Thanks for the Laughs
“Do I make myself clear, cadet?! If I ever see your uniform in such disarray again, by the time I’m done with you the only job you will have close to the Wonderbolts is clean up after the show! Understood?!”
“Yes Ma’am! It will never happen again!”
“See to it, cadet! Now get out of my sight!” Spitfire shouted, watching the cadet salute her before turning tail and running down the hallway.
Spitfire kept her eye on the cadet till he skidded around a corner. She then glanced around, finding herself alone in the hall, finally able to let out a long breath. She returned to her original objective of getting to her office.
The cadet hadn't done anything to deserve her ire. Or a three minute tongue lashing about a slightly wrinkled collar. No other officer wouldn't had noticed; she wouldn't have noticed it either had it been any other day. Unfortunately, the poor stallion had caught her in a foul temper that put most dragons to shame.
Damn tabloids! The hell do they know?! she thought, the embers coursing through her, eager for some unfortunate soul to lash out at. Without a poor cadet in sight, Spitfire huffed pointedly and kicked her door near-clear off its hinges. As the door bounced back closed, Spitfire stomped to her desk where a mountain of paperwork resided, and where the dreaded magazine was that had ignited the Hellfire within her.
She was no stranger to bad press. She was a celebrity, after all, and the paparazzi hounded relentlessly to get the next big story. Almost any story one could imagine had been written about her, from speculation she was in a secret tryst with her Co-Captain, that she used to be a he, or that she was actually Rainbow Dash’s mother.
Most of the time they were just pure speculation: minor details taken out of context, or a picture taken at the wrong moment. She was never bothered by those articles, finding most to be a good laugh. She had also been in top ten lists for wealthiest ponies in Equestria and was usually placed in the top three most attractive mares in Equestria—something she took great pride in but would never openly admit.
That might have been a factor in her current state of mind.
Sitting down in the plush blue armchair, Spitfire glared down at the magazine opened to the article that had ruined her day. The title of the article read Celebrities Destined to Die Alone. The article went into how their so called research was conducted and what criteria went into their choices. Starting at number ten the article had a picture of each celebrity at their worst to drive home the point.
Spitfire hadn't cared much till she got to the number two on the list: her. The picture accompany her name was of her shouting at a trio of stallions at a bar, going full drill sergeant on them. The article went into great detail about her apparent lack of social skills and how she couldn't separate her work life from her normal life, making any relationship she was in no more than a one night stand.
Of course they didn't mention how those three dipshits were trying to cop a feel! Spitfire thought, grinding her teeth, remembering that night. It was to be a celebration of Rainbow’s first show as a Wonderbolt, and the night had been a fun one till those three showed up. Having risen through the ranks of what used to be a stallion-only team to leading it, Spitfire didn’t take to kindly to stallions thinking they could get away with crap because she was a mare.
So she told them off. And what they could do with each other instead. While it had earned applause from her teammates and had become a part of her legend among cadets, it hadn't done her any favors, it seemed.
Something like this shouldn't have got under her skin: all of it was baseless accusations that ponies would forget in a week or two. Regardless, it had gotten under her skin and she knew why. That didn’t make it any less painful, though.
Sagging back in her chair, Spitfire rubbed the spot between her eyebrows with the tip of her hoof; her gaze flicking to and from the ornate cabinet by the door. It wasn’t as though she was against dating — or romance in general— but she was a professional athlete and an officer. Where would she find the time? In fact, she was already married. To the wings and to the uniform. All those hours planning, preparing, filling out paperwork, organising routines and keeping all the ducks in a line and looking ship-shape? Where was a stallion supposed to fit in alongside that?
“Hell, I've slept on that couch more than my own bed,” Spitfire grumbled under her breath, eyes fixed on the woodwork and already feeling her throat burn. She wasn't some prude. And if she had the social skills of a potato, then how was it so easy for her to ensure that she never had to spend any night alone? The list had no answer to that, did it? No uniform hugging her curves, no posing to let the light dance off her muscles, no showcasing flight of her putting them to good use, and not even her name. At least, not then. Just her wits, a few approving gazes, maybe even a wander through the clouds, and that was all she needed.
Yes. She nodded, her gaze finally returning to her papers. Definitely. Spitfire unclasped her ink-tray and pressed its innards with a hoof. She could easily get a date if she wanted one. After all, Soarin did. Soarin.
Her shoulders slumped. She heaved a sigh. Soarin. Dopey grin, perma-scruff of a mane, best dolt of a Co-Captain she could ever ask for, Soarin. The stallion who had been so obsessed with pies when they had first met that she had suspected he would marry one if he could still squeeze into his dress blues by the time his oblivious ass popped the question. Soarin. The colt whose eyes would wander over the flanks of the cheerleaders and had fanclubs dedicated to him, yet was blind to the bitten lips and burning cheeks of the mares who actually talked to him. Soarin. Had a date. Had a marefriend.
Of course she could bake a pie that almost broke her own regimen. Of course she had an accent that would melt impressionable stallions into puddles of goo. Of course she had a rump one could bounce a bit into orbit off. And, of course, she had been at their last show.
Spitfire slumped back into her chair, hoof strangely full. Her ears still twinged and rang from how loud that filly belted her heart out during his signature performance, and Spitfire could remember the look of wonder dawning on the doof’s face when she poked her head backstage. He had almost tackled her through the clouds as he practically melted into her side. Spitfire sighed. She had just been telling Soarin that he had been slipping a little in the third routine; AJ’s eyes just twinkled, and she twanged about how he’d goofed up when he tried helping around her farm, and how mighty sorry she was for distracting her brave Wonderbolt on the job, and how she should probably just leave…
Spitfire gulped from her glass, a grin tracing her muzzle. I think, she had thought as the dopey puppy just whined into his master’s shoulder and begged her not to go and promised he would focus as he nuzzled her half to death, while AJ’s smirk mellowed into a warm, easy smile and she stroked his neck. I’m actually going to like this mare.
Spitfire blinked, her eyes swiftly focusing on the amber liquid in her hoof and the licks of fire it had left in her throat.
Who was she kidding?
--
Spitfire couldn't keep her head in the game during practice. Nopony watching would have noticed a dip in her performance unless they really knew her, and the two who did know her well enough paying much attention themselves. Soarin’s head was in the clouds, positively giddy with excitement for his latest date. The other was Rainbow Dash; while she hadn’t been on the team for long, she had been to enough shows and tryouts that she would have recognized a dip in Spitfire’s performance.
The rainbow-maned mare was enjoying herself too much to notice anything else, still in that bliss that came with finally being able to wear the uniform. Spitfire couldn't blame her, though: every Wonderbolt went through the phase. When she had first gotten her own uniform, she had paraded in front of her mirror for nearly an hour every night.
Still, Spitfire couldn't get her head into the game, and practice all around seemed half-hearted. Any other day she would have pushed on, making everypony work harder for trying to slack off, but most of that fire had already been put out between the tabloids, Soarin’s ability to get a date, and maybe a glass too many of whiskey she hadn’t needed.
“Alright, ladies!” Spitfire hollered. “Pack it in! I don't much care to see any of your ugly mugs anymore,” she called, many of the Wonderbolts looking up in surprise at her, more than a few smiles between them, something Spitfire couldn't let go unchecked. “Don't get used to it: practice is doubled tomorrow, and I hope you all like front, back go’s!” Spitfire said a extremely cheerful voice.
Much to her sadistic amusement, a chorus of groans came from her team. Front, back go was one of — if not the— most hated workouts a Wonderbolt was subjected to. The exercise involved flying in pace till Spitfire shouted down, to which everypony would drop and start doing pushups. This went on till Spitfire called back for all the Bolts to start doing flutter kicks, till Spitfire said go again for them to start flying in place, waiting for the entire cycle to start again. This went on for however long Spitfire deemed it necessary. With their next show in a week, she found it very necessary.
