All Day, Everyday.

by Penanka72

Chapter 19 - Amelia’s week.

The day after the Toffees’ victory over the Garibaldi, Amelia settled down to watch another highly anticipated match: the Gunners against the Cherries. The game was electrifying, but the scoreline was a blowout—9-1 in favour of the Gunners. Rainbow Dash scored four of those goals with her trademark flair, while Jet Fuel, a player Amelia had recently met, delivered a hat trick and an assist. Smoke Flare, a dazzling dribbler in midfield, added two goals to the tally. The Cherries’ only consolation came from Grimlek, a griffon striker who broke through on a counterattack to score.

The media and pundits buzzed with excitement after the Gunners’ landslide victory, declaring them favourites to take the league title. The Reds, Amelia’s sibling Redsica’s team, were now under tremendous pressure to win their next game and close the two-point gap that separated them from the top.

But Amelia’s attention truly peaked with the Reds’ game against Mare City—a match that could make or break the title race. Mare City was notoriously formidable, operating with the same precision and dominance as Man City did on Earth. Their possession play was relentless, and their roster featured none other than Rarity, one of the world’s top players and a genius dribbler who Amelia could hardly believe was real. Watching the Reds go head-to-head with such a team left Amelia on edge, her concern heightened by knowing that Redsica would be facing Rarity directly on the field.

The match was a nail-biter. Both teams fought with everything they had, trading possession and creating tense moments from start to finish. In the end, the Reds clinched a hard-fought 3-2 victory. Redsica played a starring role, not only scoring and assisting but also holding Rarity at bay with a level of defence that surprised even the most seasoned fans. But Amelia’s pride quickly turned to worry in the final minutes of the game.

In the 89th minute, Redsica went down, clutching her hamstring. The sight of her sibling in pain, hobbling off the field, sent a jolt of anxiety through Amelia. She watched Twilight’s post-game press conference with bated breath, hoping the injury was minor. Twilight confirmed it was a grade 1 hamstring strain, a relatively mild injury, but it could keep Redsica sidelined for one to four weeks.

Amelia couldn’t help but feel relieved it was just a minor injury. Redsica might be her rival on the pitch, but at the end of the day, they were family. Knowing her sibling would only be out for a couple of weeks instead of months put her mind at ease—she could practically picture Redsica already gearing up for her comeback, just as determined as ever. Amelia laughed to herself, thinking how even a little time off the field would probably drive her sister up the wall with impatience. She sent Redsica a quick message, joking that maybe a short break would finally give her time to relax a bit… though she knew that was unlikely.

---

The next day was as laid-back as it could be for Amelia, though with a twist of chaos thanks to Ponyville’s School of Education. She dragged herself up early, headed to class, and found herself in practical science with Apple Bloom. The task? Mix colourful liquids in glass beakers—what could go wrong? Apparently, everything. One moment, she was carefully pouring a vibrant blue solution into a beaker; the next, a loud poof sounded, and a thick cloud of smoke burst right into her face. Amelia blinked, feeling a warm tingle on her cheeks, only to realise her face was now covered in a fine layer of black soot. Apple Bloom’s eyes went wide, and Amelia barely had time to see her own reflection in the beaker’s surface—yep, she looked like she’d just survived a small explosion. “Never again.” she muttered, brushing the ash from her nose.

Next was food tech, another class with plenty of… opportunities for “learning.” This time, however, she managed to whip up a small apple crumble without any accidents, a little victory she cherished as she waited for it to cool. Her creation was far from perfect—she’d spilled flour everywhere, dropped a bit of apple on the floor, and nearly confused sugar with salt—but at least it was edible, and she had a snack for a break.

The cafeteria was buzzing with excitement, especially at the table where Scootaloo sat, surrounded by admirers. Ever since her assist in the Toffees’ recent win, she was the talk of the school, everypony fawning over her like she’d just won the league title single-handedly. Scootaloo, predictably, sat back with a smug look, enjoying every second of the attention.

Amelia, seated across the cafeteria, watched the whole scene with narrowed eyes and a pout, her face resting in her hand as she glared. Apple Bloom, sitting next to her, nudged her with a playful grin. “Now, don’t go givin’ yerself wrinkles over Scoot.”

Amelia sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “It’s just… ridiculous. One assist, and she thinks she’s the best player Ponyville’s ever seen.”

Apple Bloom chuckled, glancing over at Scootaloo, who was gesturing with her hands to emphasise the play. “Reckon she’s earned her moment. But you, sittin’ here like a raincloud, might not be the best way to spend lunch.”

“When I’m on the team, they won’t even remember her assist.” Amelia muttered, leaning back with determination. “Just you wait. They’ll be chanting my name instead.”

Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow, thoroughly entertained. “Oh, is that so? So you’re already plannin’ your takeover, huh?”

“Absolutely.” Amelia replied, not taking her eyes off Scootaloo. “The moment I get my chance, this whole cafeteria will be talking about my saves, not her one lucky pass.”

Apple Bloom gave her a playful pat on the shoulder. “Good luck with that, Miss Future Hoofball Star. Just… don’t forget us little folks when you’re the one sittin’ there, enjoyin’ all the praise.”

Amelia’s pout softened just a bit, but she shot one more daggered look across the room. “She won’t know what hit her.”

When third period began, Amelia found herself surprisingly engrossed in history. The lesson focused on Equestria’s grand wartime past—the legendary battles of the Royal Sisters and their clash with the chaotic deity, Discord. The teacher narrated the tale with such reverence, painting a scene of unwavering heroism and loyalty, and yet, Amelia couldn’t shake an odd feeling of discomfort. There was no mention of humans or the pivotal “Match of Truce.” Instead, the class was taught that firearms were a purely Equestrian invention, used to defend the realm from the likes of Discord, who, as the teacher put it, “begged for forgiveness.” ultimately swearing his loyalty to the Equestrian crown.

