Dear diary,
I almost died today.
Those Washouts I told you about yesterday? Well, they let me join as a honorary member. I got to wear a uniform and everything. I loved it: the smell, the feel of it, I felt like a real ace flyer. I wish Rumble had seen it. I wonder if he’d be jealous.
Anyway, they strapped a rocket to my back, and I got to do a stunt.
I got to fly. I finally got to fly.
And then the rocket almost exploded with me strapped to it, and Rainbow Dash had to save me.
A lot of ponies saw it. Not Rumble or Thunderlane, though, I’m pretty sure they were off doing real Wonderbolt stuff, the kind of stuff I can’t do because I can’t fly.
A lot of ponies saw it, and nopony stopped it. I could have exploded in front of all of Ponyville and no one would have cared. I probably shouldn’t tell my parents about this. It’s not like they’d be able to do anything about it anyway.
I could have died, because I let ponies get under my skin again. I could have died, because ponies don’t care enough to help. I could have died, because I still can’t fly.
Nopony congratulated me for flying, either. I guess flying with a rocket isn’t exactly Wonderbolt material in the first place. That kinda makes flying with a glider or anything like a lost cause, too. Not much of a point in finishing my project then, either.
I wish somepony would just tell me what’s wrong with me. I don’t even know who to ask. Twilight can turn a pony into a griphon or a dragon, but a doctor can’t fix my wings? Apple Bloom can make a potion to regrow her teeth, but my wings are stuck like this?
I could have died.
I guess nopony’s gonna help me when it really counts.
I dunno, maybe I just need to sleep on it. Something will turn up eventually, right?
Scootaloo stared death in the eyes. The mechanical contraption pointed both barrels at her chest, sparks flew.
“Raise your hooves in surrender or face destruction. You have ten seconds to comply,” the thing droned.
She started counting down. Nine, eight, seven, six-
“Raise your hooves in surrender or face destruction. You have ten seconds to comply,” the thing droned.
She blinked in confusion, and started to count again. Nine, eight, seven, six-
“Raise your hooves in surrender or face destruction. You have ten seconds to comply.”
“Wait a second, are you just going in a loop?” she asked.
In response, she did not hear the thing itself speak. What she did hear was the sound of a young colt, grown beyond the squeaks of Rumble’s natural voice but not quite as deep as the one he’d medicated himself into.
“What in the name of wombat blocks is goin’ on in here? And who’s the blinkin’ derro sneakin’ into my room?”
The colt had a copperish coat and a dark grey mane, almost black. His eyes were a deep green, but none of that registered right away for Scootaloo. What registered right away was his accent: his ‘oohs’ came out with a vague ‘uh’, his ‘a’s came out sounding almost like ‘oi’s, and if that wasn’t enough of a hint, there was only one kind of pony who used the term ‘wombat blocks’ as an expletive.
The new family that had moved in to her place were ponies from Down Under, from the Upside Down Island, from Kangaroo Country, the Land of Oz.
These ponies were Ostlerians, like her parents.
“Brass? What’s the matter?” A stallion came in behind him, definitely related, judging from the coat, but the mane was more of a silver colour. He took one look at Scootaloo, then at the mechanical guardian, then grumbled. “Brass, what did I tell you about boobytrapping your room?”
“Ain’t my fault she snuck in. And besides, it’s not like this thing’s loaded. It’s just a scarecolt. Or a scarefilly, I should say.”
Slowly, carefully, Scootaloo put her hooves down. “You’re the ponies living here now?”
“That’s right,” said the stallion. “I’m Upshot, this is my nephew, Brass Tack.” He looked her over carefully, then grinned. “And unless my eyes deceive me, you must Scootaloo, huh?”
Her heart skipped a beat.
Right when he heard her name, Brass Tack seemed to relax. “Oh. You’re Mane Allgood’s daughter? And, umm… Snap Shutter, was it?”
“Yeah, that’s me. You know my parents?”
It was only now that she noticed the horn on both these ponies. They were Unicorns. And at least one of them was a mechanic, or a tinkerer, or an artificer, whatever they were called.
“Sure do,” Upshot said. “We only met a few times, but they’ve brought back some neat specimens, and I’ve had plenty of success in analysing the results. Me and Brass here like to keep up on the new designs for magical trinkets, and most of those are, well-”
“Made from studying magical animals, right.”
Brass Tack snorted. “So what are you doing here?”
“Don’t be rude, Brass.” Upshot nudged him in the side. “Scootaloo was just visiting, obviously. She used to live here, this is her old room we’re in. Why do you think you’ve got a Wonderbolts symbol over the door?”
