Scootaloo felt heavy all over. Her right cheek was cold and wet from the drool she’d been spilling on her pillow.
Opening her eyes, she thought she was still dreaming.
On her nightstand, key in the lock, lay a golden-covered notebook.
She jumped up and instantly regretted it. “Ow…” The headrush took a moment to abate, and the cramp in her wings acted up again, but she didn’t care. She’d found her diary.
Turning the lock, she opened the book and checked it.
Right as she left it.
“Aunt Loftie? Aunt Holiday?” She called out. Right away, there came clopping of hooves on the floor.
“Oh, hey, champ,” Aunt Loftie started. “Rest up okay?”
“Uhuh,” she nodded and yawned. Her aunts had been out when she’d returned. “You found my diary?”
“Rarity brought it over just a few minutes ago. She said it was under a pile of fabric, must have slipped out last sleepover and caught up in a ‘creative surge.’ You should be more careful, Scootaloo, you’re lucky the key didn’t fall out.”
Rarity had it. Oh, thank goodness.
“Now would you mind telling us where you got that machine suit thingie?” Aunt Holiday asked. “Did your parents send it?”
The drowsiness quickly abated when she remembered her gift. “Umm, no, a friend- I mean, Brass Tack gave it to me.”
“Brass Tack?”
“He’s the colt living in our old place now.”
“Oh. That was nice of him.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “It really was. I, umm, I think I’ve been overdoing it a little, and I might need that suit to get around. And it’ll be good for practice. Can I keep it?”
“Well, as long as it’s safe, I don’t see why not,” Aunt Holiday replied. “But I will want to have a word with the boy about that before you go flying around anywhere, you understand.”
“Of course.”
Scootaloo got out of bed and hugged the book closer to herself, already thinking of her next entry.
Dear diary,
I made a new friend today. His name’s Brass Tack, and he’s a Unicorn. He’s a tinkerer, he makes magical stuff.
He gave me a flight suit, I’m not sure why. He’s been giving ponies all sorts of magic gifts: a voicebox, a bodycam, a poison extractor, all the stuff he made back home.
Scootaloo snapped out of her daydreaming.
“Something wrong?” Aunt Loftie asked.
“No, nothing.” Scootaloo shook her head. She’d been so busy trying to find her diary, she hadn’t put the pieces together yet.
He said he got in trouble over that flight suit.
And he made the stuff he was giving away.
A voicebox, an oversized poison extractor, and a bodycam?
Why would he need to make all of that?
She stifled a shudder. “It’s nothing. I just… I just had a funny thought, is all.”
What exactly happened back in Ostleria?
The End.