The rolling fields and hills of the Equestrian countryside were left far, far behind, as the blue stallion looked out his train window to see skyscrapers occupy what once were plains. The city of Fillydelphia had come far in the last decade since he was there. Now it was a city in competition with Manehattan over which was far more grand. Golden Horseshoes’s knot in his stomach had begun to worsen as he saw familiar sights now changed.
He sighed and shut the blinds to the window, finding no value in looking out at the all-too-familiar. His ride would be coming to an end shortly, anyway. He tried his best to compose himself and rose from his seat as the train still went forward. If he had been an average pony he would have surely fallen back down to his seat. However his well trained muscles and balance was enough to prevent that catastrophe.
The whistle of the train blew high pitched as always. Golden headed straight for the exit of the train. He had enough of the whistle the first time it blew. Plus he also knew he couldn’t put off facing the truth that the Fillydelphia he was returning to was nothing like the one he had known before. He had to confront it as soon as possible. He was in such a hurry in fact he didn’t have time to listen to the conductor complain about him not following the protocol.
His eyes widened when he disembarked the train. “She isn’t here.”
The crowded main station was not helping his case. Here, finding one pony in the million would be impossible. Not to mention he had not seen her in over a decade. For all he knew she could have died and the pony who replied to his letter was some young colt or filly pranking him. That had to be it. She was never late to anything before.
Giving one last look around the station and giving up on the prospect for the moment, Golden reached for his bags and started to walk. Strangely enough his bags didn’t obey him. He turned around to find that his bags weren’t there at all. They must’ve still been on the train. The same train that was pulling off into the distance.
“Just my luck,” the boxer muttered to himself as he walked away from the station. “What next? I’m hungry and there’s nothing to eat.” As if in answer to his question Golden’s stomach roared. “Fantastic.”
“Fantastic pickles! Gorgeous creations, with the daring dash of salt that would even make the princess kneel And it is on a convenient stick! Come one, come all, to Pick Eel’s Pickle-On-A-Stick Stand!”
Golden followed the sound of the advertisement. His legs shambled like that of a zombie hungry for brains. It had been such a long time since he had heard of such a delicious concoction. He eventually made his way to the stand to find a stallion there.
Golden’s eyes widened. The stallion’s grease stained apron barely clung to his large frame. His short ragged orange mane was covered by a 'Team Cadence' cap. Golden took solace in the fact at least one thing has remained the same in Fillydelphia. He approached the stallion.
“Ah a customer! What do you want pal?” Pick Eel asked. His breath stunk like the pickles he sold. As did his taste in clothing.
“Not one of those disgusting things,” Golden lied. He was well aware of the senility of the vendor. He had to haggle if he had any hope to get a pickle. He’d have to get the stallion to force one on him.
“What did you say you punk?!” Pick Eel snarled. The vendor’s eyes twitched.
Now was the perfect time to strike. “I said your pickles smell like the worst thing imaginable.”
Pick Eel shook his head.
“They,” Golden began.
“Don’t,” Pick Eel he said. He arrogantly pointed his hoof at Golden.
“Smell like,” Golden continued. He would not stop until he got what he wanted.
“You punk,” Pick Eel said. He threw his front legs up in a silly expression of frustration. This was good.
“Tiny cucumbers!” Golden yelled the nastiest vitriol he could manage.
“Wha-What?” Pick Eel asked dazed. Clearly he was stunned by the stellar insult.
“Tiny. Cucumbers,” Golden viciously repeated.
The vendor eyed the brilliant wordsmith before him. Then began laughing. His laughing grew hysterical. Clearly Pick Eel was traumatized. He even resorted to falling onto his back and rolling around as he laughed.
“Hey! Shut up and fight me with one of your pickles!” Golden yelled. He had little time for the old stallion’s lunacy. His stomach demanded food.
Golden’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Or rather the exact opposite. They were assimilated by the sound surrounding the perfectly good ears of the stallion. Which irked Golden even more. He sighed.
He stood there eyeing the crazy stallion with an obnoxious grin on his face. Golden’s face grew darker at the mocking gesture. Though then he heard the sound of something that always caught his attention. A distinct sound like no other. A sound he thought he had long since forgotten existed. The sound of a television.
