Of Challenges and Kisses

by RavensDagger


Wonderbolts

Featherweight swung the door to his house open with great gusto, the bright sun sparkling across the dawn sky as he boldly strode out, face contorted into the biggest grin he could muster. “I’ve got a date with Scootaloo!” he practically squealed.

"Yep, I know." On the bottom-most step, turning back to look at him with a quirked eyebrow, sat Scootaloo. She was almost glowing as the first rays of the sun caught her mane and sparkled through it.

“Oh, uh, hey?” he mumbled, eyes widening at the sight of her at his hooves. Why is she here? Did I squee? Oh, Celestia, I look like such an idiot, he thought to himself, cringing all along.

“Hey, today’s the day!” she said, a huge grin splitting her face as she stood up and pranced on the spot, all four hooves clopping on the ground in quick succession.

Is she... is she excited about our date? Tears sprang to his eyes as he hopped down the two steps and onto the ground beside her, his saddlebags thumping on his back after the hard landing.

Scootaloo looked towards the town, her purple eyes dancing across his street and to the groups of thrilled ponies staring at the hundreds of posters that had appeared overnight, all of them the signature blue of the Wonderbolts. The older and not so easily enthused were milling around, enjoying the warmth of the early spring and taking the opportunity to care for plants, gardens, and lawns while waving the occasional greeting to each other.

The entire village was jovial, ponies of all sorts crowding the sky and roads as they headed downhill to the gigantic field-turned-stadium. “Should we get going?” Scootaloo asked, her wings beating excitedly.

“Oh, uh, yeah!” Featherweight gestured with a foreleg towards the road just as the filly darted ahead, beaming as she looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming? We can’t miss this!”

“Right, of course.” Oh Celestia, he thought as he walked ahead, his limbs stiff as he practically hobbled forwards. Okay, I’m on a date with Scootaloo. The Scootaloo, and it’s not a dream, he thought, biting his lower lip in order to suppress a dopey grin.

They neared the edge of town in record time, trotting on the familiar path leading to a hilltop Scootaloo eyed with undisguised awe. A dozen pavilions had been erected around the hill, creating a veritable fortress of tarps and ropes that rippled in the light breeze caused by blue-clad pegasi zipping through the sky. Ponies gathered near the dozens of stalls within, playing carnival games and eating foods guaranteed to make medical professionals cringe.

Scootaloo skidded to a stop, her flanks smacking the gravel road as she looked at the familiar figures darting across the sky. Featherweight sat beside her, his attention drawn to the mare at his side and the acrobatics of her mane in the wind, rather than those of the ponies in the sky.

A thin line wound out of the archway making up the entrance, congested by eager ponies of every age, all of them impatiently waiting for their turn to enter the grounds. A few vendors trotted around them, offering trinkets and foods whose aroma reached all the way into Ponyville, stirring more than one stomach.

“So,” Featherweight began, reluctant to break the seemingly perfect moment, but eager to get in line before the show started. I have all day with her; they’ll be plenty of awesome moments... in theory.

Scootaloo shot a glance his way, her expression a mix of adrenalin, excitement, and uncertainty as she got up. They began trotting toward the hill, their pace increasing with each step closer to the massive pavilions. “Look, Featherweight, I’m really, really happy that you invited me and everything, but, uh, none of that cheesy, sappy, mushy stuff, all right?”

“Oh, yeah, of course not. I’d never do that to you after you told me not to, because that would be weird and odd and not good, especially after that last time when you, uh, rejected me...” he said, his voice fading into a whisper until the sounds of their hooves on the dew-covered ground overpowered him.

The pair arrived at the back of the quickly growing line, both of them quiet as they took the occasional step forwards. All right, this is harder than I thought it would be. The beige pegasus looked around himself before finally tapping his saddlebags with his wings, assuring himself that his camera was in its place. He sighed.

“Are you excited about this?”

