//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 - Back to the Grind // Story: Sensation (SFW Version) // by Vivid Syntax //------------------------------// I didn't go back to the Academy that night. Everypony else would have already hit the showers and been on the way home. Wouldn't have been much of a point. I'd done most of my endurance laps, and Spitfire was going to chew me out either way. That I could handle. Another sleepless night, though? Not so much. I'd doze off for half an hour at a time, maybe, but... you know that hollow gnarling feeling you get in your stomach when you know you've forgotten something important? That feeling like something's eating you from the inside? Yeah, it was that. By the time I got up on Friday morning, everything ached. My eyes were dry. My temples throbbed. I figured it was dehydration, so I went down to the kitchen and stuck a glass under the faucet. The cool glass soothed my hoof, but the rush of water out of the tap sounded as loud as a waterfall. I winced and turned it off before the glass was full. It was worth the pain, though. The cool water washed over my tongue, and I opened the back of my throat (don't ask how I learned to do that) to let it all drain into me. Despite the noise, I ended up chugging three and a half glasses before finding some food. There were a few apples on the counter, but, you know, they weren't too appetizing. Instead, I went for the alfalfa. Boring, but filling. Good after a hangover, and it felt like I had one heck of a hangover. I settled down with my bowl of plain food and listened to my teeth grind away. Like every other room in my condo, the kitchen didn't have much in it. Cloudy white walls, cloudy white counters, an ice box, and enough tables and chairs to have a few friends over. Just the basics. Less to clean up that way. For a second, I considered adding some decorations – a few small things to give it some color. Maybe a splash of yellow. Before I realized it, my body was rocking back and forth. The alfalfa tasted like nothing. I tapped a hoof on the floor and tried to chew faster and let out a few big sighs just to give the room some sound. When that wasn't enough, I hummed a club song I liked. My empty home didn't respond. I stood up before the silence drove me totally nuts, halfway done with my meal. Even though I was safe in my home, it felt like something was lurking, like it was about to pounce and start chasing me. My breathing got heavier, and to cut the silence, I forced myself to chuckle and say out loud, "Heh, creepy, right?" Nopony answered. With another quick glance around, I bolted out the door and took to the air. Another flight through the twilight. Another morning alone. Same old grind. I showed up at the academy early again. Second day in a row. A few of the recruits were already running through the obstacle course, practicing take-offs and formation flying, you name it. They were hungry for a spot on the team. 'Good for them,' I thought. I didn't see that green pony anywhere. Wish I had gotten her name. My brain tingled, but in a good way. I felt that tingle every day at the academy. See, your head gets into the right place, and suddenly you're focused on what you have to do. Of course, it helps when you're a leader, when you know that other ponies look up to you and you do a damn good job. I took in a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and puffed out my chest as I marched into the Green Room. Hm? Oh, yeah. The Green Room. It's not really green, and it's not really a room, and no, I don't know why it's called that. It's actually a long, polished metal building like most of the others on the grounds. Everything inside is right angles and cleanliness. The doors swing open without squeaking, and the garbage cans never have anything in them. Even the old drinking fountain in the middle of the main hallway looks like it's never been used. I walked past a few small offices and ducked through a door with a big placard that just read, "Preparation Room A." The room inside was cramped, only big enough for about sixteen ponies, but at least I didn't need to be there for long. Rows of chairs filled most of the space, and a projector without any slides sat in the middle, aimed at the white wall in front. Four more chairs sat against the front wall, facing the rest. I sat in the second one over and stared at the ceiling, thinking to myself, 'Yeah, new day. Formations today, show tomorrow, and I can forget all about what's-his-name.' My expression faltered and I turned my head away. "His name's Braeburn." "Didn't catch that, Soarin'." I snapped to attention as Spitfire walked into the room, slides in hoof. She kept talking as she set up the projector. "You're early again. Doing any better today?" Her voice didn't have an edge to it. She