//------------------------------// // Basket Case // Story: Adolescence // by Scout Feather //------------------------------// As the sun stretched over the thin horizon and filled the small clubhouse with light, Scootaloo was sleeping more comfortably than she had in ages. Her hooves were wrapped around another filly in front of her, sleeping equally as sound. Scootaloo’s dreams were filled with thoughts of cotton candy, marshmallows, and the scent of lilacs. All at once, the peaceful silence was broken. “What the hay are you two doin’?” Apple Bloom blurted, her voice filled with bewilderment. Scootaloo awoke with a start. The first thing she realized was that she was practically bear-hugging Sweetie Belle from behind, her muzzle planted firmly into the back of her head. The second being that she was in a very precarious position to be found in. All at once, memories of last night came flooding back. Her first instinct was not to pull away, but to stay firmly snuggled into the other filly and pretend Apple Bloom wasn’t there. But when Sweetie woke up, her eyes wide open, everything became real to Scootaloo. She sat up abruptly, snapped her hooves to her sides and attempted an innocent smile, but could only manage to force an awkward grin and to avoid eye contact. “I… er…” Scootaloo stumbled over her words, trying to find an excuse. Sweetie Belle, groggily rubbing a hoof over her eyes, yawned and stretched casually, as if nothing was wrong. She glanced at Apple Bloom for a moment, taking her time before giving her a convincing shrug. “I was really cold, and Scootaloo was warming me up so I wouldn’t freeze. She was just being a good friend.” She stated, matter-of-factly. Apple Bloom actually seemed to buy it! Why hadn’t Scootaloo thought of that? It was so perfect! Sweetie Belle was a quick thinker, and so casual about it, too. She’s so cool! With the traumatic experience over, they all managed to crawl out of bed, stripping themselves of their nightwear. Some easier than others: Scootaloo found herself with her back on the cold floor, pawing at the zipper in a desperate attempt to get the cursed garment off. She closely resembled a turtle trapped upside-down on it’s shell, unable to achieve the simple task of flipping itself over, rather than the truly awesome and dignified Crusader she was certainly meant to be. Sweetie let out a quiet giggle and trotted over, using her teeth to pull the zipper down. Scootaloo shivered at the feeling of her touch, feeling Sweetie’s muzzle graze across the fur on her stomach as she trailed down to the bottom of the zipper, located on her lower belly. It felt amazing. Scootaloo closed her eyes for a brief moment and imagined that muzzle nuzzling it’s way down, peppering her with kisses… She instantly became aware of her wings springing out to her sides with a silent ‘Pomf’, in combination with an uncomfortable heat resonating from between her legs. She bit her lip and tried to focus anywhere else. Ungracefully wriggling out, her task made infinitely harder by her suddenly stiff wings, she jumped to her hooves - quickly realizing that they hadn’t restored proper blood flow yet - and wobbled over, crashing headfirst into Sweetie. Her body seemed to be acting against her in every way imaginable at this point. It was totally not awesome. “Mrrf. Sorry!” She mumbled. Sweetie simply giggled again, her chest vibrating ever-so slightly. From Scootaloo’s position buried face-first in Sweetie Belle’s side, she could hear the little heart flutter noisily. She quickly tried to recompose herself before Apple Bloom decided to notice. Avoiding eye contact, Scootaloo assisted in helping her fellow crusaders in cleaning up. Soon enough, everything was how it was before, packed up and put in its proper place. The clubhouse was immaculate. Strapping her saddlebags and plopping her helmet on, Scootaloo headed outside, quickly followed by Sweetie, who pulled her aside. Hidden from view from the windows, Sweetie narrowed in on her prey, pinning her to a corner of the balcony. Scootaloo’s view of the door was blocked by the filly quickly closing the distance between them, and in the back of her mind, Scootaloo knew they weren’t safe from being spotted: and yet, was she really about to push her away? Their lips made contact for the fourth time ever, and for once it was Sweetie making the first curious advancement of her tongue. Scootaloo graciously accepted it, slithering her own around it, but Sweetie didn’t stop there, bent on exploring as much of the waiting mouth as she could, her tongue flopping around energetically, tasting her. Scootaloo grinned inwardly at the display of innocence and innate curiosity. Much to her chagrin, it didn’t last long, and Sweetie pulled away slightly. “That’s for last night,” She whispered, wearing a mischievous grin. She opened her mouth and was about to say something else when a sound from behind her caught both their attentions. It was Apple Bloom, eyes wide, jaw hanging almost to the floor. She had gasped. At first, all three were speechless. No one dared to say a word, but a million things ran through Scootaloo’s mind. The primary one being panic. Her fight-or-flight instincts began to kick in, and she chose flight. Without wasting any time, she pushed past both of her friends, ran down the ramp, grabbed her scooter, and was over the horizon in mere moments. She thought she might have heard someone calling her name from behind her, but she didn’t listen. She had just been caught kissing another filly. Her life was basically over. On most days, Ponyville felt like a sanctuary, isolated from the world’s problems and immune to life’s tribulations. It was a place where one always felt at home, surrounded by ponies who cared, and would do anything for you. But today Scootaloo felt trapped. Like she had nowhere to run. As she sped through town - through back alleys, the market square, and residential streets - she passed by all of the usual citizens one expected to see on a warm Saturday morning. They all either attempted to greet her warmly or dodged out of the imminent path of the oncoming scooter. They all seemed to wear their usual expressions, clustered in groups and gossiping about current events and the state of the apple harvest. Yet, in her mind, Scootaloo imagined them gossiping about a different topic altogether. A fresh one, that had only become news moments ago. It was one that, while absurd and completely impossible, filled her with fear. Would Apple Bloom tell everyone in Ponyville? How could they possibly already know? “Hey, look! It’s that filly-fooler!” “I hear she kissed Rarity’s sister. Scandalous!” “I bet her parents will have to put her through years of therapy!” “How disgusting! Doesn’t she know filly-fooling is wrong?” “Filly-fooler! Filly-fooler!” “Go home! Nobody wants you!” The speed of her scooter increased tenfold, fueled by fear and anxiousness. She turned corners, crossed streets, and narrowly escaped collisions more times than she could count for what felt like hours. Tears were streaming down her face, blurring her vision. In the end, an exhausted, sobbing Scootaloo crashed headfirst into one of the many trees that dotted the local park. She slumped against the trunk, upside down, tail in her face, and continued her bawling. A voice from inside her suggested that she needed to keep quiet, that she didn’t need anyone to come running to her aid, only to chastise her. Another part of her said that she wanted, no, needed the attention. For someone to notice her. Fortunately, someone did hear. As a mint-coloured unicorn stepped around the tree, a look of concern took hold of the older mare’s face. “Scootaloo! Are you alright! Oh dear, what happened?” She was promptly swept up by a sympathetic Lyra, who went about checking for bruises as Scootaloo rolled her eyes and nodded slowly, remembering her as a colleague of her father’s. “I’m f-fine, Miss Heartstrings. Honest.” She sniffled and rubbed her muzzle. Confident that nothing was physically wrong, the mare straightened up. “Then why are you crying, dear? Did something happen?” She eased Scootaloo onto her hooves and ruffled her mane. The filly bit her lip and stared at the ground. “I don’t really wanna talk about it…” She began, and was about to turn away when a thought occurred to her. Wasn’t Lyra married to Bon Bon? If Scootaloo was thinking of Sweetie in that way, maybe that meant Lyra might know a thing or two about what she was going through? Maybe she could trust her? Scootaloo quickly made up her mind, desperate for someone to confide her secrets to. “I...I...I kissed my friend and now I think everyone hates me.” She stuttered, breaking out into full-on weeping. Lyra met her with an embrace and a gentle pat on the back. “There, there. Heartbreak is never fun for anypony. Why, I remember my first Coltfriend--” “It wasn’t a colt…” Scootaloo blurted, cutting Lyra off. This caused an immediately different response from the mare who very gently tilted her head back to make eye contact. Scootaloo in turn shifted away and stared at her hooves. Without notice, she began to cry quietly, more tears flooding through, soaking her cheeks. Ugh! Brave ponies don’t cry! Rainbow Dash wouldn’t cry, either! So why do I feel so sad? Aren’t I a brave pony? “I know what you’re going through,” Lyra whispered, a hoof suddenly bringing itself around the filly’s shoulders. “Let’s go have tea, Scootaloo. We can talk in private...” Lyra gave her best, most convincing smile, which earned a curt nod from the filly. Lyra and Bon Bon’s house was warm and inviting. The exterior had been decorated with warm, natural colours, while each room on the inside was painted with Green’s and light Purple’s, much like the ponies who lived there. Bon Bon was away in Canterlot on a business trip, Lyra had explained, and the house was empty and lonely. She was glad for the company, and offered her little guest a multitude of sweets and desserts that would rival even the best that Pinkie could make. Scootaloo’s mother had always said that the state of one’s house was a sure indication of the state of mind of it’s inhabitants. She always insisted that one could tell quite quickly that if a couples house was in disarray, so, too, was their union. This house, however, was perfect. It was clean, full of pictures of a smiling couple - in many holding hooves or clinging to a tight embrace, even a few that depicted the two mares locking lips in front of a sunlit horizon or on a beach someplace far away - the sight of which filled Scootaloo with a bizarre sense of envy, to see them so happy together. Everything about the place indicated, as her mother would say, a happy marriage. Was this evidence that two ponies of the same gender could live happily? This didn’t seem wrong, in fact it was quite the opposite. Scootaloo considered the thought for a long time. In what felt like hours after the incident at the park, Scootaloo found herself staring at the warm green walls and beautiful white tiles of the large kitchen, hooves on the