Birbfilly: The Sequel


                                            >Be Anon.

                                            >You are sitting on your comfy couch and enjoying the mug of marshmallow decorated hot chocolate your lovely wife made for you.

                                            >It’s raining outside, one of the many scheduled autumn rains to cool the air for the snow that will come sooner than anyone expects it.

                                            >You like these lazy afternoons, with nothing better to do than read a book or just simply enjoy the sound of the rain.

                                            >Your quiet musing is interrupted by a hurried series of knocks on the front door of your home.

                                            >Baffled, you put the mug on the nearby coffee table and stand up, wondering just who could be at your door in this weather.

                                            >The knocks repeat, making you hurry up.

                                            “Yeah, I hear you, just a moment!” You call out as you reach the door.

                                            >A moment of fumbling with the lock and the door cracks open, revealing a drenched Spitfire on the other side, her wings held out and covering Summer like an umbrella.

                                            >Your filly is standing almost under her mom and seems to be pretty dry, too.

                                            >”Anon, thank goodness you are at home, this rain came out of nowhere!” Spitfire tells you in an incredulous tone of voice and enters your home as you stand aside.

                                            “What do you mean? It’s been scheduled for weeks.” You respond, arching a mildly confused eyebrow at her.

                                            >Spitfire stops in her tracks, looks up at the calendar by the door, squints her eyes and frowns.

                                            >”It… yes, it was. Oh well.” She sighs and is about to shake herself off like a dog, but you stop her from doing that by throwing a tactically placed towel on her, draping the whole mare over with it.

                                            >Thank goodness you are so large compared to these little ponies, so your towels are large as well!

                                            >Summer, who’s been strangely quiet this whole time, finally speaks up following your quick towel-throw.

                                            >”Hahah, you are a ghost now, Moma!” She giggles and proceeds to wipe her hooves, the way you taught her.

                                            “Atta girl!” You can’t help but say it, seeing your little one grow and learn brings you joy without end.

                                            >Dad, is Aunty Lyra here?” Is Summer’s question then, looking up at you with that specific expression that says ‘I have something I need her for’.

                                            >You nod your head in the affirmative.

                                            “Yeah, she’s upstairs in the gym room.”

                                            >”Thanks!” Summer quickly says and hops airborne, but stops herself from flying off and quickly hugs you.

                                            >It lasts for just a few seconds, but it warms your heart nonetheless.

                                            >Then she is away, almost too fast for your eyes to track.

                                            >Your house, as large as it is, just simply didn’t have enough rooms to accommodate the new occupants, and thus, you decided to expand it upwards.

                                            >A new level had been added, making your already imposing home even more distinct and conspicuous, basically turning it into a landmark of the Ponyville community.

                                            >With the changes in the lifestyle of /some/ of the residents, such modifications became a must-have.

                                            >Of course, the greatest enjoyer of this was Summer, now having the freedom to fly around indoors without the fear of getting lost.

                                            >Even if she has two sets of parents, of which one pair is among the best fliers of Equestria, she /can/ and most certainly /will/ get lost if she’s left to her devices for more than a minute.

                                            >Which kinda explains why Spitfire is here now, in this weather.

                                            “Let me guess, she decided to come back home for a snack or something?” You ask Spitfire, who had been busy drying herself with the ‘kindly offered’ towel, while you were talking with Summer.

                                            >”Pretty much. Flew straight into the rain clouds, I barely had the time to pull her out. Was forced to land then, the updrafts are /crazy/!” She explains, letting out a tired sigh. “Sorry for just barging in, though.”

                                            “Nah, that’s alright. No harm done. Besides, you would catch a cold if you didn’t decide to come here as the first thing.” You reply and shrug, then point towards the living room. “Come, have a seat on the couch, Bonny just made some hot chocolate, you should have some.” You tell her and start moving.

                                            >Spitfire hesitates for a moment but lowers her head in defeat and follows you along.

                                            >”I could use something to warm me up, yeah.” She admits.

                                            >In the past years she became humble, her brashness mellowing out decently.

                                            >You know that there was a time when she would have refused such an offer despite knowing that she needs it.

                                            >Those times are over though, along with the therapy that got her better.

                                            >Oh, right, it’s really been years, huh.

                                            >You think about the passage of time as you sit back down in your seat on the couch…

                                            >...Or rather, you would, except /somepony/ is already occupying it!

                                            >How did Summer manage to convince Lyra to move this quickly?

                                            >You have no idea, but there she is, lying down on your favorite spot, enjoying the warmth you left behind.

                                            >Like a cat, you think to yourself.

                                            >Well, most unicorns are like that, in many regards.

                                            >Shaking the thought from your mind, you put your hands on your hips, glaring down at Lyra disapprovingly.

                                            “I give you /five/ seconds to move your finally toned flanks from my spot before I sit on you, harp-butt.” You warn her, earning a raspberry from the mare, followed by a shake of her head.

                                            >”But Anon, this spot is so comfy and warm, why would I want to move?” She clearly teases, flashing a cocky grin at you.

                                            >Before you have the chance to answer, you hear the clip-clopping of hooves approaching from the kitchen.

                                            >Turning your head you spot Bon Bon, holding Summer by the scruff, the filly’s muzzle is covered with cookie crumbles.

                                            >You narrow your eyes, your gaze finding Bonny’s.

                                            >She just caught Summer red-handed!

                                            “Oh, a ploy, eh?” You ask, slowly turning your head to look at Lyra.

                                            >The grin freezes on her face as she realizes that Summer’s master plan’s been folded.

