//------------------------------// // Episode 7: Here comes the Smooze, Smoozing Along // Story: Horse La Horse Season 2: Desperate Struggle // by Stegtorn //------------------------------// You rub your temples, sitting on the edge of your bed. The first fight of your competition! You hope to god Iron Will's strength training will be enough. Flicking through his lessons in your head, you wonder how many of them you'll be able to apply. The Iron Clutch seems like an amazing move, but too flashy unless the opponent is already injured. Before you can really sit and think of a strat to pull on this Smooze guy, a knock comes at the door. A snotty looking changeling whisks you off through the hotel to a small green screen and camera set up in the back. The smartly dressed Filthy Rich standing next to a giant pool of "Melon Fusion" green Jell-o ©. "Where's my opponent?" you demand, searching around the set. You pick up a tarp, tossing it up, revealing not the Smooze but a bunch of boxes. "Ahem," Filthy retains his sterling smile, speaking through gilded teeth, "please take your spot on the black X, we're starting in 1 minute." You shrug and roll your peepers, finding the X of tape, standing with it between your feet. Crouching and posing, you give the camera in front of you, and its operator, the "DJ Ez Rock" Hip-hop squat. The changeling behind the camera averts his eyes from your piercing gaze. Studio ponies charge about as someone counts down from 60. You catch a choking whiff of perfume as two little horsies run right back you to fix up the . . . jello? They toss a bowtie and Top hat on him. Wait just a goddamn second here. "We're live!" a Pegasus with a headset calls down from the rafters above. Tat falls around as he flaps away to the "blind spot" of the cameras. "Hello, and welcome to the first day of the Mega Forces hosted Very Violent Villain Competition! Today we've got the Smooze," he motions to the glob, hitting it with his microphone, which sends a seismic jiggle through the thing, knocking its hat off. That's the Smooze? This gloopy, glopy, glimy, slimey Dez of a blob. It's not even sentient, is this some sort of joke? You look around for a cue card, but find none. "He's the strong and silent type," Rich concludes, tearing the mic from the Smooze's "mouth", a bit of goo splatters on the ground. He wheels around to you, smiling all the while, "And here we have Anonymous, hailing from parts unknown." "Meh," you grunt. "Care to describe yourself using percentages?" You squint at him, "Uh," you begin counting on your fingers, "Ten percent luck, twenty percent skill, fifteen percent concentrated power of will, five percent plea—" "Okay, okay we get it, that's enough," Filthy barks, slicking back his mane again and facing the camera, "get hype and get ready for these two to duke it out in the Colosseum at noon right after Sunset Shimmer faces down with Svengallop!" You get snatched off stage by a Vaudeville Hook when the cameras go dark, clunked on the head by some unseen assailant and shoved in the direction of where the arena is. Being set on this dusty path, you feel inclined to follow it. Like the man with no name (which you are) you carefully trudge along this windswept, cobblestone path. Ahead, the roar of a crowd, the sound of popcorns and concession, and the smell of combat. Some guards wave you in, rushing you toward the gated entrance to the fight arena. You must say, it's convenient, just a moments stroll from the hotel. With rattle and shake, the gate throws itself open, and the sound of the audience gets louder. You hear an announcer babbling, and see a familiar, grinning face waiting for you at the opening. Iron Will gives you a big thumbs up, patting you on the back as you head in. "I got your entrance music all set up, bud!" he roars. You ghost past him, heading straight for the sunbaked arena, a light dusting of sand had been sprinkled on the stone ring. The bright noon sun shone right in your eyes, it was in fact high noon. Theme of Anonymous' first entrance: Candy Candy - GUMI Vocaloid "Here comes, Anonymous, the 'human', whatever the hell that is," the announcer calls, the crowd begins to roar, but grows quickly silent when the lyrics to your entrance music kick in. You search the crowd with just as confused a face as many of theirs. "What the hell is this?" you say to yourself, turning on a heel to see Will's wide smirk. He shoots you a thumbs up, and then motions that you should pose. "Meh," you grunt, stripping off your jacket and loosening your tie. Oh yeah, that gets the crowds attention back. In a flash your shirt is undone by three buttons, the perfect amount for a bit of manly cleavage. Mares swoon, stallions get pumped, and you're feeling right at home actually. The yells of the crowd resonate with you, filling you with determination. "And his opponent, the slimy Smooze!" the announcer does his best to make him sound intimidating, but the crowd isn't buying it. And neither are you! The big green booger rolls in, and if you didn't know better you'd say it was smiling. The two of you size each other up, you pacing clockwise, him sploozing counter-clockwise. A bell is struck, and you break out into a charge, kicking up sand as you streak across the arena. With a roar you raise up your fist, and throw it downward at this thing's rounded head. In a shock turn of events, that perplexes you as it happens, your fist bounces off with a comical "boing" sound, flying right back at your chin and sending you on your ass. "Whoa!" the announcer hoots, "if the Smooze could talk, I'd bet he'd be saying 'Why are you hitting yourself?' right about now." You stumble and fumble to your feet, only to be knocked down by a blob of projectile goo, which lands right on your chest. It feels like you just got hit by a train, you stagger but barely hold your ground. Your body feels heavy, shaky, knees weak—Oh, already used that one. It feels like you're weight down by about an extra twenty-five pounds. "Do you like that?" a snarky voice says! It's Q. You mean, Discord! He's leering down at you from inside the booth, a grin under his hate-filled eyes. "Not quite." "I'll have you know Smooze is a good friend of mine, and he has my full support and love!" his face curls into a smile most wicked. Smooze jiggles left and right in confirmation. You likewise shake, trying to get that goo off, but you simply slough to one side. "You're weak, Anonymous, and the