Tools of the Trade

by RDT

Cruel Comedy

“Look who’s here,” Flim said to his right.

Flam nodded, and waved a hoof at the approaching pony.

Dewdrop trotted up to the market stall.

“Sorry for knocking down your stand,” he said.

“Oh, no worries,” said the mustachioed pony who’d helped him up. “As we said, you were just helping us take down!”

“Although we are offended that you walked out on us when we were trying to show you state-of-the-art innovations!” the clean-shaven one said. “Though not so offended that we won’t introduce our names!”

“He’s Flim,” said the mustachioed pony.

“He’s Flam,” said the clean-shaven one.

“We’re the Flim Flam brothers!” they said in unison.

“What’s yours?” said the mustachioed pony Dewdrop now identified as Flam. He extended a hoof.

It took a while before Dewdrop realized it was his turn to speak.

“Ummm, Dewdrop.”

“Perfect!” Flim exclaimed. “And now, we would be glad to show you some of our Bitparter projects! They’ll be sure to help with whatever predicament you have!”

Dewdrop was skeptical of the salesponies’ claims, but felt that he owed them at least a look for knocking over their stand. Dewdrop followed Flim over to a shelf with an assortment of objects, the paintbrush once again catching his eye.

“Bitparter allows us to create hundreds of products,” Flim explained. “When ponies see an idea that interests them, they can give us bits to see it come to fruition! We make the product, and the ponies who backed us get rewards.”

“But that’s not what you’re here for,” Flam said. “You won’t need to back a project, because it’s already been created!”

Dewdrop was only interested in something that could help him with his current predicament. He eyed the paintbrush.

“You’ve noticed it already, I see!” Flim said. The paintbrush was lifted by a green aura, and spun a few times in the air. “This is a brush designed for painting by hoof, backed by the famous artist Caballodor Dali!”

“It’s been improved with indents to help with grip, and has the most versatile brush tip on the market,” Flim continued. “Dali himself uses these brushes!”

Dewdrop noticed that the paintbrush looked almost identical to a Ponyton Series 5000 hog bristle brush, although the handle did look a little different.

“And not only that,” Flam said, “we also have a new tool that is completely unseen in the art world! The ‘mahl stick’, as we call it, is an accessory designed by Dali.” A body-length stick with a knob of fabric at one end floated beside the paintbrush.

“It works by stabilizing your hooves,” Flim said. “Hook up the knobby end against the easel, and grab the other end with your back hooves. Rest your forehooves against the stick, and you’ve got a perfect stabilizing tool!”

A photo of Caballodor Dali appeared in a flash of green. The artist sat in front of an easel, his two forehooves clamping a paintbrush. A “mahl stick” hung from the top of the wooden frame, and his back hooves held the other end. This allowed the pony to brace his forehooves against the stick.

“This set of tools will allow you to be just like Caballodor Dali!” Flam exclaimed. “Just provide your own paint and canvas, and you’re set!”

Dewdrop doubted that claim; salesponies were known to exaggerate. Still, he was willing to give it a shot if there was just the slightest chance that he could still paint.

“How much does it cost?” Dewdrop asked.

“One thousand bits?” Flim suggested, an evil grin on his face.

Dewdrop facehoofed. "There's no way that's a serious price. Ten bits."

It was Flam's turn to be indignant. "Ten bits‽ A brush of this quality costs at least forty, and that’s without the Flim Flam stamp of approval. One hundred bits."

The Ponyton brush actually only cost twenty-five bits. But Dewdrop was willing to pay extra for the custom modifications, and for the mahl stick.

"Fifty bits," Dewdrop said.

"Ninety bits," Flim replied.

"Fifty-one bits. Final offer." Dewdrop grinned.

Flim managed to look offended. "Final offer? Why, that is just disrespectful of you. And dishonest, too. Bargaining offers are never final."

Dewdrop just shrugged. "I only brought this many bits, and I don't fancy walking back home to get more. Plus, I know you're making a profit off this sale, and I doubt there are many other artists in this town. So, do we have a deal?"

In fact, Dewdrop had half a mind to not make the purchase. But he did owe them for knocking over their stand, and besides, the product might be useful.

The brothers looked at each other. A million words seemed to pass between their gazes. Eventually, Flim was chosen to bear the shame of making what could be considered, in the most liberal interpretations of the phrase, a fair trade.

"It's a deal, then."

Dewdrop pulled out a sizable pile of bits and hoofed it over. He grabbed the paintbrush and the mahl stick. “Goodbye.”

