Aces High 7: Afterburn.


                                            =Aces High 7=


                                            >The ambulance ride back to the stadium was pretty normal as far as they go.

                                            >They checked for concussions, check blood pressure, looked for bleeding and broken bones, and, most importantly, asked you a lot of questions.

                                            >All of which you were able to answer with great ease, this wasn't your first wreck.

                                            >No you hadn't been seeing spots before you went down, yes you could hear out of both ears, no it didn't hurt to stand and your birthday was October the second so your memory was fine.

                                            >You know it was procedure, but that didn't mean you had to like it.

                                            >The ambulance lets you out back at the stadium and you try to slide off.

                                            >"Hey hey hey! Let me finish!" an EMT says before cutting the bandage he wrapped around your head.

                                            >You don't know why, you weren't bleeding, but you can allow for some cartoonish logic in a world of colored equines.

                                            >"Anonymous!" someone shouts.

                                            >You look up and see Fancypants galloping towards you at top speed.

                                            "Hey yo Fancy!"

                                            >You walk up to greet him and he starts to look you over. "Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you? How many hooves am I holding up? Speak to me, man!"

                                            >You chuckle and lower his hoof.


                                            "Relax Fancy, I'm fine. I landed in a lake, that's probably why I'm still among the living."

                                            >Fancy lets out a deep breath he was probably holding. "Good..."

                                            >All is well...

                                            >Fancypants then socks you in the crotch.

                                            >WHY GOD.

                                            >You cup your jewels as Fancy trots around you.

                                            >"Anonymous, what in Tartarus was that stunt!? You went down like a rookie trying to reclaim your position after that idiotic spill you had at the -start- of the race! You would have been better off on the sidelines!"

                                            >You can't respond, but someone does for you. "Don't blame him, boss. It wasn't his fault."

                                            >Soarin' lands next to you and folds up his wings. "I saw what happened, Spitfire's wings through Anonymous off course."

                                            >"And -why- was he in a place where he could be thrown?" Fancy asked.

                                            "Figured...that I needed...to be with my partner, but she shot off..." you gasp out.

                                            >Fancy mulls that over and looks around. "Soarin', Anonymous, get yourselves patched up and washed down and then get the others onboard the ship, we have a team meeting."


                                            >You and the rest of the Wonderbolts sat around the conference table aboard the Albatross while Fancypants paced around it.

                                            >Gone was his normal jovial smile, in its place was a sort of...you couldn't place the face, but it was one of quiet consideration of the day's events.

                                            >He stops at the back of the table, right behind Spitfire, and looks the team over.

                                            >"Well team, I reviewed the footage of the race...

                                            >His eyes drift over everyone gathered.

                                            >"...Fire Streak, Fleetfoot, good race. You two were together for a good portion of it and you had solid times, very well done."

                                            >Fire streak gulps next to Fleets. "Uh...thanks Fancy."

                                            >"Yeah, thanks sir..."

                                            >His gaze continues to shift. "Soarin, Misty, you two were together for a lot, but Misty, you need to remember that Soarin' can't handle turns as well as you can, you were lost in the bends a bit."

                                            >Spitfire chuckles. "That's what happens when you got wings the size of-"

                                            >"Not right now, Spitfire." Fancy says over her.

                                            >His eyes drift over to you and you find yourself sinking in your seat a bit. "Anonymous, I talked to you prior to this meeting but I think I speak for all of us when I say that we're all simply happy you're alright."

                                            >A chorus of agreement echoes from your teammates and Soarin' pats you on the back.

                                            "Uh...yeah, thanks everyone. I'll be fine in a few days."

                                            >Fancy trots around. "And that brings us to...our leader." he says.


                                            >Spitfire has her hooves crossed and a leg up on the chair. "What? I won the race, didn't I?"

                                            >Fancy looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel for a moment before he rubs his head. "If you had -looked- at the documents you were given about the new racing structure, you'd see that your score, OUR score, depends on both partners placing well, not just one."

                                            >She looks him in the eye. "Well Annie crashed into the lake, hard to pull a win when-"

                                            >"Oh do not start with me, little filly." Fancy says to a hushed room. If there was one pony who could talk like that to a celebrity, it's the one holding the purse strings.

                                            >He gets right in Spitfire's face. "-YOUR- down-draft is what pushed Anonymous off course and in an effort to catch up to your showboating flank, he expended all his fuel. THAT is why he did not finish, and THAT is why your duo was disqualified!"

                                            >Whoa what?

                                            "Fancy, we were disqualified?"

                                            >Fancy looks back at you. "If one partner DNF's, the other's score is invalidated."

                                            >He looks back to Spitfire. "In case I have to -remind- you, Spitfire. Our points are determined both by your standing in the race as well as how close to your partner you finish. And the zebra team not only finished in second through fourth, but did so with two partners in the lead. Do you want to guess what their score was compared to ours?"

                                            >Spitfire rubs her head. "ALRIGHT I get it, me and Annie will run some more drills OKAY? We'll figure this out and you can keep earning your money and keep the ball and chain happy, alright? In the mean time, I'm not sitting here and taking this."

                                            >Spitfire gets up and walks to her cabin.

                                            >"This isn't over, Spitfire!" Fancy shouts.

                                            >Spitfire slams the door and loud electronic music pulses out from underneath it.

                                            >Fancy just sighs and shakes his head. "Team dismissed..."


                                            >When times get rough, everyone has their coping mechanisms.

                                            >Some like Spits blasted music until the ship went deaf while Fleetfoot for example liked to go out to eat.

                                            >Fire streak fished, and Misty cooked but Soarin' and you had always been on the same wavelength and this wasn't different, you two just went for a fly.

                                            >It took some doing but you finally got your pack gassed up and went out with Soarin'.

                                            >"You know I'm kinda surprised we can still show our faces here after today's race." Soarin' says.

                                            >You sigh.

                                            "Yeah, what Spitfire did isn't going to help either our press or our team dynamics."

                                            >"I'm more talking about one of our star members getting a DNF." Soarin' jokes.

                                            "You got your fair share of DNF's in your early days, Wide-wings."

                                            >"Yeah but I didn't eat a mountain of shit when I did it."

                                            >You wince and rub your head as the two of you land on a mountaintop.

                                            "Did I really eat it that bad?"

                                            >Soarin chuckles and lands next to you. "Anon, you ate it, thought it was too cold, sent it back, got it again, and then ate it with more gusto."

                                            >You roll your eyes.

                                            "Gee, thanks best friend. Where would I be without you?"

                                            >"Probably hanging with Fancypants and hearing him complain."

                                            >You rub your head.

                                            "He seemed pretty damn livid."

                                            >"I thought he was gonna crack his monocle."


                                            >You sigh and look down over the city of Zebrica. From here you could see the King's Palace, the Temple of the White Tiger, and the lake where you crashed still with emergency crews around it.

                                            "What're we gonna do, Soar?"

                                            >He raises an eyebrow. "Whatcha mean, Anon?"

                                            "I mean about us. The team, Spits, Fancy. We got -murdered- today."

                                            >He slowly nods. "Thaaaat we did..."

                                            "We're a part of this team and we're responsible if it crashes. No more lone wolf stuff."

                                            >"So what do we do?"

                                            >You shrug.

                                            "You been on the team longer than I have."

                                            >Soarin rubs his chin. "Well...lead by example has always been the 'Bolts MO."

                                            "So we...what? Drag Spitfire out back and beat her with soap until she plays well?"

                                            >Soarin looks horrified for a minute. "W-what?"

                                            >Right, different place.

                                            "It was a joke, from a movie."

                                            >"Right...and no. We gotta show the others how it's done, show them a way that works."

                                            "What do you suggest?"

                                            >Soarin looks out over the countryside. "Meet me at the Academy the day after we get back, we'll get our theorycrafting hats on and see if we can't figure out how to get a working team out of this."

                                            >You mull it over.

                                            >It made sense, the nest race wasn't for a little while and you had to do -something-.

                                            >You sigh and shrug before joining Soarin' at the edge.

                                            "Not much else -to- do..."

                                            >The Zebrican air comes by on a breeze with the smell of harvested crops and fruits. This really was a magical land, even if your time in it was metrically fucked from the race and the crash.

                                            "I'm glad I can remember this trip..."

                                            >"Better than Saddle Arabia. huh?"

                                            "Oh please don't remind me. Concussions are hard enough without their regional doctors."

                                            >You and Soarin share a laugh at the top of the country, all while your mind races at the thought of what the two of you could possibly do.