• Published 14th Jun 2016
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Operation Wonderbit - Prane



Orphans of Canterlot rejoice—the Wonderbolts are coming for a Summer Wrap Up visit!

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Chapter 5 – Rendezvous Point

Spitfire’s heart resumed its beat.

The two unicorns seemed preoccupied with her wax counterpart, giving her tactical awareness enough time to kick in. There were two ways out—a red brick archway through which she came in, and a similar one near the Wonderbolt display on the other side of the room. She could dash her way out, but with her luck she would run into some other demanding kids waiting outside. Surely the five lured away by Wind Whisper’s bravery weren’t the entire school trip assaulting Candledrops, and on top of that, the colt told her not to go anywhere. Staying here to be found later, however, was almost certainly going to end with a perfectly pleasant though painfully prolonging chat with Fancy Pants.

Spitfire didn’t have time for that. She sneaked to the darkest of the six corners and hid behind a wheeled platform cart.

“I’m not a colt, Fleur,” the stallion’s voice echoed across the room. “I have seen Spitfire on plenty of occasions—during the Derby, the last Grand Galloping Gala, the Equestria Games after-party… I shook hooves with her, even. Wouldn’t it be a tad petty of me to pose next to her here and strike faces or squeal in delight like a foal fan of sorts?”

“Which you are.”

“Which I am indeed!” he agreed and stepped between the figures. “Do get the camera ready!”

Spitfire assumed a low profile and froze. Blast! Couldn’t they just read whatever biographical nonsense had been put on the label and be on their way?

Fleur reached inside her Toity By Design saddlebag and took out a cutting-edge camera that, until this year’s Hearth’s Warming, would remain impossible to get anywhere outside Germaney.

“Alright, here it comes!” She peeked through the viewfinder. “I… guess? I’m not seeing anything.” She trotted to Fancy Pants with the camera in the pink grasp of her magic. “Is it the battery, perhaps?”

When the couple was busy inspecting the instrument, Spitfire grabbed a square sheet off the platform and threw it on her back. Glavia, who buried herself under the jacket didn’t mind the sudden darkness that enveloped her and didn’t protest, for which the mare blessed her in her thoughts. In what must have been the stupidest idea in the history of hiding in plain sight, she silently climbed on the platform and replicated the pose of the figure. Chest protruding forward, head and chin high, right foreleg set to a salute, and a serious glare to go with that. Getting into the correct pose was easy. Now to hold it without getting compromised.

Fancy Pants rolled the camera in his hooves. “The battery would be fine, it’s brand new. It seems to be on, and it’s set to Automatik as it should be… unless the manual lied to me… aha!” He looked at his wife with compassion, holding up a plastic disk. “The lid, dear. Truly, you’d think that one of the only two triple Cosmare Cover Mares would know how to handle it.”

“Oh, tais-toi. I was born to stand on the more demanding side of the camera,” she riposted and turned around, facing Spitfire for a second—but thankfully not noticing her—then walked away to get the best frame possible. “Smile for me, husband! And… voila!” She intercepted the lid sailing towards her and put it back on. “Hmm. Maybe you should have mustered an angrier glare to fit the picture. Just look at this Spitfire. She does look intimidating, doesn’t she?”

“They all do. Spitfire, Soarin, Fleetfoot. Clearly, the intent was to present the Wonderbolts not as celebrities or even athletes, but as those who are willing to protect Equestria should the need arise. An odd choice for the times of peace but it goes well with the message, don’t you think?” Fancy Pants said, tapping on the plaque. “And the quality is simply superb,” he added and took out a brochure out of his tailcoat. “Wonderbolts—checked. Come along, dear. There’s a lot more for us to see!”

Fleur, who in the meantime had leaned on the stallion’s back, waved at the real Spitfire. “What about the one over there? Don’t you want a picture with her as well?”

That was it. Spitfire was done for.

“Not necessarily,” Fancy Pants said. “That one must be from some older exhibition. Look, she doesn’t even have a flight suit! Some would say there’s little worth in meeting a Wonderbolt without their colors on.”

“Since when do you pay so much attention to what other ponies are wearing, I wonder?” Fleur asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Since I first saw you on the catwalk.”

“Aww!” She beamed with pleasure, but then immediately assumed a serious expression. She took a step back and placed her hoof on the stallion’s chest in demonstrative denial. From under a frown, she threw him a downhearted stare. “So what you’re saying is that you fell in love with my ensembles and not with who I am underneath? I knew it. You stallions are all the same,” she judged. She shot her muzzle at the ceiling, but her eyes, full of kittenish flares, were quick to escape back to her husband.

