//------------------------------// // 43. Desperation // Story: Someone Still Loves You // by brokenimage321 //------------------------------// “No matter what,” Rainbow said, looking into her eyes. “Stay here. This house is the safest place in Ponyville right now. Promise me that?” Scootaloo squirmed. “Yeah, sure,” she said.  “Promise me, Scootaloo,” Rainbow insisted, still holding her tight. Scootaloo looked guiltily up at her.  “I promise,” she said.  Rainbow nodded, then kissed her on the head.  “Love ya, Squirt,” she said.  “Love ya, too,” Scootaloo replied.  Scootaloo watched Rainbow as she ran out the door and leapt dramatically off the porch, then wing her way towards town hall. She sighed, shut the door, and locked it just to be safe. Then, she plodded to the closet, grabbed a spare blanket, dragged it back to the couch, and laid down. She stared sleepily out the window as the storm swirled in the distance, then, slowly, her eyes fluttered closed.   When she opened her eyes again, the clock above the TV said it was about ten o’clock. Scootaloo yawned, then rolled off the sofa and made her way to the kitchen. A few moments later, she walked back to the couch, carrying a glass of milk in one hoof, and a granola bar held like a cigar in her teeth.  Scootaloo plopped herself on the couch, turned on some cartoons, then started munching on the granola bar. She looked idly up at the clock, wondering what she would do with the rest of her day. Maybe she would watch a little TV. Or maybe she’d get a start on her homework. She briefly considered going to Apple Bloom’s, or maybe Sweetie’s—but Rainbow had made her swear to stay in the house. Either way, the day was going to be hers, and hers alone. She could do whatever she wanted to, with no grownup to say otherwise. It was at that exact moment that a knock sounded at the door.  Scootaloo frowned. Who the heck could that be? she thought. She and Rainbow weren’t expecting anyone, as far as she knew… that couldn’t be Rumble, could it…? She got up from the couch, walked to the door, and put her hoof on the knob. She had barely started to turn it before the door burst open, and she was swept into a stifling, smothering hug.  “Scootaloo!” cried the sticky-sweet voice of the hugger. “It’s so good to meet you!” Scootaloo gagged, then squirmed her way free of the embrace. Before she could even catch her breath, somepony else grabbed her hoof and started shaking it with enough force to lift her off the floor.  “Good ol’ Scootaloo,” said a male voice. “We’ve heard so much about you!” Scootaloo squawked in alarm, then buzzed her wings frantically. After a few seconds’ struggle she managed to break free, landing on all fours. She shook her head to stop the room from spinning, then blinked and looked at her assailants. Standing just inside the front door were two earth ponies—a mare and a stallion—each wearing a set of strange, fluffy shoes. The mare stood short, only a little taller than Scootaloo, but more than made up with her girth; the stallion, however, was tall and skinny, almost alarmingly so. Both looked at Scootaloo with smiling, dewey-eyed expressions, the mare close to tears, the stallion about to burst with pride. Just behind them stood a unicorn, wearing a matching set of fluffy shoes, a navy-blue blazer, an official-looking seal over the breast pocket. He looked up from his clipboard and cleared his throat. “Greetings,” he said, his voice lush with all the quivering emotion of a cardboard box, “I presume you are the filly named Scootaloo?”  “Yes,” Scootaloo responded uncertainly.  “I am Mark Stable,” he said, with the same measure of enthusiasm in his voice. “I am your caseworker from the Department of Foalhood Services.”  Scootaloo stared at him incredulously, but, if he noticed, he didn’t say anything. “This is Philodendron Ficus,” he said, gesturing to the mare, who put her hoof to her mouth, “and Beanington Pole,” he added, gesturing at the stallion, who waved. “They have applied to be your new parents.” It was an indication of Scootaloo’s emotional state that the thought of punching him in his face did not occur to her until later.  “My… my new parents?” she repeated.  Mr. Stable nodded. “Indeed,” he said. He let the word hang for a long moment, before he looked at her over the top of his glasses. “You did recieve our correspondence on this subject, correct?”  “Uh…” Scootaloo replied.  The cloudominium was known to drift with the wind sometimes, which made it somewhat difficult to maintain a steady address. Hence, Rainbow tended to pick up their mail at the post office whenever she remembered. Thing was, most of what they got was junk mail, so Rainbow only went by once every couple weeks… “It doesn’t matter, honey!” cried Philodendron. “We’re here to save you from this horrid, horrid place—!” Scootaloo shot her a steely glare, and she quickly trailed off into nonsense syllables. Then, Scootaloo turned her gaze on Mr. Stable, who stared at her with the placid, half-lidded gaze of a cinderblock wall.  “What the hell is going on here?,” she demanded.  Mr. Stable took off his glasses, polished them on his coat, then put them back on.  “Ever since you left the care of Safe Harbour,” he said mildly, “DFS has put your name on a list of orphans needing either foster parents or permanent homes. It is somewhat unusual for orphans of your age to be adopted,” he added, “but these two were generous enough—” “We just couldn’t resist!” cried Beanington, as his wife nodded eagerly. “You’re so cute, and your story was so sad—!” “But I have a home,” Scootaloo growled. The two earth ponies looked at her, stunned, but if Mr. Stable was startled, he didn’t show it.  “That may be,” he replied. “But biological parents rarely—” “I live with her!” Scootaloo roared. “My mother! I live with her! Right. Here!!”  Philodendron and Beanington clutched each other closer, but Mr. Stable remained unflappable as ever.  “Hm,” he replied. “That might be true…” “It is,” Scootaloo insisted.  “...but if so,” he continued, “the proper paperwork has not been filed with DFS. As far as we are concerned, Miss Dash is your caretaker, but you remain a ward of the State. However,” he added, “since these two have submitted an application for your adoption—an application that we have since accepted—they are, in the eyes of the law, your parents now.” Beanington hugged his wife, who let out a little squeal. “Ordinarily,” Mr. Stable continued, “this would be merely an introductory visit. However—-” the slightest hint of a frown creased his face “—it appears that, for safety reasons, we will be obligated to remove you from the home immediately.” “WHAT?” Scootaloo roared.  “I should think it would be rather obvious,” Mr. Stable replied. “After all, your guardian has left you, a minor, all alone—” “Lots of parents leave their kids home alone during the day.” Scootaloo interrupted.  “Yes,” Mr. Stable said, gesturing to the window. “But not in cloud-based housing. And not with an actual hurricane brewing outside.” Scootaloo looked out the window, and her eyes bulged. The storm—which, that morning, had been little more than a stain on the horizon, had now swelled to fill the entire window.  She whipped her gaze back to Mr. Stable. “Rainbow said, if there was a storm, that this was the safest spot on Ponyville,” she said stubbornly. Mr. Stable, already looking back down at his paperwork, rolled his eyes. . “Please,” he replied. “Cloud-based homes won’t even keep a determined visitor from walking through the walls. What will happen when you add hail and lightning to the mix?” He snorted. “The winds alone are hazardous enough. Why, this house would probably end up in Appleoosa before it came to a stop.” Scootaloo opened her mouth, to reply--but found no words. Images of corks and closet doors drifted through her mind, but she couldn’t force them into any sort of order. Not in front of an adult. Not an adult with a clipboard. With her friends, she could be as persuasive as she wanted. But with actual authority? What good was sweet talking going to do to a pile of forms? Besides--she bit her lip, and tears prickled at the corner of her eyes--she was outnumbered. The two earth ponies were staring at Mr. Stable with fear and horror in their eyes--fear and horror that their precious widdle baby might get blown away by that big, nasty storm. Three-on-one. There was no beating those odds. She was right. She knew she was. Rainbow wouldn’t lie about her house, not like that. And she was living with her mother. Her real one. And, after so long, she was starting to really feel like a mother. And now--and now he was just going to take it all away from her? Just like that?  Scootaloo braced herself. No. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t going to happen. She would not be stolen from her home like this. Not if she had anything to do with it.  Scootaloo looked straight at Mr. Stable, her eyes hardening. She took a deep breath, the deepest she ever had in her life— “I—AM NOT—” she bellowed, with the strength of every muscle in her body, “GOING ANYWHEREWITH YOU, AND THAT’S FINAL!!!" But the echoes of her rage hadn’t even died away before Mr. Stable looked over at her, an exasperated frown creasing his face.  “Young filly,” he said, an edge in his voice. “You are being ridiculous. Go and get your things, and we will be off.”  Scootaloo took a half-step backwards, then blinked in confusion.  “But--but I—” “And hurry,” he continued. “Our train leaves soon, and I want to be off before that storm gets any closer.” And with that, he turned back to his clipboard.  As Scootaloo stared back at him, tears started to prickle at the corners of her eyes. He hadn’t even listened to her. Hadn’t even heard her scream. To him, she was just a checkbox, an item on a to-do list.  