Chapter 7
With surprising force, she met somepony coming the other way, their heads connecting with a sharp ‘crack!’ that felt like it echoed down the hall. They both tried to curl up and nurse their stinging foreheads, but they were unfortunately still moving against each other, resulting in the other pony losing their footing with a surprised grunt, twisting their limbs together and nearly dragging the fiery mare down with them.
“Hey, what the… C-captain?” An all-too-familiar voice said from rather close to her left ear. She shook herself, stepping away from the tangle of limbs that she had created, blinking a little to clear the stars spreading across her vision.
“Oh, sorry, Lightning…” She groaned, rubbing her head. Luckily, she didn’t need to pretend to be in pain. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
She glanced up, her brow still somewhat furrowed, and sure enough, there was her yellow-maned wingpony, Lightning Streak, rubbing his own head as he clambered inelegantly to his hooves. He looked a little different than he usually did, what with his mane actually in some semblance of formality, and the pair of saddlebags tied about his middle.
“Ahh… S’alright, Captain… I shouldn’t have walked straight out…” He grumbled, blinking a few times.
“It’s just Spitfire when we’re off the track, Lightning. Remember?” she said, her usual personality finally rearing its head once more.
“R-right.” He coughed, a little awkwardly. “Sorry, Spitfire…”
“It’s fine, Lightning. But… What were you doing downstairs at this time of night?” She asked, clutching at straws. She hoped that Soarin was at least at the stairs by now.
“Oh, I was-” Suddenly, his answer was interrupted by a steady, rhythmic ‘thump, thump, thump’ from their left. Spitfire froze, her eyes wide. Due to a mysterious sixth sense that she possessed, Spitfire recognised it immediately as the sound of a head falling off a step and hitting the one below quite hard, as if somepony was being dragged downstairs, possibly by a big blue half-witted stallion with no sense of stealth or subtlety whatsoever.
Oddly enough, however, Lightning seemed to find the source of the noise a little harder to place. He frowned, leaning past her a little and looking out into the hall.
“What… What’s that weird noise?” He asked, stepping toward the exit of the lift, just as it began to close. But it sensed his head as he poked it through the gap, and the doors shrank back into the walls.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and her heart rate skyrocketed. “Wh-what noise?” She asked hastily, drawing level with him and leaning against the doorway, blocking his view as best she could.
“That… Thumping.” He said, his eyes narrowing as if in thought. “Coming from down the hall…”
“I-isn’t that where Firestreak’s room is?” She asked, trying to mask the desperation in her tone. “Perhaps he’s… You know, being himself?” Right now, the orange colt wasn’t the only pony that she wanted to club with a vase.
He made a face, cringing a little. “Yeah, maybe… Don’t you normally… Entertain at this sort of time too?”
Now it was her turn to grimace. Truth be told, that was the sort of thing she’d normally be doing. But now, it felt like the absolute last thing that she ever wanted to do. And not just because of the last pony that had tried to be ‘entertained’, or the fact that, right now, there was really only one pony that she wanted to be entertaining. She didn’t want to have anypony in her room like that for a while yet, unless everything went hooves up between her and Soarin.
“Yeah, not tonight…” She said wearily. “I’m just… Wait, you’re avoiding my question, aren’t you?” She said, trying to change the direction of the conversation away from herself and her sudden change in lifestyle. The less excuses she had to make up, the better, and if she could keep asking him questions until her hopeless partner in crime stopped being quite so useless, then everything might just work out.
“Wh-what question?” He asked, suddenly evasive. That in itself was curious enough. What did he have to hide?
“What were you doing up at this hour? We’ve got a practice on tomorrow…” She said, trying to sound as confident as ever. It was surprisingly hard when she had to put it on.
“Oh, well, y’see, I… Couldn’t sleep, and…” He said, rubbing his neck distractedly as Soarin continued to drag Spitfire’s victim downstairs. “I decided to go for a walk. Empty my mind… You know?”
“Yeah, I guess…” He was lying. Spitfire was sure of it. Who went for a walk wearing saddlebags, for Celestia’s sake? Briefly, she debated pressing it out of him, just to waste some extra time, but it was pretty unkind to invade his privacy. Provided it didn’t involve her, at least.
“What are you doing, anyway? You look… Well… Terrible, I’m sorry to say…” He asked, cocking his head slightly to one side, as the regular thuds slowly got quieter. The one question she didn’t want him to ask.
“Well, I was… I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to have a bit of a walkabout.” This was basically a lie, but it wasn’t that bad. “And… I had a couple to drink earlier, so my balance wasn’t that great.”
“Oh, right.” Lightning replied, apparently a little relieved. Clearly, he believed her. “I was worried I did that to you earlier…”
“Oh no, it’s fine. I’m fine.” She said, happy to accept unwarranted apologies. It was a pretty small price to pay for her safety.
“But… Why are you taking the lift?” He asked, frowning at her.
“I… decided to take a walk. Empty my mind… You know?” She smiled wryly at him.
“Y-yeah… Only too well…” He replied, pursing his lips and looking away. He clearly suspected that she knew he was lying, but also that she wasn’t saying anything about it. She hoped that at least would keep his mouth shut about the whole thing.
Finally, after a good thirty seconds of an awkward lapse in conversation, the silence only broken by the steady sound of skull hitting carpeted staircase, quiet settled over the landing.
“Well, uhh… Sorry cap- S-Spitfire, but I think I’m gonna head back to my room…” He said, stepping out into the hall and stretching his back, arching it much like a cat. “Guess I’m really tired, now…”
“Alright, Lightning…” She said, starting a get a little more relaxed in her actions. “I’ll see you tomorrow… Well, later, really…” She said with a chuckle.
This got a similar laugh out of her fellow wonderbolt, and he smiled back at her, giving her a comradely nod before heading down the hall. Spitfire returned the nod as he left, reaching further into the lift and pressing the button that closed the door. Then, at the last second, she stopped the door from closing a second time, poking her head through the gap and staring after Lightning as he headed off down the hall. There wasn’t a great deal she could do if he did see Soarin, but she had to know for sure.
To her relief, he walked straight past the staircase, only stopping briefly at Firestreak’s room to listen at the door for a moment before he went straight to his room at the end of the hall. She let out a long breath through her nose, closing her eyes and stepping back, slumping against the side of the lift, her back and rump pressed up against the cold, metal surfaces. It was uncomfortable, but she didn’t much care. She found herself sitting in much the same position as she had found herself shortly after she had left Fleet’s room, her long, lean hind legs stretched out before her, and her wings splayed out a little across the wall. She sat in silence as the doors swung closed once more, encasing her in peace and quiet at last.
But, there was still too much to do before she could rest, so she was forced to open her eyes and near as damn it get to her hooves in order to press the button that would take her down to the floor below. And then, there was only a few seconds as the metal chamber glided downwards before it stopped, so there wasn’t much point in hunkering down.