counter, haunches propped up on a stool. The tiles on the floor were pristine: so white, they almost glowed. Mentally, she made a quick comparison to a certain filly who seemed to glow beautifully as the suns rays reflected off her perfect coat. It filled Scootaloo with thoughts of fondness, and her heart swelled, yet she understood very little as to why. A steaming cup of peppermint tea was placed in front of her, breaking her train of thought. The kind host took a seat directly opposite. “So let’s start from the beginning, Scootaloo. What exactly happened?” The strangest thing happened at that moment. Despite fear of being judged, her newly discovered emotions, and the confusion that came with everything that had happened in the last week, Scootaloo told her everything. Even the parts she probably shouldn’t have told, that a filly shouldn’t do, she told anyway. Through the whole retelling, Lyra nodded and listened attentively and non-judgmentally until the very end. When the story concluded, she pulled the squirming filly into a bone-crushing hug. “You’re a brave filly, you know that? When I was your age, I had no idea…” She reminisced, relinquishing her captive from the tight hold. “It took me years of dating colts I hated to figure it out. I guess in that aspect you're lucky…” The mare trailed off, picking her words carefully. Outside, in the freshly groomed garden that Lyra attended to each and every afternoon, a crow fluttered and landed on the fence, cawing fruitlessly at a nearby object which had caught its attention. Scootaloo envied that bird and it’s unchallenged freedom. No one ever bothered to question the motivations of a crow. They simply did as they pleased. Her ears perked, and she turned back to Lyra, who had begun speaking again, with a tone that was both gentle and wise in her own way. “Sweetheart…when we, that’s Bon Bon and I, told everyone, ponies didn’t hate us. No one turned us away or rejected us. We don’t get made fun of every time we go out. It’s just a regular thing that everyone is used to now. You don’t have to be scared of that.” Scootaloo's breath caught in her throat as she listened with wide eyes full of wonder. This was contrary to everything she had previously believed! Was it possible that she hadn’t really considered the nature of two ponies of the same gender being together before all this started, except in passing? It was certainly true that her sexuality, until recently, had never come into question. So why couldn’t this be contested, too? “Equestria is a place where ponies are accepted no matter who they are!” Lyra continued, “Your friend Apple Bloom included: I bet she doesn’t care as much as you think she does. She’s probably just a little shocked, and maybe hurt that you didn’t tell her. Have you thought about that?” She finished with a sip of her own hot mug of tea while Scootaloo mulled it over. “I guess…” She hesitated, “Tell her what?” “About you and Sweetie, of course! I mean, I’d be hurt if two of my friends started going out and never told me. You are together, aren’t you?” “W-we’re not dating! Me and Sweetie would never-” Panicking, she shook her head frantically. Surely, they weren’t. They had never even been on a date! This caused Lyra to laugh. “Oh Celestia, you can’t be serious. Are you sure? Nopony kisses another pony like that unless they like each other. Don’t you like her?” She tilted her head inquisitively. Scootaloo paused, thinking over the question. She wracked her brain again and again. Did she like Sweetie? Despite all of her feelings towards her in the last few days, she had never actually asked herself that question. All of a sudden, the answer seemed obvious, and she felt ashamed for not knowing it before. “Yes,” She said, quite simply. “Then tell her. Ask her to be your special somepony. How could she say no to that?” Next came the question that had been been nagging at the back of her mind the entire time. The question which had caused her so much grief. The important, weighty question that made even her father tread carefully in responding to. Something she was afraid to know, yet knew the answer. She just needed to hear it out loud. “Isn’t it wrong...b-because we’re both girls?” She blinked, her voice shaky. Lyra didn’t falter for even a second. “What do you think?” “...No. A-am I a filly-fooler now?” “You can be whatever you want, Scootaloo. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s wrong. If you like her, go tell her. There’s nothing wrong with two ponies who make each other happy.” Silence fell over the pair as Scootaloo fell deep in thought. So she really was a filly-fooler, then. Was there any use denying it now? She had the biggest crush on Sweetie that was possibly imaginable, and that was obvious, too. Everything began to fall into place, and these sudden truths surfaced like facts that had always been there, only now being realized. They seemed much less daunting now. With newfound confidence, a new idea planted in her brain, and much fewer questions, she thanked Lyra, who gave her one final, suffocating hug. With promises to meet again soon, she reluctantly returned home with a new plan of action in mind. Sleep wasn’t really on her list of priorities that night. She tossed and turned, too excited to really think about closing her eyes. Coming to a decision, she abruptly tossed her covers off and sat up, gathered a few things, and furtively tiptoed through the house and out the front door. She had to see Sweetie now. This couldn’t wait. She had something to tell her...