I have made many decisions in my life, and I only regret four of them. My decision to move to Yakyakistan in order to further nurture my fashion industry is not one of those four decisions, no matter how many times I am woken up from my much-needed beauty sleep by their stomping and music nights. However, I had identified some modest areas in which I needed to adapt in order to better function in this foreign, if majestic, land.
The first thing I needed to do was, naturally as would be assumed, learn the basics of civil engineering and architecture, which is something I have come to believe no respectable lady should be without some passing knowledge of. I admire the elegant simplicity of mud-huts but there are some creature comforts I simply cannot do without, and a solid foundation and sensible construction materials is one of them. In all other regards my new home fits in magnificently with the local style and décor. Outwardly. One would never have guessed that the interior was a bit more cushioned and ‘Equestrian’ than its exterior might suggest.
Initially at least. I had since made some modifications that were perhaps a little noticeable, which I shall get into in a bit.
That was the first thing, which became very rapidly apparent after my first night in a Yakyakistan hotel. I enjoy hay as much as the next mare, but I do not enjoy waking up with it infiltrating my mane, my coat, and… other places that would be unladylike to discuss. Also, mud walls? I've seen enough rampaging monsters in my time to know those won't last long when the next Tirek comes along. I'll be using reinforced materials, thank you very much.
The second thing was ensuring that the apparel I designed was somewhat more resilient then I had originally intended. I underestimated the need for my clothes to resist not just the elements but also regular stomping sessions that seemed to occur daily. Hourly, in fact.
The third was it was positively freezing, which highlighted a drastic requirement for a wider selection of scarves for personal use. Also lovely little hoof-boots. The snow was making my horseshoes chafe.
The fourth was that I needed to set up a pair of anti-collision lights above my home. Spitfire tended to fly in after nightfall and quite frankly her crashing into my roof did no favours for either my house’s wellbeing nor hers. I had a little landing strip set up on my roof that leads straight to the bedroom. Unconventional, yes, but there is elegance in its pragmatism. It did somewhat ruin the authentic look of the house but sacrifices must be made in order to entertain one’s pegasus partner.
The fifth was that by Luna’s lascivious locks, Rupert’s enthusiasm for fashion was matched only by his inability to handle a needle smaller than a chopstick. I needed to adapt my tools to suit my employees. I immediately had him use the sewing machine until he gets some practice.
Other than that… Yakyakistan was actually quite pleasant. I had often wished as a young filly to travel and live in Manehattan or Fillydelphia, among other places, but never quite had the time or opportunity. Now I could live out that dream.
I was that evening with a trio of friends I had made at the fire pit, which was where many yaks would congregate to relax after work, and by Celestia’s fashionable yoke I could use some time to relax. I couldn’t tell if it was the frost or if my mane was starting to go a bit grey. Either way I needed a drink.
Rupert, my assistant at the Yakyakistan branch, was drinking deep from a large tankard. I didn’t know exactly where his concoction came from but I preferred to stick to beverages I had at least heard of. Beers and ales were not my cup of tea on either a figurative or literal level but at least they were available and didn’t smell slightly of cheese. I enjoy a Camanebert as much as the next mare but I’m not sure I would want to drink it.
“Any plans for week-end, Rarity?” Rupert asked me.
I leaned back a little, pondering. “Well, it’s the week-end, so Spitfire will be flying up to see me. I expect we’ll do something together.”
Rupert nodded solemnly. “Orange pony flies very far to see you. Must be good friends.”
I took a sip of beer. I didn’t check the brand. I’m not actually sure it had one. “Oh we’re not friends exactly. She’s my partner, and we’re very much in love.” I smiled. “It makes me very happy to see her, even if she is usually very tired when she arrives.”
Ygra, a friend of Ruperts I had been introduced to through him, tilted her head. “Isn’t orange pony one of the big flyers for Equestria?”
Yorgen let out a crude snort. “Ni-i-ice.”
