//------------------------------//
// Pies, They Come in So Many Flavors 
// Story: Thunderstruck 
// by Kamaete 
//------------------------------//

[ Starstruck ]
by Kamaete

Although her eyes are neither golden nor heavenly blue, Terri Stambaugh has the vision of an angel, for she sees through you and knows your truest heart, but loves you anyway, in spite of all the ways that you are fallen from a state of grace.
--Odd Thomas, pg 50





“That's wonderful news!”  Spitfire said as Dr. Tenderheart nudged open the door to leave.  
“What's wonderful news?”  Thunder Rush trots through the door that Tenderheart holds open, two glasses of water balanced on her outstretched wings.
“There's wonderful news?” Cash Box trots in after her, levitating two more glasses, floating them over to Spitfire and Soarin' before snatching one from Thunder for herself.
“The doctor proclaimed me fit and healthy.  A tumble ain't gonna keep me down for long!”  Soarin' spreads his wings and strikes a pose.  
“That's great!  You made it in time for the show!”
“And this means no more bed rest!”
“We should celebrate!”  Thunder Rush's and Cash Box's voices melted together enough that Soarin' couldn't really tell which exclamation came from whom, but it doesn't really matter as they both agreed with each other and left the room, dragging the doctor with them.
Soarin' watches them disappear, faintly amused at their eagerness.  Spitfire laughs and takes a drink from her water, glancing at him nonchalantly. 
“So,”  She starts, leaving the rest of her sentence hanging in the air for him to figure out.
“Yeah?” He asks, trotting to the coldbox in the corner of the room, he nudges it open and looks at the collection of apples neatly stacked inside.  He picks a shiny red one and crunches into it, nearly missing Spitfire's question.
“Where were you all morning?”  
“Hmmcrunchcrunch,” He swallows the bit of apple and clears his throat. “I was with Braeburn,”
“The cowpony?” 
“Mm-hmm,” He takes another bite of the apple.
“What'd you guys do?  We thought somepony had foalnapped you,”
He slowly finishes chewing, testing Spitfire's patience.  She purses her lips in annoyance.
“Well, we ate breakfast.  We should take Thunder and Cash to the Salt Block, it's got some good food,” 
“The Salt Block?  Isn't that the little saloon down the street?” 
“Yup,” He nods, “It's got this really nice apple salad you should try,”
“You guys stayed at a bar for the whole morning?”
“Of course not,” He takes another bite, loudly crunching over her face of intrigue.
She waits until he finishes chewing before asking, “Then what happened?”  
He shrugs and trots to the bed and jumps on it.  “You gonna go over the moves with me?  I need to catch up,”
“You don't need to catch up, you were out of commission for a day and a half,”
“But that's a day and a half without flying,” He whines.  Spitfire rolls her eyes.
“Fine, I'll practice with you if you tell me what happened.” 
He takes another bite of the apple and briefly closes his eyes before starting his story.  When he's sure Spitfire is anxious with anticipation he starts.
“Well, Brae came over and offered breakfast, which I of course accepted, so he showed me to the Salt Block.  I wasn't too sure about it, you know?  I mean, it's a bar, so how can there be good food there?  But Brae suggested this awesome salad—which was magnificent, you need to try it sometime Spit—and then he got some salt cubes so I got some donuts.  With sprinkles.  They have awesome donuts there.  Not as good as Pony Joe's that time we went, but close enough,” He pauses to breath and Spitfire takes the moment to interrupt.
“You got sugar high when you had a concussion?  Soarin'--”
“Well, nothing bad happened, Spits,”
“But that's bad for you, you could of made your concussion worse!” 
“Well, Brae would of taken care of it,” He dismisses with an eye roll.
“He's a stranger, Soarin', you're giving him way too much trust.  You said he was having salts?  Well, how do you know he wouldn't be too intoxicated to do anything if something happened?”  
“He's not like that, Spitfire.  He was watchin' out for me,” 
“Fine, go on,”
“Fine.  Okay, well, we talked a lot.  Did you know that those cowpony hats actually have a use?  They've got a wide brim so the rain and sun don't get into anypony's eyes while they work!  Anyways, I ended up stealing his hat and then Braeburn fell into my salad and I laughed really, really hard, and then we decided to get back here 'cause he was feeling a bit dizzy,”  He pauses again and Spitfire gestures for him to continue.
