Fight Club

by xTSGx

Midnight vs. Garbonza

For copyright/disclaimer information, see the prologue.

Chapter Seven: Midnight vs. Garbonza

Midnight finished squirting the store brand glass cleaner onto the table's surface. She looked up. She was no weather pony, but it looked to be a very nice day. It was a good thing thing she opted for the tent. It was an even better thing the tent was free. The sun was out in full force—it seemed the weather patrol had wanted a hot spring day for once—and wouldn't be letting Hollow Shades live up to its sunless reputation.

She grabbed a cloth and went to work cleaning off her table. Today was the day she most looked forward to—Saturday. Not just because it was the weekend. Not just because she had just been able to cash the check from the Dash fight before the bank closed. Not just because her defeat of the undefeated pegasus would allow her to make five year's worth of payments for her cottage. No, it was because today was the Gardening Garbonza.

She sighed contently as she scrubbed down the table. She had waited all month for Hollow Shades' premiere gardening event—well, only gardening event. She looked up at the many booths and tents that lined the narrow brick road. Arts and crafts, food, an old timey blacksmith, more food. If she were being honest, despite its name, it really had little to do with gardening. It hadn't been about gardening for decades.

She squirted some more of the cleaner on the table. That didn't matter. She still had her little booth. And there were a couple others who still ensured the Garbonza lived up to its name. Air Raid with his flower pots. And Desert Storm had the widest selection of cacti she'd ever seen. There were also the dozen or so fruit stands that dotted the street, but that didn't surprise her at all.

There was just something special about fruit. Maybe it was because of the taste, or the fact that it enabled her to mimic the sensations of blood sucking—even if they were a shallow imitation of the real thing—or it could even be just an instinctual drive for the nutrients due to bat ponies being more susceptible to illness due to their genes.

Whatever it was, bat ponies loved their fruits. She preferred watermelon herself. There was nothing better—on second thought, after the Night Terror fight, make that “only one thing better”—than sitting back in her wooden rocking chair on a hot summer day and plunging her fangs through the plump green rind to reach the ice cold sloshly goodness that lay underneath.

She looked down and smiled as she admired how clean the table was. Presentation was everything and having a dirty table could dissuade customers. And she would have customers. Bat ponies loved their fruits after all, and she just happened to be one of the only ponies in town that could give them a cheap, near unlimited supply right in their backyard. She cast a glance back at the wagon that was the temporary home to the tomato and strawberry seedlings she had cared tenderly for.

Her smile faltered a little. While pretty much anything a plant produced that was designed to distribute seeds could be called a “fruit,” the kind of fruits bat ponies liked—mangos, oranges, kiwis—were all very much tropical. That orange-colored flower on her butt may mean she could garden like nopony else, but it didn't mean she could turn Hollow Shades from a damp, cold temperate town into a tropical paradise.

The market for tomato and strawberry seedlings just wasn't that strong. Certainly not strong enough to make a living on. She could always move to Saddle Arabia and join some of the expats. Then she could grow mangos to her heart's content and make a healthy living. It was certainly a thought. One she'd have to do some research into. Didn't want to make the same mistake twice and buy a house somewhere without ensuring a steady income.

She picked up a watering can and started dosing the dozens of strawberry seedlings that were neatly lined up in rows in the wagon in the cute little plastic trays she had packed them in. She furrowed her brow as she looked at the little shoots that poked out of the now damp dirt. Strawberries were a little finicky. The soil ph had to be right, you had to give them room to grow, and worst of all, if you wanted really good strawberries, you had to make sure they didn't fruit the first year so they could grow big and strong.

She sat the now much lighter can down and checked to make sure all the plants had gotten their share of water. She had tried raspberries last month, but there hadn't been that much demand. She only just broke even. Maybe the slightly more difficult strawberries would do better. All the plants were watered. That was good. She looked up at the many tents and tables that lined the road. Various bat ponies were busy taping up signs, arranging their wares on the tables, or prepping their fryers and grills for the hungry masses that would soon flood Night Shade Street.

None of them were selling plants. Even Desert Storm had expanded from just selling cacti into a wide range of desert-themed items, from rocks to earthen pots. She had the suspicion he'd eventually drop the cacti altogether. She placed down the last of the strawberries and moved on to the tomato seedlings. As much as bat ponies loved their fruits, they seemed more than willing to just go to the store to buy them. Why bother watering, picking, weeding, and waiting for the fruits to grow when you can just go to the store and get it now? No hassle?

