Clear Sky and Quibble Pants had been together for two years, and by now they were both convinced that Wind Sprint must have been born with defective taste buds or something.
The couple sat and shuddered as they watched the foal sit at the dinner table, tapping the bottom of an inverted hot sauce bottle.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Clear Sky was sweating just looking at the mountain of hot sauce that was forming over Wind Sprint's plate of spaghetti. “Volcano Spaghetti,” Wind Sprint called it. It’s called “Volcano Spaghetti” when it’s with habanero sauce. “Krakatoa Spaghetti” is with Tantabus Pepper Sauce, but even Wind Sprint says that’s “a little uncomfortable to eat.”
“Honey, I’m sure you’ve put enough on there—”
“No,” Wind Sprint interjected, not averting her gaze from the mouth of the hot sauce bottle.
Tap.
Tap.
With each tap, another dollop of pungent red liquid fell, and another drop of nervous sweat trickled down her mother’s cheek.
“Our buckball team might qualify for the Equestria Little League Championship,” Wind Sprint said as she tapped. “If we can beat the School of Magic in the playoffs, then the rest will be a piece of cake. We just gotta hope and pray that Noi’s sprained fetlock will heal in time. We can’t afford to lose our star earth pony player.”
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
“We need to get a new bottle,” Wind Sprint said matter-of-factly as she continued to tap. Less was starting come out.
Wind Sprint’s other passion, besides buckball, was all things spicy. Hot sauce, curries, chilis, you name it. The eleven-year-old filly grew her own chili peppers in a window box outside her bedroom. She was also the youngest (and only female member) of the Canterlot City Chili Connoisseur Club. The 4C Club, for short.
The 4C was a pretty informal club. It mainly consisted of a handful of middle-aged stallions that talked sports while eating ridiculously spicy food. At first Clear Sky was nervous sending her daughter off to a bunch of stallions four times her age, but Clear Sky was quickly reassured that they were all decent, law-abiding ponies. Many of the stallions had families and young daughters of their own. Wind Sprint also seemed to enjoy the meetings very much.
After all, when it came to talking about sports, a buckball fanatic like Wind Sprint was just “one of the guys.”
All joking aside, Clear Sky and Quibble Pants saw no problem with Wind Sprint’s obsession for spicy food. It kept her busy, and it helped her make friends.
Until one day, they received a rather concerning letter from Wind Sprint’s teacher.
The foals had gone on a nature hike in the woods outside Canterlot. The teacher took all the precautions to protect her young students in case of any danger. The teacher had filled her saddlebag with natural sunscreen, a first aid kit, homemade bug spray, and other DIY protective gear.
The class stopped in the woods for a picnic lunch. The teacher had left her saddlebag unattended for a just a brief moment while she was scolding some naughty colts trying to pick up turtle babies using their magic.
“Ugh, this veggie sandwich is so bland,” she heard Wind Sprint say. “It needs a kick.”
By the time the teacher turned her head, it was too late.
The teacher yelled at the top of her lungs. “NO, WIND SPRINT! THAT’S PEPPER SPRAY!”
The young filly picked up the spray bottle and put a few spritzes on her sandwich. Everypony within a 5-meter radius (plus the turtle babies) began coughing and tearing up.
“Argh! It hurts! It hurts!” Even the teacher could not hold back her tears and coughing.
Fortunately, nopony was seriously hurt. After the air cleared, the teacher ran up to Wind Sprint. “Are you okay, dear!? You shouldn’t have done that! This is very dangerous stuff, you understand?”
Wind Sprint’s eyes were only very slightly teary from the spray. Without saying a word, the filly very casually took a bite from her sandwich.
“Mmm, tastes good. Lemme guess…Trinidad Moruga Scorpion…cultivar 15A?”