//------------------------------// // When The Ship Starts To Sink... // Story: Colts // by Guy_Incognito //------------------------------// When The Ship Starts To Sink... Despite a mountain of contradictory evidence that existed in the pages of the books hidden in the furthest corners of the former owner/current princess Twilight Sparkle’s library (Which had, of course, been borrowed under a false name and to a very perplexed, and, perhaps, curious look from her young dragon assistant), the mere whiff of a sweating male’s body — their musk to be more precise — wasn’t enough to turn Shady Daze into a raging gay hormone monster. In fact, if anything, the smell of sweaty stallions actually offended him. Who didn’t wear deodorant out? The heat radiating from all the bodies, the offensive stink of mares and stallions who bathed in cologne and perfume, the fact that he couldn’t make the seven step path from the bar to the quiet(er) corner of Club Black that Rumble had dragged him too — and that he now stood in — without brushing shoulders or bumping against other ponies. It was all taking it’s toll on him. Shady Daze was a little upset. Rumble, and his latest scheme, weren’t helping. His windbreaker had wrinkles around the pits and throat. His eyes were wide, his pupils large and dilated and he shifted his jaw, and licked his lips, frequently. He was staring at Shady with an imploring, begging look to his face. Shady had more than grown accustomed to this look. “It really only makes sense,” Rumble was saying. The awful sound of what someone had earlier called ‘Dub-Trot’ came to Shady’s ears, muffled by distance from the speakers and all the other stupid, pointless, go-nowhere conversations he could half make out all around him. Sighing, Shady shook his head. “How?” he begged, “How does it make sense?” Rumble lifted a hoof to his face and pulled it back, long across his forehead, then his scalp, so that his mane left a slick grease trail across his fetlock, “Look, just do me a favour okay?” Shady lifted an eyebrow. “It’s so fucking simple, Shady,” Rumble huffed in a way that made Shady almost feel like he were being dumb to turn Rumble down, “I dance with Flitter. You distract Brolly. It’s the classic ‘bait and switch’-” Chortling quiet enough that Rumble couldn’t hear, Shady shook his head again; Rumble tried so hard sometimes. Really, he did. It was almost adorable to see him think of himself as such a clever and intellectually superior pony, when, really, he was just a mess of social faux-pas and malapropisms. Rumble must have sensed Shady’s mental pondering of him, because he scowled and spat on the floor. He wiped drool off his chin, then grunted, “Or… whatever the fuck it’s called, Shady.” “Alright,” said Shady, clapping his hooves together excited at the prospect of putting Rumble in his place, “First off; That’s not even close to what that expression actually means,” he explained, with a proudly worn smirk followed closely behind by a giddy, nerdy, snicker, “Secondly; This is a very stupid plan you have here,” another pause for Shady to hit it home, “And, finally; how are you this dumb to not see how incredibly stupid this plan is?” Deeply offended, or, as close to offended as he could be; Rumble whipped his head backwards in moderately restrained concern, “What’s dumb about it?” “What’s dumb about you dancing with the girlfriend of a guy who we both know is a violent sociopath who happens to hate you and I?” Shady asked, bringing his hoof to his chin to scratch the fur he found there, “Gee, I’m not sure, Rumble. Why don’t you tell me what part of this sounds smart to you?” he waved his hoof from his chin to just in front of Rumble, but offered his other no chance for rebuttal, “Not to mention the fact that when you say ‘dancing’ what you really mean is you want to hump her on the dance floor for twenty minutes, then have sloppy drunk sex back at her place.” Rumble gave a laugh, then stomped the ground at Shady’s feet with his hooves, “Well, I mean, that’s kind of the plan here, Shady...” Shady stepped away from Rumble and his stomping hooves, “What am I even supposed to do say?” he asked, “Do you want me to just walk up to Brolly and go, ‘Hey, buddy! I know you hate my faggy guts and all, but, let’s totally forget about all that and hang out — just the two of us — for the first time, literally, ever’?” Rumble rolled his eyes, “I don’t see it being that hard…” Shady tucked his brows, “I don’t see it being easy,” Shady paused to run his tongue against his left cheek while he pondered the nature of the inner machinations of Rumble’s drug assisted mind, “Or possible. At all.” “C’mon, Shady. I’d owe you a favour, for, like, the rest of your life!” Rumble ranted, waving his hooves wildly at Shady, “Maybe, you could buy the guy a few drinks and get him good and drunk? Try something, Shady! Anything! Fuckin’ improvise! You were in Ms. Heartstrings drama class, right? You should know all about improv and shit?” Shady sighed. Logic and reason were falling on Rumble’s deaf, unsympathetic, ears, tonight. There was an upside, of course, which came in knowing that any minute now Button would grab the two of them and they’d be on their way to a corner store for beers and then after to The Icarus Cinema to catch a horror flick. Humoring Rumble was Shady stalling for time. “Dude, the second I say ‘Can I buy