“Hello!?” Barnstormer called out into the darkened studio, her voice echoing off the cavernous walls. Everything but the safety lights had been shut off, reducing the normally brightly-colored stage to a collection of outlines and shadows. It was the one of the two sets for Rarity’s bedroom, specifically the one that showed the door and the bed beside it. The window side of the bedroom was in another building.
“Hello?” she repeated, listening to the echo. Then she swore under her breath, lowered her head, and marched into the room. Under normal conditions, the set would have been obviously fake, with a green-screen behind the half-open door, plywood supports behind the walls, and camera rails running every which way. But such things were concealed by the gloom, and it almost looked real, like an elegant bedroom had been cut in half and sandwiched together with the uglier studio lot.
Barnstormer moved into the space, squinting through the dark as she looked over the folding chairs, the bare tables, and the neatly arranged sets of tools. Her expression grew increasingly tense as she did, ears up and wings tight. “Dumbasses better not have lost my tickets,” she growled, walking toward the back. The red glow of the illuminated exit sign was barely visible through the bedroom door, and Barnstormer angled for it as she passed through the set. The floor under her hooves turned from bare concrete, to sound-absorbing foam, to hardwood, to rug, then back to foam and concrete. She strained to push open the heavy soundproof door, her grunt the only noise as it swung out silently on well-oiled hinges.
“Okay…” she whispered to herself, the hallway not much brighter than the stage. Dozens of doors opened on either side of her, part of a twisting maze of corridors, workshops, prep spaces, and supply rooms. “Where would…” she let out a slow breath, peering into the gloom.
Then one of her ears twitched, and she froze in place. The ear twitched again, and then slowly turned, instinctively seeking a direction. It froze a few degrees left of center, and soon the other ear joined it. Barnstormer slowly turned her head, and took a half step, holding her breath so there wouldn’t be the slightest noise. Then she took a gentle step forward, and another, and started off down one of the hallways to the right. The noise she’d heard grew steadily louder, and as it grew louder it became clearer, and more discernable.
Somewhere up the hall, a mare was crying.
Barnstormer bent her knees and lowered her head, creeping forward down the hall. Gentle hooves moved silently as she came towards the one door that had light under it, a thin crack of illumination spilling out into the hall. Sliding around the door, she reached up and slowly pressed the bottom of her hoof to the wood. She gave it a gentle nudge, and smoothly, the door swung open.
The hinge squeaked. Instantly, the crying stopped, and as Barnstormer looked into the room, Pan Flash looked back at her. Her eyes were wide, red and puffy. Her makeup was running, her face stained by tears. There were marks on her cheeks in the shape of horseshoes, from where her face had been buried in her own hooves. She was in front of a mirror in one of the communal dressing rooms, a long bench of untouched makeup supplies in front of her.
The two of them stared at each other for a long several seconds, both of their eyes wide. Eventually, Barnstormer stepped the rest of the way into the door, and then even took a stiff half step into the room itself. Pan Flash’s eyes scanned all over this new arrival, and the two stared at each other for a moment more. The crying had stopped, but Pan Flash’s eyes were still full of water, and occasionally tears ran down her cheeks. Then, Barnstormer cleared her throat.
“Um,” she said, her body held in a rigid pose. “Hi.”
Pan Flash continued to stare up at Barnstormer, hunched over the makeup desk. Faint squeaking sounds emerged from her throat, her undercarriage trembling with her breaths. After another long silence, she managed to croak out, “Please go away,” her voice cracked and broken.
“Uh… yeah,” Barnstormer answered, looking at Pan Flash, then down to the ground, then back to Pan Flash. She fluffed her wings, stretched out her left foreleg, and then put it back down and stiffly stood before the other pony. “I uh… yeah. No. I’m not going to do that.”
Another staring match ensued, but this one was quickly broken. “Do you uh…” Barnstormer looked down at Pan Flash, her own high-necked stance matched against Pan Flash’s curled spine and lowered head. “Do you want a hug? Or something?”
