Guys, remember back in the days of ff.net when people used to write crackfics? I think I kind of did that today. If you consider Leon S. Kennedy learning what a Brony is and Claire learning about Rule 34 a crackfic, which....yeah. basically. I've been in a silly, goofy mood recently (maybe two jobs has finally made me lose it) and I'm taking some of these unhinged ideas I gab about with friends and writing them. If you thought Leon fucking up sourdough starter was goofy, this is goofier. With one or two touches of seriousness. The goofy mood is actually helping me make progress on Stuck on You, too!
Anyway. Leon learns his eyesight is going. Claire may not understand that not everyone is like her and finds historical sites fun and interesting. Grace is suffering through all the things a little girl likes in the name of motherhood. Emily's REALLY into My Little Pony. Sherry thinks the internet is rotting Leon's brain. Claire liked dolls as a girl. Leon is absolutely willing to blow money on eBay if it means he wins an auction. Very domestic married people activity of watching Chopped together is mentioned. Leon, a typical grandpa, demands Facetime with the grandchild. To Claire's dismay, the vet informs her she has a corgi rapidly gaining on obesity. Most everyone knows or learns what Bronies are.
Anyway. This is unhinged. I kind of giggled writing it. THEY'RE MY DOLLS AND THIS IS MY HEADCANON I CAN DO WHAT I WANT WITH THEM.
I hope you get a smile out of it, too.
Leon squinted into the viewfinder, brow furrowed. “M?...X…P? Fuck I dunno,” he said after a moment, pulling his face away from the viewfinder and the eye test. “I can’t read those last two lines.”
“Mm. You could last year,” the DSO doctor informed him. Leon sat there for a moment and shrugged.
“I’m 52. Guess my eyes had to go bad at some point,” he said.
“Suppose so,” the doctor returned neutrally. “Have you been wearing corrective lenses at all in your downtime?”
“What fucking downtime?” Leon asked dryly. “And no.”
“You need them,” the doctor said, almost remindingly.
“Alright, well, give me some,” Leon said. “What do I know? I see a doctor once a year when I’m forced in here. Slap some glasses on me.”
“Well, maybe,” the doctor said, looking at her clipboard. “We’ll confer with command. This is technically a handicap, a liability in the field.”
“You mean aside from the liability of <em>me</em> in general, in the field?” Leon asked. He let out a sigh and rubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck me, is this going to saddle me to a desk?” Leon didn’t relish getting sent into the field, but he found that the idea of being stuck in the offices for the rest of his life similarly made him want to end it. No aspect of government service was agreeable, and every day Leon’s dreams of grabbing his wife and her ridiculous dog and disappearing into a forest grew.
“You’re only 52,” the doctor said. “Not likely. But we’ll see what command says when they see the results of your annual.”
“Only?” Leon asked, in blunt incredulousness. “Sure. Practically a spring chicken. So many fruitful years left to me.”
“Your stress tests and physical have you operating as a man 25 years your junior,” the doctor informed him with a smile. “So evidently your body thinks you have many long and fruitful years in the field left to you.”
“Fuck I hope I go blind,” Leon said tiredly, and the doctor merely scribbled on her clipboard and stood there smiling patiently.
…………………………………………………………..
Just before Leon was about to blessedly escape for the day, Ingrid pulled him aside. She adjusted her glasses on her face and looked at him with a faint smile. “I have good news and bad news, Leon.”
“Ingrid, I’m five minutes from walking out the door,” he said. “You absolutely had to wait until right now?”
“Hard to tell you what I know when I don’t know it yet,” she returned. “The bad news is your eyesight is failing.”
“Yeah. They told me as much at my annual this morning. So put some glasses on me. Whatever,” Leon said.
Ingrid looked knowing. “You can’t wear glasses in the field, Leon. But you can’t be out there going blind, either.” She shrugged. “You’re having eye surgery in two weeks.”
“That’s the good news?” Leon asked incredulously. “I don’t <em>want</em> eye surgery.”
“Last I checked you didn’t have a choice,” she said, “for better or worse. You’re not going anywhere for two weeks, and you probably won’t go anywhere for several after. That’s a silver lining, right? Stateside for a while? You’re going to be at home for a while after the surgery, too.”
“Great,” Leon said. “Can’t wait to tell my wife she has to play nursemaid to me in the government’s name once again. What is it, the laser shit?”
“Not Lasik, no,” Ingrid said. “It’s called PRK.”
Leon was looking at her flatly, and fished in his slacks to pull his phone out. He unlocked it and began to type at his screen, and Ingrid arched an eyebrow at him.
“Are you Googling it?” she asked.
