Chapter 11: Dark Designs
The stallion's eye slowly pried itself open. He glared angrily at his surroundings, taking in the sight of a dingy Fillydelphia back-alley. A low growl of frustration forced its way out of his throat. Opening his eye was a disgusting feeling, as the lid felt as though it had been glued into place. It was a filthy feeling...for a filthy stallion. His neon-green body was covered in dirt and filth. He was glad that he couldn't smell himself, because he probably stank to high heaven.
His stomach let out a low gurgling grumble. The stallion didn't care. After all, he didn't have the strength to get up and look for food anymore. His legs, thin and gaunt probably didn't even have the strength to bear his weight anymore. Besides, it wasn't as though he had any reason to keep trying to prolong his life. It was best to just let it end. It wasn't like he had anything to live for. The world and its ponies had simply taken too much from him for him to care anymore.
At least it didn't hurt any longer. Earlier on, his hunger had been painful to the point that he'd occasionally been left writhing on the ground as the pangs assaulted him. Fortunately, those had faded, though only because his body, in its desperation, had turned to devouring itself in order to maintain its functions. The past winter had been especially hard, as the bitter cold had driven him from sifting through the refuse for any form of sustenance and forced him to shelter where he was now. At least eating the snow had kept him from dying of dehydration. But now, the stallion would have to wait until the first scheduled rainstorm of spring for more water. It would be a contest to see whether dehydration or starvation claimed him first.
He shifted his weight a little, the action drawing pained protests from his body. But he didn't care anymore. A low buzzing sounded in his ear, followed by the itchy feeling of minuscule legs alighting on its tip. The stallion flicked his ear irritably, prompting the buzzing to resume as the insect was dislodged from its perch...only to come swooping about to land on the tip of his muzzle. The stallion's nostrils flared as he snorted, blowing the fly away. However, the fly simply returned...with friends.
It wasn't surprising to see them there. The stallion supposed that he would soon just be another pile of rotting meat before long. He certainly figured that he smelled like it now...not that he smelled much of anything anymore. But, until he finally expired, the flies were an annoyance.
Another fly came in for a landing a little ways on top of the stallion's wing. The wing twitched to dislodge the pest. However, doing so sent pain lancing down the stallion's spine as the twitching disturbed the wrecked joint partway down the wing. Said joint had been shattered to a degree that not even a skilled unicorn doctor had been able to restore it to proper working form. The bones had set awkwardly, generating a painful, grating feeling whenever the stallion moved his wings at all and, worse still, made any attempt to flap them debilitatingly painful. His opposite wing had been injured almost identically. As a consequence, the sky had been closed off from him forever.
It was these injuries that had sealed the fate of the pegasus stallion known as Flash Spark. Ever since that night in Ponyville, he had not been able to take to the skies again. Flash Spark's eyes narrowed as the pain reminded him of the reason behind his that injury.
He'd once been a useful member of the Ponyville Weather Team, serving underneath Rainbow Dash. On one occasion, Flash had apparently gotten a bit too frisky for her tastes, which had resulted in her subduing him and threatening to pull his wings clean off if he ever tried anything with her again. After that, she'd forced demeaning, often frustrating jobs on him, one after the other. Seeing that the feisty cerulean mare was far too dangerous to court in his usual...extremely forward fashion, Flash Spark had set his sights on an easier target.
Fortunately, Ponyville was not short on attractive, single mares. Flash's attention had been caught by the quiet, graceful figure of Fluttershy. Compared to Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy was practically the perfect choice for Flash's sensibilities. She was a former model, quiet, and submissive. The last part had been especially important to Flash Spark, as he figured he'd be free to do as he pleased with her. The only downside had been that Fluttershy was under Rainbow's "protection," which made it difficult for Flash to find the right time to make Fluttershy his.
However, he'd found his moment and taken it. But, just when he was about to finally succeed, he'd been stopped by some strange, freaky colt. An angry fire blazed through Flash's veins at the thought of that colt. He could only vaguely recall the colt's appearance. All he remembered clearly was the colt's eyes; those blueish-green orbs with catlike, slit-shaped pupils. In an instant, the colt had struck him, shattering the joints in both of Flash Spark's wings, rendering them useless and making Flash into a helpless cripple.
