//------------------------------// // Epiphany // Story: Three Gems and a Scooter // by RaylanKrios //------------------------------// Scootaloo sat in her room, still waiting for that epiphany that had eluded her since yesterday.  Throughout the day she kept hoping that Lilly would slip up and reveal herself to be some sort of evil matron, intent on adopting Scootaloo as part of some nefarious scheme, or failing that, just a mean pony. But as far as Scootaloo could tell, Lilly was just a pony looking to grow her family. She seemed nice enough, all the ponies who had tried adopting her did at first, until the novelty wore off and they grew sick of her. She thought about what Rarity said, not so much the weird Neighponese pottery thing, but about what Rarity said about Sweetie Belle. Sweetie had known her longer than anypony, and was still her best friend. Granted, being a friend was markedly different than adopting somepony, but it still had to matter that Sweetie was still her friend after knowing her for years. And if Sweetie could see past her brokenness, then maybe Rarity could too.   Scootaloo hopped off the bed and trotted over to the closet where the dress Rarity gave her hung. She stared at it, hoping to gain further insight, but the idea that Rarity really did love her enough to overlook her flaws was equally as elusive as any epiphany about Lilly. Scootaloo sighed. Realizing that the dress wasn’t going to make her decision for her, she drifted over to her desk. A pang of longing pierced her chest as she saw the pictures of Rainbow Dash, that particular wound still raw. Next, she studied a picture of her and her fellow crusaders with wide smiles on their faces as they posed in front of the Ponyville schoolhouse.  Scootaloo stood in the center, her forelegs draped over the other two. What Scootaloo liked about the picture was that it was impossible to look at it and see anything other than three happy friends. For a brief moment in time, captured in that image, she was indistinguishable from any other normal filly. She thought about the past month. It hadn’t been terrible, in fact, if she was being honest with herself, it had been nice. She was enjoying her dance lessons and she liked playing poker with Rarity, even if she always lost. But more important than any of that was that Rarity didn’t seem to be “going through the motions.” Sweetie’s sister had actually, genuinely, welcomed her into her home. Rarity could have left the upstairs bedroom decorated as it was, but she didn’t. And she could have told Scootaloo that she didn’t like barley soup and so she wouldn’t be making it for dinner, but she didn’t. And Rarity didn’t have to tuck her in and comfort her when she was crying at night, and she did that anyway too. Scootaloo didn’t appreciate the idea of a spell that was used to unwrinkle fabrics being used on her, and Rarity refused to keep calling it her “horn thing,” so the pair had come to a compromise. Rarity modified the spell further, with some help from Twilight, so that the warmth generated had less air flow and was thus less like a dryer and more pure magic, and in exchange Scootaloo agreed to call it the bedtime spell.   Scootaloo had grown to like the bedtime spell. For one, it didn’t involve any physical touching. Previous foster parents had sometimes insisted on a goodnight kiss or hug. Scootaloo was wary about being touched; she wasn’t sure exactly why. Encroaching on her personal space felt like the first step toward being let down; better to stop that before it started. And it though she couldn’t place a hoof on exactly why, the bedtime spell made her feel safe. Safe wasn’t technically the right word. Saying she felt safe implied that Scootaloo was scared at night. It wasn’t that Scootaloo was afraid of the dark or anything like that. It was that when she was being bathed in warm magic she felt wanted. And since her biggest fear was that she wasn’t, the bedtime spell quieted that worry. Scootaloo made a decision. It felt like a big deal, but as far as she could tell, the rest of the world didn’t notice; there were no fireworks or heralding of trumpets. It was a little like pushing yourself off a steep hill on a scooter, she mused. Once you committed on that course there was really no stopping until the end. As Scootaloo knew from experience, trying to stop a scooter at full speed as it barreled down a precarious incline left you with some nasty scrapes and bruises. Better to grip the handlebars tight, and look for a suitable path to the bottom. Her scooter metaphor firmly entrenched and ushering her onward, Scootaloo walked into the hallway. The telltale whir of Rarity’s sewing machine told her that the workshop of Carousel Boutique was where she was likely to find the pony she was looking for. Scootaloo pushed the door open and quietly spoke. “Rarity,” she said, unsure if the din of the sewing machine would drown out her voice.   Rarity looked up from her sewing machine to catch a hint of purple tail in her peripheral vision. Knowingly or not, Scootaloo had placed herself directly behind the machine’s body and Rarity took a step to the side so she could better see the pony addressing her. Scootaloo struggled to make eye contact. “I think I’d like to maybe try staying here, if you’re still okay with that.” It wasn’t exactly the feverish acceptance Rarity had been hoping for, but functionally it was the same. “Of course I am,” Rarity answered.  Neither pony said anything for a few moments, Rarity unsure of how to act in this situation and Scootaloo not wanting to risk saying anything that could make Rarity change her mind. “I mean I don’t know if it’s going to work, it’s just that…” Scootaloo stopped and fought back tears she didn’t realize were forming. “I’m sick of moving, and I’m sick of being sad all the time. I just want a home, and maybe it can be here. I mean you’re related to Sweetie so…” Scootaloo paused as she realized her rambling was bordering on incoherent. Rarity took a few steps forward and gently wrapped Scootaloo in a hug, their first one as family members, albeit still unofficial ones. As she cradled the orange filly who was alternating between trying not to cry and accepting that she was, Rarity had a minor epiphany; Scootaloo wasn’t broken, but she was fragile. And evidently she had placed that fragility in her hooves. It was profoundly humbling. A few more moments later and Scootaloo pushed herself away and looked up at Rarity with wide eyed innocence only children could summon. “Scootaloo, I won’t pretend that everything is going to be perfect from now on, these things take time. Maybe we can work together to smooth out the rough patches, okay?”  It wasn’t as eloquent a phrase as Rarity wanted to deliver, but it was what she came up with. “Okay… Mom?” Scootaloo said with a grimace, followed by a weak smile.  It was clear that she was uncomfortable with using the word, but that she was also trying to mask her displeasure. Unfortunately for her, her age, and her tendency to wear her heart on her sleeve was working against her in that regard. “Pump-kin?” Rarity responded, her inflection rising. It wasn’t that she was any more comfortable with the sudden name changes, but as an adult and one who worked in an industry where lying to preserve others feelings were commonplace, she was much more practiced at hiding her emotions. Scootaloo flinched at the sobriquet, her ears folding back against her head and an awkward silence hung in the air. Finally, Scootaloo spoke again, “Would it be okay if I just called you Rarity?” she whispered, not daring to make eye contact. “It would. Would it be okay if I just called you Scootaloo?” Rarity replied softly. “Uh-huh,” Scootaloo said with a nod, looking up. “Splendid,”  Rarity replied and for a moment the tension was lifted.   Scootaloo looked around the room, trying to take in the idea that this was home now. “So now what?” “Well, now I guess we make it official.”