A Chicken on a Wild Goose Chase: Scootaloo on the Hunt for Her Diary

Chapters

What a Way to Wake Up In The Morning.
Cramped Styles
Brass and His Special Deliveries
The End to a Wombat Blocky Day
Much Needed Napping

What a Way to Wake Up In The Morning.

Scootaloo yawned as she crawled into bed, mind wandering to recent events.

She’d moved, for one thing. Her parents had come by for the first time since forever.

She sighed, and closed her eyes. She felt like writing.

It had been a while since she’d written anything in her diary, and those drowsy minutes before sleep had a way of clearing her mind for a new entry.

Dear diary,

A lot’s happened since last time I wrote anything. Fluttershy looked after me for a few days, I got to sleep over at Rainbow Dash’s place again, it’s been kinda long. Guess I’ve been really distracted.

Anyway, mom and dad came by, they said they had a new job in Shire Lanka. They wanted me to come with them. Obviously I didn’t want that. I tried to tell them I had a good reason to stay in Ponyville, but they didn’t believe me. I guess lying to them and pretending there was something new in the Everfree Forest didn’t help. I don’t know if they really believe all my letters, come to think of it. But then everypony in town came by to help make them see I should stay.

I hope they don’t hate me for that. That must have been embarrassing for them.

They left without me.

So Aunt Lofty and Aunt Holiday moved to Ponyville instead, and now I can stay with them fulltime. No more bugging the Cakes to make sure I don’t burn the house down (even though that was totally Sweetie Belle’s fault and it only happened one time.)

Rumble’s been missing school, too, that’s the other big news. Turns out he was taking pills to make his voice sound deeper. A lot of boys in Equestria are taking it, Miss Cheerilee said, and it makes them all sound the same, for a while. Then their voice is just gone.

I didn’t even notice his voice had changed. I just thought it was weird he sounded like a grownup all of a sudden. Not like we haven’t had weirder stuff in Ponyville.

He’s fine now, though, he’s just lost his voice for a while. He’s not supposed to come to school or leave the house, to let his throat rest. If he tries to talk or if he hears too much talking, his throat gets sore. It’s okay, though. I’ve been bringing him his homework every day after school, since I live closest to him. I mean, I used to, before I moved, but I’m the only pony in class he really knows and who can get to his house, so…

Come to think of it, remind me to check the wind before I use that slingshot again. I’m gonna hit a pigeon one of these days if I’m not careful.

Things have been changing really quickly. I hope my mom and dad are okay in Shire Lanka. I hope Rumble doesn’t feel too bad about his voice.

She tensed under the covers. It had been too long since she’d written in her diary. She wouldn’t get any sleep at this rate, not with all this stuff running around in her head. With a snort, she hopped out of bed and reached for the book in the drawer dresser at the far end of her bed.

Her hoof reached towards nothing.

The dresser was on the left of her bed now.

More to the point, the book wasn’t in her dresser in the first place. Of course it wasn’t, she reasoned: she kept it with her when she slept over, she moved it all the time.

She stuck a hoof under her mattress.

The diary wasn’t there, either.

She remembered then, in her pre-sleep stupor: she’d put her diary in a secret compartment under her bed, one of the perks of living in a home originally built by Pegasus weapon smiths who needed a way to keep things safe from burglars.

Her heart sank when she realised.

Her old home had been built by Pegasus weapon fanatics. Her old home had secret compartments for keeping diaries, embarrassing pictures, and the occasional burglar destroyer. The house she was in now was an Earth pony home, and Earth ponies tended to treat burglars with open arms and open hooves.

Her mind raced.

Floorboards? Pillowcase? Behind one of the closets? Buried under stuffed animals? She drew a blank.

It had been too long.

“Where did I leave my diary?”

With no way to vent her thoughts and worries, as well as having another pressing worry keeping her up all night, Scootaloo awoke tired. She rubbed her eyes as she went to go get breakfast in the kitchen. Aunt Lofty and Aunt Holiday, as always, noticed.

“Hey, kiddo,” Aunt Lofty greeted. “Rough night?”

“Yeah. Still getting used to the new place, I guess.”

“Well, at least it’s Sunday, so you can take a nap if you need to. Got anything planned for today?” Aunt Holiday asked.

One thing, maybe. I could go back to our old place and see if my diary is still where I remember it.

“Sweetie Belle’s off in Canterlot today, and Apple Bloom’s cheering on Big Mac for a rodeo, so I thought maybe I could just hang out around Ponyville, no biggie.”

“Clear your head, huh? Good idea,” Lofty said, before turning her attention to the newspaper. “Oh, hey, look at that: your mom and dad are in the papers. They found a new yeti species in Shire Lanka.”

“Really?” Scootaloo’s ears perked.

“Ugh, nasty looking thing, too,” Lofty added, grimacing at the picture. “Do you think that’s the one that got-” She stopped herself.

“The one that got those other researchers they sent?” Scootaloo finished.

“Hold on, you two, they never found those ponies, they only found an ear,” Aunt Holiday protested. “And Shire Lanka’s got a lot of weird portals and pocket dimensions floating around, so don’t go writing obituaries where you don’t need to. And for that matter, you don’t have to worry about your parents, either, Scootaloo. You know they can take care of themselves. It’s gonna take more than a yeti to get the drop on them.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I know. Actually, I think I’m gonna stop by Rumble’s place, see if he needs any help with his homework.” With that, she turned to leave.

“Wow, you must be really tired, huh, champ?” Aunt Lofty asked.

“Why?”

Right on cue, Scootaloo’s stomach let out a primal growl.

“You were gonna leave without breakfast? That’s not happening. Come on, sit down and eat.”

“Eheh, yeah, I guess I’m just a little bit distracted.”

Reluctantly, Scootaloo sat down at the table and helped herself to a daisy sandwich.

I gotta get my head on straight. I need my diary back.

It was always possible she’d left the diary elsewhere, of course. Scootaloo did pack her things in a hurry, first for her little escape trip to her aunts, then for her parents. For all she knew, that diary was in the wrong suitcase right now, in Shire Lanka.

But Scootaloo was the daughter of two researchers, and at least part of her had a good sense of knowing where she left things. So, despite the nagging doubts and second-guessing, she took a detour to her old house on the end of Lookout Lane. She took off her helmet and parked her scooter out of sight.

The door was open. No sound came from the house.

She bit her lip. There was no doorbell anymore.

She knocked on the door, three times.

No response.

The house was empty, had to be.

With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she snuck in.

The dining room and kitchen had been stripped bare: even the cupboards were gone, so were the table and chairs.

She went in deeper, careful not to make a sound, and to keep her head down in case anyone saw her through the windows.

I’m just checking out what they’ve done with the place. Nothing suspicious at all.

I am so gonna get arrested if anypony finds me here.

She found her room at the end of the hall. That door was open, too. Poking her head in, she noticed that her bed was still right there, at the right of the entryway, pillow side facing away so she could always see whoever came in. Her little closet was gone, though. In its place there were boxes full of crystals and metal doodads of all sorts. She recognised a P10 brick sticking inside of a C5 motherboard for, if she remembered her Twilight Time lessons correctly, an automated magic-powered lawnmower.

“Huh.”

Stepping further inside, she peeked under the bed. The secret compartment looked undisturbed, so she reached underneath to try and find the switch.

She recoiled when she heard someone, or something, say “Halt.”

Scootaloo jumped, and instantly saw the source: a blueish grey metal creature of sorts, sitting on the wooden beam above the door. It still had the Wonderbolts insignia on it and everything.

The creature jumped down, blocking her escape. It looked vaguely froglike, but stood on hind legs that reminded her more of an ostrich. Its front legs were little barrels that pointed at her. In all, it stood a little taller than her, but not by much.

“Umm, hi?” she asked.

“You are trespassing on private property,” the thing droned in a menacing mechanical voice. “Raise your hooves in surrender now or face destruction. You have thirty seconds to comply.”

She gulped and rose up on her hind legs, front hooves high up. “Okay, I surrender.”

A blast of a roar erupted from the thing, and it took a step forward.

“Do not make any sudden movement. Raise your hooves in surrender or face destruction. You have twenty seconds to comply.”

Scootaloo stretched her arms up higher. “I surrender! I surrender!”

