Sine Qua Non

by Android

I. The Bite in the Bottle

Spitfire yawned, trotting down Cloudsdale’s streets, the cloudstone clicking under her hooves with each passing step, her saddlebags bouncing along her sides. Fall was coming and the air nipped her skin like a foal at a cookie. She gave the scarf around her neck a quick tug before breaking out into a gallop, heading for the outskirts.

Around her, a multitude of pegasi moved by, some flying, some walking along the clouds. Each one, a unique combination of colors and hues, like a rainbow vomited out among the sky. She yawned again. The city was busier than usual today.

She thought of spreading her wings and taking to the skies, but a quick glance upward dispelled her of that notion. The skies were crowded enough as it was. The last thing they needed was an orange, fire maned filly adding to the growing swarm of feathers and fur above. No, better to stay clouded for now.

Eventually, she reached the edge of the city. A boardwalk running along the edges of a park and playground beckoned her forward. Sculpted cloudstone formed a long bar, preventing inexperienced foals from plummeting to the ground. Spitfire, however, was no foal.

She rushed forward, leaping over the wall like a hurdler on the track, and allowing gravity’s embrace to take her again. She closed her eyes, permitting the all too familiar smile to take over her face as she fell. Wind rushed past her ears, the sound like the gentle whisper of an old flame. The air brushed against her fur, combing the hairs with far more grace and love than any brush could hope to provide. The rush of adrenaline and the thrill of flight began to take her as she spread her wings, arresting her descent.

“Whoo!” She shouted into the wind, her grin now stuck permanently to her face. She allowed herself to relax as she glided along the currents before banking towards her destination.

Canterlot, the city on the hill. Or cliff in this case.

The fortress city sat built upon a large alcove in the mountain face. The plateau of land served as the perfect place for Equestria’s capital. High above the ground, the site was both remote enough that any attacker would be mad to try to take the city, yet close enough to the surrounding settlements as to be still accessible. It was the most strategically important place in the nation, as well as probably the most strategically placed.

Towards the far side of the city sat the Royal Castle. A series of pearly spires and towers poked up above the slate rooves and stone streets of the surrounding metropolis. The entire complex was surrounded by a series of gardens and high walls that helped give the palace a more natural yet still secure feel. As she approached, she began to notice the patrols, both on the streets below and in the skies above, encircling the castle.

Slowly, she descended, landing with a series of clicks just before the main gate. The guards here knew her well.

“How’s it going today, boys?” She smirked.

“Well, Miss Spitfire. You’re free to enter.” One answered, pulling his spear away.

She nodded. “Thanks.”

The gate opened as though the princesses had commanded it themselves, the movement smooth and slow. She scoffed. Clearly magic. She’d almost prefer a slight click or creak with their motions than the strange and disturbing silence that accompanied them. Still, the thought passed as a cloud on a windy day. She had somewhere to be after all.

She moved through the courtyard and towards the main palace. The tall oaken doors slipped open just as silently as their gated brethren, revealing familiar regal white halls. The ceilings towered high above, enough for her to comfortably fly with room to spare.

She zipped through the halls with remembered precision. Left here, two hundred feet straight then a right there. Her route had long been committed to memory to where she felt confident flying it with her eyes closed.

Up ahead, lay one final set of doors. With a grin, she shot forward, bursting through the portal and into the light. She folded her wings to her side, skidding along the grassy surface to stop. She ran a hoof through her mane.

A large open greenery greeted her. Numerous flowing trees dotted a landscape of flowers and ferns. An ocean of color spilled into her eyes from the innumerable species of flora, both rare and common. She let out a sigh and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, holding it for several long seconds before releasing it. It felt like home.

She spared a glance towards her right, the large flower garden giving way to a hedge maze set behind the castle in the shadow of the mountain. Numerous stone statues poked out from above the emerald walls like Cloudsdale spires through the clouds on a rainy day. Someday, she thought, they would explore those hedges together.

She shook her head, focusing on her destination.

A stone path set itself before her, like a great carpet of the halls of the generously spacious castle she’d previously traversed. The destination, at the end of it, offered no less excitement than anything a royal red rug could ever hope to offer. And so trot she did, following the winding path through an arcadia of aromas and auras that perforated the air like the sweet perfumes the noble mares wore at the fancy state functions. Though considerably less pungent and repulsive to Spitfire’s nose. No, flowers and freshly fallen rain were the only scents that ever offered any appeal to her.

