Tussle With Giants
Tussle With Giants
It was only a matter of looking quite stupid and toying around with the broken, rust coated latch on the back fence before Shady Daze was facing the rugged maze that existed between the fence and the backdoor to Rumble’s house.
Swallowing his fear he braced himself. He moved forwards with the practiced patience of a surgeon; his first step pushed through the tall, untended, grass and landed his left hoof into a puddle of something sticky.
No surprise there.
Pulling with his all his might, he snagged his hoof free fiercely, losing his stability and balance in the process and tumbled to his left. He landed face first into another wet puddle of what he hoped was only just beer.
He took in a breath and groaned. It didn’t smell like beer.
Wonderful.
Picking himself up, again, he decided to be much, much, more cautious. He kept his eyes on the ground and moved forwards. Two more steps had him avoiding an empty beer bottle with his left hoof, another step right and he dodged past a frisbee, leapt with all four legs across a tiny pond of hose water, then, finally, he was facing the wooden steps leading up to the porch.
He quickly ascended the steps — which creaked and shifted under his weight —, slid open the back door, and, when he was sure he was safe, took in a few steps inside.
Without any of the owners home the house was eerily calm and quiet. This was good. It could be hours before anyone came home, and, in that time Shady had every intention of taking advantage of his freedom. His plan was simple; settle on the couch in a nest of blankets and pillows and get some rest. He’d be happily nestled in a warm quilt-cocoon before Brolly, or Thunderlane ever got a chance to take a magic-powered razor to his fur, or a sharpie to his forehead. First, though, he needed to wash his face — again — and after that get a bite to eat.
The kitchen was clean, which was surprising, and when he opened the fridge he was hardly surprised to find what little he did; a few grapefruits in the vegetable drawer, a jar of mayonnaise, butter, a dozen slices of processed cheese, a half empty bottle of value-brand cola and close to two dozen bottles of beer.
Shady grabbed two slices of cheese, butter and a bottle of Lo-Brau.
The key to Equestria’s greatest grilled cheese sandwich — as expertly crafted by Shady Daze — was simple; butter spread on both sides of the bread, two slices of cheese, and a pinch of dry garlic salt. That was all.
And Rumble had laughed at him when he’d chosen to take home economics as an elective…
Throwing a pan on the stove, he turned the dial to medium and set about fixing up Equestria’s greatest grilled cheese. In true Rumble/Thunderlane/Brolly fashion a pile of dishes stood in the sink with an impressive collection of dirt and grime attached. The cutlery drawer was bare save for a single rusted fork, a spatula — which he would need — and in lieu of a butter knife — which he would also need — he could only find a large, rusted and incredibly dangerous looking kitchen knife.
If it had been anyone else’s home he would have been surprised, but, this was where Rumble lived. He’d been done with being surprised by how he managed to stay alive and keep himself nourished ages ago.
Shady popped the cap off his beer and took a few quick nips while he waited. His drunk had mostly worn off, a mix of time, liver function and his frightful first experience with the act of gay cruising had sobered him up considerably. One beer wasn’t going to bring him back to the brink, but it never hurt.
Once the bread had been toasted to a soggy, greasy, golden brown, and the cheddar had melted with it, he fed the spatula underneath the bread then flipped it soggier side up onto a paper plate. Rumble’s house lacked many amenities and a steady supply of clean kitchenware was among them.
He took a few more sips from the bottle, until it was empty, set the empty bottle down beside a trio of others near the sink, then with the plate stuck between his teeth waded through the kitchen and towards the living room. He tossed the plate and sandwich onto the coffee table and made for the linen closet.
The Wonderbolts sheets were unwashed, sweat stained and lay on a pile on the floor next to a stack of coverless pillows. He grabbed them, and the cleanest pillow he could find. Wandering back to the living room, he flicked on a lamp and then fell backwards onto the couch. His rear touched something big and bulky and then he was pulling a pair of bulky headphones out from beneath him. A cord from the headphones led back to a record player and a stack of records held in a milkcrate. Curiosity getting the better of him, Shady decided to put off eating and investigate what types of music his best friend, his best friend’s brother, his rival and Cloud Kicker listened too.
