//------------------------------// // Impossible // Story: Horseshoes // by Peter Yellowhammer //------------------------------// Horseshoes By Peter Yellowhammer Celestia's sun had climbed to the center of the sky, making all shadows underneath retreat into their hosts. Their sleepy haze completely dispelled, all the creatures big and small eagerly hunted their food, be it nectar or grasses or insects or/and each other. The trees still had to shed their final blossomed petals as a gentle, humid breeze rocked them. A moment in the day so relaxed and measured could only mean one thing: Game time. With the Stallions' Field Cup just minutes away from its inception, the ticket holders were swamped with droves of late arrivals. They decided to just sell the tickets as quickly as they could and levitate the requisite bits for entry, especially since the lines were stretched all the way toward the entrance of Ponyville. But they weren't actually worried; enough seating was left for three more lines of the same length. The stadium commissioners made sure to accommodate for anything and everything, despite the project's uncertain future. Pamphlets of the track-and-field/miscellany for that day were handed out sporadically, not that the spectators would have noticed or cared for more than three seconds before finally looking inside the new attraction for the first time. They cantered up the stairs into the new, swanky stadium in a steady stream now, most of them discussing the probable champions from each participating region. Some of them marveled at the almost completely Unicorn-made field, manipulable for seemingly any event except for the central platform; as a declaration of control, the local Earth Ponies insisted on constructing it in addition to the rest of the stadium. Some of them quieted their outrage at the new, Canterlot-et-al types in Ponyville flaunting their excess, to appreciate just how small and unnoticeable the several-stories height made them feel. And some of them (most of them) silently took in the minimalist style in which the inner stadium was crafted, creating a facsimile to the ancient training grounds of pony warriors that were long since destroyed. A few of them even carelessly shared jokes about how awkward it would be if some doofus managed to enter the competition. Caramel stopped his push-ups to take in the sight of ponies from all corners of Equestria (and some from even further away) quickly filling up the rest of the red plush seats all around the turf where he stood. An almost overbearing coalition of colors were audibly gossiping, cheering, placing bets, and even performing gymnastics as much as the close-proximity seating and the private security guards would permit. Scouting out the mares made him realize just how massive the stadium was, holding thousands of ponies barely containing themselves. It was a sea of animation towering above him. “Whoa...” He examined the lowest level of seating, long since filled with the aristocrats who funded the stadium from top to bottom. They seemed content to watch the lower classes file in and make ruckus, with only a few discussing the competitors...? Or maybe they were talking about rich pony stuff? If only they were shouting about it like the others, then he could tell. Oh well, who actually cared? “You just gonna stand there 'n stare all day?” “W-What? OH!”, Caramel blustered, hastily returning to his push-ups with a deep blush he was intent to ignore. Rick Shaw cleared his throat before asking: “I don't mean ta be rude, kiddo...but why 'zactly 're ya competing in this? You're not really the athletic type...more a klutz.” The blushing pony had already overdone the push-ups, forcing him to rest on the astroturf platform right in the middle of the action. He took some time to catch his breath. “It's...*pant*...not about athleticism--” “That's EXACTLY what it's—” “Let me finish,” Caramel grunted. “It's not about athleticism for me. I'm just here to have a good time until it's time to throw shoes.” The large taxi pony switched from core stretches to lower body stretches as his...warm-up partner, maybe?...cautiously mimicked him. “Why wouldja enter a track-and-field just ta throw some shoes? What, 're ya looking ta show off yer talent ta the mares?” Rick laughed and waved when one of said mares shouted to him. “Something like that,” Caramel admitted. “I figured a little...showboating when I make the throws could snag me a hot date. Or maybe something else just as good.” He flinched as a mid-morning wind suddenly rushed from the competitors' entryway behind him, making his hair flap in front of his eyes. Rick Shaw chuckled and nudged the stretching