The pegasus at his side blinked twice at him. “Of course I am! This is going to be so cool. I heard that Rainbow Dash spent all night clearing the skies; there isn’t a cloud left from here to Appleloosa. They say the drought might ruin the economy!”

“Uh-huh. So, um, where are our seats, exactly?”

With a quick swipe, Scootaloo pulled the iconic blue ticket out of her mane, flashing it in front of him as she read the numbers on it. “First row...”

Wow, I did good... sorta. I’ll have to thank Sweetie Belle; she’s been super nice.

“...from the back.”

Oh.

The few ponies ahead of them passed through the large wooden gate. Featherweight looked up, his gaze trailing along the two towers rising above him, fixing on the flags that hardly moved while the Wonderbolts logo remained hidden within the folds. The entire thing had an air of majesty and mystique to it, and the colt soon found himself smiling like a dummy as they approached the booth.

Within, an old mare with a ‘W’-marked cap grinned at them. “Hello, kiddies,” she said as she leaned forwards. “Ah, such a cute young couple! C’mon, hand me over your tickets.” The mare winked knowingly at Featherweight as both he and Scootaloo tried to hide the sheer redness of their faces. “You two have a nice day now, and no smooching under the bleachers!” She handed them back their vouchers and a colourful pamphlet covered in maps with simple icons and drawings.

The two moved on and into the fairgrounds, eyes widening at the massive crowds milling around the various kiosks. Ponies they recognized and many they had never seen before were going from attraction to attraction, trying their best to sample everything before the blue-clad daredevils finished practicing and started the main event. Vendors hawked their wares under the partial shade of flimsy tents while others ran around, baskets overflowing with greasy pastries in hoof, the smell of them permeating the air. Other colts and fillies ran around in wild abandon, jumping from one rigged game to another and wasting every bit they got their hooves on as quickly as they could.

Scootaloo took a tentative step closer to Featherweight, her coat brushing against his saddlebags. “So, um, where should we start?” she asked in a quasi-whisper, her voice almost drowned out by the crowd.

Featherweight ripped out the map, opening it with both wing-tips. Okay, find a place where you can act cool, that Scootaloo will enjoy, and that won’t be too out of place?

“Oh,” a familiar voice said from across his unfolded pamphlet. Featherweight cringed as he recognized it, his mind going blank as he tried to find a solution to the new dilemma. “Hi, guys. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Folding the map in half, the apprehensive colt faced Sweetie Belle. The filly stood there, a premature blush on her face as she pawed the ground and looked away. Raising a hoof, she toyed with the hem of her dress, a simple affair that paired perfectly with her coat and mane.

“Sweetie!” Scootaloo shouted as she ran ahead and gave her friend a quick hug. “I didn’t think you’d be here! Isn’t this awesome? I bet this’ll be the best Wonderbolts show ever!”

The two fillies chatted and squealed together for a few moments, Featherweight tuning it out as his dawning horror isolated him from his unimaginably awkward environment. All right, she’s here. I can work around this. But first, she has to go. He took a bold step forward, only to be ignored by the two fillies, both of whom were focused on each other. Sweetie Belle glanced at him through a lock of her curly mane before returning to Scootaloo. For a moment, her face was apologetic, sad even.

No, she doesn’t deserve me being mad at her. She did give me the tickets in the first place. And she said that she would mind her own business. I’ll give her a chance, I guess. The colt sighed, slowly sitting on the messy ground as the pair’s discussion wore on. With synchronized suddenness, both of them turned towards him.

Scootaloo was the first to speak. “So, did you find anything cool to do until the show starts?”

“Oh, uh, wait.” The colt snapped open the map and scrolled across it, picking out locations at lightning speeds. “Um, uh. We could go that way,” he said, pointing toward one of the two roads in sight.

“Oh, sure, that sounds like a great idea,” Sweetie Belle said, nodding at his suggestion. Scootaloo just shrugged, spun around, and began marching, the other two quickly falling in behind her.

