Learning to Fly Like Learning to Sing

by scifipony

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Rarity, Slice of Life, Twilight Sparkle, Applejack
Length: 3062

When we slid into Pinkie's Party cave, some of us learned Pinkie's party plans. But when I got to read my dossier, in private, I learned something that might change the trajectory of my entire life.

When we slid into Pinkie's Party cave, some of us learned Pinkie's party plans. But when I got to read my dossier, in private, I learned something that might change the trajectory of my entire life.

Had Pinkie Pie read my soul and provided a vision of a future I could not resist? Or was she once again evilly taunting me, to get me to react? I could help animals, but could I help ponies and help myself?

A My Dinner with Andre meets MLP interlude within Party Pooped. You'll never watch the episode and see it the same way again. The story does not take into account the events in subsequent episodes.

Published 2015-07-04 22:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-07-04 22:50:02 UTC

Learning to Fly Like Learning to Sing

And here we were in batty Pinkie Pie’s preposterous party cave, and I read aloud a dossier on Twilight put together by the seemingly randomest of ponies. “…But she’s afraid of quesadillas.”

My eyes widened as my words visibly wilted Twilight and she said, “No, I’m not! They’re just so, uhh, cheesy.”

Rarity craned her head over my shoulder, but I shut the file and hugged it against my fur with a hoof. She huffed and faced Twilight. “Well, dear, Shining Armor told me you splashed fondue on yourself when you were just learning magic. Really, time to get over it. And…”

A light blue aura appeared over the file, but I held it even tighter. I said, “These are Pinkie’s notes.”

“And you didn’t read Twilight’s file?”

“And I’m sorry about that.” Mostly.

Rainbow Dash cried, “Look, Pinkie!”

I turned toward the slide down which we'd slid and instantly felt Rarity tug the folders. I flinched, lost the gold and white one but kept the most important folder: the yellow one, the one labeled Flutters, mine. Dash chortled, hovering below the pink bags of steamers and floss on the ceiling. I loved how she always tried to protect me, and helped me be more courageous despite her frustration at how shy I was, but I found her pranking thoroughly immature.

Rarity continued, “Well, there’s a lot in this folder. Huh? A cocktail party, without balloons. Look how she’s layering gauze and velvet to create intimate conversation nooks and laying out tables and chairs.” The picture rotated, then Rarity flipped to the next page. “Wow, that recipe for berry punch looks pretty strong. Even a uniform design for the serving staff. Black linen, lace, and pearl buttons? I think this girl is holding out on us, wait… At the Ritz Manehatten to celebrate the opening of the Carousel Boutique Design House?” Rarity began fanning herself. “Talk about having confidence in her friends, oops.”

The contents of the yellow folder launched into the air from her impromptu fan, including some hay and a half dozen apple seeds that stuck together, probably spat into Pinkie’s hair by the vampire fruit bats. Rarity caught it all, then did a double-take, then squealed.

Applejack narrowed her eyes. “What’s so darn amusin’?”

“She’s planning your wedding—”

“Wha? That ain’t funny,” Applejack said, sidling next to Rarity to see the page, which Rarity tilted away.

“—to Trenderhoof?” Rarity continued, her voice rising.

“Now wait a minute. Me and him, him and me—“

“Oh, Darling. I am so over that stallion it isn’t funny.”

“No more hidden shrine or nut’in?”

“Except for my autographed copy of Manehatten—City of Fashion, and subscriptions to magazines that contain his column, indeed, nothing.”

“But he is good look’n. Slim is kinda skinny, but he's got meat in all the right places, if you know what I mean.”

Rarity glanced upward, her cheeks coloring, and she did her little in-place eyes-closed dance. She giggled.

Applejack chuckled, essentially a farmhoof giggle.

“So, if he and I were to go out, you wouldn’t mind?”

She quieted. “No, but I would expect a full report.” She batted her eyelashes.

“I’m not looking to get hitched to no wagon, understand.”

“You are going out with him!”

“I’m not saying that. No how.”

“You are. You definitely are!”

I glanced at Applejack. After Twilight brought us into her circle of friends, and I got to know Applejack, I learned to tell when she skirted the truth. She would never make a complete cowgirl; her face wouldn’t let her bluff at cards. She did this little scrunchy muzzle thing, which she patently did not do now. She spoke the truth.

