Memoirs of a Minutor Crystallum

by Witching Hour

Ch 7 Coping Mechanisms

Sunbeam Hotel & Canterlot Grand Station
Coltden, Canterlot, Equestria
Firesday, 22 Gold Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

After about an hour of storming across Canterlot, I finally calmed down enough to actually think… and my thoughts were not kind to me.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath.

‘This… This is not why you were saving up for surprise expenses, Chroma,’ my inner voice was spectacularly unhelpful, even as I went through the motions of checking into the hotel that was at once sketchy and classy, like the old casino-hotels on the strip in Reino. I, of course, told that inner voice to sod off.

A lot of small things turned the day into a powder keg that would make the ponies down in Bosneigha and Horsegovina go “woah! Calm down now! It’s not that bad!!”

Having had a pint-sized roommate/ward dumped on me the night before didn’t exactly get things going well. Okay, so it wasn’t terrible that Witching Hour was suddenly the guardian for the colt I’d seen in passing at the hospital. I even rather liked Trick Step. It wasn’t his fault for the situation he found himself in, anymore than it was Witching Hour’s fault. It was just the addition of a small foal to a small, two-bedroom apartment for an unspecified amount of time that started the proverbial avalanche.

My shift with the weather team was… well… a shift with the weather team. I did try to spice things up a little, but there’s only so much flair one can bust clouds with. And then I came home to two letters that were glaring taunts, an entire salt mine into the open wound of destroyed dreams. The seal of the Wonderbolts mocked me and my crystal-powered wings. Oh, a tour of the Compound and going back to the Academy? Yeah right. They’d probably be nice to me while at the Compound… but if they didn’t manage to worm their way out of the Academy invitation before it started, I’d maybe last half a day before they either gave me the boot, or the other attendees would hurl me off the cliff.

And then… As if that weren’t bad enough… Witching Hour had the audacity to say she’d had nothing to do with procuring such letters. Logically, I knew she didn’t have the influence needed to actually get them to send the invitations just on her say-so… but she had to have said something, and her Doctor Face wasn’t the same as a Poker Face, and I could see the guilt in it.

I was heartily sick of the whole project to keep tabs on the burgeoning Hope. Just as soon as I could figure out how to tell Earl Toffee to shove this assignment in unpleasant places in a way that wouldn’t result in my summary exile and/or execution, I would go and… I dunno… Hunt for the Missing Library of Marephis.

Getting to my room and kicking the door closed behind me, I was finally able to spare a glance to the other letters I’d gotten today. One stood out immediately, and so I quickly opened it.

I felt a little confused over this ‘Shirogane’’s definition of ‘success’ since I’d not been able to find anything that any of them wouldn’t have already found, but I was relieved to have something to do. Jotting down a hasty note of acceptance on the room’s stationary and readjusting my cloak, I decided I’d not waste a runner’s time and drop the message off myself, as my dead drop wasn’t more than two blocks away at Canterlot Grand Station.

Most of the evening travelers were already gone, leaving only a few who had worked late on the streets and in the station. The upper floors were devoted to luggage lockers in a variety of sizes and I made my way through the rows to locker C-18. It wasn’t one of the large ones, nor the smallest, large enough for a small suitcase and a set of saddlebags. Opening it with my key, I put the short missive inside, and then closed it.

“Miss Chroma Strike, I presume?” a stallion greeted from behind the latest edition of the Baltimare Herald. He had a pair of full-moon glasses resting above a well-kept fake handlebar mustache and ridiculously long goatee, and he wore a brown tweed suit with pocket watch and cane. A black mane poked out from beneath a black felt derby, which could only be the capstone to the ridiculous disguise that Shirogane wore.

“You don’t get out much, do you, Shirogane?” I commented dryly, eyeing the full ridiculousness of the attempt at disguise. Privately, I considered that, with his generic coloring, he didn’t really have to do much to make himself blend in, and his efforts made him stick out more, not less.

“Please, this is Canterlot Grand Station,” chuckled Shirogane. “I’m hardly the strangest thing here. Besides, it’s fun wearing this old outfit.”

“As long as it’s for fun… because it’s not good for disguise,” I chortled in reply. “I’ve accepted your request, though… Where do you get your definitions from?” I asked, unable to restrain the question. “I’m pretty sure wherever you read ‘success’, it wasn’t in the Oxton Dictionary.”

“Confirmed information is just as valuable as new information, if not twice as much,” replied Shirogane, as he cleaned the overly thick lenses of his glasses with a pocket square. “Plus the information that you and I couldn’t find also speaks volumes about the target…”

“I’m rather more concerned with the apparent aims, myself… But I digress,” I waved that particular line of thought away. “Hasn’t Hekate learned their lesson already? I thought those idiots I’d not dealt with, Rat and Charon dealt with.” I couldn’t resist smirking at the memory of how surprised that crew had been when they’d found me after foiling Firebrand’s schemes.

