Stuff My Sister Says

Chapters

Chapter One: "Ridonkulous"
Chapter Two: "Imposkabibble" AKA "Lesbians are neato!"
Chapter Three: "I'd me a draconequus."
Chapter Four: "Hey, hike your tail, I can't see my own ass."
Chapter Five: "I love ice cream! It's like oral sex with a snowmare!"
Chapter Six: “Maybe like… five stupid?"
Chapter Seven: "Everyone knows ‘rainbow’ spelled backwards is ‘lesbian’.”
Chapter Eight: "Yay! Dick shopping!"
Chapter Nine: “It’s not like I was asking her to show me her D!"
Chapter Ten: "WHOA MAMA!"
Chapter Eleven: “Some cereal, s’posed to be good for ya."
Chapter Twelve: “Ohmigawd, you are a thousand percent stoned.”
Chapter Thirteen: “I said mmbbllrgrglbrelrbm!”
Chapter Fourteen: “GET IN THE CLOWN HOLE, BALL!”
Chapter Fifteen: “GLITTERFRIENDS!”
Chapter Sixteen: “EY, DOOSHBAG!”
Chapter Seventeen: “HELP, IT’S EATING MY FACE!”
Chapter Eighteen: “And I didn’t even have to turn gay!”
Chapter Nineteen: “FOR EYEBROW!”

Chapter One: "Ridonkulous"

Chapter One: “Ridonkulous"

It’s funny how a simple thing like a sunbeam can be so foreboding. It’s really an innocent thing, sunlight, when you think about it. A gift from our Princess Celestia, it shines down upon the world and gives life to flowers and warmth to creatures everywhere. it graces the fields and meadows and brings rainbows and bright sunny days to everypony.

If only it would get the flying buck out of my face.

I tear an eye open and glare venomously at the window through which the bright beam of light was cast, wishing more than anything I could just erect a wall right then and there to allow myself to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option. Sunlight means the day is starting, which means I, the special little snowflake that I am, have to get up and go to work.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I like my job. Jobs, actually. Both of them. I work in the weather factory, making tornados (how awesome is that?), and I’m also enlisted as a trainee for the Wonderbolts. Maybe you’ve heard of me.

My name is Lightning Dust.

Now, some ponies may wonder aloud, “Lightning Dust, I thought you were escorted off the grounds and kicked out of training camp for tornadoing a bunch of ponies into almost-smithereens.” And you’d be right. Except, you know, that Rainbow Dash chick isn’t exactly a complete bitch. She may have dropped a good word or two for me after all was said and done. So I got to try again next year. Which, of course, means I’m a year behind her in the Academy. A fact she loves reminding me of, oh so subtly. Like I said, not a complete bitch. Just parts of one.

But anyway, back to the present. And the rather malevolent stream of sunlight berating me from up on high. “Hrrmmmff... go way. Not morning yet,” I grumble into my pillow. I know this to be a lie, but maybe, just maybe, the universe will believe me.

Except, you know, the part about having two jobs. And ponies that may or may not hold me accountable for my showing up to do said jobs. And as I hear a knocking at my door, I come to realize that maybe, just maybe, they thought that dragging me out of bed to be at work on time would be a good idea.

Not that I can blame them. But I don’t have to like them for it.

The knock comes again, and I try to identify the pony behind the door, before I open it. I have some time, a my front door is on the first floor, like a normal house, and my bedroom is on the second. So I take my time strolling through the halls, down the stairs, trying to pinpoint where I’ve heard that knock before.

It can’t be the Captain. She’d break the door down by now.

It can’t be Cloud Kicker, she yells when she knocks.

It can’t be that Ditzy Doo mailmare, she doesn’t exactly use doors.

Not my neighbor, it’s too loud.

Not my parents, it’s too soft.

Then something strange happens. The knocking stops. Well, kind of. It stops being just a “knock knock knock” kind of sound. And it switches to a kind of rhythm. Like a subtle beat. Whoever’s knocking, they’re tapping out the beat to “This is How a Heart Breaks”, and...

No. Oh no. Ohhhhhhhh no. I only know one pony that knocks that way. Oh please Dear Celestia in Canterlot please don’t let it be her...

As I reach the doorway, the knocking persists. Whoever (please oh hell no don’t let it be her not today I can’t deal) it is, they’re pretty into the song. I reach a tentative hoof out to the doorknob, turn it slowly, and ease the door open. They seem to notice the slow movement, as the knocking stops rather quick after that. Then, I hear a voice poke it’s way through the half-open door.

“Hey sis, izzat you? Siiiis? Sistah baby! Open the doooooooooooooooooooooooooooor!” the mare on the other side cries.

'Oh no. It IS her. oh boy. Oh sweet baby Discord. Oh sweet mother sky give me strength-’ “Hey sis,” I mumble, pulling the door open all the way.

And there she is. My one and only twin sister. Of course it would be her. It’s only seven A.M. Why wouldn’t she show up at this ungodly hour?

“Hey-ey! Dusty! What’s up, baby?! I heard from pops you got yourself back in the Academy! Sweetness, am I right?! So come on, aren’t you gonna have me in?” she smiles like a million freakin’ bits and I’m reminded balefully of the evil little ray of sunshine that woke me up not moments before.

“Come on in, Runway. Make yourself at home,” I say almost automatically. I’m still so tired that arguing seems like something other ponies do. When they have energy. Which also seems like a thing other ponies had. I give my sister a once-over, and see she hasn’t changed much from the last time I saw her; Spiky orange and yellow hair, green coat, bright yellow eyes. Pretty much me, except skinnier, happier, and somehow, more successful. It’s like looking into a mirror that called you names whenever you stared at it too long. The biggest difference between us, of course, being the half-open button down black t-shirt, and dark blue flared skirt she’s sporting. A couple of gold hoop earrings dangle from her ears. It’s insutling how good she looks in it. And how little she probably paid for that outfit. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hey now, I know you just woke up, but that doesn’t mean you gotta be a Ms. Grumpy Face all over everything,” she teases. Tossing herself and her chic new outfit on my couch like she owns it, she goes on, “Well, I just finished a fashion show in Manehatten, and it was so ridonkulous! All the stuff in the line I was wearing was made from like, hotel drapes and stuff. It was SO. COOL. That fashion designer really knows her stuff, too. Hell, she better. She won. And check this out, she was one of them... buck whaddya call ‘ems. Saved Equestria like, a dozen times. Princess Twilight was one of them.” My sister, Runway Project, fillies and gentlecolts.

I feel my jaw go slack. “The Elements of Harmony?! You wore a dress designed by a freaking Element Bearer?!” I’m wide awake, now. Of course. Of course my dear sister would get to wear a dress designed by a savior of the free world. Why the Tartarus not?

“Yeah, that’s them! So yeah, she threw together this totally crazy outfit cause apparently her line was exactly the same as this other really not-bueno blowhard designer, and that’s just like, soooo bad. Especially since she had to go right after her, designers are so brutal. Her assistant was a cutie, though. Coco Puff or something like that,” she rambles. I’m tempted to just smack her in the back of the head to shut her up.

Then, a thought strikes me. “Did... did you see Rainbow Dash there, at all? Multi-colored mane, blue coat? One of the Elements?” I hiss, still rather aghast that she’d forget something so freakin’ important.

She taps a thoughtful hoof to her chin. “Hmmm... I think so. I was kinda busy working at the time. HEY!” she barks, sitting up on the couch and leaning over the back to face me. “How’s work?! I know you’re back in the academy and stuff, but do you still make tornados for a living?!”

“Y...yeah...” I say hesitantly.

She curls up into an excitable ball. “That’s so freakin’ COOL. Like, a hundred percent metal! My sister’s a bloody force ‘a nature, everypony!”

I hate her for it, but I have to smile. “Yeah, it is pretty cool. I mean, tornados almost got me kicked out of the Wonderbolts, but I’m still hanging in there. I’m even Team Lead in the tornado department,” I brag, just a little, holding my hoof over my chest and puffing it out.

Her eyes go wide. “That. Is. Awesome! You mean it’s your job to tell other ponies how to be weapons of mass destruction?!”

I would never have put it like that, but hearing her say it is kind of uplifting. “Yeah, I guess it is. And of course I’m still in there makin’ twisters every other day. They even use some of my personal creations for Wonderbolt disaster drills,” I tell her. It’s not a total lie. After I nearly demolished the Element Bearers, something that took forever to live down, somepony made the suggestion that they use my tornados as tools in emergency drills and practice for some of the upper classes. I didn’t mention that they insisted I do it with a small team of supervisors watching over my shoulder the whole time.

She throws up a hoof and headbangs to music only she can hear. “Freakin’ metal, I tell ya.” Hey, listen. I got like, a whole couple of weeks before my next show. Do you mind if I hang out for a bit?” she asks.

I know it’s not a good idea. I know it can only go someplace bad. But there’s just something about my sister that I can’t say no to. “Sure, what the hell.”

“Right. ON.”

Oh foreshadowing, if only I could beat you like an egg, I would.

Chapter Two: "Imposkabibble" AKA "Lesbians are neato!"

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter Three: "I'd me a draconequus."

Chapter 3: "I'd me a draconequus."

Breakfast is super freakin’ awkward. The entire time we’re trying our best not to look at each other, or talk about what happened. Or did not happen. I’m still not convinced it actually did happen. But it’s not like there’s anypony we can ask:

“Hey, do you know if my sister and I had sex last night?”

I can’t name a single pony with the ability, or desire, to answer that question. For a bunch of reasons. Mainly because I try not to hang out with absolute deviants.

Runway is just sitting down at the far end of my kitchen table with a bowl of cereal when I hear a knock at the door. Then another one. Then, a bunch of knocking. Those were knocks I knew. Without a word to my twin, I hop down from my chair, and trudge over to the front door.

Swinging it open, I see I’m right. “Hello Flitter. Hi Cloudchaser. What’s up?” I deadpan, trying to portray as obviously as I can my desire not to talk to these two. They blissfully ignore it.

“Oh, nothing much,” Cloudchaser answers, inviting herself in and walking through my living room. Flitter at least has the courtesy for me to waive her in, although I do so more out of defeat than courtesy. She patters in and takes a seat on my couch as her twin busies herself with studying my decor. “We just heard that your sister was in town, and thought we’d drop by to say hello!” she explains, finally taking a seat next to my rather confused-looking sibling.

Runway raises an eyebrow and asks, “Um, hi? Who are you?”

Flitter answers for her. “We’re old friends of Lightning Dust’s. We actually live in Ponyville most of the time, but with the Equestrian Games coming up we wanted to head back home to show our hometown some support! That and Cloud Kicker has a huge party coming up and we totally didn’t want to miss it.”

“How the hell did you know my sister was in town?” I ask taking my seat back and returning to my slightly-burnt toast.

“Weather factory,” Cloudchaser says, as if that’s enough. When I keep staring at her, she elaborates, “We heard from one of your coworkers that your sister dropped in to look for you. And knowing that you just loooooove your sister-” I had to shudder at the implications, and the unfortunate mental images creeping around my head “-we just had to meet her ourselves!”

“Riiiiight,” I drawl, not believing a word of it. “So out with it. What are you really doing here?”

Flitter answers. It’s like talking to one pony with two heads. “We want you guys to come to the party. I mean, yeah, having a Wonderbolt trainee,” she digs at me, but I’m just tired enough to not care, although I do feel my hackles raise slightly, “there would be totally awesome, having a supermodel walking around would make it just so cool! Not to mention all the drinking we’re gonna do!” I see the corners of her mouth twitch when she says “drinking”, and hear a chuckle behind me.

I look round to Chaser. “Alright, what is it?”

Runway looks at me, for the first time this morning. “What?”

“These two know something,” I explain, looking back and forth between the two.

Cloudchaser gives me an innocent look. “Who, us? We don’t know anything! Why are you look at us so...” she snorts, trying to hold back a laugh, “queerly?”

I feel my eyebrows twitch. “You two... what did you do?”

Flitter chuckles from her position on the couch. “Oh come on, Dust. Don’t... pffft... get your panties in a knot,” she’s almost doubled over in a fit of the giggles.

“Oh wait!” Cloudchaser barks, pointing a hoof at my twin, “She’s got ‘em!” she howls in laughter, falling out of her chair. I see Flitter doing the same, as the two roll around on the floor.

I take to the air, furious now that I know what’s going on. “You absolute FUCKS! I KNEW it!” I zip after Cloud, but she’s already hiding on the other side of the table. We run around the thing a few times, as she keeps just out of reach or on the other side of the table. “What did you do?!”

“What, what?!” Runway shouts, completely confused.

Flitter pulls herself up over the back of the couch, where she’d dived to get away just a second ago. “I’m sorry! We saw you two at the bar last night, after you were already completely hammered! So we... we followed you home, and Cloud put your sister in your bed, and we put your panties on her face! Oh goddess, your expression was priceless!”

Runway, now completely in the loop, yells, “What?! You little sluts! You were watching us this morning?!”

Cloud sticks her tongue out at me as I miss catching her yet again. “Oh come on, you two sleep like logs when you’re drunk! We just waited outside your window after the sun rose and watched you two freak out, it was great!” she dives for the hallway as I dive for her, and I fall on the floor with an “oomf”.

Runway flaps her wings angrily, and basically throws herself at Flitter, who hides behind the couch again. My dear sister faceplants into a cushion. Walk, yes. Fly, no. There’s a reason she usually wears clothes over her wings: no aerial coordination whatsoever.

The four of us run circles around my house, making a mess and yelling our heads off. This takes up pretty much all of my Saturday morning.

So, of course, I miss my cartoons.

