If the Flight Suit Fits

by TheLastBrunnenG

Rating: teen
Tags: Wonderbolts, Spitfire, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Rainbow Dash
Length: 10363

A Spitfire and Dash romance, about as smooth as a head-on collision at terminal velocity.

Dash gets what she always wanted: a spot in the Wonderbolts and Spitfire by her side. Their relationship is all speed, all adrenaline, all passion, and absolutely, positively doomed.

A trainwreck of a romance in an ongoing series of slice-of-life snapshots, clop-free.

Restraint, or Lack Thereof - Spitfire knows what she wants, knows how to get it, and knows exactly how wrong this could all go.

Day In, Day Out - Soarin needs to know why Spitfire's been distracted and out of sorts lately, and there's a good chance he already knows the answer.

Been a While - Spitfire isn't the only one in this relationship who's been nursing a crush on her idol for years. Difference is, Dash has been doing something about it.

Burden - It isn't easy being a hero, especially if you're not the hero you thought you'd be.

Forgive and Forget- Dash makes a terrible mistake. Making it won't get her in trouble; trying to fix it could be disastrous.

Wings - Sometimes you get your dreams handed to you on a silver platter. Sometimes that's the last thing you want.

Touchdown and Takeoff - Somepony's gotta put out fires for the Wonderbolts before the team implodes, and Soarin' just drew the short straw.

Shattered - Spitfire is royally ticked off at Rainbow, and RD has no idea why.

Unscheduled - Spitfire gives the Wonderbolts the week off only to find that Dash left a few things unfinished.

What Has Been Seen - The Wonderbolts are taking bets on Spitfire and Dash self-destructing, and Soarin' just wants a nap.

Now featuring beautiful new cover art courtesy of Celebi-Yoshi!

These stories are in continuity with Luna's Librarian and The Rustic & The Romantic.

All chapters originally written as separate entries for flash-fic blog Thirty Minute Pony Stories (TMP). I highly recommend a visit to TMP if you're looking for some of the best 1000-word gems in pony fiction. Many thanks to TMP for inspiring me to write!

Published 2013-01-05 01:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-03-11 12:26:14 UTC

Restraint, or Lack Thereof

“Heck of a day, eh, Cap?” asked the white-maned pegasus lounging on a couch in the Wonderbolts’ Cloudsdale headquarters ready room.

Spitfire rubbed her jaw with one hoof, turning a broken pair of flight goggles over with another. “Yeah, you could say that. Knocked out cold by a flailing unicorn – I don’t think Blaze will ever let me live this one down,” She cocked an eyebrow but didn’t look up. “But that rescue! Did you see that, Fleetfoot? One little pegasus carried three ‘Bolts and a unicorn from terminal velocity to champion performance and managed to pull off a move we all thought was pure fantasy at the same time. Never seen anything like it! Or like her.”

Fleetfoot grinned. “Nice afternoon with your savior, I take it?”

“She was amazing, Fleet! We put her through her paces all evening and it was like seeing myself ten or twelve years ago. All speed, all passion.” The fiery Captain smiled as she stated into the shattered lenses she’d been wearing hours earlier. “Wish I could offer her a spot today.”

“Sounds like you wish you could offer her more than that, Cap.” Leaning forward, Fleetfoot narrowed her eyes and added, “That little filly’s what, ten years younger than you? Twelve? I know that look in your eyes – it’s the one that says you’re about to break a dozen or so rules. Better be careful, Spits.”

“I know what I’m doing, Fleet,” growled the yellow pegasus. “I’ve got it under control.” Spitfire opened a desk drawer and flung the shattered goggles inside, along with an undelivered and half-written letter.

Dash,

I had an incredible time with you today! You’re like nopony I’ve ever met. I’m not just saying that because I owe you my life, I promise. I thought maybe we could get together outside of work sometime, and…

~~~~~

Chattering and mingling ponies wearing the latest in Canterlot fashion surrounded two Wonderbolts who looked entirely out of place in their blue-and-gold flight suits. “Pie again, Soarin? Really? We had to have your uniform let out twice already this winter, big guy. And wipe your chin, you’re drooling.”

The massive stallion licked crumbs from his muzzle as his Captain poked him in the gut. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just jealous because – hey, my pie!”

Holy leaping Luna, it’s her, Spitfire thought. Of all the ponies to show up at the Gala... I guess I should have known Celestia would have the Elements here. She watched dumbstruck and slack-jawed as the rainbow-maned pony juggled pie and drinks and more. Dash stood there, perched perfectly and balancing a drink on an outstretched rear hoof.

Seconds passed but they felt like long, hot hours to the orange-maned mare. Spitfire felt her gaze wander from flawless blue wings to muscled thighs to taut flanks and brilliant cutie mark, and further. She felt her heart pound and pulse quicken before a hoof jabbed her in the ribs. Inhaling sharply and realizing she’d been holding her breath, she shook her head. “Huh? What – what is it?”

Soarin barely suppressed a cackle. “Wipe your chin, Captain Cradle-robber! You were drooling.”

Spitfire, wide-eyed and panting, took several involuntary steps backward, looking around frantically for a random pack of nobles to lose herself in. Keep it together, she thought, just back away. No good can come of this. Keep control, Spitfire, just back away…

~~~~~

“Slow down, Spitfire! Think about what you’re doing!” The pale yellow mare was a mirror of Spitfire save for her two-toned blue mane, and slammed her hooves on her leader’s desk. “There are rules, regulations, there’s a waiting list and tryouts and - “

“Back off, Misty Fly!” Spitfire brushed her teammate's hooves aside and continued filling out an acceptance letter. “You weren’t there. You should have seen her, Misty. Sixteen point five wingpower – sixteen! It was unreal. She’s a leader, too.” Spitfire titled the form ‘Dash, Rainbow A.’ and held it in her hooves. “Manehattan, Fillydelphia, anywhere else would have sent the best of the best to lift that much water, and they’d still struggle. Dash motivated a bunch of small-town yahoos at the last minute, pulled it off, and was a whisker away from setting a record. We need her, Misty!”

“No,” snarled Misty, “you need her. Our roster's full, Spitfire. Every slot and every alternate – you know that. It’s no secret you’ve got it bad for this filly – “

“Mare, Misty. She’s not in flight school, you know.”

“I said filly and I meant it! Sweet Celestia, Boss, when you were graduating flight school she wasn’t even old enough for Junior Speedsters camp! You do this, Spitfire, and you’ll never live it down. We all respect you, Boss, but this is over the line.”