“Barnstormer!” she snapped, squeezing her eyes tight shut and sending another river of tears down her face. “Just… please!” Her voice was high and wavering. “Please leave me alone.”
“Um… no. No that’s not happening,” Barnstormer said, more firmly than she had before. “I know we’re not like… super close friends? But um… I like you? Or at least enough I’d feel bad if I left you alone in this condition and you hurt yourself or something? So I’m not going anywhere until I’m convinced you’re going to be okay. So… please,” she softened her tone, “let me help?”
“Oh my gosh!” Pan Flash snapped, her voice cracking again even as her volume rose and her eyes narrowed. “I’m sad you idiot, not suicidal!”
“Sure. Sure. Well then I’ll just sit here and…” Barnstormer glanced down, rubbing one hoof over the other. “You can be sad and… I can give you a hug if you need it or just listen or something. Uh…” She cleared her throat again. “Did somepony die?”
“No.” Pan Flash’s head sunk into her hooves. She took several deep breaths, and while the first breath shook, the others had more control. “No. Nopony died. Barnstormer, I’m serious. Please just leave me alone. I’m fine.”
“Okay, look, if you just want to sit there and cry? Okay. I’ll sit out in the hall and shut up.” Barnstormer gestured to the door, as her eyes stayed on Pan Flash. “But you’re not fine, and… I’m sorry.” Barnstormer took a deep breath herself, the feathers on her wings rippling as she let it out. “Sometimes, when I’m messed up, a change of scenery helps. Do you want to go for a walk?”
Pan Flash lifted a hoof to her face, letting out a loud sniffle as she brushed away her tears. “No, you emotionally crippled dingus,” she said, the anger audible even through her unsteady and wavering tone. She took another deep breath, let it out, and stared into the mirror.
“Hey.” Barnstormer smiled stiffly, and then the smile vanished, and she looked down and off to the right. “I don’t know what’s wrong but…” She lifted her head to catch Pan Flash’s eyes in the mirror. “Talking about it can help. Sometimes when things are bad—”
“Of course talking about it helps!” Pan Flash snapped, turning on the spot to glare head on at Barnstormer. Barnstormer pulled back, her ears folding down a few degrees as her wings parted from her body. “But I’m not just going to be talking about it. I’m going to be talking about it, with you. And that will not help. Because I’m having real pony problems, and you’re the straight-backed snow-haired shiny-toothed aero-hellenic fascist poster child for Pegasus eugenics! So maybe, maybe!” her voice rose, adding a snap at the end of the word.
“Maybe,” she took a breath, and her voice lowered, “you will have some difficulty understanding what I’m going through. Like, right now!” She gestured at her own chest with both hooves. “When you don’t seem to understand that I want you to leave!”
Barnstormer slowly backed away, her hooves gradually completing a half-step. Her ears slowly folded away, and her eyes went down to around Pan Flash’s hooves. “Okay. I can take a hint. Sorry. I… hope whatever it is works out.” She turned, pushing open the door out to the hall, and vanished around the bend to the left.
Pan Flash watched her go, then took a deep breath. She reached up, rubbed at her face, wiped the last tears out of her eyes, and straightened her mane. Then, her ears twitched. She got up and walked to the door, pushing it open and looking out to the left.
Barnstormer was sitting on the floor about ten paces up the hall, looking back towards the dressing room. Though, she at least had the decency to fold back her ears.
“Oh. My. Gosh.” Pan Flash shut her eyes, and let her forehead klunk against the door. “Barnstormer, I appreciate that you really are worried about me. It’s sweet of you, but I will be okay, and you’re not helping. Please go home.”
“Doesn’t your family usually pick you up about…” Barnstormer hesitated, “some number of hours ago?”
“I’m seventeen, Barnstormer.” She let out a long sigh. “I can drive without my parent’s assistance.”
“Is that how you got here today?” Barnstormer pressed gently.
