A month past harmlessly enough, Concorde re-telling the story of his latest crash to the farm hooves when he was working at Caramel Apple’s orchid, the usual joking response being that he’d look better if he flew into a few more walls. Octavia had written back with the same remark and after Concorde had responded saying she had no imagination, they’d started another game of postal bizarre insult slinging.
On the day of the next race meeting at Windy Valley and rumoured visit of a possible sponsor, Concorde had got up early to get ready.
He’d packed his overalls, a new pair of goggles and a new, currently pure white helmet into his bag, along with a lengthy list of racing achievements and photos in case the rumoured sponsor did make an appearance.
The helmet he had worn last month which now had a massive crack running down the centre, was sat on top of his cupboard next to two other cracked helmets, plus another that had survived long enough to become too small for him. It had been the helmet he wore when he first won the Windy Valley Club Championship and stood as a trophy in his room, seeing as the rest were in the entrance hall.
As he made his way towards the front door, he heard an unusual noise coming from behind the door that led to his father’s workshop.
He automatically moved away from the door and just in time as the door was blasted off its hinges and flew across the hall, bouncing off the far wall.
Black smoke poured out of the workshop door, followed by Concorde’s dad stumbling into the hall covered in sot and coughing.
“Success?” Concorde asked, barely fighting back a grin and chuckle when he realized his father was defiantly unhurt.
“Y-yes” Bristol coughed in response “If I was making a-a smoke bomb, anyway.”
“Well, at least mum’ll have something to keep her occupied while I’m racing.”
“That’s one way of looking at it. I’d wish you luck, but I think I’ll need it when she gets down here.”
“I think you will. Good luck and see you later!” Concorde waved before heading out of the door. Almost as soon as he was outside and airborne, he heard his mother’s fury descending on his father.
**********************************************************************************
As usual, Concorde met Maffett just outside town and the pair of them headed for Windy Valley, which was a thirty minutes walk away. He told her about his dad’s latest invention exploding, not that he knew exactly what it was and Maffett told him she wouldn’t mind it for whenever she wanted to escape work.
She worked at the Weather Control offices, taking notes on when ships were scheduled to leave or enter the harbour and didn’t particularly enjoy it. She was at least glad Concorde had dragged her along to a race weekend when they were younger. She had snuck into the commentator’s balloon and found she had a natural talent for commentating, hence her cutie mark of a microphone. Since then, she’d been commentating on every race.
As they approached Windy Valley Raceway they became aware of a lot of commotion within the fenced off perimeter of the circuit. An airship had landed within the grounds and by the looks of things it was an expensive ship. Concorde’s face lit up as he ran for the entrance gates. That sponsor, whoever they were, was going to be his.
He went to run through the gate but one of the security guards, a big Earth pony called Hank stepped in front of him, forcing Concorde to come to a stop.
“Er, morning Hank.... excuse me, please?” Concorde tried, not entirely sure why he’d just stepped in front of him. Concorde was well known to Windy Valley, well known enough that they usually just waved him through.
Hank looked around awkwardly, almost as if he knew something he expected Concorde to know.
“Oh man, I was hoping I wasn’t going to be the one to tell you this...” Hank said, rubbing the back of his head and searching for the words.
“Tell me what?” Concorde asked, angling his face down slightly in a manner that had become an odd habit and raising an eyebrow as Maffett finally caught up.
“Well, erm... You see, your- Oh, Mr Whiting!” Hank suddenly said to an approaching unicorn, carrying what looked like important papers.
“What’s going on?” Concorde asked Mr Whiting, who owned the circuit. He looked very disappointed and angry about something.
“Concorde lad, we’d best talk in private. Come with me.” He said simply before leading the young Pegasus away from the gate towards a rubbish skip, followed by a curious Maffett. Once satisfied they were far enough away, Mr Whiting turned and looked at Concorde with pity in his eyes.
“I really hate to be the bearer of bad news, Concorde...” He started, pausing to search for the words to explain the bizarre situation.
“What is it?” Concorde pressed, starting to get annoyed.
“Well, a restraining order was filed against you.” Mr Whiting said carefully, looking like he was preparing himself for something. Concorde and Maffett looked equally confused, so Mr Whiting carried on. “An order restraining you from entering Windy Valley Raceway.”
Concorde looked at Mr Whiting with a mix of disbelief and confusion.
“Prank Day’s not for another 5 months.” He suddenly said, not believing a word but something about Mr Whiting’s expression told him he wasn’t lying. The old unicorn levitated a sheet of paper towards Concorde, holding it out in front of him to read out loud.
“The Police Chief of the town of Whitbay hereby issues this order of restraint to the pony Concorde Cayley, preventing him from entering the premises of Windy Val....ley..... race.........way...........” Concorde’s face dropped and the words exited his mouth slower and slower as several facts slotted into place. It was an official document, signed by the Police chief. But worst of all was the note saying who requested the order.
It was requested by Paris Cayley.
His own mother.
Maffett snatched the order out of the air and read it through several times.
“She can’t do that!” She protested to Mr Whiting, who looked as angry as she did.
“There’s no point in complaining about it to me, Ms Maffett. I think it’s as ridiculous as you do especially as it’s on land I own. But it’s official; I can’t let you in Concorde, as much as I want to. I should have mentioned this to your father as she’d been pestering me for months to have you banned from the premises, but when she stopped pestering me during the summer I thought she’d given up. Seems she went straight to the Police Chief instead.”
Concorde sat in a state of bemused confusion, most of Mr Whiting’s words washing over his head as he slowly turning to look through the fence and into the paddock beyond. He noticed the unicorn stood by the airship who had a white body, blue flowing hair and moustache and wearing a black tail suit and a monocle was discussing something with Wolke.
