//------------------------------// // The Rap (Battle) // Story: Of Apples and Roses and Thick Purple Proses // by RavensDagger //------------------------------// The mare cracked open her front door, allowing a sliver of the pre-dawn’s yellow light to slip into her home. With a sigh and a bent back, she reached out and fumbled around with her forehoof on the flower-patterned mailbox beside her door. The cold, metallic clapper gave way as she tossed it aside and shoved her head into the box, pulling out of it a thick stack of envelopes that burdened both her mouth and mind It was that time of the month again. Turning, Roseluck trudged back into her home, her delicate crimson and rose tail dragging along the wooden floor, brushing dust around before she bucked at the door and slammed it shut. Letters in mouth, she moved across the apartment and to the side of her dining-room table that had only two chairs around it: one well-worn and the other collecting dust. With a sigh, she dropped the letters on the tabletop and lifted a hoof up to them, gently pushing them aside and staring at the names. The first was the electric bill, one that had decreased since the construction of Ponyville’s own dam. The second was the mortgage of both the shop and the house tied to it. The third was as thick as her hoof—or almost—and was filled with the hospital bills that she had accrued after years spent around Raindrops. The last of the bills gave way to an assortment of useless pamphlets that she flung onto the table. This isn’t good. I’m behind already, and at this rate, I’ll be living on Raindrops’ couch in no time... does she even have a couch? Or a home? She spun around and fixed her gaze on the simple wooden door with the tiny window, one that gave her a perfect view of the morning sky. Beside the threshold, and sitting squarely in the centre of a coffee-stained bedstand, was a thick pile of papers, papers that held her poems for that day: Twenty different pieces of her best literary trials and favourite verses, her only chance at victory. Hooves tapping dejectedly at the ground, the mare moved to the door’s side, picked up the package, and opened the door. Right in her face was a bright yellow beacon of happiness, glee and despair. With a shriek, Roseluck tumbled backwards, hooves flailing and her entire stack of papers fluttering noisily through the air before tumbling back down and over her head. “Should’ve used a paperclip,” Raindrops said as she flipped up and off the roof to land on Ponyville’s rough road in a clattering of hooves. Bending over, the pegasus used her wings to pick up the scraps of paper, tossing them into a haphazard pile on the ground beside her. “So, what’s got you so spooked?” she asked, twisting her head to one side. “The semi-semi-finals? Snogging Big Mac while almost nopony was looking? The fact that your mane looks like my bedroom after a night of rough... uh... Scrabble?” Groaning, Roseluck twisted onto all fours and pushed herself up. Okay, this day went from bad, to worse, to having Raindrops in it. “Hi, Drippy. What’re you doing here at,” she said, glancing at a wall-mounted clock, “7A.M.? The contest doesn’t start until ten.” “Well, I saw that you were out and about, and I figured you could use a little moral support! It’s going to be a big-big day!” the pegasus said, her face contorting into an enormous grin. Saw that I was out and about? I was in my own... no, not going there. Roseluck picked up the sheet, noting absently that they were in a completely wayward order, and that the great majority had been trampled, crushed, or bent out of shape. “Yeah, a big-big day...” she repeated. “Uh-huh,” her friend agreed, head bobbing up and down fiercely while her aquamarine mane swished with it, filling Roseluck’s nostrils with the unfortunate scent of shampoo and turtles. She didn’t ask questions. “So! I was thinking...”—Roseluck groaned—“I got a pamphlet to go to Aloe and Lotus’ spa, and I figured you’d like to come with me.” Roseluck blinked at her friend, mouth working soundlessly as she silently repeated the proposition to herself. That... doesn’t sound half-bad. “I— thanks for the offer, but I couldn’t afford it; I should go back and practice some more...” “Oh, please. We both know that you know that I know that you know every piece and part and line of all those poems. Stop whining and come with me. I’ll even pay.” The mare stomped a forehoof on the ground and tried her best to pout and smile at the same time. Roseluck sat down and began slipping the crumpled pages into her waiting saddlebags, occasionally glancing at her forlorn reflection on a nearby pane of glass. Well, I guess it couldn’t do too much harm. “Okay, fine. A quick combing of my mane and maybe a small hooficure won’t hurt. But first, why’re you here?” Raindrops shook her head silently before talking in a low, grave tone. “Rosey, we don’t want to go there. Trust me.” She placed a hoof on Rose’s shoulder. “Let’s just get to the spa and find another subject to talk about. Something not as awkward. Like your imminent marriage into the Apple family.” What little spittle Roseluck had escaped in a rainbow-spray that crossed the room before she began to cough frantically. “Ah,” Raindrops began, scratching at the nape of her neck. “Too soon?” The beige mare nodded, her body still wracked by rough coughs as her face turned the same shade as an enraged Scootaloo. “Just shut up and take me to the spa.” Nodding sagely, Raindrops backed out of the flower shop's apartment and sat on the roadway beyond. For a few magical moments, Roseluck was alone in her house. She rushed across the building, picking up her saddlebags and spending a few wasteful seconds staring at the great mound of dirty dishes surrounding her sink—most of which were bowls that had recently held unfortunate quantities of ice cream. Maybe later, she thought before she trotted back to the door, tossing her precious poems into her bags and heading out. Her irises burned as the full light of the dawning sun over Ponyville assaulted her. Turning away from the radiant light, Roseluck brought her focus back to her marefriend, who happened to be staring at her outstretched wing with glazed-over eyes. A few of the town’s early risers were glancing at her with undisguised curiosity as they walked by. “Drippy?” she asked, grabbing the pegasus’ attention. “What are you... no, let’s just go, all right?” Raindrops finished her staring then shifted her haunches. The townsponies’ glances became all-out staring. “Yeah! C’mon, follow me! I’ll even walk to make it easy,” she said before galloping ahead. Almost immediately, Roseluck lost sight of the excited mare as she spun around a corner, hooves scraping against the gravelly path and sending a tall plume of dust billowing across the street and onto the ponies standing