//------------------------------// // Prologue // Story: Reconciling Annabelle Smith // by Crowley //------------------------------// Another sun down. Another day passed. Another kettle boiling on the stove. A room away, you stand with a horse brush firmly secured to your old hoof. You look into the large, expensive mirror opposite you. An old, humble pegasus, with a grey mane and tail like steel wool, stares back. He has as many wrinkles on his brow as he’s had adventures in his life. Honestly, you don’t think you look that bad, considering your age. Whenever you grin at your reflection, you’re reminded that you still have quite a lot of your teeth. The few teeth you had, in fact, lost had stories behind them; that time you exchanged fisticuffs with a minotaur (eh, you think a missing tooth’s bad, you should have seen the other guy!), and that time you crashed face-first into a rampaging hydra hoping to knock it over, only to have it backfire on the grounds that fully-grown hydras are built, quite literally, like brick walls. Ah, good times. Except for that chipped upper-tooth near the centre of your mouth. You run your tongue over the tooth’s worn ridges, thinking back to how you gained it. Of all the things you’ve encountered in your long, crazy life, that tiny chip in your tooth had to be the most painful thing of all. At least, it was at the time. You keep running the horse brush though your mane. It’s still as thick and full as somepony your age can hope for (please do not stare directly at the bald-patch), complimenting your tail and old-stallion stubble that hugs the folds and wrinkles of your face. Honestly, a life of adventure has made you quite rugged and acceptable considering how old you are; you could lie about your age to a stranger, say that you were twenty years younger and still be believable. You’d still be called an old fart, but still. Of course, you display every wrinkle, bruise and scar you have with pride. However, there’s one part of your body you’d refuse to show in public. Your wings. Placing down the horse brush, you spread whatever remains of your secondary limbs, showing them off in the mirror. It’s a sorry sight; on one wing - if you can still call them wings - there’s four feathers dotted here-and-there along the otherwise skeletal appendage. On the other wing, there’s only three. That’s seven feathers total. Wing-Rot is a real pain. The only way to be cured of Wing-Rot is, quite simply, to run out of feathers. While this may tempt somepony to simply get their wings plucked just to get it over with, there is one fatal flaw in that plan. Once Wing-Rot has claimed all of the feathers, it claims the victim’s heart. It is almost always a grim conversation whenever it comes up. So you simply avoid talking about it whenever you can. Oh! That whistling. The kettle’s boiled. If there’s one thing that can give you consolation in the lavish Canterlot home where you reside, it’s the fact that you can sit in a comfy chair in front of the crackling fire. Enough about the impending… results of your illness. It’s always best to remain calm and dignified about such matters, after all. Scarlet Wings are always calm and dignified, especially in the line of duty. Ah, the Scarlet Wings; the old flight team that you’d been a part of for most of your life. Heck, it WAS your life! Five years in training at their academy, Twenty-five years working your way up through the ranks, before taking the helm as the team captain for a further twenty. Sadly, they disbanded ten years ago, and by that point, you were far too old to do much else with your life. And it was around thirty years ago that some of the members, lead by a hip young stallion, split to form a flight team of their own; the Wonderbolts or something. You believe said stallion’s daughter is the captain of that team now. Of course, she doesn’t nearly compare to you. But that’s fine; it might be the goggles of nostalgia clouding your old mind, but her stories as captain of her flight team is nothing compared to the memories of your own. Yes, you think to yourself. A Scarlet Wing’s captain, back in the day, would stare down a dragon had one ever shown the cheek to so much as trample a flower bed! A Scarlet Wing’s captain would single-hoofedly tear through enemy lines without feeling so much as a scratch! A Scarlet Wing’s captain would stare right into the face of- by criminy what the heck oh geez! For a split second, the sudden appearance of a young stallion’s face in the window startles you; nearly made you leap out of your matted fur coat. Once you regain your marbles, you recognise the face is that of a friend. Better let him in. He looks exhausted and desperate for something, and you have a good idea what that might be. ******* The next day, you help your young friend out with his problem; long story short, he had an argument with the love of his life in Ponyville, and he wanted to call in a favour you owed him to save his relationship. Something you, with all of the connections you’ve made over your long life, could do easily. Apparently, the filly in question was a huge Wonderbolts fan, so it didn’t take long to book a hotel in the exact same resort two of the members were staying at. Something about a show in Las Pegasus. Didn’t cost much. At least, not much to the ex-captain of the world famous Scarlet Wings. Before your friend flies away with the hotel’s confirmation receipt nestled between his feathers (lucky guy, he still has all of his), you ask him something… not too important. Just curious. “Actually,” you say slowly, “you said you came from Ponyville?” “Yeah.” “Is there still an apple orchard there?” you ask. “Yes, there is.” he pauses for a moment, as if wondering why on earth you’d ask that, “It’s called Sweet Apple Acres. Why?” “No reason,” you wave away the chance for him to dig too far into why you wanted to know, “Now, I believe you have a relationship to salvage.” “That I do. Thanks for everything. Take care.” ******* After saying goodbye to your friend (the uncomfortable numbness in your wings reminds you that it may very well have been your last farewell to him), you retreat back into your home, and into your mind. So, the old Apple Farm is still active in Ponyville after all. You wonder if… a certain somepony still lives there. Maybe she sold it to somepony else and left. You’ll never know for certain unless you go there and see with your own two eyes. In fact, that’s exactly what you should do. You might never get the chance to do so again. It’s best to make the arrangements as soon as possible. Maybe a cup of tea would help you focus.