With a groan like the creak of a graveyard gate, and all the grace of a hippopotamus drunk on fermented fruit, the mare known as Spitfire opened her warm, hazel eyes.
Only this time, they were dull, tired and bloodshot. As one might expect from a mare kept up half the night trying to bury the results of a pretty horrid chain reaction that had long since descended past any semblance of sanity.
Those events slowly started to trickle their way, drop by uncertain drop, back into her bleary, warn-out mind.
First came the drinking. That shouldn’t really have surprised her, and to be honest, it didn’t. But she groaned loudly anyway, shifting herself in bed a little.
Then… Bits and pieces. With Soarin, for some reason. Out and about in the town. Quite why was beyond her for now, but- She kissed him?
At this, the Wonderbolt captain groaned yet louder, rolling over and screwing her eyes tightly shut. Of course, my chat with Fleet, and then… And then… Everything came back, like some sort of grizzly epiphany. She groaned, slapping a forehoof to her aching head. But her hoof tapped her nose by mistake, and her groan turned into a sharp intake of breath and she jerked violently with surprise. She had forgotten about that.
She was certainly awake now, but still far too sore and hung-over to move. So she got herself comfortable and closed her eyes, lying on her back with her wings splayed slightly beneath her. She was just glad that she had some time to get herself presentable before anypony saw her like this. Especially-
Shit, Soarin… She thought to herself, wincing. He would probably still be next to her, either faithfully awake and exhausted like the idiot he was, or fast asleep, like the foal he could be. He was the one pony that she really didn’t want to face that morning. Or at all, if she could help it.
But then… Maybe that’s not a bad thing… Her inner temptation said softly. You admitted it before, he looks awful cute when he’s asleep… And you might even get a head massage out of him…
Now that was an appealing thought. Soarin looked like he could be pretty good with his hooves when he needed to be, and she wasn’t above exploiting his affections to feel better. She returned them, after all, so it wasn’t that bad. Even if he didn’t know.
Briefly, she wondered if she had already woken him up, if he was actually asleep. But that seemed unlikely, given what it had taken to get him up last night. Of course, she could just open her eyes and know for sure, but… that seemed hard, for some reason. Like when you hear something behind you in a deserted building, and you want to know what it is, but you just feel too scared to know for sure. Sometimes, not knowing is more comforting.
But this wasn’t doing her any good, and sooner or later, she would have to get up. She had to run a practice that she hadn’t planned, after all. That would be exciting.
With a little more pointless dithering, she finally scooted a little closer to the centre of the bed, searching out the warmth that his soft blue body would produce. Of course, the bed was pretty warm anyway, and it was hard for her to tell which way was even up at this point, so it was difficult to tell whether or not he was even there just from feeling for him. She needed to just open her eyes and be done with it. No matter how bedraggled and beaten-up she would doubtlessly look. So, taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes slowly, like the romantic fluttering you might see in one of those lousy, one-dimensional love stories, where nopony accidentally gets drunk and nearly kills someone they’ve never met before, or breaks into somepony’s hotel room and makes out with their unconscious bod-
There was nopony there.
Frowning, Spitfire closed her eyes, then opened them again, normally.
Still nopony.
Growling, she screwed her eyes shut, before cracking them wide open, staring hatefully into the space where he most certainly wasn’t.
Where in the name of Celestia had that great blue moron gotten to now? What could he possibly be doing that he would just up and leave her like this without even waking her? As stupid as he was, he would have given her some warning, surely.
Unless, perhaps… Had he ever been there? Maybe she’d just gotten drunk and passed out, and everything she was considering a memory was just a twisted, sadistic dream? That would be a relief, even if it said very unpleasant things about her subconscious, and how much it clearly hated her.
In fact, that would be great. Fleet wouldn’t need to know anything, Soarin would remain that much more innocent, and, best of all, she wouldn’t be responsible for grievous bodily harm! Really, that had to be the right answer to all this madness. This sort of thing didn’t really happen to anypony, even ponies like her. Not in the real world, at least.
