While the night was a time for most ponies to relax and drift off into the many varying realms of the dreamscape, it was also a great chance for fun and games to the many pegasi that lived among the clouds in Cloudsdale. During Celestia’s hours was no time for such behavior, but the evening was different to many, and for a lot of the flyers in Equestria, the night was just getting started. Patrons and locals of the cloud city were all taking in the nightlife with beers, shots and laughter, just as they always did after the sun went down.

In a small bar down the main street, the festivities were already under way, attracting a few passers by that didn’t necessarily mean to get caught up in the shenanigans, but didn’t mind coming in from the outside for a drink and some social company anyway. Since it was a Thursday night, it was relatively quiet in terms of customers, but was booming with actual noise. The latest track from Equestria’s favourite DJ was blaring on the radio as the eight or so ponies enjoyed their drinks and music. However, there was a few special ponies occupying the bar, namely the world famous Wonderbolts.

The squad of half a dozen loved to frequent this bar on one of the more quiet nights to relax after a show or before a tour, or sometimes to just blow off some unnecessarily collected steam. Being a near celebrity can do that to anypony. Tonight, however, was a rather special occasion for the Wonderbolts, as it was initiation night for the team’s newest member, an aqua-blue maned pegasus named Misty Fly. Said mare was just about to finish her beer in a race against her associate and opponent, Rapid-fire.

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” Chanted the other members of the Wonderbolts as Misty slammed her mug on the table first, wiping off some foam in victory and chuckling smugly at how ticklish her muzzle was beginning to feel.

“Yeah! In your face, Rapid-fire!” laughed the blue-maned pony. “I’m the fucking champ!” Her arms shot up in triumph, and she fell backwards landing on the floor. The rest of her teammates huddled around her to see if she was alright, but Misty snapped back onto her feet and was met with more cheers from her comrades. They showered her with praise and pats on the back, as well with douses of beer. It was turning out to be a great night for the Wonderbolt.

It was all fun and games for her and the rest of the Wonderbolts, but for the two lead members of the team, it was all business. Spitfire and Soarin’; lead flyer and wing pony of the Wonderbolts were sitting at the bar and watching their new recruit downing a funnel of fizzy alcoholic cider.

Soarin’ took a sip of his drink, a Shirley Temple, as he relaxed at the bar, glancing every once in a while from the mirror across the way to his associates having what must be a blast. “Spitfire, can you tell me again why we’re doing this again?”

“Do what? You mean putting the new guy or girl through rigorous hazing and pranks?” she asked, giving her partner a strange look. “You know why, Soarin’. You’ve been through it, I’ve been through it, even Fleetfoot’s of all ponies made this seem like a breeze. Every Wonderbolt since the originals go through this. It’s, like... tradition.”

“I know that,” Sorren chuckled, still staring at the others. “But I still don’t see the point in causing possible kidney failure. Although I’ll give it to Misty Fly, she’s a chick that can hold her liquor. Not like the others on their first time.”

“Oh, falling in love, are we?”

Soarin gave a sarcastic puff. “Hardly,” he said, taking another swig. “She’s not my type.”

“Oh, don’t get all sentimental and crap on me, you old bastard. You’re too young for that sorta crap. You gotta learn to live life for the now and not the when, you know?”

Soarin laughed, not really giving her a direct eye, but glancing her way. “Who said that? Unlike you, I have standards in the ponies I bed; I don’t go around humping anything and everything with a pulse. If anything, you need to slow down before you die of pelvic trauma or something.”

“No such thing, Soarin’,” grinned Spitfire. “My stuff’s made of pure steel.”

“That doesn’t sound very pleasant, and I thought you were joking when you said you wanted to grind me to a pulp.”

The fiery-maned mare playfully shoved the stallion next to her. “Oh, shows what you know. I bet you miss me, don’t you?” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Actually, I haven’t gotten a booty call from you in about two weeks, did you finally meet somepony or have you just gone all squishy on me?”

Soarin’ rolled his eyes at how Spitfire always knew just what to say. She could always tease him to the point of blushing. It came with naturally knowing each other for as long as they did. She knew how he ticked and vice versa. Despite all possible rumors, Soarin wasn’t the opportunist Casanova ponies made him out to appear in all the sports magazines and interviews, public and private; it was just a charade, an act to please the tabloids, nothing more except a slight bother to the stallion. In reality, all Soarin’ wanted in life was to actually find that special somepony. Such was the life of a hidden romantic.

Of course, that didn’t mean that he didn’t like the screaming crowds of willing mares lined up at his door, one of the perks of being of such notoriety, but that was nothing more than lust, not love. That’s what he was still holding out for, not some random, kinky mare wanting to get into his pants and fast. Love was something that he hadn’t found yet despite the dozens of mares that he'd already slept with. Love was eluding him, clear in his view but untouchable like a silver spectre. One day, he would hopefully find that mare who would make his heart stop, only to be shocked back into restarting again with her mere kiss.

