Copperquick awoke to a punch in the snoot followed by a demanding, “Foosh.” This sort of awakening fell well outside of the boundaries of normal, and because of this, it took his sleepy brain some time to process and determine exactly what had just happened. He never reached his conclusion though, because there was another punch, a harder one this time, and then came the command again, only angry: “Foosh!”
“Ow!” Nothing woke one up like a good punch to the snot locker. Eyes watering, Copperquick came to an unintended conclusion: his daughter had some strength in those stubby little legs of hers. When he lifted his head to address her, she got him a third time and this one, this one hurt.
“What’s going on?” asked Buttermilk while she half turned over to find out what the commotion was.
Just as Buttermilk was about to say something else, Copperquick, his nose throbbing with its own heartbeat, heard a meaty thump and then the pegasus in the bed beside him shouted, “Ow! Oi! What in the name of cheese was that for?”
“Foosh! Fooshy-foosh!”
Copperquick looked at Buttermilk with teary eyes, Buttermilk looked at Copperquick, and there was a filly between them, sitting up and looking quite distressed. When she raised her hoof once more, it was Buttermilk who reacted; with lightning speed, the pegasus departed the bed, wings buzzing, with Esmeralda held in her forelegs.
Mighty Midge snatched Esmeralda away from an unsuspecting Buttermilk and then flew away, buzzing through the kitchen while cooing at his stolen prize. Copperquick, his nose still achining, was a little surprised to see Midge, because he was usually gone. Buttermilk’s father seemed quite taken with Esmeralda and was eager to spend his day off spoiling her. Her breakfast was already on the floor; Midge plopped her down so she could eat and then sat beside her, humming to himself.
This felt nice, this moment of family togetherness. The excitement and anticipation of the coming race only served to further heighten the moment, but Copperquick wasn’t quite awake enough to fully take it all in. Crossing the room, he sat down at the table, turned his head, and watched while his daughter buried her muzzle into her bowl of mush.
“One thousand gold bits, Copper,” Mighty Midge said, his voice far too chipper for this early, almost sunless hour. “All you have to do is go fast, and you can do that, right?”
“Oi, Midgy, it’s too early for that kind of talk.” Butter Fudge’s right ear rose from its relaxed position and her tail swished around behind her. “Not sure how I feel about this gambling. It’s for a good cause though, I suppose.”
“I don’t see it as gambling,” said Buttermilk to her mother.
“How so, Beezy?”
“Gambling has an element of chance, like rolling dice or getting just the right cards. This is a matter of skill and the random factors are well-controlled, such as having different races for pegasus ponies, unicorns, and earth ponies. It comes down to the fastest, and the fastest gets the prize money.”
“Oi, still a gamble. No guarantee Copper’ll win. Though, if I were a betting mare, I’d drop a hefty portion of my considerable savings on Copper making the other ponies eat dust for lunch.” Butter Fudge’s right eyebrow rose to join her raised right ear and gave her daughter a pointed stare.
“Oh, you’re talking about the gambling that is going to happen on the race itself—Moomy, that’s different.” After a moment of concentration, Buttermilk’s eyes widened. “Moomy, what are you planning? You’re not about to do what I think you are, are you?”
“You keep saying I need to change, to be more flexible, to be more open-minded about stuff—”
“Moomy, if you and Daddums want to help Copper, giving him the bits directly is a better, safer method.”
“There’s my smart filly,” Midge remarked while Esmeralda rooted around in her mush. “Your mother and I discussed doing just that last night, Beezy. A bit of pillow talk just before bed. We’re confident—”
“Daddums, every gambler feels confident about winning! It’s a fool’s game, you said so yourself.” As she was prone to do when challenged, angry, or threatened, Buttermilk fluffed out and when she did, her father scowled. Then when he too, fluffed out in response to his daughter’s aggressive posturing, Buttermilk became even more distressed, and she gave her father a silent, challenging stare that was distinctly pegasus in nature.
“Oi, stop that, you two.” Butter Fudge, having shared her living space with two pegasus ponies for so long, knew exactly what was going on. “You both look like excited feather dusters and seeing you like this puts me in a mood to clean house.”
Mighty Midge’s ears stood up and he gave his mate his best, most offended stare.
“The way I see it, Copper’s going to work for it, and that satisfies my sense of what’s right. I’m paying him to win.” Butter Fudge ignored her husband’s bulging cheeks and the throaty, warbling noises of challenge that he made.
“This is not the home I grew up in,” said Buttermilk in a matter-of-fact way while her father waved his wings about in a threatening manner.
