The New Crop

by xjuggernaughtx

Round Three

Uppercut motions for us to come out of our corners. I hop forward and try to add some pop to my hooves. I ain’t no good at fancy hoofwork like Blueblood is, but the crowd mostly just likes to see motion. Winning the crowd over’s just as important as anything I’m doing to Blueblood, so I make the effort.

Blueblood stomps out of his corner, and his hooves are up real high over his forehead. He was dancing around before, but now he looks like he’s ready to slug it out. Not sure where he got the notion that going hoof to hoof with me was a good idea, but I ain’t gonna complain. If he wants to trade shots, I’m game. I check his corner real quick, but they ain’t screaming at him, so they must have told him to do it.

I shrug and get into a crouch. My muscles bunch up as I draw in on myself, and it feels good. Hard. Standing like this, my vitals protected, I’m made of stone. He can beat on me all night.

Blueblood keeps coming toward me in this measured stride. We’re only six steps apart, but it feels like an eternity in there. His flat eyes bore into me. Not into my eyes, but lower, almost like he’s trying to see into my heart. He’s up to something, and I don’t think I like it much.

He’s been trained better than me, or maybe he’s just good at listening in a way I ain’t. I know I shouldn’t check those eyes, but I can’t help it. It’s dangerous to look into your opponent’s eyes. They’re the easiest part of yourself to lie with. Eyes can make a weak pony look fierce, and a tired pony look fresh. They can look left while the hoof punches right. Any fighter worth his salt learns not to put too much trust in an opponent’s eyes, and to keep their own on that chin. From there, you can see the hooves coming at you. You can see where your opponent is headed. You gotta check ’em sometimes, but eyes mostly ain’t nothing but trouble. And by the look of things, trouble’s what Blueblood’s got in mind.

Four steps. Three, then two. Finally, he’s within range. I fire one off, but all of a sudden, he’s disappeared like a ghost. It takes me a second to realize that he ain’t gone left or right. He dropped straight down. But when you’re in the ring, a second is a long, long time.

I look down just in time to see him flying back up at me. When I threw out that punch, he just let his rump fall. With his legs beneath him, Blueblood was a coiled spring, and now he’s released that tension. I’ve got just enough time to bite down on my mouthpiece—

The dull sound of struck bone rattles through my head. Sound fades away, and the world gets fuzzy. Can’t seem to figure what just happened.

Then the sound comes rushing back, and I realize that I’m just standing there. That’s the funny thing about getting hit. It don’t hurt so much as you’d think. What it does is make your mind freeze up for a second, and in that time, he’ll—

A powerful shot cracks into my right eye, and I stagger left. Thinking’s hard all of —

My head gets twisted around when another punch catches me near my temple. My hooves are getting all tangled up. Can’t figure out which way is which.

I can’t see right, and my hooves are down again. I try and get them up, but that dull sound rips through my head a third time when he drives his hoof into my nose. The ring’s tilting in the wrong direction. Seems like it’s coming up at me. I’m trying to get my hooves under me, but everything’s sliding away like it shouldn’t. The world’s spinning like I’m getting hit real bad, and—

More hits. They’re coming in real fast. World’s blurry. Can’t figure it out. It’s all wrong. Can’t see. Can’t hear. I’m trying to focus, but something’s hitting me. I can’t—

Pain rips through my head again. Everything’s spinning. All of a sudden, the mat’s jumping up at me...

I’m sitting at the kitchen table. Granny Smith’s hunched over a bunch of papers across from me, and she looks real serious. Every once in a while, I pick up one of the pieces of paper, but it’s all numbers. Rows and rows of them. Some written in red and others in black. Pages and pages of numbers, and she don’t look too happy about none of it.

It’s the farm’s budget, but I don’t know how it got to be so much. It all used to fit in one notebook when Applejack did it, but Granny’s got it all over the place. Seems like there’s a lot more red there than before, too. I don’t remember Applejack having so much of that. She told me once that it means that we owe something to somepony.

Granny’s hoof spasms, and the pencil falls. It hits the table, and the tip breaks off before it rolls onto the floor. Dropping her head into her hooves, she lets out a choked sob, and that’s all it takes. I’m over there putting my hoof around her and telling her that it’s gonna be alright.