Then she saw her mistake, in one of the boxes nearby: mirror-like lenses with metal threads attached to them. Ocular inputs, Twilight called them, or mechanical eyes, as her parents referred to them.

The eyes are still in the box. This thing can’t see me surrender.

Again, it roared, and the barrels flared up with arcane energy. A low whine built up to a crescendo, energy crackled from the tips.

“Raise your hooves in surrender or face destruction. You have ten seconds to comply.”

She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes.

Well, it was nice knowing me.

Author's Note

Possibly my last story for this year, getting it out there to break the slump after a wrecking ball of a summer.

Trying something a little different with this writing style, didn't plan as much, really did it in a binge over five days or so. Not sure if I like that approach, but it got me some output, and I don't think it turned out bad, just... not my usual sort of quality. But hey, maybe folks will like it.

For those new to my works and wondering why comments and ratings are disabled: my author page has a blog post on it that explains it in more detail.

Cramped Styles

Dear diary,

I almost died today.

Those Washouts I told you about yesterday? Well, they let me join as a honorary member. I got to wear a uniform and everything. I loved it: the smell, the feel of it, I felt like a real ace flyer. I wish Rumble had seen it. I wonder if he’d be jealous.

Anyway, they strapped a rocket to my back, and I got to do a stunt.

I got to fly. I finally got to fly.

And then the rocket almost exploded with me strapped to it, and Rainbow Dash had to save me.

A lot of ponies saw it. Not Rumble or Thunderlane, though, I’m pretty sure they were off doing real Wonderbolt stuff, the kind of stuff I can’t do because I can’t fly.

A lot of ponies saw it, and nopony stopped it. I could have exploded in front of all of Ponyville and no one would have cared. I probably shouldn’t tell my parents about this. It’s not like they’d be able to do anything about it anyway.

I could have died, because I let ponies get under my skin again. I could have died, because ponies don’t care enough to help. I could have died, because I still can’t fly.

Nopony congratulated me for flying, either. I guess flying with a rocket isn’t exactly Wonderbolt material in the first place. That kinda makes flying with a glider or anything like a lost cause, too. Not much of a point in finishing my project then, either.

I wish somepony would just tell me what’s wrong with me. I don’t even know who to ask. Twilight can turn a pony into a griphon or a dragon, but a doctor can’t fix my wings? Apple Bloom can make a potion to regrow her teeth, but my wings are stuck like this?

I could have died.

I guess nopony’s gonna help me when it really counts.

I dunno, maybe I just need to sleep on it. Something will turn up eventually, right?

Scootaloo stared death in the eyes. The mechanical contraption pointed both barrels at her chest, sparks flew.

“Raise your hooves in surrender or face destruction. You have ten seconds to comply,” the thing droned.

She started counting down. Nine, eight, seven, six-

“Raise your hooves in surrender or face destruction. You have ten seconds to comply,” the thing droned.

She blinked in confusion, and started to count again. Nine, eight, seven, six-

“Raise your hooves in surrender or face destruction. You have ten seconds to comply.”

“Wait a second, are you just going in a loop?” she asked.

In response, she did not hear the thing itself speak. What she did hear was the sound of a young colt, grown beyond the squeaks of Rumble’s natural voice but not quite as deep as the one he’d medicated himself into.

“What in the name of wombat blocks is goin’ on in here? And who’s the blinkin’ derro sneakin’ into my room?”

The colt had a copperish coat and a dark grey mane, almost black. His eyes were a deep green, but none of that registered right away for Scootaloo. What registered right away was his accent: his ‘oohs’ came out with a vague ‘uh’, his ‘a’s came out sounding almost like ‘oi’s, and if that wasn’t enough of a hint, there was only one kind of pony who used the term ‘wombat blocks’ as an expletive.

The new family that had moved in to her place were ponies from Down Under, from the Upside Down Island, from Kangaroo Country, the Land of Oz.

These ponies were Ostlerians, like her parents.

“Brass? What’s the matter?” A stallion came in behind him, definitely related, judging from the coat, but the mane was more of a silver colour. He took one look at Scootaloo, then at the mechanical guardian, then grumbled. “Brass, what did I tell you about boobytrapping your room?”

“Ain’t my fault she snuck in. And besides, it’s not like this thing’s loaded. It’s just a scarecolt. Or a scarefilly, I should say.”

Slowly, carefully, Scootaloo put her hooves down. “You’re the ponies living here now?”

“That’s right,” said the stallion. “I’m Upshot, this is my nephew, Brass Tack.” He looked her over carefully, then grinned. “And unless my eyes deceive me, you must Scootaloo, huh?”

Her heart skipped a beat.

Right when he heard her name, Brass Tack seemed to relax. “Oh. You’re Mane Allgood’s daughter? And, umm… Snap Shutter, was it?”

“Yeah, that’s me. You know my parents?”

It was only now that she noticed the horn on both these ponies. They were Unicorns. And at least one of them was a mechanic, or a tinkerer, or an artificer, whatever they were called.

“Sure do,” Upshot said. “We only met a few times, but they’ve brought back some neat specimens, and I’ve had plenty of success in analysing the results. Me and Brass here like to keep up on the new designs for magical trinkets, and most of those are, well-”

“Made from studying magical animals, right.”

Brass Tack snorted. “So what are you doing here?”

“Don’t be rude, Brass.” Upshot nudged him in the side. “Scootaloo was just visiting, obviously. She used to live here, this is her old room we’re in. Why do you think you’ve got a Wonderbolts symbol over the door?”

“Oh. Right, guess that makes sense.”

“I am sorry if we scared ya, Miss,” Upshot continued. “We’re still getting settled in, and our doorbell hasn’t arrived yet. We’re out back getting my workshop all installed, so we keep the door open in case anything starts to smoke.”

“Eheh, yeah, you really don’t want to waste time opening a door if there’s smoke.” Scootaloo shuddered as she remembered all the times Sweetie Belle decided to cook for her fellow Crusaders. All in all, that old charcoal biscuit recipe had improved over the months.

“Anyway, I wish I could offer you some tea and catch up, but me and Brass do need to get to work, still. So how about we take a raincheck, eh?”

She gulped. That diary was right there. If she could just get to the compartment…

There came a knocking at the door. Scootaloo recognised the voice of Derpy Hooves calling out. “Mailmare!”

“Speakin’ of which, that’ll be our doorbell. And a fairly prompt delivery, too, that’s nice change of pace. Brass, you show your new friend out, would you? And be nice, we’re in Ponyville now.”

Once Upshot was gone, Brass Tack sighed. “Sorry about that, and my, umm, security. We had a spot of trouble in Ostleria. We kinda left in a hurry.”

“That’s okay.” She forced out a smile. “Umm, are you in Miss Cheerilee’s class?”

“Yeah, I’ll be startin’ tomorrow. You too?”

“Yup. I guess I’ll see you there, then?” She started to walk towards the door. “You know you can put eyes on that thing, right?”

“Yeah, I know. We had to pull everything apart to ship it, is all. And I’m not sure if I wanna put everything back together the way it was, y’know? Might wanna make some improvements instead. Why, do you know this stuff?”

She shrugged. “I know a little. My mom and dad tried explaining it to me once, and I learned a little bit in the library. Well, you know, before the library got blown up.”

“Right.” He walked her to the front door, where Upshot was talking to Derpy.

Resigning herself to a failed mission, Scootaloo put her helmet on and mounted her scooter.

“So, Scootaloo?” Brass Tack asked.

“What?”

“Is it nice here, living in Ponyville? Anypony I should be worried about?”

“Not really. It’s nice here. Ponies are nice. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. It’s just that I have some stuff and-”

“Brass!” Upshot called out. “Come on, we gotta get this doorbell mounted. You can have your chin-wagging contest in school.”

Brass Tack rolled his eyes. “Duty calls. See you in school tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you in school.”

With that, she drove off at full speed. She didn’t care which way, as long as she got a clear path.

That was close. I almost got caught there.

The next day, Scootaloo went to school, as always, and sat through Brass Tack’s introduction in the morning. He didn’t really say anything she didn’t know already: him and his uncle just moved in, they were from Ostleria, yes he had a funny accent, and he liked to tinker with magical machines.

Magical bionics, he called it, and the term was familiar to her: studying magical animals to copy their abilities into something you can carry and make more of. He was on the fabricating end, where her parents were on the research end. This, also, was not news.