                                            >”Oh, horse apples. Skedaddle!” She cries out and does her best to get away, but you are faster and catch her mid-jump.

                                            “Nah, accomplice to the cookie thief, you ain’t going nowhere!” You tell her as you sit down, holding the squirming unicorn close to you to stop her from getting away.

                                            >”Spiffier, woud you kindly,” Bon Bon asks the now nearly dry mare, still holding a really sad looking Summer.

                                            >Did she give up, you wonder?

                                            >Or is it just that reflex for being carried around?

                                            >You can never be sure with the ponies.

                                            >”Oh, Summer, was this your plan, really?” Spitfire asks and takes her daughter from Bon Bon, using her wings to hold her.

                                            >”M-maybe?” Replies Summer shrugging her own wings.

                                            >You chuckle, shaking your head.

                                            >”Right, who wants hot cocoa and cookies? You can /just ask/ and get some, you know!” Bonny asks then, free of holding Summer and able to properly speak. “I see you should have a mug, Spitfire, but you, Lyra?” Walking around the couch Bon Bon gains a view of what’s going on with her best friend. “Lyra?...”

                                            >The unicorn in question is quite busy trying to get out of your iron grip.

                                            >”What did she do? Something stupid?” Bonny asks you, to which you just nod your head and offer a tight-lipped smile.

                                            >”Typical. Let her go…” Is Bon Bon’s reply as she rolls her eyes.

                                            >You soften your grip around her, but to your surprise, Lyra doesn’t jump away.

                                            >Instead she… she gets comfortable?

                                            >”You know what, I changed my mind, this is actually rather comfy.” She tells you, flashing a toothy grin at you. “Hold me!”

                                            >Your expression is one of dismay, and although you would love to express it, you only say a ‘little shid’ under your breath.

                                            >”Ooh, ooh, me too, me too!” Summer chirps quickly pushing herself against Lyra and you, finding the nook that’s just right for her size. “Moma, come, this is soft and cozy!” She calls out for Spitfire.

                                            >The mare takes a grand total of two seconds to decide.

                                            >”Can’t say no to that cute face, am I right, Anon?” She grins, sitting down next to you and leaning on you.

                                            >You would respond, but once again you are interrupted by the sound of hooves clip-clopping and the clinking of mugs on a tray.

                                            >Bon Bon appears, setting down the tray of cookies and hot chocolate on the coffee table, then looks over the scene that unfolded while she was away.

                                            >”A pony pile, hmm? To defeat Anon, is it?” She asks jokingly.

                                            >Summer gasps at that proposition and rapidly nods her head.

                                            >”Yes, help us defeat the giant, Mom!” She calls out, latching onto your right arm.

                                            “Bonny, no.” You try to warn her.

                                            >”Bonny yes!” She replies. Climbing on you with no care for your words.

                                            >With her weight added, you can hardly move.

                                            >You struggle a bit though, but three fully grown mares and a three years old filly is just heavy enough to keep you down.

                                            >”Poor giant, he tried to escape, but alas! He is bound by the might of mares!” Lyra comments, her signature shit eating grin on her face again.

                                            “And by that you mean your big flanks, those are like half of the total might!” You quip, returning the cheekiness right back at her.

                                            >”Big butt!” Summer cries out and giggles, to which everyone else joins.

                                            >Even Lyra… and her big butt.

                                            >You like these rainy, lazy afternoons.


                                            ----------


                                            >Be Bon Bon.

                                            >You wanted to show off your grilling skills all summer.

                                            >But, as things go, you didn’t have the chance, and now it’s cold and windy outside.

                                            >Any lesser mare would just give up!

                                            >But not you, for you are-

                                            >”Talking to yourself again, Bonny Bons?” Asks Anon, appearing out of nowhere.

                                            “W-what?!” You yelp, even jumping a little.

                                            >How did he sneak up on you?

                                            >How is he so sneaky and quiet?!

                                            >”I don’t wear shoes indoors and the floors are either carpeted or not squeaky.” He answers, then shakes his head. “You are still talking to yourself.”

                                            >With a light chuckle on his lips, he ruffles up your mane and opens up the fridge.

                                            “I… I don’t want to, y-y’know, do /it/, but, uh…” You try to explain yourself, but it seems you don’t have to.

                                            >Anon looks you in the eyes, crouches down and smooches you on the tip of your muzzle.

                                            >”It’s a habit you don’t even notice, I know.”

                                            >Letting out a sigh you nod, smiling sadly.

                                            “Want to help with the grilling?”

                                            >Your question would imply that you need help with it, which you do not, but if you don’t ask Anon, he will pester you until you let him help.

                                            >Indeed, he nods, happily smiling.

                                            >”Sure, let’s get the grill going!” He exclaims, leaving you in the kitchen, most likely so he can go and fetch the grill and the coals.

                                            >A few minutes later the two of you are standing outside, staring at the grill.

                                            >Sure, the coal is there.

                                            >Everything is ready.

                                            >Too bad /somepony/ decided to send a rain cloud in this direction, at the worst moment possilbe.

                                            >It’s all wet and unusable for the moment.

                                            “You know what, I don’t want to grill anymore, let’s just order some take-out.” You speak up, gaining a slow nod of approval from the equally disappointed Anon.

                                            >”Alright… what do you have in mind?” He asks, grabbing the entire grill and pulling it back in the shed.

                                            >You think for a moment, tapping your chin with a hoof.

                                            “Well, we wanted to grill, so might as well order something grilled?”

                                            >A few seconds later Anon returns, clapping his hands together in his own dedusting way.

