Glorified

Against my better judgment, I saved Effie’s number. Over the course of the week, she tried to call me no less than four times. At one point, Cheesette stole my phone to answer and told her it was a wrong number. When that didn’t deter her and I asked Cheesette to not do that again since this was kind of a big deal, she settled for renaming her ‘F-bomb’ in my contacts.

Mom was not kidding about the super fan thing.

The next day, an email went to all the examinees to apologize for posting the test results early. The system suffered a ‘security breach’ and they have since upgraded all the servers. Princess Twilight would later get back to us saying that none of it was true and Effie just snuck into her mother’s account. As far as my test being bumped was concerned, they couldn’t find any proof that my numbers were specifically manipulated, but there were several questions removed from the test this year. She figures that, if Spitfire really wanted me in, then she could just go through my test, determine certain questions were ‘bad’ and remove them from the exam after the fact for the entire examinee pool. There was enough precedent for it that no one could really argue against it. I just happened to ‘get lucky’ this time.

At the end of the next week, I got an email celebrating my acceptance into the Cloudsdale branch of the Wonderbolts, which, again, I didn’t apply for. Upon accepting the position of Rookie Wonderbolt, I’d be given housing in the onsite barracks if need be, and I was to meet the Trainer and my new team two weeks from then on May 15th.

The salary itself was more than enough to live on, but, suspiciously, I also got an email from Struck Company about a Thunderaid sponsorship. I pretty much bolted straight to Mom and Dad because the number listed there didn’t make any sense for a rookie in their first year. Nopony should be giving a rookie of all ponies five million bits before he’s even debuted on the pro circuit. Having a big name like this on my back didn’t make any sense either. None of this should be happening.

Only, it was all legit. I was in it deep and I wasn’t getting out any time soon. I figured I ought to get ahead of this—well, Miss Rarity said I should try to get ahead of this since she knows all the lawyers—and I set up a meeting with Captain Spitfire. I was not comfortable going it alone, though, so Dad went with me.

It had been a long time since I’d gone flying to Cloudsdale with Dad like this. It was blue and clear over Ponyville, and we had a tailwind on a cool, late spring day.

“Like, it is weird, isn’t it?” I asked.

Dad was still Dad, but it had been a long time since he was in his prime. Not only had I grown up, but he was slowing down. We hadn’t been going too long, but he was already gliding. “Yeah,” he panted, “it’s a little weird, but the Wonderbolts aren’t the only sporting organization Thunderaid and Struck Company supports. They have their logo on everything and everyone who will take them. Hoofball rookies tend to get crazy expensive contracts too, and Thunderaid is just one of Struck’s products. They’ve got that soda brand, they make snack foods, hell, even the oatmeal you like is under Struck’s umbrella. Half the things you find in a stadium are Struck Company products.”

“I still don’t like it. I don’t even know these people, why would they pull strings for me?”

Dad frowned. “I know you hate to be reminded of this, but you’re kinda the young flier right now. Trophies at the house, trophies at the school, competitions across the country. Your name is out there, and you’re a big deal in these circles.”

“Ugh, why does it feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t know about this?”

Dad put a hoof on my shoulder. “Buddy, I think you and I both know that you have a tendency to be oblivious to the rest of the world.”

Guilty. “I mean, I can only focus on so many things.”

“And if it’s not a model, flying, or your girlfriend, you usually don’t.”

The girlfriend thing was more recent than the others, but it’s always caused me problems at school. “Well, I watch TV shows and MeTube videos.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “You’re also male and a teenager, what about it?”

Doesn’t exactly help my case here. “Nothing, I guess.”

“I get it, buddy, I really do.” He flapped his wings a few times to meet my eyes. “But this is kinda the… nastier side of the Wonderbolts. Sponsorships and internal politics are a part of any big organization. Your mom and I work for the school, but we’re also sponsored by the city and the district. We have relationships and contracts to navigate through each of them, and making people like us and playing nice is part of the job.

“Sure, we help promote local events and races, and sometimes we work with the Ponyville Wonderbolts when we can, but, like, they’re bottom tier as far as the Wonderbolts go, and Cloudsdale has first pick. You’re not the top candidate with scores like yours, but your crazy record is famous. You were always gonna get Cloudsdale, Canterlot, or Las Pegasus and, we’re just lucky you ended up this close.”