wasn't yelling about skipping out on practice. She seemed... relaxed. It was super off-putting. I sat up straight. "One-hundred percent!" I almost believed myself. "Good, but don't make a habit of disobeying orders." She'd spoken softly, like she was talking about the weather. She turned the projector on, and a dim image of an agenda appeared on the wall next to me. It was hard to make out, but I knew it probably had details for the next day's show on it. "It makes the rest of us look bad." I shook my head involuntarily and thought, 'So she knows? That wasn't even a slap on the hoof, let alone a strong reprimand.' My ears folded against my head, and my voice came out a lot weaker than I wanted. "Yes, ma'am." Spitfire took a seat next to me and stared toward the door. She had the usual stoic look on her face, but something seemed a bit off. I think her jaw was a little tighter than usual, and that's saying something. A couple times, she took in a quick breath and opened her mouth, and I thought she was going to speak, but nothing came out. So we waited. The squad members eventually trickled in, but nopony was late, of course. One of them hit the lights. Spitfire took on her leadership persona again, and we spent almost an hour going over every detail of the next day's performance. We'd been over the formations dozens of times, but Spitfire always took great pains to point out every single flaw she'd seen in practice that week. The rest of the 'Bolts always called this meeting the "One-Mare Firing Squad." "I don't think I can even call you Wonderbolts after your pathetic showing this week!" Spitfire stomped a hoof, and everypony sat up perfectly straight, eyes wide. Spitfire always wore her sunglasses to this meeting – you can't relax if she might be looking at you – and her booming voice echoed like thunder in the tiny room. "For some reason, the fans still pay for tickets to our shows, but if we can't get a simple triple barrel roll down…" In the second row, High Winds sucked in a sharp breath. "…then we won't have to worry about fans for long! High Winds! Care to explain why you think you can get away with a sloppy performance?" Everypony listened as, one by one, Spitfire exposed their weaknesses in front of the team. Some got off relatively easy, some not so much. The anticipation is the worst part, knowing that you're about to be taken down a peg. As co-captain, I was exempt. I just sat there while Spitz doled out the punishment with cold, surgical precision, and I'd occasionally throw in something like, "But your take-offs were great!" just to even it out a little. A few of the bolder pegasi questioned Spitfire's criticism, but that just got her to raise her voice and talk over them. As she yelled, my mind kept drifting to Braeburn and how I'd treated him. 'The team signed up to get yelled at. Braeburn didn't. No! Don't think about that. Just freaking move on already.' It made me itch, and my confident smile had turned to a sneer by the end of the meeting. Spitfire wrapped up with some instructions about the new formations. By then, my skin felt hot, and I'd started chewing on my tongue just to keep from tapping my hoof. My stomach felt heavy, and my breathing had become labored. 'Just let us go fly, Spitfire.' The meeting finished, and everypony started out toward the training grounds. I pushed past a few of my teammates and into the hallway, eager to get my mind back on the show, when I felt a hoof tap me on the shoulder. I jumped a bit and whipped around, trying not to bark at whoever had startled me. My eyes caught an aqua-colored mare with a white mane and tail. Fleetfoot. I could handle the way she gossiped about everypony, the way she always tried to improvise during shows, and her general lack of respect for authority. What I couldn't take, though, was the awful way she treated others to their faces, always pestering them and trying to get a rise out of them for her own amusement. I hate to characterize a fellow Wonderbolt negatively, but she was a total bitch. She looked at me and said, "You okay, Soar'?" "Not in the mood right..." I felt something snap in my skull, and I raised an eyebrow at her. "What?" Her tone and her eyes were gentle, genuine, even through her slight lisp. I knew something was up. "I said, are you okay, Soarin'? You've seemed kinda messed up lately." A few others walked past us. I huffed. "Yeah, I'm fine." I waited for her to walk away, but she didn't. "Thanks for asking. We've got practice to get to." I started trotting off, head low with a pouting lip and furrowed eyebrows. I figured if I hardened up, I could get through the show, and everything would be okay. Fat chance. "That's just it, though," she called after me. "You haven't been giving much feedback lately. You don't seem like you're all there, and