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StAugustine6 — Writing is Magic -- Chapter 6: Parent Clash
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Published: 2013-04-20 17:43:22 +0000 UTC; Views: 149; Favourites: 2; Downloads: 0
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“Now Sweetie, you carefully fold over the egg like so, and voila, the perfect omelet.”
“Wow Art,” Sweetie Belle exclaimed, “I didn’t think you could cook at all.”
“Well I’m no trained chef, but I make a pretty good breakfast don’t you think?”
“You certainly do,” a mare’s voice said from the kitchen table, “Not to mention that you’re teaching Sweetie Belle, I’m sure she’ll be making us breakfast everyday soon.”
At the table sat a pair of ponies, a white stallion with overly-bushy eyebrows and a straw hat, and a pink mare with a very tall purple mane, Rarity and Sweetie Belle’s father and mother.
“Never thought I’d be able to say that I’ve eaten breakfast with Art Colter,” their father said.
“Think nothing of it,” I insisted, “and please call me Art.”
*KNOCK**KNOCK**KNOCK*
Rarity answered the door. On the other side stood another pair of ponies, on the left, a red Earth stallion with a short black mane, on the right, a white unicorn with a pink mane styled in a similar fashion to Fluttershy, though her color was a bit darker.
“Welcome to Carousel Boutique,” Rarity greeted, “how can I help you?”
“My name is Brushstroke,” the stallion answered, “this is my wife Piccoli; we were told that Art Colter is now living here in Ponyville, and were wondering if you know where we might find him.”
Hearing my name at the door almost made me spit out my orange juice. I rushed to the door to see who was looking for me.
“Ah, there you are Art,” Piccoli exclaimed, “we’ve been searching for you.”
“Art, do you know these ponies,” Rarity asked.
“Yes I do. Rarity, these are my parents. How did you know I was here?”
“Well we thought you were still living in Fillydelphia,” Brushstroke explained, “but when we came to your apartment, the landlord told us you had left for parts unknown. First we tried Manehattan, then Baltimare, but with no success. We arrived in Ponyville early this morning, only meaning for it to be a stop on the way to Trottingham, but then someone at the station recognized me and said that it was funny that first Art Colter moved here, now me. There weren’t many ponies in town, and this was the first building we came across, so we decided to knock and see if we could find out anything.”
“OK. Now you’re going to tell me why you’re looking for me.”
“Art, your tone,” Piccoli said softly.
“Answer the question, mother.”
“Can you blame parents wanting to see their only foal?”
“No. I suppose you cannot. But can you blame me for hoping I would never see you again? We haven’t seen each other in five years, mom. In that time, I’ve become the most successful author in all of Equestria, all on my own. I have nothing to say to either of you. Please leave.”
“I’m sorry,” Rarity interjected, “would you please excuse us.”
“What are you doing,” I whispered after she had shut the door.
“Look, you may not like your parents very much, I understand that. But in the end, they are still your parents. Just give them one more chance, for me?”
I sighed. Rarity was right, after all.
“OK mom and dad,” I said, re-opening the door, “come on in. I’ll make two more omelets.”
“You’ll make them,” Piccoli asked, shocked, “since when do you know how to cook?”
“Well I’ve lived alone for the past six years. I was going to learn at some point.”
…
“To think,” my dad quipped after I had finished the omelets, “not only can our son cook, but he’s not too bad at it.”
“Well dad,” I responded, “you shouldn’t be that surprised. I watched your personal cook make breakfast every morning when I was a colt. You’ll recognize these omelets as his personal recipe.”
“Now I don’t think I caught your names Mr. and Mrs. Colter,” Rarity’s mother said, trying to cut the tension, “what do you do exactly?”
“Oh how rude of us. I’m Piccoli, concert flutist in the Canterlot Royal Symphony Orchestra.”
“And I’m Brushstroke, of course. If you’ve ever seen an exhibit of fine art, then you’ve seen my work.”
“Well it seems fine art runs in the family,” Rarity’s mother observed.
“Indeed,” Piccoli continued, “and what do you two do.”
“Well I…”
“So, how’s breakfast,” Rarity interrupted, “can I get anypony more orange juice?”
“Excuse you, young lady,” Piccoli scolded, “but it would serve you well not to speak out of turn.”
“I was only asking a perfectly reasonable question.”
“And I would hope that your mother taught you proper manners,” my mother pressed, sort of getting in Rarity’s face.
“Mother, father,” I spoke up, motioning out of the room, “may I have a word?”
My parents followed me into the main showroom of the boutique.
“OK you two,” I began, “if you’re going to be here, you need to be straight with me. What is the real reason you have been looking for me?”
My parents looked at each other for a moment, then back at me.
“Do you remember a pony you went to school with named Sweet Scent,” my father asked.
“Of course,” I smiled sarcastically, “her and her friends tormented me for years.”
“That may have been true then,” Piccoli admitted, “but her parents and we agree that the Colters and Scents should be united, and so we’ve come to bring you back to Canterlot so that you two can be wed.”
I closed my eyes, my lower lip quivering. After a moment, I opened my eyes once more.
“No.”
“Now son,” Brushstroke lectured, “we understand that you didn’t get along when you were younger, but that was a long time ago. In fact, Ms. Scent is completely on-board with the idea.”
“Funny how fame and fortune changes the opinions of people. Now I suggest that you go back to Canterlot and tell the Scents that I would never marry their mule of a daughter, not if she were the last mare in Equestria.”
“Art, your tone,” Piccoli snapped.
“No, you two will listen to me this time. You don’t communicate with me in five years, and that is barely less than you did when we supposedly lived under the same roof. And now, you come to me and try to talk me into an arranged marriage to one of the most unlikeable mares in Canterlot!? Well I’m having none of it! Now, you will leave now, and you will never speak to me ever again!”
My parents walked out the front entrance, my mother using her magic to close the door behind them. I walked back into the kitchen, Rarity and her family sat there in stunned silence; they had obviously heard the whole thing. I magically picked up what would have been my father’s orange juice and downed it. I put my muzzle on the table and closed my eyes. If I could have cried, I would have right then and there.
