=Aces High 18=

>Goddamn these bleachers hurt your ass to sit on.
>You’d chalk it up to being designed for different anatomy but you’d been here years now. Was this what you made your fans sit on?
>You’d talk to Fancy about it.
>Soarin’ was lounging next to you, both of your eyes trained on the sky.
>Spitfire soars above you going through cloud rings and loops, running a simulated obstacle course the techs designed.
>She was pushing herself hard.
>All in prep for the big race.
>The finale to all of this.
>Soarin clears his throat next to you. “So…think she’s ready?”
“Think any of us really are?”
>Soarin shrugs. “Get back to me in a few days…”
“After the race?”
>”I always bet better after the game is done, don’t you?”
>You sigh.
“At least we’ll know the field…”
>”Everyone’s gonna know the field, its bucking Canterlot.”
>THAT had come as a surprise, them holding the race IN Canterlot. 
>Streets were being cordoned off and residences notified as the city was turned into one big race track course.
>The Princesses certainly knew how to impress.
“You know anything about this mystery team we’re racing?”
>Soarin’ shrugs. “Not really, I’ve been so focused on us that I haven’t even noticed competition. Apparently they’ve been making waves, though. Haven’t lost a race.”
“Really?”
>”Really really.”
“Great…”
>That stunk. The saying in the circuit went “If you’ve never lost once you’ve never played fair.”
“We’re gonna have to keep our eyes open.”
>”Eagle eyed, not a thing’s getting past me.”
“There’s a spider on your nose.”
>”GAH BUCK.” Soarin’ explains, panicking to get the insect off.
>While he does that, the orange streak in the sky rockets to the ground and lands gracefully with a flap of her wings.
>”Time!”
>You click the watch in your hand.
“Uh…Three-fourty.”

>Here it comes.
>Spitfire takes a deep breath.
>”FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! CELESTIA DAMMIT! SHIT! ASS! FUCKING GODDAMN-“
>Spitfire begins to snort and stomp around on the bleachers.
>”Three-fourty isn’t gonna cut it during the race!”
>She flares her wings again.
>”I’m going back up, see if I can knock this down to two minutes.”
>Whoa wait what?
“Spits, no.”
>Spitfire turns around and glares at you a bit.
>”-What-, Anny?”
“Did you totally forget what we talked about? Let me fill you in, this is that burning out thing I talked about.”
>”It not being horsecrap then doesn’t make it not horsecrap now.”
>What?
“Spits, that’s totally what it means.”
>”Is not!”
“Yes it is! Now chill out and at least take a break first before you dive back into the air, huh?”
>Spitfire snorts. “Oh I’m sorry, I forgot I stopped being captain when Anny was worried about me.”
“It’s not like that Spits, come on.”
>”Yeah? Then what’s it like, Anny. Cuz from here it looks bad.”
>Okay, now you were getting kind of annoyed.
“God forbid I don’t want to see you overcompensate and cost us the race, saw enough of that in Zebrica, thanks.”
>”Oh fer, I didn’t see you!”
“Then you failed a spot check because I think I was closer to your ass then than I’ve been since we got together!”
>”If this is you two talking, then I don’t want to even imagine what your sex is like.”
>The two of your glare at Soarin’ who casually sips his orange soda.

“You messed up.”
>”-Excuse- me?” Spitfire says, riling up and perking her ears.
“You heard me.”
>You point up.
“Up there, basically the entire time, your wings? They were so angled forward that you couldn’t even get the thrust to outrun an old lady, let alone win a race.”
>Harsh but true, if she couldn’t get her angle for her wings right, she’d be dead in the figurative water.
>”Bull! You show me!”
“You’d be able to tell if you were capable of self-review during times like this!”
>You tug at your hair.
“Shit! This is –exactly- what happened with Dash!”
>Spitfire rolls her eyes behind her goggles. “Reeeeal classy Anon, comparing me to your ex.”
“Totally apt in this situation and you fuckin’ know it.”
>Spitfire sits down and crosses her hooves, at least she wasn’t in the air…
>”Oh this I –gotta- hear.”
“What’s to hear?” you start. “This is –clearly- psychological with you hypercompetitive types. How else can you explain a complete and utter lack of ability to notice when you’re at fault for something?”
>”Oh and –you’re- so pure, eh Anny?” Spitfire spits, growing frustrated. “You come into our team and what, think you got the ability to throw a bunch of shit around just because you built a pack?”
>Ow.
>”Need I remind you that the entire REASON we’re here in the first place is because you were too slow to keep up with me in Zebrica!?”
>You’re mad.
>You’re about to go Krakatoa on her when-
>”Whoa whoa WHOA! BREAK IT UP!”

