Not Yet Ablaze
Just a quick Spitfire show presented by Leoshi!
!Disclaimer!: For those who don’t know, I don’t own ponies. Don’t even try to sue me, because I’ll just laugh at you. Besides, unless you’re Faust, Theisson, or the Hub, you have no reason to sue anyway. So there!
A quick backstory here: This is a oneshot that provides a little insight to Spitfire, in relation to my main story, Rain without Rainbows. You’ll be able to catch on to a few elements present in that fiction, if you know what to look out for.
Spitfire aside: Not Yet Ablaze
There was a deep-rooted itch behind her wing that she just couldn’t help but think about. And it was causing her to lose focus, no matter how many times she concentrated on where she was and what she was doing. With a grit of her teeth and a furrow of her brow, the pegasus dived for the fifth time, hoping that she would finally pull of her maneuver. But still there was that stupid itch.
It just seemed to grow more agitated the more her wings flapped, or the faster she flew. It wasn’t an itch she could scratch, even if she could reach it at all. It was something beneath her skin, and it felt like a beetle, trapped between her muscle and bone. A beetle on its back and flailing in the most annoying fashion.
Her teeth still gritted and her brow still furrowed, she gave one last growl as the air before her split to make way. She pulled her forelegs back, bringing them against her stomach, and angled her snout toward her focus. And her focus was a small white-and-red flag jammed into the dirt ground, resting within a small tunnel system made from wooden beams. Her job was simple: get the flag without touching the ground or any of the beams on the course.
The flag was her goal. But still, that accursed itch!
This was not her first time trying this. Her attempts yesterday had been embarrassing at best. But she was determined to do better, so she entered the first set of wood beams in the course, drawing her wings to her sides so she would easily clear the opening. She rotated her body, allowing the momentum of her flight to carry her forward. When she began to dip, she popped open her wings and gave them a few strong flaps, helping to keep her aloft.
She was coming up on the flag now, easily able to see it hanging limp in the still air. It was close, each beat of her racing heart serving as an indicator of how soon it would be, like a countdown to the end of time. Nothing else existed - only her and the red-white flag.
And, of course, that itch behind her left wing. Which chose a very bad time to spike.
The feeling skewered her every thought and sent her mind crashing to one simple need: relieve that infernal itch. She dipped, rammed head-first into one of the beams, and plowed it over. Both she and the structure (and several others surrounding it) were sent crashing the the ground, unceremoniously kicking up a plume of dust.
By the time the dirt settled, she was seen leaning against one of the fallen beams, rubbing the solid lumber against that place behind her wing that she just couldn’t reach. It was embarrassing, shocking, and above all else, absolutely hilarious.
She was Spitfire, a young filly with a bright yellow coat and a mane to match her name. She was arrogant, rambunctious, and above all else, way out of her league. Whatever she had planned on doing, here at the Wonderbolts tryouts, the only thing she had accomplished was making a complete foal of herself. Plus a few dozen bits’ worth of damage to the flight course.
“Oh, yesss...” she crooned, finally reaching an angle that rubbed just the right way. With a smile, she pictured that flailing beetle being crushed by the perfect justice of the beams. She dug deep, using the edge of the wooden beam to massage the point behind her wing. It was unorthodox, but it felt so good.
She became aware of voices around her, coming closer. Her ears flopped down - Spitfire knew, without looking up, who was coming up to her. This could not end well.
It took only a few short seconds for a group of full-grown adults to reach Spitfire’s side, all of whom were in bright blue uniforms. Of the three there, two of them were wearing their flight goggles over their eyes, and the sunlight reflected off the lenses in the most dynamic way possible. The third, standing between the two, had both his goggles and hood off, choosing instead to let them pool around his neck.
“Told ya she would bring the loops down,” one of the masked pegasi was saying. “It was all a matter of time.”
The second one with goggles on turned, clearly annoyed. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve made your point. Now are you gonna help me pick up this mess or not?”
“No problem. Just remember our bet - you’re buyin’ the first round.”
The two masked Wonderbolts continued on, setting up the fallen beams and resetting the course. The third member, who was not hiding behind his mask or goggles, merely looked upon the fallen filly. Spitfire averted her eyes, suddenly very aware of how dirty her coat had become.
“Hey, cap! Go easy on the girl, okay?” one of the masked fliers called over.
Spitfire seemed to take encouragement from the shout, and finally lifted her gaze to meet that of the intimidating stallion who looked down on her. Standing above her, almost worlds taller, was Microburst, current captain of the Wonderbolts aerial team. He was an imposing figure, well-built with years of hard training, and a mind equal to that of a tactician. He stared at Spitfire with mauve eyes cut from stone, a gentle contrast to his bronze coat and burgundy mane. He had a blonde streak in his mane, his trademark.
The two of them stared at each other for a while. Spitfire was glad for the noise of the area, because silence was one thing she did not want right now.
“You missed your goal.”
Spitfire hesitated, turning to look at the red-white flag, which now seemed even farther away than when she was in the air. There was still no wind, so the flag hung limply. “Yeah,” she began, her voice gruff and high. “I fell pretty short. Sorry - see, there was this really bad itching behind my wing, and I-”
“I didn’t ask for your excuses, kiddo. And I’m not talking about the flag over there,” Microburst cut in. “Do you even know what your goal is?”