Now’s my chance.

Featherweight leaned in beside Sweetie Belle, all the while avoiding the surging crowd. In a low voice, he whispered, “Why are you here?”

She blushed and stopped on the spot, coughing into the sleeve of her dress. “Oh, um, I just wanted to help you,” she whispered, pointedly looking at the passerby.

“Right.” I can’t stop her from being here, he lamented, but I won’t let her ruin my date with Scootaloo. “Okay, just don’t try any of that...” He waved around with his hooves. “Mushy stuff.”

A tiny smile crossed the unicorn’s face before her mane slid around, hiding her features. “All right, you have my word as a Crusader that I won’t do anything... mushy. And I won’t step in between you and Scootaloo; I just want to help. Promise.”

Featherweight nodded. She never really lied to me before, he thought as he picked up the pace. I guess I can trust her.

Scootaloo, who had walked far ahead of them, turned around and waved a hoof in the air. “C’mon, guys, there’s some really cool things up here! Hurry up!”

Both foals ran ahead, bumping their way through the thickening crowd until they reached Scootaloo. The orange filly had found a nook near one of the stalls where she danced on the spot, her face locked in a constant grin as she pointed at the booth. Featherweight inspected the thing as he tumbled out of the sea of ponies.

The booth was covered in gaudy colours, all of them clashing with one another as little flags and banners fluttered in the gusts of the surging crowd and proclaimed the same thing: Flim and Flam’s Marvelous Mysterious Magical Carnival Food 3000!!!

“Look, they have... deep-fried-cheese injected potato-flavoured cotton-candy! It sounds awesome!” she said, eyes wide as she stared at the cobbled together menu.

“Sure, grab me one too,” he said, gulping as he thought of the oncoming assault to his stomach. I need to impress her, and liking the same things is a start... cotton candy potato? “Don’t worry, I’ll pay.”

She glanced his way, eyes lighting up as a sing-songy voice from within the temporary shop called out. “Did you call our delicacy ‘awesome’, little miss?!”

“More awesome than anything you’ve ever tasted before! Of that, I assure!” another stallion said as he hopped out from below the counter.

Both wore ragged red-striped clothes and were covered in bruises, one of them even wearing half a mustache on his beige, pockmarked face as he showboated with his arms. Behind him, a few rusty vats of oil were shivering and puffing out a mixture of multi-hued smokes and strong smells. A sack of carrots lay strewn about the floor, mold turning them into black mush.

Scootaloo ran up to the counter, wide-eyed at their quick acrobatics. “Cool! I’ll take two!” she said.

Featherweight blinked at her. What? That’s not a recipe, and they’re cooking it with those ingredients?! I wouldn’t want to eat that junk. He took a small step forwards. “Um, Scootaloo, are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked, eyeing a few samples of their food that seemed to have attracted the entirety of the local fly population.

One of the sales ponies pointed an accusing hoof at him while placing another on Scootaloo’s shoulder. “A good idea? Why, this is the best idea this little mare has ever had!”

“Quite right, my brother!” the other shouted over the din. “Now, here’s the lady’s treat!” With a flourish, he presented the pulsating, golden mass of cheese-spewing potato that glistened as it caught the light. With a flick of his wrist, the stallion made a second appear right beside it. “That’ll be eighty bits please.”

“Eighty bits!” Featherweight repeated, his eyes widening in shock. “Are you mad?”

Scootaloo glanced at him, saliva trickling on the edge of her mouth. “Is something wrong?”

“Eighty... eighty bits... I could buy a meal in a fancy restaurant, and it’d be better than that... stuff,” he said, pointing an accusing hoof at the two salesponies.

Sweetie Belle edged up beside him, lowering her head as she whispered. “I-I could cover some of it, if you don’t have enough...”

“No, that’s not it,” he said, waving her away. “This is highway robbery.” With a firm thump, he stamped his hoof into the grassy ground.