“You knew I wasn’t gonna get Ponyville?”

Dad clicked his tongue. “Well, I honestly didn’t think you were gonna get in this year at all with your grades. Speaking of, regardless of you passing, we still need to keep working on your meteorology. The weather will mess you up if you’re not careful, and you have to be familiar with all that. It doesn’t matter if you can feel a storm coming if it forms right as you fly through it.”

Despite being a pegasus, meteorology was my worst science. Pressure, humidity, wind speed, cloud types, storm formation, forecasting, I was terrible at all of it. Flying was just something I felt. I’m really good at it because I can sort of feel everything, but I also get lost and have flown straight through thunderstorms and blizzards because I have a hard time remembering which clouds are safe to pass through and which ones I need to avoid. On the one hoof, flying straight through a dangerous cloud has gotten me record-breaking times, but on the other hoof, it’s not like I do that on purpose.

“Yeah… Are you gonna help me with that, or…?”

Dad scratched his beard. “I mean, your mom was the weather pony and science has advanced a lot since I last took the test. There’s more to learn about it these days.” He let out a breath. “Dad would be the pony to ask, but…”

Grandpa Hang Glider? “But what?”

Dad was silent for a while, staring off into the blue sky. We had a few minutes before we’d get to Cloudsdale. “Dad is… against the Wonderbolts, generally.”

“What? Why?”

Dad rolled his tongue around his mouth. Our tailwind caught the edge of the lake under Cloudsdale and started blowing upward. I don’t remember any of the terms for this, but I think that meant Cloudsdale was due for a storm soon. “Well, he was one, for a very short time.”

The old stallion did have impressive wings. “I could see it. But like, why does he hate them now?”

“I don’t know.” Dad shrugged. “But it’s been like this all my life, and it’s something he and Mom fought over a lot before the divorce. After I grew up, I fought with him a lot about the Bolts too. He was a weather pony for something like thirty years though, so he knows his stuff. I just don’t know how receptive he’d be if you told him you joined the Bolts. He only ever came to my performances because Sweet Wing would fight for me.”

Maybe I should go see Grandpa. “Would you—?"

“No.” Dad stared dead through me, then turned his head back toward Cloudsdale. “You can see your grandpa by yourself.”

Right. “Yeah… I’ll do that then.”

We were silent the rest of the way to the Wonderbolts Academy in Cloudsdale. The huge sky city sat above Abyssal Lake, the deepest freshwater lake in Equestria. The history goes that pegasi were chased here back in the days before Equestria by the unicorns. They couldn’t defend themselves well against magic, so they hid where magic couldn’t reach them. It was untenable, however, because you can’t grow food in the clouds. Eventually, one Commander Hurricane, a highly skilled flier and archer, the original ‘Wonderbolt’ managed to drive off the unicorns using hit-and-run tactics. Land around Abyssal Lake was fortified, and the pegasi had a source of freshwater and basic food to eat. By restricting access to the lake, they made deals with the earth ponies and unicorns for food, goods, and help in managing the weather.

After the princesses came to power, however, the old pegasus dynasties fell to ruin and the city was left more or less as a pegasus segregation hideaway. It’s one of the last cities where only one pony race lives, but it’s easier to visit than ever before thanks to a spell band Princess Twilight invented sixteen years ago.

Now, Cloudsdale is a big tourist spot, and unlike Las Pegasus which specced into gambling and amusement parks, Cloudsdale is a sports megacity with Wonderbolt races and shows at its center. Literally. It was laid out like a dart board with residential districts all along the edges, a ring road closer toward the middle, and the center of the city which was mainly hotels, resorts, and Wonderbolt complexes.

Wonderbolt Stadium, where performances were held, was an enclosed space where ponies could enjoy watching indoor show routines. Song and dance mixed with aerobatics was the oldest kind of Wonderbolt shows there were, dating all the way back to the pegasus dynasties of the old world. It’s a little like ballet with wings, except it doesn’t follow much of a formula. Last year, they had some kind of EDM light show thing where all the bolt’s uniforms were covered in fluorescent strips and they performed completely under black lights.

