1. Setting the Stage for a Night About Her
I adjust the Wonderbolts standard issue sunglasses so they don’t fall down my snout again. The silly things always feel like they’re ready to fall right off my face if I so much as turn my head too quickly.
That would just do wonders for my image. It’d be right up there with Soarin diving face first into a warm apple pie and his shades falling into the darn thing.
Which also totally happened once. I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life.
Ask Spitfire about it sometime. She loves telling embarrassing stories about her little “totally-not-my-boyfriend-we’re-just-friends-stop-smirking-at-us-Fleetfoot-or-you’re-flying-laps-’til-your-wings-fall-off.”
I don’t even try holding back my sniggering as I trot up the walkway toward Cloud Nine, the fanciest, most posh, expensive restaurant in all of Cloudsdale. For normal a regular Joe Schmo pegasus, you’d be lucky if you could get on the reservation list two weeks out.
Fortunately for me, I’m a Wonderbolt, and get a bit of special treatment.
I also put this in, like, three months ago when I finally managed to wheedle Daring’s birthday out of her. She tried so hard to play it off, it’s cute, really. Same as whenever she tries to keep secrets from me.
Every time, she gets this foal in the storm look in her eyes, looks down and away, and tries to give some half-baked excuse, all the while pretending so eagerly that she doesn’t have the most adorable blush spreading across her cheeks while she squirms beneath my almighty smirk and raised eyebrow combo.
I have it on good authority that my smirk-eyebrow combo should be classified as torture of an inequine nature by the Geneighva Convention. Spitfire said so herself.
Either way, I need to make sure my brilliant plan is in place. Her presents are ready—I made sure everything was cleared with Spitfire and the Wonderbolts’ brass before I decided on asking. It doesn’t matter if it’s on base or off, in Cloudsdale or not, I want this for us. Aside from that …
Well, I found a little something on our tour in Saddle Arabia that she’ll love. A little something from their culture that I’m sure she’ll love.
The doorcolt spots me. I sneak a quick glance around to make sure no pony is watching before I pull my hood back just enough so he can see my snowy white mane and lower my sunglasses to look him in the eye.
His ears stand straight up. He nearly trips over himself scrambling to the door and pulling it open for me, then bows his head low and says, “W-Welcome to Cloud Nine, M-Miss Fleetfoot!”
And this is why Wonderbolts wear hoods and shades when we go out in Cloudsdale proper and want to be left alone, mares and gentlestallions. As cool as it seems the first three dozen or so times, and as cute as it is watching younger ponies get starstruck, it gets tiring when you’ve got things to do.
For instance, making sure the fancy dinner reservation you’ve got in place for your beloved, adorable, squirmy, perfect pegasus of a girlfriend’s birthday.
That said, whoever is reading this has my full permission to tell my Darey how utterly adorable she is in all her adventure gear the next time she steps hoof on base. The one requirement is that pictures must be taken in my stead if I’m not present.
Seriously, the way she blushes is so worth it.
I step inside of Cloud Nine and can’t help but let my eyes wander. I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been to some pretty high end places while out on tour, but I’ll eat a lightning bolt and wash it down with a full gallon of liquid rainbow if Bastille’s family doesn’t know how to decorate a restaurant.
It’s breathtaking, really. In my completely unbiased opinion (shut up, I’m very objective and Soarin is a dirty, slandering liar if he says otherwise), Cloudsdale architecture is the tops. Figuratively and literally. Full stop, end of story, thank you for coming.
From what I’ve heard, the family closes the place up for two days each week. One day is to change the architecture a little bit, the other is so they and their employees can all rest and take a day to spend time with their own families.
Right now, Bastille has it set up to look like the ceiling is being held up by the columns of ancient Roam. Shaped and smoothed to perfection, like a newborn foal’s coat, and extending up to support the high arching ceiling’s weight.
To my left, I see a flash of rainbow seeming to pour down from the balcony above into a small pool. I can’t help but draw in a deep breath and swish my tail.
Liquid rainbow is an expensive decorative piece. Even though we pegasi are the sole producers, the bulk of it is strictly for weather purposes. Paying the factory to supply for a fountain like this must’ve cost a fortune.
As I pull down my hood and remove my sunglasses, I let my mind wander a little. Already, I can imagine the blush spreading across her cheeks.
It’ll be the perfect chance to kiss the end of her nose and watch her squirm.
Just have to figure out how to slip it in all casual like. Dear Celestia, I could pass as an evil genius.
Kinda ironic, since I’ve got the best friends a mare could ask for playing that very role tonight.
“Bonjour, Madame Fleetfoot! Comment allez-vous aujourd’hui?”