After chasing the disaster twins out of my house, Runway and I get to cleaning up. “I can’t believe those two,” I grumble, taking a mop to my kitchen tile: both of our breakfasts had ended up on the floor, as well as a few other foodstuffs. “Remind me to do something unsavory to their wings later with a piece of hot metal.”

“Do something unsavory to their wings later with a piece of hot metal,” Runway grunts from the living room, lifting the couch back to its original position.

“Thanks,” I say with no lack of sarcasm. I can feel my eyes roll in their sockets out of instinct.

“No problem. But hey, at least we didn’t do that thing we thought we did, right?” she offers, in a bit more cheerful tone.

I sigh, knowing she’s actually trying to help. “Yes, there is that. It’s good to know I didn’t bang my sister.”

“Although...”

“NO. NO ‘although’. There is absolutely no combination of words in the Equish language that should EVER follow ‘although’!” I yell, ringing my mop out in the sink.

“Oh, calm your calves, lady. I was gonna say, you were giving those two some rather interesting looks, huh? Something... going on there?” I hear a thunk as another piece of furniture is righted.

“You mean aside from an all-consuming desire to glass the cloud they walk on? Not really. I mean, yeah, twins, that’s a thing, but no. Not those two. It’d be like hoping into the sack with Discord: absolutely crazy and with completely unpredictable results.” I put my mop away and move on to drying my floor before one of the two of us slips and breaks something. Again.

“I don’t know. I’d me a draconequus,” Runway muses, putting some picture frames back on their stand.

I have to stop for a moment. “What, really?”

“Yeah, as long as he wasn’t a total ass about everything. I mean, I wouldn’t jump Discord, so I can see what your saying, but if there were more draconequus...eseses... around? Yeah, I’d try it. Once.”

I think about it for a second. “What exactly would a female draconequus look like, anyway?”

“Probably a lot sexier than she has any right to. And speaking of sexy, are there gonna be any hot guys at this party?”

I groan. I’d forgotten about the party. Cloud Kicker would obviously want us there. If only to show off my sister and mess with me. Don’t get me wrong, Cloudy’s not a bad mare, but we have a... history. A rather playful one, sometimes. Oh, who am I kidding. I’d show up just on the off chance she does want to bang. “Knowing Cloudy? Tons. But they’d either all be dumb as bricks or taken. She just kind of invites ponies with connections, or popularity. Which for guys usually means athletes or rich dudes with hot wives.”

“Perfect. After a morning like this one I could use a roll in the hay with ‘stupid’,” she says dreamily. I don’t even want to know what she’s thinking about.

So apparently, we have this party to go to...

Author's Note

You people make way too many assumptions.

Have a little faith, would you?

Chapter Four: "Hey, hike your tail, I can't see my own ass."

Chapter 4: “Hey, hike your tail, I can’t see my own ass.”

So Runway has decided that we both need new outfits for this party. I have mixed feelings about this. I'm no enemy of new clothing, but then again, this would be going someplace public that involves spending money. With my sister.

Shopping with my sister is... an experience. Not only because she knows all of the really good stores in Cloudsdale (and can afford them), but because her fashion sense has always skewed so far to the weird that they’re basically friends with benefits.

I’d elaborate on that analogy, but there’s no interpretation of it that I can think of that isn’t correct.

So we’re walking around this department store who’s name I don’t remember because I have the distinct feeling I will never shop here again. It’s not that I wasn’t paying attention when she told me, when we walked in, and every time I see the store name. I’m actively forgetting it even as we’re here because I don’t want to come back and fawn over all the clothes I probably can’t afford and definitely don’t need.

Runway could pull a sofa into the lobby and sleep here overnight if she wanted. Unless the sofa was tacky.

I’m currently looking through dress shirts and accessories while Project is busy eye-raping every piece of lingerie that actually matches the colors green and orange.

There aren’t very many, so they’re being especially violated.

I’m just about to pull this white button-down shirt off the rack when my tail lifts of its own accord and I hear the following sentence: “Nah, wearing white panties is like begging for your period. Next.” Then my tail drops down. I pause for a few mandatory sanity-restoring seconds before I turn around and yell.

“WHAT?!”

Whoever (I know exactly who said that, don’t lie to me) it was that just hiked my tail is gone, and everypony in eyesight is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

The thought passes that they all might be precognitive for just this moment, cause I’m feeling a little Equestrian Psycho right now.

I trot over to the lingerie section at a measured pace, and find my sister trying to decide between dark, blood red (which I think would be great for mopping up the crime scene, if there were more fabric), and rosy, not-quite-red too-dark-to-be-pink sets of panties. I stand behind her, slowly catching my breath, and see her glance over her shoulder at me. “Oh, great, you’re here. Hey, hike your tail, I can’t see my own ass.”

My breathing stops. Not because I’ve snapped, but because my brain needs all the processing power it possesses to process that sentence. I know exactly what she meant. I’m still having problems making my brain come to the same conclusion.

“What?!” I say in a slightly less yell-y voice than before.

She turns around. “Look, the biggest advantage to your ‘athlete’ shtick is that your ass is just as fabulous as mine. Now turn around so I can see if these will look good.” She holds up the pair of rosy-pink panties.

Now, it should say a lot about how used to my sister I am that my first thought is just to do what she says and get it over with. It should say even more about how not ok I am with this situation that I respond, “Not happening. They’re called mirrors, twinkle-teats.”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “You don’t try on lingerie in the store! That’s disgusting!”

I raise an eyebrow even as I give her a half-lidded sarcastic stare. “Oh, sure. and mooning the general public is totally acceptable.”

She seems to think about this for a second. “You’re right,” she says, which I shouldn’t be shocked to hear, but am. Which is probably why I don’t notice her shoving me into a dressing room until the door frame pinches my tail.

“Ow, hey! What the buck?!” I protest as Runway shoves me into a small room with a barely-lockable door and a way-too-bit mirror. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

She turns (with some effort, it’s cramped in here), and locks the door behind her. “You said you didn’t want to hike your tail in public. Now we’re not in public. Now up with it.”

“Wha-no! I’m not hiking my tail for you in a department store!” I bark, trying to scoot my ass against a corner. She’s fighting back, one hoof on my cutie mark while she tries to steer me the other way.

“Oh, and you would in private? You perv,” she teases, trying to get a grip on my tail.

“SHUT UP!” I screech, doing everything except kicking her in the teeth, which to be honest isn’t that far-fetched of an idea right now.

“Oh come on! This would be so much easier if you’d just cooperate! It’s not like I’m trying to violate you or anything! I just wanna see your ass!” she snaps at me like I’m the one doing something wrong.

...and then I remember we’re pegasi. So I flap my wings hard as I can and fly over the door to the changing room. Or try to. I feel a tug on my rear, a hard tug, and turn around to see she has my tail by her teeth. “Oh, what?! Let go!”

“Nrr! Grrt dnn hrr nnn shrr mi drt rss!” she growls through my tail fur.

I’ve seen this episode of every cartoon ever like a dozen times. I cup a hoof behind my ear and say, “Sorry? What was that?”

She lets go of my tail, and repeats herself: “No! Get down her and show me- oh you sneaky little wafflewasher!”

I’m halfway through flying through the store when I stop and turn around in mid-air. “...What in Equestria is a wafflewasher?”

She rounds the corner to the hall of dressing rooms that I somehow missed her shoving me through, panties on one ear, and barks, across nearly the entire store: “It’s an uncooperative cloudgrinding meanie who won’t show me her ass!”

I don’t yell back. I don’t even retort. I just gently float back to the ground, cross my front hooves, and stare at her with a smile.

While the entire department store stares at her like she’s lost her head. After a few savory moments of awkward (for her) silence, a stallion in a uniform trots up to her, and coughs. “Um, miss. We’re going to have to ask you to take the panties off your head, and leave the store.”

She looks at him, and looks at me, and somehow it takes till just then for the entire absurd scenario to piece itself together. She blushes so brilliantly the underwear could double as camouflage, take them off slowly, and puts them on the counter. “O-ok,” she squeaks, and trots away. She walks past me, not saying a word, and leaves the store.

I shouldn’t feel bad. It doesn’t make sense to feel bad about this. She’s the psycho sister-molesting public nuisance.

...dammit.

So I trot outside after her, and look around the storefront for her. Runway’s currently standing off to the side of the building, slowly pawing some cloudstone. I mosey up behind her, and tap her on the shoulder. “Hey, sis, you ok?”

She sniffs, not looking at me. “That was... really embarrassing.”

I try not to smile. “Yes, well. These things happen.”

Another sniffle. She silently plops down on her haunches. “Yeah, but... it always happens to me. I’m always running my mouth or saying the first thing that pops into my gigantic weirdo head. I can’t even buy clothes like a normal pony.”

I feel a sigh escape me, and wrap a forelimb around her. “Look, just because you say the first thing that comes to mind doesn’t make you a bad mare. I’ve heard some of those unrestrained thoughts. Sure they’re a little weird, but they aren’t bad or mean. If everyone said exactly what they thought when they thought it we’d all sound like you.”

She looks up at me quietly. “You think so?”

“Of course,” I tell her. “I mean, it doesn’t help that I could end all your sentences with ‘That’s what she said’, but you aren’t bad. Just... impulsive.”

She smiles at me. “I’m sorry I yelled at you and tried to molest you.”

“I’m sorry I wouldn’t hike my tail for you. Come on, let’s go back inside, and I’ll explain everything. Then I’ll be your underwear model, ok?”

She rights herself, and wipes a tear from her eye. “Ok.”

“In hindsight, you probably could have explained that better.”

“In hindsight, shut up.”

“I mean, you could have just said ‘modeled some underwear’.”

“I said shut up, Runway.”

“Look at the bright side, there are plenty of stores we haven’t been kicked out of that you can model your ass for me in.”

“I’m never, ever going clothes shopping with you again,” I growl, as we walk through downtown. The doors to the ‘Whatever-the-hell-store’ are firmly closed behind us.

“I’ll buy you ice cream.”

“...”

“Lightning Dust?”

“Just take us to the next damn store.”

Chapter Five: "I love ice cream! It's like oral sex with a snowmare!"

Chapter 5: “I love ice cream! It’s like oral sex with a snowmare!”

With this Cloud Kicker party coming up tomorrow evening, Runway wants to make sure she’s absolutely ready for anything. Which of course means going to a spa. Why is there an “of course” in that sentence? I don’t know, ask her.

“So do you know any good spas around here? I need a facial, and a hooficure, and a really good manecut,” Runway says, prattling on about all the things she wants to do to get ready for this party.

“No, I don’t. I’m an athlete. I go to the gym and do all my makeup and maintenance at home. And I only cut my mane when I really need to,” I explain, rolling my eyes.

We’d decided to go straight home after our shopping, as neither of us felt like dragging a bunch of bags around town. Having stashed everything in the guest room, save for the one bag that was mine, which is currently laying on my bed, we’ve sat ourselves on the couch and are watching TV while we figure out where to go next. Well, I’m watching TV. Runway’s going through some magazines looking for recommendations for spa treatments and the like. Honestly I’d just use the yellow pages.

She gives me a once-over, her eyes just barely hovering over the top of a Cloud Beat magazine, and she mutters, “Well, that explains a lot.”

I glare at the magazine, and her behind it. “The hay does that mean?!”

She looked at me again, sighed, rolled her eyes, and dropped the magazine. It was quite the production for two seconds of motion. “Look, Dusty, I love you, but you look like a dyke.”

“I am a dyke!” I retort. I pause, and think about correcting myself, or at least making it sound better, but there’s not much saving face there.

“And that’s part of the problem. Your self-image needs a lot of work. I’m not saying being a dyke is a bad thing, but you’re so set on this macho stallionette image that you don’t see how pretty you could be.” She picks up a different magazine, one with her on the cover, and points it out to me. “See? Normally I’m just kind of hot. But the right makeup and clothes? And I’m absolutely gorgeous. You just need some help!” she insists.

“And what makes you think I can be as pretty as you?” I deadpan.

“...”

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“We’re twins.”

“And?”

“Identical twins. Dusty, sweetheart, I’m supposed to be the dense one.”

My eyebrow drops. “Oh. Right.” I hate it when she’s right. “So what are you suggesting?”

“Well, we have the clothes,” she points a hoof to my bedroom, “No thanks to you. Now we just need to give you a proper makeover!” She says excitedly.

“Oh no. Oh HELL no. I’m not getting a makeover. Just let me get a haircut and a shower and I’ll be fine,” I reason.

Now, I’m not opposed to being well-groomed and making yourself look nice. But I think there’s a limit on how much makeup a pony can apply in one sitting, and only to their face. I can’t stand the thought of having all of my me getting all prettied up. It bugs the shit out of me. Having all that powder on my face, ponies touching my mane, hooficures... buhuhuhuh. No thanks.

“Look, sis, you need some help. At least a little. I promise it won’t be anything too extreme, but can we at the very least make you look like a mare?” Runway pleads.

“You aren’t going to let up, are you?” I ask, sensing my imminent defeat.

“I will drag you there by your eyebrows if I have to,” she insists. I can tell she’s serious. Which kinda scares me a little.

I mean, I might not really like my eyebrows, but they are attached.

“Fine. Let’s do this thing,” I grumble.

The place she drags me to is this tiny little fru-fru kill-me-now pink beauty salon called Pampered Pegasus. I can practically feel my fur trying to escape on its own, and for just a moment the notion passes that if I try to walk in the door I’d end up bald.

But no, that doesn’t happen. Instead, we’re greeted by a stallion whose dad must have been a flaming homo and his mom Freddie Marecury. “Hi~” he calls out just as we step through the door. “Hey ladies, what can I do for you?” he croons.

