//------------------------------// // 9. A Blaze of Glory // Story: Worst Patient Ever // by Timaeus //------------------------------// Spitfire lay in her hospital bed, propped up against the headboard. A steady warmth swelled up from her chest, reaching the pinions of her wings and the tips of her ears. The occasional flutter of wind brushed along her coat from the open window, bringing with it the faint scent of apples from the nearby orchards while the happy yellows of the morning sun brightened her hospital room and brought the muted blue-painted wall to life. The breeze tickled her fur, stirring an itch in the base of her wings. Her body yearned to fly. A week was too long to go without stretching her wings and feeling the wind fully flowing through her mane. Though, with the warmth spreading over her muzzle, the itch faded to an odd throb before it vanished altogether. Instead of itching and trembling to fly, her feathers fluffed, eager to be seen. She had long since stopped trying to keep the smile from her lips. It was a battle she was destined to lose. When faced with a happy, giddy, giggly Redheart, though, could anypony hope to have a chance? “I still can’t believe we did that,” Redheart said, hiding her smile behind her clipboard. She hid it about as well as Spitfire did behind her hoof. A restrained giggle shook the nurse’s frame while she jotted something down on her chart. “Oh, the looks some of the other nurses gave me when I finally left—they thought I’d already gone home hours ago!” “Guess that’s what happens when you spend a couple hours after your shift hanging out in your patient’s room. Alone.” Spitfire chuckled, a rasping sound that fell to a low hum while she watched Redheart work. Somehow, between leaving late last night and arriving at the crack of dawn, she found the time to brush her coat until it shone, catching the light so it seemed to glow a pearly white. It led a roaming eye down the arc of her neck, past her slim, narrow shoulders, along her sleek barrel, and at last to her wide hips. While it may have been tempting to follow that coat down the curves of Redheart’s flanks, Spitfire kept on finding her eyes drawn back to the other mare’s muzzle. When it peeked up from behind her clipboard, the smile she saw stoked the warmth in her chest and prompted butterflies to take wing in her stomach. “Oh, stop!” Swatting at her, Redheart turned to the side, though Spitfire could see the grin creasing the corners of her eyes. “My colleagues are all very aware of the professional standards I adhere myself to.” “Are they?” Cocking a brow, Spitfire reached out with her uninjured wing to poke and prod Redheart’s side. “Is that why you wouldn’t look Nurse Sweetheart in the eye this morning? I thought she looked a little bit like the cat who caught the canary.” “Sweetheart’s always had a you sense of humour when the mood strikes her. If she catches wind of anything else, she’ll make my lunches unbearable.” Redheart turned her glittering, blue eyes on her and Spitfire felt her breath catch in her throat. How any single pony’s gaze could so easily hold her captive was a mystery to her, one she felt she would be happy never to solve. With a smirk as sharp and as coy as any Wonderbolt’s, the nurse returned the poke to her shoulder. “And I’m surprised you noticed anything, what with how you were snoring into your pillow a couple hours ago when she came in.” Recovering, Spitfire licked her lips and flicked her tail, poking the tip of it out from under her blankets. “Wonderbolts don’t snore, and even if they did, it would be because of certain foxy nurses keeping them up late.” “Oh, shoosh." What started as another poke turned into a playful swat, one that Spitfire arched her brow at. “You had fun. Don’t think I didn’t catch you smiling.” Smiling? There certainly was plenty of that. Now, though, it would have been so easy to tease. With the right words, Spitfire could wipe the smirk from Redheart’s muzzle. If she chose carefully, she might even be treated to the faint blush she had seen a scarce few times before. The corner of her lips twitched as the tips of her primaries fluttered. Her words were chosen. Spitfire opened her mouth, ready to pounce, but hesitated when their eyes met. Ever since she first woke up in the hospital, she was struck by Redheart’s piercing, burning blue eyes. But now, as they regarded her with a certain gentle fondness, it was impossible not to notice how they shone with a soft light. They welcomed Spitfire with a warm embrace, one given by the mare behind the nurse’s cap. Exhaling, Spitfire closed her mouth and shook her head. “You’re right,” she said, feeling her lips melt into a