Chapter 12
Butter Fudge was distraught, and Copperquick found that he felt bad for her. This was no mere case of passing sympathy, no, this was a deep and genuine concern, because what affected Butter Fudge also affected Buttermilk. The two mares, so very different, also had remarkable similarities, though he was still sorting out what those were.
Chores and study had been delayed for tea and sympathy.
Esmeralda, perhaps feeling brave, ventured a little further away than usual to explore the kitchen. She didn’t go very far; every few steps she would stop and turn about to check and see that she was being watched over. For those most observant, for those who understood what was going on, it was the actions of a foal who did not trust—that is to say that Esmeralda did not trust that her father would be there when she turned around, hence the need for constant checking. For those who had some understanding of what these behaviours meant—such as Buttermilk Oddbody—these constant mistrustful actions were deeply troubling. It was evidence of damage, of harm, of injury done.
Butter Fudge too, was also troubled and it could be seen in every wrinkle upon her honest, forthright face. It could be seen in every furrow of her brow, the crows feet around her eyes, and the clenching of her powerful jaw muscles. Copperquick tried to read her face—going by what he knew about Buttermilk—and what he saw was outrage and sorrow.
“It’s funny,” Butter Fudge began, breaking the oppressive silence. She set her mug down upon the table and when she pulled her hooves away, they were trembling. “I had this belief that a cutie mark defined all that you were and all that you would be. I was raised to never question what I was meant to do, and that I should not question what others were meant to do either.”
Reaching up, Butter Fudge closed her eyes and rubbed her chin. “The one time that I did question the authority of the mark, my father, he paddled me for what felt like half a day with my mother’s breadboard, and he made my brothers and sisters watch. When he got done, I couldn’t sit down for a week or more, and since I couldn’t sit down, I couldn’t sit back and have myself a good think, either.”
Copperquick winced, having been paddled himself, but nothing too bad.
“I got my milk pail and that was it. I was what I was and nothing could be done about it. I was destined for dairy work, but I suppose that my father didn’t paddle me nearly enough, because I still had questions left in me… some doubts. I tried my hoof at soap making, just to see if it could be done, and… I guess that satisfied my questions and doubts… or maybe it was because Buttermilk was on the way. I… don’t… know… but I learned how to make soap just to see if I could and I guess that was the end of my little rebellious streak. After that, I had a husband to satisfy and a newborn to look after, and so I focused on what I was good at. Dairy.”
Unable to resist pointing out the obvious, a trait that had cost Copperquick much in his life, he couldn’t hold back the sudden dreadful observation that he had just made. “But you taught yourself electrical engineering, at least, that is what Buttermilk said and you—” His words trailed off in a strained squeak as Butter Fudge stared at him as if he had grown a second head.
Clearly, Butter Fudge was in no mood for such observations.
“I did that…”—she paused, cleared her throat, and lowered her voice—“to be a better dairy farmer. It was never my goal to stray away from what I was meant to do. I had reached the limits of what my farm was capable of and to do better, I had to employ new methods. I needed freezers, refrigerators, storage tanks, pumping systems, milking systems… I didn’t buck against what I was meant to be, I refined myself to be better.”
Alas, Copperquick, being young, had a mouth ready to betray him: “Maybe so, but you proved that you can do better. Be better. That anything is possible. That you—” Once more, he went silent and he didn’t like the stormy look in Mrs. Oddbody’s eyes. Nope, he didn’t like that look at all. His own mother sometimes looked at him like that, usually when he had tested her patience just a little bit too much. Once more, he was a cheeky little colt shooting his mouth off, and now, perhaps, it was time to run.
But where? This was an island.
“Moomy”—Buttermilk now became the focus of Butter Fudge’s baleful expression —“is this why you don’t like voting?”
“Beezy?” The big mare’s expression went from stormy to befuddled in a single eyeblink.
“Well, you know, a common dairy farmer having a say in politics… something outside of their cutie mark—”
“Beezy, don’t you be cheeky right now, I’m in no mood.”
For a moment, Copperquick was certain that Buttermilk would back down, but the brave little hummingbird of a pegasus remained defiant against the mountain that was her mother. His eyes darted from one to the other, back and forth, and all of the muscles in his back went tight from the growing tension.
“Moomy, you’ve already seen that judges and the like aren’t as infallible as you had thought. Having a cutie mark or a set destiny or a fixed course of action doesn’t make you right. It doesn’t make you perfect. You’ve made bad batches of cheese and a judge can have poor judgment. Mistakes can be made—”
“I don’t see how that is relevant. Having a bunch of entitled loudmouths with conflicting opinions and differing views all having a say on an issue as important as governance is anarchy. It is the Sisters place to rule, rule over us and not coddle us. It is our job to be productive. We make and create so that society benefits as a whole. It is the job of the bureaucracy to handle the nuts and bolts of governance. That is how it should be. And a cutie mark sorts out where one falls in this system.”
