Fun times with the stallion everypony is gay for. Just a lighthearted, silly thing with no real emotional depth or drama. Don't worry about the sex tag, no actual smut. Homosexuality, in both a physical and an emotional sense, will be featured (duh). Art is not mine, check out the artist's DA: https://johnnoz.deviantart.com/
“Whewie that’s some damn good buckin’ there Brae!” Empire Seed hollered from a few rows of trees down.
“Why thank ya kindly there, Empire.” Brae shot back after whipping his honey gold locks out of his emerald eyes. The stout stallion was like all the Earth Ponies of Appleoosa, rustic and ripped. Seriously, he’d seen what unicorn body builders looked like, and they could hold a candle to bona fide Appaloosan colt. Just about everypony had the same disparity in strength compared to normal ponies as an Appaloosan had with Big Mac.
Braeburn Apple had been in the first wave of settlers to make a homestead of this southern wilderness, and he’d loved every second of it. The dry heat of the days and cold arid nights were bliss to him, and he was sincerely thankful to the ever-dependable Cousin Applejack for helping the town fix up with the Buffalo. He honestly felt just awful for the way he’d acted back in those days, all blinded by anger and fear as he was, but Braeburn knew that dwelling on past mistakes would never get him anywhere new.
Sometime after the whole of the Buffalo debacle, Brae had been chosen by Sheriff Silverstar to be the liaison between the Buffalo tribes and the ponies of Appaloosa; he worked closely with Little Strongheart, the lil’ bison darling that had been striving to bridge the gaps between the two groups. As to be expected, his having spent a “good deal of time awfully close that that sweetheart Strongheart” made the spokes on the rumor-wagon start a ‘turning something fierce. Braeburn was snapped out of his reminiscing by the ringing of the workman’s bell, signaling the end of the work day.
Brae collected is first few baskets and started walking back to the drop off, where all the apples bucked during a work day were deposited, weighed, and stored. The drop off was a large red and white barn, not dissimilar to the one he had, along with the rest of the apple family, helped rebuild at a family reunion a while back. If memory served it had been cousin Applejack’s first reunion she’d planned, and there was a vague recollection of the family singing a song… Regardless, the main difference was that this barn was Appleoosa born and raised, and it had the sand-worn beams and chipped paint the ponies of the southern kin held as a symbol of themselves and their beloved home. Recently the town’s new Mayor, Cherry Jubilee, had been mulling over experimenting with having pay be decided by the weight of the haul a pony brings in. Braeburn was skeptical, not one for change was he, yet he was willing to give the idea a chance.
He took in the glorious sights of the Appleoosan afternoon. The sun shined brightly overhead, and there was not a cloud in the sky to obscure the warmth bleeding into his coat. It did however mean that he had to dip his hat just a little bit lower to protect his sensitive eyes. The dust that suffused the ground would occasionally kick up into small swirls that reminded the mind of the swirling majesty of a tornado. The trees of the orchard’s leaves were locked in an everlasting limbo of color. The orchard never got to the heights of verdant greens and browns as those of kin in fairer pastures, but similarly weren’t susceptible to the mandatory winters. This is the balance Appleoosa lived in, and the trees showed it. Every leaf was shade of color evoking the skin of ripe golden delicious apples. The trees and craggy rock outcrops blended their colors with the canary sky to make the place feel all the more warm and homey to Braeburn. It was like marveling at a painting evoking the rusting warmth of a quiet homestead shared with loving family. The vast stretches of dessert, with only the merest patches of grass no bigger or denser than an adolescent’s chin hairs, made the community feel even closer knit.
“Sweet sweltering Celestia, Braeburn, you done and broke the Sheriff’s applebucking record!” one of the other work ponies exclaimed raucously.
Braeburn felt his chest swell up with pride. I’m a lean mean bucking machine! He couldn’t help but giggle to himself, then stepped before all the other ponies gathered around the drop off. His eyes lit up, Braeburn had always loved to entertain. Not as much as that supersonic pink mare cousin Applejack keeps company with, but he certainly was among the small number of Appleoosan party animals. He ripped his hat off his head, squinting in the suddenly harsh light, and reared up on his hind legs loosing a trademark “Aaaappleoosa!!”