Rarity said, “So Pinkie is planning your wedding?!”

Applejack burst out in guffaws.

The page in Rarity’s magic curled into a roll and whacked Applejack’s cutie mark so hard it had to sting. “You ruffian.”

Applejack bucked away, still laughing.

Rainbow Dash said, “Good one, AJ. Guys, just look at this stuff. Candy traffic cones, bags of pre-spun cotton candy, enough gift boxes for a department store during Hearths Warming Eve week. Disco balls for three simultaneous parties. Is this an inflatable cake?”

“Nope. That’s a de-hydrated one.”

“Is that even healthy?”

“Is sugar healthy?”

“Point taken.” Dash touched one of a dozen red cylinders with green stripes; it suddenly turned brown and disappeared amongst the shadows on the shelf. “Whoa. Look, Twilight, a shelf of stealth party cannons. That’s how she booby-trapped your castle.”

Twilight tapped her chin. “She asked for a chameleon potion after I moved into the castle. Now I know why.” She sighed. “You know, Rarity, you are right about the fondue.”

“Of course,” she said. With Rarity’s attention divided, I grabbed the folders back.

“Hard to believe, but that, uh, a cheesy burn was responsible for me becoming a Princess."

Everypony quieted.

"I had always had my nose in a science or math book, with no interest in magic at all.”

“That's our purple-smart nerd,” Rainbow Dash quipped.

“Spot on. I wanted only to understand how the world worked, not something arbitrary like magic that could alter physical laws and forces without rhyme or reason. I spent all my time indoors, not caring for magic at all. I was a runt—was still one until this wing thing—and a late bloomer. Then I saw Celestia raise the sun and suddenly understood I had missed a important link between magic, mathematics, and the celestial spheres. I watched her pull the sun upward and saw differential equations dance through my mind.”

Dash interjected, “Only you would see numbers dance.”

“But they prance, they twirl, and they spin… The problem was, while I could see Celestia do it, I couldn’t make the numbers dance. Father couldn’t afford a tutor, so Shiny got me a primer from his public school and taught me, but when it came to magic, I was not any good.”

The word “good” echoed in the cave below Sugar Cube corner. Not any good described this day perfectly. I said, “What matters is that you tried.”

“And I did, but the gulf between the primer and Celestia was unnavigable, so I returned to the simplicity of my science books.” She scuffed a hoof on the floor and studied one of the 8-foot candy canes. “Being home-schooled because I was too runty, I didn’t have other foals to encourage me or even taunt me. I was growing up to be a non-magical unicorn.”

“But you didn’t,” I prompted.

“No, I didn’t. One night, Father knocked over a fondue, sending a wave of molten cheddar toward Mom. I grabbed it away, splashing myself instead. I had used magic.”

“It was the cheese, then,” Dash said. “Should have known.”

“It sent me to the hospital. There's a scar stretching from my withers to my right fetlock under my fur, but I had made the numbers dance. Suddenly obsessed, I babbled about numbers to the doctors. The next morning, Father got me an advanced magical mathematics text from the Canterlot Archives—he’s an assistant archivist.”

Dash said, “And one book wasn’t enough?”

“A bookshelf couldn’t hold them all.”

“I suppose, after a few months of taking books home, the princess noticed?”

“Pretty much.” Twilight puffed up. “The first self-taught home-schooled unicorn to win a full-ride scholarship to Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns.”

Applejack had snuck up on my opposite side. I jumped when she said, “And what screwball revelations does your folder hold?”

“What folder?” I flapped my wings and hovered, holding the papers to my chest.

“That’un that has your name upon it.” The cardboard thunked when she tapped it hard enough that I felt it on my sternum. I floated away from her.

I landed and let my hair fall in front of my eyes. “I didn’t look at it.”

Dash said, touching my shoulder. “I’m with you sister. Wouldn’t look if you paid me a hundred bits.” She began gesticulating widely, buzzing in front of each of us. “Where’s the fun in learning the secret too soon? You’d miss the anticipation, the challenge of wheedling for clues, the guessing, and the surprise. I never open a present before its time. Not ever.”