you a drink’ he’s gonna think I’m, like, flirting with him or something,” said Shady. Rumble gave that same mischievous, eyes-twinkling, half smirk/half grin of his, a product of years and years of his well honed roguish charm at work, “Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it…” Sadly for the pegasus, Rumble’s charm had long ago worn out it’s welcome on Shady Daze, who, groaned low and heavy towards the ground. For a minute neither Rumble, nor Shady, said, or did, anything, until Rumble prodded Shady’s shoulder with his wing and Shady bat it away with his hoof. “Fuck,” Shady sighed, pressing his hoof to his forehead and pouting his lips, “You are the all time MVP of being a son of a bitch! You know that right?” he blew a breath of hot air through his nose, “It’s like... every time I think you’ve peaked as this incredibly selfish, totally conceited, immature, asshole, you have to do something exactly like this! Blowing my already low expectations of you out of the water and putting me in a very uncomfortable position-” Rumble chuckled, “-Phrasing!-” “-Shut up!” Shady barked, “The worst part is that I’m probably going to say ‘Yes’ because you’re my best friend, and I love you.” “Platonically, I hope?” Rumble said, still chuckling, drawing the unrepentant ire of Shady, “Cause it would be kinda weird otherwise...” “Fuck off, Rumble!” Rumble wasn’t laughing anymore. “Okay, okay,” he said, smiling faintly at Shady, “I know that I’ve been an asshole tonight, and that I’m selfish, and that I’m a prick, and that I really should be up my own ass, and all that, but, can you please do me this favour?” he arched a brow and threw a pathetically desperate look on his face, “I’m begging you...” Shady scoffed, “No offense, Rumble, but, you are a very, very, stupid asshole.” Rumble’s face fell flat and a sorrowful, pitying, sort of look spread across what had once been his joyful and wild features, “Dude, c’mon now…” “Oh, don’t give me any of that false sympathy shit, Rumble!” grunted Shady, “Like I’m supposed to think you really fucking care now? All night long you’ve been a gigantic asshole to me, and to Button, and to everyone else we’ve run into. And, now that you can’t get your way, the one fucking time this entire night that you haven’t, you’re begging me to help aide and abet you in some totally fucked up, totally twisted, love fetish you have with Flitter.” The flat, pitiful look on Rumble’s face grew softer, “Hey, don’t be shitty...” “You don’t be shitty, Rumble!” “It’s one little favour, Shady,” Rumble stated, “It’s not going to kill you to spend some time with Brolly.” “Honestly?” Shady said, gasping, “There’s a really good chance it could!” “Why do you have to be such a dick about this?” Rumble asked, lowering his eyes and hunching his shoulder, “You’re being really… self centered right now, dude.” Shady Daze snorted a laugh so vicious and cruel that he was almost convinced it had come from a pony more sour and bitter than himself, “Are you seriously calling me self centred, Rumble?” Rumble raised his eyes, and, when he saw the mean, ugly, look on Shady’s face he threw it right back at him. Fuck moral hangups, Shady was being an asshole. Rumble was sure of it. “No, Shady,” Rumble drawled, “I’m sarcastically calling you self centered.” Shady would have scowled, or snorted, or huffed, or done any number of things to show Rumble just how much he resented being used like a puppet, but, he realized that there was no way Rumble would let it go. Button, wherever he was, certainly hadn’t done his end of the exit strategy, and now, as always, it was up to Shady to do something. Story of his fucking life. “So, hey,” he said, “It’s going to look like I’m walking away right now, but…” He’d find Button, then, they’d leave. With, or, without Rumble. He started moving back towards the bar, then the dance floor, when a hoof caught him by the shoulder and spun him around. Shady was now face to face with the saddest, most desperate and needy looking Rumble he had ever seen. Rumble blinked his eyes, “Shady, please…” “Don’t fucking do this to me, Rumble!” Shady groaned, shaking Rumble’s hoof off of his shoulder, “You don’t get to have me feeling guilty about turning down a chance for you to make a huge fucking mistake that, realistically, could wind your stupid, dumb, selfish, ass in a full body cast the second Brolly realizes he can’t stand more than five minutes of me, or, vice versa, and he catches you dry humping the shit out of his, not your, girlfriend on the dance floor!” Rumble sniffed the air. “-You’re like some stupid, fucking, lovesick puppy for her,” Shady stated, “And, you know what? It’s not healthy! Not for you, and definitely not for her! She’s a nice enough girl, and she’s totally trapped thinking that somewhere between you and Brolly’s little pissing match she’s going to end up happy, and, she’s not! She’s gonna get hurt. You’re gonna get hurt, and, fuck, maybe even Brolly gets hurt too! All because of you.” “Hey…” “You think you’re in love with her, but you’re not, and, she’s definitely not in love with you! And all the while she’s getting used by you, and by Brolly!” Rumble scanned the eyes of the crowd, making sure that nowhere within ear shot of this argument were Brolly, or Flitter, or Thunderlane, or Cloud Kicker. When he was sure there was no one important listening he made his