Flight Training (Fluttershy/Scootaloo)
“Now, what have we learned?” Fluttershy smiled, looking at her newfound student. Scootaloo grinned back at the yellow mare, her new teacher. The orange pegasus filly snapped her wings open dramatically.
“Lemme show you instead, Fluttershy!” Scootaloo's confidence was palpable as she hurried into a gallop.
“Scootaloo, be careful! Don't be afraid to slow down!!” Fluttershy's screamed in a soft falsetto, failing to be heard by Scootaloo, who raced on. Her hooves beat the ground as she built up speed, preparing for that moment. Fluttershy looked on in concern, unfolding her wings nervously. Scootaloo took a leap, flapping her wings with vigour. Fluttershy almost had time to smile.
Scootaloo's face slammed into the ground a moment later. The orange filly groaned. Fluttershy rushed to her student's side, trying to help Scootaloo to her feet. The filly shrugged Fluttershy off angrily.
“I can get up myself, Fluttershy!” The orange pegasus coughed, spitting a very soggy clump of dirt into her hoof. She grimaced and ground the hoof into the grass.
“Scootaloo, are you ok? That looked like quite a fall.” Fluttershy comforted her student with a hug. The filly sighed, waiting out the hug patiently. When Fluttershy let go, the orange pegasus popped her neck and took off again. Fluttershy caught her, though the filly struggled. “Scootaloo, maybe today just isn't the day. Your wings just need a little bit more time.” The yellow pegasus smiled sympathetically, smoothing Scootaloo's hair with her hoof. The filly looked up at her with narrow eyes. Some might say Scootaloo's violet eyes were annoyed, or even resentful. Her expression could best be described as dejected.
The orange filly trotted away, her head lowered in sadness. Fluttershy felt her eyes watering. This isn't how she'd wanted today to go, not at all. She'd wanted to help Scootaloo fly, but now she thought she'd made things worse. Fluttershy hovered, trailing Scootaloo as quietly as she could. She needn't have bother with stealth. The orange filly wasn't looking out at all. She almost ran into a signpost and a bush.
Fluttershy followed her former student until the filly reached Ponyville. The yellow mare landed next to her. Scootaloo sighed, sitting down and looking away.
“What do you want, Fluttershy? I'm sorry I can't fly. You're probably a great teacher, and all, but I'm just a...” Scootaloo trailed off, fighting sobs. “Just a bucking flightless blank flank!” Fluttershy gave Scootaloo the sharpest look she could; which admittedly wasn't very sharp. Scootaloo murmured an apology.
“I'm the one who should be sorry, Scootaloo. I'm the one who said she could help you learn to fly. Who's the failure now?” Fluttershy chuckled, covering Scootaloo with her downy wing. The filly looked up, smiling through her tears. Fluttershy beamed back, hugging Scootaloo tightly. The yellow mare wiped her student's eyes clean with her hoof, happy to see Scootaloo's brightening face. “It'll be ok, Scootaloo. Your time will come, and I'm sure you're going to be one of the greatest flyers in Equestria.”
Inkquery Inkwell (OC Request)
Inquery Inkwell stared at her quilltip. She looked up, scanning the previous paragraphs of essay, then back to her hovering quilltip. She scanned the essay again, then looked back to her quilltip.
“Oh, c'mon, Inquery! You know this one, it's not hard, it's just a little word. Why won't this word just...” Inquery fumbled with the quill as she muttered to herself. Without warning, the magic field surrounding it sputtered and died. Inquery tried to catch it, but her hoof instead knocked it about twenty feet, to the base of the far wall. Inquery itched her horn, her slightly-messy purple mane clinging to her hoof.
“Well, quill... It seems you challenge me again. Very well.” She stood, levitating her glasses onto her face.
The quill seemed to stare back at her, its burgundy frills waving, taunting her. She trotted over to it, picking up the rebellious writing instrument with her hoof.
“That's a good quill,” the lime-coloured mare nuzzled the quill's feathery end, smiling to herself. She sat back down, staring at her paper, the quill nestled in her mane. “Come on, word. What are you?”
A few minutes later, Inquery frowned and stood again. She stepped slowly towards her bookshelf. Various novels were piled atop a few reference books and pamphlets. She levitated books, looking for a certain one.
“No, it isn't you, much as I love you,” she said, setting down her copy of the last Harry Trotter book. “Nor is it you, though I really don't know why I kept you. Once was more than enough.” She chucked a copy of The Midnight Saga: Breaking Sun out her window, chuckling. “And it isn't you, either.” She set down a beat-up paperback of The Chronicles of Pega: First Flight. “Celestia above, where's a thesaurus when you need one?” She stood up, leaving her room in irritation.
Her goal, of course; The Canterlot Archives. She heads in, flying at a near-gallop, straight for the grammatical section. She levitates a particularly heavy thesaurus from a high shelf, nearly hurling it onto a table. She sits before it, flipping through its crinkling pages furiously.
“Where...” Not 'avast', nor 'autumnal', nor 'adventurous'. “Is...” Not 'helpful', nor 'heist', nor 'honorificabilitudinitatibus'. “That...” Not 'truth', nor 'tribulation', nor 'transdimensional'. “WORD!!” Inquery screamed, banging her head agaisnt the table top. She let her head lay on the book, looking at the squiggles on the page at an uncomfortably close range. Her glasses pressed into her muzzle uncomfortably. She sat up, taking them off, then slumped again. Her eyes caught a word. A nice word, starting with a 'w'. A word she'd been missing for twenty-odd minutes. A word that, frankly, should have been right there, in Inquery's head, from the start. She sat up, embarrassed, squinting her lavender eyes at the offensive word. She rubbed her eyes with her hoof, hoping she was dreaming.
