“So, Soarin’,” Smokey said, “are you going to raise, or fold?”
“Huh?” I asked, looking up from my cards.
We all sat around a card table in the Wonderbolts lounge, a single lamp illuminating our game. There were five of us: Fleetfoot, Surprise, myself, Silver Lining, and Smoke Signal. Smokey had half a limp cigarette dangling from her sly grin, a cloud of smoke wreathing her face, and daggers glittering in her eyes.
“C’mon, Soarin’,” she said, “I know you ain’t got shit. So, are you going to raise, or fold?”
I looked down at the table. We were playing Hayseed Hold ‘Em, like always. Each of us had two cards in our hoof, and three more cards played to the table that we could use. Silver had just revealed the river—the last of the three cards—and it wasn’t good news. I had a four of wings and a six of suns, and the table had eight of horns, ten of hooves, and jack of suns. I shot a glance down at the pile of bits in front of me. These were always low-stakes games but, on my salary, those bits could mean the difference between a night on the town and just going to bed early…
At that moment, the door to the break room opened. Smokey casually looked up, then leapt to her hooves and saluted. The rest of us followed suit in a flutter of cards.
“At ease,” drawled Spitfire. She sauntered over to the table, where an empty chair had appeared for her almost like magic, and sat down. “Deal me in the next hoof,” she said. “And put that shit out,” she added to Smokey.
“But we’re—” she protested lamely.
“Don’t make me cite regs at you,” Spitfire replied. “I’m off the clock, and I don’t want to have to do more paperwork.”
Smokey swallowed, then spat her cigarette into her coffee mug and pushed her cards to the center of the table. I let out a little sigh. The gesture meant that she’d folded—given up, without showing what was actually in her hoof. All the better for me, then.
I tossed my cards to Silver, then raked my winnings into a pile. Silver gathered the cards into a deck, shuffled them once or twice, then started dealing them out again.
“Small blind’s five bits, big blind’s ten. Aces high,” he said, dealing three cards facedown in front of him. Smokey tossed in five bits, and Spitfire fished in her pocket for a ten-bit piece. Fleetfoot peered at her cards and folded, then Surprise anted eleven bits with a roguish twinkle in her eye. I glanced at my cards—a jack and a queen—and tossed eleven bits of my own into the center of the table. We went all the way around again, everyone ante-ing the full eleven bits, before Silver turned over the first card—an eight of hooves.
“So,” Silver said, eyeing me, “papers say you’re going to be busy this weekend. Say you’re taking the Princess on a date.”
It wasn’t a question, not exactly, but it still made my gut twist.
“I raise,” Spitfire said lazily, tossing another five bits into the pot. Surprise glanced at her cards, groaned, then folded.
“Well?” asked Fleetfoot. “Are you?”
I glanced down at my Jack and Queen again, looked at the two cards still facedown on the table, then slid a coin towards the pot.
“Sorta,” I admitted.
“Oooh,” Surprise chirped. “Whatcha doin’?”
I shrugged. “I dunno… I think there’s some sort of party at the Palace this weekend…”
Spirfire sat up a little straighter. “A party,” she said flatly. “At the Palace. This weekend.”
I nodded, watching Silver check his cards, then toss ten bits into the pot—a raise.
“Do you mean to tell me, Lieutenant Clipper,” Spitfire drawled, “that you are going to the Canterlot Garden Party with Princess Celestia?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied.
“I call,” she shot back.
For just a second, I thought she was talking to me—but instead, she dropped another coin into the pot.
“I guess that makes sense why you asked for personal leave Friday night. Which I approved, by the way,” she added. “I didn’t actually come down here just to take all your money... though, now that I’m here, I’m not opposed to the idea.”
Surprise laughed at the joke, and Smokey rolled her eyes. Fleetfoot, however, looked me up and down. “Look at you,” she said. “arm candy for the Princess and everything…” She clicked her tongue appreciatively, then winked.
“Naw,” Smokey said. She pushed her cards towards the center of the table, then leaned back, arms folded. “The Princess doesn’t need him for arm candy,” she continued. “Just his uniform. Looks pretty good to have a high-class athlete, not to mention a decorated airpony, at your beck and call.” She smiled a lecherous grin. “And, after the party… well…”
Fleetfoot raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked. “D’you think so?”
“I know so,” said Smokey. “No other reason to keep such a low ranking pony on the hook for, what—coming up on three years, now?” Her grin widened. “And why else do you think he asked for the whole evening off?”
I frowned, but kept quiet.