The Wonderbolt racetrack was more of a city-wide thing, but shorter, more technical races were kept to the Bolt's rally track. These were all about speed… within limits. Thanks to a certain pony going supersonic right under the city approximately sixteen years ago, causing a blackout that killed two ponies, racers are no longer allowed to dive anywhere within a mile of the city, and nets are spread under every inch of the city just in case some unlucky or stupid non-pegasus happens to fall through the clouds. There were a number of track configurations that mostly went through parts of and around the city, but when it came to the junior and amateur races, they were typically restricted to the rally track. The Wonderbolt Race track was also famous for the number of injuries and deaths it’s caused over the decades. It was during a distance race held here that Mom tore her wing.

Finally, in the center of the city was the Cloudsdale Speedway. This was a 1.5 mile oval track where the competitors would race to complete laps as quickly as possible. Rainbow Dash, a.k.a. Mom, currently holds the fastest time on the 500 course, completing 500 laps in under four hours. Soarin, a.k.a. Dad, holds the record for most laps completed at something absurd like 1200. For reference, the last pony to attempt Dad’s record, a pegasus by the name of Lightning Dust, only managed 900 laps. Only Dad has ever broken Dad’s record, and nopony has come close in a long time. Dude was here flying in circles for twelve hours straight. He only stopped because he passed out.

Just east of the speedway and centered between the three main facilities was the Wonderbolt Academy. It housed the barracks, major training facilities, and offices of the Cloudsdale Branch. Originally, this was also the main branch of the Wonderbolts, but thanks to explosive growth in the last thirty years, a much bigger facility was built near Canterlot that uses the mountain city’s natural height to help train young fliers more safely. Cloudsdale, however, is where the best of the best go, and, unfortunately, that meant me.

For as many fond memories as I have of coming here as a spectator, and even as a competitor for my later junior events, I wasn’t excited about this meeting. I’ve never been one to lead a team, I usually just memorize routines and play my part, and when it comes to racing, I just go where I need to as quick as I can. It’s all fun and there’s no real weight on my shoulders like this. I hadn’t even started the job yet, and I already felt like there was a lot to live up to.

We landed at the front of the building with all its columns and ornamentation, featuring little lightning bolts, cloud designs and old pegasus historical battles carved into the staircase and walls. Normally, I loved to look at this place because little was better than detailed engraving like that, but now I felt like the unicorns and earth ponies being skewered by arrows in the early history sections.

“Well, come on,” Dad said, heading in.

Sighing, I followed behind. Down in Ponyville, in a very spacious outer ring district, one could find replicas of everything in this hall in the Ponyville Branch Wonderbolts HQ. It was big and new and had all that modern interior design, but it paled in comparison to the ancient cloud-built, hoof-made Cloudsdale headquarters. Trophies lined cases all along the walls, records written in the old pegasus language and translated into modern Equestrian sat beneath the very earliest Wonderbolts awards ever made, all preserved in near perfect condition throughout the ages.

We walked down polished blue halls passing display after display while the decades rolled by. Seasonal competitions to yearly competitions, trophies made of rarer and rarer materials as wealth grew and events became more grand, then back to tradition during the Cloudsdale restoration era of the 1000s. On and on the hall went until we hit about the 1600s, which is where the offices began. We turned left into a smaller hall under a plaque that said ‘Recruiting.’

“Captain? You around?” Dad called.

“Captain?” a rough, older mare’s voice responded. “Nopony calls me Captain anymore.”

We turned into a room at the end of the hall where the voice had come from. On the left was a case full of medals and trophies. They were very few gold, a couple silver, and mostly bronze. On the right was a couch and another door to a bathroom. At the back was a huge wooden desk sitting in front of a very well lit window with an older mare on a laptop minding it. She was staring at Dad as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Goddess, you got old, Soarin.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “I just don’t shave anymore. Not part of my contracts these days.”

She grunted, getting out of her office chair to greet us. “You looked better without it.” She locked on me next as a curl formed in her lips. “Well, well, if it isn’t the record breaker! Flew all the way here from Ponyville and it doesn’t look like you broke a sweat.”

I swallowed. “Uh, yes, ma’am. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She scowled. “Nice to… Kid, I’ve put awards around your neck. Do you seriously not remember me?”

