“The usual, ma'am?”
Fleetfoot groaned. She had just sat herself down, head resting on her forehoofs. Both eyes were squeezed shut, trying to somehow compensate for her aching skull.
Truth was, even apart from her head, more or less everything hurt like hell after what she had been through earlier. Waving a hoof, she tried dismissing the offer for what she considered the usual. It would take something stronger than just cider to make up for today. If such a drink even existed.
“...well?”
“No, not really,” the pegasus mare muffled beneath her breath. “I've got some headache to kill. And depression. Mix me something to deal with that.”
The bartender drove a hoof through his thin mustache, carefully observing his guest for a second. Though Fleetfoot didn't see him doing so, she was almost certain that was exactly what happened. He'd always do so when in doubt. Tonight wasn't the first time she had wandered into his pub, and though she never bothered for the stallion's name, she did know him all too well. Noticing the short silence, the Wonderbolt felt more or less confirmed in her assumption.
“Well, I should tell you there's better ways out of that,” his rusted, elderly voice answered. “But hell, I ain't no therapist. I'll get you somethin'.”
And with that, their short conversation seemed over. Fleetfoot still didn't bother to look at the bartender, but judging from the sound of his steps, he seemed otherwise occupied. Soon, she heard him shouting something over to another customer, reassuring her the focus had shifted elsewhere. Nevertheless, Fleetfoot kept her frustrated position for another few moments. She had hardly observed her surroundings yet, when somepony else suddenly spoke up.
“Been a rough day, I guess?”
Had that been addressed to her? Usually, ponies wouldn't bring up anything apart from a lot of fangirling around a Wonderbolt. They could be annoying, but easy to shake off after some years of experience. Still, not the sort of thing Fleetfoot needed at the moment.
Carefully, she opened her eyes. Her view quickly shifted to the left, where she presumed the voice to originate from. To Fleetfoot's dismay, somepony was in fact sitting there, trying to start a conversation.
The mare – a fellow pegasus, as Fleetfoot noticed quickly – was no-one she had seen here before, nor anywhere else. Or simply hadn't noticed her. After all, she never really paid much attention to any of the regular ponies whenever she visited the pub with Soarin and Spitfire by her side. The three of them would usually use the place to get some calm relief after a lot of stressful days at the academy. But today...well, right now Fleetfoot didn't feel like having company, anyways.
“Can I help you?” she asked in her usual, hoarse voice. The tone that swung with it was all but inviting.
“I don't know. There's really only one way to find out.”
Holy Celestia, what a freaking retard.
Though she probably should, Fleetfoot didn't feel at all guilty about that thought crossing her mind. The mare's face by itself seemed sufficient to back it up. That sheepish, indifferent grin would have driven anypony crazy, and her light-golden eyes didn't really help her gain any reputable impressions. While one of them seemed loosely fixed on Fleetfoot's face, the other one went in a completely different direction, lazily drifting off somewhere to the upper right.
Fleetfoot sighed. What in Equestria did she earn this for?
“You want something off your mind?” she asked. “Well alright, spit it out already.”
The blond pegasus gave her a sympathetic smile. “You're Fleetfoot, right? One of the three main Wonderbolts?”
Well, at least some idiots still think I'm popular.
“Yeah, well. What's it to you?” Secretly, Fleetfoot still hoped to be left alone eventually, though that probably wasn't going to happen. She should have known better.
“Nothing, really.” The cross-eyed mare carefully lifted up one of the cups standing in front of her, taking a short sip of cider from it. “I just wondered why you're here on your own. So far, I've only seen you coming here with the other two.”
Of course.
Hadn't that been, what she came here to forget about in the first place? And what took her drink so long, anyway?
Fleetfoot rubbed her temple with a hoof. In the brief silence that followed, loose memories from earlier today slowly came dripping back. Again.
A lever. One simple lever, and just for a day. Nothing could go wrong.
