Chapter 21
A perfect morning that seemed to stretch forever was a rare treat for Copperquick. A sturdy mug of tea sat cooling on the table just inches away from his completed paper for school and his neck had only a slight crick in it from all of his writing. What time was it? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. It wasn’t lunchtime, it was just a good time, a great time, a pleasant time.
Buttermilk was flitting about the kitchen, saying nothing about whatever it was that she was preparing. Just a smile, or maybe a giggle when asked about her efforts, but no answer. On the floor, Esmeralda was learning how to chase after her ball, which took surprising coordination, keeping one’s eyes on a moving object while managing to move four stubby legs and run in a straight line. The ball seemed to be doing exactly what Buttermilk had hoped it would do.
Armed with a cleaver, Buttermilk went to work chopping up some chives and Copperquick took some time to stretch his neck. This was ideal, all of this, spending time in a comfortable kitchen, with a foal frolicking about, work accomplished, and something delightful being prepared. Thoroughly enjoying himself, Copperquick picked up the newspaper to have himself a read.
Being an earth pony, it took a little effort to unfold the paper, but somehow he managed. It rumpled a bit, which made his ears twitch, and Copperquick was quite unaware how serious and studious he appeared while reading the paper, or that Buttermilk was gazing at him with warm, expressive eyes. Eyes narrowing, he began to scan the headlines on the front page.
The big headline was about Mister Mariner: to celebrate his dominance of the Equestrian coal industry—now being the owner of all of it—he had announced a stock split to help share the wealth a bit. Copperquick had no idea what a stock split was, but it warranted the biggest, boldest headline on the front page. The reporter seemed excited by the prospect, as the split dropped stock prices down low enough for the common pony to buy shares once more. Everypony, it seemed, had a chance to become wealthy if they already had the wealth and means to acquire more.
Lower lip protruding in concentration, Copperquick kept reading, though he didn’t understand many of the bigger headlines. He was having to squint a good bit and it occurred to him that he might need glasses. This was worrisome, so he squinted even harder and did his level best to ignore it. Glasses were expensive, squinting was free.
Along the bottom of the front page in medium print there was an announcement that the bonus for joining the guard had been increased. How much? The paper didn’t say and Copperquick saw it for what it was: a clever ruse to get warm bodies into the recruitment offices. Shaking his head, he let his eyes go elsewhere.
Nothing seemed of interest to him and after a few cursory glances, he gave up. Folding up the paper, he decided that he had seen enough. He tossed the now folded paper down upon the table, picked up his mug of tea, and took a cautious slurp. Ah, Celestial Glory, a tea he was starting to get a taste for. Or perhaps an addiction, which was worrisome.
“What are you making, Buttermilk?”
“Food,” she replied.
Sighing, Copperquick had himself another slurp and with a turn of his head, he watched his pegasus companion as she chopped up chives.
Meanwhile, Esmeralda was having herself a bit of a sit down and was planted on her haunches with her forelegs resting upon her ball. She sat there, blinking on occasion, and she too watched Buttermilk with great interest. Perhaps because of the change of soaps, the filly’s jade green mane was especially poofy and the tufts now had a definite waviness to them. She looked very much like a tiny diva in need of a fabulous mane dresser.
“About what you were saying yesterday—”
“Yes?” Buttermilk responded while her cleaver made rhythmic thump-thumps against the wooden cutting board.
“About Esmeralda being mine and how you fretted about her being ours… I’ll be happy to share her with you. You can have half—”
“Oh, delightful! Which half?”
“Why, the poopy end, of course—”
“I was afraid of that,” Buttermilk deadpanned as she cut Copperquick off. “I’ll take it though. Thank you, Copper.”
“Don’t mention it.” He had himself another slurp of tea, then a second, and afterwards, he set his mug down upon the table. Turning himself to one side of his chair, he stood up, tried once more to unkink his neck, and winced when he heard a terrific crackle.
After taking a few steps, Copperquick sat down upon the floor and then gestured at his daughter. He waited, hopeful, and watched as his daughter did the required mental gymnastics. She was thinking, and the effort of doing so made her fuzzy little ears twitch to and fro. Lifting his hoof, he gestured again, but said nothing. Esmeralda had a somewhat decent grasp of the command to come, even if a took a few tries, but this was something new.