No mention of his parents, though, which struck her as odd.

Regardless, there wasn’t much to him, aside from the fact that he was still standing between her and getting her diary back. He was pretty good at maths, turns out, but that wasn’t shocking: so was Scootaloo. They had an aptitude for numbers for the same reason: their fields of interest demanded it. Drop a zero when calculating a trajectory, you land on a bird’s nest instead of a porch. Drop a one when making a magical device, you get a taser instead of a communication device.

When school was out, all the foals got their homework, and Scootaloo got a double dose, as usual.

Brass Tack, apparently, noticed.

“Uh, any reason why you’ve got two sheets to write on instead of just one?” he asked as they went out the door.

“Scootaloo’s bringing Rumble his homework. He’s been sick for a while, and she lives closest to him,” Sweetie Belle replied.

“Yeah. It’s no big deal, he’s lost his voice from taking these pills, and now he’s not supposed to be around talking ponies for too much, either.” Scootaloo gestured to her throat.

“Oh, roight, that kind of pills. Umm, actually, do y’all mind if I ask you something practical? I’m not sure who else to ask, and you seem to know these things best, from what the mailmare told me.”

Oh boy, here we go.

“What do ya need? If it’s a cutie mark problem, that’s our specialty,” Apple Bloom noted.

Somehow, Scootaloo doubted that was an issue. Brass Tack had a set of nails for a cutie mark, clearly indicating his talent for building stuff, and from what she’d seen, he was pretty good at it.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks, but it’s not that kind of favour. More like the opposite, actually. I’m, uh, I’m looking to get rid of a couple of things from Ostleria. Stuff I made, but that’s gotten a little redundant, if you catch my drift. I don’t want it to go to waste, though. I wanna make sure I give it to ponies who’d have a good use for the stuff. Do you know who I can ask about that?”

“Pinkie Pie,” Scootaloo blurted out. “Pinkie Pie knows everything about everypony. And she’ll wanna meet you and your uncle pretty soon, if she hasn’t already. Has she?”

“I don’t know. What does she look like?”

“You definitely haven’t met her yet,” Sweetie Belle remarked. “She’s really nice, but she can be a little… intense. She’ll ask you a lot of questions the first time, so make sure you don’t have a dry throat when you meet her the first time.”

He gulped, then nodded. “Okay. And where can I find her?”

“Sugarcube Corner. It’s the bakery, the one with the roof that looks like cake frosting.”

He looked out towards Ponyville. “Oh, ta, mate, I know where that is.”

Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle exchanged a glance with Scootaloo.

“He’s saying thanks,” she clarified.

“Oh, right, sorry. I keep forgetting ponies don’t talk the same way ‘round here.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Apple Bloom said in her best drawl. “Ponyville’s got a lot different accents, you’ll fit right in.”

“Thanks.” He blushed. “I’ll go ask Miss Pinkie, then, and I might pop by your place if she has any suggestions.”

“I’ll let my sister know,” Apple Bloom said. “Wouldn’t want ya to get stuck in a bat-trap.”

He was already gone, trotting off towards the sugary middle of town.

“He sounds nice,” Sweetie Belle said. “I thought you said he didn’t like you?”

“I didn’t say that: I said he sounded angry.”

“Well, you were sneaking into his room,” Apple Bloom remarked.

“It was my room,” Scootaloo replied.

“He doesn’t sound angry now. He might wanna help us out sometime.”

Scootaloo barely managed to suppress a groan at that. “Let’s just get going. I don’t wanna keep Rumble waiting.”

By the time the filly had managed to brace herself in the slingshot, she was already out of breath. Rumble’s parents insisted on him keeping up with his schoolwork, and they got home about ten minutes after school was closed, so that left Scootaloo with nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds to get from one end of Ponyville to the other. It did not leave her with time to lighten her own schoolbag, do a proper warming-up and wing stretches, or a wheel check on her scooter.

Needless to say, the new route was starting to get to her.

Still, she got there, well on time, even if her wing muscles were burning. She held on tight to the straps, dug her hooves in, then jumped.

Wings spread, she landed on Rumble’s doorstep, not hitting a pigeon in the process. She knocked on the door, and he opened up with a smile.

She smiled back, panting for breath. “Hey, Rumble. I got your homework.” She dug it out from her bag and gave it to him. “Just one thing, we’ve gotta write a little over one page on the Pre-Classical Era, pick one wizard we’ve been learning about, no Star Swirl the Bearded.” She made a cutting motion with a hoof. “Absolutely no Star Swirl, we’ve gotta write about somepony else. One page, front and a little bit of the back, and we gotta find at least one spell that we think wouldn’t exist without them. Easy stuff if you’ve read the books.”

Rumble nodded and gestured for her to come in.

Reluctantly, she followed him inside. Her nose curled from the stench of her own sweat. Honestly, a report on why Pegasus cloud homes never have ladders would have been more interesting.

Rumble went to a table where, she assumed, he’d spent most of the day drawing, and wrote on a note for her to read.

“Anything else in school today? Did the new ponies move in yet?”

He knew. She nodded. “Yeah, two ponies: a colt and a stallion. They’re tinkerers, magic artifacts and machines and stuff. Unicorns, you know? Oh, and they’re Ostlerian, so they talk a little funny.”

Rumble’s brow furrowed. He scribbled another sentence underneath that.

“Ostlerian, like your parents?”

“Yup. Just like my parents. The stallion, the uncle, he met them a few times, turns out.”

Another scribble, another quick read. “But you don’t talk weird at all.”

She gulped. “No, I guess I don’t.”

He tilted his head before the next question. “Are you okay? You look a little more worn out than usual.”

She chuckled softly. “I’m fine. Just not sleeping well again, you know how it is. Oh, speaking of which, Did I accidentally drop a book here a while ago? A notebook, got a little lock on it?”

He shook his head, then scribbled again. “I don’t think so, but I can go look. I’ve got plenty of time.”

Her heart, still pounding from the exertion, fluttered a little. He didn’t even ask what it was. He probably didn’t care, either: all she had to say was she was missing a book, and he’d find it for her.

He was honest like that, nice and straightforward.

“Do you want to stick around and do our homework together?” He pushed the note in front of her.

“No, I gotta get to Sweet Apple Acres, I’m going to do it there and then do Crusader stuff.” She turned to leave. “If it’s okay with you.”

He nodded, then grabbed a note he’d shown her plenty of times already.

“Do you need help getting down?”

The answer was yes, she did. Her wings hurt, she felt the beginnings of a cramp, and if she didn’t get some sugar in her soon she was pretty sure she’d faint.

“Nah, I’m good. I can still slow down my fall, even if I can’t fly, remember? See you tomorrow!”

If he had anything else to say to her, she didn’t see it, nor did she want to. She marched right up to the edge of the clouds and jumped, buzzing her wings all the way down. While she didn’t make a perfectly smooth landing, she did manage to do a proper roll.

Or at least she would have, had she remembered she was still carrying a school bag full of books. As it was, the weight of Ponyville academia left a few bruises on her back.

With a grunt, she got back up and grabbed her scooter. Her wings were useless now, but that wasn’t a new development in the filly’s life. She’d have to get to Sweet Apple Acres on leg power alone.

“I’m gonna be late again. Apple Bloom will never let me hear the end of it.”

She sighed as she picked up speed.

“At least Rumble wouldn’t read my diary if he found it.”

That thought sent a chill down her spine.

Oh no...I practically showed Brass Tack where I keep it!

“Welcome to Carroussel Boutique, how may I help you?” Rarity greeted the stallion.

“G’day to you, Ma’am,” he greeted. “Are you the proprietor of this here establishment?”

Rarity’s ears perked. He sounded Ostlerian. “Why, yes, I am. I am Rarity, and you are?”

“Name’s Upshot, and I’ve got two things I’d like to talk about. One is a set of suits: one for me and one for my nephew. We just moved in, and we don’t have anything proper to wear yet, nothing for a big event. I’m told you do foal-sized formal wear as well?”

“Oh, yes, of course. We have a number of recurring attendants at the Grand Galloping Gala every year, and a few of them have younger companions to bring along.” She went towards a rack in the back. “Any particular style you’re going for? Anything you wish to convey with your appearance?”