move. “Fuck off!” “No, you fuck off,” Shady said, shaking his head, “It’s fucking day after day of this bullshit with you! You’ll do something stupid and then, oh boy, it’s me, Shady Daze, to the rescue! Carrying your weight, and mine, while you torch everything in your path to prove to your asshole brother and his asshole best friend that you’re cool.” Rumble took a step forward. He puffed his chest out, flaunting to Shady all the muscles of his pecs to the thinner colt before him making wild and undeserved accusations about him. “Hey, asshole, let’s get something straight here; I never asked you to ‘carry my weight’ around, okay?” Rumble shouted, “You choose to do it. Just like you choose to pretend to be this gigantic fucking victim of circumstance every time something dumb and stupid happens!” he stepped forward, still waving his broader, more masculine frame around like a weapon, “If wanting to fuck Flitter’s brains out is my fetish, than being this mopey, whiny, little bitch is your fucking fetish!” Another step forward brought Shady a few steps backwards, until his butt touched against a wall and he had nowhere else to back away. “It’s like you just fucking love the idea of being this hapless, helpless, innocent, doe-eyed victim!” Rumble shouted, “,‘Aww heck, looks like I just fucking have to keep saving Rumble from all of his little messes while being a humble little martyr at the same time. Oh, woe-is-me...’.” With his back against the furthest wall of the club, and Rumble still making moves towards him, Shady wasn’t sure what came next. This could be bad. Real bad. There were hard drugs in his system, fueling his actions, and, it didn't’ look like he had any sympathy left in him. “If you’re so sick of it why do you keep hanging out with me?” Rumble asked, stepping forwards again, “Why the fuck did you even come out tonight if you thought it was gonna turn out like this?” he pitched up an eyebrow, “Huh? Why keep coming and hanging out with me, and my ‘asshole brother’, and that ‘asshole’ Brolly?” It could be rhetorical. It could have been literal. Shady Daze wasn’t sure what to say, so he kept quiet. “You wanna know why you keep coming out?” Rumble asked, “It’s because you fucking love feeling like a victim! It’s your thing.” Shady Daze swallowed then stepped forwards until his thin, lanky, frame met Rumble’s. Their chests touching, Shady scowled and snapped his jaw, “Fuck you.” Rumble backed away, laughing. He threw his head backwards, shook his head so that his mane inched sideways, left, right, then back to normal and then, when his head came down, he threw at Shady the most brutally imposing look he could. “Oh, no. No, ho, ho! This! This shit…” he chuckled, “This is classic Shady Daze right here!” he kept laughing and shaking his head, “Yeah, fuckin’ pout, and bitch, and moan, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m absolutely, one hundred and ten percent right about all of this and you fucking know it!” “Fuck-” Shady began before a snap of Rumble’s tongue cut him off, “-No, you fucking know it! You do!” Rumble shouted, “You act like everything in your life sucks so fucking much, and, that’s just as fucking annoying to be a part of as any of the shit I do is to you!” he snapped his tongue again, “I’m sorry that life, and fate, and luck have all been an asshole to you! I’m sorry that your dad drinks way too much! I’m sorry that neither of your parents hugged you enough as a kid! And, hey, I’m really sorry that Diamond Tiara — that toxic mega cunt — outed you to the entire fuckin’ town!” Shady’s eyes fell to the ground where he could see Rumble’s fetlocks digging into the porcelain tile floor of Club Black. “But, you know what?” Rumble snapped, “I was the one who was there for you when she did! You’re pretty quick to forget all the nights of both of our lives when I was there to listen to you, and to be a shoulder to lean on, and a fucking sponge for you!” Rumble licked his lips, “I was a fucking friend to you when you needed me, and you act like that shit doesn’t matter!” Shady stayed quiet. He lifted his head, slightly, and stared up at his friend, who looked so much meaner and taller now than he had ever before in the past. “Well it fucking matters to me, you prick!” Rumble screamed, “If you think that I don’t care about you then you’re a real asshole! And, hey, when you’re not too busy sitting in the corner, breeding all these negative emotions to realize that there’s been a lot of times when you’ve been exactly where I’m standing right now and that I was there for you, let me know!” “Rumble…” “No, don’t do that!” Rumble grunted, “You’re wrong, I’m right and you know it. Now, you’ve made a real good show of being a dick tonight but you owe me, and you know it! You owe me just as much as maybe I owe you, but, all I’m asking for is for you to do me one stupid favour and not complain about it. So, are you gonna do it, or do I have to remind you of all the times I’ve had your back in the past decade of our lives?” Shady growled the way a dog would; scrunching up his nose, peeling back his lips and throwing Rumble one of the ugliest, nastiest looking glares he could. This was only to satisfy his mind, which told him that Rumble’s plan was indeed infinitely stupid, and that somehow, making an ugly face would make it more apparent. When it didn’t, and after a few minutes passed