//------------------------------//
// It's All Downhill From Here 
// Story: The Sour Grapes Chronicle Side Story:  The Avalanche 
// by The Incredible Werekitty 
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	Everypony in the Manse noticed the difference in Queenie that next morning. She was positively cheerful, and seemed to float through her morning chores. She still did them well, naturally, but there seemed to be a lightness of spirit that had not been there, before. The regular workers, and interns noticed the change, and wondered what could have brought it about. Queenie’s mother, Snowen, however, knew exactly what had happened. The turn of events made Snowen really happy, because no mother wants to see her daughter unhappy.

Even Queenie could feel a change in herself. It was as if all was right with the world… alright maybe not ALL was right. She was still surrounded by obnoxious Powder Trash that often forgot that the locals were living thinking ponies themselves, but at the moment she wasn’t taking it so PERSONALLY. Was this what optimism felt like? Whatever it was she liked it, and she wasn’t about to let anything ruin her day. 

Dusty came down, at one point, geared up and ready to go. He waved to her, as he headed out to get ready for the big downhill run. This made her smile, and she briefly waved back. Once the morning chores had been done, Snowen all but shoved Queenie out the door so she could watch Dusty in the big race. Queenie trotted out back toward the spot where she’d watched for the past two days, and eagerly looked for Dusty’s signature blue snowsuit.

Rather than an out-and-out race, in true X-Treeme Sports style the rules had been shaken up a little. For one this was a team event. Just because one pony was fastest could mean nothing if the last pony in the team is the slowest on the mountain. Until your last teammate had crossed that line, the clock was still ticking. Also quite a lot of emphasis was being placed on how many tricks the team performed, as well as being the fastest down the mountain. The combination of the scores would net a team the win. Despite their “unprofessional” attitude, Queenie could see why Rodeo, Roman and Trick were all teamed up with Dusty. Showboats they may be, but in this case they were talented showboats and that’s what was required.

Things were going well, as to be expected. The event was being treated as per usual by the colts and fillies of the X-Treeme Sports set. Each team tried their best to outdo the others Dusty, though, seemed to be doing the best out of all of them. He seemed to be using all his grace and skill to make some amazing moves, while keeping up his pace. Though his other three teammates were a bit behind him, but not too far. Also, there seemed to be a lot of teams hoping to skate by in the showboating category to make up for lousy times with all the flips, grinds, and hoof-stands being performed. Then Queenie noticed Roman moving himself to a hillock. Next thing she knew, he came flying over the hill, his jacket exploding with fireworks of all descriptions, lighting up the area to an eye-tearing brightness, their shrill whistles making Queenie lay her ears back from the noise.
Queenie looked back just in time to see Rodeo fling a lasso to Roman Candle. Lip Trick had the rope in her teeth, and just as they caught up with Dusty, Lip grabbed him with her hooves.
“What are you DOING?!” Queenie barely made out Dusty’s voice from the slope.

“Winning!” Lip declared triumphantly, “You ever ‘Crack the whip’, Dusty?” Lip Trick laughed readying her grip on the rope. 

Dusty wasn’t a fool and caught on to their plan quickly, leaning forwards and bracing himself for maximum control of his acceleration. “All right, fine. But you should have told me in advance! On three then… one…”

“One” was as far as he got when an unexpected occurrence… occurred. Roman Candle had a custom outfit covered in rhinestones and sequins to accompany his gorgeous spray of fireworks. The suit had been made to his personal specifications, but he had neglected to give such specifications to the ponies who made the hardware. The CSFGU students had given a lot of idea to the size and color compositions of the rockets as well as how to wire them to the earth pony’s frame so they wouldn’t so much as singe him… unfortunately they gave the information to ponies whose genuine occupation was to make Fireworks and not inform them of the actual usage of said rockets. The craftsponies set about making true fireworks and not just pyrotechnic displays. 
The look on Roman Candle’s face was priceless when the rockets hit their “second stage” where their thrust was maximised causing a dramatic acceleration to the pony who was lashed to them. He gave a startled noise through the rope in his mouth when he jerked forwards at an unnatural speed, the rope jerked taught but unevenly, slingshotting Dusty not so much forwards but off on an awkward upwards angle towards the crowd.