“Not as such, no. Mostly I just wanna make sure we don’t look like a roo in a croc pond.”

Definitely Ostlerian. “Ah. I can take that to mean you wish to fit in, then. Any particular timeframe?”

“We’ll want to be ready in about two months. Is that feasible?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, two months? Darling, that is more than enough. If you want something custom-made, I can work out a few designs for you and your… nephew? How old is he?”

“I reckon custom job is likely the way to go, yes. As for my nephew, the mailmare told me you have a sister about his age. They’re in the same class.”

Ah. Derpy sent him my way. That was nice of her.

“That is a size I can work with, but I will want him to come around for fitting, you understand.”

Upshot cleared his throat. “Of course. I should warn you in advance, though: my nephew Brass is a little… touchy.”

“Touchy, how?”

“Touchy, as in ‘does not like being touched.’ I don’t know if that’s going to be a problem.”

Given that they were Ostlerian, and the stories she’d heard about that place, it made sense. Poor boy probably had a spider crawl up his leg once too often. “Not a problem at all, sir, I have had my fair share of clients who were… touchy, as you put it. I know what to do.”

“Perfect.”

“What was the second thing you wanted to ask me about?”

“Well, me and the mailmare were talking about me getting hitched, and your name came up.”

Rarity’s eyes narrowed to dots.

If you strangle a mailpony, does that count as a federal crime?

“I beg your pardon?”

He made a casual gesture at her. “Well, from what I hear, you own shops in at least three major cities, you have connections in every layer of pony society, and you are a bit of a social butterfly, are you not?”

Are all Ostlerians this forward? Oh, stars, I’m going to have to warn Sweetie Belle about his nephew.

“Yes, and?”

“And if there’s anypony who’d know where I can find an eligible bachelorette, it would be you, no? I want to find a mare quickly, you see, but most of all I want to find a good mare. It’s important to me, and to my nephew, that there’s a good female role model around.”

He wants me to play matchmaker. Oh, thank goodness. “You’ll find no shortage of those in Ponyville, Mister Upshot, you do not need me to find that.”

“Perhaps. But I only have my nephew for the moment, no foals of my own. I am hoping to remedy that, and as much as I would like to go out on the proverbial hunt, I don’t wanna ruffle any feathers or come across as a homebreaker. So, Miss Rarity, do you know who I can ask, and who I should avoid? Or at the very least, where I should start?”

Rarity bit her lip, pondered, then nodded with determination. “I can give you a quick list of who to avoid, yes, that much I can provide right at this moment. As for finding a proper partner… one step at a time.”

Author's Note

So, first hints of the conflict, first little drop of backstory for the Ostlerians. Brought this up in the development blog, but I went with an Aussie accent because that made it more poignant for Scootaloo. As for the term Ostlerian: an ostler or hostler is someone who takes care of horses, usually at an inn. Ostler is the British-English spelling, which works fine considering its history.

Again, repeating this for new readers: we noticed an increase in artifact magic after Cozy Glow did her near-apocalypse thingie, not just in the big things but in smaller matters as well. It makes sense to play off of that.

As for Rarity being the matchmaker? It's a small detail, could have cut it, but there's a minor pay-off later, and it fits into the implications of the backstory, so I kept it. Otherwise I'd end up with just Scootaloo scenes, and no B-plot or other perspectives to break it up properly.

Brass and His Special Deliveries

Dear diary,

I messed up today, big time. I tried to do a routine for the Equestria Games, and I couldn’t do it. I can’t fly. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle are gonna lose because of me.

I’m gonna tell them I can’t do it. I can’t be on their team. I’m the weak link. They deserve better than me.

I hope they win without me.

The next day at school went by in a cramped, painful blur. Scootaloo nearly fell asleep during Pipsqueak’s show and tell. Thankfully, so did most of the class, including Cheerilee, who then made it official policy not to bring automatic sheep counters to school.

Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle were busy spending the day either gossiping or planning new cutie mark solutions, and they didn’t need her for that, so no one noticed her nodding off during those conversations.

Soon enough (debatably, in her mind), school was out, and everypony filed out in a mostly orderly fashion. Scootaloo dreaded the ride to Rumble’s. They didn’t have any homework today, but she did promise to check up on him every day to make sure he didn’t fall behind.

She clenched her eyes shut as she put her helmet on. She revved up her wings and bit down on the pain. She didn’t need to rush as hard today, but she still needed to get there before his parents came home, if only to spare him the embarrassment.

She took a moment to take a deep breath once she got there, and rubbed at a sore spot near her ribs. Her muscles ached, and begged for relief.

I really overdid it yesterday. Or the day before that.

Or the day before that.

Well, every day since my parents moved, I guess.

Still, she had to load herself in the slingshot. Her hind legs felt almost as weak as her wings. Slowly, with a groan, she pulled back, tried to aim high enough, and landed on the cloudy doorstep with a ‘thud.’

She knocked on the door.

A Unicorn opened up. A copper brown Unicorn, to be precise, one who’d been in class with her not more than a few minutes ago.

How did he get here so fast? And why’s he even here?

“G’day again, Scootaloo,” Brass greeted. “What are you doin’ up here?”

She coughed, careful to avert her snout. “I’m… I’m supposed to come by to make sure Rumble’s okay.”

He looked surprised at that. “I thought Miss Cheerilee said I could take care of it?”

Did she?

“Come on in, Scootaloo,” a voice droned. It sounded artificial, robotic.

And on closer inspection, it was coming from Rumble.

She went in, ears perked and on guard. “What is going on here?”

“Well, I told you I was gettin’ rid of stuff, right? I told Pinkie Pie about all the old equipment I brought from Down Unda, and she thought maybe this’d help.”

Rumble was typing on what looked like a magical mirror, before holding it up.

“It’s a voice generator,” the thing explained. “It sounds fake enough so it doesn’t mess up the recovery. Now I don’t need to keep track of my notes to talk to ponies.”

Brass rolled his eyes. “Technically it’s a recording device with a text interface, but I tweaked the enchantment to make it go both ways, it’s pretty easy.”

“Oh.” Scootaloo felt a pang in her chest. Her wings still burned and quivered. “That’s great. Good thinking, Brass.”

“Aw, it’s no biggie. I’ll leave you two to it, then, if you’re sure you wanna do your check-up. But I thought it was gonna be my job, won’t it? I mean, out of everypony in class, I live closest now.”

She nodded. “Umm, yeah, that’s right. If you don’t mind taking over, that’s fine.”

“I mean, it’s only natural. You moved away, and you look kinda tired, if you don’t mind me saying so. You should be careful, otherwise you might end up hurting yourself.” He gestured to her twitching wings.

Her body tensed. Hurting myself? Did he read my diary? Did he read about the rocket?

“What do you mean, hurt myself?”

“Oh, ain’t my place to say, but sometimes ponies get overworked and then they just, um, wash out, I guess you could call it. Me and my uncle get ponies like that in our workshop all the time. Back in old Oz, I mean, I don’t think Ponyville’s gonna be that different.”

She took a close look at the mirror in Rumble’s hooves. “You said ‘our’ workshop, huh? So, does that mean you made that mirror? From scratch?”

He smiled brightly at her. “Reckon! Oh, umm, I mean, yeah, I did. We make all kinds of magical doodads to help ponies out, mostly automatic stuff to help with anything that might tire a pony out, but sometimes a couple of recovery tools like that. Shore up a weak link and all that.”

And he read about the Equestria Games.

I’ve got to get it back from him. But how? I can’t just accuse him, not with Rumble there, not when he’s being nice.

Why is he being nice, anyway?

“You’re sure you can handle coming here every day after school?” she asked.

“I’ve got my own transport, of course, it’s all good. I was sure Miss Cheerilee mentioned it. But anyway, I gotta go. I need to get home and pack up my next little gift. Is she apples?” he asked Rumble.

“She’s apples and spice, all’s nice,” Rumble replied after some frantic typing. “Thanks again.”

“No worries.”

Scootaloo blinked, and he was out the door. She couldn’t even think to ask how he got up there, or how he was walking on clouds. Brass Tack didn’t have anything on him besides his school bag.

His school bag. Is that where he’s got it stashed, maybe?

“So what’s up, Scootaloo?” Rumble asked with his new robotic voice.

I can’t chase after him. I’d pass out if I tried, probably.

