“Call me paranoid if you want. I’d rather waste the bits when we didn’t need to, than pinch the bits when we needed to spend,” grouched Spitfire as she went over a ledger with quite a bit of red ink in its most recently completed columns.
Spitfire and Fleetfoot sat on a couch, and Soarin’ on an ottoman, in a well-furnished living room. On the wall was a framed, art deco style Wonderbolts poster that had yellowed some around its edges. Most of the décor revolved around the Wonderbolts, though over the sidebar there was also a family portrait featuring an older mare and stallion, two younger stallions, and a college-aged Spitfire, all pegasi. A short wall was behind each sofa, with two Doric columns joining each wall to the lofted ceiling, around the edge of a domed sunroof. In the middle lay a broad coffee table, covered in official-looking paperwork; some of it was stacked, some of it in folders, and the rest strewn, but a hefty portion of it bore Wonderbolts letterhead.
Soarin’, also holding a ledger, looked over his glasses at Spitfire. “Don’t get me wrong, ma’am, our First Duty is our First Duty, but are you sure we need to do this much? The bill is getting to be higher than The Derby’s costs, without the ticket sales to reimburse us.”
With a huff, she rebuked, “Stop exaggerating.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Fleetfoot was placing a number of checkmarks on an open page in a different daybook, and dropped the pen with an unhappy sigh. “All hyperbole aside, he’s got a point. This will put us well-over budget.”
Spitfire slapped down the ledger angrily, with her pen just afterwards. Nickering irritably as she took off her glasses, she sat back, looking up through her sunroof a moment. Then turned back to the others and vented, “Why did the game have to be this Saturday!? What’s wrong with Sunday? It’s not like we’re interrupting or competing against any FISA broadcasts, and we wouldn't have to be so many places at once! Hell, we could have it wait six weeks and we’d only just then start getting preseason games.”
“I’m just glad Her Majesty of the Night didn’t want us to do a show. Then we’d really be up a creek,” said Soarin’ as he flipped through a few more pages.
“Surprise knows her way around Detrot pretty well. I’m sure she’ll keep Princess Luna from the rough spots,” Fleetfoot said, looking over her checkboxes again.
Spitfire sat forward. She made sure to look both of them in the eye before speaking. “It’s not her going to the rough spots that worries me, you two. It’s the rough spots coming to her, which Surprise might not recognize. Tell me, would either of you know what to look for, if a few Elevens came down the street in plainclothes?”
Soarin’ pursed his lips before shaking his head. “Sorry, nope.”
Fleetfoot sighed long and annoyed, flopping back into the cushions. She turned her head towards the captain, suggesting, “I think that was the point, ma’am, for them to just blend in.”
“Hmm....” Soarin’ stood up, tapping his chin with his left forehoof. Spitfire and Fleetfoot exchanged glances at each other before turning to the pensive stallion, hoping he’d soon get on with whatever thought clogged his synapses. Rocking his head side to side, he muttered, “Wait....”
Grinning, Fleetfoot teased, “Careful thinking that hard, Soarin’. Your brain isn’t used to so much exercise; it’ll be sore tomorrow.”
Spitfire nudged the other mare in the side. Soarin’s face made it abundantly clear he didn’t find this funny at all, sardonically replying, “Har har.”
“Once you’re done with the foalishness, we can move on. At least pretend to be professional,” Spitfire scolded in mothering tones.
“Sorry.”
“Try not to forget it this time,” commanded Spitfire. Turning with a slow inhale, she said to her second-in-command, “But Soarin’, you sounded like you had an epiphany?”
“What are the chances Dave’s an Eleven?” asked Soarin’, still in thoughtful consideration.
Spitfire mulled it over briefly before responding, “Not good, but not zero, either.”
Fleetfoot responded in a nuance as belittling as the class jerk would if somebody asked an arithmetic question in collegiate calculus. “I think your train of thought derailed at the station.”
Soarin’ flattened his ears and glared at Fleetfoot before shaking his head as he got up and paced around the rom. Spitfire’s face was also miffed as she turned toward the lisping mare. “This kind of crap is exactly why Soarin’ got the nod as my first officer and not you, Fleetfoot. I can’t always tell if you’re teasing or not, and either way, talking like that is unbecoming of your rank. Being firm and making calls others don’t necessarily like, doesn’t mean you have to be brusque about it. Don’t be a bitch, be the bitch. There’s a huge difference.”
“Sorry that I was too blunt, but I still think it sounds like he’s really reaching,” replied Fleetfoot with little more than a hint of legitimate apology.