Amelia shifted in her seat, skepticism growing. She remembered Discord’s version—how he’d simply vanished during the Match of Truce, never surrendering or pledging any allegiance. The history being taught felt exaggerated, the teacher’s tone woven with a kind of mythic admiration that seemed almost… unsettling. Had Discord really pledged himself to Equestria, or was this tale a piece of victor’s history, stretched and polished to serve the kingdom’s image? The thought lingered with Amelia, her understanding of how easily history could be reshaped settling uncomfortably. But maybe, she reasoned, that was the privilege of the victor—to tell their story however they pleased.

Next lesson wasn't as woke as History, but Amelia was going bloody mental over in the math class, the worst subject in the world. Amelia could add and subtract with no problem but, multiplying and dividing? Now that just takes the cake. So guess what subject Amelia was doing in math… Pythagorean theorem. First time hearing that, didn’t help that she couldn’t even pronounce the name of it.

Amelia glared at the worksheet, gripping her pencil like it had personally wronged her. Pythagorean theorem? Letters in math? What fresh Tartarus was this? The equation sat there mockingly: A² + B² = C².

Apple Bloom tried to lean in with a helpful tone. “So, see here, Amelia, you just take the square of A and add it to the square of B to find C. Simple, right?”

“Square it?” Amelia looked up, genuinely horrified. “It’s a triangle, Bloom. If it was supposed to be a square, it’d be… I dunno, square-shaped!”

Apple Bloom blinked, fighting the urge to correct her. “No, no, not that kinda square. You just multiply A by itself, like… A times A.”

Amelia dropped her head onto the desk. “Bloom, this sounds less like math and more like dark magic. And why is ‘x’ even here? What’s its purpose in life? And if it’s so important, why am I the one who has to find it?”

Apple Bloom pointed back at the triangle, determined. “Look, just plug in the numbers and solve for C.”

“Plug in?” Amelia deadpanned. “Bloom, I’m not an engineer. I didn’t sign up to fix some mystical triangle. And find C? I haven’t even found myself yet!”

Apple Bloom rolled her eyes. “Just follow the formula, Amelia. It’ll get you to the answer.”

But Amelia shoved the worksheet away, surrendering. “Forget it. If ‘x’ wants to hide, I’m not going on some math adventure to find it. I’ll just be a baker or something where the only math is how many cookies I get to eat.”

With that, she dramatically crossed her arms and closed her eyes, sinking into her seat. “Right, that’s it. Brain’s checked out. Math can figure itself out. As far as I’m concerned, ‘x’ can stay lost.”

Apple Bloom sighed, eyeing the page as Amelia sat there, defeated by a triangle.

Next was lunch time and Amelia sat comfortably under the shade of an old tree, savouring each bite of her apple crumble. The sweetness and warmth of it made her smile, giving her a brief reprieve from the chaos of the school day. She pulled out her phone and, without much thought, opened the Toffees’ group chat. Her notifications were going wild, messages pinging nonstop. Clearly, the team had a lot to say.

Vinyl Scratch🎧:
Yo, so I’m thinking… we gotta celebrate that Garibaldi win, right? Party at my place tonight, yeah?😁🎉 13:42PM

Bon Bon🍭:
Vinyl Scratch🎧@ Vinyl, it’s a Monday…😑 13:42PM

Octavia🎵:
Vinyl Scratch@ Vinyl, some of us actually like to be productive on a Tuesday morning, if you don’t mind.😐 13:43PM

Vinyl Scratch🎧:
That’s why coffee exists, Tavi. Come on, live a little!😊 13:43PM

Lyra Heartstrings😁:
YESSSS! Party time! I’ll bring… uh, something! I don’t know what yet, but it’ll be loud!😆 13:43PM

Minuette🐂:
Yo lo sabía. Ustedes no pueden pasar un solo día sin querer hacer fiesta. Ni modo.😭 13:43PM

Thunderlane⚡️:
Minuette🐂@ Uh… what?😂 13:43PM

Bon Bon🍭:
Minuette🐂@ Translation, please? Minuette, not all of us speak… whatever that was.🙂 13:44PM

Minuette🐂:
I knew it. You all can’t go a day without wanting a party. Typical.😭 13:44PM

Big Mac🍏:
Eeyup.🙂 13:44PM

Vinyl Scratch🎧:
Minuette🐂@ Come on, Minuette, just a small one, I swear!😅 13:44PM

Octavia🎵:
Vinyl Scratch🎧@ The last time you said “small.” you invited half of Ponyville and played music so loud it rattled my teeth😕.13:44PM

Caramel🧤:
Yeah, I think the walls still remember that one.🥳 13:45PM

Noteworthy👌:
Vinyl Scratch🎧@ I’m down. As long as there’s snacks. Proper ones, Vinyl, not just leftover cereal from your cupboard.😒 13:45PM

Lyra Heartstrings😁:
Yes! More than just stale hay crisps, please!😝 13:45PM

Vinyl Scratch🎧:
Oh, come on! My cereal’s premium! Frosted hay flakes, ever heard of ’em?☺️ 13:45PM

Thunderlane⚡️:
Vinyl Scratch🎧@ Yeah, and I’m still picking out crumbs from my feathers from the last “premium” snack situation.😫 13:45PM

Minuette🐂:
Lo único premium en esa fiesta eran mis papitas. El resto, un desastre.😤 13:46PM

Lyra Heartstrings😁:
Minuette🐂@ What???😂 13:46PM

Caramel🧤:
Uh… so are we doing this or not? Because I’m bringing the good apple cider.🍎🍻 13:46PM

Bon Bon🍭:
How is this happening already?😐 13:46PM

Octavia🎵:
Oh, we can’t stop it now. It’s like watching a train crash in slow motion.🙃 13:46PM

Vinyl Scratch🎧:
Octavia🎵@ That’s the spirit, Tavi! Knew you’d come around.😆 13:46PM

Lyra Heartstrings😁:
I’ll bring my guitar! And… maybe maracas?🪇 13:47PM

Minuette🐂:
You don’t even know how to play either.🙄 13:47PM

Lyra Heartstrings😁:
Minuette🐂@ So?! It’s all about the energy!😜 13:47PM

Thunderlane⚡️:
I say you all do it. Quick toast to the win, nothing crazy. Right, Vinyl?😉 13:47PM

