Keep Pretending, Three of Threeby Impossible NumbersChaptersThe Twinkle Must Shine On"Kill or be Killed, Miss Yearling. Kill or be Killed."Cheerilee's FiveThe Twinkle Must Shine OnApplewood Studios loomed overhead, empty despite the ponies milling about. Twinkleshine had butterflies in her stomach. Stars were on her cutie mark, stardom on her mind. Back home, Minuette had explained that Applewood used to be barren wasteland. Yet two mares seeking their fortune, through sheer will, built the studio from the ground up. Big Apple and Holly Wood. A myth, it turned out; Twinkleshine researched it. But she wanted myths. Fairy tales. Legends. A whole world of stories! World of action! World of ambition and overreach and hubris and beautiful ponies! She could taste it, with ideas in her mind and passion in her soul. Her story would begin here. Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly reared up behind the curtains, which drew aside to reveal packed seats. Endless eyes. Under the spotlight, she burned. Sweat trickled over the makeup. For yet another night, she sang the Lonely Aria. How she’d take life, come what may. How, no matter that her lover had pretended to break her heart in a complicated bid to mislead and defeat villainous Smug Whipcrack, nevertheless her love would never die. Twinkleshine’s heart swelled. What had she been doing with her life before this? Why now was she finally escaping from limbo? She dreamed of the applause, almost rushed towards it. First, a star! And then, a director! Applewood would be hers! “Another mindless crime!” shouted the Director. “Um,” said Twinkleshine. “Excuse me…” “You’re perfect, honey!” He thumped her on the back. “The quintessential damsel!” “Yes, Mister Director? Um? I was wondering…? I’ve been the damsel… lots of times…” “Fifty-seven, to be exact. Fifty-seven golden performances!” “Yes… I was wondering… Could I be… something else?” “And break the formula!? We’re on a certainty here. Goldmines like this are the stuff of Equestrian dreams!” Inside, Twinkleshine fumed. That had been a line from one of her own submitted… ignored… scripts. How much longer? she thought. Under the spotlight, she burned. Sweat trickled over the makeup. Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly sang her aria yet again. She noticed ponies leaving their seats far, far earlier than they should’ve done. Why was she still here? What more was she looking for? Later, in her scarcely decorated caravan, Twinkleshine opened her letters from Canterlot. Ah, how she missed Canterlot! Las Pegasus was far too leery, far too tacky, far too obsessed with superstars and nothing else. In the dark, under candlelight, Twinkleshine read the happy, fussy little letters giving her slices of home. How she loved to listen to her friends talk about who was doing what to whom and why. How she missed Minuette, going on about space-time. Wiping her eyes, Twinkleshine forced herself to smile for Minuette’s sake. She summoned a sheet. She wrote: “I’m on my way! Big roles for me soon! Lots of love.” Apart from the last one, every sentence was lying. “What’s going on!?” said the Director. “They were scoffing at this stuff last week! And the week before that!” “Mister Director, sir?” said Twinkleshine, shuffling where she stood. “I haven’t changed anything. Why would they suddenly start criticizing it? You’ve seen the papers! And attendance rates are freefalling!” “Mister Director?” “What?” Twinkleshine hesitated. But then, wasn’t this what Minuette had warned her about, all those years ago? Follow your dreams, stick your neck out, no matter how dark it gets. Here and now, Twinkleshine held out a shaking hoof. “I was wondering…?” “Not now, kid! This is a major crisis! I might have to fire someone! They’re not doing their jobs right!” Twinkleshine’s butterfly courage went out. She left her script on the desk when he wasn’t looking and backed out apologetically. Under the spotlight, she burned again. Sweat trickled over the makeup. Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly finished her aria. This time, the theatre was empty. The Director invited her to his office for the last time. She entered as Twinkleshine the would-be star. She left without a job. Apparently, damsels weren’t “in” anymore. She’d held them back. Two days later, some sensational, thoughtful epic came out that drew audiences in by the cartload. No one knew who had written the script, but no one believed “Dame Damselfly” when she recognized the title on the posters. Glory-chaser! Pretty damsels didn’t write plays! Boors, she thought. Walking home, Twinkleshine turned around and saw Applewood for the last time. The candlelight flared inside her to a roaring inferno. She’d show them! Her fairy tale would never die! She’d make her own studio! She’d give Applewood a run for its money! She wiped her eyes again. Minuette was right. Flit like a butterfly though she did, she could yet learn to sting like a bee. After all, the show must go on. The good show. So she went back to Canterlot, to discuss with friends who did what to whom and why. Overhead, the setting sun cast its light on the painted wings of butterflies. "Kill or be Killed, Miss Yearling. Kill or be Killed."