2 – Stories Over Breadsticks
Silverstream and her friends had been meeting at the Ponyville Café every Saturday since school ended. This wasn’t the only day they met—they also got together for random mini-meets on random weekdays in random places throughout Equestria—but the Saturday lunch was sacred. None of them had missed it since the day of their last exam, when Ocellus and Silverstream celebrated making the honor roll, Yona and Sandbar celebrated passing their exams despite minimal effort, and Smolder and Gallus celebrated Twilight Sparkle’s reluctance to hold summer school.
Not that Gallus needed it, of course, with the grades he was pulling in. But Silverstream let him keep his success to himself—a special secret just the two of them shared.
Silverstream, as always, arrived at the Ponyville Café first. She got a kick out of seeing her friends come in the door. Would they enter one-by-one? In pairs? A group of three?
The waiter greeted her at the door, bowed dramatically, and gestured to the usual round table, six waters already in place.
“Complimentary breadsticks?” the waiter said, deadpan. “And no actual meals?”
“Yes, please!” cheered Silverstream.
“Hm.”
It was a two-by-two kind of day. Smolder and Sandbar were first through the chiming door, both of them panting and walking unevenly. They bumped a hoof and a claw, slouched into their chairs and gulped down their waters before saying hello.
“Sorry we’re late,” Smolder said, wiping her mouth. “Training ran a little long.” Sandbar nodded in agreement as he drank with both hooves.
“Think you’ll be ready for the Running of the Leaves?” Silverstream asked, proud of herself for remembering what her friends were up to.
“I know I will be.” Smolder paid Sandbar a snarky look. “This guy’ll be fine so long as he doesn’t forget his water bottle on race day.”
Sandbar finished his drink, gasping for air. He cleared his throat, collected himself, and stared longingly at the other waters on the table. Silverstream slid hers in front of him and gave him a pat on the back.
“Thank you,” said Sandbar.
Silverstream considered Sandbar and Smolder for a moment—not as friends, but as candidates. Were they in need of a good deed? Possibly. Maybe they would appreciate a cheerleader the next time they trained. She was excellent at cheering, and her leading skills were nothing to scoff at, either. But no, that felt uninspired. Small potatoes. She decided to keep looking.
The door chimed again, and in stepped two Yonas. They caught everycreature’s attention—not because they were clones of each other, but because they both wore their hair in short ponytails, instead of the usual braided hair-loops.
They stomped their way to the table and sat down side-by-side, frowning at the looks they were getting.
“Are we supposed to guess which one is the real Yona?” Sandbar asked.
“What?” one of the Yonas said, but with the voice of Ocellus. “Oh!”
Ocellus flashed back into her regular form. “Sorry,” she said. Having just been three times her size, she looked even smaller than usual. “Yona wanted to know how her hair looked.”
“No mirrors in Yakyakistan,” Yona explained. “Yaks smash them by accident.”
Everycreature raised an eyebrow at her.
“…Yaks smash them on purpose.”
Silverstream giggled, along with Ocellus and Smolder. Sandbar, meanwhile, looked utterly serious.
“Yona,” he said, like a warning. “The ponytail was first worn by Saddle Arabian horses as a way to disparage ponies, whom they considered to be second-class citizens.”
The table hushed. The friends were mortified, but none more than Yona.
Sandbar elbowed her furry shoulder.
“I’m messing with you,” he said.
Everycreature laughed, but none more than Yona, and any leftover tension in the room evaporated. The breadsticks arrived, and the stories sprang forth, overlapping each other and battling for the attention of the table, like kids fighting for possession of a conch shell.
Silverstream listened as best she could, but she couldn’t help feeling distracted. She loved chatting with a group of friends, two friends, or even just one friend, but when it was every friend except one, she couldn’t relax.
“Where’s Gallus?” she finally asked, interrupting Smolder’s retelling of her greatest ever belch.
Ocellus looked relieved. “He went to Griffonstone this week,” she said. “He usually flies back. He says it’s cheaper than the train.”
“Good exercise, too,” Smolder said. “So anyways, there I was—”
“What does he do there?”
The question slipped out of Silverstream against her will. Had she even thought those words? Or had they just appeared on her tongue and fallen out?
Sandbar replied, “Probably visiting his…” He scratched his chin. “Huh.”
