//------------------------------// // Best Lines in All of Equestria // Story: Return of the Red Hawks // by WildFire15 //------------------------------// Concorde returned home with his father later that afternoon. He had been reluctant to at first, but he didn’t want to abuse the Maffett family’s hospitality. He decided he’d avoid his mother for the time being, which turned out to be easy as she was currently exclusively inhabiting the kitchen for some reason. Before getting back however, his father had told him never to refer to his mother as ‘that damned mare’ ever again. Apparently there were plenty of things he didn’t know about his mother but he frankly didn’t care at the moment, though he agreed not to call her that again. He pushed his bedroom door open, contemplating exactly what to do at the audition the next day before something caught his eye as he entered. He looked up, surprised to be looking straight at his reflection in the mirror. He looked around and for a moment thought he’d walked into the wrong room. The entire room was tidy for probably the first time in years. Clothes that had been casually discarded had been put away, books and LPs were stacked orderly on shelves and the smell of cleaning chemicals still hung in the air. The bed had been carefully made too, but the item currently on top of it made Concorde’s eyes widen with surprise. To most ponies it was a brand new crimson guitar. However, Concorde knew it was a Flanker Classic, a six string guitar as used by some of his favourite performers. As much as he loved his first guitar, he’d always wanted a Flanker Classic though he suspected his old guitar was still hidden under the mess that existed under his bed (though a quick check revealed even that beast had been tamed and organized). He regarded the shining new guitar for a moment, a feeling of anger starting to worm its way back into his mind brought on by the feeling somepony was attempting to buy him. He knew his dad hadn’t bought it as he usually gave gifts in pony and he doubted he was currently in a gifting mood. Between this and the cleaning, it was obvious who had. Concorde considered what to do, the idea of simply throwing it out of the window at the back of his mind like an aspiring young actor with a background roll in a play trying to garner attention. Maybe he should just play it, see if it did sound as good as it had in the hooves of the likes of Flank Zappa and Eric Clopton. But then if he played it, surely he was giving in to some faceless force that was attempting to bribe him. He cast aside that ridiculous thought, picked up the guitar and sat on the edge of the bed. Once comfortable in the slightly awkward position he ran his hoof across the strings. The sound was every bit as good as he expected it to be, even if it wasn’t tuned. Excitedly, he jumped off the bed and went in search of an old book that he had learnt how to play the guitar from, finding it after about twenty minutes of searching through the newly organized shelves and throwing it open to one of the few pieces he could actually play. His aspirations when it came to playing the guitar far outstretched his actual abilities and looking through the simple tunes gave him a better idea. He started searching through his record collection, piling up LPs on the desk where they’d previously lived as he looked for one particular record by one of his favourite bands. He found it eventually. A limited edition copy of Rutherford and the Dockers greatest song: Word of Mouth. Few songs started with such an awesome guitar riff and he’d always wanted to play it on a Flanker Classic and now was his chance. He slipped the music sheet included in the limited edition out of the sleeve and put it on top of the pile of records on his desk before retrieving the guitar and started playing. Concorde lost himself in the music, bad as it was. Any passing observer would comment that the noise was roughly akin to somepony attempting to floss a Hydra’s teeth with the strings and Bristol said as much when he decided that his son’s terrible guitar playing after 1am was too much. Concorde placed the Flanker Classic on the stand that he had originally been given for his first guitar by his grandmother, probably the only pony who liked listening to him play. It reminded Concorde of his old guitar, which he pulled out from under the bed. His father’s parents were the next closed family he had, what with his mother’s parents living over 1,000 miles away in Maneaco and he hadn’t felt so heartbroken as when they died. They were a stubborn pair who, the sort who sword instead of using punctuation and were more ‘characters’ then rude. His Grandfather and grandmother had worked as a docker and a bar maid respectively and didn’t have a whole lot of money. They also always resisted their son’s attempts to give them any. However, they had insisted on buying their only grandchild an instrument of some description and eventually settled on a basic wooden guitar. It was dented, grimy and missing a string, but in the traditional hunt for a foal’s special talents their effort felt all the more powerful. Concorde stood the old guitar against the new one and gazed at them for a while. Was something testing him, putting something he’d always wanted next to something that meant something to him? Did this new guitar really say what his mother wanted to say but couldn’t bring herself to say it to his face? Did these two guitars really represent a change in the wind? Was there really such