Question Sted 3 - It's a Bird?

All rights reserved, except for those ceded to the Whateley Academy Author’s Group.

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares?

This is the third story about Sted "Ponygirl" Lancaster. The entire series, at least at the present time, is:

*Pegasus (v4)
*** Deleted scenes
*Welcome to Whitman
*Fragment from It's A Bird! <<<=====
*To Train a Ponygirl (up to, but not including, the scenes with Fubar)
*Aftermath
*Ponygirl's Combat Final (game to come)
*What I did on my Christmas Vacation (second edition)
*Lizards (in preparation)
*Fashion Note
*Aspidistra (Version 2)
*Wine Dark Sea

Out of continuity:

*Roommates


This may or may not be in the story that may or may not be titled "It's a Bird! It's a Plane! ... It's a Flying Cabbit?”

‟And here comes another new girl. Look at the size of those bazooms!” Peeper almost shouted into his microphone.

He moved to intercept her. ‟Hi Blondie. I’m doing interviews for WARS. Everyone wants to know how big your titties are.”

The blonde bombshell looked at him and smiled slightly. ‟I’ll tell you if you tell me one.”

‟Oh?”

‟Do you like amusement park rides?”

‟Of course!”

‟Oh, good. Let’s do one!” She grabbed his shirt front and the two of them suddenly fell into the sky, Peeper’s despairing scream falling in pitch as they hurtled higher. The microphone, on which he had a death grip, didn’t broadcast the doppler effect shift.

‟Isn’t it fun watching everything get smaller, and smaller, and smaller,” she gushed into his ear, taking care that the microphone picked up her voice. Then she shifted her gravitational mass to normal, letting them coast to a stop about a half mile up. She quickly shifted to zero gravitational mass so they hovered in midair.

‟Get me down!” Peeper screamed.

‟You don’t like this?” she asked. She released her hold on his shirt and watched him fall, his scream dropping in pitch as he picked up velocity.

She made a show of slowly counting on her fingers. One. Two. Three. Four. Then she mimed moving a real old style elevator control and dropped like a rock that had been away from Mama Earth for far too long, her skirt blowing up but her hair staying in place, mysteriously not showing any effects of the howling wind.

She waved to Peeper as she passed him on the way down. ‟Isn’t this fun!” Then she bobbed back up and matched velocity. When she grabbed his shirt, they both started to decelerate.

‟See the houses get bigger as the ground rushes up,” she screamed into his ear so she could be heard over the howling wind.

She shifted her gravitational and inertial mass to zero. They came to a sudden stop about ten feet up and began to drift with the slight breeze. Sted let them drift gently to the ground. When she let go of Peeper’s shirt, he crumpled and threw up his lunch, finally letting go of the microphone.

She picked up the microphone and looked around, spotting Greasy.

‟Greasy,” she called. ‟You’d better get him back to Twain so he can clean up.” She looked pointedly at the spreading stain on Peeper’s trousers. Then she snapped her fingers. ‟Oh. I forgot.” She dropped the blonde exemplar illusion.

‟B cup.”

The ponygirl watched as Greasy helped a whimpering Peeper stagger away.

‟Do you realize you could have killed him?” a voice said from behind her.

She turned and looked. It was Stormwolf. ‟By scaring him to death? I wish!”

‟By not catching him in time.”

‟Oh, come on. He was falling at one g; I can do two even without, um, other assists.”

‟That stop did not look like two g to me!” the confused peacekeeper asked.

‟Oh, I don’t fly the same way the rest of the fliers around here do. I always obey the laws.” She giggled.

‟The laws?”

‟Newton’s Laws. You just have to know how to use them.”

‟Looked more like abusing them to me.” Stormwolf walked off, shaking his head.

Sted laughed musically and then spoke into the microphone. ‟That was Stormwolf, one of our campus Peacekeepers. This ends the regularly unscheduled lunch time broadcast of the Whateley Alternative Radio Station,” she said. ‟We now return you to blessed silence for the rest of your lunch.” She looked at the microphone, found the control and turned it off. Now where was the nearest dumpster.

About fifteen minutes later, Peeper had cleaned up and changed clothes.

‟Now,” he announced, ‟what do the pics look like?”

Greasy dumped the file from his special camera into his laptop and looked. ‟Uh.”

‟Uh?” Peeper looked over his shoulder and then screamed in rage.

The laptop’s screen showed a perfect picture of something that looked vaguely like an octopus’s nightmare about its mother-in-law, holding a placard in four of its tentacles. The placard mercifully covered most of the creature. On it, diagonally printed in bold stencil lettering, was the word ‟censored”. Underneath were two lines. The first line, in Bureaucratic Gothic, said: ‟by order”. The second, in an ornate script, said: ‟The Galactic Overlord’.

‟Don’t tell me that was Sara,” Peeper muttered.

‟OK. I won’t.” Greasy answered. He paused. ‟Anyway, it wasn’t.”

‟Then?”

‟It was Sted. I think. At least it looked like her after she dropped the illusion.” He picked up his camera and looked at it. ‟How in Finagle’s name did she do that?” he muttered.