A chill wind blew along the coast, making Scootaloo's mane look like a purple bonfire. She curled up tighter on the dew-stained bench, hoping that her feathers and coat would be enough to combat the breeze. Still, she shivered, making the map lain out on the weathered wood much more difficult to read. It fluttered in the wind as her forelegs shook like a leaf. She bit her lip and tried to focus, but the wind kept blowing and her troubled thoughts kept flowing.
She had woken before dawn in a sweat, the fractured remnants of a nightmare faintly pulsating in her memory. She couldn't remember what she had dreamed about, but she had a pretty good idea: open spaces and horrific monsters. They had become so common that they almost didn't register with her anymore. The first few nights after Rainbow had died, the dreams had been crystal-clear, even long after she had awoken. She could still remember some of them down to the amount of dust on a blood-filled teacup (she didn't know why they came in the form of teacups; she had given up on trying to understand her dreams long ago). Now, she couldn't even remember what the monsters looked like: some days they were wolves, others they were ghouls, still others they were formless, and even once they had come in the shape of deranged trees—branches curved into fangs.
After a few minutes spent trying, and failing, to fall back asleep, Scootaloo had given in and started her day. Unfortunately, she was the only one. As far as she could tell nobody else in the building was awake—not even the bugs. She had sat at the kitchen table for what must have been half an hour, before throwing her forelegs up—both figuratively and literally—and deciding to go for a walk. Besides, clean air would probably do her mind a lot more good than a musty beauty parlor would.
Predictably, Vanhoover was like a ghost town: completely empty. She couldn't even hear the distant clop of hooves on cobblestone. The only signs that anypony had ever walked down the streets were the wrappers, bags, bottles, and other litter that covered the street like winter snow. She saw a few rats scurry away from her—some crossing the street from boarded-windowed shop to another and some simply hiding in the toppled trash cans they were using as a breakfast buffet. As revolting as the sight should have been, Scootaloo only felt relief. At least she wasn't alone.
She had found the park she now sat in while she was searching for a bakery to buy a muffin or bagel or something to eat from. She had found only one bakery that wasn't out of business, and it had rubbed her the wrong way—swarming with bulky ponies donning sunglasses even though it wasn't even dawn yet and suits that looked like they cost more than a sweet shop would make in a century—so she had simply cantered on by. It seemed quiet enough, and the coastline was a nice touch. I've always wanted to see the sea. She gave a slight giggle at her own joke, but it was quickly replaced by a frown and a sigh.
Once, her father had mentioned going on a family vacation to the east coast, but it had been in the midst of a slow year and money had been tight. That was the only time he had ever mentioned going to the beach. Now that she thought about it, he had never even proposed another vacation, period. The fact that her father was an artist, yet hated travel more than a socialite hated dirt, had always confused Scootaloo. She had always guessed that those two went hoof in hoof: like pegasi and flying, or librarians and books, or politics and sheer and utter boredom.
Guess not.
A heavy gust blew against the map, threatening to blow it away, and Scootaloo held it down with her hoof, groaning in frustration. She had looked at the map, tracing any possible routes, exactly ten times (she had counted) in the past hour, and was no closer to finding a suitable way to reach the Phoenix Pool—or even where the Phoenix Pool was in the first place.
The map in the book was looking more and more like a big hoax. Earlier in the morning, not five minutes into her first sweep, she had discovered a faded line that wasn't a marking of latitude or longitude. After a painstaking amount of flipping from the map, to a page in the book, and back, Scootaloo concluded that the marking was actually drawn in. She guessed that somepony had drawn Daring's route in for... some reason. She didn't know, but it was a hint: progress, even.
Or so she thought.
The line was right on target all the way up to Vanhoover Island. It sketched the route from Mexicolt, to Canterlot, to Vanhoover in the exact way that Daring had done. She even noticed little numbers at certain points which appeared to be corresponding page numbers. However, when it got to Vanhoover Island it simply stopped.