a f***ing complicated explanation for it all?! Annoyed and confused as to where this train of thought was going, Concorde turned to and flopped down on the bed before wriggling into a more comfortable position. He regarded the ceiling for a while, mulling over his thoughts. It didn’t seem to matter. Even with his anger he knew one thing as a concrete fact: despite his mother’s actions, he couldn’t bring himself to hate her. ********************************************************************************** Complicated thought and attempting to sleep never went hoof in hoof and Concorde left the house the next morning after only four hours of sleep and another four dozing. According to the advert the audition started an hour ago, so Concorde decided not to rush as he’d still be at the end of a long queue. He walked down the familiar cobbled streets of the main residential area of the northern side of the town. The terrace houses that flanked either side of the narrow street hung over him with their upper floors bigger than their ground floors. The stone houses with their wooden frames that could be seen under the paint had an old fashion charm to them, along with a claustrophobic feel and were quite familiar to him as his grandparents had lived in such a house. When he was younger and went to visit them with his father, Bristol would point out recently repaired roofs and claim they were as a result of his early glider attempts and less then successful landings. He was soon distracted from his thoughts when he noticed the end of a line of ponies ahead. He was at least 10 minutes walk from the Town Hall where the audition was taking place, so this must be for something else. What exactly he didn’t know. “What’s going on?” He asked the Pegasus at the end of the line. “I’m surprised you don’t know.” The mare replied, her accent suggesting she had recently arrived from Cloudsdale. “Oh I know I’m just randomly quizzing you on local events.” Concorde replied with the first thing that came to mind, smiling cheekily to let her know he was joking. “So what is going on?” “Red Hawks audition.” “Seriously?!” Concorde exclaimed, leaning around the Pegasus to see the queue stretching down the street. “I didn’t think this many ponies would turn up.” “Neither did I. Guess we’ll be here for a while. I’m April Showers, by the way.” She added with a smile, offering her hoof. “Concorde.” He replied, shaking her hoof. “You here as a Weather Controller?” “Yeah. I only started 2 weeks ago.” “Well in that case, welcome to Whitbay. How you finding it here?” “Windy and cramped.” April Showers smiled as the whole line squeezed up against the houses to let a cart full of imported goods through. This particular street was frequently used to transport goods from the docks to the train station and the cobbles were well worn from the cart wheels. “Do you do Weather Control too?” April asked. “Actually no. I just do part time work for the local orchard.” Concorde said with a meek smile, realizing how much he didn’t like the sound of it. “You thought you’d try your luck with this?” “I don’t need luck.” Concorde grinned, a grin that became fairly awkward when he realized he’d sounded a lot cockier then he’d intended. April seemed to realize and just giggled. “Hi Corde!” Came the voice of a familiar unicorn as she trotted up the lane towards them, levitating several cups of steaming tea. She looked pleased to see him. “Maff! You’ve finally escaped the clutches of the Weather Control Offices?” Concorde grinned at her. “Actually, I agreed to show a few fresh faces around town.” She smiled, giving the cups out to April Showers and two other Pegasi in front of her in the queue, whom Concorde hadn’t realized were listening to his and April’s conversation. “You poor souls.” Concorde smiled at them. Seeing as they smiled at his remark as well, Concorde guessed they were from Cloudsdale as well. However, seeing Maffett reminded him of something. “Maff, could I have a quick word in private?” Maffett looked surprised for a moment before smiling. “Sure.” She said before Concorde led her away from the queue, April calling after them that she’d save their space. Once they were out of ear shot, Concorde turned and spoke. “Maffett, ‘bout the last couple days. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry.” Maffett leaned her head to the side a bit. “It’s ok Corde. I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I left you outside.” “Thanks, but I know I was a hassle and I’m sorry.” “Don’t worry about it, mate.” She smiled. “Did your mum say anything when you got back?” “Nah, she hid in the kitchen, though I found a guitar she bought on my bed.” “She bought you a new guitar?” “Yep. Flanker Classic 6 string.” “Has it magically made you able to play?” Maffett smirked, to which Concorde frowned. “I can make that lump of wood and metal sing, lass!” “Yeah, like a drunk teenager at karaoke.” “Well I’ve improved at least.” Concorde grinned. “Last time you said me on guitar was like having a rusty razor scrapped along your ear drum.” “That’s true. Come on, I need to keep an eye on the others.” ********************************************************************************** Bristol tightened the last bolt holding the newly rebuilt Magic Engine to the back of a Powered Glider. At a glance, it looked like a rowing boat with wings and wheels attached as well as the engine with a large propeller attached to it, but it was a competent machine once airborne and always surprised ponies. The