Chapter 27
Life, it seemed, was a never-ending series of humiliations, each one building up intensity from the last. Sumac found himself in the most embarrassing, most awful, most terrible, most unthinkable, most unfathomable pickle that anypony could imagine: he was sandwiched between two mares that had just betrayed him by bathing him. Both were fuzzy, soft, and stank of lilacs, or lavender, or some other horrendous floral frou-frou feminine fragrance. They were also sound asleep.
These mares were not his mother, nor were they strangers, which made this especially awkward. He was quite thoroughly squished, trapped, helpless, and Octavia’s heavy leg was slung over his barrel so that she might cling to Vinyl while she slumbered. It was the leg she played the cello with, which made it meaty, muscled, and hard as a sack full of rocks. Between the close, fuzzy proximity of the two mares, the heavy blankets, the nostril-tickling floral stench, and Vinyl’s hot, toothpasty breath blowing on the back of his head, it felt as though he was suffocating.
Even worse, Octavia and Vinyl both were soft, fuzzy, warm, and felt so nice against him, which made this even more galling. And worstest of all? His eyes threatened to betray him, as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier with each blink. Worstiestiest of all? He had to keep blinking. It was as if there was some vast conspiracy, conspiring conspiratorially against him.
“No, consarnit,” he mumbled, his words muffled against the base of Octavia’s neck, and there was a faint sizzle in the air. “Razzle frazzin, no good, ick-sniffing, melon farmers.”
His foalish fury was not enough to save him and after but a few more blinks, Sumac’s eyes refused to open.
Perched upon the edge of a crooked pottery fruit bowl, Boomer appeared to be distraught. Sumac noted her drooping spines, her sagging frills, and her total lack of appetite, which bothered him. She was supposed to be eating fruit, not staring at it with a forlorn expression. The kitchen was filled with blessed quiet, a much needed silence, save for the crackling of the burning logs in the fire.
A pot of tea steamed on the table and Octavia was writing music upon bone white parchment. Vinyl yawned, not quite awake, and then rubbed her pink eyes with her foreleg. The restoring quiet was just what Sumac needed, and he supposed the nap had helped too, but he would never admit to it because it felt good to be petulant and sulky.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry, Boomer, I’m sorry.”
The dragon hatchling looked up, focused one pivoting eye upon Sumac, and then the other, an alien act that no equine could hope to comprehend. She sniffled a bit, her tiny clawed fingers flexed a few times, and her tail shifted so that she might keep her balance upon her perch.
“I was just trying to help you understand,” Sumac whispered, and he found that he couldn’t look at Boomer any longer, so he stared down at his cup of tea. “This has been a rotten day and everything just went wrong.” Drawing in a deep, shuddery breath, Sumac began to search for more words to say, but couldn’t think of any.
While he struggled to turn meaningful thought into spoken expression, he felt a light impact upon his horn as Boomer reclaimed her favourite perch. He could feel her coiling around, and her scaly tail prickled against his scalp. Though he could not explain why, he felt better. Things felt right again. He was a sorcerer with his companion dragon perched upon his horn. Octavia was writing what would probably be her next big hit while Vinyl just sat there looking befuddled in her half-awake state.
Everything was fine again, at least as fine as it could be in a quiet kitchen with a roaring, crackling fire.
The kitchen was now Cloudy with a chance of conversation. Sumac watched her as she enjoyed her tea and he was surprised to see that her severe, tight bun was missing: her mane, now loosened, spilled down around her neck and withers. It made her look younger—very much so—and he had trouble getting over just how different she appeared. It was like she was a different mare, not Maud’s mother, but maybe an older sister, perhaps.
He kept his opinions to himself though.
Vinyl was flipping though a somewhat tattered spellbook, and while Sumac was interested, he was having trouble focusing after everything that happened, because so much had happened. A cursory glance revealed that the book was about auditory illusions and clairaudient projections. He allowed himself a sweet, sweet bit of smug satisfaction for knowing what these things meant, which he felt was impressive boasting rights for a five-year-old.
“So, Sumac, do you ever imagine doing something fun when you’re all grown up?” Cloudy asked while she focused her wise gaze upon the colt that could only just barely see over the edge of the table.
“What do you mean?” Sumac looked up from his tea, glad for a bit of gentle conversation, but worried that Octavia’s work might be disturbed. The niggling bit of worry caused him a fair bit of stress, because work was important.
“You know, daydreams. Imaginating. Daydreaming. Stuff that normal foals do.”
“I don’t follow.” Sumac felt Boomer shift on his horn, and she let out a tiny smoky snore.
“Like growing up and becoming a pirate. And having fun while thinking about it.” Cloudy folded her forelegs—one over the other—and allowed them to rest against the edge of the table as she leaned over her cup of tea. “Letting yourself daydream about being a pirate and going on adventures.”
“That’s a terrible idea.” Shrinking down, Sumac’s ears drooped, and he shivered even though he was rather close to the fire.
“Why is that a terrible idea?” Cloudy’s eyes narrowed and her fine eyebrows cast a shadow upon her cheeks as the crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes intensified.
