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Permission to Land
A leader is strong.
A leader knows not to let their followers see them sweat or show fear. By being rigid, determined, and indomitable in the face of wild dangers or certain death. By exhibiting these traits, the leader becomes more than just alive. They become an icon.
They become a legend.
When Spitfire opened her eyes, she wasn't sure if she were alive or dead. She stared at the white speckled ceiling for a moment, trying to collect where she was, how she got there, and why she felt so numb. Spitfire scanned the room, trying to take in as much detail as her blurry vision would allow. The pale tile floors, the vases of flowers with get well cards, the gown that covered her body, and sterile white sheets that covered her.
'Why am I in a hospital room?’ she wondered to herself, looking around for any sign of help.
Atop her bedside table was a small, golden bell. She grasped it in her hoof and gave it a jingle as she stretched.
"Just one second!" a nurse called from out in the hall.
Spitfire returned the bell to its resting place and looked down at her body, now noticing the many bandages that covered her. She turned her neck from side to side, trying to shake off the shackles of her discomfort.
A yellow mare with a sea-foam green mane stepped into the hospital room with a bright smile. Spitfire noted the nurse's cap on her head as she moved towards her with a stethoscope.
"Well, look who finally woke up!" said the nurse.
"Heh, thanks," Spitfire replied. "I guess I needed my beauty sleep. How long was I out?"
The nurse placed a hoof on her mouth, as if trying to recollect a far off event.
"You were admitted... three days ago? Or was it four. I'm not sure," she said.
Spitfire tried to hide the shock in her reaction. She felt as if her heart stopped for a moment. She was out for three days? Why was she unconscious for three days, she wondered to herself. She closed her eyes, trying to establish the last few things she remembered.
'The Manehattan Show. That's right,' she thought to herself. 'We were doing an event in Manehattan. Then, something went wrong during the show.'
Spitfire shot forward, reaching a hoof out to the nurse.
"Is everypony okay?" Spitfire asked urgently. "I remember now. That pillar was falling towards the stands, and-"
"Everypony is safe," the nurse said. "The only one that was admitted from the show was you, my dear."
Spitfire let loose a sigh of relief and laid back.
"Good," she said. "And the other Wonderbolts?"
"A few cuts and scratches, but nothing serious," the nurse said.
"Well, great! In that case, I guess I just have to worry about me then, huh?"
Spitfire leaned forward and eyed her sides. In addition to the many cuts and bruises that lined her body, she noted the fresh, white casts on both of her wings.
"Huh," Spitfire said aloud to herself, more than the nurse. "Looks like I took a bit of a tumble, huh? How long till I get these off? We have a show coming up soon."
The nurse opened her mouth, then closed it. She took a few careful steps back and then shut the door.
"Well, we should talk about that," she said.
Spitfire's expression grew serious as she noticed the nurse tense up. The yellow pony's eyes darted around the room, anywhere to avoid her gaze.
"Generally speaking, most of your wounds were easy to care for. A few sprains, cuts, and bruises. But, uhm-" she said.
"My wings?" Spitfire said, growing concerned.
The nurse opened her mouth, then finally looked at Spitfire. Pity filled her gaze, as if she were looking down at a wounded puppy dog as it whimpered and cried.
"There's a good chance... you may never fly again," she said. “The pillar fell directly on your wings, and you passed out from shock. We did the best we could."
Spitfire's eyes widened, then she leaned back in her bed, her mind blank, processing the information.
"... You can fix it, right?"
The nurse stared at her clipboard for a long time before clearing her throat.
"A little more simply... Your wing is shattered," she said. "If it were a simple fracture, we could have it set. It would take time and would give you a great deal of pain, but it would eventually heal. This... There are too many pieces that are too small for us to work with."
The nurse shifted her weight from hoof to hoof.
"We could still set it, but no matter how much time spent in a cast, it would just break again as soon as the cast comes off, and the pain would be excruciating for the rest of your life."
The nurse licked her lips before continuing.
"We... we need to amputate."
A silence filled the room. Spitfire could hear her heart beating in her throat. She could hear a ringing building in her ears.
"I see," she said quietly.
The nurse took a step forward, then opened her mouth.
"I really am... sorry," she said.
Spitfire's gaze turned to the window, where the sun shined in against a clear blue sky.
"Could I have a moment to be alone?" Spitfire asked in a low tone.
The nurse took a step to the door, then stopped, turning back to her patient.
“Just let me know when we should schedule to procedure.”
~~~
Spitfire sat in the back of the dark, quiet bar, her glass filled with an untouched burning cinnamon whiskey. Her attention wasn't directed at any of the other patrons of the bar, as she ensured that nopony recognized her in the hidden corner of the room. She had already inspected them thoroughly. She could not trust herself to be strong tonight. She stared at her reflection in the liquid, her mind completely devoid of thought. There wasn't much to think about. The facts were the facts. If she began to think about it, the emotions would rise to the surface. She would be weak. Her Wonderbolts couldn't see that. She would be remembered as a strong leader. As would her replacement.
She just wanted to get this over with already, just like the operation. The month of recovery in the hospital had passed slowly and many of her friends had come to visit. Not a single pony had chosen to address the elephant in the room, and that was fine by Spitfire. It had made the conversations easier. It avoided a topic where there was nothing to say. Nothing to think about. Nothing to feel about. It had helped her look strong. It had made her seem like she came to terms with what happened.
She didn’t want them to make it real, even if their eyes had focused intently on the side of her body that was missing something. She still felt it there in the form of little pricks and tingles that were tricks of her mind. The ghost of her wing had still persisted and she wasn’t ready for it to leave just yet, like a filly outgrowing her imaginary friend. For now, she just wanted to live like nothing had changed at all.
Her gaze moved to the door as she noticed Soarin enter the bar. He laughed and pointed at several of the patrons, as if he had visited the bar on many occasions. She shook her head. Soarin always had a knack for getting on her nerves. Whether it was his lack of punctuality, his crass attitude, his constant appetite, or naive optimism, Soarin was a sort of yin to Spitfire's yang.
Tonight, she would not find herself annoyed that he was 20 minutes late. She was just trying to stay completely neutral. She didn’t want to notice the right side of her body was cold.