With a stylish purple coat and a wave dark-blue mane, this colt is probably the most colorful--and tasteful--things in the room. He’s wearing glasses that, on anypony else, would be totally hipster. On him? It gives him big doe-eyes that would make any straight girl melt.

“OhmygodIlovehimcanwetakehimhomewithus pleeeeeeaaaassse?” Runway begs, all but throwing herself at me.

“...no,” I say after a pause. I did have to think about it. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Well, if somepony isn’t a little grumpypants today. I’m Hot Coutoure, but all my friends call he Coty. Come in~! Let’s get you girls all set up. What’ll it be today?” he plops us down in a couple of chairs, and that’s when I notice that, even as busy as this place seems to be, there are blank seats every so often, and nopony seems to be waiting in line. The room is full of chatter though. Girly voices talk about the latest gossip or clothes or how they want their mane done.

“Kind of a slow day?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from whatever the hell this stallion plans on doing to my face.

Coty looks around, and shrugs. “Not more than usual. If you’re referring to our lack of a cue, we take pride in making sure everypony is served as soon as they come in. Nopony should have to wait for fashion!” he exclaims with great flair.

Runway claps her hooves while I roll my eyes. Coty notices this, and gives me a rather honest deadpan stare. “Lemme guess, you’re the gay one?”

I’d be offended if he wasn’t right on cue. “Yup. I probably have more testosterone in my body than you do. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m here.”

Runway leans over the side of her chair and lays her head on my shoulder. “You’re here because you looooooooooove me!”

I sigh, and smile a little as I push her off. “Get back in your own seat, Runway.”

Coty stops. “Runway? As in Runway Project?!” he squeals. Almost instantly the entire room goes quiet. “Oh, my Luna! I loved that Hotel Chic line you wore last month, it was amazing~!” The room fills up with chatter again, this time more excitable and exuberant than before. Everypony seems to be looking at my sister, which is fine with me. As much as I like having fans, this isn’t exactly a place I’d want to be recognized.

Which lasts all of five seconds, as somepony two seats down points out, “Oh my goodness, that’s Lightning Dust! The Wonderbolt!”

Now, while I may still be in the academy, one of the things recruits are required to do is uniformed patrols. Some ponies might think that just flying around wearing a recruit’s uniform might not qualify as being a full-on Wonderbolt, but there are quite a few that think that the badge they give us, and wearing the colors, means you’re full-on WB material.

Nopony who’s a recruit feels like discouraging this notion. Our egos couldn’t handle it.

But of course, this means that anytime a local becomes either a recruit or a full-fledged member, everypony knows about it. Ponies love to gossip, and the Wonderbolts are one of Cloudsdale’s two claims to fame. The other being the weather factory. But since the factory is mostly an industrial attraction, and a source for jobs, the Wonderbolts get most of the media attention right down to the newest rosters.

Which means getting recognized in public right when you don’t want to be.

I turn to Runway as everypony in the salon goes crazy over the two of us getting makeovers together, and Coty cries out, “Oooooh! I get to be a stylist to the stars!”

“Sis?”

“Yeah Dusty?” she asks, turning her head away from somepony in the next seat asking for her autograph.

“We are so going out for ice cream after this.”

“Oooh, I love ice cream! It’s like oral sex with a snowmare!” she cheers.

Celestia help me.

Chapter Six: “Maybe like… five stupid?"

Chapter 6: “Maybe like… five stupid?"

Hiding behind a cone of chocolate swirl ice cream is much harder than it seems. I’m trying to cower in shame in the corner, but my new manecut makes that almost impossible. It took us forever to get out of that salon, both because Runway had to order every possible service they offered, and the sheer volume of attention just a handful of gossip mares can produce.

And somehow, probably because I was a puppy-kicking carton-drinker in a previous life, Runway frogmarched me into the nearest ice cream shop. According to her, I was being a “Grumpatron MK 5”.

The nearest ice cream shop, naturally, is the one I go to all the time, where everypony knows me personally. “So, Lightning…” one of the vendors says slowly, leaning over the counter and calling to me across the store. This has the rather undesirable effect of drawing the attention of all the other patrons, who had already taken their shots at my new look.

The manecut was inevitable, but I’m still not entirely pleased with it. They cut it much shorter than I like, and draped part of it over one eye. Which, being a professional flyer, obscured vision and I do not get along. And I don’t know what that prissasaurus did to it, but I can’t like, tuck it behind an ear, or move it out of the way at all. My tail looks like it went through the world’s gayest pasta machine. It’s all flat and sparkly. And the hair I have left on the back of my head has been braided and thrown over one shoulder.

To be honest, if I wasn’t so mad, I’d totally do me right now. “What do you want, Rocky?”

Rocky Road, the aforementioned softserve jockey, grins annoyingly over a half-empty carton of vanilla bean ice cream. “Did you uh, run facefirst into a glamour magazine? Or were you mugged by a bunch of disturbed Homecoming Queens? What’s the getup for anyway? I mean, what kinda mare you think you gonna land with a getup like that?”

“Your sister,” I reply dryly, all but shoving my face into my ice cream. Or, at least, I try too, until Runway stops me.

“WaitwaitWAIT!” she screeches. She looks like I was aiming a gun at a foal. Or her makeup bag. “You can’t ruin your makeup so quickly! The party’s not for another hour!”

I groan loudly as the surrounding tables snicker. “Runway, I love you, but I’m actually going to murder your legs off if you try to come between me and my ice cream again.” I try to laser vision her face off, but all that happens is a rather unpleasant glare.

She quickly pulls her hof away, but the panicked expression stays. “Ok, ok, but just be careful. DO you have any idea how expensive some of that stuff is?”

I feel an eyebrow twitch coming on. “NO. Please do remind me and MY WALLET how much money WE just spent because SOMEPONY left their bits AT HOME.”

She has the decency to look sheepishly ashamed. “I said I’d pay you back when we got home, I mean… I am sorry.”

I know she means it, and most of my tension dissolves. “It’s ok, I know you are. It’s not a big deal, I’m just really uncomfortable right now.”

She switches gears from apologetic to flippantly amused so fast I get whiplash. “Pffft, why? I mean, I’m straighter that most of the dicks I’ve had-”

“RUNWAY”

“-and I’m still totally into the new look. That eyeshadow is doing miracles for your eyes,” she finishes, completely ignoring the indignant shouting.

I slump a little in my chair. “Look, it’s just… you remember when I came out to our folks? How super douchey mom was about the whole thing?”

She frowned, somehow staying just as attractive as always. “Of course I do. Why do you think I don’t spend much time at home any more? I mean, they didn’t kick me out, but I still wasn’t happy about it. Where we goin with this?”

I let loose another sigh, which seems to be a developing habit of mine lately, and set my ice cream on the table. “Well, she didn’t kick me out right away. Her first reaction was to try to… cure me. She didn’t send me to like, a conversion camp or anything, but she tried shoving all this girly stuff down my throat. I mean, I still like makeup and perfume a little, but getting all dolled up, it feels like I’m a teenager all over again, with a mom who wouldn’t accept me, and a dad who wouldn’t stand up for me. I guess she thought if I was more like you that being straight would just… wear off on me, or something?”

I look up from my heart-spilling monologue to see an expression on Runway’s face not unlike that of someone who just tasted butt. Unintentionally, of course. I have to choke back a laugh, because I’m trying to be serious here. “Wow,” she says quietly. “that’s not how I remember it at all.”

“Runway...”

She waves a hoof. “No, I mean, I totally believe you. But mom always told me that you prettied yourself up like that to… well… be more like me. I guess I’ve just been dragging you around to all these girly thing every time we hang out cause I thought… I thought that’s what you liked. I had no idea she was trying to straightwash you like that.”

I raise an eyebrow, and suddenly a lot of stuff makes sense. I always wondered why she kept dragging me around when I wasn’t exactly cooperative. “Well, it’s not like it’s something I like talking about. You know?”

She crams a bite of ice cream in her mouth just as it’s her turn to answer. “No, I poally ge it.” Slight pause. Swallow. “No, I totally get it. It’s like, why would you keep bringing it up over and over? That’s like listening to your least favorite song on the album a bunch of times in a row on purpose. That’s like, infinity stupid. And I know your not infinity stupid.”

Another one of those sneaky smiles finds me. “Gee, thanks.”

“Maybe like… five stupid? Yeah, five is a good number,” she chides through another grin, quickly filled with more ice cream.

“Oh yeah? Better than like, fifty stupid. You’re totally fifty stupid.” My words come out like laughter, almost, and I feel five years old again. In the good way.

She pokes me with her spoon just as I’m trying to take a bite, right in a ticklish spot, and chocolate swirl goes all over the table. “Oh you are so dead!” I yell, and tackle her out of the booth.

Of course forgetting that we’re in public, but most of the store doesn’t seem to mind. After all, I’m just the kind of mare that would surround herself with ponies that would see two sisters wrestling on the shop floor and start yelling “Twin fight! Twin fight!”

We giggle like idiots as we wrestle in front of a small crowd, at least until a very familiar “AHEM” breaks up the noise.

I don’t even have to look to see who it is, my whole body sits up in attention, and I reflexively push my sister comically to the side, where she lands back in the booth with a loud “BRRF.”

As I expected, my Captain is standing just feet from our table. “Captain Spitfire, ma’am!”

She gives me a quizzical look. “You know, of all of my cadets, I can think of maybe three -EVER- that I go out of my way not to ask them what the hell they’re doing. You, of course, are one of them. So please understand that it’s with the utmost morbid curiosity that I ask: What the flying sideways buck are you doing?!”

As if on cue, Runway pops her head up. Before she can say… words, I answer, “Ma’am, this is my twin sister, ma’am!”

Spitfire’s expression goes from firm Captain’s disapproval to amused coyness. “Oh. And here I thought it was something inappropriate.”

“Uh, Captain?” I ask tentatively.

She waves a hoof. “At ease, rookie. I’ve got family, too.”

I almost collapse with relief. Then, of course, Runway has to say things. She leans in next to me, and says in a rather obvious stage whisper, “Hey sis, who’s the power lesbian? Does she have a-”

“RUNWAY.”

Chapter Seven: "Everyone knows ‘rainbow’ spelled backwards is ‘lesbian’.”

“So, ok, start again. You’re a cadet, not a full Wonderbolt? But Rainbow Dash is a Wonderbolt now? I thought you were in the same Academy intake?” Runway holds her head in her hooves, not fully comprehending everything.

Spitfire just grins over her milkshake, waiting for me to explain everything, as it’s obvious I may have left some details out when I first told my sister what was going on. I roll my eyes at her, and explain, “Ok, look. I got… kicked out the first year. something about a twister being a hazard to other ponies. It’s not like anyone told me we were getting a bunch of visitors, including a Princess. Well, ok, she wasn’t a Princess yet, but still. So then Rainbow Dash and a recently alicorned Princess Twilight put in a good word for me to try again next year. So I’m a year behind Dash, still technically a recruit, and Rainbow Dash was recently made a Wonderbolt. Which she just loves to point out.”

Runway looks to my captain, who just nods, still drinking milkshake, and turns to me. “So you lied.”

“...wha- I did NOT!”

“You told me you were a Wonderbolt!”

“It’s in the title! Wonderbolt Recruit!”

“Wonderbolt Recruit! That’s like saying Lady Sparklegoth was a real pegasus!”

“DON’T YOU DARE!”

Our argument is interrupted by my captain choking on her milkshake and laughing so hard it comes out her nose. “Oh my god, are you actually arguing about Glitterfriends right now? That show is for like, 5-year olds!”

Runway raises an eyebrow at her. “Then how do you know who Lady Sparklegoth is?”

I’d never seen Spitfire blush before. “Wuh- bwuh- I have… I mean, my niece watches-”

“You’re an only child,” I point out. She glares at me, her face turning a rather seasonally appropriate shade of red.

“Well… I mean, I used to watch it… some. It was… ok,” she trailed off.

Runway and I look at each other, sharing a rather rare ‘twin moment’ between us. One of those longer-than-normal seconds wherein a whole ton of information is exchanged. Or, actually, just the sentiment that ‘she totally watches the show’.

While my boss is staring longingly into her milkshake, probably debating the likelihood that she can drown herself in it, a thought occurs to me. Apparently I have a rather devious expression on my face, because I see it mirrored on Runways. We nod at each other, and gesture a little, trying to decide who should speak next. We settle on Runway.

My sister takes a few quiet, polite bites of ice cream, then muses out loud, “You know, I don’t think Chainsaddles did anything wrong.”

Captain almost launches out of her chair, “You motherfu-”

“How did I get extra patrols next week?! You were the one who made her mad!”

Runway shrugs mid-stride, a talent I decidedly do not have. We’d since left the ice cream shop, and were headed to the party, finally. I’d suggested flying, but Runway had protested adamantly, as the wind would destroy our makeup (something I had been hoping for, actually). So we’re walking. “I don’t know, something to do with my adorable face?”

“We’re twins!”

“Yes, but only one of us actually works for her. She can’t actually punish me without maybe breaking a law or nine?”

I can’t argue with that. And even if I could, we probably don’t have time before we get to Kicker’s house. I recognize the street we’re on, and it’s not far. “Well, I still think it’s bullshit. I mean, who cares if she watches Glitterfriends? That show’s fuckin awesome.”

Runway nods sagely, which looks really weird on her. “Yeah, it is. I mean, did you see last weeks? Sparklegoth has been kicking some ass lately.”

“I know!” We chatter back and forth about our favorite show for a while, which lasts us about the rest of the walk. We wind down our conversation just as we see the mailbox for Cloud Kicker’s house. The house itself, of course, is a good twenty feet above our heads. One of the few distinct features of Cloudsdale: choosing your own elevation. Of course, you can’t go to high, or you might end op ten feet up someone’s tail end.

