//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: Moving On // by Seattle_Lite //------------------------------// Moving On ~ Chapter Two I gallop through the night for all I'm worth. My pounding hooves send mud splashing in every direction, and every step sinks and slides beneath me. Bursting from the alley, I cut a hard left turn—slipping only a little—and make a beeline for the massive tree in the clearing ahead. Between huge breaths and the sharp pain in my side, I lower my head and gallop all-out, the heavy rain pounding on my ragged cloak. Only magic guides my steps as I dodge, jump and weave. Finally, I reach the door, opening it with a bright glow and not slowing a bit as I hurtle into the treehouse. Locking my legs, I come to a sliding halt, spin around, and slam the heavy oak door shut, leaning against it as I try to fill my burning lungs. I'm rather fond of air, and my lungs are insisting we aren't getting enough of it. “Sweetie Belle!” The deep voice startles me, making me jump. “What the hell—are you alright?! What happened to you?” Still gasping, I pull a forehoof along my face, wiping away the grime and rainwater, whipping it down into the puddle that’s steadily growing around me. I stand shakily, meeting the adolescent dragon’s eyes. Spike has really grown over the years, his frame becoming remarkably angular and sharp. He goes around on four legs more often than not these days—which is good—because even on all fours his height already topped Big Mac’s by a good hoof and a half. Narrowing his eyes, Spike steps forward, his wings unfurling in a gesture of concern… or anger. It’s harder to tell with dragons. “Sweetie,” his voice rumbles, growing more urgent. “Where is Twilight?” I can fully understand why he is so concerned as I look down at myself. Dripping wet, my once-beautiful, rich brown cloak with its wide hood hangs sopping wet, rough tears along the sides, scorched holes still smoking lightly—Rarity is going to be furious, a high-pitched voice in the back of my head notes. I raise my hoof to forestall him, when he rushed past me with such speed that I could only call out his name before he was out the door. Whatever comforting words were on my tongue disappeared as I yelled, “Spike! No! Don’t, she’s—“ The purple flash is bright as a bolt of lightning, and I clench my eyes against it.  The young dragon flies back into the treehouse, the force of the magical mine detonating sends him tumbling across the floor, energy arching across his body. “Spike!” a voice not my own cries out. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the air warp and shimmer. I take a wide stance as my horn automatically cast a half dozen warding and defensive spells. Twilight Sparkle, Archmage of Canterlot, pays me no attention as she rushes toward her ‘little brother,’ her well-cut robes flowing about her—completely dry robes, I note with some small resentment. She comes to a halt, kneels down next to him and shakes his shoulder with a hoof, calling his name all the while. He props himself up on an elbow; one sharp-taloned hand going to his head as he lets out a groan. “T-Twilight? What’s going on?” After seeing that he’s okay, Twilight visibly relaxes and casts me an appraising glance. I narrow my eyes. “Not bad, Sweetie. You not only managed to rapid-teleport out of the combat zone, but were clever enough to detect every trap on the way here… well, every one related to the test, at any rate. When you rushed through the door, you triggered the snap-spell that tells me when somepony has opened the library’s front door. Given that it is three in the morning, it wasn’t much a guess as to who it was, and thus where you were.” Her voice takes on a slightly sharper edge. “I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t notice when I teleported into the kitchen, despite the dampening and invisibility spells I had already engaged.” I have to admit, she presents something of an amusing picture at the moment, one half of her regarding me sternly, the other—which her conscious mind seems wholly unaware of—still kneeling protectively near Spike, one hoof absently resting on his shoulder. The dragon himself merely lies there, taking in the scene with a bemused, if slightly annoyed expression. Twilight’s eyes narrow a bit as she voices her final appraisal. “Seven out of ten.” She smiles, her stern features melting into an expression of approval and warmth. “Not bad at all, my little apprentice.” I don’t relax my stance an inch, a gamut of contained spells still charged and ready. She lets out a small laugh and nods. “Training over.” I collapse in a heap, the past four hours catching up to me in a wave. A minute later, I open my eyes to see