“While we were on our way back to the Inn, he fell flat on his face, so I, being the gentlecolt I am, decided I should make sure he got home safely,”
“You're the one with the concussion, though,”
“That's what he said.  Anyways, after an epic adventure to Braeburn's house he passed out on his couch and I decided to get him some water so his head didn't feel like a bronco bucked him.  By the time he woke up I was crashing and he offered the other half of the couch to me, so I slept the sugar off. Then I woke up, Brae fixed some lunch and I came back.”  
Spitfire stays suspiciously quiet, studying him through slightly narrowed eyes until he gets the shivers.  He flicks his wing out to brush her shoulder.
“What, no comments on how I shouldn't have gone to a stranger's house, mom?”
“That was a sucky story,” She says, “I thought you guys, like, brought home some flappers or something,”  
“Spitfire!”  He slams his hooves against his ears.  
“Maybe watched some Mares gone Wild, you know, buck stuff,” 
“Stop it, my innocent ears!”
Spitfire snorts and pushes off the bed, “Well, as soon as your 'innocent ears' are finished being traumatized, I'll be at out practicing,” With that, she swishes her tail and leaves the room.
“Oh hey, wait up!”  Soarin' stumbles off the bed after her, refusing to miss out on drills for another day. 
As soon as the two exit the Inn, Spitfire snaps open her wings and jumps into the air.  With little hesitation Soarin' follows, launching himself off the ground, startling an earth pony walking towards them.  He barely pauses enough to apologize before racing after Spitfire's trail.  A grin inches across his face, slowly widening in time to the beat of his wings.  The wind rushes against him, yanking his hair back and tugging on his body, berating him, he thinks, for keeping it waiting so long.  
Ahead, Spitfire's trajectory starts to incline, and he instinctively follows, pushing the himself harder, propelling him upwards into the bright, open sky.  The slight protesting of his  muscles only sharpens his drive as he climbs higher into the atmosphere.  Ten yards ahead of him Spitfire reaches the apex of her climb and she folds her wings close to herself.  Soarin' flares his wings, loosing as much speed as he can while Spitfire's body hangs at the height of her potential momentum.  
A moment, and then Spitfire succumbs to gravity and starts falling, angling earthwards.  She passes Soarin' and he dives after her, starting a spiral around Spitfire's forming contrail.  He shifts so his spirals wind tighter and tighter as his teammate gets closer to the ground.  His wings work hard to keep him only yards behind Spitfire's dive and tension builds in his chest with each forceful flap.  He starts counting, slowly, in his head.
Ten.  He fights against the wind resisting his dive.  Nine.  Sparks from Spitfire's contrail send electricity through him.  Eight.  His head is light from all the spinning but in a good way.  Seven.  He can see the coat colors of the Appleoosans below. Six.  And now he can see their manes.  Five.  The epinephrine flooding his systems make him giddy.  Four.  Three seconds left.  Three.  He bites his lip and watches Spitfire carefully for his cue.  Two.  The knowledge that the dive will soon become a disaster if they didn't pull up floods him.  One.
Spitfire spreads out her wings and sharply angles out of the dive.  Soarin' snaps his close and carefully merges into the smoke contrail behind her, once hidden in the dense trail he resumes flight behind her.  The crackling of lightning messes with his mane and, without his suit, dances lightly over his skin.  Smirking, he speeds up, chasing after Spitfire.
Electricity builds up in his mane and his fur, he can nearly taste it on his tongue and see it sparking off of him.  When he does see a flash of light he bursts out of Spitfire's cloud, pleased to see he's right behind her.  She slows just enough and he rolls around her, brushing his wing against hers.  The static electricity built up around him immediately jumps off him, leaping to her feathers and back to his.  Slowly, they spin around each other, building the electricity between them until it reaches a spitting, crackling fury.  
With a shared glance they both start another upward trek, carrying the electricity with them.  When the town was out of their blast range they immediately stopped, forcefully reversing their trek, releasing the miniature storm they created between the two of them.  The lightning snaps across the sky, flashing in bright, abstract shapes, arcing across the sky of Appleoosa before shimmering, then dissipating.  
