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- Prompt:
- >tfw you will never sneak into her office and find Spitfire asleep at her desk after a long, tiring day.
- >tfw you will never pick her up and carry her off to get some proper rest.
- >tfw you will never arrive in to her room only to find out she's attached herself to your arm in her sleep and won't let go.
- >tfw you will never sit down and hold her in your lap, promising you'll wake her up in five minutes.
- >tfw you'll never fall asleep too, and end up staying the whole night with her curled on top of you.
- >tfw she'll never be tunsdere as fuck when she wakes up in the morning.
- --------
- "Spitfire?"
- > No, not in there...
- "Hey Spitfire, need to check with you about something..."
- > Damn, which of these offices was she hiding in?
- "You there, Spitfire?"
- > No, she wasn't in there either.
- > That leaves just...
- > You glance down the hallway to the simple wood-panel doorway at the absolute end - one strikingly simple for what lay beyond it.
- "...guess she must be hiding out in her office again..."
- > Not that you blamed her.
- > When you were captain of the most prestigious flying team in Equestria, you needed a place you could retreat to - a private spot where no pesky intruders could get to you.
- > Which, you suppose, you were about to casually violate the purpose of.
- > But she'd forgive you.
- > Probably.
- "Hey, Spitfire?"
- > Your knuckles rap on the door, failing to yield any response from the occupant within.
- "Spitfire, I really got to talk to you. It's fast, I promise."
- > Still no response; against your better urges, you nudge the wooden door open.
- "Sorry, Spitfire, but I got t-"
- > Oh.
- > The apology dies in your throat as the sight before you drags a small smile to your lips.
- > The sun had long since set, leaving little light to creep in from the innumerable floating lanterns that lit Cloudsdale's skyways.
- > Except for a small lamp on the desk, the room was cast in darkness - a little pool of light, centered on the form of the amber-coated Wonderbolts' captain.
- > Spitfire was indeed in her office.
- > She was slumped over her desk in an orange-and-red ball, though - eyes closed and cheek resting on some half-completed forms, a pot of ink mercifully left upright nearby.
- > Chuckling softly, you shake your head as you slip the rest of the way into the cluttered office - dodging innumerable trophies, boxes of paper records, and dozens of other random objects scattered about the room.
- > Who'd have guessed the perfectionist captain of the Wonderbolts kept such a messy private office?
- > Speaking of the captain...
- > Nudging Spitfire's sleeping form slightly only yields a particularly impressive snore from her.
- > She's definitely out of it; poor mare's probably been up for two days straight after her last tour...
- > You'll just have to ask her in the morning.
- > You're halfway back to the door when it occurs to you that it may not be entirely fair to leave Spitfire slumped over her desk.
- > Yeah, sure, she had work to be doing... but you knew from experience that position wasn't a comfortable one to be sleeping in
- > And more than anything else, Spitfire needed that rest.
- > But if you woke her up she'd go right back to work again.
- > Of course, there was another option...
- > She'd forgive you, right...?
- > Making your way back to her desk, you snap off the light - blinking a few times as your eyes take to the darkness - feel your way down to lift the slumbering pegasus from her seat.
- > The moment she's lifted, you're struck again by just how light - and small - she actually is.
- > Spitfire may be one of the fastest pegasi on the planet, but she's still barely half your size - her body nesting comfortably in your arms as her head occupies her shoulder.
- > Stepping carefully, you again retreat from the office.
- > A short-cloud bridge separates the administrative and residence wings of the headquarters; stepping out from the shadow of the larger cloud structure, you're unexpectedly struck by a burst of chill air.
- > While you shiver slightly, Spitfire doesn't seem to notice it whatsoever.
- > Indeed, for the first time you seem to realize how much she seems to radiate the warmth of her namesake.
- > Combined with the smooth sleekness of her coat, it actually felt... quite pleasant.
- > A moment later you shake your head; you weren't here to enjoy this, but to get the captain back to her room.
- > All the Wonderbolts had their own small rooms here for the times when they needed to stay overnight.
- > Spitfire's was occupied more often than not - workaholic that she was - and is already prepared when you gently nudge the door open with one foot.
- > Unlike the office, it is well lit by the glow of Luna's moon filtering in through a half-dozen huge floor-to-ceiling door-windows that allowed an excellent view of the cloud-city beyond.
- > Finding Spitfire's bed by the low light is easy enough, especially considering the room's otherwise spartan furnishings.
- > Seriously, for how much this mare seemed to live in the headquarters, you'd think she'd have done something for her room.
- > But no, there's nothing but the bed, a work desk, and a large chair set up before one of the windows.
- > Reaching the cloud-mattress, you move to lower her into a proper rest-
- > Oops.
- > Well, this is a problem.
