//------------------------------//
// And then the mares go marching out into the fray… 
// Story: O Captain! My Captain! 
// by snappleu 
//------------------------------//

On the first day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me...

"One bottle of pain relief!" Fleetfoot smiled, grabbing the bottle from the top shelf of Spitfire's locker. "Comin' right up!"

Spitfire caught the tightly shut bottle in her wing with a roll of her eyes. She glanced at the inscription on the container then grumbled. "Just remember that this headache is because of you, Flatfoot. If you hadn't kept insisting we include that barrel last minute-"

"I know, I know," Fleetfoot sighed, running a hoof across her face. "I wouldn't have crashed, and Soarin wouldn't have sent High Winds flying through the audience."

Spitfire screwed the lid open and popped two pills before firmly shutting it. "Hah! 'Flying' is generous! They-"

"Rammed?"

"No, they-"

"Smacked?"

"No-"

"Pummelled?"

"NO! Would you let me finish?" Spitfire let out a loud huff. She unscrewed the bottle once more and took another pill. "I knew I shouldn't have given you that Thesaurus for your birthday."

"And I knew I shouldn't have trusted you with that pain reliever," Fleetfoot sighed, snatching the bottle from her commander. "You gotta be careful, y'know?"

"And yet no matter how much I take, you're still here," Spitfire said, stretching her wings and beginning to trot away. "Consider my pain unrelieved."

"Ma'am-"

"UNRELIEVED."

On the second day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me...

"Two apple pies!" Soarin's eyes beamed at the sight. "What's the occasion, Boss?"

"Don't call me that," Spitfire smirked. "I'm joking. Personal humor. Please call me that."

Fleetfoot gave a small smile. "So? What's the occasion?"

"Just for a job well done," Spitfire stood triumphantly. "For once, I wasn't disappointed, so here's some dessert to celebrate."

"Wow, just for us?" Soarin remarked, his eyes never leaving the sweets. "I'm not complaining!"

"Wait," Fleetfoot held out a hoof. "It might be a trap."

"No, no, of course not," Spitfire's grin remained plastered on her face. "Dig in."

Soarin bit into an apple pie and paused for a moment before chewing. He took another bite, paused once more, and then finished the pie in one bite. He looked at Spitfire and grinned. 

"See?" Spitfire turned to Fleetfoot, the mischievous smile not taking its leave. "Just a perfectly normal pie."

Fleetfoot looked at the duplicate dessert suspiciously, but after a brief moment of inspection, she shrugged and chomped down in the pie's center. She chewed the bite cautiously yet happily, the flavors of apple, cinnamon, and sugar dancing on her tongue. Spitfire was right. It was a perfectly normal pie. In fact, it wasn't half bad-

"SPICY!!!" Soarin yelled, rocketing into the air. "WATER! I NEED WATER!"

Spitfire let out a wild howl of laughter. "That's for breaking formation today, Clipper!"

Even though her's wasn't spicy, Fleetfoot pushed the pie away. Normal or not, a pie from Spitfire was better left untouched.

On the third day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me…

“Three gallons of hot chocolate?!"

"Whoops," Fleetfoot let out an uncomfortable laugh. "Sorry?"

Spitfire adjusted her goggles above her head, hoping that the mess before her would disappear if she distracted herself. "If you think a 'sorry' is going to worm you out of this one, you're sorely mistaken."

"Hey, I was just trying to do something nice for the team!" Fleetfoot tried to reason. "Right, Surprise?"

She gave a hard nudge to the pony beside her, who only nodded.

"Yes, Boss!" Surprise kept her wings glued to her side, afraid to make any sudden movements. "We were only trying to give everyone a warm pre-show drink, ma'am!"

Spitfire raised a brow. "And what did you do?"

"We... spilled it all, ma'am."

"That's what I thought."

"Well, hey! No worries!" Fleetfoot rushed over to the cabinet. "I have some more mix. As soon as we're done cleaning, we can just make more-"

"Oh, no," Spitfire groaned, nearly collapsing onto the ground. "I told you two to stop that. No more hot chocolate." 

"Aw, c'mon, Spitfire," Fleetfoot winked. "Where's your holiday spirit?"

"It died with my willpower to deal with you," Spitfire grumbled, rubbing her temple. "Why is it when something goes wrong, it's always you?"