Seated at the end of the path, the leaves began to pull away, revealing a small grassy clearing, surrounded on all sides by a cluster of trees. A small wooden bench sat near one end of the patch, the far other occupied by a small pond, filled with liquid crystal, shimmering in the light of the setting sun. The center of the patch, left only the comfort of soft grasses, like the smooth fabrics of the castle carpets. Directly across, on the far side of the clearing, the trees gave way to open sky and the stunning drop off of a cliff edge.

She sighed, unclipping her bags, allowing them to fall to the ground with a dull thud before she bounded up to the cliff edge, leaning forward and reveling in the sensation of the wind’s gentle caresses across her face.

“Punctuality isn’t something pegasi appear to have mastered, is it?” A voice asked.

Spitfire opened her eyes. A smirk spilled across her face.

“Punctuality is for losers with nowhere better to be.” She retorted, turning to face her accuser.

Suspended a few feet from the bench, hanging between two trees, sat a rather strange creature, swinging absentmindedly in a hammock, notebook and pen in hand. Hand. Hands. Those were perhaps its strangest features, aside from its obvious bipedal nature. Uncharacteristically long limbs, at least from an equine perspective, and no fur minus the white tuff atop its head made for a strange appearance indeed. The creature’s two upper limbs ended not on hooves, but on strange things that resembled a Minotaur’s paw or a griffin’s claw. Its head, however, bore no resemblance to anything Spitfire had seen or read about in any book or myth. Its features were angular, though considerably less pronounced than any pony’s or dragon’s or griffin’s. If she had to place any sense of familiarity to it, it would be that of a monkey, though the monkey, as much as she hated to admit, was considerably uglier. Piercing blue eyes sat rested in its skull, between which sat the bridge of its nose that ran down the length of its face, ending just above its mouth. She’d seen it smile before, revealing teeth resembling those of a predator’s though nothing nearly as aggressive as a diamond dog or dragon. The only dangerous bits appeared to be the canines on either side of its jaw. Apparently, it was an omnivore, whatever that meant.

And, perhaps most importantly, the creature was distinctly male.

And, perhaps most strangely, the creature seemed obsessed with wearing clothes.

Without looking up, he responded. “Perhaps you should find somewhere better then, considering our lessons don’t appear to hold the same value between the two of us.”

Spitfire stiffened, before closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Come on Virgil, I’m not going to pass this class without your help.”

“Hmm, yes, indeed. I hear the academy doesn’t take kindly to the prospect of considering athletes who failed their entry level mathematics. Sounds like you have quite the problem.”

“Yes, I do.” She rolled her eyes. “One you agreed to help me with.”

“Well considering you have somewhere better to be our agreement appears to be nullified.”

She sighed. “You going to be a stick up my ass all day or are you going to help me?”

“Is there a question in there?”

“Are you really going to make me ask?”

“I’m not making you do anything.”

“Will you help me with my Calculus or not?”

“Manners maketh the mare, young Spitfire.”

“Will. You. Help. Me. Please?”

He looked up, a small grin gracing his face. “There we go, was that so terribly difficult?”

“Shut up and help me already. First test is in two weeks and I have no clue what I’m doing.”

He rolled his eyes, closing his notebook and floating up from the hammock, landing with the gentle grace of a god, crossing his legs and sitting down before her.

“Now, what is it you need help with?” He asked, placing his hands on his knees.

Spitfire looked up at him. A strange feeling passed through her as her eyes lay across his alien face. A strangely familiar look sat glimmering in his eyes. Yet, a smile remained, as it always had. His expression could be called happiness, the loving happiness shared between two friends, as they always had. Yet, without placing a name to it, there was something strangely tortured in his gaze, which had not been there when she’d last seen him several days prior. Yet, he smiled still.

Slowly, she rose from her slouched position and retrieved her saddlebags, dragging them over and removing two large textbooks. Virgil appeared to glare at them before reaching out a hand to the two of them.

In an instant, the two books leapt to his hand. He gripped them between his fingers as though they were gigantic playing cards before quickly flipping through their collective pages. He sighed before grasping them separately in his hands.

“You and I have not had the luxury of sharing a classroom in some time, but I have not been so far removed from mathematical studies to know that you should only require one textbook for this topic, not two.”

Spitfire sighed. “There’s only supposed to be one. I got the other one because I got a week into the course before I realized I had no idea what I was doing.”

Virgil frowned, glancing at the more massive of the texts in his right hand. “Well, for one, I can tell you straight away that whoever wrote this has little to no idea just how to teach a math class. You won’t be needing this anymore.”

In an instant, a bright burst of flame appeared in his palm, incinerating the offending book into nothing but ash. Spitfire paled.