- > At some point along the trip, Spitfire had locked her forehooves around one arm - clinging closely to it with strong, muscled legs.
- > She wasn't going to just slide off...
- "...hey, Spits?"
- > You try jostling her lightly, nudging her towards some level of wakefulness.
- "Spitfire, c'mon. I need to be getting to sleep as well..."
- > Her only reaction the flick of one ear, brushing against your cheek in a tickling softness.
- > It'd take more than that to wake her up...
- > With a groan you stand upright again, looking about the room for somewhere to sit.
- > Light for her size or not, Spitfire wasn't exactly featherweight.
- > Again your eyes fall on the chair set before a window.
- > It'd probably been made so a pony could lay down across it, making it the perfect size for you to plant your rear on.
- > The moment you do - relaxing your grip on Spitfire and allowing her to sink into your lap - she relaxes her deathgrip on your arm, apparently now finding it more convenient to stretch out across your legs.
- "...goddamnit, Spitfire..."
- > You shake your head, a slight grin on your lips.
- > Of course she'd let go now...
- > Urgh, whatever.
- > It'd be a sin to wake someone as comfortable as she looks to be without allowing her some rest first.
- > Spitfire had rolled her rear hooves off to one side, allowing them to stretch out; one foreleg remained tucked beneath her while the other was similarly stretched against your leg.
- > Her mane become ruffled at some point - falling from its typical blown-back look to lay in a random mess over her head and neck.
- > Even as you watch she shifts again, wings ruffling a bit as her breathing grows gentler once more.
- > Yeah, no way you're waking that right now.
- > You'll give her... ten minutes, then get her into actual bed.
- > Besides, it's not a bad view out this window - you can see a lot of the Cloudsdale from here.
- > Although the breeze was once again chilly, the fact that you had an exceptionally soft source of warmth resting atop your legs helped to deal with that.
- > ...actually, this wasn't too bad at all.
- > If not for needing to get back to your own room at some point, you could just lay your head back and...
- > Just lay your head...
- > Just lay...
- > Just...
- > ...
- > "WHAT THE BUCK!"
- > It's not the sunlight that wakes you, streaming in through the windows.
- > Or the sudden scream.
- > No, mostly it's the amber wing battering against your chest and arms as Spitfire tries to free herself from your grasp.
- > "Who is - where - Anon? Anon?!
- "Spits? Hey, wait, listen, I can exoooourgh!"
- > A pair of hind-hooves are firmly planted in your gut as Spitfire kicks herself into the air, leaving you gasping for air and nearly doubled over.
- > "What do you think you're doing, Anon?! Were you just-"
- "Woah, woah! I just wanted to make sure you got a good rest, okay?"
- > Holding up your hands defensively, you try and ward off the angry pegasus long enough to get in a word edgewise.
- "I didn't do anything else! Just brought you back here, meant to let you sleep somewhere else than with your face right in your desk lamp, okay? That's it, I promise!"
- > At least she's listening, her hooves lowering from a boxing position as she hovers mid-air before you.
- "Besides, you were the one who decided to grab my arm and hug it like a lifeline! Next time I'll just wake you up, sheesh!"
- > "...oh..."
- > Folding her forelimbs together, Spitfire gives you a sharp look.
- > "Well, don't you blame me for what I did. It was cold on that bridge, I couldn't help it!"
- "Well, then don't blame me for falling asleep when you won't get off my damn - wait."
- > Something about her last statement clicks into place.
- "Wait - 'it was cold on that bridge'? You were awake for that, and you didn't say anything?!"
- > For a second Spitfire's entire face flushes the same hue as her trademark mane, and then your vision is filled with twin pools of orange, narrowed sharply.
- > "You tell anypony, Anonymous, and I will toss you right off the side of Clousdale. Do you understand me?"
- > Her voice is a low and aggressive, but you can't help a small smile creeping to your lips.
- "Yes ma'am. Absolutely understand..."
- > "Good. Then we can agree to-"
- "-Snugglefire."
- > Now her cheeks go well beyond any tones of orange and well into red.
- > "That's not - I didn't - augh!"
- > The anger's gone from her tone, though.
- "...if it makes you feel any better, I'm not actually angry at you either."
- > There's no immediate response, but just as you're turning to go Spitfire finds her voice again.
- > Softer, though - and quieter.
- > "Hey, Anon?"
- "Yeah?"
- > You glance back to find her shooting a small, nervous smile in your direction.
- > Though her cheeks are still quite flushed, it's not so sharp as before.
- > "Thanks. For staying overnight."
- "...you're welcome too."
- > And with that you head out, slipping away before any of the other Wonderbolts can spot you.
- > You'd just have to-
- > Oh.
- > You'd totally forgotten.
- "Hey Spitfire? I got to ask you something, though."
