//------------------------------//
// One 
// Story: Don't Stop Dancing, Scootaloo 
// by Scramblers and Shadows 
//------------------------------//


Don't Stop Dancing, Scootaloo



One



Scootaloo fidgeted. She kicked her legs, flapped her ears, flicked her tail, cracked her fetlocks, and bared her teeth at a colt sitting on the far side of the waiting room, which earned her a glare from the old mare sitting beside him. When she extended her wing and started to preen, her mother shook gave her a gentle cuff on the hoof and shook her head. With a loud sigh and a roll of her eyes, Scootaloo retracted her wing and pouted. She could have been hanging out with her friends, practicing, chatting, or drinking, but instead she was stuck here waiting for the doctor to get a move on. When her mother tried putting a foreleg around her. Scootaloo shrugged it off, bristling at the gesture. Her mother knew she didn't like those sorts of gestures in public.

“Scootaloo?” called out the receptionist. “Doctor Willowbark is ready to see you.”

Finally. Scootaloo bounded off her chair, and, realising she was in public, steadied herself and checked the clock. Grumpily, she noted she'd had to wait for a whole twenty minutes.

Doctor Willowbark's office was scarcely more interesting than the waiting room, decorated with a number of posters about topics Scootaloo had no interest in, save for one showing cutaway diagrams of pegasus musculature. It was slightly macabre and very awesome. The doctor herself was brusque and businesslike, never bothering to try and ply Scootaloo with fake smiles or sugary words; Scootaloo liked her.

Willowbark handed Scootaloo's mother some X-ray prints, pointed out various parts, and talked briefly to mother and daughter about keel deformation, muscle weakness and the like. Though not interesting, it was better than last time, when the doctor had unceremoniously extended Scootaloo's wings into uncomfortable positions to examine them.

Eventually, the doctor came to the end of her lecture and addressed Scootaloo directly. 

“I'm sorry to say that the upshot of this is that you will, in all likelihood, never be able to fly properly, Scootaloo.”

A chill ran down her spine. Her mother put her foreleg around her again; this time, she didn't bother to shrug it off. Really, the news didn't come as much of a surprise. Scootaloo wasn't quite as oblivious as everypony thought. She actually had been aware of the other pegasi in school pushing ahead with their flying abilities while at the age of fourteen she could only ever manage to hover awkwardly for a few seconds, of her mother's and teachers' concerned whisperings when they thought she wasn't listening. The wing examination during her last visit here had been something of a hint too. 

Scootaloo chewed at her lip. She supposed she must be taking the news rather well, since she wasn't crying or otherwise freaking out – how embarrassing would that be? Worries danced in the back of mind: How would she break the news to Rainbow Dash? What would she tell her friends? Would everypony make fun of her? But none of them seemed quite real.

Her mother and the doctor were both looking at her. Scootaloo supposed she should respond.

“Okay,” she said. Her voice cracked a little, which annoyed her.

The doctor nodded. Scootaloo's mother rubbed her back

Wait. Something definitely did worry her. “Will I still be able to ride my scooter?”

Doctor Willowbark raised an eyebrow. 

“With my wings. Like this!” Sitting on the edge of her chair, Scootaloo buzzed her wings to demonstrate. The chair scraped forward an inch.

Doctor Willowbark broke into an unguarded and genuine smile. Scootaloo had not seen her do that before.

“Yes,” said the doctor. “Yes, you will. That's a different range of motion to flying. It doesn't use the same muscles. In fact, I've never seen a pegasus do that before. I'm impressed. So, yes, you should have no problems using your scooter.”

The doctor's comment both assuaged her worry and made her feel awesome. All other concerns forgotten, Scootaloo pushed out her chest and grinned.




*



Scootaloo's heart pounded. She loved playing the drums. To play the drums she needed no sense of pitch like her friends, just a good sense of rhythm. And her sense of rhythm was excellent. So, Scootaloo beat and banged and whacked and wove a rhythmic foundation for her friends to add their own contributions. Sometimes she even used subtlety.