---

Dewdrop was back in front of his easel, perched on a stool.

The room was clean now, the dismembered canvas from last night reunited in the wastebasket. Any stray pencils thrown about were put back in their place. It was time for a fresh start.

Dewdrop placed the mahl stick as was shown in the picture with Salvador Dali. It felt a little uncomfortable, though that was to be expected for a pony trying out a new technique.

Next, he grasped the paintbrush in his hooves. (The paintbrush was almost certainly a Ponyton Series 5000, just with small indents carved into the sides.) Dipped the brush in ink. Braced his hooves against the stick.

And tried to draw a straight line.

All he got was a squiggle.

It was better than when he tripped over. But not by much.

Dewdrop knew this was a possibility. Mastering a technique on the first try? Preposterous. Yet somehow, Dewdrop had been hoping for a miracle. He should have known better.

This squiggle of a straight line finally blocked out his last chance of completing his commission on time.

He slumped in his chair. The mahl stick and the paintbrush dropped to the ground. He hated disappointing the Wonderbolts. (But he was already a disappointment, wasn’t he?) He couldn’t even make a painting for them! Well, he could, but he wasn’t able to keep it. (His responsibility, falling through the clouds before he did.)

He looked around his room, at the hanging frames on his wall. His eyes caught onto a newspaper clipping. Most of the frames were reserved for his own paintings, or cherished photographs. This newspaper article, however, Dewdrop kept around as a reminder of an important event. That was the last time he saw Spitfire, and the day when he let go of his dreams. In his despair, Dewdrop allowed himself to be lost in memory.

---

“Why is practice delayed?” Dewdrop asked. His was just one voice among a clamour of disgruntled cadets. This was supposed to be their last training session at the Academy, and they couldn’t help but feel they had been cheated out of a final opportunity.
“Silence!” Fast Clip said. As one of Spitfire’s assistants, he—along with Whiplash—handled the grunt work of Academy training.
Though he wasn’t Captain Spitfire, all of the cadets immediately stood to attention.
“Wonderbolts emergency,” Fast Clip continued. “There’s a thunderstorm brewing out of the Everfree, and somepony managed to get their airship caught. The Wonderbolts are gonna work with Cloudsdale’s weather management to get them free.”
Dewdrop raised his hoof.

“Permission to speak, sir?” he asked.

Fast Clip glared back at him. “Granted. What do you have to say, cadet?”

Dewdrop hesitated only briefly.

“Sir, I’m really experienced with lightning protection. I think I could be of assistance to the operation. Sir.” Dewdrop certainly wasn’t as confident as he sounded.

Fast Clip was about to speak, but Whiplash lay a grey hoof on his back. Fast Clip looked over.

“I’ve seen that kid work,” Whiplash said quietly. “Broke the Academy record for how much lightning he could handle. Eight megavolts. I think he could be useful.”

Fast Clip thought for a moment. “Fine. Come with us to the Wonderbolts’ locker room.” Fast Clip and Whiplash flanked Dewdrop on either side, and escorted him away.

“The rest of you, dismissed!” Whiplash called out over his shoulder.

Dewdrop gulped, and wondered what he was getting himself into.

“Dewdrop, huh? You want to help?”

Dewdrop nodded nervously.

“What does that mean? Do you have a mouth or not? Speak, cadet!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Dewdrop said.

Spitfire nodded. “Get into that protective flight suit, fast. Whiplash'll help you. We’re leaving in a minute.”

Dewdrop stepped over the flight suit, and felt a muzzle unceremoniously dragging fabric over his haunches. Dewdrop blushed at being dressed like a foal.

But Whiplash was incredibly efficient, and soon Dewdrop was ready to go.

“Fly in Vic formation,” Spitfire called out. “You, cadet, are at the back.”

Dewdrop was flying! With the Wonderbolts! He held back a delightful squee. He flew at the back end of the V-shaped formation, and felt the upwash carrying him forward. While he had practiced this formation with the other cadets at the Academy, the Wonderbolts’ formation was much more effective. Dewdrop could feel the stability and support they provided. He was a little surprised to see Whiplash and Fast Clip coming with them, but they were obviously elite fliers.

He felt a little guilty watching the other Wonderbolts take turns flying at the tip of the formation, distributing fatigue, while Dewdrop was hitching a free ride at the back. But that feeling was quickly pushed aside by the overwhelming exhaustion in his wings. It’s going to take a lot more work to be a Wonderbolt, he thought to himself. Though he could see the rest of the Wonderbolts puffing a little, which just made him feel guilty again.

