This was the first August in Scootaloo's memory that wasn’t dominated by the looming stress of returning to school.
In many ways, it felt good. There was a freedom to it, of course. A longer period of relaxation than she had possibly ever had. The anticipation of many months to pause, reflect, and figure herself out.
But, in many other ways, it felt terribly wrong. Like a missing tooth, a chipped hoof, or a torn-put primary. As Scootaloo stepped off her aunts’ front porch and marched purposefully across those first precocious golden leaves, she couldn't help but feel she was forgetting something. Couldn't help but mourn the well-worn weight of her missing backpack. Couldn't help but try to recall what paths she might wear through those familiar halls in the coming year.
She had been in school a long time. Longer than anyone expected, too be honest—least of all her. Once she had finished at Ponyville Primary, she had proudly moved on to Twilight's school in Canterlot. From there, it was only a matter of time before she rose through the ranks to a teaching position. Twilight had planned it out, of course. No avoiding it.
Except there was.
Scootaloo did her best to shake off the wave of guilt as she wound herself through the streets of Ponyville.
After the guilt came the sharp stabs of other memories. Fact blended with fiction. A terror which struck her heart ice cold.
She shook that off, as well.
The stiff polyester vest she wore sawed into the back of her neck with predictable accuracy, and Scootaloo tried to twist her head just so to avoid the pain. The vest did not relent, however. It only drove deeper into that peach fuzz fur at the scruff of her neck. Scootaloo tugged at the collar, shifting it to and fro, and only finding more creative ways to make her neck ache.
“Still here, huh?”
Scootaloo stiffened at the unexpected voice.
A scrawnier-than-average colt smirked up at her from the curb in front of the video store. He, too, wore a polyester vest, though his seemed more certain. More confidently worn into place. He also had a nametag, an addition to the outfit which newbie Scoots had yet to attain.
Scootaloo sighed. “I don’t know why you’re surprised literally every morning,” she grumbled. “I told you, Rumble: I’m home for good.”
Rumble snorted and got to his hooves. “‘Kay. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Scootaloo said nothing, just rolled her eyes and stepped out of the way as Rumble unlocked the door.
The video store was new, of course, but it didn’t smell it. The salty, greasy stench of popcorn had already worked its way deep into the ugly, swirling carpet, accented by the occasional whiff of sour plastic and generic cleaner. Much like Rumble’s red vest, it sagged into place with a sense of purpose and belonging. It might have been a new addition, but it had been here forever. And it would be here another forever.
“Last in makes the popcorn,” Rumble instructed, pointing to the rinky-dink popcorn machine behind the checkout counter. “Have fun smelling like a butterball.”
Scootaloo heaved an enormous sigh. “No fair, dude—you live across the street.”
Rumble shrugged. “Life ain’t fair, Scoots.”
Cute.
Scootaloo made a little sound under her breath, something venomous and vitriolic, but ultimately said nothing. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw Rumble bristle. He, too, said nothing.
The popcorn machine hummed to life as Scootaloo flicked a row of switches on. As the whirring grew in volume, that smell truly started to take over the store. Oil and salt. Hotter and hotter. Heat and grinding gears, spinning ceaselessly, liquid pouring from the crevices, liquid gold which—
“Hey, don’t leave that open while it’s heating,” Rumble corrected from across the store.
Scootaloo blinked.
The popcorn machine hummed.
“S-sorry,” she mumbled, closing the glass door and locking the acrid stench away.
Rumble only looked at her. Couldn’t even seem to find it in him to shrug.
After a long moment, he cast his eyes back down to the floor and continued sweeping. “Did you check out Shutter Island yet?” he asked. “Remember? I lent you the tape?”
“Uh…” Scootaloo shook her head, as if enough shaking could dislodge the images caught in her brain. “No. Sorry, I’m just not really into, like… thrillers, I guess. Too real, y’know?”
Rumble narrowed his eyes. “I guess. I thought you used to like that stuff a lot.”
Scootaloo only shrugged.
Rumble tried to say something, only he couldn’t quite find the words.
Sensing a sort of endless purgatory of awkward silences on the horizon, Scootaloo cleared her throat and ducked under the counter. “How many scoops of popcorn kernels, again?”
“Four,” Rumble replied. “Three oil, one salt. It’s on the card.”
Scootaloo poked her head out from under the counter to squint at the index card affixed to the side of the machine. It had doubtlessly once held some very helpful instructions, but the oil had caused the ink to bleed, and it now looked like a sloppy rainbow mess.
You get to help us make rainbows! Beautiful, magical rainbows! Doesn’t that excite you?
Scootaloo’s face contorted as she tried to force the strange thoughts out of her mind. She made a small, strained sound of concentration and willed the stranger’s voice to quiet, though it only seemed to grow in volume, echoing against the empty inside of her skull.
And then—
Ting-a-ting
—the bell over the door tinkled softly.
Scootaloo opened her eyes.
“We’re not open yet!” Rumble called. “Read the sign!”
“Oh, relax,” came a familiar feminine voice. “It’s just us.”
Slowly, warily, Scootaloo peered over the top of the counter.
The two mares in the doorway were more than just familiar. The sight of them practically rocketed Scootaloo back in time, sending thoughts of schoolyard tussles and name-calling cartwheeling through her mind.
They were different. Their namesakes no longer so prominently and shamelessly displayed. Their faces no longer round, their manes not quite so perfectly primped. But there was no mistaking them.
Rumble sighed. “You guys. I said once or twice, not every day.”
Diamond Tiara made a face of disgust. “Ew. We’re not here to hang out in your stupid, smelly break room.” She scoffed. “That was just a one-time thing.”
Scootaloo tried not to imagine what might have led up to this one-time thing.
“Then why are you—”
“There’s something on the sidewalk,” Silver Spoon blurted out.
A silence.
Scootaloo flicked her ear once, twice, then dug her hoof into it to see if she was missing anything. The silence remained.
“Uh.” Rumble kept on sweeping, the broom rushing swiftly over the carpet. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know, I guess?”
“Well, aren’t you going to clean it up?” Diamond Tiara pressed. “It’s on your property. That makes it your responsibility.”
“I don’t particularly care if—”
“Rumble,” Silver Spoon whined. It was a different whine than usual, though. Rather than her typical spoiled moaning, there was a strange urgency in her voice.
Another silence.
Scootaloo, fearing she might burst if she stayed hidden any longer, jammed the popcorn scoop into the bucket of kernels and sprung up from behind the counter. “What is it?”
Silver Spoon’s shoulders leapt up to her ears, while Diamond Tiara only cocked her head in moderate concern. As Silver regained her composure, Diamond frowned.
“I thought you were teaching,” she said.
Scootaloo shrugged. “I was.”