Apple Bloom played a violin. Her sister had taught her, but Bloom was the tradition-breaker of the Apple family; her cutie mark didn't even feature apples. She had taken what she learned and trading in folksy fiddling for rocking out with a thaumically amplified violin. She was never rebellious – she and her family were as close as they had ever been – but most certainly her own pony. Apple Bloom was awesome.

Sweetie Belle played thaumic guitar and, of course, sang. She had never truly managed to get over her fear of singing in front of strangers, so she compensated by throwing herself into whatever piece she performed, forgetting the world around her, becoming one with the music. When she'd first learned to do that on stage, the night she earned her cutie mark, everypony present had been amazed. Sweetie Belle was awesome.

When the Crusaders finished their practice session, the worries of the previous day had evaporated and been replaced with joy. Brimming with energy, Scootaloo bounded out from behind the drum kit and jumped off the stage, flicking her wings and grinning. “That rocked!”

Sweetie Belle bounced on her hooves. “Oh, Rarity is going to be so pleased.”

“Yeah, I reckon we're gonna do you proud, Sweetie Belle,” said Apple Bloom.

“C'mon, let's get everything packed away and go to Morral's,” said Scootaloo, peering out the window of the practice hall. “I'm hungry.”

When they had done so, the three young mares headed down the pathway, grinning and gleeful. Scootaloo rode at a leisurely pace, with Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom cantering either side of her.

The summer afternoon was overly warm, almost cloying. The cloud cover was dense and grey, threatening to rain – an empty threat; Rainbow Dash had told Scootaloo there was no rain planned until midnight, so as to prevent to grass from baking without inconveniencing anypony.

“So, hey,” said Sweetie Belle after the Crusaders had calmed a little. “Featherweight told me that Silver Spoon and Snails kept looking at each other during astronomy class. I see arguments with Diamond Tiara on the horizon!”

Scootaloo snorted.

“Well I think that's real sweet,” said Apple Bloom.

“Yeah, right,” replied Scootaloo. “Like she'd dare get a coltfriend without Mistress Tiara's permission first. Besides, you know Featherweight only saw 'em 'cause he's been waiting to see Silver Spoon pop her tail anyway, right?”

“Scootaloo!”

“What? It's true!”

Sweetie Belle sighed. “You're incorrigible, Scootaloo.”

“That's … a good thing, right? Is it, like, a syno-whatchacallit for awesome and badass?”

“No! It means–”

“Girls! C'mon, let's not have this argument again,” said Apple Bloom.

“Well that's totally incorrigible by me!” Scootaloo smirked.

“Scoots! Please?” said Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo made to say something, but thought better of it. Sweetie Belle nickered quietly.

“So, Scootaloo,” said Apple Bloom. “Where were you yesterday? We dropped by to see if you wanted to go hang out in the old field, but you weren't around.”

Scootaloo's breath caught. “Oh, I just had some stuff to do with Mom.” She looked across the pathway and stopped her scooter. “What is she doing?”

“What?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Look,” said Scootaloo, indicating with a nod. “Over there.”

In an open plot of land, a grey pegasus worked tirelessly, inefficiently, and apparently aimlessly. She was building something out of vapour, which she would intermittently gather from a little pot of boiling water above a stove. Precisely what she was building – a bizarre, chaotic amalgam of different structural motifs and blobs of cloud – Scootaloo had no idea. Neither did the pony, apparently, for she spend more time reworking or destroying – sometimes accidentally –  parts of it than actually building. 

“Huh. Well that's certainly … a thing,” said Apple Bloom.

“Let's go ask her,” said Scootaloo.

“Do we have to?” said Apple Bloom, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on.”

“No, Scootaloo,” said Sweetie Belle, “let's not. She looks like a talker. Remember the time you insisted we talk to that old gardener? And he spent, like, forever giving us a lecture about different types of soil? I don't want to go through that again.”

Scootaloo shrugged her wings. “Okay, okay. Fine.”

She cocked her head, squinting at the structure. She still couldn't work out what it was. Looked kinda awesome, though.

“Hey, Scoots!” called Apple Bloom. Standing a few metres ahead of Scootaloo, she and Sweetie Belle looked back at her. “I thought you were hungry?”

Scootaloo gave up and buzzed her wings, sending her scooter hurtling forward.




