//------------------------------//
// Pies, They Knock You Off Your Hooves 
// Story: Thunderstruck 
// by Kamaete 
//------------------------------//

[ Starstruck ]
by Kamaete

[Romance M/M]
Prompt: Take a novel, and use the first full sentence on every tenth page as a prompt.


Afraid of loosing her, I hurried down the last of the steps and followed the girl.

--Odd Thomas, pg 10





Like some kind of whisper, he flutters his wings and lets himself get carried on the breeze using the thermals for an easy ride.  Wings spread out as far as they can go, feathers tickling in the winds, he loops lazily over the sky carriage the rest of his team are resting in.  The landscape around him is beautiful, in a different way then he's used to.  It's filled with russet and copper and orange and he's never seen a beauty like this before.  Flat open spaces, in the far, far distance he can barely make out mountains.  There are crags and canyons and cacti here and there but it's nothing like the crowded architecture of Canterlot or the billowing soft white of Cloudsdale, it's not even like the industrial Fillydelphia. 
When the barest outlines of a town eases over the horizon he drops back down to the carriage and pokes his head inside.  Thunder Rush is lazing, resting maybe.  Her yellow mane is frizzed and flopped over her head.  Spitfire, on the other hand, is looking intently out a window, possibly trying to make out Appleoosa.  He whistles lowly, enough to catch Spitfire's attention.
“Soarin'.”  She greets and plods over to his window.  He likes looking into Spitfire's eyes.  Despite her name and her daring acrobatic aerial tricks she's a very mellow mare.  A soft hazel under glassy lids, often filled with lazy amusement or a mothering type of concern.  
“I can see the town now.”  He says instead of answering.  His voice is eager, he can't hide his excitement.  Even his wings are trembling faintly. 
Spitfire smiles wryly and gestures towards at a small door separating the main carriage from the resting area.  Behind the door lay the Wonderbolt Manager, who, though she means well, often set tight restrictions on their collective lives.  Spitfire won't forbid him from leaving, but it did her conscious good by acting like his conscious. 
“Ya know she never lets me go nowhere fun.  I'm not even in uniform, no pony'll even recognize me,”  He reasons.  
“It's true, you don't immediately bring to mind The Wonderbolts Superstar when you're not in costume.  You don't look very remarkable,” She teased.
“Well!  I'm not bringing pie back for you, so there!” He sticks out his tongue foalishly, a childish pout, “I'll probably be back before you know it,” He reassures, then, as a last retaliations: “Bye Spitball!”
After speeding away from the sky carriage and Spitfire's huff of amusement, he makes a gentle dive towards the town.  Going faster then the leisurely pace the Sky Carriage is taking, he makes it to the town rather quickly and stops near the edge, finding the abrupt transition of desert and bustling frontier village odd.  In one step he is out of the barren plains and suddenly among busy ponies.  He shuffles his wings and presses them tight against his body before trotting among the other ponies and taking in the sights.  
He finds that the town isn't all that large but it's rather easy getting lost.  Don't misunderstand, he has an excellent sense of direction, but that applies almost exclusively to the skies and pie stands.  A bird's eye view—or, as the case may be a pegasi's view—is the way he's used to looking at things.  He chooses to walk, however, because it's easier to be a tourist looking at stuff walking then it is flying above everything.
Wandering around the town easily occupies him and he's struck by a thought, watching the wagons and studying the architecture, that he feels like he's on a movie set, and it's such a weird thought that he finds himself looking around for cameras.  He notices the various Appleoosans studying him with a curious look as well, and he wonders why and unconsciously shuffles his wings. It's during this movement that he the slight breeze brings him the smell of a delicious apple pie.  His eyes flutter shut as he breathes the scent in deeply enough to taste the thick apple syrup and warm slices on his tongue. When he opens them, it is with a determination to find this apple pie.  
The smell leads him around the town and through it, past carts and houses and carriages and what looks like a saloon.  He trots as fast as he can without running into any pony, his eyes half closed in bliss at just the smell alone, previous thoughts buried.  He quickly finds himself in a forest of apple trees without him knowing how he got there, but he doesn't really register that fact because the apple pie is so close it's making him want to drool.
A strange gust of wind blows the scent away and, afraid of loosing his sweet temptress,  Soarin's leans into a gallop and races through uniform trees then back into a canyon before he's forced to stop.  It's a dead end that his nose has lead him to, though the smell of the pie is so close.  He flicks an ear and looks around, like his pie will pop into existence if he looks at the canyon wall hard enough.  
It doesn't and he frowns and, for all the world looking like a put out foal, he sits down and stares at the sky like it had wronged him.  Then it hits him: the pie has to be just ahead of him.  Just not in the canyon.  He squints and focuses on the edge of the wall so up high.  The only question is, how does he get up there?  He pouts and shifts his wings.  
It takes him a moment, but once he realizes the answer he's glad that Spitfire isn't around to make fun of him.  In his defense, pies make him giddy.
A hop, skip and a jump later he stands on high ground—which doesn't look any higher because everything is so flat—and he resumes tracing his lovely pie.  He doesn't realize that he's closed his eyes a long time ago and is completely relying on his sense of smell to lead him until he hits a wall.  Quite literally.
His head smacks into a wall, bouncing him off completely, sending his light body tumbling head over hooves.  He groans, contemplates opening his eyes, and then does so.  For some reason he feels thoroughly rejected by his sweet apple pie.  Soarin' huffs as he takes a moment to focus on the ground and then gets up.  Or attempts to.  As soon as he's on all four hooves his head starts ringing quite loudly and he topples over again.  
“Oooww.  Oh, Cash Box is not going to like this,”  He mumbles to himself and rubs his head.
“Ah, you all right there, stranger?” 
Soarin' jumps, making his head ring more, at the sound of the voice.  He groans and lays back down.
“Yeah, I'm fine.  I just ran into something, is all,”  He hears hoof-steps make their way closer to him and he feels a shadow cast across him.  His eyes are closed again.  
“That was you?  Ah heard somethin' hit muh window, but Ah thought it was a bird, not a pegasus,”  
“A window?” He frowns and opens his eyes, squinting against the sky's contrast and the pony leaning over him.  “I hit a window?”
“Ah reckon t'was you.  Ah mean, yer the only thing 'round here with a head ache,”
He eyes focus finally and he can see the pony is an earth pony, carmal toned with some sort of hat on.  The pony continues.
“Ah dun't know how you managed ta actually hit muh house, though,”  A hoof extends and Soarin' takes it, allowing himself to be helped up and steadied when his head threatens to topple him.  Blinking away spots from the motion, his vision finally clears enough so that he can look around.  
“If you don't mind me askin', why did you hit muh house?”  Soarin's attention is drawn back to the earth pony and he finds himself embarrassed.  His brief scan of his surroundings showed him that the house was the only prominent thing in the desert.  He managed to hit the only thing that was in his way.
“Uh, well.  I was kind of walking with my eyes closed,”  The caramel pony briefly looks puzzled so he rushes to explain, “I smelled a pie and pies are my favorite food in the world,”  The pony laughs.  Soarin' finds himself thinking it's not too bad of a laugh.
“That's a story.  Muh name's Braeburn, stranger,”
Soarin' takes the offered hoof, “My name's Soarin',”