She tried to roll out of bed, but a stabbing pain in the centre of her skull told her that it was a little early to be trying anything quite that dramatic. So, with her head held low, she managed to dag herself slowly to the edge of the bed once more, and draping her foreleg over the edge like she was checking the temperature of a pool, she got herself into a suitable position for levering herself off the bed. Which she eventually managed, even if she ended up taking the blankets with her.
Slowly, and with bleary eyes that clearly didn’t want to be open at all today, she scanned the room for any evidence that might have confirmed the night before as fact or fiction.
Easily the first thing that caught her attention was the smashed vase and assorted flowers that littered the far side of her room. Her heart leapt to her throat, and a faintly ill feeling came to her stomach, and not the standard kind that came with any hangover. Taking deep breaths, she forced herself into a trot, and approached the occasional table that had once supported the expensive little vase. This wasn’t a good sign.
But, in her dream, she and Soarin had made sure to clean up the blood before it could stain, and there wasn’t any left anywhere, so it was impossible to tell whether or not she had just bumped into it last night and forgotten. So far so good.
No matter how hard she searched, she couldn’t find anything that really related to the events of the night before – The bed didn’t have any blue Soarin-hairs in it, there was no blood, and there was never really anything else that she could think of.
In fact, the prospect of last night simply being a dream was starting to become much more likely and appealing in her mind. It was fair to say that she couldn’t remember going to Soarin’s room in the first place, she was simply there all of a sudden. Nor could she remember the trip to Fleet’s or large sections of her encounter with the repulsive orange stallion. All traditional products of dreams. And alcohol induced memory loss, but she preferred not to think of that.
Satisfied that all was well, she sighed softly with relief, trotting slowly back over to her bed. She thought that it might be nice of her if she at least dragged the stained blankets back onto her bed before the hotel staff turned up. Changing oneself into a softer, kinder pony was a long and difficult road for somepony such as herself, so she decided it might be best to start small. At least it was something.
But as she was dragging the duvet back up over the mattress with all the knowledge and experience of a mole learning to swim, something caught her eye, in the far corner of her vision. Something that she didn’t recognise from before. She frowned, giving up on her kind deed and heading over to the bedside table to investigate. She approached, with increasing dread, as she noticed that it was a piece of paper, scrawled with the clumsy scribbling that could only be Soarin’s.
Dear Spitfire
I know you probably wanted me to wake you up for the practice this morning, but you were sleeping really soundly and I thought you probably needed some rest after last night, so I’m going to tell the others that you’re ill and take the session for you. I hope you don’t get too mad.
Soarin.
The letter was ridden with mistakes and typos, and there was a clearly scribbled out ‘love’ before the word ‘Soarin’, but its meaning was clear. Last night had happened.
She threw her head back and groaned like she had never groaned before. The pain in her head as she tilted it back didn’t help much, but the disappointment was far worse. Not only did last night actually happen, genuinely, and most likely to the detail, but now, Soarin, with a terrible history of public speaking and no ability to come up with ideas on the fly to speak of, was trying to take practice in her place. And he probably hadn’t come up with any reason why he would know that she was ill before anypony else, or why in the name of Celestia it would be him taking practice. Sure, he was almost Spitfire’s second in command, but everypony knew he was hopeless when trying to talk to any number of ponies. She felt genuinely nauseous now, and it wasn’t just the hangover taking effect. Why did her life revolve around fixing mistakes at the moment?
And, of course, it had to get worse. Soarin had obviously written that just before he left, and he was likely long gone, now. He would have gotten there in time to start practice, Spitfire knew that much. Which meant, even if he had only left a minute ago, she would still be late. She dreaded to think how late she would be, but the crack of bright sunlight streaming in through a tiny gap in the curtains didn’t fill her with courage. Grimacing, she looked slowly over at the clock on the far side of the room. The hands pointed to half past eleven in the morning. The lesson would end in about forty-five minutes.
She let out a long, loud groan of plaintive frustration. She was not starting off on the right hoof today.
As hurriedly as she could with her headache, she staggered into the bathroom, barely keeping herself upright on the treacherous wet floor. Then, she lurched up into the shower and flicked it on as quickly as she could, sitting down directly beneath the nozzle. The shower wasn’t nearly as long and relaxing as she would have liked, but at least the heat didn’t make her feel drowsy. Few things in all the world could feel more awake than she did, after reading that letter.