“But it ain’t gonna be alright, Mac,” she says in this thin voice that I don’t like much. It sounds like her throat ain’t working right. Like she ain’t getting air. Tears flow out from beneath her hooves. “I t-tried, Mac, but I ain’t got the head for it like your pa or your sister did. Can’t believe a half-grown filly did sums better’n I can.”

I pat Granny on her back and try to sound cheerful. “I’ll just work more, and Apple Bloom’s gettin’ to the age where she can start takin’ on some chores. We’ll get through it.”

Granny Smith lifts her head, but her lips are pulled back into something halfway between a frown and a snarl. An ugly flush works its way up her neck and into her face. “You’d need to be ten stallions, and we’d need twenty Apple Blooms! I’m tryin’ to tell you that we’re losin’ the farm! Not that we could be doin’ better. Not that we need to tighten our belts a little. We’re losin’ it all!”

Granny reaches out with a badly trembling hoof and snatches at an envelope. She spits out a curse when she drops it and has to pick it up again. With her eyes on the floor, she pulls out a letter and thrusts it at me to read. She’s shaking so bad that I have to take it from her.

To Mrs. Smith:

This is your third and final notification regarding your delinquency. We at the First Equestrian Bank of Appleloosa have been authorized to repossess both Appleloosan Land Parcel 154691 and all properties contained within unless we receive payment by the end of this month. Liquidation of assets will occur within six weeks, and any amount after the repayment of the loan will be deposited into your account.

Sincerely,

Compound Interest
Vice President of Financing
First Equestrian Bank of Appleloosa

I read the letter, and then read it again. It can’t mean what I think it means. We’ve owned this farm for generations now. I open my mouth, but Granny’s already yelling at me. Pleading, really. She grabs my collar, and she’s trying to shake me, but she’s a little too spindly for that.

“We needed money when the orchard got the blight. I mortgaged the farm, but the trees…” Granny’s hooves slip away, and she drops her head onto the table. “The trees...”

Two years after we lost half the family, most of our trees got real sick, too. Applejack probably woulda known just what to do, but Granny and I, well… We managed to save some of the orchard, but lots of trees died. Guess I might be as dumb as they say, because I never wondered how Granny replaced them. I just figured we had money saved up or something.

But we never could get much of a harvest after that. Seems like the trees just never took like they oughta. I tried to remember all the little ways that Applejack always got them to grow just right, but I did most of the heavy stuff, while she did all the finicky business. I pulled rocks out of the fields while she was messing around with seedlings and fertilizer mixes. It always worked out real good. It never crossed my mind that she wouldn’t be there one day.

Granny Smith’s in bad shape. I’m glad Apple Bloom’s been in bed for a while, because she don’t need to see this. Granny’s just going at herself something fierce, and I can’t get a word in edgewise. I hate to see her beat herself up like this, but I just can’t think of what to say.

That’s when it hits me. I kept seeing this flier whenever I’d go to the general store. It said they wanted fighters for the Western Circuit, and that they’d pay real good. I’m bigger and stronger than most, so I figured I had a chance. Fighting would mean a few extra bits for the farm, and we’d all breathe a little easier then. It wouldn’t take too many tournaments.

“One!”

Or two. Just a few times to get our heads above water. It’d always seemed like a pipe dream, but dreams are about all we got left now. I figure I might as well take a shot. All of a sudden, I’m yammering away to Granny, and she’s got these great big eyes. She’s listening to me real hard. I tell her about the prize money, and what it could do for us.

Well, Granny just jumps up and yanks at a drawer. It sticks, and she pulls at it a few times before I get up and wrench it open. It sets both our teeth on edge when it lets out that shrill squeal that only wood set tightly against wood can make. Granny pushes through the bits of junk in the drawer before fishing out a worn photograph of a pony in a fighting pose. It’s my gramps, but I ain’t never seen him like this before.

“He was a—”

“Two!”

“—time regional champion!” she says with a proud twinkle in her eye. “I used to sit in his corner and help sponge him off between rounds. He had a trainer named Barnburner who cussed him up a blue streak when he was losin’ a fight. I learned a lot listenin’ to them durin’ a bout.”

