Sensation - Fire Streak

by Vivid Syntax

Spark

It was supposed to be my day.

At first, everything was perfect. The guys and I were in the Wonderbolts locker room in Fillydelphia's biggest stadium. It reeked. It always reeked, no matter how much they tried to clean it. It smelled like blood and sweat and everything that went into a great show. I ate it up.

Not… literally ate it, just… Shit. Lemme start over.

The Wonderbolts' stallion squad mumbled and laughed anxiously behind me, pacing around and doing whatever they could to calm themselves. They were nervous. I was nervous. It was my first show as lead flier, and with the recent shake-up on the roster, everypony had been on edge for days. The whole team felt like it would shake itself apart.

But I couldn't let that happen. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let Soarin's words echo in my head. 'The team needs focus. They need a leader that'll get them back on course, somepony they can respect that's going to give them support when they blow it, like you did with Cloudhoof last Saturday. I can't. Right now, it's on you.'

He'd been right. The team had needed me. They'd needed every bit of me, until I'd felt like there was nothing left to give. We'd trained all week to master new stunts and perfect our formations. We worked ourselves to the bone, and I'd been there every step of the way, doing everything from managing extra practices to being an arbiter when tempers inevitably flared. We'd poured everything into our practices, and we knew what was on the line. This show would make or break the team, and even more than that, it would make or break my reputation as a leader.

But I was going to be perfect. I was doing it for them. I was doing it for Soarin'. And I was doing it for me.

This was it. Friday night. Locker room. The air buzzed with that electricity you can always feel when the crowd is out there, cheering at the warm-up act. Their hearts beat fast, but yours beats a million times faster, because you know one thing: all eyes are gonna be on you. I stared at myself in the full-length mirror, blue spandex clinging to my body. It was a brand-new flight suit, and even if it looked the same as everypony else's, it was different.

Why?

Because it was made especially for Number One.

I locked eyes with myself in the mirror. My piercing, sky-blue eyes. My cream-colored fur barely showed through the flight suit, which flaunted every tight muscle of my streamlined body. My giant, billowy orange mane with the cream-colored streaks had been gelled back to minimize wind resistance, and my long tail thrashed behind me.

My breaths were shallow. My eyes were narrow. I looked at the pony in the mirror and said in a low voice, "This is it, Streak. It's all you." I pointed a hoof at my reflection. "These stallions? They're your stallions. Every mistake is on you. It's all on you. Soarin' isn't here anymore."

Almost nopony knew what had happened. Nopony outside the Wonderbolts, anyway. The official story, the one we'd sent to the media earlier that week, was that Soarin' had the feather flu. We'd been under strict orders to keep the real story to ourselves: Soarin' had been off his game for weeks, and our manager Bottom Line had finally cut him from the roster. He hadn't been fired, no, but we knew what it meant. We all knew: he might never make it back onto the team.

Soarin' had been completely blindsided, and it had showed. He'd looked sick walking out of Bottom Line's office that day, sick enough that I started flying after him until Spitfire caught up with me. She'd just said, in her usual, raspy voice, "Congratulations, Fire Streak. Your week just got a hell of a lot busier."

I didn't even ask what she meant. I tried to push past her to go after Soarin', to make sure he was okay, but Spitfire stopped me. I argued with her about how he was my best friend, how he needed somepony to be there for him, but she forbade me from going. Captain's orders. Of course, she knew what I didn't: that I'd been selected as Soarin's replacement. Soarin' was… explosive in those days, and she didn't want to risk him going off on me.

Spitfire didn't explain anything else before flying off to make sure Soarin' didn't… I don't know, off himself or something. Instead, she sent me to Bottom Line's office, where, in the span of a few seconds, I experienced both the sheer levity of complete exhilaration and the utter gravity of absolute guilt.