Between the picture Mom showed me the other day and now, a lot had changed for the old mare. Wrinkles and crow's feet marked her face. Her eyes were dimmer, and her mane had been pulled into a small bun while looking sort of thin with silver streaks in it. She looked and sounded like she smoked almost as much as Grandma Downy, with maybe a healthier lifestyle otherwise. Her wings were her best quality in that they were well maintained, but that bright shine that pegasi in good shape get just wasn’t there. If the picture from '08 was Spitfire near her prime, this was Spitfire on her way to retirement.

My eyes fell to the floor. “W-well, I’m really not good with keeping track of ponies.”

The old mare sighed. “Carry ‘em around as foals and they forget you in a week. Kids, man.”

“Oh, come on, Captain,” Dad interjected, “It’s been years, give him a break.”

She made her way back to her desk and crashed into her chair. “I guess it has. Grab a seat boys, tell me why you’re here.”

There were two brown vinyl chairs set out for guests in front of the desk. Dad took the right, I took the left. A whole lot of those trophies were bronze, but the variety was wild. Longest Dive, Highest Altitude, Best Showman, Cloudsdale 500, Cloudsdale Grand Tour. She’d placed in everything.

“So, Prism got a concerning email the other day,” Dad said.

The Spitfire’s ears perked up. “Oh yeah? From who?”

“Thunderaid. They want to give him an awful lot of bits just to have their logo on his uniform.”

She smiled, clapping her hooves. “Well, that’s great! What an opportunity for a rookie, kid, you should be glad.” Spitfire reached over the desk to offer me a hoof, but Dad blocked. She leaned back, shooting her orange eyes at him. “Is there something wrong, Soarin?”

“We’re just concerned, is all. Prism has an excellent record, but his test scores leave a lot to be desired. It’d be one thing if he had some experience, but that’s a lot of money for a kid right out of high school.”

The air in Spitfire’s office had become thick, and not due to any kind of atmospheric pressure. She put her hooves together on her desk, assuming a very commanding posture. “So it is. He’s a winner, isn’t he? Doesn’t it make sense to… bet on a winning pony?”

Dad stared at his former captain intently. “Sure, but junior leagues are a whole lot different than the pros. He’s good, but he’s not hitting anything like Dash’s times yet, and he’s never done pro-level events.”

Spitfire narrowed her eyes. “You call an hour and fifteen minute run on the Canterlot 200 ‘anything like’ Rainbow’s times? If that was a 500, he’d have beaten or matched her record!”

Oh, Goddess, a 500 race? I was so dizzy and pukey after the 175 mark that I don’t remember anything but losing my lunch from the rest of the 200. Mom was going that fast for four hours?

“He also blew chunks and passed out after the podium. Eighteen is a whole lot younger than twenty-three with three years pro racing experience. He’s not gonna be Dash in her prime the moment he joins the team.”

Spitfire rested her cheek on her hoof. “So he isn’t. That’s what I’m here for. Head Instructor Spitfire—every trophy at the end of that hall belongs to somepony who worked with me.”

Dad crossed his forelegs. “Yeah, but I bet they didn’t get multimillion bit sponsorships from your long-time partner on their first day of the job.”

The air in the room could’ve been molded into shape, it was so thick.

“What is this about, Soarin?” She said, harshly.

“That’s what I wanna know, Captain.” Dad shot back. The word 'captain' seemed to disarm her a bit. “I’m trying to look out for my son here because I don’t think he’s ready for this.”

Frowning at him, she turned away, reached into her desk, and took out an ashtray. “Either of you smoke?” she asked.

“No.”

Sighing, she brought out a cigar and lit it with a match. Once it was bright and orange at the tip and the smoke was flying up and through the cloud ceiling, she set it down. “That’s unfortunate, but you were always the straight-arrow type, Soarin.” Finally, she turned her eyes on me. “What kind are you, exactly?”

What does she want me to say? What should I be saying here? “I mean… I just like to fly.”

She grabbed at her chest. “Oh, it just kills me when ponies say that! You just like to fly better and faster than everypony else. You just win everything and anything you enter like it’s nothing to you. You just have the most amazing junior record anypony’s ever seen. Do you even wanna be a Wonderbolt, kid?”

I didn’t just study for ages for nothing. “I mean, well, yeah. Both my parents were and I really do like flying and to push myself when I do, so I… sorta figured I’d just be one one day.”