around. Sighing, she set after Raindrops at a brisk pace, murmuring vague excuses to those she passed. Roseluck trotted around the corner, and stared at Raindrops before rolling her eyes. The pegasus was sitting in front of a boutique, tail swishing from side to side as she waited with bated breath for her friend to catch up. “It’s over here,” she said, pointing at the building behind her. Jammed between two businesses was a tiny storefront, merely two windows with a door wedged between them, as if the builder had had an after thought and decided that there was enough space for just one more on the long row. Above the pristine white walls of the spa was a sign that read, A and L's Spa-tacular: Massages, Moans and Mud Baths. “Um,” Roseluck said as she looked down the somewhat unfamiliar street, searching for another place they might have been heading to. Nothing matched what she sought; every other building was either a shop or a house of some kind or another. “Right....” Hopping ahead, Raindrops grasped at the handle with a wing-tip, then tore the door open with the frantic jingling of a bell. “Come on, it’s sweet in there!” she said as Roseluck slipped ahead and into the spa. She was immediately assaulted by the thick, cloying scent of a hundred perfumes, shampoos and billowing clouds of steam. Through the puffy clouds of white-grey vapours, she could make out the vague outlines of a circular room, one filled with a few wooden benches, plastic potted plants—which she cringed at—and a hole in the far wall. “Yo, ’sup,” said a pink mare within the box before she spat out a hoof-file and sent it flying across her tiny office and into an upturned cup filled with similar tools that clattered as they rejoined each other. “What’re ya here for?” she asked in a gruff tone. “I’m here for the spa... stuff...” Roseluck said, scratching at her foreleg. The blue-maned mare rolled her eyes and sighed in a single gesture of infinite impatience. “All right, which sort of treatment,” she asked, reaching out to tap against a wooden board nailed to the wall beside her cubicle. On said board were a dozen treatments, ranging from The Chiropractor to The Meat-Bag Tenderizer. “Uhh...” “We’ll take the full treatment!” Raindrops shouted as she pranced into the room with a straight back and a proud beam. The steam began to waft out of the open door, wisps of it flirting with the colder air outside. “My friend here’s about to become a very popular somepony; she needs to look, and smell, her best!” Roseluck stared at Raindrops. “‘And smell?’ What’s that mean?” At her desk, the spa pony began to fill out some forms as Raindrops leaned to her friend’s side, whispering conspiratorially. “Well, you smell like a pony that cares for flowers.” “Isn’t that a good thing?” she seethed back, red-faced. “Well, it would be, but to care for those flowers, you need... well... fertilizers.” Another pony trotted into the room, this one the counter-mare’s polar opposite with a pink mane that clashed against her blue coat. “Hello everypony!” she said by way of greeting, her voice high-pitched and giddy. “I’m Lotus.” Finally, a normal shopkeeper, Roseluck thought as she watched the spa-pony point to her pink companion. “And that’s my evil twin, Aloe. We’ll be caring for you today.” They both bowed, one deeper than the other. “Ah, this is going to be sweet!” Raindrops said as she bounced to the counter, stared at the sheet presented to her and quickly signed it with a flourish, marking the page with her unreadable scrawl before turning towards the next door and walking through it. “C’mon, Rosey, we’re going to get our appendages sharpened and our manes scented pretty.” Reluctantly, the flower-flanked mare stepped after her friend, trotting into the marble-tiled room next the the foyer with delicate taps of her hooves. Lotus led them ahead, tail swishing from side-to-side as they crossed a series of lounge chairs, some screened-off areas, and finally a jacuzzi, the miniature swimming pool gurgling and chugging the chlorinated liquid. The spa mare spun around and gave her only two customers a dignified, restrained smile. “So, ladies. Where do you wish to begin?” she asked, her voice travelling across the vaulted ceilings of the spa. Raindrops’ attention was everywhere, her eyes flicking from one corner of the surprisingly large room to another. “You pick, Rosey,” she absently said. “Um, well, to be honest I’m not really familiar with this sort of,” Roseluck gestured around, “this sort of place. So, maybe...” Lotus’ smile changed, becoming kind and comprehending. “That’s fine. You’re not the first spa-virgin we’ve received. How about you scoot on over to the steam room for a quick moment, then into the mineral baths and finally a quick massage? Perhaps a mud bath later, if you’re feeling adventurous?” “Ah!” Raindrops exclaimed, her wings twitching as she turned her full attention to Lotus. “It’s been years since I’ve played in the mud! Last time I got arrested.” “All right, all of that, minus the mud bath.” Roseluck’s smile strained while Lotus knowingly led them to the spa’s far end. There, the blue mare opened a door and stepped aside as a massive plume of thick steam slithered out. Within, Roseluck could only just make out the outlines of smooth, wooden benches and walls, all surrounding a chest-high tower that poked out of the centre of the floor. It’s a prison, she realised. A holding cell made expressly to steam-cook her poor pony loins. “How about we skip straight to the bathing?” she asked, smile strained at the edges. Lotus immediately complied, closing the door with a solid whoosh and thunk. “Please, come this way then,” she said with the deep patience of one who had done this before. Roseluck sighed, then began following the mare, casting her friend a quick look before moving on. For her part, Raindrops just shrugged her wings and marched on, seemingly content with just having her friend nearby. This is odd. Raindrops was happy to bring me here, which is fine, she thought while her hooves clacked on the shiny floor. At the entrance, another mare slipped in and trotted around with familiarity. But now that we’re here, she’s... docile? I understand that she wants this to be fun for me too, but.... Behind a set of artfully decorated folding screens was a row of baths, all of them already filled with bubbling water, each bubble that burst released the cloying aroma of sweet oils and soft lavenders. Oh, this I can get into! Lotus dipped a hoof into one of the baths and skimmed it across the surface, quickly gauging the heat before she reached out, grabbed a long, fluted glass jar from a nearby end-table, and poured some beads into two of the baths. Almost immediately, thick patches of bubbly white foam coated the watery surface. “I imagine you two mares can take care of yourselves?” Lotus asked. “Of