An Eastern Equestrian Hearth's Warming

by Elkia Deerling

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Knock, knock.

A clunky sound mixed with heavy thumps came from inside; then silence.

Knock, knock. “Oi! Anypony home?”

Some shuffling, a bonk and a curse.

Knock, kno—

“There’s nopony home, dammit! Go away!” said a grumpy voice from inside.

“Oh, ok.” Rivet Punch turned around and walked down the path to leave, a little disappointed; he would try again later.

“What? Wait a minute…” the voice behind the door said to himself.

The sound of many latches of many kinds made Rivet Punch turn around and look at the front of the house.

The door opened to a slit, and a single, green eye peered through it. “Rivsky? Is that you?”

“Carby!” Rivet Punch called out, and trotted back. “I thought you weren’t at home!”

Opening the door with a loud creak, a smiling unicorn appeared in the doorway. “Ha! I knew it was you, Rivsky. You’re the only pony I can fool like that!”

Rivet raised an eyebrow. “Fool like that?”

Sighing with a smile, Carbide Lamplight trotted towards his friend and swung a long, thin hoof over his neck. “You never change, Rivsky.”

“And you don’t too, Carby,” Rivet said, as he tapped the oversized mining helmet which balanced on Carbide’s head. “Did you have any luck with your mine yet?”

Suddenly Carbide Lamplight let go of Rivet with a shudder. He looked skittishly to the right, to the left, behind him, over his friend’s shoulder, and even up in the sky, blinking against the bright sun. “Let’s discuss that… inside, ok?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Carbide,” Rivet said, and looked at the ground. “I keep forgetting it’s your closest guarded secret which nopony may ever know.”

Carbide winched as if in pain at the second time Rivet mentioned the mine. “Come on,” he said, and practically shoved his friend to the doorway. “Let’s go inside and catch up a bit, shall we?”

But before Rivet could say ‘ok,’ he was already inside.

Rivet Punch and Carbide Lamplight had been friends for as long as Rivet could remember. They had met at work, in the steel factory. Carbide was one of the most experienced miners there, and Rivet usually saw him every time he emptied his cart of ore in the giant container from which Rivet shoveled the stuff in the ovens. After a few loose, shouted sentences, they’d come to like each other and adjusted their dropping and shoveling rhythm so that they would have exactly ten seconds per sequence to say a few words. It wasn’t much, but it had made the long, boring working day just a little bit more bearable—for the both of them. Soon enough, they were giving each other nicknames, drank heavily after work, and an ironclad friendship was forged.

“Come Rivsky, sit down please.” Carbide gestured towards a few rickety chairs and stumbled towards the kitchen.

Rivet Punch carefully took his seat on the chair on the furthest right; that was always the strongest one. As much of a miner Carbide Lamplight was, he wasn’t much else, and least of all a furniture maker. Sure, Carbide Lamplight could’ve bought himself the most beautiful chairs in the village with his salary, but he didn’t bother with that. Although Carbide didn’t earn anything more than the scrawny salary of Rivet Punch, he had only himself to maintain, while his big red friend lived with a family of four.

“Oh, Rivsky, you will love this!” the high-pitched voice of Carbide came from the kitchen. “I’ve got an excellent bottle of vodka; just for you and me.”

Those were the only things Carbide Lamplight really invested money in: mining and liquor. Rivet sighed and shook his head with a smile. Some things never change.

With the cheerful sound of clinking bottles in the background, Rivet eyed Carbide’s small living room. Even inside the house, nothing had changed. The floor was still littered with many different pieces of mining equipment: pickaxes, lamps, boots, dynamite, overalls, books on mining, and many, many rocks. The walls were still covered with the yellowed photos of generations past, each depicting one or a few ponies standing in front of a mine, gazing seriously into the lens. Despite their lifelong friendship, Rivet had never bothered to ask about them. He and Carbide usually got too drunk too quickly; way before they could touch on memories or other deep subjects like that. Rivet turned his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Not too much vodka, Carby; I have something important to ask you!” he shouted.

