Photographs littered the floor, each and every one holding one thing in common: Scootaloo. The filly was depicted in every form and mood, from smiling with her friends to pouting on the edge of a field. At regular intervals, one of the images would receive a walloping hit from a tear drop.
Featherweight lay across his bed with his head dangling over the side, crying fitfully over the images, staring at the pony that he loved and knew would never love him back. One image in particular drew his attention. He held it tenderly in both hooves, staring at it unblinkingly. It was the only image of Scootaloo where she had actually posed for the camera. She wore a tattered journalist hat under which she was smiling jovially. He had taken it during the Gabby Gums fiasco.
He sighed, a low and mournful thing that deflated his entire body. His wings were spread out, sprawled across the bed as if they were limp and useless.
I lost her, he thought to himself for the hundredth time.
He glanced at his open window, noticing for the first time that the sun was cresting the horizon and bathing Ponyville in a warm glow. The brightness of it didn’t reach him, and the beauty of the Spring flocks and gentle wind washing over the town did nothing to diminish his pain.
Another tear fell.
Somepony knocked at the door, a distant booming that made his ears perk. The sound was followed by hoofsteps as one of his parents moved across the house. They came back, accompanied by two lighter, excited hoofbeats.
They stopped at his door and, with a growing sense of apprehension, he watched as the handle turned.
Featherweight had just enough time to wipe a hoof across his eyes before Pipsqueak charged across the small room. “Feathers!” the minuscule earth pony shouted as he hopped onto the bed, crushing some of Featherweight’s precious images.
With a strong wingbeat, Featherweight pushed his friend off the bed. “What do you want?” he grumbled.
“Aww, c’mon, Feathers. We knew you were in bad straits,so we figured we’d cheer you up.”
Featherweight looked towards the doorway as Chowder lumbered into the room, his gait rolling to his bedside. “Yeah, we’ll make you better, Just come with us,” he said, bits of Celestia-knows-what flying out of his mouth and onto the pictures.
Featherweight glared at them and began picking up the images, brushing and unfolding any that had been damaged by his friends. “You should have stayed at home; I’m fine.”
Pipsqueak deadpanned, “We both know that’s quackery. You just lost the girl of your dreams. You can’t possibly be in a good mood.”
Chowder nodded wisely. “Yup. If I were you, I’d be devastated... Oh, did you hear? I’m going out with Twist, now!”
“Good for you,” Featherweight said, but there was no joy in his voice, nor was there any shine in his eyes.
“C’mon, Feathers. You have to come with us. It’ll just be us guys, no girls: mares or fillies. It’ll be fun, I swear!” Chowder said.
Do I have to?
“Oh, and I brought you this,” Pipsqueak said. “One sec.” The earth pony walked out of the room, only to rush back in a few moments later, a long paper tube held in his muzzle. “It’s that Wonderbolts poster I promised. Figured I owed it to you after... after all that.” He slid the sheet across the bed, unrolling it partially in the process.
With both wingtips, Featherweight finished unrolling it. Tears sprang to his already moist eyes as he looked at the image of a very seductive Spitfire stradling an airship’s cannon. At the bottom, the mare’s name was written in a fire script with a little message: Thanks, Pip. I’ll cherish the memory, always.
As he further inspected the image, he found himself crying fully, wracking sobs making him tremble. I-I was supposed to have this after I kissed Scootaloo. That’ll never happen now. Never. He shoved the poster away, letting it roll onto the floor and regain its original shape.
Pipsqueak stared at the poster, then back to his friend. “That bad, huh?”
Featherweight nodded.
“Darn. Okay, we’re leaving,” he said before turning to Chowder and nodding his head.
Finally.
Pipsqueak twisted around and hopped onto the bed, Chowder doing the same on Featherweight’s other side. “What are you guys doing?” he began to ask, but the two ignored him, clasping his hooves in theirs.
They jumped off, carrying a fighting Featherweight between them. “Let me go!” he screamed. Neither listened as they dragged him away. One of Featherweight’s hooves hit his bed and tipped his stack of images, sending the pictures fluttering across the floor.
The last thing Featherweight saw as he was dragged out of his room was a dozen versions of Scootaloo, each one of them smiling innocently.
The sun beamed down on them, burning a hole in Featherweight’s head as he trudged beside his two excited friends.
Chowder and Pipsqueak were talking in clipped, hushed tones and he could only catch a word here and there. “Plot...” “Ice Cream...” “Wrestling...” “Marmite...” “Peanut butter cacti...”
Idly, he looked around, letting the conversation wash over and through him. They were nearing the centre of Ponyville where ponies trotted about, happily engaging in tightly paired conversations. Couples hid in the partial shade provided by trees and buildings, tails entwined as they stared at each other’s eyes. He felt a pit where his heart should have been.
Pipsqueak turned to him and mouthed something.
