Time for some culture, everyone

[stayb100ponyboy]

[The camera flicks on, showing a young troll sitting down, a large book open on his crossed legs. There's a stack of books behind him, and the gentle lighting and general hush all around him indicate that he's in the library.]

I found this book of human poetry, and found a beautiful poem. I had no idea you humans had it in you. This is true highblood lyricism; if I didn't know better, I would think this Samuel Taylor Coleridge fellow was a blueblood.

[He clears his throat, then begins reading from the book.]

To a Young Ass, Its Mother Being Tethered Near It, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Poor little Foal of an oppresséd race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
'Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes'?
Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain
To see thy wretched mother's shorten'd chain?
And truly, very piteous is her lot--
Chain'd to a log within a narrow spot,
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green!

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity--best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me that He lives like thee,
Half famish'd in a land of Luxury!
How askingly its footsteps hither bend?
It seems to say, 'And have I then one friend?'
Innocent foal! thou poor despis'd forlorn!
I hail thee Brother--spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his bride,
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast!

[He carefully closes the book, his face as close to beaming as he's willing to get in public.]

Magnificent.

Comments

[bestestfurrend]

[A few nods of her head signal her agreement with this plan - she can do this! and she's taking her time, both to try and choose just the right one and also because extra time spent snuggling with her moirail is always time well spent. But oh, there are so many of them that's she getting quite overwhelmed.]

[stayb100ponyboy]

[Equius can tell she's getting frustrated, so he gently turns the pages back to the section of poems written by Mother Goose.]

Why don't you look in here? She wrote one about kittens, I'm sure there has to be one about hoofbeasts in here too.

[bestestfurrend]

[She slides her hands on top of his once he's done carefully turning the pages for her, tilting her head far back to smile at him in thanks, careful not to poke him with her horns. Usually she's the one to calm him, but today she's finding his presence particularly soothing and comforting - really she'd be happy to just stay on his lap and watch him sort through the poems for himself, relaxed and content in a little bubble of just herself and her moirail.

But he found her such nice poems that she does want to find one for him in return before she settles down to just cuddling him, and she turns her gaze back to the book, sorting through the poems more slowly now. There had to be something. Nothing catches her eye at first, and the few poems that mention hoofbeasts don't seem right, or worse, talk about the poor hoofbeasts being mistreated. Equius wouldn't like that, so she flips the pages quickly so he doesn't have time to see them.

Then...hmm, it's short, but not too bad. She clears her throat dramatically and begins to read:]

Twenty white horses
Upon a red hill;
Now they tramp,
Now they champ,
Now they stand still.

[She giggles, pleased with the rhythm of it even if it's not a long poem at all.] Ooh, do you think it's about a herd of lusii??

[stayb100ponyboy]

[Humans don't have lusii, but Equius doesn't mention that. Instead, he smiles at her and nuzzles into her hair a little.]

Maybe. It sounds like Aurthor, doesn't it?

[bestestfurrend]

Uh huh! It does. I bet he'd have liked to hear it too.

[She hums when he nuzzles her, amazingly happy. Things finally feel just right again between them.]

You're the best moirail, Equius. [She feels so pale for him right now it almost hurts.]

[stayb100ponyboy]

[Equius sighs, perfectly content. It does finally feel like things are back to normal again, and he wonders how he could have ever thought they wouldn't be pale for each other anymore.]

Thank you, Nepeta, but I think you're wrong. I'm just the lucky guy who happened to get the best moirail in the world.

[bestestfurrend]

Heehee, no no, I'm afuraid not! We're both the luckiest to have the bestest moirails in the world, okay?

[That's a fair compromise, right? It had better be! Or she'll nuzzle him into agreeing.]

[stayb100ponyboy]

I can agree with that.