After that, Flash had been collected by the Ponyville Guard and had been held in their custody after getting his wings treated, which had included the devastating prognosis that he would never fly again. After spending a few months in prison, Flash had been turned loose, free, but exiled from Ponyville.
The exile was bad enough, but even worse was the knowledge that his hooves would never leave the ground again. Flash had always been proud of his wings. He'd enjoyed mocking the worthless groundpounders and the annoying screwheads who tramped about on the earth. Being a pegasus meant that he was above all that. But now, he was stuck on the ground too. It was mortifying.
Flash had wandered his way into Fillydelphia. His efforts to find some sort of employment were always derailed by the fact that he was useless as a pegasus. Flash was sure that a great many of his prospective employers took a certain perverse pleasure in turning him down because he was a pegasus who could not fly. A more rational pony might have pointed out that Flash's habit of drinking himself into a stupor and showing up for interviews suffering from a nasty hangover had probably done much more harm than any amount of prejudice his condition might have inspired. But Flash Spark was always too busy drowning his sorrow over the latest rejection to care.
Before he'd known it, Flash drank the remainder of his funds away. Unable to pay for food or housing...or additional liquor...Flash found himself out on the streets, sifting through garbage for edibles and sleeping in alleyways like this one, huddled beneath newspaper or inside of a cardboard box. That was where the unforgiving winter had found him. During winter, food had been scarce on the few occasions Flash had been able to muster up enough energy to go out looking for it, which had taken its toll, leaving him where he lay now, at the edge of death, simply watching as the last of his life ebbed away.
Lazily, Flash's ice-blue eye rolled up to trace the meandering circles of a fly hovering overhead, clearly waiting for him to expire.
"Pathetic, aren't they?"
Flash blinked. The sound of another pony's voice was so strange and unexpected that it was incomprehensible to him for a moment. He hadn't actually been spoken to in so long that the other pony's voice sounded like so much gibberish to him. The voices of ponies passing by in the streets had faded into so much white noise. It actually took a few seconds for the language centers in Flash's brain to engage and begin the laborious process of interpreting the series of sounds emerging from the other pony's mouth into actual words.
Flash's gaze drifted down to find the source of the voice, a pinkish unicorn stallion with a mane of layered orange and yellow. Flash's eyes lingered on the unicorn's cyan ones before drifting up to see his horn, off-white and sheathed in some sort of crystalline substance. It looked unnervingly out of place on the unicorn's head.
"What?" croaked Flash, his throat so dry, he could barely speak.
The unicorn held out a hoof, holding it still enough for a nearby fly to land on it. "Their lifespans can be measured in mere days. The sole impetus of their existence is to find an object to supply sustenance for their brood before they pass away. They are short-lived, small, insignificant...pathetic." His eyes turned back to Flash Spark. "And yet...even they are capable of something that is far beyond you."
"What's that?" asked Flash, his anger rising, feeling as though he already had an idea of the answer.
The unicorn's smile widened. "They can fly. For all the pointlessness of their existence, they can spread their wings, leave the ground behind, and take to the air, as free as any pegasus. Freer, if you think about it. The capability of their wings is magnificent. An ordinary housefly has almost complete freedom of movement, able to move in virtually any direction at will, reacting with speed that allows it to avoid all but the swiftest of swatting hooves. Were you to take one of these insects and expand it to a pony's size, it would be repulsive, but it would also be a flyer capable of putting even the Wonderbolts to shame."
He turned an empty smile on Flash. "And...seeing as they have working wings, they are more than you are at the moment."
A wordless snarl exploded from Flash's lips. Here he was, at the end of his rope, about to shuffle off this mortal coil, and this screwhead was mocking him, saying that even bugs were better off than he was. "Is that all you've got to say?" asked Flash, beginning to wonder if he could marshal enough strength to lunge at the infuriating unicorn.
"I was merely illuminating your situation," explained the unicorn. There was no sense of mockery in his tone, only pure, unvarnished truth. "When you know full-well where you are, then you begin to see where you need to go."
Flash grunted irritably. Stupid screwheads...Always talking in circles and saying nothing.
The unicorn continued. "I wanted to make your position clear so that you can fully understand the path I am opening up before you." He turned his attention back to the fly, which still stood on his outstretched hoof. "I am fully aware of your condition and have an offer for you to consider."
