A lone pony peaked out from a closet. He was young, not much older than seventeen. He glanced around, then stepped out. Breathing a sigh of relief, he stepped downstairs.
“Thanks, Mr and Mrs. Cake,” he said, walking towards the door. “ I wouldn’t have made it through this year without you.”
“No problem, Free.” Mr. Cake called from the back. “ Next year, just don’t go out. I didn’t until I met Mrs. Cake.”
“I’ll take your advice, Mr. Cake.” he said. “ Next mating season, I’ll be ready.”
He stepped outside; he had been cooped up inside the Cake’s closet for five days straight. He rubbed a bite mark that he had received on day one. Serves me right, that's what I get for locking myself out. He ran a hoof through his mane. He had roughly a year to prepare. He walked briskly to his house on the outskirts of Ponyville. He muttered darkly under his breath as he fiddled magically with his door’s lock.
Back at Sugarcube Corner, Mr. Cake looked out the window at the fastly disappearing Free Writer. He had been a frequent at the shop since a few years back. He had came to the door roughly one day into the season. Nursing a love bite on his ribs, he had been dodging the hordes of horny females for at least two hours. Naturally, Mr. Cake had hid him in a closet until the season had died down. I hope his opinion of the opposite sex isn’t too damaged, He thought, after all, it’s really just hormones.
He turned his attention to a slightly more important matter, a wife to satisfy…..
ONE YEAR LATER…..
Part 1: an out of towner.
(Perspective: Free Writer)
I looked over my notes and schematics. I pushed my glasses onto the bridge of my snout. I had queued up some classical music on an old phonograph my parents had left me. It didn’t suit my tastes as much as metal, but it was good concentrating music. The last layer of the barrier would go up today, the eve of mating season. I had invested lots of time and bits into mare proofing the house, but it would all be worth it in the next five days. I chuckled to myself, no one would get to me this year.
As it turns out, last year’s debacle had been the closest call, for me at least. I had moved to Ponyville when I was sixteen from Fillydelphia. Back in the city, mating season was much more orderly. I had barely heard of it until sixteen; that was my first ponyville mating season. I had made it without being caught by doing what I always did, hiding in closets. It seemed now like I had a habit of it. This year was going to be different. I had prepared much more than those years.
I readied the last phase of the spell, a aura the color of ink coated my house. Then, it shimmered into invisibility. It would hold the unicorns from disintegrating the steel bars I had installed on the windows to keep the earth ponies and pegasi out. I had even put a grate over the fireplace. Apparently, some of the craftier mares had tried to lower themselves into some holdouts’ homes through them. I wasn’t leaving anything to chance. I looked out the window. The hordes were forming now. Figures were emerging from houses. No doubt as horny as ever, I thought. I saw a train puffing into the station. A few figures got out, I hoped they knew what time of year it was. The figures from town started moving toward the station. Poor bastards, I thought. I knew what came next, and it wasn’t going to be a happy experience for them. I took off the classical music from the phono and switched to a more modern CD player. The sweet, sweet sound of Dragon’s Bane came over the speakers. I began to hum as the mating season began.
(Prospective: Iron Ore)
I stepped off the train, looking at my former hometown, breathing in the scent of fresh flowers and grass. I looked around the station. It was desolate. I glanced at a calendar, instantly realising the horrible truth. It was Celestia damn mating season. I turned to see the train leaving and the mares setting in. The station master was boarded up in his booth. I had one chance, I hoped that Free Writer was in town. He had been a good friend in school and when I had moved to Manehatten to pursue an editorial career, he had been behind me one hundred percent. I hopped on to the tracks next to the warning sign. Buck the rules, I thought, it’s mating season. I galloped around the outside of the village, heading towards the hill that my friend’s house was on. I was halfway there when I started to see shadows in the trees; they were catching up.
“Omigosh,” I heard one of them say. “ is that Iron Ore?”
“No?” one replied. “ I used to have such a crush on him back in school.”
“I thought he was a huge stoner.” another said.
“I’m not a stoner!” I yelled over my shoulder.
I increased my efforts, my track and field training kicking in. I might not have had magic like Writer, or wings like Grasshopper, but I was fast on my feet. I booked it to Writer’s house; suddenly, there were no hoofbeats behind me. I had reached the door, knocking rapidly. I glanced back at the woods. Just beyond them on the edges of the field were at least twenty mares. The door opened, and Free Writer pulled me in.
“Hey, Iron,” he said to me, nonchalantly. “ I thought that visit was today. How are you?”
“Pretty good,” I replied, catching my breath. “ I just wished I had some warning.”
“Sorry,” he said, “ I was a bit caught up in the last bit of my defences.”
“Are they still out there?” I asked.
“Yep,” he replied. “ but my distraction worked well.”
“What distraction?” I asked.
“I put those male model calendars out across the yard.” he replied. “ Hopefully it will keep their ovaries occupied until they forget about you.”
