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Brucie's tiny tail was already waggling as he waited for a familiar, barnacle encrusted ship to pull into port. His father had been gone for nearly eight months, out sailing the treacherous Celestial Sea, but now he would finally be returning home, no doubt full of stories, treasure, and maybe even a present for Bruce, if he was lucky.

Brucie leapt to his hooves when an unmistakable vessel finally pulled into the Ponyville Grand River Harbor. He clasped his crayon drawing in his teeth and nearly galloped down the wooden pier, and managed to trot up to the docked ship at the same time a giant, grizzled brown stallion was stepping ashore.

"Dad!"

Brucie had wrapped himself around his father's front hoof in an instant. He was too small to reach higher, so he hugged what he could. His father, Captain Cutthroat, made a low grunt and shook the colt off, none-too-gently. "Off."

Bruce didn't mind. Eagerly, he watched his father tie quick, deft rope knots, securing his ship to the pier. His dad didn't like hugs...but then again, his dad was tough. Bruce had forgotten that in his excitement, and he tried to straighten himself up. He tried to pose not as a fawning colt, but as a real stallion, like his father.

Cutthroat wasn't his real name. His name at birth had been Ishmael Carcharodon-a surname he naturally passed on to his son-but his stoic, ruthless nature, along with the wicked scar across his throat, had earned him a new name on the high seas. Ponies were land-bound creatures by nature, and didn't take to the ocean well. But Bruce's father bravely sailed time and time again, bringing back precious ambergris from harpooned whales, the ripped out jaws of slaughtered sharks, and hordes of fresh, twitching fish, to be traded with Griffons at the market.

He was so cool, Bruce thought. Just like a superhero from the comic books! He could hit a whale with a harpoon gun from an impossible distance away. Bruce could recall witnessing this in person...and the memory of all the blood blossoming in the water, and the poor whale's frightened calls, still made his stomach turn. Bruce frowned. He needed to be tougher. He'd be a fishing pony himself one day. So what if the whale had died, and her little calf had entangled itself in the fishing nets in its desperation? It was...just the way of things. More meat for everypony that way, more money for the family. Yes. Bruce just needed to be tough. Like his father.

Cutthroat secured the last rope, then began to walk up the pier, toward home. Hastily, Bruce galloped after him, struggling on smaller legs. He still held his drawing in his teeth, and tried to talk around it.

"I drew you a picture, Dad, look! It's a great white shark! My science book says they're officially called Carcharodon carcharias, and they're the biggest predator fish in the ocean! Have you ever seen one?"

"Killed some."

Bruce's face fell. "But...but the book said they're a threatened species..."

Cutthroat scowled. "Dead in the water if yer in there with one of em. Great, bloody monsters, kill and eat anything. That's why we kill em first. Haul em up, cut off the fins, tear out the jaws, throw em back. See who's eatin' ponies now."

Bruce frowned. "I don't think they eat ponies. They're...they're just animals, not monsters. I went swimming yesterday, and I saw a cute little nursing shark pup, and it-"

Cutthroat stopped in his tracks, and swung his head to glare sharply at Bruce. "I told you to never swim alone!" He bellowed, stomping closer, looming over the tiny colt. "You'll drown, ya stupid little runt! Know how fast a rip current can take a pony? Know how quick a little bastard like you'd be feedin' the fish at the bottom of the ocean? Answer me, boy!"

"Yes, sir." Bruce cowered, trying to make himself small. "I-I know, b-but Mummy said I'm a good s-swimmer-"

"Yer mummy don't know her head from her arse." Cutthroat spat. "Bleedin' drunk."

Bruce was filled with a strange, sudden urge to cry. He didn't like when his father said mean things about his mother...he didn't like when his father got like this.

"It's all her fault anyway." Cutthroat continued, talking mostly to himself. "Used to be a champion swimmer herself, still too bloomin' drunk to recognize when her own so-....hm. And then she's got the nerve to cry at night, even though he drowned on her watch-"

"...Who drowned, Dad?"