course, thank you,” Roseluck replied, bowing her head slightly. “Perfect. Then how about I grab those saddlebags and put them behind the front desk? They’d be rather cumbersome in the tub.” Roseluck blushed, slipping out from beneath the rucksacks as quickly as she could, letting them tumble to the ground with a series of heavy thumps. With a quick swipe, Lotus picked up the bags and sashayed away. Okay, now for a quick dip— Above the tub opposite her own floated Raindrops, the mare suspended in the air by the quick beats of her wings. On her face was a cruel, mischievous smile. “Drippy, don’t,” Roseluck said. The mare snapped her wings shut and came plummeting down. With a fierce slap, her body punctured the water, sending great waves of liquid and white foam flying in every direction, only to be swallowed by the grated floor-caps. “Now that, that, was awesome,” Raindrops sighed as she bobbed up and placed her hooves along the bath’s edge. Gently, the bubbles slid back around her, forming a pillow that surrounded her frame. Roseluck blinked at her friend, then rolled her eyes, deciding to get into her own bath instead of wasting precious time questioning Raindrops’ motives in life. Forehoof first, the mare slid into the warm liquid. It was bliss. The warmth spread up her limbs, soothing and relaxing her tense muscles and loosening parts of her she wasn’t even aware were there. “Oh, this is nice,” she whispered, diving beneath the surface. The water swept through her mane and coat, fingers of heat massaging their way through her fur and pressing against her skin. “Ohh, this is really good.” “Yup,” Raindrops replied, sliding deeper into her tub. “Yeah.... Do you do this often?” she asked, her eyes half-lidded. “Eeyup.” The simple imitation sent a few warning bells ringing through Roseluck’s mind. Oh, right, the competition’s today... but I have time, right? she thought as she languidly floated in the scented waters. “So, still nervous?” her friend asked from within her own tub. Roseluck remained quiet, pondering for a moment. “No, I guess not.” She peeked at Raindrops from the corner of her eye. “Thanks, I needed this,” she admitted. “Hey, no problem, anything to take your mind off of Big Macintosh and your inevitable marriage!” Roseluck groaned. “Did you really have to bring that up?” she asked, only to be answered by a thick silence. “Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I know what you’re up to, Drippy. You want to make me spill the beans, that’s why you’re relaxing me. “ The mare allowed a little, sly smile to cross her lips. “Maybe.” “What did you want to know?” Roseluck asked, feeling somehow lenient as the bath drew out her tension. Time was slowing to a crawl. “Rosey, you know I only want you to be happy. And I think that Mac’s good for you.” She sighed. “You two make a great couple, and I look forward to being beside you the entire time.” “Yeah... but, what if it’s going too quickly?” Roseluck asked, her own question startling her. Is that what the issue really was? That it’s going too fast? “Oi, it’s not your first relationship,” Raindrops said, skimming a hoof across the water’s surface. “Remember Gustav le Grande?” As curtly as she could, Roseluck interjected.“We agreed not to talk about that.” “Whatever. The point is, you know what a relationship is like: they take time to develop. But love’s something else entirely. That’s like... boom, headshot! And then you’re married and have six foals.” “... Uh-huh. Right. But I still feel like it’s sudden.” She tapped the now-tepid water. “Just last week, we were still bumbling foals. We could hardly talk, and now he went along and took my mouth’s virginity.” It was then that Roseluck’s senses decided to inform her that Lotus was standing nearby. The mare smiled at her kindly, then moved between the two tubs, a pair of clean towels bouncing on the arch of her back. “Oh, don’t stop for little old me. Do go on...” “N-no, it’s fine,” Roseluck stammered, sinking below the lukewarm water and wishing she could vanish. Darn Raindrops, making me flap my tongue around like that. “Come on now,” the spa-mare teased. “Out with the secrets!” Roseluck sank deeper, only the top of her head and the tip of her muzzle sticking out and blowing away a layer of bubble bath. “Aww, she’s shy,” Raindrops said. “Don’t worry, I know all the details! Even the ones I made up myself.” Lotus made a point of paying attention to Raindrops as she gently placed a towel on the edge of each bath. “So, Big Mac, is like way in love with Rosey here. And she likes him back,” Raindrops began to prattle, ignoring the fierce glares from her friend. “And so, through my exceptional and amaranthine wisdom, I decided to pick a fight with Applejack.... That was a few days ago.” The spa mare blinked, arching an eyebrow as she waited for more. “See, I needed the two to spend time together, so I figures I could get the two to participate in that poetry slim thing—” Roseluck splashed out of the tub in a single fell swoop, slid across the floor and jammed her pretty beige hoof in her friend’s mouth. “Drippy, I don’t think the nice spa-lady needs to hear every little detail. And it’s called a slam, not a slim.” “I’d like to hear the details,” Lotus said rather weakly. The three stared at each other, expressions mixing from barely-concealed hostility, to curiosity, to a form of pure mischief. “Maybe later,” Roseluck conceded before she grabbed the soft, cottony towel and began rubbing herself dry. With a shrug, Raindrops slithered out, then shook herself like a dog. Thousands of droplets took to the air, creating rainbows through the room’s soft lighting before splattering onto every surface. “So, now we get massaged, right?” she asked while stretching out her wings and wringing out the last drops of water. A wet-maned Lotus grinned. “Oh, yes, I can’t wait to get my hooves on you,” she said, surveying the mess left behind. “Please, come this way.” Grumbling under her breath, yet visibly trying to restrain her anger and keep her composure, the blue mare spun around and marched away, hooves delicately clicking on the marble floor. Roseluck followed, pitying the mare, but knowing that it could be far, far worse. One never knows with Drippy around. She led them across the room and to a circular portion of the room, one beside the hot tub she had noticed on entering. There, six beds stood, all lined up with enough space between them for a mare to stand comfortably. “Please, lay down,” Lotus asked sweetly, crossing the beds and turning to face them. Roseluck stared at the angled beds for a moment, doubting them. Well, the bath felt wonderful, so I guess this might be okay.... Taking the initiative, Raindrops leapt to the air, and dove onto the bed, landing on it with a firm thump. Okay then, Roseluck thought as she—with a slightly more reserved