A number of cadets, slowly lining up in front of her. Rising tension.
The needle shifting all across the scale with every little increase of acceleration...
Finally, the command she had been waiting for: “RELEASE”
And a simple pull. With the difference of a split second, suddenly leading to...chaos.
Soarin's eyes opening wide in horrified realization, Spitfire's helpless, painful gasp...
Dozens of newbies staring at her in terror, on the verge of panicking...
Her every limb going numb in shock...
“Are you okay?”
She snapped out of her daydreaming. “What? Oh, uh, sure...just...”
“Wandered off there for a second?”
Fleetfoot nodded, forcing a sad grin on her muzzle. “Yeah...that.”
The mare carefully took another sip of her cider. “Had some trouble at work then, I guess?”
Tell me about it.
“Do I even know you?” She could easily feel her voice becoming increasingly sore, especially on an sensitive issue like that. Not that she specifically cared about her intonation, right now.
“Oops, how rude of me,” the mare answered with a chuckle that – to Fleetfoot – sounded incredibly idiotic. “I'm Ditzy Doo, but you can call me Derpy. I know who you are, of course.”
“Charmed.”
Not.
Luckily for her, it was at that moment the bartender interrupted their conversation. His horn lit up, placing a huge glass on the table in front of Fleetfoot. It was filled to the top with some purple liquid, which gradually faded to orange from top to bottom. She raised a questioning eyebrow, which placed a mysterious grin on the stallion's face.
“Personal recipe. If that doesn't help ya, I don't know what will,” he said, before he turned to Derpy, and added, in a tone much less dramatic: “You okay so far?”
The grey-coated mare nodded once, a brief smile on her face. He quickly turned his back towards them, approaching some other customers.
“So,” Derpy slowly resumed after he had left. “Something gone wrong today. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do I look like I'm up for that?” she angrily replied, once again trying to fight back her memories. Especially concerning Spitfire. Fleetfoot couldn't recall any other time, at which she had seen her commander as mad and disappointed at the same time. That glare of hers could have easily broken most commoners' spirits. And even somepony like Fleetfoot wouldn't have lasted much longer than she had to.
Meanwhile, Derpy shrugged. “Well, I can't force it out of you.”
How about you stop trying, then.
For a while, neither of them said a word. Derpy made some effort to focus on her cider, whereas Fleetfoot tried her best to ignore her. Not that it made their encounter any more comfortable. In order to shrug off the feeling, Fleetfoot skeptically raised up the glass in front of her. After staring into the unusually mixed specter of colors for a few more seconds, she tilted it towards her muzzle, draining a first small sip out of it.
The drink came across rather cool and refreshing. Or at least, it didn't burn its way down her throat like she had expected. Then again, it didn't actually bother her that much. As long as she could still drown her sorrows in alcohol, anything would have to do.
“Come to think of it,” Derpy suddenly started, forcing Fleetfoot to hold back a spontaneous groan. “You live in Cloudsdale, right? I've been a resident of Ponyville for most of my life, so I'm not always up to date...”
Awkwardly, Fleetfoot removed the hoof she had instinctively placed on her forehead the moment Derpy had started talking. It took her a while to realize her inappropriate facepalming. Though the other pegasus didn't seem to care. Or maybe hadn't even noticed, with those eyes of hers. After taking a breath, Derpy immediately continued:
“...well, I've heard there was an accident. A pretty bad one, they say. You don't happen to know...”
Fleetfoot silenced her with a notion from her forehoof, one eye slightly twitching. She didn't comment on it, though. And actually, she didn't even want to.
Derpy seemed to realize the repulsed reaction quickly enough, as she remained silent for quite another while. Fleetfoot did notice a few nervous glances the mare cast over to her from time to time. But other than that, she wouldn't say anything.
Even though Fleetfoot tried hard to concentrate on herself and her drink, while not letting herself wander among what happened earlier today, she couldn't help but peek over to Derpy as well, at some point.