                                            >”Yeah, sounds about right. What do you think, will Lyra want anything?” He asks then, however before you could do as much as open your mouth to reply, you hear a loud ‘thud’ on the back door, signifying the arrival of /a certain somepony./

                                            >”I thought you would never ask!” Comes the muffled voice of Lyra, followed by the door being opened by her magic.

                                            >The mare herself is standing a bit back, her mane looking as if she ran into something.

                                            >Like, for example, the door.

                                            >Facehoofing, you shake your head.

                                            >”Tell us then, Harps. What do you want?” Anon asks sarcastically, but his tone of voice does not phase Lyra as she starts listing a complete, 3 course meal.

                                            >You are not even paying any attention to her words, instead you trot back inside and put away all the ingredients you got out of the fridge in preparation of the grilling.

                                            >All this commotion seems to be loud enough to take the attention of the, perhaps, most sane person that is living here: Summer.

                                            >Her wings fluttering as she enters the kitchen, she takes a look around, trying to understand what’s going on.

                                            “We are ordering food, do you want anything, sweetie-pie?” You ask her, going ahead of the question she would undoubtedly ask.

                                            >”Can I order pancakes? But not those bread-like ones, I want those thin and rollable ones! Filled with chocolate cream!” She replies, getting more and more excited by the second.

                                            “Crepes? Sure can, just ask Aunty Lyra about it.” You tell her, smirking mischievously.

                                            >Summer does not notice your expression, or doesn’t care for it, instead she zooms to Lyra, nearly colliding with her but pulling up at the last possible moment.

                                            >”Whoa! Summer, you almost hit me!” She complains to her, only for the filly to land on her back.

                                            >”Aunty Lyra, I want kreps!” She says just a bit too loud, making your minty green friend wince.

                                            >”Okay, okay, but why are you yelling?” Lyra responds, rubbing her ears.

                                            >”Because pankreps!” Yells Summer again, even louder, making her ‘steed’ jump and then run out of the kitchen.

                                            >At this moment Anon enters the house, cautiously eyeing the scene unfolding.

                                            >”What did you tell her?” He asks you, his left eyebrow arched disapprovingly.

                                            “That she can have crepes if she asks Lyra, why?” You ask back innocently, right as you finish packing away the food ingredients into the fridge and close the oversized machine.

                                            >Anon shrugs, his expression turning to one of a happy and relaxed uncaring.

                                            >”Just asking, it’s not everyday you can sic her on Lyra, is all.” He answers, making his way to the dining table and sitting down. “Though only one place in town has crepes on demand, you know that, right?”

                                            >You shrug, at this point hardly even realizing that you took this way of expressing your uncaring for the matter at hoof, from Spitfire and Soarin’.

                                            >The thought strikes in your mind though, you haven’t seen Soarin’ in a while.

                                            >You should ask Spitfire about him the next time you see her.

                                            “I know and I’m ready to order from them, if you are.” Your mischievous expression returns in full force. “But you make the call.”

                                            >Anon grimaces, caught between a rock and a hard place.

                                            >”Do… Do I have to?” He tries to dodge the responsibility.

                                            >You slowly but unmistakably nod, your smirk turning into a full grin.

                                            “You sure do, toots!” It’s nice to tease the big man from time to time.

                                            >”Aww… But I don’t wanna!” He whines, putting on a theatrical frown.

                                            >”Then I will!” Summer interjects, appearing out of nowhere, landing on top of the table and almost knocking Anon out of his seat!

                                            >”Jesus Christ, Summer, I told you to not do this!” He yelps, grabbing onto the table to stabilize himself.

                                            >”Oh, uh, sorry Dad!” She replies sheepishly but remains standing on the table.

                                            >”Summer. Down. The table is for eating, not standing.” Anon warns her, his dad voice making little Summer’s eyes go wide for a moment, before she jumps off the table and lands on the floor with practiced grace.

                                            >Oof, perhaps you could ask him to use that voice in the bedroom too?

                                            >No, no-no-no, don’t think about that, you might be talking out loud!

                                            >”Talking out about what loud?” Summer asks, confirming your fear!

                                            “Ah, nothing sweetie, just talking to myself.” You casually reply, or at least as casually as you can make it, and based on the perverted expression on Anon’s face, it’s not working really well.

                                            >”Oh, okay, like when you talk about going on secret missions?” Summer asks then, apparently completely unaware of the situation.

                                            >”That’s right, kiddo, mom’s a secret agent! She goes on all sorts of secret missions all the time!” Anon tells her, encouraging Summer’s fantasy further.

                                            >You are shaking your head a ‘no’, but he just nods, eyes opening wide in a manic manner.

                                            >”Really? Can you bring me with you?” Summer’s question breaks your gaze away from Anon, and right as you would stammer out a reply, he chuckles, reaching down and picking her up with ease.

                                            >”Wouldn’t be a secret mission if she brought a filly with her, now would it?” He asks, nuzzling Summer.

                                            >”No?” She asks back and giggles, ‘fighting’ against her father’s affection.

                                            >With that, the question of you being a secret agent is forgotten, leaving you with… making the phone call to the Sugarcube Corner.

                                            >....

                                            >This was Anon’s plan.

                                            >Oh, you devious little…

                                            >You let out a sigh, shake your head, then look at father and daughter pretend-wrestling.

                                            >You can’t help but smile, a feeling of appreciation growing in your chest.

                                            >”D’aww!” Lyra’s voice comes from right next to your ear, making you jump!

