SCOOTS

Chapter 2: "Hey, lover boy!"

The pitter-patter of raindrops spoils the stillness of downtown Fillydelphia. Ah had to pull over and put the top up a few blocks back to keep from getting soaked in the sudden downpour. Damn rain came out of nowhere. But then lots of things do that these days—come out of nowhere, Ah mean.

Drivin’ along the backstreets Ah notice there ain’t another car or carriage in sight. Nothing to see on either side of me but black fire escapes zigzaggin’ up the sides of grey buildings, lookin’ like scribbles on the wall. Ah can hardly see them through the windshield; it’s all cracked from drivin’ through that hail of gunfire. There’re a half-dozen round glass spider-webs between me and the open road, each of them markin’ a spot on the windshield where a bullet landed. Where one of them little lead devils could’a punched clean through and ended me. Gotta say, Ah’m plum tired of gettin’ shot at. Tired of Twilight and this never endin’ goose-chase across Equestria. Tired of gettin’ yelled at and called a dumb hick by ponies who are supposed to be ma friends. Tired—but Ah reckon that’s all right. Junior’s place aint but a little ways from here, and once we get there Ah’ll have me a chance to lie down for a spell and sleep off this nightmare of a night.

Speakin’ a sleep, Twilight’s one step ahead of me, as always. She’s curled up in the backseat like a sick kitten, shiverin’ and mumblin’ in her sleep. Ah can’t hear what she’s mutterin’ on account of the rain and the steady hum of the V8 engine flexin’ its muscles, but Ah see Twi’s lips movin’ in the rear-view mirror. Seems like there ain’t no peace left for that one, not even while she’s restin’. Before noddin’ off Twi told me to wake her when we get to Junior’s place. Told me take the backstreets so the cops don’t spot us again.

Ah gave apologizin’ one more go once we got back on the road, and for ma trouble Twi picked herself another fight with me. No blows were thrown the second time ‘round, just loads of swearin’ and name callin’. Loads of anger. Not much understandin’. Ah still can’t believe Ah put ma hooves on her like Ah did. A year ago we’d a talked out our differences like real civil like. Guess a lot can change in a year.

Rainbow’s car grumbles, annoyed, as Ah ease off the gas to break at a stop sign. She’s as restless as a barrel of rattlesnakes—Rainbow’s car, Ah mean—and Ah reckon Ah don’t blame her one lick. She was built for speed and for defyin’ death and all that craziness. Cruisin’ down backroads at a scant twenty miles an hour don’t suit her none; it’s like puttin’ a battleship in a kiddy pool. Truth be told, Ah’m surprised she’s still movin’ after the beatin’ the cops laid on her. She’s tough as nails, Rainbow’s car. Tougher than anypony ridin’ her, that’s for damn sure.

Ah didn’t even know what a car was till we ran into them Flim Flam brothers a few months back while travelin’ through Applewood in beautiful sunny Las Pegasus. Before arrivin’ on the west coast we’d been takin’ trains and just plain hoofin’ it, chasin’ ole Inks and Blinks all over Equestria. We’d been followin’ lousy leads and ice cold trails for five long months, and we’d been doin’ most of it on foot. So when them travelin’ salesponies offered us an alternative, Rainbow jumped at it. Naturally, Ah was against buying anything from Flim and Flam. Ah didn’t trust them no good shysters, but Twilight didn’t seem to care and Spike always just sort of goes along with whatever Twi says. After Ah got outvoted, Rainbow went and spent just about every bit we had on the car—and as much as Ah hate ridin’ shotgun while Rainbow’s behind the wheel, Ah’m glad she bought the stupid thing. Turns out nopony east of Canterlot had ever heard of a car neither, and for awhile we was runnin’ circles ‘round the cops and the crooks in every town from Appleloosa to Dodge to Baltimare. They couldn’t keep up chasin’ after us in their carriages like they was. Flim and Flam said somethin’ ‘bout cars still bein’ new and “experimental,” whatever that’s supposed to mean. They said you can only get one out west (at least that’s what they thought), and until comin’ to Fillydelphia, Me and Twi and Dash and Spike was only ponies who had one.