Soarin' came back the next day, after he'd calmed down a little. I don't know what had changed, but he was more focused. Knew what he had to do, I guess. Over lunch that day, before he left, he told us he was going to chase some tail out in the middle of nowhere. Well, no, that's not fair, I guess. It was more than just a lay. This Braeburn guy had really gotten to him. It made sense later, of course. Soarin' was head-over-hooves for him that first day he came back, and I don't think I've ever seen anypony convince Bottom Line to reverse a decision before.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

On Friday night, all that mattered was that Soarin' was out of the picture. It hurt to know my best buddy wouldn't be there to see my big break, but I knew he'd be proud. In the four days since he'd left, I'd taken the reins. I'd seen the squad through the initial shock of Soarin' being cut, and together with Spitfire, I'd gotten the team back on track. This squad belonged to me.

The New Number One.

I nodded at myself in the mirror, staring myself down and daring myself to flinch. But I wouldn't. I wasn't going to go crazy and act all goofy in front of the others like Soarin' always did before the big shows. No, I had to make my own way. I straightened up and loudly cleared my throat, and the locker room behind me went quiet. I pivoted slowly, methodically. Soarin' was always brash. I was going to be reserved. Direct. I took a deep breath of that salty, stale air and shouted, "Stallion squad! Assemble!"

They snapped to attention and lined up right in front of me: Wave Chill, Silver Lining, Stormfeather, Blaze, and Windskipper. My team. I liked it. I loved it. My whole body tingled, and I fought to keep the smile on my face to a confident smirk. Slowly, I turned my head left and right, surveying them. They were in perfect formation.

I nodded. "It's been a rough week, Wonderbolts. The hierarchy's shifted. A lot has changed. Life's uneasy, and it's a tough reminder that any one of us could be cut at any time."

They stayed still, but I saw a few eyes shift, especially Windskipper's. He'd been called up from the reserves to take my spot when I'd cycled up to lead flier. This was his first big show, too, and the little twitches made it obvious what was on his mind. That's all it takes, really – we're trained to be still, but you can always tell when somepony's starting to freak out. 'Good,' I thought. 'He should be nervous.'

I flared out my wings and stomped a hoof. "But that's why we're the Celestia-damned Wonderbolts! This is not the worst our organization has suffered, not even the worst this squad has suffered. Yes, we're all on edge," I shouted, pointing a hoof out the door, "...but that audience paid good bits for a show, and shake-up or no, we're going to give it to them. Isn't that right?"

"Sir yes sir!" It was weak. Weaker than it had always been with Soarin'.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that all you've got? Try again!"

The puffed out their chests a little more. "SIR YES SIR!"

I smiled. "There we go!" Snorting once, I slowly turned my head left and right, making eye contact with each of them. "Now, I don't have to tell you how big this show is for me, but it's big for you, too. Tonight's the night we show them. We show them all what we're made of, and we show them that the Wonderbolts are stronger than any individual member. We're a team, and tonight, we're gonna be perfect. Do I make myself clear!"

All together, they drew in a sharp breath. Their blood surged through their veins. Their wings itched. They were ready. "SIR YES SIR!"

I knew what they were feeling, and seeing them all ready to go made my adrenaline spike a hundredfold. It took all my focus to keep my voice from cracking. "Stallion squad, salute!"

Five stallions stomped in unison. Five hooves snapped up to meet five foreheads.

"Stallion squad, scramble!"

Wings beat. Little flecks of dust kicked up in the room, and you would have thought a tornado was about to tear the place apart. They felt it. I felt it. I crouched down, and they crouched with me in perfect formation. I slid my brand-new goggles over my eyes, and they did the same. The Wonderbolts. My Wonderbolts.

I leapt into the air, giving them one last glance. "Let's do this!"

"SIR YES SIR!!!"

And as Celestia as my witness, we did it.

I can remember the way my heart beat. It was loud, and I could feel the blood pulse all over my body. It throbbed from my hooves to the tips of my ears, and it only got stronger as the announcer boomed over the speakers in a rich, full voice, calling out each Wonderbolt in turn. "…the newest stallion on the team! Give it up for Windskipper!"

I was on a platform backstage, high up in the light fixtures, hidden behind a large curtain. I got to enter in on center stage. It was my night, and at that moment, the reality of it all finally hit me. I was dizzy, and I thought I would puke. But I steeled myself. Terrifying as it was, it was everything I'd always dreamed of, and I was going to make it perfect.

