[Satyr] Hellions, Aisle Two

>This was a terrible idea.

>You had suggested that Spitfire go out for a day with the girls and leave you with the kids.

>Normally this wouldn’t be a problem.

>But because of Ace being in school, they hadn’t seen much of each other for most of the week.

>And now, Hotshot was making up for lost time.

>“Can’t catch me!”

>The satyr with the brown coat laughs as he zips through the den, leaving a trail of feathers in his wake.

>Oh right, he was going through molt as well.

>Coming up behind him was his sister.

>Ace, her face flush with rage, follows in hot pursuit, thrusting her fists into the air the whole while.

>“Quit flying away you jerk!”

>Hotshot giggles in delight as he grabs onto one of the support beams overhead and flips himself so that he’s headed in the other direction, successfully shaking his tail in the process.

>With a scream somewhere between anger and frustration, Ace crashes into the fireplace and hops back to her hooves, intent on renewing the chase.

>Your head throbs as she screams incoherently and takes to the air.

>As she’s flying by you, however, you reach out and grab hold of her tail.

>The school-aged filly nearly pulls you up out of your easy chair as she struggles to fly after her tormenter, a testament to the power held in that still small frame.

>But you’re no pushover either.

>Flexing your muscles, you real her in until she’s scowling from her seat on your lap.

>After a moment’s pause, she attempts to take off again, only to get her head caught in the crook of your arm as you lock her into place.

>Thrashing wildly, the hotheaded girl glares back at you and pouts.

>“Poppa, let me go~o!”

>Her eyes catch the light just right, giving her an additional pleading tone in those wounded eyes.

>You consider it for a moment before shaking your head.

“No dice.”

>Another grunt of frustration, but the half-filly finally settles down, though she crosses her arms in indignation in the meantime.

>After several minutes of no pursuit, Hotshot sticks his head back into the room and cheeses at his sister.

>That sets off another round of thrashing, but you hold firm and point to your son with your free hand.

“You.  Here.  Now.”

>Hotshot gets far along enough in his teasing to stick out his tongue, but as your expression hardens he catches the drift.

>Holding his hands over his flank, he quickly hurries over and plops himself down on the wooden floor.

>As Ace settles down, you slowly release your grip on her as well until your arms rest down by your sides.

>Your daughter slithers out of your lap and sits beside her brother, two pairs of eyes turning their attention fully on you.

>There is a measure of shoulder nudging, but neither seems ready to incur your wrath.

“Well, good to see you two getting along again.”

>But how long is it going to last?

>You could really use a breather, especially considering the pounding headache you have from listening to them bicker all day long.

>Maybe you could find something for them to do quietly?

>It would have to be really interesting though.

>At once, it strikes you.

>You get to your feet and snap your fingers.

“All right, squirts, lets find you something to play with.”

>They’re on their hooves in a flash, Ace falling in step behind you while Hotshot bounces his way across the floor and up the stairs before getting bored and fluttering around your head.

>It takes a little maneuvering to get up into the attic, and even more to corral the two inquisitive satyrs once again after you find what you’re looking for, but eventually you have them seated in Ace’s room.

>They continue to prod one another, but you’re sure this new idea will quickly put a stop to all that.

>Blowing dust off the lid of the boxes you brought down, you open the first to reveal a 78’ record player.

>Sure enough, that gets their attention, and they’re quick to crowd around it.

>The innocent smile you’ve come to love dances across your daughter’s lips as she tugs on your sleeve.

>“Poppa, Poppa, what is it?”

“This is a record player.  It plays music.”

>Hotshot has already turned his attention to the other boxes as his sister toys with the machine.

>Joining your son, you open the box he’s working on with a flourish, reveal several dozen records inside.

>It’s been ages since you looked through them, but they all still seem to be in fine condition.

>A few familiar scenes leap to mind as you thumb through a few of the sleeves, time spent back on Earth with friends and family.

>Your heart aches slightly as you remember why you put them away in storage so many years ago.

>Even though you wanted them so badly, once you received them it only seemed to bring painful memories back to the surface.

>But now, you have someone else to share them with.

>Maybe they’ll appreciate the music as much as you did.

>The next forty minutes are spent explaining how to use the record player and care for the records so that they don’t get scratched.

>You make a point to be very specific about the latter part, stating that these are the only records of their kind in Equestria.

>The kids seem to take to it with relative ease though.

“All right, so if you guys have any questions just come get me.  I’ll be downstairs.”

>“Okay, thanks Poppa!”

>Hotshot gives a happy cheer as Ace begins to fiddle around with the knobs and levers again.

>Shaking your head, you move downstairs and plop into your recliner.

>A nice little nap is exactly what you need right now.

>Smacking your lips, you close your eyes and prepare to enjoy some peace and quiet.

>However, a short while later you are awoken by a sudden buzzing sound, like a trumpet being played through static.

>The sound repeats itself three more times in rapid succession before falling silent.

>It seems strangely familiar for some reason, but you can’t quite place it…

>And then the beat starts.

http://youtu.be/vfblUSCaAQk

>Oh no…

>You’d recognize that scream anywhere.

>How did that get in there?

>You scramble to climb out of your chair, but your usually comfy companion turns against you.

>After several seconds of thrashing, you end up falling onto your face on the floor, but quickly hop to your feet and rush the stairs.

>Already you can hear the chorus starting,

>“I came to get down, I came to get down, so get outcha seat and jump around!”

>And then the chant.

>“Jump, jump, jump!”

>And then the whole house begins to shake.

>Shrieks of delight come from Ace’s room as you round the corner and stick your head inside.

>Your children are thrashing in a two-man mosh pit, bouncing off one another and the walls in front of the record player.

>As they stomp across the floor, you can see the windows shudder and the boards beneath their hooves quiver with each concussive strike.

>With a wild smile, Ace turns to you and grins.

>“HEY POPPA!  WE REALLY LIKE YOUR MUSIC!”

>Hotshot is quick to crash into his sister, bringing a temporary end to the thrashing, at least until they get their giggles under control and untangle their limbs.

>Meanwhile, all you can do is bury your face in your hands.

>What have you unleashed?

>And will you ever have a moment’s peace again?

 

 

>>>>>>>>

 

 

“Poppa!”

 

The delighted squeal of your daughter, which generally brings a smile to your face, causes you to grind your teeth in agitation.  “Poppa, look at what I found!” Ace shouts again, shoving a handball in your face.

 

It was probably a mistake 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.  Living on the edge of the wilderness was better than having to deal with the constant bustle and cramped conditions of a pony town, but you never felt like you were a part of the community.  Still, 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.

 

“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 hold up your hand and point 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.  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, and while he never actually told you what that was, you’re pretty sure that you’ve got it now.  It’s funny how things end up coming full circle like that.  As you’re finishing up your last transaction, there’s an ominous crash from somewhere nearby.  Out of instinct your head whips around for some sign of 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 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.  Well, this day just keeps getting worse.  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 artesian points his hoof at Hotshot.

 

“You!  That, wild beast of a colt grabbed hold of my stall and tore it apart 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 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 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.  Smiling, you pat them once more, Ace on the cheek and Hotshot on his head before launching into Punishment Poppa mode.  “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, 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 impressive Ace eventually 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 a 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 accepting responsibility, 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?  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.”  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 monsters, and the only thing we can do about mo-”

 

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 his 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.

 

“Well, now that that’s settled, I’ll see about getting you the rest of your money next time I’m in town.  That should be enough to get you started on the road to recovery though.”  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 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.  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.

 

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.”

 

Just another day.