OLH Interlude 1 (or... 2.1?) Sneak Peak · 9:05pm Feb 17th, 2015
Just to prove that I can actually get shit done.
Note: All material presented here is subject to change. Revisions, and whatnot.
Time: Long Ago
Location: The Shore of the Majiirian Sea
She stands in silence before the casket. The water around her legs chills her to the bone.
The priestess is reciting the Prayer of the Soldier, speaking it in the ancient tongue. Her words flow out into the water, rippling from the hooves of the procession. Candles burn against the falling night, like feeble stars desperate to hold the darkness back. The wind is still.
She stands in silence before the casket. She holds up a match in one hoof.
It is tradition that the progeny send off their progenitor, off to paradise to stand with the Goddesses. This end was not her father’s wish; he would have preferred to burn in battle, scattered by the guns and swords of the Gaalsien like his chosen brothers. The Sobani are too kind, however. Knowing the traditions of his people, they sent his body home.
She stands in silence before the casket. It’s beautiful, carved with glyphs and sigils. Family signs, dating back to the Great Pilgrimage itself. She’s never cared for them. History is boring, after all, just the empty stories of people long dead.
She dares not look inside. She remembers him as he was when he left, and she doesn’t want to taint that memory. It isn’t that he’d been happy then, but he’d been strong. Unshakeable and unbreakable.
He’d promised he’d come back one day. After ten years, he finally had.
She lets the match fall, her tears following soon behind. She plants her hooves upon the casket and pushes, sending it off into the Majiirian Sea, a beacon, burning upon the waters of life.
She remembers something, then, something he told her long ago. “Dust. That’s what you are, what we all are. Dust and water, breathed to life. Some of us grow up to be stronger—bigger, faster, smarter, doesn’t matter how—but better than the rest. We’re all made of dust, but some of us go further, become more than the sum of our parts. Some get there because they were born that way, some get there because they worked and slaved and struggled every day, but everypony can get there.
“That’s why I named you Lightning Dust. So you’d remember what you are… and what you can be.”
Her father was the same as her. Just dust and water, in the end. And he’d failed, hadn’t he? He’d met somepony bigger, faster, smarter, and they’d beaten him back down.
She bites her lip as the casket drifts off into the dark. She decides it, then and there.
She won’t fall. She’ll be more than her dust. She’ll be the strongest, fastest, smartest of them all. She will be the lightning.
...
She stands tall. Unshakeable. Unbreakable.
The stallion at the booth looks her over. “You’re a bit young, for a flyer.”
“I’m faster than anypony else you’ve got, sir,” she says. It’s more truth than boast, but the boast is there, obvious in the smile at the edge of her lips.
The stallion gives her an unimpressed look. “Family connections?”
“None, sir.”
“I see.” He pushes up his glasses, looking at her with old eyes. “Well, you’re well within the selection brackets and your scores in the test flights are exemplary. No combat experience, but that’s not a deal-breaker, especially for somepony your age.” He lifts a stamp, but hesitates, catching sight of her smirk.
“You’re sure about this, miss? Frankly, you don’t strike me as the type. You’re at the point of no return, but you can still back out.”
She scoffs. “I’m strong. I’m fast. I’ve got magic in my wings. More than that, I’ve got skill. I’ll make top ten out of any thousand pilots you toss me in with, number one against anybody with my age and experience. You’ve seen my records. You know what I can do.”
He stares at her, and for a moment—just a moment—she feels fear.
He’s seen through me. I’m not strong enough yet.
But he shrugs. “Very well. I hope you’re ready, miss Lightning Dust. Your application for acceptance into the Scaffold Pilot Training Academy has been approved.”
He gives her an ID card and shakes her hoof. She steps out into the hall, a smirk on her face.
“Next! Rainbow Dash, please come in…”
…
Her scores aren’t at the top of the board this time. Speechless, she stares at the glaring number next to her name. “2.”
“Hey, great job, Dash! You hit the top!” Soarin. That worthless little moron, sucking up to the mare of the bucking hour.
It’s okay, though. It’s just one little scoreboard. She’ll top it again. She’ll just work extra hard.
...
“Hey, Dust.”
The rival. That’s what she is, now. That's all she can be. Still, they’re not really on bad terms. “Dash? Hey, what’s up?”
“Look, I know it’s silly, but Cloud Kicker wanted me to… damn, I’m already bucking it up.”
“Wh—”
“LD, would you like to… y’know, catch a movie some time? Dinner and a show, that sort of thing?”
It doesn’t register at first. “What?”
“I mean… it’s just that you’re really awesome, and I—”
But when it does, old, ingrained biases ignite, fueled by buried resentment. “WHAT?”
“Uh—”
It’s a lie, in a way. Lightning Dust doesn’t really care about all that stuff. It doesn’t even really bother her that Rainbow Dash just asked her out. But it’s the tipping point. This mare, a fillyfooler, can’t be better than her. “Get away from me you bucking sicko!”
She storms off. She knows, now, that she’s the better one. That her rival is inferior. She knows she can win, now.
…
But she doesn’t. Time and time again, her name is second on the scoreboards. It wears down on her, until her composure is held together only by her own neuroses. She can’t be weak. She can’t be weak. She can’t be just dust. She has to be the lightning.
…
“Good job, squad. Form up back into Delta and get ready for test number two.”
She sweats. She’s the best. She’s the best there is, and there’s no way that damn fillyfooling bitch can take that away from her. Always being so bucking confident, smiling, taking shit easy. She never had to work for anything. Probably the daughter of some CEO or something, drugging herself up so she’d fly better than the rest. Did… did they even have drugs that did that to a pony?
...Could she get some?
Her hooves are shaking, her wings twitching in the harness. It’s all she can do to keep flying straight.
All her fault. Lightning Dust was the best, she’d always been the best.
She can’t stop now. She can’t fall behind.
She hits the boost. For a moment, she is lightning. Dust no more. She laughs, cackling as she flies the course better than she ever has before. She can see it now, her name atop that stupid scoreboard, finally at her rightful place!
For the first time in months, Lightning Dust feels happy.
Minutes later, Lightning Dust dies.
10 days till we can accompany your story with high-def game play!
Drops of water for the thirsty desert-wanderers! We enjoy and give thanks.
Glad to see more. :3
Great excerpt! Only one small error that this amatuer eye could find.
You really do have a gift for descriptive writing. In a fairly succinct passage you were able to give the audience a chance to emotionally connect with Lightning Dust and gave us insight into what makes her "tick".
Keep up the awesome work!
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Thank you! Glad you like it! The error has been fixed in the master doc; I'll fix it here, as well.
2805863 I am going to release this next chapter before then... because if I don't, I'll never get anything else done.
And nobody would read it anyway, because all the Homeworld fans are going to be very busy for a while.
2807949 tsk tsk tsk
2834791 Oh hush. I'll get it out, don't worry.