Vinyl Scratch🎧:
Thunderlane⚡@ Pffffft, as if I’d do anything crazy.🤪 13:47PM

Bon Bon🍭:
🙄 13:47PM

Octavia🎵:
Fine. But just for a short while.😑 13:47PM

Big Mac🍏:
Eeyup.😊 13:48PM

Noteworthy👌:
Good luck getting Big Mac to leave early, though. I swear he’s the last to leave every time.😂 13:48PM

Caramel🧤:
Big Mac🍏@ Seriously, dude, what’s your secret?🤨 13:48PM

Big Mac🍏:
🍎 13:48PM

Thunderlane⚡️:
That’s not an answer, Big Mac.🤣 13:48PM

Vinyl Scratch🎧:
It’s always an answer if it’s Big Mac.😉 13:48PM

Minuette🐂:
Qué locura.🙄 13:49PM

---

As the bell rang indicating next lesson. She always looked forward to this lesson, Prench that is. Learning languages was her thing back on Earth, and here in Equestria, Prench (or French) came naturally to her.

In the cozy Prench language classroom, Amelia found herself a seat next to Apple Bloom, who looked decidedly less enthusiastic about the lesson ahead. The chalkboard at the front of the room boasted a colorful array of Prench phrases, promising a session filled with linguistic twists and turns.

As Mademoiselle Rosette entered, she greeted the class with a cheerful, “Bonjour, mes étudiants! Aujourd’hui, nous allons pratiquer nos conversations!” (Hello, my students! Today, we will practice our conversations!)

Amelia turned to Apple Bloom with a mischievous grin. “Prêt à pratiquer, Apple Bloom? Je parie que je peux te faire parler comme une vraie Prench ponette aujourd’hui!” (Ready to practice, Apple Bloom? I bet I can make you talk like a true Prench pony today!)

Apple Bloom scowled playfully. “Aurora, you know dern well I don’t get a lick of what y’all are sayin’ in this fancy talk.”

Amelia chuckled, then responded with a sly wink, “C’est dommage, parce que la Prench est la langue de l’amour et de l’élégance. Tu pourrais en apprendre beaucoup!” (It’s a pity, because Prench is the language of love and elegance. You could learn a lot!)

Mademoiselle Rosette clapped her hands gently to gather attention. “Très bien, let’s begin. Aurora, Apple Bloom, why don’t you two start us off? Un simple dialogue, s’il vous plaît.” (Very well, let’s begin. Aurora, Apple Bloom, why don’t you two start us off? A simple dialogue, please.)

Apple Bloom, under the mild pressure of being spotlighted, stumbled through her first few words. “Uh, bon-jour, Au-rr-ora… Comment ça va?” (Uh, hello, Aurora … How are you?)

Amelia responded with exaggerated politeness, “Oh, je vais merveilleusement bien, merci de demander, ma chère Apple Bloom. Et toi, comment tu te portes?” (Oh, I am marvelously well, thank you for asking, my dear Apple Bloom. And you, how are you doing?)

Apple Bloom furrowed her brow, parsing the sentence. “I reckon I’m… euh… je suis… fine, merci.”

Seizing the opportunity to playfully confuse her friend further, Amelia continued, “Ah, c’est fantastique! Dis-moi, as-tu déjà envisagé d’apprendre plus de mots en Prench? Peut-être des mots utiles comme… chouchou?” (Ah, that’s fantastic! Tell me, have you ever considered learning more words in Prench? Perhaps useful words like… sweetheart?)

Apple Bloom’s response was a mix of confusion and mock annoyance. “Now hold on, are ya callin’ me a sweet potato or somethin’?”

The classroom erupted in soft giggles, even Mademoiselle Rosette couldn’t hide her amusement. “Non, non, Apple Bloom, chouchou is a term of endearment here, like ‘dear’ or ‘sweetheart.’”

Apple Bloom shook her head, laughing despite herself. “Well, shoot, at this rate I might just stick to good ol’ Equestrian. Seems a mite less complicated.”

Amelia gave her a playful nudge. “Ne t’inquiète pas, tu l’auras bientôt, je suis sûre.” (Don’t worry, you’ll get it soon, I’m sure.)

The lesson continued with light-hearted exchanges and the occasional linguistic flub from Apple Bloom, which only added to the fun, helping her—and the rest of the class—learn Prench in the most entertaining way possible.

---

After school, instead of heading straight home, Amelia found herself drawn to Vinyl’s party, already in full swing by the time she arrived. The scene was everything one might expect from Vinyl Scratch: the house pulsating with loud, energetic music, colourful lights flickering in rhythm, and a crowd of classmates letting loose in celebration of the recent hoofball victory.

Lyra was unleashing some wild air guitar solos in one corner while Bon Bon tried to keep the snack table intact. Octavia hovered on the outskirts, her expression a mixture of amusement and concern for her eardrums. Meanwhile, Minuette had brought her infamous salsa, which Amelia bravely tried only to discover it was like igniting a firestorm in her mouth.

Despite the chaotic fun, the warmth and camaraderie of the group made the evening memorable. As Amelia laughed and danced with her friends, the stress of the day melted away, and she felt a deeper connection to the spirited life of Ponyville. It was a night of vibrant celebration that promised many more to come.

---

On a Tuesday that promised little more than the usual post-party recovery and school chaos, Amelia found herself enjoying an entertaining breakfast at the Deli café with Bon Bon and Octavia. They exchanged stories over steaming cups of coffee, surrounded by other patrons who wore their sunglasses like badges of honour from Vinyl’s raucous event the night before.

Post-breakfast, the school day dragged on with its customary hustle and bustle, but it was back at home where the real surprise awaited. Redsica, Amelia’s big brother turned big sister—a switch Amelia found endlessly amusing to tease about—made an unexpected appearance, dressed as though she was on a covert mission rather than a family visit.

