Harmony University: Riding the Storm

Cyclone slowly woke up to the pungent smell of hospital disinfect invading her nostrils. She listened, but for the moment the room was silent apart from her own laboured heavy breathing and the beeping of machinery. The eighteen year old felt the tubes in her arms no doubt connected to the beeping things that were monitoring her.

The next thing Cyclone felt were hands holding hers. On her left was a small soft hand she instantly recognised as belonging to her girlfriend, Bluefeather. The hand holding her right felt older, but no less feminine. Mom…

Slowly, very gradually, Cyclone opened her blue eyes and, squinting in an attempt to sharpen the blurred images before her, she looked to her left and she barely made out her girlfriend sat by her side. As she suspected, she was holding her hand. The grey fingers intertwined with her black ones.

It looked like Bluefeather had been crying. A lot. Why had she been crying?

Cyclone tried to figure it out, but her brain was being remarkably uncooperative, even more so than usual. Turning her head slightly, she glanced to her right and, sure enough, there was her mother, Monsoon, sat holding her other hand, just below a collection of tubes that were running into her lower arm.

She tried to process what was happening, tried to work out why her mother and girlfriend were sat at her hospital bed, both looking like they hadn’t slept in days. Both of them had been crying, they both looked dishevelled and unkempt. Why?

Cyclone was missing something. Something big. No matter how hard she tried though, her brain couldn’t penetrate the fogginess of just waking up. She glanced around and took in the blue and white colour schemed hospital bedroom.

What was she missing?

The teenager closed her eyes and rested back on the pillow of the hospital bed she was laid in, in the hospital room she was staying in, and thought of her crying mother and girlfriend, holding her hands in the hospital room.

Then it hit her.

She was in hospital.

Why was she in hospital?

She shouldn’t be in hospital.

Cyclone opened and closed her eyes again and she tried hard to think. No matter how hard she tried though, it wasn’t coming to her. The last thing she remembered was…it was…

“H-Hey…” the dry croaky hoarseness in her voice surprised her, like she hadn’t spoken in days, “W-Wh-Where’s the mall gone?” The room she was in was definitely not part of the Canterlot City mall.

The moment Cyclone spoke, the two hands holding hers squeezed tightly, which was good, because the pain made her wake up a little faster. She was aware of Bluefeather sobbing, a sound she hated to hear. “I…I wish we’d never gone to the stupid mall…”

“Honey,” Monsoon spoke up, her voice sounding like it had gone through a sink strainer, sounding as tired and worn out as she looked, “You're in a hospital.”

“B-Blue?” Cyclone looked again to her left, then over to her right. “A hospital?” she asked stupidly, seemingly unable to believe what her senses were telling her. It sounded like a hospital, it smelled like a hospital, but she was still a little groggy. “Don't be silly, I can't be in hospital.” she looked around again and the room, that was undoubtedly a hospital room, “Why am I in hospital?”

Tears began to stream down Bluefeather’s grey cheeks, staining them more than they already were. “A fight broke out at the mall,” she began to explain what had happened, “And you were one of the casualties.”

When Bluefeather closed her eyes, she could see it. She could hear it. It was like she was there reliving it. Juniper Montage, twenty foot tall, chasing a girl she didn’t recognise around the mall. There had been shouting, arguing, the crashing of chairs, then in a rage, Juniper had thrown a sunglasses stall…

“You were hurt pretty bad, honey,” Monsoon spoke calmly, far more so than she actually felt, “It's Monday afternoon.”

That stunned Cyclone, enough to look away from Bluefeather to her mother, “Of course it's not Monday, mom. It's Saturday!” how could her mother be so dim? “Blue and I are going shopping for your birthday tomorrow.” She turned her head back to her girlfriend, “Remember, you're mad at me for leaving the gift thing so late?”

As Bluefeather sniffled and she started to cry anew, Monsoon displayed an incredible amount of self-control when she spoke next. “Honey,” her voice nonetheless trembled with emotion, “There are more important things than my birthday…more important things to...well, to think about now. You were hurt really bad, in the mall.”