One of them, the stallion with half a mustache scratched his chin. “Well then, how ’bout forty bits each?”

Featherweight blinked. “That’s the same price!”

The other poked out of the building, a few tears edging his eyes. “Look, kid, we really need the bits,” he said, choking back a fake sob.

Oh, please. “I won’t pay more than two bits. For both.”

“All right, kid, you’ve got a deal!” the first said as he attempted to hide an enormous grin.

“Yeah, a... deal,” the colt grumbled as he reached around and into his saddlebags. Within were the few things he had brought: his trusty camera; a box of tissues; a list of pick-up lines given to him by Pipsqueak; and, at the very bottom, the tiny bag he sought. Pulling it out, he dumped the baggy on the ground, his entire life’s worth of bits tumbling out. He gulped, picking out two of the bits and placing them on the counter. They disappeared with a sweep of the unicorn’s hoof.

“Thank you, good lad. Now move; we might have customers.”

“Um, right,” he said, scooting his remaining money into the sack. I hope this date won’t cost much. His gaze strayed to Sweetie Belle, who stared back before twitching away. No, I won’t ask, he thought, thumping a hoof on the ground.

Scootaloo walked by him, her deep-fried cheese-injected potato-flavoured cotton-candy clamped firmly in her smiling mouth, dribbling bits of cheese and cotton candy everywhere.

Featherweight followed, grabbing his own from the wooden stick that held it.

Sweetie ran to his side, keeping pace with him. She opened her mouth, then shut it with a snap, looking around her as everypony froze as one.

“Helloooo, everypony! This is Spitfire, your favourite flying bullet! Boys and girls, the show is about to begin! Now get to your seats, ‘cause we’re eager to get into the air! Spitfire, signing out.”

Almost as if they shared one mind, everypony in the area screamed, cheered, and ran in one direction. Featherweight planted his hooves, jumped, and beat his wings wildly, gaining some altitude as the rush of ponies galloped past below him. Whoa, they’re mad!

Below, within the surge of multi-hued ponies, he spotted a panicked white form tumbling around, getting bumped from side to side by the surging crowd. Sweetie Belle? 

Without a moment's hesitation, Featherweight dove into the stream of bodies, fighting past the surge of ponies to get to his trapped friend. Finally reaching his quarry, he wrapped his wings around the white unicorn, clasping his eyes shut as he hugged the shivering filly beneath him. The constant flow of ponies came within inches of trampling the pair while the ground rumbled around them.

The surge thinned, only the slower ponies remaining in the charge for the bleachers. Slowly, Featherweight opened his eyes, staring into the mare’s green orbs as the filly panted, her face growing redder and redder with every second their bodies spent touching. “Hey,” she said, “Could you... get off?”

“Oh, right.” Featherweight climbed off, swishing the dust off his wings with a quick beat. He glanced at the ground nearby, where his ‘meal’ was flattened and crumpled by a hundred hooves. So much for that. 

“So, um.” He looked around, focusing on everything but the cute mare at his hooves. Only stragglers remained, struggling to breathe as they tried to catch up. From afar, they could hear the murmurs of the audience as they found their seats and shared quick whispers of anticipation for the show. “Should we get going?” he asked.

Sweetie Belle nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure Scootaloo’s already at our seats.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, scratching the nape of his neck before waving her forward.

“Should we go?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation.

Featherweight looked at the now-empty surroundings; everypony was long gone, even the slowest amongst them. Shopkeepers and stall owners stepped out of their confines, stretching their backs with loud cracks while idly looking in the general direction of the show.

A stray tumbleweed blew across the road, collecting dust as it rolled around. “Yeah, we’d better get going.”

The two ponies trotted ahead, gazing at anything but each other’s blushing faces as they made their way across the park. At the far end was a funnel-like entrance, the metallic struts of bleachers creating a wall on either side while trickles of light flickered in as ponies shifted about on their wooden seats.