“Fuck yes I’m Googling it, Ingrid,” Leon returned. “You’re telling me I’m about to have my eyeballs lasered or what the fuck ever and I have no choice in the matter.” Leon looked at his phone screen for a moment, reading, and as he was doing so he was squinting mightily, and then let out a tremendous sigh. Ingrid was smiling at him squinting at his screen. “Excellent. They’re going to remove part of my eye and laser into the rest or whatever. This is great. Just what I wanted. Can’t they just fucking retire me?”
Ingrid chortled. “Nice try, Leon. Your eyes are bad but the rest of you is spinning like a top, according to your annual. They’re not done sending you out to clean up messes yet.” She slapped his arm, lightly. “Look at it this way. Aren’t you tired of squinting at your phone?”
“I’m not squinting,” Leon returned, looking up from his phone.
“Leon, your eyes are practically squeezed shut,” she said knowingly. “You’re one more eye exam from not being able to read anything on that phone period. Look at it this way, the government’s doing you a favor.”
“A favor would be a pair of glasses,” Leon said, sticking his phone back in his slacks. “This is a condition of ownership.”
“That’s neither here nor there and you’ve had long years of it,” Ingrid returned. “Sorry about your luck. The powers that be aren’t going to let your eyes fail if they can help it. Just part and parcel of the gig.”
“I don’t see them forcing <em>you</em> into eyeball lasering,” Leon countered sourly.
“My eyes have been bad since birth,” Ingrid said. “You ever seen a baby in glasses? That was me. I’m also not out in the field cutting throats and putting down outbreaks. You need your eyesight, or you’re dead. I look at intel and reports all day. Not the same thing.”
“I just want to be put out to pasture,” Leon said.
“Don’t we all,” Ingrid said. “Good fucking luck with that.”
…………………………………………………………………
Leon entered the front door at around 7; the lights were on in the house and the sound of the TV playing what sounded like some kind of high pitched child insanity was on. Grace and Emily were in town for a few days, and Leon had been unable to get time off. Claire had, and so while he was government property in a suit in DC Claire was playing the role of dutiful grandmother and mother figure and entertaining Grace and child. Spud came running up from parts unknown, and trotted after Leon in pointy-eared excitement as Leon fully entered the house. He went into the living room, and there were two blonde heads on the couch, and some kind of very pink and girly animated something on the TV. “Hey,” he said tiredly, and Grace whipped her head around to look at him, adjusting her glasses.
“Oh hey, you’re back,” she said. “Didn’t hear you come in.”
“Not surprised,” Leon said in amusement, stepping up to the back of the couch. Grace was sitting there with her phone in her hand, and from the looks of it—what Leon could kind of make out—he thought she was on Reddit. Emily was raptly glued to the animation on the TV and hadn’t even turned around. “Hey. Hey!” he said loudly, and Emily finally turned her head around, as if she was just finally noticing he was there. “What are you watching?”
“My Little Pony,” Emily replied.
“Huh,” Leon said, looking from Emily to the screen and the explosion of high pitched pony insanity happening on the screen. “What’s that about?”
“Oh boy,” Grace said in an undertone.
“Okay so Twilight Sparkle goes to Ponyville,” Emily began excitedly, “and then she makes friends, and there’s Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie and--oh, Twilight Sparkle has a dragon.”
Leon was standing there with his eyebrows raised, face even. “Oh, a dragon, huh?”
“Yeah, Spike,” Emily went on, as if everyone should know this. “And, like, there’s ponies, and Pegasus—pega--pegasuses, and unicorns,” she added. “Twilight Sparkle’s a unicorn. Well, but then she—“
“Wow, this sounds like a show of real culture,” Leon said dryly.
“It’s about <em>friendship</em>,” Emily said, once again as if Leon should know that.
“Oh man,” Leon said. “I don’t know if I can watch it. I don’t have any friends.”
“Grandma Claire is your friend,” Emily offered. “Spud.”
Leon shrugged a little. “Sure. Spud’s kind of a lame friend. He just wants food.”
“We’re <em>really</em> into My Little Pony right now,” Grace said distractedly, looking at her phone. “I know more about Equestria than I ever thought possible.”
“Holy crap Equestria,” Leon said, looking at Emily with his hands on his hips under his suit coat. “What’s that?”
“It’s their world,” Emily said. “And they go around and help. So like in this one Twilight Sparkle doesn’t like her new house. Um, her castle. So her friends come and try to make it nicer and like put decorations and stuff and—“
“It’s really riveting, let me tell you,” Grace said dryly.
Leon looked up at the television screen and the saccharine sweet little characters. “I think my heart is entirely too black and dead to appreciate this,” he said. “I think only little girls who have not been beaten down by the world can participate in My Little Pony.”
“What’s that mean?” Emily asked in confusion.