So, reluctantly, she stood herself up, taking a deep breath and silencing the troubled thoughts threatening to re-enter her mind. All she needed to do was get through this, and then things could get better. All that needed was time and a bit of patience, the latter of which she might need some help with.
But of course, there was one colt she could always rely on for help.
Usually, when somepony describes a good friend as ‘somepony that will help you bury a body’, they don’t usually say it with the intention of actually killing somepony to find out. Only now did she realise why it was a bad idea to test that theory.
What if this drives him away? She suddenly thought, her eyes shooting wide open. What if this makes him finally realise what a hateful witch of a mare I am? That thought seriously worried her. She hadn’t gone to all the trouble of starting to find him quite appealing just to make him hate her.
She growled softly to herself, shaking her head. She simply wasn’t used to having to do all this thinking. Every single thought that entered her head was paranoid and afraid, and almost all of it was about Soarin. She was supposed to be afraid of discovery, not losing the daft blue colt. Everything was back to front, and she hated it. In fact, she was starting to hate damn near everything at the moment, even Soarin, who had made things extremely awkward back at her room, and extremely difficult in the lift. And it was technically his fault that her nose was swollen, because of his cursed irresistibility.
In fact, when she thought about it, indirectly, everything was his fault. If he hadn’t gotten so drunk that night, he wouldn’t have forced her to re-evaluate the way she lived, thought and felt about damn near everything. She wouldn’t have gotten so paranoid and emotional, and she wouldn’t have started crushing on him, so she wouldn’t have left her room to discuss it all with Fleetfoot, and she wouldn’t have ended up molesting him, and she wouldn’t have had a breakdown, so that big orange bastard wouldn’t have broken into her room, and she wouldn’t have overreacted and taken him out. So she wouldn’t have needed to convince him to help her, so he wouldn’t have hated her, and she wouldn’t be in this mess, steadily getting more and more worked up about this frightful situation when she had a wonderbolt practice that she had to run in just six hours and she wouldn’t be feeling on the verge of tears about the whole damned thing and the lift walls wouldn’t feel like they were closing in and the lift wouldn’t feel like it had been taking a suspiciously long amount of time and she wouldn’t be hyperventilating right now and-
A loud ping sounded through the lift, ringing through her ears and snapping her straight out of her downward spiral. She panted, a cold sweat beading on the back of her neck. She needed to get out of this cell.
But she wasn’t about to jump into Soarin’s hooves no matter how much he wanted her to. If he was under the impression that he was going to get away with this, then he really was stupid.
She glared intently at the ground as the doors slid open, placing her hooves slowly and firmly on the ground.
“Spitfire…” Whispered the voice of the enemy. “Are… Are you okay?”
Something snapped.
“You are…” She muttered, her head still lowered. “You are… The most hateful, half-witted… Berk that Equestria’s ever seen!” She hissed ferociously, glaring at him and stalking out of the lift, strutting past him. “Do you have any idea what kind of awful time you’ve put me through?”
“Spit… I…” He mumbled in response, taken aback.
“You what? Did it occur to you that that little stunt of yours might have made things just a tiny bit difficult? Do you know who was in that bloody lift with me while you were playing out a bloody drum-solo on his skull with that staircase?” She fumed, her voice cracking a little as it bridged the gap between whispering and shouting.
“Th-there was… somepony in the lift?” Soarin asked softly, his shoulders dropping. He sounded innocently and genuinely surprised, but Spitfire was far too gone to notice by now.
“Yeah, there was! Only Lightning Streak!”
“L-lightning?” He exclaimed quietly. “I-I’m so sorry, I-”
“Yeah, well you still did it, didn’t you? Can’t you hold back your violent tendencies for just five minutes or something? You nearly got us caught!”
“I-I’m really sorry, Spitfire, I-I didn’t think-”
“Do you ever think, Soarin?” She snapped, glowering at him. He cowered under her gaze. “Do you ever stop and just think for a second?”
“I… I…” He stammered, stumbling after her as she made for the stairs to the ground floor. “You know I’ve never been good at thinking…” He said bitterly, more than a little sadness in his tone. At last, Spitfire noticed, stopping in her tracks. “That’s why I always let you take the lead, Spitfire… You’re good at making choices.”
“Well, clearly I’m not as good as you thought, am I?” She replied curtly, turning away from him. She was still angry, regardless of his great big puppy-dog eyes, hard to resist though they were. “Because now look at the heap of pigswill we’re stuck in.”
“H-hey Spit…”He mumbled, stumbling after her and placing his hoof gently on her shoulder. “D-don’t… Don’t be so hard on yourself. None of this was your fault…”
She huffed, turning back to him and opening her wings a little, ruffling her feathers like an agitated bird. An automatic gesture, standoffish and unpleasant – typical Spitfire.
“That’s easy for you to say…” She muttered darkly, her gaze not softening as she looked at his concerned glance. “I’ve been making one mistake after another lately.” She settled her wings as he withdrew his hoof, walking to the landing. “I can’t handle anything right at the moment.”
She couldn’t have been more correct, really. First her abysmal way of dealing with Soarin’s confession, followed by her frightful excuse to take him on a ‘date’, then the… situation she desperately didn’t want to dwell on for too long, and all the awful decisions it had spawned. Was it really Soarin’s affection, or her own stupidity that was digging her a hole?
“I shouldn’t have asked you to help, Soarin. Sorry.” She mumbled, pausing.
“Spitfire… You’re in trouble. I’m always gonna help you…” He replied quietly, trotting over to stand next to her. The moment was spoiled somewhat by the sliding sound of the unconscious stallion that was still attached to the big blue colt.
She sighed gently. “Thanks, Soar. But I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in this…”
“You can’t do everything yourself, you know.” He said, trying to look her in the eye. “We’re a team… We do things together.”
“Yeah, I know, but-” She began, but Soarin stopped her.
“Just ask, and I- W-we’ll help you, Spitfire…” He stammered gently, leaning in a little closer.
She smiled, turning to face him at last. “Thanks, Soar. Again.”
“Hey, don’t mention it…” He mumbled awkwardly, lifting his forehoof and adjusting the golden rope around his neck. “It’s what f-friends are for…”
Was that a flash of disappointment, there? She asked herself, looking him in the eyes. He doesn’t want to just be friends… And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the same.
“Hey, come on. Cheer up.” She said, cuffing his shoulder lightly as she attempted some vague form of camaraderie. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us…”
“R-right, yeah.” He replied, a shaky smile spreading across his features. Just as time had slowly allowed Spitfire to return to some semblance of her usual confidence, the same had started to happen to Soarin. The grumpy, moody stallion that glared at her in the dark was slowly disappearing, replaced by a little more light-hearted childish colt, with a smile that Spitfire had started to find somewhat… cute.
It really wasn’t worth denying that sort of thing to herself anymore, after what she’d done. So she just smiled back, as best she could given the situation.
“What… What do you reckon Lightning was doing, in the lift?” Soarin asked softly, staring into space with a quizzical expression.
