Return of the Red Hawks

by WildFire15

Unfriendly Meetings

Concorde lay across a wooden bench in one of the holding cell of Whitbay Police Station, feeling both embarrassed and extremely angry. He’d been escorted from Windy Valley Raceway through the paddock and everyone saw him, though he wasn’t sure if they recognised him through the paint which had since been washed off with a hose. There were still clumps of paint stuck in his fur, mane and tail, which he’d have to get out individually with a comb when he got the chance.

Outside the cell was a single police pony sat at a desk. He hadn’t spoken to Concorde since he’d been put in the cell and seemed to be busy reading and old issue of Playcolt and frankly Concorde didn’t want to talk to him anyway.

He hadn’t thought about what may happen to him now he’d broken a restraining order, bull**** as it was. His mind, instead, wondered why his mother had gone to such a length. She had never approved of his racing, that he knew, but he’d always hoped she’d lighten up eventually.

She’d always tried to mould Concorde, trying to make him into some form of ‘high class’ stallion of some description. Going to Whitbay Private School was probably the first big thing he could think of. A stuffy, arrogant but well regarded school, divided into a colt and a filly schools with over 4 acres between them so they never did interact and Concorde seemed to be the only ‘normal’ pony in attendance, so normal that some pupils were convinced he was somepony’s whipping colt. Every other pupil he met either looked like they were attempting to eat their lower lips, had no chin and seemed as if they were attempting to swallow tennis balls or were built like bulls and usually played rugby.

They would spend hours taunting Concorde, accusing him of being ‘lower class’, which was apparently a grave insult in their world. He was never bothered about his ‘lower class’ roots, they were certainly better than being tied to a collection of morons with triple barrelled names, but what always made him angry was the implication that the lower classes were lazy and stupid. Even the irony of the fact his fellow pupils ‘studied’ for about a third of the time as normal schools and couldn’t tell a ship mast from a tree if one had fallen on their heads didn’t temper the level of disgust he felt for them when he had to spend any length of time in their company.

Most of the teachers were actually worse. Stuffy, uptight and likely had some serious anger problems judging from how eager they were to use their canes. They would walk around the school as if they were some sort of gods, looking down their noses at their pupils, especially Concorde. He occasionally thought they moonlit as roofing and guttering inspectors as their noses always pointed up.

Concorde didn’t really learn much in that place, which caused his mother to send him to private tutors to try and drill some more knowledge into him. That actually did work as they at least spoke to him as if he hadn’t been recently scrapped off their hooves. She also made sure he learnt French, seeing as they would holiday in her home town of Maneaco almost every year, where French was the most commonly used language and to her credit she did succeed in making her son fully fluent in the language.

Outside learning, his mother would drag him to various high class functions, dinners and parties. She never admitted it, but Concorde knew her aim was to get him to fall in love with some high class mare. He found that with a single exception of Octavia, they were all brattish, ignorant, arrogant and couldn’t win a battle of wits with the remains of the buffet table. They were more concerned with criticising the ‘lower classes’ of being stupid and lazy, like his school mates, than anything else and didn’t understand the irony either.

Being surrounded by the ‘upper classes’ always left Concorde filled with a level of anger that he’d so far managed to suppress by simply making fun of them or confusing them with clever word play and by looking forwards to his next race. Now, however, there was no next race, nothing to look forwards to, nothing to keep the anger he’d felt towards these ponies at bay and he did really want to kick somepony in the face.

“Concorde Cayley,” Came a voice from outside the cell, distracting Concorde from his thoughts. He looked over to see another police pony unlocking the door. “You’re bail’s been paid.”

Concorde rolled off the bench as the door was slid open and exited, followed by the police pony. Unsurprisingly as he reached the lobby, he found his parents waiting there, both looking furious.

Concorde came to a stop in front of them, his angry gaze focused on his mother.

“What do you have to say for yourself, then?” Bristol asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Concorde replied, not taking his gaze of his mother.

“Ask her what?” Bristol’s expression changed to confusion.

“She’s not told you?” Concorde said, his gaze turning to his father.

“Told me what?”

“It’s not important, Bristol.” Paris replied.

“Is it not, mare?” Concorde snarled at her “Are restraining orders so meaningless these days?”

“I don’t know what you do when you’re training, Corde, but how did you get a restraining order put on you.” Bristol cut in, surprised at his son’s reaction.

“I didn’t. Windy Valley’s got no reason to keep me out.”

“The track? Why?”

“Like I said, ask her.”

“This is for your own good, Concorde.” Paris suddenly injected.

“Is it now? What next, mare? Are you going to tie me to me bed and keep the f***ing door locked?”

“Wait...” Bristol cut in again, pushing Concorde away from his mother a bit in case he did something before focusing on her “Let me get this straight in my head. You’ve somehow gotten a restraining order placed on Concorde to keep him away from the track?”

Paris didn’t answer, but Bristol could tell he was right from the look in her eyes. The police chief at the desk busily tried to look like he wasn’t paying attention while the other police ponies just looked at each other, an expression of unease on their faces.

Bristol sat down and thought for a moment. Barely a few minutes ago as he paid to bail his son he’d been thinking about what to say or do with him. He’d always wanted Concorde to do what he wanted to do and find his own way in life, so long as it didn’t land him in jail, but now it seemed he’d ended up in jail because of Paris’ over protectiveness.

“We should go.” Bristol said simply after a moment.

Concorde nodded in agreement and walked out of the open door, down the steps and onto the cobble street outside, Bristol and Paris following him. Lost in thought, Bristol turned left to head home before realising Concorde was going in the opposite direction.

“Where are you going, young stallion?” Paris asked, walking after her son.

“None of your business.” Concorde replied without turning.

“It is my business, you’re my son.”

Concorde turned and fixed his mother with a livid glare that Bristol actually found scary.

“Well I don’t give a s*** if I am, mare.” Concorde snarled, his eyes full of pure venom “Don’t follow me!”

Concorde turned and took off at speed, disappearing across the town within moments. Paris jumped into the air to give chase before she was suddenly dragged back to the ground by her tail. She fell to the cobbled street, flat on her stomach and remained still, Bristol dropping her tail. He wasn’t really sure what to say, he’d always suspected her over protectiveness would get the better of her one day.

“Let him be, Paris.” He said, uncertain of what else to say. She just stayed where she was, quietly starting to sob.

“Bristol, I don’t want to lose him.” She eventually said. Bristol felt he could only say one thing in response as he looked up in the direction Concorde had flown.

“I think you might have done.”