Private Beesting touched down on the flight line. The metal hummed underhoof as she straightened up, vibrating with the weight and power of the engine somewhere deep in the bowels below deck, burning and churning with a bottomless hunger for more diesel. She adjusted her satchel and scanned the area above deck. The polished steel dais landing platform for Hawkless flyers extended out a scant ten feet, then gave way to the expansive field of grass, so far-reaching she’d be willing to think she was back on the surface. She knew better, though, even without the vibrations of the Grease Beast in her hooves. If she stepped out on the grass she’d know immediately it was AstroTurf, and the haze of smog never hung that close to the bare earth. Also, the bare earth tended to be on fire.
A group of officers caught her eye, and Private Beesting straightened back to attention before trotting over. The grass crunched unconvincingly under her steps.
From a distance, she could make out Commander Roller in the middle of the group, a gray boulder of a stallion with an even grayer mane and a livid scar stretching from the base of an ear down his cheek. The other officers milled about in light conversation on the platform, taking notes and checking charts spread open on the tables crowding up to the guardrails, but Commander Roller stood still in the center and had his eyes trained skyward. Private Beesting stopped short of their platform and saluted.
The group fell silent and returned the salute, before Commander Roller said, “At ease,” without looking over. The other officers went back to ignoring Beesting’s existence. She adjusted her satchel and held it to her chest, glancing around furtively before climbing the steps onto the platform.
She cleared her throat.
“New dispatch orders?” he said, still staring upwards.
“Uh—er, yes, sir, Commander Roller, sir. For, uh …” she flipped open her satchel and pulled the single envelope free, the paper a pristine white that could only come from the royal barge, embossed and sealed with wax. “For Captain Rainbow Dash.”
Commander Roller raised an eyebrow. “Dash only, eh?” At last, he lowered his gaze and beckoned Beesting closer with a hoof. “Didn’t know Princess Luna took care of assigning latrine duties.”
A chorus of low, mean-spirited chuckles rippled out through the officers.
Commander Roller took the envelope and snapped off the seal, pulling the official letterhead free in his teeth and reading it over. His craggy expression grew harder, more weathered, and he turned a critical eye on Beesting. “This a joke?”
Beesting raised her eyebrows and slunk back a step. “N-no, Commander, I …”
He snorted and glared daggers at the letter. “I’ll be damned to Tartarus …” he shook his head slowly, then let out a low whistle.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Beesting straightened back up. “Is there a mistake, sir? I can rush an emergency reply, this is only my first flight of the day.”
“Mmn,” Roller grunted, his eyes drifting upwards. “Tell me, Private, what do you see up there?”
“Sir?” She followed his gaze up into the sky. The inky, choking haze of diesel fumes hung thick in the air, but as she narrowed her eyes, she saw the Hawks out in the distance. Five of them in attack formation, running through an aerial drill. “Hawks, sir.”
He grunted again, “And what’re the Hawks doing?”
She shuffled her hooves in discomfort, her mind racing through lists of possible jokes Commander Roller could be making at her expense when her eyes widened. The deep red airpod in the Eagle Hawk position leading the exercise broke from the group. Its wings pivoted downward and black trails of smoke belched from the Grease Beast as it fell in a dive, arcing towards the expanse of AstroTurf beneath it. Beesting sucked in a breath. “Oh, Luna protect him, he’s gonna—”
Just as sharply as it fell, the Eagle Hawk sprung backwards, jackknifing up with the scream of engines Beesting could hear from a thousand feet below. The wings coiled and snapped outward with a hiss of steam, and the glint off the mini-cannons shone in her eyes. The airpod screeched upwards in a dart, punching straight through the Hawks in formation, right where the Eagle Hawk had been just moments before, as they held their flightpath forward at bombing speed. In a spiral of aileron rolls, the Eagle Hawk settled back into formation. It hadn’t taken more than thirty seconds.
“Her,” Commander Roller said. “And she doesn’t need a shred of Luna’s protection.”
Private Beesting’s mouth hung open. She shook sense back into her head and stammered, “That, ah, Captain Rainbow Dash?” Roller grunted in confirmation, still watching the Hawks. “She’s quite the flyer.” Roller grunted again. “I’ve never heard of her, she must have risen up the ranks fast.”
Another round of chuckles passed through the officers.
“She certainly did. Until she didn’t.” A smirk opened up across his face, crinkling the line of scar tissue. “Captain Rainbow Dash has been a captain for twenty years.”
Beesting knit her brow in confusion, but pressed her mouth into a thin line and didn’t say anything, standing at attention.
Roller let the silence hang for a moment, then said, “She might be the best flyer United Equestria’s ever had, but soon as anyone tries to take her out of the air and slap her in a desk, she gets her ass busted back down to captain. Dye-in-the-wool mare built for flying. Used to be a hell of a Hawkless flyer, too, probably could run that emergency message you were looking for out to the royal barge and back before you even got there. And that isn’t a disrespect to your abilities, Private, that’s just Rainbow Dash.”
Shifting her weight from one hoof to another, Beesting mumbled, “Used to?”
“Ain’t twenty years ago.” He let out a gruff sigh and looked over the letter again. “Though if it was I might understand this garbage. The hell’s the princess’ game, why now?”
Beesting held silent, wondering if attempted murder by curiosity counted as hazing.
One of the other officers came to Beesting’s rescue, huffing in annoyance and saying, “You gonna make us guess?” Roller smirked again, then passed the letter back over his shoulder. Beesting’s eyebrows shot up when she heard a choking sound of disbelief. “Tirek’s str—!”
“Lieutenant Stormbreaker,” Commander Roller grunted in reproach.
Stormbreaker’s teeth clacked together, and he dropped his tone from shouting down to a level that didn’t carry off of the platform. “A frontal assault on the stronghold? A frontal assault?” Beads of sweat jumped up on his forehead and he eyed Private Beesting with wariness. “Where are the other orders?”
Beesting swallowed and patted at her empty satchel.
“There are no other orders,” Commander Roller said, snatching back the letter. “A single squad attack.” He let out another low whistle, then turned his gaze back to Beesting, devoting her all of his attention for perhaps the first time that conversation. “Tell me, private, was there anything unusual going on about the royal barge? Was Princess Luna acting normal?”
“I, uh, couldn’t say, sir. I’ve never met the princess face to face, sir.” She cleared her throat and pulled herself up straight. “Nothing out of the ordinary to report about the crew or daily logs, sir.”
He grunted and nodded, then cast a squint back at the letter. “This is calculated, then …”
“Maybe, uh …” Beesting felt all eyes on her and regretted opening her mouth. She pressed forward, saying, “A small squad is highly maneuverable, and you referred to her as the best flyer we’ve ever had. Maybe Princess Luna believes Captain Rainbow Dash could strike a fatal blow.”
The vibrations underhoof grew stronger as the air filled with the rumbling purr of Grease Beasts. Shadows moved through the haze as the Hawks returned in formation over the stretch of AstroTurf. Most of the airpods shimmered and glinted with polished chrome in a gaudy display, but Beesting’s eyes were drawn to the Eagle Hawk.