“Wait a second…” Pushing through the crowd, Yearling squinted at this next fan’s face. She’d seen it before… once… “Figuring it out? Let me give you a hint: poster pose.” He struck said pose, one hoof rising in the air, wings splayed. Recognition hit Yearling in the face. “Wind Rider!?” “It’s been a while, Yearling.” “But… you were thrown out of the Wonderbolts!” “All history now.” Wind Rider waved her words aside irritably. Casual as ever, he continued, “I’m not exactly Mr Popular at the moment, but I’d appreciate it if you’d share a drink with me.” “With you?” “I can recommend a pretty sweet wine. Or maybe you’re a cocktail mare. You’ve got the look of someone who likes the exotic.” “With you!? You framed that new recruit!” Wind Rider sighed. “That’s all I’m remembered for. Look, I paid my price. I just want an old schoolfriend to talk to. That’s not a crime, is it?” She glared at his tired eyes, red and raw. “Why?” she said suspiciously. “Ah.” Wind Rider nodded. “You a friend of Rainbow’s?” “She’s a fan, yes.” “She was one of mine too.” Wind Rider gestured towards the bar. “Seen her recently? How’s she getting on? A credit to the Wonderbolts, I hear, but there’s more to life than Wonderbolts.” Suspicious, she nonetheless felt the stirrings of pity. Wind Rider still wore his trademark bomber jacket. “A quick drink,” she said coldly. “Then I’m returning to the convention. Understood?” “I’d be honoured.” They chose seats right on the edge, Yearling near the door and ready to bolt, Wind Rider turning his back on the glares from the patrons. Yearling ordered their drinks; when Wind Rider tried it, the bartender ignored him. “I used to love reading Daring Do,” said Wind Rider. “Bold. Fearless. Willing to do what she had to do. Had to play dirty once or twice, but a noble soul.” As soon as it appeared, Yearling snatched up the drink and sucked for all it was worth. She released it very reluctantly. Wind Rider stared. “You sure can pack it away.” “On the road, you learn to take what you can get. Like you said, you have to play dirty once or twice.” “Don’t I know it. Wow, you look good for your age.” Wind Rider chuckled. “You got a Fountain of Youth stashed away somewhere?” “Something like that.” “Sounds quite a cosy life for you, hiding away in some cottage somewhere…” Wind Rider shook himself down. “Gets a bit tedious after a while, doesn’t it?” No. “You?” “I’m not going to mince words; I miss being with the Wonderbolts. I hate being cooped up. But I guess I’ll learn to like it. I only came out today for nostalgic interest.” “You big on nostalgia?” “Ha. I remember we were both young once.” Yearling growled. “Look, do you regret what you did, or not? Trying to get someone kicked out of the Wonderbolts to protect your record? Doesn’t it bother you?” “No,” said Wind Rider frankly. “I’m sorry. It just doesn’t. I did what I had to.” Occasionally, Wind Rider sipped his drink. “Well…” said Yearling. She shouldn’t lose her temper. “Daring Do” might, but Yearling was supposed to be a kindly old mare. She shouldn’t trash that image. Besides, she wasn’t really one to take the high ground. “You’re honest, at least,” she said sadly. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss Yearling. Or is it Mrs?” “Just Miss.” Yearling squirmed where she sat. “You hitting on me?” “Ha! We’d be matched in outspokenness.” Another infuriating sip. Yearling softened her face. Kindly old mare, after all. “I doubt it.” She sighed. Too many secrets. Too many shames. “I don’t blame you.” Wind Rider hung his head. “But I am what I am.” “No, I meant…” Quickly, she shut her mouth. What was she thinking? “Daring Do” had to stay secret! Besides, Wind Rider might be a cad, but at least everyone knew he was a cad. They knew where they stood with him, even if they stood as far away as possible. Her? Her entire life was put on display in a series of stupid books, and virtually no one even knew Thing One about A. K. Yearling. She’d worked hard to keep it that way. Because treasure-hunting wasn’t all puzzle-solving and villain-stomping. It was cutthroat. The temples she’d desecrated, the backs stabbed, the lies spun, and the lives ended, not all of them bad guys. Behind the pretty mask, it wasn't a glamorous job, and some things simply had to be done to survive. Kill