//------------------------------//
// Sparks Fly 
// Story: A Flash of Lightning 
// by Summer Knight 
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Lightning Dust stalked up to Flash. She smelled like sweat and smoke, with a sharp note of ozone cutting through the rest. 
"I get the feeling you didn't like the show," she said, from far too close to his face. 
"I didn't," Flash answered honestly.
"Let me guess: Too intense? Too many close calls?" she sneered.
"Yes. And on top of that, it didn't look very rehearsed."
"Rehearsed." Lightning spat to the side. "You're used to those picture-perfect Wonderbolts shows where they do it exactly the same every time, huh?"
"That's right. The ones where they practice enough that nopony gets hurt."
"They practice enough that everypony gets bored," Lightning retorted. "How many times can you ooh and aah before you've seen all their tricks? The Washouts keep it fresh!" she concluded with genuine pride.
"You know what I think, Lightning Dust? I think you're too lazy to put in the work."
In an instant, Lightning's expression went from satisfied to murderous. Her namesake flashed in her eyes as she stepped even closer to Flash, who instinctively took a half-step back to match her. 
"Is that what you think?" she hissed. "You think we don't work? You think we don't train?" She jabbed a hoof into his chest. 
Flash came within a hair's breadth of grabbing that foreleg and breaking it. He had to consciously stop his military experience from taking over—this wasn't a battle, and she wasn't an enemy combatant. But then, why was his heart racing, flooding him with adrenaline like he hadn't felt in years? 
"You think," Lightning Dust continued in a growl, "that we aren't out there every bucking day, pushing each other to the limit? You think we could do what we do if we weren't a tighter team than the Wonderbolts have ever been?" She ended her tirade by snorting angrily in Flash's face. "What's your problem, anyway?"
"My—" Flash's throat was suddenly dry, and he gave a quick cough to clear it, "—my problem is that, sooner or later, you three are going to ground yourselves. Or worse. Rolling Thunder almost lost her flight feathers, and Short Fuse is lucky to have gotten away with just a broken leg. And that's just from today's show!"
"For Faust's sake, you sound just like the rest of them. Look, we get it, okay? We know that our shows are dangerous; danger is what we signed up for. We don't need anypony else telling us how to live our lives." Lightning scoffed at him. "Are you seriously the same pony who volunteered to fight a nest of dragons?" 
Two dragons. The thought was so common that it was a reflex by now, but the number of dragons wasn't the point this time. "I fought those dragons because they had my comrades pinned down," he answered instead. "I only ever put myself in danger to save others."
"How noble," Lightning sneered. "Well, we put ourselves in danger to entertain others. You saw the crowd out there; you saw how much fun they were all having. Are you saying that making ponies happy isn't worth some risk?"
"How happy will they be when you can't pretend an accident wasn't serious? Do you think they'll be 'entertained' when one of you dies out there?"
"You tell me, Mr. Ancient Cloudsdalian. What was it like in the Cloudosseum? Weren't you entertained when somepony got killed?" 
Flash raised his eyebrows. "I'm surprised you even know about the gladiatorial shows." It wasn't exactly common knowledge that ancient Cloudsdalians had fought wild animals, monsters, and each other—sometimes to the death—for entertainment. 
"There's more to me than a killer flank." Lightning smirked. "And you didn't answer my question."
Magnus sighed. "A lot of ponies, including me, enjoyed watching the fights," he admitted. "But—"
"Because the danger was real, right?" Lightning interrupted. "It's way different from a rehearsed show."
"It was another age," Magnus countered. "Modern Equestria is a much gentler society than ancient Cloudsdale, and that's a good thing. Besides, what you probably don't know is that the gladiators were prisoners and slaves. If they didn't fight, they'd be killed; but as long as they stayed popular, they'd be treated well."
"Oh." For the first time, Lightning Dust was taken aback. "Okay, I didn't know that. But that's not what the Washouts are about! Nopony's making me do this. And 'gentler society' or not, the ponies love it."
"Until they see one of you die," Flash pressed the point. 
"That's a chance I'm willing to take."
"Seems like there's no chance you aren't willing to take."
"Yeah, that's about right." Lightning finally broke eye contact and walked a few steps away from him. "Hey, maybe I should be the Pillar of Bravery!" 
Magnus scoffed. "What you're doing isn't bravery, it's—!" he lost whatever he was about to say as Lightning started unzipping her flight suit. He quickly turned away to give her privacy, such as it was; the Washouts' stagehoofs and road crew were still all around them. "What are you doing?!"