The seats stretched out to either side, filled with restless fans waving blue strap-on wings around. In front of them was an open field with a few odd devices and some uniformed ponies mulling around a chest-high stage.

“Where’s your seat?” he asked as they marched into the field proper.

Sweetie Belle peeked at him from the corner of her eye. “Well, my seat’s the one right beside yours.”

Should have seen that one coming. “All right,” he sighed. “Should be at the back somewhere.” Turning around, he searched the crowds for a particular shade of orange, one that he shortly found bouncing up and down on her seat, wings beating wildly.

Without a word, Featherweight followed the outer edge of the bleachers and climbed up a staircase while being jostled by excited ponies. Upon reaching the top, he scooted over to his date’s side. Sweetie Belle followed him in, demurely sitting in her own gum-covered chair.

Featherweight turned away from her, puffing out his chest and closing his eyes as he focused. I’m on a date, with Scootaloo; nothing can ruin this. I have to follow Pinkie’s advice and make her like me. Opening his eyes, he stared at the giggling filly beside him as she hopped on the spot, her gaze fixed on the stage below.

With his versatile wing-tips, he unclasped his saddlebags and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper, discretely sliding it to his side. He read the carefully penned note in a low hush that was swallowed up by the assembled ponies.

“The three step sure-date plan. Step one: start a conversation.” Gulping, Featherweight reached out and touched Scootaloo’s shoulder. With a surprised snap, the filly jumped and looked at him.

“So, Scootaloo, um, what’re your plans for the future?”

She blinked at him. “Um, to watch the show?” she said with an incredulous tone, slowly turning back towards the stage where a bright yellow pegasus was speaking into a microphone, the noise hardly reaching him.

Okay, second try. Ignoring the cries of the elated crowd, Featherweight poked the filly in the ribs. Scootaloo scooched over a few millimeters, her awe-filled gaze fixed on a group of five Wonderbolts as they took to the air, five smoky trails following them as they vaulted and pivoted in mad stunts.

He poked harder, eliciting a gasp from the mare who turned to glare at him. “What do you want?” she asked in a quick hush.

Oops? Featherweight opened his mouth to explain, just as the crowd gasped in shock. The two foals blinked dumbly at each other as every pony within sight got up and cheered wildly. Scootaloo’s glare deepened. “You made me miss the opening!” she accused.

“I-I just wanted to, er, to know what your thoughts about the princesses were?”

“What are you doing? Just shut up and enjoy the show.” With a huff, she turned back towards the spinning pegasi above.

Well, that didn’t go as planned.

“I think that it’s great that Princess Luna is back. Now, Celestia has a lot more time on her hooves. Can you imagine being the head of Equestria, all alone, for a thousand years?” Sweetie Belle said.

Featherweight looked to the unicorn at his side, mouth drying up a little. “Yeah, that’s my opinion, too,” he said weakly. Their eyes met, and with startling speed, the two foals found themselves paying abundant attention to the Wonderbolts above, craning their reddening necks to stare at the fliers.
 
Gently, a white hoof tapped him on the shoulder, grabbing his attention. Sweetie Belle removed her hoof and pointed at his saddlebags. “Aren’t you going to take pictures?”

Oh, right! With some scrambling, Featherweight popped his precious camera out of his bags and began giving it some quick tweaks with both hoof and wing. “Thanks,” he said absently, his attention focused on the device.

The filly beside him squeaked a little. “You’re welcome.”

With haste, the colt unfolded his paper and read the second step. “Find common ground.” I can do that.

Above, three members of the Wonderbolts were corkscrewing upwards, their wings almost touching, while another was diving towards them, a blindfold on his face. The blinded pegasus clamped his wings along his sides as he zipped through the threesome, narrowly avoiding a hit that could have injured them all.

The crowd erupted in cheers at the small feat of skill and bravado, Scootaloo one of the loudest as she climbed onto her seat and waved around. Her shouts were cut short by the click-and-flash of his camera.

