Atlas Strongest Tournament

by Bico

Preliminaries: Scootaloo

ATLAS STRONGEST TOURNAMENT
~BICO
PART 3: PRELIMINARIES
ACT I: SCOOTALOO

“Spike,” Scootaloo said as she saw the purple dragon milling around the holding area. “You’re fighting in the tournament?”

“Uh… yeah,” he said. “It was kind of a… spur of the moment thing, I guess.”

Scootaloo smirked. “I guess. You picked up dancing pretty fast, but I didn’t expect that you would get good enough to be a contender in a tournament like this.”

“I may not be,” Spike admitted. “I don’t think I’m anywhere near as good as Master Lao Wu or even Ran Biao, but… I feel like I have to do this.”

“Oh,” Scootaloo said. “Well, I really respect you for that, Spike. Sometimes I think you’re almost as cool as Rainbow Dash.” She blushed when she said that, and turned away, her embarrassment at having done so only worsening the effect.

“Yeah, ponies are always comparing me with Rainbow,” Spike said with a bemused smile. “I couldn’t tell you why, though. I mean, I’m at least 20% cooler than she is, right?” He swept his spines back with a debonair motion and gave his magenta-maned friend a playful wink.

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Scootaloo bit her lower lip. She was only glad he wasn’t wearing that awesome mustache or she would have been completely unable to suppress the squee that had bubbled up inside her. Why did dragons have to be so naturally cool? “Yeah… yeah, right, Spike. Your head might be about 20% more swollen, though.” She gave him a playful punch on the arm.

“That’s why you’ve always been my favorite Crusader, Scoot,” Spike said with a sardonic tone. “You always know what to say.” He flashed a toothy grin at the young mare.

“Block #1,” a voice called out.

“Oh, that’s me,” Spike said. “Sorry, Scoot. Hopefully I’ll see you in the tournament.”

“I know you will,” the filly said with a cocky grin. “I better see you there, too. Good luck.” She watched as he dashed off to the arena for his block. The entrants had drawn numbers at random in order to determine what block they would be in, and now each block would be competing in a separate area. She didn’t have to wait much longer to hear her own being called.

“Block #4,” the judge, a blue mare with an hourglass cutie mark said, raising her hoof to indicate the space in which the contestants would be competing. Scootaloo looked around at the other participants, and raised her brow in wonder.

There were several ponies from Ponyville in the group; in fact, several who were in school with her. Pipsqueak, Featherweight, and Snails were all present. Berry Pinch’s dam was also there, and looked a bit… tipsy. She didn’t even know any of them could fight. She also realized, with a touch of awe, that one of the Wonderbolts was in their group. Soarin’, one of the younger Wonderbolts. Two nonponies were also in the group: a small pitbull-like bipedal dog wearing a spiked collar and grey jacket, and a female bison, probably from out west.

The blue mare introduced herself as Minuette, one of the judges of the preliminaries, and she motioned toward the four mats on the floor, explaining that all competitors would be facing off against one another at the same time. Since there were eight per block, that meant there would be four matches going on at the same time, and each competitor would fight seven times so they would go up against every other competitor. This would be as much a test of endurance as it would be of skill, Scootaloo realized. The matches would be quick, though. They only needed to be the first to score three points by striking a vital point. The points would be awarded by the judges monitoring each match.

Scootaloo’s first opponent was the former photographer and editor of the Foal Free Press, a slender white colt by the name of Featherweight. His mane was well-kempt with the exception of a single lock that had always insisted on sticking straight up from his poll. His comically enormous ears framed an absolutely adorable face with the cutest gap between his two front teeth.

The colt put his hoof up to his mouth and blushed. “Uhh… thanks.”

Scootaloo’s face warmed. Had she said that out loud?

“Yeah, Scoot, you totally did,” Apple Bloom called from the small audience that had gathered around the mat as she peddled—far less abrasively now that she had her cutie mark—the Apple Family wares. Some of the other ponies in the audience were “aw”-ing, causing the two young ponies to burn even redder.