“So, I’m still kinda not used to Cloudsdale houses? How do you knock?” Runway asks.

I give her a sideways glance, and take a deep breath. “HEY KICKER!”

A familiarly gorgeous blonde pokes her head over the side of a cloud above us. “WHAT’S UP, BITCH?! GET UP HERE, IT’S PARTY TIME!” She disappears back over the edge, waving a hoof for us to follow.

Runway looks up at the cloud, then back at me. “Girl, if you don’t tap that, I might have to.”

I grin proudly. “Been there, done that. A lot.”

“Seriously?” Runway looks impressed.

“Cloud Kicker has a bit of a… reputation for being a great host. And if she can’t accommodate you, bets are someone at her party can,” I explain as we jaunt up to her front walk. The sounds of generic dance music reverberate though the windows, and I can see a large group of ponies through the glass. There’s even balloons on the door. Which is actually a staple for Cloud, despite most of her parties being distinctly not for foals and fillies. I think she just likes having an excuse to rent helium tanks. Celestia knows why.

“So what your saying is,” Runway notes as we approach, “We’re getting a thousand percent laid tonight?”

I swing open the door, and a rather welcoming scent of perfume and sugary treats greats us like a warm bearhug. Inside, there is a rather inviting crowd of mares and stallions talking amicably, dancing in a wide open room in the back, or just cuddling with drinks in a chair or couch.

I’ve actually been to Kicker’s house when she wasn’t throwing a party, and it’s almost astonishing how many chairs and couches she has. At least, until you learn she designs them for a living. Her living room doubles as a show floor. And for the most part, all of the pieces are clean. She discounts the ones that aren’t, I’ve found.

Runway’s mouth is left hanging open as she not-so-subtly scouts the “talent” available, most of which are ponies I know. I seek out Kicker, who’s chatting it up with an adorable unicorn near the kitchen, and give her a friendly wave, not wanting to step on her game. She gives me an appreciative nod, and goes back to talking, so I mosey on to the middle of the party. There’s an almost-familiar pegasus standing in a corner, looking very much like she doesn’t want to be here. Poor girl probably got dragged here by somepony who didn’t want to show up alone, but has no problem leaving her friends to go mingle.

She’s really pretty, a yellow pegasus with the longest, most gorgeous pink mane and tail I’ve ever seen. I stroll over to her, and offer a gentle smile. “Hi there. You seem a little out of place here, Ms...”

She squeaks audibly, and tries to hide behind her hair. My word she’s adorable. “Um… it’s… it’s Fluttershy.”

“Hi there, Fluttershy, I’m Lightning Dust. I’m guessing you got dragged here by a friend? Not much for parties yourself, are you?” I quirk my head to the side a little.

“Well, yes. I mean, I like parties, but not so much when I don’t really know anypony. I mean, I know Rainbow Dash means well, I just don’t think this is my kind of party. It seems a little… grown-up, and not in a way I’m comfortable with,” she explains. She stumbles slightly over a few words, but slowly gains some confidence as it becomes more apparent that I’m not a serial killer. I think.

“I can understand that. I mean, this is totally my kind of- wait. Did you say Rainbow Dash?” I do a double-take, and feel my eyes widen. Turning around, I do a quick scan of the room, and finally find the powder-blue pegasus. Who of course is talking to my sister. “I, uh… I’ll be right back.” Fluttershy nods, and goes back to nursing her drink, looking a little solemn. “Fast as I can,” I add with a wink. She blushes deeply, but I think I see the hint of a smile.

I almost scamper over to my sister and Dash, who are chatting happily. Of course, I get within three feet and Runway opens her mouth. “Hey Dust! I found you a lesbian!”

I almost trip over my own four hooves, half out of embarrassment, half out of laughter. Rainbow Dash turns a violent shade of red. “Wah- I’m not a lesbian!”

Runway rolls her eyes as I almost drag myself over to them I’m laughing so hard. “Oh please, sugar. It’s written in your main! Everyone knows ‘rainbow’ spelled backwards is ‘lesbian’.”

I have to hang on my sister I’m laughing so hard. “R-rainbow Dash. TH-this is my sister. Runway Project,” I have to pause between sentences so I can breathe. “I see you’ve been getting along well. Also, your friend in the corner looks like she’s not having the best time ever.”

Rainbow Dash gives me a familiar glance, then looks back over to Fluttershy, who’s still in her same corner drinking her same drink. She waves the yellow mare over, who joins us shortly. “How about we all find a place to talk where the entire room won’t hear you shouting?”

Kicker pops her head up behind Dash. “I suggest the bedroom on the third floor, right side, three doors down. Thick walls.”

Dash almost jumps out of her fur. “Gah! Is everypony here trying to give me a heart attack?!

Chapter Eight: "Yay! Dick shopping!"

Chapter 8: “Yay! Dick shopping!”

“So you’re not a lesbian?” Runway asks, dejected. “That’s boring.”

Dash gives her a deadpan stare. “I’m so sorry to disappoint you.”

The four of us actually ended up occupying the same room that Kicker had suggested, if only because Rainbow shouts a lot. My sister and I are taking up most of the bed, with Rainbow sitting on the floor and Fluttershy curled up contentedly in a couch, now that she’s separated from all the noise. “So, um… Lightning Dust?” She squeaks. I turn my attention to her as she continues, “You… um, you were the pony that made that big twister, right?”

I groan loudly, feeling my eyebrow twitch. “Yes, yes I am. And I’m sorry.”

She has the common courtesy to look embarrassed. Or maybe she actually is. Probably the latter. “Oh, no! I mean, it was scary, but Ponyville has a lot of scary lately, so I’m kind of used to it. I just wanted to say I thought it was...impressive.” She miles a small smile buried in a really large blush.

I can’t help but smile. “Well, um, thank you.”

Rainbow shifts her still deadpan stare to her friend. “Fluttershy, please don’t encourage the natural disasters. I like my job. ALOT.”

“So wait… ok, hold on. You were there for the friendnado?” Runway asks.

Shy pipes up. “Yes. I mean, It was really big and scary, and did a lot of damage, but a twister that big whipped up by only one pegasus? That has to be a lot… of wingpower...” she withdraws into herself, her blush deepening.

My twin gives her a sly look. “Is that a thing you look for in a mare? Wingpower?”

“Um… yes?”

Rainbow looks almost incensed. “Then why did you never hit on me?! I’ve got wingpower for days! WEEKS!”

The yellow pegasus gives her friend a reproachful look. “Because any time somepony even suggests you’re gay you get all mad and rude.”

Now it’s Rainbow’s turn to look sheepish. “Oh, well, yeah. I guess.”

“Why is it such a big deal, anyway?” I droll. And soon realize my mistake as Rainbow takes off into what I can only assume is a rather well-rehearsed rant.

“Because I’m covered in rainbows. My dad is a rainbow. My mom is a rainbow. Almost my entire family is rainbows. And none of us are gay. Everypony, all my life, assumed I would grow up to be a raging lesbian. My parents go out in public and everypony assumes their either two mares or two stallions. My nicknames throughout school were either Rainbow Crash or Rainbow Chaser. And it doesn’t help that I accidentally moved to the fillyfooler capital of the WORLD. I’m so tired of everypony making assumptions about me because of my mane color. Assumptions about my family. Just because all my friends are girls doesn’t mean I’m trying to sleep with them all!” By the end she’s running out of breath, and a little frustrated.

Runway seems nonplussed. “So why don’t you just get a boyfriend?”

“I’ve tried. The most eligible bachelor in town only likes Earth pony mares, the cutest guy on the team is a gaff with a pastry fetish and no table manners, and the only male friend I talk to with any regularity is a 13 year old dragon. Give or take a few years.” She looks exasperated. “That’s one of the reasons I came to this party. I just wanna meet a decent guy!”

I have to restrain a laugh. “And you came to Cloud Kicker’s party for that? You know this is basically the real world version of Winger, right?”

She glares at me. “I do now.”

Fluttershy pipes up. “I suggested that she try and meet some of the other stallions in the Wonderbolts, but-”

“But they’re even more self-obsessed than we are,” Dash grumbles, gesturing in my direction.

I whistle appreciatively. “Dayum. That takes dedication. And there aren’t any other decent stallions in Ponyville?”

“Like I said, fillyfooler capital of the world. More than half of my friends are gay. There’s like, fifteen mares for every stallion. And almost all the good ones are taken. The other half are either too picky, or some special kind of crazy I don’t really want to deal with.”

Project taps her chin with her hoof. “Well, being in the Wonderbolts, don’t you meet a lot of guards? I hear there are some decent stallions among that stock.”

Rainbow thinks about that for a moment. “Yeah, but the nearest guard station is in Canterlot, and I only really talk to them when there’s some big event or something. I haven’t actually seen a guard in person in months.”

“So you’re screwed.”

“No!” Rainbow whines. “That’s the PROBLEM!”

“Well, why don’t you try finding a decent guy here?” I offer. “Cloudsdale’s not that far away from Ponyville, and there’s a lot of decent pegasus dudes here. There’s even a few unicorns who know cloudwalking spells. If you’re into the egghead type.”

Flutershy smiles and nods. “Yeah, why don’t we stay for a few days? We can visit family, talk to the locals, and you can meet some new ponies.”

Dash looks around the room, possibly to think of another argument. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Now that that’s settled, I’m going to join the party again,” I explain, pulling myself off the couch.

Fluttershy looks a little downtrodden. I stroll over and pat her cheek with a wing. “Oh don’t worry, cutie. I’ll come back. I just need to help Runway find a stallion to bunk down with tonight.”

“Yay! Dick shopping!” my twin says from the thankfully closed door.

Fluttershy raises an eyebrow at me in near-alarm. I heave a sigh. “A LOT of help.”

Chapter Nine: “It’s not like I was asking her to show me her D!"

Chapter 9: “It’s not like I was asking her to show me her D!"

“How about that guy?” Runway asks, pointing out a rather tall, well-built stallion with a blue coat and mane.

“Oh, no. That’s Soarin. That would be the ‘gaff’ with no table manners and a pastry fetish Dash was whining about,” I explain, steering her elsewhere.

Runway gives me a weird look. “She doesn’t know what ‘gaff’ means, does she?”

“Apparently not.” My eyes scan the room, eyeballing the stallions. Instead, I find Cloud Kicker, who waves and trots over.

“Hey girls, havin’ fun? I bet you two are all kinds of popular. Twins usually are at these things.” She points a hoof at two exceptionally adorable powder blue mares in the corner, surrounded my other ponies. Cloudy sees me staring. “You like? That’s Flitter and Cloudchaser. Friends of Rainbow Dash’s from Ponyville. They’re quite the hit around here.”

“I’ll bet,” Runway muses, her eyebrows raising. “That’s not what we’re looking for, however. We’re trying to find a stallion.”

CK looks surprised. “A stallion? Really, Dust? I thought you were all gay all the way.”

I feel my eyes take a trip around their sockets. “I am. It’s for this one,” I drawl, jabbing a hoof at my sister, who’s idea of subtly scanning a crowd is holding a hoof over her eyes and staring at guys so intently she doesn’t notice she’s sticking a tongue out. It’s like she’s trying to read fine print from across the room.

Our hostess nods understandingly. “Right. Shopping for the newbie? That’s cool. You know, some ponies just come here to party and relax and actually talk to someone,” she adds, giving me a slightly disapproving glance.

It doesn’t last. I could feel the laughter tickle the back of my throat even before she’d finished talking, and we both fall out, leaning on each other we’re laughing so hard. “Oh-oh my god, you looked so serious!”

“I know!” Cloudy exclaims. “Who comes to a party to talk?! Bahahaha!”

We laugh like idiots for a while, then slowly straighten ourselves. That’s when I notice Runway has wandered off. “Ehehehehe… he… uh, sis?” My eyes scan the crowd for, well, me. Which thankfully, isn’t hard to find. It’s who she’s standing next to that terrifies me. I poke Cloud Kicker in the ribs, and point out my sister, and who she’s talking to. Her eyes widen, and we both rush over to join the conversation.

“Hey, uh, Runway? Whatcha doin?” I ask hesitantly, really not wanting to know the answer.

She smiles innocently at me. Not a good sign. “Oh hey, sis! I was just talking to Princess T… Try… sorry, what’s your name again?”

The purple alicorn, let me repeat, ALICORN looks extremely unamused as she answers, “Twilight Sparkle.”

“Uh, hi, your Highness,” I chuckle nervously. Cloudy looks ready to throw herself out a window. “What, erm, what brings you here?”

She takes a second to compose herself, and explains, “I’m looking for Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy. It’s official Friendship Business.”

I try really hard not to laugh. “O-oh… I see. Well, they’re upstairs, um, I see you’ve met my sister?” Why did I phrase it like a question why-hi-hy?!

She glares daggers at a gracefully confused Runway. “Oh yes. We were having a very interesting conversation about… anatomy.”

OH MY GOD. “Oh, um… that’s nice?” Stop making questions out of sentences you moron.

Runway meas proudly, like a five year old learning how crayons work. On the walls. “Yeah, I was just asking Princess Sparkle here about my theory that all alicorns have dicks.”

“WHAT?!” I shriek, unable to stop myself. I recoil, and try again. “I… um, what?”

Twilight looks as unamused as I do absolutely terrified. Oh my god I’m going to the dungeon.

“Yeah, I mean, they get the wings and the horn, right? They’re supposed to be like, a combination of all three races, so why not both genders?” she gestures as she talks, like she’s giving a lecture.

Cloud Kicker has sense barreled past embarrassment to nihilistic resignation. “I absolutely hate how much sense that made to me.”

