//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2 
// Story: Unstoppable 
// by Snaproll 
//------------------------------//

Gradually, as the miles and time wore on, the healthy adrenaline glow began to fade. In its place was the burn of muscle exertion and a bit of mental fatigue. The evasive maneuvers and extra speed had taken more out of me than I'd expected. Plus, and this was new to me, but the terror if being nearly barbecued alive turned out to be more physically draining than I'd have thought. I wasn't in any danger of falling off of my route, mind you. For a mail pony, you didn't miss your delivery. It just wasn't done. Even if my wings would fail, my pride would have kept me in the air long enough to get my mail where it was supposed to go. So, I gritted my teeth, ignored the burn, and fell into the steady rhythm of my beating wings and easy breathing. I forced the mystery of my attack to the back of my mind as the miles melted away below me until I could properly deal with everything. 

As I flew higher and closer to Cloudsdale, a deep sense of civic pride welled up inside of me. 

You know, alongside my normal pride. 

In this case, though, you can't say it's entirely unjustified. I mean, we create most of the weather in Equestria here. Watching columns of rainclouds, rainbows, thunderstorms and streams of wind march across the sky from the airborne metropolis, shepherded by watchful weather pegasi is one of the most awe inspiring sights of Equestria. And the town itself is nothing to sneeze at either. Taller rather than wider, the city consisted of graceful cloud spires and columns that towered above the cumulus base of the city. Here and there, pegasi flew between towers and around the perimeter of the city. A few of these would be sky wardens, keeping an eye out for other pegasi that fell, but most would be bustling to and fro, fueling the city's industry for weather manufacturing. 

Not to mention mail carrying. 

The main hub for the Equestria Royal Mail in Cloudsdale was a long, squat bulge almost at the bottom north-west corner of Cloudsdale, built into the very foundation of the city. Every day, thousands of letters, packages, parcels, and missives made their way here and then back out again. Due to the fact that it was the main hub for the aerial Royal Mail, Canterlot boasted arguably the busiest mail center in Equestria, with the possible exception of the Canterlot office.  One of the older mail ponies said that this is one of the first buildings in Cloudsdale, and that the rest of the city was built around this mail way-station. 

Then again,  this was the same mail pony who told me that it was perfectly in line with Royal Mail regulations to have a pint of cider before you began a run, so take that with a grain of salt. 

The memory of my near escape from the dragons still fresh in my mind, I decided to make a grand entrance. I did a quick check of my uniform, surreptitiously checking to see if there were any  burns to help corroborate my story. Nothing but a few singe marks. Well, I was just that darn good. I was ambushed by three dragons and came away without a scorch mark. If that wouldn't get Tequila Sunrise to go out with me, I didn't know what would. 

I glided into a landing at the ground floor and luckily saw a pair of older hooves sorting through a few of the freshly arrived parcels. Rubberstamp and Postage Due were an institution here, almost as old as the mail center itself and inveterate gossips. As I approached, I saw Rubberstamp nudge Postage and nod in my direction, and then he raised his voice in greeting. 

"So, what's the story this time, Snaproll? You run Ghastly Gorge blindfolded this time?" 

Postage Due picked up the cue as she winked back at him. "I don't know, Stampy." She rolled her eyes. "I bet he tried to outrun a timberwolf on foot." 

"Or maybe he picked a fight with a dragon." 

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. I may have a habit of embellishing some of my stories. Grandpa Barrel Roll always used to say "Don't let the truth get in the way of a good story, sonny."

Come to think of it, he also used to tell me not to ride a unicycle in the bathtub without my helmet. Grandpa Barrel Roll's advice tended to vary in terms of utility, if not in entertainment value. 

Anyway! Yes, this one's all true. And here I was getting robbed of some well deserved (this time) bragging by something as trivial as my reputation for being a bit of a braggart. And, more to the point, I was pretty tired out. I'd been lucky to escape from that ambush with my life, packages, and most of my uniform none the worse for wear other than a few scorch marks. I needed a hot meal, shower, and about 12 hours of sleep in that order. A wave of fatigue rolled over me as I tucked my wings in and I realized that I had other things to get done before all that. 

I ignored their comments. Any other day I'd have a good natured bicker with them about the veracity of my stories, but I just wasn't in the mood."Have either of you guys seen Paper Pusher? I've got to talk to him about a new uniform requisition."  

Rubberstamp arched an eyebrow at that. "Up on the sortin' level kid, but why do you-" his eyes narrowed as he took in the singe marks on my uniform and mail satchel. "I....was just kidding about the dragon, you know." 

I nodded "I know you were Stamp,  thanks." I wearily trotted off towards the sorting room, then thought better of it. I turned around to look back at them in the doorway. "And it wasn't one dragon. It was three."  

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Paper Pusher was about twice as old as Rubberstamp and Postage Due combined. But he was the guy that you went to if you needed something quick, because he could cut through all the red tape. Though, according to the rumors, that was probably because he'd had an on-again-off-again relationship with Red Tape, the geriatric mare in procurement. While it was a topic of speculation in the employee breakrooms, I was like many of the younger mail-ponies and believed that it was best left to the imagination. 

But I digress. I liked Paper Pusher because he was one of the invaluable ponies to any organization who knows where everything is and how everything works. When I was new to the job, he'd taken me under his wing and showed me about three-quarters of the shortcuts necessary to get through work at the Royal Mail and maintain your sanity. Consequently, I had a great deal of respect for him.  He was a pony who wore many hats. 

Today, one of those hats involved taking down Extraneous Action reports while filling out requisition forms. No stranger to odd situations, he filled out the forms quickly in his office while I stood by his desk.  

"So....how many dragons was it again?" 

"Three, sir." 

"And they got the drop on you, did they?" 

"You could say that again, sir." 

He glanced up at me. "You don't have to call me 'sir', young'un.We carry the mail. We work for a living." He winked and I felt myself grinning back at the old codger. "If you say so." A disturbing thought occurred to me just then. "Hey, you know if anypony else came back like this?" 

He sat back on his haunches at that. "You know, I think you're the first one who was due back." We both looked up towards the massive flip board at the end of the room showing what mail shipment was due in or when it was sent out, flipping between yellow for in transit, green for arrived, and red for delayed. Currently, only the inbound shipment from Ponyville showed in the green. There were shipments due in from Canterlot, Los Pegasus, Phillydelphia, Manehattan and the weekly shipment from Trottingham. As we watched, Canterlot, Los Pegasus, and Manahattan flipped over from yellow to green. A minute later, the one from Phillydelphia flipped over to green. 

Trottingham stayed resolutely yellow for another two minutes, and then flipped over to red. 

I glanced back down at Paper Pusher. "You know, I'm gonna check out the receiving room. I want to see what's going on down there." 

He waved a hoof idly at me. "Go ahead. I've got all I need here. Hopefully there's nothing major wrong down there." 

I nodded and headed down to the receiving station, trying to quell the rising sense of trepidation.