Cloudbound

Call him blind, but Brandished had never seen somepony as excited as the pink bundle of energy known as Feather Felt. He took it in stride however, making sure to flaunt the newly marked filly to every pedestrian they passed. Not that her excited blabbering couldn't be heard for miles a around, but more of the fact that Brandish wanted to feel involved.

In truth, if that were his sole line of reasoning, Brandish would be a dirty liar; the trailing blue ribbons on both of Felt's wings were evidence enough that he had been there. Whirling and twirling the filly went, mouth endlessly in motion and wings constantly fluttering.

“Seriously though, what do you think it means?!”

Where many fillies had pulled their rumps away from him in the past, Brandish was subject to the invasion of the flank kind under Felt's will. Of course, like the gentlestallion he was, he leaned closer to scan the mark again; after all, she had asked, and it was rude to keep a filly waiting.

Brandish's initial remark at the time of the mark's conception had been an eloquent ‘Yep,’ but with time to think and a better view of the mark, his conclusions were slowly yet surely surmounting. Felt's cutie mark had the first piece of turquoise ribbon that Brandish had cut for her, but it was simply the top of a stack of an identical rainbow of ribbons, all of which were neatly centered below a simplified color wheel. It didn’t take too much for Brandish to convince himself that it was most certainly the mark of a true artisan pony; bordering the implication that Brandish had made moments before the mark's arrival, he decided that the mark's meaning was a pretty clear cut case.

“I meant what I said, Felt. You're great with colors,” he reasserted.

“But it's gotta be more than that!”

Brandish gave Felt a chaste little pat on the plot—she was fast to pull away from invasive transgression—and put on another trademark smile. He even decided to throw in a light shrug for emphasis.

“I would take solace in the simple things, Feltie. For instance, me being here with you for this. It's a very special moment in a pony's life.”

“Getting my cutie mark isn't 'simple,’” Felt pouted.

“But being there was. All I had to do was pull you on over to my little nook, get you to open my bags, and then bam! Cutie mark!” Brandish waggled his eyebrows at her. “You better remember that when you're big; don't forget the small ponies who helped get you to where you are now.”

Felt tittered for a moment, the sound fading as quickly as it had come. She wordlessly turned to completely face Brandish—who had already come to a confused stop—then latched onto his foreleg with as big a wing-hug she could muster. Slightly flabbergasted, but not wishing to ruin the tender moment for the filly, Brandish wrapped his wings around her.

“Thank you,” Felt hushed softer than a breezie. “For everything.”

Brandish squeezed Felt and brought her closer, blissfully ignorant of the crowd of ponies that swerved around them. A breath filled his lungs—a desire to crack a joke—but in a fierce display of will, he swallowed his words; for as long as she wanted to be held, Brandish would provide her fulfillment, and he would do so quietly. Of its own volition, his free foreleg found itself providing a halcyonic touch as it guided itself along Felt's withers.

“We should go,” Felt started after an indeterminate amount of time.

As they pulled back, Brandish eyed Celestia's dropping sun; orange and red beams crossed the threshold of the horizon, no doubt ready to blast any soaring pegasus with the reminder that visibility would begin fading as day became night. It was as sign that the evening hour was almost upon the city of Cloudsdale, and just enough light was left in the sky for one last soaring flight. The thought of teaching Felt about the various updrafts that wound around the city’s edge brought mirth to Brandish’s face. Before that could happen though, the bright filly had to get home; Brandish gave Felt a feathery salute.

“Lead the way, cap'n.”

Feather Felt's home was more fractured fissure than comfortable cranny. Refuse was strewn about every which way, and the closest that the shared quarters had to a bed was the pile of sprawled out papers that had tarred and grown sticky from laying on the sweltering skycrete ground for so long. Brandish could tell the filly and the father's sides apart from each other with incredible distinction despite the atrocious conditions; Felt at least had some personal belongings in the form of a greasy oak dresser that looked as if it had lived several lifetimes in the same decrepit body. The whole environment made Brandish feel very lucky for what he had found… and been given.

“Yeah, I know it’s… bad.”

An acrid stench found its way into Brandish’s nose. “Ooo yeah, very much so.”

Feather Felt snorted. “I’m going to grab my things, m’kay? So you stay right where you are, mister!”

Brandished Plumes gave her an absent minded nod as he was still preoccupied; ever since her hug in the middle of the street, he'd had the sense that something more colored the filly’s family history than what she had let him in on. Then again, she had seemed out of the loop herself; she had said her father had only told him her mother was still alive a day prior. What other secrets had the stallion kept from her? And more importantly, what was Felt hiding her own self?

Over the past few years, Felt and Brandish had increasingly come to know one another as friends. When she had been a simple acquaintance—another ‘rat’ in the clouds—Brandish had done his proper best to ensure that she wasn’t uncomfortable around him. They met briefly on the daily to talk, but never more than an hour at most; Felt’s father was a demanding sort, and it took all hooves on deck to get food put on the proverbial table. Every now and then, Brandish would pull a sliver of information from a crack on the surface of the filly’s furry shell, and most of the time he would find himself displeased with his discovery. A long time back, far before even Felt’s life, Brandish had given up on his habitual curiosities in the world; he had always felt a twinge of guilt in his bones whenever he dug too deep into a stranger’s life. The orphanage taught him some lessons that school could not provide, and keeping to yourself was an unforgettable one.