The Gardening Garbonza was losing its namesake. She looked over at the small metal box she used to store her earnings. The last two Garbonzas hadn't made her much, but if she were honest, it wasn't the money she cared about—surprising as that may be. It was the ponies she talked to. Talking about plants, how to grow them, tips about the best fertilizer, news on the latest apple blight and how to stop it. Even if demand for new fruit plants was down, there were still plenty of bat pony growers out there. Not every plant was an annual, after all. Throughout the month, she never was able to make good use of her special talent, but the last Saturday of the month was the day that orange flower on her butt seemed to sparkle and shine.

But now, as she stared at the distinct lack of gardening tents and the trickle of customers, she could see that Hollow Shades wouldn't be needing her special talent for much longer. Those growers had plenty of earth pony gardening books to read. And it was likely the Garbonza would be renamed to something more “accurate” in a few months—she was already hearing rumors it would be called the Hollow Shades Art Fair. Maybe she should leave when it was renamed. By then, most of her debts would be settled, and there was always some returning Night Guardpony looking to settle down in the town. Selling her cottage would be easy.

But that was for the future. Right now she had a potted plant stand to finish setting up. With the table clean, she picked up a couple small wicker baskets and sat them on the table, before placing her hoof crafted, artisan cardboard marker signs against each one. “Tomato seedlings: ѣ1.00 a piece.” “Strawberry seedlings: ѣ1.50 a piece.” and the grand prize, her beloved Mr. Tree, “Apple tree: ѣ100.00” Midnight looked at the signs. That was the right bit sign, wasn't it? She couldn't remember. After looking at her bills so much, she had blocked out any monetary symbols.

Signs in place, she walked to the other side of the tent and looked over her potted plants she had wheeled in on her wagon. She glanced to each side to make sure there was nopony nearby before she started stroking the potted tomato plant's leaves, “Hey there. How's it going today? I know it was a little rough getting here, but now you're here for the day and ready to go to a new home,” she gently brushed some of the small yellow flowers with a hoof, “Don't worry. You'll have a ton of fun in your new home. There'll be plenty of dirt, and water, and bees. Middy has to say goodbye, but she hopes you won't forget her,” The tomato plant remained tied to the wooden stake that was secured in the pot and showed no signs of acknowledging the crazed bat pony who was talking to it.

Crazed? Who said she was crazed? Talking to plants was perfectly sound. The carbon dioxide released helps them grow and the vibrations do... stuff too that makes sure they're green and happy and not at all anxious about being abandoned by their only moth—Midnight shook her head to clear the crazed thought and picked up several of the small potted tomato plants. She gently placed them on the table. She turned to the even smaller strawberry plants that sat next to the tomatoes spot in the cart. The strawberries would be the worst letting go. They were so fragile and small. One wrong step or careless move of the lawn mower and they'd be gone forever.

“Hey, Midnight, how's it going today?” She turned around from fiddling with the strawberries and saw Tower Defense leaning his filthy hooves against her clean table. The dark gray stallion ran a booth devoted to oil paintings. He was also a Colonel in the Night Guard, but then again, pretty much every bat pony in Hollow Shades held some rank within the Night Guard.

“Hey, Tower. It's going okay. Still under mountains of crushing debt, but I'm slowly but surely clawing my way out of it,” she picked up the tomato plants and carefully placed them in their section of the table.

“Ah, yes. That fighting outfit you've been in. I heard through the military grapevine you really screwed with the Wonderbolts. Taking out their Captain of the Guard is no small feat,” he smiled, “Thanks for that, by the way. Knocking down the Blunderbolts a peg or two always brings a smile to my face.”

Midnight rolled her eyes. Interservice rivalry. The pettiest of disputes, “Sure, Tower. You're welcome,” all that sarcasm practice on Bill was really paying off.

“It really is impressive, you know,” he pretended to hold an interest in her tomato seedlings, “Captain Borealis has his eye on you,” Midnight shot the bat pony a look. He snorted, “You know what I mean. After all this fighting you've been doing—and all this winning—you'd be a shoe-in for an officer. Tartarus, you might even hop a couple ranks. You'd be tending Luna's gardens in no time.”

Not this again, “No, what I'd do is get killed trying to defend one of the princesses or something. I'd just be another filler soldier,” It'd be a horrible death, too. Guards never died peacefully. It was always screaming in terror as the tentacle monster from another dimension drags them away or as Princess Twilight's necromantic magic reanimates a corpse.

It was Tower's turn to roll his eyes, “You read too many cheap novels, Midnight. We're mostly intelligence. Listening posts, high altitude flyovers,” he coughed and quickly mumbled, “capturingeverypony'sdreamsinadatabasetoanalyze—that sort of thing. You're gardening skills would come in really handy. Especially with all those vine incursions we've had recently.”

He was like a broken record that constantly repeated the same thing, “I told you 'no' two years ago and I'm telling you no now. I don't want to be involved with the Night Guard. I want to do something other than what my parents, and their parents, and—Luna, above—the entire bat pony species has done.”

