> Of Challenges and Kisses
>  by RavensDagger
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Challenge Set
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Featherweight sat on the schoolyard’s green grass. His cream-coloured ears perked towards his friends, while his eyes stared at three talking fillies. 

The three fillies--a pegasus, a unicorn, and a small earth pony--sat around huddled, talking and drawing crazy plans in the sandy ground. One in particular drew his attention. 
Scootaloo. 

Celestia, she’s pretty, he thought with a sigh.

Scootaloo stood over the other two, wildly gesturing a masterful plan that was certain to either get them their cutie marks, or land them in a hospital. Her two friends alternated between looking at her in disbelief and giving each other small, uncertain stares. 

Something nudged against his leg with a small crunching sound. Turning, Featherweight sighed again as he looked at his own two friends’ expecting faces. 

“Oi, are you even listening?” asked Pipsqueak, a sheepish smile spread across his small features. 

“...And then she said it stood for Prissy Mare Syndrome. I think she was lying,” said Chowder, unaware that the other two colts were not paying attention to him. Suddenly the pot-bellied colt stopped, looking at his two friends as they stared at each other. Shrugging, he reached a hoof into his saddlebags, pulling out a wrapped granola bar and tearing through the wrapper loudly before chewing on it. He stared at them blankly, mouth moving up and down as he chewed. 

“You were looking at her, eh?” Pipsqueak nudged the pegasus colt on the shoulder again. 

Featherweight stiffened. He knows?! His face reddened violently as his friend began to chuckle.

“You were looking at her!” The smaller colt leaned in, whispering secretly. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Well, no, I-I mean,” his voice trailed away into an almost imperceptible whisper, “Yes.” The three boys sat there, two of them staring at Featherweight while he shifted about on his hooves. The wind caressed them as it blew the sound of songbirds around the schoolyard, the noise almost drowned out by the playful shouting and screaming of the other foals.

“Well,” encouraged Pipsqueak as he tried to break the silence. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

“Yeah, you need to tell her,” said Chowder between mouthfuls of granola, little pieces of the candied bar spraying about between gulps. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it forever, then you’ll get fat and marry somepony you don’t love. Least, that’s what my father said.”

Featherweight gulped under the pressure of his two friends. “But, what should I say? I-I don’t really talk to girls much...”

The school’s bell rang, loud and clear as it struck a note familiar to everypony nearby.

The three jumped. “Come on children, class is about to start.” exclaimed the cheerful voice of Miss Cheerilee. The teacher stood halfway out the schoolhouse with a tiny brass bell held in a forehoof. She smiled broadly as the foals began to trot into the small, rustic building.

Featherweight let out a small sigh of relief as they began making their way into class. The relief however, was short-lived as Scootaloo placed herself right in front of him in the jostling line of foals entering the school. She fluttered her wings anxiously and smiled happily as she chatted to her friends. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me, he repeated in his mind as beads of sweat began to form at the edge of his scalp. The pegasus’ pink tail swished in his face momentarily, making him gulp audibly. For a few seconds his brain backfired, rendering him thoughtless and numb.

A white hoof landed on his shoulder, making the young pegasus jump in fright. Looking to his side, he saw Pipsqueak’s confident smile. “I bet you can’t do it.”

“Do what?” he asked, his hoofsteps clacking against the schoolhouse’s wooden entrance. Inside, a cool wall of air met him and sent small shivers down his already excited spine. 

The interior was organized chaos. Paper covered desks that were in neat little rows, accentuating the rustic feel of the little classroom. At the front was a simple wooden desk, adorned only with a fresh red apple and a few notebooks. 

Pipsqueak and Featherweight found their way to the back of the room through the bustle of moving foals, sitting beside each other on well-worn benches. “You know, I bet you couldn’t snog her,” his friend whispered.

“What?!” Featherweight’s eyes widened and his ears perked up as he stared at his friend.

“I said could you all take out your textbook and turn to page seven,” said Miss Cheerilee, who sat at the front of the class. Moments later the sound of pages rustling filled the room.

Featherweight looked up, noticing that more than one set of eyes were on him. One set, violet in colour, really drew his attention. “Um, thanks, Miss...” He smiled sheepishly and flipped his book open to a random page. The kind teacher gave him a knowing smile before she resumed her lesson. For a few seconds, the only sound was the clacking of chalk on the blackboard.

Minutes of blindly listening to the tales of ‘Inky the Bold’ later, Featherweight received a poke on the shoulder. Looking down, he noticed a small, crumpled-up ball of paper laying at the foot of his chair. Slowly, so as to not be noticed, he leaned over and grabbed the paper, stuffing it in the cracks of his notebook.

He unfurled the paper, cringing at every crackle it made until finally it opened. He read it in a low whisper, “I’ll bet my signed Spitfire poster that you can’t snog her by the end of the day. --Pip”

Featherweight’s jaw dropped. That Spitfire poster was not only beautiful, it was signed by somepony who was quite possibly the best flyer ever! Shutting his mouth, he gulped, peeking at Pipsqueak’s giggling form beside him. For the second time that day his mind went blank as he imagined the implications. Not only could he get his hooves on the precious poster, success would also mean that he would get to...

“Who do you want to be with, Featherweight?” a smooth, motherly voice asked.

“Scootaloo,” he said absently, still looking at the note. 

The eerie silence of the classroom was the first thing that notified him that something was wrong. Slowly, he lifted his head, looking at the other students.

Everypony’s eyes were staring at him. The most attention grabbing of them belonged to Scootaloo and her two inseparable friends. Miss Cheerilee shifted her weight as she stood nearby. “You want to work with Scootaloo? Fine.” A tiny smile escaped the teacher’s lips. 

Blushing madly, Featherweight looked at the blackboard. ‘Special biology project!’ was written across it in the teacher's usual bubbly hoof-writing. “Um, yeah,” he said, his blush deepening on his beige face. “We’re both pegasi. you know, wings and all that...” His hoof traced a small circle on the wooden desk.

Miss Cheerilee perked up. “That’s an excellent idea! How about everypony works with somepony like them?” The teacher spun around, heading towards the front of the class, pointing from student to student making pairs. “Okay children. This project is simple,” she said as she faced the class once more. “The goal is to point out a few interesting aspects of the species you picked. Now be as specific as you need to.” 

Cheerilee grabbed a piece of chalk and began writing on the blackboard while she talked. Featherweight quickly pulled out pen and paper before he began scribbling notes. 

“That was smooth,” whispered Pipsqueak under his breath, interrupting the pegasus’ concentration. Featherweight dropped his quill to shoot a glare at his friend, only to have his attention stolen by Scootaloo. One of her eyebrows was perked up and her head slightly tilted to one side. Sweet Celestia, she’s looking at me! his mind screamed.

He gulped before giving her an awkward smile and a tiny, almost imperceptible hoof wave.

She smirked back, teeth gleaming brightly as they caught the sun , cheeks puffing out while her face contorted into a big grin.

His heart melted. Slowly and forcibly, he turned his head back towards the front of the class, not daring to look anywhere but the blackboard as the heat on his face slowly dissipated.

“Okay class, I expect that group project on Tuesday. That only gives you four days!” said Cheerilee as the students raced to pick up their things. Featherweight hurriedly swished his wing across the desk, sending all of his notebooks into his open bag before bolting for the door.

Leaning against the school’s wooden door was Pipsqueak, Chowder only a few hoofsteps behind him. “That, Featherweight, was awesome!” squeaked the little colt as he tapped his friend on the back.

“Yeah... awesome.” Featherweight stumbled out of the building, his little wings fluttering before he landed on the soft grass.

“No, really, that was cool!” said Chowder, stuffing his face with hickory chips. “Takes a brave stallion to confess so publicly.”

Featherweight’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Confess?!” he yelled, then whispered as he noticed the eyes of many on him. “Confess? I didn't do that, did I?”

Pipsqueak trotted up beside him, hopping on the spot to adjust the height of his saddlebags. “Not really, but anypony that can read between the lines.”

Featherweight moaned helplessly. “I’m so doomed.”

Pipsqueak nudged him. “Don’t worry. Chowder and I will help you out!”

The little pegasus looked up, suspicion written all over his face. “What would you two know about ‘snogging’?”

The little spotted earth pony open his mouth to speak, but stopped when his eyes locked on something behind the pegasus colt.

Turning slowly, the colt gulped as he saw the three fillies that had gathered behind him. “Hi, Featherweight,” called Scootaloo, waving. Behind her, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom shot him an distrustful glance.

“Oh, um, hi Scootaloo,” he said, almost shaking as his nerves rattled. She’s talking to me. Oh Celestia, she’s talking to me!

Scootaloo didn’t seem to notice. “I was wondering if we could work on the project today? Me and my friends are going crusading this weekend so we don’t have much time. Are you free?” The filly tilted her head to one side while looking at him inquisitively. 

“Of course I am!” he answered a little too loudly. Bringing his voice down he repeated himself, “Yeah, I’ve got all night.” Several eyebrows rose.

“Great!” said Scootaloo, turning as she addressed her friends. “I’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“Alright Scoot, we’ll be over at Sweet Apple Acres when yer done!” Apple Bloom said as she turned around and began trotting away. 

Sweetie Belle’s eyes shifted between Scootaloo and Featherweight before she too began trotting away, muttering something about ‘Rarity warned me about this’.

Scootaloo watched as her friends trotted down the well-paved road where other fillies and colts played. “So, where do you want to start?”

Featherweight stared at her blankly until Pipsqueak spoke up. “Why don’t you two go to Featherweight’s place? His parents work ‘till late so you’ll be all alone to work on the project.”

“Cool, hopefully we can get it over with tonight; these projects are such a drag.” Scootaloo turned, hooves crunching against the gravel road that lead to Ponyville. 

“Okay,” whispered Chowder as he snuck in beside his pegasus friend. “Make sure she knows that you’re better than her at everything; it’ll impress her. And they don’t like it if you’re too fast. Oh, and check your breath before kissing her; if it stinks she’ll say no,” the chubby pony counseled wisely.

“Stay close to her at all times!” added Pipsqueak. 

“No actually means yes.”

“Cider makes everything better!”

Featherweight fluttered up into the air, floating a few hoofsteps up while he placed his forehooves against his temples. “Okay, okay, I can handle this... No, I’m going to die.” He began hyperventilating, chest heaving and puffing in an uneven rhythm.

“Aw, don’t worry,” said Pipsqueak, pushing the hovering pegasus towards the young filly. “Just be yourself; you’ll be fine.”

Gulping once more, the little pegasus fluttered after Scootaloo, flying past the schoolhouse and the other fillies and colts who were still playing. “C’mon Featherweight, I don’t have all day,” she yelled. Without hesitation, he redoubled his efforts and sped up to her, landing at a trot beside the walking filly.

For a while, they both walked beside each other: he, pointedly looking at everything but her, and she, glancing around in a carefree fashion, her eyes often pulling upwards towards the deep, blue sky. 

“So,” she broke the silence as they walked into the town proper. 

She’s talking to me; she’s going to ask me a question. He snuck a quick peek at her wide expecting eyes, then refocused on the road ahead. I can do it. Just think, and don’t say anything stupid.

“Where do you live?”

The tension that had been building up in the little colt deflated almost immediately. “I live behind Sugarcube Corner, not far from the town hall,” he said, picking up a little confidence when he noticed that his voice didn’t shake. 

“Oh, that’s cool,” the little pegasus said with enthusiasm. “Rainbow Dash’s house passes over there every Tuesday.”

Featherweight was taken aback by the sudden comment on Rainbow Dash, an eyebrow rising in surprise and exclamation. “You really like her, don’t you?” 

Scootaloo stopped where she was, staring through him, eyes filled to the brim with adoration. “I love her! She’s so cool, those powerful wings, her awesome mane. Oh, and those epic eyes... I could stare at them all day long.”

Featherweight could sympathise as he looked to her with the same level of adoration.

“Should we keep going?” he finally asked, immediately regretting it as she shifted her attention elsewhere. 

“Yeah, sure!”

Featherweight smiled shyly before leading the way, twisting and turning amongst the town’s roads. Relaxed ponies trotted around, chatting or minding their own business as they went about their routines.

“Here we are.” Featherweight stepped up to a small house that was squeezed between two shops. One of the shops had a dangling sign proclaiming that it sold the best cameras in Equestria. Hopping forward, the colt pushed the handle with his muzzle, twisting until the door clicked open. “Welcome to my home,” he said, stepping aside to let the filly in.

A quizzical brow rose up as she trotted into the home. “This is nice,” she said, looking at the white walls adorned with dozens of hung picture frames.

“Thanks! My dad owns the camera shop next door. We take a lot of pictures.” The colt squeezed past her, trotting down the narrow corridor that led to his room, blinking his eyes to adjust to the house’s yellow light.

Scootaloo followed him as he opened the door that led into his little room.

“Wow, this is cool,” she said, throwing her saddlebags to one corner before spinning a tight little loop as she took in the entire room. 

Every wall was covered in pictures. Not a centimeter remained that did not have a colourful image of something, from ponies doing silly things, to pictures of nature and greenery, to images of his friends. In one corner, standing out because of their stark colours that meshed badly against the colourful walls, was a bed and a desk. 

“Do... do you like it?” he asked, fumbling with his hooves self-consciously. She didn’t notice as her eyes wandered the room, looking from one image to the other.

Suddenly her ears perked up. “Hey! We could use pictures for the project.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, you take pictures of my wings.” She fluttered her little orange wings, sending a small draft of wind around the room. “And we could use them in the project! It’d be awesome.”

A thin smile crossed his face. “Sure, I’ll prepare my camera!” Maybe this won’t be that bad. All we need to do is take a few pictures of our wings while she’s in my room the-- His heart stopped and his mane stood on end as he rewinded his thoughts. She’s in my room. Gulping, Featherweight turned, looking at the filly who was staring at one of his picture-covered walls.

That particular wall had images of school, a school that she attended. Images of Scootaloo outnumbered everypony else’s. “I’m ready!” he suddenly exclaimed, swiping the camera off his desk before dashing between Scootaloo and the images. Sweat poured freely from beneath his mane, plastering the edges of it against his forehead. “Whew, a little hot in here, huh?”

“Um, yeah?” Scootaloo tilted her head to one side, her hair cascading down with a slight rustle as she examining him closely. “Should I open a window?”

Featherweight sighed inwardly. “That’d be great! Just turn the knob, I’ll put a new reel of film in.”

While the young mare turned to spin the window’s cranky knob, Featherweight ripped as many images of her off the wall as he could, grimacing as they tore audibly. Thinking quickly, he threw them under his bed, pulling out a poster of the Wonderbolts.

Just as Scootaloo was about to face him, he slammed the poster onto the wall with a swift kick. “Thanks for opening the window, it’s much better now!”

“No problem. Now, let’s get this over with, alright?” the orange filly trotted to the middle of the room, standing there staring at him while he fretted with his camera. “You going to take pictures, or what?”

“Um, yeah,” said the colt, stepping forward he lifted up his camera and pressed its button. A loud click went off as it flashed brightly in the room. Moving around her, Featherweight snapped image after image.

“Should I stretch my wings?” she suddenly asked, snapping him out of his reverie. 

“Stretch your wings?” he repeated in a daze. Misunderstanding him, the little pegasus unfurled her wings with a light snap, keeping them straight along her sides as each individual feather reflected the sunlight that poured through the open window. 

Leaning forward, Featherweight looked down the objective of his camera, quickly snapping image after image of the little mare’s wings. His face flushed a deep red as he approached her; she smelt of a summer breeze. 

Each individual feather preened as he approached, their glossy orange brighter than anything in the room as he stared at them lovingly. “They’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Scootaloo tucked her wings back in. “What did you say?” she asked, turning to face him with her wide violet eyes. 

“I-I said, um...” I can’t lie to those eyes, he thought as the filly’s stare pierced his soul. “I-I said that they’re beautiful.” He coughed lightly, turning away from the filly to stare out the window. He kicked the ground lightly, scuffing the floor absentmindedly as his face burned.

“Oh,” she said, her own orange face becoming a deep red. “Well, um, thanks.” The filly’s eyes met his own, both of them staring at each other for a few seconds that felt like hours to the colt.

Featherweight broke the contact, coughing awkwardly before doing a half turn towards the entrance. “Maybe, maybe I should get us something to, um, drink?”

“Yeah, that'd be great!” she exclaimed, relief plastered all over her face. “I’ll start on the written part of the project.”

Featherweight trotted out of the room and into the corridor that bisected his home. His wings twitched self-consciously as he made his way towards the kitchen. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why am I so stupid?! I should have just shut up. Gah, I’m so doomed, he berated himself while pulling at his mane.

In the small kitchen he made a beeline for the fridge, opening it and searching for drinks. Quickly, he pulled out a jug of lemonade and two glasses from a nearby cupboard. Placing his hooves on either side of the filled cups, he bowed his head. Okay, Featherweight, you can do it, just go in there and act normal.

Pushing himself away with a sigh, he placed the two glasses on a tray that he balanced on his back before walking out of the room.

“I’ve got lemonade,” he said as he walked into his room.

Scootaloo had her back to him, hunched over his work desk that was covered with papers and her opened saddlebags. Trotting forward, he deposited the tray on the edge and glanced over her shoulder. “Wow,” he gasped.

In front of the little filly was a hoof-drawn diagram of a pegasus’ wing, each and every little bone and ligament present and labeled. “That’s incredible!” 

Scootaloo blushed a little. “Really? I just know about wings...”

Featherweight leaned over her, inspecting the image. “No, really, it’s awesome! How come you know so much about wings? I could hardly name half of these.”

The filly reached over, grabbing one of the cups and sipping from it audibly. “Well, I’ve always been fascinated with flying. you know, Rainbow Dash is really good at it, and I wish I could fly as good as she does, so I studied it a bit.” 

Featherweight looked up from the image. “What else have you done?”

The filly reached out and pulled a thick book from her saddlebags. “Well, I thought that we could use some of the things in our manuals. Maybe expand upon them. I was sorta surprised at how there isn’t much about pegasi in here, really. It hardly covers flight, bone structure or even our inherent magi--” Scootaloo stopped, blushing self-consciously as she slowly turned towards Featherweight. “I mean...”

She’s even cuter when she’s smart! And she’s shy about it, Featherweight gushed in the privacy of his own mind. Coughing lightly, he got his thoughts straight. “So, where should we start?” he asked as he walked around the mare, flipping through the pages of the textbook until he found a section that spoke of pegasi. “Mmm, how about we focus on flight? You seem to know a lot about it and I can take pictures and document ponies in flight!”

Scootaloo seemed to overcome her apprehension as he excitedly looked over the project. “That’s a great idea! Oh,” she said, eyes filling with adoration. “Maybe we could get Rainbow Dash to help us!” The filly began quizering with anticipation.

“We don’t need her, I’m sure you’re an excellent flier!” Featherweight gulped as he realized his mistake. Scootaloo looked down in shame, a warm heat radiating from her face as she did so.

“Not really, I-I suck at it.” She sighed. Suddenly, she looked up and out the room's only window. “It’s getting late,” she said, staring at the orange sky where the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. “I should get home.”

With the sound of the wooden chair scraping against the linoleum floor, she leaned over and grabbed the sheets of paper, throwing them into her saddlebags. “Thanks for the lemonade.” Scootaloo began walking out of the room. 

Darn it, darn it, what did I do? Gah, I’m such an idiot!

Arriving at the front door, the little pegasus filly turned around. “Well, this was really fun, Featherweight. I’ll be back tomorrow?”

“Huh?”

“...You know, to finish the project?” She smiled kindly at him. 

“Oh, right!” He smiled back, blushing awkwardly while rubbing a forehoof behind his head. 

Scootaloo nodded formally before opening the door and hopping out.

She... she left...

“Wait, Scootaloo!” he screamed, hooves clacking against the floor as he rushed out. 

Outside, the orange filly stood on the edge of his entranceway, her coat glowing in the warm rays of the dying sun as the empty street whistled the desolate song of sleepy birds. Sweet smells from the bakery next door filled the air with an odor that left them hungry.

“You, know... about flying, maybe I could, um, teach you?” he said, turning his eyes away from her. “I’m not all that good, certainly not a Rainbow Dash, but I can manage, and mayb--” His words cut off as the impossible happened.

Scootaloo hopped towards him, leaning forward to give him a hesitant peck on his upper cheek. “Thanks, Featherweight, that’d be nice,” she said, both of them blushing heatedly. 

“I-I, um, it’s, er--” Featherweight fumbled with his words as she stepped back onto the street, the lights casting her in a warm orange glow.

“See you tomorrow!” Scootaloo called back as she galloped away, a silly grin on her small face as the sounds of her hoofsteps faded.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he repeated, eyes glazed over as a hoof rose to touch his cheek. A strong burning sensation still tingled where his hoof touched. “Tomorrow...”





Hours later, when many a light was off and the entire town was covered in a shroud of darkness, only illuminated by the bright moon overhead, a certain beige pegasus sat in front of his house, the largest and silliest grin adorning his face. “I‘ll see her tomorrow,” he whispered into the night.





Yeah, yeah... Not my usual ordeal. No death or plagues or globe controlling empires bent on the destruction of X... Call it practice, this time of cutesy wusty D’aww stuff...

Edited by the great, powerful and marvelous Arcainum and N!
Proofread by Bearycool And Frederick the Saiyan!

The author is some dufus called RavensDagger who promised that he’d be working on this, instead.

> Downhill
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Can I have the poster already?”

Pipsqueak looked at him, smiling slyly. “A peck on the cheek is not a proper kiss, but it’s close. How about we extend the bet by a few days?”

Featherweight sighed. Oh well, that means I get to try again, and maybe it’ll work this time. His cheeks flushed a bright red as Pipsqueak’s smile grew. 

“So, how did it happen?” asked Pipsqueak as he skipped ahead on the well-trod path. Birds sang and whizzed by, playfully flying in the hot rays of the sun.

“How did what happen?” asked the other, his beige wings flapping quickly to keep him afloat.

Pipsqueak sighed. “How did you, you know, fall for her?”

“Oh,” replied Featherweight, a blush already beginning to appear on his light skin. “She rammed me one day.”

“Pfft,” sputtered Pipsqueak, sliding to a halt and kicking up a small puff of dust. “She did what to you?”

What’s wrong with him? Featherweight looked down towards his friend quizzically. “She hit me with her scooter. When she stopped to help me up, well... She was so--” He cut himself off, his blush now fully materialized.

For a few moments the two kept walking in silence, a sly grin on Pipsqueak’s face while Featherweight remained flustered.

“C'mon, we're almost there!” Pipsqueak cried out, suddenly running forward. 

Featherweight’s wings started flapping harder as he flew alongside his friend, trees and bushes blurring by as they ran. “Where are we going?” he asked.

Instead of replying, Pipsqueak slowed to a trot then to a brisk walk. Grabbing Featherweight, the small colt threw him into a bush before joining him beneath the sticky and prickly branches. 

On the other side of the bush was an open field set above a tall cliff, the sharp inclination dropping towards the town before peaking upwards at the edge. “Look,” whispered Pipsqueak, a gleam of mischief in his eye. 

On the top of the hill, three fillies were gathered, all of them circling an odd wooden box with wheels and an umbrella haphazardly tied to it. 

Is that... Featherweight began to ask himself as he spotted one of the three fillies, this one bearing an orange coat and pink mane. It is! An unstoppable smile creased his face as he saw Scootaloo trying to squeeze into the wheeled box. Apple Bloom was hitting one of the wheels with a wrench while Sweetie Belle talked animatedly with Scootaloo. 

“What are they doing?” asked Featherweight in an unnecessary whisper.

Pipsqueak shrugged. “I don’t know, girly Crusader stuff; apparently it’s supposed to be super secret or something.”

“Oh, okay.” Featherweight kept looking at the playing fillies. “Wait, if it’s supposed to be super secret, then how do you know about it?”

Pipsqueak smiled knowingly. “You just need to ask the right pony, and have the right information to trade... said so in a book I read.”

Featherweight settled down deeper into the prickly grass. A light, warm wind blew across the field, picking up Scootaloo’s mane and billowing it out. “So, who did you ask?” he said, breaking the awkward silence.

“Rarity,” said Pipsqueak. Featherweight shot him a look. “What? It was easy; once I convinced her that you had a crush on Sweetie Belle, she told me everything I needed to know.”

“You told her what?!” screamed Featherweight in a panic, jumping out of the bushes as he did so.

Three fillies looked his way as he hovered above the bush. He ignored them, staring accusingly towards Pipsqueak while his mane stood on end.

“Hey, calm down. If Scootaloo finds out, she’ll be jealous, and you need to prove your superiority to her! I think.” Pipsqueak shrugged as he averted his gaze to the three fillies. They were running down the hill, calling down to them with amicable voices. “Better be nice, here she comes.”

“Hey, Featherweight, is that you?” cried Scootaloo as she hopped and glided ahead of her friends.

Immediately, Featherweight’s face reddened. “Yeah, it’s, um, me... Pipsqueak’s here too!” he said, grabbing his friend by the scruff of his neck and pulling him out of the bush.

Pipsqueak stumbled forward before stabilizing himself. “Hiya, girls, what are you up to?”

“Nothin’ much,” said Apple Bloom as she slowed to a halt a few hoofsteps away. “Scootaloo saw this really cool thing in a book, now we’re tryin’ to do the same!”

“Re-really? What kind of book?” Featherweight said the first thing that came to mind.

Scootaloo giggled. “I was looking through it, you know, for our project.” Suddenly her eyes widened. “Oh, don’t think I forgot about you. it’s just that, um, we really wanted to go crusading. You understand, right?”

Darn, I wanted to spend some time with her. “Nah, it’s fine! You girls take all the time you need! What you’re doing looks like a lot of fun.”

Three pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly, waiting. They want me to say something! “Um, can we, er, watch?”

“Sure, you can even help!” Sweetie Belle piped up, smiling sweetly towards him.

The three fillies turned as one, giggling at some unheard joke before they began making their way back up the hill. 

The two colts shared a look before they both shrugged in unison. Pipsqueak brushed some leaves off his coat and began walking up as well. “You coming, Featherweight?”

Nodding, the pegasus fluttered his wings, catching up to his friend as they followed the three fillies. His eyes strayed from looking at the back of Scootaloo’s head to curiously inspecting the odd device they had built.

It was a buggy. Or at least, it had parts from a buggy. Two rusty steel wheels made up the back part of the tiny vehicle, while the front end had one wheel, centered to balance the racer. Its side panels were made of hastily-built and cobbled together pieces of wood, while its insides were composed of a garden chair nailed to the floor and a broomstick that served as steering column. Along one side, in childish script, the name ‘Crusader’ was painted in barn-red paint.

The moment they arrived at the top of the hill, the Crusaders began working on their buggy. Pipsqueak and Featherweight watched them as they sat down on the light fluffy grass, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the cool spring breeze. The fillies worked feverishly at preparing the Crusader, grabbing tools and building materials from a small pile they had made nearby, only to hammer in crooked nails and dented pieces of wood.

After a few moments of silence, broken only by the rasp of an old, rusty saw, Featherweight got up and began hovering around them. “So, um, this is supposed to be a drag racer?” he finally asked.

Apple Bloom gasped, dropping the wrench she held in her muzzle. “Ah forgot the parachute!” The earth pony filly turned around and ran to the nearby pile of tools and toys. Buried beneath buckets of nails and pieces of old barn wood was a beautiful purple and white umbrella. 

Apple Bloom ran over to the Crusader, slapping the umbrella’s shaft on its side before nailing it in place with Sweetie Belle’s help. “All done!” she said, backing up to look at her handiwork. 

“Alright! Let's do this,” shouted Scootaloo as she hopped into the buggy, shifting herself into the cheap garden chair. The entire thing creaked as it took her weight.

Is she-- is she really going to do this? Featherweight asked himself as he looked between the buggy and the long descent. Gulping, he decided to voice his opinion. “Um, girls, are you sure this is a good idea?”

The three fillies looked down at him.

He shifted his weight from one hoof to another before going on. “I mean, I know you guys want your cutie marks, but that’s a long way down, an--and you might hurt yourselves.”

Scootaloo sighed. “C’mon Featherweight, nothing bad’s going to happen, don't be such a spoilsport!”

“I--I’m not! I just don't want to see you hurt! What if you lose control, or--or what if your buggy breaks?”

Sweetie Belle marched around the vehicle, trotting right up to him and standing uncomfortably close to his face. “You're jealous, aren't you?”

“Huh?” What’s she talking about? I only want Scootaloo to be safe!

“Yeah,” she said, taking another step. Featherweight began to lean back under her glare. “You’re afraid that we'll get better cutie marks than you!”

“Huh?!” Huh!?

“Aw, c’mon Sweetie, Featherweight’s not the jealous type.” Scootaloo came to his defence, a smirk on her face. “Are you?” she asked him.

She’s defending me? “Of--of course not, I’m just scared you might get hurt...”

Sweetie Belle harrumphed. “Fine, but I’ll be watching you.” Featherweight let out a long sigh as both Scootaloo and Apple Bloom stared at Sweetie Belle, their faces betraying their confusion. 

“Um, maybe you guys could help. I mean, we could always use a timer, right?” Apple Bloom said with a small, nervous smile, before trotting over to their pile. Soon, she pulled an old, dented stopwatch out of it.

Pipsqueak ran up to her, grabbing the stopwatch from her before stringing it around his neck. “Yeah, we could do that!” The little colt began walking down the hill. “Come on, Featherweight!”

Featherweight tore his eyes away from Scootaloo. “Huh? Oh yeah, coming.”

The two colts were halfway down the hill before Pipsqueak spoke once more. “Did you see Sweetie Belle over there? Boy, was she mad.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” he said, peeking over his shoulder to the white and purple unicorn as she talked to her friends. “She’s never been mean to me before.” He hung his head, watching the thick green blades of grass as they bent around his hooves. 

“I think she likes you...” pipped Pipsqueak.

Featherweight’s head snapped up, a hundred expressions crossing his face. “Why? Why would she like me?” he finally asked.

Pipsqueak shrugged. “I don't know, girls a weird that way.”

"And how would you know?"

"Call it my... um, intuition?" The colt smiled awkwardly towards his pegasus friend.

The pegasus shook his head. “Intuition, right.” A small smile cracked his lips. “Let’s just enjoy this, alright?”

“Hah, sure, I thought you liked anything that involved Scootal--” Featherweight punched Pipsqueak’s shoulder gently as they both broke out into giggles. Their laughter seemed to bubble in the air, accompanied by the singing of happy birds and the gentle sound of wind over grass. 

Both colts sat at the bottom of the hill. Behind them the same hill rose to a point before dropping off as a sheer cliff, giving them an astonishing view of Ponyville below. Fluffy little clouds darted around the sky, mixing with the thin plumes of smoke from the town. 

“I think they’re ready.” said Pipsqueak with an excited sigh.

Above them, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom were leaning against the buggy, backs straining as they pushed. Slowly, the rusty vehicle rocked forward, trampling the grass as it began to gain speed. 

Scootaloo stuck out her wings, beating them wildly as she began to go faster and faster. A loud rumbling sound reached Pipsqueak and Featherweight as the Crusader’s wheels turned on their rusty bearings. 

Scootaloo’s mane caught the wind, flowing and billowing out behind her as she bounced down the hill at an insane speed, becoming almost a blur in Featherweight’s eye. She’s so cool! he told himself as his jaw dropped.

“This, is, awesome!” yelled the pegasus filly through her large smile. Moving a hoof forward, Scootaloo grabbed the brake lever and pulled, causing sparks to fly out from under the buggy as it grinded and screeched loudly. Birds took off in a fright as everypony covered their ears. Scootaloo reached around with a forehoof, pressing the release on the parachute.

The buggy stalled in mid-air. The umbrella tearing apart as the wind caught it, spokes twisting out of shape before the entire thing catapulted forward, released from the restraint. Scootaloo crashed back onto the ground with a hard thump. Featherweight cringed in sympathy as he saw Scootaloo bounce from side to side within the Crusader. From beneath his squinting eyelids he saw a wheel, a wheel that bounced alongside Scootaloo’s craft, a wheel that wasn’t supposed to be free.

“Scootaloo,” he yelled.

The filly in question didn’t respond as she desperately tried to regain control of the vehicle. The hill’s top was quickly approaching, meter by meter, as sweat began to pour out of everypony present.

“Help!” she yelled in a piercing scream.

Grass flew into the air as the Crusader began to dig a furrow into the ground, causing the buggy to shake violently before it finally began spinning side over side.

Featherweight’s eyes teared up, and he grimaced as his wings flapped wildly behind him, trying desperately to gain speed. 

It reached the end. The entire vehicle jumped above the hill, spinning lightly as it seemed to hang in mid-air above the deep, rock filled cliff. 

Scootaloo fell out, her orange wings flapping desperately as her hooves spun in the air, vainly trying to catch the Crusader.

A beige blur streaked by her, smacking into her with an audible slap, before crashing back towards the ground. The two forms tumbled, manes and hooves spinning wildly as they rolled to a stop beside each other.

Behind them, the Crusader fell, tumbling through the air for a few silent seconds before hitting the rough, rocky soil in an explosion of wood and nails.

Featherweight pushed himself up, not bothering to brush off the dirt from his coat as he ran towards Scootaloo. “Are--are you okay?” he asked, his voice shaky and nervous.

Scootaloo groaned, twisting onto her belly, she pushed herself up, testing her wings as she did so. “Nothing broken,” she announced, rubbing a hoof against her sore flank. “No cutie mark for almost dying either...”

Featherweight started laughing, relief draining any self-restraint from his body as he rolled on the grass. Seconds later Scootaloo joined him, giggling joyfully alongside him.

“What’s so funny?” Apple Bloom cried out as she, Sweetie Belle, and Pipsqueak joined them. All three of them were panting, out of breath. 

Scootaloo let out a few more barks of laughter before answering. “Nothing, it’s not really funny, just stupid.” Scootaloo looked at Featherweight, seeming to judge him with her eyes. “Thanks Feathers, that was really cool.” She slapped his shoulder with a hoof. “Come on girls, we should get going. I don’t think drag racing’s our thing.”

Apple Bloom tapped her hoof against her chin pensively. “Mah brother’s putting up shingles on the roof, if we help ‘im we could get our marks!”

Sweetie Belle smiled excitedly. “That’s a great idea! Let’s go!”

“Cutie Mark Crusader Roof Repair ponies yay!” the three yelled in unison, their gusto slightly dampened by the warm air and humid weather.

“Maybe we could be Cutie Mark Crusaders swimmers first?” suggested Sweetie Belle. “I’m all sticky and warm...”

The three turned to leave, giggling and laughing as they did so.

“Wait!” cried Featherweight. The three stopped, turning to face him. “Um, could we work on the project tomorrow?” he asked adding a tiny, squeaky “Please?”

“Sure Feathers! C’ya tomorrow!”

“That was cool,” said Pipsqueak under his breath. “Saving the her like that... real smooth.” 

“Yeah... smooth, still no kiss...”

The little colt smiled to his friend as he trotted away. “You still haven’t won that bet! You have until Monday!”







Edited by:
N
Arcainum

Proofread by:
Frederick The Saiyan
Cpl Hooves

Thanks for all that incredible feedback!
	
	
	

> Lessons and Knockouts
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Smooth, blue moonlight crept along the sturdy old desk as the pegasus scribbled notes in a fury. 

The scratching of his quill was interrupted only by the occasional rustle of a page, or the whisper of a candle flame. Featherweight’s desk held books, manuals, and thick guides, all of them addressing a different aspect of a pegasus’ greatest ability: flight.

Fresh sheets of paper were covered in a childish scrawl, all piled in a neat column to his side. Topping the pile, a single sheet lay with the words ‘Special Project: A Pegasus’ Flight: By Scootaloo and Featherweight.’

Need to finish, need to finish, he repeated to himself as his drowsy eyes watered over, unable to focus on the page before him. The clock in the corner of his small bedroom ticked a hypnotising beat, to which he soon found himself nodding in time. Need to impress Scootaloo.

His head leaned forward, lightly touching the wooden surface of the desk as a last yawn escaped. Just a second... 

His snoring was light and even, filling the room with its soft sound as the candle slowly became a stub, and the moon flew across the sky.





Mmm, one more paragraph on mid-air aerodynamics, then I’ll be done with that part, then I ca-- His mind froze as he felt the slight tickling of the hot summer sun against his face. An ear twitched, then an eye flickered open, immediately squinting shut under the sun’s bright glare.

“Gah!” he screamed, tumbling out of his chair to land with a crash on the hard floor. “I’m late!” Fumbling onto his hooves, he began picking up his work, throwing it into his trusty old saddlebags before snapping them shut. 

A small stack of sheets fell off the edge, unnoticed by the hurrying colt. ‘How to Fly: by Featherweight, for Scootaloo’ was written in clear, loving text on it’s front.

He scurried out of the room, hooves clacking loudly against the linoleum flooring as he streaked through the corridor. The smell of warm toast and strawberry jam assaulted his hungry nostrils as he moved past the kitchen. “Feather, come eat breakfast!” called out a familiar and warm voice.

“No time, Ma, today’s the day!” Featherweight slid to a halt in front of the house’s door, opening it with a cheerful swing before jumping out. His eyes watered and his nose scrunched up as he collided with a hard yet pliable surface. 

Two small ‘omphs’ sounded out across the small garden in front of his house and into the waking street. Featherweight crashed onto his rump, forehooves instinctively clutching at his bleeding muzzle. 

“Ow,” said a gruff yet feminine voice. 

Looking through his blurred, tear-filled eyes, Featherweight stared at the orange pegasus that lay sprawled at the foot of his door. “Scootaloo?”

“Hi, Featherweight,” said the filly as she groaned, climbing back onto her hooves. 

The colt hopped forward, doing a quick run around the filly and inspecting her. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you? Do you need to go to the hospital?!” Worry and fear danced across his face, while small beads of sweat formed along the edge of his scalp despite the cool morning breeze.

Scootaloo laughed, her chiming voice making him dizzy with glee as she playfully shoved him away. “I’m fine... but you’re bleeding pretty hard. Maybe you should take the day off?”

“Hmm? No way! I’m fine. Really!” She’s at my house, I didn’t even invite her! Is everything clean? Oh goodness, I hope Ma doesn’t show up! he screamed to himself, sweat pouring freely down his head as his eyes found every imperfection around him. “So, um, what are you doing here?” The colt rubbed the back of his head with a forehoof.

Scootaloo coughed, looking at him skeptically. “Right, well I have the notes for the project. Hopefully everything’s there.” She reached around and into her saddlebags, pulling out a slightly tattered and very wrinkly pile of sheets. “I was wondering if you might hang onto these, I have things to do today, and, well...” She looked away in shame, the papers she dumped at his hooves rustling in the wind.

Reaching down, Featherweight flipped the first page over, eyes widening as he took it in. The entire page was covered in notes and small hoof-drawn depictions of wings, maneuvers and aerobatic stunts. “Wow, these are brilliant! You draw really well!”

“Um, thanks?” She took a half step backwards, face reddening. ”I really have to get going, sorry for dumping all that work on you!”

“No problem,” Featherweight waved it off. “So, where are you going?” 

