No Gift is Free

by libertydude


Three Drunk Ponies Walk Out of a Bar...

“Give me another,” Lightning Dust groaned.

The bartender gave an annoyed look, staring down at the empty shot glasses lying before the turquoise mare. “Looks like you’ve had enough.”

“You need glasses then,” she growled. “So do I. Give me another.”

“You’re soused, girlie. Go home.”

“No way. I paid for my drinks! I have rights.”

“You’ll get rights and lefts if you don’t drag your carcass out of here.”

Lightning smirked. “You can try. I fought stallions ten times your size and came out alright. Flown in hurricanes with only a wet coat and ruffled feathers to show for it,” she said, pumping a hoof against her chest. “Done loop-de-loops blindfolded and with my legs tied together.”

“Sounds impressive,” the bartender chirped. “But this is a bar, not a Wonderbolts camp.”

Lightning’s eyes flashed in anger for a brief moment, before settling back to their glazed look. “I’ll give you a ten bit tip if you give me another.”

The bartender stared for a few moments, then curled his lip. “Twelve bits,” he said, lifting a bottle of Appleloosa Cider and filling another dingy glass. “And you better not cause any trouble, or I’ll throw you out.”

Lightning chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The glass landed with a loud thunk, and she shot it up to her lips. She could feel the booze dripping down her chin, brown stains flowing upon the light blue-green coat she’d been born with. She stopped before gulping the whole thing down and looked around the establishment. Aside from the bartender and two other ponies cavorting in the corner booth, nopony else filled the bar. A thick cloud made up the floor, just like anywhere else in Cloudsdale. Pictures of sporting events long past dotted the walls, distant historical footnotes Lightning couldn’t recall. She would’ve liked to say it was the booze, but she knew it was because she couldn’t care less.

“I could’ve been on these walls,” she groaned.

“Everypony says that,” the bartender said, rubbing a rag inside a glass. “This cider makes mare and stallion alike think they could’ve been Babe Hoof.”

“Ha!” Lightning laughed. “I would’ve been better than a dozen Babe Hoofs! A hundred of them! I would’ve been better than all the Babe Hoofs and Vic Canters and every other bum that called themselves the best!”

“Sure you would’ve,” the bartender said, wiping the glass clean.

She stared back into her glass, a tired face and loose amber mane appearing in each rivulet off the glass. “Laugh all you like. I could’ve been the best. No…I am the best! They just couldn’t see it.”

“Mm-hm.” The bartender wiped a soggy spot on the far side of the bar now, a strange concoction of vomit and watered-down tequila.

“If they did, I’d be up there now, flying high and kicking flank and not hanging out in dives like this.”

The bartender shot a glare her way. “Lady, I’ll take your tip, but not your lip. Shut up and drink, or get out.”

For a moment, Lightning wanted to protest, but the last quarter glass of cider felt like it was worth more effort. So she grabbed the drink and threw back her head. Fewer drops slid down her chin this time, the bartender’s watchful eyes staring back at her in the bar mirror he now wiped. When the drink was done and her head pounded a little bit less, a thought popped into Lightning’s head:

Why am I here?

It came out of nowhere, like it’d been buzzing around her face all night, waiting to slip into her brain between drinks. Even after a half-dozen, her usual quips came to mind: Because I flew here. Because it was where the booze was. Because I didn’t have enough money to get the bar in my own house. She grinned at the wooden bar underneath her hooves and twirled the empty glass, impressed by her own wit.

While these little barbs would’ve given her some comfort in sobriety, the phrases felt inherently meaningless to her alcohol-riddled system. The question penetrated her cynicism, her sarcasm barriers that prevented anypony from getting a bead on Lightning Dust, the self-proclaimed greatest flier in Equestria.

No, there was only one answer that was true, untainted by her defensive posturing:

Because of Rainbow Dash.

