• Published 9th Jul 2012
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Moving On - Seattle_Lite



The CMC have grown up, and Sweetie Belle wants some coffee

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Chapter 3

Moving On - Chapter 3

~~~

I shake my head to clear my vision. The wash of magic that brought me here recedes, and the world stops spinning. Out of habit, I lick my hoof and run it back over my mane, knowing full well how teleportation plays havoc with my hair. Satisfied, I glance back over my shoulder. The sun will be setting any moment; an ethereal dusk will settle over Ponyville before night fully takes hold. Perfect.

Smiling a little, I begin a brisk canter along a very, very familiar path. Not the main road, to be sure, but more a Crusader’s highway. When we were young, the three of us had forged secret paths for a day’s trot in every direction. Some were more direct than the main roads, while others twisted through hidden patches of forest, leading to marvelous coves or secret ponds that adults would never know about. That’s something I promised myself: I would never forget what things were like back then. I would never forget how it felt to explore—the drive to find out what was waiting around that thicket, or over the next hill. It’s sad to think that other ponies may have forgotten that feeling. Either way, it’s not something I care to think about too much. It’s a disturbing thing. And distracting. So distracting, in fact, that I fail to notice the low-hanging branch in time to duck beneath it. As I sit there on my now-dirty flank, rubbing my head and blinking away tears, I think that maybe I could do with a little less excitement after all. I glare up at the branch, tempted to blast it to pieces… but no. It’s been there longer than I have. I remember running below it, laughing with my friends by my side, a thousand times. With a snort, I gain my hooves, this time ducking carefully below the overhang and continuing on my way down the overgrown trail.

The path ahead opens up into a lush meadow, and I spot the first of many apple trees as I stride into the edge of the Apple family orchards. There are no fences to mar the scene, and a brook gurgles delightfully as it cuts through the middle of the clearing. I cast a fond glance at our old swimming hole as I canter by it. It looks as inviting as ever, the crystal-clear water shining in the fading sunlight. Round the giant old apple tree, my destination comes into view and a familiar elation wells in my breast. Breaking into a too-huge smile, I pick up the pace, my saddlebags clinking at my sides and my tail swishing wildly. I come to the bottom of an ascending ramp and draw in a deep breath. The rich scents of summer and fruit trees fill my chest. It’s been too long.

I’m drawing my hoof wistfully back and forth across the old wood of the ramp when a head pops out of a window above.

“Sweetie Belle! It’s about time ya got here!”

I can’t help but chuckle at the tempered drawl of her voice, nearly as familiar to me as my own. I look up and give my old friend a wide smile.

She laughs down at me before I can greet her properly. “An’ what in tarnation happened to your head?”

I put a hoof to my forehead, wincing as I touch the rising bump. “I, uh… would you believe I got mugged on the way over?” I ask ruefully. Dumb branch.

She laughs again. “Riiight. Meanin’ ya had another run-in with a stationary object, huh?”

I start up the ramp grumbling to myself. I’ve changed my mind—sometimes old friends are overrated.

-----

Scootaloo closed her eyes and took a deep breath; she really wasn’t in the mood for any of this. Raising her face to the shower spout, the hot water rained down on her, washing away the sweat and dirt of a hard day’s practice. The water felt amazing, running in rivers down her trim and angular body. She rose up and placed a hoof on the stall wall, balancing as she stretched, the high-pressure stream directed to her flanks, withers, and tail. She shifted and smiled a little as she let the water caress her. With a sigh, she leaned her forehead against the wall, wondering what was so important that Sweetie couldn’t wait for her; the unicorn couldn’t even be bothered to ask if she even felt like going out this evening.

Scootaloo scowled, because the short answer was that she didn’t. The long answer was on the tip of her tongue with nopony to around to unleash it on. Today’s session had sucked; she felt she had a black cat tied to her tail for every maneuver she went for. Nothing seemed to work out. Every turn was off, every angle wrong, and by the end of the day, it was all she could do not to scream and tear somepony’s head off in frustration. Of course she didn’t, it was nopony’s problem—or fault—but hers. Which made it worse. All she wanted to do was come home, explain how every single thing in all of Equestria sucked ass and was totally, unfairly against her today and be drawn to her lover’s porcelain-white breast.

