Chapter 6 – Four-Legged Frolic
Where once there was a faint backing track and a simplistic menu screen, there was light. It flashed across the display in a rainbow of colours as a Japonies teenage mare by the name of JL-Bait appeared wearing a sleeveless white shirt, stripy tie and seven inch long miniskirt, as was tradition. Featherweight tensed his forelegs as the arrows of fate ascended from the bottom of the screen and the music started. Dancing alongside his beloved, this was to be his finest hour.
The steps came thick and fast, like ALDI cashiers on rollerblades. Up, down, left, right, and all the other movements that made up the most meaningful directions in a pony’s life. Featherweight stomped his hooves with super-equine precision and timing, as evidenced by the game’s cries of appraisal at each and every moment.
“Perfect!”
“Great!”
“Marvellous!”
…said the stallions staring at Milano’s rhythmically thrusting plot. A jet of liquid pride shot across the arcade floor. Liquid Pride, of course, being the name of a branded soft drink sponsored by Shining Armour, a can of which had been dropped by a careless teenage colt. He then proceeded to cream himself, as he was a big colt now and didn’t require assistance to apply his own skin cream anymore.
Mutterings spread throughout the arcade until a small crowd had gathered by the DDR machine as Featherweight and Button’s Mum danced with unbridled fervour. Jaws hit the floor as both mare and colt moved their hooves at break-plot pace to the beat. But Featherweight was oblivious, of course. He could’ve been dancing centre-stage in the Griffon coliseum to an army of sexually depraved, ravenous changelings and he wouldn’t have noticed. There were only arrows, and Button’s Mum. Nothing else mattered.
At the other end of the arcade, Button slammed his hoof down on the game cabinet, having exhausted his supply of bits without ever reaching the final level. He let out a furious grunt and cursed the obviously inferior four-gate arcade stick that should have definitely been an eight-gate, and was clearly an attempt by the arcade staff to impede players’ progress to get them more money. “Enjoy your money hats,” Button muttered under his breath, before plodding away to the central hub. If he was lucky, he’d be able to beg some more money from his mother. If only my Dad didn’t spend so much money on plushies, he silently cursed. Then I could afford more games than ever.
As Button contemplated his approach to get some extra bits, he hit a roadblock in the form of a wall of cheering ponies. There were a myriad of whistles, hurrahs, cries of “Amazing,” “Incredible,” “Very swagger,” and “Tight enough to pull lead from a pencil!” among other things.
“Urgh… Excuse me, please!” Button yelled, nudging his way between the legs of taller ponies who still appeared to ignore him. “Mum! Where are you?” he called, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd’s bellows, and the odd sound of hooves colliding with plastic. He tried looking upwards to get his bearings, but it was as if every pegasus in the arcade was gearing up to take flight, their wings extended out at their sides, obscuring his view. Patches of saliva and ‘Celestia knows what’ had turned the floor into a sticky mess, requiring Button to watch his step. Why is everyone drooling? He said inwardly. And what in the hay is that smell? “Mum!? Scootaloo!? Featherbrain!? Anyone!?”
Pushing between two stallions, Button leapt forward onto the one bare patch of carpet he could see. Picking himself up from the floor, he looked up to see yet another patch of carpet.
“Mum? What are you doing!?”
“Oh, please don’t distract me right now, sweetie,” Button’s Mum replied, her hooves partaking in a mad flurry as her rear end bopped around to the beat of some repetitive techno filth that made Button want to tear out his eardrums.
“Mum, you are embarrassing me!” Button fumed, looking around to see more than half the arcade’s eyes transfixed on his mother. His cheeks flushed a deep red. So many times he’d been shown up in public just because his Mum had to go and make a spectacle of herself. “Why are you even playing this stupid—?”
And then Button’s eyes were drawn to the pony dancing on the adjacent cabinet. There he was, the scrawny pegasus with his legs flailing, gawky-bared, lost in techno trance, matching the game’s moves step for step. An indescribable sensation of anger and confusion (and a little bit of déjà vu) rose up inside the young earth pony. Just what was he doing dancing with her? Button sat down and put a hoof to his chin in thought. Sure, Featherweight’s DDR skills were impeccable, but something else was going on that tickled the back of his mind…
The stallion stood behind Button stepped back and cleared his throat. “Sorry about that,” he said, looking flushed.
Unbeknownst to any of them, however, a little orange filly was on the move.
“One bottle of Cherry Pop, please!” Scootaloo requested, presenting two bits to the drink vendor.
The mare behind the counter stared at the young filly with a discerning eye and let out a high-pitched growl. “Are you local?” she snarled, baring her jagged, yellow teeth.
