“You ever going to go talk to her?”

Spitfire leaned across the table, cider number seven causing her words to come loose around the edges. She propped her head up on a hoof.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

Soarin studied his Wonderbolts compadre before drinking deeply from his cup. When no clever rebuttal came to mind, he turned and looked across the bar to the mare he’d wanted to speak with.

Seated on a barstool, Rainbow Dash whispered into Applejack’s ear and she laughed hard enough to spew out a mouthful of booze. In return, Rainbow Dash almost fell off her seat, laughing in that way only she could.

He turned back to the table, rubbing his hoof against the rim of his glass.

Fleetfoot pulled her chair over to him. “You worried she’ll say no to you?”

“She might.”

“But there’s a good chance she won’t.” The mare wrapped a leg around him. “At the moment, Soarin, you have a few legs up on the competition. First: you’re a Wonderbolt, and if you somehow hadn’t noticed, Rainbow Dash practically worships the Wonderbolts. Secondly: the two of you have already spoken before. Twice! So I don’t see what the big deal is all of a sudden.”

Spitfire tapped her hoof on the table. “Yeah. What are you so worried about? You make a living flying around in skintight spandex in front of thousands, and talking with one mare gets you all tongue tied?”

Soarin couldn’t meet either of them in the eyes.

He said to Fleetfoot, “The first time her and I spoke was at the Gala, and I was so nervous, all I could think about was pie. I like pie, yes, but even I think I went a little overboard. The second time we talked, I was stuck in a hospital bed and on painkillers, so I couldn’t run away from her even if I tried, and sadly, I don’t even remember that conversation!”

Spitfire shot back, “Wasn’t there some photo of you and her dancing at some wedding?”

Soarin nodded. “Yeah, but I didn’t even say anything to her, and we were like three feet apart the whole time.”

Soarin stared down at the table, glumly.

Fleetfoot patted his shoulder. “Oh, buck up. Would it help if I spoke to her first? Told her you liked her?”

“I don’t want to look that desperate.”

Across the table, Spitfire laughed. “But you are!”

Fleetfoot gave her a look. “You’re not helping.”

Spitfire waved a hoof. “I’m building his confidence up, first by tearing it down and then starting from scratch. Look, I have an idea.” She leaned across the table. “How ‘bout you send her a message? Doesn’t need to come from us, but we could see it passed around the bar and delivered right to her ears only. How does that sound?”

Soarin remained sullen.

Spitfire rolled her eyes. “Look, if it doesn’t work, she won’t come and talk to you. If it does, then you know she’s interested. Plus, it’s obvious she is, for like a hundred different reasons. You’re just too scared to make the first move.”

Soarin wanted to interject again, but found the whole idea more tempting than it had any right to be. “What would this message include?”

Spitfire said, “What you think about her, feel about her.”

“I think Rainbow Dash is awesome.”

She rolled her eyes again. “And so does she. What else?”

He thought. “I like the way she laughs.”

“And?”

“How she treats her friends and that turtle she carries around.”

“And?”

“How dedicated she is to flying and the Wonderbolts.”

“And?”

“How nice she looked in that dress at the wedding.”

Spitfire put both hooves to her temples. “That’s it? That’s all you got?”

Soarin gripped his empty cup between his hooves. “What? What’s wrong with that?”

Fleetfoot patted his shoulder again. “It’s… nice, Soarin, but it’s a little tame, especially for a mare like Rainbow Dash.”

Spitfire shot a leg out, knocking over her cup. “A little tame? You sound like her father introducing her to a flight instructor.” She added in a mocking tone, “Rainbow Dash is nice and stuff and awesome and stuff and lalalala.”

“I don’t sound like that!”

Spitfire took a breath. “Okay, Soarin, since I want to see you succeed here, I’ll make this easy for you. Do you like her eyes?”

He said without hesitation, “They’re beautiful.”

“Do you like her mane?”

“I really like her mane.”

“Her wings?”

“The best I’ve ever seen in the air.”

“How ‘bout her plot?”

Soarin choked on spit. “I… haven’t thought about that.”

Spitfire smiled drunkenly. “Sure you have. And I’m sure you have an answer, too.”

Soarin paused for a moment. He said quietly, “Her plot is very… shapely.”

“Wrong!” Spitfire shouted.

Soarin raised both hooves. “Rotund?”

“Nope.”

“Attractive?”

“Better.” Spitfire scooted her chair out from the table. “I think we have enough to go on, so let me get this message started for you.”

Soarin’s cheeks flushed. “Just leave out that ‘plot’ part, all right?”

She tipped him a wink. “No problem. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Spitfire then clumsily made her way to the closest table and started a train of whispers that ended twenty-six ponies later and very far off from its original source material.

“Did you say I had a plot that just won’t stop?”

Rainbow Dash swayed from side to side next to Soarin’s table, her cerise eyes blinking sleepily.

The moment she uttered those choice words, Soarin could have sworn he heard a record scratch and a plate full of glasses shatter to the floor. More than a dozen mares gasped while another dozen stallions coughed roughly into their hooves.

Although Soarin would never quite know the ramifications of his telephone message to Rainbow Dash, even Princess Celestia took note of his misfortune, as she tossed and turned in her bed, murmuring to herself in utter, bleak embarrassment. Meanwhile, Princess Luna descended from her duties in the midnight sky to stand outside the bar’s windows and watch events unfold. She, sadly, had nothing better to do at the time.

“I… uh…”

Soarin felt his heart squeeze into a ball, his eyes darting both to the windows and the exits. Even if the odds of outflying the fastest mare in Equestria were more than slim.

He tried for a grin. “Maybe?”

Without warning, she wrapped him in a tight hug and pulled away.

“Thanks! Nobody ever tells me that. It’s true. But they don’t!” She looked into the bottom of her cup. “How about you buy me another drink?”

Now he smiled honestly. “Okay!”

Together they walked towards the bar, Soarin turning to see Spitfire tip him another wink. Soarin was almost tempted to do the same, as good as he felt.

Abruptly, Rainbow Dash stopped him. “I almost forgot. You think I’m an egghead, too?”

Leaving his friends behind to front the tab, Soarin flew towards the nearest exits in haste.