“It’s not helped by the fact he decided to show up today.” Mr Whiting continued, following Concorde’s gaze. “I always had faith you’d go to the top Concorde, but it looks like Mr Fancypants over there will be taking Wolke instead.”
Concorde’s eyes shot open as he realized what he had just missed out on. His mother, who went to plenty of high class functions, had mentioned a unicorn called Fancypants before as one of the most influential ponies in Canterlot and now the chance to be sponsored by him was going to slip clean out of his hooves.
Concorde practically leapt at Mr Whiting, grabbing his head to make sure he had his attention.
“There’s gotta be something you can do?!” Concorde practically screamed into Mr Whiting’s face. “PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!!” He continued to beg before Mr Whiting pulled his head out of Concorde’s grasp.
The old unicorn looked down at Concorde, the young pegasus’ open mouthed look of shock reminding him of the day his own daughter found out Santa Hooves didn’t exist and Mr Whiting started to hate himself for being the one who had to tell Concorde.
“If there was anything I could do,” Mr Whiting said calmly “I would have done it. I’m sorry, Concorde.”
Concorde’s expression dropped as his head slowly sunk to the ground, pressing his face into the damp grass. Mr Whiting left him and Maffett alone, Maffett not sure what to do or say. She put her hoof on his shoulder as her friend seemed to start crying.
“Just go.” Came Concorde’s muffled voice “You have something to do.”
He was right, she did have something to do but she didn’t want to leave her friend on his own right now. A few moments passed before Concorde looked up and glared at Maffett, a look of pure rage in his eyes that actually terrified her.
“JUST GO!” He shouted at her. Maffett did as he asked and ran, not wanting to see her friend would do while that angry. As soon as she was gone, Concorde pressed his head back into the ground, hoping it would swallow him up.
When the ground refused to take the offering after five minutes, Concorde looked up at the skip and something caught his eye. It was full of brown tins of paint and one of them looked like it still had plenty of paint still in it.
His ears tweaked up.
He had an idea.
**********************************************************************************
Maffett tried to distract herself from her friend’s plight by meandering through the paddock, talking to the competing ponies so she had things to talk about during her commentary. The air was tense and every pony she spoke to asked about one thing alone: Concorde.
She’d told them he wasn’t able to be here, opting to avoid discussing the restraining order, something she still wasn’t sure how to explain even to herself. How could his mother do such a thing to Concorde, though a better question would be how exactly she managed to get such an order in the first place? Maffett had noticed some police ponies around the paddock, possibly here to ensure Concorde doesn’t sneak in.
She continued through the paddock, quickly consulting the list of competitors to see if anyone in particular stood out to talk to. With her mind elsewhere, she couldn’t really pick anyone in particular out, so she resorted to just looking around.
She immediately noticed a pony she hadn’t seen before at the far end of the paddock. He was a wooden brown colour with a slicked back mane. He was carrying a bag and a white helmet with brown smudges on it so she assumed he was a late entrant.
She quickly walked towards him, pasting the expensive airship. She saw Wolke talking with the unicorn called Fancypants which actually made her feel angry. She’d heard a few rumours passed around as she wandered the paddock and several suggested Wolke had deliberately pushed Concorde into the grand stand so he could speak with the rumoured sponsor alone. She decided to ignore them for now as she made her way past.
“Excuse me!” Wolke called after Maffett. She stopped and looked at him as he trotted over. “You are Concorde’s friend, correct?”
Maffett glared at him before answering:
“Yes.”
“Erm,” Wolke hesitated “I was wondering if he was here?”
“He isn’t.”
“Is he still injured?”
“What do you think?!” Maffett spat back at Wolke, angry at his ignorance. Wolke’s expression, however, changed from awkwardness to annoyance.
“I am simply concerned; I did not intend to push Concorde into that grandstand.”
“What makes you think I’ll believe that?”
“I did not know he was there until I bumped into him. I am aware of how it looks now that Mr Fancypants is here but I did not push him on purpose.”
Maffett really didn’t care for his explanation of events and arguing about it wasn’t going to change her opinion. Luckily, she noticed the brown pony was coming towards her, so she took the opportunity to end the conversation.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Maffett said simply before walking past Wolke and chasing after the new pony. He was roughly the same age as herself and, surprising, didn’t have a cutiemark. The new pony seemed to be looking around a lot, almost as if he was looking out for something.
“Excuse me!” Maffett called when close enough, causing him to jump. “Are you racing here today?” She asked as she came to a stop next to him.
“Er, yes!” He said in what was probably the worst attempt at a western accent she had ever heard and now she was close enough, she couldn’t mistake his eyes.
“Over here.” Maffett sighed, nodding towards a doorway in the freshly painted paddock buildings. The pair walked inside and Maffett closed the door behind them.
“Concorde, are you crazy?!” She exclaimed at him. Concorde didn’t look impressed that he’d been rumbled so quickly.
“I’m here to race, Maff, not sulk next to a fence.” He said in his normal voice.
“You’ll get arrested! You’ve seen all the police ponies around!”
“What do you think this is in aid of?” He asked, indicating to his badly painted body, several strands of his fur clumped together by blobs of the now dried paint.
“Corde, it’s the worst disguise I’ve ever seen. You also stink of paint.”
“That’s just the aftershave.” He bluffed, causing Maffett to put her face in her hoof in frustration.
“Concorde Cayley?” Came a voice from behind them, causing both young ponies to freeze. They looked slowly around to find the room they’d entered was also occupied by the Police Chief of Whitbay. The old, grey, moustached Earth pony, wearing a tall black helmet with a silver badge on it, looked disappointed. “You’re under arrest. Do you have anything to say?”
There was an awkward moment of silence before Concorde did.
“Ah, f***.”