“Hello! Earth to Soarin’!” Spitfire shouted, shaking Soarin’ awake from his daydream. “Wake up!”

“Huh-what?” Soarin’ muttered, blinking a few times as he woke up. “Sorry… I was just thinking again.”

“I told you not to do that. Pretty boys shouldn’t think,” she cooed. “Don’t want to overwork that little brain of yours and blow a fuse. I need you to be in top shape for the Wonderbolt Weekend.”

“Right… because the binge drinking that we’re all doing is going to work wonders for tomorrow,” Soarin’ said sarcastically.

“It’s not that bad…”

“Fleetfoot is doing a keg stand.”

“Alright but still—“

“And I think Rapid-fire passed out.”

“Well, I suppose that’s bad, but—“

“And I think Misty has just consumed enough beer that would kill a small elephant.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re ponies and not elephants,” smiled Spitfire, getting up from the bar. “Although I guess you’re right, it’s probably time to pack it in.” She started walking over to her drunken teammates and grabbed Rapid-fire’s hand to check for his pulse. “Okay, he’s still breathing. Can somepony help me get him up?”

“I can…” burped Fleetfoot, getting her balance before stumbling over to her captain and the passed out stallion. “Ha… RF is asleep…”

“Fleetfoot, are you sure you’re okay?” Spitfire asked. “You’ve had a lot to drink tonight.”

“I’ll be fi- HIC!” She jumped a little as her wings fluttered. “Just a teensy bit tipsy, it’s not like I’m going to fly back home.”

“You better not,” Spitfire warned while giving the shaky pony a stern eye. “Now, come help me get him home,” As the leader picked up the drunken stallion and swung one of his arms over her shoulder, she assured her stumbling helper, “You can crash at my place afterwards if you’re too tired to even walk back home.”

“Oh, I’ll be crashing back at your place, Spits?” cooed Fleetfoot, batting her eyelids at her captain. “Hope you don’t mind, but I doubt that I’ll be too tired to do anything.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to find some way to pass the time,” grinned Spitfire as they both started dragging Rapid-fire out of the door. Just as they left, and nopony was looking, Spitfire casually felt the other barely conscious pegasus’s flanks. “I’ve got plenty of games for us to try.”

She looked back passed her sleeping lug of a friend with a blush and giggled. “Can’t wait.”

The two of them disappeared into the night to drag Rapid-fire away and, all the while both of them planning what sort of later games they’d play, leaving the rest of the Wonderbolts to fend for themselves. Most of the other members were still just sober enough to be able to walk home by themselves or in groups, but there was one mare that was in no condition to walk home by herself, or walk home at all for that matter, and she was spinning around in one of the chairs while balancing a shot glass on her muzzle.

“Misty, are you okay?” Soarin’ asked. “You seem kinda out of it.”

“Ah yeah, I’m fine,” she slurred, falling off her stool and onto the floor. “Ouch! Gravity hurts...”

“I bet it does,” muttered Soarin’ as he helped the pegasus up. “I’m taking you home. Do you remember where you live?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, her head bobbing around her neck like she was dancing, pivoting around like a acicular roller-coaster and staring at everything around her. “I live… there!” She pointed at the bar’s jukebox. “When did my house become so small… and so brightly colourful?”

“Good, you’re drunk off your ass,” sighed Soarin’ sarcastically. “You know what? I don’t live that far from here. You can sleep in my spare bedroom.”

“Oh… oh okay! Woo hoo!” Cheered the drunken mare as she raised a partly clenched fist in the air, then sent it wrapping around his neck. “I’m going to Soarin’s fucking manor!”

Soarin’ blushed a little as he scooped up the pegasus by her belt and headed out of the bar. He had only a few beers that night and though he was rather spaced apart, he could still walk straight as compared to his fumbling companion, so he felt confident that he could quickly fly home. As he walked to the streets of the late night city, he saw that the evening life was still quite alive, even though it was going on till three in the morning. He knew that it was probably a bad idea to have stayed up so late, but it was impossible to argue with Spitfire sometimes, especially when it came to things like tradition. He was going to be exhausted tomorrow, and he still had a few things to do that night, so he had little choice but to hasten his step and get back to his house for some much needed sleep.

It was a rather short flight as he had said, hardly a thirty minute journey if even that. There was something about the wind current that night that was relaxing, like when he was a kid just soaring through the air without a care in the world. He could just spread his wings and glide on an air current for hours at a time with no cares back then, no worries for the rest of his days. But, of course, that ended a long time ago. Though reminiscence was nice, it didn’t last long.

