//------------------------------// // Soarin' -- Off Season // Story: The Album // by Peregrine Caged //------------------------------// Written by: midnighttowboy Rated Everyone                          A great dragon flew over the golden spires of Canterlot, its emerald scales shining in the sun. It shot pillars of flame down at the panicking citizens, a deep rumble of laughter coming from its throat. The magical defenses went up in smoke as the creature terrorized the city. Suddenly, a burst of sound went off behind the dragon. It turned and screamed in terror. “OH NO, NOT SOARIN’!” The Pegasus gave a cocky grin and gave a buck into the dragon’s snout, knocking it into the mountain the capital city was attached to. The dragon groaned and prostrated itself before Soarin’s hooves, but he just kicked it again, causing it to flee. Soarin’ glided back into Canterlot, finding a throng of ponies cheering his name. Cries of “Our hero!” and “He’s the greatest!” shot out of the crowd, and Soarin’ merely blushed humbly. A magenta eyed mare met him as he landed on the ground and winked at him. “Why don’t we find somewhere private to celebrate, Soarin’? I’d be happy to-- BRZT BRZT BRZT BRZT. Soarin’ jumped from his bed, crashing into the hardwood floor. He stared daggers at his alarm clock, which was not intimidated by his display of anger and continued its sole function. He got up and slammed his hoof at the annoying device, shutting it off. Red numbers on the clock glowed in the dark, and he groaned as he saw it was 4:30 in the morning. He took a moment to glance longingly at his increasingly comfortable looking bed, before remembering what he was going to do today and exiting his room to prepare for the day. After going through his morning cleanup routine (which included spending more time than he would ever admit styling his mane), Soarin’ made his way to his little kitchen nook connected to the living room. His Canterlot apartment was smaller than most ponies would expect, but he enjoyed the coziness of it. He poured himself a bowl of Hurricane Crunch, wishing it was flight season so he’d have access to the Wonderbolt Lodge (and the Wonderbolt private chef). He inhaled the cold cereal and went outside. With a flash, he was galloping through the streets of Canterlot, the stars still hanging in the sky. Few ponies were up at this hour, so he wasn’t worried about getting mobbed by fans. Not that he minded getting mobbed by fans, mind you. It just cut into his exercise time. And as much as he hated his endurance training, he had to admit it was pretty helpful. Soarin’ imagined how he was when he was first a recruit for the Wonderbolts, and he could barely run around the castle without tiring out. He was a sprinter, not a marathon runner, he had moaned. Spitfire would have none of that, though. Soarin’ grinned at his friends’ determination in getting him into peak physical condition. Now look at yourself. Second in command of the Wonderbolts. His grin expanded across his face as he thought about it. He stopped his running and cheered, rearing up on his hind legs. “Woohoo!” “QUIET, YOU FLANKHOLE, I’M TRYING TO SLEEP!” Someone wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about the day, Soarin’ found, and he quietly continued his run. The golden rays of Celestia’s sun were lighting up the streets by the time Soarin’ stopped running, having reached the edge of the city, looking down on the valley below. He stretched his legs, and, with a running start, jumped over the railing and off the edge. The ground was rapidly approaching, and the wind hissed past his ears, harshly blowing his mane around. He loved it. He enjoyed a few more seconds of freefall, before he snapped his wings open and sharply pulled up. He rapidly gained altitude, and as he reached his peak he began to go through last year’s flight performance. It was drilled in his memory. Barrel roll, Skyward Blast, three loops, dive. As he fell, he closed his wings and twisted like a corkscrew, until he got near the tops of trees. The ol’ Crazy Ivan, created by one of his friends in Stalliongrad. Leaves tickled his hooves as he soared over the trees below him. If someone had told me that I’d be paid to do stuff like this, I’d say they were crazy. After finishing his performance, he rose up towards the glittering spires of the royal city. Picturesque and wonderful, even if it didn’t quite rank in his heart as high as Cloudsdale. He lazily glided into the city proper, landing in an empty plaza. A couple ponies were moving stalls and opening shop for the day, too busy to notice him passing by. Not that it matters, since without the jumpsuit I’m practically invisible. He didn’t have anything to do until one o’clock, so he wandered the city. A nice looking café caught his eye, and he stopped by to have lunch. He scarfed down several baked goods, a RLT (rose, lettuce, tomato), and sipped a cup of coffee quietly until a random mare with a flowing crimson mane and a bodacious flank came to his table. She looked incredibly excited. “I don’t mean to intrude, but are you Soarin’?” It