- --------
- > You can say this for Equestria.
- > The stars are absolutely fucking amazing.
- > Maybe it's the fact that there's not much in the way of light pollution in most places.
- > Or maybe that there's a physical goddess who runs the night.
- > But either way, there's something to be said for being able to look up and see what looks like a million stars.
- > Only downside was the need to get far enough up to be away from everyone else and see them.
- > Getting to the airship's upper lookout deck is a nothing but a short flight - or, if you happened to lack wings, a long painful climb through numerous painfully sharp staircases within the envelope.
- > And by the time you'd reached the top, it was quite apparent just how insufficient the jacket you'd brought with you was.
- > Oh well.
- > No way you were hiking all the way down again just to get a heavier one.
- > And besides, the view was excellent from up here.
- > Easy to look straight up to the star-lit sky above, or to either side and see the balloon curving away beneath you to reveal the distant land beneath.
- > Settling into an unfolding canvas seat you'd lugged up with you, you're not surprised when the beating of wings reaches your ears several moments later.
- > After all, one of the crew might want to hold watch from up here.
- > What does surprise you, is who they belong to.
- "'lo, Spitfire."
- > "Well, look who dragged themselves up here."
- > Soft tap-taps on the deck beneath herald her hooves touching down.
- > "Didn't figure I'd find you all the way up here."
- "What, you need the deck for something?"
- > "Nah. Just doing my night-time exercise - giving my wings a stretch, getting the blood moving, you know?"
- "Heh, fair enough. I won't keep you, then."
- > She doesn't go, though - instead stepping over to sit on her haunches at the side of your seat.
- > After a moment, you glance aside again with one eyebrow raised.
- "Something up?"
- > "Just... wondering what's got you all the way up here. Can't have been easy."
- > Snorting gently, you shake your head.
- "Even with my posture, those stairs are hell. I can't imagine how you're supposed to use them on four legs."
- > Shooting a snarky grin towards you, Spitfire shakes her head.
- > "Should get some wings, two-legs."
- "Hah, hah. Building 'em as fast as I can, Spits. Until then, I've got to brave the stairs."
- > You're grinning, though - amusement touching your lips at her banter.
- > Amazing how the tough-captain act vanished into lighthearted banter when she didn't need it.
- > "Don't look at me. Never used them in my life. So, what is it then?"
- "Eh, just..."
- > A hand swings out to indicate the distant horizon - black night meeting the barely-visible outlines of mountains in the distance.
- "Never really got to see this view back home. Not like this - open, just out there all the time. We could fly in our machines, but I never got to do that - closest I got was peering out through a tiny little thick glass window."
- > You fold your hand back underneath an arm, tightening up against the high-altitude chill.
- > "...you're cold."
- > A rueful grin touches your lips.
- "Yeah. Forgot how chilly it was going to be, grabbed a too-light coat."
- > "Try growing one instead."
- "Hah, hah."
- > Your gaze again returns to the distant horizon - watching a few moon-lit clouds hanging a short ways away.
- > Thus, you're quite surprised when an unexpected weight suddenly comes to rest on your lap.
- "Th'hell, Spitfire?"
- > "You objecting?"
- > One orange eye regards you carefully.
- > Were you?
- "...nah. Just surprised."
- > Spitfire gives a pleased little noise and stretches out across your legs, her own hooves draped to either side.
- "Wasn't expecting you to get so... comfortable so fast."
- > "Don't think too hard on it. You got the only good seat up here."
- > That doesn't explain the small smile still hovering on her lips, though, or the pleased ruffling of her wings as she settled down.
- > You allow yourself a small grin as well - one that you're sure she can't see.
- > "So, anyway. That's what you're building that thing in your spare time for, right? Something to fly again?"
- "The airplane, yeah. Don't get me wrong - it was really comfortable where I lived. But, there's something about this kind of view that always just leaves me a little in awe."
- > "Heh. Know what you mean. I'd go a little nuts if I couldn't fly anymore... even if keeping myself up to speed can be a pain sometimes."
- "Don't doubt it."
- > After a moment's consideration, you reach out and rest a hand on her back.
- > Again her wingtips twitch... but there's no rejection.
- > Spitfire gazes on peacefully, a striking warmth radiating from her coat against the nighttime air.
- > Her eyes, too, have drifted out to the far sky.
- > For a long while all you can hear is the distant rumble of engines from somewhere far below, before Spitfire's voice eventually breaks the calm once more.
- > It's a lot softer than it was before.
- > "Hey Anon?"
- "Yeah?"
- > "Thanks."
- "...what for?"
- > "Just... I dunno. Treating me like just another mare."
- > You raise an eyebrow even though Spitfire couldn't possibly see it.
- > Evidently she can sense your unspoken question, though, since she goes on.