A cheer rises from below and Soarin' looks down to see a crowd of ponies in the town square, clapping at their spontaneous show.  He meets Spitfire's gaze and laughs, exhilarated.  How he'd managed to go a day without flying he wasn't entirely sure (hovering when stumbling off cliffs not withstanding), and he didn't plan on doing so again.   
“Woohoo! Yeah! I'm on fire, today!” He pumps his wings and trots in his place, swishing his mane back and forth.  “You hear that crowd, Spits?  I can't wait for our next show!”  He holds out his hoof, waving it in her general direction, wiggling it when she fails to understand its purpose immediately.  
“You are such a foal,” She laughs and finally hits his hoof with her own.
“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” 
“Now what would give you that idea?” She blinks innocently.
Soarin' pouts and turns his nose away, frowning at his friend's wit, and starting his way back down to Appleoosa.  The group in the town square had started to disperse a bit, but a few were still waving and cheering at them.  He raised a hoof at them and did a small loop-de-loop just because, smiling when another little cheer erupted.  
Squinting, he could see a few of the ponies he recognized—the sheriff, though he looked like he was just walking, an old pony he thinks he remembers from the bar—but he finds himself disappointed for some reason.  It takes him a bit before he realizes it's because he doesn't see Braeburn.  A free show and he didn't even see it! He's only slightly surprised that feels like that, flying is his one true love (disregarding pies, of course) and of course he wants to share that.  

He laughs as the epinephrine coils through his system and his heart races and his body quivers.  A day, he decides, is much too long to avoid flying.  He closes his eyes and feels the warmth of the sun, a gentle radiation and a warm, enthusiastic glow.  
“I want to fly with Brae,”  the words tumble, unbidden, from his mouth.  He glances to the side, at Spitfire, and refuses to acknowledge the warmth in his cheeks.  Her sly smile clearly said I knew it wasn't just hanging out at the saloon. 
“You should invite him to our rehearsal,”  she says.
“I should?” He smiles, “I mean, I should!”  He prances a few feet, almost running into somepony.  He apologizes meekly.  Spitfire giggles and gestures with a flick of her wing to follow him into the Salt Block.
She doesn't look back to see if he does follow her, but Soarin' does anyway, of course.  He passes through the threshold of the swinging doors and a warmth rushes through him as he imagines himself and Braeburn sitting at the bar earlier.  He joins Spitfire at a small table and waits for Salt Shaker to ask for drink and leave before he continues their conversation.
“But, how should I ask him?” He peers up at his friend, suddenly shy.
“You,” She taps her chin and looks at him with sly eyes, “You're sweet on him, aren't you?” 
“Spits!” Soarin' gapes at the yellow pegasus, “I'm not!”  
“Come on Soar', you do nothing but talk about him and we just met,”
He firmly hides behind his wings and his hooves, briefly wondering if his head could catch fire from his embarrassment.
“I don't mind, you know.  Colt-cuddling isn't an uncommon thing now-a-days,”  He feels her hoof touch one of his and he peeks between the feathers of his wings to see a slightly concerned face.  Her warm, amber eyes are honest and accepting.  
“I just... I do like him, he's really— I feel like I'm a normal guy around him, not a Wonderbolt Star,” He pulls his wings back from his face before continuing. “I not ready... I don't think I'm a colt cuddler.  I just like a colt,”  He shifts in his seat.
Whenever he had caught Braeburn staring at him this morning, a rush of feelings would flood his head, but he'd though it was the sugar playing interference.  Sugar that crossed some wires in his brain and gave him enough care-free attitude to enjoy hanging out with someone who didn't ask for his autograph or stare at him with the awe-worship that fans had.  But even when the buzz wore off enough to think a bit clearer he'd liked taking care of Brae, even if it was a small thing, like getting water ready for him when he woke up.  
His actions had been oddly similar to what he would do for Spitfire or any of his other teammates had the situation been different.  Minus the using Brae for a pillow.  And that is the difference, isn't it?  He feels butterflies in his stomach, brushing gossamer wings against his insides whenever Brae opens his mouth.  Or looks at him.  Or when he could study Brae's features when the other was looking away from him.