“Stop complaining,” Spitfire shouted, watching her team shamble for the showers. “The more complaining I hear, the more sets we will do!” There was a part of her that took great pleasure in the displeasure going through the ranks; one of the perks of being in charge was when she was in a bad mood, everyone was going to suffer.
Spitfire stayed behind as the field cleared, double checking that all the equipment had been properly placed and who to punish if it hadn’t. It was a manual task that she could have just as easily assigned somepony else to, but she had been the one to call practice early. Finding nothing out of place, Spitfire sighed and trudged to the showers as well.
Maybe I can wash this funk off, she mused, even if she didn't fully believe it herself. As close knit as a team the Wonderbolts were, they had separate shower rooms and locker spaces for obvious reasons. Passing the stallions’ shower, she could once again hear Soarin crooning about his date, only just drowning out the others’ groans. Glad I'm not the only one. Spitfire thought to herself, smiling a bit as she entered the mares’ showers.
Unlike the stallions’ showers, there was a dividing wall upon entering the mare’s showers, creating a small hallway of sorts; this was to stop any stallion from trying to get a glimpse inside. Due to the impromptu hallway, conversation, if loud enough, occasionally echoed down it and made eavesdropping all too easy, nearly impossible to avoid.
Spitfire has used this little bit of knowledge in the past to hear in on the team, especially when tensions were high in the Bolts to get to the bottom of the problem. Yes, she saw the irony in it, but sometimes stooping low was the only way to solve a problem. A part of her was actually hoping to hear a bit of juicy gossip to take her mind off her own troubles.
“Rainbow Dash! You have a coltfriend?!”
Of course, the universe had other ideas.
Spitfire stopped in her tracks, heavily considering going back to her office and finishing off that whiskey. Another one of the Wonderbolts had a potential steady relationship before her. Of course it had to involve one of the most extreme ponies Spitfire had ever met.
“What? Is it really that hard to believe?” came the scratchy voice of Rainbow Dash.
“No... bu- but he's an Earth pony! They’re so slow, they’re, like, half-turtle, or something!” Spitfire recognized the voice of Misty Fly speaking out.
Rainbow Dash dating a Earth pony? How can that even work? Spitfire thought, sharing in the disbelief of her team. From what she knew of Rainbow Dash, her requirements for a coltfriend would be fast, cool, and able to fly.
“That's the point.” Spitfire shook back out of her head, focussing on the voice. “Speed is great and all, but sometimes it's not everything. I found reliability and endurance to be a big factor; no chance of a quickie with them!” A chorus of laughter came from the mares listening; even Spitfire found herself laughing a little. Stallions were a bit too quick at times.
Still, it was shocking to say the least about Rainbow’s choice.
“There has to be more to it,” Blaze cut in, “Come on Dash, spill it. What's so hot about dating a farmer?”
Another farmer? Spitfire’s eyes widened. What is with the sudden farmer kink going around?
“You mean other than a smokin’ hot bod, a sexy accent, all that endurance from long days, and unlimited free cider?” Agreeing murmurs burbled from the other side of the wall, to which Spitfire couldn't help join.
“Well that's for me to know. I mean, I'd hate to beat all of you up for trying to steal my stallion.” Rainbow laughed, slamming her locker shut. A series of ‘Aww’s and grunts of disappointment rose up at those final words.
Now Spitfire was curious about this stallion Rainbow Dash had bagged for herself. If there was a stallion willing to take on the hurricane that was Rainbow Dash, there had to be one for her out there. I wonder if he’s got a brother… Spitfire thought, stepping out from behind the wall and into the locker room. She made sure she had a scowl on her face, her hooves hitting the floor harder than needed. She wasn't going to lower herself to an eavesdropper in front of her team, or let it be known that she was trying to get advice from the newest member of the Wonderbolts.
“Rainbow Crash. My office. Five minutes,” Spitfire barked once in view of all the mares. Rainbow’s wide eyes and clattering shampoo bottle made the whole facade worth it; she looked ready to flee in terror. The use of her nickname probably added fuel to the fear fire within the mare. She didn’t stop there, though; she turned and stalked out of the locker room before Rainbow Dash could react.
Spitfire stopped midway, basking in the ‘Ohhhh!’ that arrived in her wake, much like a student being called to the principal’s office. She'd happily admit it was a low thing to do, but what was the point of being in charge if she couldn't bask in the small things?
Spitfire sat in her office awaiting Rainbow’s arrival. She had brought the whiskey container over from the table, along with two glasses. I am hitting the bottle a bit too hard, Spitfire thought, looking down at the amber liquid. Eh, screw it. Not like I'm drinking it every day; I can stand one day. Spitfire concluded, just as there was a knock on the door. Spitfire looked up at the clock to see it had been exactly five minutes, a smirk on her lips that she had to suppress. Show time.
“In,” Spitfire said, no inflection in her voice, just commanding. She knew it had to be driving Rainbow Dash crazy with apprehension at what Spitfire wanted with her. Spitfire watched Rainbow Dash open the door, raising her hoof in salute.
“Rainbow Dash reporting in!” she said, puffing out her chest as she spoke. She was still in her Wonderbolt uniform, though the mask was down and her goggles hung around her neck.
“Sit,” Spitfire said, using the exact same tone as before. Rainbow lowered her hoof and made her way to the chair across from Spitfire, the entire time Spitfire tracked her with orange eyes. Once she sat down Spitfire could see Rainbow was putting on her best poker face, but Spitfire could see the cracks forming in it. Maybe she was taking this a bit too far, but she had to keep up appearances.
“How have you been enjoying your time in the Wonderbolts?” Spitfire asked, keeping her own face still, showing nothing. “Everything you dreamed it would be?”
“Yes, Ma’am!” Rainbow replied, louder and clearer than before, not surprising as her life’s goal was to make it onto the team.
“Good to hear,” Spitfire said, relaxing slightly as she spoke. “Not putting any strain on friends and family? Not taking away from your other duties to Equestria?”
“Please, at the speed I go, I can do all of it in a day. If I took it slow, anyway,” Rainbow laughed, showing off that legendary ego. Spitfire liked that about Rainbow Dash; her brash confidence was a welcome breath of air in the Wonderbolts, challenging all members to work harder to put on a better show. In fact, it reminded Spitfire a lot of herself when she was Rainbow’s age.
“Is that so?” Spitfire questioned, raising one eyebrow. “Does that include a special somepony as well?” Spitfire had to suppress the laughter threatening to spill out; Rainbow Dash’s cheeks had gone bright pink at her question, eyes widening.
“Oh… um… I guess I spend a bit more time with him,” Rainbow said, wings fluttering as she spoke.
“So you have a special somepony?” Spitfire asked, feigned innocence with every syllable. “Must be quite the stallion to be willing to live with such a hectic schedule,”
“You can say that,” Rainbow replied in a nervous laugh, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink. Obviously she hadn’t considered this as a subject of their conversation.
“That so? Is it somepony on the team? Soarin was singing about having a date tonight…” Rainbow’s cheeks turned a dark red at that, wings fluttering more.
“What? No! I'm not dating him! Sure he's good looking, like really good looking, fast, cool, Co-Captain and—” Rainbow stopped mid-sentence shaking her head, turning back to Spitfire. “Okay, sure, I used to have a crush on the guy, but I found somepony else who is just as good looking, if not better, and he’s just the complete package,” Rainbow said, channeling that confidence she had in the locker room. She was ready to go into her sales pitch again, why every other mare should be jealous of her catch, to envy her even more.
