Don't Stop Dancing, Scootaloo
Two
Scootaloo sat near a vent behind the spa gathering vapour and collecting it into a small cloud. There was something she had to do. She didn't want to, but what had started off as a small nagging feeling had finally grown so strong she could no longer ignore it. Besides, she assured herself, mares dealt with their problems head on. Hiding from it would do nothing but demonstrate immaturity.
She decided she had enough vapour. With a sigh she carried the cloud over to her scooter and hopped on. She rode through Ponyville, cloud in tow, ignoring the occasional odd look from other ponies.
The journey didn't take as long as she had hoped, and soon she was below Rainbow Dash's house. Anticipation of undefined unpleasantness sat in her stomach. She didn't want to go up there.
Ugh. Stop being such a foal. Scootaloo jumped from her scooter to the cloud. Once she was steady, she tugged on the cloud, expanding it, increasing its volume. The cloud bobbed. Again, she tugged at it. Again, the cloud bobbed. It began to rise. Its pace was abysmally slow, and now Scootaloo found herself wishing it would hurry.
It took almost half a minute for her to rise to the height of Rainbow Dash's house, by which point Scootaloo was drumming her hooves with boredom. With a buzz of her wings, she brought her cloud up to the house and then linked the two with a tendril of vapour. Her safe route back to the ground thus assured, she jumped the gap onto the cloud patio and cantered up to the door, vapour puffing beneath her hooves. She could still turn back, return to the ground and forget about the whole thing. She didn't.
There was no response when she rapped on the door. Rainbow Dash was home, though. Scootaloo had Dash's timetable memorised: Right now, Dash would be either reading or snoozing inside.
Scootaloo knocked harder. This time there was a slight groan from inside. Snoozing, then. Scootaloo knocked again and then called through the door, “Hi, Rainbow Dash! It's me!” Another groan, then the sound of hoofsteps upon cloud. The wind whipped at her mane as she waited.
Rainbow Dash opened the door. Her mane was unkempt and her eyes bleary. She gave Scootaloo a weak smile and said, “Hey, kid. What's up?”
The planned words died in Scootaloo's throat. She masked the hesitation with a cough and then said, “Oh, uh, nothing much. I just wanted to hang out!”
“Come in, then.” Rainbow Dash turned, walked back into the house, yawned, and flopped down on a cloud cushion. She did not seem to notice anything was wrong. Scootaloo closed the door and followed her.
“C'mon, Scoots, what's new? It's been, like, forever since you last dropped by.” By Rainbow Dash's and Scootaloo's way of reckoning, “forever” meant any period longer than two weeks.
“Well, I … ” Scootaloo paused, then spent several seconds settling down on her favourite cloud cushion opposite Dash.
“Well, you … ?” Dash was always so impatient.
“I, uh, have a date! Yeah, that, a date.”
“Ha, that's awesome, kid!” Rainbow Dash clapped her on the back and offered a hoof-bump to Scootaloo, who responded after a moment's delay.
“Yeah, I suppose it is,” said Scootaloo.
“And I bet he was totally fawning over you until you gave him the time of day, right?”
“He … was, actually.” Scootaloo smiled. She was starting to feel more comfortable. She decided she could just chat for a while and then tell Dash about her wings. Hopefully Dash wouldn't …
“I knew it!” Rainbow Dash grinned. “Awesome mares like us are cursed to forever have endless stallions lining up to try and impress us. It's a burden, I know, but you gotta deal with it.”
“Totally!” She called me a mare!
“Oh, yeah. Speaking of being cool,” said Dash a little while later, “I've got a whole bunch of new shows coming up. And this time, I'm gonna be squadron leader! Got some new recruits, and Spitfire told me I could lead their first shows.”
Rainbow Dash paused. Scootaloo watched her with rapt attention. Rainbow Dash ruffled her mane.
“I guess you wanna know more, huh?” said Rainbow Dash.
“Yuhuh.”
“Well, I got permission to open a couple of shows for Applejack. Just, y'know, 'cause I owe her. Then there's … something happening in the Crystal Empire. I kinda slept through the briefing for that one. I'll find out what it is later. Oh! You'll like this. I'm gonna be performing an opening act for The Draconequi Rebels in Fillydelphia in a couple months.”
“Ohmigosh, that is so badass!” said Scootaloo.
“You have tickets, right? 'Cause I'd hate for you to miss it.”
“Of course!”
“That's my girl.” Rainbow Dash smiled. “The ponies I'm flying with are pretty cool. Not as cool as me, of course, but still pretty cool. And with me as squadron leader, it's gonna be like I'm teaching them. Imagine! Me, a teacher! I always thought I'd hate it since I hated school, but now I'm actually kinda looking forward to it. I'm gonna have a couple of really skilled ponies to take under my wing. It'll be awesome.”
Scootaloo's ear twitched. “Skilled ponies to take under your wing?”
“Yep!” replied Dash.
“Oh.”
Not long afterwards, Scootaloo excused herself and returned to the ground. She did not tell Dash about her wings.