Derpy hardly noticed her. The gray pegasus had drained the last of her cider, and seemed to draw some sort of imaginary circles on the counter with her forehoof. From her observations, Fleetfoot hardly doubted her ever even getting close to the shape she tried to produce. While the Wonderbolt overlooked the phenomena for another few seconds, Derpy suddenly stopped, lifting her eyes back up.
Fleetfoot immediately turned her eyes away, trying to avoid any kind of awkwardness. Though that probably was exactly what she had already gotten herself into.
“Are you gonna stick around for some time?” Derpy then asked, clearly hesitant about herself as well.
Fleetfoot nodded lightly. After all, there weren't that many other places for her to go to, anyways. Or at least by tomorrow, there wouldn't be. She was almost certain about the bad news spreading all over Cloudsdale as they spoke. The remaining parts of Equestria wouldn't stay behind very long.
With a low groan, she let her face sink back into her forehoofs. Even as Derpy got up, she hardly noticed. Let alone the mare leaving through the back door.
But then again, Fleetfoot didn't care. If she had finally gotten some time for herself now, that really was all she could ask for.
The next half hour crept across incredibly slowly. And painful for that matter. Trying not to focus on anything in particular, Fleetfoot caught herself pointlessly gazing off in the distance several times. Most of the time, actually. She only interrupted it for taking another sip off her drink, or occasionally checking the clock on the opposite wall.
She wasn't really waiting for anything, of course. I wasn't like Spitfire would walk in at any moment and pat her on the shoulder, going on about everything would be alright. Sure, that had happened before. But after today...nope, not gonna happen.
And what else was she supposed to wait up for? Derpy might have told her to stay for some more time, and Fleetfoot had actually caught herself throwing a look around the room one or two times, looking for her. But there just wasn't any point to that. By now, she had probably paid for her drink, and left.
Still, Fleetfoot guessed it didn't turn out too bad. After all, it meant she could finally sit back and enjoy the evening all...by...herself...
She shivered, then immediately rolled her eyes in sarcasm at herself. She got what she wanted, didn't she?
It took a while, but eventually today's events started unfolding in her head, once again. And this time, since she had nothing to distract herself, every single second came back to stay, each flashing in front of her eyes tenfold. Maybe even twenty.
With a sigh, Fleetfoot tried massaging her temples, only for her forehoofs to eventually get back to her eyes. Tiny drops of liquid had appeared in their corners, which was to be taken care of, for sure. A Wonderbolt like her couldn't just get all sentimental out in public, so she did her best to rub her eyes dry, subsequently holding back any further tears.
Another, lower sigh escaped her muzzle, as she placed her hoofs back onto the counter. To her increased frustration, the drink was all finished. She had obviously drained out the last few drops during her mindless gazing phase, leaving her with nothing but melancholy.
Trying not to show any sign of weakness, she vigorously pounded a hoof on the wood in front of her. When the bartender showed up, she tried to sound as sore and confident as usual. A large cider, that's all she wanted. The special treatment from earlier had obviously failed. It took about another minute for the next drink to arrive, not tremendously increasing Fleetfoot's mood. She lifted the cup to take a first sip, as...
“Feeling better?”
“GAH!”
She almost dropped the entire mug, only balancing it out last second. Still, a good deal of cider swung itself out, as it splattered onto the counter, and all across her dark-grayish Cloudsdale sweater.
“Oops. My bad,” Derpy added with a sorrowful smile. Fleetfoot rolled her eyes.
“Good thing I had this thing on,” she replied, still somewhat sorely. “Wouldn't want my coat to smell like a drunkard's for a week...Even if nopony would actually care about that, now.”
So cross-eyed Mary has returned, she added in thought. Great, just great.
“Well,” Derpy said, ignoring her frustration. "Feel better about talking, now? My schedule's free for the evening, so...”
“Where have you even been all the time?” Fleetfoot returned, hissing.
