Return of the Red Hawks

by WildFire15

Finding Forward Momentum

Maffett sat at the kitchen table a next morning feeling disappointed in herself. She’d returned home early on the Sunday as she hadn’t been able to commentate properly with her concerns for Concorde. Later that night, he’d turned up on her door step in such a depressed state he could barely talk and had spent the night in the spare room.

The two had been friends for as long as either could remember, what with their respective fathers being friends and Maffett had never seen Concorde in such a state. Sure, there were times they met after school and he was extremely irritated, but she’d never seen him depressed before. She had knocked on the door and tried to talk to him, but he’d simply ignored her.

“You alright there, Cee?” Came her father’s voice from behind her. She’d been lost so much in thought she hadn’t realized he’d walked into the room.

She regarded her father Astrolabe for a moment. She didn’t get to see her Unicorn father very often as he worked as a navigator onboard various ships. His dark body was covered in a criss cross of recently healed scars from an accident during his last voyage when a mast broke and showered him with splinters, an accident which also cost him one of his hind legs. In its place was a darkly vanished wooden leg that made a distinctive noise on the kitchen floor.

“I’m just worried.” Maffett admitted, turning back to the table. She could hear her father’s wooden leg on the floor as he walked around the table, setting out a couple bowls, a bottle of milk and a box of cereal before sitting down. Looking at her father reminded her why she was disappointed she hadn’t been able to help her friend yet as, when her father returned, he had been horribly depressed at the loss of his leg and it had taken him a week before he smiled again and his normally, cheery demeanour returned.

“You shouldn’t be. Jus’ give ‘im some time and ‘e’ll be fine.” Astrolabe said in his thick accent, pouring some cereal and milk into a bowl and pushing it towards her. “Though we’ll ‘ave to get ‘im home before yer mam gets annoyed.”

“I suppose so.” Maffett sighed, levitating a couple spoons over from the sink. “I’ll go and see his dad when I get the chance.”

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Astrolabe got up and went to answer it.

“’Ello mate, how goes it?” He said cheerily as Bristol entered.

“I think you already know the answer to that, Astro.” Bristol sighed. He was carrying bag which he put down and opened after Astrolabe closed the door. “I’ve just been to the police station and they gave me a copy of the order against Concorde.” He added, taking a scroll out of the bag and putting it on the table.

Maffett used her magic to unroll it, held it up and scanned through it, the title stated it was a ‘Police Legal Order Tenement’, though she wasn’t sure why the first sentence described it as a device. Having not seen any other examples of such orders, she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

“Really though,” Bristol continued. “I’m just ‘ear to take him off your hooves.”

“How did you know he was here?” Maffett asked, rolling the order back up.

“Where else would he go?” Bristol shrugged “You’re like a sister to his, Celia, I doubt he’d trust anyone else.”

“Well if you want her, you can keep her for 10 bits.” Astrolabe injected with a sly smile. Bristol returned a small smile while Maffett scowled at her father.

“So where is he?”

“Spare room. Do you ‘ave a plan?”

“Not really, but I figure that all he needs is something to look forwards to and he should be ok. Seeing as it’s Monday, I’ll take him down the pier for a while and discuss something with him.”

“Ok, we’ll be in the lounge.” Astrolabe said while Maffett quickly moved to the lounge. They both had the same idea that any distraction would be a problem while Bristol tried to talk to his son.

He went up the stairs and quickly found the spare room, a few cups of cold tea placed outside. The fact they were neatly stacked either side of the door frame at least gave Bristol hope that Concorde had gone to the bathroom once or twice.

He knocked on the door and waited for a response. After a few seconds, Bristol reached for the handle and pushed the door open, finding a small room containing a wardrobe, desk and a bed, upon which Concorde lay on his front with the pillow on his head.

“Are you awake?” Bristol tentatively asked. Concorde raised his head slightly and looked over his shoulder to see who it was for a moment before turning back to stare into the wall.

“Go away.” He muffled into pillow.

“Considering this isn’t our house I don’t think you can give me any orders, lad.” Bristol said before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

“I want to be left alone.” Concorde muffled again as Bristol sat by the desk.

“And how will being on your own in a featureless room like this help?”

Concorde didn’t respond, so Bristol carried on after a moment.

“It’s Monday, Corde. What do we normally do on a Monday?”

“I’m not in the mood, Dad.” Concorde sighed.

“You might not be, but some Kelp, chips and mushy peas and a bit of sea air can do wonders.”

“Fine.” Concorde said, shuffling off the bed. He fixed his dad with an annoyed look before heading for the door. “You’re paying.”

“Of course.” Bristol smiled before following him.