It is confusing, of course it is.  He's never had any interest in stallions before and the thought that he might be switching it up now scares him.  It's a deviation, an unplanned flourish in the middle of a complicated but well-practiced routine. He doesn't even know the mechanics of a relationship between two stallions.  Would it be similar to what he would do with a mare?
“What are you thinking?”
Soarin' blinks his eyes and focuses on Spitfire's sassy little smirk.
“Nothing, what do you think?”
She didn't say anything, but she did, not so subtly, point to his wings which, belatedly, he realized were stiff and spread.  His flamed and he gasped like a fish out of water, staring wide-eyed at his traitorous wings.  “I don't even...” He buries his face in his hooves and tries to force his wings back to his side.
“So, what were you thinking?”  She prompts again.
“Just that...” He mumbles quietly and avoids her eyes, then adds, “I don't even know if he likes me.  I don't know if I like him, like, really, really like him like that,”
“Invite him to our site rehearsal,” she said, “He'll see you flying, he'll see you at your best.  And it's not suspicious, it's something a friend would do.”
“Can I just ask him that?  Just, 'hey, Brae, come watch me fly?'” He looks at Spitfire, his brow in a confused furrow.
“You can,”  She answers, “How would you ask me?”
“I wouldn't.  You're flying with me,”
“She sighs and rolls her eyes. “How would you invite me to hang out?  To go see a movie or dinner?”
“Dinner!”  Soarin' shouts, and idea rustling in his brain, “That's it!”
“I don't follow...”
“We invite him to dinner first and then the team can ask him to the rehearsal!  Absolutely no pressure on me!” He smiles brilliantly.
“But doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of you asking him out?” 
“What if he refuses?  At least it won't feel personal if he's rejecting the entire team,”
“But what if he accepts?” She counters with a sly eyebrow raised.  “It won't feel personal if he's accepting the offer from the entire team.”
“I...” He falters and Spitfire laughs, waving that off.
“We'll invite him to dinner,” She says and he nods his head but there's a feeling in his chest that he doesn't know exactly what he's agreeing to.
They finish their meals and leave the saloon to head back to the Inn where they'd hopefully find Cash and Thunder.  There is a silence around them, though it's not oppressing or awkward, just companionable as they both think of a reason to have a team dinner.   Or, well, that's what Soarin' had been thinking about before he found himself looking at the Appleoosan scenery.  It really was different from what he's used to.  Usually the team puts on shows in bigger cities, but Appleoosa was large and had clear skies most of the year, which is surprisingly hard to find.
The weather isn't the only thing different, he notices.  The very feeling of Appleoosa is different from the other cities.  
Cloudsdayle, for example, is always lazy feeling.  There is constant motion: the billowing clouds, pegasi flying in the sky, a unicorn or two trotting around, very rarely a griffon will visit.  The residents who aren't working a shift in the Rainbow or Weather Factories are on the Weather Patrol, a field job that requires you to take a post on a cloud and scan the skies until you need to clear or position a weather formation.  The only time there's really a commotion in Cloudsdayle is when there's a concert, or festival or Wonderbolt show.  
Manehatten always feels busy, Canterlot always feels stuffy at least in the high society circles, Staliongrad is kind of rigid, Fillydelphia is industrial, Trottingham is mellow, but he hasn't ever really felt something like Appleoosa.
There's a unified harmony here, he thinks.  Everypony has something to do, but he often sees one stop to help another, or greetings being called out.  Everypony knows everypony and likes everypony, it seems.  It's like a large family.  He feels, as he walks through it at Spitfire's side, that he's on the outside of some window looking inside a home.
“Cash Box!  Just the mare I wanted to see!”  Spitfire's greeting pulls him back, and he focuses on his manager catching sight of them and trotting towards them, Thunder in tow.   
“There you guy are!”
“Yeah, went back to the room and you weren't there, gave Cash a bit of a fright,” Thunder rolled her eyes.
“You two need to leave a note or something when you leave,” Cash Box chastised, “We can't afford to misplace you two!  What if you'd been injured?”  She gives a quick glance towards Soarin'.
“Cash, we were just practicing a bit, getting Soarin' back on his wings,” Spitfire appeases.  
“Yeah, it's not like I'm made of glass,”  He tells his manager, sniffing as if affronted.
