Colts

by Guy_Incognito


Tres Amigos


Tres Amigos


A wicked mess of ivory coloured flesh grew on the walls, floor and on the roof of the Royal Palace. This was a changeling colony, there was no doubt in any of the soldiers minds. The hive was a mess of scum and villainy, and it oozed with unnatural forms of life; bulbs coloured a sickly translucent green, grew from the grounds and the shadows of fetuses blinked inside them.

Swallowing his fear, Sergeant Max Power stepped forward with his unit just behind him.

“Hold up,” he barked to the fierce soldiers under his command.

His troops knew better than to second guess an order from the seargent and followed suite. Sgt. Max Power sniffed at the air, then clutched his rifle — A phased Plasma Rifle in the 40 watt range — tight against his chest.

Changelings were close. He could smell them.

“Are we going to die, sir?”

Sgt. Power turned to face the pony. He was a younger colt, half of the seargent's age, and of a much smaller size than the older pony. He was scared, and wore it long across his plain white face.

“Get ahold of yourself, private!” barked Sgt. Power, “No one’s dying on my watch!”

“Lame!” came a cry from one of the soldier's behind him.

A twitch overtook Sgt. Power’s left eye and he snapped his head to face the condescending voice in the ranks. The statement had come from a pegasus — grey coated and built the size and shape of an athlete — who now stood grinning at Sgt. Power.

“What was that, private?” asked the annoyed commander.

“You’re taking this too seriously, dude.” replied the soldier, without a single ounce of determination in his voice. “I mean, can’t we just frag some changelings?”

“That’s…”

Sgt. Power’s face contorted into a look of pure and utter disdain. Wrinkles creased his forehead, his brows snapped down, and then he slapped his hoof against his forehead and rubbed his right temple.

“We’re getting there, private.”

“Say the full thing!” commanded the insubordinate soldier, “Say my full name!”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

The sigh that came from Sgt. Power’s bounced off the walls of the changeling hive.

“Fine,” he said, “We’ll be ‘fragging changelings’ soon enough; Private Parts.”

The just recently named Private Parts belted out a laugh, “Dude,” he said between pants of laughter, “I don’t care who you are; that’s comedy gold!”

A movement caught Sgt. Power’s attention and he whipped himself around to spy, from the corners of his eyes. Black-skinned creatures — four legs, each with holes through them, with bodies the same size as ponies and pitch black bug eyes — climbed along the walls. There were dozens by his count. All of them advancing towards him and his troop.

“Changelings!” one of the soldiers behind him announced, and then just as quickly all six of the ponies were facing front with weapons raised.

“Finally!” shouted Pvt. Parts, “Let’s kill some shit!”

He raised his rifle and flashes of blue and white light erupted from the lengthened barrel. Before him, in the halls that made up the changeling nest, a sole changeling’s body blew apart. Lime green liquid ruptured from hoof sized holes that exploded out of the creature’s head, chest and legs. It screamed and whined, and an instant later, the changeling fell to the floor, dead.

This was it. There was no turning back now. Private Parts had played his hoof — curt and headstrong as he was — and soon the whole of the hive would be on the soldiers.

Sgt. Power readied himself, as did the stallions under his command.

Horrible howls erupted from the bellows of the changeling hive. Sneering sounds that sent chills up the spine.

And then, all the soldiers were firing their weapons at the hive. The changelings screamed in pain as parts of their bodies were torn off by the hail of lasers fired from the rifles of the soldiers. Bodies fell off the walls and off the roof, but there was no stopping the onslaught. Dozens and dozens filled the ranks, and suddenly Sgt. Power realized he was staring at the face of inevitable doom.

“Ugh.” groaned a soldier to his left, “I gotta take a wicked pee right now. I’ll be right back.”

The soldier first dropped his grip on his weapon, then his body slacked. His shoulders fell, so did his haunches, and then he stood still. With the exception of the rising and falling of his chest, Private Seymore Butts stood absolutely motionless while the world around him fell into complete chaos.

“Seriously?” groaned Sgt. Power.