She’s your friend, a voice in his head said. You need to talk to her; both of you need to let the past out. It was the healthiest solution, but medicine was almost always a bitter pill to swallow.

“I’ll give her a night,” Brandish said quietly to himself.

No, no! a new voice piped up with vigor. Get this done here and now! You go make it up to her right after this. See about getting her a good night’s rest. Or… you could do both. Both is good.

His lip twitched. An idea had been brewed, and it was just about ready to pour.

“Feltie, how would you like to sleep in a real bed?”

She zipped up to him and planted her muzzle on his face. “Yes! Yes a million!” Felt’s enthusiasm faltered. “But where are you going to find one?”

“I know a nice little motel I used to stay in. I’m sure the owner will set us up real pretty.” Brandish ruffled Felt’s mane. “Anyway, that’ll be your parting treat before we leave Cloudsdale… but you’re going to need to answer a question for me, okay Feltie?”

“Mhm, easy!” Felt plopped herself down on the bed of newspapers. “Okay, what’s your question?”

Brandish took a breath and a passing second to adjust himself. Settling down on the ground where he stood, he reached for his hat and pulled it completely off. Brandish sized Felt up before slipping the straw stetson over her mane.

“Why do you really want to go find your mom, Feather?” he asked as they slid apart.

She hesitated. Brandish saw through her faintly veiled facade, but he kept up his piercing gaze.

“I really need to know this before I do anything else, Feather Felt. I can help you find your mom, but I need to know what really is going on between you and your dad before I take you any further, because I don’t believe what you said about yesterday was the whole truth.”

Felt’s ears flattened against the sides of her head. “I’m sorry, Brandished… I didn’t want you… to know.” She sniffled. “I thought that you wouldn’t help me if I didn’t say the things I said.”

“Feather,” Brandish croaked, “it’s okay. I'm still going to help you. What did he tell you?”

Silence answered him. He allowed the quiet to sift through the memories in Felt’s mind for the most vivid images. Simmering, his own thoughts bubbled in broth.

“He said that he wasn’t my dad.”

With her words, it was as if a coiled spring had finally let its tension loose.

“He told me that I would have been worse off without my mom’s second marriage. He said that the reason me and him are here in Cloudsdale and mom isn’t is because he ran away with me, because ‘life would be better off with a single dad than with her.’” Another pause formed briefly. “I didn’t want to tell him that I thought he was a bad dad, but he said it himself. He told me that our savings had run out faster than he could find a job, and that he had ‘no choice but to start doing bad things.’ Then he told me about my mom, and said that… he said that no matter what had happened or what would happen, he would still be better than her.”

“And do you believe him?”

“I… I don’t know.” Felt frowned deeply. “I still don’t know who she is, and if he’s right then I don’t know what would happen. But…” Suddenly, she stood with a hearty stomp on the ground. “But I want to find out! Because… because even if my mom’s badder than my dad, it’ll be the same fresh start he always told me about when I was a foal! And I just want to have somepony… some… somepony to love! To hug me and read me bedtime stories like dad used to! To make me breakfast and let me go to school! T-to let me go see the Wonderbolts and Canterlot! To… to… to… to love me.”

“Feltie?”

The quivering feather sniffled. “Y-yeah?”

“You are a very, very, incredibly brave filly…”

“Mm… mhm…”

“Thank you for your honesty, Feather Felt.” Brandish gently wiped one of her tears away. “Do you feel better now that you’ve told me the truth?”

“A-a lot.”

“Good.” A swift squeeze of his wings fluffed up Felt’s feathers. “Would you like to know what my flight instructor always told us was the best way to relax?”

She nodded. “P-please.”

It took a little bit of time to find what he was looking for, but Brandish managed to retrieve what he needed. “What do you see here, Feltie?”

A twinkling glow of bliss split across her face. “Cloudsdale.”

The film of polaroid had been carefully maintained despite the signs of age on its fringes. Brandish remembered the conditions that the photo had been taken in by heart; it had been a cool spring evening, the cold brought on by the scheduled rains. The weather teams had just begun to clear away the final storms as Brandish emerged from the store with the camera clasped tightly in his hooves. Fluttering up to rest on the awning, he had rested the camera on one of the metal poles and centered his frame on the cityscape of the districts below him. Multiple rainbows spat over the cloud city, and with a sharp click, the colt had let go of the breath he’d been holding.

“This is the first photograph I ever took. The place I took it from isn’t too far from here.”

Somehow, Brandish could tell that Felt was listening far more intently than before.

“My flight instructor used to tell us that riding thermals was the greatest way for a pegasus to relax, and I can tell you right now that it is one of the best things you will ever experience in the sky. Down by the place I took that photo, the strongest thermals always show up a little higher in the sky; I know those thermals by heart, and I’d love for you to fly with me through some genuine Brandished Plumes history.”

Brandish’s heart was pounding in his chest as he tried his hardest to gauge Felt’s expression.

Much to his relief, she put on a lithe smile. “That sounds nice... Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Now, we’d better hurry on; I don’t want us to be flying out and about in the dark…”