"What's that?" asked Flash, his eyes narrowing.
The unicorn's eyes narrowed as he studied the fly. "You know...when I spoke of how pathetic these creatures were, that was pure vanity. True, they do not experience life beyond the propagation of their own kind, yet they live. In fact, they live quite well. Of all the animals in this world, none can match the kindred of insects for their sheer tenacity. They have diversified far beyond a mere three tribes and have spread and, indeed, thrived in nearly every environment imaginable. We call the more inconvenient ones pests and try to root them out at every possible opportunity. And yet, they always seem to come back. That power of tenacity is unmatched by any other type of animal in existence, a persistent power that refuses to allow their kind to fade from the world."
"Get to the point," snarled Flash.
The unicorn stallion turned his attention back to Flash and lowered his hoof, prompting the fly to take to the air again. "It is within my power to impart some of that tenacity to you. It would reverse your circumstances and place the sky back within your grasp."
"My wings?" gasped Flash Spark, his annoyance with the unicorn fading as a simmering feeling of hope clawed its way up from the pit of his stomach, "You can fix them?" He felt a faint tickling sensation from one of the bugs that landed on his back as it paced up his spine. For some reason, the sensation almost seemed to be coaxing his leaden limbs back to life.
"Not fix them, as such," replied the stallion, "Rather, I will replace them with a superior form, one that will make you unmatched in the skies. I am sure that you could easily imagine what you could do with such power."
The tickling of the insect's legs sent flashes of sensation shooting up and down Flash Spark's body, rushing down to the tips of his hooves and back. The sensations chased away the heavy feeling of his impending demise and a new sense of energy and purpose flooded into Flash Spark's spirit. He began to imagine the faces of those who wronged him: that colt from Ponyville, Fluttershy, her groundpounder lover, and Rainbow Dash. As Rainbow's face came up before his mind's eye, the insect on his back seemed to shift in its motion, the tickling sensation becoming irritable and itchy. The simmering hope in his gut boiled over into rage and anger. Yeah, I can imagine a thing or two I'd like to use that power for.
A low growl issued forth from Flash Spark. His legs twitched, then began to move as he tucked them underneath his body and pushed. With agonizing slowness, Flash Spark rose to his hooves and looked the other stallion straight in the eye.
"I'll take that offer," he said.
Morning Star gave Flash a friendly smile. "I thought you might."
Two patches of white formed on Morning's shoulders, swelling outward like blisters before seeming to erupt into a pair of feathery appendages. They seemed less like wings and more like a stream of feathers that began to extend around to envelop the two ponies. "Well then..." said Morning, "Let us be on our way. I have my work cut out for me to remake you."
The feathers swirled about the two of them and then dispersed. The two stallions were gone, at though they had never been there to begin with. Only a small swarm of buzzing flies remained, bobbing in irregular patterns through the air. Amongst them was an unusual specimen, a fly with a strange, off-white color and pale-blue, glasslike eyes. It lingered amongst its darker-colored kin for but a moment before seeming to crumble away into nothingness.
"I don't appreciate the fact that you came back with empty hooves," said Baron Elderflower in a low, dangerous tone.
Standing across the desk from him, Perlin Bluestreak shrugged idly. "My apologies. I have no excuse for my failure."
"No excuse...but I would like an explanation," said Elderflower, pressing his forehooves together and resting his chin upon them.
Perlin chuckled, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm afraid that Dawn Lightwing's protege got the drop on me. She managed to force me to lose my grip on the sample. Before I could deal with her and recover it, a much more dangerous pony arrived on the scene and forced my retreat."
"You shied away from a battle?" asked Elderflower, his eye brow rising, "That doesn't sound like the colt who brazenly walked into Canterlot and laid low an entire squad of the Royal Guard, along with their Captain, when he first arrived."
"I enjoy my fights," said Perlin, "But I prefer to hold fights on my terms. It was not my mission at the time, also, I wouldn't have been able to enjoy it, as additional help would have arrived before long and I would have been forced into a battle that was too one-sided against me for me to enjoy. I deemed retrieval of the sample to be an impossible task and retreated, lest I risk capture and being forced to give up information on my employer."
Elderflower's nostrils flared, but it was the only outward sign of his frustration that he showed. "I suppose there is nothing more that can be done about it," he said, his voice almost a mumble, "I am most disappointed in you, Perlin Bluestreak."