Punk rock, thrash metal, hip-hop, electronic and something called ‘Dub-Trot.’ No surprise there. These would all belong to Brolly, or Thunderlane. Maybe even Rumble. What was curious was a lone Poni Mitchell album. The last in the milkcrate. Probably something from Cloud Kicker’s collection.
Smiling, he put the record on, then the headphones and leaned backwards until his back touched the almost soft cushions on the couch. The first keys to Poni Mitchell’s ‘Blue’ kicked in while Shady took a bite of his grilled cheese and searched the coffee table for any traces of harmless illicit substances. Along with his plate, there were bottle caps, empty beer cans, lighters, an ashtray, a signal flare and a cigar box on the table. The cigar box was his best bet, and, as he opened it, Shady realized he was onto something good. Inside were packages of rolling papers, a small baggie with red and blue pills, a smaller bag half full of white powder, and a prescription pill bottle with fat bushels of cloves.
Jackpot.
Shaking a few nuggets out from the bottle, he grabbed the rolling papers, crushed the cloves down with the tips of his hooves, spread the crushed bits evenly over a flat rolling paper and went on to roll a joint. The finished product was a fat, perfectly cylindrical thing, with a rolled bit of torn paper on one end for a filter and the other twisted tight. Simple and effective. It offered no thrills, but Shady didn’t need thrills to get by. Just the melancholy thrills of getting good and baked.
Smiling, he bit down on the joint by the filter and lit the tip with a lighter from the coffee table.
He took a deliberately long haul from the joint, then another, and another, until his head got light and his chest burned and clenched. He held the smoke in his lungs for a minute, then a second, and on his exhale he blew smoke from his nostrils the way he could only imagine a rebellious teenage dragon might. Pillars of white skunky smelling smoke billowed from his nostrils. He coughed a few times, cleared phlegm, spat into the ashtray and by the time the lightheaded, flighty feeling took over his brain everything about the night started to become a secondary concern.
He shut his eyes. He took another drag. He listened to Poni Mitchell sing. Heard her croon about something or other. Some stallion. The darkest pits of despair. It didn’t matter. Poni Mitchell was ambient background noise.
Another drag, another, and a tiny one to round it out, and then he put the joint down on the edge of the ash tray. He reached for his sandwich and bit and chewed away at greasy, carb filled, cheese and breaded goodness until he was holding a charred crust between his hooves.
He smiled. It was crooked, and goofy, and if he’d had seen himself in a mirror it only would have made him giddier. His eyes glazed and red, his head fuzzy and filled with half interesting thoughts about nothing.
Baked. Toasted. Flying. Shady was working his way towards a wonderfully lucid state of mind.
He tossed the crust back onto the plate, picked up the joint and puffed away at it until it was nothing but burned filter. He crushed the roach into the ashtray and lay back. A song ended and another one came on. One about a stallion.
He shut his eyes.
Past the music he could hear what sounded like the back door sliding open, hooves dragging across the floor, stopping and then nothing.
Great. Rumble was home.
He opened his eyes and…
There was Brolly.
Shady smiled and waved, daintily, “Hey, Brolly.”
Brolly’s nostrils flared. Thick veins pulsed across his chest and his legs. His muscles bulged and then he threw his right hoof forwards. The fetlock clipped Shady by his left ear, knocked the headphones off of his head and left behind a sharp sting. Without speaking, but instead giving off long, and heavy guttural grunting noises, Brolly grabbed Shady by the mane and tore him from the couch.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Shady was panting, “Easy, Brolly. Easy.”
Strands of his dark blue mane were torn out of his head. Brolly stiffened his hold on Shady, threw his body forwards and marched him through the living room and into the kitchen. Shady tried to keep the pace, but his hooves couldn't keep to the ground long enough to find firm footing, and Brolly's pace was too quick that Shady gave up and let himself get dragged instead.