"Heya, Spitfire," Soarin said, approaching the table. "What's with all the dramatics? The only time I ever see you at a bar is to celebrate."
"What? I can't go to a bar every now and then?" she snapped back. "Anyway, I didn't call you here to hear your jokes. We have business to attend to."
Soarin nodded and took the seat facing her.
"Fine, fine. Yeesh. Touchy today I see. What's up?" he said, dropping the casual act.
Spitfire opened her mouth, then found herself unable to look Soarin in the eyes. He looked at her with concern and rapt attention, but her words were caught in her throat. Her eyes moved down to to the glass of liquor in front of her.
There's nothing to think. Nothing to feel. Nothing to it, but to say it.
"I'm resigning as Wonderbolt captain," Spitfire says, more to the drink in front of her than to Soarin. "You'll be acting captain now."
Silence filled the space in-between the two Wonderbolts. Spitfire picked up her glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. It burned her way down her throat, cleansing her palate of the poisonous words that cut her mouth on the way out.
"Say something," she said in a low tone, almost as if she were growling.
"I.. uh, sorry," he said, sitting back in his chair. "It's just... It's a shock for me. Why? Can’t you just-"
"No. Now do you get it or not?" she barked.
Soarin reached a hoof across the table, but Spitfire only stared at him.
"You know everything you'll have to do as captain, right?" she asked.
"Well, yeah. I mean, of course. But, are you okay?" he replied.
"I'm fine," she said. "Now, you can probably get Dash to help out a bit more. I think she'd be a great Captain if anything happens to you. Train her hard and be ruthless. She needs a bit of a kick in the rear sometimes. And make sure everyone wears the safety equipment during practices too. We can't afford another bolt to leave. As much as I like this batch of reserves, I doubt many would fill your shoes."
Soarin watched his friend oddly, as if he was seeing a ghost of somepony he once knew.
"Are you saying you'll never fly again, Spitfire?" he asks.
"You might need to round on Fleetfoot. She hates the equipment, but I don't think there's much room for that option now. You'll need to be hard on them, Soarin. You'll need to be strong for them. They need a leader, and a leader can't crumble under pressure, got it?"
Spitfire's eyes dug into Soarin and he remained quiet.
"Got it?" she repeated herself.
"I think I understand," said Soarin.
"Good," she said, her eyes moving back down to her drink. "Then, in that case, you're dismissed. I'm going to collect my things from my office and locker on Monday and then it's yours."
Spitfire remained quiet, but he didn't budge an inch.
"Spitfire, you know I'm around if you ever need to talk, right?" Soarin asked.
Spitfire didn't say a word and Soarin retracted his outstretched hoof.
"Alright," he said, failing to hide the pain in his voice. "That's fine."
He rose to his hooves and began to walk away from the booth. Spitfire's eyes rose to where her friend sat, then to the door.
"Soarin?" Spitfire said, her voice beginning to betray her.
She closed her eyes, recomposing herself.
'Don't think about it,' she thought to herself. 'It's just business. You're a leader. Act like one.'
"Yeah?" Soarin said, his voice gentle and tender.
"Not a word to anypony else. I want this to be quick and quiet," Spitfire said.
Soarin took a step forward, but Spitfire looked away to her drink again. He stopped, frozen for a moment, before answering.
"Fine," he said, before turning and exiting the bar.
~~~
Spitfire sat in her office, one stuffed box of belongings by the door. She was somewhat surprised by how easy it was to strip the office of her existence. Now it was just as bare as the day that it was given to her by the last Wonderbolt captain, and she would shortly pass the keys to Soarin.
The last thing to pack was directly in front of her, sitting on the desk. A photo from one of the most recent flight shows. Rainbow Dash, Fleetfoot, Soarin and the rest of the gang, all lined up, covered with sweat, and laughing heartily from a job well done. She remembered she framed it because she thought her hair didn't look terrible after a show for once. Now she stared at it blankly, trying not to think about why it was so hard to remove it from her desk.
Her mind was blank as she rose from her seat, and mechanically grabbed the photo. Trotting to her box of belongings, she eased the photo inside. And now, she was allowed to leave. The last thing to do was to leave the facility. Then she would be allowed to think. She could think about why her sides were colder than they used to be. She could think about what her new career options were. She could think about never being able to--
Spitfire shook her head and took the box onto her back. She splayed her wing to gather her balance, but fell instantly. Her new right stump did nothing to help give the mare balance. She grunted under her breath, anger rising in her chest. Each and every breath she took burned with internal anguish as she rose to her hooves again. She returned the belongings to her box, that would be hidden in the attic until a day that she could face these without having to be strong. She took a deep breath, and released the anger like a dragon puffing soot from its mouth.
She slumped the box back onto her back, then pushed out of the office. Standing outside were Rainbow Dash, Soarin, and Fleetfoot, fully dressed in uniform. Spitfire shut the office door behind her.
"So," began Soarin. "This is it?"
Spitfire hummed to herself, then looked to her two other teammates.
"You know, we'd be happy to have you on as a personal trainer," said Fleetfoot. "Just because you can't fly anymore doesn't-"
"Right now I need some time to gather my bearings," interrupted Spitfire. "I'll see my Mom. Visit family, and try to find some new normal. After that, who knows. I'll give you guys a call."
The three Wonderbolts and the half-pegasus stood in silence. Spitfire reached into the box on her back and pulled out a small ring of keys with her mouth. She tossed them to Soarin. He caught them with a hoof.
"The chair squeaks," she said. "If you lean too far back, it will fall. Don't crack your head open."
Soarin nodded, returning her gaze to Spitfire. Rainbow stepped forward, opening her mouth to say something, but closed it. Spitfire eyed Rainbow Dash curiously. Spitfire couldn't help but feel pride for the Element of Harmony in front of her. She’d pushed and guided her since day one. She respected the mare immensely, but Spitfire did her best to never show it. If Rainbow knew she had a soft spot for her, then it could show preferential treatment. This was her last day as a leader. She needed to stay strong.
"Yeah, Rookie?" Spitfire said. "Spit it out already. I got a balloon outside with my name on it."
