//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: All In the Making // by Lapis-Lazuli and Stitch //------------------------------// Chapter 2 When I wake up, I can’t even pretend the throbbing in my head isn’t the first thing I notice. I register it before I even open up my eyes, and it is a very good motivator for keeping them shut. I feel every pump of blood, and no amount of steady, controlled breathing helps. I need water. But that involves getting up and crawling my way to the sink; I’m not sure it’d be worth the effort. I groan and let my tongue loll out the side of my mouth. I feel like complete garbage, and anything about last night isn’t coming ‘round without some thinking. Which hurts at the present moment. I try to roll over and moan some more (I have a fleeting thought I’ll be doing that a lot over the course of the day), but I realize I’ve tangled myself in the sheets and don’t even really struggle with them before I just get myself more twisted in the mass of fabric. It’s without my conscious decision that my eyes peek out into the world, but I am very sure I’m the one to decide to clamp them shut almost immediately and wince. By Celestia, I’m not even facing the side the window’s on. But something in my pain-cracked head insists I need to get up, and I try opening my eyes again. I’m more guarded about it; but even so, the sudden assault of colors and shapes get an audible cry out of me. I force myself to keep my eyes opening though. Sure I’ll be glad I didn’t just decide to go back to bed later, but my only reward in the moment is an even bigger weight in my head… and I can also feel myself beading sweat in the sheets. “Ughhhhh…” my mouth opens and now I’m aware of how dry it is in there. My need for water quickly overwhelms anything else, and I struggle out of the sheets with a bad case of the shakies. I don’t even go for the sink. It’s straight to the shower, only cold water, and I take several long gulps straight from the faucet before letting the icy water slowly bleed the morning pains away. Of course, it’s not all bliss. Sure my mess of body chemistry isn’t destroying me anymore, but that just means I start remembering what I can about last night. Just like every other time before it, with or without the team, my first instinct is to abstain from alcohol altogether. I don’t always end up a messy pile of half-mare the next morning, but… oh, what the hell… I’m pretty sure I’ll end up drinking again when we get to Baltimare. I sigh audibly and reach for a comb on the vanity, just to do something with my hooves. I give up trying to remember how much I had to drink, especially since knowing isn’t likely to make the aftereffects go away anytime soon. I start combing my mane down from the windswept look the team keeps up for shows, my still kinda muddled thoughts latching onto the only thing about last night I can’t even get into the hoofball stadium. Who brought me back to my room? Hey… how’d whoever it was know where I was staying? I mean, sure the rest of the team knew as a matter of policy, but the likelihood even one of them would’ve been sober enough to give out the right info borders on absurd. I mean… eh… maybe Soarin’ would have been? I dunno. He holds his liquor better than all of us combined, but I’ve still seen him go stupid. I get my mane and tail combed back to the straight locks they’re supposed to be and groan that the cold water is starting to lose its healing effect. I move to turn the water off and begin the long, slow day of recovery when somepony quite literally pounds on my door. I squeak and bruise my hoof on the faucet nob before screaming in my absolutely beautiful dehydrated smoker’s voice, “I’m bathing!” “Sorry… damn,” I hear Soarin’s voice from in the hallway. I try to hurriedly dry myself off and throw a towel around my shoulder-draped mane, but it’s easier said than done. My shakies are still pretty bad, especially after stepping out of an ice cold dousing. Gah. I’m still wet enough to be… I groan… poofy when I answer the door, but at least I’m not still drenched. “Oh… hi,” I manage to scratch out with a small cough. He looks just as bad as I feel. Wow. I actually wonder how he’s functional enough to walk over here when I’m doing all I can to not crawl back in bed and conk out. Fun. This is what I have to look forward to today. “You okay?” he asks, and I step aside so he can walk in. “Heard you had a rough night from the geezer downstairs.” Why doesn’t he sound like a dragon’s butt? He looks it. I shake my head of the thoughts (and immediately regret it… supremely) and say, “You don’t look… ughhh… you don’t look so hot either.” “Thank you,” comes his sarcastic reply. “At least I didn’t pass out.” “You get that from the guy downstairs too?” I bite back as I ring my mane of remaining water. “Sorry… bad morning.” “Uh… no, actually,” Soarin’ says, and when I look over to him, he’s scratching the back of his neck nervously. That’s never a good sign. Everypony on the team knows it. And even though my head is taking a little longer to put thoughts together, it doesn’t take me much more time to realize I really don’t want to hear what he’s about to say next but can’t stop him. “That’s… um… well