*



Morral's was a tremendously tacky diner, constructed from the reclaimed cabin of a Crystal Empire dirigible. Slick linoleum tables and floors, lurid crystal nosebag logos, and oily food were its principal features.

Scootaloo loved it. Even if the food did take ages to arrive.

It had opened little over a month before she, the last of her friends to do so, had got her cutie mark. That evening, the evening the Cutie Mark Crusaders disbanded and the Crusaders arose, Scootaloo had visited the diner with her friends to celebrate.Before her cute-ceaňera even, the night, filled with laughter and hoof-bumps and alcohol, had solidified Morral's in her mind as the place of her adulthood. It was, therefore, the obvious place to go to discuss Sweetie Belle's upcoming birthday party.

At least that had been the intention.

“Y'know what?” said Scootaloo. “I think it would be really cool to headbutt somepony.”

“What?” said Apple Bloom. “Why would you wanna do something like that?”

“And to who?” Sweetie Belle looked horrified.

“Nopony nice! Just, like, if I had to. Or if somepony was being a total gelding. It would be cool.”

“Sounds kinda violent,” said Applebloom.

Scootaloo shrugged. “Well, clunking a pony with your head is an act of violence, so yeah, it's violent. Didn't you spend years dreaming about being a master kung fu-er?”

“That's Wushu! And the practitioners are called–”

“Whatever, same thing.”

“That was different, though. I only wanted to learn it for contests and maybe fighting bad guys!” Apple Bloom tried to gesture some martial arts moves, but ended up just flailing her forelegs.

“Aha! See? Fighting bad guys–”

“Girls!” Sweetie Belle brought her hoof down on the table, making a dull thud. “Do we have to argue about inflicting violence on ponies? It's not very civilised.”

Scootaloo shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

“Sorry,” said Apple Bloom. She rubbed her hoof on the table, which squeaked in response. “So, Sweetie Belle, you were gonna tell us about what you were planning, right?”

Sweetie Belle also squeaked in response. “Oh, yeah! Well, I talked to Rarity–” Scootaloo imagined Sweetie Belle, legs bent to reduce her apparent height, looking up at her sister with glistening eyes and cajoling her with repeated mentions of sisterly love. “–and she agreed to let us have the party in Carousel Boutique!”

“Awesome!” said Scootaloo.

“We've got a schedule planned now too. We start around six. Performances are first, then presents, then dinner. All the equipment will be set up beforehand, so we don't have to worry about that. My friends from the Music Society are going to do a few pieces first, the usual highbrow stuff, then our set is going to be at the end.”

“Well that sounds like it's gonna be real fun,” said Apple Bloom.

“Yeah, totally!” said Scootaloo. She offered a hoof-bump. “Come on, don't leave me hanging, here!” 

Apple Bloom rolled her eyes and smiled, and then hoof-bumped Scootaloo. Sweetie Belle, after hesitating, did the same.

Satisfied, Scootaloo looked over her shoulder at the counter. She groaned. “For pony's sake, why do they always take so long? We've been here ages.” Drumming her hooves on the tabe, She checked the clock on the wall to ensure she was right. She was: eight minutes had passed since they made their order.

“What's up, Sweetie Belle?” asked Apple Bloom. “I reckon you'd be a bit more cheerful.”

Scootaloo turned back to her friends. Ears pinned, Sweetie Belle looked down at the table.

“It's nothing.”

“Don't sound like nothin'” said Apple Bloom.

Sweetie Belle looked up at at Apple Bloom, then across the table at Scootaloo. “I … don't want to let Rarity down.” She sounded almost sheepish.

“Is that it?” said Scootaloo. “Look, you're scarily awesome at music. And so am I.” She noticed Apple Bloom glaring at her.  “And, uh, so is Bloom. Point is, you're not gonna let anyone down. You're gonna do your fancy classical stuff with your Music Soc ponies, and you'll totally rock. And you're gonna do the cool stuff with us, and you'll totally rock there too.”

“It is rock music,” Apple Bloom added helpfully.

“Exactly!” Scootaloo nodded.

