Chapter Five: First Edition

Applejack was not the only pony in Equestria fretting over their date. Nestled away in the peaks of Cloudsdale, the illustrious pegasus was in her home ironing out the last details in preparation for her night. For most ponies it might’ve involved a quick shower, some brushing, and a final run-over of the itinerary; Spitfire, however, had every intent on making the night perfect. She had been cleaning and preening since she returned home. For her, every little detail needed to be just right, which was a huge challenge for a pony with a mane that seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Stupid mane, just stay down already,” she grumbled under her breath, running a brush through a stubborn length of her mane for the hundredth time. Alas, when she pulled the brush away, the strand of hair curled back up as if to openly defy her. A slow, frustrated growl emanated from deep within the pegasus as her temper began to simmer. Thankfully for, and perhaps the mirror and brush, a knock at her front door took her attention elsewhere. “Yes? What is it?” she snapped on impulse.

Despite the volatility of the greeting, a blue-maned pegasus strolled into the room with an excited grin plasted from ear to ear. “Having some trouble, I take it?” he said with a chuckle, having already pieced together the source of Spitfire’s frustration. “Your mane looks fine, cap’n,” he reassured her, “so put down the brush and let’s get going. Fleet Foot and the others are already waiting for us at Cloud Nine.”

“No can do Soarin’, I’ve got a date tonight,” Spitfire proudly stated as though she had to defeat a dragon to get it. “You’ll just have to have fun at the club without me.”

Visibly confused, the stallion tilted his head to the side as he watched his friend attempt once more to tame her mane. “What do you mean a date? Like...a ‘date’ date? As in ‘wine and dine’? I thought you swore off Hearts and Hooves Day after last year’s disaster.”

“Yes...well, I’m not going to make the same mistakes as I did last year,” Spitfire said before sighing in frustration again at the sight of her unruly mane. Surrendering to fate, she decided to focus her preening elsewhere. “Now which do you think would look better? The red lily or the white lily?” she asked as she held up the pair of flowers for her her friend to judge.

“That’s also what you said last year,” Soarin’ replied after he pointed to the red lily. “And come to think of it, that's also what you said in the year prior.”

Spitfire was not amused by her friend’s use of logic and reason, not to mention the reminder her foolishness from the year before. “This time it will be different,” she insisted as she set the lily in her mane, putting it on the left side of her mane as to draw attention away from the stubborn cowlick on the right. “For starters, it’s going to be simple - dinner and a show. There will not be any dance clubs, or wine sampling, or fancy cruises, or any of that hoity-toity nonsense. For once I am going to come back from a date with happy memories and a smile instead of compromising photographs and a restraining order.”

“Oh, now look who’s being all picky,” the stallion joked. While he was visibly disappointed that the captain would not be attending the party with the rest of the team, he knew the only thing he could do was wish his friend luck. He’d knew he have better luck convincing a manticore to part with its tail than talk Spitfire out of something she’s set her mind on. “Now where did you manage to find somepony on such short notice?”

“It was...a, um...a charity auction,” Spitfire admitted with great reluctance. And it was with good reason because Soarin’ immediately burst into a fit of laughter, spouting something about ‘cash or credit’ between barely-contained chortles. By that point, though, he was half-way to his knees and Spitfire had half a mind to put him down the rest of the way. “Are you quite finished?”

“Wait, he-heh, wait...got one more,” Soarin’ said as he suppressed his laughter for a moment. “Did you remember to keep the receipt?”

Spitfire merely rolled her eyes in disgust as her friend rolled about the floor, laughing wildly. “Glad to see my life can be such a source of amusement for you,” she deadpanned before turning her attention back to the mirror. Wanting to ensure she was presentable, she did a slow turn in front of the mirror, fluttering her wings briefly and straightening her posture. “Seriously, though, how do I look?”

As amusing as the situation was, when Soarin’ realized that his friend and teammate was asking for genuine opinion, the laughter came to an abrupt halt and the pegasus shot back to his feet. He gave his captain a look-over from tip to tail, a pensive look upon his face: no eloquent dress, no jewellery, or even accessories beyond the single flower. Aside from the brushed mane, it looked as though the pegasus had just rolled out of bed. “Honestly? Kind of plain.”