Just as Spitfire had planned on.
“Good looks and being a complete package are always good,” Spitfire said, reaching for the whiskey and pouring them both some of the amber liquid. Her lips smacked in the sitting silence. “Just make sure it doesn't affect the Wonderbolts in any way, and I'm sure everything will be okay.” Spitfire lifted her glass up between her feathers, swirling the contents inside.
“Huh?”
“I understand that one needs blow off the stress of our work once in awhile, just make sure that it doesn't show up on the front page of some magazine.”
“It's not like that, he's my coltfriend,” Rainbow said, her voice taking on an edge as Spitfire went on. Spitfire knew what she was doing was cruel, but Rainbow Dash was much like her; cast iron mare who hates showing feelings.
“No need to tell me that story; I've seen it before.” Spitfire took a drink from her glass, letting the burning sensation wash over her. “Just telling you the facts.”
“Mac is not a damn hookup!” Rainbow shouted, not hiding the rage building up in her. Spitfire didn’t look up at her, though, orange eyes focused on her drink.
Mac? Well at least we got a name, she thought, taking another drink. “Whatever you say, just let him down easy when you grow bored of him.”
That really did it. Rainbow slammed her hooves down on Spitfire’s desk, nearly sending the glass Spitfire had poured for her. Years of experience served Spitfire well as she casually looked up Rainbow, still swirling her drink. Dash was anything but composed, her chest heaving up and down as she took long angry breaths, her eyes were wide, and she actually bared her teeth like a dog whose master was threatened.
“Mac is not some hookup when I need to get off! He's the strongest, most caring, honest and loyal pony I've ever met!” Rainbow spat, her magenta eyes locked on Spitfire, like she was trying to add extra meaning to her words with that glare. “Yeah, he's not the pony I saw myself going for, but screw it and screw anypony who thinks it's too crazy to work! I love him! If you can't handle that, then screw you too, Captain!” Rainbow finished, taking the glass of whiskey meant for her and downed it in a single gulp. She sat back down in her chair, forelegs crossed, glaring at Spitfire still.
Spitfire sat there watching the whole ordeal, fighting back the smile threatening to break her entire image. She waited there, looking right into Rainbow’s enraged eyes with her own calm pair.
Three… two… one… action. Spitfire counted in her head, blinking at action to start the one mare play Rainbow was about to put on. Just like clockwork, Rainbow’s eyes widened as her entire facade broke down with realization on what Spitfire expected to be multiple levels. Her entire body started to shake, and for a moment Spitfire feared Rainbow might actually be physically sick.
“Oh Celestia! I used the ‘L’ word!” Rainbow shouted, both hooves shooting up and pressing against both sides of her temple. “Yes I like him but…” Rainbow turned to Spitfire, color draining from her face as the rest of the conversation hit her like a stampede. “Cap- Captain Spitfire! I didn't mean it! I… I just got so riled up and… and…” Rainbow stared at Spitfire for several long seconds, mouth open slightly, not daring to even blink. “I'm off the Wonderbolts… aren't I?”
Spitfire just smiled at her, pouring another glass of whiskey for her. “Nope. You're still on the team, no worries about that.” Rainbow sighed in relief, nearly melting into her chair.
“Thank Celestia…” Rainbow murmured, looking up at the ceiling as she spoke, her shoulders sinking as the tension evaporated. “Mom and Dad would have flipped!” Spitfire shook her head at her, refilling her own drink in the process. “Uh… sorry for flipping out like that,” Rainbow said, rubbing a hoof against the back of her head.
“Don’t be. I'm the one who should be saying sorry for getting under your skin like that,” Spitfire said, taking a drink. “I deserved the outrage.”
“Yeah…” Rainbow said, her voice low and carrying a venomous edge. “You kinda did.” It didn't take a genius to figure out that Rainbow was still angry with her, but Spitfire had come prepared.
“Rainbow Dash, I see a lot of myself in you when I was your age,” Spitfire said, smiling, looking down into the amber drink.
“Re- really?” Rainbow stammered, her voice cracking; being compared to her idol turned her into an awkward teen again.
“Very much. You're driven, take no nonsense, always working to better yourself, and just have a love of flying,” Spitfire said, tilting her glass to Rainbow Dash, who looked nearly ready to explode from all the praise. “And to top it all off, you’re one cast iron bitch. Like me.”
“Hell yeah!” Rainbow said, raising her glass and clinking it against Spitfire’s. “I’ll drink to that!” Spitfire smiled at her, before bringing her glass to her lips in time with Rainbow and slugged down another glass.
Rainbow Dash gave out an satisfy ‘Ahh’ as she finished her drink, Spitfire already raising the decanter again to refill. “That's some pretty good stuff,” Rainbow said, running a hoof across her lips. “Though it's no Apple Whiskey,”
“Apple Whiskey?” Spitfire asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “Isn't that for mares who can't handle their alcohol?”
Rainbow chuckled at that, as she picked up her glass, “Not the kind my coltfriend makes; strongest stuff out there!” Rainbow laughed, taking a sip of her drink. Spitfire just nodded, sipping from her own. Now came the hard part, and why she was encouraging drinking.
“The thing about cast iron, though...” Spitfire started, looking at her drink. “It’s brittle: hit in the right place hard enough, the whole structure crumbles.” Spitfire looked up at Rainbow Dash, the other mare slowly nodding though not looking at Spitfire. She understood where Spitfire was coming from, having been there herself. “That's why anything we talk about stays here, understand?”
“Yes Ma’am,” Rainbow said, smiling at Spitfire.
“Good,” Spitfire whispered, taking another drink. “Because, if word gets out about this, the only flying you’ll be doing is toilet to toilet scrubbing them clean after each show.” Spitfire got the satisfaction of watching Rainbow Dash cringe at the thought, letting her chuckle slightly.
“So… uhh… what did you want to talk about?” Rainbow asked, fidgeting in her seat. Now it was Spitfire’s turn to leave an awkward silence, swirling her drink around. She tilted her head back and finished it off, shaking her head as she swallowed. “Rough subject?” Rainbow asked.
“Immensely,” Spitfire murmured, finally feeling the numbness drape over her hooves, along with the slight sway of her body. It probably didn't speak to well to her overall mental health that she needed to get drink to convey her feelings, but that was something she could discuss with her therapist. If she ever got one.
“I doubt it will come as a surprise, but I'm not a very feelings type of mare,” Spitfire started, playing with her glass. “I never really gave romance much thought when I was starting out; more concentrated on getting here.” Spitfire waved a hoof around the office of the Captain of the Wonderbolts, Rainbow Dash just nodding as the older mare spoke. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn't change a second of being a Wonderbolt, but I just don’t feel like doing it alone so much...” Spitfire sighed, maybe she had a bit too much to drink; a lot of these feelings were a bit too personal than she had intended.
“Now I don’t need a stallion to give me worth, and any mare who needs one is just a crying shame, but I guess I wouldn't mind finding a stallion to come home to, you know? Somepony who would be there, waiting just for me...” Spitfire sighed, hoof itching to pour another glass, but she held it off—no need to come off as an alcoholic to Rainbow Dash. “Sorry, I’m rambling,” Spitfire sighed, setting the glass down.
“Don’t sweat it, Captain,” Rainbow Dash said, nursing her own drink. “I get it, kinda felt like I was going to the same way. But... what does this have to do with me?” Rainbow asked, cocking her head slightly. “Like, I’m honored and such you want to talk to me about this, but what can I do?” Spitfire rolled her eyes; she had gotten a bit too carried away with her own self loathing.