“Well, even if you were glass I'm sure Spitfire wouldn't get you in any trouble,”
He shrugs.
“Anyway, Cash, do you know of any good restaurants around here?”  
Cash box shrugs, “Not really, why?”
“We thought it'd be a good idea to have a team dinner now that I'm back in commission,” Soarin' offers.
“That's a good idea,” Thunder nudged Cash, “We should have a team dinner, Cashy!”
“It sounds nice, but where's a good place?”
Spitfire shrugs then lights up, like she's thought of something clever, “We can ask Braeburn,” 
“Yeah, he knows this place the back of his hoof!” Soarin' puts in, nearly prancing.  His idea was great!
“Who knows the place like the back of his hoof?”
Soarin' turns to see the very object of their conversation trotting towards them, carrying some saddle bags. 
“You, of course,” He says, craning his head a bit to see that Braeburn's saddle bags had his red apple cutie mark embroidered on the clasps.  They look sturdy.
“Yeah, we wanted to know if you could help with something,” Spitfire waves the cowpony towards the group with her wing.  
“Well, how ken I be of service then?” Braeburn tips his hat to the girls and smiles at Soarin' as he comes towards them.
Spitfire explains the situation as Soarin' kind of just stares at Braeburn with his heart in his throat.  The sunlight pours a dusty orange glow over Braeburn and casts a deep shadow from his hat onto his eyes.  He glances over at Spitfire who looks like a living flame in the daylight, with rippling orange and yellow for her mane and brilliantly sharp coat.  He looks back to Braeburn, a mellow sunbeam.  Thunder Rush is bright against the landscape, bright white and electric yellow hair, a flair of lightning captured in pony form, even Cash Box looked nice with her green fur and sandy mane.  What he can see of himself—his pale blue hoof—doesn't look nearly as flattering with the light around him.  He kind of looks like a washed out marshmellow, he thinks.
“So do you know a nice place?” Spitfire asks.
“Oh, well, the only really nice place here is the Salt Block,”  Braeburn says.  “But it gets kind of full and loud sometimes.”
Soarin' frowns—pouts really—because if they don't have a place to eat dinner then they can't invite Braeburn to dinner and then they can't ask Braeburn to watch the show.  
“Ah, well, I ken talk to Salt Shaker an' see if he can't set off the back room for you guys,” Braeburn hastily adds.
“Oh, that would be nice, if it's not too much trouble,”  Cash says.
“T'ain't a drop of trouble.  I'd love to, for you guys,”  Braeburn assures.
“Well that's settled, then, thank you Braeburn,”  Cash lifts her hoof to shake Braeburn's to set the deal.
“We were actually wondering,” Spitfire cuts in, “If you could join us.”
“We wer—?” Thunder receives a covert kick from Spitfire, “Oh, yes, we were.  I mean, you've been so helpful,”
“Oh no, I really couldn't impose like that,” 
“No, you wouldn't be imposing!  I mean, you really helped yesterday and this morning,” Soarin' rushes in.  He scrapes a hoof against the dirt, “It'd be really nice if you could join us,”  
“Uh, well,” Soarin' avoids looking at Braeburn while he waits for a yes or no, “I guess I could, if it's no trouble to y'all, or anything,”  
“No trouble at all,”  Soarin' asserts. 
“Would Friday work?” Spitfire asks, “That's not too soon, right?”
“I think that'll do.  I'll ask Shaker today and get back to you guys later.  I'm actually picking something up right now...”
“Oh, we didn't mean to keep you.  We'll see you later,” Cash waves.
“Right, uh bye,”  Braeburn returns the wave.
Soarin' takes a few steps from Braeburn with his team and manager before turning back around and asking, “Hey, Brae, do you need any help?”
Braeburn blinks and smiles at him, “Sure, Soar', that'd be great,”  
“Cool, see ya later guys,”  He waves to his teammates.  He catches Spitfire's eyes and her knowing little smirk before he trots to Brae. 
“So what'cha getting?”
“Just some stuff.” Soarin' keeps staring inquisitively at Braeburn's face so he adds, “Some of the tools have been worn down a bit so I decided I should start fixing them.  I'm just picking up the stuff to do that.”
“Oh, cool,” Soarin' nods his head again.