Cutthroat paused. He seemed to have forgotten his son was standing there. He regarded Bruce for a long time, taking in his undersized physique, his careful crayon drawing, his hopeful blue eyes.

"....He was perfect." Cutthroat muttered, bitter. "Now he's gone...and I'm stuck with you."

Bruce didn't understand what his father meant, but he flinched anyway. Still, his father looked so very miserable, so angry and unhappy, that Bruce felt resolve enter him. Carefully, he braced his front hooves against his dad and stood on his hind hooves, offering up his drawing again.

"I made this for you, Daddy."

Cutthroat sighed, and leaned down, taking the drawing in his own teeth. Bruce's tail began to wag again-right before Cutthroat wrenched the drawing right out of Bruce's hold, sending Bruce tumbling to the ground. Bruce lay disoriented and hurting down on his back, but managed to look up right as his father released the drawing into the wind. It fluttered in the breeze before landing in the river, where it quickly became waterlogged and began to sink.

"Bloody sissy." Cutthroat sent one last burning glare of contempt down at his son, then finally, began to walk away.

Brucie laid where he'd fallen for a long, long time, feeling the sting of tears prick his eyes. Try as he might, some began to fall, and he began to hate himself, hate his weakness. Hate that he was little, and foolish, and that he couldn't be what his father wanted. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes with his hoof. Crying was for babies. For sissies. He lifted his chin, trying to be stronger. Meaner.

After all, Bruce just needed to be tough. Like his father.

~
Bruce's father, Captain Cutthroat, was a fishing pony (headcanon that ponies are omnivorous and also trade with fish eating species like griffins), and spent a lot of time away at sea. Little Bruce missed him a lot when he was away, and drew a cool welcome back present for his daddy. Unfortunately, it seems to be going unnoticed (along with Bruce himself).

In the dialogue, Cutthroat is referring to Bruce's deceased older brother Butch, who drowned before Bruce was born.

Characters shown:
Bruce's parents:

Description
Brucie's tiny tail was already waggling as he waited for a familiar, barnacle encrusted ship to pull into port. His father had been gone for nearly eight months, out sailing the treacherous Celestial Sea, but now he would finally be returning home, no doubt full of stories, treasure, and maybe even a present for Bruce, if he was lucky.

Brucie leapt to his hooves when an unmistakable vessel finally pulled into the Ponyville Grand River Harbor. He clasped his crayon drawing in his teeth and nearly galloped down the wooden pier, and managed to trot up to the docked ship at the same time a giant, grizzled brown stallion was stepping ashore.

"Dad!"

Brucie had wrapped himself around his father's front hoof in an instant. He was too small to reach higher, so he hugged what he could. His father, Captain Cutthroat, made a low grunt and shook the colt off, none-too-gently. "Off."

Bruce didn't mind. Eagerly, he watched his father tie quick, deft rope knots, securing his ship to the pier. His dad didn't like hugs...but then again, his dad was tough. Bruce had forgotten that in his excitement, and he tried to straighten himself up. He tried to pose not as a fawning colt, but as a real stallion, like his father.

Cutthroat wasn't his real name. His name at birth had been Ishmael Carcharodon-a surname he naturally passed on to his son-but his stoic, ruthless nature, along with the wicked scar across his throat, had earned him a new name on the high seas. Ponies were land-bound creatures by nature, and didn't take to the ocean well. But Bruce's father bravely sailed time and time again, bringing back precious ambergris from harpooned whales, the ripped out jaws of slaughtered sharks, and hordes of fresh, twitching fish, to be traded with Griffons at the market.

He was so cool, Bruce thought. Just like a superhero from the comic books! He could hit a whale with a harpoon gun from an impossible distance away. Bruce could recall witnessing this in person...and the memory of all the blood blossoming in the water, and the poor whale's frightened calls, still made his stomach turn. Bruce frowned. He needed to be tougher. He'd be a fishing pony himself one day. So what if the whale had died, and her little calf had entangled itself in the fishing nets in its desperation? It was...just the way of things. More meat for everypony that way, more money for the family. Yes. Bruce just needed to be tough. Like his father.