>Soarin’ steps between the two of you and pushes you apart with his hooves.
>”Fuckin’ damn…” he says, chewing on his straw. “I thought my little quips woulda let the steam outa you two, not riled you up more.”
>”Psssht. You oughta know there’s no stopping Anny when he’s on his soapbox, Soar.”
>Now wait just a goddamn min-
>”Spits, blow it out your ass. I saw the same shit angle that he was talking about, I just didn’t say anything. It’s fine if YOU wanna go slow, but some of us don’t have Playcolt centerfolds to fall back on if this goes under.”
“There’s always your music career…” you mumble.
>”Shutup.”
>”Spitfire grits her teeth. “You –would- take his side.”
“THANK you, Soar.”
>Soarin looks over his shoulder at you. “Anon, shut the HELL up. I get that you wanna help but there’s a fine line between helping a partner and being an obnoxious ass about it. Not even gonna mention how you dragged your bullshit with Rainbow Dash into it when it didn’t have a place here.”
>It’s your turn to cross your arms and look away.
>It’s silent for a bit on the bleachers.
>”Look, I get that you two are both too proud to do anything about it on your own, you big fat idiots, but you HAVE to put this shit to bed for all our sakes.”
>Soarin’ gathers his drink and begins to trot off.
>”Or else you’ll BOTH end up burning out.”

>You and Spitfire sit in silence for too long.
>So you do something about it.
“He’s right, you know.”
>”What?”
“That we’re both too proud to smell our own shit.”
>”Oh, so now you admit you shit?”
“Everyone shits, Spits…”
>Spitfire closes her mouth and looks away before sighing. “Yeah…”
>I mean…
“Well I –hope- they do, otherwise-
>”Meant about Soarin, Anon.”
“Oh.”
>Spitfire rises to her hooves. “That Celestia-damned idiot has always had his head on straighter than me, still dunno why I’m the leader and he isn’t.”
“Because leaders need to do more than have their head on straight, they have to inspire the people under them.”
>Spitfire looks into the clouds away from you. “…You think so?”
“I’ll tell you about Batman and Superman one day, it’ll make sense then.”
>Spitfire kicks an invisible pebble off the bleachers and begins to trot down.
>”I’m…gonna crash at my place for tonight…maybe a few nights, get my head on straight.”
>Fuck…
>You can do nothing but nod.

“I’m gonna…go listen to shitty music I liked as a teenager and remind myself of every time I screwed up while my humble pie cooks.”
>Spitfire pauses down the steps and looks back to you. “You don’t burn out either Anny, okay? Please.”
>You cock an eyebrow.
>”I may push it but you can’t be everywhere, keeping every plate spinning, solving every problem. Sometimes…we gotta crash and burn.”
“And what do we do when we can’t do that or else?”
>Spitfire shrugs. “Swallow our medicine and drop the excess baggage off the flight, anything to go faster. I’ll see you later.”
>Spitfire takes to the sky and heads towards the Academy.
>You’re left alone on the bleachers looking up at the clouds.
>Someone once told you that any problem could be solved in some way by going fast enough.
>But it was clear you weren’t going as fast as you could be or should be…not with how things were. The last few races were great but…championships were a whole other level. Not being able to pull it off here meant all that would be for nothing.
>You had to kick it up a notch, take it to the next level.
>You feel your stomach turn to steel in determination.
>…Now how the fuck were you gonna do that?