“I came to you because you seem to have more experience in this subject than I,” Spitfire said, her pride taking a blow in those words. “You love this Mac, and, from what I heard so far, he sounds like the complete opposite of you. How does it work? How did you even give him the chance?”
Rainbow’s face went red, alcohol stoking her embarrassment. She fumbled with her glass, eyes moving around the office like a rabbit fleeing to its warren. “Wow… that is kinda personal,” she whispered, looking up at Spitfire as she spoke. “Yo… you won’t tell anypony, right? Can’t have it getting out I actually care for that romantic crap.” Spitfire just chuckled. Rainbow Dash was just like her; if Dash didn’t already have a coltfriend, she would have worried that Dash was on the road to becoming her.
“You’re secret is safe with me,” Spitfire said, crossing her heart with her hoof. Rainbow Dash smiled, just slugging back the rest of her drink, obviously suffering from the same hangups Spitfire did.
“I guess the first part is why,” Rainbow started, placing her own glass down. “To be honest, it was just a whim. You know, just to see what would happen? Maybe part of me wanted to see the shock on AJ’s face when I started dating her brother,” Rainbow chuckled.
AJ? As in… Applejack? Good lord! Talk about keeping it in the family, Spitfire thought, holding back the drunken giggles of such a strange kink.
“After that, it just felt right. I don’t know how to explain it. Yeah, I always saw myself with somepony fast, able to fly through the clouds at breakneck speeds, you know someone like me.” Rainbow laughed a bit, shaking her head as she spoke. “I guess it was one of those cases of want versus need, and I needed Big Mac. He forced me to slow down, to actually look at the world, seeing more than just a blur.” Spitfire watched Rainbow, looking for those key little details she had trained herself to look for when talking to ponies, to understand how to either break them or catch them in a lie; all of which she needed as Wonderbolt Captain.
A small but genuine smile played on Rainbow’s lips as she spoke about this stallion. This wasn’t just some fanfare or playing to what she assumed what Spitfire wanted to hear; she truly felt this way.
“What I wanted was a stallion that was just going to keep me speeding through life, doing everything fast and throwing caution to the wind. Like a one night stand, but every night! Mac, though... Sure, it’s a lot more than just a roll in the hay with him, but we can talk about anything to each other… And sometimes we’ll just lay up in bed and he’ll just hold me all through the night… Sometimes, that’s just so much better.” Rainbow sighed, smiling at the glass.
Spitfire grinned. Rainbow had found what some mares would never find in their entire lives; something that Spitfire had increasing doubts she could find herself. Sure she wasn’t ancient, but she was not a young mare anymore, and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, age sometimes plays key factors in a life with love, and a life with a bottle.
“Sounds like you’ve found something better than the Wonderbolts,” Spitfire said in a hushed tone, shaking her head, trying to get the depressing thoughts out.
“Eeyup,” Rainbow croaked, blinking rapidly now. “Cast iron, right?”
“Cast iron,” Spitfire replied, pouring them some more whiskey, a more than likely terrible idea. As each mare reached for their glass, Spitfire let out a sigh. “So any advice for a desperate mare like me?”
“Don’t wait around,” Rainbow said bluntly, bringing the whiskey to her lips, “Sometimes that random chance is the best,” she said as she started to drink more. “The fact it’s stopped burning my throat is a bad sign, isn’t it?” Spitfire laughed, necking her own glass.
“Just means you're going hard tonight,” Spitfire replied, and the two mares drank late into the night.
--
A week later and Spitfire still couldn't suppress cringes when she thought of the night she and Rainbow Dash spent too much time drinking. Oh yes, they’d had a good time after the deep conversation, sharing stories of their best and worst flights, terrible decisions they wouldn't change and much more. By the end of things Rainbow Dash needed a cab home, and Spitfire ended up doing paperwork for herself and Soarin unable to focus on more than two letters at once.
The whole ordeal had left Spitfire in a complex state: The advice given to her by Rainbow was sound, but she had no idea how to act on it. Yes, she understood the idea of taking a chance and seeing where things went, but nopony had even caught her interest enough to take a chance on.
Hopefully I can find one halfway decent here. Spitfire thought, glancing around her surroundings. This week the Wonderbolts were in Appleoossa for a weekend long show to promote the peace between the ranchers and the native tribes, or something like that. Admittedly, she lost interest in the why, more concerned with putting on the best show possible.
They were to perform twice, as other events went during the rest of the day. There was to be a rodeo daily, a beauty pageant, and an honest-to-Celestia pie eating contest; which Soarin had been training for since he had heard about it. As excited as he was for that, he and Rainbow Dash were positively ecstatic for the rodeo.
Not that either of the featherbrains knew much about rodeos—it involved a lasso and a bull came out at some point. The reason why the pair were getting excited was due to both Mac and Applejack being competitors in the rodeo. Spitfire had been forced to listen to the two argue and bicker like foals the entire trip about whose special somepony was going to win. She’d had to fight the powerful impulse to tell them to stop arguing or she was going to turn the formation around.
I don't even have a coltfriend and I sound like a mom… Spitfire heaved a mental sigh, at that image, taking care of a unit of Wonderfoals. She shook her head at the thought, instead turning her attention to the frontier town. The entire town was decorated for the event; streamers of Equestrian color and design strung between symbols and trinkets of the native buffalo who roamed the plains. All in all it was an impressive sight, the attention to detail tugged at her drill sergeant heartstrings.
She could have walked around all day examining the pieces of art, and probably would have if she didn't run face first into a brick wall.
“Ponyfeathers!” Spitfire snapped, recoiling from the collision, hoof covering her stinging nose. What idiot puts a wall in the middle of the street? she wondered as she rubbed her muzzle.
“Oops, beg yer pardon, ma’am. Didn’t see ya there.”
“No, it's my fault. Should have been watching where I was—”
Since when could brick walls apologize? Spitfire opened one orange eye to see what she had run into. While it had not been bricks and mortar she had tried to knock over with her head, the only way to describe the stallion was a brick wall!
He was easily the largest stallion she had ever met, nearly the same height as Celestia, but layered in muscle. His coat was chocolate brown with white drooping down the center of his muzzle and around his chin. His mane was chestnut brown and he had a pair of bright green eyes. He wore a hat that looked like it belonged on a scarecrow, and a checkered bandana around his neck. All in all, Spitfire had never seen a stallion like him before.
“... going.” Spitfire eyed the stallion before her, not quite sure to think of him.
“You doin’ alright? Seem kinda fuzzy,” he said, cocking his head.
“Yes, yes I'm fine, just had my head in the clouds,” Spitfire said, mentally slapping herself for being so spacy.
“Lot ta take in around here, that's fer sher,” the stallion said, looking around the town. “Here fer the rodeo?” he asked, green eyes focused on her again.
“No… I mean yes, uh…” What the Hell was wrong with her? What had turned her from cast iron into a stuttering school filly?
Must have hit my head harder than I thought.
“I'm Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts, the group doing the airshow,” Spitfire said, regaining herself and extending a hoof to him. The stallion have out a low whistle, returning the bump.
“Mighty nice to meet you, Captain Spitfire. Ah’m a fan of all that fancy flyin’. Troubleshoes’s the name. Ah’ll be workin’ the rodeo,” Troubleshoes said, grinning at her.
“The rodeo?” Spitfire questioned, looking him over again. “I can see that, what do you do?”
“Work with the bulls and audience control, nothin’ too special,” he said, shuffling one hoof against the other. Spitfire couldn't stop herself from imagining Troubleshoes dealing with bulls and a rambunctious crowd, the former held at bay with a single stiff foreleg while he glared down at the latter.