Still irked, he countered, “It’d go a long, long way towards explaining why he pushed for playing all those national teams, the delight he took in beating them, and wanting this last, encore game, with all the emphasis he’s put on beating Her Highness.”
Fleetfoot answered, this time sounding more like disagreeing with a friend than needing to be right, “With what Chris told us at lunch? I think that’s beyond the purview of even the Elevens.”
Spitfire nodded and said, “Which is why I thought it’s unlikely. Ponyville’s about the happiest place in Equestria; there’s been nothing reported there to even suggest they are operating there at all.”
“But you still ordered a clandestine squad to be on active duty there. I think all of them made the cut for Bicycle Kick’s team,” Fleetfoot said a little confused.
Spitfire gave Fleetfoot a sharp look. “We will perform our duties at all times. And yes, they did. I gave them the order to see to it they’re up there. No word yet on who’s picked to start.”
Soarin’ said, “She’s disappeared on them more than once, what with all the teleporting.”
“Not happy about that, either. I guess being the ‘Princess of Friendship’ means she’s to remain more approachable. I’ve heard from several reports that she refused a guard detail. While following the guards makes it easy to find Their Majesties whenever they go anywhere, no such luck there. It’s part of why this game worries me,” said Spitfire.
“How long have you suspected him?” Soarin’ asked directly.
Spitfire snorted, “Since he first started talking about taking on national teams, making it clear he wanted their leaders to be there and see their best lose to us.”
Fleetfoot clicked her tongue annoyed. Looking from one to the other and back, she said, “In all fairness, that’s not how he put it.”
“Take all the niceties out of his spiel, and that’s what was left,” corrected Soarin’. “We still have this issue of presence to solve. We’ll still need to activate some reservists this weekend. We just don’t have the numbers if we don’t.”
Sounding annoyed of rehashing, Spitfire grumbled, “And probably move some to active duty permanently. We will not forsake our First Duty.”
“And we’re going in circles again: I still think that’s doing too much, and either way, we’ll be in the red,” grouched Soarin’ in exasperation. He then muttered just loud enough to be heard, “Sure going through a heap of trouble over what’s supposed to be a friendly game.”
Fleetfoot picked up the ledger Spitfire threw down earlier. Her eyes widened at the last several columns on the right. Worried, she asked, “You didn't say it was this bad! How quickly can we put together a show, just to recoup some of these costs? We’ve already missed two, thanks to the tour.”
Spitfire tapped on the table a moment, then looked up at her second officer. “Give me ten days. I’ll have a few venues in mind that’d bring in enough revenue to get us back in the black before the accountants start asking too many questions.”
“I think Baltimare is still unhappy about the cancellation,” Soarin’ said as he sat back down, picking up his ledger again.
With a partially stifled grin, Spitfire said, “That wasn’t one of the places.”
A knock came at the door. Soarin’ got up and looked through the peephole. He turned back to the others and flicked his left wing. Spitfire and Fleetfoot quickly but nonchalantly gathered up select certain papers from the desk and tucked them under others while Soarin’ opened the door to meet David Buckham, looking pleasant. The older stallion’s eyes found the paperwork on the coffee table, and asked, “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Just going over official Wonderbolts business,” Spitfire answered indifferently. She continued in a more amiable voice, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Cheerfully, Buckham offered, “I was just talking with Tom and Cometeer. We’re hoping you three could join us at The Thirsty Storm after practice this evening.”
“I assume you mean after getting cleaned up first,” teased Soarin’, grinning.
Shaking his head amused, Buckham snickered, “Thought that went without saying.”
“I don’t drink,” said Fleetfoot. She locked eyes with Buckham, letting her lids slide down a bit with a coy grin, as she playfully continued, “I prefer to see what’s going on, rather than feel like my eyes are filled with mist.”
Spitfire elbowed Fleetfoot in the ribs hard. Soarin’ quickly covered, “Great! Somepony has to be the designated!” and successfully drew Buckham’s attention before Fleetfoot rubbed her side, wincing.
“I like your thinking, chap,” answered Dave, clapping Soarin’ on the shoulder. “So we’ll see you there at nine?”
Spitfire answered, “Make it nine-thirty. I’d rather look my best when I’m out on the town.”
“Most excellent. We’re looking forward to this. See you soon!” said Buckham very delighted, and with a gracious bow.
The older stallion left, looking genuinely happy. Soarin’ closed the door, and trotted over to the others. He continued looking at the door for a few seconds, before turning to Fleetfoot with an agitated expression. Spitfire’s was no friendlier as she began, “What the hell was that, with the saucy eyes?”
“He doesn’t need to know I can drink you two under the table,” answered Fleetfoot, feigning innocence.
