The Worst Guys
They marched across cobblestone streets, over gravel paths, cut through back alleys, trampled bushes and flowers in yards for a long enough time that Button Mash seriously doubted Rumble’s claims of an open-late restaurant tailored to his appetite. They’d definitely walked more than the two blocks Rumble had promised it would take. Button decided to add ‘Poor time-to-distance ratio’ to the list of faults he kept about his friend in the back of his mind.
“Where is this place?”
Rumble, fresh from a gallant leap, stopped, stood in place and spun on the tips of his fetlocks to face Button. Looking quite stupid doing it, with one brow raised, the other sunk. His pupils still two giant pink dilated orbs.
“Just around the corner, bud,” he said.
Button scratched at his neck, “You said that, like, three corners ago, though…”
Rumble grinned and moved to Button. He threw his left leg over the back of his shoulder, rested his weight against Button’s side and pulled him closer.
“This time I mean it,” he said, “Crusaders’ honour.”
Button shook himself out of Rumble’s grip and stepped backwards. He turned a half hearted, but serious and stern look at the older colt, “I can only fall for that so many times, Rumble.”
“Won’t have to anymore, bud,” said Rumble. With a proudly cocky grin and a wink, he took off again down the street again.
Button held back for a moment and waited. Somewhere in Ponyville was Shady Daze. All alone, with no great promise of cheap fast food to keep his belly warm. And where was Button Mash? Desperate in his tries to keep Rumble from a five-to-ten year turn playing the ‘Pick up the soap and find your happy place.’ game in the communal showers in one of Canterlot’s finest dungeons.
Big sigh from Button. What really was the price of having friends like Rumble?
“Y’coming, Button?”
He heard Rumble’s shrill, raspy voice begging for him. He pricked his head up and pushed all those nasty, ugly, feelings that resembled hesitation, embarrassment, shame or fear down in that deep dark emptiness inside him. He pricked his head upwards and smiled.
“Sure.”
Shady would be okay. He was a survivor of some of the worst neglect Button had ever known to exist between parent and child. But he certainly had flourished. He was charming, and dashing, and friendly, and strong, and cool, and brave. Especially he was brave. Waking up and facing Ponyville everyday with a target painted on his back had made him that way.
Button Mash steadied himself, scrunched his face and nodded to no one.
Shady would be okay.
Rumble’s rear end bounced left and right until it disappeared past the light of the last street lamp and into the darkness. Button Mash’s left eye twitched, then he took off after his friend.
Shady would be fine.
Right?
He let himself stare off into the dark distance between the street lamps, sagged his body low, felt his head fall half towards the ground. There was still fun to squeeze out of the night. No doubt about it. A light shade of a smile crawled across his left cheek. He turned back towards the blackness Rumble had ran towards and took off after him.
Shady was gonna be fine. Rumble was going to be fine. He was going to be fine. Tomorrow, when they were all sober, he’d sit them down and make them sort their problems out. Tonight, however, he was due for just a bit more of the debauchery.
***
“How the fuck are you telling me it’s five bits for three samosas when the sign out front says I get four for five?”
Rumble slammed his hoof against the counter top and a tip jar tumbled onto it's side. Loose change spilled across the counter of Secretariats. Button stood behind Rumble, fidgeting with the loose strings of his hoodie, trying not to meet the cook’s hard gaze.
“My friend... I’ve been trying to tell you,” the first cook spoke. His voice was thick with a Saddle Arabian accent, but shaky and nervous, “That offer is for our lunch menu.”
Rumble stumbled for a second, and an undignified expression grew across his face, “Well, they they say it’s always five o’clock somewhere, eh?”
The first cook tossed his head from side to side, and then when Rumble had his eyes locked on him put on the hardest glare he could fathom, “I don’t think so, champ.”
Rumble’s black lips peeled back. He snarled. “I’m not paying five bits for three samosas,” he said, “I can tell you that right now.”
The first cook sighed, “Please, sir. It’s quite late, and I really don’t want any trouble.”
Fat red digital letters in the clock over the top shelf of kitchenware switched from; 12:34 to 12:35. The cooks stood well in place, never showing any signs of backing down.
Rumble grunted.
“Three for four?” he begged, giving each cook a grin which he imagined would reassure himself as less of a rebellious scamp and more of a well intentioned young stallion, hungry for the finest Saddle Arabian dining that could be found at this late of an hour. He was, after all, a well adjusted — if a bit rambunctious — tax paying Equestrian.
Neither cook smiled and Rumble felt his own grin fall with the hard looks from them.
“C’mon, champ,” he begged, “I’m hungry as a so ’n’ so over here.”
The first cook turned to the second and they shared words. They both spoke in voices rich with a thick Saddle Arabian accent, but their tones were different. The first cook seemed calm and understanding, the other enraged and irate. Neither Button, nor Rumble could understand the specifics of what they were discussing, but the inflections in their tone went well noted.
While the cooks argued, Button tapped Rumble by the shoulder and drew the older stallion into a huddle.
“Rumble. It’s fine. I’ll pay for your samosas," he said. “Could you just try and, not… well… turn this into another thing please?”
