//------------------------------// // 38. Flight School - Revisited // Story: Soldier of the Night // by Skyfire Storm //------------------------------// The first flight exercise of that week was to take place roughly three miles outside the city limits, on a tall, rolling green hill overlooking much of the coastal metropolis and the none-too-distant bay further west beyond the downtown core. It was a beautiful, yet breezy morning in Vanhoover, temperatures in and around the city slowly rising to their midday peaks as cumulus clouds began piling up along the distant western horizon far beyond the city core, even though thunderstorms were not anticipated until Saturday. In other words, it was more than ideal weather for flight training; and for Storm, a chance to prove to his superiors just how valuable of an asset to the factory he is. Although he had become somewhat more anxious since the briefing, on the way up the hill Storm tried to desperately convince himself that this is something he is very much capable of, whatever it was that awaited him and the other trainees. His whole existence at Vanhoover was at stake, however little he was aware of it at that point. This was the week that would make, or break, his career as a weather pony - to succeed he needed to give it all it takes. A winding path flanked on both sides by thick pine forest led the trainees out of suburbia and through the hilly, densely forested fringes of Vanhoover, the distant city center fading in and out of view intermittently from behind the trees as the group worked their way up the sloping hill, passing tourists taking scenic photographs of the city; a mare accompanied by her husband pushing her foal up the hill in a stroller; a lone jogger trotting by listening to music blaring through his headset; and a few other ponies just going about with their day-to-day lives. Although the group was largely guided to the summit by a couple of wooden signs planted along the length of the path, the walk up was long and tedious; and for Storm, felt far longer than it probably was in reality, despite not being much of a distance to begin with. One part of him really wanted to fly the remaining mile or two, whereas another part of him felt like just staying put and walking the rest of the way; he wasn't really looking to get right into the swing of things just yet, and instead wanted to clear his mind of any doubts and concerns he may or may not have had at that very moment in time prior to beginning this stage of his training - he felt walking there instead of flying would help him do just that. There was also that other issue of Arrow himself, followed by Clear and a few other high-ranking weather ponies, trailing behind the team of trainees, probably watching their every move like a hawk stalking its prey from above; Storm could only imagine the amount of trouble he'd get into if he stepped out of line in any way, and so he opted to play it safe instead, just for good measure's sake. Eventually, the team arrived at the summit of the hill in what appeared to be a roughly rectangular clearing in the woodland along where the path cut through, perhaps deliberately done as such, sloping downhill and spanning at least a couple of hundred feet in length and roughly 20-25 feet in width, making for a decent impromptu runway to be used by the trainees later on. Dispersing upon arrival and positioning themselves in a line along the path, the team of trainees stood at attention, frozen in slight fear perhaps but also in fervent anticipation of what was to come, feelings which only amplified as their supervisors arrived at the scene. Standing at the far left of the line between two slightly smaller stallions positioned at either side of him, Storm - being the tallest stallion in the group - observed with some unease and uncertainty Arrow make his way down the line, his eyes skimming and scanning everypony in an attempt to weed out those whom he perceived to be the weaklings in the group in a physical sense, including Storm. "Alright, folks, welcome to the start of your flight training," Arrow suddenly paused roughly halfway along the group, backing up slightly and taking a good look at the group of ten or so ponies he'd taken under his wing for this flight lesson, with Clear and a few other high-ranking weather ponies whom Storm had never really seen before coming up to his side not long after. Much to his relief, however, Lilli was also present alongside Clear, giving him that trademark reassuring smile of hers which seemed to wash away any worries he might have had at that very moment in time. "I hope you're all mentally and physically prepared for what I have in store for you this week...because this week will be your last chance to prove yourselves to the weather factory. Now...I know that you were all probably expecting somepony else to be teaching you, but she's unfortunately not at work at this very moment in time...To my knowledge, she fell ill with the feather flu over the weekend, is that correct? Yeah? Well then, I guess