Featherweight adjusted his zoom and picked another target, unaware of Scootaloo’s inquisitive look. She leaned towards him. “You’re taking pictures?”

Gently, he lowered the camera. “Uh, yeah, that way we’ll have something to remember this by.” Ah, this might be the common ground I need!

“Cool. Don’t forget to take one of Soarin’; he’s the most eligible bachelor.” With that, the hyperactive mare returned to shouting at her favourite athletes.  

Featherweight sighed and lowered his camera even further. So much for that approach. She doesn’t even care about my favourite hobby. His shoulders slumped forwards and his ears drooped as the colt leaned back.

“Featherweight?” Sweetie asked. “When it’s all done, could you take a few pictures of the three of us? I’m sure it’d make a great souvenir.”

His ears perked up. “Yeah, I could do that. Easily!”

She nodded, smiling knowingly. “So, how do you do to take a picture as they’re moving? Doesn’t it mess with the focus?”

He blushed self-consciously as he handled his device. “Nah, the film is magic; it auto-corrects everything for me. You just need to get the frame on the right spot and pick the perfect moment.... Want to try?

“Sure!” With a glow of her horn, the filly grabbed the camera, floating it into her hooves and over her eye.

He watched the impressive display with admiration. “You got better with your magic.”

She almost dropped the camera, catching it at the last second with her telekinesis. “T-thanks. I sorta practiced.... So, how do you use this?”

“Heh, just look in the hole, aim at the thing you want a picture of, and click. Then, roll that little wheel until it locks, then you can take another picture.”

“Aim at what I want. Got it.”

Featherweight looked above and at the blue streaks that dotted the sky. I wonder what she’ll capture?

The camera clicked. Turning, he faced down the lens and blinked. She took a picture of me?

“Something to remember the day by,” she explained with a sweet smile, her cheeks puffing red as she disguised her face with a curly lock of her mane.

Featherweight stared at her for a few moments, the sounds of the assembly rushing over and through him as his mind drew a blank. No, I’m not here for her... no matter how nice she is. He gave a firm shake of his head before grabbing his camera with a gentle hoof, tearing it away from the disappointed filly.

I need to focus, he thought as he pulled out the note once more, reading the last step to himself. “Ask her onto a second date.” All four of his hooves dropped as he gulped, burning the sheet with his eyes.

He looked at Scootaloo, who was still facing the fliers. Featherweight swallowed hard and shut his eyes. Soon, when the show’s nearing its end, he consoled himself, buying time.

“And that, folks, is the end of our show! Thank yo—”

Dammit. 

Scootaloo reclined into her seat, the wooden bench groaning a little. “That was cool! Did you see that last stunt?!” she asked, eyes glowing with admiration and awe as she grinned wildly in his direction.

“Uh, yeah, really cool. So, uh, maybe, we could, uh, maybe...” Come on, invite her! “Would you like to go to the Spring Fling with me?”

She blinked a few times, then furrowed her brows and hummed. “Okay, I’ll go with you,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. Her eyes moved off of him and back to the stage before widening. “Whoa, Rainbow Dash is here! See you later!”

With that, Scootaloo hopped around Featherweight and ran down the bleachers at a breakneck pace, slinking through the ponies milling around as she headed towards the stage.

What just happened? he wondered as he slumped into his seat, his mind going numb once more. Sweetie Belle said something to him, the words sounding hollow and incomprehensible. She got up, a small, sad smile on her face as she walked away.

Did I do the right thing?


No, he didn’t.

Edited by:
StapleCactus

Preread (or is it beta reader?) by:
Frederick the Saiyan
Cpl Hooves
Your Antagonist


Oh, and are you fellows familiar with The Descendant? You know, that totally rad author?

We wrote a romantic comedy together, filled with the usual quota of awkward and epic (he provided the epic, the awkward was provided by my real-life experience of being near him).

Have a link to it!

Of Apples and Roses and Thick Purple Proses.