Unfortunately, she wasn't. There it was, the word that had been on the very tip of her tongue for an hour. “Waffles.”
Author's Note
Inquery Inkwell is the property of... Well, Inquery Inkwell. Dunno his real name, that's the name he requested with.
Accidents Happen (Soarin'/Spitfire Suddenfic(1000 words))
A ball of tightly-crushed paper flew from his hooves. His breathing, ragged with rage, filled the room. Soarin', the Wonderbolt, a light-blue pegasus, flyer of the highest esteem, paced in anger. The paper ball hit the wall, bouncing lightly. It landed at his hooves. He frowned at it, flapping his wings. The light breeze lifted the ball, hitting him in the face. Annoyed, he stomped out of his living room, slamming the door of his cloudflat behind him.
Earlier-
Soarin' smiled, doing what he did best. Flight was liberating, even when it was inherently mundane; such as a flight home. It was late spring, training season for the Wonderbolts, which meant Soarin' was up bright and early for practice and home by sundown. It was kinda nice, he found, to actually sleep in his flat, even if it meant more sleep than other activities.
He dove into a wind current, spiralling wildly. Recovering fast, he dove again, banking to his left. He shot into a tight corkscrew, levelling out. His hooves dug into the cloud surface, just before his flat. He laughed; a few stunts made a great landing, even without an audience. He kept grinning as he opened his mailbox, strutting into his flat. He unzipped his flightsuit and shrugged out of it, still beaming. He flipped through his mail. Bills, advertisements, and a letter. He blinked, staring at the letter. No stamp, no return address. Puzzled, he tore it open with his teeth, his smile gone.
He read, and his expression darkened with each line of text.
Soari,
I'll cut to the chase. Remember the Flightmare Tour, about nine years ago?
Right, I mean, who doesn't remember that tour? Ticket stubs are still selling for hundreds of bits. Anyway, remember the third night in Manehatten, when we all went to that one bar afterwards, where you and that one green-coated mare were flirting it up? And then you pulled me into it, and we all ended up drunk in my hotel room and things just happened? Things involving... Well, you know. Things
Remember how I got pulled off the tour a week later, in Fillydelphia, then came back for training the next season. Well, I was sorta pregnant. With your foal. And I wish I'd told you before now. I gave it up, though. I'm not sure where our foal is right now. But, Soarin'... I want you to know I don't regret anything, except not letting you have input. It was your mistake, too, and your foal. We should have decided together.
Your Friend,
Spitfire
Soarin's face twisted. He snorted, crumpling the letter into a ball between his hooves.
A Few Minutes Later-
Soarin' unfurled his wings, leaping away from his flat. He flew furiously, growling at passing birds and motes of dust. Tricks were left behind, opportunities unfulfilled in the flurry of an enraged flight. Soarin' growled as he weaved through a group of pegasi, headed towards an apartment building halfway across Cloudsdale.
Landing hard, he felt his legs bounce with the strain as he sunk into the cloud. He slammed his hoof against Spitfire's door. She answered, and he brushed passed her, pacing the front room of her penthouse in a huff. She rolled her eyes, looking at him with familial affection. He was like a brother to her, though certain elements of their past told a different tale.
“Hello, Spitfire. Nice to see you, Spitfire. How's your day, Spitfire?” She stared at him, frowning at his pacing. “Not even 'Sup, Spits', huh?” She turned, heading towards her kitchen.
“I got your letter, Spitfire.” He grimaced.
“No shit, Fetlock. Why do you have to pace in my living room, though? I was looking forward to a bit of down time after practice.” She moved to hug him, surprised when he backed away, glaring at her.
“You expect me to just let it go? Just say, 'I do not care that Spitfire and I have a foal somewhere', and move on?” He turned, looking out her window, fighting back tears.
“No, Soarin', I don't. I do expect you to talk to me about it. We're friends. Let's deal with this like friends.”
“Friends don't let friends father their foals, and if friends did, they'd certainly tell their friends that they'd had a friend-child while drunk under the friend-table!” Soarin' huffed, breathless.
She put her hoof on his shoulder, looking at him sincerely. His eyes wobbled. Spitfire didn't know she'd driven him to tears. She sighed. “Calm down, Soarin'. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, alright? Look, if you want, I can try and find her for you.”
“Her? You know it's a her?!” sputtered the irrational stallion.
“Of course I do, I'm the one who birthed her,” laughed Spitfire, hugging her friend. Soarin' hugged her back, chuckling despite the tears streaming down his face. “Oh, Soarin', you cheer up quick when you want to. Stop that, somepony'll think you're schizophrenic.” He grinned at her.
“I'll try. Maybe. You say you know who our daughter is? Tell me. Give me a name, at least.” Soarin' looked serious.
“Alright, Soari'. But first... You need to understand what we'll do. Sit down,” she instructed, and once he had she sat next to him, her head in his lap, her body curled on the couch next to him. He looked down at her, eyebrows raised. “Oh, lighten up, Soarin'” She sat up.
“Well, what do you want to do with her?”
“Nothing, Soar'. Nothing at all. That's why I gave her up. I don't see myself being a single parent,” said the yellow mare, “not at all.”
“What if I want to be there for her,” asked Soarin', “whether or not you are?”
“Fine with me, that's why I told you about her. I'll try my best to arrange the introduction, just don't drag me into it.”
“Alright, you.” Soarin' chuckled and hugged her. “So what's our beautiful little girl-”
“Don't call her that.”
“Fine. Well, Spitfire? What's her name?” Soarin' looked at the mare expectantly. She sighed, staring back at him.
“Scootaloo.”
Author's Note
I'm still unhappy with this, but meh. I wrote it as for a Facebook challenge.
