Sensation (SFW Version)

by Vivid Syntax

Chapter 15 - Take a Breath

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"Whew!" Soarin's eyes roll back into his head, and he flops backwards with a labored sigh. "Bluh..." His tongue hangs out of the side of his mouth, and he takes a deep breath, not unlike a pony that's overindulged at a buffet.

I scribble down a few more notes and let him stew. My fetlock is getting tired. We've built up some good momentum, though, and it's almost a shame to take a break.

I look up again. Soarin' hasn't moved. Is he dead?

Yeah, it's time for a break. "Would you–"

Soarin' lifts a hoof and lazily waves it at me. "No more questions right now. Just... gimme a sec." The hoof falls to his side. His body is completely slack, but he slowly begins to stack himself up into a shape resembling a pegasus. With a crack of his neck, Soarin' looks back at me. "You hungry? I'm hungry."

It's still pretty early for lunch, but by the time we eat, it won’t be too egregious. Plus, my stomach's a little unsettled from the morning's booze. "Sure." I stand up and stretch out my back. Might as well try to keep the conversation going, even if we get a little side-tracked. "So, did you ever learn to cook?"

"Eh, I'm getting there." He holds up his hooves. "Hard to do much like this."

Walked into that one. Still... "So you just eat out all the time?"

Soarin' looks up and to the side. It wasn't that weird a question, was it? "Nah. I've got a personal chef that comes over sometimes. There's not much food in the house right now, though. It won't be delivered 'til later."

"You can get groceries delivered now?" It makes sense, I suppose. Soarin's been notorious lately for not being seen in public. Maybe I should offer to cook tonight if we're still interviewing.

"Dude, if you've got the bits, you can get anything delivered. But, yeah. Let's eat out. There's a coffee shop just outside the Estates that has pretty good paninis."

"That works." While I pack up my supplies, I keep an eye on Soarin'. He reaches down and awkwardly grabs his leg braces from the floor. His lip curls up just a touch, and he hesitates before setting them on the couch next to him.

I shudder at a loud screech, and Soarin' mutters, "Shit." His braces are tangled together. Soarin snorts and catches me staring. Oops. He looks down to the braces, then up at me again. There's a pregnant pause. "Sorry, but... could you...?" He jerks his head at the braces.

Not enough dexterity, I imagine. "No problem." I move over to the couch and take a look. It won't be hard to get them apart, but don't make it look too easy, Syn. Wouldn't want to hurt his feelings. With a little feigned effort and a well-placed swear word, I wrench the braces apart and pass them over to him. "There you go."

"Thanks, Syn." With some struggling, Soarin' gets the braces back on. He squirms and recoils as the padding rubs against the insides of his foreleg pits.

How long will we be out? I probably can't take notes while we're walking, and Soarin' will probably want to come straight back. Maybe I should leave my bag here? Nah, better safe than sorry. I tie on my saddle bag and follow Soarin' back to the entryway. His braces quietly squeak with every step.

Soarin' stops at a hallway closet, opens it up, and pulls out a small bag for himself. It's already fully loaded. Maintenance supplies, maybe? Does he need painkillers? He starts to shut the closet door, but he stops. He turns to me and asks, "Oh, hey. Is it bright out today?"

I cock my head to the side. There are few things weirder than hearing a pegasus ask what the weather is like. Sure, ask any earth pony, and we'll go on for days about how it's pretty hot today or how this winter isn't nearly as bad as the one ten years ago, but pegasi are supposed to be attuned to these things, right? "It's sunny."

"Ok." He reaches back into the closet and pulls out a... No way. He puts the cowpony hat on, and I'm having trouble reconciling the colors and the fit with his head. The brown, beat-up old hat fits snuggly, covering up his thick, blue mane, and the wide brim looks like it will do a great job of keeping the sun out of his eyes. Soarin' raises an eyebrow and sticks his lower lip out. "What?"

I'm staring again, but I can't help it. I'm completely transfixed, like he just casually drew an ancient artifact out of a lunchbox. Focus. "That's the hat, isn't it?" I point. "Braeburn's old hat."

He looks up at it. "Yeah?"

Some of the tabloids had shown him wearing it, but that had only been early on. "When did you get it?"

Soarin's eyes glaze over again, and the air in the room takes on a noticeable chill. He looks down at the floor, and a shaky smile appears on his face for a fraction of a second. I consider apologizing, but he lets out a sharp breath and casually shuts the closet door. "On the worst day of my life."

What the heck does that mean? I haven't seen that hat in months. If he'd been wearing it before the accident, I would remember it from the pictures.

That's why I'm here, though. I need the whole story.

We make our way out the front door into the cool, early autumn air. My lungs immediately feel relief from the stuffiness that I didn't even realize was bothering me. I squint at the shimmering whiteness all around and remind myself that I'm in Cloudsdale. I should expect this kind of scenery.

The front door has a lock and a deadbolt. Soarin' digs his keys from his bag, his braces creaking as he contorts them. He narrows his eyes at the deadbolt and, with two shaky hooves, stabs at it a few times with the key. He leans in further and lets out a small groan of deep concentration. The metal key scrapes across the face of the lock several times before he aligns everything correctly, pushes the key into the hole, and locks the door. After a similar effort with the bottom lock, he puts his keys away and starts a slow trot down the path.