Scoffing, Soarin’ retorted, “Were you trying to tip him off? ‘Cuz that’s where your words were!”
Spitfire snapped, “Since when were you the kind to want a sugar daddy? Seriously, if you really wanna try to pounce him, have fun dealing with his wife! And if you’re gonna try to provoke him out of subterfuge, wait for the game. I’d rather him try something stupid there, where we’ll have the upper hand. I don’t want to make him think we’re onto him, ‘cuz then he’d wait to act once we’re not around at all.”
Fleetfoot rubbed her side again, then said, “He seemed like his old self right then, the old colt we met in late winter who wanted nothing more than to be back on the pitch.”
“Yeah. It’s too bad. I really don’t want to believe he’s up to no good, but we’re starting to get more than just gut feelings now,” lamented Spitfire.
Fleetfoot nodded sadly. She then looked at a wall clock, and said, “It’s getting pretty close to time. I still need to grab a few things to get ready. And prepare for a fun, fun dry night at the bar. Go me.”
With some intermittent snickering, Soarin’ said, “It’d be perfect. We won’t have to watch you make out with some random stallion, or stallions, or have to drag you away from something you seriously regret when you call one of us in the small hours.”
Fleetfoot griped, “You’re never gonna let me forget the one night that happened, are you?”
“Nope, because of how much it screwed up my day after. My brother still gives me a hard time about trying to get his little filly back to sleep,” joshed Soarin’, before turning resolute. “In all seriousness, though, take notes of anything weird. With a little bit of luck, he’ll start blabbing once he’s had a few.”
Spitfire smirked and added, “Eh, he’s a Limey. It’s gonna take more than a just few, but you’re right. We’ll keep buying him drinks and try get him to lower his guard.”
Rainbow Dash slowly opened the door to her house, still looking crestfallen. She stopped by the half-bath attached to her foyer, rinsed out her mouth and spat something a bit orange into the sink. Dash trudged through her house. She found her bedroom, and plopped onto her place of sleep, still outright glum.
Why, Dash? Why did you have to pick that word? You could’ve picked just about anything else under the sun, and everything would be totally all right!
Rainbow sobbed once, then rolled onto her back, eyes closed, face still screwed up with guilt and self-loathing. She lay there a few moments, before her eyes opened, still misty.
Never do anything small, do you? Either you’re totally awesome for everypony to see, or totally not awesome. Nothing inbetween.
Dash felt a nudge. Turning, she met the smiling face of Tank. Wrapping both forelimbs around her beloved pet, she let out another wave of small sobs. The tortoise simply nuzzled her in response. Getting control of her breathing again, she started, “Oh Tank, why can’t I be more like you? I said something terrible, and feel terrible about it. You never say or do anything that’d hurt anypony.”
Tank nuzzled her again. She hugged him tightly, whispering, “You’re such a pal, always there. Well, except in winter, but that’s not your fault.” She grimaced at a slight pain, a jabbing poke in her chest, then noticed he still had his helicopter attachment. A sad smile to herself at her own forgetfulness, and she continued, “Guess I showed my true colors back there. Always thinking about myself and nopony else. Some loyal friend I am. I feel like such a cruel, heartless bitch.”
Tank pulled himself up to looking her in the face. He looked her in the eye, and very deliberately shook his head no. Then the tortoise turned, firing up the magic-powered rotary wing and buzzed out of the room. Dash cried, “Where...wait, please don’t go!”
A few tears leaked out, as she despondently muttered, “Please don’t leave....”
But I deserve it. After what I said, I can’t blame him or anypony else for not wanting to be my friend. Who would?
Face downward, tears started to flow with some choked sniffles. She wiped away the tears, which were then promptly replaced. The cyan pegasus flopped down on the bed, all strength in her limbs gone. The tears had stopped for the moment, but still she lay there limp, getting a good close look at the four-metre square rug and its expertly knotted tufts.
Never looked this closely at a rug before. I couldn’t stand making one of these. That has to be a dreary life, tying the exact same small knots day in and day out. One of these would have to take years to make, and it’s not very big. Maybe a skillful unicorn could get it done quicker, but still. How long for the runner carpets in the halls? The one in the parlor’s pretty good-sized, too. And you just walk on all of them without a second thought, another shining example of your deep concern about the feelings and struggles other ponies, Dash.
She continued laying there, lazily blinking. A buzzing sound came from the hall. Dash looked towards the door as it grew louder. The mare found the strength to raise her head as Tank came back into the room with a strawberry in his beak. Forcing energy back into her limbs, she pushed herself fully onto the bed as Tank hovered in her direction and set himself down beside her. He dropped the fruit, and pushed it over to her. She furrowed her brow, asking, “For me?”