It was perplexing. The line started up again somewhere in Strideberia. Why would it just... stop?
She groaned as realization filled her like freezing water. There was only one thing she could do now, and the very idea gave her a headache.
She had to read—actually read—more of the book.
I was really hoping I didn't have to, she mumbled inwardly. No offense to Dash, but this book sucks.
With a groan and a flinch, she opened the book up to the page she had lazily bookmarked with part of her train ticket.
Desperate times... she thought as she began to read.
She hoped it wouldn't put her to sleep this time.
The only sounds that echoed through the Vanhoover Marina were the clanging of bells and chains, and the near-endless retching of Daring Do.
Though she wouldn't admit it, she had the weakest sealegs in Equestria. Flying, she could do. Walking? She would do that with a frown, but still she could do it with ease. But the sea? No, that only lead to seasickness and her stumbling over her own hooves as the captain of the boat laughed at her.
If she had any say in the matter, she would have simply flown to Vanhoover. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of her solo ventures, and her companion was not a pegasus—or a unicorn for that matter. Nay, she was stuck with Pallah.
"Ey, Darey!"
Pallah was dressed exactly as Daring had expected: red and white tiki shirt, sunglasses, and his black mane slicked back with so much pomade that it overwhelmed Daring's senses. The scent was so strong that it overpowered the salty air and rot of dead fish, and for that, Daring was almost thankful. Almost
And of course, he just had to call me 'Darey,' she thought with a grimace. She had hoped he would outgrow that nickname after college. However, to grow out of using names like that, one has to mature, and Daing was convinced that Pallah had a genetic defect that permanently kept him in the mental state of a teenager.
"Hey, Pallah." Daring forced a smile. "An hour late, as usual."
Pallah grinned, his far-too-white teeth reflecting the sun and nearly blinding Daring.
"How many?" Daring asked.
"Just one. Unicorn mare from East Neighstings. Great set of legs." He gave a slimy smile. "Not as nice as yours, though."
She shook her head, sighing and glowering. To call Pallah a friend was to call water dry.
Still, he had his uses. For one, he was a phenomenal tracker. In Daring's opinion, he was a much better tracker than she was. She needed a map, or at least a compass, to find an ancient ruin. Pallah just needed to know what they were looking for—be it a temple, castle, or something else—and he could find it like a cat finds a mouse in a brightly lit room. Then there was his impeccable knowledge of the Ferussian language. Daring knew the language, but she struggled to carry on a conversation with it.
And of course, he was a good fighter. As much as Daring liked to think that she could handle an entire army on her own, she admitted that help was always beneficial. She may have not liked him much, but Pallah was the kind of pony one wanted to have their back when the manure hit the fan.
Still, ignoring him as much as possible was all that Daring wanted to do.
"I heard about your dad," he called as he walked up the gangplank. "Sucks... you alright?" Daring was surprised that his voice actually seemed genuinely concerned.
"Yeah," she murmured. "Thanks for asking."
"So, where's this place we're going?" Pallah asked as he leaned back against the boat railing Daring was hunched over.
"A temple," Daring said.
"A temple?!" Pallah lifted his sunglasses, exposing his green eyes, red from the night before and wide with shock from Daring's revelation, to the world. "On Vanhoover Island?"
"Yeah."
He shook his head and said, "There aren't any temples on Vanhoover Island. Trees and grass huts, sure. Not temples."
"It sounds crazy to me, too, but this map says..." Her voice trailed off as she dug through her saddlebag. Once she found it, she shoved it in his face, continuing, "This map says that there's a temple."
Pallah studied the map for a few seconds, then frowned. "This map is... I don't recognize half of these landmarks, and I know Vanhoover Island like the back of my hoof." He shook his head and pushed it back. "This map's a load of crap.."
"It isn't 'a load of crap.' It's legit."
He cocked his head to the side. "And you know this, how?"
"I just..." She sighed. "I have this feeling."
