A Meeting at the Dinner Party

by Manaphy

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Romance
Length: 4098

Spitfire goes to a formal party due to an invitation, but there's just one problem. She's afraid of what will happen if Soarin is there and sees her. What will happen at this party?

Spitfire is the esteemed Captain of the Wonderbolts, but what many don't know is that she has an inferiority complex. When she gets an unexpected message from the princesses about a formal party, she decides to go out of obligation. However, there's just one tiny problem. She's frightened of what will happen if Soarin is there, sees her, and reveals what happened at Rainbow Falls not too long ago. What will happen at this party?

Thanks to Frostfur, Elusive Element, and Yliad Yzzuf for proofreading or giving me advice on how to improve this work and my writing in general.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-08-02 01:50:02 UTC

An Unexpected Day

"I hope nothing bad happens to me today."

Without fail, Spitfire would mutter this to herself every day when she woke up. The outgoing pegasus most knew her as was merely a mask covering the fragile soul that hid underneath. It didn't help that she called herself antagonistic because of one social mishap. More specifically, a mishap that may have cost her the stallion her heart secretly adored.

Everypony makes mistakes. Spitfire knew this well. After all, even the most virtuous of ponies found themselves in the wrong sometimes. Only for her, it felt as though the few mistakes she did make defined how she was viewed by the always judgmental eyes of society. She could always ask someone to assist her in overcoming her fears, but every time she talked about how she thinks other ponies think of her, she is met with a response which, while the words vary from pony to pony, she has ingrained in her brain.

"Spitfire, you're one of the most prolific Wonderbolts of all time, and look how young you still are. All of us fail sometimes, but that shouldn't take away what we have succeeded in. After all, a pegasus who had 64 straight successful missions in a row is no failure. And you've only messed up, what, in only two missions? And one of which was against you know who. Come on, Spitfire, look and see how cool you really are and not be so hard on yourself. Not everything has to be perfect or serious, you know. It'll hurt your self-esteem if you think like that."

Those words rang in her mind upon uttering her usual quote when she climbed out of her white, fluffy bed. Perhaps those words of encouragement were helping her? Could they?

Sighing, she turned on the lamp that rested on the small, wooden desk next to her bed, and a bright light transformed the room from a quiet area wrapped in shadows into a more upbeat, shining environment. The small details of the furniture made themselves known, as ordinary cabinets, drawers, and so on all revealed stylistic carvings. Each carving was styled meticulously, all depicting a scene of sorts, but one managed to draw Spitfire's eyes towards it. It was the carving on the larger cabinet, depicting a social gathering of sorts with every face smiling. Spitfire's emotions couldn't decipher anything meaningful about the scene depicted, but the artistic style breathed life into the carving nonetheless.

Spitfire trotted over to a round, glass mirror resting atop the larger cabinet and stared intently at it. The mirror shone, looking as though Spitfire could put her hoof through the other side. She stared at her own blank expression and blinked a few times. Stretching her arms, legs, and wings, Spitfire emitted a loud yawn and once her muscles felt rejuvenated, she trotted downstairs to the living room. Looking at the front door, a lavender colored envelope caught Spitfire's attention, begging to be picked up and examined.

"It's not typical for mail to come in this early," Spitfire mumbled to herself as she raised an eyebrow. "I hope it isn't anything serious."

Spitfire trotted to the front door, her hooves clicking against the wooden floor. She stretched out a yellow hoof and picked up the envelope. The address was correct and it did list her name, but there was something about the envelope that widened her eyes. It was the postage stamp representing the Alicorn Coat of Arms, a pointy, golden crown with the silhouettes of a wing, a horseshoe and a horn in the background. The stamp was exclusively utilized by royalty.

A direct letter from someone like Princess Celestia rarely meant anything good for the Captain of the Wonderbolts. The last time royalty sent her a letter, she found herself leading an army of over five thousand pegasi to stop two figures that had finished defeating ten thousand pegasi. Spitfire cringed, shook her head, and mentally reminded herself to slap Lightning Dust across the face for blowing her cover.

Spitfire tore open the envelope, her heart beating faster as the only noises her ears picked up were rapid thumps. Pulling out the letter inside, Spitfire carefully unfolded it and her eyes darted from left to right, making no word go unchecked.

