Author's Note

This is my first story so constructive criticism is appreciated. Will probably be updated slowly due to uni. Any advice on cover images will be useful

Hi I'm Scootaloo

Scootaloo was not a happy mare, as she wondered listlessly among the backstreets of her hometown Ponyville, a chilly breeze stirring up behind her and rattling the loose dustbin lids as it did so. She idly listened to the winds’ folly, surely so, as the muted cacophony of rattling and rustling rubbish discarded in neat piles by the backs of buildings did nought but mildly frustrate her.

Discarded; that was what she was, wasn’t she. It was no secret, at least, not to her; that she had been left out here and forgotten, forsaken. There was always the orphanage; yet, the place only had ever really felt like a prison. It had caged her along with so few other discarded colts and fillies, and so she had left one night; out the window and far away “to lands anew and a life that was all the better for it.”, she echoed sarcastically, snorting a little in distain afterward; which was shortly followed by a series of sharp coughs.

She had read that on a poster at school once, promising to her that good grades would lead to such in the future. It was so cliché. It had mocked her up until miss Cherilee had taken it down after some colt spilt paint on it during arts and craft. It was hard though, to actually achieve what that poster had advertised, not when on top of homework and school you had to go out looking for food and shelter whilst not coming to school smelling like the trash she walked past. She was failing; both at her grades and at staying self-sufficient. She couldn’t do the latter without bits and thus she also struggled to do the former.

It had not gone unnoticed either. She glanced down at the letter in her grasp. A letter to her parents detailing her academic inaptitude as well as her horrid stench; not in those words, but she could see past the hedge terms. The words disciplinary action stung most of all, surprisingly; that she would spend her recess alone inside the schoolhouse until her grades picked up and she became more presentable terrified her. She would be away from her friends and Diamond and Silver would surely use this as yet another reason to pick on her. She didn’t know if she could deal with that on top of everything else. What to do what to do.

First and foremost, she had crusading to do. She could probably get Sweetie or Applebloom to let her use their shower afterwards. So, after a quick visit to her alley to drop off her bags, off she went.

“Ah’m tellin ya Sweetie, we’ve tried that already.”, came an exasperated voice from a small little treehouse nestled deep within the confines of a large apple orchard, perched upon an old and hardy apple tree that once bore some of the first apples to ever be grown by the Apple family some one hundred years ago. They should know, they had already tried to get their cutie marks as historians once.

“Yeah, and it ended in nearly the same way our crusading always does,”, added Scootaloo’s raspy voice, “with us meddling with something we shouldn’t and NO CUTIE MARKS. I’m telling you, I really think we should change the way we go about looking for them. I mean, I don’t know, maybe there is a way that doesn’t involve us rushing headfirst into something without thinking.”. Scootaloo was an active and adventurous filly, but even she was sick of the many minor cuts and bruises that usually accompanied their failures; and the tree sap, oh Celestia the tree sap.

“Like what Scootaloo?”, retorted Applebloom, “What on earth did you have in mind cos to me it feels like we’ve tried everything.”

“I have an idea,”, chirped Sweetie, an adorable squeak in her voice emanating her excitement, “why don’t we stop by at your place Scoots? We’ve never been so maybe we might get some more ideas if we go there.”.

The silence that followed was filled with youthful excitement, the promise of a visit to their friends as of yet unexplored abode gave two of the present fillies hope that their current boredom might soon be at an end. It edged towards awkwardness as the third girls face remained blank. Emotion returned to Scootaloo’s features as horror and sadness washed over her. These were quickly muted however, as an overall feeling of glumness settled in her mind. She would have to choose her next words carefully.

A false smile hurriedly plastered across her face; Scootaloo weakly voiced her opinion, “m My house? Why do we have to go there. You guys know that I don’t like having anypony over cos it well out of the way and it’s kinda really small, all three of us there would be cramped.”. Please drop it, please drop it, please drop it; chorused her inner voice. She looked at her friends for a response, her psyche quivering in anticipation and fear of them pushing the matter any further and potentially discovering one of her deepest and darkest secrets. It had always been hard for her to hide things from Applebloom and Sweetiebelle. As an afterthought she gave them her potent blend of concentrated cuteness in the form of a pair of puppy dog eyes.

This seemed to do the trick for while their eyes sparkled with a mix of concern and disappointment, they relented. “Aww shucks Scoots, what else are we supposed to do then?”

Sweetie decided then to change the subject, noticing Scootaloo’s discomfort and answering Applebloom’s question in the process, “Hey why don’t we go to my place and think of something there? Rarity shouldn’t mind, and we can get Scootaloo cleaned up there too.”

“What?”

“Well no offence but you kind of stink…just a bit.”. Her face behind her pink locks, Sweetie’s more timid side shone through.

“Ya know, she is right Scoots, ya do smell pretty bad today. Didn’t miss Cheerilee mention it as well?”

Scootaloo looked down at the worn floor boards of the club house, abashed. “You girls know that I’m not into that froufrou stuff; and what’s wrong with a little bit of dirt anyways?”

“Scoots, there aint nothing froufrou to being clean, and there’s a difference between being dirty and being smelly.”

“Okay okay, if I go with you guys to Sweetie’s and get clean up will ya quit mentioning it?”, rushed Scootaloo in both the verbal and literal sense as by this point she was already heading to the door. She was sick of this conversation.

And so off went the trio, Sweetie and Applebloom up front talking animatedly about random stuff that came to mind; unknowingly leaving their now rather quiet friend to her own comparatively darker musings for despite her earlier enthusiasm to get going Scootaloo had quickly fallen behind to sulk out of her friend’s view. Scootaloo watched, as they walked passed the park, as children happily played about with not a care in the world. Some running up to their parents with epic tales of adventure to tell when in reality it hadn’t been much more than energetic meanderings around some tree over yonder with their friends. Scootaloo was not like those children. Her outlook on things usually tended towards the pessimistic side of the spectrum. She couldn’t really help it, with her luck in the past few years the ensuing bunkum that her life had become had tempered her views of her environment somewhat. With her fear of anypony discovering her secret and her dislike towards returning to the orphanage her life had been on a steadily descending spiral and it showed no signs of petering out anytime soon. And she knew it. And yet she could do nothing due to her stubbornness and fear of change, irrationally; change to her had always led to something worse than before. All this played its tune in Scootaloo’s subconscious and led her conscious mind to watch helplessly as the hapless filly tried to keep her meager life together. Little by little she lost control, week by week, month by month. It had started with her parent’s death. Then at the orphanage; she had lost so much of her freedom there. It was so strict. Not in the ‘its for your own safety’ way that was used by parents; no, it was, in much the same way that a diet cola never quite tasted the same as a regular cola, more clinical. She had regained some of that freedom when she had left; it was a false promise. She had quickly discovered that she would now have to deal with the same kind of money and food problems that the adults had to deal with, all without proper housing and still with the burden of school and the resulting homework. She was most definitely not an adult, moreover, she needed an adult; she had cried herself to sleep for a while after her parents had passed and then had come bitter anger. The anger had never really gone away. And yet Scootaloo concurrently failed to speak out to anypony despite the hardships she faced. Why? It was doubtful that even Scootaloo knew the answer to that question.

Another series of coughs racked the filly’s body.