The problem with living with pegasus ponies, as Copperquick saw it, was that they were not earth ponies. Having observed Buttermilk’s reactions for quite some time now, and now witnessing her father’s response to being challenged, Copperquick realised that living with pegasus ponies was for the birds, but he was far too polite to say anything.
It was impossible to have a serious conversation with a challenged pegasus.
The skiff bounced over the choppy water and the ride was more than a little rough. Overhead, the sky was overcast, but it did not appear that it would rain. It was warm, without it being overbearingly so, and the pleasant, constant wind—while the cause of the choppy water—was just what was needed for a perfect spring day.
Copperquick held his daughter in the crook of his foreleg and she reached out for Buttermilk, who flew alongside the skiff, expending no real effort at all to keep up. There was heavy traffic in the waterways and it seemed that everypony were all going to the same place—the derby. It seemed as though everypony who was anypony was out to watch the races.
In the distance, there was a massive yellow and orange striped pavilion set up, along with several other smaller pavilions set up around it. Signs were everywhere, guiding visitors in, and advertising who had made this possible: This year’s derby is sponsored by the joint efforts of the Solanum Incorporated Consortium and Pie Family Industries to celebrate our new frozen, ready-to-heat-and-eat potato pot pies! Buy now in your grocer’s freezer section! No hassle! No fuss! No mess in the kitchen! In just one hour, supper is done!
Another sign said, We made a mess in our kitchen so you wouldn't have to mess up yours!
Copperquick sighed. It must be nice to have meaning and importance tied to one’s name. He was a Pie—technically speaking—but that technicality did nothing for him, it did not improve his life in any meaningful or significant way. Perhaps that was the purpose of life; make your name mean something. Build a legacy. Butter Fudge Oddbody made cheeses that the wealthy elite of Canterlot went gaga for and her soaps fetched a premium price. Buttermilk could easily ride on the success that her mother had made with her name, but Buttermilk had chosen her own path; that of a public crusader.
Even if he was somehow successful, his name wouldn’t mean anything. If he gave up his foalhood moniker and became Copper Quick, or Mister Quick, he would be, at best, a social worker, and he could not see this establishing a legacy for his name no matter how hard he tried. He had different goals, different dreams, though he wasn’t entirely sure what those were at the moment. He strove to be well respected and average. Beyond that… well, what else was there beyond that?
Casting a sidelong glance at Buttermilk, he felt a mild spike of envy. She knew what she wanted and nothing would get in her way. Not even an unplanned pregnancy. There was no doubt in his mind that she would keep going and would have a successful career. Honestly, becoming a stay at home father didn’t sound so bad. He didn’t feel diminished by the idea, he didn’t feel gelded by the idea of being a devoted parent. Of course, this didn’t conform to societal norms, so he wasn’t sure what this might do to his hopes to be well respected and average.
His eyes lingering upon the zooming pegasus, he knew what he wanted in life: her. It didn’t matter what he was doing; what did matter was her. Everything else was a means to an end; career, parenting, the day to day stuff that when all crammed together, was life. He gave his daughter a squeeze and knew that Esmeralda wanted the same thing; even now, she reached for her mother, she kicked, she fussed, and she fidgeted in his grasp.
Today, if he won, the winnings would go a long way towards getting started on a better life. It was spring, he was in love, and life—while far from perfect—was pretty good right now. Knowing exactly what he wanted in life had simplified things. It had taken a heavy load off him, and he felt lighter, light enough to run. Today, he would run for the roses…
Tonight, he would eat them with Buttermilk.
Tilting his head back, Copperquick took a gander at the world’s largest cast iron skillet. Princess Celestia herself had flipped flapjacks and served breakfast for the Equestrian Foreign Service Auxiliary after a successful, tremendous fundraiser to aid crippled veterans. Of course, the Solanum family had provided the massive skillet. It was, indeed, so big that it would take an alicorn to lift it and flip flapjacks. How was such a thing even made, anyhow? And who could eat a four yard wide flapjack? How much syrup was needed? Butter?
Thinking of butter brought Buttermilk’s churning to mind, and this left him a bit sweaty.
Esmeralda squirmed in her carrier, kicked, and made fussy whimpers in between yawns. Sooner or later, she would go to sleep, and all would be well with the world. Overhead, Buttermilk circled the skillet with her father, getting a pegasus-eye view of the cast iron cookware.
“Oi, I never understood the fad of making things big,” Butter Fudge said while standing beside Copperquick. “A few years back, I saw the world’s longest scarf. Some mare has been knitting it for years. It’s over a mile long. I don’t see the point, so I don’t.”
Copperquick wickered in response.