“Huh? Oh, I dunno…” Spitfire replied dismissively, trotting quietly down the first few steps, her hooves barely a whisper on the carpeted marble. “He said he was going for a walk, but I know he was lying…”
“Really? What makes you say that?” He asked, frowning a little at her. He and Lightning were pretty close, so Spitfire doubted he liked to think badly of him.
“Well, he was wearing saddlebags, for one…” She replied quietly, frowning and peeking her head as far as she could down the stairs. Nopony was stirring, it would seem.
“That is a little weird…” Soarin said, perhaps just a touch louder than he should. “Maybe he was going to see somepony?”
“Who would he be going to see that he would lie to me about it?” She returned, glancing back at him. He was still standing at the top of the stairs.
“I don’t know, Spit…” He said thoughtfully, sounding like he had a good idea but didn’t want to lose face.
“Alright, whatever.” She muttered, cringing at the use of her nickname. How long had he been using it without her noticing? “We’ll have time for the guessing game later… Now come on! Get your flank down these stairs before I come back up there and push you.” She hissed, motioning down the staircase with her head.
“I-I dunno, Spit… Maybe I should take the lift, and then you use the stairs? That way nopony’ll see me until the bottom, and you’ll get there first…”
She started a little with surprise, her eyes widening. That’s a good idea. Why the hay didn’t I think of that?
“A-and I won’t make any noises you don’t like…” He continued despondently, looking down at the floor.
“Hey… That’s a good idea, Soarin!” She replied, trotting back up the stairs and trying to hide her mixture of surprise and irritation at herself. “Just… Just stop calling me Spit, okay? Or you’re going to end up like our orange friend over here.”
“I-I-Sorry!” He stammered, his voice suddenly a lot less manly than he probably would have liked. “I-I didn’t really… I wasn’t… Sorry…”
She rolled her eyes at his spinelessness. It was a little endearing, when you looked at it. “Oh, just get in the bleeding lift, Soarin.” She said firmly, a ghost of a genuine smile gracing her lips for a moment.
He nodded in reply, closing his mouth almost immediately and dragging the unconscious stallion behind him into the tiny metal room. She trotted slowly after him, helping to push the bandaged orange head inside the doorway.
“I’ll see you soon, S-Spitfire…” He mumbled gently, managing an uneasy grin as he pressed the button with the tip of his forehoof. The doors began to slide shut.
“Don’t do anything stupid…” She said softly as the doors closed, separating them once more. Once they were shut, she placed her forehoof lightly against the cool metal surface, gazing for a moment at her hazy silver reflection.
Don’t do anything stupid? She thought to herself. You might well have just told him he was an idiot and be done with it.
Oh, shut up… She internally retorted, stepping away from the lift and taking to the air, gliding silently toward the stairs. He doesn’t ever seem to mind. Maybe he likes it when I’m a little rough around the edges with him? It might explain why he was stupid enough to fall for me…
That was probably just wishful thinking, really.
She banked to follow the curve of the staircase, flapping every so often to keep herself on track. The faint ‘fwm’ of her wings was now the only sound in the sleeping hotel, save for the imperceptibly tiny hum of the lift as it descended alongside her.
I mean, I’ve met some weird colts in my time, but to like the constant bullying? No. He’s just too dim-witted to care about it… Just looks past it all, and tries to find some good in me. She decided for the second time in one night, picking up a little speed as she swooped around the endless corner that was the staircase. These lifts tended to pick up a little speed in the middle of their journey when they were going a long way. Spitfire wasn’t really sure why, though – that was technomancy, and not something she understood two words about on the best of days.
She glanced at the floor levels as she passed them, large squares of frosted glass fixed to the wall, beautifully inlaid with ornate golden letters. In fact, they were so ornate, so covered with loops and swirls and such, it was rather difficult to read them, until she got down at about floor nine, where she began to notice a pattern. Why did things have to be so obtuse?
She slowed her descent at around floor seven, edging a little closer to the carpeted surface as she continued to glide gracefully downward. (Or at least, as gracefully as one does, looking and feeling the same as she did.) She guessed that she was making pretty good time, but of course, there was no way of knowing. She just hoped that she could make it to the bottom floor before Soarin did. She hadn’t seen a single soul as she whooshed gently past a dozen silent corridors, but if there was to be anypony lurking anywhere, it would be the lobby. It was almost a certainty that there would be a receptionist on duty, in case there was a late arrival looking to check in. And of course, said late arrivals might also turn up and ruin everything, at any moment.
Jeez, being a criminal mastermind was stressful. She wondered why anypony would bother.
Eventually, the lobby at the bottom of the stairs came into view, and she angled her wings back, bleeding off her speed and coming to a stop about ten or so steps from the bottom. Stepping frantically so she wouldn’t overbalance forward and really mess up her face, she stumbled quickly down the stairs, silently cursing herself every time one of her hooves clacked loudly on the marble flooring. It was like they didn’t want anypony to sneak around.
But eventually, she clattered to the ground without major incident, stumbling onto the carpeted lobby just as she heard a tell-tale rumble from the lift next to her.
Without pausing for breath, she darted across the room to the doorway into the reception hall, peeking out into the large open space. At the far end of the room was the massive pair of double doors that lead to salvation, and the end to another step in this extremely difficult ‘mission’. On the left side of the room were the doors to the dining area, which, in just a couple hours, would be getting ready for breakfast. And to the right, standing between them and salvation like a beacon of hopelessness, was the reception counter.
She ducked back around the corner into the lobby, just as the lift pinged and slid noisily open. Spitfire winced, tilting her head back toward the doorway, but she couldn’t hear anything. Soarin shuffled nervously out, dragging the prone orange stallion as fast as he could across the lobby and away from the door. His eyes were wide and scared, and they darted around a lot. Apparently the lift had given him some time to think, too.
“I-is everything alright?” He asked breathlessly, fidgeting a little with his forehooves as he stood beside her.
“I… Think so…” She whispered in reply, flashing him an urgent glance to persuade him to do the same.
“What do you mean?” He said, apparently not getting the message.
“Pipe down!” She hissed, glaring back at him. He started at her outburst, stumbling backward a little.
“S-sorry…” He whispered quietly.
She rolled her eyes and looked back through the doorway – everything still looked clear, but she couldn’t get a good look at the desk. She sighed as quietly as she could. This would be much easier if she could just wrangle some spells together and turn herself invisible or something like that. She’d never give up her wings, even if she was somehow given the choice, but being a unicorn must make things so much easier.
“Look, Soar.” She whispered softly, turning to face him and leaning in closer. “I can’t see the desk, so I’m gonna sneak out and have a look. ‘Kay?”
“Wh-what should I do?” He asked in a whisper of his own, his cheeks a little rosy due to their proximity.
Spitfire, who had a better hold of herself by now, got to her hooves, stepping away. “You wait here.” She said firmly. She would have used her captain voice, but it didn’t convert well into whispering.
“But what if somepony comes along?” He asked, his eyes wide.
“Then go find a vase.” She replied flatly, making her way through the doorway.
