Chapter 14: “GET IN THE CLOWN HOLE, BALL!”
It takes a lot less time than I thought to move all of Runway’s stuff into the no-longer guest bedroom and unpack. You’d think with all the traveling she does she’d have more junk. But a good majority of the suitcases are actually bribes in case I’d said ‘no’ to her staying here. Really good bribes, too. My closet is actually respectably stocked, now.
I take a step back, towards the doorway, so I can take the whole room in at once. It doesn’t look too different, besides some of the furniture having been moved around, and a poster or two. But it looks good. And I have no doubt Runway will waste no time in making this space her own. “Looks good!” I declare, rather proud of the work.
Runway nods approvingly “I agree! It’ll look even better when the rest of my stuff gets here!”
My smile doesn’t change, but I feel a facial tick coming on. “The… rest?”
“Oh yeah! I’ve got a big ‘ol storage unit back home where I keep most of my stuff! I just send it to mom and dad and they throw it in the unit!” she explains cheerfully, making her way back to the living room.
“Runway,” I call after her. “How much… stuff are we talking?”
She throws herself back onto the couch and scoffs. “Pffft, don’t worry about it. It’s not that much. I’m not gonna like, empty the unit or anything!”
I feel some of the gathering tension in my shoulders dissipate. “Right. Ok. Well, you still need to start looking for a new job. And you need to set up a meeting with your agency to let them know you aren’t renewing your employment contract. And then you need to talk to mom and dad and let them know you- Runway, you are aware I’m LOOKING RIGHT AT YOU, RIGHT?!”
She stops with her mouth half-open, having been mocking my speech by flapping her mouth silently and rolling her eyes. “Um… I am now?”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t make me get the squirt bottle. I’ll aim for your hair, I swear it.”
“Nuuuuuuuu!” she cries, covering her face with her hooves. “I’ll do all that stuff, okay? It’s just… it’s Sunday, Dusty! SUNDAAAAAAYYYYYY!”
I heave a sigh and flop back onto the couch. “Believe me, I’m aware. So like… do you wanna do something? This is kind of a big change. Maybe we should… celebrate?”
“Yeah! We should go bar-”
“I swear to Celestia if the next word out of your muzzle is ‘hopping’ I’m going to use your uvula as a trampoline,” I growl.
“...I honestly don’t know what that is.”
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Apparently, when it comes to celebrating, Runway actually has a fallback from “getting stupid-ass drunk”. And to my surprise, it isn’t shopping.
Runway, it seems, has a weakness for… mini-golf. Let me say that again. Mini-golf. Golf. That is mini.
She trots up to the front desk with the biggest smile I’ve seen on her face since she got here. One brief interaction with a desk clerk later, and we have tickets for what looks like several rounds of this game.
“Oh my god, Dusty! This is the best! None of the other models ever come golfing with me! And mom and dad are all ‘this game is for kids you should act your age blah blah blah maturity blah blah’!” She rants excitedly while we line up at the first hole. To my surprise, there’s only one other group here; a mare and her filly, who looks just as excited as Runway does.
“I’m glad you’re so happy,” I muse. Really, I am. She’s my sister, after all. And I love her. Even if there is a giant-ass clown at the end of this strip of grass. With a big wide mouth that keeps opening and closing.
The filly knocks her ball against the side of the clown’s mouth, and her mother walks her encouragingly up the way to keep going. Not really knowing what to do, I just wait until they move along. The little pegasus clears the hole in a couple more strokes, much to her glee and her mother’s praise, and Runway gestures for me to go first.
It takes me a second to get my bearings. I shuffle a bit between holding the club in my mouth or my wings. I find, rather curiously, that using my mouth is more comfortable, and soon Runway is showing me how to line up a shot. I wait for a few moments, counting the seconds while the clown’s mouth is open, like I’m counting cadence in formation, and I smack the ball, probably harder than I should. It gets a little bit of air, but makes it into the clowns mouth on the first try. Then a loud bell rings somewhere, and I jump out of my skin.
“Dust, sis, it’s ok! That means you got a hole in one!” Runway cheers.
An employee comes out with a smile and hands me a pass for a free round of golf. “You get one of these for each hole-in-one you get!” she explains. “If you get all 18 you get free golf for a year!”
“Um… woo?” I cheer half-heartedly, although I am smiling, kind of proud of myself.
The employee seems satisfied with my reaction, and moves along. Runway jumps up to the tee, cheering “My turn!” She takes much less time lining up her shot than I did. THWACK. The ball makes a beeline for the clown’s mouth…
...only to be rejected by the teeth. WHACK.
Runway shrugs. “Eh, it happens.” She tries again. THWACK.
WHACK.
Her eye twitches, ever so slightly. “Okay...”
THWACK. WHACK.
“What? Come on!”
THWACK. WHACK.
“Just… what?!”
THWACK. WHACK.
“GET IN THE CLOWN HOLE, BALL!”
Thus begins the longest game of mini-golf I think this park has ever seen.