My right ear flicks at the sound of Bastille’s voice. I turn to face him with a smile and try to think back to my old Prench lessons. I really wish I’d paid more attention in secondary school. “J-Je suis bien, monsieur,” I reply with an admittedly terrible attempt at pronunciation. “Et vous?”
Bastille grins and waggles his ears. “I am well, Madame,” he says without missing a beat. “An admirable attempt at my language, I must say. Though you’re not supposed to pronounce the consonants unless a vowel follows.”
I duck my head, trying to ignore the burn making its way across my face. “I’m a bit out of practice.”
“Pas de probleme.” He waves me off. “How may I help you today?”
Straight to business, huh? I can’t help but wrinkle my snout. Not even a bit of playing around?
Spitfire would probably love promoting him over me, and pointing out how she likes a pony who knows when to shut up and get to work. Fillyhood friend my perfectly toned rump! She just lived for the chance to mess with me!
Naturally, she’s the most perfect best friend anypony could ask for.
I give a casual shrug of my wings, a sharp contrast to the sudden tightening in my chest. I really hope that wife of his didn’t think my request was a joke three months ago, or I might as well just pluck my feathers and take a dive off the edge of the city. “Nothing major. I just wanted to make sure everything was still in order for my reservation tonight.”
His eyes widen just a bit, a small smile spreads across his muzzle. “Ah, of course!” Bastille raises an eyebrow. “With respect, Madame, I do believe it would be rather difficult for me to forget. Although, I must admit, I was a bit surprised to see such a large number of ponies. My wife made it sound like you said Miss Do didn’t have many friends.”
Relief floods my chest. I let out a sigh and relax my wings. “It’s not quite that. She’s got a small circle of friends, but she normally likes to work alone. Not much of a team player unless the world’s on fire, know what I mean?”
“I suppose that makes sense.” He gives a slow nod. “Perhaps she misunderstood your wording.”
Either that, or I didn’t do a good enough job of explaining the totally awesome, yet deliciously adorable mare I’m dating. Whatever the case may be, it’s all going according to plan. Everything is on track.
Bastille, however, has something else on his mind. His eyes flit between the dining area and me, then he says, “I know it isn’t my place to say, but are you absolutely certain that you don’t want us to simply bring out our larger tables? It would make more sense, I think, than to have all the guests sitting separately …”
Uh oh. Looks like he’s not in the loop.
Oh well. I’ve got my reservation confirmed, so everything should be set to make this the best birthday Daring’s ever had.
Until the next one I plan, of course.
I could take a few minutes to explain my totally brilliant plan to reduce Daring to a blushing, squirming pile of mare as she tries to deny her nature as a complete, total, and utter lovey-dovey pansy.
She totally is, by the by.
Putting that aside for a moment (if only because I kind of have to), I move to Bastille’s side and threw a hoof over his shoulders. “Basty, lemme let you in on a little plan I came up with to get a certain girlfriend of mine who hates all mushiness and fancy things to go to a dinner party at the fanciest restaurant in the city …”
Sometimes I think my brilliance should be a crime against equinity. Really, it’s just not fair.
Forgive me if it sounds arrogant, but when you can make the old Prench stallion who’s renowned for taking things with little more than a small smile laugh so hard he has to hold himself up on the host’s counter, you’re doing something right.
And I’m not just doing something right. I’m doing something brilliant. All the military precision drilled into me by Drill Sergeant Typhoon back in basic is being put to use, along with more sass than the world has ever seen.
Just sayin’, Daring is doomed tonight. Doomed to suffer a nice party and a semi-public show of affection.
That said, I should probably have an escape plan ready. I love her dearly, but sometimes it’s hard to tell when she’s going to throttle me or she’s going to hug me.
The former is a real danger. We compared the number of martial arts styles we’d learned once. Just once. Apparently, Daring Do, adventurer extraordinaire, learned a wide variety of things I like to file under “crazy” in order to beat Ahuitzotl’s face into the ground or, alternatively, fold him like origami and combine that ugly mug of his with his hindquarters.
Go right ahead and let that image sink in for a moment.
In the meantime, I’ve got a little meeting with a certain bestest and oldest friend in the whole wide world on the docket.
Gotta make sure everypony’s on board with this, or I’m going to have a pony-shaped hole or two in this brilliant plan of mine.
And I just can’t have that. My plans are airtight all the way until Spitfire (or, in this case, Daring) gets red in the muzzle and starts cursing my name to the heavens in ways that make even Princess Celestia blush. After that, it’s up in the air.
Unfortunately, flying for my life doesn’t quite work with Spitfire anymore. There’s the whole “I’m her subordinate and she can decide my fate anytime she likes” thing working against me there, and Soarin (I swear they’re dating, no pony blushes and looks away that much when you drop a line about the other before spouting denials left, right, and center like that) sits there with that smug grin on his pie-eating muzzle.