Dusty’s yell was quite loud, and the unfortunate unicorn twisted his body, trying to alter his trajectory as best he could. It was pure luck that he didn’t land in the stands, but flew over them. He was right above Old Check-Off, and was descending rapidly.

Queenie couldn’t imagine what kind of thoughts were in his head at that moment. Seeing that massive, gleaming bronze Manticore’s head that made up the mouth of the cannon getting larger and larger in his vision. The design with the teeth and horns and everything could easily either impale him… or if he simply hit it at that speed, smash all his major bones before he fell from it to the ground and let gravity finish the job. She wanted to warn him, to shout out his name but the words caught in her throat. Then, the most amazing thing occured. He closed his eyes and she watched as he twisted his body in mid flight, those same moves that won him so many accolades had changed his decent just enough to land his board on top of Old Check-Off and let him “grind” his way down the length of the ancient weapon of war. 

Oh, how she wanted to cheer! To fly to him and… wait… was she just imagining giving him a full-on lip-locking kiss?

Dusty reached the bottom of the cannon, and breathed an obvious sigh of relief.

CLICK

Dusty’s irises shrank at that sound. He landed on the hard stone platform at the base and turned to look at what that last bump was on the Cannon… then remembering what Queenie had told him the previous night watched as the now cocked hammer of the cannon fell.

BOOM 

The sound was deafening, a thunderous noise of epic proportions, that everypony felt rattling them to their bones. Dusty who had been right next to the cannon had been knocked back by the recoil and fell off the edge of the platform, out of sight of Queenie… but she suddenly had other concerns.

Her head rotated to the high slopes of Icebreaker Peak, named for the first Duke of Avalanche Valley. She saw the explosion of the charge strike the snow, forming a distant thunder and a cloud of white and black. 

“Oh Dusty…. what have you done?” she whispered in a hushed tone as the telltale rumble of disaster began to grow. “What. Have. you. DONE?” she shouted this time as she turned to those around her and following ancient instincts given to her by her Duchal ancestors, began to give orders. “Everypony, you know the drills well enough. Pegasi take flight over the snow’s crest, as high as you can. the rest of you, herd yourselves and anypony you can into the sheltered areas. Children and the elderly to the center with the strong surrounding them. Move, move move!”

Meanwhile Dusty hopped along his snowboard still strapped to his hind hooves. He scooted himself along, yelling warnings as he went. “Get to safety! Avalanche coming! Move your flanks! Move!” He kept going, trying to warn ponies as best he could, but the snow caught up with him, and he ended up riding the wave of snow down into town, still shouting warnings to anypony who could hear him. The buildings caused the snow to buckle, and twist under him, as he desperately tried to keep his balance. A final slap from the snowy wave sent Dusty flying off balance, and he landed, briefly experiencing excruciating pain, before he blacked out.

Queenie held a pair of foals close, shielding them with her wings, as the roar of the avalanche filled their ears. She considered herself fortunate to have gathered as many of her townsponies into this shelter. The rumbling crescendo of the avalanche had came crashing over them, with it the sound of some poor soul caught out in the deluge of snow. There in the dim green glow of the emergency chem-lights they all listened for the sound to die down, before they dared to venture out of their confines. Long ago when she rebuilt the town in her image, Thin Ice had somewhere along the way agreed to some suggestions from others. One of which were these shelters. Sometimes as simple as a long tunnel under a building, open at both ends, or a wedge-shaped stone barricade that one could hunker behind as the snow passed around them and sometimes as genuine as a true shelter with a heavy door with a reinforced ceiling and walls around. It was perhaps the only legacy that the ancient ruler had that had true value. After all, Avalanche Valley wasn’t named such for fun and giggles. Sometimes there were, well, avalanches, and the ponies of the region would need some protection. Some thoughtful pony had equipped the avalanche shelters with shovels, so the ponies who made it in could easily get out. It took them some time, because there was a lot of snow to shovel, but eventually they made it back out into the sunlight.