Me, I hated anticipation.

Applejack bobbed her head side to side, somewhat derisively, mouthing words as Dash spoke. She went to the next filing cabinet and said, “Family files—Looky here. It’s notes for…” and she babbled.

For me, the content of each revealed file made Pinkie Pie spookier than ever. Twilight might be the most magical pony I knew, but Pinkie took intuition to a similar level. When she seemingly teleported into the party cave, it was all I could to keep from screaming. But here she was, claiming to have traveled to and from Yakyakistan, a week’s journey in an afternoon. Judging from Applejack’s expression, Pinkie had, or had more likely had deluded herself. Just as suddenly as she arrived, what we’d said made her think of an idea, hop on the slide, and sloop right up in defiance of gravity and friction.

My jaw dropped, and I blinked. How? I shook the thought from my head and said, “So, um. Do we walk back up the slide or… or what?”

Rainbow Dash just laughed, holding her belly. “Fly, silly filly. Twilight, I can find a rope or you can levitate the others.” Dash darted up the trapdoor into Pinkie’s room. Twilight flapped precariously behind. Her red aura then enveloped Rarity and Applejack; suddenly weighing just ounces, they scrambled up the slide.

“Fluttershy?” Twilight called from above.

“Just a moment. I can do this.”

“Sure. Meet us at the train depot.” Hooves clattered across the ceiling, and down steps to the right. Faintly, I heard voices in the bakery, but nothing more. I had the cold basement cave to myself.

After stacking the folders on the rocky floor, the yellow one on top, I took a deep breath and it came out as a sigh. I had lived pretty much without other ponies between the time I fell out of Cloudsdale—during Rainbow Dash’s first race—and Twilight Sparkle's arrival in Ponyville. I’d doctor ponies' animals, run the pet center, sell eggs, and do my part during Winter Wrap-up and all… I mean, if I didn’t stand up for the animals, they’d be hurt when other ponies woke them up. So, I spent all my years as a filly being really private, and I’ve always lived alone. I built my cottage from the bits I earned. I’ve always gotten myself whatever it was I wanted, if it didn’t mean interacting or conflicting with anypony. My life has always been want, get. Never ask, never beg, never expect things from others. And certainly never birthday parties, for me, anyway. Too many ponies.

I lay before the Flutters folder, legs in front of me on the rectangle of cardboard. What could Pinkie possibly be planning for me?

I pushed the folder open with a hoof. The first page was titled, How to startle Fluttershy. The paper crinkled as I pushed it aside.

The subsequent paper-clipped pages were plans for the next Ponyville Pet Center fundraiser. I really hoped not to find birthday party plans because that would mean I would have to find a way to hint, without hurting Pinkie’s feelings, that I would really rather not be put in the spotlight.

Perhaps she had learned that lesson?

The next sheets were my likes and dislikes. She was very observant.

The last one was titled, Carneighie Hall Opening Night After-Party. My wings flared by themselves as a shiver traveled up my spine. I looked around, reflexively assuring nobody was watching, and folded my wings. My heart beat incredibly fast. I almost closed the folder, but I couldn’t—any more than I couldn’t help skipping to read the last few pages of a novel if it became too suspenseful. I could well deal with egotistical fantasy, so long as nopony knew.

Apparently, the venue would be an outdoor alley-way courtyard between two tall mid-century buildings in the 800 block of 7th Avenue downtown Manehatten, with dozens of specific ethnic food carts, a punch fountain, and projectors to display films of performances. There would be a stage where the Pony Tones would open for Sapphire Shores, and Sapphire would do a trio including me. I smiled at that. I enjoyed performing in my mind’s eye, but couldn’t imagine for a moment I could do it for real.

A trio?

The next page was another un-Pinkie Pie-like sketch, better than the one in Rarity's folder. This schtick of hers, coloring in foal coloring books with crayons and barely keeping in the lines had always seemed too practiced to me. This, however made me stand up, literally with hooves clattering, and stare.