Which reminds me of a joke I told a while back—oh, did I ever pay for this one! I can’t help but laugh at the memory. See, what I like to do is hint to Spitfire that Soarin might like to try a different sort of pie that begins with the letter “P” sometime, and hold back on saying “pumpkin” or “pecan” or “peanut butter” until she gets redder than a Red Gala, her ears perk up, her feathers ruffle, and that flame-looking tail of hers starts swishing. Stir the pot a little, set it to boil, and then get the holy hay out of dodge before Mount Spitfire blows her top.
Living on the edge is great fun if you can move fast enough to avoid getting killed or mutilated by your best friend. Though, again, having to follow orders takes a bit of the fun out of things.
Stupid Officer Candidate School.
I see a flash of yellow-orange and navy at the coffee shop ahead. She’s sitting in her spot, across from the pie-eating monster himself, at her favorite hangout in town. Neither of them have their sweater hoods up and their shades are clipped on their collars, an open invitation to come talk while they’re not eating.
We’re not near Cloud Nine, so it’s not like ponies will connect the dots. As long as Daring doesn’t find out through that crazy network of hers—she has one, I’m not joking—we’re all good.
The chance to swing by and buzz the pair of them is rather tempting, but I’ll resist. I can be a good mare every now and then, if only because they’re helping me out.
I lean back to put on the air breaks, landing a few pony lengths away from the small three-seater table. “Hey, guys,” I say, giving both a nod as I take my seat on Spitfire’s left, Soarin’s right. Leaning back, I prop my hind hooves on the table and laid my head in my fore hooves. “Reservation at Cloud Nine is all taken care of on my end. Everything a go on yours, Fire?”
Spitfire looks up from today’s issue of The Cloudsdale Chronicle and nods. “Main squad’ll be there, we plan to meet up a couple hours before so we can change our look a little bit.” Pausing to take a sip of her coffee, she returns to her reading, adding almost off-hoofedly, “Rookie’s down for her part and she said she got a couple of friends to agree to play the parts you asked so long as Bastille didn’t mind fixing a couple steak dinners.”
I waved her off. “Taken care of. Cloud Nine always welcomes griffons, and I figured they’d like a little something for their trouble. Plus it fits the whole ‘spy game’ thing if we have the meeting in a place the ‘bad guys’ can eat and be all villainy.”
Ah, Rainbow Dash, coming through for the home team as always.
I really oughta do something nice for her since she came up with an extra player to this little drama. Well, I owe the whole team big time. Especially if Daring blows her stack when we walk in on their little—ahem—play.
Idly, I recall a certain date we went on in Phillydelphia that went south rather quickly. Daring took me to a museum displaying one of her latest finds—I don’t remember which one, I was way too busy enjoying the way her eyes lit up and shone while she explained its history and meaning to the Sumareic culture—when Dr. Caballeron decided to cut in on what had been a rather lovely night.
To make a long story short, one of his little lackeys sidled up to me and spiked my drink. Next thing I know, I wake up in a warehouse, tied to a chair, and surrounded by Caballeron and his merry band of mercenaries. Something about revenge against Daring, usual villain spiel, we’ve dealt with a few like him on our “touring missions” to foreign countries. Unfortunately, I was still rather zonked out from the little drug cocktail his boy slipped me, so I can’t remember the finer details of his monologue.
What I do remember, though, is how pissed Daring was when she showed up. It was … well, even through the drug-induced haze, it was just about the hottest thing I’d ever seen this side of Daring in lingerie with her whip held in her teeth and a look like she and I are about to experience a little bedroom turbulence.
I’m not gonna lie, I’ve seen Spitfire and Soarin beat a few morons’ faces in, but I’d never seen a pony rip through twenty-odd mercenaries so quickly just to get with one suddenly sweating and stammering stallion. Nor did I realize a stallion could shriek in such a high pitch while Daring served him his own rump on a platter.
Ever heard a coloratura show off their vocal range and break glass with that crazy high note? That’s it. I didn’t know stallions could hit that note so well, but, boy oh boy, did Caballeron hit it.
Of course, that might have had something to do with the way Daring emphasized her—ahem—displeasure by bending his knee the wrong way, breaking it, and then trying her best to fold it until he passed out.
Like I said, this could go sideways rather quickly if she thinks it’s time to knock heads. Daring likes to say she doesn’t do romance, which I call horseapples on—her carrying me to the hospital to get checked out and staying at my bedside the whole time was the most romantic thing anypony had ever done for me.
