Cut your Roots: Roots

Sometimes he wondered if he should take his parents' recommendation. See someone about clipping down the ridge of gold colored bristle that ran from the nape of his neck to the start of his tail. 

 

Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn’t be easier. To have a little of the best of both worlds, talk to his parents again, just for an hour or two. Just as long as he could escape when they started trying to turn the conversation to their general superiority of their bloodline over others. 

 

Sometimes it felt like it would be easier, usually those were moments preempted by trying to fit something comfortably around the ridge, the sort of thing ponies without didn’t have to think about, and ponies like Pegasus might struggle with. Pegasi at least got something out of having body shapes that didn’t always fit comfortably in the standard. 

 

Then he’d shrug it off… the garment at least. Or Shrug it into place so it didn’t feel like it was pressing everything into uncomfortable directions. Then eventually… slowly he’d neatly fold up the regret of cutting off his parents and put it away. 

 

Or if he couldn’t immediately put it away, he’d pick his way through the active reasons why not to. It wouldn’t stop at the back ridge. 

 

It would be the flank stripes next. 

 

You should get those bleached. It’s very relaxing and they’re very discreet. You’d look so elegant if only you’d take care of your appearance…

 

If only.

 

He still struggled with the urge to lean over and bite a pony for using that particular turn of phrase.

 

It was universally frowned on to bite people because they’d accidentally driven a thorn into a soft spot they couldn’t possibly know existed. They weren’t allowed to know it existed anyway. Reputation was currency and his clients relied on that currency. That currency would diminish if he or his family admitted to doing anything but smiling fondly on their son’s creative foray. He thought they might have even invested. Discreetly. Not very much, but just enough so they could tell people that of course they supported his ventures, and they were talking to him about signing on classical ventures.

 

That was true at least. They were definitely talking to him about that. Or at him. Definitely at him because he’d take the notes, glance them over, and then quietly pass along their suggestions to other agents because he wasn’t taking on any client he didn’t want to. 

 

He felt guilty though, especially in moments where he talked to someone like Brave Storm. Brave seemed so upstanding and interesting and definitely accomplished. She’d saved his entire haunch from getting eaten by a Craigodile. She was a knight, not his usual set but he kind of liked her. And he was reasonably sure he kept shoving his hoof in his mouth every other time they talked, rambling on about this or that bit of lore he’d heard about Zebra’s or trying to use sign language to giant drooling  telepathic…

 

 Yeah.

 

He was not exactly showing his best skill set. He wasn’t sure she had any interest in his best skill sets. He was pretty sure she’d drop him like a hot stone if she knew the way he’d been told to feel about Zebra…

 

Maybe he could avoid sounding like a speciesist idiot long enough to make her not mind so much if she ever found out.