Yet Another Horrible Decision - Chapter 11 (Clean)

				  Yet Another Horrible Decision


				       Chapter 11 (Clean)




>Short, gasping sobs echo throughout the hive corridors.
>A female earth pony, Mango Tiller, slumps in front of the great throne upon which the Queen of the Changelings sits, belly large and gravid.
>“W-why? Why are you doing this? I did nothing wrong!” Mango shouts, the sheer force of her emotion rebounding off the chitinous rock walls.
>“Have you forgotten your crimes? If you’d like, I can inform you of the charges for which you are being held,” Chrysalis offers, her voice cool and smooth.
>“C-crimes?” the earth pony stammers. “All I did was defend myself!”
>“Is that so?” A thin wisp of a smile forms at the corner of Chrysalis’s mouth. “I’ve been made aware of the accounts of my subjects. Fear not, foreigner, for I am a fair and just leader. Relay to me your tale and I shall determine your fate.”
>“I-i-it... it....” Mango chokes back yet more tears as she brings the painful memories to surface. “It was the night you offered my husband and I sanctuary from the storm. I was taken to what was supposed to be an apothecary or something, and then... t-then...” Mango resumes shaking, tears coursing down her face and dropping to the dusty floor, instantly congealing into mud.
>Chrysalis leans forward, locking eyes with the frightened mare. “Yes, do go on...”
>“T-two! Like... like... LIKE THEM!” She frantically points with a forehoof to the Praetorians flanking the throne, neither of whom seem to show any response. “They came in and... and,” her voice grows ever higher in pitch and volume.
>“And what?”
>“All night long, they... they abus—RAPED ME! YOUR GUARDS RAPED ME!” Mango is frantic now, her face caked with dust and tears, thin residue of cocoon goop collecting underneath her.
>Chrysalis puts on a mask of concern and assumes a gentle voice, relaxing her posture. “My... my word, I had no idea. All I know was your manic attempt at escape, knocking out and wounding several of my drones, destroying much property. But if what you say is true... Tell me, do you think you would be able to identify the perpetrators? I trust it’s neither of the members of my personal retinue?”
>Calm, focused resolve sets upon the pony’s features. “Yes. I will never forget their faces, NEVER!”
>The hive queen stands and slowly pads over to the shaken mare. “There, there. You are my guest, and I will see to it that justice is done. Until that time, however, I must keep you confined to your quarters—a new room, of course,” she coos, motherly and with apparent affection.
>Mango looks up at the mighty queen with admiration. “Thank you, your Highness! Might I also request the company of my husband? He is safe, is he not?”
>Chrysalis smiles at that. “He’s already there, waiting for you. Come, young one, and follow me...”




>“Honey, you’re okay!” Mango shouts as she enters the lavishly decorated room, festooned with tapestries and a large four-poster bed. She rushes to her husband, waiting for her with open hooves.
>“Mango, baby! I’ve been so, so worried!” Mango embraces her husband tightly, hot tears dripping onto his back. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. It’s going to be alright... We’re together again, and damn me to Tartarus if I ever let anything happen to you.”
>The male pony glances at Chrysalis, his eyes flickering aqua and an dark smile on his face.
>“I’ll leave the two of you alone, you obviously need some catching up to do. I’ll fetch my Praetorians and question them. You might need to identify the perpetrators from a lineup, Miss Mango. Is that alright?” Chrysalis asks, seemingly full of compassion.
>Mango sniffs lightly and wipes the tears from her eyes. Releasing herself from her husband’s embrace, she turns to face the queen, hard determination set in her eyes. “Anything, your Highness. Anything to bring those bastards to justice.”
>Chrysalis nods and turns to leave the room, closing the door most of the way. She steps a little further into the corridor and listens closely, waiting for her moment.
>“Honey, are you alright? You seem kinda... tired? I guess,” Mango says with evident concern.
>“Mango, sweetie, this place... it’s an evil place. These things here, these creatures... they’ve drained me. They feed on love, apparently, and they’ve fed on me. We have to get out of here, and soon!”
>“But the Queen...”