“Think again,” Grace said, still dry, looking at her phone. “Grown men are into this. For totally creepy reasons, obviously.”
Leon furrowed his brow. “You’re shitting me.”
“Wish I was,” Grace returned, setting her phone on her jean-clad leg, looking back at Leon. “Bronies. There’s whole communities devoted to adult men who are viewing these ponies in weird, adult lights. Get on Reddit. Go down the rabbit hole. It’s vaguely horrifying.”
“Is this a weird incel thing?” Leon asked, as Emily decided this conversation was too adult for her and went back to raptly observing the ponies on the screen.
“An offshoot of it, yeah,” Grace said. “Real women are right out, but they will sexualize a cartoon pony.”
Leon let out a sigh. “Every day God permits men to continue existing is a mystery,” he said. “Speaking of that, where is the woman who puts up with all my bullshit? I have fresh bullshit to inform her of.”
Grace gestured towards the kitchen. “I think she’s finishing dinner or pulling it out or something. She was out here for a while.”
“Great,” Leon said, turning and heading over towards the kitchen. Inside Claire was hovering by the oven, her phone in her hand. “Hey,” he said, and she lifted her head, looking up at him from behind her glasses. He went over to her and bent down, kissing her. “What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken pot pie,” Claire said. “Did you just get back?”
“Yeah, I got distracted by My Little Pony,” Leon said in amusement.
“Yeah, it’s something,” Claire returned in the same amusement. “Emily’s been glued to it for like an hour,” she said, setting her phone aside on the counter.
Leon turned and headed for the fridge, pulling it open and looking around inside it for a moment before pulling out a beer. “What’d you guys do today?” he asked.
“I really wanted to take the girls to Colonial Williamsburg,” Claire said, “but I realized three hours there on a weekday isn’t really feasible if we wanted to be home by the time you got here. But there’s always Saturday, if you’re still free of having to go to DC.”
Leon groaned and let his arms hang limply. “Not Williamsburg,” he said. “Not again. There’s only so many times in my life I can listen to people in bonnets and big skirts talk to me about, like, cows and butter churning and shoeing horses.”
Claire folded her arms over her chest. “Oh stop. You survived once, you can survive again. It might be fun for Emily.”
“No it will not,” Leon returned. “She’s in there watching high pitched animated ponies on crack. She is not going to care about what people were doing in 1775 or whatever. Colonial Williamsburg is like exclusive to your elevated, nerdy tastes. The rest of us will be dying.”
Claire looked flat. “Well, I don’t know. We went to the mill today.”
“Jesus, Claire,” Leon said dryly. “Are you 100? They were probably bored to tears.”
Claire frowned. “They were not! What am I supposed to do, take them to a winery? God knows there’s like 20 of those around here. Grace doesn’t drink and what’s Emily supposed to do, be my DD? We’ve already been to all the shit in DC, and all that’s left around here is like…rich peoples’ horses. Most everything around here <em>is</em> history stuff.” She huffed. “If it were up to you and Grace everyone would just sit around on Reddit all day.”
“That reminds me,” Leon said, fishing his phone out of his pocket with the hand not holding his beer, “I need to look something up.”
“Oh God, what?” Claire asked.
“Bronies,” Leon said.
“What is <em>that</em>?” Claire asked tiredly.
“Grown sexless men who get horny from My Little Pony,” Leon said, squinting at his phone.
“Jesus Christ,” Claire said, still tired, and turned back to the oven, peering inside.
“Hey,” he said, thumbing at his phone, “I had my annual today. My eyes are bad.”
“I’ve known that for a minute,” Claire said, still looking into the oven. “For months I’ve watched you squint at things and move your phone back and forth in front of your face. You probably need readers.”
“No can do,” Leon said. “The government’s sending to me to have my eyeballs lasered.”
“What?” Claire asked, standing up and looking over at him. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Leon said, still looking at his phone. “Bad eyesight’s a liability and a handicap, they say, and they’ll do anything to keep sending me out into the shit. In two weeks I have eye surgery.” He looked up at Claire, and she was looking at him with her shoulders kind of slumped, her face dispassionate.
“I guess I shouldn’t be shocked,” she said with a sigh. “Do you <em>want</em> to have eye surgery?”
“Fuck no,” Leon said, looking back to his phone. “I have no choice. They’re not sending me anywhere for the next two weeks, and Ingrid says I’ll be around for several weeks after that while I recover.”
“Great,” Claire said. “I guess I should have expected they’d just start trying to Six Million Dollar Man you as you got older.”
“Government property until I die,” Leon said nonchalantly, scrolling his phone. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?” Claire asked, pulling the oven door open.
“Like, these dudes are <em>really</em> into these ponies,” Leon said.
