Spitfire rubbed the back of her neck and darted her eyes around the parlor. A tiny organ organ played while dozens of ponies dressed in black consoled each other in various groups. In the corner, a casket laid open.

“Psst,” Fleetfoot whispered, nudging Spitfire. “Who’s this for again?”

Spitfire furled her eyebrows, attempting to remember. “Uhhh, I think it’s Soarin’s great uncle.”

Fleetfoot nodded. “So, why are we here again?”

“Look, this pony clearly meant something to Soarin, so let’s just be supportive, okay?”

Fleetfoot rolled her eyes. “Alright, I guess. So what do we do, mingle?”

Spitfire shook her head. “You will not be doing any ‘mingling’, just stand here and look solemn.”

Fleetfoot sighed, looking down at her sheer black dress. “I wish we were in uniform. Going somewhere when nopony recognizes you is the most miserable thing ever.”

“You're at a funeral, and that, to you, is the most saddest thing?”

Fleetfoot nodded. “At least when it’s YOUR funeral, you're the center of attention.”

“What the hay is wrong with you?” Spitfire said in a harsh whisper. “Not everything is about being the center of attention. We’re here to pay respects to somepony who freaking died! We may be big-time athletes, but we’re still ponies, damnit!”

Before Spitfire could finish her screed, Soarin approached the two, dressed in uniform, carrying wafer cookies and tiny sandwiches.

“Hey, ladies,” he said before shoving a tiny sandwich into his mouth. “Manks fr momin.”

Fleetfoot’s eyes widened. “Where’d you get the sammies?”

Soarin nodded his head to the side and swallowed. “Out those double doors. There’s a catering table.”

Fleetfoot darted off, leaving Spitfire and Soarin alone in a room full of mourners. Spitfire shook her head.

“You know what she was saying to me? All she can think about is how no one here recognizes her!” Realizing what she was complaining about, Spitfire bit her tongue and donned a sad look. “But, uh, I’m so sorry about your loss, Soar.”

Soarin shrugged. “Eh, he was a dick anyway. Nobody in the family particularly liked him.”

Spitfire’s jaw dropped. “Soarin, what’s wrong with you? How can you be so callous?”

“What? It’s the truth. He was mean, he cheated on all his wives, and he owed money to a lot of ponies money when he died. I’m just here for the food, really.”

Spitfire rubbed her temple and shook her head. “Why did you even bother asking us to come?”

“Oh, well, my mom asked me to bring you guys, thought it would get ponies talkin’. Why’d you come in civilian gear, by the way?”

“Because I stupidly thought we were here to pay our respects, and not just eat food and soak up all the attention.”

“Spitfire, you’ve been a Wonderbolt longer than me. How have you not realized that’s what 75 percent of life is for us?”

Before Spitfire could answer, a middle-aged pegasus mare with a wickedly large beehive mane approached the two. Spitfire recognized her as Soarin’s mother instantly.

“Well, my stars! Spitfire, you look lovely today!”

Spitfire smiled and gave her a hug. “Hello, Float, it’s good to see you.”

“Very good to see you as well. And where is Fleetfoot?”

“Here I am,” Fleetfoot said behind them. “And I have sammies, and boy are they good!”

Spitfire cleared her throat and darted her eyes at Fleetfoot before returning her attention to Float. “Anyway, uh, as I was saying to Soarin, we’re all very sorry for your family’s loss and–”

“Hey Float,” a stallion nearby interjected. “Did I mishear ya, or is that really Spitfire and Fleetfoot next to your boy, there?”

Fleetfoot beamed. “It certainly is, sir!”

Soon, more and more ponies gathered around the group, before eventually, they were the center of attention. Fleetfoot and Soarin began glad-hoofing and taking photo opportunities with enthusiastic mourners. Spitfire, meanwhile, tried to break away from the group, but found herself bombarded by ponies the cacophony of their excited chatter.

Eventually, she looked out across the room and saw the open casket abandoned. Everypony in the room had surrounded herself, Soarin, and Fleetfoot. Spitfire sighed, dreading this would happen.

Sometimes she wished she could just be a normal pony. Even if it was just to mourn another’s death.