Well, the most romantic thing this side of beating the utter stuffing out of Caballeron and company. I wonder if his knee’s healed up yet …
I digress.
The Bolts have my back on this, so I’ll owe them later.
That is how these things work. Everypony can say what they want about how much of a sassy little punk I am, but let it be known that Fleetfoot pays her debts in full.
Provided my perfectly toned rump is still in one piece after that.
I really hope she’s too stunned to kill me. Or at least long enough to give me a head start.
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I turn to Soarin. “So,” I begin, “you’re gonna keep Surprise quiet while we do this thing, right?”
He fixes me with a half-lidded stare. “Hmm, y’know, I’m awfully tempted not to,” he says, taking a deep sip of his coffee.
Is he serious right now?
He’s serious right now.
This lightning rutting little—
Why is he playing with me the day of? We have a deal. The deal is in place already, hooves were shaken, vows of silence made, the contract was signed in blood—okay, not really, but we all went out and got plastered afterward so it’s just as good as that.
By Wonderbolt Code of Honor (which is a thing), the only way to make this deal more ironclad would be for Princess Celestia and Princess Luna to have gone drinking with us and heard us discuss terms.
That would’ve probably been fun, come to think of it. I’ll have to save that for our next show in Canterlot …
Nonetheless, I can’t exactly dive across the table at him. I mean, I could, but it won’t work out. First of all, kicking Soarin’s butt doesn’t assure me that he won’t tell Surprise to go nuts.
Second, he’s a lot bigger than me. And stronger. And with our designated team mom-slash-Soarbutt-lover sitting right next to me, I am at a rather decided disadvantage here.
Time for extreme measures.
I bring my hooves together in front of my chest like I’m begging for food. “Soariiiiiiiiiiiiiin!” I whine piteously, giving him my best attempt at a puppy dog pout. “Come oooooooooooon!”
Either he’s a cold-hearted punk (doubtful, I’ve seen him with foals and he’s great) or I abuse my talents a bit too much, because Soarin just sniggers. “Oh, I’m sorry? Is this the same mare who called me fat in front of a line of recruits two weeks ago? The same one who put itching powder in my uniform before I had to go out and leave a big impression on the little punks who came in thinking they were hot stuff?” He turns to his totally-not-girlfriend-just-friend and asks, “Spits, is this the mare who did all that?”
I turn my pout on her, putting all my effort into making my eyes look wider and shine with tears.
Spitfire just turns to the sports page and wrinkles her nose. I’ll bet the Thunder Heralds lost to the dang Rangers again. “Sure is,” she replies, sighing as she turns to the next page. “Same one who put extra strength glue on my pen so it stuck to my hoof for two hours before our da—” pausing, she gives a little cough as she suddenly finds a rather interesting article to focus on while she tries to ignore the way her ear tips are turning red “—development program meeting with Nimbus and Sora.”
Wait. That wasn’t—oh yeah, that one was me.
Classic.
I blink a few times. Hang on, did she just say Nimbus and Sora? Those are Soarin’s parents.
The corners of my mouth pull into a broad grin. Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.
Spitfire folds the newspaper and slaps it down on the table, fixing me with a glare despite the bright blush gracing her cheeks. “Fleetfoot, if you say one word—”
“Not a thing!” I stand, unfurling my wings as I walk away. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a girlfriend to trick into her own birthday party. You two enjoy your coffee and all, see you at Cloud Nine.” I turn to look over my shoulder, give Spitfire with my most devilish smirk. “Oh, and Spits?”
She ducks her head. She knows what’s coming. We’ve been at this sort of thing since we were in flight school. “Y-Yeah?”
I waggle my ears at her. “Give my regards to your future in-laws! Soarbutt, take care of Cappie or I’ll have to sick her mom and dad on you!” Before either can even think to react, I kick off and take off like a shot.
I break out in raucous laughter as Spitfire’s voice carries to my ears above the rushing wind.
“FLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETFOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!”
Hot dang, I’m good.
Here’s the thing about Daring: she likes her privacy.
It’s kind of an odd thing to say given that she writes about her adventures and sells them, but she does.
I asked about that once. As it turns out, she doesn’t draw that much money from her finds and she’s not paid nearly as much as most professors—oh, I’m sorry. She’s a Doctor of Archaeology.
When I pressed for why, that cute blush colored her cheeks and my Daring Do looked down at her hooves, scuffing them against the ground. Apparently, she has a little bit of an attendance issue at the Royal Canterlot University. Half the time her teacher assistants have to cover her lectures because she up and leaves to go on some adventure for the Idol of Insert Culture Here. Normally, I’m sure that’s not a problem, but while I at least have the decency to slip ol’ Spitty-poo a memo saying “Gone for two weeks to kiss a hot archaeologist on the beach,” Daring has the tendency to go “Whoopsie daisy! I forgot!”
