Daring Do took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, downed it in a single gulp, and placed it back on the tray. All the while, Professor Brambor, the chairman of the math department at Oxcolt University, was expressing his 'utmost sympathies' through a thick accent. Occasionally, he'd pull out a handkerchief and wipe his eyes. Daring could tell that he was trying to seem 'emotionally devastated', but she knew better. Brambor, while having a good heart, was obviously more of a fancolt than a sympathizer.
"Yohr fatha vwas a gud stallun."
"Yeah," Daring Do replied, disinterested. She had heard those words a thousand times, but at least the others had been intelligible.
"Yah knuw, I loss my fatha vhen I vwas onle three," Brambor said between heavy breaths.
"Uh-huh." Daring searched the crowds for somepony—anypony—that she could go and stand near instead of the nervous wreck of a unicorn who was fumbling over his words and hooves. She rolled her eyes and inwardly cursed him. The door to the balcony was only a few feet away. She longed to leave the party, but Brambor kept repeating the same sentiments.
Finally, she found her opening. In the midst of another brow-wipe, Brambor's magic failed him, and the handkerchief fell to the floor. Muttering foreign curses, he bent down to retrieve the rag amidst a sea of hooves. Daring Do pounced on the opportunity and made a break for the door. It wasn't the most difficult escape she had ever made—it didn't even rank in the top one-thousand—but the relief she felt when the cool evening breeze hit her face was as radiant as when she had retrieved the Sapphire Stone.
The smell of salt tickled her nostrils, and the sound of crashing waves caressed her ears. She had to give her father credit; he definitely knew how to purchase a summer home. Looking around the deck, she noticed that she was, unfortunately, not alone. Four other ponies also stood under the stars, and all of them had turned their attention to her, eyes glazed over, a sign of imminent condolences. She sighed in frustration. No matter where she went there were well-wishers and awkward huggers — she just wanted to grieve in peace. Was that too much to ask?
A plump earth pony dressed in a tuxedo and smelling of cigar smoke began to waddle towards her. Not wanting anything to do with his manufactured sentiments, she made a beeline for the stairs.
The sand under her hooves, the scent of the jungle, the call of tropical birds. It was so wild that Daring felt the need to frequently glance over her shoulder, bracing herself for a brawl with Azuizotl. However, despite the rich vegetation and animal life, the coasts of Mexicolt weren't exactly dangerous. There was the occasional temple just off the beach, but the only treasures to be found there were tattered popcorn bags.
She noticed a soda bottle sticking out of the sand and kicked it. Sure, there would always be new 'lost civilizations' to discover, and the fact that relics were becoming something more than cobwebs and crumbling stone was a (relatively) positive thing, but Daring still couldn't help but cringe when she saw the hooves of the Canterlot Elite treading the same stones that some of the earliest ponies had—and she couldn't help but think that those ancients were more advanced than these socialites.
If Father could see this, he'd be rolling in his... no, he is rolling over in his grave.
She sighed and flopped down on a nearby boulder, head cradled in her hooves. It still stung no matter how many times she yelled at herself to keep her chin up—to move on as if nothing ever happened. She just couldn't keep her emotions chained up.
She thought about the time her father had taken her to a Fillydelphia Fliers game when she was a foal. How he had bought her her very first hat on her eighth birthday. How he had taken her to her first ruin when she was ten (which, in retrospect, was a rather reckless and dangerous thing to do). How he had made her exactly who she was now: a brave adventurer and lover of history.
And there, slumped against a rock, Daring Do—the most courageous, tenacious and ferocious pegasus Equestria had ever known—wept like a foal.
Luckily for her, the ocean waves were loud enough to drown out her sobs—her reputation was one of the few things she still had.
Over the roaring tides, she heard the calling of a gull. Its cries rose in a steady crescendo until she could make out what appeared to be words. She looked up and scanned the black skies, searching for the source. Despite the growing sound, there were no signs of life. Slowly, the words began to take shape. A single, decipherable word could be made out—one she had never heard before in her life.
"Scoots!"
The ground underneath Daring Do shook, and a sudden burst of light blinded her.
"Scoots!"
Something hit the back of Scootaloo's head. She jolted up, muscles tensed. However, after scanning the floor, she realized that the object was not some ancient mace of eternal destruction, but merely an eraser. With a shrug, Scootaloo's thoughts drifted back to her book.
