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Worth Fighting For
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The light was blinding. He squinted and tried to shield his face, but he couldn't seem to lift his legs. He blinked a few times and tried to rise, but to no avail. His mind swam in a fog; what was he doing on the floor...? He tried to remember where he was, what he was doing, but the thoughts eluded his grasp like the fleeting remnants of a dream. Something, or somepony, was calling to him, as if from a distance. With aching strain, he managed to turn his face towards it as consciousness slowly started to return to him.
"Hey! Hey, Pacer..?" the muted voice spoke, sounding as if it came from another room. He could only mumble something incoherently in response.
"Hey, c'mon now kid, cain't have ya lyin' down too long after that! Up 'n at 'em, now!", it spoke, building now to near full volume in his ringing ears.
Finally he managed to string together enough memory to spit out his mouthguard and form a few words.
"Ugggh... What happened?" he managed to say, raising himself up a bit.
The face that started to appear clearer in his vision spoke back matter-of-factly "Ya got knocked on yer flank, kid. C'mon, lemme help ya up."
Pacer started to become aware of his surroundings now as the older stallion helped the young wheat-hued unicorn to his feet.. Now it started to rush back to him backwards in sequence; the hushed murmurs of laughter began to make sense. The flash of blows rushing towards him, the surge of adrenaline as the sparring began, the exchange of hasty words, stitched together now. He stood in the middle of the ring in the Half-Sun Gym; a bit shaky on his legs and still smarting. Across from him stood a smirking mare, leaning cocksure against the opposite turnbuckle. Her dark gold coat was framed by an unkempt sun-blond mane. He noted with dissatisfaction that it seemed she'd barely broken a sweat...
"C'mere, let's get ya in t'da trainin' room so I can put some ice on dat eye, eh?", the mottled gray-and-white elder interrupted in his calm Fillydelphian accent.
Pacer stood dazed for a moment yet as the words began to process. He nodded sheepishly when he understood; "Ah... Yeah, alright Pinto... Let's go." As he was lead out and down from the ring, he did his best to seem unfazed by the smug looks and quiet snickers of the gathered crowd, though it stung more than the pounding in his head to walk to the other side of the gym and into the trainer's room with their eyes all upon him.
When they got inside Pinto quietly closed the door. Pacer wordless heaved himself onto the training table and sighed heavily, pulling back the dark chocolate hair sticking to the sweat on his face. As the old pony retrieved an icepack he started the inevitable lecture Pacer expected.
"Look, kid... I know ya came here to prove yerself but ya gotta back off and cool that hot head a'yers! Yer doin' so good in yer bouts, no losses, and ya got a real chance to contend! Why'd ya have to go an' pick a fight with that mean cuss' of an earth pony Bright Strike anyways? I tried ta tell ya it ain't werth it! An' ya can't expect to have half-a-chance if yer gonna fight her on earthpony terms, wit' no magic an' all."
Pacer was silent for a moment as the rebuke fell over him. Pinto placed the icepack on his already swelling eye. He finally responded as the sting started to die down.
"You know how she is, Pinto. She just gets my goat, is all. Always goin' on about how unicorn's are the weakest division, 'bout how even our champion couldn't last one round with her if they'd mix the classes... It just really burns me up!", Pacer's voice got louder as he spoke, but Pinto interrupted, looking him straight in his amber eyes.
"I know, I know kid - calm down and relax a bit, ya just got conked pretty good. An' I mean... she's got a point, ya know. Ain't no tougher class than us earthpony fighters," he stated with self-assurance, tugging off the gloves from Pacer's hooves. "Sure them hummingbirds-I mean er, pegasusi, are fast 'n agile, an' you unicorns got lots'a skill and ya got that magic, but everypony knows ain't no tougher foe than an earthpony," Pinto said with little room for negotiation. He was trying to be comforting in his own way, to justify or excuse his up-and-coming fighter for the flank-kicking he'd just received; but it had the opposite effect. Pacer was in no mood to hear it.
"You don't think I can beat her...do you? Even if I'd used magic? You don't think a unicorn could beat an earthpony-"
"Hey hey, kid, you know I ain't tha discriminatery type - when you first came through that door I said I'd train ya, even though dis is an earthpony gym an' I ain't never trained a unicorn fighter before. I still don' know why you wanted ta' train here so bad, but I seen tha potential in ya."
Pacer calmed a bit and answered. "I came here 'cause this is the best gym in Fillydelphia - she... she's right about one thing; my division is weak. We just don't have the as many fighters or good trainers. Maybe it's just 'cause it's not as popular as it is with earthponies and pegasi. But I need to know, Pinto - do you really believe I can't hold my own with 'em?"
Pinto didn't respond for a long moment. He sighed and looked away. "Ah'm just sayin'... There's a reason we got divisions. That's all, kid."