Private Seymore Butts didn’t answer, instead remaining completely still and naive to the warring factions fallen into the throes of combat that surrounded him.

Sgt. Power grunted, shook his head then raised his rifle. He took pot shots at the incoming changelings, never missing. Green blood burst from wounds in the changeling hides, heads, limbs and wings, and their screams echoed loud in the halls.

“Dude, check this out.” came a call from Pvt. Parts.

Sgt. Power drew his attention to the private, who stood with the aim of his plasma rifle turned on his own troops. He fired, a Royal Soldier fell to the floor dead, and then Pvt. Parts began to unload more rounds into the soldier's body.

“Look at how his body jiggles when you shoot him,” said Pvt. Parts, shooting the corpse once more, “It’s trippy.”

“For fudge sakes!” bemoaned Sgt. Power, “Are you even trying to take this seriously? I want to rank up!’

“Chill the fuck out, Button.” gasped Pvt. Parts, turning to him. “We’re still having fun, right?”

“We were...”

Sgt. Power turned away from Pvt. Parts, and his insubordinate team-killing, looked back onto the slowly advancing horde of changelings. Somehow, in some way, they didn’t seem like such a menacing presence anymore, when just beside him was a sociopath with a gun who took joy in shooting members of his own brigade.

“We should hit them with a nuke,” suggested Pvt. Parts, “You’ve got one right?”

“No,” sighed Sgt. Power, “You need to be level thirty five to unlock the nuke…”

“What level are you?”

“Thirty three.”

“Already?”

“Yeah,” said Sgt. Power, “I’ve been playing this all day, Rumble.”

“Right,” said Pvt. Parts with a smirk “Except for that extended window of time between when your hoof found itself between your legs and me and Shady stumbled in on you whacking it?”

“I told you,” snapped Sgt. Power, “I was doing aerobics!”

“Button,” said Pvt. Parts, “I’ve seen you fake notes from Doctor Stable to get out of gym class. You were definitely not doing ‘aerobics’.”

“That’s-”

Before he could finish his thought, a changeling was on him. It tackled him to the ground; tearing, biting and gnashing at his throat with teeth which were sharp as daggers. Sgt. Power was dead before he had time to realize what had gone wrong, his body, and the bodies of his soliders, nothing more than feed for the changeling hive.

“Game over.” announced an ominous voice in a deep and gruff baritone.

“Aww,” said Pvt. Parts.

Everything faded to black.

***

Button Mash threw his controller on the ground and sighed, low and heavy. “Thanks a lot, Rumble!” he grunted, “Ten more kills and I would have ranked up to Sgt. Second Class.”

“Geez, Button,” said Rumble, “It’s just a game.”

“No,” said Button Mash, “This isn’t ‘just a game’, it’s Thirst for Blood IV: The Re-Bloodening!”

“Yeah, like I said; it’s just a game.”

Button Mash sighed again and slumped down further into the couch.

The boys — sans Shady, who had excused himself to use the bathroom — had been at Button Mash’s house for the better part of forty minutes now. After their encounter with the birthday boy and his strenuous ‘exercise’ program, and after Shady and Rumble had recovered from a fit of laughter, all three had settled into the entertainment room for some proper bonding time between friends — slaughtering armies of virtual changelings by the dozens.

That had been the last forty five minutes. Now, the game was over and the joys of a fresh baked cake was still to come. Rumble’s buzz was wearing off, slowly but surely, and Shady Daze was still in the bathroom.

The sound of a toilet flush cut through the air, then, a sink turned on and off. Seconds after, Shady Daze trotted with light, cautious steps back into the room.

“What did I miss?” he asked, “Did we win?”

“No,” sighed Button Mash.

“How’s Pvt. Seymour Butts?” Shady asked, flopping down on the couch beside Button Mash, “Did he make it?”

“No,” repeated Button, “We all lost. Everyone died because Rumble,” he paused to turn towards the colt who smiled back at him, “Killed half of our team.”