“Aren’t you in high spirits today!” Fancy Pants said as he pulled her closer. She didn’t resist. “What got into you?”

“Nothing. It’s just… I’ve been thinking about my career recently. About what I have achieved, and what I couldn’t have achieved yet. And I… I made some plans for the future.”

“What kind of plans, if I may inquire?” he asked, but met only with a cryptic smile substituting for a response. “Ah, spectacular. It’s a mystery. Do they involve me personally, at least?”

Fleur burst out laughing. “Oh, I certainly hope they do!” she chuckled and headed towards the exit. “Shall we, husband?”

Throughout her service, Spitfire had put her heart and soul into becoming a tough mare, as it was expected from a pony rewarded with the stripes. Part of that effort involved getting rid of all sappiness. To quote the former Captain of the Wonderbolts, now retired major Soot Squall: ‘Don’t burn your bingo fuel on getting nostalgic until the day is done and you’ve parked yourself back in the barn’. Right he was—losing focus was a dangerous thing both in and out of combat, and Spitfire was finding no place for sentimentality whether she was training, flying with her squad, or running the office. Right now, while she was standing still like a monument not made by pony hooves, and had only the criticizing gaze of her wax self watching her, she allowed herself a moment of weakness.

Those two unicorns were something special. It was near impossible to spot during meet-and-greets or galas of importance because of the unending game of appearances in which you could either win, or fall into social oblivion. Without the rules guiding them, however, they were natural in their behavior, casual but still decent and true. They were a couple first and foremost, and not just for the show, as some would assume seeing a supermodel mare next to somepony as outstanding as Fancy Pants. They had something that wasn’t included in the drill sergeant starting package.

Spitfire sighed, once again recalling Soarin’s advice. Sure, she would love to go out sometime, but as the many, many chance encounters in the likes of the one outside had proven, a Wonderbolt had rather slim chances of meeting someone interested in what hid beneath the costume. She wasn’t lonely—everybody got that? She wasn’t. But she would nonetheless welcome the company of someone alongside whom she could talk about other matters than flying or the job.

Maybe she didn’t put her heart and soul into her job. Maybe she traded them for it.

She shook her head and remembered she could stop saluting now. Her muscles wobbled when she stretched. Sweet Celestia, she got sappy fast. Good thing no one was watching.

Shortly after Fancy Pants and Fleur left the room, Chestnut popped up in the other entrance.

“Hello? Miss Captain Spitfire, are you here somewhere? Glavia?”

“Present and accounted for,” Spitfire grunted and left the platform, letting the sheet slide off. The uncovered Glavia had another of the mare’s pictures pinched in her beak. “You wanted them to have one too, huh? Good call, just for another day. I sure don’t need their love,” she said and walked to the filly looking around the room. “Well, well, just look what the eastern winds brought us today. Isn’t it the recruit who can’t sit still for five minutes straight?”

Chestnut crossed her forelegs on her chest. “Hey, I can sit still for a lot more than that,” she protested. “Think dinners! Dinners take longer and you have to sit until you’re done. It counts, and I can, so it counts. Ha!”

Spitfire added another note to her mental scratch pad: the understanding of sarcasm wasn’t a thing the ponies were born with.

“Yeah, whatever you say, hotshot,” she replied. “Where’s Wind Whisper? Have you met up with him, or did you find me on your own?”

The filly nodded. “I found him. Or, no, he found me, because I wasn’t really looking for him. It was a surprise-find, I think.”

The tone of her voice shifted into that of a mysterious informant met in a dark alley.

“Psst. He told me that he was looking for you, but not for real. He was actually doing that because some other fillies were looking for you and he said you didn’t want to meet them. So I told them I haven’t seen you, and that wasn’t a lie because they asked about me seeing you in the museum,” she explained. “And then they gave up and me and Wind were going to go back to secretly meet you here.”

She sprung up without warning.

“But then! Then they noticed that he doesn’t have his cutie mark yet and they asked him questions about what he’s good at. I think they were some kind of expresses on finding cutie marks because theirs were so similar to each other. Those of the three of them, I mean. The other two had a spoon and a crown which I think was super cool! The crown, not the spoon.”

That was one terrible sitrep if Spitfire had ever heard one. Too little facts, too much storytelling.

“And here you are at last,” Spitfire cut her short. “I take it that Wind’s on the move as well?”

“He’ll be here soon. He told me to tell you to maintain your position. But since you moved already… yeah. Kinda your fault.”

“My fault, huh? And who’s responsible for dragging me here in the first place?”

Chestnut shuffled her hooves in the awkward silence.

“Well?”

