Buttons grabbed his balm, scraped out a little and rubbed it between his hooves. He pulled it through his mane, making sure he reached his wispy hairs, which stuck out otherwise. Soon he achieved a clean, kempt quiff, and he rinsed his hooves in warm water and patted them dry with a towel. He had to look his best that day. Rainbow Dash was the kind of pony you made an effort for.
Buttons couldn’t believe his luck. For months she had refused to show her face to the media. Nopony had even glimpsed her in public for nearly as long. What had happened? Was she ill? Was she depressed? He and everypony else could merely speculate. Then, out of the blue, she had answered his letter – which he’d sent with a sigh and the certainty of an assistant’s automatic reply – and had agreed to sit down with him for three hours to talk about her life. ‘Why me?’ he’d been asking himself since he’d realised it hadn’t been a joke. What did he have to offer her? This pony was one of Equestria’s most famous heroines. She needed only to step out her door to speak to any of the largest organisations in the world. Instead she had chosen to grace the podcast of a nopony, a show on which activists and conspiracy theorists broadcasted their wacky views.
He would host her in his shed. He had transformed the gloomy room stuffed with boxes and tools into a sterile yet comfortable studio with seats for an interviewer (him) and up to five guests. Cameras enclosed the set, managed by one of his two employees, Red Nose, who seemed as excited as Buttons should have been. The latter’s stomach was squirming; his jaw was sore from clenching. He had been farting periodically to boot. He had eaten too much for breakfast, having intended to skip lunch. He couldn’t fart in front of Rainbow Dash. What an embarrassment that would have been.
She was due to arrive in the next hour. He sprayed some air-freshener and slipped another mint into his mouth. In the mirror he checked that his clothes were lint-free and presentable. He combed his tail once more and examined his teeth. Then he paced on the gravel outside. ‘Rainbow Dash can’t step on gravel,’ he thought idly. She was used to polished floors, red carpets and clouds.
‘Everything’s ready,’ said Red Nose, poking his head out the door. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ answered Buttons, though he was lying through his teeth. He wanted to be fine, and he wasn’t. He was nervous. He was more nervous than he’d ever been. He should have been excited and delighted – honoured, even. Instead he was trying not to fart and not to vomit.
It felt as if only a few minutes had passed, and he spotted a car in the distance. His stomach sank. She was coming. This was it. What would he say? He panicked. He felt as though he hadn’t prepared anything. He hadn’t so much as a clipboard of questions – not even a pony to make them a cup of tea. He felt like an idiot. ‘Play it cool,’ he’d been thinking instead of getting organised. ‘This is it, Buttons,’ he thought. ‘You’re for it, so you may as well go down in style.’ He would be welcoming. He would be kind. This wasn’t about him; it was about her. His job was to love his guest, to ask for truth, to listen with empathy. ‘Love my guest,’ he thought.
The car pulled in. He swallowed, closed his eyes, sighed and opened them, smiling sincerely.
Rainbow Dash, that old bore – she was on the telly again, was she? Half a year of build-up had led to what? A fourth-rate talk-show and an old mare’s fantasies. And ponies looked up to her as a role model for racing. Sure, she’d done good things elsewhere, but what flying had she achieved to rival Raffia’s? He’d been breaking the sound barrier since he’d spoken his first words – more or less. The world was choking on so much mediocrity that, when somepony competent did her job, she was hailed as a genius. Yes, he respected Rainbow Dash, but he respected himself more. When it came to flying, he was the best. He’d always known he could be the best, and everypony he raced told him that he was – better than any of the Wonderbolts had been at his age, at any rate.
‘But I remember you as one of the great practicers,’ Buttons, the dull host, was saying as Rainbow Dash nodded along. ‘What’s the rationale behind returning to the game if you haven’t been practising?’
‘Well, at the end of the day, it’s an experiment,’ replied Rainbow Dash. ‘I know that, back in the day, I was constantly on it. But maybe I was better than everypony anyway. Maybe I didn’t need to put in all those hours.’
‘So, you haven’t been practising.’
‘No, not really,’ said Rainbow, ‘but that’s my point – how much better can you get? I don’t think you can teach old dogs new tricks. I’m not going to get any faster; that’s just nature. So, what would I be practising? I know all the moves. I can still pull them off.’
‘But isn’t that – and forgive me for saying – I’m not pretending to be an expert or anything – isn’t that a bit contradictory?’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, you’ve admitted you aren’t practising and you’ve lost speed – and it’s racing, where the margins between one pony and the next are so fine –’
‘It’s not all about speed.’
‘It’s not?’
‘It’s not. And let’s be clear: I’m older, not old. And I was – and I’m not trying to brag or to be boastful or anything – I’m just saying that I was the fastest ever in my prime. You know, that’s just a fact. They clocked me. So, I get it: obviously, you get too old and your body packs in and you lose it. And that’s why, ultimately, I have to do this now. It’s my last chance to do what I fell in love doing – while I’m young enough that I still feel up to it and while I still have the physical ability to keep up.’
‘So,’ said Buttons slowly, ‘if you aren’t practising, what do you do in the spare time?’
‘I am flying a lot.’
‘But wouldn’t that count as practice?’
Rainbow Dash grimaced. ‘Not really. I mean, when I say “practice”, I mean drills and diets and all sorts of nitty-gritty things, and I’m not interested in going back to that. Instead I’m focused on feeling good up there again, in the air. I think that ninety percent of your performance comes from how good you’re feeling. I think that’s the key. When I was winning, I felt great, fantastic, as good as you can feel. It’s when you start getting fed up that the problems come. You get fed up with flying. I’ll put it this way: you’ve sacrificed so much, and then you go and do something else that you like, and you think, “Oh, this is fun.” But if you’re doing something else, you aren’t doing what you’re supposed to be doing. And that feeds back, and things go wrong, and you start doubting yourself, your commitment, and you beat yourself up. It’s horrible. It’s a horrible place to be as a racer. You have to feel good about yourself to win, so that’s why I’m making it all about that. I want to get into the air and to enjoy myself as much as possible when I’m up there. And that can involve a few drills here and there, but the moment they become boring or mentally taxing, I move on to something else.’
She was wasting her time so far as Raffia was concerned. It was a nice idea, the old war-horse chasing her last hurrah, but ultimately, it distracted from the real talent. He got annoyed when these has-beens poked their snouts back into the business, where they no longer belonged. Punditry was about the furthest he could stretch for them. Once they started talking about comebacks and rolling back the years, he was rolling his eyes.
‘It’s been great having you on,’ said Buttons, ‘and before we close, I have to ask you: You’ve steered clear of the media for months. You could’ve given anypony an interview, and you chose to come to me. I know a lot of ponies will be thinking, “Why’s she sitting here, with this bloke?” And, to be honest, I’m thinking it too.’ He chuckled and Rainbow Dash grinned.
‘Well, first, about the media,’ began Rainbow Dash, ‘isn’t it funny? You know, for me it’s been some time off. But then somepony picks up on it, and they want a story, and it gets blown into whatever – you know, that’s just the way it is. But I’ll tell you: I’m on this show because I’ve – in my time off, that is – I’ve been enjoying watching it.’
‘You’ve been watching?’ said Buttons, sounding astonished.
‘Yeah, of course I have,’ said Rainbow Dash, smiling. ‘I think you’re really good. The way you do things – I think that’s what the media sphere needs just now. I don’t want to point hooves or name names or anything, but you know what it’s like. They’ll get somepony on, and it’s something like five against one, and they all take turns poking at you until you’re, you know – the fire comes on, and it just becomes, well, dissolves into nonsense, really. I like that you don’t do that, so I’ve been watching you, your show.’
And didn’t he look utterly delighted about it. Raffia turned off the screen and tossed aside the remote. Rainbow Dash got the praise, and she passed it on to ponies like Buttons, who’d never done a big thing in their lives. Raffia was the one she should have been praising. He bet she didn’t even know his name, and he’d finished last season ranked thirty-sixth, and he was technically still a colt! Well, it would all change soon. An ‘honorary tour-card’ – what was that but a free stall in races you didn’t deserve to be near? Racing didn’t ‘owe’ Rainbow Dash; Rainbow Dash owed racing. And she owed it to Raffia to shove off and let the future come to pass. If she had been him, she would have asked for the same. He smiled to himself. This year was the year it changed. He had his wildcard to the Masters, and they would see him then – all of them, including Rainbow Dash. ‘Keep up’, could she? Her tune would change as quickly as he would fly.
Racing was hard. Once it had been so easy. Rainbow Dash was glad she was OK for speed, and her course-play was as strong as ever, but you never knew for sure how you’d rank until you tried against opponents. This was tougher than she’d thought. The younger, nippier racers took the corners as if they were nothing. She grimaced at the stretch in her wings as the force of each turn ripped into them. Seventh place, would it be? She had time. ‘Let’s make a fight of it,’ she thought.
She dipped under an obstacle and took the cloud-hoops efficiently. She smiled. She still had it in the locker. She cleared the last one with a bit of flair and winked to the tiny crowd – not that they saw her. She landed gracefully to finish. ‘Eighth,’ read the board. She sighed. Racing wasn’t hard; accepting that she wasn’t what she had been was. Eggshell, her new coach, clapped her on her sweaty back.
‘Eighth! Excellent!’
‘Eighth out of twenty,’ Rainbow Dash gasped, grimacing again. ‘I wouldn’t write home.’
‘Think positive. You’ve beaten the bookies and the world number eighty.’
She snorted. ‘Yay, the world number eighty – well done, me.’
‘Baby steps.’
‘Whatever.’ She puffed out her cheeks, panting. ‘Eighth. I can work with eighth.’
‘There you go,’ said Eggshell, beaming, and he passed her a towel and bottle of water. She swallowed a mouthful and trickled some across her face. Once the stragglers landed, many of the racers came over to congratulate her. Rainbow Dash smiled and bumped hooves with them. She swelled with pride as the winner, Horizon, pulled her in for a hug and called her an inspiration. He was the world number thirty-three, and Rainbow Dash tipped him to reach the top sixteen within two years. It felt good to know there was respect for her and from the big-time racers to boot. Sometimes that was what she missed most: knowing for certain that the rest of the world saw her as somepony special.
‘Ms Dash! Ms Dash!’ The press were never far away. Rainbow Dash stepped forward to greet them and to get it over with.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘That was some performance.’ Journalists, cameras and microphones appeared in front of her more quickly than she’d raced. ‘Can you tell us how you feel?’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘For a first race back, that probably went as well as it could have.’
‘You came in eighth against a relatively tough line-up. What are your thoughts on how you did up there?’
‘I felt good. Not much went wrong; it’s just that top speed, isn’t it, that’s a miss. And these young ones, they’re so mobile. I felt it in the wings, I can’t lie. But I’m pleased with how I went about it. I’m moving well, if a little slowly, and my experience is a big advantage on any course. So, even though I wasn’t the quickest, I beat the odds.’
‘You certainly did! I have some stats with me that I’d like to share with you,’ said the journalist. ‘You made fifteen out of sixteen clean-throughs on all hoops. The average was ten out of sixteen.’
Rainbow Dash grinned. ‘Well, that’s the advantage of moving more slowly; you get a bit more time to think.’
‘And those clean passes all add up!’ continued the journalist. ‘Here’s another stat: you also kept the most consistent speed on the course.’
Rainbow Dash smirked. ‘Great, I’m glad. I’ve got to be the best at something.’ The journalist chuckled sycophantically.
‘And what do you make of the bookies putting you odds-on to finish in the bottom five?’
‘I’m with that. Hopefully, there are ponies out there who’ve just made a tidy sum of money.’
‘So, you do think ponies will bet on you?’
Her smile twitched. Journalists really were the cheekiest berks. ‘That’s their business,’ said Rainbow Dash. ‘I can only back myself, so when I’m done here, I’m off to collect my winnings.’
The journalist laughed and Rainbow Dash nodded. ‘Rainbow Dash,’ he said, ‘thank you.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied and turned away. Eggshell was waiting for her.
‘Would you like to stay and watch the other races?’ he asked.
‘Sure.’ It wasn’t as though she had anything better to do. The Wonderbolts had been inactive since racing had replaced demonstrations; Twilight didn’t need her for anything more than a catch-up.
The next race was Group C’s. A pony called Slate won with an ugly display; against a twenty of near-amateurs, however, it was enough. Things became more interesting once the higher-ranked racers flew. Her friend Peanut, also on her last wings, battled bravely against three of the top twenty. Rainbow Dash was half-pleased she had managed to avoid a brutal draw, and she was half-disappointed that, to stand a chance of facing the day’s best, she had to get out of the groups and into the knockout stages.
‘What do you think when you watch them?’ asked Eggshell. He had been watching her. Rainbow Dash smiled. Eggshell was a very holistic coach. One of the first things he’d had her do was look at recordings of herself in her prime. He had hoped to inspire her. The plan had backfired when it had depressed her to remember how good she’d been.
‘I’m thinking it’s a second-rate tournament that nopony really cares about,’ said Rainbow Dash honestly, shrugging. It was true.
‘But what do you think of the racers?’
‘They’re mostly mediocre.’
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘Sad.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Because nopony likes mediocre racing, and I can’t even beat them anymore. Now I’m really sad.’
‘You’re being sarcastic.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘But you mean it too.’
Rainbow Dash smiled. A good coach meant a good friend, and the longer she spent with Eggshell the more she liked him. He read between the lines. ‘If you’re sad,’ he said, ‘how do you make yourself happy?’
‘Gee, Egg, I don’t know,’ she mock-sang, sighing. ‘You know how it is. I half-want to keep going, and I half-want to pack it in. Love-hate, what a recipe for disaster.’ She snorted and shook her head.
‘But you do love it more than you hate it.’
‘I don’t know anymore.’
‘You do. I’ve seen how happy you are in the air. I’m going to quote you to you: “Ninety percent of your performance comes from how good you’re feeling.”’
‘What’s your point?’
‘Feel good, and you’ll be fine.’
She snorted again. ‘Great! Sorted!’
Eggshell smiled. ‘Thanks.’
Rainbow Dash did feel better after that. It was just as well. When she was down, she watched ponies win and felt worse. When she was happy, she watched the same ponies fly and couldn’t wait to get up there herself.
‘Hey, hey! That’s some speed!’ she said, pointing at a small, mud-coated racer. ‘Not much in his head, though, by the looks of it!’ He clattered through hoops like a cudgel. Rainbow Dash couldn’t recall a more graceless performance, not even Slate’s. She frowned. ‘What’s he doing?’ Mud-Coat took a corner so widely that the two chasing overtook him. When the course straightened, he whooshed past them like a dart. Rainbow Dash realised she was on her hooves. Eggshell watched her closely.
‘What do you think?’ he asked her as Mud-Coat came in first by a full four seconds.
‘He’s an absolute natural, and his head’s emptier than a – I don’t know, something. That turn was criminal.’ Rainbow Dash tossed her mane angrily. ‘He could have won by six. Six seconds! That’s as fast as I was!’
‘“Mediocre”,’ quoted Eggshell.
‘He must be a new racer,’ said Rainbow Dash. ‘Nopony on tour butchers a turn like that.’
‘His name’s Raffia. He’s had his card for little more than a year. He’s ranked as highly as twenty-eighth, and he’s still a colt – at least so far as racing is concerned.’
‘Why are you wasting your time coaching me?’ said Rainbow Dash, snorting. ‘There’s your future!’
Eggshell looked taken aback. He raised a brow. ‘Do you think he’s that good?’
‘What?’ said Rainbow Dash, aghast at his lack of enthusiasm. ‘Don’t you see how fast he is?’
‘Racing isn’t all about speed. You said it yourself.’
‘It’s not about speed when you’re a snail like me! How come we’ve never heard of him?’
‘I have. He’s as quick as a bolt, no doubt, but he’s the sloppiest racer on tour. You worked that out in seconds. And he’s arrogant, a real enfant terrible. Ponies want little to do with him. Most don’t consider him a serious prospect.’
Rainbow Dash couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘But what’s his record like?’ she burst out. ‘Isn’t he winning races?’
‘No more than anypony else by the looks of things. I think he’s won a tournament, minor-ranking – and there was a good run in the Grand Prix. Otherwise –’ He shrugged.
Rainbow Dash watched Raffia ignore whoever approached him. His face was small and ratty. His eyes flicked to and fro, sharp and angry. It was a manner better suited to a fighter than a racer, yet he was so young that it inspired dislike far more than fear. Still, she had seen him best both the course and the race while flying like a plane crash. That was an achievement, whatever Eggshell or anypony else said.
‘Should I speak to him?’ Rainbow Dash had said this aloud. Eggshell seemed surprised.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. It just seems like such a waste of talent.’
‘Do you mean you want to give him some advice?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Rainbow Dash, watching him glower. ‘He wouldn’t take it, would he? Nah, he wouldn’t take it.’ She grimaced. ‘What an utter waste of talent he’ll be if he doesn’t get over himself. That’s arrogance for you, Egg. They say I was arrogant,’ she chuckled, ‘and I was. But looking at him, I see I never came close.’ She couldn’t stop shaking her head. ‘What a shame.’
The showers brought back memories. They had been a great spot for reflection and for banter. Once Rainbow Dash had argued with Fleetfoot about the weight of their uniforms, claiming that the fabric took time off her turns. They had taken so long to wash that Spitfire had fined them both for delaying the janitor. Rainbow Dash grinned as she recalled their many pranks and arguments. The janitor had surely hated them, or might he have been quietly pleased to see the camaraderie? She smiled at the thought. Ponies these days weren’t the same. Except for a nod and a few words of greeting, they kept to themselves.
She turned off the water, grabbed her towel and patted her face and her mane with it. She shuffled to the lockers for her hair dryer, paused, sighed and shook her head. She had left her goggles on the floor beside the taps. The Wonderbolts would have teased her, called her old and senile. Sadly, she probably was. She turned and traipsed back. As she re-entered the showers, she heard running water. She’d thought she’d been the last to wash, so she’d taken ages. Somepony must have been waiting for her to finish. She hoped it wasn’t another janitor whose time she’d wasted.
It was Raffia. He stopped as soon as he noticed her. The drain gurgled and left an uncomfortable silence. His soapy mane coupled with his scowl made him look stupid. Rainbow Dash resisted the urge to snigger. She understood. Rapidfire had hated communal showers too. Some ponies just weren’t sociable like that.
‘Sorry. Came for these,’ she said, picking up her wet goggles and shaking them. Raffia glared. Something in Rainbow Dash rebelled at the sight. He was laying down a challenge. Old or not, she wasn’t one to turn down a challenge – especially not his. She could see why ponies disliked him. He was so up himself he couldn’t even shower without provoking irritation.
Eventually, her silent staring crossed a line. ‘What are you looking at me like that for?’ grunted Raffia, spitting slightly.
‘I’m –’ Rainbow Dash shrugged. She couldn’t be bothered. The truth was easy. ‘I’m looking at you,’ she began, ‘because I see talent that you’re wasting.’
Raffia’s brow furrowed further and his mouth opened to deliver a rejoinder, but his mind wasn’t sharp enough. ‘Well, you can stop looking.’ He said it awkwardly, as though he hadn’t expected her to be so forthright. Clearly, he was uncomfortable, which came as no surprise to Rainbow Dash. Raffia was young and in the showers with an older mare who happened to be very famous, and she had just called him out. His bravado was waning visibly, youthful arrogance crumbling under the pressure of the unknown. Rainbow Dash could sense an opportunity, so she seized it.
‘I saw you race, and you’re as fast as I was. But you’re sloppy. I know you didn’t ask, but since I’m here, why not? I just think it’s a crime, actually, for somepony like you to be given this talent and squander it.’ She was picking up steam. Anger and shame reared their heads as she thought of her own complacency. ‘You have a gift, and because you’re used to getting by on it, you haven’t tried for anything in your life. I said it today: you could be the future. But unless you pull the hoof out and try – and when I say “try”, I mean really try. You have to make flying a routine. You have to get up in the air and onto the course and hone your craft. Get busy. There are too many professionals who are too clever for you, and you’ll never beat them flying like that. They’re too smart. They work too hard.’ She trailed off and sighed. The impulse had passed. She looked at Raffia. Even if she had rocked him, his armour had returned. The scowl was firm; the glare was steady. She waited – silence. He wasn’t nearly as confident as he wanted her to believe. That was why he had nothing to say. What did she want him to remember? That was the most important thing. ‘I think you could be brilliant,’ she said. ‘Please – make an effort. You’ll regret it more than anything if you don’t. Do one thing before your next race: practise flying through hoops. Do it at cruising speed. It sounds counter-intuitive, but it isn’t. Do it calmly, twenty times. Then speed up, seventy percent, another twenty times, and that’s it.’
She decided to leave. Any more from her and it became a lecture. She turned without waiting for a response, half-expecting to hear one shouted at her as she walked away. Instead came the sound of the water running again. Would Raffia listen? It was likely he wouldn’t, but at least she had challenged him. Somepony had to. She nodded to herself. He was young. Expecting from him the discipline she had learned was like expecting an infant to best a leaver in arithmetic. He had to learn how to succeed. Perhaps she had just helped him take a step in the right direction. Up swam the memory of Applejack, scowling, jaw clenched, as she and Rainbow Dash wrestled hooves. With this in mind she passed, grinning, at the doors the incoming janitor.