The soft hum of violin strings and the sweet scent of hydrangea filled the buzzing courtyard of Canterlot Castle’s lower halls. The hanging lanterns danced as a warm summer breeze drifted through the main ballroom. Spitfire leaned against the punch table and watched some activity on the far side of the fountain, where a group of Pegasi were gathered around an old stallion in a wool lined flight jacket.
He gesticulated mildly with his hooves as they all watched intently, some of them hovering slightly with a dazed expression. Spitfire smirked from the far side of the courtyard, picking up faint traces of the conversation. Another of his grandiose rescue stories. She wondered idly who it was about this time.
One of the pegasi around him—Fleetfoot, from the mane and distinctive wonderbolts uniform—shook her head and turned around, trotting gently over to join Spitfire at the punch bowl. She made a point of rolling her eyes and leaving them pointed back toward the storyteller before grabbing a cup and leaning toward the punch bowl. Spitfire got the ladle for her.
“Geez, Wind Rider never gives up with those silly stories of his. I swear, you’d think the guy makes them up for attention. I’d call him out but, I wasn’t there for this one.”
Spitfire raised an eyebrow as she returned the ladle to the bowl and took another sip of her own cup. “You don’t believe him?”
“Well, I would… “ Fleetfoot downed her whole cup and went for another, getting the ladle herself this time. “... but even joining up shortly before he retired, I know he didn’t get around nearly as much as he lets on. Did he seriously handle a runaway tornado all on his own once? The Wind Rider I knew just liked to sit in his office and polish old trophies. What’s up with that guy?”
Spitfire laughed, resting a wing on Fleetfoot’s back. “That one’s actually mostly true, though what he left out is that he also caused it, and he probably didn’t tell you it was well away from any residential areas that might have been in danger otherwise. But yeah, that was like, my first week on the team. Crazy story either way, but yeah, he likes to embellish a bit. We all, do, as you’re well aware.”
Spitfire fixed Fleetfoot with a piercing but friendly gaze, and the younger pegasus shrugged and downed another cup of punch.
“Which one is he telling this time, anyway?”
“Oh, something about rescuing a falling unicorn filly at last year’s Best Young Fliers Competition. You know, the one where you told me that Rainbow pony did a sonic Rainboom?”
Fleetfoot rolled her eyes again, but Spitfire narrowed hers. She’d performed at the preshow for that competition. In fact, she’d been one of the three wonderbolts who had—unsuccessfully—attempted to rescue the falling mare. Rainbow Dash had actually impressed her that day by saving all four of them. But the odd thing was that Wind Rider most definitely was not there. He hadn’t attended any of the Best Young Flier Competitions since his retirement.
Embellishment of something you were there for was one thing, but if Wind Rider was fishing for compliments with something he hadn’t done? Spitfire might need to say something. She trotted over to the circle of ponies, which had grown larger of course, since her initial interest. She pushed her way to the front and listened carefully.
“... and then the beast grabbed a waterjug the size of a building, and trapped us all against the mountainside, and began roasting us alive with its fiery breath. It was like something out of a nightmare.”
Spitfire recognized the tale of when a large purple dragon had been ransacking Ponyville, but Wind Rider hadn’t even been in the area, let alone trapped by the beast. It was after his retirement, and she’d sent Soarin, Blaze, and Surprise on that mission. With a snort, Spitfire stepped into the circle.
“I knew you liked to embellish the stories, Wind Rider, but don’t you have enough of your own without borrowing from Soarin’s private stash?”
She gave him a coy smile that offered a way out through banter, if he chose to take it. Not much to her surprise however, Wind Rider began sweating a bit, even stepping backward out of the circle a bit.
“Well, I erm… “ His irises flashed green for a brief moment, then returned to their original amber. Nopony but her seemed to notice
Spitfire heard nothing of what he mumbled next, as her gaze became fixed on his eyes.
“What… was that?” She spoke aloud. His gaze locked with hers, and a look of worry—almost genuine fear—overtook his face.
“I—I’m not sure what you’re um...” He swallowed, fanning his face as he took a few more steps back. A green flash passed over his wings. They became translucent membranes—almost insect-like—for a brief moment, then flashed back to feathers.
Spitfire narrowed her eyes and took an aggressive stance. Her wings naturally opened, ready for action. All of the color drained from his face, and he began inching sideways toward the nearby corridor.
“I… I’m sorry, I have to—”
Spitfire dove on him, but he moved lithely just out of her reach. She grabbed at him and his body almost seemed to bend through her hooves like a noodle. He bolted around a corner and she whirled after him on her wings. But when she got around the corner there was just… nothing there. Spitfire found herself staring at a long empty corridor that even Windrider couldn’t have cleared in that time. She raced to the other end and opened the door, but there was nothing there either. He had gotten away.
As she turned back around, one of the Lunar guards emerged from the shadows, almost as if he had materialised from the wall itself. He didn’t say anything; he just stared expectantly at her.
"Did you see anypony come this way? An old stallion in a fleece coat? About two seconds ago?”
The guard shook his head, and turned around to walk away. Spitfire stomped her hoof and snorted, then turned and walked back toward the party. As much as she respected his talent, and was grateful he’d handed her the title as Captain of the Wonderbolts, she was frustratingly worried about him. One of these days, that old stallion was going to bite off more than he could chew.
After a few seconds to cool off, Spitfire stalked back to the main courtyard and headed for another cup of punch. What an evening.