For the Love of the Game

by NLR Info Minister

Rating: mature
Tags: Lightning Dust, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Comedy, Gilda, Tragedy, Sex
Length: 4293

An infamous bully and a disgraced hotshot find a kindred spirit in each other. One will get more than she bargained for, and the other will pay the price.

An infamous bully and a disgraced hotshot find a kindred spirit in each other. One will get more than she bargained for. The other will pay the price. Sometimes gritty, and sometimes lighthearted, this is a story of trust, betrayal and redemption.

Set a couple weeks after the events of "Wonderbolts Academy".
Rated M for language, blood and a rough intimate encounter.

Published 2013-01-06 22:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-01-22 08:55:03 UTC

1. A Game of Hoofball

For the Love of the Game

Author: The NLR Information Minister

Editor: Hiddenpairer

Artists: KNA, Lucky Smores and Goblin Engineer

Chapter 1: A Game of Hoofball

“Hey!” the burly bartender yelled across the room. “Were you raised in a barn? Close the damned door!” The target of his ire, a young stallion in a Baltimare jersey turned sheepishly and shut the door against the intensifying snow storm, then joined a group of his friends at a billiards table. Satisfied, the burly bartender resumed his task of drying shot glasses and placing them in neat stacks along the bar back.

“Eddie, another Pawbuckin’ Patriot, when you get a sec?” The bartender looked to the stool at the end, where a minty green Pegasus was holding up an empty glass. “Sure thing, Lightning.” he replied, reaching into a nearby refrigerator. He pulled out a brown bottle, popped off its cap and poured the sudsy contents into a fresh glass. Setting it down in front of Lightning, he smiled and offered “You keep coming in here like this, and I’ll have to see about getting this stuff on tap.” She looked down at it then gave him a wry smile. “Yeah right. I’m the only one in Baltimare who drinks this stuff.” With a hearty laugh, he went back to his shot glasses while Lightning returned her attention to the TV in the corner. “Oh, and Eddie? Thanks for recording the Syracutie game for me.” On screen, the Equestrian Sports Playback Network showed West Virwhinney taking a beating from Syracutie. Without taking her eyes off the hoofball game, Lightning raised the glass to her lips and took a long sip of the cold lager.

After the disaster that was the Wonderbolts Academy training camp, Lightning had reluctantly returned to Baltimare. She had never really considered it home, but she had a few friends here, and finding work had been easy. It was a big city, and most people didn’t bother her with unwelcome questions about her recent misadventure.

Several minutes later, the stallion in the Baltimare jersey took a seat beside her. She pretended not to notice until he asked her what she was drinking. Muttering a purposefully inaudible answer, she hoped to deter further interruption. An awkward silence stretched his chances further before he tried another angle. “Hey, isn’t that the game from the other day?” He watched it for a few more seconds before nodding in certainty and continuing “Yeah, I lost 20 bits on this next field goal.” Sure enough, the teams set up on screen for a field goal, and the kicker bounced the badly off-center kick off the upright, just barely making the attempt. Turning slowly to make eye contact with him, she deadpanned “Cool story, bro.” That did the trick. Cutting his losses, the stallion turned to Eddie and ordered some nachos. Somewhere behind them, Jersey Guy’s friends snickered at his abrupt failure.

“You’re up.” a raspy female voice announced, tapping Jersey Guy on the shoulder with a pool cue. Turning back to his friends, he welcomed the opportunity to retreat from the bar. “So the league’s finally gonna let buffalo play as linebackers next year, huh?” That same raspy voice. Lightning turned to see that it belonged to a griffon who had taken a seat a couple stools down from her.

“Yeah,” the pegasus replied “and it’s totally gonna screw up the draft, too.”

The griffon was taken aback. “Are you crazy? The other leagues have been letting them play for like...forever, and their drafts are just fine!”

“Apples and oranges.” Lightning retorted indignantly, pointing a half-full pint glass at the screen to emphasize her point. “The other leagues only did it to get fresh sponsors and make more money.”

The griffon opened her mouth to refute the know-it-all stranger, but Eddie interrupted their argument. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked her. With her mouth still open, she looked over at Eddie, then at the Pegasus, then back at Eddie. She regained her cool, gestured towards Lightning and smiled. “Gimme what she’s having.”

After her drink arrived, the griffon and the pegasus sat in silence and stared at the TV for a spell. “You know,” the griffon said casually “I think three words has to be a new record for him.” Lightning looked over at her, confused. The griffon smirked and explained further. “You shot him down with a ‘cool story, bro’, which -- long story short -- means he owes me another 20 bits.”

Lightning pieced it all together and laughed softly. “So that was you, with the field goal bet?” The griffon nodded proudly, still wearing that smirk. “The name’s Gilda.”

Still not sure what to make of the odd character beside her, she simply replied “Lightning Dust.”

Two hours and about a dozen Pawbuckin’ Patriots later, the hoofball game had ended, Gilda’s friends had gone home, and Jersey Guy had disappeared along with his greasy nachos. Gilda had explained how the Equesipeake Bay’s bunker crop of salmon had kept her in the area longer than it did most years. Lightning tip-toed around her own personal story, simply stating that she had recently left Cloudsdale for a change of scenery. With only a handful of patrons left, Eddie had begun wiping down tables and placing chairs on top of them so he could sweep the floor.

Lightning was in the middle of a giggling fit over a story from Gilda’s days at the Junior Speedster Academy. Catching her breath, she asked “So how in the world did you manage to get a buzzy buzzard to sit quietly in there until the rest of the prank was set up?” Gilda fluttered her eyes in mock innocence, curled her agile lioness tail over her head into a makeshift halo and answered “A girl is entitled to her secrets.”

“Last call, ladies.” Eddie announced over his shoulder as he organized a few bottles behind the bar. The giggling died down and the two traded mischievous glances. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Lightning asked. “Totally.” her partner in crime replied.

“Hayger Bombs!” they shouted in unison, startling Eddie and almost causing him to drop a bottle of twenty year old scotch. He recovered at the last instant, and glared at the two ladies. Their silly enthusiasm quickly evaporated his annoyance, and a moment later he set four glasses down in front of them.

“On three...” Gilda said, picking up her shot of Haygemeister and holding it over the larger glass of Dead Bull.

“Ok.” Lightning answered with a sly grin. Without warning, she quickly blurted out “onetwothreeGO!”, hastily dunking the dark Hayger into the golden, bubbling Dead Bull and chugging the whole concoction. Caught off guard, Gilda fumbled to prepare her own drink and catch up.

Lightning slammed her glass down, the shot glass clinking loudly inside the pint glass. A moment later, Gilda’s glass landed sloppily on the bar beside her friend’s. Wiping her mouth with a forehoof, the pegasus blew a stray strand of mane out of her eyes and chirped “I win. Now pay the man.”

Gilda’s jaw dropped. “Hey, you little dweeb.” she objected. “That wasn’t in the rules!”

“Sure it was. Try to keep up.” Lightning said, nonchalantly inspecting an imaginary chip in her non-existent hooficure. After a moment of silence, she glanced over at the griffon to make sure she wasn’t actually angry.

“I see how it is.” Gilda said in a low voice. “Lucky for both of us, it just so happens that I recently won 40 bits from a certain lame-o friend of mine.” This time Lightning was caught off guard, and she laughed. The stray strand fell back down into her face and she snorted, causing her to laugh harder.

Gilda dropped a fistful of bits onto the bar and turned her head sideways, squinting through one eye and more than a few drinks as she tried to count up their tab. “Want me to call you a cab?” Eddie offered as he took the payment and cleared away their empty glasses.

“Hmm??” Lightning said, lifting her head from the bar. “I’m good.” Gilda answered, then jerked her head towards the mare beside her and added “I’ll get her home.”

Outside, the snow had stopped falling, and a crescent moon shone brightly over the city. “Let’s get you home.” Gilda said, shaking some powdery snow off of her claws.

“Pssh, as if.” the mint-colored pegasus said playfully. “I would expect a lame line like that one from your doofus friend.”

“Lame?” Gilda huffed. “I’ll show you lame.” With that, she rammed her shoulder into the mare, toppling her into a snowbank. “Oh shit!” Gilda laughed, surprised at how far the smaller one had bounced.

“Hey!” Lightning whined, getting back on her hooves. “I’ll get you back for that.”

Gilda took a moment to let her catch her breath. “Yeah. I’m counting on it.”

“This weekend, then.” the pegasus challenged. “I’m going to the hoofball game. Gonna drag a cloud up high, over the 50 yard line. You game?”

The griffon thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “I dunno. I have a lot of stuff to do, but if I get some time, I might drop by.”

Lightning flapped her wings momentarily, shaking the snow out of them. “Fine.” she said, a little dismissively. “Show up, or don’t.”

Gilda looked the mare over and softened her tone almost imperceptibly. “Like I said, I’ll try to drop by.”