practicing with you has kinda seemed like a waste of time." I told myself that she was trying to get under my skin and that I should just keep walking. "You're not being a captain." I stopped. That was it. I turned around and stomped back to her, unblinking. "Yeah? Well, here's some feedback: you're left bank turns are sloppy and your dives aren't tight enough. Fire Streak constantly has to adjust his speed to keep formation, since you don't seem to care about consistency." My voice got louder. The squad members walking out of the meeting room were turning to look at me. "You take too long to memorize formations, your landing accuracy is a freaking joke, and to top it all off–" I got right up in her face. "–you can't seem to figure out that maybe your captain is doing just fine without a certain mu–" I choked on that word. I was about to call her mush-mouthed. It was so mean, something she couldn't do anything about, but I was about to say it. I'd already felt awful, this was like getting dropped into an ice-cold lake with weights on my wings and knowing I'd thrown myself in. Fleetfoot stared back at me with wide eyes, trying and failing to hide the quiver of her lip. The expression looked all too familiar. My heart locked up. I backed off, closed my eyes, and took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Fleetfoot. You didn't deserve that." I looked away. My voice was soft and low. "You're a great flier, and all your maneuvers are super smooth, smooth enough to make me jealous." I cast a glance her way. She had her head cocked to the side. "And, yeah, you're right. I haven't been myself lately, and you were just trying to help. Sorry." Heart still pounding, I extended a hoof in apology. She didn't take it. Instead, she grunted, trotted past, and gave me a flat, "Sure." I hung my head and caught a glimpse of Fire Streak staring at me, shifting uncomfortably when I looked at him. I really shouldn't have called him out. He backed away when I finally walked past him to exit the Green Room. My squad mates avoided me for the rest of the day, as much as they could, and I didn't sleep well that night. Saturday's show was a private gig. Somepony rich and important was throwing a fundraiser or something at a country club in the Manehatten suburbs, and getting out of the usual routine was a breath of fresh air. The changing room that had been set up for us – a large, stuffy gaming room with all the pool and ping pong tables pushed to the side – smelled like the maid had been worried about getting fired and had drenched everything in chemicals. At least it was clean, which was more than I could say for some of the venues we flew at, and there was a locked safe for us to put our bags and equipment in. My blue Wonderbolts uniform with the yellow lightning bolts fit snugly on me, tight but not constricting, like an extra layer of skin. "I'd do me," I whispered, flashing myself a sultry look in one of the polished mirrors. My shoulders automatically straightened out, and I stood tall. My expression changed to a wide, knowing smile. "Aaaaand who wouldn't, captain?" My voice was getting louder. I flicked my tail as my muscles buzzed and my heart beat faster. I started nodding at myself. "Yeah. Yeah!" I jumped from side to side and lowered my head, ready to charge my reflection. "Who the best? You the best! Who the best? You the best!" I galloped in place in a tight cadence. I took in deep breaths and snorted them out. My wings shot outward. "Alright, colts, let's do this!" I turned to the team, my team, who'd instinctively gathered around me. A few of the newer members looked nervous after my little display. The rest looked bored. I'd change that. "Stallion squad! Single file!" The five pegasi in the lineup snapped to attention and formed a perfectly straight line in front of me. I trotted up and down the group, back straight, wings fully extended. My voice took on a low, raspy quality that I only used for them. "Stallions! You might think today's performance is no big deal." I pivoted quickly and reversed my direction. "You might think that a private show with a small audience has no effect on our immaculate reputation." I stomped a hoof and let the echo reverberate a moment. "You'd. Be. WRONG!" I continued marching up and down the ranks. "If any of you so much as moves a feather out of formation, I'll call up the tabloids myself and tell them you've been discharged! Do I make myself clear?" Five deep voices shouted back all at once. "Sir yes sir!" "Good! Being a Wonderbolt means being the best. Not the best? Then we have no place for you here. So that just leaves one question." I stopped in front of Cloudhoof, our newest recruit, with my nose mere inches from his. His face was stoic, his jaw was set, and he showed no fear. "Are you the best?" They