"I apologize," said Perlin, dipping his head, "If you wish to dismiss me from your service, I shall depart without delay."
Elderflower pressed his lips together in a thin line. For all the frustration he caused, Perlin was a useful tool, one the Baron couldn't afford to relinquish just yet. Although he had failed this time, Perlin was still far too useful to simply cast aside. "I shall forgive you," said Elderflower, "But I shall withhold payment of your salary for the next three periods as punishment."
Perlin bobbed his head. "I shall accept that," he said with a smile, "I shall await your next order at your leisure...My Lord." Perlin turned and made his exit.
Elderflower sighed and leaned back into his seat, wondering if he needed to reconsider Perlin's usefulness.
As the door to the Baron's office shut behind him, Perlin finally flinched. "Owww...." Sitting down, he looked at his stomach and raised a hoof to inspect the patch of dark blooming beneath his coat. "That filly certainly got in quite the shot," he said as he prodded the tender spot. The bruise was large and sore. For all that she was a novice, she'd done excellently.
Perlin couldn't help but smile. "At least this gives me something to look forward to."
"A greenhorn like you can't have much of anything to look forward to."
Perlin's ears perked as he turned towards the source of the noise. Two ponies, a stallion and a mare were approaching him. The stallion, a pegasus, had a coat that had once been a vivid, emerald green. However, age appeared to have dulled it into mottled patches of darker and lighter shades all across his body. Parts of it were interrupted regularly by scars that ran in crisscrossing networks across his barrel and down his legs. Furthermore, the stallion's sky-blue mane was ragged and uneven, with patches of gray. One of his ears was slightly shorter, mostly because it was missing the very tip. Last, one of his pale-gray eyes was covered by a black eyepatch. He was considerably older than most stallions Perlin had met, tough and grizzled. Yet he still managed to carry himself with a youthful air of arrogance, as though he were still at that young age where most stallions thought themselves invincible. His lips pulled back in a mocking grin as his remaining good eye fixed on Perlin.
His companion, the mare, was a unicorn. Her coat was a dirty shade of white, with patches of brown as though it had been stained by dirt and other...unmentionable substances. Her mane was pitch black and uneven. Rather than looking dry and ragged like the stallion's, here mane instead hung in smooth, greasy strips, like it had been soaked in oil. Her tail practically looked more like a flowing stream of liquid than anything resembling hair. She stared at Perlin with empty-looking eyes. Her irises were the same black as her pupils, giving her an eerie, lifeless stare, one that was almost akin to the uneasy feeling that eyes like Dawn's eyes inspired in other ponies. The white color of her horn was marred by several black lines from the cracks that ran up and down its length.
“Ah hello,” said Perlin, turning to face the new arrivals, “I was not aware that the Lord Baron had been hiring additional help.”
The stallion’s lips curled up in a derisive sneer. “I can’t imagine how a whelp like you managed to get hired at all. Those fancy wings are nothing more than cheap window-dressings if you ask me.”
“As it was, I happened to have been supplied with excellent references,” replied Perlin, his tone still amicable, “I have been ‘highly recommended’…or so I’m told.”
The pegasus laughed harshly. “I’m sure you believe that youngster. Obviously, your references don’t count for much, seeing as you failed your latest assignment.”
Perlin bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "Admittedly, results speak for themselves. However, mistakes can be learned from and rectified."
The older pegasus hacked and then spat a wad of saliva off to one side. Perlin raised an eyebrow, but didn't really bother otherwise. It wasn't his mansion after all.
"I don't care about your mistakes," said the stallion, "I just don't want some wet-behind-the-ears brat getting in my way."
"I shall endeavor not to," said Perlin, tilting his head, "Unless, of course, that's what I'm paid to do." After all, these two weren't worth picking a fight with.
The mare, who had shown almost no reaction until now, narrowed her eyes, fixing him with a glare that would have paralyzed most ponies. "I'd watch my tongue if I were you." Her voice was a serpentine hiss, filled with violent malice, all of which was directed at Perlin. At the same time, a paradoxically black light crawled its way up the sides of her horn, shining out from within the cracks along its length. Some of her velvet began to burn, sending curling wisps of smoke rising up from the horn, giving the mare a fierce, almost demonic look.