Ah used to hate drivin’ the thing, but so long as we go nice and slow Ah don’t mind too much. She’s a real bueaty of machine, Rainbow's car, loud and fast and always reliable. Truth is, she’s the only reliable one left in this entire group. She gets us where we’re goin’, gets out of danger; and after a long day of stirrin’ up trouble we find ourselves someplace safe to park, put the top up, and sleep in her.

She’s our home away from home. Feels like she’s keepin’ us together. Like she’s the only thing keepin’ us together…

“Stay away!” I hear myself shout as I lash out blindly. My eyes snap open just in time to see AJ pulling away from me like I tried to bite her.

“Sorry, Twi,” she says sheepishly. “Ah was only nudging you awake like you told me. Ah weren’t tryin’ to startle you.”

AJ looks at me with tired eyes. She looks like shit. There’s blood on her overcoat from our tussle in the backseat, and vomit stains from when she lost her lunch during the chase. And there’s bruises on her face—big mean purple things around her eyes and under her cheeks. Seeing them now makes me feel bad about giving AJ such a hard time over what happened with Spike. She fought like a monster out the Everfree to protect the little guy, and nearly got the freckles beaten off her face in the process.

It’s been a long night. Now that we’ve made it Junior’s place, it’s only going to get longer.

“You okay, Twi? You don’t look so good,” says AJ. She sounds genuinely concerned about me, but there’s an edge to her voice. I get the feeling she isn’t ready to kiss and make up just yet.

I wipe a few beads of ice-cold sweat off my brow. “I’m fine. I was just having a nightmare, nothing to lose our heads over… When did it start raining?” The question hangs in the air for a long time before AJ answers.

“A little after you fell asleep,” she says, turning away from me and leaning her head against the rain-streaked window. She stares at the wet world beyond Rainbow’s car, blankly, knowing there’s nothing out there to see. “How’s Spike doing?” The words come out almost formally, like she’s just going through the motions at this point.

I glance over at the sleeping baby dragon. “He’s hanging on. The bleeding finally stopped, but his breathing is still shallow. Don’t worry, I’ll have him fixed up in no time,” I say, forcing a weak smile. AJ doesn’t respond. Doesn’t care. Grumbling, I push the door open. “You stay here with Spike while I sort things out with Junior. He doesn’t know we’re coming, and I don’t want to startle him by dropping a half-dead baby dragon on his counter.”

“Yeah, all right,” AJ answers.

“His bar closes in about twenty-five minutes,” I continue. “I should be back in thirty. Do not leave the car until I come back and give you the okay, understand?”

“Yeah,” she says dully.

“I’ll be back real soon, Spike.” I kiss the sleeping baby dragon on his forehead, then start climbing out of the car. I get one hoof onto the sidewalk and stop suddenly. I start to say something else to AJ, but there’s so much that needs saying the words clog my throat. I choke on them for a moment, then I swallow hard and force them back down in my gut where they belong.

As I swing the door shut behind me, I notice that the parking lot is almost completely empty. Good. That should make things easier on me.

Shaking the fatigue out of my limbs, I start toward Junior’s place. His full name is Pony Joe Junior; he and his father have been friends of my family for years. Junior and I grew up together in Canterlot, though he left a year or so before I did. Guess I always knew he would. Canterlot was a wrong fit for a pony like Junior. It’s a wrong fit for most ponies.

Nowadays he runs an ice cream bar in the middle of downtown Fillydelphia that’s surrounded on all sides by liquor stores, pool halls, and dive bars—watering holes where the city’s criminals often gather and plan their mischief. Junior likes to pretend he’s running the one clean business in the neighborhood. He isn’t fooling anypony. This far downtown, just about every pony dirties their hooves doing one thing or the other.

