When Flim awoke the next day, his head was lying on the writing desk in a small pool of warm drool. With his eyes still shut, he started to smack his lips together, detecting the slightest hint of green apple in his mouth. He let out a painful groan, slowly lifted his head, and pried open his eyes, easing his way into the oversaturated reality he knew was awaiting him.
Wiping the residue off his chin, he looked down to see a damp piece of parchment sitting before him, the words Dear Broth- scribbled crookedly along the top. Flam looked at it for a couple of seconds, a blank glare perpetrating from his narrow green eyes. Then, he hastily scooped it up and tossed it back, only to find the trash bin already overflowing. He could only vaguely remember why.
As he slid off his chair, his hoof struck something smooth and hard, causing him to stumble. He levitated the small green bottle off the ground, giving the opening a tentative sniff. Green apple. Letting out a sigh, Flim placed the bottle on his desk and sauntered out of his bedroom, rubbing his temple. It’s going to be one of those days, he thought, passing the full trashcan which started to make a whole lot more sense. Six more days…
Gathering up a set of bits lying on his kitchen counter, Flim threw on an old gray sweater and stepped into the cold morning air, his hood covering his unique red mane. South Gallopton really wasn’t as bad a place as most ponies said it was. After all, every town tended to look dismal and blurry coming off a cider hangover. Yes, the air was biting cold for half the year and dry for the rest. And yes, half the town’s residents were far below the poverty line—one of whom was Flim himself. But for the most part, Gallopton was livable. Had it been possible to live off dust particles and cider, however, Flim would have probably taken that option instead of going outside.
He trotted down the steps of his apartment, his head drooped low, his eyes trained on the crooked cracks slithering through the concrete. The frigid environment helped to clear his head, and although most of the night was still a huge blur, Flim was able to recall himself sitting at his desk with quill in hoof . His mind started to wander back to that letter, letting the rest of his dull, drab surroundings inch past. Later, he spotted a group of younger ponies wearing hoodies over their faces walking across the street. He could feel their eyes staring at him.
Dearest Flam…no, no, that’s not going to work! Come on, Flim. It’s just a stupid letter. But no matter how many times he’d tell himself it was ‘just a stupid letter’, Flim never shook that knot in his stomach, that nausea building up in the pit of his gut. All of the nausea, the turmoil...the anger—he managed to keep all of it hidden underneath that old gray jacket.
Finally, after walking down the street for what seemed like an eternity, Flim cast a sullen gaze up towards a glowing neon sign that read Gallop Café. A picture of a steaming hot mug of coffee took over half of the shop’s window, beckoning Flim to come inside and have a sip. He was much too tired to argue.
A tiny bell jingled as he walked in, sending a jolt of pain through his head. Sidling up to the counter, Flim adjusted his hood firmly over his head and started to scan the menu.
“Howdy-do, sir! What can I get for ya today?”
Suddenly, a mare wearing an absurd donut-shaped hat popped from behind, tossing a dirty rag over her shoulder. Her voice was shrill and strained, almost as fake as the toothy grin on her face. Flim gave an empty chuckle, and with a smile to match the cashier’s, he said, “Let’s see, I’ll have…how about just a regular cup of coffee? Black.”
“Black?” the mare said, feigning surprise. “Need something to wake you up, huh?”
“Something like that…”
“Alrighty. That’ll be three bits please.”
Flim hastily dug his hooves into his jacket pocket, knocking down his hood in the process, revealing his tangled mane. With wide eyes, he quickly slipped it back up and started to rummage through his pockets once again. He could see the cashier’s perplexed look out of the corner of his eyes.
Clearing his throat, Flim placed the coins on the counter, proclaiming jovially, “There it is.”
The mare rounded up the coins and opened up the cash register, the cha-ching sending another spike through Flim’s temple. As she clattered the coins into the box, she asked, “Say…have I seen you somewhere before? You look kinda familiar.”
Damn, Flim yelled in his mind. Flashing a charismatic smile, he faked a giggle and said, “Probably not. But don’t worry, I seem to get that quite a bit.”
“Huh. Okay,” the mare replied, giving a shrug. “Oh, by the way, what’s your name?”
“Pardon?”
“Your name? For the order.”
“Oh right. It’s, uh…” Hundreds of names began to roll through his mind.
“…Mac.”
“Okay Mac. I’ll have that ready for you in no time.” She started to turn around, but not before taking one last glance at Flim’s striking green eyes. “My name’s Glimmer by the way,” she said, giving a sly wink.
Flim raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, giving a confident smirk. Then he slowly turned around, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he crept towards an empty table.
