Worth A Million In Prizes
“So, what the fuck do we do now, then?”
Shady Daze and Button Mash stared at Rumble. He stood leaning against the plexiglass window of Cranky Mule’s Pawn Shop — the weight of his body pushing into the faux-glass, creating a ripple in the plastic. He was sipping, casually, what he could from the glass bottle of Potato Vodka that he’d been chipping away at for the better part of the night. All that remained was slowly washing down Rumble’s throat.
They were half a block from The Toad in The Hole and no one but Button Mash looked back the way they came. Rumble, in particular, looked to the unsure future. Ponyville had no shortage of bars, this much he knew, but which one exactly would become their next adventure was still up in the air.
“Dunno,” said Shady, shuffling on his hooves and reaching a hoof forward, begging for the vodka from Rumble. He grabbed it out of Rumble’s open hoof and was quick to take a swig for himself. Then a second. His throat burned and his stomach turned. Still, a quarter of a lifetime worth of engaging in sinful behavior had trained Shady Daze for the merits of hard drinking. He finished off the bottle — to a scornful look from Rumble — then tossed the empty container onto the grass beside the road.
“There’s a few decent places to get a drink around the next block or two…”
Button Mash, noticing the glass bottle and the blue-plastic recycling bin beside it, skipped forwards, grabbed the bottle off the grass and put it away gently in the recycling bin. Smiling to himself, he stood silently and waited for Rumble, or Shady, to offer their insight into what came next for the night.
“Yeah?” Rumble asked. “Keep in mind that no one but you wants to go to any gay bars except for you, Shady.”
“Duly noted,” said Shady with a nod of his head, “I guess we could skip ‘The Cock and Plunker’, ‘The Sweatlodge’ and ‘Buddy’s’...”
Rumble snorted, “Fuck off, Shady. Those aren’t real gay bars…” He raised an eyebrow. “Are they?”
Shady grinned, “Just ‘The Cock and Plunker’. It’s in Canterlot, though…”
“That's a shame,” Rumble said, still laughing, “I really, really, really wanted to watch Pokey Pierce try and seduce you with Maremosas, Cosmarepolitans and whatever else your kind drinks.”
“Aww, you’re no fun, Rumble.” Shady said, groaning. “Pokey’s cool.”
“Yeah?” Rumble asked, “Cool enough for you to let him… you know what you, in your you know where?”
Shady Daze snorted, slapped his thigh and then stared up at Rumble. “Are you asking me if I, a boyish lad, just legal as of the last eleven months of my life, would engage in coitus with Pokey Pierce, a stallion nearly a decade and a half older than me?”
“Not in so many words,” responded Rumble, staring away from Shady and bowing his head.
Shady Daze shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe I would.” He grinned as he watched Rumble’s face fall flat and he trotted nervously in place. “I mean, he is a very handsome colt, and, he’s certainly my type; well educated, lovely vocabulary. Extremely independent...”
Groaning, Rumble shook his head from side to side. "And just like that I'm reassured completely of my heterosexuality."
"That's too bad," said Shady, licking his lips slowly. "How will I ever find the strength to carry on?"
"Guys!"
Rumble and Shady turned their eyes on Button Mash: standing straight up with a proudly puffed out chest. He stared over the two with the hardest pair of eyes either had ever seen him wear. He had a mean look on his face, or, at least as mean as a colt like Button Mash could bear to muster. This was uncommon and it worried Shady and Rumble.
"You two keep doing this!" he said. "You’ve been arguing all night. Can’t we just, like, relax for a bit? We’re all friends, right?"
Shady Daze bit his lip and Rumble stepped forward. He slapped his hoof against Button Mash’s left shoulder, patted him through the hoodie and smiled. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yeah,” said Rumble, “I know things got kinda fucked up back at The Toad, and, I’m not saying it was anyone’s fault, least of all mine. That place was just a shitty venue. See, we need to find a place where hot and heavy, emotionless sex definitely is on the menu.”