Cutthroat secured the last rope, then began to walk up the pier, toward home. Hastily, Bruce galloped after him, struggling on smaller legs. He still held his drawing in his teeth, and tried to talk around it.

"I drew you a picture, Dad, look! It's a great white shark! My science book says they're officially called Carcharodon carcharias, and they're the biggest predator fish in the ocean! Have you ever seen one?"

"Killed some."

Bruce's face fell. "But...but the book said they're a threatened species..."

Cutthroat scowled. "Dead in the water if yer in there with one of em. Great, bloody monsters, kill and eat anything. That's why we kill em first. Haul em up, cut off the fins, tear out the jaws, throw em back. See who's eatin' ponies now."

Bruce frowned. "I don't think they eat ponies. They're...they're just animals, not monsters. I went swimming yesterday, and I saw a cute little nursing shark pup, and it-"

Cutthroat stopped in his tracks, and swung his head to glare sharply at Bruce. "I told you to never swim alone!" He bellowed, stomping closer, looming over the tiny colt. "You'll drown, ya stupid little runt! Know how fast a rip current can take a pony? Know how quick a little bastard like you'd be feedin' the fish at the bottom of the ocean? Answer me, boy!"

"Yes, sir." Bruce cowered, trying to make himself small. "I-I know, b-but Mummy said I'm a good s-swimmer-"

"Yer mummy don't know her head from her arse." Cutthroat spat. "Bleedin' drunk."

Bruce was filled with a strange, sudden urge to cry. He didn't like when his father said mean things about his mother...he didn't like when his father got like this.

"It's all her fault anyway." Cutthroat continued, talking mostly to himself. "Used to be a champion swimmer herself, still too bloomin' drunk to recognize when her own so-....hm. And then she's got the nerve to cry at night, even though he drowned on her watch-"

"...Who drowned, Dad?"

Cutthroat paused. He seemed to have forgotten his son was standing there. He regarded Bruce for a long time, taking in his undersized physique, his careful crayon drawing, his hopeful blue eyes.

"....He was perfect." Cutthroat muttered, bitter. "Now he's gone...and I'm stuck with you."

Bruce didn't understand what his father meant, but he flinched anyway. Still, his father looked so very miserable, so angry and unhappy, that Bruce felt resolve enter him. Carefully, he braced his front hooves against his dad and stood on his hind hooves, offering up his drawing again.

"I made this for you, Daddy."

Cutthroat sighed, and leaned down, taking the drawing in his own teeth. Bruce's tail began to wag again-right before Cutthroat wrenched the drawing right out of Bruce's hold, sending Bruce tumbling to the ground. Bruce lay disoriented and hurting down on his back, but managed to look up right as his father released the drawing into the wind. It fluttered in the breeze before landing in the river, where it quickly became waterlogged and began to sink.

"Bloody sissy." Cutthroat sent one last burning glare of contempt down at his son, then finally, began to walk away.

Brucie laid where he'd fallen for a long, long time, feeling the sting of tears prick his eyes. Try as he might, some began to fall, and he began to hate himself, hate his weakness. Hate that he was little, and foolish, and that he couldn't be what his father wanted. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes with his hoof. Crying was for babies. For sissies. He lifted his chin, trying to be stronger. Meaner.

After all, Bruce just needed to be tough. Like his father.

~
Bruce's father, Captain Cutthroat, was a fishing pony (headcanon that ponies are omnivorous and also trade with fish eating species like griffins), and spent a lot of time away at sea. Little Bruce missed him a lot when he was away, and drew a cool welcome back present for his daddy. Unfortunately, it seems to be going unnoticed (along with Bruce himself).

In the dialogue, Cutthroat is referring to Bruce's deceased older brother Butch, who drowned before Bruce was born.

Characters shown:
Bruce's parents: