Scootaloo stood in front of a market store, the crystal clear glass glaring back at her with the reflection of a orange coated, purple maned filly. The fillies mouth drooped open with a large grin on her face, the sight of what she had always wanted just within reach if what she was reading was actually real. Her brain reveled in the idea of what was put into words before her. Through the window in the storefront stood a five foot tall soda can that was at least two feet wide, with two red bulls locked in head-to-head combat printed onto its side. Next to it was a small sign, the corners etched with the same red bulls that had been printed onto the can. And on the sign were the words that Scootaloo had assumed meant the best for flight, and for any feasible future of hers:
Red Bull Gives You Wings!
It was the words that meant everything that anything could ever mean to her, and it was almost as important as Rainbow Dash. Almost, but nothing could ever be as important as her mentor and idol. The can stood in the window, mocking her and calling for her to come and taste the sweet nectar stored within the aluminum can. With a smile on her face, she darted into the shop, never letting the can leave her sight, the phrase Red Bull Gives You Wings! now etched into her very mind. Scootaloo made no haste to the register, standing behind other ponies who were at least twice her size. Her body shook in anticipation, and in her mind she racked over every possible outcome from her having real wings. The shop was filled with snacks and goodies, ranging from Spicy Hay Fries to Alfalfa Chips. Everything looked as if it could solve any hunger situation and flood her taste buds with the full flavored awesomeness, but her mind was somewhere else, locked onto the giant can of Red Bull sitting in the storefront display window.
The clerk finished with the customer in front of Scootaloo, but she didn't notice anything else around her besides the can that could mean the difference between fame, and lame. The can began to call to her, at first whispering to her “Hey...” and gradually getting louder. It became so loud that at one point, she awoke from her trance to the clerk yelling at her to either buy something or get out of line. She nervously laughed and gave a small smile to the clerk behind the register and the ponies standing behind her, where a large line of colts and mares had piled up behind her in wait to get on with their business.
She stepped up to the register and placed her hooves on the lightly scratched plastic counter, pulling out a small bag of bits, tossing it to the clerk. He glanced down at the bag of bits, and back at Scootaloo, leaning over the counter to see if she had been holding anything in her hooves. They were empty, and he gave her a confused look, unsure of what she had wanted to buy with all the bits she had given to him. Scootaloo just stood there, her mind racing through the life she could have with wings, and the careers. The thought of being a Wonderbolt raced through her mind, the grin extending into a large, beaming smile on her face as she awaited an answer to the question she had only asked subconsciously.
“Kid,” the clerk said to Scootaloo with an annoyed tone, “You know you can't buy anything if you don't have anything to buy.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah! That giant Red Bull thing!” she said in an energetic voice, pointing over to the can sitting in the display window.
“That's only a display,” he told her, counting the bits she had tossed him.
“Oh,” Scootaloo said disappointingly.
“And aren't you a little young for these?” He asked her. “You have to be at least 16 for these kid, and you're what, 11?
“No!” Scootaloo yelled, glaring at him for possibly ruining her dream. “I mean, no? Here, wait a sec.” Scootaloo ran out the door to her scooter, reaching into the helmet that hung from her handlebars, pulling out an fake ID. She rushed back up to the counter and placed it with a smacking sound.
The cashier picked up the ID, and fiddled it with his hooves. He wasn't entirely convinced about the ID, as he looked at it, back at Scootaloo, and back at the ID again. “So, you mean to tell me, Ms. Scootamcawesome, that you are actually 34?”
“Uh... yeah?” Scootaloo responded nervously, a quick response forming inside of her head. “Growth hindrance!” She yelled out, smiling to herself on how complicated and smart the reply had made her sound.
“Yeah, sure. If you are who you say you are, where were you born?”
Scootaloo racked her mind for the information, but nothing that she knew for sure came to mind. So she said the only place that had come to her mind. “Neighwaii?”
“Alright, sorry for the hold up Ms. Scootamcawesome,” He said, tossing her back the ID but still on the verge of denying it, but he didn't want to do any paper work right now.
“My bits?” Scootaloo asked sternly.
“Here,” he sighed, almost handing the bits back to Scootaloo, “Or you can buy 23 cans of those there,” he said, motioning towards the fridge at the six inch cans.
Scootaloo's eyes lit up as they fell upon the fridge that held the sodas, the glass door providing a window to the contents inside. Lit with a fluorescent bulb, the red bulls and the checkered pattern of blue made a small glow, row after row and shelf after shelf of Red Bull laying in wait for the next customer. The colt that stood behind Scootaloo shot a glance at the store clerk, visually asking him why he just let a small filly with a fake ID have so much caffeine and other herbal energy supplements.
“I'll take it!” Scootaloo shouted, rushing over to the fridge. She threw the door open and began counting out the sodas, adding to the growing pile in her hooves.
By the time she had counted to eighteen, there was no way she could physically carry the last 5 sodas. Her legs were shaking, and the contents that were held in her hooves were already unstable as it was. In an attempt to take the last 5 cans, she kicked one up onto the top of the pile in her hooves. It threw her off balance and toppled her and the pile to the floor. The store became filled with the sound of clanking cans as they began to make more of a mess with each passing second.
“You need a bag there?” The clerk asked her, trying to keep the obscenities in his mind from becoming speech.
“Heh, yeah I do, huh?” Scootaloo said sheepishly, quickly running over and snagging a few bags from his hooves.
She rushed back over to the toppled pile of cans, grabbing the cans that threatened to roll away and stuffing them into the thin plastic bagging. Scootaloo's body began to visibly shake, the excitement in her body growing to an almost unimaginable level. The bags grew heavier as one can after the other was tossed or stuffed into one, Scootaloo trying to haul as little bags as possible thinking that it would be a lighter load on her small body. She waddled out of the store with two overflowing bags of Red Bull in each hoof. The struggle to keep the bags from dragging on the plank flooring was a long and hard battle, the splinters on the floor attempting to tear open the bags. With the battle finally over as she left the store, she made way over to the scooter and placed the cans into the wagon where the other Cutie Mark Crusaders normally sat.
But they wouldn't need the seats, they were already waiting for her to arrive with their lunch at the Clubhouse, Scootaloo just now realizing that she had spent their hayburger money on Red Bull. She tossed her helmet onto her head, creasing the purple mane into her eyes. She braced the handebars of the scooter, and placed her hooves on the deck. With a swift kick and a flutter of her small underdeveloped wings, a plume of dust formed behind her as the scooter tore along the dusty dirt roads, heading for the Crusader Clubhouse.