responded together. "Sir yes sir!" "Are you going to be perfect?" "Sir yes sir!" "And are we gonna get totally wasted on the customer's coin tonight?" One of them stifled a laugh. Faces scrunched, trying to hide smiles. "Sir yes sir!" "That's what I like to hear! Wonderbolts, salute!" Hooves shot to foreheads in flawless unison. "Stallion squad, scramble!" Wings beat. Air rushed around us. Six ponies lifted off and blazed out of that room in perfect formation. They made me proud. Honestly, I don't remember much about the show. The private gigs tend to blend together, especially since the routine doesn't change much. Bunch of fancy-pants rich types showing off to their friends or benefactors or whatever. Don't get me wrong – I appreciate all my fans, I really do – but it's so much better when you can hear the roar of the crowd. Of course, we wouldn't do these smaller shows if the cash wasn't there, and the meet-and-greet receptions afterwards are usually pretty great. This one was just okay. A group of about forty guests mingled with us in a lush garden just after sunset. A live music group played slow, classical background noise, and few wispy pieces of white cloth decorated the tables and hedges. We got the usual adoration from the fans, signed a few autographs, and I found myself scavenging the hors d'oeuvres table. Most of it was upscale garbage except for this cold, salty spread with a cherry tomato on a stale cracker. It was the only thing I could stomach. I was stuffing my face with a few of them when I heard a pony clear her throat behind me. I turned and saw Spitfire. She had her diplomat face on: a warm smile with a stare that could cut you in half. She spoke tersely. "Soarin', one of your fliers is completely blitzed at a public function. Why is one of your fliers completely blitzed at a public function, Soarin'?" I looked just past her and saw Cloudhoof laughing way too loudly and getting way too close to a mare in a fancy dress. Newbies. What can you do? I looked back at Spitfire. She knew about my little pep talks, so it was useless trying to fool her. Still... "I have nooooo idea!" I sang at her, twisting my head in mock deep thought as a goofy smile crawled across my face. I shoved another cracker in my mouth. "Maybe you should... Spitty?" She was walking away, head hung a little lower. Not much. Not enough to tell if you didn't know her like I did, but I could still see it. It left me in a daze. I must have been staring, since a yellow earth pony spoke up in a low, sultry voice. "Like what you see, hot stuff?" I jerked back to reality, finally noticing him. His body wasn't bad, but the tight clothes and weird mane style made it look like he was trying to hide his age. It wasn't working. I hadn't been with an older stallion like that before, though, and he was clearly into me. I swallowed, narrowing my eyes and putting on the old Soarin' charm. "Nah, those clothes look terrible. You should probably take them off." Easy. "Heh. Well then, let's find someplace quiet so you can give me some fashion advice." I was all over it. He started walking out of the garden. I followed for a little while, but I stopped when I brushed past Fleetfoot. My chest tightened up, and part of me wanted to ignore her. Most of me, actually. But I couldn't. "Hey… Fleetfoot? Great job tonight." Fleetfoot paused, but she didn't look my way. I kept talking to the back of her head. "You could still use some work with the bank turns, but you killed that dive in the second act. Your consistency was better, too." She hesitated and gave me a weak, "Thanks," before continuing on her way. I felt... better. "Didn't forget about me, did you, stud?" The older stallion had come back for me. He grabbed my hoof and led me back to the club house, and I was looking forward to something wild and different. He was... alright. Kinda sluggish and hard to deal with. Had to have everything his own way, too, but I told him that nopony makes a mare out of me. We didn't do much, and it ended before anything interesting happened. I don't think I even got his name. Whoever he was, he didn't talk to me for the rest of the night, and by the time I'd gotten my suit back on and went back out to the garden, the crowd had cooled. There's a lot of novelty in meeting celebrities, but after a few hours of mingling, the excitement wears off. I wandered around looking for somepony to talk to. One of the guests, a mare in a stunning blue dress that showed off some seriously sexy curves, let me know that Fire Streak had taken Cloudhoof home. Good for him, but it left me alone with nopony to chat with. Luckily, there's always one thing to do at a party like that, so I found myself at the bar. The setup was nice and the seats were comfortable, so I just sat there, drinking out of boredom just to feel the fire in my body. I'd take a shot, stare at the empty glass, and ponder. 