of Shady Daze doing a mean guard dog impression, he re-formed into a perfectly well adjusted looking pony and resigned to his fate. “Fine.” “Good.” Rumble huffed. They split apart without either one looking back at the other; Shady headed towards a quiet corner of the club where a drunk, and on drugs, Brolly sat alone in a V.I.P. booth, surrounded by empty beer bottles and highball glasses, idly nodding along to the sound of the music, grinding his teeth and every so often sniffing or rubbing his nose. Rumble moved towards an empty barstool right beside the girl he had every intention of playing a round of ‘The Casual Sex’ game with. Neither of them worried about what Button Mash was doing. *** He’d parted from Shady Daze not long ago, and, now, alone and scared for his wellbeing, Button Mash was wading and weaving through a crowd of bodies so impossibly larger looking than his that it frightened him. What was he doing? Really? What was his plan? Shady had said something about talking to Blossomforth, and, it had made sense at the time, sure, but, now, alone and without Shady as his guiding light, well, it just didn’t seem as likely that he’d be able to pull it off. Talking to mares — and especially a drunk and, apparently, in heat (or something) one — had never been a specialty of his. Rumble was better suited to the task. Rumble had that skill. That gift. Rumble could pick a mare — any mare — from a crowd and in no less than two hours after introducing himself to her, could take her back to his place to do all manner of wicked, sinful things with her behind closed doors. Button Mash was not Rumble. Also, for good measure, he was not Shady Daze, who had some kind of supernatural ability to strike up the most comfortable of friendships with a girl minutes after meeting her. Shady was friends with Twist, and Archer, and Dinky, and Scootaloo, and Applebloom, and Sweetie Belle, and Aura, and Berry Pinch, and a hundred and one other mares in Ponyville. Button Mash cussed, quiet enough that if the music wasn’t so loud that his eardrums wouldn’t feel like they were bleeding, internally, no one probably would have heard him anyway. A curious thought drifted through his mind; this night so far had been one of the most eventful of his entire life, and yet, nothing truly dreadful had happened to him. Schemes had been concocted. Drinks had been consumed. Cake had been baked and devoured at his place. He’d touched a girls ass for the first time, and, through it all, nothing textbook bad had really happened. Through thick, thin and Rumble’s scheming, he was no better or worse off than when he’d left his house hours earlier. Karmic neutrality. Good had happened (Touching Blossomforth’s butt, having a conversation with Dinky which could lead to more conversations in the future), and so had bad (Getting perma-banned from The Toad in The Hole, having to spend more than sixty seconds in the same room as Brolly), but nothing had gone so terribly wrong enough to discourage him from keeping going. The big pony in the sky — the grand schemer — was watching over him and smilingly. Dimly. A girl — A hot girl — one who was definitely in the double digit club on the ‘hot’ scale and who also happened to be leaps and bounds out of his league, was waiting for him on the dance floor of a club he’d never imagined stepping hoof in. He certainly had luck on his side that night. Luck, and a fair bit of stupidity as well. Holding his head high and puffing out his chest as proudly as he could, Button Mash decided to keep calm and pony on. He sauntered forwards, locking eyes with ponies he’d normally shy away from — bigger, stronger looking stallions, and, far hotter mares than he’d be comfortable gawking at in public —, who all returned his goofy grin. Tonight Button Mash was one of them; a winner. Not a pony to be trifled with. Yes sir. He was a winner alright. Just like Rumble, and Shady, (and even Thunderlane and Brolly too.) Blossomforth was still dancing just as she had been when he left her, only now, she had another temporary dance partner; Roseluck. They together danced like they’d been doing it their whole lives; hips shaking, bottoms touching, heads whipping back and forth, neither ever nearing becoming out of synch with the other. During a lull in the song, when the bass was low and the track was almost inaudible, they turned to spot Button Mash and devious, dastardly smiles crawled across their cheeks. The girls had dirty things in mind for him. He could tell. Button swallowed a lump in his throat. Two girls. One Button. Roseluck excused herself from the twosome with a polite head nod to Blossomforth, who waved after her, smiling and giggling. As she passed by Button Mash, Roseluck took the time to lean her face to his, brushing her lips against his ear and whispering “Good luck, stud.” When she pinched his ass, Button yelped. Stick to the plan. Somewhere in the club, a sad and lonely Shady Daze, and an eccentric, anxious, maybe on drugs (Button couldn’t tell, but it sure had seemed like it earlier) Rumble were waiting for him to tear himself away from Blossomforth and find them. And, in a small part, he wanted that just as much as they did. More maybe. The promise of a double feature of throwback slasher movies at his favourite cheap-seat theatre with his two best friends, followed up by an all night long marathon of