The town of Lumisadepallo was in a sad state. Many of the beautiful fiddly decorative bits that had been there since the time of Thin Ice had been torn off, leaving many of the sturdy Alpine structures unadorned. Debris littered the snow-covered streets. Queenie looked around, her heart sinking. She had seen the reports for hosting this whole contest, they would finally have been firmly in the black. However, once again, Avalanche Valley had taken a step back in its finances putting them back into the red. The ponies of the Valley called it ‘the curse of Thin Ice’. She just cursed herself for opening her heart, and letting that powder trash wiggle his way into it. She hung her head, sighing heavily, and turned her shovel to helping clear the streets, and open the other shelters. 

As she worked, she realized that whoever had designed Lumisadepallo, they had put a practical side to the pretty buildings and streets. There were lots of little relief-ways that kept the full fury of the avalanche from completely devastating the town, itself. Queenie never knew the reason for these little alleys, before, except that one was home to a very particular statue. There it stood, carved in a glittering form of granite called “ice stone” and accented with the golden gleam of alchemic gold alloys. For years it had been marred by graffiti, and the vitriol of the ponies of Avalanche Valley. When one was having a bad day it was good to have a place to simply vent, and the throwing things at the figure of Thin Ice was very satisfying, and often cathartic. Now, however, the deluge of snow and ice had scoured the figure clean of centuries of markings, filth, and crude language. Queenie stood there, staring at the statue of Thin Ice. It had once stood in the square, but when she was deposed, it had been moved to this secluded blind alley, and marred. Now, with the brown-black coating gone, Queenie was shocked by just how much of a resemblance she had to the ancient spendthrift.

She could see it in the color of the stone, glittering in the sun like her own coat. The curl of the exquisitely sculpted Orichalcum hair in its mane and tail were identical to hers. And while the twin sapphires that had been cut, polished and installed as Thin Ice’s eyes, they stared down with a cold indifference to those beneath her gaze. Queenie felt a sudden wave of shame as she looked upon a figure that could easily have been an older version of herself. 

This was her punishment for daring to want something for herself. To dismiss her duty to her subjects. For a brief moment she gave in, and the curse struck her down like a great thunderbolt. She turned, squaring her shoulders and strode away from the statue. She would end this curse, come Tartarus or high water. She would find a suitable mate, use his money to free Avalanche Valley from this cycle of feast and famine, and return to her ponies some modicem of dignity. The heart may want what it wants, but it’s like an unruly child and has to be taught to behave. The title “Duke” meant “leader” in the old language of the pegasi, and a leader must lead her charges, not be lead by something as fickle as her heart. The Lady Ice Storm of the Duchy of Avalanche Valley has duties to fulfill, and she told herself that it is not right for the daughter of a Duke to fall in love. Maybe someday she would believe that. Maybe, someday, pigs would also join pegasi in the sky.

Queenie supervised the effort to clear the streets, and open more shelters. It was slow going, but the Avalanchers were hardy folk, and the tourists were proving to be more useful than not to her surprise. As they cleared more and more streets, making their way to the main boulevard, they met another group. Tourists and Avalanchers were sweeping the street, while some others were shoveling snow ahead of the sweepers.

“Glad to see others are all right,” said a stallion in a snowsuit. “This crazy stallion actually dug out five shelters, before collapsing from exhaustion. Figured we may as well work on clearing the streets, and getting everypony back to their hotels, hostels, and the Inn.”

“Good,” she said, surveying the area. “Where are all the injured being taken? Celestia knows the doctor’s office was never meant for this volume of ponies.”

“They’re being taken to the Inn. The innkeeper and head chef were turning the grand ballroom into a makeshift infirmary,” the snowsuited stallion replied, nodding toward the Manse.

“Lots of space there. Dozens of ponies could lie down there without conditions getting cramped. Excellent. Right. Carry on, I’ll take a look at how things are going at the inn,” Queenie asserted, turning and making her way to the manse. The Avalanchers, and even some of the tourists, bowed a little to her, as she went.

Queenie’s very being felt charged as strode with purpose down the streets. Directing various recovery projects and briefly assisting in ones that needed an extra back or pair of hooves. She was one of them, she was apart from them. She was the Duchess Ice Storm of Avalanche Valley and Royal Sisters have pity on any who would stand in her path. 