“Well now ev’rypony I do believe that we ought to celebrate this most momentous of occasions. It’s now every day you see a record smashed, though I’m fixing to see that there record ain’t the only thing smashed by the time I’m done… DRINKS ARE ON ME BOYS!!! YEEHAWWW!!!!!”
“Ughhh my damn head feels like it’s about to fall off…” Braeburn was awoken from his drunken stupor by an all-to-early sunrise buffeting the stallion’s poor eyes.
He stumbled out of bed, dragging half the covers with him, and it was then he saw to look down and noticed that he had at some point put on long stockings that were horizontally stripped with alternating whites and oranges. He owned a few pairs, and they were meant for mares, not like that stopped him. He liked the way they complimented his legs and made all eyes, male and female, follow him when he walked into a room. Brae’s folks hadn’t initially taken too kindly to his indulging in such “raunchy dress”, but they were supportive of his lifestyle choices; one of which was sprawling on his bed passed out and wearing now sloppy mascara.
Braeburn liked stallions, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. The townsponies of Appleoosa didn’t really care either. Yes, earth ponies are a bit more on the conservative side, but they also held deep respect for hard work and valued that before anything as silly as sexuality. Besides, it’s not like they had some outdated religious reason to hate anypony, Celestia was known to get as much action as a one bit till you quit whore while “drumming up business” from both teams. Seriously, it’s like pegasi and unicorns still thought of Earth ponies like they were in the pre-unification times, at least in regard to sexuality.
This particular stallion was a familiar face, Rise n’ Shine was his name if memory served. Brae had met him at the saloon the night before while out celebrating the record he’d broken and burning through some of the bits he’d netted. Were he entirely honest, the party was an absolute blast, but he’d been through more raucous parties in his time.
As he dragged himself into the shower, Braeburn was wondering why he felt so odd. It was like someone had wrapped up his insides in a tight, wet towel. Every beat of his heart felt as though it was chaffing against this binding. He’d felt this way before, it usually popped up when he watched other ponies happily settled in a relationship. Apple Fritter and Happy Trails were both two great friends of his, some of the first outside the family he’d made upon settling Appleoosa. He cared for both of them, and may have had a bit of a crush on Happy, what could Brae say the stallion had a nice ass. But deep down he knew they were a good fit for each other and he’d be better off keeping a minimum safe distance so they could enjoy each other without them having to deal with his feelings.
Maybe I’m just meant to be a bachelor forever. The thoughts dripped through his mind like the water on his body. Some clung for far longer than they logically should. Seriously, it was like he could control the water! He sat in shower tossing his thoughts about like a chef tossing a salad. Just the mention of the lewd phrase got Brae out of his funk as he giggled gleefully to himself. Things were back to normal, he’d go out there and get his nose on the grindstone and show just what he could do. Despite himself, as he got out of the shower he could help but feel a deep, undeniable want. As to what for, he couldn’t tell.
Rise n’ Shine had finally gotten around to his namesake as Braeburn sauntered in from the hall leading to the bathroom to his room proper. Brae liked his room, small, dominated by his bed, and yet still endowed with enough storage for his several vests and hats. It was cozy and featured predominately the aesthetics its wooden construction that Braeburn was all so enamored with.
“Oh hiya there Brae. When did I get in your house?” Shine had the most adorable look of confusion on his big dumb, brown muzzle. His shaggy dirty blonde locks still in a rough bout of bedhead accented his peach eyes, and it made Braeburn get warm all over.
Sweet Celestia he’s so damn cute it’s a weapon of mass destruction.