The thing about Filly is that at its core it’s not a bad town. It’s no Ponyville, but I’ll take it over Dodge or some of the seedier parts of Appleloosa seven days out of the week. Not a bad town, but a rough one. Rough enough to make a place like Junior’s feel all wrong.

I push open the door and right away the smell of sugar jumps down my nose. It's a sweet smell, like the scents that used to fill Sugarcube Corner. Like the chocolate and strawberry cream aromas that would to work their way into Pinkie’s fur and cling to her after a long day of serving treats and making small foals smile. The aromas in Junior’s bar stir old memories, and the memories pluck my heartstrings like a harp. I blink away a threatening tear and steel myself before trotting toward the front counter. Junior spots me coming his way and flashes a wide, stubble-chinned smile that reminds me of his father. That smile: honest and gentle and warmer than a campfire. It makes what I have to do tonight that much harder.

“Twilight, I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he calls to me from across the room. “I figured you’d have moved on by now. You seemed so upset the last time we talked…” Junior bends over as he talks. His face disappears in search of something under the bar. “I’m sorry I couldn't be of more help last time. I hope you found whatever it was you were looking…for…”

His voice trails off when he looks up and sees me perched on a stool in front of the counter, all drenched and shivering like a bird with a fever and a clipped wing. The lights in the bar are low and romantic; they do me the favor of setting a sensual mood. I cross my front legs about my chest, holding myself the way mares do when they want a big, strong stallion to take off his jacket and drape it across their shoulders. Junior’s plenty big and plenty strong. He’s a white-knight type. The kind of stallion that can’t stand seeing a mare cry. He’s just like his father. Just like my own father, and my brother, and nearly every other stallion in my life. White knights, all of them constantly galloping to the rescue of some distressed damsel.

“Oh my… Twily, you look awful. You get yourself into some kinda trouble again?” he says. When I see his face go all soft and squishy with sympathy, I have to beat back a threatening smirk. This is going to be easy.

“No more trouble than usual,” I say. “I’m just coming in out of the rain. I'll be on my way once it clears up."

“It’s like the end of days out there,” he says. “You look like you’re freezing. Let me get you something warm to drink.”

“Thanks Junior, but I don’t have money for drinks. Like I said, I’ll only be here till the rain stops.”

Before I even finish my sentence, Junior’s horn flashes and a piping hot mug of cocoa magically appears on the counter-top. “It’s on the house,” he says, using his magic to slide the mug toward me. It’s still glowing when I pick it up and take a sip, still veiled in the last fading wisps of magical green light. I shut my eyes and smile, enjoying both the heat of the drink tickling my throat and the warm glow of Junior’s magic caressing my cheeks.

Magic. My oldest lover. I haven’t basked in her light in some time.

The residual glow clinging to the mug illuminates my face. The glow doesn’t last, but it hangs around long enough for Junior to take a good look at the bruises AJ gave me. I almost drop my drink when he suddenly reaches out and cups my chin with a strong front hoof.

“What’s this,” he asks in a gruff tone. “What happened?” I hear a customer at the end of the bar call out for Junior to refill his drink. I hear him, but Junior doesn’t. Good. That means I have the big lug’s full attention.

“It’s nothing,” I mutter. I try to pull away, acting as if I mean to hide my battered face. “It’s my business, so just leave it alone.” I feed the big lug my best Fluttershy impression, letting my voice come out all mousy with false innocence. Junior takes the bait. He grabs my shoulder with his other hoof and holds me still.

“Stop it,” he says, pulling me closer to him, “Stop squirming and let me see.” A strong hoof turns my head left then right. Careful eyes take note of my busted bottom lip. My swollen cheek.

“It’s nothing, Junior, just leave it alone,” I plead.

