Stinging The Trail

by Impossible Numbers

Rating: everyone
Tags: Sky Stinger, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Vapor Trail, Slice of Life
Length: 3395

Sky Stinger wonders how his relationship with Vapor Trail could have survived such a big and embarrassing secret. They're both still friends. He's sure of that much. But now he's actually starting to wonder why.

Sky Stinger, trying not to fall asleep in a pegasus-themed gallery, once more asks himself what kind of friend Vapor Trail really is.

Once the aerobatic pride and joy of Stratusburg, he now has to live with the wind taken out of his wings. Oh, she gave it back again, only this time with uplifting words rather than with sneaky gusts. But he still remembers the shameful moment when she'd told him the truth, let him fly alone, and watched as he instantly failed a flip he'd "mastered" years ago.

What kind of friend, after all, would do something like that?

Published 2017-02-25 00:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-02-25 00:40:01 UTC

To Rise Above The Sky

Not for the first time since the academy, Sky Stinger wondered what kind of pony would live a lie for someone else. For themselves, yes: that was basic self-interest. But to do the opposite, to indulge in a paradox of unscrupulous altruism… that just left him batting at his temple, as though trying to tip the answer out of his other ear.

Not that it bothered him. Not that they weren’t still friends.

And not that he wasn’t getting – he broke off to smother a yawn – anything out of this Stratusburg Snowflake Show, with its endless glass cases of six-sided shapes and shiny icicles and – again, he had to put a hoof up to his mouth – other wintry odds and ends.

For one thing, he couldn’t stop smirking at all the wide eyes and gaping mouths reflecting off the endless glass. Obviously, these were tourists, with their camera flashes and their loud questions aimed at the hovering attendants in blue caps. Stratusburg was a town that sometimes got left off the map, or else was a barely noticeable dot on the fringes. He hated seeing that. He’d grown up thinking Stratusburg was the busiest, liveliest, most exciting place in Equestria. His hometown. And this was how it was supposed to be treated. With awe and respect.

Oh, he wouldn’t actually visit its museums and galleries and political centres. Not normally. He’d always preferred the open plazas. There was one with a pegasus statue in the middle of a fountain. Everyone gathered there. Whenever he wanted to test a trick, he did it over the trickling waters. Gasps and joyful shouts had been better than cool water to him. He’d swum through it almost daily.

Vapor Trail, though. She liked indoor places.

He peered across to her, and followed her gaze to the A-shaped ice crystal on its cloud-velvet cushion. Then he marvelled at how she stared at the little plaque beneath it, trying to take in every stroke of the legalese inscription. Beyond her, some pegasus mare made a comment about the sheer historicity of the place, whatever the heck that meant.

Feeling it was expected of him, he squinted at the writing. Obviously, he could read, or else the classroom sessions at the academy would have been torture. But Vapor Trail treated words like old friends waiting to burst out with keen gossip, whereas he treated them like foreign strangers trying to ask him where the bathroom was.

Long after his friend had shuffled on to the next exhibit, though, he’d forced his way through the explanation. Something about the town’s founder… Princess Stratus the Far-Seeing… from the Phoenix Lands… carried over the sea to the early Pegasus Empire… something about the three tribes of pegasi? That was easy: water-tribe, rainbow-tribe, lightning-tribe. He didn’t need the inscription’s help deciphering that. He’d picked up some history here and there. Besides, it was basic pegasus lore. Even his type would know about the three tribes.

“Alephippus”. Sky Stinger opened his mouth to ask Vapor Trail for a translation, and then wrinkled his snout before shutting up instead. He wasn’t stupid. Besides, part of him didn’t want to ask her anything.

That said, she didn’t seem to be… “that type”.

It was a phrase his family used every now and again. He’d met plenty of “that type” in the town, of course. Easy to spot after a while. Shirts and hats a little more expensive than he liked. Faces smiling a little too narrowly around the lips and especially around the eyes. Silly voices congratulating his latest somersault move with just the tiniest amount of too much surprise.

But, he thought smugly, barely able to lift a wing on their own. Until now, he’d forgotten how often that used to happen. The heck did he care about “that type”, after all, when he was breaking airspeed records left and right? When his parents stopped arguing with his brothers and sisters long enough to applaud him?

Until now. Until he remembered Vapor Trail, flying right behind him every single time. Vapor Trail, whose mane, now that he thought about it, had too much stylistic curl and gleam: much too much for a stallion barely able to trim his own Mohawk.