“Er-- just to the edge of town. You know that little clearing that leads up to the Apple’s farm?”

“Oh, yeah, just past Miss Rarity’s Boutique?”

Scootaloo turned away from him, rubbing her forehead lightly. “Yeah, that’s the one!” She took another step back, her rear hoof tapping against the roadway. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked, smiling tentatively. 

Gah, I can’t just let her go like that! Think Featherweight, think! “Wait!”

Scootaloo froze in the centre of the town’s road, some ponies going about their daily business circumventing her with glares.

“I-I have something for you!” Twisting around, Featherweight reached into his bag with a wing, fumbling around blindly for a while. “Oops. One sec, please!” he begged.  

His hooves scraped against the floor of his home as he galloped back towards his room, the frames on the wall shifting as he streaked by. Arriving in his room, Featherweight’s eyes roamed the area, twitching around until they came to rest upon a small notebook. He smiled as he picked it up and scurried out of the room. 

“Herph Scoothaphoo, I gotsh it!” he mumbled through the notebook. A blue unicorn with a hourglass cutie mark stared at him, blinking in confusion. “Yersh not Scoothaphoo.”

“Nope, I’m Colgate, nice to meet you!” The mare smiled at him, lifting a hoof to shake.

“Phukph!” He groaned in frustration, ignoring the extended hoof as he looked up and down the broad roadway. No signs of the orange filly remained as plenty of ponies trotted about, talking and laughing as they began the day’s business.

“What did you say?” asked Colgate, a look of surprise and irritation crossing her face.

Featherweight spat the notepad out, letting it slam against the ground with a slap. “I said fudge... Have you seen an orange filly? About yea tall?”

“Yeah, she fluttered by that way.” The mare pointed down the road, relief and humour plastered on her face.

Featherweight picked up the notebook and threw it into his bag. “Thanks!” he yelled as he ran off, kicking up a light dust as his wings buzzed. Soon, he was hovering over ponies on his way towards the edge of town, the sudden draft created in his wake sending papers and loose pieces of debris flying everywhere.

He spotted the Carousel Boutique. The small round shop was gaudily painted in bright and flashy colours, its windows proudly displaying mannequins bearing clothing and crazy apparel that nopony he knew would be caught dead wearing.

Featherweight flew by it, the bushes around the building rustling as his wingtips brushed against them. Seconds later he landed with a small thump against the soggy ground, filling his lungs with the fresh, dew-filled, morning air as he did so.

The sun was just cresting the nearest treeline, splashing long shadows across the field where a single orange pegasus stood. Featherweight breath caught as he gasped at the beauty of the scene.

Scootaloo was turned, back towards him, with her two tiny wings outstretched along her sides. Her stance, leaned forward and ready to jump, was the epitome of pegasus grace and flexibility. Sunlight glowed around her, making the tiny, almost imperceptible beads of sweat on her coat and mane glimmer as they waved in the light, lavender-smelling wind that permeated the world around him. 

Featherweight gulped as her wings began to beat, a look of fierce determination plastered on her face as inch by inch she rose up, blades of grass waving and pushing away from her in a rough circle on the ground.

He could hear her grunting, forcing as her efforts redoubled to stay afloat. She’s so beautiful, he thought to himself, unable to swallow or even move.

Finally the filly yelled, voice filled with pleasure as she kicked out with her hooves. “I did it! I did it! I’m flying!” Just as the words escaped the filly’s mouth, her wings seized, sending her plummeting against the soggy grass with a loud thump.

“Scootaloo!” Within seconds Featherweight was by her side, having crossed the entire field in the blink of a worried eye. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need CPR?” Please say yes.

Scootaloo coughed, her face blushing a little. “Yo-you saw that?”

“Saw what? You trying to fly?” Immediately Featherweight cringed. Idiot, idiot, idiot!

Her blush spread further across her face as she practically steamed below him, becoming the sweetest, most adorable shade of red he had ever seen. Genius, genius, genius!

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she said, turning her face away from him.

“What do you mean! You got almost ten feet of air! Do that a few more times and Rainbow Dash will look like a total wimp beside you!” Featherweight leaned forward, helping her up and thoroughly enjoying the contact between him and her.

Scootaloo smiled a little. “Better than Rainbow Dash, riiight.” She rolled her eyes, her smile growing.

I need to cheer her up! Suddenly his eyes widened. “Look, I have something for you.” Reaching around, the colt hurriedly opened his saddlebags and pulled out the notebook and gently placed it on the grass in front of her, beaming all the while.

“What is it?” she asked, flipping the cover page over to show hoof-drawn diagrams depicting exercises and simple lessons.

“I-Its a training program.” The beige colt became a bright red as he shuffled from one hoof to another. “I used it to learn how to fly. I was thinking, maybe, you know... I could teach you?”

Scootaloo cocked an eyebrow apprehensively, uncertain. “Teach me?”

“Yeah, if-if you want to...” Please say yes, please say yes!

 “Um, sure.” She shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Featherweight smiled before flicking the page of the notebook over and shrugging off his saddlebags. “Okay, let’s start with basic hovering! Now position yourself like this.” He set his hooves apart, forming an invisible square where he stood, blades of grass tickling along his short legs. Scootaloo looked at his position then mimicked it with her own. “Okay, great! Now spread your wings out, and buzz, but don’t fly off just yet.” The field was then filled with the light sound of their wings flapping up and down. Scootaloo’s rump rose up a little before she lowered herself to the ground. “Okay, now, we move up a little, but not too high!”

Both Featherweight and Scootaloo lifted until they hovered on the spot, their hooves trailing mere inches away from the ground.

He took that moment to look up and almost fell as her beaming smile broke his concentration and melted his heart. “O-okay, now scoot to the side a little, and lean forward.” Featherweight turned slowly, showing Scootaloo how to do the same as they both faced the nearby woods. Then they leaned forward, moving slowly as the grass behind them flickered and fluttered. 

“This is so cool!” she cried gleefully, wind rustling her mane and whipping her mane and tail around.

“Let’s go faster?” she asked.

No, it’s too soon, she might get hur-- his thoughts were interrupted by her huge smile and expectant eyes. “Sure.”

They increased their pace, Featherweight slowly banking into a sweeping arc and occasionally turning to see Scootaloo right behind him. With a rush, they flew by the woods, trees blurring into a brown wall as they buzzed by. 

“Let’s head back towards the roadway!” he shouted over his shoulder, one hoof pointing towards the small path that snaked its way between the town and Sweet Apple Acres. A single cart pulled by a red stallion occupied the road, a thin tendril of dust rising up towards the sky. 

Scootaloo nodded her agreement before blasting past him. Featherweight couldn’t help but laugh at seeing her enjoy herself. Bubbling, gut-wrenching joy spurting out of him as he too leaned forward, intent upon catching up.

Both of them weaved and bobbed around each other in a race without a goal. “First to the tree!” shouted Scootaloo, nudging her head toward a gigantic oak that jutted out beside the roadway.

Not waiting for an answer, Featherweight redoubled his efforts, laughing as he inched past her. The tree grew larger and larger as they both focused on it with a single-minded determination. 

Suddenly, Scootaloo yelled out, “Hey, how do you stop?”

What? Looking behind him, Featherweight saw the worry written between the lines of her happy expression. Uh oh.

Scootaloo began to slow down, one hoof trailing lightly amongst the blades of grass. Seeing her trying to stop, Featherweight pulled up, looping around and back towards her wide-eyed frame. “I can’t stop!” she screamed.

No no that’s not how you stop, if she does that she’ll-- he watched in horror as one of her legs snagged on the ground, pulling her into a mid-air spin that was leading her right towards the great oak-- she’ll spin out! His eyes quickly traced her trajectory. Oh, Celestia, she’s going to hit that tree!

Without thinking he placed himself between Scootaloo and the tree, cringing seconds before she rammed into him. Both of them flew backwards until they rammed the tree.

The last thing he felt before his world went black was the panicked breathing of an orange filly on his chest.





You asked for it! Then I sorta dilly dallied until I came up with a half-baked idea, then wrote it on here for no apparent reason. 

Edited and Proofread by:
Arcainum
Cpl Hooves
Frederick the Saiyan
N
and Fred Astaire (lol, I wish)

That’s a lot of Editors O.o! You should watch them, they’re sexy buggers, them.

Actually, blame ‘em for any semblance of quality on these things!

	
	
> Birds, Bees and Surprises
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Clouds of pain and confusion swirled around Featherweight’s vision as muffled, distant sounds popped and hissed around his head. 

“Featherweight, are you okay?” asked a pure and angelic voice from above. He managed a feeble grunt in response, earning him a stab of pain along his left side.

“Ah, he’ll be fine,” said another voice, this one gruffer and older. “Took tumbles ten times worse than that in my hayday.” A hoof stabbed at his shoulder. “Get up kid!”

For the span of a few seconds everypony was quiet. Only the wind spoke as it caressed the grass softly, whispering between the blades with the mounting wind before spreading a cold blanket over them all.

“Maybe we should get him to the hospital?” asked the first voice, a small tremble of worry running beneath her sweet words. “C’mon, Feathers, get up!” she practically begged. 

Cracking an eye open, he endured the pain of the sun’s bright rays to stare into an orangey-red face. “Scootaloo?” he asked in a dry croak.

“Nnope.” That was definitely not Scootaloo. 

“Hey, Big Mac,“ said the brasher of the two voices. “Maybe you should perform CPR or something?”

Featherweight’s eyes popped open as he swung himself into a seated position. “I’m good! I’m alright!” Wide-eyed, he looked around him. His side was pressed against the great oak where bark had been recently torn off and fresh, strong-smelling sap was oozing out. 

Scootaloo was sitting a few hoofsteps away, looking a little worse for wear, while Rainbow Dash sat beside her, casting furtive glances towards both Featherwright and the pegasus filly.  “You sure you’re okay, kid?” asked the rainbow-maned mare, as she ruffled her feathers lightly, splaying them out above her as they caught the warm, midday sun.

Featherweight squirmed around on the spot, aches and pains burning through his sore sides. Gingerly, he touched his ribs, wincing under his breath as a searing-hot pain spiked into his chest. Oh, Celestia, everything hurts, he thought to himself, before he turned and caught Scootaloo’s worried stare. “Yeah, I think I’ll be fine.”

“That’s right!” said Rainbow Dash, thumping him on the shoulder, sending another wave of excruciating pain through him. “Suck it up!”

With gritted teeth Featherweight glared at the mare. “Right, suck it up...” He shook his head, slowly feeling the pain leave his body. “So, what happened?” he asked, looking around him. The four of them were protected under the shade of the great oak, long thin shadows moving as the wind played amongst the leaves.

Scootaloo broke eye contact, looking away as her face reddened. “We-we sorta lost control. Sorry... I shouldn’t have made us go faster... Are you okay?” Tears hung on the edges of her eyes as she looked at him, face torn into a half-pout. 

Featherweight stood upright, rearing up as he flexed his limbs in every direction. “I’m fine! Fine, you see?! No pain and everything’s nice!” he yelled through the cramps and stabbing pain.

“See, kid, he’s fine, now stop worrying... sheesh.” Rainbow Dash nudged Scootaloo’s shoulder in a friendly matter, earning herself a small smile from the her admirer. Rainbow Dash smiled back as she stretched, yawning loudly while her joints popped. “You two woke me up,” she whined, eyes alighting on a pillow that hung on a branch overhead. “Oh well, guess that was enough sleeping for today.”

“You were sleeping here?” blurted out Featherweight.

“Yeah, then I fell on you. Thanks for breaking the fall, kid. So... you two were trying to fly?” One of her eyebrows rose inquisitively.

Immediately Scootaloo’s blush deepened. “Well, sorta. I mean, Feathers was teaching me how and, well, things got out of hoof.”

The older pegasus laughed, clutching at the side of her chest as she tumbled back, rolling on the grass while kicking out with her hind legs. “And, and you crashed into a tree!” she squealed, wiping a tear from her eye. “Ahhh, don’t sweat it, kid. Happened to me too!” She righted herself, still snorting uncontrollably under the less-than-impressed glares of the other three ponies. “Hey, how about I show you how to fly?”

Scootaloo’s eyes became as wide as saucers, any thoughts of humiliation immediately banished from her mind as her hero smiled down at her. She began hopping on the spot, her entire face stretched into a massive grin. “Really!?

Featherweight strained to maintain his false smile. Dang it, I wanted to teach her! 

Rainbow Dash looked up, her red eyes reflecting the deep blue sky. “No clouds, no work, plenty of time,” she said as a warm smile crossed her lips. “Sure, I’ll show you a thing or two.”

Scootaloo giggled gleefully as she pranced on the spot, earning her a few odd stares. “You okay, kid?”  Rainbow Dash leaned forward, placing a hoof on the filly’s forehead. “Whoa, you’re hot!” 

Yeah, she is, thought Featherweight as he watched the filly bounce up and down with a huge grin. “I’m fine. Can we go now? Can we?”

Rainbow Dash waved her concerns away. “Sure thing. You coming too, Feathers?”

One of the colt’s hooves absently strayed to his aching sides. “Hmm? No, I think I’ll sit this one out. You two have fun!”

“Oh, we will!” said Scootaloo as her wings beat nervously.

Rainbow Dash waved goodbye as she took off. Her downdraft battered him violently as she streaked upwards, a spectrum of light following her until she arced around in a tight loop, swooping by Scootaloo’s side. “C’mon!”

“Alright!” the filly cried back. “See you tomorrow. Featherweight!”

The colt watched, heart falling as the pegasus of his dreams galloped after her soaring hero. Scootaloo flapped her wings giddily as she looked up to the skillful flyer that was her idol while a single cloud passed overhead, obscuring her in its shadow. The moment they were out of hearing range, he gasped, clutching at his burning sides as tears welled up, some dripping down onto a tree root with a quiet splash, breaking up on impact to arc into the air. 

“Y’alright?” asked a thick, smooth voice from Featherweight's side. Gasping in surprise, Featherweight stared at Big Macintosh’s huge form. The large earth pony had one eyebrow cocked and his head slanted to one side as he stared straight into the little colt's eyes.

“I-I’m fine.”

“Nnnope,” answered the stallion, shaking his head. “Let me see,” he ordered, one of his gentle hooves rising and lightly touching Featherweight’s ribs.

“Ah!” he gasped before the hoof pulled back. Slowly, the red hoof pressed against his side, running along his rib cage.

“Nothin’ broken, you’ll be fine.”

Featherweight gulped, relief plastered over his face. “Thanks... I guess.”

“No problem.” Big Macintosh looked away away from him and towards the two mares that were but tiny shapes in the distance. 

Featherweight followed his gaze. He began to shift his weight from hoof to hoof. “Mister Macintosh?”

“Eeyup?”

“Do you understand mares?”

“Nnnope.”

“Oh.” The colt looked down towards the ground apprehensively. “So, you don't have any experience with them?”

“Er--”  Big Macintosh said, the red of his face deepening before he turned away and began trotting towards his nearby cart.

Featherweight followed him, gliding alongside the big earth pony. “Anything, anything at all?” he pleaded, eyes wide and begging.

“Er-- you should ask yer father...”

“C’mon, Mister Macintosh! Please, the only advice I ever got was from my friends, and it wasn’t all that good. I really need your help.” Featherweight glided away, looking towards the dry, crackling ground that made up the pathway towards Ponyville. “Please?”

The huge earth pony sighed, clicking his yoke onto the main bar of the cart. “Fine. Mares are like flowers. You need to treat them nicely, because they are incredibly delicate. You need to feed them and care for them and make sure they shine in the midday sun. And when they’re rea...”

What in the hay is he talking about?  Featherweight asked himself as he canted his head to one side.

“Are you listenin’?” asked Big Macintosh.

“What are you talking about? I just wanted some advice, not gardening techniques. What was that supposed to mean?”

“Er-- the birds and the bees?”

“Birds and bees?” Featherweight scrunched his face in thought before opening his eyes wide in surprise. “Wait, were you talking about...”

Big Macintosh squirmed under the weight of his yoke. “Eeyup?” he said uncertainly, scratching the back of his head.

“But... I mean... Ew!” The colt shook his head in disgust, sticking his tongue out as he grimaced. “I just wanted dating advice!”

Big Macintosh gulped, his coat’s colour deepening around his face. “Eeyup... I’ve got, um, an apple field to plow,” he said as he began to gallop away, his cart bobbing and bouncing along behind him.

Featherweight coughed as clouds of dust covered him entirely, blanketing him while he waved his forehoof in a vain attempt to breathe. Running forward, the still-coughing colt galloped out of the cloud to stand on the edge of the road, alone, the hot sun beaming down at him.

Well, that was weird, he thought, the sounds of the cart starting to become distant. Now what? Scootaloo is gone. Big Mac is gone... Guess I’ll work on the project, he sighed. Maybe I can impress Scootaloo?

Trudging ahead, Featherweight started to make his way home. The quiet wind and the happy buzzing of bugs were the only companions as he walked towards the Carousel Boutique, traveling along the well trodden path that snaked into the town.

That area of the town was quiet and oddly devoid of life. The only ponies in sight were those milling outside or eating their lunch at one of Ponyville’s few restaurants,  while sounds of a filly crying and foals playing and laughing filled the air.

A filly crying?

Hooves scraped across the rough roadway as the colt stopped dead in his tracks. His ears perked up, listening, paying deep attention to the sound. 

Sobs, accompanied by the both familiar and cruel sound of bullies laughing. Keep going, it has nothing to do with you. Featherweight took another step forward.

“Stupid, nopony’s ever going to love you!”

Maybe just a peek?

Turning, Featherweight looked towards the source of the muffled sound. A large bush was growing, part of it leaning against the carousel-shaped store. Its leaves glowed with the sun’s glare as more laughter emanated from behind it. 

Tip-hoofing forward, he edged his way around the bush, slowly poking his head around it. Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara were standing beside each other, both wearing large and sly grins while their eyes stared down at a shivering white form.

“You’re, like, such an idiot!”

“Nopony likes you!”

Diamond Tiara stepped forward, poking a hoof against the sobbing filly on its white flank. “Look at that ugly blank flank!  I’m sure you would have your cutie mark by now if your sister didn't suck up all the talent.”

“Doesn’t she ever get tired of having you around?” asked Silver Spoon, who blew a raspberry at the white filly.

Their target lifted its head up, revealing a purple-and-pink mane that encircled a tear-stained face. Sweetie Belle? Featherweight got up and took another step forward, his hoofsteps silently brushing the green grass.

“Please, please stop,” pleaded the filly while she sniffled and wiped her running nose with a forehoof. 

“Not so strong without your friends around, huh?” Diamond Tiara stepped forward, hitting the ground with a small thump that sent up a cloud of dust. Sweetie Belle flinched away, her eyes desperately seeking a means of escape, when suddenly, they locked with his.

“You’re the ugliest--” Diamond stopped her cruel rant as Featherweight walked around the bush, hoofsteps heavy as he stared into the pink filly’s eyes, a look of pure loathing on his face.

Running forward, Featherweight placed himself in between Sweetie Belle and her aggressors. “Are you okay?” he whispered under his breath, a tone of clear and honest concern in his soft voice.

Sweetie Belle nodded, turning her face away from him.

Diamond Tiara giggled aloud. “What are you doing here, dummy? We wer--”

“Shut up.” Featherweight pointed at her face with a forehoof, his eyes blazing as he huffed angrily. “What the hay do you think you’re doing? Huh? Bullying somepony like that! Don’t you have any shame!” he barked, his voice deepening as he advanced. “Get out of here.”

Both Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara stared at him, eyes wide while they backpedaled a few steps. “Y-you can’t tell us what to d--”

“I said, leave.” repeated Featherweight, his voice full of venom. 

“Do you know who my daddy is?”

The lone colt took a deep breath of air, exhaling it slowly out of his nose. “I know who he is. And I am positive that he will love hearing about what you have been doing here. I’m not in a very good mood today, so how about you leave, and nothing bad happens?”

“C-c’mon, Silver, let-let’s get out of here,” said Diamond Tiara while she pulled her friend along with her. 

Silver Spoon stared at him one last time before turning around and galloping away.

A few seconds went by, filled only by the chirping of uncaring birds and Sweetie Belle’s small sniffles. “Thanks,” she finally said, encouraging him to turn around.

Featherweight scratched the back of his head. “It was nothing, really. I was just having a bad day, and I heard you...” he trailed off, looking away.

Sweetie Belle wiped her eyes again, staining her coat with tears, a small smile appearing on her lips. “Well, thanks, that was really brave.” She took a few shaky steps forward before Featherweight rushed to her side, supporting her. “I’m fine, just... yeah.”

“Do you want me to bring you home? It’s not that far.”

The filly’s face became a deep shade of red. “Um, sure? Thanks.”

Both of them walked side by side, Featherweight occasionally placing his wing on her back to stabilize her while they made their way around the store, her laboured breathing tickling his ear. Featherweight began to blush as well when he became aware of her body’s heat against his sides. Arriving at the door, he coughed, dispelling his blush. “Okay, here we are. can you manage?” he asked while she stood on the threshold. One of her hooves rose up and clicked the door open.

“Yeah, I can manage,” Sweetie Belle replied as she turned around, standing back towards the entrance. “So, um... thank you?” Sweetie Belle bit her lower lip as she drew circles on the ground with a forehoof.

Featherweight scratched the back of his head. “Hey, it was no problem, really, I’m hap--” The colt froze as Sweetie Belle leaned forward, invading his personal space. “Um, Sweetie Belle, what are y--”

His entire face pulled back and his eyes widened in pure shock as the filly plugged her lips onto his own, hitting them with a little smack while he mumbled incoherently below them.

As quickly as it started, it ended. Sweetie Belle pulled away, a huge grin and a deep blush on her face as she took a step back. “See you in school tomorrow?” she mumbled before taking a step back and into the house.

Featherweight stared at her, mouth agape, while his mind tried to find an answer. Before he could, the door handle was covered in a light glow. “Okay, thanks, bye.”

The door shut with a bang.

What the hay just happened?






I finished this a week ago, haha!

Edited by:
Arcainum, that sexy bastard. 
N, he’s cool too.

Proofread by:
Frederick the Saiyan
Cpl Hooves

	
> Projects and Hospitalization
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Featherweight stood in front of the wooden door, hoof tentatively raised to knock, but the only sign of movement from the timid colt was his coat ruffling in the light breeze. He sat there, the weak, dawning sun just peeking above the horizon, casting his tall shadow over the school building. 

Sweet and carefree humming flowed out of an open window as Miss Cheerilee went about her daily chores, preparing the tiny schoolhouse for the soon-to-be-arriving foals. Go in, set up, wait for Scootaloo to show up, and, no matter what, do not make eye contact with Sweetie Belle, he thought before swallowing the lump that was caught in his throat. Featherweight leaned forward and knocked.

The humming stopped on a curious yet happy note, followed by the skipping hoofsteps of the teacher. Miss Cheerilee’s elated grin appeared as she cracked open the door. “Oh, hello, Featherweight; you’re a little early!” she exclaimed as she moved back, opening the door wider.

“Um, thanks, Miss. I just wanted to set up for the project, if that’s okay with you?” He trotted in, shoulders bowed under the teacher’s scrutiny. “I’ll just set the projector up...”

She smiled at him as he trotted by her self-consciously. “Sure thing, it’s in the cupboard at the back,” she said before turning back towards her desk. 

Featherweight’s hoofsteps thumped through the empty classroom as he reached the cupboard and pulled out the device within. Heaving it onto his back, he walked back to the front of the class and gently placed it on a table with a small thump. 

“So, you were working with Scootaloo? For the project, I mean?” Cheerilee asked over the shuffling of papers. Dozens of pages with red markings covered her desk, matching the spots of ink on her hooves

Featherweight shrugged his saddlebags off and reached in with a hoof to pull out a thick, carefully-wrapped album of images. “Yeah, with Scootaloo. We’re doing pegasus physiology,” he said as he gently placed the semi-transparent photos into the projector's slide tray. The old machine clicked delicately as each image was inserted.

“Uh-huh. So, did you enjoy working with her?”

Featherweight dropped one of the images, blushing as he bent to pick it up off the clean floor.

One of Miss Cheerilee’s eyebrows rose. “I see...” A knowing smile crossed her lips. “I recall that you specifically asked to work with her.”

He choked, dropping the slide once more.

She laughed, a cackle that filled the room with contagious glee. “Ahh,” she finally sighed. “Young love...” 

Featherweight’s eyes widened. “It’s not-- I mean, wait... no?” The colt moved away from the projector, practically begging as he marched towards his teacher.

“It’s fine. I won’t tell anypony, I was young too, once. I can still remember all those colts running after me...” She sighed again, smiling contentedly as she stared at the ceiling. 

“Um, right. Thanks?” Is she crazy? he asked himself as he backed away, returning to his work and giving the day-dreaming teacher a few odd glances.

The teacher continued marking papers while Featherweight finished setting up his presentation. Just as the last slide clicked into place, the sound of laughter and playful shouts made its way into the schoolhouse. She’s here!

Featherweight abandoned the machine and headed for the doorway, sitting near it with a thump as he watched student after student trot in with faces twisted into happy, cheerful smiles. A familiar unicorn trotted into the building; her eyes roamed from side to side until they rested on him.

“Oh, hi, Featherweight,” said a sweet and melodious voice. He blinked as Sweetie Belle trotted uncomfortably close and sat right in front of him, rubbing a hoof on her foreleg. Oh, Celestia, not her. 

“H-hi, Sweetie Belle,” he said, giving her a small wave as he backed up. His rump slammed into a desk, stalling his retreat. “H-how are you doing?”

The filly batted her eyelashes at him, a nervous smile adorning her face. “I-I’m fine,” she said, lowering her face to look at the floor with apparant interest. “I was wondering... Maybe, you know, after school we could...”

He began to sweat. 

A cream-yellow hoof grabbed Sweetie Belle’s shoulder, pulling her back and away from Featherweight. “Ah reckon class is about to start, so how about we go find ourselves some seats?” suggested Apple Bloom before stepping between them.

A long, low sigh escaped the nervous pegasus as he watched Sweetie Belle turn around disappointedly to head towards the back of the classroom. Thank goodness, I have to thank Apple Bloo-- His thoughts were cut short as the cream-yellow filly turned around and poked his chest discreetly. With a nod of her head she asked him to follow.

His brows furrowing, Featherweight followed her towards one of the classroom’s dark corners. The sun’s light traced a line that divided that area from the rest of the room. Small motes of dust flew around absently on the idle wind of moving ponies. “Is something wrong, Apple Bloom?”

The filly rounded on him. “Ah don’t know what you did to Sweetie,” she said in a venomous whisper, her eyes seething with anger. “But if you ever do something naughty with one of mah friends...” Apple Bloom backed out of the dark corner before she spun around and walked over to Sweetie Belle, with a happy, childish smile.

These fillies, they’re all crazy! he thought, eyes wide as he watched her leave. Gulping, Featherweight looked around the classroom.

Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were both hastily scribbling notes. Snips and Snails were in the opposite corner, laughing at jokes only they understood. Pipsqueak and Chowder walked in, side by side; the larger of the two tossed an empty wrapper into the teacher’s trash bin as they trudged by. 

Where’s Scootaloo?  He twisted around again, scouring the room for any signs of the orange filly. 

“Okay, class. I think that’s everypony!” said Miss Cheerilee as she got up from her seat and trotted to the front of the class. “Now get to your seats, we’re about to start!” Her jubilant voice quelled the chatter that permeated the room as everypony focused on the teacher.

Wait. We can’t start yet. Scootaloo isn't here! Featherweight quietly glided past his seat and towards one of the schoolhouse’s many windows, looking out onto the playground and the tiny road that led to the building. Beautiful trees were starting to bud with fragrant leaves and young, newly-hatched birds flew about the sky in a carefree manner. Yet, there was no sign of the orange filly he sought.

“Featherweight, please get to your seat. We’re about to start,” admonished Cheerilee. Featherweight pulled away from the window with a reluctant sigh and walked to his chair at the opposite end of class. A single beam of sunlight splashed across his desk, illuminating it in a sharp contrast to the shadows he was in.

“Alright! Now, today we’re going to watch the presentations that I’m sure you all worked so hard on this weekend! Now I want you all to try your best, this counts for a big part of your grade.” The temperature in the room dropped slightly as a majority of the students felt the blood in their veins turn to ice. 

The teacher kept talking, detailing how the presentations would work. Featherweight didn’t pay attention. Instead, he stared towards the two fillies that sat at his side. Sweetie Belle occupied the seat to his immediate left, her grey-green eyes switching from paying attention to the teacher and taking quick peeks at him. On her left sat Apple Bloom. The cream filly was slumped in her chair, her own attention on Sweetie Belle. 

I’m going to regret this. “Psst,” whispered Featherweight as he poked the white filly with a gentle hoof. Sweetie Belle jumped before facing him from her seat. The second their eyes met, they both grew a few shades of red before staring elsewhere. 

“I-is something wrong?” she asked, leaning towards him with a soft smile. 
                                                
Featherweight cringed a little. “Um, yeah, where’s Scootaloo?” Sweetie Belle’s face fell. 

She looked back toward the front of the classroom, her head held low. “I-I don’t know,” she whispered back, her head turning to face the other direction while her shoulders slumped.

“Are you sure?”  he insisted.

“Leave ‘er alone,” said Apple Bloom in a vehement whisper as she glared at him. The farm-filly continued glaring at him as he opened and closed his mouth. 

“I just want to know where Scootaloo is...” he whined, pouting. 

A loud, authoritative voice from the front of the class interrupted him momentary melancholy. “Featherweight?” asked Miss Cheerilee, her face changing into a very, very patient smile. “Are you volunteering to go first?”

Featherweight stared, wide eyed, as the entire class looked back at him. Their expressions were pitying as he became the centre of the teacher’s attention. “Um... no?”

Miss Cheerilee frowned at him, creases appearing on her forehead. “That’s too bad, I think you should go first.”

“Um, I-I can’t, Miss,” he stuttered, his shoulders bowing self-consciously under the massive pressure of the class’s attention. 

“And why not?” 

“Sc-Scootaloo’s not here Miss,” he said, pointing towards the filly in question’s desk. The small chair stood empty as a testament to Scootaloo’s absence. “I-I was just asking Sweetie Belle about that...”

The teacher’s stern glare softened. “Oh, I’m sorry. Sweetie Belle, do you happen to know where Scootaloo is?”

The white-and-purple filly nodded sagely beneath her blush. “Scootaloo’s at the hospital.”

What?! Featherweight looked at Sweetie Belle, his jaw dropping while his mind reeled. Is it-- is it my fault?

“Oh my,” said Miss Cheerilee, a hoof raising to her mouth as she gasped. “What happened?”

Apple Bloom spoke up, “We don’t really know, Miss. We’re suppos’ to go there after school to check up on her. I don’t rightfully think it’s anything too serious.”

Featherweight's entire body shook. She’s sick! She’s sick and they don’t care?! “What do you mean, ‘not too serious’?! She’s in a hospital! Oh Celestia, what if it’s my fault? I did push her a little, and she did look a little pale. Even Rainbow Dash said that she was hot.” Featherweight gasped. “What if it was her?! That stupid mare, I bet sh--”

Everypony stared at him. “I mean...”

Miss Cheerilee coughed. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Maybe we could all make cards for her later?” In an attempt to ease the tension in the atmosphere, Cheerilee forced herself to smile. “Now, how about we start those presentations?” she exclaimed in a loud and overly-cheerful voice before walking to the front of the room. “Snips, Snails, you two can start.”

Featherweight clutched his head with his hooves. Oh, Celestia, what have I done! A moment later, he felt a reassuring hoof on his shoulder. Turning, he discovered Sweetie's nervous eyes looking into his own.

“It’s going to be fine,” she said, pushing a lock of her purple and pink hair away from her face. “We can go see her together after school, alright?” A small, timid blush spread across her white cheeks.

Featherweight slowly pushed her hoof away. “Um, thanks, I guess. I, um... appreciate it?”

Snips and Snails walked up to the front, both of them shifting their weight nervously from hoof to hoof. “Um, we’re doing our project on unicorns,” began Snips. 

“Yeah, unicorns!” added Snails.

Both of them stood in front of the class, silent until somepony coughed. “And what can you tell us about unicorns?” asked Miss Cheerilee, her smile straining towards the edges.

The taller of the two colts touched a hoof to his chin. “They, um, have magic!”

“Yeah!” agreed the smaller. “They can do all sorts of things with that, like teleport and make things float!”

“That’s great. How about you show us an example?” said Miss Cheerilee. 

Snips sighed. “I can’t. Mama forbid us to use magic ever since we played catch with her special toys...”

Miss Cheerilee’s eye twitched. Slowly, she slumped into a sitting position and took a deep breath. “I’m going to regret this...” she mumbled. “So, what else can you tell us about unicorns?”

The faces of both colts blanked.

“Their physique, for example. Is there something unique about that?”

Snips giggled. “Physique...”

The teacher’s shoulders slumped in exasperation. “What do they have that other ponies don’t?”

“Oh, I know this one!” exclaimed Snails. “I read about it in a book! They’re hornier!”

The sound of the teacher’s hoof hitting her face was clearly audible throughout the classroom. Most students just arched an eyebrow, though some turned to their friends and whispered in low, curious voices.

“Snips, Snails, what book did you use to create your project?”

Snails grinned from ear to ear as he trotted to his desk, long legs awkwardly clapping against the ground as he reached his destination. “We used this one,” he said before pulling out a thick, dark, and obviously well-used tome from out of his dirty saddlebags.

Dopey Grin still plastered on his face, the colt walked back to the front of the room where Snips shifted his considerable weight from hoof to hoof. 

Miss Cheerilee cringed a little as he dumped the book on her desk with a snort. The heavy tome glistening as a thin line of slime connected it to Snails’ face. “What’s the title?” she asked.

“It’s Arcane Erotica for Unicorns: A Beginner's Guide!” announced Snips.

“Yup,” agreed Snails. “We found it in Miss Twilight’s library.”

“It has all sorts of really cool ways to use magic and horns and it even has an entire section about yoga or something! Maybe I should show the class some pictures?”

“No!” yelled the teacher, her pink mane standing on end as she galloped between the colts and her desk. “You did an excellent presentation, didn’t they class? Yes, it was great. Now back to your seats!”

Both colts looked at each other, beaming as they trotted back to their seats. 

Miss Cheerilee pushed the tome further along her desk, her ears twitching madly as she did so. “Now, children, I know it’s a little premature, but how about we take an early recess while I write a very... happy letter to a certain librarian, who, apparently, doesn't know how to sort her private books away from the learning section?!”

The class cheered and everypony abandoned their desks. Dozens of chairs scraped against the wooden floor as they all hurried out of the schoolhouse before the teacher changed her mind.

Featherweight pushed away from his desk, allowing his own chair to clatter loudly against the ground. Spinning on the spot, he faced Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, both of whom were starting to trot out of the schoolhouse. 

“Wait, girls!” he called out just as they walked out of the schoolhouse, Apple Bloom’s red tail swishing lightly before disappearing. Sighing in frustration, Featherweight galloped after them, his hoof-falls drowned out by the loud conversations and tittering laughter of the foals around him. 

He stepped outside, blinking back as the sun’s bright rays warmed his face and blinded him, forcing him to shield his eyes with the tip of his wings. Looking around, he spotted the two fillies standing near a swing set, their heads low as they spoke in worried whispers that were carried away by the afternoon wind. 

He ran towards them, ignoring the pleas of his friends that wanted him to join them in a game. His hoof-steps slowed as he approached the two fillies, his ears perking forward to catch a snippet of their conversation.

“-ow could you, Sweetie Belle?!” Apple Bloom said, the cream filly shaking her head in dismay. “Doing something so nasty, and with a boy too!” She blanched in disgust as her tongue lolled out. 

Sweetie Belle looked down in shame, her eyes constantly peeking towards one of the windows on the nearby schoolhouse, the window near his seat. “I-I’m sorry, Apple Bloom, he was right there, and so cute... I-I couldn’t resist!”

Sweetie Belle sighed, her face pulling up to look at Apple Bloom when her eyes locked with Featherweight’s. Her ears perked up, standing stiff above her head as her mane shocked upwards, fizzling into a puffy mess. “Featherweight?! It’s not, it’s not what you think!” She took a step back while swallowing nervously. “We were, were talking about candy, yeah, very cute candy...”

What’s wrong with her now? “Okay, that’s fine,” he said, waving a hoof dismissively. “Where’s Scootaloo, and is she okay?”

The white unicorn took a half-step back, blinking a few times before answering. “Ye-yeah, she’s at the Ponyville hospital. Apple Bloom and I were going to--”

Featherweight clutched his head in between his hooves. Oh, Celestia, it’s true! I need to see her! Without waiting for Sweetie Belle to finish her sentence, Featherweight spun around and ran. 

Apple Bloom let out a small sigh as the colt ran, a small plume of dust in his wake. “Typical colt, gets what he wants outta ya and then wants nothin' to do with ya."





Come on, come on, almost there, thought Featherweight as he galloped forward, his hoof-falls thumping against the soft ground that marked the land around Ponyville. Branches scratched against his exposed back as he galloped towards the large, beige and brown building ahead. A sign in front of it proclaimed ‘Ponyville Hospital: The Best and Only Care Between Here and Canterlot’.

Heaving breaths escaped him, his entire body covered in a sheen of sweat as he finally made it to the entrance. Featherweight ignored it as he slammed the door open, letting it knock against the inner wall with a loud smash. Nurses and secretaries within the building all stopped their work to stare at his panting form. His wild mane fluttered lightly in the breeze that escaped the doorway. 

“Um, can I help you?” asked one of the nurses, sitting behind the large reception desk, her head tilted to one side as she inspected him.

Featherweight looked down at his scruffy coat and raggedy mane, then smiled sheepishly under the attention of staff and patients, scratching the back of his head. “Um, yeah,” he said before walking up to the desk slowly, his shoulders slumped in shame. “I’m looking for Scootaloo. she’s a filly, about yea high?” With a hoof he measured her out.

“Oh, Miss Scootaloo.” The nurse disappeared beneath the counter, only to reappear with a scheduling book. She flipped through the pages slowly while he shifted his weight from hoof to hoof impatiently and bit his lower lip. “Ah, she’s in room twelve, right across the next hallway. Just take th... where’d he go?” the nurse asked as she leaned forward, trying to find the colt.

Faster! It’s my fault. Need to see her faster. He ran, skidding around corners and hopping over surprised patients until he reached a room, a room with a large, golden twelve on its door.

Featherweight grabbed the handle with his mouth, twisting it open with a small click as he did so. The door swung inwards.

The colt sat there, staring within the room with shock-filled eyes. I-I’m too late, he thought above the sharp sound of a heart rate machine. Instead of the constant beats of a healthy heart, the machine droned out a single, monotone note.

An orange filly lay on the bed, head turned away from him, unmoving. 

Sh-she’s dead?!





The author is Eeeevvvilllll

Proofread by:
Frederick the Saiyan
Cpl Hooves  (Aka 9414)

Edited by:
N
StapleCactus
Your Antagonist

Next chapter after my big move!