Without missing a beat, and even without any real rancor, Pan Flash succinctly replied: “Fuck you.”
Then, she added, “Just… fuck you.”
Barnstormer frowned, and tucked her legs in tighter against herself. “I… okay. Just tell me what I can do to help.” She swallowed, then went on. “I don’t cry when I’m sad. I don’t know what to do. Here.”
Pan Flash took in a breath, then slowly let it out. “There is nothing you can do. Okay?”
Barnstormer nodded, then looked off into the hall. She was still looking that way when she asked: “Do you want some garlic loaf? I know that’s a really dumb thing to say, but I’m running out of options and…” She scratched the back of her head. “I know you like my cooking. And I can give you some chocolate or something. That helps me.”
Pan Flash lifted her head from the door, and turned to look back at Barnstormer. With a tired tone, she asked, “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Barnstormer swallowed. “You’re not in a good place.”
“You’re really that worried I’m going to hurt myself?” Barnstomer didn’t answer though, and after a pause of a few seconds, Pan Flash gave a small shake of her head. “Fine. Fine.” Her tone steadied. “Whatever. Chocolate sounds great. Let’s go.”
It wasn’t a long walk to Barnstormer’s trailer: just down the hall, out the door onto the lot, and through the trailer park to the last one on the left. Neither of them spoke during the walk. Pan Flash just stared straight ahead, doing her best to keep her breathing even and not always succeeding. Barnstormer knew the way, and rarely had to look at the path. Instead, she looked at Pan Flash.
She was a short pony, though not significantly so, and she had a small frame, though she could not quite be called waifish. She was not particularly thin, which was perhaps notable for an actress, but nor could she reasonably have been described as overweight. Her face was not especially pretty, though it was expressive, with big eyes and widely pivoting ears. About her only distinct features were her aggressively pink coat and mane, the equally aggressive perm she kept her mane and tail in, and of course, her cutie mark: a firework exploding at the top of its arc.
Then she caught Barnstormer staring, and glared. Barnstormer quickly looked straight ahead, but by that point, they were only a few paces away. Barnstormer hurried forward, opened the door, and ushered Pan Flash in. “Go ahead and sit down,” she said.
Pan Flash stretched out on the couch, and from the kitchen, she heard the crack of a refrigerator door, followed a few seconds later by an electrical snap and a brief hiss of gas. Barnstormer returned a few moments after that, a small tub of ice cream tucked under each wing. “Bread and hot chocolate will be out in a second.”
“Why do you have two full tubs of—” Pan Flash took her tub and examined it, “—extra chunky chocolate double swirl and oats in your trailer?”
“I told you. It helps when you’re sad.” With no more room on the couch, Barnstormer settled down opposite Pan Flash on the floor. “Give it a try. It’s good.”
“Well, that’s a tired cliche. No spoon?” Pan Flash asked, as Barnstormer pulled the lid off her own tub.
Barnstormer snorted. “I’m not a unicorn.” She pressed her nose into her tub and took out a bite, dark chocolate smearing her muzzle and cheeks.
Pan Flash hesitated, smiled faintly, and then did the same thing with more reserved motions, chocolate dotting her nose the end of her muzzle. “Heh,” she managed quietly, holding the tub at hoof length. “That’s really cold.”
“Well yeah. It’s ice cream,” Barnstormer said slowly. “Don’t you do this all the time on set?”
“That’s not real ice cream. It’s gelatin and diet shortening. If I actually ate a tub of ice cream every time Pinkie Pie did, I’d weigh like a million pounds.” She licked some of the chocolate runoff from her muzzle, a few dark flecks and chunks of oats coming with it. “Thanks.”
The two of them ate in silence for a short while, until a loud beep came from the kitchen. Barnstormer left, and returned with a tray bearing two large mugs of steaming hot chocolate. She handed out the mugs, and they each took a drink, then lapsed into a brief quiet.
“So, are your parents okay?” Barnstormer finally asked. “Or, is everything okay between you?”
