Cutie Mark Curses
With skill only developed from years of practice, Bon Bon gently drizzled white chocolate over the milk chocolate candies. Replacing the melting pot on the stove, but off of the hot burner, she carefully arranged the candies on a little plate.
She smiled to herself. These were probably the best ones she had made yet. At least, she thought they were. There was only one way to find out if that were true or not. Picking up the plate, she turned and walked over towards a sea-foam green unicorn who sat contentedly on a stool, quietly playing a lyre.
The music was beautiful, and Bon Bon almost felt bad interrupting, but Lyra had wanted to try them right away. With that in mind, she stomped on the ground thrice behind Lyra, who stopped and looked back expectantly. Her expression brightened as she saw the plate of chocolates Bon Bon held, and she quickly jumped off the stool and held out her tongue expectantly.
Using a fork, Bon Bon picked up the largest chocolate and placed it on Lyra's tongue, and Lyra chewed thoughtfully, letting the chocolate roll all across the inside of her mouth.
Bon Bon's expression fell slightly when Lyra gave her the 'not quite' smile.
“Argh... What is it this time?” she asked.
Lyra brought a hoof up and tapped twice on her side, about the place a nursing foal would stand, and Bon Bon understood.
She sighed. “Too much milk, or too little?”
Lyra held her hooves close together and gave a sheepish smile. She hated to be the bearer of bad news, but seeing as how Bon Bon was extremely allergic to milk (1), she had to be honest in her review if the chocolates were to taste good and sell well.
Bon Bon rolled her eyes and turned back to the kitchen. “Back to the drawing board, I guess.”
Lyra lit her horn and tugged gently on Bon Bon's tail. When she turned around, Lyra pointed hopefully at her own mouth.
“Yes, you can eat the rest,” Bon Bon smiled. “Don't you always?”
Grinning happily, Lyra trotted past her into the kitchen.
Bon Bon sighed. No matter how many times she messed up, she knew she would get it right. Someday. And so what if Lyra ate half her weight in failure chocolate? She deserved something nice, especially after all the happiness she brought from all the beautiful music she played.
Music that Lyra, having been born completely deaf, would never be able to truly hear for herself.
Twilight groaned again. “Spike?” she called. “Are you almost done?”
“Right here!” Spike called, skilfully hopping the scattered books as he brought Twilight her cup of tea. Twilight smiled gratefully and instinctively lit her horn to pick it up, which sent another wave of agony shooting down from the base of her horn, making her cry out in pain.
Spike quickly shifted the cup onto his tail and caught Twilight as she fell. “Careful!” he said, gently setting her back down onto her bed.
Twilight grimaced as she held a hoof to her horn. “This happens once a week, and I still forget,” she said wryly. “You'd think I'd have learned by now.”
“It's fine,” Spike said, retrieving the cup. He gently held it to her lips, and she took a few small sips. The pain lessened slightly, but her horn still hurt terribly.
Spike gave her another sip. “They're getting worse, aren't they?” he asked.
“No! No, why would you think that?”
Spike gave her a look. She had answered way too quickly.
Twilight deflated. “Yes. And they're happening more often.” She glared at the cup he held. “And I'm thinking this mixture is starting to be less effective against the pain.”
“Maybe you could just try to cut back on magic...”
Twilight cut him off. “Spike, we've had this conversation. I can't. It just... it just feels right, and I can't stop. These hornaches are something I just have to learn to live with.”
Spike didn't press the issue further. It wouldn't help. It never did. They had a similar conversation every week. She'd get massive hornaches, and Spike would comfort her and brew her that pain-killing bark tea, and then she'd wake up achy but fine the next day, and then the next week they'd do it all over again.
The universe had a strange sense of humor, giving the Element of Magic a magical biofeedback problem so young.
Featherweight zoomed home as quickly as he could. Today had been a great day! After all, it wasn't every day you get your cutie mark, now, was it?
Gleefully, he burst through the door, making much more noise than usual (2). That got the attention of his father, who set down the large dumbbell he had been lifting.
Triumphantly, the colt turned and faced his flank towards his father, revealing his newly-earned cutie mark.
“Yeeah!” his father cheered, scooping Featherweight up into a tight hug.
Featherweight was happy. His dad was proud, and Featherweight knew what he was doing with his life. It was a good day, he decided.
Though that did little to quell the nagging disappointment in the back of his mind. His cutie mark indicated that he would always be a little pony; never to be as big and strong as his father.
His father, on the other hoof, was also happy; but also slightly jealous, that his son would be able to stay small and light forever, unlike himself.
They would easily have traded places in a heartbeat.
It was a truly bittersweet bonding moment.
Zecora reread the recipe, eyes widening as she saw the dreaded lines.
Boil for three hours, be sure to let it stew
Or the cure you so seek will be denied to you.
She sat back and rubbed her temples, trying to steel herself.
“You are a foal,” she scolded herself, “no cause for alarm. Of what are you scared? Fire means you no harm.”
But it was a lie, and she knew it. She could barely see a flame without flashing back to memories as a filly; awful, burning memories she would rather have forgotten.
Not even the lame pun could bring a smile to her face.
Gritting her teeth, she walked over to the little table next to her bed and picked up the black flint rock. Carefully arranging the tinder from the box she always kept full, she placed the rock on the ground and stomped on it; her metal shoe and flint rock colliding to send a small shower of sparks onto the tinder.
