Lunges
Snowflake checked Sun's position -- just about an hour since the school had closed -- then glanced back towards the town. No rapidly-approaching orange blur, at least not just yet. But she still had some time before that never-late was broken, and he doubted she was the type to quit before the first session: the mere existence of the Crusade indicated that initial attempts were just about always welcome, if only for the fillies about to fail at them.
He had been using the time to set up things up, and not just the nearly-hour he'd spent among the waving grass. It had taken a major round of rummaging through his little basement (and most ground-based pegasi went with attics, but it was what had been available to rent) before he'd found the proper equipment. In retrospect, he had almost been surprised that he'd brought it along during the move, but he supposed that somewhere on the subconscious level, he'd always been ready to face the possibility of training a child, somepony whose wings
were like mine
and Scootaloo still didn't qualify. She didn't need the full course, and nopony else should ever have to deal with the full consequences unless there was no other way to reach the sky at all. Perhaps not even then.
But once he'd found the right pieces, there had still been work-free time to play with, and some of it had been used for more parts of the set-up process. One portion had proven initially futile. Another was probably about to be: he'd scrounged some of his first books from the basement. They were dusty, near-ancient editions which his confused parents had eventually found in settled zones gallops and gallops away, for strength training was a rare pursuit in Equestria and the few publications which explained how to do it had their sales suffer accordingly. It made that part of his personal library into a rarity on a near-par with verified artifacts from the Pre-Discordian Era, although not exactly with the same value. Still, it wasn't as if Twilight hadn't tried getting him to keep it at her tree a few times...
All of it would be freely available for Scootaloo to just barely bother pretending to skim through, at least for the week until she quit. A pity, really: there were things there worth knowing, including exact details on why she was about to give up.
Snowflake gently smiled to himself, and went back to clearing rocks.
At his best guess, the twinned buzz of wings and freshly-oiled wheels hit his ears with about thirty seconds left before never-late would have required its first poorly-excused exception. "I'm here!" Scootaloo not-quite-gasped from behind him. "I just got -- caught up in stuff, but I... what's that?"
He glanced backwards to check on what she was staring at before answering, and found her focus exactly where he'd expected it. "It's a lunge path." He'd cut the grass extra-short -- a mix of tool use and light snacking -- in a narrow trail which stretched fifty body lengths from end to end. "You'll be doing some of the work there today."
"On the ground?" Mild outrage.
Snowflake fully turned his body this time. "What did you think was involved?"
"Teaching me how to fly! That's what I'm paying you for! That means I should be training in the air!"
"So you'd prefer I put a lunge path in the clouds."
She nodded.
"And if you go off the edge?"
Her mouth opened.
Her mouth closed.
"Flight camps," Snowflake softly said, "have multiple instructors. They also have at least one roaming safety coach for each attendee. And when I say 'safety coach', I mean a pony hovering nearby to catch anypony who starts to fall. Put it all together with the more capable students and there are at least three ponies on standby to help any single one who gets into trouble. This is just you and me. We're staying on the ground for a while."
His speech had given her more than enough time to get her bravado back. "Fine. So I'll go up after my first lesson." She shuffled off her saddlebags, then started to go for her helmet -- but hesitated when she saw Snowflake shake his head. "What? I want to get started already!"
Ideally, your first and only lesson. And yes. You'll go up there in a few moons, after your growth spurt really begins, which will be long after you quit. "You'll need that." And with a switch in gears meant to give her minimal time for creating excuses, "Is your homework done?"
She blinked. Then realized he'd seen it, and her voice came out just a little louder than it should have. "Yes."
"Show me."
"I can't."
"Because?"
"It's at home."
More staring, eyes locked. She wasn't exactly on the verge of gaining a mark in that either.
"If we went to your house right now --"
"-- we're on the clock. You exclusively set the training schedule for now and as your boss, I want you to start work already!" Boldly, "Besides, you don't know where I live and showing you would just take more time anyway, so if you can't take my word for it --"
"-- I was there two hours ago."