He moved to the intoxicating sound. It led him to the window of a shop. Inside were several small televisions all set to the same channel. Golden knew of this shop. As a colt he had visited it many times before. Especially when big fights were going on. Heck then practically everypony would show up for those.
Once again the fact he had been gone for years hit him. He shook his head and decided there were more important things to pay attention to right now. Like what is currently playing on the various televisions.
On the screen was a boxing ring. Golden placed his face on the glass as he watched two seated stallions get ready to discuss a truly holy thing.
“Hello folks I’m your announcer Ring Out here with former professional boxer and my partner Tad Buff,” said the more professional looking one of the two.
“Thanks Ring. Looks like we have quite a spectacle on our hooves today,” Tad Buff said. His partner didn’t need to say Tad was an old boxer. How he carried himself already made that abundantly clear. Golden liked him.
“That’s right Tad. We have the champion fighting for the first time in half a year,” the more boring one said.
“And now’s the time considering the challenger has been quickly working his way up to get close and personal with that coveted belt,” Tad Buff said. He leaned close to his partner and placed one of his front hooves on the table. “Speaking as a former boxer myself I have to say I’ve imagined holding that belt up to my face. Let me tell you that feeling is worth being whelmed for.”
His partner raised a brow. “You mean overwhelmed?”
“No. Whelmed feels right.”
Music began to blare as a stallion proceeded down to the ring. “And here comes the challenger.”
Golden ignored everything about the challenger. After all his only concern was who the champion was. As Golden stared eager to see the champ he heard a loud rumbling. He tried to shoo it away but it persisted. He turned to find what was making the noise. Three punks were stealing from the stand with the irritating owner. Golden turned back to the television.
It wasn’t his problem. Pick Eel not only didn't recognize him but refused to give him a fight with him using his pickles as weapons. He deserved what came to him. Still maybe if Golden helped maybe he could get a pickle as a reward. With that thought in mind he raced to the stand.
“What a lame old timer,” one of the punks said.
“Good one Highbrow,” another one said.
“Of course it was a-” Highbrow started.
Golden didn’t let him finish. With the speed of a lightning bolt he had struck the delinquent so hard Highbrow went flying. Golden didn’t care to look where he had fallen. He knew a punk like that couldn’t handle a punch from anything. Let alone his own brand of punches.
The other punk’s head leaned in. His eyes squinted as if he didn’t realize exactly what was happening. Not one to waste an opportunity Golden threw a punch.
“Lowbrow, look out! This jerk is some sorta freak,” a voice yelled.
Golden turned to find it belonged to the third punk who had opted to hide behind the stand. Next to her was Pick Eel who was tied up and decidedly not laughing. Golden couldn’t help but wonder how Pick Eel got in that position so fast.
Golden’s chin was lifted up. It was then Golden remembered he was fighting the second punk. He watched as the punk tried to continue his assault.
Lowbrow threw both of his front hooves hoping for a double punch. All the while he had a big goofy, mostly toothless, smile on his face.
Golden ducked and dived in close to the punk’s stomach. With all the force he could muster he threw a powerful right into Lowbrow’s stomach.
“OW! My stomach feels like it's on fire!” Lowbrow screamed. He tried desperately to catch his breath as he heaved. He turned to Golden hoping for some form of mercy. He got it.
Golden threw another punch. This one from his left which was comparatively a light touch. Golden watched as Lowbrow’s body went limp. He turned and approached the stand.
“Dang it!” the mare cursed.
“Leave now or else,” Golden said. He placed his hooves on top of the stand.
“Or else what? Huh?” she asked. The crazed spasms throughout her body didn't fool Golden. He looked into her eyes and saw nothing but hollow cowardice.
“Or else I’m gonna punch you,” Golden said. He lifted both of his front hooves off the table. He placed them closer to the mare to inspect them. “With these.”
“You wouldn’t hit a mare would you?” she asked. Her eyes darted from her friends bodies back to the raised hooves.
“Of course I would,” Golden said. He smiled as he remembered all his experiences with his favorite pastime. “I love punching all kinds of things.”
With that the last remaining color in the mare’s face disappeared. She collapsed. She had fainted.