She could tell immediately it was an older model airpod, crunched up and banged out smooth so many times the hull was spiderwebbed with flaky paint. The articulated wings spread and flared with a screech of hydraulics, and the digitigrade landing gear extended with a burst of white steam. The Grease Beast at the back of the pod was caked with grime and motor oil and belched black smoke in a steady torrent up into the air. While the rest of the squad thumped down against the turf with heavy hoofsteps, the pod settled down on its articulated legs like a butterfly landing on a flower, without a whisper of sound or movement. It stood at half the height of the chrome Hawks and would have been two thirds the width if it wasn’t for the monstrous Grease Beast growling at the back of the pod. Beesting could make out the faded nose art just below the cockpit, christening the pod “Lightning’s Envy.”
She nodded in approval at the Hawk. The smaller, lightweight frame of the old Falcon bombers, but with the guts of a modern Hawk twice its size, retrofitted off a newer model. Small and agile, but faster and more powerful than anything else in the air, scraped to hell, but always salvageable. Lightning’s Envy was a Hawk that could tell stories.
The cockpit sprang open and a cloud of steam billowed out to join the Beast’s belching. Beesting had been too busy looking over the machine to have noticed the pilot, and when she looked at the bubble of glass, she understood why. Fog clung to the surface thick as a sauna, turning it almost opaque.
Captain Rainbow Dash stood up in the chair and slapped her wet mane back off her eyes. “Squad’s looking good, huh, Rolls?” she called out to the officer platform.
Beesting watched the sweat drip off the grinning mare, her jaw feeling slack. Of course, retrofitting a modern Grease Beast in a Falcon chassis would come with some drawbacks, the cockpit would be a furnace, almost literally. “How did she even see anything?” she muttered to herself. Rainbow straightened out the sleeves of her leather jacket. “How did she even fly that without dying?”
“Want to run that by me again, captain?” Commander Roller shouted back. “Also, get down here, your squad’s got marching orders!”
Captain Rainbow Dash gave him a half-assed salute, grinning like a maniac, and dropped back into the cockpit. The screaming of the Beast turned to a waver and the glowing core of orange that waited to flare from the jets dimmed. The landing gear stepped out into a wider stance and sunk down several feet as the airpod’s systems settled into dormancy.
Private Beesting had been around enough fighter pilots and officers for the awe to have worn off, but everything about Captain Rainbow Dash seemed to throw that awe back in her face. Abrasive, loud, arrogant, and seemingly fully deserving of all of it, Rainbow Dash felt carved from a different material than the modern military mare, something mythical, something from folklore. Beesting believed without a doubt that Rainbow Dash could have beaten her to the barge and back. Probably still could, twenty years on or not.
“Quit dawdling, Dash, get your rump down here!” Roller barked.
“Jeeze, keep it in your pants, chief!” Rainbow put her forehooves up on the lip of the cockpit and spread her right wing out. She swiveled her head to the left and bit down on the rubber ball handle.
With a rusty squeak, the prosthetic wing sprang open, the metal feather blades spreading outwards. The second row stuck halfway open, and she slapped it with a hoof until they popped free. Another clink rang out as she locked the wing into place.
Beesting kept her expression carefully neutral as Captain Rainbow Dash glided down from the cockpit. The prosthesis couldn’t move or flap, just catch enough air for her to keep from crashing into the turf, and she approached in an ungainly swoop. She clattered down hard on the platform, then straightened up and gave the same half-assed salute.
Seeing Rainbow up close, Beesting bit back the wave of disappointment as the awe curled up and died again. From a distance, Captain Rainbow Dash was larger than life, a devil-may-care speed-demon with a personality as rough as her sense of humor. Up close, on the other hoof. Up close, there was no sense of humor. She grinned at Commander Roller without it touching her eyes, and held herself stiff and awkward, not out of respect, out of discomfort. Her leather jacket dripped sweat and leaks from the hydraulic cooling tubes snaking all through the material, and her colorful mane hung limp and muted with dampness against her head. A light scar notched her right brow and the top of her muzzle, revealing a close call that almost cost her an eye. Maybe the same close call that did cost her a wing.
Commander Roller cleared his throat, but she held up a hoof in silence, slipping the other into an inner pocket and pulling out a cigar. A glint of gold followed her hoof out from her jacket, but she tucked it away before Beesting could catch a glimpse, and then she pulled out a lighter. She flicked it open and brought the end of the cigar to the same orange glowing life as a Grease Beast, billowing smoke like exhaust. She gave Commander Roller the same dead-eyed grin around the cigar. “I said, the squad’s looking good, huh, Rolls?”
Commander Roller let out a huff through his snout, then nodded begrudgingly. “Moves like clockwork, like you were born to do it,” he said in a flat grumble. He slapped the letter against her chest. “Marching orders.”
Rainbow pulled open the letter. The glare on her face spread with a widening, maniacal glee. “Now we’re talking,” she growled around the cigar, smoke streaming from her snout. She flipped the sheet around and looked at the blank back, then shoved the letter back at Commander Roller. “It’s about time they sent the best in, eh, Rolls?”
Roller’s jaw flexed and he rolled his eyes. “Try not to get you and your entire squad killed, captain.”
“Feh, who wants to live forever?” She popped a kink her neck and spattered the dais with sweat droplets. “Takeoff’s oh four-hundred, better hit the shower and get the squad briefed. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone, chief, the boys’re gonna need someplace to land after we kill the bastard.” She turned without waiting for dismissal and headed for the stairs. Her still-open prosthetic wing glanced off the railing and bounced her backwards a half step.
Acidic chuckles echoed through the other officers.
Rainbow’s expression stayed frozen and hard for a moment, then she turned and tossed her cigar in the air, saying, “Catch, private.”
Beesting yelped and bobbled the cigar in her forelegs, managing to only singe her coat in a couple places.
Rainbow clamped her teeth down on the lever and wrestled the wing closed in a series of squeaks and groans, then locked it shut. She recollected her cigar from the awkward cradling in Beestings hooves and bit down on it with a dark, humorless grin, then marched off the platform.
With the Hawks landed and shut off, the officers filtered off the platform behind Captain Rainbow Dash, leaving Commander Roller staring at Lightning’s Envy with Beesting next to him, shifting uncomfortably. She cleared her throat. “Um, is there, uh …”
He grunted and walked over to one of the loaded tables. “Deliveries for the barge, Carrier B, the tanker, and fleet maintenance, plus personal letters from the crew destined for Flown.” He smiled the same sort of unfriendly smile as Rainbow Dash. “Of course, none of it is important if she really does kill the bastard.” He chuckled and pushed the mass of envelopes in Beesting’s direction.
She loaded her satchel. “She seems awfully confident …” she ventured. “And if she … the squad is our best, maybe the princess thinks she has a real chance.”
Commander Roller scoffed under his breath and turned back towards the Hawks. “It’s a damn suicide mission.”
The last envelope slipped out from her mouth and flapped on the ground. “Sir?”
“Lord Tirek’s stronghold is the single most heavily guarded location in all of Equestria. In two decades of war, there have been two attempted frontal assaults, both within the first year of combat. One of those assaults cost us an entire fleet, and the other cost us the life of Princess Luna’s sister.”
Beesting grimaced and nodded. “I’ve heard the stories,” she murmured.