Rainbow Dash opened her mouth, but closed it again.
“Permission to speak freely, Captain?” Dash asked.
“Of course, Rookie,” she replied.
Rainbow opened her mouth, but her words were still stuck in her throat. She closed her eyes, took two long steps forward and wrapped Spitfire in her hooves. Spitfire's eyes opened wide in shock. She looked down at the mare clinging to her tightly, not knowing how to react.
"I wouldn't be half the flier I am today if it wasn't for you, Ma'am," Dash said. "Thank you. For everything."
Spitfire felt a dampness against her neck were Rainbow buried her head. She felt a quivering in her chest. She closed her eyes, trying to regain control of herself.
"Now none of that, rookie," Spitfire said. "You did it all yourself. I just showed you that it was in you."
But Rainbow didn't let go as Spitfire wanted. Spitfire felt herself losing control of her stability. She took a deep breath, and knew that she wouldn't be able to get out of this situation so easily. She unfurled her only wing and rested it against Rainbow's back, pulling her close. Spitfire felt the tears running down her neck, but did not say a word. She chose not to think about them or what they meant.
"You know I'm always here if you need me, Dash," Spitfire whispered.
The Element of Harmony nodded, her grip easing. Dash reached a hoof up and wiped her eyes.
"Yes," she said. "I know."
Spitfire smiled and shook her head.
"Getting easy on me already, Rainbow Crash?" Spitfire said, her voice losing its gentle edge. "I'm Captain until I leave this cloud. Got that?"
The mare fell in line with Soarin and Fleetfoot.
"Ma'am, with all due respect, you're wrong," Fleetfoot said.
Spitfire raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?" she said.
"You'll always be our captain, Ma'am," Soarin said.
With one unified and singular motion, Soarin, Fleetfoot, and Rainbow Dash raised their hooves to their foreheads in salute. Spitfire smiled, chuckling to herself.
"At ease, you three. I was only kidding."
But the pegasi before her did not move. They stood at attention, focused on honoring their leader. Spitfire felt a swelling in her chest and smiled as a bittersweet feeling built up in her stomach. She couldn't help but feel sick as she took a step away from them.
"Well, you know where to reach me," Spitfire said. "I hate goodbyes, so. I'll see ya around."
The salute did not waver and it did not falter as she made her way down the hallway towards the exit of the administration building. She took a right down the hallway, then stopped in her tracks.
Lining the hall in front of her, was every Wonderbolt in the squad. They were in uniform and holding the same salute that her friends had held in honor of her. She put one hoof in front of the other, moving down the hall in silence.
Her gaze moved to each of them, each at attention and unwavering. She recognized each one of their faces and names. She remembered the hours she had helped train each one of them along their journey to earn the uniform. It only served to further the feeling that built in her stomach. Her eyes felt itchy and she couldn't help but blink and look away.
She wanted to tell them to stand at ease. To stop making such a big deal out of this. She just wanted to go home. These were her last few moments as a leader to them, and she wanted to stay strong. She wanted to still be immortal to them. As strong or as rigid as the Princesses that ruled Equestria.
"Thank you, Ma'am," said another Wonderbolt as she passed her.
Spitfire nodded, continuing past the team.
"Thank you, Ma'am," said another.
Spitfire closed her eyes, trying to gulp down the tremor in her throat.
"Of course," she said in a whisper, her voice cracking.
"Thank you, Ma'am," said a third.
Spitfire increased her pace down the hall towards the exit. She felt herself breaking down. She felt her willpower fading. She hadn't cried once since the news had broken to her. She knew she must stay strong for her team, but this was too much. She could feel herself walking out of the one thing she loved most. The realization of stepping down from her dream job was washing over her and she didn't want the recruits to see. Her muscles ached. The absence of her right wing was now becoming all too real to her.
She realized this wasn't just some bad dream.
Spitfire reached the end of the hall and pushed open the doors to the building and into the bright sun of the morning. She opened her eyes and felt her breath leave her like a blow to the stomach.
Lined outside was everypony she had ever seen in passing on the base. Wonderbolt Recruits. Retired Wonderbolts. Wonderbolt trainers. Each lined the path to the balloon that would carry her home to Cloudsdale. Her eyes traced her way to the Balloon, where her mother stood, waiting for her.
She closed her eyes and moved down the steps. The feeling was building to its breaking point in her stomach. She felt herself tremble with each step. She opened her eyes once more, and immediately locked eyes with Lightning Dust, who stood in civilian clothes, saluting her without a single ounce of resentment on her face. Spitfire bit her lip and looked away, but try as she might, she couldn't move her eyes in a single direction without seeing a pony she knew, saluting her. Her old personal trainer. Her flight partner for when she was a recruit.
Spitfire blinked and felt a dampness leak from one of her eyes, but shook her head. A flash of a camera blinked, and Spitfire couldn't help but wince like it was a blow to the chest. How would she look in the picture, she wondered. Strong? Graceful? Or would she look as empty and defeated as she felt inside.
Her breathing became more shallow as the overwhelming love of each person that respected her, looked up to her, washed over her. She found herself walking faster to the balloon, where her Mom stood patiently for her. Smiling.
The feeling inside reached its tipping point.
She would never fly again, for the rest of her life.
Spitfire stopped, the tide of the war inside her head now turning for the worse. It was hard to stand. She felt herself shake. The ground under her felt as if it would fall away. She closed her eyes, feeling a stream of water stream down her face.
'I can't cry,' she told herself. 'I can't be weak. I can't be a bad leader. I've worked too hard to throw it all away now. Not in front of everypony who cares. Not in front of everypony who helped me get this far.'
But the single fact screamed through her head loud and clear. The single fact she tried not to think until she left the Wonderbolts. She would never fly again.
She paused for only a moment. Barely enough for anypony to notice a shift in her step, before she cleared her throat and raised her head high once more. Spitfire was almost there. She knew it.
Putting one hoof in front of the other, she stopped in front of the balloon and turned around, where her friends stood behind her, still saluting. Rainbow Dash, Fleetfoot, and Soarin, a new Captain’s badge affixed on his uniform, stood at attention, awaiting orders.