She went to sit next to him at the table. “Not much.”

“You don’t look so good.”

She chuckled. “I’m not feeling so good, either. Kinda tired. But you don’t have to worry about that. How’s the homework?”

“Coming along fine. How was school?”

“Kinda boring today, to be honest.”

“Brass Tack seems nice.”

She clenched her jaw. “Yeah. I’m sure he’s making lots of friends.”

“But you don’t like him.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Did he do anything wrong?”

“No,” she blurted out.

No. What am I thinking? He’s just a random colt, why would he bother reading my diary? I must have lost it somewhere instead.

I can’t prove he took it. I have be absolutely sure I didn’t leave someplace else.

“But you just don’t like him.”

“It’s not that,” she replied. “I think I’m just really tired. And I don’t think he minds, anyway. He probably is making lots of friends in Ponyville right now.”

“Do you want to take a nap? My mom and dad won’t mind if you crash on the couch for a little bit.”

No, but you’d never hear the end of it.

“No. I should head off, too. Maybe I’ll check out a book on that artifact stuff, see if I can catch up. It’s been a while.”

“You could always try Fluttershy. I heard she started tinkering with that stuff after she got Tank his helicopter thingie. She’s looking for a few new things to put in her sanctuary, too.”

Fluttershy.

Of course.

Fluttershy came by a week before I got that letter from my parents. She had to pack up and leave in a hurry because of that injured phoenix. I had my diary out on the table, maybe she packed it in the rush?

“That’s not a bad idea, Rumble, thanks.”

Another tapping on the screen, another smile. “No worries.”

“Ow…” Scootaloo groaned as she reached Fluttershy’s cottage.

Maybe I can ask for some tiger balm. That worked last time.

She winced and rubbed a throbbing spot under her right wing, before parking her scooter and doffing her helmet. The cottage smelled nice, at least, welcoming, and most of all: private. She could be honest with Fluttershy about her diary. She could have a good talk with her, Pegasus to Pegasus, and trust that Rainbow Dash would never hear of it.

She could get some things off her chest with nopony else around.

“Crikey, Miss Fluttershy, that sounds like a right dog’s dinner!”

No. No way.

Sitting at the table, drinking tea right across from Fluttershy, sat Brass Tack.

“Oh, g’day again, Scootaloo.”

She gulped. “Hi, Brass Tack. You’ve, uh, you’ve met Fluttershy?”

“Brass Tack came by with a little donation for me and the sanctuary. We were just talking about all the important magic we have now thanks to wildlife research.” She tilted her head. “Wasn’t that what your parents did?”

Scootaloo stepped closer. Her head pounded. A little black splotch appeared in her vision, but it cleared up as quickly as it popped in. “Yup, they travel all over the world for that.”

And leave me all alone for it. Because that’s more important than I am, I guess.

“I should go,” Brass Tack said. “Thanks for the tea, Miss. I’ll tell my uncle to come by sometime once he’s done installing everything back home.”

“That would be lovely,” Fluttershy replied. “And thank you again for the gift.”

“No worries.”

And just like that, he was out the door again.

Scootaloo plopped her rump down with a sigh, right on his seat.

Did he teleport? Can they do that at that age? No way, Twilight couldn’t do it until she came to Ponyville, Rarity still can’t do it.

“And what can I do for you, Scootaloo?” Fluttershy asked. “Did you find another bird’s nest I should check?”

“No, nothing like that. I just, umm, do you remember last time you were over at my place? And you left in kind of a hurry?”

“I am very sorry about that, it was an emergency, I had to-”

“It’s not that,” she interrupted. “When you packed up everything, was there a notebook there? Maybe you grabbed it by mistake?”

“A notebook?” Fluttershy asked.

“Golden cover, got a little lock on it? Probably still has the key on it and everything?” She shuddered, only now realising she’d lost the key to the thing, too.

Way to go, Skippy.

“You mean like a diary?”

Scootaloo let her head hang. “Yes.”

“You can’t find your diary, and you thought maybe I had it?”

Scootaloo nodded.

Fluttershy looked up. “No, I don’t think I have it. I clean out my bags every now and then, I would have noticed a book with a lock on it. And even if I didn’t, Angel Bunny would. But I’ll keep an eye out, and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks.”

“Was that the only thing you came here for?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“I still have some tiger balm, if you need any. The next shipment won’t be for another week or two, I don’t mind sharing.”

Brass Tack is faster than me. He can speed around town, no problem.

He knows I’m the weak link.

I can’t let him beat me.

I can’t let him replace me like this.

“I’m fine. Thanks anyway, Fluttershy.” She turned to leave, until she saw an odd weapon of sorts lying in the kitchen. “What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s what Brass Tack brought me. You might recognise it, actually: it’s a copy of a wasp stinger, except it’s changed to be a-”

“Poison extractor.” Scootaloo went to get a closer look. “My mom and dad carry these around all the time, for emergencies.”

“Mhmm. It’s really a fascinating story.” Fluttershy came up behind the filly. “Some wasps lay their eggs in hosts, but they need the host to be healthy. So a few magical species evolved to-”

“Get any other parasites out of whatever they’re stinging. Ponies figured out how to use that magic to work on poison, or venom.” Scootaloo narrowed her eyes. The runes along the side of the stinger looked familiar, at least. It was exactly like what she’d seen her parents carry, with one exception: this thing was the size of her forearm. “I’ve never seen one this big, though. Did he say he made it?”

Fluttershy nodded. “He said it got him out of a bad situation back home, but now he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He asked Pinkie Pie, and she told him I might be able to use it. And I can, you know: these kinds of items usually aren’t made for large animals. It might save a life one day.”

Yeah, Scootaloo, so stop thinking bad things about Brass Tack already.

He’s not doing this on purpose, he’s not replacing you.

Even if he is sleeping in your room.

And even if he does sound like what you’re supposed to sound.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Fluttershy snapped the filly out of her revery. The mare flew up to fetch a bottle from a cabinet up high. “Are you going to pass by Rainbow Dash’s place today?”

Rainbow Dash. I did have a couple of sleepovers at her place around that time. I might have left it there.

A flash of white appeared in Scootaloo’s eyes, and then a needling sensation started to creep in at the base of her left wing. She bit through and put up a brave smile. “Yup. That was gonna be my next stop. Why?”

“I got Tank some more of his tummy ache medicine. Apparently he’s been sneaking off to eat pies again. Could you bring this to Rainbow Dash? She’ll know what to do.” Fluttershy gave it to Scootaloo.

She packed it in her bag and nodded. “Sure. No problem.”

Seeing the cloud home of resident Wonderbolt, unofficial big sister and coolest pony in Equestria, Rainbow Dash, Scootaloo felt a lot better. The fact that Rainbow Dash had a trampoline instead of a slingshot to get up to her place made it all the more pleasant to visit.

Her wings didn’t hurt as much when she rang the doorbell.

“Oh, hey Scootaloo. Come in.” Rainbow Dash greeted her.

“Crikey, that’s three times in one day. I reckon we owe each other a tinny now, or somethin’.”

That pain in her wings came back with an ominous throb that resonated up into her skull.

Brass Tack was in Rainbow Dash’s home.

He was talking to her idol, to her big sister.

He is not gonna steal her from me, too!

Her cheeks puffed. Her ears fell back against her head. Her heart pounded with rage.

Then Tank butted into her, as the clumsy tortoise often did when she was around and he had his flight contraption on. He also usually had a protective set of goggles on.

The camera lens was new, though.

“What is that on Tank’s head?” Scootaloo asked.

“It’s a body cam,” Brass explained. “Everything he sees gets sent to this magic mirror right here.”

“That way I can finally figure out where he’s flying off to and stealing pies,” Rainbow Dash said.

Stop.

You have to stop, Scootaloo.

You’re gonna snap at him for no reason. Your diary is probably in here somewhere, it has to be.

“Wow. That’s… really nice, Brass.”

“I should head off,” Brass hopped off his seat and trotted to the door. “Feel free to come by the workshop if you want that propeller upgraded, Miss.”

“Will do!” Rainbow waved as he went out. “So, Scoots, what’s up?”

Scootaloo practically felt her whole body deflate. “Do you remember last time I slept over, and I was writing in this notebook?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

She winced in anticipation. “Do you think maybe I left it here by mistake?”