“Well ya see, me and you’d been having a bit of fun down at the saloon last night. Sooner or later you’d told me you were asexual. I had replied, and I quote, ‘well ya look more like a gaysexual to me.’ At which point you slugged me across the muzzle then went on and planted a kiss in the same spot soon after.” Braeburn had a look of smug satisfaction as a look of abject horror crept up Shine’s face, and the satisfaction only got more intense when he saw Sine start blushing unable to meet Brae’s eye.
“Ugh, fine. I like Stallions, you happy Brae?” Shine’s words were betrayed by the wider than a mile grin plastered on his muzzle. Braeburn watched as the other stallion hopped off the bed and squeezed past him on their way out of his house. As he happily cantered off the porch steps, Rise n’ Shine looked back to Brae. “Maybe we’ll have to do this again…”
“You know where I live now, don’t ya?” Braeburn retorted, tipping the hat freshly placed upon his head.
“Why, how do you do there Braeburn Apple?” Cherry Jubilee sauntered into view as Braeburn was walking past the drop-off barn on his way to the fields. “You’ve done me quite the service all these years, you buck like none other, pardon my innuendo. However, I did not come all the way out here to the fields just to flirt, for I really must be asking you to undertake a little ‘chore’ on the part of Appleoosa as a community.”
Braeburn tilted his head quizzically to the side, “Beg pardon ma’am, but what kinda chore might you be needing me in specific for?”
“Well now, aren’t you just an ever-inquisitive mind? I do oh so love a pony that’s not afraid to ask the hard questions.” The emphasis she put on the word “hard” was disturbing, but still Brae persisted. “Simply put, you’re going to go to Cloudsdale on a trip to represent both me and Appleoosa at large in delivering this-” she pulled a letter out from one of the folds of her elegant dress “-to the head of the Wonderbolts, Spitfire. We’re trying to get the Wonderbolts to hold a show out here in little ol’ Appleoosa to get our tourism off on the right foot. You’ll do it right?” She battered her lashes at him. “If not for me, than for Appleoosa?”
Braeburn ran a hoof through his hair while he thought. After a minute or two of thinking he looked back to Cherry, “Ah hay, why not?”
Brae wasn’t scared of heights, he just had a preference for the ground an- SWEET BUCKING CELESTIA THAT DROP LOOKS LIKE IT’LL TAKE ME RIGHT TO TARTURUS.
“Are you okay sir?” the neon green and pink pixie cut pegasus mare next to him gave him a half-hearted sideways glance. It appeared she was used to this kind of reaction.
Braeburn’s eyes did possibly the single worst thing they could do to him and started to dart about like wolves chasing hares. The balloon-port was tucked in a little alcove peeking out of a natural hole in the side of a mountain. The Friendship Express made the occasional stop here whenever the port was in service, but given Cloudsdale’s nomadic nature that wasn’t always an option. The mountain was a basalt grey and mostly smoothed on the count of constant battering by winds. Those same winds were forcing Brae to hold one hoof on his hat as his hair flailed about in the wind like a flag in a hurricane. The entire port was built on a little lip of wayward stone that had been artificially expanded to facilitate the wingless ponies who may need to visit Cloudsdale for whatever reason.
Said lip was a roughly half-mile hemi-circle that was dotted by deep evergreens and a carpet of crabgrass that crunched and buckled under Braeburn’s hooves. There was a small pond surrounded by a well-kept garden with a few chairs for patrons to sit in. Braeburn had a great of view the whole idyllic mountain suite from the launchpad that jutted a dozen feet from the second story of a coloneighal inspired light pine and cream-painted cobble port that had a disturbing amount of rocking and creaking to it.
The landing pad was made of the same kind of pine but also reinforced with old, rusting girders with peeled layers of paint revealing a long-storied history of brown paint covering up safety violations. The platform was in a roughly rectangular shape, but ended in what looked like a trapezoid somepony had slapped on the end. Probably to stop an off-target balloon from popping, or something. Braeburn shuttered slightly at the thought.
The attendant that was helping Brae and the three other ponies, a unicorn and Pegasus couple with their unicorn filly, had to shout just to be heard over the rushing wind.