Button Mash swallowed and dug his left hoof into dirt. “R-right. Yeah.”
“Now, what you need, Button, is a place where the mares are drunk, horny, and without any sense of shame.” Rumble said, “Where drinks are strong and cheap, and so are the ladies.”
Shady Daze snorted, chuckled, and then jolted a few paces towards his friends, smiling all the while. “And, where, pray tell, is this magical, mystery land, Rumble?”
Rumble turned to him wearing a foolhardy smile of his own. “I know a place,” he said.
Shady Daze and Button Mash stared at one another and found an equal sense of worry, dread, confusion and intrigue reflected in each-other’s eyes.
“Yeah?” Button Mask asked.
Rumble nodded. “Just follow me, don’t ask too many questions, and try and look as tough as you can for the bouncer. They’re usually dicks this time of night, and, I could be wrong, but I think the thought of blood gets them hard.”
Sketchy and vague as they were, the details didn’t quite matter to Button Mash, who’d already filled his mind with of thoughts about the opposite sex. He could see them already: the mares — all beautiful, with tight flanks, athletic bodies, beautiful faces and — most importantly — loose definitions of what exactly constituted a proper stallion.
It was this thought and this thought alone that motivated him to agree with an unrestrained and clear head to Rumble’s proposition.
“Sounds like fun,” he said.
Shady Daze, being a colt who fancied colts, wasn’t so easily persuaded by Rumble’s honeyed words.
“I’m picturing myself sitting alone in a bar stool with two stacked, ten thousand watt speakers killing my eardrums and nursing a gin and tonic, while both of you dance to the worst of what passes for music with mares too drunk to know how to say no.” he explained with dismal and uncomfortable tones in his voice.
Rumble, ever the optimist, skipped on light hooves towards him. He circled around, until he was side by side, flank to flank, with Shady, then wrapped his left hoof firmly around his neck and brought Shady’s head tight against his chest. He wrapped the fetlock of his left hoof against Shady’s skull.
“Shady, Shady, Shady,” said Rumble in a melodic sing-song. “Oh ye of little faith. Don’t you realize that none of tonight is, was, or will ever be, about what you want? This is Button’s night. And, Button wants to have an unrivaled, first ever, sexual experience.” He turned to the colt in question. “Right?”
Button nodded. Truthfully, he was nervous about the promise of the ensuing ordeal. Mares. Talking to them. Getting to know them. Staring them dead in the eyes while he tried to discuss mutual interests they shared together, all the while stifling his nervous habit of sweating profusely from every pore in his body. If he could curb the fear sweats, and steady his nerves, he might, maybe, stand a chance at making a move on a mare. He’d seen Rumble do it a thousand times; lots of physical contact — a hoof gently to the shoulder, thigh or, if the mood was right, the cheek — a consistent unbreakable smile plastered across his goofy face, and, most importantly, putting her input into the conversation above his own. That was how Rumble scored, and, Button Mash could only imagine that following in his example would be a succesfull effort for himself.
He snapped back into reality when he heard Rumble’s voice crack the aura of his methodist mental plains. Rumble still stood beside Shady, leering at the colt with judgemental eyes while he continued to trade barbs and throw cunningly worded passive aggressive reminders of who exactly the night, and all the stops along the way, was intended for.
“So, really, by being a biggity bitch — like you are — you’re only hurting Button.” said Rumble to Shady Daze.
Shady Daze responded to Rumble’s accusations with a low and anguished grumble. He fired a look, half menacing and half unimpressed, towards Rumble, raised his head up towards the sky and puffed his chest out. Rumble, in jest, did the same, but kept his eyes firmly fixated on Shady’s form. Leering and grinning while he did.
“Look, when it’s your next birthday, I promise we can go fag it up at your queer-bar of choice.” Rumble told Shady, taking time between his thoughts to throw a fool-hearty grin at his gay-best friend. “Hell, I’ll even tell you which dress I think you should wear, but-”
Shady Daze, still with his chest puffed out and with that serious look to his face, took a half step towards Rumble. He raised himself up onto his hind legs, pressed his upper hooves flat against Rumble’s chest and pushed the away from him. “Fuck off, Rumble.”