The pegasus nodded and without another word, launched herself skyward with a powerful flap of her wings. She took off with such force that a cloud of snow engulfed her new friend. Once the powdery mess had settled, Gilda stood alone, gazing at a rapidly fading ribbon of cyan and yellow as it darted across the sky and disappeared over the horizon.

Author's Note

Hiddenpairer is a fantastic editor. This story would never have seen the light of day without his help.

Artistic credits:
Cloud Background by Goblin Engineer
Gilda by Hasbro, revectorized by KNA
Lightning Dust by Hasbro, revectorized by Lucky Smores
All I did was slap them together with MS Paint.

2 Golden Scootaloos to whoever can identify the beer they were drinking
5 Golden Scootaloos to whoever can tell us the final score of the real-life game referenced in this chapter.

2. A Game of Tag

Chapter 2: A Game of Tag

Lightning showed up to the game late. The first quarter was almost over by the time she cobbled together enough tufts of cloud to build a comfortable vantage point. Even then, the unexpectedly clear skies yielded little more than a fluffy white lawn chair. The game was entertaining enough, but by the time the referee blew his whistle to announce the two minute warning, Gilda still hadn’t showed up. The game had gotten very close, down the home stretch. A touchdown would tie it, and the extra point would win it. As the clock slowly winded down, the line of scrimmage marched down the field at a comparable pace. Finally, it was fourth and goal at the 4 yard line. Baltimare had just used its last timeout, and the next play would likely decide the outcome of the game.

“Think fast!” a raspy voice startled Lightning; she wheeled around just in time to see a hoofball hurtling towards her face. She flinched and reflexively threw her hooves out to catch it. The split-second warning was not enough time, and instead of catching it, she accidentally deflected it over her head, towards the players as they settled into a three point stance.

“Uh...oh.” Gilda groaned apprehensively while the two watched the ball tumble towards the field.

Several hundred feet below them, the Baltimare quarterback called an audible: “GREEN 26, GREEN 26, HUT!” The center, an enormous buffalo, snapped the ball. With a loud ‘poomf!’, Gilda’s errant hoofball bounced off his massive helmet. Chaos engulfed the field as the defenders grappled for Gilda’s ball, thinking it was a botched pass attempt. Meanwhile, the quarterback launched the actual hoofball over the mass of bucking and brawling players. It sailed past the end zone, overshot the straining hooves of its intended target, and pelted a photographer in the gut. Whistles screamed and penalty flags flew from every direction. A frantically waving line judge was bowled over by a hopelessly off-sides wide receiver. Lightning watched in sheer terror as the entire stadium jumped to their hooves, cheering, booing and shouting obscenities. The dust gradually settled, and the referee held up the smoking gun: a hoofball that was clearly not approved for league use. One by one the players, officials and fans turned their eyes skyward.

“Gil?” the pegasus whispered, her eyes wide in horror as she peered down at the unfolding spectacle.

“Yeah?” her equally horrified friend whispered back.

A bead of nervous sweat rolled down Lightning’s nose and she crouched down in a vain effort to hide behind her tiny cloud. “Let’s get the buck out of here!”

A full half hour later, Lightning’s heart rate began to return to normal. The pair had probably broken a record or two in their panicked flight away from the 60,000 furious sports fans. With Lightning hot on her trail, Gilda had instinctively flown to what was familiar: a rocky outcrop overlooking a bend in the river where she had been fishing in recent weeks. For several long moments, the two troublemakers tried to control their rapid breathing, and nervously watched the skies for any sign of a pursuing lynch mob.

“I think...” Gilda said between deep breaths. “I think we were too high up for any of them to get a good look at us.”

Lightning looked at her, eyes wide in alarm. “What were you thinking?!“ she hissed. “Gravity. Ever heard of it?”

Gilda shrugged and preened one of her primary remiges, meticulously cleaning and straightening out one of the long, radiant feathers along the trailing edge of her wingtip. The griffon paused her grooming just long enough to absent-mindedly quip “I should do that again at the Superbowl...but only after making some kind of bet.”

The pegasus groaned in exasperation and smacked her hoof against her forehead. In a moment of clarity, she felt a blaze of pride, followed immediately by a souring twinge of hypocrisy. Is this how Dash felt when I was pushing her too hard, and for the wrong reasons? She shook the thought away, sighed wearily, and looked around. The rocky outcrop provided shelter from the recent snowfall, and the two stood in what was probably the only bare patch of earth near the river bank. Near the back of the alcove there was a clump of charcoal and ash, circled by small stones. Near the campfire remains was a lean-to made of pine saplings, grass and the occasional brown feather. It wasn’t much, but it looked like a cozy enough place to rest after a long day of fishing.