Smolder clapped her claws together. “Guys. This conversation’s in a weird place. Can we relax? He’ll be here soon.”
“Yona agrees with gassy dragon.”
The discussion changed again, veering back on course. Silverstream quietly munched on a garlicky breadstick, thinking.
She tried to picture Gallus back home among the other griffons, laughing, snacking on nachos, all of them patting each other on the back. But she couldn’t see it. How long had it been since he confessed to growing up without a family? Over half a year now, at least. And yet he was still going back to Griffonstone, that miserable place, to that curmudgeonly Grandpa Gruff, to the bickering and the rough edges and the hardships of being a griffon.
She came back to the room. She was miles behind the conversation now, but she spoke like she was miles ahead.
“Hey, guys?”
Her friends went quiet, looked at her.
“Is Gallus… okay?”
Her friends looked at each other, and then back to her.
“Like, have any of you asked him?”
Nocreature seemed to be able to come up with an answer. Luckily, they were saved by the door chime.
“Yo.”
Gallus.
With a lazy walk and a sigh, he came around to his side of the table, stretched out his wings and plopped into the last empty chair, right next to Silverstream. He eyed his water but didn’t take a drink. He looked the same as he always did—poor-postured, blue feathers a little brown with dirt—but one part of him was decidedly different. His eyes were swollen. Bleary.
“Everything alright, dude?” Smolder asked.
Gallus frowned. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Yona gave Ocellus a nudge. She transformed into the griffon, red eyes and all, and struggled to maintain eye contact.
“Huh.” Gallus studied the face across the table. “I look like crap.” He threw on a big smile and leaned back in his chair. “So, I flew through too many clouds. Big deal.”
Silverstream held a strong gaze on him. She placed a talon on his shoulder.
Gallus screwed up his beak. He picked up her talon and placed it back on the table, patting it twice.
Sandbar cut in. “How was… Griffonstone?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Gallus’s posture suddenly improved. “Hey, I’ve got a skill-testing question for you guys.”
He placed his talons together in front of his beak. Then he moved them forward like a karate chop.
He asked, “Are the Wonderbolts cool?”
The party made a few noncommittal noises. Mostly grunts and winces, but a few replies started to form.
Smolder: “I’ve never seen ‘em.”
Ocellus: “Me neither.”
Yona: “No shows in Yakyakistan.”
Sandbar: “I have seen them a thousand times.”
The table looked to Sandbar for guidance. An expert’s opinion.
He shrugged. “They’re okay.”
Silverstream noticed Gallus’s eyes were back to normal now, big and blue and white. Something clicked in her brain, and she gasped. “Why do you ask?” she said.
“Yeah,” Smolder added. “Did a flyer smack you in the face on the way here or something?”
Gallus snorted. “Nah. I just thought it was one of those things, you know, that everycreature should see at least once.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s a show tonight, and—”
Silverstream leapt into the air, threw up a fist and exclaimed, “OHMIGOSH YES! We should all go!”
“Did you buy tickets?” Ocellus asked.
Gallus blinked. “It costs money?”
Ocellus smiled at him. “Come on, Gallus. The Wonderbolts haven’t been subsidized by Canterlot ever since they stopped acting as a military outfit.”
Everycreature stared at her. Silverstream landed back in her seat. Sandbar coughed.
“Don’t give me that look,” Ocellus said. “It was in Professor Rainbow Dash’s lectures.”
Silverstream chewed on a talon. She didn’t have the money for six Wonderbolts tickets, let alone one, and Gallus had just flown across Equestria to avoid buying a train ticket. If there was any hope, it would have to come from the other four.
“Can we buy some?” she asked the table, trying not to sound too panicked.
The party murmured, muttered, looked away and sighed. Silverstream had heard these sounds a lot this summer. She called it the chorus of broke college students.
Sandbar cleared his throat. “They’ll be sold out tonight anyways,” he said. “Last show until the fall, too.”
Gallus’s posture faltered. “Oh,” he said, prodding his water glass. “Bummer.”
Slowly, but not surely, the conversation changed again. Silverstream couldn’t help noticing Gallus struggle to pick his chin up and join in. Didn’t he have any stories from Griffonstone? Maybe he did. They just weren’t any fun.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, so only he could hear.
