Is there no release valve?
Cerulean Skies had once heard that the ponies in the city of Ponyville didn’t even have locks on their doors. The same could not be said for the residents of Fillydelphia, who typically had multiple locks on their doors, but in Cerulean’s mind, their effectiveness was dubious. Even though she couldn’t do anything, she knew that a skilled unicorn could bypass most locks in mere moments.
The world was filled with amazing unicorns that could do mind-blowing things, but Cerulean was not one of them. Her family was too poor to afford a magic tutor, and her mother seemed to think that what little magic that Cerulean had wasn’t worth bothering with in the first place, because there were more important things to spend money on, like putting food on the table, or paying the light bill.
Some unicorns had everything in life just given to them by virtue of their extraordinary talents—some unicorns like Trixie Lulamoon—but Cerulean wanted to know just one thing: What about the rest of us? While some unicorns might have the most awesome of lives, Cerulean knew that she would probably end up in a factory, pulling levers and getting stiffed. While an earth pony or a pegasus pony could only pull one lever at a time, a unicorn could pull several—while still getting the same low pay as everypony else.
Why? Because life sucked, that’s why.
She missed life in Canterlot, the city in which they had ‘landed.’ Somehow, they had managed to live in Cloudsdale for quite some time with her, and her dad was always telling stories about the importance of, ‘don’t drop the baby.’ But as time had passed and she was no longer content with being held in a foal carrier, something had to be done, or so her mother had said, because her physical development had lagged. So, to Canterlot they went, and immediately went broke.
Somehow, they had survived there for a few years, but depending upon the kindness of others to scrape by was too much for her proud parents, so it was off to Fillydelphia. By virtue of Cerulean’s very existence as a unicorn, everything had been ruined. Baring her teeth, Cerulean kicked a loose cobblestone into the canal and it hit the water with a splash. A week ago, a dead body had been pulled out of this very canal and she had watched.
The canals were vital to the city, because this was how goods were moved from factories to boats, and from boats to factories. Really heavy things broke wagons, snapped the wheels, busted the axles, and the poor earth ponies could only pull so much, but stuff could be floated on barges. These barges operated day and night, as goods were always moving, and they made a terrific amount of noise. Having a barge just outside your apartment window was quite an experience, yes it was.
Fillydelphia could only be described as, ‘loud.’
What to do? Where to go? This wasn’t the first time she had cut school, but this time, everything felt different somehow. She had snapped. Flipped her lid. A line had been crossed. Her fellow students would talk. The teasing would be unbearable for a while. When walking down the halls, conversations would go dead, eyes would stare, ears would be trained upon her, and there would be no escaping the aftermath of this.
She had to kill time until her mother’s shift ended, and her mother worked the ‘school shift,’ which started at nine in the morning and ended at three in the afternoon. The pimple on her teat was distracting, as it had reached an unbearable level of pressure, and was full to bursting with pimple porridge just waiting to be squeezed out.
Overhead, the grey skies were thick with smog and black coal dust. Red-brown bricks made up most of the buildings around Cerulean, along with grey stone, concrete, and cement. The canals were choked with leaves, garbage, and disgusting brown foam. Each and every window was in dire need of cleaning, with hardened black streaks of coal dust left behind by the frequent rain. The gutters, which emptied into the canals, were choked with leaves and all of the debris thrown onto the streets. For Cerulean, the time when life was beautiful was now a distant memory that felt more like a dream.
“Hey, hey yous,” somepony with a thick Manehattanite accent said to Cerulean. “Yous wanna job? Is yous lookin’ for work, filly?”
“What kind of job?” was Cerulean’s wary reply. She had been propositioned before and she knew how to run. Turning to face the pegasus that had addressed her, she studied every detail about him so she could describe him to the police if she had to. His cutie mark was a factory smokestack belching black smoke.