Spitfire balled up the acceptance letter and threw it at the pegasus opposite her. She spun and rammed a hoof into her locker, leaving a dent and a drop of blood. “Control, patience, restraint,” she muttered through clenched teeth, “Control, patience, restraint…”

~~~~~

The Wonderbolts Academy flightline was deserted save for two ponies, yellow and azure. “Congratulations, Dash! With everything you’ve accomplished and everything you’ve shown me here, you’re a shoo-in. As soon as spot opens up, it’s yours. You earned it.”

They shook hooves and Dash said something but Spitfire’s mind was elsewhere. She looked down and realized she was still holding that perfect blue hoof. “Dash, there’s something else I wanted to ask you. I – “

Control, Spitfire, control yourself! You can wait, you can be patient, you can…

She locked eyes with the rainbow mare across from her, amber to magenta, and continued, “I was wondering if you’d like to stick around a while for – “ She swallowed and held her breath and ruffled her wings.

Control, control, she thought, buck it, there'll be time for self-control later. A predatory little smile eased onto her muzzle.

“ – dinner?”

Author's Note

TMP Prompt # 218.

Day In, Day Out

Sheaves of paper hid every inch of desktop space on the utilitarian grey metal desk. A fire-maned pegasus sat at the desk, amber eyes boring holes in mountains of reports, charts, and graphs. A massive blue stallion entered the office with the clattering of a creaky door and seemed to draw no notice.

The mare furrowed her brow as she held a stack of documents. “Opposing Solo was point oh two slow on the knife edge pass. Have to improve that before the pairs competition in Trottingham.”

Sipping noisily at a steaming mug of coffee, the stallion looked nonchalantly around the plain and dimly-lit office. “So, Captain, are the cows singing today?”

Again the mare muttered under her breath. “Lead Solo was almost a meter low on the Ponychev’s Cobra maneuver. That’d cost us a point if the judges were paying attention.”

Soarin swirled the froth on his drink and said, “Your chair’s made of polka-dotted snakes, Boss.”

Shuffling the stack of papers, Spitfire ran a quill across a line of numbers and scribbled in the margins. “Cloudsdale Air Minister’s in town next week, that’ll throw afternoon practice off by three hours a day. Damn.”

“You know, Spitfire,” said the now frothy-muzzled stallion, “I have this strange feeling you’re not paying me the slightest bit of attention.” Grinning ear to ear, he said, “Wonder what would grab your attention? How about…” He paused for a moment and continued noticeably louder, “Hey Spitfire, how was your little date?”

She dropped her papers and her head shot up, eyes flashing and teeth bared. “What? What about it? Now you’re on my case too, Soarin?”

He threw his hooves up, drink sloshing dangerously. “Not me, Cap! I was just asking a friendly little question.”

“Well now,” she growled, sitting back in her chair, “it doesn’t matter, does it? It’s over and today is a day like every other. Review, practice, review, perform, repeat. That’s the drill. Same as always.”

“Yeah, but today isn’t the same, is it?” Soarin sipped gingerly at his mug, wiping away a mustache of froth with a hoof. “When’s the last time you tried to plan a schedule or review a practice after a date? For that matter, when’s the last time you had a date at all?”

“Not your concern, Soarin.”

“Oh, but it is. Every paper in Cloudsdale this morning opened with a story about the legendary Wonderbolts leader being seen canoodling with, and I quote, ‘Best Young Flyer winner and Element of Harmony bearer Rainbow Dash, a mare almost half the age of the Wonderbolts’ Captain.’ This is the kind of scrutiny we’re under, Spitfire. Every wingbeat, every show, every time we take a dump it’s news. So as your second in command, it’s my responsibility to ask – what in Tartarus is going through your head, Spitfire?”

The yellow pegasus glared at the pony opposite her, her jaw set and nostrils flaring. After a few long moments she put down the sheaf of reports and dropped her head into her hooves, elbows on the littered desk and ears drooping. “We were on the flightline, just the two of us, after all the other Academy grads took off. I told her she was basically already in, pending availability of an open slot. Which is true – she’s definitely ‘Bolts material, no question – but then, Soarin, I… I don’t know what I did.”

“Sure you do! You asked her out.”

Spitfire shook her head. “Everypony in that locker room was right. Dash is years younger than me, and better than I was at her age. She even called me out on it – said she had to know if I was offering her the Wonderbolts position in exchange for a roll in the clouds. I’ve never felt like such a creepy jerk in all my life.”

“But she said yes anyway?”

“Yeah, after I swore on my wings that it was just a date. She made me do this kooky thing called a ‘Pinkie Promise’ or something like that, too.” Spitfire’s voice was oddly small as she smiled weakly. “Then she said okay and told me she’d always wanted to ask me the same thing. And it was fine. Great, really. We hit that little café that just opened in the Upper East Quarter, ate and talked, and flew to the observation deck on the Astronomy Spire to watch the sunset.”

“Aw, you romantic old sap!” Soarin chuckled and slapped his knee. “So the big question, Cap – why now?”

She motioned around the office with her hooves. “See this? This is all I’ve had for over fifteen years, Soarin.” One hoof to her temple and the other shuffling papers, she continued, “Fifteen years of trophies and reports and flight schedules. Fifteen years of performance reviews and shows and training every day, day in and day out. I’m burning out, Soar. If I don’t take time to slow down and smell the clouds, and soon, then this office is all I’ll ever have.”

Soarin arched an eyebrow. “And this little blue filly is your solution? I know what the others have said, and yeah, I was there too. I saw how you acted around her at the Gala, and how your eyes got dreamy and distant and you smiled a little whenever her picture was in the paper. You sure about this, Spitfire?”

The Wonderbolt Captain smiled and sighed. “It was just one date, but yeah. I’m sure. There’s no pony like her, Soarin.” She opened a desk drawer and took out a newspaper clipping. Running a hoof over the photo, her eyes twinkled as she said, “You were right, you know? I hadn’t been on a date since freshman year of Flight School. I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s like learning to fly all over again. I’m terrified I’ll run her off and I’m scared I’ll crash and burn.”

“And you love it.”

She nodded slowly. “Like nothing else, Soar. Haven’t felt a thrill like this since my first show, since the very first time I launched off the platform and heard ten thousand ponies cheer. If I have to break the cycle, break out of the rut I’m in, then I might as well – how did the old theme song go? ‘Live in fame or go down in flames’? If anypony can rejuvenate me, then it might as well be the best - and that’s Rainbow Dash.”

Author's Note

TMP prompt # 221. The Prompt: I resolve to break out of loops.

Been a While

Yeah, I’m the number one all-time squealing fangirl, right? So let me tell you a story, and ‘cause I’m awesome, I’ll even start it with a little surprise for you. Ready for this? I, Rainbow Dash, never had a Wonderbolts poster in my bedroom. Stop the presses! Freaky, I know. Never had Wonderbolts dolls – er, action figures. Never collected Wonderbolts trading cards or comics. Why? Answer’s easy, see…

~~~~~

…And there I was, ready to show my stuff. Okay, I always am, but this was different. Every year the Best Young Flyer competition is judged by the Wonderbolts, and every year the judging lineup switches. How do I know? ‘Cause I charted every Best Young Flyer competition for years to figure it out, that’s how. What, you thought I was just speed and style, no brains? Yeah, I can make a chart, so eat that!

Anyway, every year they send a solo flyer, a left or right wing flyer, and either the lead or slot flyer. Soarin flies slot and Spitfire flies lead, and they alternate, so I timed my entry to make sure Spitfire was there. My luck! The one year they surprise me by changing the lineup (probably because Princess Celestia made an appearance) is the one year my friends decide to show up, and one of them brings wings.

You heard me right – one of my unicorn pals dredges up a wing spell, tries to enter the competition unannounced, and you probably know the story from there. I had everything all planned out, every amazing trick I wanted to show the world, and it all went to Tartarus. Yours truly ended up saving them all, naturally, but it’s hard to impress somepony when they’re unconscious. The second rainboom I’d ever pulled off, the second one ever done period, and Spitfire’s in la-la land. Just featherin’ great.

~~~~~

Ever been to a Grand Galloping Gala? No? Don’t bother, you aren’t missing anything. I went because my friend is Princess Celestia’s personal egghead, and the Princess probably wanted to show off the Elements. Did I mention I’m the bearer of the Element of Loyalty? Yeah, you can print that. And, of course, the Wonderbolts always send their best for a pre-Gala flyover, and they’re basically required to mingle, and you bet they send their Captain every year.

Total. Bust. What a waste! Every two-bit noble and high society bluefur was there, mobbing Spitfire and Soarin, and I couldn’t get a word in wingwise. Finally I had enough and decided to improvise. Did a juggling act with a pie and actually got invited over by Spitfire herself. Oh holy leaping Luna, I was in! I was ready! I was – I was about a second away from spilling everything when the mob rolls back in and I lose her in the crowd. Perfect. I try the juggling act again but either nopony’s watching or they’re about to run for their lives before the squirrel stampede arrives. All I could do was watch her melt away into the crowd - my loss.

~~~~~

You think I didn’t know who they’d sent to monitor the Ponyville water-lift attempt? What am I, some kind of amateur? I’d have tried for the record anyway but with Spitfire watching, I had to go the extra mile. I wanted Fluttershy aboard because it was all hooves on deck and I needed my friends to make a good example. Flutters could use a good showing for her own self-confidence, too, I admit.

Once the Feather Flu started making the rounds I knew the record was out of reach. I could've asked Spitfire to join us and we’d have made the water lift no problem. But between needing to show my stuff and wanting to give Shy a little boost, I did what I had to do. When we pulled it off – and with the crew we had, that was still a fraggin’ miracle – I was so happy for Fluttershy, I took off with the crowd and gave her an impromptu parade. Spitfire was there at the start but once things calmed down, she was gone. Again. All that for – well, not for nothing, but not exactly all I was hoping for.

~~~~~

That last day at the Wonderbolts Academy was almost the worst. Spitfire’d been giving me all unholy Tartarus the entire time, giving me the evil eye, making me fly wing for Lightning Dust, telling me I wasn’t pushing myself – was she blind? Had the last two years been for nothing? I did everything in my power to show her I was worthy, to show her what I could do, to see if they’d notice me. Buck the Wonderbolts, I wanted her to notice me. The ‘Bolts has become almost secondary by this point, and the Academy was my last hurrah. Make or break time, you know?

Nailed. It. Nailed it to the wall, solid! That was the one thing I never counted on. I did everything I could for two years to show her what I was made of, and finally when I’d had enough of playing second fiddle to that pathetic turkey Lightning Dust, I marched right up to Spitfire, told her off, and left her cold.

That was the day she gave me the wing leader slot, and a week later when the Academy season was over, she’d finally asked me out. Yeah, you got that right - she asked me! So she's got a couple of years on me - big deal! Have you seen that mare? Wish I’d known from the start that the key to her heart, the thing that would guarantee she’d notice me, wasn’t just fancy flying – it was being a great flyer with the backbone to stand up to her, too.

~~~~~

Well, there’s the story behind the glory. So you saw that poster in my room? I wasn’t lying.

That wasn’t a Wonderbolts poster.

That was a Spitfire poster.

Author's Note

TMP prompt # 222. The prompt: I resolve to be noticed.

Burden

Gentle breeze ruffled the prismatic mane of a young pegasus as she sat on the narrow ledge of a drifting cloud-house. She stared into the endless blue of the sky, seeming to take no notice of the fiery yellow streak which split the wispy clouds above her. Moments later a yellow pegasus lit next to her, dropping back onto muscular haunches to share the ledge.

“Hey there, Dash,” came the silken sultriness of Spitfire’s voice. “Or should I call you ‘The’ Rainbow Dash, fastest flyer in Equestria, only pony - ”

Dash’s stare never left the open sky and her words rang hollow and monotone. “Ever to perform a Sonic Rainboom. Bearer of the Element of Loyalty. Winner of the Best Young Flyer Competition, pony who rescued you and your teammates from certain doom. Yeah. That’s me.”

Spitfire cocked her head, the cyan pony’s reaction leaving her nonplussed. “So… did you get my letter?”

Rainbow lifted a wing and from underneath brought out a slip of paper, worn and creased and water stained. Holding it at hoof’s length, she mumbled a few lines before clearing her throat and reading aloud. “offer to Rainbow Dash a position in the Wonderbolts, Equestria’s premier aerobatic… all the privileges and responsibilities thereof… to start immediately upon acceptance.”

The yellow mare’s eyes lit up and a giddy enthusiasm filled her voice. “Awesome, right? You made it, Dash! You earned this, you really did. It had," she purred and nuzzled Dash's cheek, "nothing to do with last weekend, I swear. That didn't hurt, of course, but you were guaranteed a spot with us way before - well, before I found out exactly how well you knew your way around a pair of wings. So, when can you start?”

Long moments of silence passed, punctuated only by the rustling of a worn letter in the afternoon breeze. The sky-blue mare took the letter in her hooves and slowly, almost imperceptibly, tore it down the middle before letting the tattered halves float away like leaves in the autumn wind.

The fire-maned Spitfire recoiled a bit and arched an eyebrow. “You’re turning us down? Seriously?”

“Yeah, I know, the un-coolest answer possible, right?” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes as she sighed deeply and finally looked back to the Wonderbolts Captain. “If I join the Wonderbolts full-time, Spitfire, then I leave Ponyville. I leave P-ville, I leave my friends. I ditch my friends, and the whole Elements of Harmony shtick gets flushed. Princess Celestia isn’t going to let that happen to her big guns. And I can’t leave my friends to face every monster from here to Tartarus without me. I used to think I could do the Wonderbolts gig, I really could, if only we could go a few years without some huge crisis. Just my luck, huh? You hand me my dream the day Twilight says we have to pack up and go save the world again.”

“Save the world? Now?” Spitfire’s eyes grew wide and she took an involuntary step back. “As in, Nightmare Moon, Discord, Changeling Invasion – that kind of saving the world?”

“Yeah. That.” Dash's ear twitched involuntarily and she continued, “Twi says the Princess wants us to save a long lost kingdom from this demented evil unicorn-king. We board a train to some frozen hole in the flank end of nowhere in two hours. Fate of Equestria in our hooves, shouts of 'Elements, Assemble!' - you know the drill. Same as usual.”

“Dash, are you kidding? That’s incredible! You’re like Daring Do, except you’re for real!” She laughed and added, “I feel like I should ask for your autograph. Always wanted a hero of my very own, you know.”

A grunt and crossed blue hooves met her. “Daring Do never got an offer to join the Wonderbolts. If she did, she’d lose the pith hat and kiss the ancient temples goodbye in ten seconds flat. I never asked to be Daring Do. And I never asked to be an Element of Harmony, either.”

Spitfire moved to Dash’s side and lay a wing across the cyan mare’s back. “So what will you do now? What will you tell your friends? Will you tell them about my offer?”

“Already told ‘em. So, I’ll do the same thing I always do. I’ll smile like an idiot and feed ‘em some line like, ‘I’m too awesome for the Wonderbolts! I'm waiting for the SuperUltraMegaBolts to make me an offer!’. They'll believe it. They always buy horseapple nonsense like that.”

Author's Note

TMP Prompt # 162.

Forgive and Forget

Rainbow Dash ducked low under a rusty hanging sign reading “Happy Harry’s House of Hocks.” The door creaked in protest as she opened it and slammed as she tried and failed to ease it shut, a cringe marring her muzzle at the violent noise. The shop had long since set new standards for filthiness and dinginess, its dust-covered state not quite hidden by shadows cast from the single flickering lantern hung high above. “H… Hello?” she called, stepping gingerly over forgotten trinkets and unidentifiable knick knacks.

From behind the counter a rotund stallion grunted, glancing up from a folded magazine long enough to arch an eyebrow at what looked to have been the first customer across his threshold in years. Rolls of fat quivered as he spat, “Back already, kid? You here fer dat special order? Yer lucky, kid. Merchandise like dat don’t come cheap. Or easy.” With monumental effort he lumbered off his stool and waddled through an open doorway, calling behind him, “Good fer you dere ain’t nothin’ Harry’s don’t got or can’t get!”

Biting her lip, Dash stood in place, not daring to touch any of the piles of clutter which threatened to spill in avalanches of junk at the slightest touch. From within the mounds of castaway litter sparkled a few objects not wholly corroded by time and neglect: a tarnished pocketwatch, still ticking; a trophy plaque, 'Salespony of the Year' stamped in peeling gold plate; a teddy bear, its nose missing but its 'Equestria Rail and Transport' coveralls intact. “Come on, come on!” hissed the pegasus, shifting from one hoof to another as she fought to speed the passage of time. She could hear the obese earth stallion rummaging through Celestia-knows-what in the back room though he showed no sign of hurrying or appearing.

She froze, eyes wide and heart pounding as the door creaked behind her and fading daylight momentarily illuminated the little shop before the inevitable slam reduced the room to lantern-light once more. Under her breath she uttered every prayer she’d ever heard and invented a few new ones, all of which went unanswered as the one voice in all Equestria she’d hoped to avoid sliced through the smoke and haze.

“Hey, sexy! You’re a hard pony to find, Dash. Well, not really, actually.” There was no mistaking that voice, a voice like crushed velvet and cigarettes, like silk and whiskey. “There’s only one blue pegasus mare with a rainbow mane and tail in all Equestria, so everypony I asked pointed straight to you. Of course, all I had to do was follow the glowing rainbow trail you left, but it was more fun this way.” A giggle followed, the kind that only Spitfire could manage. She slid next to Dash and lay a wing across her teammate, subordinate, and lover. “So, do you mind telling me what you’re doing in a no-name Manehattan pawn shop?”

Rainbow managed a smile, fake and weak and obvious. “Just looking for something. About to leave, really. Can we go? We should go, before, you know - “

“Looking for what, RD? My birthday’s next month, and if you’re looking for something,” and she wrinkled her nose as she glanced at the heaps of rubbish, “ah, unique, then I can give you a couple of recommendations.” She leaned in closer to the azure-coated mare. Dash felt hot breath on her cheek, lips brushing her neck, and teeth nipping her ear. “Of course,” Spitfire purred whisper-quiet, “you could just show up with a bow around your neck. Remember the night you won the Aerial Solo Showdown?”

Inhaling sharply and fighting down her spreading wings, Dash took a half-step away from her Captain, knocking over a tower of long-lost baubles. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Seriously, Spits, we should go. I just - “

The yellow flier closed the distance, nuzzling a blue-furred cheek as a greasy and corpulent stallion leered at the mares from around the corner. Her smile dropped a little, worry furrowing her brow. “Dash, I missed you! You took two whole weeks off - that’s half a year’s worth of leave all at once. Then Soarin’ tells me you cleaned out your locker, dress uniform and all. Those uniforms should never leave HQ unless we’re doing a show, you know that. And you know I’d never say anything about it, at least not to you, but you barely said a word when you left.”

Desperation and defeat mixed on Rainbow’s face and she shook as she looked down at the yellow hooves holding her own. “Spits, I… It’s complicated, all right? Let’s just get out of here, I’ll explain on the way back.”

Clearing his throat, the grinning owner sauntered back behind the counter and set down a blue and gold bundle. “Here ya go, toots! One Wonderbolts parade dress uniform, just your size. Official an’ everything, not even one o’ dem cheap-o knockoffs. I know ya paid fer Lieutenant’s bars an’ all dem other medals, but my sources ain’t found ‘em all, so dis is all ya get. Ya prepaid, so take it or leave it.”

Spitfire looked at the rumpled uniform, at her marefiend, and back again. She squinted, confusion plain in her voice as she muttered, “Rainbow, what’s this for? If you needed another dress uniform, you know you could just ask. I’d give you one, I wouldn’t even have docked you.”

Dash shook her head slowly. “I needed one, Spits, because I threw my old one in the incinerator. Tossed my medals, my flight suit, everything. Watched ‘em all burn.” She slumped back onto her haunches and continued, “I was going to leave - you, the Wonderbolts, everything. Thought I could just fly off into the sunset and forget it all.” She looked up, locking gazes with her shaking and furious Captain, and her voice was small and distant. “They know, Spitfire. They all know about us. There isn’t a pony in that flight room that thinks I’m qualified. They all know how much slack you cut me, about all the little favors you do for me that nopony else gets. Everypony there, from Fleetfoot and Soarin’ on down, they all swear I got in and stay in because I’m your pet. Because you and I are - “

Pain and shock silenced the trembling mare as Spitfire’s hoof left a red welt across her cheek. Spirfire’s voice dripped venom and daggers. “Don’t you ever accuse me of that again, Rainbow Dash. Don’t you dare! Nopony charges me with favoritism or being unfair and gets away with it - not even you. I run the Wonderbolts on the up and up. Buck what anypony thinks! You got in because you earned it, "she growled, pointing a hoof at Dash's chest, "and you stay on the roster because you deserve it. You think they don’t respect you because we share a bed? Well, welcome to life, Best Young Flier! It’s unfair and it’s hard and it bites. Now tell me one thing, just one, before I leave your sorry carcass here, Rainbow.” She pointed a hoof at the blue and gold heap on the counter. “Why were you buying a new uniform from this sack of manure?”

“Because I knew I was wrong,” whispered the Best Young Flier, “and because I wanted to make it right before you found out. Because I wanted everything to go back to being right, like it should have been from the start, because - “

Spitfire took Dash’s head in her hooves and leaned in, forehead to forehead, mane to mane. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply for long seconds. “Dash, for the love of Luna, please stop making me forgive you. You never ask for it, even though you need it, just like this stupid replacement uniform. I don’t know how many more times we can do this to each other, but for now the answer will have to be ‘at least once more.’ Now come on, let’s get out of this dump. You and I are on the practice schedule for tomorrow.”

Author's Note

TMP Prompt # 214.

Wings

Six sleek and toned ponies stood on a clean, windswept platform atop the open-roofed Canterlot Arena. Close-fitting royal blue uniforms failed to hide rippling muscles underneath while gold lightning-pattern piping gave the impression that they were more uniformed electricity than merely elite pegasi. A somewhat diminutive mare stood apart from the rest, clipboard in hoof.

“Alright, 'Bolts, this is it. Same routine we practiced this morning, same lineup.”

A white-maned pony coughed roughly. “You mean, same routine we practiced.”

The rainbow-tailed pegasus standing opposite her kept her gaze locked on her clipboard. “Yes, Fleetfoot, the same routine we practiced, as in ‘we the Wonderbolts’. And you’re on left wing. Rapidfire, right wing. Soarin’, you’re flying slot. Misty on lead solo, Blaze on opposing solo. Captain takes lead as usual.”

Snickering and murmurs erupted from the five ponies assembled opposite her. “Did she just say she likes to take the Captain’s slot?”

Rainbow Dash growled audibly. “That’s enough, ponies. We lost a couple of practice sessions already, so just keep it in line with last week’s show in Hoofington and we’ll be golden.”

She turned her head sharply at the sound of a horn from across the arena and let her clipboard clatter noisily to the floor. Cheers boiling up from the stadium below made her raise her voice to be heard over the din. “Thirty seconds, colts and fillies. Places!” She cantered to the edge of the platform, dropping her forequarters and flaring her powerful cyan wings. A glance behind her showed five ponies who hadn’t moved a hoof. The prismatic mare wearing the stripes of a Flight Captain yelled hoarsely, “I said places, Wonderbolts! You got personal problems, we’ll deal with them in debrief. Get on the ready line or get grounded. Now move!”

The five moved forward slowly and begrudgingly. The goggles on her teammates’ faces barely hid stares dripping with contempt and disdain as the massive blue stallion lined up in the rear whispered icily, “Yes ma’am, Captain, ma’am.”

A double horn-blast from across the arena broke the deafening silence and all six pegasi took off in unison, the crowd’s volume doubling instantly as smoke and rainbow contrails sliced apart the evening sky.

**********

A fire-maned yellow mare sat behind a plain grey desk, so intently focused on a mountain of papers that the sound of her office door creaking open and slamming shut merited no visible notice from her. Moments later a small crystal-base statue capped by a tiny golden pegasus slammed down on the desk, sending folders and binders scattering to either side. Spitfire’s head shot up, eyes wide, until a proud smile crossed her muzzle. “Best in show? Dash, you did it! I knew you…”

“Why am I Captain?” demanded the blue pegasus mare standing in front of her desk, forelegs crossed, a scowl marring her face.

“Acting Captain, Dash. You know why.” Spitfire reclined in her chair and ran a hoof over the little statue. “This trophy proves it - I was right to name you Acting Captain. That little paperweight is yours, Dash." She smiled a sly grin, leaned forward, and purred, "Maybe later we can arrange a better reward for you?” She began to stand but a glare from her partner stopped her cold.

Dash remained stock still and repeated, “Why am I, Rainbow Dash, Acting Captain of the Wonderbolts today? Why is a mare who’s been on the roster six months leading the team?" She slammed her hooves into the desk, which echoed and sent more papers flying. “Why not Soarin’, who’s been here years and who every little filly with a Wonderbolts poster in her bedroom knows is second in command here?”

“Dash, it’s my right to name whoever I want as Acting Captain, and it's my duty to pick whoever I think will do the best job, no matter how long they've been on board.”

Rainbow squinted and leveled a hoof at her commanding officer. “You called in sick. You, Spitfire, have never once called in sick, missed a show, or even a single practice or rehearsal. I know, because I had every one of your trading cards. You faked sick this morning and named me Captain on purpose. Why?”

“Dash, I thought this is what you deserved. You took control of the team and did a great job. If I didn’t think you’d bring home the Best in Show, I wouldn’t have done it. This was,” and her voice wavered just a bit, ears sinking and eyes pleading, “kind of a present for you, you know? I thought I’d give you what you wanted, even if it’s just for a day.”

The younger mare grabbed the trophy and slung it against the wall, sending shattered pieces of a golden Pegasus cascading to the floor. “What I wanted? What I wanted was to earn this. To make you, of all ponies, see that I’d earned this. I’m still an alternate, for Celestia’s sake! Before today, the team only resented me. It sucked but I could live with it. Now they absolutely hate my guts. They despise me. Every one of them knows I got the Captain slot because I’m in bed with the boss. Buck the trophy! I just lost every shred of respect I had from them, and I might never get it back because whatever I do, no matter how good I really am, they’ll always think it’s because you and I are together. And maybe they’re right.”

“Dash, I’m sorry, it was my fault, I thought…”

Dash turned and stalked out of the room, and said without looking back, “Spitfire, the only two things I wanted out of life were a job with the Wonderbolts, and… and you. Now, I’m not sure I want either one.”

As she left a Wonderbolt Captain’s shoulder patch floated gently to the floor.

Author's Note

TMP Prompt # 136.

Touchdown and Takeoff

I feel the walls of the Wonderbolts lounge closing in, and it’s not doing anything for my patience. “Misty Fly, you are out of line! Control yourself. Listen, I was - “

“You were with us, Soarin! You were as pissed as the rest of us, maybe more from the sounds of it.” Misty knows how to push my buttons, and here it comes. “You’re our number two. If Spitfire wants to shirk off, that’s her business, but you should have been named Acting Captain, not some teenage whore who’s screwing the boss!”

That’s it. I’ve got better things to do than let some hothead wreck what little is holding us together, and I don’t have time to play nice. I pull out the Second in Command voice and the real shouting starts. “Enough! First, I was wrong. Spitfire’s the Captain and her word is law here. She wants to make Rainbow Dash the boss for a day, so be it. With Dash in charge we took Best In Show and swept all the technical awards, too, so I’d say Spitfire was dead on right.”

I’ve gotta stop to breathe here before I rattle the pictures off the wall. For what it’s worth, Misty just sat back down, and the rest of the team just stopped nodding and smiling. “Whether she knew that would happen or she was just giving her marefriend a little present, it doesn’t matter. Dash got results, so deal with it.”

I spin and head out the door. Before I leave to take care of the real problem, I look over my shoulder and shoot icicles at that little upstart. “And second, Misty Fly – you’re grounded until further notice.” She leaps up and I cut her off before the shouting starts again. “No buts, no arguments, unless you want it to last longer. As you reminded me, I’m number two around here, and that means only Spitfire can overrule me.”

I squint and drop my voice to a growl – this is a point I have to drive home and it’d better stick. “This goes for you, and for everyone in this room, and yes, for me as well – you may not like the mare wearing the Captain’s stripes and you may not like how she got them, but without exception you will respect the rank.”

I wheel around and catch a glimpse of a tail, orange and green and blue and more, heading around the corner. There’s only one of those in the Wonderbolts, probably in all Equestria, and there’s no feathering way she missed that conversation. My luck, she was probably right outside the whole time.

I sprint down the corridor and there she is. I can hear her teeth grinding from here. I shake my head and suck it up, stepping alongside her as she trudges down the hall. This has to be done, and I’m the sucker that just volunteered. “Dash? Hey, Dash, got a second?”

“No,” she spits. Beautiful, this is gonna go just perfectly.

“Rainbow, I need to talk. Please?” She cuts her eyes at me and keeps moving but doesn’t punch me in the teeth, so I take that as an affirmative. Walk and talk it is, I guess. “For what it’s worth, I‘m supposed to know better and I feathered it up. I set a bad example for everypony else, and I’m sorry. You brought home the gold, and…" Stings to say this, but it's as true as the sky is blue. "And Spitfire made the right choice. Even if it was just for one day, Dash, you deserved the Captain's stripes.” Here comes my trump card. “You really did earn it, Rainbow.”

She freezes mid-stride and looks at me, wrinkling her muzzle. She looks at me like she’s deciding if I’m poison or not, then nods and turns to keep walking. As she trots away, I hear her call back over her shoulder, “Thanks.” One word, and it’s more than I hoped for. That could have gone oh so very much worse – I’ll take it. Two down, one to go. Luna help me.

Somehow I knew Spitfire would still be here, in the perfectly and oppressively grey prison cell she calls an office. I’m sorry to say I’m right. I let myself in; years of experience have taught me that when she’s distracted, there’s no use knocking. “Spitfire? Hey, Boss, I wanted to…“ Oh, sweet mercy, that’s not good. She’s staring at the Best in Show trophy, or what’s left of it. Looks like somepony took a hammer to it, and I’m guessing the hammer was rainbow-maned and ticked off.

“You were right, Soarin. You all were.” Her voice is low and her ears are drooping, and her eyes haven’t left the remains of that trophy. This is bad. “It was all a mistake. All of it – letting her aboard, making her Captain, all of it. Us. Fifteen years I’ve been doing this and I was doomed the moment I set eyes on her." She looks up, eyes wet for the first time I’ve seen in over a decade. "I’ve lost it, haven’t I, Soar?”

Worse than I thought. I’ve seen her fly with broken bones and bore straight through thunderheads that sent the best weatherponies in Equestria cowering, and she’s never looked like this. Here goes nothing. “Spitfire, yeah – you made mistakes. We all do. You moved too fast falling for her, and look what it got you – the hottest mare in town is head over hooves in love with you and she’s stuck around for ten times the abuse and aggravation and crap that anypony else ever would have.” She twitches an ear, so I’ve hit a nerve – I need to keep talking before I lose her. “You moved too fast naming her Captain, or Acting Captain, whatever – and look what it got you. A Best In Show and a case full of trophies and the papers are going wild about 'Spitfire discovers the Next Big Thing'.”

She's on the edge and I've only got one card left to play. Time to roll the dice. “Spitfire, as a friend, I’m telling you, here's your life and hers in a nutshell: all speed, all the time. That’s the only way the two of you will make it. If you care for her, if you care about this team, you’ve still got time - show some speed and go do what you do best.”

Before I can blink she's gone and the chair’s on fire. Celestia help us all, but I think the team’ll make it through the night.

And I need a drink.

Author's Note

TMP Prompt # 228. The Prompt: You’ve gotta get up and try try try.

Shattered

“As for the correctives, one last note. Rapidfire, you were still a meter low on the knife edge pass. No sweat today,” shrugged Soarin from his usual seat in the Wonderbolts’ lounge, “but next month in Hoofington a meter low’ll put you through the wall of the concession stand. Clear?”

A nod from the chastised pegasus later, Soarin cleared his throat and stood up. “Okay, good show, everypony! Before we put a wrap on the debrief, one final note. I don’t have to say it, but I will - Rainbow Dash, you flew like a bat outta Tartarus today! No idea how you pulled that off, but I know I speak for all of us - ” He paused, his squint-eyed glare boring holes in a scowling Misty, “I speak for all of us when I say, congratulations! The solo speed record will never be the same.” After the thunder of stomping hooves died, he added, “Any questions?”

Dash’s grin fell away and her ear twitched visibly. “Yeah, where’s Spitfire? She’s had the performance review in hoof for two hours now. Why isn’t she debriefing us?”

Soarin’s smile drew tight and thin-lipped. “Okay, everypony, that’s it for today. Dismissed!” Threading his way through the departing crowd to the newest and youngest Wonderbolt, he leaned in close and said, “Listen, Dash just - just forget it, okay? She’s on the warpath right now and you’re the last pony she wants to see.”

“You gotta be kidding me, Soar!” Rainbow threw her hooves up and rolled her magenta eyes. “We take home a stack of awards, blow the Coliseum attendance figures completely off the charts, and I’m sitting here holding a plaque that certifies me as Equestria’s fastest flyer. Anywhere. Ever! And you’re telling me she can’t even pop her head in to say ‘Hey, good job, guys!’ or maybe ‘You all rocked!’ or even freakin’ ‘Thanks!’?”

The stallion held a hoof to his temple and closed his eyes. “It’s kind of personal, Dash. At least, I think so. When she stormed off the observation deck after the show, she was more concerned about slamming as many doors as possible as loudly as she could than about giving explanations.” Looking up, he sighed, “And if you’re wondering, yeah - you’re the reason she’s not here right now.”

“Buck this, Soarin. She wants to stalk off and stew on something, fine. But Spits doesn’t get to shrug off the team and her duties just ‘cause she’s pissed about something, or even about me. And she doesn’t get to pretend I don’t exist. Not today.” Rainbow shot out of her chair and rounded the corner as Soarin reached a hoof to stop her but found only empty space.

“Dash, back down,” he called down the hall toward the disappearing rainbow-striped tail, “give her time, she’ll … oh, horseapples.”

Locked. Spitfire’s office door was open to the team any time of day, and to Rainbow Dash any time of day or night, and it was locked. Dash rattled the handle furiously as she said, “Come on, Spits, open up. It’s me. I know you’re in there.” Rapping on the door hard enough to jostle its tarnished gold ‘Captain’ nameplate, she continued, “You got a problem, fine. But you’ve gotta talk to me. You want me to camp out here in the hallway all night? I can totally do it! I’m a champion napper, not just Equestria’s fastest …”

As the words left her mouth, something heavy smashed against the door, sending her jumping back a few involuntary paces. The sound of splinters and metal clattering to the floor echoed through the deserted hallway. The blue mare dropped into a fighting stance, wheeled around, and delivered a thunderous buck to the door with both back hooves. It swung open crazily, creaking and dented.

There, opposite her across a plain and aged metal desk, Spitfire sat motionless. Her hooves lay clasped on the desk, muscles taut and legs shaking. Her muzzle was contorted into a snarl but her eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. Dash strode to the desk and put her front hooves on it, inches from Spitfire’s own.

“What the hay is going on, Spits? First you bail from the observation deck before the show’s even over, then you skip the debrief, which you’ve never once missed since you brought me aboard, and now you give me the silent treatment and lock me out?” Dash was panting, teeth bared, and dropped the plaque to the desk. “I brought us a freakin’ record today, Spits! And you won’t even give me the time of day?”

Spitfire turned slowly, almost imperceptibly, to face the plaque. Dash raised an eyebrow and asked, “What, this? This is what’s got you in a knot? Think I’m just gunning for attention? Maybe you think I’m still trying to prove myself, so all those turkeys in the lounge will see that I really am good enough, and that I’m not just here because I’m your pet?”

Dash waited for a response as long seconds passed in silence. Slicing through the still air with a deft wing, she slapped the sunglasses off the yellow mare, letting them bounce and skid across the floor. Spitfire’s eyes never left the plaque on her desk, stamped with a stylized pegasus in flight and the words ‘Rainbow Dash, Cloudsdale Coliseum, 1006 A.E., World Record for Solo Single-Pass Transit: 699.5 certified speed’. “What, you want me to go slower? No more world records, no more trophies? Want me to play average and dumb? If I honestly believed that,” she spat, “I’d leave you and the ‘Bolts right now and go herd squirrels down on the ground.”

Spitfire remained frozen, stock-still except for a quiver under one eye. The blue mare leaned down and glared at her, muzzles inches apart. “Oh, no. You don’t get to play the stern-and-silent card with me, Spitfire. You and I have made each other cry like fillies and scream like banshees for almost a year now. Spill it, Spits!” Rainbow’s voice dropped to a desperate hiss as her ears drooped a little, “Give me something, here, please.”

Spitfire stood, walked around the desk with slow and deliberate steps, and retrieved a metal plate from the pile of debris resting against the door. Returning to her chair, she dropped the shard on top of the plaque and lay her head on the desk, running her hooves through her blaze-orange mane. Dash looked down and read, ‘Spitfire, Trottingham Arena, 997 A.E., World Record for Solo Single-Pass Transit: 679.5 certified speed’.

From under her hooves Spitfire muttered, “I trained for two years to make that attempt, Dash. I even had a tailwind! And you not only broke it, you demolished it like it was nothing. You’re better than I was at your age, and a damn sight better than I am now." She swallowed hard and whispered, "I don’t deserve to be mad at you. I don’t deserve …”

Minutes passed in silence before a blue wing fell over her. “Spits… I’ve never flown Trottingham Arena. I knew about the record, but I heard it was a headwind. Must be more to it than that. Maybe … maybe you could tell me the story?”

Author's Note

TMP Prompt # 241. The Prompt: Pony A is seething with anger. Pony B tries to get Pony A to tell them what’s wrong.

Date references are "After Exile" meaning the years since Celestia exiled Luna/Nightmare Moon. Also a shout-out to a certain movie.

Unscheduled

Hoofsteps echoed down the empty and dimly-lit corridors of the Wonderbolts’ Cloudsdale headquarters. Spitfire sighed behind tired eyes and leaned on the door to the fortress of solitude which passed for her office. There on her perfectly grey desk among flight schedules, weather reports, personnel reviews, and a hundred rejected applications sat a hoof-sized crystalline statue topped by a stylized golden pegasus. Dangling from it was tag that read, Spits - Sorry I threw the Best In Show trophy at your head. Got you a new one. Aren’t I amazing like that? - Dash.

The Wonderbolts’ Captain growled, “You’d be more amazing if you’d have put this in the trophy case like I asked you at least three times to.” Shaking her head, she scooped up the statuette in a powerful yellow wing and backed down the hallway. Pausing, she added, “Listen to me! Sent everybody home for a week’s vacation and I’m already talking to myself. Not a good sign, Spitfire, not a good sign.”

Trudging wearily past faded posters and long-empty water coolers, she made her way to a dusty glass-fronted wall where dozens of statuettes and trophies gleamed next to plaques and ribbons and certificates. As she nudged the little trophy into a gap between two near-identical though somewhat dustier copies, its translucent base knocked a large envelope to the floor. “Brilliant. She didn’t forget after all,” Spitfire muttered, “she just put the trophy on my desk and the mail in the trophy case.

Envelope clenched in gritting teeth, Spitfire trotted through the double doors to the headquarters’ entrance, wincing involuntarily as they slammed shut behind her. Down cloud-formed walkways she walked until she came to a bank of mailboxes whose single outgoing bin was dwarfed by row upon row of boxes for incoming mail. Easing the sliding drawer open with a wingtip, she snarled as she deposited the envelope and pulled out a scribbled note. Her own hoofwriting was clear: Dash, sweep the flightline before you head out for the week. Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be muzzle-deep in paperwork while you’re gone. And lock the door when you leave. - Spits.

“I’d bet bits to bagels she didn’t bother,” spat the fuming pegasus as she stomped back to the doorway. “That filly can’t do two things right in a row. Never listens, never pays attention, and half the orders I give go in one ear and out the other. I ought to - ” She pulled the door once, yanked the handle twice, and rattled with all her strength a third time, and neither door budged. “Locked out. Just feathering great! The one thing she remembers to do - my luck.”