Scootaloo cocked her head curiously. “Well, yeah. I live here in Ponyville.”
“Thank goodness!” the mare exclaimed, dragging a gnarled foreleg over the counter and scraping the bits into a leather pouch. She ran a hoof through her tangled mane and took out a bottle of Cherry Pop. “I’ve had so much trouble with outsiders lately. Do they not understand that this is a local shop for local ponies? There’s no place for them, here! Especially not that filthy zebra who spoke in tongues and went missing last week. Not that I even saw him in the first place!”
“Um… Okay?” Scootaloo said unsurely, taking the soda bottle and slipping it into her saddlebag. “Thank you!” she called as she ran towards the arcade.
“I didn’t eat him!” the mare yelled across the marketplace. “And I didn’t turn his skin into clothing! I swear!”
Scootaloo jogged ahead — leaving behind the rugged old mare with a black and white stripy scarf — and formulated the plan in her mind. The potion she carried would cause any pony to fall madly in love with whomever they first made eye contact with after drinking. Of course, somepony might be suspicious at being presented a strange liquid, but when mixed with simple pop, who was to know? I need to play this just right, the determined young filly thought to herself. If I can do that, she’s as good as mine!
Upon reaching the arcade entrance, Scootaloo scouted intensely for Button’s Mum. It didn’t take long, of course. The large crowd around the DDR machine was telling enough, and she soon spotted Featherweight and Button’s Mum side by side, taking a bow as everypony around them cheered. So that was your plan, was it, Featherweight? Impress her with your dancing? But the joke’s on you… Scootaloo carefully poured the potion into the soda bottle, a sadistic grin on her face. You’ve made her all sweaty. And sweaty mares get thirsty. You’ve made this as easy for me as possible, Featherweight, and you don’t even know it.
With a new boost of confidence, she began a steady trot towards them. The crowd was beginning to disperse, leaving Mother Mash open to attack. It was now or never. “Mrs Mash?” she called. No response. Raising her voice, she called out again. “Mrs Ma—” Scootaloo fell abruptly to the floor as something collided with her hind legs. “Ow!” she cried out. Looking behind her, she saw a pony wearing a long, hooded coat walking away. “You tripped me!” she blasted, clambering to her hooves. “Aren’t you gonna say sorry?”
The pony didn’t reply, and instead carried on walking, their face shielded from view. Whatever, creep, Scootaloo thought indignantly. Now back to the matter at… Scootaloo looked at the floor around her. Where is it? She fumbled through her saddlebag but came up empty-hooved. Where’s the drink!?
Taking a look behind her, Scootaloo saw it. The hooded pony had tucked the bottle of Cherry Pop into their coat pocket and was nonchalantly sauntering off with it. “Hey! Give that back!” Scootaloo cried, and barrelled after him. Without looking back, the hooded pony took off, leaping effortlessly over a group of colts and swiftly passing through the exit.
Button’s Dad took one glance behind him, watching as Scootaloo leapt outside and looked in his direction, her eyes brimming with anger. “Stop! Thief!” she screamed before running after him once again. A few surrounding ponies took heed and shot him with disgruntled looks. Without responding, he sprinted through the marketplace as fast as he could, not looking back.
He knew exactly what Scootaloo’s plan was. He knew she planned to steal his wife. That’s all anypony ever tried to do. The love potion idea wasn’t to be sniffed at. As far as he was aware, it really could warp his wife’s mind into falling in love with a ten year old filly. Not only would that be a difficult scenario to explain to Button (not to mention the police) but it’d mean his one true love would be lost, possibly forever. And that was never going to happen. He would rather die horribly than see his wife be taken from him. He loved her so very much…
Nopony could ever know his secret. Nopony could ever know the truth behind his relationship with the beautiful Milano. Nopony could ever understand. Nopony could comprehend what he’d gone through. Nopony could ever witness the truth of how he had come to know the unknowable. And nopony could discover the meaning behind the plushies. He would take his secrets to the grave. That, he was certain of. And no pesky little filly would ever change that.
Sorry, Scootaloo, but you’re all out of luck…
“Wow, what a stroke of luck!” Scootaloo exclaimed as she trotted over to the bottle of Cherry Pop that had fallen from the hooded pony’s pocket. She could see him still running off into the distance, completely oblivious to his error. “Now to get you back to the arcade.”
Featherweight didn’t want the moment to end. He’d just danced along to some of the greatest DDR songs of all time — One Eyed Hero, Dead End, Requiem For A Hymen, Paint It White and Sex Pun — with the greatest mare of all time, and on ‘Deluxe Magnum’ difficulty, no less. And now they were taking a bow as the rest of the world applauded them.