Now she's interesting, thought Perlin, smiling slightly. "That's an interesting phrase; watch my tongue." He took a step forward and slowly spread his wings out from under his coat. "And just what will happen if I don't?"
The stallion stepped back slightly, his good eye widening at first, then narrowing, as though he were looking at Perlin in a new light. Still, he didn't back down and instead intensified his glare, though Perlin seemed to brush it off without a thought.
In contrast, the mare's eyes narrowed dangerously and her horn lowered in Perlin's direction, the black light emanating from the cracks in her horn intensifying. She looked as though she were about to attack.
The door to the Baron's study slammed open and Elderflower stormed out, practically throwing himself between Perlin and the two older ponies. "What in Celestia's name is going on here?" he demanded, "Are you three trying to start a war in my home?"
The older stallion's demeanor changed with a speed that was startling. "Terribly sorry sir," he said, addressing Elderflower, all smiles and sheepish laughter, "Inkwell and I were simply giving junior here some sage advice from his elders."
Perlin folded his wings back up, noting that, while her magic had dissipated, Inkwell's eyes had not left him. Even as her companion tried to cajole and calm the Baron, she was still looking for her opening, her opportunity, to attack.
"Fine," snapped Elderflower, "But get in here now! You're late."
"Right," said the stallion, "Come along, Inkwell."
The mare's sinister gaze finally left Perlin and she walked into the office ahead of the pegasus stallion, following the Baron in. As he was about to step in himself, the stallion regarded Perlin one last time. "Kid...you're pretty damn stupid to try and pick a fight with Greenblight and the Bonehammers. I've been around the block more times than you can count and my skills speak for themselves."
"So do your scars," Perlin noted with a wintry smile. "Scars are a sign of weakness. They show where your defenses have failed. To have acquired so many over the course of your career shows just how haphazard your way of fighting is." With that, he headed off down the hall, leaving a glaring Greenblight in his wake.
"You certainly don't waste time when it comes to picking fights," observed a pony as Perlin came to an intersection of corridors. Looking to his right, Perlin saw Wight Shade standing there.
"Normally you don't show up for weeks at a time. But now it seems that I'm seeing you every other day," noted Perlin.
Wight grinned. "As it so happens, with the Baron's plans picking up momentum, he's needed to consult me more and more often. As it is, I am well-connected, which he has taken advantage of to bring additional ponies into his service."
"Like them?" Perlin cast a dubious glance back down the hallway in the direction of the Baron's office.
"Ah yes...Greenblight and his crew," noted Wight, "An entertaining bunch."
"More mercenaries," mused Perlin, "Even though he usually disdains overt force, the Baron seems to be intent on hiring a lot more muscle lately."
"I think that his little exchange with Twilight Sparkle stung his pride," said Wight, "Like all nobles, he cannot stand insult or belittlement, especially not from those beneath his station. For the time being, I believe the new hires are more of a Plan B than anything else."
The corners of Perlin's lips turned downward. "Considering the things he's had me do in order to set up his Plan A, Plan B promises to be especially unpleasant."
With a chuckle, Wight shook his had in a sad gesture. "Part of me suspects that the Baron is hoping that he'll get the chance to put Plan B into action. Whatever it is, it's likely to have a greater promise of catharsis than his original plan."
"And what of those two?" asked Perlin, thinking back to Greenblight and Inkwell, "Who are they?"
"Mercenaries," replied Wight with a shrug, "Just as you supposed. Granted, while most mercenaries, like that pair currently in Ponyville, have scruples about who they work for and what jobs they will take, that pair, and the crew that follow them, are considerably less discriminating in their choice of employers and jobs.
"Greenblight seems to fancy himself a berserker from the annals of ancient pegasus culture. I've heard that he throws himself into battle with nothing but his blade, frothing at the mouth and lashing out wildly. Some ponies say that he feels no pain and suffers no fear. On the battlefield, he is rage and wrath incarnate, wilder than the most savage of beasts."
"No wonder he has so many scars," muttered Perlin.
"As for the mare, she is Greenblight's second-in-command. At one time, she was supposed to have been a skilled tactician and a fearsome battle mage. However, a few years ago, she overchanneled during a battle and cracked her horn as a result. The event also scrambled the meridians around her eyes, which is the cause of their unusual color."