“Good.” Plain was what she wanted, or at the very least she wanted to avoid exuberance. Applejack was a farmer from Ponyville - she wasn’t going to be impressed by flashy jewellery or the latest fashion designs. In fact, nothing in Spitfire’s usual repertoire was likely to work, which left the pegasus in a precarious position. She just had to hope that the dinner and music concert that came with the auction would be enough to keep everypony happy. Conversation was going to be another challenge altogether. She couldn’t bore a farmer pony with talk about exhibitions and aerobatic manoeuvres. “I hate getting all dressed up anyways.”

“You know, cap’n, I’ve done charity auctions before...nopony who signs up for those things is expecting to find anything serious from it. Last time I did one, half the ponies who signed up were already in relationships.”

“And what are you getting at?” Spitfire snapped with an accusatory glare.

The stallion recoiled as though his teammate’s glare literally shot out daggers. “Nothing, nothing!” he insisted as he fell to the defensive. “It’s just...you always aim high and expect perfection. I don’t want to see you get your hopes up again only to come crashing down again.”

The Wonderbolt captain’s feathers were clearly ruffled by the remarks. Her brow furrowed as she prepared to unload a verbal firestorm upon her teammate, but she managed to stop herself just shy of uttering the first words. Instead, she took a deep, calming breath. “I know what I’m getting into,” she spoke once she had calmed down. “I appreciate your concern so please don’t take it the wrong way when I tell you get stuffed!”

Soarin’ merely chuckled in response as he had long since been inoculated to the captain’s verbal barbs. “Just promise me you won’t kick any stallions in the face this time.”

“I’ll promise to try,” Spitfire teased.

“If you want, I could get the boys and-”

“No!” Spitfire was quick to interrupt. “There will be no fly-overs this time; no impromptu firework displays; no buzzing crowds; and absolutely no press! Is that clear?” There were enough things to worry about already without the threat of Soarin’s antics looming over her. Ponyville was small enough that she could fly under the press’ radar so long as she didn’t do anything stupid to draw attention to herself.

“As you wish, Captain Killjoy,” Soarin’ acknowledged with a mocking salute. “So who’s the special pony this time?”

“Her name’s Applejack,” Spitfire answered, ignoring the slight from Soarin’. “She works on a farm near ponyville. And I think she was that girl who was selling apple treats at the Grand Galloping Gala last year.”

“Wait...you’re going on a date with the pie girl?”

The captain groaned and buried her face into her hoof. “You want me to bring you back a pie, don’t you?”

*****************************

Soarin’s words were still playing over in her mind by the time the Wonderbolt captain touched down in Ponyville. He warned her not to get her hopes up as though she had planned everything up to the wedding already. At first, she wanted to chew Soarin’ out for such an indignation - as if he knew what was best for her. However, once the cool evening air had chilled her temper, she realized he was just being his usual concerned self, and that it was arrogant of her to think that her oldest friend wouldn’t be able to anticipate such things. The level of coordination required in the Wonderbolts necessitated a deep understanding of each other and nopony knew her better than Soarin’.

In the end, he was right - Spitfire had been stoking herself in anticipation. Curse her insatiable romantic bones! Years of romance novels and fairy tales had left her with unrealistic expectations that were only doomed to fail. As the pegasus paced about outside the restaurant, as per her arrangements with Applejack, she continually reminded herself that it was a harmless Hearts and Hooves Day date and nothing more. She was grateful that she hadn’t the time to read Trotting Hill today or else her expectations might’ve been even higher.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of the pegasus’ eye drew her attention to an approaching stetson-wearing pony. “It’s showtime,” she mentally braced herself as she took a calming breath.

“Sorry Ah’m a bit late,” Applejack apologized as she strolled up to the pegasus.

Spitfire was relieved to see that she was not the only pony who opted for simplicity and comfort over aesthetics. Like the pegasus, Applejack had tamed her usually drawn-back mane with simple braiding, as was her tail. “It’s no worry,” she insisted, “especially seeing you now - definitely worth the wait. I love the scarf by the way.”

The compliment on the apple-pattern scarf she wore around her neck brought a small blush to the earth pony’s cheeks. “Aw shucks, that’s mighty kind of you to say,” she replied. She didn’t have the courage to admit she borrowed it from Granny Smith’s closet. “You don’t look half-bad yourself,” she added. “Don’t look half-bad? What kind of a compliment is that supposed to be?” Applejack scolded herself a second after the words left her mouth. Not even a minute into the date and Applejack was already messing things up. She reminded herself to be more careful with her phrasing.