“I don’t think so, no, I’m pretty sure you packed it. But I can check.”

In five seconds flat, Rainbow Dash scoured every puffy cloud in the place. “No books around here except Daring Do, buckball, and tax codes. I don’t think any of those are yours.”

“No, they’re not.” She let her head hang.

“Are you okay, squirt? You look a little more… worn out than usual.”

“I’m just tired, that’s all. Here, Fluttershy said this would help with Tank’s tummy ache.” Scootaloo took out the bottle, hooves shivering with stress. “I should go home.”

I’ll probably find Brass Tack there, too.

While Rainbow Dash was busy reading the label, Scootaloo turned around, went outside, jumped down, and yelped hard when her burning wings didn’t break her fall quite as well as she’d have liked. Now her right shoulder hurt, too.

“You sure you’re okay?!” Rainbow called out from above.

“I’m fine!”

She grunted.

I have to get my diary back. It doesn’t matter if it’s his fault or not, he’s got it and he’s gonna give it to me.

I just need to think.

She revved her wings up, biting through the pain and cramps.

“Maybe a little ride around Ponyville will clear my head.”

Author's Note

This can only end well, obviously. Not much else to say on this one. It always had to end on Rainbow Dash getting a visit from Tack, but apart from that things were very loose right up to the actual writing of the thing.

The fatigue creeping up, for instance, was a late addition. So was the constant inner monologue of Scootaloo going back and forth suspecting Tack of some shenanigans. It's similar to what happened in Changeling Blood, but there the narrative never went into Apple Bloom's POV, right up until it was too late. You never got to see how she got where she was, only the result. Here, all the steps are there, and Scoot's hurting, and putting up a brave face, as she does. There's hints of Food Court, too, in that respect.

The End to a Wombat Blocky Day

Scootaloo bit through the ache in her wings as she raced through Ponyville. Her mind, much like herself, was racing with ideas.

Listen, Brass, I know you’ve got my diary, and I want it back, now.

She growled.

No. He’ll tell Miss Cheerilee, and everypony will hate me for being rude to him.

She sped up, leaving a dustcloud in front of Sugarcube Corner.

He started it. He took my diary, he took my room, and he’s taking my friends!

He’s gonna steal Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle next if I don’t do anything.

Again, she sped up. Ponies backed away when they saw her approach, not minding, not caring. She was pushing herself, and nopony stopped her.

Every pony who really cares isn’t here. I have to do it myself.

She pushed harder, faster. One more turn past Carousel Boutique and then it was a nice curve towards her old house on the edge of town.

Brass Tack, we need to talk. Yeah, that’s good.

You’ve got something that’s mine. You’ve got a lot of somethings that are mine, and I want them back, now.

Finally, the pain caught up to her. She slowed down, even though she didn’t want to. Little black splotches appeared in her vision again, and her helmet felt loose.

Her head felt light.

Something thudded against metal, and dull pain shot through her hind hooves.

The smell of dust hung in the air.

No sound.

Great. Now I’m falling.

Look what you’ve done now.

You’re just a big mess-up, Scootaloo.

That’s why nopony cares.

That’s why mom and dad left.

She closed her eyes, anticipating the hard impact of ground meeting filly.

Much to her surprise, the impact never came. She just dozed off and floated into a comfy slumber.

I’m dreaming. Of course. This is just one big nightmare. Oh, perfect, Princess Luna can figure this out.

Wait, where is she?

Princess Luna?

Hello?

Upshot heard the pitter-patter of his nephew’s hooves on the doorstep.

“Back already? You’ve been busy, ain’t ya?” Upshot started.

“Yup,” Brass replied, trotting past his uncle, still carrying the backpack. “Do you need me for anything?”

“Nope. Got everything set up, did my little sweep of the premises, we’re all clear.”

Brass let out a sigh of relief. “Anything interesting?”

“We’ve got a few secret compartments, like the salespony said. One’s under your bed, even.”

The colt squealed with excitement. “Any hidden treasure?”

“Nah, all cleared out and empty. Speaking of which.” Upshot went to fetch a contraption of fabric and metal. “You’re sure you want to get rid of this one?”

Brass gulped. “I’m sure. It’s old. I’ve made better.”

“It’s one of your first, though. You got your cutie mark making this.”

“It’s got holes in it. Even if I patch it up, you can tell it used to have holes in it. I got in trouble because it’s got holes in it.”

Upshot sighed. “Brass, you know that’s not true. It wasn’t your fault. You did a good thing. But, if you really wanna get rid of it, I won’t stop you. Did Miss Pinkie Pie give you any ideas for this one?”

“No, actually. She didn’t know anypony that might want this. But I already know who to give it to.”

“Really? Who?”

“Scootaloo?”

Rarity set down some teacups filled with hot cocoa. She let one of them float over the prone filly’s back, gently pushing the warm porcelain against the base of a wing.

“Ugh…” Clearly that felt better, since Scootaloo let out a content sigh. “What happened?”

“You were speeding around Ponyville, darling,” Rarity replied. “And you almost fell. In fact, you passed out right as I caught you. You were lucky I was hanging my laundry when I heard you. That could have been a ghastly accident, you really should be more careful. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Really tired.” The girl groaned. “My head’s pounding.”

“Here.” Rarity offered her the hot cocoa. “You’ll want to get some strength back, then. Are you hurt at all?”

“No.” She sipped from the warm drink, eyes woozy. “Thanks for catching me.”

Not just woozy, Rarity realised, but red. Scootaloo had been crying, or was about to cry before the fall.

“It’s nothing, darling. But do you mind telling me why you were going so quickly? Or where? Is there an emergency back home?”

“No. Sort of.” She sighed. “Rarity, do you remember last time I was here?”

“It’s been a few weeks, but yes. Why?”

“Do you remember if I left a notebook here?”

“A notebook? It’s possible. What does it look like?”

“Umm, golden cover, it’s got a little lock on it?”

Ah. Rarity didn’t need long to figure it out. “You mean like a diary?”

Scootaloo let her head hang. “Yeah.”

Rarity nodded in sympathy. “I must admit, you don’t strike me as the type to have one, but I suppose it makes sense. When push comes to shove, you don’t have quite as many ponies to share your thoughts with, do you?”

“No.”

“And that’s why you were going so quickly? Because you’ve lost it?”

“I think I know where it is. The new kid in town? Brass Tack?”

“You think he has it?”

She nodded. “And I think he’s read it, too.”

“But there’s a lock on it, you just said.”

“He’s a tinkerer, he can open a lock. Besides, I think the key’s still on it. I messed up.”

“Clearly, but it’s not the end of the world. Why would he read your diary to begin with? You think he stole it?”

“No, I think it’s under my bed and he found it.”

Rarity shook her head and took a sip of her cocoa. “Alright, darling, from the top: what is the matter? You look rattled, and that’s not like you.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just… everywhere I’ve been today, he’s there. I went to Rumble’s, he’s fixed it so Rumble can basically talk again. I went to Fluttershy’s, he’s there and he’s got her this anti-venom thingie. And then I went to Rainbow Dash, and he was there again!”

Rarity tapped her chin, pensive. “Ah. His uncle did mention something along those lines.”

“Don’t tell me he was here, too?”

“Not yet, but he will be, fitting him for a formal suit, you see. Only his uncle came around. You’ll never guess what for, it’s quite scandalous, actually.”

“What was it?”

“That fine stallion Upshot came to me because, out of all the mares in Ponyville, he thinks I’m the best pony to be doing matchmaking. He wants to find a mare to marry, can you believe that? On his first day here, he comes around to ask that. I mean, he’s right, of course, but still, that Ostlerian brazenness, it’s quite the thrill to have around. Point being, darling, Brass Tack and you have something in common.”

“We both don’t have our parents around.”

Rarity patted the girl on the back. “And you both have a fine network of grownups to rely on in their stead. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was why the boy was flitting about all over Ponyville. Surely you wouldn’t begrudge him that?”

“No. But that’s not the point.”

“Of course not. I’m only saying that there may be some things you are unaware of.”

Scootaloo furrowed her brow. “What sort of mare was he looking for? Upshot, I mean?”