“Besides,” said Apple Bloom. “She's your sister. She's gonna be proud of you, no matter what.”

Sweetie Belle smiled. That was quick, thought Scootaloo. Satisfied the issue was dealt with, she looked around again, just in time to see a waiter coming towards them.

“Finally.”




*



Scootaloo lay on her back, on her bed, in her room, in her house, on the ground. She wore headphones, listening to The Draconequi Rebels. With one wing she furtively cuddled Screech, her stuffed bat, and with the other struck at the pull switch above her bed. A graceful pendulum, a carved oak weight on the end of a string, it swung forward, then back, out of sight behind her head, forward into sight, and she would hit it again. When Scootaloo was very young, she was terrified of having to walk in the dark. Her mother had installed the pull switch so Scootaloo could turn the light off at night only after she was firmly tucked up in bed with Screech – and so if she ever woke in the night she could turn the light on immediately. Scootaloo had never told her friends the story behind the switch.

Concentrating on the music was difficult. Worries bubbled to the surface of her awareness as quickly as she could push them down, and the clouds outside the window kept catching her eye. There was a time when the wind in her mane, the ground racing beneath her, and the rush of a leap or a trick performed perfectly had been all she needed. Flight – so what? Rainbow Dash wasn't cool because she flew, but because of her skill, her speed, and something Sweetie Belle had called élan. And the same would be true of Scootaloo. But now – what if she reached Dash's age without having ever flown? What respect would that earn her? Everypony would think her a just a great, lumbering filly.

Frowning, she looked away from the window. Moping wasn't her style. She tried, once again, to lose herself in the music and think about how cool it would be to to play in public again, properly this time.

There was a knock on her bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

Scootaloo hid Screech beneath her pillow and pulled her headphones off. “Yeah, Mom.”

The door opened. Scootaloo's mother entered, gave her daughter an awkward smile, and sat by the side of the bed.

“Hey, kid,” she began. She paused, looking uncertain. “Anything you want?”

“Nah, I'm fine.”

“I mean, if you want to talk about anything...”

“I'm all right, Mom.”

“Well, if you want to go down to Sugarcube Corner and have a treat, we can. I know I haven't been around very much lately, but I'm going to try and change all that. So if you want to, just ask.”

“I will.”

“Okay. I just worry about you, you know.”

Scootaloo's mother ruffled her mane. Scootaloo did not pull back.

“I know,” she said. “I'm totally fine, really. I …”

Scootaloo's mother conceded and smiled again. “Well, I'm here if you need to talk about anything. Anything at all.” She stood. “Oh, and dinner's in twenty.”

“Okay, Mom.”

After her mother had gone, Scootaloo retrieved Screech from beneath her pillow and stared at the ceiling in silence. 

The pull switch had stopped swinging. Teeth clenched, Scootaloo hit it again, as hard as she could, and relished the sting of the weight against her wing. The weight hurtled upwards and thumped loudly against the ceiling.




*


Scootaloo scooted down the road towards the gym. Normally she rode as fast as she could, smiling with anticipation at another chance to show off her skills. Today, though, she dawdled. She rode far quicker than any other pony would, of course, but for her, this was dawdling. Dance class did not have its usual pull. Still, she refused to skip a day.

The gym was a former warehouse erected during the early years of Ponyville. When the town grew past its former boundaries, the warehouse, a communally owned structure, had been converted into a gym to provide more facilities for Ponyville's inhabitants. Scootaloo did not know what it held before its conversion, only that despite repeated repaintings and reinforcings, the pastel  cob walls still smelt faintly of its former contents.

Scooter stowed beside the gym, Scootaloo traipsed round to the front. There, reaching the door at the same time as she did, was Diamond Tiara. Not that stuck-up little … Glaring at Scootaloo, Diamond Tiara pushed past her to get through the door first. Scootaloo's jaw tensed.

“Bitch,” she said, softly enough that no one else would hear. Diamond Tiara returned the sentiment with a snotty harumph.

“Hello, girls!” said Whiskey Tango, brimming with cheer and oblivious to the exchange.

“Hello, Ms. Tango!” said  Diamond Tiara, all smiles and sweetness.

