Equestrian Roadtrip

In a brightly lit cathedral, a young couple stands underneath a stained glass display of Celestia and Luna circling around a sun and moon overlapping each other. The light from outside shines through, bathing them in a soft glow of white, blue, yellow and other light colors. Above the couple is an arch made of white wood, wrapped in a rainbow of flowers, and next to them, on a slightly elevated platform is a wooden podium with the sun engraved in gold. It is being occupied by an older stallion wearing a white robe with a gold collar and a sun necklace hanging from his neck.

The groom, wearing a simple black tuxedo, smiles at the bride, who is wearing a flowing white dress with silver flowers and vines stitched to it.

“I can't believe this is finally happening,” says the bride.

“Me neither,” says the groom.

“Are you ready for the ceremony?” asks the priest.

The bride giggles and prances in place. “Yesyesyes!”

The groom nods. “I've been ready since I first met her.”

The priest smiles, his old heart warming from the scene of love before him, and he opens a thick book to a bookmarked section. He takes a moment to let the two lovebirds to stare into each others eyes, then begins the timeless ceremony.

“Dearly beloved, we come together in this day of matrimony to celebrate the new union between-”

FLASH!

The priest blinks, and the young couple smiles awkwardly at a photographer that has taken a seat on the front row. She is tall earth pony mare with an orchid coat and cherry colored tail, wearing a vest full of camera rolls, a camera contraption hanging off of her shoulders, baseball cap for the Coltorado Mountaineers as well as dark sunglasses, and she is chewing gum like a grazing cow.

The priest clears his throat and looks at his book again. “We celebrate this new union-”

FLASH! FLASH!

The trio glares at the photographer, and she waves for them to continue.

“Don't mind me,” says the photographer.

“Yes, well...” says the priest slowly. “We come here today to celebrate this union between stallion and mare, who, against all odds, overcame their trails and-”

FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

The priest slams his hoofs on the book. “Okay, cut that out!”

“If you didn't want pictures you shouldn't've hired a photographer,” says the photographer.

“You're not even the right one!” says the bride.

“Yeah, where's the one we hired?” says the groom.

“Ate some bad food. I'm filling in for her,” says the photographer.

“Can you at least turn the flash off?” says the priest.

“Sure. Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

The photographer adjusts her camera, shifts her position, inflates her bubblegum until it is a big, pink ball that pops against her muzzle. The trio grimace as she licks the sticky candy off of her lips and nose and starts chewing again. When she motions them to continue, they hold their glare on her for a few more seconds before putting their attention back on each other, putting on the best fake smiles they can.

“So, anyway~” says the priest, casting one last look at the photographer. “We're here to celebrate a special day.”

Click.... Clickclick... Click...clickclcickclcickclick....

“We're here for a wedding and it is very nice-”

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick

“These two obviously love each other-”

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick

“And are going to get married, have lots of kids and-”

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick

“Call security on the worst photographer in history!”

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick

Click.... Click...

Click...

Click.

The photographer stops pushing her button and stares at the main trio. All three are red faced and trembling, with their ears folded against their skulls, the broom's eye twitching and the bride grinding her teeth. She then looks around at the filled cathedral, which is now a void of silence and angry eyes.

“What? None of you have ever seen a photographer before?” she says.

A few minutes later, Tempest Shadow trots out the back door of the cathedral and tosses the hat, vest, and empty camera contraption into the back of a wagon where a drooling mare lays on her back, snoring and kicking her leg. Next to the mare is an empty container for Taco Hut, and Tempest smirks and pats the sleeping mare's hoof.

“Thanks for the getup,” she says.

She then goes down the street, baking alive in the sunlight, passing a sidewalk band playing guitars and singing in Spanish in the comfort of a tent, some vendors under more tents selling colorful pinatas, wooden skeletons, and corn covered in mayonnaise and flavored salt among other snacks. Her destination, which she reaches rather quickly, is a double storied sand colored building with arches and lanterns along its a perimeter and clay tiles on its roof. It is a bit too fancy for her taste, but she is not complaining. The price is fair and is quite humble compared to Twilight's abomination of architecture.

Upon entering the hotel, a bell dings and a rush of cool air brushes against her hot body, pushing off the sweat that has traced the muscles of her body.

It feels nice. Wonderful, in fact, but she will never admit that. She has an image to keep up, and that image is a stone faced veteran of countless battles who loathes any and all forms of comfort. Even if the comfort is in the form of cool air or a good looking stud who offered her a drink only for it to not be because of attraction but because of a stupid dare that ended with him getting his face slammed into the table and her and Grubber having to high tail it out of the town lest they wanted to expand the fight to the whole pub and possibly end up in a dungeon.

Tempest shakes her head. 'And there I go again, wandering in thought.'

She makes her way up to the second floor, ignoring the pleasant greeting in French from an old hag of a pony who looks like wrinkled skin tossed on broom handles, and she quietly enters her hotel room. A fan blows, a radio is broadcasting the weather, and sitting on the bed, reading a Watchponies-Powerponies crossover comic, is Grubber without his armor and a thawed out bag of frozen beans on his head.

