Flash Sentry forced himself through the city, the cuffs of his jeans and the bottom of his guitar case dragging against the pavement.
He checked his phone for the fifth time. It was a few minutes past two in what had no right to call itself morning yet, and it felt like it: the bleary lights of a few shops still on among the dark displays, the muffled sounds of a party somewhere in the distance blaring and calling in shrieking police cars.
Flash kept moving.
Sixth time, lingering on the screen long enough to take a closer look. His wallpaper was an adorable image of Ditzy Doo waving at him on some grassy field, her lightbow spread against the sun’s light. Last he’d heard, Ditzy had left to handle an assignment from Sunset herself, and if Sunset wanted Ditzy to do something, that meant a temporary leave of absence from this world. Her phone would certainly be out of range.
Flash looked back up, trying to take his mind off Ditzy. Posters for the Ultra Bowl were plastered on a dozen walls and hung from a few light posts, displaying a variety of weighty men in jerseys, shoulder pads, and helmets. A loud radio blasted some talking heads’ combined analysis of the upcoming championship game between the Detrot Steeples and the Clipland Cannons two days from now; Flash didn’t register any specifics. Balloons and banners protruded from a few shops, a head start on the big game’s parties by rallying support for either team.
Partly out of boredom and partly because his legs were getting tired this late or early, he spread his wings and flew... or at least absentmindedly hovered.
A scroll through some social media stuff on his phone, and he saw a post from the Crystal City Emperors’ Chirpr feed. Yet another look-on-the-bright-side kind of video from a game a few months back, showing a tremendous pass of the football from one end of the field to the other, resulting in a miraculous touchdown by Emperors quarterback Nickel Cent to running back Picking Fence. Would’ve been nice if those points weren’t the only ones they’d earned in that game.
That was the last straw for Flash. Never mind his earlier decision that firing their third coach in as many years was the last straw. He shoved the phone back into his jacket, so distracted and tired that his wings disappeared, and he fell back onto the sidewalk.
Flash expected throbbing pain to bloom on his arms, but he didn’t get it. He stood up, expecting his legs to jolt him, but he didn’t get that either. A self-deprecating groan escaped his lips. He was a careful flier, rarely did he ever smash into anything. Not crashing had made him forget the anti-crash abilities that came with the wings.
Dusting himself off, he took stock of his surroundings. On his right stood his destination, The 53rd, an old and seedy brick-and-mortar sports bar whose lights still glared at this overdue hour. Muffled TV noise and whirring fans sounded from within.
Flash sighed and entered the bar, leaving the lonely night behind.
He didn’t find much company inside. Two talked to each other in low tones at a corner table, one of them routinely scratching her neck feathers as she listened to her unicorn-aspect friend ramble, bottle of gin floating above her gesticulating hand. The last one, earthen, just moped and stared mindlessly at a TV tuned to some sports news channel.
Flash didn’t know if that man was processing the news of Rainbow Dash pushing to rename her upcoming professional league to the Awesome and Xtreme Criffleball Association to further draw viewers away from the Football Coalition of Amareica or if he just wanted to look at something. At least Rainbow Dash insisting on the addition of the word awesome in a professional context got a laugh from someone who probably didn’t have all his marbles in the bag.
It wasn’t enough humor for all-marbles-inside Flash, though. He trudged to the counter, sat on a stool, and slammed a lazy hand down on the wooden surface to signal for the bartender.
“Well, what can I do for you?” asked Straight Shot, a chubby earth aspect busy in the universal act of wiping glasses, though the approaching closing time excused that. He didn’t wear fancy bartender clothes like his upper-class counterparts did with their ties and black vests, just a polo striped shirt, a baseball cap, and a pair of thin glasses perched above his trademark walrus mustache.
Flash stared at the wall mindlessly, eyes half-open in their baggy sockets. “I’ll have a Strong Redcap,” he muttered, giving Straight Shot a passing glimpse.
Shot angled an eyebrow, his wiping hands having stopped in a little surprise. “Not the usual?”
Flash waved his hand around. “Yeah...”
A clean glass in the rack later, Shot gave him a long look. “Are you sure, Flash? I don’t want to carry you out of here. Again.”
“Just call me out if I get too tipsy, OK?”
Shot bit his lip before turning to the shelves of bottles behind him. “If you say so.”
While the bartender poured his black and tan, Flash glanced at the bar’s other hanging TV sets. More hype for this year’s Ultra Bowl that he tuned out. Various random highlights showed football at its finest: miraculous interceptions, whizzing kickoff touchdowns, almost-missed field goals, out-of-nowhere tackles. The inclusion of magic had rocked the football scene for a short while—a tackle ending in the victim being thrown out of the stadium had been a staple shenanigan to cackle at—but now, it just was, with one coach floating his X’s-and-O’s whiteboard in the huddle while a quarterback carried half a dozen barrels of Crocade on his own during a break.
Straight Shot stuck the glass of brown beer on the counter. The liquid settled in a cloudy surge, creamy smoke swirling to the bottom of the glass and tiny bubbles floating to the surface. Flash gawked at it with a half pint of boredom and a half pint of apathy, squishing a cheek with his hand as Shot poured the second layer.
Flash received his drink, now clothed in black and adorned with a nice little beret of foam on the top. He fulfilled the custom of staring at the horizon before drinking Strong Redcap, although tradition wasn’t in his mind tonight. The coffee-like smell of this roasted batch of brewed barley, with that bittersweet, almost chocolatey taste coursing down his throat... temptation came, urging him to chug the whole thing down. He wasn’t fried enough to give in, though.
“So what’s gotten to you lately, Flash?” Shot said in his signature rasp, picking up another glass to wipe while eyeing the rest of the patrons lounging around.
Flash set the glass down on the counter. He could feel the cream mustache on his lips, but he didn’t bother to clean it. Gazing at Shot’s eyes through those spectacles, he gravelly said a few words:
“We still suck.”
The Carbon Field wasn’t made of carbon, much to the dismay of naive upstart jewelers everywhere, but the grass of the Crystal City Diamonds’ ballpark still shone like diamonds. The players standing around on the field shone too, with their brightly-colored uniforms and equipment. A good number of the Diamonds shined especially brightly, the sun’s reflection off their somewhat crystalline skin dazzling dozens of spectators in the stands.
More than a few of those spectators wore sunglasses just to be safe. Flash wasn’t among them, but Sonata, the one who’d given him a free ticket to the game, had her pair over her eyes proudly as she inhaled the luscious scent of fresh grass.
“Want a burrito?” Sonata said, offering her tuna burrito to him.
“Nah,” he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Ate before I got here.”
Sonata shrugged. “Your loss.”
She took another bite, exposing her nasty razor-sharp teeth. Flash recoiled at that, a bit fearful of Sonata and her messy eating habits.
The Diamonds were to battle the visiting Whinnycity Tornadoes in their yellow and orange uniforms this afternoon. Not a lot of people huddled in the stands to watch this admittedly unimportant game in the season. There wasn’t much of a narrative between the Diamonds and the Tornadoes, what with them being in opposite conferences to start with, but it promised to be an intriguing match-up: the visitors were on a nine-game losing streak with a few players injured, so the Diamonds did have a chance against them.
At least that was what Flash wanted to think. It was his first time watching a baseball game after everything changed. The Continental Alliance of Baseball hadn’t been warned of magic in advance, so they’d had to delay the season to sort out new rules for this new world…. which explained why they still had a few regular games to play in the middle of October. Among other things, major changes had included building bats specific to each major aspect and their equivalents and pitchers developing their own pitching styles depending on said aspect: winged players got normal bats and used ordinary pitches; stronger ones were given much more durable bats and usually gave more powerful throws; and unicorn aspects had fragile, magically conductive bats and a dizzying variety of tricky off-speed pitches.
Flash wasn’t much of a fan of baseball, but a free ticket was a free ticket, and he hadn’t much planned for the day. Surely seeing supernatural baseball would be fun, especially with a sizable chance of winning.
“Anything super for you lately?” Sonata asked Flash, finishing her fish burrito and licking her fingers clean.