Also, this was supposed to be a one-shot, I'm now officially stretching my ideas thin. One of my first unplanned, spur-of-the-moment fics...
> Forgetting to Pay
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Featherweight felt his cheeks becoming wet, despite the thick, hospital-issue blanket that was absorbing his tears as he jammed his head into it. “I-I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, one hoof slung over the bed to touch Scootaloo’s unmoving hoof.
 
“It-it’s all my fault… I-I love you, Scootaloo…” There, I said it. I said it too late, but I said it… Oh Celestia, please not this. Anything but this.

Heavy sobs escaped him, blocking his ability to breathe as his entire chest constricted painfully around his frail heart. A few moments passed: the only sound within the room were his gut-wrenching --yet silent-- cries, the slow ticking of a wall-mounted clock and the monotone beep of the machine at Scootaloo‘s side. Finally, exasperated and shocked, Featherweight brought a hoof forward and gently caressed Scootaloo’s exposed arm.

“I’ve always loved you,” he said, his voice now calm as his head came to rest at the bed’s edge. “Ever since I first saw you, you were so beautiful, so full of life…” he barked a small, sarcastic laugh. “So full of yourself too… But I loved you anyways, your bright eyes and your deep love for your friends. I wanted you to love me like that.”

Another burst of tears welled out of him, but this time his sobs were accompanied by a light sniffling from somewhere behind him. Turning slowly, Featherweight looked at a white earth pony with a red-crossed nurse cap on her head.

The nurse was clutching at a very damp cloth which she used to dab at her eyes before speaking. “That was so beautiful, go on,” she implored, her voice cracking mid-sentence.

Instead of doing as she asked, Featherweight faced her, and bowed his head pleadingly. «Please, Miss, is there anything you can do? Anything at all?»

The nurse looked into his watery eyes for only a second before blushing deeply and glancing away. «Oh, it’s so cute,» she said.

Cute? Cute! Scootaloo’s dead, and she thinks it’s cute?! his mind screamed angrily. He took a deep, calming breath; he knew full well that there was nothing she could do.

She trotted ahead of him, murmuring under her breath. «Oh, if any of my ex’s were as romantic as that--” More dabbing of her eyes as she leaned over Scootaloo’s small frame.

«Wh-what are you doing?» he inquired, curiosity resurfacing along with an inkling of hope.

Instead of answering, the nurse pulled out a cord from amongst the blankets. With a quick movement and practised ease, the nurse clipped the cable onto a device on Scootaloo’s arm.

Beep, beep, beep.

The monotone signal changed to a steady rhythm as the heart rate machine’s flat bar changed to that of a squiggly line.

“She’s not dead?” he asked, a clear note of pleading in his cracking voice.

“Oh, poor dear, come here.” The nurse ran up to him and seized him in a fierce hug that emptied his shaky lungs. “Of course she’s not dead. Little Miss Scootaloo sometimes likes to move in her sleep is all. Oh, if only she had heard all that.”

Dread filled him as the nurse slowly backed away. She-she’s not dead. And she heard me? This is horrible, this is worse then when she was dead! 

“What happened? I mean, what happened to Scootaloo?” Featherweight looked at his dearly beloved, just now noticing the repetitive rise-and-fall of her chest.

“She came in yesterday afternoon. Poor girl had worked herself so hard trying to fly and do goddess-knows-what that she worked up a fever. Doctor Domuch gave her a clean bill of health: just a bit of rest and a few days off. Then, while cross checking her documents, he noticed that she didn’t get all her vaccinations. Well, next thing you know, he’s gone and ordered a full round of meds. The little child was too tired to fight it off, oh, but her eyes told quite a tale when she saw those needles.”

“Uh-huh? Then what?” he asked, shaking his head to clear the cloud of confusion that surrounded him. The nurse’s shrill, gossipy voice did little to help.

“Well, just so happens that she got an allergic reaction to the chicken-pox vaccine, knocked her right out. Well, that and the sleeping medication for the fever. But don’t worry, I read somewhere that sleeping patients hear everything that happens around them.”

He cringed.

“Well, this one time, when I was in bed with Doctor Rash, he mumbled about Band Aid --that’s the little temptress that works in radiology--. Why, I kicked him out of bed so fast, he spent a week looking for his suture” The nurse gestured wildly with her forelimbs as she spoke.

“Why, just last week, Sweeps --that’s the janitor on the second floor-- wrote this cute little poem about me! You should see the thing, all pretty and nice. How did it go again? Something about me giving him aid after aiding my patients? Then one part said: ‘Red Heart --that’s my name, by the way-- you make my heart beat as red as my nethers…’ No, that’s not quite it. Anyway, it was really cute. He got this nice lawyer pony to send it over. Wait, I’ll go get it!” With that, Red Heart scampered out of the room, the air sighing in time with Featherweight as she did so.

“Phew, I thought she’d never shut up,” he said before surveying the room one last time. A small table was placed beside Scootaloo’s bed, a single flower wilting in a water filled jar atop it. Beside the flower, lay a notepad and pencil.

He hesitated, skipping from hoof to hoof, before he finally hopped forward and grabbed both with his mouth and wings. The pencil scratched across the paper as he scribbled a quick note.

“There, that should do it,” he said proudly as he looked down at his handiwork. With a satisfied sigh, Featherweight walked to the edge of the doorway, casting Scootaloo a final glance before exiting the room. I hope they change the blanket before she wakes up.

From deeper within the corridor, Nurse Red Heart ran towards him with a red heart-shaped envelope held within her smiling mouth. Oh-oh, better get out of here before sh--

The nurse, quickly catching on to his intentions, spat out the love letter. “Wait, don’t go! You’re the only one who’ll listen about my love life. Wait!”

He bolted.





Foals were grouped together in small clumps, talking and laughing as they slowly moved away from the quaint schoolhouse. Featherweight stood at the edge of a near-by clearing, face contorted in an ugly frown as his entire body puffed up and down, panting.

His frown deepened as he peeked at the sun. The bright globe was low in the sky, right where it was every day at noon. Why are they leaving? he asked himself.

A white and brown splotch caught his attention. Pipsqueak was smiling, beckoning him over with a wave of his hoof. Behind him, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom sat on the school’s manicured but trashed lawn. One was peeking at him from beneath a lock of her purple hair while her fore hoof twirled absently on the ground. The other locked eyes with him, she was seething.

Cautiously, Featherweight made his way to his friend and the two awaiting girls. “Hi guys,” he called out, still uncertain.

“Featherweight!” answered Pipsqueak jovially. “We’ve been waiting for you forever,” said the small earth pony as he ran up to him. Once the colt was close to him, Pipsqueak’s demeanour changed and his voice dropped into a whisper. “I’ve got some good news for you, mate,” he looked behind him and at the two fillies, Apple Bloom frowned back. “I set you up on a brilliant double date.”

“A what?!” Featherweight stalled mid-step, his wings unfurling to compensate. “I-I… wait, what? I was gone to see Scootaloo… This crazy nurse chased me and… a double date” He shook his head to clear his muddled thoughts; it didn’t help.

“A double date. Class ended early, so I arranged a little something-something between you and Sweetie and Apple Bloom and I. Don’t worry, they don’t know yet. I covered it up with this clever story about exchanging project notes.”

Just then, Sweetie Belle looked up, finally staring into his eyes before twitching away, her face a deep red. “Pipsqueak, I’m going to kill you.”

“Come on, mate, it’s not that bad. Just try it… I’ll pay for lunch and everything.” Pipsqueak’s demeanour changed once more as the two fillies trotted over, Apple Bloom in the lead.

Featherweight took that moment to check Sweetie Belle out. He had never really paid her any heed before. She was short and scrawny, much more so than Scootaloo, yet she had a certain beauty to her, an elitist’s air that betrayed a good birth and a bright mind. And if she grew up to look anything like her sister, he reasoned, then coughed awkwardly.  She’s sorta cute, I guess. Maybe we could use this to talk over yesterday’s ‘incident.’

“Howdy,” said Apple Bloom, somehow managing to conceal a threat within the simple greeting.

“H-hi Featherweight,” added Sweetie Belle, her own voice calm and timid, the stellar opposite of the brash personality she showed the previous day.

“Hi girls,” said Featherweight. For a few moments, an awkward silence loomed where everypony waited on the others to talk.

“So, um, apparently we’re going to be, uh, cross-referencing notes, or something?” he added while scratching the back of his head.

“Right!” Pipsqueak piped before running around and past them. “Let’s head to the restaurant first --my treat-- then we can start, alright?” Three ponies nodded uncertainly. “Great, it’s a date then!” Two blushed heavily.

Slowly, the group followed their eager leader and, within moments, Pipsqueak managed to wriggle a conversation out of Apple Bloom. They talked about crops and huge families, which seemed to put the tense earth pony at ease. Sweetie Belle, on the other hoof, was walking straight limbed and giving an undue amount of attention to the ground before her.

“So,” said Featherweight as he tried to break the silence. Immediately, Sweetie Belle’s ears perked up. “Why is everypony out of school so early? Did something happen?”

“Um, sorta. Chowder and Twist had a presentation to do, and, before they even finished, Miss Cheerilee flipped out. Apparently, they used a book from Miss Twilight’s library, something about Carmen Sutra. She ran out of class talking about delivering a letter herself.” The tension in her shoulders seemed to diminish as she talked.

“Then what?” Featherweight pushed her on, preferring to hear her talk rather than wallowing in silence.

“Nothing, really. Everypony waited a bit, then we started to leave. I guess we’ll continue the projects tomorrow. Pipsqueak came up to us and asked us if we wanted to go on a date--” The lithe pony coughed, sputtering as her face burned a bright red. Again, her face twisted away from him.

He sighed under his breath and looked ahead. They were entering the town proper, where ponies gathered around to talk, gossip and shop together, filling the air with a joyful cacophony. Aromas, fresh and tempting to the school-starved children, wafted out of many a cracked open window as families gathered for a quick luncheon indoors or at one of the few small diners in town.

Featherweight frowned as Pipsqueak led them past a few of the more popular --and cheaper-- restaurants, but he remained quiet, letting his friend lead the way peacefully.

Both his ears perked as a new sound drifted towards them, the not-so-happy screaming of two mares. The small group of four milled into a growing crowd. Above them, the tall branches of the library tree sprawled out into the bright blue mid-day sky.

“You snivelling, snot-nosed, impertinent brat!” screamed a familiar voice. “How stupid can you be to let a bunch of foals --foals!-- see that kind of thing?”

Featherweight pushed ahead into the surging crowd and in between two obese ponies. “Brat? Look Miss,” the other voice responded in a tone dripping with sarcasm. “I might be a bit younger than you, but you have no right to call me a brat.”

Suddenly, part of the crowd split, allowing Featherweight a great view of the two fighting mares. Miss Cheerilee and Twilight Sparkle stood facing each other, teeth barred as they took turns yelling into each other’s faces. The teacher’s hair was in disarray as she pointedly stabbed a small pile of books that lay on the ground before her.

“How dare you give such things to my students, they’re foals for Pete’s sake!”

“Oh, you insolent little--” The words were lost in the gasp of the crowd.

One of Featherweight’s eyebrows popped up as he looked at them both. Well, this is different.

Pipsqueak appeared at his side and they both exchanged a look before backing into the crowd once again.

“That was, odd, to say the least,” said Pipsqueak, his face contorted into a rueful smile. The girls stepped out in turn, both of them wearing small frowns.

“Come on, girls, we’re almost there,” the white and brown earth pony added as if nothing had happened at all.

First, Sweetie Belle, then Apple Bloom, shrugged and began following him, leaving Featherweight behind to take one last glance at the spectacle. “It’s not my fault you never taught your students to differentiate between genetics and genitals!”

Shuddering, Featherweight ran after his small group. By the time he caught up to them, they were waiting by the entrance of a restaurant, a fancy one.

A waiter wearing a tuxedo arched an eyebrow at their arrival, but opened the entrance way for them nonetheless. Inside, thick smells of expensive wine and well cooked and exotic vegetables assaulted their noses. Some of the clientele turned to look at them before returning to their overpriced meals. Four sets of hooves clacked against the newly veneered floor while the waiter led them forwards.

“Could we have a seat on the balcony?” asked Pipsqueak, and the waiter nodded, smoothly changing directions. As they walked by, Featherweight caught sight of a young couple. Both of them entwined over their table, mouths stuck together as they made disgusting little slopping sounds.

He looked ahead, face burning up. Sweetie Belle was looking at him, eyes twitching occasionally towards the couple. His blush deepened.

They stepped outside once more, onto a large wooden deck decorated by long flowing flowers that twined around the many bars separating the balcony from the quiet roadway. Thick bushes cut the sound from the mingling ponies beyond, most of which were streaming away from the tree house library. Miss Cheerilee and Twilight were nowhere in sight.

The waiter showed them to their seats with a quick and practiced flourish. Pipsqueak sat beside Featherweight while the two fillies sat on the opposite end of the table, Sweetie facing Featherweight and Apple Bloom in front of Pipsqueak.

Pipsqueak ordered for them, four sandwiches with small salads on the side, as well as drinks. He sat there, smiling blindly as the sun burnt holes into their heads. Without warning, he faced Apple Bloom and managed to start a grudging conversation with her.

Sweetie Belle opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it once more. She turned and faced the street, eyes averted away from Featherweight. This is going to be a long, long lunch, Featherweight told himself.

“Um, so, how did your project go?” he asked.

Sweetie whirled towards him. “Oh, we-we haven’t presented it yet. It’s okay, I guess.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Yeah.”

Featherweight scratched the back of his head, desperately searching for something interesting to say.

“So, um… I wanted to say sorry…” Sweetie Belle began, her forehoof idly tracing along the wooden lines of the table. With a slight shake of her head, her hair flipped forwards and covered her face. “Sorry for the other day. You know… when I, um, kissed you?”

Pipsqueak coughed, and Apple Bloom cut mid-sentence to stare at the filly beside her. Sweetie Belle’s face practically glowed. The glow was soon mimicked by Featherweight as their two friends cast their attention on him.

Oh boy.

“I can explain?” He winced. Then, Pipsqueak winked at him. This is getting worse and worse by the minute.

The waiter chose that moment to slide a tray onto the table. Four daisy sandwiches and drinks were quickly placed on the table. “I sincerely hope you enjoy your meal,” he said before walking away. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted around them, making more than one stomach grumble.

Nopony touched their meal.

“What in tarnation happened?” Apple Bloom demanded as she stared daggers at Featherweight. Her hoof flew across the table, grabbed the pegasus and pulled him halfway across, smothering the sandwich and spilling his drink in the process. That’s it, I’m dead.

“Stop!” shouted Sweetie Belle as she pushed down on Apple Bloom’s arm, her face tearing up. “It’s not his fault; I’m the one that did it! I kissed him.”

Some of the other customers looked at them, curiosity marking all of their features. Even the young couple turned around and smiled knowingly, a thin strand of saliva hanging between them.

“You, kissed,” --Apple Bloom pointed at Featherweight-- “him?”

Sweetie Belle nodded meekly under her friend’s glare. “I-it wasn’t on purpose… sorta…”

“Sorta?”

Pipsqueak sighed, lifting a hoof as if he was asking a question, or maybe in surrender. “Calm down, Apple Bloom, it was just a harmless peck, I’m sure. Nopony wants to make a scene. Goddess knows we want to keep this private.”

Featherweight had the horrible impression that this was going to be very public, very soon. Maybe I could move elsewhere, like Appleloosa, or somewhere even farther. I wonder if I could live with the diamond dogs?

“Shut up, Pipsqueak,” barked the earth pony. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m tired of hearing your whiny voice.” She got up, pulling away from the table in disgust.

Featherweight watched as Pipsqueak followed her, his face contorted into a patient, yet irate, smile. “Wait up, Apple. We should talk!” Before leaving, he winked at Featherweight and mouthed ‘good luck’.

For a while, peace returned to their cozy corner of the restaurant. Sweetie Belle shrugged self-consciously as Featherweight leaned back into his seat, wingtips rubbing his temples. When did everything become so complicated? he wondered. All I ever wanted was to be with Scootaloo…

A small scraping sound cut through his thoughts. Sweetie Belle had slid Apple Bloom’s sandwich over to him, circumventing his own --now squashed-- one in the process.

“You should eat,” she whispered. “You look hungry.”

He was ready to deny it, but the mouth watering scent, and the lack of solid food in the last twelve hours, decided otherwise. “Thanks.”

They ate, quietly munching on the delicious, if a little pricey, meal. “I’m sorry, I truly am,” she said.

A sliver of anger crossed his mind, but it was quickly suppressed by cold logic and reasoning. Wasn‘t he in the same boat with Scootaloo? “It’s okay. I know what it’s like to chase after someone you like, only to hit a wall.”

“Scootaloo?” she asked.

He gulped. That’s it, this day can’t get any worse. “How did you know?”

She finally smiled, a genuine heartfelt smile that seemed to radiate happiness. “You know these things when you spend enough time looking at somepony.”

She’s cute, he decided, really cute, in that freaky-stalker sorta way.

They resumed their meal. The atmosphere had changed, a little less tense and still awkward, but now slightly jovial in its own way.

Then Sweetie Belle dropped the bomb.

“I’ve been thinking, how are we going to pay for this?”

Crap.




You guys had better like this chapter. I busted my chops (where does that expression come from anyway, it’s rather stupid) writing this over the course of three days, after midnight, all alone, in the dark, on the cheapest laptop imaginable, and with an entire day's work in me.

I must really love you guys.

As usual, the next chapter will contain gratuitous --or just plain big-- amounts of awkward. And maybe some kissing.

Edited by:
StapleCactus 
Your Antagonist (King of Foalcon)

Proofread by:
Fred the Saiyan
Cpl Hooves

Right, I know this solution to the... um, cliffhanger, might not be the best, but on short-ish notice, it was the best I could come up with that wouldn't clog up the story.
	
	
> Dressing Up
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, um, what should we do?” Featherweight asked as he instinctively pushed his plate away. Great, just great, I had to listen to Pipsqueak. Genius.

Sweetie Belle remained quiet, almost reserved, as she glanced around the restaurant. The couple in the corner were still acting a little lewd. The waiter went from table to table, making polite chit-chat and checking on his tip-donators. Some of the ponies got up and left, pointedly leaving piles of change on their paid bills. 

The unicorn leaned forward, moving her hoof as if to tell him to do the same. Frowning, Featherweight obeyed, ears perking towards the filly. She whispered, “Um, maybe we should just leave?”

Just leave!? Featherweight pushed away from the table, staring at the white and pink unicorn with new --and not to mention, wide-- eyes. She wants to just get up, and leave? But it’s a crime! What if we get caught? Oh, Goddess, we’ll both be banned to the moon. Then I’ll have to spend the rest of my life, on a rock, with a girl that isn’t Scootaloo. He shuddered, and yet, couldn’t find a solution.

Just then, Sweetie Belle raised her arm, and signaled the waiter over. The pegasus’ breath cut, his chest constricting as the tall, dark serving-pony arrived at the edge of their table. “Yes, young Miss, is there anything I could do for you?” he asked while glancing at the two empty seats.

“Yes, could we have a souffle and two banana splits please?” she asked calmly, beaming up at him sweetly.

The waiter blinked. “Um, of course I can get that for you Miss. I must warn you, it might take a little while, and it might be--”

Sweetie Belle interrupted him, “If you make it a little faster, we’ll tip you a little extra.” From somewhere --Featherweight never saw where-- she pulled out two one-bit coins and set them on the edge of the table. She winked at him.

The waiter swiped his hoof forward, surprising both of them as the cash disappeared. “I will be right back,” he said before giving them both a quick bow and departing. 

“What the heck was that all about?” Featherweight huffed.

Sweetie Belle glared at him, a tiny, inoffensive thing that did nothing to intimidate. “We can’t run away from here if he’s staring right at us. C’mon, we need to go!” She climbed onto her seat, nonchalantly sliding towards the far end of the chair before peeking over the edge of the balcony. She shook her head towards the ground below.

She’s crazy. Outright crazy, completely nuts. That’s a three meter drop. I could make it but--

Sweetie Belle looked at him and smirked. “Are you coming?” 

Before Featherweight could do anything, the filly grabbed the edge with two hooves and swung herself over the guardrail, her pink-and-purple mane fluttering before Featherweight’s eyes as she dropped out of view.

“What?” he asked, clutching at air. In a second, he too was at the rail, half his body dangling over as he looked below. There was a bush, a big bush with a smiling white filly stuck right in the middle, smiling up at him.

“Come on, hurry!” she called, just above a whisper. 

Right, a bush, she’s safe. Why was I worried about her? Shaking the thought away, Featherweight looked over his shoulder at the mostly empty dining area, and jumped. His wings snapped out on either side of him, slowing his descent before he crashed into the same bush. 

Leaves flew everywhere, and more than one branch snapped loudly as he landed in a quasi-hug atop Sweetie Belle. They lay there, panting on the edge of laughter as both tried to wriggle out of the awkward position. A few moments of grunting, kicking, and clutching at thorny branches later, and both of them were huddled beneath the shrub, backs against the building as they tried to catch their breath. 

“Hello?” came a voice from above that froze the blood of both young ponies. “Young Miss? Your souffle is ready... Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that Pipsqueak brat, not with what he did to my wife! Hot Stuffs, where are those kids!” They heard the sound of angry hooves trotting away from the edge, and let out a whistling puff of air they had both been holding back.

“We need to get out of here,” Featherweight said. 

Sweetie Belle nodded, and climbed out ahead of him, her tail idly tickling the edge of his nose as she squeezed past. Featherweight coughed, and paid very close attention to a crack invading the building’s walls. 

He joined Sweetie Belle on the roadway and both of them, in one accord, trotted towards the back of the building and into the shade of the nearby library tree, where nopony could see them from the restauraunt. 

Sweetie Belle shook herself, leaves and a few twigs cascading off of her and onto the ground near the tree’s rear exit. Good idea, we must look mad. He ruffled out his wings and shook his entire body, aware of Sweetie’s eyes on him the entire time.

“You have pretty wings,” she said, then caught herself. Blushing deeply, the filly turned away and took a few more steps towards the library. Sighing, Featherweight followed her. Using the maniable tips of his wings, he picked a twig from her mane, eliciting a very surprised look from the mare. 

“Um, thanks,” she whispered before casting her gaze elsewhere. Her face was still beet-red, but she was smiling a little. 

Right, this is getting odd, he thought after a few moments of baking beneath his own blush. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, another familiar voice spoke out, muffled.

“Oh, those studies in biology really do show!”

Another voice spoke, this one in obviously trying to sound steamy. “Why, thank you, I do try to study every interesting thing about ponies, and I must say, your thing, is very interesting.”

Featherweight and Sweetie Belle glanced at each other. “Was that Miss Cheerilee?” she asked. They frowned at the tall tree beside them before inching forward.

“I must say, I always did admire your brain, but other parts of you fascinated me very much as well.”

“Hmm, your thighs are very firm.”

Giggling, muffled but joyous, made its way through the wall. “You try standing in front of a class all day, not to mention reaching the very top of that board.”

Featherweight shared another look with the filly at his side. “What the hay are they talking about?” She shrugged. 

“Speaking of reach, how about we get started?” The voice was trailed off as the first laughed aloud. From somewhere on the second story, loud rumbling was heard and a few things thumped on the ground repetitively. 

Sweetie Belle grabbed his foreleg, holding on tight as she stared at the second story window in fear. “Maybe they’re hurt?” Loud moaning from above only justified her train of thoughts.

“Wait here.” Featherweight sighed, slowly easing himself out of her grip. “I’ll go take a peek.” Bunching himself up, the pegasus kicked off the ground, flapping wildly until he caught hold of the window’s banister. 

Inside, the room was a dimly lit mess. Couches had been moved aside and the drapes on all the other windows had been firmly shut. Featherweight kept searching for the two mares he had heard, but couldn’t find them. Two forms tumbled into the cleared centre of the room: one pink, the other a deep lavender. 

Sweetie Belle below was pacing back and forth, occasionally glancing up at him. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. Looks like Miss Cheerilee is riding on top of Miss Twilight. They’re both wearing weird clothes. Oh, Twilight flipped Cherilee over and now she’s grabbed her from behind. Her face is in an... odd place.”

The unicorn below frowned at him. “Yeah, okay, but what are they doing?”

“I think, I think they’re wrestling,” he said as he pushed away, flapping a few times before smoothly landing beside Sweetie. 

“Wrestling?”

He shrugged in time with a particularly loud moan. “Maybe it’s their hobby, or something? You know, judo?”

“Maybe,” Sweetie Belle agreed as she looked down pensively. She looked up again suddenly. “I-I should get going. My sister’s home today and she might get worried.”

Oh, I was actually... maybe starting to have fun... maybe. He scratched the back of his head. “Well, let me at least walk you home. I live past you anyway.”

Sweetie Belle positively beamed at him before subduing herself with a lithe cough. “Thank you. That’s very, gentlecoltish, of you,” she said, mimicking her sister a little as she moved to his side.

Right. Just get her home, say goodbye, don’t get snogged, and go home. Safe, right? He began walking, and was slightly disturbed to see her match his pace. They distanced themselves from the library-tree and headed into the deeper parts of town, using roads that were quiet and only sparsely filled with wayward ponies. Mid-way through their voyage, Sweetie Belle leaned in towards Featherweight, her tail swishing his own with each sway of her hips. I need to do something about this.

Taking a half step away from her, he searched his mind for any interesting conversation piece. Her favorite food? Too personal. Latest Crusader adventure? Nah, this is probably it. Stuff about Scootaloo... too awkward. Finally, exasperated and out of ideas, he looked at her and noticed her horn.

“So, it must be really cool, being a unicorn and all,” he began, hoping she would talk away.

“Um, a little, I guess.” She shied away.

“Just a little? I mean, you guys can levitate stuff, and teleport, and do all sorts of nifty things, right?”

She fumbled around a little. “Well, yes, I guess, but you really need to practice hard, and not everypony’s good at it at first.” 

He playfully tapped her shoulder, a slightly strained smile on his face. “I’m sure you’re great at it!”

“Well, I can levitate things a bit better now,” she said demurely. “Want to see?”

“Sure, what could go wrong?” I could die, he thought.

Sweetie Belle slowed to a stop, only a few dozen steps away from Carousel Boutique’s side entrance. Furrowing her brow in concentration, the filly’s horn glowed a deep white that was mimicked by a nearby rock. Gently, the rock floated up, and effortlessly glided its way towards Sweetie Belle. 

“Wow, that’s so cool,” he said as he leaned in and low towards the glowing rock. It shivered slightly. From his lowered position, he looked up at Sweetie Belle, and gasped. Each and everyone of her hairs was poking out at odd angles, but because of that, they formed a halo around her head, reflecting the serene light. “You're very pretty when you do that,” he said. 

The rock slammed forward, smashing into Featherweight's face with the force of a small freight train. He was catapulted across the yard, only to crash at the paved entrance of the store with a squishy thud. 

“Featherweight!” Sweetie Belle shrieked  as she ran towards him. “Are you okay? Did I kill you?”

Yes, Sweetie, you killed me, Featherweight thought . All that escaped him was a rough groan. From somewhere above him, he heard a door opening with a slight screech. 

Groaning again, he looked up and into Rarity’s dazzling face. She sighed upon looking at him. “What did you do now, Sweetie?”

“I-I killed Featherweight,” the filly sobbed. He could feel her hooves grabbing at his side, poking and prodding him. 

“Not dead,” he croaked weakly. Yet, he added in thought. 

Rarity finally spared the time to inspect him and his bruises. “So this is the famous Featherweight?” she mused. Somewhere behind him, he could feel a massive heat source. He suspected that it was Sweetie’s face. 

Magic surrounded him, lifting him up gently before whisking him into the room. “Come, we’ll bandage him up. Then, maybe he could try on a new outfit or two; I have just the thing!” Rarity dropped him in the centre of the room where he began massaging the side of his head. “Come with me, Sweetie. What are those things in your mane?”

He glanced around. Sweetie Belle was in front of him, sitting on the ground with an expression of pure sorrow and worry on her features as she glanced in the direction that Rarity had walked off towards. He glanced around and at the impressive room. Every wall had a massive window, and at every window there was a mannequin wearing a different ensemble, each one more nightmarish than the last. “Can’t I stay with him?” she asked her sister.

Rarity answered, her voice distant, but it still carried a strong suggestive undertone. “Wouldn’t you rather impress him? Come along Sweetie, we must get some things together to help your little coltfriend.”

This will not end well.

He waited, one hoof tenderly touching the growing welt that was forming right above his forehead. Right. First things first, I have to get out of here. Hoofsteps sounded from the doorway. Too late.

Rarity slid into view, hips swaying provocatively in such a fashion that Featherweight took a long moment to notice the pile of bandages floating alongside her. She sat down in front of him, head tilted upwards as she looked through the bottom of her wire-framed glasses at his head, and ‘tsked’.

“Sweetie, Sweetie,” she sighed and floated out a small tube of ointment. With a tiny squeeze of magic, a drop of the liquid flew out of the bottle and spread itself onto his forehead. “She’s a sweet little filly. A bit of a ditz sometimes, but real sweet. Oh, and that voice of hers... you ever hear her sing?” -Featherweight gave a slight shake of his head-. “I can guarantee that in a few years, every colt on this side of Canterlot will be lining at our door.”

She smiled the type of smile worn by an older sibling, or maybe a proud mother. She leaned forward and wrapped a thin cloth around his head, cinching it tightly before placing her face inches away from his own. In a sugary sweet voice, she whispered, “If you ever, ever hurt her feelings, I will end you.”

Featherweight gulped as Rarity picked up her stuff and began trotting away. She stopped mid-stride, hooves just the right distance from the ground to show off her flanks. “Oh, and she’s about to show off her prettiest dress to you. The thing means a lot to us. We made it together. You will like it. No, you will love it. Then, I will dress you up in a fashion that she finds adorable, and not one peep will escape from your cute little mouth.”

With expert ease, she levitated half a dozen scissors from out of a rack and a long piece of flowing cloth. In mid-air, the sharp blades swirled across the cloth, ripping and tearing through it. When all was done, a cut out of a male pegasus wafted through the air before tumbling down. Before it even alighted on the ground, the scissors were back in their respective sheaths. “Capiche?” 

He nodded, eyes following the back of her head as she left the room. Huh, I might die today after all.

He didn’t have long to wait. Sweetie Belle trotted in from the same side door that Rarity had exited, and was shortly followed by her overly happy sister. 

His jaw dropped. 

From head to hoof, Sweetie Belle was draped in a luxurious gown. The flowing curves and ample, yet simple, detailing made her look much older, not to mention elegant. Stylish lines were cut through the material at a few places, exposing her shoulders and the edges of her flanks in a way that made her look taller and slimmer. The edges of her eyes and lips had just the tiniest amount of purple make-up that seemed to glow as she smiled shyly his way. He snapped his mouth shut, and gulped. She’s... sorta really good looking. 

She did a little twirl in front of him while Rarity practically gushed at his side. “Oh, wait!” the mare exclaimed. “I’ll get my camera, and a little something for you!”

The mare ran out of the room, the little cut-out pegasus fluttering as she blurred by. Featherweight used the opportunity to mouth the words ‘save me’ to Sweetie Belle.

She tilted her head to one side and inspected him closely, taking a small step forward just as Rarity returned, camera floating on one side, and the unholy nightmare of all young males on the other. “Oh, no, I forgot the film. Sweetie, be a dear and go fetch it for me, please?” Rarity asked, batting her eyebrows at her sister. 

Sweetie Belle smiled, nodded, and trotted out of the room, moving her hips in the same way her sister always did. Featherweight couldn’t help from blushing. That dress really accentuated certain things. 

“Put this on,” Rarity ordered once Sweetie had left. She tossed the white and blue ensemble his way. It landed with a dull thud at his hooves. He looked at her, eyes filling with tears as he pleaded. Her smile strained on the edges.

With supreme self control, Featherweight picked the outfit off of the ground and slipped on both parts, cringing as the velvety material slipped along his coat. Finally, all that was left on the ground was a small, flat-topped white cap. “Do- do I have to?” he squeaked.

“Oh, yes, yes you do. You two will look like the perfect little couple. Or else.” The brilliant flash of sunlight off the sharp edge of scissors caught his attention. Demurely, he reached down and put the cap over his head, just as Sweetie returned.

“I couldn’t find the film anywhere,” she told her sister.

Rarity produced a small black cylinder out of nowhere. “Dear me, seems like I had it all along! Get into place now, Sweetie.”

For the first time since entering the room, the filly’s eyes roamed towards Featherweight, and stuck onto him. She let out a small gasp. Her gaze twitched over him, from the little blue bow that topped his chest, to the seemingly too-tight pants that squeezed his thighs. She even lingered on the blue-and-white stripped lapels. With a giddy squeal, she galloped across the room and plopped herself down at his side.

She, she likes this sorta thing? I need to reevaluate my priorities in life. 

Rarity fiddled with the camera while Sweetie Belle made herself comfortable close by his side. Very close. He could smell her mane at that range, a faint smell of lilacs and wild berries that brought water to his mouth. 

“Smile!” Rarity said cheerfully. Featherweight looked into the camera’s objective, and glared. The device dropped a few inches, revealing the patience strained face of the mare behind it. “Smile.”

He did. Nervously, but he did. The camera flashed a few times in quick succession before Rarity put it down. “Perfect, but that outfit Featherweight has isn’t quite... refined enough.”

Oh Celestia, no. 

Rarity gasped, lifting one hoof in exclamation. “I have this wonderful little onesie. I’ll be right back!” 

Featherweight grabbed Sweetie Belle by both shoulders, bringing his tear-stained face close to her own. “Get me out of here. No matter what it takes, just get me out of here.”

She looked at him, eyes wide in shock, before blinking a few times. “Ar-are you okay?” she whispered consolingly. He shook his head. “Come on, follow me.” She turned around, the edges of her robes skimming the ground lightly as she led him to the side of the room and out of a door opposite the one Rarity had passed.

It was a kitchen, a simple rustic kitchen, with a slightly messy counter-top. The remaining crumbs of that morning's breakfast were still on the table beside an almost empty glass of juice. The chairs were pulled out, open, welcoming. It’s a nice place, I guess, thought Featherweight as he sneaked along. 

She led him to a back door where a familiar face was looking through the glass plane. Pipsqueak took one good look at Featherweight in his sailor-boy outfit and rolled backwards, his uncontrollable giggles loud even through the thick door. 

Not caring one bit, Featherweight tore open the door and ran out, panting at the door’s edge from the sudden decrease in pressure. “I’m sorry,” Sweetie Belle said from behind him. He turned, still halfway in the doorway, and faced her.

Inwardly, he was sighing. It’s not her fault; her sister’s the crazy one. He opened his mouth to say as much, but just as he did so, Sweetie Belle’s lips met his. He tried to talk, but only ended up making guttural mumbling sounds. Pipsqueak stopped laughing mid-note at his side and was looking at him with a sly smile, and an arched eyebrow. 

Rarity walked around the corner just as Sweetie broke back from the kiss with a disgusting little squish sound. “Sweetie, have you seen Feath--”

Sweetie Belle panicked. Her horn glowed brightly as she scurried back. The door shivered, then slammed shut.

Featherweight was still in the door frame.

For the second time that day, the colt was thrown across the air, his white and blue outfit matching him to the open sky for a short while. This time, as he landed in a confused, painful heap, he didn’t get up. 

I give up; I’ll never understand mares.







They were wrestling. Really.
Honestly! They were tugging at each other, they both wore black belts... 

Anyway... This chapter was a ton of fun to write, and it was easy too. Too bad they’re not all this simple to spew forth. Also, hurting Featherweight is my greatest pleasure. 

For a guy who has no idea what will happen when he opens the doc, I think I’m doing okay. 

Edited by:
StapleCactus
Your Antagonist

Proofread by:
N
Cpl Hooves 
and
Frederick the Saiyan

That’s a lot of random ponies. 


Next time on : Of Challenges and Kisses:

Featherweight awakens in the hospital, with Scootaloo, and a sailor boy outfit. 
Extreme Hospital Sports?
Shocking Diagnostics?
Amateur Surgery?
Will Nurse Red Heart Find True Love?

Tune in next time! 

Oh, and I categorically refuse to release the next chapter until I get an image of Scootaloo, in a hospital bed, holding a book while wearing the cutest little pair of glasses ever.

Thank you all for he favs and comments! We absolutely love them! 
	
	
> Radiology and Diagnostics
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Picture by Husk Summers



“He is so cute,” a high pitch voice squealed; she didn’t even bother whispering. 

My head, Featherweight groaned inwardly. 

“And the other day, he listened to me talk so attentively. He’s really a little charmer.”

“I know; I could just eat him up,” another said. This one did whisper, but Featherweight could feel hot, sauerkraut-smelling breath on his face. The surface he was on bent slightly to one side as something moved under him. 

“Look at the little cap, oh, and the way his ears stick out! He’s so adorable. You were right, Red Heart.” 

Featherweight moaned, shifting on the cushiony surface. Where am I? he wondered. Vaguely, he remembered Sweetie Belle and Rarity trying to kill him. Then, something about a door. Did Sweetie kiss me? 

Three distinct voices sighed blissfully at the same time. “Oh my goodness, he’s blushing!” the first voice said. He could hear a pair of hooves clapping excitedly beside him. 

Where the heck am I? Slowly, he cracked an eye open and stared up into the over-make-uped face of a slightly-over-middle-age nurse. The aquamarine unicorn gushed down at him, a horribly contrasting blush appearing on her face as he stared at her. “Oh, look at his eyes; aren’t they the cutest shade of brown? They match his outfit perfectly.”

Outfit? Where am I? Did I die? He pushed himself up, groaning as a stab of pain flashed through his head, to be matched by a burst of shame as he realized he was still in the suit. The same white-and-blue-trimmed suit that Rarity had obliged him --at scissor point-- to wear. “Gah!” he screamed, hooves batting uselessly at the blue-trimmed fiasco. 

“What are you doing!” shouted the nurse that he now recognized as Red Heart. The white mare jumped onto his bed, pinning him down expertly as she mounted atop him. Soon, the other nurses joined in, pushing and shoving until they had him locked in place. The colt didn’t struggle. He just fixed his wide eyes on them as they grappled him in a tight hold. They began spewing a wealth of seemingly random codes and numbers, all of which were lost to him. 

“What the hay are you doing?” he asked when one pulled out a long, thin needle.

They ignored him, smiling in an almost gleeful fashion as they lowered the needle to his flank. “Wait, what are you doing? I can explain! It was all Pipsqueak’s fault--” The rest of his spiel was lost as the needle poked through his skin and emptied its contents.

The last thing he saw was Red Heart’s overly content smile. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, you and I.”

What?





Steady beeping was the first thing he heard as he woke up. That, and the occasional flutter of a page turning. He wasn’t in the sailor-colt outfit any longer. Instead of the supple material, he felt rough cloth around him, the kind that rustled lightly with every gesture or movement. He opened his eyes and looked at the square-tiled ceiling, dimly illuminated with a yellow glow. 

Where am I? he asked himself once more. Turning his head slowly, he looked at a hodge-podge of stacked machinery, all of which had thin, snake-like wires running up to, and into, his limbs. His confused gaze shifted from the machines to an empty bed beyond. Sunlight streamed into the room by way of an opened window, accompanied by a fresh breeze that circulated around the room. 

