[Satyr] Crash

Bits clatter against the woodwork as they fall from your hand onto the counter of the shop.  You give a nod to the shop pony and grab your sack of apples, taking a bite out of one as you trudge back down the street to your next stop.  The flesh is tender and sweet, but not nearly as good as those apples Spitfire brought back from one of the orchards a few towns over.  Oh well.  As you’re polishing off the core, you hear a delighted squeal that makes your teeth grind together.

“Poppa!”  Ace laughs, buzzing by your head before circling back around.  Your daughter isn’t any more energetic than normal, her golden feathers fluttering with each flap as she passes by you again.  Unfortunately, you’re a little on the cranky side, and your patience is wearing thin. “Poppa, look at what I found!” Ace shouts again, positioning herself in front of you and shoving a handball in your face.

You should have known better.  It was a mistake on your part to bring the kids along on a shopping trip but Spitfire had been called in for an emergency meeting today, which left you with the two winged devils and a lot of stops to make.  The children didn’t seem to mind going into town too much, though the three of you did get a few stares.

That was one of the costs of living on the edge of the wilderness, never really part of the small village community, but at least you had your freedom and could avoid trouble.  Most of the time.  In spite of the stares, the winged satyrs took to hovering near your head, bolting off from time to time to explore something that caught their fancy.

You had tried to get them to stay close to you, you really had, but being able to move in any direction they pleased made keeping an eye on them an absolute chore.  Worse than that, they were so easily distracted that if you checked on them as often as you needed to catch them in the act, you’d give yourself whiplash.  At this point, you’ve pretty much given up and let the fluttering satyrs do whatever they please.  And they’ve noticed.  And now they’re attempting to capitalize on your perceived weakness.

“Will you buy it for me, please?”  Turning up the charm, Ace grins.  The action brings a joyful sparkle to her sunset colored eyes as she bumps the toy against your nose.  After several seconds of staring at the small sphere that still manages to dwarf her hand, you finally sigh and take the ball.  Ace’s eyes shine for a moment until you drop it into a bin of oranges and continue walking down the unpaved market street.  Hotshot is quick to pick up where his sister left off.

“Poppa, lookit what I got,” he says, shoving a chocolate bar into your hand.  You grunt and glance over the wrapped treat, fighting every urge to tear into it right this second for a quick energy boost; but that would be weakness.

With a heavy heart, you hold it out to Hotshot, who grabs at it and makes a move to tear into the candy before you clear your throat, adding, “Put it back, kiddo.”  With a crestfallen expression, the pony-boy glances between you and his supposed treat.  He opens his mouth to protest, but you lift your index finger to shush him before pointing back in the general direction that he came from.

Hotshot glowers and then puffs out his cheeks.  He lands on the ground and makes a show of stomping over to the stand and dropping it firmly onto the counter before tromping back.  He better not complain about tired hooves later.  The rest of the trip continues in much the same fashion, with the children constantly vying for your fragile frayed patience.

At one point you end up staring at the sky and considering that maybe you deserved this.  Your father always complained that you were giving him agida when you acted up; while he never actually told you what that was, you’re pretty sure that you’ve got it now and your kids are the reason.  It’s funny how things end up coming full circle like that.  Sometime between picking up Spitfire’s preening oil and eyeing the baked pies that you’ve been sworn off of, your children disappear again.

You make an attempt to spot them, but frankly you’re too tired to give it too much thought.  While you don’t like them flying around on their own, the three of you stick out like sore thumbs, so it’s not like it will be hard to track them down.  Besides, they know to get an aerial view of an area if they get lost, and you should be easy to spot, even from up above.  Shrugging your shoulders, you go about the rest of your shopping in relative peace.

Things actually begin to look a little better when you’re not constantly hounded by your children.  Once or twice you feel a rush of wind and hear familiar squeals of excitement as the brother and sister pair zip past you.  However, as you’re finishing up your last transaction, there’s an ominous crash from somewhere nearby.  Out of instinct your head whips around as you scan the area for your children.

Nope, nowhere to be seen.

“Crap,” you hiss, leaving your purchases on the counter for the time being, despite the shouting of the proprietor.  You move toward the source of the sound and find that the roof of one of the stalls has collapsed on itself.  Or, it could be that the stall collapsed because your son grabbed one of the support beams on a particularly sharp turn and pulled it out of place.  Considering Hotshot is clinging to a broken piece of lumber, you’re guessing that one.

With a shake of your head, you move to help dig the pony out from under his own roof.  As you do, you notice the numerous shards of broken pottery littering the countertop.  And things were just starting to look up too.  As you might have expected, the potter pony was none too pleased about getting flattened by his own roof, and even less enthused about the loss of his product.  Still sputtering tile, the half-freed earth pony artesian points his hoof at Hotshot.

“You!  You’re the father of those two hooligans, aren’t you!”

Grinning, you bite down on the corner of your lip and continue to help him get out.  “Guilty as charged, friend.”