Another blink, and this time, a tiny swallow was added to the mix. "Why -- why would you go to my house? I was still in school! If you wanted to start earlier, you should have given Miss Cheerilee a note or --"
The moderated force of his soft voice was still more than enough to cut in, along with shifting a few of the smaller pebbles. "-- your parents still need to know what you're doing. And who you're with. I know you're with your friends most of the time, and they trust you three to take care of each other." Which potentially said something very dark about their parental judgment, but that wasn't the current point. "But they know Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom. They don't know me. I wanted to introduce myself and make sure they knew what we would be doing. I also had to be sure they were okay with it." A pair of total truths, along with two more places where doors could have been slammed in front of a frustrated orange face before the effort ever began.
Was she even aware of the little tremble in her voice? "They -- wouldn't have been home."
He nodded. "They weren't. So I asked one of your neighbors where they worked --"
"-- outside Ponyville," she forcefully broke in. "They travel. A lot."
Which had also been the opinion of the only neighbor he'd been able to find within their own residence, one who had never even seen the filly's parents and was decidedly less surprised about that oddity than the fact that Snowflake had been speaking with him. "So I gathered. All I could do was leave a note on the front door."
"That's fine," she rushed on. "I'll make sure they see it when they get in --"
"-- you didn't see it?"
"Why would I see it?"
"Because," Snowflake carefully closed the trap, "it's at your home. Where you stopped. And did your homework."
Ten full seconds where the only sounds came from wind-rustled grass and two pegasi breathing: one slow and steady, the other decidedly quicker than she wanted it to be.
"I went in the back door," Scootaloo finally offered. "We're wasting time --"
"-- for the next lesson," Snowflake softly declared, "you are bringing your completed homework with you. And we're not going to start training until I see it."
"You don't have any right --"
"-- page two. Making sure the training schedule has nothing else interfering with it, and the other way around." He nodded towards a shadow-shrouded section of grass. "I brought a copy of the contract if you want to review."
The rustling seemed to be getting louder, which didn't do much to mute the anger within her inhalations.
"Fine," she huffily decided. "Whatever. You should have daisies on your flank instead of that weight, or at least little smiling faces on the ends... Can we just get started already?"
He nodded, then inclined his head towards a small pile of rocks: all the potential wheel-throwing debris he'd found during the clearance work. He'd carefully placed the equipment at the top of the infant wall, still well within the filly's mouth reach. "The elastic and heavy linen there? Those are wing harnesses. Slip those on. They're designed so that you can put them on yourself without help. If you get into trouble, I can show you how it's done --"
"-- they won't fit." She was staring at the contraptions with open loathing, and very little of the emotion was actually directed at the elastic.
"They will."
With that hatred starting to vocally manifest, "They're for wings. Nothing anypony makes for wings ever fits me unless it's for somepony whole years younger, and then it's shoddy and cheap and stupid..."
"Those are expensive and durable and necessary," Snowflake calmly replied. "And they'll fit."
She had to visibly force every slow hoofstep towards the rockpile, reached for the harnesses so slowly as to nearly reach a complete stop (while instinctively ignoring the books), just barely nudged the linen towards her wings... but then the first loops closed snugly, exactly where they were supposed to go. And as Snowflake watched with mild surprise (because he usually did have to help out with a first donning), her eyes widened and a nimble mouth tugged on elastic here, adjusted a fastening there, and kept it all going until the contraption had been put precisely in place, down to the last feather.
"It... fits." There was a light touch of awe in her voice, and it was almost a buoyant one. "Where did you find a harness which would fit?"
His answering words had felt as if they would need to be forced out, jarred loose only through the visioning-reddening shove that came from every bit of effort he had to give. Instead, they emerged quietly, smoothly, and with a feeling that was as close to natural as he'd ever been through. As close to normal. "It's mine."
She looked at him. At his wings.
"...yours?"
"My first one," he nodded. "It's a little lighter than the ones I use now -- and it can't carry anywhere near as much weight." A second nod, directed at the little reinforced loops hanging off Scootaloo's sides.
"So that's what those are for? Carrying weights? I mean, I knew I hadn't put it on wrong and didn't have a loose end or anything..."
"Weights," he confirmed. "I'm going to load you up now, if I may?" That wasn't something somepony should do themselves on a first try: the weights had to be delicately placed and balanced so they wouldn't bang into the ribs on every wing downbeat. Improper installation would inevitably lead to heavy bruising and Snowflake, with nopony to supervise his own first efforts, had learned that the hard way.
More hope in her eyes, that look of journey begun so often reflected in Crusader eyes about an hour before the first explosion went off. "Go ahead! How much am I hauling? Half a bale? No -- gotta be a full bale, one on each wing, and --"
He began trotting towards that part of the rockpile. "Seven pounds on each side."