“Registration was nice and painless, at least. Now there’s a few hours to kill, Copper. Tell me, do you need anything to go fast? Need Buttermilk to give those legs of yours a rubdown? It’s a five mile stretch, Copper. Think you’re up for it?”
One eyebrow raised and Copperquick engaged his brain. Five miles? When he was doing delivery work, he would run all day from one end of Canterlot to the other. Five miles was a sprint. If he paced himself, he could easily go for two-minute miles. Of course, if he pushed himself, he could probably do five laps around the one mile track in seven or eight minutes.
“It’ll be easy,” he said at last while thinking of the posted record time for earth ponies. Eleven minutes for five miles was not a good time. If that was the best that the locals had to offer, the race was already won. Today, and only today, perhaps, gambling was easy money.
A sea of equinity flowed around Copperquick, with some pausing to look at the giant skillet. There was much to see, to try, to taste, to smell, to hear. This was a feast for the senses and he had stared at the cast iron skillet long enough. Nearby, a new model of steam-powered tractor chugged to life and the deafening clatter of mechanised progress thrummed in his ears.
“The Wonderbolt Equestrian Guard Recruitment Show begins in ten minutes, ponies! Ten minutes! Remember your patriotic obligation and sign up for the Equestrian Guard today! Rainbow Dash says the golden armor will make you twenty-percent cooler!”
Ears perking, Copperquick thought about the guard after listening to the announcement. He had no intention of signing on, no desire to join, but he thought about the recruitment effort itself. How many families might go home later with one family member in the guard? How many sons would soon give their mothers a tearful goodbye? How many couples—couples like he and Buttermilk—would soon be seperated? How many rushed weddings would be performed, with hastily spoken vows followed by rushed goodbyes?
Suddenly, he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere but here, but had no choice but to stay. Already, his thoughts troubled him and he couldn’t help it; the thought of families being pulled apart from one another bothered him in some abstract, fundamental way. Why? He couldn’t say why.
“Oi, there’s about to be a lot fewer young faces around here,” Butter Fudge muttered while her ears lay back into her mane. “There’s already too few young faces round these parts. I’m all for doing one’s duty to country, but maybe they should go and ask elsewhere. We’ve done been bled dry, almost. It’s causing a labour shortage.”
When Copperquick turned to look at his future mother-in-law, he saw storms flashing in her eyes and something about the way her lip quivered made his belly muscles tighten. She was angry—or perhaps something beyond anger, it was hard to say. He took a step closer, thinking to comfort her, but then took a step back when she snorted.
“Those recruiters always come, and it is always with a show or some means to dazzle and impress. And they come here, to this place, ‘cause there’s a lot of ponies here that aren’t well off or maybe they’re just bored with a simple, peaceful life. The Equestrian Foreign Service Auxiliary made this bloody big skillet to help needy veterans and they had themselves a big gathering just like this one. No doubt, the recruiters were there too, ready to pick off whomever they could.”
“You seem upset—”
“You’re bloody right I’m upset, Copper. I’m all for doing our duty, but we’ve given enough. Let the foal-catchers prey on somepony else for awhile.”
He considered her words for a short time and reached one conclusion: he was part of today’s entertainment, part of the lure that brought ponies in, or would be. Desperation motivated him and that same sort of desperation would no doubt have an impact upon others. The need to survive, to provide, to do right by one’s self and one’s family made one mull over otherwise unthinkable options.
Desperation: it made the need to win all the worse.
After seeing Copper at his best, all the
talent scoutsrecruiters are gonna be all over that!9067218
Huh. That's a better, kinder plan than I had.
My plan was that Copper breaks a leg mid-race and then Buttermilk puts him down with the Pony Pain Reliever, 12 Gage Edition.
Hmm.
The fact that the record times are so slow set off every alarm bell in my brain. There is some factor Copper is unaware of here, with my best guess being the terrain itself. If there wasn't his times wouldn't be so much faster.
9067267
A two-minute mile is 30mph.
That's pretty fast.
Copper is faster.
9067228
This is not the twist we asked for
I'm waiting for a recruiter to hone in on Copper.
5 miles in 7-8 minutes? Copper is mighty quick if he can manage that.
9067278
I'm sure he is, it just raises a red flag for me when a character looks at record times and feels that it will be an easy victory. He might be correct in his confidence, or he might be missing something, which wouldn't entirely surprise me.
9067317
Copperquick is confident about one thing: his speed. It's how he got his name. And how he stayed employed as an earth pony in a city full of pegasus ponies who can fly fast.
9067317
I suspect the key factor will be that the locals are draft ponies, while Copper is of thorough-bred stock.