Rocketing off the walkway, she flew a wide curve around the squat, utilitarian building and blazed a path toward the elevated practice field that served as flightline and training ground. “Please let that featherbrain still be sweeping,” she whispered into the wind. Cresting the cloud-plateau which supported the Wonderbolts’ private runway, her jaw dropped as she saw the bulbous shape of an airship parked on the field, a rainbow-maned pegasus leaning against its gondola.

“Rainbow Aeryn Dash! What in Tartarus has gotten into you today?” she yelled as she lit on the windswept field barely a muzzle’s length away from the blue mare. “You haven’t done a single thing I asked you to do today, and - “

“Nothing? Really?” grinned Rainbow, her hooves crossed as she leaned against the airship’s boarding door. ” ‘Cause I think I remember locking the doors, at least, and that’s something, right?”

“Fine,” Spitfire hissed, “you did exactly one thing. And what in blazes is an airship doing parked here? First, this is a private field, not for use by civilian traffic, and second, I asked you to clear the flightline before you left.”

Easing the airship’s door open, Dash leaned inside and called, “Hey Airhoof, you gassed up and ready?”

From inside the cabin a nasally voice answered, “Yes Ma’am! Ready when you are, Ma’am. The beaches of Barhaydos await you, just give the word.”

“Barhaydos?” Spitfire’s brow furrowed and her voice leapt a few decibels. “You shirked half your duties and booked a personal airship to Barhaydos?”

“Actually, I decided we could both use some duty-free time. You gave the rest of us the week off but you never treat yourself the same way, Spits. Now that you’re locked out - and let me remind you, you promised me a key two months ago and never delivered - we don’t have much choice, do we?” Trotting up the entry ramp, she called over her shoulder, “You coming, or are you sleeping on the flightline for the next week?”

“Coming? What do you mean, am I coming? Dash, I don’t - “

Rainbow rolled her eyes and smiled. “Well, I did have this extra boarding pass, but if you want me to toss it overboard, I guess I can sweep it off the flightline when I get back.”

Spitfire stood wide-eyed and frozen for long seconds before galloping up the ramp. “Dash, you did remember to pack sunscreen, right?”

Author's Note

TMP Prompt # 252.

Rainbow's middle name is a Farscape reference.

What Has Been Seen

I am in my happy place. Birds are chirping, flowers are blooming, and that little yellow mare I saw at the Gala is flying my way carrying a picnic basket. All is well with the world. I am at peace, and that can only mean one thing. I’m dreaming. Daydreaming, more like it. I have work to do but I can almost smell the pie in that basket, warm as a summer sunbeam and so very, very scrumptious. This is so perfect… Too perfect. I give it exactly three seconds. Two. One.

Right on schedule, that’s my office door opening, and wouldn’t you know? Here’s Misty Fly, winner of the Least Personable Wonderbolt award three years running.

“Hey Soarin,” she snorts through a grin equally mischievous and wicked, “What do you call it when Spitfire smashes the Aerial Angels trophy over Dash’s head?”

I put a hoof to my temple and start rubbing little comforting circles. Eyes closed, I sigh and mutter, “I don’t know, Misty, what do you call it?”

“Foreplay!” she snickers as she slams the door, cackling her way down the hall. That detestable mare is the reason my whiskey stash is empty. She’s only told that joke eighty-seven times this week. Remind me to send her to the Griffin Kingdoms on a photo op and signature tour next time they suffer an empire-wide famine.

On the off chance our illustrious Captain and her favorite new recruit really are destroying more than our legendary team cohesion, carefully-cultivated reputation, and possibly several irreplaceable parts of our headquarters, I drag myself from behind my desk and go for a stroll. On the way I pass by the officer’s lounge, which is usually a mistake. Sadly, today is a usual day.

Rapidfire waves to me from a gaggle of ponies hovering over a table. “Hey boss, wanna get in on this?”

I pause in the doorway. The lounge on off-duty days is like the Gate to Tartarus: the sign above the door reading ‘abandon hope all ye who enter here’ isn’t kidding. “First, Rapid, the answer’s no. Second, what exactly am I not getting in on?”

“Betting pool! I’ve got three to one that either Spitty or Dash will be in the hospital before the Manehattan Flyover.” He stabs a hoof at a sheaf of papers, knocking over a tower of shiny golden bits.

“Rapid,” I moan, “if you’re gambling in the rec room, I really don’t want to know. And if you’re looking to – ” I have to pause for a second. I think my eye’s developing a twitch. “Wait, you mean you actually have a bracket for this?”

“Sure!” He beams a toothy grin and saunters over, holding a chart that’s about ten times more intricate than his last months’ worth of after-action reports put together. “See, Fleetfoot has ten to one that they’ll have a midair crash because they’re staring at each others’ flanks, and here’s a three to two that they’ll publicly strangle each other - that one was Misty’s idea.”

I think the dull repeated thudding sound I hear is my head hitting the doorframe but I can’t be entirely certain. Through the headache I snarl, “What are the odds that you blue-suited turkeys would be watching flight film or cleaning the barracks?”

From the opposite side of the table, Blaze just grins. “About the same odds as RD and Spits getting married, which our resident bookie puts at fifty to one.”

I can hear something crashing from further down the hall, so I shake my head and pretend I was never here. I do that a lot lately. I trot down corridors and around corners until I come to Spitfire’s office, and it sounds rough. Before I reach the door I can hear shouting and growling, and what sounds like rabid badgers fighting over the last scrap of - never mind, that image isn’t nearly violent enough.

Through the door I catch the phrases “washed-up old geezer” and “stupid ignorant filly” and I wince. I do that a lot lately too. Something expensive-sounding just shattered inside the office, so it’s time to earn my hazard pay. Breathing deeply, I grab the doorknob and wade into the fray.

“Okay, you two, break it up!” I yell as I burst in, jaw set and ready to separate these two boneheads. “Think about the team! If you two can’t get along, then there’s no way we’ll… we’ll, uh…”

Oh. Oh my. I think my eye’s getting that twitch again. I need my whiskey stash refilled, pronto. Time to back away slowly and escape while I still have motor control.

As I stumble back to my office to lose myself in a good daydream, I stop by the lounge. “Hey Rapid,” I sigh, “I want in on the bracket. Twenty bits.”

He claps his hooves like a schoolcolt getting a lollypop. “Sweet! Which line, Soar?”

“All of ‘em.” I start to leave then duck my head back in. “Oh, and Misty – that thing about the Aerial Angels trophy? Turns out it’s true.”

Author's Note

TMP Prompt # 282. The Prompt: Is it like? Is it hate? No, it’s love!