I nod. This could work for us. I ain’t never been too good with the apples, but I can take care of myself in a fight. I’m real strong, and I knocked out—

“Three!”

—stallions once at Spigot’s Saloon when they got too rowdy. I don’t get tired, and I don’t give up.

I’m going through all this when Granny’s face just collapses. She crying again now, ashamed that she’s getting excited at the idea of me putting myself in danger. I’m trying to tell her this is the best way, but—

“Four!”

I’m confused all of a sudden. I can hear somepony counting, but my head don’t feel right. It’s real bright for some reason, and I can’t see Granny no more. I can hear her, though. She’s hollering at me something fierce to get up.

“Five!”

The world snaps into focus. Uppercut’s leaning over me, his hoof sweeping through the air with each count.

“Six!”

And it all comes back. Blueblood tagged me real good. If I don’t get up, I’m losing this fight. My hooves are in motion before I can even fully get my mind around the idea.

“Seven!”

I’m pushing myself up, hanging onto the ropes while I try to clear my head. The world still feels loose, like it’s gonna slide out from underneath me if I don’t keep a real close eye on it. It’d be hard enough to stand on four hooves right now. Two hooves seems impossible, but I’m managing somehow. I hate those diamond dogs.

Uppercut’s checking me out. I let him know that I’m fine. He’s seen me recover before, so I’m not too worried that he’ll stop this fight. Blueblood rang my bell, but I’m as tough as they come, and Uppercut knows it. He squints up at me, then nods before stepping back. The crowd roars when he waves us back together.

Across from me, Blueblood’s lip curls into a tiny snarl. He’s coming at me hard, and I ain’t in no shape to take chances. He’s stronger than he looks, and that’s bad news for me. That crowd’s gonna think I look weak in here when they see me turtle up, but there ain’t nothing for it. I gotta buy some time until the fog clears.

Blueblood twists at the waist, then snaps back. He’s smart, using his hind legs and torso instead of just his forelegs and shoulders. Lots of stallions don’t really know how to throw a proper punch, and that’s why he’s hitting me so much harder than I’m used to. He’s throwing his whole body behind these blows.

I quiver with each hit, but I’m doing alright. He’s pummeling me. Shoulders. Ribs. Forelegs. Over and over. A few sneak past my defenses and tag my liver and kidneys. I bite down on my mouthpiece to keep from grunting. I don’t want to give him any reason to think I’m hurt. Don’t want him to get the notion he’s close to something. I just gotta live with it, ’cause he can’t tag me in the head. For once, I’ve got my hooves up, and they’re staying there. Granny’s gonna have plenty to say about that later tonight.

My ribs are on fire, but he’s finally slowing down. This’ll be a bad time for him. He threw it all at me for a solid minute. We’re close, just inches apart, and I can hear him breathing real heavy. Ponies that ain’t fought don’t understand how much it takes outta you to go on an all-out attack like that. Right now, he’s real tired, and probably getting a little bit worried.

Time to come outta my shell and show him how right he is.

The crowd explodes when I throw the big right. It don’t connect, but that don’t really matter to them none. Their catcalling turns into cheers as I press forward. I’m throwing hard hooves. Not my hardest, but enough to get him thinking real good about not getting tagged. I can still see his chest rise and fall in this big, telling motion. He ain’t got the wind to dance, and he ain’t got any left to punch, neither.

I bang with lefts and rights, mostly to knock his hooves away from his head. When one gets out of position, I launch a hoof inside. It feels real fine when his head swivels around. Blood starts out of his nose again, and that brings a fresh roar from with crowd.

I’m pouring it on now. Harder. Faster. Throwing punches with bad intentions. They don’t all land. Probably not even most of them, but those that do leave their marks on his body and his spirit. A left cross to his head, and that mouse he’s got growing there gets a little bigger. A right to the body, and he cringes and leans over. Crouching down, I throw what Granny would call a slop punch into his gut. Just a big looper. With my longer reach, it hooks in under his defense and he rises up off the mat a little.