“And back then unicorns had some real oomph behind them, too.” He shook his head slowly. “That was the time for bravado and decisive strikes, now we’re living in the age of hit and run survival.”
Beesting shifted her weight back and forth on her hooves. “A lone squad is highly maneuverable where a fleet isn’t, though.”
“Perhaps.” Commander Roller’s eyes narrowed as he watched the refueling crews move across the field, pulling their loading stairs and tankers of diesel from one Hawk to another. “It isn’t entirely outside the realm of impossibility. And I’m certain that Princess Luna would be very pleased if Captain Rainbow Dash were successful.” He shook his head again. “That isn’t the primary goal, though. This is a feint, a distraction while different pieces are moved. And whatever she’s moving, she needs Tirek’s eyes good and glued somewhere else to be sending Rainbow Dash to her death.”
Beesting shifted again. “If it’s a feint, then shouldn’t she say so? Why put ponies’ lives at risk unnecessarily?”
“It is a necessary risk, or else Tirek will know it’s a feint. Sometimes to take the king, you have to sacrifice a pawn.” His expression darkened. “Though in terms of raw combat prowess, we might be sacrificing a rook. Maybe the queen.”
Shaking her head and frowning, Beesting mused, “But the entire squad? For a feint?”
Roller smiled again. “If the Eagle goes down, the Sparrow Hawk takes command, and the Sparrow’s orders are always, ‘controlled retreat, minimizing casualties.’ And a captain could hide behind her Hawks, but not that captain. There’s only one piece in play.” He let out a long, gruff sigh. “Worst is, she knows she’s flying to her death.”
Private Beesting’s brows shot up. “But … she seemed so confident …”
“You aren’t too familiar with Captain Rainbow Dash, private.” He straightened up and watched the refuelers disconnect from Lightning’s Envy. “Maybe they should’ve tried this twenty years ago. That mare would’ve reacted the same way, but she’d be going in to win. Might’ve even been crazy enough to do it. The odds’d be against her, but that wouldn’t stop her. She’d be fighting for something, and that might be enough to get her through to the other end of it. Now, though.” He grimaced, crinkling up his scar. “Rainbow Dash ain’t got nothing to live for except for flying into the jaws of death. And this time she’s gonna let them swallow her.”
A jerk shook the platform underhoof, and a distant air siren howled to life. Commander Roller snapped to attention and leapt off the platform past Private Beesting, barking orders as the field filled with flying and shouting pegasi. A flurry of hooves pointed off into the distance, past the cloud of smog, off in the shadow of a growing storm. The black dots of a scouting party, already disappearing into the storm head.
Commander Roller’s voice carried over the scramble. “Captain Dash, get back down here! Your squad’s got a morning launch!”
Private Beesting’s eyes snapped to Lightning’s Envy, and Captain Rainbow Dash scaling the loading stairs still alongside the Hawk. Rainbow leapt over the railing and into the cockpit, shouting over her shoulder. “Shove it, chief! If they get away, there won’t be a morning launch!” The glass bubble swung shut and the Grease Beast growled to smoky life, drowning out the rest of Commander Roller’s shouting. The exhaust glowed hot, still warmed up from the drills, and the Hawk hopped straight into the air.
“Private Beesting!” Commander Roller shouted. “You have orders, too!”
Private Beesting did know her orders. She leapt into the air to follow them, clutching her satchel tight and pumping her wings as fast as they would take her. Rain or shine, the mail needed to be delivered.
Rainbow snapped off the buckle of her harness and stretched forward in the cockpit. She shoved her hoof into the cleaning pommel and swung it upwards, arching over her head and dragging the squeegee across the glass with a whining squeak. A spatter of condensed breath and sweat dribbled on the back of her seat, and she squealed the squeegee back into place. Water ran down the edges of the glass as she looked out in front of her.
The sky pulsed with lightning, lighting up the ruddy orange clouds. Smoke and ash coughed out of the volcano’s crater, bobbing and puffing as livid red lava oozed down the cone in cooling rivers, flowing around the obsidian palace walls. The stronghold splayed out in front of her, pressed into the living mountain.
A grin spread across her face, and she licked a bead of sweat off her upper lip. She tapped the lever for the Mechanical Syrinx on her control panel in quick succession, hearing the squawks blast out from outside the cockpit in restricted chirps, and relayed orders in code. After a series of affirming chirps echoed around her, she snapped her harness back on and put her hooves in the control pommels, drifting the Hawk back into the cover of the ash cloud. She felt more than saw her squad following her.
Even through the smog and across the expanse of the burning valley, she could see the swarms of guards patrolling the airspace around the stronghold. Tiny black dots, bending and weaving, scanning in all directions. It wouldn’t be a surprise attack for long. They’d see the Hawks eventually. Pegasi had good eyesight after all, whether they were freeponies or enthralled.
A thousand calculations whizzed through her mind as she adjusted her approach and checked her systems. Mini cannons loaded and primed, two hours of diesel in the tank, and two hull-crackers nestled between the landing gear, ready for deployment. Showtime.
She straightened her jacket against her back, feeling the cool tubes against her coat, and slipped the locket out of her pocket. The locket itself was old, but she’d only been wearing it a few weeks and still noticed its unfamiliar weight and warmth against her chest. She held it wordlessly in her hoof, the dizzying play by play of formations and tactics quieting down in her head as she stared at it. She ran a hoof over the cover, feeling the deep scratches coating the gold, the hinge worn and dented against itself, making it hard to open. She snapped the lock open with her teeth.
Captain Rainbow Dash could feel the hum of the Grease Beasts underhoof, even through the cobblestone street. Civilians milled through the marketplace around her, giving her a wide berth and flashing looks of unease as they passed. She’d worn the ratty old leather jacket that served as her street clothes, but being out of uniform couldn’t do much to hide scars on her face or the metal wing poking out from her jacket. Rainbow wore her uniform with her wherever she went.
A stitch in her left side made her waver mid-step, and she grit her teeth. She pressed a hoof against Ol’ Creaky and held the web of metal feathers against her body for a moment, waiting for the pain to pass. She crinkled her muzzle in distaste and glared out at the street.
Shops lined the curb, their fronts jutting up against each other in a solid expanse of stone and wood. Or at least rigid foam carved and dyed to look like stone and wood. Everything in sight sported the distressed and faded look, even the metal sheets banged into the pattern of cobblestones beneath her. They’d pulled out all the stops to make Flying City One feel like a real place where ponies lived, but Rainbow felt like she was walking through an amusement park.
Rainbow glared. She used to love amusement parks.
The throbbing faded to a dull hum and she let out a breath as she resumed her aimless wander. She didn’t know why she’d bothered to take the leave, there was nothing for her in Fl. One. that she couldn’t get back in the barracks. A sign over a shop blinked on and off in a waver, shining ‘Cabaret’ out onto the street. Below that, a sign in much better condition shone out ‘Full Bar.’ Rainbow cracked a smile. Right. Real, honest to goodness booze that didn’t taste like diesel. So almost nothing. She stepped off the street and pushed the door open.