“Ah, good old Grittish sort-you-out-right-quick classism is alive and well in Equestria—urk.” The stormy glare in Butter Fudge’s eyes had returned and Copperquick found that what he had to say probably wasn’t a good idea. No, it was a dreadful idea. Drinking tea was a good idea, because it kept his mouth busy, so he did so. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to be witty, he realised as he picked up his mug. He almost fumbled it in his nervousness and a bit of tea sloshed over the side.
“Oh, come off it.” Buttermilk’s voice was low, but forceful, and her eyes narrowed in challenge. “You almost sound like a pony I know… a one Mister Blancmange… and he is a detestable creep. I fell madly and completely in love with Copperquick because he threatened to twist this repulsive, despicable little pony’s head right off for talking to me in a manner most uncouth. He tried to tell me that I didn’t have what it took to do my job because of my butterchurn cutie mark.”
“Beezy, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh yes you did.” Eyes narrowing into paper-thin slits, Buttermilk held her verbal ground. “You can’t have it both ways, Moomy. You just said that a cutie mark sorts out where I fall into place in this system, did you not?”
Butter Fudge’s ears fell back in a submissive posture and the big mare now had a meek expression upon her face. No longer angry, but thoughtful, it was obvious that she was having herself a good hard think before she opened up her mouth and said something that would make things worse. Copperquick found himself admiring her for it. She was clearly in the wrong here, but rather than be defensive, or obtuse, she was thinking. It was now clear where Buttermilk herself had inherited this trait from, and was evidence that the two mares were more alike than one might first think. Sipping his tea, he remained silent for the sake of the moment between mother and daughter.
“Nopony dictates anything to me,” Buttermilk said in a cold, chilling voice as she leaned in her mother’s direction. “I am not giving up my dreams. I will not give up my plans. I might have faltered a bit after my encounter with Mister Blancmange, but I have since recovered, due in no small part to Copperquick. We have a relationship based upon fair and equal exchange. He doesn’t diminish me, or expect me to give up everything I hope to do to become a spineless, meek, welcome mat of a housewife. He’s mostly okay with the fact that I’ll be the breadwinner of this family. He’s come to grips with that, and I’m really, really happy about that because I don’t want Esme hiding in her room and crying her eyes out because her parents are busy shouting about money at one another. I’ve seen too much of that already. I am more than the butterchurn on my backside… I’m also a mother, I’m probably going to be a wife soon, and I am a dedicated professional who really, really enjoys her butter making hobby.”
Every muscle in Copperquick’s body was at maximum tension, almost to the point of cramping, or so he thought. Something happened however, that proved that his muscles still had more to give, a dreadful occurrence that made his spine kink and his neck crick. Down on the floor, Esmeralda turned around in a circle, flicked her tail, and then looked up at the adults at the table.
“Foosh.”
Three heads all turned at the same time, and Copperquick’s face contorted into a painful rictus of terror, having been conditioned with a fear response to this now semi-regular component of his daughter’s developing vocabulary. Esmeralda blinked once, flicked her fluffy tail once more, and wiggled her backside.
“Foosh.”
As Copperquick gibbered in fright, Butter Fudge sniffed, and so did Buttermilk. The kitchen was not filled with death fog, yet Esmeralda had said the most dreadful of all words twice now. Esmeralda now had something of an expression upon her face that could only be described as ‘hopeful’ and she stepped from one hind hoof to another, performing an urgent dance.
“Oh!” Buttermilk cried out as she reached a vital realisation. “You need to make a foosh!”
Wings unfurling, Buttermilk was airborne in less than an eyeblink and she shot off with such acceleration that the wake she left behind made Copperquick’s ears pop as his mane was sucked into her wake. Never had he seen Buttermilk fly so fast or with so much force, and Esmeralda let out a startled cry as she was snatched off of the floor. Buttermilk, he realised, was flying faster than the speed of need to potty, and it was a race against time.
Before he could blink for the second time, she was already out of the door with Esmeralda, leaving behind a quivering rumble that suggested that the sound barrier was a bit miffed at the pegasus pony tribe at the moment. With a slow turn of his head, he glanced over at Butter Fudge, who had a dumbstruck expression lodged upon her face.
Awestruck as much as Butter Fudge was dumbfounded, Copperquick only had one thing to say: “My little filly is going to go foosh.”
A short time later, Buttermilk returned to the kitchen bearing a somewhat damp foal. An enormous smile was on the pegasus maid’s face and she hugged and squeezed the damp foal as she carried her through the air. Squishing the giggling filly, Buttermilk rubbed her cheek against the little foal’s body, which knocked her glasses askew.
“Did she make it?” Copperquick asked. “Did you make it?”