Spitfire cleared her throat, and summoned her voice for one final command.
“At ease!” she called out to the crowd and their hooves fell to the ground in unison.
She turned away from them, feeling a tear in her eye. And she stepped onto the balloon without a word to her mother, who climbed in behind her.
The balloon attendant began to prep the gas for their journey, but Spitfire turned to her three friends, mouthing a 'Thank you' to them. Then her eyes moved to the crowd of ponies in front of her. The near-hundred of pegasi who stood, watching her, in honor of her leadership. In respect of her departure of the post.
Spitfire placed her two front hooves on the edge of the basket, and the fire in the balloon came to life. The vessel began to rise into the air, and another stream ran down her left cheek.
In a practiced motion, she raised her hoof and saluted. A smile crept on her face as another stream ran down her right cheek. The crowd cheered for her, louder than any audience for their performances. Louder than any graduating class of recruits. They cheered for her, their leader. Their friend.
She turned away from the crowd and sat down on the floor of the balloon, Spitfire's mother sitting beside her. Now shielded from the crowd below her. Now resigned of her post. Now that Spitfire was beside her mother, staring at the floor of the balloon, she felt the hoof of her mom on her back.
Right where her wing used to be.
The feelings then erupted, and Spitfire wept into her mother's hooves.
A leader knows not to let their followers see them sweat or show fear. By being rigid, determined, and indomitable in the face of wild dangers or certain death. By exhibiting these traits, the leader becomes more than just alive. They become an icon.
They become a legend.
When Spitfire opened her eyes, she wasn't sure if she were alive or dead. She stared at the white speckled ceiling for a moment, trying to collect where she was, how she got there, and why she felt so numb. Spitfire scanned the room, trying to take in as much detail as her blurry vision would allow. The pale tile floors, the vases of flowers with get well cards, the gown that covered her body, and sterile white sheets that covered her.
'Why am I in a hospital room?’ she wondered to herself, looking around for any sign of help.
Atop her bedside table was a small, golden bell. She grasped it in her hoof and gave it a jingle as she stretched.
"Just one second!" a nurse called from out in the hall.
Spitfire returned the bell to its resting place and looked down at her body, now noticing the many bandages that covered her. She turned her neck from side to side, trying to shake off the shackles of her discomfort.
A yellow mare with a sea-foam green mane stepped into the hospital room with a bright smile. Spitfire noted the nurse's cap on her head as she moved towards her with a stethoscope.
"Well, look who finally woke up!" said the nurse.
"Heh, thanks," Spitfire replied. "I guess I needed my beauty sleep. How long was I out?"
The nurse placed a hoof on her mouth, as if trying to recollect a far off event.
"You were admitted... three days ago? Or was it four. I'm not sure," she said.
Spitfire tried to hide the shock in her reaction. She felt as if her heart stopped for a moment. She was out for three days? Why was she unconscious for three days, she wondered to herself. She closed her eyes, trying to establish the last few things she remembered.
'The Manehattan Show. That's right,' she thought to herself. 'We were doing an event in Manehattan. Then, something went wrong during the show.'
Spitfire shot forward, reaching a hoof out to the nurse.
"Is everypony okay?" Spitfire asked urgently. "I remember now. That pillar was falling towards the stands, and-"
"Everypony is safe," the nurse said. "The only one that was admitted from the show was you, my dear."
Spitfire let loose a sigh of relief and laid back.
"Good," she said. "And the other Wonderbolts?"
"A few cuts and scratches, but nothing serious," the nurse said.
"Well, great! In that case, I guess I just have to worry about me then, huh?"
Spitfire leaned forward and eyed her sides. In addition to the many cuts and bruises that lined her body, she noted the fresh, white casts on both of her wings.
"Huh," Spitfire said aloud to herself, more than the nurse. "Looks like I took a bit of a tumble, huh? How long till I get these off? We have a show coming up soon."
The nurse opened her mouth, then closed it. She took a few careful steps back and then shut the door.
"Well, we should talk about that," she said.
Spitfire's expression grew serious as she noticed the nurse tense up. The yellow pony's eyes darted around the room, anywhere to avoid her gaze.
"Generally speaking, most of your wounds were easy to care for. A few sprains, cuts, and bruises. But, uhm-" she said.
"My wings?" Spitfire said, growing concerned.
The nurse opened her mouth, then finally looked at Spitfire. Pity filled her gaze, as if she were looking down at a wounded puppy dog as it whimpered and cried.
"There's a good chance... you may never fly again," she said. “The pillar fell directly on your wings, and you passed out from shock. We did the best we could."
Spitfire's eyes widened, then she leaned back in her bed, her mind blank, processing the information.
"... You can fix it, right?"
The nurse stared at her clipboard for a long time before clearing her throat.
"A little more simply... Your wing is shattered," she said. "If it were a simple fracture, we could have it set. It would take time and would give you a great deal of pain, but it would eventually heal. This... There are too many pieces that are too small for us to work with."
The nurse shifted her weight from hoof to hoof.
"We could still set it, but no matter how much time spent in a cast, it would just break again as soon as the cast comes off, and the pain would be excruciating for the rest of your life."
The nurse licked her lips before continuing.
"We... we need to amputate."
A silence filled the room. Spitfire could hear her heart beating in her throat. She could hear a ringing building in her ears.
"I see," she said quietly.
The nurse took a step forward, then opened her mouth.
"I really am... sorry," she said.
Spitfire's gaze turned to the window, where the sun shined in against a clear blue sky.
"Could I have a moment to be alone?" Spitfire asked in a low tone.
The nurse took a step to the door, then stopped, turning back to her patient.
“Just let me know when we should schedule to procedure.”
~~~
Spitfire sat in the back of the dark, quiet bar, her glass filled with an untouched burning cinnamon whiskey. Her attention wasn't directed at any of the other patrons of the bar, as she ensured that nopony recognized her in the hidden corner of the room. She had already inspected them thoroughly. She could not trust herself to be strong tonight. She stared at her reflection in the liquid, her mind completely devoid of thought. There wasn't much to think about. The facts were the facts. If she began to think about it, the emotions would rise to the surface. She would be weak. Her Wonderbolts couldn't see that. She would be remembered as a strong leader. As would her replacement.