And, wait for it…

“Who is he, and where is he?” Right on cue Junior’s temper flares. His jaw tightens, and I feel the strong limbs holding me still tense, like a catapult being drawn back, ready to fire. “Where’s the son of a bitch who put his hooves on you, Twily?” Immediately the big stubble-faced lug assumes some guy roughed me up. It’s exactly the kind of macho, white-knight, bullshit response I was expecting. But it’s not the one I need.

“It was…” I stop to sniff and sob, letting the words hang in the air for a while. Letting Junior stew in his rage before I diffuse it. “It was Applejack and Rainbow Dash. They said they didn’t want to help me anymore, and that they were going home. When I tried to stop them from leaving, they got mad and beat me up before tossing me out on the street.” I take Junior’s hoof in mine and guide it from my chin to my cheek. It’s too early to start with the water-works, but the nuzzle I give his hoof tells him that “poor little Twily” is feeling good and vulnerable right now.

The feeling of my cheek warm against his hoof douses Junior's anger. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he coos.

“Don’t be,” I respond.  “It’s what I deserve. I’ve been awful to them.” I close my eyes and let myself melt under Junior’s touch. “I’m surprised it took them this long to ditch me.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he says. “You’ve been doing your best, I’m sure. AJ and RD—they can’t possible understand what it’s like for a unicorn to lose her magic.”

“And you shouldn’t be making excuses for me. I’m a terrible pony.” The note of insecurity in my voice sends Junior right over the edge. If there’s one thing these white-knight types get off on, it’s insecurity. Insecure ponies need assurance. Protection. And that’s where they come in. Give one of these closet male chauvinist a mare who’s confident and they don’t know what do with their hooves. They only know how to hold broken things—and they can’t catch a mare unless she’s falling. Junior here is a pro. The smoldering look in his eyes tells me he’s been catching falling mares for years.

“If you need a place to crash for the night, you’re welcome to stay here. I’ve got a room in the back. It’s small but—”

I plant a gentle kiss on the frog of Junior’s hoof that turns him into putty. “Thank you, Junior.” He leans forward like he wants to give me a real kiss, but restrains himself. Poor bastard. He wants me. It’s all over his face. Junior wants me bad. He’s wanted me ever since we were kids, and he could have me right now, if he didn’t pride himself on being such a gentlecolt. He’s too much of a stand-up guy to take advantage of a distressed filly. Poor, dumb bastard. Somepony should tell him chivalry is dead.

“Hey, lover boy!” shouts the same customer from before. He’s an old mule with a hideous hairpiece and a voice like a minotaur chewing gravel. “When you get a minute, you mind refilling my drink?”

“Excuse me, Twily,” Junior stammers before trotting over to refill the mule's empty mug. The mule ropes a wrinkled foreleg around Junior’s neck and whispers something in the stallion’s ear. His face turns beat-red. He glances toward me, and then says something back to the mule. I don’t hear what he says, but it makes the mule smack the counter and laugh out loud. At first Junior looks annoyed, but he quickly lightens up and flashes his stubble-chinned smile.

While Junior talks with the mule, I take another sip of cocoa and let my gaze wander toward the window. By now my drink is lukewarm. It’s stopped raining. A glance at the clock hanging from the wall behind the counter tells me it’s almost midnight. After everything that’s happened, it’s hard to believe it’s still so early. Only midnight…

I know that come tomorrow morning I’m going to wake up hating myself—but it’s only midnight, and the rain has stopped, and I have Junior good and malleable and ready to give me everything I need from him. Tomorrow I’ll probably wake up with a desire to wrap my lips around the barrel of a shotgun and choke down a few rounds—but for the first time tonight things are starting to go my way.

Celestia in heaven, I’m beat to hell. I’m covered in cuts and bruises and my throat is still sore from screaming my head off during that pile up. Thought I was a goner for a minute there. All that noise and shattering glass and twisting metal—all of it whipping around my head like a cyclone. The kind of cyclone us pegasi can’t kick up in clouds. A real storm. A perfect storm—with headlights for lightning and crunching bones for thunder and blood and tears for rain. I thought I was a goner, and I’d never felt more alive.