or be killed. Smiling, Wind Rider raised his glass. “To your prosperity, Miss Yearling?” Yearling raised her empty glass. “Yeah.” She left. It wasn’t just Wind Rider’s presence that made her skin crawl now. Cheerilee's FiveThe same old Cheerilee, in the same old classroom, looked out onto the same old playground and saw what were essentially the same old foals rushing around. The bully shouting. The manic running around. The quiet one. The nutcase scribbling furiously. In their midst, Captain Pip, pirate of the five seas, on forays to strange lands after rare treasures. Cheerilee sighed and returned to the same old desk. Since no one was around… She took out an old framed photograph. Her, and five fillies from her school days. Fruitbasket. Honey Drop. Cotton Top. Blueberry Swirl. And Rarity. Her brow hardened. So Captain Cheerilee she’d be. As soon as the foals poured in, she put on her best smile. The Five used to love her smile. She wouldn’t abandon them. During those summer holidays, Captain Cheerilee set sail. Set a course for pony number one: Fruitbasket! Town of Tall Tale. Fruitbasket was a safe bet. Used to be the quiet one. She’d never been the adventurous type… Wait, what!? Cheerilee hurried back. Examined the poster. Went inside the Pineapple Palace. Fruitbasket!? Exotic dancer!? Right there on the stage. Still using the kicks and turns Cheerilee had taught her long ago! Cheerilee asked around. Fruitbasket: the most beloved mare in town. Exotic, exciting, and endlessly pursued: stallions tried to climb onto the stage. Burning inside, Cheerilee fled. Once again, Captain Cheerilee set sail! Pony number two: Honey Drop. Manehattan. Honey Drop was their nutcase, drawing impossible contraptions. Ashamed for thinking it, Cheerilee suspected such a nutcase wouldn’t possibly become famous. Hungry, Cheerilee went to a diner. Pancakes? Pancakes, please. With honey? Please. Honey Drop’s finest? A pause. Honey Drop’s…? Cheerilee asked around, ran, found the Tower of Honey: a hexagonal prism. Rushed inside. Honey Drops. A room filled with beehives. A factory, taking and replacing slots of beehive, filling jars. “My patented Honey-o-Matic Machine!” Honey Drops shook her by the hoof. “You told me to believe in myself, Cheerilee! And here I am!” Cheerilee wore the smile for as long as she could. Wearily, Captain Cheerilee braved stormy seas. Someone had to be in the same boat as her. A backwater schoolmarm, not a superstar dancer, honey emperor, dressmaker extraordinaire! Perhaps pony number three: Cotton Top! And pony number four, it turned out. Groaning, Captain Cheerilee learned about Cotton Top and Blueberry Swirl. Canterlot Celebrities. Defeated, Cheerilee arrived. Still, for the sake of old friends, she had to reconnect. It had been too long. Their old days had been her best days, when she could shout and scream at the world and spit on the idea of being respectable. Years ago, all of them had formed a band. The Cheerilee Five were once singers! They’d started the Rockin’ Beat. They’d given the movement its philosophy. Their philosophy. They’d told the world – the stuffy, traditionalist, old-mare’s world – that they were free! She attended this concert this night, more out of duty than anything else. Blueberry Swirl, shouting orders on the stage. She’d always been a bully. Cotton Top rushing about with costumes. Always the manic one. Then the show started. The new band were magnificent. And she? Stuffy, traditionalist, old mare. She left. The same old Cheerilee, in the same old classroom, looked out onto the same old playground and saw Captain Pip. Oh yes, he’d rally them today. And tomorrow, he’d be an accountant, or something, while they went on to have amazing adventures instead. Cheerilee forced her smile when they came in. She went through another forgettable lesson. Eventually, all the foals left. She ventured outside, trying to look on the bright side. At least her students loved her. She had a cosy town with good neighbours. She had her health. She had… Five friends, waiting on the path. Fruitbasket. Honey Drop. Cotton Top. Blueberry Swirl. And Rarity. All there. All beaming at her. All reaching forwards for a group hug she wasn’t remotely prepared for, but which took her back. But how? Why? They’d liked seeing her again. She’d always inspired them, loved them, pushed them up to be more than they thought they’d ever be. To see her come looking for them had made them realize what they were missing. They made her Captain Cheerilee again. They asked her where to? Old Sugar Cube corner? For old time’s sake? Stunned, but smiling for real this time, Cheerilee forced herself not to cry. She had to hide the pain she’d felt. Shame on her for feeling it! For now, she’d pretend. For them. Captain Cheerilee’s crew set a course: Ponyville. Cradle of their youth.