pony before returning to it himself. Caramel felt itchy. “I gotcha, I gotcha. Well, good luck with that...if it'll even work.” “Oh, it'll work.” “Oh?” Rick cocked his eyebrows. “Ya sound a lil' smug there, lil' stud.” Caramel stopped mid-stretch to scrutinize the taxi pony to his left. He wasn't serious, was he? “Don't call me a stud unless you're...” “Unless I'm...?” He was tempted to actually put his hoof in his mouth. Maybe then he would feel better. “...Nevermind.” “...Anyway,” Rick continued, “I dunno about what you said. I hear Big Macintosh is pretty good at shoe tricks, too. Isn't that right, buddy?” Caramel begrudgingly looked to his right: the big red lug was doing a grand stretch like a cat as he was pulled into the conversation. Of course such hulking ponies had to warm up on both sides of the 'lil' stud' to make him nervous. But he needed to focus; this was too important! On the other hoof, he realized that Macintosh had to be listening the whole time. Which meant he heard... ...Well, so much for impressing the competition. But then again, that was never the plan from the start. “...Eeyup,” said Big Macintosh as he relaxed. Caramel wondered if that pony cared that a good portion of the stadium got an eyeful with that stretch. If the cameras were any indication, then the mares behind them certainly did. “Well, 'pretty good' isn't 'amazing',” he answered. “Just you wait and see, both of you. None of you are my concern today...and not for the rest of my life.” He almost felt the other two scrutinize him at that remark...but Rick Shaw said nothing as he continued stretching. Looking to his right, he saw Big Macintosh hurriedly look away, now focusing on the mares seated in the west part of the stadium. The big lug must have been distractible with everything happening; this wasn't exactly typical for him, after all. ...Why was Big Mac competing, anyway? Thoughts of this nature were swept from his mind as Pinkie Pie's shrill cheers reached him from somewhere on his right. Great. Of all the ponies for him to think about watching him, he picked that bunch: the very last ponies he wanted to see this, besides...well...Thankfully, he couldn't hear anything else out of the blurred cacophony; but he could imagine well enough what she and her friends were saying. “So who do you think, Twilight? Huh-huh-huh-huh-huh-huh?!” “There are a lot of good candidates out there, Pinkie Pie; I really can't say.” “There's a lot o' good candidates, but only one Big Macintosh," affirmed Applejack. "He's gonna sweep it all, Ah can tell y'all that right now. KNOCK 'EM OUT, BIG BROTHER! APPLES FOREVER!” “I never thought I would see him compete in something like this. Or really at all. He's usually so reserved, and modest, and...reserved.” “I think it's awesome; we never get to see the big guy in action! I mean, can you imagine just what Big Mac's capable of when he's relaxed?! It's gonna be sick!” “Well, that's not good. I didn't bring any barf bags with me!” “...That's not what I...you know what? Forget it.” “Forget what?” “Exactly.” “Hush, girls; it's starting!” “Fillies and gentlecolts, welcome to the first competition of the Ponyville Jubilee: the Stallions' Field Cup!” The crowd roared. Spike grinned like a madpony. “Today, we're here to see the best of the best, the fittest of the fittest...and Caramel..." Caramel smiled. "...compete for the honor of being known as the top stallion in Ponyville and even Equestria! In just one minute, the Elliptical Dash will begin, so would the participants please make their way to the starting line?” Chants and declarations bounced off the stadium walls from all directions. Applejack's section started a chant for her brother - at her behest - which overpowered most of the others around them. It reached down to the starting line on the track...and Big Macintosh had a big, goofy grin slowly taking over his face. Caramel just kept his face forward. The grand marshal waved the flag, and the Elliptical Dash started. “GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Wow, that blue one is neck and neck with Big Mac. W-what was his name again?” “WHO THE HAY CARES?! GO GO GO GO!” “WOW, look at them run like there's cupcakes at the finish line! I wonder if that's the reward for—Oooohhh...” “Ouch.” “No kidding. Full stop on his back? He'll feel that in the morning.” "That hopeless pony couldn't dash if'n he changed his name t'it. Oh, but look at him go anyway!” “HEY! Just what are you implying?” “Was Ah implyin' anythin'?!” “Girls, calm down, there's no need to—oh yeah, go go GO GO GO!” “DON'T GIVE THAT GREENHORN AN INCH, BIG BROTHER!” “GO GO GO—WHOOOOOAH YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHH!” The