“Wait,” Cyclone uttered, though she was really struggling to get her brain to work through the anaesthetic fog of awakening, “I think I remember the mall. Yeah,” she sounded more confident the more she spoke, “I remember Blue parked up, I was being a brat cos she pulled me away from the Power Ponies marathon.” She then looked back to Bluefeather, “What fight? I don't remember a fight. And how was I hurt?”

Bluefeather tried to speak. She opened her mouth but nothing came out except a strange, strangled noise and a cough that led to more tears spilling down her cheeks. After impersonating a fish four times, she chose to say nothing, but she squeezed Cyclone's hand all the harder.

Taking pity on the distraught teenager, Monsoon said, “Your spine was broken at the L2, at the small of your back. The doctors couldn't fix the spinal cord. They did put rods in your back to stabilize the damage so it would go higher.”

“I'm so sorry!” Bluefeather cried, her shoulders heaving with each sob that came out, each rolling tear that dripped onto the floor of the hospital room.

“Hahahahaha!” Cyclone laughed, “Good one, mom, broken back, yeah right...” she looked back and forth again, between Bluefeather and Monsoon in the hopes that either one or both of them would furnish her with much needed details, but none seemed to be forthcoming, just cascades of tears. She tried to move, to sit up, but nothing happened. Surely it couldn’t be… “Why can't I feel...” she started to put two and two together in her head, “I can't feel my legs. This is a prank, right? It has to be. It is, right? Right?”

“I'm so sorry!” Bluefeather exclaimed, sniffing and sobbing. She was a pretty girl, but she was an ugly crier. Her cheeks were red and puffy, her eyes bloodshot, her nose full of snot.

“It’s no prank, Cy,” Monsoon said as kindly as she could, “But more cruel fate. They did arrest the person that did this to you.”

“Who?” asked Cyclone, the teenager feeling her temper starting to rise, with all the tears and the half explanations she was getting. “Who did what, exactly? I don't remember being in any fight, mom. The last thing I remember is going past the cinema at the mall, it was showing the new Daring Do picture, the uh…Sword of Altoriosa.”

“C-Cy, I-I'm sorry!”

Taking a deep breath, for she knew there would be time enough for her tears later when she was at home, Monsoon explained, “A girl named Juniper Montage tossed a mall stand and it hit you right in the back. It knocked you clean out.”

“Why the hell do you keep saying sorry!?” Cyclone snapped at Bluefeather, shocking the anguished girl so much that she stopped crying. Then she turned her head back to her mother, “Juniper Montage, you mean the movie theatre girl?” Cyclone scoffed, “She threw a stand? Have you seen her? She's like, one fifty six, soaking wet!” the very idea that Juniper could throw anything that size was ludicrous.

When Cyclone snapped at her, Bluefeather threw her head back and bawled like her life was at stake, “I made you go to the mall! It’s my fault!”

“I don't know how, honey,” Monsoon had read the report, she had seen the scene of destruction at the mall. She had seen it, but she was working on believing it. “I just know that's who they arrested for the damage. There was some other girl involved, but she’s disappeared.”

“So...” Cyclone tried her best to process what had happened, All in all, she thought she was doing pretty well. “Juniper threw a stand. It hit me. Broke my back. So...what? Guess I'll be off my feet for a bit, huh?” With all the track training she had been doing lately, she could use a rest.

Apparently though, those last few words from Cyclone had been a poor choice, because they triggered Bluefeather into bawling more and more. “Honey,” Monsoon had to struggle to make herself heard over the crying teenager, “The doctors, they couldn't fix your spinal cord. You're paralyzed from the waist down.”

“No, I'm not!” Cyclone yelled over the noise of the crying, “Don't be daft, of course I'm not. I can't be paralysed! There's the big track meet over at Crystal Prep next month!” there was no way at all she was handicapped, she had been in training for that for months!

Now, Monsoon was crying. She just couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Cy, I uh, well…I'm not going to lie to you, not at a time like this.”

“Mom please! Stop it!” Cyclone screamed in her mother’s face, or she would have, if she had been able to sit up instead of just laying there, “I've been training for this meet since before the Friendship Games!” in desperation, she turned back to Bluefeather, “Blue, I'm not paralysed right? Not now! I can't be! Rainbow just moved me up to the main team from the reserves!”