Until now, he’d never considered her “that type”. She’d just been Vapor Trail. Nice, genuine, heartfelt. Until a few weeks ago, not the sort to make him feel like a colt being mothered. An actual equal.

And part of him didn’t mind being mothered. Not totally. In a way, it had been nice to think of someone doting so much on him. But it was a small part of his mind, so he ignored it.

Someone spoke about the delightful hoof-crafted work of the Classical Era weather ponies. Briefly, he surfaced out of his thoughts long enough to see Vapor Trail’s lips stop moving.

“Oh,” he said, mind groping for words. “Yeah, I guess so. Delightful.”

She beamed at him and went back to reading. Suspicion gripped his chest tight. He barely breathed, though that was also because he was steaming up the glass.

That said…

What did Vapor Trail used to do? When she wasn’t around him, at least? He was finding out now, while she moved on to the next exhibit and read aloud words with more syllables than he was comfortable with. But she didn’t seem the type.

Earlier that day, she’d pointed at the statue in the middle of the fountain, the very one he’d done flips and zigzags over. She’d gasped her way through some epic tale of forbidden love and grand beginnings and the heroes of a new country within the fledgling empire.

He’d barely spoken a word the whole time. To think! He’d only seen a pretty place to hang out. But she still didn’t seem the type.

And now that he no longer looked at the world through his smog of fantasies – mostly involving him wearing Wonderbolts colours – he remembered her bedroom more clearly. She’d stuffed piles of toys into overflowing chests, and endless books and framed photographs onto shelves. Doting parents, she’d explained.

Yet another crafted bit of shininess passed by. His wings itched to unfold. One of them was beginning to stiffen with cramps.

Even while he’d been there today, the two of them alone in her noticeably large bedroom with her noticeably large bed, he’d remembered her parents coming in. They had china trays bearing finest cider bottles, the ones with curly writing on every label. Each of her parents had cooed and smiled and poured the stuff into glasses, just for the two of them.

He’d barely tasted anything resembling apple in the weak-sauce stuff, but Vapor had bubbled over with talk about its subtle tang. She’d hummed joyfully, as though it had been the finest chocolate brew.

Sky Stinger passed her and peered up at the only item bigger than the endless snowflakes. An icy suit of armour stood between two display cases, proudly jutting out its chest. Whoever set it up must have read his mind; he nodded approvingly at the one raised foreleg, at the icicle lance fastened to its saddle, and at its remaining legs braced to charge.

Gamely, he squinted at the plaque beneath it. “Traditional Glaciatorial Armour of the Far-Sighted Battalion, Stratusburg circa 5 AHW.” Well, “AHW” meant “After Hearth’s Warming”, and that was… about two, three thousand years ago? So… um… so, it was pretty old, then.

A year ago, he would have laughed it off. This time, he kneaded his forehead. Stupid, stupid brain.

Vapor Trail would know what Stratusburg had been like back then. She’d tell him what war they’d fought in. He opened his mouth –

But no. He wasn’t going to ask. This one he’d figure out later.

– and he shut his mouth.

Again, he checked where she was: still gasping at yet another snowflake thing. Why didn’t she hurry up? She could clearly read faster than him, yet she insisted on memorizing the details. Apparently, the Wonderbolts were big on history, but why? They were flying champions, not academics. What kind of mixed-up world did they live in?

As soon as she started looking up, however, he snapped his gaze back. Blinking, he pretended to inspect the armour.

And what did she think when she saw him?

The question dropped guiltily into his mind, one dribble of dark oil slowly engulfing the rest of the waters. He shivered. He had never, ever really thought about it.

Back then, he would’ve taken her starry-eyed admiration at face value. He’d believed every whoop, every sigh, every cry of amazement. It was like having Mom or Dad there, except not aiming their praise at some stupid stunt his brothers had come up with.

He glanced her way again, and barely caught her. Too late, she turned away from him to ask the attendant something.

Now? Who knew? They seemed less and less like an improvised family and more like opposite sides of a coin. He’d always yelled “Look at me!” before jumping over the heads of a crowd. She’d always flitted a little to the side, or hidden herself among the upturned heads. He’d beamed at his parents and snarled at his siblings. She’d sighed and grimaced whenever her parents brought her anything. And he remembered her once whispering into his ear that she’d love to have a brother or a sister. “Someone who could be her equal.”

Sky Stinger gritted his teeth hard enough to burn his gums.