“Trying out for a role in a spy thriller, or is this just casual Tuesday wear?” Amelia joked as she eyed Redsica’s ensemble of a cap, shades, and a face-covering mask.

“Just dodging the fan mobs.” Redsica chuckled, adjusting her disguise. They settled into conversation about Redsica’s recent gruelling match against Mare City and the minor hamstring injury she’d sustained. Amelia eyed her skeptically but was reassured by Redsica’s nonchalant demeanour.

Before Redsica could make her usual quick exit, Amelia decided it was the perfect moment to introduce her to Pooch, the wooden timberwolf pup that had become her quirky pet. “Meet Pooch.” Amelia said with a grin.

The moment Pooch barked, Redsica jumped back, a look of genuine terror crossing her face. “That’s your pet? It looks like it’s straight out of a haunted forest!”

“He’s friendlier than he looks!” Amelia reassured, struggling to contain her amusement as Pooch wagged his twiggy tail, seemingly pleased with the reaction he’d elicited.

Their visit was cut short, however, when Redsica, still eyeing Pooch warily, remembered the reason behind her visit. “Oh, right. I need to snap a quick picture of you for your passport. You know, since you’re fairly new here and all.”

“A passport, huh? Planning to smuggle me into some secret hoofball games?” Amelia posed dramatically, giving her best ‘international pony of mystery’ look.

“Just making sure you can come along without any hitches at the border.” Redsica replied with a laugh, taking a few photos with her phone.

With the picture taken and Redsica’s nerves slightly calmed from her encounter with Pooch, she made her escape, probably more eager than usual to return to the familiarity of less animate pets. Amelia watched her go, the image of Redsica’s startled face etched into her memory as the highlight of an otherwise ordinary day.

---

On the day following an uneventful school afternoon, Amelia made a beeline home to gear up for an adventure in fitness at Ponyville’s local gym. Thanks to Rainbow Dash’s financial enthusiasm—or folly, depending on who you asked—Amelia now found herself the bewildered owner of a full year’s gym membership.

Her bag was strategically loaded with everything a novice might think necessary for gym survival: spare clothes (because sweat happens), a pre-workout drink and water (for courage), an energy bar (for sustenance), a towel (for visibility in the sweat fog), shampoo (optimistically assuming she’d survive long enough to need a shower), and a protein shake (to fit in with the regulars).

As she pushed open the gym’s doors, the visceral blast of dubstep nearly sent her retreating. The air was thick with the scent of determination (and body odor), and the bass from Vinyl Scratch’s playlist vibrated through the floor, promising to recalibrate her internal organs to a new rhythm.

“Welcome to Ponyville Gym. Enjoy your first session!” the receptionist boomed, his muscles rippling as if they, too, were excited by the prospect of a new member. He looked like he could bench press Amelia’s entire graduating class without breaking a sweat.

Stepping into the main workout area, Amelia’s confidence wavered under the weight of reality. The gym was a jungle of gleaming metal—rows of machines each designed to torture a specific muscle group into submission. Around her, ponies grunted and strained, their faces contorted in the universal grimace of the fitness enthusiast. A small group in the corner wasn’t so much working out as they were conducting a photoshoot, presumably to capture their “efforts.”

“Not bad at all…” Amelia whispered to herself. She fumbled with her earpods, stuffing them into her ears as if the right soundtrack could shield her from the madness. Her playlist was less “thunderous bass” and more “motivational pop”—because if she was going to suffer, she’d do it to an upbeat tempo.

Surveying the intimidating array of equipment, she pondered where to begin. Cardio? Weights? That strange contraption that looked suspiciously like a medieval rack repurposed for abs? Oh! A treadmill! Lets start with that!

Amelia’s first stop in her gym venture was the treadmill lineup, where she hoped to ease into her workout with some music to set the mood. “One Dance” by Drake played through her earpods, a perfect mix of chill beats and rhythmic bass, ideal for getting her blood pumping without too much stress.

As she settled into her stride at a comfortable 5.5 miles per hour, she couldn’t help but notice a familiar face further down the line of treadmills. There was Scootaloo, intensely focused and jogging at a speed that made Amelia scoff lightly to herself. Six miles per hour? she thought, smirking. Let’s show her some real speed.

After her initial warm-up, Amelia confidently cranked her treadmill up to 7.5 miles per hour. The shift in pace was smooth, her body moving fluidly as she transitioned into the faster speed, her strides strong and controlled. It wasn’t long before Scootaloo noticed the uptick in activity to her left. Catching Amelia’s smug expression, Scootaloo’s competitive spirit flared up.

With a snarl that could rival a cornered cat, Scootaloo jabbed at the controls of her treadmill, bumping her speed up to a solid 8 miles per hour. Amelia glanced over, her eyebrows arching in amusement as she watched Scootaloo’s determined, almost comical, concentration.

Amelia felt the challenge hanging in the air, as tangible as the sweat beginning to form on her brow. She pretended to yawn, stretching her arms above her head nonchalantly, all while tapping her own speed up to 8.1 miles per hour. The subtle increase was a silent but clear nudge in their unspoken competition.

The gym’s background music seemed to fade into obliquity as the only sounds that mattered now were the rhythmic thumping of their sneakers on the treadmill belts and the whir of their respective machines. Scootaloo shot a glare at Amelia, who responded with a wink and a playful nod towards Scootaloo’s console, as if to say, Your move.

As the numbers climbed higher, the situation veered into the absurd. They were no longer just two ponies at the gym; they were gladiators in an arena where speed settings were weapons and stamina was armour.

Who would conquer the treadmill terrain? Only time (and perhaps their cardiovascular endurance) would tell.

Scootaloo’s glare could have melted ice as she jabbed her treadmill controls, ramping the speed up to 8.5 miles per hour. Her eyes darted toward Amelia, daring her to keep up. The unspoken challenge was clear: You think you can outdo me? Try it.