He nodded. She gave the berry another perplexed stare, and inquired, “Isn’t this from your food dish?”
Another nod. “You want to give me your food?”
Tank gave the same affirmation as before. Tears started welling up in the pegasus’s eyes as she asked, “Even after what I said today?”
Her pet nestled up against her, nodding one more time. And Rainbow Dash cried. The minutes flew by as the waterworks came out. Her thoughts came to her in broken chunks over the course of about two hours, piece by piece, coalescing into a single notion:
You would not be this tore up by your actions and her reaction if you weren’t worthy of your Element.
A large damp spot on her blanket and a wet, steadfast companion by her side is what Dash had to show for herself. Nopony could claim she was over it, or even close, but at least she wasn’t feeling so guilty that she risked puking a second time. She looked to Tank, and quietly said, “Thanks for being there for me.”
Her pet simply smiled at her. Rainbow’s stomach roared, loud enough that Tank turned to look at her belly. Shaking her head with a smile, she muttered, “You were right, I should get something to eat.”
Rainbow Dash landed in the middle of town as the sun neared the western horizon. While the farmer’s market was closed and packed up, Sugarcube Corner was still open.
Maybe something fluffier would be wiser than a greasy hay burger, and I really don’t feel like ponying up for the café.
Looking at Twilight’s castle, she thought aloud, “I’ll talk to her after I’ve had a little something. It’s a friendship problem, isn't it? This sort of thing should be right up her alley.”
Upon entering the little bakery, Dash was accosted by living, breathing bubbliness. “Hiya Dashie! I thought you’d still be at practice flying longer than most birds do daily during migration while you're being screamed at by that mean old stallion who never leaves a tip and demands you all perform at a higher level than most college teams do and work more than anypony in their right mind would ask for a friendly game, but I’m still happy to see you! I’ve never seen stormball played before so Saturday will really exciting and a chance for the Cakes, Bon-Bon and Greasy Mack to get their names out there among ponies who've never been to Ponyville and really crank up their sales by running some concession stands which means I’ll have some long hours this weekend and rush like crazy to be three places all at once the whole way through, but it’ll be great! What can I get for ya?!”
Dash needed a moment to let the torrent of syllables resolve into words and coherent sentences, albeit run-ons, before she asked, “Any lemon poppy seed left?”
Pinkie cocked her head to one side, and asked in slower, sympathetic tones, “What’s wrong, Rainbow Dash?”
Rainbow’s shoulders drooped again. “Is it that obvious?”
“Duh, you’ve never ordered a muffin before, there wasn’t much spring in your step, you were looking more at the floor than at me, and the way you let your tail drag isn’t like you,” answered Pinkie matter-of-factly. “So...what’s wrong? Aunt Pinkie’s here to help, even if it’s just being an open ear.”
Dash looked down as she shook her head guiltily. “I really hurt somepony’s feelings. Really bad. I feel just awful.”
“Why would you do that??” asked Pinkie in shock and sadness.
Sighing, Dash confessed, “I wasn’t thinking before I spoke. I was trying to encourage somepony after they messed up on something, the whole ‘don’t let your mistakes compound themselves,’ as my dad used to say.”
Pinkie pursed her lips, looking more angry than sad. This showed up in her voice as well. “Does this have something to do with the ‘just leave me alone’ we all heard right about lunchtime?”
“You heard that down here?”
Nodding somewhat condescendingly, Pinkie informed Dash, “Uh, yeah, even Applebloom heard it out at Sweet Apple Acres and was asking about it earlier when she met up with Sweetie Bell and Scootaloo this afternoon. What did you say to Derpy?”
Rainbow started, “Um, you shouldn’t call her—”
With her inflection turning harsher, Pinkie interrupted, “I’m one of the ponies she lets use that nickname. What did you say to her, Dash?”
Mrs. Cake stepped out from behind the back doorway to take a spot at the counter, tallying something. Dash sighed and closed her eyes. She felt the tears welling up again and the lump in her stomach returned, wrecking her appetite. Sadly, she said, “Something I shouldn’t have. Something that came out wrong because I wasn’t thinking.”
“This something didn’t start with ‘stu’ and end with ‘pid,’ did it?” accused Pinkie, starting to sound, of all things, hostile. Mrs. Cake dropped the pencil, her eyes fixed on Pinkie and Rainbow, her countenance full of alarm.
Dash slowly nodded as a tear slipped out. Opening her eyes, she feebly and solemnly said, “It did.”