Since there was little point standing around admiring the flowerbeds, the pair headed into the restaurant, Le Cochon de Fantaisie. As far as fine dining went in Ponyville, there were only a few good choices and Le Cochon was arguably the best of them. While the restaurants exterior matched the town’s rustic ambiance, the interior that greeted the pair was far more refined. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling with candles hidden amongst the shards providing a subtle glow and warmth to the room. Personally, Applejack rarely graced such establishments and even a cursory glance at the well-dressed patrons already seated made the earth pony feel woefully under-dressed.

“Good evening, how may I help you?” asked a mustached greeter with veiled sincerity.

Spitfire promptly took the lead. “A good evening to you too, my good sir,” she began. “We have a reservation for two. It should be under the name Applejack.”

“Ah yes, the last-minute reservation,” the greeter mumbled, mostly to himself, as he checked his ledger. “I’m afraid we were already fully booked when the mayor made the reservation so we’ve had to set up an extra table in order to accommodate.”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” the pegasus said dismissively.

The aforementioned table was nestled near the very back of the restaurant, tucked into a small alcove between a corner booth and the door to the kitchen. While the other patrons were able to enjoy a warm, tranquil atmosphere, Spitfire and Applejack were subjected to the clatter of dishes and blasts of hot air every time the kitchen door swung open. And when somepony was exiting, the swinging door struck the back of Spitfire’s chair, which ruined any chance for comfort.

“At least our food will get here quickly,” Applejack joked in an uneasy attempt to lighten the mood. Spitfire appreciated the effort; she even managed a half-hearted chuckle until the swinging kitchen door knocked her forward and almost spilt her water.

A tense silence enveloped the table, interrupted only by the occasional clatter of passing dishes. Spitfire was used to being inundated with questions by this point in a date, and thus found herself uncertain of how to break the ice in a meaningful way. Most of her previous dates were either borderline interviews or listening to someone with an even bigger ego boast about how great they were. She needed to find something to get the conversation going or this date would be dead in the water before it even got out of port.

“Soooo...you own an orchard, huh?” Not the most suave of opening lines but Spitfire was grasping at straws when it came to topics. The orchard was the only thing that popped to mind that could potentially get the mare talking.

“Well I don’t really ‘own’ the orchard - it belongs to the family,” Applejack corrected. However, the answer felt lack-lustre so she hastily added on, “But Ah do basically run the place. You know, set up the business deals, handle the finances, do most of the baking, and such.” Thankfully, she didn’t stretch the truth too much - between Granny Smith’s eccentricities and Big Macintosh’s preference towards manual labour, it only made sense that Applejack held the reins. Granted, she had no more authority over her brother than Applebloom had over her but her version sounded more impressive.

And impressed the pegasus was. “You must be a regular one-pony show to handle all that.

“Well...I have lots of help from family of course. Ah tried harvesting all the apples on mah own once. By the time Ah was half-way through it, Ah had turned into a sleep zombie.” It was odd how the passage of time could paint such an ordeal into an amusing anecdote. Had it only been a week ago, Applejack would likely have been too ashamed to bring it up with another pony. Today, though, she couldn’t help but laugh at her own stubborn and foolhardy behaviour. “Ah was just shuffling about going ‘Aaaaapppleeesss...’” she added as she hung her hooves forward to emphasize the zombie-like nature of her sleep-deprivation. By the time she finished telling the whole story, Spitfire’s laughter had begun drawing attention from the nearby tables and wait staff.

The laughter came to an abrupt halt when one of the waiters came along and took their orders. Surprisingly, they both wound up ordering the same dish - the signature spring garden salad with the only difference being Spitfire’s choice of the raspberry vinaigrette dressing rather than the strawberry.

“That reminds me of this one time we were doing a show in Fillydelphia, but the day before the show Soarin’ came down with a terrible cold,” Spitfire restarted the conversation once the waiter was gone. “He was up all night coughing and wheezing. And when Fleet Foot got him some medicine, he took so much of it that he was out cold for nearly twelve hours straight. We couldn’t even wake him up for the show!”

“So what’d you do?”