that’s old hat out in town, Fleet,” he says. “And what’s… ugh, Celestia’s mane… ‘new hat’?” I ask, my apprehension making me more irritable than even a bad hangover would. “Fleet, are you sure you’re okay?” Soarin’ asks me. But this time he’s more the sincere and caring brother figure every member on the team gets to know when they’re goin’ through tough times. It’s an odd switch for him, and I get a jolt of worry through my bones. “And not physically. I mean, I know it sounds stupid, but you aren’t losin’ it are you? The whole team is there if you need -” I don’t know what it is, but something snaps inside me. I… know I’ll figure out what it was later, but the only thing registering in me is a well of anger, frustration, and a whole mess of other things I’d been avoiding since the talks about the wingpony job started. I wheel on Soarin’ and the towel comes off my uncomfortably long and stringy mane. “What did I do, Soarin’!?” I scream at him. Straight scream. He flinches and I just barrel on with the little steam I have after the shower. “Stop dancing around it, and bucking tell me what Spitfire is gonna ream me for!” I’m taking heaving breaths as I continue to try to stare him into oblivion. He sighs, but not in the exasperated way. It’s more like he was muttering to himself. “Sit down, Fleet. Please,” he tells me. He’s soft, calm, and quiet which only makes me angrier. “Soarin’...” I growl. “Don’t make me turn it into an order when we’re not on duty,” he says and takes a seat right on the floor himself. “Now come on, I wanna talk.” Exhaustion hits me then along with a lack of words, and I plop onto the floor opposite my lieutenant. “Spitfire didn’t put you up to this, did she?” It’s the only thing coherent enough in my pulsing head to make it out my mouth. “She wouldn’t be that nice,” Soarin’ chuckled, and I nod with a dutiful eyeroll of agreement. “She’s still not, come to think of it.” I make to ask what he means, but he cuts me off with a raised hoof. “You first. Is the wingpony job really eating you up that bad? ‘Cause if…” “It scares me a little, and I don’t know what we’ll do without you around,” I say before he finishes. I take a big breath. “But it’s not like I think I’ll be a complete failure.” “Hoo, ‘kay…” Soarin’ says, scratching the back of his head again. “Quick and short. If it’s not that, then what is it? ‘Cause you don’t strike me as the type to poledance and all but offer to fuck some random stallion, even if you were wasted.” I blink several times, and I have to remember my jaw isn’t supposed to hang open like that. Even my sluggish brain doesn’t want to admit the possibility that what Soarin’ is saying is true. “Did… did I really?” I pretty much squeak. Probably pretty pathetically. “Oooooh yeah,” Soarin’ says, and I can taste his unease in the air. And what he says next makes me want to bury my head in a dark corner for a very, very long time. “The… um… the coffee shop this morning was… ah… Well, for your sake, details were not lacking among the stallions this morning.” “Ohhhhhhh.... Luna kill me now…” I whine, pulling my ears down against my head and doing everything possible to not look Soarin’ in the eyes. I’d actually prefer to put all of me in that dark corner and stay there forever. “How am I supposed to step outside?” I say in almost a whisper. “Can’t help ya there, Fleet,” Soarin’ shrugs, and I manage to look at him for a glare, but I still can’t let go of my ears. “But I know you, and you’re not the type to just off and do something like that. So… as a friend, not your superior officer, what digs?” He smiles a little fondly at me, and something inside tells me he’d be ready to wait minutes if it took me that long to get the words out. Sure I know what my problem is, but a Wonderbolt has their life together. Even if it’s not what they think it’s supposed to be (I mean, who does). I force my selfish feelings down and swallow. The pounding in my head is still there, but I’m getting my normal headspace back along with rational thought. Maybe all it took was to sit down. “Damn, Soarin’, I don’t think it was anything,” I say. I let go of my ears, but rub them a bit. No amount of holding them down is gonna keep anypony from seeing how embarrassed I’m going to be stepping outside. “I was just being stupid. The idea of taking your spot is stressful and… stuff.” Soarin’ eyes me like I’ve seen Spitfire scrutinize her kids, like he doesn’t quite believe me. “You… you never intended to take my spot, did ya?” he asks, his look becoming more understanding. “No, not really,” I reply. That much is at least the truth. Funny enough. “The fact I got as far as I am surprised me.” “Yeah, I guess I can see where you’re breakin’ down,” he says, running a tired hoof through his mane. “Am not,” I reply with a little defiance. “One night of drunken stupidity does not equal me cracking at the seams.” “Well, however you wanna put it, I was aiming to take the wingpony position when I was in your spot,” he says, standing. “I was a bit more than ready. Look, Fleet, you’ll do great. And for the love of Luna’s moon, don’t drink alone anymore. We’re all gonna have to be in the room when Spitfire tears you a new one…” “Surprise should thank me,” I groan with a roll of my eyes. “She won’t be the one getting the cat calls for once.” “Spits expects us all at one of the town hall conference rooms in an hour by the way,” Soarin’ tells me as he opens the door. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there,” I say, waving him a goodbye. Well, this is turning out just dandy. I crawl myself to my hooves, grab my trusty lighter and pack, and step onto the balcony with my still damp mane. Everything will work itself out in the end... at least that’s what I tell myself. My ears start burning again when I think about what I apparently did, but the feeling is quickly overwhelmed by the heavy anticipation from what’s coming on Spitfire’s end. Sure, showing myself in Ponyville again will probably never happen, but I have a bad feeling Spitfire is never going to let me live this down. Well, I think as I exhale my first puff of smoke, here’s to a good wingpony career… ______________________________________________________________________________ I swear I’m not racist or anything like that, but thank Celestia Ponyville is a predominantly Earth pony town. They don’t watch the sky like ground-bound pegasi and can’t feel wind patterns enough to know where a pegasus is gonna dart next. Add that sheer stroke of luck to some of my own cloud wrangling skill from before I joined up with the Guard, and I made it to the town hall without trailing a gaggle of doofy colts. I slipped inside the main entrance and made every effort to merely click the door shut. Luna forbid the stallion I… dammit… I enticed, ugh, works in the mayor’s office. Thankfully, it’s the middle of the day by now and everypony is either out to lunch or slaving away with a daisy sandwich hanging between their teeth. I’ve done it before, and it’s not nearly as uncomfortable or irritating as I thought. Hay, I’m hungry. I should’ve probably left my little hotel loft early to grab some sorta brunch pastry, ‘cause now that I’m out and about… well, my gut is unkindly reminding me that bar food doesn’t stick with anypony. I try to focus on just getting through this brief without letting my thoughts drift off to a hoof-made lunch and a nice glass of water; but I’m forced to gingerly tap the bridge of my muzzle to get anywhere on that train. My hangover doesn’t protest too much, for which I let a relieved sigh. And just when I’m starting to slow my walk to a halt trying to figure where the team is holding the brief, Soarin’ steps out from one of the conference rooms. I pick up my pace to a light trot and pass him with silent, brisk nod. Not much to say after the talk we had. Most of the senior team members are already inside, and they give me the same curt tilt of the noggin’. No doubt not a single pony in the room doesn’t have the goods on my nightly activities (I roll my eyes, more at even my own inability to call myself a slut than anything), but that’s one thing I know I’ll miss when I finally leave the ‘Bolts like Soarin’. No matter what the team knows about you, so long as you show up when you’re supposed to and perform to the standard… they’ll stand by you. Sure there’s the annoyance at having to deal with the potential media fallout, but at the end of the day, I can always count on being judged by my flying and nothing else. I’ve done the thinking, and I can never come up with any other place that’s like that. But that’s just with my peers. The junior kids and our brand new pick-ups… they give my first smile of the day. A good majority of them refuse eye contact with me, probably out of some silly misplaced fear of what Spitfire will do to them if they do. The pick-ups just look glad that the royal screw-up isn’t them like they were told it would be. I remember bein’ in those hooves. Ah, they’ll learn. Just like I did. I take my seat next to Surprise and stretch my wings. She doesn’t say anything (which, oh ha ha, suprises me), but even she had something in mind, she wouldn’t have gotten a chance to get far. The door shuts not seconds after I sit, and I wince as my hangover smacks me with it’s unfortunate relevance. Soarin’ and Spits follow the banging doors to the head of our little assembly, and I cock my head to the side in a touch of confusion. Spit isn’t wearing her uniform, and even when she doesn’t require us to wear ours, the Captain always pulls it out for any official announcement no matter how short. And forget the rest of the team, she’s going to scream my brains out the back of my head. Even civilians know that’s best done in full regalia (though when she’s not yelling at somepony, Spitfire is too attractive in hers for her own damn good…) “Alright you lot,” she starts off, and the weariness in her voice is palpable. My ears perk, now concerned more for the status of team than myself. Which, I berate myself, shouldn’t have been a switch I needed to make. “Some shit news, not gonna lie. Our support team got delayed almost a week from some miscommunication between me and the weather managers for our route. They’re bogged down under a hefty thunderstorm that’s too far into its cycle for the weather teams to pack it up for us.” While everypony else groans and mutters complaints, a little seed of panic blossoms