Hmm? “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘we’re almost there’,” he repeated before pointing at a large pavilion erected at one edge of the town square. From within, children yelled playfully while a few foals hung around the outside, talking and playing amongst each other.
Pipsqueak smiled and led the three into the tent. Featherweight carefully inspected his surroundings as he entered.
Around him towered tall, gaudily painted machines, all of them beeping, dinging, and making an assortment of noises meant to capture the attention of youths, and it was almost working. Pipsqueak was at his side as they trotted into the outdoor arcade. “So, what do you want to play?” he asked, eyes reflecting the glaring lights that emanated from the games.
Nothing. I just want to go home. Featherweight sighed. “I don’t know, which one’s the most fun-ish?” He eyed the row of a dozen machines wearily. Some were occupied by other youths, groups forming around some of the better players as they reached higher and higher scores.
“Well,” Chowder began as he presented the machines with a flourish of his flabby arms. “We have Donkey Gong, Hydra Thunder, Pega Racer, and my favourite, Pac Mule.”
Featherweight inspected the games one by one. “No thanks.”
Chowder’s jaw dropped, making a sickening splat as it hit the ground. “What? But they’re videogames... and we’re paying... What kind of guy doesn’t want to play games?”
Pipsqueak slid to Featherweight’s side and placed a hoof over his shoulder. “I know exactly what you need. Come on, Chowder. We’re going There.”
Something in the tone of Pipsqueak’s voice made Featherweight’s mane stand on end and beads of sweat appear at the edges of his forehead.
Chowder gulped, looking at the ponies around as if afraid of them overhearing. “Over There? Are you sure?”
Featherweight took a half-step forward and towards the two colts. “Um, where is ‘There’?”
With a devilish smile, Pipsqueak grabbed Featherweight’s forehoof and dragged him out of the arcade.
A few ponies looked their way as the pegasus was pulled along by the two colts, but most just assumed it was some childish game and let it go. Featherweight, meanwhile, was trying his best to free himself without causing a ruckus. “Where are we going?”
“I can’t tell you, mate. You’ll have to see when we get there,” Pipsqueak said over his shoulder.
They led him deeper and deeper into the town, to an area surrounded by small shops not too far from the Carousel Boutique. Finally, they stopped, catching their breath for a few moments.
Featherweight looked at the nearest building which was a fairly new construct with a well maintained storefront. Aloe and Lutus’ Spa and Hooficure Palace proclaimed an oversized billboard at its front.
“Are we... are we getting hooficures?” he asked. I know they want me to feel better and all, but isn’t that a little extreme? I mean, only girls get those. He cringed and stuck his tongue out in disgust.
“Nah, mate. Follow me; you’ll see what I mean.” Pipsqueak smiled and shook his head towards a small alleyway running alongside the building.
Featherweight and Chowder followed closely as he brought them to a closed dumpster and hopped onto it. The smell of shampoo and body care products wafted out of the bin as Pipsqueak helped Chowder up.
With a quick beat of his wings, Featherweight joined them on the metal construct and looked around. There was nothing to see but the cleanly swept alley and a large grill that jutted out of the salon. Pipsqueak giggled as he popped the grill off the wall and gently placed it aside.
He then stuck his head into it. What the!?
With a ‘whock’, Pipsqueak pulled his head out, grin bigger than ever. “It’s rush hour in there,” he said, a blush dotting his face.
“Oh, move aside. I want to see!” Chowder said before pushing Pipsqueak aside and sticking his own head in. His entire body giggled for a while before he, too, plopped out.
What the heck is in there? Pipsqueak gestured at the pony-sized hole in the wall, then at Featherweight. “Your turn, mate.”
Cautiously, Featherweight walked over to the hole’s edge and poked his head in.
Within, he had a top down view of a bath house, steam sticking to the air and condensation dripping down the walls. In the centre was a massive bathtub, filled to the brim with warm water, mineral concoctions, and wet mares.
The mares were laughing, playing in the water and allowing their manes and tails to flow loosely around their seductive bodies. They splashed around and tossed waves of water at each other while giggling.
Others were lounging on massaging beds while the staff rubbed their backs with lotions, eliciting moans from the comfortable mares.
Face burning, Featherweight yanked his head out of the hole and glared at his friends.
Chowder was grinning dumbly, his face identical to when he spotted a massive cake. Pipsqueak, on his part, just waggled his eyebrows at Featherweight and smirked.
“Wha-- what’s that?”
Pipsqueak lost the smile and blinked at him. “‘What’s that?’ Those are super good-looking mares, all wet and... good looking and stuff! And they’re naked!” He exclaimed while jabbing a hoof towards the hole.
Featherweight kept glaring at him. “We’re usually naked, you moron! What’s your problem? Don’t you have any respect for them? And all this to make me ‘happy’?” Tears sprang to the edge of his eyes. “I just want to be left alone, that’s all.” He backed away and jumped off of the dumpster in a flurry of wingbeats.