“And now you’re working in a video rental store?” she pressed.
“Guess I am.”
Diamond, despite her obvious confusion, shook her head and focused again on Rumble. “Well?”
Rumble stuttered a moment, unable to find the words to rebut the intruder.
“What is it?” Scootaloo repeated. “On the sidewalk, what is it?”
Diamond cast another confused glance in Scootaloo's direction, but did not linger. “A disgusting mess, okay?" she said to Rumble. "I didn’t look too closely to figure it out. That’s a job for you.”
Scootaloo grimaced. “I thought you were, like… nice now.”
“And I thought you were a teacher,” Diamond said. "I guess things change.”
Scootaloo tried not to roll her eyes as Rumble crossed the store, his broom and dustpan in tow. Once a bully, always a bully. Scootaloo supposed there was only so much altruistic bossing around you could do, even if it was your special talent.
“Somepony must have gotten sick or something,” Rumble said, clearly dreading the job ahead of him. “Scoots, can you bring the vomit dust?”
Silver made a face of abject horror at the phrase.
Diamond, however, blew right past it. “I’m just trying to help,” she continued. “Nopony’s going to want to come in here with a mess like that out in front.”
“Whatever, Di,” Rumble muttered.
Scootaloo rummaged through the many jars and cans and bags under the counter, searching for whatever it was Rumble had asked for. She finally happened upon a small sack of something called “vom-away” and snatched it up in her teeth.
She held it up for Rumble to see.
“Great. Let’s get this over with,” he said, pushing out the front door. The bell tinkled again.
Scootaloo leapt over the counter, eliciting a brief appalled yelp from Diamond Tiara, and followed Rumble back out into the light of day.
The smell hit her first.
This smell was not like the smell of the video store.
The video store’s smell was worn in. It had come from the same little things—new tapes, free popcorn, stain treatment—happening over and over and over again. Each little thing building on itself, creating a smell that crept up on you. That snuck into your nose and scratched at your brain, digging out a little hollow of memory.
This was not that.
This was violent. This was sudden and assaultive, stinging Scootaloo’s nose and nearly making her gag. This was hot from the morning sun, cooked on the concrete like a fat fried egg. This was metallic and salty and meaty, a smell which Scootaloo had only ever sensed near the predators at Fluttershy’s sanctuary.
This wasn’t vomit.
Scootaloo smacked her hoof to her snout, trying to keep out the smell, though it had already made its home there. She couldn’t even call upon the words to describe what she was smelling.
Rumble made a long, low sound of disgust. “Oh, what the hell is that?”
Diamond poked her head out of the store, and handkerchief held daintily over her snout. “I told you! It’s a disgusting mess!” she shouted. “I didn’t stick around to find out what kind!”
“Eugh…” Rumble groaned, trying to cover his own snout as he leaned down to get a closer look at the thing. “That is so… I don’t even know what.”
Against her better judgement, Scootaloo crept forward and peered over Rumble’s shoulder.
The mess was mostly liquid. It looked a bit like an oil spill, she thought. It had that shimmering quality that oil in the sun often does—she couldn’t recall the name for it, but its color shifted as she did. It seemed to be in motion, undulating against the sidewalk like a snake. Or a jellyfish. All the colors of the rainbow leaking out one by one.
It was so beautiful even a simple machine could do it.
Scootaloo winced against the echoing voice in her head.
At the center of the pool of colorful liquid was a jagged hunk of… of something. Scootaloo found that, try as she might, she couldn’t quite bring herself to look directly at it. It wasn’t very large—perhaps only the size of a hayburger—but it seemed to almost pulsate when stared it down. To throb.
It was red. Mostly red, with little veins of white stretching through it. It looked kind of like marble, she thought. Kind of like a leaf. White along one edge, too, even though that edge was torn nearly to shreds. As if it had been dropped into—
Rows of alternating blades, biting at the air, whirring and snapping like a hungry monster.
“No-no-no.” Scootaloo skittered backwards, hooves scrambling along the sidewalk as she tried to distance herself from the mess. She closed her eyes against the brutal onslaught of vibrant images that flashed through her mind, only the darkness there behind her eyelids seemed to make them all the more vivid. “No-no-no. Mn-mn.”
“Ew,” Rumble moaned. He shuffled slowly along the sidewalk, doing his best to avoid the puddle which bled out from the chunk. “Pass me the stuff, Scoots.”
“That’s not—” Scootaloo stammered, shaking her head vigorously. “That isn’t—just don’t touch it, okay?”
Rumble furrowed his brows and looked back at Scootaloo. “I’m not gonna touch it. Just give me the stuff.”
Scootaloo sucked in a small breath and tucked the sack under her wing. “Seriously, Rumble, I don’t think you should go near it.”
“What are you two bickering about now, huh?” Diamond called from the door.
“Rumble?” Silver asked, softly and cautiously. “Are you okay?”
Rumble set his jaw, giving Scootaloo one last scathing look. “Fine. You wanna be difficult? Be difficult.”
He spread out one wing to force Scootaloo away from the mess, and dropped the dustpan onto the ground near the puddle. Before Scootaloo could even summon a single word, he was sweeping the chunk into the dustpan, snout wrinkled as the smell wafted up into his face. It seemed to be making his eyes water.
Then he paused.
He looked down into the dustpan. His breath hitched and he seemed to freeze, immobilized by what he saw.
“What?” Scootaloo whispered.
Rumble blinked. “Uh. Shit.”
“What’s going on?” Di shouted.
“Rumble, what is it?” Scootaloo asked, her knees nearly knocking as she tried not to turn and gallop away.
Wordlessly, emotionlessly, Rumble lifted the dustpan off the ground. Long strings of the shimmery goop pulled at it, as if trying to hang onto their source.
He dipped it carefully towards Scootaloo, giving her a look at what was inside.
The chunk had rolled as he swept it into the pan. What had once been face down, soaking in the colorful liquid which now covered the sidewalk, was turned to the sun. Though it, too, was soaked through with the slippery substance, Scootaloo recognized the texture.
Fur.
Fine, yellow fur. Matted with what Scootaloo now understood to be viscera. The rounded edge of a purple cutie mark biting into one jagged corner.
Scootaloo felt her chest tighten.
She turned her head skyward, and watched as Cloudsdale drifted lazily by, the ruins of the Weather Factory looming over Ponyville but for a moment.
A moment was all it took.
“Look, you know the stories,” the mare grumbled, scribbling in her notepad. “All that urban legend nonsense. They’ve been getting a lot of traction again since the Weather Factory shut down and caused all those scheduling issues a few months back. Foals love to turn nothing into something.”
Scootaloo shook her head. “I don’t understand. Are you saying I imagined the chunk of pony meat on the sidewalk?”