“What?” Came the muffled reply, as Carbide Lamplight dug deep into an enormous chest. “Rivet Punch and ‘not too much vodka?’ Now that’s something new.” He pulled his head out of the chest with a big, half-empty bottle floating before him in a gray magical haze. “I guess some things do change.”

With a triumphant smile, Carbide Lamplight marched into the living room and put the bottle of vodka on the table, which began tilting to one side. Then he conjured two shot-glasses, which he spit in and polished with his dusty tail before filling them with the cloudy liquid. “Important things can wait, comrade. First, we drink! Na storovje!”

“Zda-ró-vye,” Rivet returned, and gulped down his glass with a smile on his face.

When both their bellies were glowing with a familiar warmth, Carbide Lamplight took the chair opposite of Rivet; the chair creaked, but it held. “So Rivsky, what brings you to my humble home? Aren’t you normally working every day?” he said.

“Da, I took a day off.”

“A day off?” Carbide said with a frown. He knew about Rivet’s family, and had visited them a time or two. “How?”

Rivet smiled. “Let’s just say I can afford it.”

“I see,” Carbide said, although he was even more confused than before. He loved to ask how that could be, but considered it impolite to talk about each other’s income. Instead, he started filling up the glasses again. “That’s good.”

“It is.”

Carbide slid the glass over to his friend’s side of the table. “You never were much of a talker, Rivet,” he said with a grin. “Let’s fix that right now.”

Rivet chuckled, their glasses clinked, and their bottoms were up.

Now Rivet spoke: “Eh… Carby, I’ve got a secret—two, in fact, or three if you count the talking bear.”

“What?!” Carbide jumped up in surprise. “A talking bear? But you’ve only had two glasses yet!”

“It has nothing to do with glasses, Carby,” Rivet said, his tone serious, “It has something to do with… Well…”

“Come on, come on, don’t leave me so excited,” Carbide said with a laugh.

Rivet Punch put his hoof to his chin. “Well… let’s start with the first secret, ok?”

“Good, good. Blow me away.”

“It… it is not a funny secret, those will come later.” Rivet looked down at the ground. “The factory is going to close.”

Carbide’s eyes became twice as big and his body shuddered. “WHAT?!”

“The factory is going to close,” Rivet repeated.

“That’s terrible!” Carbide Lamplight jumped from his seat, which crashed down behind him. “Oh, the horror! The horror!” he yelled, as he staggered through the living room, tripping over the rocks and things on the floor. “How in Equestria am I going to finance my private mining enterprise? I am ruined! RUINED! They cannot do that! I’m their best miner! Their BEST!” Finally a piece of rope put an end to Carbide’s desperate rant, as his legs got tangled and he crashed to the floor.

Rivet got to his hooves and rushed over to his friend, lifting the thin pony up with just a single hoof. “Are you ok, Carby?”

“No! I’m not ok, and neither is my mine!”

Carbide Lamplight dragged himself towards another chair and slumped down. Immediately he grabbed the bottle of vodka and took another shot.

Rivet sat down opposite and put a hoof on his friend’s bony shoulder. “Don’t worry, Carbide, everything is going to be just fine.”

“No it’s not.” Carbide said.

“Yes it is. Just trust me. If you come with me and bring some mining equipment, I’ll show you something incredible.”

Through the glass of the vodka bottle, Carbide’s eyes looked up at Rivet. “Then I’ll have to take another day off. I cannot do that, Rivsky; the factory is my most important source of income—eh… after the mine, of course.” He looked up and then quickly continued, “If what you say is true, I have to pull as many bits out of that blasted factory as I can before it closes. Especially with the Hearth’s Warming bonus.” He wrinkled his nose. “If you can call ten Bits a ‘bonus.’”

Rivet Punch couldn’t help but chuckle; his friend would be in for a big surprise. “Trust me, Carby, if you go with me, I’ll promise you an even merrier Hearth’s Warming.”