His “manor” was hardly different from any other house in Cloudsdale; when everypony can make their home out of clouds then things like size is simply a matter of choice rather than status. Soarin’ liked a bigger house because he didn’t like feeling contained, it tended to make him feel claustrophobic.

“Here we are,” he said as he landed just beyond the doors of his home. “Casa a Soarin’ in all its glory. Sorry if it’s not all you expected it to be.”

“Holy crap…” Misty said in awe, pushing through the clouds and entering into his house. “… Your place is so rad!”

Soarin’ rolled his eyes as he entered his humble abode; however, before he walked in, he noticed a large parcel waiting for him right under his mailbox. It looked like his neighbours signed off on it and left it by the door. He’d have to thank them later for that, mainly because unlike any normal package, this was a package that he was eagerly awaiting. After picking it up and following Misty inside, he inspected it a bit, just to be sure it’s the one he’d been hoping for.

His door led straight to his living room where he kept all his trophies, awards and other things he had collected over the years in his line of duty as a Wonderbolt. It had become a rather impressive collection with several honours, medals and other trinkets that came with his old military turned performer lifestyle. Sometimes, he missed the old days. In the fliers guard, there wasn’t any publicity, no spotlight, it’s not that he was camera shy, but that sense of freedom that he used to have. He could go anywhere he wanted to without fear of a pack of paparazzi following him with flash cameras and questions of the same variety every time.

At least in his house, he could enjoy what little peace he found there.

The parcel was starting to get heavy in the hand. “Misty, there’s some guest bedrooms up on the higher levels and couches more or less anywhere. Make yourself at home. I’ve got some stuff to do in the kitchen. If you need anything, just holler, but you should try and get some sleep. We’ve gotta get up in the morning to be auctioned off.” Misty didn’t even acknowledge him. She seemed hypnotized by one of his trophies on display over the cloudy fireplace. She’d be distracted by just that for a while.

He headed into his kitchen, a bit different than the rest of his house. Cloud appliances never really were able to work to his standards, but thanks to unicorn magic, he was able to get long term cloud capable forks and utensils. Functionality spells had been enchanted on most of the things in his kitchen. Last thing anypony needed was an oven falling on somepony’s head.

He placed the package down on the fluffy cloud table top and searched around for a pair of scissors, finding one and slicing away the tape on the box. Soarin’s eyes sparkled like a colt on Heartwarming morning as he lifted out one of the frozen pies out of the box. Miss Scarlet’s Applegasm Pie from the Manehatten Uptown Bakery. It seemed delicious enough, but was it the one he was looking for?

Two more pies: Apple Fritter’s Secret Recipe, from Appleloosa, and Ms. Summer Shine’s Cinnamon Apple Delight. Two more pies from two more mares, both of them being his favorite kind: apple. He got the pastries ready and set his oven. It would take about ten minutes to heat up the pies; then he could see if any of them fit the ticket. Until then… he had nothing better to do than wait.

… Or so he thought.

“Soarin’…” a lusty voice hummed. He turned to see Misty leaning on the fame the kitchen’s door. She twirled a few hanging locks of her aqua-blue mane. Her cheeks had reddened from the alcohol, and she was making her signatured swaying trot towards him. He stayed calm as she tripped into him, snuggling against his flat chest and hands slinking up his shoulders. “You know, it’s always been my dream to be a Wonderbolt… and now here I am. With you. All alone... in your manor.”

Soarin’ gulped, but kept an emotionless face. “Lucky you.”

Misty looked up at him with an evil intention, Soarin’ knew what she was thinking. He checked the time left on the oven. Nine minutes, that’s enough time to do what he needed to do. He hoisted her over his shoulder as she giggled, the impending events that were about to happen.

“Oh Soarin’,” laughed Misty. “So direct…”

“You could say that,” he said, as they ascended the staircase. Misty’s legs kept fidgeting in his grasp, making it difficult to hold her. He kicked the door open to his room, a little over dramatic considering that the doors were made of clouds like the rest of the house. Entering the room, he tossed Misty Sky onto the soft bedding of a cumulus cloud. “Comfortable?” He asked.

“You tell me…” giggled Misty, as she grabbed the ends of her shirt and started to pull it off. “You know, I’ve always had a bit of a crush on you, Soarin’... Those magazines that you posed for a few years ago…”She lustfully sighed. “It just sends me into a frenzy of temptation.”

“Well I’ve got a couple of those magazines lying around here somewhere if you feel like getting frisky with yourself.”

“I’d rather have the real thing,” she said, pulling her shirt clean off, exposing her chest, some tufts of fur in the middle of her fine-sized breasts. She reached behind her pink laced bra to unclip it and said, “C’mon, Soarin’, let’s have some fun together.”

“Sorry,” he beamed. “Seriously, no offense, but you’re blitzed out of your mind, and it’s not right or legal to have sex with you like this.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, who knew,” Soarin’ shrugged, turning around to the forming door. “Besides, I sorta, kinda have a marefriend.”

