The beat of his wings flooded Soarin’s ears as he plummeted from the upper stratosphere, holding his breath as the icy cold air stung his skin through his suit. He thanked his lucky stars that his goggles were suction-cupped onto his face, since he was already squinting to see the tiny cloud ring floating in the center of the stadium. His legs stretched out as far as he could make them go, causing his joints to burn as they fought the wind. Thermals made dives like this dangerous, but you didn’t get to be a Wonderbolt by wussing out when there was a bit of danger.
A smug grin crept onto Soarin’s face as he pressed his ears to his head and renewed flapping his wings with extra vigor. At max speed, it took him barely twenty seconds to reach the crowd and six to hit the point where he needed to slow down to pull the turn. With each deep breath he took, he counted slowly in his head.
Six..
The sheer volume of the mares screaming his name below floated up as a dull screech behind the thunderous roar of the air. Soarin snorted at that. Like his ego even needed the extra fluffing from his gigantic female fanbase.
Five..
His stomach gave a small grumble, angry he had already forced it to work through breakfast. The quiche he had eaten had already been digested, which would no doubt astound his friends. Eating a whole nine egg breakfast pie and then asking for some more after the show earned him the nickname of ‘The Iron Stomach’.
Four…
His mane swept at the side of his ears, flailing about like a filly falling from Cloudsdale. It was getting too long again, which meant he needed to pop by Clippy in Canterlot for a quick cut. He always suspected he was scalping him, but Clippy did make a fifty bit manecut look pretty darn good.
Three…
The thermal was pushing back more now, making him sweep his wings harder. Stinging cold air swiftly became balmy and slightly stuffy summer air, making his suit now uncomfortably warm against his skin. Perhaps he’d have the design team add some new padding to work in both cold and warm temperatures later.
Two…
By now, he’d slow his wingbeats down in preparation to flare them and ease his descent. However, a nasty little thought wormed its way in. That goofy mare in Ponyville, the rainbow colored one, didn’t bother to stop her dives until she nearly flattened herself on the ground. While the Wonderbolts were a performance group, she did show all of them up at the tryouts.
One…
Soarin’s grin peeled back to show his pearly white teeth as he flapped his wings furiously, pulling away from the others. If an amatuer like that mare could do it, he should be able to do it with no effort at all. Glancing behind, he saw one of his wingmates slow down. Fleetfoot always played it safe.
Zero…
His other wingmate grinned as widely as he did, her bright orange mane flapping about like a live inferno. She knew what he was about to do and, judging by her acceleration towards him, she wanted in. Soarin turned back forward, watching as the cloud ring widened at an alarming rate. He leaned a bit to the left, allowing his star wingmate to join him in the mad descent.
“Hope you’re ready!” she called out over the wind.
“Let’s do it!” Soarin shouted back.
Together, they picked up more speed as the bright green ground raced to meet them. The wind disappeared from Soarin’s ears, replaced by his pounding heartbeat. His skin tingled and his hair felt like electricity was coursing through it. Adrenalin highs were dangerous things for a stuntpony to experience, but dear Celestia did they feel good.
Compensating for distance on the fly was a deathwish many Wonderbolts had learned the hard way, but Soarin knew the cloud was well above the ground to make the impossible turn. His speed was worrisome, but it mattered little now. He was committed to the dive and so was his favorite wingmate, Spitfire. Together, they became little more than blue blurs against the clouds while Fleetfoot screamed at them from above and the crowd did from below.
With his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes pinched into a squint and a wide grin on his face, Soarin fell through the cloud ring before flaring his wings as wide as he could. The sudden deceleration hit his body like a kick to the face, causing him to inhale sharply. He swung his rump down and kicked his legs instinctively while his wings struggled to alter his momentum. Thankfully, he felt the gravity on his body shift as he shot parallel to the ground, but his joy was short-lived as the solid stone wall of the stadium sped towards him at lethal velocity. His training decided to kick in right then as he pinned his right wing to his side and flapped his left one violently while his legs curled in to avoid collateral damage. Amazingly, the wall curved away from him and soon he was racing along the wall, clearing the ground by a few feet.
“Woohoo!” he screamed as he saw the blue and orange blur of Spitfire approaching from the opposite end. Extending his legs again, they continued towards each other and hoofbumped as they passed by, the clack echoing across the stadium before the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers that shook the air itself. As the duo regained control of their speed, they spiraled into the center and shot back up through the cloud as Fleetfoot joined them, posing in mid-air as the crowd roared louder.