I’d be lying if I said tonight hasn’t been fun. A gang fight in a hotel lobby, followed by a kidnapping, followed by high-speed chase—what’s not to love? I feel like a kid playing cops and robbers. Only it’s not a game. I’m a real outlaw, and I must be a psychopath too, because this feeling swelling up in my chest—this need to straddle the edge of sanity and blow kisses into the abyss—it’s eating from the inside out. It’s eating me alive in big, hungry bites, and I like it.

I’m flying low over a forest of concrete, iron, and cement, riding a frozen breeze on aching wings and taking in every drop-dead gorgeous inch of Fillydelphia. Filly is nothing like Ponyville or Cloudsdale. She’s a bad broad and she’s sexy as all hell and she knows how to show a mare a good time. She’s not as wild as Dodge or as stylish as Las Pegasus, but she makes up for it in attitude. In Filly the crooks run their mouths like they built every skyscraper in town with their own hooves, and the cops shoot first and ask questions to corpses. It’s like some kind of hyper-real parody of a city; a setting plucked straight from a lowbrow crime drama or a kid’s comic book. It’s hard to believe places like this exist in Equestria, and even harder not to fall in love with the sheer absurdity of it all.

And they have cars in Filly! I mean, they have them out west too, but those were bite-sized compared to two-ton gas-guzzling monsters rolling down the streets of Fillydelphia with V12 engines roaring in their bellies. If power has sound, it’s the rumble of a V12 waking up with an empty stomach, starving to chew apart a few dozen miles of city street.

I think the engine is the reason I fell in love with cars in the first place. I’ve flown with the Wonderbolts. I’ve booked it at speeds that make nature shrug and shake her head in bewilderment. Light thinks I’m pretty damn fast, and Sound—the noisy little punk—he can barely keep pace. My ride can climb up to about 170 mph, or 200 plus if I’m really trying to get some pedestrians killed. That’s cake; I can fly faster than that in my sleep. But still, there’s something about turning that key and listening to one and half tons of sexy Equestrian muscle come alive that sound just does it for me. I think it’s that sound. That crazy roar, like the growl of some change animal demanding his freedom. That sound rubs me the right way, and in all the right places.

I realize now I had never soared a day in my life till I soared down my first stretch of highway with the top down, the wind in my mane, and the whole world in my rear-view.

I also realize that I may be a tad too obsessed with my car, because when I finally make it to Junior’s bar and see my baby sitting in the parking lot, looking like somepony drove it through a gun range, I almost cry.

My hooves touching down on the pavement account for all the sound in the lot. I trot along the passenger side and run my hoof along the bullet-riddled doors, wondering if maybe I should say a prayer for the departed. When I make my way to the trunk my spirits rise a bit. The rear bumper is shot to hell. It's hanging on for dear life, but the license plate is still in one piece. There’s a bullet hole in the center of the second “O,” but other than that the cheap thing looks fine. I can still make out the word “SCOOTS” written in all caps letters on the plate.

SCOOTS. It’s what I call her—the car, I mean. I named her after a kid who used to look up to me. A kid I’ll probably never see again. I couldn’t fit her whole name on the plate like a wanted, so I had to settle for SCOOTS. It has a nice ring to it, I think. Twilight’s been hounding me to change the plate for months now. She says it makes it easier for the cops to ID us, and maybe that’s true, but I can't bring myself to get rid of the stupid hunk of metal. That plate—that filly’s name hanging there framed in cheap metal—that’s the last little piece of home I have. It reminds me of the life I walked away from. The one I left in the rear-view with the rest of the world.

“Rainbow!” A familiar country drawl rings out from in front of me, pleased as punch that I’m still breathing. “Oh ma’ stars, Ah thought you was done for.” She throws herself at me, wrapping me up in those strong forelegs of hers and squeezing until it hurts. She still smells like vomit. I’d tell her to back off, but I don’t mind the stink or the pain. Both are reminders that I’m still alive.