“What the hell, dude? That was the textbook for the class! I was only renting it.”

Virgil glanced down at the ash pile. “Oh. Well why didn’t you say so?”

He raised his hand again, this time the ash pile flying back into his hand before beginning to glow a bright orange before quickly subsiding. In his hand, sat the previously destroyed book, fresh as the day it was printed.

“There, now you can return this horrific piece of garbage to the university once your studies have been completed. However, unless you have any homework from that damn thing, I would strongly advise that you use this book instead.”

He waved his left hand, tossing the approved text back to her.

“So what now?” She asked.

“Well, what do you need to know for your test?” He smiled. “Whatever you want to know, I’m yours until you either you fall asleep or until I have taught you everything necessary for you to pass your class.”

Spitfire grinned. “Thank you for this.”

Virgil rolled his eyes before clapping his hands once and conjuring a bottle filled with a dark amber liquid and two glass in the air beside him.

“Thank me after you pass your tests.” He said, pulling one of the glasses out of the air and pouring himself a generous dram from the bottle.

“What’s that?”

“This, my dear filly, is a bottle of twelve year old Dutch Whiskey. Clydesmorangie. Breakfast of champions. Accept no substitute.”

“You’re going to do calculus while drunk?”

“No. You forget who, and what, I am sometimes. Drunkenness only applies when I feel like it. This time, it’s for the taste. Feel free to indulge if you’d like.” He nodded, floating the glass over to her.

Spitfire sighed. “Drinking and deriving can’t be good for one’s health.”

Virgil grinned, taking a sip. “No I think not. But it makes it all the more enjoyable.”

“Fair. Alright, give me a little bit.”

“Atta girl! Now be careful.” He said, filling the empty tumbler. “It bites like an angry dog but if you can tame the beast and get past that, you’ll find no better friend for meals, special occasions, or even morning coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just pour.”

“Just sip it slowly.”

Spitfire grasped the cup in her wings, lightly sniffing it before putting it to her lips and allowing a small splash to slip across her tongue. Immediately her eyes went wide as the burning took over. Quickly she closed them again, scrunching her nose before mustering the courage to swallow. In front of her, Virgil’s laughter could be heard clear as the birds in the morning.

“Ugh! What was that?” She stuck out her tongue.

“What do you taste?” He laughed.

“Smoke. And pain. And a strange bit of cinnamon.”

“Perhaps some soda over it?”

“You can do that?”

“But of course. Here.” He raised a hand, conjuring a bottle of cola in a flash of light before suspending it over her glass and pouring it over the whiskey, filling it almost to the top. “Poured a bit too much for my taste but you might find it a bit more palatable now.”

She sniffed her glass. “I can still smell it.”

“Of course you can, silly Spitty. There’s still whiskey in there. Go ahead, try it.”

She eyed it suspiciously before taking another sip. This time, her eyes went wide and she glanced down at the glass again before taking another sip.

“Slowly now. I don’t want have to try curing a hangover on a Pegasus. Now what do you taste?”

She smiled. “Cinnamon still, a bit of a smoky flavor, vanilla, something citrusy I think. It’s sweet, with just the right amount of kick to it. I like it.”

“Told you. Now come on, back to math. So what do you need help with?”

Spitfire moaned. “All of it.”

Virgil laughed. “Fret not, dearest Spitfire. I’ll make a mathematician out of you yet. Now, let’s start with derivatives.”

Verbally, Spitfire released her desire to drop dead rather than spend the evening getting tutored in mathematics by Equestria’s only human. Internally, however, whether it was the whiskey or the cool night air, she felt a little warmer inside, snuggling up to her friend as he explained the unholy, mind numbingly boring, finer points of her university math class. Slowly, his words began to blend away, becoming lullabies and sweet melodies in their own right as the moon rose higher into the sky. Eventually, all consciousness abandoned her and she was asleep, slumped over the closest thing Equestria had to a god on earth.

Comments

[Serenity Rising]

Interesting so far!

[Phantom Night]

Really enjoying it so far, I especially like the romantic writing style.
Out of curiosity, approximately how old are Spitfire and Virgil in this story?

P.S. I like that Virgil is tutoring Spitfire, it fits since Virgil is Dante's guide through Hell in "The Divine Comedy".

[Venerable Ro]

Ah, so he's a proper Aged Master. Good, I was worried I'd stumbled onto some 20-something angsty kryptonian. One gets tired of the latter, yes?

[Amos Anon]

Spitfire sighed. “Drinking and deriving can’t be good for one’s health.”

Heh. Bah dum tsss!