//------------------------------// // Expect (old version) // Story: Less // by Duplex Fields //------------------------------// Sweetie Belle hovered an apple at her mouth and took a bite. Rarity had given it to her as a reward for staying out of trouble that day. She heard a crash and bang to her left, behind a gizmo repair shop. Turning down the alley, she saw Scootaloo smashing her hind legs into a trash can. "Whatcha doing?" she asked. Scootaloo turned toward her in shock. There were dark streaks below her eyes. "None of your business, hornjob!" she shouted, frowning fiercely. Sweetie Belle's magic fizzled in shock, and she dropped her apple. She'd never heard Scootaloo use tribalist language before. "H-hey!" she said, but Scootaloo brushed past her, wings flared. Sweetie Belle stood there for a few seconds, eyes wide, feeling like she was going to cry. Then she looked down at the fruit at her hooves. "Waste of a good apple," she said, hovering it toward the abused trash can, where a flash of color caught her eye. "What in the world is that?" she wondered aloud. In the can lay torn posters, smashed figurines, and a deflated balloon sculpture. A rainbow wig was stuffed down one side, touching a dark brown banana peel. She stood on her hind legs and pulled at one of the posters with her magic. It was half of a video-game-style drawing of Rainbow Dash, flying through outer space. She still remembered the night Scootaloo had stayed until 2am, coloring this in on some of Rarity's graph paper. Why would Scootaloo throw away all the stuff from her Rainbow Dash Fan Club? --- "Whaddya mean, never?" asked Apple Bloom, her eyes going wide. Scootaloo flapped her wings, hard. "I mean NEVER, as in you might as well just cut them off. They're useless!" Apple Bloom reached her right forehoof toward Scootaloo's left wing, but Scootaloo jerked it back before she could touch it. "Well, I don't get how th'doctor could just come out an' say that. Maybe yer just small fer your age." The next thing she knew, Apple Bloom was sitting in the dirt, her head spinning. "Don't you get it, you stupid mud pony?" Scootaloo growled at her, "I'm stuck here on the floor of the world forever! With all the trees and the animals and the mud." "But ya like playin' in th'mud," said Apple Bloom, drawing back from her enraged friend. "That was before I found out I'll never be able to leave it! Don't you get it? Don't you understand?" Scootaloo yelled. "Pertend I'm just a stupid mud pony, an' explain it slower," said Apple Bloom, getting to her hooves, annoyance on her face. Scootaloo snorted, and pointed upward. "You see that cloud?" she asked, "That is my people's land. That is what I'm supposed to be living on. We can stand there and nopony else can. The whole world is ours, from the ground to the top of the sky. When I use my scooter, I pretend I'm flying. Well, now that's all I can do. I'm useless. I'm broken. And you'll never get it because you always lived down here, and you always will." "I get what yer saying, Scootaloo. It's like if I wuz allergic t'apples," said Apple Bloom reasonably. "It's like you're allergic to food, and dirt, and your own family," said Scootaloo, tears forming in her eyes. She wiped them away with one hoof. "It'll be okay," said Apple Bloom. Scootaloo leaned forward, wings flaring. Instantly, Apple Bloom hated herself for saying it. She remembered Applejack's stories of the weeks following their parents' deaths, all the awkward conversations and the well-wishers whose words salted the wounds. "It'll be okay," was usually the phrase her sister railed against on nights when she'd been at the aged cider. Even though she wished she'd met her folks, Apple Bloom was glad she hadn't had to go through all that. She quickly said, "I mean, it won't be okay. It sucks! It's a horrible, horrible tragedy!" She hoped that would suffice. Scootaloo stood perfectly still, an odd look on her face. For once, she was at a loss for words. It was that particular moment that Sweetie Belle came around the side of the barn and saw her two friends standing there. "Hey Scootaloo, why'd you get rid of your stuff?" Scootaloo facehoofed. "You know what? I'll be up at the clubhouse. Apple Bloom can tell you." She grabbed her scooter and was gone. --- Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom were only halfway to the clubhouse when Scootaloo zipped up to them. Despite their conversation of only minutes before, all three had huge grins. Simultaneously they shouted, "Zecora!" Sweetie Belle said, "She fixed Apple Bloom's tooth in a few seconds. I'm sure she can do something to help you." Apple Bloom was already hooking her wagon to the scooter. The road was, as always, dark and scary. But with Scootaloo's speed, they made it to their destination unharmed. "Zecora?" called out Apple Bloom, and knocked on the door. They each made faces at the masks as they waited. They didn't have long to wait, because with a creak and a groan, the door opened. "Little ponies, on this fine afternoon," Zecora said, smiling "Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and dear Apple Bloom." She held the door wide open. "Scootaloo can't fly," said Sweetie Belle as they walked inside. "Yet!" said Scootaloo, poking her friend with a hoof, "Can't fly yet. The doctor says my wings are the wrong shape for flying, but I think he's got pickles for brains. Can you fix them?" She flapped the offending limbs for emphasis, and held them out for examination. With a practiced