All around me, yaks of various shapes and sizes interrupted their carousing to echo the statement, which I must confess caused me to blush violently. One of the downsides of being a pony as pristinely white as I am is that blushes are very obvious, and several yaks began laughing.
I cleared my throat. “It’s very nice.”
“White horny pony has a famous marefriend!” Yrga roared, and gave he a hearty nudge. “Good catch.”
“I’m famous too, you know. I actually think I’m more famous. Not that it’s a competition. I’m just saying that if it was I would win.”
“I once dated a champion weight-thrower,” Rupert said. “It’s fun having a partner that can fold you in two.”
I spluttered. “Spitfire would never fold me in two. Or… she might if I asked very nicely.” I took another sip of beer. “She’s really rather sweet when she isn’t shouting at recruits. Or trying to plot the Wonderbolts’ success by any means necessary. Well, she can be pretty mean but she works really hard to keep that under control. She’s trying to help a lot of ponies and I support her completely.”
“...But she could fold you in half, is what you’re saying…?”
“Well, yes, I suppose she could. She is very strong and capable.” My mind began to wander. Hmm. I decided it was wise to switch the topic to something else. Sometimes these conversations with the other Yaks got a little out of hoof. They were, on average, a little less delicate than the company I was used to back home, and whilst I admired them for their forwardness, I was perhaps a little unaccustomed to it. “Anyway, it’s very unladylike to talk about that sort of thing. Let it be known only that we are very happy together, and that is that.”
I raised my cup to the sky. “A toast to our new fashion line. I for one can’t wait to see its debut in Yakyakistan.”
The three other yaks similarly raised their own tankards. “Hurrah!” they exclaimed in unison.
“Yes, quite! Hurrah!”
As the sun dipped completely over the horizon, a sudden chill overtook me. The yaks huddled together, still drinking and carousing, as if it were natural. I felt my hoof drift to my side where my Spitfire would have been had she been there at the time. It was always difficult to feel cold around her. She emitted warmth like an oven or an engine.
Rupert seemed to notice my momentary malaise and pulled me next to him with the others. “Stay close, or get cold,” he said. “Yakyakistan not like Equestria.”
I smiled, and relaxed a bit. “I suppose not. I’m still getting used to some of it.”
It’ll get cosier soon, though, I thought to myself. I knew it would. Flying just below the speed of sound was somepony who would make sure of that.
It was customary after working with friends in Yakyakistan to spend time with them by the firepit and tell stories about oneself to get to know the others. As I was new to Yakyakistan and still had many stories to tell and listen to, we ended up staying at the pit quite late. It was freezing, and on the walk back to my boutique (which served also as my home), I was shivering. I had perhaps sacrificed too much warmth for style in my choice of attire, especially for nightfall. Being tired and in need of sleep also did me no favours.
The streets were largely clear of snow, but there were still patches of it, fresh from having fallen. The path was lit mostly from the insides of the Yak huts and houses, many decorated with new items and styles imported from Equestria and beyond after Twilight’s coronation. The yaks were an enthusiastic people and loved embracing new things. It was partly why I chose to migrate here rather than, say, the Dragonlands. That and the yaks actually wore clothes outside of accessories which made them a uniquely attractive market.
My house wasn’t much larger than anyone else's in height, but it was twice the length to support both my business, space for manufacture, and a living space where I could live, cook for myself (thank heavens) and sleep. I levitated my keys into my lock and turned them. The lock was stiff, but I think that was more due to the effects of frost than shoddy craftsmanship.
I entered my home and only took off my boots. The inside of my home was still cold enough to warrant wearing my scarf for a little while longer until it warmed up. I cast a quick spell on a fire and it flickered to life, warding off the chill much as lingerie protects against wayward gazes; ineffectual, but at least it was nice to look at.
I cast a small glance at a picture of my friends; Twilight, Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Fluttershy, and Pinkie. Pinkie had actually been sighted recently at a birthday party in the Dragonlands. Nopony was sure whose party exactly, but the reports said that there were a lot of streamers and birthday cards.