Smooze has been personally mentored by me, Discord!" The dragon-pony-thing looms over you from the viewer box, somehow his shadow seeping through the window and projecting itself on you, the Smooze covered with it as well. "I don't want to hear it, nerd! Meh," you grunt, flicking off the ball of goo with one swift motion chopping motion of your arm, "I'm a strong human being with a burning vital spirit worthy of being a member of the Mega Forces. Suit or not, this Smooze is going down! AND I'LL BE YOUR NEW CO-WORKER, DISC-BOY." SPLIP! SPLONK! Two more goo balls, two more heavy things bearing down on you. One hangs off your left arm, another on your right leg. Like red hot irons bricks knocking into you. You fall to a knee, grunting in effort. It's too much! Iron Will's strength training wasn't enough. "Anonymous is down! And the Smooze approaches!" The crowd starts chanting "boaw, boaw". "Something that is coming down, have you heard the news!" the announcer bellows on the mic. The sun is blotted out above you, your eyes dart up, to the vaguely smiling Smooze. He's elongated himself, getting taller and thinner, and spreading out like a great wall. He's opening like a mouth! How the hell are you getting out of this now? You try to lash out, but only serve to miss your swings and fall on your side, the weight is getting heavier! Discord cackles madly, and your head becomes heavy. M-maybe you can't do it, this is your first fight, and you can hardly hit the guy! Discord is right, without that suit, maybe you really are nothing. . . "Hey what the hell, you're not suppose to be in—" the announcer bumbles. "THAT'S MY BOY IN THERE," Iron Will yells. The mic pops as it's batted around and changes hands. The ol' Bull bashes past Discord and the announcer, stalwart and muscle-bound. "Anon, this is Iron Will speaking," Iron Will speaks. Your eagle eyes dart through the semi-translucent Smooze and to the announcers booth just ahead, Iron Will stands proudly, the headset stretched over his giant meat head, he throws you a thumbs up. Your spirits surge as you see him! "Sometimes you have to let your opponent win, so that you can win!" he yells, batting Discord's claws away as he grabs for the mic. You squint at him in confusion, albeit he wouldn't be able to see your gesture. What did he fucking mean by this? You grab idly at the lump on your leg, prying it off successfully. The Smooze is turned toward the booth too, he's distracted. But what did Iron Will mean? You struggle to get to both feet, left arm hanging like an ape's. With great effort you painstakingly drag yourself inch by inch back, all the while trying to peel the smooge off yourself. Whipping around like a scarf in 50 MPH wind, the Smooze has its not-eyes pinned on you. In the back, the cries of Iron Will as he's dragged off by about a baker's dozen of Changelings. I'm gonna get devoured by this thing at this rate. You pant, feeling tired and weary. A headache starts to build. The pain in your chest, arm and leg pulses, reminding you that you're injured. Like a sprawling spider you bounce away, trying not stay too long on one limb. Cart-wheeling away does you good, and gets a round of applause from the crowd. The mighty Smoosh dives and crashes, a tsunami of goo flooding out, which you just barely evade. You're just about to sing your own praises when a tentacle of light green shoots out from the flat pool. It wraps around your forearm tight, tugging you in! Not a moments reprieve for you in this fight! "Yes, yes!" Discord yells, swirling around the booth like a giddy schoolgirl, the announcer lazily adjusting himself and trying to get his work space in order. A karate chop does not severe the connection, nor does your tugging and wiggling. Heels grind against the ground as you try to halt being sucked in, but it's no use! Searing pain, like hot oil, coats the leg that's being enveloped. Tears well in your eyes, but through the salt you see your pants, let alone your leg, is not being dissolved into mush. It crawls up your thigh, and then catches your other leg. You shut your peepers tight and let it happen, thinking, buying time. You thrash vaguely, like a Pokemon without PP. A thought comes to your p-brain! It's just a sensation, some sort of trick! A vile toxin causing pain, you waggle your leg violent, ignoring the pain but letting out a yelp anyway. It's still movable! Vore is not your fetish, but you've been consumed. Seconds tick by like hours, you tentatively open your eyes, like a kid in a pool. At last you truly see! The dark, harder core in the center, that's got to be his control center. He's like a jellyfish! They have that stuff right? You do a single butterfly stroke, forcing yourself to the core. Searing pain, like a screaming steak on the grill, hits you all at once. Instinct takes over in this moment. Two entire weeks of practice, hardcore training, and enhanced movements activate. You wrap your arms around the core, squeezing. You will yourself to gain footing in this ooze, slamming you feet heavy onto the ground, breaking the outer shell of the Smooze. "HURAAAGHH!" you scream, bubbles coming from your mouth into the sizzling Smooze. You pull up and back, flipping the core over your head in the penultimate IRON CLUTCH. Vision goes dark, you roll on your side, mindlessly moaning in pain. Through half-lidded eyes you see the world on its side. The arena floor . . . sand, bits of green. WAIT! You throw your eyes open, the Smooze is gone! Splattered into myriad chunks. Your body is numb, tingling and stiff, but you can sit up. Head pounding, hands shaking, you let out a riotous laugh. IT WORKED! The crowd is cheering and jeering. Discord screams and wails, weak fists hitting the glass. Clutching your side with your hand you get your feet under you and stand. Wobbling like a top you stagger about, feeling a slight weight on your lapel. Looking down, there it was, a hunk of the dark green core. Before you can say or do much, it gets wicked away into the cloth, and the weight is lifted. You point with one finger up to Discord, smiling grimly. Your side is killing you, and you clutch it with your free hand. "Meh," you groan, walking to Iron Will's waiting mitts, he pats you on the back heartily, and says some words. You won your first match! That's great, but now you need an ice pack. "You won't last you damned Ape!" Discord shouts as you're dragged off, his voice trailing away. TO BE CONTINUED...