//------------------------------// // Chapter seven: Raspberry Trick // Story: Worlds Apart // by Elkia Deerling //------------------------------// Also one year before the Heat Seekers’ downfall. “You gotta bekidding me. You fixed all our outdoor bows?” “Well, almost,” Raspberry Trick said. He reared up on his hind legs, put the bow between them, and bent it. Grabbing the string, he slid it over the tip. “There. Now I fixed all of the outdoor bows.” He grabbed the nock, in the middle of the string, and pulled it with the feathers of his wing, testing the draw. Then he narrowed his eyes, and observed the parts he had fixed intently. He shrugged. “Nah, this won’t break again.” “Why, I don’t know what to say,” Nockle Stringer said. “Even if you say nothing, I know you like me.” Nockle Stringer waved her hoof. “Oh bugger off!” Raspberry Trick put the outdoor bow, a sturdy, wooden thing, down. “No, seriously. Look, I fixed all of the compound bows too. You know the one which makes that strange noise every time you shoot it? Turns out all that baby needed was a drop of oil at the cams.” “Wow, that’s… wow. So simple?” Trick smirked. “Aaaaaaaand I recalibrated the scopes on the compounds. They should be crystal clear now. Nopony will miss the target and will be able to blame the scopes, ha ha.” Nockle Stringer put her hooves to her hips. “Jeez, Trick, I could resign here and now and let you take over the place.” She waved her hoof around at the hall of the Canterlot Archery Club. The occasional twang of the bows and the pop when one of the archers hit the targets reverberated off the walls. She wouldn’t trade those sounds for a million bits. And neither would Raspberry Trick. This was their place. “Care for a little shooting?” Raspberry said. “You know, so we can test out the bows.” Nockle tilted her head. “You’re just trying to let me keep the club open two hours after closing time, you sneaky pony.” “Aw… You caught me,” Raspberry Trick said, throwing both wings in the air. Nockle Stringer looked at the clock on the wall. “Ah, well, why not? I could use the practice.” Walking towards the racks, Trick searched for a nice bow to shoot. He took a moment to let his eyes feast on all the weapons in front of him. There were simple wooden bows, trusty and surprisingly powerful. There were recurve bows all the way from Saddle Arabia, with their iconic, double-s shape. And of course, there were the highly sophisticated compound bows. Those were black, and looked menacing with all their gears and scopes and strange, intimidating framework. Actually, Raspberry Trick didn’t even need to think about which bow he would pick. He had fallen in love with the wicked compounds the moment he first laid eyes on them as a little colt. It had taken him many years to just be able to draw it, but once he could… Boy, what a power! He grabbed a compound bow, checked the draw, smiled, and walked back to the lane, where Nockle Stringer was already waiting for him. She held the outdoor bow which Raspberry Trick had repaired in her hooves. “Let’s see if your repairs are worth something.” “Yes, or else that bow might crack and slap you in the face,” Trick countered. “Hmph. Very mature.” Raspberry Trick shrugged. “Hey, no hard feelings until after the match—until after I beat you.” Letting out a chuckle, Nockle Stringer said, “We’ll see about that.” “Ladies first,” Trick said, waving his hoof in mock courtesy. Nockle Stringer took her position. She stood on her hind legs, holding the bow in her forehoof and knocking an arrow. After the click of the nock, Nockle Stringer grabbed the string with the tips of the biggest feathers in her wings. Slowly, she drew the bow. Keeping one eye closed, Nockle Stringer aimed for the yellow part of the target, right in the middle. She licked her lips as she aimed. Then she let go. Twang! “That’s a good shot,” Raspberry Trick said, observing Nockle’s arrow. “I think it’s a nine. Nice.” Nockle Stringer put down the bow and looked Trick over as if she met him for the first time. “You’re playing it nice now, aren’t you?” Picking up his compound bow, Trigg shrugged. “Just being a gentlemane here.” He leveled the bow and looked through the scope. “If you competed with me more often, you would know that I take every competition seriously.” “And why is that?” “Because we’re shooting weapons here, and there is nothing more serious than a weapon.” Nockle Stringer let out a sigh. “Oh please don’t tell me about your weapon fetish, Trick. I heard all about that behind the bar. It’s not that we will ever actually use these weapons against, well, somepony.” Raspberry Trick nocked an arrow and drew the string with his wing. “You never know, you never know,” he said, his voice bearing a strange edge. Nockle jolted as Raspberry shot the bow. “That’s an eight,” Raspberry said, “darn.” He laid down his bow and looked at Nockle. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Nockle Stringer shook her head, and whisked away the strange feeling Trick’s words had caused. “Nothing… nothing.” She recovered, and decided to change the subject. “You really rocked that fundraiser party we threw last week. I have never known you were such a good guitar player.” “What can I say? If it has strings, I can destroy something with it.” Nockle Stringer took her position. “Not funny, Trick.” “No, I mean it. I use the strings on the bows to destroy the targets, and I use the strings on a guitar to destroy ponies’ eardrums.” It was a clever twist, and Nockle Stringer let out a small chuckle before she once again focused on the target. Twang! The arrow trembled as it pierced the red part of the target. “That’s an eight,” Nockle said. Trick nodded, picked up his bow, and got ready for the shot. “But I also meant what I said, Raspberry,” Nockle said. “Thanks to your awesome performance, we raised a huge amount of money for the archery club. Well, you could have seen it for yourself; it was an enormous crowd. I guess there are quite a lot of rock-loving ponies in Canterlot…” The twang of Trick’s bow interrupted her musings. “That’s a nine,” Trick said. “Oh, and by the way, you’re welcome. I had an awesome time rocking that crowd to another world.” “Yes…” Nockle got into firing position. “But it still shows your devotion to the club.” “What can I say? The club is my place to be. I guess it’s the only place where I can shoot bows, and it is the only place I can talk about bows.” “Fair enough,” Nockle said, and shut one eye. Twang! “Eight again,” Trick said, as he spotted the arrow in the red. He picked up his bow. “And don’t forget about our stand at the great Canterlot sports festival last year. You got us like a million new members.” Raspberry Trick smirked. “Are you ever gonna stop complimenting me?” “Not until you stop giving your heart and soul to this place, and please, please, please don’t take that advice.” Trick let his arrow fly. It landed in the yellow again. It was a nine. “Sweet.” Nockle stringer grabbed an arrow, knocked it, and took aim. “You know, Nockle, I had a great time at the Canterlot sports festival. I mean, you should have seen the looks on some of those colts’ and fillies’ faces when they heard they could get a chance to shoot. It feels good to inspire others to try this awesome sport. Those moments give me a kind of… purpose.” Raspberry Trick waved his wings. “This place gives me a kind of purpose.” Nockle Stringer suppressed a chuckle, but not good enough. “I never knew you were so philosophical, Trick.” Raspberry Trick wanted to say something back, but before he had the chance, Nockle Stringer fired her arrow. “A nine,” Trick said. “Are you ever going to stop shooting such high scores?” “By the way,” Nockle said, “are you going to compete in the tournaments this weekend?” But then she realized the silliness of her question. “Oh, wait, of course you are.” “Of course I am. You know I would never miss a chance to show off my skills.” “Hmph, well, don’t get too—“ Twang! “I can do what you do,” Raspberry Trick said. “Nine it is.” “There we go! Last arrow,” Nockle Stringer announced. She drew her bow with her wing. Breathed in, breathed out. She let it fly. “Wow! That’s a ten, Nockle. Bullseye! Not bad… not bad at all.” Now Raspberry Trick was extra motivated to score at least one bullseye himself. He eagerly grabbed his compound. But then he put it down again. “Wait a minute…” “What is it?” Nockle said. “Well, let’s count up your score. You have nine plus eight plus eight plus nine plus ten, which makes forty-four. I have an eight, a nine, a nine again, and another nine, which together makes thirty-five.” Nockle Stringer counted along. She realized what Trick wanted to say. “Thirty-five. That means…” “That means that I have to score a bullseye now,” Raspberry Trick said. He picked up his bow and checked the scope, just to be sure. Then he stood on his hind legs, grabbed an arrow, and knocked it. Any other contestant would feel at least a little bit of stress. No matter how good you are, a ten is hard to shoot. But it was Raspberry Trick who was pulling the strings, and he didn’t earn his crosshair cutie mark for nothing. His heartbeat stayed the same. No perspiration appeared on his forehead. His hind hooves didn’t tremble. His wing didn’t quiver, as he drew his compound bow. He was cool, as cool as any serial killer. Raspberry Trick locked himself in a room with just the target. There was no world around him anymore. It became reduced to just eighteen meters. It was just a pony, a bow, an arrow, and a target. This was his fight. This was his weapon. This was his destiny. This was what he was born to do: shooting. Raspberry Trick breathed out. The tip of his wing let the string go. The arrow was gone. And landed dead-center in the target. Raspberry Trick let out a whoop. “Yeah! Bullseye!” He jumped up, and did a little victory dance in his booth. Nockle Stringer held back a chuckle. She loved seeing Raspberry Trick like that. Somehow, he always got completely worked up in his competitions. He had a winner’s attitude. Nockle