you're all stuck with me, at least for the time being." "Alright folks," Clear suddenly chimed in, watching as the trainees stood at attention and inspecting them closely - especially Storm, whom she eyed with some concern evident in her gaze. "This part of the course, as you all may know by now, will allow us to make our final decision as a factory on who to take on board, if anypony at all; and as you can all probably imagine, this next week will get very competitive. If you get through this, you stay here and get to work as part of the Vanhoover weather team; if you don't, however...well, I'm sorry to say but we'll have to send you back to wherever it was you all came from. This isn't fun and games, remember that - Sergeant Arrow will report back to us about the progress you’re making, and he has quite a bit of leeway to pull you out of the course altogether if he feels you’re not putting in the effort." "That's reassuring," Storm deadpanned, murmuring something incomprehensible under his breath as his anxiety levels momentarily spiked and the prospect of failing the course altogether began to loom in his mind like some sort of dark, persistent thundercloud following his every move. Then again, what was the worst that could possibly happen? It was just a flight training course after all. It couldn't have been anything more than that, so what was he so worried about? "But anyway, I know for a fact that you’re all more than capable of passing this with good, if not full, grades," Clear stated, a gentle breeze whipping through her mane as she observed the group before her, a smile forming on her face. “Remember, a minimum pass of 75% is required for you to pass this course, but most ponies I've seen doing this course have managed to cross that threshold with ease. You all did a wonderful job throughout these past few weeks...and I’m impressed with all of you. Your resilience and the overall effort you put into this course have actually been quite surprising to all of us here at the weather factory, not just the higher-ranking staff; therefore, I wouldn't be surprised if a large majority of you make it through this final stage of the course, not just a select few. Remember folks, this week...will decide whether or not you get to stay on and work here, and if I were you I'd suggest you pay close attention to what Sergeant Arrow here has to say. I wish you all the best of luck, and I will see you all on Friday in the briefing room to announce your results." "Right," Arrow began, lips curling into a somewhat fiendish smirk as his eyes briefly skimmed across the line of trainees positioned in front of him, the weather ponies beginning to murmur amongst themselves as Clear and the other high-ranking weather ponies left, Lilli turning only briefly to give Storm an encouraging smile, which he returned. "As you all may have heard, I have every right to kick your sorry flanks off this course if I believe you're not performing to my expectations...and believe me, my expectations are pretty high, much higher in fact than a lot of the staff here, so take that as a warning. No matter what Clear says, to me you're all pretty much expendable - I wouldn't give two shits if you all were sent home at once; the less work I have to do here, the better. I'm no drill sergeant, and I'm only doing this as a favor for a...friend." Clear's his friend? Storm thought to himself, a million different possibilities and questions rushing through his mind at once based on their contrasting natures and personalities. Seems like a...strange friendship to me. "Sir?" a hoof suddenly shot up from the line, catching Arrow's attention almost immediately. "Yes?" Arrow furrowed his brow at the weather pony who raised his hoof, a light-green colored stallion who didn't have much of a build by the looks of it. "Name?" "Fielder," the green Pegasus responded, continually standing at attention, and perhaps even shivering somewhat in presumed anticipation of unintentionally angering Arrow even slightly. "Aren't you an air-pony by any chance? If so, doesn't that mean that you can be a drill instructor as well?" "Yes, I am," Arrow chuckled in response, tone lowering markedly and becoming somewhat more conversational. "I served three tours of the Griffon Empire as part of the Air Force, but my military service doesn't necessarily mean that I'm automatically qualified to be a drill sergeant--" "But don't you feel like one now?" "Perhaps," Arrow smirked, gaze encompassing the whole group. "My main purpose here is to keep you all in line - no pun intended - and make sure you all perform to the best of your individual abilities...so yeah, I guess I kinda am a drill sergeant in a way, even though I have no experience as such." "Have you ever trained anypony?" asked a pink mare with a cherry-colored mane, standing to Storm's left. "Name?" "Sun Breeze, sir." "Well, yes, I have," Arrow replied. "Although not as part of the Air Force. I used to be a flight coach at a local high school here in Vanhoover before I enlisted, in fact, hence