“Alright folks! Thank you for choosing Convection Balloonlines, I’m Midnight Rave, and I’ll be helping you all on the balloon. Did you all get the cloudwalking necklaces?-” She moved her head, stretching at the neck trying to eye over all the ponies before her “-Okay, good. Those will be keeping you from falling through the clouds.”
Braeburn’s ‘necklace’ fit so damn snug it felt more like a choker than a necklace, but he’d given his up to have it wrapped around the filly’s waist. Poor little thing had been too small for the foal sizes and too big for the infant sizes.
Soon the garishly pink and gold balloon floated lamely into view, manned by a single grease covered mechanic. Luckily the thing was absolutely massive, the balloon was at least two dozen feet wide and the basket could hold with ease half that number of ponies. Everypony slowly filled on the “floating coach”, as the pamphlets called it, and Braeburn found himself sitting on the opposite side of the basket as the family, with the mechanic in the middle directly underneath the burner keeping the thing aloft.
Brae made one last mistake of looking over the edge of the basket and almost threw up the peanut butter and hay sandwich he’d brought. Okay, this may have been a mistake.
By the time Braeburn had finished his flight he was resolved to never fly in a balloon again. Now that may not have left him very many options in the way of getting down, but those kinds of small details had never gotten in his way before.
Cloudsdale was a massive sprawling metropolis of whites meeting blues and had a kind of sweeping aesthetic to it that reminded Braeburn of the oceans whenever he was out visiting kin on the coast. All the buildings looked like a wave of blue capped with white, which in this case fluff rather than foam. Surprising to absolutely nopony was the fact that Cloudsdale had a high proportion of pegasi living in it. On it? Who knows?
The streets were really more fast lanes where more rambunctious ponies could cut loose and zoom about the winding paths without worrying about the possibility of hitting somepony. There were some bridges of repurposed storm clouds that arched at intersections to allow for hoof traffic. The storm clouds had their edges facing towards the fast lanes blasted white. It was reminiscent of the way fire would leave the stones of the bonfire-pit licked with black scorching marks, and helped Braeburn to grasp just how mind-bogglingly fast some of these fliers were.
“Speaking of fast fliers, where the hay am I gonna find them Wonderbolts?” Brae pondered to himself absentmindedly, missing the stallion walking directly at him. The two met head-first, with Braeburn giving the other a solid knock to the head. “Aww geez mister, I’d completely missed seeing you there!”
The stallion before Braeburn was a smaller statured Pegasus, with a lighter grey-blue coat and black mane. He wore an aviator jacket that was an earthy brown on the outside and fluffy tan on the inside. On the flared out collar was pinned a meticulously polished gold pin. Braeburn could tell just from a glance that this boy was an athlete, his confident stance and the fact he wasn’t on the ground rocking while holding both hooves to his forehead were big tells.
The stallion shook his head from side to side for a moment, as if to shake out the confusion. “Ah, don’t worry about it.” He gave a lighthearted snicker, “I’ve hit the ground at mach 2 and was up and flying again in 10 minutes flat.”
“Well I’ll be a cow’s uncle, that’s a feat and a half if I ever heard one. Say my name’s Braeburn Apple, I don’t believe I caught yours…” Braeburn tipped his hat cordially.
“Oh yeah, guess we were a little occupied with going ‘head to head’.” This time his laughter was much louder, and just hearing the boyish joy in it made Braeburn’s stomach do summersaults. “I’m Soarin’ I’m co-captain of the Wonderbolts, pleased to meet ya Braeburn!” His smile’s warmth was mirrored by a sudden flash of heat creeping its way all throughout Braeburn’s cheeks.
The gears slowly began to grind together inside Braeburn’s head, and slowly two and two began to come together. “Wait a minute! You’re in the Wonderbolts?!” Braeburn exclaimed with a bewildered look on his face.