Amelia, not one to back down—especially not to Scootaloo—grinned through her panting and calmly pressed her own treadmill’s button, raising her speed to 8.6 miles per hour. It was only a fraction faster, but that fraction mattered. The treadmill whirred as it sped up, and Amelia found herself sprinting now, her legs pumping furiously to keep pace. She was already breathing hard, but she refused to let Scootaloo see any sign of weakness.

Scootaloo caught the increase, her face twisting in irritation. She looked at Amelia as if she’d just insulted her entire hoofball career. Without a word, Scootaloo smacked her controls, jumping straight to 9.0 miles per hour. Her treadmill whined under the new speed as she broke into an all-out sprint, her feet pounding against the belt like a battle drum.

Amelia narrowed her eyes, her competitive streak fully ignited. “Oh, you think you’re tough?” she muttered under her breath, slamming her own treadmill controls to match Scootaloo’s speed. The sound of the belts spinning and their pounding feet echoed through the gym like a war zone.

The two locked eyes, their expressions filled with pure disdain, as if this wasn’t about fitness but survival. Amelia could feel the burn in her legs and the fire in her lungs, but she refused to show any sign of faltering. Scootaloo, her face slick with sweat, kept glancing over at Amelia, her scowl deepening every second.

Then, as Amelia focused on maintaining her defiance, she felt it: the telltale tug of something loose. Her shoelace.

Oh no.

Before she could adjust, her foot caught the lace. Her stride faltered, and in an instant, she was down. The treadmill, merciless and unrelenting, flung her forward onto the belt. For a split second, Amelia clung on, flailing like a fish on land, before the treadmill did what treadmills do best—it launched her backward like a projectile.

She collided with the wall behind her, arms and legs splayed out like she was a cartoon character flattened against glass. She slid down with all the grace of a falling brick, landing in a tangled, dazed heap on the gym floor. Her earpods skittered across the tiles, and Drake’s voice cut off mid-chorus, leaving only the hum of treadmills and the sound of her laboured breathing.

Scootaloo, noticing her rival’s spectacular failure, allowed herself a victorious smirk. She glanced back, shaking her head. “Guess that’s what you get for—”

She didn’t finish. In her smug distraction, her feet slipped on the treadmill. Her confident stride turned into a flailing disaster as the machine took its revenge, hurling her backward like a slingshot. She hit the same wall headfirst, a dull bonk reverberating through the gym.

Scootaloo slid down next to Amelia, her face buried in her hands as she muttered curses under her breath.

Amelia groaned, sitting up slowly, her hair a static-filled mess. She shot Scootaloo a look, half glaring, half exasperated. “You couldn’t just let it go, could you?”

Scootaloo, rubbing her head, scowled. “Me? You’re the one who thought 8.6 was a flex.”

Amelia snorted, leaning back against the wall, her legs too shaky to stand. “Whatever. You still crashed harder.”

“Yeah? At least I didn’t trip over my own shoelaces.” Scootaloo snapped, though her comeback lacked its usual venom, thanks to the bump forming on her forehead.

The two sat there for a moment, glaring daggers at each other while the treadmills whirred on innocently behind them, as if mocking their stupidity. Neither would admit defeat, but the wall—and their bruises—had other ideas.

Amelia’s entire gym session turned into an unspoken battle against Scootaloo. It didn’t matter that she had originally come to the gym to explore and casually test the equipment; the moment she noticed Scootaloo’s orange coat flitting around the room, it became a competition. Endurance exercises became their battleground, and the stakes? Pure bragging rights.

It started with pull-ups. Scootaloo was already on the bar when Amelia walked by, her arms flexing as she pulled herself up with determined grunts. Amelia, unwilling to let her claim victory, grabbed the bar beside her. “Mind if I join?” she said, though it was less a question and more a declaration.

“Suit yourself.” Scootaloo replied, barely sparing her a glance before returning to her pull-ups.

They went rep for rep, each struggling to hide the tremors in their arms as their count climbed. Scootaloo hit 20 first, dropping down with a satisfied huff. Amelia reached 22, her grip slipping as she dismounted with a not-so-graceful wobble. “Guess I win that one.” Amelia muttered, though her arms felt like jelly.

Next were planks. They both dropped to the mat, forearms firmly planted, staring daggers into each other’s eyes like the gym floor was suddenly the site of a gladiator duel. Ponies passing by started to notice the silent war brewing between the two. Minute after agonizing minute passed. Sweat dripped from their brows, pooling onto the mats. Amelia’s core burned, but she refused to drop first. Scootaloo’s tail twitched irritably as her breaths grew heavier.

“Still holding up, Scoots?” Amelia asked through gritted teeth.

“Stronger than you’ll ever be, Aurora.” Scootaloo shot back.

Amelia’s arm finally buckled, and she collapsed onto the mat, her cheek pressed against the floor. Scootaloo held on for a victorious extra five seconds before flopping onto her side, equally spent. Neither said anything, but the tension between them was palpable as they moved to the next exercise.

Sit-ups, press-ups, wall sits—it was an endless back-and-forth. Scootaloo’s stamina was unreal, but Amelia’s determination refused to let her fall too far behind. Wins and losses were traded like hoofball scores, each silently vowing to outdo the other in the next round.

By the time they made their way to the sauna, the rivalry was at an all-time high. The steam filled the small room as they both sat down, towels draped over their shoulders, sweat already forming before they’d even settled in. A few other mares were lounging inside, enjoying the heat—until they realised that Scootaloo and Amelia weren’t there to relax.

Scootaloo leaned back, smirking. “Hot enough for you?”

Amelia shrugged, feigning indifference even as her skin prickled from the oppressive heat. “I’ve had worse. You look like you’re about to melt, though.”

The mares in the sauna exchanged amused glances. One of them, a blue earth pony with a towel wrapped around her mane, spoke up. “Ten bits says orange sticks it out longer.”

The other chuckled. “You’re on. My money’s on the new girl.”

Scootaloo and Amelia shot them twin glares, but neither said anything, too focused on not being the first to break. Minutes passed. The steam thickened. Both of them sat rigid, sweat pouring down their faces as they traded subtle jabs.

“Bet your wings are cooking in here.” Amelia said, dabbing her forehead with her towel.