Carbide scowled. “What can be merrier than a bonus?”

“You will see, Carby.” Rivet looked his friend in his eyes. “Hey, come on! What happened to the crazy pony I used to know?” Rivet grabbed his friend by the shoulder and shook him a little. “Like you said, important things can wait, comrade”—with his other hoof he reached for the bottle—“now, we drink!”

After another hour, the vodka diminished, but the ponies’ cheerfulness swelled. No matter what they said, no matter how silly or normal, they both had to laugh so hard that their stomachs hurt. The two friends talked about many things, constantly jumping from one subject to the other when a burst of laughter disrupted the conversation. Carbide Lamplight got off the worst (or the best, depending on your point of view), and was almost gone. He was the thinner and lighter of the two, and despite having honed his drinking skills from the moment he could hold a bottle, Rivet Punch always beat him. Carbide saw his house spinning and lagging behind his eyes. Nothing really mattered anymore; there was just the moment. Carbide coughed, reached for the bottle, but was unsure which of the three was the right one. He leaned forward and reached out. His hoof missed the bottle by five inches, and Carbide fell to the ground; his helmet rolling a long way further. “Oh… Let’s try again,” he said, but didn’t make an attempt to crawl back up.

Rivet chuckled, got up unsteadily, and hauled his friend up to plant him back in his chair. “I think you’ve had enough, comrade Lamplight,” he said.

“T-t-there is no such thing as enough, R-Rivsky. B-b-but if you can’t handle anymore, I’ll just… I’ll just… eh…”—Carbide threw his body on the table, which tilted dangerously far to his side—“I’ll just… get some more. Yes! Get some more.”

Rivet Punch felt a little woozy as well, but still had the presence of mind to know that that wouldn’t be such a good idea. Quickly he sliced another subject. “Say, Carby, how’s your mine doing? Did you get to bedrock yet?”

Carbide Lamplight sat up straight, moving like a ragdoll. He eyed the red stallion with a sudden seriousness. “Super-duper splendid, comrade!” He swayed his head. “And h-h-how is your family doing?”

“Also good. The fillies are both going to school, and Camomila Blossom is managing the farm when I’m away.” Rivet leaned in closer. “Sometimes she works the fields even better than me. If I wouldn’t know better, I’d say she knows more about plowing, sowing, and reaping than the oldest, hardiest stallion.”

Carbide laughed much too loud. He leaned back dangerously far, but to Rivet’s surprise, he held his balance. “I-I guess… I guess not everypony is suited for everything, right?”

“No.” Rivet looked at his flank, where his cutie mark danced before his eyes. “But then I still don’t know what the sickle means in my cutie mark.” Rivet started tilting a little bit to the side, but caught himself and looked in front of him again. “I mean, I get the hammer: I’m a good metalworker, right?”

“Good?!” Carbide leaned forward. “You. Are. The. BEST!”

“Ha! Thank you, Carby,” Rivet said, gently pushing him back on his chair. “If you ever need a half-decent farmpony, you know who to call!”

“I don’t have a telephone!”

“Me neither!”

A burst of laughter rolled like thunder through the house, making the photos on the wall shake in their frames. Carbide slapped his leg. “That was very bad.”

“I know!”

It didn’t matter that the joke didn’t make any sense, the two ponies laughed again, even harder this time. They were crying of laughter for a good five minutes, enjoying everything but the humor. When they both calmed down, gasping for air, Rivet’s face suddenly went grave. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?” Carbide said back, still grinning a bit.

“I haven’t even told Camomila about it.”

“Haven’t told her about what?”

“You know”—Rivet made a face—“it.”

“N-no I don’t. Explain, comrade Punch.”

Rivet stood up shakily, while pointing at his friend—which didn’t improve his balance. “The super-duper-very-secret-thing-with-which-you-will-help-me.”

“Oh, yes, of course. That thing,” Carby said, pretending to know exactly what he was talking about.

“That’s great!”