Now her nervous bundled energy was peaked, and it was all she could do not to put a hoof through the damn wall when she’d read Sweetie’s note. Briefly, she had contemplated just not going—just blowing the whole thing off. They’ll understand, she had reasoned. And they would, she knew they would, which was precisely why she couldn’t do that to them. Plus, it was Apple Bloom, and she hadn’t seen her old friend in what felt like forever. Sighing in resignation, she shook her entire body, water flying off her like rain. She pulled a towel from the rack and finished the job, doing her hair last. Throwing the towel to the side, she clopped over the mirror and couldn’t help grinning. Her violet mane was an absolute riot of angles, thick spikes standing in every direction. Running a hoof through it, she brought her hair into as close to order as she cared to have it.

Still slightly damp and smelling of roses and vanilla from Sweetie’s private stock of shampoos—she kept hiding them in ever-more creative places, inside one of her dresses this time—Scootaloo trotted through the living room. She remembered Sweetie’s instructions, tossed a few bits in her saddlebags before slinging them over her shoulders, and headed out. She didn’t bother to lock the door.

-------

“No, Sweetie Belle, that’s not what Ah’m askin’, an’ you know it!” I don’t mean to sound quite as irritated as I do. I can tell by the surprised look on her face that this is not how she saw things going.

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say, Bloom!” Sweetie says, getting exasperated herself now.

“Jus’… Ah dunno… what’s it—” I swallow audibly, an’ lower my voice to a near-whisper. Sweetie leans forward, one ear canted toward me to catch it as I ask her, “What’s it like?”

She immediately leans back, almost overbalancing her chair. Regaining her composure, she eloquently asks, “Uhhhhh, whatcha talkin’ about, Bloom?”

I can feel myself flush, and I think her eyebrows are going to fly clear off her head. From the look on her face, she thinks I’m talkin’ about... Oh come on, she can be so dense sometimes! We’d already covered—I frown at her, bringing her mind right back outta the gutter. Honestly. Unicorns.

“Bein’ Twilight’s apprentice?” I ask.

The look on her face is priceless. I can practically hear what she’s thinkin’—Seriously? That’s what she’s asking about? Tonight of all nights no less.

Sweetie clears her throat and puts on her serious face. Oh, this is gonna be good. “It’s… it’s intense,” she says. “I mean, it’s not like any kind of school I’ve ever heard of. I don’t really think it’s like any kind of school anywhere, actually. This isn’t about standardized testing or grade point averages.” She pauses and I can’t help but grin. She’s really trying to avoid rambling here. “It’s… hard to explain, because I don’t really understand it. Twilight has some odd thing set up, where I’m officially enrolled in Celestia’s school, but I’ve only set hoof there a couple of times—once when she took me on a tour of the academy and another when she had to stop by her office for some paperwork before heading here.”

She stops and scrunches her little muzzle up in a bit of a frown, contemplating what to say next. “I’ve tried asking her about it, but she always shrugs off my questions, or just changes the angle of discussion. Half the time I don’t even notice until a day later that she did it. In any case, the best term I’ve got for it is the one she’s always thrown around. She calls me ‘apprentice,’ and for a while I didn’t put any weight to it, ya know? But now?” She shakes her head, her locks swaying. “It seems the best fit.”

My brow wrinkles, and I can’t help but ask her: “But what about your music? Last time Ah saw ya, y’all’d just had your first show with Vinyl and Lyra. You were so excited; what happened to that?” I pause, flicking my tail. “Ah guess what Ah’m askin’, is what do ya want to do? Ah mean sure, ya can do both, but it seems like Twi’s askin’ an awful lot of your time...” I trail off, just kind of unhappy with my summation there, but I can tell she gets what I’m saying. She’s just not entirely sure how to answer. I can tell I’ve hit on something that she’s been trying to work out for a while now. She idly stirs her glass of iced apple juice for a moment, thinking about what to say.

