//------------------------------// // November 19 3891 3:05pm // Story: Well, At Least Time Flies // by shortskirtsandexplosions //------------------------------// With a spray of powdery snow, Scootaloo skidded to a sudden stop. She lurched, blinking. The pendant around her neck swayed and went still. Scootaloo's head jerked left and right, surveying the scene. She was at the bottom of the hill. A thin layer of snow blanketed the soil now. Many of the green blades of grass were exposed. Scootaloo blinked again. She leaned off the sled, craning her neck to look across the nearby glen. The park was mostly empty. The ponies who had populated it moments ago were now gone. There was no sign of the foals, the parents, the couples congregating in the nippy afternoon air. Either they had gone home, or... Scootaloo rubbed her head beneath her helmet, fighting a lingering dizziness. Had she fanted? Did she collapse and wake up hours later? Most of the snow had melted, so it had to be... Her ears tickled from a hissing noise. She looked down to see the last tufts of steam venting from beneath her sled. The two crystalline cylinders glowed... glowed some more... and finally dimmed. So did the blades of the sled. No... Scootaloo's muzzle scrunched. No... she hadn't fainted after all. This was very real. This was... Scootaloo looked down at the hoof-board of the vehicle. Her eyes caught the translucent panel beneath the silver brace... and she did a double-take. The numerical counter had changed. The date now read: November 19 3891 3:05pm. Her lips trembled... as did the rest of her body. Scootaloo stepped backwards off the sled altogether, putting a great deal of space between her and the vehicle... as if it would explode at any moment. More than once she nearly fell onto her flank; the weight of her saddlebag was unbearable. So—with panting breaths—she stripped the thing off altogether and trotted in a random direction. Zig-zagging through random patches of snow, she finally found a park bench to lean against. There, she slumped, sweating in spite of the numbing cold. Yesterday... She loosened the scarf around her neck and limply pulled her helmet off. Shaking her violet bangs loose, she stared with shrunken pupils into the overcast sky. Yesterday... ... ...?!? She gulped dryly and considered sitting down. That's when she heard voices. Foalish voices. Familiar voices. "... ... ...?" Spinning around, Scootaloo looked up the path. Three figures were trotting briskly her way. Their voices melodically tickled the air, girlish and feminine and enthusiastic. Scootaloo panicked... if only for the sake of panicking itself. Without thinking twice, she picked up her helmet and saddlebag and galloped off to hide behind a thick oak tree. There, she planted herself against the gnarled trunk and stood—frozen and still. The voices of the three fillies carried itself over the light percussion of clopping hooves. "What do you mean you can't join us?" "We've been plannin' this for weeks! The Cutie Mark campers will be disappointed if ya dun show up!" "What could possibly be more important than the Cutie Mark Crusader Winter Welcoming Party?!" Scootaloo bit her lip. Slowly, she peeked out from behind the tree. She watched the three fillies walking around the path. In the center was a young orange mare, trotting tall and proud. For a brief moment, Scootaloo simply told herself that it was Babs Seed. But even she wasn't that stupid. Heart pounded and she listened in... "I'm sorry, Sweetie Belle. Apple Bloom. But something came up at the last second." "Like what?!" "Tell us! You've been so dang secretive lately." "I know. And I'll make it up to you! And don't worry about the Winter Welcoming Party. It's gonna be postponed 'cuz of a blizzard overnight." "Blizzard? What blizzard?!" "Are the pegasi planning an early winter cold snap or something?" "It's... guh... I just can't explain it right now!" "Well, when can ya, Scootaloo?" "In time, girls. I'll explain all things... in time. I'm sorry, but for right now, you just have to trust me!" "Well... alright..." "But you'd better 'fess up sooner than later! Heh... 'postponed 'cuz of a blizzard.' What a load of apple rot." "Apple Bloom..." "Dun give me the stink-eye, Sweetie Belle! I coulda thought up a much better excuse...!" Scootaloo was hardly breathing. It was probably because she was too busy mouthing the words of middlemost filly passing by. By the time all three had left, she sported a dumb smile. Her wingtips fluttered, and she backtrotted numbly from the scene. In her absent-mindedness, she tripped over her own backpack. But it didn't matter. For the first time in her young life, Scootaloo embraced gravity's accursed anchor. Lying on her back in the snow, she hugged herself and giggled into the cold air. The filly's breathy vapors danced between her and the sky, and she reveled in it. There may even have been a tear or two as she maniacally stretched all four limbs, forming an angel pony in the slushy precipitation. Her heartbeats were loud explosive things. Like gunshots. Eventually, one of them threw her back up onto her hooves. In a rush of enthusiasm, Scootaloo strapped both her saddlebag and helmet back on. Galloping, she rushed around the hillside and returned to her wagon. In less than a minute, she had pushed the heavy thing back up onto the top of the hill. Sweat clung to her fur in the cold air, but it didn't stop the filly from mounting the sled once again and gripping the handles. At last, she had to pause... if only to catch her breath and steady her trembling hooves. The dumb grin on her muzzle lingered as she looked down at the dormant date beneath the translucent panel. Time... Scootaloo closed her eyes. Time to be a little bit more daring... When she reopened her eyes, she was already twisting the dials of the left handle. Just like before, she left the right handle alone. The compass remained untouched. Meanwhile—the chronological counter experienced several crimson alterations. It was nevertheless a humble choice, and Scootaloo took her time inputting the numbers carefully. At long last—once she was finished—she exhaled and drew her goggles back over her eyes. Ch-Chtunk! She pulled the handles out. The crystalline cylinders glimmered to life. Steam vented outward from the glowing blades of the sled. She pushed the vehicle towards the edge of the hill, facing down a length of earth that was covered in enough slick snow to make this work. And... ...she pushed. Swoooooooosh! She approached maximum speed. Frost formed along the lenses of her goggles. With clenched teeth, she waited for the right moment and pushed in on the handles. CLACK! Flaaaaaaaaaaaaaash! Once again, she was navigating an impossibly long tunnel of snow. She looked behind her and saw a million other Scootaloos doing the same thing. Then—in the space of a blink—they all flew inwards, merging with her in a singular act of spectral implosion...