why I see myself as a rather..knowledgeable authority on all things flight, as Clear puts it." "When did you join up?" Storm piped up all of a sudden, his curiosity about Arrow having gotten the better of him. "And what was it that initially made you want to enlist?" "Name?" "Stormfire, sir." "I don't know, it's hard to say for sure," Arrow shrugged his shoulders, briefly glancing down at his watch before looking back up at the group. "I enlisted back in the eighties, and I guess what made me want to enlist was the fact that my flight skills were some of the best in the entire county - I've been flying since I was six or seven, and I've won many flight races and competitions in my prime. That, and just the fact that I was young then, I was looking for adventure. I originally intended to be a wingman, flying alongside aircraft and making sure they land properly, but once I learned about the war, I rushed to enlist in a more action-packed position, so to speak. That war isn't something I like to talk about though. I've been through a lot, to say the least, so it's probably best we don't continue this conversation..or at least save it for some other time. Right, does anypony have any other questions?" No response came, not even from Storm and some of the other, more enthusiastic members of the group. "Perfect," Arrow grinned, turning his gaze towards the distant horizon briefly before pulling a stopwatch out of his flight suit. "How many of you is there? Ten? Alright, before we start this course off I would like you all to show me what you are capable of doing. I want to know how fast you can all fly from the top of this hill to the end of our makeshift runway here, and back again. Rest assured, I won't grade you on this or anything like that - I just want to know how fast you all can fly. So, who'd like to go first?" A lone hoof shot up from the crowd, the collective gaze of the group quickly focusing on a mint green-colored stallion of average build standing almost half a foot shorter than Storm. "Name?" "Buck, sir," the stallion stood at attention, before slowly treading towards the sloping hillside on cue, his eyes set on the distant horizon. "Alright, Buck," Arrow arrived at his side shortly thereafter, curling his hoof around the stopwatch he held in his grasp. "Like I said, all you'll be doing is just flying from up here to the end of the runway and back again, only at the same angle as the slope. Can you do that?" "Yes sir," Buck responded - a cool gust billowing through his mane briefly - with an accent somewhat similar to Storm's Midwestern tinge. Another transfer, perhaps from somewhere close to home, Storm mused as he watched the stallion arrive at the edge of the summit, staring down the hillside whilst unfolding his wings and outstretching them to their full size. I'd have to ask him where he's from whenever I get the chance. "Just out of curiosity, how long is this runway?" "1,673 feet, last I checked," Arrow responded, glancing down at his stopwatch for a brief moment. "Did you...measure it out yourself?" "You really think I would do that?" Arrow grimaced somewhat, presumably unable to tell whether or not Buck was joking. "No, I was told its length before." "Ah." "So, you ready?" "Yes sir," Buck nodded, grinning slightly in affirmation as he looked at the distant city and began flapping his wings. "On your marks." "Three." "Two." "One." What initially began as a light trot soon turned into a full-on run as Buck made his way down the runway, pulling off the ground and gliding down the runway around a quarter of the way down, at which point he still remained visible to much of the group albeit not for very long. He soon disappeared from Storm's field of view, the dense collections of coniferous pines which fringed the runway cutting off his view of Buck almost instantaneously. About twenty seconds or so later, however, Buck re-emerged in Storm's peripheral vision, grinding to a momentary halt in mid-air perhaps fifty-sixty feet above the group before nose-diving downward; he soon landed on all four hooves amidst a trio of mares who swarmed him, visibly puffed out, but also somewhat pleased with himself and eager to impress. "Twenty-six point five seconds," Arrow smirked, turning towards the rest of the group. "Not bad, but I've seen better times before. Who's next?" I've been itching to fly all morning, so why not? Storm contemplated raising his hoof, considering himself a good enough flyer in his own right and having enough experience as a flyer to potentially beat Buck's time. "Do I have to pick at random?" Arrow inquired with some concern, Storm's hoof shooting upwards at the last second and thereby catching his attention. "Name?" "Stormfire." "Alright Storm, show us what you're capable of," Arrow smirked, watching as Storm left his place in the line and approached the start of the slope. Arriving at the edge of the summit, however, perhaps the very first thing Storm did was mentally slap himself. While observing Buck he had made the mistake of miscalculating the size