enthusiasm—climbed on. The suede-covered cushions sank under her weight, just enough to feel comfortable without losing the firm support it gave her. She tried to relax, her limbs sticking out on the sides and sprawling out behind her in a gangly fashion, the cool beginning to steal her warmth. Lifting her head, the mare looked at Lotus as she was joined by Aloe, the pink mare stretching and making her limbs pop as she got ready. Lotus, the calmer of the two, trotted over to Roseluck’s side and leaned low. “Have you ever received a massage before?” “No, not really. I sorta know how it works,” she said, idly watching as Aloe headed to Raindrops’ side. “Don’t worry then. I’ll be really slow at first, then I’ll try to work the knots out of you.” She reared onto her hind legs and, as gently as she could, placed a warm hoof on Roseluck’s shoulder. “How about you tell Aloe and I about this romantic bout of yours? We love our gossip!” Roseluck frowned. Didn’t I just tell her that I didn’t want to talk about i— Raindrops howled. From her vantage point, she could only see her friend’s wings and legs arching out in every direction, followed by deep thumping smacks and the cracking of bones. “Okay, I’ll talk!” she squeaked. Lotus smiled and applied a little pressure with the flat of her hoof, slowly kneading the tense muscles of Roseluck’s back. “That’s better. Now, if I overheard correctly, you said something about Big Macintosh?” Roseluck’s blood decided to rush to her face in a rather unpleasant manner. “Yes, Mister Macintosh and I have been, um, well....” She coughed. “They’ve been doing lewd things during the halftime,” Raindrops said before she cut herself off with a deep groan. Roseluck stiffened. “That’s not true! We just kissed a little!” “Ah.” Lotus pressed with her hoof, untying a knot in Roseluck’s back. “So, he likes you too, huh? Well, aren’t you lucky; Mister Macintosh is a very fine gentlecolt.” She moved her hooves, applying pressure on another point, then gently relieving it. “I know more than one mare that had their eyes on him. I’d watch over my prize if I were you.” “Prize? He’s not a prize... and it’s not really that... official, yet.” Lotus kept rubbing her hoof, then began pressing various points along the mare’s back, to the point that she cringed and bit her lip to restrain her moan. Oh, Goddess she’s good. “So, not official, but you like him?” “Yes,” Roseluck squeaked as the talented blue mare began working down her back.   “And he likes you back?” Lotus said with a sing-song voice. She could do little more than nod her head and try not to squeal too embarrassingly as Lotus worked her magic. “Then what’s the problem? Why aren’t you out there picking apples right now?” She leaned forward, whispering into Roseluck’s perked ear. “I hear they grow them big down at the farm.” Roseluck swallowed hard, then gasped as Lotus put her full weight into her work. “I-I-I, I feel like it’s going too—oh sweet Celestia’s crispy flanks that’s good—it’s going too fast with Macintosh and I...” Her hip popped, and the mare groaned, face crashing into the pillow. Aloe pushed off of a twitching Raindrops, hooves clacking on the bedside as she joined the conversation. “Oi, I was around during that poetry thing—good job yesterday by the way, the both of ya—and I saw Mac doing his thing. Now, if it were me, and I ain’t like most ladies, but I’d have conked him over the head by now, dragged him to the nearest chapel, and we’d be halfway to Appleloosa by now.” “Appleloosa?” Lotus asked. Aloe shrugged. “In the desert, nopony can hear you scream.” The pink mare paused, brows furrowing in thought. “Or was that in outer space?” She blinked a few times, chewed her gum, then hopped back onto the bed’s side and went back to work torturing Raindrops’ back. “Anywho, go on with the too fast thing.” “Hmm, right. I feel like I haven’t known Macintosh long enough for him to... get me.” Roseluck said as Lotus began to climb back up, working her back like a piece of raw meat being tenderized, and she loved it. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she let out a low, shuddering breath. “What do you want in a stallion?” Lotus asked. The spa-mare continued her ministrations while Roseluck tried to think. The constant touching, probing and rubbing of her back did little to help her focus. What do I want in a stallion? she wondered as a tiny smile crossed her lips. “He would protect me without being stifling. I'm not looking for drastic passion, but the slow, deep kind of love that is nurtured like my roses; we would bloom, supported by the quiet strength of the earth and bolstered by the warmth of the sunshine. He needn't be flashy or brash, like a waterfall or racing current; I would prefer still and calm waters that run deep, so that no matter how long we spend together, I'd never touch bottom. He would shield me like a warm sweater, in that soft sense of security and warmth, instead of armour which is heavy and inflexible. Oh, and he must be willing to share the same hobbies and motivations as I. “We would complement one another instead of clashing, and walk side by side instead of one or the other having to lead. Our silences would be the comfortable kind, without the need for the pointless buzzing of unnecessary words.” One that can give this sort of back-rub would be a bonus... a very big bonus. “Oh, and looking really, really handsome and all that would be a boon.” Raindrops stretched forward, looking out from behind the two colourful mares. “So, basically your perfect dream stallion would be Big Macintosh?” All four mares began to giggle as one, unable to avoid the awkward humour of the situation. Then the laughter died out, and Roseluck spoke once more. “I guess I see your points. I’ll talk to Big Macintosh again, and maybe we can work something out... a compromise of sorts?” Raindrops nodded heartily. “Yeah, then when he agrees, you snog him!” “Won’t ya be seeing him in that competition today?” Aloe asked. “The competition!” Roseluck shouted, standing erect upon the bed in the blink of an eye. “What’s the time?” Lotus trotted to the middle of the room, then glance at a wall-mounted clock in the entrance hall. “It’s nearly noon.” Roseluck hopped off the bed, her entire body flexing to the impact of landing in a way that it never had before. She felt much, much lighter, but she was still out of time. Her hooves assaulted the marbled ground beneath her, thundering as she sped ahead. “Thanks for everything!” she said, calling over her shoulder. “Raindrops will pay!” As the mare charged out the bell above the door rang and the sun touched her gleaming coat once more. Within the building behind her, Raindrops floated in the air, twiddling her hoof-tips together while the two spa-mares glared at her. Roseluck panted lightly as she exercised limbs that felt