In the early morning hours a shivering, dusky-tan Earth Pony cantered down the hallway of the Trottinger Flight Center. She clutched a scroll with the latest weather observations in her mouth, either the last of the evening or the first of the morning – it was not quite early enough to be the one, but not quite late enough to be the other. To the mare, though, there really was no distinction. Espresso was working the overnight shift, and the pot of triple-strength Paneighmanian coffee she had just finished off meant that sleep would be no more than a wishful notion for hours to come. Her deep brown mane was still sparkling with snow, left over from venturing out on the ponywalk beneath the beacon to mark down the weather readings, and she was hurrying along to warm herself up.
As Espresso passed one door, however, her ear flicked to the side and she came to a sudden stop, forehooves skidding on the tile floor. The door was labeled with a faded piece of cardboard that proclaimed "PILOT LOWNGE" in a rough, misspelled scrawl, and from behind it came a low, happy whickering. Glancing up and down the hallway, Espresso stepped sideways and pressed an ear to the door. There was more whickering and a rustling sound that could only be a sheet moving. Her eyebrows arched in confusion – the rustling went on for too long to simply be somepony rolling over on a cot. She wondered what could cause the room’s only occupant, a young stallion, to be so restless. With a jolt, the obvious answer came to her and she shuddered involuntarily. What in Luna's name is Featherprop... oooh, I’ll pluck him bare if he’s doing what I think he is! Her eyes narrowed and her muzzle screwed up in disgust, then broadened into a devious grin. But if I catch him in the act, he'll never live it down! This was a golden opportunity, a chance to gain the upper hoof once and for all, and the mare was not going to let it slip away.
Espresso quietly set the scroll on the floor and with swift, silent hoofsteps, trotted down the hall and turned out the lights. Coming back, she crept up to the door, listening to make sure she hadn't alerted her quarry. The rustling continued, punctuated by the occasional soft snort. Carefully, ever so slowly, she turned the door’s handle and slunk in, carefully lifting her hooves and softly planting them on the threadbare rug.
On a cot against the far wall, a tousled brown mane and unkempt tail poked out from opposite ends of a very rumpled sheet, the center of which was still being ruffled from underneath. No hooves were in sight, but that was exactly what she had expected. He really has no shame... this is a workplace, not his personal bunk to... to... She grimaced and snorted in disgust. I swear, he's going to scrub every inch of this place by the time I'm done with him!
Standing next to the cot, Espresso loomed over her colleague, both anticipating and dreading what she was sure she would see. She opened her muzzle, preparing to make a triumphant exclamation, but froze mid-gloat as she noticed both of Featherprop’s forehooves gripping the sheet under his light cream chin. Wait, then how... eeeww, with his WINGS? She recoiled as her mind invented new a new and decidedly lewd use for Pegasi anatomy. But those appendages, despite their twitching and fluttering, were only beating against the blanket behind his back. With a puzzled look, the mare stopped to consider the situation. Did he hear me come in? She doubted it; the stallion’s breathing came in a soft, steady rhythm that seemed too deep and even to be faked.
Next to the stallion's muzzle lay a book, and for a moment her grin returned as she prepared to wake him with a victorious shout, but then she caught sight of the book’s title: "Strategy and Structure, A Study of Storm Vortex Construction." Leaning over him, she carefully opened the book’s cover and found that it was indeed a book about clouds, with no extra ‘study materials’ hidden inside. She frowned, sat back on her haunches, and looked over the sleeping Pegasus with a critical eye. As she watched, he shivered and softly mumbled "Helicity..."
At the sound of that word, Espresso blushed and gave up. Catching Featherprop in the middle of... well, whatever she thought he'd been doing would have been like winning a pile of bits in Las Pegasus, and she could have used it against him for months. With a story like that, she could have put an end to his constant teasing about her coffee, though truth be told, whenever he was around she could never leave a fresh pot unattended; he would swoop in moment she turned her back and it would disappear down his throat. No more subscriptions to Instant Coffee of the Month; no more fake coffee cake recipes with no coffee in them! Ooooh, and no more of that hateful chicory from Ponusiana being dumped in my blends!
But without any misbehavior to hold over his head, waking the stallion up was out of the question. That wasn't fair, and it wasn't how the game that had evolved between them was played. Despite his love of foalish pranks, Featherprop had never damaged Service equipment or cost the Station bits, and she never disturbed his rest, because an emergency call could come in at any time.