Rumble sniffed, loudly, and cleared the last bits of dirt, dust and drugs out from his nose out, then spat a wad of green coloured nastiness onto the floor between the counter and where Button stood.
In the name of Princess Luna, first of her name, owner of — arguably — the most incredible ass known to the Royal Family, where did Button Mash get the sack to imply he was capable of that kind of mischief? What had he ever done to anyone?
Oh, right… There was all of that melodramatic bullshit from earlier in the night.
And then it happened that what had once felt like the world’s gushiest orgasm throughout his mind turned ugly. He felt cold, and dim, and miserable.
His brows curved down. He puffed his lower lip out and blew out his cheeks.
A hundred examples of him at his worst made themselves well known in his mind. There was that nasty business at The Toad that probably made him look like a douchebag in front of the girls earlier… And that that one sided shouting match he’d had with Flitter… And, had he called her a bitch too?
Rumble let his jaw sag.
And then there was his best right hook connecting with his best friend’s face.
If anyone ever deserved an award for being Equestria’s most gigantic gaping asshole...
He bowed his head and rolled his eyes to the floor, “Right,”
The intruding clicking of the analogue clock hands. Something mechanical in the back hissing. One of the cooks cleared his throat. The other hushed a few words. Someone tapped the counter with their hoof and Rumble forced his biggest dopiest grin.
“So, uh…”
He turned his body so that he faced the counter. He slapped his hoof against the clicker on the tiny bell that sat on the counter, and drew the attention of both cooks. The first cook was still quiet and uneasy. The second cook looked hard and mean. Rumble remained caustically unphased by the growing tension. He was in a league all by himself. One which transcended sobriety and delved far into the depths of depravity.
Then again that was just Rumble being Rumble…
Button Mash bit at the flabby folds of what could be considered the neck of his hoodie. Long ago he’d prayed for quiet resolve to the events of tonight, and, since that was clearly not an option he could only beg that Celestia, Luna, Twilight, or Cadence would hear his calls for some form of sober intervention.
Once a long, long time ago Button Mash helped Twilight Sparkle carry grocery bags into her kitchen. Maybe she kept tabs on things like that now that she was a princess? Maybe she could repay that kindness by giving him the strength to carry on now when he needed it most?
He waited patiently for all of eleven seconds before he gave up hope.
“How about this,” Rumble began, flashing white fangs to the cooks, “I give you fifteen bits for five samosas? Than me and my buddy, ” he paused to motion towards the cowering Button Mash, “We take a couple bottles of Colt Four-Five for the road? How about that? We’ll be outta your mane as soon as you say ‘Get the fuck out’. Sound good?”
Rumble stopped himself. This time he rolled his chest across the counter to play with empty glasses and plates. He took his hooves off of a pair of plates and stared looked deep into the eyes of the first cook — Who, he’d decided, was the nice one. He smiled, charmingly, and spoke,
“It’s his birthday...”
The first cook recoiled and moved to the back of the kitchen and then, once again, the two cooks shared words. This time it seemed softer to Rumble and Button. Finally, after a time, the second cook stepped up to the counter, locked eyes with Rumble and spoke,
“Fifteen bits,” he said, “You get five samosas. Two bottles of malt liquor. I throw in some special samosa sauce, and I don’t see you in here past ten again for at least a month?”
Rumble grinned, “Deal,”
The angry cook grumbled a few more words Rumble couldn’t understand and moved into the kitchen. The first cook smiled, softly, at Button — not Rumble — then ducked under the counter. A fryer in the kitchen came to life. A fridge popped open, and then the first cook popped up with two bottles of Colt 4-5. He set them down on the counter. Rumble tossed a cloth sack onto the counter, the cook grabbed it and then Rumble snagged the bottles. With a gentle head nod motioned for Button to follow him to the back. Button did.
Rumble fell into the plastic booth backwards, kicked his lower legs up and wrapped his wings around his body. He popped the lid from his bottle off with his teeth, spat it onto the floor and took a swig. Button heard a Clink when it touched against the wall. Quietly and softly he dipped into his own seat and unscrewed the cap to his bottle.
“Like mother’s milk,” Rumble said when he finished sipping from the bottle. He wiped a froth moustache from the fur over his upper lip and grinned at Button.
Button smiled back. Gently.
Silence came over them. Other than the noise from the sounds of the fryer, curses from the two cooks in the back, and the static flicking from the fluorescent lights, there were no sounds. Rumble was experiencing the pitfalls of harsh reality.
The drugs were wearing out.
All of the joys that had come with doing nameless medical grade amphetamines were starting to run thin. He could feel it. That weak and vulnerable feeling of defeat dared to edge itself up, and, with it came a brutal stack of truths he didn’t have half the sack to admit; He had been a dick, and a prick, and an asshole. A real piece of shit.
Softly, he spoke; “Are you… mad at me, Button?”
The birthday colt sat silently for a moment. He sipped from his bottle, stared at the flat topside of the table, at the salt and pepper shakers, the napkin holder, and everything that wasn’t locking eyes with Rumble. until he did, and he answered,
“I’m not mad. I’m just...”