The Twinkle Must Shine OnApplewood Studios loomed overhead, empty despite the ponies milling about. Twinkleshine had butterflies in her stomach. Stars were on her cutie mark, stardom on her mind. Back home, Minuette had explained that Applewood used to be barren wasteland. Yet two mares seeking their fortune, through sheer will, built the studio from the ground up. Big Apple and Holly Wood. A myth, it turned out; Twinkleshine researched it. But she wanted myths. Fairy tales. Legends. A whole world of stories! World of action! World of ambition and overreach and hubris and beautiful ponies! She could taste it, with ideas in her mind and passion in her soul. Her story would begin here. Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly reared up behind the curtains, which drew aside to reveal packed seats. Endless eyes. Under the spotlight, she burned. Sweat trickled over the makeup. For yet another night, she sang the Lonely Aria. How she’d take life, come what may. How, no matter that her lover had pretended to break her heart in a complicated bid to mislead and defeat villainous Smug Whipcrack, nevertheless her love would never die. Twinkleshine’s heart swelled. What had she been doing with her life before this? Why now was she finally escaping from limbo? She dreamed of the applause, almost rushed towards it. First, a star! And then, a director! Applewood would be hers! “Another mindless crime!” shouted the Director. “Um,” said Twinkleshine. “Excuse me…” “You’re perfect, honey!” He thumped her on the back. “The quintessential damsel!” “Yes, Mister Director? Um? I was wondering…? I’ve been the damsel… lots of times…” “Fifty-seven, to be exact. Fifty-seven golden performances!” “Yes… I was wondering… Could I be… something else?” “And break the formula!? We’re on a certainty here. Goldmines like this are the stuff of Equestrian dreams!” Inside, Twinkleshine fumed. That had been a line from one of her own submitted… ignored… scripts. How much longer? she thought. Under the spotlight, she burned. Sweat trickled over the makeup. Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly sang her aria yet again. She noticed ponies leaving their seats far, far earlier than they should’ve done. Why was she still here? What more was she looking for? Later, in her scarcely decorated caravan, Twinkleshine opened her letters from Canterlot. Ah, how she missed Canterlot! Las Pegasus was far too leery, far too tacky, far too obsessed with superstars and nothing else. In the dark, under candlelight, Twinkleshine read the happy, fussy little letters giving her slices of home. How she loved to listen to her friends talk about who was doing what to whom and why. How she missed Minuette, going on about space-time. Wiping her eyes, Twinkleshine forced herself to smile for Minuette’s sake. She summoned a sheet. She wrote: “I’m on my way! Big roles for me soon! Lots of love.” Apart from the last one, every sentence was lying. “What’s going on!?” said the Director. “They were scoffing at this stuff last week! And the week before that!” “Mister Director, sir?” said Twinkleshine, shuffling where she stood. “I haven’t changed anything. Why would they suddenly start criticizing it? You’ve seen the papers! And attendance rates are freefalling!” “Mister Director?” “What?” Twinkleshine hesitated. But then, wasn’t this what Minuette had warned her about, all those years ago? Follow your dreams, stick your neck out, no matter how dark it gets. Here and now, Twinkleshine held out a shaking hoof. “I was wondering…?” “Not now, kid! This is a major crisis! I might have to fire someone! They’re not doing their jobs right!” Twinkleshine’s butterfly courage went out. She left her script on the desk when he wasn’t looking and backed out apologetically. Under the spotlight, she burned again. Sweat trickled over the makeup. Onstage, Twinkleshine-playing-Dame-Damselfly finished her aria. This time, the theatre was empty. The Director invited her to his office for the last time. She entered as Twinkleshine the would-be star. She left without a job. Apparently, damsels weren’t “in” anymore. She’d held them back. Two days later, some sensational, thoughtful epic came out that drew audiences in by the cartload. No one knew who had written the script, but no one believed “Dame Damselfly” when she recognized the title on the posters. Glory-chaser! Pretty damsels didn’t write plays! Boors, she thought. Walking home, Twinkleshine turned around and saw Applewood for the last time. The candlelight flared inside her to a roaring inferno. She’d show them! Her fairy tale would never die! She’d make her own studio! She’d give Applewood a run for its money! She wiped her eyes again. Minuette was right. Flit like a butterfly though she did, she could yet learn to sting like a bee. After all, the show must go on. The good show. So she went back to Canterlot, to discuss with friends who did what to whom and why. Overhead, the setting sun cast its light on the painted wings of butterflies.