"…the stallion that's cool as ice and fast as a comet, Wave Chill!"

The crowd lost it again, cheering for Wave Chill as he made his entrance from over the rim of the open-air stadium.

My heart stopped. Wave Chill was the last one before me. It was time.

"…and leading the charge for the stallion squad! The Fiery Comet! The Flare in the Sky! The Brave, the Handsome, the one and only…"

Crouched down, I laughed and shook my head. 'Jeez, get on with it!'

"…give it up for Fire Streeeeeeak!"

One thought. 'Go!'

My body knew what to do. The curtains parted, and like a cannonball, I launched forward, wild and direct and surrounded by the large boom of fireworks set up just for me. The edges of my vision shone like I was in the middle of a solar flare. I didn't breathe. I didn't need to. I was there. I was performing. I was leading the Wonderbolts.

And the crowd loved it!

The roar was deafening, and those faces… I can remember every single one, from the pudgy filly in the front row to the disheveled adolescent colts in the cheap seats to my parents in the skybox. My mom was crying with her eyes open. My dad's mouth was gaping open in the widest smile I'd ever seen, and his forehooves and face were pressed up against the glass, trying to get just a little closer.

I didn't let them down. My wings buzzed, and as I dove down and arced back up just before I hit the crowd, I activated the contrail pack by clicking my rear hooves together. A fine mist that smelled like vodka trailed behind me, but I barely noticed. I barely noticed anything at all. I didn't need to flap my wings – the cheers of the crowd lifted me up, stronger than the winds of the skies or the gravity that tried to drag me down. I didn't need to think. Everything was natural, I arced forward and upward, and every cheer and scream of my name rang in my ears, drowning out the hissing of my contrail pack behind me.

I smirked to myself as the scene in front of my eyes went orange. The technicians had lit my contrail as I crested above the upper level of the stadium, and a hot whoosh flared up behind me. The audience gasped, as if all the air was escaping, burned up in the fire that propelled me higher. It only lasted a moment, but it might as well have lasted a lifetime.

I was more than a Wonderbolt that night. I was awe. I was spectacle. I was the burning inside your heart that pushes you harder than you ever thought possible. I was fire. Fire incarnate. I'd made them feel so alive, and the show had only just begun.

In a weird way, the show was the easy part. I wasn't even really the leader once the lights and the eyes were on us. Sure, I'd drilled the routine and the attitude into them all week (once Soarin' and Spitfire had drilled the right attitude into me), but once the curtain came up, it was out of my hooves. We didn't need somepony shouting orders or critiquing our flying. We were professionals, and despite all the fears about what the hell Soarin' was doing or who might be cut next, we trusted each other.

I don't even remember the show as a complete whole. It was more like a series of moments: adjust a wing slightly here, pull up there, down a flask of water backstage between sets…

And the faces. Bro, I can't begin to tell you about the faces. I think that's what I remember the most. Just lit up, every single one of them, burning with excitement as we perfectly laced the stallion and mare squads together mere inches from the stage floor.

And then it was time for the big finale.

Fire Streak and Spitfire. The two lead fliers, pulling off the most dangerous stunts. Together. Aerial twists, near-misses, cheers, roars, and finally, the big one: the Pyre Spiral.

The rest of the 'Bolts flew in a perfect, clockwise ring just a few meters above the audience. The air began to churn, and suddenly, two spotlights flared to life: one pointed at the back of the stadium along the rim, and the other towards the front. Towards me.

Spitfire dove from her spot, and I matched her from mine. The wind tore at my face as I pushed myself to fly faster, even as every muscle in my body screamed for relief. We both dove under the ring of Wonderbolts and arced up and forward at the same time, jerking our wings back and heading straight for each other, closer and closer and closer, until I could count her eyelashes. The audience gasped and readied themselves for the crunch of broken bones, but just as they flinched, I saw Spitfire's wing rotate back at exactly the same time as mine.