She just wanted to get this over with already, just like the operation. The month of recovery in the hospital had passed slowly and many of her friends had come to visit. Not a single pony had chosen to address the elephant in the room, and that was fine by Spitfire. It had made the conversations easier. It avoided a topic where there was nothing to say. Nothing to think about. Nothing to feel about. It had helped her look strong. It had made her seem like she came to terms with what happened.
She didn’t want them to make it real, even if their eyes had focused intently on the side of her body that was missing something. She still felt it there in the form of little pricks and tingles that were tricks of her mind. The ghost of her wing had still persisted and she wasn’t ready for it to leave just yet, like a filly outgrowing her imaginary friend. For now, she just wanted to live like nothing had changed at all.
Her gaze moved to the door as she noticed Soarin enter the bar. He laughed and pointed at several of the patrons, as if he had visited the bar on many occasions. She shook her head. Soarin always had a knack for getting on her nerves. Whether it was his lack of punctuality, his crass attitude, his constant appetite, or naive optimism, Soarin was a sort of yin to Spitfire's yang.
Tonight, she would not find herself annoyed that he was 20 minutes late. She was just trying to stay completely neutral. She didn’t want to notice the right side of her body was cold.
"Heya, Spitfire," Soarin said, approaching the table. "What's with all the dramatics? The only time I ever see you at a bar is to celebrate."
"What? I can't go to a bar every now and then?" she snapped back. "Anyway, I didn't call you here to hear your jokes. We have business to attend to."
Soarin nodded and took the seat facing her.
"Fine, fine. Yeesh. Touchy today I see. What's up?" he said, dropping the casual act.
Spitfire opened her mouth, then found herself unable to look Soarin in the eyes. He looked at her with concern and rapt attention, but her words were caught in her throat. Her eyes moved down to to the glass of liquor in front of her.
There's nothing to think. Nothing to feel. Nothing to it, but to say it.
"I'm resigning as Wonderbolt captain," Spitfire says, more to the drink in front of her than to Soarin. "You'll be acting captain now."
Silence filled the space in-between the two Wonderbolts. Spitfire picked up her glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. It burned her way down her throat, cleansing her palate of the poisonous words that cut her mouth on the way out.
"Say something," she said in a low tone, almost as if she were growling.
"I.. uh, sorry," he said, sitting back in his chair. "It's just... It's a shock for me. Why? Can’t you just-"
"No. Now do you get it or not?" she barked.
Soarin reached a hoof across the table, but Spitfire only stared at him.
"You know everything you'll have to do as captain, right?" she asked.
"Well, yeah. I mean, of course. But, are you okay?" he replied.
"I'm fine," she said. "Now, you can probably get Dash to help out a bit more. I think she'd be a great Captain if anything happens to you. Train her hard and be ruthless. She needs a bit of a kick in the rear sometimes. And make sure everyone wears the safety equipment during practices too. We can't afford another bolt to leave. As much as I like this batch of reserves, I doubt many would fill your shoes."
Soarin watched his friend oddly, as if he was seeing a ghost of somepony he once knew.
"Are you saying you'll never fly again, Spitfire?" he asks.
"You might need to round on Fleetfoot. She hates the equipment, but I don't think there's much room for that option now. You'll need to be hard on them, Soarin. You'll need to be strong for them. They need a leader, and a leader can't crumble under pressure, got it?"
Spitfire's eyes dug into Soarin and he remained quiet.
"Got it?" she repeated herself.
"I think I understand," said Soarin.
"Good," she said, her eyes moving back down to her drink. "Then, in that case, you're dismissed. I'm going to collect my things from my office and locker on Monday and then it's yours."
Spitfire remained quiet, but he didn't budge an inch.
"Spitfire, you know I'm around if you ever need to talk, right?" Soarin asked.
Spitfire didn't say a word and Soarin retracted his outstretched hoof.
"Alright," he said, failing to hide the pain in his voice. "That's fine."
He rose to his hooves and began to walk away from the booth. Spitfire's eyes rose to where her friend sat, then to the door.
"Soarin?" Spitfire said, her voice beginning to betray her.
She closed her eyes, recomposing herself.
'Don't think about it,' she thought to herself. 'It's just business. You're a leader. Act like one.'
"Yeah?" Soarin said, his voice gentle and tender.
"Not a word to anypony else. I want this to be quick and quiet," Spitfire said.
Soarin took a step forward, but Spitfire looked away to her drink again. He stopped, frozen for a moment, before answering.
"Fine," he said, before turning and exiting the bar.
~~~
Spitfire sat in her office, one stuffed box of belongings by the door. She was somewhat surprised by how easy it was to strip the office of her existence. Now it was just as bare as the day that it was given to her by the last Wonderbolt captain, and she would shortly pass the keys to Soarin.
The last thing to pack was directly in front of her, sitting on the desk. A photo from one of the most recent flight shows. Rainbow Dash, Fleetfoot, Soarin and the rest of the gang, all lined up, covered with sweat, and laughing heartily from a job well done. She remembered she framed it because she thought her hair didn't look terrible after a show for once. Now she stared at it blankly, trying not to think about why it was so hard to remove it from her desk.
Her mind was blank as she rose from her seat, and mechanically grabbed the photo. Trotting to her box of belongings, she eased the photo inside. And now, she was allowed to leave. The last thing to do was to leave the facility. Then she would be allowed to think. She could think about why her sides were colder than they used to be. She could think about what her new career options were. She could think about never being able to--
Spitfire shook her head and took the box onto her back. She splayed her wing to gather her balance, but fell instantly. Her new right stump did nothing to help give the mare balance. She grunted under her breath, anger rising in her chest. Each and every breath she took burned with internal anguish as she rose to her hooves again. She returned the belongings to her box, that would be hidden in the attic until a day that she could face these without having to be strong. She took a deep breath, and released the anger like a dragon puffing soot from its mouth.
She slumped the box back onto her back, then pushed out of the office. Standing outside were Rainbow Dash, Soarin, and Fleetfoot, fully dressed in uniform. Spitfire shut the office door behind her.
"So," began Soarin. "This is it?"