The officer glanced up from her notepad to glare momentarily at Scootaloo. “I’m saying little ponies love playing little pranks,” she snarled.
“So what was it, then?” Scootaloo pressed. “A hayburger dipped in motor oil? Come on!”
“I dunno, kid. You tell me,” the officer said gruffly.
Scootaloo opened her mouth to reply, but found that the words caught in her throat.
The officer stared at her, eyes half-lidded and bored, mouth turned up into a joyless smirk of superiority.
“Wait, wait—” Scootaloo shook her head. “You think I did this?”
“Sure would make the paperwork easier if you did,” the officer said, her tone impenetrable.
“Why the hell would I mess around like this?’ Scootaloo asked. “I’m an adult. I have a job. I’m actually trying to do my job right now, believe it or not.”
The officer blinked once. Slowly. “You’re Scootaloo, right?”
Scootaloo’s brows furrowed. She took a cautious step back from the officer, one stunted wing flaring to protect her cutie mark from view. “So what if I am?”
The officer shifted her weight from one hoof to the other, gazing suspiciously at Scootaloo as she did. “I heard about what happened. That’s all. You’re on sabbatical ‘cause of it, right?”
“That has nothing to do with this,” Scootaloo said through gritted teeth. “Could you just—aren’t you supposed to take this thing back to the lab and run tests on it or something?”
“Or something,” the officer muttered. She tucked her notepad back into her breast pocket. “Anypony I can reach out to regarding your incident?”
“Anypony I can reach out to regarding you being a massive dick?”
At long last, the officer painted on an artificial and condescending smile. "Have it your way, kid. I'll be calling your supervisor this afternoon."
Scootaloo made a sound, intending to be dismissive and nonchalant but coming out the opposite. She didn't get out any words at all before the officer turned on her heel and trotted off in the other direction. She did, however, manage to stick out her tongue in her general direction.
The spot on the sidewalk where the chunk of pony had once sat now had a small “wet floor” sign placed over it—one which Rumble had frantically dug up at the request of the police officers. Other than some remaining rainbow slick which glinted menacingly in the sunlight, there was no sign of anything having gone wrong at all. And, if the officers were to be believed, nothing had.
Diamond Tiara, who had been slumped on the curb in front of the store, caught Scootaloo’s eye and waved her over.
Scootaloo hesitated, looking over her shoulder for signs of Silver Spoon. She spotted her babbling shrilly to a few male officers, Rumble standing beside her and looking more than a little exhausted.
She turned back to Diamond, a hoof held to her chest, and mouthed “me?”
Diamond nodded, then waved her over a second time.
“You okay?” she asked as Scootaloo plopped down beside her.
Scootaloo gave her a suspicious glance. “Don’t make me answer that.”
“Fair enough,” Diamond said.
The pair watched silently as Silver Spoon waved her hooves in the air, no doubt sensationalizing the whole thing. Rumble looked on, nodding enthusiastically when needed. Some officers scribbled furiously in their notepads, while others seemed less than charmed by the whole act.
“So… Rumble and Silver Spoon?” Scootaloo asked softly.
Diamond sighed. “I wish I knew,” she said wearily. “Whatever it is, it’s annoying.”
Scootaloo wanted to laugh, but the genuine bitterness in Diamond’s voice made her bite her tongue.
“Had you ever heard these urban legends the officers were talking about?” Diamond asked. “I don’t remember those sorts of things getting passed around when we were kids.”
Scootaloo shrugged. “I don’t think so. I got most of my campfire stories from Rainbow Dash, and I don’t remember anything about the Weather Factory.”
Diamond nodded.
“I would’ve thought some of the students at Twilight’s school would spread stories like that,” Scootaloo continued, kicking at the asphalt. “Guess I’m not really in the know on that sort of thing anymore.”
“Yeah,” Diamond said. “It’s weird. Being a grown-up.”
Scootaloo nodded. “Yeah.”
The crowd was thinning, now. More and more officers peeled off, having given up on Silver Spoon’s wild exaggerations. Silver Spoon, to her credit, didn’t seem to be slowing down in the least.
“I’m sorry,” Diamond said softly. “I honestly thought it was just some drunk pony’s sick. Not… you know.”
Scootaloo shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t want you getting in trouble,” Diamond said.
“Well, I won't,” Scootaloo said quickly. “I-I didn’t do anything.”
Diamond seemed taken aback. “I know.”
She looked at Scootaloo with a mix of apprehension and longing. Her lips seemed to quiver in anticipation of words she could nearly form, and yet were trapped at the back of her tongue. She swallowed hard, opened her mouth, and closed it again. Questions going unasked.
Scootaloo pulled her rear legs up onto the curb, curling herself into a tiny ball.
The loud yellow of the wet floor sign shouted to her from her peripheral vision. Begging her to look. To flash on all of those horrible images that bombarded her mind more and more often. Daily, now. More than daily.
She remembered when they were only an occasional terror. Not a constant one.
“Why did you come back?” Diamond asked.
“Hm?” Scootaloo mumbled.
“To Ponyville.” Diamond reached up to tug her mane back into place. “I mean, teaching at Twilight’s school seemed like the perfect thing for you and your friends. Did something happen?”
“No,” Scootaloo answered quickly. “Just—I dunno, wasn’t as right as it seemed to be, I guess.”
“Are Applebloom and Sweetie Belle still teaching?” Diamond asked. Her tone was so sweet and innocent, Scootaloo could hardly justify her anger.
“Yeah,” she snapped.
Diamond nodded. “You enjoyed it at least, right?” she asked. “I’d hate to think you spent all those years—”
“I really don’t feel like talking about it, okay?”
Diamond blinked. Her hoof, raised in gesticulation, slowly dropped back to the sidewalk. “Right. Sorry.”
The last officer said something rather stern and final to Rumble. Though Silver Spoon seemed yet unfinished, her babbling tapered to a low whine, and Rumble gave her a pitying pat on the shoulder.
Then Rumble’s eyes landed on Scootaloo.
There was something strange in them. A look of concern that seemed to stretch beyond what they had seen, and into some entirely new realm of depravity.
Scootaloo swallowed hard and waved to Rumble. He waved back, said something else to Silver Spoon, and trotted over to the curb.
“How’d it go?” Scootaloo asked.
“Uh…” Rumble scratched the back of his head. “They… they asked a lot of questions.”
“They can’t seriously think we called the cops on our own prank, can they?” Scootaloo grumbled.
Rumble shook his head. “I dunno, Scoots. They asked a lot of questions about you.”
The word struck ice into Scootaloo’s heart.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Me?”
“Yeah,” Rumble said carefully. “They kept talking about some… some incident at Twilight’s school. Wanted to know why you were back in town, or if you’d talked to any of us about what happened. Do you know what they were talking about?”