“What? Yeah, I’m…” He wiped his eyes and put on a smile. “Just tired.”
“Because if you ever want to talk…”
Gallus darkened. “Drop it,” he warned. There was a hint of a tremble in his voice—barely noticeable, but still strong enough to break Silverstream’s heart. In an instant, though, her heart mended. It grew, or at least it felt that way, and it raced with excitement.
She’d found her candidate.
She perked up, stood from her chair, and grinned.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” Gallus asked.
“I gotta go!” she yelled at his face, and before he could respond, she sped out the door.
Gallus never told his friends the real reason he wanted to see the Wonderbolts. He had the idea, not when a loose flyer hit his face on the way to Ponyville, but when the front door to Grandpa Gruff’s cottage did, just before he left Griffonstone.
“Fine!” that old fart shouted from behind the door. “If you wanna be a pony so bad, then I won’t stop you!” And Gallus, rubbing his sore beak, thought this was a fantastic idea.
Why not?
All he had to do was fly back to Ponyville, meet up with his friends, and spend the rest of the summer doing everything ponies did. Hugging, singing, sharing snacks and sweets and feelings. It sure beat being yelled at. And with every little bit of pony that worked its way into his personality, one little bit of griffon would disappear.
And what was more ‘pony’ than seeing the Wonderbolts?
There was also another, smaller reason he wanted to go. Gallus needed to see Captain Spitfire perform. No disrespect to his professor, but her boss was supposed to be something else. He’d always wondered: Was her name just a name? Or could she actually spit fire?
Either way. It seemed, at the café, when he and his friends remembered they were dirt poor, that his idea wasn’t going to pan out. That once again he’d walked beak-first into a closed door. That was, until Silverstream worked her magic.
The six of them entered the VIP Box at the Canterlot Arena and were floored. From the outside, it looked like a concrete birdhouse in the sky—somewhere a flock of pigeons may go to roost, and coo, and take craps in. But the inside was like stepping into a mansion. It had everything. A pool table, a bar, a row of fridges at the far end humming coolly. In the wall facing the stadium was a gigantic window opening out onto the airfield, where a soft breeze wandered in.
Sandbar, Yona, Smolder and Ocellus wandered inside and explored, whoa-ing and wow-ing, but Gallus stayed put, unsure if he was even allowed to go in. He pressed his talons and paws into the carpet. Was this what velvet felt like? There wasn’t a single surface in Griffonstone this soft.
“Alright, I’ll bite,” he said to Silverstream. “How did you score us these tickets?”
Silverstream, leaning against the frame of the door, pretended she wasn’t listening. She yawned, and she took off her aviator sunglasses—another expensive thing she’d mysteriously acquired. “Now, Gallus,” she replied. “A Hippogriff never reveals her secrets.”
“…Is that a thing?”
“Uhhhhhh—”
“Check it out!” Smolder cried, grabbing a blue-and-gold can from one of the fridges. “Wonderbolt Cola!”
Sandbar trotted up to the can and sneered at it. “You know they don’t actually drink that,” he said. “Wonderbolts have super strict diets. Sugary drinks like these—”
Smolder opened the can with a ksh, and Sandbar winced at the spray of compressed air. Then, she downed her drink, crumpled the can and threw it over her shoulder with a satisfied sigh.
“Were you saying something, Wonder-dolt?”
Sandbar wiped his face. “No.”
“Milkshakes!” Yona celebrated at the bar, and she wasn’t kidding. Six perspiring milkshakes, each stuffed with a chocolate-chip cookie, a chocolate bar, an embarrassing amount of whipped cream, and a cherry, sat on the countertop.
“Who even put these here?” Smolder wondered. There was no bartender around. Probably because none of them were of age.
“Maybe it was a ghost,” Gallus said. “one who leaves behind desserts instead of… y’know, ectoplasm.”
Silverstream only hummed. “Oh, I’ll never tell.”
The friends each grabbed a shake. Gallus took one sip, decided it had enough sugar in it to kill him, and put it back down. The others did the same, except for Silverstream, who took out the straw and drank hers down like it was a glass of water.
“What’s with the chairs?” Ocellus asked, hovering by the window. “They seem kinda… pedestrian.”
She was right. The six fold-out lawn chairs at the window looked like they belonged on the sidelines of a little-league hoofball game, as opposed to inside Chez Wonderbolt.