Today, we are holding a formal dinner party at the request of Canterlot's city government. Don't ask why, they refused to give us the details. There will be many guests arriving at Canterlot Castle's central garden, and we implore you will come wearing the best outfit you have. We look forward to seeing you there.

The Kingdom of Equestria

Letter approved by the Princesses Celestia, Luna, Cadence, and Twilight Sparkle

An invitation to a formal gathering? She never got such letters from Celestia, or any royalty for that matter, in the past. Even the invitations for the Grand Galloping Gala were handled by a private company in Canterlot. Spitfire knew that everypony would expect her to show up for reasons she was aware of, but she saw no reason not to go. However, there was one small issue with the letter.

"...we implore you will come wearing the best outfit you have."

Spitfire groaned quietly and tapped her hooves against the floor. She didn't have anything formal to wear, since there was never an occasion she wanted to go to before. This left her with two options. She could wear her simple DI jacket, which at times was rough against her. Or she could wear her Wonderbolts uniform, a surprisingly comfortable flight suit that snapped over her entire body, but its very nature drew admiring eyes towards her as though it was a magnet. While she contemplated this, something inside of Spitfire clicked out of nowhere, and her lips curled into an embarrassed frown.

"I'm seriously thinking about what to wear," Spitfire told herself in a self-deprecating tone. "It's not like I'm going to bring a stallion there and dance with him."

Spitfire sighed and rolled her eyes. Analyzing her choices, Spitfire ultimately chose comfort over subtlety, not knowing how long she'd have to chat with the typical snobs of the upper crust, and rushed back upstairs to her bedroom to get her Wonderbolts uniform.

Upon reaching her bedroom, Spitfire opened up her closet and pulled out a tight blue and yellow outfit with a pair of flight goggles. Her eyes looked around the suit as she fiddled it around her hooves, leaving no spot unchecked. Satisfied, Spitfire put the Wonderbolts uniform on, covering her body. With that task taken care of, she flew back to the living room and hovered around the room's main feature, the bookcase that stood above her.

The bookcase towered above the floor as a amalgamation of colors lined the shelves. Books, ranging from literary classics to guidebooks, were neatly arranged in alphabetical order, the titles on their spines clearly visible. The room was, to those who bore witness to it, considered an egghead's paradise. Spitfire grabbed a book titled Guide to Formal Parties, a gift given to her by Soarin when she became an official Wonderbolt, and with the book wrapped tightly in her hooves, she collapsed onto the plush, blue couch and allowed her body to sink into the cushions.

"This can't possibly end well," she told herself, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

Spitfire opened her eyes and the book simultaneously. She stared at the first page after the "Table of Contents" and her eyes slowly moved from left to right at the same rate she took with the letter. The advice she got from that book was typical, to say the least.

Be friendly and respectful.

Follow the formal arrangement of silverware.

Shake hooves with those you introduce yourself to, and vice versa.

Slamming the book shut and placing it back in the slot from which it was withdrawn, Spitfire trotted to the front door, gently opened it, and departed her abode in Cloudsdale after being greeted by the sunlight. Taking a deep breath, her nostrils taking in the clean, warm outside air, she bolted off of her front porch and into the air with her head pointed towards the grey, steep mountain off in the distance. The skies, not littered by thick, white puffs, provided ample room for flying. Spitfire could make out the small towns and farms below, looking like small, moving toys from her view.

The rolling landscape underneath seemed to be functioning without issues, which, since one of the towns below was the infamous Ponyville, nicknamed "Drama's Den" by some, brought a smile to Spitfire's face. Her clouded mind cleared up as she watched ponies trotting to their local markets and adorable fillies and colts playing in the fields. It was the world Spitfire yearned for.

Canterlot Castle was now in her sights, the tall white structure latching on the towering Horseshoe Mountains that dominated the skyline. The afternoon sun hid behind the mountain, illuminating Canterlot and the scenery in a shining light. It was a fitting metaphor for Equestria always stressing its commitment to spreading cheerful light to disperse the darkness.

Spitfire landed before the entry gates of Canterlot Castle, where two royal guards pressed their weight against the walls, their eyes droopy and unfocused. Trotting towards the pair, Spitfire waved her hoof at them. One of the guards shook his head, slowly creaked into a standing position, and muttered some gibberish.