“Oh, yeah.” Pan Flash shook her head, staring into her drink. Her voice had steadied out, though it was still rough, and her eyes remained red. “We’re fine. They’re fine. They’re just on a cruise down in the tropics. Taking some time to be alone together. My sister and I are old enough to take care of ourselves, and my little brothers are staying with my aunt for the month.”
“How were you going to get home then?” Barnstormer asked, taking a sip and sitting up, her own pose slowly relaxing.
“I was going to call a cab, duh.” Pan Flash snorted. “I wasn’t trapped here, Barnstormer. I just wanted some time to think and be alone and my big sister will be home by now. What are you doing here after dark?”
“I uh…” Barnstormer coughed. A hoof rubbed the back of her head. “I was looking for something I lost on set. The staff said they put it in my bag, but when I finished my flying drills it wasn’t there.”
“What was it?” Pan Flash asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as Barnstormer looked at the floor.
“My uh. Heh.” She put her hooves back on the floor. “My plane tickets. I was touring colleges this weekend.”
Pan Flash paused, and raised a hoof to hide a small smile. “So you, literally the fifth fastest pony in the entire world, flew back here to get your—”
“Yeah. Because in the entire history of mechanical flight, since the glorious days of the first noble aviators,” she spoke with a lot of breath, putting a dramatic emphasis on the words, “you are the first pony to make that joke.” They both shared a mild laugh. “But seriously, if it’s not your family, what’s wrong?”
“Seriously, you won’t get it.” Pan Flash waved the comment away. “I appreciate this, really. It was nicer than I expected you to be, and I do feel a bit better. But you won’t get it.”
“Because I’m a poster child?” Barnstormer asked, a little pointed.
Pan Flash rolled her eyes. “You’re a seventeen year old master-chef pro-athlete A-list-actor smoking-hot intellectual. I cannot be the first pony to crack a joke about you being our precious little wunderfoal.”
“No.” Barnstormer drew out the word. “But I admit it’s the first time I’ve been accused of being a fascist.”
“You’re a blue-coated white-haired pure blooded hellenic pegasus.” She shrugged. “I’m not saying you’re about to go join a youth brigade but you look the part.”
“A lot of pegasi have blue coats and white manes.” Barnstormer said, looking back at herself and scrunching up her muzzle. She wagged her tail and frowned, before looking back at Pan Flash. “Did you, like, lose a grandparent in the war or something?"
“No. Sorry. I’m just being snotty.” She nibbled on her ice cream. “Nothing bad happened, okay? Can I promise that?”
“You can, but…” Barnstormer let out a slow breath. “Even if I don’t get it, I can nod and listen. Can I do that? Please?”
Pan Flash tilted her head from side to side, looking away and down into her drink. Before she could answer, a loud buzz sounded from the kitchen. “Oh, that’s the bread, hold on.” Barnstormer got up and vanished into the back. Pan Flash was left alone for half of a minute before she reappeared, her teeth grasping a plate covered in half of a garlic loaf. She laid it out on the couch, and then returned to her old position. “Careful. It’s still hot.”
Pan Flash picked at the bread, took a piece, and took another sip of her drink. She sighed, wiggled her head back and forth, and finally spoke. “Fine,” she said, but without the rancor or exhaustion the word had held earlier. “I… my parents called to check in on me, and they’re having a great time. And everything is fine and nothing is wrong and I’m just being really dumb and emotional. But they said they were trying to get as much out of it as they could because it’s a ‘once in a lifetime’ thing and…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. It really upset me.”
“Oh.” Barnstormer stared ahead, keeping her expression impassive. “Are they getting old?”
“No. Not that old, anyway. Early forties. And no,” she held up a hoof, “before you ask, they are not sick or otherwise dying. It’s a money thing.” She shrugged. “They really didn’t want to steal my acting money. But going on a cruise like that was always a dream of theirs, so we had a talk as a family, and they got to go. We probably won’t be able to afford to do this again, so it’s a bit of a high note and, well.”