- > "Trust me, it's worse than you quite know. The fans are relentless, and the other 'bolts - too often I've got to be the captain to them."
- "Guess I'm lucky I'm not under your direct command, then."
- > "Shut up."
- > There's laughter in her voice, though, and her tail flicks against you in a gesture of amusement.
- > "You're lucky I can't beat your flank."
- "I'd like to see you try."
- > "Try me sometime! Doesn't matter if you're three times my height; I'm way faster."
- > She was probably right, too.
- > It's a while before either of you really speak again.
- > "But... yeah, you're nice enough to not give me grief over what I'm supposed to be."
- "When you get tossed into another universe, expectations kind of up and vanish."
- > "Whatever. Point is... I guess it kind of clicked over for me when you stuck around that one night. You give a damn, and I can trust you not to try any funny stuff."
- "...if we're admitting things, I guess I can say that I didn't exactly mind it either."
- > "I know."
- > There's that amused tone in her voice - laughter not quite there.
- > "But you didn't push it. And that was good."
- > Again her wings ruffle slightly - this time seeming to try and spread over her body.
- > It suddenly occurs to you that you might not be the only one suffering from the cold up here.
- "...hey Spitfire, if you're feeling the chill you don't have to stay up here just for me."
- > "What, and miss out on this? No way - uh-uh. Not many chances I get to just relax."
- "In that case... get up for just one second?"
- > She does, and you undo a few of the buttons holding your coat closed.
- > Holding the sudden cavity open, you give her a grin.
- "It's warmer - and I'm wearing something beneath it, I promise."
- > She rolls her eyes, but grins while scooting most of her body in to the cavity you've produced - leaving only a head and neck emerging.
- "See? Warmer."
- > "Yeah, yeah..."
- > Squirming around, she manages to produce a place to rest her chin.
- > "Got to agree with you, though. It is nice up here."
- > Twisting her head about again, she fixed you with a grin.
- > "Just one rule though. I doze off here, you gotta wake me up for real."
- "I promise."
- > "Done."
- > Not ten minutes later her eyes have already fallen shut, and you're shaking your head in disbelief.
- > The way that mare works herself, really...
- > That, and how peaceful she ended up looking when asleep.
- > Awake, Spitfire seemed to be permanently in motion - as if slowing down for a moment would be tantamount to admitting defeat.
- > But asleep, with only the passing wind there brush her spiky mane about?
- > Undeniably peaceful looking.
- > ...and undeniably adorable.
- > And even though you've promised... ten minutes couldn't hurt that much, could it?
- --------
- > "Hey Anon, you in there?"
- > Unfortunately, when the call reaches your ears you're not only inside the workshop but buried head-and-shoulders inside a particularly obstinate bit of machinery.
- "Spitfire? Yeah, hold on a second while I - ow! - get my head out."
- > With your head extracted from the workings, you're also free to hear the low, continuous hiss of rain falling on the outside - a noise that sets you jogging for the shop door.
- > By the time you've freed yourself and reached it, though, it's still been a fair while.
- > Unlatching the main door and hauling one of the huge, swinging panels aside greets you with the sight of an exceedingly wet Wonderbolt.
- > Her typically blown-back mane has been plastered against her head by the continuous deluge falling from the sky.
- "Damn, Spitfire! Get inside - and next time, just push the small door open, it's not locked."
- > "Thanks. I... just didn't want to intrude."
- > Hooves tapping on the hard floor, Spitfire just steps far enough in to get out of the rain before she bunches herself up and shakes wildly.
- > You're reminded of nothing so much as a orange-and-yellow dog drying itself; fortunately you'd already retreated well out of the splash-radius before it began.
- > Nonetheless you raise an eyebrow, speaking up once she's done.
- "So, wait. You just stood out there waiting for me for how long?"
- > "Next time I'll just barge in whenever, then."
- > She fixes you with one eye, but it's obvious she's not really angry.
- > Neither did she answer the question, though.
- "Hah, hah. You know my door's open when I'm in."
- > Returning to the machine you'd been working on, you pick up a wrench and get back to work.
- "The pony-pult is almost fixed, if that's what you were wondering. I just need to get a few pipes back together."
- > "That's, uh..."
- > Something in her voice grabs your attention; dropping the bolt you'd been about to reinsert, you twist around to look at the Wonderbolts' captain.
- "...what's up, Spitfire?"
- > "Can I just... stay here for a little while? I won't get in your way."
- > You blink in surprise; that wasn't what you'd been expecting.
- "...sure. Not exactly my place to tell you where you can and can't go."
- > Maybe you weren't under her direct command, but the team kind of had financed most of the equipment in here.
- > "Thanks."
- > A brief pause, and then Spitfire, motions to a mostly-disassembled mess sitting in a corner.