Gallus scoffed. “Who knows?” he said, but he was pretty sure he knew. The types of ponies normally buying space in the VIP Box didn’t come to watch the show, but rather, to be watched by all the riffraff in the stands.
Speaking of the riffraff, Gallus ran to the window to take a look at them.
“Sweet Mother of Grover,” he breathed.
Down in the stands, squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder in every row from A to double-Z, ponies filled the stadium to bursting. Such a variety, too. Canterlot aristocrats in fancy, furry clothes; exhausted parents in Hay-waiian shirts; and foals having trouble understanding that their tickets only bought them one seat. The sound of them chatting washed over Gallus like a wave. If you took every griffon in the world and shoved them into this one arena, they wouldn’t even fill half of it. But here, he knew, only a fraction of all the ponies in the world had come to see the show, and sold it the hay out.
Standing above the rich and the hoity-toity of Canterlot and beyond, Gallus felt stirred. He pictured the crowd turning towards him, and him giving them a talons-up or talons-down depending on his satisfaction with the performance.
“That’s adorable,” he heard Sandbar say.
Gallus’s friends were giggling at his swishing tail. His cheeks warmed, he grabbed his tail, and the giggles turned into snarks.
“Oh, hush,” he muttered.
He took his seat between Silverstream and the rest of his friends and huffed. He hadn’t finished surveying the crowd. Some of the ponies were wearing a new line of white merchandise with some blue-and-yellow Wonderbolts-related imagery on the front. T-shirts, scarves, hats. All he could make out was the yellow lightning bolt. He wondered if Silverstream could help him get something as a souvenir.
If she made all this happen, what else was she capable of?
Gallus waited until his friends started chatting amongst themselves before nudging Silverstream’s shoulder. “Hey.”
She gave him the eyes from behind her aviators. “Yeeeees?”
“I… Look, Streams, I don’t know how you made all this happen, but I know you did it for me.”
Silverstream had a horrible poker face. “Maaaaaybe,” she said.
Gallus held up his talons. “I just wanted to say thanks. When you ran out on lunch, I was kinda worried you were gonna… I dunno, throw a big party, or something.”
Silverstream flipped her aviators onto her forehead. She gave Gallus a confused look.
“I know, it’s… dumb. Forget I said—”
“Hang on a sec.”
Gallus held on.
“You’re telling me you don’t like it when someone throws a big party in your honor?”
Gallus stuttered. In his honor?
“No…” he said carefully. “I mean… don’t get me wrong, I like parties, but I don’t like it when someone makes a big fuss over me. I like it more… lowkey. You know?”
Silverstream stared in disbelief. “Lowkey,” she repeated.
“Yeah, you know. Chill.”
“Chill.” Silverstream flipped her aviators back over her eyes, and faced forward. “I see.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Streams… Spit it out.”
“I just wish you had told me that before,” Silverstream muttered, chewing at her beak.
“Before what?”
Silverstream shook her head, crossed her arms, and said something that would echo in Gallus’s nightmares for the rest of the summer.
“I don’t think you’re gonna like Galluspalooza.”
A high-pitched whine suddenly rang out of every speaker in the stadium. Lucky for Gallus, it did a great job of hiding the shriek he let out from hearing the word ‘Galluspalooza’.
“Testing,” came a feminine, gravelly, and painfully loud voice from everywhere at once. It stabbed Gallus’s ears like hot needles. He jumped to the window and peered down at the airfield. There, on a squat wooden podium in the clouds, a tall mare, whose mane seemed to be on fire the way it folded in the wind, stood in front of a microphone. Captain Spitfire her-damn-self. She squinted at a piece of paper in her hoof. The Wonderbolts stood behind her in a row, all of them suits-on and goggles at the ready. All of them saluting.
Spitfire’s voice boomed out a split-second after her lips moved, and echoed several times over. “How’s everypony feelin’ today?!” she called. “ADEQUATE I HOPE?!”
The crowd cheered and stomped their hooves. The stadium vibrated, as if a slumbering beast were waking up under the earth. Gallus dug his talons into the concrete window ledge.
“Alright, alright,” Spitfire said. “So a little better than adequate.”
“Woo!” said somepony.