brand-new. Behind her was the constant whoosh of Raindrops’ wings beating up and down. They were late, really late. Oh Celestia, oh Luna, oh we’re going to get disqualified, then ridiculed, then I’ll lose face and my shop and.... The mare’s frenzied thoughts blanked out in a millisecond as she rounded the last corner between herself and the showgrounds. Hundreds had gathered, a sea of talking, chattering ponies of every age and shape, a veritable army of impatient fans that waved and fluctuated in a haphazard fashion. The bouncer-ponies of the previous day were running to and fro, trying to organize the too-big crowd and preserve some semblance of order. Within the cordoned-off area, the elite and those familiar with the event were gathered, glancing around themselves with a simple quiet. There’s so many, she thought, eyes growing until they were no longer proportionate to her face. Raindrops fluttered to a landing and hummed. “Cool. Guess we’re growing a fanbase, huh?” she said, nonplussed. She ruffled her wings, shaking them free and stretching. “There should be more, no?” she asked, furrowing her brows at the group. More ponies were arriving every second, attracted by the soon-to-start spectacle. Above them towered the boards that announced the participants of that day's tournament, and who would battle with whom. Roseluck swallowed with a suddenly dry throat as she saw her new adversary. I-I’m against Derpy Hooves? She shook her mane out, letting the clean strands flow along her sides. No, I can do this, I have my.... Oh my. Roseluck stared at her sides, sides that she could clearly see thanks to the very noticable lack of saddlebags. “My poems,” she whispered in horror. Gently, she looked up and along the homely row of pastel-coloured houses behind her. Can I make it? she wondered, mentally tracing the route back to the spa and trying to calculate the time. The erratic, mad beats of her heart made it hard to concentrate. “You won’t make it,” Raindrops said, reading her mind. “But don’t worry, I know that you know all of them like the back of your hoof. You can do it. Plus, the entire town’s here, and Big Mac. So if you mess up, it’ll be horrible! Could you imagine that? Never able to set hoof out of your shop again for fear of being laughed at? And it’d take years to get over it too! So, you’d better go up there, do your best, and not mess up.” She glared at her friend. “Thanks, that’s so helpful,” she said, voice overflowing with sarcasm. I guess it’s doable... maybe. “Good, glad to help!” Raindrops said before thumping Roseluck on the shoulder. “Now let’s get moving; we should probably be near the stage when it starts.” With both forehooves, Raindrops began to shove, drag, and goad Roseluck along, glaring and shouting at any that stood in their way. As they neared the cordoned-off area, Roseluck caught site of the show’s host, Inky Scribeswell, pulling his mane out at the sight of the less-than-quiet crowd. In the foremost row were six seats, two of them notably empty amongst the battle for placement that was ravaging around the area. In one of the seats was an unmistakable red stallion that peered into the crowd with his deep green eyes. Roseluck’s heart skipped a beat, and her entire focus wavered, turning into little more than jelly as she slid to the edge of the cordoned area and stared back. Their eyes met, and locked onto each other. Ignoring the small scuffle between Raindrops and a few of the bouncers, the infatuated mare lifted a hoof and waved at the stallion. He waved back. With a hop, skip and jump, the mare was over the red-velvet cordon and trotting down the aisle, ignoring the throngs of ponies as she focused on Big Macintosh. She rounded the corner, only a few steps away from the stage’s edge, and trotted over to the six chairs. Snowflake, the massive white pegasus, nodded politely to her while Derpy Hooves and Snails talked in hushed tones. Her attention, however, was solely on Big Macintosh as he stepped up and almost bowed to her. “H-hel-hello,” she stammered, then coughed, trying to disguise her fumbling. “Hello, Mister Macintosh.” “Hello, Miss Roseluck.” She glanced away, but her focus was pulled back to the massive stallion as if by gravity. “I... we should talk. About things... and stuff,” she said. Darn it, I sound like Raindrops. I’m a poet, why can’t I even string together a simple sentence?! “Let me rephrase that?” she asked, smiling timidly. To her great enjoyment, she noted that the stallion flushed red beneath his coat. “I, I really enjoy your company, and you’re the bravest, kindest stallion I know. And I do wish to be with you.” She gave the ground below an undue amount of attention. “But I fear that things are going a little too... fas—” “Ladies and gentlecolts,” Inky Scribeswell said from upon the stage, his speaker-enhanced voice blaring out over the crowd. At once, the chattering and small talk began to quell, with only the slow-on-the-uptake ponies gabbed on. “Will you all shut up?!” the host-pony screamed into the microphone, the sound punching through the air and knocking any strands of conversation out of the minds and mouths of all. “Thank you. The second day of our wonderful competition shall now begin.” Silent as a well-behaved bull in a china store, Big Macintosh led Roseluck to her seat and made sure she was comfortable before plopping down into his own spot. They sat side by side, trying to ignore the presence of one another while simultaneously reveling in it. Raindrops slipped across the air, performing an aerobatic tumble at the very last second before crashing into the stage, landing with with a thump in her seat. “Not late,” she proudly whispered as her wings ruffled along her sides. “I was hoping that you’d be really late,” Snails whispered back, “that way I wouldn’t have to embarrass a mare in front of all her friends.” A slow, evil smile crossed the mare’s lips as her entire face contorted into a cruel mask. “Are you saying I’m going to lose, little paste-eater?” Snails grinned back, too oblivious, or perhaps too stupid, to note the dangerous tone of the mare's voice. “Uh-huh. You’re going down, old lady.” Her eyes and wings twitched. “Oh, you are on!” Again, Inky Scribeswell coughed into the microphone. “If everypony agrees to remain silent, we will begin.” His grizzled old eyes swept across the much-larger crowd and he grumbled something incoherent. “The rules, ladies and gentlecolts, are elementary. The contestants shall take the stage in their respective pairings and then deliver their bardic performances. One at a time, mind you! We most certainly do not need to repeat last year's Lily-Daisy debacle, after all. The victor will be determined by our spectacular Clop-o-Meter, which functions, as I imagine you plebeian lot need to be reminded, by measuring your approval in an auditory