Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Part 2: Talk To Me

by brokenimage321

Age 10, Second Verse

Whiskey saw him first. She didn’t need to know his name, or what he looked like, or have some weird sixth sense to tell her—this was her Daddy.

He stood across the street, and a block or two down. He was facing away from them, and talking to a pretty mare, a trilby hat perched jauntily on his head, just behind his horn. His coat was deep, dark-chocolate brown, just like hers—and he had four white socks, going halfway to his knees, just like Tango—and something about his bearing, the way he carried himself, reminded her of Foxie’s bounciness. As she watched, he reached up and stroked the mare’s face, then leaned in and kissed her, tenderly. Just as she knew he would do to Mama.

And something exploded inside of her.

“Daddy!” she shrieked, and flung herself skyward.

She spread her wings and weaved through traffic, leaving honking horns and swearing drivers in her wake. She dived, then slammed into his hind leg and hugged him tight, feeling his warmth, his strength, feeling him. “Daddy,” she gasped, tearfully.

“What the hell?” he yelped in surprise, looking down at her.

The mare looked down at her as well. “I, uh.... I have to go, Tricky,” she said uncomfortably, then turned and left.

Daddy—Tricky—turned after her. “Aw, come on,” he whined. “Don’t be like that…”

The other mare looked over her shoulder at him, but kept walking.

“Damn it,” Tricky muttered. He looked down at Whiskey, then tried to pull his leg out of her grasp. “Get off me, kid,” he snapped.

She was so surprised that she let go of her own accord.

Tricky hmphed. He took a step away, then looked back—and saw Tango and Foxie crossing at the streetlight. He looked down at Whiskey, and back up at the other two, and something seemed to catch in his brain. He paled slightly, then turned and slipped into a nearby alley.

Whiskey sat there on the pavement, wide-eyed, until Tango and Foxie grabbed her under her arms. “C’mon, get up,” Tango said, “Let’s go after him.”

Whiskey allowed them to pull her to her hooves, and the three of them followed Tricky into the darkened alley. Tricky himself was still trotting down it, and almost out the other side.

“Wait!” Tango cried.

And, to everyone’s astonishment, he did. He turned his head to see who it was, but they were already running towards him.

Just as the three of them closed to leap-hugging distance, he spun to face them and planted his hooves. “What do you brats want?” he snapped, lighting his horn.

The three of them skidded to a halt. Whiskey’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. This isn’t how she thought it would go—not at all.

She heard Foxie clear her throat, then take another step forward. “Mister,” she said, in the most polite voice she could muster, “I think that you might be our daddy.”

“That’s a lie,” he snarled. “I’m no one’s daddy.”

Foxie let out a little gasp and shrank back. Tango looked at her anxiously, then back up at him. “I think she’s right,” he said. “Our mama’s named Pinkie Pie, and—”

“Pinkie Pie?” he gasped, straightening up and dousing his horn.

Whiskey raised her head and stared at him, feeling the hope in her heart grow a little brighter. Was he finally…?

He looked down at them, his shock melting into a glare. “What does that bitch want now?” he snapped. “She after my money again?”

Whiskey’s mouth fell open.

“N-no,” Tango said, his voice barely a whimper.

“And why are you here?” he barked. “What do you want?”

Tango quailed, but Foxie stepped up to the plate.

“We wanted to meet you,” she said. “We thought you’d be happy to—”

“Listen,” he hissed, bending down low to them. “That slut—if she really is your mother—is a cheat. She lied about being pregnant to scam me out of everything. And, if you believed her, you’re either morons, or liars yourselves.“ He glared at the three of them—Foxie with tears in her eyes, Tango recoiled in horror, and Whiskey with her mouth hanging open. “Now, get out of here before I call the cops for harassment,” he snapped. “Harassment and extortion.”

Whiskey squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. No. This couldn’t be happening. This was all wrong. This isn’t what Daddy was supposed to do. He was supposed to love them. Scoop them up in his arms. Take them out for hayburgers and bring them home for a sleepover. Not scream and swear and threaten them. No. She had waited ten years for this—and it was all going wrong.

And then, it happened, almost without her thinking. Whiskey planted her hooves at an angle to her body, like Uncle Flash had shown her. She pivoted around, feeling Uncle Softie’s hooves moving over her body, guiding her movements all over again. She shifted her weight onto her forehooves and lifted her back legs, just like Uncle Mac did on the farm. And, with a scream of bottled-up fury, of ten years of heartache, ten years of frustration, ten years of burning rage—Whiskey bucked Tricky in the muzzle with a sickening crunch.