How much harder are all these little tasks, Soarin'?

He walks, and I follow. He's moving slowly, and the braces creak ever so slightly with each step. He trots very deliberately, flexing his muscles to keep as much weight off the braces as possible. He's making himself work for it. Doctor's orders? No, spirit of an athlete, I think. His face is scrunched up in focus.

It's probably too distracting to ask, but still, "How long–" He casts me an angry glance. Right. No questions right now, though I guess the hat was the exception. Or maybe he just didn't notice. "Never mind."

Soarin's mouth twists up in a small smile. "Thanks." He looks ahead, and so do I. Central Cloudsdale shines in the distance, bustling with tiny dots in a multitude of colors. The skyscrapers live up to their name, and the light passing through the town is turned into a thousand tiny rainbows by the vapor. The breeze is cool, the clouds are surprisingly solid, and we trot along towards lunch.

Soarin' breaks the silence first. "So, what's your deal?"

I turn my head and slow my pace when I realize how much work he has to put into each step. "Pardon?"

Soarin' catches up to me. "I mean, what's up with my story? Why are you so interested?" He's got one eyebrow raised and refuses to take his eyes off of me. "Everypony else has moved on already."

"I like stories." Too simple-minded. Expand. "And, well, it seems like nopony got to hear yours. Not your side of it, anyway. The media had all these conflicting accounts of what happened, but their attention shifted away from you after the Whipped Cream Incident." Those photos. So unsavory. "I guess... I want to hear how it all ends." We pass the wooden sign for the Estates, so we can't be far from... Soarin' isn't next to me.

I look over my shoulder and stop. Soarin' stands by the wooden sign with a blank expression. "Dude. How it ends?" He holds up a hoof. "You blind or something?"

No need for that tone. I narrow my eyes, and my voice takes on a slight edge. "That's not what I meant." Whoa, now. Easy.

"Syn, look at me. I'm a wreck. Even if I got back to flying at a pro level, I'm a has-been. There's no money in hiring me back. Plus, the 'Bolts would have the press to fight with."

He's got a point. The Wonderbolts distanced themselves from Soarin' after accusations of neglectful practices flew their way. Unjustified, I think, especially since they're still paying comp. That's why I'm not a business pony. Still, a happy reunion would be quite a boon to their ticket sales. "They might see it differently once you heal up. There's still hope."

Soarin's eyes dart to the side, and he speaks in a stilted voice. "I gave that up a long time ago."

You're a terrible actor, Soarin'. "I don't believe you."

He lets out a clipped, "What?"

No, there's something else going on, and I don't appreciate the sudden coyness. "I don't believe you!" I trot back towards him. I'm getting emotional. Keep it under control, Syn. "You're not telling me something."

"I'm telling you freaking everything!" He takes a step back. "What do you think we've been doing the whole day? Besides, the media wouldn't care. It's old news."

"Is that what this is about?" I gesture at the sky. "You'll generate plenty of buzz when you're back up and flying!"

He grits his teeth. "Well, maybe I don't want them to make a big deal when I come back."

See? 'When.' Ponies that have given up don't use 'when.'

Soarin' takes a step forward and raises his voice. "Maybe I want to get back into the 'Bolts quietly. Maybe I don't need everypony freaking out again!"

Deep breath. "Then ease them into it!" I rub my temple. Deeper breath. "Sorry." Better. "The thing is, you've got options."

"Like what?" He sounds incredulous.

"I don't know, but..." My eye catches my saddle bag. "I mean, a biography or something would at least get them thinking about you again. It could earn you a few bits, too. You could tell–"

"Oh my GOSH!!!" His head snaps towards me. I flinch. What happened? Soarin' sits down and points and accusatory hoof at me. "You're just after a fucking book deal, aren't you!?"

Shit. "No, that's..." Don't pause. Shit! He'll think I'm lying! "I mean, if you wanted–" Shut the hell up!

"What if I don't want it, huh? What if I don't want the story out there?" He steps forward and pushes me in the chest. "You're going to publish it anyway, aren't you?" He turns away. "Ugh! You fucking paparazzi are all the same."

"Oh, I am not like that." Way to keep it frosty, Syn. "I'm just trying to help! And if you don't want it out there, then fine! I won't publish." I never even said I was going to! It was just an idea, right?

Soarin' looks over his shoulder at me with narrow eyes. He snorts. "Prove it." He leaps into the air and flies straight up into the sky, higher and higher. I shield my eyes as I try to find him in against the midday sun. I spot him. His wings are folded in, and he's got one foreleg against his chest, one keeping his hat on, and his rear legs are pointed downwards. He's plummeting!

Panic grips me. What the hell do I do!? Should I catch him? He's going to land right in front of me and I'll hear his legs snap and... oh. Clouds.

With a small puff, Soarin' punches right through the cloud, about a meter in front of me. A moment later, he appears again and hovers in front of my face. "If you just want the story, you don't need any notes!" He jams a hoof at the pony-sized hole in the clouds. "Dump 'em! Right now! Or you're not getting another word."