Buttermilk plopped the happy little filly down upon the table right in front of her father and replied, “She didn’t quite make it, but I still managed to get her onto the toilet. She was a bit confused about it, but a few kisses and kind words made everything better. Then, I gave her a quick clean up in the shower and now she’s all fluffy-wuffy.”
“Florp!” Esmeralda pointed at her mouth with her hoof and kicked her hind hooves against the tabletop. “Florp?”
“Quick, fix a bottle, we need to reward her trust!” Copperquick started to say, but Buttermilk was already a moving blur before the word ‘need’ had left his mouth. Turning to look at Butter Fudge, he offered her a bit of an explanation. “We have to recondition her to counter the harmful conditioning that was done to her.”
“We never unpacked the bottle warmer!” Buttermilk whined as she flew around in a frustrated circle, just narrowly avoiding bonking her head on the ceiling. “She’s going to lose her trust in us! Argh!” Reaching up, she pressed her front hooves into her cheeks and began to squish her own face into ridiculous, unnatural shapes.
“Florp?” Esmeralda looked hopeful—optimistic even—and Copperquick was quite stricken by this new expression upon his daughter’s face.
There was an ache in his barrel—in his heart. Reaching out with his forelegs, he swept up Esmeralda and crushed his daughter against him, squeezing the stocky, sturdy little filly who smelled like soap. He began distracting her with kisses while Buttermilk flew off in search of the bottle warmer, because it was obvious she didn’t want to heat the bottle up on the stove.
“Florp!” Esmeralda sounded a bit exasperated now, but she also seemed thrilled to be getting more kisses, so nothing escalated.
“The foosh goes out and the florp goes in.” Copperquick spoke in the manner of proud papas everywhere and squished his filly so hard that her eyes bulged. “You’re talking, sort of, and communicating your needs with something other than screams. This is great! So great!”
This has had minimal editing. My editor seems to be AFK for an extended time, so I apologize. Sorry for the delay and the inconvenience. 
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... oh! I get it now! "Foosh!"
That's what the toilet says!
8492166
I was wondering how long it would be until somebody made this connection.
8492171
and 'florp' is what the gut says.
8492228
Not quite.
It is the sound that Esmeralda hears when the nipple of the bottle is pulled out of her mouth.
8492239
OMG THAT'S SO CUTE!
8492171
i thought it was simply the sound her butt butt made when she farted
Butter Fudge is right. The (current) alicorns should rule. They literally have the instincts that practically prevent them from doing less. But the steadfastness in the idea of that being related to the cutie mark is silly.
Celestia has a sun on her butt, not a crown being held up by a pony. She's ruled because she's had to, and she got GOOD at it. It's not her talent. Her cutie mark didn't say, "And now you should rule because you are innately gifted by it to be wise and outgoing and know everything." That's all SKILL, experience built up over time, with a sharp mind. SHE has the qualities of a ruler, not her Centaur-Magic Harmony Tree Buttstamp.
8492368
Too many ponies, not enough alicorns.
Hence the need for the bureaucracy to deal with the day to day workings.
Celestia simply cannot deal with every issue or cast judgment on every case.
Hence the problem.
8492378
And the issue of just having more and more alicorns meaning chances get higher you'll get a weak link, or perhaps even a full-out enemy. Someone who opposes the best way for things to work who won't listen to reason, causing all kinds of issues between extremely powerful creatures who have a great deal of political clout.
Thus needing to be careful about who ascends, and needing to be careful with how the new generation is raised.
Children are terrifying.
8492368
It's not just instincts though. The sisters have kind hearts, but also wisdom that has been gained over the many centuries. They have the benefit of NOT forgetting many things in history. Not only that, but with their lifespan, they are able to better focus upon the long term than the average pony.
The problem is that the bureaucracy has been left to it's own devices for FAR too long. You have to have shake ups and fresh blood with new ideas every so often. Otherwise you get complacency, and even worse you get corruption.
8492538
Let's not forget it was a baby that destroyed the artifact keeping the Crystal Empire safe, while firing crazy beams of magic that were able to blast through solid crystal.
Verbal communication success! Go Esme!
Children are capable of communication well before they have the ability to talk. We just miss the body language because we put so much emphasis on the verbal aspects of communication. Talking requires fine motor skills that take time to develop.
The chants of the worshippers of eldritch horrors from beyond quaked in terror as the dread words were spake FOOSH.
So. Some thoughts on Cutie Marks, Buttermilk specifically. Cutie Marks, as far as I can tell, show what one's talent and enjoyment is, but also a bit about WHO they are. By that standard, she is very well suited for her job. If you have ever churned butter you know it takes patience, persistence, and a lot of strength to get that damn cream into butter. You also need to know when to stop.
Such traits are very suitable for a social worker, especially one who is going to help turn the current system into something new.
8492171
Urban Dictionary
Understood the flush noise no probs there, but this definition might add another layer, Esme might be a prankster?
Firefox (the movie plane, not the browser) never flew that fast.