“Leon, are you looking at animated pony porn for research purposes?” Claire asked, pulling the pot pie out of the oven.
“No, but if I keep looking I think I’m gonna find it,” he returned, looking away from his phone, sticking it into his pocket. “That smells really good.”
“Well, it’s currently temperatures rivaling the surface of the sun, so we probably need to wait a minute,” Claire said. “Why don’t you go get changed? We can probably eat in like 20 minutes.”
“Sure,” Leon said. “Guess I’ll go learn more about My Little Pony. Maybe my dick’ll get hard.”
“Shut up before I beat you,” Claire replied.
………………………………………………………………..
The rest of Grace and Emily’s visit had passed uneventfully, even if Leon did have to work nearly every day they were there, and he did get dragged to Colonial Williamsburg—again—on Saturday. The girls left to fly back to Missouri on Sunday, and in the few days they were there, Leon had been educated on a number of things—My Little Pony, K-Pop, Jellycat. He was informed Labubus were old business, even though Emily still had two hanging from her backpack. Grace had informed him little girls Emily’s age were now really into things like skincare and Sephora, which blessedly Emily did not show interest in. Claire went off on an impassioned rant about the patriarchy and societally-imposed standards of beauty on women and how the indoctrination of little girls was starting earlier and earlier. Leon did in fact research Bronies far enough to where he ran across the pony porn, and he’d felt like he’d needed to bleach his brain. In every moment of downtime Emily had she wanted to watch My Little Pony, and on Saturday she’d worn a shirt with some fucking character—Leon could not remember which one—on it to Williamsburg under her overalls. Spud caught a rabbit on Friday night which led to generalized female hysteria over the rabbit’s somewhat mangled state, and Leon had been forced to take the rabbit off and dispose of it as the only dick-having member of the household not quailing over the poor, cute, innocent rabbit.
“You’re on the shitlist,” Claire had informed Spud seriously in bed that night, glaring at him. “That bunny did nothing to you.”
“He’s a dog, Claire,” Leon had said. “We’re lucky he didn’t eat it.”
Leon returned to the offices on Monday, realizing he was extra useless pending eye surgery and was doomed to lurking around with nothing to do until his eyes were fixed and he was field-worthy again. He did not know why he had to be there, if there was nothing they could send him to do. Some of the other agents not currently on assignment shooting things headed off to the training facilities to spar; Leon abstained because Abernathy was among them, and Leon was still smarting from last week when Abernathy had informed him he though Detroit-style pizza was a genuine abomination and one of the worst foods on God’s green earth. Leon still kind of felt like he could break Abernathy’s mouthy ass in half for being so loud and so wrong, and stand over him and call him a bitch for being offended by square pizza. Leon was not normally driven to acts of violence by such minor infractions (Claire herself found Detroit-style pizza weird), but when it came to the annoying, morally bereft men he occupied the field with Leon’s fuse was short. He felt like one of them could look at him wrong and later that day he was holding the other man down to the mat choking the life out of him.
On a good day he’d rather be slowly flayed alive than willingly interact with most of the other men that held the title of agent, so Leon was left to an old pastime—annoying the handlers. Leon found the women the DSO employed much more tolerable. He bothered Liz for about an hour, before she told him she actually had work unlike him and sent him packing. Ingrid had greeted him with an unenthusiastic <em>what the hell do you want, Leon</em> and he’d parked himself in her office for about another hour. She’d gruffly tossed him out when he started getting into the paperwork on her desk and generally being a menace. Next he wandered on to another handler, Asha, who was currently running Reynoso on a fairly low-stakes op. Leon thought Reynoso probably deserved to be driven to the middle of nowhere and left there, but on the whole he enjoyed Asha, so he sat back behind her and her array of screens and spectated.
“When are you getting shipped out next?” Asha had asked him without looking at him, typing away on a keyboard.
“Not for a while,” Leon said. “Eyes are bad. They say I have to have surgery.”
“Yeah, that happens,” Asha said knowingly. “How old are you now, Leon?”
“52,” he replied. “Hedging on 53. Too old.”
“You’re my dad’s age,” Asha returned, with a smile over her shoulder.
“Jesus,” Leon said. “Too old. What’s your dad do?”
“He’s an assistant principal at a middle school back home in Idaho,” she said, typing.
“Idaho,” Leon gusted in appreciation. “I like a good potato. What’s there to do in Idaho?”
“Rodeos,” Asha said dryly. “Tractor pulls. Militias. Join the Mormon church. Not much, really.”
“Yikes,” Leon said. “Count me out.”
“Tell me about it,” Asha said. “I think we were one of the only non-LDS families in town.”
“Where in Idaho?” Leon inquired.
