//------------------------------// // Indulgent Issues // Story: A Few Highs and Lows... // by Some Leech //------------------------------// With the sun having just crested, starting its descent towards the horizon, the man and mare swung by the Carousel Boutique, dropped off Nord’s shirt for mending, then began their return back home. The path they chose wasn’t the fasted, though it would lead them by Sugarcube Corner and a number of the other eateries in town. Even if Anon was still stuffed from earlier, the vicious competition from earlier had apparently helped his friend work up an appetite. “You want anything in particular?” he asked, cocking his head and glancing over at her. “Something sweet? Maybe something savory?” Impassively shrugging to herself, she lazily eyed the various shops and stalls they passed. “Nah, ah dinnae care. Juist feeling a bawherr peckish.” “Did someone mention sweets?!” an animated voice chirped, causing the pair to turn. Hopping onto the titanic mare’s back, like a sucrose-fueled acrobat, Pinkie Pie casually seated herself. “If you two are hungry, I have just the thing for - WHOOP!” she giggled, shaken free by the gigantic equine. “Begone, sugar de'il, ah’ll hae none o` yer evil promises!” Nord barked, raising a hoof to strike the Element of Laughter. “Wait!” Anon pled, stepping between the two and averting a catastrophe. “She’s ok, I promise,” he added, disarming his overly suspicious guest. With Nord assuaged - at least, for the time being - he squatted down and brought himself to Pinkie’s eye level. “You said you had just the thing for…?” “We’re hosting a competitive eating competition down at Sugarcube Corner! Whoever can eat the most food wins!” the hyperactive pony explained. “If you friend here entered, you two might even have a chance to defeat the reigning champion!” she added, stifling a titter. “After all - Snrk - this big mare probably eats like a horse.” Self-aware humor and nonsensical probability of stumbling upon two competitive events in one day aside, Anon saw no reason not to go for it - that was, if Nord was game. Considering her staggering appetite, he’d be more than happy to pay for her to glut herself on whatever fare Pinkie and the Cakes were serving. Looking over to his companion, he cocked his head. “Want to give it a shot?” he inquired. “Whit's oan th' menu?” Nord responded, peering over at the pink party pony. “Oats!” Pinkie exclaimed, excited hopping in place. “And we’ll make ‘em however you want! Doesn’t matter how they’re cooked! The only thing that does matter is who can pack the most away!” “And the cost?” Anon pressed, raising a brow. “Only ten bits! The Cakes mostly do it to thin out their reserves; it’s better than letting supplies go bad!” the hyperactive mare replied. Pushing himself up, Anon stood. Though he hadn’t expected to stumble across two contests in one day, the opportunity was too good to pass up. Not only would he get some additional entertainment for the day, but there was a very real possibility that they’d win more bits for themselves; add to that his roommate would undoubtedly get a full belly and he was completely sold on the idea. Dipping his head in the direction of the bakery, he extended his arm. “Lead the way.” With the giggling Pinkie Pie bouncing along ahead of them, the duo strolled along towards Sugarcube Corner. After a short walk, the pastry shop came into view. Unlike the flock which Flim and Flam had gathered, only a handful of ponies dallied around the bakery. Along with the small crowd, a number of tables had been arranged end to end. A small cooking area was set up to the side, where Mr. and Mrs. Cake worked over a massive, bubbling cauldron. The sight was relatively commonplace for such competitions, with one exception - there only appeared to be one other contestant present. Seated before a large, empty bowl, with a bib tied neatly around her neck, a mint green mare rested with her eyes closed. She almost looked like she was meditating or silently psyching herself up, tranquilly waiting for the event to begin. Moving around the spectator side of the tables, Nord proceeded around to her competitor’s side. It was quite the little setup, although it did raise a question. Though there was more than enough room for nearly a dozen ponies to stuff themselves, there were only the two contenders present. Unless they were very early, something felt off. “Hey, Pinkie,” he called, catching the cheerful pony’s ear, “where is everyone?” “Unless we get a last minute entry, you’re looking at them,” she grunted, hauling an obscene sack of oats towards one of the outdoor cooking stations. Weaving through the crowd, he moved towards the baker. “Why? Even if you’re just serving oats, you should have ponies lining up for this!” “Oh we used to, until Lyra started competing,” Pinkie grumbled, shooting a cold look in the minty mare’s direction. “Ever since she started coming, contestants stopped showing up.” Flummoxed, Anon scratched his head. “Why?” “Because she always wins! There isn’t a single pony, gryphon, kirin, changeling, yak, or dragon who’s even gotten close to beating her. It’s like she’s an oat eating machine!” she squawked, waving at the seated pony. Anon suppressed a chuckle, dismissing the impossible claims that a regular pony could accomplish such voracious feats. There was simply no way yak could be out-eaten by a pony, let alone a modestly sized one like Lyra. Setting his entry fee near the gathered oats, dried fruits, and various spices, he just had one last question that needed to be addressed.  “So how does this usually play out?” “Something like this,” Pinkie began, waving at the pair of contestants. “What type of oats do you want?” “Wi’ honey!” Nord declared. Shuffling closer to the table, Lyra smiled. “Rum raisin for me.” As their orders were completed, the Cakes and Pinkie went to work. Dividing the cooked oats into two equal portions, ladling the thick stuff into two large bowls, the trio worked to season the dishes accordingly. Nord’s insanely huge portion was mixed with honey, butter, and a pinch of salt, while Lyra’s received a splash of rum flavoring, raisins, spices, and brown sugar. In a matter of minutes, the two competitors had what appeared to be a gallon of gruel sitting in front of themselves, though that wasn’t what concerned Anon. For some reason, instead of going to watch the competition, the Cakes were starting up a second batch of oats. Unless they were planning on giving the stuff away or possibly selling it to spectators, he couldn’t understand why they were cooking more cereal. “Aaaaaaaaaaand GO!” Pinkie shouted, signalling the match to begin. The duo of mares went face first into their bowls, loudly and very messily wolfing down mouthful after mouthful of the prepared grains. Despite Lyra being roughly a quarter of Nord’s size, she was devouring the oats with as much zeal and efficiency as her foe. The sight made Anon a bit uneasy, though he tried to convince himself it was nothing to be concerned about. Of course he didn’t have anything to worry about; there was simply no way in hell the little minty mare could win… On and on the pair went, chowing down like it was their last day on Equestria. The only breaks they gave themselves were to breath, take a swig of water, or to mop the errant gobbet from near their eyes. It was an awe inspiring sight - doubly so, given the disparity of their sizes - and the crowd absolutely loved it. The reigning champion was the first to finish her bowl, mopping her face and raising her hoof. “Number two!” Nord wasn’t far behind, polishing off her serving and waving at the bakers. “Oi!” And so Anon was privy to one of the most bizarre sights he’d ever seen - which was saying a lot, given all the weird shit he’d been privy to. It wasn’t until they’d each cleared their third bowl that he noticed something as curious as it was terrifying. Seated as they were, resting on their haunches, he could see their bloated bellies beneath the table - well, no, only one bloated belly… Nord’s tummy grew heavy with what had to be nearly twenty pounds of oats, whereas Lyra’s stomach looked pristine. The little green mare was definitely eating the food, but it didn’t seem to be affecting her in the slightest. He couldn’t tell if it was some bullshit unicorn gimmick or not, but her pace didn’t slow either - whereas his behemoth companion did just that. As the fifth serving came and went, Anon realized they were screwed. Sweating, heaving air into herself, Nord languidly shoved the empty container aside and warily lifted a forehoof. Her foe was nearly three portions ahead of her and showed no signs of stopping. As implausible as it was, things were looking dire. “O...Oi!” the fiery maned mare croaked, drawing Pinkie’s attention. With a hop, skip, and literal jump, a sixth bowl was delivered. The giantess clearly wasn’t ready to throw in the towel, yet she faltered. Peering down at her gruel, possibly grappling with some deep, existential dread, she buried her muzzle in the sweetened cereal and started chewing away - that was, until her eyes rolled back. Her body went slack, collapsing atop and subsequently flipping the table onto her limp form. Muttering an incomprehensible string of expletives together, Anon dashed over to her. “Nord? Nord?!” After a few well placed and resounding slaps failed to rouse her, he pried open one of her blurry, unfocused eyes. She was definitely breathing, which meant she wasn’t dead, but she was definitely unconscious - honestly, he couldn’t say how bad off she was, since he wasn’t a horse doctor. Squatting over her, wondering what he could do, a frizzy pink shape bounded over and came to rest beside him. “Another year, another championship,” Pinkie sighed, watching Lyra victoriously lift her bowl. “I don’t care about that!” Anon barked, tenderly stroking his friend’s mane. “We need to get her to a doctor!” “Doctor?” the party pony balked. “She doesn’t need a doctor, she needs a nap. Wait right here.” Kneeling at Nord’s head, his concern eased just a bit. The mare’s breathing was deep and steady, meaning she was probably ok - well, besides the possible diabetic coma. Before he knew what was happening, Pinkie returned with an oversized wheelbarrow. “Help me get her on here,” she remarked, digging her hooves under the mare. Anon nodded and complied, hauling Nord’s slack form into the industrial wheelbarrow. It took Pinkie, the Cakes, and himself to accomplish the task, but they managed to heave her onto the wagon. Though the vehicle groaned under the weight, it withstood the load of the softly snoozing mare. Wiping his brow, dreading the thought of lugging her home, he halfheartedly smiled over at Pinkie. “Thanks,” he huffed, “I’ll bring the cart back later.” “No rush! Maybe she’ll have better luck next year!” Pinkie tittered, hopping away to help with the cleanup. With little else to do, the man arduously wheeled his companion in the direction of his abode. Though there were still a few hours left in the day, he had little doubt that he’d be exhausted after wrestling Nord inside - if he could wrestle Nord inside. It was an odd end for an odd day, but he wasn’t going to complain - if anything, he felt a little bad. Literally passing out wasn’t a fitting end for his guest’s day, especially after she’d won them a ton of bits. Humming to himself, he mused on how he could make it all up to her...