**********************************************************************************

10 minutes later, the pair were walking down the pier, each carrying a tray of fried kelp, chunky chips and mushy peas on their backs. If anything confused non-Yorkshire ponies when they arrived in the region, it was the strange pea soup. No one really had a good explanation for what it was but pretty much all the locals enjoyed it, including Concorde. Still, the delicious smell wasn’t brightening his mood when they came to a stop mid-way up the northern pier where they’d usually stop.
Concorde sat down and rested his head on one of the metal rails and gazed across at the other pier.

Both piers were constructed of stone walls with wooden walk ways, the northern pier leading to an old light house that signalled to incoming ships where the harbour entrance was, the south pier mainly in place to hold back some of the raging sea.

“Feeling any better?” Bristol asked his son, knowing the answer.

“No.” Concorde responded.

“If it helps I had no idea either.”

“That was crystal clear at the Police Station. And no, it doesn’t.”

“Well, I went to see the Police Chief this morning to see if the order can be revoked. The order stands for a year and frankly it would take about as long to go through the process of revoking the thing.”

“That doesn’t help either.”

“It does mean one thing, though.”

Concorde lifted his head off the railing and looked at his dad, still irritated but now wondering what he was going to say.

“What does it mean, dad?” He asked while his dad ate.

“It means...” Bristol started, pausing for a moment to swallow “Sorry. It means you’ll have to get a real job.”

Concorde regarded his father for a moment, not convinced by his methods of trying to cheer him up.

“You spend too much time in that workshop.” He remarked.

“I’m serious, Concorde. This could be a good chance to find something else you’re good at.”

“Dad, the day I fell out of your glider was the day I realized I loved going fast. There’s nothing else I’d want to do without mum doing something to try and stop me.”

“Well maybe you should try something more technical.”

“You’re saying I should start working for you?”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind.” Bristol said, unfolding a newspaper. “But I’m sure we can find something.”

Bristol leafed through the paper to the jobs section as Concorde looked at the tray of food he had, wondering if he could really be bothered to eat it or not.

“Excuse me?” Came the voice of a young filly Pegasus as she trotted over. Concorde looked up at her and recognised her as one of the newer racers at Windy Valley. “Sorry to bother you, Mr Concorde, but I just wanted to ask if you were ok.”

Concorde was actually slightly surprised. He rarely spoke to anyone he raced against outside meetings.

“I’m fine, thanks.” He lied, though the filly looking relieved. He thought for a moment, trying to think what her name was. “Nimbus, right?”

“That’s right, sir. I was just wondering because you weren’t at the last meeting and someone said you’d really badly hurt yourself.”

“No, I wasn’t badly hurt but no offense, lass, I’d rather not go into why I wasn’t there now.”

“That’s ok.” Nimbus smiled “I’m just glad you’re ok.”

“Did I miss anything on Sunday?” Concorde found himself asking, hoping she didn’t bring up his not so ingenious disguise.

“Wolke won, no surprise there, but I managed to come fifth in the second race. That’s my best finish ever.” Nimbus said excitedly, clearly pleased with herself. Concorde smiled in response.

“Not bad. You’ve not been racing long, have you?”

“No sir, I only started last year.”

“Then fifth is pretty impressive. Well done.”

“Thank you! I won’t take up any more of your time, sir. Bye!” She said cheerily before trotting off.

“Well that was unexpected.” Bristol commented, casting his tray towards a nearby bin and picking his newspaper back up.

“Yep. Go away!” Concorde said to a nearby sea gull, waving his hoof at it as it stalked his food. He then caught a glimpse of something on the front page.

“Display team auditions tomorrow, eh?” he mused. Bristol closed the paper and had a look at the front.

“That sounds more like your sort of thing. Display flying is pretty challenging from what I understand.” Bristol said before his face was suddenly taken over by a look of surprise.

“What?” Concorde asked, reaching for his tray of food, only to find it had vanished. “Oh, f***ing seagulls!”

“You should have eaten it faster.” Bristol smiled. “Look at the team name!”

Concorde looked at the bottom of the advert. The team that was auditioning was called the Red Hawks, a name Concorde wasn’t really familiar with.

“Never heard of ‘em.”

“What!? Ack, I really didn’t teach you anything.” Bristol said, disappointed with himself. “The Red Hawks were the best flight team ever when I was your age.”

“Better then the Wonderbolts?”

“Much better than them. Ponies used to say the best Wonderbolt was the worst Red Hawk.”

“Seriously?” Concorde raised his eyebrow, sceptical there ever was a flight team better then the Wonderbolts.

“Yes! I’m not sure why but they disbanded years ago.”

“Was there anything in the jobs page?”

“Well, other than port hooves and office jobs, no.”

“Seeing as I'd rather jab my eyes out with an ice pick then work in an office and that damned mare would be after me if I went anywhere near somewhere as dangerous as a port, guess I’ll go to this audition, then.”