“First thing’s first,” Spitfire went on, “uh… little unorthodox, but we wanted to dedicate this evening’s performance to the one and only—!”
She brought the page close to her face.
“…Gay-less!”
Gallus oozed to the floor. The crowd, meanwhile, went wild.
“Who’s Gay-less?” Sandbar wondered aloud. “Ow! Yona, what the—? Ohhhh. That suuuuuuucks.”
Gallus curled into a ball.
Spitfire wasn’t finished. “Let’s hear it for Gay-less, everypony, he’s been through a lot. So I’ve heard, anyway.”
The crowd laughed.
“Then again.” Spitfire’s voice echoed, hollow and foreboding. “It looks like you guys already know who he is.”
Gallus stood up suddenly. He glared questioningly at the far-away Wonderbolt.
“What the crap did she just say?” he asked the room. Yona, Sandbar, Smolder and Ocellus joined him at the window. Silverstream’s chair could be heard scooting away.
As if she sensed Gallus’s evil look, Spitfire turned her head up towards him. “Hey!” she called. “There’s the griffon of the hour right now! Everypony wave to Gay-less!”
The crowd turned as one.
Gallus’s vision sharpened—the same response his ancestors experienced when they sensed danger nearby—and he saw everything. The waving hooves, the clapping hooves, the cooing looks on all of the ponies’ faces, and the blue-and-gold image emblazoned on all that brand new merchandise.
“Holy crap,” Smolder whispered.
“Aw, come on!” Gallus screamed.
On every T-shirt, scarf, and hat, as far as his hawk-eyes could see, was a crude drawing of Gallus himself. The caricature, the impostor winked cutely and stuck out its tongue. The image was so slapdash; it was painted on every shirt with a paintbrush so that none of them quite looked the same.
Gallus recognized the talonwork.
“I can explain,” Silverstream offered.
But there was no time. Galluspalooza marched right on to its climax. There came an eardrum-shattering whistle as six trails of smoke appeared in front of the podium. The crowd, and Gallus, stared upwards as the sky exploded into pink hearts. A final firework, the size of a barrel, shot up after the hearts, twisted into a loop, and painted the sky with Gallus’s face—winking, and sticking out its tongue.
If a trapdoor opened up underneath him at that moment, Gallus wouldn’t even care where it led. He would fall into the jaws of a hydra with a smile on his face if it meant this would all be over.
He stepped away from the window, but there was no escape. The whole stadium shook from the stomping, the hooting, the calling of his name (or something close to it). He bumped into the pool table and slid onto the floor.
Was this room always so cramped?
He looked up.
Was the ceiling always this low?
He crawled across the floor.
Was the door always so far away?
“Gallus!”
“Huh?”
Gallus felt a pair of claws pick him up from his armpits and hoist him up to all fours. The same way Gruff used to pick him up, as a cub, when he was fixing to yell at someone.
“Gallus, snap out of it!” It was Smolder. She came around in front of him and shook him by the shoulders.
“Wh-what?”
She slapped him.
“Ow! What gives?!”
“I have a plan,” she said, and her eyes flashed to prove it. “Don’t worry. I know this looks bad, but we’re gonna fix it. Right, guys?”
The chairs shuffled. “Right!” said all of their friends but one.
“Silverstream!” Smolder barked.
“Uh—! Y-yeah?”
“Where’d you put all the earnings you made from that Gallus merch?”
Silverstream seemed almost offended. “I didn’t sell it. I gave it away for free.”
Gallus suddenly got strength in his legs. He pushed Smolder away and marched on Silverstream. “How did you even afford all of this—?”
Smolder yanked him back by his tail and slapped him again.
“Ow! Would you stop—?!”
“Gallus, don’t you see?” Smolder interrupted. “This is good news! Sandbar?”
Sandbar snapped to attention. “Yeah?”
“Is there a room somewhere in this building we can store all of that Gallus merch?”
“How should I know?”
Smolder scowled at him.
“…There’s a garbage room outside every entrance, eight in total at all the cardinal directions. On your right, red door, can’t miss it.”
“Perfect. Let’s gather all that crap up and toss it in those rooms. Sound good, Gallus?”
Gallus replied with a whimper. The thought of going out there…
“Yeah,” he said, faking bravery. He shot Silverstream a look, and she cringed. “I guess so.”