Spitfire, the Wonderbolt Captain who governed the Academy like her own sovereign nation, disagreed with this assessment. She’d pinned the responsibility on Lightning, labeled her guilty of “reckless endangerment”, and kicked her out of the Academy. To a degree, the pegasus understood why she made such a decision: accidents happen all the time, and when they start leaving bruises, a fall pony is needed. Said bruises also just so happened to occur to the Elements of Harmony, pinnacles of Equestria and the one group of ponies Spitfire couldn’t brush off. Spitfire needed somepony on the chopping block stat, and the mare who started the tornado seemed like the best candidate.

Never mind the Elements had no business flying that close to a training site. It’s Wonderbolts property, after all. Would some silly colt flying into the Rainbow Factory be considered a poor soul when he fell into a color vat, or would they get rightfully scolded for going into such a dangerous environment? The Elements had status in this lovely nation, however, and their perception of events overrode Lightning’s in all degrees.

The big thing to consider was her: Rainbow Dash, the mare Lightning had once considered a kindred spirit, a fast-flying daredevil who wouldn’t let anypony stand in the way of her dreams. So enchanted by the mere opportunity of being on the Wonderbolts, she was willing to give up her usual ego and be Lightning’s wingpony. For the first few days, they were quite a team. Flying faster and higher than the rest of the cadets. They couldn’t be stopped.

Lightning should’ve seen the signs: the little stink in Dash’s eyes every time Lightning outdid another record, the little lags behind Lightning growing with each lap, the frequent visits to Spitfire after practice. All the signals were there, but Lightning Dust was blinded by the admiration. She couldn’t think of Dash as the conniving, vindictive, and most of all, jealous schemer she really was.

Like all tales of jealousy, the guilty party had only to wait for the perfect time to strike. For Rainbow Dash, that was when the hot air balloon filled with her friends just so happened to pass by while Lightning did her controlled tornado. What convenient timing, Lightning thought with another gulp of cider. Lightning never outright accused Dash of orchestrating the incident, but with each drink in each bar, she began to wonder if Dash’s opportunism would stoop so low.

She’d been real good about it, too. Made sure Spitfire saw her crocodile tears, mentioned her Element of Loyalty as loudly as she could to anypony in earshot, bloviated about how she couldn’t be in a group that let ponies be hurt so easily and didn’t care about its own cadets. If this was a movie awards ceremony, ol’ Dashie would’ve gotten Best Actress for certain. And like any great performance, Spitfire ate it up.

In a few fleeting moments of sobriety, Lightning Dust thought that she may’ve been wrong. That these thoughts were just alcoholic delusions, paranoid whimsies of yet another inebriated session.

However, there was one memory she knew beyond all her inebriated bouts was true: Rainbow Dash’s smile.

She’d done it just after Spitfire ripped off the badge from Lightning’s chest, tearing the pristine uniform she’d worn with pride the past few days. She was practically naked in front of the other cadets, the symbol of her superiority and talent ripped off her body and thrown to the ground. She could feel all of their eyes on her, judging her for a misdemeanor blown into a felony. They’d forever judge her as the washout, the failure who’d gotten on the bad side of the Elements and suffered the consequences.

It was then she saw it: that little smile coming out of the corner of Rainbow Dash’s mouth. It was stifled like it was a forlorn frown, a clear attempt to look like a gaze of regretful discipline instead of the malevolent smirk it was. She was still performing, showing everypony how sorry it was that it’d come to this and that poor Lightning Dust had to pay for her crimes.

Lightning wasn’t fooled. She knew Dash wanted this, and she knew that she’d feel joy from it every single day of her life. When she closed her eyes to sleep, when she sat in some far off café with the special somepony she’d never deserve, when she stared into her children’s eyes out of appreciation that she’d produced something else in her own image.

She’d be thinking about Lightning Dust and the pain she’d caused her, and she’d relish it for the rest of her days.

“I’m tired of this,” Lightning said. “I’m out of here.”

“Miracles do happen,” the bartender said with feigned joy. “Don’t forget the tip.”