“I… I’m not really sure, Bloom. I mean, yeah, I love singing, and I love the rush from being on stage. There’s nothing like it. But on the other hoof, what I’m learning with Twilight isn’t something most ponies will ever get a shot at. I mean, yeah, to us, she’s just Twilight, but if you think about it, I’m learning advanced practical magics and theory from Princess Celestia’s personal student. She’s the Archmage of Canterlot and a professor of the Canterlot University. That kind of opportunity is something a lot of students would kill for…” She trails off, more lost than she’s willing to admit. Fortunately for her, old friends don’t often need you to finish a sentence to know what you mean.

I arc a brow at her, leaning my chin on my hoof. “Sure, Sweetie. That sounds wonderful. So why don’t you sound as excited as you’re tellin’ me it should be?”

I smirk as her right eye twitches a little. Her tongue is completely tied at this point, so she settles for trying to glare at me. I respond with the most innocent expression I can muster—my eyes wide and lower lip out just a hair. Her stern expression melts like molasses on a hot day, and a light blush touches her cheeks. Looking suddenly down and away from me, I watch as she bites her lip before hastily smoothing out her expression. Taking a quick breath, she composes herself a bit. She straightens up and points a hoof at me. Uh oh.

“Okay, and what about you? You’ve been gone for like, six months, Bloom! Did you manage to ‘find what you were missing’ in Manehattan, or was your sister right?” I flush and watch an answering smirk tighten her muzzle. Damn.

“Er… both?” I answer with little half-shrug. “It’s true that Ah went there to stay with mah aunt an’ uncle for a bit, but it’s not like AJ said—that Ah expected to ‘find myself’ there or nothin’. Ah knew that was reachin’.”

I see Sweetie Belle frown at me, and I roll my eyes.

“An’ don’t go sayin’ that Ah was just tryin’ to get away from you girls or nothin’. Ya got no idea how much Ah missed y’all, but...” I stop, and we both cast a look out the window—a habit of making sure my sister’s nowhere about when I’m about to reveal something that I don’t want overheard. She leans forward, the anticipation practically radiating off her.

“Truth is,” I continue with a grin, “Ah was only at the Oranges’ for about a month.”

Her mouth drops open, and she nearly yells, “What?”

“Shhh!” I hiss at her. “Ya can’t tell mah brother or sister, Sweetie Belle! Ah’m not kiddin’ here. Ah. Will. Kill you!”

She gulps and scoots back a bit. “I-I… yeah, I promise, Bloom. Take it easy, geez.” My frown relents, and she lowers her voice to match mine, throwing another glance at the window as she speaks. “So what’s the deal? You seriously took off from your aunt and uncles’? Where did you go? What did you do?” Now that she asked, I can see her curiosity is completely burning her up. She looks torn between that an’ hardly believin’ I’m serious.

I draw in a deep breath, and begin talking again. “Well, ya remember when Ah first left, how fierce mah brother an’ sister were against it, right.” It isn’t a question; I know she remembers all too well how Applejack had exploded—my brother’s cold disapproval. I continue, “Well, Ah hate to admit it, but they were both right. They tried to warn me about the big city; they were scared that I was just a naive filly who’d soak up anything Ah was told…” I break off, a blush lighting my face as I rub a hoof behind my neck, repositioning the bright red bandanna that I wear now. “Well, they weren’t all wrong. Ah… learned a lot there, but Ah learned a lot of it the hard way. Ah got tired of mah aunt an’ uncle treating me just like Ah got treated back home. So… Ah took off. Ah got a job at a donut shop and mah own cheap apartment on the other side of the city.”

I look up, and she’s totally gaping at me at this point. I hurry on, just wanting to get this over with now, “It was… pretty seedy, Sweetie. Ah’ve never seen a place like that before. Ponies treat each other so differently. Ah had a couple a… bad encounters.” I chuckle, but it’s a stifled, choked sound, even to my own ears. “Ah still can’t believe that mah aunt didn’t write AJ an’ let her know. When Ah got back, Ah thought Ah was goin’ to have a lot more explainin’ to do.”

She leans forward again to dig more into somethin’ I'm really doing my best to gloss over, when we hear the sound of something hitting the roof. I shoot her a panicked look, silently begging her to drop it. She scowls at me, but I make my eyes go huge again—I’ve still got it—and she grudgingly nods. By her own look, I know this conversation is far from over.

