Extinguished
Spitfire lowered the stamp onto the ink pad, allowing a few seconds for the ink to take hold on the rubber, then lifted the stamp over to the paper in front of her. She carefully aligned the stamp with the four series of horizonal lines on the bottom, and pressed down evenly and firmly. She counted to five before lifting the stamp and looking down at the paper, now bearing the Wonderbolt emblem in blue ink with the word "APPROVED" written over the lightning bolt. Spitfire lifted the paper and slid it into the "OUT" section of the shelf next to her, then reached below it to the "IN" shelf. She paused as she leaned over, looking past the shelf to the display case of medals, uniforms, and other memorabilia against the wall, the blurry image of her desk and her in the glass.
She picked up the paper from the tray, set it on the desk and began reading to herself. "Let's see... lives in Las Pegasus, three years experience on the local weather teams... seventeen years old... good medical history." Spitfire wrinkled her nose and peered closer. "Repeated suspensions from school for disrespecting teachers?" She snorted, allowing herself a smirk. "That won't last in this joint, kiddo." She looked to the side at a notebook with a chart of names beside several empty rows of boxes. She jotted down a note beside one name, then put a checkmark in the box beside it. She lifted her rubber stamp and put it back on the ink pad.
A wooden rapping broke of the silence of the room, drawing Spitfire's eyes from the stamp to the door. She rolled her tongue in her mouth and sat up in her chair and cleared her throat. When she spoke, it was with a lower voice that bore a slight growl to it. "Come in."
The door swung open to revealing a sheepishly grinning Soarin'. He lifted a hoof and waved. "Hey, Spits."
"What is it, Wonderbolt?" Spitfire lowered her eyes back to the stamp and moved it over to the application in front of her.
"Just letting you know, we're starting in ten minutes."
"I know how to read a clock, Wonderbolt." Spitfire brought the stamp down, letting the ink seep into the paper.
Soarin' glanced from side to side. "Sooo, you coming?"
"I'm busy." Spitfire slid the application into the "OUT" shelf and grabbed the next one from below it.
"But the ceremony starts-"
"I heard you the first time, Wonderbolt." Spitfire raised the application to her face, reading it line by line. "Winner of the Young Fliers competition three years in a row, took part in water recollection for Appleloosa..."
"Uh, do you want us to start without you, then?"
Spitfire grit her teeth and slammed the application on her desk, glaring with enough ferocity to melt a boulder. "Yes, that is exactly what you should do. I already told you that I am busy." She leaned over her desk and looked directly down at the application. "Minor motion sickness, occasional dizzy spells." If they can fly straight enough to function day-to-day, they can fly straight enough for the team. She made a note on her list of names, checked off the box, and put her stamp in the ink pad.
As she pressed the stamp down on the paper, she heard movement. She lessened the pressure on the stamp and raised her eyes to see Soarin' standing in front of her desk. She glared at him and put an edge in her voice that could slice steel. "What?"
Soarin' was looking at the application. He wrinkled his muzzle. "Are those the application forms for the Academy?"
Spitfire's expression didn't change. "No, they're the applications to a new pastry school that's opening in Cloudsdale. WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY ARE, WONDERBOLT?" She flapped her wings and jumped from her chair as she shouted, slamming her hooves on her desk. A spasm rustled through her extended right wing and she fell back into her chair, her face clenched.
On the other side of the desk, Soarin' kept his eyes on her as Spitfire shuffled in place and took a deep breath. Soarin' said softly, "the applications don't get processed until the first Sunday of the month."
"At which point there'll be a stack of them high enough to wallpaper the office. Might as well do some of it now." Spitfire looked for her stamp and, when she saw it, gave an accusing look at the smudged Wonderbolt emblem on the paper next to the stamp laying on its side. She pushed the paper into the "OUT" tray and grabbed the next below it.
"Look, Spits..." Soarin' rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes cast to the side. "You don't have to come down."
"I don't need you tell me what I can and cannot do, Wonderbolt." Spitfire pressed her stamp into the ink pad and slammed it on the application paper and slid it into the shelf.
"You don't need to do these, either."
"I know."
"And the-."
"Is there some reason for your visit other than to inform me of the obvious, Wonderbolt?" Spitfire sat back at her chair, suppressing a grimace of pain, and brought her hooves together in front of her.
Soarin's response was to look up at the clock on the wall. "Five minutes. Somepony will come looking for me if I don't come back with you soon."
"I told you to start without me, didn't I?" Spitfire snorted. "Five minutes means that's five more minutes I can tell you what to do you and you still have to listen."
"I will afterward, too, Ma'am, Captain." Soarin' smiled and raised his hoof in salute.
Spitfire's expression soured. "Get out of my office," she said lowly.
Soarin's smile fell. "Yes, Ma'am, Captain."
"The next time you say that, I'm shoving this stamp down your throat." Spitfire lifted the item in question and held it out in what she hoped was as menacing a manner as one could brandish a rubber stamp.
"Yes, Ma'am." Soarin' saluted again and backed out, pulling the door closed behind him.
Alone again, Spitfire slumped into her chair and let out a sigh, her body uncoiling. She put a hoof to her head, staring at the tray of applications. She then looked up at the clock: 11:56. The second hand ticked with steady rhythm, Spitfire's eyes watching it. She let out a grunt and tossed the stamp onto her desk with a wooden clatter. Looking at her checklist of applicants, she reached out and pushed the door to the side, eyeing the single sheet of paper under it. She lifted it up and began to read.