Lightning snorted and threw the bits beside the empty glasses. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

The bartender snatched the coins up like he worried somepony would nab them any second. Lightning chortled and started shambling towards the exit, situated right next to the corner booth where the two strangers lounged. One sat with a fluffy, white mane upon her head and dark purple fur covering her body. The other one seemed noticeably short, his legs hanging over the chair like a little filly. His orange body clashed with his bright blonde mane, like a low fire burned across his head and neck.

“I swear, this place drags more than a river search,” the purple one groaned.

“Yeah, I thought the Wonderbolts would be my ticket out of this dump,” the orange pegasus said. “Too bad it was way lamer than anywhere in Cloudsdale.” He took a sip of his drink before spitting it all over the table. “WHY IS THIS RUM?! I ASKED FOR GIN!”

“Hey, keep it down!” the bartender hollered, shaking his hoof. “This is a quiet place!”

“THEN SERVE THE RIGHT DRINKS, YOU STUPID NINCOMPOOP!”

The bartender stood up and, instead of the slight pudge Lightning expected him to have, the stallion had a long row of muscles on his chest. The apron strained to stay tied to his body, and his legs similarly pulsated with thick tendons.

“What’d you say, bud?” the bartender said, neck veins looking ready to pop.

“Nothing,” the orange one grumbled.

“That’s what I thought.” The muscles seemed to vanish once he disappeared back behind the bar, where he returned to polishing the vintage bottles behind him.

Lightning Dust backtracked to the table. “Excuse me?”

The two pegasi looked at her, a mixture of surprise and irritation upon their faces.

“Yeah?” the orange one grunted.

“You said you were in the Wonderbolts Academy?” Lightning asked. An uncharacteristically genuine interest filled her voice.

“Yeah. What’s it to you?”

Lightning gave a small grin. “Nothing. Just glad to see somepony else knows the truth about that racket.”

“You’re telling me,” the purple pegasus said. “You can’t do anything over there. Go a little too fast or bonk one barrel, and zoom! The Captain gets on your case.”

The orange pegasus snarled. “I don’t even know why they kicked me out. I had the best attitude in my class!”

The purple one laughed. “You’ll remember when you’re sober, Shorty.”

“Yeah. Name’s Lightning Dust, by the way.”

“Rolling Thunder,” the purple one said, then pointed to the smaller one. “He’s Short Fuse.”

“I CAN INTRODUCE MYSELF!” Short Fuse hollered, sending his rum toppling to the floor.

“That’s it!” the bartender said, jumping over the bar and flexing his muscles once again. “Since you punks like shouting and spilling booze all over the place, you can do it outside!” He pointed toward the door. “Get out, or it won’t just be a hangover you’ll feel in the morning!”

Short Fuse readied himself for a lunge, but Rolling Thunder put a hoof to his shoulder. “Alright, mate,” Rolling Thunder said, pulling out a number of bits. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot.”

The bartender’s eyes didn’t leave them until all three stumbled outside into the night, quiet buildings floating all around them. The second they felt cold clouds swirling under their hooves, the bar door slammed and locks clacked in quick succession.

“Must be one hay of a stick jammed up his flank.” Rolling Thunder said with a grin.

“Yeah,” Lightning said, the first true smile since her Academy days coming across her face.

“So, where we gonna crash?” Short Fuse grumbled. “Lousy rum makes me tired.”

“There’s a hotel down the next block with pretty good rates,” Lightning explained. “Not the best, but it’ll look like the Ritz with how many drinks we’ve had.”

“Suits me alright,” Rolling Thunder chortled. “Though Shorty will have to keep his mouth shut if we got loud neighbors. Got kicked out of our last hotel because of his yowling.”

“I told you,” Short Fuse growled. “I can’t sleep if it’s loud, and I’m not losing sleep because other ponies don’t know when to shut up.”

Lightning Dust laughed, the trio now flying down the cloud avenue stretching before them. “You two got some good spunk. No wonder the Wonderbolts couldn’t handle you.”

“What about you?” Fuse said, the irritation in his voice starting to fade into a vague drowsiness. “What’d you get kicked out for?”

She stared ahead into the misty evening, out at the large sports coliseum and weather factory in the distance. Then she just shook her head.

“I’ll tell you when I’m sober.”