She pressed herself low to the ground an kept to the shadows as she slunk into the entrance hall, tiptoeing down the right side of the room where she was the least visible. Again, her fiery colouration didn’t much assist her, but she could manage. She sneaked closer and closer to the reception desk, flat against the wall, until the only thing that separated them was an enormous potted plant, probably about twice her size. She tried to squeeze between the pot and the wall, wincing as she came into contact with the freezing porcelain, but there was nowhere near enough room. So, looking about to make sure that she was still alone, she reared up onto her hind legs, resting her elbows in the damp earth in the pot and peered through the greenery.
But of course, she couldn’t make out anything aside from basic shapes through all of the leaves, so she leant over onto her right elbow as carefully as she could, raising her left hoof through the shrubbery and pushing it out of the way with painful slowness. The leaves rustled a little as she forced them out of place, and her breath caught in her throat for a moment. But nothing happened, so she poked her head into the gap made by her hoof.
With her new vantage point, she could see straight through the plant and into the reception desk. As she has suspected, there was indeed somepony at the desk, and suspiciously, it was the same colt that had been there yesterday and the day before. Clearly, all those shifts had taken a toll on him, because his head was tilted backwards in his chair, and his eyes were shut, his mouth hanging slightly open thanks to the relaxation of sleep. Spitfire wondered how much he was being paid.
But frankly, his salary could be higher than hers and she wouldn’t care, provided he didn’t wake up for the next few minutes.
Slowly, she eased the foliage back into place, backing away sowly from the shrubbery. When there were about five or six paces between her and the pot, she scuttled quickly back, heading for the landing.
She hurtled around the corner, looking to where she had told Soarin to wait. Much to her surprise, he was exactly where she had told him to wait. Only this time, he was brandishing a vase above his head, ready to bring it down firmly on hers.
Seeing a flash of how it must have felt to be her orange-coated foe, she scrambled backward, her wings flapping wildly to bring her out of harm’s way. “Bloody hell, Soarin!” She hissed, her eyes huge. “You could have brained me!”
“S-sorry!” He cried quietly, nearly dropping the vase, and fumbling it with his hooves as he spoke. “Y-you told me to get anypony that c-came along! A-and I thought you m-might have been… Somepony else…” He trailed off, setting the vase down carefully on the floor and stepping away from it. Behind him, the injured pegasus slid slowly after him.
“Alright, alright, no harm done…” She whispered hurriedly, waving him off. “Now let’s get going…”
“I-is it clear?” He asked, scuttling closer to her. She edged backwards away from him, looking back through into the reception hall.
“Yeah, the receptionist’s fallen asleep… Come on.” She whispered gently, creeping back out into the pristine, marble floored hall, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. It was now or never.
She glanced back at the slow-moving Soarin, who had only just gotten his head through the doorway by this point.
“We don’t have a lot of time, Soarin.” She whispered urgently.
“Sorry!” He returned as quietly as he could, scampering out from behind the door, carelessly smacking his orange counterpart’s head against the doorframe as he did so. “I-I’m just… Real nervous, Spit…” He continued. To be honest, Spitfire could tell that much. The poor colt was sweating, and when his soft, warm, loving eyes stayed still enough for her to get a good look, they were full of fear and apprehension.
“Don’t call me that…” She replied, turning back to the doors ahead of her. She tried to retain some sense of humour about this, but it was draining fast. “And there’s nothing to worry about. Just get going, and I’ll cover for you.”
Frankly, she didn’t much believe that she was fooling him with that comment. If there was nothing to worry about, then she wouldn’t be ready to just curl up and try to forget that any of this had happened. In fact, if there was nothing to worry about, then Soarin wouldn’t have an unconscious criminal in tow behind him, or she wouldn’t still feel a cold patch of dread on her cheek where he had kissed her.
She shuddered violently to herself, making to continue. But Soarin was already stading several paces in front of her, looking back into her eyes with a worried expression.
“You okay, S-spitfire?” He asked softly, his brow creased with sympathetic worry.
“Y-yeah, don’t worry about it…” She said, frowning and cantering past him. “I’ll tell you about it later…”
“A-alright…” He stammered, stumbling after her.
At Spitfire’s careful and rushed instruction, Soarin sneaked past the desk by crouching as close as he could to the ground right in front of the desk itself, so if the receptionist woke, he’d still be invisible for a moment. It wasn’t much, but it made them feel slightly more secure with what they were doing. Spifire glanced between the sleeping receptionist and the doors into the dining hall rapidly all the while, her mouth dry and her skin crawling. If there was any one moment she felt truly afraid, even as a ‘fearless’ stunt flier, it was then. She felt exposed, like there were a hundred pairs of eyes bearing down on her back every time she tured around, and there was nothing she could do to stop them from looking. In the lift, she had felt weak and claustrophobic. Now she felt weak and alone, like on a featureless plain.
At this rate, I’m gonna need to see a psychiatrist, She thought to herself, hurrying after Soarin as he approached the front doors. She cantered swiftly past him as he dragged the out-cold stallion toward the doors. She turned back to face him as she hastily rammed the door open with her shoulder, finding a rather exhausted-looking stallion trudging along after her. He was looking down at the ground, his teeth clearly gritted as he strained his legs against the curtain rope. Sure, as wonderbolts, their physical condition was supposed to be at its peak, but as fliers, endurance-based limb exercises weren’t high on the agenda. She hoped they wouldn’t be going much further.
“Come on!” She urged, her voice still a whisper as she looked out through the doors into the cool stillness of the night. Luckily for her, the hotel was based in one of the quieter areas of Canterlot, far away from bustling ponies and prying eyes. Just as she liked it.
Together, the trio stepped (Well, the orange stallion slid) out into the shivering quiet of the night, scuttling softly and swiftly away from any lamp posts or windows that might have betrayed their position. They looked like a pair of thieves, or perhaps members of organised crime. Twice they had to stop, cowering in the darkness, their hearts thumping like drums in their chests as a guard strode right past their hiding place, before they finally came across a suitable alleyway in which a stallion could be unceremoniously dumped into a bin without anypony seeing them from the outside.
Which, after some flapping and a small amount of cursing, that’s exactly what they did. Flying upward in near-perfect synchronisation, they took off, hovering slowly and lifting him up over the big blue holding pen for the sea of filthy black bin bags, garnished as they were with smatterings of dross; bits of mouldy food, waste paper and all sorts of other
unmentionable filth crammed together, awaiting the vibrant orange stallion’s body. He fell with a rustling thump, sinking deep into the mire of shiny black rubbish. Then, with little more than a twitch to show that he was still alive, he lay still, a fly or two buzzing around him, investigating the new arrival.
“I… Guess that’s done, then…” Soarin said simply, staring down at the bins.
“Looks like it…” Spitfire replied, tearing her gaze away from the scene and dropping back to the ground. “Now, let’s bust outta here. I don’t want to hang around any longer than we need to.”