his favourite video games, fueled by more beers and the kind of energy drinks that had warning labels on them, was stronger than his desire to lose his virginity to a mare who objectified him as an adorable walking erection. Blossomforth was licking her lips when he approached her. “Where’d you get off too?” she said, wrapping her hooves around his frame and pulling her to him. “Uh...” “Doesn’t matter,” she said, groping his behind, “You’re here now.” Blossomforth was fifty shades of over-attached. “About that,” Button said, clearing his throat, “Uh, can, er… maybe,” that lump in his throat returned so he cleared it out, again, “Can we talk?” Blossomforth pinched his flesh tighter, hugged him closer to her and, with her mouth to his ear, dragged her tongue across his cheek, “Somewhere private?” “Uh,” he squeaked, “Yeah…” Her tongue found his inner ear, her grip on his rear softened, and all the blood rushed from his cheeks to the once soft dangly bits between his legs. “I like the way your mind works, Button,” said Blossomforth. “Let’s find somewhere really dark and very quiet, okay?” Why in Equestria did it sound like she had something dirty in mind? Just stick to the plan. Soon enough he’d be sipping cold beer, or malt liquor, from a bottle, resting comfortably in the furthest seats of The Icarus, his legs up on the chair before him, Shady to his left, Rumble to his right, Shady wincing at the sight of gory dismemberment, Rumble cackling at the same thing. The killer, Patchface, would be slaying impressionable, ditzy, teen bimbos with the titular pair of hedgeclippers. The Icarus seemed so far away… Like before, Blossomforth led and, like the emotionally smaller pony he was, Button Mash blindly followed her — watching with guilty joy the way that the two perfectly round, plump, mounds of flesh and fur that were her butt, bounced and jiggled with every step she took. Pulling him along, Blossomforth ducked, dived, bobbed and weaved through the droves of thinner, fatter, smaller and larger bodies all around them. She could slip between cracks in the crowd, flawlessly, Button noted in the few times he wasn’t being struck in the face by outstretched limbs, or scratched across the cheeks by sharp zippers and cufflinks attachments to jackets, or splashed in the face with droplets from spilled drinks. Finally, after some time, they came upon a quiet(er) spot of the club where Blossomforth, with his hoof in hers, stood Button up on his hind legs, did so herself and pushed him, violently, against the wall. Then she did something that made Button excited and scared at the same time. She kissed him. Hard. On the lips. Her tongue, all wet and tasting like the last drink she’d had — a gin and tonic, if he had to guess — pushed up against his lips, and, when her hooves pinched his ass cheeks and he yelped she invited herself inside his mouth. She ravaged him with her tongue, and her hooves playing with the flabby flesh on his hind, and her body, so warm and comfy, pressing, needily, against his. Button’s sense of pure and wholesome innocence took a nosedive and landed somewhere deep in the pits of ‘seedy, drunken, hornyness.’. Maybe The Icarus, Rumble, and Shady could wait just a little longer... *** The way she moved made him hot and bothered. She wasn’t even doing anything overtly sexual, just sitting beside Cloudkicker and Thunderlane, smiling, laughing, being cheerful and adorable. When she saw him, and she smiled at him and waved him over, Rumble knew that he’d made the right decision tonight. Fuck, Shady Daze, this was what he needed. She was what he needed. He was going to go home with Flitter. He was sure of it. She meant so much to him. She always had. She’d been his babysitter when he was just a stupid, babbling, foal, on nights when Thunderlane would go out with this mare, or that one, or get trashed with Brolly. Thunderlane would leave, Flitter would come over and everything would be great. Together they would play board games, build towers out of blocks or stay up watching ‘R’ rated movies, drinking chocolate milk and eating chocolate chop cookies on the couch. The glory days of his innocent youth were far behind him. Still, Flitter had been around for almost all his life, from morally pure and sound, doe-eyed foal, to the boundless, mare-laying, depraved and enviable young stallion he was today. She herself had brokered him into adulthood one night not long ago when she’d taken his innocence in a drunken night of passionate sexual intercourse. He had a lot to thank her for, least of all was that. He moved towards the trio of ponies; Thunderlane, Cloud Kicker and Flitter, with an arrogant strut; rolling his shoulders, shaking his rear and whipping his head side-to-side along with the beat of a song playing. Spotting him, Flitter giggled into her hoof and Rumble’s heart skipped a beat. She was so fucking sexy it hurt (mostly in and around his crotch). “Look at this happy-go-lucky bastard,” said his brother, grinning, “What’s got you so amped up?” “No too much,” said Rumble, “Except that I just convinced Shady Daze to patch things up between him and Brolly because I’m an awesome-possum.” Cloud Kicker peered at him, “Really?” “Yup,” Rumble said, “Those two could really stand to get along, and, me, being the infinitely intelligent and undeniably handsome guy that I am, convinced Shady that, really, all