“Well, let’s just say that our current leadership didn’t trust Rat’s Crew in dealing with an international organization and, while the crew that was sent was certainly capable, some vermin slipped free of the trap we set,” grumbled Shirogane. “… paranoid old bag…”

“Aaaaaah… inept leadership… So glad I don’t generally deal with that…” I sighed, though I did have a leadership with its own… eccentricities that were enough to make me pull my mane out in chunks some days. However, to Rat and his associates, I was still an ‘independent contractor’, someone with no ties to any particular organization and working on my own. “Alright… I’m never one to leave a job half-done and if I’d known there were loose ends earlier, you can bet I would’ve tied those off sooner. Would you like me to deal with any of them if they're closer to me than your folks?”

“Are you actually comfortable with said work?” asked Shirogane. “Rat did emphasize your preference to stick to non-lethal strikes.”

“It’s not my favorite thing in the Cosmos,” I answered with a shrug. “I stuck to non-lethal in Coltenhagen since I prefer to stay on the Olympia’s good side, and I tend to believe in second chances. That’s not to say I believe in third chances. If it needs doing, it gets done.”

“Well, a large number managed to slip behind JSS protection before I could reach out to you, hence why the file was so small, but the list I gave you should be easy enough to find and handle,” explained Shirogane. “If you want to permanently end a few of these scumbags that made their fortunes off of creating cities of war orphans, by all means, and we’ll compensate you appropriately.”

“I’ll see what I can manage. I’m technically on a mission right now, but it’s pretty low-key, thus my willingness for side jobs… And if shit keeps going sideways with this, I’ll need the extra cushion.”

“That sounds…entertaining…” replied Shirogane carefully.

“Oh you don’t know the half of it… Unfortunately, as much as I’d love to see you without that ridiculous get-up, I’d better get back. My regards to the crew, friend.”

“I’ll be sure to pass those regards along,” chuckled Shirogane. “But maybe try talking to your boss about a reassignment if it’s that bad? They’ve got to be at least a little more reasonable than my boss… Not like they’ll gut you for it, anyway…”

“Trust me,” I sighed heavily, “it’s on my list of things to do, as soon as I can phrase it in a way that avoids Charon’s fate.”

---

The Royal Library, Canterlot Castle
Kensington, Canterlot, Equestria
Starsday, 26 Gold Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

It felt good to do some normal Ipsum work. I’d not actually gotten around to actually doing the wetwork options on some of them. I liked doing my homework first, and making sure I wouldn’t leave anything behind if I did add red to the ledgers.

A knock on the door pulled me from my study of one file in progress. Sighing, I called “Come in, as long as it’s not - Oh, it’s you… You’re fine…” I trailed off, seeing Veevee entering the private study room.

“Not wanting to see the Earl right now? Don’t blame you,” Veevee says, taking off her helmet and setting it on the edge of the table. She gave her mane a quick brush with one hoof, removing at least some of the helmet-mane she’d gotten. “You’re not his favorite flavor right now either, what with you having gone mostly AWOL from your post.”

Groaning, I dropped my head to the table. “She did something, Veevee… She maybe didn’t do it directly, but she pulled strings and got me those damned invitations, nevermind that it’ll make things even worse in the long run. There are two options for how bad it’ll be. One, she didn’t say anything about my wings, in which case, it’ll make things insanely awkward for everyone… Or two, she did say something about it, in which case, she broke my trust trying to prove her point. I’m not sure which is worse, but I’m pretty sure they’re both epically bad options.”

“Okay… Monkey, I get it. I do,” Veevee says, taking the seat across the table from me. “You trusted her with how you were feeling, and she went and blabbed about it… Do you think maybe she went to the only pegasi she could talk to for help? You’ve made it abundantly plain you don’t consider her opinion, valid as a doctor’s might be, worth a wooden bit since she’s ‘just a unicorn’.” I looked up, scowling, to see a similar, stern expression on my mentor’s face. “Would you rather she’d gone to her brother? Or what about her grandfather and uncle? Do you think that’d be better?

I winced at that idea. Sure I’d said some vague things about the ‘accident’ to Anvilhead, and he was a veteran of a real war, to say nothing of being decidedly not an idiot, but if he knew-

“Look… I’m not gonna fight you on this,” Veevee continued, sighing heavily. “I’m just here as the messenger. Boss wants to know if he needs to get someone else in place. So are you gonna be pulling your head out of your ass any time soon? Or are you gonna run back to Daddy?”

I felt hot and cold at once. Burning fury at the derisive comment about going back to my dad’s tutelage, but frozen with indecision. Vaguely I remembered how excited I’d been to finally be out from under my dad’s iron-hoof on the leash. I loved him dearly, but he had issues separating the job from our familial relationship… In fact, he didn’t have issues… he had subscriptions on the topic. I didn’t want to give up, but I wasn’t able to see a way clear of this mess I’d made for myself.

“Sorry, Monks… That was uncalled for…” Veevee apologized quickly, dragging me forcibly from my paralysis. “But listen… The first solo’s always the hardest, and I’m sure you can find your way through this… Just… Try to consider Witching Hour’s perspective? And maybe try talking to her about why you’re so upset over this mess? Not just blowing up?”

And with that, the earth pony scooped up her helmet and left the study room, leaving me to repeatedly beat my head against the tabletop. The mare had a point… but that didn’t mean it was gonna be fun, or easy, to do as she suggested.