                                            “Gahh, Lyra, what the heck!!” She wasn’t anywhere near you just a moment ago!

                                            >”That’s for making her scream in my ears!” She readily replies, a shit eating grin on her face mocking you further than any word ever could.

                                            “Oh really?” You retort, grabbing the nearby phone and dialing the ‘Corner. “Then you would /surely/ not mind speaking with Pinkie, right?” You ask, doing your best to mimic Anon’s earlier expression.

                                            >The grin freezes on Lyra’s face like many other times before, but before she could escape, the bubbly and rapidfire words of Pinkie Pie sound up from the telephone’s receiver.

                                            >”Hello-bello, this is the Sugarcube Corner of Ponyville, you're speaking with the bestest baker pony of Equestria, Pinkie Pie! How may I help?”

                                            >You expected a much more explosive greeting, she must be getting some sort of a training from the Cakes, you think.

                                            “Hey Pinkie, Lyra wanted to talk with you about ordering food, let me put her on the phone!” Your foreleg extends, the hoof holding the receiver held out for Lyra.

                                            >Defeated, she takes it.

                                            >”Hey, Pinkie…” Is all she can get in before, the well expected storm of words beat down on her.

                                            >This went better than expected!

                                            >You still have to order the actual food from someplace else, though.

                                            “So what do we want to eat?”

                                            >”Pankreeps!” Is the scream you hear before Summer hits you, full force.

                                            >...You should have seen that coming…


                                            ----------


                                            >Be Summer Breeze.

                                            >Be outside of your home, playing with your favorite ball that Aunty Lyra got you for your last birthday.

                                            >Today is a beautiful day, the sun is shining, little birdies are chirping, a gentle breeze ruffles your mane, Mom and Dad are gardening nearby and you don’t even have to go to foalgarten!

                                            >There isn’t much that could make this morning any better.

                                            >So you pick up your ball and bounce it on your head, bounce-bounce-bounce, trying to keep it bouncing as many times as you can!

                                            >Unfortunately, you are not very good at it, so far your record was not more than the number of fingers Dad has on his hands…

                                            >And there it goes, the ball bounces off, bouncing to and… under the house?

                                            >You take a closer look at it.

                                            >You have clearly seen the ball bouncing towards the house, but now it’s nowhere to be seen!

                                            >You take a few steps closer, craning your neck around to see just where it could have gotten, when suddenly, out of nowhere, the ball flies towards you, and if not for your incredible reflexes, it would have hit you on the snoot!

                                            >Now spooked but thoroughly intrigued, you focus your eyes on the side of the house.

                                            >There, as you look at it, you realize that there is some sort of a hole underneath.

                                            >No, not just a hole.

                                            >It’s… a doorway, now open and dark.

                                            >You have to rub your eyes, they feel weird.

                                            >When you look again though, you can’t see the doorway.

                                            >This spooks you.

                                            “M-Moooom!” You yell, staring at where you /know/ you have seen the doorway!

                                            >It takes but a moment for Mom to rush to you, quickly followed by Dad.

                                            >”Are you alright, sweetie, what happened?!” She asks you in a near-panic, most likely triggered by the way you called out for her.

                                            >Dad doesn’t say anything, but his eyes scan the surroundings like a predator would, the sight of it calms you down quickly.

                                            “The wall…” You point at said section of the house. “A door was there!” You exclaim, throwing your hooves up. “It tew my ball!” You add, pointing at where your ball rolled.

                                            >Mom considers this for a few seconds, glances at the wall, up at Dad, then puts on the kind of smile you don’t like to see on her.

                                            >”Come on sweetie, there is nothing there, it was just your imagination.” She tells you and puts you on her back. “Do you want some lemonade? Let’s make some lemonade, okay?”

                                            >Though this problem bothers you, you can’t do much about it.

                                            >Aaaaaand the prospect of lemonade sounds rather good, too…

                                            “O-okay…” You reply, resigned, without much else you could do.

                                            >The glance Mom gives to Dad does not avoid your attention, though.

                                            >There is something up with that wall, and the way Dad’s face contorts tells you clearly: It’s nothing good.

                                            >Looks like you will have to investigate this yourself.

                                            >...

                                            >It's late afternoon now.

                                            >The sun is about to set, giving you a brief window of opportunity.

                                            >Using your skills of slipping away undetected, you get outside and fly around the house, landing in front of the place where you /know/ the doorway was.

                                            >You don’t see anything there, but… you start to have a feeling of /being watched/.

                                            >Unsettled but not dissuaded, you take a step closer, squinting your eyes.

                                            >On the brickwork of the wall, you start to see a pattern…

                                            >It’s darker than the surrounding bricks, and as you look at it real hard, you start to make out the shape of a doorway.

                                            >Not only the shape, but also… the material?

                                            >It’s a wooden stile, painted white, and in it is a…

                                            >You see a green, wooden door in it.

                                            >It’s really hard to keep your eyes focused on the door.

                                            >Every time your eyes twitch, the image of it gets fuzzy.

                                            >But you can’t just let this mystery go unanswered, not now!

                                            >A few more seconds and you notice another detail about this door.

                                            >It’s slightly ajar, and…

                                            “Whatta…”

                                            >A pair of eyes are staring at you from behind it.

                                            >The sun suddenly dips under the horizon as you make out this detail, taking away the illumination you enjoyed so far.

                                            >The sudden change of lighting and seeing that pair of eyes, /looking right at you/, activates something in you that you didn’t even know existed.

                                            >Letting out a shriek, you feel your wings move on their own as they propel you up and away from the door, or rather the /empty wall/ now that you are not focusing on it.