He looked at her, “But do you want to make a living? Following your dreams is great, but sometimes dreams have to take a backseat to reality. I told you that two years ago, and I'm telling you again. Just think about it, Midnight. You're building up quite the portfolio whether you realize it or not and I'd hate for you to let it all go to waste,” he waved at her as he departed her table, “I'll see you around.”

“See ya, Tower,” she mumbled back. She knew he meant well, but why did he have to constantly try to lead her into the Night Guard? There was more to bat ponies than the military, just as there was more to earth ponies than farming. It was like she was the only bat pony in the world that saw that.

Shaking her head to rid it of Tower's words, she walked over to the potted apple tree that sat in the back of the wagon and hoisted it up. It was her crown jewel for this month's Garbonza. Mr. Tree, with his tough exterior and go get em personality was sure to please. Apple trees were always her best seller. It was, after all, as close to a mango as she could get. Last time, Mr. Stick was the first thing she sold. Bat ponies just couldn't get enough apples it seemed. Those apple growers out west must be rolling in bits. They probably never had to worry about money.

If she could just grow apple trees for a living, she'd be set—at least until the bat pony market was saturated, anyway. If only she had more land. That cottage wasn't just small as an aesthetic choice. She barely had enough room for her landscaping, let alone the plants she grew for the Garbonza. But land cost money and that was something she obviously didn't have.

The pot was carefully lowered to the side of the table. She'd just have to make due growing apple trees every once in awhile. She next grabbed the watering tin from off her cart and quickly sprinkled the plants to ensure they glistened brightly in the sunlight and their soil was rich and dark in color. Mr. Tree needed to look his best.

“Midnight, you see what Baby Back's up to?” she looked over at the tent next to her's and the purple mare within it.

“No, I haven't. What's he up to now?” It was good seeing Star Chart and the quaint birdhouses she sold. How somepony could make such finely detailed miniature thatched roofs continued to baffle and amaze her.

The purple bat pony looked around for witnesses before leaning over one of her tables and toward Midnight, “You didn't hear it from me, but word on the street is he's going to be using real meat this month,” she squeaked in horror or possibly glee, Midnight wasn't quite sure which, “Can you believe it?”

Baby Back's (Substitute) Pulled Pork Sandwiches were always a hit at the Garbonza, but he had been facing some stiff competition as of late. First there was Sour Patch with her smoothies, then Lemon Squeeze and his lemonade. Nopony thought Head Lettuce's salad bar would be so successful that it needed a third tent. Perhaps Baby Back had gotten desperate enough to use real meat.

Real, delicious meat. It made Midnight salivate and smack her chops. Like vampirism, carnivorism was one of those taboos nopony talked about. The Soylent Corporation had tried to mimic the texture and taste, but substitutes can never fully compare to the original—or else they wouldn't really be called substitutes, now would they?

“Surely not. You think he'd actually go through with it?” She'd have to sneak one. There's no way she could let Star Chart see. That pony wasn't the best at keeping secrets and tended to flap her lips. Rumors about her eating an opponent would be halfway to Canterlot before she had even finished the sandwich.

“Absolutely. I knew that pony wasn't right—I knew it. You know what he does when these Garbonzas are over?” Once Star got going, you couldn't stop her. It was best to just let her run herself out. She could only gossip so long.

“Huh?”

“He eats the leftovers himself,” she hastily looked around once more to check and see if anyone was eavesdropping, “I bet you—go ahead and write it down—I bet you that he's just been waiting for the day when he could eat real meat. I'm telling you it's all just been an elaborate ruse.”

Midnight was never more thankful that Star hadn't been keeping up with her fights. All those bits. All those weird endings. The vampirism. Star Chart would have months worth of gossip about her. By the end of it, she'd probably be the avatar of Nightmare Moon plotting to take over Equestria, “Well, you'll just have to keep an eye on him then.”

“I will, won't I? Luna only knows the Organizing Committee won't lift a hoof about it. They're too worried about renaming the Garbonza,” the faint chip of a cuckoo clock caused both ponies' ears to perk, “Oh my!” Star rushed over to one of her birdhouses and peered into it through a small window at the clock inside, “It's seven-thirty and I still haven't finished installing the carpeting.”

She hastily grabbed a pair of high magnification goggles and a small pair of tweezers from inside a toolbox on the ground, “I'm really sorry, Midnight, but I have to finish the foyer. Can't have the little birdies getting their footsies cold on wood floors when they walk in.”

“Alright, I'll talk to you later, Star,” Midnight walked over to her wagon. It was seven-thirty already? Time really does fly when you're actually using your special talent. She needed to finish getting ready before customers started arriving.