She took a sip of her drink. “Once you peak it’s all downhill from there. And I was already stressed and feeling a little vulnerable and it just kind of hit me all of a sudden. That’s all.”
“Why um…” Barnstormer cleared her throat, and shuffled her hooves a bit. “Why wouldn’t you be able to afford it? The studio pays pretty well.”
“Because I’ve got four brothers and sisters, duh.” She gave an irritated little half-roll of her eyes. “Lint Trap, Grease Fire, Snickersnack, Pan Flash, and Glow Stick. My parents are making all of us get straight-As so we can go to one of those fancy schools with the ivy on the walls and get a job that doesn’t involve asking if you want oats with that.”
She gestured with a hoof, flicking like she was marking off beads on an abacus. “So let’s see. College tuition at a top-flight school is forty-five thousand a year. Times four years, times five kids, plus some for food and medical during that time, and oh look! That’s literally a million.” She gave a little shake of her head, and took another bite of her ice cream. “I mean, there might be some left over, but we’ll just use it to pay off the mortgage on the house.”
“Well yeah, but…” Barnstormer frowned. “What have you been doing with the money before this season?”
Pan Flash laughed and lifted a hoof to her face. “This is why I said you wouldn’t get it.” When Barnstormer only scrunched up her muzzle, she went on, “Barnstormer, how much do you get paid?”
“About one-and-a-half million a season, depending on how much my cut of the merchandising turns out to be.” She leaned in a little closer, eyes intent on Pan Flash. “I… assumed we all got paid the same.”
“Wow. For a smart pony you’re really dumb.” Pan Flash snorted, and opened her hooves in a gesture half a shrug. “I made two-hundred thousand this season, and there’s a clause in my contract saying that if I quit the show with less than two seasons notice and force them to recast Pinkie Pie, I owe the studio twice that much.”
“What?” Barnstormer sat up straight, her wings parting from her side as her ears shot up. “That’s ridiculous! They’re taking you for a ride!”
“No, they’re not. Though I appreciate your attempt to defend my honor.” When Barnstormer didn’t immediately stand down, she gestured wildly with an ice cream splattered hoof, the pace of her words picking up. “Okay, seriously. How do you not get this? You’re paid a lot because if you aren’t, you’ll leave and go back to hoofball. First Take gets paid a lot because she’s the best. Star Power gets paid a lot because she’s the main character, there is no show without her, and her agent has the studio by the throat. And Butter Up gets paid a lot because she has the supernatural power to bend over on camera with her back arched that special way, somehow without costing us our ‘Appropriate for All Ages’ rating.”
“What about Deep Cover?” Barnstormer pressed. “She’s new to acting too. And I know she isn’t getting treated that way. I’ve seen her negotiate. She thinks, ‘give me everything I want and I won’t tear out your heart and watch you die’ is a fair opening offer.”
“Yeah, sure, she gets paid a little more than me, but it’s not that simple. Because I’m buying forty semesters of college, and she’s buying a sports car. Come on. Have you ever heard her say a word about giving the money back to her family?” She let out a little sigh, and her tone slowed again, turning more subdued. “And… you know. She probably won’t have to make it last. She’s started getting offers from other shows.”
“That’s not the point! If they don’t like the job you’re doing, they’re free to fire you. But until then, you’re doing the same job as the rest of us, you should get paid the same.” Barnstormer stomped a hoof, but Pan Flash didn’t even dignify her words with a response, giving her a flat stare from the couch. Eventually, Barnstormer’s wings tucked back in against her side. “And… you can get offers from other shows too.”
“Don’t insult me,” Pan Flash warned, her words turning sharp. “I don’t like being patronized, okay? Trigger warning.”
“Well, maybe not like… you know. A-list shows. But you could be a secondary character. And you’re funny! You could do stand up.” Barnstormer shifted her hooves as Pan Flash narrowed her eyes just enough to make it noticeable. “Sorry,” she let out a little breath. “I do mean it though. You are funny. And Friendship is Magic isn’t over yet.”