A hospital? he guessed. Turning around slowly, he confirmed his suspicions. 

Near the doorway, Scootaloo was leaned back on a pile of pillows on another bed, propping herself up to hold a thick manual in both hooves. She sat there, breathing evenly while occasionally flipping the page. 

Featherweight stared at her, blinking a few times in surprise. Not so much at seeing Scootaloo --although he found that particular tidbit to be quite pleasant-- but because, on her tiny face, was a delicate pair of glasses. 

Scootaloo wears glasses? Oh sweet Celestia, she’s so cute. He smiled blissfully, unable to resist as he spied on Scootaloo. The glasses rode low on the bridge of her nose, right on the edge of falling off. Every once in awhile, Scootaloo would push them back up, only to have them slip down once more. 

“Since when do you wear glasses?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse. 

Scootaloo jumped, ripping the glasses off of her face and tucking them beneath one of the pillows before slapping the book shut and doing the same with it. She then glared at him, almost daring him to bring the subject up again. “I don’t wear glasses. My vision is twenty-twenty. Perfect.”

“Uh-huh.” Then why were you wearing them? he thought, but kept his mouth shut. “So, how long was I out?” he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position. His head no longer felt like exploding, he noted with some joy. 

Scootaloo seemed relieved at his chosen subject. “They brought you in yesterday 
afternoon. Then, one of the nurses, Miss Red Heart, almost fainted. She brought in a few others and they... well, they...”

Oh, goddess, it’s worse than I thought. “What did they do?” He cringed, fearful of her response. 

“They... fawned over you,” she replied, her face scrunching up in disgust. “They really liked that thing you were wearing, whatever it was.”

His face almost caught fire. She saw me, wearing that? My life, it can end now. He reached over, grabbed the cheap cotton blanket at his hooves, and covered his bright red face. 

“Are you okay? Should I call the nurse? I’d rather not, honestly.” Featherweight pulled the covers from over his face and eyed her. She was staring back, a look of honest concern adorning her face. 

“I’ll be fine, I guess.”

“So, why were you wearing that?”

Okay Featherweight, you can do this. Improvise. “I-I um, Miss Rarity... and, um--”

“Cause, you know, Sweetie loves those things. I never did know why...”

Featherweight froze. Oh, Celestia, please don’t let her figure it out.

Her next question blew his fears away, while creating many new ones. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Um, get out of here how?” 

She smiled mischievously and he blushed in response, not just at the sheer adorableness of the act, but at the malice that was hidden beneath it. “You know, I’m feeling fine. The doctors did a good job of patching me up. And it is good for our health to take a little stroll, if you’re up for it. I mean, if you’re still feeling sick-ish, I’ll keep you company or something.”

Tears sprang up to his eyes just as he rolled out of bed. Twisting around, he faced the cot and quickly wiped them away. She’s so caring. “I’m ready for anything! Top notch, not a single scratch!” he exclaimed, doing his best to hide his winces. 

Scootaloo climbed off of her own bed, expertly detaching the wires that were tied to her limbs. Silently, she stalked across the room on the tip of her hooves and helped him with his own bindings. Featherweight turned away from her proximity, coughing awkwardly until she was done with the straps. 

“C’mon,” she whispered as she fluttered across the room. Feeling a well of giddiness spring up inside his chest, Featherweight followed. 

The orange pegasus opened the door and peeked out, hair swishing as she looked to both sides. “It’s clear,” she said as she shut the door again. “Where should we go first?”

For a moment, Featherweight said nothing as he sat and rubbed his tiny chin in thought. “If we just walk out like that, we’ll get caught real fast. Maybe we should find some sort of disguise first?”

She slapped his shoulder and beamed at him. “You’re a genius. The doctor’s locker room is just a few rooms over.” She popped the door open and, back arched, tip-hoofed out of the room. Featherweight followed her.

The hallway was just like any other hospital’s. The sides held big clunky machines placed on casters and beds that weren’t in use. Featherweight glanced in the open doorways of the neighbouring rooms as they ran by, hoping that nopony would sound the alarm.

“It’s here,” Scootaloo whispered conspiratorially as she opened a door labeled ‘lockers’. With a sharp click that resonated through the tight walls of the corridor, she pushed her way into the room, straightening as she did so. Glancing around him one last time, Featherweight snuck in, too.

“Bingo,” Scootaloo said.

Every wall in the room was taken up by oblong cubicles. Inside of them, white coats hung in neat rows below the typical equipment of doctors. Giggling to herself, Scootaloo ran up to the nearest box and ripped out a coat. Within seconds, she was poking her too-short legs out of the front holes and adjusting the lapels. “How do I look?”

So cute it should be illegal. “Not bad, but you’re missing a little something. One sec.” He ran past her, flapping his wings to reach the upper part of the cubicles. Once there, he quickly found a stethoscope and grabbed it with one hoof before continuing his search. Come on, there must be a pair somewhere-- ah-ha!

Landing beside Scootaloo, he swung the listening device around her neck, and pulled out the glasses he had just found. With a gleeful smile, he placed them over her eyes and almost squealed when they slipped to the tip of her nose. “Perfect, now you really look like Doctor Scootaloo.”

She glared at him beneath the glasses, her cheeks reddening a little, but she just pushed them back up and said, “Hurry up and put something on; we can’t stay here forever.”

Smiling to himself, Featherweight put on the first coat he reached and shoved an otoscope in its breast pocket. “I’m ready!” he exclaimed. 

Scootaloo rushed to the door and, opening it up with as serious an expression she could manage, walked out. Immediately, she turned to her right and began trotting slowly. Walking into the hallway, Featherweight quickly spotted a nurse at the opposite end before he snapped a turn and followed Scootaloo. 

“So, where to first?” Scootaloo asked when he began walking beside her. 

Featherweight shrugged and nervously glanced over his shoulder. The nurse was mumbling to herself while working on one of the machines. “I don’t know; this isn’t my sorta thing.”

“If you want to head back, just say so.”

And miss spending time with you? “Nah, I’m fine.”

They arrived at a ninety-degree turn. Featherweight trotted ahead and peeked around the edge. A quarter of the way through the hallway was a desk around which five ponies in nurse’s garb were gathered, all of them slowly working while chatting away. Mugs of coffee lay here and there on the desk, wisps of hot vapour still floating away. 

Scootaloo joined him at the corner, her own head poking around for a second. “Um, how are we going to get past? Maybe we should go back around?” she suggested. 

Featherweight looked around at the assembled wheelchairs, beds, and complex machines. Slowly, his eyes wandered to a room whose door was open. Inside, an old stallion was drooling on his chest, head lolling gently. “I think I have an idea...” 

Two minutes later, the old pony was tucked into a wheelchair. Scootaloo pushed a large and confusing machine while Featherweight was struggling to look taller as he stood behind the chair.

He gulped, suddenly uncertain. “Okay, we just walk on by calmly and don’t say a word. Okay?”

“Lead the way,” Scootaloo whispered.

With a heave, Featherweight shoved the wheelchair forward and into the corridor, Scootaloo right behind him. Every half rotation, the chair’s wheels squeaked, making both children cringe. 

“Read it, just read it,”Red Heart began. “Look how cute it is!” She pushed a little piece of paper across the desk where the other nurses crowded around it, eyes roving across the page. As one, they hummed a sweet, dreamy note. “I know, right? Isn’t he adorable!”

Featherweight and Scootaloo were right beside the station when one of them pulled out a pen and yanked the page back. “It’s cute, but I’m sure we could make it better.”

The others ‘oohed’ and smiled deviously, crowding around the mare with the pen. “Let’s improve it.” They giggled maniacally just as Scootaloo slipped on the too-long sleeves of her borrowed coat. 

“Oh, this will be good,” one said as she clapped her hooves excitedly. Scootaloo rushed forwards and rejoined the machine, eyes wide and scared. Featherweight made a small shushing sound, hoping to comfort her. 

“I wonder if he’d be brave enough to confess? Maybe we should do it for him? Help the little stud along...” More giggling as they leaned over the note and began scribbling. 

Featherweight and Scootaloo turned around the corridor and found themselves in another empty area. Both of them abandoned their charges, letting both old pony and weird machine roll away while they clutched their chests and panted. 

“That was so close,” Scootaloo said. She leaned against him, laughing off the nerves. 

Featherweight smiled like a goofus as she pushed herself off of him. “Um, now what?” he asked, coughing a little. 

She shrugged and began walking down the corridor, a mischievous smile on her face. “Come on, there has to be something fun to do around here.” 

They entered a mostly empty lobby, the only occupants being some ponies impatiently waiting with tags in hoof. The ponies hardly spared the two foals a glance as they walked through the room. I guess our disguises are workin-- Featherweight never finished his thought as Scootaloo yanked him into an open doorway.

The colt slipped to the ground wide-eyed and felt wind whoosh by him as the door slammed shut. Getting up, he looked around the office and to Scootaloo. The filly had her back pressed against the door, and was holding a hoof up to her lips.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered in a loud hush, grabbing onto the paper-covered bed at the centre of the room to help him stand. 

Before she could answer, a grumpy and eerily familiar voice spoke through the door. “Hey, I saw you in there. Open up, I’ve been waiting all day for this appointment! I’ll tell my dad!”

Featherweight blinked and looked at Scootaloo, his face asking the question for him: What should we do?

Scootaloo ran past him and sat at the desk, picking up a pen and scribbling randomly to look busy. Featherweight, catching onto her idea, got up in turn and began sorting through the cotton swabs, needles and tongue sticks at the back. “Come in,” Scootaloo said, trying hard to sound older.

The door creaked open, revealing a haughty, pink earth pony. “Well, it’s about time! Those other ponies were complaining about me! Can you believe that!” Diamond Tiara said as she strutted into the room. 

Featherweight stared at her, heart beating wildly as his jaw slowly dropped. We’re so doomed. 

Scootaloo, on her end, didn’t panic. Instead, she slowly pushed the glasses up her nose and stared at Diamond Tiara. “Oh, hello Miss Tiara. I’m so sorry for the incon- inconv-- the slowness of our, uh, stuff. Please, sit down.” She pointed to the bed and waited for the pink pony to sit on it before walking around her.

“Well, hurry up. I have things to do and places to be. I can’t lose my day here,” she said.

Scootaloo nodded sagely and, with great patience, pulled out her stethoscope and placed it on the other filly’s chest. “Breath in and out,” she ordered. Diamond reluctantly obeyed. 

For a few moments, Scootaloo listened. Then she suddenly gasped, head turning away from the filly and towards Featherweight. “My goodness, Doctor, um.” She frowned. “Doctor Weight T. Feather, come and listen to this!”

What is she thinking? What is she doing? Mustering up all of his calm and zen, Featherweight pulled away from the mess he had made with the medical equipment and trotted over to Scootaloo’s side. “Is something wrong, Doctor Scootamedic?”

Diamond Tiara glanced from one to the other, her own forehead creasing into a frown. “Do I know you?”

Scootaloo ignored her. “I think she has a nasty case of empathitis!” She winked at him, a mischievous bend at the edge of her lips. 

“What’s that?” the ‘patient’ asked.

Featherweight looked at her in turn, and pulled out his otoscope. Rudely, he shoved it in Diamond Tiara’s ear, eliciting a little yelp. “Oh, Celestia, you’re right; it’s horrible!” He pulled out the device, gave the ear-wax covered tip one good look, and chucked it into the trash. 

“What’s empathitis? Am I going to die?” The filly was shaking now, genuinely afraid. I almost feel bad, Featherweight thought. “If you don’t give me the best treatment you have, I’ll sue you so hard, you’ll never work again!” But not that bad.

Scootaloo gently placed a hoof on her shoulder, changing her voice to one of a concerned mother. “I’m sorry, Miss Tiara. You can’t cure, um, empathitis.”

Diamond Tiara’s lower lip was now trembling, and tears were appearing at the edges of her eyes. “Bu-but what does it do?”

Featherweight joined in. “It makes you uglier every time you’re mean to somepony.”

She glared at him and quickly wiped her eyes with a swipe of her hoof.  “Are you kidding me? A sickness that makes you uglier? What kind of docto--”

Scootaloo pointed at her face, twisting her own into an expression of shock. “Look, she’s getting uglier right now!” 

“You’re right! Look at that nose, and her mane, it has white streaks...” Featherweight did his own imitation of shock. The filly touched one hoof to her nose while another rubbed her mane.  

“Make it stop! How do you make it stop?”

Scootaloo smiled; they had won. “You have to be really, really nice to everypony you meet. Then you’ll be less ugly.... Well, you’ll go back to how you were before.”

The door handle rattled, and from the other side, they could hear a deep, masculine voice talking. “One sec, Martha; I just need to pick something up.” 

The handle twisted and clicked open. 

“Oh, um, look at the time. We have our coffee break now, bye!” Featherweight said as he pointed at a blank wall and pulled Scootaloo by the arm.

The door opened and, without even glancing at the pony in the entrance, both pegasi ran out. 

Their hooves clacked wildly against the tiled entrance as they flew out of the lobby. Somewhere behind them a demure voice said, “Mister, do you think I’m ugly?”

Featherweight and Scootaloo laughed aloud as they galloped through the hallways, aimlessly heading anywhere that wasn’t behind them.

“So, where to next?” he asked once he had stopped running and his panting abated. 

Scootaloo shrugged with her wings, her eyes glancing up and down a nearby directions sign. “Um, there’s the waiting rooms. Sounds boring. Check in. Dull. Intensive care.” She shivered. “Oh, X-ray room!” 

X-rays? Why would... “What’s so special about that?” he asked. 

The orange filly turned down the empty corridor indicated by the sign. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we had an x-ray of a wing for our project?” 

“I guess, but how do you make the machine work?” he asked as they walked side-by-side down the corridor and past a bunch of rooms with long, complicated labels. 

“It can’t be that hard,” she said while slowing down. They stopped in front of a slightly ajar doorway, ‘Radiology’ written above it in simple script. Ducking down, Scootaloo pushed the door open and crawled into the dark room.

Featherweight, less cautious, trotted in and absently ran a hoof along the wall until he brushed against a switch. Flicking it, the room was bathed in a harsh white light.

In the centre was a bed with a big mechanical arm over it. The plastic plated arm had dozens of little safety labels that they promptly ignored. Scootaloo walked across the room and to a control box on the other side of a partition. “I found the controls,” she said, pointing at the rows and rows of dials and buttons. After a few seconds of staring at them she smiled confidently. “Okay, I figured it out. Put your wing across the bed, and tell me when to start.”

Featherweight walked towards the oppressively large x-ray machine and gulped. “Maybe we should try with something else first?”

“Oh, don’t be a wimp, Feathers.”

Right, got to prove that I’m brave, too.... Well, maybe just a small test. He glanced around and judged her line of sight. From behind the partition, she couldn’t see any part of the bed or the machine. 

Searching desperately for something to emulate his presence, his eye alighted on a half eaten muffin becoming stale beside a cold mug of coffee. ‘For Derpy’ a quaint little note said. Ah-ha!

Tip-hoofing forwards, he grabbed the muffin and tossed it beneath the business end of the x-ray machine. “Okay Scoots, I’m ready,” he lied.

“What setting should I put it on?” she asked from across the half wall.

“Um, I don’t know. On a camera, the more pixels the better. Maybe it’s the same? Is there a focus?”

“Oh, nevermind, I’ll just put everything on max.” Featherweight cringed as he heard a few dials creak to their highest setting. “Here goes!” she announced. 

The machine hummed for a few seconds, then nothing happened. “That was anti-clamati--” The lights flickered and a dozen bolts of energy zapped from the end of the X-ray machine and into the bed, burning a hole where the muffin used to be.

Both Featherweight and Scootaloo pulled back and stared at the charred mess. The machine groaned a little, and one of its plastic panels blew off, smoking as it flew across the room. “Oops.”

“Maybe we should forget the x-ray for now?”

“No, wait, I’ll lower the settings a bit. Maybe it’ll work this time?”

He sighed, placing a hoof on his forehead. “No, it’s too dangerous. Let’s go... please.”

They stared at each other for a moment before she sighed. “Fine, let’s go find something else to do.”

He smiled, turned around, opened the door, and ran into nurse Red Heart’s white chest. With a thump, his flanks slapped the ground and he found himself staring up at a less-than-happy nurse.

“Um, I can explain?”





I bet a few of you are wondering: OCaK updated a week early, what’s up with that?

Of Challenges and Kisses has reached two thousand favorites (that’s a lot for those who don’t happen to know)! So, as a reward of sorts, I decided to give you guys chapter eight a week early! Hope you enjoyed it!

Don’t worry, chapter nine should appear on schedule. I might even throw in a special event once we reach 2.5K (hint, hint).

Thank you very, very much to all those for faved, watched and commented! I love you guys! 



Edited by:
StapleCactus(This guy was extra awesome)
Your Antagonist
    
Proofread by:
Frederick the Saiyan
Cpl Hooves
Some guys, one called Bigdog117 and the other wasBurraku_Pansa. Cause it was a party in here.

[youtube=]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8tQkKAR82o]
[Pro-tip: Never post a link to the story you’re writing on a blog post. It get’s crazy.]

Oh, and I apologize for the infamous ‘wrestling’ scene. I didn't think it was so... lewd, when I wrote it. 


> Rejection
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Red Heart tightened the straps a few more notches, the thin cord biting into his coat as it pulled him into the bed. “This isn’t really necessary, Miss Red Heart. Really... please?” Featherweight begged as the air was crushed out of his lungs.

Scootaloo was lying in the bed beside his, guiltily staring at him and the angry nurse. She wasn’t restrained, nor was she being punished in any way.  He had, as any gentlecolt would have done, taken the entire blame for the small incident with the brand new X-ray machine that had yet to be completely installed

The nurse finished tightening the straps with a contented huff before she hopped off the edge of his bed. “No, I will not loosen it, I will not remove it, and I will certainly not tuck you into bed tonight.”

She’ll what? He shook his head, concentrating. “Look Miss Red Heart, I’m really sorry. I already apologized. Please tell me what I can do...” He looked at her, eyes wide and tearing at the edges.

Red Heart huffed again and pranced out of the room. “I’ve already done enough for you, young colt.” She stomped to a halt in front of Scootaloo’s bed. “And you, little Miss, I know you are a bad influence on that little sweetheart. You don’t deserve him.” Staring daggers at both of them, she trotted out of the room and slammed the door.

It creaked open a few seconds later. “Visiting hours will start in five minutes,” she said before slamming it once more.

Both foals let out a long sigh of relief when she finally left. “Wow, that was harsh,” Scootaloo said first. “All we did was destroy a priceless machine...”

“Yeah,” Featherweight replied as he smirked in her general direction, admiring the way she smiled back. “That was sorta fun, wasn’t it?”

“Best crusading in a while!”

They shared a laugh that slowly dwindled to a mournful sigh. “I guess we’re stuck in here,” Scootaloo said remorsefully.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure some of our friends will come later to chat. We can, um, talk while we wait?” He fought valiantly to hide the sheepish smile that crossed his features. I get to spend time with Scootaloo! All alone! Strapped to a bed!

“Heh, yeah I guess...” The filly leaned over her bed and out of his line of sight; all he could see was her violet tail sticking out above the crumpled covers. He blushed and looked away until she climbed back up.

“I got some letters yesterday,” she announced, holding up a small stack of colourful notes
and get-well-soon-cards.

“Oh, I sent you one too.” She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “W-well, not really. I... I, um, wrote a little note when I visited you yesterday,” he stuttered under her inspection.

“Aw, you visited me? That’s nice. I didn’t notice though.”

“Oh, you were asleep. Actually, your cord thingy was detached; I thought you were dead.” He laughed nervously.

Scootaloo giggled a little before dropping the pile on her lap. She bent forwards and picked one at random. “Should I read it aloud?”

He shrugged as best he could under the bindings. “Sure, why not?”

Opening the first gaudy billet, Scootaloo shuffled around on her bed, cleared her throat,and read: “Dear Scootaloo, I hope you get better so we can continue crusading. Oh, and I broke your scooter. Sorry. Apple Bloom.” She blinked at the hoof-made note twice before frowning at it. “Hey, what does she mean, ‘broke my scooter’!?” She tossed the letter aside and pouted at it while crossing her hooves.

Ah, she’s even cute when she’s mad!

The pegasus sighed and picked up another letter. This one was artfully decorated with bright sprinkles and pieces of fabric. “Scootaloo, we all miss you and the fun you bring to our group. Please get better soon. With lots of love, your friend, Sweetie.” Scootaloo’s pout left, replaced by a gentle smile as she deposited Sweetie Belle’s letter over Apple Bloom’s. “Next, oh, how about yours?”

Featherweight could feel a nervous heat spread across his back. “Sure.” I didn’t write anything stupid, did I? He furiously searched his mind, trying to remember exactly what he had written.

Scootaloo coughed and lifted his slightly tattered note up to her face, squinting as she read: “To my dearest Scootaloo, I count the minutes until I am graced with your presence once more. I see the welts adorning your soft, beautiful face, and the scratches marring your shapely, toned flanks, and I curse Celestia for ever allowing harm to befall you.” The filly pushed the letter away and gave him a quick stare. She read on: “I simply cannot wait until you regain consciousness to profess my undying love for you.”

I-I didn’t write that! Featherweight fought in vain against the cords that held him to the bed.

Scootaloo read even further, her voice breaking with both confusion and embarrassment. “My passion for you burns with the intensity of a thousand suns. Not even Discord riding an enraged Nightmare Moon could keep me from your company. I love you with all my heart and soul, with every fiber of my being, and I hope that you will return my sentiments. Yours until time ceases, Featherweight.” She dropped the letter, letting it flutter onto her covers before she faced him.

“I, uh, I can explain?”

“Look, Featherweight, I like you and all...” she began before pausing in thought.

I’m doomed, so doomed. She knows about me... Maybe... maybe if I pony up...? “I-I love you, Scootaloo,” he blurted out.

They stared. Eyes unblinking, his brown ones looked into the depth of her purple irises. They didn’t speak. The shallow whispering of the quiet midday wind seeping through an open window made the only noise in their room.

“I’m sorry, Featherweight; I don’t feel the same way. Maybe we could be frien--”

“No! I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to be an acquaintance. I love you Scootaloo!”

Scootaloo looked away, face reaching the deepest shades of red he’d ever seen. “I-I can’t, Featherweight.”

“Why not?” he asked, both desperate and devastated. “I love you. Can’t you love me back?”

“You-you’re not... I love Rainbow Dash, and nopony else. I don’t want to love you, Featherweight.” She turned around, showing him her back in a gesture that somehow evoked a finality to the situation. “You’re not her,” she mumbled over her shoulder.

I-I... What? No, please no... Featherweight took in a racking breath, feeling the sheer weight of his disappointment tightening and crushing his fragile chest. His heart constricted painfully in him and he let out a single, imperceptible sob.

The door clicked open and, for a split second, Featherweight was distracted as Pipsqueak rushed into the room. The white and brown colt charged towards Featherweight’s bed and hopped onto the side. 

“Hey, mate! We’re here to comfort you!” He snickered a little, not noticing the tears that were trying to jerk out of the pegasus’ eyes.

Oh, visiting time. I hope they leave soon. His eyes wandered back to Scootaloo whom waved towards the doorway and at the three forms gathered there.

Three more ponies marched in. Miss Cheerilee, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. The two fillies trotted over to Scootaloo’s bedside, their smiles fading into looks of concern the moment they caught sight of her face.

“Oi, you’d never guess what happened!” Pipsqueak said as he placed himself between Featherweight and the fillies across the room. “Chowder asked Twist out to the Spring Fling, and she said yes!”

Featherweight looked at him with empty, soulless eyes. “Uh-huh.”

Pipsqueak’s smile became strained before finally disappearing. “Are you alright, mate?”

The beige pegasus looked away and out of the window. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Why are you strapped to the bed?”

“No reason,” Featherweight said with finality. Pipsqueak shrugged, dropping the subject.

Behind Pipsqueak, the three girls were talking excitedly together, smiling and laughing, before Sweetie Belle suddenly detached herself from the group and walked over to Featherweight, a beaming, yet timid smile adorning her face.

“Um, hi Featherweight,” the unicorn said, her hooves drawing circles on the impeccably clean floor. “I, um, brought you something... to say sorry.” She levitated a small box from her back and gently placed it as the foot of his bed. “I’ll see you around?” Without waiting for an answer, the unicorn twisted around and rejoined Apple Bloom and Scootaloo.

“What was that about?” Apple Bloom asked.

The demure unicorn just blushed and pointedly ignored her friend.

Featherweight stared at them, eyes still blank, as he curiously watched them clear the side of Scootaloo's bed. He frowned. “Hey, Pip? What are they doing with Scootaloo?”

The colt shrugged nonchalantly. “She’s not sick anymore. I guess she can go home.”

“Oh.” 

The two colts remained silent for a while, Pipsqueak slumping into a sitting position beside the bed while Featherweight glanced around inconspicuously.

Nurse Red Heart had walked in and was chatting with Miss Cheerilee. The teacher was blushing modestly while the nurse went on and on about ‘the mare’s wrestling tournament of eighty-nine’. Occasionally, the nurse would cast her watchful gaze over the excited children.

Scootaloo hopped off her bed, wings fluttering and sending little gusts of wind across the room as she landed beside her friends. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle led her towards the doorway, one on each side, almost as if the pegasus needed guarding. Before disappearing around the bend, both Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo glanced his way.

Scootaloo left first, shortly followed by Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. Only Pipsqueak and Miss Cheerilee remained in the room. The colt tapped his friend on the shoulder. “Well, I'll see you tomorrow mate,” he said before abandoning Featherweight.

Seconds after Pipsqueak walked out, Miss Cheerilee followed, still yapping away with Nurse Red Heart. The nurse clicked the door shut, locking him in the room, alone.

Outside his window, birds sang as they flew about freely. The sun shone, warming the room with its cheerful glow, while the wind carried the sweet scent of spring as it ruffled his mane.

Featherweight couldn't give a damn.

The colt cried. Tears dampened his coat and dribbled onto his bed as sob after sob escaped him.

The door clicked, and through his tear-stained vision, Featherweight watched a white shape timidly move into the room. Another sob escaped him, almost disguising the soft click of hooves approaching. 

Featherweight wiped his eyes clear on his shoulder and stared into nurse Red Heart’s solemn eyes. The nurse looked down in shame as her hooves reached out and undid his straps with unnerving precision. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

She’s sorry? Sorry? That’s it? It’s all her fault! 

“It’s your fault! You messed it up!” he barked at her. Red Heart stared back wide-eyed, her shoulders slumping as she did so. “It was going along perfectly; she was starting to like me! Actually like me. But no, you and your little friends had to mess it up! Why? B-because it was cute?” Featherweight choked on his own sobs, his vision once more filling with tears. “She was perfect.” 

“I’m sorry. Nothing ever works with me around...”

“You don’t say!?” Featherweight exclaimed, voice thick with sarcasm. “I’ve heard all about your relationships, or rather, lack thereof. Why couldn’t you just leave my love life alone?”

The nurse cringed. “I-I just wanted to help,” she squeaked.

“Help!? You ruined everything!”

Red Heart covered her face with a hoof and bowed down, her tiny nurse’s cap falling to the floor with a plop. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” Her head bowed until it touched his bed, wrinkling and wetting the sheets as she sobbed beside him. “Every time there’s love involved, I mess up. I tried so hard, so many times. I’m sorry. I thought that, maybe if I helped a little relationship, I could break the curse...”

Oh, she’s just like me, isn’t she?

Slowly, he placed a hoof on her mane and rubbed it back. “I’m sorry too, Miss Red Heart.” He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, the last of his tears drying up on his face. “We’re the same, I guess: two failures.” He sighed, then barked a laugh.

Red Heart laughed too as she got up and wiped her face off with the edge of his sheets. “Yup, two big fat failures.” She sat down with a sigh of her own, a tiny smile poking at the edges of her lips.  Reaching out, she undid the last of his straps. “There, you can go. We were just keeping you to give you time to heal up... If you want I, can get you a note...” 

Featherweight slid off the bed, hooves clacking as he landed on all fours. He bent his legs, working out the kinks. “I-I think I’m going to go home.”

Red Heart watched him walk towards the doorway with his head bowed. “Wait!” she called out. 

Featherweight stopped mid-stride and turned around, puffy red eyes glancing at her. “You forgot the box your little friend gave you.” The nurse picked up Sweetie Belle’s box and carried it over to Featherweight, gently placing it on his back. “I, um, I’m sorry, and I hope things work out better for you, then they did for me.”

He shifted, balancing the box with his wings, before turning back towards the entrance. With a voice empty of all emotion, Featherweight said, “Thanks for patching me up. Good day, Red Heart.”





Oooh, you were expecting comedy! My bad!

Edited and Proofread by:
-Cpl Hooves
-Fred the Saiyan
-StapleCactus
and eventually, Your Antagonist. 

Oh, and a flying walrus load of credit to Cpl Hooves, he came up with a good chunk (see: all) of the confession note.
	
	
	
	
> Boxed Up Depression
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Photographs littered the floor, each and every one holding one thing in common: Scootaloo. The filly was depicted in every form and mood, from smiling with her friends to pouting on the edge of a field. At regular intervals, one of the images would receive a walloping hit from a tear drop. 

Featherweight lay across his bed with his head dangling over the side, crying fitfully over the images, staring at the pony that he loved and knew would never love him back. One image in particular drew his attention. He held it tenderly in both hooves, staring at it unblinkingly. It was the only image of Scootaloo where she had actually posed for the camera. She wore a tattered journalist hat under which she was smiling jovially. He had taken it during the Gabby Gums fiasco. 

He sighed, a low and mournful thing that deflated his entire body. His wings were spread out, sprawled across the bed as if they were limp and useless.

I lost her, he thought to himself for the hundredth time. 

He glanced at his open window, noticing for the first time that the sun was cresting the horizon and bathing Ponyville in a warm glow. The brightness of it didn’t reach him, and the beauty of the Spring flocks and gentle wind washing over the town did nothing to diminish his pain. 

Another tear fell.

Somepony knocked at the door, a distant booming that made his ears perk. The sound was followed by hoofsteps as one of his parents moved across the house. They came back, accompanied by two lighter, excited hoofbeats. 

They stopped at his door and, with a growing sense of apprehension, he watched as the handle turned. 

Featherweight had just enough time to wipe a hoof across his eyes before Pipsqueak charged across the small room. “Feathers!” the minuscule earth pony shouted as he hopped onto the bed, crushing some of Featherweight’s precious images.

With a strong wingbeat, Featherweight pushed his friend off the bed. “What do you want?” he grumbled. 

“Aww, c’mon, Feathers. We knew you were in bad straits,so we figured we’d cheer you up.”

Featherweight looked towards the doorway as Chowder lumbered into the room, his gait rolling to his bedside. “Yeah, we’ll make you better, Just come with us,” he said, bits of Celestia-knows-what flying out of his mouth and onto the pictures. 

Featherweight glared at them and began picking up the images, brushing and unfolding any that had been damaged by his friends. “You should have stayed at home; I’m fine.”

Pipsqueak deadpanned, “We both know that’s quackery. You just lost the girl of your dreams. You can’t possibly be in a good mood.”

Chowder nodded wisely. “Yup. If I were you, I’d be devastated... Oh, did you hear? I’m going out with Twist, now!” 

“Good for you,” Featherweight said, but there was no joy in his voice, nor was there any shine in his eyes. 

“C’mon, Feathers. You have to come with us. It’ll just be us guys, no girls: mares or fillies. It’ll be fun, I swear!” Chowder said.

Do I have to?

“Oh, and I brought you this,” Pipsqueak said. “One sec.” The earth pony walked out of the room, only to rush back in a few moments later, a long paper tube held in his muzzle. “It’s that Wonderbolts poster I promised. Figured I owed it to you after... after all that.” He slid the sheet across the bed, unrolling it partially in the process.

With both wingtips, Featherweight finished unrolling it. Tears sprang to his already moist eyes as he looked at the image of a very seductive Spitfire stradling an airship’s cannon. At the bottom, the mare’s name was written in a fire script with a little message: Thanks, Pip. I’ll cherish the memory, always. 

As he further inspected the image, he found himself crying fully, wracking sobs making him tremble. I-I was supposed to have this after I kissed Scootaloo. That’ll never happen now. Never. He shoved the poster away, letting it roll onto the floor and regain its original shape. 

Pipsqueak stared at the poster, then back to his friend. “That bad, huh?”

Featherweight nodded. 

“Darn. Okay, we’re leaving,” he said before turning to Chowder and nodding his head.

Finally.

Pipsqueak twisted around and hopped onto the bed, Chowder doing the same on Featherweight’s other side. “What are you guys doing?” he began to ask, but the two ignored him, clasping his hooves in theirs.

They jumped off, carrying a fighting Featherweight between them. “Let me go!” he screamed. Neither listened as they dragged him away. One of Featherweight’s hooves hit his bed and tipped his stack of images, sending the pictures fluttering across the floor.

The last thing Featherweight saw as he was dragged out of his room was a dozen versions of Scootaloo, each one of them smiling innocently. 





The sun beamed down on them, burning a hole in Featherweight’s head as he trudged beside his two excited friends. 

Chowder and Pipsqueak were talking in clipped, hushed tones and he could only catch a word here and there. “Plot...” “Ice Cream...” “Wrestling...” “Marmite...” “Peanut butter cacti...”

Idly, he looked around, letting the conversation wash over and through him. They were nearing the centre of Ponyville where ponies trotted about, happily engaging in tightly paired conversations. Couples hid in the partial shade provided by trees and buildings, tails entwined as they stared at each other’s eyes. He felt a pit where his heart should have been.

Pipsqueak turned to him and mouthed something.

Hmm? “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘we’re almost there’,” he repeated before pointing at a large pavilion erected at one edge of the town square. From within, children yelled playfully while a few foals hung around the outside, talking and playing amongst each other. 

Pipsqueak smiled and led the three into the tent. Featherweight carefully inspected his surroundings as he entered. 

Around him towered tall, gaudily painted machines, all of them beeping, dinging, and making an assortment of noises meant to capture the attention of youths, and it was almost working. Pipsqueak was at his side as they trotted into the outdoor arcade. “So, what do you want to play?” he asked, eyes reflecting the glaring lights that emanated from the games. 

Nothing. I just want to go home. Featherweight sighed. “I don’t know, which one’s the most fun-ish?” He eyed the row of a dozen machines wearily. Some were occupied by other youths, groups forming around some of the better players as they reached higher and higher scores. 

“Well,” Chowder began as he presented the machines with a flourish of his flabby arms. “We have Donkey Gong, Hydra Thunder, Pega Racer, and my favourite, Pac Mule.”

Featherweight inspected the games one by one. “No thanks.”

Chowder’s jaw dropped, making a sickening splat as it hit the ground. “What? But they’re videogames... and we’re paying... What kind of guy doesn’t want to play games?”

Pipsqueak slid to Featherweight’s side and placed a hoof over his shoulder. “I know exactly what you need. Come on, Chowder. We’re going There.”

Something in the tone of Pipsqueak’s voice made Featherweight’s mane stand on end and beads of sweat appear at the edges of his forehead. 

Chowder gulped, looking at the ponies around as if afraid of them overhearing. “Over There? Are you sure?”

Featherweight took a half-step forward and towards the two colts. “Um, where is ‘There’?”

With a devilish smile, Pipsqueak grabbed Featherweight’s forehoof and dragged him out of the arcade.

A few ponies looked their way as the pegasus was pulled along by the two colts, but most just assumed it was some childish game and let it go. Featherweight, meanwhile, was trying his best to free himself without causing a ruckus. “Where are we going?”

“I can’t tell you, mate. You’ll have to see when we get there,” Pipsqueak said over his shoulder. 

They led him deeper and deeper into the town, to an area surrounded by small shops not too far from the Carousel Boutique. Finally, they stopped, catching their breath for a few moments.

Featherweight looked at the nearest building which was a fairly new construct with a well maintained storefront. Aloe and Lutus’ Spa and Hooficure Palace proclaimed an oversized billboard at its front. 

“Are we... are we getting hooficures?” he asked. I know they want me to feel better and all, but isn’t that a little extreme? I mean, only girls get those. He cringed and stuck his tongue out in disgust. 

“Nah, mate. Follow me; you’ll see what I mean.” Pipsqueak smiled and shook his head towards a small alleyway running alongside the building. 

Featherweight and Chowder followed closely as he brought them to a closed dumpster and hopped onto it. The smell of shampoo and body care products wafted out of the bin as Pipsqueak helped Chowder up. 

With a quick beat of his wings, Featherweight joined them on the metal construct and looked around. There was nothing to see but the cleanly swept alley and a large grill that jutted out of the salon. Pipsqueak giggled as he popped the grill off the wall and gently placed it aside.

He then stuck his head into it. What the!?

With a ‘whock’, Pipsqueak pulled his head out, grin bigger than ever. “It’s rush hour in there,” he said, a blush dotting his face. 

“Oh, move aside. I want to see!” Chowder said before pushing Pipsqueak aside and sticking his own head in. His entire body giggled for a while before he, too, plopped out. 

What the heck is in there?  Pipsqueak gestured at the pony-sized hole in the wall, then at Featherweight. “Your turn, mate.”

Cautiously, Featherweight walked over to the hole’s edge and poked his head in.

Within, he had a top down view of a bath house, steam sticking to the air and condensation dripping down the walls. In the centre was a massive bathtub, filled to the brim with warm water, mineral concoctions, and wet mares.  

The mares were laughing, playing in the water and allowing their manes and tails to flow loosely around their seductive bodies. They splashed around and tossed waves of water at each other while giggling.

Others were lounging on massaging beds while the staff rubbed their backs with lotions, eliciting moans from the comfortable mares. 

Face burning, Featherweight yanked his head out of the hole and glared at his friends.

Chowder was grinning dumbly, his face identical to when he spotted a massive cake. Pipsqueak, on his part, just waggled his eyebrows at Featherweight and smirked.

“Wha-- what’s that?”

Pipsqueak lost the smile and blinked at him. “‘What’s that?’ Those are super good-looking mares, all wet and... good looking and stuff! And they’re naked!” He exclaimed while jabbing a hoof towards the hole.

Featherweight kept glaring at him. “We’re usually naked, you moron! What’s your problem? Don’t you have any respect for them? And all this to make me ‘happy’?” Tears sprang to the edge of his eyes. “I just want to be left alone, that’s all.” He backed away and jumped off of the dumpster in a flurry of wingbeats. 

What’s wrong with me? Featherweight stalled mid-step. I screamed at my friends... He turned. “I-I’m sorr--”

“C’mon, Pip, the water’s warm!”

“Aww, look at that munchkin!”

Pipsqueak’s behind was wiggling into the hole. “Wait up, ladies. The Pip is coming!” 

The rest was lost as Featherweight spun around and ran. What’s wrong with me? he thought as tears once more threatened to pour out of him. 

Blinded by his watery eyes, he galloped in a completely random direction, as if he could run from his woes. No, it-it isn’t me. I didn’t do anything wrong. All I ever wanted was to spend time with Scootaloo, and have fun with my friends.