Featherweight looked at Milano.
…
Milano looked at Featherweight.
…
Featherweight and Milano were looking at each other.
“I haven’t had a workout like that in quite a while,” Milano uttered between a few deep breaths. “I have to say, you’re better on your hooves than I expected. I’m very impressed.”
Oh yeah. She wants me now. I can just tell. “Well I have been practicing a lot,” Featherweight beamed. “And what about you? I thought you were amazing!”
“Let’s just say I’ve had a lot of practice myself. Why, not long after Button’s brother, Sour Mash, was born, I’d spend hour after hour dancing on these games. It’s been nearly a year since I last played on one of these, though. You see, Button doesn’t like it when—”
“Mum! How could you humiliate me like this!” said the voice of a familiar, whiny little brat. “Grown-ups shouldn’t play videogames, especially not ones where you need to jump around like a crazy pony!”
“The age recommendation says seven plus, Button,” Milano said matter-of-factly. “Not seven to twenty.”
“But it’s embarrassing!” Button wailed. “And you!” he fumed, pointing a hoof at Featherweight. “What’re you doing dancing with my Mum?”
“Uh…”
“Button!” Milano scolded. “I don’t like your tone, especially when talking to a good friend of yours. Featherweight wanted to play DDR, and so did I. We just played a few games together because it was easier that way.”
“But still…” Button said with a frown. “It’s just weird.”
“All those times I offered to play games with you, and now you’re annoyed at me for playing with someone else?”
“It’s alright you playing with Dad! Just… not anyone else.”
Milano rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Featherweight, shouldn’t we take a look at the scores?”
“Oh. Right,” said Featherweight, turning back to the game display. What he saw made him grin. “We both averaged an ‘AA’ score? Amazing! It looks like I got a few more ‘Marvellous’ hits than you did, though. You know, I’ve always wondered why ‘Marvellous’ is...”
“…better than getting a ‘Perfect?’” Milano finished. She let out a quick laugh that almost melted Featherweight’s balls. “I’ve always thought that too. It’s just one of those things about Japonies games, I guess.”
You’re marvellous, Featherweight thought. That word was created for you. Marvellous Milano. You’re better than perfect…
“I’m feeling a little bit thirsty, though,” the marvellous mare exclaimed, fanning herself with a hoof.
“Right here!” came a cry from Scootaloo, who had inexplicably appeared beside Button. She held out a bottle of fizzy drink in one hoof, panting erratically. “For you… Mrs Mash.”
“Well that’s very kind of you.” Button’s Mum took the bottle gratefully, but somewhat suspiciously. “Did you want some first, Featherweight? I imagine you’re very—”
“No!” Scootaloo bellowed. “I mean, um, no, Mrs Mash. I got that drink just for you, as a thank you for taking us all out here, and I’d really appreciate if you would drink it.”
Button’s Mum pondered this for a moment. “I do have a few bits left over to get you kids some drinks and a snack.”
“So yeah! Feel free to drink up!” Scootaloo said with encouragement, planting herself right in front of her. “Anytime you want. But right now would be good.”
Featherweight frowned with suspicion, eyeing Scootaloo’s dastardly grin. Just what is she up to? Did she put alcohol in there? Is she really trying to get her drunk? Why didn’t I think of that earlier!? Drunk dancing can only lead to the mummy-daddy dance! But before Featherweight could think of a worthwhile retort, Button’s Mum was already drinking, her head tilted back and her eyes closed as she enjoyed the thirst-quenching pop.
Scootaloo stepped forward once more, practically mere Planck lengths in front of Button’s Mum. As the mare was about to finish her beverage, Scootaloo opened her mouth. “Did you like it, Mrs Mash?”
Milano drank the last few drops and opened her eyes to see the little orange filly directly in front of her. She took an instinctive step back, startled by how close she was standing to her. Looking into the pegasus’ eyes, she nodded and smiled. “Very refreshing, I must say. Thank you, Scootaloo. I really…”
“Yes?” Scootaloo chirped, beaming from ear to ear.
Button’s Mum stared at Scootaloo intently, a curious expression on her face. “There’s something…”
“Yes!?” Scootaloo beamed, her legs wobbling giddily.
“Your mane.”
“You really like my mane? Is that it? It’s beautiful!?”
Button’s Mum looked away for a moment, appearing a little flustered. “Your mane is very… very pretty, Scootaloo.”
The excitable filly’s jaw nearly hit the floor with uncontrollable joy. “Really?”
“But there’s something else.” Button’s Mum brought a hoof to Scootaloo’s mane and gently brushed it through.