manner. The louder the cheering and stomping for a given poet, the higher the rating they receive from our wonderfully impartial moderator of machinery! The conquering poet advances to the finals, to be held on the morrow. That is all.” He glared at them all, as if daring them to cheer then and there. “The only other rule is that there must be absolute silence at all times. No commenting, no jeering, no laughing. You can save your peasant-like foalishness for after the show.” He huffed, content that silence reigned. “Our first pair is Sir Snowflake and Sir Big Macintosh.” “Yeah, it’s my turn!” Snowflakes exclaimed as he hopped off his bench with a flutter of his wings and strutted up the steps and onto the stage, the entire construct bouncing under his gait. Big Macintosh followed at a slightly more subdued pace, bowing slightly to Roseluck before gently trotting away. His lips were twisted in a tiny, passionate smile that somehow complemented his size and strong muscular bulk. Roseluck heard a few mares behind her swallow hard. With a last adjustment of the microphone and its stand, Inky nodded and trotted off the stage and to the back of his desk where another such device waited. “Stallions, you may begin.” Big Macintosh was the first to talk, gently asking his compatriot if he wanted to be first. His voice carried over to the microphone in a soft, humming whisper. Snowflakes ‘yeahed’ then thumped forward and grabbed the device, brought it down to his muzzle, and began: This is an ode to the burn, to knowing what it's like to earn Biceps that make buffalo cry, pectorals to catch a mare's eye That ache when you push the extra mile makes me smile Screw wing-size, I can break trees with my thighs In my spotter I trust, yeahh, ten more squat-thrusts My pectorals are poetry and my deltoids delicious So don't think me oblique because I'm unique Protein shakes are tasty and nutritious When the cardio gets going problems fade away I'm an anaerobic machine and a metabolic dream Trim and fit, press and lift, twenty more reps If you want a piece of this you just gotta scream... YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! The first contender of the day always received the easiest cheers, and Snowflake was no exception. Everypony cheered, if not with gusto then with polite taps of their hooves punctuated by the occasional hoot or piercing whistle. The massive white stallion reveled in the cheers, bursting out “Yeahs!” that created feedback with the speakers and deafening half the crowd. The Clop-o-Meter ticked forward, the long metallic finger tapping the edge of the eighth digit. Oh no, he did really good, Roseluck thought as she looked at Big Macintosh. The red stallion was calm and composed as he aimed a genuine smile at the mare. Those behind her fainted, but she didn’t care. He made his way to the fore, taking gentle steps with dainty precision until he stopped a half-step from the podium. His green eyes surveyed the now-quiet crowd, digging into the soul of any and all with a fierce determination. His set and stance said that he was going to win, and his voice, as he opened his mouth and spoke, was decidedly going to prove it: “You are the apple of my eye. I have to continually reassure myself that I’m not living a dream. I feel so blessed that I want to cry. I constantly find myself asking “why?” For over other mares you reign supreme. You are the apple of my eye. There’s no glamour my profession would imply Which renders me awestruck that you hold me in such high esteem. I feel so blessed that I want to cry. You heal every plant under Celestia’s sky Nothing can wither beneath your radiant beam. You are the apple of my eye. My love for you I cannot deny, I adore you too much to win you over with a scheme. I feel so blessed that I want to cry. I will no longer fear things will go awry And something will happen for which I cannot redeem. You are the apple of my eye. I feel so blessed that I want to cry.” A hush fell over the assembled ponies as the last line, weak in tenor, yet powerful in meaning, echoed out through the air. Lifting his head, the stallion looked at them all. “I love you,” he spoke his final verse. The sound of hearts breaking, mares—and a few of the odder sort of stallion—gasping and bodies thumping to the ground as a clear lack of consciousness filled the area. Then the clapping began, started by Roseluck assaulting the ground with a fury and passion she was unaware she possessed and carried on by every pony within ear-shot. The Clop-o-Meter’s staff twitched, then shot up, passing the eight and reaching nine. The two stallions shook hooves, nodding to each other in a clean display of sportsponyship. Inky quickly stepped onto the stage and crossed over to its centre. With a small cough, he brought the microphone down to his head’s height and quipped into it. “We shall now have a small intermission, then continue with the competition with our second grouping. Miss Roseluck, and winner of three consecutive years, Miss Derpy Hooves.” With a curt nod, he walked off the stage. Roseluck blanched. I’m next? Already? But... I’m not ready! A warm hoof touched her back, patting her in an awkward attempt to instill some confidence in her. No! I can’t worry, she realised as Big Macintosh made his way to her, politely and kindly turning a few autograph book-toting mares away. He did so much for me. I have to return the favour. For him. For my home and business. And for my future. “Hello, Miss Roseluck,” he said. “Hello, Macintosh,” she replied, dropping part of her formality. “Hi, Mac Attack!” Raindrops shouted from behind the mare. A twin pair of glares shot her way, and quiet as a ghost, she returned to her seat, bickering with the colt beside her. “You’re ugly...” “So, Macintosh. That was... absolutely beautiful. I can only imagine how good that mare must feel right now,” she said, attempting to play coy and failing as her entire body flushed red and began panting against her wishes.   “Thank you,” he said, and, not for the first time, Roseluck was jealous of his coat, one that hid his emotions so well. Biting her lower lip, the mare flipped a mental coin, deciding whether or not to broach the delicate subject of their relationship so early in the day. It landed on heads. “So, um, I was wondering,” she began, hoof rising up and running along her forehoof. “About us. Are we a, um? You know?” “Eeyup.” She instantly brightened, feeling an enormous load being removed from her back. Now her heart soared, prodding and pushing in every feasible direction before twisting back to the stallion at her hooves. “Just to clarify, you’re talking about us being in, uh, in a relationship, right?” “E-eeyup.” The stallion looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack, sweat collecting beneath his mane. She took a little pleasure in the idea that reciting poetry about flowers in front of hundreds had little impact, but talking to her made him antsy. “Right, I wanted to talk to you about that actually....” He edged closer to the panic side of things. “It’s going too fast. I-I’m afraid that we’ll hurt ourselves if we take things too far. So, like responsible ponies, I suggest that we calm ou-ourselves and take it one step at a time. And get to know each other.” “Eeyup. Ah agree heartily.” “B-but that doesn’t mean we can’t do things. Together. With one another,” she said, twirling her hoof-tips together. “Eeyup.” She stammered on. “Like, being together, and visiting each other, and maybe.... kissing, and stuff. Maybe.” Inky momentarily saved her from further embarrassment as he hopped onto the stage and trotted back to his position behind the microphone. “Ladies and gentlecolts,” he said, commandeering immediate attention and quiet. “The second part of today’s competition is about to begin. I invite Miss Derpy Hooves and Miss Roseluck on stage.” She swallowed hard, vaguely aware that Derpy had taken to the air and swept over to the stage’s back, landing clumsily. At her side, Raindrops’ and Snails’ argument was reaching new heights. “Your friend’s going to lose,” he taunted before she smacked him upside the head. “Don’t worry,” Big Macintosh said, his tone soothing, comforting. “Even if ya don’t win, Ah’ll still... Ah’ll still love ya. And Ah can help financially if need be. Ya’ll’ll never have to worry.” She turned to him, eyes watery with sadness and pain. “You don’t get it, do you? You big oaf. I don’t want to need you. I’m my own mare, Mister Macintosh; you ought to learn that rapidly.” She turned and made her way around the stage and up the steps, her legs weak, just barely strong enough to support her. Did I just brush him off? she wondered, mind filling with a thousand stray thoughts, none of them poetic. “So, Roseluck,” Derpy said, a soft smile adorning her grey lips. Her eyes were cruel, mischievous. “Do you want to go first, or should I?” Going first gives your clopping ratio a boost. But I need time. Which poem? Which verse? Gah! “You can go, Derpy; thanks for offering.” Roseluck returned the smile and nodded politely. A single bead of sweat slid down her forehead. Ruffling her feathers and shifting her wide-eyed attention to the crowd, Derpy Hooves stepped up to the podium. With a deep, mournful sigh, she began: I wish I could be Be my own me; Find somepony who loves to see Me succeed. But all I receive is hate, Anger; no possible abate Why wont somepony love me? I want to succeed. I have dreams, too; Aspirations, desires; It is sings a beautiful tune, Its notes going ever higher But yet, I am forgotten; trampled; A delicate flower broken by animals. Why can’t I succeed? I want to be me. Through my rhymes, I try to tell a story. One not of fame nor glory. But of pain and hardship; struggle and sadness That would drive some into madness. Why am I ostracized?! Put down, vandalized! Do you all not realize That every single day, I cry? But today, I swear I will no longer wear A face of abuse; it will no longer be an excuse. I will face you all today And show you in this way That I... I am different. I am me. I am magnificent, Because I am me. Is it that hard to see? I want to succeed.... I want to be me.... Even before she uttered the last verse, ponies were standing and shouting, whistling and cheering. The mare acted abashed, blushing and looking away shyly until she turned around and winked at Roseluck. The beige mare didn’t pay attention to the Clop-o-Meter. Instead, she closed her eyes and allowed the words to flood through her. Prose, verse, rhyme and meter flowed around her, touching her, caressing her and whispering in her ear their sweet messages of love and unending fidelity. She visualised the rose and waited as the figurative petal hit the metaphorical ground. Opening her eyes, she was ready. A perfect star, soft in color Shining for all who approach it’s grand perch Five crimson points invite me t’wards A grand center of the world where I search For perfection. And hark! wonder Fills my soul, for this angel of the sky Has brought forth new life- perfect spheres Of desire and health. Share your love, milord With your caretaker, lest my tears Flow to the earth, giving life to your high Perfect tower. O, life-giver Of our town, show me your heart, like the stars From whence you came. To be restored To my true self, to remove cursed scars From my life, you must deliver Your love, your attention to my weary Soul. I see your magnificence And I am in awe. Truly, you reward Me simply with your mere presence. You remove from my life things so dreary I seek your love, my star so red The apple of my eye, which blossoms forth With beauty compared to, ignored Is my garden. With good reason: henceforth To the apple tree, I will wed My love. It shall be as grand a tower As those the fruit of the divines Call home. And as valuable a hoard As the delicious red, so shines Our orchard, as gorgeous as a flower. The crowd clopped their hooves on the ground politely, but they lacked the gusto of before. Only a few shouted, notably Big Macintosh and Raindrops, who hooted like mad ponies. Roseluck’s eyes peeled away from them and to the Clop-o-Meter, duly noting the slowly-rising bar: seven. In a daze, the beige mare watched as Inky Scribeswell climbed on stage and made his way to the microphone, gently staring at her with an emotion she never thought she’d see in him: pity. Stepping back to the device, he coughed lightly, and confirmed her worst nightmare. “The winner of our second round, Miss Derpy Hooves!” he exclaimed, raising a hoof and pointing it at the wall-eyed mare. I lost, she thought, not in fear or in anger or in anguish, but with a simple resonating defeat that coursed through her and left nothing but a void. Big Macintosh looked at her, sadness plain in his eyes. No, she decided as she began to walk, passing Derpy and moving off the stage in what seemed to her the blink of an eye. Down the alley she walked, her focus on nothing as she began to leave. It’s okay. I’ll find something. I have to find something. Bits. I need some bits. Gosh, I’m so stupid. So much time wasted on this poetry crap that I could have spent on the shop. I can’t ask for help. Begging’s not my way. I have to make do, that’s al— Big Macintosh spun her around with a single thrust of his massive, powerful hoof. “You lost,” he said, the simple truth slapping her across the face in a way that she could never have seen coming. She cringed away. “Nnope. Ah won’t let you feel bad about yerself. You deserve better.” The stallion punched the ground with a forehoof. “Ah refuse ta see ya like this.” She snapped at him, “Who’re you to decide what I’m to be like?” Macintosh shook his head. “You silly, silly filly.” He