Chapter 38
“Don’t be a sour loser, Beezy—”
“We both lost, Moomy.”
“Aye, but I beat you, didn’t I?”
“By one pickle!”
“That’s still a win—”
“Not much of a win. Just shows you’ve got a big mouth.”
Copperquick could feel the tension and just when it became unbearable, Butter Fudge reached out, snatched her daughter, and pulled her close. Buttermilk resisted for a moment, but then relented and returned her mother’s affection. The big mare showed no outward signs of having been in a contest to eat pickles, but little Buttermilk had a swollen, rounded stomach that sort of made her look pregnant.
It was enough to make Copperquick’s whole body go tense.
“Oi, it’s a bit scary, so it is, seeing as you’re so tiny and all. Where’d you fit all those pickles, Beezy?”
There was no response. Buttermilk leaned against her mother and the two of them sat in the grass, having what appeared to be a mother-daughter moment. Blowing raspberries and spit bubbles, Esmeralda teetered over to the two mares, walked head-first into Buttermilk with a soggy splat, and then sat down so that she might join them.
“One of us, Esme?” Butter Fudge asked while giving Buttermilk a gentle, yet still hearty squeeze. “You left your motor running and you seem to be leaking coolant. What a mess you are.”
“Pbbbltbippithy!” After one final flatulent burst, Esmeralda slurped in her tongue; then the little filly smiled a smile that was shiny and glistening with drool.
“Hey, Copper… when the love of your life was little, one of her favourite snacks was buttermilk and pickles. Once, I left a pitcher of buttermilk out on the counter along with a big jar of pickles. I had to go off to the loo and when I’m sitting there, trying to do my business, I hear Beezy making a fuss—”
“Moomy, no, this is embarrassing.”
“So I come out to see what is going on and Beezy is upon the counter, soaked with buttermilk and pickle brine. There’s a huge mess everywhere, the counter and the floor are flooded. And little Beezy… she’s got her head stuck in the pickle jar. She’s wearing it like it was a deep sea diving helmet. It’s a wonder she didn’t drown. She must of stuck her head down into it, got stuck, and then lifted her head up, because all the brine went running out. But she’s got her head stuck inside of the pickle jar and she’s just casually eating the pickles all packed around her head. I still don’t know how she got her head into the jar in the first place, and I had to squirt grease in there to try and get her out. Midgy came home at the worst possible moment.”
Rolling her eyes, Buttermilk let out a perturbed huff while pulling Esmeralda closer.
“I had to grab her little hind legs and pull while Fudgy hugged the jar.”
“Daddums… no… please!” Buttermilk held out one front hoof in protest.
“The little corker finally popped free, and I swear, her neck was longer. Fudgy and I just looked at one another and not a word was spoken, but we were both thinking the same thing. We both kept looking at her little neck. And she had a little pot belly just like the one she has right now, because she ate most of the pickles in the jar while she had her head stuck in there.”
Heaving a sigh of protest, Buttermilk covered her face with one wing.
“And that was the first time Buttermilk got her head stuck in a jar.”
First? The faint suggestion of a smile appeared upon Copperquick’s face. Distracted from his own troubles, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment, to savour it for what it was. This was family history, the sort of intimate knowledge only known by family members, and Copperquick understood the purpose of sharing it. There were ways and means to bring somepony into a family, starting from the initial acceptance and then moments of storied lore just like this one.
“Raising little earth ponies is mostly easy,” Butter Fudge remarked with her attention focused upon Esmeralda. “Putting things up on a counter is a good way to keep them out of it, until they learn how to move chairs and climb. But a little pegasus? Nothing but trouble. Why, I once lost a whole vat of buttermilk ‘cause little miss here decided to splash down and sample some. Scared me almost to death. I thought she’d drown, but it turned out she was a natural swimmer. She went paddling around in the buttermilk like she was a duckling. She even quacked.”
Pulling her wing away from her face, Buttermilk gave her mother a pleading stare.
Perhaps sensing that her daughter had reached critical mass as far as embarrassment went, Butter Fudge relented. Her expression softened, and though her smile remained, Copperquick saw something that he thought was sadness in her eyes, he imagined it had to be some kind of forlorn wistfulness. What an experience it must have been to have raised a pegasus filly. All of the mistakes, the trial and error… the spoilt vats of buttermilk.
Perhaps, if he was lucky, Buttermilk might give him a little pegasus to share life’s lessons with.
The one mile oval was packed dirt and clay, with banked curves. Copperquick heard that the track’s pack was suited for farmers, not racers, and looking around him, he could see why. Plough ponies—plough ponies everywhere. He was easily the smallest and the lightest of the stallions entered in the race. While this was reassuring, he knew better than to get cocky. These ponies had endurance and were used to day-long exertion. He would need to be cautious and pace himself if he hoped to win.
The earth ponies had the first race of the day and the stands were already packed. A hot air balloon drifted overhead and the gleaming eye of a camera could be seen protruding from the bottom of the basket. From the west, a warm, salty breeze blew eastward, though the intermittent gusts promised a shift in the weather. Princess Celestia’s sun was almost directly overhead now, and running would be a hot, sweaty affair.
It was almost time to run.
A bad case of the jitters had snuck up on him and try as he might, he could not maintain his unflappable exteriour. So much depended on this. It felt as though his very future depended upon the outcome. He needed a win, if only to make up for everything he had recently lost. At least, it felt like loss. So much had gone wrong that he needed something to go right. Even his relationship with Buttermilk was now haunted by a terrible spectre, all because the stupid condom had exploded. He needed a clear win, a clean victory, something that wasn’t darkened by the shadow of disaster.
“Oi, Copper, pay attention!”
Something about how Butter Fudge said these words caused him to snap into focus.
“Don’t you dare lose your nerve.” The big mare leveled her heavy stare upon the jittery copper-coated pony. “You’ve already won, Copper. Tell yourself that.”
In response, he blinked.
“No, say it. I want to hear you say it.”
“But I haven’t won—”
“You big galloping dimwit, yes you have. No matter the outcome, you already have little Beezy’s heart. You have a little filly that loves you, adores you, and worships the very sight of you. None of this will change. If you win, Beezy will be there to celebrate with you. If you lose, which is bloody unlikely, she’ll be there to make everything better. Midgy and I, we’ll be there too. No matter the outcome, the important bits won’t change.”
Butter Fudge was a voice from home, even if her accent was a bit off. Again, he thought of his mother. Like most colts, he reached an age where he ran from her and her affections, too embarrassed to allow her to touch him, but now, right now at this very moment, he wished that she was here. He wouldn’t flee from her, no, he would welcome her reassurance in whatever form it took, even if it happened to be painfully awkward.
“We all believe in you, Copper.” Buttermilk peered up at him with half-closed eyes and there was something almost seductive about her smile.
The love of his life had stinky pickle-breath, leaving Copperquick to imagine that her kisses would taste of brine and garlic. Mindful that her parents were watching, he smooched her anyway, and came away more puckered than when he went in. She was sour, intensely so. The brine had soaked into her fuzzy lips, leaving them salty and vinegary. She now stood with her eyes closed, her lips still puckered, and her ears quivered as if blown by the breeze.
One kiss wasn’t enough and he was surprised when Buttermilk’s muzzle pressed into his. Nothing was held back and she delivered a sultry, somewhat sloppy kiss with both of her parents watching. When she pulled away, Copperquick’s lips were left warm and salty. He saw her eyes open and he felt his pulse quicken. She had that effect on him—she would always have that effect on him.
Looking into her eyes, he found his courage, but was also reminded of his troubles. He suffered from broke. Financially, he was broke. His life was broke. The condom had broke. Yet, for whatever reason, whatever odd, unexplainable reason, she loved him. Why? What had he done to be deserving of such love at a time in his life when everything was broken? He had nothing to offer except for…
Himself.
It dawned upon him that with only himself to offer, that was enough. He had no money, no rich parents, no great inheritance waiting for him, he had no great family name that promised him a life of privilege and ease. Copperquick was a pony that had hit bottom and had nothing, nothing at all. Just himself. And that, that was enough. With this realisation came other conclusions; he would never have to face the sort of worries that others had, such as love being conditional on wealth, status, or societal position. He was in the clear. All he had to do was be himself, and Buttermilk Oddbody would be his.
It was a tremendous relief, a weight pulled from his back.
