Chapter 18
Watching Buttermilk play with her father warmed Copperquick’s heart and he stood on the back porch wondering if one day Esmeralda would play with him. The pair of pegasus ponies tried to boop one another, a game of speed and skill that Buttermilk seemed to be winning. They circled each other, wings buzzing, and moving at such speed that Copperquick had a hard time seeing anything other than blurs. These slight, fragile-looking pegasus ponies were fast.
Darting to and fro, Buttermilk couldn’t help but tease her father. “Getting slow in your old age!”
Midge’s anger was playful, part of the game, and Copperquick couldn’t tell if he was letting his daughter get the best of him. It was like watching a pair of hummingbirds jousting, a marvellous display of speed and dexterity. The sound was quite unlike anything else Copperquick had ever experienced, a constant and steady stream of bzzt-noises could be heard from the furiously flapping wings. It sounded like a bug zapper having an apoplectic fit. Visible arcs of static electricity could be seen shooting between them when they were too close to one another.
The sight of all of this inspired Copperquick to be a better father.
“We’re going out for flapjacks,” Mighty Midge announced after dodging a boop to the snoot.
“Daddums, no, we just got Esmeralda to settle down—”
“Flapjacks.” Mighty Midge waggled his thin eyebrows. “Besides, a tired enough foal can sleep anywhere. She’ll be fine.” One hoof flew out in his daughter’s direction, but she just flitted out of the way without effort. “If she gets exhausted, she’ll sleep through the night, which means you’ll sleep through the night.”
“Well, I don’t know, Daddums—”
“Trust me, Beezy.”
From where he stood on the porch, Copperquick asked, “Should we bring a foal to a restaurant where ponies are trying to eat a meal?
“It’s a family restaurant,” Butter Fudge replied from inside the kitchen. “Daddums, you’re getting slow.”
“Shut it, Moomy!” Midge cried before he was forced into retreat by a flurry of attempted snoot-boops from his now-aggressive daughter.
“Oi, telling me to shut it. Sod off.”
Turning about, Copperquick looked into the kitchen and saw that Butter Fudge was swaddling Esmeralda in a blanket. She was quick, well-practiced, and his daughter was completely out, oblivious to the blanket binding. Butter Fudge was like some enormous spider, cocooning his daugher, and in no time at all little Esmeralda was neatly wrapped up in one of her blankets.
“Moomy keeps embarrassing me, Daddums.”
“She’s bad about that, Beezy. Should I paddle her with a hairbrush?”
From in the kitchen, there came an, “Oi… do that and I’ll misbehave more often.”
“That’s a little embarrassing, Daddums. I just don’t deal well with embarrassment.”
“You’re like me, Beezy,” Mighty Midge said to his daughter. “Moomy is a teaser. She’s brain-damaged and a socially maladjusted misequine. Now be a good filly and remember that I raised you to take pity on the mentally feeble—”
“Oi, calling me a feeb… so rude. You’ll get yours later, featherbrain. I’ll sit on ya.”
Unable to help himself, Copperquick started laughing. It felt good to laugh, to let go, because everything had been so stressful as of late. Butter Fudge had a sour smile and when he turned about, he saw that Midge and Buttermilk were no longer boop-jousting, but hovering near one another, grinning the same smug grin. Their faces had remarkable similarity and Copperquick noticed for the first time that their wing-beats had synchronized into a harmonious hum that was wondrous to behold.
“All of this talk isn’t filling my belly with flapjacks,” Mighty Midge said in protest. “Beezy, go help your poor feeble-minded mother get ready—”
“Oi, ya git… why I oughta—”
“Ya oughta be getting ready, Moomy.” Mighty Midge winked while his daughter stuck out her tongue.
“Birdbrains, the both of ya,” Butter Fudge huffed from inside the kitchen. “Fine, I’ll get ready. Wouldn’t want to go out smelling like I just cut a whole bunch of cheese, which is what I’ve been doing this whole afternoon.”
Unable to stop himself, Copperquick began to snicker, and he felt rather bad about it.
“Oi, Beezy, look out, he’s having a giggle at a bad joke, you might want to rethink your plans—”
“Moomy!” Buttermilk rubbed her cheeks with her hooves and let out an exasperated grunt. “Moomy, you are the bad joke! Now go get ready!”
After a bit of a walk, crossing several bridges, and travelling a few islands over, Copperquick found himself staring up at a twenty-foot tall sign of a fat pegasus pony mare that said, ‘Flapper’s Henhouse,’ in bold red letters. In smaller blue letters, the words, ‘334 flavours of syrup,’ could be read. The smell was indescribable, but mouth watering, and even Esmeralda—sound asleep in her carrier—began to smack her lips.