Rumble staggered backwards a few steps, gained his composure and stopped suddenly in place. Stunned, Rumble he stood still and stupid, giving Shady Daze a pair of lost puppy dog eyes. “What?”
Shady Daze snorted, shook his head and sighed.
“You’ve been throwing stupid homophobic shit my way all night, and, yeah, it was funny at first, but it’s getting mean now.” insisted Shady, who took a moment to make sure that Rumble, his friend, understood the gravity of his accusations by glaring with a stone cold look towards him.
Rumble shrugged the weight of Shady’s pleas off. “C’mon, Shady.” he said, “You’re just a little tense because of what happened at The Toad. And, I get that. It doesn’t mean we have to throw down, though.”
Shady brushed Rumble’s hoof off of his shoulder, and snarled. “No, I’m pissed because you’re acting like a fucking douchebag, and have been all night. In fact, quite frankly, I’m not surpised that-”
“Guys!”
Both colts spun around to once again face Button Mash, staring at them with a pleading, desperate softness in his eyes. A kitten, or puppy, couldn’t master the same bewildered, pleading innocence that Button Mash managed to pull off so frequently.
“You’re doing it again!” he said, staring sternly between the two scrapping friends. “Shady Daze and Rumble; you two hug each other right now and say that you’re sorry, or I’m going home!”
“Button, come on now-”
Button stamped his hoof against the cold pavement. It hurt a little, but the vibrations echoed all around them and it seemed to do the trick in reassuring Shady and Rumble about the severity of the situation and the reality of his threats. He would, for their sake, throw away the supposed best night of his life if it meant keeping the two on speaking terms.
“I mean it!” shouted Button Mash, realizing he hadn’t raised his voice quite this high or commanding before in his life. He imagined it was the potent cocktail of vodka and beer brewing in his stomach and coursing through his veins that did the trick to boost his confidence in his words.
Rumble looked towards Shady. Shady back at Rumble. The two stood tense for a moment, before Rumble trotted a pace forwards, hugged his legs around Shady and pulled him tight against his chest. Shady mirrored his actions, and the two hugged each other beneath the light of the overhanging lamppost.
“I’m sorry, Shady.” said Rumble.
“S’all good.” said Shady, “Just, cool it with all that homophobic stuff, kay? You’re starting to sound a bit like Brolly, dude.”
There was an unfamiliar look on Rumble’s face. One of understanding, and, an ever-elusive sense of compassion that Shady had almost forgotten the pegasus was at all capable of reaching. Rumble, in his own way, understood the damage he’d unknowingly — and perhaps, unwillingly — done and was, in his own way, ashamed of it.
“Totally.” he said, nodding his head and smiling a faint, dainty little thing towards his queer best friend.
Recognition of the work he’d done showed all across Button Mash’s face. He was chubby cheeked with a wide smile, studying the two friends stuck in a platonic embrace, knowing full well in the midst of his mind that it was a byproduct of his quick wit, genuine concern and, above all else, gentle and kind mind set.
Hug therapy was one of the greatest ways to ease tensions, second only to apologetic cakes and other fresh baked goods of a spiritually cleansing nature.
“See,” said the pride filled colt, grinning wickedly at his friends. “Don’t you guys feel better, now?”
Neither Shady Daze nor Rumble would argue against his logic. They broke off the hug, stepped backwards from each other and then Rumble shook his rear, his neck, head, then lunged forward. He flapped his wings, dust and grass flew around him and into the faces of his friends — who quickly brushed it off — and then Rumble was feet above them, floating around their heads, staring down at them.
“Okay, so, now that we’re all back to normal, let’s get a move on?” Rumble suggested, cocking his head down the way of the road. “Club’s only about a ten minute trot from here, plus, this time of night, the line will be as dead as Sombra to boot.”