There was no distance between us. We locked forelegs, and yes, at those speeds, it was absolute suicide. We didn't care. We each clicked our back hooves together again, and the contrails hissed out of our suits: an orange cloud behind me and a yellow cloud behind her. Our wings beat perfectly in time, and we each tried to fly up and a little to our left, causing us to spiral directly upwards. Above all the noise and the whooshing air, I could hear her breathing and feel her raging heartbeat, and the G-forces threatened to tear our forelegs off.

But we rose, higher and higher, until we'd cleared the top of the stadium. At just the right moment, we let go, and the real trick began. I flew just a little higher while Spitfire veered to the side. Suddenly, I jack-knifed back, then zig-zagged four times in a wide arc, the contrail still leaking behind me. I flew towards the center, then made a wide semi-circle and missed Spitfire by just a hair when she dashed below me.

I took as deep a breath as I could. 'And now the hard part.'

The lights in the stadium cut out all at once. The audience screamed, and the technicians lit the bottom of the contrails on fire. A great light engulfed the stadium below us, and I flew faster, repeating a reflection of the same pattern on the other side. The yellow and orange fire raged upwards, closer and closer and closing in on the still-active contrail pack on my hooves. I didn't think about what would happen if I couldn't pull it off.

My wing cramped, but I gritted my teeth and flew through it. Another wide-arced zig-zag. The fire was getting closer. Closer. 'I'm not going to make it,' I thought, pushing myself harder. The fire, like a spike of heat and rage, grew larger and raced upwards toward us. I held my breath, closed my eyes, and prepared for the worst…

Art by AkatsukiBritt

…but it was perfect. I opened my eyes as the fire licked at my hooves and the contrail pack was exhausted. In the flash of light, I saw Spitfire dive out the opposite side of the cloud of gas as it was all consumed. There it was: the Wonderbolts logo, a yellow lightning bolt with orange wings supplied by yours truly, blazing in the sky. It lit up the entire stadium, and a wave of heat crashed onto my back as the audience cheered louder than I'd ever heard them before. We'd done it!

Tiny lanterns guided us down to the stage, and when I landed, I thought my legs would give out. I was shaking so hard my teeth were chattering, and even though I was drenched in sweat, I wanted to start the show all over again. I couldn't see a thing, but the stage managers got us off stage and to the back hallways without too much trouble. I was one of the last ones out.

How can I describe what it felt like, walking backstage? I guess I'd just have to go with, "everything." It was light and heavy at the same time: my whole body burned with excitement and joy and adrenaline and the feeling like I'd actually accomplished something. I was Number One. I was the leader, the Wonderbolt that the other Wonderbolts looked up to, and we'd come out of it without a hitch. I didn't have to worry about getting cut or whether I'd be on the roster the next week. Bottom Line would never cut me after that performance.

I walked out into the barren, white hallway backstage, and I was so lost in my head that the cheering hit me like a mid-air collision.

"Whoooo!"
"Good job, Streak!
"Shit, dude, that was intense!"
"Bro, I want your autograph now!"

I was surrounded by my teammates. My friends. The stallions and the mares were all around me, giant smiles plastered on their faces as they piled onto me and raved about how well it'd gone. Fleetfoot gave me a double-hoof bump. Windskipper bounced all around. Blaze gave me a noogie and a slap on the ass. All but one of the 'Bolts was there, cheering with me. It felt like it lasted for hours, and it felt amazing.

Wave Chill bumped me on the shoulder and jerked his head to the left toward two more pegasi: a cream-colored mare and a bright yellow stallion. My parents. He said, "We're hitting the bars after the press conference, and you better believe we're making you come with us. We're getting you hammered tonight, bro!" He winked at the rest of the gathered 'Bolts, who cheered again. "Hope you're ready, captain."

That last word set fire to my heart all over again. No, I wasn't really the captain – even if Soarin' wasn't there, he still had his rank – but the fact that Wave Chill had used that word, and the fact that nopony called him out on it… They accepted me as their leader. They were okay with me taking the reins. I had a future.