“R-right, Spitfire…” He mumbled in response, thudding to the ground to her left. “I-I was just wondering if… You know, he’s gonna be okay, or if… He decides to see somepony about this…”
“Okay?” She asked, frowning at him. Then the more important words sunk in. “See somepony? Who?”
“W-well, A guard, or somepony… I mean, he doesn’t look like the guilty one right now…” Soarin mumbled anxiously, looking over at her.
“I-I… You…” She screwed up her face angrily. “Soarin, why didn’t you-”No, there was no sense in exploding at him. At the moment. This was her idea, after all. “Alright, alright… I-I’ll… Think of something.”
Despite her sudden use of self control, she must have still been glowering magnificently at the slow-witted stallion, because he cowered away from her as she turned away to think. But, as angry as she was, she’d come up with an ‘elegant’ solution in minutes.
“Alright, Soarin,” She said, her mind still planning as she spoke. “Come on. I-We can still fix all this, okay? Just follow me.” She said, nodding curtly and striding for the entrance to the alley, where they would find themselves back on the street, away from this rancid stink.
“Fix what?” Came a silky, hushed voice from in front of her. The sort that would have sounded like a whisper, no matter how loud it was spoken. The words stopped the fiery mare right in her tracks, and she scrambled backward, her eyes wide. In her haste, she bumped into Soarin, who grunted in surprise.
A pair of large, purple eyes blinked slowly open in the darkness, and the slim form of a slight, black-coated mare became ever so slightly visible in the darkness.
Just the mare I never wanted to meet in a darkened alleyway…
“Ghost Chilli!” Cried the bright voice of her dim-witted companion from above her, instantly cheerful at the sight of his friend.
“Oh! Mr Soarin! Why, I didn’t see that it was you in there… Or you, Miss Spitfire…” Ghost Chilli said, her voice gentle and pleasant. But Spitfire didn’t relax. She was still a threat.
“It’s a pleasure…” She said through gritted teeth, stepping away from the big blue stallion and dusting herself off. “Can I ask why you decided to introduce yourself before you even knew it was us?” She raised her brow in an accusationary manner, approaching her cautiously. She couldn’t see what the slight earth pony was doing with her hooves.
“Oh, I heard voices in the darkness, and I thought I should investigate…” The Stalliongradi mare said, managing to sound bashful. But Spitfire didn’t buy it. “Crime is rare here, but even so…” She paused, her near-luminous eyes glancing down at the floor. “But… That’s not important. What are you two doing down here? It’s not safe to be lurking in the shadows, even for pegasi as strong as yourself…”
“That’s easy for you to say…” Spitfire grumbled, stalking around her and into the comparative light of the street. There was a streetlight just ten feet away or so.
Now she was looking at her from a better position, she could see that the dark-furred mare was actually wearing a thin, form-fitting violet dress, decorated tastefully with a black ribbon or two. It was nothing too impressive, but it certainly suited her. Which she found to be a surprise, given her occupation as a scuddy chilli-shop chef.
“Hey, Spitfire…” Soarin said quietly, frowning gently at her. “Don’t be mean…”
“I’m not being mean, Soarin,” She began, before turning to the well-dressed mare. “And I can assure you that we were doing nothing. Just taking a shortcut on a midnight stroll, is all.”
“I… See.” Ghost said, frowning sceptically as she turned to face her properly. Clearly, her story wasn’t exactly watertight.
“But hey, what are you doing out at this time? And in that lovely little dress?” Spitfire asked quickly, if a tiny bit forcefully. She needed to change the subject of the conversation away from them, if she wanted to get away with this.
“You’re wearing a dress?” Soarin asked, still standing between her and the bins, too much in the dark to see her properly.
“I-I am, and that’s… private.” Ghost said firmly, picking at the ground with her forehooves.
Sensing weakness, and therefore an excuse to get rid of the stealthy mare before she asked too many questions, she pressed onward. “Are we returning from a date, perhaps?” She cocked her head to one side, convincingly feigning genuine interest.
“W-well, I just-” Ghost began, but for Spitfire, the penny had already dropped.
It all slotted neatly into place, really. At first, it seemed like fate was just trying to test her, but it really was a coincidence. Why would Lightning be out so late, with a pair of saddlebags on his back and an attitude so evasive it surprised even her? And why would this Ghost chilli be out long past midnight, wearing a remarkably fancy dress? Especially given that Soarin had so nicely let slip that their fellow wonderbolt had something of a crush on the northern mare?
“You’ve been out with him?” Spitfire asked, smiling.
Soarin tilted his head to one side at the far side of her vision, but it was Ghost chilli who gave the best reaction. She actually squirmed, and a dusting of pink was suddenly scattered across her cheeks.
“Th-that’s… none of your business!” She said indignantly, scowling at her.
“And I’m glad to hear it.” Spitfire said, with a firm nod. “Because, I think you’ll find, we were never here, and neither were you. Or else it might become my business after all…”
That was a threat – there was now way of sugar coating it. She had just threatened a mare that, ordinarily, she would have very much liked to befriend.
“Y-yes. Of course…” Ghost said, the calm, collected whisper returning to her tone. But the fire in ther lavender eyes burned in Spitfire’s direction. “In that case, I think I’ll be on my way… Goodnight, Mr Soarin…” She continued, glancing back at her friend.
“O-okay, Ghost… A-and, you can just call me Soarin, you know.” Soarin said softly, clearly awkward beyond belief.
“Oh, of course, Soarin…” Ghost replied, managing a smile. “Goodnight, then…”
“Uhh… Night, Ghost…” He mumbled uncomfortably, as she vanished into the night. Almost literally, as Spitfire saw it. She whisked away into the night like a blur, her hooves practically silent on the cobblestone road. Spitfire watched her disappear into the night, breathing a soft sigh of relief as she did so.
She turned back to Soarin, ready to explain her plan, only to see him glaring at her.
“What is it this time?” She asked indignantly, frowning back at him.
“What was that supposed to be?” He countered, stepping forward. “She’s my friend, and a lovely mare! You didn’t need to get all… crazy on her!” He cried out as loudly as he dared, his glare not diminishing.
“Lovely she may be, but she had… suspicious written all over her! And we’ve got a big secret that needs keeping.” She shot right back, slipping right back into defence.
“Yeah, well… There was no need for that! Next time we see her, you’re gonna apologise…” He said firmly, setting his forehoof down heavily.
“Alright, alright…” Spitfire said, her fight mysteriously slipping away. She felt like a foal being scolded. She lowered her head automatically, scuffing her forehoof on the floor. It was a strange sensation, being told off by Soarin. But then, this was a really strange night.
“You don’t have to be mean to everypony you meet, you know…” Soarin said, his expression softening a little as he took a couple lighter steps toward her. As expected, he couldn’t stay mad at her, but it didn’t much help. “Some ponies are really nice, if you give them a chance to show it…”
“I know, Soar, I know.” Spitfire said, trying to cut off the conversation before it got too emotional. If this was going to turn into a pep talk or something… “Yeah, I’m just a bitch. It’s fine.”