"Uh, changing?" Lightning answered with an unspoken duh. 
"In front of everypony?! Isn't your trailer right over there?" He pointed in the direction that Rolling Thunder and Winter Winds had gone. 
"Yeah, but I'm guessing Thunder's busy with your friend in there."
If possible, Flash's face grew even hotter. 
"Besides, nopony around here cares about changing in front of each other," Lightning continued. Her remark was punctuated by the sound of her Washouts suit dropping to the floor. "You get used to it."
Indeed, that seemed to be true—the others were just going about their business, and no one gave a second look toward the young, athletic mare who was changing her clothes in front of them. In fact, a moment later a unicorn levitated her flight suit over to a laundry basket with no more shame than if he'd picked up a piece of paper. 
"Wait a sec. Are you shy?" Lightning's hoofsteps came up beside Flash, and he shivered as her tail brushed slowly, teasingly, against him. "The Pillar of Bravery is bashful? That's adorable!"
How did we get here?! Flash wondered frantically. Hadn't they just been at each others' throats a second ago? 
"So—" Flash's voice cracked embarrassingly. "So," he tried again, "the Washouts don't have any fear or shame." 
"You got that right."
He took a breath and turned to look at her again. She was done changing, and stood there in blessedly non-suggestive nakedness. "Does anything bother you, or are you so wrapped up in yourself that you think you're untouchable?" 
"You know what?" Lightning nodded once, slowly. "Yeah. There is something that bothers me: The thought of being old and sick, sitting in some retirement home, waiting to die, and knowing that nopony will remember me. That bothers me a lot." 
Flash opened his mouth with another barb on the tip of his tongue. Then he shut it again; that had been a surprisingly truthful answer from the hotheaded mare, and it made him take a moment to really meditate on what she'd said. For the first time, he felt like they were having an actual conversation instead of an argument.
"Well," he replied more seriously, "you just made me think of something. Senecolt the Younger was a philosopher from my time. He liked to say that... oh, how did he put it? 'It's not really death that we're afraid of, but a wasted life.' Something like that." 
"Yeah, sure, I've read Senecolt." Lightning waved a hoof. "And if you ask me, he'd think that the Washouts are awesome! We're living our lives exactly how we want to, and to the fullest—no wasted time." 
Flash facehoofed. "That wasn't my point. I was going to say that there are better ways to deal with the fear of old age than by getting yourself killed in a stunt show. You can live a meaningful life without having to prove that you're better than the Wonderbolts."
Lightning scoffed angrily and shoved him aside. "You know," she snapped as she stalked past, "when I gave you the backstage pass last night, I was hoping that we could have some fun after the show. I thought you'd be brave enough to handle me. But ever since I got here, you've just been trying to be my bucking dad. Get lost!"
"Gladly," Flash snarled back—so much for their conversation. "And it's not about being 'brave;' you're just out of your bucking mind, Lightning Dust."
Lightning whirled to glare at him. "You have ten seconds to get out of my arena before I kick your flank out myself."
"Your arena? It's Canterlot's arena!"
"My show's in there right now, which makes it my arena. And you've got five seconds left."
Flash gave a furious snort, but took off into the sky and away from the arena. Not that Lightning Dust would have a chance of beating a lifelong soldier in a fight—she just wasn't worth the paperwork he'd have to fill out afterward. 



Several hours later, Flash found himself pacing restlessly around his modest home. He couldn't stop thinking about the show, and the heated debate that had followed it. He felt electrified, and furious—Lightning's audacity was just unbelievable! 
His hooves and wings tingled with restless energy, his chest burned with the desire to go back and tell that cocky pegasus exactly what he thought of her devil-may-care attitude... and for some reason, he couldn't get the enticing smell of smoke and sweat out of his nose. He was jittery, antsy, flooded with adrenaline. 
Lightning's accusation echoed through his head over and over again. You've just been trying to be my bucking dad.
He was a sergeant in the Royal Guard; protecting ponies was his job! Plus, he had to be responsible for his troops. 
But then again, Lightning Dust wasn't one of his troops. Why did he care what she did, or any of the Washouts? The mare had been right about one thing: Nopony was forcing them to live so recklessly. So what did it matter to him if their stupid decisions got them hurt, or worse?
But he did care.
Flash stomped a hoof in annoyance. He was thinking in circles; he needed to do something to clear his head. Maybe flying a few laps around Canterlot would work out some of his nervous energy.
Without giving it any more thought, he left his house and winged into the sky.