“Aww, you’re such a Negative Nancy, Button,” said Rumble, slapping Button on the shoulder. “It’s your birthday. You’re with your two best friends. Your mom is making us all cake, and, on top of that, me and Shady have the best night of your innocent little life planned for you.”

Button Mash’s eyes grew wide and his eyebrows rose high up on his head. “Really?” he asked, “Are we going to check out The Gargoyle’s Dungeon? The new issue of The Trotting Dead just came out, and I hear they’re finally going to kill The Senator in that one…”

Rumble shook his head and sighed. “No… We’re not… No!” he grunted, “We’re not taking you to buy comic books for your birthday, Button!”

“Oh…”

Button Mash tapped his hooves together and stared at the floor, then at Shady — who was smiling, softly at him — back at the floor, then again at Rumble.

“Um,” he said, tapping his hooves together, “Then, uh… what are we doing?”

“Pub crawl!” announced Rumble, “You, me and cock-breath over there are going bar hopping!”

“Offense taken.” said Shady.

“Bar hopping?” asked Button, his eyes falling dim “I don’t know, guys. I mean, my mom’s making us cake, and I think she thought it would be fun if we stayed in and just played a few games of Scrapple tonight...”

“No. Absolutely not!” said Rumble, slapping the couch with his hoof. “I know for a fact that if we stick around here, we’re going to be stuck playing Scrapple all night long! And, as much as I love your mom, Button, I am not, repeat, not, losing another game to either of you two dicks again!”

“I can’t believe you thought there was a ‘Q’ in ‘Custodian’.” said Shady.

“Yeah, Rumble.” said Button Mash, snickering, “How are you passing english class again?”

“First off; shut up. ‘Custodian’ is a tricky word. Secondly: shut up. Again.” Rumble extended his hoof and offered Button Mash the bottle of vodka, “We’re going for a pub crawl and you’re coming with us even if me and Shady have to drag you by your legs. Got it?”

Button Mash bit his lower lip and nodded his head.

“Good,” said Rumble, “Now, what do you say we all take a few nips to get you in the mood?”

He reached a hoof into his right pocket and pulled out the quickly shrinking bottle of vodka. What was left wasn’t very much, just enough for a few quick passes around the room, something to get the blood flowing, the mind loose and the liver hurting.

“Ugh, c’mon, Rumble,” groaned Button, “I don’t wanna get blackout in front of my mom. Can’t we wait until after we have cake?”

“Just a sip?” begged Rumble, “We can turn it into a game if you want? Go another round of Thirst for Blood? Maybe take a shot every time one of us gets a triple-kill?”

“I’ll just take a sip, alright?” asked Button.

“Yeah, dude,” said Rumble, “Don’t go overboard, I just want you to get your head in the game.”

Button nodded his head, then reached for the bottle and took it from Rumble. Hesitantly, he unscrewed the lid to the bottle. He sniffed it first and his face recoiled in horror; he scrunched his nose, his cheeks lifted backwards and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

Button Mash had never developed a taste for strong drinks.

“Button, don’t just stare at it,” said Rumble. “Drink it.”

With his eyes shut tight, Button Mash lifted the bottle to his lips, kissed the mouth of the bottle and took the tiniest nip of spirits Shady Daze or Rumble had ever seen. When he finished, he coughed into his hoof.

“Ugh, it tastes like kitty litter, Rumble!”

“Gross,” said Shady.

“Grow a pair,” said Rumble.

Button stared at Shady Daze, amply hoping for some kind of reprieve from the pressure Rumble was putting on him. What he got was a shoulder shrug from Shady, then a menacing glare from Rumble.

“You guys are the worst,” Button sighed, and raised the bottle to his lips once more. He took a sip, then another, then set the bottle down on the carpet and coughed loud enough for video game cases and comics on the shelves to shake.

“Everything okay, hunny-bunny?” came the worried voice of Button Mash’s mom through the open doorway.

“We’re fine, mom!” he shouted back, “Rumble just had a mini-asphyxiation attack.”

“Well played,” said Shady.

