Don't Stop Dancing, Scootaloo

by Scramblers and Shadows

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Cutie Mark Crusaders, Scootaloo, Slice of Life
Length: 11719

Scootaloo can't fly. Is she going to let that get her down? Of course not. She's Scootaloo; she won't let a silly thing like flightlessness cramp her style . . . Right?

Flightlessness? Changing friendships? Booze and boys and beats?

Growing up sucks, and staying a filly while the world moves on around you is even less fun. But Scootaloo is determined not to let any of that get in the way of having fun and being the pony she wants to be.

Pre-read by Blue_Paladin42 and jlm123hi.

Cover art vector by ~tgolyi

Published 2013-08-30 22:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2014-03-14 22:08:27 UTC

Two

Don't Stop Dancing, Scootaloo

Two

Scootaloo sat near a vent behind the spa gathering vapour and collecting it into a small cloud. There was something she had to do. She didn't want to, but what had started off as a small nagging feeling had finally grown so strong she could no longer ignore it. Besides, she assured herself, mares dealt with their problems head on. Hiding from it would do nothing but demonstrate immaturity.

She decided she had enough vapour. With a sigh she carried the cloud over to her scooter and hopped on. She rode through Ponyville, cloud in tow, ignoring the occasional odd look from other ponies.

The journey didn't take as long as she had hoped, and soon she was below Rainbow Dash's house. Anticipation of undefined unpleasantness sat in her stomach. She didn't want to go up there.

Ugh. Stop being such a foal. Scootaloo jumped from her scooter to the cloud. Once she was steady, she tugged on the cloud, expanding it, increasing its volume. The cloud bobbed. Again, she tugged at it. Again, the cloud bobbed. It began to rise. Its pace was abysmally slow, and now Scootaloo found herself wishing it would hurry.

It took almost half a minute for her to rise to the height of Rainbow Dash's house, by which point Scootaloo was drumming her hooves with boredom. With a buzz of her wings, she brought her cloud up to the house and then linked the two with a tendril of vapour. Her safe route back to the ground thus assured, she jumped the gap onto the cloud patio and cantered up to the door, vapour puffing beneath her hooves. She could still turn back, return to the ground and forget about the whole thing. She didn't.

There was no response when she rapped on the door. Rainbow Dash was home, though. Scootaloo had Dash's timetable memorised: Right now, Dash would be either reading or snoozing inside.

Scootaloo knocked harder. This time there was a slight groan from inside. Snoozing, then. Scootaloo knocked again and then called through the door, “Hi, Rainbow Dash! It's me!” Another groan, then the sound of hoofsteps upon cloud. The wind whipped at her mane as she waited.

Rainbow Dash opened the door. Her mane was unkempt and her eyes bleary. She gave Scootaloo a weak smile and said, “Hey, kid. What's up?”

The planned words died in Scootaloo's throat. She masked the hesitation with a cough and then said, “Oh, uh, nothing much. I just wanted to hang out!”

“Come in, then.” Rainbow Dash turned, walked back into the house, yawned, and flopped down on a cloud cushion. She did not seem to notice anything was wrong. Scootaloo closed the door and followed her.

“C'mon, Scoots, what's new? It's been, like, forever since you last dropped by.” By Rainbow Dash's and Scootaloo's way of reckoning, “forever” meant any period longer than two weeks.

“Well, I … ” Scootaloo paused, then spent several seconds settling down on her favourite cloud cushion opposite Dash.

“Well, you … ?” Dash was always so impatient.

“I, uh, have a date! Yeah, that, a date.”

“Ha, that's awesome, kid!” Rainbow Dash clapped her on the back and offered a hoof-bump to Scootaloo, who responded after a moment's delay.

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” said Scootaloo.

“And I bet he was totally fawning over you until you gave him the time of day, right?”

“He … was, actually.” Scootaloo smiled. She was starting to feel more comfortable. She decided she could just chat for a while and then tell Dash about her wings. Hopefully Dash wouldn't …

“I knew it!” Rainbow Dash grinned. “Awesome mares like us are cursed to forever have endless stallions lining up to try and impress us. It's a burden, I know, but you gotta deal with it.”

“Totally!” She called me a mare!

“Oh, yeah. Speaking of being cool,” said Dash a little while later, “I've got a whole bunch of new shows coming up. And this time, I'm gonna be squadron leader! Got some new recruits, and Spitfire told me I could lead their first shows.”

Rainbow Dash paused. Scootaloo watched her with rapt attention. Rainbow Dash ruffled her mane.

“I guess you wanna know more, huh?” said Rainbow Dash.

“Yuhuh.”

“Well, I got permission to open a couple of shows for Applejack. Just, y'know, 'cause I owe her. Then there's … something happening in the Crystal Empire. I kinda slept through the briefing for that one. I'll find out what it is later. Oh! You'll like this. I'm gonna be performing an opening act for The Draconequi Rebels in Fillydelphia in a couple months.”

“Ohmigosh, that is so badass!” said Scootaloo.

“You have tickets, right? 'Cause I'd hate for you to miss it.”

“Of course!”

“That's my girl.” Rainbow Dash smiled. “The ponies I'm flying with are pretty cool. Not as cool as me, of course, but still pretty cool. And with me as squadron leader, it's gonna be like I'm teaching them. Imagine! Me, a teacher! I always thought I'd hate it since I hated school, but now I'm actually kinda looking forward to it. I'm gonna have a couple of really skilled ponies to take under my wing. It'll be awesome.”

Scootaloo's ear twitched. “Skilled ponies to take under your wing?”

“Yep!” replied Dash.

“Oh.”

Not long afterwards, Scootaloo excused herself and returned to the ground. She did not tell Dash about her wings.

*

Three young mares tramped through the rain-wet long grass just beyond the outskirts of Ponyville on a warm and humid late afternoon, their hooves occasionally slipping in the thin layer of mud. An intermittent breeze sent ripples across the field and stopped the heat from becoming uncomfortable. Scootaloo, leading the way, wore a saddlebag holding an ornate brown glass bottle. She had put her worries about Rainbow Dash out of her mind as best she could. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle trailed immediately behind her, talking quietly. Sweetie Belle held a second bottle in her horn field, taking swigs intermittently, and, when prompted, offering them to Apple Bloom.

“What about you, Scootaloo?” Asked Sweetie Belle.

“Huh?”

“What would you rather – hold on, you haven't had any mead. Here!” The bottle flew through the air at Scootaloo, who had to duck to avoid being clonked on the head, then stopped, wobbling in front oh her.

“Looks like you've had a little too much, already!” she said, laughing.

Sweetie Belle blushed.

“Look who's talking,” said Apple Bloom.

“Come on, Scootaloo, you got it for us. Have some!” said Sweetie Belle.

“Okay, okay, fine. Go on, then.”

The bottle of mead hovered in front of Scootaloo's face, still bobbing in Sweetie Belle's horn field. It began to tip towards Scootaloo, who brought her mouth up to meet the neck. For a moment it seemed they had managed to pull off the act: Scootaloo got a gulp without having to stop walking. Then the bottle kept on tipping. Mead filled her mouth and spilled down her chin, soaking into her hair. Scootaloo sputtered.

“Oops! Sorry,” said Sweetie Belle, righting the bottle and pulling it back.

“S'fine” said Scootaloo, laughing and trying to lick the mead from her chin.

“So, what would you rather?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Outta what?”

“Would you rather be a pony who never had any friends but had a comfortable life or a pony who was adored by everypony in the world but never had any time to yourself because of it?”

“That … doesn't make any sense,” said Scootaloo.

“It does!”

“No, 'cause, like, if everypony adored you and wouldn't leave you alone then you wouldn't have any time for proper friends with give and take and all that stuff.”

“They'd all be proper friends!”

Scootaloo snorted. “Why would I want to be proper friends with everypony in the world? I'm not Pinkie Pie. So I wouldn't be friends with any of them.”

“Well I figure you could choose those you liked and spend more time with them,” said Apple Bloom. “Then you'd have some friends but no free time.”