“Well, anyway,” Scootaloo said gruffly. “May the best pony win. I’ll try not to mess up your face.”

“I appreciate it,” Featherweight said.

The match began, and it was surprisingly more difficult than Scootaloo had thought. The young pegasus lived up to his name. He was very light on his hooves, and the orange filly had trouble pegging him. His swiftness allowed him to surprise her with a quick first point, but Scootaloo wasn’t so easily daunted.

After a few feints, Scootaloo was able to pin his habits. She swept at the colt and then turned it into a backflip drop kick when he tried to lift up which landed right on Featherweight’s endearing poll. She then set the brown maned pony up for a combo in which she scored a solid point on the colt’s barrel. Finally, she scored another when she tripped him and pegged him to the ground with her hoof to his throat.

“Match to Scootaloo!” Minuette called.

“Now make out!” Apple Bloom called out as she collected a payment for an apple fritter.

Scootaloo flushed brightly again and let the colt up. “Good match, Featherweight. I… uh… I underestimated you, actually. You’re pretty good.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You’re amazing.”

Her next opponent was a diamond dog by the name of Spot. He looked pretty vicious, but wasn’t very large. Of course, Scootaloo noted, that could just mean he was fast. Scootaloo decided to use her own speed to an advantage right from the get-go. He was apparently taken off guard by a pony being so aggressive, and she scored her first point without him even making a move of his own.

Spot snarled and spat. “Stupid pony won’t be able to do that again!” When the referee let them go at it again, he barked and leaped at her with his jaws wide open, his eyes locked on her throat. He stopped abruptly when and orange hoof ended up lodged in his throat. He staggered back, hacking and coughing. The ref gave a point to Spot, unfortunately, as strikes inside the mouth were not allowed for the preliminary matches.

He wasn’t as aggressive after that, however. She could see that this dog was more a brawler than a real martial artist, and that showed in his uncertain movements. When he did move, it was clumsy, with too much power invested in a punch that wasn’t that likely to connect. She was easily able to dodge his wild strikes and score a point with a hoof to the dog’s gut.

Enraged, Spot attack again, this time attempting to kick out at the pegasus. That wasn’t a good idea, either, as his groin was completely unprotected as he attempted to strike her head. Scootaloo didn’t let the opportunity pass, and a fraction of a second later he was writhing on the mat in pain. Fortunately, groin shots—unlike mouth shots—were perfectly legal. Match to Scootaloo.

Pipsqueak was her next opponent. The colt from Trottingham was a year younger than she and her friends were, but he was small even for his age. He held in his mouth a wooden sword, weapons being allowed for those whose styles incorporated them. She was offered a training weapon as well, but declined.

“Cor, Cuddle-and-kiss(1),” Pip said as they shook hooves. “It oughtta be a right Mareiarty(2) wit’ you, eh?”

Scootaloo frowned at the pinto coated colt. “Pip, I’m gonna buck you right back to Prance.”

“Oi, that’s Monty’s Army(3), it is,” Pipsqueak said. “I en’t one o’ them park benches(4).”

Scootaloo was all too happy to begin the match, but she found her swift opening attack stymied by Pip’s extended reach with that sword. He scored the first point on her easily. When she tried to maneuver around to attack his flank, he proved himself to be deft at bucking as well. Her ribs would be quite sore in the morning.

She adapted quickly, though. She bobbed and weaved around his attacks in the next round, scoring the next point with a hoof to the head. She rolled under the colt next to strike him square in his stomach.

“Oi, yer a right ping pong typewriter(5), you are,” Pip said. “Final round, cuddle-and-kiss, let’s make it Robin Hood(6).”

“Gaahh!” Scootaloo groaned. “I swear if you don’t start speaking Equestrian, I’m going to pick you up, fly you right over to Prance, and drop you off there where you belong, Pip!”

“Oi, I’m not—” He wasn’t able to finish, though, as Scootaloo charged him, dodging around his hasty sword-swipes and dancing around him. She attempted another roll under him, but he saw what she was attempting this time, and when she hit her withers with her head tucked into her undercarriage, he thrust his sword into her croup, pinning her with it.

No matter, Scootaloo thought. One match lost didn’t lose her the spot. She would make up her points in the next match. Berry Punch would be her fourth opponent. She watched her swaying back and forth and snorted. This would be embarrassingly easy. Though… she had seen Berry fighting out of the corner of her eye a couple matches ago, and it looked like she had won. Perhaps she wasn’t as out of it as she appeared.

Scootaloo launched herself into the air and struck at Berry, who promptly fell backward without being touched. Scootaloo reared back, stunned, but Berry began to laugh hysterically, one of her hind hooves striking her in the belly. Point to Berry Punch.

Scootaloo scowled and attacked once again, trying not to let herself be taken off guard by the swaying mare. Every time she struck, however, Berry seemed to coincidentally bob right out of the way of her strike and then snap back with a counter movement that seemed very much like more unsteady flailing, but suspiciously began to look like attacks. Scootaloo’s suspicions were confirmed when she unleashed a furious combo that the mare sidestepped easily before casually slapping her across the muzzle before giggling drunkenly into her hoof. Point to Berry Punch.

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Scootaloo decided to get serious after that. She managed to see through Berry's movements in the next round, catching her by surprise with an uppercut to the chin groove. However, Berry managed to come back seeming even more drunk than ever. Her movements were too wild for Scootaloo to see through. She decided to dive in, however, when she saw what seemed to be an opening. She struck Berry in the throat, but her jaw dropped when she blew a raspberry at her and began to laugh. Scootaloo looked down and saw a hind leg touching her barrel. Point to both Berry Punch and Scootaloo, but another loss for Scootaloo.

The young pegasus was furious, now. She had lost twice. It might have been only by a point, each, but she was getting nervous, now. Her next match was against, Snails, however. She was sure she could win against him.

“Dah, I wouldn’t be too sure about that, eh?” Snails said as they faced off. He groaned and grunted, his horn lighting up. Scootaloo felt her body begin to tingle. She was being attacked by some kind of spell. But what magic did Snails know? She couldn’t remember. She honestly never paid much attention to the lanky colt.

She tried to attack, but she found her limbs weren’t responding as usual. The air felt as thick as molasses. “Whhhhhaaaaaaat?”

“Haah, haah, haaaahhh,” Snails laughed slowly. “My special talent is… uhh… slowing things down, eh?

Scootaloo grimaced. That was really his strategy? Well, she thought, that might work against a pony who relied on their superior speed, but that wasn’t her special talent, after all. Her frown turned upside down as she saw Snails’ obvious attack. Even at slow speeds she was able to counter easily. She dodged the strike at mollusk speed and tapped him in the barrel.

The next round had Snails attempt a little strategy, as he tried to circle around Scootaloo before she could turn around. However, she saw his shadow on the floor and even at her limited speed managed to block his attempts to strike her in the butt—which, she wondered in hindsight, was a rather awkward body part to attack—and then she gave him a quasi-quick buck to the chin.

The final round between them, Snails attempted a very clever combination of the slow spell with a snail-trail spell, which caused a puddle of sticky slime to form under Scootaloo’s hooves. Now her reaction time was slow and she couldn’t even lift her hooves without tremendous effort. This could actually work.

Fortunately for her, Snails then proceeded to bound right into the snail-trail and get himself stuck, at which point she merely butted her head into his face, scoring her final point.

“Aww,” Snails lamented.

“Hey, don’t worry, Snails,” Scootaloo said. “Those were actually some good techniques. Just… um… work a little more on strategy. Also, slowing other ponies down is really only useful if they become slower than you. You should try to work on your speed or maybe pump up that spell a bit to slow ponies down even more.”