Flash held back a scowl at the interruption and scratched his head. “Not much.” A pause. “Would it be insider information if I told you about how some big corporation is stealing prototype portals in the shadows to take out the competition?”
“Ooh!” Sonata lent him a finned ear. “Any leads so far?”
“Not really. Sunny Flare’s investigating for now. She’ll tell me when it’s my time to shine.”
Sonata turned to the empty spot beside Flash. “Waiting for someone?” Her waggling eyebrows showed precisely what she meant by that.
Flash pursed his lips, keeping them shut. It was hard to see with the sunglasses in the way, but he knew Sonata rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” she said, “I won’t press the issue.”
And with that, both turned to the game about to start.
The Diamonds pitcher’s very first throw went way to the left.
That fun victory started looking less likely.
So it continued. A Diamond fielder ran towards the falling ball, only to trip on the grass and fall alongside it, giving Whinnycity a free inside-the-park home run. A Diamonds catcher somehow got the ball stuck in his hat without noticing, thanks to the Tornado batter’s sneaky spell, giving Whinnycity two more runs. A Diamond base runner tripped on dirt and broke a few toes inches short of second base, sufficiently severe to yank him out of the game to recover.
However, the seventh inning showed a glimmer of hope: Crystal City’s star batter Cool Sparks hit an incredible home run, shooting it out of the ballpark. With the home team finally on the scoreboard, the thousands of fans erupted into wild cheers and applause, laden with whistles and hoots for the climax of the game.
Later reports revealed, though, that the ball had landed in Sunset’s newly rented apartment, having made a hole in her ceiling. Needless to say, that glimmer of hope became stained by fanatics’ calls to have Sparks dragged away. Such blasphemy against their “Glorious Proclaimer and her blessed holy dwelling” deserved punishment fit for a rank heretic. (She herself simply said “I knew I should’ve stayed in my old place.”)
Such blasphemy also netted the Diamonds a single run against Whinnycity’s nineteen.
Throughout the maddeningly boring game, Sonata tried to cheer Flash up: repeated offers of more tuna burritos for him came and went, offers of just the burrito without the tuna came and went, attempts at small talk about his favorite songs and his band came and went. All came up fruitless.
The eighth inning came. Flash contemplated more ways the Diamonds could disappoint him even further. It wasn’t exactly the happiest of mental gymnastics.
“It’s what?!”
That was Sonata, initiating an argument with a concession salesman offering her barbecue-flavored popcorn... at a price that should have been expected at a baseball game.
“It’s $8.99, ma’am,” the salesman replied.
“8.99?!” Sonata yelled. That brought just about everyone nearby to look her way. “You think that barely-there box of weirdo kernels is worth my precious nine dollars?”
“... it’s $8.99, ma’am.”
“That’s nine minus one cent!” She stood up and thrust a finger at his chest, baring her fangs. “How about you take me to your manager so I could have a little talk with him? Or else...”
She opened her mouth wide. Wider. Wider still. To the salesman’s visible horror, she had plenty more fangs to work with.
“Sonata, no!” Flash yelled.
He pulled her back to her seat, or at least he tried to. Sonata resisted, insulting and threatening Flash along the way while the salesman called security.
When the dust settled, Sonata was escorted out of the stadium, slapped with a ban from Diamond games for the rest of the season.
That siren-popcorn disturbance left a bad taste in Flash’s mouth, spoiling whatever was left of his baseball appetite. He left the game in the middle of the eighth inning.
He found out later that the Tornadoes had won with 29 runs to the Diamonds’ one and only. It went without saying that it marred the rest of his day.
Flash slumped his arms onto the counter, as he took another swig of his beer. It probably wouldn’t help to tone down his distress, but it felt like it might.
His eyes still on the listless young man, Shot cleaned one last glass and put it on the rack. Relieved of a big part of his lock-up duties, he slowly took a chair and sat down with Flash across the counter, briefly glancing at the other patrons still there.
“I see...” Shot muttered, scratching his thick mustache. “I don’t remember much from that game... other than the score, that is.”
Flash groaned, hand on his forehead. “It’s difficult to stay a fan, especially when it’s like there’s no escape from the misery.”
“No escape, eh?” Shot said, rearing his head. “The Diamonds aren’t the best in the CAB, but you got other sports to back you up, don’t you?”
Flash rolled his eyes. “You know what I’m talking about.”
Shot’s reply was his own eye-roll. “There’s still three other teams out here. If you don’t give me clear info about it, then I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
That spurred a small chug for Flash, refreshing his throat for the next part of his tirade. After wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he said, “Crystal City Monarchs.”
“What about them?”
Flash stared down at his beer, allured by the sleek black in the glass before snapping out of it. He shook his weary, sleep-deprived head, stringing his mental faculties together to push on through the night—and the booze racing in his tuckered-out veins.
“They’re just another factory of disappointment, Shot...”
Dread permeated the stadium’s halls, reaching even to the entrance atriums. Flash could feel its presence from within the dining area here: a handful of passionate fans two tables over coupled with more than a few stares piercing through the white brick walls. The devotees’ talk had already made a bad turn in tone, and there was no stopping them, especially those with a certain man’s face crossed out on their picket signs.
Korf Dimer a Coward! said one of their signs in crude marker.
Part of Flash wanted to join in their hatred, to voice his support of their cause. The rest just looked back on bitter memories.
One day in second grade, his father had pointed to a certain high school senior in front of Canterlot High who was speaking to a flurry of cameras and microphones blocking the way.
Flash’s second-grader mind had no idea what his dad meant with the words prodigy, sensational, and phenom. However, he’d known they’d been words hurled upon the smiling teenager signing fans’ papers—and his father wanted to get his autograph, too. Perhaps those gibberish-sounding things had been nice words.
Flash hadn’t caught the opportunity to watch Korf play for Canterlot High until near the end of the school year. One afternoon, distracted from his homework by a familiar name, he’d set his eyes upon the TV screen to see a creature on the warpath: Korf dunked on people before dishing them death stares, shot three-pointers while sticking his tongue out evilly, drove to the basket like a barreling bullet, crossed over helpless defenders with no regard for their ankles... through it all, he’d glared at his opponents with a fury of a thousand suns, all of which had no mercy to offer.
The young Flash had been enraptured. Here on display, the embodiment of pent-up Crystal City dreams, the underdog hero of the ALB.
Before Flash had known it, draft day had come for the Amareican League of Basketball. His father had told him to come over and watch the program to see Korf join his hometown team. It’d happened the way he’d predicted it, and the Monarchs had chosen Korf as their first pick.
While Flash hadn’t gone crazy over basketball, he hadn’t denied that Korf Dimer was someone special, the likes of which he might never see again. The young boy had savored every minute Korf was on the floor—whenever he could feasibly watch a game, actually—even if he’d never understood what this rule had meant or what that commentator had just said. All he’d seen was a one-man army, an unstoppable force of nature before whom teams of trained elites would crumble and plead for mercy.
Home games would always roar with that electric air only dreams come true could create. Flash had witnessed grown men cry in their seats, seeing their savior bringing them closer to ultimate victory—and their vindication had begun. At the end of his first year in the ALB, Korf had become Rookie of the Year and, naturally, Most Valuable Player. On his shoulders, then, would lay Crystal City’s bright future.
One problem: the Monarchs hadn’t made the playoffs.
They had never gotten enough wins for a postseason trip. Despite Korf’s monstrous performances, the team had played like he’d been the only professional there: everyone else had wasted their possessions, turned the ball over one too many times, or fell to the floor and broke their ankles... and that was if they hadn’t gotten injured before the game, or in the safety of their own homes over the weekend. Panicking management hadn’t helped, trading players every few months to see who’d perfectly complement Korf, to see who’d stick, failing miserably in the process.
Then one day late in his high school life, Flash had heard it: the Monarchs had reached the playoffs for the first time in history. The next day, a parade of a thousand fired-up fans marched through the streets of Crystal City. Around the nation and even the world, old haha-Crystal-City-sucks mockery had been silenced, replaced by universal acclaim. TV networks then hyped up the wunderkind’s journey through the postseason. A single question had settled in, burning in everyone’s thoughts: How far would he go?