- > "That's your thing that you're working on? The air-what?"
- "The airplane? Yeah."
- > Again the wrench is set down; you stand, moving to stand slightly behind her.
- "Yeah. I'm still working on the engine-power problem."
- > "...I can't imagine flying while trapped up inside that much metal. I mean, and airship is one thing, but this just seems... claustrophobic."
- "It might be, but short of a miracle it's the best kind of flying I'm going to get."
- > "I dunno. Maybe there's a way to -"
- > Spitfire halts herself and shakes her head.
- > "Sorry. I'm getting you away from your work. I'll quit it now."
- "...I don't mind."
- > She doesn't respond though, wandering off.
- > Shrugging you, return to your job - grunting and quietly swearing under your breath as you force recalcitrant pipes into spots they were definitely supposed to but did not want to go.
- > Not until you emerge from the mess a good twenty minutes later at least do you spot Spitfire.
- > Wiping your hands clear of grease on a nearby rag, you nearly drop it in surprise when you spot her.
- > She'd slipped out the door again, sitting on her haunches amid the ongoing downpour outside,
- > All four legs folded beneath her, wings half-extended to hang down and gaze steadily boring into the ground somewhere in front of her.
- "The hell?"
- > Heading for the door, you notice a sodden lump laying on the ground next to her.
- > Was that... her dress uniform?
- "Spitfire, what're you doing out there?! Didn't you just dry off?"
- > There's no sign she's heard you - not until you call out again.
- "Hey! Spitfire! Get back inside; I don't care what you've flown through, that can't be fun."
- > She doesn't react immediately - seemingly on a delay before finally pushing herself upright and walking back indoors, as if in a daze.
- "Stay right here. I'm going to go get something."
- > Yeah, ordering your effective boss around wasn't exactly the best of ideas.
- > But if she didn't want to, it wasn't like she had to follow your orders, right?
- > Spitfire's still there when you return, though - a steadily-spreading pool of water having formed beneath her and the crumpled uniform she'd dragged in with her.
- "Here. I got couple of towels; dry yourself off."
- > She'd probably leave hairs all over them, but what the hell.
- > Rather than dry herself off, though, Spitfire barely reacts when you lay the first towel across her back.
- > "Sorry... I said I'd not get in your way or anything..."
- "...alright, Spitfire, what the hell? You come in and ask if you can just crash in the workshop for a bit, then go outside and stand in the rain - and now this? Look, I'm no head-doctor, but I can see when something's wrong."
- > "It's just... urgh. You got some place to sit down?"
- "Yeah, I got a chair. Hold on."
- > There was a large desk in the corner of the workshop, used for innumerable tasks - writing notes or letters, forming drawings of new designs, hoolding your lunch when you ate in the shop.
- > And now, apparently, hosting drying Wonderbolts captains - having mostly dried herself on the way over, Spitfire lofts herself up onto the desk with a short flutter.
- > Following behind her, you unfold the second, still-dry towel and lay it across her shoulders to deal with the remaining dampness.
- "...chair's open if you want it."
- > "Nah, I'm good. Thanks, though."
- > Shrugging, you settle into the chair instead and lean back.
- "So seriously, Spitfire - you don't have to give me every dirty little detail, but what is this?"
- > "...had a meeting with the big-shots from way on high."
- > Folding the towel around herself in an impressive display of dexterity, Spitfire's gaze again falls to the floor.
- > "They're 'concerned about the sub-standard performance of the team' compared to other racing circles."
- "What the hell does that mean? I thought the 'bolts held most of the records."
- > "We do."
- > Spitfire snorts unhappily.
- > "We're not the absolute fastest, period - I've seen some ponies do some crazy things - but they burn out in two, four, eight hundred meters at the most. We're racers - we keep a pace."
- "So, what - they want you to match a burst sprinter on the race track? That's kind of stupid, isn't it?"
- > "That's what I told them."
- > A stark roll of her bright-orange eyes gives a clear estimation of her opinions on that topic.
- > "It's also - we keep ponies on our team as long as they can keep up with the rest of us. Even if their absolute personal times aren't peak anymore."
- > Are her times falling, you wonder?
- > Spitfire wasn't exactly old, for a Wonderbolt - but she wasn't at the start of her career either.
- > Head twisting around, Spitfire stares out through the window behind the desk at the endless rainfall pattering down beyond.
- > "So here's the choice I get: I can either push my 'bolts to win regardless of what it does for us as a team... or I can take the blame for 'not leading them properly'."
- "That's a load of it, and we both know it. And your fans will know it too."
- > "Oh, they'll know it. That won't save my career though. They'll push me out and get somepony in who'll answer to them and them alone."
- > Her head drops to the tabletop, eyes still staring glumly into the grey-black sky.
