It was a little known fact that, even in Equestria, marital conflict was a thing that ponies suffered. There were disputes, ponies hearts and minds broken, and even divorce. What wasn’t so common, however, was these kinds of things to happen before the actual ceremony. Golden Harvest was prideful mare. She knew what she had in life, what she could achieve with her knowledge and self, and that love was a farce in the vein hopes that you didn’t die alone.
Ignoring the fact that her parents were still happily married, even after she went through her naughty phases of adolescent growth.
Hormones were a bitch.
At least the mare had her ways of fixing such things. That is to say, until one decides to get drunk at a Berry Punch party, and accidently gets engaged.
In its own right, that wouldn’t be such a big deal. She’d just tell the stallion, or mare, she wasn’t sexist (Racist on the other hoof…) that it was a mistake and call the whole thing off. Her current dilemma, however, was that she didn’t exactly know who she was engaged to.
Even in such a dire situation, most ponies should be able to answer that sort of question given time. She’d figure it out, asking ponies around town who she was dancing a lot with, sneaking behind a potted plant to commit such lewd acts like hoof holding and rubbing of muzzles.
Golden Harvest wrenched at the mental image that her muzzle would have done such things with another.
No, she couldn’t think of that right now.
Her issue was in the fact that at this party, two particular unicorn stallions were in attendance, and other than cutie mark and a little facial hair, they were indistinguishable. Made worse yet, everypony had had a little too much to drink that night, and couldn’t even help her.
As a last resort, Golden had thought maybe, just maybe, one of the two brothers had some sense to admit who done did it, but no, even that was impossible for such schifters.
Because you see, these two were so bad at what they did, that the only good thing they could do right was impersonate each other.
Chancellor Neighsay sat on his high chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his left hoof, right one holding onto a worn gavel. It was seeing extra duty today, the poor wood implement.
“So let me get this straight,” he said, voice full of distaste for the current place, mood, situation, mixing of races and that stupid dragon typing away at everything they say, “neither of you know, who was who, at this party?”
Standing before Neighsay was Flim and Flam, or Flam and Flim, depending on how many scars the pony asking has.
Flim usually took evens, Flam odds.
“Yes, your honor,” Flim or Flam said.
“It appears we all had a bit too much to drink,” Flam or Flim said.
Neighsay looked from the two, disgust in his expression at how careless one could be with their own self, their own identity.
He rifled through the papers, examining the signatures, which were practically identical, and the cutie mark stamps, which had differences, but were constantly swapped back and forth.
Golden watched from her bench, Cranky Doodle sitting beside her, her “lawyer”.
“Rest easy kid, we’ve got this in the bag,” the donkey said, keeping a watchful eye on the unicorn twins.
“That’s what you said three hours ago,” Golden grumbled.
“This kind of thing takes time, trust me, I’d know.”
“How? You’re happily married.”
“Third time’s the charm, kid.”
“Wait, what?”
Chancelor Neighsay cleared his throat. “Okay, can either of you even answer me, right now, who is who?”
Both stallions looked at one another, and shrugged.
“He’s Flim,” the twin to Neighsay’s right said, pointing to the left.
“And he’s Flam,” the other one said, pointing opposite.
“And we’re the Flim Flam-”
“No music!” Neighsay slammed his gavel for the easily twentieth time with those two.
In the back corner, the Courtroom Band lowered their instruments in dejection. Constant teasing wasn’t good for moral, and they knew their next courtroom gig would suffer for it.
Chancellor Neighsay just really hated a lot of things, music included. Which made him the perfect pony to run matrimony phoney pony cases.
Running the Equestrian Education Association got boring after a while, Princess Twilight’s school notwithstanding, and needed a part time job to keep him in check.
“Okay, we have a baseline, so let's back up to that evening.” Neighsay pulled out a single paper from the stack. “According to this receipt, Flam, at nine thirty in the morning of the party’s date, purchased fifteen apple flavored edible bow ties?” The stallion looked up, brow raised.
“That was definitely Flam.” Flim nodded his head, to which Flam shrugged in agreement.
Neighsay replaced the paper, and drew out another.
“And this receipt is for twelve dozen apple lilies, purchased by Flim?”
Again, nods from the stallions.
“Alright, so that morning, as well as right now, you are Flam, and you are Flim, correct?”
Both stallions looked at each other, hooves tapping their chins.
Golden Harvest’s head hit her table. Hard.
“I would say, wouldn’t you dear brother of mine?”
“I would concur, sweet brother dearest.”
“Maybe they should just be engaged to each other,” Golden mumbled.
Neighsay glared at the mare, but didn’t strike his gavel. He returned his gaze to the stallions. “Okay, now when did things change?”