He hurtled past the town’s boundary, galloping onto the patchy soil that surrounded it. Gulping back a sob, he turned towards a not-so-distant copse of trees and took off. Refreshing spring wind lifted him a few feet into the air, allowing him to beat away tears with his hooves. It... it has to be me. Nothing else changed. What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t anyone love me?

The trees grew bigger as he approached them. He could see the rough bark marred by the scampering prints of critters and hear the small stream he knew was hidden beneath the tall spires of overreaching branches. 

He landed softly on a pile of mushy leaves and caught his breath. Maybe... maybe if I just disappear for a while... Nopony loves me here. An image of a certain young unicorn flashed in the back of his mind, but it disappeared with a shake of his head as he trotted into the glade.  

The two dozen trees were placed alongside a thin stream overflowing with the spring’s melted snow. He walked to it, avoiding branches and brush until he reached the water’s side. In the clear, mirror-like surface, he could see his tear-stained face looking back at him. 

Why?

Something above him crackled. 

Looking up, he caught sight of a multi-hued mane hanging off the side of a thick branch. He blinked. Only one pony in Ponyville had that sort of mane. “Rainbow Dash?” he croaked, his voice hoarse. 

The mare above groaned and shifted on the spot. “I ‘on’t want to ‘o to school...”

He vividly remembered Scootaloo’s words the day before. ‘I love Rainbow Dash...’ It’s not me. It’s her. 

“Rainbow Dash! Come down here. We need to talk!”

The mane jerked and shifted above before her head appeared on the side, drowsy eyes looking down at him. “Huh? What’s wrong, kid?” she asked before yawning. 

“Could you... could you come down here?” he asked all the while glaring at her. 

Rainbow perked an eyebrow at him and shrugged. “Yeah, sure, just give me half a sec.” She placed her hooves on the edge of the branch and hopped down, landing with a simple agility. “So, what’s up?”

“You are,” he said, a hoof stomping on the ground.

Rainbow smirked at him. “Yeah, I’m always up...” She then tilted her head at him, concern in her eyes. “Are you okay, kid? Looks like you were crying... or something.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your fault.”

She blinked at him. “My fault? Oi, kid, I nev--”

“Never what!? You didn’t have to do anything, just be yourself. Your stuck up, haughty, and self-loving self! If you weren’t so... so cool, then Scootaloo would never have loved you! She would have liked me, instead. But no, you’re all cool, and awesome.”

“Well, I am awesome, but that--”

“I don’t care! Don’t you get it? It’s all vain! One day, you’ll be old and won’t be able to fly straight. You won’t have fans anymore. Nopony will care about you. What did you achieve? Oooh, you made a big boom in the sky? Who cares? You’re such... such a bird brain.” Featherweight slumped onto the ground, pouting heavily while glaring at nothing in particular.

“You done, kid?” she asked in a calm, barely-composed voice. “Good. First, I’m not a bird brain, and that ‘big boom’ was a Sonic Rainboom and it was clearly awesome.” She stepped up, towering above him like an enraged Ursa Major. “You do not go around insulting other ponies like that, especially not me! Now, I don’t know what pea-brained idiot dared you to walk over here and talk to me like that, but you ought to return before I kick your flank into next week!”

Featherweight backed up, eyes wide as he braced himself for the oncoming storm. She marched towards him. “Look, you thin-faced, bucktoothed... numbskull! I’m not going to stand here and get talked at by a little twerp like you. Now, repeat that thing about Scootaloo.”

He pawed at the earth below him, before speaking, “I-I...”

“C’mon, I don’t have all day!” She glanced at the sun between the leafy branches above. “I should be napping right now.”

Should I tell her? He gulped as he inspected her fierce glare. Maybe I should. It’s her fault, after all. He brought a hoof to his chin and hummed a little. Rainbow Dash began tapping the soil rhythmically. So what? Half the town probably knows by now. “I like Scootaloo... I really like her. And, and the other day, while we were together, I sorta told her,” his voice muffled up, becoming a whisper. 

“All right, so you like a filly that’s in your class. Big whoop,” Rainbow Dash said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve heard this story a million times before: You got rejected, you’re angry, you take it out on a random passer-by. Listen kid, you need to--”

“You don’t get it!” he said in a too-loud voice. He flinched. “She rejected me because she loved you more.”

The cyan mare blinked at him. “Really? Well, I am the lovable type,” she said, rubbing a hoof against her chest. Featherweight blushed and looked away before swiping his forearm before his eyes. She sighed. “Alright, I get it. You think it’s my fault or something?”

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded.  

“So, she ‘loves’ me cause I’m some sort of goddess of the sky? That’s cute and all, and I do enjoy the little fanclub, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

Doesn’t mean anything? “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, c’mon, she doesn’t really ‘love’ me, not that way. I’m her idol.” She barked a laugh. “She doesn’t even know what love means.” 

Huh? “But... does that mean I still stand a chance?” A small inkling of hope welled up inside him. 

“Meh, maybe.” She shrugged. “Tell you what: you apologize, and I might slip a word in for you to Scoots.”

“Really!?” Featherweight perked up, his ears twisting around and towards the mare. “You’d do that for me? I’m so, so sorry, Miss Dash!” He took a few steps forward, a huge grin plastered on his face. 

Rainbow poked at his forehead, stalling his advance. “Yeah, sure, just don’t come any closer. I don’t want you,” -She gestured at him vaguely- “to hug me or anything, all right?” She looked at the sun once more, its rays dancing playfully across her face as she did so. ”Right, I have to go. Take care, kid.” With that, the mare leaned down, unfurled her wings, and jumped into the air.

Featherweight watched as she disappeared through the glade. He felt as if a weight had been removed from within him. Sighing, he trotted out of the woods, leaving the quiet rustling of the stream behind him. 

Slowly, he made his way back to town and home, shedding a bit of the dark cloud that had hung over him since the day before with every step, the houses of the town growing closer as he did so. 

As he trotted by, he ignored the ponies going about their business or simply taking a stroll in the afternoon sun. In no time, he found his house and ran in, practically skipping as he barged into his own room.

With a quick swipe of his wing, he shut his door, the change in pressure arriving at the same time as the change in mood. There’s still hope, he thought, unable to suppress a sheepish grin. He surveyed the mess of images that littered the floor and smiled back at them, eyes shining until they alighted on a box, the same box Sweetie had given him at the hospital. 

Curiosity gnawed at him. Maybe later? He looked out the window, noting that it was still early in the day. Huh, why not? Following his whim, he crossed the room and yanked at the carefully knotted bow with his teeth. The silken fabric unfolded with the quietest of whispers before floating to the ground below. 

Eagerly, Featherweight popped the lid, eyes widening at what he saw within.

Two tickets seemed to stare at him, both of them the easily recognizable blue worn by the Wonderbolts. Their crest was stamped on each one above a series of numbers and letters. Row and seat placements. With shaky hooves, Featherweight removed the stiff tickets. These... these are real! he thought, mind in a flurry as he felt the precious objects.

He peeked into the box again and noticed a folded piece of paper. Carefully, he pulled it out, and read it:

Dear Featherweight.

I’ve always enjoyed seeing you at your best: playing with your friends, gushing over your hobbies, or just being you. I even surmounted an immense jealousy when you began loving Scootaloo. She is, after all, my best friend, and it's not as if she did anything wrong. She wasn't trying to hurt me by attracting your affection; she did it unwittingly. In fact, I'm fairly certain she hasn't the slightest inkling of my true feelings. That is to say...

I love you, Featherweight. And I understand that it might not be the case for you. My only hope, is that you enjoy your life. If you still want Scootaloo, then I shall help you in whatever way I can. If not, then I hope you’ll at least consider me.

Have these tickets. My sister has no use for them, and I want you to have some fun.

With a heavy heart, Sweetie Belle. 







Right-o! 

First things first. You may have noticed a slight decrease in my productivity recently. That isn’t the case. I’ve been working on something: my first ever ‘Normal’ story. That means there are no ponies (Well, one mention that I couldn’t resist), no Equestria, and no MLP: FIM. I started from scratch.

This story (no decent title yet) is one I intend to sell as an Ebook. The plot is very similar to that of this very fic, and for good reason. (For those of you wondering: yes, this is blatant advertising) To date, it has reached the twenty thousand word mark and should be a little longer before completion. 

This is my first escapade into the world of ‘real’ writing, and I intend it to be as perfect as I can make it. My goal is fifty sales.

So, I’ll slow down the production of this, but only a little, until OCaK[hu] is complete. 

Edited by:
-Your Antagonist
-StaplCactus

Proofread by:
-Fred the Saiyan
(Cpl is gone... the horror! He’s my go-to guy for sappy lines...)

Oh, some guy called Bombedrumbum was here too, he helped a tad. 
	
> Pinkie Speaks 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Featherweight’s saddlebags smacked against his sides, creating dull thumping noises as he slouched along, his eyes downcast. Within those bags, two tiny objects burned holes into his back. 

His head lifted and he looked around at the otherwise peaceful day. Ponies were talking and chatting in the open market, bartering over various wares with good-humoured quips and comebacks. His eyes wandered around, looking for a source of joy.

Baby birds flitted across the sky, chirping as they played a game only they understood. A few couples sat below the wavy branches of willows, snuggling and touching hooves while attempting to ignore the glances of strangers. The sky was clear, save for a single white cloud that moved around the sun, obscuring it just enough to protect the skin of fair-furred ponies. 

He sighed again, feeling none of the joy that seemed so abundant. Why is everything so complicated? he wondered as he tucked himself into a cool alleyway behind an applecart selling freshly bucked apples. Amongst the almost-dirty walls and few bits of trash, he somehow felt secure. 

The smells of apples, rotten garbage, and warm Sugarcube Corner pie wafted by him. He ignored them, focusing on nothing but the things in his pack.

So, Sweetie Belle likes me...

His forehoof dug a furrow in the ground as he blushed involuntarily. But I like Scootaloo, and she’s the one... the one I want to be with. He glanced at his worn bags and at the very tip of a letter poking out from beneath one of the lapels. But Sweetie is nice, I guess. He turned his head back towards the road, focusing on the slow traffic. No, it’s Scootaloo that I like, he told himself with a firm nod. 

A single filly skipped by, a unicorn whose smile split her face apart as she levitated a paper bag overflowing with candy. She glanced his way, her beaming smile widening as her eyes locked with his. He looked away, stung by the memory of another, similar filly. 

Sweetie Belle. She... she actually likes me. No other mare would do that, w-would they? I mean, who would care about me? She must be crazy. But she is nice, and cute, sorta. He gulped and looked at the road again, letting his mind go numb as he surveyed the moving crowd. 

A rainbow-maned mare blew by, a large, cocky grin adorning her face which was partially hidden by a rainbow-coloured cardboard cutout. Featherweight leaned out of the alleyway, looking through the slits of the nearby cart to watch as she fluttered to a halt in front of Sugarcube Corner and barge into the gingerbread house-shaped building. 

Rainbow Dash, he thought before biting his lower lip. I should probably apologize; I wasn’t very nice yesterday.

Putting one hoof in front of another, he stepped out of the shadowed alley and into the bright sunlight, feeling the warm beams as they heated his coat. With uncertain steps, he marched around the gathered ponies and stalls, his eyes on his candy-cane-covered goal.

As the wind shifted, the thick cloying smell of fresh pie, candy, and cakes of every flavour imaginable assaulted him, making his mouth salivate and his eyes water. He approached the front door that was held ajar by an old rainboot and looked in, spotting a pink blur going from table to table. Looking around some more, he saw Rainbow Dash sitting at the counter with her arms crossed. 

The young pegasus froze at the doorway, shifting his weight from hoof to hoof. Hmm, maybe I should say sorry as she walks out? Or tomorrow? He hopped to one side and away from the entrance as a customer trotted out of the building, a bag held within his smiling mouth. Again, he looked at the bright interior before shying away and slinking around the shop.

The side of the store was as gaudy as its front, almost as if the decorator had decided to assault the bright building with candy, cookies, cakes, and gingerbread while on a sugar high. Nearby, an open window was exhaling a thin vapour of steam, carrying with it the unique smell of gooey awsomeness native to Sugarcube Corner while two distinct voices spilled out. 

Featherweight’s ears perked. I shouldn’t be listening in; it’s rude, he told himself, determined to walk on. 

“Oh, I was at the treehouse. Scootaloo had this thing organized about me, so I figured I’d join the party,” one brash voice said as it was carried outside, dragged into the colt’s ears by the smooth wind. 

The shamefaced colt gulped and looked at the open window, biting his lip as he suddenly broke out into a sweat. 

“Aww, why didn’t she invite me? I’d have brought a cake or something!” Pinkie Pie’s distinct voice quipped. “So, how did it go?” she asked over the chinking of dishes on the glass counter.

Featherweight lost his battle against his pride and slid towards the window, one of his beige ears poking above the sill.

“Meh, it was okay. They were really surprised when I flew in and sat at the back. I even put one of their silly hats on. I’m telling you, their looks were priceless! You should’ve been there.”

“Well, maybe I’ll go next time! Did the meeting go well?”

“Uh-huh. Scootaloo knows her stuff; it’s almost creepy. I think she’s been going through my trash...”

“Oh, trash picking is fun!”  An awkward silence filled the shop as customers stalled mid-meal. “What? You find all sorts of cool things!”

“Um, right...” Rainbow Dash said, stretching the word out. “Anyway, some bits were weird... Pinkie, what do you know about love?”

The pink mare gasped, dropping whatever she held in her hooves as she rushed towards her friend, hooves clacking against walls and ceiling. “You’re in love?”

“What? Me? No! Some little colt. He likes Scootaloo or something. Anyway, I sorta promised him that I’d drop a good word for him with her.”

 Pinkie Pie’s hooves clamped onto the counter, and her voice deepened. “You didn’t break a promise, did you? ‘Cause love is reallllyy important, and you should never mess with it.” 

“What? No! I’m just not sure if I did the right thing. Apparently, Scootaloo ‘loves’ me, or something.”

“She loves you, huh?”

Rainbow Dash groaned before her makeshift wig was flicked out of the window, landing with a thump on the ground. Featherweight stared at it, then grabbed it with a wing to examine it, making sure to keep his ears perked “I don’t know. She knows more about me than I do. And she says she wants to so be me when she grows up...”

The party pony giggled, her musical voice tinkling out of the still-open window. “Oh, I don’t think she loves you, Rainbow. She just likes you a lot.” The pink mare snorted. “How much do you know about Soarin’, or Spitfire?”

“That’s not the same,” she whined. “I like them, but I’m not obsessed with them... much.” 

“Right, of course you aren’t...” Her voice practically smiled for her. “What about the colt? How was he?”

Featherweight cringed as Rainbow sighed. “He was really pitiful. I mean, he was crying and screaming and just really, really sad. It was sorta weird...” 

“Well, maybe he was heartbroken? That’s the worst kind of sad.” The mare’s voice softened, becoming almost motherly. “Not even a quick joke, some good cake, or a friend being there can help that. You need to either solve it with the one who broke your heart, or let time heal you.” She shook her head, her wild mane swishing from side to side. “So you tried to help him?”

“Well, I put a good word in for him, and I talked to Scootaloo about her... ‘love’ for me. I didn’t know what to do after that, so I sorta just left.”

Pinkie Pie hummed to herself. “And what did Scootaloo do?”

“She looked a little confused, but then she smiled and said that as long as she could like me she was happy.”

“Hmm, I see. And what do you think of all of this?”

“What do I think? I don’t know. I’m not into that love stuff; I don’t need it. All I need are these awesome wings, and I’m good.” 

Pinkie snorted again. “Okay, what about your friends? Don’t you need those?”

“Well, I guess I do, sometimes. You guys are awesome, too. But I don’t have time for love. And anyway, there isn’t a stallion out there cool enough for me.”

The pink pony’s laughter filled the building. “Silly Rainbow, you don’t choose when love happens! It just happens. Did you plan on becoming friends with Twilight?”

“No, I guess.” 

“Did you schedule having five friends that love and support you?”

“Not really.” 

Featherweight poked an eye over the sill, watching as Pinkie Pie knowingly smiled at Rainbow Dash over a cupcake-filled glass counter. “Think about that colt. He probably didn’t plan on falling in love, but he did. Now, how would you feel if someone stepped between you and us? Not that good, huh? I think it’s much nicer to let them see if they work for each other.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” The rainbow-maned mare glanced at a wall-mounted clock made to look like an iced cake. “Look, I have to go; there’s a, uh, Weather Patrol thing.” The mare stood, chair scraping back as she nodded good-bye to her friend with a reddened face. 

Featherweight followed her out with his eyes. Hmm, I guess she isn’t so brave when it comes to that sort of thing. 

He opened his eyes to a gigantic pink face not an inch away from his own. “Aaah!” His hooves flayed out in every direction as he toppled onto his back. “What?”

Pinkie Pie laughed, half her body spilling out of the window as she clutched at her chest. “Did I spook you? You should have seen your face!” she said from within the frame, a smile splitting her face. 

Sh-she knew that I was there? Uh-oh. “Since... since when did you--”

“Know that you were there? The entire time, silly!” The mare leaned back, motioning towards the inside with a wave of her head. “Come on in, I’ll get you something to eat, on the house. Well, not on the house. Nopony should eat on the roof; that’d be silly!” The mare disappeared within. 

Blinking, Featherweight stood up, the wig still held by his wingtips as he approached the window. “You’re not supposed to come in from the window!” she chastised. 

Oh, uh, right. Slowly, Featherweight made his way to the front of the shop, uncertain as he tucked his head into the warmer building. Within, he was greeted by a wave of sugary air emanating from a huge oven behind a quick-hoofed pink mare. 

Pinkie used a wooden pole and a few years of fine-tuned experienced to handle hot pies. With a quick swipe, she deposited the round mounds of glory on a nearby table where a few customers eyed them with gluttonous eyes and salivating mouths. 

She served them with a big smile, winking towards Featherweight and pointing with her chin towards the same counter she was at with Rainbow moments before. 

He stepped in, quickly moving across the brightly decorated room to the counter, hoping on the stool there and slouching his shoulders before tossing the cardboard wig onto it. Should I just leave? he wondered, giving the doorway a quick glance. His cheeks reddened. No, what do I have to lose?

The last of the pies left with the snatching of customer’s hooves and the tinkling of bits in a glass bowl. Pinkie Pie waved and thanked them before excusing herself and skipping across the room, beams of light flashing from her teeth. “Hi, Feathers,” she said as she landed in front of him, not a sound coming from her hooves as they tapped the ground. 

The mare moved behind the counter, bending down to reach below it before reappearing with a glass cup that had strawberries printed on its side. With a thump, she placed it in front of him. “On the counter!” 

He blinked at the cup. “Uh, what is it?” he asked, poking at the thick substance that was far from liquid. 

“It’s a cup of cake!”

Featherweight examined the cup before smiling sheepishly and picking up a spoon. This is... He looked at the cup, sniffing at it tentatively. The strong tang of strawberries mixed with the delicate aftertaste of vanilla. This smells great! Bending over the cup, the eager colt assaulted the cake with a ravenous appetite.

The mare leaned against the tabletop, watching with glee as he tore through the meal. “So, you love Scootaloo, right?”

He choked, bits of the cake sputtering all over the place as he desperately clutched at his throat. Pinkie Pie giggled before trotting away, returning a moment later with a glass of cool milk. “It’s okay,” she said. “Love can be a... difficult subject, and difficult isn’t always fun, is it?”

What’s she trying to do? “No, I guess not,” he said, scepticism dripping through. He nibbled at the rest of the cup of cake, slowly savouring it. “When you see Miss Dash again, could you say sorry to her for me?”

The mare smiled again. “Nope!”

“Huh?” He blinked at her. 

She shook her head. “I’m not going to apologize for you. A responsible pony should be able to apologize for him or herself.” She leaned forward, eyeing him. “Aren’t you a responsible little colt?” 

“I-I guess I am.” 

“Good! Now, how about you tell auntie Pinkie about your problems?” 

Featherweight shrunk back, shoulders slumping as he eyed her warily. She slapped him on the shoulder, her warm eyes looking into his. “C’mon, talking about your feelings will only make you feel better,” she said. 

Hmm, maybe she’s right? I mean, it’s not like I could feel any worse. “Okay. What should I say?”

“Just talk,” she encouraged, her voice gentle and soft. 

“Alright. Well, um, I, euh.” He coughed, averting his eyes. Should I really talk to her? No, I won’t bother her. Maybe I can just say enough to leave? A long, low sigh escaped him. “I like Scootaloo.” She's being really kind to me, might as well play along?

“I know that, silly. But why do you like her?”

“I don’t know.... She’s pretty?” he said, finishing the last of the cake in the silence that ensued. 

“Well, do you love all the pretty mares?” Pinkie leaned in, a mischievous gleam in her blue eyes. “I’m a pretty mare; don’t you like me?”

Featherweight blushed. “It’s not just that. She’s smart, too, and nice to her friends. And nice to me, too.” He looked out the window, the same one he had been eavesdropping from moments ago. “When I met her, she was just another girl in the class, but then... I don’t know.” 

“You had your eyes on her?” she pushed.

“Yeah, I guess. And then I, uh, I started liking her. But I never did anything about it. Not until that project, I guess.” 

Pinkie Pie hummed to herself, tapping a hoof on her chin. “But why do you like her? Did she ever do something that made you fall for her? Or do you just like her on principle?” 

“Um, I-I don’t know.” Why do I like Scootaloo? That’s silly; I just like her. Isn’t that enough? “I just like her, and I have for a long time. So I told her. But she doesn’t like me. She doesn’t even care about me. All she cares about is Rainbow Dash and flying. But I like her. She has the prettiest wings, and that smile. And she thinks like a boy, which is cool. She’s the awesomest pony in the school!” 

“Sounds like you like her for what she is. Do you guys have fun together? Is she nice to you?” 

“Huh? Yeah, I guess. We had some fun together. Lot’s of fun. At the hill with that cart, and at the field, we tried to fly. That was great. Oh, and with Apple Bloom and Sweet—?” Featherweight coughed. “Anyway. She is nice to me; she’s nice to everypony.”

The colt sank into a contemplative silence which Pinkie Pie promptly broke. “Does she love you?”

He shook his head from side to side, examining his hooves the entire time. But I can make her love me, right?

“You can’t force love, not without getting arrested. Oh, you can be her friend, and you can even like her very, very much, but if Scootaloo doesn’t love you, there’s nothing you can do about that. Not even after a million parties and a thousand fun times... What about Sweetie Belle?”

Immediately, Featherweight began squirming on his seat. “Um...”

“Is she nice to you?”

“Well, I know that she likes me. And she is nice and... I think she gets me... but she’s not Scootaloo. Scootaloo and her pretty purple eyes, and her tomboyishness...”

Pinkie Pie got up, her eyes surveying a new batch of customers trotting into the shop with flaring noses and greedy eyes. “Oh, more ponies! I’m sorry, Featherweight, but I have work to do. Just think about this: your heart will tell you who is right for you. You have to listen to it. But a couple is made up of two parts, just like ice cream. Without the ice, it’s all warm and iky. Without the cream, all you have is a brain freeze in the making. You need to listen to her heart, too.” With that, the mare hopped away, greeting her customers with squeals of delight and wide-eyed enthusiasm. 

Featherweight pushed the cup across the counter before leaning his chin on it. Hmm, what did she mean? I understand the bit about Scootaloo maybe not liking me. And I guess the bit with Sweet-- No, I don’t have time for doubt. The colt slammed a hoof on the counter, the cup bouncing and rattling as the tabletop shivered. I have to try, one last time. I’m going to ask her out! 

Reaching around, he unclasped the lapels of his saddlebags and pulled out the two gold-and-blue tickets, staring at them before shoving them back into the bag. Turning, he picked up the rainbow-wig, holding it in his mouth as he pushed away from the display case.

With a confident stride and straight back, the colt trotted to the entrance of the building and into the sun, his coat glowing as he moved forward. His brows furrowed as he looked around the area, past the jovial crowds, and towards the snakey little roads that lead out of town.

With a huff, Featherweight hopped out of the store and trotted away, heading towards the woods at the edge of town. Ponies passed him on either side, including more and more foals, many of whom were heading home with broad smiles and ridiculous rainbow wigs.

He followed the tide to its source, ignoring the inviting smiles and happy cheers as he exited the town. The colourful buildings were quickly replaced with a pastoral countryside. The air was still and warm, yet not suffocating, allowing birds to flutter freely across the bluer than blue sky while the colt trotted across the plain, following a well trodden path. 

Almost there, he told himself as he rounded the final corner, the trees and bushes parting to give him a clear view of the treehouse. The rickety building stood proud in the centre of its clearing, framed by a thick blanket of springtime flowers and the fresh blooms of the apple tree it was built on. 

In front of it, a ramp angled upwards and into the salmon pink building, one of its white pickets dangling from a single rusty nail. A filly was climbing down the ramp, a beaming smile on her face as she waved behind her. “See you later, Scoots!” she called before hopping down the last few steps and running off.

She’s still there! he thought in jubilation as he ran ahead, his saddlebags banging while the wig flopped up and down. With sure steps, the colt ran up the ramp and into the room, almost tripping over the dozen stools that littered the wooden floor. 

At the far end of the room, Scootaloo was waving her her tail around, swishing it from side to side as she dusted off a blackboard. Featherweight struggled not to notice her flanks as they followed the same movement. 

Any and all determination the colt had welled up died in one fell swoop as she turned towards him, a beaming and welcoming smile on her small-ish face and a lock of her purple mane sliding in front of her bright eyes. Those eyes widened in surprise and a quick blush spread across her cheeks. “Featherweight?”

“Um, euh...hi, Scootaloo,” he said, cotton filling his mouth as he droped the wig. “H-how’re you doing?”

“I’m okay,” she said, slowly sitting down in the centre of a beam of sunlight pouring in from a nearby window. Her gaze shifted to the wig at his hooves. “Is that one of ours?”

He looked down at the object, glad to divert his eyes from her stare. “Oh, it’s yours, yeah. Rainbow forgot it at Sugarcube Corner.” He picked up the rainbow-coloured piece of folded cardboard and placed it on a nearby stool. “So, uh...”

“Yes?”

“I was, wondering, if, um...”

“Yes?”

Swallowing hard, Featherweight twisted around and flicked his bags open, carefully pulling out the two tickets with his buckteeth. “Ah wash wadharing if you’d want to go wich me?” He spat the tickets on the ground in front of him. “To the airshow. If you want. Maybe.” With a deep blush, the colt turned away and clasped his eyes shut. At least I tried.

The room became suffocatingly warm as the seconds ticked by in silence. I guess that’s a no? he thought, releasing a breath he was unaware of holding.

“Okay, I guess. But none of that mushy stuff, all right?” she said while one of her forehooves spun in a tight circle on the plank floor.

Blinking dumbly, Featherweight’s jaw hit the floor. Sh-she said... yes?

“I-I’ll see you there? I guess, I hope. Yeah.” Swooping down, the reddening colt grabbed the topmost ticket, spun around, and flew out of the building, a huge grin on his face as he somersaulted to a landing.

I did it! She said yes! I did the right thing... His brows furrowed as another thought crossed his baffled mind. Slowly, he looked back at the receding treehouse. Right?






Edited by:
-StapleCactus
-Your Antagonist
-Cpl Hooves
-Fredrick the Saiyan

Did I muck up the Mane Six this time? 
	
> Wonderbolts
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Featherweight swung the door to his house open with great gusto, the bright sun sparkling across the dawn sky as he boldly strode out, face contorted into the biggest grin he could muster. “I’ve got a date with Scootaloo!” he practically squealed. 

"Yep, I know." On the bottom-most step, turning back to look at him with a quirked eyebrow, sat Scootaloo. She was almost glowing as the first rays of the sun caught her mane and sparkled through it. 

“Oh, uh, hey?” he mumbled, eyes widening at the sight of her at his hooves. Why is she here? Did I squee? Oh, Celestia, I look like such an idiot, he thought to himself, cringing all along.

“Hey, today’s the day!” she said, a huge grin splitting her face as she stood up and pranced on the spot, all four hooves clopping on the ground in quick succession.

Is she... is she excited about our date? Tears sprang to his eyes as he hopped down the two steps and onto the ground beside her, his saddlebags thumping on his back after the hard landing. 

Scootaloo looked towards the town, her purple eyes dancing across his street and to the groups of thrilled ponies staring at the hundreds of posters that had appeared overnight, all of them the signature blue of the Wonderbolts. The older and not so easily enthused were milling around, enjoying the warmth of the early spring and taking the opportunity to care for plants, gardens, and lawns while waving the occasional greeting to each other.

The entire village was jovial, ponies of all sorts crowding the sky and roads as they headed downhill to the gigantic field-turned-stadium. “Should we get going?” Scootaloo asked, her wings beating excitedly. 

“Oh, uh, yeah!” Featherweight gestured with a foreleg towards the road just as the filly darted ahead, beaming as she looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming? We can’t miss this!”

“Right, of course.” Oh Celestia, he thought as he walked ahead, his limbs stiff as he practically hobbled forwards. Okay, I’m on a date with Scootaloo. The Scootaloo, and it’s not a dream, he thought, biting his lower lip in order to suppress a dopey grin.

They neared the edge of town in record time, trotting on the familiar path leading to a hilltop Scootaloo eyed with undisguised awe. A dozen pavilions had been erected around the hill, creating a veritable fortress of tarps and ropes that rippled in the light breeze caused by blue-clad pegasi zipping through the sky. Ponies gathered near the dozens of stalls within, playing carnival games and eating foods guaranteed to make medical professionals cringe. 

Scootaloo skidded to a stop, her flanks smacking the gravel road as she looked at the familiar figures darting across the sky. Featherweight sat beside her, his attention drawn to the mare at his side and the acrobatics of her mane in the wind, rather than those of the ponies in the sky.

A thin line wound out of the archway making up the entrance, congested by eager ponies of every age, all of them impatiently waiting for their turn to enter the grounds. A few vendors trotted around them, offering trinkets and foods whose aroma reached all the way into Ponyville, stirring more than one stomach. 

“So,” Featherweight began, reluctant to break the seemingly perfect moment, but eager to get in line before the show started. I have all day with her; they’ll be plenty of awesome moments... in theory.

Scootaloo shot a glance his way, her expression a mix of adrenalin, excitement, and uncertainty as she got up. They began trotting toward the hill, their pace increasing with each step closer to the massive pavilions. “Look, Featherweight, I’m really, really happy that you invited me and everything, but, uh, none of that cheesy, sappy, mushy stuff, all right?”

“Oh, yeah, of course not. I’d never do that to you after you told me not to, because that would be weird and odd and not good, especially after that last time when you, uh, rejected me...” he said, his voice fading into a whisper until the sounds of their hooves on the dew-covered ground overpowered him. 

The pair arrived at the back of the quickly growing line, both of them quiet as they took the occasional step forwards. All right, this is harder than I thought it would be. The beige pegasus looked around himself before finally tapping his saddlebags with his wings, assuring himself that his camera was in its place. He sighed. 

“Are you excited about this?” 

The pegasus at his side blinked twice at him. “Of course I am! This is going to be so cool. I heard that Rainbow Dash spent all night clearing the skies; there isn’t a cloud left from here to Appleloosa. They say the drought might ruin the economy!”

“Uh-huh. So, um, where are our seats, exactly?”

With a quick swipe, Scootaloo pulled the iconic blue ticket out of her mane, flashing it in front of him as she read the numbers on it. “First row...” 

Wow, I did good... sorta. I’ll have to thank Sweetie Belle; she’s been super nice.

“...from the back.” 

Oh.

The few ponies ahead of them passed through the large wooden gate. Featherweight looked up, his gaze trailing along the two towers rising above him, fixing on the flags that hardly moved while the Wonderbolts logo remained hidden within the folds. The entire thing had an air of majesty and mystique to it, and the colt soon found himself smiling like a dummy as they approached the booth.

Within, an old mare with a ‘W’-marked cap grinned at them. “Hello, kiddies,” she said as she leaned forwards. “Ah, such a cute young couple! C’mon, hand me over your tickets.” The mare winked knowingly at Featherweight as both he and Scootaloo tried to hide the sheer redness of their faces. “You two have a nice day now, and no smooching under the bleachers!” She handed them back their vouchers and a colourful pamphlet covered in maps with simple icons and drawings. 

The two moved on and into the fairgrounds, eyes widening at the massive crowds milling around the various kiosks. Ponies they recognized and many they had never seen before were going from attraction to attraction, trying their best to sample everything before the blue-clad daredevils finished practicing and started the main event. Vendors hawked their wares under the partial shade of flimsy tents while others ran around, baskets overflowing with greasy pastries in hoof, the smell of them permeating the air. Other colts and fillies ran around in wild abandon, jumping from one rigged game to another and wasting every bit they got their hooves on as quickly as they could. 

Scootaloo took a tentative step closer to Featherweight, her coat brushing against his saddlebags. “So, um, where should we start?” she asked in a quasi-whisper, her voice almost drowned out by the crowd. 

Featherweight ripped out the map, opening it with both wing-tips. Okay, find a place where you can act cool, that Scootaloo will enjoy, and that won’t be too out of place?

“Oh,” a familiar voice said from across his unfolded pamphlet. Featherweight cringed as he recognized it, his mind going blank as he tried to find a solution to the new dilemma. “Hi, guys. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Folding the map in half, the apprehensive colt faced Sweetie Belle. The filly stood there, a premature blush on her face as she pawed the ground and looked away. Raising a hoof, she toyed with the hem of her dress, a simple affair that paired perfectly with her coat and mane. 

“Sweetie!” Scootaloo shouted as she ran ahead and gave her friend a quick hug. “I didn’t think you’d be here! Isn’t this awesome? I bet this’ll be the best Wonderbolts show ever!”

The two fillies chatted and squealed together for a few moments, Featherweight tuning it out as his dawning horror isolated him from his unimaginably awkward environment. All right, she’s here. I can work around this. But first, she has to go. He took a bold step forward, only to be ignored by the two fillies, both of whom were focused on each other. Sweetie Belle glanced at him through a lock of her curly mane before returning to Scootaloo. For a moment, her face was apologetic, sad even. 

No, she doesn’t deserve me being mad at her. She did give me the tickets in the first place. And she said that she would mind her own business. I’ll give her a chance, I guess. The colt sighed, slowly sitting on the messy ground as the pair’s discussion wore on. With synchronized suddenness, both of them turned towards him. 

Scootaloo was the first to speak. “So, did you find anything cool to do until the show starts?”

“Oh, uh, wait.” The colt snapped open the map and scrolled across it, picking out locations at lightning speeds. “Um, uh. We could go that way,” he said, pointing toward one of the two roads in sight. 

“Oh, sure, that sounds like a great idea,” Sweetie Belle said, nodding at his suggestion. Scootaloo just shrugged, spun around, and began marching, the other two quickly falling in behind her.

Now’s my chance. 

Featherweight leaned in beside Sweetie Belle, all the while avoiding the surging crowd. In a low voice, he whispered, “Why are you here?”

She blushed and stopped on the spot, coughing into the sleeve of her dress. “Oh, um, I just wanted to help you,” she whispered, pointedly looking at the passerby.

“Right.” I can’t stop her from being here, he lamented, but I won’t let her ruin my date with Scootaloo. “Okay, just don’t try any of that...” He waved around with his hooves. “Mushy stuff.”

A tiny smile crossed the unicorn’s face before her mane slid around, hiding her features. “All right, you have my word as a Crusader that I won’t do anything... mushy. And I won’t step in between you and Scootaloo; I just want to help. Promise.”

Featherweight nodded. She never really lied to me before, he thought as he picked up the pace. I guess I can trust her. 

Scootaloo, who had walked far ahead of them, turned around and waved a hoof in the air. “C’mon, guys, there’s some really cool things up here! Hurry up!”

Both foals ran ahead, bumping their way through the thickening crowd until they reached Scootaloo. The orange filly had found a nook near one of the stalls where she danced on the spot, her face locked in a constant grin as she pointed at the booth. Featherweight inspected the thing as he tumbled out of the sea of ponies. 

The booth was covered in gaudy colours, all of them clashing with one another as little flags and banners fluttered in the gusts of the surging crowd and proclaimed the same thing: Flim and Flam’s Marvelous Mysterious Magical Carnival Food 3000!!!

“Look, they have... deep-fried-cheese injected potato-flavoured cotton-candy! It sounds awesome!” she said, eyes wide as she stared at the cobbled together menu. 

“Sure, grab me one too,” he said, gulping as he thought of the oncoming assault to his stomach. I need to impress her, and liking the same things is a start... cotton candy potato? “Don’t worry, I’ll pay.”

She glanced his way, eyes lighting up as a sing-songy voice from within the temporary shop called out. “Did you call our delicacy ‘awesome’, little miss?!” 

“More awesome than anything you’ve ever tasted before! Of that, I assure!” another stallion said as he hopped out from below the counter. 

Both wore ragged red-striped clothes and were covered in bruises, one of them even wearing half a mustache on his beige, pockmarked face as he showboated with his arms. Behind him, a few rusty vats of oil were shivering and puffing out a mixture of multi-hued smokes and strong smells. A sack of carrots lay strewn about the floor, mold turning them into black mush. 

Scootaloo ran up to the counter, wide-eyed at their quick acrobatics. “Cool! I’ll take two!” she said.

Featherweight blinked at her. What? That’s not a recipe, and they’re cooking it with those ingredients?! I wouldn’t want to eat that junk. He took a small step forwards. “Um, Scootaloo, are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked, eyeing a few samples of their food that seemed to have attracted the entirety of the local fly population.

One of the sales ponies pointed an accusing hoof at him while placing another on Scootaloo’s shoulder. “A good idea? Why, this is the best idea this little mare has ever had!” 

“Quite right, my brother!” the other shouted over the din. “Now, here’s the lady’s treat!” With a flourish, he presented the pulsating, golden mass of cheese-spewing potato that glistened as it caught the light. With a flick of his wrist, the stallion made a second appear right beside it. “That’ll be eighty bits please.”

“Eighty bits!” Featherweight repeated, his eyes widening in shock. “Are you mad?”

Scootaloo glanced at him, saliva trickling on the edge of her mouth. “Is something wrong?”

“Eighty... eighty bits... I could buy a meal in a fancy restaurant, and it’d be better than that... stuff,” he said, pointing an accusing hoof at the two salesponies. 

Sweetie Belle edged up beside him, lowering her head as she whispered. “I-I could cover some of it, if you don’t have enough...” 

“No, that’s not it,” he said, waving her away. “This is highway robbery.” With a firm thump, he stamped his hoof into the grassy ground.

One of them, the stallion with half a mustache scratched his chin. “Well then, how ’bout forty bits each?”

Featherweight blinked. “That’s the same price!” 

The other poked out of the building, a few tears edging his eyes. “Look, kid, we really need the bits,” he said, choking back a fake sob. 

Oh, please. “I won’t pay more than two bits. For both.” 

“All right, kid, you’ve got a deal!” the first said as he attempted to hide an enormous grin.

