[i]Dear Pinkamena,[/i]

[i]I’ve never been more petrified in my life. You’re entering a world of chaos unlike anything you’ve ever seen. It’s dangerous, depressing, and downright crushing out there. There are ponies who’ll use their bad day to make a thousand more. There are ponies who’ll try to screw up that newfound smile of yours as best they can, resenting you for as long as you hold it on your face.[/i]

[i]Sticking it out for your family is part of being a Pie. It’ll be hard around here while we're busy worrying about you every hour we're awake. And that's including the sleepless nights you'll give your mother and sisters. But I know we can’t change your mind. We’ll have a hard time without you, but we’ll surely survive despite you, and if you come to your senses, there's always work on the farm.[/i]

[i]Your Father,[/i]
[i]Igneous Rock Pie[/i]



Writing a letter was Cloudy Quartz’s idea. She’d suggested it to Limestone and Marble when they said they’d be too sad to say goodbye. Or, as she put it, “If you think you might cry, then give her a letter instead and get out of there before the waterworks start. No deserter is ever getting that satisfaction.”

Igneous knew he wouldn't cry, but he liked having his thoughts on permanent record.

Meanwhile, approaching Pinkamena one at a time on her last day—as she sat alone at the train station on top of her overflowing suitcase—was nopony’s idea. But Marble went first, so then did Limestone, and finally Cloudy. And when his wife came home, Igneous knew it was his turn.

He approached his daughter like she was a wild animal. Her head was cradled in her crossed forelegs, and that mane—where combs go to meet their demise, as Limestone put it—shot up like an eruption.

“Pinkamena?” Igneous said cautiously.

“My name is Pinkie,” she murmured. “Are you here to yell at me too?”

“No.”

His daughter ripped her head out from her hiding place, revealing her red, bleary eyes. “I don’t [i]get it,[/i]” she pouted. “Maud left first. So why is everypony making [i]me[/i] feel terrible? Why does my family hate me…?”

“We don’t hate you, Pink—”

“My sisters won’t even talk to me! Ma did, but… I kinda wish she hadn’t…”

Igneous wondered exactly what Cloudy had said. He didn’t get a chance to ask; he only saw her for a few seconds before she ascended to their bedroom and slammed the door.

He adjusted his cap. “I don’t think you accurately recall Maud’s departure. She got the Ma Pie treatment just the same as you did.”

Pinkamena scoffed.

Igneous thought of continuing, but the only thing left to discuss was how prestigious geological schooling compared to a minimum wage job in a small town bakery, and Cloudy would have brought all that up anyways. Besides, for some itching reason, Igneous’s thoughts—usually obsessed with the past—were trained on the future like a hound noticing a threat before its owner did. Perhaps it was something in his daughter's expression, or lack thereof.

Pinkamena’s eyes wandered to her father’s letter. “Just put that with the rest and I’ll get out of your way.”

“This?” Igneous replied. “This is nothing.” He stuffed the letter in his collar. “Grocery list.”

“Oh… okay.”

A train’s whistle sighed on the horizon. 

Igneous took a deep breath. “Pinkie?”

His daughter frowned and looked up at him. “…Yeah, Pa?”

“…I’ve never been more proud in my life. You’ve decided that you don’t like where you are so you’re making a change for yourself. I’m under no illusion that I know anything about where you’re going, but I do know this: You’ll do great things out there. I know you’ll make lots of ponies happy with your parties and your nonsense and your great big toothy smile.

“Making a stand for yourself is part of being a Pie. You’ve never done anything wrong by us, and I don’t think you’re even capable of it. Your mother and sisters are awful at goodbyes, but that just shows that they care. I know we’ll make it just fine without you, and most importantly, I know you’ll still visit.”

[hr]

Igneous carried two things home with him that day. The first was the image of his daughter—smiling and crying and leaping right at him—burned into his retinas for safe keeping. The other was a toxic taste in his mouth that he wondered if he could ever wash out.