- > "Hay, I've already screwed up trying to keep the team going for them..."
- "That business up in Rainbow Falls?"
- > Spitfire physically winces, and you do too.
- "Sorry. Shouldn't have brought it up like that."
- > "No, no... I... I thought, if I pulled back from a first-line member being injured and still bagged a win, they'd get off my wings for a while. Soarin's never looked at me quite straight again since that."
- > A heavy sigh lifts the towel wrapped around her.
- > "And the best part is, I feathering earned it. I earned every headline and sharp look I got from that."
- "Would you do it again, if you had the chance?"
- > "Hay, no. I'd at the least talk to Soarin' first. Doesn't fix what happened, though."
- > Her eyes are shimmering now, and not merely with light dancing off of the rain outside.
- > "They want winners. I want a team. Whichever way I go, I'm flying straight into a storm-wall."
- > Something she'd said before comes back to you - about needing to be hero to her fans, and a captain to her team.
- > And being able to be open with neither.
- > Your hand comes to rest gently on her back.
- "C'mere a second."
- > Reaching out, you pull Spitfire into a hug.
- > She freezes for a moment - but then relaxes, strong legs again locking about your arm.
- > "You get away with a lot, you know that?"
- "Do I ever."
- > The grin cracking your face as you say that fades as Spitfire doesn't respond, though she does relax somewhat against you.
- "...but I wouldn't be doing this if it weren't helping you, y'know."
- > "Yeah... yeah, I do. Been a while since anyone gave me an honest hug, you know that?"
- > Shrugging the towel off, Spitfire again collapses down against you.
- > Though she might be relaxed, her ears are still flopped low and wings held in a loose, limp fashion.
- > After a moment, you reach out with a hand and start to rub at the back of her neck.
- > As expected for a pony who'd probably been standing at attention for some time even before the matter at hand got into her, it's a mess of knots and tension.
- > When your fingers begin to work into it, though, Spitfire visibly relaxes as a whole - wings extending to fall out at her sides.
- > Her coat had mostly dried out, leaving it to fluff up in a strange counterpart to its normally sleek and smooth nature.
- > Not that you were complaining; that left it quite pleasant to touch as your fingers ran through it.
- > "...to tell the truth, I was... kind of looking to just hide in here for a while. Let me head clear."
- > Well, you couldn't deny it made sense - few would come looking for the wonderbolts' captain in such a space - but still...
- "Was that really going to help?"
- > "Solve things? Hay, no. But it'd let me just clear my mind for a bit."
- > Her head twists to the side to fix you with one bright-orange eye.
- > "Which, by the way... you're actually helping with. Thanks."
- > You don't respond except to shoot her a small grin and keep up your work - steadily melting the pegasus into a puddle of relaxation on your lap.
- > Except for the occasional flick of her ear and the steady rise-fall of her sides, there'd be little hint she was even awake.
- > Rain still patters steadily against the window - a steady, constant reminder of what waits beyond.
- > But for just a moment it doesn't seem to matter - to you, or the amber-coated pegasus slumped against you.
- --------
- > The fact that you've fallen asleep in your work clothes
- > It's something that's happened before, though you try and curtail it as much as possible.
- > No, what's more worrying is the fact that your head is occupied by a raging, blazing headache.
- > Well, that and the suspiciously warm weight laying across your belly.
- > It's too far down to be seen at first - firmly covered over by the sheets, leaving only a slightly moving bulge considerably larger than your gut (despite what anyone might say about it).
- > Wait, moving.
- > As in, breathing softly.
- > And judging by the hoof digging into your side, it's not a dog you spontaneously adopted last night.
- > Well, you'd have to face the moment of truth sooner or later.
- > A deep breath is drawn in as the covers are lifted.
- "...Spitfire?"
- > "M'flghluh?"
- "Why does my head feel like a dozen earth ponies had been doing tap-dancing lessons in there overnight?"
- > "Because you were really drunk last night."
- > Her answer is unhesitating, and your dulled logic is forced to accept it is probably accurate.
- "Oh. Why are you sleeping on my stomach?"
- > This time there's a longer wait before she answers.
- > "Because I was really fucking drunk last night."
- > "...oh."
- > There's a long silence, during which it suddenly occurs to you that there could be certain implications of you ending up in the same bed as the wonderbolts' captain.
- > It takes you several moments to realize that no, your pants and shirt are still very much intact.
- > As much you'd sometimes thought about it, a drunken one-night stand would probably not be good for your working relationship.
- > Besides, you can't even remember last night, and it's no fun if you don't get to remember it.
- > "Izzit bright out there?"
- "Uh... not really. Shades are closed."
- > "Urgh, good."
- > Emerging from beneath the blanket now is a mass of incredibly mess golden-orange hair.