“B-Brolly. Hey- Ow. Hey, c’mon,” the words slipped out of his mouth, “What- Fuck, dude- What gives?”
In the kitchen Brolly stopped and tossed Shady onto the floor. His left cheek slapped against the checkerboard porcelain tiles. His rear faced upwards. Brolly kicked his hoof between Shady’s cheeks, hitting him in the soft fleshy point between butt and crotch. The kick had Shady sliding across the floor until his face hit the underside of the refrigerator.
Rubbing his cheek, Shady picked himself up just enough to sit on the dirty floor, “Oh geez,”
He coughed and he could see bits of wet lint stick to his hoof. Groaning and rubbing his rear end, Shady turned to look up at Brolly. There was still that familiar look of disgust and hate on his face. Misplaced, of course. Shady was an innocent victim here. Still, Brolly’s mean glare sent the coldest sort of chills through Shady’s tiny, curled up body.
“You cock sucking, ass riding, dick bag,” said Brolly. He made a move to lunge forwards. Shady shuffled backwards into the fridge. A box of cereal fell from above him, landed sideways on his head and spilled a mess of ‘O’ shaped toasted oat circles across the floor.
Shady brushed bits of cereal out of his mane, “Brolly. H-hey, Brolly?… What- What’s going on here, dude? Let’s just take a second here to think, and-”
Brolly spat at the floor. The loogie landed between Shady’s spread legs and bits of it splashed against Shady’s chest.
“Fuck you,” he shouted, “I’m going to kill you and then skull fuck your corpse.”
Well, that sort of resentment was certainly uncalled for...
“H-hey. Look… I don’t, uh- I don’t really know what’s happening here, dude. Can you try to, er... Just relax a little bit. Okay? Just... let's be calm and mellow.”
Brolly’s upper lips peeled back, then his lower ones. Two rows of ugly, bloodied gums and yellowed fangs were worn at Shady, “Eat shit.”
He made a move. His left leg twitched, then he flexed and Shady bounced backwards again. His back hit the fridge. This time a stack of mail — unpaid bills, mostly — bounced off of his head and spread across the floor.
“Brolly. Dude,” he panted, “Stop.”
Brolly snorted, “Do I look fucking stupid to you, Shady?”
“What? No. No way,” said Shady, “Not at all. In fact, I think some ponies might write you off as kinda dull, but you’re certainly smart enough to know how to-”
“Shut the fuck up,” Brolly roared, “Stop trying to kiss my ass, bitch-face. I know all about what you and that little fuck-tard Rumble were up too.”
“What?” Shady cocked his head sideways, “What did he… What are you talking about, Brolly?”
Brolly stomped the ground again and a pint glass fell from the counter cupboard, hit the floor and shattered into a dozen pieces of glass. Shady shook.
“You think I’m fucking stupid,” said Brolly, “You and Rumble. You both think I’m some kind of slack jawed, drooling retard. Don’t you?”
Slack jawed? Certainly. Drooling? Not so much. Retarded? That was more a matter for an I.Q. test to determine, but...
Brolly snarled and Shady curled into himself. In place of a sarcastic comment or a backhooved insult, he kept quiet, swallowed and tried to smile up at Brolly, “H-hey, look... If you… If we can just talk about what’s got you so upset, Brolly. I-I’m sure that we can both find a way to deal with whatever it is, that, uh, you seem to be so angry about and-” Shady brushed his mane with a shaky hoof, “What are you even doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be back at the club giving some ditzy blonde syphilis in the coat check?”
Wrong answer.
Brolly swung his right leg at Shady. His heavy hoof caught the dazed colt on the same cheek where Rumble had hit him earlier. The blow knocked him back onto the floor.
That’s what he got for thinking he was funny.
Brolly snarled, “You done funning with me?”