Spitfire hummed to herself, then looked to her two other teammates.
"You know, we'd be happy to have you on as a personal trainer," said Fleetfoot. "Just because you can't fly anymore doesn't-"
"Right now I need some time to gather my bearings," interrupted Spitfire. "I'll see my Mom. Visit family, and try to find some new normal. After that, who knows. I'll give you guys a call."
The three Wonderbolts and the half-pegasus stood in silence. Spitfire reached into the box on her back and pulled out a small ring of keys with her mouth. She tossed them to Soarin. He caught them with a hoof.
"The chair squeaks," she said. "If you lean too far back, it will fall. Don't crack your head open."
Soarin nodded, returning her gaze to Spitfire. Rainbow stepped forward, opening her mouth to say something, but closed it. Spitfire eyed Rainbow Dash curiously. Spitfire couldn't help but feel pride for the Element of Harmony in front of her. She’d pushed and guided her since day one. She respected the mare immensely, but Spitfire did her best to never show it. If Rainbow knew she had a soft spot for her, then it could show preferential treatment. This was her last day as a leader. She needed to stay strong.
"Yeah, Rookie?" Spitfire said. "Spit it out already. I got a balloon outside with my name on it."
Rainbow Dash opened her mouth, but closed it again.
“Permission to speak freely, Captain?” Dash asked.
“Of course, Rookie,” she replied.
Rainbow opened her mouth, but her words were still stuck in her throat. She closed her eyes, took two long steps forward and wrapped Spitfire in her hooves. Spitfire's eyes opened wide in shock. She looked down at the mare clinging to her tightly, not knowing how to react.
"I wouldn't be half the flier I am today if it wasn't for you, Ma'am," Dash said. "Thank you. For everything."
Spitfire felt a dampness against her neck were Rainbow buried her head. She felt a quivering in her chest. She closed her eyes, trying to regain control of herself.
"Now none of that, rookie," Spitfire said. "You did it all yourself. I just showed you that it was in you."
But Rainbow didn't let go as Spitfire wanted. Spitfire felt herself losing control of her stability. She took a deep breath, and knew that she wouldn't be able to get out of this situation so easily. She unfurled her only wing and rested it against Rainbow's back, pulling her close. Spitfire felt the tears running down her neck, but did not say a word. She chose not to think about them or what they meant.
"You know I'm always here if you need me, Dash," Spitfire whispered.
The Element of Harmony nodded, her grip easing. Dash reached a hoof up and wiped her eyes.
"Yes," she said. "I know."
Spitfire smiled and shook her head.
"Getting easy on me already, Rainbow Crash?" Spitfire said, her voice losing its gentle edge. "I'm Captain until I leave this cloud. Got that?"
The mare fell in line with Soarin and Fleetfoot.
"Ma'am, with all due respect, you're wrong," Fleetfoot said.
Spitfire raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?" she said.
"You'll always be our captain, Ma'am," Soarin said.
With one unified and singular motion, Soarin, Fleetfoot, and Rainbow Dash raised their hooves to their foreheads in salute. Spitfire smiled, chuckling to herself.
"At ease, you three. I was only kidding."
But the pegasi before her did not move. They stood at attention, focused on honoring their leader. Spitfire felt a swelling in her chest and smiled as a bittersweet feeling built up in her stomach. She couldn't help but feel sick as she took a step away from them.
"Well, you know where to reach me," Spitfire said. "I hate goodbyes, so. I'll see ya around."
The salute did not waver and it did not falter as she made her way down the hallway towards the exit of the administration building. She took a right down the hallway, then stopped in her tracks.
Lining the hall in front of her, was every Wonderbolt in the squad. They were in uniform and holding the same salute that her friends had held in honor of her. She put one hoof in front of the other, moving down the hall in silence.
Her gaze moved to each of them, each at attention and unwavering. She recognized each one of their faces and names. She remembered the hours she had helped train each one of them along their journey to earn the uniform. It only served to further the feeling that built in her stomach. Her eyes felt itchy and she couldn't help but blink and look away.
She wanted to tell them to stand at ease. To stop making such a big deal out of this. She just wanted to go home. These were her last few moments as a leader to them, and she wanted to stay strong. She wanted to still be immortal to them. As strong or as rigid as the Princesses that ruled Equestria.
"Thank you, Ma'am," said another Wonderbolt as she passed her.
Spitfire nodded, continuing past the team.
"Thank you, Ma'am," said another.
Spitfire closed her eyes, trying to gulp down the tremor in her throat.
"Of course," she said in a whisper, her voice cracking.
"Thank you, Ma'am," said a third.
Spitfire increased her pace down the hall towards the exit. She felt herself breaking down. She felt her willpower fading. She hadn't cried once since the news had broken to her. She knew she must stay strong for her team, but this was too much. She could feel herself walking out of the one thing she loved most. The realization of stepping down from her dream job was washing over her and she didn't want the recruits to see. Her muscles ached. The absence of her right wing was now becoming all too real to her.
She realized this wasn't just some bad dream.
Spitfire reached the end of the hall and pushed open the doors to the building and into the bright sun of the morning. She opened her eyes and felt her breath leave her like a blow to the stomach.
Lined outside was everypony she had ever seen in passing on the base. Wonderbolt Recruits. Retired Wonderbolts. Wonderbolt trainers. Each lined the path to the balloon that would carry her home to Cloudsdale. Her eyes traced her way to the Balloon, where her mother stood, waiting for her.
She closed her eyes and moved down the steps. The feeling was building to its breaking point in her stomach. She felt herself tremble with each step. She opened her eyes once more, and immediately locked eyes with Lightning Dust, who stood in civilian clothes, saluting her without a single ounce of resentment on her face. Spitfire bit her lip and looked away, but try as she might, she couldn't move her eyes in a single direction without seeing a pony she knew, saluting her. Her old personal trainer. Her flight partner for when she was a recruit.
Spitfire blinked and felt a dampness leak from one of her eyes, but shook her head. A flash of a camera blinked, and Spitfire couldn't help but wince like it was a blow to the chest. How would she look in the picture, she wondered. Strong? Graceful? Or would she look as empty and defeated as she felt inside.
Her breathing became more shallow as the overwhelming love of each person that respected her, looked up to her, washed over her. She found herself walking faster to the balloon, where her Mom stood patiently for her. Smiling.
The feeling inside reached its tipping point.
She would never fly again, for the rest of her life.
Spitfire stopped, the tide of the war inside her head now turning for the worse. It was hard to stand. She felt herself shake. The ground under her felt as if it would fall away. She closed her eyes, feeling a stream of water stream down her face.
'I can't cry,' she told herself. 'I can't be weak. I can't be a bad leader. I've worked too hard to throw it all away now. Not in front of everypony who cares. Not in front of everypony who helped me get this far.'
But the single fact screamed through her head loud and clear. The single fact she tried not to think until she left the Wonderbolts. She would never fly again.
She paused for only a moment. Barely enough for anypony to notice a shift in her step, before she cleared her throat and raised her head high once more. Spitfire was almost there. She knew it.
Putting one hoof in front of the other, she stopped in front of the balloon and turned around, where her friends stood behind her, still saluting. Rainbow Dash, Fleetfoot, and Soarin, a new Captain’s badge affixed on his uniform, stood at attention, awaiting orders.
Spitfire cleared her throat, and summoned her voice for one final command.
“At ease!” she called out to the crowd and their hooves fell to the ground in unison.
She turned away from them, feeling a tear in her eye. And she stepped onto the balloon without a word to her mother, who climbed in behind her.
The balloon attendant began to prep the gas for their journey, but Spitfire turned to her three friends, mouthing a 'Thank you' to them. Then her eyes moved to the crowd of ponies in front of her. The near-hundred of pegasi who stood, watching her, in honor of her leadership. In respect of her departure of the post.
Spitfire placed her two front hooves on the edge of the basket, and the fire in the balloon came to life. The vessel began to rise into the air, and another stream ran down her left cheek.
In a practiced motion, she raised her hoof and saluted. A smile crept on her face as another stream ran down her right cheek. The crowd cheered for her, louder than any audience for their performances. Louder than any graduating class of recruits. They cheered for her, their leader. Their friend.
She turned away from the crowd and sat down on the floor of the balloon, Spitfire's mother sitting beside her. Now shielded from the crowd below her. Now resigned of her post. Now that Spitfire was beside her mother, staring at the floor of the balloon, she felt the hoof of her mom on her back.
Right where her wing used to be.
The feelings then erupted, and Spitfire wept into her mother's hooves.
'Why am I in a hospital room?’ she wondered to herself, looking around for any sign of help.
I feel like this confusion could be illustrated better through action, not internal monologue.
Two things. First, Spitfire told Soarin that she wanted her resignation to be handled quietly, but Soarin blabbed to the entire cloud, apparently. Nothing wrong with that; it's perfectly touching, but Spitfire shows zero reaction to it. I also think that someone who cares so much about her image as Spitfire would be less tolerant of Rainbow Dash's breach of decorum.
Second, I'm gonna go ahead and suggest that you start the story with the second scene. Spitfire's in the bar, drinking alone, there's some comment in the narration alluding to her losing her wing, to hook the reader in. Then Soarin comes in, like before, and he and Spitfire have a conversation that alludes to the accident, the details of it, and her wing, without ever explicitly touching on it.
Or, if you must begin with waking up in the hospital, at least have The Man Who Sold The World playing in the background. :P
How did Spitfire notice the hospital gown under the sheets and without noticing the bandages?
Ah. Seems we have a variation on the “broken-winged Dash” subgenre.
If they need to amputate, there’s much more than “a good chance” that Spitfire will never fly again. Unless pony medical science has already developed those prosthetics from the Sombra timeline in “The Cutie Re-Mark.” I suppose this could be seen as letting Spitfire down easy, but it feels almost cruel in the false hope it provides.
Yes, Soarin’, she’s never going to fly again. Her wing got cut off. That’s a pretty definitive end to an aerobatic career.
The walk to the balloon is nicely emotional, but the thank-yous would have a lot more impact if you identified the speakers. Don’t just say that Spitfire recognizes each and every one of them. Prove it. Here's a rundown of some canon Wonderbolt names if you can’t think of any.
I agree with Posh in that this story would have more impact if it opened at the bar. The Soarin’ line I criticized could make a lot more sense to the reader that way, plus it gives Spitfire a chance to let the mask slip for a moment in her angry incredulity.
This needs a bit more proofreading polish and refinement, but you have a solid foundation, hitting the tragic notes without crossing the line into excessively maudlin.
Ah. Seems we have a variation on the “broken-winged Dash” subgenre.
If they need to amputate, there’s much more than “a good chance” that Spitfire will never fly again. Unless pony medical science has already developed those prosthetics from the Sombra timeline in “The Cutie Re-Mark.” I suppose this could be seen as letting Spitfire down easy, but it feels almost cruel in the false hope it provides.
Yes, Soarin’, she’s never going to fly again. Her wing got cut off. That’s a pretty definitive end to an aerobatic career.
The walk to the balloon is nicely emotional, but the thank-yous would have a lot more impact if you identified the speakers. Don’t just say that Spitfire recognizes each and every one of them. Prove it. Here's a rundown of some canon Wonderbolt names if you can’t think of any.
I agree with Posh in that this story would have more impact if it opened at the bar. The Soarin’ line I criticized could make a lot more sense to the reader that way, plus it gives Spitfire a chance to let the mask slip for a moment in her angry incredulity.
This needs a bit more proofreading polish and refinement, but you have a solid foundation, hitting the tragic notes without crossing the line into excessively maudlin.
This story presents interesting characterization for Spitfire.
I like the opening, though the transition from the opening idea to [When Spitfire opened her eyes] is sudden and jarring.
The main conflict here is that Spitfire wants to appear strong in order to maintain her image as a leader, so she represses her sadness. However, this is reiterated and made clear many times, to a point where it’s no longer interesting. It just feels too simple and not all that deep of an emotion when it’s talked about so much and not just shown.
The plot is fairly predictable. It’s kind of obvious that once Spitfire can’t fly anymore, somepony else would be captain and Spitfire would leave with some sort of goodbye from the team. I had a feeling from the start that this broken-wing Spitfire story would be a sadfic, and it just didn’t really become more than that.
It seems that the last 40% of the story is all just goodbyes to Spitfire. It feels too long to have an emotional impact on me. It also feels like the characters are shedding too many tears for how long the story is.
That was a joke?
Those words were poisonous? I’m pointing these out because it was moments like these that made me feel something was off with this story.
I don’t think single quotation marks are used for thoughts. Thoughts are often shown in italics. You could also switch the thoughts from first person to third person and make them part of the narration, since it’s already third limited POV.
I think the plot is too predictable and the story spends too much time talking about feels to invoke feels in me as a reader.
I like the opening, though the transition from the opening idea to [When Spitfire opened her eyes] is sudden and jarring.
The main conflict here is that Spitfire wants to appear strong in order to maintain her image as a leader, so she represses her sadness. However, this is reiterated and made clear many times, to a point where it’s no longer interesting. It just feels too simple and not all that deep of an emotion when it’s talked about so much and not just shown.
The plot is fairly predictable. It’s kind of obvious that once Spitfire can’t fly anymore, somepony else would be captain and Spitfire would leave with some sort of goodbye from the team. I had a feeling from the start that this broken-wing Spitfire story would be a sadfic, and it just didn’t really become more than that.
It seems that the last 40% of the story is all just goodbyes to Spitfire. It feels too long to have an emotional impact on me. It also feels like the characters are shedding too many tears for how long the story is.
"Heya, Spitfire," Soarin said, approaching the table. "What's with all the dramatics? The only time I ever see you at a bar is to celebrate."
"What? I can't go to a bar every now and then?" she snapped back. "Anyway, I didn't call you here to hear your jokes. We have business to attend to."
That was a joke?
"I'm resigning as Wonderbolt captain," Spitfire says, more to the drink in front of her than to Soarin. "You'll be acting captain now."
Silence filled the space in-between the two Wonderbolts. Spitfire picked up her glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. It burned her way down her throat, cleansing her palate of the poisonous words that cut her mouth on the way out.
Those words were poisonous? I’m pointing these out because it was moments like these that made me feel something was off with this story.
I don’t think single quotation marks are used for thoughts. Thoughts are often shown in italics. You could also switch the thoughts from first person to third person and make them part of the narration, since it’s already third limited POV.
I think the plot is too predictable and the story spends too much time talking about feels to invoke feels in me as a reader.
Going to read a few more to try to bring everyone up toward 5 reviews, as FOME suggested.
Nitpick: The fact that they need to amputate her wing is really the sort of news that should have been broken to her by her doctor rather than a random nurse. Another nitpick:
Are you trying to imply that after having a wing amputated there's a chance she will?
But this is a breath of fresh air after the last few stories: a story that knows exactly what it wants to do, and does it without any immersion-breaking logical incoherence. This may be aiming lower than the other ones I've read, but on the whole I can't fault the execution.
The emotions here feel heartfelt -- although you will definitely want to take an editing pass with an eye toward trimming down your language, such as the unnecessary and telly second sentence here that mars an otherwise solid paragraph of showing:
Here is something that I feel I should note even though it's only a tiny influence on my scoring: the core of this story is not at all a new idea. As >>FanOfMostEverything noted, the fandom is infamously full of "broken-wing Rainbow Dash" stories, and angst over not being able to fly after an accident is pretty much a dead trope at this point. If I were to run across this story on FIMFiction, there is almost no chance I would read it, unless it brought some fresh or unexpected angle to the genre; that has nothing to do with your writing and everything to do with how oversaturated "pegasus wing-loss angst" is. You do get some modest credit for making it about Spitfire rather than Rainbow Dash, but I agree with >>FrontSevens that there's nothing in this story that can't be predicted from the news in the first scene. As a Writeoff story I thought it landed pretty strongly, but be aware of that context if you go to publish. You'll probably get a good response from readers who aren't burnt out on the genre, but you'll lose a lot of potential readers before they even start.
And a specific anti-nitpick: I really like the little touch of the temperature difference against her sides.
Tier: Strong
ETA: see >>horizon
Nitpick: The fact that they need to amputate her wing is really the sort of news that should have been broken to her by her doctor rather than a random nurse. Another nitpick:
"Are you saying you'll never fly again, Spitfire?" he asks.
Are you trying to imply that after having a wing amputated there's a chance she will?
But this is a breath of fresh air after the last few stories: a story that knows exactly what it wants to do, and does it without any immersion-breaking logical incoherence. This may be aiming lower than the other ones I've read, but on the whole I can't fault the execution.
The emotions here feel heartfelt -- although you will definitely want to take an editing pass with an eye toward trimming down your language, such as the unnecessary and telly second sentence here that mars an otherwise solid paragraph of showing:
But the pegasi before her did not move. They stood at attention, focused on honoring their leader. Spitfire felt a swelling in her chest and smiled as a bittersweet feeling built up in her stomach. She couldn't help but feel sick as she took a step away from them.
Here is something that I feel I should note even though it's only a tiny influence on my scoring: the core of this story is not at all a new idea. As >>FanOfMostEverything noted, the fandom is infamously full of "broken-wing Rainbow Dash" stories, and angst over not being able to fly after an accident is pretty much a dead trope at this point. If I were to run across this story on FIMFiction, there is almost no chance I would read it, unless it brought some fresh or unexpected angle to the genre; that has nothing to do with your writing and everything to do with how oversaturated "pegasus wing-loss angst" is. You do get some modest credit for making it about Spitfire rather than Rainbow Dash, but I agree with >>FrontSevens that there's nothing in this story that can't be predicted from the news in the first scene. As a Writeoff story I thought it landed pretty strongly, but be aware of that context if you go to publish. You'll probably get a good response from readers who aren't burnt out on the genre, but you'll lose a lot of potential readers before they even start.
And a specific anti-nitpick: I really like the little touch of the temperature difference against her sides.
Tier: Strong
ETA: see >>horizon
There's not much that's particularly special or surprising about this story, but it does what it needs to. The bar scene felt weak to me, but the rest of it was pretty good, and the feels got me at the end.