At his size, I'm sure he can handle about anything, Spitfire mused, her thoughts turning to other subjects. Spitfire crucified those thoughts before they take greater form. She even felt her cheeks starting to heat up, but she fought it all down, keeping the cool, collected from the Wonderbolt Captain should have at all times.
“Ya sure yer alright?” Troubleshoes asked, pulling Spitfire out of her funk—Seriously? What was she, twelve?—making her look up at the big stallion again, head cocked to the side. “Anythin’ Ah can do for ya?
“Yes, yes I am quite fine. Just trying to get my mind around what I need to get the Wonderbolts in perfect formation,” she lied, not wanting to reveal that she had already pictured him putting his long face to expert use. Troubleshoes just cocked his head to the others side, Spitfire’s heart skipping a beat at how cute he looked, before letting out a sigh.
“Alrighty, then. Ah need ta get some practice in maself, hope to see you again,” Troubleshoes said, bowing his head to her as he started to walk on by. As he did, Spitfire turned to watch him leave, knowing her eyes were resting on more than his sheer bulk; there was just something about him that intrigued her, something she couldn't put her hoof on. There was nothing overtly special about him, not a celebrity or a flyer like herself, but something nonetheless.
Don’t wait around, flashed in Spitfires mind, and before Troubleshoes was more than a yard away, Spitfire rounded to him.
“Actually, Mister Troubleshoes, there is something I would like you to do,” the words left Spitfire’s lips before she even had a chance to realize what she was saying. Not that she would have stopped it. The large stallion turned back to her, eyebrows raised.
“What’s that, Captain Spitfire?”
“Know any place around here to get drinks? Maybe around eight?” Spitfire asked, leaning in with a devilish wink. Much to Spitfire’s satisfaction, Troubleshoes’ face turned bright red, eyes widening as understanding came over him.
“Um… are ya askin’ me on a—”
“A date. Yes,” Spitfire said, not wanting to beat around the bush, uncomfortable flutterings already infiltrating her gut. “Know anywhere?” Troubleshoes chewed on his lower lip for a second, green eyes darting around.
“Dusty Trail, right on Main Street. Got the best hayburgers in all of Equestria,” Troubleshoes said, smiling much wider now.
“It’s a date, cowcolt,” Spitfire said, adding another wink to her words; it never hurt to be extra thorough when getting through the thick skull of a stallion. Right on cue, Troubleshoes’ face lit up and he whinnined.
Satisfied with her work, Spitfire turned away from the stallion to continue her stroll through the town, when her eyes landed on another stallion that she could play with: Soarin skipping out of a shop. Smiling to herself, Spitfire hastened her own step to catch up to him, a plan already forming in her mind.
“Soarin, what a surprise,” Spitfire said, forcing as much cheer as she could into her voice. As she approached, she noticed that tied around Soarin’s neck was an orange bandana, similar in fashion to many of the stallions around Appleloosa. “Didn’t expect to see you around and about.” Soarin turned in her direction, brows twitching for a split second, before splitting into a ear to ear smile.
“Spitfire!” Soarin replied with an equal amount of cheer, though his was no where near as forced. “Just got to take in the sights when I can. Next few days, there’ll be so many ponies around I doubt I could without getting mobbed for autographs.”
“I understand,” Spitfire reply, her smile turning more into a smirk. “I just wanted to let you know, before I inform Rainbow Dash, that my stallion is going to win the whole rodeo,” she said, rubbing a hoof against her chest, polishing the tip. Soarin’s head cocked sideways at her, confusion evident on his face.
“Your stallion?” he asked. “When did you have a stallion?”
“Since five seconds ago. Going on a date tonight,” she said, grinning.
“And who is this mysterious stallion that is going to beat my Applejack, and Rainbow’s stallion?” Soarin asked, a subtle edge in his voice. Spitfire kept on grinning like the cat that had caught the canary. She couldn't wait to see the shock on Soarin’s face when he got a good look at her stallion.
“Right behind me, the big one, can’t miss him,” Spitfire said, gesturing over her shoulder. Soarin leaned over some to look behind Spitfire, one eyebrow raised. Spitfire standing there, chest puffed out and nose towards the sky in sheer pride.
“You mean the stallion putting on the clown makeup?”
“The what?” Spitfire shouted, turning around to where she had left Troubleshoes. When she found him again, he had moved down the road a bit till he was standing at one of the gates of the rodeo, a rodeo clown daubing his face with makeup while another put a neon green wig on his head. Spitfire stood there for several moments in utter disbelief.
She had a date with a rodeo clown.
--
“You’re a mare of your word, Spitfire. Just because he’s a clown doesn’t mean you go back on it,” Spitfire murmured to herself, hovering in the air a few yards away from the Dusty Trail saloon, upbeat piano music filling the night air. After the shock of finding out what Troubleshoes meant by working with the bulls and audience control, part of her wanted to cancel the date right there; but she couldn't. He’d looked so happy to have a mare asking him on a date, and it had been her own fault for not getting a clear answer from him; he at least deserved her showing up.
Plus she deserved another chance to assess such a fine specimen of a stallion.
“Have dinner with him, maybe a drink or two, and call it a night. If he asks you on another date, just say you’re busy, maybe another time. Let him down easy,” Spitfire said, coming in for a landing nearby.
She had done herself up a bit, just to keep up appearances and not to show that she was regretting her decision. She had gone back to the hotel and took care of the necessities, showering and the like. She had applied a hint of mascara to her lashes, while her ears glinted with ruby replicas of her cutiemark.
Spitfire couldn't help but admire her reflection when passing a window showing off her full profile. Damn, Spitfire, when you choose to look good… You. Look. Good! she thought, patting herself on the back as she walked towards the saloon. While she might not have been looking forward to the date, she didn’t slack off one bit when it came to looking hot.
She hadn’t even made it a yard yet when she saw the large outline of Troubleshoes; he was standing next to the entrance of the saloon, still as a statue. He had taken off the bandana he had on earlier, the hat he wore much nicer as well: much less scarecrow like. He moved his gaze down the street till he saw Spitfire, straightening up immediately.
“Captain Spitfire,” he voice was slightly higher than before, an obvious sign of nervousness. “Glad ya could make it, g-good to see ya again.”
“You too,” Spitfire said, drawing closer to him; a faint whiff of sandalwood drifting from Troubleshoes. At least he washes up good, Spitfire thought, noticing the shine in Troubleshoes’ mane. “And, please, just Spitfire; you don't work for me.” She laughed.
Troubleshoes nodded, pushing open the swinging door to the saloon. “After you, Miss Spitfire.” Spitfire smiled up at him, he had that easy courtesy that was second nature to Earth ponies out in the country. While she was a strong and independent mare, she didn’t mind a stallion opening a door for her once in a while.
“Don’t have to call me ‘miss’, either,” Spitfire said, walking past him into the saloon. Inside was what Spitfire had been expected, and she was not the least bit disappointed in the sight.
The saloon was filled with ponies and buffalo of every shape and size, all in high spirits. The bar was lined with customers drinking to their heart's content, laughing, and all together having a merry time. Barmaids were making their way around the tables, picking up glasses and dropping full ones off, while in the back right, near the stage, an older looking stallion was playing the piano like there was no tomorrow. All together, the bar had the atmosphere of familiarity comfort that ponies needed after a hard day's work.
“Got us a booth over yonder,” Troubleshoes said, stepping up next to her, pointing to a booth opposite of the bar. Unlike all the other booths that were just plain wood, this one had a white tablecloth draped over it, along with a little sign reading ‘Reserved’. Spitfire looked over her shoulder at Troubleshoes, one eyebrow raised above the other. His cheeks bright red as he shuffled in place.