“Wow, man,” I chuckled. “ didn’t know you swung that way.”
“I don’t.” he deadpanned.
We broke into laughter as he resumed his CD player. I had got it for him for his eighteenth birthday, six months back.
“Dude,” I said, chuckling. “ still listening to power metal?”
“You know it.” he replied. “ That and metalcore. Have you given Amon’s Blessing a review yet?”
“Yeah, man,” I said, thinking back to their album Twilight of the Thunder Pony. “ that’s some heavy stuff.”
“You want something to drink?” he asked.
“Cider, on the rocks.” I replied.
“It’s not even lunch time, bro.” he joked.
“Buck it,” I said.
“It’s mating season.” he finished.
(Perspective: Grasshopper)
I rubbed my eyes groggily. Upon seeing the empty cider tankards scattered around the room, I tried to remember what happened last night. For a split second I almost forgot: I was hungover. This, however, was quickly reminded to me by a splitting headache. I tried to get to my hooves. What day is it? I stumbled towards a wall calendar in my room. It was June tenth! What? No, it couldn’t be June tenth. I looked out the window. They were already out.
“No, no, no, no.” I muttered under my alcohol spliced breath.
I quickly stepped to the next room. Marmalade was sprawled out on the bed. I shook the blonde unicorn awake.
“Wha?” he said deliriously.
“Dude,” I said. “ it’s mating season.”
“Shit.” he responded almost instantly.
“What do we do?” I asked, drawing the curtains closed.
“Free Writer.” he answered. Referring to our mutual friend.
“What about him?” I asked.
“He said that he was prepared for the season.” Dark continued. “ If we can get to him, we might be able to hide.”
“What if we’re caught?” I asked.
“It’s better than waiting for them to gang rape us in here.” he concluded.
“Fair enough.” I replied. “ I’ll try by the air, I can scout ahead for you.”
“Alright,” he said. “ let’s go.”
I opened a window and flew out. It didn’t help that I was still hung over. I wobbled through the sky, flying from cloud to cloud. I saw Marmalade leave the house, making his way through the streets. I looked off to the right, spotting a crowd of mares around a blue box. I moved a cloud over to them so I could hear their conversation. I looked closer, is that Dinky Doo? It was, she was standing guard against the crowd of mares.
“Let us in, kid.” one said. “ We know he’s in there.”
“Sorry, Colgate.” she replied cheerfully. “ Mommy’s already in there with my new Daddy.”
“Why can’t she share?!” Colgate said, exasperated. “ I didn’t even get one last year.”
“Mommy told me not to let anyone in.” she said.
“Fine, Dinky,” she said, “ but I’ll be back. It’s only day one after all.”
I turned back and flew to Writer’s house. I hoped Marmalade had made it. Writer should let him in, I thought, after all, they both study together. I landed outside the field. Marmalade crept up beside me.
“The town was clear.” he reported. “ they were heading to the train station.”
“Good,” I said, “ Free’s house is just ahead.”
We ran up a path to his house. we stopped at the door. I knocked quickly, and he opened.
“In.” he said.
“Thanks.”
Iron Ore was already sitting on the couch with some cider. Free Writer held his own, with magic. He looked at us with a sly look on his face.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” he asked.
“N-no,” I said. “ we just thought we would ride out the season with some friends.”
“Right,” he chuckled, handing me his drink. “ I’ll grab one for Marmalade, and we can start.”
“Start what?” I asked.
“History of mating season.” Iron Ore spoke up from the couch.
“Oh, sweet Celestia.” I said, facehoofing.
(Perspective: Marmalade)
I sat down on the couch, downing the cider that Free Writer had given me. He had pulled out an old film projector and drew the shades. An old timey countdown started and a disembodied voice began.
“Mating season,” It started. “ one of the most feared times in the year. That is, for the common male. You may be wondering, why have your female friends become ravenous? The short answer is, hormones. You see, back when the ponies were just tribes, mating season was a ritual participated in by both sexes. However, as the female population grew, the males couldn’t keep up.”
“Thus,” it said. “ the normally monogamous ponies temporarily descended into a polygamous frenzy. This made the male population extremely uneasy; however, their pleas for suffrage were finally answered shortly after our glorious princesses took power. They introduced the concept of permamating. In this process, the mare permanently leaves her scent on the male, thus warding off other females in the heat.”
“This satisfied the male ponies’ distaste for polygamy,” it continued, “ while also allowing the females to find mates. Now, to move on to tips for hiding, rule number 1: alway---”
The film cut off as it melted into itself. Making a warped sound, the projector started to smoke.
“Ah, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Writer muttered, fanning it.
“Well, now what?” I asked. “I feel like I just watched a grade school puberty video.”
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “ I guess we wait.”
“You got beds?” I asked.
“And Booze.” he added.
“I’m down for that.” I said.