“Eh,” said Scootaloo. “I guess so. But even then I wouldn't want you girls to be my friends just 'cause everypony had to like me. So the first one, being alone.”

Scootaloo heard mead slosh and Sweetie Belle cough. When she glanced round, Sweetie's muzzle was wet and stained amber.

Apple Bloom broke the silence. “Okay, my turn. Wouldya rather have the hindquarters of a minotaur or the head of a griffon?”

“Minotaur!” squeaked Sweetie Belle. “I don't wanna lose my face!”

“With those dinky little legs?” said Scootaloo. “Griffon head, obviously. But! Make it versus head of Diamond Tiara and I'll go for the minotaur legs every time.”

Apple Bloom laughed. Sweetie Belle giggled. The mead sloshed.

“Scootaloo! Your turn!” said Sweetie Belle.

“Oh, all right. Would you rather … ” Scootaloo looked over the field of long grass, chewing her bottom lip, trying to think of something good. “Right, got it! Would you rather pee beer or crap chocolate?”

“Ew! Scootaloo, that's revolting!” said Sweetie Belle.

“It's pretty nasty, yeah,” said Apple Bloom. She sounded less offended than Sweetie Belle.

Scootaloo's smirk broke into a laugh. The mead bottle swatted the back of Scootaloo's head.

“Seriously, that's gross,” said Sweetie Belle.

“I ain't gonna answer that question,” said Apple Bloom.

“Me neither!”

“Cowards!” said Scootaloo.

“Nope. Nothing doing,” said Apple Bloom.

“Okay, fine,” said Scootaloo. “Pretend I didn't say anything.”

“Will do.”

“Scootaloo,” began Sweetie Belle.

“What?”

“The … uh … second one. Does … does the chocolate have the same shape as … ?”

By the time the young mares reached their destination, an old, overturned cart, gloam had passed and the air had cooled. They sat in a patch of shorter grass beside the cart having polished off the first bottle of mead and talked of trivialities. Scootaloo picked chips of red paint and splinters from the soft, rotted wood of the cart's wheel while she listened.

“So, then,” said Apple Bloom, “I, uh …” She paused, looked out across the field, and rubbed her chin. “Where was I, again?”

“The bit with the barn after you got back from the shop,” said Sweetie Belle.

“Oh yeah! Well, I saw my sis open the door of the barn a crack and look around, jumpier than a coked-up kangaroo. I don't think she saw me. There surely is something going on between 'em.”

“That is so sweet!” Sweetie Belle bounced, squealed, and almost fell over.

“Wayta hold … hold your liquor, Sweetie,” said Scootaloo. She took a gulp from the second bottle as if to show off her prowess at holding on to sobriety.

Sweetie Belle tried to give a coherent retort, gave up, and made a dismissive gesture with her hoof. “Mead is nice, though.”

“Sorry, y'all. I couldn't get any cider today,” said Apple Bloom. “Granny Smith was fine about it, but when Applejack heard, she freaked out.”

“S'cool,” said Scootaloo.

Sweetie Belle nodded.

“Where did you get the mead from, anyway, Scoots?” said Apple Bloom.

“Y'know Nectar Drizzle?”

“Yellow mare? Yeah.”

“Well, don' tell her 'bout it.”

“Huh?”

This time Sweetie Belle did fall over. “You stole it!” she said from the ground.

Scootaloo looked offended. “No! I jus' took it without tellin' her!”

“Scootaloo – ” began Apple Bloom.

“I leave whatever bits I have in return,” said Scootaloo. “But she can't know!”

Sweetie Belle pulled herself up into a sitting position and said nothing.

“So long as you pay, I … I guess that ain't stealing,” said Apple Bloom. She frowned.

Scootaloo stared into the neck of the bottle for some time, and then took a long draught. When she finished, Apple Bloom pulled the bottle away from her.

“Might wanna take it easy on the drink for a while,” she said. “I don't wanna hafta carry you back home.

“'Kay, 'kay, fine,” said Scootaloo. She settled in the grass and gazed up into the sky while Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle talked.

A brown spider scurried across cart's wheel beside her, apparently aimless. Scootaloo watched it. Her head felt fuzzy. Make up your mind, dude. Scootaloo reached out with a hoof and allowed the spider to run up her foreleg. She shifted her weight to keep the spider out of Sweetie Belle's view.

Something occurred to her.

“Hey, girls,” she said when there was a lull in the conversation.

“Mm?” said one of them.

“D'you ever worry the world is moving on without you and if you don't get into gear you'll be left behind forever?”

“Huh?”

“You totally slurred, Scoots. That was just a … a .. stream of sibilants!”

“You're doin' the … words thing again, Sweetie,” said Scootaloo.

“Oh, sorry,”

“Don' matter.”

“Huh?” said Apple Bloom again.

“Nothin',” said Scootaloo. When she looked back at her foreleg, the spider had gone

*

After several hours and the better part of the mead had gone, and the sickly light of dawn smudged the sky and made the world seem bleak and timeless, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom decided to go home.

“Y'comin', Scoots?”

Scootaloo did not feel like going home. She shrugged. “Yeah, alright.” She climbed to her hooves and brushed bits of dry mud off her fetlocks with her wings.

The three mares spoke little as they walked back towards Ponyville. Scootaloo was tired, damp, and cold, but still she didn't want to sleep, not yet. In an absent-minded sort of way she hoped, the lightening sky notwithstanding, Celestia would oversleep or take the day off or … something.

Once in town, The Crusaders went their separate ways. Scootloo waved goodbye to Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle and, once they were out of sight, headed in the opposite direction from where she lived. She tried to aimlessly wander the empty streets but soon found herself walking down the pathway to Morral's.

Oh well. Perhaps she could have breakfast there if she stayed up long enough. Wait … no. No bits. Scootaloo stomped her hoof in annoyance at the failure of seemed to her to be a perfect plan.

She was not alone on the street. Somepony was already up. The grey mare she had seen here a few days ago. Lacking any reason to continue to Morral's, Scootaloo flopped down on across the road to watch. She pulled the nearly empty bottle of mead from her saddle bag and took a swig.

The mare worked and didn't seem to notice her. Curlicues and ripples of vapour. Her work was still incomprehensible. Scootaloo felt it comforting to watch.

A little while later – she couldn't say how long – Scootaloo realised she had finished the mead. She shoved the bottle back into her saddlebag, stood up, and walked forward. She decided she had to ask the mare what she was making.

When she was within a few feet of the mare, the world lurched around her. Scootaloo stumbled. Something went crash! beside her. Buzzing her wings, Scootaloo tried to recover her balance, stood at an odd angle for what felt like like an impressively long period of time, then fell.

A grey wing caught her and righted her before she hit the ground. Scootaloo blinked and tried to clear her head. Beside her, brown glass lay in fragments. And before her stood the mare, looking concerned.

“Hey, miss,” said Scootaloo. “Why d'you …” She had forgotten what she planned to ask.

“Oh dear,” said the mare. “Let's get you home.”

*

Scootaloo woke at midday when the sunlight stabbing through a slit on the curtains became impossible to ignore. No hangover. She never got hangovers. It was something she loved to brag about to Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. She buried her face in her pillow and cuddled Screech while she tried to assemble fragments of last night's memories into something coherent. It wasn't coming.

Oh well. Never mind, then. Scootaloo groaned and rolled out of bed, tried to land on her feet, and, with a soft thud, ended up tangled with the duvet on the floor. She looked at the window to see if, on the off chance, anypony had seen her pratfall. Nope, nopony watching. She tugged herself free of the duvet and climbed to her hooves.

The tumble notwithstanding, she felt quite quite chipper. That evening she had a date!

*

Author's Note

There's a particular kind of boozed-up melancholy that comes with the dawn, and it's no fun at all. Poor Scoots.

Shall we have some more recommended listening?
Superpowerless, The Kills
Carmelina, Matthew Good

Three

Don't Stop Dancing, Scootaloo

Three

Marble's shyness had evaporated fairly quickly. Now, sitting in the glimmering lights of Morral's, he was happy to regale Scootaloo with all manner of mildly interesting stories about growing up on a rock farm, illustrating his points with animated gestures, his milky-white mane quivering as he spoke.