“Yeah, a... deal,” the colt grumbled as he reached around and into his saddlebags. Within were the few things he had brought: his trusty camera; a box of tissues; a list of pick-up lines given to him by Pipsqueak; and, at the very bottom, the tiny bag he sought. Pulling it out, he dumped the baggy on the ground, his entire life’s worth of bits tumbling out. He gulped, picking out two of the bits and placing them on the counter. They disappeared with a sweep of the unicorn’s hoof. 

“Thank you, good lad. Now move; we might have customers.”

“Um, right,” he said, scooting his remaining money into the sack. I hope this date won’t cost much. His gaze strayed to Sweetie Belle, who stared back before twitching away. No, I won’t ask, he thought, thumping a hoof on the ground. 

Scootaloo walked by him, her deep-fried cheese-injected potato-flavoured cotton-candy clamped firmly in her smiling mouth, dribbling bits of cheese and cotton candy everywhere. 

Featherweight followed, grabbing his own from the wooden stick that held it. 

Sweetie ran to his side, keeping pace with him. She opened her mouth, then shut it with a snap, looking around her as everypony froze as one. 

“Helloooo, everypony! This is Spitfire, your favourite flying bullet! Boys and girls, the show is about to begin! Now get to your seats, ‘cause we’re eager to get into the air! Spitfire, signing out.”

Almost as if they shared one mind, everypony in the area screamed, cheered, and ran in one direction. Featherweight planted his hooves, jumped, and beat his wings wildly, gaining some altitude as the rush of ponies galloped past below him. Whoa, they’re mad! 

Below, within the surge of multi-hued ponies, he spotted a panicked white form tumbling around, getting bumped from side to side by the surging crowd. Sweetie Belle? 

Without a moment's hesitation, Featherweight dove into the stream of bodies, fighting past the surge of ponies to get to his trapped friend. Finally reaching his quarry, he wrapped his wings around the white unicorn, clasping his eyes shut as he hugged the shivering filly beneath him. The constant flow of ponies came within inches of trampling the pair while the ground rumbled around them.

The surge thinned, only the slower ponies remaining in the charge for the bleachers. Slowly, Featherweight opened his eyes, staring into the mare’s green orbs as the filly panted, her face growing redder and redder with every second their bodies spent touching. “Hey,” she said, “Could you... get off?”

“Oh, right.” Featherweight climbed off, swishing the dust off his wings with a quick beat. He glanced at the ground nearby, where his ‘meal’ was flattened and crumpled by a hundred hooves. So much for that. 

“So, um.” He looked around, focusing on everything but the cute mare at his hooves. Only stragglers remained, struggling to breathe as they tried to catch up. From afar, they could hear the murmurs of the audience as they found their seats and shared quick whispers of anticipation for the show. “Should we get going?” he asked. 

Sweetie Belle nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure Scootaloo’s already at our seats.” 

“Yeah, right,” he said, scratching the nape of his neck before waving her forward. 

“Should we go?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation. 

Featherweight looked at the now-empty surroundings; everypony was long gone, even the slowest amongst them. Shopkeepers and stall owners stepped out of their confines, stretching their backs with loud cracks while idly looking in the general direction of the show. 

A stray tumbleweed blew across the road, collecting dust as it rolled around. “Yeah, we’d better get going.” 

The two ponies trotted ahead, gazing at anything but each other’s blushing faces as they made their way across the park. At the far end was a funnel-like entrance, the metallic struts of bleachers creating a wall on either side while trickles of light flickered in as ponies shifted about on their wooden seats.

The seats stretched out to either side, filled with restless fans waving blue strap-on wings around. In front of them was an open field with a few odd devices and some uniformed ponies mulling around a chest-high stage. 

“Where’s your seat?” he asked as they marched into the field proper. 

Sweetie Belle peeked at him from the corner of her eye. “Well, my seat’s the one right beside yours.”

Should have seen that one coming. “All right,” he sighed. “Should be at the back somewhere.” Turning around, he searched the crowds for a particular shade of orange, one that he shortly found bouncing up and down on her seat, wings beating wildly. 

Without a word, Featherweight followed the outer edge of the bleachers and climbed up a staircase while being jostled by excited ponies. Upon reaching the top, he scooted over to his date’s side. Sweetie Belle followed him in, demurely sitting in her own gum-covered chair.

Featherweight turned away from her, puffing out his chest and closing his eyes as he focused. I’m on a date, with Scootaloo; nothing can ruin this. I have to follow Pinkie’s advice and make her like me. Opening his eyes, he stared at the giggling filly beside him as she hopped on the spot, her gaze fixed on the stage below.

With his versatile wing-tips, he unclasped his saddlebags and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper, discretely sliding it to his side. He read the carefully penned note in a low hush that was swallowed up by the assembled ponies. 

“The three step sure-date plan. Step one: start a conversation.” Gulping, Featherweight reached out and touched Scootaloo’s shoulder. With a surprised snap, the filly jumped and looked at him.

“So, Scootaloo, um, what’re your plans for the future?”

She blinked at him. “Um, to watch the show?” she said with an incredulous tone, slowly turning back towards the stage where a bright yellow pegasus was speaking into a microphone, the noise hardly reaching him.

Okay, second try. Ignoring the cries of the elated crowd, Featherweight poked the filly in the ribs. Scootaloo scooched over a few millimeters, her awe-filled gaze fixed on a group of five Wonderbolts as they took to the air, five smoky trails following them as they vaulted and pivoted in mad stunts. 

He poked harder, eliciting a gasp from the mare who turned to glare at him. “What do you want?” she asked in a quick hush. 

Oops? Featherweight opened his mouth to explain, just as the crowd gasped in shock. The two foals blinked dumbly at each other as every pony within sight got up and cheered wildly. Scootaloo’s glare deepened. “You made me miss the opening!” she accused. 

“I-I just wanted to, er, to know what your thoughts about the princesses were?”

“What are you doing? Just shut up and enjoy the show.” With a huff, she turned back towards the spinning pegasi above.

Well, that didn’t go as planned.

“I think that it’s great that Princess Luna is back. Now, Celestia has a lot more time on her hooves. Can you imagine being the head of Equestria, all alone, for a thousand years?” Sweetie Belle said.

Featherweight looked to the unicorn at his side, mouth drying up a little. “Yeah, that’s my opinion, too,” he said weakly. Their eyes met, and with startling speed, the two foals found themselves paying abundant attention to the Wonderbolts above, craning their reddening necks to stare at the fliers.
 
Gently, a white hoof tapped him on the shoulder, grabbing his attention. Sweetie Belle removed her hoof and pointed at his saddlebags. “Aren’t you going to take pictures?”

Oh, right! With some scrambling, Featherweight popped his precious camera out of his bags and began giving it some quick tweaks with both hoof and wing. “Thanks,” he said absently, his attention focused on the device.

The filly beside him squeaked a little. “You’re welcome.” 

With haste, the colt unfolded his paper and read the second step. “Find common ground.” I can do that.

Above, three members of the Wonderbolts were corkscrewing upwards, their wings almost touching, while another was diving towards them, a blindfold on his face. The blinded pegasus clamped his wings along his sides as he zipped through the threesome, narrowly avoiding a hit that could have injured them all. 

The crowd erupted in cheers at the small feat of skill and bravado, Scootaloo one of the loudest as she climbed onto her seat and waved around. Her shouts were cut short by the click-and-flash of his camera. 

Featherweight adjusted his zoom and picked another target, unaware of Scootaloo’s inquisitive look. She leaned towards him. “You’re taking pictures?” 

Gently, he lowered the camera. “Uh, yeah, that way we’ll have something to remember this by.” Ah, this might be the common ground I need! 

“Cool. Don’t forget to take one of Soarin’; he’s the most eligible bachelor.” With that, the hyperactive mare returned to shouting at her favourite athletes.  

Featherweight sighed and lowered his camera even further. So much for that approach. She doesn’t even care about my favourite hobby. His shoulders slumped forwards and his ears drooped as the colt leaned back.

“Featherweight?” Sweetie asked. “When it’s all done, could you take a few pictures of the three of us? I’m sure it’d make a great souvenir.” 

His ears perked up. “Yeah, I could do that. Easily!”

She nodded, smiling knowingly. “So, how do you do to take a picture as they’re moving? Doesn’t it mess with the focus?”

He blushed self-consciously as he handled his device. “Nah, the film is magic; it auto-corrects everything for me. You just need to get the frame on the right spot and pick the perfect moment.... Want to try?

“Sure!” With a glow of her horn, the filly grabbed the camera, floating it into her hooves and over her eye.

He watched the impressive display with admiration. “You got better with your magic.” 

She almost dropped the camera, catching it at the last second with her telekinesis. “T-thanks. I sorta practiced.... So, how do you use this?” 

“Heh, just look in the hole, aim at the thing you want a picture of, and click. Then, roll that little wheel until it locks, then you can take another picture.”

“Aim at what I want. Got it.” 

Featherweight looked above and at the blue streaks that dotted the sky. I wonder what she’ll capture? 

The camera clicked. Turning, he faced down the lens and blinked. She took a picture of me? 

“Something to remember the day by,” she explained with a sweet smile, her cheeks puffing red as she disguised her face with a curly lock of her mane. 

Featherweight stared at her for a few moments, the sounds of the assembly rushing over and through him as his mind drew a blank. No, I’m not here for her... no matter how nice she is. He gave a firm shake of his head before grabbing his camera with a gentle hoof, tearing it away from the disappointed filly. 

I need to focus, he thought as he pulled out the note once more, reading the last step to himself. “Ask her onto a second date.” All four of his hooves dropped as he gulped, burning the sheet with his eyes. 

He looked at Scootaloo, who was still facing the fliers. Featherweight swallowed hard and shut his eyes. Soon, when the show’s nearing its end, he consoled himself, buying time.

“And that, folks, is the end of our show! Thank yo—”

Dammit. 

Scootaloo reclined into her seat, the wooden bench groaning a little. “That was cool! Did you see that last stunt?!” she asked, eyes glowing with admiration and awe as she grinned wildly in his direction.

“Uh, yeah, really cool. So, uh, maybe, we could, uh, maybe...” Come on, invite her! “Would you like to go to the Spring Fling with me?”

She blinked a few times, then furrowed her brows and hummed. “Okay, I’ll go with you,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. Her eyes moved off of him and back to the stage before widening. “Whoa, Rainbow Dash is here! See you later!” 

With that, Scootaloo hopped around Featherweight and ran down the bleachers at a breakneck pace, slinking through the ponies milling around as she headed towards the stage. 

What just happened? he wondered as he slumped into his seat, his mind going numb once more. Sweetie Belle said something to him, the words sounding hollow and incomprehensible. She got up, a small, sad smile on her face as she walked away.

Did I do the right thing?





No, he didn’t. 

Edited by:
StapleCactus

Preread (or is it beta reader?) by:
Frederick the Saiyan
Cpl Hooves
Your Antagonist


Oh, and are you fellows familiar with The Descendant? You know, that totally rad author? 

We wrote a romantic comedy together, filled with the usual quota of awkward and epic (he provided the epic, the awkward was provided by my real-life experience of being near him).

Have a link to it! 

Of Apples and Roses and Thick Purple Proses. 
	
> A New Suit, A New Colt 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	He looked up at the building. Its checkered blue sides and purple and pink trim rose up to the carousel that gave the building its denomination. Right above his head, a gaudy sign announced its name: aptly called Carousel Boutique. 

Do I really need to be here? he wondered as he eyed the entrance apprehensively. He shuffled his weight from side-to-side, bit his lip, then took a step forward. He froze. But I don’t want to go in there, he told himself. What if Sweetie is there... or worse, Rarity.

He shook his head. Idiot, one of the two’s going to be there no matter what. I just need to trot in, ask for a suit, pay for it, and trot out. Keep it business-like, none of the fluffy, feely stuff.

Featherweight took another step, then paused once more. Some of the ponies going about their day were pausing and staring at his antics at the entrance. Sweetie Belle. She likes me, doesn’t she? Oh, who am I kidding, she admitted it herself. But... do I like her?

“Gah, I don’t have time for this!” he screamed at the top of his voice, drawing quite a bit more attention his way. “Sorry,” he said, cringing as he snuck towards the doorway. I like Scootaloo, that much I know. And I’m going with her tomorrow. Not Sweetie Belle. That’s that.

With a gentle push of his forehoof, the door swung inwards, releasing a warm breath of perfume-filled air from the building. Chimes tinkled above the door, the ringing quickly absorbed by the huge showroom.

In the centre of the room, a white unicorn was bending under a mannequin, a dozen needles held between her teeth as she hummed to herself and placed them one by one with her magic. “One moment, dear,” she called before Featherweight sat down and patiently waited, his attention straying to a row of mannequins set along the wall that looked at him with their faceless heads. Opposite them were wheeled racks covered in clothes of every colour and hue.

Rarity carefully pierced the newly-made dress with the last of her needles. “Just a few more stitches... and done!”  The elegant mare stood and turned her glasses-covered face towards him, her mane swinging around her to land in the perfect position. Her deep, royal blue eyes alighted on him, widening before narrowing into little slits. “Ah... you.” 

Featherweight averted his eyes even as he pawed the carpeted floor. “Um, hello, Miss Rarity.” 

“Hello, Featherweight,” she replied, removing her glasses with her magic before depositing them on a nearby table. The mare coughed lightly before resuming in a cold, yet professional, voice. “What are you here for today?”

“I, uh... I need a suit. For the Spring Fling.”

“I see.” Rarity walked across the room, her muffled hoof-falls the only sound in the room as she made her way to a rack filled with suits. Her distinct blue aura surrounded it and pulled three samples out, floating them between herself and the colt. “These are the most commonly sold ones to... young stallions like yourself.”

Featherweight stood and walked towards the suits, scanning them over. These aren’t really that nice, he thought as a baby blue affair with bright green buttons floated by. I think she’s doing it on purpose. “None of these are, um...” Be tactful; she might still have scissors around. 

“These don’t really suit me, Miss Rarity.” She pushed forwards and took a peek at the other suits that had yet to move from on the steel rack. Most were simple, black, and had tags well within his means. “Maybe one of those?” he asked with a sheepish smile while pointing at them.

Rarity gave the stand a swift kick of her hind leg, sending it flying back until it crashed into the wall, dropping coats and fancy pants left and right. “Those one’s aren’t for sale,” she said, giving him a sweet grin.

“Miss Rarity?” 

“Yes, Featherweight?” Her smile began to strain on the edges. 

“I have the impression that you’re showing me... less popular outfits on purpose,” he said, an eyebrow rising quizzically.

The mare huffed and pouted, her muzzle pointing up in denial. “Why, I’d never do that to an esteemed customer!”

His brows never moved. “Is this because of Sweetie Belle?”

She peeked down at him, then sighed and shook her head, the three suits leisurely travelling back to their place on the supports. “Fine. I guess it’s not very fair of me to treat you this way. Yes, it’s about Sweetie Belle.”

“Which part, exactly?” Featherweight cringed. 

Rarity wheeled on him. “Well, she told me how she cares for you, but you persist on pursuing that little tomcolt, Scootaloo. I know I can’t fault Scootaloo; she’s done nothing wrong in occupying your affections. From the sound of it, she just barely returns your feelings. What irks me is that you know how much my dear Sweetie Belle cares for you, yet you continue to give her hope of a relationship. The poor thing is bending over backwards for you, twisting Scootaloo’s wings in order to get her to go on these little ‘dates’ of yours, practically begging me for those Wonderbolts tickets, and I’ve never seen her practice her magic any harder than she has been after you praised her that, one, time.” The mare stomped forwards, looking at him through the bottom of her glasses. 

He stepped backwards, reeling away from the calm mare. 

“After she came home yesterday, she tried to put on a brave face for me, but broke down sobbing the moment she was in her room. I understand that you care for Scootaloo, I really do, but you need to make it absolutely clear to Sweetie that your relationship with her will never become anything more than friendship… will it?” She leaned forwards, her face so close to his he could smell the turnip and hay she ate for breakfast. “Will it?”

“Well, I uh, I guess not.” 

“Very well. If you’re any sort of gentlecolt, you should tell her that yourself.” Rarity lifted away from him, back straightening as she turned to face the shop’s rear entrance. “I’m sorry for all of my hostility earlier; such crude actions are rather unbecoming of a lady like myself. But I love Sweetie with all my heart, and it hurts me terribly to see her in such pain,” she said while walking away.

“You’re a good sister, Miss Rarity.” Why’d I say that?

She beamed at him over her shoulder, her teeth flashing in the track lights. “Thank you, dear.” Rarity took a few more steps, then paused. “Oh, now that we have that all settled, how about we fit you with a nice suit. I have the most darling outfit for you!” Her horn glowing, she popped open a chest near the exit and pulled out a bright green outfit with thick lapels and golden buttons. 

Oh sweet Celestia, please no. Featherweight swallowed hard, the multi-hued piece of clothing the only thing he could focus on. “Um, no thanks, I’ll take something more... conventional.” 

Rarity hummed. “You’re the fourth to say that,” she mused before tossing the offending thing back into the case. “Oh well. I’ll fetch Sweetie.” 

The door closed with an almost silent click, leaving Featherweight alone in the room.

He sat in the middle of the floor, eyes roaming around the shop. Huh, wasn’t I here like this before? All alone... “Ah!” I remember, that’s the day Sweetie kissed me.

He coughed, clutching his chest as his body bent forwards, blood rushing to his face even as his eyes watered. Why’d I have think of that?!

“Oh no! Are you okay?” a sweet, high-pitched voice said, one that made his ears twitch wildly. 

Delicate hooves touched his back, gently encouraging him to straighten out. With a gasp of air, Featherweight stopped his fit and quickly wiped a hoof by his eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked again, prompting the colt to turn and stare into a deep pair of grey-green eyes.

“Oh, hi, Sweetie Belle,” he said, mouth turning to cotton while bullets of sweat began to make their way down the nape of his neck.

The filly sat near him, her eyes immediately flinching away as she studied everything but him. Featherweight blinked, then narrowed his eyes as he scanned her quickly. Her hooves were shivering and constantly moving, her whiter-than-white coat had tints of deep red around her cheeks, and she was biting her lower lip. “So... uh, I came here to buy a suit. You know, for the thing...”

“Oh, right!” she exclaimed, looking up to meet his gaze. She smiled, closing her eyes as she did so. “I have something for you; I think you might like it.” Sweetie Belle turned around and pranced out of the room, the door hardly clacking shut before swinging open once more.

Floating beside her on a clothes hanger was a well-pressed and perfectly trimmed tuxedo, a black bowtie dangling around the hook. She grabbed hold of one of the benches at the make-up mirrors and dragged it near him. Then, being careful not to crease or mar the fabric, she gently laid the suit over the wood. “Here, all yours!” she said, a beaming grin splitting her face. 

Featherweight approached it, blinking as he looked at it carefully. The material was a soft black satin with a silver trim along all of the edges. Pieces of loose thread poked out from some seams and most of the trimming was crooked or badly pressed. “It’s uh, it’s really nice,” he said, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. 

“Oh, thanks,” Her face blushed instantly as she demurely focused on her hooves. “I made it myself, just for you.”

“Oh, wow!” He looked at it again with newfound appreciation. “It must’ve taken you forever.” 

“No... just a few weeks... it’s nothing, really, compared to my sister’s stuff.”

He gave her a huge grin as thanks. “Should I try it on now?”

“No, it’s okay. I know all your measurements.” One of his eyebrows rose. “You, you can have it,” she said, pushing both the bench and suit forwards. “I’ll go fetch a bag.”

He blinked twice, looking between the filly walking to the counter near the entrance, to the black tuxedo. “Wait, as in, free?”

Sweetie Belle disappeared behind the desk with the cash register, her head reappearing moments later from above the table “Of course I meant free,” she said before dropping again.

“Bu-but you worked so hard. I can pay, you know; it won’t be a problem,” he protested, taking a few steps her way.

“Don’t argue. I made it for you, and I want you to enjoy it.” Her tail stood out from above the counter, waving from side to side. “Now, where’d she put the medium-sized bags?”

Featherweight sat beside the tuxedo and touched it, his hoof playing across its surface. She really did go all out. All that for me, and Scootaloo... Would Scoots do the same for me? He looked back at the still-wagging tail. She’s the nicest pony I know, he thought, somehow knowing it was true. 

“So, Sweetie,” he began, trying to relieve the tension of the room’s quiet. “Are you going to the Spring Fling?”

The tail froze and stood stock-still for a few moments before pulling down. A few moments later, Sweetie Belle trotted out, an empty bag with the shop’s logo adorning its side in her mouth. Her entire upper body was flushed red as she spoke. “Well, uh, yeah, I’ll be going.”

“That’s cool,” he said as she approached. “So, who’ll you be going with?”

The filly froze, immediately turning her face away from him and dropping the bag. “I-I... I um,” she stumbled over her words, her voice breaking at every pause. “I think I left laundry in the oven!” she exclaimed before galloping by him, a few thick sobs escaping her.

“No, wait!” The last Featherweight saw of Sweetie Belle was the sparkle of light off a wet cheek as the shop’s door closed with a boom of finality. He gently lowered the hoof raised towards the exit, using it to hit himself in the face. 

“I’m such an idiot,” he groaned in the sudden solitude of the boutique. The colt sighed and reached forwards, grabbing the suit with his wing tips and bringing it to the bag. Carefully, he slid the cloth into it and let out another sigh before picking the bag up. Head low and tail dragging behind him, Featherweight moved to the door and pushed it open, the joyful ringing resounding in his head.

Outside, the sun was uncharastically strong, covering the entire town in the glow of Celestia's light. The air smelt of summer and the glee associated with it: from fresh flowers in the meadows, to the blooms of the hundreds of apple trees starting to flower.

The lone colt began to march at a deliberately slow pace, his mind working while his hooves carried him ahead. What should I do? he asked himself as he skirted around the town, open fields on one side and dozens of thatch-roofed houses on the other. 

He grumbled, passing a small group of colts running and cheering together as they were led by a grey pegasus. Sweetie Belle isn’t very happy, is she? Is it my fault? Is Scootaloo happy with me? Featherweight slowed to a halt, eyes glazing over. Am I happy?

“Gaaaaah!” he screamed in frustration, stomping the ground with all four hooves. No. I’m not happy. This entire thing is driving me mad! “Why can’t love just be simple?” he whined, before abandoning his stomping and carrying on.

All right, let’s boil this down. The colt let out a tight breath, loosening his chest as he did so. Do I like Sweetie Belle? I guess I do. She’s nice and all, and kinda cute, and she likes me back... a lot.

The colt took a tight turn into an alleyway leading to a housing street. What about Scootaloo? he wondered, kicking a can out of his way. I... I liked her for a very long time. But never up front. Do I still like her? She’s rash, and fast, loves all sorts of things, except me, and she’s really, really cute. 

Head low, he walked around a house and back into another alley, the stench of piled up garbage wafting over to him. He groaned as he passed through, increasing his pace. Beyond, he reached a small park-like glade right on the town’s edge filled with a few tall trees and some artfully placed bushes. 

But do I love Scootaloo? She hasn’t been all that nice to me, and... well... He slowed to a stall once more. Do I still love her?

Nearby, one of the bushes shook lightly, rustling despite the lack of wind.

Featherweight's mind stilled as he blinked at the bush, eyes widening and ears perking. Slowly, he snuck towards the shrub just as another sound escaped it: a sob. 

Through the green and vibrant leaves was a greyish-purple form, one that shook constantly as branches caught onto its coat. “Um, hello?” he asked, voice low and inquisitive. “Are you okay in there?”

The sobs stopped, replaced by a loud hard gulp. Then, nothing. 

“I’m Featherweight. It’s okay.” Is she injured? He lowered himself, front hooves bending until his head was beneath the edge of the bush. 

“I’m okay,” a squeaky voice said.  “Ju-just leave me alone, please?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you... Miss...” Between the leaves, he saw a filthy blonde mane move, the sunlight briefly catching on its golden streaks.

There was a pause, a few moments passing in quiet until the filly finally sighed. “Okay, I’ll come out... b-but only if you don’t laugh at me!” she added, voice firm, until it suddenly cracked. She looked down, another wracking sob escaping her.

“Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” he said, waving his hooves around before touching his eye.

She giggled sadly before branches began snapping and leaves shook off, falling to the ground in droves as the occupant of the bush burrowed out of it. The filly fell onto her haunches at Featherweight’s hooves. “So, are you okay?” he asked, gingerly helping her to sit up straight. 

From the tip of her tiny horn to the bottom of her hooves, she only stood as tall as Featherweight’s chin. Her small head bowed down as tears still slipped from her eyes. The filly ran one of her minuscule hooves across her muzzle, then sniffed shyly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her big yellow eyes looking away in shame.

“Oh, don’t be sorry. I-I, uh... how about we talk about it? I guess?” He scratched the nape of his neck, giving her the most reassuring smile he could muster. 

She looked at him uncertainly, her ears drooped and her eyes still filled with fresh tears that had left streaks down her puffy red cheeks. “I don’t know...” They both blushed.

“Well, how about I, uh, escort you home?”

She nodded. “Well... okay, I guess. My name’s Dinky Hooves, but... most ponies just call me Dinky.” 

“Hi, Dinky. I’m, uh, Featherweight,” he said, his smile beginning to strain. “So,” he asked, pawing the ground. “Where do you live?”

The filly twisted around, shyly pointing with the tip of her hoof across the hills beyond town. There, hidden within the thick evergreens, was a beige timber shack nestled up to the side of an enormous tree. Stretching to the house was a hoof-beaten path edging along the hill’s crest. 

“Huh, I never noticed that place.” Featherweight leaned in the house’s direction, squinting and shading his eyes from the sun with a hoof. 

Dinky bit her lower lip. “Mommy likes to be... apart, from the other ponies.” 

Featherweight nodded and took a few steps forwards, snapping a few fallen branches as he did so. “Okay, should we get going then?” he asked.

Her tiny head bobbed up and down before she scampered ahead of him. Featherweight walked at her side, taking one step for every two of hers. The impromptu couple slipped out of the shadow cast by the glade and marched through the long grass beyond, the blades slipping between their hooves in waves. 

Neither spoke; they just walked shoulder to tiny shoulder while heading to the beaten path. Dinky hung her head, the tip of her stunted horn pointing the way as she consistently let out small sighs and the occasional sob compressing her chest. 

The colt slowed to a halt and patiently waited for her to notice his departure. Three plodding steps later, the filly stopped, wiped her eyes, and looked back at him. 

He stomped his hoof into the ground, sat, and pouted. “I refuse to move on.”

Dinky blinked at him, her watery eyes staring back in confusion. “Did- did I do something?” she asked, her head sinking into her shoulders. “I’m sorry.” 

“I refuse to move on, until you tell me exactly what’s wrong.” 

“I-I, but—”

“Every detail. Or I’m not moving,” he said before huffing. 

The filly took a few steps his way. “But... I...” She sighed once more. “Well, okay, I guess.” Then, she wheeled on him. “But, please, please don’t tell anyone. It’s embarrassing.” Dinky focused on the ground as a massive blush reddened her cheeks. 

“Come on, I promise I won’t tell a soul.” 

“Well... okay, I guess. Can we continue walking, though?”

He smiled at his victory and pranced ahead, keeping to her side as she trod along, her head in the clouds for a few moments. 

Clouds flitted by high above them, casting long, thin shadows across the hillsides. Birds played in the sky, their glee at the arrival of summer palpable. “It’s Rumble,” she said, peering at Featherweight from the side. “He’s one of the colts in class. You know him? He’s tall, and grey, and has the coolest mane.” 

“Yeah, we’re in the same school... which reminds me, I never saw you in school before.”

“Oh, my mom homeschools me,” she explained. “Anyway, I... I... um, well...”

He smirked knowingly. “”You like him?”

The filly at his side stumbled forwards for a few steps, almost tripping over nothing, her face blushing more than ever. “Well, yeah, I guess... Um, well, recently, I sorta wanted to be with him.”

Just like me with Scootaloo, huh? “Okay, go on.” 

They were more than halfway to her house, the beige building clearly visible between the green leaves and branches.

“He, well, he was nice, I guess, but he was with his colt friends and they weren’t very nice to me at first. Then, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon began to laugh at my mommy, and he told them off.” She sighed, her eyes sparkling as she stared dreamily into the cloudless sky. “He’s so galant.”

“Is that why you’re sad?” 

“Well, sorta. I wanted to... you know... spend some time with him. And we sorta did, at first. But, well, he likes spending time with his friends more, and playing games with the other colts and fillies, and being all cool. So I tried to be like him, you know, to do the things he likes.” Another sob escaped her. “I messed up. I wanted to do good, but I just couldn’t. He’s so much better than I am. Then, Diamond Tiara came to me...”

“I think I see where this is going.”

“She- she told me that if I did this one thing, he’d really, really like me, and I’d get invited to play with them, too.”

Featherweight shook his head. “And what did she tell you to do?”

Dinky studied her quickly-approaching home. “Well, she said if I got some cakes from Sugar Cube Corner, and if I brought them to her and Rumble, he might think I’m brave and stuff... so I did.”

Featherweight blinked, his wings rustling on his back. “You stole from Pinkie Pie?” he asked, causing the filly to flinch. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

“Well... Rumble wasn’t happy, and all the others did was say it wasn’t right. He- he said... stealing wasn’t cool, and... and I was... was just a- a meany.” The filly swallowed past a lump in her throat as tears began to pour down her eyes. “He’ll never love me!” she exclaimed before stopping on the spot, cries once more freely escaping her.

“Ah, um, don’t be like that?” Featherweight said as he approached her and gave her a timid hug, wrapping a wing around her while she buried her face into his shoulder. Warm, wet tears began to cascade onto his coat while he sat there, petting her back rhythmically and staring at the sky, wishing he were far away. 

Her tears dried out, even as she continued to sob into his side. “I’m sorry,” Dinky squeaked, her face still buried in his shoulder.

“It’s fine,” he replied. “How about we get you home, all right?”

The filly shook her head, wiping off excess tears and some snot on him before pulling back. “I-I’m sorry. Mommy wouldn’t be very happy if she saw me taking things that aren’t mine.” The filly hiccuped. “What about you?”

He blinked. “What about me?”

Dinky began taking slow, shaky steps towards her home, gingerly moving forwards as if her tiny legs could hardly support her beaten and emotionally drained body. “Don’t you love someone? You seem like a nice enough colt.”

“I-I-I sorta do, I guess, maybe.” It was his turn to blush. The unpaved road changed below them, going from pounded dirt to a simple gravel and pebble pathway that arced and spun around the trees, bushes, and patches of well-tended flowers. 

The house’s door was wide open, the aroma of freshly baked muffins wafting out into the breeze and his hungry nostrils. “There are two, I guess.”

“Tell me about them... if you don’t mind?”

This is a bad idea... She might start crying again. “The first... I really, really like her. She’s pretty, and fun, and cool. But... she doesn’t really like me. Or at least, I don’t think she does.”

“And the other?” Dinky prodded, blinking away the last of her tears as her huge eyes stared up at him curiously. 

“She’s... different. She likes me; I know she does. And yet, she actually tries to help the other filly. Heh, she’s sorta cute, too. She’s the one that gave me this suit and she’s always trying to help me, or be closer.” He finished just as they arrived at the two steps leading into her house.

Dinky hopped up before she spun around. “Sounds like you should go for the second one; she sounds way better for you.” 

“Yeah... maybe...”

“Also, what suit are you talking about?” she asked, head tilting to one side. 

Featherweight spun around, his eyes fixating on the minuscule form of a Carousel Boutique bag placed far, far away, near the town. “Crud.” 

Dinky giggled, the joyful sound ringing about the glade around her house. “I’m sorry, that’s my fault, I guess.” 

He shrugged. “I’ll have to go get it quickly; it might rain or something.” He nodded in good-bye and took a few steps back. “Oh, and you should apologise to Pinkie Pie, although I somehow really, really doubt she doesn’t know. Promise?”

The filly nodded sagely. “I promise.” 

“Good! Now, here’s another tip: just be yourself. If you need to work at being someone else, then maybe this Rumble colt isn’t for you. You need to find someone who likes you for who you are. Oh, and Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon are a bunch of self-entitled cowards.” 

Dinky nodded again, her mood restored to some degree. “Thank you, Featherweight. You’re really nice, and I hope you do well with that filly; she sounds nice, too...”

“Yeah,” was all he said as good-bye. Turning, the colt began trotting along the road, heading for his temporarily forgotten bag. He looked down at the mess the filly had left from crying on his coat. 

I need a shower.






So do I, Feathers, so do I.


Alright! So, I wrote an Ebook, and am now going to shamelessly advertise it here! Don’t worry, like all my stuff it’s free (Unless you want to donate, which I don’t encourage you to do)!

And, these people helped:

Edited by:
-StapleCactus

Pre-Read by:
-Frederick the Saiyan
-Cpl Hooves
-FlutterSyke (Look, a new guy!)

Was Dinky cute? 


She might be the protagonist if I ever decide to write a sequel. 

Oh, and this is the before-last chapter (unless the next one becomes too long, in which case I might split it). So advertise! 
	
	
	
> One Final Kiss
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Three taps rang out as the colt hit the door, the sound reverberating across the empty and desolate street before being drowned out by the faraway sound of a heavy bass. 

Nervously, and with more than a little self-consciousness, Featherweight hopped down the steps leading up to the wooden door and waited. The bouquet of carefully-picked flowers he held sagged under their own weight, prompting him to tilt his head awkwardly to one side. 

With a shuddering breath, the young stallion started ticking items off his mental check-list. I have my suit on, I took a shower this week, I have flowers from Miss Roseluck’s shop, I have some spare bits just in case, and... He glanced for the fiftieth time to the numbers hanging beside the seemingly massive door. Yup, it’s the right address.

He patiently stared at the door as he waited with mounting anticipation for the mare of his dreams to step out.

The handle turned with a creaking and grinding that was pure joy to Featherweight's ears as he lifted to the tip of his hooves and unknowingly allowed his wings to flutter recklessly at his sides. 

With a single whoosh, the door opened, allowing a wedge of blinding artificial light to burn the image of a pretty golden mare into the eyes of the colt. Stepping out, Scootaloo descended the first two steps, her silky robes swaying around her as the last rays of the sun illuminated both her resilient coat and her dark purple mane.

She’s so... pretty, he thought as his mind reeled, trying to capture every last nuance of the image: from the tiny speck of blush on the filly’s face, to the tiny silver broach clipped into her mane, the latter holding her hair back and away from her eyes in a stylish coupe.

“Stupid dress; I’d rather go naked than wear this thing,” was the first thing she said, the almost spiteful undertone snapping Featherweight back to reality even as the filly blinked at him. “Oh, you’re here?”

He found himself standing, slack-jawed, in front of a very pretty Scootaloo with a bouquet of flowers at his hooves. Behind her was the very simple house in which the filly presumably lived. This is harder than I imagined it. Nonetheless, I have to woo her; it’s my last chance. I’m doing it for her, right?

“Um, yeah, I just arrived.” An hour and a half ago, and I just now got brave enough to knock... Maybe it’s best she doesn’t know?

She looked at him, forehead wrinkling uncertainly. “Well, why are you here? Weren’t we going to meet up at the Fling, instead?”

“Well,” he began, scratching his elbow, “I thought it’d be more... you know...”

“I know...” she repeated, encouraging him to go on with a roll of her hoof. 

“I thought it might be, you know, romantic? If I showed up at your door with- with flowers and escorted you?”

“Didn’t I say none of that mushy stuff?” she asked, shooting a glare at him that didn’t last. “Thanks anyway, I guess.” She hopped down the step with a tiny flutter of her delicate wings, landing just in front of him before bending down.

What’s she doing? he wondered as Scootaloo grabbed the bouquet, flower end first. Tossing it up, the filly began to munch on the tulips and daffodils. “Is good,” she said between loud and obnoxious chomps, chunks of petals and stems falling to the ground. 

“Uh,” he began, but chose not to question or even push the question of why she was eating the flowers. They were for her, so I guess that’s okay. The colt stood there, a chill running down his spine despite the jacket and warm sun beaming down on him. “M-maybe we should get going? I’m sure everypony’s waiting for us at the gate.”

Scootaloo tittered quietly. “Don’t worry, I’m hardly known for my punctuality. And, worst case scenario, I can blame this stupid dress for slowing me down.” She did a twirl, spinning around in a tight circle as she looked at her own flank. 

Featherweight swallowed hard as she completed the gesture, her mane settling around her features gracefully. No wonder I fell for her. “So, we shouldn’t go, then?”

She huffed. “Yeah, I guess we should.” The filly stared at the sun, the giant orb like a half-lidded eye as it sank into the horizon. “It starts at sundown, right? That means we have plenty of time to get there before it begins.”

Without waiting for him, the filly trotted ahead, her hips swaying from side to side as she made her way down the pathway leading from her home to the nearby street. “Are you coming?”

Nodding dumbly, Featherweight skittered after her. This might be fun. I mean, it’s my chance to rekindle my... no, Scootaloo’s love for me. It’s the right thing to do, right? Right! No. He shook his head, banishing a few stray thoughts into far and deep corners of his mind. I have to be myself, not act cool for her. Just be me for her. I don’t need a mare who loves me for something I’m not.

With a determined huff of his own, Featherweight strode ahead, marching up to the filly’s side and keeping pace. Two sets of hooves clacked against the ground as they headed towards the centre part of town, ignoring the few ponies dotting the edges of the street. 

I can be myself and strike up a conversation though, right? “So, the weather’s sorta nice tonight,” he said, looking up at the perfectly clear sky. Only a few puffy clouds dotted the sky with bright red and orange sides, the effects of the sun going to sleep. “What’s your favourite type of weather?”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes, sighed, then answered the question off-hoof. “Rainbow Dash says clear skies aren’t fun to fly in. No crosswinds and no clouds to gauge your speed with. I heard she could even fly through the toughest of storms and come out okay.”

“Uh-huh... So, uh, who’s your favourite Wonderbolt? Mine’s Spitfire; she’s pretty fast and a great leader, too.” 

“Oh, my favourite's Rainbow Dash!”

“But... she’s not a Wonderbolt,” he said. 

Scootaloo lifted a wing and pointed into the air. “She’s not a Wonderbolt, yet. But when she is one, she’ll be the best,” the filly said, her voice full of conviction and passion. 

Is Rainbow Dash all she ever thinks about? Featherweight prepared himself to ask about the multihued mare when, from the intersection ahead of them, a full group of colts and fillies ran out, laughing and playing with each other as they all headed in the same direction. 

“Ah, there’s Sweetie, and Apple Bloom!” Scootaloo exclaimed, not waiting a moment before charging ahead towards her two friends. 

Featherweight watched her go, a tiny well of frustration bubbling within him at her lack of attention. His gaze shifted from Scootaloo to Sweetie Belle, before quickly and guiltily snapping over to Pipsqueak and the ever-present Chowder. 

A welcoming smile on his minuscule features, Pipsqueak waved his friend over, tie flopping around limply as his hoof rubbed against it. “Hey, Feathers! Come on over; we’re all heading in the same direction, aren’t we?!” the colt asked aloud as Featherweight began to cover the ground beneath him with long strides forwards. From the corner of his eye, the pegasus noticed a certain white unicorn twisting her head around at the sound of his name.