-----

Despite the sudden interruption—and Bloom trying to hide something major—I can’t help keep my eyes from lighting up at the sight of the orange-coated face that pops into the window, upside-down, her mane hanging toward the ground.

“Hey guys!” Scootaloo calls. “Bloom! It’s great ta see ya!” She flips down off the roof and flits into the window, practically tackling Apple Bloom. No, scratch that—full-on tackling Apple Bloom! Bloom lets out a startled yelp as she’s plowed over backwards, and the two erupt into laughter as they roll about on the floor. Heh. Perfect. I pluck up my glass from the table and lean back, sipping on the icy apple juice as I watch my two best friends—and their extremely well-toned flanks—wrestle each other for dominance across the floor of our old clubhouse. A wave of nostalgia floods through me, but settles oddly with the more... visceral anticipation I’m feeling.

It’s always been a toss-up when it came to a contest between Scoots and Apple Bloom, and I find myself engrossed in their contest—for more than one reason. As we grew older, Bloom developed a physical strength that was outright shocking to all of us. On the other hoof, Scoots had learned to use her powerful wings to advantage that neither Bloom nor I could ever get the hang of well enough to counter; every time she was off-balance to the point we ground-bound ponies would be sent tumbling, Scoots would just flap her wings and turn the tables. Not to mention her speed. Cheating. That’s what it came down to, every time. And she wonders why I bite.

The girls rear up on their back legs, locked at the hooves and panting fiercely. Struggling for position, they turn, and Scoots has her back to me. I catch Bloom’s eye and raise my brow. She blinks, grins, and collapses—taking a surprised Scootaloo over with her.

Scoots is lying atop Apple Bloom now, smirking down at her. “What’s the matter, Bloom? City life make ya soft?” she quips between huffs. I see Apple Bloom’s tail thrash at that, but she keeps silent, breathing heavily, her forehooves resting on Scootaloo’s hips. I can’t help but note that they look really nice, pressed together like that.

So nice, in fact, that I set my glass down and silently step toward them. I walk right over Scootaloo, my belly sliding against her back as I move over her, and she squawks in surprise, craning her neck to look up at me. She opens her mouth to say something, but I lower my head and bite down on her mane. Taken completely by surprise, she grits her teeth and groans. I can feel her struggling, but Apple Bloom is still holding her fast by the hips... and that’s when Bloom raises her knee. I watch in delight as Scootaloo’s eyes fly open wide, a shocked moan tearing from her throat as she writhes beneath me while atop of Apple Bloom. I can feel the confusion pouring off of my hapless lover. I’m so compassionate for her plight that I take her ear in my mouth and suck on the tip of it.

So, I’m understandably shocked when I find myself thrown over her, bucked clear into the air. Thankfully, my training kicks in and I snap-teleport myself out of mid-air and back onto my hooves. Scootaloo is hovering on the other side of the clubhouse, tears and anger in her eyes as she glares at Bloom and I, a furious blush on her face. The silence is strained and heavy. Scootaloo opens her mouth, and I can just feel my heart breaking at what she’s about to say, when I see her ear flick, and she whips her head around to the window. Instinctively, Bloom and I do the same. This wouldn’t be the first time Scootaloo’s incredibly keen senses have saved us all from getting busted. Although, granted, this time around the circumstances are... considerably different.

Scootaloo is staring fixedly out the window when I see a scowl contort her muzzle.

“What is it?” I ask. Apple Bloom is looking between us, confusion writ across her face.

“Trouble,” Scoots answers without even glancing back at me. “Come on.” With a fluid, almost feline grace, she’s out the window.

-----

We break the treeline at a full gallop; Scoots is holding herself back to allow Bloom and I to keep up. The shouting voices become clearly distinct as we rush across the open field toward the large farmhouse: it’s Rainbow Dash and Applejack. The windows are glowing in the early evening, and it looks like every light on the house is on. Over the pounding of our hooves on the packed earth, I hear Apple Bloom utter a muffled curse. Churned earth in our wake, we slow to a trot as we approach the porch. Bloom’s brother is there, leaning back in his rocking chair, a large mug of cider cradled in his lap as he leans back. He takes us in, and flicks a glance to the front door before rolling his eyes and taking a long pull off his mug.

That’s when a chair comes crashing right through the large living room window.