Soarin' sweated ever so slightly as he handled his corner of a large wooden crate. One wingflap at time, he and his three fellow wingponies carried a piece of the Midnight Oil's cargo down towards the surface of High Paw below.
The air filled with solid, evenly-paced breaths. Well, almost.
The weight of the crate trembled slightly.
Soarin' looked across the container in midflight. He raised an eyebrow under his cowl. "You doing okay there, buddy?"
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-yeah!" Flash wheezed, flapping his wings rapidly to compensate for the massive strain on his forelimbs. His wings fluttered four times as quickly as the other three pegasi in the group. "Doing just peachy! I sw-swear it!"
"It's okay, dude." Soarin' smirked, keeping an eye on the plateau's edge as they gradually descended. "You've got this. For real—you don't have to flap your wings so hard."
"But—"
"You're overdoing it. This is a group effort, remember? Just ease up a bit. We are descending, after all."
Flash exhaled slightly. He lessened the tension in his muscles and found that it had no adverse effect on the task at hoof. "Just... d-didn't want to screw anything up."
"Nuts and bolts have nothing to do with it."
"No, I meant... ugh... fuzzy wing horses... gawd..."
"Hey, Soarin'?" One of the other pegasi rasped. "Just who is this guy, anyway?"
"Yeah. We accepting volunteer work now?" squeaked the other.
"This guy..." Soarin' smirked proudly. "...single-hoofedly saved Prince Blueblood's son from a bloody death at the bottom of a large ravine."
"Whoah, you mean this is the dude who saved Canterloy this morning?"
"That takes some slick moves!"
"Wow..." Flash wheezed, trying to relax amidst the strain. "News travels fast."
"In the air? With Wonderbolts?" Soarin' winked. "Even faster."
"You're a regular bunch of carrier pigeons."
"I'll... ... ... take that as a compliment."
"Soooooooooooooooooo..." Flash's eyes darted through a river of sweat as he looked at the other two. "...you guys really think this is going to work?"
"Hrmmfff..." One huffed. "It's not our place to question the mission."
"Why not?" the other rasped. "We're following our orders regardless!" She looked at Soarin'. "You ask me, the diamond dogs are gonna grab all this good stuff, kick the negotiators over the cliff, and make a run for it like the hounds they are!"
"Let's not give up hope, sergeant," Soarin' said. "Fancy Pants and Blueblood aren't the only ones who came a long way to this time and place. Can you imagine the amount of pride that diamond dogs had to swallow to talk trade with ponies? Much less acknowledge us?"
"Has it really been that hairy?" Flash asked. "Er... you know what I mean..."
"My Aunt and Uncle were once attacked while flying low over diamond dog territory," one of the Wonderbolts said.
"Really?" Flash asked. "Were either of them hurt?"
He fidgeted, then confessed: "Okay, so the canines only threw twigs and sand at them 'cuz they were flying too low."
Flash smiled sweatily. "Maybe canines and ponies only met each other when they just happened to be having bad days."
"Still, they do smell," the other Wonderbolt insisted. "And they eat weird stuff and talk funny and roll around in the dirt."
"So? Are you any less weird?" Flash asked. "You are a winged pastel pony after all."
The Wonderbolt opened her muzzle... fumbled... then murmured into the splintery wooden surface of the crate. "Well, I never thought of it that way before..."
"You gotta be careful with stereotypes, dude." Flash brightened. "Like! Take for instance where I come from... there are these people who like to put on bright face paint and neon hair dye and spend all day and night shouting at each other at concerts. But then, at the same time, they're super big on collecting canned food for charity'n'stuff. Helping the community one screaming match at a time!"
"Wow, that's simply amazing," one Wonderbolt purred. "And what do you call these most curious creatures?"
"Juggalos."
"That sounds fascinating."
"Er..." Flash winced ever so slightly. "Not really..."
Soarin' looked at Flash. "This place that you're from, Brad..."
"Yeah?"
"... ... ...is it really situated in Equestria, dude?"
At that, Flash bit his lip.
"Hey! Bluebutt!" a raspy voice shouted from above.
Soarin' was already taking a deep breath. "We're almost there, Spitfire! Just have to haul—"
"You and your noodly friend are holding up the line!" Spitfire hollered, flying close enough to frown at the stallion. "Either get your butt in gear or I'll box it up and carry it down to the plateau myself!"
"No need for that, Captain. I'll get it there in a jiffy, Captain."
"Make sure that you do! And less chit-chat! Move it, skunkhead!" And Spitfire was gone in a blink, soaring off to shout at another group.
Flash fumed quietly. "Is it just me, or is the first half of her name spelled wrong?"
"Ehhhhhhhh..." Soarin' shrugged as well as he could while carrying his corner of the crate. "She's alright."
"How can you say that?!" Flash stammered. "She just called you 'Bluebutt' and 'Skunkhead!'"
"You should hear the stuff she calls him at the Academy," one of the other Wonderbolts said, smirking slightly. "I try to write some of them down—they burn so hard."
"But... like... why's it gotta be like that?" Flash remarked. "It just seems so... so... lame."
"Spitfire shouts at Soarin' all the time," one Wonderbolt said.
"Because...?"
"We're all in this as a team," Soarin' said. "And I'm the second in command."
"So... shouldn't she be humiliating you less?"
"Quite the opposite," Soarin' calmly replied. "The more she barks at me, the more everypony else in the group sees that I have just as much room to improve as the rest of them."
"More like they get to see how miserable it is being a Wonderbolt closer to the top," Flash grumbled. "Not like you need that kind of shit, especially considering how you feel about being a—"
Soarin' coughed sharply.
Flash paled.
The other two Wonderbolts raised curious eyebrows.
Flash coughed himself, then put on a nervous smile. "So... uh... whew! It's a long way down to High Paw, isn't it?"