The Wonderbolts arrived much sooner than the weather team dispatch from Cloudsdale. Even so, it was a long flight. Spitfire was consulting with the local weather manager.

“Everfree storms are nasty,” the local weatherpony said. He was a grizzled stallion, with prominent crow’s feet around his eyes. “I think we should wait for the weather team from Cloudsdale to arrive. It’s going to take a lot of ponies to clear this.”

“We can take it,” Spitfire argued.

The weatherpony shook his head. “You don’t manage Ponyville’s weather. I’ve been doing this for hundreds of moons now, and I know the Everfree. It’s not safe in there.”

“Doesn’t the airship have lightning rods?” Dewdrop asked. “Why are we even here?”

Spitfire looked over. “Good question, newbie, though maybe you should have thought of it before we left. The airship has capacitors, but they can only take so much.” She turned to the local weatherpony. “Ya think the airship can survive till the Cloudsdale weather team gets here?”

“If they’re lucky, I think so. But we can’t go in there yet. These Everfree storms strike at up to eight megavolts, and the suits can only handle two. Going in is suicide.”

Spitfire let out a frustrated growl. “Ugg. I can’t believe it. Ain’t many pegasi learnin’ lightning protection. Except for you, cadet,” she said, turning towards Dewdrop. “You can handle eight megavolts, and that’s without help from the suit.”

Dewdrop nodded. “I also have a plan to get them out.” It was far-fetched, and required Dewdrop’s special talents.

“Well, what is it? ‘Cause ya ain’t gonna bust up this thunderstorm by yourself,” Spitfire said.

“Umm, Ms. Weatherpony, do you have rainbow solution?” Dewdrop asked. “I can use it to paint the clouds. That should lead them out of the storm.”

“Name’s Future Forecast. And yes, I’ll get them.” He flapped his wings and was gone.

“You sure your navigation’s up for it?” Spitfire asked. “Don’t wantcha getting lost in there along with the airship.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dewdrop replied. Cloud navigation was a basic skill, and all pegasi learned to monitor vast amounts of background information to stay safe in the air. Supposedly, pegasi also had an instinctive homing ability to help with their navigation.

“Never knew you could paint clouds with rainbow solution. I’ve never tried it before,” Spitfire said.

Dewdrop had only learned the technique a few months back. He had been sure it was a fluke—only great artists like Pablo Pegasso were able to do it, and he sure wasn’t going to categorize himself as a “great artist.” Even upon repetition of his efforts, Dewdrop still wasn’t sure it was consistent.

“I, um, don’t know. It’s supposed to be really difficult,” Dewdrop said.

Dewdrop pawed the cloud nervously. Little chunks of it dissolved into mist, leaving a new indent on the uneven surface.

An awkward silence passed, disrupted only by the rumbling thunder.

“Are you willing to risk this, cadet?” Spitfire asked. “It’s going to be extremely dangerous. I won’t hold it against you if you back out. We can wait for the weatherponies to get here.”

Dewdrop wasn’t so sure. Going into a storm with nothing but a flight suit, some paint, and a half-baked plan? Lives were at stake here. Dozens of ponies could be injured—or worse—if the airship capacitor failed. Dewdrop wasn’t a hero.

But he volunteered to come here, didn’t he? Dewdrop didn’t want to disappoint the Wonderbolts. He was the only one who could handle the lightning. What kind of coward would he be if he backed out now?

“Yes, ma’am,” Dewdrop said, hoping he sounded a lot more confident than he felt.

“Then go when you’re ready.”

The weatherpony chose that moment to come back with the rainbow solution in a large steel bucket. “I hope this is enough. It’s all one pony can carry anyways.”

Dewdrop gripped the bucket in his muzzle. The shape of the handle allowed him to hold it comfortably.

“I’m leaving now,” he said, speech slightly muffled.

Spitfire nodded, then turned around.

“Be ready to get the ponies off the airship if it fails,” she told the rest of the pegasi.

Lightning flashed all around him, now that he was in the storm. He had to keep his lightning protection active at all time—he didn’t know when he would be struck.

A bright light suddenly blinded him, combined with a single bone-shaking vibration.

He felt the electricity flow into his body, then out, without leaving a mark. The lightning protection technique worked.

Dewdrop shivered, and not from the cold. He’d just been struck by lightning! It technically wasn’t anything new; he had experienced this a few times with the lightning generator. This, however, felt real.