“Nothing too bad, kid.” The pegasus smiled, but his teeth were hidden behind his mustache. “We need doffers, spinners, and sweepers. Entry level stuff, yous knows. If yous wants the work, the old Mariner factory is hiring. We still ain’ts named it yet, but we wills. Just look for the sign with the anchor and the spool. Us workers, we owns the factory now, so this is the chance of a lifetime for yous to get started in an exciting new career.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Eh, suit yerself, kid. When the rent is due, you’ll come looking for me.” The mustached pegasus took off, wandering away so that he might find somepony else in need of a job, and Cerulean watched him go, relieved.
The last thing she wanted was to end up in a factory.
The apartment was empty, just as she expected. Pulling her key out of the deadbolt, she then closed and locked the door behind her. The living room, if it could be called that, also served as her brother’s bedroom. For the longest time, they had shared a room, but that ended when she couldn’t sleep because of all of the huffing and puffing coming from her brother as he jerked off in his bed up above her.
It was just one of the many things that had left Cerulean traumatised in life.
In the small kitchen, the dishes from breakfast were still piled in the sink. She hadn’t done them, as was expected. Being the unicorn, all kinds of domestic jobs were expected of her, because magic made things easy. Cleaning, doing the dishes, scrubbing the bathroom, it was demanded that she look after everything, because she was the unicorn. Her mother and father worked long hours, and as for her brother, well, Indigo Skies couldn’t be counted on to do anything but whine, complain, and jerk off incessantly in the bathroom.
At the end of the short hall, past the bathroom and her parents room, was her bedroom. Small enough to be called cramped, she and her brother had slept in a bunk bed, which was now broken down and the upper bunk was in the living room. She had a tiny closet, and in the closet was her shrine, which she was making a beeline for right now.
She needed Moondancer.
Sliding the door along its rusty, screechy rail, Cerulean peered inside to check and see if everything was as she had left it, and it was, but the worry that something might be amiss was always present. A few precious cuttings from the paper, some glossy, full-colour magazine pages, and her Princess Playtime Action Pals action figure of Moondancer, which was most certainly not a doll, no matter what anypony said. It was the rarest and hardest of the Princess Playtime Action Pals line, because Moondancer was the unpopular one. Ponies were stupid and didn’t understand the sheer importance of Moondancer, or why Twilight needed her.
Next to the shrine was a cardbox box. Cerulean pulled this out, took off the lid, and had a look at her old toys. All of her Princess Playtime Action Pals were still in good condition. She had Tarnished Teapot and his steadfast companion, Maud Pie. Daring Do had survived many adventures, but had lost her pith helmet somewhere along the way, perhaps during a move. Trixie Lulamoon bore the scars of torture, because Indigo had burned her with a magnifying glass. She had a Twilight, because of course she did, and Rarity too, though Rarity had yellowed a bit with age.
Spike was still accounted for too, and Cerulean had fond memories of making Spike and Rarity smooch. Everypony knew that Spike had a crush on the fabulous fashionista, and this knowledge crushed poor Cerulean, who took it as proof that even if you were a hero, there was no guarantee that your dreams would come true. Alas, poor Spike, doomed to be a baby dragon forever.
With all of her treasures accounted for, she put the lid back on the box and put it down beside her makeshift shrine to Moondancer, the most brilliant of all of Twilight’s fantastic friends. Cerulean was absolutely, positively, posilutely, absotively certain that, if she and Moondancer somehow met in real life, they would be friends. Moondancer would understand, she would understand everything. She was so smart and so perfect, of course she would know and understand.
Moondancer had even been bullied in school, though by whom was never mentioned, so Cerulean felt a real connection between her and her hero. Being bullied sucked, but not much could be done about it, except to toughen up and endure it. Whomever had tormented Moondancer almost certainly had to have a sucky life right now, maybe living as a wagon washer, or a used wagon salespony, or a garbage wagon puller, or something super-humiliating. Some obnoxious pony had bullied some of Twilight’s friends, but that pony’s name had slipped into obscurity, while Moondancer would be remembered for all time.