Needless to say, that doesn’t go over too well with the Dean.
I’m working on breaking that habit, though. No girlfriend of mine is going to lose her job because of a few flights of memory, especially when she’s so brilliant in her field.
And, in a far more selfish category, sad Daring means less playtime. Full-blown makeouts get tossed in the closet in favor of cuddling, pep talks, and little kisses on the cheek.
Not that that’s a problem, but I would prefer happy fun times to sad pep talks.
Really, what partner wouldn’t? It doesn’t make me a bad pony, it just means that I would immensely prefer her to be happy at all times. Both for her sake and mine.
Either way, Daring doesn’t like big crowds following her around. Conventions or archeology seminars are fine because she has advanced notice—kinda similar to how Rapidfire would rather take a crowbar to the face than get swamped with fans on his day off.
Random fans in the street? Well, she’s liable to freeze in place before bolting.
It was kinda funny the first couple times, but after the fifth date ruined because I didn’t give her time to change her manestyle or put on those ridiculous glasses and skirt, I realized that it was best to just take a loss on that front and let her put on her disguises.
Plus she looks cute in those disguises, so I’m really not losing either way.
But the thing about Daring is, as mentioned earlier, she has a lot of contacts. Her contacts have contacts. Her contacts’ have contracts, who, in turn, have contacts.
I can only assume that those contacts have contacts too.
She has a veritable network, it’s really impressive.
Anyway, I found this out after that little kerfuffle with Caballero. From what she told me, the minute she came back from the restroom and found a distinct lack of me being right where she left me, she put her network to work finding out if any of her enemies was in town.
Twenty-odd mercenaries and a stallion crying like a foal after having her hooves firmly embedded in their faces suggest that her network is quite extensive and good at what they do.
I swear, if she’s not in or at least connected to Equestrian Intelligence Service, I’ll eat my flight suit whole and wash it down with my goggles.
With that said, I kinda have to be careful here. Daring’s coming to town, as planned, but she’ll probably be a little late getting to my place because she “got lost.”
Cloudsdale’s a big city, but she’s been to my place enough times to know how to get there. It’s right by the dang base, for crying out loud! And I’ve seen the “getting lost” she does. Somehow it always involves talking with seemingly random pegasi in antique shops, Cloudsdale College, or Sky High Museum. Always a visitor, too.
Funny how that works.
Thing about that is, I’ve been organizing this for a while. And while I haven’t exactly been making Cloud Nine a regular hangout, I wouldn’t put it passed whoever-it-is-Daring-knows having caught me going in and out a couple times.
So part one of my brilliant, completely airtight plan is to find Daring before she manages to meet with her contacts. Or one of their contacts.
Come to think of it, Daring has too many contacts who aren’t my contacts. It makes keeping track of her way too difficult, and makes keeping track of me way too easy for her, which is just unfair.
I’ll have to work on that.
I fly up high over the city’s western landing, right on the outskirts of Little Istallia, and scan the crowd of ponies milling about. While wings and feathers are the norm, I can see quite a few earth ponies and unicorns among the throng—some, no doubt, here to see the beauty of our city, others having come to live here due to work or marrying into the flock.
Cloud-walking charms, talismans, and specially made thunderforge horseshoes are very helpful. And why not?
Our city’s pretty darn awesome, and I’ve got no problem sharing it with our wingless kin.
Shaking my head, I refocus. Finding Daring is key for this to all work properly. She likes to wear a set group of disguises whenever we see each other—makes it easier for me to keep track of her in a crowd.
It should also, in theory, make it easier for me to find her before she “gets lost” again.
I’m on a strict timetable here, honey bunch. We don’t have time for you to “get lost” today. So your contacts will just have to suck it up, because tonight you have a birthday dinner-slash-date with me, and I am not sharing. Well, except with the Wonderbolts and that friend Rainbow Dash is bringing, but that’s like bringing you home to see family.
My crazy, athletic, bound to get sloshed at this party family.
I cannot wait.
Now, where, oh where, has my Daring Do gone?
Given that this is April and we’re just starting springtime, I’m willing to guess that she’s gone for something light, but long enough to cover up her cutie mark.
Like a yellow sundress. And doing that pretty gray mane up in a ponytail in a way that makes her look about five years younger. And red-rimmed glasses.
Oh, hey, there she is.
The corners of my mouth tug into a wide grin, I give my tail a merry swish as I loop up and ready myself to sweep her off her hooves and smother her with kisses until she squirms and squeals. Because that is my right and I shall exercise it whenever I see fit.