The storm continued to swirl around him. The buffeting winds tested Dewdrop’s balance to the utmost, as he tried to keep the contents of the bucket from spilling. The pelting rain sent tiny shocks across Dewdrop’s face. Even with the protection of his flight goggles, he could barely see a dozen wingbeats ahead.

And a second lightning bolt struck him, briefly blinding him.

Dewdrop pushed through. He wandered the storm, searching for the airship while subconsciously mapping his return route.

Lightning struck Dewdrop many more times, though each one was the same as before. The storm seemed to want to kill him, given the frequency of the lightning strikes. Dewdrop attributed this to the malevolent magic of the Everfree, until he realized that the metal bucket attracted the lightning. The effort of keeping lightning protection active left Dewdrop feeling fatigued, more so than the buffeting winds.

Within a half-hour, he saw a flash of blue within the storm.

The airship bore a navy blue envelope, which hid the gondola from Dewdrop’s view. He flew down to get a better look. The crew were milling about, tying ropes, sending status reports. A tall unicorn with a captain’s cap waved her hoof about, but her voice was lost to the wind. The air legs of the crew managed to keep them up in the turbulent winds.

Though all of the crew wore flight goggles, they were all earth ponies and unicorns—not a single pegasus.

Dewdrop alighted on the deck of the airship. A small beat of triumph crept into his heart at having found his target. He relaxed now that he was under the protection of the airship’s lightning rods.

“Capacitor at 80% storage, ma’am!” a crewmember shouted to the young captain.

“Well, see if you can find a way to discharge it!” she barked. The pony scurried away. Dewdrop wondered if a captain was supposed to lose her composure.

She finally spotted him. “Hey, you! You’re a pegasus! Can you discharge this Tartarus-born capacitor?”

Dewdrop was shocked at being addressed like this.

“What, Moon got your tongue? I won’t have ponies disobeying me. I am captain of this ship!” The lithe unicorn had stepped closer, and Dewdrop thought he could feel her spittle through the raging downpour.

Dewdrop tried to step backwards, and stumbled as the ship lurched. Another swing had Dewdrop fall to the deck, and he lost his grip on the bucket, which landed upright.

Dewdrop let out a sigh of relief as he scrambled after the bucket.

“By Celestia’s feather dusters, there’s not a single competent pony on this ship!” The captain’s face twisted in contempt. “And what’s the ‘rescue team’? A pegasus that can’t even keep his footing! So, are you just gonna stumble around the deck, or are you going to discharge the capacitor for me?”

Having regained his footing, composure, and bucket, Dewdrop found some words to reply. “Ma’am, I have no idea. It takes expert technicians to discharge it.”

“Well then, Cadence knows what we’re supposed to do! We’re dead!” the unicorn wailed.

“It’s fine!” Dewdrop shouted over the crashing thunder in a futile attempt to retain control. “I can get you out! Just follow the glowing clouds!”

“Glowing clouds?” asked another voice. Dewdrop turned to face one of the crew. No doubt the earth pony stallion had been drawn by the captain’s shouting.

“Yes,” Dewdrop said. “I’ll mark the clouds, and you follow. I know the way out!”

“Sure thing!” the earth pony replied. “I’ll tell the pilot, by Discord’s talons I will!”

Dewdrop risked a glance back at the young captain, who was now huddled in a pathetic pile of misery.

Dewdrop flew back into the storm, bucket clenched in his muzzle, with the airship once again a tiny patch of blue in the clouds. He hoped that the pilot got the message.

It was time to start the process of leading the airship out. He landed on a cloud, and using his hoof, tipped some of the rainbow solution in.

The cloud shimmered briefly. But clouds were not a natural container for rainbow solution, so it flowed through the bottom of the cloud.

By Discord’s talons! he thought, borrowing a phrase from the crewmember. He had forgotten to contain the solution within the cloud.

This time, he thought he was ready.

A sudden flash of lightning struck, and Dewdrop jumped. Once again, the solution was wasted.

Dewdrop glanced down at his chest, and the heavy glow of the protective suit indicated how close he was to being injured. He had completely forgotten to activate his lightning protection.

If the lightning was a little stronger, he thought. And shivered. The contents of his stomach were as turbulent as the surrounding storms. The metal bucket felt warm in his jaws.

Being mindful, he activated lightning protection. And then poured the rainbow solution into the cloud.

He’d forgotten to contain the solution. Again.

“No!” Dewdrop screamed in frustration. “Damnit, damnit, damnit!”

He tried again. This time, he pressed his hoof against the cloud, convincing the solution to stay within.

It finally worked. The cloud contained the solution. He needed just one more step.