Then he relaxed. No. She’s not the type. She hadn’t meant it that way. She couldn’t have.

Well, she probably hadn’t meant to pull the wind out from under my wings at the academy. But she’d done it all the same.

This is ridiculous. She’s my friend. She’s not that kind of pony.

Isn’t she? What, the kind of pony who treated me like a baby needing a boost? The kind of pony who waited until the biggest week of my life before telling me I had no chance whatsoever at it? The kind of pony who… who…

…was always there. Cheering me on. Singing my praises even after she wrenched the confession out of herself. He could picture “that type” of pony patronizing him and coddling him until he had to flop on his own, but inserting Vapor Trail into the picture shattered it.

Someone bumped into his shoulder.

“Hey!” he said on an impulse, and then heard the giggle and noticed the pram. Hastily, he flattened his ears along his neck. “Oh. Sorry, miss. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“De nada.” She shrugged and pushed the pram onwards.

Sky Stinger waited until she’d moved to the other side of the corridor, and then carried on past her. Bits of him were writhing, and he noticed them, and they writhed even more. He wasn’t used to feelings this deep. It was like he’d discovered the bottom of a lake for the first time.

Behind him, Vapor Trail let out a chuckle under her breath. His flattened ears rose up at once, and he felt them burning.

What am I supposed to believe now? he thought.

As they turned the corner for yet more display cases and camera-toting tourists, he spotted a display tilting into the aisle. The sheer weight of leaflets and explanatory booklets pulled it forwards ever so slightly. He barely gave it a glance; unlike the last corridor, no suits of armour saved him this time, and a stand certainly wasn’t going to shoot his enthusiasm full of lightning.

Other ponies – seven of them, he noticed, all in one party – wandered up the other way, ignoring the arrows painted onto the tiles. Perhaps they wanted a second gander at a particularly fancy exhibit. Perhaps – he took in their spotless lapels and wavy-looking ties and overlarge felt hats – they didn’t feel the need to follow everyone else’s rules.

They were unicorns. Walking on a pegasus-inspired, blue-tiled floor. Not a wobble of their legs escaped his notice, though he doubted anyone else would spot it. Pegasus eyes never missed a movement.

One of them slipped. With a yelp, the gentlecolt bounced off the floor and landed on his croup.

“My word!” he exclaimed. Not “shouted”: a gentlecolt never did anything so crass as “shouting”.

The party became a huddle, punctuated by sayings like “good grief” and “dear oh dear” and “upsy-daisy”. None of them lifted him back up. Instead, he had to heave his creaking old legs upright.

Sky Stinger suppressed the chuckle, but a smirk at least flashed over his face. At once, he wished he’d stopped it. The poor stallion was just a pony, when all was said and done. Probably a decent soul, for all he knew. But a small part of him snorted and cheered all the harder.

Trust their type to say something drippy like “my word”. They actually said that?

Behind him, Vapor Trail murmured something under her breath. When he looked back, she was cocking her head this way and that. Catching the shine off the Ice Star display, or something.

As he passed the stand full of leaflets, a thought struck him. He glanced at the gentlecolt. The stallion followed his fellows stiffly round the corner, as though determined to prove nothing had happened. He glanced at Vapor Trail. His friend trotted along to the next snowflake, not even looking where her hooves were going.

Now that he thought about it, the stand was leaning a little too far forward. Better still, the topmost pile of leaflets stretched almost horizontally, as though begging him to drop the lot. They were glossy, too.

A hairstyle, a load of toys, and a big house could mean a lot of things, including “pretender” or “nouveau riche”. But there was one area where a pony showed their true heart, if only for a split-second. He’d heard it all the time out and about, while listening to crowds far below or – if his trick was particularly ambitious – up and over.

She was right next to the stand. He was to the left of it. Carefully, he turned his back to it, pretending to see what made the next “Alephippus-class hexagonal sub-crystallization” any different from the other stuff. More carefully, he angled himself so that he’d just detect movement a second before she actually passed the stand.

The instant a flicker entered his view, he stepped backwards and bump.

To his horror, the slip and splat of leaflets disappeared beneath the clatter of the whole stand. He hadn’t bumped it that hard, had he?

“Sugarcubes!” Vapor Trail shouted.

Sky Stinger spun round in time to see her snag a hoof and land smack on top of the spindly frame.

