Flash Sentry's head hurt. Perhaps that was the reason why he chose to relax on a street corner at ground level. The human teenager cooped up inside the pegasus body feared that inexplicable vertigo from a great height might exacerbate the pain.
The pain...
"Unnngh..." Flash Sentry gritted his teeth as he rubbed his forehead. "...'cider' my ass. That stuff could tear a hole through Keith Richards' stomach." He stifled a burp—a very bile-flavored burp. "Maybe... mrrrmfff... I should spend a full century in a winged horse's body before I try anything that's remotely intoxicating..."
He was talking to himself—of course—to pass the time. Otherwise he would be pacing wildly in circles. He was positioned in the shadow of the Crystal Empire's central castle. The sky-piercing space needle of a palace stretched high up until it crowned at the nexus of a rippling aurora overhead, and if Flash stared at it too long he felt that he was going to throw up.
It had nearly been an hour, and still there was no word from the Wonderbolts' Captain Spitfire. At first, Flash wasn't alone; Soarin had waited along with him after their brief, hilarious episode in the tavern. But time had limped by, and so Soarin excused himself to go check on Spitfire's progress—more out of concern than anything, or so the older stallion had insisted.
Now—as Flash bided his time, waiting for the effects of the cider to fade from his equine skull—the teenager was starting to wonder if perhaps his luck had finally struck a brick wall. His cranium certainly felt like that was the case.
"What if..." His brow furrowed, and that sent more sharp pangs down his spine. "Hrmmmmff... vodka... straight vodka." His ears flicked, as if trying to vent steam. "Would that make me explode after a single shot? Or... like... does it all work oppositely in this place?" His nostrils flared. "Go figure. Just a few sips of Carpi-Sun and I'd be pissing all over the Horse Alamo."
Something red flew past him. Flash's beleaguered brain went wild with speculation, and an old synapse that hadn't fired off in years suddenly imagined a polygonal rocket from Quake 2.
"Guhhh!" He ducked spontaneously, only to find himself staring at the scampering hooves of two tiny crystalline creatures coming to a shuffling stop on the shiny sidewalk.
"Awwwwwww!"
"You kicked it too far!"
"Rats! Now we'll never get our ball back!"
Flash Sentry relaxed... slowly standing back up. He found himself staring down at two crystal pony foals who were... staring up past him. Their sad little eyes reflected the roof of a polished granite building.
"You think anypony's home? Maybe they've got a ladder or something!"
"Nuh uh! I'm not knocking on their door!"
"Why not? You're the one who kicked the ball!"
"The last time I asked for help, this old lady breathed on me and tried telling me stories of King Sombra's secret gardening dungeon—"
"Hey... uh..." Flash Sentry pivoted about—wobbled slightly—then regained his balance. "Did someone score a field goal or what?" He smiled dizzily down at the two foals. "Just where did it go?"
Two little forelimbs pointed at the building front behind the stallion.
"Up there."
"It's stuck on the roof!"
"Wow! For real?" Flash's muzzle formed a twisted grin. "Did you both kick that from across the street? Wow... you bucked it like Beckhorse!" He snorted, slapping his hoof multiple times against the sidewalk. "Get it? Cuz you're ponies! And... and...—"
Both foals merely blinked at him.
"Ahem. Here..." Flash stretched his wings out. Despite the state of his head, he found that he was more than capable of levitating to roof level. "Rest easy, buddies. I'll get it for you."
"Wow, really?"
"Thanks! That's so awesome of you!"
"Least I can do." Flash easily found the red ball situated on the buildingtop. "I'm happy to be an anti-Biff Tannen any day." He paused briefly, squinting. "Wow. These folks really need to get their gutters cleaned."
"Do you see the ball?"
"I'll do you one better!" Flash grabbed it, floated back down, and hoofed it over to the kids. "There you are! Now go. Teach the Germans not to bully Brazil ever again." He smirked. "Aaaaaaaaaaand that's the extent of my soccer knowledge. I'm no Rainbow Dash."
"Jee, thanks, Lieutenant!" one foal shouted, galloping off with the ball.
"You're the best guard ever!" the other said, scampering off.
Flash Sentry was frozen in place—frozen with his kind smile. He blinked through the sudden fog, standing up straight. He spoke after the kids, although his voice was too feeble to quite catch up with them: "Who... who exactly d-do you think I am?"
"Flash! Flash Sentry!"
The teenager flinched hard. He spun around, heart stopping—
"Cool!" Soarin sailed down swiftly and landed before him. "Right where I left you!"
"Oh. Soarin!" Flash exhaled with relief. "Thank Buddha. Look... uhm..." He shivered with a brand new anxiety. "Could we... uh... go back inside for a moment? I think that there might be—"
"Good news!" Soarin grinned wide. "Spitfire got the green light from the stewards!"
"Huh?" Flash's brain ticked... then ticked some more. Suddenly he was beaming. "Oh! Sweet! Killer! The festivities—"
"The bad news is..." Soarin squinted. "We've barely got two days to get it all set up. Apparently winged messengers have already confirmed that those invited have RSVP'd. Everypony who's everypony will be showing up at the Crystal Empire's doorstep, expecting a crazy good show."
"Did... did something happen to Spitfire?"
"She used to work alongside the Captain of the Guard back when the Wonderbolts provided aerial support to Canterlot's security," Soarin explained. "She got caught up chatting with the stewards. I'd say she's having a grand ol' time."
"Well, that's awesome."
"For her, maybe. But now the heat's on us." Soarin gritted his teeth. "The ball's in our court, Flash. What are we going to do?"
"You asking me?"
"Snrkkkt—grkkkf—bffffft!" Soarin's conniption fit threw him down a gauntlet of sound effects. "Pffft—wasn't this your friggin' idea from the very start?! I was hoping you would know what to do—"
"Hahahahaha—"
"Bro!" Soarin punched him in the shoulder, nevertheless smirking. "Sometimes I just wanna suplex you!"
"A pony suplex. Now that I'd pay to see."
"You'll be paying with your teeth if you screw this up! Both of us will! Now..." He leaned in. "What's the plan? Cuz I know you've got one. Or... at least..." The older stallion fidgeted. "...you're always on the cusp of making one."
"Well, let's roll through the situation one more time." Flash winced from a slight pain to his head. The effects of the cider were starting to wear off, and he spoke through the last layers of fog. "The celebration needs caterers... musicians... and decorators, right?"
"Yeah." Flash nodded. "Those are our chief three priorities."
"And our Midnight Oil buddies can't agree on who to hire."
"Right." Soarin sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fancy Pants wants to hire from Canterlot. Filthy Rich wants to hire from everywhere. And the Prince wants to hire from himself."
"So..." Flash smiled... and smiled and smiled. His eyes filled with the color of the aurora. "...the obvious solution is not to hire from any of those sources."
"Buh?" Soarin buh'd. He shook his head until his eyes were straight again. "Then... where in Tartarus do you plan to find life-saving caterers, musicians, and decorators this late in the game?"
"Hmmmmmmmmm..." Flash lifted Vinyl Scratch's headphones and placed them back over his head. "Where indeed?" He activated the manacrystal inside the device, winking through an opening salvo of music. "Ready to stretch your wings, dude?"