Suspense.

For as long as I’ve been a stunt flier, I’ve known that keeping my audience on the edge of their seats is the aim of every event. It engages them. Makes them beg for an encore. Brings them back for more. Every routine I choreograph never disappoints.

Then again, the same could be said for basically every Bolt; unless you’re extremely gifted like Rainbow, there’s no way you’re getting on the team because of your flying skill alone. And no, she wasn’t selected because she’s an Element Bearer — I can say that because I was there for the discussion, listening in without any input like I usually do. Anypony who says otherwise doesn’t know Spitfire, or is lying to themselves.

But regardless, suspense is essential to the enjoyment of any performance. Without it, you may as well grab yourself a box of popcorn and watch paint dry, provided you don’t die of boredom at the very idea of it first.

With all this in mind, I never thought I’d be as invested as I currently am in just how much time, care and effort’s being put into this final shot.

“Come on, Philip,” I groan with a smile, tilting my head back to the ceiling of the castle. “It’s been five minutes. Just hit the ball already.”

“You can’t rush art, Fleetybee,” he counters evenly, sitting on his haunches, putter balanced on his knees, peering with a careful squint down the staircase to the entryway.

A lone coffee cup lays on its side, surrounded by a panoply of book-themed hazards. The entirety of the princess’s personal archives had been turned on its head and used to construct the giant minigolf course running throughout the halls, all eighteen holes of it. We’d gone from the deserts of Saddle Arabia in the kitchen — the sandpits made from sacks of flour, of course — to the perilous heights of the Frozen North in the library, represented by Twilight’s chillingly large amount of tomes on Starswirl the Bearded.

Needless to say, the princess wasn’t impressed.

From there, we circumnavigated the world in the map room, braved Ghastly Gorge in the corridors, cut our way through the jungle of empty rooms in the southern wing, and faced the mighty steppes of the main hall. Spike had spent the whole of yesterday planning this out, each stage with its own challenges, some of which I’d never even seen before. Granted, I’d never played golf before, mini or professional, so I can’t really say — hoofball’s more my sport, though I do tune in to the occasional cloudball match.

Now, we’ve come full circle, back in the entry at the top of the stairs, where the whole floor below has been converted into a loose representation of Canterlot. Books with paper cut-outs of ponies taped to their covers float through simple streets, levitating in purple auras while Twilight reads one herself, sitting on Philip’s right.

“I like taking my time as much as the next pony,” she says idly, not looking up from Golden Virtue’s Reflections of a Stoic, “but I have to agree with Fleetfoot. Get on with it.”

“Patience, young grasshopper, patience.”

Now she looks at him, unimpressed. “I’m thirty-five.”

“And yet you’ve much to learn.” He gets down on all fours and puts his head to the floor, closing one eye and examining the trajectory. His rear’s up in the air like a foal displaying their new cutie mark, and I turn away with an amused smirk. “This is all about precision.”

“It’s minigolf. It’s all about fun.”

“And I’m having my fun.”

I snort. “By annoying the heck out of both of us.”

“By taking the game seriously.” He peers at me from the corner of his eye with a smirk of his own. “Something you’re not doing, and look who’s winning.”

“Oh, so you are keeping score.”

“As is tradition.” He rises from the floor to sit on his knees, returning to the course ahead. “You may be a flier, Fleet, but you’re no golfer.”

“I told you that before we started!”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t hurt to test the waters — experience something new for once.”

I look away and scrunch my snout. “Touché.”

His smirk widens to a smile as he stands, the putter slipping to one hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t say the tally if you don’t want.”

A small mercy, but in the spirit of the moment, a welcome one. “Thanks.”

“You’re trailing by a lot, though.”

“Oh, screw you, jerk.” I laugh and give him a light slap on the flank.

He shoots completely upright, stiffening, eyes wide and staring blankly ahead.

Instantly, my grin falls and ears droop. A warm weight pulls at my underbelly, and the primaries I’d used to smack him with suddenly feels very… unclean. Heavy. Like they shouldn’t belong. I risk a glance and half expect to find them covered in tar.

He continues staring, blinking a few times with his mouth straight and brows high. “Fleet—”

“I know, I know!” I snap my wing back and sidestep away from him, cringing. “I’m sorry, I’m just… used to ponies closer to my height.”

