//------------------------------// // Part: 2 // Story: Fool's Paradise // by Chapter 13 //------------------------------// Fool's Paradise By: Rumble, Chapter: 13, Typoglyphic. With the passage of time comes change. Whether for the better or worse, life will never be constant and, thusly, neither are we. We change, our lives change, and the world around us changes. Sometimes, this is a good thing, bringing with it exciting new opportunities. Other times, change only brings with its sadness—either taking away that which we love or happening in a way we don’t want. This change tests our ability to adapt; our ability to make the most of our situation. Some of us flourish while others are left in the dust. This change can only be truly gauged by the person it affects, as what you see on the outside may not be what is true on the inside. Appearances are always illusions, as we always portray what we want others to see. *** Fleetfoot slumped back in her seat and glanced out the window as the small bumps from the railroad bounced the Wonderbolts’ train car. “It’s been raining for nearly two hours!” she complained. “Are we there yet?” Spitfire shot her younger teammate a sideways glance, irritation plain on her face. “Can you still see the huge mountains outside?” she asked rhetorically. Fleetfoot nodded anyway. Spitfire scowled. “That means we aren’t even close!” “Argh!” Fleetfoot groaned, throwing her hooves into the air. “Can’t this stupid thing go any faster? I’m getting bored and antsy sitting here doing nothing!” “Oh, for Celestia’s sake, you're such a foal!” Spitfire fumed as she turned to fully face the mare. Soarin chuckled from his seat as he watched the two mares exchange their hourly argument. It had become a sport of its own ever since they’d left Canterlot. “It’s like watching an old married couple,” he quipped. Fleetfoot scoffed at him. “Married? Hardly! Old, on the other hoof…” She smirked at Spitfire. “What you think, grandma?” “I am not old and you know it!” Spitfire retorted. “Keep telling yourself that… grandma.” Soarin watched on with mild interest. “Don’t make me pull rank on you, Sargent!” Fleetfoot sighed, clearly unconcerned. “Whatever...” she mumbled, returning her gaze to the window. “But, seriously, how long does it take to get from Canterlot to Filly?” “Without delays, about two hours and ten minutes. With standard delays, two hours and forty-one minutes,” High Winds offered from her seat just opposite the arguing pair. Spitfire and Fleetfoot both raised eyebrows. “How the hay did you know that?” Fleetfoot asked. “Well, all I’ve had to read is this freaking pamphlet for the past several hours,” High Winds spoke, holding up the paper. “Left all my other reading material back at the hotel.” “I told you to double check,” Soarin chided. “Well,” High Winds began, holding the pamphlet up to wave in the stallion’s face, “did you know that this class train has been in commission for over three decades?” Soarin gave his cousin a quizzical look. “How was I supposed to know that?” “Well, now you do!” High Winds said proudly. Soarin rolled his eyes. Spitfire smirked as she watched the pair, then she swung her eyes over to the one silent member of the team in the carriage. “Hey, Dash, you grabbing enough sleep over there?” *** Rainbow opened her eyes, though only enough to take a glance around the cabin. “What did I miss?” she croaked as she wiped the sleep from her eye. Fleetfoot chuckled as she looked over to the mare. “Besides Spits being an old granny, not much.” “I swear, Fleetfoot, one more time…” Rainbow shook her head playfully as she sat up and looked out of the carriage window she’d been leaning on, brushing her prismatic mane in the small reflection as she gazed upon the lighter sky that was beginning to overtake the gloomy clouds. “Seems like the storms beginning to fade out. We must be getting closer, now,” Soarin noted to the team, which seemed to perk Fleetfoot up a bit. “I’ll go inform the rest of the squad to start packing the gear soon,” Fleetfoot announced as she hoisted herself to her hooves and trotted out the door, leaving the compartment in silence the only sound coming from the light clacks of the train. Rainbow rolled her eyes, then turned to face the window and took in the storm raging outside. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds around her: the patter of rain against the side of the train car added to the already growing cacophony of hissing wind and the gentle thunder of far-off lightning. This natural symphony almost drowned out the mechanical squeal and rumble of train wheels on the metal track. For most ponies, the sound of the storm would seem threatening, possibly frightening. For a pegasus, however, the sound was calming, almost natural. It was the sound of the sky, a byproduct from their domain, and something that they felt responsible for. Rainbow Dash smiled—she loved storms. Storms were organized chaos, as any pegasus would say, and while it seemed that they controlled them, nothing could be further from the truth. Storms had a mind of their own once they were created; almost nothing could be done by pegasi or anything else once they gained enough power. Like this storm, for instance. At the moment, it appeared to be only a class three but, in an instant, it could grow to a class four, or even a class five—a storm too huge and wild for pegasi to tame. These unstoppable, almost sapient storms were rare, as pesagi usually did all they could to prevent them, but, when such storms did strike disaster always followed in their wake. And in the wake of disaster: rebirth. As harsh as nature can be, there is always a rainbow after the storm. After every storm, especially the destructive ones, comes a time where nature decides it’s time to rebuild. Flowers will bloom, trees will regrow, and nature will always replace what it lost. Rainbow Dash frowned. “Yo’, Dash, you in there?” Rainbow snapped out of her daydream, letting out a little ‘yelp’ of surprise. She turned towards the direction of the voice, sighing when she noticed Spitfire sitting next to her, hooves up in innocence. “Oops, sorry, Dash. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Spitfire said, putting her hooves down. “Just saw you spacin’ out and wanted to make sure you were okay…” She gave Rainbow a probing look. “You’re okay, right?” “Don’t worry, Spitfire, I wasn’t scared,” Rainbow said in her gruff, scratchy voice. “More… surprised, than anything.” “Uh huh?” Spitfire rolled her eyes. “You sure about that?” Rainbow shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine, just not used to doing this much travel, y’know? It’s just… everything’s changing so fast and I barely have enough time to enjoy it.” Spitfire nodded. “I know what you mean, Dash. But, don’t worry about it. It’ll go away with time. It always does.” She gave Dash a light smack to the shoulder. “You’ll be fine, ya big softie.” “Hey! I’m not soft!” Rainbow retorted. Spitfire rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Dash.” Rainbow stuck her tongue out at her as Spitfire got up from the seat and trotted back towards the front of the train car, most likely to check on the rest of the team in the next compartment. Rainbow pouted for a moment, then cracked a smile and let out a soft chuckle. Spitfire was right. All she needed was time… *** The train screeched to a halt in the Fillydelphian station. It bustled with life—ponies of all races, cultures, colors and careers trotted about in a singular mass. Some ran to catch trains. Others waited impatiently for their own to arrive. It seemed like chaos on the surface, but the careful organization that kept the station running was plain to see. The Wonderbolts filed out of their cars and fought their way through the crowd. They assembled in a small group on the far side of the platform. “Listen up, team!” Spitfire shouted, addressing the group. “You all know the drill: today is yours, but tomorrow is for the team, so make sure that you’re all at least mostly sober by then. Practice and dry-runs start tomorrow at eight. Any questions?” No one spoke up. “Good. Now, off you go,” the Wonderbolt Captain finished. The group dispersed. Spitfire, Rainbow, Soarin, Fleetfoot, and High Wind stuck together as they made their way out of the crowded station. Thankfully, almost everypony around seemed to be too preoccupied to recognize them, so they were able to escape uninterrupted. They met up outside the front entrance. The storm had passed before they had arrived into the city proper, though the sharp scent of ozone and wet asphalt still hung in the air. “Soooo…” Fleetfoot began, drawing the attention of the rest of the group. “Any ideas on what to do?” Spitfire shrugged. “Not really. I sent one of the interns to check into the hotel for us, so we’re pretty much free to do whatever we want.” She turned to High Wind. “You guys got any ideas?” Fleetfoot and Rainbow shrugged. Soarin turned to his cousin. “Yo’, Windy, you live here, what do you suggest?” High Wind nodded slowly. “A lot of stuff. You need to be more specific than that.” Soarin scrunched up his muzzle. “Uhh… crap, I don’t know.” He looked up at the sky. “It’s getting dark, so… any good clubs or bars?” High Wind thought for a moment, then turned to Soarin. “It’s Friday, right?” He nodded. “Okay, that means most of the clubs are out of the question. They’ll be packed as all hell. I don't know about you guys, but I’m too tired to tired of dealing with fans.” Everyone in the group nodded in unison. “Okay, so that just leaves bars…” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I know! Here, this place is perfect, follow me!” she cried out, then took to the sky. The rest of the group shared a glance, then flew after her. *** “You sure this is the place?” Fleetfoot asked, looking up at the shoreline tavern. “It doesn’t look that… special.” “Trust me, Fleetfoot, this place is literally the best!” High Wind declared. “It’s one of those… diamonds in the rough, y’know?” Fleetfoot shrugged. “If you say so...” High Wind opened the door, letting the rest of the group head in first. The inside of the tavern was… well, it wasn’t what anyone expected. “Tada!” High Wind motioned to the almost vacant interior. “Cool, eh?” Each item that hung on the wall clearly held significance in the community. From a simple gift from a local legend to a signed item from a local who had made it big. The actual layout of the bar was simple: a bar counter on the right, tables and chairs in the center, and booths to the left. The group shifted awkwardly. “This it?” commented Fleetfoot. “From how you played this up, well… I expected more, to be honest.” “What?! But… but it’s all rustic!” High Winds pointed to the random sports memorabilia, old maritime machinery, and all sorts of other items that lined the walls. Fleetfoot shrugged. “Meh.” “Oh, come on! Half of them are signed by the Fillydelphian Phillies!” “So? Mets are so much better…” High Wind’s eye twitched, her saddened face falling into an enraged stare. “What did you just say?” Fleetfoot took a step closer. “I said, the Mets is so much better.” High Wind mimicked Fleetfoot's advance, the two now muzzle to muzzle. “I’m going to make you eat those words, you little--” “I think that’s enough!” Soarin interjected, getting in between the two and pushing them apart. “How’s about not kill each other?” The death stare continued, a permanent wall being formed between the two teammates. Soarin sighed. “You'd think it'd be easy being surrounded by mares...” “Okay, everypony, can we please calm down?” Spitfire finally spoke up. “You two can bicker about your sports all you want, and Soarin can deal with his masculinity issues later. Can we please just sit down and get drunk, already?” “I thought you said you wanted us sober for tomorrow?” questioned Fleetfoot. “That was before you two opened your mouths. I’m going to sit down, now, and you are all going to follow me. If you don’t, you’ll be running laps during tomorrow’s dry run.” All inquire ceased at that last remark. The group headed over to the booth and sat down. “So… do we get served or what?” Spitfire asked. “Nah, Stanley doesn’t believe in waiters—says it makes his customers lazy or something. Just head over to the bar and order what you want.” “Okay, and who is going to do that?” “Not it!” “Not it!” “Not it!” “Not it!” All eyes turned to the remaining member of the group. Rainbow’s eyes went wide in realization, “Not—oh, nevermind! Scootch over, Spitfire,” Rainbow commented, squeezing past the mare.