“Okay, Copper.” Mighty Midge paused in place and hovered right beside Copperquick’s head. “There’s some local customs here that you need to be aware of. When we go in, you’ll make your order of what kind of flapjacks you’ll be wanting. There are many. Get something you’ll want to eat a lot of, because the waitress will keep bringing them out for you. You can change the type of flapjack you’re getting, but that might cause some confusion in the hustle and bustle, so most of us just stick to one type to make their lives a little easier.”
“Got it,” Copperquick replied and he understood the reasoning behind Midge’s instructions. Being kind to waitresses was one of his priorities, because he was a polite sort, and waitresses had enough to put up with without having to deal with additional headaches.
“I almost took a job in this place.” Buttermilk hovered near her father and she drew in a deep breath. “Looking back, it feels funny now… I had this feeling that if I took a job at this place, it would trap me here. I can actually remember thinking to myself that I’d end up stuck in a rut doing the day to day grind if I took a job.”
“Oi, and then you’d end up with some mouth breathing hick, and I wasn’t having that.”
Copperquick, who was half-listening now, noticed another sign: ‘Kinder-corral for your convenience!’ Off to the front of the restaurant, there was a fenced off area filled with playground equipment, and it was packed with sugar-buzzed tyrannical tykes, the very thought of which gave him cold chills. Esmeralda was little, sweet, and mostly manageable—and he desperately wanted her to remain this way.
At least she wasn’t a pegasus.
The restaurant was chaos and then some. All of the waitresses seemed to be pegasus ponies, and they flew from table to table. It was what one of Copperquick’s professors called justified tribalist hiring practices—making certain ponies suitable for certain types of jobs. Above was open rafters, ducts, and even a few cosy nooks that could only be reached by flying. The cacophony of voices, the rustling of feathers, the flap of wings, the great many lips being smacked, it was all almost too much for Copperquick—however, Esmeralda, asleep in her carrier, hardly stirred. Glasses clinked, plates clattered, and silverware could be heard squeaking against plates.
As a group, they were hustled off to a table and seated. Copperquick, still overwhelmed, hadn’t seen anything quite like this in Canterlot. This was an experience and as he settled into his overstuffed booth seat, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Not far away, a group of griffons were eating flapjacks, a strange sight indeed.
“Drinks?” the waitress asked.
“Banana milk,” Mighty Midge replied, “and keep it coming. I expect a flood.”
“Chocolate milk for me, thanks.” Buttermilk smiled, nodded, and made a polite wave.
“Banana milk,” Butter Fudge said.
At this moment, Copperquick desperately tried not to think of banana flavoured lube. “Strawberry milk for me, I guess.”
“Sure thing.” The waitress scribbled down the drinks on her pad and then squinted while she smacked her gum. “I’ll be back in a jiffy with your drinks and you can tell me what you’ll be eating.” Then, with a flap of her wings, she flew away, slaloming through the rafters, and left behind a bubblegum-scented cloud.
As the waitress departed, Copperquick asked, “Where are the menus?”
“Check the table, Copper,” Butter Fudge replied.
Looking down, he found himself surprised by what he saw. The laminated tabletop was one big giant menu, and he was looking at it upside down. That was okay though, as he was able to make it out well enough. At first glance, it wasn’t complicated, not in the slightest, this place served flapjacks. That was it. There was literally nothing else on the menu. No eggs, no other breakfasty items, no pies, no desserts, just flapjacks.
But there were flapjacks. Many of them. Savoury ones, sweet ones, made from all manner of ingredients, and the sheer abundance of what was available was mind-blowing if one took the time to consider all of the options. And there were options for those who had exotic tastes. All of the syrup came from the north, from Vanhoover, with everything else coming from everywhere else. A little taste from each corner of Equestria could be had here, the menu promised.
In what seemed like no time at all, the waitress returned with ginormous glasses of frothy, whipped fruity milk. Copperquick could see actual flecks of strawberries in his glass and his mouth began to water. The pegasus waitress set the glasses down on the table, stabbed straws into each one, and then hovered overhead, waiting.
“I’ll take my usual,” Mighty Midge said to the bubblegum chewing mare above him. “Malted barley flapjacks with beer syrup.” Then, when he was done ordering, he plucked a snoozing Esmeralda from her carrier, much to Copperquick’s surprise. Leaning back, he cuddled the snoozing filly and made contented cooing noises.
“Savoury onion and herb for me, with garlic syrup.” Butter Fudge grinned as she gave her order and her eyes had a coy look about them. “Oi, I’ll have me a fantastic stink for romancing later, so I will.”
When the waitress laughed, Buttermilk turned a bright pink and let out a squeak.
“Coconut chocolate chip flapjacks.” Buttermilk, embarrassed yet again by her mother, took a moment to clear her throat. “Choco-Loco syrup, please, and double the whipped butter.”
“Good choice,” the waitress replied, and then she turned to look at Copperquick. “And what about you, Hun?”