“Goddess, your attitude sucks!” Spitfire grabbed her cigar and took a huge drag on it. She stood up and looked out her window, puffing away at her stick. “Do you know how many ponies apply for the Wonderbolts every year?”

I’m pretty sure that’s, like, a test question, isn’t it? “Look, I’m not really a numbers guy.”

“Yeah, I know.” She turned around to face me. “Let me break it down for you, Skittles Junior.” She raised her wing and stuck out her primary feathers. “There are about a million pegasi in Cloudsdale. There are five high schools and two colleges here, Cloudsdale University, and Cloudsdale Community College. Every one of these institutions has a flight team and participates in interscholastic competitions. These are pegasi born in the sky who die in the sky, spending their whole lives flying. There are about 600 kids per class at each high school and each flight team has no less than forty members. Every flight team is highly competitive. Only the best make it even in high school here. I want you to guess how many of our Cloudsdale pegasi managed to make it into this branch this year. Just guess.”

A Wonderbolts team usually only consists of about ten to twenty ponies, and there are three teams per branch. The only team that accepts new recruits is C team since it’s mostly the ‘rookie’ team. The other day, Effie said that there were only five slots left to fill, so that means, including me, she’s already picked… uh, ten to fifteen ponies? But I’m, like, an exception or something, right? Shouldn’t that mean that the rest of them are probably from here? But then again, there’s Las Pegasus, and Canterlot is a high-profile team, too… “Five?”

“Two,” she stated. “Exactly two pegasi are eligible, and only one of them is shortlisted like you are. This is not a place that ponies ‘just sorta’ end up. This is a place where kids throw their lives away training to reach. Countless hours, years of their youth spent working just to get to the chance of being a Wonderbolt, and you and your ‘I just kinda have fun’ attitude are being asked to join. Thunderaid is practically begging you to be one of us, and you… don’t even really want it.”

She took another long drag on her cigar. She let out a stream of smoke like dragon fire, wafting up through the clouds like a lit chimney. “I want you on the team, Skittles two. And if you ever want a career as a Wonderbolt, you’ll tell Thunderaid that you’d be happy to work with them, and you’ll be back here on May 15th to accept your uniform. You’re not gonna ask any more questions.” She turned to Dad. “And no more feds are gonna show up here asking about my exams. If one of those things doesn’t happen, you will never be a Wonderbolt, and I will devote the rest of my life to making sure it stays that way.”

Spitfire plopped in her seat and threw her hindlegs on top of her desk. “Are we clear, boys?”

Never? I’d… I’d never get the chance to be like Mom and Dad?

Dad stood, his face stony. “Yes, Captain.”

She smirked. “Good. See ya Monday.”

Dad patted my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

When we arrived at the house, Mom and Haze were watching some play on the TV. They both had scripts in their hooves, so Haze was likely practicing lines for drama club tryouts. I can’t say if I’d be better or worse off if I had a talent for acting like he does.

“O beware, my lord, of jealo—Hey, you’re back!” Mom broke character to greet us at the door. She stopped halfway, though. “She uh… give ya terms?”

“Yeah…”

“Aww, baby.” Mom came and hugged me.

Dad let out a grunt of frustration. “Yeah, she might as well have admitted that she rigged the test to get him in too. And not only that, she knows about Twilight’s investigation!”

Mom ran her hoof through my mane as she walked us to the couch. “So much for quietly looking into this. Damn it, Captain. What’d she say?”

Dad collapsed into the recliner. “Well, she played it cool up until I pressed her about the sponsorship. Relations broke down from there and ended with the ultimatum that It’d be now or never.”

Mom scratched at her mane. “She would do that, wouldn’t she? What is today?”

“The 7th,” my little brother answered. “Tryouts are on the 21st, by the way.”

Mom patted his head. “I know, buddy, but your high school drama club is a little less important than your brother’s entire future. Besides, you’ll get in no questions asked.”

Haze rolled his eyes. “So you say.”

“Yeah, I do!” She threw her hoof around his neck and pressed us both to her chest. “Look, it’s gonna be easy for you to get down on things later on in life. Serious or not, you’ve gotta roll with the punches. Can’t just tell the wind to stop, ya know. Relax a little. The world isn’t gonna end tomorrow.”

Dad chuckled. “Man, how the tables turn.”

“Huh?” Mom grunted.

“I would assume,” Haze began, “something about whatever Mom said is ironic.”

