In the Field of Striped Fire

December 12th 2012

9: 51AM

A Field of Striped Fire

A ZecoraFire Shipping

Written by ForlanceAbice

“Somepony is about to have a bad bucking day.” Spitfire face hoofed, looking down pitifully at her fellow wingmate Soarin, known by his title as “Daredevil of the Sky” for his outrageous, sometimes reckless stunts that the Wonderbolt would preform, pulling off dangerous stunts with a flick of the dime. At the present however, Soarin had been reduced to a moaning wreck. Sweat was pouring down his pelt by the liter,  with saliva pouring down onto the hospital sheet that covered him, panting with profuse distress. His fellow Wonderbolts could do nothing but provide emotional support as Soarin suffered through painful cramps in the legs, spasms in the wings, and a splitting headache to boot, waiting for the doctors to come back with the medicine that he desperately needed. The ice pack that was strapped to both his wings and head did little to alleviate the pain which coursed throughout his body.

“Oh fuck me, I feel like somepony wired my gut up to explode with hot iron!” Soarin said, rubbing his stomach in a vain attempt to soothe the painful stimuli that was assaulting his brain. Spitfire could only roll her eyes in exasperation as she pondered how Soarin managed to somehow bucked up his body this time.  Apparently Soarin bought a few pieces of pie from some traveling merchant cart called the “Flim and Flam's Delicious Deluxe!”, whose sellers promised that the pie responsible for his current condition would enhance the performance of anypony who ate (Or in the case of Soarin, devoured whole) only just a portion of the tasty treat. They claimed that it gave the user both stamina and the muscle to run a whole marathon without breaking a sweat.  Being a self proclaimed connoisseur of pies everywhere, it was to nopony's surprise Soarin obeyed his stomach and bought it without question. Nearly half an hour later, Soarin began to complain about a sudden weakness in his muscles, which was shortly followed by a worsening nausea, horrible cramping, and then finally humiliating himself by crapping himself during the Wonderbolt's night debriefing only two hours before.

A silver maned pegasus walked up to Spitfire and chuckled.

“Damn Spitfire, for once I don't envy your position as Captain of the team.”

“Put a zip on it Windstream, I am NOT in the mood to hear it. Oh my Celestia, I don't even want to imagine how much of a public relationship nightmare this is going to be, plus the fact I sincerely doubt that the higher ups are going to be lenient about this once word get's out.” Spitfire sighed, clutching her head as a headache began to worm its way through to her brain. What could she do now? It wasn't like Celestia would come out of nowhere and fix this problem, it was never that easy.

“Soarin, what the hay am I going to do with you?” She said, leaning against the bedpost railing besides Soarin.

“Ugh, I think I am gonna hu- HGHHMP!”

Spitfire had just enough time to blink before she recoiled back in utter shock, covered in Soarin's stomach bile.

All conversation in the room went dead silent as patients, doctors and her teammates alike stared at the aftermath of the scene which had just transpired. Nopony dared to make a comment.

“... Ugh... Applejack isn't going to be happy about this.”

“Oh I doubt anypony would be happy about being puked on Soarin. This can't get any... Wait... Did you say Applejack?”

Soarin nodded his head weakly. “Eeeyup...”

It took Spitfire a minute to process what she just heard. Oh, she knew the name of Soarin's marefriend. The Captain had even personally been invited to one of their dinner dates at Sweet Apple Acres. What she remembered the most though was the impression she got from Applejack's applebucking. Apparently the Apple family only bucked at quarter of their potential.  Spitfire knew by how much Soarin talked about her that Applejack, though usually a reasonable and honest pony, was literally a terror to whomever had the misfortune of earning the ire of her wrath. To clarify, she managed to break the bones of several stallions that tried to tango with them while they were in Fillydelphia. They ended up being treated for internal hemorrhaging.

The windsweapt mare realized that she was beginning to hyperventilate.

“SPITFIRE!” She blinked, then realized that Rapidfire was waving a hoof in front of her.

“I suggest that you get yourself washed up, then meet me at Emerald Street. We might be able to find out the basterds that manage to land poor Soarin over there in the ER.”

“... Actually, I think I will do this alone. You just stay here and make sure things don't go to hell in a haybasket. You're third in command now.”

“But-” By the time the word left his mouth, Spitfire was only just a blur in the sunset sky.

He also saw the papparazzi ponies beginning to gather at the outside square.

“... Spitfire, you owe me one.” Rapidfire said, banging his head against a column.