“Red velvet flapjacks with the sour cream maple syrup, and I’ll also take doubled whipped butter.” He caught a glimpse of Buttermilk out of the corner of his eye and Copperquick found that she was quite attractive when she was blushing. When he thought of her churning butter, his own cheeks felt heated.
“I’ll have those right out!” the waitress called out as she flew off to turn in the order.
While waiting for their food, a syrup sampler was brought to the table and left for them. Copperquick eyeballed it and was curious about the thirty four concoctions that had a guarantee to titillate any tastebuds. Some of the flavours were common, like the fruit flavoured syrups, some were unusual, and a few were just bizarre, like the cayenne cranberry.
As he sat there watching, Butter Fudge helped herself to the one labeled, ‘Banana-Razzle-Dazzle-Deluxe.’ With a swift motion, she popped off the top of the little plastic container with her teeth, tearing it away, spat it out on the table, and then she drank the contents of said container. It took several seconds for it to sink in that these ponies were drinking syrup. For a few seconds, he was actually afraid of what this might do to Buttermilk, and then his fears were realised when Buttermilk picked up the ‘Butter-Rum-Rumpshaker.’ Like her mother, she tore off the plastic nubbin with her teeth, spat it out on the table, and then drank down the sampler bottle.
There were thirty four flavours and already, two of them were gone.
Reaching out, Copperquick grabbed one at random, and holding it in his fetlock, he read the label. By luck, he had picked up one called, ‘Choco-Loco-Psycho-Syrup.’ Bracing himself for an experience, he tore off the plastic nubbin with his teeth, spit it out on the table, as seemed to be the custom, and then drank down his sampler of syrup.
The taste of chocolate liqueur was almost overpowering; there was an unexpected bitterness that Copperquick was not prepared for, and a bit of heat as well. Not spicy heat, but a pleasant burn from what had to be just a smidgen of alcohol. It warmed his throat and his belly and then crept up into his sinuses. It was amazing in every sense of the word.
“You numbskull, you stole the chocolate syrup,” Buttermilk said, almost whining.
In response, Copperquick made a bold move—he kissed her. Wrapping his forelegs around her, he pulled her in and touched his sticky lips to her syrupy lips, which warmed from his touch. She resisted for a moment—no doubt embarrassed, if the sudden flush of heat was any indicator—but then melted into his embrace. The kiss was sweet, with hints of chocolate liqueur and rum.
It was Buttermilk who pulled away, and she did so with a wet pop. Flustered with her glasses fogged over, she licked her sticky lips with her orange tongue, glanced at her mother, and then looked back up at Copperquick, her eyes moist with affection. For a moment, it appeared as though she was going to say something, but she licked her lips once more, blinked a few times, and tried to control her heavy breathing.
With a reckless gleam in his eye, Copperquick reached for another random syrup sampler…
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The love is as thick as maple syrup.
dman you and your puns!
also it made me remember times i went with my family to resturants and buffees. gave me a tingle of nostalgia this one
You're makin' me hungry now.
8526813
Whatever will be, will be.
8526816
It will be sticky. That's what it will be.
a real sweet chapter.
kuduz! that pun! it was bad
double facepalm bad
Never been to a diner like that? Oh boy Copper's in for a ride.
8527109
8526761
Pun?
I don't recall making a pun. Did I do it by accident?
8527124
the authors note at the end read as a pun to me
so accidental pun
cuz if you put any emphasis at all on Sticky
it puns
and its defiantly a groaner
8527124
sounded like one.
8527109
I'm imagining your profile pic saying that. It makes me happy.
8527329
lol thanks
I refuse to call them flapjacks. They are PANCAKES dangnabbit!
8527678
Huh. While reading this, I had the cereal bar-like flapjacks in mind... Those could be made as a savoury dish, right? I had no idea pancakes could be called flapjacks, too. I thought pancakes was universal.
On the other hand, in the German speaking realm, pancakes can be called "Flädle" (Swabia; cutting leftover ones and putting them in broth makes it "Flädlesupp"), "Pfannkuchen", "Eierkuchen" or "Palatschinken" (Austria).
Oh God why must you do this Kudzu!? NOW I WANT EXOTIC PANCAKES THAT I CANNOT GET!! T______________________________________T
8527678
But flapjack works so much better in this scene than 'pancake' would.
Stick it to ‘em
I love that this dort of diner exists, but i would hate to visit one in person.
Thankfully, Copperquick has Beezy the Tiny Pegasus to distract him away from the everything.
yes, over the course of scrolling away from the chapter and typing this comment, i have forgotten her actual name, and only the nicknames Beezy and Ms. Oddbody are all i can remrmber without looking back up.
Oddly, i can still remember Butter Fudge and Mighty Midge just fine.
All these comments about the syrup... But no one has mentioned the syrup drinking? Seriously who drinks syrup? Kudz, your imagination is wild.
9171751
It is a time honoured tradition amongst those who are hearty.