With much difficulty, Bluefeather stopped crying, and she just shook her head. Again, it fell to Monsoon to explain to her daughter what her future was going to be. “There’s no treatment to repair the damage to your back, honey. Now you're awake, the next thing you'll need to do is physical therapy so you can regain some mobility with the aid of a wheelchair.”

“But...But I'm in hospital!” Cyclone exclaimed in a stunning show of stubbornness, “They mend people in hospital, that's the whole point of a hospital! Get a doctor, get one in here, and he'll tell you.”

Not that she was unsympathetic, of course she was, but she had to make her daughter see. “He'll tell you that you need to start a new life with the body you have now,” she explained as softly and calmly as she could, “There is something more important for you to do right now. Get Blue to stop blaming herself. I'll be back in a few minutes.” She let go of Cyclone's hand and she walked out of the room.

“Blue,” Cyclone tried to curb her temper, but it was simmering below the surface, “Did I really get a stand in the back at the mall?”

“Y-Ye…” Bluefeather paused and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, “Yeah, I um, I was looking at some phones at a stand past the movie theatre and I heard a mad argument and a loud tearing sound behind us. I turned just in time to see you go flying after it hit you. I... I panicked, and I froze up.”

“And Juniper really threw it?” Cyclone sighed; it just wasn’t possible! “We know Juniper! She always gives us the best seats in the theatre.” She sighed again, because thinking this hard was making her brain hurt. “Whatever, I guess. Tell me she's been sent down for a hundred thousand years.”

“I don't know, Cy, I just don’t know,” Bluefeather spoke to either the floor or to the bed. Try as she might, she couldn’t look at her girlfriend, not knowing she was to blame. “I know they arrested her. She, it was so weird, Cy, she was like, over twenty foot tall like the she hulk and this purple girl was yelling at her to stop. They still haven't found her.”

“Sounds like something from the Power Ponies,” Cyclone laughed, though there was little mirth in her, because as the proud owner of every single Power Pony comic ever printed – including the rare super-size issue five – she would know, “And it broke my L2?”

“The doc can explain it better,” Bluefeather replied sadly, “But yeah, it broke your back.”

“That's me never walking again then,” Cyclone might be a jock, but she wasn’t dumb, far from it. “You remember, we did the spine in biology a few months ago?” she asked with a despondent groan, a groan that despaired for her life, what was left of it, anyway.

Bluefeather simply shrugged her shoulders, misery etched all over her face, “I didn't hear a lot of the detail, Cy, they talked to your mom and dad a lot about that.” Honestly, all the medical terms she had used were like a foreign language to her.

“At least you won't have to put up with me stepping on your feet at the next school dance,” Cyclone didn’t know where that came from. Her idiot brain worked funny sometimes. If she analysed it, she’d know she was using humour as a defence mechanism, but she wasn’t one for self-reflection. As Bluefeather teared up and shook her head, Cyclone reached up and stroked her girlfriend's cheek, “I'll run over them with a wheel instead!”

Not prepared for that, Bluefeather snorted out a laugh, then she felt wretched for laughing when things were so bad. “Cy, that's horrible!” However, when she leant over the side of the bed and placed her forehead against Cyclone's, she was still laughing, “I still love you.”

“Made you laugh, though, nana,” Cyclone smiled weakly and she tenderly kissed her girlfriend's forehead, “I'm so sorry I was such a brat, Blue.”

Bluefeather didn’t mind Cyclone being a brat. It let her know she was still her. “If I hadn't been looking at phones, I might have been able to push you out of the way.”

“And then you'd have been flattened instead of me,” the black skinned teen sighed dejectedly and again she kissed her girlfriend’s forehead, “It's my fault for not getting mom's birthday present earlier, like months or weeks earlier, like you said.”

When she heard her girlfriend blame herself, Bluefeather frowned at her, “The fault is with Juniper's and that other girl that set her off, not with you, Cy.” The grey skinned girl shuddered, “I-I was so scared. One of the mall cops came running over when I started screaming. He called the ambulance for you.”

“Then, I'm glad you can scream really loud,” Cyclone smiled, though it was a smile that masked a lot of feelings that she was barely keeping a lid on. “I love you, Blue.”

“I love you too, and I'm sorry that you have to go through this,” replied Bluefeather just as the door to the hospital room opened and in walked Monsoon and a doctor so ancient looking that it was a miracle he was still alive.