Golden sighed. A loud ringing reached his ears. Something was happening on the television. He sprinted to investigate.
He went back into his position as he leaned into the television. Well after several moments of trying various other ones he settled on one close enough to his previous one. He leaned in to find why the bell was ringing. Golden’s lips went dry. The challenger had been knocked out.
The challenge’s once hopping body was still as a corpse. The color had completely drained from the face. Surprisingly his body looked relatively normal. The only blemish was a single bump on the right side of his face, Save for that distinction he looked like the punk mare.
“I can’t believe it Tad. Such a raw display of power and technique by the champion,” Ring out said. His breathing was strained as if he had been the one knocked out.
“One Punch,” Tad Buff uttered.
“What an amazing performance Truly the champ will go down as one of the best in history,” Ring Out said. His eager hooves moved wildly as if he was witnessing something truly miraculous. “Maybe even the best boxer ever.”
“One Punch,” Tad Buff repeated.
“Folks I’m afraid we’ll have to leave you for now. Make sure to tune in next Sunday for the next match at the greatest arena in Equestria,” Ring Out said. He tried to get his overzealous legs under control and only slightly succeeding. He turned to his dazed colleague. “Got anything to add partner?”
“One Punch,” Tad Buff said. The repeating was starting to get on Golden’s nerves. Especially since it couldn’t possibly be true.
“Goodnight.” Ring tried to shake his companion back to reality. The television cut off the sorrowful display.
Golden stood there unsure what to make of the debacle. He then heard the sound of something trying to desperately cut ropes. He forgot to untie Pick Eel. He rushed to go about doing that. He tried his best to cover up the fact he was sweating wildly.
MUSIC
“Aye! What a brat!” Pick Eel said as he squirmed in his constraints. He looked like some kind of weird worm.
“Yeah, she is,” Golden agreed. Despite his sweating his grip was steady enough to pull the stand owner free.
The stand owner took a few moments to recover his balance. He then pointed at Golden. “I’m talking about you!”
“Me?!” Golden asked.
“Yes, you. You could’ve helped sooner,” Pick Eel said. He tried to readjust his cap which had somehow turned backwards in the commotion.
“You could’ve given me a pickle,” Golden countered. He put a hoof on the cart.
“You never said you wanted a pickle,” Pick Eel said. His voice raised as if Golden was too dumb to understand what he was saying at the previous volume.
“I shouldn’t have to!” Golden roared. His eyes were a bit moist as he screamed. It took all of his willpower to not start punching the defenseless cart. Luckily he knew it was innocent in all of this.
“And why not?!” Pick Eel asked. He narrowed his eyes.
“Forget about it,” Golden said. He placed his head in his hooves. Look do you know where there’s a place I could spend the ni-”
“There you are,” another voice said.
Golden thought he had took care of all the punk. Golden turned to find a yellow mare before him. Her white hair was blowing. He sighed. “Twiddle, let's just go.”
“Good,” she said grabbing Golden’s shoulder and dragging him away. She turned back to the stand. “Don’t worry about him Pick Eel. You know Golden. He always likes to make his presence known.”
Golden heard as the stand owner seemed to work out what had just happened verbally.. The sound was as sweet as the sound of Golden’s front hooves hitting a heavy bag. Or the sweet sound of somepony biting into the best kind of crunchy pickle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
MUSIC
Twiddle walked down the street she had for years. It gave her a sense of warmth of familiarity. She really needed that feeling with the sulking stallion walking behind her.
“So any reason you were with Pick Eel’s stand and he was tied up?” she asked. She looked down at the street.
“The old coot wouldn’t give me a pickle. I should’ve left him there,” Golden complained. His steps on the street floor became larger with each word. He was very angry.
“You tied him up?” Twiddle asked. She lifted her head to look at the street lights of the town.
“Of course I didn’t.” he said. His stomping grew in stride as he came to walk beside Twiddle.
“Who did then?” she asked. Her eyes were still transfixed at the lights.
“A couple of punks.,” he answered. Twiddle could see from the corner of her eye Golden shook his head. “Why am I telling you? I’m angry at you.”
“At me?” she asked. She turned to stare at the uncalled for outburst.