I felt like I was glowing. A wide smile spread across my face, and I nodded stiffly, saying, "Wouldn't miss it."

After a few more hoof bumps, the rest of the 'Bolts headed to the locker room, complimenting each other and giving each other a hard time for even the most minor mistakes. Everypony was laughing and having a good time, though. They knew they'd done a great job.

In that cramped hallway, my mom was crying, and my dad's chest was all puffed out. He looked like he was on the edge of shedding a few tears himself. As for me? Well, no comment.

Just… pride. There was so much pride in that hug the three of us shared. I'd made them so proud, and I felt so lucky to be their son. I'm sure Soarin's talked to you about his problems with his folks. Not everypony has as close a family as I do, and having my parents there to see me on my big day was unlike anything I could have imagined. I'm so thankful they got to see it.

Mom gave me about a million kisses, and my dad hugged me tighter than ever, and she asked if I could have a late meal with them. Dad saw my hesitation and the twinge of guilt that bounced around my stomach, and he reminded my mom that I'd made plans with my teammates. "We should let him have his night. He certainly deserves it." I promised to visit them the following weekend. We had Friday and Saturday night shows back in Manehattan that weekend, so I'd be able to swing by their place pretty easily. Mom didn't want to wait that long, so we agreed to have dinner on Wednesday, too.

They took off, and I took a moment to breathe, maybe for the first time since the show. I cast a quick glance around, then snuck back to the stage. Just for a bit. Just to take a peek. Ponies were still filing out, and I just sat there, watching. Their faces, bro. Every single one had a giant smile. For a moment, I was calm, but…

"Ya' know, I did the same thing at my first show." Raspy, but feminine.

I leapt into the air and whipped around, wings ready to jet me out of there. Spitfire had snuck up right behind me. I took a deep breath and floated to the ground, taking in an eyeful. She still wore her flight suit, but she'd removed the hood, and her yellow coat and orange mane contrasted starkly with her blue clothing. I admit, I'm still a little jealous of her. Her mane screams "fire" a lot more than mine does. It's got a great mix of orange and yellow, both bold like her, and she's got the wild auburn eyes to match.

I tensed up and gulped. We called her the "One-Mare Firing Squad" for a reason. Spitfire had made the team what it was by sparing nopony's feelings. When you screwed up, even the slightest bit, you heard about it, and my mind raced with all the little adjustments I could have made during the show to make it flawless. Feeling small, I saluted and said, "Yes, ma'am." I steeled myself for a tirade.

But I didn't get one. Instead, Spitfire adjusted her pose, relaxing and leaning heavily on one hoof. I hadn't realized she was even capable of slouching. She cocked her head back, narrowed her eyes a little, and smiled at me.

Spitfire. Smiled. At me!

I felt my eyes go wide, and she snickered. It sounded a little weird coming from her, like she hadn't had much practice. "Relax, Streak. I'm not going to open fire on you. Not quite yet, anyway."

"Uh…" I looked her right in the eyes. They were softer than I'd ever seen them. The tightness in my chest disappeared and was replaced with a light flutter, and me, in my stupidity, could only say, "Okay. What's up?"

She took another step towards me. "Just wanted to say congratulations." She extended a hoof, and I shook it. It was firmer than any stallion's. "Hell of a show tonight, and I'm looking forward to working with you again."

I was stunned. It was all too foreign.

She laughed again, a little less awkwardly this time. "I can see you're still coming down. Better get yourself together, though, Streak. The media's waiting."

I perked up and straightened out my back. "Oh. Right!"

We left the backstage area and started back down the hallway. I didn't know how to make conversation, apparently, but Spitfire was happy to take the lead. "They really seemed to like all the pyrotechnics. Might have to do more of that in the future."

I felt my muscles start to relax. Talking about work is easy, at least. "Yeah. Civilians always eat that stuff up. I'm… I'm kinda surprised you never tried it with Soarin'."

Spitfire rolled her head to the side as our hooves clacked against the floor. "Soarin's got his own moves, but there's a lot that I wouldn't want to try with him." She cast a glance my way. "You've got potential, though."