“Eeeeh,” Pan Flash waved the comment off. “Not yet, but I don’t think the old gal’s got more than a season or two left in her. I have to be realistic.” That produced another long breath, and she spent a moment with her face buried in the ice cream. “I mean,” she mouthed around a lump of chocolate, then swallowed. “I’m not mad about the terms the studio gave me. My mom makes minimum wage, my dad only makes a little more than that, they’ve got five kids to support, we’re living on charity drives and ration stamps, and I walk into a casting call because I’ve got some silly notions about it being my destiny. Then suddenly, boom!”
She reached up with one hoof to her head, and mimed a violent explosion. “My parents get a phone call! There’s a contract in front of me! I’m going to be an actor! And now we can buy the cereal that comes in regular-size boxes instead of in the ten-pound bags! At that moment,” she slowed her voice to a crawl, her words coming in uneven fits and starts. “I was so happy. Just… so happy you have just no idea. My parents said it was a miracle and cried and it was wonderful.”
She glanced at Barnstormer for a moment, waiting for an interruption. But it never came, and Barnstormer sat there, quiet and attentive, until she went on. “And…” She looked down. “Sure, it had some rough patches. Like it turns out I’m not actually all that good at acting. The casting director messed up, I suck, but now I’m Pinkie Pie and the show’s a huge hit so they’re stuck with me. And I don’t like it when the director yells at me, and I don’t like it when First Take tells me to kill myself, and I don’t like it when Star Power tries to be ‘encouraging,’ but…”
She turned back to Barnstormer, gesturing emphatically with a hoof. “It is literally our job to make foals happy. I can walk into town any day and some foal will shout, ‘it’s Pinkie Pie!’, and I gasp and do the voice and they just have a blast. I’d do it for free, and the studio says they’ll pay me! Pay me a lot even. And it’s been…”
She stared at the ground somewhere around Barnstormer’s hooves for a long few seconds. “Good. It’s been really good. And I know that getting a chance to experience ‘really good’ once in your life and then going back to normal is better than nothing, particularly with what it’s doing for the family. But it still feels like I’m in freefall. And hearing my parents say that, it got to me.”
Barnstormer nodded, once. A few moments of silence passed, as she mulled over what she’d heard. “Does First Take really tell you to kill yourself?”
“You’ve heard her yell at me when I mess up my lines, and that’s in public. How do you think she acts when everypony isn’t watching?” Pan Flash’s ears drooped. “She’s got some issues.”
“I’ll have a word with her about that.”
“You can try.” Pan Flash snorted and shook her head. “I’ve asked her to stop. So has the director.”
“The director can’t bench press her.” Barnstormer delivered the line without much inflection, but when Pan Flash’s head whirled her way, she managed to catch a faint scowl. “Suicide isn’t funny. Neither is bullying your coworkers. I’ll have a word with her.”
“Woah, no. Barnstormer.” Pan Flash held up a hoof. “You can’t. You go to jail for assault, your career is—”
“Did I say I was going to touch her?” Barnstormer asked, with a light tone. “Perish the thought. I could never threaten anypony. And if the fact that I could fold her up like an accordion comes up during our perfectly polite discussion about her behavior, that would just be a lucky accident.”
“Heh.” Pan Flash looked up and out the window, away from Barnstormer. “You’re an idiot and you’re going to get in so much trouble.”
“She can’t treat you that way.” Barnstormer followed her gaze out the window, then glanced off into the corners of the room. “Why did you think being an actor was your destiny?”
“My cutie mark.” She didn’t look down from the window. “I got it the week before the casting call. When I was practicing the lines. So I thought my special talent was acting.”
“Wait, you were fifteen when you got your cutie mark?” Barnstormer watched as Pan Flash nodded. “Wow. Late bloomer.” She nodded again. “What is your special talent then?”