He grunted and shook his head. "You've gotta be kidding me," he whispered, just loud enough for Daring to hear. "Going off of gut instinct..." Daring wasn't even sure if he was speaking to her or not. He gave a long sigh and said, "If I didn't respect you so damn much, I would walk away. Unfortunately..." he groaned, "you've never steered me wrong before. I've forced you to accompany me on a shit-ton of wild goose chases in the past. Only fitting I let you drag me along on one to."
"Really?" Daring said.
"Yeah." Pallah's voice lacked emotion. He looked behind Daring, then out at the surrounding marina, his brow furrowing with each passing glance. "Hey, where's the captain of this tub?" He laughed. "Don't tell me it's you. I remember you blowing chunks when you rode one of those inflatable rafts at that frat party."
"I was drunk," Daring sneered, "and no, I'm not driving this thing. Captain's not here." Daring took off her helmet and wiped her brow. "She said she'd be here at two. Don't know what could be keeping her."
Once again, Pallah's grating chuckle filled the air. "Looks like it's just you and me for a bit then, eh?" Daring cringed as he continued, "Perfect time to catch up on old times, don't ya say?"
"No, it's not." She quickly trudged to the other side of the boat and began to watch nothing in particular. The birds held her interest for all of five seconds, the wakes in the water held her attention a bit longer.
She was observing how the dock seemed to bounce in rhythm when Pallah snorted. "Fine then. Don't wanna talk, we won't talk. Jeez, I'm not forcing you to do anything, Daring." The sound of hoofsteps drew closer and Daring suddenly felt a hoof on her back. She recoiled at the feeling. There was something about it. Something very un-Pallah. "I'm here for you, okay? I just wanted to see... you know, I lost my mother a few years back, so I know how it is."
"I remember the letter," Daring said, the image of damp parchment—a sight she'd grown used to seeing lain out before her recently—entering her mind.
"So, if you want to talk, I'll listen."
Daring let out a shuddering sigh. "Well," she began, "now that you mention it, I guess I could talk to—"
"SHIT!"
"Well, excuse me, jerk!" Daring seethed, raising her hoof to sock Pallah on the muzzle.. "You're the one who brought it up!"
Pallah, for his part, had done the smart thing and made himself small—cowering against the side of the boat and looking up at her with pleading eyes. His mouth was moving, and Daring realized he was whispering something. She leaned forward and listened close.
"Mare," he whispered, nodding his head in the direction of the docks. "Mare from last night."
Taking the hint, Daring looked towards the dock and saw exactly what Pallah was so scared of. A unicorn mare was walking down dock, directly in the direction of their boat. The sun reflecting off her blue mane and white coat was nearly enough to blind Daring, but she still got a good idea of what the mare looked like—and just why Pallah had been so eager to get in bed with her the night before.
"Gotta agree with you on those legs, compadre," she said with a smirk, stealing a glance at her petrified friend.
As Daring expected, the unicorn kept walking their way, and before long was making her way up the gangplank. Daring greeted her before she even set hoof on the deck. "You the captain?" she asked.
"Yes, I am," the mare replied, leaning away from Daring just slightly (Daring couldn't blame her; she was kind of up in the poor unicorn's face at the moment). "I'm, uh, Cay. It's an honor to meet you, Miss Do."
Daring smirked. "Honor? Does my name really carry out this far?"
"I've never met a pony who didn't know the name." She laughed briefly, but it was quickly replaced with a sigh as she ran a hoof through her mane. "I'm sorry about being late..."
"Rough night?"
"Don't even get me started," Cay groused.
Daring let out a chortle. "Then you might not want to look behind me."
Cay cocked her head. "And why wouldn't I want to—YOU!" She shot by Daring like a lightning bolt and pressed her head against the cowering Pallah, eyes narrowed into venomous slits and horn glowing a deathly blue.
"H-h-hey, Cay," Pallah stuttered. "Fancy seeing you here. I-I remember you said you were a captain, but... heh heh, what a surprise."