“Hi,” said Scootaloo. For a moment she wished Rainbow Dash was their dance teacher instead. She realised that would mean having to share Dash with Diamond Tiara and decided Ms. Tango would suffice.

At the edge of the hall, near Whiskey Tango, looking at the floor, sat one of their classmates, Marble Boulder. He flashed Scootaloo an awkward smile and, when she glanced at him, looked very intently at the wall of the gym behind her. Scootaloo ignored him.

Diamond Tiara sat to Marble's left. Scootaloo decided to sit to his right. Maybe he was useful, after all.

Nopony else had arrived yet. They sat in silence while Whiskey Tango hummed a ditty to herself. Scootaloo tried and failed to summon some enthusiasm.

The other students trickled in. Scootaloo knew their names – Ms. Tango had insisted her class play a tedious game consisting of throwing a stuffed ape to one another, with the recipient reciting their name and some trivial fact about themselves – but mostly identified them by their most notable traits: Gormless, Sniffler, Petite, Loudmouth, Four-Left-Hooves, Tail-Popper … Marble's nickname was Gawky. Diamond Tiara's was a phrase that would get Scootaloo kicked out of the class if she were to utter it out loud.

“All right, everypony,” said Ms. Tango when all had arrived. “Let's get started!”

And so, reluctantly, but unwilling to show it, Scootaloo danced.

Eight pairs of ponies, changing partners at regular intervals, danced in the gym to the beat of upbeat but generic music. Scootaloo gradually got more into it, worries slipping away, replaced by concentration and rhythm and twirling and just the slightest hint of exuberance. 

“And change partners!”

Scootaloo's new partner was Diamond Tiara. She didn't care; Diamond Tiara was a competent enough dancer, and that was the important thing.

And then Diamond Tiara fumbled. Scootaloo saw it and, without breaking step, fluidly but unceremoniously dragged her partner round the rest of the move and back into the rhythm. Diamond Tiara's expression of shock changed to one of venom moments later. She said nothing, though, and made nothing further of it. Scootaloo appreciated that.

Then came Sniffler, who had a glistening bead on the tip of his nose, which distracted Scootaloo immensely. Then Tail-Popper. She was boring from the front. Then Gawky, who kept stealing glances when he thought Scootaloo wasn't looking.

At the end of the class, Scootaloo had more of a spring in her step. She was awesome, the world was awesome, and everything would be fine. She left the gym with a paper cup of water and a smile, saw Gormless staring at Tail-Popper with all the subtlety of drunk dragon stumbling through a priceless vase factory, smirked, turned the corner of the gym, and ran straight into Diamond Tiara. 

The two ponies looked at each other.

Diamond Tiara spoke first. “Watch where you're going, you dumb bitch!”

Scootaloo began to apologise but stopped herself. “What? If anything, you should be thanking me for saving you from going face down back there!”

Diamond Tiara's snarl became a sneer. She sniffed. When she spoke, it was in a tone of derision rather than anger. “Whatever,” she said, walking past Scootaloo. “You can't even fly yet. Even with your cutie mark, you're always gonna be an immature little filly.”

Scootaloo wanted to say something. Something which would turn the tables. Something tremendously witty which would savage everything Diamond Tiara stood for and remind her what a terrible, pathetic pony she was.

Nothing came to mind.

Nose in the air, Diamond Tiara walked away, leaving Scootaloo standing silent. Scootaloo closed her eyes, put her head against the rough wall of the gym, and took a deep breath. Stupid. Stupid. Way to go, girl. You sure showed her.When she lifted her head, she realised she was shaking.

Of one thing, she was quite certain. Flight or no flight, she was not an immature little filly. She was fourteen, for pony's sake. She was mature. And she was going to prove it the best way she knew how.

On impulse.

She grabbed her scooter, carried it to the edge of the pathway, and glanced both ways, looking for her target. There he was, to the left, walking alone. She scooted down the path and pulled up beside him, grinning. When he saw her, he responded with a deer-in-the-headlights expression and almost fell over. Scootaloo did not bother waiting for him to regain his composure.

“Hey, Gaw – uh, Marble! Do you wanna hang out sometime?”




*