Suddenly worried about what might happen, the filly turned back around. “Uh, to capture the flag?” she deadpanned.
“No.”
“To do it without wiping out?”
“What? No, no.”
“To...to join the Wonderbolts?” she asked hopefully.
Microburst bit his tongue. Hard. “You’re kidding right?”
“Well, what else could it be?” She stood up, sensing a challenge in his words. And she loved getting a challenge.
The stallion before her heaved a great sigh. This was not the first time he had witnessed her failing at a course, and neither was it the first time he had tried to talk sense into her. He got down to his haunches, lowering himself to her level.
“You really don’t know anything, do you?”
“Hey!” Spitfire’s voice cracked - part from excitement, part from anger. “I know plenty! I was gonna show off some new moves to you after I bit that stupid flag! You should just let me show them to you instead of making me chase that dirty old thing all morning!”
“You think so?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yeah!”
Microburst smirked. “Then maybe I should tell you what your real goal is.”
“What are you talking about?” Her tail twitched, a sign that she was a little annoyed. “Isn’t my goal all about that flag over there? That’s all you’ve talked about today.”
“No, kiddo. You want to be a Wonderbolt, don’t you?”
Another nod.
“Then you need to adopt our goals. And it’s not some silly piece of cloth tied to a twig.”
Spitfire’s tail jerked again. She stared at him, defiant, waiting for him to continue.
“Look, kid,” Microburst began. “Being a Wonderbolt is much more than just having a few tricks and wearing a suit. There’s a vision to the team, our own goal: to reach the horizon.
“It’s our motto, our core. We’re not just some flight team from Nowhere, Equestria. We’re a group of performers that constantly strive for one thing - to continue striving. We don’t settle for ‘good enough,’ and we won’t stop at making one show great. We look beyond to what is always out of reach for any pegasus.”
“What, the horizon?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“What’s the point of it, then? If the horizon is out of reach, why do you want to get it?”
Microburst gave a low laugh. “It’s not about getting it, kiddo. It’s all about reaching for it.”
“You’re not making any sense,” she said, jumping to her hooves.
With another laugh, the stallion rose to his hooves as well. “Maybe you’ll understand one day.”
The two pegasi who were with him finished putting up the last structure in the flight course, calling down to him. He gave them a nod, and they two flew off to the sidelines again. As they departed, Microburst glanced down at the young Spitfire, who still looked defiant in his presence. Fearless, reckless, and probably dangerous.
She would make a perfect member.
The stallion lifted his goggles free, tossing them to the ground at her hooves. “Give it one more shot, kiddo. See if you can make it through.” He spread his wings, leapt from the ground, and backed away to where the two members of his team stood.
Spitfire waited a few moment, pondering what he had said. Reach the horizon? It sounded kind of stupid, yet there was this allure to it that she couldn’t shake. The notion of constantly striving for a perfection that was always beyond reach, like an example being set for her.
She huffed, picking up the goggles and wrapping them over her head. They were too big for her, so she had to double-wrap the band. It hurt a little, but when they were secure, she didn’t have any trouble seeing.
With a few practice breaths, she lifted off, flying in circles to help gain speed. It wasn’t long before she was high enough to see the entire practice field, with Microburst and the other two Wonderbolts looking like little blue specks. She squinted down at the start of the course, following the path until she saw the little red-white flag in the ground. It was an impossible task to get it without touching the ground or the beams.
‘But then, so is reaching for the horizon,’ she thought.
Spitfire bit her lip, drew her hind legs in, and dived just like she did before. And, just like before, a flailing beetle of an itch formed just behind her left wing, and it seemed to be on a path of vengeance for the one before it. It itched so bad, it hurt. Oh, how she wanted to scream!
But to her credit, she managed to ignore it. She spotted the little flag and spun herself into a gentle arc to clear the first loop in the course. As she flew through the next one, and the ones after, her mind drifted back to the notion of reaching for the horizon. Looking beyond the obvious goal.
‘Maybe that’s it,’ she realized. ‘I should get the flag, but my goal should be to get back into the air once I have it!’
With the new thought in mind, she spent a heartbeat to re-analyze the course. Grabbing the flag was one matter, but getting out of the course was something else. If she managed to bank right, she could bite down on the flag and bail out of the course after one more structure. It would be a tight squeeze, but if she moved fast, she could make it work without having to-
THUNK.
Spitfire’s thoughts were stopped very suddenly by a sharp pain going through her face. In her thoughts of looking beyond her goal, she had forgotten to look where she was going. When she began to dip, she didn’t remember to open her wings and flap again. The result was simple: a solid faceplant into the wood of the course.
She remained suspended like that for a moment, sticking out like a pony-shaped nail, her wings still held against her sides. There was a moment of silence before the structure began to topple again. Gravity took hold, bringing her, the beams, and the ones surrounding it down to earth. For the second time that day, the course was brought down in a cloud of dust and the sounds of falling timbers.
When the dust finally cleared, Spitfire was sitting up, furiously rubbing her forehead and wincing with a profound headache that made her suddenly like the idea of having an itch behind her wing. She groaned with the deep-rooted pain. ‘Reaching for the horizon is stupid!’
Further down, the red-white flag remained untouched. The damage done to the course has just reached the hundred-bit mark. One of the structures in the tunnel had cracked. And young Spitfire didn’t notice any of it.
Microburst gave a heavy sigh. She would make a perfect member, all right.
End