He stopped to take a sip of his coffee. “And that,” he finished, “is why my granddad never let me use sulphuric acid again.”

“Neat!” said Scootaloo. “Do you still have the scar?” Strong acids could certainly improve any story that was mostly about limestone, she thought.

Marble glanced down under the table. “Yeah,” he said. “You … uh … Maybe I'll show you at some point.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Scootaloo shrugged. Looking at her reflection in the window and dark evening beyond it, she drank some of her coffee and grimaced. She refused to admit it for fear of seeming foalish, but she hated the taste.

“You're really awesome!” blurted Marble.

“You think?” When she turned back to Marble, he looked as though he was trying to hide behind his cup.

“Totally,” he said after a moment.

“Thanks!” Scootaloo grinned at him. “Relax, dude. Nopony's gonna hurt you.”

“Oh, okay.” Marble sat up a little straighter. “I mean it, though. You rock. Everything you do is cool. Apart from the scooter, I guess.”

Scootaloo tensed. “What's wrong with the Scooter?”

Marble retreated behind his cup again. “Oh, nothing really. Just … y'know. It's pretty old, like a kid's toy.”

“I …” Scootaloo's mind flicked through ways to chew Marble out. Anger swelled in her breast. And then, just as quickly, it subsided. He had a point. Her scooter was small, old, covered in chipped and peeling paint. She didn't know why she kept it around, really. Maybe she could buy a new one. But still, how silly would it be, a full grown mare riding a scooter – even a new one – everywhere?

Marble was still cowering.

“I guess so,” said Scootaloo. She drank some more coffee and this time relished the bitterness as a distraction.

“But, I mean, I still think you're cool,” said Marble quietly.

Scootaloo shrugged. “Well, whatever.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“Huh?”

“You … you seem a bit down.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Scootaloo. “It's nothing.”

“Oh, okay.” Marble peered at his coffee. “But if there is ever anything wrong, we can totally talk about it. My parents are away for the next couple of says, so I have a free house. So if you ever want to, you could come over and talk …”

Looking at Marble with his earnest eyes and silly, quivering mane, Scootaloo tried and failed to stifle a laugh. “Right,” she said through a smirk. “Okay.”

Ears pinned, Marble shrunk again.

“Buck up, dude. Screw the coffee. C'mon, let's see this house of yours, then. We don't even need to talk,” said Scootaloo.

Before Marble's excited flailing could knock it over, Scootaloo pulled his cup away.

“Really?” said Marble as Scootaloo jumped off her seat.

“Yeah, really. Let's stop on the way to grab some mead, though.”

*

Scootaloo leaned against the wall of the nightclub on her hindlegs, nodding to the thump of music from within while older ponies milled about around her, chatting, smoking, drinking. Mane coloured black, she wore a koskin jacket, a fake earring (her mother had forbade her from getting any piercings yet), and her best insouciant expression. She was, undeniably, cool.

Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle trotted up the street towards her, the latter sporting an impressive amount of liquid eyeliner. Scootaloo nodded at them as they came within conversational distance. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle trotted past her without responding.

“Hey, girls! Over here!” said Scootaloo. They turned around and stared.

“Oh sorry, Scoots!” said Apple Bloom after a moment. “Didn't recognise you there, what with the getup and all.”

“I really like your mane!” said Sweetie Belle.

Scootaloo grinned and dropped her forehooves to the ground. “Was in the mood for a change,” she said, casually as possible.

“What's the plan for this big night, then?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Behold,” said Scootaloo, gesturing at the door of the nightclub.

“Oh, right. We're gonna walk up to a door and then get turned away by security,” said Apple Bloom. “Great plan.”

Scootaloo sighed. “Yes, we're going in. But not through that door, obviously.”

“Then why'd you –”

“C'mon. This way,” said Scootaloo, walking around the side of the nightclub.

“Should we really be doing this?” said Sweetie Belle.

Scootaloo glanced round. Makeup aside, Sweetie Belle seemed as timid as ever.

“Psh, yeah!” said Scootaloo. “We're not fillies, right? We're old enough for this.”

Sweetie Belle looked unsure.

“Don't be such scaredy-ponies.” Scootaloo shook her head dismissively.

“Scootaloo,” said Sweetie Belle, “remember that time a couple years ago when we were camping, and –”

“Nope,” said Scootaloo.

“It's okay,” said Apple Bloom to Sweetie Belle. “It might be fun. If you don't like it, we can leave.”

“All right,” said Sweetie Belle.

“We done here?” called Scootaloo.

“Yeah, we're comin'” said Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo led them round the back of the building, up a pile of boxes, and through a high open window into an empty hallway. Inside, she dropped to the ground, buzzing her wings to slow her fall. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle dropped less gracefully a few seconds later.

The music was louder here. Scootaloo grinned at her friends without saying anything and gestured the way ahead. Down the hallway, through a small room, and they were in the club proper. The warmth and increase in volume hit them like a brick wall. Ponies with sweat-slicked hair danced in the dim and colourful illumination or sat at tables by the bar and tried to converse over the music. It was awesome.

Scootaloo turned to Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle and said, “See? Nothing to it.”

Sweetie Belle's ears were pinned. She said something, but Scootaloo couldn't hear it.

Scootaloo leaned in towards them. “Bar!” she shouted. “You brought bits, right? Come on!” She cantered off without looking back.

After several minutes of waiting in line, being jostled and squashed, Scootaloo was starting to feel that the club atmosphere was rather less awesome. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle were beside her, but they had given up trying to talk beyond sharing their drinks order. Still, she was happy. She was nearly at the bar itself, and certain that once they'd got their drinks, the fun would begin. She reached the bar, waved to the barmare, waited several more minutes, and – finally – got served.

The Crusaders settled in an empty spot near the seating area. In the end, they had been unable to find a free table, and couldn't venture onto the dance floor while holding their drinks. They could just about hold a conversation above the music by leaning in and shouting.

“Do you recognise anypony?” said Sweetie Belle. She seemed less worried now, and was amusing herself by watching the crowd.

“Nuh-uh,” said Scootaloo. She gulped down her drink and glared at the amount that remained. Obviously going to the bar first would mean they couldn't dance immediately. She was annoyed at herself for not figuring that out.

“A couple by sight,” said Apple Bloom. “But I don't reckon I know anypony's name.”

“Oh well.” Sweetie Belle was silent for a moment. “I suppose that's for the best. I wouldn't want to see anypony we knew dancing like that!” She nodded to indicate the couple she was talking about.

“Oh my,” said Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo snickered.

“I mean,” said Sweetie Belle, “imagine if we saw Ms. Cheerilee doing that.”

Scootaloo stared at her. Sweetie Belle looked back with a slight smirk. A moment passed where they said nothing. The music thumped.

Scootaloo burst out laughing, almost spilling her drink. “Oh … Oh, Celestia, that is ...”

“Now I'm imagining Princess Celestia doing it,” said Sweetie Belle, her smirk growing. She managed to rescue Scootaloo's drink with her horn field as the latter all but fell over from laughter.

“Y'alright there?” said Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo nodded, still unable to speak over the giggles.

“I'm … I'm good,” she said eventually. Was overcome with another peal of laughter. Then: “Okay, seriously, this time.” She took her drink from a grinning Sweetie Belle, thanked her, and sipped.

“There's somepony we know,” said Sweetie Belle. The cheer had gone from her voice.

“Who?” said Scootaloo.

Sweetie Belle said something Scootaloo couldn't hear. Her ears were pinned.

“Who?” shouted Scootaloo.

Apple Bloom put one forehoof to Scootaloo's mouth and pointed with the other. Rainbow Dash and Applejack were walking towards the bar. Scootaloo swallowed and sank to the ground. She didn't care about getting caught, but a confrontation with Rainbow Dash was not what she wanted.

Apple Bloom tugged on her hoof. “Let's get outta here!”