Stringer knew that only Raspberry Trick would perform a humiliating victory dance when he shot a bullseye—humiliating for himself. Those little dances always destroyed the concentration of his unfortunate opponents, but he always got away with it. Nockle Stringer guessed that even the jury must find his little displays quite entertaining. Walking over to his opponent, Raspberry Trick stuck out his hoof. “You did good.” “But not good enough, I know,” Nockle Stringer said with a sigh. Trick raised Nockle’s chin with his wing. “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way. I just complimented you on your skills. As I said, I take competitions and winning very seriously.” With the silly victory dance fresh in her mind, Nockle Stringer almost made a sarcastic comment to that allegation. But instead, she smiled, looked Raspberry Trick in the eyes, and cooperated with his plan to keep the shooting range open for an extra hour or two. “Best two out of three?” ** Much to Raspberry’s content, it turned out that their ‘little competition’ lasted for three hours straight. The sun was already setting, and Luna’s moon slowly took its place. They had such good fun; Raspberry Trick didn’t even notice how long they had been shooting. Time flies as fast as an arrow when you have fun. He trotted over the Canterlot streets with a content smile on his face. In the end, he had won the competition. Silently, he contemplated about what he loved most in life: winning or shooting. Shooting ofcourse, he thought. Because without shooting there can be no winner. With that brand new piece of philosophy in his mind, Trick reached his home. His home wasn’t very impressive, just white marble and colorful, stained-glass windows, as were most of the Canterlot houses. But still, Trick wouldn’t trade it for all of Equestria. Once he was inside, he hung up his jacket and entered the living room. “Raspberry, there you are!” Raspberry Trick sighed. “I’m sorry I’m so late, mom and dad. But you know how those things go.” His mother was a bright purple unicorn with soft, blue eyes. She had the kind of voice that seemed as if she were always concerned about the pony to whom she was talking. His father was a burly pegasus stallion with a handlebar moustache. He didn’t have the fine, complicated features Trick’s mother possessed, but he had a striking character of his own. “Yeah, yeah ‘Time flies like an arrow when you’re having fun,’” he said, “we have heard that simile more than once, you know?” Raspberry Trick grinned broadly. “Yes, I know.” “You must be starving, Raspberry,” his mother said with that familiar concern as if he had broken a wing. “We saved you some dinner. I’ll get it for you.” “Yeah, you were lucky, son. I almost ate all of it,” Trick’s dad said. As the pan with leftover vegetables reached the table, Raspberry Trick dug in. Maybe some of his mother’s concern was justified—he was hungry. With a mouthful of lettuce, he said, “So how were your days?” “Oh, you know,” his mother said, “lots of poor, injured ponies.” She was a nurse at the Canterlot City Hospital. The perfect job where her concern for others was her strong suit, although Trick wouldn’t agree. Something that looked close to a smile appeared on her lips. “But we made them all better.” “Yup, and I made houses better.” Trick’s dad was a construction worker, hence the enormous appetite. The threat he made about almost eating Trick’s portion was dead serious. “The usual, I see,” Trick said, as he put a hot potato in his mouth. “Well, I did the usual too: shooting.” Trick’s father had a cup of black coffee in front of him. He took a sip, and then looked his son in the eyes. “But we also have something special to tell you!” His gruff voice took on a childish anticipation. “Alright, spill it,” Trick said. His father’s stubble-covered lips broke into a huge, broad grin. “Your mother and me have managed to get the same weekend off. So that means that we can do some fun stuff together!” Trick’s mother sat down as well, with a cup of tea floating beside her. “It would be nice to spend some quality time together, don’t you think? I mean, it’s quite a rare occasion when your dad and I have the same days off. It is, well, you know, good for the family bonding.” Suddenly, dad’s heavy hoof slammed upon the table. “Yeah! We can do a ton of fun stuff in the weekend. We can go fishing, or we can go hiking in the mountains, or we can swim in the lake…” “A-a-and don’t forget about playing board games, go shopping, or making poetry,” his mother said. Raspberry Trick bit his lip. “Eh… I don’t wanna ruin everything, but this weekend there is a large archery tournament, and I was kinda hoping that I could compete, as I do with every competition.” Trick’s mother looked genuinely sad. His father frowned his bristly eyebrows. “Son… we know how important archery is for you, but we might not get this chance again for the next two months.” “Yes,” his mother added, “we don’t see each other altogether a lot, and… well… it would mean a lot to us if you would spend the day with us.” The things both his parents said sounded pretty fun. They were indeed activities which they hadn’t done a lot before. It was true that a chance where both his mother and his father had the same days off was rare. They both had very busy jobs and worked very hard. Once they came home, they were sapped, so there never was much opportunity to do something active with them. Triggerhoof’s eyes darted about, as if he were waiting for the little angel and the little devil to appear on his shoulders, and try to convince him to make a choice. Trick’s parents saw that their son was contemplating their proposals. They also saw that he was having a hard time choosing. “We’re not gonna push you, son,” his father said. “We know that archery is your passion and all, so you should do what you wanna do.” Trick’s eyes stopped darting about. “Really? I’m free to choose?” Both his father and his mother nodded. Raspberry Trick felt the load fall of his shoulders. He was free to choose, so it didn’t matter what he did. Then the choice was obvious to him. “I’m sorry, mom and dad, but if I can really choose, then I choose archery. I hope you don’t mind.” Swallowing hard, his mother said, “N-n-no son. You should do what makes you happy.” “Great!” Raspberry Trick shoved his plate away and let out a burp. As he stood up, he stretched his legs. A yawn escaped his mouth. “Wow, I’m tired. I guess I’ll just call it an early night.” “Yes… eh… do that, my little Raspberry.” His mother had a hard time masking her disappointment. “Good night, mom and dad!” Dad nodded. His mother waved her hoof. “Goodnight.” Once Raspberry Trick’s hoofsteps became muffled by the thick carpet upstairs, his mother looked at his father. She was barely able to hold back her tears. Her knees became shaky. Luckily, the strong forelegs of Trick’s father were waiting for her. She fell into his hooves. “Oh, Block, when will we get our son back?” Building Block patted his wife on the back. His rough voice grew softer. “Com, come, Carrey. he’s not lost, you know? He’s still our son.” Carrey let a few more tears slip over her cheeks, then she mustered some strength and sat down on her chair again. “I-I-I really hoped he would choose our fun weekend. Do we mean so little to him?” “Of course not,” Building Block said. “He loves us, and he doesn’t want to make us unhappy or anything. He just has… other interests. I mean, you know how crazy he is with the archery thing. Crazy, and darn good too.” Carrey fiddled with her cup of tea. “Yes, he is good. And… happy, right?” Letting out a low, rumbling laugh, Block said, “He sure is! And that’s what matters, right?” “Yes… I suppose…” There was a silence. Carrey’s head hung low. Building Block went for another coffee, thinking about how he could cheer his wife up as he worked. When he sat down and looked a moment in the cup with the pitch black beverage, he got a sudden idea. Not much of a complex idea, but it was an idea nonetheless. “Hey, if you want, I can ask him again tomorrow. Maybe he changes his mind. Maybe I can use a bit of smooth talking to convince him of our awesome ideas. I’m sure I can make it happen.” Carrey looked up at her husband. “Do you really think so?” “Sure,” Block said with a shrug. “I’ll try my best.” Another silence. Building Block sipped his coffee, when another idea struck him. “Hey, Carrey, you know what we can do too? We can just go to his archery competition and cheer for him. I’m sure he would like that. We have the whole weekend off, so we can be there for him.” Carrey nodded, but her eyes still looked sorrowful. “Well, at least we’ll be doing something together, more or less.” Building Block slammed his hoof on the table. “Yeah! We can make flags, bring confetti and streamers and balloons. And snacks—loads of snacks. And soda, of course. Maybe popcorn too, even though we’re not watching a movie.” Seeing his enthusiasm, Carrey did smile this time. She loved it when the big, burly construction worker was as giddy as a schoolcolt. Building Block reached out with his hoof, and grabbed Carrey’s. “We’ll make it a party nopony will ever forget. We’ll be the most enthusiastic supporters in the crowd.” But then he caught himself. “I mean… the most enthusiastic supporters in Equestria!” Their eyes met, the love shining through them. “And you know,” Building Block said after a minute or two, “it’s not as if we’re gonna lose him or anything. If he still doesn’t want to spend the weekend with us, I’m sure we can get another weekend off and try again with our activities. We have time. And this time, we will give Raspberry a heads up, so he knows that he shouldn’t plan something on the same weekend we save for him. How does that sound?” The doubtfulness returned to Carrey’s eyes. She took a sip of her tea, but it couldn’t calm her down. “Are you really going to try and change his mind tomorrow?” Building Block stood up, walked over to his wife, and hugged her. “I promise. Tomorrow, I’ll get it done.” “Tomorrow?” “Tomorrow!”