he needs to do is spend a little one-on-one time with Brolly,” he flashed a toothy grin to the trio, “Before you know it those two are gonna be best buddies, all thanks to me.” Thunderlane stroked his chin and looked to be gearing up to say something — probably negative — when instead he grinned, “I dunno, dude. Brolly really, really, really, dislikes Shady,” he said, then looked at Rumble again and hushed his tone, “This isn’t going to end with Brolly going away for murder, is it?” “Naw,” Rumble said, waving away Thunderlane’s hesitant look with a flick of his hoof, “Shady’ll straighten Brolly out. Just wait.” Thunderlane snickered, “Kind of an ironic choice of words there, Rumble.” No one laughed with him. “I never got what Brolly’s major hang-up with Shady was,” Cloud Kicker said, “They were kind of friendly before we all found out he was gay-” This earned her a set of wide eyed, quiet, stares from her companions, “-As in; Brolly never openly threatened to maim him before he knew that he liked guys.” “Eh, there’s always some kind of drama with Brolly,” Thunderlane said, “I mean, we’re friends... the fuckin’ guy rents a room in my house, and half the time I don’t even know what the fuck is going on in that twisted brain of his. Sometimes he wants to go out for drinks, he’ll gets plastered and then he’ll just rant about things that piss him off, like paying taxes, or geriatric old farts. Sometimes though, Brolly scares the absolute shit out of me-” Rumble, half listening, half not, found his undivided attention drawn from Flitter’s chest, to his brother at the older pony’s admittance that there was something in life he was afraid of. This was uncommon from Thunderlane, who pranced about life without a care or concern, always leaping when he should tip-toe and never looking both ways before crossing a street. “Sometimes…” said Thunderlane, uneasily, “Hanging out with the guy… It’s like all he wants from life is to just kick the ever-loving shit out of something small and defenceless; like a puppy, or a marmot.” Rumble’s eyes crackled with life, “Huh?” Thunderlane, mulling over how to phrase his statement, shooed the girls away for the time being and turned to Rumble. There was honesty on his face — which was also quite uncommon for his older brother — and the cocky grin had been replaced with a neutral, soft, smile. Curious as he was, Rumble’s eyes still followed Flitter away from the bar, towards a quieter end, where she waved to him and him to her. Then he turned back to Thunderlane, smiled, and prepared himself for whatever his brother had to say. “So, uh... look,” Thunderlane said, rubbing his temples, “Don’t tell the girls this — especially Flitter — but that story he told about playing pool earlier? That was total bullshit.” Rumble’s eyebrows lifted, “What?” “See, what he didn't mention was that, the big, bad, ‘hard looking cunt’ was actually some ninety pound nerd — probably your age — who was there with his girlfriend,” Thunderlane explained in softer, more drawn out words than Rumble was used to hearing him used, “And that the kid didn’t do anything wrong either. There were no mean looks... No tension between him and Brolly... Nothing! The fuckin’ kid, this scrawny little dork, is just sitting there, minding his own business, and Brolly is absolutely fucked on Flash!-” Thunderlane lowered his tone when he noticed ponies around the bar begin to stare at them. Rumble leaned forwards until his chin rested on his crossed legs and his crossed legs rested against the backwards, backrest of the barstool. “-He was fucked,” Thunderlane said, again, “I’m talking the; ‘bloodshot eyes popping out of his head, grinding his teeth so hard I’m surprised they didn’t turn to dust’ kind of fucked. He’s playing the worst game of pool that I’ve ever seen, and, I would be ripping on him, but he’s got a dangerous look in his eyes, so I don’t; I just keep playing, hoping Brolly’s luck gets better, and that, if it doesn’t, he won’t be using me as a scapegoat, y’know?” Rumble nodded. “Well, anyway,” Thunderlane said, “Brolly’s luck gets no better over the night. It’s like, the harder he tries, and the more he drinks, the more he just keeps missing all these easy shots. The fucking guy is scratching left and right, and, I guess it all starts to get to him, because, this time when he scratches so bad his pool cue tears into the table, everything goes totally belly up-” Thunderlane stared across the room, searching the crowd for hide or tail of Brolly’s presence as not to offend. “-Brolly misses his shot, and he’s so fucking pissed about it that when that kid — the dork at the bar with his date — laughs at something his girlfriend must have said, Brolly marches up to him and, without a word or anything, fucking cracks the kid over the head with his pool cue!” Thunderlane accented this by swinging an imaginary pool-cue at Rumble and adding a ‘Crack’ sound when the would-be stick would have met Rumble’s cranium, “The next thing I know, I’m dragging Brolly out of there by his fucking waist while Brolly’s kicking, thrashing and screaming about how he’s going to ‘burn the place to the fuckin’ ground’, how we have to ‘bury the kid’s body’, and that if we didn’t we’d be looking at life behind bars!” Thunderlane sighed, “I’m sure the kid is fine — maybe some very minor brain damage, but still breathing — But, I swear, for