Slowly, and just as stiffly, he turns his head, looking at me with a mixture of alarm and confusion, though the former’s gradually fading.

“It was an accident.” I meet his eyes and face him, even as my hooves beg me to unroot them and my wings itch to take flight. “If you were a pony, I swear, that would’ve been aimed for your head.”

He blinks, the pause stretching on, daring to become judgemental. “Okay, just… think before you act, alright?” He rubs his backside as he shifts his feet and returns to the ball. “We’re not that close.”

That we aren’t. If I’d hit the intended target like I said, I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded. In fact, I can practically guarantee he’d have shrugged it off as a just punishment. Soarin does all the time, yet he keeps making jokes at my expense, because in his mind, the payoff’s worth the pain. This guy’s pretty much the same, but taller. And not as close.

I hope this won’t sour things between us. He may have waved it away, but that doesn’t change the fact I did what I did. And after coming here for almost a week and a bit straight, I’ve grown too used to this routine already to let some stupid mistake shake things up.

I wait a few moments after he goes back readying the shot before I allow myself to settle, but even then, there’s tension in my wings, neck and ears. I try glancing about for another point of focus to distract myself from the tightness in my chest, only to find the princess watching from behind her book.

“It’s okay,” she mouths. “You didn’t mean it.”

I hold her gaze, trying to keep myself composed. At least I have an ally in this.

And she’s right: I hadn’t meant it; she knows it, I know it, and so does he. I’m just… overthinking this like I always do. It was an honest mistake, and he accepted it as such. There’s nothing to worry about, so I don’t need to worry.

I am in control.

“Fore,” Philip cries to nopony in particular, and in a smooth, mechanical stroke, putts the ball down the staircase.

Latching onto the immediate sense of interest, I shuffle back to my original spot and peer over the edge.

Twilight watches also.

With the velveteen carpet cushioning the way onwards, there’s barely any sound as the ball bounces after every drop, steadily descending the… fifty or so steps up from the foyer. Down, down, down, falling and rising, always lower, never left or right. But on the final step, it strikes the lip and rockets off, skidding in long, leaping bounds across the floor at the bottom.

My eyes widen and I lean forward.

Careening through the three major lanes of book traffic, without clipping a single one, even by a hair, the ball continues its path down a narrow book tunnel — one of only three bottlenecks into the book castle’s courtyard. And from there, it slows down to an amiable roll, trundling past the book garden beds, and pops into the coffee cup serving as the gateway.

A hole in one from thirty metres, following a completely straight line.

My jaw drops.

Philip sticks his arms up in the air and whoops.

“What?!” Twilight cries, her magic dissipating as she jumps to her hooves. With so many books dropping at once, it almost looks as if the entire lower floor had started collapsing. “But that…! That…! How did you—”

“Patience, young grasshopper, and lots of practice.” Philip grins at her as his arms flop by his side once more, though he now holds his putter like a cane. “There was a minigolf course just down the road from the motel. My sister and I made it a weekly thing.”

“Really?” I turn to him and chuckle, still impressed by what I’d just witnessed, but amused all the same. “Minigolf Mondays?”

“Sundays, actually.” He shares his grin with me. “Not that far off the mark, but yeah, it was fun. The deli next door also did some wicked beer-battered fries, and we’d buy a small basket to share — make an unhealthy picnic out of it.”

“And you never got bored of it?”

“With good company? Never.”

I snort in acknowledgement. Hard to believe just shy of a minute before, I’d thought I ruined things with him. Of course he has thicker skin than that — I know him, after all. Maybe not as well as I could, and I’m still learning things about him and his old life, but I definitely know him. “Who was the better minigolfer?”

He looks up in thought, furrowing his brows and skewing his jaw. “Hard to say. If I said me, I’d be boasting, but if I said Anita… that wouldn’t be accurate. I guess I’m better at the putting itself, but she? She can do trick shots like they’re nothing. Heck, at my twenty-fifth, she had a punt at beer pong with a wedge club.”

I blink. “Say what?”

“Yeah. And of the six swings she took, three landed. Best tequila shots I ever had.”

I pause for a moment, and then the smile I didn’t realise I had grows a little wider. “Didn’t peg you for a drinker.”

“Oh, I’m not. But when the occasion calls for it, I’m game if everyone else is.”

