Aces High 9: Flight Check.


                                            =Aces High 9=


                                            * http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DUCRFMZ-hiY *


                                            >Your alarm clock blares and makes you pry your eyelids apart. You feel your pupils contract in the morning light.

                                            >Today was the day, no putting it off any longer. You had to talk to Spitfire if the Wonderbolts were going to stand a chance this season.

                                            >You reach over and shut off the clock, ending the alarm right before you had to hear Soarin' start singing.

                                            >He must never know that you bought his shitty album.

                                            >You stumble out of bed and make your way to your kitchen, deciding that a healthy breakfast of eggs and bacon was the best way to start what could potentially be a painful and annoying day.

                                            >The eggs cook in one pan as the bacon fries on another and you wake up more.

                                            >Eggs were easy enough to get when you had first arrived here, but decent meat might as well be like trying to find the Holy Grail for all the difficulty involved.

                                            >A protein high diet wasn't easy in a land of herbivores. You had to get the meat delivered from the more carnivorous kingdoms after you had started making a name for yourself and had some money in your pocket.

                                            >You had even gotten to the point now where ponies didn't look at you with masked nausea anymore.

                                            >Another perk of fame.

                                            >While you ate, you thought, there wasn't much else you could do in a condo on you lived in.

                                            >Spitfire and you had never been at odds or anything over the course of your tenure as a 'Bolt, but she had also never grandstanded and gotten your head smashed open.

                                            >You sigh. You suppose that you couldn't -totally- blame her for that, it's not like she did it intentionally.

                                            >But still it pissed you off.

                                            >You rub your head behind your ears. It was still a bit sore, but it'd do.


                                            >You keep thinking as you eat.

                                            >Hmmm...Spitfire was nothing if not proud of her accomplishments as a Wonderbolt, and anyone could see that she took her job seriously. She ate, slept, sweat, and lived the Wonderbolts since she took over as captain.

                                            >That pride and that devotion to the team might be your in...

                                            “As good a plan as any...” you say to yourself.

                                            >You clean your damn dishes, you weren't an animal, and make your way into your shower.

                                            >A quick rinse and a brushing of the pearly whites later and you threw on some clothes, pants and a bomber jacket, and got ready to head out.

                                            >Your eyes linger on your pack, set up on it's maintenance stand in the corner for a few moments before you shrug and decide to leave it.

                                            >You weren't bolted to the damn thing, you could go for a walk now and then. And besides, Spitfire was staying at her place in Canterlot during the season.

                                            >Heh. “Bolted”. You were funny sometimes.

                                            >You locked up and started down the road that would take you into the city proper from your residence at The Heights.

                                            >Along the way on the path, you see a young gold colored pegasus practicing his loop de loops in his family's front yard.

                                            “Practicing hard, Thunderstrike?”

                                            >Thunderstrike was your neighbor's kid, and a fan, so you always tried to put on a smile.


                                            >You see his youthful grin grow a mile wide when he sees you and lands. “You bet Mister Anonymous! I'm getting to where I don't even get rutting dizzy when I go upside down no more!”

                                            “Thunder, who in Tartarus taught you to talk like that?”

                                            >The boy's face scrunches. “My uncle, why?”

                                            >Some people...

                                            “Nevermind, seeya 'round, kid.”

                                            >Thunder takes off and flutters next to your head excitedly as you walk past his fence. “Oh! Oh! Are you gonna go talk to the rest of the Wonderbolts!?” he asks.

                                            “Not all of them, but one in particular.”

                                            >You glance over and see the expectation in his eyes.

                                            “The Boss Lady.”

                                            >Thunder gasps. “Spitfire! She's so cool, all the kids at school say that my coat looks like hers!”

                                            >You chuckle as you come to the turn.

                                            “Not far off, kid.”

                                            >You wave back at him as you walk away.

                                            >Thunder waves back. “Don't crash, Mister Anonymous!”

                                            >You turn back and chew on your teeth.

                                            >Cute kid. Really.


                                            >You leave your neighborhood and cut through the center streets of Canterlot on your way to Spitfire's.

                                            >”NEIGHborhood”. You were on a roll today.

                                            >Spitfire lived on the opposite end of the city from you, really close to the Royal Raceway and stunt stadium. She said she liked to live there so she could wake up each morning to watch the sun catch the stadium bleachers.

                                            >Meaning she liked to not have to walk far to train, if you had to wager a guess.

                                            >You knock Shave and a Haircut onto her door and wait for the intercom to buzz.

                                            >”Captain Spitfire's residence, do you have an appointment?” a voice asks.

                                            “It's Anonymous. Can you tell Spitfire I'm here and need to talk to her about something?” you ask holding the button down.

                                            >”Do you have an appointment?” she asks again.

                                            “I'm her race partner, I don't need an appointment. Let me in, please.”

                                            >You could hear the mare on the other end grumble as she buzzed the door onto Spitfire's property and let you in.

                                            >Deal with it lady, there's a pecking order to this stuff.

                                            >The door lets you into a small courtyard in front of Spitfire's white-stoned home with a small pond in front of it.

