Apologies
A monstrous deluge was sweeping through Ponyville, wind whipping up broken tree limbs, debris tumbling along, houses and businesses creaking from the incredible force. The pegasi may have gone a bit overboard on this one. Twilight's tree abode fared no better than the rest: leaves were mercilessly ripped from the library, leaving a barren skeleton, and the bark was flayed from the trunk. However, this was not the only tempest raging that day. Inside, the ever-studious pony was, as per usual on days she's forced inside (and not forced outside by friends), researching and studying magic. Today's topic was quite the conundrum: starting a fire with only magic.
“I just don't understand why my magic isn't working! This is driving me crazy! That branch should have been charred to smithereens from all I'm coursing in to it,” Twilight exasperatedly tells her assistant Spike.
Despite his age, the baby dragon is a wealth of wisdom; he probably picked it up from living with Celestia's protege for all of his short existence. “Why don't you take a break? You've been at this for hours, and I hate to say it, but you haven't made any progress. If anything, I think every time you try, you have less and less of an impact. If you'd like, I can whip us up some lunch real quick, maybe that'll help. How's a dandelion sandwich sound, hmm Twilight?” Spike says in an attempt to calm the mare, worry thick in his voice.
“No, Spike, I can't stop now. How would you know that I'm not making any progress? It's not like you're doing any of the work here,” she snaps at the dragon. “Enough with your bothering. Why don't YOU go take a nap? Maybe that'll get some sense into you.”
Sighing in defeat, cursing his inability to clear her mind, Spike dejectedly walks off, but not before doing what he offered to do. After making the sandwich, he sneaks back in to the lab, creeps down the stairs, and gingerly places it on a table, ensuring no sound was made. In an attempt to get Twilight to notice his good deed, he slams the door. BAM!
Whipping around, Twilight looks up at the closed door and hears claws scampering away; she almost pursues him out of rage until she sees what the dragon came back for. Pangs of guilt sweep over her – and loud stomach warbles – as she walks over to the lovingly-made meal, and after finishing it, is sobered from her intoxication of anger. She looks over herself, listing the things wrong with her: a disheveled coat, a crooked tail, a putrid odor of sweat, an unkempt mane.
Rarity would have a field day with me, she chuckles to herself.
Sighing, she sets aside her pride and goes to apologize. Slowly, she pushes herself upstairs and towards her assistant's door, deliberately making loud clops on the floor to announce her plea for forgiveness. She knocks on the bedroom door.
“Spike? Are you in there?” Twilight asks, knowing full well he is.
“Yeah . . .”
“Look, I'm really sorry about what I just said to you. I'd like to say I'm just frustrated, but I can't make excuses: what I said was wrong, and you have every right to be upset with me, and I really hope you can forgive me, but it'd be okay if you didn't because I shouldn't have ever done that to you,” Twilight solemnly stutters out, on the verge of tears. She knows what she did was completely out of character; she's almost as sad that she snapped and broke down.
Slightly muffled by the still-closed door, “It's okay Twilight, I might've done the same if I were in your position. Did you see my little present?”
“Yes, Spike, and I truly appreciate it. I was so wrapped up in work that I forgot how hungry I was,” Twilight says with a smile. “So will you accept my apology?”
Spike swings the door open with an audible whoosh. “Of course I do. And besides, if I didn't, we'd be all passive aggressive towards each other until one of us really did get hurt. Wanna keep trying to burn that stupid twig?”
“Definitely. I was just thinking, instead of myself just pumping energy into it and trying to excite the particles into an elevated energy state, I could create a sphere of intense pressure with minimal volume to produce extreme heat. I wouldn't be igniting the branch myself, per se, but I'd still be using my own magic to do so. I'll just have to make a few adjustments to my hypothesis and . . .”
They return to working, with mirth this time. The maelstrom was still churning outside, but the seas inside were calm. Twilight's new procedure had the desired effects; the flame produced was hotter and brighter than expected – the branch was charred to smithereens.