He took a long sip from his bottle, and then another. It was near empty when he placed it down on the table.
“Upset,” he said, “I’m a little upset with you, Rumble. If you’re even honestly asking me?”
Rumble rolled his body across the table. The tips of his hooves touched the tips of Button’s. The birthday colt drew back, but a desperate, needy look from Rumble turned his hard scowl flaccid.
“I am, Button," he said, "It's just that... Wha- Er, no. I know what you’re mad about.”
The hiss from the fryer in the kitchen fell dead and silent, then the sounds of heavy hooves bearing down against the floor came and took it’s place. They rang from the kitchen, past the counter, and stopped soundly at the booth where Button and Rumble took residence. The first cook stood there, with a brown paper plate held between his teeth and a soft sort of smile on his lips. He set the bag down equal distance between Button and Rumble, and let it fall to it’s side and spill out it’s contents; samosas rolled across the table and left behind flakes of crust. Beside the bag, the cook also placed a single styrofoam plate where a bran muffin with a lit pink candle stabbed into it sat.
“Happy birthday,” he said, and gave Button — and not Rumble — a sad sort of smile before scampering away quickly on swift and light hooves back to the kitchen to argue more with the second cook.
Giving his own brand of soft, near invisible smiles, Button blew out the candle. Smoke from the tip wafted towards the ceiling. The smell of melted wax and plastic coated wax filled his nostrils. Button took a bite from the muffin.
For some time both boys sat and said nothing to each other. Rumble grabbed for a samosa and took a bite. He chewed on it, swallowed, then took another, and another, until nothing was left but crumbs that he wiped from his fur. Button nibbled on his muffin. He let himself stare across the room, at the floor tiles, the photographs on the walls, the bathroom doors. Everything that wasn’t Rumble.
“You think I’m an asshole. Don’t you?”
Button lifted his eyes and let them fall onto Rumble’s slouched, deflated body, “Huh?”
“I know I’m not the smartest guy in Equestria, Button. But, I’m not fucking retarded either,” said Rumble, “And I know that look on your face. You’re mad at me…”
“Uh,”
“You’re mad at me because I fucked this night up for you. Aren’t you?”
Button opened his mouth, then shut it. Better to let Rumble wear himself out than offer insight and rekindle a slowly fading flame, he reckoned.
“I know that I fucked up. I get it. I, uh,” Rumble scratched at his mane and scowled so that his jaw lurched forwards and his lips peeled back. For a minute he sat like that, then he continued, “Tonight was supposed to be all about you, Button. You were supposed to be the one getting laid. You were supposed to get fucked off your ass on every substance known to ponykind since Luna was banished. You were supposed to have the best night of your life. And then we—” he stopped himself, “Or… I mean I totally fucked it up.”
Button dropped his hooves onto the table and made it shake, “Rumble…”
“Tell me that I didn’t, Button? You can’t. Because I totally did,” Rumble said, “I fucked it up. I fucked all of it up. I came in, wagging my stupid fucking ego around like it was my second cock. Acting like John fucking Mayne in True Gritty. It’s what I do, Button. It’s all I ever do. I fuck things up.”
Button Mash juggled the muffin between his hooves. Rumble wasn’t wrong…
Shady deserved… a lot. More than what a hug and a well thought out apology from Rumble could provide. But, he would be okay. Rumble wouldn’t. Rumble wasn’t Shady. Rumble was weak in all the ways that Shady was strongest. Rumble’s mind — drug rattled and booze addled — was a minefield of misplaced emotions, poorly constructed schemes, cocksure confidence and unbreakable stupidity. Shady Daze, even alone and drunk, had a much tighter hold of himself. He was as well composed as a stallion their age had ever been made to be.
Shady Daze, for better or for worse, would be fine. Rumble probably wouldn’t. Not without adult supervision. It was just a shame that Button Mash had to be that adult. Really though, he was doing Ponyville a favour...
“It’s not… all bad.” he said.
Rumble’s groan came like nails across a chalkboard, “Yeah it is,” he said, “What if…”
“What?”
“I’ve done a lot of stupid fucking things in my life, Button.”
“Yeah...”
“And, I’ve said a lot of stupid things too.”
“Granted,”
“And what if...” Rumble sucked his lips, “Button… How bad was it? What I did to Shady? It was bad, right? I know… It has to be fucking bad? Real bad?”
Button lifted his head. His eyebrows popped, “Huh?
“I’ve said a lot of stupid fucking things to Shady,” he said, “And, I know, that he knows, that I didn’t mean it. I’m sure a therapist could fucking retire on all the shit he’d have to hear about me from Shady, but…”
Rumble ran his tongue across his lips. “I know that even when he’s upset... He’s never really mad at me. He just rolls with it. He’s cool like that. But then… Then there’s tonight,” he shook his head. His gelled, slicked mane shook but never fell apart, “I can tell he’s pissed off at me, y’know? And, he has every reason to hate me for what I said. I mean, dude... I called him a faggot, Button. I think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever said to him.”
Button reached his hoof across the table and let it fall on Rumble’s shoulder. He gave his friend a gentle pat then rubbed away the mark he left in the fabric of his windbreaker. Rumble blew a breath of air through his nostrils.