“I'm not going through it alone, am I?” Cyclone squeezed her girlfriend’s hand then she flinched and gasped, certain for a moment that her mother had bought Death himself to her hospital room. “U-Uh…hey doc…”

“Hello Cyclone,” the doctor, who was six feet and as far through as a goalpost, glided over the floor until he was beside his patient’s bed. “My name is Bone Graft. Your L3 vertebrate was shattered when you took the hit,” he got straight to the point, “There are three titanium rods from L2 to L5 in your back and a silicone spacer where your L3 used to be. You underwent two surgeries over the weekend and we got all the foreign material out of your body on the first one, and the rods on the second. Any questions yet?”

“L3,” Cyclone mulled over what that meant for her, because forcing her brain to work took her mind off the doctor’s gaunt appearance, “So I'm in a wheelchair then, right? Am I right thinking I'll have toilet troubles with a break down there?” She had to admit, she wasn’t too keen on that one.

Bone Graft reached into one of the many pockets of his long white coat and produced an acupuncture needle, “If I might demonstrate?”

Cyclone wondered if the doctor was naturally creepy or if it was an act he worked on, because the way he was brandishing the needle like it was a stiletto blade was seriously creeping her out. Still, with her mother and girlfriend present, she felt rather brave. “uh, yeah, you do that.”

“First, the bad news,” Bone Graft moved down the bed until he was at her feet, “You've lost total motor control below the hips.” He then moved the white bedsheet so that her right foot was exposed and he put the needle into the space between the big and second toe.

As Cyclone looked at her unresponsive foot, she could feel her athletic career – everything she had trained so hard for - falling away, as out of her grasp now as a dream when one wakes up. “So, I'm really not running again. Okay.”

“Not with today's medical knowledge, I’m afraid.” Bone Graft moved up his patient’s body and he poked her a second time, this time above the knee and he got no response. He poked a third time just below her navel.

“Ow!” Cyclone flinched at the last poke of the needle just below her belly button, “Okay, I felt that last one.”

A rare smile crossed the elderly doctor’s face, an act that cracked his lined face, “That’s some good news. You will feel pressure from the inside. You should have bowel control. While you can feel your bladder getting full, you won't have control to open the valve for it to empty. There are two solutions for that, one is physical, the other medical. If you do nothing, once there is enough pressure it will force its way out, but will never empty till more pressure builds.”

The jet black teenager didn’t much like the sound of that. Cyclone was allergic to pain, she avoided it as much as she possibly could. “That sounds painful, and I'm guessing it could do me damage? Okay, so what's the medical solution?”

“We disable the valve,” explained Bone Graft, as much to Monsoon as to Cyclone, “You would want to wear something for incontinence, but physical therapy will help teach you to recognize when you need to go so you can do so. Disabling the valve just means it takes a lot less pressure to empty.”

“You'd make me incontinent,” Cyclone mulled it over in her bed, “Well...I guess I wouldn't have to pretend when I wear a nappy in future.”

“The physical way is a catheter which means you always go,” stated Bone Graft, as he consulted the teenager’s notes at the foot of the bed, “Either into a bag, or a nappy as you put it. That requires daily cleaning. They are disposable so you'd also replace them daily.

Cyclone was in danger of getting overwhelmed by all the information being thrown at her by the old doctor. She didn’t know what it was, but he seemed to delight in throwing technical stuff at her. “Mom, Blue,” she groped for help, “What do you think?”

“Well,” Bluefeather shrugged, at as much of a loss as her girlfriend, “You'll be wearing a nappy either way.”

“I suppose it depends on how much control you want,” said Monsoon, who was stood beside the doctor and paying enough attention for her and her daughter. She knew Cyclone wouldn’t follow it all, and besides, she’d have to tell her husband when she got home.

“Continuing on,” Bone Graft said as though he hadn’t been interrupted at all, “You can still get pregnant. I do not need to know your sexual experience or preferences, but it will be less satisfying than before.”

Before Cyclone or anyone else could interject again, the doctor carried on, anticipating the next question. “As for getting out of here, you will have another week of bedrest so we can be sure the rods are holding in place. Then it will be one month of therapy to get you ready for a wheelchair. Another month of therapy to give you mobility in the wheel chair. Four more months of therapy to let you stand with crutches. You will not be able to walk with crutches, but it is nice to be able to stand.”