“Okay, sweetie,” said Button’s mom, “The cake should be done in about ten minutes. Make sure you boys bring your appetites?”

The sound of her hooves trotting along the floorboards followed her from the basement door to the kitchen. When he were sure she was out of earshot, Rumble’s lips spread up his cheeks with a warm smile.

“Dude,” he said, “Your mom is the best.”

“Yeah, Button,” said Shady, poking his head forwards and towards Button Mash, “My mom couldn’t even remember which day of the year my birthday was.”

Button Mash’s once brown and fluffy cheeks became stained with a pinkish hue. He puffed his cheeks out, blew a raspberry, and then spoke.

“My mom’s alright,” he said, scratching his neck with his hoof, “But, like, sometimes she can be really stuck up, too. Like, last week; she wouldn’t let me go to the midnight launch of Disemboweler because it was on a Tuesday and I ‘had school the next day’.”

“Wow, what a slave driver,” Shady droned, rolling his eyes.

“I know!” exclaimed Button Mash with an upwards wave of both his left and right legs, “I mean, I still got it, but it was a day later and I missed out on the day-one bonus because I didn’t make the midnight launch. Now everyone online has ‘blood vision’ and I don’t.”

Thinking about it made him grumble something low and guttural from the furthest reaches of his throat. He’d drooped his head and his ears had fallen with his head. Shady Daze touched a hoof to his left shoulder and gave him two gentle pats on the back.

“There, there,” he said, condescendingly, “You’ll be alright.”

Button Mash picked his head up again and smiled at Shady Daze “Thanks, Shady.”

Rumble slapped his hooves against the sides of his waist and lifted himself up from the couch. He leapt onto the floor, shook his rear into the faces of Shady Daze and Button mash, then jolted to the collection of video games, comics and movies that Button Mash kept on the wall-sized shelves. He ran his right hoof over the cases, mouthing the names on the boxes, until he stopped, gripped the box and pulled it from the shelf.

He glanced over the box, reading the words in his head, and grinned.

“‘Disemboweler’,” he read aloud, “‘The game where convicted criminals dig at each other with rusty hooks.’...”

No surprise there. This was the sort of game that made up the entirety of Button Mash’s vast collection. Senseless violence was a recurring theme in the tastes that Button Mash had in video games.

“Sounds like a cultured and educational experience,” said Shady Daze, grinning at Button Mash.

“Oh, it’s awesome!” cheered Button, “You can rip off your opponent’s leg and then beat him to death with it! Plus, the graphics are totally sweet, there’s a twenty six character roster and there’s a thirty hour story mode, too.”

“Do we have time for a quick round?” asked Rumble, tearing the case open and then plucking the C.D. out with his mouth, holding it between his teeth. “I’m game for tearing off some legs and beating your sorry ass to death with them!”

“Sure,” said Button Mash, “Put it in.”

“Thaths what thee shaid.” Rumble said through his filled mouth.

“Nice, Rumble.” said Shady, “Really nice.”

Rumble responded with a thrust of his pelvis in Shady Daze’s direction. He set the game down gently in the disc tray, slid it into the console and grabbed a wireless controller. He stumbled a few paces backwards, holding the controller in his mouth, then fell backwards onto the couch beside Button Mash.

“Ready to get your ass kicked, Button?” Rumble asked, turning his head and sneering at the birthday boy. Button furrowed his brows and put on his best war face — which was really a half serious, half goofy sort of frown.

“You’re on!” he said, plucking a controller from the carpet.

Shady Daze kicked back in his seat, ready to watch a tasteless scene of blood, guts and carnage unfold.

That was how Rumble, Shady Daze and Button Mash killed the time between then and when Ms. Mash called the boys up for cake.

***

They sat around Button Mash’s dinner table; four of them — Button Mash at the head of the table. His mother beside him, and Shady Daze and Rumble filling ranks on opposite sides to the left and right. As promised, the cake before them was shaped like a winking Daring Do and the words ‘Happy Birthday, Little Adventurer’ were written in white vanilla frosting just below her hooves.