“Oh. Right, guess that makes sense.”
“I am sorry if we scared ya, Miss,” Upshot continued. “We’re still getting settled in, and our doorbell hasn’t arrived yet. We’re out back getting my workshop all installed, so we keep the door open in case anything starts to smoke.”
“Eheh, yeah, you really don’t want to waste time opening a door if there’s smoke.” Scootaloo shuddered as she remembered all the times Sweetie Belle decided to cook for her fellow Crusaders. All in all, that old charcoal biscuit recipe had improved over the months.
“Anyway, I wish I could offer you some tea and catch up, but me and Brass do need to get to work, still. So how about we take a raincheck, eh?”
She gulped. That diary was right there. If she could just get to the compartment…
There came a knocking at the door. Scootaloo recognised the voice of Derpy Hooves calling out. “Mailmare!”
“Speakin’ of which, that’ll be our doorbell. And a fairly prompt delivery, too, that’s nice change of pace. Brass, you show your new friend out, would you? And be nice, we’re in Ponyville now.”
Once Upshot was gone, Brass Tack sighed. “Sorry about that, and my, umm, security. We had a spot of trouble in Ostleria. We kinda left in a hurry.”
“That’s okay.” She forced out a smile. “Umm, are you in Miss Cheerilee’s class?”
“Yeah, I’ll be startin’ tomorrow. You too?”
“Yup. I guess I’ll see you there, then?” She started to walk towards the door. “You know you can put eyes on that thing, right?”
“Yeah, I know. We had to pull everything apart to ship it, is all. And I’m not sure if I wanna put everything back together the way it was, y’know? Might wanna make some improvements instead. Why, do you know this stuff?”
She shrugged. “I know a little. My mom and dad tried explaining it to me once, and I learned a little bit in the library. Well, you know, before the library got blown up.”
“Right.” He walked her to the front door, where Upshot was talking to Derpy.
Resigning herself to a failed mission, Scootaloo put her helmet on and mounted her scooter.
“So, Scootaloo?” Brass Tack asked.
“What?”
“Is it nice here, living in Ponyville? Anypony I should be worried about?”
“Not really. It’s nice here. Ponies are nice. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. It’s just that I have some stuff and-”
“Brass!” Upshot called out. “Come on, we gotta get this doorbell mounted. You can have your chin-wagging contest in school.”
Brass Tack rolled his eyes. “Duty calls. See you in school tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you in school.”
With that, she drove off at full speed. She didn’t care which way, as long as she got a clear path.
That was close. I almost got caught there.
The next day, Scootaloo went to school, as always, and sat through Brass Tack’s introduction in the morning. He didn’t really say anything she didn’t know already: him and his uncle just moved in, they were from Ostleria, yes he had a funny accent, and he liked to tinker with magical machines.
Magical bionics, he called it, and the term was familiar to her: studying magical animals to copy their abilities into something you can carry and make more of. He was on the fabricating end, where her parents were on the research end. This, also, was not news.
No mention of his parents, though, which struck her as odd.
Regardless, there wasn’t much to him, aside from the fact that he was still standing between her and getting her diary back. He was pretty good at maths, turns out, but that wasn’t shocking: so was Scootaloo. They had an aptitude for numbers for the same reason: their fields of interest demanded it. Drop a zero when calculating a trajectory, you land on a bird’s nest instead of a porch. Drop a one when making a magical device, you get a taser instead of a communication device.
When school was out, all the foals got their homework, and Scootaloo got a double dose, as usual.
Brass Tack, apparently, noticed.
“Uh, any reason why you’ve got two sheets to write on instead of just one?” he asked as they went out the door.
“Scootaloo’s bringing Rumble his homework. He’s been sick for a while, and she lives closest to him,” Sweetie Belle replied.
“Yeah. It’s no big deal, he’s lost his voice from taking these pills, and now he’s not supposed to be around talking ponies for too much, either.” Scootaloo gestured to her throat.
“Oh, roight, that kind of pills. Umm, actually, do y’all mind if I ask you something practical? I’m not sure who else to ask, and you seem to know these things best, from what the mailmare told me.”
Oh boy, here we go.
“What do ya need? If it’s a cutie mark problem, that’s our specialty,” Apple Bloom noted.
Somehow, Scootaloo doubted that was an issue. Brass Tack had a set of nails for a cutie mark, clearly indicating his talent for building stuff, and from what she’d seen, he was pretty good at it.
“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks, but it’s not that kind of favour. More like the opposite, actually. I’m, uh, I’m looking to get rid of a couple of things from Ostleria. Stuff I made, but that’s gotten a little redundant, if you catch my drift. I don’t want it to go to waste, though. I wanna make sure I give it to ponies who’d have a good use for the stuff. Do you know who I can ask about that?”