"You," she said through gritted teeth. All Pallah did was sit stock still and whimper. "How. Dare—how could you? Sleep with a mare—tell her you love her and will do anything for her—and then just run off like I'm some kinda item. A damn blow-up doll! How... ERGH!" She slammed her hoof onto the deck of the boat, leaving a noticeable depression in the salty wood, and walked back over to Daring, jaw taut.
"Why is that ass here?" she whispered. "Do you know him?"
"Unfortunately."
"Do you..." Her words drifted off as she looked back and glared at Pallah. After letting her glare burn him a bit more, she turned back to Daring and continued, "Do you know what he did to me, last night?"
"I have a good idea."
"Can you believe that—"
"Were you drunk last night?" Daring asked.
"Excuse me?" Cay asked, recoiling.
"Drunk," Daring repeated. "Were you drunk?"
"No."
"Well, that's good."
"Why is that good?"
"Look, I don't want to continue going down this... conversation path or whatever," Daring said. "Pallah there's a real jerk, but he's also the best assistant I can afford, and you're the best captain—or at least, so I've heard."
Cay's face turned beet-red at the comment. "Well, I'm not one to brag, but... yeah, I am pretty good."
"Alright then, that's all I need to hear. Can you take us to Vanhoover Island?"
"Of course... if you have the bit, that is."
"Have it right here." Daring pulled a coin purse out of her jacket with her tail. Cay seemed impressed by the feat, but did not say a word.
"Well, then..." She gave Pallah one last glare. "Keep that bastard away from me, and I'll have you there before you can say cupcakes."
"Cupcakes."
Cay stuck out her tongue and trotted to the wheelhouse, taking the time to zap Pallah with a miniature lightning bolt before she opened the door. Daring couldn't help but laugh at the sight.
"Hey, Miss Do, could you—"
"Daring. Just call me Daring, please. 'Miss Do' makes me think I'm somepony's grandma."
Cay laughed. "Alrighty then... anyway, Daring, could you do me a favor and move the gangplank out of the way?" She pointed at it, as if Daring couldn't see two feet in front of her. "Just... Just push it. It floats."
"Will do," Daring said with a laugh—
Scootaloo groaned and rubbed her face with her hooves.
"How much more of this crap is there?" she muttered as she began to flip through the pages. There were ten more pages left in the chapter. Ten more than there should be. Just tell me what's going on already!
It was brighter out. Scootaloo no longer had to squint to read the words. If she'd had any interest in actually reading, this would have been a blessing. However, she looked at it as a curse. She had been hoping she could use the whole "couldn't see" excuse as a reason to stop. She wondered if the library or some bookstore would have an abridged version of the book—save her some time and pain. Of course, she had no idea if any stores or libraries would have them in stock, or be open—or even exist for that matter.
She groaned. The book was boring her to tears. Didn't Rainbow tell her they were awesome? She sure had! She had sung the series' praises from the tops of the clouds. Yet, Scootaloo just wasn't seeing it. Where was the action? The adventure? The 'prototypical pegasus' whom Rainbow had called Daring Do? It certainly couldn't be this character she was reading about... could it?
You're not trying to be a critic, you're looking for answers. Scootaloo couldn't tell if the thought was her own, or the voice making a return. Before she could find an answer, the thought continued.
Just find the answer and stop.
Scootaloo looked down at the book and nodded. It was simple: all she had to do was flip through the pages, find a mention of the "temple," read from there (though going back a page or two might help), get a decent description of what she should be looking for, know what to expect when she got there, and play off of that.
Easy, peasy, one two threesy.
With a twist of her neck—sending out a chorus of pops and clicks (reading had a way of making a pony's joints stiffer than a pillar)—Scootaloo stretched out her eye muscles and began to sift through the book.