“That was awesome!” Spitfire shouted as she tore into the locker room, Soarin and Fleetfoot in tow.
“Darn right!” Soarin shouted back, his initial wind deafness still messing with his ears.
From behind them, Fleetfoot mumbled something, causing both Soarin and Spitfire to turn to her and shout in unison, “What?”
“I said,” Fleetfoot repeated in a much higher tone. “You two are stupid for doing that!”
“Why?” Spitfire asked, sounding like she was still fighting her own deafness.
“You could’ve killed yourselves!” Fleetfoot responded, glaring at them with an unusual anger in her eyes.
“But we didn’t!” Soarin said, trying to be louder than the ringing in his ears.
“She’s right,” came a new voice.
All three heads turned at once to the door, the same confused look twisting their faces. At the door stood a pretty mare, bright pink with a sky blue mane and crystal green eyes. She stared at them with a disinterested look, pausing when she got to Soarin. Immediately, she scrunched up her face into a pathetic whimpering look and trotted up to him, her bottom lip trembling the whole time.
“Soarin, how could you scare me like that?” she asked, batting her clearly fake eyelashes at him.
Soarin’s eyes shrunk as his throat constricted, staring at her. Behind them, Spitfire let out an annoyed groan before the lockers clattered open.
“Uh, I’m, er.. sorry?” he said, the air around him turning to ice.
“I was so worried!” she whined, stomping a hoof. “Do you know how many Wonderbolts have died doing dangerous stunts like that? It was totally reckless and broke rule number one.”
“It, uh, did?” Soarin asked, rubbing the back of his head with a hoof and scrambling to remember what that was.
“Yes!” she said, her tone exasperated. “You’re supposed to behave yourself and not make me look bad!”
“Oh! I’m sorry, Dewdrop!” Soarin shouted, panic filling his chest.
Dewdrop whined some more while Spitfire slammed her locker shut, rolling her eyes in disgust.
“Oh, give him a break!” she said, turning and throwing a mean glare at Dewdrop. “He’s a grown stallion and can take risks whenever he wants. Besides, it’s my job as Captain to tell him when he did something wrong.”
Soarin turned to face her, a concerned look on his face, while Dewdrop’s eyes swiveled to Spitfire, the sadness replaced by an icy glare.
“Spitfire,” she replied sweetly. “I don’t think you realize what that stunt did. There were foals in the audience, which are prone to imitating what they see. Do you want our shows censored if one of them claims they were copying your stunt while jumping from a building?”
Spitfire jerked her head back, shock replacing her irritation.
“What? No! That’s not what I—”
“Then I suggest,” Dewdrop continued, the kindness in her voice straining, “You get cleaned up and stay out of our private business. You still need to make a statement about safe flying practices and how you are trained professionals.”
“And why can’t you do it?” Spitfire snapped back. “It’s your job.”
Dewdrop’s eye twitched a bit, stopping just as Soarin turned back to her.
“Because, believe it or not, it’s your job as Captain of the Wonderbolts to be the responsible one. I know you have a difficult time with that, but you did sign up for this,” she hissed.
Spitfire opened her mouth to give a particularly nasty retort when Soarin cut in, stepping between them.
“Hey, hey, hey! It’s no big deal! Spitfire can issue a statement later and I’ll make the appearance. Besides, she did more stunts than us today, so she needs a rest, okay?”
He smiled stupidly at the both of them, praying his gamble would work. Much to his relief, a smile came to Dewdrop’s face and she squealed.
“Oh, Soarin, that would be wonderful! The press has been more interested in you than normal, and then we can spend some time together afterwards!”
“Uh, yeah! We can!” Soarin said with a relieved smile. “We can… you know, spend time together.”
Spitfire rolled her eyes before mumbling, “Whatever,” and stomped off to the showers, her mood ruined. The chatter of the couple disappeared when she rounded the corner, coming face to face with the white porcelain shower stalls. Grunting, she marched up to one and turned on the water, allowing the chilling water to soak her body before it became a scalding wash. Steam rose up around her while she sighed and gasped at the water, flipping her mane about and rubbing herself down with a bar of soap.
“Hey, save some for me,” came Fleetfoot’s voice as she trotted up next to her.
A couple squeaks of the faucet later, she was bathing herself in the same steamy water as Spitfire stood there, her face pointed to the showerhead. The warm water soothed the tense muscles in her face, as well as relieving the windburn she had gotten from the icy air.
“So, care to explain?” Fleetfoot asked, breaking Spitfire’s revelry.
“What?” she asked.
“All of that back there. You, Soarin and Dewdrop. I haven’t seen two mares fight like that since high school,” Fleetfoot mused.
Spitfire turned away from the showerhead and wiped away the water over her right eye before opening it.
“Fleet, you know how difficult she is to work with,” Spitfire stated plainly.
“Yeah, Dewdrop is a bit overbearing, but you and her butt heads like you’re about to come to blows.”
Fleetfoot shot Spitfire a sly glance before resuming washing her mane.
“She gets under my skin way too easily, like she looks for ways to annoy me,” Spitfire responded, her voice betraying no emotion.
“Really?” Fleetfoot asked as she rinsed her mane. “You sure a certain strapping blue stallion has nothing to do with it?”
Spitfire threw Fleetfoot a nasty look, though her eyes were closed.
“Keep Soarin out of this,” she grumbled.
“Oh? Soft spot?” Fleetfoot asked with a small chuckle.
“You know he’s my best friend on this squad,” Spitfire said, shutting off the water.
“Yeah, yeah. You two are practically legends. Best friends since foalhood, dreaming of becoming Wonderbolts and defying all sorts of odds to become the two most famous faces we have. Sounds like some sappy romance story.”
“Only me and him are like brother and sister and I can’t stand the way she treats him,” Spitfire said as she pulled out a towel from the wall cubby.
“Yeah, he is pretty whipped,” Fleetfoot mused. “She’s got a really short leash on him, but I can’t say I blame her when he’s in the running for the sexiest stallion alive.”
Spitfire cringed a bit at that, rubbing the towel harder into her face. It was creepy to see his big dumb smile on the tabloid covers, their captions claiming he was perhaps the most fantasized about pony who wasn’t royalty. She moved on to her chest and wings, preferring not to expand upon this conversation any further. Soarin was her friend, nothing more.
“I’m going to the bar tonight,” she called over to Fleetfoot. “You wanna come?”
“So, to all you young and future Wonderbolts out there, be smart and leave the dangerous stunts to the professionals,” Soarin said with a big grin as spots danced before his eyes.
Even though he was smiling, Soarin mentally loathed himself for what he was saying. He didn’t sound like an awesome Wonderbolt stud he pictured himself as; instead he felt like one of those goofy looking dolts on those anti-drug posters. While he knew what he said would make him look mature, he couldn’t recall a single one of his idols from his foalhood advising him to not try and be awesome.
He smiled as the token applause rang around the press room, glancing over to see Dewdrops grinning widely back at him. His confidence in himself partially restored, he cleared his throat and stood still until all eyes were on him.
“Thank you all for coming, but I’m afraid I can’t take any questions as of right now. The standard PR pack will be given out, but thank you for coming,” he said in a monotonous voice before turning to the curtain.
A flood of questions and flashes assaulted him, but Soarin ignored them with practiced ease. Dewdrop’s grin only got wider as he approached, but she stayed rooted in the same spot.
“Wonderful job, Soarin,” she said. “You’d make a great Captain.”
“Yeah, well,” he replied, his ego swelling. “It’s all thanks to you, sweetie.”
Glancing at her eyes, Soarin leaned in and puckered his lips, but felt them meet a hoof instead of her lips.
“Easy there, big guy,” she said, stifling a laugh. “Remember rule number three?”
Soarin pulled back from her hoof, wiping the small flecks of dirt from his mouth.
“I thought that one was the no ‘super special time’ rule?” he said, cringing internally at the use of that phrase.
“Yes, but that also extends to kisses, too,” she said with a small wink. “Can’t have you jeopardizing your career or mine, can we?”
“But—” Soarin said before her hoof pressed against his lips again.
“Soarin, sweetie, I’m doing this for your protection. Until you retire or become Captain, we can’t publicly show anything or the tabloids will scream of a scandal. When you’re above the damage rumors can do, then we’ll let the world know.”
Soarin frowned and raised an eyebrow, confused by her logic, but nodded regardless. Dewdrop was usually right on matters like this. She wasn’t the PR manager for the Wonderbolts for a reason.
“Thank you, Soarin,” she said with a soft voice. “I know it’s difficult for us now, but things will work out in the end. For now, though, let’s put on a brave face and do what we need to do, okay?”
Soarin sighed, but nodded yet again. Dewdrop was a hooffull, but she was his marefriend and he needed to treat her like one, whether he agreed with it or not.