“I am not your friend, you disgusting ape!” the pony snarls, bearing his teeth in an attempt to be intimidating.  While he fails miserably, his words still get a slight rise out of you.  Seeing his posturing is useless, he turns to your children.  “Those two were zipping about without any regard for anypony and then that wild beast of a colt grabbed ahold of my stall and tore it apart!  I wouldn’t be surprised if he did it on purpose!  I demand reparation for my broken goods, damages to my stall and personal injury!”

Oh Hotshot.  You shoot a tired glare of disapproval at the young satyr who sheepishly ducks behind his sister.  Ace has her arms crossed over her chest and glowers at the old stallion.  Setting her lips into a thin line, she stomps her hoof in an attempt to vie for your attention.

“Poppa he’s wrong!  Hotshot and I were just playing and it was accident.  He’s a liar.  A smelly old liar!”

Another round of sniffs and snorts erupt from the stallion, whose face reddens by the second as the pressure builds inside his head.  For a moment, you think that he’s about to blast steam out of his ears, but it ends up coming out in an enormous wheeze of frustration.  Before things can escalate further, you give the potter a pat on the back and hold up a finger.  He probably doesn’t understand, but you can feel him follow you with his eyes as you move over and kneel in front of your children.

Though the ‘smelly old’ pony seems to be the main source of Ace’s ire, she has enough to spare for a glare at you.  Her brother flinches as you kneel in front of the duo, ducking down further into the shadow of his sister, his willowy limbs allowing him to disappear almost completely behind her larger form.  Shaking your head, you put aside your frustration for the moment and reach out, pressing a thumb to Ace’s cheek.

You can feel her body tense at your touch, but as you massage just under her eye with the side of your thumb you see her visibly relax.  After a few seconds of this, Hotshot creeps out from behind his sister, eager for some affection of his own which you readily give to him in the form of a hair ruffling.  Glancing both of them over, you don’t see anything wrong with them aside from being caked with grime and dust, but you question them just to be sure.

“Are you two all right?”  They’re quick to nod, which is a relief to you.  While sometimes obnoxious, they’re always your children.  You should have been keeping closer tabs on them, so you’re partly to blame for all of this.  Still, they need to learn that actions have consequences.  Smiling, you pat them once more, Ace on the cheek and Hotshot on his head before launching into Punishment Poppa.  “Good.  Now, I want you two to apologize to the stallion.”

Ah, the look of betrayal is almost enough to break your heart.  All the begging in the world would struggle to move you to action, but the mixture of terror and hurt reflected in your children’s eyes makes your chest feel as though it’s about the snap like a brittle twig.  Ace sputters to come up with a response.

“But Poppa, we didn’t do anything!”

“Yeah,” her brother says, quickly adapting his sister’s earlier comments as he adds, “he’s just a mean, smelly, old pony!”

Hotshot’s just about to put his hooves down and refuse to budge on this issue, so you flick the side of his head with two fingers.  He yelps, quickly bringing both hands to his stinging scalp and giving you the same hurt look he was trying to use before.  But after that last outburst you can feel your resolve harden your heart.  Clearing your throat, you point to the potter and raise an eyebrow.

“We’re not arguing about this.  Go apologize.”

The siblings glance at one another, clearly none too pleased with how this is turning out, and reluctantly move past you to the stall.  The stallion is pulling himself free with the help of a few other ponies when he catches sight of them, his lips curling into a cruel sneer.

“Come back to ruin my stall again?”

Standing in silence, Ace and Hotshot share a glance.  The elder of the pair nudges her brother with the broad side of her arm, as if to encourage him to go first but Hotshot is quick to put his hand against his sister’s arm and attempt to push her forward.  An impromptu shoving match erupts, ending with the older and more physically imposing Ace swinging Hotshot out in front of her.  He struggles to keep his balance but doesn’t fall on his face, though from the scowl he shoots his sister he may have wished he had.  At last, he puts on a frown and stares up at the old stallion.

“Sorry we messed up your stall, mister.”

There’s a distasteful snort from the pony, but Hotshot manages to hold his tongue.  Literally, you can see the boy’s jaw move as he bites down on his wayward muscle in an excellent show of restraint.  Good for him.  The potter looks back to Ace who marches forward and mirrors her brother’s expression.

“Yeah, sorry.”

Oh Ace, that’s hardly convincing but it will have to do.  You make a note to talk with her later about accountability and words being as important as bits, but as you’re moving to approach the stall, the stallion starts laughing.  The kind of dark, vicious laugh that sends shivers down your spine.

“You, you’re sorry?  Ha!”  Another round of laughter escapes his throat as he turns his eyes on the half-breeds.  The children flinch under his gaze and your heart seizes up in your chest.  “You’re a couple of real-life monsters, you know that?  Disgusting creatures that shouldn’t even exist!  You two are-”

“Are not going to put up with being spoken to like that,” you declare, standing and walking over to the stall.  Squaring your shoulders, you lean over the stallion a little, wearing a cold grin.  In a low tone, you add, “I’d advise you to avoid talking to my kids like that, old timer, especially when they apologized to you.”