"Hey! It wasn't just me! It was also Surprise!"

"I’m sorry!" The white pegasus squeaked sheepishly. "I'll go get you guys some water."

"We're the Wonderbolts, not a bunch of fillies!" Spitfire's response was greeted with raucous laughter. "What's so funny?" 

"You're always so serious, Boss," Fleetfoot playfully punched Spitfire in the shoulder, which only seemed to make her commander more upset. "It's almost Hearth's Warming. Lighten up."

"Lighten up...? LIGHTEN UP?" Spitfire roared. "Sounds like you want two hundred and twenty laps, Flatfoot! Why not give our audience a pre-show workout while I clean up. Then tell me to lighten up!" 

Fleetfoot felt her wings sag as Surprise came back with the glasses of water and a mop. "Yes, ma'am." She sighed, flying off to the stadium.

Spitfire took a deep breath. Then another. Then one more. She gave a long look at Surprise who had already started cleaning. She snatched the mop, glaring at the white pegasus with disdain. "The others and I'll clean up. One hundred laps for you, Slowpoke."

Surprise whimpered. "Yes, ma'am."

On the fourth day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me…

Four bits. There were four bits on Spitfire's desk.

And an apology card.

In its center was a hastily drawn picture of the commander herself frowning at a vat of what was assumed to be hot chocolate. Spitfire rolled her eyes. What was this? A peace offering?

She flicked the card open and read the contents inside. She knew it would only get worse when she saw her name misspelled and crossed out three times.

Dear Captain,

She groaned and carried on.

I would like to apologize for the cocoa incident yesterday. I promise it won't happen again. I am very sore after two hundred and twenty laps, but I made sure to still give it my all at the preview yesterday despite completely crashing afterwards.

The words "Kind of cruel of you" were scratched out, making Spitfire chuckle.

Still, I have gotten as much rest to prepare for tonight's preview. I hope we can make you proud.

Lots of love,
Fleetfoot xxx

Spitfire sighed and glanced at her door before calling out, "FLATFOOT! GET IN HERE!"

Her wingmate entered, looking sheepish. "Yes, Boss?"

"I read your card, Flatfoot." Spitfire folded her arms. 

Fleetfoot gulped. "Oh, you did?"

"Of course I did. It was very... creative." 

Fleetfoot simply nodded.

"I just wanted to say that I forgive you."

Fleetfoot's eyes lit up. "You forgive me?"

“Yes, Flatfoot," Spitfire said. "Now, don't make me regret it."

"Okay!" Fleetfoot said, beaming. "Thank you!"

Spitfire grumbled. "Again! Don't make me regret it."

"I won't, ma'am." 

"Good," Spitfire let out a sigh of relief. "Now, what are you still standing around for? You're dismissed! SCRAM!"

On the fifth day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me...

"Five whole bouquets!"

"One for each of us!"

Spitfire looked at the flowers again, searching for a tag or note of some sort. "It's nice, I guess. But if only we knew who they were from."

"Probably from some fans," Fleetfoot said with a shrug. "After all, the show isn't for another seven days, and our preview sets have all been booked!"

"That's a fair assumption," High Winds considered. "But how'd they know what flowers we all like?"

"It's true!" Surprise spoke up. "I don't recall telling the public that I like daisies."

"Or that I like cherry blossoms," Soarin chimed in.

"Or I lilies." High Winds added.

"Wow," Fleetfoot said plainly. "You guys like the most boring flowers ever."

"Shut up, Flatfoot," Spitfire stomped a hoof on the ground. "It's a creepy gesture, but a nice one."

Fleetfoot rolled her eyes before looking at Spitfire's bouquet. "What flowers are those?"

Spitfire smiled as she played with the bright orange petals with her hoof. "Nasturtiums."

"Gesundheit."

"No," Spitfire instantly frowned. "That's what they're called. Are you incompetent?"

"Why do you keep making up words?" Fleetfoot whined. "I think I prefer the boring flowers."

Surprise stifled a laugh. "Boring? But you've got red roses."

Soarin and High Winds let out a low "ooo" as Fleetfoot huffed.

"So what? I can't be a romantic?"

"Well, if they're from a fan..." Soarin began.

"Then it must mean it's a secret admirer!" High Winds finished.

