//------------------------------// // Cloudsdale's Nice This Time of Year // Story: Blueblood's Ascension Part III; or, Even Alicorns Have Dreams // by MyHobby //------------------------------// Lightning Dust, Alicorn Princess of Flight, stretched her wings, letting the sunlight shine through her feathers. It was a bright day in Canterlot, with only a couple of clouds floating here and there. She looked down from the rooftop she was perched on. “I saw that, Artful!” A colt in a large coat and a busted stovepipe hat glared up. He stepped away from a pair of saddlebags lying on the ground. “Oi didn’ touch nothin’!” “I don’t believe you for a second.” Lightning Dust pointed her wingtip at a nearby alicorn filly. “Ember, frisk him.” Ember rolled her eyes and prodded Artful Dodger with her hooves. “If you were nae soo grabby all the tiem, she wouldnae care a whit.” Artful shrunk back. “Gerroff! You’re in my personal space!” Amber, an orangey earth pony filly, stuck her head out of the ramshackle building’s doorway. “What’d Artful steal now?” “That’s what I be aimin’ to find oot.” Ember squinted as she pulled a bag of bits out of Artful’s coat pocket. “No surprise there.” “Those bits’re mine,” Artful said. Ember turned the bag, revealing the symbol of a lightning bolt striking the ground. Artful fell silent. Lightning Dust landed between them and grabbed the bag. “You know I need these to travel.” “Maybe oi don’t want you to go.” Artful stomped a hoof. “Maybe oi don’t want you to abandon us again.” “I’m not—” Lightning Dust covered her face with a hoof. She wrapped her foreleg around Ember’s neck. “Come here, Artful. You, too, Amber.” Amber trotted up and wrapped her forelegs around Lightning’s middle. Artful grumbled a bit before joining the group hug. “You know as well as I do that this Wonderbolts thing could solve all our problems,” Lightning said. “Yeah,” Artful Dodger mumbled. “That’s what you said a year ago. And that’s what we thought when Ember ascended.” “Can it, doofus.” Lightning squeezed his neck a little tighter than was necessary. “I’ll just sweet talk the captains and we’ll be back in business. Piece of cake.” Artful pulled away. “Fine. Have your likkle play-date with destiny. We’ll be here, scroungin’ about like usual.” Lightning Dust frowned as she turned to Ember and Amber. “You two behave, okay?” “I’ll be as peaceable a filly as ye could expect,” Ember said. She fluttered her wings and tapped her horn. “Lessons with the princess are going to start soon.” Lightning Dust ruffled Ember’s mane. “You tell Celestia I said ‘Kiss a donkey’s butt,’ okay, squirt?” “I think I’ll keep that to meself.” Ember grinned and gave her a nuzzle. “Stay safe. For everypony.” “Yeah, yeah…” Lightning Dust bit her lip. “Yeah, I’ll be safe.” “Don’t forget to eat your greens!” Amber said. “I’ll eat so many greens they’ll have to call me Spinach Dust!” Lightning Dust strapped her saddlebags onto her back and took to the sky. “See you guys in a couple months!” “If promises was primroses,” Artful Dodger said, “oi’d be eatin’ good.” Lightning Dust stuck her tongue out at the colt. She flew off through the clouds, towards the city in the sky: Cloudsdale. She was followed by a certain darkness. Soarin, Prince of the Storm and Co-Captain of the Wonderbolts, scribbled his way across a sheet of names. They were new recruits for the Wonderbolt academy, each and every one of them exceptional in some way. He tapped the quill against his lips. His horn sparked as his telekinetic grip faltered. The pen tumbled onto the paper and smudged several names. He blinked. “Maybe I should practice magic a little more before writing important documents.” “Gee, you think?” Spitfire, Co-Captain of the Wonderbolts and Still Very Much a Pegasus, walked into his office. She buttoned up her dress uniform as she glanced at his ink-stained desk. “Need me to fetch another copy?” “Not really.” Soarin tapped his hooves together. “I’ve already sort of made my selection.” Spitfire flicked an ear. “You decided to let Lightning Dust join the academy, didn’t you?” Soarin sat back. “Yep.” “That might be a bad idea.” Spitfire brushed her mane back, snorting as one lock in particular refused to stay put. “You heard about her accident last time. She almost Humpty Dumpty-ed five national heroes!” “And yet,” Soarin said, “here lies a letter of recommendation from Princess Celestia herself.” “You twisting my jet stream?” Spitfire jumped through the air and landed on his desk. She pulled out one of the less ink-stained sheets of paper. “Wow. How did she rate—?” “Your guess is as good as mine.” Soarin shrugged. “She is a princess. She had to have done something amazing to ascend.” “Oh whatever,” Spitfire said. “Half of these new princes and princesses are just dummies who got lucky.” Spitfire squinted out of the corner of her eye. “Present company excepted, of course.” Soarin smirked. “If fighting off a horde of changelings was the requirement for ascending, I’d be the only alicorn prince in Equestria.” “Eh, I heard Blueblood did that, too.” Spitfire grinned. “Maybe you’re not so special.” Soarin leaned on his desk. “Maybe it was the way I caught that falling orphanage Supermare-style.” “Yeah, you big showoff.” Spitfire was about to walk out of the office when she caught Soarin frowning at something on his desk. “Why the long face?” Soarin picked up a picture frame that had absolutely no ink stains on it. He turned it around, revealing the image of a gray-coated, blonde-manes alicorn mare alongside a light-pink unicorn filly. He gave her a half-smile. “Not long. Just lone.” Spitfire lidded her eyes. “I’m sure we could find some way to let your girlfriend stay on the campus if she wanted.” “Yeah, Derpy would be fine.” Soarin shrugged. “But Dinky? Even Princess Twilight couldn’t cast a spell to keep her cloudwalking twenty-four seven.” Spitfire let a smirk cross her face. “Or we could make Ponyville the new headquarters for the Wonderbolts.” “Oh yeah,” Soarin said. “The pegasi around here would love that.” Spitfire chuckled. “I’ll bet Rainbow Dash would like it.” “Sounds like something she’d do.” Soarin stood up and stretched his wings. “You ready to play ‘Sarge’ again this year?” “No.” Spitfire clomped a hoof on his desk. “You’re keeping the recruits in line this time. We drew straws and everything!” Soarin shook his head. “Has Fleetfoot ever lead a training academy before?” “No, and I’m not sure I’d trust her,” Spitfire said. They walked together through the white hallways of the Cloudsdale Coliseum. “She’s a little flighty.” “Aren’t we all?” Soarin paused mid-step as a young colt fluttered up to him. “Captain Soarin?” The colt looked at a sheet he held in his hooves. “Er. Prince Soarin?” “Both are technically correct,” Soarin said. “What’s up?” “There’s a Lightning Dust here to see you,” the colt said. “She’s waiting in the lobby. She says it’s something important.” Spitfire tilted her head. “You want me to handle her?” “Naw.” Soarin jumped into the air and flapped his wings. “I guess I get to give her the good news myself.” He flew through the coliseum hallways, a subtle shadow billowing in his wake.