//------------------------------// // Chapter Seventeen: “HELP, IT’S EATING MY FACE!” // Story: Stuff My Sister Says // by Daemon McRae //------------------------------// Chapter 17: “HELP, IT’S EATING MY FACE!” Hangovers. Celestia’s weapon against us all who would dare partake in the sweet nectar of ninety proof whiskey. Should such a terrible fate fail to befall such indulgence, I fear none may ever spend another night sober again. Of course, such thoughts are usually accompanied by the statement “I’m never drinking again.” “I’m NEVER drinking AGAIN,” comes a shout from down the hall. I slowly prop my head up, trying to find the source of the god-awful racket. Which is when I discover that I’m not in Kansass anymore. Or at least, my own house. The familiar sight of the Cloudsdale Wonderbolt barracks slowly comes into focus as I take in the surroundings. Cheap yet fluffy cots. Motivational posters. Steal lockers. Pale blue… everything. “Oh, Luna. What the buck happened last night?” I groan. “Recruit, shut the buck up or I’ll make you do laps,” comes an authoritarian groan from my left. I steadily but slowly turn my head to see Captain Spitfire a few cots down, burying her head in a pillow. That sounds like a great idea, so I follow suit. This pillow is surprisingly comfy. Probably cause it’s a cloud. Then the noise starts. *BANG* *KLUNK* *WHAM* “RECRUIT I SWEAR TO CELESTIA-” “It’s not me!” I shout back weakly. Then my sister stumbles into the room, and I discover what the buck all the noise is. She’s wearing a flight suit. Backwards. I didn’t even know you could DO that. “HELP, IT’S EATING MY FACE!” Spitfire throws a pillow at me, and sits up glaring daggers at everything. Then she sees Runway stumbling through row after row of empty cots. “Wha… how?! No seriously, HOW?!” I cry a little into my pillow as my headache gets worse. All this shouting and banging around, it’s like my party goblin went out and bought a set of bongos last night, and wants to try them out. On my audio cortex. “Oh Luna make it stop.” “...wait a minute! That’s MY flight suit!” Spitfire barks, then dives at Runway, who now thinks she’s being attacked by a bogeymare and a pony-eating snuggie at the same time. “No, wait! I’m too sexy to die!” ---------------- It’s an hour later. The party goblin has since given up on the bongos and moved on to an 8-string guitar. The bassline is both very soothing and super torturous. Captain Spitfire is out running the newest batch on drills, and I would feel sorry for them if I had any sorry left over to feel. I’m currently busy hogging it all for myself. Runway and I have since been stowed away in Spitfire’s office, where we’re taking up residence on her couch. Since I’m not even supposed to be in today, because of the new Trials Week, I technically can leave whenever I want. Which is just as soon as party goblin stops repeating the bridge from Master of Puppets in my head. “So, sis?” Runway asks quietly. There’s some dull roaring from outside, as Spitfire finds somepony new to yell at. “Yeah?” “Do you even remember anything from last night?” she groans, nursing a coffee. I shake my head a little. Which also hurts. “Not much. Just a lot of headdesking and shame at first, then a bunch of shouting, and I think somepony was on the phone for a bit.” She nods, slowly and carefully. “Yeah, me neither. I don’t even remember the phone. Just some stuff about ‘a grown mare who don’t need no man’. And the headdesking. I don’t even remember why I was doing it.” I shrug, staring hollowly back into my own drink. We sit like that for a bit, in the dark, until we start feeling better. Then Spitfire all but breaks the door down. “Motherbucking recruits and their trying to break all my academy records. ‘Ooh, if Rainbow Dash can do it, so can I!’ NO YOU CAN’T,” she growls. Then she notices us. “Oh, right. You two. So… listen. I know we all have like, alpha-omega hangovers right now, but we should probably talk about last night.” I look up at her, a little confused. “Um… why? TO be honest I don’t even remember a lot of last night,” I admit. Runway just nods in silent agreement. She looks sheepish. She never looks sheepish. Oh Celestia what did we do?! “Yeah, I figured. But, well, I do. I mean, I always remember what happens when I drink. It’s a talent you pick up when your recruits start trying to get you drunk so you don’t remember telling them they have 4 A.M. drills the next day.” She gives me a pointed look. Which I may or may not deserve. “Anyway, you should probably know there was some… stuff that happened last night.” “Oh god, did we bang?” I groan. Don’t get me wrong, Spitfire’s like, super sexy, but that’s a whole new can of worms right there. “No, no we did not do that,” she says pointedly. “Neither did we,” she adds to Runway, as my sister opens her mouth to talk. “Nopony here had sex last night. Or broke any laws. In fact, pretty much everything you’re about to ask me if you did, the answer is no.” My sister an I exchange looks. “So, if we didn’t do any of that,” Runway says slowly, “What… did we do?” Spitfire looks up to the ceiling, and takes a deep breath. “Well, you might have mentioned how you’re quitting the modeling business.” “...ok...” Runway says nervously. I don’t like where this is going, either. “And you may have mentioned something about not talking to your agent about that yet,” the captain continues. “...oh, no. I didn’t… call him, did I?” my sister squeaks. Oh god, I remember a phone call. “No, no you didn’t call him.” My party goblin takes a break as the hamster kicks her off the wheel, and starts running. “Captain, who did we call last night? While we were very, very drunk?” She’s quiet for a second. “Well, somepony may have mentioned that your parents didn’t take you seriously when you mentioned quitting to them...” “...oh, Luna...” Runway whimpers, trying to hide behind her coffee cup. “And somepony else,” she coughs a little, making it pretty obvious she was the ‘else’, “May have… given you a phone? And told you to call them?” “You did what.” I say. Not a question. A sentence. With a period. That I wish was a bullet. “Aaaannnnnd...” “Oh, CELESTIA-DAMMIT, Captain! WHAT DID YOU DO?!” I bark at her, in panic. I’m amazed she doesn’t yell back. This can’t be good. She smiles weakly, which is a new look for her. “Um, I may have… um… stolenthephonefromRunwayandcalledyourparentsancientrelicswhodon’tcareabouttheirdaughter? And they might have… taken exception to that? So they said some things… and...” “Oh for buck’s sake!” Spitfire gives a small cough. “Well, they said some very rude things, and I may or may not have… invited them here this morning to say that to my face? And yours?” Runway and I again exchange glances. Filled with panic. “Mom-” “-and dad-” “-are coming here-” “-today?!” Spitfire laughs weakly, rubbing the back of her head. “...what.” “WHERE IS YOUR CAPTAIN?!” a voice roars down the hall. Spitfire points to the door with a nervous grin. “Um, they might already be here?” I trade another glance with my twin sister, and in a rare moment of true twin-ness, we tell Captain Spitfire, in stereo “Go buck yourself.”