Both of them, however, considered playtime fair game. And to Espresso’s mind, that went double for inappropriate playtime – that was just asking to get caught. And punished, she grinned to herself As indignant as she had felt before, she now sighed with disappointment and a touch of shame. Look at me, hoping to catch him in the act, just to relieve some boredom. Oh, but it would have been hilarious, and he certainly deserves it!
She smiled primly, thinking that perhaps in the future it would be profitable to seed the field – she happened to know of a nondescript box tucked away underneath her younger brother’s bed, and she knew exactly what sort of magazines were inside it. Who's to say how some copies might happen to turn up in somepony's bunk? I mean, it's not entrapment if he picks them up and looks, now is it?
It is in the quiet moments of contemplation, while hovering over the sleeping form of an implacable foe, that the most genius of evil minds hatches their most dastardly plans: This is how his world will end, not with a bang, but a PlayPony. Stifling a snort, Espresso shook herself from her fiendish reverie.
The sleeping Pegasus whinnied softly in his sleep again, and she rolled her eyes as she silently retreated, hooves once again feather-stepping backwards of their own accord, her tail flicking left and right to feel for obstacles. How can anypony dream about clouds so much? Once in the hall, she closed the door and fumbled in the half-dark for her scroll, then walked down the hall to the office, her mind on filing and straightening up and perhaps making a cup of coffee. No, Espresso, let’s be honest. Another pot.
Back in the room, one of the sleeping stallion's wings sprang to attention as the tempo of his breathing increased, his nostrils flaring. Featherprop burst into a wild-eyed wakefulness that soon softened to a half-sleepy, half-sated look. Finding himself entangled in the sheet, he rolled and kicked until he was mostly free of it. His still-stiff wing kept getting wrapped in the sheet, but eventually he struggled to his haunches. As reality seeped back into his dream-addled brain, the Pegasus realized the scandalous state of his wing and vainly tried to force it to relax and fold back against his side. It was only when the battle was half-won that he noticed his other wing had also stiffened and was sticking straight out. He gave up and let out a contented sigh, before the clip-clop of Espresso's hooves rounding the last corner to her office caused him to glance furtively at the door.
Featherprop felt a surge of anxiety at the echoing sound, which instantly dowsed his wings' nocturnal excitement. As he apprehensively listened, the expressive appendages limpened and settled back against him, ruffling and twitching to arrange themselves in some semblance of order. Keeping his eyes locked on the door, Featherprop cautiously reached a hoof out and patted about the cot, finally touching the book. Snatching it up, he whirled towards the wall and hunched over, his wings unconsciously arching over him to form a protective shroud. The brown Pegasus frantically flipped through the pages until he came across a decidedly non-weather-related photo.
It was a glamour shot of a mare, voluptuously sprawled out and holding strategically-positioned weather kite, a coy smile on her slate-colored muzzle, her wings langorously stretched out behind her. As a sigh of relief escaped his lips, Featherprop’s harried look melted into a silly grin, and he flipped the photo over to re-re-read the inscription:
For my favorite undergrad: Don't think I can't see
your feathers sticking up in the back row. You should
be studying clouds in class, not me!
Your favorite TA (and don't deny it,
your big wings betray you every time!)
Tucking the photo back in the book, Featherprop sheepishly rubbed his mane and gave several powerful beats of his wings to lift himself to his hooves. The yawning stallion padded to the small bathstall, Stretching his limbs as he went, where he wet a washcloth and proceeded to rub down his coat, trying to remove the now-chilled perspiration that was all he had left of his dream. He grinned, Well, most of what's left, as he savored one of the snippets of the slumbrous events that were still floating in his head.
Exiting the tiny stall took a bit more work, as his wings had decided to once again express themselves freely. It took several minutes of twisting, preening, and a few self-spiteful nips to get them under control. Eventually, though, Featherprop toppled back onto the cot and hoofed the sheet over himself. Flopping back and forth a couple times to settle in, he thought, Thank Luna Espresso isn't here to see this!
As drowsiness began to drag him back down, he tried to arrange the fragments of his dream into a sequence that would come to life again. Once more into the breech, my little friend... His wings began to rustle and he snickered as suggestive thoughts put a smile on his muzzle and made him, once again, blissfully say,
"Oh, Helicity!"