“Well,” Flam started, “an hour or so later, I happened to bump into an old acquaintance of mine by the name of Bulk Biceps. Naturally, as I was pressed against a brick wall in a dark alley, one hoof hovering over my head, I assessed the situation.”
“Thirteen scars,” Flim said.
“Correct! So I was Flim, not Flam, who he was looking for. However, since we were both there, the burly stallion then changed targets to go after Flim, who was now Flam. The issue there, dear judge, was that another pony, a mare I cannot remember the name of-”
“Oh COME ON!” Trixie Lulamoon shouted.
Neighsay slammed his gavel.
Flam continued, ignoring the outburst, “-approached me, hearing that I was now Flim.”
“No scars.” Flim said.
“Correct! Flim would know, that mare’s body was quite familiar to him.” Flam winked.
Neighsay rolled his eyes.
“So while my brother, Flim, now Flam, was being roughhoused by Mister Biceps, me, Flam, now Flim, had to deal with a irate mare who claimed I, we, my brother, stole bits from her after rending her paid services.”
“You did’t…” Neighsay began.
“Oh he did.” Flam said.
“I did.” Flim agreed.
“Flim has very soft hooves, and no mare can resist one of his back rubs.”
The audience let out a collective sigh.
“What were you all thinking? Perverts!” Trixie shouted.
Another gavel swing. “I will have you thrown out of this courtroom, silence!”
Trixie took her seat.
Chancellor Neighsay turned to the mare on the bench. “Miss Harvest, do you remember if the pony you’re engaged to had soft hooves?”
Golden thought on that for several seconds, but shook her head. “I was a little distracted to feel anything soft.”
That got a snicker out of somepony in the audience.
“Right, okay. Flam, or Flim, continue.”
“Right, as I was saying-”
“No, Flam, not Flim.”
Flim blinked. “I was talking.”
“No, Flam was.”
Both stallions looked to each other.
“Uh, what do you mean?” Flim asked.
“Yes, it’s not like while you were distracted we switched places.” Flam added.
“That would be ridiculous.” Flim said.
“Very much so.” Flam agreed.
Neighsay rubbed his temple once more.
“So, after explaining my situation to the mare and losing her in the market, I tried to find my brother to check and see if he still had a pulse.”
“Because that’s what we do for each other,” Flam said.
Flim nodded.
“So while I was out looking for a hopefully warm body, I came across a banner stating there was some sort of party happening that evening and thought to myself, ‘Gosh, if my dear brother Flam was okay, that would be quite a fun event for us when so down on our luck.’”
“Wait, you’re Flam.” Neighsay pointed.
“Yes?”
“But you weren’t you at the time.”
“Correct.”
“So who are you?”
“Flam.”
“And you?”
“Flim,” Flim said.
“And at this time you were both Flam, and Flim?”
“Or Flim and Flam,” Flam said, pointing between themselves.
Golden Harvest began to cry, Cranky rubbing the mare’s back sympathetically.
“Alright, so when you found your brother…?” Neighsay rolled his hoof in the air.
“Right, so as I found my brother Flim, who was Flam, and still alive thankfully, I told him of the party I’d discovered that night.”
“Yes, it did sound like quite the shindig,” Flim added.
“So then what?”
“Well, with our limited bits we wanted to be charitable and bring our own alcohol.”
“Because we’re such straight up stallions.”
Somepony in the audience coughed.
“So we split up once more. I, now Flim, went to the local store to procure drinks.”
“And I, still Flam, went to find us suitable company.”
Neighsay withdrew another receipt, this one for several bottles of cheap rum and vodkas.
“Alright, so who was this then?”
“Flam,” Both brothers said in unison.
“So real Flam, or fake Flam?”
Flim blinked, looking around. “Well, technically Flam was banned from Ponyville’s liquor store, so he was Flim still.”
“Correct, except that the store clerk knew that Flam would impersonate Flim, so was expecting Flim. I then entered as Flam.”
“So you were Flam, pretending to be Flim, pretending to be Flam?”
“Correct.”
“Yes.”
“But you were Flam, correct?”
Both stallions looked to each other, then nodded. “Yes, I was Flam, who was Flim, that was Flam.”
“And I was Flim who was still Flam.”
Neighsay withdrew another receipt. “Which would explain this other receipt for lunch, at the same time stamp, with the same name.”
“Correct.”
“With the same credit card?”
Flam went silent. Flim pulled on his tie, nervous.
“How many credit cards do you have?” Neighsay asked.
“Objection!”
Everypony looked to Cranky, front hooves on the table.
“What? No, that’s not how this works.” Neighsay slammed his gavel.
“Yes it is! And that question has no pretence on the situation at hoof.”
“I say it does, I’m the judge.” Another slam. “Answer the question.”
Golden pulled Cranky down to her level, whispering angrily. “Hey, just who’s side are you on?”
