We Are Legion

It takes almost two hours to maneuver through the neighborhoods leading up to the Canterlot Heights, the second-ritziest part of town aside from the Gold Coast itself. It takes another hour to get past that, through the manicured hiking trails, and into the less walked sections of the mountain.

Ormond is our haven and our hideaway. It’s the only place that we can just be alone, partially because of its bad reputation but also because I’m pretty sure the city’s just plum forgotten it’s up here.

The place was, I think, an old ski resort. Or at least that was the plan. There’s still construction equipment and all kinds of stuff littering the place, and the resort itself ain’t even really finished. All I know is that the three of us found it not long after the bullying got real bad when we were wandering around together, dead-set on going anywhere but back home, and stumbled on the old trail that led to the resort, and since then it’s been the only place we can get a little peace.

The snow is thick around Ormond as we get to the edge of the trail that once might’ve been a street, and we park our bikes in an old utility shed by the road that’s lucky enough to still have its roof and most of its walls.

“Fuck it’s cold.” Scootaloo shivers as she stows our bikes and starts rubbing at her arms. “C’mon, let’s get inside and get the fire going.”

I nod, even though I don’t feel all that cold. I shiver a little now and again, and I know it’s below freezing up here but it’s like the cold doesn’t get past my skin.

Sweetie Belle curls up against me as we trudge through the snow toward the ramshackle ski lodge, and I throw an arm over her shoulders as Scootaloo runs ahead to shoulder open one of the doors and hold it ajar while I usher Sweetie in.

“Get’er warm,” I say, “I’ll grab some firewood.”

“Should still be some around back,” Scootaloo says, nodding towards the rear of the lodge.

I know, but I nod anyway, and start moving around the edge of the lodge. The snow is still falling in thick, drifting clumps as I work my way through towards the one lumber bin that’s still solid enough to hold firewood without leaking.

It should stay that way too. Scoots and I found some tools in the shed we use to keep our bikes safe and shored it up, and I waterproofed it with tar a few weeks ago before the worst snows hit.

Prying open the box should be a two person job. I tell Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle it’s just the old farm muscle going to work, but really it just don’t feel that heavy.

I lever open the woodbox and pull out some split logs, load them up into my arms, and hip-check the box shut before moving back around through the snow towards the entrance to the lodge. It’s a big place, and I’d say it’s seen better days but I ain’t actually sure that’s true. Seems to me like the old bastard has just been waiting to fall over ever since they put up the first load-bearing pillars.

Ain’t that just a mood.

“Ya got the kindlin’?” I ask as I walk in and dump the stack of logs into the raised fire pit to start arranging them.

Scootaloo nods as she pulls a big box out from under one of the dusty, half-rotten tables and opens it to start pulling out rolled stacks of dry branches tied up together.

“Gimme two,” I say, holding out a hand.

Scootaloo tosses two of the rolls my way, I grab one but the other goes a little wide and bounces off of my knuckles. I cuss and swing around to grab it before it falls on the ground and rolls into a puddle or something, but a pale hand snatches it out of the air just before it lands.

“Here,” Sweetie says softly.

“Nice catch,” I say with a tired grin as I take it.

I go about lighting the fire with the ease of long practice. You don’t live on a farm without learning to light a fire by hand after all. Soon enough the fire is lit, a blazing star in the middle of a miserable blizzard. It ain’t quite that bad outside yet, but it’s getting on, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Scootaloo, Sweetie, and I were stuck in Ormond til morning.

Not that that’d be such a bad thing.

There was a surprising amount of random crap left in Ormond after the workers left. Half of the rooms were set up for lodgers and overnighters, and most of those rooms are still serviceable. Can’t sleep in them though, on account of the cold, but the beds are still good… mostly.

“You ever think about just… leaving?” Scootaloo asks quietly as she nudges one of the logs, turning it over and renewing the flame. “Just taking off somewhere?”

I prop myself up on the ratty old mattress we’d dragged down from upstairs. Sweetie Belle is already asleep beside me, nestled close to the fire, and I stare across it at Scootaloo on the other side.

“Once’r twice,” I admit. “Ain’t got any money, though. Kinda makes it hard t’just up’n leave.”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo says, her voice trailing off until— “What if we did, though?”

“Get money or leave?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Money.”

“Well… Ah guess figurin’ we managed t’get enough to get us somewhere Ah’d be keen enough on it, s’long as, well, y’know…”

I look down at Sweetie, then back up to Scootaloo, who smiles across the flames at me.