Crossing the threshold, Rainbow stepped into the tinkling of piano music. Stale beer and cigarette smoke hung in the hazy air, mixing with the scent of burning oil lanterns. The lamplight gave everything a glow of warm yellow, darkening the wood paneling and furniture to a rich, even mahogany. The room stretched out and back in low, cozy light, ending in a sad platform that might be called a stage. A piano took up half the platform, with an older stallion working the ivory. Three dozen round tables littered the hall between her and the stage, half of them occupied by a pony or two sitting and drinking. Middle of the afternoon, that counted as packed. Rainbow frowned and nodded in appreciation. She must have picked the happening spot.
A waitress balancing a tray precariously on one hoof crossed by and said, “Anywhere you like suga …” she did a doubletake and her drinks wobbled. She forced a smile, and her tone turned softer and more respectful. “—Ma’am.”
Rainbow cracked a smile and rolled her eyes as she wove her way to an empty table toward the middle. “Ma’am,” she muttered under her breath. “Like anypony wants to be called ma’am …”
The steady murmur of conversation milled about around her as she chose a table. She pulled a chair out, then took off her jacket. Ol’ Creaky protested in groans as she slipped it off and draped it over the back of the chair, then she dropped her chin and bit down on the harness’ strap. The conversation died, and even the piano music faltered as she unbuckled the harness and slipped a strap over her neck. Her wing landed on the table with a solid thunk, tinking as the blades settled against each other. She scooted her chair in and sat, smiling to herself as conversation started up again, hushed and uneasy.
The same waitress rounded her table and gave her a strained smile. “Something I can get you, ma’am?”
“Whiskey.” She looked at the waitress askance. “Real barrel-aged, if you got it. On the rocks.”
The waitress nodded and hurried away. Rainbow sighed and relaxed into the chair. She ran a hoof over her left side where Ol’ Creaky usually hung, weighing her down and making her itch, and closed her eyes. She could indulge in not being battle-ready back on the barracks, too, but she wouldn’t be waiting on a whiskey, one that had been aged in actual wood.
The piano wavered out, then started up again, stronger and more melodious, launching into the start of an actual song rather than background noise. A round of light cheers and the clatter of hooves sprung up around her, and Rainbow sat up straight, opening her eyes. A mare had taken to the stage.
A unicorn stood at the mic stand, her forelegs adjusting it down to her height. She smiled bashfully as the clatter and whistles grew louder. “Good afternoon, fillies and gentlecolts,” she said in a reedy, breathless greeting. Her red dress sparkled in the lamplight, shimmering almost as bright as her white coat. Her mane cascaded around her horn and down her neck in swirls of pink and purple, and her eyes sparkled over the room with the same intensity as her dress. The crowd fell silent.
“I’m through with love, I’ll never fall again …” the mare sang, her voice turning to a low, smoky purr compared to how she greeted the crowd, rich and thick and tinged with the weight of the lyrics, a bittersweet honey. Her horn lit up and the microphone floated off the stand, following close to her mouth as she sauntered around the piano. “Said adieu to love, don’t ever call again …” She eased herself up onto the top of the piano. Her mane spilled over her shoulder and she peered out at the audience with one eye showing, twinkling directly at Rainbow Dash. “For I must have you or no one … and so I’m through with love.”
A few errant catcalls whistled out as she slunk back off the piano and strutted across the platform. Rainbow found herself smiling. A warm, cheek-burning grin that made her forget the jolts of pain in her side. She definitely had found the happening spot, and it probably wasn’t from the quality of the booze. She hadn’t heard a voice like that in a long time, probably decades, so long she thought that maybe ponies just didn’t sing like that anymore. Its tone and strength dragged her back years into the past, and a flurry of half-forgotten sights and smells crossed through her mind. The feel of real grass under her hooves, cobblestones made from actual stone, the smell of fresh-baked bread on a breeze.
“That’s a hell of a voice,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Whiskey on the rocks,” the waitress said in an exaggerated whisper. “Give me a wave if you need anything else, ma’am.”
“Hey,” Rainbow said, catching the waitress halfway turned away. She turned back with a curious expression, but Rainbow held a hoof up to wait. The mare on stage was in the middle of a line. Rainbow smiled as it drifted away, a smoky, melancholy note, and asked, “Do you … do you have apple cider?”
The waitress regarded her for a moment, then gave her a small, conspiratorial smile. “We just got a barrel in. Normally I’d say it isn’t for sale, but for serviceponies …”
“One of those after this,” Rainbow said, bumping the whiskey. “Then keep ‘em coming.” The waitress nodded and slipped away. Rainbow turned back toward the stage.
“Why did you lead me to think you could care?” the unicorn crooned. Rainbow took a sip of whiskey. It tasted muddled and one-note, probably flavored with wood shavings in a metal vat. Didn’t taste like diesel, though. She swallowed, then gulped down the rest of the glass. “You didn’t need me, you had your share …”
The mare’s voice only grew richer and fuller through the song, drowning out the piano and the other patrons. She slipped back and forth across the stage with a fluid, sensual grace, arriving back at the stand and snapping the mic back into place, leaning up and looking out, locking eyes with Rainbow again. Green eyes. Even across the hall, Rainbow could tell. Green eyes.
“For I must have you or no one …” she sang, their eyes still on each other, the final note dragging out, the piano drifting away. “… and so I’m through with … baby, I’m through with love …” The mare stepped back from the mic to cheers that deafened the hall, even half full and in the middle of the afternoon.
Rainbow cheered the loudest.
Rainbow ground down the butt of a cigar in an ashtray and leaned back in her chair with a self-satisfied smile. Mugs littered the tabletop, sticky with the dregs of foam clinging to their lips. The soft buzzing in her head felt nice. Cider didn’t pack much of a punch, but the taste brought her back, cool, refreshing, and nostalgic.
The lights on stage had dimmed and the piano sat empty. The crowd had thickened as afternoon turned to evening, then thinned out again, leaving Rainbow in a comfortable buffer of empty tables. The waitress brought her a fresh mug and she sighed in satisfaction.
The waitress cleared her throat, and Rainbow looked up to see the normal, uncomfortable expression civilians always gave her, especially when her false wing was off. She hid her grin and gave her an innocent, polite nod. “Yes?”
“Um …” the waitress cleared her throat again. “N-normally I wouldn’t ask until the end of the night, but … but i-it’s policy, once the bill gets to a certain level, that, ah …”
Rainbow chuckled, considering letting the poor pony stammer in place for a while longer, then pawed at a jacket pocket hanging next to her hip. “I getcha, cider’s not exactly easy to come by these days, what do I owe you so far?”
The unease didn’t leave the waitress’ expression, despite being freed from needing to dance around the issue. “Um … they’re … forty bits each, and you’ve had twelve …”
Rainbow pulled out a clip of papers from the pocket and started leafing through them. “And the whiskey?”
She heard relief in the waitress’ voice. “It’s on the house.”
Rainbow chuckled and counted out a stack of twenty-bit banknotes, adding an extra couple and sliding them across the table in the waitress’ direction. She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “Gotta spend that salary somewhere, eh?”
Smiling nervously, she slipped the thick stack into her apron pocket and muttered, “Let me know if you want any more,” before skittering away.