I had discovered that if you wrote a letter to her and just sort of sent it to any address she’d find a way to send a reply. Don’t ask in what state I was when I found that out. We (myself, Applejack, Rainbow, and the others) didn’t know how it worked and we didn’t care to question it. It was a comfort, at least. Myself, Rainbow, and Applejack had been worried that we might never be able to contact her easily again.
Instead it seemed like she had been discovering new lands and friends across the globe, beyond the edges of the map even Twilight had filled. Apparently there were, as Pinkie described them in her letters, very ‘cosmically large and squishy, with a lot of eyes’. She also said that they enjoyed cakes and pranks, so I suspected that they couldn’t be too bad, no matter how disturbing her sketches of them were.
I missed Pinkie Pie a lot. Although I missed finding confetti in my fabrics less.
As the house got a little warmer, I took off my scarf and hat and tossed them onto the sofa. I shook my mane free and stretched. I enjoyed clothes (a mare in my profession ought to) but being free of them was liberating.
As I performed my nightly ablutions I looked at myself in the mirror. I had most certainly aged since the time that picture had been taken. There was definitely grey in my mane. I shuddered. I had contemplated dying it out but then again I wondered if it would perhaps not be more elegant to display it confidently. It wasn’t that I was even that exceptionally old; I had simply led a stress-filled existence full of a lot of running and hiding from nasty large monsters like Tirek, Chrysalis, and Discord. A little grey was no doubt a side effect of that kind of lifestyle.
I checked the time. It was nearly midnight. I had hoped Spitfire would have arrived by now but it seemed she must have been delayed. I personally couldn’t imagine flying at high speeds in this temperature. Partially because I couldn’t fly but also because I wouldn’t subject myself to that sort of thing. It’d also ruin my mane.
I went to bed and tucked myself in. With a small flicker of my horn I extinguished the fire and closed my eyes.
Thump!
I cracked a small smile, still not opening my eyes. I listened to the hoofsteps on my little landing strip, and then heard the sound of the little rooftop door opening and closing.
In the dark, I listened to the sound of a zipper being undone and the door to the bathroom opening. I heard teeth being scrubbed and a quick splash of water. Then the door closed again.
The heavy quilts shifted, and I felt a wave of warmth gently envelope me. Spitfire was always warm, no matter the weather.
I liked her holding me in the dark. I enjoyed feeling her shape, instead of seeing it. I had a critical eye after years working in fashion, and it spoiled some things for me. I liked her feathers running up my side, each one of her primaries rubbing and wavering as they moved. I detected the familiar shapes and geometries I had learned by heart; the distance between each feather and even the little cut on her largest primary on her right wing that I had never known her without. I loved sinking into the thicker, softer coat on her chest and stomach, and brushing over the edges of her neck, transitioning to her shoulder and back muscles, down to the base of her wings with my hoof.
My hoof’s wanderings did not go unnoticed, as I knew it wouldn’t be.
“Hey there, Ma’am.” I felt a warm nose drift down the side of my neck and rest under my ear. “Happy to see me?”
I giggled. I was tired, and a little euphoric as well after the beer. I had been tired until I heard that voice, but now I didn’t want to sleep, ever. “No seeing yet, darling. Just feeling,” I whispered.
Spitfire arched herself slightly as I drew myself closer. Hmmm, I had missed being this close to another pony. I slid my hoof down along her side and across where her cutie-mark was. I felt the base of her tail stiffen and raise somewhat.
“Okay, very happy to see me I guess,” Spitfire said with a chuckle.
I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see her face, only her mane, which even in the dark seemed to glow yellow and gold. “I always am, dear. It’s so much cosier when you’re around.”
A wave of energy overcame me, and I moved out of the quilt and rolled onto her, straddling over her waist. Spitfire turned to look me in the eye. Now I could see her expression, I realised how tired she looked. I forced myself, much against my will, to slow down a bit, no matter how warm and ready I felt.
“Had a nice time in Cloudsdale, I hope?”