"So that wasn't natural," said Perlin, "Did she go blind?"
"You saw for yourself that her eyesight is fully functional," replied Wight, "Her condition is actually similar in nature to that of your friend, Dawn Lightwing, in that the activation and alteration of the meridians around her eyes caused the magic flowing through them to act like a continuous transformation spell on her eyes. Inkwell is both nearsighted and farsighted and she can switch from one to the other at will. When nearsighted, she can see anything within a certain range with crystal clarity and can even follow objects moving at very high speeds. When farsighted, she can pinpoint the location of a target nearly a kilometer distant.
"Such a skill would probably be a major asset to a battle mage. However, because she never received proper treatment for cracking her horn, the damage to the alicorn never healed properly and she can no longer use anything but the most basic telekinesis. However, she has refined that skill with single-minded dedication and turned it into something very dangerous indeed."
"I'm guessing that that single-minded dedication you referred to is also a product of her injury," observed Perlin, remembering the intensity with which she had been watching him.
Wight nodded in agreement. "It would seem so. Under normal circumstances, Inkwell would have probably been the leader of the Bonehammers. Her tactical acumen made her well-suited to the role of commander. However, she no longer seems to care for tactics and instead has developed something of a one-track mind. She sets her sights on something and does not think much of anything else until she has achieved whatever she has set out to do. It's possible that there was some damage to her brain from the injury that heightened her ability to focus on tasks and see them through, but rendered her unable to consider the wider context. As such, she has been relegated to Greenblight's second."
"And the rest of these...Bonehammers?" pressed Perlin.
Wight shrugged. "Thugs mostly. They're skilled and experienced, but are the sort who are used to solving all their problems with force. They are the classic sellswords, only caring about the money and their next contract."
Perlin frowned. "Well...Elderflower's Plan B is sounding more and more unpleasant by the second."
"Very true," agreed Wight.
Considering that, in allowing himself to be parted from the sample that Elderflower wanted so easily, Perlin had been essentially undermining Elderflower's original plan, he wondered if the actions he'd chosen the previous night were such a good idea after all.
"So this was what all the hubbub was about?" asked Apple Bloom as she stared down at the glittering ribbon of fabric that lay atop the table. All around the five Crusaders were the sounds of ponies chatting and frolicking as the rest of the school enjoyed their recess and lunch.
"It's what Perlin was after," said Sweetie Belle, "That's why he made Coco let him into the Boutique."
"Isn't that the new fabric Rarity made?" asked Rumble, "The one she made Miss Trixie's dress from?"
"Uh huh," said Sweetie, "But I don't understand why that Perlin guy would want it so badly."
Everypony in the group looked to Dawn, who merely shrugged. "I doubt Perlin has any interest in the fabric itself. He was simply retrieving it for whoever hired him. As for their reasons..."
"Do you think it has to do with those nobles in Canterlot that Twilight and everypony is worried about?" asked Rumble.
"Possibly," mused Dawn, "He was working for one of them when we went to Diamond Mountain. If he is still working for the same pony, it is entirely possible. But there's no way to be sure of why anypony would want this fabric without finding out who ordered Perlin to steal it and finding out why from them directly."
"Ah can think 'o some reasons why," said Apple Bloom, "It's why Granny Smith's so gosh darn protective of the Zap Apple Jam recipe. The zap apples aside, if any 'o our competitors were able to get ahold 'o that recipe, they could try to choke off our supplies."
"You mean the ingredients you put in the jam?" asked Scootaloo.
Apple Bloom nodded in response.
"That makes sense," said Sweetie, "Rarity has to use some fancy al...uh...alch...alchemical stuff that she and Twilight came up with to make the fabric."
"That's possible," admitted Dawn, "Though it's doubtful that's the exact reason. Rarity hasn't marketed this yet and even most ponies in Ponyville don't know about its existence. Most likely, whoever wanted it simply heard about the fabric somewhere and wanted to find out more about how it was made."
"So what do we do about it?" asked Scootaloo.
"For now, we can return this to Rarity," said Dawn, who looked at Sweetie, "I'll bet having it back will help Coco feel better after she was forced to help steal it in the first place."
Sweetie nodded fervently. Coco Pommel had still been a mess, completely distraught over the affair, when Sweetie had left for school. She hoped that bringing the fabric back would help Coco feel better.