looked like it was that time of the day again. “Yes, miss. I certainly am.” She was visibly shaking at this answer, and screamed, “OH MY GOSH! IT’S SOARIN’ FROM THE WONDERBOLTS!” In a heartbeat, the entire café circled him, asking for autographs and in general chatting his ear off. He really loved it, even if he always got the same questions. “Yes, you can send an application for the Wonderbolts.” “No, I won’t endorse you just because you buy me lunch.” “Spitfire is seeing a stallion up in Manehattan, sorry pal.” “Yes, I’m single.” Wink. It continued on like this for hours, people from outside even coming in to talk, until Soarin’ saw the time. Ponyfeathers, it’s almost one! “Sorry, everypony, but I’m afraid I must be going.” With that, he pushed through the crowd of ponies until he made it outside and launched himself into the sky. A quick stop at his apartment and he was off to his destination.   Soarin’ weaved a path over a park on the outskirts of the city, in the hopes of impressing the ponies in it. He could hear a group of small voices cheering, and he smirked. A couple flips, dives, and tricks, and he was making his way down to the waiting crowd of children. A bespectacled burgundy mare stood in front of them, trying in vain to keep them calm. “Alright, quiet now, my little ponies. Our guest of honor is here. Please say hello to our guest, Soarin’ of the Wonderbolts.” The fillies and colts stomped their hooves, making Soarin’ blush under his jumpsuit. He loved this part of the job--talking to young ponies in schools or visiting them at hospitals. The smiles that would spread on their faces warmed his heart. Soarin’ talked for a moment about the dedication he put into getting in the Wonderbolts, boring the children but making the teacher feel better for skipping lessons for the day. He spoke about the importance of physical fitness, getting good grades, all that boring stuff. Then, having gotten that out of the way, he talked about the fun stuff, like the perks and how awesome it was to fly with the coolest ponies in Equestria. “Have you really fought griffins?” “Yes.” “And a dragon?” “Yep.” “And you’ve flown with the princesses?” “Eyup.” The kids, Celestia bless them, went on with this line of questioning for a while. The teacher realized this might take all day and so told them question time was over, and now it was autograph time. As Soarin’ signed posters and flags and things like that, he noticed a young colt in the back of the group, crying softly, too soft for the teacher or other students to hear. Soarin’ moved to him and knelt down. “ Is something wrong, kid?” He patted the colt with his hoof, and the colt looked up at him, tears running down his face. “I-it’s just… I can’t f-f-fly. My w-w-wings aren’t strong enough. I-i’ll never be a W-wonderbolt if I c-c-can’t even fly.” He started sobbing louder now, pushing his head onto Soarin’s chest. Soarin’ took off his goggles and lifted the colt’s head up. “Can I tell you a secret?” The colt nodded his head. “I couldn’t fly when I was your age either. It took me years before my wings were strong enough. I thought I’d never be able to fly, and all the other colts picked on me.  It was awful. But I kept trying, working hard to get strong enough. And now I’m here.” He smiled at the colt. “I know you can do it, kid. What’s your name?” The colt used his foreleg to wipe his nose before replying, “D-dusty Chaser, sir.” “Well, Dusty, I promise you: one day you’ll be the fastest flyer in Equestria, as long as you believe you can.”  Soarin’ grabbed his goggles with his hooves and put them onto Dusty’s head. “And who knows, maybe we’ll fly together one day.” The kid's eyes widened at the idea. “R-really?” “Yeah.” Soarin’ turned to the rest of the class. “And that’s the same with the rest of you. I know if you all try, any of you can be a Wonderbolt, or a scientist, or an artist, or whatever you want to be.” The kids cheered, and Dusty smiled and hugged Soarin’, who returned the young colt’s embrace. The teacher looked awestruck and clapped her hooves together. “Alright class, I think it’s time we headed home. Say goodbye to Mr. Soarin’.” The kids moaned collectively at that, and Dusty let go of Soarin’ and forlornly started walking away with the group, towards what Soarin’ imagined would be their schoolhouse. As they did, the teacher came to him. “Thank you so much, Mr. Soarin’. The children appreciate having someone like you show interest in their studies.” Soarin’ nodded. “Anytime, Mrs… uh, I’m sorry, I seem to have--“ “Oh, it’s no problem. I’m Blossom Song. Miss Blossom Song,” she said with a wink. Soarin’ gave a knowing smirk. “I think I’d love to visit again, then.” He looked towards the kids. “I’ll be sure to visit another time, kids!” They look back and cried in delight, especially Dusty. Soarin’ jumped up and rose into the sky, flying over the kids in a rush. He could feel the energy coming from them, clear as day. He pulled up, up, up, until he was over the entirety of Canterlot, the golden spires of the castle gleaming in the sun. Yep, Soarin’ really loved his job.