Motley The Mare

by Delirium

First published January 1st, 1970 00:00

Motley was always different.
In primary school, while all the other fillies and colts were always doing schoolwork and chatting about news and celebrities like Hoity Toity, Motley was off creating tunes and dancing whenever she got the chance. Calls of "You're wasting your time" and "Start doing something worthwhile" fell on deaf ears. Even if other ponies were ignored, there were ponies who couldn't be…
Motley's parents!
Rainbow Dash and Soarin want their daughter to, as it was expected, follow in their hoof-steps.
"You should already be flying with the pros; I was when I was your age," Her mother says.
"At your age I was flying with the Wonderbolts!" Her fathers says.
Says, says, says, says. That's all Motley hears.

Chapters

That's A Good Start To The Day

That's A Good Start To The Day
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Motley The Mare

That's A Good Start To The Day

Motley Dash woke up to see a face inches from her own.

"Wake up, Motley! Up, up, UP, UP! Get ready for school! Teeth, shower, clothes! UP!" Rainbow Dash, currently member of the Wonderbolts and, more importantly, Motley's mom. Motley awoke with a start and an utter of "Eep!" and promptly fell out of bed. Motley looked up at her mother and furrowed her brow.

"I thought school didn't start until September?" She asked, a puzzled look on her equine features.

"It does, hon. I registered you for flight summer school! Isn't that exciting?" Rainbow grinned down at her daughter, tugging the covers from her unwilling hooves. Motley suddenly let go of the covers and gaped at her mom.

"You registered me for flight summer camp. FLIGHT summer camp. Flight SUMMER CAMP." Motley grinned at her mother confusedly. "This is a joke, right? Pffff! That's funny." Motley chuckled.

"I thought... I thought you liked flight school... I thought you loved flying." Motley's mom said sadly. Motley looked surprised and opened her mouth in an "O". Rainbow didn't notice.

"No, no, mom -- I do like flying. I do." She quickly said. "I'll just.. Go get ready." Motley stretched a hopefully authentic-looking grin onto her face and her mom brightened up. She nodded then trotted out of the room. Motley trotted across the hall to the bathroom and brushed her teeth carefully. Then, after that, she took off her pajamas and stepped into the shower. Oh, how good it felt to be under the warm, delicate surge of water that ran from her multicolor mane to her cloud blue hooves. She reached for the body wash and scrubbed quickly and rinsed, then grabbed the towel that hung above. Then she trotted into her room.

Motley noticed an outfit, more likely a uniform. She donned the current flight camp uniform: a loose white blouse under a sky-blue sweatshirt, then looked into the mirror.

Not bad. Maybe flight camp won't be bad after all, Motley thought.

She stepped out of her family's cloud house equipped with her backpack and started flying. It wasn't easy for her as it was for her parents. For them it was something natural, like breathing. For Motley, it was like trying to do magic with a horn that wasn't there. It was forced.

Her dainty-seeming but actually dead clumsy hooves pushed off from the ground, and her wings started buzzing in a Scootaloo-ish sort of way. She lifted off the ground, yes, but wobbled horribly, her small hooves clawed the air like a cat on curtains and the backpack adding to the weight, making it even harder. Motley swept the sky, looking for ponies who might be watching her terrible flying. She caught the glance of one stallion, blushed embarrassedly, and quickly looked away.

Motley was not proud of her flying, but it got her where she wanted to be better than chariots, which took time and patience, which she did not have. Motley finally reached the place her mother said flight camp would be and sighed. Her hooves landed on hard, firm cloud and she looked around. In every direction, stallions and mares around her age -- about 15 -- Her flying, swooping, doing mid-air barrel rolls, fancy tricks, and racing. Motley scanned the camp and spotted a large, She trotted briskly to the stallion about fifteen feet from her and asked,

"Are you a coach? Do you know where the dormitories are?"

"Yes." His harsh, gruff voice answered in a Manehattan accent. "Ovah there," He pointed with his hoof.

"Th-thanks." Motley stammered and was on her way.