Shady lifted his eyes up to Brolly, winced when the bigger pony twitched, then nodded his head.
“Good,” said Brolly, “Now that you brought it up, though... I think we should talk about your little butt-buddy Rumble, and how he feels about adultery.”
“Oh, uh...” Shady swallowed a tight, dry lump in his throat, “We should?”
Brolly lifted himself onto his hind legs and snorted. His head whipped back, but his ink coloured mane, slicked backwards against his skull stayed hard and firm. He landed back down again, hooves first, and the home shook. Glasses in the cupboards clinked and rattled, plates from the stack in the sink toppled and fell. Somewhere in another room a ball fell to the ground and rolled across the floor.
Shady ducked backwards.
A Brolly who was drunk, and angry, and — quite possibly — on drugs wasn’t anything new. The trepid heartbeating in his chest and the coldness in his legs and cheeks certainly were to Shady though. There was something different about Brolly’s anger. Something far more sinister. The most concerning bit, to Shady, came from knowing that it was just the two of them in the home together. Thunderlane could curb Rumble with a joke, Flitter with a bite to his neck or a flick of her tail against his cheek. Even Rumble could keep Brolly busy by offering up a cold beer. Thunderlane, Flitter and Rumble weren’t around though, which meant that Shady had only his wits and his charm to fall back on. Experience had taught him enough to know that neither of those were going to do him much good.
“Back at the fuckin’ club,” Brolly said, “You trying to hang out with me? Pretending to want to be my friend? Are you kidding me? That was bullshit. Total fucking bullshit. And don’t for a fucking second pretend it’s not either, or I’ll smash your skull in.”
And there it was: the moment that Shady had told Rumble would exist. This was Rumble being wrong, and Shady being right. While there was no surprise there, one upping Rumble usually offered more thrills than this did.
Looking up at the dead-eyed pony looming over him, Shady squeaked. His heart slamming against his ribcage, he struggled to take in breaths of air as he stared up with squinted eyes at Brolly. Sweat had started to drip down his mane, it got in his eyes and every time he wiped the wetness off his brow, more seemed to take its place, “No. No, no, no, Brolly… I… I really was just trying to get along with you, dude. Honest Buffalo.”
Brolly lurched forwards. Shady jolted backwards. His back hit the fridge again. The muscles across Brolly’s naked chest bounced, the ones in his legs popped and rippled, coming alive then dying. He snarled, and then spat a loogie at Shady. It landed on his cheek. Shady didn’t bother to wipe it off and let it fall off his chin and hit the floor.
“I want you to lie to me again, Shady” said Brolly, “Please. Try me-”
Shady opened his mouth to speak, when he caught a look from Brolly that told him the bigger pony hadn’t finished speaking. He cleared his throat, turned his eyes away from Brolly and kept quiet.
“-It really doesn’t matter what you think you can say about it now,” Brolly said with the faintest trace of something as close to sympathy as he could probably afford, “Truth is, as much as I’d love to hear you beg and cry… It won’t matter. Not really. In about five minutes I’m going to have you hanging upside down from the lamppost outside by your ballsack with a broomstick handle up your ass.”
Shady took in a breath, slowly, then exhaled sharply. Then another, and another, and a few more after that, “L-look. If you just take a few breaths I know we can, uh, like… get to the bottom of this, and-”
“Didn’t I fucking just tell you that it doesn’t matter what you say anymore,” shouted Brolly, “I know all about what Rumble, and you, were doing back at the club.”
His soft-blue pupils exploded. Eyebrows lifted. His right leg danced against the floor and made an awful tapping noise. He was done for now. Finished. Vanquished. Ended. Bested. Defeated. Destroyed. Dejected. Detached.
Shady sucked in air and bit his lip before he spoke again, “That’s, uh-”
Brolly had never looked so massive before. He shared his time balancing his lusts for mares, drugs and alcohol with long hours spent on self improvement at the gym, or racing laps around the gorge, and his body flourished because of it. He’d always looked tough in Shady’s eyes, but now that he looked so much taller, more muscular, and threatening Shady’s life made him all the more monstrous now.
