> A Family Down Under
>  by Muggonny
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1: They Think
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In the deep darkness and cold silence of the night, a mare stood patiently awaiting. She stood perfectly upright right underneath a lamppost that was turned off to conserve energy for the city. She was a vanilla shade of white and had velvet red hair. Her cutie mark was of a quill and she wore a long tangerine wool scarf wrapped around her neck. Hanging over her left and right side were saddlebags.

Her hooves started buckling and she soon began prancing in place as she got impatient waiting for her rendezvous. Where is that ruffian? Thought the mare. He's an hour and ten minutes late. How does one expect that we can get the job done by having a single mare with nothing but a silly old scarf to do it? Nothing but a silly old scarf to whoo the guards with the social status of a basic hipster.

After ten minutes of jittery ambition, the annoyed mare finally heard hoofsteps coming her way from down the west pathway. A stallion stepped out into the moonlight, now completely visible to any and all ponies who perhaps happen to look out their window or walk by. He was gray with a dull yellow mane. He had a cutie mark of a pitchfork on his flank. On both his left and right side were worn out saddle bags.

"It's about time you've showed up," scoffed the mare, "I was already getting ready to retrieve the little knick-knacks by myself if you didn't show up within another complete circulation of the clock. "

The stallion straightened up. In the light, he could be seen with mangled hair, dirt splotches all over his coat and mane, and yellow brittle teeth. He smiled widely, revealing them and drawing out the stink in his breath. If the mare was standing ever so closer, she could probably smell it. Or maybe her immune system would kick in and she would pass out from the strong odor. "Aye'm serry, Miss Vowel. Aye was just at the ol'mansion. Figured Aye'd stop by and grab us some grub." He got close enough to the young mare for her to smell his breath. Only it didn't bother her. He opened the saddle bag left of his flank and revealed inside a bunch of valuables, antiques, and a couple of bits. Vowel, the mare, looked impressed, but also discouraged because he was so late.

"I appreciate that you're wanting to help our family Pitchy, but I must remind you how important this mission is. Without it, we won't have any of this grub for who knows how long! You must learn to be on time in the specific place I tell you next time. I would hate for things to become so over simplified after all."

Pitchy, as Vowel called him, became upset. "Well," he said, "Aye just thought that since we're gonna go on the weekly midnight run, we could've probably gotten a bonus."

"I prefer to not stand around in the dead of the night, waiting for some hooligan like I'm a child in an amusement park at a 'Wait here if you're lost destination’," she shivered slightly. "I'm not too keen on the dark. The night gives me the creeps, and the lack of lighting makes me want to light a match and maybe have a few candles up and blazing." She looked into his eyes and they said to her I understand, I won't do it again. Like a foal who managed to get off easily with his mother.

"Great," she continued, "now if we can just shimmy our way through the street, we should have enough by maybe... let's say at the crack of three. That's an hour and forty minutes from now."

Pitchy's eyes widened. "Only an hour? That would only give us enough time to grab an average supply!"

"Which is why, if you want to go thieving about all by yourself, do it on your own watch." Vowel stomped her hoof to indicate that there would be no argument whatsoever. If he didn’t want to be an hour late then he should have shown up sooner. "Next time stop for a moment to read the board and think about something so simple such as it! Besides, we don't want to overload our inventory. The guards are already suspicious enough as is, and I wouldn't want the Princess fiddling with any of our toys while we wait for a trial."

Pitchy looked down shamelessly. It hadn't occurred to him that they may overload the inventory. If they over inventoried and someone happened to be wondering about where they're not supposed to be, they could come across the stash. "Look," he said, "I had no idea-"

"It's alright Pitchy," said Vowel, "let's just began our roundup."

And so they did.

For an hour and forty minutes, they managed to sneak into each house without a sound and without evidence. Not a witness was to be spared. They just found an easy way in, a way that would not make any noise. When Vowel left the final house, her saddle bags were full of several antiques, collectibles, bits, silverware, and other pricey knick-knacks that were worth a lot of money.

Pitchy's wasn't so different from hers. Even though he may have had a head-start, he had the same equal amount of pricey objects in his saddle bags. He stared at them with sorrow eyes. He was really hoping that he could actually get away with a few extra souvenirs. But deep down he knew that she was right. The secrecy of their family was to remain quiet at all cost. The Royal Guard had taken notice in the amount of items that have been reported stolen lately, but they only pointed the evidence at one individual.

What they didn’t know was that it wasn’t an individual.