She could yell and scream some more, certainly. Perhaps even stall long enough for Rainbow to get back. But who knew when that was going to be? And, truth be told--his reply had taken the fight out of her.  Bullies, she could fight. Villains, she had taken on before. But what do you do with someone who doesn’t even think you’re worth his time?  * * * “Fuck,” Rainbow Dash hissed.  She pressed one of her forehooves to her mouth, then pounded the other on the table several times. Rumble watched her, eyes wide, as tears began to roll down her cheek.  “What are we gonna do, Miss— Rainbow,” he corrected himself.  She laid her arms on the table, then buried her head in them. “Fuck if I know,” she growled. “They could’ve gone anywhere.”  “Um…” Rumble picked up the letter then looked it over. “I think they went to Canterlot,” he said hesitantly.  Rainbow looked up at him, eyes sharp.  “Why?” she demanded.  Rumble took a half-step back, then pointed at the mailing address printed at the top of the letter. “It, uh… came from the Canterlot office,” he said. “That’s where they’re probably headed.”  Rainbow snatched the letter off the table, then stared at it as if she could burn a hole straight through it with her glare. Then, she slammed it back down on the table, turned, and marched towards the door.  “Where are you going?” cried Rumble, as he raced after her.  “What do you think?” she snapped. “I’m gonna save my daughter.”  Rainbow yanked open the front door so hard it bounced off the wall, then stomped onto the porch. She spread her wings, and— “I’m coming with you,” Rumble said, skidding to a stop beside her.  Rainbow spared him a glance. “You’ll just slow me down,” she growled. “No I won’t!” he insisted, spreading his wings. “I kept up in the storm, I’ll keep up now!” Rainbow said nothing. Instead, she turned to face forward again, and, for the second time that day, leapt off into the unknown. Rumble hesitated, then followed.  * * * “Ooh, I’m so excited!” bubbled Philodendron. “You’re going to love your room! It’s all pink and sparkly—absolutely perfect for a little filly!” The four of them—Mr. Stable, Philodendron and Beanington, and Scootaloo herself—sat together on the train. The couple sat across from her, and Mr. Stable had taken the aisle seat, leaving the window seat for Scootaloo. They were probably just trying to give her a good look at the view--but it sure felt like they were trying to cage her in. “Uh,” Scootaloo began hesitantly, “Mrs. Ficus—” “Please,” she interrupted. “Call me Phillie.” “And I’m Bean,” Beanington added.  “We know it’s a bit of an adjustment for you,” Phillie continued. “You don’t have to call us Mommy and Daddy until you’re good and ready, okay?” Scootaloo bit back a snarl. Instead, she grinned in what she hoped was a convincing manner. It paid to be polite, after all. At least when you were penned in on three sides by The Enemy.    “So, uh—Phillie,” Scootaloo said carefully. “You and Bean, erm… you really wanted to adopt, huh?” Bean nodded eagerly. “Yep!” he cried. “We’ve wanted to have a foal of our own for years, but, uh…” “The stork must have forgotten our address,” Phillie interjected.  Scootaloo had yet to have The Talk, but she wasn’t an idiot. Even she knew that the stork bringing foals was just a fairy tale. It actually had something to do with birds and bees or something like that. Nevertheless, she nodded slowly.  “O-okay,” she said. “But… why’d you pick me?” she asked. “You’re earth ponies, and I’m a pegasus…” Phillie scoffed and waved a dismissive hoof. “Oh, it’ll be no trouble at all!” she cried. “We grow all sorts of houseplants for our store. If we can figure out how to raise a tillandsia xerographica from scratch, I’m sure we’ll be able to teach you how to fly!”.  A snarl threatened to overwhelm Scootaloo’s rictus grin, but she quickly stifled it.  * * * “Rain-bow!” Rumble cried helplessly, as he strained his wings for all they were worth. “Wait up!” Far ahead, the little blue blur that was rapidly dwindling to a speck paused, then wheeled around and zoomed back to him.  “If you can’t keep up,” snarled Rainbow, “I’m going to leave you behind.” Rumble, his chest heaving, pointed downwards. Rainbow just growled in frustration.  “No,” she said, “we are not landing just so you can have a breather.” Rumble pointed downwards again, and, this time, Rainbow looked.  “Train tracks?” she asked incredulously. “Why do you want to bother with train tracks? It’s faster as the pegasus flies.” Rumble sucked down a fresh breath, then swallowed.  “She… she’s going… by train,” he gasped. “Maybe we can… we can…” “Spit it out,” Rainbow snapped.  “We can catch them,” Rumble said. “If… if we follow…” Rainbow looked up and down the rail line, tracing its line with her eyes.  “Good thinking,” she said. She turned and shot off—this time, following the rails. Rumble groaned to himself, then turned and started after her.  In just a moment, though, Rainbow was back. Without a word, she flew up and underneath Rumble, until, to his surprise, he found himself standing on her back.  “Grab on,” she said.  Rumble wrapped his arms around her neck then laid down on her back, his wings dropping by his sides in exhaustion. Rainbow nodded once, then shot off again, nearly pulling Rumble’s arms out of their sockets as she accelerated.  * * *  “I don’t want to be rude,” Scootaloo lied, “but it takes a lot to raise a pegasus...” “Oh, we know!” cried Bean. “We’ve read all the books on raising a happy, healthy filly.” “And besides,” Phillie added, “we already know plants. You give them everything they need, and just let them do their thing. It’ll be even easier with you!” she cried. “After all, you can just tell us what you need!” Scootaloo ground her teeth. She was losing ground. Mr. Stable would be no help. As long as he had his paperwork, that was all he cared about. And Phillie and Bean were either too stubborn, or too stupid, to care that they’d basically snatched a filly from their home.  “Look,” she said, letting an edge creep into her voice, “I don’t think you understand. I don’t want to live with you—”  “We know,” Bean said gently. “Change is always hard. But we’re gonna do our best to help you—” “That’s not it and you know it,” Scootaloo snapped. “Look, I’m sure you’re very nice and all, but I don’t belong in Canterlot—” “Saddleback Ridge,” Phillie cut in. “Cute little—” “Whatever,” Scootaloo snarled. “I don’t belong with you. I belong back home. In Ponyville.” Phillie made a face. “In that damp old cloud house?” “Yes, in the damp old cloud house,” she shot back. “With my school. With my friends. With my mother.” “But… I’m your mother,” Phillie said stupidly. “And you’re going to have a new school. With new friends.” The only reason Scootaloo didn’t start shouting obscenities right then and there was the fact that she bit her tongue--bit it so hard she tasted pennies. She swallowed past the hard lump in her throat, took a deep breath, and let it out. “Look,” she said, “let’s talk about plants.” “Ooo!” Phillie cried, clopping her hooves together “Which one’s your favorite? We’ll get one for your bedroom…” “I don’t know,” Scootaloo groaned. “Just listen for a minute, please.” Phillie looked down at her, and Bean tilted his head curiously. Scootaloo bit her lip as she marshalled her thoughts into order. “Okay,” she said finally. “You put plants in pots, right?” “All sorts,” Bean replied.  “And taking them out of the pots is bad, right?” “Not always,” Phillie replied. “Sometimes, when they get too big, you need to re-pot them, and—” “But sometimes it’s bad, right?” Scootaloo interjected. Phillie looked confused, but Bean cleared his throat. “Sometimes,” he agreed. “Birds-of-Paradise, for example.” He waves his hooves vaguely. “Big roots. Can’t really leave their pots once they’ve grown into them.”  “Yeah,” Scootaloo said, gesturing enthusiastically. “Like that. If you take one of those bird thingies out of their pot, they die.” “Not quite,” Bean replied, “but—” “Ponyville is my pot,” Scootaloo said insistently. “I have roots. And they’re deep. My friends—my school—my mother—” Suddenly, Scootaloo stopped, her voice thick. She wasn’t sure she could speak--but, if she didn’t, she felt like her heart was going to explode. Bean waited for a moment, then gave an encouraging little nod. “Go on,” he said gently. “We’re listening.” Scootaloo swallowed again, and found, to her own surprise, that her eyes were filling with tears. “My m-mother,” Scootaloo said, her voice shaking. “R-Rainbow Dash. She’s a jerk. She’s selfish. She’s inconsiderate. B-but she… she…” Scootaloo sniffled. “I’ve been looking for her for my whole life. And she’s been looking for me, too. And, after all that time, we’ve finally found each other. Please,” Scootaloo said, looking up at the two of them. “Please don’t make me leave her. Not after all that. Not when we have a chance for a real life, after so long.” She had more to say. More that was in her heart. But she had no words to give voice to the thoughts. Even if she did, she couldn’t have spoken. Not without bursting into tears. Instead, she stared, pleading, at the two ponies who wanted to be her parents. And she watched, with growing awe, as Bean reached out and took one of his wife’s hooves in his own. They turned to look at each other, and the two of them had one of those deep, intimate conversations that required no words. Then, they turned back to Scootaloo. Phillie smiled, opened her mouth, and— Mr. Stable cleared his throat.  “I am compelled to remind everyone,” Mr. Stable said, “that, per DFS guidelines, Rainbow Dash is not a fit guardian for Scootaloo. She has a record of child endangerment, though she has already completed one stint of community service in regards to a previous incident. Further,” he added, “her cloud home is not considered safe for a flightless young filly, regardless of what changes she could make to it. A fall from even twenty feet could prove fatal, and Miss Dash tends to keep her home much higher than that. Finally, Miss Dash works jobs that require her to be away from home for long periods of time, and has not arranged for a foalsitter or other temporary caretaker—as we have seen for ourselves.” He sniffed. “I must also remind everyone present that she was removed from the home for safety reasons. One simply cannot justify leaving a filly her age alone in a cloud home during a storm such as that—” “Rainbow said it was the safest place in Ponyville,” Scootaloo blurted.  “For all these reasons,” Mr. Stable continued firmly, “in the eyes of DFS, and the Equestrian government as a whole, there really is no other option. No matter how compelling Scootaloo’s reasons for wishing to stay in Ponyville, DFS will insist, for her own safety, that she be remanded to the care of another set of parents.”  “But surely,” Bean said, “there must be some way we can make her happy… perhaps we could arrange, I don’t know, a custody-sharing agreement with this… this Rainbow Dash?” “Yeah!” Scootaloo cut in. “I know Princess Celestia—she’s got to have something she can do, right?” A flash of irritation crossed Mr. Stable’s face. He showed them the back of his clipboard, which bore an oversized, circular government seal.  “You see this?” he asked, tapping the seal importantly.  “It’s the seal of the Department of Foalhood Services,” Phillie said uncertainly.  “Yes,” Mr. Stable replied. “But you see this up here?” He tapped the top edge of the circle, where a rising sun hung just behind the seal.  “DFS, like many departments,” Mr. Stable continued, “is guided by regulations, regulations which have been approved by Princess Celestia herself. If we make a decision following the guidelines, then we’re following the will of the Princess.” At this point, Mr. Stable must have taken a moment to look around at the ponies before him. Scootaloo glared at him in cold fury, Phillie stared back with eyes wide and brimming full of tears, and Bean looked both vaguely confused, but nonetheless concerned.  Mr. Stable drooped his ears the slightest bit.  “I know there are some… special circumstances in play here,” he said, the faintest whine in his voice. “However, we do not deal in wishes, dreams, or emotions. We deal with observable fact—and the facts, as I have observed them, indicate that Scootaloo is in somewhat of a precarious position. She has no true permanent address, she has no caretaker who can continually meet her needs, she has nothing binding her to her home aside from a relationship predicated, not on established legal ties, but on the good graces of a mare whose temper, even on the best of days, may charitably be described as mercurial. Besides,” he added. “Philodendron and Beanington made a proper application, including paying all the fees, before Miss Dash ever thought to do so. To do anything other than allow them to take Scootaloo would simply be unjust. I apologize,” he said to Scootaloo, “but your fate has been decided, and it is out of all of our hooves. I suggest,” he added, sitting back in his chair, “you get to know your parents, because, unless there is a dramatic turn in all of our fates, you will be spending a great deal of time with them.” Well, then.  Scootaloo bit her tongue again. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t. But—after everything Rainbow had done—after everything she had done—well... it just wasn’t fair— Suddenly, Phillie brightened. Scootaloo whipped her gaze to look at her, her lips parting in anticipation. She must have thought of something, she must have, to be so excited— “Do you hear that, Scootaloo?” Phillie beamed. “Mr. Stable says you’re going to be staying with us!” Scootaloo’s brain made a noise like a burst of static, and her jaw dropped.  “Oh, I know you love Ponyville,” Phillie continued unabated, “but we can visit anytime you want, I’m sure! As long as it’s not too busy at the store--” “Dear,” Bean said to his wife, his tone heavy with a whole unspoken conversation.  Phillie immediately shut her mouth. Bean gave Scootaloo a hesitant little smile, but looked away. Mr. Stable, of course, simply continued to peruse his paperwork as if nothing had happened. Scootaloo looked from adult to adult to adult, none of them daring to meet her desperate gaze. She almost didn’t notice the tears that started spilling down her cheeks.  * * * Rainbow Dash didn’t like carrying passengers, when she could avoid it. They slowed her down. Nor did she like pushing her body beyond her limits. Every time she had done so, it had always come back to bite her in the ass.  And yet, here she was, Rumble hanging off her neck, her wing muscles screaming, streaking towards the sunset, to save her daughter from a fate worse than death.  (Rainbow also wasn’t a fan of being dramatic for drama’s sake—she simply didn’t have time for that, not when she could be racing across the sky for the sheer joy of it. But hey, this was something of a special occasion.) (Besides, losing her daughter again, after all those years of pining for her, would be a fate worse than death.)  (For her, at any rate.) Rainbow, with Rumble still clinging to her back, shot down the railroad track. The track had finally started to climb up into the mountains. Canterlot couldn’t be much farther. And, if they couldn’t find the train before it got to Canterlot Central Station, then Scootaloo was good as gone. From that one station, trains travelled all over Equestria—and there was no way to tell which one might have taken Scootaloo.  Rainbow rounded a mountain—the G-forces so strong they made Rumble light-headed—then screeched to a halt, mid-air. The sudden deceleration nearly threw Rumble off Rainbow’s back, but he managed to hold on, just barely. When he had finally found his balance again, he brushed his mane out of his eyes, then stared.  Ahead of them, the rail line leapt from one mountainside to another, by means of a tall, stone bridge, whose supporting pillars stood in the rushing waters of the Canter River far below.  The train—the blessed train—was puffing its way across the bridge, little more than a line of windows lit in gold in the deepening gloom. Its movement was slow, almost nonchalant, as if it had no idea of the precious cargo it carried—of how much it meant, to so many ponies...  Rainbow swallowed, suddenly choked up. There she was—her precious baby daughter, who she had hoped and dreamed and sweat and bled for— “What are you waiting for?” Rumble cried. “Let’s go get her!”  Rainbow shook her head to clear her thoughts, then turned her wings to dive. However, just as she did so, a new light appeared in the train—a large, rectangular one, which spilled golden light on the bridge.  “What the heck is that?” Rumble asked.  Rainbow was about to reply—but then, they both saw, at the same time, who stood revealed in the light. Rumble yelped something incoherent, but Rainbow simply pinned her wings back and dove.  * * *  “May I be excused, please?” Scootaloo asked timidly.  Phillie, whose attention had been focused on the conversation between her husband and Mr. Stable regarding some of the other fillies in his care, looked over at her.  “What for?” she asked.  “I need the potty,” she said.  (She hadn’t used the word Potty since she had been four, but something told her that it would be in her best interests to play cute.) Phillie’s eyes swelled up with tears.  “Of course, gummy worm,” she said. “Whatever you need.” She cocked her head a little. “You don’t need any help, do you?”  “No, I’m fine, Mommy,” Scootaloo said, the words sour in her mouth. Gummy worm? she added to herself. Where in Celestia’s name did that come from? Her words did the trick, though: Phillie pressed both her hooves to her mouth, and seemed about to cry in earnest. Not willing to give her the chance, though, Scootaloo slid off the seat, wormed past Bean, and started walking down the car.  Truth be told, she didn’t need to go pott—to piss or shit. She just needed some space. She was doomed to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Weepington back there, unless something changed—something big, something immediate, something that would shake things up, shake them until they could never be put back together. Not in such a way that ended with her separated from Rainbow Dash, at least.  She needed time to think. Time to figure out what to do. Time to make a plan.  And then, Scootaloo paused. She blinked once or twice, then turned to look over her shoulder. And something inside her—the stupid, impulsive, risky, glorious part that she had inherited from her mother—spoke up.  Scootaloo took two or three steps backwards, then turned to give the thing a proper look. There was a little break in the benches, leaving an aisle six or eight feet wide. And, at the end of that aisle, stood a door set into the wall of the train car. A door marked EXIT.  Scootaloo looked around, then trotted up to the door, reared up, and steadied her forehooves on it. She was just tall enough to peer out the window set in the door, just tall enough to see, in the last light of the setting sun, the glitter of the Canter River far below.  If she had thought about it for even a moment, she would have realized that this was a stupid idea. Of all the possible ways this could end, entirely too many involved her splatting into a mountainside, or crashing straight through the river and into the bedrock below.  But she didn’t have time to think.  The urgent voice inside her told her that she had found her way out. Her escape. Her last chance to leave Bean and Phillie and Mr. Stable behind. But it also told her the opportunity, slim as it was, was already slipping away from her. The Dash inside her told her to make a leap of faith, and everything would work out in the end. It had to—because it always had before.  And so, Scootaloo hopped down to the floor, tore open the door, and leapt out into the sudden emptiness of space.