“Bet your brain’s already fried.” Scootaloo snapped back, fanning herself discreetly.

The mares watching started to giggle quietly, whispering to each other as they observed the standoff. Eventually, one leaned forward. “You two could always call it a draw.”

“Not happening.” they said in unison, neither breaking eye contact.

The heat pressed on. Amelia could feel her legs sticking to the wooden bench. Scootaloo was visibly struggling, her breaths coming shallow and quick. Amelia was no better; her towel was practically soaked, and her vision was beginning to swim.

Finally, Scootaloo stood abruptly. “I’m done.” She wobbled slightly but steadied herself, glaring at Amelia. “Don’t think this means you’re better than me.”

Amelia smirked triumphantly but said nothing, waiting an extra five seconds before stumbling out of the sauna herself, leaning against the wall as soon as she was out of sight. She couldn’t tell if she was victorious or just delirious from heat exhaustion, but one thing was clear: She won this battle against Scootaloo

Amelia sat slumped in one of the shower stalls, letting the hot water cascade over her like a personal rainstorm. She couldn’t even summon the energy to stand; her legs felt like jelly, her arms like wet noodles. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest, and her head lolled back against the tiled wall as her eyes fluttered closed.

She let out a slow, measured breath. “Okay.” she muttered to herself, her voice nearly drowned out by the rhythmic patter of the water. “I’ll give her this one. Scootaloo… she’s a monster.”

Her body sagged further, the heat of the shower doing little to soothe the deep ache that settled into her limbs. She flexed her fingers experimentally, as though expecting them to seize up. They didn’t, but the ache in her shoulders flared in protest, reminding her of the pull-up duel she might’ve overcommitted to.

Amelia cracked open one eye, watching the steam swirl lazily around her. “This wasn’t a workout.” she murmured to herself. “This was warfare. And somehow, I survived.”

The thought gave her a small sense of pride, but it was quickly squashed by the throbbing pain in her calves. Scootaloo had forced her to push beyond what she thought she was capable of—and she hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was better for it. Begrudgingly, of course.

Another wave of hot water poured over her, making her muscles twitch. She rolled her head to the side, staring at the shampoo bottle as though it might sprout legs and come wash her hair for her. The thought of moving even an inch felt like too much. She let out a slow groan, not of frustration but of pure exhaustion.

“Scootaloo.” she muttered, closing her eyes again. “I hope you’re as wrecked as I am.” She allowed herself a smirk, imagining Scootaloo limping home, equally drained from their ridiculous day of one-upping each other.

For now, though, the shower stall was her sanctuary. Moving? Optional. Standing? Overrated. And the idea of tomorrow’s soreness? A problem for future Amelia.

As Amelia finished getting cleaned, dried off, and dressed in her spare clothes, she noticed the gym was noticeably quieter. Scootaloo was gone—probably limping home in her own personal walk of shame, Amelia thought with a smirk as she sipped her water bottle. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she turned to leave, but a glint of silver caught her eye from a locker slightly ajar.

Curiosity piqued, she leaned closer. Peeking inside, she spotted a silver locket, its delicate chain dangling off the edge of the locker shelf. She hesitated before picking it up, flipping the locket open to reveal a small picture inside. It was of a younger Scootaloo, smiling—a real smile, not one of her usual smug or cocky grins. She was flanked by a pegasus colt and an earth pony filly, all three of them looking genuinely happy. The image was oddly disarming; Amelia had never associated Scootaloo with such warmth.

As she stared at the picture, weighing her options, a sudden poof sounded. On her right shoulder appeared a tiny version of herself, wearing a devil costume complete with red horns and a pitchfork. This mini-Amelia grinned deviously, tapping the locket with her pitchfork.

“Keep it.” Devil-Amelia purred. “Leverage, my friend. Do you know how much fun you could have with this? Scootaloo at your beck and call. Fetching you water, carrying your gym bag, admitting you’re the better athlete.”

Amelia blinked, intrigued despite herself. “That… does sound fun.”

But before she could commit to a course of action, a soft poof came from her other shoulder. There stood Angel-Amelia, clad in a flowing white robe, complete with a halo that wobbled slightly above her head.

“Do the right thing!” Angel-Amelia implored, her hands clasped in a gesture of earnestness. “It’s her personal property, and clearly, it means something to her. Return it to Scootaloo. It’s the kind thing to do.”

“Kind?!” Devil-Amelia scoffed, jabbing her pitchfork in Angel-Amelia’s direction. “Since when has she ever been kind to you? She deserves a little payback.”

“Payback isn’t the answer.” Angel-Amelia countered, rolling her eyes. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“Two wrongs make amusement!” Devil-Amelia snapped back, grinning mischievously.

Amelia stood frozen between the two, glancing between them as they bickered. “Guys, I just want to leave the gym. Can you not make this a whole thing?”

“Think about it.” Devil-Amelia cooed, lounging casually on her pitchfork now. “You could finally get the upper hand on her. And let’s be real—her smug face deserves it.”

Angel-Amelia placed her hands on her hips, glaring. “And what will that accomplish? Besides, you don’t want to stoop to her level, do you?”

Amelia groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. The two mini-Amelias dissolved into a heated argument, each passionately defending their point. Meanwhile, the real Amelia held the locket, staring at the smiling Scootaloo in the picture.

She sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll give it back.” she muttered, stuffing the locket into her pocket. Both mini-Amelias froze mid-argument.

“What?!” Devil-Amelia cried, throwing her pitchfork to the ground. “Boring!”

“Good choice.” Angel-Amelia said with a proud nod, her halo wobbling in approval. “I knew you’d make the right call.”

With another poof, both miniatures disappeared, leaving Amelia alone again. She shook her head, feeling ridiculous for even imagining the argument. Scootaloo might not deserve much in her book, but stealing—however tempting—wasn’t her style. As she left the gym, locket in hand, she couldn’t help but feel a little curious about the ponies in the picture and why Scootaloo never seemed to smile like that anymore.