“Hi, Pip, and hi, Chowder,” he said as he slid up beside his friends. “How are you guys doing?”

“We’re okay,” the small colt said. “Chowder’s a little under the weather, though.” He pointed at the large grey earth pony beside him.

“I am not!” the colt protested, snapping a glare at Pipsqueak. Featherweight took the opportunity to examine him. His dark brown mane was combed for once and not a trace of chocolate was seen on his fat lips that were as red as his blushing face. 

“Do too, mate. You’ve got a case of Twisted mind; all you see is red, white, and candy canes,” Pipsqueak teased the blushing colt before giving him a mean smirk. 

“Well, that’th not nithe!” Twists’ lispy voice said  as the tiny mare strode out of her coltfriend's shadow. “Laughing at Chowder like that’th mean!”

Ah, so that’s what he meant.

Pipsqueak giggled. “Don’t worry, Twist, you both know I was only trying to bug you guys.” He turned his attention back over to Featherweight, his face affixed with that permanent smirk. “So, how goes your progress with Scootaloo?”

Featherweight sighed. “Not that good. I can’t seem to get to her; either that, or she really doesn’t care about me... I don’t even know if I like her anymore, the way she’s acting and all that.”

“Aww, well, there’s an easy solution to that.” For a while, the group walked on, Scootaloo and her friends laughing ahead of them while some others played an impromptu game of tag all across the busy street. More and more ponies were pouring in from every direction, all of them heading towards the same goal with a glee and excitement that seemed to permeate the air. “Just find another filly. She’s obviously not your type, or made for you.”

The pegasus bit his lower lip. “I don’t know. It’d be rude to just dump her like that, right? And I think it might be best to just see how things go,” he said, his gaze shifting gently from Scootaloo to Sweetie Belle before he gulped. 

“See how things go, huh? Well, that might work; we’re the lucky ones, after all,” Pipsqueak said.

Featherweight’s brow furrowed, both in confusion and with curiosity. “What do you mean by ‘the lucky ones’?”

“We’re males. Have you seen the mare to stallion ratio around here? The moment the fillies realise that, they’ll be easy picking for us!” 

Easy picking?! What a jerk. That’s not how love works, Featherweight huffed. “If they’re so easy to pick, why don’t you have a date?” he shot back, a little louder than necessary. 

“I’m going to go say hi to the others. See you, Pip.” Head held high, the pegasus trotted ahead, gaining speed until he caught up with the three fillies in front of him.

Now what? he wondered as he kept pace behind Scootaloo, his attention inadvertently going to the banners and streamers hanging onto the street lights and arching from one rooftop to another. 

“I mean, he showed up right at my door,” Scootaloo said to her friends, her head shaking from side to side. “Why do colts have to be so... mushy?”

“Ah know! Colts are so weird. I mean, they’re all so... touchy, and they have all these feelings. They should really stallion up!” Apple Bloom added, nodding sagely the entire time. At her right, Sweetie Belle blushed, biting her lower lip as she looked away. 

I shouldn’t have gone to her house; it was stupid. I’m such an idiot, Featherweight thought as he allowed the fillies' voices to get farther and farther ahead of him. I shouldn't have gone anywhere near her house! I should've just stuck to the plan... meet her with the rest and then be quiet all night. This is what I get for trying too hard. 

The pegasus colt plodded onward, not even noticing the second clack of hooves mirroring his own as he continued to beat himself internally.

“I thought it was rather sweet,” a soft, demure voice at his side said, one that made the colt jump, his wings shooting out and fluttering in fright.

Sweetie Belle walked alongside him, her silent hoofalls hardly making a thump as she kept pace with him. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said as he blinked at her. “I didn’t mean to... to startle you. It's just that you look sorta... disturbed.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” he replied, laughing her concern away. “I’m fine.”

“Then, why do you look so sad?” she asked before immediately recanting. “No, it’s none of my business, sorry.” 

Well, this is getting awkward fast, he thought, rubbing a wing-tip on the nape of his neck. “Yeah, I just have a hard time with all of this.” He gestured ahead towards Scootaloo, the filly still trotting alongside Apple Bloom, both laughing at an unheard joke. “Relationships are... complicated.”

“Yeah, I guess they are,” she added, a quick sigh escaping her. 

Come on, Feather, change the topic. Glancing at his side, the pegasus gave Sweetie Belle a quick once over. She was dolled up, a thin layer of makeup on her whiter-than-white face, giving her a permanent blush. On her was a simple dress made of a dozen slightly-crooked layers of purple and white cloth running along her form and ending in a simple skirt hanging a hoof length away from the ground. The entire thing was bedecked in bunched patches of lace and the occasional bow held together with stitches made by an inexperienced hoof. “That’s a nice dress you have,” he said, hoping the compliment would lead the conversation elsewhere.

Instead, the filly blushed madly. “Thanks. It’s not as nice as I would have liked it to be though. I made this for last year’s Spring Fling.”

“Oh, and why didn’t you make one for this year’s?”

“I-I was too busy making your suit,” she admitted, flushing red as she turned her attention away and to a couple lazily making their way to the event, as if the distraction had every importance in the world. 

Why is it that every time I try to say something, I put my hoof in my mouth? I really should learn to shut up more. “I’m sorry.”

“No!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed, snapping back to him as she inadvertently closed the gap between them. “I made it for you, and I wanted you to have it. Please, don’t feel sorry.”

The colt worked his jaw, trying to find something to say as he looked into her piercing green eyes, idly noting that the edges of them were marred by a fine sliver of tears. “I-I...”

“Will you hurry up, already!?” Scootaloo called out, pulling the attention of the couple away from each other and to the orange pegasus. Scootaloo was standing near an archway leading to the front of the town hall, the entirety of the wooden structure covered in fresh spring flowers glowing in the sunset. 

Big Macintosh stood near the entrance, a beige and white mare pruning the flowers nearby as he watched over those entering with a silent and firm gaze. “I’ve been waiting for you since forever,” the filly complained as she fluttered her wings in frustration. 

“Oh, um, right, sorry,” Featherweight excused himself as he trotted to her, shooting Sweetie Belle an apologetic glance over his shoulder. 

“It’s fine, I’ll see you later,” the unicorn filly said before adding “I hope” under her breath. 

Featherweight perked his ears at her, only hearing the faintest undecipherable whisper of what she had said over the sound of a hundred anxious ponies within the ball-grounds. Arriving at Scootaloo’s side, she stepped up alongside him and led them through the archway.

Immediately, all five of the colt’s senses were assaulted in full force. 

On the town hall’s stage, a DJ was bobbing her shade-covered head to the tune of some quick heart-pumping music thumping along with a synchronized light show. From the stage, a temporary dance floor had been laid out, a cordoned-off square made of wooden planks covered in raving ponies of every sort. 

Beyond that, near Sugarcube Corner, were two gigantic tables covered in free food, the aromas of freshly baked desserts and delicacies wafting over to the suddenly-hungry colt as his eyes kept roving.

In another corner, Pinkie Pie was hopping around in gleeful circles as she oversaw a dozen party games: from Pin the Tail on the Donkey, to Competitive Twister. Everywhere she went, the mare tossed candy to wanting foals and had quick chats with every pony she met. 

“Wow,” was the only thing he could think to say.

“Cool, I wonder where everypony’s at?” Scootaloo asked, twisting her head from side to side as she searched. Near Sugarcube Corner, a group of young mares had gathered, all of them talking up a storm. In the centre of that group was Rainbow Dash, the mare trying her best to dominate the conversation. “Ah, cool!” Scootaloo said as she began to gallop towards her idol.

“Wait!” Featherweight called out as he, too, sprinted forwards, wing outstretched in a gesture to stop the filly.

Scootaloo slowed to a halt, her hoofsteps quieting as she stalled in front of him and spun around, her eyes rolling even as they caught the light of a hundred decorative lanterns. “What is it?” she asked curtly.

“Well, um.” Featherweight slowed to a halt a few paces from her, huffing out a single puff of air. “Aren’t we supposed to be, you know, together? Since this is a date and all?” he asked, twiddling his wingtips together as he bit his lower lip. 

She sighed, the sound coming out as a single whoosh of frustration. “All right, fine, you can come with me to see Rainbow, but don’t hog her, all right?”

“Sure!” With a quick smile, Featherweight slid up to the filly’s side. This isn’t too bad, I guess? She’s allowing me to be with her. Nonetheless, something’s wrong. I know what it is, don’t I? He looked at Scootaloo, practically seeing the single-minded determination she held. No, not now.

Spinning around, Scootaloo once more began to trot towards the shop, before freezing mid-stride. 

The group had dissipated; Rainbow was gone.

“But... but I wanted to see her,” the filly whined, her face twisting into a teary-eyed pout. 

“Aww, don’t worry!” a bubbly and intoxicatingly joyous voice shouted as a pink flash landed at Scootaloo’s side, a mass of balloons thumping together above her. “I’m sure Rainbow will be back in a Dash!” 

The two foals blinked dumbly at Pinkie Pie as the mare giggled and snorted at her own joke. “Here, have a balloon! They always make me happy!” she said before grabbing one of her floating spheres and expertly tying its string around Scootaloo’s foreleg. “There you go! Now, you two have a good time, and no hankey-pankeying under the stage!” With that, the mare bounced away, leaving the two youngsters to stare at each other and blush. 

“I still blame you...” Scootaloo said before sighing and giving up, her shoulders hunching forwards. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

I have to do something... something romantic, maybe? “A-actually, how about I get you something to eat? It’s only proper,” he asked, thinking quickly as he give her a curt bow. “You could wait near the table, perhaps?”

One of her eyebrows rose and she shrugged, the gesture rippling through her breezy dress. “Sure, why not?”

With that, the filly looked around, spotted the dozens of mostly-unoccupied tables set out beside Sugar Cube Corner, and made a beeline for them. 
 
Featherweight watched her go, feeling as if a pile of bricks had been removed from upon him as Scootaloo got further and further away. She’s so... feisty. Not calm or reasonable at all. Did I really make the right choice? Bah, regardless, I asked her out and I have to stay with her; it wouldn’t be fair to just ditch her like that. 

The colt headed to one of the buffet tables, the only one not covered in candies, pastries, and other -ies. With an absent mind, he picked up a tray and placed two bowls on it, which he quickly filled with salads, tiny triangle-cut sandwiches, and other delicacies of the average party. He spun around and headed towards the tables, avoiding a bustling crowd of giddy party-goers as he made his way to Scootaloo. Maybe a romantic dinner will help?

Scootaloo sat in the farthest seat, her eyes focused on a burning candle, the flame reddening her visage with the flickering motion of a phantom as he slid the tray in front of her. “Here you go, madam. I hope you enjoy your meal!” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. 

Without waiting for the colt to sit, Scootaloo dove head-first into her plate, bits and pieces of her meal splattering across her face. Not the cleanest of eaters, but at least she’s not picky.

“Ah, eww!” She backpedaled on the spot, hooves flying out like machine guns as she pushed her plate across the table. “Cucumbers! Those are nasty!” 

Or maybe not, he sighed. 

“How could you feed me those?” she asked, spitting the offending green fruit onto the table. “Those are nasty! Are you trying to kill me?”

“O-of course not! I-I just wanted us to have a good time.”

She harrumphed. “Whatever, I’m not even hungry anymore.” She leaned her head onto her hoof, the balloon’s string playing in her mane. “What should we do next?”

“I don’t know; what do you wish to do?”

The filly hummed, her eyes roving over to the centre dance floor where dozens were hopping to the beat of a heavy bass “We could dance, I guess.” 

She looked at him, a twinkle in her eye and a mischievous smile on her lips. “If you’re up to it?”

Instead of giving her a straight answer, Featherweight slid off of his seat, walked around the table and pulled her chair back, allowing the filly to hop out. “You first, milady.”

Giggling, Scootaloo led the way through the crowd of chairs, tables, and ponies and straight onto the dance floor, her hooves thumping against the ground. 

On stage, the pearl-white DJ unicorn gave the dancers a shark-like grin before levitating a disk onto her mixer’s spinning wheels. Immediately, a massive bark escaped the speakers, emitting a sound wave strong enough to frazzle the manes of nearby ponies and send a jolt through Featherweight's body. Not exactly the kind of music I’d want for a date, but it’s okay, I guess. 

He looked at Scootaloo; she looked at him. The filly took a half-step towards him, her body already beginning to sway under the hypnotic beat of the dubtrot the DJ was firing. And that’s when the realization hit him. He didn’t know how to dance. 

“Oh-oh,” he said aloud, followed by a flurry of mental blows. Idiot! Now what? He winced. Should I tell her? I mean, it’s sorta normal; this music’s niche and all that, and she probably won’t mind. We can always do something else... or she could teach me... The thought of the filly’s body next to his as she gently coached him into the complex steps both unnerved him and twisted his lips into a giddy smile. I’d like that. Anyway, any understanding mare would be okay with this, right?

“Something wrong?” she asked, shouting over the din as she kicked out in time with the music. “You’re not dancing.” 

“Well,” he began loudly, scratching the nape of his neck with a forehoof. “I sorta don’t know how to dance, maybe.”

“You don’t know how to dance? Really?” Scootaloo asked, her deadpan carrying over even the strongest wubs. 

“Not really. Maybe you could teach me?” he asked, taking a hopeful step towards her. 

“Come on, show me what you’ve got, then we’ll see what we’re working with!” 

That’s the best answer she’s given me all night. With a fluttering of his wings and an excited huff the pegasus began. Swaying his hips from side to side like an eager puppy, he began to bob his head and take alternating steps forwards and back. “Like this?” he asked a half-second before tripping over his own hoof and meeting the ground in a violent thump. 

Scootaloo’s hoof crashed into her face, sending the balloon tethered to it flopping around as she sighed in exasperation. “No, no, not like that; like this.” With a quick hop back, the filly fell into a series of twists, bobs, and twirls, the music seeming to flow through her, moving her like a perfectly coordinated marionette. Eyes closed, the filly seemed to fall into a trance as the notes and cascading sounds swelled and dimmed around her. Then, as suddenly as she had started, Scootaloo stopped. “And that’s how you dance.”

“Uh-huh... Can you do the first bit again... but slower?”

The filly threw her hooves into the air, groaning in frustration. The tight little knot that held her balloon to her forehoof rent, sliding apart with a tiny zip that set the balloon free. Both of them stared up at the balloon as it wobbled and floated upwards. 

“I’ll get it,” Featherweight said before he gave two strong beats of his wings. It is sorta my fault, I guess, the colt thought as he steadily climbed into the air and out of the speaker’s line of fire. Again, he flapped his wings, gaining some more altitude before he snapped at the fleeting cord attached to the balloon. Got it!

The spoils of his victory held firmly in his mouth, Featherweight allowed gravity to do its part and pull him back towards solid ground. With a muffled thump, he landed at Scootaloo’s side, happily noting that the DJ had taken a break. “Here you go,” he said, trying to hoof the object over. 

Scootaloo batted it away, freeing the balloon from his clutches and allowing it to fumble through the air. “I don’t want it.”

“Bu-but you were just...”

“Why’d you have to be such... such a show off?” She accused him, her wings snapping out angrily. 

“A show off?” he repeated. What’s she talking about?

“Yeah, with all your flying and stuff.” Scootaloo huffed, sitting down dejectedly and twisting her gaze away from him to glare at the stage. “You can’t even dance...”

But I... I mean, she... No. 

I tried to show her she was important to me... I tried to make this night special, romantic, what all ponies dream of in their vision of a perfect date... I even tried to give her her stupid balloon back! 

“You’re mean.”

The filly turned her attention back to him, blinking as she repeated his statement to herself. 

“Not, mean mean, just... You’re not my type. You’re late, you don’t appreciate small gestures, you’re brash and cocky and think being cool is the best thing in the world. All you do is try to suck up to Rainbow Dash all day long, as if she was some sort of Goddess.” He stomped at the ground, his voice gaining strength as his confidence grew. “You’re real nice, but only to your friends, and you’re a hard worker, too. But instead of using that talent for others, you selfishly keep it to yourself.

“Honestly, Scootaloo, you’re one of the prettiest fillies I’ve ever seen.” Featherweight bit his cheek, allowing only an embarrassed smile to escape. “You’re athletic, resourceful, and you’re a bit of a tom-colt. You’re just...” He shrugged, “not for me. I’m sorry.”

Scootaloo stepped towards him, confusion and fear playing across her delicate features. “But- but you...”

“I don’t love you anymore. Bye.” 

Featherweight walked by the filly, his chest pained, but lighter than it had been in days. This is for the best, he thought, not an ounce of doubt within him. 

He walked, leaving the filly alone in her corner of the dance floor as the DJ started another song, this one a light melodious tune from a cello mixed with the weeping tones of a violin. 

Now what? he sighed, the newfound well of contentment quickly running dry as he unconsciously made his way towards Sugarcube Corner. That's it? Years and years of crushing on her, and it just ends like that. He shook his head. No, it wasn't meant to be. We just weren't compatible... Why didn't I see it earlier?

His hoofsteps turned from dull thuds to excited clacks as he entered the pastry and candy shop. Within, very little had changed to accommodate the party. Streamers hung from more places than usual and a banner was strung across the ceiling with the words ‘Spring Fling’ printed across it, but no other decoration was present. Featherweight did a quick three-sixty, curiously looking around at the store.

“We didn't let Pinkie have her way for once,” a mature voice explained from beyond the counter. Blinking, Featherweight faced the yellow, apron-wearing pony at the register. “Hello, Featherweight.”

“Oh, hi, Mister Cake. How are you doing?” the pegasus blurted.

From behind the counter, a set of double doors swung open, allowing Miss Cake to sweep out of the kitchen, a tray full of cupcakes in mouth and the thick aroma of marshmallows and baking batter behind her. “Hi, hun. Just going to add some to the fill. I'll be right back,” she said.

“All right, my love,” her husband replied, stretching out to smooch her cheek as she trotted by. Featherweight sighed at the open display of care, prompting the older stallion to turn his attention to him. “Is everything all right, son?”

“Oh? Yeah, I'm fine.”

The stallion barked a laugh. “You don't look fine,” he said before leaning forwards on his elbows. “I'll betcha it's a pain in the heart, right?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Featherweight returned a small smile. “Yeah, I guess it is. How did you two... you know... work?”

“My dear honey-bunchkin and I? Well, let me tell you, she was one of the cutest fillies I knew back in her day...” He blinked, face reddening a little. “Don't tell her I put it that way; I don't like sleeping on the couch.”

“Okay. But was that it? She was pretty? Cause I've tried with some really cute mares, and, well...”

“Ah, I see exactly what you mean, my young sir!” Mister Cake said, pushing himself up on the counter. “That's not how it works, you see. First, you need to find the right one, she has to like you back, and she needs to suit you. But most importantly, you need to suit her! She must be able to put up with you and your little quirks, like licking off the plates or giving candy to the kids whenever they ask. In turn, you need to be able to put up with hers. Like the nagging and the sleepless nights and the whole 'I want a third foal' things.”

“Uh-huh.” So that's why it didn't work with Scootaloo. I didn't like her for who she was deep down, and she didn't even care about who I really was. He nodded to himself, glad that he had vocalised it all to himself so simply, and yet, the visage of a certain white unicorn lingered in his mind, like an afterimage burned into his retina. Sweetie Belle. “Mister Cake. I think I made a really, really big mistake.”

“I see, and what would that be?”

“Well...” he began, drawing circles on the floor with the tip of his hoof. “There's this one filly that likes me, and I like her too, sorta. But I was kinda busy with another filly.”

Mister Cake winced in sympathy. “How'd she take that? Can't be easy seeing somepony you love fall for another.”

“Yeah... I guess not.” Sorta like how I felt between Scootaloo and Rainbow Dash, only far, far worse. “She was okay about it, and was always supportive, and I guess I started to like her, a little, then a little more...”

“Go on, lad.”

Featherweight sighed. “I want to see her again, tonight. I've said some things I regret, and I need to say sorry.”

“What about the other filly?” he asked, leading him on.

“It's over. We weren't... It wouldn't have worked out. And-and it's not like I'm going to find Sweetie just because I'm not with Scootaloo, it's-it's... complicated.”

“You don't look like a mean kid,” Mister Cake mused. “Do you want to know what my father once told me? When I was about your age? Once you've found the mare, the one you love, and who wants to cherish you, you never, ever let her be alone.”

Sweetie Belle. She's all alone. Featherweight spun around, eyes roving across the store in a blind attempt to find a trace of pink and purple mane. He's right; I can't just leave her like that. Sh-she's perfect. I need to see her, and I need to apologize and... and I need to...

“Kid, wait!” Mister Cake shouted at him before diving beneath the counter. Seconds ticked on slowly for Featherweight until the stallion popped back out, a heart-shaped box held in his square jaw. “Here,” he said, tossing it towards Featherweight who caught it by the bow wrapped around it. “Pinkie keeps them around, in case of heartbreak emergency. Sounds like your fillyfriend could use it.”

“Thank you!” Featherweight called over his shoulder, tucking the little box into the breast pocket of his coat. Spinning around, the colt galloped out of the warm shop and into the refreshingly cool night air beyond, filling his lungs as his mind raced. 

Sweetie Belle. The single name rang in his mind, resonating with a chord that made him both shiver in glee and quake with fear. I’m such an idiot. I have to find Sweetie Belle. The single order willed him forwards. 

His eyes searched ahead while his mind searched within. Both worked in tandem as he crossed pony after pony, taking note of nothing but the fact that they were not Sweetie. Can I... Can I even ask her anything?

Dejectedly, he marched on, eyes low as he scanned the buffet tables before skimming the dance floor. She was so nice to me... the entire time. A little pushy, but always there, like she really cares for me. He paused, stopping mid-step. She loves me. She honestly loves me. 

But... do I even deserve her forgiveness after all I've done to her? Featherweight asked himself, trying and failing to come up with an answer anywhere near satisfactory. His hooves wandered through the party, taking him wherever he had yet to search. His eyes took in nothing but faint hints of pink and purple, sought nothing but a dash of white amidst the pastel crowd.

I have to tell her... She needs to know I’m sorry, that she needs to find somepony better than me to take care of her... because if I can’t forgive myself, how can I expect her to give me a second chance? How can I possibly deserve a second chance?

The colt had walked a full circle, touching every corner and every nook of the party and finally bringing him back to where he had been at the start: right in front of the gaudy and bright exterior of the Sugarcube Corner, the ever-present scent of baked goods doing little to lift his gloomy mood. 

Gently, he sat, shoulders hunched as he vainly looked at the hundreds of seemingly happy couples milling around. Will I ever be like that? Happy? His eyes alighted on an orange streak, instantly focusing on it. 

Scootaloo was walking at Apple Bloom’s side, both fillies smiling and giggling at their own jokes, the only snatches of conversation he could pick up faint and filtered out by the crowd. “... Colts, just can't make sense of 'em..."

Featherweight sighed, then pulled back up, straightening his back and puffing out his chest. No, I did the right thing. I only have to say sorry to Sweetie, then I can have my life back... All alone.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, preparing to get up and leave, before he heard the faintest of sobs. 

Featherweight’s ears perked, twisting around as they tried to find the source. Just the wind, he idly thought before the tiny sob repeated itself, followed by the distinct sound of a filly sniffing. 

Furrowing his brow and following some deep inner instinct, Featherweight spun around and trotted to the edge of houses running around the town hall, each one a unique building or shop adding to the town’s simple and homely feeling. One house in particular grabbed his attention: a two story building with a spiral staircase on its side, one that led to a balcony above. There, almost entirely hidden against the building’s pastel hue, was a tiny speck of balled up white. 

The colt picked up some speed, hoofbeats thumping against the cobblestone roadway as he headed towards the house, eyes narrowing at the white shape as it came into focus. 

Sweetie Belle wiped a hoof across her eyes. Tears rolled off her damp forehoof as she pulled it away and sniffled. 

The simple gesture made Featherweight's heart ache for the filly. This is my fault. I’m the reason she’s sad. I'm the reason she can't even enjoy herself at the Spring Fling. I've turned what should be a fun, happy hang out with her two best friends into a terrible night of loneliness and heartbreak! Featherweight stomped at the ground, uselessly trying to vent his emotions. I am the one who caused her to sit up in a stranger's house all alone and cry to herself while her friends are going around and having fun. 

Featherweight wiped his own tears away before he leapt into the air, beating his scrawny wings as he rose higher and higher; the self-hatred in his heart weighed the poor pegasus down like a hardened stone of guilt.

Sweeping upwards, Featherweight climbed over the house and circled around until he came to a light, clattery landing on the roof, hooves thudding on the thatch roof. With a huff, he let out a single panting breath that rushed out of him along with his reluctance to approach. 

The filly beyond sobbed again, placing a shivering hoof on the bar of the handrail. “W-why can’t I be happy, too?”

What should I say? he wondered, biting his lower lip as he peeked over the edge. Below him, he could see the once perfect mane of Sweetie Belle now all tousled and frizzled as the filly sobbed and cried. Does it really matter?

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Featherweight stepped over the edge, his wings snapping out at his sides. 

The filly jumped, gasping and blinking madly as he glided down and onto the balcony, landing with a thump that reverberated through the metallic structure. For a moment, both stood still, eyes locked in a mixture of shock, determination, awe, and simple companionship as they remained immobile. 

Both opened their mouths at the same time, and both shut them with the same, uncertain, shiver. Featherweight swallowed his fear and took a tiny half-step forwards. “I-I’m sorry, Sweetie Belle.”

The filly looked at him, eyes watering over as uncertainty and fear crossed her face. “You-you don’t...” she stuttered, backing away.

No, I messed up, again. I can’t... “Please, please forgive me,” he begged. 

Sweetie Belle took a moment of quiet, studying him while her breathing verged on a panicked panting. “I-I already told you, Featherweight, I-I-I...” She stopped, swallowing hard. 

“I want you to be with Scootaloo; I want you to be happy,” she said, her eyes sliding to the ground as she gazed at her hooves, both of them twitching up and down as she shifted her weight from side to side. 

“No! You don’t understand.” Featherweight took another step towards the filly, one hoof raising up as if trying to touch her, then hesitated and let it fall back down. “I am happy, Sweetie Belle. I used to love Scootaloo... No, I used to love her, with all of my heart. I wanted to be with her, to be near her, and for her to like me back.” He smiled innocently, shaking his head in denial.

“B-but then I met a filly that showed me compassion. She helped me with my goals, and I can never repay her completely. She was the only one that truly loved me, and could say it out loud. I was blind, an-and didn't notice that my true love, the mare of my dreams, was the one in front of my eyes. I couldn't even see it.” He looked at her. She looked back. 

A pair of brown eyes locked with a pair of green, the two young ponies sharing their hearts and souls in that single glance. “Not until now,” the colt said in a whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”

A slow smile crossed her lips as she averted her eyes, cheeks reddening as she blinked away some tears. “I-I forgive you. Gladly.”

“Um, thanks. Thank you very much. For everything,” he said, knowing every word was truthful. 

“You’re welcome,” she said softly before both began to shuffle, at a loss to what to say or do. Sweetie Belle shifted her attention to beyond the balcony and the dance floor below.

Featherweight gently stepped up to her side, his folded wing whispering against her coat in a fashion that sent shivers down their spines. “Is that what you were looking at before?” he asked with a soft voice.

She nodded. “I was watching them dance.”

On the ground, dozens of couples were twirling in slow circles to the haunting refrain of a cello played by a stone-grey earth pony. “Isn’t it pretty?” she breathed. “The way they turn and play and dance. I find it beautiful,” she said, eyes locked on a young couple dancing hoof in hoof, standing tall as their bodies were held close to one another.

“It is...” With a flash, an idea crossed his mind. “I’m not much of a dancer, but... Well, would you like to dance, Sweetie Belle?”

Immediately, tears sprang back to her eyes, making the filly blink rapidly. Oh no, I said something stupid again. 

“I’d love that,” she said, a gigantic smile spreading across her face and puffy, wet cheeks. 

“So would I,” he admitted, a sheepish grin to match her own appearing on his face. “Although, you might have to teach me a little.” 

What if I...? With a quick hop into the air and a beat of his wings, Featherweight hovered above her, then maneuvered until he was right beside her. Gently, and under the curious eyes of the filly, he lowered his forehooves and tenderly grabbed her beneath the arms. “I’ll be careful; just trust me, all right?”

Sweetie Belle twisted her head around, looking at him with not a sliver of fear. “Okay, I trust you,” she whispered excitedly, her breath coming out with a puff of smoke-like air in the chilly night. 

His face mere millimeters from hers, Featherweight hoisted the light filly and beat his wings furiously. They lifted into the air, Sweetie Belle hanging below him with her rear legs swinging beneath her as she giggled. He glided forwards, taking his time and allowing her to enjoy the glorious view. 

From their vantage point, the entire party stretched out before them, a collection of lights and banners that all waved under a canopy of brilliant stars. The shining jewel of the event, though, was not the banners and lantern-lights, but the ponies. Smiling couples and giggling friends, signs of joy and peace and love that abounded that night. All of it was accompanied by the constant beat of his powerful little wings.

Too soon, Sweetie Belle touched ground, her hooves skimming against the cobblestones as Featherweight deposited her before rolling to the side to land nearby. “Sorry,” he said. “I- uh, I just wanted you to enjoy that, I guess.”

She touched a hoof to her chest. “Thank you; it was beautiful.”

On stage, the cello-playing mare stopped, then reached out a hoof to her tiny podium, flicking a page over before raising her bow once more. “There’s going to be another song,” Featherweight noted, reluctantly taking a step towards the mare. 

He bowed, one hoof folding beneath him while the other bent, supporting his weight as his head lowered to the ground. “Would you offer me this dance, milady?”

“With pleasure,” Sweetie Belle giggled, the simple sound of pleasure and mirth sending shockwaves through his bones. 

As one, they made their way to the floor, weaving around the few couples present until they found a quiet nook for themselves at the far end. Close enough to hear the music, yet still far from the centre of attention. 

Bow touched string, and the music began. 

Blushing, Sweetie Belle stepped up to Featherweight and wordlessly showed him what to do. They reared up, both unsteady on their hooves, until they smashed into each other, Featherweight gingerly placing a forehoof around Sweetie Belle’s waist while his other touched hers. “Like this?” he asked, all of his senses attuned to the filly not a hair’s breadth from him. 

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” she sighed as they wobbled in a quick circle. The music’s slow tempo and soothing melody played through the air around them, reverberating through their very hearts. 

Again and again they stepped and twisted, slowly falling into the rhythm of the dance. I think I’m getting the hang of this, he thought, looking at the pretty filly held in his hooves. All of this. 

Featherweight tripped.

It was nothing spectacular, just a simple misstep that sent him sprawling onto his back and pulling the reared filly onto him. 

Sweetie Belle crashed into his chest, emptying his lungs in a single whoosh. Featherweight coughed and laughed at the same time. The oddly comforting weight of the filly above him moved around, her giggling joining his. “I’m sorry,” he said between laughs as he unfurled his wings beneath him, creating a canopy on the ground they were on. 

A single low and piercing whistle seared through the air, making everypony freeze and look up to the single comet-like streak blasting towards the night sky. Featherweight followed the object’s trajectory, a smile crossing his features as the firework reached its peak and exploded, sending out a volley of twinkling lights accompanied by a pop.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, tracing the pattern of multi-hued lights against the sky until they whispered out of existence.

“It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Featherweight’s gaze returned to the filly on him. Her eyes locked on his; they had never moved. 

“I love you, Featherweight,” she said.

The colt moved forwards, his breath mixing with hers. 

Their eyes closed as their lips met, the sounds of the pyrotechnic display and awe-struck ponies melting away as they became lost in each other. Featherweight had to struggle with all his might to break the kiss to speak to his new paramour.

“I love you, too.”
	

> Pipsqueak's Mansion [Non-Canon]
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author’s Note:

I’m so, so sorry. 


Warning:

This Chapter Features The Following Dangerous Articles:
-Maid Outfits
-Wet Manes
-Massage Therapy
-Leather
-Some Crying
-More Leather
and, finally:
-Raspberries


This is not Of Challenges and Kisses canon.





Once upon a time, in a pocket dimension...



Featherweight was happy.

The simple word did little to define the well of contentment within the colt as he walked along Ponyville’s streets.

Shops and houses seemed to come into easy focus to him; all the faint little details making them homely and soft made him feel right at home. It was like the flowerbeds around the houses, the windowsill gardens, and the open, welcoming doors were surrounding him with wonderfully comforting feelings.

Even the ponies marching by seemed to be nicer, their faults hidden far beneath wide smiles. 

Everything was better for the colt, because of the filly beneath his wing. 

Sweetie Belle nestled up against him, her warmth becoming his as they walked in time with one another. On occasion, he would look at the filly beside him, and she would look back, and for a moment in time, they would share a private moment to themselves, one broken up by deep blushes and silly giggles. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asked, the weight of his saddlebags reminding him of an unfortunate faith. He had to leave.

“Of course I don’t,” Sweetie Belle replied, the faintest hint of chastisement in her voice. 

Featherweight sighed, but the exasperation did nothing to quell the inferno within him. “Fine,” he said as both slowed to a stop, seemingly reading each other’s thoughts. “I’ll go to Pip’s place.”

“And I’ll go with you?” she asked, her eyes widening pleadingly. They shimmered in the afternoon light, catching the rays of the sun as water collected within them.

Oh, that’s not fair! Featherweight thought as the full force of her puppy eyes hit him. I can’t say no to that! “Oh, all right, you can come!” The filly squealed with joy, bouncing up and down beneath his wing, each touch along his feathers sending a jolt down his spine. “But...”

Sweetie Belle’s bouncing stilled.

“But, I don’t want you to go in there,” he said before he began walking once more, this time taking a sharp turn into a side street of Ponyville, one that led them downhill and away from the town. 

“I’ve never been to Pipsqueak’s place,” Sweetie Belle commented, almost to herself, something Featherweight had learnt to appreciate.

“Yeah, I’ve never been there either.”

The filly blinked, looking at the colt beside her as they both trotted out of the town. “You’ve never been to Pip’s?” she asked, her voice breaking midway through her sentence. They passed the last of the town’s houses, the cute little buildings replaced by shrubbery and tall oaks. 

Featherweight shook his head. “Nope, I had to ask for directions and everything.”

It was then that Sweetie Belle examined their surroundings, really looking and paying attention to the trees and landmarks around them. “Hey, I’ve never been to this part of Ponyville before,” she said, half in awe at the discovery. 

“Yeah, it’s weird, but me neither. I think Pip’s the only one that lives on this entire road.”

Ahead of them, the trees were growing thicker and closer together, forming a glade they could hardly see through. But instead of being imposing or fear-inspiring, the well-groomed forest felt secluded. Beautiful, in its own exotic way. 

The filly and colt felt themselves huddling closer to one another as bird calls rang out and the massive trees creaked at the slightest breeze. 

Featherweight’s brows furrowed. “It should be around here.... He said, ‘Right at the start of the woods, there’s a big clearing,’ and his house is right...” 

The woods ended abruptly before them.

“There...”

Both ponies stopped in their tracks, mouths hanging open with sheer disbelief.

The clearing opened up to a large circular entrance, the centre of which holding a massive water-spraying fountain made of bronze and silver mares. Beyond the statuesque lawns, and enormous and exotic gardens where rare and stunning creatures frolliced freely, was Pipsqueak’s house.

Three stories tall, made of pure white marble carved into fantastic, wild shapes with gigantic bay windows on each of the three towers and more chimneys than every house in Ponyville combined, Pipsqueak’s house was as humble as its owner. 

Sweetie Belle swallowed hard. “Are you sure you didn’t take the wrong left?”

Featherweight nodded, eyes shifting around the building until he finally found the two massive doors making up the front entrance. Above them, a name was engraved: Pipsqueak’s Equestrian Estate. “Yup, pretty sure it’s the right place...”

“Should we go?” he asked.

Sweetie Belle nodded with very little confidence and the couple moved ahead, suddenly feeling very small as the shadows of Pipsqueak’s mansion crossed the yard and darkened the world around them.

The filly stopped, then tugged at her coltfriend’s wing tip, prompting Featherweight to look at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She pointed off the the side where a paved path led to a parking area; in particular, she was pointing at a very familiar vehicle. 

The long sleek carriage stood motionless in between two larger and more imposing vehicles. What made it stand out, though, was the royal crest of Equestria on its front, and the fact that both had seen that carriage before, usually with Her Royal Majesty, Princess Celestia, within. 

“Oh boy.”

“We should keep going,” Featherweight said, sounding more confident than he felt. 

Again, they continued walking forwards, until they finally reached the stone steps leading up to the front door, steps that had foal-sized statues of manticores with rubies on the end of their balustrades.

Featherweight climbed up the first two steps before realizing Sweetie Belle was no longer at his side. Turning, he looked down at the filly shivering at the base of the staircase. 

Their eyes locked.

“Come on,” he whispered, giving her a timid smile injected with every ounce of confidence he had. “I’ll keep you safe, promise.”

A thin smile crossed Sweetie Belle’s lips, and she daintily hopped up the first few steps and stayed at his side as they climbed up to the monolithic doors. 

So, now what? he wondered as he looked up to the door. Finally, his eyes alighted on a single cord running along its side and into the building. Shrugging his wings, Featherweight trotted over to the cord, and reverently pulled down on it until he could no longer. 

Only silence filled the air.

“Maybe it’s broken?” Sweetie Belle offered. 

With a single eerie creak, the door slid open, allowing a sliver of light to splash across Featherweight’s face, blinding the colt momentarily. 

“Hello, and welcome to Master Pipsqueak’s estate,” an angelic voice announced. “How may I help you?”

A mare stood in the entrance, her soft features set into a gentle and motherly smile as she moved out of the building, the light from behind her playing across her mane as it curved around her head. Sitting down with her maid’s outfit rumpling, the mare patiently looked between Featherweight and Sweetie Belle before giggling to herself. 

“I-I, uh, I...” From the corner of his eye, he saw Sweetie Belle eyeing the beautiful mare suspiciously. “Uh, yeah, my name’s Featherweight, and, er, I came to see Pip.”

The maid-mare giggled, placing a hoof in front of her mouth to hide her glee. “I’ve never heard Master Pipsqueak being referred to as ‘Pip’ before.” She sighed, her eyes still closed as she tilted her head to one side. “You must be his friend, the one with the poster?”

Featherweight nodded, feeling once more the pressure of the bags on his back. 

“Perfect! I’m sure Master Pipsqu— Pip, will be glad to see you!” The mare then shifted her attention to Sweetie Belle. “And are you his little marefriend?”

The air thickened and both foals blushed, hardly daring to look at one another as they both struggled for air and desperately tried to hide their discomfort. I-is she my, my fillyfriend?

Shyly, he looked over to Sweetie Belle, just as she looked to him, both of them fighting against the urge to turn tail and hide in a deep bush. Their eyes locked for a moment, communicating more than they ever could with words. 

“Yeah, she’s my fillyfriend,” he said to the maid-mare. 

“And he’s my coltfriend,” Sweetie Belle agreed, her voice firm with conviction, even as her entire body reddened. 

I-I have a fillyfriend! Featherweight was ecstatic, abuzz, as though his mind was filled with the humming of millions of happy bees.