"Oh, um, hello there," said the guard as though he was reading from a script. "Are you here for the celebration o—"

One of the guards rushed over and placed his lips close to the other guard's ear, whispering something into it. Spitfire rolled her eyes as she watched the pair's display. This secretive, inaudible conversation of theirs continued for a brief moment until the two returned to where they were.

"Sorry about that," the guard said. "Take the seat that's been assigned to you. A butler will tell you where to go."

"Um, thanks," a befuddled Spitfire replied.

Spitfire passed through the gate and found herself in the royal garden. Tables covered with a fine, silk cloth covered the bright green, grassy field, showered in a shining dew. The chairs set up by the tables were basic in design, unusual for a gathering of this magnitude. A makeshift wooden stage in the back that looked more like two smaller blocks surrounding a larger box allowed a group of opera performers to make the occasion more atmospheric. Spitfire wondered if the pony paying for this was on a strict budget.

Spitfire took a few deep breaths. Her eyes looked bleak. "It's going to be okay," she muttered to herself. "I've been outgoing plenty of times before. Today is going to be no different."

The butler, a tan unicorn in a black suit levitating a clipboard with his magic, approached Spitfire and motioned her to follow him to her assigned table. Hopes of sitting with somepony who was nice, pleasant, and had yet to meet her crept into Spitfire's mind. Above all else, she wished she could avoid sitting with Soarin. After all, she knew that sitting with someone she accidentally wronged in the past, but still passionately admired, could only result in spine-freezing moments.

Spitfire took her seat. None of the other three ponies she'd be eating with arrived yet. Opening the menu nonchalantly, Spitfire examined what was offered and quickly placed it back down, closing it up.

The first pony Spitfire would be eating at the same table as took her seat, a lavender alicorn wearing a shining gold crown and a regal dress. Spitfire knew who she was, as did everybody who paid attention to the news, or at least her wings. It was none other than Princess Twilight Sparkle, affectionately nicknamed "Mare of Destiny" by some.

Spitfire's felt her heart figuratively lodge itself into her throat. Perfect behavior was now a requirement if she was going to get out of this party with her dignity intact. Opening the menu quickly as to not draw attention to herself, Spitfire formulated what she should say if Twilight were to recognize her, but any hopes of having a long time to think were quickly dashed.

"Hey, I know you," said Twilight in a polite tone. "You're Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts!" Twilight shook hooves with Spitfire, the up and down motion of her arm somewhat rhythmical.

Spitfire slowly dropped her menu down on the table, a plop echoing in her ears. She stared into Twilight's innocent, smiling face. "Yep. That's me," she replied. "I'm a little surprised that you know who I am, but I am a Wonderbolt, so it should be expected. Anyway, it's an honor to meet you, Princess Twilight Sparkle."

"It's an honor to meet you as well. And I know you for a wonderful reason." Twilight made sure to stress the word wonderful and gave Spitfire a wink. "The mayors of a wide variety of towns have all complimented you on your stellar performances. Both in air shows and in missions."

This couldn't possibly be right. Twilight hasn't seen much of what the Wonderbolts were capable of. Sure, she might know their history, but knowing how successful they've been when Twilight has only witnessed her failed mission in the Best Young Fliers Competition a while ago just didn't add up.

"Wow! Um, thanks," said Spitfire, trying her best to mask her bewilderment. "Well, we try our hardest all the time."

"I bet. I've also heard how nice you are to other ponies."

This compliment felt like a small electrical shock to Spitfire. So much so that her eyes couldn't resist widening and a loud gasp escaped her throat.

"Are you okay?" Twilight inquired in a concerned tone.

"I'm fine," Spitfire answered, blowing out some steam and sensing her mind reboot. Twilight's lips formed a smile, suggesting that she could read Spitfire like an open book. "Just a little surprised is all, well, you know why."

"Look, just because you've had one mishap doesn't make you a bad pony. We all make mistakes." Twilight covered her lips with her hoof and giggled slightly. "I even put a spell on Ponyville once to get them to chase after an old doll of mine."

Spitfire smirked a little, the tension in her body dissipating. "Well, um, I guess you're right."