"Kill or be Killed, Miss Yearling. Kill or be Killed."“Wait a second…” Pushing through the crowd, Yearling squinted at this next fan’s face. She’d seen it before… once… “Figuring it out? Let me give you a hint: poster pose.” He struck said pose, one hoof rising in the air, wings splayed. Recognition hit Yearling in the face. “Wind Rider!?” “It’s been a while, Yearling.” “But… you were thrown out of the Wonderbolts!” “All history now.” Wind Rider waved her words aside irritably. Casual as ever, he continued, “I’m not exactly Mr Popular at the moment, but I’d appreciate it if you’d share a drink with me.” “With you?” “I can recommend a pretty sweet wine. Or maybe you’re a cocktail mare. You’ve got the look of someone who likes the exotic.” “With you!? You framed that new recruit!” Wind Rider sighed. “That’s all I’m remembered for. Look, I paid my price. I just want an old schoolfriend to talk to. That’s not a crime, is it?” She glared at his tired eyes, red and raw. “Why?” she said suspiciously. “Ah.” Wind Rider nodded. “You a friend of Rainbow’s?” “She’s a fan, yes.” “She was one of mine too.” Wind Rider gestured towards the bar. “Seen her recently? How’s she getting on? A credit to the Wonderbolts, I hear, but there’s more to life than Wonderbolts.” Suspicious, she nonetheless felt the stirrings of pity. Wind Rider still wore his trademark bomber jacket. “A quick drink,” she said coldly. “Then I’m returning to the convention. Understood?” “I’d be honoured.” They chose seats right on the edge, Yearling near the door and ready to bolt, Wind Rider turning his back on the glares from the patrons. Yearling ordered their drinks; when Wind Rider tried it, the bartender ignored him. “I used to love reading Daring Do,” said Wind Rider. “Bold. Fearless. Willing to do what she had to do. Had to play dirty once or twice, but a noble soul.” As soon as it appeared, Yearling snatched up the drink and sucked for all it was worth. She released it very reluctantly. Wind Rider stared. “You sure can pack it away.” “On the road, you learn to take what you can get. Like you said, you have to play dirty once or twice.” “Don’t I know it. Wow, you look good for your age.” Wind Rider chuckled. “You got a Fountain of Youth stashed away somewhere?” “Something like that.” “Sounds quite a cosy life for you, hiding away in some cottage somewhere…” Wind Rider shook himself down. “Gets a bit tedious after a while, doesn’t it?” No. “You?” “I’m not going to mince words; I miss being with the Wonderbolts. I hate being cooped up. But I guess I’ll learn to like it. I only came out today for nostalgic interest.” “You big on nostalgia?” “Ha. I remember we were both young once.” Yearling growled. “Look, do you regret what you did, or not? Trying to get someone kicked out of the Wonderbolts to protect your record? Doesn’t it bother you?” “No,” said Wind Rider frankly. “I’m sorry. It just doesn’t. I did what I had to.” Occasionally, Wind Rider sipped his drink. “Well…” said Yearling. She shouldn’t lose her temper. “Daring Do” might, but Yearling was supposed to be a kindly old mare. She shouldn’t trash that image. Besides, she wasn’t really one to take the high ground. “You’re honest, at least,” she said sadly. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss Yearling. Or is it Mrs?” “Just Miss.” Yearling squirmed where she sat. “You hitting on me?” “Ha! We’d be matched in outspokenness.” Another infuriating sip. Yearling softened her face. Kindly old mare, after all. “I doubt it.” She sighed. Too many secrets. Too many shames. “I don’t blame you.” Wind Rider hung his head. “But I am what I am.” “No, I meant…” Quickly, she shut her mouth. What was she thinking? “Daring Do” had to stay secret! Besides, Wind Rider might be a cad, but at least everyone knew he was a cad. They knew where they stood with him, even if they stood as far away as possible. Her? Her entire life was put on display in a series of stupid books, and virtually no one even knew Thing One about A. K. Yearling. She’d worked hard to keep it that way. Because treasure-hunting wasn’t all puzzle-solving and villain-stomping. It was cutthroat. The temples she’d desecrated, the backs stabbed, the lies spun, and the lives ended, not all of them bad guys. Behind the pretty mask, it wasn't a glamorous job, and some things simply had to be done to survive. Kill or be killed. Smiling, Wind Rider raised his glass. “To your prosperity, Miss Yearling?” Yearling raised her empty glass. “Yeah.” She left. It wasn’t just Wind Rider’s presence that made her skin crawl now.