Twilight helping Spike to his feet, apologizing profusely while he grumbles a torrent of complaints. The muffled sound of an explosion in the distance catches everypony’s—and dragon’s—attention; Twilight whips her head around, staring in the direction of the sound, her eyes wide. "You didn't deactivate the mines?!" I ask in disbelief. Twilight lets out a panicked sound and disappears in a flash of purple light. ----- "She didn't deactivate the mines?!" Scootaloo's incredulous voice rings out, her eyes wide as she stares at me from across the table. I laugh. "I know, she's so embarrassed!" Scootaloo is less amused. Glowering at me, in fact. "Why are you laughing?! Somepony could have gotten seriously hurt! I've seen the two of you practice, and I ain’t gonna lie—it’s kinda scary." I wave a hoof. "They were only stun-mines, limited packets of disruptive energy. No more. And how could anypony know that Applejack would pick this of all mornings to set up her stall before dawn?" Scootaloo gapes at me. "Are you kidding me? AJ triggered it?!" Her expression is torn between horror and hilarity. Scoots' natural reaction to anything is to laugh at it, no matter how serious. It’s a trait of hers I find both endearing and infuriating, but this time the tables are turned, and she doesn't like it one bit. She looks so adorable with her bed-raggled mane that I can't resist, and break down laughing at her. "Sweetie! This is serious! Is AJ okay?" she demands, pounding the table with her hoof. I straighten up, regaining my composure and lifting my coffee from the tabletop, taking a sip. "Yeah, she's fine now. She was knocked pretty good by the spell, but you know how tough earth ponies are, Applejack in particular. " I chuckle. "Her apples were scattered everywhere. I guess she triggered the mine head on, and it sent her right back through her cart. At first she was furious, but now she just wants Twilight to leave her alone for two seconds and buy her a new wagon. Twi's been at AJ's side since it happened, and apologizing every other minute." Scootaloo can't help but smirk at that. "So where are they now?" "In the square. AJ's trying to sell her apples, Twilight's probably still distraught and scaring away all her customers. You know how she gets." Scoots nods fondly, taking a drink from her own cup. I scrunch up my nose and change the subject. "How can you stand it like that? You put enough cream and sugar in it to drown a cat; you can't even taste the coffee." It’s a long-standing thing between us, and she pinches her brows together in disgust, looking at my own cup. "Riiiight, because yours doesn't taste like charred wood at all." We pretend to glare at one another for a moment before sharing a chuckle. Scoots leans back, half-yawning as she stretches her back against the chair, hooves raised high above her head. She lets out a satisfied moan, and I bite my lip. "So, what are you up to today?" she asks. I quickly smooth out my expression before she catches it. "Oh, um—" I cough. "I'm..." What am I going to do today? I certainly have some plans set up for tonight, but I don't want to ruin the surprise. So naturally, I deflect. "Eh, I think after last night, I'm going to get a nap in. Just lay about the house, maybe read a book. Y'know." She doesn't seem to catch anything amiss about my dodge, which is understandable given how much she hates mornings—something else we share—and the fact that I do look pretty ragged... ----- I had trudged into the apartment just after daybreak. Scoots says she never sleeps well when I'm out; she woke while I was working the chain lock back into place. When I turned around, she was leaning against the frame of our bedroom door; her eyebrows raised high as she regarded me, clearly unamused. I had accrued another small lake on my trip back, which was now making its home on our floor. I offered her an embarrassed smile, reaching back and pulling my now thoroughly tattered cloak off and hang it on the peg by the door, before shaking the excess from my mane. Looking back at her, I found her ears laid back and her eyes narrowed at me. I was about to ask what her problem was—probably a bit more snappy than I'd have liked—when she turned around and trod back into our room, chuckling to herself. Huffing and wondering what her deal was, I glanced about the room and noticed the water running down the walls around me. Oops. Sighing, I grabbed a towel and cleaned up the water before giving myself a more thorough drying in the bathroom. By the time I'd trotted wearily over to the bed, the sun was already lighting the horizon, the Apple and Carrot family's roosters going completely insane. I don't know if I'm the only pony those birds drive crazy, but