The sound of a key sliding into the deadbolt made Cerulean’s heart stop. In a panic, she jerked her closet door shut and then ran off to see who was home… and to find out what her fate might be. This wasn’t what she expected, not at all, and this was the worst possible outcome. No doubt the school had sent a messenger to where her parents worked. Ugh, of all the worst possible things…
Cerulean’s father was sky blue, just like her, with dark blue eyes, just like her, with an electric blue mane and tail with subtle silver-blue highlights, just like her. He stood just inside the door, sooty, greasy, and reeking of machine oil. Once, he had maintained the mighty weather factories of Cloudsdale. Now, he worked in the Fillydelphia shipyards.
Don’t drop the baby.
Too bad, too late, the baby had been dropped. Cerulean stood, blinking at her father, her nostrils crinkling from the acrid stench of the machine oil. He had been singed today, or maybe yesterday, and she hadn’t noticed. In the depths of his blue eyes, a few shades darker than her own, she saw fatigue, what had to be crippling weariness.
“What happened between us?”
This was not the question that she expected her father to ask, and Cerulean shuffled on her hooves. After failing to answer, she shuffled a bit more, and then, feeling ashamed, she looked away, choosing instead to stare at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Could this get any more awkward? Probably.
“You and I, we used to be the best of friends. You were my little buddy. Being my little buddy, you’d sit on my back and you’d cling to my neck, and you’d talk my ears off. You told me everything. Now, I’m lucky if I can get a hello out of you. What happened?”
“You took Mom’s side,” Cerulean replied in a voice that was far too husky for her liking.
“I don’t follow.”
“At some point, I stopped being your daughter and I became a handy-dandy unicorn appliance, suitable for all of your cleaning needs.” Even as she said it, she regretted it, and wished that she could take it all back. But what was said couldn’t be unsaid and Cerulean was stuck with it. As she stared at the dishes, she knew that if she looked into her father’s eyes once more, she would see crippling fatigue and something else, something she wouldn’t like. Saying what she had rehearsed just for a situation like this one wasn’t as satisfying as she had hoped.
The drama bomb had blown up in her face, just one more regret among many.
With nothing left to do but dig herself in deeper, Cerulean asked, “What’s your excuse?”
“My excuse?” Dusky Skies lifted one hoof and made a gesture between himself and his daughter. “Whaddaya mean, my excuse?”
“I never see you anymore—”
“I work a twelve hour shift, six days a week,” Dusky snapped and a hardness appeared in his voice that Cerulean usually only heard when her father was lecturing her brother. “I give you this”—he gestured at the apartment around him—“and I keep the lights turned on. Is that not enough?”
“No, it isn’t.” Cerulean was surprised that she managed to even say the words, and she turned to look at her father, shocked and startled by her own boldness. “None of this matters… I lost my best friend and I’m not happy. I lost my only friend, and I’m lonely. I’m still just foalish enough to not care about money, or bills, and I am pissed off and unhappy because I lost my friend.”
After a moment she added, “You dropped the baby.”
For a moment, she was certain that her father was going to start hollering at her, because he sucked in a huge breath that made him swell, but then he said, “So I did. I broke the most important rule. I dropped the baby.”
Hearing this did not make Cerulean feel better, as she had hoped, not at all.
“So, the school sends a messenger to the shipyards to tell me and your mother that both of our foals have gone off their nut in school today, and that you skipped out. Your mother had to go and deal with your brother and I had to take time off of work to deal with you. I’m gonna have to work and make up for lost time on my day off so we’ll have enough money to pay the bills.”
Cerulean’s downcast gaze hit the floor, and with it, her heart.