in my chest. And the only reason it hadn’t before… I thought that embarrassment or no, I’d be gone from Ponyville. And Soarin’! I glare at him even though he’s not looking at me. He had to have known already, so why didn’t he tell me? “Could I get some actual questions, not ones about whether or not we’re getting docked leave?!” Soarin’ booms in that shouting voice he doesn’t use enough, if I’m being honest. “Thank you, and I’m working on it,” he says in his normal tone when everypony quiets. “The new HQ isn’t gonna be a dick about putting our families up before we get there, are they?” Rapidfire asks. “I’ll get on that,” Spitfire says without a pause. I could not do her job. “So far, only word has been from the support team.” “We’re not flying ahead anyway?” Surprise echoes my own hopes. “The new HQ was already gonna be bogged down in paperwork when we all showed up,” Soarin’ says. “No reason to make them go through it all twice.” “Ponyville’s a nice place anyway, so no reason not to enjoy it,” Spitfire says, and I hurriedly look away from eyes I know are burning a clean hole to my soul. “I’m just doing my due diligence and letting my team know what’s going on. Hunker down fillies, get comfortable.” “Dismissed,” Soarin’ waves everypony off. I expect Spitfire to order me to stay behind, so I keep my butt planted. But she doesn’t and my confusion, dread, and panic at being stuck in Ponyville a whole week mix into a jumbled mess that renders me just shy of catatonic. I say just shy, because I don’t have long enough to sink into a haze before everypony else has filtered out and it’s only me and Spitfire in the room. I only briefly wonder why Soarin’ bounced so soon before realizing Spitfire probably has him running as ragged as she’ll be. “You need to talk to me about something, Fleet?” Spitfire asks me, sidling through the rows of chairs with the epitome of a flat expression on her face. “I figured it’d be the other way around to be honest,” I shrug. “And yeah, I probably deserve it,” I add with a long breath. “Fleetfoot, normally, I wouldn’t even be talking to you,” Spitfire says, the edge in her voice hardening beyond description. I brace myself for what I know comes next. “And deep in my captain’s gut, I’m a hoof more than certain I should be screaming my lungs out. But right now, I’ve got a logistic and bureaucratic nightmare to deal with and I need all my energy for that.” “Sooo, you’re not going to make me wish my ears were on the other side of Equestria?” I ask, even though she’s already made the answer abundantly clear. It’s just, Spitfire never let’s us skate by. Ever. Not even on the small stuff. And all my effort to avoid being seen just on the flight over here is just icing on the cake telling me my futz-up wasn’t tinny. I… there’s no way I’m getting out it all scot free. “Bigger trees to buck, as the Earth ponies say,” Spitfire grunts. “Nopony’s short on details, Fleet. You may not be getting my fury, because yes, I am furious with you; but you’re not getting any shielding either.” Ah. Yes. There it is. “You can field this one on your own.” Part of me thinks Spits never had any intention of getting on my case at all. She knows my relationship with the public is the laughing stock of the team, and even a few brief thoughts toward how I’m gonna manage this is enough to convince me I’d rather have my mane yelled into our signature whoosh. “Can you at least point me in the right direction?” I ask, a bit desperately. Those few thoughts are annoyingly piling into a mountain. Too quickly for my liking really. “Heh,” Spitfire guffs, taking her hoof off the door to the conference room to stare back at me. “The stallion who saved you from a literal fuck fest… Name’s Big Macintosh. Brother of one of Rainbow’s friends.” And with that she’s gone, leaving me alone in the room and cringing with mental images of what could have been. I’ve never been interested in what the more raucous parties in Canterlot and Cloudsdale turn into, which would explain why I’m… Ugh. “Nopony cares that you’re still a virgin, Fleet,” I mutter to myself. I climb off the seat and meander around the room, trying to get my thoughts in order. With my skill (well, really lack thereof) with media, my best bet on that front is easily gonna just be to wait it out. Hiding. In my room. Alone. No! You are not feeling sorry for yourself for your own stupidity! I mentally scream at myself, squinting my eyes shut against my own pity party. Still, getting a good classic and waiting it out is probably my best option. But I was still left with what Spitfire had told me. As much as I just wanted begin my brain melting week of isolation in the hopes it would end sooner if I started sooner, my old-fashioned self… I sighed. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I didn’t find this Big Macintosh and thank him for being a half-decent pony when none of us were able to. It was a dumb and silly notion better left to the classic I’d pick up on my way back to my room, but I couldn’t help it. The idea had roots now, and I had to at least try. And yeah, it was wishful thinking, but maybe if word got around about it, ponies wouldn’t be so eager to rip my reputation to shreds.