“The cake looks great, Ms. Mash.” said Shady Daze, smiling up at the older mare beside him.

“Yeah,” agreed Rumble, also smiling, “It looks way better than anything at you’d find at Sugarcube Corner.”

“Aww, boys,” sighed Ms. Mash, “That’s sweet of you to say, but Mr. and Mrs. Cake make their living off of those cakes and pastries. It would be a pretty awful thing if a single housewife could out bake two trained professionals.”

Button Mash licked his lips. “Can we give it a taste test, mom? Just to be safe?”

“Of course, dear.” said Ms. Mash, “But, first, the birthday song?”

“Agreed.” said Rumble.

For he’s a jolly good fellow!” Cheered Rumble, Shady Daze, their tones carrying a mostly subtle drunken pitch, with Ms. Mash — who was far more sober compared to the two — joining in a much more contained and soft tone of voice, “For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! And so say all the lads!

Rumble danced his hooves on the table, leaned his body over the cake and across the stretch of wood that separated him from Button. When his face was next to Button’s, he rubbed his muzzle against Button Mash’s left cheek. Button’s face ran red and he turned himself away from Rumble while mumbling ‘Thanks’ beneath his breath.

“Now. Cake!” said Rumble, pulling his face back from Button’s cheek and slapping two hooves on the table.

There were few things in life that got Rumble more excited than Ms. Mash’s cooking and baking. Among them, only great sex, good drugs and free booze ranked higher than a proper home cooked meal by his favorite surrogate mother figure.

It showed on his face. He licked his lips ecstatically while his eyes and mind worked together to divide the Sugar based Daring Do into square slices.

Ms. Mash, seeing Rumble’s excitement, stood up, drew a knife from the table and set about cutting the cake. She started with a square from the top of Daring Do’s head — one that took a large chunk of her hat — which she placed on to a plate and then gently lay before her son.

“Thanks, mom!” Button Mash said, smiling and lifting a fork. He wasted no time before he stabbed the fork into the cake, tore off a chunk of brown and black cake and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed with an open mouth, swallowed and then took another forkful into his mouth.

“Manners, Button!” his mom chided, shaking her head disapprovingly towards him. “You weren’t raised on a barn, were you?”

Button Mash swallowed another mouthful of cake, then stared up at his mom.

“Sorry, mom!” he said, then dug out another section of cake that he shoved into his mouth just the same as he’d done the last two.

She sighed and cut three more slices. A modestly sized piece for Shady, a much bigger one for Rumble and then a thin one for herself. She put the plates with the cake before Shady and Rumble, then herself, sat back down in her chair and lifted her fork.

“Thank you, Ms. Mash.” said Shady, slicing a respectable portion of cake off with the edge of his fork.

“Yeah,” said Rumble, chewing a mouth full of cake, “This is tops, Ms. Mash.”

She raised her fork to her mouth, took a nibble of double-chocolate cake then wiped the corners of her mouth with a folded napkin. She smiled at Shady Daze and Rumble.

“You boys are sweet.” she said, “Button is so lucky to have two friends like you, you know that?”

“Here, here,” agreed Rumble, grinning and raising his fork into the air in mock salute. Shady Daze followed his lead, then Button Mash, and, moments later, even his own mother.

“Happy Birthday, Button!” Rumble cheered, “Here’s to a hundred more.”

“Amen,” said Shady.

Button Mash was all smiles, grinning back and forth between Shady, Rumble and his mom. He leaned backwards in the chair and rested his head against his folded upper legs. “Thanks, guys.”

Ms. Mash leaned back in her seat. She folded her upper hooves, then nestled her head onto her folded hooves. “Rumble, honey,” she said, “How’s your brother been?”

Rumble cocked his head in her direction. “He’s alright,” he said, “I mean, he’s working a lot. Which is good. He’s getting paid really well, and he’s happy about that.”

“How is Cloudkicker finding living at your place?”

Rumble bit his lip and thought back to earlier in his day — pre drinking — when his brother had made an open mockery of his girlfriend in front of his best mate, his best mate’s girlfriend, and also Rumble himself. He wiped whatever sour look he might have worn off of his face, smiled and then answered as best as he could

“Oh, she’s good too.” he lied, “They’re real happy together, and she really likes living at our place just fine. She’s does a lot of the cooking and cleaning, which is cool, ‘cause Thunderlane and Brolly are real slack about following the chore wheel we have.”

“That’s good,” said Ms. Mash, smiling and nodding her head, “They make such a lovely couple.”

Rumble bit his tongue before he spoke, “Yeah,” he said, “They’re good for each other.”

He was lying; Thunderlane wasn’t really ‘good’ for anyone. He was alright on ‘good’ days, but Rumble would be hard pressed to call Thunderlane’s influence on mares an inspiring one. Still, telling Ms. Mash this would only ever give her reason to worry, and Rumble was utterly dedicated to keeping the divorced, single mother in high spirits.

In the meanwhile Ms. Mash just smiled, then turned her sights on Shady Daze — who was filling his mouth with a fork full of cake.

“What about you, Shady?” she asked, “How are your parents doing?”

Shady Daze swallowed his cake, scratched his neck and hesitated for a few moments before answering.

“They’re okay,” he said, still tussling the fur along the back of his head, “My, uh, dad just got back from Dodge Junction last week and he’s sort of having a rough time settling back in.”

“Yes,” she replied, nodding, “I saw him at S-Mart last week. He looked…”

She stopped and rolled her tongue over her lips.

“Stressed?” Shady offered.

Ms. Mash nodded. “Just a bit.”

“He’s had a rough couple months.” said Shady Daze, “Farm work was sorta killing him.”

“He’s been gone for a while, hasn’t he?” asked Ms. Mash.

“About half a year. Yeah,” Shady answered, “We haven’t really had a lot of time to talk since he’s been back.” He sighed, ran his hoof through his shaggy mane, then forced a smile, “But, he seems like he’s doing okay. I guess?”

A frown formed across the pink lips of Ms. Mash and her brows furrowed. She raised a hoof, and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She closed her mouth, put on a smile and then leaned herself forward a few inches and rubbed the top of Shady’s left hoof with her own.

“Give him some time,” she suggested, smiling “I’m sure he’ll come around to his old self.”

Shady Daze nodded his head.

They ate slices of cake and drank soda in silence for a while after that. Occasionally, through the corners of their eyes, Rumble, Button Mash and Shady Daze would sneak peeks of Ms. Mash staring at them, and when they did, she was smiling. Hers was a soft, motherly smile. A proud and parental sort of smirk which spoke volumes of her character. These were ‘her’ boys. Even if they weren’t biologically her sons, Rumble and Shady Daze were just as much family to her as Button Mash himself. She loved them, and in turn, they loved her. This was an unspoken bond. Something sweet, sincere and from the heart.

Cake eating wrapped up fifteen minutes after it started, and then Rumble and Button Mash ran off back downstairs to play Disemboweler while Shady Daze — polite as he’d been trained through years of practice to be — stayed back to help Ms. Mash wash dishes.

They — Ms. Mash and Shady Daze — found themselves in the kitchen now. The sink was on, a half tray of clean plates in the left sink and a stack of dirty ones on the porcelain counter to the right. Ms. Mash held a wet rag in her mouth, Shady Daze a dry one.

“You know, hun.” said Ms. Mash, passing him a scrubbed clean dish to dry, “You’re always welcome to stay here for a night or two if you need some time away from home?”

Shady Daze took the plate from her, ran the dry rag over it in clockwise circles, then placed it on the rack with all the others.

“I appreciate that,” he said, turning towards her and smiling, “But I’d just end up being a bother after a while.”

“Nonsense,” said Ms. Mash, “We have a perfectly good guest room, and-”

“-It’s fine.” Shady said, curtly. “I mean… I appreciate what you’re offering, but I’m happy at home.”