"A secret admirer?" Spitfire raised a brow. "Out of anyone to be admired on this team, why Flatfoot?"

"Hey! I'm admirable!"

"Oh, yeah? Then I'm a unicorn."

"This is awesome!" Soarin beamed. "I can't believe Flatfoot has an admirer!"

"Can it, Clipper," Fleetfoot grumbled. "I just happen to like red roses, okay? They make me feel special."

"Aw," Surprise murmured. "So you mean that it's just 'cause they're your favorite flower?"

Fleetfoot nodded.

"Shucks..."

"Hah! All that excitement for nothing," Spitfire laughed. "Letting us down like always, aren't you, Flatfoot?"

"Whatever!" Fleetfoot grumbled before taking her flowers and heading towards her locker.

"Ooh, she's mad," High Winds giggled.

"Ten laps, Hoof-In-Mouth."

"...Darnit."

On the sixth day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me…

"Uh, Fleetfoot?" Spitfire knocked on the stall door that her wingmate had disappeared into. "May I ask why six of your roses made their way into the trash can this morning?"

There was no response except for a low whine followed by a sniffle.

"Is something wrong, cadet?" Spitfire asked, concerned.

"No," Fleetfoot sniffled. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine."

"Then why did you throw away your flowers?"

"I just felt like it."

"But-"

"Mothing's wrong."

Spitfire sighed and shook her head. "If everything's okay, I'm gonna need you outta there, Flatfoot. Our next preview's in a couple hours, and we don't need you sobbing on the track."

Fleetfoot gingerly opened the door then slammed it shut behind her. Her eyes were red and puffy. She muttered a low, "Got it, Boss," then headed to the sink.

"Hey," Spitfire stepped back and waited for a response. When none came, she shrugged. "You gonna tell me what's going on?"

"No."

"Don't give me that.” Spitfire nudged Fleetfoot's side, taking on a quiet tone so rare that Fleetfoot couldn't help but look up. “I'm listening. What's up?"

"Do you really believe that?"

Spitfire gave her a confused look. "Believe what?"

"That I can't be admirable? That I lack any admirable traits?" Fleetfoot sighed. "Am I really just a heavy weight on this team?"

"Oh, c'mon, Fleetfoot! You don't really believe my rough talk, do you?" Spitfire scoffed. "It's to toughen you up! You know I don't mean it."

"Yea? Well, have you realized that ponies tend to believe it the more you say it?" Fleetfoot shouted, jabbing a hoof into her commander's chest. "High Winds can hardly look you in the eye at times! And Surprise is constantly worried that you'll overhear every conversation! Soarin's too dumb to even pick up on your teasing, and don't even get me started on your sister!"

Spitfire blinked. "My sister?"

Fleetfoot paused to think. "Yeah, your sister. Blaze? She looks just like you."

Spitfire groaned. "I think you should listen to yourself before claiming that Soarin's an idiot."

"Is she not your sister?"

"Not even close."

"Oh..."

"But listen," Spitfire coughed. "I wasn't aware that I was, uhm... So harsh with everypony."

"Yeah," Fleetfoot looked down. "You were kind of a bi-"

"I'm still talking. The point is, thank you for telling me. If you want, I can try to be-"

"Nicer?"

"Yes-"

"Kinder?"

"Uhm-"

"Not a piece of sh-"

"I am still talking!" Spitfire yelled. "I mean... Yes. I will try to be all those things and more. Consider it an early Hearth’s Warming present."

Fleetfoot smiled, rubbing her eyes. "Apology accepted, Boss."

"Great. Now, go clean up that trash."

"Yes, ma'am."

On the seventh day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me…

"Seven ponies!" Spitfire growled. "Remember their names, team! We have to make sure they're dealt with!"

"Aw, c'mon, Boss," Surprise flapped her wings in discomfort. "It's not that big of a deal, is it?"

"They booed us, Surprise!" Fleetfoot exclaimed. "I'm with Boss on this one. They weren't being nice."

"I'll admit, this run wasn't the cleanest," Spitfire muttered, trails of disappointment in her tone. "But that's what these previews are for! It's for what we're working on. And I'll even go on to say that you all still did well despite the clearly off day."

"I guess," High Winds said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm proud of all of you," Spitfire said. "Mostly."

