There was a thin layer of frost collecting on the windows that lined the halls of the Wonderbolt’s HQ. Soarin swiped at the frost in an attempt to reveal what it had hid away. The sun just began peaking it’s head over the canopy of the Everfree Forest, it’s rays tinted by a light blue haze that oddly rested on the forest. He blew into the bend of his foreleg to warm the tip of his nose and then shield it with the ragged scarf that Spitfire gifted him not too long ago. It was awfully cold for the beginning of winter, one would expect the mercury within thermometers to descend gradually as the days dragged on, but to have it drop to a chilling 30 degrees in one night was beyond acceptable. He picked his wings up from his side, heavy and with a stride, thrust himself forward as the air stung his cheeks and watered his eyes. He had no one to blame but Spitfire for making the unexpecting shift in schedule.
This was the fourth meeting Spitfire called this week, his hopes leaned on a successful gathering rather than another harsh discussion on the basics of aviation; well, not exactly, but it sure felt like it. He saw no one else the flight down to his place of work, so he already assumed his tardiness. It didn’t matter because he knew Spitfire would forgive him regardless the time or place. The door leading into the meeting room was left cracked open, others from his unit were seated and shivering a storm. They had coffee and warmed beverages left scattered over the large oval desk that stretched to each end of the room, Spitfire at the head addressing the room. Rolling chairs were scavenged from other offices to create extra seating for the newly recruited who sat in the back and who only carried notebooks that they all wrote with rattling teeth. Spitfire with her signature sunglasses and casual work attire, read what she had on her clipboard. She had her voiced raised to a near threatening level, a pitch most of the recruits knew all too well, and some Soarin spotted flinching. Rookies…. he thought in a jokingly manner.
Soarin creaked the door open and slid himself in to avoid any attention; silly to presume that he would be successful. “Aw, Soarin , so glad that you can join us―take a seat.” All eyes collapsed their attention to Soarin . Spitfire had already took note of Soarin's absences when she spotted the empty but reversed seat for the blue stallion. “So would you kindly.” Spitfire said with a wholesome smile. Soarin's returned the smile promptly, to ease the tension kicked up into the air, and took his seat near Fleetfoot and a newby by the name of Enola.
Fleetfoot took a sip from her Starbucks coffee and eyed Sorin with resentment. “What did you do to get on her good side, eh?” she whispered, producing a white mist.
Soarin gave a gentle shrug followed by a nod. He knew the answer, or at least a theory, but he couldn't spare the energy. “I’m not sure.” he said plainly, in hopes that the conversation would end. Spitfire shot a glance to Fleetfoot ending her thought in a rapid instance. She obliged quickly and dropped her suspicious attitude.
“Now.” Spitfire continued, “This is a little different for you newbies, definitely surpasses the expectations I had when you joined the Wonderbolts. We got a new game plan here! And this is how we’re gonna do it. Soarin and I, will blah blah blah blah…”
Complete and utter serenity, Soarin had his head leaned to the cushion found at the head of his seat. His eyes were closed and all began to fade into nonexistence. His scarf flowed to his hind legs that were left dangling at the edge of his seat. It wasn’t the warmth that he would find in his own bed, but it was enough.
She always starts like that: ‘Soarin and I’. I am the co-captain, and sometimes, I kinda don’t want to be.
-
“And that is that everyone!”
Fleetfoot’s lower jaw was at level with the oval desk, her eyes wide and dry with dought. The congregated Wonderbolts stirred with disbelief, they eyed one another and spoke openly their opinion. “That’s impossible.” Fleetfoot said. “We shouldn't do this.” said another. Then another, “Yeah! And who’s going to fly straight through a tornado?” then another, “Can we even make a tornado?”
“Of course we can!” Spitfire bursted, silencing the whole room. “ ‘Can we make a tornado?’ what kind of question is that?! Of course we can. I don’t get what you all are worrying about, it’s the end of the year and the princesses want to see a show. The Wonderbolts have been doing the same performance for the past three decades - it’s time for change! And this is going to change how we do shows. The Frost Festival will be held in Ponyville, and I expect that you all will go home and revise this entire plan. You will all learn it, you will all love it.” Soarin's light snores progressively became louder, and soon enough his snores caught the ears of every individual. “Soarin !” Spitfire yelled.