                                            >The last time you had been to Spitfire's house had ended with you eight sheets to the wind and going home with a  model friend of Spit's so your memory on the layout was a bit strained.

                                            >You head into the house and call out.

                                            “Spits? It's Anon. You got a minute?”

                                            >...

                                            >Silence.

                                            >You begin searching your way through some of the rooms in the house, finding a bathroom, two closets, a weight room, and the office of who you assume to be the lady who buzzed you in.

                                            >You don't stay there long, lectures suck.

                                            >Eventually you hear the laughter and cheers of your captain coming through an open window. You peer out and see her flying through some trees in her backyard, seemingly racing some bluejays.

                                            “As if there could be any other place...” you mumble to yourself before heading downstairs and towards the race-pony.


                                            Music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cno20onK9dY


                                            >You walk out onto Spitfire's back porch and stand by her music player near the picnic tables while she clears a tree pulling a turn that would pull your arm out of it's socket.

                                            >Spitefire shoots past a birdhouse and screeches in the air to a halt, pumping her hooves in the air.

                                            >”Aw yeah! Who da bes? I'm da bes! Spitfire's da bes!” she boasts.

                                            “Congrats boss, you beat some birds.”

                                            >Spitfire looks down at you and smiles. “Anny! My favorite monkey.” she flies down and lands in front of you, switching off the music player. “And you know that birds are only one half cat from being some of our best competition. How's the head?” she asks, a bit of concern touching her eyes.

                                            “A bit sore, thanks for asking.”

                                            >She reaches up faster than you can react and rubs the top a bit. “Aw, shoulda known that a spill wouldn't take out the best rookie I've seen in a while.”

                                            >Jesus that was fast. You were in shock at how fast Spitfire could move, let alone race. Her entire body seemed like one lightning bolt ready to strike.

                                            >Did she just say “best rookie”?

                                            >”So what can I do for ya, Rook?”

                                            >You re-muss your hair and rub the back of your neck. This was the hard part...

                                            “Right, I'll come out and say it. The team is getting murdered in these races and if we don't do something, we're gonna get knocked out or someone's gonna get hurt. I've been working on some moves with Soarin' up at the Academy but we can't get them to work.”

                                            >Spitfire grabs an apple and chews as you talk.

                                            “The technicians put us together for a reason, Spits. I don't know what that reason might be but I trust those eggheads up there. I'm asking you to level with me and help me maybe get these co-op moves down so we can actually stand a chance in these upcoming races.”

                                            >Spitfire swallows as you brace.

                                            “Sure, when do you wanna go?”

                                            >Whoawaitwhat.


                                            >You cock an eyebrow.

                                            “Wait, that easy?”

                                            >Spitfire tosses her apple core over her shoulder for the birds. “Uh, yeah? It's for the team, right?”

                                            “Uhh...yeah.”

                                            >Spitfire mimics your dope face and snickers. “Then of course I'll help you pull it off, dumb dumb. Gives me something to do here besides work the garden.”

                                            “You got a garden?”

                                            >Spitfire extends a hoof off to the side and directs your view to a well tended and lush garden of fruits, vegetables, and flowers off to the side of the backyard, away from prying eyes and possibly parting guests.

                                            >”Sorta a hobby of mine.”

                                            “I can...tell.”

                                            >You swallow a lump in your throat.

                                            “You're taking this way cooler than I expected, did you hit your head or something?”

                                            >Spitfire rolls her eyes. “Pssssh. You talking about out there in the public? Come on Anny, you been in this game long enough to know what parts of the act the crowd eats up.”

                                            “Act?”

                                            >Spitfire shoots up a few feet into the air and spreads her forelegs out. “It's all for them, Anny! We'rre entertainers, our job is to keep the masses entertained as much as we can for as long as we can. And responsible racers with gardens aint what sells tabloids.”


                                            >You stand staring.

                                            “You're telling me that you've been putting on an -act- all these years?”

                                            >Spitfire lands and rubs her chin. “Maybe not an act so much as...hyperbole.” She elbows your ribs. “Ol' Captain Jack's as good a friend of mine as he is anyone elses.”

                                            >Hyperbole may be the biggest word you've ever heard Spitfire say.

                                            >You blink a few times.

                                            “Uh...yeah, I think I get it.”

                                            >You sort of did, anyway.

                                            “So...how about this Sunday? You and me up at the academy? We'll work some drills out.”

                                            >Spitfire winks. “After the weekend block party? It's a date, Anny. You sticking around? I was thinking of throwing a kegger tonight. Gotta give the people what they want, eh?”

                                            “Thanks Spitfire, but I gotta rain check. Working on the pack and don't wanna push the head injury, you know?”

                                            >Spitfire nods and smirks. “If you change your mind and want me to break out the safety helmet, stop by and lemme know. Till then, seeya Sunday, Anny!” Spitfire says as she takes off and flies into the second story window of her home, electronic music thrumming out shortly afterward.

                                            >Yeah...

                                            “Seeeee you Sunday, boss.”

                                            >You head back inside and let yourself out, heading home after the weirdest but most productive and oddly fulfilling meeting you've had with Spitfire in a long time.