“N-no you’re not, though…” Soarin said firmly, almost indignant as he approached her. Of course, he wouldn’t come within nuzzling distance, or else he might actually try. “Y-you’re like…” He frowned as his mind strained to come up with a decent similie. “You’re like one of those… Cats, who nopony was nice to when they were little, so now they only know how to scratch and hiss, even when they’re trying to be nice…” He said gently, but his smile made it clear that he was proud to have come up with something so poetic.
“Uhh, thanks, Soar…” She said, returning with an awkward smile as she stepped away from him a little. “That’s real nice…”
“I-I wasn’t trying to be mean,” He said, Sad that his idea hadn’t much worked. “I was just trying to…”
“It’s fine, Soar…” She replied, brushing her muzzle against his shoulder. It still hurt, but not as much as before. “You mean well.”
He stammered softly, blushing at the nuzzle. “W-well, y-yeah, but…”
“Look, maybe you should wait here while I go and fix this? In case somepony comes back?” She asked, glad to finally change the subject.
“O-oh, I… Okay, Spitfire…” He mumbled, trotting faithfully back to the alley.
“Thanks, Soar.” She said, giving him a small smile. “You’re a great colt to have around…”
He blushed furiously at the comment, looking away from her. “Th-thanks, Spitfire, I…”
“Just try and work harder on setting me straight, okay?” She asked, giving him a wink. But before he could stammer out a nervous reply, she cantered swiftly away, trusting her wings enough to lift her up into the cool midnight air, letting the nighttime breeze flow through her mane and over her feathers. But she didn’t have time to enjoy the scenery, she was on a mission. So, with a few powerful flaps, she was shooting along, darting down streets with that same speed and agility that had secured her spot on the Wonderbolts all those years before. In mere seconds, the shop she was looking for sped into view.
When she returned some ten minutes later, galloping so that she could hold her purchases under her wing, she found the whole street to be just as empty as she had left it. Of course, it must have been about one o’clock in the morning, so that was to be expected.
By extension, this also meant that Soarin was nowhere to be seen, either. At least he’s taking the opportunity to lay low. She thought to herself, finally slowing to a canter. She felt utterly exhausted by this point, more through fatigue than exertion, and she felt as if she were dead on her hooves as she stumbled toward the shadows.
Hold on, Spitfire… He’ll be waiting again. Suddenly, she stopped herself mid-step. The image of a vase-wielding Soarin crossed her mind, and she froze.
“Soarin?” She whispered into the darkness.
In reply, there was a thud, followed by a muffled curse and a crash, and Soarin stumbled of the alley, a dustbin lid passing by behind him, rattling as it hopped over the cobblestone road.He smiled with fake confidence, trying his best to look casual and pass it off as if nothing happened.
“H-hey, Spitfire. D-did you get what you needed?”
Spitfire smirked to herself, briefly forgetting the situation so that she could have a quick laugh. “I swear, Soarin… You are so malcoordinated I’m surprised both your wings flap at once…” She muttered lightly, trotting past him into the dark void of rubbish.
“Sh-shut up! You surprised me!” Said Soarin, who hadn’t quite grasped assertion yet.
“Alright, alright…” She chuckled to herself. “Just keep watch for another few seconds…”
“Alright, but… What are you doing back there?” He asked, glancing back at her over his shoulder.
“I’m just writing him a letter…” She said distractedly, reaching under her wing and grabbing her purchase with her teeth. It was a card with the word ‘condolences’ on the front and a quill, ready with a little ink.
She placed both the card and the quill on the ground, before picking the quill up from the side in her teeth. On the cover, she quickly scratched ‘For the head injury’ underneath ‘Condolences’, before folding it open with her forehooves. While Soarin stared over her shoulder uncomfortably, she wrote:
Dear nameless Stallion. I shan’t write my name here, but you know who I am. I just think it would be important for you to know that, while I apologise for what has been done to you, it was entirely your fault. I have both witnesses and evidence, should you try to come forward, so this will only result in your arrest.
I hope not to hear from you again,
You-know-who.
The word ‘who’ was somewhat faded as she began to run out of ink, and there were a couple small splotches here and there (She was no writer, it had to be said) but the whole thing was legible, and to Spitfire’s surprise, it was rather neat.
But, there was no time for that. With a flick of her head, she tossed the quill away into the pile of bin bags, then leaned down and picked up the card between her teeth. This done, she flew slowly upwards, hovering over the orange stallion’s head. Then, she laid the card open over his face and, with a single powerful flap, wooshed herself back to where Soarin was standing.
“Come on, let’s go.” She said, dropping to the ground and indicating with her head. He nodded silently in reply, and together they began the long trudge back to their rooms.
It took about twenty minutes in all, to walk back through the dark streets and sneak past the sleeping receptionist (Simply to avoid any awkward questions) and get back into the lift. Of course, any period of time the duo had to spend in an enclosed space was going to be pretty uncomfortable, and this lived right up to expectations. Spitfire couldn’t help but feel just that tiny bit too close to Soarin to be truly comfortable, and she couldn’t escape the memories of what she had done to him before.
So, naturally, when the lift finally opened after a false eternity of waiting, Spitifre was the first to slip out, only marginally less blindly than the first time she had entered. She shook her head lightly, her thick orange mane swirling about her head a little.
Then, she waited for a moment, before letting out a deep sigh. Finally, they had won. It was over, and they hadn’t been caught. She could have cheered, if the circumstances were a little better for it.
“I-I guess this is over then…?” Soarin asked quietly, stepping out of the lift after her. The curtain ties were still wrapped about his neck and chest.
“Yeah it is, and… Well, if you could, let’s just forget all of this? This night, I mean?”
“Oh, uh… Sure, Spitfire…” Soarin mumbled, perhaps a tiny bit disappointed. “I guess this is goodnight, then?”
“I think it is, Soar.” She said with a small smile. He trotted past behind her, meeting her smile for a moment before looking back to his room. He’d probably fall over if he didn’t look where he was going.
But something caught at her as she watched him go, ambling reluctantly toward her own door. It didn’t feel right to just… leave everything at that. There was still too much that hadn’t been said, and at the very least, she didn’t want to have to feel alone again. She was really starting to get used to his prescence to her side.She lifted her forehoof to her muzzle briefly as she let him trot away, touching it gently. Still uncomfortable, but much less painful. The swelling had gone down, too. Not perfect, but enough.
“Hey, uh… Soarin?” Spitfire asked, turning back to him just as he lifted his hoof to his door.
“Y-yeah?” He asked, his voice finally quiet in the stillness of the night.
“I… I know what I just said and all, but… Could you just come inside, please?” She asked, wincing a little, more at her own words that at his potential reaction. What was she doing?
“Wh-what? I-I mean… S-sure, Spitfire… What did you want?”
“L-look, I… I still don’t feel quite right, and I… I don’t wanna be alone in there for a little while… Could you keep me company for a bit?”