Scootaloo felt her heart clench in her chest. “N-no,” she lied. “That’s weird.”
Rumble and Silver Spoon shared a look.
“I mean, the way they talked about you—”
“It doesn’t matter!” Scootaloo said, trying to maintain the cool nonchalance she was once known for. She jumped up from the curb and pushed past Rumble and Silver Spoon. “Th-they’re just dumb cops! Want an easy answer so they can get back to their coffee and donuts, ammirite?”
She looked back at the trio by the curb.
All of them wore some variation of the same worry. Some true concern, some paranoia which crept up from their gizzards and settled at the back of their throats. Diamond avoided eye contact, and Silver seemed more scared than anything. Rumble, however, held Scootaloo’s gaze firm and strong.
“Scoots,” Rumble said softly. “They think you did something. And not a prank. Like… like actually hurt somepony.”
Scootaloo’s heart stopped.
The trio of ponies before her maintained that same look. That same scared-worried face that said “Don’t feel sad, but don’t get too close”.
“Y-you… you think I’d hurt somepony?” Scootaloo asked breathlessly, taking a few clumsy steps back.
“No!” Rumble said, shaking his head. “Of course not! We just—well, shit, Scoots. We don’t want you to get arrested.”
Silver Spoon nodded. “Maybe it would help if we knew what happened at Twilight’s school.”
“Nothing happened!” Scootaloo lied again, pounding her hoof on the asphalt. “I just… I was having trouble sleeping. And so Starlight put me on sabbatical ‘til I was feeling better. It’s not, like, a big deal or anything.”
Scootaloo tried to smile, at once bright and sleepy, praying that no one would ask any follow-up questions. The trio seemed hesitant, waiting for Scootaloo to crack, but no such luck.
“Well… did you tell them that?” Silver Spoon asked.
“Anypony I can reach out to regarding your incident?”
“Anypony I can reach out to regarding you being a massive dick?”
“Y-yeah,” Scootaloo said. “Something like that.”
“Why’ve you been sleeping badly?” Diamond asked. She sounded almost concerned, but there was an underlying tone of distrust that set Scootaloo on edge.
Scootaloo coughed. “I dunno. I’ve been having nightmares, I guess,” she mumbled.
“Nightmares?” Rumble repeated incredulously.
“Yeah, nightmares,” Scootaloo shot back. “They can’t arrest me for nightmares, okay?”
“I never said they—”
“Can you guys stop with the third degree?” Scootaloo demanded. “We just saw some traumatizing shit, and I’d really like it if you quit grilling me about it!”
There was a long silence.
The sun—always an afternoon sun in August, regardless of the time of day—baked the sidewalk with its golden-orange light. Scootaloo couldn’t tell if the sharp smell was her nerves, her imagination, or little remnants of that slick, rainbow-hued viscera that still linger on the concrete. Whatever it was, it made her want to gag.
“Sorry,” Rumble said.
“We just want to help,” Diamond added.
“That’s exactly what you said when you came into the store this morning,” Scootaloo said bitterly. “Look: I’m just trying to get some distance from The School of Friendship junk right now, okay? I don’t wanna talk about it if I don’t have to.”
Silver Spoon nodded.
“Okay,” Rumble said. “We understand.”
“Great.” Scootaloo nodded once more and turned to head back into the video store.
Autumn crept up slowly, but its final pounce was swift and violent.
The yellow sign stood resolute outside the video store, fading in the waning sun just like the leaves on the trees. The puddle of Celestia-knows-what was gone after only a few hours, but there remained a… not a smell, exactly. An aura, Scootaloo supposed. She avoided the area at all costs. As did Rumble.
Ponies came and went. A few who recognized her and grilled her ceaselessly.
"Weren't you teaching?"
"I thought you moved to Canterlot."
"Are you still friends with those other fillies?"
Plus some much more humiliating and patronizing comments every now and then. Just to keep her humble.
"I thought it was so wonderful of Twilight to give a pony with your… condition some reliable work."
"You're such an inspiration! Still making it work after all these years."
Always pegasi.
Always condescending.
Always met with a forced smile and a strained "yep" and a quick transaction.
"I wish they wouldn't talk to you that way," Rumble said one day.
Scootaloo popped a stray piece of popcorn into her mouth. "What way?"
Rumble shrugged. "Y'know. Like you're broken or something. It's bullshit."
"Ponies always talk to me that way," Scootaloo said, heaving a long, low sigh as she hoisted herself onto the counter. "Always thought it was kinda rude to earth ponies and unicorns. Like I'm broken for having stunted wings, but they're somehow fine? What's up with that?"
"Huh." Rumble looked at the floor. "Guess it's kinda like the whole cutie mark thing, then."
"What whole thing?" Scootaloo asked.
Rumble sighed wearily. "Ah, y'know. All the shit folks give me about being a blank flank when we've got all these other creatures without cutie marks. Just weird."
Scootaloo noticed for what was somehow the first time that Rumble was, indeed, still a blank flank.
He hid it well. A too-big vest and a certain positioning of his wings. There were some things you just didn't question, and a cutie mark at his age was one of them.
"Of course now there's all that talk of adult blank flanks on the rise," Rumble continued, more to himself than to anypony else. "So who knows. Maybe it'll finally change."
Scootaloo cocked her head. "There is?"
Rumble looked up, caught like a deer in the light of his own thoughts. His cool aloofness suddenly spotlit and crumbling. "Uh. Yeah, I guess. Thought I heard about it on the radio or something. I dunno."
Scootaloo made a small dismissive sound (to Rumble's obvious relief) and popped the popcorn machine open to take another scoop. The smell of the standing oil hit her like a wall, and she scrunched up her snout in distaste.
Rumble laughed suddenly. A forced thing, just to move the conversation along. "Hey, you'll never guess what I saw today."
"What?" Scootaloo asked as she clicked the machine shut once again.
"A poster for the Rainbow Factory," Rumble said.
Scootaloo stiffened, but said nothing.
"Like a prank one," Rumble went on. "Something some foals slapped together to spook the other kids. I think maybe the cops were onto something."
Scootaloo furrowed her brows. "Uh… the what?"
“The Rainbow Factory," Rumble repeated. "Y'know, what all those cops were going on about."
Scootaloo impatiently gestured for Rumble to continue.
"You've never heard that story?" Rumble asked, incredulous.
"No?" Scootaloo tugged at the neck of her vest. "What, is it super popular or something?"
Rumble snorted. "It's, like, mandatory campfire fodder at flight camp"
Scootaloo arched a brow.
"I'm just now realizing you probably never went to flight camp."
"Great detective work," Scootaloo grumbled. "Fill me in."