He flew a lap around Shady Daze’s head, zig-zagged towards Button, did the same, then returned to the ground and hid his wings behind his back. He looked to Shady Daze, smiling softly. “Shall we?”
If Shady had any more reservations he didn’t voice them. He stared at Rumble — so confident in his ways. Then at Button — stoic and, uncommonly eager and excited and realized that to voice concern would be both amiable and shameful. No one wanted to be a wet blanket in this situation, least of all him and his unassuming, neurotically pessimistic ways. Even if he’d had any concerns to bring out, he decided well against them.
“Let’s do it.” he said.
And then, without anyone else to bring any sense of argument to the table, the three were off again. Rumble, followed by Button and Shady, broke into a half drunk and half cocked jolt down the cobblestone paths, laughing, singing and cheering. Lights in windowsills flickered on as they passed. Ponies out and in their path passed judgement through hard glares, but, it was all in vain. Nothing was going to stop Rumble, Button Mash, or Shady Daze.
***
Rumble stopped to catch his breath a few long paces away from a building without windows and shaking from the life inside. It was black, metallic, and in the same design as a filing cabinet — a post-modern, square shaped eye-sore in a town with themes and inspirations that could be described with the words ‘rustic’ and ‘charming’.
This was their destination; Club Black, home to weekend warriors, bar-stars, club whores, vagabonds, douchebags, assholes and the morally corrupt. On weekends, Club Black was the host of the greatest collection of good looking — and often, very misinformed on the subject — ponies at anytime, in any place, in Ponyville. The club was a gathering of every young, and young at heart, colt, mare, filly, foal and stallion who prefered the dredges of the drink and narcotics, loud music and poor conversation to the thrills of staying in and catching up on classic literature. At least, this was how Shady Daze saw it.
To Rumble and Button, Club Black was a welcome matt to the world of emotionless sex, drugs, booze, mares with hard bodies and stallions who only existed to stand between them and the aforementioned upsides of club life.
That was Club Black.
A velvet carpet, supported on the cobblestone foundation and side-lined by brass pillars, led to two double sized solid chrome doors. A Gryphon, wearing purple tinted Oatley sunglasses and a black shirt — two sizes too tight, to the point where the veins and ripples in his skin past his fur flaunted themselves through the material — stood before the doorway..
“Fuckin’ aye,” said Rumble. “This place is bumping, huh?”
“Yeah…” Button Mash’s eyes never left the building, or blinked, as he nodded.
“Let’s not waste anymore time, eh?” said Rumble, sniffing at lingering traces of the mare’s perfume in air until his eyes would roll back in his head. “There’s a mare, in there, who owes Button Mash the night of his life and we’re just the handsome, charming colts to help you find her.”
When he’d had enough of snorting at feminine odours, Rumble slapped Button Mash on the shoulder, then Shady. He was smiling ear to ear. Before either could respond, he’d already made a break for the entrance. Dashing at top-speed towards the velvet carpet, then down it, leading to the front doors.
Both ponies followed after him.
“Everybody’s gonna have a good time/Cause we’re going to a partay!” Rumble sang, getting onto his hind legs and slapping his chest. He trotted like that — on his hind legs — up the bouncer, smiling and singing. And, why shouldn't he? After all, the night was young and opportunity was just around the corner.
Once Rumble approached, the bouncer raised a golden claw into the air. Light bounced off of the gold and silver rings he wore on his fingers, until he lunged his open claw forwards and pressed it firmly into Rumble’s chest, stopping the colt in place.
Rumble stared up at the bouncer. “What’re you doin’?”
The bouncer stood stoic. “Not comin’ in.”
Rumble snorted. “How’s that?”
“Don’t like the look of you.” explained the Gryphon, “You’ve got a face that screams trouble. We don’t want trouble here.” He said to Rumble and then turned his head and gestured with a head nod towards Button Mash, “Plus, this one’s wearing a hoodie with gang colours.” he stopped, then nodded to Shady, “You seem alright, though.”
