Small Long and Short of it bit

>You, Anonymous, ended up going to the show alone.
>As fun as it would have been to go with Cut, you really wanted to keep this trip focused on business, not pleasure.
>Plus Cut was right, going without Pike felt wrong.
>So popping your Wonderbolts’ cherry turned out to unfortunately be a solo event.
>You certainly see why they’re so popular now, the show was thrilling.
>To your human mind, it struck you as an interesting blend of a trapeze act and a flight show.
>You were a little worried that’d make it a light program since the majority of the crowd were foals, but they didn’t skimp out on the action.
>They were just as death-defying as they presumably always are.
>Cut was right about its program too, it was primarily group formations with almost no speedrunning to be found.
>You’re fine with that, the group stunts seem much more up your alley anyway.
>You’ll have to carve out a time for the three of you to go to a real show sometime, it would probably be a lot of fun.
>But that’s something for future Anon to take care of, present Anon has a much more pressing matter.
>Getting backstage.
>Canterlot stadium isn’t really that large (Unicorns must /really/ not care for sports) and that works to quite your disadvantage.
>A smaller stadium means less places for you to slip past security, and so far just about every possible avenue to get behind the scenes here seems to be closed off.
>You can SEE the room that all the Wonderbolts went into from where you’re standing.
>It’s just down the hall, all that’s standing between you and the ‘Bolts is two ornery security mares.
>Two mares who are eyeing you like you’re just another groupie they’ll need to beat away with a stick.
>Well, you and every other cheering fan that’s managed to make it this far.
>Hmm, what to do.
>You tried flashing your press pass at an earlier choke point but the security there just stonewalled you, and you doubt it’d go any different with these two.
>Maybe you could try to disguise yourself as a worker?
>No, where would you even get an outfit?
>You wrack your mind trying to come up with some clever way in, but you’re coming up with bupkis.
>Well... except for one thing.
>Teleporting.
>You know you can do it, you’ve done it.
>But without a couple beers in you, the idea of molecularly displacing yourself is a little daunting to say the least.
>Sure the spell boasted a dozen or so safeguards like “quantum tunneling in the event of geometric interface” but jargon like that doesn't exactly fill you with confidence.
>Then again, you /have/ already done it once.
>Odds are, if the spell could put you halfway through things you would have ended up with a plate in your leg last night.
>Also you really don’t fuckin feel like climbing in a window or something equally desperate.
>So attempting to stay as nonchalant as possible, you trot away from the security guards.
>You’d attempt to disappear into the crowd of fans around you, but being no less than a head taller than everyone in the group kind of shoves that option off the table.
>You’ll just have to settle for going around the nearest corner.
>Which /technically/ violates one of the spell’s precautionary measures, that being: keep line of sight with your destination.
>But you saw inside the room you're aiming for, you can easily see the area’s layout in your head.
>You can even rotate it! Something you’re not entirely sure any of the ponies can do, but you’ve been too afraid of looking like an idiot to ask.
>It’ll be fine, you’re sure.
>You’re only displacing yourself in space-time by what, twenty meters?
>...Through a wall into a room you only kind of saw.
>Maybe you should just warp into the hallway itself?
>No, those two guards would grab you in an instant.
>It’s either into the room or nowhere, and you’ve made it around the corner so better do it now before you manage to talk yourself out of it.
>Alright.
>You take a deep breath in order to hype yourself up.
>Here goes...!
>Visualizing the formula in your mind you send the necessary energy into your horn to make it real.
>You can feel the rules of reality bending to shape to your will.
>All of your senses compress to a point, and then...!

>THIS WAS A BAD IDEA!
>THIS WAS A REALLY BAD IDEA!
>”Bucking DONKEY! GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!”
>”Chef you can’t say that!”
>Instinctively, you duck your head right as a frying pan sails over it.
>”What in Celestia’s name is wrong with you chef!? You almost hit that stallion!”
>”GOOD!”
>Your hooves are thundering on the shitty tile as you charge full speed ahead.
>All the while your eyes frantically dart around the room, desperately looking for an exit or at least direction that puts as much space as humanly possible between you and the crazy mare behind you.
>Turns out the reason the spell recommends line of sight is because things like “relative position” and “distance” don’t mean a whole lot when you’re tearing a hole in the fabric of space.
>”WE’RE GONNA NEED TO DEEP CLEAN OUR GRILL’S ATOMS! YOU KNOW HOW LONG THAT TAKES!?”
>Thanks to that, instead of ending up just behind the Wonderbolts, you ended up in the stadium’s kitchen.
>INSIDE one of their grills.
>Praise be that the spell’s “quantum tunneling” attribute works as advertised and you were able to quite literally slip out of the grill unscathed.