“It was fine. I’ve been busy coordinating with Dash about an operation near Appleoosa.”
“Oh?” I brushed Spitfire’s chest with my hoof. I liked how fluffy it was. For want of a better word, ‘floofy’ came to mind. It was floof. I would call it floof. I didn’t care if it’s not quite the sort of word I’d usually use, it was floof and I was nothing if not a mare who knew which words to use.
“Climbers got stuck in a place the locals couldn’t reach. Dash was actually back reporting to the Bolts’ for a while, so I sent her to command Soarin and Thunderlane on a rescue mission before she went back to Griffonstone.” Spitfire sighed. “It took a bit longer than expected, and so she’s still going to be in Cloudsdale next week as well. I let her stay in my place whilst I’m here. Cheaper that way.”
“You’ll regret that,” I told Spitfire.
“Why?”
I spluttered. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you weren’t acquainted with Rainbow Dash.”
“I mean, I guessed that she might not be exactly the cleanest mare out there. I’ve seen her locker. It’s nothing but junk and pictures of Jack. But how bad could it be?”
“I’ll put together a cleaning kit this week-end. You’ll thank me later.”
Spitfire groaned. “That’s what I get for being nice, I guess.”
I leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips. “And I admire you for it.” I flicked my mane and adjusted my hips making myself comfortable, and oh, it was like sitting on velvet. “So, um. How awake are you, exactly?” I bit my lip. “Just curious.”
“I’m a little groggy…” Spitfire admitted with a small chuckle. “But not that sleepy.”
Me and Spitfire explored the town together, her wing wrapped around me, warding off the chill better than any simple scarf. Just as well. I had to get rid of my giant spider silk scarves, even though the thick ones were probably the best I had. Spitfire didn’t like them. The morning was brisk but at least with sunlight it was bearable, and with my mare with me it was even rather pleasant.
“How has progress gone regarding Dash’s little… situation?”
“You mean regarding the old families of Canterlot?” Spitfire tilted her head from side to side. “Pretty good, all things considered. Because the ‘Bolts have been so successful in our rescue missions recently, we’ve been getting both good press, and funding from Twilight and other bodies across Equestria. At the end of the day, results matter the most.”
“I suppose if you’re successful enough, there’s not much anypony can do to stop you.”
“That’s the dream. It’s always a gamble, though. I’m pretty sure that the bureaucracy has it out for me now.” She laughed. “I did basically spit in their eye, did the exact opposite of what they wanted, and got away with it.”
I squeezed Spitfire’s hoof. “They’ll never be able to hit back. You’re far too invincible for that.”
Spitfire was quiet for a moment, and I felt a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I knew this look in her eye. My captain didn’t think she had that much time left. I wasn’t stupid, after all; I was canny enough to read through her plans and back-up plans. Rainbow Dash wasn’t just being moved around to provide her with valuable career experience; she was being kept safe from any eventual backlash against the ‘Bolts. Rainbow, despite her many various failings, was clearly Spitfire’s hope for the future.
I softened. “You care very much about Rainbow, don’t you?”
“I…” Spitfire ran her hoof through her mane. “Yeah. She’s sort of the blueprint of what I wish I was. Just… better, in general. Not as, well, mean.” Spitfire sucked the air in through her teeth. “I feel like I have to try really hard to just not be a vicious… animal. Rainbow and you both made me want to be better, and even though she’s an absolute mess, I respect her a lot for that.”
“You could let her know you care, you know. Rainbow responds well to that sort of thing.”
“Her head’s big enough as it is. She’s got the heart of a great captain; she just needs experience and temperament.”
We passed a small hut with a loom and several pieces of fabric strewn in front of it. Sat on a log was Rupert.
“Hello Miss Rarity! I’m practicing sewing still.”
I gave Rupert a reassuring nod. “Excellent! Keep practicing!” I gestured towards Spitfire. “This is my partner. The one I told you about.”