"Seven pounds?" It wasn't a scream of outrage, but give it twenty more decibels and the qualification would be met.
"Yes."
Now a mere five decibels away, "I can lift seven pounds just by breathing hard! Fluttershy moves, like, fifteen pounds just by swishing her tail! Maybe twenty! How is a stupid seven pounds supposed to do anything? I weigh more than that, and you're supposed to be teaching me how to fly, how to be strong, and you don't have to be strong to lift seven stupid pounds --"
"-- it's fourteen when you add them together," he carefully cut in. And before that served to do nothing more than lightly edit her original speech, "And at this stage, it's not about the raw amount of mass you can lift. It's about how many times you can shift it."
"But it's just fourteen stupid --"
"-- if you flap your wings once, with everything you have behind it, could you get in the air?"
Which briefly stopped the anger in its own hoofprints. He glanced back just long enough to see her expression twisting, displaying a degree of thought which was hardly ever seen before any part of an actual Crusade. "I..." A wince. "Maybe not me, not just yet, anyway." With that last in a tone which suggested 'yet' was waiting at the end of the first lesson. "But with a lot of pegasi... yeah. One flap, the hardest flap imaginable... that would put them up."
He nodded. "And if that flap exhausted them, brought them to the point where they couldn't try to manage another one... would they stay up?"
The blink was rapidly becoming familiar. "...no. So... it's not just about strength? It's about how often you can use it?"
Much to his own surprise, Snowflake found himself smiling. "That's right. The one-push measurement is mostly good for contests, Scootaloo -- trying to show how much you can move in a single effort because that effort is supposed to outdo everypony else. Flying takes a lot more than one push. I could test you for your maximum, and at some point, I will --" not that they were going to get that far "-- but right now, I need your endurance. And to get your first workout in at the same time. Right now, seven pounds per side is right."
"It's..." and a quick glance at his flank. "...your mark." Some jealousy in that, as he'd expected -- but also a tiny smile. "I guess... I have to trust a talent, right?"
It was neither his mark (which was much more representational than literal) nor his special talent, but he doubted she would ever believe the truth, not at this point, and they weren't going to know each other long enough for the reality to come out. "May I put the weights on?" She nodded, and he approached, careful not to come any closer than strictly necessary, holding his breath as he secured the dense little ingots within the steel-and-brass at the end. "Flap a few times, very slowly. Let's make sure those aren't hitting you on the downbeats."
She did so, and they weren't. "This doesn't feel like -- anything. I mean, I know they're there, but I don't feel like there's any effort..."
Not yet. "You oiled your scooter wheels?" That part of the mechanical buzz had sounded normal, but he was quickly learning that with this filly, a step-by-step check was best.
She eagerly nodded. "Yeah!"
All right. "Take the scooter to the far end of the lunge path. When you're ready, accelerate -- with your wings only -- as hard as you can. But only for half the path. When your front wheels cross the red line, start braking. Again, wings only, Scootaloo. Don't use a leg for a drag stop unless you're about to go out of the terminus circle. It may take a few lunges to get the right range, but you're trying to stop in roughly the circle's center each time. Once you've stopped, turn the scooter and go back the other way."
"Okay," she replied, voice locked into determination. "How many times?"
"As many as you can do in fifteen minutes. After that, use another fifteen minutes and just propel yourself slowly around the field." He indicated the fresh edge track. "Don't stop completely -- but don't push too hard either. Then go back to the starting circle and begin lunging again. We'll repeat three times in total: ninety minutes, then a single speed lunge so I can compare your start and end times."
Which got him a fox grin. "So this is about setting a personal record? Something I can beat later when I get stronger?"
He thought about old notebooks filled with time charts, progressively pushed aside in the basement until the harnesses had finally emerged. "If you like."
"Now that I can go with!" she beamed. "What's your first number? Come on -- I'm your boss and I'm ordering you to tell me! I bet I can beat it first time out! Bet you -- an ice-cream bowl! A snout-deep one! And your snout, not mine, so we're playing for major stakes!"
"Ninety minutes, Scootaloo. Go to the first circle and start."
"Oh, I get it. You already know you're going to lose, so you don't even want to play..."
"And the longer you stall, the less time you have for double-checking the homework which you already finished."