Ugh, dammit. That came out wrong.
“Me? Oh, just a couple rounds on the pinball machine. It kinda cheers me up sometimes, because it's pretty much the only thing I'm good at. Not sure why...but better than nothing.”
It was only then that Fleetfoot's eyes wandered down to Derpy's lower back, first spotting her cutie mark. To the Wonderbolt's surprise, it was made up of seven silver balls itself, thus confirming her statement. The irony, combined with all confusion, almost made Fleetfoot chuckle.
Her amusement was about as great as her embarrassment, when Derpy quickly followed her eyes, glancing down at her flank as well. For a moment, her cheeks turned slightly pink. “Yeah...exactly,” she stumbled, nervously. “I...I don't know, why there's seven of them, though. Lucky number, I guess?”
“Yeah, probably,” Fleetfoot replied with faked laughter in her voice. The silence ensuing made the entire situation all the worse for her. Derpy drew another mental circle on the counter in front of herself, before she looked up, again.
“Uh...Fleetfoot?”
“What?”
“So, what exactly brought you here?”
Another sad smile crossed Fleetfoot's face. To her own surprise, it was a lot more genuine than it had been the last time.
“You don't wanna know, honestly. I mean...why would you ask that, anyway? No offense, but I barely even know you.”
Derpy shrugged. “If you have some issues, sometimes it really helps just to talk about them. Sure, we've never met before. But we can still try helping each other, right?”
Fleetfoot's eyes shifted around nervously for a second. After that, she softly closed them, lowering her head altogether.
“Well...you asked for it,” she said, wincing. Regretfully, Fleetfoot looked down at her forehoofs one more time. She took two deep breaths, while again trying to hold in her emotions. She knew this near-outburst she just had shouldn't have happened, but honestly, should anything that happened today?
As soon as both eyes had dried, she gulped, just before raising her voice:
“I...I've killed a guy.”
The words didn't nearly come out as loud as they should. In fact, they were hardly above a whisper. It was no wonder, when Derpy leaned in a little closer, her eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Excuse me?”
“I killed...a cadet...at the academy,” Fleetfoot repeated. Though her words were somewhat more audibly, they were constantly interrupted by her sobbing. “In...an accident, you know. It wasn't...on purpose...”
Derpy's eyes widened, though she remained silent for time being. Instead, the mare looked at Fleetfoot in a mix of shock and curiosity.
“Told you," Fleetfoot added with a nervous giggle, trying not to choke on it. The tears started to form in both her eyes again, but she didn't mind. In fact, it hardly mattered, whether she lost the last of her dignity now or in the days to come.
“Okay...but how...,” Derpy gulped. “How did that even happen?”
Fleetfoot sarcastically shook her head. “Can't get enough, huh?” she asked. After another, even longer sigh, she continued: “You know, at the academy we've got a couple drills for the newbies...”
She scratched her forehead. This would be one long, painful narrative.
“We got this drill...thing. It's called the Dizzatron. Dumb name, I know...wasn't my idea. It kinda spins you around a couple seconds, then shoots you out into the open. All you gotta do is recover, and land safely as quick as possible. Sucks, I guess. Did pretty awful myself the first time...”
Fleetfoot rubbed her eyes. Judging from the silence, Derpy wasn't quite ready to let her off the hook, just yet.
“Well, we got a new group of cadets earlier today,” she continued. “The guy who usually controls the thing fell sick, so I volunteered to replace him. Always make a good first impression and all, y'know. Only I...I...”
A shock ran through her athletic body. She noticed a single tear loosening itself from her right eyeball, then starting to stream down her cheek.
Well, this was it, then.
“...I did pretty well on the first three. The next one though...I screwed up. He spun around for some seconds like the others, but then...I missed the release signal, and got my timing completely wrong. I mean, I still pulled the lever and all, but...well did so about half a rotation late. Send the bastard straight down, instead of upwards.”