Shady let his right lip fold back into a lazy grin while he looked up at Brolly again, “D-don’t you think that, maybe, you’re being just a little paranoid, Brolly? This is all just, uh hearsay, right? Really. It’s just a huge misunderstanding. A miscommunication even.”
The dark, ugly, scowl Brolly gave him told Shady that killing them with kindness was an outdated practice.
“Are you calling me a fucking liar, Shady?” Brolly spat, “You’re going to sit there, lie to my fucking face and pretend that I’m too dumb to know that Rumble’s been trying to get with Flitter since he had his first wet dream?”
“D-don’t you think, that uh, maybe you should wait until Rumble and Flitter get here?” Shady suggested, still smiling at Brolly, “It sounds like… if you three all sat at the table, and, uh, you had someone mediating, y’know, like playing referee or whatever… I really think that you guys could sort this all out…” he swallowed, “Maybe.”
Brolly whipped his left leg at Shady’s face so fast the younger pony didn’t register the movement as another punch until his cheek stung and he was pulling himself off of the floor again.
“What did I say about talking?” said Brolly, shaking his head,“Here are the facts; That little shit-eating cunt had you sit with me so he could try and put his micropenis in my girlfriend. He knows it. You know it. Flitter knows it, and I know it.”
“That’s-”
Brolly gave him a dark look. Shady pulled his legs against his chest and hugged himself tight as he could, “Who… Who said any of that, Brolly? Did Flitter…? Look, whatever she said about any of this... I’m one hundred percent sure she didn’t, uh, get the whole side of the story.”
Brolly grinned, “Oh, she didn’t have to tell me anything, Shady. You’re doing a fine fucking job yourself.”
“Oh… Fuck me sideways,”
“So, now here’s the thing,” said Brolly, “As much as I want to drag Rumble by his tiny cock out in the street, kick him around, break his legs, crack his jaw and then curb stomp that little prick, he’s also Thunderlane’s brother. And, since I rent a room from Thunderlane, I couldn’t get away with murdering him.”
Shady nodded, “R-right,”
“But then there’s you,” said Brolly, “You, and that faggot Butt ‘N’ Ass. Thunderlane hardly gives a fuck about either of you two. Which means that anything I want to do to Rumble, I’ll just have to do to you and hope it makes me feel better,” Brolly smiled, “Pretty clever, huh?”
Shady coughed, stared down at the floor then mumbled, “You know, you’re being a huge dick right now.”
Brolly puffed his chest out, curled his leg to his face and rubbed his chin, “Well, hey now. You can relax a little, Shady,” he gave him a soft smile that would have seemed boyish and innocent, had it been worn on anyone else’s face, “I’m not just some violent psychopath here. I’m actually a pretty decent guy. I’m the sporting kind, y’know? So, I’ll tell ya what: I’ll let you pick which tool from the closet I use to sodomize you with,” He turned his eyes down to the cowering pony beneath him, smiled, then reached his hoof forwards to pet Shady on the head, “That’s pretty fair. Right?”
Shady twisted his head away from Brolly’s hoof. A wetness, not just from the sweat, had started to form and he didn’t want to run the risk of having Brolly know about it.
Brolly pulled his hoof away from Shady’s head and lifted his left eyebrow, “Hey. C’mon, Shady. Don’t tell me you’re going to try and make this hard for me, are you? Because that would make me really upset. And when I get upset, I get really, really, really mean...”
Shady gulped and Brolly leaned his face forwards. His breath twisted the fur on Shady’s snout, “I don’t think you’d want me to be mean about this. Do you?”
Shaking, Shady steadied himself just long enough to throw a pitifully weak, mean intentioned glare up at Brolly, “Leave me alone, Brolly.”
