• Published 5th Jan 2013
  • 6,061 Views, 179 Comments

If the Flight Suit Fits - TheLastBrunnenG



A Spitfire and Dash romance, about as smooth as a head-on collision at terminal velocity.

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Unscheduled

Hoofsteps echoed down the empty and dimly-lit corridors of the Wonderbolts’ Cloudsdale headquarters. Spitfire sighed behind tired eyes and leaned on the door to the fortress of solitude which passed for her office. There on her perfectly grey desk among flight schedules, weather reports, personnel reviews, and a hundred rejected applications sat a hoof-sized crystalline statue topped by a stylized golden pegasus. Dangling from it was tag that read, Spits - Sorry I threw the Best In Show trophy at your head. Got you a new one. Aren’t I amazing like that? - Dash.

The Wonderbolts’ Captain growled, “You’d be more amazing if you’d have put this in the trophy case like I asked you at least three times to.” Shaking her head, she scooped up the statuette in a powerful yellow wing and backed down the hallway. Pausing, she added, “Listen to me! Sent everybody home for a week’s vacation and I’m already talking to myself. Not a good sign, Spitfire, not a good sign.”

Trudging wearily past faded posters and long-empty water coolers, she made her way to a dusty glass-fronted wall where dozens of statuettes and trophies gleamed next to plaques and ribbons and certificates. As she nudged the little trophy into a gap between two near-identical though somewhat dustier copies, its translucent base knocked a large envelope to the floor. “Brilliant. She didn’t forget after all,” Spitfire muttered, “she just put the trophy on my desk and the mail in the trophy case.

Envelope clenched in gritting teeth, Spitfire trotted through the double doors to the headquarters’ entrance, wincing involuntarily as they slammed shut behind her. Down cloud-formed walkways she walked until she came to a bank of mailboxes whose single outgoing bin was dwarfed by row upon row of boxes for incoming mail. Easing the sliding drawer open with a wingtip, she snarled as she deposited the envelope and pulled out a scribbled note. Her own hoofwriting was clear: Dash, sweep the flightline before you head out for the week. Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be muzzle-deep in paperwork while you’re gone. And lock the door when you leave. - Spits.

“I’d bet bits to bagels she didn’t bother,” spat the fuming pegasus as she stomped back to the doorway. “That filly can’t do two things right in a row. Never listens, never pays attention, and half the orders I give go in one ear and out the other. I ought to - ” She pulled the door once, yanked the handle twice, and rattled with all her strength a third time, and neither door budged. “Locked out. Just feathering great! The one thing she remembers to do - my luck.”

Rocketing off the walkway, she flew a wide curve around the squat, utilitarian building and blazed a path toward the elevated practice field that served as flightline and training ground. “Please let that featherbrain still be sweeping,” she whispered into the wind. Cresting the cloud-plateau which supported the Wonderbolts’ private runway, her jaw dropped as she saw the bulbous shape of an airship parked on the field, a rainbow-maned pegasus leaning against its gondola.

“Rainbow Aeryn Dash! What in Tartarus has gotten into you today?” she yelled as she lit on the windswept field barely a muzzle’s length away from the blue mare. “You haven’t done a single thing I asked you to do today, and - “

“Nothing? Really?” grinned Rainbow, her hooves crossed as she leaned against the airship’s boarding door. ” ‘Cause I think I remember locking the doors, at least, and that’s something, right?”

“Fine,” Spitfire hissed, “you did exactly one thing. And what in blazes is an airship doing parked here? First, this is a private field, not for use by civilian traffic, and second, I asked you to clear the flightline before you left.”

Easing the airship’s door open, Dash leaned inside and called, “Hey Airhoof, you gassed up and ready?”

From inside the cabin a nasally voice answered, “Yes Ma’am! Ready when you are, Ma’am. The beaches of Barhaydos await you, just give the word.”

“Barhaydos?” Spitfire’s brow furrowed and her voice leapt a few decibels. “You shirked half your duties and booked a personal airship to Barhaydos?”

“Actually, I decided we could both use some duty-free time. You gave the rest of us the week off but you never treat yourself the same way, Spits. Now that you’re locked out - and let me remind you, you promised me a key two months ago and never delivered - we don’t have much choice, do we?” Trotting up the entry ramp, she called over her shoulder, “You coming, or are you sleeping on the flightline for the next week?”

“Coming? What do you mean, am I coming? Dash, I don’t - “

Rainbow rolled her eyes and smiled. “Well, I did have this extra boarding pass, but if you want me to toss it overboard, I guess I can sweep it off the flightline when I get back.”

Spitfire stood wide-eyed and frozen for long seconds before galloping up the ramp. “Dash, you did remember to pack sunscreen, right?”

Author's Note:

TMP Prompt # 252.

Rainbow's middle name is a Farscape reference.