“Moscow,” she said, sparing him another smile. “Why? You been?”
“Hell no,” Leon said. “I thought Moscow was in Russia.”
“Surprise,” Asha chortled. “Alright,” she murmured, looking between screens, “I’ve got to get Dominic these passwords. It’s work time. Get out of here.”
“Let him swing,” Leon said, pushing himself out of his chair. “Reynoso’s a shit for brains. It’d serve him right.”
“That may be,” Asha said knowingly, looking up at Leon as he stood next to her, “but I’m not winning myself any brownie points if I just leave him to fend for himself because I think he’s a jerkoff.”
“He <em>is</em> a jerkoff,” Leon said. “Of the highest degree. Let him get lost a little. It’s fine.”
“I guess that would be just payment for grabbing my ass at the holiday gala,” Asha said, thoughtfully.
“Jesus Christ,” Leon said tiredly. He often didn’t need much of a reason to want to pound Reynoso into hamburger; yet another reason had been added to the list.
“Anyway. Duty calls,” Asha went on nonchalantly, putting her earpiece back in. Leon stared at her for a minute, and then sighed and stalked off.
Next Leon hunted around until he found Sherry, off chatting with some of the secretaries. As per usual they kind of mumbled and scattered when he showed up on the scene, and Sherry looked over at him knowingly. “What have you done to the secretaries that they always run when you show up?” she asked, pointedly. “And the interns, for that matter?”
“Look scary?” Leon said, with a shrug. “Hang out with Ingrid, who generally abuses them until they look like they’re ready to cry?”
“We need to work on your image and attitude,” Sherry said.
“I regret to inform you I am not working on shit, Sherry,” Leon said, and Sherry looked quietly exasperated. “What do you know about My Little Pony?”
Sherry blinked, and let out a little laugh. “Oh boy. Memories. I had a ton of them growing up. I had the pony palace and everything.”
“Okay, so it’s not just an animated show,” Leon said.
“Oh, is it?” Sherry furrowed her brow. “I vaguely remember some old cartoons when I was a kid. Like, really young. I think they were old. I don’t know. I just had the toys.”
“There’s <em>toys</em>?” Leon asked. “And they were around when you were a kid?”
“Sure,” Sherry said. “You had a sister—surely you remember My Little Pony.”
“She was older,” Leon said. “And she was a tomboy. But yeah. I just spent a couple of days being subjected to My Little Pony. I know more about a unicorn named Rainbow Dash than I ever would have dreamed of.”
Sherry laughed. “Rainbow Dash, huh? Is this something Emily is into?”
“Emily and weird grown men who don’t have sex,” Leon said.
Sherry grew sober in increments. “Wait, what?”
“Bronies,” Leon said, direly. “Incels who want to have sex with a pony.”
Sherry blinked. “Leon, I’m going to hold your hand when I say this, but I think you need to limit your time on the internet. How do you know about this?”
“The internet,” Leon replied immediately.
“That’s what I thought,” Sherry sighed. “I don’t want to know what your search history looks like.”
“Nevermind that,” Leon said. “So the toys were around when you were a kid?”
“Yes!” Sherry assured, with a smile. “Have you really never seen a My Little Pony toy?”
“When would I have ever seen one?” Leon asked. “If I did, I don’t remember it. I’m surprised your parents were into such a thing. I’m surprised they didn’t make you play with, like…a chemistry set.”
Sherry was still smiling, but she looked a little tired. “I mean, Mom and Dad were…something else, but I did have normal girl stuff. They even painted my room pink for me at the old house. They spent a weekend doing it and only almost killed each other about three times.”
Leon periodically had to remind himself that William and Annette had been actual people and parents prior to that night in 1998, even if they were Umbrella scientists, even if William had turned into a thing, even if Annette had in her infinite insane wisdom blown a hole in him. “Pink, huh?”
“Oh yes. Pink. My room was very frilly and pink.” Sherry’s smile would not go away. “Complete with an army of stuffed animals.”
“Man,” Leon said. “Life with me and Claire must have seemed like prison, and then the government...”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” Sherry said. “You two made up for the lack of stuff with love. Mom and Dad made up for the lack of actual family time with stuff. Two sides of the coin. Simmons, nefarious intentions or no, generally saw to it that I got most things I wanted while in custody.”
“Sure,” Leon said, trying to forget the image of Annette, wild eyed and crazy, burned into his memory. “I guess when you’re scientists working for an evil conglomerate, there’s not much time for family.”
“No, no there isn’t,” Sherry said. “Anyway. Yes, there’s My Little Pony toys. Old ones. Vintage! Why don’t you do something less creepy on the internet and get on eBay and see if you can’t dig some up?”
“But creepy internet is fun,” Leon said.