“Not sure.” Her voice was calm, but distant, with a certain resignation. “Cramming, maybe. I have always been good at learning, even if none of it sticks around for very long. Or maybe it’s going into character quickly. I can drop into Pinkie Pie on the spot without any trouble. Or maybe it’s something about looking good on camera. Like, Pan, camera pan, Flash, camera flash? I don’t know. But it ain’t acting. I actually…”
She laughed a little, then went on. “I don’t know if you remember or not, but the form said all the roles were race agnostic. Earth pony wants to be the unicorn, they’ll glue the horn on and add the magic in post. So… I actually uh… I auditioned for Twilight Sparkle, if you can believe it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, I know, right?” She laughed again. “It seems silly now. Star Power is a lion when she gets center-stage and I’m more of a kitten. But my special talent had finally come! Obviously I was going to be the main character.”
They lapsed into silence for a few moments, but Pan Flash’s jaw worked, the words trying to find their way out. “I wasn’t… certain. You know? I didn’t stride onto the stage and feel like, magical butt mark of destiny, I got this. But just for a little while, I felt like… a magical creature, I guess? Like we all pretend we are. I was so nervous but it just seemed like maybe, maybe the world actually works the way it does in stories and you discover your destiny and everypony really does live happily ever after. I was on pins and needles and worried and chewing on my hooves and clawing on the walls and then we got the call and it was all real.”
Her voice turned rough at the edges, and she rubbed at her eyes. Her tail flicked, and she looked back at Barnstormer, who was still sitting there with a largely blank expression, her muzzle scrunched up a few degrees. “It’s okay,” Pan Flash waved her off, sniffling again. “I know. You don’t get it. I told you you wouldn’t. But you’re being a good listener and it is helping.”
“Um…” Barnstormer straightened up her pose, and unscrunched her muzzle, assuming a certain dignity as her wings tucked in against her side. “Pan Flash, I need to ask. And please, be honest. Do I mistreat you? Or just make things hard on you.”
“No, no.” Pan Flash laughed a little. “You’re just… I’m sorry. It’s why I make fun of you, because no matter how much you’re trying, you’re pretty much a Mary Sue in real life and sometimes it’s hard to deal with. Don’t get me wrong, you’re nice. Nicer than I thought, and I’m sorry I was so difficult this evening. But, well. It’s all of you.”
She tilted her ice cream tub, letting the half-melted runoff at the top slosh around. “You think that you’re a divine gift to the world surrounded by lesser mortals, but part of being better than everypony else is being a good pony. Like, morally? And part of being moral is being humble, so you’re deeply uncomfortable when ponies call you out on that or compliment you.”
She flicked a hoof, counting off as she went. “Meanwhile, First Take thinks she’s a divine gift and is angry that not everypony falls to their knees to acknowledge that fact. Star Power thinks she’s a divine gift but isn’t sure how to point that out without being snotty. And Deep Cover and Butter Up are both armored in moral righteousness and the absolute belief that they are the one sole point of wisdom and justice surrounded by us jerkwads.”
She let out a weak chuckle. “Am I, like, insulting you, or…” Barnstormer shook her head, and after a moment more, Pan Flash went on. “I’m not saying you’re all the same. Because First Take makes me want to cry, and you drag me out here and offer to defend my dignity. But you do all think you’re better than me. And some days I envy you all because, I don’t know. You are better at this than me. But sometimes I look at that straight-backed condescending stare you’ve got and just go, ‘Oh thank goodness I suck or that would be me.’”
A hoof ran through her hair. “Are you sure I’m not insulting you?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure you are insulting me, and have been insulting me for most of the evening, yeah. But I’m not insulted, so.” Barnstormer smiled a little. “I guess we can add ‘effective insults’ to the list of things you’re bad at.”
Pan Flash snorted. “Screw you.” Then they both chuckled.
“I’m sorry,” Barnstormer said. “I didn’t know your family was poor.”
“Of course you didn’t. You never asked.”