“That’s… interesting,” the princess muses absently, still staring at the foyer. But then she blinks a few times and snaps herself out of her thoughts, looking to us. “Anyway, I, uh… assume you two are finished now, correct?”

“Correct you are, fair lady,” he replies with a courtly bow. “Unless my associate would like to embarrass herself a little more.”

I feel the tug of a familiar nerve, but force it down and give him a sly, knowing look. “Okay, you’re just begging for a slap, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps I am, perhaps I’m not.” He swings back to me with a smug, teasing smirk, his small eyes practically drowning in how much he’s enjoying it. “Either way, compadre, the question still stands: do you want another go?”

Now that his cheeks are within reach — the proper ones — I’m tempted to just give him a smack right here and now and take him up on his offer, even if I make a fool out of myself and leave him a little dazed and confused. The look on his face, the satisfaction of swatting away a pest, the prospect of proving him wrong… Somehow, on some level, it’d be worth it. If only we were at that point. But we aren’t. So, I’ll just have to swallow my pride and let the water slide off my wings.

“Nah,” I dismiss, glancing away and shrugging, “you’d like that too much. Can’t have you having fun at my expense all the time.”

“Fair, fair.” He nods, rising, switching back to Twilight. “Seems that’ll be a decisive no.”

“Oh, thank the stars,” she exclaims throatily, and in a sudden, intense and instantaneous flash of white light, she, the book she was reading, and all the tomes stacked and scattered about the entrance vanish. Gone. Poof. And the only sign they ever existed are tiny motes of sparkling dust, quickly fizzling out, barely any of it reaching the floor.

Philip doubles over and bursts out laughing.

I rub my eyes and blink, trying to erase what damage she’d done to my sight, and when I recover, I squint and raise an eyebrow at him inquiringly. “Did she just—”

“Teleport everything to the library, yes,” he confirms, giggling. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to try out a new sorting system while she’s at it. But… the look on her face.”

“Priceless.”

“She’s a hoot, Fleet, I’ll tell you. Absolutely fabulous host, though, considering the crap I put her through.”

I angle my head. “You mean you and Spike organise more of these shenanigans when I’m not here?”

“Shenanigans.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You make it sound like I’m trying to make her life a living hell. No, we don’t; this, I’m pretty sure you’ll agree, is the biggest feat our combined insanity’s come up with. Twi’s just kind enough to let us do our thing.”

I snort again. “You’ve taken a liking to her.”

“Hey, she’s an alright gal.”

“I know she is, or she wouldn’t be an alicorn. I’m just saying, it’s been quite the reversal since your first meeting with her.”

“Oh, yeah…” His smile shrinks to an awkward grimace. “That…”

Part of me thinks I shouldn’t have turned the conversation down that road, to what he seems to agree was a poor display of character. But curiosity rears its ugly head, and for the first time in a long while, I feel the urge to slake it. “What was that about, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He sighs, pressing his lips together and looking away, brows creased in a troubled frown. “That was… me at my worst, frankly. Acting entitled and just… not being too pleasant.”

“Well, yeah, I got that, but why? I mean, considering you’re not from here, and nopony knows why that vortex opened…” I pause after that, then quickly blink and shake my head before it seems a little too suspicious. “Point is, you were entitled to an audience with a princess, but… why act so—”

“I know, I know, you don’t need to say it,” he interrupts, waving the rest of that sentence away. And then he shrugs. “I’m not sure why, I just… did. But if I’m being entirely honest, I think it’s because… well…”

I wait a few moments, then roll a hoof to coax him on.

He sighs again and folds his arms, putter still in hand. “If I’m being entirely honest… I think it’s the species barrier thing.”

I blink, cocking my head once more. “What?”

He chews on his bottom lip and looks even further away, obviously uncomfortable with either his choice of words or the fact he’s saying what’s on his mind. Probably both. “Don’t get me wrong, I can clearly tell you’re a person — a sentient, sapient, living, breathing being — it’s just… it’s harder to get over the fact you’re not… you know… like me.”

“Like you?”

“Human.”