"But what about Perlin?" pressed Scootaloo, "What do we do about him...and the pony who hired him?"
Dawn frowned at her. "There's nothing we can do at the moment. Perlin is long gone and without knowing who hired him, we can't figure out where to look or what else to do. However, I think the important thing is to keep a close eye out. After a failure like this, I doubt that whoever is pulling the strings would be stupid enough to try the same thing twice. But we still need to be careful."
Scootaloo found herself pouting. Part of her chafed at the sting in Dawn's words, which hid yet another rebuke of her actions the previous night. She'd forgiven Dawn for his, sometimes, smothering protectiveness of her, and apologized for her own outburst and recklessness. But it irritated her that he still seemed to feel the need to chastise her.
But another part of her reminded her that, if he didn't continue to remind her, she might make the same mistake again. Next time, she might not get off with just a small scare and a bruised ego. Next time, Storm Front or some other pony might not be there to bail her out.
Looking over, she noticed that Dawn looked vaguely guilty as well. It seemed he realized the criticism hidden in his words and regretted it. Scootaloo reached out with a hoof and gently rested it on Dawn's. The ebony colt looked up and met her eyes. She smiled at him and leaned in to nuzzle up against him. Dawn relaxed and reciprocated.
The other Crusaders were too occupied with the conversation to notice the interaction between Dawn and Scootaloo. Soon after, the bell sounding the continuation of classes rang and they had to proceed back in to resume their lessons.
"Oh thank goodness!" gasped Rarity as she held the strip of shimmersilk in her hooves, "Poor Coco has just been an absolute wreck since last night. I hope this will help improve her mood."
"Where is she now?" asked Sweetie as she, Dawn, and Scootaloo looked up at Rarity. After school, they had immediately headed over to the Boutique to give the shimmersilk back to Rarity. Apple Bloom had to return to the farm to help with chores, while Storm Front had whisked away Rumble as soon as the gray colt was out the gates.
Rarity glanced over her shoulder at the workroom behind her. "She's been working up a storm in there. Right now she's just going over some scraps I have and practicing her stitching. Since leaving her to stew over what had happened seemed to be doing more harm than good, I figured giving her something to do might help her feel better." She smiled down at Sweetie. "Let me go see if this can help her cheer up."
Rarity went into the workroom, the foals following at a distance. "Coco, darling, I have something to show you."
Coco looked up from the two pieces of fabric she was stitching together. Her eyes were still slightly red from the extensive crying. They widened when she saw the strip of fabric hanging from Rarity's outstretched hoof. "That's..."
Rarity nodded, "You see...everything's alright Coco." Setting the fabric aside, Rarity went over and wrapped the younger mare in a hug. "So please, cheer up."
Coco still sniffled, but she leaned into the embrace. When they parted, she looked at the fabric again. "But how did you get it?"
"That would be Scootaloo," said Dawn, as the three foals entered the workroom, "She intercepted Perlin and forced him to lose his grip on the fabric."
Coco stared at Scootaloo, who blushed and shied away from the unexpected praise.
"Oh my!" gasped Rarity, putting a hoof to her mouth, "I had no idea it was Scootaloo...hmm..." A large smile broke out on her face. "Idea!" Her horn flared and the strip of cloth levitated over to wrap itself lightly about Scootaloo's neck.
"Wha-what's this?" asked Scootaloo, lifting an end of the improvised scarf.
"Think of it as a trophy of sorts, dear," said Rarity fondly, "You did Coco and I a tremendous favor by keeping that brute from getting away with that fabric. Think of it as commemorating your first successful sortie." Granted, Rarity wasn't normally one to acknowledge something she considered so...brutish. However, she thought that Scootaloo's efforts merited some acknowledgement, especially since Scootaloo had gone up against somepony as dangerous as Perlin Bluestreak.
Scootaloo looked down at the shimmersilk and her blush faded. "I...I can't," she said. She carefully unwound the shimmersilk from around her neck and held it back out to Rarity.
"I don't understand," said Rarity, "I thought this would be a moment you'd be proud of."
"I..." Scootaloo's mind went back to the events of the previous night. She could remember clearly now, the sound of Storm Front's meteor hammer intercepting Perlin's feather scant inches away from her neck. She hadn't even seen the feather, nor noticed Perlin launching it. If Storm hadn't been there, she would probably have been dead.