Scootaloo was practically hyperventilating at this point, savouring every moment of contact with the gorgeous mare. Time ceased to exist. There was only bliss, and the sense of victory. “W-what… What e-else is there, Mrs Mash?”
“This was stuck in your mane.”
Scootaloo blinked. “What?”
“This,” Button’s Mum said, holding up a slip of paper in one hoof, “was stuck in your mane.” She took a quick glance at what was written on it. “It’s a story. About you.”
Scootaloo took the scrap of paper and gave it a read herself. Scootaloo struggled along, crawling through the sleet and the snow for two days until she finally brought all the puppies to the safety of their mother’s kennel. However, the golden retriever had since gone rabid and tore the little cripple’s throat out. “Oh, I am going to pound those two,” Scootaloo seethed, crumpling the Scootabuse excerpt and tossing it across the arcade. Unbeknownst to her, it hit the head of a fan fiction writer who would go on to become a famous celebrity and even have his own EQ Tropes page on the town square billboard and get so much sex.
“So I promised drinks for all of you,” Button’s Mum said cheerfully. “I’m sure they’ll sell something in the marketplace.”
As Button and his mother began walking ahead, Featherweight took a moment to regard Scootaloo. The filly had practically been frozen in place, her expression one of disbelief. “The hay’s gotten into you!?” Featherweight joshed. “You mad that your plan to get her drunk failed? You do know you need alcohol for that, right?”
“I don’t understand it,” Scootaloo muttered, staring off into the distance. “It worked last time, and I’m sure I got all the ingredients right.”
Featherweight cocked an eyebrow. “Ingredients for what?”
“The love potion was supposed to work,” Scootaloo continued. “Why hasn’t it worked!? She should be eating me like an ice-cream right about now!”
“Love potion!?” Featherweight exclaimed. “What? How?”
Scootaloo snapped back to reality and gave the colt a furious glower. “None of your business, Featherbrain!”
“Hurry up, you two,” Button’s Mum called. “We can come back to the arcade in a minute or two.” The two foals did as they were told and paced after her.
Love potion, eh? Featherweight mused. Is such a thing even possible? Scootaloser seemed pretty sure it would work, so why didn’t it? Maybe I impressed her so much with my dancing that it overruled the potion! Yeah, that must be it!
The group continued walking towards the exit, until Button’s Mum stopped in her tracks. “Wait a moment,” she said aloud, looking around the arcade frantically. “Where’s… where’s Snips?”
“I think I saw him, somewhere…” Button answered tentatively. “Actually, no. I haven’t seen him since I got here.” The three foals looked between each other nervously. It became apparent that none of them had even noticed (or particularly cared) that Snips was gone.
“Oh no, this is bad,” Button’s Mum gasped. “We have to find him! He must be here somewhere in the arcade. If something’s happened to him, I…” She shook her head. “We should split up into pairs and meet right back here, next to the Plot Cycle cabinet. Button, come with me. Featherweight and Scootaloo, check over on the left hand side.”
Without question, they all got to work. For once, being teamed up with Scootaloo didn’t bother Featherweight. The need to find Snips outweighed his immense dislike of her. Not that he was particularly worried about Snips’ safety, but he knew that Button’s Mum would be held responsible should anything bad happen to him. Snips’ father, Snaps, would likely snap Button’s Mum in two. And that was too horrible to even consider.
After several minutes of intense searching, they all turned up empty-hooved. The most recent moment any of them could remember seeing him was just a short while before the DDR dance-off. With a look of mild panic, Button’s Mum insisted that they all make another round-trip of the arcade together. But still, there was no sign of him.
“Maybe he went into the marketplace,” Button suggested. “He might’ve got hungry or something.”
Hoping for the best, the four ponies trotted outside. What happened next surpassed all of their expectations.
“There she is!” they heard somepony yell from seemingly nowhere, and in an instant, two mares leapt to either side of the walkway with trombones in hoof and began playing a stirring marching theme. Two other mares, both earth ponies, (the master race) jumped to their sides, each with a basketful of rose petals. They sprinkled the walkway with a flurry of red, pink and white and began singing in high-pitched opera tones.
While all this was enough to make their jaws drop, the cherry on top came as Snips — wearing a tuxedo and holding a bunch of roses — appeared opposite them, grinning like a fool. The music and singing died down as Snips made a gesture, and he simply stared into Milano’s eyes longingly.
“S-Snips?” the mare exclaimed, completely taken aback. “We’ve been looking for you. W-what… what is all this?”
“It’s for you,” he said smugly.
“Me? You did this for me?”
“Of course, m’lady. Sure, I had to do a few chores so they’d all agree to do this, including a few circumcisions, but it was all worth it, just for you.”