next fifteen seconds left the five ponies rubbing their ringing ears; the mares seated three rows behind them screamed loud enough for the whole west side of the stadium. Humid spring air rushed past all of them, making them sweaty and itchy; but they easily tolerated it as they cheered themselves. "The undisputed winner of the Elliptical Dash is Big Macintosh!" Thankfully, the cheering for the announcement itself was just the fading cheer for him crossing the finish line. The ponies below the shrieking mares got a brief respite, which only made them more eager to discuss what happened. “Oh, pony, THAT...was INTENSE. Did you see how he kept us fooled until the end? Just vaulted ahead of that loser at the last second.” “That turkey! Ah never knew Mac t'mess with a crowd. Then again, Ah've never seen him with any crowd.” “Am I the only one who noticed the dirt on the track?” “Huh? Wha—that's jus' disgraceful! Ah thought this wuz supposed t'be a ritzy setup! Ah guess that goes t'show t'ain't no substitute fer hard an' thorough work.” “Um...what's the next event again? Pinkie ate my brochure by accident...” “Heh heh...sorry. I get munchy when I'm nervous.” “Since when?” “Well, duh: since today!” “The next event is Randomized Hurdling, and it starts...is Big Macintosh...swaggering? Huh?” “We-hell, buck mah apples; mah big brother's been a big showoff all this time! Well, he deserves t'be, Ah'll tell you whut.” “YOU SHOW THEM WHO'S BOSS, BIG MAC! PONYVILLE FOR THE WIN!” “Yes. The racers from Paint seem very nice but...woohoo.” The west section of the stadium steadily began to quiet down, despite the other sections blasting the Ponyville Showoff for a bad attitude. Applejack considered starting a counter-rant, but at the last second she reaffirmed her faith that her brother could more than handle himself. She had other thoughts burdening her, anyway. Mostly, she wished she wasn't so busy that she couldn't bring Applebloom with her. Maybe she was one of the shriekers? It was impossible for her to tell with so many ponies above and around her! The stadium finally settled into low-volume gossip on all sides, mostly due to the competitors having left the field in order for the unicorns to change it for the next event. “...It's a shame Rarity couldn't be here.” “W-what brought that up?!," objected Rainbow Dash. "This is supposed to be a fun day, remember, Twilight?!” “It's just...that's the point. This is a great way for us to unwind, what with...everything.” All five bowed their heads in remembrance. “Well, crazy times call for cah-RAZY partying! I've got an idea; let's place some petty bets on our racing friends!” “Don' be silly, Pinkie. We'd all bet fer th' same stallion! It'd be like bettin' who's gonna be Princess Celestia next year.” "A-and we shouldn't go wasting our bits, you know." “Not to mention gambling is immoral.” “Not to...yeah, what she said...ha ha ha...” The other four looked at Rainbow flushing generously before the announcer called the competitors to the changed field. While the spectators chatted about the handsome red steed or the devilish red blowhard, the grips took exactly five seconds to rearrange the track into a wavy, hidden-obstacled path. As magical as Ponyville was, it was still dazzling to see just what money could do. The competitors lined up, the flag waved, and they were off. The racers dodged the twists and turns as best they could. The Appleloosan favorite kept up with the Ponyville favorite until the former got caught in a slip-spin on the rootless tree. Funnily enough, while the others racers ignored it, the force of his spin knocked Caramel above the tree and past most of the other racers, getting him closer and closer to the finish line...until his tumbling body broke his momentum on the track. The sideline nurses got a good laugh from that, as did a reasonable percentage of the east side. He rolled weakly into second place, which the judges awarded him somewhat out of pity, but mostly out of entertainment value. Big Macintosh won. The west crowd (Ponyville) cheered, and the east crowd (Paint Country) booed, the north and south (various sections of Equestria) just along for the ride. The victor was lauded by Spike as he helped Caramel up from the dirty track...and gave the embarrassed pony the smuggest grin either of them had known. Caramel felt itchy. Next was simpler: hoof wrestling. The competitors paired off and paired off again until the last two stallions wrestled each other. Predictably, Big Macintosh won. Predictably, the west crowd cheered...but the north and the south started to join them. When Caramel was paired with him, however, the red lug eyed