End of the Crusade

by rareSnowDash

2. Sleep Tight and Keep Away from Dirt Mites

The lake was silent and warm as the sun glistened in it with radiant golden hues. The afternoon was so summery yet so quiet – it was just begging to be disturbed by the high-pitched giggles of a filly splashing about in the water, having no consideration about ruining the peaceful moment. She was just hitting the water with her hooves, appearing to be magically sitting on the wet surface all on her own, while trying to speak but her laughs drowned any other sound she tried.

“Hahaha – the water is so cold! – hahahaha! Haha!” she rolled on her back over the bed of water without drowning and tried to suppress her giggles as she stared up at the clear blue sky, squinting to get the sun out of her eyes.

“Not a cloud,” she whispered and giggled quietly again, “and it is all so blue – just like you!” She looked at the water, a pure but rippling reflection of the azure sky, and grinned as she sat up again. Immediately, two feathery blue wings flapped out of the water, wallowing water all over the already-wet filly; and, from under the water, a soaking mane in gorgeous rainbow colours plopped out. Streams of water trickled on the pegasus’ sky blue coat, her eyes squeezed shut – when she opened them, anypony could see she had dazzling magenta eyes.

The filly on her back held on to her neck tightly as she rose up in the air and, making a few circles, landed on the ground at the edge of the lake.

“Hop on down, Scootaloo,” she laughed, nudging the filly on her back with one wing. Scootaloo looked disappointed for a moment but jumped off her back anyway. The blue pegasus shook the water out of her mane and tail with great vigor till the edges of her rainbow hair were back to their usual bristly shape. Scootaloo, having stood right next to her, was very wet now.

The mare stifled a giggle. “Whoops. Sorry, Scoot.”

Scootaloo, seeming to break out of a stunned daze, immediately shook herself too, fluttering her little wings as she did so. Some droplets landed on the older pegasus but she playfully laughed, shielding her face with one wing. “Rainbow Dash, Rainbow Dash, what’re we gonna play now!?” she giggled, running around her adoptive sister in circles.

Rainbow chuckled at the filly’s enthusiasm but shrugged. “I dunno – nothing?”

The little pegasus came out a screeching halt and, as a result, stumbled on the ground with her face first. Rainbow shook her head and lifted her back on her hooves with a half-smile. “Watch where you’re going, squirt,” she sighed.

“B-b-but, but the games!” gasped Scootaloo, looking up at Dash with a face that was full of adorable, childish shock. “Come on, we have to play at least one more!”

“Time for my noon siesta, kid,” winked Dash as she turned to make her way to the two hammocks.

Scootaloo threw herself and clung to Rainbow’s back hoof, making the latter burst into a laugh. “Scoot, what’re you doing?” she asked, wiping a tear from her eye.

“I wanna play,” begged Scootaloo, “Aw, please play with me! The water ride was so awesome! I was sitting on the water – it was like super magical! – and you were so awesome – and everything was awesome – I felt like I was so magical!!!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” dictated Dash, swinging her hoof up with a jolt so hard that Scootaloo flung up and landed on Rainbow’s back – a fall the older pony softened by spreading her wings on it. “The point is, I gotta take my nap,” continued Dash as she rose a couple of inches, the filly pegasus sitting on her back quietly, “and maybe – just maybe – I will play a bunch of games with you–”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” squealed Scootaloo at once. Dash turned and looked at her with one raised eyebrow; apparently she had more to say before she was interrupted. “Sorry,” whispered she as Dash sighed.

“–after I take my nap,” she finished. Scootaloo opened her mouth to protest but she put a small smile on her face instead.

“Something’s better than nothing and that’s good enough for me,” she smiled.

Dash laughed, landing back on the ground, the brown land warm against her hooves. The hammocks were right in front of her. Both looked exactly identical if not for the contrast in size – one for Dash, the smaller one for Scootaloo. “You know, Scoot, I laid this hammock out for you… in case you wanna take a break,” Dash said, climbing into her hammock and picking up her shades, as Scootaloo got off her back.