“Duh.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Us three are together to the end… period.”

I laugh with her, it’s a little hollow but it feels good. I don’t laugh much anymore, none of us do. It’s a pretty rare thing since the Trial and Sunset. Since the Nightmare and Anon-A-Miss, and between all the bullying and the Greys, we don’t have all that much to laugh about, I guess.

The fire crackles as Scootaloo turns over another log.

“So when are you gonna tell her?” she asks, looking pointedly at me, then turning her gaze down to Sweetie.

“Tell’er what?” I ask sullenly.

“How you feel,” Scootaloo replies. “I mean, she’s smarter than both of us put together. You know that, right?”

“Depends on if ya count’er cookin’,” I say, earning a wry grin from Scootaloo that fades quickly.

“Seriously, though, you know she knows.”

“Yeah, Ah know.”

I look down at Sweetie Belle and watch her for a moment as she snores quietly on the ratty mattress. Then I reach out and brush my fingers over her hair. It’s still long, and since she fell asleep more of it is spilling out around her soft, pale face.

“She’d say yes,” Scootaloo says, gesturing with the poker.

“Ah know,” I say.

“Then why—?”

“Because Ah can’t protect’er,” I say, before Scootaloo can finish. “Ah’d be a piss poor girlfriend. Can’t protect’er, can’t help’er, can’t take care of’er… all Ah’d be able t’do is sit there like a lump’n be useless.”

Scootaloo sighs and continues to prod at the fire pit. I put a hand over Sweetie Belle’s arm, and she shifts silently in her sleep before turning over and wrapping her arm around mine and holding on tight.

“It’s not your fault, y’know,” Scootaloo says.

“So ya keep sayin’,” I reply acidly.

“It’s not any of ours.”

“Then whose is it?!” I snap, barely clamping down on temper enough to keep my volume low. The last thing Sweetie Belle needs is to wake up to her only two friends arguing. “Sorry…”

“S’cool,” Scootaloo says with a shrug. “But it’s not your fault.”

“She’s hurtin’,” I say, putting a hand on her arm.

I hate how quickly the tears come. I’m angry. I want to be angry. I don’t want to cry. I already did enough of that. I ain’t got any more left, or at least I shouldn’t. Now I just want to be angry and find something to break.

“It’s how she copes,” Scootaloo says softly. “We both tried to get her to stop but if she won’t listen to you, then she sure as hell won’t listen to me. And her family doesn’t give enough of a shit about her anymore to care.”

“Ah just…” I can’t stop my words thickening under a sob, “Ah just wanna make’er better, Scoots… Ah just want’er t’be happy again.”

I can’t stop the tears this time. They hit me hard and fast, knocking the wind out of me, thickening up my throat and nose with snot as hot tears like bubbles roll down my face. Scootaloo stabs the poker into the fire and gets up, walks over to me, and sits down on the edge of the mattress to put her arms around me and pull me close.

I bury my face in Scootaloo’s shoulder and wrap my arms around her narrow middle. I do it carefully, I know she’s got bruises. She hugs me a lot harder. Not because I don’t have bruises, but because she knows that I don’t care. That I’d rather hurt and have the hug than not.

“Ah love you, Scoots,” I sob. “Ah’m sorry Ah got us inta all this crap, it’s all mah fault, Ah sh-should j-just—”

“Ssh,” Scootaloo puts a hand on the back of my head and brushes her fingers through my hair. “It’s okay, we’re all good, Bloom… I love you too, you and Sweetie. It wasn’t your fault, it doesn’t matter who came up with it, because we all did it.”

“But Ah—!”

“Together forever, remember?” Scootaloo says, cutting me off. “Us three? We're gonna be together forever.

A soft hand grips my fingers, and I look down to see a sleepy Sweetie Belle staring up at me. She takes my hand and gives it a tug, and Scootaloo goes along with it, lying down on the mattress on one side of me while Sweetie Belle curls up on the other side, burying her face against my chest as she goes back to sleep. It’s freezing outside, and the firepit is just enough to keep the worst of it out. It’ll burn out by mid-morning sometime, I know, but we’ll be gone by then.

“We’ll change things, Bloom,” Scootaloo says quietly as she snuggles up against my back, and I put a hand over hers and twine our fingers together. “We can do it.”

I nod silently.

Whatever it takes.

For Sweetie and Scootaloo. For my best friends. For the girls who mean more to me than my own damn life.

I’ll do whatever it takes.