The smell of pancakes overwhelmed Scootaloo a few blocks from Rainbow's shop. Scootaloo knew that the shop was the source of the heavenly aroma; any smell on this side of town that wasn't fetid had to be coming from Rainbow's shop. To Scootaloo, it was both a good sign and a bad sign: good because it meant that at least one of Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, or Rainbow were awake, and bad because it meant that one of Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, or Rainbow were awake.
She walked up to the shop and pushed on the gold, flower-patterned latch, swallowing heavily so that she wasn't drooling like a dog when she bumped into whoever. The smell hit her like a freight train as soon as she opened the door—apples, cinnamon, sugary goodness—and it took all her effort to not pounce on the Big Macintosh-tall stack of pancakes that rested on a pink cat plate in the middle of the vacant kitchen table.
The will of her stomach proved too weak, and she crept towards the garishly-pink tablecloth and the beacon upon it. Just a few pancakes. She'd just sneak a few when nopony was looking, eat a couple—though she guessed it would be more like a couple cubed—sneak back upstairs, pretend to be asleep, then come back down and act as though she hadn't eaten a bit. Best of all, she could ignore a one-on-one with—
"Ah, looks like somepony's an early bird." Speak of the devil, and she shall appear... in a gold silk robe and with a face covered in green mask-gunk.
Rainbow took a seat at one of the chairs, placing a rainbow-colored mug she had been balancing on her head on the table with a loud knock. Steam billowed from the top of the coffee cup, briefly obscuring Rainbow's makeuped face in a ghostly haze as she took a sip. Scootaloo had to admit that the act was impressive. She thought that only unicorns could drink from a coffee "mug." All the pegasi and earth ponies she knew used modified mugs. Not Rainbow, though. Scootaloo made a note to ask Apple Bloom if earth pony hooves were more heat resistant than those of a pegasus or unicorn.
"Sit down, please," Rainbow said, flashing the most obnoxious smile Scootaloo had ever seen. Still, Scootaloo obliged and pulled up a chair, wincing at the ear-grating scratching noise of wood sliding across wood. She paused and listened, hoping for once to hear the sounds of her friends' hooves as they fell out of bed, scampered down the stairs, and freed her from this nightmare. Unfortunately, the sound never came, and Scootaloo's eyes shrunk to the size of an atoms as the truth hit her: she was all alone with Rainbow.
Kill me now.
"Help yourself." Rainbow motioned to the pancakes, and Scootaloo briefly wondered if they were laced with poison and this was all some sort of elaborate trap. It didn't take her long to dismiss the thought as stupid, but she still had her doubts: both of the pancakes and this pony that dared to call herself 'Rainbow Dash.'
However, if apples were the fruit of temptation, apple-cinnamon pancakes were a snare, and Scootaloo couldn't keep herself from digging in. Soon, there were two pancakes on her plate and two in her mouth—she didn't even bother with syrup, she was so famished.
"Sleep well?" Rainbow asked.
"Mmf?" Scootaloo looked up, eyebrow arched and cheeks stuffed.
"I said," Rainbow repeated, failing to suppress a chortle, "did you sleep well last night?"
Scootaloo swallowed and thought. "Well," she began, "I definitely slept better than I have recently."
Rainbow squealed. "Oh, I'm so glad to hear that, honey!"
"Yeah..." Scootaloo rubbed her ringing ear with her hoof and sighed. A feeling in her gut told her that this was going to be the hardest breakfast she would ever have to endure. She turned her attention back to her pancakes and tried to tune Rainbow out.
It was a lost cause.
"How do you like the pancakes?" she asked.
"They're alright," Scootaloo said through a mouthful of pancake.
"So, did you like the sheets? They're nice, aren't they?"
"They were alright."
"I knew they would do the trick."
"Mhmm."
For a while, the only sounds were Scootaloo chewing and Rainbow sipping her coffee while tapping her hoof on the floor in an arrhythmic pattern. For a minute, Scootaloo thought she was in the clear.
"So," Rainbow said, shattering Scootaloo's hopes for peace and quiet, "those friends of yours... how long have you known each other?"