“So, the low for tomorrow -like today- is going to be 113 degrees and the high is going to be 115,” says a stallion over the radio. “Why the heat? I don't know. You will have to ask our neighborhood pegasi! They know all about the weather and why it is so dang hot!”

“Chill out, Map,” says another stallion.

“No, you chill out! All of you chill out! I'm done with this place! I quit!”

Tempest turns off the radio and goes to a small kitchen that is spotless from the ceiling down to the tiny corners, and there she rummages through the sparkling fridge, happy to see some refrigerated water left, as well as half a pan of cherry pie. But the pie she will save for later. Now is time for hydration!

“Any mail?” asks Tempest.

Grubber points at the enchanted tube Twilight gave to them on the day of their departure, which is sitting on the nightstand next to the only bed in the room.

“Twilight mailed you,” says Grubber.

“About what?” asks Tempest while pouring herself a glass of water.

“I'm allowed to read your mail?”

Tempest rolls her eyes and after taking a gulp of the crisp, cold water she has a look at the rolled up parchment sealed with a wax stamp of the Princess of Friendship's cutie mark. She stares at it for a moment, pondering what it could be about.

Mushy friendship stuff? Danger? Lunch invitation? Ghost hunting? Tickets to a wrestling match? The missing tickets to the National Waifu Convention that mysteriously disappeared when Twilight had her friends do that IQ test?

So many possibilities.

Though, if there is one thing Tempest has learned about Twilight, it is that she likes to waste time with pointless letters and has no idea what a hint is. Especially when that hint has been not replying to a single shred of mail ever since she left Ponyville. But, nonetheless, Tempest still carefully unrolls it using her teeth and hoof and flattens it on the nightstand, just to see if the letter will be different.

Dear Tempest Shadow,

It's me (Twilight Sparkle) again. I'm just wondering how you are doing since you haven't written back after you left. I'm fine, by the way, and so are the other girls. Fluttershy made socks-

“Whatever,” scoffs Tempest.

She pushes the letter away, gathers her armor, and turns the metal plates and jumpsuit into a makeshift pillow for her to rest her head on when she lays on her back on the carpet, which has also been cleaned to the last dust bunny's demise. Such a feat only took eight hours of constant vacuuming and another eight of scrubbing, and another eight of vacuuming again. But it kept her busy and now she does not have to worry about a dirty room or sniffing up someone else's fur during her stay.

“You really should return Twilight's messages,” says Grubber. “She keeps sending them and I think you're hurting her feelings by not replying.”

“If I have something to say to her then I will,” says Tempest, eyeing the bland ceiling.

“I thought you two were cool now. That means you write often, doesn't it?”

“It means I'm not trying to capture or hurt her or her friends.”

“Ohhh... Any mail for me?”

Tempest sighs. “No, Grubber. There is no mail for you.”

“Oh.” Grubber suddenly hops off the bed, grabs a white sun-umbrella with Celestia's cutie mark he bought from a vendor back in Canterlot and goes to the door. “I'm hungry. Want anything?”

“Surprise me.”

Grubber grins. “You sure?”

With a hint of a smile, Tempest glances at her chubby hedgehog companion. “As long as there are no mushrooms.”

“Got it!”

Grubber then opens the door, flooding the room with a heatwave that dries out Tempest's eyes, and thankfully he closes the door rather quickly, leaving Tempest alone in the room to stare at the ceiling, the weight of the heat dragging her eyes down. Her eyes drift shut. And then they open! And her eyes drift shut. And then they open! And her eyes drift shut. And then they open! And her eyes drift shut. And then they open!And her eyes drift shut... And stay shut.

They shut and keep her in the sweet, comfortable darkness.

Tempest rolls on her stomach, digs her hoofs and face into her pile of metal plates and sturdy fabric, enjoying the warmth of the sunbeam on her back and the carpet to cool her stomach. It really is a comfortable position, and just as she is entering the dream of bells and flowers, an acoustic guitar shatters the dream and her baggy, bloodshot eyes snap open. Then someone starts singing and her ears perk up as she glares at the door, muzzle scrunched and a growl rumbling in her throat.

“Give a little bit... Give a little bit of your love to me
I'll give a little bit... I'll give a little bit of my love to you~
There's so much we need to share
So send a smile and show you care~”

Tempest stomps towards the door, ears folded, nostrils flaring and eye twitching as very unkind words try to push their way out of her mouth.

“Alright, alright~
I'll give a little bit... I'll give a little bit of my life for you~
So give a little bit... Oh, give a little bit of your time to me~
See the mare with the lonely eyes
Oh, take her hoof, you'll be surprised~”

Tempest yanks opens the door, and as quickly as the door opened her scowl switches to wide eyed shock with ears perked high when a familiar pony runs her hoof along the acoustic guitar for a long, drawn out twang. When the melody of strings fades, the pony lifts up her blue eyes and grins brightly while returning the guitar to a sweaty, mustachio stallion wearing a colorful sombrero.

“Gooooooood afternoon, Fizzles!” says Pinkie Pie.

“What. The. Buck.”