//------------------------------// // The Apparent Trap (Sisterhooves Social) // Story: Scootaloo Dies a Bunch // by alexmagnet //------------------------------// “So she tells me her mess isn’t actually a mess!” squeaked Sweetie Belle. “Just because she made it in her house, suddenly it’s a gift from Xochiquétzal and I’m a terrible pony for trying to help her clean it up!” Scootaloo clicks her tongue. “Lucky.” Sweetie rose up on Scootaloo’s bed, her eyes narrowed. “What’s your problem? How come I have to sit there and listen to you trash talk Rarity on any given day, but when I come to you for some support, you’re too good to hear a word against her?” Not looking up, Scootaloo glared at her newly finished masterwork: a green crayon Rainbow Dash so aerodynamic she didn’t even need wings or a cutie mark. “Don’t get me wrong—I hate her guts. Today, though, I’m just not in the mood to talk about sisters.” “Oh.” Sweetie Belle retrieved a flier from one of her biological mystery pockets. “Sisterhooves Social?” Scootaloo growled, leaping up to snatch the flier from Sweetie’s hooves. In an instant, it was a pile of torn scraps on the carpet. Sweetie Belle backed further up the bed. “Geez, okay! What the Social ever do to you? Bring your parents back to life?” Kicking the shredded flier over to her wastebin—stuffed to the brim already with a number of prettily wrapped boxes—Scootaloo said, “It’s a double whammy of terrible. On top of the fact that it’s just another reminder that I’m not related to Rainbow Dash, every other year it falls on my birthday, which nopony ever remembers!” Sweetie frowned. “You know I’m usually there for you when you’re doing something dumb like this, but today, I really need an ear to complain to.” She got up and headed to the door. “I’m going to see if Apple Bloom is free. As for you… Why not see if Rainbow will go to the Social with you? I don’t think the officials actually care about that sort of thing.” Scootaloo’s eyes widened, and she dashed to the pile of flier. Rainbow sat at an open-air café, leaning her forehooves over her table. Her eyes shot over to the café doors expectantly at least once every other second. She barely registered the screech of tiny tires in the nearby street. She definitely registered the bump at her side a few moments later. She turned. “Oh!” said that orange one. “How incredibly clumsy of me. I’m very sorry that I bumped into you.” Rainbow brought her gaze back to the doors. “My oh my, what is this between us? It must have fallen from my—somepony’s pocket!” There was a rustling of paper and tape, but Rainbow thought it best to snore. She didn’t put her head down or anything—snoring generally did the trick. “Aw, not again…” The waiter delicately dropped the plated sassafras sandwich down on the table, and Rainbow reached for it greedily. Taking long, savoring bites, she made sure to get her bits’ worth. Finished, she looked about for a napkin. On her plate was a packet of official-looking papers with terms like “surrogate” and “guardian” and “lawful child”, completely filled out but for a signature line. These would do. Rainbow pushed up from her table and the crumpled, dressing-stained mass of napkin substitutes atop it. Taking to the sky, she wondered briefly about the very emotional-sounding hedge nearby, but thought little of it as she made her way towards the Ponyville Youth Home. Scootaloo not so much walked as flopped along the road towards her house. Next year, she thought, I don’t even leave the house. A sudden gust and a fwump noise hit her from behind. “Hey, kid. I was wondering if you wanted to get in on that Sisterhooves race with me.” Scootaloo gasped the gasp of a pony with far larger lungs, before turning to Rainbow Dash, saying, “You wanna do the relay race with m—” She fell into fits of coughing. “Yeah,” said Rainbow, “that’s right. The orphans I usually use are off on some field trip or something, and I—” “I’ll do it!” shouted Scootaloo. “I’ll be your orphan! This is the best birthday ever!” Rainbow shook her head. “Nah, my birthday’s not for another three months. Happy you’re stoked about it, though. C’mon, race’ll be starting soon.” “On yer mark,” called the elderly rasp of Granny Smith. Scootaloo reveled in the tension. That sweet feeling in her hooves, her wings. They were about to break free. “Git set.” Her senses were sharpening. Slices of sight and sound and thought were falling away—all things that were not the racetrack, and the crowd, and the blue figure poised next to her. A curious squelch, and then, “GooOOoOOOoo!” Lightning cracked to Scootaloo’s side, and—lost amidst the deafness—she found herself sailing through the air. There was a glimpse of a blue blur zooming past the relays before her world was mud. Interestingly deep mud. And she couldn’t seem to move her hooves. Rainbow exploded past the finish line. “Woo! Fourth year in a row!” The referee, a practiced smile on his face, retrieved a rainbow-decorated ribbon from next to the first place ribbon. He presented it to Rainbow, waving as she flew off chanting victory.