“Now go,” said Buttermilk, her ears pinning back while she made a gesture with her wing. “I’ll be waiting for you at the finish line. Hurry back to me.”
“Esme, say, ‘bye bye.’ Your Daddy has to run.” Mighty Midge bounced in place, jostling Esmeralda.
The filly, quite sleepy, and not at all caring that a big race was about to take place, yawned. Waving her forelegs about, she managed to utter the following: “Bubble bye.” Then, nodding off, her head bobbing as she failed to resist the gentle tug of gravity, she settled into a half-doze.
“Copper… before you go…”
“Yes?” When he looked at Butter Fudge, he saw cunning in her eyes—raw earth pony cunning.
“These are plough pullers, through and through,” she replied, keeping her voice low. “They only know straight lines and corners confound them. The mob all tries to pile into the curve of the corner and try to keep to the inside as much as possible. Can you turn a corner, Copper? I think you can. The corners is where you’ll make your mark. Keep to the outside as much as possible and pour on the speed. Sure, you’ll be running farther and harder, but you’ll be trampled if the mob surrounds you. They won’t play nice, Copper. Body checks aren’t just allowed, but encouraged. The crowd loves to see a body being carted off the track. The bloodier the better. Ponies aren’t here to watch a race, they’re here to see a crash.”
Copperquick gulped.
“Keep to the outside, Copper, and you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Oddbody—”
“Call me Mum, or Moomy. I don’t want you in a bloody heap, Copper. You mind what I say now.”
“Right.” With his confidence bolstered a bit, he nodded.
It was Mighty Midge who had the final word: “Good luck, Copper.”
The starting line was anarchy. Ponies just sort of stood around, with the biggest, burliest stallions all standing wither-to-wither in a row up front. Not everypony was given an equal start, and Copperquick chose to begin a bit behind. How far behind? Far enough behind that he stood with the few rough-and-tumble looking mares that had also entered the race. One of the mares had an enormous chaw of tobacco, and she spat greasy gobs of tarry, oozy goo at regular intervals.
If Copperquick were to hazard a guess, the front liners were the local ‘good ol’ colts’ that seemed downright ubiquitous with these rural areas. Mares fawned over the lantern-jawed-chiseled-from-the-rocks stallions, which left him feeling annoyed and vaguely resentful. These sorts always struck him as being the worst type of ponies to encounter. Typically bigoted, brash, arrogant; Copperquick could not help but be thoughtful of how they might view Buttermilk, shy, quiet, cerebral Buttermilk and all of her fancy multi-syllabic words. No wonder she left home. Upon having these thoughts, he smiled and felt quite pleased with himself, because meeting Buttermilk’s standards made him feel good about the standards he held himself to.
Though that hadn’t always been the case. He thought about Buttermilk slapping him after his confession. That was deserved. Poor choices had been made but that was okay, because now he had a chance to make up for them. Not to mention he had Esmeralda to think of. Now he had to hold himself to the highest possible standards so he could set a good example for his daughter. He cast a final sneering glance at the lantern-jawed males and thought about how good it was going to feel to make them eat his dust.
A cannon was fired; a loud, sudden sound that left Copperquick a bit startled. By the time he realised what was going on, it was too late, everypony else was running and he was standing there like a slack-jawed yokel. This was embarrassing and no doubt, he would hear about this later. Gritting his teeth, he took off like a copper-coloured blur.
The first challenge of the race was getting past the wall. Everypony was holding back and if somepony surged forwards, one of the big, broad stallions up front would cut them off. No ground was given in the straightaway. Copperquick bided his time, cautious, and he kept to the very outer edge while waiting for his opportunity.
Beside him, a little blue-white mare kept pace. Her pelt was almost the colour of chalk, while her mane and tail had a faint pinkish tint that almost couldn’t be seen in the bright sunlight. She was almost glued to his side, keeping to the outer edge just like he was, and though she was shorter, she kept pace with his long-legged gait just fine. Overall, he was impressed with her athleticism, but also concerned because for the first time, he saw real competition.
His hooves cut divots into the clay and soil of the track. The curve was coming and Copperquick prepared himself to make his move if the opportunity presented itself. Five laps. That’s all he had to do. Lowering his head, he made himself sleeker in preparation for the burst of speed that would put him ahead. It would be a brief burst, and he would only expend enough effort to put himself a quarter-of-a-track ahead of the others. Then, he could slow his pace to maintain his lead and so long as he kept to the outer edge, this would be an easy win.