small, warm smile. “I had a lot of fun. You do a great mystical alicorn of the forest voice.” Redheart arched her brow. “So great that you fell asleep on me mid-sentence.” “Yeah, well,” Spitfire coughed and slipped her tail back under her blankets. “I was tired. Be nice to me. I’m in the hospital.” “Of course. I was only teasing.” Sliding her clipboard on what little space was left on the nightstand, Redheart’s features softened. She sidled up next to Spitfire’s bedside and rested her hoof on the pegasus’ foreleg. The hoof was warm, but not as warm as her cheek when she leaned in to nuzzle her. It was a brief, fleeting gesture of thanks, but enough to make her feathers ruffle and twitch. “Thank you, Spitfire. This all means a lot to me.” Spitfire swallowed, her thoughts fuzzy and buzzing as the heat from Redheart’s cheek painted a line of red across her muzzle. “Um, yeah. You’re welcome.” “I’ll have to find some way to make it up to you,” Redheart said, giggling as she pulled away. There was something about the way she looked at Spitfire that made the Wonderbolt’s ears perk up. For a second, a flicker of something lower, more smoldering, fueled the light burning behind her eyes. It lingered only for that second, though, and vanished as soon as she shifted her attention to the gauze bandaged around Spitfire’s upper foreleg. “I suppose I can start by checking to make sure your stitches are healing up properly. May I?” Spitfire blinked, then dismissed those thoughts with a light shake of her head. “Sure, go for it.” With a thoughtful hum, Redheart got to work unwinding the gauze. “Interesting. I half-expected you to try and stun me with another one of your zingers.” While her hooves, steady with experience, were careful to avoid irritating the wound, she flicked her eyes up to catch Spitfire’s once more. Whatever heat that may have been kindled behind them was long since gone, but they still glittered when they found hers. “Are you sure you don’t want to say anything about me having my hooves all over you?” Spitfire snorted, though what she wore on her muzzle was too soft to be a proper smirk. “I can behave when I want to.” “As much as I might like the believe that,” Redheart said, placing the used gauze to the side, “I think you might be slipping, good Captain.” The warmth from her hooves seeped into Spitfire’s foreleg, dulling the sting as the still-healing stitch met fresh air. “Me? Slipping? Never going to happen.” “Hmm, then perhaps Doctor Horse is prescribing you too strong pain medication. I should have a word with him about that, but ...” Her hooves were as gentle as her voice as she brushed them over the stitches, sending a tingling feeling dancing up and down Spitfire’s foreleg. “Whatever the cause is, it’s a nice change. I think I like this Spitfire more.” Spitfire sat up just enough to ruffle her feathers. With a tenderness softening her tone that surprised herself, she said, “Told you there was more to me.” Chuckling, Redheart reached for the gauze and said, “I guess you did. These stitches look like they’re healing up nicely. I don’t see any signs of infection.” Once she finished re-bandaging her forelegs, she crawled up onto the edge of the mattress. “Now, hold still and let me see how the ones on your forehead look.” “Yes, ma’am.” Behaviour, Spitfire learned, had its benefits. While Redheart reached up to unwind the string of bandages wrapped around her forehead, the stunt flier closed her eyes. “I’m glad I gave you another chance.” The puffs of breath from Redheart’s muzzle tickled fiery red mane and teased at her ear. “Once you get past all of the, well, you, you’re really a sweetheart, aren’t you?” Blinking her eyes open, Spitfire was treated to the sight of the velvety smooth, white coat of Redheart’s barrel and the subtle workings of the muscle underneath. Before she let herself purr, she flicked an ear, catching the nurse on the nose. “Wonderbolts aren’t sweethearts.” Redheart flicked her hoof at her ear in retaliation. “Even the ones who do voices for evil kings in a foal’s fantasy book?” “Especially those ones. They get their voices like that by shouting themselves hoarse at a bunch of wannabe fliers day in and day out, you know.” “What a shame,” Redheart said, winding the bandage back around Spitfire’s forehead. As she did, she hiked herself higher up on the bed, bringing her herself within easy hoof’s reach. “I was really starting to like a Wonderbolt like that, but if you’re sure, then oh well.” Oh, how easy it would have been to wrap her wing around her then. In a flash of feathers, she could pull her in close and show her what kind of ‘sweetheart’ a Wonderbolt could be. All Spitfire would have