'Eh, so the older dude wasn't mind-blowing. Still got to please a fan, though, right? ' But my thoughts would always float to the same topic. 'Why'd he have to have a yellow coat, though? At least I didn't curse him out, and he was okay. Braeburn would have been better, though.' That thought made me droop a little lower each time, and I'd order another shot whenever that cowpony showed up in my mind. I drank a lot that night. Whenever the shot glass was empty, I'd play with. Spin it around on the bar, admiring it. It was seemed solid and fragile at the same time. It couldn't hold much liquor, but it what it had was strong. I kept thinking, 'I like this glass,' through a drunken haze. Don't know why, but I just became really attached, so I swiped it. Almost left it at the bar, and I can't tell you how hard it was to get it into my breast pocket. Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't shatter. I still have that glass. The rest of the night was a blur, but I remember stumbling around the party for a while before walking a long way and having a conversation with two ponies whose voices seemed disappointed. My whole body felt rancid, like it was melting, but the cool night air in my lungs kept me going. I wasn't in the garden anymore. A bell rang. The ground turned plush, and one of the ponies talked to a stranger. We went into a red tunnel. There was a click, and I was nudged towards a box. I flopped onto it. It was soft. And I slept. "Mister Windsong?" It seemed like no time at all, but I woke up the next morning to a knock on the door and a feminine voice. She wasn't yelling, but it sure felt like it in my head. "This is your wake-up call. Check out is in half an hour." I moaned as my eyes cracked open, and I saw a wrinkled bedspread beneath me. Blinking a few times, it became clear that I was in a motel room. Cheap art hung on the walls above a couch and a desk, and a few pinpoints of light sneaked in through the drapes. My stomach knotted when I saw the room had a second bed that had been slept in, but I figured nothing creepy had happened when I saw my saddle bag near the door. It sat there with a folded piece of paper on top. "Mister Windsong? Are you alright?" "Yes!" My voice was hoarse, and screaming didn't help my headache. "Sorry. Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be out in a few minutes. I'm good. Thanks." I didn't hear a response. After taking a moment to appreciate the fine taste in my mouth – sour with a hint of regret – I got out of the bed. My head spun a little, but I shook it off and walked over to my bag. I sat down and unfolded the paper. It said something like: -------------- Morning, Soarin', You know, you really should be more careful. There were a lot of important ponies there, and I wouldn't be surprised if one of them got a picture of you acting like an asshole. You're welcome, by the way. I ended up staying here overnight to make sure you were okay and to keep this stallion from taking you home. He kept saying you were his fashion designer or something. Total weirdo. You're lucky I didn't just leave you for him. Don't forget it. See you tomorrow, Captain. ~Fleetfoot -------------- I read it four times. She'd been very, very kind, and it made me rethink a few things. I wanted to get out of there, but I wanted a shower more. After a quick glance at the clock, I got in and let the cool water wake me the rest of the way up. It didn't take long to get my things together after that – my suit was folded up in my bag, still wrapped around the shot glass – and I checked out without any issues. I had half expected Fleetfoot to pay for the motel room, but I suppose that would have been too much to ask. Flying home was a drag. My wings felt heavy and wobbly. The sun felt like it was twisting a rusty nail into each of my eyes, but the world kept spinning whenever I shut them. I managed to stay on course, though, but it took me much longer than usual to get home. I stopped by a hayburger stand when I got back to Cloudsdale. The food was greasy and heavy and did a great job of absorbing the rest of the alcohol from my system. I ended up ordering enough for lunch and dinner and taking half of it back home. Stumbling in through the door, I heaved a sigh and started giving in to my exhaustion. With a stomach full of food and a head that kept pounding, I wanted a nap. I threw the food and my saddlebag onto the kitchen table and took a long, hard look at the couch in my parlor. It was tempting, but… 'Nope,' I thought. 'We're going to do this right.' I was still in a fog and ready to pass out, but I hauled myself up the stairs, down the hall, and into my room before collapsing on my bed. And to top it all off, I had a bad dream that night.