Rupert put down his needle and got to his hooves. He moved over like a small mountain and loomed over Spitfire. His grin was broad and friendly, but his size would intimidate any pony with a self-preservation instinct. Not that anypony would think he would attack them; it’s just that if he didn’t see them he might accidentally sit on them.
“Hello orange pony!”
“It’s Spitfire. Captain Spitfire.”
Rupert tilted his head. “Look familiar. Have I seen you before?”
“I’m the captain of the Wonderbolts.” Spitfire’s own ego seemed to take over a little, and she flicked her mane in a way that I thought was positively Rainbow-Dashian. “We’re sort of a big deal.”
“Don’t know what that is.” Rupert frowned, and then his eyes widened. “Wait, hang on.”
He trotted into his hut for a moment. Spitfire glanced at me. “He okay?” she asked.
“He’s a fine fellow. He’s still learning needles, but he’s got great design ideas! Really. They only needed to be somewhat reworked.”
There was a clatter inside the hut, and not long after Rupert emerged, carrying what looked like a poster in his teeth. An old one. I dated the artistic style to around ten years ago.
I saw Spitfire harden. Not in fear, like during her encounter with Violet, but in an almost predatory manner. Her eyes flashed with a fight-or-flight instinct that leaned more heavily towards the former than the latter. I was taken aback; reminded that this was still the same Spitfire that had perhaps indulged in a little darkness at some points in her career.
“Dad liked these things. Old pony posters from when Cloudsdale flew close to the northern border. Talked with the fogponies about racing.”
“Wonderbolt racing?” I asked.
“Uh…” Spitfire swallowed and gestured at the poster. “Could you… keep that to yourself? Factory Racing is kind of illegal.”
Rupert looked at the poster. It was of a masked mare, but I could clearly tell it was Spitfire. Same coloration. A little younger looking, perhaps. In her mid to late teens? Younger?
"I have an eye for figure," Rupert said. "Crucial for fashion industry. Definitely you, right?"
“Is that you? What’s this about?” I blinked. “Also what are fogponies?”
“Yes it’s me, factory racing, and fogponies are weatherponies that scoop up mist that leaks out of Equestria to use as fog. They’re the ones that go down to the ground and hunt the rogue clouds down. They’re pretty infamous for trading with locals and even stealing stuff. They’re a bit rougher than your average weatherpony. Mostly skysiders trying to get away from home.”
I held my hooves up. “All right, but… now I have more questions. What’s factory racing? Why is it illegal? And if it’s illegal, why is there a poster of it?”
Spitfire breathed in. “Factory racing is a mostly skysider activity where you fly through the Cloudsdale Weather Factory internal structure. It’s illegal because it is very dangerous. Sometimes you find pieces of ponies who don’t ‘beat the turbines’. If they’re lucky, it’s just a tail. There’s a whole tail-style called a ‘turbine cut’ named after it.” Spitfire narrowed her eyes at the poster. “And there shouldn’t be any posters left. I thought I destroyed them all! When I find Prim Print, I’m going to wring his scrawny neck…”
I levitated the poster. “You look quite dashing though.”
“Y-yes well… whatever.” Spitfire sighed. “I guess if anypony was going to have salvaged them it’d be the fogponies.”
I peered at the poster. “It says ‘Baroness’. A stage name?”
Spitfire blushed. “...it was a phase.”
“I think it’s cute.”
Spitfire blushed more. “I thought it was cool! Look, just forget it. I was supposed to have buried that after I got scouted by Firestreak.”
“Ah, I think I see how he scouted you so early if you were a skysider now,” I commented. I raised my eyebrows once or twice. “He enjoyed watching the illegal races, did he?”
“Yeah. Apparently, him and Wind Rider were both supposed to find recruits. Wind Rider only looked in prestigious groundside schools. Fire Streak wanted an edge over him, so he went to find a factory racer. He then had me coach some of the older recruits… Soarin, Fleetfoot, and some others… and introduced me to the crew that way.”
“He sounds sneaky.”
“I learned most of what I know from him.”
“Very sneaky, then.”