of the gradient of the slope; as it turned out, the slope was much steeper than he initially thought it would be, although as far as he could tell that was largely the result of uneven terrain, with numerous rock formations and sudden dips peppering the runway left and right. "What's the matter?" Arrow inquired, watching as Storm stared over the edge in some concern. "How high do you want me to fly?" Storm asked, turning towards him. "I mean, this is something I'm capable of doing for definite, but...do you want me to fly past any obstacles or anything?" "No, just fly above it all," Arrow replied. "I don't care how high you fly, but just try and maintain a constant altitude above the runway, alright?" "Yeah, I kinda made that assumption that it was going to be smooth and flat," chuckling to himself, Storm stared down the hillside, the foot of the hill being marked by a by-passing road; in the distance, partially obscured by some trees lining the base of the hill, he could also see the west wing of the weather factory, much of the complex itself being obscured by an old train repair shop in the foreground - a remnant of a time when Vanhoover was partially bypassed by a railroad. "It looked a lot like that from Factory grounds." "Yeah, yeah, don't worry," Arrow nodded just as Storm unfolded his wings, feathers ruffling in the gentle breeze. "This is only practice, remember. Even if your times are awful we can work on them later on during the week." "Alright, thank you," Storm nodded in response, preparing himself for the flight in both a physical and mental sense despite knowing full well he was more than capable of it. "Just out of curiosity," Arrow suddenly began, derailing Storm's train of thought. "Before we start, how old were you when you first started flying?" "15 or 16," Storm admitted, stifling a slight, yet awkward chuckle following his response. "It's not something that I'm proud of, believe me." "Yeah, a lot more ponies start late than you might think, so you're not really alone on that," Arrow replied. "I've worked with ponies who started flying at a similar age to you, and within weeks they picked it up." "Yeah, I didn't think it was very common," Storm smirked, briefly harkening back - in the time that he had - to his earliest foalhood spent in the Griffon Empire, where wages weren't very high and his mom had to work long hours just to make ends meet. "I actually tried earlier but my mom couldn't pay for any flight teachers or anything like that. We weren't very well-off when I was younger, to say the least." "Ah," Arrow nodded in understanding. "At least you can fly now, right?" "Yeah, definitely," Storm nodded in response, most of his confusion having cleared up. "So, are you ready?" "Yeah, yeah," Storm smirked, turning forwards. “On your count.” “You ready?” “Yeah, let's do this.” “Alright,” Arrow responded, furrowing his brow in slight concern as Storm unfolded his wings. “On your mark.” “Three.” “Two.” “One.” Breaking into a trot down the hill in an attempt to build up momentum, Storm quickly pulled up and took off, gaining altitude above a large rock formation and clocking out at about 50 feet. It felt good to be in the air again, needless to say; although he resumed flying regularly not too long ago, it was always a wonderful, refreshing experience for him, an experience which afforded him ample time to think to himself and ponder over the events of the day. Above all, however, Storm finally felt free from the confines of his group and the line he stood in, at least temporarily; and like a small foal, he was eager to make the best first impression on his flight teacher that he possibly could, a stallion who seemed friendly enough despite his rather vague and broad threats and ramblings directed towards the group as a whole earlier on. Although his hooves ached somewhat from all the walking earlier, his wings were both fit as a fiddle and felt like brand new in spite of Storm not having used them very much - if at all - during the time of his recovery from that accident he had a couple of weeks back. At this point, all of his stitches had been removed, and he felt no pain whatsoever despite quite clearly still having visible scars, scars which much to his relief went completely unnoticed by the group as a whole. Although based on his experiences so far he wasn't exactly enjoying his time in Vanhoover, if there was one thing he was thankful for during his stay it was the medical care he'd received. Even though it came at a cost that Clear constantly refused to disclose to him, the attention and care he ended up getting from the doctors at the Vanhoover Regional Medical Center rivaled the care he'd received in Cloudsdale hospitals. As he pondered over the cost of his medical care and the fact that Clear - a complete stranger as far as he was concerned - took it upon herself to pay it off, Storm felt even more guilty than he felt the previous night - even though what happened to him wasn't entirely his fault. He also had no idea as to whether or not his family knew about what happened. Maintaining a constant altitude above the runway was the main priority for Storm as he approached the end of it, grinding to a near halt mere feet before reaching an impasse comprised of towering conifers, some of the tallest trees in the entire country by the looks of it. Curving left in mid-air, Storm made a sharp aerial U-turn above a rock formation, before shooting back up towards the summit, racing up the slope at dozens of miles an hour. Did he make Buck's time? Did he beat it? Storm had no idea, and despite knowing that this wasn't a race - and in turn not caring very much as a result - he was still curious, and eager to show off. Landing in front of the group, Storm, ruffling his wings against the breeze, walked up to Arrow, his eyes set on the stopwatch he held in his hooves. "So, how'd I do?" "Twenty-three-point-seven seconds," Arrow smirked, looking up at the stallion who turned towards the group. "Congrats, Storm." As it eventually turned out during the practice runs, Storm wasn't the fastest pony in the group although he came close to earning that title; third place at just less than 24 seconds wasn't bad, but he felt he could have done much better had he been more..awake that morning. In retrospect, some coffee prior to training would probably have done the job, but Lilli had insisted on getting him to the briefing as soon as possible, effectively keeping him away from his beloved coffee machine at the cafeteria at least until lunch break. After testing each and every trainee on their flight times, Arrow began the first flight lesson of the week with a lengthy lecture discussing the ‘art’ of flight in vivid, almost poetic detail, as well as various concepts and terminology relating to this subject in some way or another, followed by a thankfully briefer explanation on how Pegasi came to have evolved this skill separate from the other pony species - not counting bat ponies, of course. To Storm, he really seemed to know his stuff, especially since a lot of the concepts that he kept bringing up were ones which weren't really covered in gym class or in flight school for that matter - at least not in much detail; at first glance, many of them also seemed to be completely unrelated to flight as a whole, and required elaboration on Arrow's part to clear up any confusion the class may have had. Thankfully, some more basic concepts relating to flight, many of which were not out of anybody's comfort zone, were also revisited alongside them; and Arrow, much to everypony's relief, reassured the group that only basic theoretical knowledge of flight was necessary for passing the course as a whole, knowledge which they all had already - unless they were genuinely interested in the mechanics driving flight, or how the presence of magic influenced this inherent ability of Pegasi. Then what was the point in an hour-long lecture about flight mechanics? Storm thought to himself as Arrow continued on with his lecture, effectively pummelling him with information he wasn't sure whether or not to retain; and yet, although he was growing bored and impatient, he still listened in. At least he reminded me of drag and lift from sixth-grade physics class - that actually has a lot to do with flight. "'Flight 101', my ass," Storm muttered under his breath, eliciting chuckles from the two ponies who stood at either side of him, Arrow, much to his relief, being too far away to pick up on his snarky comment. "Most of this is stuff I understand only vaguely, and I don't see how learning about ballistics or projectile motion is supposed to help me pass this course." "Careful man, he might hear," the butter-colored stallion standing to his right warned him, albeit with a playful edge in his voice. "You don't want him to kick you off the team with only one week to go, do you?" "Good point," Storm mustered a chuckle, despite Arrow being well out of earshot at that point to hear their discussion. "But then again, I get the sense that you don't really seem to be enjoying yourself either." "I'm not," the stallion smirked in response, his name apparently being Sand Scraper. "I mean, where's the activity he promised us during the briefing? The basic flight exercises? Did he completely give up on that?" "Beats me, honestly," Storm shrugged. "But I'd assume it'll come following the lecture, whenever he's over and done with that." "Whatever," Sand Scraper scoffed, a stallion who seemed slightly younger than Storm by the looks of it. "He just keeps droning on and on about the most random things, honestly. I swear to the gods, if I had a choice I would have enlisted in the military instead of joining up here...at least there the drill sergeants actually do something." "So you're from around here?" "Hay yeah," Sand Scraper nodded with a smirk on his face. "My parents pushed me through this, and I had no say whatsoever...Oh well, gotta make daddy proud, right?" "Funnily enough, I know exactly how you feel," Storm chuckled, Sand Scraper's confession having gotten him thinking about his own