If the stallion’s intimidated he doesn’t show it.  He’s probably has seen a few things in his life that would make even your skin crawl, but you don’t back down as you glare at one another.  Finally, the stallion snorts and shakes his head.

“Maybe you should open your eyes there, ape-boy, but they’re monsters.”  This time you flinch, and the stallion notices.  He grins wide and opens his mouth to continue, while you finger what’s left of your money pouch.  If you’re right, there’s around fifty bits in there, enough to get started on paying this guy back.  But if he keeps carrying on like this…

“They’re abominations is what they are, and the only thing we can do about filthy creatures like tha-”

Bingo.  His lips part again to mock your children and you stuff the small sack of bits in his mouth.  The feeling of your hand inside his cheeks is hardly any better than the hateful bile he’s spewing, but at least the sack full of bits shuts him up.  As the pony gags on his first installment, you grin and wipe your hand on your pants to get rid of the slimy spittle.

“That should be enough to get you started on the road to recovering what was lost.  Since that’s settled, I’ll see about getting you the rest of your money next time I’m in town.”  With a cheerful wave, you add, “See you around, potter,” before turning back to your teary eyed children and making a shooing motion with your hands.  Thankfully, they don’t fly off on their own this time.

After picking up the groceries you left behind, the three of you begin the long trek home.  It’s much quieter now, with Ace and Hotshot sulking along on either side of you, actually taking time to walk along the ground.  Hotshot is on your right side, nearly walking on top of your feet, and you’re sure that if you had a hand free he would be clutching it with all the strength he could muster.  Ace walks an unsteady line a few steps in front of you, weaving from one side to the other, kicking a rock as she goes along.  At last, she turns and stares at you with an almost dead look in her eyes.

“Poppa, are we monsters?”

Hoo boy, you had been hoping that you’d be able to get home before having to answer this question.  Heaving a sigh, you spot a comfortable looking slab of rock a few feet ahead and hustle towards it.  Your children follow behind like obedient little ducklings, waiting anxiously as you set down the groceries before taking a seat.  Hotshot is quick to crawl up onto your lap, while Ace takes up your left side, working her way under your arm to rest her head against your chest.  After a moment of thought, you place a hand on both of their backs and smile down at them.

“Well, the short answer is ‘no’.”

Hotshot looks visibly relieved, but looks up at you with his big brown eyes.  “But what about the long answer?”

With a broad smile, you tickle the sensitive spot where his tail meets his spine, sending the boy into a kicking fit of laughter as you repeat yourself, “Nooooooooooooooooo!”  With the breathless boy still squirming in your lap, you give Ace a grin, though she seems far less enthused about your response.  After a few seconds of prodding her with your finger, she sighs and pulls herself closer to you.

“But, some of the fillies at school think I am too.”

Well, that brings everything to a full stop.  Hotshot’s squealing laughter goes suddenly silent as the two of you give Ace your full attention.  Her fingers grip tightly at your shirt, tugging on it as she wipes her eyes on her sleeve.

“S-sometimes, I hear them say things like that.”

You wait a while longer, but it becomes clear that your daughter has nothing else to add.  So, you scoop her up in you arm and hug her tightly to your chest.  After a moment of surprise, she returns the gesture, locking her hands behind your neck and hiding her eyes away in your shoulder.

“Absolutely not sweetie.  You two are simply a little bit different.  But that’s all right, because you everything to me and your mother, and I don’t know if we could live without either of you.”

Ace nods into your neck and falls silent, even as you can feel tears brim in her eyes.  For several moments the three of you remain like that, allowing your daughter disappear from the world for a while as you hold Hotshot’s head against your chest.  But eventually both calm down enough to continue the walk home.

By the time you’ve made it back and put away the groceries, the kids seem to have recovered from the ordeal.  You send them out to play and hopeful tire one another out before dinner.  While they’re out in the wild blue yonder, you make your way into the den and let your eyes linger on some of the trophies there, the old artifacts bringing back memories of the days you spent with Spitfire before settling down.

It’s unfortunate that the children have to go through something like this, especially at their age.  You decided to build your house here because it was far enough away from town that things like this wouldn’t be an issue, but with Ace going to school in Cloudsdale you couldn’t protect her anymore.  And that will extend to Hotshot as well.  But you can’t stand by and let this happen, something has to be done.

Part of you knows this revelation is only going to escalate things between you and the golden mare, but you’re grateful that Ace felt comfortable enough to tell you that.  And regardless of the idealized future that the Wonderbolt Captain has set aside for them, you’re not going to let anyone talk to your children that way.  Not without answering to you first.  A slow smile spreads across your lips as you turn away from the fireplace.

“But first, dinner.”

It’s going to have to be a hell of a good one to get wifey in a good mood.