My hooves feel welded in place. What the hay is going on? I mean, he has every right to distrust reporters, but I'm not like them. I'm not in it for the fame or the bits.

...Right?

I step over to the hole. The cloud I'm standing on is thick, but wow. That's a long, long way down. My chest seizes up as I realize that he could push me right now, and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

I crane my head back at him. He hovers and stares. If looks could kill... "Do it."

Think.

...

Think faster.

I dig the notepad out of my bag and go over every inch of the cover. So many words. I look down the hole. So far down.

I shake my head. I can't. "No."

"No? You sure about that?" Soarin' is staring at me with those intense eyes of his.

Ultimatums always have a back door. C'mon... Maybe I can meet him halfway?

My hoof shakes, but I think I know which gambit I need to use. I toss the notepad over to him. He catches it awkwardly, and I tell him, "No. You keep them instead." Soarin' looks between me and the notepad in his hooves a few times. "You'll want it all out there eventually. No point in throwing everything away now." Steady. Don't let him see you sweat.

Soarin' looks at the notepad again, then back up at me. Does he realize I'm holding my breath? His face wrinkles into a sneer. "Fine." Thank Celestia.

There's a brief pause.

I hope he didn't hurt himself with that stunt. I consciously relax and lower my voice. "How are your forelegs?"

Soarin' flinches and looks away. "Sore." His head hangs low.

I need to ease the tension. Maybe I should say something less stupid. "You'll be okay."

Soarin' lands deftly on the cloud, wincing a little as his hooves find their place. He looks up at me with tired eyes. "...You promise you'll talk to me first?"

I breathe a sigh of relief and nod. Everything's under control. "I promi–"

"And you won't publish anything I don't want out there? There are... a few things that shouldn't get out yet."

That's always the paradox, isn't it? You don't want them getting out, but it hurts to keep them in. "I promise."

He glances at the hole. "Sorry for freaking out. I am getting better about that. I swear."

I smile. "No problem." Everything's okay. He isn't too angry, and I'll still be able to take the notes I need. I hold out a hoof to accept my notepad back.

My heart drops to my feet as Soarin' stuffs it into his saddlebag. He looks back over to me. "What?" He sees me holding my hoof out. "Oh." He bumps it with his own. "Yeah, we're cool."

My eyes are wide, and my mouth feels dry. I slowly withdraw my hoof and set it on the cloud. He was supposed to... "Uh... yeah." He is going to give my notepad back, right?

"Heh. Long as you don't go all nutso fan-colt on me." Soarin' gives my shoulder a light punch. "You'd be preeeeetty terrible at stalking me up here without any wings." He chuckles. "Least you've got the crazy obsession angle down, ya' weirdo."

Soarin' canters away with a little more bounce in his step. I pick myself up and shuffle after him. As we travel down the road, I feel my eyes boring holes into the side of his saddle bag, and the more I stare, the more my stomach churns. It feels like I'm in the middle of a battlefield without a sword, or like a hawk has made off with my wallet.

Soarin' makes a few off-hoof comments. Shoot. I need to pay attention. What's he saying?

"...better, though. Dude, I hope you never have to go through physical therapy. Wouldn't wish it on anypony."

I instinctively pat my breast pocket and clench up when my notepad isn't there. Calm down. Stay focused. "Progress is progress."

I tear my eyes away and see a cramped building with big green sign that just reads "Coffee." A few ponies shuffle in and out, and the other nearby buildings are similarly busy: a few specialty clothing stores line the street, packed tightly against restaurants, salons, and an exotic massage parlor. We must be in the business district.

As we get closer to the coffee shop, I shake out my mane and try to concentrate. I can get my notepad back later. There's still a story to hear. "Do you... I’m going to start asking questions again, okay?"

Soarin' looks up, a little wide-eyed, and he speaks a little snidely. "Uh, yeah. That's why you're here, right?"

I feel a little tug at my heart. "That's why I'm here," I mumble, unable to look him in the eye. "So... the reunion with Braeburn was on Wednesday, correct?"

"Yeah," he says flatly.

My heart beats sporadically. "That means you only had two days together before–"

"Three days." He pauses outside the door. "News doesn't travel as fast as you'd think, and they still had to find us. Didn't take them too long, of course."

"Oh." I grab the door and hold it open for him. I want to ask him about Sunday right now, but I don't want to gloss over anything. How to put it? "Three days..." The warm air and welcoming smell of coffee roll out of the café and wrap around me, clearing my thoughts. "Did you make them count?"

As Soarin' walks past me into the shop, he turns his head and gives me a small, warm smile. "What do you think?"

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Comments

[Mix-up]

why do you bother making it SFW anyway?

[Vivid Syntax]

7780874
A few people asked for it, and I wanted to be able to submit it to groups for publicity (for both this version and the main story). Unfortunately, it got downvoted into oblivion as soon as it hit EQD, I think partly because of the M/M shipping. It stings, and I wish it wasn't that way, but I don't want to stop, since there are some readers that prefer this version, and I appreciate them and don't want to give them an incomplete story.

It's possible this has all been terribly misguided, though. I get that.