He is just too cute, Spitfire thought, making her way over to the booth so clearly marked out. She didn’t have to turn to know he was following her like a big ol’ puppy with his large presence. Spitfire took the far seat of the booth as Troubleshoes sat opposite. Before either could say a word, a waitress came over and placed a large mug in front of Troubleshoes.
“Evenin’ Troubleshoes,” the light tan mare said, a smile on her face. “Gotcha the usual: whiskey cask apple cider.” Her voice was bubbly, and she had that enthusiasm only years of guest relations could produce. At once, Troubleshoes’ cheeks turned scarlet, rubbing his hooves together, glancing at Spitfire.
The waitress followed Troubleshoes line of sight till her eyes fell on Spitfire. “Oh! I didn't know you had company!” Spitfire smiled at the mare’s startled reaction, as she looked between the two, her mind slowly connecting the dots. “Uh… what can I get you to drink, miss?” the mare asked, running a hoof through her blonde mane.
Spitfire looked at Troubleshoes and then to the mare, a sultry smile spreading across her lips. “I'll have what's he having,” Spitfire said, enjoying the surprise in her date's eyes. “And an order of hayburgers. You said it's the best place in town, right?”
“Th- that's right,” Troubleshoes said, looking to the barmaiden. “Two Dusty Burgers if ya don't mind,” Troubleshoes said, a smile starting to make its way down his long face. The mare jotted it down in her notepad, departing to put in the order.
“Here often I take it?” Troubleshoes smiled as he fiddled with his drink.
“Once, maybe twice a week. Hard ta mistake me fer other ponies,” he said, as he took a drink from his glass, a bit of cider leaking from the corner of his mouth; undignified, but it was to be expected with how nervous he was. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen worse before, such as the time Soarin missed his mouth completely during a shot and splashed it over half his face; and the backside of their then-Captain.
“Seems like a nice place,” Spitfire said, running a hoof through her mane, a force of habit in years past.
Now came the awkward part of the date, or what Spitfire had expected to be. Neither had a way to continue the conversation and sat in an uncomfortable silence; Troubleshoes swirled his drink, green eyes moving to and fro, trying to find something to start a conversation with. Spitfire couldn't help but do the same, looking over the bar and all its residents. Out of all the ponies there, their pairing was by far the strangest.
Every other pony there knew each other and were celebrating life itself with laughter and drinking. While the two of them just sat there, total strangers to one another.
Better get it over with. Spitfire thought, looking up at the stallion.
“So, you’re a rodeo clown?” Troubleshoes looked back at her from where his eyes were wondering, raising his hoof to rub across his face.
“Dagnabit, thought Ah’d washed it all off,” he murmured, looking his hoof over for any trace of makeup. Spitfire smiled at him. At least he wasn’t denying that he was one.
“No, you have. I just saw you putting it after I asked you out,” she said simply, as the waitress came back with Spitfire’s drink. She looked between the two, a cat-like grin spreading across her lips.
“Oh Troubleshoes, look at you. I always told you that you were a good looking colt, and lookie here, mares are asking you out. What a stud,” she laughed as she walked away from them, flicking her tail against Troubleshoes’ flank. Unfortunately for the stallion he had been drinking at the time and the slap took him completely by surprise.
His drink went down the wrong pipe immediately, making the large stallion choke on the alcohol launching a coughing fit to remove the searing liquid. This was followed by some of the cider to try to escape by exiting through his nostrils. He slammed his hoof down on the table during his fit, as tears freely escaped his eyes from the burning sensation.
All together, it was quite a funny sight. Spitfire had to place a hoof over her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. Troubleshoes used his napkin to wipe away the wasted drink, glaring after the mare.
“Seems like you have quite the admirer,” Spitfire said, doing her best to suppress the chuckle in her voice.
“Naw, just an troublesome little cuz,” he murmured, just loud enough for the mare to hear. She turned to him enough to stick out her tongue and winked at him. This forced Spitfire to finally remove the hoof and unleash a chuckle; to see a large stallion so taken advantage of by his little cousin was just too funny.
Troubleshoes rolled his eyes at his cousin, turning back to Spitfire with an easy smile. “It’s family,” Troubleshoes drawled as he went to see about another drink. He hadn’t been unsettled by Spitfire’s laughter like other stallions might have, instead he seemed more at ease now than at the start.
Cool under pressure, check that. Spitfire mentally noted, turning her attention to the clear mug of cider before her. The cider was bright gold color, emanating a strong apple scent before she had even picked it up; it was a crisp smell, like flying over an orchard filled with ripe apples. Though there was another smell, one she couldn't quite put a feather on but which only added to the delicious aromas the cider was putting off.
Not wanting to forestall the union between the cider and her tastebuds, Spitfire wrapped her hoof around the mug and sipped in the drink to get the full flavor.
Spitfire had been to tastings all around Equestria during her time as a Wonderbolt, trying the most delectable of wines, bourbon, and her beloved whiskey, but the cider that passed through her lips went well beyond anything else she had ever had. It was a dry cider, with a crisp taste like biting into the first fresh apple of the season. There was also the merest hint of vanilla, along with the wood of the whiskey barrel no doubt it had been aged in. All together the cider was a refreshing taste with the slightest burning sensation as it went down the throat.
Pulling the mug away from her lips, Spitfire looked over the contents again not quite believing such a drink could exist. She then took another pull of the cider, this time even slower to enjoy every drop of it.
“Good, ain't it?” Too good. Way too good. She took another sip, her tastebuds basking in delight. She had to get more; she would have to see if she could buy a barrel, or two, of this nirvana before she left tow—
Her eyes popped open, landing instantly on the carefully neutral smile and the twinkling eyes of her companion. Clearing her throat, Spitfire put the glass down, ears twitching as her mind raced for a solution.
“Not bad,” Spitfire replied, forcing her hoof away from the mug but keeping her eyes on it. Troubleshoes just chuckled as he drank from his own mug, giving out a satisfied sigh as he finished.
“Nothin’ like a drink of good cider ta make ya feel alive,” Troubleshoes said.
“I guess I could drink more to that,” Spitfire said, already lifting her mug. The pair clinked mugs and shared the excellent cider. It was a struggle not to drain the entire mug, something she wouldn't hesitate to do in familiar company, less so on a date. Especially a first date.
“Them Apples sure know how ta make cider,” Troubleshoes drawled, as he licked his upper lip and hummed approvingly. Spitfire stared at him, and then down at the half empty mug; even on her date she couldn't escape the Apple family. Then again, if it meant experiencing this cider, that was hardly worthy of complaint.
“Luna, no wonder Rainbow Dash is so set on that stallion if she can get this cider anytime,” Spitfire said.
“Ah heard the Apples were taken up with pegasi these days. Can't blame em’ if they're half as cute as you are,” Troubleshoes said, lifting his mug to her.
With eyes closed and head tipped back, the oaf didn’t notice as Spitfire cocked an eyebrow at him, watching him like a hawk seeing easy prey.
Did he actually just say that?
In all honesty, it was probably… no, definitely one of the worst pickup lines Spitfire had ever heard. Did he think that was witty? Charming, even? Well… she quirked a brow at her date as he finally surfaced from his tipple. He certainly meant it to be charming, and there was a warmth and a sincerity to that honeyed drawl. Plus ‘cute’ was a new one, and she couldn’t deny the gentle trill that had followed it. But he didn’t need to know that.
Which was why Spitfire needed to mess with him.
So she just there staring at him, one eyebrow still raised above the other as one part of her lip was curled up in a smirk. This time Troubleshoes couldn't keep his cool, as a visible sweat broke out across his brow.
