//------------------------------// // Cooking for Idiots // Story: ECRL: The Wonderhawks // by WildFire15 //------------------------------// With Rarity lost to her work again, the four ponies left to walk home, the sun now starting to make its way over the horizon and cast lengthy shadows. “You defiantly weren’t kidding about her.” Concorde commented. “About the OCD or the designs?” Dash asked, still amused by his and Maffett’s reactions to one of Rarity’s flashes of inspiration. “Both.” Maffett chipped in. Concorde was going to offer another remark before they rounded a corner and the old windmill came into view. “Why am I not even vaguely surprised?” Concorde remarked as the old windmill came into view. The ground floor windows were open with smoke billowing out of them again. The group walked over, opening the door as if nothing was wrong and walked in to find Fleet, Ratchett and Spanner rapidly trying to clean up the enormous mess in the kitchen. The three looked up from what they were doing, Fleet mopping up an enormous puddle of what looked like red wine, Ratchett seemingly trying to clean the oven where most of the smoke was coming from while Spanner tried to dispose of the charred remains of something. “Success?” Concorde asked, knowing the answer. “In getting into the charcoal industry at the very least.” Maffett remarked, having a look at what Spanner was getting rid of. “What happened?” Dash asked, noticing a dust pan full of broken glass. “My fault, this time.” Fleet owned up, squeezing the mop out into a nearby bucket before continuing to clean. “Too much oil and brandy.” “Brandy and oil? What were you trying to make?” Concorde asked, interested in how this madness happened. “Spaghetti Bolognese.” Spanner answered, putting the charred remains in the bin. “Did you put brandy in because the wine was on the floor?” “No, I knocked it over when the pan burst into flames.” “Did you put it in the oven out of panic?” “No, garlic beard burnt to a crisp while we tried to sort everything else out.” Ratchett answered. “We need to set a camera up in here, we’d be famous on Youtrot within the week.” Concorde chuckled. “Seriously though, how’d you do this? If that was out of the book my mum wrote then I’m extra especially impressed.” “Why?” Dash found herself asking. “She wrote that book with me in mind and I’m a dunce in the kitchen.” “And in many other places as well.” Maffett commented, to which Concorde responded by stealing her glasses after a moment. “Shut up and read your mail.” Fleet said. Spanner froze for a moment as he thought. “Has the mail arrived yet?” He asked, to which he was answered by a sudden thud against the wall “I think it has now.” Maffett remarked, taking her glasses back off Concorde as he went to investigate. He opened the door to find the town mail mare in a heap by the door, letters all over the place. She quickly untangled herself and smiled. “You ok there, Dee?” A slightly concerned Concorde asked as she started rummaging around in her mail bag. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” She said quickly, hiding her face behind the open bag before giving him three letters and a newspaper. “Here you go!” “Cheers, me dears.” Concorde replied, almost automatically as Derpy saluted and jumped back into the sky, flying in a slightly wobbly line as she was likely still dizzy. The other Ponyville residence had told him it was normal for her to deliver letters in that matter but he couldn’t help but wonder how many times she’d have to fly into things before her eyes both pointed straight or maybe even be on time. He returned to the living room, Dash and Maffett now helping the others as they cleaned up as he sorted the mail, casting the paper towards the breakfast bar where Maffett immediately started reading it. Two were from his and Maffett’s respective parents while the third was one he’d been waiting for. The writing style of the letter was so overly joined up, curly and ornate it was difficult to read for most ponies, but Concorde was already familiar with it as it belonged to his long time pen pal Octavia. “Tavi have anything to say?” Maffett asked, having recognised the writing. “Sadly she can’t make the first race as she’s got several shows lined up but she says she’ll try and get a table at the last show of the run reserved for us on the Wednesday after Cloudsdale.” “Where’s she playing?” “Union Chapel, which’ll be a break from all those concert halls.” “Who’s that?” Dash found herself asking. “Octavia Melody. I’ve been pen pals with her for a while after we met when our respective parents had obsessions with getting us high class partners. She’s the only one I could stand for any length of time, the rest were your typical toff with no chin slagging off the working classes at every moment.” Concorde told Dash, though she had no idea what a toff was. “She’s a real trivia nut and surprisingly witty.” “Oh Corde, you should see this!” Maffett suddenly laughed, turning the paper she was reading around. It was an interview with one of the current ECRL racers and Concorde’s former rival Wolke Schwade, part of which read: Q: You’ll be racing with established flyers such as Ekstrom, Rossi, Power Drive and reigning champion Mercedes. How do you feel to be racing against flyers of such high calibre? Wolke: I’m genuinely excited, though I suppose you want to know if I’m worried, to which I’d say I’m not that worried about the competition. Q: Is there any opponent who ‘worries’ you? Wolke: Well, maybe worry is the wrong word, but before coming to the ECRL I used to go to Windy Valley for both challenge of both the track and the competition, one especially called Concorde Cayley whom I’m disappointed I’m not racing against in the league. “Oh, Mère enfer saut p*****!” Concorde muttered through gritted teeth, turning away and hiding his face in his hooves to everypony’s surprise. “The journalists are going to be on my like a pack of freaking dogs tomorrow at the team reveal.” “You’re scared of the media?” Dash asked, both taken aback and amused at his outburst as well as the idea something so trivia would bother him. “I’m not scared of them, I just don’t like the spotlight and the bloody thing’s gonna come straight for me now.” “It’s quite ironic you want to be a racer, which would put you directly it.” Maffett remarked. “I know, guess I can tolerate them so long as they don’t start chasing me around away from the tracks. I’d much rather there weren’t headlines on every paper and news program and what I like to drink or wear. I actually have talent after all.” “That opinion would definitely make headlines.” “Racer mocks Equestria’s Got Talent entrees.” Dash added. “He says little fillies who have worked so hard to audition and lost so much are worthless.” “I didn’t say that.” He replied, not exactly thrilled but interested in seeing how far Dash could take this imaginary newspaper article, which he’d certainly do if their present positions were swapped. “He says even he can create better music with a pair of spoons.” “Now you’re making me feel hungry. Time to dig out the takeaway menus.”