All of a sudden, all traces of weariness vanished from Soarin’s face, and he straightened up. “Y-yeah, of course, Spitfire…” He said, attempting to sound friendly and casual. But he couldn’t hide the blush seeping into his cheeks.
She gave a small, weak smile. As much as she genuinely wanted to sit with him, she wasn’t lying. She needed the company. And he provided the best in the world to her, right now. She nodded appreciatively to him, pushing her door open and stepping inside. She cantered quickly over the shagpile and over to the welcoming bed, still the same as she had left it about an hour before, when she made all of those terrible mistakes. If it was up to her, she’d rebrand that cursed drink mistake juice.
She stumbled up onto the soft, springy mattress, not even bothering to look back. She knew Soarin would be right on her hooves, faithful as the most loyal of dogs. Only much better to look at.
Closing her eyes and sighing, she sat down on the bed, curling her tail up around her forehooves like some sort of shy foal. To her right, the mattress creaked and dipped as Soarin hopped up onto the bed by her side. She smiled a little, keeping her eyes closed and shuffling her wings a touch, preparing herself to feel those wonderful, soft, warm downy feathers that she knew Soarin had been keeping from her all this time.
The only thing that came was an awkward silence. She knew Soarin was there, she could hear him breathing. But he was still as a statue.
Frowning, she opened her eyes, glancing over at him.
He was staring back, his eyes dipped towards her neck and chest so that he didn’t have to make eye contact. He was blushing red as a carnation, and his wings were aligned nervously about his shoulders as he shuffled his forehooves against each other, kneading the duvet gently.
She coughed politely, rolling her eyes to herself. In response, he started, his eyes darting up to meet hers. It was only a tiny, brief moment, but they were full of such earnest, foalish shyness that she found her own cheeks becoming dusted with pink.
“Y-yeah, Spit?” He asked softly, his voice shaky. Was he really too scared to touch her?
“U-uh… Soarin, could you… Put your wing over me? I-I’m feeling lonely, all the way over here…” she mumbled, trying to force a joke out.
“O-oh! Y-yeah… U-umm… Sure, Spitfire…” He returned, his voice even worse than before. He lifted his shaking left wing, stretching it out toward her invitingly. But he made no attempt to sit any closer to her. She almost sighed again. He just didn’t get it, did he?
Realising that she was going to have to do things herself, she took a deep breath to calm the heart that had suddenly started thumping loudly in her chest, and scooted closer to him, leaning her side against his. As she should have expected, the daft blue colt tensed up, frozen with fear. Trying to soothe him, she nuzzled her head gently against his cheek, snuggling a little closer into his body.
My, he was warm. And even though he was still stiff as a board, his fur was pretty darn soft, and so was he, especially for an athlete. She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose.
Eventually, the slow-witted blue stallion started to calm down, and he relaxed, making himself even softer and easier to cuddle. His wing lowered down slowly, resting lightly over her own wings and shoulders. His little feathers were just as warm and soft as she had imagined, and his powerful flight muscles pulled her in close.
Spitfire had felt many things in the embrace of a stallion before, mostly passion, excitement and lust, but never before had she ever felt… Secure. For the first time, she felt nothing but safety and the warm, gentle thrum of his heartbeat as she rested her chin on his shoulder. His wing could have been so tight, so protective of her, she knew how he could be, but it was so light, so unbearably tender that she almost couldn’t believe how it felt. She tingled where her fur met his, but not in an excited, fizzy way. It was a slower, less urgent tingle that didn’t make her feel any less contented and comfortable.
But it didn’t make her any less tired, either. In fact, if anything, Soarin was making her feel all the more tired.
“Hey… Spitfire?” Soarin asked softly, breaking the gentle silence.
“What is it, Soar?” She asked sleepily, opening her eyes and looking up in his direction.
“W-well… I was j-just thinking that… Well… Why didn’t we just go to the police about it in the first place? I-I mean… It was just self-defence…” He mumbled, his voice getting quieter and quieter as he made his point.
The words were like ice. Why hadn’t she? Had panic clouded her mind that much? What would happen if he ignored the card? What if he-
She stopped herself. Her breathing was starting to quicken again, and worrying would do her no good now. What was done was done.
“S-soar?” She asked quietly, closing her eyes again.
“Y-yeah?” He replied meekly.
“Just… Don’t ever talk about that, would you? Or you’ll end up joining him…” She murmured sleepily, leaning more heavily against him. She knew she should feel scared, or worried, but she felt so secure under Soarin’s wing that none of it seemed to matter all that much. All she wanted to do was sleep in his embrace, to wake up to his soft little smile and warm, blue fur… She could deny it no longer. She loved him. With as more of her heart than she had ever thought possible.
So, it only felt natural when sleep slowly took her, and she felt his soft, tender little lips caressing her forehead for the tiniest of moments before she slipped deep enough into sleep that such things couldn’t penetrate.
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Oh my, that was just beautiful.
Bravo!
But, wasn't Fleetfoot using it before with no problem?
Also malcoordinated is not a word. Not one that I know of at any rate(and my spell check says it isn't a word) The word you're looking for is uncoordinated. I spotted some other typos, mainly inconsistency in capitalizing 'Wonderbolts', quotation marks either missing or in the wrong spot and, whatever formatting error this is-
All in all, it's a good story but you should consider either getting a proofread or at least proofreading it yourself before posting the chapter.
Good job. Brilliant chapter:)
New Chapter?!
i1.kwejk.pl/site_media/obrazki/2012/06/08f8d3e16b62dd8ff40375be2fa40f82.jpg?1339651286
That was some tense action
Almost 10k words. Impressive
But still - MOAR
It's a nice surprise to wake up and have this chapter's announcement waiting in my mailbox. I mentioned several times before that I knew the wait would be worth it. Right now I'm happy to say it definately was.
You create a neat contrast in the personalities of Soarin and Spits where there is a lot of ground for Spits to be annoyed by, but at the same time they complement each other and perhaps even need each other. Soar to have decisions made and a certainty in what to do that ge lacks himself. Spits as a means of relativating her own dominant or hissing/scratching, for lack of a better term, to correct her when she does eventually cross a line he can't agree with. This creates a great dynamic between the two that is the charm of this story and this chapter in particular combined with an awkward situation in which both aren't all that confident. The tension that especially Spits is experiencing is described most believable and I greatly appreciate how you've at times broken that tension up with a humorous remark or event such as Soar with the vase. And Soarin is simply too adorable in his innocence almost.
Here's hoping you'll contnue the story. As cute as the ending of this chapter was, being the sappy hopeless romantic, I cannot help but hope for more, see Spits finally admit her feelings for Soar to him. Really great writing, thanks for all the effort.
Lost my internet points to Lightning. -_- At least I had thought of Ghost Chilli possibly making an appearance, even if she wasn't in the lift.