Spitfire turned back to Rupert. “Anyway… just… don’t tell anyone, okay?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or I’ll find you.”
“I know. I live here!”
“I mean… Just don’t. I’ll fold you in half if you do.”
Rupert brightened. “Ah! I was right!”
“Wh—... what? Right about what?”
I glanced at the picture again. Factory racing at such a young age? Spitfire in that picture looked like she had barely gotten her cutie mark.
“Just when I think I don’t know everything about you,” I said, with a little awe in my voice. “You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?”
Spitfire sighed. “A few.” She shrugged. “I… didn’t want to worry you.”
“I don’t see why I’d be worried. You clearly survived.” I leaned in towards her ear. “Of course, I’d be very upset if you took these kinds of risks now.”
“Well… we wouldn’t want you to be upset, ma’am.”
“Indeed we would not.” I cleared my throat and levitated the poster back to Rupert. “I suggest you keep that safe, Rupert dear, and try not to mention it to any ponies. It's part of a past that both of us need to be kept buried.”
“Like a corpse.”
“Y-yes Rupert.” I narrowed my eyes. “Disturbing comparison but yes. Just keep it buried, thank you very much. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Rupert nodded. Me and Spitfire continued our walk through the town. Spitfire was visibly flustered, and she was adorable when she was a little flustered.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine, dear.” I gave Spitfire a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t mind a secret or two.”
Spitfire breathed out. “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t. It’s just something I’ve always kept on the down low.”
“Could it ruin your career?”
“Ruin? I doubt it. But it’d upset it for sure, especially amongst the groundsiders. Heck, the skysiders would probably just respect me for it. They like factory racers. The racers are sort of like local celebrities up there.”
“Is it really that dangerous, though?”
Spitfire shrugged. “Depends on the track. There are lightning plants… massive organisms that grow on clouds. Lightning bolts leap from cloud to cloud… they’re quite safe, because as a pony, we’re not grounded. The rain vats, the tubes, and the bridges are all tight and narrow to fly through, with a lot of sharp turns and dips. Dangerous, but survivable. The pipes aren’t like clouds where you just fly into them like a big cushion. They’re hard, and the edges are sharp.” Spitfire extended her left wing towards me. “Ever wondered where this cut on my primary came from?”
“Not any more.”
“Yeah. Anyway. The rainbow processing plant is pretty okay but you can get some nasty burns if you get hit by the spray. The fog chambers are impossible to see in. And the wind turbines are the worst. We called flying through the turbines ‘beating the turbines’, because that’s what it felt like. A sort of battle to survive. Those blades are massive. I had never seen an accident myself, but I’ve heard horror stories.”
“Why do it then?”
“Money?” Spitfire shrugged. “Me and mom were poor. I was a good flyer. I told her I just got a real cushy job tutoring some rich groundsider in flying, but I was actually sneaking off to the factory past nightfall.” She held her hoof up. “Oh yeah, did I mention this happens at night so visibility is poor all the time? Because it does.”
I saw Spitfire hesitate a moment, and frown. Her eyes glazed over a moment as she seemed lost in recollection.
“That… and living skyside does something to you. The empty void above you, always just… gaping out into infinity… it makes you feel tiny. Like risks don’t matter. Like you don’t matter.”
“You matter to me,” I said.
“I know. But back then I didn’t have you.” Spitfire caught herself, and flashed me a small smile. “Well. That was a trip down memory lane I wasn’t expecting.”
“Just more evidence that you’re invincible,” I whispered, and kissed Spitfire on the cheek. “You never have to worry about scaring me. I don’t mind you keeping things from me if you want to keep them hidden, but we’ve been together long enough for you to know that if you want to confide in me, I’ll always listen.”
Spitfire kissed me back on the forehead, just by the base of my horn. It tingled; Spitfire knew I liked being kissed there. “Thanks. I guess it’s just a side of me that I’m trying to hold back around you. You know. The ‘will do anything at any cost’ side.” She grinned. “I love you so much.”
“Come along. You haven’t seen the fire pit, have you? It’s quite a sight.”