to do would be to follow her nose and the faint scent of cinnamon to its source. Behave. Swallowing her baser instincts and her pride, Spitfire chewed on the corner of her lip. “Well, keep this between us, but that kind of Wonderbolt may be kind of a sweetheart. Sometimes. For special ponies only.” A light, chiming giggle was Redheart’s reply. “I’m glad to hear it, and you’ll be glad to hear that everything looks like it’s healing up just fine. You’re well on the road to recovery.” When she finished with the gauze, she sat back, still perched on the edge of the bed and still within reach. In fact, as she smiled down at her patient, Spitfire realized she could close what little distance separated them with a quick lunge in. When Redheart’s hoof rested on top of her own, however, she found herself biting her tongue again. “How does your wing feel?” “Good,” Spitfire said, her voice coming out in more of a croak. “I mean, not good, but better. Doesn’t hurt as much when I move around.” “That’s good. You’ll be back up in the air in no time.” Twisting her foreleg around, Spitfire squeezed Redheart’s hoof in her own. “I know,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she inclined her head. “I’ve got the best nurse around looking after me.” “Flatterer.” “Flattery implies that I’m exaggerating or lying. Remember, Ma didn’t raise a liar.” Laughing softly, Redheart shook her head before slipping off the bed and releasing Spitfire’s hoof. “Even when you’re behaving, you’re impossible.” And doesn’t that just drive you wild? Spitfire bit down on the inside of her cheek, stopping the thought before it had a chance to form on her lips. Wrinkling her muzzle, she exhaled through her nose. “I don’t mean to be.” “Now, Spitfire, you’re saying that as if I implied it was a bad thing.” “Huh?” Mischief twinkled in Redheart’s eyes as whatever heat from before returned, bringing their piercing blue to a warm, steady glow. “Don’t you worry about it.” Again, the look vanished, but her smile remained as she tucked her clipboard in the crook of her foreleg. “Now, you stay here and rest up. I have other patients to attend to, but I’ll be back before long.” As she turned and took her first steps away, Spitfire licked her lips. “Promise?” Redheart hesitated long enough to cast a glance over her shoulder. Her ears wiggled as her tail twitched to the side. “Promise.” Before she had a chance to take another step, the door burst open. The sound of it crashing against the wall jarred Spitfire from the moment. Yelping as both of her wings instinctively tried to flare out, she snapped her head back against her headboard. Though she bit her tongue, the sound of her head smacking against wood caught Redheart’s attention. In an instant, she was back by Spitfire’s side, and the pegasus felt her presence before she felt her hoof gingerly touch the back of her head. “Spitfire,” she said, her voice muffled by the ringing in the pegasus’ head, “are you alright?” “‘M fine,” Spitfire grumbled, biting back a groan. “Just got startled. Wings tried to spread, then hit my head.” “Just take it easy.” Already, the warmth radiating off of Redheart’s hoof muted the throbbing in her head. As the nurse rubbed what would soon be a nice-sized lump, Spitfire cracked one eye open. There, standing in the doorway with a toothy smile that spread from ear to ear, was an earth pony. Everything about her was pink—from the bubblegum-pink of her coat to the darker pink of her curled mane, to the white-and-pink candy striper uniform she wore. Her light blue eyes glowed with an endless well of amusement, complimented by the impish twinkle of a tried-and-true prankster. It only took another second before she recognized the mare. A tugging in her mane brought her gaze back to Redheart. Concern shone in her eyes as they travelled over Spitfire’s features. Cracking a half-smile, she tilted her head to the side, letting herself lean into Redheart’s touch. “C’mon, you oughta know a little bump like that isn’t going to do much to me. But, I think we’ve got company.” The pink mare waved her hoof. “Hi!” At the sound of her voice, Redheart’s eyes blazed to life. Scrunching up her muzzle, she turned around, stomping her hooves to the floor as her lips peeled away from her teeth. “Pinkie Pie! What have I told you about disturbing patients in the hospital?” The smile that split Pinkie Pie’s muzzle faltered at the corners before she giggled and waved her hoof. “Oh, silly Nurse Redheart! I’m not here to disturb any patients!” “Really? Do I want to know what you’re doing in Captain Spitfire’s room, then, if not to disturb her needed and important rest?” “Delivering a message, silly filly!” Spitfire