“Scootaloo better thank me for this, or I swear…” But deep down, she knew that wasn’t happening. Scootaloo wasn’t exactly the ‘thank you’ type.

Amelia wandered through Ponyville, her backpack slung over one shoulder and Scootaloo’s locket clutched in her pocket. It had been a solid twenty minutes since she’d started her search, but finding Scootaloo was proving far more difficult than she’d anticipated. Stopping by the arcade, she found Comet Tail, Noteworthy, and Caramel lounging around a pinball machine, clearly more focused on high scores than social mysteries.

“Hey, do you guys know where Scootaloo lives?” Amelia asked, cutting straight to the point.

The three stallions exchanged puzzled glances. Comet Tail scratched his head. “Scootaloo? Uh… no idea, actually.”

“Yeah, weird, huh?” Noteworthy added. “She’s around town all the time, but I’ve never seen her heading home. Nopony really knows where she lives.”

“Seriously?” Amelia blinked, her brow furrowing. “Nopony knows? That’s… strange.”

Caramel shrugged. “She’s kinda secretive, I guess. You’d have better luck finding a needle in a haystack.”

Feeling a growing unease, Amelia thanked them and left, her curiosity now thoroughly piqued. How does nopony know where she lives? She kept walking, scanning the streets and alleys for any sign of her rival. The peaceful afternoon air suddenly felt heavier, more tense.

Then, the serenity shattered.

A loud crash echoed through the streets, followed by the unmistakable sound of glass breaking. Amelia whipped her head toward the noise, spotting a two-story house with its front door wide open. Shouts and more crashing furniture followed, the commotion spilling into the otherwise quiet neighbourhood.

Her gut twisted. Something was wrong.

Amelia approached cautiously, her instincts screaming at her to turn back, but her curiosity—and concern—propelled her forward. As she neared the house, three figures emerged, their movements swift and calculated. Two earth pony stallions flanked a zebra buck, all of them wearing cloaks that obscured most of their features. The zebra carried a small sack that jingled faintly, the unmistakable sound of golden bits. Did they just steal in broad daylight?

Amelia froze, her eyes locking onto the zebra as he turned his head toward her. A scar ran jaggedly down his left red eye, his gaze chilling. He didn’t say a word, but the way he stared at her sent a shiver down her spine. The moment lingered, heavy and suffocating, before he turned back to his companions, and the three disappeared into the alleys like shadows dissolving into the night.

Amelia’s heart raced as she stepped closer to the house, her breaths shallow. What had just happened? And why did that zebra’s gaze feel like a warning? Peering into the open door, she hesitated. The interior was a disaster—furniture overturned, glass shattered, and signs of a struggle everywhere.

She clenched her fists, the locket feeling heavier in her pocket now. Something wasn’t right about this.

Amelia stepped further into the wrecked house, her heart hammering in her chest as she scanned the chaos. It was clear those thugs had been searching for something specific, and once they’d found it, they hadn’t held back their fury, smashing the TV, overturning furniture, and destroying everything else out of sheer spite. The fact they’d done this in broad daylight was even more alarming. Whoever they were, they clearly didn’t care who saw their destruction.

“Hello?” Amelia called out tentatively, her voice echoing in the eerie silence. She stepped through the ruined living room and into the kitchen, where the sight stopped her in her tracks.

Scootaloo was slumped against a cabinet, her head bowed and unmoving. Amelia’s breath caught as she rushed over, dropping to her knees beside the pegasus. Scootaloo’s face was pale, blood dripping from her nose, but she was still breathing. Relief washed over Amelia for a moment, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of anger and confusion. Why did they do this to her? What were they looking for?

“Scootaloo.” Amelia said firmly, her hands shaking as she gently shook her rival’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up. Come on, Scoots, this isn’t funny.” But there was no response.

Before she could try again, faint voices from upstairs caught her attention. Amelia froze, her ears straining. She’s not alone.

Her mind snapped to the locket she’d found earlier. The two other ponies in the picture—was it them? Rising slowly, she hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Scootaloo’s unconscious form before moving toward the staircase.

Each step creaked as Amelia made her way upstairs, her heart pounding. As she reached the top, she noticed a slightly open door at the end of the hall. A pair of wide, frightened eyes peeked out from the gap before disappearing with a gasp. The door clicked shut, leaving an uneasy stillness in its wake.

Amelia approached carefully, her hand reaching out to knock softly. “Hey.” she called out gently. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to help.”

The muffled sound of voices whispered behind the door, and then silence. Finally, one of the voices spoke, hesitant and small. “Scootaloo told us not to talk to strangers.”

Amelia sighed, running a hand through her hair. “She’s right. That’s smart of her. But…” She hesitated. “I’m not a stranger. I’m a friend of Scootaloo’s. I… I just want to make sure you’re both okay.”

The silence stretched, but eventually, the door creaked open a few inches. Two small faces peeked out—a chocolate brown colt with navy blue eyes and a grey mane, and an orange pegasus filly with yellow eyes and a brown mane. Their wide eyes were filled with worry and fear.

“Where are the bad ponies?” the colt asked, his voice trembling. “Is Scootaloo okay?”

Amelia knelt down to their level, forcing a reassuring smile onto her face despite the ache in her chest. “The bad ponies are gone.” she said softly. “And Scootaloo is… okay.” The lie felt heavy in her mouth, but the last thing these two needed was more fear.

The colt and filly exchanged nervous glances before stepping out from behind the door, their small bodies tense and hesitant. Amelia extended a hand but didn’t move closer, giving them space.

“See?” she said gently. “You’re safe now. I’ll stay until we figure out what to do, okay?”

They nodded slowly, the filly clutching her brother’s hand tightly. Amelia’s gaze flicked back toward the stairs. She needed to figure out what had happened here—and fast. Scootaloo didn’t deserve this, and neither did these foals. But whatever trouble they were caught in, it was far bigger than she’d realised.