I've lost count of how many times I'd lain in bed, a pillow clamped over my head, contemplating how much work it would take to hunt down and capture a couple Cockatrices, throw them in the birds' coops and then get away with the whole affair. Probably more than it was worth. Scoots and I had awoken several hours later, the morning already pressing into early afternoon. I came to curled up against her, my back pressing into her soft chest. She had one wing draped over me—a gesture of unspoken protectiveness that melts me every time—and I snuggled back into her. She responded with an incredibly loud snort as she woke up, which caused me to go into a small paroxysm of giggles. She bit down on my ear, and I gasped. She was good at shutting me up when she wanted to. Still enwrapped within her wing and arms, I scooted around to face her, and she drew me in for deep kiss. The taste of her tongue and softness of her lips was always particularly impressive coming out of a deep sleep. Something about newly returned senses being more acute, perhaps. I lost all interest in carrying the theory further as her hoof slid along my neck and snaked down past my belly. I gasped, and she bit down on my shoulder as she rolled me onto my back. After breakfast, by which I mean a half pot of coffee each, Scootaloo went out for her daily training sessions. I know I told her I was probably staying in, but now that she'd gone I began to feel restless. Not bored, just... restless. Warm afterglow notwithstanding. With a sudden devilish grin, I decided I knew exactly what to do: I would go pay my sister a visit, and see if she had time to fix up my cloak. ----- "Sweetie, whatever have you done?!" my sister cries with her standard degree of melodrama. I sigh. "I'm sorry, Sis," I say, trying to hide my grin but eager for her next overblown reaction. "Twilight only has so much time on her monthly visits, and she decided that though my curriculum was moving forward at an advanced rate, I had been extremely lacking in one particular area," I say as I trail her through the foyer into her main workroom. "Mmhmm," Rarity hums at me, one of her ears flicking as she begins rummaging through her supplies and materials. That particular tick is one of her more amusing—and less obnoxious—traits. Her right ear always does this little flicking motion when she begins to concentrate on her craft. "And what would that be?" she asks, somewhat surprising me she had paid even that much attention. My sister tends to get more than a little absorbed in her work. My grin spreads, and I simply say, "Combat magic." I bite my lip to stop from giggling as I wait for that to penetrate. I don’t have to wait long. "Mmhm—bwahaa?!" I swear, she very nearly squeals. She wheels around, her eyes darting between me and my cloak as she takes in the damage done to it. "Are you... oh, Sweetie, you must be joking!" She knows I’m not. I hate it when she does that. "Combat magic, darling? We do not—I mean... really!" She stops as I just stare at her, trying to suppress my laughter. Rallying, she tries again. "Sweetie Belle, honest-ly. I don't mean to impugn your studies, and of course I hold Twilight in the highest respect, but what in Equestria was she thinking?" Her voice begins to rise again, and I settle in to enjoy the show. "Taking my baby sister out in the dead of night, in the middle of a torrential rainstorm no less, and... and hurling fireballs at her!" Okay, show’s over; this is getting a bit much. I am not a foal anymore. "Rarity,” I say, stomping a hoof. “I'll have you know I'm quite grown-up now, thank you very much. And I'd appreciate it if you gave me at least a little bit of credit. Twilight says I'm one of her best students." I don't like to boast, but I can't deny I felt a certain amount of pride in that. I know Twilight well enough to know she just doesn't do favoritism, and when she's playing the role of professor or archmage, she can get scary serious. Any position I currently hold, I damned-well earned it. "Oh, Sweetie, you know I didn't mean—" "Whatever," I say sharply, cutting her off. "Can you please just fix up my cloak?" She looks wounded and I feel a brief pang of guilt, but her implied insult is still burning. She nods and says, "Of course. It will be good as new. Give me till tomorrow?" I nod, muttering my thanks as I turn to leave. I resist the urge to give Opal a swift kick on my way out. Barely. Dumb cat. ------ I linger in the park for a while, enjoying the warmth of the clear day, especially after last night. I finally remember to bring a book with me, and split the rest of the afternoon between reading up on a rather diverse range of magical theories, and watching the foals play and