Cheerilee's FiveThe same old Cheerilee, in the same old classroom, looked out onto the same old playground and saw what were essentially the same old foals rushing around. The bully shouting. The manic running around. The quiet one. The nutcase scribbling furiously. In their midst, Captain Pip, pirate of the five seas, on forays to strange lands after rare treasures. Cheerilee sighed and returned to the same old desk. Since no one was around… She took out an old framed photograph. Her, and five fillies from her school days. Fruitbasket. Honey Drop. Cotton Top. Blueberry Swirl. And Rarity. Her brow hardened. So Captain Cheerilee she’d be. As soon as the foals poured in, she put on her best smile. The Five used to love her smile. She wouldn’t abandon them. During those summer holidays, Captain Cheerilee set sail. Set a course for pony number one: Fruitbasket! Town of Tall Tale. Fruitbasket was a safe bet. Used to be the quiet one. She’d never been the adventurous type… Wait, what!? Cheerilee hurried back. Examined the poster. Went inside the Pineapple Palace. Fruitbasket!? Exotic dancer!? Right there on the stage. Still using the kicks and turns Cheerilee had taught her long ago! Cheerilee asked around. Fruitbasket: the most beloved mare in town. Exotic, exciting, and endlessly pursued: stallions tried to climb onto the stage. Burning inside, Cheerilee fled. Once again, Captain Cheerilee set sail! Pony number two: Honey Drop. Manehattan. Honey Drop was their nutcase, drawing impossible contraptions. Ashamed for thinking it, Cheerilee suspected such a nutcase wouldn’t possibly become famous. Hungry, Cheerilee went to a diner. Pancakes? Pancakes, please. With honey? Please. Honey Drop’s finest? A pause. Honey Drop’s…? Cheerilee asked around, ran, found the Tower of Honey: a hexagonal prism. Rushed inside. Honey Drops. A room filled with beehives. A factory, taking and replacing slots of beehive, filling jars. “My patented Honey-o-Matic Machine!” Honey Drops shook her by the hoof. “You told me to believe in myself, Cheerilee! And here I am!” Cheerilee wore the smile for as long as she could. Wearily, Captain Cheerilee braved stormy seas. Someone had to be in the same boat as her. A backwater schoolmarm, not a superstar dancer, honey emperor, dressmaker extraordinaire! Perhaps pony number three: Cotton Top! And pony number four, it turned out. Groaning, Captain Cheerilee learned about Cotton Top and Blueberry Swirl. Canterlot Celebrities. Defeated, Cheerilee arrived. Still, for the sake of old friends, she had to reconnect. It had been too long. Their old days had been her best days, when she could shout and scream at the world and spit on the idea of being respectable. Years ago, all of them had formed a band. The Cheerilee Five were once singers! They’d started the Rockin’ Beat. They’d given the movement its philosophy. Their philosophy. They’d told the world – the stuffy, traditionalist, old-mare’s world – that they were free! She attended this concert this night, more out of duty than anything else. Blueberry Swirl, shouting orders on the stage. She’d always been a bully. Cotton Top rushing about with costumes. Always the manic one. Then the show started. The new band were magnificent. And she? Stuffy, traditionalist, old mare. She left. The same old Cheerilee, in the same old classroom, looked out onto the same old playground and saw Captain Pip. Oh yes, he’d rally them today. And tomorrow, he’d be an accountant, or something, while they went on to have amazing adventures instead. Cheerilee forced her smile when they came in. She went through another forgettable lesson. Eventually, all the foals left. She ventured outside, trying to look on the bright side. At least her students loved her. She had a cosy town with good neighbours. She had her health. She had… Five friends, waiting on the path. Fruitbasket. Honey Drop. Cotton Top. Blueberry Swirl. And Rarity. All there. All beaming at her. All reaching forwards for a group hug she wasn’t remotely prepared for, but which took her back. But how? Why? They’d liked seeing her again. She’d always inspired them, loved them, pushed them up to be more than they thought they’d ever be. To see her come looking for them had made them realize what they were missing. They made her Captain Cheerilee again. They asked her where to? Old Sugar Cube corner? For old time’s sake? Stunned, but smiling for real this time, Cheerilee forced herself not to cry. She had to hide the pain she’d felt. Shame on her for feeling it! For now, she’d pretend. For them. Captain Cheerilee’s crew set a course: Ponyville. Cradle of their youth.