“Well…” he said. “It usually does make other ponies slower than me. You’re just… a lot faster than other ponies.”

“Eh heh, heh,” Scootaloo blushed. “I guess all that speed training with Dash did the trick.”

Her penultimate opponent was named Little Strongheart. She certainly was small for a bison, from what Scootaloo had heard, anyway. However, she carried a wooden tomahawk which Scootaloo was wary of. It didn’t have the reach of Pip’s sword, but it would still add a further element to the match.

Little Strongheart started off surprising Scootaloo right away with a stomp to the ground that caused the earth beneath her hooves to tremble, knocking the filly off balance for a moment. She then charged her, pressing her advantage with swings from her training tomahawk. She scored a hit across the flank quickly.

Scootaloo adjusted her style, taking to the air and avoiding the amber maned cow’s head. She scored a quick point with a well-aimed buck to her left loin as she leaped over her.

“You are skilled, little pony,” Strongheart said admiringly. “But I will try not to make this too easy for you.” She tried to stomp again, but Scootaloo's wings carried her over the tremor, and she saw Strongheart’s intent moments before she tossed her tomahawk at her, sliding past the weapon and diving for a sweep-strike combo.

Little Strongheart grabbed her tomahawk as they separated again, and Scootaloo could see that she was sweating. Her confidence had definitely been shaken, and Scootaloo knew she could use that to her advantage. When the ref allowed them to go back at it again, she charged, causing her to rear back in momentary fear. Scootaloo then back flipped over her and performed a double midair buck to the rump, launching her across the arena.

“I guess,” Strongheart said wearily, “The spirits weren’t with me this time.”

Finally she was down to her last opponent, the Wonderbolt known as Soarin’. Her teacher knew him fairly well by now, but she doubted that would earn her any slack. The Wonderbolts were known one and all as not just the most skilled flyers but also as elite masters of hoof-to-hoof combat, one and all. She shook the dark blue maned stallion’s hoof and did her best to suppress the hero-worship that threatened to bubble to the surface. He might be a Wonderbolt, after all, but he wasn’t anything next to Rainbow Dash.

Their match was lightning fast and brutal. Scootaloo hadn’t expected the intensity to be so high, as she recalled her teacher’s descriptions of the Wonderbolt as being “nice, funny, and weirdly obsessed with pie.” Here she saw his qualifications as an efficient fighting machine. It was good for her, though. It let her give in to her instincts. The clip-clopping of hoof-striking-hoof filled the air as they exchanged blows, not even separating when one of them scored a point. The ref certainly had no desire to break them up when they were so engrossed.

Finally, the referee blew the whistle, and neither competitor knew exactly who had one. The referee clarified for them, however. “Technically,” she said. “Each of you scored about ten points on the other, but…” she cleared her throat and consulted her notes. “It looks as if Scootaloo is the winner, scoring her third point while Soarin' was still at two.”

“Wow,” Soarin’ said. “That was pretty fun, kid. Congratulations on handing me my flank.” He laughed good naturedly.

“Uh, yeah, thanks…” Scootaloo said. “You’re… even better than I expected.”

“Hay, I thought I recognized some of those moves,” Soarin’ said. “You know Rainbow Dash?”

Scootaloo grinned. “Yeah, she’s my teacher.”

“Wow, RD is a teacher,” he wondered. “Can’t say I would have expected that, but she’s a dam fine mare.” He grinned goofily. “Oh, when you see her next… uh… can you tell her I’m sorry for what I said last time about her pie?”

“Huh?” Scootaloo cocked her head.

“She’ll… know what I mean,” Soarin’ said.

“The results are in,” Minuette declared after several minutes. “Two contestants were tied for points: Scootaloo and Berry Punch.”