                                            >You fly higher and higher up, only stopping when you collide and get stuck in a poor little cloud.

                                            >The cool sensation brings you out of your flight response, leaving you with a fear you cannot explain and your heart feeling as if it’s beating in your throat.

                                            >It’s nearly your bedtime now, but… you doubt you could make yourself sleep tonight.

                                            >Not after… that.

                                            >....

                                            >Hiding your horror is difficult.

                                            >You do your best to act normal, but Mom can see it on you.

                                            >So can Dad, and that meaningful look the two exchange tells you that you have been caught red-hoofed.

                                            >Yet… you don’t feel ashamed or afraid of a possible punishment.

                                            >Mom just hugs you close and quietly brings you to bathe and then to sleep, in her and Dad’s bed.

                                            >There you feel safe.

                                            >Mom is also with you, holding you close.

                                            >You feel sleep finally getting near you, but then you hear the door of the room open, bringing you back from the brink of falling asleep.

                                            >”Did you give him the milk and cookies?” Mom whispers, trying to keep it as quiet as possible.

                                            >”Yes. He was upset, but found this funny, overall.” Dad answers her, still standing in the doorway.

                                            >”Good. As long as he keeps his promise.” Is Mom’s reply as she nuzzles your mane.

                                            >You don’t feel any better thanks to her words, but her actions do calm your nerves.

                                            >In fact, you almost fall asleep before you hear Dad speak again.

                                            >”Damned gnomes…”

                                            >Then he closes the door, leaving you with Mom and your thoughts.

                                            >Maybe it’s better if you don’t know, after all.


                                            ----------


                                            >Be the best aunt this side of Ponyville!

                                            >Uh…

                                            >This side of the street?

                                            >...

                                            >The house, okay?

                                            >Be Lyra, the best aunt Anon’s house has to offer.

                                            >Yes, you know that from a drawing pool of one that does not make you any special, but…

                                            >Oh, who are you even trying to convince!

                                            >It’s not like you are not doing your part to raise Summer.

                                            >She got really scared of the gnome the other day.

                                            >The little bastard lives under the house, his powerful magic hiding him in plain sight.

                                            >And he makes a sport of eating and drinking /your/ cookies and milk!

                                            >Such things cannot go unpunished, and so you make yourself a promise to deal with the insufferable little man.

                                            >For Summer’s sake.

                                            >You have changed a lot in the past years, since she came into your life.

                                            >For the better, of course.

                                            >No longer you are the pudgy mess you were, full of oats and mischief.

                                            >You are /still/ filled with mischief, let there be no misunderstanding, but it is within a body that is ready to skedaddle at a moment's notice and actually get away too!

                                            >Anon took it as his responsibility to look after you and help your progress.

                                            >He said he was a personal trainer at some point?

                                            >You are pretty sure he just used that as an excuse to grab your flanks like a perverted mare would grab an unsuspecting stallion’s.

                                            >But you digress, that’s not here or now.

                                            >What’s here is the side of the house where the gnome’s door is, and now is the time to give him a piece of your mind!

                                            >You stare at the spot you are sure Summer also found, eyes narrowing.

                                            >There!

                                            >The outline is flickering as your eyes move ever so slightly.

                                            >With confidence swelling in your chest, you clean your throat and knock on the magically disguised door.

                                            “Hello? Mister Gnome? I would like to have a short chat with you!” You say, loud and clear.

                                            >There is no answer.

                                            >You wait for a few more seconds, then knock again.

                                            “Mister Gnome? Are you at home?” You call out, this time with less confidence in your voice.

                                            >Again, there is no reply.

                                            >You furrow your eyebrows.

                                            >Is he not home?

                                            >If what Anon had said is true then he should be in there at this hour.

                                            >You are about to raise up your hoof to knock once more when you finally hear the reply.

                                            >But it’s coming from the left of you!!

                                            >”What do you want?”

                                            >Short, simple, and scares the living soul out of you!

                                            >Jumping a little, but stopping yourself from screaming, you look at the source of the voice, ears swiveling around to locate even the smallest movements.

                                            >But nothing is there.

                                            Uh-uuh, I-I want to discuss something with you… I.. I can’t see you and feel /really/ uncomfortable if I can’t look at the pon-person I’m talking to!” You reply, taking the initiative in time to assert dominance.

                                            >Well, the best way you could, which does not say much but alas.

                                            >”Nah. Go away.”

                                            >This time the voice comes from the right.

                                            >Snapping your head that way, you can’t even see movement, let alone anything out of the ordinary.

                                            >Just what sort of magic-

                                            “What magic is this? How can you move around so quietly?!” You demand, now feeling more furious than scared.

                                            >The reply you receive is a chuckle, coming from right in front of you, followed by the loud slam of a door that is not there.

                                            >You growl, anger overtaking your decision making, and forcefully slam down on the wall where you know the door is.

                                            >Except… it’s not there.

                                            >You fall forward, landing on your face, so not even your big flanks can cushion your fall.

                                            >Your surprise and consequent pain does not last long as you realize just where you are now..

                                            >Looking up you finally see the secret that’s been hiding in plain sight for so long.

                                            >It’s… a comfy looking living room, perhaps somewhat smaller than what a fully grown mare would find comfortable, so marelets like Rainbow Dash would find this place rather comfortable.

                                            >Based on its dimensions, this place is as big as the house above.

                                            >The gnome must have built it in the same time Anon’s house was constructed, probably kept secret and structurally sound by strong magics.