“I’m just worried,” he started and shook his head, “What if this time… And, I mean, I don’t think that it’ll be this way, but… Maybe…”
“What, Rumble?”
Rumble let his face fall into the tussled, mangled folds of his windbreaker and groaned, “What if when I tell him I’m sorry this time he doesn’t forgive me, Button?”
He hid his face in the folds of the left sleeve of his windbreaker. Button bit his lower lip before he spoke; on one side of things Rumble very clearly wanted to make it up to Shady, on the other he most definitely had done and said things that were unforgivable.
Button decided it was better to say nothing either way.
The lights over Rumble’s head flickered and cast an eerie, unsettling fluorescent glow around Rumble that accented all his beaten features. The fur around his eyes was dark with dirt and tiny bits looked held together by sweat, or dirt, or both. His eyes were dry and thick blood coloured lines gave them a crazed, dangerous look. His lips were dry, and cracked.
Button drew back. He looked bad. Like a corpse parading around as his teenaged, drug addled, boozed up friend.
It wasn’t a very good look on him.
Quietly, Rumble spoke; “I mean I’ve called him a homo… like a lot. A million times more than I ever should have. And, like I said, he’s always been… Well ‘okay with it’ isn’t the right thing to say... But I never called him that before.”
Button ran his hoof through his mane, “No. No you haven’t.”
“So what if this is it?” Rumble let his face fall against the table, “What if this is the one time I’ve pushed Shady too far, Button? It’s like- Well. Honestly? Would you forgive me?”
“Rumble.”
Button drew his hoof away from Rumble. The loss of contact made the other lift his head and their eyes to lock. Rumble’s were enormous, wet and rampant with thin pink veins. Comparatively, Button was sure his looked fine.
“What?” Rumble said.
“You’re not wrong,” Button asserted, “You do act really stupid, and say a lot of hurtful things when you’re drunk. Especially to Shady… And to me. Sometimes.”
Rumble shrunk. His eyes fell to the table.
“But, we’re still your friends, doofus,” he said, smiling, “You, me and Shady? We’re the Three Amigos. Nothing that happens is going to take that away from you, or me, or Shady. It’s our thing. Ours and no one else’s.”
Thin black lips spread up and across Rumble’s cheeks, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Button, “We’ve all been friends for, like… Gosh, Rumble. It’s been almost ten years. I know Shady’s angry at you now, and, he does have every right to be—”
Rumble winced. Button kept sturdy, but let himself slip enough to pet Rumble by the cuff of his collar and a smile to play across his face,
“But there’s no way that if you promise him this will never, ever, ever happen again, and you really show him that you care about him… Well, he’s going to forgive you, Rumble. I promise.”
The dirt-kissed fetlock of Rumble’s left front-leg found his cheek and he scratched what he found there. He tore aside thick bits of grey mane from his cheek, to his chin and dug at the skin that hung underneath. He was smiling.
Button smiled back.
“Y-yeah,” said Rumble, “You’re right.”
“You’re not Brolly, Rumble,” Button began, giving a little giggle, “He’s, like, the worst example of a jerk. And you’ve got a long, long, long way to go before you have to worry about being like Brolly.”
He punctuated his statement with another firm tap at a patch of fur by Rumble’s neck, then a broad and goofy smile. Rumble rolled the back of his head against Button’s leg, and offered no resistance when the younger pony scratched him.
“Brolly is such a loose butt hole, Rumble.” Button said, “I mean, I don’t like to say this about anypony, but I think that Equestria might have been a better place if he’d never been born.”
Rumble chuckled, quietly and rubbed his cheek against the fur on Button’s leg, “Right? Brolly is a fucking douchebag, eh?”
Button grinned, then nodded.
“And, you know what, Rumble? You’re better than Brolly.” he said, “There are a lot of ponies who hate Brolly. I don’t think they’d say it to his face, because that’s kind of a death wish, but they do…”
Rumble nodded his head. He thought about his brother, and Cloud Kicker, and Flitter, and a score of other ponies in town who barely tolerated, but never encouraged or agreed with, all of Brolly’s ways.
“No one hates you Rumble. You’re a good guy. Even if you pretend not to be,” he paused and took a bite of his muffin, chewed it and then spoke again, “Sometimes you act like you’re this really tough, really mean, jerkwad. Like you wanna be Brolly or somethin’, And a lot of ponies probably think that’s just who you are, but then… You probably wouldn’t be here talking to me about wanting to fix all this if that’s the kind of pony you were. Right?”
Rumble rolled his face into an open fold between his crossed forelegs to hide the spread of red that broke out across his cheek. He bit his lower lip with his upper set of teeth and hoped that Button couldn’t hear the way his lower left leg tapped the floor. It was in vain. Button could hear all of it.
“And you know what else?” Said the younger pony, “I don’t think that a guy like Brolly would ever try to apologize to Shady for being such a butthead. Brolly probably won’t even apologize to your brother, or Cloud Kicker, or- Well, he really, really, really, really mistreats Flitter too.”
Button saw the way that Rumble wrapped his face against his leg and let his thought fall apart.