There was a newspaper still on the tabletop, probably left behind from last night’s costumers. Rubbing his bleary eyes, Flim opened up the paper, having nothing else to do besides sit and mope. Every so often, he’d glance over the top to find Glimmer sneaking a peak in his direction. When that happened he would widen his eyes happily, covering his grimace with the large newsprint. After a few minutes of doing this, he soon grew bored and began to actually scan the articles spread out before him.
For some reason, his hooves automatically navigated to the Business section. His eyes glided across the paper, only half-reading the drivel plastered on the page. That is, until he found one small article that snatched his attention.
The Cider Master Extends His Reach
Flam Boiyánce (left), famous entrepreneur and inventor of the Cider Master, is rumored to be aiming for an agreement with Filthy Rich to extend his company down into Southern Equestria.
“Not even front page news, brother? I expected better,” Flim uttered to nopony in particular.
Flam burst onto the business scene two years ago, when his compact juicing machine revolutionized the cider and fruit industry across the globe. His innovative, magic-powered machine served to make the manufacturing and packaging of ciders and juices more efficient and cost-effective.
“Pfft. Innovation, my flank…”
Now, numerous cider farms in northern Equestria use his invention, including big-name companies such as Heineighken and Trotweiser.
“His invention?” He started to grind his teeth.
With such overwhelming success, Flam now aims to strike up a deal with Filthy Rich, the wealthy owner of numerous cider plants across southern Equestria, to spread the Cider Master to the rest of the populace , perhaps even aiming for a smaller product for commercial use. When asked about future plans, Flam said—
“Mac? Mac? Mac!”
Flim jolted out of his trance with a grunt, poking his head over the paper. “Your coffee’s ready,” Glimmer announced, placing the steaming cup on the counter. Flim set down the newspaper without folding it up, not even noticing the crumpled and torn spot where his hooves had been clutching.
Flim started to plod towards the counter, only to stop halfway and levitate the cup over to him. While he did so, Glimmer winked and gave a seductive wave, calling, “Come back soon, ‘kay?”
Without even looking back, the stallion replied coldly, “No promises.” Then, he pushed out violently with his forelegs, blasting the door open and stomping outside, breaking off the small bell in the process.
“Dear Celestia, I hate this town,” Flim muttered, levitating the mug of coffee next to his head. He took a sip, only to smack his lips and wince. It wasn’t even any good.
“Six more days…six more days of this. I’ll see Flam, and it’ll all be…okay.”
He kept telling himself that. He kept saying it as he continued his long trek back home, and even after he had stepped into his apartment and locked himself away.
A chorus of boos echoed over the hills of the small pegasi village, growing louder and louder with each passing second. A swathing cloud of dust was being kicked up, and at its base was a large red contraption headed by two very concerned-looking stallions. Pegasi soared behind them, their faces contorted and monstrous, their hooves carrying rocks and bottles and whatever else they could get their mitts on.
Flim stood on the rear of the Cider Squeezy, while Flam leaned over the front, trying to steer the bulky machine down the road. The former gazed up to find a hail of objects headed towards them. With a shriek, Flim began to shoot green magical blasts out of his horn, zapping a few of objects out of the air. But the pegasi were relentless, and the torrent of objects kept on coming with no end in sight.
“You wouldn’t know a good product if it bit you on the flank!” Flim yelled, tossing a rock back at the crowd.
“Flim! You’re going to make them even more angry!” his brother cried, casting a quick glance back. His hat suddenly whizzed off his head and into the dirt, knocked off by a well-placed wooden plank.
“I don’t think they can get any angrier, brother!” Just as Flim was about to unleash another beam, there was a loud crash next to him. The crowd let out a cheer, and Flim found his suit covered with bits of glass and his legs dotted with tiny cuts. Before he could make a remark, another volley flew into the sky, forcing him to take cover underneath the recliner.
For the next few minutes, the maddening chase continued. The odd contraption sped along the dirt road, with an army following close behind. Soon enough, that army started to dwindle into a mob, and that mob dwindled into a crowd. And then the brothers found themselves travelling alone, much to their relief.
The vehicle came to a sputtering stop, smoke spewing out the top, dents and scratches littering its once-unblemished exterior. Flam hastily leaped off, and leaned against the machine with his hooves over his face. His mane was tangled and covered with pebbles and debris. His shirt had come unbuttoned in the scramble, revealing a large bruise on the right side of his chest. A constant ache persisted throughout his entire body, starting from his limp horn, all the way down to his trembling hooves.