Esmeralda's tiny brows wrinkled with concentration and she lifted up her hoof from where it rested upon her ball. Blinking, she looked down at it, then, mimicking her father’s motions, she reached out and made the same gesture. Having done it once, she did it a second time, and then a third. Ears still twitchy-twitching, she burbled a bit, blew a spit bubble, and then Copperquick saw her stare at him in a confused, bewildered manner.
Non-verbal communication was still beyond Esmeralda’s reach at the moment it seemed and Copperquick realised that he would have to help her out. He gestured again for her to come over and while doing so, he said, “Come here, Esme. Come to Dada.”
This was something she understood and her eyes shone bright with understanding. With a grunt, she shoved her ball away, stood up, wobbled until she found her balance, and then came toddling over to where her father sat to join him. Stopping proved to be far more difficult than walking and she crashed into her father’s leg, leaving it shiny and slick with slobber.
“Good filly,” Copperquick said in an over-exaggerated happy voice because he knew that praise was important. Esmeralda responded well to positive reinforcement and there were times that she seemed starved for it. Reaching down, he steadied her, and sat her down with him. With his leg pressed up against what was most precious to him, he compared their shared coat colour and marvelled at how she had a little part of him.
With a swiftness that surprised him, his daughter latched onto his leg and squeezed. Frozen in place, Copperquick cherished this moment of his daughter’s affection. He didn’t mind that she was drooling, but rather, he appreciated this for what it was: his daughter was trying to hug him. When the mood struck her, she was affectionate, a cuddler, and had moments where she was content to be held in silence, which was a pleasant diversion from being held while shrieking.
“It’s funny,” Buttermilk said, and the sound of her voice jolted Copperquick into startled awareness. “I can remember being scared of my Moomy when I was little. She was just so… big. I mean, she’s as big as most stallions, if not bigger. She’s bigger than you are, Copper, so just imagine what it was like to be Esme’s size and looking up at her. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Moomy, I really, truly do, but I think I’m closer to my Daddums because he wasn’t as scary. He was approachable because he was tiny, like me.”
Now, Esmeralda was chewing on his fetlock—not hard enough to be painful, but hard enough to be noticed. He thought about her loose tooth and wondered if she understood that others could feel pain, just as much as she could. It was almost… affectionate, the chewing, and she was making happy ‘nom-nom’ noises as she tried to satisfy herself. Ah, slobber, the unit of happiness measured in smiles per gallon.
“After lunch, I think that we should do something. Go for a walk. Go outside. I haven’t really even explored this island.” It was true, he hadn’t really explored the island, even though there wasn’t much to see. He intended to remedy that and have a good look around. Maybe say hello to the cows and the goats. Perhaps he could find a pleasant spot to sit and watch the river go flowing by.
“If you’d like to have an adventure, we can go and visit the Faucet after lunch.” Buttermilk put down her cleaver and then turned to face Copperquick while hovering in the air. “It’s a bit weird, the Faucet, and it can be rather uncomfortable to visit. It tends to make one’s ears pop sometimes, though this doesn’t always happen.”
“What is it and what does it do?” Copperquick asked, intrigued but also worried about how Esmeralda might react.
“Ah, I can’t tell you. It would ruin the surprise. We should go and see one of the local natural wonders.” Buttermilk rubbed her front hooves against one another, drew in a deep breath, and then flew over to where Copperquick was sitting.
“Esme, do you need to go foosh?”
Upon hearing her name, the filly paused in her efforts to gnaw upon her father’s fleshy fetlock and looked up. She blinked from intense concentration, pressed her lips together, and a scowl of cogitation could be seen on her face. Copperquick was amazed by how much effort she was putting into thinking about Buttermilk’s question.
To make things simple, Buttermilk tried again with fewer words. “Esme, foosh?”
One tiny hoof was raised and Esmeralda rubbed the side of her head with it, making faint scritch-scritch sounds. Then, the light of realisation manifested as a fierce glow in her eyes and her left ear began to bob up and down. “Foosh!”
Buttermilk nodded, making a big show of it and exaggerating her movements. “Yes,” she said, still nodding while Esmeralda watched, “go foosh.”
“Yes foosh?” Esmeralda shook her head from side to side rather than up and down.
“Close enough,” Buttermilk replied while she snatched up the foal in need of foosh. “It’s settled, Copper, we’ll go and see the Faucet after lunch. I think you’ll be amazed.” Then, without further ado, Buttermilk was gone.