The initial, single tear was quickly followed by more. Every single one of them made Fleetfoot's wish to get out of this mess more and more desperate. If somepony had just stabbed her right there, she couldn't have cared less.
“Yeah, so...straight down. Right through the clouds. After that...all we hear is...some screaming, and...a damp s-sound, then...” She couldn't take it much longer.
“...nothing.”
After uttering that last word, Fleetfoot's head collapsed onto the counter, streams of tears running down her face, as she continued sobbing uncontrollably. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”
For the next five minutes, neither of them spoke. Derpy remained silent the entire time, probably trying to give her the time she needed. Fleetfoot herself felt unable to say anything more. She was too absorbed in pouring out all of her emotions onto the counter.
A Wonderbolt in tears must have been quite a sight. At least several ponies had turned to her in curiosity, already. And yet, she didn't care.
Also, as opposed to what she had expected, letting go of herself like this just once actually felt good. By the time this second outburst ended, she felt more relieved than she had been in months, actually.
She cast a look over to Derpy, who gave her a weak smile. Fleetfoot sighed.
“You...you can imagine the captain giving me hell, afterwards. I was confused, and worried about everything, so...I ran away. Couldn't really decide, where to go, so I came here. I don't know...”
She briefly fell silent once more. Looking at Derpy she could easily tell what the mare thought: She knew she hadn't been told the entire story just yet.
“Spitf...the captain wants me to go, tell the guy's family, tomorrow,” Fleetfoot thus added, her voice ever so weak. “Can you imagine that? Imagine, you'd have to tell a mother and father their kid's dead. They raised him with all the love and care they could give...and will never see him again. Just because you were to DUMB to pay attention!”
Forcefully, one of her forehoofs slammed down on the wooden plank in front of her. Again, it took a few moments for Fleetfoot to compromise her actions. “Sorry...sorry,” she mumbled, after realizing what she had done.
“Just, just...imagine that...for a second. I mean...sure, there's gonna be legal trouble and all, but I've dealt with that before. But just...telling them...I can probably just go shoot myself after that.”
Kill myself...well, it was worth considering by now, wasn't it?
“Why did you want to know, anyway? You can't help me through all that.”
Derpy nervously bit her lower lip. Or at least Fleetfoot guessed it meant her being nervous.
“Well, thing is,” the gray pegasus mare told her. “Most ponies don't feel all that comfortable around me. With the...eyes, and all. I feel sort of like an outcast at times. And when there's others that feel the same around me, sometimes we can just help each other...somehow. Call me naive or anything, but that's just who I am...I guess.”
Curiously, Fleetfoot raised her eyes. “What now?”
“You feel better after...well, after what just happened, right?”
“Uh...yeah, kinda...”
Derpy smiled at her again. “See? Maybe tomorrow, we can talk again...about what happened, I mean. It won't fix the world or anything, but at least you'll feel better about yourself, and won't try to...to commit suicide, anymore. I mean...that's something, isn't it?”
“I guess,” Fleetfoot hesitantly replied. “You'd be here tomorrow?”
Derpy nodded. “If you need me to. I shouldn't have any trouble.”
Fleetfoot caught herself smiling at the other mare. And this time, she really meant it. There was no trace of any faking in her expression, only a complete, genuine smile.
“In that case, I'll be here.”
“That's all I needed to know,” Derpy said with a satisfied grin. Looking at the time, she added: “Well, gotta go. I've taken long enough for my break, the Doctor's probably getting impatient...”
“The Doctor?” Fleetfoot asked with a raised eyebrow. "That a friend of yours?" Simultaneously, Derpy's face froze. Whatever she had just told her, probably wasn't meant for her to spill out.
After placing a number of bits on the counter, Derpy started shifting in her seat, uncomfortably. “It's...uh,” she stumbled. “It's sort of a long story. I can tell you tomorrow, if you want to...?”
Fleetfoot nodded, the smile still on her face.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “Yeah...I'd like that.”