He tapped the cloud again. He sent a feeling of urgency, causing the cloud to glow a bright yellow. It was not difficult, considering the emotion he felt.

Dewdrop waited for what seemed like an eternity, until he saw the ship approach. The pilot had gotten the message, and was following his markers.

He flew away to the next cloud, his pegasus instinct guiding him.

But soon he was beginning to fatigue. He couldn’t keep up the lightning protection as flawlessly, and he was losing focus. The suit glowed to protect Dewdrop.

He was tired, and he wanted to rest. But he couldn’t.

The winds buffeted him, and he spilled drops of the precious solution.

Two consecutive lightning strikes. He felt a shock on the second. It had gotten through Dewdrop’s lightning protection, and then the suit.

No no no, he thought. I can’t let this happen. I don’t want to die!

The zap woke Dewdrop up. He flew with renewed purpose, not allowing the lightning to touch him. Cloud after cloud was marked, and Dewdrop slowly neared the edge of the storm.

But already his focus was slipping, and Dewdrop was once again relying on the suit to protect him. He was losing track of himself, going through the motions by rote.

Dewdrop was scared. He shouldn’t have gone inside the storm. He should have waited for the weather pegasi. The metal bucket was suddenly an extremely heavy weight to bear.

Dewdrop didn’t know why he marked the next cloud, staying longer in the storm. He should have fled.

A powerful strike, and his wings seized up for a moment. He felt himself falling through the air.

So this is how it ends, he thought. The world was done with him. It was almost calming, to finally not have to worry. He closed his eyes. It was like resting after a long day, the moment after collapsing in bed but before unconsciousness took over. The moment of giving up all hopes and desires, allowing them to flow away.

But the moment passed. The pain in his wings suddenly came to acute clarity, and Dewdrop regained control. He struggled to pull out of the uncontrolled dive. With a few flaps, he was once again at a stable altitude. He thought he could smell burned flesh.

He marked another cloud. He didn’t know why. It was as if he watched his body as a passive observer. Any pain he felt belonged to somepony else. He watched as he tipped the rainbow solution into the cloud. He watched as he tapped the cloud, containing the solution. Somepony else felt the urgency as the cloud turned yellow. Somepony else raised his head and prepared to take flight.

Somepony else’s life to throw away.

Then, through the edge of the storm, Dewdrop saw the sky.

The sky was blue during Wonderbolts training, he thought. The sky was blue when I gained my cutie mark, painting under the sun. The sky…

Dewdrop remembered all the good times he had. The joy at having finally gained his cutie mark. The amazement of watching his first Wonderbolts show. The tranquil peace of making a work of art.

There was too much to live for. Life was too precious to throw away on some heroic adventure. The hopes of days to come—Dewdrop would never give them up.

Dewdrop stared, enraptured by that patch of blue sky. It brought Dewdrop out from the depths of Tartarus, and back to life.

He flew towards the bastion of light. The airship was forgotten. He tossed away the metal bucket, that scythe of the reaper.

By some cruel comedy of the world, it didn't matter that Dewdrop didn’t have the bucket. Perhaps the Everfree wanted to claim at least one life that day.

One last strike, when Dewdrop was focused on life and hope.

One last strike, at the edge of the storm.

One last strike, overcharging the suit when the lightning protection was down.

It was a good thing Spitfire was paying attention.

Dewdrop woke up to muttering voices, but kept his eyes closed.

“… we couldn't help,” Spitfire said to Whiplash. “I hate it when I’m not in control.”

“I know,” he replied. “And sending in one of our cadets didn’t sit right with me, even if he was the best choice.”

“But what was I supposed to do!” Spitfire shot back. “Leave the ponies in that airship to die, or pray that the weatherponies would arrive in time? Celestia damn it, knew I should have learned lightning protection.”

“Not all ponies can get it,” Whiplash said. “You’ve tried. Dewdrop’s a special one. And it’s not even his talent.”

“Well, he could have done better!” Spitfire said. “If I knew he was gonna get himself killed, there’s no way I’d have let him go. He’d better not die on us!”

An unfamiliar voice spoke up. “Well, he’s not. The immediate injuries weren’t that serious; some burns on the wings. He might end up with long term injuries though—some decrease in wing or limb function, maybe some balance issues.”

“If he loses his chance at being a Wonderbolt because of this…” Spitfire hissed.

“No,” Dewdrop said. “I was never going to be a Wonderbolt. Could never get contrails to work right.”

A protracted silence prompted Dewdrop to open his eyes. “Did I… do something?”