“Whaaaat?” Runway whines. “It’s not like I was asking her to show me her D! I just wanted to know if I was right!”

I look pleadingly at Twilight. “Please don’t rainbow friendship laser us into oblivion,” I beg.

The Princess grits her teeth. “Believe me, I’m trying really hard not to.”

I grab Runway by the collar, and pull her away. “OkniceseeingyouyourfriendsareupstairstellFluttershyI’msorrythanksfornotbanishingusBYE!” Dragging my whining sister to the other side of the building, I find an empty laundry room to shove her into. “What in the name of Princess Luna’s used underwear are you thinking?! That’s royalty out there, you do not ask them about their naughty bits!”

She dismisses me with a wave of her hoof. “Oh, please. Like she’s gonna stay mad. She’s a Princess, she’s got bigger things to worry about.”

I rub my forehead with a wingtip. “Look, Runway, I love you, but I’m on thin ice with Twilight and her crowd. That conversation five minutes ago with Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy, which is the most I’ve been able to talk to them since I got back into the recruit program, is probably a total wash now. Thank Celestia we were both there at the same time, before she thought you were me and you got me fired! AGAIN!”

“Hey, that was only one time!” she yells defensively. I’m about to retort when I hear a cough behind me. Turning around, I notice Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy standing at the door, with Twilight a little off in the distance, still looking unhappy.

“Hey, Dust, just wanted to let you know we were headed out. Um, sorry we couldn’t stay longer,” she apologizes.

Fluttershy looks disappointed. “It was… um, nice meeting you,” she says sheepishly, with a hint of a smile.

I try to smile back. “Yeah, you too. Sorry about… well, everything. She really wasn’t trying to be rude.”

“Totally not,” Runway chimes in.

To my surprise, Rainbow laughs. “What, that? Pffft, that’s nothing. Don’t worry about it!”

“Really? Cause Princess Twilight still looks pretty mad.” I gesture to the grumpy alicorn in the corner.

Rainbow elbows me playfully. “Like I said, don’t worry about it.” Then she smiles, conspiratorially. “That’s the first thing I asked her, too.”

Chapter Ten: "WHOA MAMA!"

Chapter 10: “WHOA MAMA!”

“I can’t believe we went to a Cloud Kicker party and went home empy-hooved,” I grumble, as Runway and I trot down the street.

“More like empty-”

“DON’T even go there. We’re in public,” I remind her. Something that still amazes me I have to do. “Well, it’s not a total loss. That cute yellow one seems to like me okay, and according to Cloudy she lives in Ponyville, which is like an hour flight from here if I’m lazy.”

“Pffft, good for you. I didn’t get nada out of that whole shebang. I still don’t know if she has a wang!” Runway whines.

I rub the bridge of my nose with a wingtip. “Runway, you’re a supermodel. I’m surprised you don’t have a little black book full of guys who can’t wait to bang you.”

“Oh, I do, but none of ‘em are in Cloudsdale, I don’t think,” she muses aloud.

And this is the part where I try not to kill her. “Well, how long are you even gonna be here? You never gave me like, an exact timeframe.”

“Oh pushaw. What’s like, a month or whatever between sistahs, amirite?” She asks, her usual bubbly self roiling to the surface like last night’s nachos.

I blink. Loudly. “A MONTH?! You said a couple of weeks!”

“I did!” she agrees cheerfully, apparently not noticing the homicidal intent in my voice. “And there’s like, a couple of weeks in a month! But saying ‘a couple of weeks’ over and over when you could just say ‘month’ is like, a total waste. Think of how many syllables you’re wasting. That’s so many syllables! Think of the syllables, Dusty!” she cries, shaking me by the shoulders.

“Okay, okay! FINE! A month it is!” I agree, a little too loud. If only to get her to stop.

“Awesome!” she cheers, running ahead of me, all excited like a little schoolfilly. “Now come on! The night is young, life is short, and we are HOT!”

Part of me feels like arguing, the other part still feels like killing her, but for the most part, she’s right. We are hot. “Wait up you little traffic disaster!”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME.”

So, apparently, “The night is young” is Runwaynese for “Let’s go to the mall an hour before it closes!” To which I had no good argument. After all, we only got kicked out of one department store, why not go for all of them.

Runway’s first stop, gracefully, is a pretzel stand, although I am kind of surprised. “Uh, Runway? Aren’t you supposed to like, not eat carbs? Isn’t that a supermodel thing?”

“Tch, yeah right. Keep up, sistah,” she says with no lack of sass, seconds away from taking a dangerous-looking bite from a really moherkin-ass huge pretzel with lots of cheese. “All the boys are about dem hips now! I gotta fill out to get filled up!”

My eye twitches as a mall security guard passes us, giving me an unfriendly look. “But don’t the fashion companies get all uppity about you keeping your size down?” I ask, giving the guard some serious side-eye. Yeah, keep walkin’ rent-a-dick.

She laughs, spraying pretzel and cheese all over the table. “Oh, like I can’t lose ten pounds in two weeks. A pretzel now and again ain’t gonna do squat, darling.” My other eye starts twitching, slightly out of sync with the first, though Runway doesn’t notice. “I mean, when one of my friends got married, I totally horfed down a bajillion plates at the buffet! BAM. Two weeks later I’m strutting down a runway in Prance.” The twitching has synchronized now. I fear they may be teaming up. “And I mean, that little black book I told you about? SOOOO many stallions in that thing who love some junk in the trunk! So it’s like, either I’m skinny enough to just walk around in weird clothes and make bank, or I’m gettin’ rolled over in the sheets like cinnamon roll dough!” The eyebrows have once again desynchronized, and have resorted to communicating with Morse code. I understand some of it. Something about knives, and injustice, and MORE KNIVES. “You don’t gotta worry about my flanks, sis! Though I’m surprised they let you bust clouds with a rump like yours! Or do you just sit on em all day?” she laughs. Attack! The eyebrows declare. Strike for the glory of the Independent State of Eyebrow!

I’m gripping a fork I wasn’t aware I had with my wing so tightly it’s starting to shake. The mall cop passes by us again, giving me a rather alarmed look, as if he isn’t get paid enough to deal with the imminent murder about to take place. His presence calms me, as I’m not in the mood to deal with the many, MANY witnesses I would have, and I calmly set the fork down on the table next to me. For later.

“Aw, don’t go all Grumpy Face on me, sis! You know I’m joking! You’ve got a great flanks!” she jeers, tapping my shoulder playfully with a hoof.

I feel some tension leave me as my eyebrows settle into peaceful stillness. “Thanks, sis,” I say dryly.

“You’re stomach, on the other hoof-”

“FOR EYEBROW!”

“WHOA MAMA!”

Author's Note

As a side note, I have NO IDEA when this story will end. I'm just kinda fartin' around here.

Chapter Eleven: “Some cereal, s’posed to be good for ya."

Chapter Eleven: “Some cereal, s’posed to be good for ya.”

“I swear to Luna I can explain,” I say quickly, as soon as Captain Spitfire walks into the room. Apparently word of my dive-tackling my sister in the food court had spread rather quickly. It was only the next morning when a messenger from the Wonderbolts had told me to report to Spitfire’s office “Yesterday.”

She raises an eyebrow at me, then looks over to Runway, who is busy staring all around the room at the various trophies and decorations with the awe of a child. Which, to be fair to her, is the usual response for anyone visiting the Captain’s office for the first time. “I sure hope so,” Spitfire groans, taking a seat in her big-ass Captain’s chair. Did I mention she’s the damn CAPTAIN?

I tap Runway with a wing, who looks to me, then to Spitfire, then back to me. “What?”

“Could you at least try to pay attention while I work on not losing my job?” I growl.

“Oh, pffft,” she scoffs “They ain’t gonna fire you.”

“I might, actually,” Spitfire deadpans, leveling her extremely intimidating gaze at me.

Runway’s eyes widen, and she throws herself on the desk. Because of course she does. “No, wait, officer, I can explain! She’s totes innocent! Whatever it is, she didn’t do nothin’!”

I facehoof so hard I make myself dizzy. “Oh my Celestia, Runway.”

Spitfire leans back in her chair to put some distance between herself and my sister. “So she didn’t dive at you with a fork in a crowded food court?”

Runway thinks for like, negative one seconds. “Oh, no, yeah, she totally did that.”

“RUNWAY,” I bark.

My sister falls back in her seat. “I mean, I don’t even know why she was mad! I was just talkin’ about how I’d went to this one wedding or whatever and ate a whole buncha food and hadn’t gained any weight! I mean, it’s not my fault I have an awesome metabolism!” I can feel my pulse in my ears, but more interestingly, I notice Spitfire’s expression switch from stern to confused rather quick. “It’s like, what’s the problem? You work out all the time anyway, just cause I can eat more carbs than you,” Runway continues, poking me in the side with an elbow. “S’not my fault her flanks are so big.” Seriously, I think the only reason I can hear her talking over my own heartbeat is straight up magic.

Spitfire quirks a smile at me. “So, what, you attacked her cause she called you fat?”

“...it sounds a lot pettier when you say it like that, Captain,” I admit, looking back down at the desk.

“I mean,” Runway continues, as if oblivious to other ponies saying things. “Have you seen the other recruits or whatever? It’s like your training routine is designed to make your butts look big.”

Oh my god, w’ere going to die today.

“What.” Spitfire growls. It’s not a question. There was very definitely a period at the end of that word.

“What?” Runway echoes, oblivious. “It’s not a bad thing! Big flanks are sexy on girls, you know? Of course you know,” she adds, winking at Spitfire. CAPTAIN Spitfire. My boss’s boss’s BOSS’S BOSS. Wow that’s a weird word. Boss.

Speaking of bosses, mine’s on fire. I think I can actually see steam coming out of her ears, she’s so mad. “What do you mean, ‘I know’?” she asks slowly. Calmly. Blood-freezingly terrifyingly.

Runway leans to the side to look at Spitfire’s rear end. “C’mon. You gotta admit you got dat flank, right?”

Spitfire looks ready to explode. Then, all at once, she’s calm. Collected. Like the fucking Grim Reaper. “Dust?”

“Yes?” I say in a very small voice that I’m surprised I was able to find at all.

“You are pardoned. Also, do me a favor next time you attack your sister in public,” she adds, giving me an even, highly controlled look.

“Um, don’t do it?”

Her eyes narrow, and she glares at Runway. “No. Don’t miss.”

We’re back in my apartment, after a very long walk home. I almost hurl myself at my couch, savoring the glorious comfort of the cushions, while Runway immediately beelines for her assortment of luggage, which is still in my living room. I don’t want to say anything, however, lest she take it as an invitation to unpack and move in. She ruffles through a big-ass duffel bag, making all kinds of noise. I swear I hear something metallic in there.

I look up from my view of my sister barrel-deep in Celestia-knows-what, back to the front door. Which of course she left open. Groaning loudly, mostly for my own benefit, I roll back off the couch and close it. As soon as I turn around, however, Runway’s almost in my face. I say almost because the thing actually in my face is in her way. I try very hard to look past it. Beyond it. Into the infinite void of space between me an all other objects in the universe so as not to acknowledge the presence of… of… “Runway, what the fuck is that thing?”

“It’s a bonsai, ya moron!”

Don’t kill her. You barely made it out of the office today with your job in tact. Do not. Kill her. “Why are you shoving a bonsai up my nose?”

She graciously removes it from my personal space and looks at it sheepishly. “Well, I brought it at first to apologize for just showing up at rando, cause I thought you’d be mad about that. But then you weren’t so I saved it. Then I was gonna give it to ya to say I was sorry for gettin’ us kicked out of the department store, but then we got ice cream ‘n’ stuff. Then we went to the party and I forgot I had it. So now I’m givin’ it to ya to say sorry for almost gettin’ ya fired.”

I roll my eyes and gently take the plant from her. It is kinda nice. And my cloud house could use a splash of color besides all the blue and yellow and white. “Well… thanks.” I gently place it on my kitchen counter for now. When I turn around, she’s back to digging into her luggage. “And what are you looking for this time?”

“Some cereal, s’posed to be good for ya,” she replies. I feel a tic in my facial muscles, until she digs herself out, actually holding a box of cereal. “I missed breakfast!”

My eyes take a return trip around my orbital sockets. “Just poor me a bowl, would ya?”

Chapter Twelve: “Ohmigawd, you are a thousand percent stoned.”

Author's Note

I have no idea why I wrote this, but I couldn't stop laughing while I did. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

Chapter Twelve: “Ohmigawd, you are a thousand percent stoned.”

Chapter 12: “Ohmigawd, you are a thousand percent stoned.”

Sundays are nice. Sundays are quiet. There’s entertaining yet imbecilic stuff on TV that you can veg out too, and not think for like, hours.

Unless you’re Runway Project. “Hey, why’s that stallion counting so slow? Is he retarded? Do you watch shows for retarded ponies? ARE YOU RETARDED?!” she adds in a panicky note, looking at me with wide eyes.

“Wha-no! It’s a kids’ show you yahoo! He’s counting slow so the little kids watching the show can learn!”

“Oh,” is her only response, as she goes back to eating cereal.

“Three! The next number is three! WOW these kids are stupid!”

I glance sideways, watching Runway stare in disbelief at a bunch of foals on a teaching show.

“He’s in the dumpster, you idjits! I swear, it’s like you didn’t just watch him jump in there!”

I roll my eyes. “No, Runway, they didn’t. WE did. They were around the corner.”

“But it’s shaking. AND IT’S THE ONLY THING BIG ENOUGH TO FIT A GRIFFON.”

“OH MY CELESTIA IT’S CALLED A CIRCLE! Not a square, not a triangle, not a… ok I guess trash can lids are circles so go you gross dumpster guy. Wha-NO. DUMPSTER GUY, WHY?!”