“Huh?” Carbide did his best to understand, but everything in his head was a cloudy haze.

“That means you will help me.”

“Did I say that?”

“I believe you did,” Rivet said with a sly smile.

“A-a-alright, Rivet. I’ll help you.” Carbide swayed his head again. “But not now. Tomorrow, ok?”

“That looks like a good idea to me.” Rivet grinned. “A very good idea.” He stood up, and walked towards the door as carefully as he could.

“Watch out for the rocks! They’re fragile!” Carbide called after him.

Rivet Punch burst out in laughter and lost his balance. He rolled out the door, and tumbled head-over-hoof on the gravel path outside. When he came to a halt he lifted his head, only to find his hard-hatted friend standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on the heck. “Are you alright, Rivsky!” he called out.

“Yes, I’m ok!” The big red stallion scrambled to his hooves and took a few steps further—only to find out he walked in the wrong direction and turned around.

“Are you sure?” He heard the voice of Carbide behind him.

“Da! See you tomorrow, Carby! Oh, and don’t forget to take some mining stuff with you!”

“Do zavtra!” Carbide said, and closed the door behind him. Grinning, he took a few deep breaths and looked around the room, wondering why it was so loud and movable. “He can be such a goofus when he’s drunk,” he muttered to himself. “Now where’s that other bottle again…” Carbide Lamplight made a step towards the kitchen, but started swaying, wobbling, and finally collapsed in a corner with an awkward smile painted on his lips.

* *

Knock, knock.

Rivet Punch knocked on the door, even though he did have a key; it was his own house, after all.

The door opened, and Camomila Blossom stared at her husband. “Rivet, you have the key, remember?”

“Uh-huh,” Rivet said with a bleak stare in his eyes.

Camomila sighed. “Have you been drinking again?”

“Eeyup.”

“At the bar?”

“Ee… nope.”

“Carbide Lamplight?”

“Eeyup.”

Camomila sighed again in her snow-white hoof. “Come in,” she said, and stepped aside.

Rivet Punch let go of the doorpost, but soon lost his footing, tripped, stumbled, and landed neatly on the couch, right in front of the fireplace. He pulled up his hind legs, closed his eyes, and sighed in relief as the heat of the cozy little fire began to spread from his legs to his whole body.

Camomila Blossom sat down in a rocking chair opposite of him, and looked at her husband with a gaze of anger, concern and worry. She didn’t know which one to express first.

“Don’t say a thing, I know,” Rivet Punch said, without opening his eyes.

“Do you?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry.”

Camomila said nothing.

Turning on his side, Rivet Punch now looked in Camomila’s eyes, but didn’t quite know which of the three was his wife; he just aimed his words in the general direction. “I came home so late, yesterday. And then I just crashed on the couch without telling you why.” He chuckled. “Kind of like I’m doing now.”

A thin smile formed on Camomila’s face; she couldn’t help it.

“Well, the truth is… it’s a secret!” Rivet said.

“A secret?”

“Yes!” Rivet Punch rolled on his chest, and looked Camomila straight in the eyes. “A secret.”

“You and your secrets! I never understood why you liked your secrets so much.” Camomila tucked a stray hair into her golden bun. “And we’re married for… how long?”

“A long time, Camo.”

Camomila frowned. “And… should I be happy or concerned that you can’t even remember?”

“Happy, of course,” Rivet said with a wide grin. “Time flies when you’re having fun, right?”

Then both ponies burst out in laughter, a strong, lovely laughter which bounced through the whole house, shaking the bricks in the walls. They both loved each other, they still did.

“You’re a terrible dad, Rivet Punch Macintosky,” Camomila finally said, although her tone betrayed the sarcasm; she decided to test her husband a little. “You keep secrets in the family, you go to your friend and drink yourself numb, and you are the worst farmer I’ve ever seen.”