“He did a great job, too,” one of the mares piped up. “My son Slit-Wrist got his foreskin lopped and he was so happy he was crying.”
“And not just this,” Snips continued. “I wrote a poem for you, Mrs Mash. It’s about my feelings for you.”
“Your feelings!?” Milano exclaimed, totally aghast. The three other foals simply stared on in utter disbelief. Snips cleared his throat.
“Roses are red,
Violets are not,
Sugar is sweet,
And so is your plot.”
He took a bow as the surrounding mares applauded. “And where are my manners?” Snips trotted up and gallantly offered the roses. “For you, my treacle tart.”
Featherweight was absolutely mortified. No way. This can’t be happening. Don’t tell me that of all the ponies, Snips — freakin’ Snips — is the one who wins this? He’s the one who wins her heart? And after all the effort that went into becoming a DDR God? This is insane!
“How dare you!?” Button roared. “You’re hitting on my Mum? What is wrong with you!?”
“I know it must be difficult for you to accept, Button,” Snips said softly, a sombre expression on his face. “But your mother is a grown mare capable of making her own choices. I know it’ll be tough, but perhaps one day I can be like a father to you.” He placed a hoof on Button’s shoulder. “This is weird, I understand that, but I care about your mother, and I’ll be sure to treat her right.”
“Snips?” Milano quipped.
“Ah, yes, my dear?”
“This is all very… sudden,” Milano said uneasily, her cheeks burning a stark crimson. “But you do know that I’m married, right?”
“Not a problem!” Snips cried. “There’s plenty of places where you can file for divorce!”
“You don’t seem to understand.” Milano brought a hoof to her temple in exasperation and wiped away reams of sweat. She took a deep breath and sighed. “I could never divorce my husband. I love him dearly. I signed the vows, ‘until death do us part’ and all that, and I’m going to stick by them. No force on earth could ever make me think otherwise. And even if we were to leave each other, I could never date somepony your age. I’d be thrown straight in prison. You’re too young for me, Snips. If you want a filly-friend, you should be with fillies your own age, you see? This cannot be allowed to carry on. This obsession of yours is unhealthy, and I think it’s for the best if you stay away for a while, to give you a chance to get over this.”
Snips slumped to the ground, tears forming in his eyes. “B-but, you c-can’t be serious, Mrs Mash? I l-l-l-love you.”
“It’s the way it has to be,” Milano said sadly. “I’m sorry, Sn—”
Before she could even finish her sentence, Snips was already sprinting down the street, wailing at the top of his lungs. The four mares who had previously helped with his declaration gave each other a series of solemn looks before slinking off through the crowd, quietly playing Chopone’s death march as they left.
Button’s Dad looked on from the shadows as Snips barrelled past, content with the result. But he couldn’t help but feel just a little bit sorry for the poor colt. After all, he would never get to feel himself being sexually milked by the dazzling temptress that was Milano. But that was life.
Nestled in the alleyway, Button’s Dad took out the bottle of Cherry Pop that he’d stolen from Scootaloo earlier. Little did the filly know that he’d switched the bottles with one of his own. She would likely go on to believe that Milano’s love couldn’t be overrun by some silly potion. So hopefully, he wouldn’t need to stop her from trying this ever again.
He peered at the innocent pink liquid, knowing full well what was inside. He would need to save it for a very, very special occasion. Which, the same as everything else about him, was a total secret that he would take to the grave. And just like that, he sped off into the afternoon.
The walk back to Button’s house was a slow one, mostly silent except for Button’s mutterings about how much of a ‘little creep’ Snips was. Featherweight didn’t want to talk. He understood now that he could try as hard as he wanted, but Button’s Mum wouldn’t and couldn’t be with him. She had a husband whom she loved. She was legal tender, he wasn’t. And from the look on Scootaloo’s face he could tell that she was thinking the exact same thing.
He said goodbye soon after and made his way home, quickly charging upstairs and burying his face into his pillow. Featherweight had never felt such anguish. The tears kept on flowing for longer than he ever thought possible. The beautiful mare’s painful words repeated over and over in his mind.
“I could never divorce my husband. I love him dearly.”
“I could never date somepony your age. I’d be thrown straight in prison.”
“I signed the vows, ‘until death do us part’ and all that, and I’m going to stick by them.”
“No force on earth could ever make me think otherwise.”
“And even if we were to leave each other,”
“I signed the vows, ‘until death do us part,’”
“You’re too young for me.”
“If you want a filly-friend,”
“Until death do us part,”
“Until death…”
Featherweight sat bolt upright, the solution finally dawning on him. Hope was not lost. Not just yet...