Soarin jolted his his chair.
“Get out there and found me my flyer!”
Soarin with droll seeping from the side of his mouth, threw himself off the chair and on to the floor then saluted Spitfire in a disheveled manner. He kept a straight face even when he felt to emote a face of confusion. He left the room in a fight with the legs that protruded from the rolling chairs that scattered the floor. When Soarin reached the door, he turned and saw eyes boring down at him. His confusion finally met the muscles on his face.
“Go!” yelled Spitfire.
Soarin shut the door behind him and gave a wild eye to the ceiling. He could feel what little warmth he held escape his body and the coolness of the air burrow into his flesh, all but his neck remained partially resistant to the air. . His eyes swollen like bloodied cotton ball.
Spitfire had her eyes to the floor in squinting disappointment from the chaos Soarin's hooves created.
“Fleetfoot, could you kindly follow him and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”
-
Rarity levitated four corsets from the chest she kept stored away in the secret closet, found in the basement of the boutique. There in the basement was nothing more but, rolls of deteriorating fabric, all barreled up and thrown to the corners to rot even further. Fully designed dresses sat idling, worn by the same manikins her mother used when her inspiration and craft were at their peak. But what she kept in this chest was not forgotten. Purple, pink, green and orange corsets encircled her, beaming with her aura. They weren't special, nor valuable, but she found them to be and for no reason at all. She unraveled the laces of each one and then applied them to herself. The pink corset fell too short from the waist, and the green was much too tight for her stomach to match. In disappointment and with slight embarrassment, she threw the green corset back into her chest. The pink and orange lacked her requirements and so she did away with them. Purple… purple was once a rare color, only worn by nobles, kings and queens. She chuckled, but she had no noble awaiting her at the floor of her boutique.
Rarity levitated the purple corset from the mix, applied it to her back and then tightened the laces till her stomach chafed. It sat comfortably, but the laces that were twined shut, slugged out of their eyelets. “This color would do just nicely,” she said a silently to herself, “and it should fit, too!” With a jolly smile, Rarity sealed the chest and locked away the contents for another day. With the corset still rested on her back she made her way to the floor of her boutique.
-
Rainbow Dash, with her mane over her shoulders, began gnawing out the bobby pins placed by Rarity. They stabbed and scraped at her scalp, and the sensation drove her nuts. With a quick brush of the mane, the tiny devils fell to the floor and then with another gnaw, she spat out the rest.
“You know, Rarity!” She yelled at the curtains leading to the dressing room. “I agreed on helping you move your things to your room, I don’t think I ever agreed on becoming your personal manikin!” She shook the green fabric that rested on her flank. “Hello! Rarity!”
Rarity in a musical tone emerged from curtains, her head sprouting between the fabrics that made it, “I’m back!” Her tone vanished and the air was taken from her. Bobby pins laid scattered on her raised pedestal; Rainbow Dash’s mane left disheveled and sprawling.
“Dear! Why did you ruin my fabulous work, I spent ages fixing your mane to the quality I wanted.” Rarity levitated the pins from the floor, and took up her brush she found on the counter just across from her. Rainbow Dash reeled away as she so those objects approach her from all sides.
“Rarity,” she said with a bit of a gasp and her eyes wincing, “you wanted me to move your things! If you want a modal, ask Fluttershy, or Applejack, out of all ponies not me.”
“But… ugh, darling!” Rarity lowered her tools and her upper lip. She pouted, “Oh darling, please could you do this for me!”
Rainbow Dash chuckled, “Rarity, you don’t need me for this.”
“But you’re perfect for my project magnifique, you must, you absolutely must be apart of this. I mean, you and your body are just perfect. I can’t use Applejack, she’s awfully bulky on the sides; Fluttershy won’t even come into my boutique, and don’t get me started on Pinkie and Twilight―but you, darling, you are perfect.”
A cocky smile grew wider on Rainbow’s face, “He, really? Well of course I am.”