And I see fit right now.
In short, target acquired.
After I clear the peak of my loop, I fold my wings against my sides and dive straight at her with my hooves outstretched. I might eat an elbow or three until she realizes it’s me, but it’ll be worth it.
The wind whistles in my ears. I see the crowd look up with wide eyes and scramble to get out of my way, leaving Daring alone in the middle of the street, just the way she hates it.
She stops walking and looks around. Her ears stand up straight as she slowly turns to follow their gazes. I see her eyes go as wide as dinner plates, her lips form the words “Oh no, not again!”
Oh, yes, my dear.
Again.
Her hooves slipping, she tries to scramble out of the way, but it’s far too late. I have her in my sights, I have all the speed I need, and I have the element of surprise on my side.
It also helps that she’s seen my face before I catch her, so now she’s slightly less likely to rearrange it. That helps things.
I let out a whoop as I slip my hooves under her legs and lift her clear off hers, pulling her up into the sky with me, holding her close as I spun her around. “Daring, Daring, Daring, Daring, Daring!”
Daring flails her hooves. “Fleetfoot!” she shrieks through her laughter. “Put me down, you crazy mare!”
Too easy! I stop spinning to hover with her as I smush my cheek against hers. “No!” I reply, taking the tone a stubborn foal would use when refusing to eat her vegetables. “My Daring!”
She sighs and lets her shoulders slump. I can feel the resigned smile on her muzzle as she rubs her cheek against mine. “Yes, your Daring. And my Fleetfoot.” There’s a beat of silence, then she coughs. “Now can we please land? We’re making a scene!”
But landing means I have to let go. Or that she can slip away or surprise me with one of her crazy flippy reversals. Both of those things take away the chance to smother her with kisses and make her squirm, which is totally on the schedule.
Letting out a little murr, I kiss her cheek and slowly bring us closer to the clouds. The things I do for love.
I release my hold on her when I feel the fluffy clouds beneath my hooves, but just long enough for her to get four on the cloud before I wrap my wing across her shoulders and pull her close against my side, drawing another sigh and knowing smile from her, along with that adorable blush I’d been so longing to see.
She said to put her down and stop making a scene, there was nothing about not being affectionate in that order.
Fine print is a wonderful thing.
Stealing another peck to her cheek, I lean up to whisper, “I missed you.”
Daring ducks her head and shifts in place. “Yeah. I, uh, missed you too.”
It should be a crime to be that adorable. Punishable by more teasing and kisses. I’m totally unbiased in my reason for thinking that, of course.
Doing a bit of quick scheduling gymnastics, I could probably fit in more time coaxing her into that dress and getting her to believe my little story if I cut out a bit of teasing.
It’s a heavy sacrifice, but it’ll work out in the end.
After a quick nuzzle, I draw back and school my big grin into a more stern expression. The same kind I get to use whenever the rookies screw up and Spits lets me drop the proverbial thunderhead on their sorry rears.
A rather big difference from my usual crabapples eating grin and mischievous look in my eyes, apparently, because Daring draws back and frowns. “What’s wrong?” she asks, concern flashing in her eyes. “You look like somepony kicked your puppy.” She brings a hoof up to touch my shoulder—Celestia, she’s too sweet.
It’s almost going to pain me to have to pull a fast one on her.
Almost.
She’ll forgive me later.
I close my eyes and let my head hang low, staying silent for a moment.
Barely above a whisper, I reply, “Not out here. I need to talk to you about something kinda … kinda close to home.”
Her hoof squeezes my shoulder. “Fleetfoot, honey—” She only says honey when she’s really worried. I guess I’m not half bad at this. “—you’re starting to worry me. Did you get in trouble with Spitfire again?”
There it is. The perfect opening to reel her in.
I fix a hurt look on my face—wide eyes, a frown, basically like mom just said I can’t have cookies before dinner—and look up to meet her gaze.
Celestia, those eyes of hers are gorgeous.
“No, but I think she and Soarin are about to be in a lot more trouble than they realize.” Slowly, I reach up to touch the hoof on my shoulder, squeezing it like I’m desperate for comfort as I ready to deliver my wham line. “I need your help, Daring.”
Her jaw sets, determination flashes in her eyes. “Anything you need, I’ve got your back.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
As I sit on my bed, trying my very best not to break out in a big grin, I have to repeat my mantra to myself:
I’m not going to laugh.
I’m not going to laugh.
I’m not going to laugh.
Really, I’m not. That would ruin the whole game, and I just can’t allow that.
But seriously, the look on Daring’s face right now is pure gold. I desperately need a camera. The way her snout is all scrunched up as she turns, looking from me to the beautiful gray dress I picked out for her as though it were a baby manticore and I’d just asked if I could keep it.