Too small. The tinder stayed defiantly unburned.
Hesitantly, she stomped again. There wasn't even a shower of sparks this time. She grit her teeth and stomped again. The sparks flew in all directions, some landing near her coat, causing her to stumble back in alarm.
Still the tinder remained unlit.
Zecora growled and slammed her head against the pot. A simple cure was her only desire. Why did she have this crippling fear of fire? (3)
Her moping was interrupted by a little voice. “Hey, Zecora!” Apple Bloom cheerfully greeted her.
“Ah, young Apple Bloom, welcome back.” Zecora raised an eyebrow at the filly's scruffy appearance. “I trust you are fine? Were you under attack?”
Apple Bloom laughed. “Nah. Ah was just tryin' t' get my cutie mark in herdin'." Her face fell slightly. "That didn't work." But she quickly brightened. "Ah did fix the fence Ah broke, though.” She grinned, revealing slightly bloody teeth.
Zecora took a step back. “Apple Bloom? Tell me the truth. Why is there blood on every tooth?”
Apple Bloom kicked the ground in annoyance. “Ah keep cuttin' my gums on th' tools and wood 'n such. In fact, Ah came here wonderin' if'n you had any painkiller-type potions. It's stingin' somethin' awful.”
Sure enough, Zecora quickly obtained a piece of bark and gave it to her. “Chew this well, and your gums will not swell.”
“'hanks, 'ecora!” Apple Bloom said, chewing the bark. “So what're you doin', anyway?”
“Getting ready to boil a potion, my dear. I was about to light the fire in here.”
“Ooh! Can Ah help?” Apple Bloom asked, always willing to be of service.
Zecora felt foalish, getting help from a little filly. But the only other option was failure. And there were ponies depending on this, her cure.
She smiled as she passed the flint stone over to Apple Bloom. There would always be other times to try and conquer her fear.
Cheerilee wrote yet another grade on yet another paper and moved it onto the small stack labeled 'graded'. She looked over at the much larger pile labeled 'not yet graded', and lowered her head to the desk, sighing in defeat.
She loved teaching. Really, she did. There was nothing like seeing that little spark in a foal's eye as a previously foreign concept became crystal clear. That brought her immense joy. She was one of those ponies that hopped out of bed, happy to be alive and gleefully going to work.
The problem was, learning is best done by repetition and practice, and so Happy Teacher Cheerilee would assign homework so that her students would really and truly learn.
Unhappy Grader Cheerilee would then have to slug through the completed assignments, unable to focus and generally taking a lot longer to finish them than she should. And she often missed things. Poor Twist had nearly had a nervous breakdown when she saw one of her grades, only for Cheerilee to notice that Twist had written more answers on the back that she hadn't noticed the first time. That had simultaneously brought both Twist's grades and her blood pressure back into acceptable levels.
A good teacher would have caught that the first time, Cheerilee thought to herself. She found herself wishing for something to drink. Her cousin Berry would still be up at this hour, right? It's not like these papers were going anywhere.
The more she thought about that, the better that sounded.
Applejack sighed in relief as she soaked her hooves in the warm water that filled large, dented metal tub. “Thanks, Mac,” she said gratefully.
“Eeyup,” Big Mac said. “Need anythin' else?”
“Don't think so,” Applejack replied. “Just a little time, that's all.”
Big Mac nodded before turning to leave his sister in peace.
Applejack meditated as she soaked her hooves. Working on the farm was hard work, just like the name implied. She knew that from the day she could stand on her own four hooves (4). So what if her hooves hurt, and her legs were prone to cramping? A little pain wasn't that much to bear in comparison with the feeling she got when she filled those apple buckets to overflowing, or how she enjoyed the feeling of just being in the fields. Those were feelings she wouldn't trade for anything.
Right?
She jumped as the door burst open and Apple Bloom hopped excitedly inside.
“Hey, sis!” she greeted her older sibling. “How was your day?” She came up short. "And what's that smell?"
“Not too bad,” Applejack replied. “Got plenty of apples done.” She grimaced. “Granny Smith found a skunk, and didn't notice it had sprayed her fer 'bout an hour or so.”
Apple Bloom crinkled her nose. “That explains a bit,” she said. Granny Smith had a notorious problem of having no sense of smell whatsoever. More than once, Apple Bloom had had to rush to the kitchen and alert her grandma about a pie that had been baking for a bit too long.
“And how was your day?” Applejack asked.
“Great! Ah finished fixin' th' fence, and Ah went to see Zecora, and she gave me some bark to chew for mah sore gums, and it was great!” Apple Bloom paused. “Except still no cutie mark.”
Applejack gave her little sister a hug. “That's ok, sugarcube. You'll get it soon enough.”
Apple Bloom bounced off to the kitchen. “Didja save me anythin' t' eat?”
“Nah. Big Mac ate it all.”
Apple Bloom's face fell, but Applejack just laughed. “We haven't even started yet.” She painfully pushed herself to her hooves and out of the little tub. “Come on, then. Dinner ain't dinner without everypony there.”
And dinner was delicious.
Later that night, two ponies dreamed of cutie marks. Apple Bloom dreamed joyfully, imagining the day she would discover who she was; and Applejack dreamed fitfully, wondering what her sister would have to go through after she got her special talent. At least bleeding gums never killed anypony, right?
Maybe... maybe being a blank flank wasn't so bad, after all.