"Oh... yeah... and ice cream!" More beaming, apparently having convinced herself that she was about to win a bet he'd never actually made. "Okay, here I go... hey, make sure you time me exactly on this! Because I'm going to get faster as I go, strength equals speed, right? Betcha by the last minute, I'm beating my time from the first, plus just beating you..."
He didn't comment: he just took the clockwork timer off the edge of the rockpile and waited for her to get into position. It wasn't a particularly long wait. "Go."
She went.
She was fast: he'd known that. There was already a decent amount of muscle power propelling those efforts, although it would be his job to make sure that development got balanced out --
-- no. It would be if we were keeping this up. We're not, and that's the best thing for her. Today might get her to drop out. A week, tops. That's the goal. She quits within seven days.
Still, until then, he was her trainer, and he did his job. He timed her lunges, noted exactly how the wings moved when accelerating and braking, kept an eye on her coat so he could gauge the exact levels of sweat while making sure nothing was heading towards froth, along with stopping any (multiple) attempts to turn straight-line movement into something more stunt-appropriate. During the cooldown periods, he paced her on hoof (while making sure she was moving slowly enough that he could), provided canteens to keep her hydrated while offering soft comments on wing movement adjustments. Those initially offended her -- after all, wasn't wing propulsion on a scooter her department? -- but she eventually began to show faint signs of listening, and even began to very briefly act on one or two ideas towards the absolute end.
Ninety minutes passed, and with surprising speed. He timed the final lunge, listened to Scootaloo's extensive denials after he told her it hadn't been any faster than the first, and finally let her know it was time to go home.
"And I'll see you tomorrow?" she eagerly insisted. "We'll get in the air tomorrow?"
"The next training session will be the day after tomorrow," he gently informed her.
"But I want --"
"-- for the start, it's one day on, one day off. That may change later." Again, not that they would get that far. "You just stressed your wings. They need time to recover."
"I feel fine! That was actually kind of fun!" She was smiling, and it seemed to be a truly happy one. Also sweating, but the froth had been avoided. "I can go again tomorrow!"
"Page three," he reminded her.
The pout was short-lived, but sincere. "Fine..." she echoed. "And now -- ice cream! Because I know I beat your times!"
Which would bring his total income down to something around five minutes. "Do you see those books on the rocks?" She glanced in that direction, mostly just to get it out of the way before heading off to ice cream, quickly nodded. "Load them in your saddlebags. Tonight before you go to bed, read the first two chapters in the red one. And be careful with them: I can't get replacement copies."
"Okay, okay... persimmon? It's coming into season!"
Snowflake resisted the urge to roll his eyes, considered how many of the townsponies would react when they saw him trotting along with her in mistaken quest for the frozen treat. Then thought about how some of them looked at him regardless, no matter who he was with or what he did.
She would be quitting within a week. Without strength. Without flight, even though that would be on the way at some point within what she would insist on seeing as forever....
"Vanilla with raspberry swirls and cashews."
"But --"
"-- if you're going to make a bet, make sure you dictate all the terms for winning. And losing."
"But I won!"
And the shock of the afternoon: he found himself grinning. "Wanna bet?"
The denial was expressed as briefly tilted-back ears. "Oh, whatever... you know I beat you and I'll just make sure I dictate the terms next time... raspberry and cashews, that's just gonna be disgusting..."
"You'll see. And we're going to talk about eating before we get there. What you're having day-to-day right now, and what you should be. A little sugar is fine today because you need the calories, but long-term..."
There wasn't going to be a long-term. But it was still sound advice. And she carefully ignored most of it all the way back into town.
Most.
It was easy to locate her house from the air. He noted the disheveled state of the backyard, which seemed to be mostly utilized as an in-town staging ground for minor Crusader activities and had the scorch marks to prove it. And then he pulled up a few concealing clouds and waited, better-hidden than Scootaloo had ever been, watching her front door through a tiny gap in the vapor.
Half an hour before school time, the inner lever was pushed down, and the filly emerged.
Very.
Slowly.
"Oooh..." she softly moaned -- then glanced around to make sure nopony else had heard it, never thinking to look up. The incomplete check told her that to the best of her partial knowledge, she was in the clear, and so she indulged in a second just like it, only louder. "Oh, Celestia, Luna, my sides..." She forced a hoof across the threshold. Then another. Getting the complete set to emerge took a while, and then she moaned again because she had to turn back in order to close the door and the rotation was more than she wanted to bear.