Scootaloo debated whether or not to answer truthfully. After all, saying she knew them could ruin her whole plan. She could have just make up a lie. Rainbow wouldn't know, and Scootaloo doubted she truly cared. Still, something made her lean towards truthfulness, and she did exactly that—at least marginally.
"Well," she began, "I've known Sweetie Belle—she's the unicorn—since as far back as I can remember. I can't even remember a time when we weren't friends. We've just always, sorta... been around each other, you know?" Rainbow nodded and Scootaloo continued, "And Apple Bloom, the other one... well, she was in the same position as us. Uh, bottom of the barrel, if you know what I mean? And, from there we just kinda started hanging out and things... things clicked. We've been friends ever since. We had fun together when times were good. We've... we've held each other when times aren't so good. Laughed. Cried. Everything we do..." Scootaloo looked off to the side, the gears in her head turning and whirring so fast that she guessed Rainbow could see smoke coming out her ears. "We do together." The last words came out as a whisper, but to Scootaloo they might as well have been yelled from the peak of the tallest mountain in Equestria.
"Ah, I see." A pause echoed through the kitchen before being replaced by Rainbow's voice once more. "And what is your name, dear? I don't believe you ever gave me one." She chortled. "Then again, I don't think I ever asked."
"Scootaloo. My name's Scootaloo."
"That's a very lovely name," Rainbow said.
Scootaloo merely shrugged. "You know, I knew another 'Rainbow Dash,'" she said.
"I guessed you did." Rainbow giggled.
"That noticeable, huh?"
"A blind pony would have been able to read that face." She gasped and covered her mouth with her hooves, face growing red. "Oh dear, that joke was in horrible taste. Rude and uncalled for. I apologize. I truly feel bad about—"
"It's cool," Scootaloo said between laughs. "That was actually a good one."
"Still," Rainbow said, "it was in poor taste."
"Whatever." Scootaloo shrugged. "Anyway, as I was saying, I knew this pony named 'Rainbow Dash' once, and she was about as not you as possible."
"Really now?"
"Yeah. Tough. Cool. Radical. A bit of a softy once you got on her good side."
"Well, that's certainly not me," Rainbow laughed.
"You can say that again."
"Forgive me, dear, if I'm overstepping my bounds here, but I couldn't help but notice that you are referring to this Rainbow in the past tense, and I feel the need to ask what—"
"Gone," Scootaloo said, eyes set on the half-eaten pancake on her plate. "She's gone."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's just gone. She'll be back. I'll make sure."
"Mhm." And with that, Rainbow went back to sipping her coffee, leaving Scootaloo to sit there and wonder. She asked what had made her speak about Dash in the first place. The more she tried to justify talking about her, the more confusion it brought forth. She sighed and looked up at Rainbow, and for a second she could have sworn she saw feathers behind her back.
With a shake of her head and a loud groan, Scootaloo rubbed her face with her hooves. Then, she looked up at Rainbow.
"Can I get a cup of that?" she asked.
"So then he was all like, 'No, I'm not!' And the other pony, he's all like, 'Yes, you are!' And then they just toss their trays and start pounding on one another. I'm talking wailing away on each other's faces. It was crazy!"
The steaming cup shook in Scootaloo's hooves, rattling against the table. The coffee had been blistering hot at first, and Scootaloo had begun to wonder why so many ponies seemed so eager to consume the beverage as if it were their lifeblood, but then she'd felt the kick. Two cups and two minutes later she was an orange ball of energy.
"Hey, have you ever read the Daring Do books?" Scootaloo asked, flashing her coffee-stained teeth.
"Can't say I have," Rainbow said. "I'm more of a romance novel fan."
"Blech!" Scootaloo stuck her tongue out, then giggled. "Eh, you're not missing anything. They're pretty dull. Not enough dragon fighting and fire and swords and awesomeness!" She jumped up on the chair, raising a foreleg in the air.