Spitfire quickly shook her head. “Nah, Dewdrop. We were surprised, that’s all.”

Spitfire swallowed, before continuing. “I… don’t often find myself being forced to apologize. I never should’ve let you into that storm, Dewdrop.”

Dewdrop shook his head. “No, no, you were right to send me. The airship couldn’t have made it without help; the capacitor was almost overcharged. But I almost failed—who rescued me, by the way?”

Whiplash pointed a hoof at Spitfire. “She saw a bucket fall through the clouds, and sprinted. She still almost missed you.”

Spitfire sighed. “But you were the one who saved everypony on that airship, Dewdrop. Nopony was hurt, although the captain might be getting some therapy.”

Spitfire paused. “Well, nopony got hurt except for you. At least you’re not in a full body wing-and-hoof cast, drinking through a straw!”

The joke fell flat on unreceptive ears.

Spitfire decided to break the awkward silence. Dewdrop watched with shock as Spitfire ripped her Wonderbolts pin from her flight suit and held it out.

“Here, Dewdrop; a token of thanks.”

Dewdrop reached out with a hoof, before he suddenly drew it back and waved her off.

“No! No,” Dewdrop said forcefully. “I don’t deserve it. I feared for my life and threw the bucket away. I abandoned the airship. That’s why the bucket fell before I did. And I’ll never be a Wonderbolt; it wouldn’t feel right having that pin.”

Spitfire seemed taken aback. “Well, if you ever learn how to make a contrail, we’d be happy to welcome you into the Wonderbolts reserves,” Spitfire said lamely. “Just pass the practical and written exams, and you’ll be in.”

Spitfire walked out with her head hung low, and the other ponies followed her out. Dewdrop cried into his pillow, and didn’t even know why.

---

Dewdrop had never taken Spitfire up on her offer to join the Wonderbolts reserves. He’d tried to learn contrail creation after the Academy bootcamp, but failed every attempt. He was never going to pass the practical examination, so why try?

Dewdrop thought back to his current situation, with his lost painting.

I need to tell them that I can't finish my commission. (It’s the only thing I can do.) With this mahl stick, I think I can write a letter.

He switched out the paintbrush for a quill, got the mahl stick out again, and wrote the letter. He couldn't stomach more than a couple words.

He addressed the letter to the Wonderbolts headquarters, and mostly hoped that one of her secretaries, instead of the intended recipient, would read it. He didn't want to let her down again.

Dear Spitfire,

I am injured and cannot finish the commission.

Dewdrop

---

Dewdrop received a letter back the next day.

Dear Dewdrop,

I’m sad to hear that you got injured again, kiddo. I still feel guilty about sending into that storm. Celestia must have been watching over you. In my eyes, you saved lives that day. I’ve missed you. It’s been so long since we’ve been in contact.

It must suck, being such a good artist but being unable to draw. Hell, you can’t even write. I tried to read your letter. Then, I gave it to Rainbow Dash, and even she couldn’t read it. She had to pass it on to Starlight Glimmer. Took a while before I actually got your message.

After getting your letter, I sent out some ponies for information. That supervisor is looking at years of community service, as well as a psychiatrist. I'll make sure the Stratusberg weather factory pays you while you recover.

If you're worried about the commission, don't be. I've removed a picture from the gallery. In fact, I’ll make a personal commission. After you've healed up, I want you to draw yourself, as you were while you were at the Academy. Just because you aren't a full Wonderbolt doesn't mean you can't be proud of who you were, or are. I'll probably hang that painting somewhere in the mess halls.

I knew how much you wanted to be a Wonderbolt, but I guess your talents weren’t in that direction. I don’t care that you never figured out how to make a contrail. You've become a great artist since the last time I saw you, and I'm proud of you.

I’ve enclosed some things in the letter as a gift. First one is a VIP ticket to our next show in Stratusberg. I wish to meet you there.

About the other gift: it doesn’t matter if you can’t produce a contrail, or finish a commission, or be a Wonderbolt. Over the years, I’ve learned a lesson or two about being loyal. I should have been honoured to know a pony like you, who risked themselves to save dozens of lives. Instead, I abandoned you. I couldn’t face you with the shame of getting you injured. But that's not what a good pony would do.

This is only a token, and it can’t make up for the missed years where I did nothing. But don’t send it back.

You really are something, you know. Never forget that.

Spitfire

Enclosed within the envelope was a ticket, and a Wonderbolts pin. Dewdrop took the pin out and pressed it against his chest, grinning like a fool.