“I hope you weren’t expecting the Mareyott.” Gilda said, straightening the last of her feathers. “This is where I’ve been holed up for the past week. Nobody knows about it except me.”

“You missed almost the entire game.” Lightning mused, still looking around the camp site.

The griffon flapped her wings a few times, then folded them along her back. “I told you before, I have a lot of stuff going on.” Lightning narrowed her eyes at her, not convinced. Gilda gestured to the river in front of them and continued. “The fishing is out of this world. You can see them right now.” The annoyed pegasus shifted her gaze to the water, and was surprised to discover that she could plainly see a plethora of fish just below the surface. Peering down at the sparkling current, she shot a sideways glance over at the griffon. “So you were stuffing yourself all day?” she accused, only half jokingly.

Gilda laughed and replied “No, dummy. I sell most of the fish I catch. Besides” -- she ran a clawed hand through the feathers on her head and struck a ridiculous runway model pose -- “I have a fabulous figure to maintain.” At this, Lightning couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

With a final glance to the peaceful, lynch-mob-free sky, the mare conceded “Well, I guess the officials probably just had them redo the play, and no real harm was done.”

Lightning arched her back, stretched out her fore legs and splayed out her wings, getting in a good stretch after their exhausting departure from the hoofball game. Right in the middle of her stretch, Gilda darted to the edge of the outcrop. “Hey!” Gilda said, her eyes focused on a spot on the far river bank. Lightning froze, suddenly afraid that they hadn’t escape the mob after all.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s a snack shack over there, and we’re not at it. That’s what’s wrong.”

Still frozen in the middle of her stretch, the pegasus’s ears drooped and her expression said ‘are you kidding me?’

“Ugh.” Gilda groaned, leaning back against a large boulder. “I’m pretty sure funnel cakes only come in two sizes.”

Lightning chuckled and offered “Huge and grotesque?”

The pair laughed and looked down at the paper plate between them, which was covered in powdered sugar and streaks of whipped cream.

“C’mon, let’s see what else is going on.” the mare suggested enthusiastically. With some effort, her friend followed her past a row of vendors. Gilda looked around, wondering how anypony had set up some kind of county fair going on so close to her fishing grounds without her noticing it sooner. Fairs weren’t really her thing, but Lightning really seemed to be enjoying it.

“Oh sweet!” Gilda looked over to see what her friend had found. A bored-looking mule was sitting at an equipment rental booth near the water’s edge. His name tag read ‘Earl’, and he barely looked up when the two customers arrived.

“Ever been snorkling?” the pegasus asked her friend.

Gilda flinched. “I, uh...even when I’m fishing, I’m more of an ‘above the water’ kind of gal.” Lightning continued to study the various goggles, snorkles and flippers. The griffon was about to lose interest entirely when she saw something that stopped her in her tracks.

“Did you hear me? I said I don’t think anypony sells lawn darts any...” the pegasus trailed off when she saw what had captivated Gilda’s attention.

In a flat monotone, Earl the cashier muddled through his standard, management-dictated sales pitch: “So, all equipment deposits will be returned to the renter if they return all equipment in its original working condition, before 5 PM on the day of rental, inclement weather notwithsta--”

“Yeah, yeah, got it.” Gilda cut him off. “Let’s go!” she called to Lightning, as the two grabbed their newly rented goods and darted into the air. “This is how we do this: golden bullet rules.”

Lightning narrowed her eyes, and her lips curled into a fierce grin. “You mean real golden bullet rules: the first one with even a drop of water on them is the loser.” Gilda cackled maniacally and double-checked the water levels on her pair of plastic water-shooting pistols. She relaxed and then tightened her claws, trigger fingers resting on the edge of the trigger guards. What they lacked in range and firepower, they made up for in speed, rate of fire and unpredictability. She narrowed her eyes at her foe.

The fiercely competitive pegasus met her nemesis’s defiant gaze, and slowly brought to bear the formidable device she had picked out: the Mondo-Blaster. It was a massive cannon with a barrel nearly as long as her leg, a water reservoir topped off with 2 liters of frigid river water, and a pressure accumulator to give a tremendously long reach to her shots. Brute force, volume and range would be her asset in this contest.

The sun glinted off a single water droplet as it fell from the business end of the Mondo-Blaster. A gentle breeze rustled through the feathers along the back of the griffon’s neck. The two warriors hovered before each other, their weapons primed and their thirst for victory palpable.