I thought back to what Soarin' had told me before he'd left for Appleloosa. "Yeah, but he's–"

"No buts," she said flatly. She nudged my side, and her tone got lighter. "Soarin' would want you to celebrate and enjoy your big night. Don't worry about him. Tonight's all about you."

I felt myself smiling again, and as we reached the locker rooms, I said, "Thanks, Spitfire."

She winked at me. "No problem."

We split off outside the locker rooms, and I entered to another round of cheers and slaps on the back and on my ass. The guys wanted to make sure I was going out for real and that my parents weren't dragging me away.

I nodded at Silver Lining, who had his foreleg around my neck. "Hell, yeah. Wouldn't miss it."

"Good," he said, punching my shoulder with his free hoof. "'Cause you're getting mad pussy tonight, and I've got dibs on your leftovers."

The guys and I – that's what we were then, just guys – shared a laugh and a few more cheers, and we just kept talking. I cleaned up, put on my public uniform, and we lounged around the locker room some more, but eventually Blaze started pushing me out the door. "It's gonna be our asses if you miss the media interview. Spitfire's on me enough as it is." After a round of "Oooh!" from the peanut gallery, Blaze added, in his cheesiest tone, "Hey, who wouldn't want to feel the heat?" They guys all laughed.

"Keep dreaming," I said, chuckling and head-butting him lightly. "She's out of your league." I turned to the rest of the team. "Great work tonight, colts." With a salute, I added, "I'll meet you outside for a well-earned drink." I liked addressing them like that, and for once, nopony was trying to cut me off or crack a joke. I could feel their respect, and it felt like everything I'd ever wanted.

My head held high and my mane still a little wet from my shower, I walked out of the locker room. My heart kept skipping beats, but I calmed myself down by marching in time with the rhythm in my head. 'Left hoof, right hoof, one-two-three-four.'

A minute later, I'd reached the outside of the media room. I opened the heavy metal door, and the cameras started flashing. I was dazed for a second, and I felt my ears flick down. I told myself, 'Keep it cool, Streak. Don't let 'em see you sweat. You've already got 'em in your hoof.' I cleared my throat and stood up straight, and once my vision had cleared from that first assault of flashing lights, I saw the rest of the room.

It was a pretty standard media room. The walls were painted an inoffensive off-yellow, folding chairs had been placed in neat rows, and art with scenes of ponds and grassy hills hung in evenly-spaced intervals. The ceiling was that gross foam that always shows water stains, and the air inside felt stale in my lungs. A raised platform had been set up on one side of the room, and on that platform sat a table, covered in a cloth that showed the Wonderbolts logo. Spitfire sat there, wearing her uniform, her signature sunglasses, and a slight scowl. She nodded to the empty chair beside hers, and in no time, I'd joined her in looking out at a small sea of media ponies. There were a lot more of them than I had expected, probably double what Soarin' said they got after routine performances, but I chalked it up to it being my first show. If only, right?

There was a brief pause, and I glanced at Spitfire. She gave a little jerk of her head towards the audience, and I felt my tail flick back and forth as I realized I was still the one in charge. My smile broadened. I sat up, cleared my throat, and boomed in a clear but friendly voice, "Welcome, everypony! Enjoy the show?"

The room filled with stomps of approval. You can always tell when a crowd is being polite, but this wasn't one of those nights. My heart soared as I realized I'd managed to impress such a tough, surly audience.

Of course, they weren't just interested in the show.

Spitfire leaned a little forward as the hooves died down. "Alright, let's make this quick," she said in a direct tone. I cannot tell you how great it was having Spitfire there to keep the reins on them. "It's been a big night, a great show, and a long day." Spitfire smirked toward me. "And there's a lead flier here that probably wants to get to celebrating." The audience murmured a small laugh, and Spitfire pointed to a grey unicorn mare in the audience. "First up: you, second row."

The mare, in a brown beret and with a press badge around her neck, stood up. "Hot Press, Fillydelphia Times. First of all, congratulations on a stunning first show as lead flier, Fire Streak."