Alright, where was I? Let's see... found her opening... socialites... A-ha! Here we—
The voice called out again, strained and seething: "Scootaloo!"
She slammed her forelegs on the desk and turned, glaring daggers at the unicorn in the desk behind her.
"What, Sweetie Belle?!"
Sweetie Belle glowered at her, thrusting her head towards the front of the classroom. Scootaloo stared at her with a raised eyebrow, perplexed; it was unlike Sweetie to show any emotion other than 'jubilant', let alone one of distaste. Sweetie Belle muttered something under her breath and gave one last prod, pointing her horn at something behind Scootaloo. "Turn around, you dodo," she said through clenched teeth.
Scootaloo's eyes went wide and followed Sweetie's horn. As she turned around, she noticed a tall shadow and gulped.
Mrs. Yardstick, Ponyville's middle school teacher and resident crone, stood over her, wrinkled eyes set in a disapproving stare.
Scootaloo chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck with a hoof. "Heya, Mrs. Yardstick. Lovely weather we're having."
The mare sighed and shook her head. "I don't know whether I should be mad at you for not paying attention, or impressed that you're willingly reading."
"Um... how about we go with the second one?"
Mrs. Yardstick shook her head again and returned to her lesson. Scootaloo sighed, reluctantly stuffing Daring Do and the Phoenix Pool into her saddlebag. She glanced at the chalkboard and groaned. Math... I hate math. She pulled out her book and immediately laid her head on top of it. Not a single fiber in her body cared.
The lesson droned on behind a sea of static. She wanted to fall asleep, but also knew that Mrs. Yardstick would be keeping an eye on her.
She sighed and reminisced about Cheerilee's class two years before. Those were the days. Recess, cancelled classes due to other foals discovering their special talent, Hearts and Hooves Day parties. It just wasn't the same anymore—it certainly wasn't as much fun.
Her eyes drifted around the room before settling on the blackboard, where Mrs. Yardstick had hastily scribbled some notes. It was a trick she had learned the previous year. If she looked like she was paying attention, the teacher would assume she was. Mrs. Yardstick fell for it everyday, and today was no exception. She glanced at Scootaloo in odd intervals, and Scootaloo nodded in return. However, she hadn't listened to a single word, and the chalk-written graphs and numbers went ignored.
She glanced around the room. Most of her classmates were present, but a certain pink bow-wearing pony was unaccounted for. Checking to make sure that Mrs. Yardstick wasn't looking, Scootaloo turned towards a half-asleep Sweetie Belle.
"Where's Apple Bloom?" she whispered.
Sweetie blinked a couple times before whispering back, "She got signed out early."
Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Becau—"
"Scootaloo! Sweetie Belle! Pay attention! If I catch either one of you talking again, I will give both of you detention for a week."
You'll give me a week's worth of detention anyway, Scootaloo muttered inwardly. Still, she complied, turned around in her desk, and stared off into space.
Scootaloo was sure that time had frozen, but the ringing of the bell proved otherwise. Most of the students were out the door before the buzzing faded. Scootaloo had hoped to be one of those lucky ponies, but the strap of her saddlebag had somehow wrapped itself around the leg of her chair. It took all of two-seconds to unwind it, but by that time the classroom was nearly empty, and Mrs. Yardstick was able to pick her out.
"Scootaloo. Could I speak with you for a minute?"
Although it was spoken like a question, Scootaloo knew she had no say in the matter. She signaled to Sweetie Belle to go on without her and walked over to Mrs. Yardstick's desk.
"This won't take long will it?" Scootaloo said.
"No, not at all... I just wanted to talk."
"About what?"
"About that friend of yours who passed away," Mrs. Yardstick said. She looked to the side, tapping her chin with a hoof. After a long pause, she finally said, "What was her name again? Blitzbow Sash? Lightning Flash?"
"Rainbow Dash." Scootaloo tried her best to hide her distaste, but failed. How could this witch not remember her name? Scootaloo spoke again, trying to keep her composure. "What about her?"
"Well, you've been very distracted since her passing. You haven't been paying attention in class. You—"
"I've never paid attention in class."