2794991
Thanks for the heads up, man... I know I need a proofreader, but I never seem to get on with them when I do. (More my fault than theirs, I'm aware...) And I do proofread myself, but I'm only human, and I'm not a particularly observant one at that. So, you know. I can only try. Plus, my MS word broke while I was writing this chapter, and it refused to spellcheck anything.
And hey, you're right... Malcoordinated isn't a word. Which is actually a massive shame, because I really liked it.
Still. Know any good proofreaders that I might actually get on with for once?
2794923
Thanks! I'm glad you liked it!
2795037
Thanks, mon ami! Thought it had its share of weak points, but I'm pretty proud of it overall.
2795070
Thanks! Loving the choice of meme, my man. And yeah, I know I took my sweet time over this one, but I think it might just have been worth it.
2795081
I always love to hear praise from you, 'cos I know you're an honest guy, and because you clearly have a fair old amount of experience reading stories.
And I love how you notice things in my writing that I didn't even notice myself! I mean sure, Soarin was supposed to be like Spitfire's mentor in being a decent pony, but I never really thought that she was doing him any good. Possibly because I've been looking at this from her point of view, and she only really sees how unpleasant she's being.
And woo! My story actually has charm! I've been walking on sunshine this morning, I tell you.
I always love to hear from you, man. It's always great to get feedback from you. But hey, don't feel too sore about losing them internet points. I mean, the only reason why Ghost would be up there is to be visiting Lightning, so you were oddly close.
I love your work, awesome! And he got what was coming to him
2795138
Heh welcome, are you Francis?
Damn, Spit, stop threatening the poor lug!
2796437
But she's a meanie!
2796285
Nah, sorry man. I'm just British and eccentric.
That's what went through my mind the whole time "Just...go get some guards, damnit!" xD
But well written either way :3
Awesome chapter man
, and the word count is epic, I love reading really long chapters and I think you should keep using malcoordinated, it's such an awesome word
2796676
No, that would be the sensible thing to do, silly!
Seriously though, thanks, man.
2796835
I'm still really angry about that! My world is based upon a lie! But hey, I'm glad you liked the longer chapter, though I doubt they'll be that long again...
2796893
You're right... Screw sensibility! xD
And you're very welcome :3
Beutiful chapter.
Its wonderful to see this updated. Its great to see Spitty finally admitting to herself at least that she loves that great brick of a colt. The weee kiss from Soar at the end is a good bonus. He certanly does seem as super loyal to her as he is in the show and their interactions, (oh so aquard as they are at the moment) were cute, even in the stress of trying to hide a body.
This story is probably going to continue to heat up a little before these two get a good snuggle session as a couple (at least, thats just my guess on wots probably going to happen..) and all in all, I'm still very much enjoying where you are going with this and I look forward to more.
I'm starting to like how you portray Soarin more and more. Glad to see this finally updated, was a pleasure to find out how their little adventure would play out!
Just throw in some morning sex and a successful practice and all will be proper in the world!
Until the guilt sets in. Too soon, folks~!
2799852
Well, cute is a tough emoion to write for me, but nopony's complained thus far to me. So, I must be doing something right. Still, as much as I'd like to make things quick and easy for them, but... Well, I'm sadistic. Plus, I just love writing Spitfire, so there's that.
2801655
Morning sex? Little adventure? Nay, that would be far too sweet and easy for them! I'd much rather let 'em sweat a little longer...
2801851
I'd expect no less!
Moar!
2841556
I'm working on it...
Hey just wanted to let you know that I've enjoyed this story immensely so far. There are far too few Soarin'/Spitfire stories on here, and even fewer that handle the relationship well. This story in particular gives us a great look into the mind of Spitfire, and her own internal conflicts. Additionally I'm glad you write Soarin' as not a complete wet towel; he has a backbone when he needs to be, and actually voices his opinion even if it opposes Spitfire (in other words he's not just a sappy yes man). Looking forward to more.
3147159
Why thank you! It does my heart goo to know that there are people liking my story, even when I haven't updated for weeks. How do you guys keep finding it?
That aside, I'm glad you liked my portrayal of them. Doing characters like them is always hard, because they're well known enough that people care what they're like, but vague enough that nobody is actually sure. So, everyone ends up with their own ideas, and if they conflict with yours, it can be frustrating. So, it's nice to know that I got it generally 'right-ish'.
3149017
It actually seems to be the contrary in my opinion. While everyone may have their own ideas about the personalities of Soarin', Spitfire, etc, they also do not have a well established canon personality, which gives writers like ourselves the opportunity to take a little creative license. That's why at times I find the background characters more fun to read and write than the mane six at times. Something I mentioned in a recent blog post of mine (also where I recommended your story as one of the few well written Soarin'/Spitfire fics).
And in reality, I wouldn't worry too much about other peoples' ideas of what the character should be like. This is your story, with your characters. While there are character boundaries that you roughly have to be in (unless it's a crack fic), I would say that being too conservative with personalities stunts character growth. At any rate, I don't think you have too much to worry about. Spitfire in your story follows a classic hardy exterior, while not being able to address her feelings toward Soarin', which also contributes to how she views herself as a pony in general (the whole sour attitude in general). The difference I believe is the believability and pacing (super important in my opinion). You don't just tell us outright through Spitfire what her problem is. The reader is along for the ride with Spitfire in discovering herself, as opposed to already knowing the problem, and the pacing really makes the gold here. It gives her time to ponder, second guess herself, ponder some more, all the while the reader is doing the same thing, silently rooting for her, while at the same time going nuts (in a good way) as the suspense builds toward the final confrontation between herself and Soarin'.
So if you haven't guessed, I thoroughly enjoy this story. Always looking forward to the next chapter, but no pressure. I know how hard it can be to turn out another chapter.
3149017 so when can i read the next chapter
3152495
I see your point, man. It's a good base to take the things that you like and run with them, while laving those things that you don't appreciate behind. (First thing I had to desert was the whole pie deal. Each to their own, of course, but I took it as more of a general food obsession, as opposed to just pie. I was the same with muffins, really. I'll admit, she didn't have many lines back then, but she said it once in passing. But I digress. Any excuse to have a go at the fandom I belong to...) But Background characters are much more fun than well-established ones! I'm as bad as any for criticising those who don't characterise well. (Of course, I'd never say anything.)
But I thank you for comforting me. I worry far too much about what people think about me and my stories, and I worry every tie that I post something that people might aggressively disagree. I'm no good at confrontation. Plus, it's terrible for my image as a nice guy. But I like to put the reader through a little stress, whether it works or not. It's not an engaging story unless the reader feels what the character's feeling. Otherwise, you're just a spectator. I'd say it's probably hard to be as cynical and twisted as Spitfire likes to act, but I somehow seem to keep people reading, so I guess we all have it in us.
But hey! It's people like you guys that truly make the story to me! I could write and write until my fingers fell off and I was blue in the face, but if no-one read it and enjoyed it, I'd be growing fruit for them only to rot, so to speak.
3156533
With any luck man, soon. I'd have posted it, if it was finished. But alas, it is not.
3163293 cant wait for it