Rainbow’s grin turned malevolent and she dropped her significantly thinner money clip back into her jacket. She lifted the fresh mug in her hooves and took a sip. She blinked, keeping the mug pressed to her lips as she looked over it at the hall. The singer sauntered through the tables in her direction, eyes locking over the mug.
Rainbow set her drink down and fidgeted. She reached behind herself and pulled her jacket off the chair, slipping her forelegs in and settling back again.
The mare stopped on the other side of the table with a coy smile. She raised an eyebrow and said, “Leaving already?” Her voice was a few octaves higher than when she sang, sounding reedy, almost childish.
Rainbow cleared her throat and smoothed the jacket against her body. “No, not leaving, just, ah …” She slipped a hoof inside the jacket and pulled out a fresh cigar and her lighter. A beat of silence dragged out as she regarded the singer. She cracked a smile and rolled her eyes. “Care to join me, miss …?”
“Sweetie,” she said. “Sweetie Belle.”
“Miss Belle, then?” She grinned indulgently. “And I mean, do you really want to join me, or did somepony backstage say I just dropped a dump truck of money on booze and you oughtta come say hi to make me feel special?” She bit down on the end of the cigar and flicked open her lighter, holding the flame just in front of the cigar, her eyes leveled hard on Sweetie Belle. “Mind if I smoke?”
The coy smile didn’t falter as Sweetie slipped gracefully into the chair opposite Rainbow. She slid a small hoofbag to the front of her body and said, “Only if you don’t mind if I do.” She pulled a long, thin cigarette holder, the same color purple as her mane, out of her bag and slipped it between her teeth.
Rainbow dropped the glare, shrugged in good humor, and lit her cigar. She let out a stream of smoke, then held her lighter out to light a cigarette on the end of Sweetie’s holder. She snapped the lighter shut and shoved it back in her pocket. “Stay as long as you need to keep your boss happy, then you can go, Miss Belle, I’m not trying to make your life hard.”
Sweetie’s smile deepened and she puffed out a perfect smoke ring. “Please, call me Sweetie, miss … commander …?”
“Captain Rainbow Dash,” Rainbow said around her cigar. She blew smoke out through her snout. “And Rainbow’s fine. And none of that ‘thank you for your service’ crap.”
“Well, Rainbow, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And I’ll keep any ‘thank yous’ to myself. I imagine it does get awfully tiring hearing the same thing every time you walk outside.” As she spoke, her tone lowered again, back to the smooth honey of her singing voice. Rainbow felt like shivering. “I know what that’s like, in a way.”
Rainbow chuckled and knocked off a ring of ash into the tray. “Lemme guess, your way’s, ‘Great show tonight, your voice is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,’ eh?”
“Something like that,” Sweetie said noncommittally. She puffed out another smoke ring.
Rainbow regarded Sweetie in silence for several moments, letting the smoke curl up from the end of her cigar. “… Nah, that isn’t it, huh?” Sweetie gave an enigmatic smile and shook her head. “Yeah. Doesn’t get under your skin if ponies say something all the time and actually mean it.” She lifted her mug and drank down several gulps of cider.
“I’m sure plenty of ponies do feel grateful.”
“Eh. In their heads. They don’t say it ‘cause they mean it, though, they say it ‘cause that’s what you’re supposed to say.” Rainbow cracked a half-smile. “Is yours ‘break a leg’?”
Sweetie laughed lightly. Her laughter jumped back up in pitch, turning into the tinkling of bells. “No, but I hate that one, too.”
Rainbow let her smile fade, then tapped off the ash from her cigar and put it back in her mouth. “That’s gotta be enough for the boss to be happy, and I’m not gonna bitch to anyone that you didn’t foalsit me for longer.”
Sweetie’s smile widened and she puffed out another smoke ring. She carefully reached over and tapped her ash off in the tray. “I’m not sitting here with you because somepony asked me to, Rainbow.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Ah, no?”
She shook her head. Her gaze drifted down to Ol’ Creaky. “I imagine wearing that’s uncomfortable.”
Rainbow let out a long breath of smoke and nodded. “Tell me about it.” She jabbed it with her hoof, earning a squeak of metal. “Weighs a ton and pulls me sideways. Gotta wear it, though.” She frowned in distaste around the cigar.
“How long have you had it?”
“Five years.” She smirked. “Last one took a shell to it, blew that thing to scrap. Lost the wing twenty years ago.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair, setting her cigar down in the ashtray. “Right after it happened, they hooked me up with a light one, powered by unicorn magic, I could actually fly with that one, but, well …” She smiled and leaned forward. “Neat trick that you can still float a mic around, not a ton of unicorns that can do that these days.”
The smile didn’t waver from Sweetie’s face as she smoothed her hoof over the collar of her dress, then she leaned forward and picked Rainbow’s cigar up out of the ashtray. She held up a hoof, cutting off Rainbow’s protest, and held the cigar in front of her face like a microphone. She moved her forelegs away. The cigar hung in place.
Rainbow frowned and leaned farther forward. In the low light of the room, it was almost invisible, but a small loop of wire slipped around her cigar, then traced back to the hem of Sweetie’s dress. She raised her brows.
“And with a little glow,” Sweetie said, lighting up her horn and encasing the cigar in a wavery field of green, “it’s like it’s floating.” Her smile turned bitter and tired. She slipped the cigar out of the wire and gave it back to Rainbow, then adjusted the wire loop back into her dress. She shrugged, and warmth reentered her expression. “It’s just the same sort of stage magic that makes everypony think I’m singing directly to them.” She took a long drag off her cigarette, blew a ring, and then a second through the center of the first. “The real magic is that sometimes I really am singing directly to you.” She locked Rainbow’s gaze again.
Rainbow held the look for a moment, then started chuckling. “Uh huh.” She stamped out her cigar in the tray and leaned back in her chair, her forelegs crossed over her chest. “Not gonna lie, you know how to make a mare feel special, but c’mon. I’m just some burned out warpony with a missing wing and a drinking problem.” She thumped the table, making the mugs clatter and her prosthesis creak. “It’s a nice line, though.”
Sitting in silence, still smiling, the smoke from Sweetie’s cigarette curled up in a halo over her head. “I’m not going to insist if you don’t want to believe me.” The grin widened. “But I think we both know that it’s true.”
She tightened her forelegs across her chest and pressed her mouth into a line, letting out an impatient huff through her snout. “You said it yourself, everypony in here thinks you were singing at them. What the heck would make it true for me?”
Sweetie pursed her lips and looked over Rainbow for a moment. She tapped the ash off her cigarette. “I think anypony could understand why you’d take your wing off when you were sitting down to have a drink and enjoy a show,” she said.
“Eh?”
She tapped Rainbow’s wing with her cigarette holder. “Nopony could blame you for taking it off, you’re not ‘on duty’ or anything.”
Rainbow shifted in her seat, still frowning. “Yeah, sure.”
“And yet you left your jacket off.” She smiled. “And set your wing down on the table. And you enjoyed that.” She looked around at the nearby, empty tables, and their sphere of privacy. “You’re a mare who likes to make other ponies uncomfortable.” She inhaled the last drag from her cigarette and stamped it out in the ashtray. “It’s rather intriguing.”