Pitchy and Vowel walked alongside each other on Notch Street. They stopped once they reached a manhole. Pitchy opened the manhole and Vowel climbed down into it. After Pitchy came in after her (and closed the manhole on his way down the ladder), they made their way down the long tunneled sewers. It had a wrenching smell of feces, but it didn't seem to bother them at all whatsoever.

As they headed further down the tunnels, they came across several twist and turns. The sewer system was designed like a maze, but they somehow knew it all from memory. Every last wall, to the broken pipes sticking out of the feces water, and to the mice that scurried away as they nearly squashed them under their hooves.

Within the hour, they found their way into a small settlement. There were wool-made tents everywhere, and a few decorations made from garbage that they found. "See you in the morning?" said Vowel.

"Aye," said Pitchy, "that'd be gud." With that, Pitchy disappeared inside one of the tents.

Vowel yawned loudly, but not loud enough to be heard by anyone. Everyone was asleep and didn't bother to be awakened by anything such as a mouse's peep. She showed up in front of her tent, which had her name sewn in on the top of the flap. Simple Vowel. It was an odd name, but it didn't bother her to own such a low standard name.

Inside her tent(which was vaguely large like some of the others), was a single lantern, some extra lantern oil, a hat, a pair of reading glasses, a small table(holding the lantern, oil, and glasses) a bag for random accessories, Chevy Chief's: Cook it by The Book Cookbook(which also lied on the table), a strange shiny rock, a Cook it Yourself: Beginner's Kit, a few pieces of silverware, and a small cot with a bunch of thick, fluffy, blankets bundled together on top of it.

Vowel purposely (and restlessly) landed on the cot face first. The cot itself was very uncomfortable to sleep in, but the blankets made it feel as snug and as safe as a mother's hug. It was immediately when Vowel hit the soft pillow that she passed out for the night.




Simple Vowel woke up with baggy eyes to the sound of little foals banging on the outside walls of her tent and screaming, "Miss Vowel! It's time for class!" She yawned loudly, stretched for a moment, and left the tent with them.

Vowel taught the kids how to cooperate with the life they had. She taught them all sorts of useful academic things like counting, ABCs, reading, and writing. Then there was the more survival part of the lessons. Ambitious things such as cooking, setting up tents, self-aid, and when they're old enough, stealing. Something that Vowel wished she wouldn't have to teach.

Today's lesson was about the history of Starswirl The Bearded. The foals sat and listened to her lecture about all the wondrous and insane spells he had created.

"-thus," she spoke, "dying before he could finish the spell." She just  finished talking. A small yellow colt with green hair raised his hoof. "Yes, Mister Shrew?"

"Why did he talk so funny?" he must have asked it because Vowel mentioned a few quotes.

"Nopony talks funny my little Shrew." she said.

"But you talk funny Miss Vowel."

It was true. She had a very high vocabulary, and she did take advantage of it. She giggled at the response. "Yes, while that may be true, I just know enough words and metaphors to sound like this. Starswirl was born and raised with the language. In fact, everypony talked like that back then. Back when the old soldiers were out loitering and the mares were in their kitchens cooking up some dinner while they waited for their mate to return with a paycheck."

Another foal, this time a filly, raised her hoof. "Yes, Miss Chase?"

"What's a paycheck?" she said questionably.

"A paycheck, my dear," said Vowel, " is a type of card that you receive when you work for a certain amount of time." A smug grin suddenly appeared on her face, for she knew what was about to come from the foals mouths. "They hold a thick load of money in them."

The young ponies suddenly oohed and awed. Their hooves punch in the air, questions rolled everywhere. And she rather enjoyed explaining the process of earning money and getting paid with a piece of paper that told you how much money you get for doing something.

“W-what kind of stuff can they buy?” said a green fowl with a brown mane.

“Anything,” said Vowel, “as long as it is in a place that’ll accept them.” Another hoof immediately bolted up. It was the same filly that asked her what a paycheck is.

"How much money can it hold?"

"Any amount. Well, as long as it doesn't go over ten digits."

The whole class looked around confusingly. "Something like... a million," she said, assuring that they understood it. The whole class gave an, oh.

"That's a lot of bits to carry," said one of the foals, causing Vowel to give a hesitant giggle. All of the (very) small village's ponies were out basking about, visiting other ponies’ tents, mingling, and anything else they could do in an often unindulgable sewer. There were approximately twenty in population; most were of the age to wonder about wherever they pleased. The only kids in the camp sat right in front of her(five in counting), and they all sat together in the center of the camp, listening to lectures almost every day, and playing fun little games.