“You know, I’ve been wondering,” asked Silver, “what’s Celestia like in bed? I mean, you’d think she’d get rather... creative, with both wings and a horn…”
My gut clenched tighter. I almost said something—
“Knock it off,” Spitfire said, almost lazily.
The others looked down.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Sorry, Ma’am.”
Spitfire smirked. “After all,” she continued, “Prince Clipper won’t need a court martial to kick you out of the ‘Bolts, not after he and the Princess get hitched.”
The table exploded in guffaws. I shrank a little in my seat.
“So,” Smokey said, “are you going to raise, or fold?”
I looked up in alarm. Silver had apparently folded, too, leaving only me and Spitfire still in the game.
I snuck a peek at my cards, and froze. I had seen their ranks, but hadn’t paid attention to their suits. I held in my hoof a Jack of Wings and a Queen of Suns.
I looked up at the cards on the table, then bit my lip. An eight of hooves, and two others still facedown. By themselves, my cards were great, but together, they weren’t a whole lot. Some miracle might come up with the other two cards, but there was no telling. And hoping that the future would be kind always made me nervous.
“C’mon, Clipper,” said Spitfire, “you’re puttin’ me to sleep here. Just raise or fold, so we can all go to bed.”
Raise, or fold. I could stick it out and hope for the best—but I’d have to reveal my hoof, before the end. Or I could fold, sweep my cards, unseen, back into the deck, and hope for a better deal next time.
Raise, or fold. Chance it, or chicken out. I looked at the other ponies sitting around the table, then back down at my cards.
Then, I made my decision.
* * *
I usually didn’t like flying at night. The stars were beautiful, of course, and the cooler air kept me from getting all sweaty, but the dim, flat light of the moon made it harder to see the shape of the ground. Lots of accidents that way, if you weren’t careful.
And yet, tonight, I needed to clear my head. So, I was in the middle of making a slow, wide circle around the whole of the Wonderbolts compound, weaving my way around stray cloudbanks here and there.
As I flew by the barracks, I saw Fleetfoot standing by the door, watching me. I sighed, then glided in and landed on the grass.
“Feeling any better?” she asked.
“...I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“Yeah,” she said. “Folding to Spitfire when she had a two and a three… that’s gotta sting.” She shook her head. “Though that was rude to show you her hoof after you’d already folded. There was no need to need to gloat like that. Especially with all that cash on the table…”
With vague surprise, I realized that I had lost money tonight. A lot of money. Somehow, that had slipped my mind.
“Well,” she said, “try and get some sleep, at least. You’ll feel better in the morning.” She turned and walked back towards the barracks door—then stopped. “And, uh…” She cleared her throat. “Try not to let the teasing get to you. They can be harsh, but they don’t mean anything by it. Not really.“
I tightened my lips a little. “Thanks,” I muttered.
She looked back over her shoulder, gave me a faint little smile, then let herself inside.
* * *
I lay on my back, staring at the darkened ceiling of the barracks. I hated it in here. I had been in the Wonderbolts for four years now, you would think I would qualify for my own private quarters. But no—I still shared a long bunkroom with all the new kids. Hopefully, in a couple years, I’d get a promotion and get out of here, but you could never tell.
But hey. At least I had a top bunk.
I had been lying here for what felt like hours. I tried counting sheep, but that didn’t work. I didn’t have enough light to read the EUP Regulations and Guidelines by, but I had tried reciting as many as I could remember. That didn’t work either. I had tried to shut my eyes and pretend like I was already asleep, but that just made me feel stupid. Nothing was working.
But it wasn’t Silver’s snoring that was keeping me up. I knew it—even if I was trying to pretend I didn’t.
I tossed and turned for another minute or two, then heaved a heavy sigh. I rolled onto my stomach and reached under my pillow. I had to fish around for a moment, but, when I found it, I pulled it out and held it up to the dim light shining through a crack in the blinds.
It was a photograph, a worn, black and white one. It was a candid photo of Celestia, looking back over her shoulder at the camera—at me. She was laughing at something, probably one of my dumb jokes. Her smile in that moment was everything I could have hoped for. I stared at her for a while, then held her close to my nose and breathed in. She even smelled like her: flowers and sunshine and wind and rain.
I held her in the moonlight and looked at her face again—and, slowly, my heart sank. In this light, she looked just like the card I had held tonight. The card that I had folded on. The card I had shuffled back into the deck without letting anyone see it.
Somehow, I felt like I had betrayed her tonight, though I couldn’t exactly explain how. And yet, thinking about it made me sick to my stomach...
I laid her photograph on my chest, and let out another long sigh.
I’m a bad coltfriend, I thought to myself.
I lay there, holding Celestia’s picture on my chest, until I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.