“You aint hurt, are you?” she asks, nuzzling my neck with her cheek.

“I got my ass kicked by gangsters and then nearly died in a car crash. Of course I’m hurt,” I say with a laugh. I meant for that to be a joke, but it comes out sounding harsh. AJ doesn’t find it funny. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.” I peck her on the cheek and her expression brightens a bit. “How you holding up?”

“By a thread,” she says gloomily. “Me and Twi got into it pretty serious.”

“She give you more shit about the freeze up? Don’t sweat that; it was nothing. You handled yourself like a champ back there. And judging by the number of holes in my car, I’d say you must have kicked ass out-driving the cops.”

She brightens a bit more and kisses me back. “Well yeah, she was mad about what happened with the gangsters and the kidnappin’, but it was more than that. Things got pretty heated and well… Ah… Ah hit her, Rainbow… Ah hit her a few times…”

At this, I almost laugh out loud. “Good."

"How can you say that? That's our friend your talkin' 'bout."

"Oh come on, we both know Twilight needs to have some sense beaten into her. And while you’re at it could you hit me too?” I say, only half-joking. “All this running and gunning has me feeling like somepony else. I’ve always been an action junkie, but this life and death craziness... It’s like a high I can’t come down from.”

“That’s just nerves talkin’, Rainbow. It’s been a long night is all.”

“You don’t get it,” I say, shaking my head. “That stuff I said to Filthy’s thugs—I wanted to piss them off. I wanted that fight. And then when the cops were chasing us, and I swerved through traffic, and those headlights were in my eyes…” My voice trails off as the memory comes rushing back in vivid detail. “…I think I wanted that truck to hit us. And when I veered around it, I just kept thinking it didn’t come close enough. It’s like I’m going numb, AJ. Like I can’t feel anything unless I’m right there at the edge, staring off into the abyss.”

“Well this little crusade has taken its toll on all of us,” Applejack sighs. “Twilight especially. She ain’t been right since she lost her horn.”

“Can you blame her? I can’t imagine what it would be like if somepony held me down and hacked off one of my wings.”

“Well that wouldn’t be so bad,” AJ says. She kisses my neck and lets a genuine smile grace her lips. Something I haven’t seen her do in a long time. “You’d at least still have SCOOTS here. Ah reckon she’s holdin’ up better than any of us.”

“And she’s shot full of holes. Ain’t that a bitch and a half?”

After a long, thoughtful pause I say, “AJ?” Her name comes out like a question.

“Yeah, Rainbow.”

“There a reason we’re standing in parking lot freezing our tails off?”

She makes a face like she just remembered something important and says, “Oh right, Twilight told me to wait outside. Said somethin’ ‘bout not wantin’ to startle Junior.”

“And you just listened to her?”

“Heck yeah, Ah just listened to her,” she says without the slightest trace of shame. “To be honest, Ah’m a might scared of that one.”

“Well you should be. The egghead is out of her mind. She’s probably planning to murder both of us our sleep, or something equally as deranged.”

Applejack searches my face for humor. When she doesn’t find any—when she realizes what I just said wasn’t a joke, not even a half-joke—she throws her head back and laughs out loud. Pretty soon I’m laughing right along with her. We lean against each other so we don’t topple over, and then against the car—and our eyes are water—and AJ clutches her side and shakes—and I pound my hoof against the trunk, laughing so hard it hurts. I laugh until my sides are splitting. I laugh until can’t see straight. And then I laugh some more.

I can’t help it. I can’t help but fall in love with the sheer absurdity of it all.

When the laughing fit passes, me and AJ are left standing shoulder to shoulder, staring at the license plate and sharing another thoughtful silence in the freezing Fillydelphia night.

“AJ?” I say, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, Rainbow.”

“I want to go home.”

“Me too, Rainbow… Me too…”