Then he’s on me. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but he’s growling like a trapped manticore. I can’t even follow his hooves, they’re flying at me so fast. One crashes into my jaw, and my tooth goes flying out into the crowd. Ain’t gotta worry about that no more, I guess. The hit snaps my head around so hard that I catch a glimpse of my corner. Apple Bloom’s nearly white, and Granny Smith’s muttering some kinda prayer or something. That don’t look good for the crowd, and now I got my own gripe for our talk later tonight.

I bob and weave like a madpony. I ain’t that fast, but it’s enough to make me a hard target. Still, he’s going for broke with some kinda reserve that I ain’t got. He gets me in the ear, and it starts ringing with this high-pitched tone. I give him a left to the liver, and his legs tremble before he launches himself back up at me.

We’re together, just standing in the middle of the ring pounding on each other. The crowd sounds like they’re coming totally unhinged. I try not to let it get too personal in the ring, but Blueblood’s really pissing me off, and the crowd’s getting my blood up. It might be that I got that reserve after all. Just now, my hooves don’t feel so heavy. I’m getting hit, but it seems far away. I can still feel it, but it’s like I don’t care all that much about it. Like my brain is filing it away to think about later.

My lips pull back, and I can feel the blood dribbling out from around my mouthpiece. I want to bite. I want to drop my forehooves onto this mat and give this guy my best apple-bucking kick. I want to end this, but he just ain’t dropping for some reason.

The world around us gets real small. It’s just him and me, and I ain’t thinking straight anymore. I’m just pounding at him. Wherever my hooves land, I can see white swell into purple bruises.

He’s backing up now, and his blows don’t got the power they had just a minute ago. Or maybe I just can’t feel ’em anymore. Don’t really matter which, I guess. I’m just throwing hooves at him. Into his legs. His shoulders. His head. Whatever I can reach. Whatever I can hurt.

My head twists around, but I didn’t see the hoof that hit me. Didn’t feel nothing. I just keep at it, punching again and again. My hooves are so numb that I can’t even tell when they hit and when they don’t, but they’re coming back awful bloody.

Somethin’s tying me up, and it takes a minute for me to see that it’s Uppercut. He’s leaning on me hard, screaming something, but my ears ain’t working right. I see Blueblood slide into his corner, and the sound all comes rushing back. Uppercut shoves me hard, and I fall onto my stool.

A white-hot lance of chemicals stabs into my brain, and I yank my head away. Apple Bloom grabs me by the ear and pulls me forward again, shoving the salts up my nose.

“Mac? Mac?” Granny’s in my face, shaking me. “Can you hear me?”

“Eeyup.” My head’s finally rid of that fuzzy feeling I’ve had since the knockdown. Salts are like that. It’s hard to believe something can snap you back so quick, but they cut through the fog like a knife.

“That’s why I told you to keep them hooves up, you big lummox!” Granny’s got an ice pack pressed up to the side of my chin. “I reckon one day somepony’s gonna knock your head clean off your shoulders!”

Beside me, Apple Bloom’s smearing salve over what feels like half my face. “Mac, this guy’s trainin’s too good. You can’t just hit him hard. He knows how to block just enough of it. You’re gonna have to trap him somehow.”

I slide my eye over to my sister. She looks scared, and that hurts me worse than anything this guy has done to me. It’s tough when she’s worried. Or maybe when she thinks that I might not win would be a better way to put it. It’s hard because Apple Bloom’s almost always right. If she was as big as me, ain’t no pony alive would be able to beat her. She’s real smart about this stuff.

“Just…” I stop and swallow hard. “Just tell me if you see somethin’ I can use out there.”

The bell rings and I push myself up again. No pop this time. No showboating. I’m gonna need all my energy tonight. I turn again and motion towards Apple Bloom’s good eye. She nods. She knows her job, and she’ll do it.

Now if I can just do mine.

Comments

[Mad]

You describe this perfectly, you a boxer too?

[Icarus_Con_Queso]

If this were a Rocky movie, this round would have been when the slow-motion hit montage starts being a thing. Loving it so far.

[PresentPerfect]

Or maybe when she think

Found a thing.

[xjuggernaughtx]

8208549 Damn typos! They breed like rabbits.