glance, Zecora peered at Scootaloo's wings for about a minute. She pressed against one, and felt the resistance. Then she extended and flexed it, and Scootaloo moved it compliantly. This was almost identical to the doctor's examination. "You possess good bones and muscles," she said at last, "Have you been eating your sprouts of Brussels?" Scootaloo stuck out her tongue. "Dad says I have to." Zecora patted her head. "He's a wise pony, who values nutrition. I must do some research on your condition." She turned and went to the bookshelf, and pulled down some books. Scootaloo groaned. "This is gonna take forever!" "Well at least she didn't say no," Sweetie Belle said. Apple Bloom pulled a small box from under a counter. "I've got some toys I play with when I'm watchin' her potions boil." "You come here often?" asked Scootaloo, one eyebrow cocked. "Watchin' her make potions, I get this funny feelin' like I know what's gonna happen. It's kinda like helpin' Granny with th'Zap Apple jam," said Apple Bloom. "Maybe you're going to get your Cutie Mark in potion-making!" said Sweetie Belle, excited. Scootaloo lay down on the floor. "Cutie Marks. Wow." "What's wrong?" asked Apple Bloom. "You guys get to worry about Cutie Marks," said Scootaloo, closing her eyes. "I have to worry about whether I'll be a lame duck for the rest of my life." Zecora started a fire under her cauldron with some orange dust. This held the fillies' interest for exactly five seconds, but once she returned to her books, they turned back to the box of toys. There were a few dolls with removable horseshoes and dresses, a puzzle cube with tiny steel balls, and two small zebras carved from wood. They had trimmed, painted hay for manes and tails. "Zecora brought these from her homeland," said Apple Bloom. "She said they're good luck charms." Scootaloo sat up and pulled the wooden dolls close to her. "Gimme those. I need all the luck I can get." By the time Zecora put all the books away, they'd gotten into a heated imaginary war between ponies and zebras, with progressively darker descriptions of the post-apocalyptic wasteland. "Argh, my containment suit," cried Scootaloo, "I'm exposed to the evil magics of these zebra devils!" "If so lightly you play at the damage we'd do," said Zecora next to her ear, startling her, "Then I might not share my findings with you." "Aw, we were just kidding" said Scootaloo, quickly, her cheeks flushing. As they put the toys away, the potion-maker used a ladle to pour a hot, sweet-smelling brown liquid into four mugs. "Do I have to drink all four of those?" asked Scootaloo, excited. "Three ponies, one zebra, and much to be said," Zecora rhymed, "This is warm cocoa, to make a clear head." With that, she took one of the cups and sipped it. A smile spread across her face. The three fillies eagerly took the drinks, though Scootaloo kept one eye on their hostess. After they'd all had a decent portion of their cocoa, Zecora set her mug down. Her face grew somber. "The truth for the young pegasus, Scootaloo, is the truth of the way in which her wings grew." Sweetie Belle gasped. Zecora glanced at her, then continued. "With fine muscle structure, and strong, sturdy feathers, your body is perfect for shaping the weathers. But shaping of wings is an art with no masters. All recorded attempts are unbridled disasters." The look of determination on Scootaloo's face withered, and her ears went back. Zecora continued. "Stories of comas, or pain unceasing, of lives shattered with years of life decreasing. A spell was created by Starswirl the Goateed, but only enwombed can one reshape a steed." Scootaloo stood up. "No! ARGH! My parents don't believe in that sort of thing!" she yelled, and stamped her hooves. "They did this to me! How could they do this to me?" Apple Bloom shook her head. "Starswirl? That old unicorn that Twilight is always goin' on about?" Scootaloo made a frustrated growl. "The Amniomorphic Spell. When a pregnant mare gets zapped with it, the foal won't have any deformities. Don't you remember that from Miss Cheerilee's class on how babies are made?" Sweetie Belle blushed. "Oh. That spell." Apple Bloom's eyes widened. "Wait, so that's th'lesson my sister pulled me out of? She said it wasn't fer tender ears." She muttered, "An' that's the day we helped momma hog give birth." Scootaloo flapped her wings in annoyance. "Dad says pegasi shouldn't have to use that spell," she said, in a tone of mockery. "He said that the weak shouldn't contaminate the herd with their weakness. Well guess what, dad? You've got two beautiful daughters with horrible wings, and you could have had better!" The frustration in her voice mixed with a sort of quavering. "You've got one daughter who can barely fly, and one who can't fly at all because of your stupid pegasus ideals and whatever weakness YOU contaminated the herd with! You're a rotten dad, AND YOU DID THIS TO ME!" She swiveled and kicked the cauldron, making a deep bass gong. "Because of you, I'm less of a pegasus!" She kicked it again. "I'm less of a pony!" Again she kicked it, and it nearly spilled. "I'm less than you wanted, and I'll never be enough!" Zecora steadied the cauldron, but Scootaloo was all kicked out. She stood with her face to the wall and her back to her friends. "I'm less than I should be, and I can never be better." Dark spots appeared on the floor under her head. "No wonder I don't have my Mark. I'll never be good at anything." Both of her friends just stood there, not sure what to say.