original design was thrown together when he was a colt and foolishly chasing the heart of a Maneaco Pegasus who attended a nearby private school. Since then, he’d married said Pegasus and he’d been building these gliders for the rich and famous of Equestria. Thankfully, unlike the charred mess of the Hydraulic Drinks Server that sat a workbench near the door into the rest of the house, these Powered Gliders were functionally perfect and almost never broke down. Admittedly, he was bored of the design. However seeing as so many ponies were willing to pay for them he kept building them. He put his weight against the engine and gave it a push to make sure the bolts were secure and the whole glider rocked, taking one of his new apprentices by surprise. “Sorry ‘Foil.” He smiled at the filly, Aerofoil. As the engine was secure, he gave Aerofoil a quick job. “Could you open the main doors please, then could you help finish polishing the Chocolate Sun order?” “Yes sir!” She nodded and quickly trotted to the ropes that operated the main door that pointed out over the back garden. “Thank you ‘Foil. Géne?” Bristol turned and called across the workshop to his faithful test pilot. The Neighvarre born unicorn trotted over from where he’d been filling in a short report on a test flight he’d just finished. As most of the Powered Gliders controls were designed to be directly manipulated by unicorn magic (though Bristol did have a solution for Earth Ponies), hiring a unicorn test pilot had been his best choice. “Does this one need testing too?” He asked, his original accent long gone. “It does. Fly it out to the Manx Isle and back. Should be enough to determine if the engine modifications work.” “Ok, I’ll just finish this report on the Mach 5 and get to it.” “Good. Foil’s getting the main doors open so you can get out. I need to go and have a talk with the wife.” “Is she ok?” Bristol paused for a moment. He trusted Géne enough to tell him a lot of things he didn’t tell any other pony and had already filled him in on the situation between Paris and Concorde. “I knew this day would come eventually, Géne. I just hope she finally sees reason and stops trying to make Concorde something he isn’t.” Géne just nodded, understanding what he meant before returning to his report. Bristol looked over at Foil as she finished pulling the main doors open and tied the rope so it would stay open. He nodded at her as she trotted past to help finish preparing the latest finished order, which was going to be delivered the next day. Bristol went through the side door and into the house, accidently knocking the workshop door over. He’d neglected to replace it since he’d blown it off on Sunday and had left it leaning against the door frame. He quickly stood it back up before heading to the kitchen. Paris spent most of her time in the kitchen, experimenting with ingredients and writing recipe books. However, since arguing with Concorde at the police station, she’d hardly left the kitchen or dining room since she’d bought him that guitar. She seemed aware of her husband approaching as she tried to pretend to be busy. “Unlike you Pudding, I’m not known for my prowess in the kitchen,” Bristol remarked after a moment, leaning against the kitchen door frame “but I’m pretty certain you can’t make tea with a sieve.” Paris froze for a moment before dropping the sieve which contained several slightly charred teabags and slumped to the floor. Bristol was more familiar with his wife being depressed then he liked. He walked over to her, turning off the hob before sitting down next to her, put his fore leg around her and pulling her into a hug. “I’m losing him.” She quietly blubbered into her husband’s shoulder. “Pudding, I did warn you this was going to happen eventually.” “You did not know this would happen.” “No. I just expected something to happen.” Paris pushed herself out of his embrace, got up and walked over to the window, not in the mood to go through this again. “I am sometimes surprised you take such a... a....” She stopped, searching for the right word “urgh, what’s the word?” “Not much point asking me.” Bristol shrugged once he had stood up. “Urgh, you don’t take much interest, even after you almost bankrupted yourself for him.” “Oh course I do, I’d just rather he did something he wanted to do.” “But if he keeps going the way he is he’ll end up killing himself.” “Now that’s something you don’t know for certain. We went through a lot in order to have him in the first place; you really should let him be who he is.” “But from the way he is going, he will and I won’t let that happen!” “So you’d rather see him in jail?” “No, of course I don’t.” “Then why did you get that restraining order put on him?” Bristol’s asked angrily. He was just as angry as Concorde about the order, but he knew the answer already. Paris didn’t respond, instead dropping her head again. Bristol sighed and walked over to her, lifting her face up with his hoof and gazing into her eyes as a single tear made its way down her face. “He’s our only son, Pudding.” He said softly “You should love him for who he is.” She gazed back into his eyes for a moment before leaned forwards and resting her head against Bristol’s shoulder. He pulled her in and hugged her tightly, vaguely aware of the engine noise from outside as Géne took off. “Out of curiosity though,” Bristol asked after a long moment “How did you get that order?” “The Police Chief was having trouble with his marriage and he agreed to make the order if I helped him.”