The filly sighed. “Alright, I’m sorry. I know I should have stayed, but I had to do something. I saw Mr. Soarin entering the building and I thought it would be a good idea to call for him, He’s the second most important Wonderbolt after you, right?” She trotted towards the display and to the figure of the stallion. “But I guess I just saw this guy as they were bringing him in. Huh. He’s not even like the real one when you look closer. So, yeah. I’m sorry,” she said and turned to Spitfire. “I don’t get one thing. Wind Whisper said that you were escaping from those schoolponies. Why?”

“I guess I wasn’t in the mood for answering the stupid questions they would throw at me,” Spitfire replied.

“But they all seemed to like you so much! Don’t you like when others think you’re important?”

“You know, sometimes I wish the Wonderbolts weren’t so popular. Sometimes I’d rather have the world forget about me and let me do my job in peace,” she admitted and sat in front of her figure. “The attention we’re getting isn’t as fun as most ponies think and after a while it gets annoying. When I fly, I fly because I’m good at it and because I want to do my part to keep this country running. But when I land, suddenly there are all those crazy ponies who want to have a chat, an autograph, or a photo. And they always ask the same blasted questions. ‘How was your flight?’ ‘Will you be participating during the next Derby?’ ‘What technique did you use this time?’ Shaking hooves, interviews, gala invitations… it’s a waste of everyone’s time.”

Chestnut sat beside her.

“I think… I think it must be nice to have so many ponies interested in you…”

“No. No it’s not.”

Spitfire gazed at her figure with contempt. Stunts like that were only making things worse. They were sealing her celebrity status in the minds of the pony folk—obviously, she wouldn’t have her own figure in Candledrops if that wasn’t the case. The truth was, Spitfire didn’t like the idea from the start and she agreed to attend a measuring session only when the Command issued the order. She was to quit acting offended, and accept the tradition of giving prominent Wonderbolts their figures.

What the Command failed to mention was that the first Wonderbolt ever depicted in wax got his statue after he met his end in a burning ship loaded with gunpowder. He saved six members of the H.M.S. Trailblazer’s crew before it turned into a giant pyre and condemned him to the depths of the South Luna Ocean. For his act of bravery, Captain Typhoon Chaser deserved every moment of admiration, those preserved in wax included, but every future Wonderbolt would get theirs statues because their predecessors had theirs. Even if the best they had done in life was winning a few races.

She heard a snivel.

Chestnut was in tears, her ears flopped and her composure suffering a meltdown.

“Hey! Hey, what is it?” Spitfire asked. She felt Glavia wriggling on her back, so she sat her under the other Spitfire. The griffon’s stare was also saddened. “No! You’ve had your share today, so be brave!” She leveled herself with the filly. “Hey, kid, talk to me! What’s the matter?”

Burdened by the weight of her sobs, Chestnut subsided into the floor and wrapped her wings around her crestfallen figure.

“I’m sorry! It’s just… it’s just this is my fifth year at the Orphanarium. There’s been a lot of nice ponies coming and going and talking with Doc Hugs about us, and sometimes choosing one of us to talk more or even to spend a special time at their homes. Sometimes they take us after that and we can have a new home and a new mommy and daddy. Sometimes they don’t, but that’s okay. It’s the first thing you’re supposed to learn when you’re an orphan, right? To not cry when ponies go away.”

“Is that why you’re upset? Did somepony chose you and then left you?”

“No one ever chooses me,” Chestnut whispered. “No one has ever been as interested in me as they are in you.”

Spitfire felt a sting of grief piercing her heart. She got it now. What was the saying again? One pony’s trash is another pony’s treasure?

“O-of course they are! Maybe they’re just not showing that because they’re not ready, or maybe it’s because… uhm, because…”

“Because I’m so different!” Chestnut cried out in ire. “It’s not fair! They all want a pony who’ll be just like them. They always want a unicorn, or a pegasus, or an earth pony. When they see me, they look away. They pretend they don’t see me. They laugh at the way I say words. They don’t like my wings. They are scared because my eyes aren’t like theirs,” she said, “I’m sure Wind and Glavia will get adopted soon, just like Crackdawn did. And Lodestar. And Verdant. They were all younger than me. And I’m older every year, and no thestrals are coming for me. Not one.”

Spitfire spread her wing over the filly. She hesitated. She wasn’t the hug-giving type and the Hurricane Academy had hardly any lectures on how to handle such situations. Truth be told, she could understand the wannabe parents who wanted their children to be alike them—such were probably much easier to adopt and to adapt to—but she didn’t want to leave the kid with nothing. She didn’t feel like feeding her with lies, either. The chances of getting picked up by thestrals in a city like Canterlot were rather slim, as aside from Princess Luna’s entourage and some among the Nightguard, there just weren’t enough of them in Equestria to give Chestnut a promising perspective.