“What if they don’t let us take it?” Ocellus asked.
Smolder snorted smoke. “Leave those ones to me.”
Outside, to the sound of jet engines, the Wonderbolts took flight, and the crowd let them hear their appreciation.
“We have until the show’s over,” Smolder said. “Fan out!”
Sandbar and Yona rushed past Gallus and went down the stairs, while Ocellus flew through the window and dropped out of sight. Smolder made to follow her, but Gallus grabbed her by the arm.
“Wait!”
Smolder balked. “What is it? We don’t have a lotta time, you know.”
“Uh… Th-thanks. For your help, I mean.”
Smolder grinned. “Don’t sweat it. I know what it’s like to not want anycreature staring at you.” With a wink, she hopped into the crowd below.
Gallus crept up to the window, but it was his turn to be grabbed from behind, this time by Silverstream.
She was still wearing those stupid sunglasses.
“Uh,” she said. “Can we talk first?”
Gallus’s heart boomed against his ribcage. “Talk?” His talons shook. The toes of his paws curled. “Sure, Streams. That’s a great idea. Here, why don’t I go first?” He took a step forward as Silverstream bumped into the pool table. “I’ve never been more humiliated in my entire life.”
Silverstream scratched at the floor. “I can expl—”
“And take those stupid things off.”
Without complaining, Silverstream plucked her aviators off her beak, folded them and held them to her chest. “I’m sorry, Gallus…”
“Did you want to impress them?” Gallus shot. “Is that it?”
“…Impress who?”
“Who?! Them!” Gallus gestured out the window, at the flipping and tumbling pegasi in blue. “I was there in that dream we all shared, remember? The one where you wanted to become a Wonderbolt?”
Silverstream took to the air. “Hey! I wasn’t thinking about that!”
Gallus also flew, just a touch higher. “Admit it,” he jabbed, “you used me as a charity case to get in their good books.”
“I—!” Silverstream paused, and landed. “I don’t… think that’s why I did it…”
“Well why don’t you stay here and figure it out?” Gallus suggested angrily. “We’ll go clean up your mess for you.”
“But…”
Silverstream made to respond three times, but ended up saying nothing.
Gallus snorted and flew out the window. He wasn’t done fuming, but there was no time. The look on his face, hopefully burning into her memory, would have to say the rest.
Gallus’s friends were way better at stealing the clothes off the backs of ponies than he was. It was probably for the best. Gallus could only take being asked how he was holding up by so many ponies before he would start throwing them off of a cliff. And why did they all have to call him ‘Champ’?”
Yona and Sandbar worked a routine together. One of them would get somepony’s attention and point at some random spot in the sky. When they were distracted, the other yoinked the merch from their person. It worked with the hats, but the scarves were a struggle, and the shirts were downright impossible. Not that they didn’t give it the old School-of-Friendship try.
Smolder had a more claws-on approach. The shirts and scarves gave her something to grab onto, to yank the pony towards her and go nose-to-snout. And if they had a hat, she just swiped it, and dared them to complain.
Ocellus was nowhere to be seen, but there was a mysterious stallion helping out, wearing a Wonderbolt suit and demanding the ponies hand their merch over to him. If they refused, he simply tapped the golden badge on his chest and asked again.
Clever girl.
Speaking of the Wonderbolts, they, also, did their thing. Strutted their stuff. Flew their… coop. Gallus didn’t pay too much attention. It was all just flips, turns, and loop-dee-loops. Whoop-dee-doo. So much for learning how to be a pony.
One exhausting hour later, just as the show ended, Galluspalooza was successfully canceled. Gallus stuffed the last bundle of hats and shirts into a garbage room and flew back up to the VIP Box. On the way, he marveled at the state of the stadium. The ponies left behind bags of popcorn, bottles and cans of Wonderbolt Cola, and various other scraps of garbage to litter the thinning stands.
But he stopped caring when he made it to the VIP Box. He threw himself face-down on the nearest couch. It was softer than a cloud, and he would know.
One by one, his friends joined him. He heard them come in, panting, and plop down somewhere in the room.
“Thank you,” he mumbled into the couch. “I owe you guys.”
“Yeah, you do,” Smolder said.
“Hey, it’s no sweat, Gallus,” Sandbar added. “Anything for a friend.”
Gallus turned his head away from the couch. “Hey, thanks, Sand—” He choked on the last syllable. “Take that off, dude.”
“Take what off?” Sandbar blinked. “The hat, the scarf, or the T-shirt?”
“All three!”
Sandbar recoiled, but then he smiled. “But I can’t do that, they’re souvenirs!”
“If you don’t get rid of that junk, I’ll sue you for not having the rights to my image,” Gallus tried.
Sandbar took off his hat and rubbed Gay-less’s face. “I’ll risk it.”
“Not to barge in on an enlightening conversation,” Ocellus said. “But has anyone seen Silverstream?”
“Yona no see her helping,” Yona said.
Gallus raised his head from the pillow. He only just then realized she was gone. The only sign of her was her aviators, folded up neatly on her chair.
“I told her to stay here,” Gallus confessed.
“What?” said Smolder. “Why? We almost didn’t finish in time!”
Gallus pushed himself up from the couch. He shrugged. “I also kinda yelled at her.”
None of his friends responded.
“Don’t look at me like that. You all saw the opening ceremonies, I had every right to be mad.” Gallus crossed his arms, but it just made him feel like a cub. “Look, I’m sure she’s around somewhere…”
“Who’s around somewhere?” came a familiar, but less echo-y voice from the window.
Sandbar squeed and pointed. “It’s her!” he gasped.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Captain Spitfire replied. She hopped off the windowsill and flicked her fiery (but also sweaty) mane out of her face. “It’s me, cue applause.”
Sandbar started clapping.
“Not actually,” Spitfire snapped.
Sandbar obeyed. He rocked back and forth, his eyes shining like a foal’s.
Spitfire rubbed her forehooves together and grinned. “Now, then! Which one of you is Silverstream?”
“She’s not here,” Ocellus said.
Spitfire froze, still grinning. “Well, whaddya know. The changeling thinks she’s a comedian.”
“It’s true,” Gallus said. “She’s gone.”
In the silence that followed, Spitfire’s grin grew wider, toothier, and more deranged. Gallus could practically hear the kettle whistling.
“Why are you looking for her?” he asked.
“Because, Gay-less,” Spitfire said gently, “In exchange for your little show, Silverstream said she would do our laundry for a month. And balance our books. And use up all the cheap merchandise we accidentally bought. And volunteer at the Cloudsdale Flight School for the rest of the summer. And, most freaking importantly, she said she’d clean up after the show!” Spitfire gestured to the remains of the crowd outside, but none of them had to look.
Gallus blinked. “Silverstream agreed to all that?”
“She’d have no summer left,” Ocellus observed, and though she didn’t realize it, she plunged Gallus’s heart into a deep, dark pit.
Because she was right. Silverstream hadn’t used him as a charity case at all. She’d used herself, she’d used all of her free time, to do something she thought was nice for him.
Gallus fell to his seat and held his stupid, dumb, big head in his talons. She’d done all that for him, and what did he do in return? That’s right, he yelled at her. Once a bitter griffon, always a bitter, angry, pigheaded…
“Hold that angst, Gay-less,” Spitfire ordered.
Gallus found himself standing to attention.
“It occurs to me that I’ve never even met this Silverstream. She isn’t the one who promised me anything.”
“Who did?” Smolder asked.
Spitfire spun around, leaned over the edge of the window, and screamed.
“CRASH!”
The other wonderbolts scattered like pigeons fleeing from a backfiring weather machine. Only Rainbow Dash remained in the sky. She flew inside the Box and saluted, her mask folded around her neck and her goggles on her brow.
“Yes, ma’am, Capt—!” She scanned Gallus and his friends. “Guys. Where the hay is Silverstream?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Spitfire said calmly.
“I—! She said she’d be here, Captain! Honest!”
Spitfire shook her head. “Bad answer, Crash.”
“But—!”
Spitfire took a single step towards her subordinate, causing her to take five back. “Crash, I hope you realize that the only reason I allowed all that Gay-less garbage was so I could give the custodial staff the day off.” Spitfire sighed, as if recalling a lover from years past. “Oh, I was their hero, Crash. Not three hours ago.”
Rainbow Dash gulped. Gallus and his friends looked on, all of them sharing in an almost-sinister pleasure at watching their professor get in trouble.