That was all Pacer could take for the moment. He didn't fault the old fighter for his honest opinion. Maybe it was just the way the older generation was. But he didn't feel like arguing the point any more. The casual bias ingrained in so many centuries of differences, not all of them resolved, wasn't something he even fully grasped himself. He started to get up abruptly.
"Hey, where ya' goin' kid?" the old stallion asked.
"I just... I'm just gonna get home for now and rest up. I'll see you tomorrow," he replied as he walked out the door.
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The walk home was a gray and glum affair. Mid-afternoon, and all the streets were fairly bare; Fillydelphia was a simple blue-collar city, and it's brick-and-steel uncolored skyline matched its reputation and demeanor. It was a far cry from the small-town suburbia of Whinnypeg he'd left behind with its big backyards and sprawling fields; but somehow he still felt at home here. It was where he belonged - it was where the fighting was. It was the destination for anypony who wanted to test their mettle in the ring. Such... uncouth activities were too barbaric for the cosmopolitan Manehattan; far too low-brow for the upper-crust in Canterlot. But even though it fit Fillydelphia's rough-and-tumble history, it still wasn't fully accepted among many. It was, after all, a dangerous and violent display. There were some who viewed it as nothing more than blood sport, something to be put in the past in the peaceful society of Equestria.
But its supporters and fans held a different view; and its promoters and athletes had worked hard for years to claw the league up to a modicum of respectability. From the days of yore, of disorganized one-on-one brawls held in tiny crowded gyms and smoky rented rooms to a fully-fledged business enterprise, with codified rules and a clear champion, matches held in the many arenas and medium sized stadiums of the sports-crazy Fillydelphia.
They did their best to change its reputation from those years ago. It wasn't easy; without regulation, the bouts of years ago had all-too-often ended grimly. Pacer thought back to the horror stories Pinto and other elder statesponies of the Equestrian fight leagues would tell. Everypony knew the dangers inherent, but sometimes you didn't grasp it unless you'd see it for yourself. A pegasi fight could be a dazzling event with their dexterity and speed; but the same powers of flight and nimble movement that made them such a sight to behold was also a deadly drawback. Those light bodies and hollow bones like birds, that let them get enough lift to soar, coupled with the sheer velocity they could generate, had made for some gruesome injuries. Rules were slowly implemented to limit how far apart they could attack each other from, how high they could swoop down from and so on, to limit the danger of fateful impacts. The same was true of the other federations that had become the divisions of the league. Rounds in earthpony bouts were shortened, lest their sheer strength and endurance lead to long-term and debilitating damage to the fighters over time. Certain maneuvers disallowed for risk of too severe an injury. Unicorn matches required padded covering on the horns, much like the gloves worn on hooves during bouts, to prevent ghastly cuts and wounds, and spells like teleportation outlawed. These and other changes had led to vastly increased safety and acceptance, but there was still a long way to go before many in civilized ponydom welcomed it into the mainstream.
And it was in this critical time for the sport that Pacer found himself, foalishly bucking the plan and getting himself tangled up in a futile grudge with a fighter from another division. He didn't mean to, of course. But he'd worked too hard to get looked down on by that... that flankhole Bright Strike. He remembered the spiteful look in her eye when he walked through the Half-Halt door. Like she owned the place. He'd had his preconceptions about the other classes, too... but he hadn't expected to find this kind of keep-to-your-own-kind separatism in a modern Equestrian city.
But as good as 'tradition' is at preserving the positive aspects of history, it can likewise preserve certain negative things as well. As he neared his apartment he tried to shake himself out of the gloomy reverie; he didn't like to have so much on his mind, perhaps anomalously so for a unicorn. He preferred to do, not obsess over. Maybe there was something he could do about all of this...
With this potential optimism clearing his head from the mess of thoughts and brainfog of the day's flankkicking, he rounded the corner to the door of his apartment complex. Standing before it, with a pouty kind of concern on her face, was a pastel rose-colored pegasus, a disheveled bag of quills and notepads slung around her shoulders. She blew a whisp of lavender hair from her face and knocked on the door.
"That usually works better if there's somepony on the other side, Velvet," he chided playfully as he strode up beside her.
"You! See, now you can never laugh at me for being late anymo-oh my gosh, your eye!", she'd started to laughingly reply before catching sight of his swollen brow. She was used to seeing him with bumps and bruises and the occasional limp since she'd met him that day in the park... But he never had a big ol' melon like that except after a match.
"Ah-I... Just a hard day of training, it's fine, c’mon in, I'll change and we'll head out to the par-" he began as he unlocked the door and started inside.
"No way, mister!" she insisted as she followed him in, "Pinto always tells me to make sure you rest after a fight."
"It's fine, really... wasn't even much of a fight," he began to protest, noting with some sour reflection that he wasn't even really lying - it wasn't much of a fight. "Besides, I promised I'd be there for your reading in the park."
Velvet Sonnet smirked back as she led him to the couch. "Oh, please. You and I both know it's always just you listening to me ramble my poems. Nopony's got much time for that around here..." She stated with some disappointment as she blew another wisp of disheveled hair from her eyes.