“Can’t you see, kid? They’re trying to confuse him so they get their way.”
Golden raised a brow. “What way?”
“I dunno, but my guts are telling me something.”
Matilda leaned out of the audience booth, between the two. “Oh dear, does my Doodle have a tummy ache?”
“Not now Matilda!” Cranky shouted.
Neighsay slammed his gavel once more. “Silence! Now, by this point, Flam was Flim who was Flam while being Flam to trick Flim into thinking he’s Flim that was Flam who was still Flam but also Flim to the waitress but Flam to the barmaid.”
Both stallions nodded.
“So, when did you two meet Miss Harvest?”
Flim opened his mouth, then closed it. Flam did the same.
“Uh, actually, your honor, we’re not sure.”
“At that point, things got a little fuzzy.”
Neighsay brought out the final, and much larger, receipt. “So whoever was Mister Harvest, racked up a three thousand, four hundred and twelve bit tab at that party.”
“To be!” Golden shouted, “we’re not married yet! Or at all, for that matter!”
“Yet several ponies gave eye witness testimonies to seeing you, Golden Harvest, with one of these two stallions constantly, even… holding hooves.”
Several ponies in the audience gasped, and the Flower Sisters fainted. The drummer in the corner played a quick tune.
“And touching muzzles.”
More gasps, and more ponies fainting.
“In public, no less. That sounds a whole lot like a happily married couple to me,” Neighsay looked down at Golden Harvest.
The mare sat there, dejected.
“Your honor,” Cranky stood, walking from the table to approach. “I’m sorry this has dragged on for so long, but can’t you clearly see these two have been playing you like a fiddle?”
A fiddle suddenly started up in the corner.
“These ponies would do, and did do, anything to tarnish my clients name and reputation in her hometown. The actions these two have done, ignoring what they freely admitted to just now, should show just that.
“You’ve seen it yourself! They keep switching places when you’re distracted, changing up their names back and forth. I insist, neigh, demand, that this all be thrown out and my client and these two go their separate ways, unhitched, and all financial burden on them, plus fifteen percent for her lawyer fees.”
“Wait, you said you were doing this for free!” Golden shouted.
“Learn to read the fine print, kid.”
Golden rested her head on the table, her face emotionless as her soul.
“So, what says you, your honor?” Cranky asked, a smirk on his face.
Neighsay rubbed his goutee, then with a nod slammed his gavel down.
“Contempt of court.”
“Wait, what?” Cranky’s ears shot up.
“Bailiff, escort this… ass out for making a mockery of my courtroom.”
“WHAT?” Cranky shouted.
Thunderlane swooped in, grabbing the donkey by his tail, and dragged him out.
“You can’t do this! You can’t doooooo thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis!”
The doors slammed shut.
“Now, that that’s settled. You two are idiots,” he pointed to the twins, “but I’m a firm believer in the pony only way, and the procreation of our dominant species as a whole.”
Neighsay turned to Golden. “You’re marrying them both. I expect foals by next year.” Gavel raised up in the air, he added, “Dismissed.”
Golden’s jaw was slack, mouth wide open.
Both stallions began sweating. “O-oh, you can’t really do that.” Flam said.
“Right, right, don’t we have a say in this?” Flim pulled again at his tie.
Neighsay left the gavel hovering, “Oh? Can’t I? I think I just did.”
“Well, we can’t get hitched, you see.”
“Yeah, yeah, not both of us at least.”
“And why, pray tell, is that?”
Flam swallowed hard. “Because one of us is already married, just we don’t know who.”
“Or with whom.” Flam added.
Silence rang.
A blue hoof shot up in the air. “Trixie volunteers!”
“Sold!” The gavel finally slammed down. “Twin stallions to the blue mare in the back! You three have one month to pay Golden Harvest back for her debt. Court is dismissed.” Another gavel swing, and Chancellor Neighsay stood and walked out.
Ponies began to file out, the band in the corner performing a soothing outro.
Slowly, as ponies filed out, Golden Harvest watched as another pony came out, and dragging Flim and Flam behind her, Trixie was off with them to get married. Or remarried.
Probably. Whatever.
Time lost all meaning as the mare sat there, in her seat, looking around the now empty courtroom.
“Well, we did it, kid.”
Golden jumped, and looked to her left at the open window, where Cranky was resting on the sill.
“You got thrown out of court! How did we do anything!”
“Because without my help you’d already be married and stuck between a Flim Rock and a Hard Flam.”
“Ew. Don’t say that.”
Cranky shrugged. “Hey, you were the one holding hooves and muzzle scrunching with one of them.”
Golden Harvest let out a sigh. “Yeah, there’s a valuable lesson here somewhere.”
Cranky nodded his head. “Yeah, that I should have charged more than fifteen percent.”
“You’re an ass.”
“That I am, kid. That I am.”