"Began as a runner-up in the Young Fliers competition, worked up to 1st place and held it five years until no longer of eligible age. Weather pony for Ponyville for six years. Top marks graduate of Wonderbolt Academy, breaking innumerable records in the process. Wonderbolt for twelve years. Publically honored by Princess Celestia for-." Spitfire rolled her eyes and crumbled the paper up, tossing it in the wastebin by her desk. I can't even get through the first paragraph without getting bored. Why should anypony else try to? I can just point and say "Duh, look at her" and they'd get it. She pushed her chair back, the wheels rattling on the floor, and looked out her window.
In the distance on the tarmac of the Wonderbolt Academy, rows of chairs full of ponies stood in front of a wooden stage, the Wonderbolts sitting in the front row with two empty chairs on one end. She saw another Wonderbolt approach and sit down in the second chair in, turning their head to the mare beside him. After a moment both their heads turned to look up at her window.
Spitfire's jaw tightened and she inhaled deeply, before she stood from her chair and moved about the room. She turned her head to the display case of medals and uniforms against the wall, her reflection glaring back at her from the glass. If she dare knocks on my door, I'm going to stick that stamp so far up her flank, she'll taste the ink. She stopped and swiveled her head toward the door, waiting for the inevitable sound.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, WONDERBOLT?"
Spitfire jumped in place, stumbling into the display case and pressing her cheek against the glass. She winced and turned her head to the pegasus flying outside her window, the intruder watching her with hooves crossed and eyes narrowed.
"YOU WERE GIVEN DIRECT ORDERS TO REPORT TO THE TARMAC BY TWELVE HUNDRED HOURS! WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU THINK YOU CAN LOUNGE ABOUT IN HERE?"
Spitfire pulled back from the display case and turned her head, giving her unwanted visitor a skeptical look. "Seriously?"
Rainbow Dash put a hoof on the window ledge and leaned her head on it, grinning widely. "How was that?"
"Better."
"I've been practicing." Rainbow beat a hoof on her chest. "Really kinda hurts the throat. After a couple sentences I have to cough."
"Sounds about right." Spitfire ruffled her wings and bit her lip to stop herself from making a sound.
"Whoa, you didn't aggravate it, did you?" Rainbow flew over and held a hoof out as if to poke her wing.
"I'm fine."
"Sorry, I didn't think you'd react like that."
"Stop talking, Wonderbolt." Spitfire rolled her eyes and pushed past Rainbow to return to her chair. She sat down and leaned back, shuffling to tilt her right side forward.
Rainbow smirked. "You don't get to tell me what to do anymore."
Spitfire looked at the clock. "I have sixty seconds. And if you're gonna be here annoying me, I'm gonna use them."
Rainbow turned her head, saw the clock, and groaned. "Yeah, yeah..." she gently flew to the other side of the desk and pulled a chair over. She laid her head on her hooves and rested them in the edge of the desk. "Get it over with."
Spitfire raised her head, smiled proudly, cleared her throat, and took a breath.
"NOW YOU LISTEN HERE, WONDERBOLT! YOU MIGHT THINK YOU'RE THE HOTTEST THING SINCE DRAGONBREATH, BUT LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING! YOU'RE ONLY EVER AS GOOD AS THE NEXT PERFORMANCE, SO IF I EVER LOOK OUT THIS WINDOW AND SEE YOU SLACKING OFF DOWN THERE, I AM GONNA COME DOWN THERE AND SHOW YOU HOW TO DO IT MYSELF! I EXPECT YOU TO BE THE BEST CAPTAIN THIS TEAM HAS EVER HAD, AND TO TRAIN THEM TO BE THE BEST TEAM OF WONDERBOLTS IN HISTORY! AND IF YOU LET ME DOWN, I WILL MAKE SURE YOU ANSWER FOR IT! DO YOU HEAR ME?"
Rainbow gently rubbed her ear as Spitfire finished. "Loud and clear."
"Good." Spitfire sat back in her chair. "I don't like to repeat myself."
Rainbow nodded. "Does this mean you'll come down?"
Spitfire huffed and slumped forward, a hoof on her chin. "Do I really have a choice?"
"Weeell, technically, I could order you to." Rainbow gave her a smug grin. Spitfire raised an eyebrow; Rainbow's grin vanished. "No - I'm asking you to."
"You want me to sit in an uncomfortable chair for an hour, listening to the rest of the team talk about how amazing I am, just so I can pin a fancy medal on your uniform at the end of it?"
"Actually it's an hour and a half."
Spitfire's head slumped further forward. "What?"
"A couple of old members asked to speak."
"Does all of Equestria know about this?" Spitfire stood up and walked to the display case. She slid the glass back and reached in to a box lined with red velvet, a medal in the shape of a lightning bolt with three blue bars resting in it. She looked at the medal evenly before picking up the lid of the box behind it and pulling it on. "Let's go and get it over with." She tucked the box under her left wing and headed to the door of her office. "But I'm not going to the reception! And you're not gonna talk me into it."
"I could order you to." Spitfire stopped at the door and watched Rainbow step up beside her. Rainbow pulled the door open and gestured her wing out into the hall. "After you, Captain."
"Don't call me that."
"You don't get to tell me what to do anymore. I don't need to listen you."
"You'll always be a newbie to me, so you will stop calling me that, unless you want me to pin this medal in a very uncomfortable place."
Rainbow chuckled and raised her hoof in salute. "Yes, Ma'am, Captain."
"Newbie."
"Captain."
Rainbow smiled and continued holding her salute. Spitfire smiled back and raised her hoof to salute back, then stepped out into the hall, the box under her wing rattling. Rainbow reached back and gently closed the door behind them.