“And now,” Spitfire soothed, “you’re gonna go tell them all to come back.”
“Wh-why me?” Rainbow Dash squeaked.
“Because I can’t be punched in the face that many times in a row.” Spitfire shook out her mane. “I’m too beautiful. You understand. Don’t you, Crash?”
Rainbow Dash nodded, visibly sweating, and Gallus realized, then, that Spitfire’s name suited her just fine.
“We’ll do it,” Ocellus said suddenly.
Spitfire turned towards her, grinning evilly. “The changeling is being funny again,” she said.
“I mean it.” Ocellus gulped. “Right, guys? We’ll clean up today.”
Yona, Smolder and Sandbar nodded in agreement, as did Gallus, a beat later.
“And we’ll find Silverstream and talk to her about those other things,” Ocellus continued. “I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten.”
Spitfire’s grin turned into a frown, which, oddly enough, made Gallus feel a lot safer.
“Roger that,” Spitfire said, and, without another word, or even so much as a glance at her cowering subordinate, she jumped out the window, and was gone.
Rainbow Dash watched her captain fly away, waited a couple seconds to be sure she was gone, and wiped her brow. “Close one. So, uh… should we be worried about Silverstream? Or…”
“I’ll find her,” Gallus said. “She can’t have gotten far.”
“Good plan,” Rainbow Dash nodded. “I’m gonna get the hay out of here before—Wah!”
As Rainbow Dash turned to step out of the VIP Box, Spitfire floated up from underneath, her dangerous smile now fully returned. In her hooves she carried a bundle of garbage bags and sharp pokers, one of which she brandished like a lance and poked into Rainbow Dash’s chest.
“Before what?” she inquired.
“Uh,” Rainbow Dash stuttered. If she had an answer, she didn’t risk it.
“I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere. You need to help these nice creatures clean up Silverstream’s mess,” Spitfire explained. “And if any of them pick up more garbage than you, then they get your spot on the Wonderbolts.”
“What?!” Rainbow Dash squeaked.
“Oh, yes,” Spitfire said. “And that includes the yak.” She turned to Yona. “No offense.”
Yona saluted. “Yona understand flying pony, and appreciates her savagery.”
Spitfire saluted right back, and with that, she threw the equipment to the floor, and wiped her brow.
Then she turned to Gallus “You know, Gay-less, I hope you realize how lucky you are to have friends like these.”
Gallus hung his head. Getting lectured by a pony. How Gruff would get a kick out of that.
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m learning that a lot today.”
“Just remember that these ones didn’t abandon you, unlike that shirk Silverstream.”
Gallus exploded.
“Hey!” He flew up to the Wonderbolt and poked her with his sharpest talon. “You take that back, Bolt. Silverstream would never abandon anyone.”
To his honest-to-Grover surprise, Spitfire took a step back and held up a hoof. “Alright, alright! Take it easy, will ya?” She pushed his talon away and stepped onto the windowsill. “You try to teach a guy a lesson…”
And with that, she hopped out of the VIP Box and flew away.
Gallus landed and brushed his chest feathers flat again. Was it just him, or did he successfully scare off the Captain of the Wonderbolts?
He turned his attention back to the room, where a silence had taken over his friends, and their professor, all of them staring at the pile of trashbags on the floor. Eventually, Rainbow Dash broke the silence.
“You guys know she’s not serious about taking my spot on the Wonderbolts,” she said. “Right?”
Smolder looked at Ocellus. Ocellus looked at Yona. Yona looked at Sandbar. Sandbar ripped his shirt off.
Before anyone could react, he stuffed all his Gallus merch into a garbage bag (bless his heart), threw all the half-eaten milkshakes in with them, stabbed Smolder’s spent can of Wonderbolt cola with a garbage poker, and somersaulted out the window.
“I have never seen him move that fast,” Smolder said.
Everycreature scattered, and soon, Gallus was totally, blissfully alone, with only the faint sounds of his laughing friends and his cursing teacher for company. He sat down on the couch and sighed, but a quiet breeze floated in through the window and pushed his feathers out of his eyes, as if reminding him he had work to do.
He grabbed Silverstream’s aviators off her chair, unfolded them and put them on. He jumped out the window and flew into the sky, right through the space where his face-firework had exploded.
Sweet Celestia, that felt like ages ago.