"I-it’s pretty simple," Rumble said, cheeks glowing and eyes skating to the floor in obvious embarrassment. "Pegasi who can’t fly get fed to an evil machine that grinds them into rainbows. Something about how Celestia used to make them, but she lost the power after she banished Luna? I dunno. It’s been a while.”
Scootaloo set her jaw and looked down at the floor.
Rumble cleared his throat. "Sorry. It's not exactly, uh… sensitive. Just something they used to spook the anxious foals into the first big jump."
Scootaloo did her best to hide her expression as the bile rose in her throat. She coughed gently and tried to think of something--anything--that wasn't… that. That was safe. That was familiar.
But it was no use. Those voices pinged about in her head like loose marbles, tripping her every thought.
"What do you mean you saw a poster?" Scootaloo asked, fighting to keep her voice even.
"Uh…" Rumble struggled to find the words for a moment. "Just like. I dunno, like a recruitment thing, I guess. Telling foals to go up to the factory. I just assumed it had something to do with--"
"You don't think that's weird?" Scootaloo asked, her words clipped and wavering.
Rumble blinked."I mean… yeah, that's why I'm telling you," he said, forcing another strained chuckle. "It said something about, uh… contributing? That was a big theme in the story. Contributing to society and stuff."
You get to help us make rainbows!
Scootaloo screwed her eyes shut as the memories came flooding back to her. Hazy, muddled, dreamy fragments, cut and pasted together without much care for sense or narrative. A blur which rushed past her every night as she tried to sleep, which haunted her while she was awake, which followed her every step for reasons she could not comprehend.
She tried to sigh, but the sound caught, and it came out a strangled little thing.
She remembered the dreams.
And she remembered other things, too.
"Scoots?"
Suddenly there was a hoof on Scootaloo's shoulder, trying to be firm and comforting even as confusion rattled the pony behind it. Rumble looked into Scootaloo's eyes with as much courage as he could muster.
"Scoots, you okay?" Rumble asked, giving her a small shake.
Scootaloo shook her head to clear away the worst of it. "S-sorry. Sorry."
"Are you okay?" Rumble pressed.
"Fine," Scootaloo said.
Rumble's lips pressed into a thin, place line, and he let his hoof drop from Scootaloo's shoulder. He looked at Scootaloo like he wanted to talk, that odd longing burning in his eyes as he stealthily avoided her direct gaze, and yet his mouth never opened.
"Ugh, what?" Scootaloo spat. "You look like a nervous Chihuahua. Just spit it out, dude."
That seemed to snap him out of it. Rumble blinked once, twice, then took a small step back. "I just feel like there's something you're not telling me."
Scootaloo shrugged and turned away, her attention back on the counter. "Maybe there is. Why do you think you deserve to know?"
"I-I don't," Rumble said quickly, pulling up beside Scootaloo at the counter. "I just… I feel like I might need to know."
Scootaloo grit her teeth and held in the tell-tale sigh of resignation. She could feel her shoulders creeping up towards her ears as she tried to keep her composure.
And then—
Ting-a-ting
—the bell of the door chimed, and both ponies snapped to attention, customer-service smiles overtaking their uncomfortable grimaces.
Diamond Tiara stood in the doorway. Only her. She sort of crept in, her head held rather low, scanning the store in flinchingly quick motions of the head. She didn’t say anything at all, only took a few cautious steps into the empty store and stood silently as she peered over the shelves.
"Hey, Diamond," Rumble said hesitatingly. “You alright?”
Diamond looked up, as if noticing Rumble for the first time. “Hey… is Silver here?”
Rumble’s brows furrowed. "No,” He said. "In fact, I haven't seen her since--"
"Shit!" Diamond hissed as she pounded a hoof on the carpet.
Scootaloo cocked her head. “Uh… is everything okay?”
Diamond made a small sound of distress and bit down on her lip. “She’s… well, nopony seems to know where she is.”
The look in Rumble’s eyes shifted from one of annoyance to one of outright concern.
“Since when?” Scootaloo asked.
“Since last night…” Diamond mumbled. An admission she hadn’t wanted to make.
Scootaloo and Rumble shared a look.
Diamond screwed her eyes shut. "I should have checked to make sure she got home last night,” she moaned, mostly to herself. “She said she had a weird feeling but I told her she was being paranoid. Why would I say that?!"
Scootaloo went cold. "A weird feeling?" she said softly.
Diamond looked up at Scootaloo, her eyes dark and steely. "She said she saw somepony hanging around outside the library last night in a dark hood," she said bitterly. "I told her she needed to go home and get some rest. That was the last I talked to her."
She remembered that.
She remembered hoods. Dark hoods. A crowd of them. Tall and imposing. Bearing down on her.
Scootaloo made a small, strangled sound. Entirely involuntary.
Heads snapped towards her. For a moment, they were hooded. In a blink, they were her friends once again.
“Scoots?”
“Does that sound familiar?” Diamond asked, a twinge of hope in her voice. “Do you know where she is?”
Scootaloo sucked in a shallow breath. “I think so.”
It was cold up here.
It was something that Scootaloo had little experience with. She was mostly okay with that, even if she sometimes looked to the sky and wished that she could come and go as easily as the other pegasi.
The ease of it had changed. In recent years, Princess Twilight had been pushing hard for earth pony and unicorn scientists to play their part in weather control and design, and so there was now what other ponies called an “elevator” up to Cloudsdale. In reality, it was a hot air balloon tracked on two metal poles, but the title stuck.
One thing that hadn’t yet been accounted for, though, was the temperature. Pegasi could adjust to the chill of the cloud layer, but earth ponies and unicorns weren’t so lucky. Despite that, no extra layers or heating system was provided on the elevator.
And so it was cold up here.
Cold as it was, though, nopony’s teeth chattered. Their breath rose in little puffs of steam, mingling with each other and the cool autumn air before joining the wispy bits of cloud which drifted through the basket.
When the basket, at long last, passed over the top of the clouds, the trio of ponies inside it saw another column of steam rising into the night sky.
“Whoa…” Rumble breathed.
Diamond’s breath caught in her throat, though she said nothing.
Scootaloo chewed her lip nervously. “Why is it still running?” she asked darkly.
Rumble shook his head. “I don’t—I mean, it can’t—it’s abandoned,” he stammered out. “It’s closed. It shouldn’t be producing anything.”
Scootaloo didn’t bother stating the obvious.
The elevator came to a sudden and violent stop at the top of its poles. Diamond yelped in surprise as she was shaken from side to side. Scootaloo tried to reach out to steady her, but found that even that tiny shift in weight sent the balloon tilting to one side, and she quickly stepped back into her place.
They looked up at the factory.
It had an impressive silhouette, though not a beautiful one. It wasn’t anything more than a drab grey cube, rising dark against an almost equally dark sky, and yet it seemed to pitch forward at a precarious angle. To loom down upon those who approached it, contained only by a broken-down chain-link fence.
Rumble cleared his throat. “Remember to stay on the path, Di,” he instructed softly, his voice rattling in the cold. “Don’t want you falling through the cloud layer.”
Diamond nodded solemnly. She was the first to step out of the balloon.
Rumble and Scootaloo followed closely, the empty basket swinging behind them. Scootaloo could feel that bit of pegasus magic stirring up inside of her chest, though it felt oddly weak. Suppressed by the fear which made her hooves quake and her lip tremble. Her hooves sunk into the cloud layer deeper than they perhaps should have.
“Hey,” Rumble whispered, nudging Scootaloo with one wing. “What’s the plan, exactly? Like if… Like if there’s a bunch of big ponies up there holding Silver Spoon hostage, what do we do?”
“I dunno, dude,” Scootaloo snapped back. “She’s your marefriend!”
Rumble made a face. “We’re really not putting labels on it right now, so—”
“For pony’s sake,” Scootaloo hissed.
She put on a little speed, passing Rumble as the trio approached the front doors.
Though they were enormous, the doors to the building were only simple sliding glass, long ago shattered by passing vandals. As they grew close, the motion sensor seemed to catch them, and the doors shuddered as they tried to crawl open.
Diamond was undeterred. She stepped right through the convulsing frames and into the factory beyond.
Scootaloo, however, paused.
She had never been here before. She was certain of that. Factually certain. She never would have had reason to be here. She never should have even snuck in here before.
And yet an overwhelming sense of deja vu washed over her as she stared up at those walls. There was a feeling here. Scootaloo couldn’t have put words to it if she tried, but it felt heavy with familiarity. A feeling which tugged at her chest, threatening to pull her down through the cloud layer and send her plummeting to the earth below.
Rumble caught up to Scootaloo and, after giving her one strong look, followed Diamond inside.
Scootaloo, however, was rooted to the spot.
She stared up at the factory.
It chilled her. More than the icy wind, and more than the thought of what might be happening to Silver Spoon. Perhaps even more than what she’d found on the sidewalk.
The factory windows looked like eyes. But that wasn’t what scared her.
The doors shook and crunched, trying to eat her as she passed over the threshold. But that wasn’t what scared her, either.
There was something—
And while you may be called useless, that’s also not entirely true. You’re worthless to the Flock as a Pony.
—something so close to the surface that she could almost—
But, you still have purpose! Purpose to all the ponies in this land, far and wide.
—could almost grasp and yet—
You get to help us make rainbows! Beautiful, magical rainbows!
—and yet could not.
Doesn’t that excite you?
And then
she remembered.
It hit her like a wall.
Like a hoof to the stomach.
Tunnel vision took over. Memories of those shuddering doors when they were new and sparkling, and being pushed through them as they slid neatly and quietly aside. The smell—the salty, oily smell of liquid leaking out of—
Scootaloo yelped, hooves scrambling involuntarily against the cool concrete as she darted into a corner of the factory.
She remembered hoods. So many dark hoods, and yelling! Shouting, screaming, growling and barking from a dozen ponies who reached for her. Who reached angrily. Who grabbed without regard for safety.
“Get away!” she screamed, her voice small as it echoed through the grandness of the factory. “Get away! Don’t touch me!”
“Scootaloo, stop!” somepony shouted.
Rumble, maybe.
Hard to tell.
Scootaloo’s hooves shot out from under her as she hit a slick spot, and she found herself careening across the factory floor. As she tried to get her bearings, somepony else touched her.
One of the hoods?
Trying to grab her?
Take her?
Eat her?
“Don’t touch me, leave me alone!” Scootaloo howled, hooves pedaling along the wet floor. “Leave me alone!”
She threw a punch.
It landed.
And she was back.
Rumble was on the floor, holding his cheek with one hoof and biting down hard on his bottom lip. Even as his face contorted in pain, he held back any and all sound, instead only breathing hard on heavy as he tried not to whimper.
Diamond stood behind him, one hoof on his shoulder, looking warily at Scootaloo.
Scootaloo’s chest rose and fell in ragged gasps. She sat up and lunged forward a bit, intending to comfort Rumble, but the two ponies before her flinched away.
“I-I’m sorry,” Scootaloo whispered. She reached out with one trembling hoof. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“This is what happened at Twilight’s school, isn’t it?” Diamond asked accusingly.
Scootaloo’s breath hitched.
She remembered that, too.
She remembered a cut, deep and bleeding, oozing out those oil-slick rainbows.
The smell overtaking her.
A foal wailing after being struck.
Scootaloo cowering behind her desk.
Starlight’s look of disappointment as she pushed the paperwork across the table to Scootaloo.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Rumble squeaked. “Why didn’t—what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing!” Scootaloo shot back. “Nothing’s wrong with me!”
She moved forward again.
Rumbled scrambled away.
“I-I don’t know!” Scootaloo insisted. “I’m not—I wasn’t trying to—I would never hurt you!”
“But you did!” Diamond argued, pounding one hoof on the floor. “What's going on with you, Scootaloo?! What aren’t you telling us?!”
“I’ve been here before!” Scootaloo screamed, voice breaking with effort.
The admission echoed through the empty building. New to her, but known to these walls for many years.
“But I-I didn’t know!” Scootaloo insisted. “I’ve been having these nightmares and I—I’ve been here before, they took me! They took me here! That’s why I remember the smell, and th-the rainbow shit, and the—”
“The rainbows?” Diamond repeated. She shook her head. “Scootaloo, come on! That’s a story! This is for real!”
“It is real!” Scootaloo shouted back. “Listen to me, it’s—”
Then the hooves closed over her mouth.
The smell was stronger here.
It came to Scootaloo before consciousness did, invading those sweet moments just before the adrenaline hit her full-force once again. Scootaloo shot upright, her tiny wings puttering like a bee’s against her back. It was dark here, and even though her eyes leapt open she could hardly make out her surroundings.
“I told you to warm up the machinery before we brought the fuel!” an unfamiliar voice was shouting. “We don’t have time for this!”
“I tried,” another voice growled in response. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this place is abandoned. Nopony’s exactly looking after the machinery. It’s got issues.”
“Well, fix them!” the first voice snapped back. “It’s your damn job! Act like it!”
Scootaloo’s ears twitched as she tried to pin down where the voices were coming from. It was then that she noticed the darkness had little to do with the lighting in the factory—rather, there was some sort of sack over her head, and its stiff fabric scraped against her neck where it had been fastened.
Strangely, Scootaloo’s only thought was how much it felt like her vest from the video store.