“The only thing we could do - we got some ropes and sticks and jury-rigged a harness so Fleet Foot and I could pull him along,” she continued, about to burst with mirth. “And the best part is...he woke up halfway through the routine and completely freaked out. The front page of the next day’s newspaper has this picture of Soarin’ flailing like a terrified cat. We even got a framed copy of the picture.”

As the laughter rolled off her tongue, Spitfire found her earlier worries melting away. Perhaps it was easier to relate to an earth pony than she had feared; perhaps the years in the clouds and in Canterlot kissing up to socialites and celebrities hadn’t completely eroded her social skills. “Tell me more about the farm,” Spitfire said as she leaned in slightly and rested her chin upon her hoof.

Applejack was surprised by the pegasus’ sincerity, but remembering Rainbow Dash’s advice she nonetheless indulged her request. Thus the farmer went on about life at Sweet Apple Acres. She talked about the growing seasons, the animals they had, the various cultivars they grew, and even a little into the history of their famous zap apples. And while the fact that Spitfire listened attentively was surprising, what was even more unexpected were the questions that Spitfire asked every so often. She was relieved that it wasn’t entirely a one-sided conversation but the things that Spitfire asked were remarkably precise - she asked about cross-pollination, grafting, and orchard arrangements. These were things that Applejack had almost never been asked by a pony outside the orchard business. It was all rather suspect, but before she could make her own inquiries, a waiter arrived, heralded by the door slamming once again into Spitfire’s chair, with their meals.

“You mean ponies will actually pay me to let them get the apples themselves?”

“You just need to provide baskets and ladders as need, and the ponies go out and pick their own apples,” Spitfire explained before she began to eye her food eagerly. “Once they’re done, they come back and pay for what they’ve picked. It’s quite popular in the metropolitan areas.” As much as she had enjoyed her conversation, to a far greater extent than she would have anticipated, the beckoning of her meal was too great.

Applejack was still a bit skeptical to the idea, but not entirely dismissive of it either. She suspected that there wouldn’t be much demand for that kind of service in Ponyville. Still, experimenting with that venture would incur little cost, so she tucked the idea away in the back of her mind for another time. Plus with the prospect of dinner tempting her, she was keen to sate her appetite. The two ponies dove headfirst into their salads with neither showing concern for ‘proper’ dining etiquettes.

However, as Applejack chewed up a mouthful of lettuce, apples, berries, and almond slivers, she noticed that there was something off. The salad was delicious as one would hope but the taste was...off somehow. It took a second for her to pinpoint the cause - there was the taste of raspberries that shouldn’t have been there. “I think they gave me your salad,” Applejack remarked once she realized the source.

Spitfire was still chewing but she stopped instantly at the comment. Her eyes widened as her face contorted in disgust. The pegasus promptly spat the half-chewed mess back onto the plate. “Gah! I was wondering why it didn’t taste right.”

Now Applejack wasn’t pleased with how the pegasus reacted to the news, especially since it left a greenish blob of gunk across what was supposed to be her dinner. “Well ya didn’t need to spit it out like that.”

“Sorry! It’s just...didn’t you ordered the strawberry dressing?”

“Well yes,” Applejack replied with a raised brow, “but what has that got to do with...oh no! You’re allergic to strawberries, aren’t you?”

“I take it I’m already breaking into hives?” The earth pony only gave a silent nod, and a quick glance to the reflective surface of their silverware revealed several patches of red blotches forming across the pegasus’ cheeks and neck. Spitfire let out a heavy sigh as the blotches began to spread slowly down her neck. “This is going to get a lot worse before it gets any better.”

*****************************

The red and orange highlights of the evening sky masked the flashing red strobes of the ambulance as it idled outside the restaurant. Inside the cabin, an irritated pegasus stewed in her annoyance as her date continued to apply globes of greenish-blue ointment across her rash-and-hive-ridden body. This incident would not have been so humiliating were the ambulance not parked in such a way that the open rear-end was visible to all the patrons inside the restaurant, many of whom weren’t even polite enough to hide their stares. Spitfire could only console herself with the fact that she was barely recognizable with so much ointment slathered across her face.

“So how does she look, doc?” Applejack asked as she squirted the last bit of ointment out of its tube. The earth pony had stayed by Spitfire’s side during the entire ordeal; a fact that the pegasus was most grateful for.