“Pinkie Pie,” Scootaloo blurted out. “Pinkie Pie knows everything about everypony. And she’ll wanna meet you and your uncle pretty soon, if she hasn’t already. Has she?”
“I don’t know. What does she look like?”
“You definitely haven’t met her yet,” Sweetie Belle remarked. “She’s really nice, but she can be a little… intense. She’ll ask you a lot of questions the first time, so make sure you don’t have a dry throat when you meet her the first time.”
He gulped, then nodded. “Okay. And where can I find her?”
“Sugarcube Corner. It’s the bakery, the one with the roof that looks like cake frosting.”
He looked out towards Ponyville. “Oh, ta, mate, I know where that is.”
Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle exchanged a glance with Scootaloo.
“He’s saying thanks,” she clarified.
“Oh, right, sorry. I keep forgetting ponies don’t talk the same way ‘round here.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Apple Bloom said in her best drawl. “Ponyville’s got a lot different accents, you’ll fit right in.”
“Thanks.” He blushed. “I’ll go ask Miss Pinkie, then, and I might pop by your place if she has any suggestions.”
“I’ll let my sister know,” Apple Bloom said. “Wouldn’t want ya to get stuck in a bat-trap.”
He was already gone, trotting off towards the sugary middle of town.
“He sounds nice,” Sweetie Belle said. “I thought you said he didn’t like you?”
“I didn’t say that: I said he sounded angry.”
“Well, you were sneaking into his room,” Apple Bloom remarked.
“It was my room,” Scootaloo replied.
“He doesn’t sound angry now. He might wanna help us out sometime.”
Scootaloo barely managed to suppress a groan at that. “Let’s just get going. I don’t wanna keep Rumble waiting.”
By the time the filly had managed to brace herself in the slingshot, she was already out of breath. Rumble’s parents insisted on him keeping up with his schoolwork, and they got home about ten minutes after school was closed, so that left Scootaloo with nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds to get from one end of Ponyville to the other. It did not leave her with time to lighten her own schoolbag, do a proper warming-up and wing stretches, or a wheel check on her scooter.
Needless to say, the new route was starting to get to her.
Still, she got there, well on time, even if her wing muscles were burning. She held on tight to the straps, dug her hooves in, then jumped.
Wings spread, she landed on Rumble’s doorstep, not hitting a pigeon in the process. She knocked on the door, and he opened up with a smile.
She smiled back, panting for breath. “Hey, Rumble. I got your homework.” She dug it out from her bag and gave it to him. “Just one thing, we’ve gotta write a little over one page on the Pre-Classical Era, pick one wizard we’ve been learning about, no Star Swirl the Bearded.” She made a cutting motion with a hoof. “Absolutely no Star Swirl, we’ve gotta write about somepony else. One page, front and a little bit of the back, and we gotta find at least one spell that we think wouldn’t exist without them. Easy stuff if you’ve read the books.”
Rumble nodded and gestured for her to come in.
Reluctantly, she followed him inside. Her nose curled from the stench of her own sweat. Honestly, a report on why Pegasus cloud homes never have ladders would have been more interesting.
Rumble went to a table where, she assumed, he’d spent most of the day drawing, and wrote on a note for her to read.
“Anything else in school today? Did the new ponies move in yet?”
He knew. She nodded. “Yeah, two ponies: a colt and a stallion. They’re tinkerers, magic artifacts and machines and stuff. Unicorns, you know? Oh, and they’re Ostlerian, so they talk a little funny.”
Rumble’s brow furrowed. He scribbled another sentence underneath that.
“Ostlerian, like your parents?”
“Yup. Just like my parents. The stallion, the uncle, he met them a few times, turns out.”
Another scribble, another quick read. “But you don’t talk weird at all.”
She gulped. “No, I guess I don’t.”
He tilted his head before the next question. “Are you okay? You look a little more worn out than usual.”
She chuckled softly. “I’m fine. Just not sleeping well again, you know how it is. Oh, speaking of which, Did I accidentally drop a book here a while ago? A notebook, got a little lock on it?”
He shook his head, then scribbled again. “I don’t think so, but I can go look. I’ve got plenty of time.”
Her heart, still pounding from the exertion, fluttered a little. He didn’t even ask what it was. He probably didn’t care, either: all she had to say was she was missing a book, and he’d find it for her.
He was honest like that, nice and straightforward.
“Do you want to stick around and do our homework together?” He pushed the note in front of her.