him with fire in his eyes. The former braced himself for hurt as he put his hoof to his opponent and pushed for all he was worth. Infuriatingly, the latter teased him as he led him to almost win a couple of times before soundly and gracefully turning his hoof to the side. With a waggle of his eyebrows, the ironic competitor swaggered off to match strength with the Canterlot Champion, who got his own version of teasing. Next was the weighted triple jump. Each was fitted with padding proportioned to challenge them while still allowing for mobility; the challenge was who could make the most of it. It wasn't the most exciting event for either the competitors or the crowd, but the latter still enjoyed how their favorite turned the challenge into a hopping show. Even with such an aerodynamically inefficient approach, he still won against Rick Shaw's bound by a small margin, which was impressive in its own right. Caramel was just thankful that they jumped in pairs, making the crowd focus on the tired Appleloosan instead of his unremarkable performance. Nopony else heard it, but Caramel and the other competitors certainly heard Big Macintosh chuckle softly before he hopped away. They all felt the ambient temperature rise as they fumed together. The next few events were a blur to even those paying attention. The only thing that still interested the crowd was how Big Macintosh was going to pull off another showy victory. He waved to them and grinned at them, raising his profile as high as possible by whatever means appropriate. The judges and Spike all publicly noted how the stadium as a whole was eating out of his hoof, especially the mares. The sea of animation was rising into a tidal wave of infatuation for the star of the afternoon; even the eastern crowd was beginning to cheer for him. But Caramel just waited patiently. At long last, the Shoe Throwing was at hoof. The competitors would either cement their place holdings or made one last upset by each tossing five shoes quickly, accurately, and neatly to the opposing posts just seven meters from them. The number seven, one more than the number of hells for luck: Caramel always thought it was rather heavy-hoofed. The three criteria would be measured separately, then tabulated to determine the ranking. For Caramel, it was just a matter of concentration, reactivity... ...and putting that treacherous pony in his place! The crowd turned to aimless murmuring, as he expected. Shoe throwing was just something for the ritzy types funding the events who wanted one of their more popular “sports” to be featured. The locals just thought it was a ceremony to symbolize some hogwash about something silly. It was a foal's game, after all. At least, that's what it would be until the bar was raised... The grand marshal raised his flag. Caramel pressed his weight, his energy, his entire being to his servants below him. He already felt them bending to his will, the useless things. They had to land perfectly and beyond reproach, and he knew just how to do it. The flag came down. He whipped the shoes in rapid fire to the goal, seeing them angle toward it as if in slow motion. They formed a follow-the-leader chain as the first shoe started falling to the ground, right were it was supposed to fall. The others following were slightly elevated from each other, making it easier for them to settle quickly. He saw the others fly in passable patterns, but he knew he had already won. Clank. The first shoe connected without issue. C-clank. The second shoe connected as planned: no spinning. Clank. Same with the third. Clank. The fourth was good...! The last one was just inches away from its goal-- CLUNK! Caramel didn't even see it. He couldn't have seen it. He didn't dare to move as he looked to his left. The post ahead of Big Macintosh had five shoes stacked flawlessly, just a split second before his own fifth shoe landed at the post. That overfed showoff of a pony could have only done that one way: he had to have thrown the five shoes as one unit, like they were stuck together. He didn't even know that was possible. He vaguely heard ponies cheering. He only barely detected the other competitors moving toward the center for awards. He just saw the perfect shoes and messy shoes sitting next to each other as his eyes burned. Without even trying, Big Mac had turned his talent in life into nothing short of a joke. A massive cloud of confetti burst from the west section of the seats. Caramel wordlessly covered himself in the sickeningly bright mess and dragged himself toward the entryway, not even caring when most of it fell off. He knew nopony was watching him anyway. ...His talent was a joke, after all.