The doctor, who thankfully had been dining at the same restaurant, motioned for Spitfire to open wide in order to check her throat once more. “Well, the medicine appears to have reduced the swelling, and she’s showing no signs of other adverse reactions,” the doctor reported with a reassuring smile. “Just keep applying more ointment as needed and she should be perfectly fine.” With the pegasus out of any conceivable danger, the doctor headed back into the restaurant as his pie was supposedly getting cold.

“You wanna go back in?” Applejack asked, spreading the last of the ointment across Spitfire’s back.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” the pegasus grumbled a response. It was a half-truth at the very least since between her reaction and the medicine, any desire to eat had long since been squelched. The more compelling factor, however, was simple embarrassment. She had attracted enough attention when her itchiness-induced flailing wound up knocking several tables over. Even if she were hungry, Spitfire was certain that the restaurant’s manager wouldn’t want her eating there in the event she caused more damage. “Besides, we’ll wind up being late for the music show if we try to sit down for dinner again.”

“Well we wouldn’t want to miss the show, now would we?” Likewise, Applejack had no real qualms with skipping the remainder of dinner. If she felt peckish during the show, the theatre would likely have some kind of snack bar she could grab a bite from. “You sure you’re up for it? How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been battered and ready to be deep-fried, but I’ll be fine,” Spitfire insisted as she hopped out of the ambulance. “And...uh, thanks,” she added. Thankfully the ointment hid the flush of red rising to her cheeks. She might’ve been marinated in ointment but she wasn’t going to let that ruin the rest of her date. There was still a chance to salvage something from this night.

*****************************

The entertainment, also included in the package Spitfire received from the auction, was tickets to a jazz performance at a small theatre called ‘The Velvet Saddle.’ It wasn’t a well-known theatre as it was quite literally underground being a converted cellar. The air was a bit stuffy from the scores of ponies already seated at the tables and the bar, but Spitfire felt strangely at ease now. The atmosphere was more akin to what Spitfire was used to - tranquil, relaxed, and a hint of sophistication lingering like the cigar smoke in the air. It wasn’t too unlike the clubs and lounges in Canterlot that Spitfire would sometimes unwind in after a show, if only a bit smaller in scale. For the pegasus, the air of class was as comforting as a warm blanket, which was gravely needed after the ordeal at the restaurant.

“Have you ever been here before?” Spitfire asked after the pair had been shown to their table.

“Twilight brought me here once,” she answered as she glanced about her surroundings. The lighting was even less than back at the restaurant, with only a small candle on the table making it possible to see the pegasus sitting mere inches away from her. “I think it was for a poetry reading.”

“Was it any good?”

“It was until Twilight tried reading some of hers. Ain’t never seen a pony write a thesis in iambic pentameter.”

Spitfire had to stifle her laughter as the three-pony band had just started their performance. “I have got to meet these friends of yours, they sound way more fun than mine,” Spitfire commented in a hushed voice. “I’d have to kidnap Soarin’ if I wanted to drag him out to a place like this.”

“Well if they’re your friends, they should be willing to do the things that you enjoy,” Applejack commented idly. She hadn’t intended to get dragged into a conversation about the obligations of friendship, but she had already opened the door for Spitfire.

“Soarin’s not a bad friend. If anything, I’m the one that’s a bad friend since...oh, how do I explain this?” the pegasus said with a light sigh. She shifted back into her seat while her eyes fixated on the flickering candle in front of her. “I’ve known Soarin’ since flight camp. I grew up far away from Cloudsdale so I didn’t have any friends at camp until I met him. Believe it or not, I was not very popular when I was a filly, so Soarin’ wound up being the only real friend I had until we joined the Wonderbolts together. But since I’ve become captain it’s been...tough for me to both his friend and his boss.” Spitfire then just shrugged her shoulders and rested her chin upon her hoof. “Or maybe I’m just bad with friends in general. Oh hay, I shouldn’t be dumping this all on you and killing the mood when you’re trying to enjoy the music...”

“This is music?” Applejack quipped as looked to the band. “Ah thought they were still warming up.”

Applejack’s comment came as a much-needed relief for the pegasus, who chortled into her hoof in futile attempt to keep her voice down. Spitfire needed that laugh far more than she realized. In an instant, the farmer had broken apart any tension that had lingered around her. “It’s jazz...I suppose it’s an acquired taste,” she explained.