The corner of her mouth curling up, Rainbow rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Yeah, you got me, it’s funny watching civvies squirm. So I’m a burned out warpony drunk who’s also kind of an ass. Intriguing. Yeah.”
“And then when you saw me coming over, you put your jacket back on, so despite everything, you’re still a little self-conscious.” Her eyes moved around Rainbow’s face. “And you’re quick to assume that everypony has an ulterior motive, and wouldn’t be nice to you simply for the sake of being nice to you. And you don’t take that to heart, you accept it as part of how the world works and forgive others for it out of hoof. You’re somepony who’s in a lot of pain, but you don’t blame that on anypony but yourself.”
Rainbow shifted further in her seat, dropping her eyes to Ol’ Creaky and trying to will the heat out of her face. She grunted, “… Even if you mean that, none of that junk was stuff you were thinking while you were singing.”
“That’s part of the magic.” Her tone softened. “You also have nice eyes. They’re sad, but they’re nice. And a good laugh. And a fun sense of humor.” Her honey voice grew a teasing, playful edge. “And a cute blush.”
Rainbow cleared her throat and took in a deep breath, then chuckled again. “Jeeze, Miss … Sweetie, laying it on a little thick, there. I might be old enough to be your mom.”
Sweetie giggled jingles and shook her head. “Oh, I doubt that. You can’t be any older than my sister. If you’re that worried about age, I could introduce you to her instead.” Her eyes flashed with mirth. “Though I’d warn you that her tastes don’t quite go the same direction as ours.”
Rainbow laughed, feeling warmth in her face and enjoying the novelty of not minding it there. She raised an eyebrow. “You seem pretty sure that our tastes line up. What makes you think you’ve got me pegged down?” She faked a scowl. “And if you say it’s my mane, I’m leaving.”
Her eyes twinkled. “It’s the way you look at me.” She propped a leg on the table and rested her cheek against it. “Can you tell from how I look at you?”
Rainbow held Sweetie’s look for several moments and leaned back in her chair. She smiled and shook her head. “See, you’re just trying to flatter me.”
Sweetie pressed into her cheek and raised her eyebrows. “Is it working?”
She rubbed her mouth, then leaned forward, dropping her voice despite nopony being at any of the tables around them. “Listen. I’m not complaining about getting flirted with, it’s super nice and makes that wad of cash I dropped here totally worth it, but c’mon. What’s this all about? For real.” She straightened up and looked away. “You seem pretty nice, so I don’t wanna think it’s because you feel sorry for me. ‘Cause if that’s really what it is, I’m gonna leave, I don’t need your pity.”
The smile finally left Sweetie’s face and a look of worn, tired resignation crossed her expression. She let out a long breath and her eyes went out of focus, staring off to the side of Rainbow’s head. “… You really did catch my eye from the stage. I could see how you were looking at me, and you looked interesting yourself. You might have an idea of yourself as a ‘broken down warpony,’ but sometimes that’s a pony’s type.”
Rainbow knit her brow and shuffled in her seat. “But there’s more to it than that, huh?”
Sweetie shrugged and her lip curled up at the corner, still colored with wariness. “There is. You remind me of somepony I used to know, a long time ago.”
With a dark chuckle, Rainbow shook her head. “Jeez, I look like an ex of yours?”
Her smile grew more genuine and she giggled, then shook her head. “No, not an ex. We were too young when I knew her for anything like that. And you don’t look like her, either, you just …” She dropped her foreleg from her cheek and drew little circles on the table with her hoof. “She was the sort of pony who’d leave her jacket off to make everypony uncomfortable, too.” She let out another breath and shrugged. “That was a long time ago, back before all … it’s nice thinking of those times again, you know?”
Rainbow nodded and eyed the graveyard of empty mugs around the table. “I do know. And if you remember stuff from back then, you’re not as young as I was worried you are.”
Sweetie laughed again. “I moisturize.” Her eyes glittered. “You honestly have some nerve trying to place the age card against me, anyway, the only thing that gives away that you’re not younger than me are your laugh lines.”
“Well, I don’t moisturize.” She grinned, then shook her head. “Nah, you’re probably right. Nothing changes in the mirror for me, it’s just that more and more stuff in my body breaks.” She rubbed her left side through the jacket and let out a long breath. “What was her name?”
“Scootaloo,” Sweetie said wistfully. “We were best friends back home, before … well, before there wasn’t a home.” She gave a half smile and rolled her eyes. “Same story as everypony, I guess. She ended up in Cloudsdale like all the other pegasi, and my sister and I eventually got here to Flown.”
She nodded. The story did sound all too familiar. Sometimes she thought she’d been spared by being a Cloudsdale native, but she knew deep down that nopony had been spared. “Where was home?”
“Oh, uh, Ponyville.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Sweetie said, grinning. “Nopony’s heard of it. It was a little nowhere town in the shadow of Canterlot. Only thing special about it was that it was the sort of place a unicorn could grow up with a pegasus as a best friend, which isn’t special anymore. That and the apple orchard. The best apples in Equestria were grown in Ponyville.”
Rainbow raised her eyebrows. “Oh, that Ponyville!” She laughed. “Oh man, they made the best cider, what was it called? Sugar Apple Acres?”
Sweetie blinked in surprise at Rainbow. “Uhh … Sweet Apple Acres, I think.”
“That’s right! Man, small world.” She grinned conspiratorially and leaned forward again. “You know, I was gonna move to Ponyville once upon a time.”
Sweetie snorted and rolled her eyes. “I thought you just said you’d never heard of it.”
“I’d heard of Sweet Apple Acres’ apple cider, though. When I was a filly I had it all planned out, I was gonna move to the same town as the orchard. I’d get a job doing weather work ‘til I got everything else worked out, and be first in line for the freshest damn cider in the world.” Sweetie shared the smile, covering her mouth with a hoof. “’Course then right after I dropped out and was getting ready to leave, well … same story as everypony.” She shrugged and jabbed a mug. “Still like the taste of cider.”
Sweetie cocked her head to the side and studied Rainbow for a moment. “What would everything else ‘working out’ have entailed? To be honest, I’m having a little bit of trouble picturing you anywhere else but in the military. You have that look.”
Rainbow nodded. “Yeah, I know I do.” She shrugged her shoulders up and pressed in on herself, shifting uncomfortably. “Well, the plan was to join the Wonderbolts.” She cracked a smile. “I guess I sorta did, in a way, but back then the Wonderbolts meant something else.”
Sweetie grinned. “I remember. You must have been a major athlete if you had serious plans to join.”
“Damned if I wasn’t, I was the best flyer in Equestria,” she boasted, then shrunk in on herself again. “Was.” She pressed against the empty cavity in her coat, dropping her gaze to the table.
A beat of silence hung in the air. Sweetie carefully got up from her chair and pulled it around the side of the table, until she was positioned next to Rainbow’s left. Rainbow caught a hint of vanilla on the air. “Do you mind showing me?” she asked quietly.
Rainbow pressed her mouth thin, feeling a mixture of reluctance, defiance, pride, and white-hot burning anger bubbling under the surface. She shrugged silently, then slipped her hooves out from the jacket, letting it fall away against the chair back. She lifted her forelegs onto the tabletop and looked down at her left side.