What’s wrong with me? Featherweight stalled mid-step. I screamed at my friends... He turned. “I-I’m sorr--”
“C’mon, Pip, the water’s warm!”
“Aww, look at that munchkin!”
Pipsqueak’s behind was wiggling into the hole. “Wait up, ladies. The Pip is coming!”
The rest was lost as Featherweight spun around and ran. What’s wrong with me? he thought as tears once more threatened to pour out of him.
Blinded by his watery eyes, he galloped in a completely random direction, as if he could run from his woes. No, it-it isn’t me. I didn’t do anything wrong. All I ever wanted was to spend time with Scootaloo, and have fun with my friends.
He hurtled past the town’s boundary, galloping onto the patchy soil that surrounded it. Gulping back a sob, he turned towards a not-so-distant copse of trees and took off. Refreshing spring wind lifted him a few feet into the air, allowing him to beat away tears with his hooves. It... it has to be me. Nothing else changed. What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t anyone love me?
The trees grew bigger as he approached them. He could see the rough bark marred by the scampering prints of critters and hear the small stream he knew was hidden beneath the tall spires of overreaching branches.
He landed softly on a pile of mushy leaves and caught his breath. Maybe... maybe if I just disappear for a while... Nopony loves me here. An image of a certain young unicorn flashed in the back of his mind, but it disappeared with a shake of his head as he trotted into the glade.
The two dozen trees were placed alongside a thin stream overflowing with the spring’s melted snow. He walked to it, avoiding branches and brush until he reached the water’s side. In the clear, mirror-like surface, he could see his tear-stained face looking back at him.
Why?
Something above him crackled.
Looking up, he caught sight of a multi-hued mane hanging off the side of a thick branch. He blinked. Only one pony in Ponyville had that sort of mane. “Rainbow Dash?” he croaked, his voice hoarse.
The mare above groaned and shifted on the spot. “I ‘on’t want to ‘o to school...”
He vividly remembered Scootaloo’s words the day before. ‘I love Rainbow Dash...’ It’s not me. It’s her.
“Rainbow Dash! Come down here. We need to talk!”
The mane jerked and shifted above before her head appeared on the side, drowsy eyes looking down at him. “Huh? What’s wrong, kid?” she asked before yawning.
“Could you... could you come down here?” he asked all the while glaring at her.
Rainbow perked an eyebrow at him and shrugged. “Yeah, sure, just give me half a sec.” She placed her hooves on the edge of the branch and hopped down, landing with a simple agility. “So, what’s up?”
“You are,” he said, a hoof stomping on the ground.
Rainbow smirked at him. “Yeah, I’m always up...” She then tilted her head at him, concern in her eyes. “Are you okay, kid? Looks like you were crying... or something.”
“Yeah, well, it’s your fault.”
She blinked at him. “My fault? Oi, kid, I nev--”
“Never what!? You didn’t have to do anything, just be yourself. Your stuck up, haughty, and self-loving self! If you weren’t so... so cool, then Scootaloo would never have loved you! She would have liked me, instead. But no, you’re all cool, and awesome.”
“Well, I am awesome, but that--”
“I don’t care! Don’t you get it? It’s all vain! One day, you’ll be old and won’t be able to fly straight. You won’t have fans anymore. Nopony will care about you. What did you achieve? Oooh, you made a big boom in the sky? Who cares? You’re such... such a bird brain.” Featherweight slumped onto the ground, pouting heavily while glaring at nothing in particular.
“You done, kid?” she asked in a calm, barely-composed voice. “Good. First, I’m not a bird brain, and that ‘big boom’ was a Sonic Rainboom and it was clearly awesome.” She stepped up, towering above him like an enraged Ursa Major. “You do not go around insulting other ponies like that, especially not me! Now, I don’t know what pea-brained idiot dared you to walk over here and talk to me like that, but you ought to return before I kick your flank into next week!”
Featherweight backed up, eyes wide as he braced himself for the oncoming storm. She marched towards him. “Look, you thin-faced, bucktoothed... numbskull! I’m not going to stand here and get talked at by a little twerp like you. Now, repeat that thing about Scootaloo.”
He pawed at the earth below him, before speaking, “I-I...”
“C’mon, I don’t have all day!” She glanced at the sun between the leafy branches above. “I should be napping right now.”
Should I tell her? He gulped as he inspected her fierce glare. Maybe I should. It’s her fault, after all. He brought a hoof to his chin and hummed a little. Rainbow Dash began tapping the soil rhythmically. So what? Half the town probably knows by now. “I like Scootaloo... I really like her. And, and the other day, while we were together, I sorta told her,” his voice muffled up, becoming a whisper.