“Yeah,” he said. He was practically foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.
“You’re angry at me?” she asked again. He couldn’t be serious.
“I don’t like to repeat myself,” he said. He turned his head to stare at Twiddle’s.
“Why?” she demanded. The chilly night hit her coat then. She had no time to get a jacket and make it on time. She had tried her best to get there on time and she did it. She was sure of that. So the last thing she needed was this.
“You said you’d be a train station at nine, ” Golden said. He crossed his front hooves. “It was nine and you weren’t there.”
“Oh really?” Twiddle asked. She crossed her own front legs. She shot the ungrateful stallion a skeptical look. “How long did you wait?”
“What does that matter?” he asked. His already tense body grew tenser.
“How? Long?” she repeated. On the bright side their arguing did feel like a work out. So she was starting to warm up a little.
“About five minutes,” he admitted. He began eyeing the lights.
“You aren’t wearing a watch,” Twiddle pointed out the obvious. Well obvious to everyone who wasn’t being a foal at the moment.
“Why does that matter?” the foal asked.
“How did you know what time it was?” she asked once again pointing out the obvious. She had to resist the urge to reach out and grab his head to turn it back to face her. She was too cold and tired for this.
“I saw the clock at the station,” he explained. He turned back to her. His face was as still as stone.
“That would explain it,” Twiddle said. She turned away from him and sped up a bit. She had to be home as soon as possible.
“How?” he asked. Twiddle took pleasure in hearing him struggling to keep pace with her.
“That clock is ten minutes forward,” she said. She could practically hear the street scream as she accelerated more. Or perhaps that was Golden which would be good. Golden deserved to get a workout for believing in a clock before her. “You missed me because you arrived early and left before I turned up.”
“Oh,” he panted.
“Yeah,” She said. She was impressed Golden had managed to keep up with her as is. He was never one to be a runner. Heck the very street she was on had its fair share of bumps from when Golden tripped and fell on it. And when he’d occasionally punch it afterwards.
Twiddle led her soon to be houseguest in silence for a bit longer. As she neared her home she decelerated. She was glad she owned no watch or else she’d have to resist the urge to stare at it.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked at the new lights. Which unsurprisingly resembled the previous ones. Even though they had outrun those lights by at least a mile.
“What did you say?” Twiddle asked. She knew what he said. She just wanted to hear it again. She did deserve it after all.
“I said I’m sorry,”Golden said. He turned his head to her again. His voice was a bit strained as he spoke. Twiddle was unsure if it was because he was tired or genuinely sorry. “I was angry.”
“That’s no excuse Golden. You could’ve asked someone else,” She pouted. She continued walking not turning to look at the stallion.
“Nopony else was there. Not at all like it used to be,” he said almost wistful.
“Nothing is anymore,” she sighed. Once again she looked at the lights. She remembered when there were few lights. And those lights shone like brilliant stars throughout the city. If it wasn’t for her granddad she most likely would have slept outside every day back then. She grinned. “You know that old swing we used to swing on?”
“I remember you swinging and the scars,’ Golden said. He grabbed his legs. He grimaced recalling the experience his own silly way. “Never liked that place.”
“Well good for you it's been replaced. Replaced with a new donut store,” she explained. She then shook her head. She pointed at the shop as they passed it. “I say it's new but it started a few years ago, I know the owner. He’s a sweet stallion.”
Golden groaned.
“Now what’s wrong?” she asked. She was getting really tired of Golden’s poor attitude.
“You still do it,” he chuckled.
“Do what?” she asked.
“The thing.”
“What thing?”
He tried to snap. “You know the thing.”
“No I don’t know. If I knew what the thing was why would I ask you what the thing is?” she asked.
“The words. What do they call it? Alliteration?” he said trying to dig into his mind. “The double meaning thing.”
“You mean double entendre?”
“Entree? We aren’t at a restaurant.”
Twiddle decided to ignore that. “You mean a pun?”
“Yeah, that,” he pointed at her. A large grin was plastered on his face.
“How did you get alliteration from pun?” she asked. She knew Golden was never the smartest pony at school but this was ridiculous.
“I was close,” he said. He locked his jaw.