Daring brings a hoof to her forehead, no doubt she’s trying her very best to think of alternatives to this plan.
No, honey, you’re not getting out of this.
“Tell me again,” she says, closing her eyes and massaging the bridge of her nose.
I wait just a moment, playing up the sad mare delivery. “Where do you want me to start from?”
“The beginning.” Daring fixes me with a stern look. “I want to hear it again.”
She’s trying to see if I falter.
Well, then, Your Honor, if it pleases the court, I’ll repeat myself.
Sighing heavily, I nod. “Alright, then.” I hang my head and bring a hoof up to rub my shoulder. “A few months ago, Equestrian Intelligence Services started investigating a leak in our intelligence—“
“Stop there.” She raises a hoof. “First question, how the flaming hay do you know anything about that.”
I wince and let my ears droop like I’ve been trying to hold back a big secret and it’s coming out of the bag. Truth be told, some of what I’m about to tell her is real—all of it pre approved by Spitfire when I rehearsed this with her and Soarin.
Licking my lips, I look up to meet her gaze. “The Wonderbolts have always been connected with the Equestrian Army and Intelligence Services; if there’s ever a need for intel, we’re an option, especially for threats at home or in nations we’re trying to open relations with.”
“The show’s a distraction, and there’s somepony sneaking around?” Daring cocked her head to the side. “Kind of simplistic, but am I close?”
Incredibly simplistic, almost painfully so. But, in the most basic sense, yes. I nod once. “Yeah. It’s kinda like … well, did you ever hear that story about that one magician? Artemis Lulamoon or something—I forget his name, he’s got a daughter, I think—when he went to Yakistan?”
“One of the first Equestrian visitors in two hundred years,” Daring recited from memory. “It’s still tough as dragon scales to get through customs there.”
“Right. So you know that he pulled a little stunt during his ‘escape the box’ trick to go steal Yakistani Army intel?” At her nod, I continue, “Basically that when needed. It’s not too often, but we’ve pulled it a couple times on drug runners in Neighvada and Baltimare, and once in the Southern Griffon Kingdom during the tensions with the Northern Kingdom—that was a trip.”
She wrinkles her nose and steals a glance at the dress laid out on my bed, drawing back as if she expects it to leap off and bite her.
No, but it may try to swallow her in its confines so everypony sees just how pretty she looks wearing it.
That sounded weird. I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t think of it. Think of what? Exactly.
A shudder runs down her spine, all the way to the very tip of her tail.
Celestia, why is she so darn cute?
With a little huff, Daring turns to me again. “So, then how do you figure into this again?”
Oh, right. Story time.
I clear my throat. “Well, EIS approached me a while back and mentioned that they thought they’d found the security leak. Which, hey, great news, right? We can smack the moron upside the head, drag him off to prison, and see how much he’d sold to other kingdoms, everything should be good. ‘Course, I wondered why me too—same as you—and then …” I let my voice trail off, I look away from her and grimace. “Then they showed me pictures of Spitfire and Soarin meeting up with this griffonness and swapping files for sacks of gold. And these were some dang big sacks.”
Holding my hooves out about as wide as a melon, I add, “Think of about six of ‘em about yay big, and that’s what they were getting paid.”
Daring lets out a low whistle. “Dang. Don’t need to be a math whiz to know that’s a lot of gold.” With a shake of her head, she walks over to sit down beside me. She sighs and lets her ears droop. “So, you got the call from EIS and now you’re gonna burn your best friend and that boyfriend of hers you’ve told me about?”
“I don’t exactly have a choice. They’re selling state secrets to a foreign agent.” I hold my hooves out in front of me, close together like they’re bound. “My hooves are completely tied on this, Dare. Spits and Soarin have made their bed, and now I get to deal with the mess because I’m the go-between for the Bolts and the EIS.” Giving a fake laugh, I force a smile. “Lucky me, huh?”
She grimaces. “Luck is a word. Don’t know if I’d use it right now, Fleety.” Drawing in a deep breath, she runs a hoof through her mane, then wraps me up in a hug. “I’m sorry. It just came out of nowhere and … geez, Fleety, I had no idea you guys did all that.” Daring pulled back just enough to nuzzle my nose. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be on you.”
I try for false humor, as is my usual. “Kinda like when Rosetta Stone tricked you into helping her translate the rest of the Scroll of Whatchamacallit and passed it off to Caballeron?”
“That’s different. I knew Rosetta for three years before that, Spitfire’s been your friend since you were a filly.” I feel her lips brush against mine as they pull into a smirk. “And I rearranged Caballeron’s face for that one, too.”