“Ooh, and here I thought you weren’t much of a gossip. Well, for starters, he wants a good mother figure for his nephew. Now that’s easy to find anywhere in Equestria, but she has to be willing to put up with a bit of chaos, and that narrows down the field, as it were. I’ve suited plenty of mares who’d make great mothers, but I doubt they could handle the likes of Sweetie Belle, never mind a colt with tinkering magic.”

“Rarity?” Scootaloo asked.

“But then, of course, there are some specifics. He wants a graceful mare, one who is neat and tidy, preferably one who knows a thing or two about protocol, which I think means he’s looking to talk his way into Canterlot circles. Can you imagine, a rugged Ostlerian like that in Canterlot? Oh, he’d be the talk of the town, for better or worse. Obviously, that means I’ll be looking in Canterlot to begin with. Sassy Saddles might give him a chance, but she’s more of a financial-minded pony. I haven’t quite thought of anyone with proper high society aspirations.”

“Rarity,” Scootaloo repeated.

“And in terms of skill, he was surprisingly traditional: he can cook for himself, but he’d like someone willing to do that for him. She needs to have a good eye for detail, because their household has some dangerous items lying around. And she needs to have a good sense of humour, which unfortunately rules out a lot of the Canterlot mares. I suppose there are some showponies I could ask…”

“Rarity!”

“Yes, darling?”

“I wasn’t asking for gossip,” Scootaloo said. “I was just curious because it sounded like maybe Upshot wanted a mare around for his nephew more than for himself.”

Rarity hummed to herself. “That’s possible, but I doubt it. He seemed like quite the romantic, actually. You’d best be on the lookout for Brass Tack, then, too: if it runs in the family, you know.”

Scootaloo fell silent. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“Alright, then, but consider yourself warned. Can I ask why were you going to all those ponies in the first place? That is a lot of ground to cover in one day, especially with sore wings, even for you.”

She grunted. “I had to go to Rumble’s because I promised I’d help him with his homework. I live closest to him. Then I went to Fluttershy’s because my wings hurt and she’s the only one with tiger balm right now.”

“And hers was out of stock, too?”

“No.”

“But you do not have anything on your wings now.”

The filly scrunched her nose. “I didn’t ask for any. I didn’t want her to think I was a baby. Then I went to see Rainbow Dash because I thought maybe, just maybe, my diary was still at her place. But it wasn’t. So I got tired of failing and… I went for a ride to clear my head.”

“And is your head clearer now?”

“No.” Scootaloo tensed up all over, and winced at the obvious pain. “I want my diary back. I don’t want him to have it. I don’t want him to read it.”

“Is that really what’s bothering you, darling?”

“Of course it is. What else could it be?”

Rarity sighed in sympathy. “Perhaps this is my inner gossip talking, but it sounds to me like you’ve been racing across town on borrowed time. It sounds like those daily trips to Rumble’s have been taking their toll, and with all the rushing to and fro you’ve been doing your body has hit its limit. And it sounds like perhaps you’re feeling a little threatened by this boy. Would you say that’s a fair assessment?”

“Maybe,” Scootaloo conceded. “But what else am I supposed to feel? He hasn’t been here for a week and he’s already faster than me, he’s made friends with all the grownups, and he’s taken over something I’m supposed to be doing.”

“You mean Rumble, yes? Remind me again why you are doing that?”

“Because I live closest to him.”

“Not anymore you don’t. Right now you live on the other side of Ponyville, with a lot more turns and traffic slowing you down.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m supposed to do it.”

Rarity bit her lip and winced. She saw the weak spot in the girl’s logic. This was going to hurt. “In the same fashion you were supposed to fly for the Equestria Games, perhaps? Or like you were supposed to fly for the Wonderbolts, or the Washouts?”

Scootaloo looked up, betrayal on her face. “You read my diary, too?”

Rarity recoiled. “Heavens, no. I do not need to read your diary to know what goes on in your life, Scootaloo: I have a little sister and plenty of friends who speak to me about these things. I don’t need any diary to know what sort of filly I’m dealing with.”

“And what sort is that? The sort that’s too weak?”

“Yes, actually. The sort that’s far too weak to carry all that weight she puts on her own back.” She rubbed between Scootaloo’s wings. “The sort who doesn’t realise she’s overloading herself. You cannot keep doing this.” Rarity let out a most unladylike snort. “Take it from a pony who knows, darling: you can be your own worst enemy sometimes. It’s important to forgive yourself for failing, otherwise you can’t possibly get better.”

Scootaloo looked away and sniffled. “But what if I’m not ever gonna get better?”

“You’ve been getting better, haven’t you? I know for a fact you are much faster than when you first met Sweetie Belle, and I distinctly recall you getting up to cloud height on our first camping trip. But then for some reason, you stopped gaining altitude. Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t really know. I haven’t really gotten that high since. What do you think?”

“Perhaps you’ve been kept so busy with other things, you never got around to trying. Magic is odd like that sometimes.”

“Maybe. Thanks, Rarity.” Scootaloo wiped her eyes. “I guess maybe I have been overdoing a little with, everything going on.”

“Quite understandable, darling. So, what do you intend to do next?”

“I think maybe I should talk to Brass Tack first. If I just ask him nicely if I can check where my diary is, he’ll probably give it to me. He’s been giving away stuff all day, he probably won’t think twice about it.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll apologise for thinking bad stuff about him?”

“No. Word of advice when dealing with Unicorns, darling: never apologise for what you’re thinking, only your actions. What else?”

“I-I don’t know?”

Rarity pointed to the girl’s wings. “Rest. Give those wings a break, and keep them warm, you’re going to have terrible cramps for a week from the sound of it. Do you think you can get home on your own, or should I fetch your aunts?”

“I can get home alone.”

“You are certain?”

“I promise. I’ll go slow and easy.”

Scootaloo pushed her scooter forward, walking slowly.

“Oi, hang on, Skippy!”

Right on cue, she heard Brass Tack’s voice. Because of course he was there. “My name is Scootaloo.”

“I know. I just figured, you’re Ostlerian, you’d like-never mind.” He walked alongside her. He still had his backpack on, she noticed. “Have you got a minute?”

“I’m just walking home, so yeah. I was going to come over to ask you something, actually.”

“Oh.” He winced. “Can I say my piece first, please? Just in case it changes what you’re gonna say?”

She shrugged. “Sure. What is it?”

“Well, I guess first I wanted to apologise if I butted in any place I shouldn’t have. I know I’m new here, but I really wanted to get off on the right hoof in Ponyville. I didn’t know you were going the same way as me… three times. Otherwise I would have said something sooner.”

She shrugged again. “Not like that would have changed anything.”

He stopped and rummaged through his backpack. “That’s just it: it might have.”

He took out a fabric and metal contraption, and gave it to her. On closer inspection, it was a suit for a pony, a pony with wings, judging from the holes. The metal bits looked like things that could unfurl, and it didn’t take Scootaloo long to see what they would unfurl into.

Propellers.

This was a suit with the same sort of propellers she’d seen on drones her dad used for taking pictures from a high vantage point.

“This is a flight suit? You were gonna give me a flight suit?”

He blushed and rubbed the back of his head. “Not exactly. Pinkie Pie told me where I could donate the rest of my things. I got a good place for everything, except this. She didn’t know anypony who could use this, especially since it’s foal-sized. But then I noticed you were going to and fro in Ponyville, and I was zipping around in my suit, but I never saw you in the air.”

Realisation finally hit Scootaloo, and a wave of relief came with it.

He has a flight suit.

He flies with a machine.

That’s how he got everywhere so quickly.

That’s why he beat me everywhere.

He’s not faster than me, he’s just got better gear.

“And you want me to have this?”

He pushed it towards her and locked eyes with her. “It’s one of the first things I made, and the first thing I was ever really proud of. I got my cutie mark making this. Try it on, see if it fits.”

She dropped her scooter and helmet and did just that. Slipping her limbs through the holes, it was a snug fit, designed much like a lifejacket. Threading her wings through hurt a bit, with the stiffness, but she managed it. Once she fastened the final clip over her chest, he gave her a bracelet.

“This is the controller. You tap it once to turn it on.”

She did as he told her, and the suit hummed to life. The propellers unfurled and took position. There were crystals that started buzzing in a compartment on her back, and the two propellers started turning. She felt the pressure on her belly, but stayed on the ground.

“I don’t think this is working.”