Perhaps it would have been different if Perlin had been in the middle of attacking or threatening somepony else. But he'd been flying away. She'd let her own eagerness to fight put herself at unnecessary risk. Dying wouldn't have helped anypony. Neither Rarity nor Coco would have been happy to get the shimmersilk back if Scootaloo had gotten herself injured getting it.
"What I did was stupid," said Scootaloo, "Dawn's right. I could've been killed! I didn't even know what Perlin had done when I'd confronted him. I just saw him and decided to attack him. I didn't think at all! I..." Tears streamed from her eyes. "I don't deserve this and I don't deserve to be rewarded for doing something like that."
Silence descended on the workroom as Rarity, Coco, and Sweetie Belle looked on in shock. Scootaloo couldn't bear to look them in the eyes, instead forcing herself to stare down at the shimmersilk draped over her hoof. Then, to her surprise, an ebony foreleg slowly reached over and rested itself atop her outstretched arm, gently pressing the fabric down against her fur. Lifting her eyes, Scootaloo looked over at Dawn, who gave her a small smile.
"You should keep it," he said.
"Wha-? But I..." Scootaloo's gaze darted between Dawn's face and his hoof in her confusion.
Dawn curled his fetlock around her own, gripping Scootaloo's arm so that the shimmersilk strip was held between them. "You were reckless. But, in the end, you did help somepony. Do you remember the look on Rarity and Coco's faces when they saw that it had been retrieved?”
Scootaloo nodded.
"Then instead of keeping this silk as a reminder of your fight itself, keep it as a reminder of why we fight," said Dawn, "Use it to remind yourself of what's at stake..." He directed Scootaloo's gaze over to Coco and Rarity, "...and what ponies like us should be fighting for.”
Scootaloo took one last look at the shimmersilk before looking back up at Dawn. "Okay," she said, her lips twitching upwards in a smile.
Just as she was about to wrap it around her neck once again, Rarity's magic yanked it from her grip. "Really! Just leaving it as is...What was I thinking?" Rarity was already heading over to her own workspace. "I just need to do a little touching up before I give this back to you, dear. I can't stand to leave something unfinished."
A little behind Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle broke out into giggles.
THWAK!
The sound of impact echoed through the quarry as the knotted end of Rumble's cord bounced away from the wooden target. The knot bounced away. Rumble yanked at the cord, but it was unexpectedly slack. Instead of returning towards him, the knot fell to the ground and Rumble had to pull again in order to reel it in properly.
"The difficult aspect of flexible weapons is control," explained Storm Front as he stood behind and at a slight angle to Rumble, "The strike does not end at impact, but at the recoil instead. You must learn to respond and regain control of the end after it has made contact with the target."
Motioning Rumble aside, Storm stepped forward and drew his own meteor hammer, a real one with a steel weight on the end, as opposed to Rumble's own practice weapon, from out of his sleeve. He sent the weight snapping straight out like a striking snake. It slammed dead center into the target. Yanking hard backwards on the cord, Storm pulled in the slack and sent the weight whirling around him. A second later, he went in to a barrage of swinging strikes that came at the wooden training dummy from almost every possible direction before nailing it in the center once again with another lightning-fast throw.
Storm turned to Rumble, who was watching, slack-jawed. "Maintaining control both before and after impact is essential to mastering this weapon."
Rumble nodded and stepped forward to resume the practice. It was a tricky skill to get the hang of. Until now, all of his practice had been about maintaining control of the cord and the knot at the end. He'd learned and then practiced forms endlessly, working on being able to launch the knot of his own weapon with nearly any limb on his body, including his wings, hind legs, and even his neck. When he'd started, the greatest challenge had been learning to control the weapon and keep it from smacking into his own body. That was less of a problem nowadays. It seemed that Storm had decided to move Rumble's training to the next stage, namely practicing hitting actual objects.
As he continued to practice, Rumble noticed that Storm seemed strangely anxious. "Is something wrong?" he asked, pausing his practice to look at his teacher.
"No," said Storm flatly, "Nothing..." He smiled at Rumble. "Everything is fine. I just wanted to make the best use of the time we have."
Drawing back from Rumble, Storm frowned. "While we still have it."