“Don’t thank me or anything,” the gruff voice replied. “This is the most we’ve had in years. Maybe this time we’ll actually get something out of it, too.”
“Oh, save it,” the first voice muttered.
Scootaloo's breath was picking up pace, now. She thought this was probably what hyperventilating felt like. Like there wasn't enough air in the world to fill her lungs.
And, of course, the harder she breathed, the more that smell stuck to her.
Oh, the smell.
It was coming back to her now. Slowly but surely. She remembered that smell with frightening accuracy, the precise metallic sourness, oily saltiness of it. She remembered it splattered over her face and dried into her fur, as well. She remembered trying to chase away that smell for days. For weeks. As a tiny foal who could hardly understand it.
“Hey, boss?” somepony asked.
“What now?” the first voice replied. The boss, apparently.
“Are we still, uh…” the voice trailed off. The pony made a few sounds, possibly meant to indicate something, possibly meant to stall for time. “Y’know.”
“Use your words, you oaf,” the boss muttered.
“Are we gonna be processing you-know-who?” the lackey mumbled. “For the… for the drop? I remember talking about it, but I just wasn’t sure if—”
“Keep your voice down!” the boss scolded.
“But you asked!” the lackey replied.
The boss growled to herself. “We process who we process. It’s not your concern.”
Scootaloo grit her teeth and tried to wrestle against the sack around her head, hoping it might come loose. She wanted to move slowly, but each calculated twist was magnified by the way her body shook like a dry leaf in the autumn breeze.
She thought she could hear someone else's breathing. Sharp and ragged, voice breaking even as it tried to wheeze. Even through those tiny gasps, she managed to pinpoint it: Silver Spoon.
Scootaloo turned, ear pricked, trying to pin down the source of the breathing.
"Silver Spoon?" she hissed. "Is that you?"
Only a whimper in reply.
Scootaloo took that as a warning to quiet down, and so she held her tongue and slumped back against the wall.
As if on cue, there rang out a terrible grinding sound through the factory. Louder than Scootaloo would have thought possible. She cringed and pinned her ears against her head.
Beside her, another pony sucked in a desperate breath. Perhaps two. It was so hard to tell.
A few of the stranger ponies started to shout at one another. They seemed to be more positive than the other bits of conversation that Scootaloo had caught, though she couldn't be sure.
The sound ebbed away somewhat, sharpness softening even though the volume did not decrease. The shrill screaming turned to a dull rumble. More felt than heard.
"Look what you've done. Now they're waking up!" the boss scolded.
Scootaloo thought she heard an impact.
"This is why the machinery needs to be ready before the fuel delivery!"
"Let's just get them in, then!" the lackey shouted back, bellowing over the noise of the machinery. "Get it over with!"
Hooves on stone.
Somepony was trying to run.
Scootaloo tried to move, too, and felt keenly the ropes which bound her own hooves together.
"Get her!" someone shouted.
More impacts.
Yelling. Commotion.
Silver Spoon yelped in pain.
Scootaloo began to thrash against her bindings, throwing her neck wildly from side to side in the hopes her sack might come free. Then, in a flash of genius, she pressed her head against the wall and shimmied downwards. The cloth clung to the wall and Scootaloo got her first lungful of fresh air.
She shimmied down more, and a thin sliver of the scene before her came to light.
There were two large ponies in hoods holding Silver Spoon down against the floor. Around them stood about five more, looking on in what was clearly distress, even without facial expressions to help.
"Let her go!" Scootaloo screamed.
The hoods snapped towards her. Faces obscured perfectly in the darkness and the shadows.
"Let her go!" Scootaloo repeated, twice as loud and raw. "You can't have her!"
The hoods were silent.
"Oh, my—that's Scootaloo, isn't it?" someone whispered. "From back when—"
"Quiet!" the boss instructed.
The hoods did as they were told.
The boss—who was wearing the same dark hood as the rest of her lackeys—stepped towards Scootaloo. Silver Spoon bucked against the weight of the hoods who held her down, but seemed to quickly regret it, and instead deflated into the concrete with a long, low moan.
The boss’s chest was rising and falling with great speed. Not at all the calm, reserved leader that she projected. Somepony with adrenaline pumping through her veins and a breath that wouldn’t slow down.
“You,” she said. “You came back.”
Scootaloo cringed away from the boss, her shoulders climbing towards her ears. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, voice quaking.
“Of course you do,” the boss said, bitter and low. “Of course. We took you when you were young, you little runt. Somepony let you escape.”
She remembered that. She remembered somepony holding her about the barrel, not nearly as violent or careless as the others. She remembered whispered instructions, somepony telling her to go, to run as fast as she could.
Run she did.
Right off the edge of the cloud layer.
“Never did find out who,” the boss spat. “We decided to process a few over it, though.”
Scootaloo closed her eyes and tried to shake the feeling off. The intense vertigo. The feeling of falling, spinning, branches scraped her face, bones shattering against the rock-hard earth.
“I see you’re just as stunted as ever,” the boss continued. “Good to know we were right all those years ago. You’re not worth a damn.”
“She is, too!”
Rumble.
Scootaloo’s head snapped to her right, and she saw Rumble and Diamond slumped against each other. Diamond seemed to be fighting to get her hood off, while Rumble merely sat forward to shout his curses with his whole chest.
“And so is Silver Spoon!” Diamond added. “Let her go!”
The boss cocked her head, and turned her shadowy gaze on Diamond. “Why should we?”
Diamond seemed to hear the boss’ hooves along the concrete, and forced herself back against the wall.
"What use does she serve to society, hm?" the boss continued. "All this magic wasted on a pony born to be a spoiled brat."
Scootaloo looked to her right and caught sight of Rumble and Diamond slumped together.
"Don't look at them," the boss snapped.
Scootaloo obeyed.
"Doesn't it make you angry?" the boss continued, that honey sweetness returning to her voice. "Doesn't it make you seethe?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Scootaloo demanded, kicking wildly at the boss. "What are you doing?!"
“And you!” The boss tossed her head back in laughter, and the hood draped itself over her snout. “You’re worse than useless—spreading our magic so thin we can barely get off the ground anymore. Teaching all those other creatures how to use our magic! Did you forget where you came from? Did you forget you were a pegasus?!”
Scootaloo’s mouth hung open like a dead trout. She could hardly understand the words which flew so easily from the boss’ mouth.
The boss cleared her throat. “Imagine the good we’ll do by redistributing your magic to the rest of the pegasi,” she said, composure regained.
Scootaloo’s brows furrowed. “What?”
The boss scoffed. “Oh. Silly me. You probably know it as ‘rainbows’,” she said. “All that oil slick that leaks out of you when you die. We toss you in the machinery and collect the magic that comes out, so it’s not wasted on the likes of you anymore.”