                                            >The part that makes your fur stand on end is that despite being well lit, there is a dark spot, not even that far from you, where the only thing you see is a pair of eyes.

                                            >Looking straight at you.

                                            >You stare at them, looking into them, frozen in what you realize is not shock or fear.

                                            >This… this is actually magic that is keeping you in place!

                                            >Racking your brain, you remember a cantrip that you learnt back in the School for Magically Gifted Unicorns, a spell that egghead friend of yours found and shared with your friend group back then.

                                            “Dispel!” You weakly growl, your horn glowing only just faintly.

                                            >The eyes suddenly look surprised, the gaze losing its grip on you!

                                            “Dispel!!” You repeat, with more effort both in your voice and in the spell!

                                            >The eyes look actually concerned now, you feel yourself getting free of their grip!

                                            “I… said… /Dispel!/” You yell, your horn flashing with the anti-spell cantrip, and in its wake the living room is left brightly lit and homely.

                                            >Even the spot that you could only see darkness in is well illuminated now.

                                            >There, now lying on his back, is a small figure, rubbing his eyes and groaning in pain.

                                            >Triumphantly you stand up and take a well deserved good look at the stealer of the cookies and milk you rightfully stole first!

                                            >The gnome looks like Anon, if his skin was lighter and hair grayish-white.

                                            >And if Anon let his beard grow out, like, a lot.

                                            >He wears a pointy red hat, a blue coat of some kind and brown trousers.

                                            >His shoes are made of wood, curiously.

                                            >Not letting your childish wonder take away your opportunity to stand against him on even ground, you shake your head to clear your thoughts and ask him.

                                            “Why are you stealing /my/ cookies and milk?”

                                            >Your tone is serious, your horn is crackling with the dispel cantrip at the ready, there is no trickery he can do to evade you!

                                            >”W-what? Is… is this about the cookies? Are you serious?” He asks, sitting up and looking at you, still rubbing his eyes.

                                            “You bet your ass it is, I stole them first!” You retort, stomping your right forehoof angrily to make your point more… convincing.

                                            >The gnome looks at you dumbfounded for a few seconds, then shakes his head, disbelief clearly written on his face.

                                            >”I have never met a single person in my life that could not only stand up against my magic, but also defeat me… In the name of cookies.” He blinks a couple times, probably still having trouble believing his own assessment of the situation. “You, Lyra Heartstrings, are a menace.”

                                            >You snort, raising your head proudly.

                                            “Damn right I am! It’s hard work retaining that title, you know!” You tell him, snickering.

                                            >”That wasn’t a compliment.” The gnome replies, facepalming not unlike Anon would. “Agh, whatever, what do you want? You caught me so you can make your wish.” He tells you defeatedly.

                                            >Your eyebrows go up in surprise.

                                            “Make my wish?” You ask back, looking at him incredulously. “I already made my wish, dumb-bell! I want you to stop stealing /my/ cookies! And milk!” You state with righteous indignation.

                                            >Once again the gnome is looking at you as if he is in the process of suffering a stroke.

                                            >”You… wish for… /that/. You could wish for your wildest dreams to come true, but you…” He quiets down, slowly facepalming again.

                                            “Yes.” You reply, nodding. “I’m happy we had this conversation, leave my cookies alone, all of the cookies in this house are mine, have a nice day, bye!” You tell him assertively, then leave his home.

                                            >”What in the name of the Great Bearded-” You hear the gnome yell but you slam the door behind you and with it, the yell stops, as if it wasn’t even there to begin with.

                                            >This was a successful mission, it seems.

                                            >Today’s a good day, you think to yourself and head to the kitchen to steal more of Anon’s- UH you mean /your/ cookies.

                                            >You earned them, after all.


                                            ----------


                                            >Be just so relieved.

                                            >It’s been /weeks/ since you could just stop for a moment and relax.

                                            >Deal with mountains of paperwork, oversee the training of the recruits, manage the holidays of the veterans, go to the therapy with Spitfire, it sure is busy being Soarin’ right now!

                                            >Because of course you are him and he is you.

                                            >You let out a tired groan, your mind is starting to make you think of funny but stupid things, now that you can finally allow yourself to just…

                                            >Like…

                                            >Rest.

                                            >Yes, that’s the right word.

                                            >Even though you are flying, as you think all of this.

                                            >Summer hadn’t seen you in weeks, and while you are more than certain that Spitfire, Anon and Bon Bon could take care of her without any trouble, yes Lyra that means you, you would still like to see your daughter.

                                            >Spending so much time apart also means that you should bring some kind of a present for your little precious, you rationalize, something that will develop a feeling of anticipation in her every time she sees you.

                                            >This is… well, it’s not entirely healthy, but it’s the best thing you can do.

                                            >Wait, scratch that, it /is/ healthy, since she has her loving and very much caring mother and father already, making you and Spitfire her secondary set of parents that can spoil her as you see fit!

                                            >Oh yeah, it’s all coming together.

                                            >Speaking of.

                                            >You have just arrived!

                                            >Gently landing in front of the store, you look up at the big letters, proudly presenting the main title the shop sells: Hyperspace Hyperwars!

                                            >You always wanted to collect and paint these miniatures, but always were told by literally everypony that they are too fillyish for a colt.

                                            >After you joined the Wonderbolts ranks and had a military exercise with the then Lieutenant Shining Armor, you found out that he was, in fact, a proud collector of HH, owner of multiple armies, and two time champion of the official tournament.

                                            >You silently seethed, but settled with admiring the stallion, wishing that you had the chance to be like him.