family, especially about his father. "Never in my life have I dreamt of working here, but let's just say that life has a way of surprising." "I'm guessing you're one of the transfers, right?" Sand Scraper smirked, casting a sideways glance at Storm. "Yeah, unfortunately," Storm admitted with a wry chuckle. "I had very different plans in mind for my life, truth be told, but my asshole of a father purposely screwed them up and got me transferred here without my consent. Man, what an amazing graduation present, honestly." "...how?" "He's the transfer manager at the Cloudsdale weather factory," Storm replied, gritting his teeth in anger and resentment towards the pony he once called 'dad'. "I had no say in anything that got me transferred here, I only found out about it on the day of my graduation. He didn't even give me a copy of the paperwork or anything like that; aw hell, I bet he even forged my signature or made up a fake one in my name. Then again, I guess since he's the transfer manager he must have felt he had every right to do that." "My dad isn't like that, but I guess he's like one of those movie dads," Scraper replied, Arrow still talking in the distance. "Y'know, like the ones that are super nice but expect a shit-ton from you?" "Yeah, I get what you mean," Storm's smile faded away shortly thereafter, a deep glare forming on his face as his hooves clenched. "My dad expects a shit-ton from me also, but he isn't usually super-nice about it. He doesn't even write to me. Not once have I gotten a response from him in the time I've been here, and believe me, I sent a ton of letters to his address." "Man, wow," Scraper chuckled. "That's pretty bad." "Truth be told, I couldn't care less about him at this point," Storm scoffed, a deep sorrow briefly overtaking his heart as he momentarily pondered over whether or not he was being too harsh on his stepfather. "He's the worst pony I've ever met without any reasonable doubt, and I'm happy I don't live with him anymore. I don't want to see him again." "Don't you feel you're being..a bit too harsh with him?" "I thought so too at first, but it finally dawned upon me that he's a prick and there's nothing you can do about the fact," Storm sighed, rejected by the pony he once knew and loved enough to call his own father. "I tried being nice about it, I tried convincing myself that this will all blow over eventually, that one day I'll get to come home and sort things out with my family, but it seems as though I'm stuck here for the time being." "How do you stay in touch with them, might I ask?" "Letters," Storm turned towards him. "Those are still popular, right?" "Don't you have internet access or anything at home?" "No, he didn't set anything up as far as I understand," Storm sighed. "You know, I'm actually surprised he hasn't canceled my phone contract yet. He keeps saying he's struggling with phone bills, but at the same time he earns a lot as transfer manager. I mean, they live in a really nice home on the outskirts of town, its got a wraparound porch and four bedrooms; plus, he's also paying the rent for my apartment - again I'm not sure for how long - so I call bullshit on the fact that he can't pay for my phone." "Can you not just try calling home?" "No, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn't," Storm shook his head indignantly, before lowering his head down in shame. "He tells me calling Cloudsdale from here is really expensive; besides, I wouldn't be surprised if he changed every phone number around the house by now; I mean, I know I'm a pain in the ass but I only just graduated." But I still could've called Blue...why didn't I? Is calling from Vanhoover really as expensive as he says it is? I promised her I'd keep in touch, and writing to her isn't really cutting it. I long to hear the sound of her voice again somehow, but at the same time the prospect of her having long moved on is an unnerving one to say the least. "Hey guys," the stallion to Storm's left, whose name he couldn't quite catch as of yet, suddenly piped up, Storm briefly noticing Arrow turn back and make his way towards them. "I hate to burst your little bubble here, but he's turning back - we should probably get back in line before he notices." "Good idea," Storm went back into position - his deep rage directed at his stepfather simmering down almost instantaneously - just briefly catching Arrow's line of sight as he backed into the line; Scraper, meanwhile, remained in full view, wanting to appear as a 'rebel' of sorts in front of Arrow. "Scraper!" Arrow suddenly yelled from a few places down the line. "Get your flank back into position!" "You heard him, Bananaman," the stallion standing at Storm's left quipped, eliciting chuckles from Storm. "Get back into the line." "Oh my gosh, 'Bananaman'?" Storm's chuckles turned into a full-on laugh as he momentarily forgot that Arrow was only a few places away. "What kind of insult is that? I mean, I know that he's yellow, but...oh crap, that's hella racist, or is it more..coat-ist? I don't even---" "Shut