“W-what?”

He waved goodbye to the half-naked mare. “Have a good night, Misty,” was the last thing he said to the mare that night before leaving her in the room.

The Wonderbolt chuckled to himself a little. “Sorta, kinda, maybe, possibly have a marefriend.” It was almost true in a way, when he thought about it. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. Recently, it had been getting to him, the bitter loneliness that came with the fast pace of his particular lifestyle, the single nights at the bars, even his booty calls with Spitfire seemed to have lost their spark. Just as well, it was better if they stayed friends.

By the time he got to the kitchen, he heard the oven started beeping. The pies were ready a lot faster than he had expected, or maybe his little talk with Misty had been longer than he thought. Regardless, he searched for his pie cutter, plates and his flowery oven mitts (don’t judge,) and pulled the three piping hot pies from the oven. Each smelled heavenly and looked delectable. But how did each of them taste?

“Time for Bachelorette Number One, Miss Scarlet,” he grinned, taking a pie cutter to the apple-scented pastry and placing it on a small plate, the golden goo of caramel oozed from the sides. Soarin’s mouth watered with anticipation as he took the first forkful and sampled the pie. “... Mmh... N-no, too much cinnamon.” He sighed, sliding the plate away.

“Oh, well. Onto the next one... Apple Fritter’s Secret Recipe,” he said to himself. “Pride of Appleloosa, and winner of three top pastries awards and silver medalist at the Manehatten Pie challenge.” He nodded briefly, almost confident for that heavenly and familiar taste. “Good luck, Fritter.” He took a slice of that pie and swallowed a chunk, letting the tangy flavours dance in his mouth before gulping down the sweet apples. “Dough’s the wrong density… and these aren’t the same apples. Not enough... I wanna say zing to it.”

That was two. Just as he figured, third time had to be the charm.

“Ms. Shine, you’re up,” he yawned. “Please be it…” He cut himself a piece of pie and ate it rather quickly. “Nothing… fucking hell,” the pegasus grumbled. He gathered the pies and threw them into the trash. Another batch of dead ends. It’s like Celestia was mocking him. Maybe he should just give up on this wild goose chase. After all, he had been looking for almost six years for this one perfect pie he had eaten at the Grand Galloping Gala… and the cute mare who made it.

He had always kicked himself for not getting that pony’s name, and he was a fool for thinking that she’d stay at the gala for more than a few hours. She didn’t seem like the normal crowd of Canterlot stiffs and he admired that from her. She was more of a southern charm, a hardworking attitude and freckles that could cause a heart attack, if her pies didn’t stop it, first. If only he knew her name… that’s why he had been ordering pies from every known baker in Equestria, looking for that perfect pie made by the perfect mare. But, over a hundred pies later, he had come up with nothing…

“That’s not gonna put a damper on my spirits,” he said smugly; many a mare could vouch for his persistence and stamina… but every pony was still mortal, and it was almost sunrise. He didn’t even bother going back up to his room and opted to crash on the fluffy floor, a better bed by miles, actually. He would have to try and do more searching for pies after the weekend. Until then, he could only focus on having a good time along with furtive hope that some pretty mare like her would win him tomorrow rather than the usual, crazed, ponytailed fanatic like last year. He shivered at how she took him to every girly girl store, making him carry all those boxes like a pack mule. The newspapers after that were filled to the brim with embarrassing photos of him straining his back while she led onward from store to stupid, frivolous store.

Great, now he was going to have nightmares about that, again…

Meanwhile, up the stairs and around the corner, Misty sat on the bed, some imaginary bubbles popping over her head from being so, very intoxicated. She looked over at the many magazines of Soarin’, sniffled a bit and flipped through them. As she did, she found one particular page from years ago of him, and what looked like a young, orange chick he bought pie from at the gala. What caught her eye, though, was how he circled her with red ink, and left a note next to it saying, “Searching for you, wherever you are...”

She huffed with quirky eyes, closed it in a cute fit of anger, and wondered if she was the marefriend he’d mentioned earlier. Though, she was drunk, hanging on the edge of consciousness, she wasn’t a fool. Misty made a mental note to hopefully figure out just who exactly this appealing friend of his was, just to be sure she gets him to herself. If anything, she was a bit irrational, but when one is so close to their target, only for it, or in her case, Soarin’ to be snatched up just when he’s in her sights, one can get rather moody. That’s never very good for anypony.

Author's Note

AND THEN SHE MASTURBATED!

As always, A huge thanks to me great editors Issac, Art Inspired and Aburi for all their hard work on editing this to perfection. Also, sorry for the lack of clop in this chapter... yeah I did have something planned but it sort of conflicted Soarin's character so yeah... anyways, clop next chapter I Pinkie Promise!

Hope you enjoy!