Just then, the second pony who would be sitting with them arrived to take her seat. She was a gray earth pony with a silky smooth black mane. The mare brought a distinctive, classical aura around her wherever she was, and this became immediately apparent to Spitfire when the mare spoke.

"Hello, my name is Octavia," she said in an elegant tone, shaking both Twilight's and Spitfire's hooves. "I know who you two are, but do you know who I am?"

Twilight Sparkle and Spitfire both nodded politely.

"Excellent. That will save us some time. We can chat for a bit." Octavia turned towards Spitfire with a graceful smile and adjusted her pink bow tie. "Spitfire, it's an honor to meet such a kind pony. How is everything?"

Octavia, too? Spitfire wondered if she was being too hard on herself the entire time. Could this also mean that the stallion she adored, Soarin, forgave her for her actions? Spitfire cleared her throat and looked at Octavia's purple eyes.

"Things are going well," Spitfire replied, her nerves and tone of voice settling down even more. Maybe this formal gathering wouldn't be so bad after all.

"That's great to hear!"

Octavia then turned to Princess Twilight and the two conversed in small talk for a few minutes. Spitfire, her mind empty, focused on what she should ask when the timing was right and participated where appropriate. After all, she knew that she couldn't remain completely silent, or ponies will start staring at her with bemused expressions. And everypony knew that standing out awkwardly was an experience nopony ever wanted.

Digging deeper into her mind for a story of her own to tell, any story that might be suitable, Spitfire's ears were distracted by a familiar voice in the background. Turning her head around, Spitfire's vision locked onto the stallion she hoped wouldn't make this occasion even more stressful than it needed to be. Soarin had arrived at the party.

The light blue pegasus stallion wore a black suit, the material looking quite expensive even from a distance. His red and white patterned tie caught the attention of any eye that so much as looked as it, especially as the wavy pattern was nothing like what most ponies had ever seen before. It was as though Soarin wanted to make his presence known to the world, and from Spitfire's perspective, he was doing an excellent job at it.

Spitfire immediately turned back to her table and picked up the menu. She lifted it high enough as to shield her visage from the approaching stallion. Thoughts, all of them negative and self-deprecating, grabbed a hold of Spitfire's psyche and shook it until all that remained was melancholy.

"If he's assigned to my table, I'm done for," Spitfire muttered to herself, but just quietly enough to where no ears noticed. She bit her lip and winced ever so slightly "There's no way he won't mention the time I accidentally wronged him."

"Hey there, Soarin!" said Princess Twilight in a welcoming tone. "I'm surprised that we have two Wonderbolts sitting with us this evening."

Spitfire's breathing became more rapid. Her throat tightened, her spine froze, and her whole body felt lighter. Peering over her menu, she noticed that sure enough, Soarin was the fourth and final pony to be sitting at the table. She quickly cloaked her face with the menu once again, but she knew well that it was all futile.

"Spitfire, are you okay?" Soarin asked as his eyes shimmered.

Spitfire's hooves let go of the menu and allowed gravity to push it down to the table before her.

Plop!

"I-I'm fine," Spitfire replied, her words pushing themselves out of her throat. "Just a little nervous. That's all."

"Don't worry about it." Soarin adjusted his tie, groaning as he kept trying to straighten it into a comfortable position. "Nice idea wearing your Wonderbolts uniform. You look so adorable in it!" Soarin winked at Spitfire, whose cheeks blushed as though it was Soarin's command.

Spitfire smirked, but no matter how hard she tried, all she could muster were two words. "Thank you," she replied politely.

"What's Spitfire like as a teammate?" Octavia interjected. Spitfire's heart suddenly beat faster and faster, preparing for the inevitable moment when it would all come crashing down.

"Well," said Soarin, trying to pull the words out of his throat.

"Here it comes," Spitfire thought to herself, biting her lips during Soarin's pause.

"I think she's easily the best teammate anypony could ask for and an even better captain! She's so nice around everypony and she always strives for us to do our best! I don't think I'd be where I am now if it wasn't for her advice!"

"Huh?" Spitfire blurted out unconsciously.

"Yeah! You're the most wonderful pony anypony could ask for!"

"Well, um, thanks." Spitfire's lips curled into a slight smile. Her cheeks blushed even brighter than before. "That was really generous of you to compliment me."