She moved as if her saddlebags weighed ten bales apiece. Dragged her legs as if each added an additional four. And Snowflake smiled to himself.
It wasn't just about the wings: it was about the muscles behind them. To a large degree, the aches were localized, and her body knew that. It just refused to let her brain in on the truth.
The first part of the price was being paid, and the initial installment had hit Scootaloo directly in that still-intact mantle. It would just feel as if the whole thing was about to fall off. And, after a few more hours of forcing herself through a normal school day, she would start wishing for it.
"Stupid Snowflake," she muttered, or would have if it hadn't turned into another soft sigh of deep hurt halfway through. "Stupid stallion, stupid harnesses, dumb seven pounds --" and much to his very great surprise "-- dumb and stupid books..."
The scooter was leaning against the side of the house. She forced herself towards it. Got on. Automatically flapped her wings. The resulting moan nearly put another hole in the clouds.
She slowly got off. Stared at the scooter with open (and misdirected) loathing for a while.
"Stupid, stupid -- everything..."
And forced herself, one pained hoofstep at a time, to head towards school, just barely moving at a pace which would eventually break never-late once and for all, with a chance to turn it into marked-absent.
Snowflake, who had warned Cheerilee an hour before, watched the filly's lack of progress for a while, then made a silent exit. The smile didn't start to fade until he was within a few flaps of the public works project and even then, he found himself relapsing a few times during the day, with occasional light, deep chuckles which always startled his temporary coworkers, who expected nothing more than a basic 'Yeah' here and there.
He had set the workout schedule. One day on. One day off. And a third to just barely drag herself into his tent and declare she never wanted to see him again.
[/hr]
And now it was that third day, with Snowflake waiting in his tent, not particularly further along in the book than before. Lunch was fast-approaching, and he was wondering where he was going to eat. Not in any restaurant, certainly: his income was still on the low side, and he had only himself to blame for that. After all, he'd been openly seen at the ice cream shop in the voluntary company of a Crusader, which just made the town think the danger zone was still parked within blue canvas which would be catching fire at any minute...
But he could live with that, at least short-term. Whatever tenuous client-employee relationship existed between them might be broken before the Sun was lowered. The town would understand she was done with him, and that before very long. Besides, she'd -- earned an ice cream bowl: minor repayment for the aches. He saw no harm in giving her one, even if she'd kept insisting on the stupidity of cashews just a little too strongly for actual belief.
However, until then, he was still on a tight budget, which meant eating out involved picking a pleasant spot to enjoy his fruit-and-hay salad, even if Mr. Flankington had offered him a free tryout of a new health drink, one which would prove just how healthy the drinker was because anypony who got through the whole tankard without needing a hospital was made from stern stuff indeed...
The tent flaps shifted. Not by much.
"I..."
"Yes, Scootaloo?" Keeping his tone gentle, without a trace of mockery. She didn't deserve that. She just hadn't understood.
"...about this afternoon... the workout..."
"What about it?" He had her bits ready to be returned.
"...if we do lunges again... are we keeping it at seven pounds per side, or are we going to eight?"
He blinked.
It seemed as if it took several minutes to locate his own voice deep within his massive form, and when it finally came out, much of it had been crushed into a tiny ball of surprise.
"We're... mostly going to be working on your legs today. Pushes and high jumps."
"Why?"
"Because liftoff isn't just wings. If you push off from the ground hard enough with your hooves, you can save your wings a little effort, and you'll need that later."
A slow nod. "Okay... but that's mostly. Any lunges?"
"Fifteen minutes."
"Eight pounds?"
"Seven."
"Seven and a half?"
"Seven."
"...fine. Just checking. See you in the field an hour after school lets out." The tent flaps began to shift again as she pulled her head out of the gap -- then stopped. "Can we go two hours this time? Before we get in the air?"
They weren't going to get in the air today. They were never going to get in the air at all... "We'll see how the training goes."
She shrugged, the movement mostly visible as a shift in fabric forced from the other side of the gap. And then there was a smile, a tiny one, as fast and fleeting as its owner, before the filly completely withdrew and the buzz of wings headed for the schoolhouse...
Snowflake rested on his bench for a time, long enough to nearly miss lunch entirely, thinking.