With a glower, Pinkie Pie’s curly mane and tail fell flat as her coat visibly dulled. A slow, angry sigh left her nose. Mr. Cake started coming out from the backroom, with a bottle to his baby daughter’s mouth. He went wide-eyed at the scene as Mrs. Cake motioned for him to retreat, which he swiftly obeyed. Lyra and Bon-Bon came into the shop giggling, but stopped when they saw the angry pink mare, and hastily backpedaled out the door. Pinkie advanced on Dash, speaking slowly in her lower register, sounding threatening. “Rainbow Dash....”
“I said exactly the wrong thing, I know,” lamented Rainbow, her tears starting to pick up speed.
“No, you don’t know,” fired back the livid pink pony. “You don’t know what bullying does to a pony. You don’t know how much flak she took daily. You don’t know the agony of constant ridicule when you did nothing to those others. You don’t know the pain she still feels every single day from that. You don’t know what it’s like to have your self-esteem shattered. You don’t know how a single word can bring back years of unhappiness in a single instant. You don’t know trauma. You just don’t know, Rainbow Dash. Don’t pretend that you do.”
Starting to cry in earnest again, Dash sputtered, “Believe me, if I could turn back time, I would immediately go back to this afternoon and—”
“But you can’t. Nopony can, not even Princess Celestia. What’s said, is said,” declared Pinkie firmly and angrily. “Only actions speak louder than words. Stop talking, stop wishing, start doing.”
Looking down, the cyan mare began, “But how do I—”
Pinkie snatched Rainbow Dash by the ear, giving it a grandmotherly twist as she dragged her flinching friend towards the counter. Mrs. Cake quickly stepped through the open doorway as the two drew near. Pinkie furiously ordered, “You are going to Twilight’s castle. Derpy is there right now, as she usually is at this time, working on something with Twilight.”
Pinkie let go of Dash’s ear when they reached the counter, stuffing a collection of different muffins into a paper bag, many of which were the last of a given batch for the day. Rubbing her tweaked ear, Rainbow began, “What? What’s Twilight—”
“You will see when you get there. Give her these to start,” interrupted the fuming Pinkie, thrusting the paper bag at Dash. She also pushed a single muffin on a paper plate at her, continuing, “And here’s your lemon poppy seed. Now start doing.”
“But—”
“They’re on the house!” snarled Pinkamena. Rainbow stood mystified as one does when unable to process past feeling shocked.
The fury in Pinkie’s eyes disintegrated into great sadness, as did her voice. “If I thought you actually meant that word, Dash, I don’t know how mad I would get. I was her first friend when she came to Ponyville, and the only one she talked to for three months. Derpy lived here close to a year before she had a second real friend, or let me see her real self. She still tells me I’m one of her closest confidants. I love her dearly, and can’t stand to see her hurting.”
Pinkie paused, and held eye contact with Dash. She nodded slowly, then Pinkie finished, “She’ll probably still be furious with you, but you need to try anyway. Now get to the castle.”
Rainbow Dash walked in the front door of Twilight’s palace, looking around cautiously. A light shined from an open door somewhere down the upstairs hallway, but otherwise the castle was about as dark as expected at sunset. There were also voices, but too far away to be clear. Dash closed the door behind her and fluttered up the stairs, bag in one hoof, and the now empty plate in the other. Reaching the upper level, she saw Spike walking down the hallway. The light was at least five doors down the corridor.
Spike stopped when she got close, and said, “Hi, Rainbow Dash. I thought I heard the front door. Here, I’ll take the paper plate. Why don’t we have a seat by the map and talk about the latest Daring Do book?”
Looking around, Rainbow said, “Thanks, Spike. Is Twilight around? I need to talk to her, the sooner the better.”
“Yeah, about that...you might want to wait,” Spike said with insistent eyes. “I don’t think you going in there right now is a good idea, so...let’s talk about Daring Do in the meantime. I’m not quite as versed as Twilight is, but I can hold my own in a friendly debate.”
“Is Muffins here, too?” broached Dash.
Eyes narrowing, the dragon urged, “Yeah, and that’s exactly why you need to wait! She’s not ready for you to apologize or make amends, Dash! She needs some space before that’ll do any good! Give her time to heal!”
“Pinkie said I needed to go do this right away! I believe you’re giving me the best advice you know, but I have to at least try!” Rainbow insisted as she started down the hall.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you...,” muttered Spike, following behind.
Dash started down the hall with the pastry bag in hoof. She could hear Ms. Hooves talking, but it was indistinct, and all but sounded like a mishmash of random syllables. As she neared the door, she heard Twilight enthusiastically answering, “Wow, I think you’re right! That would make sense, given how the chain rule applies to second derivatives in large matrices like these.” Rainbow began through the threshold, coming into view as Twilight continued, “So, let’s go back to....”