At this point I’ve turned slightly in my seat to watch both the TV and my sister. I can’t decide which is more entertaining.

“He-holy shit he just went into the blue door, ya moron! BLUE! FREAKIN BLUE!”

I’ve long since stolen her bowl of cereal, as I finished mine like an episode ago. I crunch, amused, as I watch her lean at the screen.

“FIFTY! FIVE-OH. IT’S A NUMBER, IT COMES AFTER FOUR-NINE!”

Crunch. Cr-oh wait my cereal is empty.

...I wonder how funny this would be if I were stoned.

“That’s not an F, it’s an E! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

I lean against the TV screen as the bright pink pony girl points at a letter chart. “Tell me your secrets, alphabet. Yessssss…”

“Why is everything on this show so stupid?! WHY?! IT’S NOT LIKE BUSES AND BOATS LOOK ANYTHING ALIKE! BOATS GO ON WATER CAUSE THEY FLOAT!”

My eyes widen in understanding. “Oh my god, you’re totally right. I never thought about that.” I lean against my super-smart sister and pet her mane. “You’re like, the smartest mare!”

“Why yes, I’m- are you HIGH?!”

“Aren’t we all? I mean, we live on clouds, Runway, clouds.” I gasp as a realization hits me. I grab her by the cheeks and pull her face close to mine. “I’M ALWAYS HIGH.”

“Ohmigawd, you are a thousand percent stoned. Won’t that get you like, fired?!” she reels back for some reason, holding her nose. I hold my nose too, in case of poison gas.

“Nah, you can’t get fired for being stoned unless you’re like, working stoned or something. If they could fire us for getting stoned at home they could fire us for getting drunk at home and Spitfire would be like, infinifired… infinityred. Infi-she’d be like all the way fired. Like WOW she’s fired,” I’m saying a lot of words right now. They feel funny when my nose is closed. Hee-hee.

Runway sighs, letting go of her nose. Oh good, no more poison. “Dusty, why did you get stoned?”

“Well, cause first I was all like, ‘my sister is being super funny right now. You know what else is funny? Pot’. Hee-hee, pot. Pot pot pot. But then I started smoking and I was like, ‘holy shit she’s super right, these kids are like wayyyyy dumb’!”

She throws her hooves in the air. “Thank you!”

I do the same cause PARTY. “Party!”

She looks at me, hooves still in the air. So are mine. Is this a game? I’m so gonna win! “Uh, Dusty, why are you copying me?”

“...Party?” She puts her hooves down. “I win!”

She sighs like, SUPER hard. Wow, that was impressive. That was like, a Master Sigh. She’s a SIGHMASTER. “You’re TOTALLY a SighMaster™!”

“Wha-how’d you do that?!” she asks, slightly panicked. Wait, are we panicking now? Is the party over?!

“What what what?!”

She points a hoof at my muzzle. I look down at it, and my eyes cross. WHOA. I have SO MUCH MUZZLE. “Dude...”

“What-no! The trademark thing!”

“The what thing?”

“The- you know what nevermind. The next show is about to come on,” she sighs, unmuting the tv.

“Cool,” I answer, and pick up my new bowl of cereal.

“Wh-how long have you been eating that one bo-HEY! WHERE’S MY CEREAL?!”

Chapter Thirteen: “I said mmbbllrgrglbrelrbm!”

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter Fourteen: “GET IN THE CLOWN HOLE, BALL!”

Chapter 14: “GET IN THE CLOWN HOLE, BALL!”

It takes a lot less time than I thought to move all of Runway’s stuff into the no-longer guest bedroom and unpack. You’d think with all the traveling she does she’d have more junk. But a good majority of the suitcases are actually bribes in case I’d said ‘no’ to her staying here. Really good bribes, too. My closet is actually respectably stocked, now.

I take a step back, towards the doorway, so I can take the whole room in at once. It doesn’t look too different, besides some of the furniture having been moved around, and a poster or two. But it looks good. And I have no doubt Runway will waste no time in making this space her own. “Looks good!” I declare, rather proud of the work.

Runway nods approvingly “I agree! It’ll look even better when the rest of my stuff gets here!”

My smile doesn’t change, but I feel a facial tick coming on. “The… rest?”

“Oh yeah! I’ve got a big ‘ol storage unit back home where I keep most of my stuff! I just send it to mom and dad and they throw it in the unit!” she explains cheerfully, making her way back to the living room.

“Runway,” I call after her. “How much… stuff are we talking?”

She throws herself back onto the couch and scoffs. “Pffft, don’t worry about it. It’s not that much. I’m not gonna like, empty the unit or anything!”

I feel some of the gathering tension in my shoulders dissipate. “Right. Ok. Well, you still need to start looking for a new job. And you need to set up a meeting with your agency to let them know you aren’t renewing your employment contract. And then you need to talk to mom and dad and let them know you- Runway, you are aware I’m LOOKING RIGHT AT YOU, RIGHT?!”

She stops with her mouth half-open, having been mocking my speech by flapping her mouth silently and rolling her eyes. “Um… I am now?”

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t make me get the squirt bottle. I’ll aim for your hair, I swear it.”

“Nuuuuuuuu!” she cries, covering her face with her hooves. “I’ll do all that stuff, okay? It’s just… it’s Sunday, Dusty! SUNDAAAAAAYYYYYY!”

I heave a sigh and flop back onto the couch. “Believe me, I’m aware. So like… do you wanna do something? This is kind of a big change. Maybe we should… celebrate?”

“Yeah! We should go bar-”

“I swear to Celestia if the next word out of your muzzle is ‘hopping’ I’m going to use your uvula as a trampoline,” I growl.

“...I honestly don’t know what that is.”

Apparently, when it comes to celebrating, Runway actually has a fallback from “getting stupid-ass drunk”. And to my surprise, it isn’t shopping.

Runway, it seems, has a weakness for… mini-golf. Let me say that again. Mini-golf. Golf. That is mini.

She trots up to the front desk with the biggest smile I’ve seen on her face since she got here. One brief interaction with a desk clerk later, and we have tickets for what looks like several rounds of this game.

“Oh my god, Dusty! This is the best! None of the other models ever come golfing with me! And mom and dad are all ‘this game is for kids you should act your age blah blah blah maturity blah blah’!” She rants excitedly while we line up at the first hole. To my surprise, there’s only one other group here; a mare and her filly, who looks just as excited as Runway does.

“I’m glad you’re so happy,” I muse. Really, I am. She’s my sister, after all. And I love her. Even if there is a giant-ass clown at the end of this strip of grass. With a big wide mouth that keeps opening and closing.

The filly knocks her ball against the side of the clown’s mouth, and her mother walks her encouragingly up the way to keep going. Not really knowing what to do, I just wait until they move along. The little pegasus clears the hole in a couple more strokes, much to her glee and her mother’s praise, and Runway gestures for me to go first.

It takes me a second to get my bearings. I shuffle a bit between holding the club in my mouth or my wings. I find, rather curiously, that using my mouth is more comfortable, and soon Runway is showing me how to line up a shot. I wait for a few moments, counting the seconds while the clown’s mouth is open, like I’m counting cadence in formation, and I smack the ball, probably harder than I should. It gets a little bit of air, but makes it into the clowns mouth on the first try. Then a loud bell rings somewhere, and I jump out of my skin.

“Dust, sis, it’s ok! That means you got a hole in one!” Runway cheers.

An employee comes out with a smile and hands me a pass for a free round of golf. “You get one of these for each hole-in-one you get!” she explains. “If you get all 18 you get free golf for a year!”

“Um… woo?” I cheer half-heartedly, although I am smiling, kind of proud of myself.

The employee seems satisfied with my reaction, and moves along. Runway jumps up to the tee, cheering “My turn!” She takes much less time lining up her shot than I did. THWACK. The ball makes a beeline for the clown’s mouth…

...only to be rejected by the teeth. WHACK.

Runway shrugs. “Eh, it happens.” She tries again. THWACK.

WHACK.

Her eye twitches, ever so slightly. “Okay...”

THWACK. WHACK.

“What? Come on!”

THWACK. WHACK.

“Just… what?!”

THWACK. WHACK.

“GET IN THE CLOWN HOLE, BALL!”

Thus begins the longest game of mini-golf I think this park has ever seen.

Chapter Fifteen: “GLITTERFRIENDS!”

Chapter 15: “GLITTERFRIENDS!”

“I can’t believe you got free golf for a year. A year!” Runway whines.

I trot along happily as we make our way home, the sun just starting to set. My sister just kind of plods along. “I can’t believe you broke a hundred. In mini-golf.”

She glares daggers at me, or tries to. She’s not really good at it. It’s more like toothpicks. “Oh shut up.”

“Ooooh, scary,” I say mockingly. It’s rare that I find something not flying-related that I’m better at than she is, so I take my victories with exactly NONE of the grace. “Y’all just mad.”

“Your darn right I’m mad!” she shouts, gathering some looks from passerby. “Look, let’s just go… do something else. I don’t wanna go home without like, actually having fun. FOR ME,” she adds, as I open my mouth to retort.

“Well, what do you like besides mini-golf?” I ask politely, refraining from making any more jokes. For now.

“Well...” she things for a moment. “I like drinking. I like sex. I like shopping. Getting my hair done,” she muses.

“Runway, we have tried literally all of those things over the last week, to wildly varying degrees of success. There’s gotta be something we haven’t done that would cheer you up,” I reason.

She’s quiet for a moment while she thinks. “Well, we could go watch a movie? What’s playing, anyway?”

There it is. The most beautiful thing either of us have ever seen. It’s big, it’s colorful, and it’s totally awesome.

It’s the poster for the new Glitterfriends movie, which came out on Friday. “How did we miss this?!” I yell in a very girly voice, shaking Runway’s shoulders.

She shakes mine back. “I don’t know! But we have to like, totes watch it!”

“I KNOW!”

We rush the ticket booth like a couple of idiots, which we probably are. But I mean, come on. Glitterfriends.

There’s no line, it being relatively late on a Sunday. Fortunately, the next showing is in a few minutes. “Two please!” I say to the obviously not-happy-to-be-here ticket stallion. Some teenager who needs the summer job for Celestia knows what. Acne cream, most likely.

“That’s 16 bits.”

Runway drops a dozen or so on the counter. “Um, I’m like, two short...” she whispers, panicking a little.

“Don’t look at me, I paid for the mini-golf!” I’m getting worried. There’s no way just one of us is going in there, and I don’t have any cash on hand. I debate flying back to my apartment to gather some more money and wonder if I have the time, when the sound of money hitting the counter distracts me. I look up in time to see the ticket guy counting out the cash, and I look to Runway. “What, did you find more?”

She shakes her head. “No, I thought you did. I was looking at the ground for dropped change. What did-”

“Here’s your tickets, ma’am,” drawled the ticket guy. “Please move along.”

We look around for our mysterious benefactor, but to no avail. Grabbing our tickets, I decide to chalk it up to some random pony being nice, which isn’t as common in Cloudsdale as it is in, say, Ponyville, but it’s not unheard of.

“Wait,” Runway says quickly, holding out a hoof to stop me. “How are we gonna get snacks?”

I raise me eyebrow at her. “You actually pay for theater snacks? It’s highway robbery!”

“But it’s DELICIOUS highway robbery!”

I give her a deadpan stare. “Runway, I don’t care how many adjectives you use, nothing makes highway robbery sound good.”

She opens her mouth to argue, and I quickly cover it with my hoof. “THAT IS NOT A CHALLENGE.”

“...fine. Let’s go watch our stupid awesome movie without snacks.”

I don’t know where the snacks came from. We were inches from the theater door when there was a blur of… something… and we suddenly had popcorn and drinks in our hooves. We didn’t even have a chance to verbalize our surprise when the sound of the Glitterfriends theme song rang out through the door.

Taking our seats in the front of the theater, we end up sitting next to the only other pony in the room. A mare in a hoodie and sunglasses who seems to be staring a little to intently at the screen. I swear her little bit of mane sticking out looks familiar, until I notice she isn’t wearing pants, and I recognize her cutie mark.

I wait for the title card to fade out, as the screen starts listing all the actors, and whisper to our neighbor, “Captain?”

She jumps out of her seat, her popcorn flying everywhere and her soda nearly falling to the ground. But she’s got good reflexes, and at least the soda is safe. She turns to glare at me. “SHHHHHHH!”

I can’t help but smile. “Captain, I thought you said you only used to watch the show. I thought it was only okaayyyyy…...”

“Sh-shut up,” she growls, pulling her hoodie down and her glasses off now that her cover’s been blown. “I just… I like some of the actors they got for the movie, ok?”

Runway leans over my shoulder. “Wait… was that you who dropped the extra coin on the counter so we could buy our tickets?”

She blushes, really deeply. “Well, uh...”

Then something clicks in my head. “YOU were the one who gave us our snacks! I only know a hoofful of ponies that fast!”

She sinks into her seat, obviously regretting her life decisions.

Runway and I look to each other, then scoop her up in a big hug. “GLITTERFRIENDS!” we cheer.

“Shut up and watch the movie!” she barks.

-------Thirty minutes later--------

“Glitterfriends!” The three of us sing along with the movie at the top of our lungs. “Friendship sparkles to the eeeeeeeennnnnnnnnd! Happiness around the bend! Not just a trend! We’re forever Glitterfriiiieeeennnnds!”

Chapter Sixteen: “EY, DOOSHBAG!”

Chapter 16: “EY, DOOSHBAG!”

“Really, Dusty, it’s ok,” Runway says soothingly.