splash in the shallow waters of the pond. I’ll never understand how Twilight manages to take such a dry subject and bring it to such vibrant life under her quill. I’ve tried explaining my passion for the field to Scoots a few times, and while she follows well enough—as well as any non-unicorn can, I suppose—it just doesn’t hold the same appeal for her as it does for me. Don’t get her started on the Daring Do series though. I slip the book back into my saddlebag and rise, wincing at a pinched nerve in my neck. I go through a couple stretches that Scootaloo taught me a while back, and am surprised as ever by how well they work. With a contented little smile, I look up to the sky and my heart leaps right into my throat. I’m utterly shocked to see how close the sun is to the horizon. Ohhhh not good! Scoots will be home in... half an hour! Gah! With a speed born of complete panic, I gather up my blanket and water bottle, shove them haphazardly into my bag, snatch it up in my teeth and vanish in a brilliant flash of magic. The world spins momentarily as my vision clears. Long distance teleports always disorient me more than quick jumps, and I’ve never been able to figure out why. Shaking my head, I remember I’m on the clock. Aaaand this place is a wreck. Damn. I know I don’t have time to tidy up before Scootaloo gets home, but it irks me all the same. Dashing into the bedroom, I pull off my saddlebags and empty them into the closet, then throw them onto the unmade bed. I rush around to my bed stand, open the drawer, and stuff a couple key items within before slinging them over my back once more. As I barrel out of the bedroom, my shoulder catches the doorframe. I move to compensate, and my front hoof catches the tip of our rug. Suddenly I’m a screaming, wide-eyed pony that was never meant to be airborne. I crash right down and through a wicker hallway stand, coming to a tumbling halt against a wall with my head on the floor and my rump towards the ceiling. Groaning, I flop down onto my side and take in the additional mess I’ve made. I don’t have time for this! Frantically, I gather the strewn items up in my magic—pausing a moment to cast a fond glance of a framed picture of me, Scoots, and Bloom the day after we got our marks—and unceremoniously toss the lot of it into the hall closet. I can feel the seconds creeping up on me. Scootaloo has never kept anything close to what could be called a schedule. She could be out of practice at any time, depending on how long her mid-training nap took, or end up staying until long after nightfall if she discovered a particularly challenging new trick. I can’t count how many times I’ve waited up for—Ahh! Time! Wasting it. Move! Saddlebags, where—There. I grab them up, making certain their contents are still safely within, and rush to the kitchen to scribble out a hasty note. I set three flowers atop the fold of paper, and turn toward the door. Which is, of course, right when I hear the key being slid into the lock. My ears fold back and I look left and right for some escape. Closing my eyes, I disappear once more in a flash of magic.   ----- Opening the door cautiously, Scootaloo peered inside. “Hello?” she called into the apartment, one hoof raised pensively off the ground. “Sweetie? Are you home?” She stepped into the apartment and stopped. I know I heard someone in here. “Sweetie?” No answer. Frowning, Scootaloo shucked her bags, lowering them to the floor before moving soundlessly forward. She doubted anypony would break in, but something about this situation felt wrong. She knew there was somepony in here a moment ago, but now the place appeared deserted. Stalking about the apartment, she checked the bathroom, guest room, bedroom, even the closets before she was certain there was no interloper to be pummelled. “Huh. Weird,” she said aloud, trotting into the kitchen for a glass of water. Grasping the cup handle with her teeth, she stepped on the lever that poured fresh, cool water from the faucet. She filled her glass before turning to gather her things and sink her tired flank down on the couch. That’s when she spotted it. A letter and three flowers, sitting there on the dining room table. Scootaloo ambled over, setting her glass down and nosing open the letter. Sweetie Belle’s elegant, if obviously rushed, quillwork was etched on the paper. Scoots, Bloom invited us over to hang out for a while. Went ahead.  Meet us at the clubhouse. See you there. BYOC! Lov        Don’t forget to take a shower!! Love, Sweetie Bemused, Scootaloo looked down at the three flowers laying on the table. A white rose, bright orange tulip, and red rose arranged next to one another, their stems entwined. The hell is she up to this time?