"Enough of the praises," Soarin grunted. "If we've got some ponies to take action with, let's get to it!"

"What're we gonna do? Dox them?" Surprise whined. "C'mon, guys. We really shouldn't let this get to us."

High Winds nodded. "I agree. Are seven ponies out of a full stadium really gonna let us down?"

Spitfire shook her head, placing a hoof on High Winds' shoulder. "Hoof-In-Mouth? Yes, they are! Clipper! Flatfoot! Let's smoke some ponies!"

"YEAH!"

On the eighth day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me…

"Do we really have to fly through eight separate hoops each?" Fleetfoot complained. "I'm all for stunts and looking awesome and all that, but I'm seriously gonna strain my wings one of these days."

"No pain, no gain, Flatfoot," Spitfire said, tossing her goggles to the side. "That's the Wonderbolts motto, and you know it."

Soarin put a hoof to his chin in thought. "I thought it was 'eat dirt and show your worth'."

"Sounds like the earth pony motto to me," Fleetfoot chuckled. "Do we even have a motto?"

"Probably," Spitfire shrugged. "I don't care."

"Altius volantis—Soaring higher!" A voice called from afar.

"Shut up, Slowpoke!" Spitfire responded. "Maybe I'll change your nickname to Know-It-All!"

"Okay, but going back on track," Fleetfoot murmured. "The hoops. Lessen them. Now." She stared at her commander for a moment before hastily adding, "Please."

Spitfire shook her head. "Not a chance, Flatfoot. Eight is a magic number. And if you keep complaining, I'll make it nine."

"You might as well round up and make it even by making it ten," Soarin suggested, not really listening to the conversation.

"I like the way you think! Ten hoops then!"

If Fleetfoot could shoot lasers from her eyes, Soarin would be ash. "You're dead to me." 

On the ninth day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me...

"THEY DID WHAT?"

"Please, ma'am. I'm just the messenger..."

"What's going on?" Fleetfoot asked after knocking on her commander's office door. She stood in the doorway, glancing at the mailmare that was shaking at Spitfire's desk.

"I'll tell you what's going on!" Spitfire yelled, rising out of her seat. "It's war time!"

"War time?" Fleetfoot raised a brow. In a hushed tone, she allowed the mailmare to be dismissed then walked over to Spitfire's side. "Who are we fighting now?"

"Remember those seven bastards that weren't supposed to be a big deal?" Spitfire spat.

"Kinda harsh, but yeah?"

"Well!" Spitfire grabbed a telegram that had fallen to the ground in the mailmare's hasty leave. "Take a look at this!"

Fleetfoot eyed the paper carefully, reading the scrawled words in confusion. "Whoever wrote this has awful writing."

"Just read!"

"Right," Fleetfoot sighed, turning back to the message. Her eyes finally bugged out in realization. "Nine groups? Nine separate groups are planning to boycott our Hearth’s Warming Spectacular?!"

"Exactly!" Spitfire growled. "Seven ponies easily turned into a crowd. You know how ponies are. Everypony's so easily convinced by everything."

"But we still have enough support on our side," Fleetfoot frowned. "Our true fans can easily beat them."

"Yet who's to say that they haven't already convinced a bunch of other ponies to buy tickets and not show up? It's not even Hearth's Warming yet. 'Tis the season, but here are ponies that are vandalizing our posters, going on unnecessary strikes, and for what? What did we do?"

Fleetfoot stopped to think for a moment. "Jealousy, popularity... There's a ton of reasons. Look, Boss, I know I said I'd join in on whatever escapade you've got planned, but I think we should give it a break. And besides, if anypony's loyal to us, it's Rainbow Dash, and she's one of those Elements of Harmony, y'know? If anypony will bring us traction, it's her."

"Flatfoot, if you know anything about me, you'd know that I don't want to have to depend on somepony else to bring us traction," Spitfire huffed, walking back to sit at her desk. "We were Wonderbolts before she even got her element. I was the one that gave her official training!"

"And yet she still taught us multiple lessons on loyalty and recklessness!"

Spitfire let out a low grumble and sank into her chair, resting her head in her hoof. "Still-"

"Still, what, Boss?" Fleetfoot groaned. "You said it yourself, it's the holidays! Are you really gonna let something like this bring us down? We've faced worse scandals. You need to learn to relax."