Dad nodded. “Rainbow ‘every little thing is the end of the word’ Dash is just being awfully wise today.”

She let go of us and crossed her forelegs. “Yeah, yeah, yuk it up, mister. I have my moments.”

I threw my hooves up. “What about my moment though!? Am I just screwed here or what? I don’t really wanna be a Wonderbolt if it means having Spitfire hanging around my neck like a… ya know, that rock.”

“Millstone,” Haze answered. “I have to wonder just how much she removed for you to actually pass that test.”

I sighed. “A lot, probably.”

Mom shook me. “Hey! Don’t get down on yourself, what did I just say?”

“I can’t roll with anything when she comes at me like a freight train!”

Dad stroked his beard. “Well, that’s the Captain for you. She’s always been an all-or-nothing kinda mare.” Then he hummed to himself. “What did that Thunderaid contract say about a term? Wonderbolts renew yearly, so there should be a condition that you remain a Wonderbolt to get the full amount, right?”

Mom reached over me and grabbed her phone off the end table. “Uh, Rarity wrote a sheet of notes for me, lemme just…” She swiped left and right tapping things until she reached a page of plain text. “‘Full amount to be paid in monthly lump sums upon:

• three years of service,
• the applicant makes Wonderbolt team captain,
• the applicant places no lower than third in any competition,
• the applicant enters every spectator event,
• the applicant appears at requested Thunderaid promotional campaigns,
• and the applicant retains appropriate conduct while associated with Thunderaid and Struck Company.

“If the applicant incurs damages to the Thunderaid brand, the contract is void and the applicant will be held responsible. Thunderaid retains the right to terminate the contract at its discretion.’”

Haze rubbed his chin. “Given your record, all you have to do is not screw up and you’ve got about… 136K a month outside of your Bolts salary? Geez, you’d be set for life and then some.”

Dad shook his head. “What an absurd thing to give a teenager. Enough bits to buy a new house every month and you expect him to not screw up over three years? Maybe they just have that in there to ensure they get their bits back when you do make a mess at some point.”

I frowned. “Make a mess? What could I do? Even if I had all that money I wouldn’t know what to do with it… well, other than buy every kit I ever wanted. Don’t you think I’d lose a race or something before then?”

And here I got stares from everybody. “Buddy, I know I was making a fuss in front of Spitfire, but…”

“I mean,” Mom began, “there’s still rookie level events for you to clear before you’re actually allowed to get into the big ones like the CD500. Your dad and I both captained C-team before we were moved up too. All you’ve gotta do is have some skill and make ponies like you to earn Captain anyways.”

“Hmm,” Haze mumbled, “It would have to be a serious mismatch for somepony to actually dislike Prism…” He turned to me from beside Mom. “What, do you think you’d lose?”

I’m not usually one to look behind me during an event, but it usually takes a few seconds before anypony catches up after I finish. It’s never been less than three, either. “Well, I don’t think so, but the chance is there, isn’t it?”

“Nah, you’d win,” Mom said without hesitation. “I mean, Spitfire aside, this is a pretty good gig you’ve got on your hooves.”

Dad frowned. “No, you really can’t put her aside because she’ll be on his ass 24/7. Be it at the training grounds or at whatever Thunderaid events he’ll get pulled into, she’s gonna be there. Hell, she’ll have even less to do than when we were in her squad because she’s not a captain anymore. Three years is a long time to be under her hoof.”

And so the millstone hangs. The living room went quiet and the air got just a little bit heavier. I’m tired of this conversation. “Can we be done for today?”

My parents shared a concerned look before Mom rubbed my mane. “Sure, buddy.”

“But you can’t put this off forever,” Dad warned. “Really, you need to make this decision by Wednesday so we have time to meet with the Thunderaid guys…”

I got up from the couch. “Okay, sure, but for now, I’m gonna go build something and forget about all this for a while.”

Mom nodded. “Alright, you go build your model. Just… don’t take too long, okay? That can have… serious consequences.”

The heavy air hung heavier. A certain pony who took too long to make a decision, the one responsible for the blackout and the reason nets are installed all under Cloudsdale, knew all too well how serious the consequences could be. Not feeling any better about this, I turned and trotted up the stairs. I wasn’t in a mood to be using my wings right about now.