joined Redheart in raising an eyebrow. “Okay?” “And I’ve been asked to deliver the message the best way possible,” Pinkie Pie all but sang, bouncing her way to the foot of Spitfire’s bed. “Care to take a guess, Spitty?” Spitfire sucked in a quick breath through her nose. Only two ponies in Equestria dared to call her that name. One she would never raise her voice to for fear of a thorough tanning of the hide. The other, however, would be sentenced to a month’s locker room duty with prejudice and laugh it all off. Darting her gaze to the side, she caught the very tip of a yellow ear, the same shade as her own coat, slip out of the doorway and out of sight. A growl built up in the back of her throat as she set her jaw and glared at Pinkie Pie. “Don’t. You. Dare. So help me, even if you are one of Dash’s best friends, I will shoot the messenger.” “Sorry, Spitty! She said pretty please with cherries on top, and Celestia knows I love my cherries!” The look of stern crossness wavered from Redheart’s muzzle. “Spitfire?” she asked, looking between the two mares. “What is she talking about?” “Don’t worry, Red, you’ll find out, too!” From within her candy striper uniform, Pinkie Pie produced a round pitch pipe. She spun it on the tip of her hoof, her eyes dancing with glee. “After all, this message is kind of meant for the both of you to hear!” Both of Spitfire’s ears stood on end as her blood ran cold. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. The faint sound of muffled laughter reached her from the hallway. She would. “Red, no!” Spitfire cried, flailing her forelegs. “Don’t listen to anything she says! Just cover your ears and run!” “Spitfire, your stitches!” Instead of running for the door, Redheart turned and clasped Spitfire’s hooves in her own. As she eased them back down to the bed, her eyes narrowed to two points of piercing, blue slits. “Tell me what in Equestria she’s talking about.” “That’ll take too long,” Pinkie Pie chirped, winking at Spitfire. “How about I just show you?” “No!” Pinkie Pie blew a single, long note from her pitch pipe. Dread welled up in Spitfire’s chest as the note grated against her ears, forcing them back against her scalp. Her feathers twitched as she briefly considered hiding behind her wing, shutting her eyes, and pretending none of this was happening. Then, bouncing in place to her own rhythm, Pinkie Pie began to sing. “Good morning, Captain Spitfire, now don’t string her along! If you want to win her heart, win it with a song!” Spitfire heard herself squawk as Pinkie Pie leaped over to her side, opposite of Redheart, and tugged on her ear. “Listen very carefully, to your sister very well!” Releasing her ear, the pink mare tousled her mane. “If you heed her sage advice, you’ll soon be feeling swell!” “Hey!” Though she aimed to swat her hoof away, Spitfire blinked as she found Pinkie Pie close enough to rub their cheeks together. “You may have broke your wing bone, but soon you’ll get your freak on! Don’t dilly-dally, silly-sally,” she sang, flicking the tip of her nose as pulled away and cartwheeled around the bed. “Get into the zone!”” Whatever threat Spitfire had ready caught in her throat. The icy feeling of dread melted and gave way to a rush of heat that spread across her muzzle like wildfire as Pinkie Pie righted herself and threw her foreleg around Redheart’s shoulders. “W-wait, don’t—” “Pretty Redheart, here, she’s the catchiest of the catch! Kind and smart and beautiful, the most scrumptious of the batch!” Both of Redheart’s ears stood on end as she stiffened. “Excuse me?” “Don’t let her slip between your hooves, or I promise you will regret! The very best of Ponyville—” Sliding out from under Redheart, Pinkie looped her other foreleg around Spitfire, bringing the pegasus and nurse’s gazes together. “—with a smile like a sunset!” Two spots of bright pink appeared on Redheart’s cheeks. Spitfire opened her mouth to protest, to deny whatever horrible slander the pink menace spewed forth, but found herself stopping short at the sparkling in the pair of eyes that held her captive. “So, fluff those feathers,” Pinkie crooned, tugging Spitfire and Redheart closer together until the tips of their noses touched, “shake that tail! Don’t sit there like a doornail! Show off those chiseled flanks, and make her heart set sail!” The scent of cinnamon, stronger than any hospital disinfectant, washed over Spitfire’s senses, stoking the fire burning under her fur until her blush spread to the tip of her ears and crawled down the nape of her neck. Her feathers fluffed and twitched as her tail swished back and forth. A bubbling, giggle-snort sound from above made them both blink. Before