“You know, Cerulean, I’ve never told you this, but your mother once dropped you.” A half-smile appeared on Dusky Skies face and there was a nostalgic twinkle in his eyes. “You were being wiggly and making a dedicated effort to escape your mother’s clutches. I kept teasing her that she was gonna drop the baby, and she did. Down you went. Right through the floor. Cloudcrete is only solid for pegasus ponies. I almost tore down the front door to get outside so I could go and rescue you. It wasn’t long after this that we moved.”
Squirming, Cerulean didn’t know what to say to her father in return.
“I’ll always be here to save you, if you’ll let me,” Dusky said while his ears pricked forwards. “Now, since I have the afternoon off, let’s make the most of it. How about you do those dishes while I get a quick shower, and once I’m cleaned up, we’ll go out somewhere for a chocolate malt. How’s that sound?”
As much as Cerulean wanted to be a sulky adolescent, this offer was just far too tempting to turn down. “Okay, I can do that, I suppose, I guess. Whatever. Go take your shower, you’re stinking up the apartment.” Unable to resist herself, Cerulean smiled at her father to let him know that everything was okay.
“I understand that you farted in class—”
“Daddy!”
“—and not just any ol’ fart either—”
“Daddy, please!”
“Oh, come on, let me feel proud… back in school, they called me Smoggy Skies.”
“Wait, really?” Cerulean’s head tilted off to one side. “I’m pretty sure that I will be forever known as Foggy Skies now.” When her father laughed, a boisterous sound that she had dearly missed, everything felt better somehow, for some reason. “School is really bad… like, really, really bad. I get bullied a lot. Things get said. Bad things. The other foals are mean. It was never this bad in Canterlot.”
“Things are desperate here,” her father replied, “and desperation brings out the worst in ponies. We’ll talk about it over a malt. Right now, I’m gonna shower.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll just go take care of those dishes, I guess.” Crestfallen, but also excited, Cerulean stepped into the kitchen to finish her unpleasant chore, hopeful that she and her father might have a nice afternoon together.
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In so far as I so hate seeing your characters in distress, no, I am not bothered by the shortness of this story.
a story is not long nor short, it is only as long as it means to be.
My nickname in high school was "the gas man" and one of my proudest moments was getting detention once for farting. True story.
Very short, says kudzu.
I expect this means there's around 20-25 chapters to go.
8634326
I beg to differ; I can think of at least one that was way longer than it should have been.
As to the story itself, yeah, what about the rest of us? We're born into some lot in life, and we try to make the most of it. Some of us luck out, some of us don't. Eventually, we kick off.
Kind of a bum deal that we don't start to really figure things out until we're almost halfway to the end, but what can you do?
tail
ouch, that hurts right in the feelsbox.
On one hand, yes. I'm anyways hungry for more Kudz-y goodness. On the other hand, you wrapping up a story is always nice. Closure until the next story at least.
8634339
This is more like it!
A really skilled unicorn would just blow the door through and take out the back door on it's way through....but...
(P.S. been watching too many action movies again...*sigh*)
distress
di-stress
stress times two???
Cerulean's vision of a sucky life is having a career dealing with wagons.
It's nice to see her get along with her father, though.
8634956
What unicorn of stable and sound mind would trust wheels?
I feel for the filly. I really do. T_T
God damn... at least her dad understands!
Wow, this is a good reminder that Cerulean is not a reliable narrator. Her dad was... actually pretty fantastic here. Good job with this!
I'm not familiar with the AU, but I am enjoying this story. Hard to elaborate why, other than that I feel for Cerulean and I like reading stories about ponies living ordinary lives in the not-quite-ordinary setting of Equestria. Good that Cerulean has an ally in her dad and an idol in Moondancer.
... five bucks it’s Trixie.
I am not entirely sure that this qualifies as a "Comedy", but it IS rather good. Sad and cynical, but well written.
8659585
Bathos.
Elements of Greek Comedy, in that it is a tragedy.
really into this story, yet another entry in the"why did i read this sooner" book
Aww. That's nice.