"Well, you're certainly more distracted than usual. Not to mention you haven't been turning in your homework, and your grades on the past two quizzes have slipped dramatically."
"It's not like they could be much worse..."
"There's no need for the attitude, Scootaloo," Mrs. Yardstick said, her eyes narrowing. "I'm trying to help you."
"Why would I need help?" Scootaloo groused. "Your help, especially."
Mrs. Yardstick sighed and massaged her temples. "You're making this very difficult for me—"
"Good! Can I go now?"
"No, you can't!" She reached across the desk, her foreleg getting a little too close for comfort. Scootaloo jerked away and scowled.
Mrs. Yardstick sighed. "I know this year has been hard for you, Scootaloo. First your mother and now this. Nopony should go through this, especially not one as young as you. However, I also feel like you need to talk to somepony about all of this. Express your feel—"
"I don't want to talk about it!"
"But you need to."
"How do you know that I'm not talking about it? Just 'cause I'm not talking to you about it doesn't mean I'm not talking to somepony about it."
"Because I know you better than you think I do."
Scootaloo groaned. It was true. She hadn't talked to anypony about her emotions: not her friends, not her father; she had barely even admitted them to herself. Despite Mrs. Yardstick's claims, she didn't want to discuss it, especially not with her. She'll probably say that I'm in need of help and send me off to some shrink.
"Look," Scootaloo sighed, tapping her hooves against the floor. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass."
To Scootaloo's surprise, Mrs. Yardstick didn't glower or grunt: she smiled.
"Well, my offer stands. If you ever need to talk to somepony, I'm willing to listen."
"Okay," Scootaloo responded, having no intention of accepting the offer. Without another word, she trotted out of the room, feeling Mrs. Yardstick's eyes on her the whole way.
"Have a good weekend, Scootaloo."
"Yeah, you too," she hastily muttered.
The streets of Ponyville were filled with running, screaming children. Some of the fillies and colts were accompanied by their parents, who tried in vain to keep them calm with threats and pleas. Merchants hid their merchandise from grubby hooves and shuttered their fragile windows.
In other words, it was Friday afternoon.
Compared to these bundles of energy, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo were slugs, slowly making their way down the cobblestone towards nowhere in particular. They had originally planned to make a beeline for some distant field to crusade for their cutie marks, but Apple Bloom's absence had shot that down. Sweetie Belle suggested they go by Rarity's, but a spa-date had ruined those plans as well.
"So... what are we gonna do?" Scootaloo asked.
"I don't know. The library, maybe?" Sweetie Belle said with a shrug.
"Nah, I was just there yesterday."
Sweetie Belle froze, her jaw almost touching the dirt. "Y-ou went to the... library?" Her voice cracked on the last word.
"Yeah."
"You? Library? Huh?" Sweetie's eye twitched.
Scootaloo rolled her eyes. "What? Did they make a law saying I couldn't go to the library?"
"No, it's just... it's not like you," Sweetie Belle stuttered.
"Whatever," she sighed. "Irregardless, we can't go to the library. Twilight got really upset when I was there yesterday."
Sweetie Belle sighed and rolled her eyes,
"Regardless," she piped.
"What?" Scootaloo asked.
"Regardless. Irregardless isn't a word."
"Yeah, whatever, Dictionary. You know what I meant," Scootaloo said with a giggle, rolling her eyes again.
Sweetie Belle giggled back. "Yeah, I do. Anyway, what was that about Twilight?"
"Hmm?"
"You said something about Twilight getting upset."
"Oh yeah... I don't know. She just got really upset when I was checking out. I think she may have been crying a bit."
Sweetie Belle gasped. "Crying? My goodness, Scoots, what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything! Honest! I think it had something to do with the book I got."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it's a Daring Do book."
"Why would that make her upset?" Sweetie Belle asked.
Scootaloo stopped her scooter, turned around and glared. "Why do you think?" she asked flatly.
"I don't know! I mean, sure, there's..." Sweetie Belle glanced at the ground. "Oh..."
Scootaloo turned around and focused on the road. "So, yeah. No library."
"Well, what about Sugarcube Corner?"
"I'm broke."
"My parents gave me six bits before they went on vacation. That's more than enough for each of us!"