"And you need to learn respect!" Spitfire slammed her hooves on the desk. "How can you expect to be admirable if you constantly irritate your authority? Now, did you come here to argue with me or find a solution to the problem?"

"I-"

"Well?"

Fleetfoot stared at her commander. "Excuse me, Captain."

And she walked out the office door, shutting it behind her.

On the tenth day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me...

"Oh no, oh no, oh no!" Surprise paced in the dressing room. "It's ten minutes until showtime, and Fleetfoot is still not here!"

"It's not like her to be late," Soarin said. "In fact, she's usually the first one to get ready."

"Is she trying to break a speed record or something?" High Winds muttered. "Or is it a prank? It's not a funny one, but I'm hoping it is!"

"What if something's wrong?" Surprise stopped in an instant. "What if she's in danger?"

"She's fine," Spitfire interrupted, adjusting her collar in the nearby mirror for the hundredth time that night. "She just won't be joining us this time. That's all."

The worried trio let out a sigh of relief.

"Then," High Winds began. "Where is she?"

"At home."

High Winds tilted her head. "Why?"

"Because she didn't want to come, okay?" Spitfire yelled. "Now, c'mon. We've got a show to perform."

"But we can't just-"

"Listen!" Spitfire snapped. "I'm sure she's fine. Now, let's focus on the show and do it right, yeah?"

"Yes, ma’am."

On the eleventh day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me...

"Chin up, team," Spitfire said, tossing her goggles to the ground and shrugging off her uniform. "That was one of the best shows we've performed. And the official opening is tomorrow!"

"Yeah, but," Soarin sighed, looking at the floor. "Fleetfoot wasn't here again either."

"Not to mention," Surprise closed the curtain behind her, the sounds of the crowd's cheers melting away behind the velvet. "The boycotting scandal is really doing a number on our viewers. We started with double the crowd when previews started. I'm worried that our official opening night will be even less."

"Based on the pattern, I'd say it's been an eleven percent decrease." High Winds chipped in.

Spitfire let out a quiet curse before clearing her throat. "I don't want to think about that."

High Winds pouted. "Well, we have to! It's our reputation on the line! And if Fleetfoot just stops showing up, who knows how that'll worsen it!"

"Yeah," Soarin agreed. "If Fleetfoot is so fine and okay, what hasn't she shown up these past two days?"

Three pairs of curious eyes turned to Spitfire, and through gritted teeth, she succumbed, saying, "We've had a small disagreement."

"Obviously it wasn't that small if it stopped her from showing up!" Soarin crossed his arms.

"How was I supposed to know she would just flake out like this?" Spitfire slammed a hoof on the wall. Then she took a deep breath. "I told her about the boycotting. In fact, she was the first to know, and now she has the nerve to just leave us all here to deal with it?!"

Surprise shook her head. "No, there has to be a further explanation. She's not like that."

"I guess we never truly know some ponies, huh?" High Winds muttered.

"No!" Surprise put a hoof to her heart. "I refuse to believe it! Not after she went out of her way to buy those flowers for us!"

The room was silent.

Then Spitfire spoke, "Those flowers were from her?"

Surprise let out a low squeak. "Uhm, yes. They were her Hearth's Warming gifts. Since a lot of us went away for the holidays and couldn't do the show, she wanted to give us something small instead of a whole gift exchange."

Spitfire hummed in thought. "Really? How... thoughtful."

Surprise nodded. "We take her for granted, really! Do you know how many times she's tried to do something nice for us and when it always falls through we blame her?"

"She really did care," High Winds said.

Spitfire looked at the floor, shaking her head. "If she cares so much, why isn't she here?"

"I dunno," Soarin glanced at his commander. "Maybe your argument was more severe than you're making it, Boss."

"It was hardly an argument!" Spitfire exclaimed.

"Argument or not," Surprise huffed, "Fleetfoot isn't here. Complaining won't do us any good. We'll just have to make the most of it." Cautiously, she turned to Spitfire. "Right, Boss?"

Spitfire rolled her eyes. "Right. I'll see you all on opening night then. If the problem persists, we'll discuss it then. Get some rest."

And with that, the Wonderbolts were dismissed.