                                            >But alas.

                                            >Through Summer you can, finally, get into HH and share this hobby with your daughter, without anypony to tell you otherwise!

                                            >Thus, you enter the store.

                                            >Within the stuffy atmosphere collides with you like a stormfront, but it’s nothing you haven’t felt or had to experience /daily/, for months on end.

                                            >The store clerk, a surprisingly thin looking mare, seems to be too busy with the miniature she’s painting to respond to a customer’s arrival.

                                            >Hmm.

                                            >No, actually, she has her ears aimed at you, so she is aware of your presence.

                                            >You can see immense focus on her face, better not bother her until she’s done with the difficult parts.

                                            “I will be looking around.” You simply and relatively quietly tell her.

                                            >That should do it.

                                            >In response you only get a grunt in the affirmative.

                                            >Despite the place being quite roomy, it is filled to the brim with shelves upon shelves of boxes, some looking positively ancient.

                                            >Their price tag tells you the reason for this strange phenomena, some are so expensive that even you would need to think twice before buying!

                                            >No matter, you are here for a starter set, maybe two, and the tools one needs to actually paint them.

                                            >Soon enough you spot what you are looking for.

                                            >On a well lit shelf there are neatly stacked boxes marked as ‘starter kit’ and ‘conversion kit’.

                                            >Bingo!

                                            >...Do ponies say ‘bingo’ nowadays?

                                            >Shaking that thought from your head, you take a closer look at the various boxes.

                                            >There are plenty of colors and styles, you are only familiar with a hoofful of them, unfortunately.

                                            >Luckily you have done your research.

                                            >And by ‘research’ you mean that you have sent a letter to Shining Armor to ask which of the HH armies is focused on speed and mobility and to excuse your ignorance.

                                            >His answer was more rapid than you expected, arriving on the very next day.

                                            >White Ravens is the name apparently, the color pattern is red and black on a white base.

                                            >Easy to spot, especially for someone with your sight.

                                            >Cautiously pulling out a box from the stacks, you turn it around and take a better look at it.

                                            >Holding it with your dexterous wings allows you to rotate the box as you wish, quickly leading you to find that it is, indeed exactly what you have been looking for.

                                            >Well.

                                            >Their conversion kit, but that’s besides the point.

                                            >Putting the box on your back, you grab a base kit and then start looking for the paints and tools.

                                            >You already know that Anon will have a field day with the tiny pieces, you got this idea from him, after all.

                                            >This is the moment when the store clerk  - owner, maybe? - decides to step in.

                                            >Staring at the various paints and chuckling to yourself is apparently some kind of a slight?

                                            >”May I help you?” She asks you, her voice gruff and raspy.

                                            >Take a cough drop, filly!

                                            “Well, yes. I am looking for the paints for this White Ravens conversion. My daughter’s first set, but she will have plenty of help with the assembly and painting.” You explain yourself, putting on the confidence the years and experience gave you in the Wonderbolts.

                                            >The eyebrows of the clerk assume a rather confused but nonetheless pleased position on her forehead.

                                            >”This, this and this.” She grumbles, picking up three small cans of paint from the shelf, hovering them in front of you with her magic.

                                            >Huh, right, she’s a unicorn, you didn’t even see her horn.

                                            >Maybe that’s why she’s the owner of this store?

                                            >Probably.

                                            >Forcing yourself to not smirk, you simply nod and point at your back with a wing.

                                            “Over there will do.” You add, making it obvious for the mare where to palace the paint cans.

                                            >Another grumble and the cans land on top of the two boxes.

                                            “I will need the proper tools to extract the pieces from the cast, as well as some brushes, if you don’t mind.”

                                            >Your request is welcomed with a barely noticeable nod as the mare moves away from you, towards a different shelf.

                                            >Little clippers, scissors and other tools are added to the pile, followed by brushes of various sizes.

                                            >”Should be plenty enough for a starter kit.” The mare grumbles, but even you can make out that she’s pleased with the amount of items she’s selling you.

                                            >Or your attitude?

                                            >”Would that be all?” Is her next question, which she asks as she’s making her way back to the cash register.

                                            “No, actually.” You reply, furrowing your eyebrows. “I don’t know when will be the next time I could buy something for her, I’m rather busy after all, so I would also like to buy one of the vehicle sets, for the White Ravens of course. Jetbikes would be preferable.” Thank you Shining for explaining this in detail, otherwise you would look like an idiot right now. “Also the White Ravens Codex.”

                                            >The clerk mare nods, this time with more enthusiasm.

                                            >”With all the extra paint?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

                                            “Everything necessary. Money is not a problem.” You answer.

                                            >/That/ will surely get her attention!

                                            >Like clockwork, the mare’s eyes go wide, even if just for a moment.

                                            >”Yes, M’Lord!” She nods, now rather enthusiastically.

                                            >In the span of a few seconds she puts together a package, with all the necessary tools and accessories needed for a perfect gift-pack, book included.

                                            >”Do you also want them gift-wrapped, separately?” She asks, cracking a smile.

                                            “Yes, that would be lovely.” You reply, returning the smile.

                                            >Poor mare, this must have been the most male attention she got for years, you realize.

                                            >Well, might as well make it more memorable for her, why the heck not?

                                            “Thank you kindly for the help and care, Miss…?” You leave the question open, looking at her pointedly.

                                            >Uh, oh, oh, I’m Paint Smear, at your service… you are Soarin’, right?” She introduces herself and asks, making you cringe internally.

                                            >No, don’t ruin it for her, she really did help.