Rainbow simply chortled and took a bit of a pancake.
"What's so funny?" Scootaloo asked as she sat back down in the chair, tapping the side with her forehooves.
Rainbow chortled again and shook her head, but didn't say a word. Scootaloo groaned and went to take another sip from her cup, only to find it empty. "'Nother cup?" she said.
"I think you've had enough, deary."
"No I haven't." Scootaloo blew a raspberry and rolled her eyes. "I'm, like, a caffeine queen. I can handle twenty more cups of this." She slammed the mug on the table. "Fill 'er up!"
Rainbow giggled for what felt like—and possibly was—the hundredth time.
Scootaloo opened her mouth to say something when a voice from behind cut her off.
"Didn't think I'd be findin' a rooster in the middle of tha dang city," Apple Bloom said. She was leaned against the doorway, rubbing her eyes with one of her hooves and yawning widely.
"What is it with you and thinking I'm some sorta bird?" Scootaloo seethed.
There was a long pause before Apple Bloom answered with a half-hearted shrug.
"Well, good morning Apple Bloom," Rainbow said with a smile.
"Mornin' to ya too, Ma'am." Apple Bloom sniffed. "Please tell me I ain't hallucinatin' and those are apple pancakes." Even from a distance Scootaloo could see Apple Bloom's mouth watering.
"Apple cinnamon."
Quick as a bullet, Apple Bloom was at the table and stacking her plate with pancakes. "Oh sweet Celestia, I ain't been so happy ta see an apple in my life."
Rainbow laughed and Scootaloo rolled her eyes as Apple Bloom began to attack the defenseless pancakes. Between a gap in Apple Bloom's loud chewing, Scootaloo asked, "Where's Sweetie Belle? She awake yet?"
Apple Bloom simply nodded and continued to eat away.
No more than a minute later, Sweetie Belle walked down the steps, took a seat next to Scootaloo, and began to eat with nary a word.
"Sleep well?" Scootaloo asked with a smile, proud of herself for beating Rainbow to the introduction punch.
"No," Sweetie responded, looking Scootaloo dead in the eyes. It was then that Scootaloo noticed the bags under Sweetie Belle's eyes. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but was cut off by Rainbow.
"Now that you dears are all awake," she said, "I must tell you something. I'm going to have to make a quick errand run—to some shops and the market specifically. I'll be back in time for lunch. Make yourselves at home, but please, if you'd refrain from destroying my store I would be ever so grateful."
The three fillies nodded.
"Have fun and be safe," Rainbow chirped as she walked out the door.
As soon as the sounds of hooves on cobblestone graced her ears, Scootaloo spoke.
"Alright girls, go upstairs and get ready."
Apple Bloom groaned. "Really, Scoots?"
"Yes. I've got a plan now. I'm serious." She paused, then continued. "You're going to follow me wherever I go once I leave this shop, correct?"
"If I don't keep my eye on ya, you'll get killed for sure," Apple Bloom grumbled.
Scootaloo sighed. "Look, I'm sorry for all the running away crap from earlier. I'm not doing that again. I'm giving you a warning this time. I'll be leaving in..." Her voice drifted off as she stole a glance at the cuckoo clock hanging on a corner wall. "... five minutes. You girls can follow—if you do, I'm cool with that—or you can just leave me be. Which I'm also cool with."
Apple Bloom stared at the pancakes. "I can take some'a these with me?"
"If they'll fit in your saddlebags."
"Okay then..." Apple Bloom sighed, scooted back her chair, and began to walk up the stairs. Sweetie Belle followed soon after. Once they were both out of the room, Scootaloo gave the kitchen a quick once over, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything, and then headed towards the staircase.
As she ascended, the words she had told Rainbow echoed through her mind.
Everything we do... we do together.
As the thought crossed her mind, the faintest of smiles tugged at her lips, and she whispered to herself.
"Cutie Mark Crusaders adventurers... yay."