Slowly, Spitfire wrapped her wing around the filly.

“We ponies should look beneath the surface more often,” she said, squeezing the absolute drips of softness out of her voice. “I’ve met a thestral in Saddle Arabia, you know, a guy with a beautiful voice. He would teach us those really old local songs and whatnots we would then sing by the campfire. We had a lot of fun, but when the fire was dying down, he told me exactly what you’re telling me now—that your kind gets the short end of the stick and that allegations against you are piling up wherever you go.”

Chestnut’s ears perked up. “Alle-what?”

“Allegations.”

“I don’t understand.”

Spitfire furrowed her brow. “It’s, uh—how to put it? It’s when someone thinks or says mean things about others but they don’t actually know if those other ponies are like that,” she explained. The filly nodded. “I know it’s rough to be a thestral these days, especially in Canterlot. But you mustn’t give up, okay? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, so try to make the best of it. Be good to others, be proud of yourself, and eventually others will start noticing how great little filly you are.”

“Great enough… to get adopted?” Chestnut asked wishfully.

“Maybe not anytime soon. Maybe not the way you imagine, and maybe not even by thestrals you’re waiting for. But one day—one day you’ll get your special time with some nice ponies and when that happens, they better not find you all mopey and cowering on the floor. So saddle up and flex those wings, recruit!” Spitfire said, eliciting a chuckle from Chestnut whose tears were only remembered in her wet cheeks. “And hey, here’s the deal. If you’ll ever get too old for the Orphanarium and I’m still captaining the Wonderbolts, go find me. If your flying is any good we’ll make you a real Wonderbolt. Or at least find something for you to do to make a living.”

“I’m a big pony, you know. You don’t have to promise me things you can’t give just to make me feel better,” Chestnut said and crawled from under Spitfire’s wing. She straightened up. “We have your old recurrent poster in the bedroom. You only take pegasi.”

Spitfire opened her mouth to assure that thestrals were indeed considered, but then, in an afterthought, she realized that talking about covert initiatives born from the cooperation with the Nightguard wasn’t the brightest of ideas. The project, so affectionately named after shadows and bolts alike, was rumored to have been scrapped—which, considering its secrecy, almost certainly meant it would be getting a go. Knowing for sure was above her pay grade, but if she had put two and two together well enough, then today’s briefing was going to shed some light on the matter. Or soak it in darkness, rather.

“We’ll figure something out,” Spitfire said with a shrug.

A happy chirp cleansed the heavy atmosphere. Too small to understand the dilemmas of the big ponies around her, Glavia was instead finding the labyrinth of a dozen legs extremely fun to traverse.

“So that’s you. And that’s Mr. Soarin and Miss Fleetfoot,” Chestnut said, nodding her chin at the figures. She walked to an ornate plaque between the Spitfires. “We talked about them, too. But what’s that?”

“Looks like the speech I gave when I was sworn in as the commanding officer of the Wonderbolts.” Spitfire chuckled lightly upon giving the words a quick glance. “Heh, I didn’t remember phrasing it that way. They said I got cheesy towards the end, but I liked it.”

Chestnut strained to read the first line. “B… bee… ca… bee-ca-use, at a g-gla… glan-cee? Glancie. Bee-ca-use, at a glancie—”

“Would you like me to read it for you?”

Disconsonanted by the overvoweling odds, the filly planked her head on the plaque. “Yes, please. I’m kinda not super good at letters and stuff.”

The message was carved in bronze with golden letters. Spitfire cleared her throat.

“Because, at a glance, this is exactly what we are: a group of pegasi with strong wings who happens to fly well.

But we have to aspire to be more than just acrobats. We should, in a manner of speaking, spread our wings further and beyond race tracks, because we are tasked with protecting Equestria first and foremost. We are tasked with making sure that our country stays safe for the sake of us all. For every mare, for every stallion. Every earth pony, unicorn, pegasus, and anyone else who finds themselves in need. For every adult and for every child, we, the Wonderbolts, will be there when you need us.

The greater the wing span, the greater the responsibility for those resting underneath.”

Spitfire whistled. “Wow. I actually wrote the whole thing myself.”

“It sounds like all those things Doc Hugs tells us when he wants us to be nicer. He also talks a lot about respossibility,” Chestnut said, then turned a pleading expression at the mare. “Miss Captain Spitfire? If I’ll have nowhere else to go, and I’ll find you, and you’ll make me a Wonderbolt… could you please make Wind Whisper one as well? His wings are bigger than mine and he really wants to be a Wonderbolt when he’s older.”