Rumble smiled up at Button., “Heh. Yeah. That’s true,”
“But you would, Rumble.” Button insisted, “Maybe, and now this is going to sound silly, but- Maybe this is actually not as bad as it looks? I mean, like, you sound really… Well, you want to make this right, don’t you?”
Rumble nodded his head enthusiastically, “Yeah. I do, Button. I really, really do.”
“Well, I think if you showed Shady that he means more to you than just- Er,” Button cocked his jaw to the left side.
His eyes wide, begging for an answer, Rumble waited.
“Um, well… A gay joke, Rumble,” Button said, “There are a lot of times — certainly including tonight — that you talk to him like the fact that he likes guys bugs you. L-like he’s worse than you or me, or something?”
Rumble’s head lurched forwards. “But it doesn’t, Button. I don’t fucking care if Shady’s gay. You know that.”
“Well,” Button Mash ran his tongue across his dry upper lip until it felt wet, “Then you really should show him that Rumble. Sometimes, uh— ”
Rumble’s eyebrows dipped, “What?”
“Sometimes when it’s just me and Shady hanging out… Like, the other day when you got detention for calling Chowder fat? Well, we were in my basement playing a bit of Blood Harvest waiting for you to get out. Only, Shady was, kinda, hitting the vodka pretty hard...”
Rumble leaned forwards and his eyes grew wide, “No shit?”
“Yeah... It was weird, Rumble. It wasn't like happy drinking. It was— Well, he was—" Button pulled his hoof across his face, "He was miserable, and he was drunk, and he kept going on about all of this crazy dark stuff. Like... about himself,” he pawed at the wrapper of his muffin and sniffed, “It was, uh… pretty sad. I've never heard him talk like that before.”
“Fuck, dude...”
“I know,” Button nodded, “I sorta… I really didn't know what to say, right? And, really I just wanted him to cheer up. So I let him get it all out, and then when he was a bit more sober we talked. Just the two of us.”
“What did he say?”
“Lots,” said Button, “I, uh... I don't think that Shady is a very happy pony, Rumble," he sniffed at the air before he spoke again, "I don't think he's really comfortable with being, y'know... out?"
“Shit,” Rumble said, “I never really... thought about that.”
“Yeah. Me either,” Button said, quietly, “It's gotta suck, dude. Like, he kept it all bottled up and then, in the end, he didn't even get a chance to tell anyone. He didn't even tell us. Diamond just... Well, everyone knows what happened there."
Rumble sucked his teeth, "Right."
"And, like, for the most part I guess that he's gotten over it," Button slipped through his teeth and ran it over his upper lip, "But then there's how everyone just messes with him now..."
"Huh?"
"Well, it's like... When we're kidding around, that's all we're doing, right? We're just goofing around and stuff, and Shady gets that," Button cocked his jaw to the side and pondered how to word the rest of his thought without deeply offsetting Rumble, "But, dude... Your brother and Brolly are totally brutal to him, like, all of the time. Brolly especially..."
Rumble signed, "I know..."
"I know Thunderlane's your brother, and he's cool sometimes. But he did hold Shady down when Brolly stapled all those takeout menus onto him that time," said Button, "Not even the kids at school were that mean."
Rumble chewed on his lip, "Yeah..."
Button sighed, "It's stuff like that, Rumble. I think Shady just lets it all build up until he's gotta get it out of his system when he's hammered... And, I'm totally okay with being there when he does, but it's probably not healthy for him... I wish there was more I could do, but..."
“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Button?”
“Well, he was really, really, embarrassed the next morning when I told him about some of the things he said, and he made me promise I wouldn't say anything to you..."
"Oh..." Rumble tapped the table, "So then... why are you telling me?"
"Because I think that you and him need to talk about this kind of stuff. Just the two of you... Sober," Button traced his tongue over his lower lip, "I know there’s some, uh…" he scratched his neck, then his chin. His left ear twitched, "There are a few things I think that he probably wants to say to you about… stuff.”
Rumble sighed, “If he'll even fuckin' talk to me after tonight...”
The soulless expression on Rumble’s face told Button Mash to act on his impulses, so he did. He reached out his left leg across the table, lay it against Rumble’s back and gave the older boy a few soft pats.
“It’ll be okay, buddy.”
Maybe he wasn’t lying?
He was twelve. His older brother was slamming the ground with his hoof from two floors up, trying to get them to shut up — Which, of course meant that he had to get them to shut up. Rumble and Shady. Fighting. Like always. Rumble had Shady Daze in a headlock. Shady was feeding punches into the soft flesh between thigh and rib cage. Rumble was telling Shady that his dad was a loser. Shady was shouting for Rumble to mind his business. Button Mash was stuck in the middle.
Flashforwards a few years and nothing had changed. Not really.
“Button,” Rumble said, rapping his left hoof against his leg, “What’s up?”
“Nothin’,” he said, “Just thinking.”
Rumble squinted and let his left eyebrow prick upwards, “What about?”
“Nothin’ really,” he stopped, “I’m just… I know that there’s going to be a point sometime tomorrow, or the next day, where you, me and Shady all sit down and actually work our way through a couple matches of Thirst For Blood,” he said, and smiled, “Just like old times. Everything’s gonna work itself out. You and Shady are still gonna be friends by tomorrow, Rumble. I promise,” a flash of proud cocksure confidence spread across the younger pony’s cheeks, and face, “And since I’m totally legal now, I’ll even bet you a case of Lo-Brau that you guys are gonna hug it out when it happens.”
Button’s smile was infectious, and reflected across Rumble’s lips. The older pony was chuckling when he said, “Shady does like giving hugs.”
“And you know what else?”
“Hmm?”
“Up until the last hour or so, I did actually have a really good time tonight,” said Button “I got to have a few drinks with my best friends, and uh,” he pulled his pink tongue across his lower lip, then his upper one, “And I even made out with Blossom’ a bit…, Uh, even if it didn’t turn out so well for me. And… Oh... Oh!” his cheeks turned hot and he smiled like a drunkard, “Shady said that, uh, that Dinky Doo thinks I’m hot,” he folded his legs across his chest, and threw his head back, “So, that happened too… Which is totally flippin’ sweet. Right?”
“No shit?” posed Rumble, creasing out knots in his back, leaning into his seat and grinning in the most predatory way towards Button.
Button nodded, “Yeah-huh. Shady said, that Twist said, that Dinky, um, kinda likes me.”
The wet sounding slap of flesh meeting with flesh sounded when Rumble slapped his thigh. “Dude,” he said, grinning like an asylum patient, “That is the teats, Button. I mean, I kinda heard something like that, but I wasn’t sure...”
“Mhmm,” Button moaned, “So, like, maybe on Monday I’ll, uh, well— Maybe I’ll sit with her at lunch and we can talk more about manga and stuff? And, well, if it goes well I could like, uh, take her to a movie or something?”
Rumble, beaming, shook his head, “No way, dude.”
“Hmm?”
“Naw, dude,” said Rumble, “We should go back to The Toad. We weren’t actually, like, officially asked to leave or anything. It was more of a polite exodus on our part. I’m sure Morty’s chill enough about it now, though.”
“I don’t think she’s even there anymore, Rumble,” Button said, “Cause Shady said, that Twist said, that they’re all going to some party at Diamond Tiara’s place, or something...”
“Really? Diamond Tiara’s having a bash?”
“Yeah. That’s what Shady said that Twist said, and— ”
“Oh, shit son,” a bright smile broke out and crossed up Rumble’s cheeks. The familiar look of the bloodlust for excitement came over him, “Dude this could be fucking fun.”
Button swallowed a lump in his throat before he spoke again, “What could?”
“A party at Diamond Tiara’s place. One with, I’m naturally going to assume, nothing but girls,” that look almost frightened Button Mash, “Dude, this is like the quintessential birthday bash. I mean, shit, we’d have no competition.”
“Rumble, now just hold on a second here. We’re not about to crash— ”
“Crash? No. We’re not assholes, Button. We’ll just knock at the door and I’m sure that if Scoots is there she’ll totally tell us to come in,” said Rumble. The grin on his face grew predatory, “I’ve seen her stare at my ass like it belongs in a fucking museum, dude. She totally wants a slice of beefcake.”
“Rumble,” Button sighed, “Can you not see that this is sort of exactly the kind of thing that ponies get upset with you about?”
“What’s to get mad about, Button? This is just harmless fun,” said Rumble, “We show up. Knock on the door, and someone tells us either ‘Come in and have a beer’ or ‘Fuck right off’. Like, dude, if Dinky is there, and, it’s a party, and you’re both drunk—”
“Stop that.” Button groaned. “I’m not— We’re not going to this party, Rumble. We weren’t invited. Plain and simple.”
“You know,” Rumble said in a tone of voice that Button couldn’t call anything other than ‘husky’, “Cloud Kicker used to tell me that when she was younger and she’d throw parties like what this sounds like it is, that all the girls liked to practice doing stuff with each other.”
Button choked a little, “S-stuff?”
“Oh yeah,” Rumble’s eyelids sank and a smirk crawled up the left side of his face, “The type of stuff that usually involves fun things like cock shaped fruit, or plastic moulds of stallion’s dangly bits,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “You know; the type of stuff you’d see in Moanin’ Mares.”
Button licked his lips, “C-cut it out, Rumble…”
“Look, all I’m saying is there’s almost a one hundred percent chance that by the time we walk in all the girls are going to be playing ‘Crazy drunk and totally horny for stallion’ twister. Y’know? Sweaty drunk and sexy bodies rubbing against sweaty drunk and sexy bodies. Girls on top of girls—”
“W-we’re not going, Rumble.”
“Sounds kind of like you do want to go though…”
“Even if what you’re saying is true. Even if it is. Even if Dinky, and Archer, and Twist, and Scootaloo, and Applebloom, and Sweetie Belle, and Silver Spoon, and whoever else is there all want us to come and hang out, it’s still Diamond Tiara’s party,” said Button, “And there is no way that after what she did to Shady I’d want to hang out with her. She is the worst.”
Rumble clicked his tongue, “True.”
“So, we’ll go find Shady, and you’ll apologize, and he’ll forgive you, and we’ll all go back to my house and play video games, and eat chips, and drink soda, and beer, and do that until Monday when we have to go to school again.”
“What if Dinky wants to bang you?”
“W-what?”
“What if Dinky Doo decides she wants to have S-E-X with you tonight?” he asked, “I mean, stranger things have happened, and—”
“Stop doing that,” Button bellowed, “Stop objectifying mares, Rumble. And stop being a totally sexist pig. And, also, stop trying to tell me what I want to do.”
Rumble sighed, “Am I doing it again?”
“Yes, Rumble.” said Button, “You’re doing it again. I don’t want to go to Diamond Tiara’s house. No matter how much imaginary sex that won’t happen you tell me I’ll have. I don’t like Diamond Tiara.”
“What if we get back at her?”
“Huh?”
“Look, we both know that she got off too fucking easy for doing Shady like that. Far too easy. A month of detention? For what she did? Fuck that shit, dude,” Rumble growled, “But, her daddy is the richest guy in fucking Ponyville—”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, Button. So she’ll never get what’s coming to her. Not in this fucking lifetime”
“So what? Sometimes life isn’t fair.”
“What if we could make it fair, Button? What if we go there and play all nice, and, hey, maybe we even have fun? But once everyone’s all sloppy drunk and passed out we, like, shave her mane off? Or, we take a piss in her shampoo bottle? Or, we, like, read her journal, take out the dirty bits and post copies around school?”
“Rumble, that’d be like doing exactly what she did to Shady.”
“So-fucking-what, Button?” Rumble barked, “I don’t care if ponies think we’re scum for doing it. She deserves a karmic kick in the cooter. And I aim to give it to her.”
Button shook his head, “Rumble, just take a breather.”
“No. Fuck that,” Rumble groaned, “I’m set on doing this. Never been more set on doing anything in my life.”
“Rumble…”
“Hey, look, if you don’t wanna go with me…”
“No, no,” Button sighed, “Look. If we’re going to go — and that’s a big if — if we go, please, please, please, please, please don’t do anything, well… Don’t be stupid, okay?” he let his calm surrender break long enough to glare at Rumble, “If we’re asked to leave. We leave. Okay?”
“So, you do wanna go?”
“If we have too…”
Rumble smiled, “Fantastic.”
***
“This is it, huh?”
They stood, both of them, before two solid wood doors supported by steel frames on the front porch of a home large enough to be a hotel.
Rumble was having none of it.
The Filthy Rich/Diamond Tiara manor was less of a home and more of a postmodern tribute to excess. It only took the quiet trip from the gate, through the garden, and to the doorway before Rumble could check near every box on a long checklist he’d made of things that he told himself he hated about the upper class. It irked him to know that this place existed, and bothered him worse that he’d never had a chance to give it a once over with toilet paper, spray, and flaming bags of turds on Nightmare Night. Fucking Diamond Tiara. He’d wager good money that there was a pool beside a tennis court in the back. They probably kept some underprivileged Zebra employed with the sole purpose of wiping after their trips to the washroom.
Eat the rich, Rumble thought. Even Twilight Sparkle didn’t live to this extreme, and she was a princess.
“I think this is the place,” Button said, “I did a geography project with Diamond and Silver here once back in the seventh grade…” he faltered, then snickered, “But I was really into Curse Of The Gargoyle Blood back then, so that whole year is kind of a blur of green and black Joy-Boy screens for me.”
Beside him Rumble joined in with a heady, jolly snort, “Typical.”
“It’s, um, definitely big enough to be her place though,” Button said, kicking his hoof into the welcome mat, “Don’t you think?”
“Too true,” Rumble said, “Let’s just knock and see what happens. Best case scenario is that we’re both getting laid tonight. Worst case, someone tells us to leave, and then we take a piss on the lawn on our way out.”
Button nodded his head.
Rumble broke from Button and raised his left hoof. Above the handles on both doors were a pair of brass door-knockers shaped like Mr. Rich’s cutie mark.
Rumble rolled his eyes.
He slammed his hoof against the door and then they waited. Through the door he could hear laughing ponies and trendy pop-music playing from a stereo system. The type of music that he bitterly detested. If this was at all a sign of things to come he did worry about his future.
A minute passed before the sound of a latch turning came about, then muffled speaking,
“That’s gotta be Twist,” a voice from behind the door said, “Hope she got the good stuff.”
The door swung open. Bright light enveloped Rumble and Button’s forms. In the doorway stood an elegantly stoic earth-pony with a fire-red bow tied to her crimson mane. The sight of her brought a playful look to Rumble’s face.
“Rumble?”
The stallion grinned, “Applebloom.”
“What’re...? What are you…?“ the pegasus poked her head through the doorway and stared at Button Mash, bashfully kicking the ground with his leg and not looking her in the eye, “Button Mash? What in Discord’s barbed pecker are the two of ya doing here?”
Button looked up at Applebloom, “Um…”
“Ah, we were just around the neighbourhood,” Rumble said, “I was telling Button here I could have sworn Diamond Tiara lived here, and, he was saying ‘No, No. This is definitely Pokey Pierce’s place’, and… Wouldn’t you know it? Looks like he was wrong, eh?”
