//------------------------------// // What to Do // Story: Timed Ramblings // by Midnight herald //------------------------------// “...Loo? Scootaloo?” I shake my head to try and clear the confusion and groan as bile rises in my throat. “Scootaloo?” The panicked voice cuts through my pounding headache and finally registers. I know that scratchy voice. I’d never forget that voice, not in a million years. That voice beliongs to the most important pony in my life right now, and it’s clear she’s worried crazy right now. “Proffessor?” I call out, my voice scratchy. There’s dust in my mouth, sticky and spicy and soaking up the spit in my mouth. “Professor Daring, I’m over here.” “...You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice, Scootaloo,” she calls back. “How are you checking out?” Training kicks in, and I open my eyes to look around. There’s a whole lot of nothing around me, and not in the Neighbraska Plains kind of nothing. Total, utter darkness surrounds me, so thick I swear I can feel it crawling across my wings. With that darkness and my headache and nausea... “I hit my head pretty bad, it’s probably a concussion at least,” I inform her. I keep my panic out of my tone and move my legs and wings, stretch my back. We keep things academic on duty, and I’m doing my best to do just that. Daring doesn’t need to know that this darkness terrifies me, doesn’t need to know how close I am to tossing my cookies right now. “Everything else checks out physically,” I continue. I can hear her thanking one of the old gods she’s run across, although it’s too quiet for me to hear. I swallow a mouthful of muddy spit and take a few deep breaths before finally addressing my fears. “I can’t see anything right now, Professor,” I admit, rising slowly to my feet. my stomach roils and I lean against the nearest something for support. “I’ve got a nasty headache and some dizziness and nausea... I think I’ve gone blind from the fall.” “The hall we’re in is dark, Scootaloo,” she says almost immediately. “You’re not going blind, I promise.” She’s trying to be comforting right now, so I guess I did a pretty crap job keeping my fears out of my voice. “The floor collapsed, remember?” She coaxes, and little flashes of memory fall into place... the tripwire, the rumbling, Daring shouting a warning, the vertigo... “Sorry I set off the trap,” I call. “It’s alright, I used to do this all the time,” she answers. “But we’ll get out of this. I’ve been in worse. This isn’t the first Alpacan temple I’ve excavated.” “I know, I know, it’s not your first rodeo,” I snark, feeling my way out slowly over the floor. “Hey, Prof? keep talking, would you?” “Scootaloo, Do you know why I have you copy out my notes all the time?” I swivel my ears around and try to guage her position/ “Uh... So I get better at academic formats?” I venture, moving slowly in the direction I think I hear her. “It’s so that if I’m gone, you can still continue my work.” This is sounding too much like a grand final speech to me, and I pick up the pace. “Scootaloo, if I’m remembering my Alpacan architecture right, you should be able to make it to the exit if you follow a wall around. This is the Grand Mausoleum, and they’re always round. Find a wall, feel it out, and you’ll find the stairway.” “And what about you, professor?” I ask. I’ve almost got her position, and I’m heading straight for it. “How do you get out?” “I guess I don’t,” she sighs, and I can fnally hear the undertone of pain in her voice. “The hoof you don’t, boss,” I snap, trotting towards where her voice is sounding. “Something fell on me, Scootaloo. My leg’s broken and I can’t feel my wings,” she snaps back. “From the sounds of it, your head’s got it pretty bad, and you need attention.” This can’t be happening. I’m not going to leave her to die alone in this darkness. Daring has been everything to me since she took me in, since she found me in the rain outside Filly U. She looked me over and invited me inside and fed me. She was the first pony in years who asked about something other than my still-blank flank when we talked. And se didn’t care that I couldn’t fly well. She didn’t care that I had no special talent. She didn’t care that I was a highschool dropout on the run from a bad mistake. She just handed me a hat and told me to help her plan for her latest expedition, like it was nothing at all. Like it wasn’t the kindest thing anypony’s ever done for me. “Prof?” I begin, edging closer. I can hear her labored, panting breaths now, and I move a bit closer. A sudden line of pain burns its way across my flank, and I flinch, breathe, and move away from whatever cut me. “There’s something I never told you,” I continue. I put my wing up against the thing that cut me, feel it out with my primaries. Something metal, heavy, that seems to be running towards Daring’s breathing. “What is it, Scootaloo?” she murmurs. She sounds woozy, like she’s lost too much blood, or is going into shock, finally. I don’t have much time. “Sometimes, you are full of so much bullshit.” I feel along the underside of the metal thing, find a safe place to shoulder under and lift. I grunt and bear up, my back straining under the weight of the thing. I flap my stunted wings as hard as I can, until I’ve generated enough lift to move it aside, drag it away from her panting body and let it fall with a clang against the cold stone floor. I drop to the ground and spread out my legs for support as I puke, the warm bile stinging my parched throat as my stomach heaves again, and again, and again. TIME LIMIT-------------- Then I make my way over to where she’s breathing, still harsh, still fast, meaning she’s still awake. I nose through her mane, find and ear, and bite it hard, causing a satisfying yelp. I work my mouth down, through her stinky, hair until I ind her neck, cold and damp with panicked sweat. I nuzzle her firmly for about eight seconds before I pull back. “Which side is broken?” I ask. “Back left,” she answers. I work my head underneath her shaking chest and slowly lift her onto my back. It takes me a moment to adjust to her weight, then I walk in a straight line, wings outstretched to feel for obstacles. Then I’ll find a wall, and we’ll get upstairs and into the airship. “So how long do you think it’ll take for your leg to get all better?” I ask, right before I run headfirst into the wall. My nose smarts, and I turn slowly, letting my dirty feathers run against the tight stonework. “Could take a few months,” she grunts. “Why?” “I’ll wanna plan another trip by the time you’re out,” I continue, with a grin growing on my face. We’re almost out of here. “We’ve gotta get back and find your hat.”