Twilight trailed off. Dash’s ears drooped as Muffins turned; Rainbow’s entire posture pleaded an apology as she held the bag of baked goods. Ms. Hooves’ ears immediately flattened, a scowl riddling her face as she quickly looked away. “Just leave me alone. I’m trying to work on something.”
Choking up again, Dash started to speak as the gathering sobs fragmenting her attempted apology. “I’m deeply...and truly...sorry for—”
“Sorry? You!? I wouldn’t buy that for a bit!” erupted Muffins, eyes flashing with rage as she wheeled around. “You think saying you’re sorry changes anything!? Throw a plate at the ground and tell it you’re sorry; does that makes a damn bit of difference!? No! It’s still shattered! You think ponies are any different!? And DON’T you try to placate me with such a feeble gesture!”
Muffins slapped the bag out of Dash’s mouth clear across the room into the wall on “don’t.” The bag’s smushed contents slid down the wall to the floor. Muffins’ swipe missed Dash’s jaw by less than a centimeter, while she had no pause whatsoever in her rant. “Fourteen-hour old muffins that sat on a display shelf through the heat of midday? They’re dry! I can smell it! Insulting, that you’d try such impertinent peace offering! You really do think I’m stupid, huh!? You even said it yourself! Go on, say it again! ‘Cross-eyed Muffins is just a stupid mare!’ Aren’t I!!?”
Muffins had advanced on Rainbow Dash during her tirade, and was nose-to-nose as her furious breathing heaved her whole torso. Dash couldn’t even slow the crying. Trying to tell Ms. Hooves “No! I never once believed it!” produced little more than a vague squawk followed by tear-filled whimpering as she shrank down from the berserk glare.
Snarling at the edge of losing control, Ms. Hooves turned away from Rainbow, slapping her across the face with her tail. Muffins walked up to the disquieted Twilight. In sadder, markedly quieter tones, she said, “I’m sorry, Twi. My focus is shot. We’ll have to pick this up again later.”
Twilight watched past Ms. Hooves as Dash fell to an uneasy sitting position, emotionally crushed, particularly by her own shame. In understanding yet carefully guarded enunciation, Twilight answered, “Of course. Tomorrow night if you’d like.”
“Thanks. Think I’m gonna swing by Barley Hops’ place on the way home. I could really go for some rum right now; it’s been awhile,” muttered Muffins.
“You worry me when you say things like that.”
“Doc will look after me. He always does on nights like this. Both he and Bridleston’s Seventeenth Recipe have been truer friends than some,” snarked Ms. Hooves as she walked past the defeated Dash and out the door. Not even looking back, she grouched barely loud enough to be understood, “‘Element of Loyalty,’ my aching ass.”
Rainbow Dash fully collapsed into a limp pile of self-reproach, tears leaking out slowly though the sobbing didn’t accompany it this time. Twilight waited for Muffins’ footfalls to fade before walking up to Dash. She censured, “I see you’re starting to notice the damage you caused.”
Emptily, Rainbow croaked, “How did I let that slip out, Twi? How did I get so careless? What’s wrong with me?”
“You lacked empathy and understanding, until now,” said Twilight, rubbing Dash on the withers.
“It hurts, knowing I hurt somepony else,” moaned Dash. “I feel terrible. I can’t believe I did that.”
Nodding, and in mothering yet caring tones, Twilight said, “You should feel terrible. And it’s going to sting for awhile. I’d be more worried if you weren’t reeling this much.”
Rainbow Dash sighed sadly, her head finding its way back to the floor. She stared blankly at the not fully distinct reflection of the ceiling, the gallery’s balcony, and some smudges of similar coloration to displayed paintings. She reproachfully said, “I’m a total doofus.”
“Well, Rainbow, the unvarnished truth of the matter is that you’ve never been good at all when it comes to others’ feelings, and this is the first time I’ve seen you so affected. It’s a rude awakening for you,” said Twilight, pacing around. She stopped and turned back to Dash, continuing in a gentler tone of voice, “Never before have you had to look at how much some loose words could hurt another. Since moving to Ponyville, I’ve heard you say some biting things every now and then to our closest friends, but never anything that cut them to the quick. But now...now you might think more carefully before you speak, because I doubt you want to go through this a second time.”
“Yeah. Once is one time too many,” Dash said joylessly.
The sound of Spike belching in the hallway was immediately followed by him calling for Twilight and running into the room, carrying a scroll. He announced, “Princess Celestia got back to you!”