- > A few swipes of a hoof turns it into something resembling a mane, framing two groggy-looking and puffy eyes of a similar hue.
- "Well, good morning there. Up for a nice wake-up flight? Cold air, bright morning sun, rush of wind in your ears?"
- > "Fuck you, Anon."
- > Spitfire's not typically so coarse; her hangover must be a real ringer.
- > Stumbling forward a few more steps, Spitfire trips over your outstretched and and collapses face-forward into the bed with a moan.
- > Snorting softly, you watch as her wings flex futilely - evidently not quite awake enough to try flight.
- "...so what exactly did I do last night?"
- > "We went out drinking. You declared our booze 'the pissiest stuff you'd ever tasted' and decided you couldn't ever get drunk on it."
- > Rolling onto her back, Spitfire fixes you with a look that reeks of schadenfreude, a grin creeping across her lips.
- > "Then you drank an entire bottle of Minotaur blood-whiskey."
- "Well, shit."
- > Your head falls back to the pillow, spiking another wave of pain through it.
- > "Regretting it now, mister-I-can-handle-whatever-liquor-you-give-me?"
- "Do you need to ask? Why are you that drunk anyhow?"
- > "I... don't remember either. But if I had to guess..."
- "Drinking contest?"
- > Spitfire groans and nods ever so slightly, keeping her face firmly buried in the sheets.
- > "Drinking contest."
- "Well.. I think it's a Saturday, so you don't have anywhere to be, at least."
- > "Not... this one, anyway."
- > Propping yourself up on one elbow, you give her a hard look.
- "Seriously, Spitfire?"
- > "Team captain, Anon. The day I get off regularly is the day I quit."
- > You roll your eyes, but she has a point.
- "Well, consider yourself - oof!"
- > In the absence of anything covering her anymore, Spitfire had attempted to rise again - only this time, collapsing over on her side against you with a low moan.
- > Again eyebrows shoot up as her muzzle buries itself between your side and the sheet.
- "Uh, Spitfire...?"
- > "Shut up. It's warm and dark and my head doesn't hurt as much."
- > Her voice is muffled, but still clearly audible - still quite easy for you to hear the annoyance at herself in it.
- > Your eyes are set into another roll, even though there's no conceivable way she could see that one now.
- > Reaching around with one hand, you let your fingers find the way her ear and begin lightly scratching at the short, velvety fuzz that runs over it.
- > Strangely enough, Spitfire doesn't react like you'd expected - it must not tickle.
- > Not at all, in fact, judging by the way she's relaxing.
- > "...you get away with a lot, you know that, Anon?"
- "Sorry. Didn't mean to-"
- > "I didn't say to stop."
- > Well then.
- > Slipping another finger around to rub at the inside of the ear as well, you allow her to settle back down - tail flicking lightly in seeming pleasure.
- "Yeah, I guess I do get away with a lot. But you're not exactly discouraging it."
- > "Just... shaddup. And keep rubbing, you great ape."
- "Yes ma'am. Right away, snugglefire."
- > Her grumbles make the entire thing all too adorable, especially when you add another hand to lightly scratch at her back.
- > Lithely stretching, Spitfire finally drags her muzzle out of the dark, quiet place she's shoved it and rests it on your side again, eyes fixed on you.
- > A smirk plays about her mouth, eyes twinkling.
- > "Treating a mare to a fun night, taking her home without giving her a hard time, and then helping her in the morning? You're quite a catch, Anon."
- > This time, it's your turn to snort.
- "How about you shut up too?"
- > "Naughty, naughty Anon."
- "I can toss you out of my bed, you know."
- > "Shutting up now."
- > Eventually, though, she does force herself into standing again.
- > "Hey, can I use the shower? I don't want to turn up smelling like a diamond dog if I can help it."
- "Yeah, go ahead. I'll go grab some food."
- > Just as you step into the kitchen, notice something sitting in the rear yard, on the path between your home and your workshop.
- > Something that wasn't there before.
- "What...?"
- > Your heart skips a few beats as you step outside, and not for good reasons.
- > Laying tipped on its side in the grass was a cut-and-etched-metal sheet in the figure of a pegasus.
- > A clear trail showed where it had been dragged from the workshop before being abandoned halfway along.
- > But that wasn't what worried you.
- > Oh, no.
- > It was more that the figure was of one Wonderbolts captain, displayed in a quite lascivious pose.
- > And the detail was far, far to fine to suggest it had used anything less than a real-life model to be based on.
- "...hey, uh, Spitfire? How much did we have to drink again last night?
- --------
- > You flick the rod back with a sigh, staring at the still-bare lure on the end of it.
- > A deft flick of the pole sends the hook flying back out over the water, settling back in with a fresh plop.
