Horsepower #9

Something strange is going on here… something just a little bit off. But who are you to question it? It’s not the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen, and you’re not the type to burst into other people’s personal business just because you’re curious. What kind of dick move would that be?

“Well, it’s nice to meet you guys,” you say. “You seem new to the whole racing scene, is there any kind of advice that I can give y-” You’re cut off by the three ponies dropping down to a crawl and scuttling over to sit underneath you and look at you in awe.

You look down at them, and give them an uneasy smile. “Well, alright. You seem eager to learn. What sort of stuff do you guys want to know.”

The three of them all raise their hooves and you feel just a little bit like this was a bad idea. “Okay,” you say, pointing at the pegasus. “Um, Mechanic Pony. Your question?”

“Yes!” She says, jumping up excitedly and hovering in the air for just a second before landing on her hooves. “Yes, my question is how does vroom car go?”

“Well,” you say, and then realize just how big a question that is. “It starts with…” You sigh and start to tug her along over to her car. “C’mon. Let me explain.”

---

“And that is literally everything that I know about how cars work,” you say some time later, shutting the car door authoritatively. “Any more questions?”

She shakes her head in such a way that you’re slightly suspicious of her actually understanding a single thing that you said. You’ve never met a pony who was so bad at her cutie mark, but you managed to get through the entire lesson in only… three hours.

Well, there goes most of your day. In the meantime, Dusk Runner was doing a similar run-through in teaching Fighting Pony how to throw down, though she seems to have had a little bit more success than you did, and is now running the unicorn mare through a couple of basic forms of punching and kicking. Driver Pony wandered off before you could get to any sort of teaching with him and driving. He belongs to the wind now.

You give Mech a quick pat on the head, which really seems to excite her, and she starts to move in for another hug (which would be her eighth so far) but you rebuff her with a claw, leaving her looking terribly hurt. It pains you for a second, but for her good and learning you must remain resolute. “I like hugs as much as the next pony,” you say. “Which is to say, a lot less than you apparently do. Maybe keep them to a bit more of a minimum.”

Mech sniffles and nods, tears clearly welling up in her eyes a little. “P-pony understands.”

You sigh heavily. How can you just leave her like this? You sit back on your haunches, and Mech looks up at you hopefully. This turns into an overjoyed smile as you spread your forelegs wide.  “One more,” you say. “But I’m ser-”

She jumps into your forelegs and the two you share a long, loving hug. Eventually, though, you do have to push her away. Gently, this time. Have to set boundaries and all.

“Alright, I’m out for now. But I’ll see you around, Mech.” You give her a casual wave, which she responds to by showing weaponizable amounts of enthusiasm, waving both of her forelegs at you.

You chuckle at her, then look over at your security pony. “Hey Dusk!” You say. “I’m heading out.” She looks over at Fighter Pony and gives him a quick salute before she hops and flutters gracefully before landing with a roll and coming up right beside you.

“Where to next?” She asks, and you think she’s actually in a fairly good mood. With her usual chilled-out demeanor, however, it can be kind of hard to tell.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to spend that long with those ponies, but I think we did good. Helped out another group of newbies, y’know? That kind of stuff comes back around. Anyway, I don’t have a load of time before Lug Nut is gonna get angry at me for not being back at the tent, though, so I was gonna see if I could get in and meet the Kings of Speed.”

She nods and follows alongside. “Alright. I should probably head back to my hotel room after that anyway.”

“Wait, did you travel just to see if you could join the team?” You ask, suddenly feeling very guilty about the candidates you had to say ‘no’ to.

She shrugs. “I had tickets to the Horsepower. I gave them away, though.”

“Didn’t I see you like thirty minutes after your interview?”

“Yeah. I just gave them to the next pony closest by. He seemed happy.”

“Oh. Good branding, I guess.”

The two of you proceed in a silence somewhere between awkward and comfortable to the tent of the Kings of Speed, and stepping inside is a fucking trip. The walls on every side are decked out with medals, trophies, plaques, EVERYTHING. From the old and dull to the shiny and new, along with pictures of the Kings themselves and some old-school racers, plus a few of newer racers, sometimes next to a grumpy looking younger griffon hen. Oh, and there’s Grimthul in person.

It takes your brain a full five seconds to process that last bit but eventually you leap backwards and step forwards as you try and figure out the best way to act. Keep it cool? Gush a little bit, maybe he likes that? Ask about the car? Mention that one race in his last year where he finished missing a wheel and still got first place?

As you stand there, wracked with indecision, the big, burly griffon smiles at you, an easy-going sort of deal. “I didn’t know that we were allowing fans in just yet,” he says, and extends a claw. “Grimthul, but I figure you know that.” Everything about him exudes this kind of casual, calm confidence. Like he just knows everything is gonna be okay.

Celestia he’s just so awesome.

“She’s not a fan,” says a mare’s voice with the lightest touch of gravel. “Grease on her feathers, the way her eyes focus on everything in the room one by one, the way she panics when faced with multiple ways to do something-”

“Now that’s just blatant driver discrimination,” Grimthul grumbles.

He’s patted on the back by a light green mare with a darker green mane tied back carefully, not a single strand loose. Numbers Mare, the spotter and gunner of the group. Your glance looks back over at her and the uncertainty of what the hell to say redoubles.

“I’m afraid you missed Tipsy,” she says, referring to Scale Tipper, their mechanic and security pony. “But let me alleviate the strain of deciding what to say from you. What is your name?”

“C-comet,” you manage to sputter out, finally managing to overcome the hero worship coma you were stuck in. “My name is Comet Streak, I’m with Comet Racing, my friend named it not me. I’m a driver, yeah, but I don’t think I overfocus, I’m just super excited to be meeting all of you.”

You surge forward and give Grimthul’s claw a good firm shaking while you grin at him like there’s no tomorrow.

“Oh, and this is Dusk,” you say, gesturing at the bat pony. She’s currently in the process of scrutinizing Numbers Mare as heavily as Numbers Mare is scrutinizing her.

“Hello,” Dusk said.

“She’s my security pony!” You say cheerily.

“Who the hell is this?” Shouts a high pitched, clearly very angry pony from behind you. Turning to see who it is, you see a griffon with black fur and white feathers. What really sticks out about her, though, is that she’s incredibly skinny. All tone, naturally, but you’re surprised anyone can take a turn with that kind of body type without passing out.

Still, you recognize her from the photos on the wall, and more vaguely from the covers of a few racing magazines. Her name is Go, and she’s the niece of Grimthul. Also the current best racer in the world by most accounts, having won almost a quarter of all previous races.

“The security pony,” Dusk answers her question drily. “Comet just said.”

She storms in and points at you, jabbing at you with a clawfinger. “You need to LEAVE.” She insists, then points at the exit to the tent. “I don’t know why you’re here or what you want! You could be a SPY.”

How do you respond to her?