---

The guards arrived and took Amelia in for questioning. She recounted everything she knew, shared her thoughts, and answered their questions to help them piece together what had happened. The entire ordeal became breaking news within hours. It was all over live television, hoofball podcasts, and radio broadcasts—everypony in Equestria was talking about the break-in, the robbery, and the assault on the Toffees’ rising star, Scootaloo.

Scootaloo was rushed to the hospital for immediate treatment, and reports later confirmed she would recover. Her entire team gathered at her side, rallying around her. Amelia, however, didn’t visit. She’d promised the two foals she found in Scootaloo’s home that she would stay with them. They needed someone, and at the moment, that someone was her.

Amelia learned their names: Maple, the shy filly with a soft voice, and Stonehoof, her cautious but protective twin brother. Both were only eight years old, born on the same day, and they were Scootaloo’s younger siblings. Despite Amelia’s best efforts to reassure them, the twins kept their distance, their glances wary and full of distrust. They constantly asked about Scootaloo—where she was and when she’d come back. It was heartbreaking to see the anxiety etched into their young faces.

The waiting room was quiet except for the soft hum of the overhead lights and the occasional shuffle from Maple or Stonehoof as they adjusted themselves against Amelia. She didn’t know how she ended up in this position—playing caretaker to Scootaloo’s younger siblings while their parents were nowhere to be found. It was surreal, sitting in a police station at 8 p.m., with no sign of anyone who should’ve been here to take responsibility for the foals. The situation was gnawing at her.

Why am I the one here? Amelia thought, glancing down at the twins. Stonehoof was nestled against her arm, his small snores almost rhythmic. Maple, meanwhile, had her head resting against Amelia’s lap, clutching her brother’s hand. They were both out cold, exhaustion from the day’s events finally claiming them.

Her phone screen glowed faintly as Amelia scrolled aimlessly, the battery sitting comfortably at 73%. She was trying to stay awake, keep herself distracted from the swirling thoughts in her head.

Eventually, hoofsteps broke the quiet of the station. Amelia looked up, blinking groggily, only to see Scootaloo limping into the room. Bandages adorned her head, and she looked far from okay, but her hardened expression was as familiar as ever. The two locked eyes, surprise flashing across Scootaloo’s face before her usual guarded demeanor returned.

“Hey.” Amelia said, her voice low and tired.

Scootaloo frowned. “Hey.”

Apple Bloom came rushing in after her, slightly out of breath. “Scoots, I told ya to slow down! Yer supposed to be restin’!” She stopped short when she saw Amelia, her surprise quickly turning into relief. “Oh, Aurora! Thank Celestia you’re here.”

Scootaloo ignored the exchange and limped over to Maple and Stonehoof. “Hey, you two.” she said softly, crouching down to wake them. The twins stirred, their eyes widening with sleepy happiness as they saw her.

“Scoots!” Maple whispered, hugging her tightly, while Stonehoof latched onto her free arm. “We were so scared.” he mumbled.

“I know.” Scootaloo said, her tone softening. “But I’m here now, okay? Let’s go.”

She took their hooves and helped them to their feet, but before they could leave, Amelia cleared her throat. “Wait.” she said, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out the locket she’d found and held it out. “This is yours, right? I found it at the gym. Thought you’d want it back.”

Scootaloo froze, her eyes narrowing as she took the locket and opened it. Her expression softened ever so slightly as she looked at the picture inside. After a brief moment, she sighed and slipped the chain around her neck. “Thanks.” she muttered, the gratitude sounding reluctant but genuine.

As Scootaloo turned to leave with Maple and Stonehoof in tow, Amelia couldn’t help herself. She pushed herself up from the chair, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Wait.” she said, her voice firmer now. “Scootaloo… what happened? Why did those thugs target your house? This doesn’t feel like a random robbery.”

Scootaloo stopped in her tracks, her back stiffening slightly. She turned just enough to meet Amelia’s gaze, her hardened expression as sharp as ever. “It was just a robbery gone wrong.” she said flatly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Wrong place, wrong time. That’s all.”

Amelia’s brow furrowed, unconvinced. “Seriously? They trashed your house, hurt you, and left two scared foals upstairs. That doesn’t scream random to me.”

Scootaloo’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Amelia thought she might snap back with something biting. Instead, she just shrugged, her voice clipped. “I don’t know what to tell you, Amelia. They didn’t find what they were looking for, so they lashed out. End of story.”

“But—”

“Drop it.” Scootaloo interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “It’s handled. I’m fine. They’re fine.” She glanced down at Maple and Stonehoof, who clung to her hooves like lifelines. “That’s all that matters.”

Amelia hesitated, frustration bubbling under the surface. There were so many things that didn’t add up, so many questions left unanswered. But the look in Scootaloo’s eyes was a clear warning: don’t push this.

Finally, Amelia let out a tired sigh, raising her hands in surrender. “Fine. Have it your way. But if something’s going on—”

“It’s not,” Scootaloo cut her off. Her voice softened slightly, but the walls around her were still firmly in place. “Thanks for looking after them. I mean it. But I’ve got it from here.” Without another word, she left, the twins clutching her hands as they disappeared into the night.

Now it was just Amelia and Apple Bloom, the weight of the night hanging heavy in the air. Amelia let out a long sigh, slumping back into the uncomfortable waiting room chair as Apple Bloom sat down beside her.

“What do ya reckon really happened?” Apple Bloom asked, her voice low.

Amelia shook her head, her mind a disarray of thoughts. “I don’t know. But whatever it is… I don’t think she’s telling the whole story.”

Apple Bloom nodded, looking thoughtful before glancing over at Amelia with a faint smile. “Glad you were here, though. I didn’t even know Scootaloo had siblings. Those little ones looked terrified.”

Amelia sighed, sinking back into her chair. “I didn’t know what else to do. They didn’t trust me at first, and I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t trust me either if I were them.”

Apple Bloom gave her a pat on the shoulder. “You did good, Amelia. Scoots might be stubborn as a mule, but she’ll appreciate it deep down. She just won’t admit it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Amelia muttered, rubbing her tired eyes. “So… what now?”

Apple Bloom shrugged. “Guess we wait and see what tomorrow brings.”