Brolly’s grin fell neutral. His eyebrows drooped, he frowned then clicked his tongue, “Aww,” he cooed, “See because you’re being such a giant bitch about this, now I’m gonna have to pick for you,” he scratched his chin and hummed to himself for a minute, “Personally, I’m still leaning towards the broom. Something about that just screams ‘Classic’ to me.”
There was a chance here for an escape. Brolly was too busy gloating to ever notice that there was a separation about a half pony wide between him and the kitchen door. After that it was just a matter of getting through the minefield that was the backyard, hopping the fence and praying to Celestia that somepony decent and kind hearted was awake enough to stand between himself and Brolly.
He pressed his hooves against the floor and lifted himself up. Sore as he was, he managed to get to his hooves while Brolly still had his head turned away from him. He kicked off the ground with all the force he’d never once shown in a gym class in his life and made his break. Darting forwards, he sideswiped past Brolly’s body, and checked the bigger pony in the fleshy side of his stomach with his rear end. A little ‘fuck you’ to accent his exit...
He was free, or so he’d wanted to believe for a second. His delusion of escape came to an abrupt end when a sharp sting came crawling up from his tail. He whipped himself backwards to watch Brolly clamp down on his tail.
He was fucked. Fucking-Fuckity-Fucked.
Brolly pulled on his tail and Shady came crawling across the floor, kicking his legs. With another strong tug on Shady’s tail, Brolly had the younger pony upright and front facing. His legs trembled. He could barely keep himself up. For a minute he didn’t have the strength to spare a glance at Brolly, and when he found it in himself to stare he did just long enough to watch Brolly fling himself backwards, so that his ass faced Shady. He pounced onto his front legs, raised his lower ones in the air and kicked Shady in the chest.
The blow lifted him in the air, his back came together with the hardwood edge of the kitchen countertop. A powerful sort of hurt came racing throughout his body. He fell forwards, and landed on the ground chest, face, legs then tail. For a good deal of time he lay flat against his stomach, motionless apart from the rapid rising and falling of his chest. He was wheezing, trying to suck in as much of the dirt-kissed air that he could, while regretting every single cigarette he’d ever smoked, and the burning in his lungs they brought with them.
In anguish Shady gave out a groan he hoped would wake the neighbours.
Someone had to be around to recognize what was happening… Right?
“Don’t fucking move,” said Brolly, slapping Shady’s cheek, “I’m back in two seconds. If you move an inch I’ll make this so much worse for you...”
Shady shook his head and his body followed. Brolly nodded, grinned and dashed out of the kitchen, into the main hallway.
Groaning and hugging his chest, Shady heard the door to the closet open. This was immediately followed by what sounded like Brolly tossing heavy and extremely fragile objects against the floor. Just what were they; glass sculptures? upscale dishes? Since when had Rumble/Thunderlane/CloudKicker/Brolly ever owned so many heavy and fragile things?
“Where the fuck...?” he heard Brolly grumble, “I could have sworn it was in-… Oh... Here we go.”
Shady put his left leg forwards, then his right. Everything still hurt, but hugging himself hadn’t done much to help and now it was time to do something that could. He grabbed the underside of a cupboard door, spread it open and then with his left hoof reached inside. His fetlock touched against the cold handle of something. Picking it up he felt the weight of it; light at the base, heavy closer to the end. A pot, or a pan, something comically weighted just enough that he could swing it at Brolly. He didn’t plan on hitting Brolly, that would be too stupid, but if he could convince Brolly that he would hit him, maybe he could save himself the discomfort of waddling to Doctor Stable’s practice and having a broomhandle surgically removed from his ass.
Hooves beating against the floorboards grew closer and closer. Shady pulled the pan from the cupboard and pressed the head against his side. He looked left just in time to catch sight of Brolly stomping his way into the room with a thinly bristled push-broom clenched in his teeth.
“Brolly, please,” Shady said, “Please don’t do this.”