“It sounds like they’re making it up as they go along.” Now Applejack had always preferred country, or at the very least something lively with a good beat. What she was hearing, however, felt disjointed; any time she started to get into the rhythm, it changed abruptly and left her feeling as though she had just been ran out on.

“They are - that’s why it’s called jazz improvisation,” she explained with a hint of amusement at her date’s confusion. “It’s not just about the notes they play, but the notes they don’t play.”

“Yeah...and those happen to be all the good ones.”

Spitfire had to give that point to her. Jazz improvisation was hit or miss even on the best of days and were it not for her nostalgic attachment to jazz, Spitfire probably would have reached the same conclusion. “I suppose that’s true,” she said in a mixed giggle. She was about to use the opportunity to explain the subtle nuances of the genre to her date when a waiter suddenly stopped by the table. It was puzzling since neither had ordered anything, yet the stallion set a covered tray down on the table.

“Compliments of the gentlecolt at the bar,” the waiter explained. He lifted the cover to reveal...

“A pineapple?” Applejack remarked as she stared at the fruit sitting on the platter before her. “Does this mean anything to you?” But while Applejack had stared at the fruit with bewilderment, the pegasus sitting across from her had the horrified look as if somepony had just dumped a pile of noxious, festering garbage upon her lap. “Don’t tell me you’re allergic to pineapples too.”

“No...no, this is something else entirely,” Spitfire managed to mutter in response. It was a good thing she had missed dinner or else she would have been reacquainted with it. Nonetheless, the sight of the fruit was making her stomach perform cartwheels. Somepony was playing a very nasty prank on her, and it didn’t take long for the pegasus to spot the culprit - it was hard not to notice the pony curled in a fit of laughter. “Soarin’,” she growled upon realizing who it was. “Pardon me, I have to go bludgeon a pony with a pineapple,” the pegasus excused herself through gritted teeth.

Taking the pineapple between her hooves, the pegasus flew over to the bar in the far corner of the cellar. Soarin’ was still snickering when the captain arrived and set the pineapple down on the countertop. “Hey cap’n,” he greeted with a bright grin. “How’s the date going?”

“What the hay are you doing here?” she sneered. If looks could burn, Spitfire’s glare would’ve set Soarin’s head on fire by that point. But the pegasus dismissed her questions with a trifling chuckle.

“The club just wasn’t the same without you there,” he explained. “So I brought the gang down to see how your little date was going.” When the pegasus motioned to the other ponies at the bar, Spitfire realized that he had brought the entire team along with him.

“What are you doing bringing them here?” Spitfire hissed. “My personal life is none of their business.” The Wonderbolt captain felt betrayed by her longtime friend. She knew that the team would find out about the date when they asked about her absence but she hadn’t expected him to drag them over to watch her floundering like a beached trout.

“Oh come Spitfire,” Soarin’ said in an effort to calm his friend down, “it’s just a little charity date. It’s not like it’s anything serious. Unless...” The pegasus fell silent as he leaned in for a closer, scrutinizing look at Spitfire. “You’ve got a crush on her, don’t you?”

“Wha? N-no, it’s nothing like that,” Spitfire stammered in response. Even in the low-light, though, Soarin’ could see the rush of colour to her face, which was a tell-tale sign that he had hit the nail on the head.

“Sweet Celestia, you do have a crush,” he concluded with a triumphant grin. “The captain of the Wonderbolts is crushing on a farmer from Ponyville.”

“That’s enough, Soarin’.”

“She’s not even a pegasus.”

“Just shut up.”

“I know you have a thing for the countryside but this is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“I’m ordering you to shut your mouth, Soarin’!”

“The press is going to have a field day when they hear about this.”

Spitfire had been straining every ounce of willpower to keep her anger in check, but the flagrant disregard for her authority was too much. “I said, shut up!” she shouted when she finally snapped. She grabbed the closest thing available, which happened to be the pineapple, and swung it right into the upstart Wonderbolt’s face. The music came to a crashing halt when the pegasus was knocked clean off his barstool; once again Spitfire found herself in the very uncomfortable position of being the center of attention when she least wanted it. The pegasus let out a tired sigh as a tidal wave of shame washed over her. “I...I think I should just go,” she murmured as she headed for the exit, head hung in dejection.