The first corner was a massacre that gave Copperquick just the opportunity he needed. All of the big brutes that formed a wall slowed down too much to try and hold their formation, and the ponies just behind them failed to slow their pace in time, leading to collisions. Flailing bodies hit the dirt and many of the racers came to a dead halt in a tangle of bodies. Now was not the time for rubbernecking though.
Clinging to the outside edge, Copperquick saw a narrow opening and he poured on the speed. Beside him, the little mare did the same, her shorter legs working double-time. For a second, he thought she might push him, or cut him off, because the narrow gap was just that—narrow. A pile of ponies were down, but struggling to get back up to their hooves. His fears were unfounded though, and the mare lept over the writhing pile and surged ahead.
Somehow, she landed without losing speed and Copperquick gritted his teeth while demanding that his body give him more. By the time they were coming out of the corner and into the straightaway, they were running neck to neck again, well ahead of the racers now behind them. At least she wasn’t fighting dirty—he admired her for that—and though he tried to be a gentlepony, he wasn’t going to let her win just because she was a mare.
As the straightaway loomed before them, the mare spoke, panting out the words, “I have… a son… that needs… me… to win!”
Some powerful emotion reared up inside of Copperquick, which was, perhaps, the point. He gave no ground, he held nothing back, but he did reply, “And I… have… a daughter!”
“See ya!” the mare called out as she went tearing down the straightaway.
For a moment, Copperquick was stunned by her sheer speed, but this did not last long. He too, could go faster, but he was trying to pace himself. However, she was easily a dozen lengths ahead already and still accelerating. Eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring, he dug down deep, thinking about how awful it would be to fail.
Every emotion that had beset him returned in force and he could feel the turmoil churning within him, twisting his guts into knots. He needed this win. Only with victory could he restore his sense of self, his self-esteem, his sense of self-worth. His longer legs, his greater stride, these allowed him to catch up, but it was harder than he thought and took far more effort.
But the mare was struggling too. Had she gambled and lost? Thrown everything she had into an initial burst of speed that hadn’t proven enough? Perhaps they had both lost, digging so deep in the very first lap. Already, the next curve was approaching and the first mile was almost done. The others were far behind now, with the distance increasing with each passing second.
The guilt, the shame, the pain of his past nipped at his heels and Copperquick ran like a pony possessed, determined to leave it all behind. Somehow, he had to outrun it all. He needed the win, not just for Esmeralda, but for himself. His breath came in cannonball snorts, his sides heaved, his ribs expanding and contracting like bellows.
So wrapped up in the race was he that he failed to notice the faint copper glow around his hooves...
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Copperquick: The Alicorn of Fast. (Or Broke) (Or Fatherhood)
9212555
No no no!
Nothing like that. Just a bit of earth pony magic.
9212587 I know, but imagine it; Copperquick, icon of fathers everywhere! Poopy nappies and irregular sleep do not faze this admirable alicorn! He knows all the sagest advice, and even why you keep plastic bags under the cupboard!
9212555
It's all in the name - Copperquick.
9212587
Magic or no magic, it looks like Copper found his second wind.
Go, Copper! Go, Mystery Mare!
...
I have the feeling that I'm gonna need popcorn for the next chapter.
The stone ponies/rock ponies have ridiculous strength. Copper's of the runner earth pony type. He doesn't seem TOO strong for an earth pony, so let's see what happens when his magic answers the call.
At this point, I'm recalling the movie Hidalgo rather fondly, so all that I have to say is: let'r budge!
And now we see why this story is in the weedverse, every one so far has been about an asset to the crown. Now we see why hes an asset. Popcorn bowl at the ready Kudz!
Gotta go fast!
9212949
Common theme in the weedverse overall has been self improvement, or bettering of the self I believe.
So many pickles.
Yikes.
Hey, some real running competition.
Ooooo.
9213892
True. I just also like to see what makes them exceptional
Now THIS is getting interesting. Also: I am loving this mystery mare!
9212606
Able to sense foals monkeying with thermostats from anywhere in the world!