Brolly reared himself to his hind legs, held the broom against his chest, under his left leg the way a royal soldier held a spear, then snorted out a cruel sounding chuckle, “Oh, would you stop your whining?” he groaned, “Just close your eyes and pretend that it’s Rumble.”
The flat underside of the pan felt cold against his stomach. Brolly was making strides and when only a few feet separated the two, Shady whimpered, “I’m warning you, Brolly.”
Brolly laughed “Oh yeah? What the fuck are you gonna do?”
He cleared the distance between them. Shady could smell that same horribly offensive aftershave — Perfection, maybe? — long before he could feel the heat from Brolly’s breath beat against his cheek.
This was it. If he did nothing now he’d always be a victim of Brolly’s bullying. If he survived, of course.
Quickly, without much in the way of a second thought, Shady swung the pan by the handle at Brolly’s face. He’d judged the distance in his head so that the flat side of the pan should just barely miss hitting Brolly on the snout by close enough that, hopefully, Brolly would be too dazed to make a second move.
It would have worked too... if Brolly hadn’t taken that exact moment to lean his face forwards to snarl. The pan connected with the left side of Brolly’s nose, something cracked. Brolly howled. The weight of sudden stop shook Shady’s left leg.
Brolly recoiled in horror, grabbed his snout with both of his upper hooves and let out a curse of “Cock antlers.”
A steady stream of merlot coloured wetness rolled over the tips of Brolly’s hooves and fall, in fat droplets, onto the floor. Shady watched it happen, watched the blood drop onto the floor, and felt himself clench every muscle he could. Even ones he thought he couldn't.
Oh, boy...
He was dead now. He was sure of it. If every other thing tonight was him digging himself a grave, hitting Brolly in the face with a frying pan was him putting the full payment on the plot of land and burying himself in dirt. The headstone would probably read; ‘Here lies Shady Daze, who dared to tussle with giants.’
“You fucking dickless mother-humper,” roared Brolly, “I’m going to murder you, Shady. I swear to fuck. You’re dead. Fucking dead.”
Brolly had his eyes squinted shut and held onto the bridge of what Shady was sure was a broken nose with his left hoof. He swung at nothing but air, in all the places he wanted Shady’s face to be, with his right. Each time one of his lower legs stepped on the floor he would shuffle left, or lose his balance and stumble.
It made Shady a tiny bit giddy to watch. After all the bad that Brolly had done to him that night — and, also the dozens more like it in the past — he felt comfortable enough with his karma to crack a grin and let out a chuckle.
“Don’t you fucking laugh at me,” Brolly hollered, taking a wild swing at the air far to Shady’s left, “I’ll kill you, Shady.”
Brolly continued to thrash through the kitchen with all the grace and dignity of a wino on a bender. He heaved his heavy body to the left, swung at more empty space and fell against the cupboards for support. His eyes were shut tight by this point, wet with blood wiped against his forehead from his hooves. He looked so stupid prancing around and swinging at nothing.
When Shady snickered — and, really, it was actually a mean and cruel thing to do — Brolly’s ears twitched. He pushed himself off the cupboards and pounced. Only, his left hoof stepped into a mound of crushed cereal flakes that cost him his balance. He twisted backwards and fell, front facing, towards the sink, where Shady realized two seconds too late that the same kitchen knife he’d used to make his sandwich was pushed up against the counter’s edge. The sharp side facing towards Brolly’s quickly approaching hips.
Shady’s stomach turned.
The noise that came when Brolly’s pelvis and the kitchen knife met was something neither of them could say they had ever planned to hear in their lives.
‘Schlick’
Every time Shady had ever squirmed during a showing of The Dodge Junction Hedgeclipper Massacre this was so much worse. He felt cold, and sick, and when Brolly’s collapsing weight pushed the blade past skin, and it sank even deeper into Brolly’s left thigh, a shrill screech came out of his throat. It was a noise Shady had never heard Brolly make before, and it made him want to be sick across the kitchen floor.