“Uh… Ah mean very beautiful, a fil… a mare in yer position is very beautiful indeed.” He bit his lip. “Uh… I mean respectable, an-and strong, an-an…” His tongue fluttered between his teeth for a flash. “I mean, not that there’s anythin’ wrong with bein’ cute. Just not the right thing ta say to a—”
“Cute is fine,” Spitfire said, nonchalantly tracing a hoof around the rim of her mug. “You’re not too bad looking yourself,” she laughed, winking at Troubleshoes. As much as Spitfire thoroughly enjoyed watching the large stallion stumble all over his words, she wanted both of them to have a good time. Much to her delight, his face went bright red at her compliment, and she had to suppress a chuckle as he stiffened in his seat. Stallions. It must be difficult going through life having your passions so readily stirred by a wink, even if it came from pegasus perfection herself. Then again, if it allowed a mare to drive a stallion wild after months without a date, she could hardly complain.
Troubleshoes’ face grew even darker, his ears flat against his head as he tapped his hooves together. “Shucks, Ah ain't nothin’ special,” Troubleshoes said, green eyes looking every which way, except at her. Spitfire smiled at his actions, reaching for her drink again, only to find it empty.
“Well you have good taste in drinks and mares, so that's two things going for you,” Spitfire said, feeling her own cheeks heating up, probably due to finishing her drink so fast. “So... what made you want to become a rodeo clown? You don't seem the part, if you don't mind me saying.”
Troubleshoes broke out of his funk and turned his full attention to Spitfire, a look of total bewilderment in his features. Spitfire sat there watching him, years of experience keeping her wings still and her brow dry. It wasn't all that weird to ask a pony why they do something… right?
“Why are you a Wonderbolt?” Spitfire stared at him, the gears in her head coming to a grinding halt as he deflected her question.
“Pardon?”
“What made you want to be a Wonderbolt?” Troubleshoes asked. The question itself was ridiculous to her. What other reason would there be for a pegasus to become a Wonderbolt?
“I love to fly,” Spitfire said flatly, eyeing Troubleshoes as she spoke. “The acceleration, speed, and challenge; there is nothing like it!” Troubleshoes nodded the entire time she spoke, a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.
“And Ah like ta make ponies laugh,” he replied, lifting his mug to her. “Nothin’ like makin’ ponies ferget their troubles, if only fer just a few minutes,” he said. Spitfire just stared at him, words failing her. She hadn’t expected such a reponse to say the least.
Wait, is he really just happy to be a clown? Spitfire mentally asked herself, just as his cousin came back to the table.
“Two Dusty Trail Burgers!” she announced happily, setting the tray down from her back onto the table. “And I see the two of you are ready for more whiskey cider!” she chirped, briskly picking up Spitfire’s mug and heading back to the bar for a refill.
Troubleshoes licked his lips as he looked down at the hayburger, to the point that Spitfire was surprised that their wasn’t drool coming from his lips as he looked down at the burger. To say the burger was piled high would be an understatement as there were three haypatties on the burger itself, along with onion rings, grilled pineapple, mushrooms, tomatoes, lettuce, and everything in between and positively bursting with grease. Being part of the upper crust of society one would have turned their nose up at such a platter, with all the grease leaking out, the fries piled high, and what seemed like every sauce one could imagine was poured onto the slop.
To Spitfire this was a dream come true.
Like many pegasi she needed to keep her body fueled up and ready to go, this was either done by lots of naps or—her favorite way—high calorie food. How the paparazzi would sell their souls to the devil to see how she gorged herself on Five Stallions burgers after a long show, or her freezer that was just filled with pizza rolls, hayfries, and every flavor of ice cream under the sun. How the paparazzi hadn’t yet long-lensed her squished back into her uniform after an indulgent off-season still mystified her.
Then again, maybe they were all camped at Misty Fly’s door: that photo of her spilling out of her dress at the Hearth’s Warming party was still the only time Spitfire had been bested as a PT motivator.
Spitfire lifted the burger with her hooves, and took the biggest bite she could manage out of it. She had to fight back a moan of pure pleasure as her tastebuds were doused in flavors that only the best of greasy of bar food could produce. She just wanted to get to the next bite so bad and order another dozen of these monsters. Was there a maximum order on these beasts? Better yet, could she just take the cooks with her back to Cloudsdale. Paid, obviously. Given the most generous lodgings. No one would suspect a th—
A low chuckle filled her ears as reality came back to her.
“Not sure if Ah should be proud of maself or not,” Troubleshoes said, causing Spitfire’s face to turn positively red. “Either Ah’d shown you the best places ta get food and drink in all of Equestria, or Ah’m just so boring Ah make simple things looks grand.” Spitfire couldn't help it, she began to laugh at his words; something in his tone, delivery, or the fact he was being too hard on himself.
With her mouth full of food, she was having a hard time laughing without spitting up her food or choking to death. Thankfully their waitress came back just in time, Spitfire took the mug greedily and started to drink the wonderful cider. All the while, she heard Troubleshoes laughing to himself at her predicament, and she couldn’t hold back an irritable scoff; she could hold her tongue, though, for it was too busy swimming in ambrosia. After her coughing fit came to an end, she placed the mug back down and wiped the contents from her mouth. Troubleshoes just smiled at her with a small streak of ketchup on one cheek.
“When was the last time ya had a good meal? Almost seems like ya just got out of prison,” Troubleshoes chuckled, as he took another bite from his burger.
“Funny colt,” Spitfire shot back, eyeing him. “I thought you had taken off the makeup? Or do you like to play dress up with the condiments?” Troubleshoes just chuckled as Spitfire felt like she had scored a point back in this bantering contest between them.
“Naw, just savin’ it fer later, like you flyin’ types,”
“What?”
“Ya got a whole mess of sauces on yer face. Thought it was how ya’ll flew and ate at the same time. Or are ya tryin’ ta take mah job of bein’ a clown?” Spitfire blinked as she picked up her mug, this time trying to see her reflection in the golden liquid. True to his word, Spitfire’s face was covered in sauces. As much as it should have horrified her, she couldn't help but start laughing again.
Where was this wit earlier? To walk her so gracefully into a trap like that… he’d probably had that line ready to go before she had even seen the ketchup! She couldn't remember the last time she laughed this hard, nor with somepony as witty as the one across from her.
Good looking, funny, and not full of himself. Spitfire thought, as she tried to calm herself down, her cheeks burning from laughing so hard. Maybe this date won’t be so bad after all.
--
“... so there Ah was, face ta face with biggest and strongest bull of em’ all: Burning Brand. He'd already bucked off the best rider we had, and the big ugly fella had his eyes set on me.” Spitfire sat there engrossed in Troubleshoes’ story, as she had been all night. He had a wonderful talent of storytelling, and so far not one had failed to make her laugh.
“Ugly bastard made his way over ta me, them horns lookin’ so sharp and pointy like he had sharpened ‘em just fer me. None of the other rodeo clowns were around to distract him, and even if they were old Burning Brand was just as big as me; doubt none of them would be much inclined ta get the bull's attention.” Troubleshoes was using his whole body to tell the story, raising his hooves at the right time to give the story more depth as he spoke.
“So how did you survive?” she asked, grinning ear to ear. “From the sound of things he had you… how you say… ‘dead to rights’?” Troubleshoes let out a bark of laughter at her phrasing, finishing off the last of his cider afterwards.
“Funny filly. Well, as he got close—close enough ta feel his hot breath on my face—Ah did the only thing Ah could think of.” With that, Troubleshoes placed the tip of his hoof on his chest, miming pushing down on something. “Ah sprayed him with enough soda water ta fill a few drinks.”
“You didn't!” Spitfire shouted, slamming her hooves on the table as laughter started to take her.
