Spitfire Tells Rainbow Dash About Her Nickname
“Alright, team, let’s head in and get some chow,” Spitfire said loudly and proudly. She singled out Rainbow with a foreleg and waved her over. “I have to talk with you about something. C’mon, fly with me.”
Rainbow maintained a casual expression hiding the screaming and internal doubts and fears that reared their head when she became anxious. “Sure thing, ya know if you wanted stunt advice you just coulda asked.” Rainbow said with false bravado.
Spitfire flew toward the administration building and landed outside, pushing the door open with her left foreleg. “Follow me,” she commanded. Rainbow followed her leader to her office and when Spitfire took her seat, Rainbow did as well. “I see you’re really fitting in with us on the team; you know how to do the stunts, you learned to control your contrail and change it from your namesake to the standard Wonderbolt smoke trail.
“I think it’s time you learned how I got my nickname.”
Rainbow sat up and paid rapt attention; ears forward, eyes on Spitfire’s muzzle, and her tail curled around herself. “I’m ready ma’am, I won’t tell anypony.”
“Per confidentiality and secret clearance, you’d better not,” she leaned back in her chair and slid her glasses over her eyes, swiveled around in her chair, then looked out the window at new recruits undergoing training. “It was about a hundred moons ago, I was a Wonderbolt Cadet back then, believe it or not, but they couldn’t get my nickname because I was who I am.
“Always a spitfire, ready for the next adventure or taking chances with stunts that seemed to be too risky. That is, until the day before I got my nickname, Buttfire.”
Rainbow snickered for a split second before her eyes met Spitfire’s, who was still sitting in her chair. “Sorry, Ma’am.”
“I’d been given a peacekeeping mission to the minotaur lands, it was early in summer and we were put in charge of making a great show for a festival called Groomdar, pretty much means a good hot year. We thought it meant for the summer and time ahead, since they, the minotaurs, can’t handle cold very well.
We did our show, shook hooves and hands with a couple dozen politicians, ate a small salad with Soarin while showing off our pony diet, you know, keeping the standards as they see it. It wasn’t until later in the evening when the festival started,” she took her sunglasses off with her forehooves and closed them.
“We were off duty, so we got out of our uniforms and stuck together, but went into the city to spend time with the locals. We were given a hundred coins,” she pointed to a wall, “still have one of them, as a reminder.”
“Cool,” Rainbow flew and hovered in front of it, “so that’s what this’ all about? A coin?”
Spitfire sighed with her raspy voice and leaned back into her chair. “No, sit down, Rainbow, I’m just about to that part. So, everything was going fine. Between the five of us we each got twenty coins and went to different market stalls for supper, then met at a table we had to fight for. Did I ever tell you minotaurs love to fight over almost everything?”
Rainbow nodded. “I’ve met one, I believe it.”
“Huh, alright then. Well, one left his food on the table and I grabbed it from Windy Gale before she could eat it. I made a big show and got all eyes on me while I challenged Soarin to an eating contest. Some of the bystanders warned me, but I was Spitfire; I didn’t need to worry about anything. Kinda sounds like another mare I know,” she looked pointedly at Rainbow.
“So, we dug in and ate like there was no tomorrow. I ate my plate, it was paper so I did, in fact, eat it. Then I did the same for Sunny Skies the First. I should have stopped, I knew it. I felt full, but they were chanting my name and encouraging me. So, I grabbed the minotaur’s dish and lifted it. The minotaurs became... rowdy, you could say. A lot were encouraging me, some were shaking their heads and miming pain.
“I ate the thing in four bites. By the time I got to the third bite my stomach was gurgling. My throat was burning and my tongue felt like I just decided to try a hot coal as chewing gum. The last bite I stuffed more on instinct because I thought it would douse the fire that had started,” she looked sternly at Rainbow, “it didn’t.
“I fell to the ground groaning and moaning, everything went fine for a few seconds. My team pushed the minotaurs back to give me air, and that’s when it happened… Ah, poor Soarin,” she pressed her right forehoof between her eyes, “he was behind me, I was naked, and the spices were from an enchanted bush, or tree, or something.
“I farted,” Rainbow snerked through Spitfire’s glare, “then again, and again. They started lasting longer and longer, the poor stallion stood over me to give me some dignity when the spices really started to do their trick.
“Ya see, Dash. Minotaurs like to blow steam and smoke from their noses when challenging each other or just being intimidating, they usually can divide the spice into one of their three stomachs and release the spice at will to give them that effect. Ponies have one stomach, Dash. It all went through, and I,” she blushed and looked away, “started blowing fire like a sneezing dragon.
“I heard they still tell the story and they have adapted it into a foals story book, The Mare with the Flare. I get royalties, so that’s a bonus,” she looked at Rainbow and cracked a smile. “That’s why I have my nickname, and only the bravest will bring it up, because,” she opened her top desk drawer and pulled out a thick pouch, “I have the spice here, and can mix it into any meal I choose, then I may just take a nap in that pony’s bed.
“Do you know how long it takes to get the smell of this spice out of fabric? It doesn’t. And if you think about telling the story, you might just find some in your chow! Then you know what?”
“What’s that, ma’am?”
“The last mare that did it was stuck in a full body hoof and wing cast… drinking through a straw!That’s why you don’t mess with Buttfire, okay, Dash?”
“Y-yes, ma’am!”
“Good, dismissed, Crash!”