“Ugh, I don’t like sleeping when I can hang out with you,” grinned Scootaloo.

“Yeah,” laughed Dash, “I am pretty awesome – but you should catch some shut-eye too… y’know, if you want to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for all the cool, cool games we’re gonna play later.”

Scootaloo’s face fell but she lazily climbed into the smaller hammock anyway. Dash noticed the filly’s lack of excitement and poked her gently. “Hey, it’ll be fun,” she consoled. “You’ll see.”

“Sure it will.”

Scootaloo tried to smile back but couldn’t – instead she sank her face in her hammock. Dash pondered on what could cheer her up and then, in a nonchalant voice, said out aloud, “I could tell you a story or something” – knowingly glancing at Scootaloo who had jerked up – “but, you know, if you don’t want to hear…” She flashed Scootaloo a bright smirk, deliberately trailing off in the middle of her sentence.

“A story? Is it Daring Do? Is it about you and your friends!? Is it just about you?” Scootaloo had a grin as big as half of her face.

“The Line of Light, Scoot,” exhaled Dash.

“Oh.” Scootaloo looked disappointed again. “That’s… not really a story,” she added, “It’s a mantra.”

“An awesome mantra, yeah,” chuckled Dash. “And you love it, don’t you, Scoot?”

“Hmm.” Scootaloo thought for a minute and then shrugged. “Okay, I guess. If you say so, Rainbow Dash.”

Black sunglasses on the top of her head, Rainbow bent closer to Scootaloo and sung, “Whenever you need light, you only need hope.” Her raspy voice was strangely elegant at the time and a small smile tugged at Scootaloo’s lips as she lay. “The end of the line, the end of the road; unable to move but you need to get to the top. Together with friends, all of us holding hands, we will invite hope” – closing her eyes as she exhaled out a repetition – “… we will invite hope. Be brave; with friends, be the best you can be.”

Scootaloo’s eyes were open in awe and admiration. Rainbow Dash had sung the song to her many times and every time it sounded more beautiful than the last. Dash bent closer to the little apricot-coated pegasus and whispered out the last sentence in gentle euphoria, “If we all unite, we can be free.”

A smile lit Scootaloo’s face and she blinked. “Awesome, thanks, Rainbow Dash!”

“You are welcome, squirt,” laughed Dash as she rolled back on her hammock and set the sunglasses back on her eyes. “And now that we’re done, sleep tight and, uh… keep away from dirt mites.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” corrected Scootaloo with a giggle.

“Potato-tomato,” scoffed Dash, “I like it my way – it sounds more awesome. Doesn’t it?”

Scootaloo giggled again, sinking into her hammock and closing her eyes. The warm sun glowed in summery radiance and the sunshine tingled warmly on her coat, above her closed eyelids and she smiled, taking a moment to appreciate the peace.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “It does.”

–––––––

Guns rattled. Bullets blasted across the dark valley. Smoke was rising on the horizon; shrill roars pierced through the atmosphere.

Four pegasus ponies scrambled on the rocky cliffs, the front half of their body armored in hunks of grey metal; they carried dark, heavy bags and khaki stripes ran along their faces in an attempt to camouflage from the war raging on all sides. One pegasus, an old mare with a charcoal coat and wrinkled garnet red eyes, looked the most important in them. She had a now-healed but painfully visible scar running across her flank – with such savagery that she must have had trouble getting over the agony – right above her cutie mark: a purple heart slashed open in the centre.

There was only one stallion in the group of four, his coat the lightest shade of artic blue. His solemn eyes were a deep indigo – he spoke without emotion; he always spoke with burdened yet vague pain. Three icicles hanging in a row wasn’t a bad cutie mark choice on him – just made him seem all the colder. The third member was a female pegasus with vibrant chartreuse hair in a fringe that clashed unattractively with her crocodile green skin and crow-black eyes – her cutie mark was a strange one: a yellow eye with a vertical black pupil.