>It looked like you opened up the console and turned on no clip.
>It /felt/ absolutely FOUL.
>It wasn’t enough for your skin to crawl, oh no, your internal organs and bones had to crawl along with them.
>Terrible, you never want to feel like that again for as long as you live.
>Oh, and immediately being accosted by a crazy mare who was out for your blood certainly didn’t help.
>Woah hey, something just whizzed by your— Jesus Christ that was a knife! She just threw a KNIFE at you!
“WHAT THE HELLS WRONG WITH YOU!?”
>The only response is more expletives hurled your way as you barrel through some hapless line cook.
>A testament to your size, or at least your momentum, the poor mare’s impact against your body barely even slows you down.
>You throw a quick “Sorry!” her way, but the deranged smile on her face as she goes down makes you regret it.
>You also may have heard her say something akin to, “Step on me Daddy,” but your brain immediately blocked it out for the sake of your own sanity.
>”WHY ARE YOU STILL IN MY KITCHEN!? GET OUT OF HERE!” screams the chef.
“FUCK YOU I’M FUCKING TRYING!”
>You’re coming up on your second lap around the kitchen now, and you can see the exit.
>Thank God.
>Doing your best early 2000s movie impression, you Tokyo Drift your ass right around that corner and out the door.
>Not even wasting a moment, you pick a direction and keep running.
>Only to realize you’re now running straight for the security checkpoint you just tried to bypass.
>Wow, so you went in the exact opposite direction you wanted to, great.
>Now you’ll have to— is she STILL chasing you!?
>The sounds of rapidly approaching hooves and a panicked glimpse behind you confirms just that, she’s STILL chasing you!
>God damn it you’re not even in the kitchen anymore!
>Welp, there’s your ticket past security you suppose.
>Honesty.
“HELP!” you scream, “SHE’S GOT A FUCKING KNIFE!”
>Okay, maybe not total honesty.
>You didn’t see her with another, but considering she’s already tossed one at your head her brandishing another knife is definitely not off the table!
>All the fans gathered around the checkpoint have started to scatter at the sound of your howling, and the fact you’re barreling at them with the force of a freight train.
>Well, almost all the fans.
>As the sea of ponies parts, you see a lone neon-blue stallion standing right in your way.
>Too absorbed in an argument with some mare, he didn’t pay you even a moment’s heed.
>You couldn’t grasp any of the specifics of their argument, but one look at him was enough to give you the gist.
>The danger-hair colored earth pony was wearing a jacket covered from sleeves to collar in pins and slogans like “Down with the matriarchy”, all while shouting some nonsense about “The Wonderbolts’ crimes!”
>And like those types often are, he was so totally absorbed in his meaningless bickering that he didn't see the problem that was about to hit him head on. 
>Namely, you, shooting towards him at ramming speed.
>Oh well, sucks to be him.
>Trying to minimize the hit to your momentum, you attempt a last minute course correction to simply pass by him instead of slamming into him head on.
>Unfortunately you still managed to clip him.
>Thankfully he was such a shrimp that your speed wasn’t impacted in the least.
>He, on the other hand, was blown clean off to the side.
>Showering both you and the surrounding area with dozens upon dozens of pins and pamphlets.
>You don’t even bother shooting this one a “sorry,” that was all on him.
>Luckily for you, this has the unintended side effect of clearing the way for the security ponies.
>The two of them spring into action, charging past you and making a beeline for the crazed chef hot on your heels.
>Judging by the sounds that followed soon after, they’d immediately tackled her to the ground.
>The sounds of a struggle continue from there, the chef’s speech rapidly degenerating into a mix of exclusively nonsense syllables and expletives.
>You assume that means she’s fighting back, but you’re not stopping to look.
>This is your chance!
>Keeping up the pace, you headed straight for the door you saw the ‘Bolts go through earlier and practically throwew yourself through it.
>Which turns out to be a very bad decision.
>You did that expecting the door to be closed, or even locked.
>It wasn’t.
>So instead, the momentum the door was supposed to absorb kept you flying forward.
>Face first into the floor.
>Ow.
>You eat shit, comically sliding a ways forward across the ground just to add insult to injury. 
>By the time you finally come to a stop, you’ve made it decently far into the room.
>You elect to lay there and catch your breath, the gravity of what just happened rushing to meet you like the floor did.
>Jesus, that really could have gone south in a dozen different ways.
>Next time you /should/ just go for a window or something.
>Where are you anyway?
>It isn’t a conference room, considering you didn’t feel the sting of rug burn on your face.
>Instead, it feels almost like wet tile.
>And this ambient noise you’re hearing... is that the sound of a shower running?
>”See, Fleet, I told you stallions would still be /throwing themselves/ at us. Didn’t I?”