“Vapor!” Guilt shot him forwards. Both front hooves jabbed under hers. Wince though she did, she made no protest as he lifted her back up. “Oh, horse apples! I’m so sorry!”

She simply waved him off, smiling. “It’s OK. I’m not hurt. Just… surprised.”

The muttering died down. Around the two of them, disgusted looks turned away. He knew those looks. “Horse apples” was not a word their type would use in public.

Nor was “sugarcubes”. Some of the looks came from angles that must have been meant for Vapor Trail’s blushing face. He and his family used that word all the time, often barely noticing it.

Vapor Trail shuffled around him. When she approached the display case, she was still wide-eyed and still focusing a gaze like a lance on the inscriptions. However, her cheeks burned a very faint rouge.

Sky Stinger finally relaxed. He breathed out.

Following his friend – yes, definitely his friend – down the unrelenting line of white specks, he nodded along and pretended to read the inscriptions again. This time, he didn’t bother squinting. These words were friends of Vapor Trail. He’d accept that.

Prickles and tingles crawled up his cheeks. Had he really just knocked a display onto her? And for no better result than embarrassing her in public. Never would he set out to do that – though she might at least have whispered the curse – and he’d only wanted to check what kind of unthinking heart would leap up to her mouth. Suddenly, he wished he hadn’t done a thing.

Still, she’d spent enough time around him to pick up “sugarcubes”. Or at least she’d spent enough time around his type.

“His type”? “Her type”? They were Sky Stinger and Vapor Trail, no more, no less. The mere existence of those boxed ideas looked as fake and dishonest as blowing wind under someone’s wings. But at least she’d never meant to embarrass him. He’d found out later she had no idea about the solo trials at the academy. And at least she’d admitted it. And helped him get back into the air when he’d fallen down yet again.

He felt like a traitor.

So when he spotted the word on the next plaque, he pointed and asked, “What’s ‘Alephippus’ mean?”

“Oh, that’s the name of Princess Stratus’s friend,” she said, her voice trembling under the enthusiasm. “He was a very important pegasus back then. ‘Alephippus’ means ‘ox-pony’. He got that name because, every time he went into battle, he used to wear a special helmet with the horns of an ox on it. Legend says that Star Swirl the Bearded fashioned it for him so he could defeat his evil parents and brothers in a great battle, and he never took it off after that.”

Sky Stinger gaped at her. He’d expected to simply not understand a word of it, but every word and picture slotted into place. He could almost feel his brain growing in response.

“I thought you said he was friends with Princess Stratus?” he said.

When she turned her gaze up to him, he saw the sparkle in her eyes. Suddenly, he understood.

“He was! When she tried fleeing the Phoenix Lands, she was too weak from all the constant fighting and burning. So – oh, it’s so sweet – he let her rest on his back and carried her all the way. They never left each other. They even perished together in the same battle, fighting for Stratusburg’s future.”

She hadn’t even needed to think about the answer. For once, Sky Stinger wondered if she’d been bursting to tell someone stuff like this all along. All those years of showing off, and he’d never thought to ask what she wanted…

“Cool,” he said, wishing he could’ve said something more interesting.

As if nothing had happened, she went back to staring at the curly words and smiling at them. Nothing had happened. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

Except for the blush on her face.

He understood that blush as though seeing it for the first time. Behind it, words and deeds bubbled up, waiting to pour out. But she kept a lid on it, hid it under everyone’s noses while they all turned up to watch the sky.

Also, she was dumb enough to say “sugarcubes” where everyone could hear it. She’d just blundered into it. And yeah, he’d looked a bit stupid too. He hadn’t even bothered to ask about the plaques until now.

“What’s that mean?” He pointed at the carved letters on the next snowflake; the plaque said “Alephippus-level frozen brooch”.

“Hm?” Vapor Trail followed his gaze. “Ooh, it’s Ancient Pegasine. This must be one of the gifts he carved for her out in the tundra wasteland. Let’s see… I know this one, it was after the crystal windigo battles… let’s see… it says ‘all is well that ends well, even here at the end of the world’.”

“There’s a story behind that one too?”

“Uh huh. It was right after he’d returned from the final battle. He’d just found out the pegasus army had ignored the unicorns again and gone ahead without thinking, and only then he realized the unicorns had been trying to help him…”

Finally, while nodding along and asking occasionally for clarification, he smiled a genuine smile. And as they went along, he kept an eye out for “Alephippus”, and beamed every time he spotted it. He was sure he’d found the answer this time.