Soarin’ seemed to be used to getting this kind of a reaction before, and nonchalantly ran his hooves through his hair, making Brae go from normal blush to ‘oh god my cutie mark’s color just migrated to my bucking face’. “Pssh, yeah. It’s nothing all that special. I mean it’s not like I’m the youngest flier to ever reach the rank of co-captain or anything.” His easy confidence was infectious, and Braeburn found himself like a mindless groupie. Yeah obviously he’s the best. For Celestia’s sake he’s Soarin’. He was utterly enthralled by this pony he’d only met mere minutes ago. Truly a masterclass in keeping it cool that Braeburn Apple.
Soarin’ was like an eagle, seeing the looks on Braeburn’s face betraying his thoughts, and, like a predator, he was ready to get his kicks with some honest emotional predation. “Well damn there, you look like Celestia just smacked you looking all star-struck like that…” The Pegasus remarked slyly, watching this queer little out of depth Earth pony gawping in awe of him. Damn Soarin’ you’ve officially rocketed past lady killer, and shot straight to unstoppable flirt, nice. Making bedroom eyes at the poor little apple-assed cutie, Soarin’ asked “hey if you’re looking for the Wonderbolts, why don’t you take a minute and sit down for some lunch with me and you can tell me all about whatever it is you wanna bring up to Spits?”
Braeburn tilted his head quizzically, “Who the hay is Spits?”
“Ha right, you wouldn’t know her. Spits is a little nickname I gave the other co-captain, Spitfire. Trust me, she loves it.” Somehow, somewhere, Spitfire had some sixth-sense-esque feeling that Soarin’ was using her as a prop to be a cunt. Player, she meant player, sure.
Braeburn had begun to collect himself, as him and Soarin’ chatted about their upbringings. Brae had found that him and Soarin’ had grown up surprisingly similar. Both grew in houses that didn’t necessarily enjoy their sexual activities, but were all the same supportive. They had also found they shared a mutual respect for hard work, but they differed in how they handled being at the top of their respective trades. Soarin’ was a hell of a showboat, and it was adorable. As they talked he’d occasionally take a moment to try and slick his mane or but a hoof on Brae’s. Braeburn didn’t mind, he was hot as hell after all, but he also wasn’t the kind of pony to stay dumbfounded forever.
They had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Soarin’ would go on about how awesome he is, Brae would roll his eyes and one-up any feat Soarin’ brought to the table. After purposefully uncounted hours of conversation the two felt like they’d known the other for years, and both couldn’t deny they’d be more than happy to continue their banter indefinitely, but, finally, responsibility caught up to Braeburn.
“Say Soarin’, I came up to Cloudsdale to be delivering this here letter-” he pulled the enclosed envelope from the breast pocket of his vest- “to Spitfire. The mayor’d asked me to give it to ‘er in hopes to be having y’all come on down to Appleoosa and perform a show or thirty for us.” Braeburn was in full businesspony mode, as everything coming out of his muzzle was a charismatic as those Flim-Flam brothers that the two Stallions had seen making a scene in a park as they were first cantering cheerfully to the restaurant they’d been chatting at for the last blissful eternity. Soarin’ had misjudged just how passionate and convincing this catch had been, and he thought it was hotter than the Appleoosan sun. Oh Celestia, he was already picking up the country-isms from Brae. Suddenly, Soarin’ realized Braeburn had kept pitching while he was in lala land staring into those luminous emerald eyes of Brae’s.
“So whatcha think Soarin’? Both parties get something outta the deal, and we’d be able to see each other every couple of months!”
Now it was Soarin’s turn to start blushing and blubbering like a fool, all pretense of cool lost in a flash of warm in his heart. Soarin’ looked up at Braeburn gingerly, and breathed “Yeah Brae, I’d like that very much…”
Both Stallions locked eyes for a dozen tenuous moments, both afraid to make the first move.
“Hey Soarin’?” Brae pondered.
“Yeah Brae?”
“I think I may just have learned to believe in love at first headbutt…”
Soarin’ was quite for a moment, thinking to himself. Braeburn felt a few beads of sweat crawling down his neck.
“I think I do too.”