the next two months after that every time someone knocked on the front door I was sure I’d open it to find an entire platoon of Royal Guards on the other side there to haul Brolly off to the dungeons,” he paused for a minute then shrugged his wings, “Brolly’s a fuckin’ psycho, dude. I mean, I know he’s my best mate, but still…” “Fucks sakes…” Rumble breathed, hardly above a whisper. And that was the guy he’d just left Shady with… If he wanted to look back in the crowd for Shady, it wouldn’t have done him any good; the deal had already been made and signed by Shady after a round of cursing and grumbling. To go back on it now would be admitting to Shady that he was right all along. Regardless, Rumble, momentarily, peeked his head above all the bodies to make sure, just for the record, that Shady Daze didn’t have a pool-cue sized bruise jetting out of his head. A flock of gryphons — large, imposing, black feathered ones with angry looking patterns dyed into their coats in white, red, grey and blue — blocked his view. Rumble bit his lower lip so hard he cracked open the skin and bled a little bit into his mouth. Shady was going to be okay. Right? *** “Fuck did you just say to me?” Brolly, leaning backwards into the pleather back-rest of one of Club Black’s private booths, his legs tossed behind him and over the headrests of the seats, stared up at Shady Daze with, somehow, both a scowl and a disgusted look to his face. Shady swallowed hard and repeated himself, “Um, I said; do you want a drink, or… something?” Rumble was a very stupid pony, and, it only then occurred to Shady Daze that some of that stupidity was going to rub off on him, or already had. He was, afterall, the one standing before Brolly, staring stupidly at the older pony, stitching together words clumsily while he rambled and tried his hardest not to look too dull. Brolly sniffed, pursed his lips and a twitch overtook his left eye. He blinked, once, then snorted, spat a loogie over his left shoulder, and, when he turned back he shook his head at Shady, “You tryin’ to fuck with me, lumber-lover?” Shady swallowed again. “N-no,” he said, softly, to the floor and not at Brolly, “I… uh, well, Flitter…” he licked his lips and glanced back up at Brolly through strands of his mane that had gone loose and wild, “She, uh…” “What?” Brolly gawked, “Spit it out for fucks sakes!” “She said that, maybe, since we don’t really get along all too well, that, uh, we could, like, chill for a bit?” How was that for improvising, Rumble? “Chill?” Brolly scoffed, “Flitter wants you and me to ‘chill’? Together?” “Yes?” Shady said in a high-pitched squeak, “She, uh…” he scratched his shaggy mane, “Well, she said she was gonna go dance with Cloud Kicker, and since you’re here alone… and, I’m here... and... also alone... and since we’ve never really hung out before-” “With good reason,” Brolly snorted, “You’re a fuckin’ cum-guzzler!” He accented the last two words, ‘Cum’ and ‘Guzzler’, by slamming his left hoof on the table in what Shady assumed was something close to a physical little show of his disgust and hatred for Shady Daze and his ulterior, queer, lifestyle. Shady, so used to being the punchline of one of Brolly’s jokes, was unfazed. “You know,” he started, “There’s more to me than my insatiable lust for cock, Brolly.” “Like what?” “I dunno,” he shrugged, “I used to be the goalie for my road hockey team when I was a kid? I was the staff photographer for my school’s newspaper? I make Equestria’s greatest grilled cheese sandwich?” “Celestia almighty! You are the least interesting fucking pony I have ever met in my life. You know that, right?” he rolled his eyes. Light from one of the overhanging power lights bounced off the slicked, ink black mane atop of Brolly’s head, “Wait… you’re not seriously fucking proud of yourself for any of those things, are you?” he cocked his head sideways, light bounced off his mane again and got in Shady’s eyes so that he had to squint. Brolly laughed so loud and barbarically that it drew curious looks from the ponies — and gryphons — around them, “Holy fuck! You are, aren’t you?”, he beat his hooves against the table, “You are so very fucked in the head!” When he was sure the crowd wasn’t watching them anymore, Shady sighed, but kept his head held high, “Whatever,” What a surprise; befriending the juggernaut of intolerance and hate that was Brolly was going to be the death of him. He’d been right all along... ...and yet, somehow, being right didn’t make him feel any better. “C’mon, Brolly, let’s just have a couple beers, and, you know, shoot the shit, or whatever?” Shady said, leaning his weight onto his left legs and kicking the ground with his right, “I think, maybe after a few more drinks you might decide that you hate me a tiny bit less than you did yesterday, and the day before and the day before that,” Shady said, using all of his willpower left to lift his cheeks into a smile as plain and polite as he could muster, “Where’s the harm in making a new friend, right?” “I have an image, you shit-sniffer,” said Brolly, “Y’know; a reputation? My social standing would take a very hard plummet if I was caught chatting with you by certain ponies in this town.” “Oh, right, because being a violent, drug addicted, drug dealing, homophobe has opened so many doors for you,” Shady said to a deadpanned, expressionless, look from