Flattered in spite of himself, Shady Daze grinned at the compliment.
Rumble, however, was snarling two rows of teeth.
“Seriously? Gang Colours?” Rumble scoffed, “What fucking gang wears hot pink? The Fillydelphia Fighting Faggots? Now, come on, quit fuckin’ around and let us in? We’ve got money. It’s not like we’re gonna wreck the place, we just want a few drinks and to maybe snog some mares with low self esteem.”
He stared up at the bouncer expecting a grin. What he got was a frown.
“Like I say,” said the bouncer, “You two are not comin’ in. Third guy,” he stopped and nodded again at Shady Daze, “Ten bit cover and you’re good to go?”
Shady shook his head.
“Fine.” said the bouncer. “Take a walk.”
Rumble took a step back from the bouncer, ran a hoof along down his face, then slapped it against the velvet carpet. He spit on the ground by the bouncer’s feet, then, with his neck craned backwards and his chest proudly puffed, he moved forwards until his chest and the Gryphon’s chest touched.
“Listen to me, you stone hearted gargoyle!” Rumble spat, trying on his most menacing face of the night. “You may rank above me in terms of size and strength, but, I have something you’ll never have.”
The bouncer rolled his tongue alongside the left cheek of his mouth and a bulge appeared in the soft plastic-like flesh of the crevice between the up and down of his beak. He tilted his head left, his eyes studied Rumble — with his proudly puffed out chest and mean gleam in his eyes — then he cocked up an eyebrow and flashed a grin. “Yeah. What’s that?”
“Yeah. I’ve got the capacity to love! What do you have? This shitty fuckin’ job? Like they couldn’t just grab any thick-necked cocksucker off the street and have him do what you do?”
Here the bouncer cracked a grin and for a brief second Rumble humored the idea that maybe he’d done right by this obstacle in their path and won himself, and present company, entrance into the club.
“Maybe you’re right,” the bouncer sighed, looking deflated, “Maybe I am just a bouncer? Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be? Maybe the three years of community college were all for nothing?... But, the cunt they get to replace me wouldn’t let you three fags in either.” He stopped looking defeated and started looking intimidating. He squared out his jaw and flexed the muscles in his pecs for his crowd. “Now, would you three homos kindly fuck off?”
Snarling, Rumble spat on the ground again then spun himself around — waving his ass at the bouncer’s face. The bouncer didn’t flinch and Rumble trotted away muttering more curses and spitting more on the velvet carpet.
Back to square one.
“Fuck that guy.” Rumble shouted back at the direction of the velvet carpet. He leaned up against the side of the club. “Gang Colours? Honestly?” He put on a mock-accent, one that was half part ‘Inebriated Douche Bag’ and the other half ‘Tough Acting Cunt’. He sighed. “It’s like… who even says that?”
Shady Daze shook a cigarette from his packet of Red Apples, chomped the filter and lit the tip. He inhaled, slowly, held it, then exhaled. Button Mash, standing beside him, waved a cloud of smoke away from his face.
“What happens now? Do we leave, or…?”
Rumble, still snarling, spit up another loogie against the side of the building. “No. No way! We’re meant to be here. This is the place to be right now. I can feel it.” he turned his head towards Button Mash and Shady. “Can’t you?”
Shady Daze shrugged his heavy-feeling shoulders. “All I feel is emasculated.”
“Screw that!” shouted Rumble. “There’s a fence in the back by the smoking patio. It’s only about a head taller than any of us. We could just climb over? It’s not barbed or anything. Should be an easy one, too...”
“Sneaking into clubs, Rumble?” Shady said, turning his head from the left to right. “Are we really that desperate?”
He took another long drag from his cigarette, flicked ash onto the grass and then pressed the back of his head against the cold feel of the wall. He blew smoke out of his nostrils and the cloud wafted, again, towards Button Mash’s face.