The scar began just below her shoulder. It started at a tattered point, then thickened to half the width of her side, zigzagging across her barrel in a lightning bolt, ending just before her haunch. Her coat didn’t grow in anymore, leaving a stretch of exposed, pink skin, uneven and slightly shiny, like she stood pressed up against a sheet of glass.
A nub of scar tissue and bone sat raised just above the surface of her side, sticking out a bare couple of inches. Rainbow scrunched up her face and put her will into dormant, long forgotten muscles. What was left of her wing gave the hint of a wiggle. She grimaced as a flash of pain ran into her spine.
Sweetie looked at her quietly for a moment, then lifted her hoof and touched Rainbow’s side. She slid along the scar from the point on Rainbow’s shoulder down past the remains of her wing. “Does it hurt?”
Rainbow shook her head. “I can’t really feel much on it. Nerve damage.”
“I don’t mean this.”
Rainbow pressed her mouth thin. Sweetie's hoof glided to the middle of the lightning bolt scar, then ran back and forth over the stretch of thicker tissue, running parallel to the grain of the main scar from her back to the side of her stomach. “That’s where the shell hit me,” she said. “That old wing probably saved my life.”
Sweetie nodded, then followed the main scar downwards, resting just above Rainbow’s hip.
“I was in a Hawk then. The Hawk probably saved me, too. I don’t know how it made it, either. I woke up on the ground. There was …” She trailed off as Sweetie’s hoof moved off the scar, down the swell of her haunch, and across her thigh. “… was … glass in my mane. The Hawk started right up again … still had enough diesel to, uh … to, uhh …” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Sweetie’s hoof pressed into the muscles of her leg.
“… You’re still in really good shape.”
Rainbow blushed.
“You would have been a shoo-in for the Wonderbolts back then if this is how you are now.”
She shrugged, still very aware of the pressure on her thigh. No nerve damage there. “If I don’t keep everything moving, that side’d probably seize up.” She let out a breath of relief as Sweetie’s hoof traced upwards again, along the scar and up her side. She studied Sweetie’s face. Sweetie didn’t notice, absorbed in Rainbow’s side, and Rainbow read as deeply into Sweetie’s expression as she could. Most ponies were easy to read when looking at her. She could spot fear, revulsion, and embarrassment from across a room, the heady mixture of guilt and discomfort of confronting just how much a pony could give to the war. She kind of liked that look in a perverse, gleeful way. What she didn’t like was pity, the look of somepony thinking that the war had already taken more than she could give, chewed her up and spat her out. Commander Roller looked at her like that, when he wasn’t angry with her. She tried to keep him angry.
Sweetie didn’t show a sign of guilt, which Rainbow didn’t expect to see, nor pity, which Rainbow had feared she would. Sweetie looked at her with a quiet reverence. And with pain. Not pain born from sympathy, but her own, private pain. She rested her hoof just below the nub of Rainbow’s wing. “… Were you in an airpod when you lost …?”
Rainbow shook her head. “I was Hawkless to start, didn’t make sense to put me in a cockpit. Best flyer in Equestria, after all. And those old Hawks couldn’t do much but drop bombs.” Rainbow let out a slow breath. “Stayed in Hawkless afterwards for a while, too. Couldn’t move quite like I could with the magic wing, but I was still one of the best they had. Then the magic …”
“Yeah …” Sweetie’s lip quivered, and a flash of uncertainty crossed her face. “Um …”
“What happened?” Rainbow offered. Sweetie smiled for a moment and nodded gratefully. “It was during the second assault on Canterlot.”
Sweetie raised her eyebrows. “The one where …?”
“Yeah.” She sighed again and shook her head. “I met her, then. She was … larger than life. Made Princess Luna look small. You could feel her, her … anger, and sadness over everything, it came off her like fumes. Everypony felt safe around her, like nothing bad could happen. Goatface hadn’t torn down the palace or woke up the volcano yet, we went in feeling like we had it in the bag, that Princess Celestia was just kicking him out of her home.” She shook her head, feeling the same buzz of nostalgia as the ciders, or Sweetie’s voice, but this time sour and bitter. “We flew into a massacre. All those ponies … on both sides. We thought he was just killing them and hoped he was just taking them prisoner. We didn’t know he was enthralling them.”
Silence hung over their table, thick enough Rainbow thought a few of the closer guests might be straining to listen. She closed her eyes and could still hear the wind in her ears, smell the smoke and ozone. “They say Celestia knew her. She didn’t defend herself right or move in time because she knew who it was, some unicorn student from that school thing she ran. I didn’t get a good look, I just saw the flash, and …”
She paused and looked down at herself, at the stretch of skin, her vision overlaying with the memories, laying in the grass of the destroyed hedge maze and staring in shock at the charred bolt of skin on her side as burning feathers floated around her. “I jumped in the way.” Rainbow sneered and rolled her eyes. “It didn’t work.”
Sweetie nodded, still touching her.
“That’s all ancient history. Could’a been that I burned up right alongside Celestia instead, or that shell hit the Grease Beast and turned me into a smear just as easily. Getting all soppy over a dumb wing is spitting on the ponies who didn’t get back up.”
The sadness returned to Sweetie’s face and she bowed her head.
Rainbow frowned. “Hey, listen, I didn’t mean—”
“Scootaloo went into the Hawkless Corps., too. She told me in a letter. The mailponies got it to me somehow, Rarity and I were sent from free zone to free zone for ages before Flown was finished. She was so excited to be doing her part.” Sweetie let out a long breath and let her hoof drop from Rainbow’s side, down to her thigh again. “I saw her name in the list of fallen a week later.”
Rainbow closed her eyes and nodded.
“That’s all this war does. It eats ponies.”
“That’s what life does.” Rainbow gave her a crooked smile and shrugged. “And why I can’t scream and cry too much about this. I was a damn good flyer. Was. Now I’m a damn good captain. Good enough they keep trying to put me in a desk and I have to go start trouble ‘til they put me back in a Hawk.” Her smile widened. “Sometimes you gotta take what they give you.”
Sweetie kept her sad smile, looking down at her hoof in Rainbow’s lap for a long moment. “You say that, but we both know you don’t really feel that way.”
“… Yeah. We do.”
Sweetie breathed in deeply and smiled wistfully. “Maybe someday we’ll be able to choose what we’re given again.”
Rainbow sat silent for a moment, studying Sweetie. “I think I know what your ‘thank you for your service’ is.”
Sweetie raised her head, still smiling.
“It’s ‘You were born to do this,’” she said, thinking of Commander Roller saying the same thing to her over and over again.
Sweetie’s smile widened, and Rainbow felt the hoof slide up her thigh. “That’s the other reason I was singing to you. I knew you’d understand.” She lifted her other hoof and slipped a lock of mane out of her face. “Everypony always says I belong on stage, that it’s like the stage was made for me, and the worst part is that they’re right. I was made for this, and I’ve always liked singing, but this isn’t what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to help ponies. I can feel it. And no matter how much I tell myself that I just need to take what the world’s given me … we both know I don’t mean it. Because I know I was supposed to help ponies.” She locked eyes with Rainbow for a moment, her expression evening. “… And you were supposed to be a Wonderbolt. You were made to fly an airpod, but you were supposed to be a Wonderbolt.”