“I’ll show you my fire pit later.”
I gave Spitfire a playful shove. “Darling, not in public.”
“I said later…”
Spitfire was awkwardly sandwiched between me and Yorgen as we listened to the yak music in the music hut. The yaks were swaying from side to side in silence.
Spitfire, for once, didn’t dare to make a noise. Perhaps she was aware, on some small level, that if she made a wrong move she might be crushed by the yaks. Apparently it was very important to be quiet when listening to music with the yaks. They enjoyed just appreciating the art for what it was.
I wrapped my hoof around hers, and she squeezed it gently. It was a strange, unusual life, what I had in Yakyakistan, but for now, I liked it very much. Even if yak hair did get somewhat uncomfortably stuck in my mane.
The song being played in question was a changeling song. A lovely artist; combined both male and female chords to produce a sound very few ponies could achieve. It had melody and grace, and it wasn’t something I had expected to hear in Yakyakistan before I visited, but I was persistently impressed and awed by how enthusiastic the yaks were at importing foreign things.
Spitfire gradually relaxed as well, and rested her head against mine. I glanced at her, and noted that her eyes were closed. I hoped she wasn’t too tired from her flight to Yakyakistan. She had been keeping this routine up for a few weeks now, and I was a little worried that she might be burning the candle at both ends.
I was thoroughly convinced that Spitfire truly did love me very much, and I admired her to no end for her drive to use the Wonderbolts for the betterment of ponykind, but I was always reminded of the phrase that the brightest stars burn out the fastest. Spitfire was burning very brightly indeed.
Every time I thought she would hit her limit, she seemed to draw on a reserve I didn’t know she had. My time with Spitfire taught me that her true strength wasn’t speed, or her intelligence, or her ability to plan ahead; it was this brutal, awesome power she could summon at any time that could overcome any obstacle. The more fierce the obstacle, the fiercer she could become.
I never wanted to see her reach her limits. I always wanted to watch her burn as bright as the sun.
That was partly why I felt conflicted about her being here, with me. I was clearly taking a toll on her; she flew all this way through the cold, away from her home in Cloudsdale, just because she loved me. The agreement had been that we wouldn’t get in the way of each other's careers, but this was exactly what I had inadvertently done to her, just by being in a relationship with her.
“You’re thinking again, aren’t you?”
I looked down at Spitfire and fell into her large, amber eyes. “The song is still—”
“The song ended, darling.” Spitfire cleared her throat. “I mean, ma’am.”
“Ma’am indeed. Darling is my pet name,” I reprimanded.
“What were you thinking about?”
“Just…” I struggled for words. “I was wondering… again… if you were alright flying all the way here every week-end. It seems… tiring.”
“It is, but it’s easier than flying all the way to Cloudsdale, right?”
“I mean… yes, but I feel a bit… well, bad for not putting in the same effort you are. Is that silly?”
Spitfire shrugged. “It is what it is, I guess.” She got to her hooves. Shall we go home? It’s getting late.”
Our home was cold when we got back, as it always was, but it felt hotter with Spitfire there.
We sat down on the couch I had imported from Ponyville and cracked open a bottle of marelot I kept for special occasions and poured each other a glass. I flicked my horn and the fire burst to life, casting alluring shadows on Spitfire’s face.
“It’s like I never left Ponyville,” Spitfire quipped.
“I am a mare who likes her home to be habitable. I admire the yak culture but I have decided that I do not wish to live like them.”
We sat opposite one another, and I coyly let my hoof brush against the inside of Spitfire’s leg. Spitfire slid down the couch, and took a sip of wine.
“So… about our talk…”
I nodded.
“I know I must look like I’m burning out. Sometimes I feel like I’m on the brink of just… running out of juice. But you know, I’ve felt that way for a long, long time. I’ve always pushed myself to my limits and a bit beyond. It’s just hardwired in me.” She took another sip of wine. “It’s easier now though. Even with all the flying back and forth and the cold… I think this is easier. You give me energy, like… like a fuel. Every time I see you I feel powerful. Bursting with it. Not strong, or fast, but like I’m better. Better in every way.”