The Crusade produced chaos: everypony knew that. Some of that chaos turned into full-scale disasters, ones which required government relief forms followed by extensive repair efforts. But what everypony forgot (and this had included himself) was that the trio were frequently to be found within the debris field. The default state of a Crusader was 'battered'. They were generally at least a little bruised from their efforts, often wrapped in bandages, spent more time in the first aid area of the hospital than a few of the interns. And yet a few days (and sometimes hours) later, they would have found something new to fail at and be ready to Crusade again...
The trio bounced back fast. They had to, or the Crusade itself never would have gotten this far. It might be possible to dissuade Scootaloo from her goal with mere aches and pains -- but it would take a great deal more of both than it would for most ponies. Or she might just keep going down that air path forever, because the toll for doing so was a price she was already paying.
I should have thought of that. Right at the start. Too late now. He could ramp up the intensity as much as he dared without actually hurting her, but...
He might have to move into the second installment. The one she hadn't been paying any attention to during that late afternoon dip into cold sweetness and salt, caught up in false complaints about something she refused to admit she was actually enjoying. That which had been on open display, which simply had to be brought to her notice...
Not every pain was physical.
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What part of Scoots is too thickheaded to give up, don't you understand, Snowflake?
I do like how Snowflake can out smart her. Then again, this is Scootaloo.
1) Does Scoots live by herself?
and
2) If she does, is Snowflake going to either adopt her, or take care of her from the sidelines?
Loving the story and work you are putting here. Keep up the good work, :D
4678501
Scootaloo's helmeted head is impervious to all
reasonimpact!It's not that hard to initially outsmart her. But part of that special Crusader genius can come when you've blocked off the only four possible ways something could go wrong -- and with no effort, they make #5 through #8 happen. Simultaneously.
4666184
4666775
4655608
And I loathe myself accordingly.
(Magnum opiate?)
4678577
Right now, all I can say for her living situation is what Snowflake sees.
4678832
So one possible future:
fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2014/142/2/c/scootamusement_by_mrbarthalamul-d7j5i6w.png
4678860
That picture reminds me of a lot of fics that have Fluttershy's mom in the Royal Guard. Two that come to mind instantly are Green and more literally A Little Chat. Scoots is going to be ripped, hardcore, and there's definitely a job for her in the Royal Guard.
4678832
Fair enough. I really can't wait to see how this developes and Scoots and Flakey's student/teacher relationship [in a non-creepy way] take off. He's a good guy, she's a good filly. And you really like the works you put out.
Also where does this take place in continuity?
Snowflake has underestimated Scootaloo's stubbornness. She's not going to stop until she's flying.
4678577 I can totally see him becoming a big brother figure and possibly adopting her.
4679237
Hope so, I'm a sucker for ScootAdoption fics and I really like this AU's Snowflake. He'd make an awesome big brother / father figure. Heck he's even looking out for her after the lessons. *get's ready for the awesomeness and offers you a tub of popcorn*
4679491 Thanks *passes over a barrel of cider* Oh, what do you think would happen if DT and SS started making fun of Scootaloo during her training with Snowflake???? I can totally see him bellowing out a loud "YEAAAHHHHH!" and chasing the miserable little brats off.
4679558
*accept cider and toasts* Nah! All he'd have to do is squint (mock glare) and flex. Then they'd loose control over their bladders ... that'd be hilarious. Well either that or when Scoots tells him, he'd give some sage advice to her, then give the girls a little "talking too" afterwards about their "behavior". Problem solved forever. He's like Elliot Spencer in Leverage (although a lot less violent) in that he doesn't need to raise his voice or do much of anything to intimidate ponies.
Snowflake has overlooked an important aspect of the Crusader dynamic - when they're together they steal each other's focus. That's why Apple Bloom can get her chores done without destroying the farm - Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle aren't there "helping". Without the other two to distract her, Scootaloo can focus on flying for a very long time.
4679844 You make a good point. I remember in one of his fics Reality Check said that the failure was inverse to the number of Crusaders involved with something, so one alone is more likely to succeed.
4679698 Personally I'd prefer to Sage Advice option, that would be more interesting.
4680711
True. He does that a lot for Scoots in this fic, even though she only listens so far to bits of it. He's really awesome to Scoots. I can't wait for the next chapters.