either of them could react, Spitfire found her head pulled closer at an angle to Redheart’s. Her heart skipped a full beat when the hooves guiding their heads brought their lips to graze together. Then, as if she was never there, Pinkie’s hooves were gone. “This has been your singing telegram,” she sang, trotting backwards towards the door. “In comes Blaze—” While Spitfire blinked, dazed and committing to memory the feeling of soft lips against hers, however brief, Redheart recovered enough to turn and growl. “Pinkie Pie!” With a broad, toothy smile, Pinkie stretched one leg towards the doorway. “And now I better scram! Buh-bye!” In a burst of confetti, she was gone, though her giggling laughter carried down the hallway as she fled. Spitfire felt the heat radiating off of her cheeks, nearly incandescent in intensity, as sequins glimmered in the light while they floated to the floor. Staring at the vacant doorway, she saw the tips of Redheart’s ears turn pink and her shoulders heave with each breath she took. When she at last turned around, it was only too clear the effect the—dare she call it—kiss had on her. Though Spitfire knew that her golden fur would have flushed to an orange so dark it would be nearly red, the pristine white of Redheart’s coat did her no favours. A bright, cherry red colour filled her cheeks and lit up her muzzle. At last, she was flustered. “I—” Redheart, for the first time since she met her, was speechless. Fury may have strangled her words in days past, but now words seemed to escape her as she refused to meet Spitfire’s gaze. “Smile like the sunset?” “I didn’t have anything to do with that!” Spitfire blurted, her raspy voice cracking, a sound nopony had heard since her promotion to Wonderbolt Captain. “I-I didn’t—I had no idea! It wasn’t me!” Something flickered behind Redheart’s eyes when they met Spitfire’s. “Red, I didn’t—” With a perfect sense of timing, Blaze chose that moment to fly in through the doorway, corkscrew through the air, and land with a flourish in the middle of the room. Fanning her wings wide to show off her fluffed, goldenrod feathers, she flipped her fiery red mane to the side and flashed a toothy, winning smile. “Tada!” “It was her!” Spitfire said, jabbing a hoof at her sister. “She’s responsible!” “You bet your pinions I am!” Blaze chirped, ruffling her feathers as she folded her wings up at her sides—her naked, un-uniformed sides, Spitfire noticed. “That mare didn’t even want my bits to charge in here and sing that song.” “You told Pinkie Pie to come in here? You wrote that song?” “Pretty much.” A wicked, evil little smirk danced over Blaze’s lips as she shrugged and buffed her hoof against her chest. “I had to do something on the train. Fillydelphia’s a long way away from Ponyville, you know?” Now that the shock had faded, Spitfire felt a familiar, righteous fire strike up in her chest, matching the heat of her blush. Fur bristling, she twisted the sheets beneath her hooves as she swallowed down a growl. On some level, she knew that Blaze was trying to ruffle her feathers. The rest of her didn’t seem to care much at the moment. “Don’t tell me Fleetfoot was too bored to keep you busy?” she asked, fire kindling her words and heating her tone. “Or maybe she realized what a jerk you are?” “Nah, she just wasn’t around. The rest of the team’s on their way to San Franciscolt.” Blaze chuckled, unphased. Lazily, she drew her hoof through her mane and shook out her shoulders. “It’s you, me, and the mare of your dreams, Spitty dearest.” Spitfire’s uninjured wing flared out in time with her nostrils. Before she had a chance to tear into her sister, however, Redheart stepped forward. “You instructed Pinkie Pie to come in here and do all of those things?” “Pretty inspired, right? I told her to smoosh you two together if she wanted and do whatever. Filly’s quick on her hooves. Gotta give her that.” There was a subtle shift in Redheart’s posture. Despite the glowing of her muzzle, she narrowed her eyes and reached for her clipboard resting on the end of the bed. If Spitfire was a good sister, she might warn Blaze to shut her trap. If she hadn’t thoroughly embarrassed her via singing telegram, she might even have considered it. Then again, didn’t a great sister let their siblings learn from their own mistakes? “Let me get this straight,” Redheart said, her voice too even to be a good thing. “You came all the way to Ponyville and asked Pinkie Pie to prance in here, sing that song, and ‘smoosh’ Spitfire and myself together?” “Yup! Who knew songwriting was one of my talents? I didn’t even have much material to work with,” Blaze said, sticking out her lower lip in a foalish pout, “because