Moving along, here is chapter 2. Drake now finds himself in high school, and...well, I don't want to give anything away. I hope enough of you are hanging in there and following the story at this point. As I promised, Drake's story can be a real snoozefest sometimes, but that's the entire point. The Mane 6, the Princesses and most of the primary and secondary characters are different in some way (Or in Pinkie's case, nearly every way) from everypony else. The main protagonists and antagonists stick out and make for a good story. What about all the other ponies you see in the background though? What are their stories? I often wondered this, and after I began writing Drake's little saga, I realized that I wanted nothing more but to make him real. To make him believable. But I digress. Here is chapter 2. Enjoy, everypony.

CHAPTER 2

It was in middle school that I got my cutie mark. It was in Canterlot High School that I got the second brand that would attach itself to me for the rest of my life. If I remember right, it was in history class one day. We were learning the history of the Land of Dragons, and how a treaty was eventually reached between the dragons and ponies, preventing a war between the two races. Anyhow, If I recollect, the topic arose that the Equestrian military had two dragoon regiments stationed on the border, preparing to attack if a compromise was not reached.

"Who would have won, dragoons or dragons?" A pony whose name is lost to me asked, trying to be a class clown. The class gave a small laugh at the poor attempt at humor. The teacher was unfazed, and responded with his own witty remark.

"Funny you should mention that." He said. "You do know that the word 'dragoon' is a derivative of the archaic word drake. It comes to us from Prance, and though it identifies a type of light cavalry, dragoon also means dragon in its native tongue. So yes, dragons were about to battle dragons." The original jester scoffed, then turned to me.

"So, I guess that means you're a dragon horse, huh Dragoon?" He mused. "Doesn't that make you a...draconequis?"

"No, I'm just a normal, everyday drake." I answered. That got a chuckle from a few of my classmates, and from then on, like it or not, my name was Drake. Things like that spread like wildfire, I guess, and it didn't take long for most of my classmates and even a few of my teachers to start calling me by my new name. It stuck, and I suppose I could be called worse. Believe me, I have been.

For the most part though, high school was no different from middle school. Same day-by-day routine, only with more advanced lessons. Of course, I was still good at science and history. Especially history. Math came a bit harder to me, and I passed with reasonable grades and not much distress. But then there was language arts, the eternal bane of my school existence.

Let me elaborate, everypony. I like poetry and classical literature and all that. I've been told that I'm not too bad at making speeches, and if you're reading this, you can pretty much assume that my writing ability isn't too shabby either. If only language arts were actually about reading and writing, and using language, I probably could have breezed by without a problem. For some, ungodly reason though, it's not. I wasn't a star student in language arts in grade school, nor did I get many A's and B's in it in middle school. In high school, I came up with a unique philosophy about language arts that I hold onto to this day. What pony in their right mind obsesses over finding dangling participles at the end of a sentence, and who puts that much emphasis on the obliteration of regional dialects in favor of some strange, unified Equestrian writing style that deals more with proper prepositional placement than it does sounding natural and comfortable? If I want to say 'ain't', and end my sentence with a preposition, then I ain't gonna care what anypony thinks, and I'm gonna do it no matter what rules it's against. That's my language art critique, and I'm sticking to it.

Another wonderful thing that comes out of high school is the whole click thing. You know what I'm talking about. And since I'm referring to a school where just about everypony's rich and powerful, they had to find other excuses on which to build their exclusive little gangs. You had your sporty ponies, your smart ponies, the cheerleaders and the uber-rich click. Then, you had the most ridiculous, asinine rivalries you can imagine just to paint it with even bolder colors.

Why unicorns so often feel that they are entitled to differential treatment, I'll never know. It's racist and xenophobic to put down a group of ponies that are different from you, not to mention stupid, petty and arrogant. Sometimes though, I don't know what's worse, putting down another group as if they are different and therefore are beneath you, or extolling your own race, gender or group as if you are some magical master race, untouchable by those 'little ponies' beneath you. Many times, I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying 'Yes, you have a horn growing out of your forehead, we all get it' .

And pegasi. If unicorns are guilty of elitism based on their magical ability and cultured past, then it is sheer physical ability that is the bragging right of the pegasus ponies. Pegasi can fly, that much is a given. Everypony knows this. So why do they have to make a contest out of everything just to show off that they can fly? What kind of arrogance makes two pegasi race each other to class, or challenge each other to a game of 'who can fly around the campus 20 times first'? With pegasi, everything is a show. Everything is about how 'cool' and 'amazing' they are. Personally, most pegasi I've ever met are only good at looking cool and flying fast.

I remember a particular incident involving a pegasus. We were in physical education, and I was trotting briskly around the track. A pegasus in my class came flying up fast behind me, and acted as though I was a solid wall preventing their amazing presence from passing.

"Hey slowpoke, get out da' fast lane." He remarked. I kept up my pace and didn't even turn my head.

"You got wings, and they don't look broke." I responded. I kept on trotting.

"Yeah, well this is my lane." He argued. "The fastest flyer in school always gets inside lane."

"Hm. Alright. If I see 'im, I'll make sure to move over and let him by." I said nonchalantly. The next thing I knew, I had a very angry blue-haired pegasus colt in my face.

"You don't get it, do ya dude?" He blustered. "You messin' with the baddest pegasus in school. I can stomp anypony around."

"Really?" I asked in mock-interest. "Well, I can't race you, it wouldn't exactly be fair, would it? And you'd probably beat me hooves down in any kind of sport."

"That's right buddy." He said.

"Then, I guess we'll just have to fight then." I said, looking him in the eyes. "I mean, I hate to have to go through all that...beating you to a pulp...getting suspended and all. Seems like a drag."

"Aww dude, I'm so scared." He mocked.

"I know you are...dude." I replied calmly. "You're scared to death right now. And you know what's gonna happen the minute you take a swing. Pegasi like you have all the flying skills in the world, but earth ponies have the brute strength. And the brains to back it up. Now are you really gonna do something...dude?" He was speechless a moment.

"Whatever. You ain't worth it." He said, trying to save face. He flew off in a huff.

"Nope. I sure ain't" I muttered.

Of course, I wasn't at school 24/7. On weekends, I usually went camping, deep into the woods, far away from the nearest pony. There, in the middle of nowhere, I could pit my skills against the apathetic logic of nature. I could hone my tracking skills. There in nature, it was just me. Hacking out an existence with nopony there to help me. Nopony to rely on, and nopony to rely on me. In a way, it was just like my everyday life, only simplified to its barest, most naked truths.

I wasn't depressed. I could sit all day and let it sink in that I had no real friends, and not care. I knew that I was adopted, that my real parents had abandoned me, but I guess it never really hit me that I should be anything but alone. It was working out fine. I was good at a lot of stuff. Damn good. Nearing the end of my senior year, I had decided to go to academy and become a military officer, and there was no doubt in my mind that I was going to do it. I suppose that it was just my personal philosophy that if I really needed friends or close associates, I would've known. Or maybe it was because I was so used to not having those kinds of relationships that the idea of even attempting to do so never really registered. I did my school work. I honed my outdoor skills. I practiced my swordplay. I studies military history. This was my life. It was working out pretty good so far, so why bother changing anything?