Spitfire chuckled slightly. I smiled at her, and took a sip of wine. It was nice. A bit cool, perhaps… could have warmed up a little before drinking. It had a sweetness I appreciated.
“Sorry. I guess that sounds like I’m just using you, kind of,” Spitfire said.
My horn flickered, and I tugged Spitfire by her chest floof towards me. Spitfire put her wine down gently as I slowly pulled her on top of me. Spitfire was trying so hard to rein herself in like she was wearing a bridle. I understood why. Not everything she had done was good, and I respected her trying to overcome that.
But I wanted her to be safe with me. To not be so worn out all the time. I wanted her to cut loose.
“I like the sound of that,” I said, dropping my voice to a whisper as I felt heat overtake me. “Use me.”
Spitfire seemed to hesitate, taken aback somewhat. A part of her always held back, as if there was a vicious animal side to her that she always wanted to keep in check.
I wanted to see Spitfire always shine bright. Not to mention… I didn’t mind the idea of being used a little. If it was her.
Spitfire pounced with a voracity I was unaccustomed to. A predatory side she wrestled to keep hidden, now on full display. I knew she was strong, but it was rare for her to utterly overwhelm me with strength and power. She was wiry and ferocious. She was barely kissing me; this felt more like being devoured.
The side of her that had risked her life in factory races, that was sly and vicious enough to try and manipulate Rainbow to switch teams, the side of her that pursued victory at all costs… there was an aggression deep inside Spitfire, a cause of those vicious symptoms. Did I like those parts of her? The darker side to Spitfire’s brightness? Not entirely, but they were a part of her as well, and with me, she was safe to cut loose. I wanted her to free herself. She could feed that side with me, on me, and I’d enjoy it.
I was in love with all of her, even the darker sides. I wanted to see it all, feel it all. I wanted to see her at her best, and her most sinister. I wanted everything she could give me. Not a washed out version that was too exhausted fighting itself to be either.
I whimpered, lost control of my wine glass, and frustratingly wasted almost an entire glass of expensive marelot.
Spitfire would leave Yakyakistan every Monday in order to make it back to Cloudsdale in time for work. Aggravatingly, in order to make it on time, she had to leave before the break of dawn.
She was already suited up in her Wonderbolt uniform and had her bag slung over her back. Despite the early morning, her eyes were bright and alive. She looked more awake than me, that was for certain. I hadn’t yet done up my mane or fixed the atrocious wasteland that was my face. My coat, in particular, was a mess from having been rubbed against virtually every surface I owned at one point or another, in one position or another. I was also inappropriately sweaty and wanted a shower, but since Spitfire wouldn’t have the opportunity to wash properly once she got to Cloudsdale, she had priority to use the shower.
Besides, once Spitfire left I was honestly just going to go back to sleep. I could have a shower later. Spitfire looked re-energised but I was exhausted. Four in the morning was not a suitable time for a gentlemare to wake up.
“I’ll see you Friday. Or… well, late. You know.” Spitfire turned and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re beautiful.”
“Yes, yes, we all know how good you are at lying. We’re all very impressed,” I teased, and yawned.
“I’m serious,” Spitfire replied with a smirk. “Your mane looks good when it’s loose.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well. I’ll be the judge of that. I am the expert.”
Spitfire laughed. “Judge away, ma’am.” She trotted out to the landing strip. “I’ll bring back some Cloudsdale Cirruspirits next time.”
“Please do.”
The door closed, and I sat down on the bed. I sighed. I missed her already.
I got to my hooves and went to the bathroom, and gazed upon the desolation that was my reflection. I turned my head to the side.
“Hmm. Actually, I do rather like the mane.” I smiled. “Right. I’ll see what I can do with that. Now. I think I’d like to get some sleep… then maybe I’ll write a letter to Pinkie Pie. It’s been a while since we chatted.”