“No. No you weren’t even remotely close.”
“They’re both language things.”
“Great, I wanted some more things. You need to learn more words,” she said. She giggled. “I guess that’s why you got a dictionary that one Hearth's Warming Eve.”
“I don’t need words. All I need are my hooves,” he said. He raised his hooves for emphasis.
“I think granddad would have disagreed,” she said. She placed a hoof to her mouth as she dug into her own mind for a specific memory. “What was it he always said?”
“The more words you got the larger your mouth is. The larger your mouth is the harder it is for someone to break it,” Golden answered. For as much as a bad student he was at school Golden did pick up at least a few things from Twiddle’s grandad.
“Never made sense,” Twiddle admitted.
“How do you know?” Golden asked.
“I saw somepony punch through a dictionary. It had a lot of words,” she said. She smiled at her old friend.
He blushed and gave a nervous grin. “It is nice to see you again.”
Twiddle gave Golden a smug look. The kind she always remembered him having. “Apology accepted.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
MUSIC
Golden followed Twiddle through the various buildings of Fillydelphia until they came to the one familiar building in the entire city. Golden stood outside those magical doors and sniffing.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Ritual,” he said. He continued sniffing alternating from big to small sniffs.
“What kind of ritual?” she inquired.
“A nose ritual. You should know.”
“No I don’t know. What’s this nose ritual?” she asked. She eyed him as if what he was doing was crazy.
“Look the inside smell of a gym is the most inviting smell ever,” he explained. While he talked to her he decided to begin stretching too. He knew it’d help himself sniff better.
“Then why don’t you go in already?” she asked. Her teeth were chattering. She was free to go in whenever she wanted to. It was her own fault she was cold right now.
“Because it's better to remember how bad things smell out here and the go inside,” he explained. He gave her a smirk. “That way the good smell is even better.”
“When did you start that? You didn’t have your nose ritual before you left.”
“What? Of course I did. I did it every time before I sparred.”
“What about that one time when we sparred and you were wearing that thing on your-Oh.”
“On my-”
“Nose.”
“Bingo.”
“So you wore that to ensure your nose ritual?”
“Of course,” he said. He lifted his shoulders up. “If I didn’t have it I’d be driven crazy.” She went back to sniffing for a good long while.
“You done?” she prompted. She tapped her hooves on the ground.
“Yeah. Wait,” he raised one hoof. Then he took in one last sniff. “And done.”
Golden cracked open the door of the lovely building. He was greeted with the sight of various training equipment. From the battered and bruised heavy bag to the slightly more energetic speed bag that went to and fro. In the middle of the building was a grand stage. Its ropes allowing only the most prestigious of heavenly beings to touch them.
Golden sniffed and recoiled at what he smelled. Or rather the absence of something. “That’s not right.”
“Well time to get over your smelling ritual,” she said. She patted his back prompting him to move forward.
“Nose ritual,” he said. He watched her as she led him to his station in the holy ground. “Smelling ritual just sounds dumb.”
Twiddle pointed at a couch a few feet away from the ring. “I set it up where you wanted. Don’t know why you didn’t just sleep in the other bedroom.”
“I just like the scent actually,” he said utterly disappointed.
“Right,” she said. Golden could practically feel her eyes roll. “Good night.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Golden made his way to his couch. His face scrunched up at the sight of the uniform arrangement. It was disgusting. Golden relieved the poor blankets and pillows by hopping on them. He struggled for a few moments to get comfortable.
His mind kept returning to what he had witnessed earlier that day. He had drifted from the television for no longer than two minutes. And the announcer’s said the fight was already over.
One punch. They had said one punch. That had to be a lie. Nobody could knock out someone with one punch. Maybe the challenger was bribed or something. The champion probably was some loser who’s punches felt like butterflies.
The more he thought of the possible other ways the fight could have been rigged he kept hopping from one way to another. It was maddening. Especially since he knew he needed to wake up early tomorrow. It was very important. He rubbed his head. He hated thinking. Almost as much as he loved eating pickles.
His stomach growled reminding him of his favor. “Next time I’ll just punch the old timer til he’s practically drowning me in a sea of pickles. Or at least sprays me with pickle juice.”