Both let out titanic sighs of relief and stood up. Brae did a few half-square dances while Soarin’ did some stretches with the mechanical precision of somepony with years of drilling to get themselves ready to start walking after sitting for so long. As they started walking towards the Wonderbolt’s Cloudsdale office the two found themselves subconsciously walking with their flanks swaying into each other’s every other step. After a few paces of lovely silence, Brae decided to pay back Soarin’ for their meeting, and wrapped his tail around the pegasus’, earning him an adorable yelp and deep crimson flush from him.
“Jerk!” Soarin’ whined.
“Ha, like you’d have me any other way, ya baby!” Braeburn retorted, nuzzling his not-quite-coltfriend, not-quite-friend. He felt like the piece he’d been missing had been set just before him, and he was determined to grab it.
The two had decided to take a “scenic route” on their way to the complex, at Soarin’s request, obviously. The pair figured foolishly there was plenty of time to kill before they really had to get Cherry Jubilee’s note to Spitfire.
“Nah Brae, trust me. Spits is a total workaholic. I’d bet my impeccable ass in our-” he paused to make a face so lustful it bordered on comedy “-skin tight performance gear that she’s gonna be in the office for another three hours at least after her shift finishes.” He made characteristically overblown motions to accent the little jab at his co-captain.
“Uh-huh… First of all, I dunno what kinda pony would wanna see that—” Soarin gave him a roll of the eyes and an unconvinced leer, soliciting a small gulp and blush “— and second off, I just don’t wanna be made the fool and miss this big ol’ opportunity for me and my kin. Appleoosa’s my first and foremost.” Braeburn’s naïve determination reminded Soarin of a young colt still enthused with the world, a lot like himself in days long since passed. His energy was infectious, and Soarin couldn’t help but giggle and snort at this weird little earth pony he’d found for himself.
Soarin had a bit of a reputation for being both bachelor and breaker of hearts, some scorned lovers had decided to start taking up arms against him and his “pastime”. He stood wholly by his actions. Could he really be blamed for getting a little bored? That didn’t stop the now unending barrage of hit pieces getting printed on him in the biggest newspaper in Cloudsdale. But now looking back, he did, in fact, come to realize just how cruel he’d been to his past lovers. This doofy foot-slogger managed to do something Soarin thought himself immune to: enrapture Soarin with the whole pony, not just the body. He knew that they’d only just met, but these past few hours felt like they’d been spent with somepony more than just a one-night stand in the making. It felt almost as though he were with someone he’d known his whole life. Jeez that sounds cheesy as hell, he remarked internally.
“Hey doofus, lets’ check out that cheese shop over there” Soarin motioned a hoof towards an unassuming little “ye olde, mom and pops” looking building. The clouds had been specially molded and dyed to look like something from pre-industrial Trottingham.
As the two walked in they separated and went off to different displays set out around the shop. The place had a nice “wooden” aesthetic to it, with lots of earthy greens and browns dominating the coloring. They even had some real wood in here! Braeburn hadn’t seen a lick of actual, honest-to-goodness wood work since he left the balloon ferry. The shelves vertical mountings were still clouds, but the horizontal panes were now enthralling the earth pony. As he breathed in the scents of pine and cheese around him, Braeburn couldn’t help but feel maybe a might homesick. After all, Appleoosa had been the one and only thing on his mind since he’d put roots down in the quaint little town. The place was his first love, and he’d turned now many fine young mares and stallions in the name of his precious township. The only problem was a lithe blue jackass making funny faces at him through a oddly rounded vase from across the room.
“Soarin, ya bozo yer head looks like it’s about ninety percent cheeks!”
“Ha, you say it like you’re not thinking about squeezin’ em right now!”
“I’m not gonna do you the service of saying that yer right, but I’m also not gonna say that you’re wrong…”
The two continued to banter until the shopkeeper, an elderly green and orange unicorn mare, finally asked to two if they were planning on buying something, or if they were just going to sit in her shop and have themselves a quaint little date on her time? The two excused themselves from the store in a rush of flustered indignance at the mention of the word.