The brilliant shade of crimson I’m sporting says otherwise. “No it’s not! There were kids in the theater!”

“Don’t remind me...” Spitfire grumbles.

Despite it being a Sunday evening, the three of us have gathered at a local bar. We all felt it was necessary after the movie. Not that the movie wasn’t amazing, which it was. Hell, we even cried at some parts. Some of us more than others.

My sister pats my shoulder gently. “It’s fine. It happens. There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she continues, consoling me.

Spitfire just stares into her whiskey sour like she’s thinking about diving in and never coming out. “Thank god nopony else we knew was there,” she mumbled. “We can just *glug* forget it and move on with our lives. I mean, it was totally a great movie, anyways.”

“Oh, totally!” Runway exclaims, shifting gears in that way only she can. “That part where Event Horizon was all, ‘There’s nopony here to save you now, Sparklegoth!’, and she was all, ‘I know’ and totally ripped him a new one? SUPER sweet!” She throws back the rest of her drink with a happy gasp.

“It was surprisingly violent for a kid’s movie,” Spitfire mused. “There was a lot of exploding going on.”

I turn my attention to Runway, hoping to change the subject. The more I think about the movie, the more embarrassed I get. “Speaking of exploding, have you told your agent yet that you’re not resigning your contract?”

She chokes on her lemon drop. Her… new lemon drop. “Blrgrrhl. No. No I ain’t, thank you. That’s like, the last convo I wanna have right now.”

Spitfire raises her head and looks curiously back and forth between us. “What contract?”

Runway just sighs heavily and takes a more-than-a-sip of her drink. So I explain, “Runway’s quitting the modeling business. She’s actually going to be moving in with me for the foreseeable future. Of course, she actually has to tell her bosses that.”

“Ahh, shyaddap,” she growls, her South Manehatten accent slipping out.

Which makes my boss raise an eyebrow. “Did… did she just-”

“Yes,” I say, with a slight smile. “It’s worse with her than it is with me, though I’m not sure why. We’re both Southies, but she’s got the thicker accent. I guess I didn’t want to both look and sound alike growing up.”

Runway downs the rest of her drink, and sets it next to a series of empty glasses I hadn’t noticed before. Hoh, boy. “Yeah,” she grumbles. “S’like, who gives a shit where yer from, right? But naw… these model types gotta be like, ‘Oh no, you can’t go around sounding like thaaaaaaaaaaaaaat’, so’s I gotta be all proper’n’bullshit. Wassah point, anywhose? Y’think I’m gonna be any more sexy if’n I sound like some high-falutin’ call gal?”

Spitfire raises the highest of eyebrows. “Did you understand any of that?”

I clear my throat. “Allow me to translate: ‘Who cares where your from, right? But no, the modeling agency says ‘You can’t go around with that accent’, so now I have to sound all prim and proper. What’s the point, anyway? I’m not gonna be any more sexy if you make me talk like a painted whore.’”

“See?” Runway jumps in, throwing an arm around me. “This broad gets it! S’all like, yous don’t lets me talk when I’m walkin’ anywhose, so why’s I gotta sound all stuffy an’ shit, right?”

Again, Spitfire looks to me for a translation. “’My sister understands,’” I explain. “’They dont’ let me talk while I’m on the runway, so who cares what I sound like?”

My boss just shakes her head and drains her whiskey sour. “So why doesn’t your accent slip when you drink?”

I shrug. “Mine only comes out when I’m like, really really angry. Or talking to my parents. Which aren’t mutually exclusive, mind you.”

“Yeah, our folks’s all kindsa dumb. I’ll tell you sumthin, sister, they tries that… that… that not-gay shit again Imma drop ‘em off at th’ lake with a new setta concrete horseshoos,” she grumbles. I feel the warmth of pride in my chest radiate a little. Or maybe it’s the bourbon.

I just take a sip as Spitfire looks at me again. “I’m not translating that one.”

Boss shrugs, and takes a sip out of her new drink. “You know, with all this booze we should really have something to eat. And water. A lot of water. Waiter!” she calls, only to be ignored. There’s a mare a few tables away who brought us our drinks earlies, who looks like she’s got nothing better to do than not her job. I’m about to waive her down when I hear Runway yell over my shoulder.

“EY, DOOSHBAG!”

I open my mouth to translate again, mostly out of sarcasm, and Spitfire raises a hoof to silence me. “No, no, I got that one.”

The waitress rolls her eyes, and comes over to our table, taking our order finally. After she trots off to the kitchen, Runway slurs, with more than a hint of amusement in her voice. “I can’t believe you twos shmucks popped a wingboner at a kids movie."

My boss and I have a short race to see who’s head can hit the table first.

Chapter Seventeen: “HELP, IT’S EATING MY FACE!”

Chapter 17: “HELP, IT’S EATING MY FACE!”

Hangovers. Celestia’s weapon against us all who would dare partake in the sweet nectar of ninety proof whiskey. Should such a terrible fate fail to befall such indulgence, I fear none may ever spend another night sober again.

Of course, such thoughts are usually accompanied by the statement “I’m never drinking again.”

“I’m NEVER drinking AGAIN,” comes a shout from down the hall. I slowly prop my head up, trying to find the source of the god-awful racket. Which is when I discover that I’m not in Kansass anymore. Or at least, my own house.

The familiar sight of the Cloudsdale Wonderbolt barracks slowly comes into focus as I take in the surroundings. Cheap yet fluffy cots. Motivational posters. Steal lockers. Pale blue… everything. “Oh, Luna. What the buck happened last night?” I groan.

“Recruit, shut the buck up or I’ll make you do laps,” comes an authoritarian groan from my left. I steadily but slowly turn my head to see Captain Spitfire a few cots down, burying her head in a pillow. That sounds like a great idea, so I follow suit. This pillow is surprisingly comfy. Probably cause it’s a cloud.

Then the noise starts. *BANG* *KLUNK* *WHAM*

“RECRUIT I SWEAR TO CELESTIA-”

“It’s not me!” I shout back weakly. Then my sister stumbles into the room, and I discover what the buck all the noise is. She’s wearing a flight suit. Backwards.

I didn’t even know you could DO that.

“HELP, IT’S EATING MY FACE!”

Spitfire throws a pillow at me, and sits up glaring daggers at everything. Then she sees Runway stumbling through row after row of empty cots. “Wha… how?! No seriously, HOW?!”

I cry a little into my pillow as my headache gets worse. All this shouting and banging around, it’s like my party goblin went out and bought a set of bongos last night, and wants to try them out. On my audio cortex. “Oh Luna make it stop.”

“...wait a minute! That’s MY flight suit!” Spitfire barks, then dives at Runway, who now thinks she’s being attacked by a bogeymare and a pony-eating snuggie at the same time.

“No, wait! I’m too sexy to die!”

It’s an hour later. The party goblin has since given up on the bongos and moved on to an 8-string guitar. The bassline is both very soothing and super torturous.

Captain Spitfire is out running the newest batch on drills, and I would feel sorry for them if I had any sorry left over to feel. I’m currently busy hogging it all for myself. Runway and I have since been stowed away in Spitfire’s office, where we’re taking up residence on her couch. Since I’m not even supposed to be in today, because of the new Trials Week, I technically can leave whenever I want.

Which is just as soon as party goblin stops repeating the bridge from Master of Puppets in my head.

“So, sis?” Runway asks quietly. There’s some dull roaring from outside, as Spitfire finds somepony new to yell at.

“Yeah?”

“Do you even remember anything from last night?” she groans, nursing a coffee.

I shake my head a little. Which also hurts. “Not much. Just a lot of headdesking and shame at first, then a bunch of shouting, and I think somepony was on the phone for a bit.”

She nods, slowly and carefully. “Yeah, me neither. I don’t even remember the phone. Just some stuff about ‘a grown mare who don’t need no man’. And the headdesking. I don’t even remember why I was doing it.”

I shrug, staring hollowly back into my own drink. We sit like that for a bit, in the dark, until we start feeling better. Then Spitfire all but breaks the door down.

“Motherbucking recruits and their trying to break all my academy records. ‘Ooh, if Rainbow Dash can do it, so can I!’ NO YOU CAN’T,” she growls. Then she notices us. “Oh, right. You two. So… listen. I know we all have like, alpha-omega hangovers right now, but we should probably talk about last night.”

I look up at her, a little confused. “Um… why? TO be honest I don’t even remember a lot of last night,” I admit. Runway just nods in silent agreement.

She looks sheepish. She never looks sheepish. Oh Celestia what did we do?! “Yeah, I figured. But, well, I do. I mean, I always remember what happens when I drink. It’s a talent you pick up when your recruits start trying to get you drunk so you don’t remember telling them they have 4 A.M. drills the next day.” She gives me a pointed look. Which I may or may not deserve. “Anyway, you should probably know there was some… stuff that happened last night.”

“Oh god, did we bang?” I groan. Don’t get me wrong, Spitfire’s like, super sexy, but that’s a whole new can of worms right there.

“No, no we did not do that,” she says pointedly. “Neither did we,” she adds to Runway, as my sister opens her mouth to talk. “Nopony here had sex last night. Or broke any laws. In fact, pretty much everything you’re about to ask me if you did, the answer is no.”

My sister an I exchange looks. “So, if we didn’t do any of that,” Runway says slowly, “What… did we do?”

Spitfire looks up to the ceiling, and takes a deep breath. “Well, you might have mentioned how you’re quitting the modeling business.”

“...ok...” Runway says nervously. I don’t like where this is going, either.

“And you may have mentioned something about not talking to your agent about that yet,” the captain continues.

“...oh, no. I didn’t… call him, did I?” my sister squeaks. Oh god, I remember a phone call.

“No, no you didn’t call him.”

My party goblin takes a break as the hamster kicks her off the wheel, and starts running. “Captain, who did we call last night? While we were very, very drunk?”

She’s quiet for a second. “Well, somepony may have mentioned that your parents didn’t take you seriously when you mentioned quitting to them...”

“...oh, Luna...” Runway whimpers, trying to hide behind her coffee cup.

“And somepony else,” she coughs a little, making it pretty obvious she was the ‘else’, “May have… given you a phone? And told you to call them?”

“You did what.” I say. Not a question. A sentence. With a period. That I wish was a bullet.

“Aaaannnnnd...”

“Oh, CELESTIA-DAMMIT, Captain! WHAT DID YOU DO?!” I bark at her, in panic. I’m amazed she doesn’t yell back. This can’t be good.

She smiles weakly, which is a new look for her. “Um, I may have… um… stolenthephonefromRunwayandcalledyourparentsancientrelicswhodon’tcareabouttheirdaughter? And they might have… taken exception to that? So they said some things… and...”

“Oh for buck’s sake!”

Spitfire gives a small cough. “Well, they said some very rude things, and I may or may not have… invited them here this morning to say that to my face? And yours?”

Runway and I again exchange glances. Filled with panic. “Mom-”

“-and dad-”

“-are coming here-”

“-today?!”

Spitfire laughs weakly, rubbing the back of her head. “...what.”

“WHERE IS YOUR CAPTAIN?!” a voice roars down the hall.

Spitfire points to the door with a nervous grin. “Um, they might already be here?”

I trade another glance with my twin sister, and in a rare moment of true twin-ness, we tell Captain Spitfire, in stereo “Go buck yourself.”

Chapter Eighteen: “And I didn’t even have to turn gay!”

Author's Note

Pack Your Toothbrush, We're Going on a Feels Trip!

Chapter Eighteen: “And I didn’t even have to turn gay!”

Chapter 18: “And I didn’t even have to turn gay!”

Runway and I, still nursing our hangovers, both flinch as the office door bursts open to reveal what might be the angriest pegasus and unicorn in existence. Might be, if I hadn’t already seen Captain Spitfire and Princess Twilight Sparkle in their primal outraged glory at one point or another.

Although, come to think of it, using an alicorn for reference might be cheating. Still.

My mother, Foxfire, is a middle-aged pegasus whose bank account can easily be measured by the length of the stick up her ass. She sports a mane of light green with specks of white that belay her age, and a sickly-green coat. She’s one of those business executives that nopony really knows what her company does, and nopony wants to. Even less the details of how. I wouldn’t be surprised it the phrase ‘Back-Alley Dealings’ was merely a prophetic account of her birth.

My father, Picklebush, is every inch the trophy husband ponies think he is. Tall, strong, and an ex-receiver for the Baltimare Brawlers, he’s one of those ponies who wears middle age like a well-tailored suit. Which is good for him, running that silver fox routine, otherwise my mother would have dropped him for a newer model as soon as he stopped being useful as a parent. Which if you ask either me or my sister, was way before we moved out. A bright silver mane, with remnants of the twine-brown it used to be, sits carefully maintained over a copper coat.

“Where is my daughter?!” our dear, dear mother looks around the room like she’s priming a targeting system. Finding Runway, she storms over to her, and goes off. “What do you think you’re doing, getting drunk with… that-” she points a hoof at me, “-that disappointment at some Goddess-awful hour?! And in front of the Captain of the Wonderbolts! What special little brain cell in that cavernous head of yours did you have to kill to think any of this was a good idea?!”

Spitfire looks so incensed that I think I’ve never seen anypony so offended. Which, given Runway’s long, long history of Freudian antics, is an impressive bar to set. Yet, somehow, the next words out of Runway’s mouth cause my mother not only surpass this bar, but kick it in the shins and say horrible things about it’s sister.

“The same ones that said listening to you for any length of time was at all productive,” she spat.

I don’t think that many jaws hit the floor that quickly since Princess Celestia announced the return of her sister to the throne. I can’t even think of anything to follow it up.

My mother tries, and fails. “Wha-what did you say?!”