Simple Vowels favorite thing to do during class time was, indeed, teach the little ponies. She loved seeing their faces light up when she presented them something of interest. Like the paycheck for example. They never heard of it until now. And most all of them immediately had all sorts of questions.

As soon as the class ended, the young ones immediately scurried away to play. Some played tag while others went back to their tents to sleep. Vowel walked through the camp, making sure everything was in check. One of the camp’s ponies, this time a male with a mane the color of a green apple and coat the color of tree bark, and a cutie mark of a vine kind of looking plant, saw her and ran towards her.

"We have a bit of a problem," he said worryingly, "the guards are getting suspicious on us, pretty soon they'll be aware of who all is robbing houses at night."

Vowel narrowed her eyes and blinked. "You couldn't've told me this before my weekly revenue with Pitchy just happened last night?" She felt the sudden urge to slap him upside the head for his sheer lack of common sense of not telling her the simplest thing.

"I didn't find out till this morning." he said, "While you were asleep."

Vowel blinked once more. This time repeatedly. What ran on the inside of her head was a major oh and a sorry that I felt like slapping you so hard your eyeballs would pop out of your blasted skull. "How did you hear of it?" she said, putting her hoof up to her head in a confusing frustration sort of way.

This time, it was the stallion's turn to blink repeatedly. He nervously rubbed his hoof on the cement ground and said, "They don't necessarily know it's us yet."

"Pardon?"

"Well. I-I was at the market... when, I overheard a stallion talking... it was a guard. He was talking about a theory of a bunch of homeless ponies living underground." he smiled nervously.

It wasn't so surprising to Vowel that there was a theory. The closest way into the camp was just down the tunnel, and that was blocked off for construction. So far, none of the construction ponies have noticed all the tents, sounds, nor decorations. It was almost as if they were invisible... but they weren't. The only reason why they haven't been forced out yet was because they were far away enough from the entrances for somepony to not wonder by. The whole sewer system was designed like a maze. The only ponies who knew the layout had maps. Them (an old soggy piece of parchment taped to the wall), and anyone who happened to like working in icky murky places. Vowel has known the layout of the sewers for quite some time. She’s always leaving to get into the outside world; sometimes to do weekly business, other times to just walk around, maybe get fresh air, and, of course, they have to let the little ones get some normal air every day. After a while, you pick up some things about it.

“What do we do about it, Vowel?” he continued. His nervous smile had faltered and it was replaced with a nervous frown. Vowel thought for a minute than a Maybe this will do popped up in her head, but it was immediately followed by a Won’t it…?

“I suppose that we have no choice but to no longer make our weekly roundup weekly.”

The stallion’s face become less of a nervous frown and became more of a serious stern, followed by a grimace. “H-how are we going to eat…? We need food, Vowel.”

“We’ve nearly oversupplied ourselves over a dozen times,” she said, “every day we come home with four bags of valuables worthy of nearly hundreds of bits. And it usually all goes towards food to feed our gast chambers and other supplies. We can deal with a few weeks without having to steal from the more fortunate. I’d say once every three-sevenths could do it.”

“Three-sevenths?”

“Three weeks, my darling.”

The brown stallion blinked for a few seconds. “Vowel… these ponies get three meals a day thanks to the loads you and Pitch bring. But the amount you bring is only good for a week to feed twenty ponies. And it’s barely meals they eat….”

“Why don’t we talk to the Cult Mother about this,” she said. The Cult Mother was their leader. She made all the important decisions until death. She was an elder mare with a red wrinkly face that may confuse you for a rotten tomato.

The stallion thought for a moment, then nodded his head. They moved their way into the middle of the camp. In the middle was a large tent. Larger than any other tent in the camp. It was made of thick bed sheets and it was supported by a bunch of strings hanging from the ceiling, along with long, crooked sticks to support the strings. Vowel opened the flaps of the tent and was greeted by the familiar smell of peppermint. Of course, it didn't block the smell of feces (which was a much stronger odor), but it did lighten the smell a bit.

An old wrinkly mare with a messy long gray and white mane and a scarlet coat was sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of the ridiculously large tent. In the chair, on her side, was a water bottle, and on the other was a book called Daring Doo's Adventures. The elder mare had her eyes shut and light snores were coming from her nose.

"I don't believe we should wake her." said Vowel.

The stallion scowled at her. "Wouldn't she want to know about this right away?"

"Listen, Chewy, Scarlett is the eldest one here. It could be any moment that she could be on her deathbed. She needs her rest so she can be around longer."