He dutifully plopped down on the cushions, not entirely disagreeing anymore with the idea of a bit of rest. "It's still important, though - it's good practice, doin' it in public, and besides, ponies hear you as they go by," he noted, not so much to argue further, but to encourage; "...it's my favorite part of the week you know."
Velvet smiled enthusiastically, "Mine too... Even if nopony else hears them yet, and everypony reads the boring reports I have to write for the newspaper. You just relax and I'mma get you an aspirin."
She dropped her bag on the table nearby and shuffled over to the washroom; "Someday they will, Velvet. They'll hear you..." he replied with conviction. After a moment's reflection he added softly, to himself; "...And someday they'll be more tolerant of the fights. Someday they'll see it's worth it." He couldn't quite make himself believe it as much as his first statement, but he forced himself to think positive for the moment. Maybe someday they'll even see that fighting doesn't have to be disharmony... it can bring us together, he added in his thoughts.
She returned with a glass and set it before him. "I know, Pacer. Thanks; you're always keepin' me positive about my writing..." she said softly as she sat down beside him.
"Well, I couldn't do any less for my best friend. You do even more for me; I dunno what I did to be so lucky to find the best friend Fillydelphia had to offer."
Velvet blushed just slightly and haltingly replied; "Well... it isn't luck... So, c'mon, tell me what happened today. Why the unscheduled lump?"
He knew she'd ask, but it wasn't something he wanted to get into. He'd have preferred to leave all of that at the gym; but she was always worried about him, and she knew of his difficulty transitioning to the city and it's invisible separations. And he wouldn't be able to lie; even if he could stand to hide it from her, she'd have seen through it.
He described the truth matter-of-factly; "I got into a tousle with Bright Strike. She caught me off guard. I got knocked around pretty good..." He trailed off towards the end.
Velvet looked on concerned, but didn't want to show her anxiousness over his tensions with the other fighters. "I see... You let her get to you again then...?" she added, but already chided herself mentally. She felt like she shouldn't have worded it that way, 'let' her get to him - to place the blame on him - even if it was his own fault. She wanted to tell him that he always had a choice, but she didn't have the nerve to be so assertive. It just wasn't in her nature.
For his part, Pacer couldn't deny it, as much as it further riled him to think. "Yeah. She got to me." And though it had never come to blows before, it certainly wasn't the first time. "She just caught me off guard is all - I'll be ready next time. I'll show 'em," he quickly tacked on.
Velvet's heart sank. If only she could tell him how much she didn't want there to be a next time. "Well.... Just be careful... okay?" was all she could think to say.
He nodded firmly, but wanted badly to get off this topic. He switched gears and gestured towards her bag. "So, what about you - aren't you gonna read what you were gonna read in the park? I'd hate to miss the best part of the week."
She was just as happy to move on as well. She smiled broadly and agreed. "Of course. I wouldn't want to disappoint my adoring fans... Er, fan."
She rustled through the mess of the bag and dug out a beaten notebook. Ruffling through the pages, she stood and cleared her throat.
"Ahem..." she began, her eyes narrowing on the page, voice shifting smoothly from from casual to stern and serious.
"I breathed, and in the midnight clear,
I felt the stir of tethered words.
These words I wished to never hear,
Had brought me down to earth.
Unlike where sky and sea collide at shore,
Where two parts become something more;
Where two sums of one can become whole -
What I wanted, I could not control.
I reached, up towards the heav'ns grace
Yet could not touch it's hallowed face
My star, it pitied me for being so small -
It came to earth; it heard my call
It gifted me with light unknown,
It whispered, `you are not alone...`"
She ended gently, words trailing off as she lowered the notebook and looked in anticipation towards her listener. He beamed brightly back at her, clapping softly and approvingly.
"You'll be the star soon enough with that kind of message," Pacer noted sincerely.
She blushed a bit and sat back down. "Ah... thanks. I'm glad to know somepony appreciates it, at least."
"Everypony else will too, wait and see. Just 'cause we don't live in a high class metropolis doesn't mean ponies here won't learn to appreciate beautiful words. That bundle of parchments on your cutie mark isn't for working at some dusty old newspaper, you know..." he added encouragingly.
She thought at first maybe he was just laying it on a bit thick to make her feel better, but there was no guile in his voice. "It's... it's what I've always wanted, to make people feel what I feel through writing," she began, looking over at him with renewed optimism; "someday we'll -both- reach our dream."
It was precisely the solace he needed at the moment. "Thanks, Velvet. You're really the best friend I could ever ask for... I'd better turn in early, I want to get a good start on things tomorrow. How about I walk you to work in the morning?"
She agreed in earnest. "I'd like that. I'll see you tomorrow, Pacer." After she'd gathered her bag, she delicately embraced him, smiling shyly as she left.
It would all work out, he told himself. How could it not?
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- END CHAPTER ONE