On the twelfth day of Hearth's Warming, my true friends gave to me…

Spitfire looked up as the stadium door swung open. The first thing she noticed was that the crowd was even bigger than ever, and the second thing was that it looked like there were fireworks.

She stared at the entrance in awe. "What's going on?"

The crowd's cheers only grew as the rest of the Wonderbolts filed in behind her.

That’s when Spitfire felt an additional presence beside her. "We've got an opening night to put on, duh!"

And as the entrance music filled the stadium, Spitfire watched Fleetfoot lead the way with the other three in tow. The commander smirked and stretched her wings. Time to perform a show they'll never forget.


...


"They loved it!" Soarin squealed. "They really loved it!"

"They loved us, Clipper!" High Winds beamed and tousled his hair. "Our venue only sits twelve-hundred ponies, and the fact that some had to watch from the standing view is incredible!"

"Not to mention that mass amounts of views for our livestream!" Surprise added. "We're back on the charts for sure!"

"C'mon, everypony," Spitfire announced. "Wash up and meet me out front. A round of drinks on me before the after party tonight. But uh, Fleetfoot. Stay here."

The trio laughed as they went their separate ways. Fleetfoot, on the other hand, lightly rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, Boss? What can I do for ya?"

"Where were you these past two days?" Spitfire snapped. Her anger had fueled her through the entire show, and now she was ready to unleash it. "How dare you disappear like that right before opening? Are you trying to embarrass us?"

"Spitfire," Fleetfoot began. "You wanna know where I was these past two days?”

Spitfire tapped her foot.

“I went to put a stop to the boycotting."

Spitfire glared at her. "You really think I'm going to believe you singlehanded stopped a boycott?"

"No," Fleetfoot continued. "What I meant was, I found a way to get more ponies invested in us again."

"And how'd you do that?" Spitfire asked.

"For the past two days, I looked for and asked assistance from the Element of Loyalty-"

"Of course you did-"

"Wait," Fleetfoot said. "I asked her for assistance, and because of the authority she and the other elements have, we were able to get ponies to listen. But that was just the start. I did the rest: gatherings, new posters, the overall set up... I did it all." She smiled to herself. "And it worked."

"What do you want? A pat on the back?" Spitfire crossed her arms.

Fleetfoot's smile fell in an instant. "If you're just going to berate me for trying to help like you always do, I'm just gonna go."

"Flatfoot! Do not even think about moving an inch."

With a sigh, Fleetfoot stayed in place. "What?"

Spitfire placed a hoof on Fleetfoot's shoulder. "I want to apologize. Again. And more genuinely this time." She coughed. "I know we discussed my rough talk before, but I guess my temper gets the best of me."

Fleetfoot brushed her commander's hoof off her shoulder. "You guess?"

"Fine, I know!" Spitfire cried. "I know it gets the best of me, and I'm sorry that I'm constantly putting you down for your mistakes. You're growing. You're learning. I understand that. And by Celestia, without you, the Wonderbolts would be a mess. You did all this for us. Not to mention the flowers."

"Aw, man!" Fleetfoot whined. "Did Surprise tell you? I told her to keep that a secret."

"Yeah. Ironic that she can't actually keep a surprise." Spitfire let out an airy chuckle. "How'd you know my favorite flower anyway?"

Fleetfoot shrugged. "You always have 'em in your office in the summer. I didn't know what they were called. I just described them to the florist pony, and she gave them to me."

Spitfire smiled proudly. "You're observant. I like that."

"I have to be. Otherwise I wouldn't be a Wonderbolt." Fleetfoot winked. "I accept your apology, by the way. My Hearth's Warming gift to you is my forgiveness."

Spitfire lightly smacked the back of her wingmate's head. "Don't get cocky. Now get ready. Everypony's waiting. I promised them a drink."

"Got it, Boss," Fleetfoot laughed.

"Wait," Spitfire briefly stopped her. "Small question."

Fleetfoot stopped in her tracks. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Would you be willing to make some hot chocolate for the party tonight? I've heard it's-"

"Yes! Absolutely!" Fleetfoot sprang into the air. "Already on it!"

Spitfire watched Fleetfoot hurriedly zip out of the room. She let out a long sigh. Hopefully there wouldn't be another gift of spilled ingredients on the floor.