stared down at her, one emotion shining in his eyes. “Ah don’t get to decide what you act like. Ah get to worry about you, and support you, and love you and worry some more. And if ya don’t understand that, that as a stallion it’s my duty to care for ya, then we’re not gonna get anywhere.” He grabbed her forehoof with one of his own; she didn’t resist. “Ah refuse to see anypony hurt you, especially not yerself.” “I-I,” she stammered. What? “Miss Roseluck, Ah’m sorry, but I’m about to break the agreement we made.” He swept forwards, grabbing her and pulling her in tight, their bodies crushing together and exchanging warmth. Gentle as a butterfly alighting on a petal, Macintosh kissed her. Around them were a hundred mares and stallions, all those that were waiting for the next segment of the show to start. Their attention had long ago shifted to the feuding couple, and now, every last one of them sighed blissfully and wiped tears away. Roseluck was in a heaven, one that nothing, no matter how strong, could destroy. He’s right, I really am a silly filly. We have nothing to worry about. We have each other. Nothing could ruin the moment. There was not a force on Equestria strong enough. Except for Raindrops. “Come on, you bargain bin-rejected, snot-nosed little brat! I’ll wipe the stage with that ugly mug of yours!” the winged mare screamed at the top of her lungs as she stood upon her bench, precariously leaning over Snails’ form. “Oh yeah! Well you’re just some old hag!” Raindrops physically recoiled, eyes widening as she gasped in shock. “Oh, you’re dead,” she said. “Shut up, you smelly flankface! Y-you glue sniffer!” Snails fired back with juvenile venom. He opened his mouth to fire off another insult, but, quick as a viper, Raindrops clamped it shut with a wing-tip and tugged. The colt flopped off his seat and was unceremoniously dragged across the ground in the general direction of the stage. Everypony—two love-birds and a certain show host—watched as Raindrops forced him up the stairs and to central stage. “Inky,” the enraged mare shouted. “I need another mic; we’re having a rap battle!” Snails blinked dumbly. Then, with an equally dumb expression plastered to his visage, he nodded. “You’re going down, lady.” Muttering to himself about flagrant breaking of the rules and the cruel loss of tradition, the host-stallion snapped a drawer of his desk open and pulled out another microphone that he then carried with him onto the stage. The crowd had time to recede and find their seats as the angry Inky stomped across the stage and spat the device at Raindrops’ hooves. Still grumbling, he trotted over to the microphone and announced, “The third and final... battle of the day is about to begin.” He backed away and everypony waited with bated breath. Raindrops began, her scratchy voice filling the air while she nodded her head to a nonexistent beat: “Let’s get the rules out, before you lose and pout. First I scream at you, then you try not to fall through. You’re gonna reap what you’ve sown, now you’ve fallen for my scheme! When I'm done with you, you gonna wish this was a dream.” Snails glared at her, his face contorting into as mischievous a look as he could manage. His gangly legs and too-thin body didn’t help. “Snail’s my name and I’m going to make you look stale! I’m going to put you on the scale and show that you’re a whale! You’re looking a little pale, maybe some Snails as ya bend over a hay bale?” He snorted a laugh.  “Kidding, even I wouldn’t go for that tail.” Raindrops smirked at him, took a deep breath, and launched her assault. “Ah, put a lid on it kid, you little two-bit sh—squid. Rip that smirk off your face; you’re a bucking disgrace. You’re hardly outta school and I know this is cruel, But I’ll fill you with fright as my sick rhymes bite. I’ll run you out of town, like that clown that you followed around.” “Shut up, you old hag! All your lines drag. Can’t shag if you leave in a body bag. Your rhymes make me gag while your old wingies sag.” Snails retorted with glee. Raindrops blinked at him, then began to giggle uncontrollably. “Okay, time to take out my spectacular vernacular. I beseech you to cease as I teach you to preach. My words are a theology, yours belong in archeology It’s a sad twist of social psychology that you’ve got this ideology! Beats should be narcotic, erotic, hypnotic. You're just idiotic, So get off my stage, before I start to rage.” Snails stared at her for a moment, the crowd silent in jubilant anticipation. He glanced at them, swallowed hard, then fell into his prose while deep pearls of sweat slid down his forehead. “Uh, your poems are flat, and you’re sorta fat. I’m going to kick your butt You’ll never pass! You can suck my nuts, which are made of... brass?” An awkward, thick silence stretched over the assembled ponies, ponies with discerning taste in poetry who—for the most part—were open to new things and experimental verse. But rap battles were not part of that. Some clapped, most just blinked in a stunned awe, still trying to process what they had seen and heard. Raindrops grinned at them, tossing the mic over her shoulder and grabbing Snails’ side. Lifting him up, the mare waved at the crowd in a show of camaraderie and friendliness. It was then that they cheered, everypony raising to their hooves and shouting at the top of their lungs and clopping like mad. They stomped at the ground, the reverberating shocks echoing through the open-air arena and beyond. Inky Scribeswell groaned and slid off of his seat and trotted to the stage, grumbling through the cheering as he climbed up the solid steps and marched—stiff-legged—to the stage’s centre. Waving his hoof wildly, he gestured for silence, which he managed to earn from the begrudging crowd after a few moments. “It is rather... difficult, to judge if you all stomp at the same time. Perhaps we can split the voting.” His hoof swiped across the air and pointed at Snails’ gangly form. “Whomever votes for the young master, please do so now.” The feeble clopping of hooves filled the surroundings before Snails stumbled out and blinked dumbly at them all, his mouth hanging agape. The Clop-o-Meter hit six as the smattering of applause died down. “And now... that one,” Inky said. An absolute deluge of thunderous hoof-stomping filled the minds and ears of everypony as one and all cheered for Raindrops. The mare grinned wildly at them, then bowed. A certain couple failed to join in the rejoicing as they found their own joy in each other’s arms. Snowflake: Silly Filly (AKA: Loeden) Big Macintosh: Cpl Hooves Derpy Hooves: JustAnotherTimeLord Roseluck: Pax Bellorum Raindrops Versus Snails: Pax Bellorum, Loeden (silly), Fred, RavensDagger, TimeLord, Cpl Hooves. But Mostly Staple Also, go watch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Psug-rgsuJk Edited by: The Misfits!