“Oh, you two are just so cute!” the mare said as she hopped from one hoof to another. “I’d pinch your cheeks, but it’s against house rules.” She spun around and took a few steps towards the door, opening it wider with a small shove of her forehoof. “Come, Master Pipsqueak will be glad to see you!”

Featherweight followed, Sweetie Belle at his side as they slipped into the room.

They froze as their senses overloaded once more, struggling to cope with what they saw.

Every wall of the entrance hall was covered in delicate stone work, all of it depicting a single colt-like pony defeating dragons and curing illnesses. In the centre of the room was an opulent fountain shaped like four ponies, one of every race, spewing water into a sweeping arc rising two stories high towards the only source of light in the room: a chandelier, one made of silver and ivory and with enough candles to set Canterlot aflame, twice. 

“Come,” the maid called. “The House-Master is this way.” She led them through the room, across the spotless marble floor, and to yet another set of double doors made of an exotic and most-likely extinct wood. 

At the entrance, the maid paused and looked over her shoulder at Sweetie Belle. “Young miss?”

“Yes, ma’am?” Sweetie immediately asked, her formality giving the serving pony another fit of giggles. 

“Are you meant to see Master Pipsqueak today?” she asked.

Sweetie Belle and Featherweight shared a look. “I don’t think so. What do you mean?”

The mare hummed, touching a hoof to her chin. “So, you don’t have an appointment. Still, a friend of Master Pip’s can’t be left alone. I’ll lead you to the playroom, then bring Master Featherweight to see Master Pipsqueak.” The mare smiled. “There, a little bit of thinking and a solution was found!”

With a quick gesture, the maid popped the door open and trotted in.

“What should we do?” Sweetie Belle whispered to Featherweight, fear creeping into her voice. 

He shrugged. “Let’s just see what’ll happen. We can leave whenever we want.” I hope. He swallowed hard, hoping his fillyfriend didn’t notice. And anyway, Sweetie can probably teleport if she tries really hard; she should be fine, at least. 

The corridor beyond was wider than his house with doors on either side, some closed, but many more open. As they walked along, their hoofbeats muffled by the thick rug, they looked from side to side, peeking into elegant bedrooms and homely living rooms. 

“This is the guest wing, for the ponies that come to see Master Pipsqueak from faraway places. The truly important ponies sleep in the fancier rooms upstairs,” the maid said, acting like a tour guide.

Featherweight slowed as he approached another of the guest rooms, looking within and at the gilded beds, the lavish place settings, the priceless artwork decorating the walls. This isn’t for the fancy guests?! Guests for Pipsqueak? He can’t even pass Miss Cheerilee’s math quiz without cheating off of me!

A mare slipped out of one of the rooms ahead of them, a dry towel slung over her back as she sensuously strolled forwards. Her hips swayed from side to side in time with the whisking of her tail in a fashion Featherweight found mesmerizing. He stared, until Sweetie smacked him behind the head and shot a glare at him. 

Oops.

“So, uh, miss...”

The maid pony turned. “Call me Clean Sweep.”

Featherweight gave her a half-hearted smile. “I guess you’re really good at cleaning, then?”

Clean Sweep blinked at him, still leading them deeper. “Oh? Because of my name? Well, I guess this dress hides my cutie mark,” she said, twirling around and following the poofy end of the black and white outfit. “No, I’m a bit of a klutz when it comes to cleaning,” she admitted, biting her lower lip as a blush spread across her face.

“Then what’s your, uh, your talent?”

“Oh, I was a gunmare. I’m one of the best rotary-action Gatling gun operators and death-squad commandos in Equestria. Or I was. Master Pipsqueak asked if I wanted to work as a maid in his house, and I simply couldn’t say no!”

Featherweight stopped in his tracks for a second, staring stupidly at the mare as the information slowly made its way through the gears in his mind. After a moment, the colt blinked, "Uh-huh," he said, his squeak echoing throughout the hall. With another glance at Sweetie Belle, he swallowed and continued after the mare ahead of them.

They trotted up to an intersection and the mare pointed down to their left. “Little Miss, if you trot that-a-way for a few hundred steps, you’ll come right up to Master Pipsqueak’s playroom.”

“You want her to go there? Alone? With nopony else?” Featherweight asked, alternating his gaze from Sweetie, to Clean Sweep, to the long, long corridor. 

Clean Sweep gave him a kind and motherly smile as she nodded. “Yup.”

He huffed, stomping one hoof to the ground. “I don’t think so; that’s a horrible idea.” 

Clean Sweep blinked. “But this is one of the safest places, anywhere, ever. Nopony would be silly enough to attack or harm anyone under Master Pipsqueak’s protection!”

Featherweight shook his head, standing firm while Sweetie Belle shyly looked at him with pride-filled eyes. “We’re going to bring her there, then we’ll see...”

The maid bit her lip and furrowed her brow for a few short moments. “All right. Miss, Sir, please follow me.”

The trio trotted down the corridor, this one free of doors. Instead, thick rich draperies dropped from the cathedral ceiling down to a hoof-length from the floor. At the end, a single wooden door was held shut until Clean Sweep pushed it open and walked in. “Welcome to Master’s playroom,” she said, gesturing at the area.

Clean Sweep pointed at the far end and to a two-story tall wall covered in shelves, ramps, ladders, and books. Millions and millions of books. “That’s Lord Pipsqueak’s library, over there.” She pointed to another corner, this one filled with jungle gyms, obstacle courses, treadmills, a trampoline, and an olympic swimming pool being tended by a very pretty, bathing-suit wearing lifeguard. “That’s Master’s gym.”

She then gestured to the other side of the room. “And that’s where he stores his toys, and his personal arcade.” Dozens of arcade machines spilt the section in half, one side made almost entirely of shelves and boxes overflowing with toys and craft materials, the other side used up by tables on which one could presumably play with those toys.

Featherweight picked his jaw off the floor and made a mental note to ask Pipsqueak to forgive the puddle of drool staining his floor.

“What’s the bed for?” Sweetie Belle asked as she pointed with her chin.

In the room’s centre was a bed big enough to put any king-sized to shame. Sidestepping, Clean Sweep cut the filly’s view. “It’s... for taking naps.”

“Oh, okay.”

Clean Sweep turned her attention to Featherweight. “Your fillyfriend will be more than safe here. This room... this entire building, could survive having a Tsar dropped on its front step. And then it would retaliate on its own.”

“Uh-huh.”

She then smiled at Sweetie Belle. “You can do whatever you want here. Go on, play!”

Sweetie took a few tentative steps into the room, then turned and looked at Featherweight. 

He smiled at her. “You’ll be fine, I’m sure. It looks safe in here, and fun.”

“But I’ll be alone...” she said, blinking away at her watery eyes. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” Clean Sweep said. “There are hundreds of mares going around this building. A cute little filly like you will have no trouble making a few quick friends.” 

Featherweight took a step towards the filly, uncertain of what he was going to do. “Don’t worry, if something happens, I promise I’ll come and get you. I’m just here to give Pip the poster, nothing else.” Taking another step, Featherweight beat his wings, stretched forwards, and pecked Sweetie Belle’s blushing cheek. “Okayseeyoulaterbye.”

With that, Featherweight twisted around and ran out of the room, followed by a giggling Clean Sweep. 

Sweetie Belle blinked at the spot where her coltfriend had been moments before, then reached up and touched her cheek with a sigh. “I don’t want toys; I want Feathers.”

Clean Sweep trotted along Featherweight’s side, giggling sporadically every time she looked at the flustered colt. “That was adorable!”

Featherweight’s attention shifted to the ground as he mumbled incoherently: something about getting back quickly. 

Happy to oblige, Clean Sweep motioned to the intersection before them, the one they had been in moments before. “If we continue straight from here, we should reach Master’s throne room though the relaxation suite.”

Throne room? Relaxation suite?! “Um, okay,” he said, slowing to a gentle canter as the mare did the same. Just how big is this place? And how did Pip... No, I don’t want to know.

The sound of creaking wood and deep contented moaning drifted through the hallway, setting the colt’s mane on edge. To their right, a pair of double doors opened up wide, allowing a thick plume of steam and feminine laughter to escape.

He blinked and peeked into the room, one taken up almost entirely by a steam bath filled with young and beautiful mares, all of them playing with each other’s wet manes and rubbing themselves all over with soap. 

Thank Celestia Sweetie Belle isn’t here. She’d beat me to a pulp just for looking at this, he thought as he failed to prevent a massive blush from taking over the colour of his pale yellow coat.

They crossed another room, this one filled with lines of high beds with mares laying on them while others applied lotion to their backs and massaged them gently, moans and sighs of contentment escaping them all. 

Featherweight lost a liter of blood as it dribbled down his nose. 

Clean Sweep looked at him, worry warping her face as she leaned in. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” he said, applying pressure to the injured orifice. This place is too... I have to get out of here.

“Are you sure? How about we just go there,” she said, pointing at a closed door. “Then, I’ll go fetch the house doctor to see if there’s anything you can take to feel better.” 

“No, no, I’m fine,” he insisted, even as the mare pushed him towards the closed room. 

Another deep moan filled the passage, encouraging his nose to let loose another torrent. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen head wounds that have bled less, and you’re all red. Really, really red.”

Well, I definitely don’t feel like I’m at the top of my game, and some time to cool-off could help. “Fine, but not for long, okay? Otherwise, Sweetie’s going to worry.”

Smiling, Clean Sweep rushed ahead and opened the door, a door to the changing rooms.

A dozen mares looked at the colt as one, all of them smiling and welcoming the tiny intruder even as they continued rubbing themselves with wet clothes and slipping into tight dresses. 

The colt began to feel faint, so he backpedaled out of the room, eyes rolling into his head as he fumbled to the ground and fell. Head resting on the cold stone ground, Featherweight fell into a light sleep, accompanied by the sound of gasping mares. 







We were at the wrong address. The ponies there will let us go right back to Ponyville and nothing bad’s going to happen...

Was that really Pipsqueak’s place? 

Maybe there are two Pipsqueaks? 

“He’s coming to,” a soft and soothing voice said.

The colt could feel warm hooves touching his head, moving up and about before prodding down along his body. That must be the doctor; he has a really girly voice...

Featherweight twisted on the ground as a cold piece of cloth pressed down on his nose and wiped him. I should be okay. I’m starting to feel better. Now I can see Pip, and then get Sweetie Belle. No! She can’t know I’m sick or she'll get really worried! “I have to see Sweetie,” he murmured as he tossed and turned once more. 

“Who’s Sweetie?” a mare asked.

Clean Sweep answered, “It’s the name of his little fillyfriend; she came here with him.”

A chorus of sweet sighs and deep ‘awws’ filled the corridor.

Featherweight blinked, his eyes watering as they tried to focus on the moving shadows above him. Finally, squinting up and covering his head with an outstretched wing, the colt stared right into a pair of deep blue eyes. 

“Hello,” the pony to whom the eyes belonged said, a smile twisting her delicate lips. “I’m Doctor In Patient. Are you feeling better?”

Featherweight blushed, his senses suddenly very aware of the nearness of the doctor as her minty breath washed over him and her coat’s fur mixed with his own. “Yeah,” he squeaked.

Two other mares came into focus from behind the doctor, a unicorn and a pegasus, both of whom wore long white stockings and little caps marked with a red cross. 

“I think he’s fainting again!” the Doctor called out as Featherweight began to tumble back to the ground. “We need to get him breathing. Start CPR. Mithril, you pump. Sweet Lips, you breath into him.”

No! I’m Sweetie Belle’s, not these stranger’s! With a valiant effort, Featherweight sat back up, groaning as his body protested. “I’m okay!” he exclaimed, raising his forehooves in surrender as he clamped his eyes shut, refusing to look at the mares around him. 

“Are you sure?” the Doctor asked. 

Featherweight nodded. “I’m good. Just a little, uh, seasick, or something...”

“Maybe we should bring you to my office. I’m positive a quick full-body exam will find out any troubles you have, then we’ll narrow it down and fix you.”

The colt gulped at the last two words. “No, I’m fine, really.”

“Well, all right. But I’m sure my two assistants would love to play around with a cute little colt like you.” The doctor turned around. “All right everypony, give him some space. Clear out, c’mon!”

Featherweight could hear a multitude of curious whispers and disappointed sighs as the mares cleared out of the corridor. Sighing, Featherweight relaxed, letting out tension he didn’t know he held. Finally, a hoof touched his shoulder, light and comforting. “I’ll give you a little pill, all right? It’ll keep you from feeling nauseous.” 

She leaned towards him and whispered into his ear. “But I’d suggest paying more attention to the decor, and less to the pretty mares from now on.” With a short laugh, the doctor withdrew and dropped a pill on the end feather of Featherweight's wing. “I hope I don’t have to see you again!” the doctor called over her shoulder. 

A few moments later, Featherweight cracked opened his eye a slit and peeked out, inspecting the empty corridor. 

“Should we get going?” Clean Sweep asked, running a hoof down the side of her outfit.

He opened his eyes fully and looked around him. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

The pair walked ahead, Featherweight taking a few seconds to shoulder his saddlebags.         A few doors opened a crack, allowing some ponies to peek out at them. Why are there so many mares in this place? And they’re all so... so... He gulped. Pretty. But not as pretty as Sweetie Belle, he reminded himself firmly.

“This leads to Master Pipsqueak’s throne room,” Clean Sweep said as they reached a door at the end of the hall. “Go on in on your own. It’s just across this room.” 

“Um, okay,” he said, looking between the maid and the door. “I’ll go on my own?”

She nodded. “A firm young lad like you ought to be able to present himself, especially to somepony that’s his friend, right, Master Feather?”

“Um, right,” he said, looking at the door suspiciously. “I guess...”

The mare smiled, then reared onto her hind legs, bowing slightly with a small lift of her skirt. “Good bye, Master Featherweight,” she said in between giggles. “I hope to see you again one day.”

“Oh, me too, Miss Sweep. You’ve been very helpful.”

"I do wish Master Pipsqueak hadn't made cheek pinching against the rules..." she said with a little giggle. "Oh well. If you ever need a heavy gunner, you know who to call." She gave him a little wink.

“Um, all right. See you, I guess,” he said as the mare spun around and trotted away, her poofy skirt bouncing at every step.

Right, now what? he wondered, looking at the door. I guess I should just go in, then.... There’s probably going to be a few more guys....

With a flick of his wingtip, Featherweight spun the emerald handle and opened the door before blindly trotting in.

Two steps and his face ran into a soft and fuzzy wall.

With an oomph, the colt landed on his flanks. 

“Oh, sorry,” the voice of a familiar lavender pony said. Looking up, Featherweight stared right into Twilight’s Sparkle’s concerned face. 

The town librarian gave him a wide awkward smile, one that moved her thin, wireframe glasses down her muzzle. Tilting her head to the side, Twilight blinked at the colt. “Oh, you’re Featherweight. I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

He climbed back up to all fours and looked at the librarian carefully, noting the long skirt, the loose blouse, and the way her mane was done up in a neat bun behind her head. “Hi, Miss Sparkle. I didn’t think I’d see you here.” 

She blushed, pushing up her glasses with her forehoof, and for the first time, Featherweight noticed her horn glowing and a stack of books floating nearby. “I’m reorganizing Master Pipsqueak’s guest library. I owed him a favour for...” She blushed and blinked at him. “Something.” Coughing, she moved out of his way as she trotted deeper into the building. “You were going to see Pip?” she asked.

Featherweight followed her into a rather mundane waiting room, or what would have been a mundane waiting room if one ignored the wall covered in magazines, the water fountain whose water came from a live waterwall, and the plush leather chairs with gilded arms and legs. 

“Yeah, I’m here to see Pipsqueak. Clean Sweep told me he was through here...” He kept looking around the room until he noticed a flipboard tucked into the wall above the door opposite the one he entered. On the board was a single word: Occupied.

“Who’s Clean Sweep?” Twilight asked as she slid back to the shelf-wall and began sorting books into it. 

“She’s the nice mare, in the maid uniform thing...” he said, sketching the rough shape of a dress in the air. 

Twilight looked him dumbly. “Featherweight, half the mares here wear that. You should see Maid Day... and that’s every Tuesday. Rarity makes a fortune selling to the mares here.”

He blushed, imagining rooms filled with mares in skimpy black and white outfits. “Oh.” Maybe it’s time to change the subject? “So, can I go see Pipsqueak now?” he asked, taking a few steps towards the golden door. 

“No!” Twilight shouted, her horn glowing brightly before she popped out of existence and reappeared between Featherweight and the throne room. “You can’t go in there!”

“Why not?” he asked, furrowing his brow at her.

She pointed over her shoulder and at the Occupied sign. “It’s busy.”

“Well, what’s going on?” he asked. 

Twilight’s gaze shifted from the door to Featherweight as she bit her lower lip. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to explain that to you. Maybe when you’re older and more mature?” she suggested, smiling sheepishly at him.

Featherweight didn’t bite. “Pipsqueak’s a colt, he’s just a month older than I am, and he’s allowed in, right?”

“Yeah, he’s still a colt,” she agreed, a sudden shiver going down her spine. “Just wait until he’s a stallion.”

Before Featherweight could so much as begin to question the madly giggling mare, the sign above the door clicked and flipped around to read: All Buttered Up.

“Oh,” Twilight said as she turned around and placed herself at Featherweight’s side. Both of them watched the door with a mounting anticipation Featherweight couldn’t quite explain. 

The door opened, and out of it, a single long midnight-blue leg stepped out, covered in tight leather straps. 

It couldn’t be.

The leg was followed by another, then by a tall and perfectly proportioned body, the wings on its back flapping excitedly. The mare’s horned head moved from side to side as her gaze swept over the room.

Her mane, unusually transparent but for the faintest whispers of existence and bright sparkles of deep stars, was solid and matted down on the alicorn’s back and head as she transpired. Beads of sweat slowly made their way down her leather-clad form.

It is.

Without a second thought, Featherweight bowed forwards, respectfully pulling away from the royal mare.

“Ah, hello, young citizens! Please, We demand no such acts of loyalty, not in this location!” the Princess said, her booming voice rattling through the room.

Shivering, his mind running circles as it desperately attempted to understand, Featherweight stood on four shaky limbs. “Um, hi?”

“Hello!” she said. “Is it now your turn, little colt?”

Featherweight looked around him and at the rather empty room. “I guess so?”

The princess smiled at him and nodded. “You are a little young for this, no?”

“Um, maybe?”

Luna walked past him, her magic starting to pull off a layer of leather. “We wish you an enjoyable time. We certainly had a majestic time, and will now find Our way to the showers. We are... dirty.”

The Princess walked by him and Twilight, then out of the room, allowing the door to clasp shut with a flick of her tail.

Featherweight blinked. What’s going on?! This place is so... That was the Princess... The Princess of the Moon! And she’s... wearing leather... The colt turned and focused on the door the Princess had walked in from moments before. I guess I could find out...

Twilight filled the void-like silence created in the wake of the Princess’ departure. “You can go,” she said, giving him the tiniest of shoves towards the door. “I was nervous, too, my first time, but it’s easy enough. And he’s your friend too, after all!”

“Um, right,” he said, taking a few tentative steps towards the door, even as he swallowed hard. I just have to see Pip, then give him the Spitfire poster. After that, we can leave. No biggie.

With the tip of his wing, the colt pushed through the entrance and into an alcove, one set into the side of a large room. With a thump, the door slammed shut behind him, the sound swallowed by the sheer size of the room. 

Featherweight moved ahead, past the walls of the alcove, until he could see the entire area. 

The massive, sprawling ceiling high above immediately caught the colt's eye as a single curtain slowly retracted across the great hall on mechanical coasters. As it was removed, the colt could see a stunning view of the midday sky taking up the entire top of the room and illuminated every corner with the radiance of Celestia’s sun. 

“You should see it at night, or when it’s raining,” a very familiar voice said.

Featherweight pulled his attention back down. Past the soft wood-paneled walls and delicate yet subtle lights. Past the thick and luscious rug taking up the centre of the room, the huge carved fireplace with a bravier within, despite the warmth of the area. Past the gramophone on a pedestal singing the sweetest of jazz, until finally, his eyes alighted on a massive throne.

The edifice rose out of the ground like a monolith, one fit for the grandest of kings. Around it, two twins, both white mares in pearl-white togas, were fanning at the throne with palm leaves. Along the chair’s arm was a long row of tiny silver bells, each one adorned with a ribbon of a unique colour. A hoof was touching one of the bells, white and speckled with brown spots.

“Hello, Featherweight!” Pipsqueak called from upon his throne, one the pegasus noted was large enough to hold a few stallions abreast. 

Featherweight moved ahead, feeling oddly at ease in the room despite its opulence and grandeur, as if it was designed to quell the heart and ease the mind. “Hi, Pipsqueak.” 

The colt sat up straighter, pushing off the arm until he was right in the centre of his oversized throne, a grin splitting his impish features. One of the mares fainted and was promptly and discreetly replaced by another. 

“So, what’re you here for, mate? Not that I’m not glad to see you. We don’t get that many guys around here.”

Featherweight cast a suspicious glance around the room, as if encompassing the entire estate. “Yeah, I’ve noticed...”

Pipsqueak shrugged. “It happens.” His attention strayed to Featherweight’s bag. “Is there something for me in there?” 

Featherweight looked over his shoulder to his faithful brown bags. “Yeah, sorta,” he said as he turned back to his young friend. “I mean, it’s already yours to begin with.”

“And how’s that?” Pipsqueak asked.

Sitting down on the soft velvety rug, one he was sure he couldn’t afford in a million years on his current allowance, Featherweight turned and began to unfasten his bag. “Well, you said you would give it to me if I kissed Scootaloo, and I never did. Instead, I found the love of my life... and I don’t think it would be fair to keep this.” Reaching in, Featherweight pulled out a neatly rolled poster.

Pipsqueak sighed and shook his head, a half-smirk on his childish face. “You don’t need to give it back, really. I do appreciate the gesture, though.”

“I insist,” Featherweight said as he dropped the roll onto the ground. 

His friend huffed on his throne. “I gave it to you, Featherweight. Giving is giving. I don’t want it. Just hang it on your wall... or maybe you can sell it on Eneigh, but either way, it’s yours.”

He doesn’t get it. “I can't keep this. It's a symbol... a symbol of what I once was. And keeping this, acting as if I was proud of that time, is a lie. In reality, it was a total let-down and embarrassing. But, through all of it, I was able to find Sweetie Belle, which is overall the greatest outcome from this disaster. So, I can't keep this, because I never completed the bet. I owe you this for helping find my true love, even if it was in a roundabout way.” Again, he pushed the poster forwards.

“There’s no stopping you, huh?” Featherweight shook his head, prompting Pipsqueak to shrug. “Oh well, then. I must say though, I’m really proud of you. You found the right mare, and you’re loyal to her. Not many stallions are like that today.” 

“Thanks, I appreciate that you understand.”

Pipsqueak smiled at his friend and leaned over, hoof floating over his assembly of bells until he stopped atop one with a blue and gold ribbon. Picking it up, he chimed it twice and let it drop back to its spot. 

A door within an alcove burst open, startling Featherweight as a golden streak blurred through the room before coming to a dead stop at the foot of Pipsqueak’s throne. The gust of wind travelled through the room, blasting Featherweight’s mane back.

Pipsqueak nodded, unfazed.

Once Featherweight regained his focus and saw just who had caused the blur, he almost fainted once more. 

Standing tall and glorious as the sun’s light shone upon her golden skin was Spitfire, the mare resplendent in a perfectly primmed and pressed uniform of the Wonderbolts. She snapped a salute to the colt on the throne, back stiff, even as a mischievous smile crossed her lips. 

“Do you want us to beat an academy record, sir? ...again?”

That’s... Spitfire. The Spitfire. Here, in the same room as me. And she’s there. Alive and stuff. It’s Spitfi— She works for Pipsqueak?!

“Nah, not today, Spits,” Pipsqueak said. “I just want you to shake hooves with a friend of mine, and pick something up for me.” 

“Will do, sir!” she said, turning her attention to Featherweight, her sparkling orange eyes taking in the colt. 

With an impossibly quick beat of her wings, the mare cut the distance between herself and Featherweight in half. “Are you Commander Pipsqueak’s little friend?” she asked, smiling as she bent to his height.

Featherweight mumbled something, his mind still trying to reconcile what odd circumstances reality had presented him. “Yeah?”

Her smile grew. “Well, aren’t you a little cutie, too. Pipsqueak keeps some nice friends. You wanted to meet me, huh?” she asked. 

Featherweight nodded, eyes wide as he took in every little detail of his idol. He shifted awkwardly in his seated position. “I’m, I’m, I’m a huge fan, Miss Spitfire!” he said, eyes growing wider with admiration. “You’re the best, out of all the Wonderbolts.”

The mare shrugged her wings, brushing the compliment off as easily as one would ignore a fly. “It’s nothing; I just try my best. And really, there are plenty of others out there who deserve it more. After all, it’s a team effort.”

“I-I know, but I still think that you’re the best. And you’re the leader of the team, so you do a lot more work!”

She gushed, reaching out a hoof to rub the colt’s head. Unable to resist, Featherweight’s hind leg began to thump against the ground as he pushed against her hoof. 

“So, what’s this thing I need to pick up?” she asked him as she pulled her hoof away. 

Featherweight took a moment to compose himself. “Oh, it’s a poster,” he said, shyly pointing at the rolled up paper beside the mare. 

Reaching down, the mare scooped up the poster and to the colt’s undying horror, opened it.

She stood there, staring at a very suggestive image of herself straddling an airship’s cannon. Her eyes widened. “Well now...”

Oh sweet Celestia, my hero’s here, and she’s looking at an image of herself, in that pose, wearing nothing. He swallowed hard as her gaze shifted to him. 

Instead of the embarrassment—or worse—that he was expecting, the mare looked at him with a knowing smirk and a twinkle of amusement. “Wait here, kid,” she said before jumping up, flipping around, and shooting out of the room. 

Before he could even blink, she returned, the orange-gold trail of her wake cutting at a sharp angle as she came to a dead stop in front of him. In her mouth, she held a tiny white square, one she dropped onto the ground and bent over as she pulled a marker out from within her uniform.

“Here you go,” she said as she pulled back up and hoofed the picture to him. 

The colt picked it up. 

The image was simple: one of a slightly-younger Spitfire looking resplendent in a brand-new uniform, her chest puffed out in pride as she saluted the camerapony. On it, a simple message was written in a clear and elegant scroll. To Featerhate, a great young colt, and a great fan. 

Tears marred the colt’s eyes as he looked up to the mare. “Thank you so much!”

“No problem, kid,” Spitfire said as she turned around and trotted towards Pipsqueak. “Unless you need me, I’ll be heading back to my quarters,” the stunt-pegasus informed her Master, winking as she veered off and trotted away. 

Pipsqueak waved her away and nodded to the mares at his sides before they resumed their fanning. 

Featherweight looked at the image once more, unable to keep a massive grin from splitting his face. “Pip!”

“Yeah?”

Featherweight slipped the image into his saddlebag, then began hopping from hoof to hoof. “That was Spitfire!”

Pipsqueak shrugged. “Yeah, she comes once in awhile.”

He’s so... not surprised at all... and Luna was here. The Goddess of the moon... But he’s still calm... and on a throne. “Pip, what exactly do you do here?”

“A lot of things; it’s my house,” the fellow colt answered, a bitter tone of sarcasm creeping into his voice.

Featherweight sighed. “No, really, I have to know,” he said, blinking back when his friend giggled and laughed at his serious expression. 

“Fine, it’s nothing big, really.” 

“Yeah, but what is it?”

Pipsqueak giggled to himself. “Raspberries.”

“...What?”

“You know, raspberries,” Pipsqueak attempted to explain. “That thing some mares do, when they blow on your belly.... Turns out they realllly like it. So, I became a bit of an expert.”

Featherweight blinked dumbly at him. “Raspberries?”

The other colt nodded. “Raspberries. Do you need a demonstration?” 

“N-no, I think I’ll pass,” Featherweight replied too quickly.

“That’s not the only thing we do, of course. I also had this place built, and it serves as a spa and relaxation place for mares of high rank. It’s a stressful Equestria out there...” 

“Yeah... but... it’s a castle!” Featherweight exclaimed, motioning at the room around them.

“So? A lot of mares liked my idea, and a lot of them were willing to donate a little. It’s only been two years since I started. By the time I’m a stallion, I want to have one of these buildings in every major city across Equestria.” He glanced at a wall-mounted clock. “But enough about that, I have an appointment soon.”

“An appointment?” 

The smile Pipsqueak gave Featherweight wasn’t a kind one, not one shared between friends, not one given to calm and soothe, but a cruel grin that sent a shiver down Featherweight’s spine. Even so, the pegasus colt noticed a glimmer, a tiny glimmer in his friend’s eye. 

Jealousy.

Reaching out, Pipsqueak rang one of his bells, this one with a purple and white ribbon. “I’m sorry about this, Feathers. But you’ve been using my locality, my house, and my things. Not to mention spurning my gifts. I think it only fair I take my just reward? Wouldn’t you agree?” Pipsqueak explained. 

Featherweight shook his head. “I don’t get it. What are you getting at?”

At the far back of the room, a pair of double doors swung open, allowing two mares to trot out, two massive mares wearing yokes and chains reaching out behind them, as they grunted.

Pipsqueak hopped off the throne and began walking to the back of his room. “I’ve always wondered what it was like, to give instead of receive a raspberry.” He looked over his shoulder. “It tickles, you know?”

“Um, okay,” Featherweight said, his attention split between the colt and the object being lugged into the room. 

As the first bars appeared, he realised it was a cage, a cage of thick wrought-iron, one built with runes and gems embedded into its side. One with a little white unicorn trapped within.

“Sweetie!” he shouted, his legs pumping madly as he began to gallop. 

He was tackled by a brilliant golden blur that sent his tiny body sliding across the marble floor until he bumped into a massive pillar.

Featherweight saw stars; a multitude of twinkling lights filled his vision as his mind clouded over. No, not Sweetie...

The sound of iron screeching filled his ears. Distant, faint, yet it awakened something within him, something deeper as he heard the miniscule sound of a filly sobbing. “Featherweight!” she screeched in fear. 

The colt was back into action, hooves clattering against the ground as he followed the pleas of his beloved, even before he had time to register anything. 

Pipsqueak looked over his shoulder, the cruel and wanting grin on his features failing to disappear even as Featherweight halved the distance between them. “Spitfire, get rid of him,” he said, turning back to the shivering Sweetie Belle. “This’ll only take a moment.”

From the corner of his eye, Featherweight saw Spitfire take off. As if in slow-motion, the mare hopped into the air and beat her wings, gaining speed at a tremendous rate. No, I can’t let her, he thought as he beat his own, fragile, wings. 

Instantly, the colt was in the air, sending his body’s weight off to the side as he performed a corkscrew in midair arching him upwards and away from the bullet that was Spitfire. 

The whizzing of the mare beneath him created such a draft that he felt himself soaring higher up towards the glass-ceilinged room. Where is she? he had time to wonder before catching sight of the golden blur wheeling around towards him. 

She was fast. Incredibly so. 

Decades of harsh and almost impossible training fueled her forwards at a frantic pace. Yet Featherweight had one advantage, one that trumped any training she could have had.

He was in love.

Allowing himself to fall, the pegasus flared out his wings and stalled himself in mid-air, sending his body’s weight swinging around even as he kicked out with his hind legs. 

His buck caught Spitfire right in the chest, crumpling her uniform and sending a shockwave through the mare before her wings gave in and she tumbled to the ground like a lifeless sack of wheat. 

Panting, and at a sudden loss of energy, Featherweight looked around him until he found the cage, and more importantly, Sweetie Belle. 

The filly was wrestling against Pipsqueak, even as the colt successfully pinned her to the rough ground, and held his mouth wide open over her whiter-than-white belly, ready to torture her into fits of giggles and glee.

“No!” Featherweight shouted as he dropped and spiraled through the air. With a valiant effort, the colt slipped into the cage and rammed into the pony he had once called friend. The impact sent a painful jolt through Featherweight’s shoulder, one he quickly ignored in favour of checking on the filly of his dreams. 

“Are you okay?” he asked as he hopped over Pipsqueak’s groaning body to Sweetie Belle’s side.

The filly hyperventilated, tears touching the edge of her eyes. “She—they were playing with me, then they put me in the cage, and my horn wasn’t working, and I tried to scream, but they wouldn’t listen, and then they brought me here, and he wanted to do something to my tummy, but then you came and saved me.” Finishing her rant, and still panting without breath, the filly reached up, grabbed Featherweight, and hugged him with all her might. “I never want to be away again, okay?”

Through his blush, Featherweight smiled, reaching out to hug the filly back.

A cold hoof touched his shoulder and, despite Featherweight’s protests, whipped him around. 

Pipsqueak stood above him, a vicious grin on his lips as he backhoofed Featherweight across the face. The colt had no time to react before the earth pony gripped him and sent him sprawling across the wooden floor of the cage, only to jump and wrap himself around Featherweight.

“You become rather flexible after being in my line of work for a while,” Pipsqueak explained, his voice hoarse as he tightened his grip around Featherweight.

Pipsqueak’s hooves, tail, and even his short mane encircled Featherweight, pinning the pegasus to the hard ground in an unrelenting grip. His own wings and hooves were stuck. Despite Featherweight’s greatest efforts, his former friend had him down.

I can’t just lose like this; I can’t let him play with Sweetie Belle! he thought, frustration at the simple inability to act creating a well of desperate hatred and fear and loathing within him. Again, the colt squirmed, his raw muscles forcing against Pipsqueak’s. 

Finally, after struggling against his adversary, Featherweight saw a chance, and an opportunity he could not surpass. 

Pipsqueak had shoved him down, his belly twisting over Featherweight’s chest, just close enough for the imprisoned colt to reach over. A little more, he thought, puckering his lips even as he took a deep swallow of air. 

Pressing his lips against his nemesis’ belly, the colt blew out, allowing his cheeks to flubber around as Pipsqueak’s belly waved about like the wild sea. 

“No!” Pipsqueak shouted, his childish voice piercing as it echoed through the room. 

Featherweight pulled back. “You were like a brother to me!” he said before pressing his face down once more. Again, the deep resonating tones of skin flapping in ecstasy. Giggles and tears began to escape the tiny Pipsqueak, both growing stronger even as his grip weakened. 

The pegasus took another gulp of air, giving Pipsqueak time to protest. “Please, no, I don’t want that; I don’t want that anymore! Please!”

Again, Featherweight charged to the assault and again, Pipsqueak’s body retaliated against its master, back bending and lungs emptying themselves with crazed laughter. 

Drool and saliva coated the colt’s belly as Featherweight rose up, staring down at his defeated enemy, even as Pipsqueak clutched at his stomach, crying to himself pitifully. The tiny sobs that escaped the colt were punctuated by loud and choking hiccups as Pipsqueak bent over and hugged himself. 

Panting, Featherweight looked over to Sweetie Belle and managed a weak smile. “I won?” he asked feebly.

Tears in her eyes, the filly shook her head, then looked beyond the iron walls of the cage to the army of mares encircling them. 

Tall, short, feminine, distinctly unique in their own way. Above it all, they were beautiful, from their curves to the alluring way they stared at them with a passionate hatred. He swallowed hard, quickly counting the very first row. Twelve. Twelve angry mares. This is going to be one big argument.

“Come on, Sweetie,” he said, lifting a welcoming wing moments before the filly stuck to his side, her shivering travelling through his coat as they exchanged their warmth and their love. “We’re leaving!” he called out to the assembly, even as he took a step forwards, leading his fillyfriend along with him. 

Both of them stepped out of the cage, led by Featherweight as he bravely urged Sweetie Belle on, keeping his back straight and his wing over the filly as he tried to reassure her, to protect her. 

They stared. A hundred eyes on the pair as they pushed ahead. Princess Luna. Twilight Sparkle. Clean Sweeps. All mares that they knew in one way or another passed them by, all looking at them with something between fear, awe, and anger. 

The couple moved on, pushing through the crowd until they finally reached the centre of the room and Pipsqueak’s massive throne. It was then that all the mares backed away, forming a ring both on the ground and in the air, one that stopped at the edge of the rug, all watching him intently. 

What do they want, he wondered as he scowled and looked around at the entire ring. 

At his side, Sweetie Belle whispered, “I think they want you to sit on the big chair.” 

He looked at the smaller filly, not understanding the deep and almost intuitive knowledge hidden within. “Go on,” she spurred him with a tiny shove towards the monolith. 

Uncertain of himself, Featherweight took a few more steps towards the dark structure, feeling the mounting tension of the room in his young bones. Every mare leaned forwards, waiting with baited breath as Featherweight put one hoof on the throne, then another, before pulling himself up. 

Turning, the colt stared in awe as each and every mare bowed to him, heads touching the ground in reverence. 

Something clicked within him, something powerful and deep. Standing tall, his back straight and a deep royal frown upon his features, he looked down at the neat rows made by his followers, and smiled. 

He was king of the mares. 











Edited by:
-JustAnotherTimeLord (Kudos to this young man; he was great company, and a greater helper)


Preread by:
-Your Antagonist
-Frederick the Saiyan
-Cpl Hooves
-FlutterSyke
-StapleCactus
-Sorren

I got the whole army out. 






It’s done.

First, I really am sorry for this chapter; I just wanted to write something that would take you guys by surprise, and maybe send a few into fits of giggles and mirth. To those that were offended, please take my humblest apologies (I was always told it’s better not to do an action and have to apologise for it, then to do it and humble oneself. Oh well...)  

Second! I’d like to thank the multitude of ponies that have helped me edit this little beast. I can’t even start to count the man-hours spent on a G-Docs file with two or three of us slaving away at my inability to use a comma,,, I’m slow. In particular, I’d like to give a shout-out to StapleCactus, Cpl Hooves and Frederick the Saiyan, all of whom have been incredible helpers, editors, and friends.

And finally, I want to thank you, the reader.

Without those wise comments, the enthusiasm, and the nagging to get that next chapter out of the melting pot between my ears and onto the screen, I never would have gotten as far as I have.



So, let’s look at some stats (The only kind of fun math!) and then I’ll subtly and quietly drop a link to the sequel. 


(For the record, these are statistics at the time of the writing of this chapter)


Now, favourites are an important part of any story, and there’s no joy quite like receiving a notification about them. Over the course of being written, Of Challenges and Kisses received 2457 Favourites. 

That’s just plain mad! Two thousand of you fellows deemed this story worthy of clicking on that little symbol! 

Fun-Fact: If each follow was a stick of dynamite, one could make a pony shaped crater on the moon’s side big enough to be seen on earth (with a telescope).

Now, more important than the elusive favourite, is the comment, and by Celestia you guys love to chat. 2,176 comments! That makes this story the 26th most talked on story on this entire site, and I love each and every comment; they really brighten my day (or make me sink into a deep depression).

Fun-Fact: It’s the most popular story that starts with ‘Of’, and the most prominent story featuring Featherweight.

Alone, Of Challenges and Kisses accounts of a third of all my story views, with over 16,000 views and 100,000 total views (pffftt).

And, as a last bit of statistical nonsense, this story received over 1,600 up votes. (and a few downvotes)