“Stop,” Sherry said, rolling her eyes. “Grace is ruining you. I miss pre-internet you.”
“I miss not knowing about Bronies,” Leon said wistfully. “That ship has sailed.”
Sherry just cut her eye at him knowingly.
………………………………………………………….
“What are you doing?”
Leon looked up from the laptop screen in front of him. “Going blind, looking at toys on eBay,” he said, and Claire looked bemused and made her way into the office, over to the area he kept his computer. Compared to her area of the office, it was sparse and bare; Claire’s area looked not only like a filing cabinet had exploded, but it was also littered with photos, art, and knick-knacks. Claire came up behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder, beer in her other hand. Spud had come into the room with her, and he quickly wriggled his way under the desk to lay at Leon’s feet.
“You know, we <em>can</em> get you readers,” she said.
“Surgery’s in two weeks,” Leon said. “No point. Look at this. Look at how expensive these fucking things are.”
Claire leaned over and peered at the computer screen and made an incredulous little noise. “177.50 and twelve bids for—are those My Little Ponies?” she asked, righting herself.
“Yeah,” Leon said. “Old ones. I didn’t realize they were around when Sherry was a kid. How long have these fucking things existed?”
“Oh, they were around in the 80s,” Claire said. “When I was a kid. I think they just kind of…revamped them, for today,” she said.
“Huh,” Leon said. “What do I know. I spent most of the 80s in a Star Wars and GI Joe haze.” He looked over his shoulder at Claire. “Did <em>you</em> have My Little Ponies?”
“Um,” Claire said in thought, “maybe a few? I wasn’t really a horse girl growing up. I had Cabbage Patch Kids. I was <em>really</em> into my babies.”
Leon smiled a little. “You? I thought you were a tomboy who later went into a militaristic upbringing.”
“Well, yeah, that too,” Claire said, taking a drink of her beer. “But I mean, I was still a little girl. I liked some little girl stuff. I really liked the Cabbage Patch Kids. One year Daddy must’ve really scrimped and saved because he bought me an American Girl doll.”
“What’s that?” Leon asked.
“Oh, just a doll,” Claire said. “A big, fancy doll. They’re still around too. They’re expensive as shit. They’re little girls from different periods in history. They wrote books about them, too.”
Leon’s smile grew. “Oh yeah? Who’d you have? I bet you read every book.”
“I did,” Claire acknowledged. “I had Molly. I think she was from the 40s, if I remember correctly. She was kind of a little redheaded. Maybe Daddy thought I wanted a doll that kind of looked like me.”
“Let’s see,” Leon said, opening another tab in the browser. “Let’s see what an ole American Girl doll goes for these days.” He typed “American Girl doll Molly” into the search bar, and the results loaded a second later. “Jesus H, 175 dollars,” he said, clicking on the displayed image of the doll. “For that much money it’s amazing Molly didn’t just sit on a shelf.”
“Yeah,” Claire said. “Like I said, Daddy must’ve gotten a good bonus at the plant that year. I think Chris got a KA-BAR that year.”
“Those aren’t cheap, either,” Leon said. “Really enforcing gender roles there, or whatever, Beau.”
Claire laughed a little. “Hey, I got guns and knives too,” she said. “But I got girl stuff too. Anyway. You’re in here looking at a lot of 40 My Little Ponies for 177.50. I assume this is for Emily purposes, unless the ponies <em>did</em> awaken something in you and you’re turning into a—a—what are they called?”
“Bronies,” Leon said. “Nope. Dick stayed soft, even when I did run across their degenerate porn.”
“Oh my God,” Claire groaned. “Gross. You gonna bid or what?”
“Yeah,” Leon said, going back to the eBay page. “10 hours left on the auction. What do you think? No way these things are going for, like, hundreds and hundreds.”
“I dunno,” Claire said, in bemused thoughtfulness. “There could be someone with a hard dick bidding.”
“You’re right,” Leon said. He thought about it for a second—how much could these things go for? He entered a max bid of 200 dollars, and did his thing, and to his great shock he discovered that was not high enough as the next highest bid was now 201.00 dollars. “Jesus,” he said. “People really want these things.”
“Oh great,” Claire said. “Here it comes. Grandpa Leon’s going to second mortgage the house to secure these ponies for Emily.”
“I mean, realistically, how much could they sell for?” Leon asked, in mystification. “Like three hundred bucks?”
“I don’t know,” Claire said, chortling some. “You and I both know your ass is going to be salty if you lose this auction and you’re insane with money, so you better just enter your max bid as like a grand and just call it good. I don’t want to hear about you losing the My Little Pony auction for three days.”