As soon as the shower was off once more, she opened the door as quickly as she could, ignoring the wall of relative cold as it hit her. She leapt from the shower like she was being chased, gritting her teeth as her hooves clattered for purchase on the wet marble floor. Not to be defeated so easily, she went against her better judgement and took off, flapping with broad, powerful strokes from her wings.
The shower had done her head some considerable good, but all that was undone as soon as she lifted off up into the air, the feeling of lurching upwards and downwards in the enclosed space. She screwed her eyes shut, muttering quiet curses at the world in general as she let herself glide over to the door. She simply didn’t have time to feel despondent.
On the back of the door was the towel she had used yesterday. Since then, it had easily become dry enough to be used again, so she dropped to the ground, keeping her legs as rigid as she could so they didn’t slide out beneath her. She grabbed it in her teeth, pulling the door open carefully and stumbling back into the bedroom.
She then proceeded to get herself dried off and dressed in record time; gritting her teeth to help her ignore the pain as she struggled through an abridged version of a normal morning routine, leaving out such important parts as cleaning her teeth, or breakfast. (largely because it was all but midday.)
The flight suit in particular was a battle, and she was glad for the fabric’s strength when she was forced to viciously kick at the limb-holes in an angry, desperate attempt to fit inside them. The goggles decided to slow her down as well, by hiding incredibly well for several minutes. But eventually, after far more time than she would have liked had passed, she was as ready as she could be. A full twenty minutes had passed, and she hadn’t even set off.
There was no time to waste. She stumbled quickly over to the window, squinting and pulling the curtains wide open, letting the natural light burn harmlessly at her eyelids rather than blind her. Then, she quickly fumbled with the catch, flinging it wide open and letting the late morning breeze flow in through to her room. It felt pleasant on her fur, rustling it this way and that with a gentle ebb and flow. Without a second thought, she stepped back and leapt through the window, snapping her wings open as soon as she was safely outside.
As she knew they would, her wings caught her easily, supporting her on the breeze as she floated slowly away from the hotel window. But she was in a rush, and had no time for floating around like a cloud. As much as it would hurt, she needed to race up to that cloudbank high above the city if she wanted to get there in time. Why didn’t the world function exactly as she planned things? Sure, things might not work out perfectly for everyone, but she would have a much smoother time. Which, if the last two days were any example, she really deserved.
Well, if there’s anypony in charge, she thought, they clearly don’t like me much. So she gave a good growl, more for her benefit than anypony else’s, before clenching her jaw and pushing herself upwards with powerful wing strokes. Each flap brought a sharp stab of pain arcing through the middle of her head, but she had flown with far worse in her time. It was just a matter of perseverance, and trying to think of other things. Of course, just thinking was fairly tricky business with a head as sore as her own, so Spitfire decided it might be best to think of nothing at all, and let her instincts carry her up into the sky.
Now, the old Spitfire would have had no trouble with that at all. In fact, quite often, Spitfire could have drifted from one hour to the next with very little passing through her head at all, save for what she was actually doing, and what needed to be done later. The new Spitfire, on the other hoof, was confused, conflicted, and spending far more time arguing with her own mind than she was used to. In fact, she rather wished that she was more of the submissive type, or one that would run from problems. It was just her luck to be the kind of pony that has to stare problems in the face all the time. Still, that wasn’t an entirely unappealing trait. She could have been a proper soldier, if she wasn’t far more interested in flying than fighting.
For a moment, she wondered how Soarin might react if she was shyer, and less abrasive. Then, that would probably explain why he was clearly never that interested in Misty, and she really wasn’t interested in putting him off her.
It was only then that the pain in her head forced her to stop, and instead fixate her gaze on a single cloud high above her and power toward it, trying to be as meditative as she could. While this didn’t actually work as such, by the time she had reached the cloud, she was only in severe pain, rather than agony.
With a light, fluffy sound, she dropped down onto the little cloud, sinking deep into its softness. She looked left and right, swinging her aching, weary head slowly as she scanned the horizon for the cloudbank they had been training on. Obviously, there had been some wind during the night, because it had most certainly moved, and it took her almost thirty seconds to spot it amid the morning cloud cover.
Sadly unable to just blast her way over thanks to her head and the general weariness in every inch of her body, she was forced to slow to a painful crawl, drifting lazily over thanks to the warm thermals from the city stretched out below her. Normally, she might have admired the sights of the beautiful city, nestled by the side of the mountain, but today, looking down for too long just made her feel nauseous.
Having to focus on only one thing at a time just to get through the day was seriously annoying, but at least it was working for now, and there was still something to save. Or at least, that’s what an incredibly rough estimate of time said to her.
Relenting to the sense of urgency building up in her gut, she started to power her way over to the cloud, each flap bringing about a fresh stab wound somewhere in the centre of her weary, pained little brain. Though she tried not to think about them, she could tell that her approach hadn’t gone unnoticed, and a number of ponies had stopped to watch her fly laboriously over to their makeshift training ground. Of course, it was hard to imagine that she wouldn’t be spotted, given the yellow bolts of lightning that adorned her bright blue flightsuit.
Eventually, she landed with a thud and a large puff of cloud evaporating around her hooves as she staggered forward, trying to cushion the impact of her landing as much as possible. She must have looked like a trainwreck.
Panting with weariness despite not really feeling tired, she looked about for the only pony that really seemed to matter at the moment. And as one would expect of the blue moron, he was probably the only one present that hadn’t noticed her arrival, perched on a higher cloud trying to direct the team’s flight and movements. In fact, it took somepony actually flying down to the cloud that he was standing on and nudging him to even pay attention to anything save being the leader. Clearly, he was also focussing on one thing at a time, but Spitfire had a feeling that it was more a case of mental limitation than a hangover. Soarin could get almost anything done if he tackled things one at a time, but he couldn’t juggle anything, even thoughts.
But, eventually, Soarin turned to face her, and she gave him a small smile and a half-assed wave. The look she received, however, was certainly closer to fear than happiness. Which was good. He’d better be afraid, taking control of her Wonderbolts without permission.
Despite his obvious trepidation, however, he jumped off the edge of the cloud, spreading his wings and gliding over to her. She made to walk toward him, but suddenly Firestreak was by her side, standing far enough away that she couldn’t breathe on him, just in case.
“Captain! So good of you to grace us with your presence, on this fine morning.”
“Oh, cut the lip, Fire. I’m poorly, okay?” She said, smiling wryly at him.
“Well, that much I can see. But Soarin in charge? No offence to either of you, but… Why him? Normally it’s me, or High Winds, or…” He trailed off, clearly making a point that he could list quite a few ponies before Soarin came to mind.
“Trust me, pal. This wasn’t my choice.” Spitfire said flatly, trotting slowly in Soarin’s direction as he drifted down toward her. “And I need to remind him.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m not him…” Firestreak said, frowning at her expression. Apparently he knew better than to ask why any of this had even happened.
“Why, how bad has he been?” Spit asked, briefly diverting her attention to him.
“B-bad? Huh? Oh, no, he was okay. Better than most of the squad expected, certainly.” Firestreak replied, letting his own surprise flow clearly through his tone.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Spitfire said, smiling a little. “But, I should technically have him filed for insubordination or mutiny. It’s protocol.”
“Oh, Celestia. You’re not gonna court-martial him, are you?” Firestreak said, paling a little.
“Wh-what? ‘Course not!” She said indignantly. “I’m just gonna give him a hiding.”
“Alright, alright… You just look really mad, is all.” He said, backing off a little.
“You’re damn right I do, Fire.” She growled, resisting the urge to shake her head. “I feel like I got hit by a train and pissed on.”
She made to trot a little faster, heading toward Soarin. A few of her fellow ‘Bolts milled about them, looking at Spitfire with a mix of curiosity and concern. It surprised the yellow mare that they all seemed to care, but it did her good. But before she could get away, she felt Firestreak’s hoof on her shoulder, holding her back.
“Uhh… You sure that you’re good to go, Spit? You look dreadful.” Firestreak said, eyeing her worriedly. “And what on earth happened to your nose?”
“Huh? Is it still bad?” She said groggily, trying to look down at it.
“Well, it looks pretty bruised, but you don’t look like a clown,” He said with a good-natured smirk. “But you didn’t answer my question. Are you sure that you’re okay?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it…” Spitfire replied, stroking her mane back. “It’s not so bad as it looks… Soarin loves to be melodramatic, after all.”
“Well, I suppose you know best…” He said, smiling at her quip. “And in fact, here he comes now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain.” The orange-maned stallion said with a smile, nodding his head to Spitfire’s right, before giving a mock salute and trotting away. The conversation seemed to be enough for most of the group, who slowly dispersed around her, conversation turning to other things that didn’t particularly interest her.
Glad that the conversation was over, Spitfire turned in the direction that Firestreak had indicated, catching sight of Soarin cantering hastily over to her. Some thirty feet behind him were Misty and Fleetfoot, positioned as if in conversation although Fleet had turned her head to face her. It seemed a little suspect, but she decided to chalk it up to coincidence and concentrate back on Soarin, who was now all but in front of her.
“Spitfire!” He said, sounding excited and slightly breathless. “H-how did I do up there?”
“Well…” Spitfire said, wincing just a tiny bit. “I didn’t actually see anything, but Fire tells me that you didn’t completely cock it up. But please leave it to somepony more responsible next time?” She said, before leaning in a little closer. “Or at least wake me up in time.” She decided it was more effort than it was worth to tell him that really, he deserved to have his suit taken off him for mutiny.
“B-but you looked really p… Peaceful…” He said, looking around to make sure nopony was listening. At last, he had learned his lesson. “B-but thanks.” He said, apparently taking her words as a compliment and standing up a little straighter. “You’ll make a leader of me yet…”
She snorted, trying to sound more humorous than insulting. “I wouldn’t go that far, champ. But thanks for trying, at least. It was a good first try.”
He blushed, suddenly fiddling with his forehooves while he mumbled out an incoherent sentence of appreciation. Spitfire smiled as well, controlling her blushing, but she quickly realised that she didn’t really have a response planned for something she didn’t even properly hear, and she paused. Soarin looked like there was something that he wanted to say, Spitfire could tell from the way that he kept opening and closing his mouth as he glanced shyly up at her. She would have interrupted, if she could think of something to say.
“H-hey, uhh… Spitfire?” He asked, finally breaking the silence. She blinked with surprise, looking up into his eyes. “Fancy getting a bite to eat with me?” He continued, looking like the words had given him some serious trouble. “I-I wanted to say thanks, even though you didn’t really let me… Or sorry, if I screwed up again.”
“Oh, uh, Sure, Soarin…” She said, slightly taken aback. Was he actually making up an excuse to take her on a date? That would be the day.
“H-hey, don’t be scared…” He said, actually trying to pull a joke. “Your choice, okay?”
She raised one brow. “Oh, don’t worry about that…” She said, although the idea of being trapped in the same room of him was filling her with some level of anxiety. “But… Where should we go? Really, I should pay you back for the chilli, but I don’t think I’m up for revenge. And you’ll eat anything.” She said, truthfully. Soarin was like an industrial waste compactor given pony form when he was hungry. So long as it was technically edible, it was fair game.
“Y-yeah…” He said, smiling and scratching the back of his head. “Th-that did occur to me…”
“Well, tell you what. Let’s just get going… I’ll come up with something on the fly, ‘kay?”
“A-alright!” Soarin said cheerfully, taking a small step back to relieve some of the tension that was building between them. “Sounds good to me…”
“But we’re going for a slow fly today…” Spitfire continued, heading for the edge of the cloudbank.
“G-got it, Captain…” Soarin said. Spitfire couldn’t tell whether or not he was mocking her, so she decided to let it slide.
“Yeah, yeah, Soarin.” She said confidently, stepping off the edge of the cloud. “Come on. I didn’t get to have breakfast, thanks to you.”