up, Storm," Scraper suddenly shot Storm a deathly glare, not really seeming offended in the slightest, however. "SCRAPER!" "Yes, sir!" "Do I have to repeat myself?" "No sir, you don't have to repeat yourself, sir!" "Don't give me that bull," Arrow closed in on him, throwing a gentle jab at him with a hoof though not enough to hurt him. "50 press-ups on the double!" "Yes sir, 50 press-ups coming right up, sir!" Scraper smirked, getting down on his hooves. "Served hot and fresh, only for our number-one customer." "Ha ha ha, you think you're so funny, eh?" Arrow stared at him with a decidedly furious expression, his patience wearing thin as he towered over the defiant stallion. "Bet you were voted 'class clown' on your yearbook, you're that funny. You know that?" "Thanks for the compliment, but---" "Make that 100." "You're kidding?" "Want 200?" "No, sir." "Well then, I'd suggest you shut the buck up," Arrow smirked in some satisfaction as he watched the defeated stallion trying, and failing to carry out his punishment, Storm staring at him wide-eyed as was everypony else. "Take this as a warning from me, you worthless sacks of shit. Anybody makes a shitty joke, talks back to me, or just does anything to piss me off, will bear the brunt of my anger - and I won't hold back whatsoever! You all hear me?! I will not hold back! You all mean jack shit to me. Is that understood? Hmm? You all disgust me, I'll leave it at that. You know what they do in the Air Force with ponies like him?" No response. "They made them clean bathroom stalls with toothbrushes, that's what they did," Arrow smirked darkly. "I know, because, unfortunately, I was one such pony, back when I was first starting out--" "The Air Force? More like the Chair Force!" "I bet he spent most of his time there fumbling about with his little joystick...get it? Joystick?" Aside from some brief chuckles scattered across the group, a tense, overbearing silence ensued for a few moments, during which Arrow tried to locate the source of the decidedly bad joke. A strange, uncomfortable, awkward mixture of nerve and laughter overwhelmed Storm at that moment as Arrow glared briefly in his direction before turning his focus over to the other side, a near-enough lethal expression on his face pulled seemingly from the pits of Tartarus; something told him that Arrow found the source of the joke. "You, out of the line," Arrow suddenly broke the overarching silence that prevailed up until that very moment in time, motioning with a raised hoof for a slightly smaller, more scrawny-looking stallion a few places to the right of Fielder along the line to step out towards him, a stallion who seemed somewhat dazed and confused to say the least, presumably having spent much of the time since they arrived talking to his friend. "Huh?" "Out of the line." "But...I didn't do anything!" "You heard me, out of the fucking line!" Arrow suddenly raised his voice by several decibels, unsettling even Storm, whose heart must've skipped at least a beat or two at that moment. The visibly-unnerved stallion tittered somewhat as he stepped out of the line, treading across the grass and not taking his eyes off of Arrow, who seemingly stared into his very soul with a deep, fierce glare. "What are you looking at me funny for, huh? Colt-cuddler." "Nothing, nothing, sir," the green stallion backed away from Arrow along the grass and curved onto the path, seemingly completely impervious to his deepening glare on the outside; as he stepped onto the asphalt, he'd narrowly avoided a collision between himself and a stallion speaking on his cell phone. "Get back here, you buffoon," Arrow ordered, motioning for the stallion to stand beside him instead. "There will be no clowning around here, understood? You have NO IDEA what I have been through as an airpony, you putrid sack of crap, so don't make jokes about it." "Yes...sir...," "What was that?" Arrow's ears perked up as he fully turned towards the stallion. "Yes, sir!" "LOUDER!" Arrow roared, Storm's heart lurching forward in his chest all of a sudden. "YES, SIR!" “Hmm…Do you have any family members who have served in the military?” “My dad used to be a sailor in the Navy...he was on a submarine a few years ago, you know, in the Griffon lands?” “Ah yes,” Arrow smirked at the stallion. “You know what they say. You take one-hundred-and-fifty sailors, put ‘em all below deck and you get seventy-five couples.” “Hey!” "50 press-ups," Arrow smirked, smacking his lips in satisfaction just as he turned towards the stallion's friend still standing in line. "Same thing goes for your friend as well." "But I came up with the joke--" "Doesn't bucking matter, you imbecile," Arrow shot back, watching, satisfied, as the stallion trotted towards his friend. "100 press-ups, both of you...as for the rest of you, just to make you aware tomorrow's lesson will be integrated with the other class...so this class will end up being twice as big as it is now. I told you what will happen if you screw around..now, back to the lesson." This was going to be a long week.