Silver Spoon thrashed again.
Somepony hit her this time.
“It’s the fuel that keeps society running,” the boss said simply. “And it’s the debt you owe us for not making good use of it. All of you. An adult blank flank, a pegasus who can’t fly, and two spoiled, bossy brats.”
“You’re not gonna get away with this,” Scootaloo said.
“We have been for longer than you’ve been alive, runt,” the boss replied. She then looked over her shoulder and said, “take her away.”
A chorus of screams and howls rose up from the trio still slumped against the wall. Scootaloo thrashed wildly against the ropes which bound her, and Rumble tried to flee across the concrete floor towards Silver Spoon. He didn’t get far before the boss kicked him squarely in the face and sent his scrawny frame rolling backwards.
Diamond Tiara, at last, managed to free her mouth from the sack over her head. She lined herself up and pushed off the wall, flying over Rumble and landing beside the boss.
She stretched out her neck and bit down on the boss’ leg as hard as she could.
The boss screamed wordlessly, and began to shake her leg, trying to detach Diamond as if she were a wild animal. To her credit, Diamond held on, even as the sack over her face was soaked with blood and slick, sticking down to her eyes and hampering her vision.
“Rumble!” Scootaloo howled. “Rumble, are you okay?!”
Rumble groaned, coughed, and spit out a mouthful of blood and slick against the inside of his sack.
The hoods were scrambling, now. Two were still holding onto Silver Spoon, but the rest seemed caught in a state of confusion and turmoil, clumsily helping the boss or meandering towards Rumble and Scootaloo.
Silver Spoon began to buck at her captors, her head connecting with somepony’s chin.
He yelped.
“Hold onto them!” the boss wailed. “Hold on!”
Scootaloo strained harder against her ropes, letting loose with a magnificent bellow which filled the factory. A few hoods seemed to finally notice her, and lunged in her direction, only to be tripped by Rumble’s outstretched hoof.
“Bite it!” Rumble said, shoving his ropes in her face. “Bite it!”
Scootaloo did as she was told and began gnawing at Rumble’s ropes.
“Fucking idoits!” the boss screamed.
The boss got one hoof pressed firmly against Diamond’s head and pushed her—hard—away from her leg. Diamond still did not let go, and so a blood-curdling scream rang out through the factory as the boss lost a chunk of her leg.
The boss stayed upright for only a moment, before unceremoniously dropping to the floor in an unconscious heap.
Diamond spit out the hunk of flesh, gagged, and coughed up a bit of something before scrambling across the wet concrete towards Silver Spoon.
Even thinking about what that must have felt like in Diamond’s mouth—warm, soft like a peach, but also wet and throbbing—made her want to hurl, but she bit down hard on the dry rope in her mouth and tried to let the fear take over.
Like a miracle, the ropes gave way under Scootaloo’s teeth, and Rumble was free.
Rumble’s hooves flew apart, and he dove in immediately towards Scootaloo’s ropes, untying them in a fit of shaking and panting and blind terror.
Somepony grabbed Rumble.
He kicked.
Somepony tried to grab Scootaloo.
She bit.
There was an odd lack of urgency to their actions. A sort of hesitation that was more than simple confusion. Fear, maybe. Regret, perhaps. Or maybe their only hesitation was in their lack of a leader, in their ability to perform without orders.
Then—
“I’ve got her!” Diamond shouted triumphantly. “I’ve got Silver! Go!”
And, trusting that Diamond would not lie, Rumble and Scootaloo took off like shots.
Their legs trembled with every stride, the floor seeming to shiver under them as they made their way through the darkness to the broken sliding doors. Hoofbeats followed them at a distance. Diamond and Silver, to be sure, though Scootaloo looked over her shoulder just in case.
The hoods stood in the frames of the shattered doors.
They didn’t dare cross the threshold.
Only stared out at the world beyond.
And, suddenly, it clicked.
It wasn’t quite fear.
Fear of death, perhaps.
But, mostly, it was incompetence.
These ponies weren’t professionals. They were just… ponies. Scared ponies, trying to do what they thought was best. They didn’t have any training. They couldn’t take anypony in a fight.
All they could do was lie and murder tied-up foals.
Scootaloo paused.
For a moment, she considered going back for them. To do what, she wasn’t sure—maybe ask why. Maybe push them over the edge of the cloud layer. Maybe beat them to a pulp herself.
Maybe try to help.
“What the fuck are you stopping for?!” Rumble cried, shoving Scootaloo further down the path. “Go! We’re almost there!”
And Scootaloo kept running.
And her hooves sank in the clouds.
As if her magic wasn’t quite as good as it once was.
One month later
The chill of autumn was in full force, now.
Posters for the Running of the Leaves were starting to pop up here and there. Bright and happy things. An artificial orange against those gentler hues of the slowly turning trees.
Scootaloo had tried to go to the police. Of course she had. Who wouldn’t?
But, when she’d walked into the precinct, ready to show her injuries and her bruises to the cop that had dismissed her, ready to march them up to the Weather Factory and emerge triumphant, she had paused outside the sliding glass doors.
She had seen the cop from before. The one who had written the hunk of pony flesh off as a prank.
She had seen her bloody bandages. The gauze wrapped around and around her leg. The way she limped across the room.
She had thought better of it.
She sent a letter to Twilight.
Scootaloo was still in Ponyville. Her nightmares were a little different now, but she held onto them like a security blanket, refusing to let them fade into the recesses of her memory. Refusing to forget.
How could she?
But she had.
The door to the popcorn machine hung open. She let the smell and the warmth wash over her. She remembered the way the blood and the slick had smelled as she tried to clean it from Diamond Tiara’s fur, and she held onto that, too.
She had to.
“Hey,” Rumble said softly. “Scoots? Popcorn?”
Scootaloo blinked, shook her head, and pulled out a mounded scoop of popcorn, which she poured into a candy-striped paper bag. Rumble took it from her and put it into the hooves of a young foal.
She beamed up at Rumble. “Thank you!”
Rumble smiled back, though his was weak and weary. “Sure thing, kiddo.”
The bell above the door tinkled softly as she left.
Rumble and Scootaloo stared mutely out the front window as the foal trotted happily away, not a care in the world, blank flank on display.
“I heard Twilight and friends managed to swoop in and handle things,” Rumble said. “Y’know. On the down-low.”
Scootaloo made a low, non-committal sound.
“That’s good news, Scoots,” Rumble said, nervous laughter twisted the ends of her words.
Scootaloo shrugged. “I dunno,” she said. “It happened before. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?”
“It won’t,” Rumble said. “It won’t.
Scootaloo did not reply.
She only watched as the shadow of Cloudsdale passed over Ponyville.