Soarin's cheeks also blushed intensely as he grinned sheepishly. "It's not a problem, you deserve it."

Spitfire's eyes immediately noticed Soarin's facial response. Could it be that he was, no, that couldn't possibly be it. But the mere possibility of it being true intrigued Spitfire nonetheless. It was enough for her to sense her spine thawing out and her body returning to a normal, relaxed state.

The waiter, a gray unicorn stallion with a slick, black mane and a curly mustache, arrived at the table with a small notepad in his hoof. His face lacked any emotion whatsoever, making him impossible to decipher what went on in his mind. The four ponies, having decided what they'd eat, gave their menus to the waiter and once every order was written down, the waiter trotted to the next table, then the table after that, and so on.

"Talk about a busy pony," Octavia said. "The poor thing must be so exhausted."

"I know what you mean," replied Twilight Sparkle. "It kind of reminds me of a friend of mine who overworked during Applebuck Season. She became so exhausted to where we needed to help her realize that she shouldn't be doing this to herself."

Spitfire felt a touch of sympathy for Twilight's friend. It all sounded so similar to her to where she could imagine herself in the hooves of Twilight's friend.

"What's her name?" Spitfire asked curiously.

"Her name is Applejack. She is usually seen with a brown cowboy hat on."

"Wait a second, is she the one who made those apple pies at the last Grand Galloping Gala?" Soarin asked as he licked his lips.

"She sure is!" Twilight replied with a smile.

"That's awesome! Hey, Spitfire, how about later we go to Sweet Apple Acres and get a pie for us to share?"

"That sounds fun!" said Spitfire, her voice cracking under the tension.

But why her? Why not any of the other mares he had hung around with? Was there something unique about her that drew Soarin to choose her over somepony else? Spitfire wanted to ask why her, but the words refused to respond to her demands as though they were sleeping on the job.

"Awesome!" said Soarin, his smile as wide as a smile could get. "Maybe we can share it at Cloud Peaks!"

Cloud Peaks? He couldn't have chosen that place out of the blue. Spitfire knew that place was one of the most popular sites for dates. Could he be trying to communicate what she thinks?

Before Spitfire could utter another syllable, their food and drinks arrived. The aroma of each of their meals excited the nostrils, and the four all ate their food with hearty smiles.

But while they were eating, Spitfire noticed yet another clue about Soarin's behavior. Whenever he wasn't having small talk with Twilight or Octavia, he would always be staring into her eyes. The evidence kept adding up, Spitfire had to check with Soarin about his feelings towards her in private. Her curiosity cried out and demanded that it be fed.

In the meantime, all of the ponies finished their meals and departed the party with full stomachs, everypony looking satisfied that they chose to arrive. Spitfire, feeling a heavy weight lifted off of her shoulders, relaxed by the exit. She waited for Soarin to pass by so that she could talk with him. But to her surprise, Soarin didn't head straight for the exit, he headed straight for her.

"Hey, Spitfire," said Soarin while he was rubbing the back of his neck. "I wanted to tell you that I had a great time this evening."

"Me too," said Spitfire with a warm smile. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all. What is it?"

Spitfire took a deep breath, her mind telling her to keep her emotions in check. Building up her courage, she finally found what words to say. "I was wondering if you, um, if you loved me?"

Soarin froze, but not until after his jaw dropped. "I, um, I wanted to ask you the same thing."

Spitfire's eyes shot wide open. "What?"

"I know we've had our differences, but aside from a few hiccups, we've always been there for each other."

"But what about—"

"Nothing to worry about." Soarin's smile grew even wider. "I know how busy you were and how much competing for Cloudsdale meant for you. And I even saw you look over to the care center while you were working out from time to time. I know that you take your work really seriously, but I also know you care about me, and I'm sorry that I didn't understand what really happened back there."

Spitfire felt tears drop down her eyes, but her lips still smiled. "I-I'm sorry too. I'll try to have some more fun. For you."

Spitfire and Soarin, their cheeks covered with tears, embraced each other, their arms warmly wrapped around the other pony's body. Spitfire's spirits were invigorated, lifted up back into the realms of hope and out of the pits of despair. And Soarin muttered three simple words into her ear. The words that Spitfire's heart dreamed of hearing.

"I love you."

"I love you too."