The Crusaders slinked towards the exit, hiding behind other ponies wherever they could. Rainbow Dash and Applejack didn't seem to notice them. As Scootaloo watched Rainbow Dash receding, she felt a lump in her throat. She stopped without knowing why.

Sweetie Belle ran into her. “What the hay are you doing? Hurry!” she hissed, barely audible.

Scootaloo said nothing. There were no ponies between her and Rainbow Dash. If Dash were to look to the right ...

Sweetie Belle pushed Scootaloo forward. She was stronger than she looked, and Scootaloo stumbled, regained her balance with a flick of her wings, and hurried forward. The three of them made it outside without further incident.

They stood behind the nightclub, breathing heavily.

“Well, that was a close call,” Scootaloo said, forcing a smile. It was meant to be a quip, but she realised how flat it sounded as soon as she finished.

Sweetie Belle was glaring at her. “What is wrong with you?” she said. “You nearly got us all caught!”

“Like hell I did!” said Scootaloo. “And so what? We got out fine, didn't we?”

“No thanks to you,” said Sweetie Belle. She snorted. “Besides, you were the one who convinced us to go in there in the first place. On a night Rainbow Dash would be there! Didn't you boast about how she tells you everything? So you must have known she'd be here, right?”

Scootaloo pawed at the ground. She wanted to shout at Sweetie Belle, tell her about her last meeting with Dash. But she couldn't. So she just swore at her instead, and started forward.

A hoof to the chest stopped her.

“Whoah, girls!” said Apple Bloom. “Hold your horses! We just had a close shave, all right? Nopony's fault.”

Scootaloo pushed against Apple Bloom's hoof for a second, then fell back. She didn't feel up to fighting. “Fine. Whatever,” she said.

Sweetie Belle looked away. “This is all on Scootaloo,” she said. “It's not like we all messed up, was it?”

Apple Bloom gave her a look.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “Let's just forget it. I want to go home now, anyway.”

Scootaloo considered pushing her friends to find out what else was going on that night, but decided against it. “Yeah, let's go home,” she mumbled.

They walked out from behind the nightclub and down the road.

*

Heart thudding, weaving between startled ponies, Scootaloo galloped down the road. Her hooves clattered against the ground, sending up clouds of dry dirt, and her breath scoured her throat. Sweat ran in rivulets from her mane. Nearly there, nearly there.

Minutes later she skidded to a halt outside the practice hall and pounded on the door. Sweetie Belle answered, a frown on her face.

“Scootaloo! Where the hay have you been? Bloom and I were just about to go looking for you!”

“It's cool … Just gimme a minute … I'm here now,” said Scootaloo, panting.

“No, it is not cool! You kept us waiting for ages. For … for how long?”

“Twenty minutes, almost,” said Apple Bloom. Expression unreadable, her face appeared at the door beside Sweetie Belle's.

“Twenty minutes! That's not okay!”

Scootaloo gave Sweetie Belle a wry grin. “You're getting prissier all the time,” she said. “Any day now you'll be yelling at your sister to stop messing around and sit in the corner quietly.”

“Screw you!”

Scootaloo raised her forehooves in a placatory gesture. “Woah, woah. Calm down, filly. I'm kidding.”

Sweetie Belle stamped and snorted.

“Scoots, this ain't really the time to be making jokes. Sweetie Belle has a point,” said Apple Bloom, putting a hoof against Sweetie Belle's shoulder.

“Oh, not you too,” said Scootaloo. “Okay, fine. I admit: I screwed up. Now can we get on with practice?”

“What's wrong with you?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Huh?”

“Something's up,” said Sweetie Belle. “And it's not just about turning up late. What is it?”

Scootaloo glared at her. “Nothing.”

“Come on!”

“Piss off, Sweetie Belle! Why don't you try keeping your nose out of other ponies' business for a change?”

Pushing past Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle surged forward to Scootaloo as if she were about to hit her. At the last moment she stopped, muzzle right up against Scootaloo's, and snarled.

“Girls!” shouted Apple Bloom. “What in the hay is wrong with both of you?”

“With me?” Sweetie Belle almost fell over in her outrage.

“Yeah,” said Scootaloo. “You. Don't go making out you're better than me.”

“Scootaloo!” said Apple Bloom.

“I'm not the one being disrespectful! I'm not the delinquent! This is all on you!” Sweetie Belle turned to Apple Bloom. “You see that, don't you?”

“Well, I –” began Apple Bloom.

“Yeah, well you can keep your not-being-relinquent and –”

“Delinquent! Not relinquent, you stupid ostrich!”

“Whatever!” said Scootaloo. “Y'know what? Screw this. I'm not in the mood for practicing with you two any more.” She turned away. “Do what you like. I'm going.”

“No argument there!” said Sweetie Belle.

“Girls!” said Apple Bloom.

“Shut up, Bloom,” said Scootaloo over her shoulder. “Just leave it and –”

Sweetie Belle slammed the door before Scootaloo could finish. She snorted, considered knocking so she could shout some more, then fell back and trudged away down the road, alone.

She walked for some time, seething and muttering, kicking up loose dirt and avoiding eye contact with the ponies around her, because anger was easier than loneliness. Eventually this became boring, and Scootaloo retreated to the spa, where she sat outside by the grate, playing with trickles of vapour and willing herself not to cry.

Then she realised: Of course! There was somepony she could talk to. Talk properly, like a grown mare, not a little filly chatting with her schoolfriends.

Scootaloo wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and galloped to Marble's house.

At the door she paused. Was this sensible? She didn't dislike Marble, but … he didn't give her that twang of joy she got from being around Rainbow Dash or Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle.

But she couldn't talk to Dash. And as for Bloom and Sweetie …

“Oh, screw it,” she said to herself, and knocked. “Marble? You in there? Open up!”

When Marble opened the door, Scootaloo was greeted with a bewildered expression. She was getting quite used to it.

“Scoots?”

“Hey, dude,” she said, pushing past him into the hallway. “You said I could come to you if I need to talk? Well I do, so come on.” When she glanced round, he was still dinnerplate-eyed. “Well? We can have a quick cuddle on the couch afterwards if you like. But right now I need to tell you some stuff.”

Marble closed the door and followed her inside.

*

Author's Note

And we're back!

Four

Don't Stop Dancing, Scootaloo

Four

Late morning. Apple Bloom spread fresh straw across the sty, mane damp with sweat. Her muscles burnt, but she didn't ease up save to occasionally pet one of the pigs, savouring companionship simple and unburdened by worry. Then she would start thinking about Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle and throw herself back into work again. It had been two days since their argument, and she had barely seen either since. Sweetie was occupied with her party planning, and Scootaloo … Well, she didn't know where Scootaloo had been spending her time outside of dance class lately.

“Howdy, Apple Bloom.” Applejack stood on her hindlegs outside the sty, knees hooked over the fence.

Bloom, dropping the straw, struggled to catch her breath. “Hey … Hey, sis.”

“Could swear I said you could finish up an hour ago.”

“I know. But I saw the state the pigs were in and figured it needed doin'”

“Uh huh.” Applejack surveyed the sty. “Well, that's some mighty fine work you've done. Time was, you couldn't wait to finish your chores so you could go racin' off with your friends to some kinda trouble.”

“Thanks,” said Apple Bloom. “Just part of growin' up, I guess.”

Applejack sighed. “But that ain't all, am I right?”

“Whatcha mean?”

“I know what you're doin'. Some ponies, see, hide from work. We Apples ain't like that. We hide with work. I know what that looks like 'cause I've done it plenty of times. I've seen your brother do it plenty of times. I appreciate the extra help and all, and I surely won't badmouth a strong work ethic, but hidin' from your problems ain't healthy no matter how you cut it.”

Apple Bloom leaned to the side, letting the fence take her weight, and nodded. “The Crusaders … we had a falling out. A big one this time. Well, sorta. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo had an argument.”

“I see. What happened?”

“We were going to practice our set for Sweetie Belle's birthday, but Scootaloo turned up late. And Sweetie Belle was really angry. She yelled at Scoots, Scoots yelled back, and things went on as they do.”

Applejack looked out across the horizon before turning back to Apple Bloom. “Are you sure that's all? Sweetie Belle ain't the type of pony to get very angry over something like that, is she?”

“I guess not. Thing is, Scootaloo has been actin' a little off for a while now. She …” Apple Bloom stopped herself before she could mention the nightclub or the mead. “She's been real … 'delinquent' is what Sweetie Belle said, and I figure that's close.”

“So you agree with Sweetie Belle?”

“No! I dunno. Maybe. She has a point an' all, but she's not being very sympathetic about it. She asked Scootaloo if anythin' was wrong and Scootaloo got all defensive, so there's that too. Now Sweetie won't even listen to me when I try an' talk about it, and I can't even find Scootaloo.” Apple Bloom slumped to the ground. “I dunno, sis. I don't think either of them are right to get so angry. I'm just stuck in the middle, and I hate it.”

“Don't sound like you're having much fun at all,” said Applejack, ruffling Apple Bloom's mane. “D'you want me to try talkin' to either of 'em? I reckon I'm a mite skilled at getting' sense into a pony's head.”

“Nah,” said Apple Bloom. “Thanks. But I ain't a filly no more. Gotta fight my own battles, right?” She snorted softly. “I just gotta … I dunno. I reckon I'll come up with somethin'. Eventually.”

“Look at me, A.B. They'll come around, I promise you.”

“You think?”

“'Course I do. Element of Honesty for three years, remember? I've seen the three of you grow up together and I can tell you now: No matter what it is that's causin' this, there ain't no way it's gonna hurt your friendship. Might take a while, but you'll beat it. I know you will.”

Apple Bloom allowed herself a small smile.

“Even the best ponies can be dumb, stubborn things sometimes,” continued Applejack. “And sometimes, all you can do is be there for 'em and be willing to offer a hoof when they need it. So you do that, y'hear?”

“I … Yes, sis.” Apple Bloom nodded.

“Now,” said Applejack. “I reckon the sty is about done. Finish up with the straw, then come inside, and I'll get some soup, okay? I don't want you dropping from exhaustion.”

“Okay,” said Apple Bloom. She spread the last bit of straw across the floor and let herself out of the sty. “Thanks,” she said to Applejack, as they trotted back towards the farmhouse.

*

Midday. Scootaloo trotted down the road to the practice hall. Right now, Sweetie Belle would be there with her friends from Music Society. Scootaloo tried not to think about that. She was here for a different reason.

Talking to Marble had helped. Sort of. He was a good listener, if only because he was so timid. Not so great at responding, though. When she talked about being flightless, he had offered a few unchallenging and meaningless words of encouragement, then encouraged her in that oh-so-subtle way of his to lie beside him on the couch for a while. But since talking to him, the searing anger and loneliness had receded into a mere dull ache. That was something she could handle, something she could hide from other ponies.

It still wasn't fun. Maybe that was just another part of growing up, and Scootaloo would just have to learn to live with it. But she wasn't ready to accept that just yet. There was another pony she wanted to talk to.

There she was, working with vapour, making something weird and complex. Broken glass still lay on the ground nearby. This time Scootaloo didn't have anypony to discourage her. This time she was sober.

“Hey,” she said, walking over to the mare.

The mare looked round at Scootaloo. “Hello, you!” she said brightly. Her smile was wide and welcoming and sincere, her right eye, Scootaloo only now noticed, off kilter.

Asking about the vapour suddenly seemed rude and intrusive. Why are you doing something so silly? What pony would like to be asked that out of the blue? Scootaloo searched for something better to say.

“What's your name?” she came up with eventually. What a lame thing to say.

The mare didn't seem to notice. “You can call me Dee,” she said, chipper as before. She left the blob of vapour she was working on and gave Scootaloo her full attention. “And what about you, sweetheart?”

“Scootaloo.”

“Pleased to meet you, Scootaloo!” The mare grinned and held out her hoof for Scootaloo to shake.

“Yeah, uh, about that,” said Scootaloo afterwards. “When I was here before …”

Dee cocked her head, frowning a little.

“A couple days ago.” Scootaloo gestured at the broken glass.

“Oh yeah!” Dee nodded, excited again. “You were totally hammered!”

Scootaloo looked down and stifled a sigh.

“Aw, nothing wrong with that sometimes! Just so long as you aren't puking on Mayor Mare during a speech, right?”

A smirk, unbidden, flickered across Scootaloo's lips. “Yeah, I guess so.” She looked up at Dee. At her good eye, anyway. “What happened?”

“You fell on your face! Well, almost. Nothing wrong with that, either. This one time I fell over eight times in one day.” She leaned forwards and whispered conspiratorially in Scootaloo's ear. “And I wasn't even drunk.” When she leaned back, she seemed quite proud of herself.

"But I didn't fall,” said Scootaloo. “'Cause you caught me.”

“Yep!”

“Then what?”

“I took you home! Well, not straight away. You were kinda dazed for a while, and I couldn't get you to stand up. But after that you started to look a bit better, and you told me which way to take you. So I did. Stopped you from falling a few more times on the way, too.”

Scootaloo looked down again. “Thanks,” she said. “And … sorry about being such a foal.”

“Oh, no. Don't worry about it. You just needed some help, and I happened to be there.” Dee put a hoof under Scootaloo's chin and raised her gaze. “We all all need help sometimes, right? Doesn't make you a foal. If it did, gee, I'd need my bottle right around now.”

Scootaloo laughed.

“Seriously, though, I'm hungry. Just a moment.” Dee trotted over to a satchel beside her stove. “You want anything? I've only got cress and lettuce. Ooh, and some petunias.”

“S'okay,” said Scootaloo. “I'm cool.” She looked up at the sky for a moment and breathed deep. “By the way, if you ever get super drunk I totally promise I'll walk you home.”

Dee looked up. For a fraction of a second, her smile faltered. Or, at least, Scootaloo thought it did – moments later, munching petunias, she was cheerful again: “Sounds like an excellent excuse to go though a bottle of wine or two.”

“Totally!”

“My friends keep bringing me wine, and I keep misplacing it.” Dee snorted and stuck her tongue out in mock annoyance. “But hey, maybe one day we'll find it all and have a massive party!”

“Hah! That would be awesome.” Scootaloo offered a hoof-bump and Dee dutifully returned it.

Swallowing the last of the petunias, she said “I'm afraid I need to get back to work now.”

“Oh,” said Scootaloo. “Okay.”

“But it's been lovely talking to you, Scootaloo. Drop by any time you like, yeah?”

Scootaloo nodded. “Of course!” And, as she was trotting away: “Mares like us gotta look out for each other right?”

Dee frowned. “Like us?”

Scootaloo chewed her lip. “Nevermind!” she called. “Seeya, Dee!”

“Bye bye!” Dee waved so enthusiastically she nearly fell over.

When Scootaloo was on the other side of Ponyville, almost home, she realised two things: First, she had forgotten to ask what Dee was making; second, she was walking with a spring in her step and a smile on her face for the first time in days. Only one of those was important.

*

Early afternoon. Sweetie Belle packed away her music stand and microphone in the practice hall's cabinet. This was the first time she had been back here since her argument with Scootaloo. Reminded of it, she snorted with frustration and gave the door a dainty kick.

“Something bothering you?” said a voice behind her.

She turned. Violet Velvet stood there, holding a music stand and looking concerned.

“Oh, no. Nothing, really.” Sweetie Belle moved aside.

“Are you sure?” said Violet. She put her music stand in the cabinet beside Sweetie Belle's. “Young mare with her fifteenth coming up. It's going to be absolutely brilliant. You'd think she'd be just a little excited. But no, she spends a whole hour of practice distracted and moping.”

“I wasn't moping!” said Sweetie Belle.

“You weren't?” Violet cocked her head. “I saw none of that Sweetie Belle exuberance I've come to know and love. You started singing our first piece off-key; you never sing off-key. And you just inflicted violence on a poor innocent door.”

“I –” began Sweetie Belle.

“Oh, and a word of advice. Only ponies who aren't okay are so quick to claim that they are when asked. Trust me, I may as well have a second cutie mark for reading behaviour.

“What all that adds up to is that you –” Violet tapped Sweetie Belle's nose with a hoof “– are not a happy pony. Which brings me back to where we started: Something bothering you?”

Sweetie Belle studied Violet's face. She looked sincere, but with Violet Velvet one could never tell. Formerly one of the quietest foals in the school, now sometimes she was the amoral social butterfly and incorrigible gossip, and sometimes she was the completely selfless companion.

Sweetie Belle didn't know whether she could think of Violet as a real friend. But then, it seemed that lately she wasn't doing very well at knowing who her real friends were.

She decided to take a risk.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I guess so.”

“Come on, then. Let's take a walk.” Violet put her hoof on Sweetie Belle's withers, then turned to the rest of the mares in the hall. “Sweetie and I are going out ahead. You girls don't mind closing up on your own, do you? No? Good.”

Out on the road – the same road the Crusaders would walk on the way to Morral's, Sweetie thought – Violet pushed again: “What happened, Sweetie Belle?”

“I … We had a bit of an argument. The Crusaders, I mean.”

“I see.” Violet's eyes narrowed. “All three of you?”

“Well, no. Mostly it was Scootaloo. Scootaloo and me.”

“Ah,” said Violet. “That little thug.”

“Violet!”

“What? You know my feelings about her.”

“And we agreed, remember? You wouldn't speak ill of Scootaloo, and I wouldn't speak ill of Diamond Tiara.”

“Speaking of which, I don't know why you insist on letting a little spat as fillies get in the way of your adult relationships.”

Sweetie stopped and glared at Violet. “It wasn't a little spat. Diamond Tiara is a bitch!”

Violet stopped a few feet ahead of Sweetie Belle, calmly returning her gaze. “Okay, Sweetie Belle. I apologise. I shouldn't have leapt in to attack Scootaloo so quickly.” She started walking again. “So what happened between you two?”

“She was late to out last practice session, and she didn't care …”

Violet didn't respond, so Sweetie kept going.

“She's just … so reckless. I'm sure there's something upsetting her, but she's too stubborn to tell us. She screws up but doesn't apologise. In fact, she doesn't seem to care at all. It's like she's not interested in having me and Bloom as friends any more. She just wants to hang out all the time with that dumb colt Marble from her dance class.”

“Well, there you go,” said Violet. “Come on, Sweetie. Even you see it now. Scootaloo's a thug! She doesn't even know who her father is. And she's “hanging out” with a colt? A slut too, I bet. You're better than her. You've got class. And talent. So much talent. Don't let her drag you down. Drop her, drop this silly little rock act you've got going. You don't need it; our act is going to be amazing all by itself!”

Sweetie Belle stopped again. Looking at Violet's vile, insouciant grin, she could barely contain herself. “How dare you?” she said at last.

Violet's grin vanished. “Pardon?”

“You pretend to care just so you can drive a wedge between Scootaloo and me! That's really low. We had an argument, sure, but you don't get to talk about my friend that way, Violet Velvet! Never!” Her breath rapid and sharp, Sweetie advanced towards Violet, who retreated in equal measure. “And yes, she is my friend!” She looked down. “She … is my friend.”

Without another word, she turned from Violet and galloped off down the road. She had to find Apple Bloom. And then, together, they would find Scootaloo. They would make everything right again.

*

One

Don't Stop Dancing, Scootaloo

One

Scootaloo fidgeted. She kicked her legs, flapped her ears, flicked her tail, cracked her fetlocks, and bared her teeth at a colt sitting on the far side of the waiting room, which earned her a glare from the old mare sitting beside him. When she extended her wing and started to preen, her mother shook gave her a gentle cuff on the hoof and shook her head. With a loud sigh and a roll of her eyes, Scootaloo retracted her wing and pouted. She could have been hanging out with her friends, practicing, chatting, or drinking, but instead she was stuck here waiting for the doctor to get a move on. When her mother tried putting a foreleg around her. Scootaloo shrugged it off, bristling at the gesture. Her mother knew she didn't like those sorts of gestures in public.

“Scootaloo?” called out the receptionist. “Doctor Willowbark is ready to see you.”

Finally. Scootaloo bounded off her chair, and, realising she was in public, steadied herself and checked the clock. Grumpily, she noted she'd had to wait for a whole twenty minutes.

Doctor Willowbark's office was scarcely more interesting than the waiting room, decorated with a number of posters about topics Scootaloo had no interest in, save for one showing cutaway diagrams of pegasus musculature. It was slightly macabre and very awesome. The doctor herself was brusque and businesslike, never bothering to try and ply Scootaloo with fake smiles or sugary words; Scootaloo liked her.

Willowbark handed Scootaloo's mother some X-ray prints, pointed out various parts, and talked briefly to mother and daughter about keel deformation, muscle weakness and the like. Though not interesting, it was better than last time, when the doctor had unceremoniously extended Scootaloo's wings into uncomfortable positions to examine them.

Eventually, the doctor came to the end of her lecture and addressed Scootaloo directly.

“I'm sorry to say that the upshot of this is that you will, in all likelihood, never be able to fly properly, Scootaloo.”

A chill ran down her spine. Her mother put her foreleg around her again; this time, she didn't bother to shrug it off. Really, the news didn't come as much of a surprise. Scootaloo wasn't quite as oblivious as everypony thought. She actually had been aware of the other pegasi in school pushing ahead with their flying abilities while at the age of fourteen she could only ever manage to hover awkwardly for a few seconds, of her mother's and teachers' concerned whisperings when they thought she wasn't listening. The wing examination during her last visit here had been something of a hint too.

Scootaloo chewed at her lip. She supposed she must be taking the news rather well, since she wasn't crying or otherwise freaking out – how embarrassing would that be? Worries danced in the back of mind: How would she break the news to Rainbow Dash? What would she tell her friends? Would everypony make fun of her? But none of them seemed quite real.

Her mother and the doctor were both looking at her. Scootaloo supposed she should respond.

“Okay,” she said. Her voice cracked a little, which annoyed her.

The doctor nodded. Scootaloo's mother rubbed her back

Wait. Something definitely did worry her. “Will I still be able to ride my scooter?”

Doctor Willowbark raised an eyebrow.

“With my wings. Like this!” Sitting on the edge of her chair, Scootaloo buzzed her wings to demonstrate. The chair scraped forward an inch.

Doctor Willowbark broke into an unguarded and genuine smile. Scootaloo had not seen her do that before.

“Yes,” said the doctor. “Yes, you will. That's a different range of motion to flying. It doesn't use the same muscles. In fact, I've never seen a pegasus do that before. I'm impressed. So, yes, you should have no problems using your scooter.”

The doctor's comment both assuaged her worry and made her feel awesome. All other concerns forgotten, Scootaloo pushed out her chest and grinned.

*

Scootaloo's heart pounded. She loved playing the drums. To play the drums she needed no sense of pitch like her friends, just a good sense of rhythm. And her sense of rhythm was excellent. So, Scootaloo beat and banged and whacked and wove a rhythmic foundation for her friends to add their own contributions. Sometimes she even used subtlety.

Apple Bloom played a violin. Her sister had taught her, but Bloom was the tradition-breaker of the Apple family; her cutie mark didn't even feature apples. She had taken what she learned and trading in folksy fiddling for rocking out with a thaumically amplified violin. She was never rebellious – she and her family were as close as they had ever been – but most certainly her own pony. Apple Bloom was awesome.

Sweetie Belle played thaumic guitar and, of course, sang. She had never truly managed to get over her fear of singing in front of strangers, so she compensated by throwing herself into whatever piece she performed, forgetting the world around her, becoming one with the music. When she'd first learned to do that on stage, the night she earned her cutie mark, everypony present had been amazed. Sweetie Belle was awesome.

When the Crusaders finished their practice session, the worries of the previous day had evaporated and been replaced with joy. Brimming with energy, Scootaloo bounded out from behind the drum kit and jumped off the stage, flicking her wings and grinning. “That rocked!”

Sweetie Belle bounced on her hooves. “Oh, Rarity is going to be so pleased.”

“Yeah, I reckon we're gonna do you proud, Sweetie Belle,” said Apple Bloom.

“C'mon, let's get everything packed away and go to Morral's,” said Scootaloo, peering out the window of the practice hall. “I'm hungry.”

When they had done so, the three young mares headed down the pathway, grinning and gleeful. Scootaloo rode at a leisurely pace, with Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom cantering either side of her.

The summer afternoon was overly warm, almost cloying. The cloud cover was dense and grey, threatening to rain – an empty threat; Rainbow Dash had told Scootaloo there was no rain planned until midnight, so as to prevent to grass from baking without inconveniencing anypony.

“So, hey,” said Sweetie Belle after the Crusaders had calmed a little. “Featherweight told me that Silver Spoon and Snails kept looking at each other during astronomy class. I see arguments with Diamond Tiara on the horizon!”

Scootaloo snorted.

“Well I think that's real sweet,” said Apple Bloom.

“Yeah, right,” replied Scootaloo. “Like she'd dare get a coltfriend without Mistress Tiara's permission first. Besides, you know Featherweight only saw 'em 'cause he's been waiting to see Silver Spoon pop her tail anyway, right?”

“Scootaloo!”

“What? It's true!”

Sweetie Belle sighed. “You're incorrigible, Scootaloo.”

“That's … a good thing, right? Is it, like, a syno-whatchacallit for awesome and badass?”

“No! It means–”

“Girls! C'mon, let's not have this argument again,” said Apple Bloom.

“Well that's totally incorrigible by me!” Scootaloo smirked.

“Scoots! Please?” said Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo made to say something, but thought better of it. Sweetie Belle nickered quietly.

“So, Scootaloo,” said Apple Bloom. “Where were you yesterday? We dropped by to see if you wanted to go hang out in the old field, but you weren't around.”

Scootaloo's breath caught. “Oh, I just had some stuff to do with Mom.” She looked across the pathway and stopped her scooter. “What is she doing?”

“What?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Look,” said Scootaloo, indicating with a nod. “Over there.”

In an open plot of land, a grey pegasus worked tirelessly, inefficiently, and apparently aimlessly. She was building something out of vapour, which she would intermittently gather from a little pot of boiling water above a stove. Precisely what she was building – a bizarre, chaotic amalgam of different structural motifs and blobs of cloud – Scootaloo had no idea. Neither did the pony, apparently, for she spend more time reworking or destroying – sometimes accidentally – parts of it than actually building.

“Huh. Well that's certainly … a thing,” said Apple Bloom.

“Let's go ask her,” said Scootaloo.

“Do we have to?” said Apple Bloom, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on.”

“No, Scootaloo,” said Sweetie Belle, “let's not. She looks like a talker. Remember the time you insisted we talk to that old gardener? And he spent, like, forever giving us a lecture about different types of soil? I don't want to go through that again.”

Scootaloo shrugged her wings. “Okay, okay. Fine.”

She cocked her head, squinting at the structure. She still couldn't work out what it was. Looked kinda awesome, though.

“Hey, Scoots!” called Apple Bloom. Standing a few metres ahead of Scootaloo, she and Sweetie Belle looked back at her. “I thought you were hungry?”

Scootaloo gave up and buzzed her wings, sending her scooter hurtling forward.

*

Morral's was a tremendously tacky diner, constructed from the reclaimed cabin of a Crystal Empire dirigible. Slick linoleum tables and floors, lurid crystal nosebag logos, and oily food were its principal features.

Scootaloo loved it. Even if the food did take ages to arrive.

It had opened little over a month before she, the last of her friends to do so, had got her cutie mark. That evening, the evening the Cutie Mark Crusaders disbanded and the Crusaders arose, Scootaloo had visited the diner with her friends to celebrate.Before her cute-ceaňera even, the night, filled with laughter and hoof-bumps and alcohol, had solidified Morral's in her mind as the place of her adulthood. It was, therefore, the obvious place to go to discuss Sweetie Belle's upcoming birthday party.

At least that had been the intention.

“Y'know what?” said Scootaloo. “I think it would be really cool to headbutt somepony.”

“What?” said Apple Bloom. “Why would you wanna do something like that?”

“And to who?” Sweetie Belle looked horrified.

“Nopony nice! Just, like, if I had to. Or if somepony was being a total gelding. It would be cool.”

“Sounds kinda violent,” said Applebloom.

Scootaloo shrugged. “Well, clunking a pony with your head is an act of violence, so yeah, it's violent. Didn't you spend years dreaming about being a master kung fu-er?”

“That's Wushu! And the practitioners are called–”

“Whatever, same thing.”

“That was different, though. I only wanted to learn it for contests and maybe fighting bad guys!” Apple Bloom tried to gesture some martial arts moves, but ended up just flailing her forelegs.

“Aha! See? Fighting bad guys–”

“Girls!” Sweetie Belle brought her hoof down on the table, making a dull thud. “Do we have to argue about inflicting violence on ponies? It's not very civilised.”

Scootaloo shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

“Sorry,” said Apple Bloom. She rubbed her hoof on the table, which squeaked in response. “So, Sweetie Belle, you were gonna tell us about what you were planning, right?”

Sweetie Belle also squeaked in response. “Oh, yeah! Well, I talked to Rarity–” Scootaloo imagined Sweetie Belle, legs bent to reduce her apparent height, looking up at her sister with glistening eyes and cajoling her with repeated mentions of sisterly love. “–and she agreed to let us have the party in Carousel Boutique!”

“Awesome!” said Scootaloo.

“We've got a schedule planned now too. We start around six. Performances are first, then presents, then dinner. All the equipment will be set up beforehand, so we don't have to worry about that. My friends from the Music Society are going to do a few pieces first, the usual highbrow stuff, then our set is going to be at the end.”

“Well that sounds like it's gonna be real fun,” said Apple Bloom.

“Yeah, totally!” said Scootaloo. She offered a hoof-bump. “Come on, don't leave me hanging, here!”

Apple Bloom rolled her eyes and smiled, and then hoof-bumped Scootaloo. Sweetie Belle, after hesitating, did the same.

Satisfied, Scootaloo looked over her shoulder at the counter. She groaned. “For pony's sake, why do they always take so long? We've been here ages.” Drumming her hooves on the tabe, She checked the clock on the wall to ensure she was right. She was: eight minutes had passed since they made their order.

“What's up, Sweetie Belle?” asked Apple Bloom. “I reckon you'd be a bit more cheerful.”

Scootaloo turned back to her friends. Ears pinned, Sweetie Belle looked down at the table.

“It's nothing.”

“Don't sound like nothin'” said Apple Bloom.

Sweetie Belle looked up at at Apple Bloom, then across the table at Scootaloo. “I … don't want to let Rarity down.” She sounded almost sheepish.

“Is that it?” said Scootaloo. “Look, you're scarily awesome at music. And so am I.” She noticed Apple Bloom glaring at her. “And, uh, so is Bloom. Point is, you're not gonna let anyone down. You're gonna do your fancy classical stuff with your Music Soc ponies, and you'll totally rock. And you're gonna do the cool stuff with us, and you'll totally rock there too.”

“It is rock music,” Apple Bloom added helpfully.

“Exactly!” Scootaloo nodded.

“Besides,” said Apple Bloom. “She's your sister. She's gonna be proud of you, no matter what.”

Sweetie Belle smiled. That was quick, thought Scootaloo. Satisfied the issue was dealt with, she looked around again, just in time to see a waiter coming towards them.

“Finally.”

*

Scootaloo lay on her back, on her bed, in her room, in her house, on the ground. She wore headphones, listening to The Draconequi Rebels. With one wing she furtively cuddled Screech, her stuffed bat, and with the other struck at the pull switch above her bed. A graceful pendulum, a carved oak weight on the end of a string, it swung forward, then back, out of sight behind her head, forward into sight, and she would hit it again. When Scootaloo was very young, she was terrified of having to walk in the dark. Her mother had installed the pull switch so Scootaloo could turn the light off at night only after she was firmly tucked up in bed with Screech – and so if she ever woke in the night she could turn the light on immediately. Scootaloo had never told her friends the story behind the switch.

Concentrating on the music was difficult. Worries bubbled to the surface of her awareness as quickly as she could push them down, and the clouds outside the window kept catching her eye. There was a time when the wind in her mane, the ground racing beneath her, and the rush of a leap or a trick performed perfectly had been all she needed. Flight – so what? Rainbow Dash wasn't cool because she flew, but because of her skill, her speed, and something Sweetie Belle had called élan. And the same would be true of Scootaloo. But now – what if she reached Dash's age without having ever flown? What respect would that earn her? Everypony would think her a just a great, lumbering filly.

Frowning, she looked away from the window. Moping wasn't her style. She tried, once again, to lose herself in the music and think about how cool it would be to to play in public again, properly this time.

There was a knock on her bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

Scootaloo hid Screech beneath her pillow and pulled her headphones off. “Yeah, Mom.”

The door opened. Scootaloo's mother entered, gave her daughter an awkward smile, and sat by the side of the bed.

“Hey, kid,” she began. She paused, looking uncertain. “Anything you want?”

“Nah, I'm fine.”

“I mean, if you want to talk about anything...”

“I'm all right, Mom.”

“Well, if you want to go down to Sugarcube Corner and have a treat, we can. I know I haven't been around very much lately, but I'm going to try and change all that. So if you want to, just ask.”

“I will.”

“Okay. I just worry about you, you know.”

Scootaloo's mother ruffled her mane. Scootaloo did not pull back.

“I know,” she said. “I'm totally fine, really. I …”

Scootaloo's mother conceded and smiled again. “Well, I'm here if you need to talk about anything. Anything at all.” She stood. “Oh, and dinner's in twenty.”

“Okay, Mom.”

After her mother had gone, Scootaloo retrieved Screech from beneath her pillow and stared at the ceiling in silence.

The pull switch had stopped swinging. Teeth clenched, Scootaloo hit it again, as hard as she could, and relished the sting of the weight against her wing. The weight hurtled upwards and thumped loudly against the ceiling.

*

Scootaloo scooted down the road towards the gym. Normally she rode as fast as she could, smiling with anticipation at another chance to show off her skills. Today, though, she dawdled. She rode far quicker than any other pony would, of course, but for her, this was dawdling. Dance class did not have its usual pull. Still, she refused to skip a day.

The gym was a former warehouse erected during the early years of Ponyville. When the town grew past its former boundaries, the warehouse, a communally owned structure, had been converted into a gym to provide more facilities for Ponyville's inhabitants. Scootaloo did not know what it held before its conversion, only that despite repeated repaintings and reinforcings, the pastel cob walls still smelt faintly of its former contents.

Scooter stowed beside the gym, Scootaloo traipsed round to the front. There, reaching the door at the same time as she did, was Diamond Tiara. Not that stuck-up little … Glaring at Scootaloo, Diamond Tiara pushed past her to get through the door first. Scootaloo's jaw tensed.

“Bitch,” she said, softly enough that no one else would hear. Diamond Tiara returned the sentiment with a snotty harumph.

“Hello, girls!” said Whiskey Tango, brimming with cheer and oblivious to the exchange.

“Hello, Ms. Tango!” said Diamond Tiara, all smiles and sweetness.

“Hi,” said Scootaloo. For a moment she wished Rainbow Dash was their dance teacher instead. She realised that would mean having to share Dash with Diamond Tiara and decided Ms. Tango would suffice.

At the edge of the hall, near Whiskey Tango, looking at the floor, sat one of their classmates, Marble Boulder. He flashed Scootaloo an awkward smile and, when she glanced at him, looked very intently at the wall of the gym behind her. Scootaloo ignored him.

Diamond Tiara sat to Marble's left. Scootaloo decided to sit to his right. Maybe he was useful, after all.

Nopony else had arrived yet. They sat in silence while Whiskey Tango hummed a ditty to herself. Scootaloo tried and failed to summon some enthusiasm.

The other students trickled in. Scootaloo knew their names – Ms. Tango had insisted her class play a tedious game consisting of throwing a stuffed ape to one another, with the recipient reciting their name and some trivial fact about themselves – but mostly identified them by their most notable traits: Gormless, Sniffler, Petite, Loudmouth, Four-Left-Hooves, Tail-Popper … Marble's nickname was Gawky. Diamond Tiara's was a phrase that would get Scootaloo kicked out of the class if she were to utter it out loud.

“All right, everypony,” said Ms. Tango when all had arrived. “Let's get started!”

And so, reluctantly, but unwilling to show it, Scootaloo danced.

Eight pairs of ponies, changing partners at regular intervals, danced in the gym to the beat of upbeat but generic music. Scootaloo gradually got more into it, worries slipping away, replaced by concentration and rhythm and twirling and just the slightest hint of exuberance.

“And change partners!”

Scootaloo's new partner was Diamond Tiara. She didn't care; Diamond Tiara was a competent enough dancer, and that was the important thing.

And then Diamond Tiara fumbled. Scootaloo saw it and, without breaking step, fluidly but unceremoniously dragged her partner round the rest of the move and back into the rhythm. Diamond Tiara's expression of shock changed to one of venom moments later. She said nothing, though, and made nothing further of it. Scootaloo appreciated that.

Then came Sniffler, who had a glistening bead on the tip of his nose, which distracted Scootaloo immensely. Then Tail-Popper. She was boring from the front. Then Gawky, who kept stealing glances when he thought Scootaloo wasn't looking.

At the end of the class, Scootaloo had more of a spring in her step. She was awesome, the world was awesome, and everything would be fine. She left the gym with a paper cup of water and a smile, saw Gormless staring at Tail-Popper with all the subtlety of drunk dragon stumbling through a priceless vase factory, smirked, turned the corner of the gym, and ran straight into Diamond Tiara.

The two ponies looked at each other.

Diamond Tiara spoke first. “Watch where you're going, you dumb bitch!”

Scootaloo began to apologise but stopped herself. “What? If anything, you should be thanking me for saving you from going face down back there!”

Diamond Tiara's snarl became a sneer. She sniffed. When she spoke, it was in a tone of derision rather than anger. “Whatever,” she said, walking past Scootaloo. “You can't even fly yet. Even with your cutie mark, you're always gonna be an immature little filly.”

Scootaloo wanted to say something. Something which would turn the tables. Something tremendously witty which would savage everything Diamond Tiara stood for and remind her what a terrible, pathetic pony she was.

Nothing came to mind.

Nose in the air, Diamond Tiara walked away, leaving Scootaloo standing silent. Scootaloo closed her eyes, put her head against the rough wall of the gym, and took a deep breath. Stupid. Stupid. Way to go, girl. You sure showed her.When she lifted her head, she realised she was shaking.

Of one thing, she was quite certain. Flight or no flight, she was not an immature little filly. She was fourteen, for pony's sake. She was mature. And she was going to prove it the best way she knew how.

On impulse.

She grabbed her scooter, carried it to the edge of the pathway, and glanced both ways, looking for her target. There he was, to the left, walking alone. She scooted down the path and pulled up beside him, grinning. When he saw her, he responded with a deer-in-the-headlights expression and almost fell over. Scootaloo did not bother waiting for him to regain his composure.

“Hey, Gaw – uh, Marble! Do you wanna hang out sometime?”

*

Author's Note

I asked my pre-readers for advice on a cover picture, took it, then changed my mind at the last moment like a fickle bastard. Sorry, guys!

Also, let me be classless and suggest some sorta-kinda appropriate music:
Recommended Listening 1: Pull Me Under, Queen Adreena
Recommended Listening 2: Cat Claw, The Kills