“Shady, come on,” Rumble insisted with a gentle, encouraging, nudge to Shady Daze’s stomach. “It’ll be like grade ten all over again. Remember Cloudkicker’s birthday in the park? After the guards got called on us cause Thunderlane got caught pissing on the statue of Princess Sparkle? What did we do? We hopped a fence and hid in Mr. and Ms. Cake’s thorn patch to get away from them. Remember?”
Shady Daze grimaced. “Yeah, I remember. And afterwards I had to use one of those inflatable rings to go to the bathroom for a month when Doc Stable was done pulling all the thorns out of my ass…”
Rumble sniffed, twice, then burst out with a full-bodied laugh that resonated all around them. He grabbed his stomach, tight, then fell onto his knees and beat the the ground with his hoof. It was no less than five minutes of Rumble, rolling on the grass, clutching his stomach and spewing out well-intentioned laughter before he found his inner zen and stopped himself. Getting onto his hooves, he wiped leaves of grass and flakes of dirt off of the unrolled sleeves of his track-top, cracked his neck and calmed himself
“Oh, dude…” he laughed, stopped, and then slapped his left hoof against his forehead, “Dude! That’s retarded! Are you serious?”
Biting his lip, and regretting sharing a page from his life’s story with his friends, Shady Daze nodded his head. “Yeah…”
By now even Button Mash — innocent and non-threatening Button Mash — was finding it hard to hide his smile from Shady. He chuckled, quietly, and tried to cover his mouth with his hoof to muffle the sound.
Shady Daze couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at the two.
“Look here, boys.” Rumble commanded once the air had been clear of giggling and once again turned neutral. “We can do this, alright? Who are we? We’re The Three Amigos!”
Rumble’s rebellious spirit was infectious. Both Shady Daze and Button Mash both found themselves susceptible to Rumble’s charm and silver tongue. They could do this. They would do this. The only thing that separated them from a night of fun and debauchery was a non-barbed fence standing only a head taller than either three of them.
The semantics were just that; semantics. It could have been a trio of rottweilers guarding the back entrance to Club Black that night, or, it could have been a precocious kitten, it didn’t matter. One way, or the other, Shady Daze, Rumble and Button Mash were going to make it into the club. That much they knew.
“C’mon then,” Rumble cheered, leading the trio towards the fence, “Shady, you boost me up, I’ll unlock the door and then we just sneak in. Easy as a fat girl at a frat party.”
Button Mash and Shady Daze stared at the fence between them and good fortune. It was thick with black solid-steel bars, each ending in a particularly threatening looking point, and stood feet taller than any of the three could reach on their hind legs. Still, it was only just a fence, and, less than that, only an obstacle in their way.
“So, like, I get on my knees and you climb over me?” Shady asked.
Rumble nodded.
“I don’t know about this, Rumble.”
Shady Daze and Rumble turned worried eyes on Button Mash, who stood kicking dirt and shifting his weight between his right and left side. “It seems… illegal… and-”
“-Button,” Rumble snapped, “You know what’s on the other side of this fence? Mares. Girls with low self esteem who would screw away all your anguish the second you tell them they’re pretty. All you have to do is stop being such a nay-sayer.”
“I really wish you’d stop doing that,” Button grumbled, fidgeting in place. “I just don’t see this working out…”
“Look, here.” Rumble nudged Shady and Shady trotted to the fence, pressed himself sideways against it and stood stoic, “I’ll go first. If anything happens, you two book it back to my place and wait for me to talk my way out of any trouble, like you both know I can, and then I’ll just meet you back there. Sound good?”
“No…” grumbled Button, before realizing that there it was only wasted breath.
Rumble was already climbing atop of Shady Daze, using the arch of his bent back as a step-ladder while the tips of his forelegs poked the spiked reaches of the fence.
“Arch your back higher,” Rumble urged to Shady, “I’ve almost got it…”
“I am arched!” Shady snapped, “Be taller!”