“Alright,” Cyclone processed as best she could what the old man had told her. He reminded her of an exposition dump from one of her Power Pony comics. She hated those. “So, I'll go for the medical bladder option, then, I guess it's months of therapy for me. Wohoo.” she smiled sarcastically, “And I'll be doing my school stuff at the same time.”

“If you follow your therapy, you should be ready to start school, but you’ll be in a wheel chair,” Bone Graft tried a more sympathetic tone. It didn’t suit him. “By the time you graduate, you should be able to stand with assistance. Your legs cannot lock themselves.”

Determinedly, Cyclone nodded, “I understand, doctor. I'll follow the therapy, cos this one,” she reached for and squeezed Bluefeather's hand, “She won't let me just give up.”

Immediately, Bluefeather squeezed back, a look of determination that matched Cyclone’s burning in her eyes, “I won't as long as you keep me on track too.”

“She was a runner, doctor,” Monsoon said, “Will she be able to race again, will they teach her to race again?”

Bone Graft looked incredulously at Monsoon like the woman had grown three extra heads. “Of course she can race again,” he responded with a shake of his head, “She isn’t asking to fly, of course she can race! You need a special chair for racing, and other sports. It can be done.”

“Hey,” the jock in Cyclone was very quick to see the upside of this particular situation, “At least if I race in a chair, then it's something I can be better than Rainbow at, for once!”

That meant nothing to Bone Graft, who was unaware of anything culturally after eighteen ninety-five. “Now for the mundane. Your legs will need to be exercised daily. There is a machine that insurance will cover to do that at home. Your blood flow is fine, but you'll need to do isometric exercises to prevent the muscles from atrophy.”

“Alright,” that sounded like training. She was good at training. Cyclone was good at physical exertion that didn’t require much thinking. “So that’s stuff I can do. Therapy. Exercise. I'm no stranger to that. I want to keep racing. If I have to do it in a chair, then I’ll do it in a chair.”

“It will greatly improve your quality of life,” Bone Graft checked his watch, “If there are no more questions, I'll leave you be for the rest of visiting hours.”

“Thanks doctor,” Bone Graft gave Cyclone a wave of his hand and took his leave, closing the door behind him. When the three were alone in the blue and white hospital room, a thought suddenly occurred to her, “Hey mom, where's dad at?”

“He’s at work, filming ‘Night of the Giving Head’ and ‘Ocean’s Eleven Inches’ on location,” Monsoon explained, with a judicious roll of her eyes. “It seems the models – I mean, the ‘actresses’ - can't come to him. He flew out this morning and will be back tomorrow. He was here yesterday, even though we knew you wouldn't wake until today.”

Cyclone nodded her head, at the same time, she stifled a yawn. All this extra thinking she was doing was making her sleepy again. Either that, or the drugs in her system were affecting her again. “Mom, if it is Monday, does this get me a pass for missing your birthday yesterday?”

“No way!” laughed Monsoon, who was back in the seat she had occupied before, holding her daughter’s right hand, “Because I'm having the party tomorrow. At my age, it’s just another trip around the sun.”

“Nice try, Cy,” Bluefeather giggled, like Monsoon, she was holding her girlfriend’s left hand, “We’ve already cleared it with the hospital to have the party here.”

“That's so unfair!” Cyclone pouted playfully, “Blue, did we at least get the thing we were going to get on Friday, babes?”

All of a sudden, Bluefeather’s grey cheeks became an intense burning red, “Um, no...”

Then there was only one thing for it. “Blue,” Cyclone thought quickly, “Do you feel up to an emergency solo mall mission to get 'the thing'?” she added in a loud stage whisper, “You know if there's a party, then the commander in chief over there will want her present.”

After the briefest moment, Bluefeather nodded. Monsoon reached over the bed and patted the girl’s shoulder, “I'll drive you and sit in the food court while you shop, unless it’s for take out.”

When Bluefeather laughed, Cyclone squeezed her hand until she winced. “I want to see more of that, baby. Please smile for me.”

At first, Bluefeather’s smile was a thin tremulous one. Then she nodded, gathered herself and her second attempt was a real genuine smile. That done, she leant down and placed a tender kissed Cyclone’s lips, “I can try.”