Scootaloo thought it over. Finding no problems, she turned to her and beamed. "I like that idea."
"Then let's do it!" Sweetie Belle cheered.
Scootaloo scanned the orchard, but found no sign of a large pink bow. She looked at Sweetie Belle, eyebrow raised.
"Why did Apple Bloom sign out early, anyway? Was she sick or something?"
"No, but she did have a doctor's appointment."
"Really? Like the dentist?"
"No, the psychologist."
"Psychologist?" Scootaloo recoiled in surprise and disgust. "Why would Apple Bloom need to go to one of those phonies?"
Sweetie Belle shrugged. "Beats me."
They continued down the path in silence. Scootaloo caught herself glancing at the sky, but quickly pried her eyes away. Unfortunately for her, life seemed to be built on ironies, and her eyes fell upon a far more unsettling sight.
Two rows into the orchard was a distinctive tree—a tree missing several limbs on one side and a slight depression in the ground beside it. Scootaloo's mouth went dry, and her muscles tensed.
That's... that's where...
"Howdy, y'all!"
"Hey, Applejack!" Sweetie Belle piped up.
Applejack trotted up the path, a basket filled with freshly bucked apples on either side of her torso. She briefly removed her Stetson to brush a few damp strands of blonde mane from her eyes before plopping it back down on her head.
"Y'all lookin' for Apple Bloom?"
"Yeah, we are." Sweetie Belle paused and kicked at the ground. "Um, we can see her, right?"
"Ya got eyes, don't ya?" Applejack laughed. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo didn't share her amusement. Applejack cleared her throat. "Yeah, y'all can go see 'er. She's in the ol' treehouse."
"Thanks, Applejack," Sweetie Belle said. "Come on, Scoots."
Scootaloo didn't respond.
"What in tarnation?" Applejack muttered
Applejack walked up behind Scootaloo and tried to get her attention. She waved a hoof in front of her face, stomped a hoof on the ground and even tapped her on the shoulder, but aside from the occasional ear-perk, Scootaloo ignored her.
"Scootaloo! Equestria ta Scootaloo! What's wrong? What're ya lookin' at—" Applejack stopped, a small gasp escaping her throat. Eventually, she spoke again, her voice soft and pained. "Oh, sugarcube." Scootaloo could feel a foreleg wrap over her back.
"What?" Scootaloo said. She shook her head, looked up at Applejack, and attempted to hide her sadness with a grin.
"Ya okay?" Applejack said, her eyes quivering.
Scootaloo looked back at the tree. She swallowed and blinked away any errant tears. "Yeah, of course I'm fine." Her voice cracked. Applejack's grip tightened, but Scootaloo quickly jerked away.
"Well, uh, I guess... I guess we better go see Apple Bloom. Right, Sweetie Belle? We wouldn't want her cupcake getting cold, would we?" Scootaloo sheepishly chuckled, fumbling over her excuse.
"But, Scootaloo, the cupcake was already cold when we bought i—"
"Would we?" Scootaloo repeated through clenched teeth, eyes full of desperation.
Sweetie Belle sighed. "No, we wouldn't want that." The two continued down the path towards the clubhouse while Applejack re-entered the orchard.
"See you later, Applejack!" Sweetie Belle called over her shoulder.
"Yeah, see y'all!" Applejack said, the usual luster in her voice gone like dust in a hurricane.
Scootaloo looked back at Applejack. The farmer trotted over to the tree and stared up at its broken limbs. She slowly lowered her head and collapsed to her haunches. A chill ran up Scootaloo's spine.
"You coming, Scootaloo?" Sweetie Belle yelled.
"Yeah..." Scootaloo shouted, Applejack still the center of her attention. Applejack stood up and walked towards the path. As she turned, she noticed Scootaloo and froze. Even from a distance Scootaloo could make out Applejack's bloodshot eyes.
"Come on, Scootaloo!" Sweetie Belle whined.
"Alright, alright. I'm coming." Scootaloo glanced at Sweetie, then back at Applejack, but the farmer was nowhere to be found.
"Scootaloo!" Sweetie Belle shouted.
"I said I'm coming!" Scootaloo shouted back. She gave the orchard once last look before chasing after Sweetie Belle, the vision of Applejack's trembling form still ingrained in her mind.