Delighted, Twilight trotted towards him. “Oh, good! I was rather hoping she'd have some advice. Let me see here...ah! Looks like the Princess is okay with you reading along, too. And she included...a newspaper clipping? What is...huh. Look at the date! This was from thirty-two years ago.”
“Now I'm curious,” Spike said as he went to stand beside Twilight. As the two read the scroll, Dash felt a certain relief that the floor was cool to the touch. Before she could mull over this tidbit or anything else, Spike gasped in shock and horror, “What? No way....”
“That is...pretty horrible,” blurted the alicorn with growing unease.
Shaking his head, Spike said, “No wonder he was all upset with me this morning.”
What happened over three decades ago that has anything to do with falling asleep in a projector room today?
“What he did was uncalled for,” Twilight said firmly as Dash pushed herself up into a sitting position.
Sympathetically, he muttered, “Still can’t help but feel sorry for him and his family.”
Are you going to tell me, or keep talking like I’m not even here?
“Spike, listen to me,” started Twilight. “The things that ponies go through, especially scary events like that, help explain why those ponies do bad things. But, these experiences do not excuse their misdeeds. Bicycle Kick is not absolved for what he did, either.”
“Sounds like you two still upset about the way coach blew his stack during film. I am too,” Rainbow said. “But it sounds like you have something that sheds some light on the subject?”
Twilight Sparkle answered, “I do, but it’s nothing that should be spread around, for his family’s privacy.”
Fine, I can’t really argue with that....
“You sound like you still want to confront him,” Dash said.
“I have this well in-hoof,” answered Twilight firmly.
I hope you really are, ‘cuz...wha...??
Dash’s own thoughts petered out as she looked around the room. In this gallery, one with a distinct lack of artwork, were quite the number of rolling blackboards, all filled in with some writing Rainbow Dash did not understand. The cyan mare’s mouth dropped.
What is all this? It almost looks like a foreign language, but it doesn’t at the same time. Some of it sorta, kinda looks like math, maybe? Where are the numbers?
“Uh...Twi?”
“Yes? Sounds like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Twilight, sounding equal parts confused and concerned.
Dash, though, sounded nothing short of baffled. “What is all this stuff on all these blackboards?”
“This is Ms. Hooves’ work,” replied Twilight, sounding annoyed with Dash again. “She’s studying, and much smarter than she realizes.”
Dash carefully looked over a long series of familiar letters in odd combinations, and some symbols she’d never seen before. She looked to her friend a moment, then back at the closest blackboard. “What is this she’s studying? I can’t make heads or tails of any of it.”
“Math,” was Twilight’s flat reply.
“Uh, are you sure about that?” questioned Rainbow with great uncertainty. She flitted around the room, stopping at different slates, “There’s no numbers on this blackboard. Or that one. Or that one either. I don’t see a single number in here; this can’t be math!”
Amused, Twilight chuckled as she looked at Dash. “Rainbow, this is advanced calculus. Believe me, it’s math, and it’s pretty tough.”
Tough, I don’t doubt. But math? Never seen math like this.
Rainbow Dash cocked her head to the right, her face contorted over something. Then she picked up an eraser from the dust tray, rubbing on the slate.
“What are you doing!?” shouted Twilight, flying up to the upper level.
Dash coolly replied, “Just fixing a mistake. I mean, dx over dy? The d’s cancel out; even I remember that much from school.”
Twilight slapped the eraser from Rainbow’s hoof, garnering a half-angry, half-sad, all confused facial expression. Levitating chalk and replacing what was previously there, she fumed, “That’s a derivative! It was right the first time! Don’t erase anything, please!”
Dash looked down again, shoulder down, and eyes closed as she slowly landed with hints of tears. Twilight’s shoulders slumped, then quickly joined her friend on the lower level. Pulling Dash into a hug, Twilight softly said, “I’m sorry I overreacted. This work is very important to Ms. Hooves; I don’t want to see her all tore up over something else.”
Dash returned the hug and said, “It’s okay, and I'm sorry for the erasing; I shouldn't've touched what I didn't understand. I didn’t want to hurt her at all, and definitely wouldn’t want to do it twice in one day.” The two let go. Dash looked around the myriad of blackboards, and said, “I can’t help but wonder, what got her started on this?”
Spike used some spray to remove something reddish from the wall where the rejected muffins hit. Twilight asked, “Remember the day the Bugbear attacked?”
“Yeah, Twi. I think I have a scar where it bit me,” grumped Rainbow.