The audience stomped again – this time it was just to be polite – and I nodded. "Thank you very much. And… can I say something real quick?"

A few members of the audience nodded, as did Spitfire.

I took a deep breath and ran through the names I'd rehearsed. "I just want to say thank you to a few ponies. First of all, my parents, who've always encouraged me and been amazing role models and stayed up late while I whined about wanting to fly more. Yeah, they were really patient yesterday." Another polite laugh, though I did hear a snort somewhere in the middle. "Love you, Mom and Dad."

There was a collective, "Aw…" from the media ponies.

Before anypony could interrupt my train of thought, I went into it again. "Another big thank you to the Wonderbolts. All of them, from the trainers to my squad – especially my squad, they're the best I could ask for – to all our behind-the-scenes ponies and, of course…" I gestured to my right. "…our fantastic captains. They're the lifeblood of this team."

Another round of stomping, and as it died down, I said, "I could go on like this forever, but I'll spare you all the misery." I nodded at Hot Press. "Thanks for letting me hijack your time. You had a question?"

"Not a problem at all," Hot Press said. Her notepad and pencil levitated in front of her face. She smiled politely and asked, "So what was it like filling in for Soarin' on such short notice, especially given the circumstances?"

I chuckled. "Well, I certainly–"

Spitfire cut me off with just a slight edge to her voice. "The results speak for themselves, I think. Fire Streak put on a great show, first time or otherwise. I know Soarin's proud of him, and so is his whole team, especially me."

I involuntarily sneered, but I quickly covered it up before anypony could snap a picture. My head whipped towards Spitfire, and it took all my control not to shout, "What the hell? They were asking me!"

But something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Spitfire's posture was a little different. Her jaw was set tightly, and because I was close enough, I could see her eyes behind her glasses. They were scanning. She was checking out every reporter, and I could see the gears turning in her head. It was the same look she gets right before somepony crashes during practice.

I turned back to the reporters. Hot Press' face had crinkled up, and she looked back at me. "And what are your thoughts, Fire Streak?"

Spitfire cleared her throat next to me, and I took the hint. I needed to stick with neutral answers. I said, "She pretty much said it. I feel incredibly blessed to be flying with such a fantastic team. Next question? You, third row."

A brown earth pony stallion stood up next. "Snapshot, Cosmare Magazine. Question and a follow-up. First, what was it like finding out you'd be taking the lead flier position?"

"I…" I looked at Spitfire, who was stone-faced. "It was a shock, that's for sure."

"Why was that?" somepony in the audience asked.

'Hold it together, Streak. They don't need to know about Soarin'. This is your night.' I took a breath and responded. "Every single one of us spends our careers trying to prove ourselves. Few of us ever get the chance to really shine, and it was a happy surprise when I…" I paused and chose my words carefully. "When I was informed that I'd be taking the lead for this show."

I felt my cheeks flush. The room was getting warmer, and I carefully retraced everything I said. It felt like there were suddenly more camera flashes, but it might have been my imagination.

Snapshot raised his pencil. "Follow-up question: how did Soarin' take the news?"

My heart dropped into my stomach. We'd already told the media that Soarin' was sick, so that question didn't make any sense, unless… "Uh…"

Spitfire spoke loudly. "Soarin' is a professional. He understands what it means and doesn't mean to have very, very competent flier fill in for him for a show or two. This isn't the first time this has happened, and we all hope he'll make a speedy recovery."

Fill in for him. A show or two. She might as well have spat on me. I grit my teeth, and as she took a breath to say something more, I jumped in with, "And in the meantime, we've got tons of new stunts and visual effects for our audience. I've got a lot of ideas, and this is only the beginning." A reporter started to say something, but I kept going. "I think the audience really liked the pyrotechnics. We really nailed it tonight, didn't we, Spitfire."

Her eyes were wider. Not noticeable to most ponies, but enough to make me feel dizzy. Spitfire wasn't supposed to get shaken, especially in front of civilians, and that made me nervous, too.