“No, I gotta get to Sweet Apple Acres, I’m going to do it there and then do Crusader stuff.” She turned to leave. “If it’s okay with you.”
He nodded, then grabbed a note he’d shown her plenty of times already.
“Do you need help getting down?”
The answer was yes, she did. Her wings hurt, she felt the beginnings of a cramp, and if she didn’t get some sugar in her soon she was pretty sure she’d faint.
“Nah, I’m good. I can still slow down my fall, even if I can’t fly, remember? See you tomorrow!”
If he had anything else to say to her, she didn’t see it, nor did she want to. She marched right up to the edge of the clouds and jumped, buzzing her wings all the way down. While she didn’t make a perfectly smooth landing, she did manage to do a proper roll.
Or at least she would have, had she remembered she was still carrying a school bag full of books. As it was, the weight of Ponyville academia left a few bruises on her back.
With a grunt, she got back up and grabbed her scooter. Her wings were useless now, but that wasn’t a new development in the filly’s life. She’d have to get to Sweet Apple Acres on leg power alone.
“I’m gonna be late again. Apple Bloom will never let me hear the end of it.”
She sighed as she picked up speed.
“At least Rumble wouldn’t read my diary if he found it.”
That thought sent a chill down her spine.
Oh no...I practically showed Brass Tack where I keep it!
“Welcome to Carroussel Boutique, how may I help you?” Rarity greeted the stallion.
“G’day to you, Ma’am,” he greeted. “Are you the proprietor of this here establishment?”
Rarity’s ears perked. He sounded Ostlerian. “Why, yes, I am. I am Rarity, and you are?”
“Name’s Upshot, and I’ve got two things I’d like to talk about. One is a set of suits: one for me and one for my nephew. We just moved in, and we don’t have anything proper to wear yet, nothing for a big event. I’m told you do foal-sized formal wear as well?”
“Oh, yes, of course. We have a number of recurring attendants at the Grand Galloping Gala every year, and a few of them have younger companions to bring along.” She went towards a rack in the back. “Any particular style you’re going for? Anything you wish to convey with your appearance?”
“Not as such, no. Mostly I just wanna make sure we don’t look like a roo in a croc pond.”
Definitely Ostlerian. “Ah. I can take that to mean you wish to fit in, then. Any particular timeframe?”
“We’ll want to be ready in about two months. Is that feasible?”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, two months? Darling, that is more than enough. If you want something custom-made, I can work out a few designs for you and your… nephew? How old is he?”
“I reckon custom job is likely the way to go, yes. As for my nephew, the mailmare told me you have a sister about his age. They’re in the same class.”
Ah. Derpy sent him my way. That was nice of her.
“That is a size I can work with, but I will want him to come around for fitting, you understand.”
Upshot cleared his throat. “Of course. I should warn you in advance, though: my nephew Brass is a little… touchy.”
“Touchy, how?”
“Touchy, as in ‘does not like being touched.’ I don’t know if that’s going to be a problem.”
Given that they were Ostlerian, and the stories she’d heard about that place, it made sense. Poor boy probably had a spider crawl up his leg once too often. “Not a problem at all, sir, I have had my fair share of clients who were… touchy, as you put it. I know what to do.”
“Perfect.”
“What was the second thing you wanted to ask me about?”
“Well, me and the mailmare were talking about me getting hitched, and your name came up.”
Rarity’s eyes narrowed to dots.
If you strangle a mailpony, does that count as a federal crime?
“I beg your pardon?”
He made a casual gesture at her. “Well, from what I hear, you own shops in at least three major cities, you have connections in every layer of pony society, and you are a bit of a social butterfly, are you not?”
Are all Ostlerians this forward? Oh, stars, I’m going to have to warn Sweetie Belle about his nephew.
“Yes, and?”
“And if there’s anypony who’d know where I can find an eligible bachelorette, it would be you, no? I want to find a mare quickly, you see, but most of all I want to find a good mare. It’s important to me, and to my nephew, that there’s a good female role model around.”
He wants me to play matchmaker. Oh, thank goodness. “You’ll find no shortage of those in Ponyville, Mister Upshot, you do not need me to find that.”
“Perhaps. But I only have my nephew for the moment, no foals of my own. I am hoping to remedy that, and as much as I would like to go out on the proverbial hunt, I don’t wanna ruffle any feathers or come across as a homebreaker. So, Miss Rarity, do you know who I can ask, and who I should avoid? Or at the very least, where I should start?”
Rarity bit her lip, pondered, then nodded with determination. “I can give you a quick list of who to avoid, yes, that much I can provide right at this moment. As for finding a proper partner… one step at a time.”