Most people thought of Spitfire as a storm rider, but he tended to disagree. Spitfire had never been a storm rider. He was many things, a lover, a fighter, a gravity child. But the thing Spitfire most liked to think of himself as was an artist. As a hair stylist so famous that his waiting list extended into the next decade he thought he could be forgiven his little bouts of hubris.
But as an artist there was no way he could ignore another of his kind, and this kid slowly falling on his ass across am empty stretch of pavement next to a river was definitely another artist. Not in skill really, the kid was almost comically bad at riding ATs, but even the failures were artistic, like every fall was a perfectly executes slapstick routine. Not every step was a failure though, and when the kid managed to stay upright...Spitfire could see it. See the rider this kid could be. And as an artist he wanted to help shape it.
The kid noticing and commenting on the flame regalia was damn surprising, but to be completely fair it could have been a fluke. The wheels of his ATs WERE on fire, and that tended to draw the attention. Spitfire was probably reading too much into the entire thing, and he considered it a good sign that the kid was observant. When the kid expressed no anger or impatience at the idea of waiting for the next tournament Spitfire knew he had finally found a kindred spirit.
This kid would be his greatest work, the expression of the art that so many people overlooked. Spitfire was going to build a new king. This kid wouldnt have to deal with the Tropaion or Sleeping Forest or any of the bullshit that had ruined Spitfire's life and killed some of his closest friends, not if Spitfire could help it. He was going to teach the kid the right way to ride, make him into all the things SPitfire had wanted to be before his injury but couldn't be.