“And if should you see Captain Dash on your perilous travels,” Cyclone smiled and returned the kiss as best she could since she was laid on her back, “Do tell her I want to see her.”

“I'll let Coach Iron Will know how you are.”

~ ~ ~

Nurse True Heart, an immense Griffon woman who was over six feet tall and just about the same width, a Griffonstone native of pure bad mood and bulging muscle, nodded a greeting to the man who had just entered the hospital room. “Good day, Mr. Tropical Storm, I have just added the counter to the IV, she should wake in a few minutes. She will be a bit groggy for about five minutes.”

“Thank you nurse,” taking the seat to his daughter’s right that his wife favoured, Tropical Storm looked at the Power Pony comic on the night stand by the bed, and he was quite happy to have bought her the next issue that she didn't have.

Tropical Storm looked around the hospital room at the remnants of Monsoon’s birthday party from the day before. A smile crossed his lips, crossed a face as black as his daughter’s. That had been a good party alright, even in hospital. True Heart had even left up the cheery balloons and birthday banners.

“Uuuuuugh...” Cyclone groaned as she slowly opened her eyes. Again, she woke up feeling groggy and nauseous, her senses assailed by the stinging disinfectant that was everywhere. Again she was greeted by the blue and white hospital room. This time though it was broken up by the brightly coloured clusters of balloons and birthday banners. “Uh…B-Blue?”

“I’m afraid not,” Tropical Storm removed his fedora and ruffled his unruly mop of blue hair. Cyclone got her turquoise hair from her mother, her black skin from him. “Bluefeather and Monsoon will be here to see you in about an hour or so.”

Now fully awake at the sound of her dad’s voice, Cyclone turned her head to the right and smiled, “Hey stranger. You're a few days late.”

Holding up the latest Power Pony comic as a peace offering, Tropical Storm winked at her but didn’t give it over just yet. “It’s a good thing you didn't wake up any earlier.”

“You'd have caught me in my latest escape attempt,” after sharing a fist bump with her dad, Cyclone beckoned him to come closer, “I don't like this hotel, dad. They keep knocking me out and operating on me.”

“Don't worry,” the easy smile reached Tropical Storm’s twinkling eyes, “The latest cut wont detract from you modelling career. Blue told me all about your nappy play. Is she a good nanny?”

At the mention of the ABDL play she indulged in with her girlfriend, Cyclone’s already wide smile grew ever wider, “She's the best nana ever!” slightly though, her smile faded, “I wish she wouldn't keep beating herself up though. I mean, True Heart could do that for her. I swear she was a prison warden in a past life in Griffonstone.”

“She’s the sort of nurse I'd love to have in one of my Playcolt spreads,” laughed Tropical Storm, “But she shot me down before I could even ask.”

“What, The Sperminator…ooh! Don’t tell me, Laid in Manehatten!” Cyclone laughed along with her dad and then she pounded her head back onto her pillow and looked up at the ceiling in frustration, “This fucking sucks dad!”

“That it does.” Unlike his wife, Tropical Storm didn’t admonish his daughter for swearing. “Life doesn't play fair or pick favourites, but one good thing. You're still here with us.”

“Yeah, wohoo,” Cyclone snarked in a deadpan fashion, “I've gone from Filli-Second to Hum Drum, but at least I'm still here. How very wonderful, not.”

“Oh,” Tropical Storm raised his eyebrows but not his voice, “Would you care to tell that to Blue? Then your girlfriend can really beat herself up.”

At all once, Cyclone’s frustration gave way to a look of deep guilt at what she had said. “I’m sorry, dad, I just...it's a lot to take in, okay? I keep going from jokes to wanting to smash something to wondering what I'm gonna do next, now I'm useless!”

“Well,” and this time, Tropical Storm didn’t bother to keep the flash of irritation from his voice, “For useless there is a door stop, a box store greeter, or pan handling. Of course if you're not useless there is lover, racer, and cutest nappy wearing centrefold spread.”

Cyclone turned her special deadpan look to her chuckling dad. “That's five minutes before you pitched your magazine at me. That's gotta be a record,” she sighed despondently, “Of course I don't think I'm useless, dad, I just had to get it out, y'know? I can't vent to mom, she'll start crying!”