Tricky clapped his hooves to his nose and stumbled backwards three or four steps, cursing darkly. Whiskey landed, then spun back around to face him again, her chest heaving. Tango and Foxie glanced at her, and saw her staring at Tricky, eyes full of hatred, tears running down her cheeks.

Tricky swore again, then pulled his hooves away from his face. They came away bloody. He stared at them for a moment—then looked up at the three foals, fire in his eyes. He took a step forward, straightened himself up to his full height, and lit his horn.

And Whiskey realized, very suddenly, that she had made a mistake.

* * *

“Pinkie,” Twilight said, horrified, “Tricky, he… he never hurt you, did he?”

Pinkie shook her head slowly. “No,” she said, “Not with his hooves, at least. Or his horn.” She took a breath, then let it out. “But I think that’s only because I knew where his lines were.”

She swallowed.

“That’s because I knew when to stop.”

* * *

Tricky took another step forward. “You goddamn brats,” he snarled.

Whiskey, Tango and Foxtrot each started backpedaling, the three of them pressed together, shivering.

“I’m gonna wring your filthy little necks,” he breathed, advancing, “and them I’m gonna—”

The kids bumped up against something solid and froze.

“No, you won’t,” said a voice immediately behind them.

All four turned to stare. A mare stood in the center of the alleyway, with Whiskey, Tango, and Foxtrot pressed up against her forelegs. The bright sunlight at the end of the alley left her a black silhouette.

Tricky straightened up and looked down his nose at her. “Excuse me?” he said, trying to force a note of authority into his voice.

“I said,” she repeated, unfazed, “you will do no such thing.” Her voice was cold and level, but with a sharp, steel edge.

“Who are you to threaten me?” he snapped. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“No, I don’t,” she responded, in that same, level tone. “Nor does it especially matter, when I have you on tape threatening three minors with assault and homicide.”

A flash of worry crossed his face. “I’m in the right here!” he shot back. “She is guilty of assault, and—”

“No jury in Equestria,” she cut him off, “will convict a filly of assault against her father who owes her ten years of back child support.”

Tricky took a step backwards, mouth open, but said nothing.

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” said the mare.

Tricky looked at her, incredulous. “I’m not going anywhere until—”

“I think you misunderstood,” she said, cold and level as ever. “I said, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

She put no extra emphasis on her last word—nor did she need to.

Tricky stared at her—and then, the three of them watched something break inside of him, watched as he seemed to collapse in on himself. He turned, and, glancing back over his shoulder, broke into a trot—then a run—until he disappeared around the corner.

The three kids let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding. Tango took a step forward, then turned and bowed his head.

“Thanks, ma’am,” he said. “I… I don’t know what we would’ve done without you…”

“Run, probably,” Foxie joked, with a smirk.

Whiskey nodded. “Thanks,” she added.

“No problem,” the mare said. Her voice had softened just a touch, lost its steel edge, but remained otherwise unchanged.

Tango lifted a hoof to shade his eyes, and squinted up at her. “Why’d you help us, anyways?”

She lowered her head, and, as she grew closer to them, they could finally see past the shadow—and into soft, emerald eyes, set in a gentle gray face.

“Because,” she said, “I’m one of your aunts.”

* * *

Pinkie leapt off the train almost before it had rolled to a stop, She whipped her head this way and that, frantically searching for her children, straining her eyes against the burning sunset.

Twilight stepped off behind her. “Calm down, Pinkie,” she said. “We’ll find them, don’t worry.”

Pinkie swallowed. “B-but it’s almost night time,” she said. “They’re out there, alone, and it’s almost dark! What are they gonna do? How are we—?”

“Princess Twilight?”

Both of them looked over at the stallion who had spoken—one of the security guards for the train station, judging by his uniform. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but this was left at the office for you.” He held out an envelope, with an official-looking seal in the top-left corner, addressed, in perfect print, to “Twilight Sparkle & Pinkie Pie, ℅ Canterlot Central Station. Deliver Immediately Upon Arrival.”

Twilight took the envelope and tore it open, Pinkie hopping anxiously behind her. Out fell a single notecard and two tickets. Twilight read the card carefully, while Pinkie examined the tickets. They looked up at each other.

Pinkie spoke first. “What in Celestia’s name has this got to do with anything?”