“Honest truth,” Troubleshoes laughed, crossing his chest. “Celestia herself strike me down if Ah be lyin’, but I sprayed that bull in the face. You should have seen the confusion in that poor bull’s face as Ah soaked him. You shoulda’ seen that entire crowd! Silent shock running through them all! Didn’t take em’ long ta start laughing and fer Brand ta realize he'd been had, and knew who he was gonna make pay.
“Thankfully before he realized this, yers truly started runnin’ like the wind. Ah’m not to proud ta admit, and Ah hope you don't mind the phrasein’, but Ah ran away screamin’ like a filly at the top of my lungs. Oh, just like you, the crowd was gettin’ a good laugh at the spectacle. Ah on the other hoof spent what felt like a century had gone by as Ah ran from that bull. Couldn't laugh about the incident till there was a county mile between maself and Burning Brand.”
Spitfire was laughing in such a way that was undignified for the Captain of the Wonderbolts. Tears were streaming down her face as every other laugh was accompanied by a low, honking snort. It was something she tried to avoid in public, an old trait that had got her no end of teasing back when she was a filly. She had gotten under control in her adult life, but this stallion brought it out of her like she was a filly again.
But who could blame her?
The mental images flashing through her mind were just too funny. This huge stallion running for his life to the echoes of his own shrill scream, which he belted out of a giant, painted smile.
He was a long way from the stallion she thought he was going to be, but she liked this one far better than she had dreamed up. When was all said and done, a stallion that could make her laugh was far more attractive in her mind than some mindless stud with ripped flank and sturdy wing.
“Gotta say, Spitfire, ya got the cutest laugh Ah’d ever heard,” Troubleshoes said, catching the mare off guard, her face turning red as she looked away.
What has come over you Spitfire? You're acting like a love sick filly! Spitfire mentally scolded herself, but she couldn't help continuing to laugh.
“No I—” she snorted “—don't.”
“Ah’m the laugh expert around these parts,” Troubleshoes mused, resting his large head on a hoof. “And Ah say ya got a mighty cute laugh,” he said, flashing her a smile. Well, he flashed his top row of teeth in all their blocky, charmingly crooked glory while his half-lidded eyes fixed on a point just over her shoulder, glowing with what he must have thought was a simmering smoulder.
Whatever comeback Spitfire had was lost under a barrage of snorts.
Just as Troubleshoes was about to open his mouth, somepony cleared their throat. The two ponies looked up to see a big, burly earth pony standing next to their table. His crew cut mane was peppered with greying hair, and he wore a white apron with a few stains on it. Other than that he had a smile on his face as he looked down at the pair, or at least down on Spitfire as Troubleshoes was still taller than other ponies even while sitting.
“Well I'm more than happy to see a cute pair such as yourselves enjoying my establishment,” the stallion said, laughing to himself as a blush crept onto both Spitfire’s and Troubleshoes’ faces. “I haven't seen two ponies stay so late and laugh the night away since my wife and I,” he said, his voice brimming with cheer even if it made the two blush more.
“Now, I let the two of you stay past closing due to your cousin's pleading,” the stallion continued, alerting Spitfire as she looked around the pub. True enough, they were the only two left. All the other tables had been cleaned, the chairs and stools put on top of tables and the bar. She didn’t even realize how much time had passed it didn't seem like long, but here they were all alone.
“Now as the old saying goes: you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here,” he said, placing the bill on their table. “Normally I'd say no rush but…” His drooping smile told her that they had stayed long past their welcome. Troubleshoes began to reach out for the check, but Spitfire beat him to it.
“You know it's the stallion’s place to pay fer the dinner, right?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Spitfire just smiled as she put more than a generous pile of bits on the bill and handed it back.
“True, but it's also the place for the stallion to ask out the mare, not the other way around,” Spitfire countered, smiling up at him. “Besides, being the Captain of the Wonderbolts comes with a nice paycheck, and I got my own private comedian for the night. I think it all evens out.” Troubleshoes looked from her to the stallion, whose face lit right back up at the small mountain of bits. Catching Troubleshoes’ eye, the stallion shrugged as he took the bill.
“Word to the wise, the mare is never wrong,” he said as he trotted away.
Rolling his eyes, Troubleshoes looked back to Spitfire and smiled as he stood. “Shall we?” Spitfire stood from the table and followed Troubleshoes out the front door, faintly noticing that the space between them had shrunk noticeably since we they first entered.
Hours had gone by in a blur since they first entered the saloon. The only lights available were those of the warm glow of street lamps. Every other light was out as most had already turned in for the night, leaving the two in the cool, crisp air of early morning. In that dead quiet, it was if they were the last two ponies in all of Equestria.
Troubleshoes rubbed a hoof against his foreleg, ears twitching as he looked around. “Ah’d offer ta walk ya home, but seen’ s’yer a pegasus Ah’d just slow ya down,” he said in a mumble.
“I wouldn't mind slowing down for a change,” Spitfire said, watching Troubleshoes’ face light up at her words. “Unfortunately, the hotel is located in the sky,” she pointed upwards at the large cloud formation hovering above the town. The Wonderbolts always brought in big crowds of pegasi, and all those flyers had to stay somewhere.
“Oh… right…” the defeat in Troubleshoes’ voice was clear as day, as he kicked the ground with one large hoof.
“Cheer up, stud,” Spitfire said, bumping him on the shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of chances in the future.” His ears twitched at those words, green eyes going wide as he looked down at her. Spitfire couldn't help the smile creeping over face as she looked up at him, her eyes half lidded.
“Ar… are ya sayin’ you’d like ta—”
“Go on another date sometime?” Spitfire finished, flashing a wolfish smile. “I do believe so.” An increasingly familiar, giddy warmth brewed in her chest just as fast as the blush across Troubleshoe’s face. “I had a lot of fun, didn't you?” Spitfire was sure if Troubleshoes’ eyes grew any wider they would fall out. His mouth open and closed, as he tried to will himself to speak. The possibility of further dates must have been a long shot in his mind.
“O—of course!” he finally replied, his tail wagging like that of a dog. “Uh… how would we set em’ up?” Spitfire smiled as she took to the air so she was finally on the same level as the huge stallion.
As Troubleshoes’ mind tried to process what was going on, Spitfire leaned in and kissed him. Maybe it was the excess amount of alcohol in her blood, or the fact that it had been a while since she had any physical contact with a stallion, but more than likely it was because she liked him. There was no way that she word call it love, but it was definitely something deeper than simple attraction.
The kiss wasn't a deep and passionate one, just a chaste peck. Nothing more than showing interest in the stallion before her. He had made her laugh, something not too many ponies could do. He wasn't intimidated by the fact she was a celebrity, he didn’t even seem to mind it. Other stallions would have been asking no end of questions about her work, but he had treated her like any other mare, which went far in her mind.
Troubleshoes returned the kiss, not pushing any further, just a simple exchange. The kiss didn’t last long, both pulling away around the same time. Spitfire’s own cheeks flushed; while she was in no way a passive pony, what she had done did taken a bit more courage than some of her stunts. Troubleshoes looked equally flustered, but also had a dopey little smile on his face. Spitfire couldn't help but giggle; it just suited him.
“I'll find you,” she said, spreading her wings and taking to the sky.
On her way up, she just couldn't suppress the giddiness building up inside of her. She ended up doing a loop once she had enough altitude to do so. Just as she did, breaking through the quiet of the night, was the most joyous sound Spitfire had heard in her life.
“YeeHaw! Ah got a kiss!” Spitfire didn't even try to suppress herself this time, she broke out into laughter as she flew back to the hotel.
She really had grow to love… like that goofy stallion.
The End