“If I was a pirate, I might run into Tarnish, and then things would be awful, just awful. When he was done with me, I’d be lucky to have four peg legs and I’d need an eyepatch or two.”
At this, Octavia began to snicker.
“Well, that is what you call an ‘occupational hazard’ and it is something you have to learn how to deal with so you can do your job.” The ends of Cloudy’s lips began twitching and the crinkles in the corners of her eyes grew deeper. Her left ear—the fuzzy tip of it—quivered a bit, her eyes twinkled, and there was something about her face that expressed some kind of odd maternal mischief.
“Tarnish isn’t exactly an occupational hazard that you just deal with,” Sumac retorted in a low matter-of-fact voice while maintaining eye-contact with Cloudy. “Tarnish is the sort of occupational hazard that deals with you, I think.”
The pen fell from Octavia’s lips, hit the table, bounced, clattered, and would have rolled off the edge had she not stopped it with her hoof. Biting her lower lip, she struggled to hold in her laughter, but it came out anyway. Lifting her other hoof, the one not keeping her pen on the table, she covered her mouth and attempted to keep her chortles down to a discreet, polite volume.
“Well, this is where imagination comes in… if you were a pirate, how would you deal with Tarnish?”
“Fairly and honestly while I gave him my unconditional surrender,” Sumac replied.
“You and Pebble both, neither one of you talk like normal foals your age. Maud didn’t either.” Cloudy clucked her tongue, shook her head, and the phantom suggestion of a grin lingered upon her muzzle. “Come on, try to use your imagination just a little bit—”
“I just saw a movie where Tarnish did bad things to bad ponies. All I can imagine is him doing bad things to me if I was a bad pony.” As Sumac spoke, Vinyl squeezed her eyes shut and wheezed with near-silent laughter. “Tarnish and Applejack both… they have… reputations. I’ve heard some stories about them. And I’ve seen what Applejack can do if she gets riled. In comic book hero terms, they’re the heavies for their fellow group of heroes, and comic books are full of examples of why you don’t make the heavy angry.”
“Indeed.” Octavia managed to get out the lone word before she collapsed into rollicking laughter, and she clung to the edge of the table so she wouldn’t fall over.
“Even worse, I don’t think Applejack or Tarnish care about their reputations… I’m pretty sure that Applejack cultivates her reputation like she does apples. She can clear a room of trouble by raising her eyebrow. Twilight has told me some stories… and Tarnish… Tarnish”—he shivered and thought about being shoved into an airship propeller—“has that whip. And ponies with whips tend to use them.”
“You’re not much of a pirate,” Cloudy remarked, and she shook her head in dismay.
“It’s not safe to be a pirate,” Sumac whined in reply.
“This isn’t normal at all.” Cloudy’s nostrils flared and the twinkle in her eyes intensified. “Pinkie Pie had regular dreams of growing up and becoming a pirate. Or a Pie-rate, as she called herself. She even turned her bed into a pirate ship, and she sailed the seas with Marble and Limestone. Pinkie had wonderful adventures and bounced on the bed and fretted over imaginary sharks that lurked beneath the bed.”
Sumac considered this, just how silly it was, and it seemed like something that Pinkie Pie would do even now. For a time, he thought about how dangerous sharks were, and while he had never even seen a shark, he was pretty sure that Tarnish could kick its fins right into next Tuesday.
“Surely you have to dream about something, Sumac.” Cloudy’s brows furrowed and her ears angled forwards over her eyes, pushing her brows down even more. “You have to dare to dream, little colt. There is a big wide world out there, and dreams expand our horizons. Little foals have to dream of what lies beyond their mother’s shadow and they must venture forth to experience all that life has to offer.”
“I’ve seen a whole lot of the world already.” Sumac lifted up his teacup—his tea now pleasantly warm, but not hot—and slurped some. “I’ve seen Equestria’s biggest cast iron frying pan. I’ve stood between the Gates of Dawn and camped in the shadows of the Gates of Even. My life has been one long adventure for as long as I can remember and really, if I dream about anything, it is about being normal. Travelling with Trixie was great, don’t get me wrong, but I want to settle down.”
Octavia’s laughter came to an abrupt, sudden halt, and blinking, she focused her startled gaze upon Sumac. One forehoof came to rest upon her barrel, and something about her eyes now seemed troubled as her long, curved eyelashes fluttered with each blink. Her expression slipped into something almost morose, a profound alteration from the cheerfulness of before.
Much to his own dismay, Sumac’s brain betrayed him and he thought about being sandwiched between Octavia and Vinyl in the bed. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he thought about how he wanted more of that—whatever that was. To feel safe, secure, to feel loved. His mind wandered and he thought about Trixie, Lemon Hearts, and Twinkleshine.
It was a pleasant daydream that his brain embarked upon, and Sumac thought about family. As nice as it had been to be cuddled in the middle, he began to wonder what it would be like to be big, and to have something little to snuggle with. It was a powerful profound thought, something that pushed the boundaries of Sumac’s perceptions. The delightful bubble of his daydream popped when he came to the realisation that somepony would have to be in the bed with him, because he would need that somepony to help him make something little to cuddle with and this was how one made a foal sandwich…
Yuck!