*
Three young mares tramped through the rain-wet long grass just beyond the outskirts of Ponyville on a warm and humid late afternoon, their hooves occasionally slipping in the thin layer of mud. An intermittent breeze sent ripples across the field and stopped the heat from becoming uncomfortable. Scootaloo, leading the way, wore a saddlebag holding an ornate brown glass bottle. She had put her worries about Rainbow Dash out of her mind as best she could. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle trailed immediately behind her, talking quietly. Sweetie Belle held a second bottle in her horn field, taking swigs intermittently, and, when prompted, offering them to Apple Bloom.
“What about you, Scootaloo?” Asked Sweetie Belle.
“Huh?”
“What would you rather – hold on, you haven't had any mead. Here!” The bottle flew through the air at Scootaloo, who had to duck to avoid being clonked on the head, then stopped, wobbling in front oh her.
“Looks like you've had a little too much, already!” she said, laughing.
Sweetie Belle blushed.
“Look who's talking,” said Apple Bloom.
“Come on, Scootaloo, you got it for us. Have some!” said Sweetie Belle.
“Okay, okay, fine. Go on, then.”
The bottle of mead hovered in front of Scootaloo's face, still bobbing in Sweetie Belle's horn field. It began to tip towards Scootaloo, who brought her mouth up to meet the neck. For a moment it seemed they had managed to pull off the act: Scootaloo got a gulp without having to stop walking. Then the bottle kept on tipping. Mead filled her mouth and spilled down her chin, soaking into her hair. Scootaloo sputtered.
“Oops! Sorry,” said Sweetie Belle, righting the bottle and pulling it back.
“S'fine” said Scootaloo, laughing and trying to lick the mead from her chin.
“So, what would you rather?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“Outta what?”
“Would you rather be a pony who never had any friends but had a comfortable life or a pony who was adored by everypony in the world but never had any time to yourself because of it?”
“That … doesn't make any sense,” said Scootaloo.
“It does!”
“No, 'cause, like, if everypony adored you and wouldn't leave you alone then you wouldn't have any time for proper friends with give and take and all that stuff.”
“They'd all be proper friends!”
Scootaloo snorted. “Why would I want to be proper friends with everypony in the world? I'm not Pinkie Pie. So I wouldn't be friends with any of them.”
“Well I figure you could choose those you liked and spend more time with them,” said Apple Bloom. “Then you'd have some friends but no free time.”
“Eh,” said Scootaloo. “I guess so. But even then I wouldn't want you girls to be my friends just 'cause everypony had to like me. So the first one, being alone.”
Scootaloo heard mead slosh and Sweetie Belle cough. When she glanced round, Sweetie's muzzle was wet and stained amber.
Apple Bloom broke the silence. “Okay, my turn. Wouldya rather have the hindquarters of a minotaur or the head of a griffon?”
“Minotaur!” squeaked Sweetie Belle. “I don't wanna lose my face!”
“With those dinky little legs?” said Scootaloo. “Griffon head, obviously. But! Make it versus head of Diamond Tiara and I'll go for the minotaur legs every time.”
Apple Bloom laughed. Sweetie Belle giggled. The mead sloshed.
“Scootaloo! Your turn!” said Sweetie Belle.
“Oh, all right. Would you rather … ” Scootaloo looked over the field of long grass, chewing her bottom lip, trying to think of something good. “Right, got it! Would you rather pee beer or crap chocolate?”
“Ew! Scootaloo, that's revolting!” said Sweetie Belle.
“It's pretty nasty, yeah,” said Apple Bloom. She sounded less offended than Sweetie Belle.
Scootaloo's smirk broke into a laugh. The mead bottle swatted the back of Scootaloo's head.
“Seriously, that's gross,” said Sweetie Belle.
“I ain't gonna answer that question,” said Apple Bloom.
“Me neither!”
“Cowards!” said Scootaloo.
“Nope. Nothing doing,” said Apple Bloom.
“Okay, fine,” said Scootaloo. “Pretend I didn't say anything.”
“Will do.”
“Scootaloo,” began Sweetie Belle.
“What?”
“The … uh … second one. Does … does the chocolate have the same shape as … ?”
By the time the young mares reached their destination, an old, overturned cart, gloam had passed and the air had cooled. They sat in a patch of shorter grass beside the cart having polished off the first bottle of mead and talked of trivialities. Scootaloo picked chips of red paint and splinters from the soft, rotted wood of the cart's wheel while she listened.
“So, then,” said Apple Bloom, “I, uh …” She paused, looked out across the field, and rubbed her chin. “Where was I, again?”
“The bit with the barn after you got back from the shop,” said Sweetie Belle.
“Oh yeah! Well, I saw my sis open the door of the barn a crack and look around, jumpier than a coked-up kangaroo. I don't think she saw me. There surely is something going on between 'em.”
“That is so sweet!” Sweetie Belle bounced, squealed, and almost fell over.
“Wayta hold … hold your liquor, Sweetie,” said Scootaloo. She took a gulp from the second bottle as if to show off her prowess at holding on to sobriety.
