Little Fru-Fru has batpony booty

>The cold winter air bites a little less as the weather team above kill off the wind.
>Not that you're complaining. Yes, you're a little cold, but it's nothing you can't deal with.
>You draw your arms into your coat and wrap your fingers around your little filly.
>She fights, wrestling your grasp from her pits.
>Finally, she pops her head out the front of your coat.
>”Dad! Your hands are cold!”
“I know. That's why I'm warming them up.”
>”But now I'M cold!”
>You just lean down and brush her forehead with your nose, blowing her hair with your mouth.
>The other fathers at the table just giggle at the display.

>”So how did you get her to be that peach color? I've never seen a battie that wasn't gray or brown.”
>You rest your fingers around her barrel, kneading her fuzzy breast.
“The doctor says my genes work with ponies, but they're almost entirely recessive. The fur is mine, though.”
>Pita, the portly stallion, puts down his cigarette. He blows the smoke toward the street.
>”She's one of a kind, Anon. Much cuter than you let on.”
>Little Fru-Fru ducks her head back into your coat, but you force her back out again.
“No you don't. My friends aren't down from Baltimare just to stare at a bundle of clothing.”
>”But it's coooooold!”
“Then you should have brought your scarf, like I told you to.”
>She groans as loud as she can.
>Bitch, you got fur. Yeah, it's thinner than other fillies', but still.

>”Oh don't feel bad, Fruity. I do the same to my children.”
>”Yeah, and those furballs can't even jump in daddy's coat.” Ripply says. “Do you mind coming out? Your dad told us about those wings of yours. We just want ta look at 'em.”
>He reaches a claw out, and Fru-Fru flinches, looking up at you for assurance.
>You nuzzle her hair, then nudge her forward.
>Timidly, she puts a hoof out, then squirms out of the gap in your clothes.
>For a small moment, she presses back against you; for fear or for warmth, you're not sure.
>Just as you rest your hands on her sides, she hops onto the table.
>She extends her leathery wings out in front, obscuring her face. She lowers her head.

>Ripply extends her own feathery wing, gently gliding over the skin, eliciting a suppressed giggle.
>”Oh that's just... that's beautiful.”
>”Yeah....” Pita adds.
>He traces up and down the thin bones, then swirls to the point furthest between them, following the peach-to-white gradient.
>”How'd you manage to get that? I've never seen it!”

>You know Fru-Fru is blushing already, even if you can't see her face.
>You sit closer to the edge and pull her back, giving a warm hug with your head resting on hers.
“Doctor says the pigment didn't kick in until late in the pregnancy. For batties, the webbing grows out from the bone, so they'll get smaller.”
>”Well that's a shame.”
>”Yeah. Griffons would eat eachother for wonderful wings like those.” Ripply tickles at Fru-Fru, who chortles until she pulls back her wings.
>”You've got a pretty smile, too, you know.”
>Fruity looks away. “Thanks.”

>You hold her little hooves, looking at Pita.
“I'm surprised you didn't ask about the finger first.”
>His eyes light up. “Oh yeah! The finger! Show us the finger!”
>Fru-Fru extends a wing again -just one- but tilted now.
>On the tip, it almost looks normal. For batponies, there's a 'finger' on the end of the wing.
>Fru-Fru, however, has two. The second is beside the first, both detached from the web, and can move independently.
>She twiddles them both, showing off.
>Or, shaking what her daddy gave her, if you will.

>”Can she use it?”
>You nod.
“She been writing everything in class with it. She's even ambidextrous.”
>”Alright. Now I'm jealous. Where can I find a she-human so I can have my own super-children?”
>You chuckle, holding your girl a little tighter.
“Not sure you want that. This one was crawling all up and down the kitchen about the time she was out of diapers.”
>”Nuh uh!”
“Yes you were, squirt. Don't lie to me about always doing pullups on the fridge to get to the cookie jar.”
>She lowers her head.
>”Doesn't sound like anything I can't handle. Most griffons fly from birth.”
>”That's because you throw them from the roof to celebrate.”
>”I mean, it works, doesn't it?”
>You snicker.
“I've missed you two.”

>Fru-Fru decides this is the best time to hop back into your coat.
>”You don't really throw them, do you?” She asks worriedly.
>”Oh, don't worry about it. We only do it over water in case then don't catch themselves.”
>”It stills sounds kinda mean.”
>Pita cuts in. “It is.”
>”Is not.” Ripply snaps back. “It teaches them to fly naturally. NOT throwing them would be cruel.”
>Pita looks to you for backup.
>Sorry bro, none to be found.
“I used to toss Fruity up a lot after she turned about... three, I think?”
>”Well, three is fine. At birth sure isn't.”
>”Oh, put a sock in it. You can talk after you spit out a pegasus somewhere.”

“Anyways.”
>You grab both their attention.
“You didn't even let me get to the most important part.”
>They both look at you expectantly.
“Doc says the way her glutes are shaped, she's gonna grow out more than ponies normally do.”
>”Aww! That's great! You should be proud, cutie. If you work out, stallion's are gonna love you.” The two look at you, and your daughter looks up in confusion.
>You look down, pulling your arms in and giving her flanks a squeeze.
“That means you're gonna grow up to have a big booty.”
>Suddenly, she goes cherry red and ducks into your coat.
>The two gently laugh.
>Fru-Fru gives frail punches to your gut.

>Ahh, the wonders of embarrassing children.
>Worth every moment.