The prismatically colored pencil sketch on black paper was smudged and shaded exactly enough to provide that certain frission necessary to breathe life into the scene. The shadowy brownstone brick buildings, the crowds of dancing pastel ponies drinks held high, Sapphire’s dolphins jumping on a big screen, the Pony of Pop in front dressed in a blue jeweled white jumpsuit, and—

—and a me in green chiffon French haute-couture that had Rarity’s trademark design elements in hem and sparkle all over it, with an emerald-studded boom mic along my cheek. But next to me stood a white unicorn filly, lanky, almost my height—and few mares matched my height. This unicorn, who sang into a classic chromed unidyne mic levitated in pale green magic, wore only a silver necktie that reflected the audience and the rainbow klieg lights. Curls of pink and purple cascaded across her forehead and neck. The picture posed her in three-quarters view, highlighting her flank, which bore a musical staff displaying a three-tone harmony quarter note centered in a red heart as large as Big Mac’s apple.

Last week, Sweetie Belle had asked me if I could teach her about singing. I had said I would think about it. Could Madam Pinkie actually predict the future?

I slapped the folder shut and rocketed into Pinkie’s candy color room; everything made me claustrophobic. I gently pushed open a window and shot off across the thatched roofs of Ponyville.

Exertion forced to breathe; I flew light-headed. Fortunately, I flew above all the buildings with no other pegasi near or I might have careened into something. All I could see was that picture.

A certainty filled me that if I said yes that I’d be responsible for Sweetie Belle earning her cutie mark. What freak of destiny gave Equestria’s shyest pony a voice like mine—and supermodel looks? Could I let myself be responsible for teaching Sweetie—whose fine untutored voice could only improve were she to have a proper coach she’d listen to—even if that meant I would have to perform?

Gliding toward the train depot, I saw empty tracks and sheep marching with picket signs. The agitated royal yaks stood on the platform across the tracks from my gathering friends, the five ponies who had taught me how much more I could be if I would willingly be together with them. They’d taught me the meaning of the words “Friendship” and “Synergy,” and that I could assert myself, that I could protect my friends, and make life better for other ponies. Together, we had saved Equestria. And they had taught me that I could meld my fantasy of singing in a group with the joyful reality of actually performing.

Learning to give had gotten me so much. Sharing made everything better regardless of the cost.

Everything.

Baby steps were over. I could do this. I would do this, make Pinkie’s sketch reality. Even if that meant sharing me.

As I landed beside my five friends, I smiled at them. Twilight mistook my expression as a lack of trepidation on my part, which she probably thought a good sign that things would work out, but my mind wasn’t on the yaks or what Pinkie was saying about thanking some striking sheep.

No. Something in me had broken, and it made me very happy.

Later that evening, I found Rarity’s sister at the party and told her, “Yes.”

Author's Note

Update: This story does not take into account the events in Crusaders of the Lost Mark. For a discussion of why I haven't rewritten the story, please refer to Nichtraucher's wonderful comment and my reply.

This isn't so much a follow-up to Party Pooped as it an interlude or intermezzo of unexpected implications. I don't think I'll see the ending of the episode the way it was intended ever again. Wouldn't Fluttershy make a perfect mentor for Sweetie? (Based on the 3rd EqD WTG prompt on this page.)

In my mind, the mane 6 not only vary in age but in size. I see Rainbow as barely out of high school and Fluttershy a year older, and Rarity older than Applejack, though both are in their mid-twenties. And surely supermodel Fluttershy must be tall and unconventionally elegant. Everything I saw in the first season made me think of Twilight as a runt and a weakling, with compensatory strong magic. Sorry, if this isn't your vision of them.

Sins of the Writer
1) Some long sentences. Given a week, I might rewrite them, but I recognize them and they're here to stay.
2) The title is both allegory and metaphor, perhaps too literary but I like it.

Lessons Learned
As I wrote in my blog, the only idea I had was a My Dinner with Andre scene, and really no where to go with it. I started to have Rarity and Applejack spar, but for two days I got no more than 300 words, but I kept at it. Then Fluttershy said something and acted secretive. I gave into her and the story took off in a flight I could not have predicted, right into my heart. The lesson is to keep trying. Keep working it until the characters get a life of their own, then let them write while you watch in awe.

Critique Requested
Should you decide to critique, please tell me what you thought I said or meant citing specific sections so I can compare with what I thought or meant. I will give no excuses and just say, thank you!