The sentence stayed in the air for some time, with Ms. Mash finding reason to frown and Shady Daze suddenly wishing he could have neglected to ever make any mention of his father, or his home life.

“Okay, Shady.” Ms. Mash said in a soft, sensual tone of voice. “Just remember; if you ever find yourself wanting to come over; our door is always open. We’d all be more than glad to have you as our guest.”

“Thanks,” was all that Shady Daze had to say to her offer.

While Shady Daze wiped traces of soap and water from a green circular plate, Ms. Mash watched him. She alternated between biting her lip, frowning and making motions which implied a desire in her to speak about it. She ended up saying — and doing — nothing.

“Should we do presents now?” she found herself asking.

Shady Daze turned to her, “Sure,”

She smiled, reached her hoof to his head and rustled his shaggy mane. As a cat would, he bowed his head and tilted his head in tune to her touch. A purr, low and grumbled, came from his throat and surprised both him — and Ms. Mash — when it did.

“You’re really such an amazing pony, Shady,” she said, still ruffling his mane, “You and Rumble both are.”

“Thanks, Ms. Mash,” Shady Daze cooed, unable to pick out the words to form an otherwise proper sentence.

“I’m so glad you’re around to keep Button out of trouble.”

If she only knew what they had planned for her youngest son…

***

They were back around the dinner table now; Rumble, Shady Daze, Button Mash and his mother. They sat in the same spots as before with the only difference now being the stack of wrapped boxes that stood in place for the cake that had once sat on the table. The presents were many; nearly two dozen — each wrapped in a different colour of wrapping paper and all topped with a bow.

Button Mash sat on the edge of his seat, his tongue barely held in his mouth. He was excited. Ready to tear open each and every present that sat before him. He was contained — for the time being — by his mother, who demanded that he at the very least read the attached cards.

Button Mash wasn’t thrilled with this.

“I’m going to have to write so many thank you letters,” he whined, slouching his shoulders and sinking deep into his seat, “I don’t want to to do that!”

“Button!” Ms. Mash practically shrieked, drawing her son to his fullest attention, “Most of these presents are from your aunts and uncles out of town.”

He sighed, “I know…”

“And, thanks to Ms. Hooves, they all managed to make it here for your birthday.” she reminded, “The least you could do is take twenty minutes away from all your video games and write back to your relatives.”

“I know, I know,” said Button Mash, staring over his presents with lust burning in his eyes, “I just…”

He didn’t speak another word. Instead, his hooves reached forwards and he plucked the first package within his reach; it was a box, wrapped the same as the others and twice as big as his chest. He tore off the wrapping paper without a second thought — and in spite of the condemning look his mother shot him — to find a simple cardboard box. Like with the wrapping paper, Button Mash wasted no time ripping the cardboard box open, only for his eyes to sink in size and his brows to droop, sadly, down his forehead.

“What is it?” asked Rumble, leaning forwards, trying to get a view of the contents of the box.

Button Mash reached inside and held the item out in his hooves for the room to view. It was a hoodie, fit two sizes too big for his body and coloured an exceptionally bright pink. The words ‘Equestria’s Coolest Grandson’ were etched into the chest in bright, fuzzy yellow letters.

What started as a snicker from Rumble quickly grew into a wheezed and hardly restrained chuckle from Shady Daze, until neither could keep it in anymore and both began to pant out lungfuls of laughter. Shady Daze fell out of his chair, clutched his stomach and rolled on the floor. Rumble slammed his hoof on the table.

“Dude,” he managed between laughs, “That is, hoofs down, the sexiest sweater I have ever seen in my life!”

Button held the hoodie before him with all the care and concern he would with a roll of used toilet paper. His lower jaw quivered, tears built up in his eyes and his eyes moved towards his mother’s figure. Ms. Mash held a hoof over her mouth, but it wasn’t enough to hide the fact that she too was giggling.

“Mom!” Button whined, “This is so lame!”

“B-B-Button M-Mash,” she said, stopping between syllables to regain her breath, “Your grandmother was kind enough to knit that for you. At least… try it on.”