Hearing a knock upon the front door was the very last thing that Buttermilk expected, and, upon hearing it, she froze for a moment while her mind did twisty, complex mental acrobatics. This wasn’t her house, not any longer, she was a guest here, wasn’t she? She had been gone for so long and having returned, she was sleeping in the guest room, not her old room. Overcome with weird anxiety, Buttermilk suffered a brief moment of crisis.
It was difficult to come home after an extended absence and the rules had changed.
Wings buzzing, she planted a kiss on Esmeralda’s head and then put the filly down on the floor near her father. She had gone foosh, was cleaned up, and hadn’t made a fuss at all, which was praiseworthy. Before departing, she booped Copperquick on the nose, took a moment to enjoy his cross-eyed expression, and then with a giggle she went careening off to the living room to answer the door.
Looking up from his daughter, Copperquick watched as Buttermilk walked into the kitchen. The cat, fearful of pony hooves, scrambled to get out of the way, then took off with a yowl of fright when Esmeralda took an interest in him. Buttermilk seemed distracted, enough so that she might have stepped on the cat had it not hurried away, and in her wing she was holding a canary yellow piece of paper.
“Buttermilk?” Copperquick said her name to get her attention and then he waited, worried and a bit apprehensive.
“It’s a telegram from Mrs. Velvet.” Buttermilk straightened out her glasses with her other wing, took a shaky step, recovered herself, and then crossed the kitchen with purposeful strides. “I’m surprised… I did not expect such a prompt response. That mare never misses an opportunity, I guess.”
“What does it say? Are you upset? Are you okay? You look a bit out of sorts, Buttermilk.”
Unsure of how to respond, Buttermilk huffed out the words, “I don’t know how to feel about what is about to go down. I have set certain events in motion that can’t be undone. Ripple Rusher was my friend… and I have done something that is going to drastically change her life.”
“I see.” Copperquick waited for a moment, pulled Esmeralda closer, and huggle-snuggled the wiggling toddler. “So, what does it say, if you don’t mind sharing?”
In reply, Buttermilk held out the canary yellow paper so that he might have a look.
Squinting again, Copperquick had to strain to read it, and had another reminder that his eyesight was going, which did something dreadful to his mood. Was it study? Stress? A problem that had always been lurking and was just now manifesting? He didn’t know.
AGENT BUN -(STOP)- YOU HAVE DONE WELL IN BRINGING THIS TO MY ATTENTION -(STOP)- THIS PRESENTS A UNIQUE OPPORTUNITY TO TRY RELOCATE & REHABILITATE PROCEDURES -(STOP)- FOR NOW STAND DOWN AND OTHER AGENTS WILL MOVE TO ASSIST -(STOP)- COMMENCE STRESS RELIEVING ACTIVITIES WITH AGENT BOWLER -(STOP)- BEST OF LUCK -(STOP)- AGENT SOFT TOUCH OUT
“She must really care, she took time out of her busy day and paid extra just to embarrass me,” Buttermilk muttered while holding the telegram. With a sigh, she set the piece of paper down upon the kitchen table, and then Copperquick saw her looking into his eyes.
“You’re squinting,” she said.
“No, I am not.”
Eyes narrowing, Buttermilk retorted, “Yes, you were.”
“No I wasn’t.”
From the floor, Esmeralda watched the verbal tennis match and her head went from side to side while her ears rose and fell with each word said.
“Were too.”
“Was not.”
“Liar.”
Copperquick cleared his throat and scowled while turning away. Refuting that would only compound his guilt and he knew it, so there was no point in saying anything. It was time to be silent and hope that she lost interest in pursuing this further.
“I’ll take that as an admission of guilt.” Buttermilk let out a haughty snort and then turned about. “I’m going to let Moomy know that lunch is almost done. When I return, I shall expect an apology, forthwith.” Tossing her head about, she strode away.
While she departed, Copperquick could see her just fine, every wonderful detail, every twitch of her tail, and the smooth, inviting way her hips rocked from side to side. His vision was fine, just fine, and this was proof. It was probably just eyestrain from studying too much too often. From where he sat, he had a good view of both of Buttermilk’s butterchurns. A fantastic view.
His vision was just fine.
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8539292
This is why Moral Combat exists. Proving that you are right the only way it matters. I prefer the Plato Piledriver myself.
oh god every time i ever asked what is for supper, i jsut get the bland response, 'food'.
it seems buttermilk is expecting ripple rusher to hate her after whatever is going to happen happens( i suspect relieving her of her children) but it could go the opposite way and she's thankful for it ( second suspicion is moving ripple and her kids to a new area)
It's obvious that Equestria does not have anti-monopoly laws if Mr. Mairiner can own all of the coal mines.