Twilight shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s as good a place to start as any.”

Twenty minutes later, they stood outside the Canterlot Museum of Natural History. Twilight presented their two tickets and the notecard to the guard at the door; he took their tickets, then muttered something into his radio. Within a few minutes, a short, skinny mare appeared, who adjusted her glasses as she approached.

“Highly unusual,” she grumbled. “We’re due to close in fifteen minutes, and the Princesses need to schedule their visits ten days in advance—”

Twilight handed her the card. She read it over, and her eyebrows shot up. “In that case,” she muttered, under her breath. She turned and lead them wordlessly through the hall of dragon bones, up one of the grand marble staircases to the second floor, and into a warren of tight, twisting corridors that smelled of dust and chloroform. She paused outside a dignified wooden door, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

Twilight stared, and Pinkie clapped her hooves over her mouth.

There they were—Whiskey, Tango, and Foxtrot, Pinkie Pie’s three most precious things in the world, safe and sound. Whiskey was hovering up by the ceiling, examining a sketch of a fossil-bearing strata. Foxie was marvelling at a display case of shining crystals. Tango sat at the giant desk, filled with rock samples, staring up in awe. Beside him on the desk, in a space cleared for it, sat a nearly-empty box of pizza (“Johnny Cavallo’s—Best in Canterlot!”), and four popsicle sticks, still fresh with spit. And, sitting at the head of the desk, quietly explaining the intricacies of geology to Tango, sat their aunt.

Maud Pie.

Pinkie stared at the tableau for a moment of agonizing silence, tears welling up in her eyes. Could this be real? Were they actually okay? And—she started to tremble—was that really Maud? The sister she hadn’t spoken to since… well, since it had all started? Here, with her children?

Pinkie tembled. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Kids!” she shrieked.

All four of them turned to stare at her. For a moment, no one moved.

“Mama!” Foxie cried suddenly, then lunged for her. Pinkie held out her arms, and Foxie slammed into her, hard, and wrapped her arms around her as Pinkie tipped backwards onto the floor. Whiskey and Tango leapt on her next, Whiskey wrapping her arms around her neck, and Tango planting a wet, sticky kiss on her cheek.

“Oh, kids,” Pinkie cried, kissing each of them fiercely in turn, as tears streamed down her face. “Oh, I was so worried—”

Tango held back a sob of his own. “We’re sorry, Mama,” he said.

Whiskey buried herself into her shoulder. “We d-didn’t want to scare you...”

Pinkie pulled them all a little tighter. “I’m so glad you’re safe—” She kissed them each again, in turn.

Twilight stood in the hallway, watching the display with a faint little smile. Maud stepped from her office, delicately edged around the pile of sobbing pink bodies in the hall, and stood by her side. After a moment, she wordlessly offered Twilight a tissue. Twilight took it with a nod, then dabbed at the corner of her eyes.

* * *

The clock on the wall chimed eleven to itself, the time echoing softly through the dark of Maud’s tiny apartment. On the floor of the living room, in an uncoordinated mess, lay Whiskey, Tango, and Foxtrot, wrapped in their blankets and snoring soundly. On the couch lay a pillow, untouched, and a folded blanket, covered in an undulating pattern of oranges and browns that looked like nothing so much as stripes of bedrock.

In the nearby kitchen, by the half-light from the bulb over the stove, sat Pinkie, Maud, and Twilight. Between them lay the cooling remains of a second pizza, with bits of crust left on the paper plates in front of Twilight and Pinkie. Three chipped coffee mugs sat beside them, still steaming: Twilight had taken hers black, Maud au lait, and Pinkie with a packet of hot cocoa mixed in, with cream and sugar besides.

Pinkie gazed at the three little bodies huddled together on the floor and sighed. “I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “I tried to be the best mama I could, but I didn’t know it meant so much to them. How badly they wanted a daddy…”

Maud shook her head. “Not your fault,” she said. “You did your best…” she turned to look at the kids herself. “And you should have heard what they said about you. All afternoon, they wouldn’t stop talking about you, how much they cared for you, and hoped that you had found their note…”

Maud fell silent. No one spoke—though Pinkie wiped away a tear with her hoof. After a moment, she turned back to Maud

“And Tricky really threatened them like that?” she whispered.

Maud nodded solemnly. “He did. I don’t know that he meant it, but he said it.”