>“Look, baby, I know this is going to be hard for you, but I need to regain my strength if we’re to escape! I... I don’t know how to replace love, but I have an idea...”
>A moment of silence. Chrysalis thinks to herself, it would be so much easier if she could dispense with this charade. Unfortunately, the highest-caste Praetorians require a willing mother, and a pure broodmother just wouldn’t do. This one would be perfect, so long as she believes...
>“A-alright... c-can we make it quick, though? This place, what just happened...”
>Chrysalis can’t stifle a shudder as pain wracks her body. These contractions are speeding up and growing in intensity. Time was running out. Damn it, drone, hurry up and get her ready!
>A small twinge flickers at the edge of her mind, indicating that she should enter the room and begin the transplantation.
>Minutes afterward, a piercing shriek flies out of the room.







>“I’m telling you, there’s no way Spiderhooves can beat Batmane. It’s impossible!”
>Soarin’s voice carries through the mess, the lot of you sitting around one large table made of two smaller ones. The mess is redolent of well-cooked food, a mish-mash of vegetables and fresh bread. There’s also a relatively new scent wafting up from your plate. A salmon-like fish, fresh from Skandineighvia, had been specially ordered for you.
>“Soarin’, you’re wrong. You’re objectively wrong. All Spiderhooves would have to do is just web up the black loser,” Rapidfire announces with certainty.
>“That’s asinine, Rapid. Absolutely asinine. Spiderhooves wouldn’t even have a chance,” Soarin’ retorts.
>This argument’s been going on since everyone piled into the mess. You can hardly make sense of it, despite the peculiar similarity with Batman and Spiderman. Taking your fork, you slice off a bite of this ‘Skandineighvian Redfish’ and bring it to your mouth.
>It’s incredibly tasty, surely influenced by your desire for meat.
>“So, Anon, you like it?” Spitfire asks. You’re sitting next to her, her wings just able to poke you to get your attention.
“Yeah, it’s great! Oh man, I’ve been DYING to have some quality meat...”
>Spitfire smiles brightly, softly giggling at your enthusiasm. “I’m happy you like it. I’m actually from Skandineighvia, myself. We are probably some of the only ponies who regularly eat fish. Most of our catch goes out to the griffons and minotaurs in trade.”
“You’re Skandineighvian? I never would have guessed. You don’t have a lick of an accent or anything.”
>Spitfire’s amber eyes smolder for a moment. “Ya mean like zeeis?” Her voice takes on a husky, entrancing tone.
“Y-yeah... exactly like that.”
>“My dad joined the REA a couple of years after I was born. I spent most of my youth in Cloudsdale before I signed up myself. Speaking common Equestrian for so long, I managed to lose my accent,” she replies before spearing her own piece of redfish and popping it in her mouth.
>“Y’know what, fine. Let’s take this to a third party. Anon, who would win in a fight? Spiderhooves or Batmane?” Rapidfire asks, the whole table turning to look at you.
“Stal, I don’t know! I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
>Soarin’ and Rapidfire exchange a glance. “You’re kidding me, Anon,” Rapidfire says.
>“Ho ho! Are you in for a treat! I’ve still got all my old Batmane comics in my room. You’re borrowing them, starting tonight,” Soarin’ states flatly.
“What, I don’t get a choice in this?”
>“Yeah, Soarin’. Anon, I’ve got most of the Spiderhooves collection, you CAN borrow them if you’d like,” Rapidfire says, shooting a friendly glance at Soarin’.
“Alright, alright! Look, why don’t you both give me the first few issues and I can choose after I read them both?”
>Soarin’ and Rapidfire both nod their assent and the argument is put to rest for the time being.
>“Alright, Wonderbolts! I’ve got an announcement,” Spitfire shouts over the din of conversation. All eyes turn to her as she pushes her empty plate ahead of her, standing on her hindlegs and leaning her forehooves on the table. “Two weeks from now we’ve got our first show of the season. Destination: Cloudsdale.”
>The pegasi all seem to like that, murmuring happily and shouldering one another.
>“That means we’ve got to step it up! Starting tomorrow, we’ll be doing four hours of formation drills every day. Anon, this is your first show, I want to see perfection from you. There’s just one problem...”
“Yes, captain?”
>“You can’t fly without your plane, and unless your magic resistance has worn off, you can’t even walk safely in Cloudsdale. Now, I’ve got a few ideas, but I don’t know how well they’ll work. Meet me in my office as soon as you’re done. The rest of you, finish your meals, clean up, and start drilling. Got it?”
>“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” the assembled Wonderbolts all shout in unison.
>Spitfire rises from her seat and walks out of the mess. You look down at your plate and hurriedly finish your lunch.




>The office is cool and comfortable, air gently blowing from the vents above. You’re sitting directly across from Spitfire at her desk.
>“So I’m thinking we’ll set up a runway for you on the ground, somewhere around here. But not too close. I want your grand entry to be a surprise,” she says, drawing your attention to a map spread out on the desk.
“Well, the plane itself is plenty susceptible to magic. It’s been here long enough. If I don’t leave the plane and have somewhere to land it in Cloudsdale, I can hang around.”
>Spitfire chews the information over, silent for a moment. You take in the sight in front of you. She’s wearing her dress uniform, tie loosened and the button on her neck undone. It fits her wild mane just as well, if not better, than usual.
>“Yeah, that could work. Hold on just a minute, though. You say the Stuka has been here long enough for magic to work on it, right? How long, exactly, until you’re able to be affected by magic?” Spitfire looks at you quizzically.
“I, ah, huh. I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. I’ve already been here about two months now... who knows? Maybe now something will work. I was still stifling spells in my last week at the castle, though.”
>She taps her forehooves rhythmically against the desk. “What do you think about giving it another try? I can get one of our engineers to—”
>A sharp series of knocks at the door cuts her off. “Come in!”
>Misty Fly opens the door, clad in her flightsuit. “Got a visitor, cap. A Miss... Rarity?”
>“Send her in,” Spitfire commands. Misty leaves to go fetch Rarity.
>“Looks like your flightsuit is ready. Just in time, too,” Spitfire says to you.
>Awesome, awesome, awesome! Not only do you finally get your own flightsuit, but Rarity herself is bringing it to you! Damn, but you’ve missed that pretty white mare.
>Soft, dainty clops sound from the hallway. “Oh my, it is pleasant in here. Such a hot day... Anon!” Rarity steps into the office, a smile beaming on her features as she hurries to your side.
“Heya, Rarity. Good to see you, it’s been awhile!”
>“And it’s good to see you, as well. Captain Spitfire, I’m happy to see you’re in good health,” Rarity says, diverting her gaze from you to Spitfire.
>“Likewise, Miss Rarity. I hope you’re here with a delivery. Anon and I were just going over some important business,” Spitfire says, a hopeful flash in her eyes.
>“Rariteeee! Why didn’t you wait? You know I can’t walk as fast as you!” That whining voice can only belong to Spike. He walks into the office as well, carrying a box as large as he is with evident difficulty. A blue halo surrounds the box, lifting it from his arms and floating it to the desk. “Ah, thanks! Pretty heavy, heh... Oh, hey Anon!” Spike waddles over to you, clicking his tongue and aiming a finger-pistol at you.
>You return the gesture, causing the baby dragon to giggle with glee.
>Spitfire nods at you. “Go ahead, Anon. It’s your stuff.”
>Taking the top off the box, you look inside and see several impeccably folded flightsuits and three sets of goggles.
>“Three flightsuits, all made and magicked to specification, along with three Wonderbolt pattern flight goggles, also magically enhanced,” Rarity announces with finality, looking between you and Spitfire.
>“Great work, Miss Rarity. I can only hope the magic works. Anon and I were just talking about that,” Spitfire responds.
“It all looks great, Rarity. Thanks.”
>Rarity flutters her eyelashes and angles her chin slightly downward. “Oh, of course Anonymous! Anything for my favorite human.”
>Spike shoots you a death glare. Poor bastard.
>“Alright, lieutenant. Take these back to your quarters and try one on. I’ll put my own on so we can test the communicator system. Meet me back here when you’re done,” Spitfire orders, getting up from behind her desk.
>“I think I’ll go with Anon. You know, just in case I have to make any last minute... alterations,” Rarity says, sliding off the chair next to you and flicking your thigh with her tail. “Spikey Wikey, why don’t you go outside and watch the Wonderbolts train while I’m gone?”
>Spike glances from Rarity, to you, back to Rarity. “B-b-but can’t I come with you? Still, to see the Wonderbolts in training... There’s no right choice here!”
>You rise from your seat and salute Spitfire, turning sharply on your heel and walking out of the office with Rarity at your side.




>Walking into your room, you set the box down on the floor next to the closet.
>“Hm, not quite as luxurious as your room in the castle, but it’s splendid all the same,” Rarity says, looking around at your cozy little room.
>It’s about the same size as your old bedroom back home, though the oversized (for ponies, anyway) bed takes up a good bit of space.
>“Rather sparse in decoration, though. You could certainly do with some paintings and such to hang off the walls.”
“I’ve only been here a few weeks, Rare, been busy as Tartarus all that time, too. I’ll end up getting some stuff to spruce it up a bit.”
>Rarity clambers up onto your bed, circles around and lies comfortably on her side, legs tucked neatly against her sleek body. “Well go on, Anon! I want to see my work displayed as it was meant to be!”
>She’s not really in a playful mood right now. Rather, she’s extremely interested in her work.
>Taking off the box-top, you reach in and grab the first flightsuit you can. Shaking it out by the shoulders in front of you, the immaculate folds vanish as it rolls out and expands.
>“That miracle-mesh truly is an amazing material. Shame it’s so rare, I’d love to make a dress or two out of it. Oh, you’ll want to unzip the front,” she says while you examine the uniform.
>Like the others, deep blue is the primary color. Yellow accents it throughout, save for the segment running along your belly that is entirely yellow. A ridge in the middle indicates the position of the zipper, which you find and grab. Yanking it down, you understand how to put it on.
>Rarity is watching you with undisguised interest, her eyes glinting as she runs them over you. “If you need any help, don’t hesitate to ask,” Rarity says, a lilt in her voice bringing it near to a song.
>You take off your shoes, removing your jacket and tie. Untucking your shirt, you begin the process of unbuttoning from the top. “Not too fast, now... I intend to enjoy this,” Rarity whispers, licking her lips and fusing her sight to your fingers.
>A sly smile finds its way to your mouth as you slowly continue unbuttoning your shirt. Halfway through, you pull apart the undone flaps, exposing your hardening chest.
>Rarity lets loose a low growl in her throat, evidence of her approval. You speed it up a little, pulling your arms through and out before tossing the shirt off to the side. She bites down gently on her lower lip as her eyes wander over your form. Satisfied, she nods toward your waist.
>You unclasp the belt and unbutton your pants. There’s not much need to put on a show for this; there’s no real way to do it without looking awkward. Kicking your pants off to the side, you grab the flightsuit.
>“Ah ah ah! There’s no room for you to wear those undershorts. ‘Form-fitting’ was the specification, I believe. I mean, you could TRY, but you’d look quite the fool.”
>Getting the message, you take off your boxers and throw them onto the other clothes in the pile. Rarity’s horn glows and the flightsuit hovers off the ground, swathed in a purple aura. She smiles, her eyes burning with barely submerged lust.
>The flightsuit bends in half, creating a perfect opening for you to slip your feet in. You do so, pulling the soft material up over your legs.
>It’s a tight fit, like a second skin. Now you know why Rarity said what she did. Fortunately, the main zipper comes to a rest over your waist. You slip your arms into their holes, pushing them through until your fingers are nestled in the connected gloves. The suit mostly on, you zip up the front as far as it will go, to the base of your neck. There’s a button that finishes the near-seal.
>“My, my, but you DO look excellent! All that exercise is starting to show, you know. Here, take a look,” Rarity says, flicking her gaze to the full length mirror beside your closet. You step in front of it and examine yourself.
>Damn, you do look good. The suit fits snugly and comfortably, the ‘miracle-mesh’ soft and yielding. If anything, it appears to have slimmed you down more. It’s even got a bit of space in the groin, with a small pad covering your genital pouch to retain some modesty. Despite its rubber-ish appearance, the suit breathes quite well, wicking away what moisture has collected on your body.
>“Don’t forget the hood and mask, darling!”
>Reaching behind your head, you unzip the collar that holds the hood and facemask. You pull it over your head, smoothing out the lines that formed on your forehead. Your hair stands out from it, short and well-trimmed. The facemask dangles from your left cheek. You stretch it over your face and work the hooks into the small eyes ringing the hood.
>It’s an interesting look, somewhat reminiscent of a Marvel superhero or something. One last touch. You grab a pair of goggles and slip them over your head, guiding the strap into the shallow space made for it.
>Oh yeah, you’re cool. You’re REAL cool.
>“My very own Wonderbolt! Oh, you look marvelous, darling! Simply marvelous!”
>You bask in the praise, flexing and posing in the mirror. Rarity giggles at your peculiar movements.
“What? Don’t like what you see?”
>Her eyes smoulder under half-lids as she rolls onto her belly and scoots forward, her head just forward of the edge of your bed. “Oh, darling, but I LOVE what I see...”
>A temporary silence comes over the room as the two of you exchange eye contact. You’re the first to break it as you turn to face the mirror again, taking off the goggles and removing the mask and hood.
>“So what do you think? Do you love it?”
“It’s great, Rarity! So comfortable... uh, one question though. What do I do if I have to take a piss?”
>A mischievous smile creeps onto her lips. “Over your groin the material has two flaps. Undo the first and a zipper lies beneath. Why don’t you... try it out?” Rarity says, trailing off seductively at the end.



>Rarity takes a moment to catch her breath. Licking her lips and grinning at you, she finally speaks. “So *puff* Anon... How’s the suit holding up? Did it pass the sweat test?”
>You focus on the suit itself, noticing that it wicked away the vast majority of the sweat you produced. Ohhh, that sneaky little...
“Yeah... heh, yeah, I’d say it did!”
>“Aweessssooommmeee!” A muffled voice emanates from outside your window. Rarity freezes, her eyes wide with shock.
“What the fuck!?”
>You storm to the window, intent on catching the pervert who insisted on watching. “Shit! Go go go,” another, different voice says.
>When you finally reach the window, all you can see is a single, blue-clad hoof shooting upward.
>“D-do you think they saw us?! Oh Celestia, it can’t be true! Not the Wonderbolts, of all ponies!” Rarity shouts frantically, nearly hyperventilating.
“Whoa, whoa, relax!”
>She shoots a glare at you, eyes welling up with tears. “No, no no no no no! This CAN’T be happening! They’ll all think I’m some common harlot!”
“No they won’t. Just calm down, breathe a little.”
>“Calm down? CALM DOWN!? How do you expect me to ‘calm down’ when I was just caught in flagrante delicto?” she cries, tears starting to course down her cheeks. “I’m a virgin! This CAN’T happen to me, it just CAN’T!”
>Wait whoa, what?
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the phone here. You’re a virgin?”
>Rarity looks at you pitifully, her mascara running along with her tears down her face. “Yes I’m a virgin! My hymen’s intact, always has been! I’m saving my maidenhead for my husband-to-be...”
>Oh God, technical virgins are a thing here, too? You thought you left that illogic back on Earth. It takes all you have to strangle the laughter building inside, although a snort manages to escape.
>“Are you LAUGHING!? You think this is funny? How can you laugh while my life is RUINED!?” Rarity breaks into a sobbing fit, dark eyeliner staining her pretty cheeks.
“Hey... hey, hey, hey... I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s a... it reminded me of a human joke, that’s all. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll find out who peeked in on us and slap their shit, alright?”
>Her sobs falter a bit and she locks her gaze on you. “Y—*sniff*—you will?”
“I will. I think I know who it was, anyway. Don’t you worry your pretty little head now, nobody will say anything. It’s the Wonderbolts Code.”
>She stops crying, though tears and eyeliner still streak her cheeks. “R-really?”
“Really. Now go on, get yourself cleaned up. We’ve been here too long already; Spitfire will have my balls in a vice if I take any longer.”




>Rarity only takes a few minutes to clean off her face and apply some fresh makeup. While she’s doing that, you clean yourself up and don the hood, mask, and goggles.
>“Make sure nopony’s outside the door!” Rarity whispers, a sharp edge to her voice.
>You stifle a sigh and open the door, stepping out into the hallway. As expected, it’s completely empty.
“You’re safe. Let’s get moving, huh?”
>Rarity pokes her head out, evidently not entirely sure you’re right. She’s wearing the nice straw hat she had pulled over her back when she arrived, and a very light, silky kerchief. The sunglasses she’s wearing only add to the effect. She really is a fashionable sort. Very Golden Age Hollywood.
>She looks up at you, her eyes pleading for help. Damn that’s cute...
“Let’s go, Rare. If anyone says anything... I dunno, I’ll do something.”
>She nods curtly, but also smiles in a shy manner. Your heart skips a beat at the impossible cuteness you’re witnessing.
>You lead the way out the back door, exaggeratedly looking from side to side before turning and giving her a thumbs-up.
>She giggles a bit, her mood having improved. Walking past the Mare’s Dormitory, you can hear a few voices conversing animatedly from the direction of the main office.
>“...telling me where, exactly, you two chuckleheads zipped off to?”
>That’s Spitfire’s voice, no doubt about it. She doesn’t sound too happy, either...
>“W-we were, uh...”
>Rapidfire, no doubt.
>“Listen, cap, we just went to take a leak is all,” Soarin’ answers with a relaxed tone.
>Looks like you found your peeping toms.
>Rounding the corner, you see Spitfire staring down the two stallions in front of the office. Rapidfire is almost visibly sweating, but Soarin’ is playing this off cooler than a cucumber.
>“You’re telling me stallions have to piss in pairs, too?” Spitfire shouts, causing Rapidfire to shrink back.
>“We both had to go, so we both went. That’s not too unreasonable, is it?”
>“Then why were you gone so long?”
>The two stallions exchange a glance. Soarin’ manages to spot you and deftly snatches his cue. “Hey, Anon! Nice flightsuit, stal! Lookin’ real good. Ah, Miss... Rarity, is it? Soarin’, first lieutenant senior grade, at your service.”
>He trots over to the pair of you, taking Rarity’s forehoof into his own and gently kisses it. A blush colors her face as she searches for a response. “It’s my pleasure, lieutenant. Now then, Anonymous, I’m afraid I must be off. Busy, busy!”
>Spitfire turns to face you, her face twisted in a grimace. “Buck it, Anon! What took you so... whoa.”
>She drops her scowl as she takes you in, eyes scanning you from feet to head. “You... you look... REALLY good, lieutenant,” she says, pausing a moment as she’s apparently at a loss for words. “I... I, uh... ahem...”
>Spitfire locks eyes with you, the two of you both with goggles pushed over your brows. The gaze lingers just a moment too long, the large orbs of honeyed amber seemingly lost. She breaks the gaze and shakes her head a bit, Rapidfire having slunk away towards the rest of the team.
>“Uh, right... Um, Rarity?” Spitfire calls after the unicorn who’s desperately trying to make tracks. She turns around and feigns interest.
>“Yes, Captain Spitfire?”
>“C’mere a sec, would ya?”
>Rarity puts on a brave face, but when you meet her eyes it’s clear she’s petrified.
>“First of all, I wanted to thank you personally. You’ve clearly done...” Spitfire looks back at you. You can swear you see a shudder ripple down her spine. “...an excellent job. Anyway, you can use magic, right? I’m wondering if you wouldn’t mind testing a spell on our good lieutenant, here. Anon, you game?”
“Absolutely, Captain.”
>Rarity switches her gaze between the two of you, mindful of any tricks. “I... I suppose I can do a little something. Let me think a moment...”
>Soarin’ and Spitfire stand and watch while Rarity focuses for a moment. The four of you almost form a square, you think to yourself. Rarity’s horn glows blue, her eyes fixed on you. A line, perhaps a bolt, darts forth from her horn and strikes you.
>A slight electric shock courses through your body, almost like a full-body static shock. It doesn’t really hurt, more of a tingle really. Looking around, you notice Soarin’ desperately trying to hold in laughter, and Spitfire with an utterly surprised look on her face. Rarity smiles and begins to giggle herself.
“Well, did it work? I kinda felt something... What’s so funny?”
>“Your—*snrk*—your mane...” Rarity mumbles in between giggling.
>Reaching a hand up to your hair, you feel it standing straight up on end. You kinda feel like Doc Brown.
>“Hot damn!” Spitfire shouts, launching herself into the air and rocketing toward you, slowing just enough to avoid bowling you over as she grips you in a tight, four-legged hug. “Ya did it, slick! Hah! Magic works on you now!”
>Soarin’ ambles up to you, sticking up a forehoof that you bump. “Well, that’ll make this Cloudsdale show a lot easier, huh?”
“I guess so, guys. I guess so.”




>The rest of the afternoon is spent syncing your flightsuit to those of the other Wonderbolts. The goggles have a built-in HUD, allowing you to read your own vital signs and call up those of the others. There’s also a throat-mic that allows easy communication with the rest of the flight group. It’ll take another week of training, at least, to get the hang of it.
>Around 4pm, Spitfire called an end to the day’s training. You accompanied Soarin’ and Rapidfire into the Stallion’s Dormitory. As soon as the door closes behind you, you tear into them.
“Alright you two. Own up, I know it was you peeking in the window.”
>The two pegasi exchange wide, toothy grins. “Whaddya mean, Anon? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Soarin’ replies, his goofy smile doing little to add to his innocent little act.
“You know, t-the window...”
>Soarin’ starts laughing inaudibly, though you can see the movements in his chest and hear his hitched breath.
>“OH, you mean that business with that Rarity chick? What about it?” Rapidfire asks, full of mischief.
“Hey, look she... she was just adjusting my zippers, okay? That’s all that happened.”
>The two stallions burst into raucous laughter at your pathetic excuse. It’s more than a little infectious and you find yourself straining to hold it in.
>“Look stal, we came in to take a piss and heard the two of you in your room. Figured it might’ve been the same girl, y’know, you told us about a few weeks back,” Soarin’ informs you after he gets over his laughing fit.
>“And we figured, hey, we might get a good shot of the action, so we went around back and...”
>“Rapid and I agree, you two put on a hell of a show. And DAY-YUM, but that mare is FIIINE!” Soarin’ whistles after his statement. You can’t help but feel a little manly pride.
“Look, keep it quiet, yeah? She flipped her shit when you two idiots couldn’t keep your mouths shut. Seriously.”
>The laughter dies down and the two take on a more serious demeanor. “Of course, Anon. It’s the Wonderbolt way,” Soarin’ adds, very seriously.
>“The thin blue line. What goes on in the ‘bolts, stays in the ‘bolts. Especially any business in the dorms. Our lips are zipped, stal,” Rapidfire solemnly announces. You didn’t know they took it this seriously.
>“Look, we owe you, right? So you’re coming out with us tonight. Just a little drink on us, not too much. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, guys,” Soarin’ announces, the very picture of a brotherly officer.
>“Your choice Anon: Either we can all go stag or we can invite the girls with us. Also, you’re wearing your flightsuit. Tartarus, we all will. Gotta break it in, right?” Rapidfire says, cocking his head to the side as he awaits your answer.
“Aw, hell. Let’s invite them along. Seems as good a night to celebrate as any.”
>They both grin again. “That’s the spirit! You’re a Wonderbolt now, through and through. Just wait until you find out what happens AFTER the shows!” Soarin’ says, flying over to you and nudging your shoulder.
“Then it’s a plan. I’d like to rinse off, at least. You guys, too?”
>“Yeah!” they both shout in unison. You’ve grown to like these group showers, no homo.
>Sounds like you have a good night ahead of you. Maybe your run of horrible decisions is finally over? Maybe, just maybe, things will be alright...