somepony decided not to write me an—ow!” A resounding whap cut her off. While she ran her mouth off, Redheart strolled up to her and, with her eyes burning a bright, piercing, burning blue, smacked her right over her head with her clipboard. “That was for deliberately disturbing my patient’s rest!” Eyes flashing dangerously, Redheart lifted her clipboard to deliver another whap. “And this is for everything else!” Yelping, Blaze ducked and skittered back against the wall. “Mercy!” “You’ve been warned once, Sergeant Blaze!” Lunging forward, Redheart made to swing again. Holding her forehooves over her head, Blaze darted out from under Redheart’s swing and leapt over Spitfire’s bed to the safety of the other side. “Spits, call your mare off! I’m sorry!” “Hit her harder!” Spitfire cheered. Redheart growled and rounded on Blaze. “With pleasure,” she said, baring her teeth as she prowled across the room. “No!” Blaze yipped as Redheart neared, and waited until she got around the bed before diving underneath it until only the tip of her tail poked out. “I’ll behave, Nurse Redheart, ma’am! I swear on my grandfather’s lucky goggles I will!” “See to it that you will, otherwise I will throw you off of the hospital premises myself!” “You heard the mare, Blaze!” Spitfire’s lips spread in a vicious grin as the last bit of her sister’s tail disappeared under the bed. It didn’t matter what Celestia or anypony said—vengeance was sweet. “One hoof out of line, and I’ll help her toss your butt outta here!” Snapping her head up, Redheart turned her blazing blue glare on Spitfire. “You will do no such thing! You are my patient, you are hurt and still healing, and you will get your rest unless otherwise approved by me!” She dropped her clipboard on the end of the bed and stood up on her hind legs to gently, but sternly, push the pegasus down from her haunches to her back. “Is that understood?” With her head pushed back against the pillows and Redheart looming over her, Spitfire found her breath caught somewhere in her throat. She felt the nurse’s hooves on her chest and the fire lighting her eyes filled her vision. The phantom feeling of lips, soft and warm, brushing against her own brought a fresh wave of heat to her muzzle, making her lightheaded from the blush. Swallowing, she nodded. “Y-yes, ma’am.” Redheart blinked. Then, as if doused, the fire vanished from her widening eyes. A small, squeaking noise sounded from her mouth before she scrambled back to the floor. “I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—that wasn’t supposed to—” Straightening her nurse’s cap, she glanced to the side, looking at the furthest point in the room from Spitfire. Lifting her head enough to watch the mare shift her weight and chew her lip, Spitfire fought her heart down from her throat enough to ask, “Red?” “I’m sorry, I need to go think. About other patients. Foals,” she said, picking up her clipboard as she backpedalled her way to the open door. Bright, pink dots coloured her cheeks and her tail flicked around her hind leg. “The foals in the Foal’s Ward will be expecting me.” When she met Spitfire’s gaze for only a fleeting second, the confusion, terror, and something else swirling behind her eyes became apparent. “I should go. I’ll see you later, Spitfire.” “Yeah,” Spitfire said to the end of Redheart’s tail before it slipped through the doorway. “See you later.” The door shut behind her, leaving the room in a suffocating silence. Groaning, Spitfire fell back, letting her head flop down into her pillows. She rubbed her face and drew her hooves down the length of her muzzle as she tried to sort out the cacophony of feelings building in her chest. The memory of the kind-of-kiss played out before her, bringing a tingling of delight that travelled from her lips down to the tip of her tail. The sight of a truly flustered Redheart swelled a warmth in her gut, counterbalanced by the sickly, cold feeling brought by the look on the other mare’s face before she ran out of the room. An unhealthy dose of uncertainty, heavy and polluting, finished the cocktail, and Spitfire chose to push those thoughts to the side and instead focus on every detail she could recall of her lips finding Redheart’s. “Is she gone?” Blaze asked, her voice muffled from under the mattress. “Can I come out now?” Again, Spitfire groaned and put her pillow over her face. The beginnings of a headache throbbed behind the point between her eyes, an ache she had grown familiar with when cleaning up one of her ponies’ messes. And oh, what a mess this would be to clean up. First thing’s first, she thought, speaking dark mutterings into her pillow, Blaze is getting the whapping of a lifetime.