---

Wonderbolt Compound
Coltden, Canterlot, Equestria
Starsday, 26 Gold Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

The situation I found myself in after work was odder than Discord suddenly declaring his allegiance to Friendship and Harmony like he did a few months back. First, I’d gotten semi-accosted by one of my coworkers on the weather team. Then, when I’d gone to get a comfort brunch of oatmeal from Rusty’s, who should intrude upon my sullen musing than the bucking Lead Squad of the Wonderbolts. At that point, it finally sunk through my ridiculously thick skull that maybe the Fates were trying to tell me something… And that something had a distressing semblance to “GET OVER YOURSELF”.

Add in the compliment from Point Dex on my performance from the Summer Fun Fly Meet, which had me frozen in place for a solid fifteen minutes (and ten trays stacked on my head, plus five more on each wing courtesy of Soarin), and I was actually most of the way to doing exactly that.

There was just one… teensy-weensy, but ever so crucial, little tiny detail I had to deal with first.

Finding the Lead Captain at her table alone as her squadmates were still getting their dinners. Deciding, in the interests of transparency and my attempts to keep my head firmly removed from my ass, I needed to clear something up.

“So… Not to sound unappreciative or anything,” I started, sliding onto the bench across from Spitfire, “but am I gonna get laughed out of the Academy if I show up? Because while I’m working on the whole ‘not cheating’ thing, the last thing I want is the whole… weird looks and whispers…”

“A bit late for that,” Spitfire smirks as she puts down her fork. “You came back from a pegasus’ worst nightmare; stares and weird looks are your life now. Besides, if you were looking to avoid attention, joining the Wonderbolts isn't exactly going to help too much.”

“It’s less about the rabble and more the thought that other cadets might tie me up and throw me off one of the cliffs surrounding the Academy,” I elaborated. “Like… I would’ve been content with just my old skill back, and it would have spared me a whole bunch of crashes into the ceiling at that. Now everything I used to be able to do has been dialed up to eleven and it’s obvious why that is and… I just want to fly, hard, fast and free… If that lands me in the Wonderbolts, great. If it doesn’t, fine… But I don’t want to be called a cheater ever again… Am I making sense? I’m not making sense…”

“No, I get what you’re trying to say,” replied Spitfire with a chuckle. “You want to earn it by the sweat of your own brow and not have it gifted to you. I definitely get that. As someone who has been on the outside of a similar story, I can tell you that I sure as hell don’t see it as cheating. Honestly, the ones who really matter are going to be grateful that you’re still around and able to do what you love. The way I see it is that you had the drive to get to this level of skill in about ten years on your own, even before the accident, and this ‘shortcut’ would be nothing now without that same drive. Silver once said that being a Wonderbolt is more about willpower than wingpower, and I can’t say I disagree.”

My inner modesty (yes, shock and amazement, I have that on occasion) about my skills as a flier made me blush at that, and I quickly cleared my throat. “Yes well… Um… Anyways… You’re sure the other cadets won’t, like, mutiny and murder me in my sleep or anything, right? Because otherwise, I’m totally chill with not going… A place in next year’s try-outs will suffice.”

As if summoned somehow, Fleetfoot popped up in the seat next to Spitfire. “What’s this about Chiller?” the Silver Streak of the Lead Squad asked, staring at me briefly before turning her attention to Spitfire. “Have you finally caught on that he’s not so chill about you, Cap’n Hotpants?”

I blinked several times. Something told me that I should probably make a tactical retreat before getting caught in any cross-fire, but I was stopped by the expression on Spitfire’s face. It was a strange cross between defeat, resignation, exasperation and that desperate ‘trying to hold a different conversation’ look.

“I promise the other cadets won’t throw you off the cliff… And I’ll make sure to send you a notice for the try-outs when they’re scheduled. Though that raises a question…” and suddenly that sinking feeling in my gut came back, telling me that I should’ve escaped while I had the chance. “You gonna still be living with the good doctor? Or will I be needing a new address on file?”

I flinched, remembering the rather vicious words I’d flung at Witching Hour before storming out. “That’s a good question… If I survive the night, I’ll let you know… Don’t suppose you’d like to loan me one of your trainers to make sure I can at least limp away from this one?”

“Oh no… You’re on your own outside those doors, girlie,” Spitfire laughed, but it wasn’t a mocking one. “For one thing, you’re not a Wonderbolt… yet… But the other is that the Trainers are all rather fond of Witching Hour, and I doubt they’d be any actual help to your survival.”

Mercifully for me, I had another unexpected ally in the form of a young unicorn colt who had, for reasons only the Cosmos knew, adopted me as a parental figure… but that’s another story.

Author's Note:

For those that may need a refresher on what immediately follows this chapter, please see Chapter 7 of Steady As She Flies. But the TL;DR of it is that Trick Step decides that Auntie Wrench gets a pass as long as she doesn't go storming out again.

That said, I've finally finished Chapter 8... and I'm now attempting to sort out the mess that I have set for Chapter 9... Hopefully, a certain fellow author will get writing out so the new character that appears won't be a complete blind-side...

Take care folks!!!