“That day, before the Bugbear attacked, she and the good doctor had an interesting talk about how there are natural processes that magic cannot explain,” Twilight said. “She said he put forth the bold claim that these phenomena are ‘where science and mathematics are the real magic.’ She didn’t pay it much mind then, but the talk with him, and that comment in particular, planted a seed in her mind. Now she’s trying to figure out this advanced math. Muffins is making staggeringly fast progress.”
I don’t even know what I’m looking at.
Dash murmured, “So this is math, but is what it even used for?”
“She’s calculating rates of change in wide areas, and volumes under uneven surfaces in said wide areas,” explained Twilight in her typical pleased-when-elaborating tone.
Dash opened her mouth briefly, then closed it again. She blinked at Twilight several times, turned back at the slate, and bewilderedly asked, “What’s the point of calculating that?”
“That’s about Doc’s claim, where magic provides no help in understanding what’s going on,” began Twilight, her inflection growing excited. “She’s learning to predict how weather works, in regions where there are no weather ponies at all.”
That’s impossible! Every weather pony knows without our work the winds and clouds go around all willy-nilly! But, Twi’s so earnest...she’s already shocked me with several revelations this week; what’s one more? If that’s even possible, surely the egghead among eggheads would’ve mastered it years ago!
“But, but this is stuff you already know, right??” Dash asked in shock.
“Dash, look at me,” commanded Twilight in kind but firm tones. “Nopony has attempted this before. I can barely follow half of what you see on these blackboards. She’s making progress, and what you see here is the start of a dissertation.”
“A dissertation? What’s that again?” asked the cyan pegasus, sounding of one trying to remember something.
“A very long, very in-depth research paper—” began Twilight.
“Sounds boring,” Rainbow dismissively interjected.
“—that a pony writes to earn a doctorate.”
Wait, WHAT!!? What in the blue-flying hell is going on!? How much does she really know!? This is unreal!! Is her shrink right, that the bumbling but lovable fool who brings us our mail is nothing more than her defense against her harrowing childhood?! How can anypony mask themselves so well?!
“...you’re kidding,” blurted Rainbow in stunned disbelief.
“No, Dash. I’m not kidding, joking, or exaggerating. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s working towards a PhD. And believe me, I have no doubt she’ll get it. Then you’ll get to call Muffins ‘Dr. Hooves’,” Twilight said. She chuckled for a moment, and exclaimed, “That’ll be confusing at first, with two ponies we can address by the same title at the same time, especially with how much they hang out!”
Spike interrupted the princess's snickering with a simple question, “Then how are we to make it clear who we‘re talking to, if they‘re together so much?”
Twilight laughed, “We‘ll just have to call them the First and Second Doctor!”
Spike turned to the fourth wall, looking equal parts aghast, dubious, and unamused.
Twilight continued laughing at her own silly remark, while Rainbow Dash plunked onto her haunches. She gradually said, “That...that’s totally awesome. She’s gonna be a professor.”
“A professor you called ‘stupid,’ remember?” Twilight abruptly pointed out, eyes fixed on Dash, though her tone had no malice.
Dash gasped in saddened surprise. Her eyes fell and closed, her head drooped again along with her ears, and the tears started anew.
Her defense kept us all out, because she didn’t want to be hurt again. She began letting you in, and not even two days passed before you stabbed her in the heart. Here she has been proving to herself that word isn’t true, doing things you could never have figured out, and you thrust that word in her face. Now she's back to believing it. Why, Dash? Why would you say that to her?
Twilight stood beside Rainbow Dash, hoof on her shoulder. She solemnly said, “I think you now have the whole picture, and the gravity of what you said. Bullied ponies can spend their entire adult lives trying to forget a few moments of their foalhood, and any reminder of those times, especially things like that word, can send them straight back to that pain.”
Dash didn’t budge at all. Rubbing the her shoulder, she gently said, “I know you didn’t mean her any harm. You thought of Muffins as your friend, did you not?”
Dash nodded weakly. “Yeah, Twi. I was really starting to like her.”
“I’m glad to hear that. You know you need to make amends. Tonight was too soon, but it at least showed her that you know you were in the wrong and want to set things right. I honestly don’t know if it can be done, but I’m pretty sure if you try again tomorrow, she’ll perceive you the wrong way, and that will push her beyond your reach. Wait for when the time is right, Element of Loyalty. You will know when.” Dash started to lift her head, but Twilight quickly added, “Don’t tell me when; you already know.”
Dash nodded as she stood up. She hugged Twilight, saying, “Thanks, Twi.”
Twilight answered, “Of course. Now head home and get some sleep; four-thirty gets here quick, and we’ll have got plenty of drills tomorrow.”