Rivet put on a funny face. “Oh, really? Well, I think I’m a wonderful dad. I’m going to get you all a merry Hearth’s Warming; wait and see!” Suddenly he sat up straight on his haunches. “I’m not a bad dad, and I’m sure the children would agree.” He breathed in deep, but didn’t even have to call. The sound of little hooves echoed from the bedroom, and a moment later, two little fillies stood in the living room and charged towards their father, smiles on their faces. “Papa! Papa, you’re home!”

“I know,” Rivet said, still bearing his funny face, and embraced them in a bear-hug.

“Papa, are you free today?” the brown filly with an ashen, messy mane asked.

“I am, Resonance.”

“And are you going to help us bake something super-duper tasty?” the other filly asked. She had a cream-colored coat and a flowing, golden mane, much like her mother.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Bliny,” Rivet said.

“Why not?”

“Because… well…” Rivet looked over to his wife, but didn’t get any support; she just smiled a challenging smile.

“Well? why not?” Bliny said.

“Because… papa is sick. He cannot walk straight.”

Both fillies’ eyes went wide. “Oh no! Will you be better soon?” Bliny asked.

Rivet chuckled. “Yes, tomorrow I’ll be better. It’s probably just a cold.” He stroked his daughter’s’ manes one by one. “So, what did you do today, my little snowflakes?”

“I made twenty pancakes in an hour!” Bliny said, her eyes radiating with pride. “That’s a new personal record!”

Resonance turned towards her sister. “Did you?”

“Yes, I did!”

“How wonderful! Rivet said. “Did you leave some for me? I could use something to eat.”

“Of course,” Bliny answered, “I’ll go get them for you. I’ve left some pancakes for everypony. It’s a surprise, well… it was a surprise. Not anymore. Be right back!” Bliny jumped off Rivet’s lap and bolted towards the kitchen.

Rivet Punch looked at his wife. “You see? Surprises are fun!”

Camomila Blossom just rolled her eyes and sighed.

“And what did you do today, Resonance?” Rivet said to his other daughter.

“I did what I do every day, papa. You should know that right? I practiced my balalaika of course.”

“Oh really?” Rivet said, faking a terrible surprise. “So how is it coming along?”

“Awesome, of course! I’ll be a star in no time. Only a few more days and then I’ll be good enough for the Eastern Equestrian balalaika ensemble. I know it!”

Rivet laughed. “I believe you, little Resonance.”

“You should!” Resonance said. “You know, papa, I made a song today. I’ll sing it for you!”

And before Rivet realized it, Resonance zipped towards her bedroom and came galloping back with a triangular little guitar in her mouth: her balalaika.

She sat down on a wooden chair, the one closest to the fireplace, and put the balalaika on her lap. “I’ll show you something!” she called, then cleared her throat, and started plucking the strings with her hoof. At first a few slow, cheerful notes drifted into the living room, but then Resonance stroked faster and faster, until the tones flowing out of the instrument chained up into a constant whizz; the trademark sound of a balalaika, and of course, the traditional tones of Eastern-Equestria.

I Know a place un-der snow

Oh so cold, oh so bold

Every-day it shines with gold

It is my home there I live

With mom, dad and my sis

It is all I need and wish

To-morrow or once someday

I will live my long dream,

I’ll be on a stage and beam

Play-ing the roof off the hall

And get all the applause

From the crowd which I will rouse

I will be famous and rich

And will share all my Bits

With poor ponies out of wits

Then, under big golden sun,

A new star will shine bright

And I’ll fill the land with light!

An applause filled the living room. Not the applause of a thousand baffled ponies, but a heartfelt and loving applause nonetheless.

“That was amazing!” Rivet said. “What do you call that song?”

Resonance put her balalaika on the floor. “Thanks, papa. I knew it would be awesome. I don’t have a name yet, but I think I’ll name it after the three sides of a triangle. What about… Tetris?”

“That’s a wonderful name, little snowflake,” Rivet said. He grabbed the little balalaika virtuoso and gave her a kiss on the muzzle.

“Papa! Don’t be so cheesy!”