Brolly. Shady Daze: One. Brolly: Still a good deal more, but Shady would get there... “How ‘bout you fuck off to whatever shithole you came from, and I enjoy the rest of my night without having to worry about getting date raped?” said Brolly, waving the colt away with his hoof. “Or, did you want to save me some time in the future and let me to take you out back now so I can beat the gay out of you?” Rumble. He was doing this for Rumble. Because Rumble was his best friend and he owed Rumble, and this was going to make Rumble happy, and that’s what best friends did; they made each other happy. It was worth it, Rumble had assured him, and, maybe, somewhere in the near future Rumble would repay him in kind when he needed it most? Maybe... But it wasn’t likely… “Don’t just fucking stare at me with that stupid expression,” Brolly snapped, dragging Shady Daze out of his head, “You look fucking retarded.” Shady Daze had gotten tired of the constant swallowing back words and bad-feeling emotions. Brolly certainly wasn’t making this easy, and, if anything short of Rumble having the best night of his life happened, he owed Rumble a kick to the scrotum. “Dude, hate it or love it, Brolly, but we are hanging out,” said Shady, “It’s… important to Flitter,” — he was lying —, “And, well, for some reason she kinda loves you, and, you love her, right?” In place of another jab at his sexuality, or a curse about how much time of his life Shady was wasting, Brolly nodded his head. “So... yeah… Think about Flitter,” Shady smiled, “I mean, I’ve made it this far without you… like… breaking my face. That’s gotta be something, right?” he wiggled his eyebrows, “And, despite how wrong I’m already sure that I am, I’d really like to imagine there’s more to you than just being a very angry, hateful, pony.” Brolly leaned backwards, “Why the fuck is this so important to you?” Because it was important to Rumble... “Because I’d like to live in a world where I’m comfortable coming over to Rumble’s place and not having to worry about leaving the next day with ‘I AM A HUGE FAG.’ shaved into my fur, or with feathers glued to me, or having you dye my coat pink — again —, or covered in bruises from another round of; ‘Pin-The-Takeout-Menus-On-The-Shady’ that I have to tell my teachers I got from falling down the stairs-” he threw a glare at Brolly, “-Again.” “Learn to take a fuckin’ joke, cock-breath,” Brolly cussed, and laughed for a few minutes afterwards. After winding down, he looked up at Shady, “I will be totally honest; I thought it would take way more than a month for that dye to wash out,” he snickered again, “It was supposed to be, like, totally water resistant. You must have really been scrubbing hard, eh?” Shady hooked a hoof around the back of his neck and scrubbed absentmindedly at his mane, “Yeah…” Brolly’s face, large, imposing and glaring, softened just slightest while he smiled at the memory of the hot-pink coated Shady Daze. Giggling, he crossed his lower legs and let his wings unfold and surround his body like a shield. “That was a good one,” Brolly insisted to himself, grinning up at Shady through the feathers of his wings, “One of my best. In fact, it was almost as good as the time I blasted you off the couch with that fire-extinguisher-” Shady felt the patchwork markings of where skin had been skillfully stitched back together from where his head had hit the coffee table and left that ugly scar that one could only ever really see if you looked hard enough for it, “I vaguely recall…” “-Or the time I used an entire air-horn on you at six in the morning-” Shady’s left eye twitched, “-Doc Stable said my hearing is still kinda iffy from that…-” Brolly snickered, “-Or, when I poured you a double shot of ipecac and told you it was a Tequila Mockingbird on your birthday-” Shady sighed, “It was your bed I ended up puking in...” Brolly’s face turned hard as stone, “You still owe me forty bits for those bedsheets, Shady.” Silence. Nothing but silence while Shady Daze tried, as hard as he could, to remember what specifically was on the grocery list of good deeds that Rumble had done for him, and, why exactly they were worth cashing in for this. “So, here’s what I’m gonna suggest we do,” said Shady, “I am going to buy us both a drink, and then we’re both going to try really, really, hard to be friends for as long as it takes for those things to never, ever, ever, happen to me again,” he stared hard at Brolly, “Capiche?” Brolly shrugged, “Whatever you say, Shady Daze. A free drink is a free drink,” he furrowed his brows, “But, I swear if you come back with anything that’s got an umbrella in it, or ends in ‘Tini’, the next time you stay over you’re going to wake up with a broomstick so far up your ass you’ll be coughing sawdust for weeks.” Shady sighed, then, remembering that he’d made it this far without Brolly acting on any of his threats, he smiled, “Right,” he said, nodding at Brolly, “No Roofie Coladas then?” The teensiest, tiniest, blink-and-you’d miss it, sort of smile crawled up along the left and right sides of Brolly’s mouth. He didn’t laugh, or snicker, and, after a short second his face fell back into the perma-glare and scowl look he’d worn all night, but, for that one millisecond in time Shady saw a side of Brolly that didn’t want to kill him. Maybe this wasn’t going to be the death sentence he’d thought it was after all.