Rumble stepped forward, brushed past Applebloom and stopped in the doorway. He poked his head inside. “Hey, it sounds kinda rowdy in there? Are you guys having a party or something?”
Applebloom cocked her jaw to the left, “Uh…”
“What’s the major holdup, ‘Bloom?” the distinctly harsh, and, quite drunk sounding, voice of Archer the pegasus called out from inside the house, “If that’s not Twist with my— ”
Archer entered into the hallway, Scootaloo and Silver Spoon just behind her.
“What the butts is Rumble doing here?”
“Ah’m not really sure,” Applebloom said, turning back and giving Rumble a very inquisitive look, “What exactly are ya doin’ here?”
Button Mash would have considered this the turning point in a conversation (If one could even call it that?) It sure seemed like the proper time to cut all loses, mumble out some apologies to the girl’s hooves — never making eye contact, of course — then head back home, make sure mom was asleep, grab this month’s Moanin’ Mares, the good lotion, the soft tissues from the main floor bathroom and get to work.
Of course, Rumble wasn’t Button Mash.
“Just thought we’d pop in and say ‘Hey’,” he said and turned his eyes onto Scootaloo. He smiled sweetly, “Sup Scoots?”
Scootaloo grinned back, “Hey Rumble.”
“So, hey, if we’re not interrupting anything…?”
None of the girls answered him.
Rumble pushed himself through the open doorway, and smiled broadly. There was opportunity here to do bad things with good ponies. Certainly. Although, the girls didn't seem to be on his level.
Maybe a different approach was needed?
The girls formed into a huddle, and their voices went soft. Not soft enough, however, for the keen ears of Rumble, who was trained in the art of eavesdropping. The conversation went as follows; Applebloom spoke about politely rejecting them at the door, and Silver Spoon shared this enthusiasm, only with replacing 'polite' with 'forcibly'. Archer, however, stood in their defence. She said that Dinky would probably love to see Button Mash, because she was ‘pretty drunk’ and that Rumble was necessary baggage he came with. Scootaloo made it known that she believed Rumble was a decent fellow. This was emphasized by a quick glance from the girls towards him.
Finally the huddle was disbanded. Applebloom broke from the group and trotted forwards.
“It’s really not a huge thing,” she announced, “I don’t really reckon y’all would like it too much.”
“We’re cool with whatever,” Rumble insisted, “As long as we’re not being… rude?”
“Neigh,” said Scootaloo.
“Cool,” said Rumble, taking the opportunity to establish himself in the hallway, “Why don’t you guys show us where the all the fun’s at?”
Button Mash tugged on Rumble’s shoulder. Rumble leaned his head towards him, and frowned.
“Rumble. I’m pretty sure they’re just being polite,” he said, “Maybe we should go—”
“Is that— Button Mash.”
He bit onto his cheek and turned towards the source of the sudden, shrill, call for him. At the furthest end of the hallway, shifting her weight from her left side to her right, and tracing the ground with her limp hanging limbs, was Dinky. Her eyes were wide and wild, and across her face was a sultry grin.
Button had to wonder why this felt so familiar.
“Oh, uh..." The noise of Button Mash clearing his throat of phlegm and saliva was all that sounded in the hallway for a moment. "H-hey there, Dinky.”
She charged at him. He hadn’t expected it but she galloped past Archer, and Applebloom, and down the hallway that all of them existed in until she had her front hooves wrapped tightly around his throat and then she was pushing his back against the wall behind him.
The moan that came from him was girlish, and weak, and made the other girls in the hallway, and Rumble, grin and snicker.
After a throaty cackle Archer spoke, “Hey, Dinks. I remember my first beer too.”
She turned against him, twisted her head to her friend and scowled, "Rude.”
Archer rolled her eyes, “Lightweight.”
Rumble had a grin spread across his cheeks that he felt he should share with Scootaloo, Silver Spoon, Applebloom and Archer. If there had been tension before — and, it was possible. He really wasn’t the best judge of character when it came to those sorts of things — watching Dinky madly grope against the perpetually frightened, neurotic, and nervous Button Mash had cleared it up.
“Hmm, Button,” Dinky said and pushed her face into his chest so hard that her snout pushed through the cloth of his hoodie, “I didn't think I'd see you again tonight, but I'm really glad you're here."
He felt the rush of blood from his head, past his cheeks and someplace far more sacred. Which was bad, he imagined. An intangible erection would certainly not make the situation any better for any pony involved.
He tried to remedy it by scratching the back of his neck and thinking about unsexy things. When the other girls caught sight of his blush they giggled and snickered at him. This did nothing to boost his confidence.
“Uh, w-what’s that now, Dinky?”
“Nuh-uh. No talking. I need you to shush for a second,” she moved to put her hoof to his mouth, but missed and instead jabbed him in the left eye.
Button winced. The girls giggled, and Dinky frowned, "Oh, geez. Sorry, Button."
Button rubbed his eye, "S'okay. Dinky..."
From behind them Rumble cheered and beat the ground, “Let’s get the party started, eh?”