The last pegasus on the team was a ragged, hard-hearted, with magenta hair shaved from the back of her crest in a way that it fell in an arc over her lavender eyes, Scootaloo. There were scratches on her back legs but they didn’t bother at the moment. The bags – with outlines of something that looked rather dangerous – were presumably heavy but she carried them with ease. She was used to it – this was her life.

“We stop here, ponies,” commanded the old mare with an authoritative grunt as she held up one hoof. The other three Pegasi stopped and, as she lowered her hoof back down, they sat on the rough rocky terrain of the Hinnyharsh Cliffs.

“The battle is fierce,” the mare commented as she trotted towards them, “and we don’t want to be seen by any pony.”

Her comrades nodded in respectful agreement. She sat down and they all remained silent till the green-skinned pegasus spoke. “So when are the delivery guys coming?” she ventured.

“Our last supply to the rebels was hearty,” told Slashcut with a hint of gruffness. From the side of her eye, she looked up at the building tower of smoke behind. “They should manage for a bit – and, if I remember the schedule well, they should be here soon. Huh. Well, forget all that. Did you still have those grenades, Greenwing?”

Greenwing nodded, somewhat alarmed at the doubt in Slashcut’s voice.

“Did you check?” spat the older mare.

“N-no,” hesitated Greenwing, “but…”

“No time for but’s!” yelled Slashcut. “We come to these lands to supply weapons, not play. Check your bags! Now!” Anger, built up with her old age, appeared to be shooting out of her eyes and she snapped her head at Scootaloo and the blue stallion. “All of you! I don’t want a single piece of machinery out of place, you hear me!?”

Scootaloo heaved her bags off her own back in presumable obedience but, from inside, she was terribly infuriated. Her madness had nothing to do with Slashcut’s arrogant manner of bossing everypony around – it was just madness that had become part of her. She was part of a team that illegally supplied lethal, modern weapons to a pony rebellion fighting in the dragon lands – she herself had fought with those weapons, killed with the bullets and the bloody memories were hard to get out of her head.

She opened the zipper of one bag and looked inside – machine guns. Machine guns were the latest weapon technology in Equestria – fresh off the black market – and the rebellion would pay plenty for them. Those guns would take down thousands of lives – innocent and deserving – but none of it was her business. She had a routine – her team’s routine – and that was to get the pay from customers who they sold illegal weapons to, use a large fraction to get newer, better ones from the black market suppliers, sell them to the customers – and the cycle kept going on and on.

Never be seen or heard by any pony who is not part of the business – that was the rule of the team. That was the only rule of the entire business – that’s all she had to stick to. The team she was part of would let her remain a part if she never broke that rule – and, for all these years, she had never broken it so what could go wrong now?

Scootaloo opened her other bag that was full of Whinnychester 99 guns – another weapon the rebel ponies loved. It was fast, effective and perfect for pumping bullets through any hide – best weapons, they had said, for a bloody massacre. Scootaloo put one hoof in the bag to feel the metallic iciness of the bullets at the pit of the bag – they are slender and cold, perfect for the guns and every victim they would cross.

“I-I… I got the grenades, Slashcut,” muttered Greenwing as she checked and re-checked her bags.

“Good,” hissed Slashcut and glared at Scootaloo. “You?”

“Everything’s there,” replied Scootaloo with a firm nod of her head as she zipped the bags back. Slashcut looked over to the stallion pegasus as he closed his bags as well.

“Artic Sea? Are you present!?” she chided his silent behaviour with a scream.

Artic looked up slowly with rheumy eyes. “I have everything,” he spoke, despondency – despondency that didn’t seem to have reason, thought Scootaloo – tinging his bland voice. He was always so insipid – Scootaloo would have wanted to know how exactly he managed to get in the team; but then again, she was recruited after him.

“Slashcut, Slashcut…”

A hefty voice broke out from behind them. Scootaloo turned.