“I know.” Barnstormer rubbed the back of her head. “Pan, can I ask you something? It’s a little personal.” She got a small nod in response. “What is it you want? Out of all this.”
“Like, acting?” Pan Flash lifted an ear, “Or, life?” Barnstormer nodded, and Pan Flash let out a snort, lowering her head to the couch. “Heck if I know. I’m seventeen, Barnstormer. I don’t have all that stuff worked out yet. I want the same things everypony wants. I want my family to be prosperous and safe. I want to feel like ponies value what I do. I want to see my friends smile and my enemies suffer and to feel like I did the right thing. But if you mean, like, some big cosmic revelation about what gives me satisfaction? Or a life ambition? Or my purpose?”
She trailed off, and eventually shrugged. “Not all of us are larger than life characters, okay, Ms. Wunderfoal? We’re not all strong, we’re not all personable, and we’re not all interesting. Some of us just want to be good ponies and get through the day and have a nice life.” She nudged the bread with a hoof.
Then, she snorted. “Shit. I’m the one writing the story and I’m still an extra.”
“You’re not an extra.” Barnstormer took a breath, squaring her shoulders and then fixing Pan Flash with an equally square gaze. Automatically, Pan lifted her head, coming to something like attention as she looked back.
“Look… Pan?” Barnstormer emphasized the name, making and holding eye contact. “I don’t want to patronize you, okay? And yeah. You’re kind of a bad actor. But I honestly do believe you’re gifted. You’re smart and you’re patient and you’re funny and you’re apparently very good at reading ponies. And I know it must suck beyond all measure to be seventeen and not know what your special talent is. But that just means it’s still waiting for you to find it and it would be a senseless waste if you throw away your chance to be a great comedian or supporting actor or… chemist or whatever because you’ve ‘accepted defeat.’ And...”
She licked her lips. “And I’d like to believe that you still have the potential for greatness inside you. And I do believe that. Your worth as a pony is not measured by how ‘cool,’ or larger than life you are. And if it takes you awhile to figure that out, you’ll at least have the consolation of all the good you did for your family. You totally changed their lives and…”
She took a deep breath, and let it out sharply. “And for the love of all that is good and pure, I’ve been trying to keep this in all evening because I know you’re upset and nitpicking won’t help. But holy shit, if you have five kids in the family who are all getting advanced degrees, somepony is going to make enough money that you can send your parents on a stupid cruise again, okay? You’ve apparently got enough real problems going on that you don’t need to manufacture drama out of nothing, so just keep it simple, study engineering and give them a nice retirement!”
Pan Flash stared at her for a long moment, then she smiled broadly, letting out a weak laugh and shaking her head. “Okay, sure.”
“Do you really mean that?” Barnstormer demanded.
“No, dingus.” She looked down at her ice cream, then back up at the clock. “We’ve been talking for like an hour. When does your flight leave?”
“Like ten minutes ago.” She shrugged, quickly going on before Pan Flash could speak. “It’s fine. I’ll rebook. I’m sure there’s a red-eye or something. You going to be okay?”
“Yeah. I should probably get home, actually. Your ice cream is melting.” Pan Flash awkwardly rose off the couch, her movements stiff and jerky. She stretched her legs once she was off, producing a loud pop and crack from her knees and ankles. She paused a moment, the two of them looking at each other head on. “Do you uh…” She coughed. “I mean, if you can pencil it in. Do you want to like… hang out? Sometime?”
“You really think that’s going to go well?” Barnstormer asked, her mouth drawn into a line as she stood.
“Probably not, but… you never know. Right? And I was kind of a jerk this evening.” She extended a hoof. “Thanks.”
The two bumped hooves and stared at each other for a moment. “Well!” Pan Flash said abruptly, “That’s that. I should be going.”
“Yup. On your way,” Barnstormer agreed, just as quickly.
“Call a cab, get off the lot. Sister’s worried about me—”
“Right, yeah, you should—”
“Yes.” Pan Flash nodded, departed the trailer, and with the light spilling out around her, darted back into the studio.