“I’d repeat it word for word, but if you didn’t get it the first time I seriously doubt a second iteration is going to do you any favors. So maybe using less, smaller words will help: GO. AWAY,” Runway growls.

I give my Captain a very confused look, wondering if she has any more insight into the brand new shiny pair of ovaries my dear twin sister seems to have grown overnight, but her expression is such a mix of confusion and amusement that I expect Cronenbit to burst down the door screaming copyright infringement. So, in a rare move, I look to my father, who up to this point had been standing around acting huffy, if quiet.

I swear to Celestia, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was a shadow of a smile.

“Where do you get off talking to your mother like that, you ungrateful little-” Foxfire starts, only to be cut off, which, if you knew my mother, was about as foreign a concept to her as doing her own shopping

“Oh, please go on,” Runway sneers, “Do tell me how ungrateful I am for all the work I DID to maintain my modeling career. Or how you spent so much money taking me to all the best schools in the country just to shove me down a career path that didn’t use a single second of my higher learning. I know you love gossip, mother, so here’s some juicy news for you: I QUIT. I’m not resigning that modeling contract, I’m not going anywhere with you or that empty-headed meatbag you tote around on a chain, and frankly, I couldn’t give two bits about how bothered you are by any of it.”

No seriously, am I being Punk’d? Where the hell did this mare come from, and where did she hide my twin? I glance around the room for answers, trying not to admire the brilliant new shades of red my mother’s face is inventing, and find nothing.

My father, in what I can only assume is a rare moment of clarity, steps forward, and rests a reassuring hoof on his wife’s shoulder. “Now, honey. She’s obviously just hungover. You know how angry our family gets when we’ve had a few. I’m sure if we come back this afternoon, she’ll be just fine.”

Now, to understand the sheer volume of surprise that comes next, you should probably understand one very important thing about my family: my sister and I have drastically different relationships with our parents. My mother views me as nothing but a disappointment. A spare tire she didn’t ask for, and can’t return. As far as she’s been concerned, ever since I came out of the closet, I was just a tumor on the family spine leading us to a slow and painful death.

My sister, on the other hoof, was Celestia’s gift to mothers everywhere. Easily manipulated, simply because she loved our parents way more than I seem to, and wanted to do everything she could to make them proud. I felt like that too, for awhile, until everything went to shit for me. Still, my life could have turned out worse.

Our father was a different story. Where I saw an indifferent parent who simply towed the company line and fell into step behind my mother, Runway saw a save haven from all the harshness and bile my mother could spit at a moment’s notice. She’s always been daddy’s little girl. Always.

So you can imagine the near palpitations I get when she looks him dead in the eye and tells him, “If you think my opinion of either of you two narcissistic plotholes is going to change in the next few hours, it better be the best fucking hours of our lives.”

“Wha-honey, dear, don’t say that. You know how much I love you, right? Of course it’ll be… ‘ours’? What do you mean, ‘ours’?” Dear old dad asks, queuing into the conversation a day late and a dollar short.

Runway trots up to me, and wraps a hoof around my shoulder. “Do you know what I’ve been doing the last two weeks? Hm?” When neither of our parents answer, either too mad to speak, or too flabbergasted, she continues, “Having fun. With my sister. You know, the one you kicked out? My twin? Coolest mare in the family?”

I blush slightly, but don’t interrupt her. Mainly because I want her to say more nice things about me while she’s on a roll. “Well, over the last two weeks, we’ve gone partying, shopping, went to the movies, hell, she even took me mini-golfing. I’ve had more fun, and been more of myself, in the last two weeks than I have since she left in the first place. I’ve been trying to find a good reason to leave the modeling industry for years. YEARS. And I finally found her!” she yells, shaking me slightly. Or, slightly for her. My eyes bounce around a little. “I HATE strutting around just to get stared at, in uncomfortable outfits I only wear once, for a crowd of ponies I don’t know. Hell, modeling isn’t even my special talent. I bet you can’t even remember what that is.”

She pauses, waiting for them to come up with an answer. At this point, the anger in my mother’s face has given way to exasperation, and my father seems to be awash with a strange mix of confusion and what I would dare say is pride. On a good day. Like, not today. My mother stutters her way through a few words, while my father offers, oh-so-helpfully, “Of course I do, dear! You’re meant to shine in the spotlight! That’s even your Cutie Mark!”

I facehoof harder than I’ve ever facehoofed. Even combining the sharp pain of my hoof against my forehead, the aching in my skull from the hangover that hasn’t quite subsided, and the emotional pain from just dealing with these two, I still can’t imagine the pain Runway must be feeling right now.

No kid should ever watch their parent forget their special talent.

“NO, DAD,” she barks, and I’m close enough to see her fight back tears. “My talent is shining the spotlight on other ponies! Helping them shine! Finding what makes them the best at what they do and pushing them on to do great things! I became a model so I could shine the light on all the designers trying to make their way in the world!”

I wrap a hoof around my sister as she tries not to cry. Missed birthdays is one thing. Forgetting what makes your child special, what they love most in the world? That’s just cruel.

Unfortunately, unhelpfully, and completely in character for her, my mother recovers quick enough to say, “And what does that have to do with anything? What good is your talent if you’re unemployed?!”

“Ex-CUSE me,” Captain Spitfire intervenes, “But she’s not.” Leaping over her desk, and landing in the middle of the conversation, she continues, “She’s here because I’m offering her a job. Although I can see how that might be foreign to you, given that it involves actual work.”

“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?!” Foxfire spits, having a new, seemingly easier target to unload on. Big mistake. “I could easily buy out this little stunt team of yours and-”

“And BULLSHIT,” I jump in. Watching my sister fight for us is one thing. But As much as I like my boss, she’s not family. Family fights for family. “You couldn’t lay a single penny on this team, or the land they walk on. They’re a branch of the guard. Captain Spitfire here only has one superior between her and Princess Celestia. And I’m just sure he’d be more than happy to hear all about this busybody corporation who thinks they can undermine the Department of Aerial Defense with a quick bit. In fact, he might like to know where all those quick bits come from.”

Just like that, my mother seems to think she has another easy target. Me. Easiest target she’s ever had. The queer Wonderbolt dropout who has to work two jobs just to stay in her own home. The whiny little mare that got booted to the curb as soon as it was legal with nothing more or less than a backhoofed smile and a few torn up Daring Do posters. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, young lady! You will show your mother some respect!”

She uses the same tone of voice I remember from being six years old. Trying to keep up with my perfect little sister. All the yelling and disappointment and not being good enough. It should all come flying back, and it almost does, if not for the slight squeeze from my sister. So I get right in my mother’s face, and say with more satisfaction than all the defiance and awesome-hot ladysex I’ve ever had: “If I see her, I will.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother so affronted. For once in her entire life, she has nothing to say. She takes one look at me, one look at my defiant twin sister, who I’ve never been more proud of, and turns to walk away. She stops at the door, and barks behind her: “Bush! We’re leaving!”

As if the surprises today won’t stop, my father turns to her, and regards her like a curiosity, instead of the bossy tyrant she’s always been. “No, I don’t think so. I want to hear all about my baby girl’s new job.”

He turns to look at me. “Both of them,” he adds, and for the first time since I left, I see him wear a smile. A true, proud smile.

Foxfire stands there with her mouth agape, as everypony in her family she’s ever had control over give each other a hug, completely ignoring her. I don’t even see her walk away through all the hair and wings in my eyes.

After a few heartfelt moments, Runway raises her head. She’s got that ‘hamster-on-the-wheel’ expression again, the one that comes with its own soundtrack of grinding gears. Then she turns to Spitfire. “Um… what job?”

Captain gives her a sideways smile. “Well, to be honest, I’m gonna have to kick somepony out to make room, but that’s ok,” she says, rubbing a hoof against her chest and staring at it interestedly. “Our current PR official sucks wad, anyway.”

My dad gives Runway a big proud hug, like she’s his ten year old princess all over again. “That’s my girl!” I stand back and let them have their moment, until they both drag me into another hug. “Both my girls! I can’t believe my little stars work for the Wonderbolts!”

“Yeah!” Runway cheers. “And I didn’t even have to turn gay!”

“RUNWAY.”

Chapter Nineteen: “FOR EYEBROW!”

Chapter 19: “FOR EYEBROW!”

The next few weeks go by in a blur. Getting Runway settled in with all of the stuff from her storage locker is quite the chore, now that dear old mom isn’t paying for it. And by chore, I mean we had to spend a day moving it to an identical locker three doors down that she paid for out of pocket, a solution we almost came to a day late and a dollar short. Almost.

I still went to work as usual, both for the Weather Factory (who was surprised to get a rather considerate note from Captain Spitfire as to why I’d missed a few days), and the Wonderbolts. I was surprised to find that, even with Runway working PR for the team, we didn’t see each other at work as much as I’d thought we would.

Which still is a number greater than zero. “Ey, Dusty!” Runway calls from a table in the back of the cafeteria. It’s been about a month since she landed the job and moved in with me indefinitely, and I’m still getting used to her being around all the time.

I nod my acknowledgment, and trot over with a bag lunch in my mouth. Runway and I had taken to making our own lunches, after she’d gotten a little too nosy about how the cafeteria here prepares its food. Some things were just never meant for mortal eyes. I plop down in the booth next to her, and drop my bag on the table. “So how’s like, the universe, and everything been treating you?” I ask, giving her a gentle elbow as she goes to take a bite of her sandwich. Her… whatever the buck that is sandwich. Why is it pink?

“Well, it’s a hell of a lot easier, I’ll tell you what,” she drawls, taking a bite and mewling pleasantly. “Wan sum?” she asks with her mouth full, offering her sandwich to me.

“Not even if it meant I’d never have to do laps again,” I deadpan. “I swear, you’re the only pony I know who’s here more often than the Captain. Most of the main team isn’t even here every day. Not to mention the recruits.”

“You mean you?” she jabs, returning my earlier elbow with a bit more enthusiasm.

“...ow. And as a matter of fact, no,” I say gleefully, holding up a little black box with a shiny badge in it.

“WhaaAAAAT?!” she cries, taking in the sight. “They made you a full-on Wonderbolt?! NO WAI.”

“Yes ‘wai’.” I take out the badge, polish it on my fur, and put it on. “Spitfire said that, between my obvious flying skill, and the recent ‘leaps and bounds’ I’d made in learning about teamwork, loyalty, and, y’know, NOT demolishing ponies with unnatural disasters, that I’d put together the necessary mare-hours and passed all the tests for full rank ages ago. She just wanted to wait for me to pull my head out of my flank. Which, to be honest, was largely your doing.”

“Oh I know,” she says smugly. “You still owe me a new crowbar.”

“Ouch,” says a gravelly voice nearby. I look up to see our Captain taking a seat on Runway’s other side. “You, uh, you need a trip to the burn ward, Rod?”

My sister raises an eyebrow at me. “Uh, ‘Rod’?”

Before I can answer, Spitfire explains, “It’s her new call sign. We all get one. Hell, Rainbow ‘Crash’ made a huge deal about hers. At first.”

Runway turns to me. “Explain.”

I heave a sigh, and put down the veggie wrap I was about to take a bite out of. “See, each of our ‘call signs’ is a form of hazing. Rainbow ‘Crash’ got hers for what I understand to me the most spectacular wipe-out in Wonderbolt history.”

“Hehe, yeah,” Spitfire chuckled.

“I got mine two days ago, when they first promoted me. I’d gotten so excited about finally being a full-fledged team member that I did a few victory laps. During one of which I decided to plow straight through a cloud, y’know, basic stuff. Unfortunately, that cloud happened to be hiding a cleverly disguised napping pegasus of the Rainbow variety. I crashed right into her, knocking her out of the cloud, and I got stuck,” I explain.

Runway gives me a look. “Stuck.”

“Yeah-huh,” Spitfire chimes in helpfully.

“In a cloud.”

“Yup.”

“...go on.”

I roll my eyes. “So I’m stuck in this cloud, right? And Rainbow’s all mad that the ‘newbie’ knocked her out of her sleeping perch when she’s supposed to be running drills on the new recruit-hopefulls. So she decides to buck the cloud I’m in, and knock me out of it. But as it turns out, she’d used a cloud from the wrong part of storage. The reason I got stuck was because it was super super dense. And It was super dense because it was a storm cloud. So, a bajillion volts later, I fall out of the freakin sky, and land on Soarin’s back. Of course, I’m still like, electrically charged, and the cloud ain’t done doin’ what it do, so it lets loose another lightning bolt. And electrocutes us both.”

At this point Runway is rolling in her booth she’s laughing so hard. “Oh… oh my stars. So your… your call sign is ‘Lightning Rod’?”

“Yeah-huh,” Spitfire says again, taking a sip of soda.

“BWAHAHAHAHA.”

I look at my smug as buck Captain, then at my sister, rolling on the seat laughing. “Hey Captain, did I ever tell you about the time Runway accidentally ‘presented herself’ to Princess Celestia?”

Spitfire does a spit-take, and leans over the table with more enthusiasm than I’ve ever seen. “TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME.”

Runway sits bolt upright, all joy gone from her face as if she’d never experienced it before. “Dusty...”

“Yeah, it’s a great story. Also why she’s not allowed in the castle anymore,” I elaborate. A detail that I know is a rather sore spot for Runway.

My sister’s upper face looks like it’s convulsing. Her eyebrow is twitching violently, yet she’s trying to glare daggers at me. I’m not sure who’s winning. “You better not.”

I make a point of looking at her thoughtfully, then returning to the story. “Ok, so she’s supposed to be modeling this dress for Princess Twilight’s coronation, and Princess Celestia-”

“FOR EYEBROW!” my sister shouts, diving at me viciously.

“WHOA MAMA!”