- > There it remains unmoving but for bobbing on the swells of water.
- > So much for Anonymous, master fisherman.
- > Setting the pole back down beside you, you lean back on the grassy shore and peer up at the sky.
- > You have to shade your eyes, but eventually you spot her:
- > Circling far above on broad wings, the real reason you were out here.
- > You didn't even like fishing, but Spitfire enjoyed these little getaways.
- > Her escapes from the rush and bustle of life as a captain.
- > Rare as they were, you were more than happy to let her enjoy them to the fullest.
- > So while you fished (hopelessly) and dozed (much more successfully) on the shore, Spitfire hung in long, lazy circles above.
- > Still staring up at her, you ponder that it's hard to reconcile the drifting glide she hung in with the blazingly-fast racer you knew.
- > The only thing that linked them were how at home she was in the air:
- > Even soaring as she did now, Spitfire seemed to be practically part of the air itself and-
- > Wait.
- > Was she rolling?
- > Yes she is, and it's a full dive-
- > Too late you try to scramble away, not quite reaching your feet before a golden-orange bullet slams into the lake and throws out a drenching wave of water.
- > Spitfire re-emerges, bobbing to the surface and quickly propelling herself to the shore with long, clean strokes.
- > A fish flaps hopelessly in her jaws, and even around it you can see the victorious grin plastered across her face.
- > Mostly, anyhow - between the curtains of mane that hang like falls of lava from either side of her head.
- "You do that on purpose."
- > "It's not my fault the best fish are busy eating your bait right off the hook."
- > Even if you couldn't see her face, the smirk is audible in her words too.
- > Pausing on the shore, she shakes her self off in a blur of orange and yellow - drawing another yelp from you as a she launches yet another wave of water.
- > Utterly ignoring both your dripping-wet form and the glare you shoot in her direction, she drops the fish on the edge of your blanket before tucking right in.
- > Watching her, you shake your head.
- "Y'know, of all the things I've had to get used to her, the idea of adorable little predator ponies is by far the hardest one."
- > Swallowing a mouthful, Spitfire gives a soft coo of delight.
- > "And you would not believe how much I've missed this. We can't catch fresh when we're on tour; if a cute little colt or filly from a city where pegasi don't take fish, or - Celestia forbid - an earth pony caught us scarfing some down..."
- "Are the earth ponies really that bad? I've met a lot more stuck-up unicorns."
- > "Oh, you'd better believe it. Some earth ponies never forgot when pegasi were raiders sweeping down to pillage; if they see us eating fresh fish..."
- > She eats almost cat-like, with the fish trapped beneath one hoof, until it has been thoroughly stripped down to the skeleton and assorted innards.
- > Then, grabbing the tail, she executes a quick head-whip to hurl the remains back into the lake.
- > You'd sat back down at some point, stretching back out in the warm, early-summer sun and letting it bake the heat out of you.
- > As the remains go spiraling out to splash back into the water, you lazily wave a finger in Spitfire's direction.
- "Naughty littering. Aren't you supposed to be a model Equestrian citizen and officer of the Royal Guard?"
- > Rolling her eyes, Spitfire bats at you with a still-soaking wing.
- > "I'm off duty, we're in the middle of nowhere, and this is a lake not some city pond."
- > Prancing around in a slow circle she executes another shake-dry.
- > The spray isn't nearly so dramatic this time, and in any case it also helps fluff out her mane again:
- > Ambling to your side, Spitfire keels over to curl in against your side - her head coming to rest on your chest.
- "Ack! Hey! You're still wet!"
- > "I'll dry out."
- > A yawn escapes, and your nose wrinkles.
- "Sure you will, fish-breath."
- > "Hey..."
- > A wing is raised, but only waved threateningly rather than sent darting out at your head.
- > "Just for that, I'm gonna stay right here 'til you get me all dried off."
- > You make a protesting noise, but your heart isn't really in it.
- > Instead you slip an arm around her neck, coming in to tuck her wing down and lightly scratch at her back.
- > Despite the dip in the lake you can still feel the heat radiating off of her - off those muscles she had been exercising so far up in the sky.
- > Or maybe that's just her natural state; pegasi in general did seem to run slightly higher temperatures.
- > Either way, it's not a bad feeling.
- > Her eyes have long since slid shut - overcome by post-exercise and post-meal sleepiness.
- > But you still manage to draw a soft, happy coo from her lips as your fingers dig into the down-like coat where it merges into her first rows of feathers.
- > You did let her get away with a rather lot, you think.
- > Spitfire was worth it though.
- > After all, this was supposed to be her break from the rush and bustle of a captain's life.
- > ...and it isn't exactly like you're complaining either.
- > Soon enough your eyes fall shut too - joining the pegasus curled at your side in sleep.
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