“Jeez what’s the geezer’s problem?” Soarin asked with shocked angst that would make any pubescent nihilist hot and bothered.
“Well I mean, we were making a bit of a ruckus in there, so I can’t rightly say I blame her.”
“Hey, I didn’t come here for a voice of reason!” Soarin joked mirthfully.
“Yeah well you’re the one that decided that we oughta go ‘round the ‘scenic way’, so I say you ain’t got a thing to blame but yourself!” Braeburn gave Soarin a teasing sneer and a peck on the cheek.
They were beginning to walk on a main drag, Thunderlanding Avenue. I’m not rightly sure if that street name could be more self-aggrandizin’ and over dramatic if it tried.
“Hey Soarin.”
“Yeah, Brae?”
“The street name reminds me of you.” Braeburn had to actively try to fight the smiling attempting to break from between his lips.
“Huh? How do you figure?”
“It’s got issues with over-compensation!” Braeburn couldn’t keep himself together any longer and broke down in laughter, but Soarin just rolled his eyes and silenced the noise box walking alongside him with a kiss.
Braeburn’s eyes widened in surprise as he flushed deeply, his gasp caught greedily by Soarin’s muzzle. “Mmm-” he collected himself and broke the kiss “-now you’re just playing dirty and you know it!”
Soarin made heavy bedroom eyes and put a sultry roll into his voice “I’m playing dirty and you love it you mean.”
Braeburn’s breath hitched and he found himself floundering like a foal, looking for something, anything to escape Soarin’s gaze. His eyes eventually settled on looking down the throat of the avenue before them.
Trollies rumbled along the center of a road about 15 feet wide, split into three segments each five feet wide. The center segment was crossed gingerly by hoof traffic after vigorous looks in both directions but was mostly left bare. The left and right segments were mainly for hoof traffic as they were lined by rows and rows of stacked buildings with two or three floors to them all packed shoulder to shoulder. The inside section of the outer road segments, those next to the trolley track were seeming reserved to taxis and carts by some unspoken rule. At least Braeburn had assumed that the rules were unspoken as there were no signs and the carts always bowed to those on hoof.
The two continued their walk on down the avenue with tails entwined as the monolithic shape of the Wonderbolts’ compound began to loom in the horizon’s eye.
The Wonderbolts’ central office was titanic! The damn thing was second only to the Weather Factory in size. It didn’t dominate the central Couldsdale skyline, it was the central Cloudsdale skyline. The “building” was more a massive metroplex made of multiple disparate buildings of all shapes and sizes. The entire place was larger in landmass, or was it cloudmass? Either way it covered the same acreage as the entirety of Appleoosa, rails and orchards included!
In the dim dusk light, every building began to glow from the inside, turning the uniform blues and wispy whites into a gilded glimmer of gold, bathing the pair of stallions trotting, tails entwined, ushering them into the hundred-story skyscraper plastered with billboards and logos.
“Well I must say Soarin’, y’all certainly know how to make a first impression. This place is nearly a city entirely unto itself!” Brae exclaimed, eyes twinkling in wonder as he moved his head about, drinking in every last drop of his surroundings.
“Ha, well, we are a world-renowned group of aviartion masters… that and Spits keeps us on a tight budget. I think she and the brass got like a few hundred billion bits coming in every quarter that goes straight to development and investment.” A minty bolt of lightning shot passed them, “Hey Lightning Dust!”
Brae was trying to shake his ears to get them to pop as he winced at the discomfort, “That lil’ missy went and blew my ears out like a speaker at a shindig!”
Soarin’ had the most aggravatingly adorable look of concern on his smug muzzle “Ah geez Brae! Here, lemme help ya out” he singsonged as he brought his lips to Braeburn’s ears, planting smooches on both.
“Gah! Stop that, you big ol’ bully! That even got nothin’ to do with poppin’ ears!” Braeburn exclaimed, struck with a fit of giggles.