Button Mash grumbled then slipped the hoodie over his head. It fell well past his waist, with sleeves that ran twice as long as his upper legs. The hood was long and heavy, and covered well past his eyes. It was a hoodie so large that even a bigger stallion like Big Macintosh would look shrunken in size wearing it.

Button Mash slipped the hood off his head and rolled up the sleeves up as high as they could go.

“Mom, I can’t wear this!” he moaned, “I look like a dork!”

“Button…” said his mother, tapping his shoulder through inches of knitted wool, “It looks great on you.”

“But mom-”

“-No ‘buts’, mister!” snapped Ms. Mash.

Button Mash’s facial features all shrunk, and then dropped. He was bested, and knew it. “Okay…” he mumbled, quietly.

He turned his eyes to see Shady Daze and Rumble still snickering between themselves. They covered their mouths with their hooves, as to be polite, but the sounds of huffs of laughter and snickers still came through.

With a woefully deflated ego and a hoof knitted hoodie several sizes too big hanging loosely around his waist, over his legs and around his neck, Button Mash sighed — high pitched and nasally.

Sensing his anguish, hurt and sorrow, Shady Daze nudged his knee into Rumble’s leg, leaned his face towards him and whispered words into the pegasus’s ear. Rumble nodded his head, then whispered back into Shady’s ear.

“Hey, Button,” said Shady, “Me and Rumble put some money together and got you something that, uh, should make up for that…. erm, delightful, hoodie your grandma knit you.”

A flash of light took life in Button Mash’s eyes. His ears perked back up, his head lifted and he was smiling once again. “Really?”

“Yup,” said Rumble, “Shady’s got it in his pocket,” he turned to Shady “Hurry up with it, would you?”

Shady’s eyes rolled and he reached inside of his left pocket — opposite the one his issue of Freak Power comic was rolled and neatly placed — and pulled out a small square shaped package wrapped in the day before’s newspaper and tied up with brown twine.

“It’s nothing special,” he admitted, passing the package to Button, “But, I thought you might get a kick out of it.”

Button Mash grabbed the package from Shady Daze. It had a sturdy weight and feel to it, a mostly flat, rectangular object with rough and round ridges he could feel even through the newspaper.

“Open it, dude.” urged Rumble, smiling, “It’s not gonna bite.”

Button Mash did. He unwrapped it with more care and concern than he had with his grandmother’s gift. What lay behind the paper and twine was something that made his Ms. Mash gasp.

A chrome picture frame, with carvings in the metal, shaped to form the names of ‘Button Mash’, ‘Rumble’ and ‘Shady Daze’ at the top and and the words ‘Three Amigos’ — the rarely used, but highly treasured nickname for the three pony group of friends — at the bottom. The photo in the frame was an old one of Rumble, Button and Shady on a Nightmare Night years and years ago. Rumble was dressed as a Greaser; he wore on his eyes knockoff Oatley sunglasses, and had a faux-leather jacket with a purple handled switchblade sticking out of the front pocket over his chest. Button Mash wore a fake moustache, a stetson hat over his head and a brown vest with a silver star on the left side of the chest. Shady Daze was dressed as Holden Coltfield.

Rumble and Shady Daze had their legs wrapped tightly around Button Mash’s shoulders and all three boys made faces at the camera; Rumble held his tongue out, Shady Daze showed two rows full of perfect teeth and Button Mash’s mouth was mostly obscured by the broom bristle moustache.

“I know it’s kinda silly,” said Shady Daze, breaking a silence. “But, I found that picture in my room the other day and we figured, you know, it would be nice or something?”

“I mean, that’s us, right?” asked Rumble, “The Three Amigos.”

Rumble said this and drew half a lifetime’s worth of memories to mind for Shady Daze, Button Mash and himself. They’d been just that — best friends — since as early on in their lives as any of the three cared to remember. There had been a time that they weren’t friends, true, but that was something none of them looked fondly on.

“Yeah,” said Button Mash with the warmest, smartest smile drawing wide across his pink hued cheeks, “Best friends for life.”