“You rearrange his face all the time. It’s like saying Princess Celestia’s going to raise the sun tomorrow.” I pause a beat, then add, “But the time you did it for me was sweet.”
Smirking, Daring plants a quick kiss on my lips. Far too short for my taste. “I’d do it again, too.”
How very sweet.
And to think she says she’s not a—what was it? Ah yes!—mushy, romantic pansy.
She totally is. I mean, really, pummeling morons’ for drugging your girlfriend and then sticking by her side from the second you untied her all the way until about a day after doctors cleared her?
All I was missing was a bouquet of flowers and breakfast in bed.
Daring releases me from her embrace and turns to look at the dress again. Frowning, she pokes it with a hoof. “So … you’ve figured out that those two are meeting with their buyers tonight at some fancy shmancy restaurant?”
I bob my head. “Right.”
“And you want me to dress up and go with you because why?”
Ah, here’s where I’ll need to implement a bit more verbal gymnastics.
Clearing my throat, I give my practiced answer, “Because you’ve had a bit of experience dealing with some of this stuff before, so I could use any backup I can get.” After a beat, I rub my shoulder a little. “Also, Spits and Soarin kinda know that we’re dating—”
“You told them?” she asks, almost whining. Her ears lay flat against her scalp as she tries to make herself small.
Uh, why wouldn’t I? Hot girlfriend also happens to be a butt-kicking adventure-slash-Doctor of Archaeology, yeah, I think I might brag a little about that one.
“Well, yeah. I mean, Spits is my oldest friend and Soarin’s attached to the hip with her, and they’re cool ponies.” I feign a wince and slowly look down and away from her.. “Or … I thought they were.”
I flick my ear at the sound of her taking a deep breath. She’s thinking it over. I’m tempted to look, but this part requires complete and total devotion to the “reluctant Fleety spying on her friends and about to out them as traitors.”
And to be honest, I’m pretty sure she’s gritting her teeth as she takes one more glance at that dress, torn between her want to help and her hatred for fancy affairs, which’ll just kill me.
I hear her let out a groan before sighing. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll do it.”
Letting out a gasp, I whip my head around to beam at her. “Really?”
Her mouth is set in a thin line as she nods. “I hate dressing up and doing the whole fancy thing, but I’m not gonna leave you in the lurch when you’re dealing with something like this.” She gives me a half smile and winks. “Just means your butt is mine when we get done with them!”
A shudder runs down my spine. Oho, she’s dang right my butt is hers after this! There’s no debate on that!
There’s never a debate whose butt belongs to who in this equation. The only answer is “yes.”
Just a lot more emphatically and usually conveyed somewhere along the lines of “Oh, Celestia, yes.”
Must … resist … urge … to lick lips … dang it, Daring!
If she keeps this up, I might have to object and make her butt mine.
Almost regrettably, I force myself to refocus. I still have a part to play.
Which means I’m completely obligated to sweep her up in a tight hug and plant kisses all over her cheeks while I thank her repeatedly.
I totally am. It’s in the contract.
Besides, I skipped out on it while we were out in public, so I have plenty of time to collect now.
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I hereby dub this ship "Fleeting Do."
I don't get this.
But I will be tracking this to see where this goes. Decent, and the passion and love Fleetfoot has for Daring Do is clearly shown in the story.
7439721
"Daring Foot" sounds better.
7439722
derpicdn.net/img/view/2012/10/25/132276__safe_rarity_animated_opalescence_artist-colon-animatedponies.gif
It's really very simple, darling.
gasp it is a thing that exists.
A thing I've heard of in whispers.
: D
derpicdn.net/img/2015/5/15/896279/large.png
Anyway, I definitely enjoyed reading the first part of this story. Fleetfoot and Daring Do had great chemistry with each other, not to mention how the story being told from Fleetfoot's point of view adds some nice comedic moments here and there. Keep up the great work!
Good, i laughed a few times & I like the chemistry.
Though, if I ship Daring with anyone, it would be Zecora, not Fleefoot.
feel like you got the placement of that 'a' a little wrong.
Sudden tense change.
Not inconceivable as a nickname, but Fleetfoot seems the type to make sure to remember the N at the end of Caballeron.
Yakyakistan.
Apostrophe unnecessary.
I look forward to future developments.
The pervert calls.....
This plan will blow up
7439721 I think Farrie calls it DaringFoot
7439729 Like this.
7439745 IT HAS ARRIVED
7439816 Thanks. I was a bit worried writing this because I'd never tried this POV, but it ended up being a lot of fun. Not sure I'd ever do it again, but it worked out well enough for this fic.
7439820 :D
7440265 ^^
7440820 I'm totally not over here flicking matches at things.