Not very. The Monarchs wouldn’t win a single game. They’d be given an unceremonious exit in the first round.
Days after that, the Big Change would happen, and the rest of the playoffs had to be delayed thanks to players suddenly able to fly to the rim, steal the ball via levitation, and set screens hard enough to easily crack bones. For all that, the aftermath’s news wouldn’t be about rule changes: it would revolve around newly-minted earth aspect Korf Dimer. The interviews had revealed an angry mortal who’d punched holes in the walls of his house, furious as someone cursed. His incoherent yet charged ramblings of despair said that he could only masterfully lose for so long. It would be more than enough to generate a fog of fear over all of Crystal City, that he would slip away and move to greener pastures.
At first, Flash had been disgusted with him. This had been immature, malevolent, high treason against the millions of fans who’d looked up to him as their rescuer so they could taste talent and victory. But while everyone else had grown angrier, Flash had felt his own anger fade away, succeeded by a harrowing realization: Korf wouldn’t get any younger. Sooner or later, his unmatched skill had to translate to something that could match its worth: a competitive contender, a championship-worthy team champing at the bit.
Korf Dimer would leave for the Hooveston Supernovas, another Monarch-grade disappointment with their own share of loyally depressed and depressingly loyal fans.
They would nab a trophy in his first season there, and the rest would be history. Cruel, ruthless, unforgiving history.
Flash forgot he’d finished his hotdog. A gulp of water later, he stood up and escaped the toxic anti-Korf sentiment spreading through the dining area. He didn’t want to have anything to do with that nonsense.
Instead, he checked his phone for anything from Ditzy. Scrolling through his conversation with her, he re-read the last thing she’d said, dated from an hour ago: Will try to make it in time. Got some orbiting sails to take care of. Seeing the time on the screen’s corner only made him feel more sour. His sole consolation was that it wasn’t easy to beat invading magic vampires in earning Ditzy’s time.
Just seconds later, he was greeted with more of the same nonsense in the arena proper. Flash did his best to focus on what was on the court right now: in a nationally televised game for home team Crystal City Monarchs, Korf Dimer busied himself with being great at basketball for the visiting Hooveston Supernovas. Flash sat down and watched the rest of the game, remembering the experience as one passing montage of a hometown humiliated: pegasus-aspect defenders unable to wing rush Korf in time, earthen iron screens rendered feeble against his speed, headgemmed point guards’ supposedly accurate three-pointers single-handedly blocked by the man himself.
Crystal City ended up so humiliated, the crowd drenched the entire multi-floor scene in a wave of boos and insults. Hooligans who could fly tried to crash the event, but hovering guards swiftly made a show of force with their uniforms and that was the end of it.
Flash left his seat right as the game ended, covering his ears from all that negative noise while running to beat the late night rush hour.
Little protests obstructed his path through the stadium’s halls. A deranged woman shove-floated a piece of paper into his face, telling him to sign the Take Down Korf Dimer the Villain! petition. Flash escaped by blending in with the let-down horde of vengeful gloom.
Amid the chaos, his ears picked up something through the speakers:
“... and how do you feel about beating your old team for the ninth time in a row?”
“Uh... well, yeah... let me be real honest with you, ma’am: playing against Crystal City always sobers me up. Sure, I play to win, but emotionally... it’s hard to play like that against your first love...”
The blood-curdling howls of backstabber and traitor ringing through the halls were Flash’s tipping point, which made the splashing soda can soaking his clothes a little overkill. Through security’s commands for everyone to act like rational creatures, Flash worked his way out of the stadium and into the cold autumn night.
He didn’t bother with being polite on the way out—he wanted to leave this bedlam of so-called civilized sports.
Flash slowly looked up from his drink to see Straight Shot nursing his own glass of stout, rocking the glass gently. He must have been so worn out he hadn’t even noticed Shot preparing it without him noticing.
Shot held up a hand. “Wait here.”
Flash didn’t need to ask why; Shot stood up and walked over to close and lock the front door.
The bartender returned to his chair behind the counter, tapping his imaginary wristwatch. “Gotta make sure no one comes in now.”
He looked over Flash’s shoulders to survey the nigh-vacant bar. Flash followed his gaze to see the other patrons still talking, still watching TV. Both turned back to each other.
Shot took a split-second sip of his drink. “I feel like you’re far from over, kid.”
Remorse shot through Flash as he finally registered the late hour. “Yeah... sorry about that, Shot.”
Shot raised a brow again. “What for?” He took another of those quick sips, scarcely audible. “It comes with the job, you know; giving you my ear when it feels like no one else wants to.”
That got a snort and a cheeky smile. “I guess this is the part where you give me life advice?”
Shot chuckled, shaking his head and tapping his glass with his stocky nails. “Not exactly.” He put the drink aside. “Said your whole piece yet?”
Flash opened his mouth but nothing came out. A quick yes would’ve ended the discussion, but he could feel the truth coming out in an alcohol-charged torrent. He sighed in resignation, eyes closing. “No.”
Shot remained silent at first. He glanced at Flash’s drink then back at him. Leaning closer to him, he said, “Then let it all out! You gotta get it off of your chest, son!” He smacked his own chest with his free hand.
Flash let out his third sigh of the night. He could feel the sultry stench of booze breaking free from his throat. To his shock, his beer was now half empty.
But he continued, keeping a steady pose at the counter for Shot...
Flash could remember: He’d been in Sugarcube Corner, checking his phone for the time and an update from Ditzy. Indigo Zap had entered the bakery, had said she wanted to eat with him because old and familiar faces would be fun to eat with. One lunch and an invitation to see the local soccer game later set the two of them walking to the match’s venue. It was just a fifteen or twenty minute walk, she’d said.
Disappointment overwhelmed him, disappointment that Ditzy didn’t make it in time for a date again. She’d probably tripped into yet another alternate dimension. Perhaps she then knew she wouldn’t make it anyway. Maybe too busy fighting some monsters that could eat tables like fish oil pills and speak chairs into existence because why not?
It was an uneventful walk to the field. Flash tuned out Indigo’s attempts at small talk as his mind wandered: What would the game be like? Where was Ditzy? Would she care that he’d canceled the date? Did this Crystal Prep graduate have an ulterior motive for roping him along?
They reached the field about twenty minutes later, which left Indigo smiling a little more than normal. She’d timed the whole walk just to be sure. She told him as much when she said, “Good day as any to beat my personal best,” before taking out a stopwatch from her bag.
The place was utterly unremarkable. The field might’ve met the standard dimensions, but the lack of anything resembling a stadium trivialized it. The closest thing to it was a flat building known as “the watching station” for anyone who might want to spectate the game for some reason.
Players were practicing in their respective halves of the field, itching to start the game already. A great diversity of aspects stood united under these two teams. Practice balls bounced around in a variety of ways, even slowly just to confuse the other side. Near the goal, a Crystal player chatted with his coach about what spell to imprint in his shoes for their upcoming opponent.
Only a few rows of bleachers had anyone in them. The lone cameraman’s constant yawning foretold what was to come; Flash just knew it.
Flash followed Indigo to the bleachers. They sat down at the bottom row, at eye level with the training players.
“You’ve ever watched a soccer game like this before?” Indigo asked, bumping him on the shoulder. “Pro and live?”
Flash looked at the cameraman. At least they got the live part of the game down. As for being pro... he knew too well about sucking professionally. “Well, uh, no.”
“That’s OK.” She arched a brow. “At least you know why they kick the ball into the net, right?”
Flash nodded, though the spellcasters on each team inspecting the players’ shoes raised his curiosity. “It’s not that simple now, is it?”
“It’s never been that simple,” Indigo replied, crossing her arms and putting her serious face on. “But when we got magic, some people decided that soccer needed an upgrade. We got a metagame over magic shoes in soccer now because of that.”
That only raised his curiosity more. “What does that mean?”
Indigo groaned before pointing to a Fusion spellcaster on the field animatedly talking to a player. “You see, each pair of shoes is crafted by a sanctioned soccer mages’ union to hold spells anyone can use. Think of it like bonuses or buffs in a video game… or a one-time power-up, really. One spell makes the ball invisible, another sends your target out of the game, a third gives you and nearby teammates a little speed boost. They’re usually short—one second to ten at most—and you can only use them once per match; some of the stronger ones can only be used three or so times during an entire season. It’s another layer of strategy because a team now has to choose which spells fit which players while considering their opponents who have their own spell strategies.” She perked up. “See that other guy over there?”
Flash followed her pointed finger and saw a bald Fusion player with his shoes glowing. He kicked it and the ball whizzed into the net like a bullet, much to their goalkeeper’s surprise.
“The spell he’s using is Ballistic Kick. Makes your next kicked ball almost impossible to stop. It’s illegal to score a goal with it—that would be way too easy—but the goalkeeper is preparing for all possibilities.”
Flash turned back to the little scene on the field. The spellcaster was recharging the player’s shoes with the same spell.
“So, what do you think of our Fusion now?” Indigo cheerfully asked.
Flash scratched his head, wondering what to say.
“Forget what I said,” Indigo went on, frowning at Sour Sweet speeds. Gesturing wildly at the home team, she continued, “You’re watching a game in a Level 19 league, the lowest of the low, and our team’s dead last of the lowest.” She rested her head on the next row of seats. “No one watches Crystal Fusion, anyway. At this point, it’s just a formality to get up, play, and die.”
Flash did a double take. Now the game and the walk felt like a huge waste of time. “Then why are we here?”
“Why not?” Indigo asked back. She crossed her arms. “It’s not like we soccer fans here have a choice.”
Flash rested his head on a palm. “Right... only Crystal City club in the world.”
Indigo shrugged, bringing out her soccer ball and idly fidgeting with it. She put her goggles on the bench. “It’s not that much of a soccer city past high school. Took me a while to realize that.” A facepalm later: “I mean... just look at them.”
Following Indigo’s pointed finger, he saw a formidable bunch of fans for the opposing team, the Ewereka Reserves. For supporters of a team hidden at the bottom of the national soccer pyramid, they oozed zeal: face paint, uniforms, shoes, posters, banners, beer at two in the afternoon... the only item missing from the maniacs’ list was excessive shouting. If they didn’t shout, they were polite maniacs.
“The Reserves are turning it around this year,” Indigo whispered in his ear like a secret agent in the know. “They’re already guaranteed to move up to the Hassenfeld County League—promotion and relegation stuff, I’m sure you know that.” She put her arms on her hips, eyeing the Reserves themselves with some sass. “A couple of them... they got dreams of winning it all in five years.”
“Yeah...” Flash said, voice drifting off. “Who doesn’t like the underdog team?”... and he made a grin too wide to be believable.
“And you’re wondering why we like the team that couldn’t even manage to be the underdog, right?” Indigo prodded, smirking at him like she knew what his answer would be.
Maybe she didn’t expect his answer to be none at all save for that nervous bite of the lip.
“Some say it’s home pride,” Indigo said, pumping her chest. “All things Crystal… and soccer was my childhood game before I moved on to other things.” She paused, watching the practice on the field wind to a close, a sign that the game was about to start. “Think about it, Flash. Rooting for your own team is a no-brainer... home pride, really. Not much else to say.”
Flash gazed upon the field, losing focus. He spotted a Fusion player tripping on the grass; that brought to mind memories that weren’t exactly fun.
“But I admit,” Indigo continued, voice halfway trailing off before picking up again: “It’s both pride and pity... sympathy pity. The city doesn’t like soccer that much, the team can only afford spare change in funding, and Fusion’s been stuck dead last since the beginning. Over the years, many of us just gave up on them... and there weren’t many of us to begin with.”
Then the smile on her face returned triumphantly. Indigo picked up her goggles and put them over her eyes, giving her that tinge of awesomeness.
“Despite that, I still support them because there’s hope. Not much, but as long as they’re on the field—” she pointed at the Crystal players all lined up at the center “—then it’s there. We are the underdog of the underdogs, and I guarantee you that we will rise through the ranks and win the Premiere Association of Soccer once and for all!”
She grabbed Flash by the shoulders, shouting, “Now, are we gonna win?!”
Flash bit his tongue in shock. His phone dropped from his jacket. He saw it light up in the corner of his eye.
“Um...”
“Wrong answer! Let’s do this again: Are we gonna—“
Silence as the game commenced, with the Reserves kicking the ball around on the field.
“... just have fun and a little hope, Flash,” Indigo muttered before setting her eyes on the game before them.
With that, Flash tried to calm himself down and copy Indigo’s example, just having fun and a little hope. That proved to be somewhat difficult since he knew almost nothing about the sport other than kicking the ball into the goal was worth one point.
His flashing phone made it more difficult. To rid himself of any distraction, he picked it up.
Only to see Ditzy’s reply:
At Sugarcube. You’re not here. I guess I’m too late, huh? Had to fight chair-speaking monsters from Reality #35M for important reasons. I hope you’re not mad.
Then one more message:
Maybe we can try next weekend? :)
“... and this all happened when?” Shot asked, taking another little sip of his drink.
This was a good time for Flash’s train of thought to switch to a lighter track.
“Around October,” Flash replied, fist mushed against his cheek. “The soccer one was from November, I think.”
“You think?” Shot repeated, displaying his disbelief. “Weren’t you there? You’re the one telling the story.”
Flash shook his weary head. “Sorry, Shot, but the dates are a little fuzzy, and—what?”
His glass was empty. He could see straight through it with its distortions and all. “Wh-what happened?”
“You drank it all,” Shot said, seizing that finished mug like confiscating a toy from an unruly toddler. “You didn’t notice?”
Flash just put his head on the counter. His eyes were beginning to ache.
Shot looked over his shoulder again, now concentrated on someone well behind Flash. “Oh, you’re done?”
“Pretty much,” one of the young women said while her friend floated their bags. “Sorry to overstay our welcome.”
“It’s alright,” Shot replied, lifting his lips just that teeny-tiny bit. “Just turn off the lights on the far right. Want this place to look really closed.”
So they did, making sure to flick the light switches before leaving.
Now it was just Shot, Flash, and the man hypnotized half to sleep by wee hour television, engulfed by more darkness and fewer, dimmer lights.
“That all?” Shot asked Flash, a bit of irritation found in his voice as he checked the clock hanging behind him.
“Um...” Smiling sheepishly, Flash extended his hollow glass to the bartender. “Can I?...”
“So that’s a no.”
“Just one more,” said Flash, raising a finger as if that alone could create peace between them.
Shot grabbed Flash’s glass and put it under the tap, but not without giving him a dirty look. “Be thankful I didn’t give you the strongest Redcap.”
So Flash waited, watching Shot pour more stout into his glass. He could amuse himself with the two-part pour once again: the first pour, the cloudy surge, the second pour... all hand in hand with that ear-tickling fizz emanating from fresh beer.
“Sorry,” Shot muttered as he put it on the counter. “I’m looking forward to you-know-what, and—“
“The Ultra Bowl?” Flash guessed, raising his head. He turned around to see the TV screens and, sure enough, he found yet more ads for the big game now that he was looking for them.
“Yup.” The barman joined the other straggler in watching the latest promotion for that long-awaited contest, the end to a grueling season of good ol’ football. “It’s not tomorrow, but I want to get all the sleep I can tonight. You know how it is with the big game… and the day before that, too.”
Flash nodded, sitting still towards the screens. Slow-motion footage of football players doing anything they could to advance or steal the ball, stars babbling on about the game of their lives this coming Sunday, shots of exceptionally excited fans screaming their brains out for what would surely be a once-in-a-lifetime event. Historic rivalry, notorious game plans, masterful coaches, intense beefs between players and between fanbases, all would come to a head in this year’s Ultra Bowl.
What he remembered contained none of that for the Emps.
“Where are you?” The crowd noise forced Flash to shout into his phone.
“About to leave home,” Ditzy said, her voice barely discernible against the stadium’s multitude. “Let me finish talking with Sunset here and I’ll be there in a flash… And let’s say that pun was intended.” Flash thought of her blushing with that last comment.
He checked the jumbotron beyond the goalpost. The game had just reached the two-minute warning, and the screen offered a look at the Crystal City Emperors’ sideline. Amid rattled players, their coach threw his whiteboard to the ground, then magically detonated it.
“And you’ll be here when?” Flash said, turning away from the horror on screen.
“In, say... fifteen minutes if there’s no traffic.”
Flash combed his hair with an aggravated hand. “Could you just ask Sunset to teleport you here? The game’s almost done...”
“Uh, let’s see... I mean, if not, I could make it up with a midnight snack at Pizza Hutch. Just let me ask Sunset.”
He heard mumbling over the phone, incoherent over the constant booing from the fierce home crowd. By that point, devastated fans started tossing drinks towards the field, none of them quite reaching the grass. The only casualties were people getting wet, but the moment someone waved anything resembling a knife or a gun, things would get ugly fast.
“Uh, hi, Flash...?” That was Sunset’s voice through the phone, cutting through the noise like it wasn’t there. “I’m really, really sorry for holding Ditzy up for so long. Long story short, I needed a helping hand with a Vehemist who took ‘don’t fart in public’ way too seriously. Needed someone who isn’t me but could knock some sense in his head by making him look at infinity.”
Flash couldn’t help but laugh a little. Even he could admit that an off-hand comment during a vlog leading to something like this was hilarious.
That was when he realized he was talking to his goddess ex. The metaphorical cat caught his tongue, and those metaphorical butterflies fluttered around in his stomach. “I see,” he said, trying his best to keep his tone normal. “So, uh—“
“Don’t worry. We’re just about done. He’s learned his lesson, and he’s in good hands with Fluttershy. I’ll bring Ditzy over there in three, two—“
Beep!
That took him unaware. His mind reeling back to the rowdy reality of very loud people, he checked his phone. The call had ended, cutting Sunset off. Gracing his end-call screen was Ditzy’s smiling face, her blonde eyes cutely askew.
Poof! And a flash of light graced Ditzy’s entrance. She popped in right beside Flash and making the people surrounding her scream.
“I’m sorry for not getting here before the start of the match,” Ditzy said with a hint of the doldrums. “What did I miss?”
Everything had gone by so quick, Flash had no idea how to react. Ditzy was finally here, but how late was it? He looked at the jumbotron. Almost a minute left before the end of the game.
Ditzy looked at it too. She gasped at what she saw. “We’re losing 49-0? That’s very bad!”
“Of course it’s very bad,” Flash muttered under his breath.
Her frown stood out from everyone else’s mad faces: everyone else with their shaking fists, their vented threats, and their expressions of massive let down.
“What’s wrong?” Ditzy asked.
Flash looked up, trying to put on an unaffected face as he thought of something acceptable to say. Something that wouldn’t blow her lid off. “Not much.”
Ditzy knitted her brows at him. “You know, it doesn’t take a genius to see what’s gnawing at you.” Her frown slowly deepened, drearily bending her lips. A gray hand on her clip-on tie. “I know what—or who—the main culprit is.”
Flash winced. Now Ditzy was hurt. She didn’t say she was, but she might as well have. His confident posture faltered, turning into a depressed slouch. He stared off to the playing field to avoid her gaze.
Both teams stood at scrimmage, the visiting Manehattan Crowns on 2nd and goal. A touchdown would send an already dominating 49-point lead up to 55, and that was if they then missed the extra point for once. On the side, the Emps’ coach glared angrily at his players, a jagged piece of the broken whiteboard hanging from his grip. He then shot a glare at his Manehattan counterpart who smiled, pleased with himself.
Flash turned around. A good deal of Emperor fans were leaving, most wearing outfits with four-digit price tags at minimum. The ones staying were the ones with unkempt facial hair and no make-up, those who believed any old shirt and shorts with a slapped-on pair of sneakers was enough for their beloved Emps.
He winced at one of the banners, a long white piece of cardboard with the words Emps, don’t break my heart! He knew Ditzy wouldn’t. Not on purpose.
”I brought snacks!” Ditzy said, shouting to be heard over the noise. “To make it up for you!” She pulled up a bucket of steaming-hot popcorn and a pair of gigantic ice-cold soda bottles. “In case we don’t have enough time for the game, we could go to a movie after this!”
That innocent smile on her face, the face of a woman who undoubtedly meant well in just about everything. It would be an atrocity to turn down such a soul.
Flash stood up.
Ditzy gasped, hand over her cheek. “Flash, what’re you doing?”
“Beating the traffic,” Flash said, kicking the dust and dirt off of his shoes.
He saw Ditzy tap her chin, deep in thought while keeping one eye on the game way down below.
“Well, I’ll beat the traffic with you!” she concluded, standing as well.
Flash turned his face around to hide his flinch. He knew this wouldn’t end well. The drowning clamor of the dispersing herd around them assured him that much, a deadly foreboding as Flash stepped out of his row.
With Ditzy not far behind.
Flash didn’t care how the score ended up. All he knew was that his team lost; there was no way the Emps could’ve come back from a near fifty-point deficit. Certainly not the first time they’d let him down, and it certainly would not be the last.
Exiting the stadium, they reached the parking lot. Under the bleak black night, the asphalt ocean stretched far and wide. In it, countless cars bobbed without moving, filling the gray expanse. Illuminating their paths in green and blue, light fixtures became lighthouses, standing on cement plinths or grass islands dividing the roads. Behind all these echoed the crowd gone mad, drowning out the public announcer’s voice.
Flash had been hovering, lightbow out, for several minutes straight. The tension was thick enough to cut with a spoon. Or even just turning around and talking to Ditzy, trailing behind him.
He reached his car, the same muscle car from years ago but with noticeably less gloss and a few more specks of rust. Flash grabbed the car key from his pocket, giving it no time to jangle or shine under the light as his thumb moved to the unlock button.
And was stopped by Ditzy’s hand.
Flash looked up to see her determined face. It was getting harder to avoid confrontation, much more so when the issue kept asserting itself in ever bolder ways. It was gradually becoming his bogeyman, his ghost he couldn’t shake off.
“Uh, what’re you doing, Dee?” Flash asked in as polite a tone as he could muster.
Ditzy kept her grip on his arm. “Running away from problems usually isn’t a good idea.”
Guilty as charged. His girlfriend had become his prosecutor.
“Look, Ditzy,” Flash said, raising both hands to try to defuse her, “we can talk about this some other time. Seeing the Emps lose again doesn’t put me in a good mood...” He pointed to the scowl pasted on his face. “As you can see. Again.”
“... again?” Ditzy repeated, confused but stern nonetheless. “Didn’t you tell me this was your first game?”
“My first in Imperium Stadium,” he replied as if by rote. “I’ve seen clips of other games before, checked the box scores—”
A gray hand thrust onto the car door just in case Flash tried to pull a fast one. He looked up again, seeing Ditzy’s glare darkened by the great light above her.
“Flash... What. Is. Going. On?”
He didn’t want to know what was going on, or if he did, he didn’t want to admit it. He scratched his head, donned a more tired scowl as a cold breeze flew by, hoping that would be enough for her to leave him be.
“I know your strategy,” Ditzy said with a huff. “You’re waiting for me to just pat you on the shoulder and tell you exactly what’s wrong with you... for me to do all the work, because just bearing it is easier than actually saying something for yourself. Is that right?”
It was Flash’s turn to place a hand over his cheek. Trapped and cornered by a certified and bona fide planeswalker of a crush. All he had to do was enter the car, but Ditzy’s hand over his own told him otherwise.
Her eyes honed in on him, coming together in scarily level fashion. Whatever fear she would’ve induced, however, melted in her worried voice: “No more delays, Flash. What’s wrong?” Her grip relaxed, becoming a tender grasp. “What’s getting to you, Flash?”
He felt a lump rise in his throat. Flash tried to form something coherent in his head, a coherent excuse. Still another thing nagged at him, the feeling that Ditzy could see through any lie he could make up... and why lie to her? Her words rang again and again: Running away from your problems usually isn’t a good idea. They were the signs of his conscience asking him to open up.
With a long-drawn sigh and a scratch of his spiky hair, he did:
“I... I’ve been having a hard time coping with things.”
Ditzy didn’t look impressed, hand still on his arm though lax. “What things?”
Flash rubbed his head more. “Well... you know... that thing where you... your heart flutters, and—“
A blush glowed from Ditzy’s cheeks. “You mean love?”
Flash silently berated himself for not saying it himself. “Y-yeah, that.”
He felt her grip loosen more, now little more than wind carrying his hand.
“What about it, then?” Ditzy asked further. Her raised brow was her invitation to tell all.
The ice had been broken. A weight lifted itself from his heart. His tongue strangely eased up. Feeling free to indeed tell all, he continued, “I-it’s... been hard trying to get to you... and trying to get over things with... you know... y-you know who...”
“Twilight?” Ditzy guessed, two fingers on her blonde hair. “Specifically Princess Twilight?”
Flash nodded shakily. “I thought I could handle it. We agreed it wasn’t going to last, but when she left...
“And Sunset,” he went on, “which is awkward enough, knowing she might be listening to the both of us right now, but that’s beside the point...”
Flash slumped on the door of his car, resting his full weight on the vehicle with his arm arched and hanging from the roof. A sore was coming on in his forehead, but he massaged it away, tried to massage this burden away.
He sloughed on: “Th-that’s when I thought of you, um, thought of you some more, which... I guess you know very well—“ he nervously gestured at her “—but then it turns out you’re this seven-dimension traveler, a-and that’s cool and all...”
Flash looked at his hands. His ordinary hands.
“... and I’m just your regular ol’ busker with wings and that’s all.”
The weight off his chest, he brought himself back to the reality of parking lots and a Ditzy. No longer was he engrossed in the images of his mind, played in despairing loop: Ditzy going on awesome out-of-this-world adventures while he had to settle for whatever little escapades he might find on this one planet.
“A-and... even when I try—and I know you try, too—to get together, to try to get to know each other, to go deeper than just old buddies all the way from kindergarten...” threw his hand upwards “—you’re always caught up in a Sunset assignment, one of those Sailor Orbital missions, or taking favors from the mysterious ponies in black or whoever they are!”
Flash took the time to catch his breath only realizing how loud he’d been by the echo of the stadium. Ditzy, meanwhile, had kept her grip on him so he wouldn’t slip, so he wouldn’t trip and fall into his car or onto the pavement in his bewildered rave.
She let go of him.
Flash noticed. He didn’t care. He just stood there, leaning back on his car in a cold sweat, staring at her, wretchedly waiting for her to say something that might make it a little better.
Ditzy twiddled her thumbs, her sigh turning into freezing vapor in the chilly weather.
“Honestly, Flash... I get tired of being called around to do inter-dimensional errands, too... not to mention stumbling into alternate realities by accident.” She made a sheepish smile of her own, but that lasted for a few seconds before reverting to her troubled frown. “I’m getting the hang of that, but that only means more job offers from those who need someone like me... and you know I can’t just dismiss them. It’s big stuff out there, stuff I’m either blessed or cursed to comprehend, and I don’t know which is which half of the time...”
Flash didn’t say anything. He thought it prudent to stay silent. His gut instinct was to say I should’ve known or something like it, but he couldn’t find anything more than that, anything to follow it up. Rehearsing the other words to say in his head, he realized he’d only be repeating himself like a broken record.
So submerged in his thoughts was Flash that he jerked at Ditzy patting him on the shoulder. Her frown had turned upside-down, turned into a ray of hope.
“But...” Ditzy shifted her eyes about, looking for something to say, “just so you know, I’m not trying to snub you. Nor am I excusing myself from not giving you a heads-up when I have to go. I try, at least.” She scratched the back of her neck, ruffling the feathers there. “For a while now, I’ve been rebuffing a couple offers from the ETSAB and even one or two from Sunset and being Sailor Orbital because... because I want at least a little normalcy in my life.” She put her two hands to the top of her tie, fixing it, then noticed she hadn’t turned off her lightbow. She dismissed it and landed on the ground. “Well, as normal as I can get these days.”
In the end, she was just human—that, he wanted to hear. Although Flash knew it in the back of his mind, he’d never really thought about it in the past months or so of their official relationship.
Leaning on his car, Flash lambasted himself for being so selfish: His mind called back to the first day of classes post-Saturation, to when he bumped into her and she just fell out of existence. She slipped back to this reality in short order, but there’d been a smudge of terror wrinkled into her cheeks. He’d known everyone had gotten weird magic stuff, everyone including teenagers like him and her, but Ditzy had been propelled into the strangest of the strange at such a young age. Now she had to handle a sizable fraction of this world’s responsibilities and forces he couldn’t fathom.
Even so, Flash smiled for the first time in far too long. He matched Ditzy’s blush with his own, the light fixture above them highlighting their reddened cheeks.
“Um, uh… OK?” he said distractedly, not knowing what he was saying, but there was relief. It was all heat of the moment now as he scratched the back of his head, his anxiety finally fading away.
Ditzy bit her lip, swinging a leg back and forth. “So... um, do you want to meet up... say, sometime in February? My schedule’s wide open then.”
“Before the Ultra Bowl?” Flash said quickly.
Ditzy giggled. “On Hearts in Hands Day, silly!” Her fidgeting spread until she was almost shaking with nerves. “Actually, on second thought, I wouldn’t mind a ‘preview date’... as long as something urgent doesn’t pop up.”
Flash gave a chuckle of his own. Gazing out across the murky array of cars and lights, he said, “Hey, Sunset! If you’re hearing this, don’t spring something on her last second, OK?”
A flash of gold materialized right in front of his car, and there stood Sunset with a cocky smirk and a wink. “I’ll try, but no promises. Is that alright with you?” She turned to Ditzy. “Both of you?”
Flash and Ditzy looked to one another in silent communion, then nodded at Sunset.
“Then that’s all there is to it!”
Another golden flash and she was gone, back to wherever she’d been.
With that, they stared longingly at the night sky, its many stars brightly shining and twinkling. No need to mind the bitterness behind them.
“Wait a minute…” Flash pointed up at the sky. “That’s not how it works. Imperium’s lights should’ve drowned out—”
“Most likely Sunset’s work,” she said, blushing. “Nothing’s stopping her from making a mistletoe constellation now.”
Flash wore an embarrassed smile. After an awkward pause, it was his turn to scratch the back of his head. “So, uh, what do we do now?”
Ditzy proudly took out her popcorn and drinks. “Movie time? I mean, I got tickets to the new Space Wars movie, so...”
So with a night to remember all but guaranteed for the two lovebirds, they entered his car and drove off to the theater.
“Hey.”
The movie had been fun. Especially when Ditzy dealt with a misguided cashier by patiently explaining the theater’s open snack policy. Such a class act, such a lovely class act.
“Hey.”
Flash remembered a few things from the movie: the main character flying out of a spaceship, the love interest occupied in a high-speed chase, some faux philosophical speech in the climax about the nature of the worlds. When all was said and done, however, Ditzy stood above the entire movie. It hadn’t been about the movie, really, and Ditzy knew it too. That was how movie dates operated anyway, some entertaining background music for the much-awaited good times with one’s significant other.
“Hey!”
He’d dropped Dee off at her new house. She’d had moved out of her family home, having had bought one of those trendy tiny houses for practical if somewhat frugal reasons. A comfy abode, a wonderful home and a delightful wife to wake up to—
“Earth to Flash Sentry, you there?!”
“Wuh!”
And Flash snapped out of it, falling backwards. Would’ve crashed were it not for Straight Shot’s quick hand pulling him back to his seat.
He shook his baffled head, letting his buzz recede. Vision settling, he slowly retook stock of his surroundings: Straight Shot was still across the counter, seeming more than a little concerned if his open mouth indicated anything. Flash’s glass of beer was still on the counter, and currently a glass of mostly air again. Behind him, no one at all; that last patron must’ve had left during the fantasy.
“And I assume something urgent did pop up, huh?” Shot said, clearer than before as he pushed his own glass aside.
The barman grabbed the remote to turn off the remaining televisions, plunging the whole establishment into an eerie silence.
Flash said nothing, staring blankly at the bar and twiddling his thumbs just like Ditzy. With that thought, he checked his phone for the umpteenth time. This time, he saw a text from Ditzy.
Sorry. Can’t make it tonight. ETSAB. Gotta go. Multiple selves meeting. Real serious.
“You know she’ll be back soon, right?”
That managed to drag Flash away from staring at the screen.
Shot circled the rim of his glass with his finger. “She promised you. Someone like that... you know she’ll come up with something better to make up for it.”
Thoughts of talking to Ditzy over a drink filled the landscape of Flash’s mind. In his half-drunk state, he imagined the two of them traveling probability space together, Flash riding on flying Ditzy all throughout their flight.
“That also means you weren’t coming here this whole time for sports, were you?”
Another harsh dose of reality coming up. Good dreams had to wait. “Not really, Shot,” Flash replied.
“Figures.” The older man nursed his drink once more, only to stop, shake his head, and push it away. Flash supposed he did have to lock up the place eventually—and soberly.
“I see what you’re thinking,” said Shot. “Ditzy can do this and that and whatever else, while you just play in a band.”
Flash nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Pretty much.”
Shot rolled his eyes. “Other than all those times you show up on the news. For good reasons, too.”
Flash straightened up at that.
Shot crossed his arms on the counter and leaned forward. The smile on his face only grew. “Let’s be honest: you’re not Sunset Shimmer or Twilight Sparkle or your girl or anyone else who really stands out, but you do good stuff, stuff even I wouldn’t have done in my prime because I’m a scaredy-cat.” He stroked his handled mustache. “It was you who uncovered that scam about that Under the Sun Emporium, you who took down those mercenaries and saved that Sunburst kid, and last but not least, you who saved an orphanage all the way back when everyone was still figuring all this magic nonsense out!” Shot jabbed a finger at Flash and said, “You’re no average Joe from where I’m standing.”
Flash said nothing, trying to sort through the sudden shower of praise.
“And that’s the weird thing,” Shot said. “You did all that, but in all this time I spent listening to you, you’ve barely mentioned it.”
“Don’t wanna brag,” Flash quickly said off-handedly.
“There’s bragging and there’s pride,” Shot replied. “All that stuff out of the movies, that was all you, and who knows? Maybe you’re in the middle of another one, for all I know.”
Shot straightened up, catching his breath. “There’s that to be proud of, Flash, and if it ain’t that, that band of yours is actually going somewhere. You’ve got a good future in the music industry, especially if you guys get the hang of those cybermatic hybrid synthamabobs or whatever they’re using these days.”
For the first time since that Emps game, or at least what felt like it, Flash grinned. He knew the beer had nothing to do with how he felt. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it!” Shot answered, tipping his baseball cap at him. ”It’s my job, you know.”
But Shot paused, hand still on his cap. His eyes aimed up to see what they could see of the hat.
“Of course,” Shot resumed, pulling his chair forward and closer to the counter, “being the owner of The 53rd, I have to ensure that things come full circle with all our sucky teams.”
That caught Flash off guard. He glanced out the windows to see that the streets hadn’t changed much while he’d stayed there. Nonetheless, Shot’s words made the Ultra Bowl banners and ads hanging outside pop out to him.
“Have you at least grown attached to them?” Shot asked, now all business. “Any of them?”
Flash placed his phone on the counter and spun it around, his bored expression concealing his yearning for Straight Shot-certified life advice. “Most of them, actually... except for the Carats.”
“Understandable,” Shot replied with a fixing of his glasses. ”Can’t watch a hockey team when hockey’s still on hiatus. You gotta feel bad for the Yakyakistanis… or maybe everyone else.” He shook his head. “But tell me, Flash, why root for some lousy excuse for a sports team and not a perennial winner like, say, the New Wrangland Loyalists?”
Flash lightened up as he remembered Indigo’s words: home pride. With a measure of confidence, he said, “Because they’re your team.”
Shot spat out a laugh. “Standard answer. I hear it just as much as ‘underdog.’ Everyone loves underdogs.”
Flash sagged as he remembered something else Indigo had said: We are the underdog of the underdogs...
“But I say it’s a hundred times better than underdog,” Shot said, wagging his finger. “Why? It’s because you like them for who they are, not for how good they are… doesn’t even have to be ‘cause it’s your home team.” He jerked a thumb out the window. “Ask any decent couple and they’ll tell you the same. They’ll tell you they love each other because of who they are, not because my wife can cook me a free meal.”
Shot brought his arm down on the counter. Ponting at Flash, he said, “Let me turn it on to you: Why do you love Ditzy?”
It took him a while to get his mouth rolling again, pushing the words out of his throat: “It’s because she’s… I can’t explain it!” He blushed, eyes dreamy as they looked up. “She’s lovely, funny, dorky… not afraid to tell the truth, to help me up when I need it, to speak her mind… yeah, and the eyes make her just perfect!”
Shot resisted the seeping sappiness with a groan. “... well, you loved her before she got her powers, right?”
Flash nodded, life returning to his eyes. “No doubt.”
“And you don’t love her more because of her powers, right?”
“Yeah… I told her that we wouldn’t let this magic thing affect how we see each other.”
“Exactly.”
Shot dragged the pause out, letting Flash come to that realization.
“It’s not about whether she can loop around in ten dimensions or whatever,” Shot said. “It’s because of who she is. Cliche, I know… but the same goes for you, son. I mean, she could just date someone who could also fly around and do cool strange stuff—say, date a strange reality walker from another dimension; she has a multiverse of guys to choose from.
“But she stuck with you anyway. Doesn’t that make you relieved? Better?”
Flash smiled, but a morbid idea shot it down. “Probably because she couldn’t find anyone else like her.”
“’Course, she’s a rare specimen, but that’s not stopping her from dating one of those spacetime secret agents… thing is, she still stuck with you.”
Flash stopped, staring at Shot with a dazed face, hopeful.
“Yeah. Goes both ways, son. You love her because of her, not her stupidly powerful powers, and she loves you because of you, even if you think you’re nothing compared to her planes-wise… just like how you and I love the Emps because of who they are.”
Flash stared there, kept staring at Shot with his brain busy processing what he’d heard.
“I say you take that stupid look somewhere else and bring my advice with you, eh?”
But Flash found himself staring out the window into the empty streets, facing away from Shot.
His phone beeped, bringing Flash out of his mindful stupor. He picked it up, turning the screen on and pricking his eyes with too much brightness.
It was another text from Ditzy:
Just finished. I know it’s too late to go to The 53rd, but I’m free tomorrow. Notified everyone to not disturb me then. Yes, this is the last straw. I’m really really sorry for not making it tonight. Hope I can fix it up for you this time.
“Ditzy Doo, I presume?” said Shot who’d been peeking at his phone.
Didn’t look at the barman. He read and re-read the anticipated text, dumbfounded. “Uh... y-yes..."
Shot crinkled his lips into the widest smile Flash had ever seen on his face. It was enough to warm Flash’s heart, to see this big jolly man putting him on the right track.
“Just remember she picked you too,” Shot said, patting him on the shoulder. “Once you do that, you’re good to go.”
“Yeah, yeah...” Flash blathered happily, still thinking about seeing Ditzy tomorrow.
“... and that should be it,” Shot said, arms on his hips as he gazed upon the clock. “It’s been fun, but I need to get some serious sleep for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Flash checked his phone for the time. “Isn’t it Friday today?”
“... you aren’t paying attention, are you? Yesterday was Friday, Flash.”
It took Flash more than ten seconds to process that. When it clicked, he trotted out a goofy smile. “Oh... right.”
The bar on its way to closure at long last, Straight Shot and Flash Sentry exchanged farewells, with Shot locking up the place and Flash on the way out, walking—
Headfirst into the door, spikes of pain piercing his forehead.
“You alright?” Shot called out.
“Heh-heh... yeah, I’m alright.”
So after confirming that the door was indeed and by all means open and truly not closed, Flash stepped out into the cold night once more.
In this wee hour, only a few cars went down the road. The same Ultra Bowl advertisements caught his eye, but as awesome as Detrot’s and Clipland’s players and coaches were—and it certainly would be an amazing game—they didn’t faze him.
In the corner of his eye flew a gray-skinned pegasus aspect. His heart raced. He whirled his head. It wasn’t Ditzy, just someone who looked a little like her.
But he kept looking. She looked exhausted, carrying both a grocery bag in one hand and a briefcase in the other.
Looking past the wings of light, she was still a person.
Just like Ditzy.
An exhibition game approached kickoff on a hot July afternoon, pitting the at-home Crystal City Emperors against the Whinnyapolis Millers. Coverage of the game felt more obligatory than anything. The broadcasters and analysts sounded a little excited to see any resemblance of professional A-grade football after the usual months-long drought, but this was still a preseason game.
Flash pulled into the nigh-vacant parking lot of Imperium Stadium. This time, Flash was in high spirits, looking forward to the game whatever the results would be. He checked his phone again, re-reading Ditzy’s text. She would be there after a very short errand involving spaghetti and hair samples... whatever that meant.
Flash went up to the entrance, where he only had to wait half a minute to reach the turnstile. He handed over his two tickets to the shades-wearing clerk.
The clerk looked at Flash’s two tickets, then back to an unaccompanied Flash. He furrowed his bushy brows and said, “Uh... who’s with you?”
Flash checked his watch. “She should be here any minute now, mister.”
As if on cue, Ditzy expanded into this reality, appearing behind the turnstile and crashing into the clerk, so they both fell to the floor. Flash took a couple steps forward so he could help her up, but he tripped on the closed turnstile and collapsed to the other side. He quickly got up, seeing the both of them recovering from their fall.
“Oh, um, sorry, sir!” Ditzy stammered, picking herself up and dusting her clothes off. She offered a helping hand to the clerk. “Up you go!”
The clerk met her with the same confused expression as before. “Thank you for the help, but... do you have a ticket?”
Ditzy gave him a flat look that might have worked better if one eye weren’t drifting towards the ceiling. “Seriously? I emerge from the depths of probability space and the first thing you ask me is whether I have my ticket?”
“Argh...” Rising on his own, his spine crunching like a potato chip, the clerk eyed both Flash and Ditzy. “That’s my job, miss.”
Ditzy fixed her tie gruffly, becoming annoyed. “Fine...” rummaging through her pockets, she gulped. “Uh, hold on, my ticket should be somewhere—“
“Here,” Flash finished, handing it to her.
Ditzy smiled, receiving it with an abashed blush. “Heh-heh! Right... exactly why I gave you my ticket, Flash.”
The official took the tickets and shook his head. “Kids these days. No respect for personal space...”
Flash and Ditzy ignored him, heading for their seats.
On the field, the Emps were engaged in the usual warm-ups and drills, veterans exercising with this year’s draftees and the team’s newly traded-in players. The coach’s taped-up whiteboard didn’t exactly bode a very bright future, but they practiced nonetheless.
As for the Whinnyapolis Millers, most of their players were also practicing. Well, most of them since their star quarterback hunched over by some nearby seats, getting a spare helmet signed with the divine signature of Sunset Shimmer who had come to root for his opponent.
“It’s such an honor to be—“
“I know,” Sunset said with subtle scorn. She tossed him his marker and helmet. “Go back to your teammates. I paid to watch a game, not to get worshiped.”
Sunset wasn’t the only familiar name in attendance. A few seats to her left sat Applejack, gussied up in her farmer overalls and bearing Emperors merch which included a cutesy little sports flag. Beside her sat Pinkie who was there because she was Pinkie and that was it.
On Applejack’s other side sat Rarity, daughter of former football household name Hondo “Magnum” Flanks, her complaints about how the refs would ruin the game blended with assurances that she didn’t follow the ghastly game at all, honestly; she was just here to humor Applejack.
Aside from them, only a couple hundred people filled the lower rows, but the empty stands provided an almost cozy atmosphere. It felt more like an informal gathering of friends than a typical match.
Flash and Ditzy traveled down to their designated row which lay a few steps down from Sunset and Rarity’s. They waved at Sunset, she waved back—and gave Flash a knowing wink. He took it as affectionate encouragement.
The two of them dropped to their seats, breathing out sighs of relief. Practice was coming to a close. Kickoff was any moment now.
“So...”
That was how Flash started. It got Ditzy’s attention, but when she looked, his jaw was bogged down. He couldn’t deny it: he was lovestruck.
Flash coughed, forcing the words out: “Uh, are you ready to watch the Emps live... i-in person?” Flash asked.
Ditzy rolled her eyes, but still smiled. “I’ve waited for months, actually.”
“Me, too,” he replied. The words came smoothly to him now, though he still found it difficult to not blush.
She brought out two buckets of popcorn and four bottles of soda. “I’m using these the way I’d originally intended: football, silly!”
She looked to an Emps player just in time to see him trip on the grass and knock his helmet off. Several teammates rushed over in panic and helped the poor guy up. The coach’s reaction was not to shout and not to break the whiteboard again but to rest his taxed head on his fist.
“So how are you?” Ditzy asked, turning to him.
Flash leaned back, reclined his head on his folded hands behind it. “Just fine. Got some more small-time gigs throughout town for next week... and that’s if I don’t receive an update mid-performance on which Treasure 500 company is using illegal portal technology for me and Flare to stop.”
Ditzy giggled at that. “You told me that story all the way back on New Year’s. Still haven’t heard back from her?”
“Let’s just say she’s stuck between a rock and a hard place,” he said. “We agreed to leave this one to her. In the meantime, it’s Flash Drive time.”
Flash turned away from her, his eyes feasting on the stimulating green of the football field for the moment.
“You know, Ditzy?” he said, still staring at the field. “The band’s been teetering on average these days.”
“Flash Drive always teetered on average,” Ditzy said matter-of-factly.
He turned to Ditzy, a smile forming on his lips. “And I’m not complaining, Dee.”
The game commenced shortly after.
When the dust settled, the Emps lost 6-23.
By then, it was sundown with a streaky orange sky hanging above. Sunset said goodbye to Flash and Ditzy before teleporting out of there, avoiding any possible swarm of devotees dashing to suffocate her in praise. The others left ahead of them since their rows were closer to the exits.
Since Flash and Ditzy were pegasus aspects, though, they didn’t need to walk to the exits. They spread their lightbows, floating above the open stadium and into the sky.
The strong breeze grazed their skin and clothes, ruffling their shirts and hair and her clip-on tie. Caught in the thick of it, Flash took a good look at her: Ditzy, with her simple shirt-skirt get-up, her nerdy tie, her yellow curved wings of light, her blonde hair and golden eyes—the powers of an extraordinary planeswalker surrounding the personality of a compassionately positive girl.
These splendors coalesced in his mind. Flash thought to himself how lucky he was to have such a sweetheart in his life.
“So, um... you wanna go get some Pizza Hutch for dinner?” Flash asked nervously, looking down and seeing most of Crystal City in one sweep. “My treat.”
“Anything’s fine with me,” Ditzy said. “As long as they let me pour olive oil all over it.”
“Didn’t know you were such an unhealthy girl, Dee,” Flash said, crossing his arms in jest.
“It is healthy, jerk,” Ditzy said with a witty smirk. “Besides, you’re the one who suggested calorie-crowded, heart-harming, sodium-stuffed, cancer-causing, fat-filled pizzas.”
Flash matched her smirk with his. “But you’ll go?”
Ditzy rolled her eyes again and patted her tummy. “It’s not like I’m on a diet. Why not?”
They rolled to a breakneck pace, shooting through the clouds enjoying their time together up in the air. After traversing a few miles, they finally spotted Ditzy’s favorite Pizza Hutch chain in downtown.
So they swooped down and—
“Wait! My car! I left my car back at the stadium!”
As Flash flew the other way while narrowly avoiding bumping into other pegasi, Ditzy hovered right above the pizza place for a few seconds, looking on at her hysteric beloved.
And on the edge of his hearing, he could make out, “Ah… there goes my Flash!”