                                            “The one and only.” You respond, putting on your award winning smile.

                                            >Paint Smear positively beams at that, her pupils going wide as she looks you over.

                                            >The poor thing.

                                            “So, how much will it be?” You ask, deciding to break the rapidly onsetting awkward silence.

                                            >”Oh! Right, right, the paints, the tools, brushes, the starter… hmm…” She mutters as she’s punching in the various numbers into the cash register. “Fourhundred and twenty one bits.” For some reason she looks disappointed.

                                            “Very well.” You reply, grabbing your purse to pay. “Are you a fan of mine, by any chance?” Is your question then, and as expected, it takes her by surprise.

                                            >”Y-yes?” She nods cautiously, blinking rapidly as if she was caught trespassing.

                                            “Fantastic! Since you were so kind, I would like to repay you with a little something.” You tell her and take your autograph-giving notebook from your purse, quickly penning down a few words on it before tearing out the page and giving it to her.

                                            >Paint Smear’s eyes go really wide, which looks rather funny on her scrawny build, but you keep your mirth to yourself.

                                            >”Protect the smile of the innocent, as the Empress Protects all! Soarin’” She reads the autograph aloud, gaining a foal-like grin. “That’s from the Dragons!”

                                            >You nod knowingly.

                                            >Thank Celestia you remembered one of the legion mottos, phew.

                                            “Here you go.” You say as you pay her a generous five hundred bits. “I hope to see you soon, Paint, your store is great!” You tell her as you grab the boxes, now conveniently placed in a sturdy paper bag that Paint Smear produced from under the counter.

                                            >”T-thank you! See you soon!” She stammers, clearly almost unable to contain her joy.

                                            >It’s the little things that count, you think to yourself as you head outside.

                                            >Not sooner than you close the door behind you, you hear Paint let out a rather coltish scream of joy.

                                            >You made her day.

                                            >Wait, no, you made her whole week.

                                            >With a smile on your face you take off, heading towards Ponyville.


                                            ----------


                                            >The trip to the quaint village is spent thinking about how you wish it could be you to always spend time with Summer, enjoying the miniature building, painting and playing with them.

                                            >This, thankfully, allows you to arrive without getting bored, and as you land in front of the door of Anon’s oversized home, you feel joy dwelling up in your chest.

                                            >From the other side you can hear Summer’s laughter.

                                            >Knocking on the door you are welcomed with Anon’s yell.

                                            >”In a moment!”

                                            >Putting on your best smile, you look up, expecting the large man to appear in the door.

                                            >Instead you come face to face with him as the door opens.

                                            >Apparently he’s on all fours, with Summer on his back.

                                            >He’s giving her a ponyback ride?

                                            >”Oh hey, Soarin’! Long time no see, is everything alright?” He asks you, noticing the paper bag by your side.

                                            “Just the usual, you know. Work. But I have some free time now!” You reply, your gaze moving at Summer.

                                            >Your daughter, now realizing that it’s you who is standing in the door, joyfully exclaims.

                                            >”Papa Soarin’!” Like lightning, she is off of Anon and zips around you!

                                            “Whoa-whoa, easy there, champ!” You call out, actually getting her to slow down.

                                            >No, she doesn’t stop, but her flight is much more reigned in.

                                            >You share a look with Anon, yours telling him your thoughts: ‘Impressive!’

                                            >”Whassin the bag?” Summer asks, the paper bag not avoiding her attention.

                                            >Good, she should be at least this, if not more perceptive.

                                            “I have a present for you, sweetie pie!” Is your reply.

                                            >Her immediate, explosive joy sticks to you, you can’t help but smile as you watch her fly around you with newfound strength, very clearly hyped because of the prospect of a present.

                                            “Come on, let’s get inside so you can open it, alright?” You ask her, prompting Anon to stand up and allow you into his house.

                                            >A minute later the three of you are sitting by the table.

                                            >Of course Summer is not actually sitting by it, but that doesn’t matter.

                                            >Ripping the wrapping away, the boxes, paints and tools are revealed, quickly earning an awed ‘ooh’ from both Anon and Summer.

                                            “I would like to introduce you to the world of Hyperspace Hyperwars, Summer. These Mares…” You point at the box art of the white armor clad Space Mareines, “...are of the White Ravens Legion! They are flying and they are fast, just like you!” You explain, instantly earning an excited gasp from Summer. “But these are not just toys, oh no, they are much more than that!” You wiggle your eyebrows at her, making her giggle. “We will put them together and paint them, shiny and white, like in the pictures!”

                                            >Summer’s excited expression changes, gaining a mixture of wonder, awe and determination.

                                            >”Paint? That’s hard?” She asks you, glancing up at Anon with an unsure expression.

                                            “It’s only as hard as you make it to be, sweetheart. Besides, your dad and I will be here to help, isn’t that right, Anon?” You reply, looking at the aforementioned man.

                                            >”Oh yeah, I love this stuff!” He replies quite enthusiastically, washing away Summer’s doubts.

                                            >”Yay, less do it!” She cheers, grabbing and shaking the box of the conversion kit.

                                            >While she’s busy you lean back and motion for Anon to lean close to you.

                                            “I have a second present ready for her, but that’s for next time, can you hide it somewhere?” You ask him in a barely audible whisper.

                                            >He nods in reply, needing no words to confirm but you can see on him that he’s quite happy with this news..

                                            >The issue settled, you put your attention on Summer and on opening the boxes.

                                            >Today it’s not just Summer who feels child-like joy, and it’s the best gift one can get, you realize.


                                            ----------