=Aces High 5= >You slip your arms through the sleeves of your jacket and hike it up, buttoning it tight and flattening any creases out of it. "Yeah...yeah that's nice." you say, the reflection in the mirror mimicking you. >Bit tight around the shoulders...but it -had- been a while. >You strike a few more poses in your dress blues, standard regs whenever an active team member was at the Academy. >Had to keep appearances for the hopefuls. >The medals you'd accumulated over your career glisten in the morning sun on your chest, making you feel good. >Getting the custom jacket job wasn't that hard. After a seamstress had figured out your flight suit, a looser fitting jacket was easy-peasy. >You pocket your things, your keys, some jerky to much on, and some gum and grab your pack and goggles. >The goggles go over your eyes as you look over the readouts on the rear of the pack. "Fuel lines are good, ignition is solid, turbines to speed..." >Everything a guy needed to rip across the sky. >You throw on your pack and slip on your control gloves as you head out onto your balcony, the whistling of the birds playing over your ears. >One particular song stops. "Y'all headin' out now, Mister Anonymous?" >Eh? >You look over the rail and see your gardener, Mr. Greenhooves working on a bush. >You liked Green, he never let his lack of a cutie mark keep him down. "Mhmm. Got called into the Academy by the boss." >Greenhooves whistles. "So that's why y'all got that fancy geddup, huh? Well ya have a good day now and I'll get this place lookin' good fer ya when ya get back." >You squeeze your hands quickly and flare the engines of your pack. "Heh. Thanks Green, see you in a little while." >You thrust your hands down and kick in your afterburners as you shoot off into the sky. You orient yourself and get comfortable as you steer yourself towards the Wonderbolts Academy. >The flight's not long, an hour tops, but after that you see the mountaintop runway of the Academy and the clouds that orbit it, serving as loggings. >The main building itself, a big number with marble roofs and tall columns supporting it sits at the edge of the runway. >You kick on your exhaust as you come in for a landing, the sign that you were a Wonderbolt and you had permission, and angle yourself towards the runway. >As you skirt the ground, you spot two officers standing in front of a group of recruits, their form fitting suits setting them apart. >You slow yourself down and drop your legs, running along with your jets a bit as you slow down. >Just as planned, you stop right in front of the group. >"Ace on the field!" one of the officers shouts, snapping a salute. >The recruits snap off the same salute in staggered unison. >You chuckle. "At ease, all of you." >They drop their hooves. One of the officers heads over to them while the other approaches you. >"What can I do for you today, sir?" >White coat, side burns, no mustache. This was Manerick, a vet from a few years back who took a shine to the academy over active duty. Spitfire may be ranking officer on here, but Manerick kept the place running. "I'm just looking for Spits, Mane. She wanted to meet up after we got assigned to one another." >Manrick nods. "She's probably in her office overlooking things, you know where that is." >You nod back. "That I do, thanks Mane." >The two of you exchange salutes and you head off towards the main building, the sound of jumping jacks starting behind you. >You head through the main hall and pause outside Spitfire's door. >This seemed remarkably familiar... >You knock thrice. "Please tell me that you're not in various states of undressing in there." >"Oh har har." comes from behind the door. "Get your butt here." >You twist the knob and walk inside Spitfire's office. There are filing cabinets on either side of her oak wood desk with a large bay window behind it. A couch is on one half of the room with a projector next to it pointed at the screen on the other half. "Swanky digs." >"Comes with the status." Spitfire says. >She flips a document over and reads it. >Uhhh... "What's that?" >"The numbers the eggheads crunched that put us together. They got your moves down here as well." >You cock an eyebrow. "You're doing research?" >She cocks her own. "Yeah...why?" >You shrug. "Uhh...nothing, just never saw this side of you before." >Spitfire sighs through her nose and looks back down at the paper. "Yeah, well, every sees what they want to see, and it's my job to let 'em." >That...what? "What do you mean by-" >"Looks like you're slow on the right turns..." Spitfire interjects and stares at you. >You instantly forget your previous line of thought. "Uh, yeah. It's probably because of all the circuit races, I'm not too used to turning right." you say rolling your shoulder. >Spitfire puts the file back in the folder it came in and gets out of her chair. She throws on her aviator glasses and trots past you. >"Well that'll be the first thing we work on, come on." "Right now?" you ask. >"It's either that or stay inside and memorize academy records all day." >The two of you exit the main building and Spitfire shields her eyes for a minute. >Jesus... "Are you -still- hungover?" >"Stow it Anon, it's just bright out here..." >Sure... >This couldn't be from the party, it had to be recent. But why'd she drink here? >The two of you pass by the Dizitron, the class you had run into beforehand is there testing its metal. You throw a wave as you hear them gossip amongst themselves at seeing two true blue Wonderbolts on duty. Spitfire just keeps her eyes front. "New meat?" >"Every month like clockwork. Half of 'em won't make it to tryouts." "Think they'll come back after?" >"Here's hoping. If we can't make the flyers better, what's the point?" >That was a part of the Wonderbolts very few people knew about. >The point of the organization wasn't entirely to just entertain and astound, the Academy was there to teach flyers how to fly safely and well, it was to motivate all the pegusi and gryphon kids out there to want to learn all they could about flying and then do it -right- so they didn't get hurt, and the Wonderbolts stunt and sports team was the public face of that, you were the ones selling the t-shirts. >It was kinda like being a teacher, a lifeguard, and a rock star all rolled into one. >Spitfire leads you to the edge of the mountain where a single switch rests. >"This is what I use for my turning drills." >She flicks the switch and down in the canyon below, great fans spin up to speed. >In moments about ten twisters swirl in the sky. >You release a dry laugh. "You're joking, right? When did we get THIS?" >Spitfire smirks. "After you got laid up for that broken leg. You gonna go or what?" >You pull down your goggles. "Let's get this test started, teach." -Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRy-r2TzJb8 - -Five minutes later- >You cut the power to your jets and enter into a freefall, angling yourself straight down to get the lease wind resistance as you fall through the center of the twister. >If memory served, the twisters formed about three meters off the fans. If memory didn't serve, you were about to become shredded meat. >But fortune favors the bold. >You raise your hands over your face to protect form the wind as you near the bottom of the cyclone. >The second you clear it, you thrust your hands down and pull your upper body straight up, igniting your jets and rocketing away from the whirling fan with scant feet to spare. >You zip between the other twisters and pull your second 90 degree turn up the side of the cliff. >The smoke you're trailing gets sucked into the tornadoes behind you and colors the lead one a dark shade of gray. >When you clear the top of the cliff and see the shade of orange and yellow you know to be Spitfire, you cut your jets, land on your feet in a crouch, and throw your hands up. "Tadaaaah!" >Spitfire rolls her eyes but claps her hooves together regardless. "Alright, you got some moves. But you're still slow on those turns." "Whaaaaat? I probably set a new academy record with that downwind compensation." >She rolls her eyes. "Anny, this is -my- course. You're a long way off from beating any records." >Behind her the class Manerick was leading claps at your display, you wave and Spitfire sighs. >"Right, good moves out there Anon, keep it up and we'll make a partner out of you yet." >She floats up into the air and gets to eye level. "Stick around for the day if you want, have some of our world class lunch." >She flies higher up into the air and heads back to the main building, you think you hear her mutter something about hard cider. >There that was again...what's up wit- >That's the extent of the thinking you're allowed as the class that was watching swarms you, some asking questions while others beg for pictures or autographs. >Manerick shrugs. "I kept 'em busy as long as I could." >Yeah you bet...