Rumble’s hoof brushed against the side of Shady’s cheek. “Almost got it.” he said, wrapping his hooves around two bars of the fence. “I’m… going to have to kick off of you. Just… be ready?”
“Fucks sakes,” grunted Shady, “Hurry it up, tubby.”
“Hey!” Rumble snapped, “Have you seen the madness that is my upper chest, Shady? I’m pretty damn sure I’m more ripped than you, porkchop!”
“Doesn’t feel like it from down here, lard-ass.”
“Blow me.”
Rumble’s left lower-leg kicked against Shady Daze’s face again.
“Rumble!”
“Okay, on three. Ready?”
“No.”
“One.”
Shady arched his back as upright as it could possibly go.
“Gah,” he groaned when Rumble’s weight pressed on his spine. “What do you eat? Bricks? I mean, seriously...”
Rumble’s hoof pinched a mound of fur and flesh between Shady’s shoulders and the colt/makeshift stepping stool gave a high pitched, flamboyant yelp.
“Two.” Rumble counted.
Button Mash bit his lower lip, tilted his chin upwards so that his eyes watched the stars above twinkle, and took a moment to pray to the higher powers that his best friend wouldn’t bung this up. Maybe Celestia was listening? Or, Luna? Maybe even Princess Sparkle would offer Rumble a boost of karma?
“Three!”
Rumble kicked off of Shady Daze’s spine. Shady Daze grunted. Rumble, still propelled in the air, kicked his legs barely inches overtop the spikes of the fence and then disappeared into the blackness beyond.
Shady Daze and Button Mash waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The *Clink* of metal scraping against metal drew their eyes towards the darkness beyond the fence, then, the sound of metal scraping against metal, muttered cursing, and finally, a small part of the fence swung towards them and Rumble, grinning and winking, stood in the newly lit path towards the smoking patio attached outside the bar.
“Ladies,” he said, swiping his hoof before him and the opening in the fence.
Button Mash, with a stupefied expression on his face, spoke his mind. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” assured Rumble with a wink towards the colt, “Now, can we get moving?”
“This all seems kind of… easy.” said Button, his eyes darting from Rumble, the fence, the behind of the club, Shady, and then back to Rumble. “We… just get in now?”
“Yes!” Rumble groaned, “Now, come-the-fuck-on! Night’s-a-wastin’, my sexually frustrated friend.”
There were only two options left as far as Button Mash was concerned. The first was to turn on the tips of his heels, spin himself around and leave. The second was to follow after Rumble and face the great unknown that sneaking in through the back gate to Club Black offered. Going home now meant, among other things, no chance at scoring with a lady. Stepping into Club Black meant their deceitful entrance might be found out, but also that perhaps, if he was lucky, a mare who was pretty and kind and caring (and drunk) might offer herself up to him on a silver platter.
Button Mash weighed his options for a moment. He chewed his tongue while he stood stupidly still and motionless.
“What’s the hold up?”
He snapped his head towards Rumble, leaning halfway into the darkness, and smiled a dim, soft thing at his friend. Shady Daze was already to Rumble’s left and stood like a guard dog; docile and non-threatening. He looked, more or less, unenthused; a night of mingling with available attractive mares he had no interest in — sexually, or otherwise — ahead of him. No, Shady Daze wasn’t in it for the ladies, or the booze. He was in it for the comradery. It showed on his face; smiling, but, without the same fire of excitement in his eyes that Rumble had. To Shady Daze, this was just another Friday night. Nothing more, nothing less.
Button Mash swallowed a wad of saliva, tapped his hoof against the ground and then picked his head up.
For better, or for worse, an evening spent at Club Black offered more to him than turning around and heading home with his tail tucked between his legs and his spirit beaten down. All that awaited him at home was the latest issue of Moanin Mares — still laying beneath his bed, in the plastic wrap month’s, untested — video games, leftover birthday cake and, above all else, an empty bed.
Without a sigh or single offer of frustration, Button Mash picked up his smile and trotted forwards, ready for anything.