4644837 Do you, brah?
4678832
Aye. It's fairly common that he be seen as a steroid-abuser. The hyper-developed muscles, the over-aggressive expression, popping veins, and miniscule wings (practically canonizing the whole 'wingboner' thing given phallic shrinkage when abusing steroids) is what led to the fandom naming him Roid Rage when prompted to give him a name by the staff.
But this is an interesting take I've not seen before.
4679844 Although I seem to recall Sweetie Belle is more than capable of causing chaos for Rarity all on her own. Fabric and gem appropriation, and cooking disasters, exacerbated by amazingly bad timing...
Admittedly, disaster seems to be linked to enthusiasm for the Crusaders. Possibly because the more excited and determined they get about something, the less likely they are to approach it calmly and thoughtfully.
Well, that raises questions about Fluttershy...
In any case, yeah, the Crusaders endure. That's what the Crusade's all about. Trial, error, and tree sap. Mostly those last two.
Looking forward to more. Especially if/when they pass the one-week mark.
4682519
I'm figuring that mark-crucial race was done off the books: the campers getting away from any interfering instructors (who only would have shut the whole thing down) and setting up the entire thing on their own, possibly with a few non-spectators deliberately keeping the adults busy. Massive chewouts upon discovering what had actually happened? Mandatory. The Rainboom itself would have been nearly lost among the injuries and near crash-landing.
4682548
Makes sense to me. Certainly explains how the first rainboom in however long fell through the cracks.
Also, I forgot to ask in the earlier comment: how many pounds to the bale?
I'm going to guess that Scootaloo does in fact have a parent or guardian of some sort, but they are disabled in some fashion. I just don't see Scoots having a house all of her own, and the badly maintained state suggests whoever does own it might not be capable of keeping it up. Also, said disabled status may go towards explaining Scootaloo's concerns about remaining grounded forever.
buoyant
Does he hang a sign on the tent flap when he's doing training sessions with Scootaloo? Something like, say, "Out On Lunge Break"?
Can't wait for more.
I suspect the 'second installment' involes some "Full Metal Jacket"-style verbal battery.
4678501 You cannot outsmart a creature too stupid to comprehend that laws of reason exist!
Scoots = Forrest Gump
Never underestimate the power of stupidity. Poor Snowflake.
In one of the Diskworld books, Archchancellor Ridcully is described as having a mind like a locomotive: tremendously powerful but runs on a track. Scootaloo seems to be a little similar; poor Snowflake has underestimated her tenacity by far!
I wonder how long it will be before the other Crusaders get involved in some fashion?
Any plans to continue this or 'Dunce Caps?
4953191
All continuing stories will either be updated by the conclusion of September 12th or deleted on the 13th.
Prepare to feel the horrors of diets and eating healthy, Scoots!
I like this. It's very clever and has a nice counter balance between Scoots and Snowflake.
They also bring up an excellent point that the CMC already get beaten and battered on a frequent basis from their shenanigans.
I think the fear and ostracizing of the CMC by the townsfolk is a little over-blown, but not entirely without reason.
Personally, I think Scootaloo will be able to handle the mental anguish as well. She already has proven her mental fortitude.
The CMC wrack their brains for new ways to earn cutie marks, they go to extreme lengths to try them and despite failing on a constant basis, they get up and force themselves to try again. Over and over and over again. That kind of will-power and determination has to backed by equal parts mental fortitude and stubbornness.
But what am I doing posturing on this here for? I have a third chapter to read. Away!
4678914 Ah, the great Commander Barricade of the Royal guard. I always did like that OC.
5171430
Hmmm. I do like some allusions to puberty, but I would personally argue about Scoots being that old. Oh well.
Gotta say, I really like how you're showing Snowbiceps' thoughts in coursive. And thought themselves. This characterization of Bulkflake is sure interesting, albeit a bit cannon-nonprudent. But there was no real character for him in 2014, so I wouldn't gripe. I like what you did with his character.
well, i hope Scootaloo will at least learn to be more careful about reading contracts...
11287442
What? No! Ponies just need to be more careful with writing them so that they don't put in any of that dumb stuff about breaches and clauses and all that other nonsense. Why don't they just put all the important stuff at the start so that anypony with more important stuff to do can read it quickly. Who taught them how to make contracts like that anyway? They can't have had the right mark for it. Hmph!
*Scootaloos away*