>Day Unrest in the House in Equestria
>You stretch yourself out as you walk up the stairs to your children's bedroom.
>Ace and Hotshot, the sister and brother pair that are physical manifestations of the love you share with Spitfire.
>They were both home today, which meant you needed to keep an eye on them.
>Thankfully, the recent introduction of a record player had served as an ample distraction.
>After you'd removed a few specific vinyls.
>House of Pain among them.
>Despite the lack of their favorite song, the duo had taken a liking to the music of your homeworld. 
>Arriving at the door, you knock twice before sticking your head into the kid's bedroom, a smile on your lips.
"Hey buckaroos, ready for lunch?"
>After a moment, your smile falters.
>There's no sign of the little anklebiters anywhere.
>Stepping inside, you stroll around the perimeter and take a cursory glance underneath the beds, behind the doors, in the closet, and their other usual hiding places.
>Nothing.
>Frowning a little, you scratch the top of your head and call out again.
"Ace? Hotshot?"
>Silence.
>You spot the record player sitting on top of the bed, still turning slowly, though the needle has fallen out of the groove.
>Walking over, you lift the arm and the quiet hiss that you weren't even aware of disappears.
>In the sudden silence, you hear a voice from outside in the yard.
>Walking over to the window, you see Hotshot running around, his hands extended out in front of him, wearing a blue bicycle helmet.
>While you're a little concerned that he managed to get outside without you noticing, you can't help but smile a little as you watch him.
"What the heck is he up to?"
>With a few grunts and gentle jarring pains in your knees and back, you hustle downstairs and head into the yard.
>Your son has dropped his arms to his side, and stands in front of a slab of stone that wasn't there this morning.
>A quick glance confirms that there's no way Hotshot should have been able to move it on his own.
>The boy seems oblivious to your appearance, so you watch him for a moment longer before finally clearing your throat.
"Hey squir-"
http://youtu.be/uRZ07C4c4CA?t=1m31s
>"Even here it is not safe..."
>The boy deadpans as he cuts you off, turning slightly so that you can see the hollow look in his deep brown eyes.
>A chill rolls down your spine as he stares for a moment then looks back to the rock.
>After a moment, you take a few steps closer, concern evident in your voice as you call out to him again.
"Shot?"
>He ignores you, lost in his own little world.
>"Even her grave has been defaced."
>Grave?
>As if knowing your thoughts, he points to the rock.
>Ah, he's pretending.
>Though, it's a rather morbid game from the sound of it.
>As you're trying to figure out where they could have gotten the idea, Hotshot speaks again.
>"Someone has written, on this stone."
>Kneeling down, the boy swipes his hand over the rock a few times, the stone dwarfing his comparably small hands.
>You glance around for some sign of his sister, half listening as the satyr continues.
>"In some angry hand... Hope rides..."
>...Wait a second.
>You know thi-
>"ALOOONE!"
>Hotshot throws his head back and howls.
>You yelp and clap your hands over your ears as the cry echoes into the sky, a testament to the prolific set of pipes of the young boy.
>Before you can close in on him, he cries out again.
>"HOPE RIDES ALOO~ONE!"
>Hotshot's focused all his attention on you now, and you can see his serious expression has given way to the usual grin.
>The satyr takes another deep breath, giving you time to close the distance.
>"HOPE. RIDES. ALO-woah!"
>You scoop him up in your arms, cutting the 'song' short.
>Coughing several times, the young boy shoots you a playful scowl.
>"Aw, Poppa, I was just getting to the good part!"
>You sigh and shake your head.
"Where's your sister?"
>"Hotshot? Why'd you stop?"
>The familiar almost sing-song voice of your daughter comes from the roof of the house.
>You hoist your son onto your shoulder and turn towards the sound.
>After a moment, the red and orange mop of hair pops into sight, followed shortly after by your daughter's face.
>Seeing you on the ground, staring straight at her, Ace squeals and drops out of sight.
"Kiddo, c'mon."
>Seconds tick by before Ace appears again, a pout obvious on her lips.
>"Poppa, you're not supposed to be out here! Hotshot and I are practicin!"
>Now it's your son's turn to look indignant, his hands awkwardly attempting to cover your ears and failing miserably.
>"Ace, you promised we wouldn't tell him!"
>Shaking your head, you look between the two children.
"All right, enough pussyfooting around. Tell me what?"
>Both look away, Hotshot kicking his legs anxiously while Ace gnaws on the corner of her lip.
"Out with it."
>Ace pouts again, but flutters down to the ground.
>Held tight in her grip is another bicycle helmet, this one a rich red color.
>Shuffling back and forth on her hooves, she looks at her brother and sighs.
>"Well, me'n'Hotshot really liked this one record, because it was about family and adventure and stuff. And we thought it'd be fun..."
>The boy wraps his arm around your head and laughs.
>"It'd be fun if we pretended like we were in the song and then show it to you!"
>The two satyr's look up at you in a mix of concern and cautious optimism.
>It's not clear how much they understand about the song they're practicing.
>You're not even sure they understand the album.
>But, doe that really matter?
>Especially if they're having fun...
>After a moment, you laugh and shake your head.
"You two..."
>With another sigh, you reach out and ruffle your daughter's hair.
"Sorry for interrupting your practice, it won't happen again. I can't wait to see it when it's ready."
>Ace's eyes light up as Hotshot laughs and hugs your head tighter.
>"YES!"
>Patting the excitable boy's fuzzy leg, you grin.
"But, it's about time for lunch. Are my little thespians hungry?"
>Another cheer erupts from your son's throat as your daughter laughs and bounces over to grab your hand in hers.
>The three of you make your way back up to the house.
>You briefly consider explaining the story behind the lyrics to them, but unless it causes any trouble, you don't see any harm.
>Besides, they're smart kids.
>As much as you'd like to protect them, they'll figure out what the songs are about with the passage of time.
>Best to let them stay innocent for a little while longer.
>As you drop your shoulder to avoid hitting Hotshot's head on the door frame, the boy asks you.
>"Hey Poppa, what's a thispeein?"
>You smile at his childish mangling of the world.
>Definitely the best choice.