9067228
The keyboard monkey is a bit of a mood today!
9067293
5 that he loses
Oh that stand off between Buttermilk and Midge was hilarious.
Something tells me that the terrain won't be good for running. Unless they have a prepared track.
So much fluff.
Of course she does.
Beat that record and the currently present earth pony competitors, too, Copper.
Got some family distress, there, to build out how Copper really thinks of families, deep down. I think that if he understood this about himself better, he would be able to find the answer to his worries about his ambition and how his life seems to be going. At least the part that isn't about how others see him.
The recruiting here is something I hadn't anticipated, though. I wonder if that's a background detail or it will become a bigger part.
9067343
Has he been practicing since he lost his delivery job? That seems like the most likely thing to go wrong.
And here we have an example of simple countryfolk with simple problems who don't actually understand that their world is under siege and every military or tactical victory is a little more time they get to exist without undead legions kicking in their doors. Do or die, lady - there is no comfort level. Folks go out to fight, or Grogar brings the fight to you. All or nothing. The Crown's already doing everything it can to try and maintain a semblance of normal life back from a time when everything wasn't hovering on the brink of apocalypse.
Whelp. I have now officially caught up on all 2.7 million words of the Weedverse, and thoroughly enjoyed every word. What am I supposed to do with my life now?
BTW, I'm placing my bets on Copper
Pepperjack makes 50 bit bid against Copperquick on grounds of a shoddy race track
9069372
Get started on the Chase
Another 2 or 3 million in main and side stories will keep you fed.
9077534
I suppose that I should clarify. I've actually run out of Kudzuhaiku to read. The Chase was brilliant, by the way. Sad that it's dead, but I understand.
9077577
I wish he had delved more into the world with Sid, mechanical ponies would be cray cray
9079962
I know, right? There can never be enough Kudz words. I have yet to read a chapter of his that I didn't like.
9079966
Bucky, Dim, and Tarnish walk into a bar, how long until something explodes?
9079974
With them? It already has.
9079977
In the background Sentinal , Sumac, and Flicker play poker while Pebble and DT has become interdimentional frienemies
9079989
I can't tell if I would want Kudz to actually write this. It intrigues me, yet somehow seems... Blasphemous. Though I do think that Berry and Twinkle would get along terrifically, while Derpy and Lemon would both get along quite nicely. The Twilights would be interesting to watch, that's for sure.
9079989
Now I can’t stop thinking about it,
In the middle of the game Flicker throws a knife into a corner without looking skewering a fat rat that Sentinel proceeds to eat. Disgusted Sumac considers if it is wise to use grift to win against the two.
9080003
Rising Star and Gosling are drunk singing on the stage while mares and stallions alike are enraptured by their looks.
Uhhhh...Foal Catchers? I feel like I'm either missing something, or forgetting something. Who/What is the "Foal Catchers"?
9088406
Guard recruiters. Who are not foal catchers at all. But the colourful description makes monsters of them.
9088409
Ah, Thanks.
9148971
Bucky appears from the shadows behind Sumac “Your right kid that is a rat.”
Dim appears behind Sentinel causing him to choke on his drink. “And not just any rat, that is a hive of rats driving a pony corpse. They are here to spread a necromantic disease.”
Flicker becomes triggered
Chaos ensues
My money is of course on Copper.
Though I can certainly say that Recruiters CAN be quite tempting, and often times will prey upon people's ignorance as well as desperation. My cousin went in all bright eyed and bushy tailed, thinking he would be like GI Joe. He came out of Bush's war a more broken human. He no longer has that zest for life, with large gaps in his memory of numerous beloved moments spent together as best friends. They told him everything he wanted to hear, so he signed up, never realizing what horros were in store for him.
If there IS a labor shortage, then it could be good to import some labor from the bigger cities. As we read in one of Kudzu's other stories, there are a number of Earth Ponies being displaced from various jobs, which could be shifted to the countryside to help with labor shortage. I also imagine that the country side would make for some valuable grunt troops, due to them being so in shape, comapred to the average city pony.
9077577
If you're looking for another epic to pick up, you should read Starscribe's work. There's a lot of awesome to read there! Though it is a very different kind of story than Kudzu's work, which is often times more Philisophical and Political in nature.
Personally I'm just grateful and amazed that Kudzu is able to produce as much content as he does, averaging at least 2-3k words a day in chapters.
9069372
Go back to the beginning and read it again. It is guaranteed that you will find a lot that was missed, forshadowed, or just didn't make sense at the time. I think I am on my third run through most of the stories at this point and still discovering neat and new things.