Sweetie Belle tried to give a coherent retort, gave up, and made a dismissive gesture with her hoof. “Mead is nice, though.”
“Sorry, y'all. I couldn't get any cider today,” said Apple Bloom. “Granny Smith was fine about it, but when Applejack heard, she freaked out.”
“S'cool,” said Scootaloo.
Sweetie Belle nodded.
“Where did you get the mead from, anyway, Scoots?” said Apple Bloom.
“Y'know Nectar Drizzle?”
“Yellow mare? Yeah.”
“Well, don' tell her 'bout it.”
“Huh?”
This time Sweetie Belle did fall over. “You stole it!” she said from the ground.
Scootaloo looked offended. “No! I jus' took it without tellin' her!”
“Scootaloo – ” began Apple Bloom.
“I leave whatever bits I have in return,” said Scootaloo. “But she can't know!”
Sweetie Belle pulled herself up into a sitting position and said nothing.
“So long as you pay, I … I guess that ain't stealing,” said Apple Bloom. She frowned.
Scootaloo stared into the neck of the bottle for some time, and then took a long draught. When she finished, Apple Bloom pulled the bottle away from her.
“Might wanna take it easy on the drink for a while,” she said. “I don't wanna hafta carry you back home.
“'Kay, 'kay, fine,” said Scootaloo. She settled in the grass and gazed up into the sky while Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle talked.
A brown spider scurried across cart's wheel beside her, apparently aimless. Scootaloo watched it. Her head felt fuzzy. Make up your mind, dude. Scootaloo reached out with a hoof and allowed the spider to run up her foreleg. She shifted her weight to keep the spider out of Sweetie Belle's view.
Something occurred to her.
“Hey, girls,” she said when there was a lull in the conversation.
“Mm?” said one of them.
“D'you ever worry the world is moving on without you and if you don't get into gear you'll be left behind forever?”
“Huh?”
“You totally slurred, Scoots. That was just a … a .. stream of sibilants!”
“You're doin' the … words thing again, Sweetie,” said Scootaloo.
“Oh, sorry,”
“Don' matter.”
“Huh?” said Apple Bloom again.
“Nothin',” said Scootaloo. When she looked back at her foreleg, the spider had gone
*
After several hours and the better part of the mead had gone, and the sickly light of dawn smudged the sky and made the world seem bleak and timeless, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom decided to go home.
“Y'comin', Scoots?”
Scootaloo did not feel like going home. She shrugged. “Yeah, alright.” She climbed to her hooves and brushed bits of dry mud off her fetlocks with her wings.
The three mares spoke little as they walked back towards Ponyville. Scootaloo was tired, damp, and cold, but still she didn't want to sleep, not yet. In an absent-minded sort of way she hoped, the lightening sky notwithstanding, Celestia would oversleep or take the day off or … something.
Once in town, The Crusaders went their separate ways. Scootloo waved goodbye to Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle and, once they were out of sight, headed in the opposite direction from where she lived. She tried to aimlessly wander the empty streets but soon found herself walking down the pathway to Morral's.
Oh well. Perhaps she could have breakfast there if she stayed up long enough. Wait … no. No bits. Scootaloo stomped her hoof in annoyance at the failure of seemed to her to be a perfect plan.
She was not alone on the street. Somepony was already up. The grey mare she had seen here a few days ago. Lacking any reason to continue to Morral's, Scootaloo flopped down on across the road to watch. She pulled the nearly empty bottle of mead from her saddle bag and took a swig.
The mare worked and didn't seem to notice her. Curlicues and ripples of vapour. Her work was still incomprehensible. Scootaloo felt it comforting to watch.
A little while later – she couldn't say how long – Scootaloo realised she had finished the mead. She shoved the bottle back into her saddlebag, stood up, and walked forward. She decided she had to ask the mare what she was making.
When she was within a few feet of the mare, the world lurched around her. Scootaloo stumbled. Something went crash! beside her. Buzzing her wings, Scootaloo tried to recover her balance, stood at an odd angle for what felt like like an impressively long period of time, then fell.
A grey wing caught her and righted her before she hit the ground. Scootaloo blinked and tried to clear her head. Beside her, brown glass lay in fragments. And before her stood the mare, looking concerned.
“Hey, miss,” said Scootaloo. “Why d'you …” She had forgotten what she planned to ask.
“Oh dear,” said the mare. “Let's get you home.”
*
Scootaloo woke at midday when the sunlight stabbing through a slit on the curtains became impossible to ignore. No hangover. She never got hangovers. It was something she loved to brag about to Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. She buried her face in her pillow and cuddled Screech while she tried to assemble fragments of last night's memories into something coherent. It wasn't coming.
Oh well. Never mind, then. Scootaloo groaned and rolled out of bed, tried to land on her feet, and, with a soft thud, ended up tangled with the duvet on the floor. She looked at the window to see if, on the off chance, anypony had seen her pratfall. Nope, nopony watching. She tugged herself free of the duvet and climbed to her hooves.
The tumble notwithstanding, she felt quite quite chipper. That evening she had a date!
*