“Oh.” I blink again, and a few times more, my gaze gradually to eyelevel and staring off into nowhere. Some kind of feeling’s taking root, but I can’t be sure what it is. Surprise? Confusion? Disappointment? If it has a name, I can’t name it, but it leaves me feeling… numb, I guess. And my ears droop a fraction because of it. “Oh…”

“It’s nothing against you, Fleetfoot, believe me. The last thing I want is something as stupid as this coming between us. But… yeah. I think the reason I was so… brazen before — I think that’s the right word — was because… it’s hard to take a lot seriously here when I’ve been around people… humans all my life, and we’re the only talking species in our world. Here, I’m surrounded brightly coloured ponies, who look nothing like my Earth’s ponies, and who all have butt tattoos and saccharine names and official titles like the Princess of Friendship.

“Couple that with the fact I, a de facto alien, had been waiting a day without word from anyone about what’s happening, and I think that’s the toxic cocktail you saw in the hospital.”

I nod idly, still not totally sure what I’m feeling our how to process this new information.

“Trust me, I don’t like it either. But I think a change as big as this takes time to get used to, even for someone as stoic as me. And I can guarantee you, there’ll be plenty more mistakes where that came from.”

Still I nod, and I’m still no closer to figuring out what this feeling is. But the more I focus on labelling this mystery emotion or state of mind, another question pops into my head: why?

Have I been denied something? Had I expected something to come out of these almost daily get-togethers? Does the fact he doesn’t see me as an equal hurt me?

He’s trying his best.

…Yes. Yes, I suppose he is.

So long as it doesn’t affect us.

“Does that make any sense?”

I pause a little while longer, making sure I’m okay with this new perspective, then nod with purpose and force a small, light smile. “Yeah, it does.”

He balls a hand into a fist and offers it to me. “We cool, fam?”

I watch the fist for a few seconds, hiding my hesitation well behind a contemplative mask as I examine how bony the knuckles are, and the veins beneath his skin. Then I reach out with my hoof and bump it. “We’re cool.”

“Right on.” He lets his arms flop back by his side and looks down to the now empty foyer, blowing an idle sigh. “So… what now?”

“You’re asking me?” I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you were the shenanigans guy.”

“Spike’s the one with the ideas, I just give them pizzazz.” He shrugs, but as his shoulders settle, something appears to strike him, and he turns back to me curiously, with a hint of guile. “Say, you wouldn’t be in a dancing mood, by any chance, would you?”

I blink, drawing my head back somewhat. “Dancing?”

“Yeah.”

“…Why?”

“Because I’m bored, and I want to liven things up a little. Doesn’t hurt if I get to see what you can do as well.”

I don’t reply immediately, frankly stunned he’d even suggest such a thing. Why, I don’t know, though I swear I’m not a prude. “I’m… not much of a dancer, honestly,” I politely refuse, glancing away with a hint of embarrassment. “I know how to, but it’s never really been for me. Besides, I’m not sure it’d be all that appropriate.”

His brows crease somewhat and he angles his head. “How so?”

“Well, you know… Big space. Just us. No other couples around.”

“Oh, ballroom dancing.” He glances away with a smile, as if relieved he’d dodged an arrow, then shakes his head and chuckles. “No, I’m talking freestyle — moving your body to the rhythm and the like, because I’ve a few on my phone that’re genuine hip-swayers and head-bangers.”

“Oh, okay, uh…” My brain quickly runs through the options, and although I hate that it’s basically a confirmation — that I might’ve raised any hopes over nothing — the one I choose is the least offensive. “I… guess it depends on the song.”

“Awesome.” He nods once, then turns to the corridor behind him and cups his free hand around his mouth. “TWILIGHT!”

The cry echoes off the walls and bounces through the halls, and for a moment, my ears pin back to shield themselves from the loudness. But when the echoes fade, a new cry returns, this one less clear, but more to anypony who’s everypony in Equestria. “WHAT?! I’M VERY BUSY!”

“CAN YOU MAGIC THAT STEREO TO THE FRONT FOYER?”

“YOU DO IT — YOU’RE CLOSER!”

“YOU HAVE MAGIC, THOUGH!”

“SO?!”

“SO, IT’S FASTER!”

“IF YOU HADN’T STARTED TALKING, YOU’D ALREADY BE AT YOUR ROOM!”

“I HAVE A GUEST!”

“YOU’RE MY GUEST!”

“EXACTLY! SO, BE A GOOD HOST!”

A long pause follows — one where I’m sure Twilight’s massaging her temples to relieve some kind of headache. But, after a while, there’s another flash, and the unplugged stereo, along with Philip’s music device, appears on the carpet beside us. “THERE, NOW LET ME CONCERNTRATE!”