The main doors to the Manse swung open as if heralding her arrival, and despite her humble housekeeper’s uniform and scarf, all who saw her felt as if she OWNED the room. She crossed the floor to the open door leading to the makeshift hospital and zeroed in on the doctor. 

“Doctor Splints, tell me good news. I could use some right now,” Queenie uttered.

The blue unicorn tilted his reflector back into place on his forehead and bowed his head ever so slightly to her out of respect of her lineage and cleared his throat.

“The good news, Queenie, is that it could have been far worse. As it is we have bruises, cuts, abrasions, contusions and minor broken bones. No frostbite, thank the stars. One fractured limb, and the idiot only made it worse by jumping up, and digging ponies out before collapsing. So the fellow’s being treated for both exhaustion, and the fracture.” He sighed and checked the clipboard that floated to his side. “He’s on some strong painkillers at the moment but fairly lucid. We got off lucky this time, nothing even remotely looking like a fatality. We’re also fortunate that you were here. You have a great deal of experience in this sort of thing. Hard to think what we would do without our future Duchess.” He said quietly before returning to his duties.

His words were true, she had to think about the future of the valley and the town. As the future head of state she had to do what was best for them, and not herself. She felt the anger rise up inside, the unfairness that a whole region should suffer for the vanity of her ancestor Thin Ice. 

She went to the kitchen and made several pots of tea and loading up the dessert trolley with the pots and cups, then headed back into the ballroom. She moved between the rows serving the injured. She felt more comfortable doing it like this rather than just “surveying the damage” like some monarch who is trying for the appearance of looking concerned. She could discretely assess the situation while providing a modicum of comfort. She rolled the cart up to the next soul and poured the amber fluid into a fresh cup.

“We can’t offer much at the moment until the kitchen staff is free again, but we can…”

She froze. It was him, Dusty. Her eyes flicked briefly to where his leg was not just in a splint or a cast… but had a shining metal apparatus encircling the bound leg with offshoots from it sticking into the skin, indicating the aforementioned fracture was really quite as serious as the doctor had indicated.

“Sokay,” Dusty murmured, his voice slurred. “Others… need… more help… than me…”

The feelings swelling up inside of her at the sight of him revolted her. She couldn’t… not now… not after everything that happened. She set her jaw and set the tea beside him. 

“Plenty of tea to go around. Sympathy is a little harder to come by.”

She hadn’t intended for the words to come out like that, so harsh and cruel sounding. It was as if deep down she blamed him for what happened… then again maybe she should. It would make it… easier. Wouldn’t it?

He just… sighed hugely as if he was being deflated. “Yeah,” she heard him murmur. “Don’t… really deserve any… sympathy…” Dusty seemed to slip into a painkiller induced sleep.

“Get your rest, you fool,” she muttered. “Marching about on a broken leg trying to undo the mess you caused… why was that bloody cannon loaded anyways? Ugh… can’t believe I had… interest in you. More the fool was I.”

She finished her rounds among the wounded and taking the trolley back into the kitchen washed up the dishes and took a few moments to herself to go upstairs to the gallery. There in the long hall were the portraits and the busts of all the ponies to ever be a crowned head in the Valley. All the way back to Duke Icebreaker. Although she could recite the names by heart, she hated coming down here… all those eyes looking down upon her. The weight of leadership felt oppressive. But now, now she squared her shoulders and glared back.

“No. I will not let you judge me,” she said quietly to the gallery. “I’ve made my choice. Happiness be cursed… I will do what is best for my subjects. End of story.”

With that she marched off, unaware she had been observed. That in the shadows her mother and father had been watching. They held one another in a comforting embrace, weeping for a daughter who sacrificed personal happiness for a noble cause.

Snowen approached her daughter, later that evening. “Queenie, dear, things are manageable, now. Why don’t you go ahead, and head back to Ponyville, to enjoy your vacation, as planned?” she asked. “Also… it will get you away from Dusty… I… worry you would end up saying something horrible to him. I know you’re mad at him, right now, but… there may come a time when you’re not, and ponies, even guilt-ridden ones, have long memories for hurtful words.”

The blond pegasus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“You are correct as always, Mother. I would be unladylike if I were to say something… untoward. Wouldn’t it?”