Chewy, the stallion, looked at Vowel for a second. "When should we tell her?"

"When it's not dusk, but not dawn of course! Just let her know when we see her alive and functioning."

After about a few more seconds, Chewy closed the flaps of the tent, turned to Vowel, and said, "Okay, but she's got to know soon." With that, he wondered off into the camp. Three of the five foals in population frolicked behind him to see if he'll notice and maybe join in their game.




The outside world was a whole new place for everypony to explore; especially for the citizens of the underground. They always remain down there, in the dark murky tunnels, playing games of poker, maybe jumping rope, eating privately, hardly making any new friends. It was always a relief when the time came to leave the tunnels and get some actual air. Even though they've done this process every single day since they had joined, they never got tired of seeing the sun and feeling the bright warm glow slap them across the cheeks so they won't be cold. Vowel always found it humorous on how they would come out and preach it as if it were an almighty god/goddess.

Some of the parents had to stop their foals from wandering off too far. Some yelled while others would use a soft tone of voice to tell them to come to them immediately.

Vowel sat on her haunches. She sat there in the market district of Canterlot, staring out at the ponies as they passed by and bought their accessories. Everypony else was busy exploring while she just sat and watch. There really wasn't much for her to do. She didn't have a job nor any bits. So she usually spent her time walking; examining ponies as they shopped.

There were a couple of whispers here and there(mostly complaints about her mangled mane or how dirty she was), some ponies pointed while others just stared at her like she made an extremely offensive remark. Vowel didn't mind too much on the way she looked. After a while, you kind of get use to looking like a slumb.

Back in the underground, even though they were in a sewer, that didn't stop them from taking baths. Though that was rare(and when it was the water was usually icy cold), they do their best job to keep clean. Normally, every month they'll buy new toothpaste. But that's the only real clean thing they do.

Chewy ran up to Vowel with a bouquet of roses in his muzzle and made a gesture towards her to take them. She looked at the flowers for a moment and said, "How could you afford those?"

"Beem saying." His voice was distinctly muffled.

"Been saving?" Vowel replied. She thought for a moment as Chewy made a gesture once again for her to take them. She took it and held it in both of her front hooves as if it were a sort of baby but with a fragrance to it. Her concerned frown turned into a smug grin. "You didn't steal them did you."

Chewy also grinned, but in a goofy sarcastic sort of way. "Nope, bought them with my own front hooves." He jokingly brought both his hooves in front of him and pretended that he was giving them to her. Vowel replied with a giggle and then pecked him on the cheek.

"Where's everypony else at?" she said.

"Well, Scarlett is down by the bridge, the foals are off playing over in the park, some are here shopping-"

"Did you pick up the Cult Mother's ointment?" Vowel's face made a jokingly clever grin.

"Dangit!" Chewy yawled. "I was hoping that you wouldn't say anything. I'll pick it up on the way back home."

"You knew it was your turn, Chewy."

"I know-I know...."

"Just pick it up so she doesn't rash. The elder mare has a very bad eczema problem. And the sewers aren't helping with the problem."


           

The two continued chattering for a while about random nonsense until they finally parted ways after the mention of the theory one of the guards had. Vowel didn't want to believe that they were suspicious, but suspicious was enough to get them in trouble. Vowel didn't want trouble. What Vowel really wanted was to move the family to a nice, quiet, little land area. They could build a house together and live on a farm. Perhaps start a new settlement. It would be the first settlement in Equestria in over a century.

But, of course, they didn't have the resources to build a new settlement, nor did they have the resources to travel. Though she did come in with approximately four bags of valuables in total a week, most of the valuables couldn't be sold on the market. It was usually things like silverware, books, bits, and those things were used for the camp rather than being sold. The silverware is what kept them from becoming vile pigs in a dark cave. The books kept them of knowledge. Bits were what they used for food. For currency, if they wanted something that someone else in the camp has, they had to trade an item that the owner of the object might like; or, they could just scoop up their savings and pay for it. But it was usually just borrowed and/or trade.

None of this was a problem, though. The hardest part about keeping the camp together was keeping it a secret. And to do that, they hardly let anyone join. It was up to the Cult Mother to determine if or when someone leaves. If someone wants to join, the Cult Mother has to be acknowledged first. It was mostly so that they didn't overpopulate.

For a while, Vowel sat on the bridge, thinking. Thinking about how she could help keep its secrecy. She was going have to pull something out of her sleeve and, perhaps, perform a magic trick. A trick is what she'd have to pull. A trick is what she needed.

And then it dinged.