There were six or seven stallions standing behind them, heavily built and armed, dirt marking almost every inch of their coats. One stallion, wearing an eye patch, stepped ahead as the four Pegasi stood.

“Slashcut,” he repeated as the other mare nodded without any expression, “good to see you so soon.” He took a heavy step closer to them – Scootaloo secured the bags back on her back, eyeing them with intense caution. “The weapons,” he asked with a smirk, “… you brought them?”

“Everything is here, Groove,” nodded Slashcut. “Material worth four thousand and twenty bits – as the deal went.”

Groove chuckled. Scootaloo turned her head and unexpectedly met eyes with Artic – she couldn’t understand whether he thought this was a set-up, not with his deadpan eyes, but she wasn’t going to be taking any risks.

“Give us the goods,” he demanded, grinning in a manner that Scootaloo could only consider evil, “Then we pay you.”

All the gears in Scootaloo’s mind started pumping – turning, twisting, begging for action. She smelled a set-up – she sensed death for all the Pegasi on her side. Not hardly did a fraction of second pass after Groove presented his crude demand that Scootaloo, whipping her head to Slashcut, blurted: “No, Slashcut, tell him we want the money first!” Without waiting for any reply or reaction, she snarled at Groove. “We want the money, Groove. Then you get the weapons. Don’t think we will let cheaters like you in the game, do you?”

“No,” he answered simply, his grin still lingering on his ugly black face. “Guns first. Money after.”

“We aren’t betting our bits on damned ruffians. We smuggle these things for wretches of your kind with difficulty, understand?” snapped Scootaloo and then pushing her open hoof forward, repeated: “Money. Now.”

“Scootaloo!”

Scootaloo, her face burning with intensity of anger, turned to find Slashcut addressing her.

“Give him your bags,” ordered Slashcut.

“What!? Slashcut, how can–”

The other mare cut her off. “Give him your bags now!!!”

Groove smirked. With a defeated snarl, Scootaloo tossed the bags off her back. She was angry, she wanted to kill every single thing in sight – but she didn’t. She held it back. She didn’t hear Slashcut address anypony else but, when she heard Artic and Greenwing’s bags slide and hit the rocks, she realized Slashcut must have gestured them to do the same. Even Slashcut dropped her own bags.

A unicorn on Groove’s side used his magic to take the bags. Slashcut trotted forward, her face stern as she stared at them.

“You’ve the weapons,” she stated, “Now give us the money.”

For a brief moment, Scootaloo raised her head to see Groove smirk at her – specifically at her – and then he gestured at one of his minions – a gesture meaning ‘pay them’, seeing how the stallion tossed a large pouch of money at them. Slashcut gingerly picked it up with the tip of her wing and nodded at Groove.

“Pleasure doing business,” she remarked.

“Yes,” he agreed, never wiping that grin off his face. He turned and, instinctively, his group turned to leave – but Groove stopped. He leaned towards Scootaloo and she looked at him without raising her head, through her roughly done hair.

“Watch who you deal with,” he coldly commented in a whisper, his grin flashing away for a minute. “Save your hide, eh?”

Scootaloo gritted her teeth in punishing rage but she didn’t answer. Groove straightened back and grinned sickly again before turning to leave. Threats, threats – Scootaloo was used to them. That was her life. Was she insane? Possibly. She certainly knew what insanity felt like – she knew so because she was so.

Comments

[TheCrimsonDragon]

Interesting. In all honesty, Scootaloo is my favorite of the Crusaders, and I enjoyed many of the stories she was a main character in. Now, that leaves Sweetie Belle to be the gambler. That's funny! Sweetie Belle is a gambler and Apple Bloom is a saloon owner, but Scootaloo is a straight criminal.

This story just gets better and better with every chapter and I just can't wait for the story to truly start picking up! Keep up the amazing work!

[rareSnowDash]

8679604

Heh heh thanks Your comments really make my day!
And, yeah, I thought I'd give her a tough persona despite the hardships her new life makes her face
Thanks again!