“True,” Leon said, and went to bid again. He entered a max bid of a grand, and bid again, and when the page refreshed he was now the highest bidder and the max bid had jumped up to 225 dollars. He leaned back in his chair. “There. Fuck you, perverts. I’m buying these fucking things for a little girl.”
“Take that, sex perverts,” Claire said, taking another drink of her beer. “I can’t believe people are making My Little Pony porn.”
Leon looked over his shoulder at her. “You know Rule 34, right?”
“No,” Claire said benignly. “What’s that, some Reddit thing?”
“Just an internet thing,” Leon said. “’If it exists, there is porn of it.’”
Claire stared into space for a minute, and then shook her head some. “What are you and Grace <em>doing</em> online?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Leon said. “Hey. You want an American Girl doll?”
Claire laughed a little. “Leon, I am 50 years old. For what?”
“Nostalgia?” Leon prompted. He went back to the tab with the American Girl doll results. “You’ve got all kinds of other shit around here. Doesn’t adult you want a Molly to put up on your shelf?”
“No,” Claire said fondly, rubbing her hand across the back of his shoulders. “Buy Em an American Girl doll. There’s a blonde one. Kirsten? Kristen? She was, like, a pioneer girl, I think.”
“Maybe Sherry wants an American Girl doll,” Leon said.
“Sherry is 43,” Claire said with a laugh. “She doesn’t need an American Girl doll either. You are a nostalgic old man. Get off eBay before I catch you in here buying a Milennium Falcon or Star Wars toys or something.”
“Oh man, I had the AT-AT Walker,” Leon said. “The remote controlled one? Holy fuck I thought that thing was cool.”
Claire was amused. “Leon. Off the computer. C’mon. I think Chopped is coming on soon.”
“Hell yeah,” Leon said, pushing himself back in his chair, and Claire stepped back a little bit. “God I hope two people try to use the ice cream machine at the same time. I live for it.”
“I know,” Claire said, as he stood and Spud crawled out from under the desk. “I like it when they try to bake something in, like, 20 minutes.”
“Oh yeah, you’re never getting a cake done in the middle in 20 minutes,” Leon agreed, following Claire out of the office.
………………………………………………………….
“Hey—Grace, I’m currently getting a view of your armpit or something,” Leon said, looking at his phone. Claire was on the couch next to him, with her legs folded up under her, looking on with a smile.
“We literally just walked in the door,” Grace said on the Facetime, sounding muffled. “Just—hang on a second—“ The screen flared for a moment from darkness to light as Grace presumably turned on a light in her townhouse, and the sounds of the girls unloading things was heard. “Okay, just—sit here for a second, let me go get this box off the porch.” Grace set the phone down and then they were looking at the dining room ceiling, and the slowly spinning ceiling fan. A minute or two Grace returned, and picked her phone up. “Okay, what gives. What’s in the box?” she asked, and Leon grinned some.
“I’m not telling you,” Leon said. “Emily has to open it.”
“Alright, well, you taped it like you never wanted it to be opened again, so she’s going to need my help,” Grace said, flipping on another light as she moved through the townhouse. “Em, c’mere! Grandpa Leon sent you something.”
“Was it that box?” Emily piped up in the background.
“Yes,” Grace called back. “Come on, come to the table.” Grace was in her kitchen, and she held a knife up to the phone. “Need this,” she said.
“I told you that you put too much tape on that box,” Claire murmured. “It’s some ponies, not government secrets.”
“I’m thorough,” Leon said. “Grace, you are failing at Facetime,” he said, as he and Claire were once again treated to a vision of wall and sliding glass door.
“I am cutting the box,” Grace said in exasperation, off camera. “Calm down. Emily has to be able to get into this thing.” A moment later she picked up the phone again, and she was visible again in her blazer and collared shirt. “Okay, Em, here,” she said. “You should just be able to pull it open.”
“What is it?” Emily asked excitedly off camera.
“Show us the child,” Leon said.
“Jesus, Leon,” Claire chortled.
Grace rolled her eyes some and angled her phone at Emily. Emily had two purple barrettes in her hair pulling it back off her face some, and she was wearing a purple and blue striped shirt. Determinedly she pulled at the box flaps, and one popped free, and then another. She stuck her hands into the box and began to rummage, getting packing peanuts everywhere. “Em, hey—watch out, let’s not go crazy—“ Grace admonished off camera. Emily continued rooting in the box until she got purchase on something and pulled out a freezer bag triumphantly, then looked over at it for one split second before erupting.
“<em>Ponies</em>!” she screeched, and Claire laughed a little, Leon grinning. “Grace, look, it’s—it’s—wait, who are they?” she asked, pulling the My Little Ponies in the bag close to her face and scrutinizing. “I don’t know who this is,” she said.