8540526
No, as stated, the goal is relocation & rehabilitation, with an effort to keep the family together.
8539292
Personally I think it's best to at least hear and attempt to understand the other side if possible, to see if there is anything valuable to be gleaned when it comes to cultural stuff. Hell let's not forget that some of America's favorite "Cultural" foods started off as food from other countries either directly like Apple Pie or indirectly like Hot Dogs. I mean even in American we've taken things from other countries, like All Souls Day which eventually turned into Halloween. Hell I wouldn't want to live in a world without Tex-Mex food like Burritos for instance!
We shouldn't take everything or even the entire part of one section. I think we should take the best from a lot of cultures and see if we can add it to our own. Things like being close to family is great, but on the other hand we shouldn't have to put up with bad family just because. We should respect our Elders, but we shouldn't take everything at face value, and not all of them deserve our respect either.
8540533
You've read Eigengrau, right? Would you really want to listen to what those folk on the other side of the world had to say? Would you want that culture introduced in Equestria at large?
8540528
The Perilous Romance of Swans deals with this issue.
- MLP: FiM
- Romance
- Drama
- Slice of Life
And lo, there was much honking and rejoicing in Canterlot when Princess Celestia announced that she had a suitor...8540536
It's been awhile since I last read that, so I don't remember if there was anything that I thought MIGHT be valuable, other than I think they valued Zebra magic more than Equestrians did.
Clearly anything you say about people will have exceptions. I wouldn't really listen to what Nazis had to say, unless maybe it was about cooking or something that didn't come from hate speech.
8540552
Mighty Midge knows just enough about the rest of the world to have formed a strong opinion about it. He wants those elements out, and for good reason. Having Celestia as a monarch affords him a high degree of free agency and a reasonably comfortable life.
8540555
Well what's wrong with Zebra culture for instance?
8540595
Nothing. Nothing at all. But in general, good cultures, such as the Grittish Isles and Zebrabwe, these are not what is thought of as problematic cultures. It is the reason why Copperquick is already considered as being like native Equestrians. Does this make more sense? Some cultures are automatically accepted, while others are seen as intrinsically bad.
8540595
There are other cultures besides the Grittish and Zebran. Most of the world as we currently know of it outside of Equestria is altogether cancerous. In the literal sense, magical sense, moral sense... okay really in pretty much every single way.
Consider Equestria to be the last bastion of good sense, morality, and reasonable understanding until we learn more. Then realize all the problems we see in Equestria that need to be solved STILL don't drag it down from that lofty point in regards to the rest of the world as is currently known.
Hint: Rest of the world doesn't have any alicorns and they pointedly refuse Equestrian rule.
8540608
You get that a lot here u fortunately. I’ve never gotten why certain countries are automatically associated with negative views.
And here, we receive a (pretty gentle, actually) reminder that Celestia was, for a time, unprepared or simply unwilling to accept the fact that not all her little ponies were like her. And really, I don't mean this as a slight against her character; I am completely confident that she believed — really believed — that any pony who managed to accrue control over something that total, they would use the power that came with it benevolently.
I suppose when the only modern example you have to go by is yourself, you might make that assumption.
8540691
Her character motivations are revealed in The Perilous Romance of Swans.
8540608
That actually makes a lot more sense than the kind of blanket stuff the dad is making. I always get cautious when people make absolute statements. I mean Minotaurs have slavery, but their love of machinery and science in general certainly has some real potential.
Though it DOES seem like a lot of the world are either "Mostly" or "Entirely" fucked up.
Then again look at Burros and how they are treated, and their culture seems one that's as or more peaceful than Equestria as near and as far as we've seen...
Sometimes this little family is just too much, they might be one of the most homey, domestic groups on camera.
8540970
They are the anti-adventurers.
8540985
Aye, it was the moment with the newspaper that highlighted it.
Huh, Mariner seems to come up a lot, but I never hear about his motivations.
He's already filthy (more so than Filthy) rich, and is probably the most (financially) powerful earth pony on Equus.
So why the skullduggery?
8549034
The Perilous Romance of Swans has what you are looking for.
Call me Mr.Flintstone, I can make your Bedrock.