Pinkie pounded her hoof on the table, making the coffee mugs jump. “That—asshole!” she hissed. “What kind of douchebag would say that to his own kids?”

“Personally,” Maud replied mildly, “I prefer the term coprolite.”

“Douchebag,” Pinkie muttered again. “Asshole.” She thought for a moment, then grinned slightly. “Assbag douchehole,” she offered.

Twilight rolled her eyes, then took a sip from her coffee. “How’d you find them, anyways?” she asked Maud. “Sounds like you got there in the nick of time…”

“Maud sense,” Maud replied immediately. “It had been bothering me all morning. Doesn’t come in use often, but, when it does…” She took a sip from her own coffee, then nodded at the sleeping Foxie. “She has it too, I think,” she said. “She knows things she shouldn’t. Nothing wrong with that, of course,” she added, “but it’s something to think about.”

Pinkie glanced over at her daughter as well, and smiled to herself.

Twilight leaned forward a little. “Speaking of,” she said, “The kids talked a little about what you said to Tricky. How’d you know all that about them?”

Maud cocked her head thoughtfully. “Fifteen percent prior knowledge,” she said slowly, “twenty-five percent quick thinking…” her eyes twinkled. “And sixty percent bluff.”

“Sixty percent…?” Twilight let out a low whistle. “Sweet Celestia…”

“I have an excellent poker face,” Maud said mildly.

Twilight shook her head. “I don’t doubt it,” she said, setting down her coffee. “Remind me never to play cards with you.”

Pinkie giggled. “It’s easy,” she said. “You just need to know her tells!”

“Well,” Maud said, noncommittally.

Pinkie snorted into her cup, then set it down and giggled quietly, her shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. Even Twilight smiled, a little. But Maud took a sip from her coffee, then put it down and sat there quietly, a sudden, faint sadness in her eyes.

As Pinkie’s giggle-fit subsided, Maud reached out and put her hoof on hers. “Pinkie,” she said quietly, “come home.”

Pinkie’s face fell, and she looked away. “...I can’t,” she said. “I—”

“At least for Hearth’s Warming,” Maud interjected. “Mom and Dad have been asking about you. Have been for a long time.”

Pinkie’s eyes went wide, and she fell silent.

Maud took a deep breath. “Limestone’s colt and filly want to meet their aunt, too,” she said, “Not to mention Limestone’s husband. And Marble thinks you’ll like what she’s done to the place.”

Pinkie leaned back in her chair, but said nothing.

“Please,” Maud continued. “We used to be close. But it’s been years, and…” She fell silent, then looked away.

After a long pause, slowly, Pinkie nodded. “I’ll try,” she said.

Maud, still looking away, returned the nod. “Good,” she said simply.

They remained quiet for a long time, then, suddenly, Pinkie yawned. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m not ordinarily up this late… Usually down by nine, up by four…”

Maud looked over at her and nodded. “Baking,” she said. “You were always good at it.”

Pinkie smiled. “Good enough to feed the family with, at least,” she said. She stood, then stretched. “Can I use your bathroom?” she asked.

Maud nodded. “Second door on the left.”

Pinkie nodded her thanks, then stepped into the hall. Twilight heard her walk down the carpet, flick on the light, and close the door behind her.

Suddenly, Maud leaned forward. “Your Highness,” she said, a faint note of urgency in her voice.

Twilight waved her hoof dismissively. “Please,” she said, “I don’t like using my title, it’s—”

“I know,” Maud interrupted. “But I’m not asking the pony. I’m asking the Princess.”

Twilight turned to look at her, eyes wide. “W-what?” she said.

“I know my sister,” she said. “She’s proud, though she doesn’t look it. She doesn’t like making mistakes, and she doesn’t like owning up to them. She’d rather sweep things under the rug, make them disappear, and, with her personality… it works, more often than not.” She hesitated, just for a moment. “And I… I think that’s why she stopped talking to us,” she said. Maud swallowed, hard, and, for the first time in her life, Twilight saw a faint mist of tears in her eyes.

“Please,” Maud continued, urgently. “She won’t come for Hearth’s Warming. She’ll make some excuse, or make herself busy, or something. Please,” she repeated, “don’t let her.”

Twilight opened her mouth. This was a side of Maud she had never seen before—a side of her, she guessed, that no one had seen.

“She’s been alone for too long,” Maud said. “She needs somepony. She needs family.” She took a deep breath. “As Princess… can you make it happen? Can you make her come home?”