“Am I hearing things? You want him to be on the same team after all the fighting you had today?”

Chestnut’s cheeks crimsoned as she cast her gaze downwards. “I guess I was just angry at him because last week some ponies talked to him. They didn’t choose him for the special time, but they didn’t choose any of us. But he was talking a lot about them, and I didn’t want to listen to that because, well, you know,” she said. “I mean… Doc Hugs says I should care about others, but why should I do that if no one cares about me?”

“Now, that? That’s definitely not true, miss,” Spitfire replied. “To not look too far—did you know that when you ran away, Wind Whisper came looking for you first?”

“He came after me?” she asked, her eyes growing wide. When the mare nodded, her blush deepened. “And after I was so mean to him! I know I wouldn’t come for myself if I was also him.” She sighed. “I’m a not-okay pony. After today, he probably won’t talk to me ever again.”

Spitfire threw a glance over Chestnut’s shoulder and cracked a smile. She gently turned the filly around.

“Only one way to find out, kid.”

Wind Whisper blasted into the room and looked around nervously. After he spotted Spitfire and Chestnut, he heaved a sigh and trotted towards them with a colored leaflet clenched in his teeth.

“Wind!” Chestnut exclaimed. “You’re back!”

“You made it, too!” he replied. “Sorry it took so long, Miss Spitfire! Those ponies that were chasing us? They’re from Ponyville. They help others find what they’re actually good at so they could get their cutie marks sooner. They even gave me their guide. Look!”

“And all I got was a cryptic firebird,” the mare said, grabbing the leaflet. “Speaking of birds, now that we’re all here, I’ll go get Glavia. In the meantime”—she looked upon the foals—“I feel that you two have something to discuss.”

She walked away to give the two kids some privacy and space. She wasn’t their mother, and now that they were both safe and sound, she didn’t feel like solving any more issues for them. As she reached out to get the fun-having Glavia from under the other Spitfire’s chiseled legs—wow, either she was like that, or they really gave her figure some improvements—she stuck her eyes in the leaflet. Before her was a list of the most common mistakes made by those seeking their cutie marks. She read the first sentence about something but she learned nothing, then read another but couldn’t repeat it either, because of course she was busy eavesdropping on what the two orphans were talking about. She had allowed herself to be a sentimental sap today before—she might as well go all the way.

“Uhm, so, hi again,” Chestnut said, shuffling her hooves. “Did you read anything interesting in that thing?”

“A few cool things,” Wind Whisper replied, avoiding the filly’s eyes.

“So… Miss Captain Spitfire said y-you went looking for me?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t just leave you. I mean, the last thing Miss Spitfire told us was to stay there, but that was before she went for Glavia. When you ran after Mr. Soarin, I was thinking what was more important: to stay like Miss Spitfire said, or to make sure you’re alright on your own.” He unstuck his gaze from the ceiling and flashed a sheepish smile. “I decided to go because I can’t get into the Wonderbolts for just listening, right?”

“You said it! And thanks for coming after me. I appreciate it,” she replied and winced. “And… I’m sorry for all the things I said earlier. I was mean, and being mean is not okay. I’m sure you’ll be a great Wonderbolt.”

“I was mean, too. I know that you have trouble reading, but you’re also getting better. And you can count on me if you’ll find something difficult. I’ll help you,” he assured. “Because, you know, I’m only good at maths thanks to you. So… yeah.”

“Yeah,” Chestnut replied. “Kinda cool to know it, too.”

“Totally.”

“Nice.”

When words no longer sufficed, the ponies turned at Glavia’s joyful squeak. Spitfire promptly looked away so that they wouldn’t capture the satisfied, dreamy smug she had on her face.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Wind Whisper said. “Doctor Hugs told us to take care of Glavia today and we almost lost her. We probably don’t deserve to get back to our spots on the list.”

“Fine by me,” Chestnut replied with a shrug. “If we’re both at the end, that means we’re both together at the end, and that means in a few months we’ll be getting the first read two weeks in a row.”

“Hey, that’s awesome! Maybe we’ll even get that when the Winter two-parter comes out!” He beamed with excitement and moments later was already bouncing up and down in glee. “Awesome, awesome!”

Chestnut laughed, joining in with a big grin of her own. When she suddenly stopped, the other pony froze as well. She took a step, stood muzzle to muzzle with the colt, and put her hoof on his shoulder.

“So… friends again?”

Wind Whisper nodded, welcoming the hug.

“Friends. Always.”

Author's Note:

Hello there! Thank you for reading my story. I am no longer writing pony fiction, but if you want to support my current creative endeavor, check out my content on Twitch! :raritywink: