Spitfire sighed heavily. Off-season wasn't easy for the Wonderbolts captain. Her uniform jacket was sitting in the closet but she'd been far from being off duty. She was finally done with the maneuvers for the next season. Everything was ready. She could finally take a couple of weeks of R&R. She stepped out of her study and closed the door. It was time to pay attention to other parts of the house, she thought with a twisted smirk on her face. She'd basically lived in the study for the past couple of weeks, filling out paperwork, planning show routines and writing instructions.
Spitfire let her eyes rest in the sight of the spacious lounge room. The white sofa and chairs were, for once, not full of random papers, plates, glasses, coffee cups and everything else. Most ponies thought coating cloud furniture with fabric and using wood and metal details was pointless and pretentious. Spitfire couldn't care less. Sure it was expensive but she had the bits to do it. The dark wood, brass and cast iron created a refreshing contrast to the white cloud walls. Charcoal drawings and black-and-white photographs hung around the room. The frames ranged from simple polished metal to intricately engraved brushed steel. The décor of the house was a playful combination of cold colors at eye level and above, and warm colors down where the viewer was essentially looking at the ground far below.
The flame-coated mare spotted an empty coffee cup on the rosewood dinner table sitting against the north wall, next to the kitchen door. She picked up the cup, trotted to the kitchen and put the cup in the sink. Dishes would have to wait. She was relaxed and happy. Even playful. She wasn't going to let a pile of dirty dishes derail this mood. A quick glance at the coffee grinder showed that it still had beans for a couple of pots. Spitfire raised her eyebrow thoughtfully and smirked. She turned sideways next to the black marble kitchen counter and grabbed the coffee grinder's crank with her wing. She used her feathers to turn the crank and at the same time used her hoof to pick up a water kettle. She turned on the tap while holding the kettle in the same hoof. Not a single drop of water missed the kettle. She was still turning the crank steadily when she shut off the tap. A playful smile crept on her face as she finished grinding the coffee and used the wing to light the stove. There was a whooshing sound as an electric spark lit the gas. A large flame shot up and Spitfire instinctively pulled her hand and the kettle away. The flame then calmed down. Spitfire put the kettle on the stove and laughed.
"Whoops. Gotta work on my precision.", she said to no one in particular, still laughing.
Spitfire dumped the fresh ground coffee to a coffee press. The water would boil quickly on the gas stove. She glanced at the old, mostly decorative barometer on the wall. Air pressure was the usual-for-Cloudsdale 0.76 bars. Absolutely perfect for brewing coffee, Spitfire thought. Most ponies probably wouldn't name "perfect water boiling point for coffee" as their first reason for liking Upper Cloudsdale. For Spitfire, ever the coffee aficionado, it was a big plus. The gas stove was really fast and the water was boiling by the time Spitfire had a coffee cup on the table. She poured the water over the coffee and pressed the filter down. The coffee would have to sit for a couple of minutes.
The playful mare more danced than walked past the dinner table to her book, movie and record shelf on the west wall. The movie crystals were sitting in their cases on the lower shelves. At eye level, Spitfire had her book collection. The three upper shelves were almost full of vinyl recordings. Her video player could of course play crystal music recordings as well as films, but unlike the adverts said, the sound was far from "crystal clear.". It was okay for cheap music players, but vinyl was the way to go with high-end music systems like the one in Spitfire's lounge room. She picked up one of her favorite albums and carefully slid the vinyl disk out of the cardboard sleeve, on the record player. Spitfire was a purist. The needle had to be manually placed on the disk, there was no automatic arm control. She flicked on the amplifier and then the record player. The sound of masterful drums and bass filled the room.
This world is spinning around me
This world is spinning without me
And every day sends future to past
Every breath leaves one less to my last
Watch the sparrow falling
Gives new meaning to it all
If not today nor yet tomorrow
Then some other day
Why did she like that song so much? It was all about mortality. A reminder of the limited time we all have on this planet. Her eyes happened to wonder to a drawing on the wall. A pegasus climbing through clouds, a trail of flames following her. That was a drawing a friend had made of her when she was only a Guard sergeant. She'd always tried to push limits, hers and others'. She'd been known for being annoying, even cruel and selfish. The truth was she was often pushing others in ways that made her look like the bad guy, but she did know where to stop. Often ponies needed to be taken to their limits to reveal their potential. She lived on the edge. She could crash into the ground at a terrifying speed any time she was flying. She was used to being extreme and demanding quick results through drastic actions.
The Rainbow Falls incident was a great example of somepony not being able to handle her way of doing things. Soarin was a fantastic and agile flyer. Speed was just not his thing. Rainbow Dash was pretty good precision flyer, but not refined or disciplined in the way a Wonderbolt had to be. Cloudsdale had to have the best team, whatever it took. She'd been responsible for the relay team. She'd been responsible for representing not only Cloudsdale but the Guard too. Personal feelings didn't come into play. Everypony should have realized that. Spitfire walked to the kitchen slowly, concentrating on the music. I'm in a good mood, dammit. She pushed the coffee filter down and poured herself a cup. Black, no sugar. No extras. Just the real thing. Coffee as good as that would've been wasted with sugar or milk. Most nuances of the flavor would have been lost.
The white porcelain coffee cup sat on the dark dinner table. Everything in front of the flame-coated mare was an image of class. Style. Success. She lived like a rock star. She was a celebrity. She had thousands of fans who adored her. She was respected as an Academy instructor. Everypony respected her for always giving her all and never giving in. At the same time, she was loathed for sacrificing everything to get the job done. The team seemed to be fine with who she was. Was that just military discipline? Respecting the chain of command. The ponies who knew her, did they really like her? She didn't have friends outside the team? Did she have any friends at all?
Spitfire gulped half the coffee in one swig. Dammit. Where did my good mood go? She inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh. Everything was fine as long as she was immersed in her work, getting things done. This supposed relaxing was when she had to stop and look at her life deeper than the shiny cherry wood and brass surface. She had money and success, the best job ever and challenges to conquer every day. Or so she'd convinced herself. Was she just running away from the real challenges? Doing a controlled flat spin inverted and pulling out of it below treetops was easy. Air was predictable. When she was with other ponies, she was the leader. Around her, even ponies were predictable.
She wanted respect. Respect meant obedience. She didn't have to worry about what anypony else thought of her. No one would dare question her. She had shown what she could do. The world knew she was not a nopony. When she was a filly, everypony thought she was a troublemaker who'd never amount to much. When she got in to the E.U.P.G., they had to admit there was something to her after all. When she was accepted to the Wonderbolts, her family and the few friends she had had all been shocked. Spitfire the hot-blooded troublemaker in the elite aerobatics team? No one thought she could train that hard or focus on something like that. The idea was absurd to them.
After those first victories, she'd trained even harder as a Wonderbolt. In the team, she'd become jokingly known as Spitefire. Ponies often commented on how she behaved like she had something to prove. She always shrugged them off. Inside, though, hearing it hurt every time. Was she not good enough? Was she never good enough? She hit the table as hard as she could. A string of swears escaped her mouth. She buried her head in her hooves and stared at the surface of the table. She concentrated on the music to distract herself. Calm, soft drumming and guitar subsided and was replaced by piano and vocals.
Live another day
Climb a little higher
Find another reason to stay
Ashes in your hands
Mercy in your eyes
If you're searching for a silent sky
You won't find it here
Look another way
You won't find it here
So die another day
Right at that moment, Spitfire didn't care about the 'real' message of the song or the album. The first tree lines stuck with her. In the air, she could do anything. Any turns, dives or climbs she wanter. She could do the same with her life. It was never easy but nothing in her life had been. It was facing a challenge and working her way through it that fueled her. That and coffee. She went to get a second cup. Of course she was still shaken by the sudden emotional outburst but she was starting to see things more clearly. These episodes came and went. Whenever this happened, she was left with one question. Was it too late to change things? She could try to create something resembling a life outside of work. The second cup of coffee was gone before she even realized. The caffeine made her notice she was actually a little hungry. Eating inside suddenly seemed like such a bore. A flight to some Earth pony village would build up appetite nicely.
Spitfire walked to the dressing room. Spitfire the spiteful, unhappy workaholic was gone, washed away by the quick shower. Spitfire the cool would take the spotlight for now. One look out the window had almost caused Spitfire to shelve the dinner plans but she was feeling, as she put it, "way too cool to back down". There were rain clouds below as far as the eye could see. She'd consulted her calendar and realized the National Weather Office had had to schedule an extra downpour that covered roughly a quarter of Equestria. The past few weeks had been hot on the ground, apparently. Living so far up in the air was nice. Air was always nice and cool. That, or freezing. Even that could be refreshing sometimes.
The downside of living above the clouds was preparing for two different climates every time. Spitfire had chosen a black waterproof pilot jacket so she didn't have to worry about the weather on the ground. Even with the awful weather down there, up in Cloudsdale the sunshine was blinding. As any pegasus knew, flying in the sunlight would cause a headache after some time. Sunglasses were not just a fashion item for high-and-fast pegasi. They were an essential piece of protective gear. Spitfire smirked as she turned to her eyeglass shelf. Of course, being useful didn't keep glasses from being cool. She picked up a pair of genuine Hay-Barn Roadwearers with brown lenses. The classic green-tinted Navigators were too cliché and the lenses didn't create enough contrast below the rainclouds. The Roadwearers were different enough from the Academy standard issue glasses that most ponies wouldn't even recognize her, in the jacket at least. That was exactly the way she wanted it. She was just another pony going to grab a bite to eat.
Spitfire leapt off her porch into the air. She decided to have a little fun and went into a near-nosedive. Fun, but nothing unusual. Breaking all the rules she spent the days drilling into recruits, she started flapping her wings hard and building up speed. The clouds were approaching fast. The air around her became turbulent and felt harder. The small, unpredictable currents and blasts of air shook her feathers. The Wonderbolt captain had a crazy idea. She ignored the unstable air and kept flapping her wings as hard as she could. Even moving the wigs become difficult. Her muscles hurt. Air was hitting her in the face with tremendous force. Suddenly she saw something in the corner of her eye. A pegasus somewhere below the clods, visible only for a moment from a hole in the clouds. Then the clouds surrounded her. The realization hit her. She had to level off, fast. Spitfire spread her wings and tried to slow herself down. Good, but not good enough. She was pitching up too, but again, not fast enough.
"Bloody idiot, Spits!", she screamed at herself.
She was going to crash. Not head-on but with enough force to do some serious damage.
"Buck everything!", she screamed and closed her eyes.
Everything was so clear in its insanity. A Sonic Rainboom would have been the crown jewel to her career, to her life. She didn't care about safety. She didn't care about surviving the attempt. Her life was empty. She had tried everything life had to offer so why not go out an a blaze of glory, trying something legendary? But... Was this a good idea? She'd been so close. She might learn how to do the Rainboom if she kept at it. A certain fantastic young flyer might even help her. Rainbow Dash... She never apologized for the idiotic things she'd done at Rainbow Falls. To Ms. Dash, or Soarin for that matter. It was her own fear and need to upstage everypony that had kept her from making friends. Someone like her didn't even deserve any.
Spitfire opened her eyes, horrified. She had wanted to die. She didn't believe she could change, or deserved the chance try. She was filled with pure terror. The moments of her life she hated the most passed through her mind. The school years, the mockery from other fillies, the shock of her parents when she got in to the E.U.P.G. The loneliness. Was it all that bad? She was a celebrity and an ace flyer. She had talent. She had skill. She was genuinely good. It didn't matter what some ponies said. It didn't matter if her own parents didn't believe in her. Of course her teammates honestly liked her. They wouldn't have done half the things they had if she was just a boss to them. Somewhere in the back of her mind the noticed she'd only just passed though the cloud. Her enlightenment had lasted only a couple of seconds. Nevertheless, it was too late. Whether a humble, confident but friendly Spitfire was possible, the word would never know. She closed her eyes and waited for the impact.