“They’re old,” Leon said. “They’re from when, like, Claire was a kid.”
“Oh, old ponies,” Grace said. “We might have to look them up. They’re not on the show, Em.”
“Wait, are there more?” Emily said excitedly, jamming her hand back into the box to rummage. “<em>Grace</em>!” she cried, pulling out another bag. “There’s more!”
“There’s 40 of them,” Leon said.
“<em>40</em>?” Grace asked, in disbelief. “Jesus, where are we gonna keep 40 ponies?”
“<em>40</em>?” Emily said, vibrating in her seat. “Ohmygosh 40! Grace—“ She was practically shrieking, and Grace shushed her some.
“Okay, yeah, Em,” Grace said soothingly. “No yelling. We can find somewhere to keep them in your room once we get them all opened.”
“Can we look them up tonight?” Emily asked. “<em>Please</em>? Look, Grace, this one has—wait this one’s a <em>sea horse</em>!”she cried, looking into the ziplock bag. “What? A sea horse? Like, the show doesn’t have <em>any</em>--“
“Leon what have you done,” Grace said in tired amusement, angling the phone back at her face, adjusting her glasses.
“Hey, Leon outbid degenerate perverts for those,” Claire chimed in, and Grace laughed a little through the phone.
“Claire also learned about Rule 34,” Leon said.
“Oh good,” Grace said with a smile and an eye roll. “I’m sure she really needed to know that.”
“Every day I learn something new,” Claire said, “and get more and more scared of the internet.”
“Oh—Emily, don’t start opening all of those ponies all over the kitchen table,” Grace said. “We’re going to have to eat dinner after a while. Why—why don’t you take the box upstairs?”
“Okay!” Emily chirped.
“Leon was also trying to buy me an American Girl doll,” Claire said. “I told him to buy Em one instead.”
“An—an American Girl doll?” Grace asked. “Aren’t those like hundreds of dollars?”
“You think those ponies were cheap?” Leon asked. “The degenerate perverts were desperate to get their hands on them.”
Grace looked into the phone knowingly, moving through the townhouse. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “She doesn’t even know who any of these vintage ones are.”
“Oh boy but I bet you’re gonna find out,” Leon said. “You better get ready to bust out your My Little Pony wiki.”
“I hate that in my heart I know that’s probably a real thing,” Grace said, “curated by a degenerate pervert.”
“Make sure there’s no porn on it before you let Em in the room!” Claire said adamantly, then pushed herself up off the couch, walking off.
“Sure,” Grace returned. “What’re you guys doing?”
“Getting ready to go walk Spud,” Leon said. “He needs to lose weight.”
“And whose fault is that?” Claire shouted from the other room. Leon blinked into space for a moment.
“The vet may have commanded me to stop feeding Spud human food,” Leon acquiesced.
“Excellent,” Grace said. “You fed Spud into obesity.”
“I was being a generous and magnanimous pet owner,” Leon said. “How else was I supposed to bond with the little freak?”
“Hey,” Claire said, reappearing. “We’re losing light.”
“I’m being commanded to get off here,” Leon said. “Good luck with pony explosion.”
“Sure,” Grace chuckled. “Thanks, Leon. She’s jacked.”
“Good. Go on. Eat your dinner,” he said.
“Alright. Bye,” Grace said, waving a little.
“Bye,” Leon returned, and ended the Facetime. He looked over at Claire. “Alright. Child spoiled. The Spud fitness program can commence.”
“We’re only on this program because you wouldn’t stop feeding him shit,” Claire said, pulling on some shoes.
“Guess I’ll have to put all my effort into spoiling the child,” Leon said with a gust. “Dog spoiling has been vetoed.”
“You know,” Claire said, righting herself, shoes on, “if you want to spoil someone, I have forever been asking for you to put a—“
“Claire, I know exactly where you’re going with this. “Your truck is one loose bolt away from becoming a pile of scrap. I am <em>not</em> putting a lift on it. Your option is new truck or nothing at all. Quit asking.”
Claire let out a dramatic huff. “This marriage is a prison,” she said, despairingly.
“Why, because I’m not gifting you Grave Digger to drive around in?” Leon asked, incredulously. “Yeah right. You’d absolutely attempt to run over other vehicles in traffic at 90 miles an hour. The answer is no. En – oh. C’mon. This dog isn’t getting any less chunky on his own,” he said, pushing himself off the couch and sticking his phone in his jeans.
“Again, whose fault is it we have a rotund corgi?” Claire asked as he walked up to her.
“Yeah, yeah,” Leon said. “C’mon. Get his leash. Dog boot camp time.”
Claire smiled and rolled her eyes and walked past Leon, and he looked over his shoulder at her, smiling faintly.