“Let’s do this.” Lightning snarled through a smile she couldn’t suppress. In the distance, an eagle screeched, its battle cry echoing through some vast canyon. As if on cue, the fearsome pair erupted into a flurry of dives, rolls, loops and strafing runs. Feathers, hooves, claws and teeth tore through the air. Like lasers, the bursts of firepower cut through the air in a ravenous hunt for warm flesh. As the two combatants closed in on each other, Lightning sensed that they would be too close for her massive weapon to be as effective. Rapidly closing the gap, she rammed her shoulder into the griffon’s chest. With an angry grunt, Gilda lost her balance and fell into a spin. Using this momentary distraction, the pegasus darted behind the cover of a small cloud nearby.

Splaying her wings out, the griffon halted the spinning, then pulled up hard to recover from the dive. With her eyes practically burning across the skies, she sought out her prey. It was to no avail, but her powerful prey drive was not deterred. Seizing the opportunity to reload, she darted behind a boulder near the water’s edge. Keeping her eyes peeled for her adversary, Gilda refilled her pistols, sealed the cap and crawled behind some more rocks for better cover.

Hunkered down behind a tiny cumullus, Lightning forced her breathing to slow, and listened for any hint of her target’s movement. Nothing. She slowly rolled towards the edge and peeked down at the riverbank below. Her timing appeared to be perfect, and she just caught the fleeting glimpse of a lioness’ tail disappear behind some rocks. Gritting her teeth in determination, she took up a position behind the bulkiest part of the cloud and cocked the pump-action handle on her massive weapon. With each pump, more and more air filled the accumulator, lending a staggering range to her next shot. Once she was satisfied that she could hit her target, she rolled back over to the edge and prepared to take aim.

Like bits of shrapnel, tiny shards of water tore through Lightning’s cloud. Instantly realizing that she’d been flanked, the pegasus forced every bit of energy to mounting a tactical retreat. Diving through her own cloud, she shot straight down towards the water. Her plan worked remarkably well: by diving as fast as she could, she actually accelerated to a speed faster than the ammunition pursuing her. Just before impacting the surface, she pulled up as hard as she could. G-force strained her every feather, and exacted agonizing pain from her bones and tendons. She cried out in defiance, pulling straight and level just above the icy current. Behind her, Gilda’s volley splashed down with a harmless pattering sound.

The sports equipment mule and the funnel cake stallion stared skyward, dumbfounded.

“Earl?”

“Yup?”

Each of them raised a hoof to shield their eyes from the afternoon sun. A teal pegasus wailed melodramatically as she flew in circles, dodging little squirts of water. Above her, the griffon seemed more interested in perfecting her cartoon villain laugh than actually hitting her target.

“Are they on drugs, Earl?”

“Buck if I know.”

Silence.

“Hey, want some leftover funnel cake?”

“Ooh, you know it!”

With that, they forgot all about the aerobatic goofiness unfolding above.

Gilda held her pistols at chest-level, her back pressed against a cloud. Her attempt to plan the next move was cut short as a furious stream of firepower tore her fortress in half. It missed her head by mere inches, and forced her to abandon that vantage point. Firing blindly over her shoulder, she circled back around to outflank her attacker.

Screaming bloody murder, and pumping the handle on the Mondo-Blaster, Lightning sent a continuous stream of liquid vengeance at her rapidly maneuvering foe. Losing her behind another cloud bank, the pegasus took the opportunity to set up for another sniping attempt. Finding the highest cloud in the area, she quickly secured a nest with a 360 degree view.

Silence.

Lightning swallowed hard, her eyes darting from cloud to cloud, and rock to rock, searching for any sign of movement. Finally, her patience paid off. At a distance of nearly a hoofball field, she spotted a single brown feather tip and the muzzle of a water pistol poking out from behind a cloud. Slowly pumping the handle for maximum range, she took aim at a spot on the cloud where her target’s head would be concealed. She took a deep breath, slowly let it out, steadied her grip and listened to her own heartbeat. With the discipline and focus of a trained assassin, she willed her respiration and heart rate down to an optimal level. She exhaled one more time and squinted down the bore sight of her weapon. At that perfect instant between heart beats, she squeezed the trigger.

Author's Note

The water gun fight scene came to me in a dream last week. The idea of these two flying around being silly, yet taking it very seriously at the same time...it just struck me as something worth exploring further. The rest of the story grew from this.

Hiddenpairer pointed out that many readers might not be familiar with American football, and the events on the field might be confusing. With this in mind, I tried to write the opening scene in such a way that no understanding of the rules are necessary, since the whole thing falls apart so quickly anyways.