“All right, so you like a filly that’s in your class. Big whoop,” Rainbow Dash said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve heard this story a million times before: You got rejected, you’re angry, you take it out on a random passer-by. Listen kid, you need to--”
“You don’t get it!” he said in a too-loud voice. He flinched. “She rejected me because she loved you more.”
The cyan mare blinked at him. “Really? Well, I am the lovable type,” she said, rubbing a hoof against her chest. Featherweight blushed and looked away before swiping his forearm before his eyes. She sighed. “Alright, I get it. You think it’s my fault or something?”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded.
“So, she ‘loves’ me cause I’m some sort of goddess of the sky? That’s cute and all, and I do enjoy the little fanclub, but it doesn’t mean anything.”
Doesn’t mean anything? “What do you mean?”
“Oh, c’mon, she doesn’t really ‘love’ me, not that way. I’m her idol.” She barked a laugh. “She doesn’t even know what love means.”
Huh? “But... does that mean I still stand a chance?” A small inkling of hope welled up inside him.
“Meh, maybe.” She shrugged. “Tell you what: you apologize, and I might slip a word in for you to Scoots.”
“Really!?” Featherweight perked up, his ears twisting around and towards the mare. “You’d do that for me? I’m so, so sorry, Miss Dash!” He took a few steps forward, a huge grin plastered on his face.
Rainbow poked at his forehead, stalling his advance. “Yeah, sure, just don’t come any closer. I don’t want you,” -She gestured at him vaguely- “to hug me or anything, all right?” She looked at the sun once more, its rays dancing playfully across her face as she did so. ”Right, I have to go. Take care, kid.” With that, the mare leaned down, unfurled her wings, and jumped into the air.
Featherweight watched as she disappeared through the glade. He felt as if a weight had been removed from within him. Sighing, he trotted out of the woods, leaving the quiet rustling of the stream behind him.
Slowly, he made his way back to town and home, shedding a bit of the dark cloud that had hung over him since the day before with every step, the houses of the town growing closer as he did so.
As he trotted by, he ignored the ponies going about their business or simply taking a stroll in the afternoon sun. In no time, he found his house and ran in, practically skipping as he barged into his own room.
With a quick swipe of his wing, he shut his door, the change in pressure arriving at the same time as the change in mood. There’s still hope, he thought, unable to suppress a sheepish grin. He surveyed the mess of images that littered the floor and smiled back at them, eyes shining until they alighted on a box, the same box Sweetie had given him at the hospital.
Curiosity gnawed at him. Maybe later? He looked out the window, noting that it was still early in the day. Huh, why not? Following his whim, he crossed the room and yanked at the carefully knotted bow with his teeth. The silken fabric unfolded with the quietest of whispers before floating to the ground below.
Eagerly, Featherweight popped the lid, eyes widening at what he saw within.
Two tickets seemed to stare at him, both of them the easily recognizable blue worn by the Wonderbolts. Their crest was stamped on each one above a series of numbers and letters. Row and seat placements. With shaky hooves, Featherweight removed the stiff tickets. These... these are real! he thought, mind in a flurry as he felt the precious objects.
He peeked into the box again and noticed a folded piece of paper. Carefully, he pulled it out, and read it:
Dear Featherweight.
I’ve always enjoyed seeing you at your best: playing with your friends, gushing over your hobbies, or just being you. I even surmounted an immense jealousy when you began loving Scootaloo. She is, after all, my best friend, and it's not as if she did anything wrong. She wasn't trying to hurt me by attracting your affection; she did it unwittingly. In fact, I'm fairly certain she hasn't the slightest inkling of my true feelings. That is to say...
I love you, Featherweight. And I understand that it might not be the case for you. My only hope, is that you enjoy your life. If you still want Scootaloo, then I shall help you in whatever way I can. If not, then I hope you’ll at least consider me.
Have these tickets. My sister has no use for them, and I want you to have some fun.
With a heavy heart, Sweetie Belle.
Right-o!
First things first. You may have noticed a slight decrease in my productivity recently. That isn’t the case. I’ve been working on something: my first ever ‘Normal’ story. That means there are no ponies (Well, one mention that I couldn’t resist), no Equestria, and no MLP: FIM. I started from scratch.
This story (no decent title yet) is one I intend to sell as an Ebook. The plot is very similar to that of this very fic, and for good reason. (For those of you wondering: yes, this is blatant advertising) To date, it has reached the twenty thousand word mark and should be a little longer before completion.
This is my first escapade into the world of ‘real’ writing, and I intend it to be as perfect as I can make it. My goal is fifty sales.
So, I’ll slow down the production of this, but only a little, until OCaK[hu] is complete.
Edited by:
-Your Antagonist
-StaplCactus
Proofread by:
-Fred the Saiyan
(Cpl is gone... the horror! He’s my go-to guy for sappy lines...)
Oh, some guy called Bombedrumbum was here too, he helped a tad.