Spitfire nodded firmly. "We're always improving, and there are always things we could have done better. Fire Streak's right, though, and while I can't disclose any information about our upcoming shows, I recommend you pay close attention to what we have in store. Next quest–"

"Gossip Weaver, National Equinerer." She hadn't been called on. "So really, where was Soarin' tonight? Inside sources have claimed–"

Another reporter jumped up and shouted, "Is it true that Soarin' has been dishonorably discharged from the Wonderbolts?"

The room erupted in flashing lights, shouting reporters, and furious scribbling on paper. I couldn't control my ears, and they flattened against my head. My shoulders sank, and my mouth hung wide open when I wasn't actively trying to keep it closed.

It hit me. It hit me hard. Spitfire had figured it out right away, of course, but it was just now dawning on me: somepony in the Wonderbolts had leaked information about Soarin'. Every single one of these reporters knew that something was going on behind the scenes of the organization, and they were here to squeeze as much information out of us as they could.

They weren't here for me. They were here for Soarin'.

I felt like my wings had been ripped off, like they'd turned to lead and separated from my body. I felt empty. I felt lost. I looked around the room, and as I stabilized myself on the table to keep from falling off my chair, the writhing mass of reporters shouted louder as security stepped between them and us. "N… No comment," I said weakly.

I slumped back into my chair. Spitfire started yelling over all of them to refer to the official release, and she kept saying things like, "Fire Streak has done a fantastic job so far, and the stallion squad will do great things under him," and "Streak, why don't you tell them about that new regimen you came up with?"

Bless her. She was trying. Spitfire knew what a huge day this had been for me, and she was trying so hard to give me what I felt like I deserved.

It didn't help, though. The media are like wild timber wolves: once they're on their prey's scent, they won't let up until they've hunted down every last scrap of what they're looking for. The questions about Soarin' kept coming. Spitfire kept trying to beat them back and focus on the show itself, but it didn't matter.

There were no more questions about me or the show. The press conference only went on for another ten minutes or so, and as it did, I felt myself shrinking smaller and smaller. I ended up looking down at a small stain on the tablecloth and focusing on it while Spitfire navigated their questions. I could already feel the limelight dying on me, like I was being crowded out by a pony – by my best friend – who wasn't even there. My thoughts kept coming back to, 'Was I… Was I not good enough?' Even when I was the lead flier, when I had picked up the pieces he'd dropped so spectacularly and when he was Celestia-knows-where, Soarin' was still the real Number One.

The conference wound down, and one of the reporters, a new guy from the looks of it, got to ask the same question that we always get asked: "Any final thoughts?"

'I wasn't good enough.'

Spitfire gave a tactful answer that came out loud and determined. The reporters were all listening to her, and so nopony saw the slight wetness on my face. None of them saw me quivering or saw the hollow look in my eyes, and none of them heard me whimper in a soft, low voice, "It was supposed to be my day…"

Comments

[WordGuru]

Love the artwork!

[Grekoy]

This writing...so beautiful.

[BeatenLover]

i think that waiting was worth it, its great so far!
I am looking forward to the next chapter.

[jxj]

Really strong first chapter. Personally, I'm not a fan of art in the middle of the chapter, but still a really chapter. I can't wait to see what you have planned.

[Vivid Syntax]

6748125

Thanks! Hope the quality holds up for you!

6748728
You won't have to wait any longer.

6749628
Thanks, jxj! I'm sorry you don't like the illustrations in the chapters as much, but, well, my story, my artistic choices. I think Britt did an excellent job with the picture itself, too. Hope you like the next chapter!

[JBL]

And the faces. Bro, I can't begin to tell you about the faces.

"Bro, I want your autograph now!"

We're getting you hammered tonight, bro!"

Their faces, bro.

Bro!
Brooo!
Broooooo!

Aside from that, looking forward to what you have in store for this story. Glad it's rated Teen as well -- no explicit sexy times to distract this reader.

[Nuka-Cola Guy]

That last scene... My HEART!

[rillegas08]

Found a typo

but the fact that Wave Chilld had used that word