//------------------------------// // Chapter II – An Unforeseen Development // Story: On and off the Pitch // by Acologic //------------------------------// ⚽⚽ On and off the Pitch by Acologic 2. An Unforeseen Development *** ‘Oh, we are the Canterlot Elite! Never, never, never shall we be beat! Whenever we shoot, we score! And whenever they shoot, we save! Never, never, never admit defeat!’ The minibus was full of the sound of chanting, an activity whose importance Celestia had highlighted regularly since day one of the team’s existence. It lifted everypony’s spirits and served as a healthy reminder that, over the next three days, each player was expected to do their bit. ‘Who’s going to win this tournament?’ shouted Celestia. ‘We are!’ chorused the team automatically. ‘WHO’S GOING TO WIN THIS TOURNAMENT?’ ‘WE ARE!’ they responded. ‘Now that’s more like it!’ Grinning broadly, Celestia punched her seat and let off a few come-ons. ‘I can’t wait, Luna! I can’t wait! We’ll show them! We’ll show everypony!’ Luna was absorbed in the official programme, her expression grim. ‘We’ve got our work cut out,’ she said seriously. ‘The Wondercolts mean business. Guess who’s been appointed head coach?’ Celestia didn’t care who. She was savouring the image of ponies from all over hurrahing while she lifted a trophy high. She’d been waiting for that moment, and she wouldn’t have to wait much longer – that was the plan, anyway. Woe betide anypony who prevented its coming to fruition. The Annual Amateur Hoofball League. It wasn’t much, but suited her needs well enough. The FA, as predicted by Joachim, had thought little of their competing alongside the pros. Not that it mattered, ultimately, in which tournament they played: the action in and of itself would bring forth the attention she was looking for. The rest was details. Her head was crammed with formations, positions, training and tactics, and her conditioning she had taken very seriously. In the two-and-a-half weeks before the tournament, Canterlot’s foremost hoofball coaches had set to work strengthening the squad via tactical-awareness tests, coordination exercises, decision-making drills and rigorous repetition. Palace guards’ fitness was peak as a rule, levels above that of the amateurs with whom they were to clash. Subsequently, their camp had been a case of nailing down the basics, which they had. Celestia’s good mood improved the longer she thought about it. Solar scored nearly a sixth of his volleys; Bouncer tackled almost as well as if he’d been doing it for months. That Luna had proved to be lightning quick between the goalposts was a welcome bonus. Indeed, they were transformed from a group of novices into – well, a group of amateurs. There was only so much one could accomplish in a short space of time. But what they had accomplished, she thought, would prove to be more than good enough. If anything, such comparative lack of preparation would enhance their reception once she and the team started winning. ‘Rainbow Dash,’ said Luna, breaking Celestia’s reverie. ‘Huh?’ she said, lost. ‘Head coach of the Wondercolts! Trouble for us by all accounts. Look.’ She passed Celestia the leaflet, which contained profiles of each of the competing teams. ‘“The Cloudsdale Wondercolts”, ’ Celestia read, ‘“a branch of the Wonderbolts Academy programme... formed twenty years ago... competed in every tournament... fifteen league titles... incumbent manager Rainbow Dash favours fast-paced, attacking hoofball...”’ ‘They’re the team to beat,’ said Luna. ‘What happens if we can’t?’ ‘Can’t?’ ‘Beat them.’ Celestia tutted. ‘She of little faith! It’s a good job I’m here! Were you its captain, this team would crumble!’ ‘Epic praise, Sister, as always.’ The journey stretched on, and the sky darkened; sheets of rain peppered the windscreen. Celestia grimaced and hoped the pegasi would allow her sunshine to exist uninterrupted come tomorrow’s match. Eventually, the bus came to a halt beside a grubby-looking cottage complete with thatched roof and boarded windows. The weather showed no signs of easing up, and Celestia and the team eyed the muddy road apprehensively. Joachim had assured her they’d been allocated the best of what was available. Surely, she thought, this couldn’t be the place. Nonetheless, the driver grinned. ‘This here’s your stop,’ he said. ‘Enjoy your stay.’ And he leered at them as they filed out of the bus and into the deluge. ‘Joachim!’ Celestia threw at him as he stepped off. ‘This can’t be right!’ ‘I’m afraid so, Your Highness,’ he said, squinting through the rain as he unloaded their luggage from the hold. ‘Everywhere else was booked.’ Once everypony had disembarked, the bus rumbled away and Celestia knocked on the cottage door, which opened. Before her stood a stallion between whose lips was held a pipe. He stared blankly at the team and said, ‘Can I help?’ Celestia winced as water trickled down her neck. ‘Yes! Yes, we are the Canterlot Elite! Competing in the Annual Amateur Hoofball League, you understand, and we were told you’d accommodate us?’ ‘Arr,’ said the stallion. ‘You’re that princess, eh? Better come ben the hoose. It’s horrible out here. You’ll get soaked.’ ‘Too late,’ muttered Luna resentfully, her mane a soggy mess. ‘Luna!’ hissed Celestia. The team followed the stallion in, doing their best to fit inside what little space there was. Celestia scolded Luna out of earshot. ’How can we expect his sort to improve when you can’t even handle a bit of rain with the proper graces?’ The hallway was dimly lit by wicks burning in tarnished brass platters that hung from the walls on string. Celestia wrinkled her nose. The cottage reeked of mould and damp. ‘Welcome to Clanfindunsisterossnessway,’ said the stallion. ‘Oh,’ said Celestia. ‘Delightfully, ah, picturesque. Is that the name of the town?’ ‘No, that’s the name o’ me hoose. The toon’s called Bendunsiswastowickbondbeckloweckswy.’ ‘Aha ha,’ said Celestia weakly. ‘Of course.’ ‘Got your tents?’ he asked. ‘Tents?’ repeated Celestia, confused. ‘Aye. You did say youse are stayin’ for the tournament?’ He led the team to an unobstructed window and gestured with his pipe. ‘There’s ma field. You can set up after a cuppa if you like.’ When the stallion’s expression did not change, she realised he was being serious. Celestia gawped helplessly at the muddy plain. There must have been some mistake. Nopony in their right mind could expect her to camp out there for three days, could they? The sight of Joachim puffing as he dragged in four large, heavy bags couldn’t have answered the question more completely. The rain stopped come the evening, which although welcome did not have much bearing on the condition of their already waterlogged camping ground. Between arriving and pitching their tents (one marquee-like, the other a narrow two-pony), Celestia had hot-showered twice, assuring Auld Duffy she would make good his heating bill, whereas everypony else had had to be hosed down by a disgruntled Luna, who had magicked herself somewhat clean. They had then eaten a dinner of boiled potatoes, a less-than-satisfactory part of the increasingly unsatisfactory package, before readying for bed. ‘Already?’ said Duffy, who had come to check on their progress, through a mouthful of pipe as Cash tripped over Moonweight’s sleeping bag. ‘Don’t want to wait a bit? I could boil the kettle, get some cocoa on the go. Could fetch you a cup o’ summat stronger too –’ ‘Absolutely not!’ said Celestia firmly. ‘Our first match is tomorrow!’ Duffy shrugged. ‘Never stops the others.’ It got dark very fast. ‘Odd,’ said Celestia. ‘I haven’t even –’ ‘Hey!’ Luna was shouting at her from the roof of the cottage, her horn aglow. The moon was jammed clumsily in front of the sun in semi-eclipse. ‘Get a move on!’ she cried angrily. ‘Ah,’ said Celestia. ‘Sorry.’ She took off to join her sister. ‘Got to be careful in the dark,’ Duffy was saying once they’d finished, ‘especially where youse are laying, cosied up near the Cliff Side an’ all.’ ‘The cliffside?’ said Celestia. ‘But we’re sleeping in your field!’ ‘No, no, the wee hillock at the end there – you see him? Aye. We call him the Cliff Side.’ ‘Why?’ asked Luna, illuminating the Cliff Side with her horn. The hillock was small, and stubby, and entirely forgettable. ‘Named after a bloke who used to live here,’ continued Duffy in hushed tones. ‘This cottage has stood for seventy years, and sixty years ago Auld McCliff took ill at the base o’ this very field. One night he and his wife hear summat moving outside. McCliff tracks the soond tae the hillock. One second he’s standing on top. The next? He’s fallen tae the groond, clutching his chest. His wife calls for help, but by the time it comes Auld McCliff has gone. Vanished.’ ‘Vanished?’ said Luna. ‘Aye!’ said Duffy impressively, his voice rising. ‘Vanished and never found! And call me crazy, but I say he was taken by Mahookle Wackytoggie!’ ‘My cookie whacked a doggy?’ said Luna, her eyes wide. ‘Aye! Mahookle Wackytoggie! And there’s proof! Each year the teams come, and each year they see him! And mark my words, before this tournament’s end, youse’ll see him too!’ ‘Who?’ asked Celestia. ‘Auld McCliff! Or at least his ghost!’ Celestia had heard enough. ‘We’ll take our chances,’ she said. ‘Goodnight, Mr Duffy, and thank you.’ But Luna refused to move. ‘Luna, really!’ said Celestia after hearing why. ‘Grow up, girl, there’s no such thing as Macrooked Walkie-Talkie! Now it’s off to bed, I need you fit for the match!’ ‘I have dreams to guard!’ protested Luna. ‘Dreams to guard nothing!’ Celestia snapped back. ‘You’re going to the Cliff Side, and I don’t want to hear another word about it!’ Grumbling, Luna followed her into their tent. ‘Here we are,’ said Celestia, unfurling their sleeping bags. ‘One for you. One for me.’ She wriggled into hers, which was tricky – her wings didn’t seem to want to fit through the opening. ‘Hmph,’ she said as she managed to squeeze them in. ‘Oh, very nice, Joachim,’ she muttered sarcastically. ‘Very –’ She felt cold water soaking through the material. ‘... Comfortable.’ Luna giggled.