Rainbow set her hoof over Sweetie’s. “Maybe. It feels like that a lot. And maybe it was supposed to be different, but …” She shrugged. “This is what it is. Could be worse. Could be I was supposed to get all the way in front of Celestia.”
“You don’t think that, either.”
“No. But it helps to pretend to think it.”
“Does it help?” Sweetie’s smile faded as she held Rainbow’s gaze. She shook her head. “I don’t know how you live like that.”
“Eh?”
“You’re so sad. I could see it across the room in your eyes, and I thought I must’ve been seeing things, but I wasn’t.” The lock of hair fell back over her face, and she blew it out of the way. An edge of jaded somberness touched her half-smile and she shook her head again. “Maybe I’m imagining it, but I don’t think I am. It’s why I knew you’d understand.”
Rainbow sighed and leaned back in her chair, patting Sweetie’s hoof. “Everypony’s a little sad these days.”
“I guess. It doesn’t eat away at everypony, though. They’re sad, and they’re happy, and angry, and worried, and bored, you know? Life keeps going.”
“Yeah, well …” Rainbow shrugged. “Guess my life kinda stopped.” A beat of silence stretched out between them. “… Told you I’m just some burned out warpony.”
Sweetie’s expression turned to a frown of appraisal as she studied Rainbow’s face. “… No. No, you’re not.” The frown slowly spread into a smile. “And that’s what makes you interesting.” She pressed down on Rainbow’s thigh, drifting upward and forcing out a small gasp and a blush that made Rainbow feel half her age again. Sweetie’s eyes twinkled. “We both know you didn’t mean that, either, because if your life really stopped, you wouldn’t go on living, would you? It isn’t your style. Something’s keeping you going. Something’s keeping us all going.”
Rainbow swallowed the lump in her throat. Sweetie’s hoof drifted closer to her inner thigh. “Uh, yeah, I guess. Gotta keep going. It’s the right thing to do.”
Shaking her head, smiling wider, and sliding her hoof between Rainbow’s thighs, cutting off Rainbow’s ability to breathe, Sweetie said, “It’s more than that. I can see it in your eyes, too, underneath the sadness. Maybe you don’t even know it’s there.” She leaned forward and whispered, “I hope you can figure out what it is.”
“Mmn,” Rainbow forced out.
Just before she got anywhere too inappropriate for the middle of a club, Sweetie pulled her hoof back out of Rainbow’s lap. Rainbow sucked in a breath and crossed her legs. Sweetie winked, then reached into her hoofbag. “It’s about time for me to go back on stage. I always say goodnight to everypony with one last song,” she said, her tone light and innocent. “It’d be nice to have somepony to sing to, if you want to stick around.” The twinkling in her eyes sharpened as she pulled out a tube of lipstick. “Sing to, among, ah, other things afterwards.”
Rainbow stared at her dumbfounded.
“I was serious when I said, ‘burned out warpony,’ was my type, Rainbow. Captain Rainbow.” As Rainbow stammered she leaned closer and added, “My other ‘thank you for your service’ line is, ‘you’re going to make some stallion very happy someday,’” then straightened and snapped open a compact mirror.
Rainbow cleared her throat and tried to regain some composure, giving Sweetie a nod. “I’ll, uh … I’ll stick around.” She felt a grin spread across her face that felt just as nostalgic as the cider. She had no idea when she last felt nervous and bashful. “… Break a leg?””
“I plan on breaking something tonight,” Sweetie said in a purr. She touched up her lip gloss in the mirror, then blotted it with a napkin. “I’d like to ask you a question first, though.”
“Yeah?”
“What is it really that you’re fighting for? I don’t mean the ‘because it’s the right thing to do’ thing, or because of ‘Equestria,’ or because you’re following orders, or anything like that. What is it that you’re holding onto in your heart?”
She knit her brow. “Uh …”
Sweetie stood up and leaned in close to Rainbow’s ear, her voice turning into a breathy whisper. “You can think about it and tell me later.” Rainbow flinched as teeth grazed the edge of her ear, and a hoof pressed against her lap. “Later doesn’t need to mean tonight, either. Captain Rainbow Dash.”
Rainbow caught her breath again as Sweetie turned and sauntered away. She hazarded a glance around the room. Several pairs of eyes quickly looked away from her with a mixture of discomfort and, perhaps, a hint of jealousy.
Rainbow looked down at her lap. Sweetie had left the napkin on her thigh. The faint print of a kiss in silver-blue lip gloss stared up at her, just above a carefully printed street address.
The lights dimmed as the piano struck up again, and cheers lifted the room. Rainbow sat dumbstruck in her chair, letting her mind get transported back into good times and bad, listening to a singer who only had eyes for her.
Deep down, Captain Rainbow Dash knew it was a suicide mission. Princess Luna needed the stronghold held down and on high alert for something else. She’d sent in the best to make sure it really was held down without giving it away as a feint, and that the squad made it back alive. Unless they didn’t. In which case, well … everypony knew she was burned out, that she had nothing else to fight for. That was all she ever showed them. If she burned out alone, or if she and her squad burned out together in a blaze of glory, she’d at least still serve as a distraction.
A flurry of quick chirps sounded out inside the cloud around Lightning’s Envy. Everypony was in position. Everypony was waiting for her signal. She squawked the Mechanical Syrinx, starting a countdown. Fifteen seconds to action.
Rainbow licked her lips and grinned. The blast of endorphins and adrenaline flooded her body, making her forelegs jitter and her heartbeat thunder in her ears. She looked down at the open locket in her hoof.
Silvery blue lipstick blew her a kiss from the folded piece of napkin. Rainbow touched it to her lips, smelling vanilla. She snapped the locket shut and let it dangle from her neck, slamming her hooves into the control pommels. The Grease Beast roared with approval behind her, heat blazing through the cockpit, fogging the window to a hazy shadow. Lightning’s Envy exploded from the ash cloud, trailing fire, fumes, and fury. The angry dots of enthralled pegasi scattered at her screaming approach, her squad following in the wake of her Grease Beast. Mini-cannons loaded, hull-crackers primed, and the ebony throne dead in her sights. Maybe it was just a feint attack. That didn’t mean she couldn’t kill him. The odds were against her, but that wouldn’t stop her. You can fly into the jaws of death any time, the trick is to not let them swallow you. She grit her teeth against the G-force and grinned, a maniacal, devil-may-care smile, larger than life, abrasive, loud, arrogant, and fully deserving of all of it, carved from a different material, something mythical, something from folklore. The smile touched her eyes.
Captain Rainbow Dash knew what she was fighting for.
Author's Note
Hey, pony folks!
So this one was an interesting one to write. Several people will, and probably should blame Formerly Committed for this story’s existence, as he’s been trying to get me to write this ship for ages, but with it all said and done I’m happy with how this turned out. I haven’t strayed super far from the canon setting when writing pony words before, and it was fun taking a lot of liberties and moving into a totally different genre. I might end up revisiting the setting in another story, I rather like it and think there’s quite a bit left to explore, I still have a ton of notes on this Dieselpunk Equestria that didn’t come up this time around. Thanks a ton for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoyed stepping outside of the normal fantasy version of Equestria with me.
