Two pegasi pushing senior citizenship looked at each other from opposite fire escapes affixed to the tenth floor siding of opposite hotels, separated by a nigh intimate three yards. Both of them had been staring down the barrel of mortality for the past few years, but in that moment they were staring into one another's eyes, experiencing a sensation not unfamiliar given the closeness of their careers and friendship. The location and placement was certainly different, but such considerations didn't register in either minds. No, something more nettlesome was occupying that real estate.
“Trouble sleeping, Soar?” Spitfire asked, settling on that simple short-handle.
“Yeah. Just can't deal with the city noise this time,” the stallion replied, absently rubbing at the mess of blue atop his head. “Though I've been having a rough time of it these last couple of days, if I'm being honest.”
“Same. One last fleeting hit of restlessness before the body settles in for the final sweet embrace.”
“I hear that. Still, pretty inconvenient when I want to get on with my dirt nap already.”
It's a brand of gallows humor borne and shared through years of understanding and respect. As such, her eyes and ears couldn’t be deceived.
“What's really on your mind, Soar?”
“I've just been wondering how it will do, in the long run.”
“You mean the team?”
“Yeah. It's in good capable hooves, and it's been around far longer than any of us. But, I don't know, I've been thinking how long it will actually last. Or, how will it end. If it will end.”
“You surprise me, Soarin'. I never suspected such depth existed beneath that perpetual bedhead of yours.”
“It's a recent development, trust me. I've had nothing to do but think with all this free time. Probably should take up fishing or tanning instead.”
“Or learning to bake your own pies. That's an option.”
“But that'd just depreciate the taste of those made by others.”
“Uh-huh; that's a new one. But, I hear where you're coming from. About the Wonderbolts, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“But I say it's nothing to worry about. It has been here for hundreds of years; as long as Equestria, almost. And with Princess Twilight overseeing things, it's just gonna keep on lasting.”
Somewhere in the distant background, derisive laughter might be heard through the dronings and whines of nightlife.
“Now I'm curious as to why you're thinking about it now,” continued the former commandant, a bit of the insomnia-born fatigue slipping into her voice. “Apart from general boredom and old age.”
“That’s probably all it is, honestly.” Soarin' adjusted his hotel robe before looking up into the muted neon red, cavernous narrows of the architecture above. “Still… when it's something you've spent most of your life a part of, that's created much of what you are, can you ever not think about it?”
“I suppose,” Spitfire shrugged, her own robe shifting slightly. “Wondering how some things end; why they've been around so long; what it all meant, still means, will mean, whatever. Only natural for ponies to ponder that once in a while. Even ones like you.”
“Heh heh heh, yeah…”
The two former teammates and persisting companions fell into comfortable silence as they gazed elsewhere, mainly at nothing, unmindful of the rain. A moment of levity to inspect and file away musings unrelated to the conversation, or to most things. It had been said at least once that sharing silence was a more intimate means of connection than maintaining a constant flow of words, and in this lofted space at least, that sentiment rang true.
“What about you, Spits?” Soarin’ speaks, ending the break.
“Pardon?”
“What's your take: how do you think the Wonderbolts are gonna end?”
“I don't much see the point in me saying, Soar.”
“Just call it sleep-deprived curiosity. And I'd still love to hear, all the same.”
Amber eyes that had been honed to spot and anticipate obstacles at terminal speeds and pick out the most minute details, dimmed by age and weariness, slid their focus to some nondescript spot of brickwork. Spitfire sighed, tugged at her robe and, still averting her gaze, gave her response.
“All things end in some way, eventually. These buildings, this country, the world, every group and community and organization, all gone. Poof. In a few decades, centuries, heck, maybe in less than a week. But, even if they can’t be seen or heard anymore, they aren’t completely gone. You got dead languages nopony speaks, but ponies still know about them. Tons of scrolls and records have become dust, but some scholar or bookworm is aware that they had existed. That’s just the thing about, well, anything. Even if something is no longer physically there or in use, the memory, the idea of it sticks around. It might not be what it was originally, nowhere close, but some form of it remains. As long as there are ponies, griffons, Diamond Dogs, anything with a working thinking brain, nothing is ever completely lost.”
“What about when there are no thinking brains left?”
Another of her shrugs before swiveling those eyes back at his. “Then that’ll be it.”
Soarin’ chuckled at that. More of a scoff; he’s not had much cause or energy for a full-on chuckle as of late. But it was enough to bring back some of that previous levity, and certainly enough to turn up a corner of the retiree mare’s muzzle.
“But, there’s still tons of brains out there, and to my knowledge, most of them are pretty keen on sticking around as long as possible.” Spitfire added, raising herself up from the hooves resting atop the railing. “Like I said before: it’s nothing for us to worry about. Things are just going to keep going and going, until they don’t. But, for now, whether out of sappy old mare optimism or just to make a… regular sappy bookend to a topic, I can safely say that…
Thank you all for your time and consideration; I hope the music choices were pleasing. Have a wonderful rest of your days, and remember this:
How Can You Wake Up
If You Don't Fall Asleep?