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Why cruel cliffhangers, why?!
I honestly expected Shady to shank him, oh well.
Well, that was unexpected.
This story just keeping darker and darker, and I'm really not into it.
Jeez, Guy, I thought you were going to pull things together.
OH BOY, WHY WOULD I EVER WANT TO GET OF MR SKELETALS WILE RIDE ;D
Keep up the good work as always. Nice to see him actually fight back for once.
God this story feels so fucking dirty. Everything is going to hell with Shady, Brolly is just a drug & alcohol crazed psychopath who is apparently now castrated and/or bleeding out, Shady and Rumble are basically going in circles, and everyone else is doing what the fuck ever, the only cool ones being Dinky and her gals.
And I just realized that if the guys go to Diamond Tiara's party things might go ever worse. Just...wow this story is emotionally exhausting.
DinkyMash will prevail!
I feel like there should be a dark tag. Still can't wait for the end
Yeah, fuck you Brolly! You deserve every bit of that!
Oh wow. Nobody really deserves to have a knife stabbed into their leg, but if anyone did it would be Brolly.
I was expecting the knife to come back into play when Shady was flailing around for something, but was thrown off when he picked up a pot lid instead.
Everyone keeps saying the story is getting super depressing and dark, and, in a way it's kind of a compliment. This is the low point for everyone in the story; Button, Rumble and Shady. But it'll pick up again and things will go back to being stupid and edgeless soon. Real soon. Just stick with it?
Amount of breaks caught so far: -500
I sympathize with Button the most here, but this isn't even as bad as it can get. The people who are complaining about it getting dark and depressing? It could be a lot worse for them, but its all a matter of opinion really and I enjoy the story you're making author.cdn.yourepeat.com/media/gif/000/108/761/2821349df658d7aede726ed0a91716c7.gif
Although one could classify this story as everyone insults everyone, and everyone's ass eventually gets kicked.
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Thank you, sir. I appreciate you saying that.
I think it could be classified as 'bad things happen to good ponies. And shady gets slapped around for liking penis. The story.'
Eventually he's gonna get that hug he needs, and buttons gonna get crazy self respect. And rumbles gonna learn about being not a douchebag.
6033836 Mmm true, but since the story isn't tagged tragedy, a happy ending is expected at the end, right? Also yes, shady does get pushed around for liking penises... which I still don't understand, I guess gay people are just punching bags in Equestria? ohchr.org/SiteCollectionImages/AboutUs/HumanRightsDay/discrimination_en_header.gif
I mean shit, boy needs to stop hangin around with douchebags and crushing on one, it'll only get him hurt.
( seriously though, Rumble is the worst, I agree that he is an anti-hero at best but he might even classify as villain protagonist at this point. ) He does have some redeeming qualities but actions speak louder than words and even by the end he may not even redeem himself in many readers eyes simply because the negative actions he's participated in. Anyway that's my insight into it so far, but still, enjoyable story here, keep it up! *Liked and following*
excellent work so far.
two questions though: first why was button mash banned from the toad? he was never asked to leave in the first place. Actually I don't think the bar keep even complained about him much. he chose to leave with a homo and an asshole that argue all the time, he wassent kicked out. From what i can tell he could have stayed if he wanted, he wassent even in the same group as rumble or shady at the time. shady I can kind of get, because you know licking someone's kinda creepy. me want explanation. me read dis again later to see if me missed something.
And the second thing: why diddint rumble just fly over the fence when they broke into da club? could you at the very least edit this to have button point this out After rumble unlocks the gate? your awnser of "magic" only confuses me further.
I honestly haven't read a story this good in a while. I'd say this is even better than the actual book I'm reading at the moment (Hard Magic by Larry Correia).
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Thanks! That means a lot. Really.
I guess I'll just keep doing what I do and write, you keep doing what you're doing and read, and we'll keep meeting in the middle where we both seem to be pretty happy with the whole deal.
I love this story so much, it's unhealthy.