“I've teased you about that starting on your eighteenth birthday,” Tropical Storm spoke kindly, “You're as useless as you want to be. I don't think you want to be useless at all, but life sure has handed you a bushel of lemons. Blue is still with you. Monsoon isn't going anywhere. But…on Friday I fly out to Vanhoover to start scouting for ‘Anal Princess Diaries Three’.”

“Are you seriously telling me there's really a call for wheelchair bound nappy wearers?” asked Cyclone with a shudder, “Don't answer that, because of course there is. People are weird.” She sighed deeply, “I love Blue and I love mom, but the way they walk on eggshells makes me want to scream at them! I'm not gonna break, well...any more than I already have, any way…”

“You’d best get your screaming out at me then,” Tropical Storm understood what his daughter meant. She had to get it of her system or she’d explode keeping it inside. “Better than at those two. I was told you're here for another month of rehab before they let you go home.”

“Sentenced to another month in the Griffonstone Gulag. Seriously,” Cyclone snorted, “Have you seen the slop that True Heart calls food?” she threw up her hands and grunted, “At least mom and Blue come. Dash and the track team are nowhere!”

“Have you questioned why?” asked Tropical Storm amusedly, “You've been in here less than a week. Blue told me she texted Dash, who is on tour right now as it is summer. I don't know if she has told any of the track team, since it is summer and may have no idea who is in town. If you want to do a pity parade, I can get some more tissues for you.”

“Oh hush, dad,” Cyclone stuck her tongue out, “I'm only feeling a little sorry for myself. I did get a mall stand thrown at me; you know. And I know it's summer!” as soon as she snapped, she sighed and her ire evaporated almost immediately. “I’m sorry. I'm being a brat again.”

“Yes, you are,” Tropical Storm snickered, “But you're my brat. If you're not too busy crying, I have this for you.” He produced the next issue of Power Ponies comic from under his arm like he was a magician flourishing a bouquet of flowers from thin air. “I heard you couldn't get out to the comic store.”

“The latest issue!” Cyclone clapped her black hands with undisguised glee, “Part six of the crossover with the Exploding Ninja Pirates! I've been counting the days to see how they stop the Nightmare Child at the Gates of Elysium!”

“You know, Cy,” Tropical Storm said as he handed over the comic book, “Hum Drum isn't all bad, but if you can't be Fili-Second, who do you want to be?”

“I dunno dad,” as much as she wanted to devour every page of the comic, she set the comic aside for the time being, to read later when she could savour it in peace. “I wanna be me, I want to race. I want to win. Like Mistress Marevellous, I guess. She's strong, smart, resourceful…”

“Maybe the number one fan should write to the Orbsah overlords and suggest that they ought to include a character like you in the comic,” suggested Tropical Storm, “If only a bit part. As for the sports. There are several wheelchair sports, you know. You still have your upper body, and I'm sure you'll look pretty good buff.”

Laying back in the bed, Cyclone giggled, “You really want me in that magazine, huh? Buff Wheelchair Babes?” her giggles became a laugh, “I know there's para sports, dad, and well, I might as well put True Heart's torture therapy to good use.”

“Actually, I don't want you in the pages of Playcolt, Cy,” Tropical Storm said with a sly smile, “Won't stop me from teasing you about it. Just be happy I don't tease Blue. Look into yourself and make a better you in the frame work you have to deal with.”

“You’d better not stop teasing me!” Cyclone giggled and playfully thumped her dad’s arm, “That was a cheesy speech, dad, but I love you any way.”

“I think you said it best, Cy. Your life fucking sucks right now. You have people to help make it suck less, but you're the one that has to make it stop sucking.”

“I know, dad, I know. It will suck less when I'm out of here.”

“You have to endure a month of suck then,” Tropical Storm smirked, without any hint of sympathy for his daughter’s plight. “Maybe if you keep the big Griffon lady happy she will let you have a cookie.”

Cyclone shot her dad a wry smile along with a roll of her eyes, “Gee thanks dad, I’m sure True Heart would love your bedside manner,” she couldn’t keep up the act any longer and she giggled, “True Heart's only happy if I sweat and curse at her during the therapy.”