It was last Hearts and Hooves Day all over again: a perfectly good evening ruined by a pineapple and a sudden flash of violence. The only thing she had to comfort herself with was the absence of photographers, so at least she wouldn’t have a reminder of her tantrum plastered across tomorrow’s newspaper. But that did little to alleviate her feelings of guilt.

“And she had such promise...” she sighed inwardly as she sat down next to a small stream.

“Spitfire!” Applejack’s voice halted the pegasus in her tracks. She glanced over her shoulder just as the pony came galloping up to her. “Are...you okay?”

“Nothing a hard drink or two won’t help me repress,” she answered bitterly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Spitfire was taken by surprise at the pony’s sincerity. She had expected to be on the receiving end of another earful but Applejack appeared to be genuinely concerned about her.

“I...I have a bit of a temper,” she admitted but was unable to look Applejack in the eye. “Actually, a lot of a temper. Last year, I kicked some prince in the face and threw him into a fountain.”

“Is your friend going to be okay?” Applejack inquired as she sat next to the pegasus.

“Oh yeah, Soarin’ will be just fine.” Spitfire chuckled at the thought of Soarin’ peeling his flank off the threatre floor. “He’ll be a bit sour for a few days; then I’ll apologize; then he’ll apologize; and then we’ll get drunk on cider and wine and forget all about it. This isn’t the first time I’ve decked him, and I’ll be darned if it’s the last. But...that’s why Soarin’ is one of the only friends I’ve had for a long - he’s the only one stubborn enough to handle me when I’m being an idiot. Plus, I’m not very strong. I doubt I even dazed him.”

“You have a very weird friendship.” Applejack couldn’t see how a friendship could survive with such violence in the middle of it, but perhaps that was just the unique nature of their relationship. “But you really shouldn’t hit your friends like that.”

“I know, I know!” The pegasus was starting to feel like she was on the receiving end of a lecture from one of her flight instructors. “And I really try not to but he just...he always knows how to push my buttons.” She let out a frustrated growl when she could no longer find the right words to express her thoughts on the situation. If she weren’t such friends with Soarin’, she’d probably hate his guts for the way he riled her up. “Listen, Applejack, I’m really sorry about messing your evening up and wasting your time”

“Aw shucks, no need to apologize,” Applejack reassured her. “To be honest, it was kinda funny seeing you hit him with that pineapple. Ah’m just sorry Ah couldn’t be a more interesting date.”

“What are you talking about, you were perfectly fine.”

“Ah know you’re just trying to be polite but Ah know for a fact that apple farms ain’t stimulating conversation...and that jazz was pretty much wasted on me. Ah’m hardly worth a thousand bits.”

“Oh Applejack,” Spitfire said as she chuckled under her breath, “don’t sell yourself short. For starters, I grew up on a farm...hearing you talk about Sweet Apple Acres was rather nostalgic.”

“You’re a farm pony?”

“Not exactly,” she corrected. “My dad rented a shack on a farmer’s property just east of Trottingham. They grew pears and peaches mostly but I spent a lot of afternoons playing with the colts who lived there. I actually didn’t have a pegasus friend until I was sent to flight camp and met Soarin’.”

“Huh...well Ah’ll be,” Applejack muttered at the revelation. It cast a new light upon the pegasus, and for a moment she was vaguely reminded of all the afternoons she and Rainbow Dash would fool around in the orchard. “Ah never would’ve pegged you as a country pony.”

“It’s my dirty little secret,” Spitfire said as she winked back. “Ponies in Canterlot practically shun you if they discover you’re from the countryside, and the foals in flight camp weren’t too receptive of me either. They used to laugh and call me ‘Dirtnap’ but I guess the joke’s on them, huh?”

The farmer simply nodded and laughed. Drawing from her own experiences with Manehattan and Canterlot, she perfectly understood the kind of reception a country pony could get in the big city. She was surprised to discover she had so much in common with a pegasus.

Just as the pegasus was about to leave, an idea came to the farmer’s mind. “Hey, if you’re still looking to have a fun time, Ah know of a place that might be right up your alley.”

Spitfire had expected her date to want nothing further to do with her for the night so the news came as a pleasant surprise. “I’d like that.”