Scootaloo deflated. That would mean the judges had to decide which one of them would advance. And, of course, since Berry Punch had won their match that could only mean that she would be the one to continue. “Oh, no…”

“After some deliberation,” Minuette continued. “Based on her skill-set and the judges’ opinions on ability to advance in the tournament, the pony to advance will be… Scootaloo.”

Scootaloo gasped. “What? But… how?”

Apple Bloom abandoned her apple cart and rushed to her friend, hugging and congratulating her. The youngest Apple patted her on the shoulder. “I always knew you could make it. I reckon you’ll be shootin’ straight to the finals, Scoot.”

Scootaloo smiled bashfully. “Thanks, Apple Bloom, but… I don’t know if I really deserve it. Berry beat me fair and square.”

“Oi,” Pipsqueak said. “She may ‘ave beat you, but she’s a right amateur compared to you.”

“Didn’t she beat you, Pip?” Apple Bloom said.

“Er… right. Well, I can tell you why,” he said. “She’s a master of Drunken Boxing. It’s an old tradition, savvy? She acts like a drunk… well, she is a might tipsy, but not really elephant’s(7). It throws you off, see? Thing is, it’ll fool you for a while, but she’s still got a pattern. If you find it in time you can beat ‘er. You found it there at the end, she just had an advantage of throwing you off at first.”

“Huh,” Scootaloo said. “Wow, that’s really insightful. Um… I guess you don’t have to go back to Prance, after all.”

“I told you I’m not from…”

“Hey, kid,” Berry Punch greeted the winner, no longer looking very inebriated. “Lucky filly, you get to compete in the real tournament.”

“Uh… thanks,” Scootaloo said. “If it means anything, I really think you should have got picked.”

“Nah,” Berry said. “I know why they didn’t pick me. It’s because my old training partner and rival probably won her match. In fact, there’s no doubt.” She laughed. “I guess they don’t want two Drunken Boxing practitioners in the ring, so they went with the superior one.”

“Wait,” Apple Bloom said. “There’s somepony else who uses your style? But… Scootaloo was barely able to…” she trailed off, feeling like she would be insulting her friend if she finished that sentence.

“No, you’re right,” Scootaloo said. “I couldn’t keep up. I mean, Pip is right that I was able to see through the pattern at the end, and maybe that’ll help in the match, but if this other pony is better…”

“Oh, much better,” Berry said. “I can only win against her maybe a quarter of the time. Still, you have a chance.”

“Really?” Scootaloo said.

“Yeah,” Berry confirmed. “You already saw my style. We trained similarly. The only difference is that she can do it naturally. I need to be at least a little tipsy before my real strength shows. It will be hard to find the order hidden in the chaos, kid, but you’ve got a leg up. Drunken Boxing is only truly effective against those who aren’t familiar with it.”

Scootaloo nodded. “Thanks, but… why give me the advice?”

Berry Punch smiled. “Well, I did beat you fair and square. If you beat her in the tournament, that means I indirectly get to notch another point for myself. And, of course, if you win, you’ll know that it wasn’t just a fluke that you got picked over me. You’ll know you deserved it, because she really is the better fighter.”

Scootaloo looked at her friends before gazing up at the fruit flanked pony. “Thanks, Miss Punch. I’ll do my best.”

Berry grinned. “I know you will, kid.”

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To be continued…

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1 Cor, Cuddle-and-kiss: God, Miss
2 Mareiarty: party
3 Monty's Army: barmy (crazy)
4 park benches: Prenchies
5 ping pong typewriter: strong fighter
6 Robin Hood: good
7 elephant's: drunk

Author's Note:

Revised and illustrations added 2013/02/17.

Comments

[nemryn]

“Wait,” Apple Bloom said. “There’s somepony else who uses your style?"

Is it Pinkie Pie? I bet it's Pinkie Pie.

[n8dagr8088]

“Oi, yer a right ping pong typewriter (5) , you are,” Pip said. “Final round, cuddle-and-kiss, let’s make it Robin Hood (6) .”

i love scootaloo getting annoyed by pip's british slang