“That… and someday you may… actually want to talk to him again,” Snowen said, giving her a wing-hug. “He’s not bad… made a very costly mistake, but not a bad sort. The last thing you need is to lose a possible friend because of angry words.”

Queenie took her time getting ready to leave, helping out where she could, and packing her bags, when she wasn’t needed. Finally she was ready to go, and she goes around, saying a quick goodbye to the Interns, the maids, and her parents. Finally she was making her way through the lobby when she was found by the last pony she really wanted to see.

"'Scuse me... but where are you going? Do you need any help?" she heard Dusty ask, as he hobbled up to her.

"I'm fine. I'm just... I have a prior commitment that's all. The state of emergency has stabilized and now that the contestants and their fans are leaving there's really no need for me to stay. During the rebuild I will be nothing more than a fifth leg," Queenie replied, glancing Dusty’s way.

"Oh. Okay. Look... there aren't enough words in the Equestrian language to convey how sorry I am for this," Dusty said, genuine regret in his voice. "I will do everything in my power to try and..." He trailed off, at a loss for words to describe what he'd do.

"Fine. Just.... go and do it then," She snapped, her emotions flaring up while she deliberately kept her back to him. "I really don't care WHAT you do! All I know is that I NEVER want to see you again!"

She heard Dusty gasp in surprise, then a sigh. "As you wish," he said quietly, and then she heard him slowly hobble away.

She took a deep breath and held it, hoping it would ease the ache she was feeling in her chest. She shouldn't have said that, but the words just came out that way so she MUST feel that way... right? Why should she feel guilty over hurting his feelings? She was a member of the Ice Clan... she could put her personal feelings aside for the greater good. It took nearly all of her strength to keep from looking back. She didn't want to realise that a chance for personal happiness had just slipped through her feathers. She hoped to Tartarus that the bar car on the train was open... she needed a very un-ladylike drink right now. 


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Dear Sour Grapes,

Hey, cuz. I totally screwed up. You were right about that manager I hired. I really should start listening to you, I swear. What’s worse, though… well… I met this girl. She was so amazing, there’s no describing it. What she looks like is easier: A light blue coat that glittered like fresh powder, hair like looping golden filigree… But she hates me now.

The flankhole manager stuck me with the biggest egos he could lay his hooves on, and sent me to Avalanche Valley to participate in the snowboard competition, there. Of course, he was hoping I’d grow an ego and do more endorsements. But, Grapes, dude, these ponies… they were the rudest, most inconsiderate jerks on the face of the planet. The girl, I mentioned, works at the inn we were staying at. Works hard, too, like she’s a manager or supervisor or something. And, of course, one of my teammates has to hit on her, when she’s working waitress at dinner.

I asked her out, got a “maybe”, and just kept talking to her. Her name is Queenie, and she is amazing. She said: “The greatest of distinctions is service to others.” And it’s true, she’s working to help others in her homeland. I sent you the history flier. Wish I could have found a book about it, but they don’t seem to sell any. They’re rich in history, but they only seem to cater to the tourist trade.

Anyway, Queenie is the type of mare that could turn a midnight snack run into a date. Just chatting about things…

Well, anyway, you heard about the avalanche, right? Made all the papers. I caused it. My teammates had this cockeyed idea on how to win the downhill. I went along with it, because the plan came up during the downhill, while one of the teammates had a hold on me. Something went spectacularly wrong, I ended up grinding down a cannon they keep on the grounds to create controlled avalanches. I set it off, and created an UNcontrolled avalanche.

So yeah, I fornicated up. Big time. Broke my left foreleg. Made it worse, digging folks out. Last thing Queenie told me, before she left, is that she never wanted to see me again. And while I was getting well enough to travel, I helped out with my fix-it spell. I did the right thing, which is donate all the winnings to the Valley. It didn’t seem like enough, so they got all my savings, too. Left myself enough to get to Ponyville, so I won’t have to borrow anything from you. I’ll save my begging for asking you for honest work… little joke there. The locals here are very nice, owners of the hotel are letting me stay a bit while my leg heals enough to travel. Should be there, early spring. Keep an eye out for me, would you? I won’t be able to walk far as I used to with this leg brace the doc put on me.

Dusty