Twilight stared at her, wide-eyed, for a long moment—then nodded.

Maud let out a sigh and bowed her head. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“No problem,” Twilight replied, slightly mystified.

They stayed like that until the bathroom door clicked open again. Suddenly, Maud stood and started hurriedly gathering mugs and plates. “So,” she said, a little too quickly, “I can feed you guys breakfast tomorrow, but I’m needed at the museum by eight-thirty. We have another shipment of rock samples coming in, and they need my help analyzing them.”

Twilight nodded as Pinkie walked back into the room. “That’s fine with me,” Twilight said. “I don’t know when the train starts in the morning, but Pinkie needs to get back home, and the kids need to catch at least part of the school day. We should probably head out early ourselves.”

Pinkie glanced at Maud, now standing at the sink, facing away from them, rinsing out the mugs. She stared at her, eyebrow raised, for a long moment, but said nothing.

“Princess,” Maud said, “You can take my bed if you want. I can take the floor.”

“No,” Twilight replied, shaking her head. “It’s not a problem. I don’t mind.”

Maud looked over her shoulder at her, her expression a near-perfect replica of her normal, passive stare again. “I insist,” she said, her voice quiet but insistent. “A favor for a favor.”

Pinkie looked at Twilight questioningly, but Twilight only nodded. “O-okay then,” she said, slightly nervous.

And Maud Pie, standing at her sink, smiled.

Author's Note:

Thanks to Troublesome Beast for the idea of having Maud show up at the end there--small point, but really brought the whole thing together, as you'll see tomorrow

Comments

[Prince Gray]

I think its safe to assume that isn't the last we'll see of Tricky. Though I wonder what he means when he said she lied about being pregnant. Did Pinkie really lie to him? Or is he saying that to cover his own ass? I guess time will tell.

[brokenimage321]

7306746
Happy birthday, again! Did you like your present?

7306856

Well, unfortunately...

FWIW, my intention was that Pinkie is truly being honest about her ex, possibly for the first time in her life, while Tricky is an abusive [plot]hole who would say anything to put himself in the right. Thus, you can probably trust what Pinkie says, but not Tricky.

But "the author is dead," after all, in multiple (figurative) senses. Go with whatever interpretation is most compelling to you!

[Troublesome Beast]

You're quite welcome. The world needs more SUDDENLY! MAUD! Especially since I was working on a Maud-focused romantic clop at the time, it just seemed logical. :)

[brokenimage321]

7307134

I, um... hm. Not sure i needed to know that...

I can't picture Maud as much of a lover (as you'll see more of that tomorrow, sorta)--i dunno, she doesn't sound like she'd be very enthusiastic about the whole idea.

[Troublesome Beast]

7307644 To each their own! I can as easily see Maud as asexual as passionate (though in a manner that would be odd to another). It depends on how she is with her husband or her life; how does it bend around rocks/the earth and family uber alles. Just recall, not all clop is mindless sex. Pretty much all of my work is either about married groups-- couples, mainly-- or movement towards marriage. With Maud, I don't think that Rarity's perspective on the party cannon moment was _just_ playing things up for the moment. Still waters run deep, and her choices and heart when given in devotion to someone who can match that love-- that's different. Casualness is simply not a part of it.

Not that I write any romance casually; without that heart and passion for one another, how can any dance of souls and flesh become one? I've been married for seven years come this August (Yes, we did get married on 08-07-09, yes we ARE nerds), and I'm fairly enthusiastic about that ideal-- even if as a practical I know that if you're not careful-- well, bad marriages can be worse than a lack, but I'm not writing for that; I'm writing for where the love and affection are true.

[brokenimage321]

7307687

I bow to your crasftsmanship, sir. I, personally, avoid clop--don't like reading it, and can't write it--so it's all just been a giant ball of "bleh" to me. But it sounds like you've put quite a bit of thought into your work.

08-07-09

What's the significance of that date? I don't get it...

[Troublesome Beast]

7307914 Seventh day of the eighth month of the ninth year (arguably, but at least it's labeled nine) of the current millennia. Before fibro kicked me out of the classroom, I was a math teacher, and she's comp sci/english. :)

And yeah. Despite the oddities of my own path, I return to the core of my beliefs there. Love kindles hope and rewards faith. I can't write the sex without that. I just know it's not for everyone, just like I can't read some "adventure" (and pretty much all horror) because the gore just wrecks me.