Playing plot pirate; perchance poking, possibly plundering poor Pebble perhaps… Sumac shivered yet again and made a face that made him look like he was gnawing lemons. This was not how he wanted to think about his best friend and playmate. His brain, an organ infused with the very essence of betrayal, conjured up a vivid imaginary image of Pebble yawning, giving him full view of her tongue, and beyond that, her throat.
Oh no, not again! No! No! No!
Gulping, Sumac was snapped to attention by his racing heart and he tried to bring order to his out of control thoughts. Huddled in his chair, miserable, he did his best to corral his thoughts before something icky-awful happened. He was in real danger of being embarrassed yet again, and as a lone colt in a kitchen full of mares, the last thing he wanted was a repeat of the humiliating incident in the theatre.
Closing his eyes, Sumac began to count to ten…
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sumac thinks in alliteration
I wonder at Octavia's sudden shocked silence. I mean really, everypony who knows Sumac knows that he and Trixie lived on the road, seeing all manner of sights as they traveled across the length and breadth of Equestria. Why wouldn't he daydream about a quiet, settled life?
Also, I continue to be surprised that Sumac never gives voice to this continual feelings of being repeatedly betrayed by those closest to him. Granted those "betrayals" consist of their bathing him rather than anything serious, but his 5-year-old emotions still register it as something significant enough to apply that label to it.
8461636
Feeling betrayed is actually common for kids, and it is part of childhood development. Everything is a betrayal. The only fix is growing up.
8461640
I didn't know that! Yay for learning things
8461642
Healthy, normal human beings develop something of a filter over time, sorting out actual betrayal and things that are necessary. Being forced to eat brussels sprouts and take a bath, these are things are necessary, but they feel an awful lot like betrayal. With time, patience, and effort though, trust is built, and this less and less like a betrayal. Tolerance and acceptance happen, and this is actually the reason why it is so important for parents to forcibly make their children endure things they don't like.
8461649
Again, this is excellent to know, & helps me to better understand the mindset of young children, which is something which doesn't come easily to me. Thanks!
Can't help but laugh that the add that popped up after reading about Sumacs problem was a lingerie add.
Poor foals... destiny didn't give them a chance to be children.
8461649
8461653
There was one writer, Spider Robinson, who posited that the reason children cry so much at so little injury is not from the pain itself, but from the sense of betrayal at experiencing pain.
Very much a "How could this happen to me?" situation.
I completely approve of Sumac's sensibleness regarding piratehood.
derpicdn.net/img/view/2016/2/15/1089143__suggestive_artist-colon-methidman_artist-colon-pencils_edit_cloudy+quartz_oc_oc-colon-anon_adoraquartz_blushing_colored_color+edit_cute_floppy.jpg
derpicdn.net/img/2016/3/14/1109063/large.png
Two images with Pinkie's Mom letting her mane down.
8461636
Most probably the shock is over him living in the road for real. It's one thing, after all, to know the kind of life Sumac had growing up. It's another altogether to realize and understand what that actually means.
8461910
Anon's Pie Adventure. I have a deep fondness for that comic somehow. It is VERY silly. (And the artist is a fan of Celestia, so there's that.)
Sumac dreams of home, heart, and hearth.
8461910
Yes. I agree completely here.
For those not familiar -- you must go read Anon's Pie Adventure -- http://pencilsponyforge.tumblr.com/. Cloudy kicks ass (literally).
8461640
8461649
i think i get why i never experienced that
if you never feel trust towards your own parents, you cant feel betrayal from their actions, instead of being people they became forces of nature, and you cannot trust a storm, nor can you feel betrayed by the tides
ty for the epiphany kudz
8461910
Pinkie's Mom has got it going on, as it were.
And in that case, has taken multiple levels in Bad Mutha (shut your mouth).
At last my dear old friend, almost forget about you. Going to ravish you my dear.
I’ve stood between the Gates of Dawn and camped in the shadows of the Gates of Even.
I just love that line - a well traveled foal, no wonder he would like to settle down.
8463240
Yea, I'm gonna steal that if I ever write a story (well actually post one). Gates of Dawn and Gates of Even. What a great name and evocative concept. I picture something like the gates of Gibralter, or two huge statues carved from mountains. One one the east shore and one on the west.
Poor little Sumac @.@
Kudzu, any chance we might be blessed with an AU story where Pinkie the pirate and Tarnish have an epic clash upon the open seas?
8472853
Yes!!!!!
Alliteration: a potent power, perfectly professing penmanship.
8461690
You think that ad was badly placed ?
The ad I got was for an online manga store that advertised a comic where a man turns into a woman and has to sleep with men to turn back into a man himself.
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=lyrics+i%27ve+been+everywhere+in+wow&&view=detail&mid=F54D0A77C1BE69DFA6CDF54D0A77C1BE69DFA6CD&&FORM=VRDGAR