Flim remained sitting atop the Cider Squeezy, his eyes scanning the exterior. Every inch of his clothing was either tattered or stained. His hat was crooked over his face, his mane poking through a large hole in the top. Not only was his shirt torn, but tiny spots of blood were scattered across the striped fabric, marking the places where glass had cut through his flesh. He attempted to pull out a jagged rock which had lodged itself into a large shattered bulb. When he couldn’t, Flim let out a sigh and whispered, “They broke one of the magic diodes. It’ll take forever to fix that up.”
“The diode?” Flam quickly whirled around, nostrils flared. “That’s what you’re worried about? A diode? Because believe me, that isn’t the only thing we need to fix up.”
“Listen, good ol' brother of mine-.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Flim! We just got run out of a stinking village and got our asses beat at the same time! And all you’re worried about is a stupid diode!”
Flim hopped down to ground level, slowly stepping toward his sibling with an outstretched hoof. “Flam, you are blowing this out of proportion.”
Flam replied with a slight push, wiping the arrogant grin off Flim’s face. His voice slowly rising, the mustached stallion asked, “Do you want me to remind you what happened at our last business ventures hmm? Ponyville: Run out. Fillydelphia: Run out. New Haysburg: Run out. Trottingham…Run. Out.”
“But don’t you remember what I said, brother? Failure paves the road to success.”
“No! I’m tired of you telling me that, Flim. I’m through with being embarrassed town after town after town. After everything we’ve been through, can you really say this…” Flam’s hoof pounded the Super Cider Squeezy with a thunk, causing his brother to wince. “…this…piece of scrap is the road to success?”
“This is our livelihood, Flam!” Flim quickly rebutted, stepped over to the spot where his brother had so callously slammed it. Rubbing the dent like it was a wound, he continued, “This is what we promised to sell. We can fix it! We can make it better!”
“It’s not the machine, Flim. It’s us!” Letting out a deep breath, Flam lowered his voice to a whisper. “Listen...we’ve been trying to do this song-and-dance for too long, with no results. We need to change our image, or else somepony’s going to get hurt. Look at you! You’ve got cuts all over. Look at this bruise...it’s huge! This can’t be how we get business, Flim. Not by being a village’s punching bag.”
But Flim didn’t seem to be paying attention, his face turned to the side, a frown prevalent on his dirt-ridden face. He swiftly shoved his way past Flam, pacing along the dirt road, violently shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no you don’t understand Flam. This is what we envisioned, and this is what we’re going to do! We’re going to stick with it!”
“This is what you envisioned. But I beg you, Flim. We can be successful, but it has to be through another way.”
“Bah! How could you even say such a thing?”
“Come on, Flim. You need to think smart. Business is about chang—.”
“No!” Flim shouted, swiveled back to face his twin. Through clenched teeth, he uttered, “If you’re so confident in your ability to make something brand spankin' new, then…then why don’t you just go!”
“W-what?”
“You said it yourself! You say we ought to change things up, so go on, get out of my sight! How's that for a change, huh?” He galloped over to the vehicle and hopped aboard, not even paying a passing glance to his partner. He began to fiddle with a few wires, saying, “See how well your little idea’s going to go! Me? I can run this show by myself.”
Flam could only stand there in shock, watching his brother’s back with wide eyes and an open mouth. A piece of metal suddenly flew through the air, grazing Flam’s foreleg. “Y-you’re so stubborn!” he remarked, rubbing the wound Flim had opened.
“No you’re the one who’s stubborn!”
“Flim, please. Y-you’re acting childish.”
“I don’t need you here, Flam! All this you’re doing, all this negativity, it’s only going to slow me down. I’ll show you! I’ll fix the Super Cider Squeezy up and it’ll be better than anything you will ever come up with. So just go, and take your worthless ideas with you! I don’t need you!”
Flam faltered back a few steps, a trembling frown prevalent underneath his mustache—a frown that went unseen by his sibling. The whole time, Flim never cast one glance away from the machine, his head buried in a set of wires and gears. Flam waited for a couple of seconds, hoping that Flim would speak up once more, whether out of guilt or spite. Anything was better than the dreadful silence, which sent the ultimatum loud and clear. “If…if that’s what you think,” Flam muttered, his chin pushed against his chest. “Then…then I can’t stop you.”
The sound of clopping hooves echoed down the lonely street, fading away until all was silent once again. And when that happened, Flim cast a stolid glance back, only to find the dirt road completely empty. With cold steel and rusty gears as his companions, the brother laid back on his chair, mumbling, “I’m gonna make it big. I will make it big. With or without him.”