“Try flapping your wings, slowly.”

Again, she did as he told her.

Her breath caught.

Even a weak, pathetic flap of her wings was enough to get her hooves off the ground. The pressure against her belly abated in that quick little jump. She tried again, and managed to hover for a good five seconds.

“This is amazing. I can fly with this thing?”

“It can fly on its own, too. I had to guesstimate the setting, but that’s a moderate power you’re on right now. Try sliding a hoof along the controller, clock-wise.”

That immediately lifted her up, even with zero wing action. “Whoa.” She stayed put, floating perfectly still. On a hunch, she tried pushing herself forward. That worked, too. A sense of disappointment washed over her. He was taking pity on her. “These are just prosthetics for my wings, aren’t they? I can’t compete in anything with this?”

Brass scratched behind his ears, thinking. “No, but this isn’t a competition-level suit in the first place. And it’s not really prosthetic, technically? I just figured: if you can’t fly yet, you can use that for practice. You can flap your wings as hard as you like, and set the power to what you need for a full takeoff. You can work on moving forward in the air if all you’re lacking is lift, and I’m guessing you haven’t gotten practice in that, either. But then you can tune it down and rely on your wings more, maybe.”

“Until I don’t need them anymore. Like training wheels.”

“Or you can wear it if you’re too worn out, and let the machine give you some rest.”

Her heart skipped a beat when she realised.

I can get around with this. I can rest with this and not have to worry.

I could actually learn how to fly with this.

She wiped her eyes and shook her head, setting back down. “I can’t accept this. This is too much.”

He took a step back. “Please accept it? I don’t want it in my house anymore. It’s got all the safeties: feather fall failsafe, standard damage self-mending functionality, broken blade compensation, you name it. And I’ve got a better one now. That one’s designed for a Pegasus: I was following the schematics to the letter when I made that. I’ve got one for Unicorns now as it is.”

“Then why not just get rid of it? Why give this to me?”

“Because I got in a lot of trouble for making that. I want something good to come out of it, and I reckon you’ll get something really good. You might say I’ve got a talent for that kind of thing.”

He got in a lot of trouble right after he got his cutie mark. Weird that how that worked. Still, as a Cutie Mark Crusader, Scootaloo knew her duty. “Right. Okay, I accept, then. Thank you. You have no idea how big this is.”

“No worries. Now, what did you wanna ask me?” He winced.

“Umm, you know how your room used to be my room?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you find any secret compartments under the bed?”

He perked up. “Oh, you knew about those? Yeah, my uncle did a full ping of the house while I was out. There was one under the bed, he said.”

“Did he find anything?”

“He found all the compartments. A couple of’em were cloaked, but it was old magic, a bit weak.”

“But nothing in the compartments?”

Brass Tack shook his head. “No, nothing. All empty. Why?”

So I did lose it. It’s gone.

“I’m guessing you lost something in the big move out?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Well, me and my uncle both know how to locate missing objects, if you can tell me what it is, I can help you find it.”

She smiled. “That’d be great, but not right now. I think I need to get home and lie down. Been overdoing it, you know?”

“I’ll bet. I heard about your parents, and how everypony pitched in to let you stay. Do you know where they are?”

“Shire Lanka. Your uncle didn’t tell you?”

The boy gulped. “Oh. N-nah, he didn’t. It’s, umm, that’s where my parents are, actually, that’s probably why. Bit of a dangerous place for ponies, doesn’t want me worrying.”

“Oh, cool! Maybe they’ll run into each other over there. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Yeah.” He looked away. “Wouldn’t that be something. Anyway, you go and get some rest, try aiming the propellors on your scooter, that should get you home quicker. And let me know if you need anything tweaked on that flight suit. I promise, it’s got all the standard safeties on it, so you won’t have any accidents with it. Just, you know, keep your helmet on, be smart, don’t go diving into croc ponds or nothing.”

“I’ll be careful. Thanks, Brass Tack.”

“No worries. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“No, wait.” Scootaloo reached out to stop him. “You don’t have to leave. And you didn’t really have to leave those other times because I was there, either.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I know it’s awkward, but… could you do me two favours?”

“Reckon I can. Name’em.”

“Could you walk me home, please? We’re probably gonna run into each other a lot, and you might wanna know where I live, just in case.”

“Sure. What’s the second thing?”

“I, umm… I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but… I don’t really have an accent. My aunt does, and my mom and dad do, but I don’t really know that much about Ostleria. Do you think you can give me the cliff notes on some of it?”

“Oh, defo, mate. But Cliff Notes isn’t an Ozzy; he’s a Kiwi, lots of ponies make that mistake. Anyway, I reckon the first thing you’ll wanna know about is something we call 'fair dinkum'...”

Scootaloo switched on the suit, positioned herself on her scooter, and with her helmet on, rode through Ponyville with her wings tucked warmly by her sides, listening to the boy as they went to her place at a leisurely pace.

Lost my diary, busted up my wings, but got a new… friend? Buddy? Eh, something. And a new flight suit.

Guess that’s not a total disaster of a day.

Author's Note

Some sequel hooks in this one, in case I ever get the urge to continue with this. A resolution to the conflict, and very brief look at my take on why 'give Scootaloo mechanical wings!' is a flawed concept.

One little epilogue to go, and that'll be it for me this year, probably.

Much Needed Napping

Scootaloo felt heavy all over. Her right cheek was cold and wet from the drool she’d been spilling on her pillow.

Opening her eyes, she thought she was still dreaming.

On her nightstand, key in the lock, lay a golden-covered notebook.

She jumped up and instantly regretted it. “Ow…” The headrush took a moment to abate, and the cramp in her wings acted up again, but she didn’t care. She’d found her diary.

Turning the lock, she opened the book and checked it.

Right as she left it.

“Aunt Loftie? Aunt Holiday?” She called out. Right away, there came clopping of hooves on the floor.

“Oh, hey, champ,” Aunt Loftie started. “Rest up okay?”

“Uhuh,” she nodded and yawned. Her aunts had been out when she’d returned. “You found my diary?”

“Rarity brought it over just a few minutes ago. She said it was under a pile of fabric, must have slipped out last sleepover and caught up in a ‘creative surge.’ You should be more careful, Scootaloo, you’re lucky the key didn’t fall out.”

Rarity had it. Oh, thank goodness.

“Now would you mind telling us where you got that machine suit thingie?” Aunt Holiday asked. “Did your parents send it?”

The drowsiness quickly abated when she remembered her gift. “Umm, no, a friend- I mean, Brass Tack gave it to me.”

“Brass Tack?”

“He’s the colt living in our old place now.”

“Oh. That was nice of him.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “It really was. I, umm, I think I’ve been overdoing it a little, and I might need that suit to get around. And it’ll be good for practice. Can I keep it?”

“Well, as long as it’s safe, I don’t see why not,” Aunt Holiday replied. “But I will want to have a word with the boy about that before you go flying around anywhere, you understand.”

“Of course.”

Scootaloo got out of bed and hugged the book closer to herself, already thinking of her next entry.

Dear diary,

I made a new friend today. His name’s Brass Tack, and he’s a Unicorn. He’s a tinkerer, he makes magical stuff.

He gave me a flight suit, I’m not sure why. He’s been giving ponies all sorts of magic gifts: a voicebox, a bodycam, a poison extractor, all the stuff he made back home.

Scootaloo snapped out of her daydreaming.

“Something wrong?” Aunt Loftie asked.

“No, nothing.” Scootaloo shook her head. She’d been so busy trying to find her diary, she hadn’t put the pieces together yet.

He said he got in trouble over that flight suit.

And he made the stuff he was giving away.

A voicebox, an oversized poison extractor, and a bodycam?

Why would he need to make all of that?

She stifled a shudder. “It’s nothing. I just… I just had a funny thought, is all.”

What exactly happened back in Ostleria?

The End.

Author's Note

And that's done. One more little mystery to hint at, final resolution, that's done.

Why didn't Rarity find the diary immediately, though? Why, indeed...

Initially, I was going to add more context to it to imply that either Brass Tack or Upshot delivered it to the CMC clubhouse via drone. But that got too involved, and then Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom would know about the diary and... that's just getting messy at that point. Author's decree is Upshot found it and dropped it off at Rarity's so Scoots wouldn't have to feel bad about it.