for Murphy to come knocking at the door.