“THANKS, TWIGGLES! LOVE YOU!”

“PHILIP, I SWEAR TO CELESTIA, IF YOU RUIN THIS FOR ME, I’M REVOKING YOUR IMMUNITY!”

He laughs.

I switch focus between him and the hallway, eyes wide and brows furrowed, unsure what exactly I’d just witnessed.

He turns back to me, notices my expression, and shrugs. “She’s a hoot.”

“…Right…” I look at the stereo and his… phone — a small, flat device that hardly resembles the ones in ponies’ homes or meant for public use in the cities. “And here I thought you said you aren’t trying to make her life a living hell.”

“She loves it.” He kneels and picks everything up, tucking the wires and stereo under his arm and holding the phone in his hand. “I’m just a spanner in the works for her monotonous and… largely lonely days. I mean, her friends come around, and she has Spike, but… you know, large house. And they have jobs of their own too.”

I nod. I guess I should be glad I’ve been given as long a break as I have, to be able to come here so consistently. What’ll happen when my duties start kicking in, I don’t know. Maybe I should tell him, or maybe it’d just spoil the moment, whatever kind of air this is between us.

“Anyway, showtime.” He strolls over to the wall and sets the stereo down, plugging it into a nearby power socket — the presence of which feels completely at odds with the castle’s aesthetic — and attaches his phone. He turns both on, pumps the volume right up and begins scrolling through for something to play.

I slowly rock back and forth on my hooves and shift my wings as I wait, not exactly sure what I’m waiting for. I mean, I’m expecting music to start blaring out pretty soon, from which I may have to cover my ears if it’s anything techno, but if he wants me to dance alongside him…

“Can’t help wondering, though,” he says, pausing his work and looking up at me, “how’d you learn to ballroom dance? If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t exactly strike me as the classy type, or one who likes to be that close to people.”

And he’d be right. I won’t confirm it, but that’s me in a nutshell, I guess. Less than two weeks and he’s already figured me out pretty well. “The Wonderbolts get invited to a lot of upper class functions,” I explain, remembering what little I’ve cared to remember. “Dancing lessons are mandatory — helps… smooth things over with the nobles, I guess. And the rich, if they’ve bought their way in.”

“Ah.” He nods and goes back to his phone. “Well, maybe you can teach me sometime, but right now, this is something I’m pretty sure the aristocrats never get to hear: some good, timeless Fatboy Slim.”

I squint. “Fat… what?”

“Just listen.” He taps the screen, sets down the phone and stands up, facing the staircase. “This, Fleetybee, is a genuine classic.”

And so it starts, first with a bit of distorted and remixed vocals and vinyl scratches, and then with a lone drum beat that cuts everything off, quickly rising again with a keyboard and… various other synthetic instruments, I’m sure. It swirls at its peak twice, like two upward bends in a rollercoaster, before the bassline drops.

And with that, he starts traversing the stairs in time with the beat, leading with his hips, hands out as if he’s sneaking around while swaying to the rhythm. And the second he reaches the bottom, the lyrics cut in, as if all of this were planned beforehand.

I just watch. A golf swing of impeccable accuracy, and now a seemingly choreographed dance routine. If he said he’s not trying to impress me, I’d call him a liar, but I wouldn’t be mad. I couldn’t be, frankly. Not at him, and not with moves like that. And not when I’m finding the music to be this enjoyable either.

Funny how it’s turned out, isn’t it? I was so resistant to the idea at first, but now, it’s almost like I can’t get enough of him, even if he acts like a giant goof from time to time.

The singer, a stallion without a lot of range, switches the subject to blowing with this or that, and Philip shimmies left and right, pointing in either direction respectively. And it just… flows so well. Seriously, either he’s been practicing long before he came here to Equestria, or he’s just that good at following the music. Probably the former, since humans don’t have cutie marks, but I’d like to think he could’ve been a professional dancer, somehow, if his life had played out differently.

Could’ve chased after his dreams like I did, and I know I’m happy doing what I do.

Wouldn’t change it for anything.

Ah, screw it. You know you want to.

With a contented sigh and a roll of the eyes, I hop into the air and glide down to the foyer. And with him putting me to shame by sheer confidence and versatility, we dance the afternoon away.

Next Chapter: 13 | Such Sweet Sorrow Estimated time remaining: 13 Hours, 29 Minutes