*******

“No, thank you,” Midnight waved at the white pegasus as he carried away the tomato seedlings that would become the cornerstone to his garden. She opened her small metal lockbox and deposited the hooffull of bits into it. Tomatoes always sold well. They were like the blue chip of gardening. It helped they were pretty easy to grow. A little fertilizer, some ladybugs to keep the aphids away, plenty of water, and boom—enough tomatoes to can a year's worth of salsa.

She walked back over to the table. Almost half the tomato seedlings were gone. She rearranged them to cover any bald spots on the table. The strawberry seedlings had done well, too. Much better than the raspberries did last month. Maybe all that doom and gloom talk about the Garbonza had been her pessimism seeping through. She looked over at Mr. Tree, who still sat just off to the right of the table of seedlings.

Poor, Mr. Tree. Nopony had shown much interest in him despite him being a lucrative apple tree. Perhaps she had overestimated the apple tree market? She'd sold plenty of them over the years—Mr. Stick, Mrs. Reddy, Miss Yellow—and maybe nopony wanted apple trees anymore. She might have to start growing pear trees.

But she'd never say that in front of Mr. Tree. He already had self esteem issues and this would only make it worse. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was wilting in depression from the lack of interest. He needed support right now, not her plotting on what tree species (or cultivar) she would be growing next.

She glanced around. Star Chart was busy trying to lure a couple into buying one of her colonial-style birdhouses and the tent to her right was vacant for this month's Garbonza. Nopony seemed to be approaching her. She reached over and gently stroked Mr. Tree's leaves, “Don't worry, Mr. Tree. You'll find the perfect match. I'm sure of it. You just have to be patient. These things can ta—” She jerked away from the tree when she saw a group of teen bat ponies wander by.

Mr. Tree seemed to be encouraged by the brief pep talk. His leaves were now a bright green as opposed to the harlequin they had been previously. He was no longer sagging either. She glanced back at the small clock she had leaning up against her wagon. Ten o'clock. She really hoped somepony would come along soon and give Mr. Tree a loving home. He'd be just devastated if she had to wheel him back to her cottage.

“Hey, there, Midnight! Whatcha sellin' this month?”

Midnight looked over at the dark blue bat pony that giddily hopped in front of her table. The pony wore a hoofball cap with the Night Guard's logo on it and had some sort of slushy beverage gripped with one of her leathery wings, “Hi, Moonbeam. This month, I'm selling the standard tomato affair, with strawberries and my pride and joy, Mr. Tree.”

Normally, she'd never dare discuss Mr. Tree directly with a customer, but she knew Moonbeam well enough to know she understood the bond she had developed with the apple sapling. Moonbeam took a long, drawn-out slurp from her drink as she inspected the tomato and strawberry plants, “Wow, strawberries, huh?” she leaned over the table and poked Midnight's chest with her free wing, “I guess the raspberries weren't working out, were they?”

Midnight's ears drooped down a little, “Well, no, they kind of weren't. But the strawberries are doing better this time around.”

“I bet,” Moonbeam stuck her snout right into one of the dainty plants, “Strawberries are just sooooo good! I'm even drinking a strawberry—and banana—smoothie right now. Speaking of,” she took another long slurp of her smoothie, “Ah,” she smacked her lips, “That's the stuff. Nothin' like it.” she looked over at the drink, “When I found out Sour Patch was having happy hour I just couldn't resist.”

Midnight wiped a few of her sweaty bangs from her forehead. The weather team could have at least made it partly cloudy. As it stood, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and Princess Celestia seemed intent on showing off her fiery orb of death today. An ice cold smoothie sounded really good right about now, “Say, Moonbeam, did Sour happen to mention when happy hour was over?”

Moonbeam's face scrunched up in thought, “I think his sign had ten written on it, but don't quote me on that.”

Damn. So much for that idea. Looks like she'd just have to suffer through the heat. At least she was making a little money, “I see you're eyeing those strawberries,” And maybe a little more.

Moonbeam snapped her eyes back to Midnight from the small green sprouts, “Me? No, no, no. I was just, uh, drinking my smoothie,” she took a slow, very deliberate drink from it while she looked nervously at the gray bat pony.

Midnight gave a toothy grin. Moonbeam always did have terrible self restraint, “You know, if you had some strawberry plants, you could make as many fresh smoothies as you wanted to. No need to wait for happy hour.”

Moonbeam sputtered on the smoothie, “W-What?”

Midnight lightly batted at the strawberry plants with a hoof, causing them to bend and flex in seeming excitement at the prospect of getting a new home, “Oh, yes. Of course, you'd need to give them a year or so to grow in properly, but once they're rooted in place, just imagine the possibilities,” she leaned over the table and wrapped a hoof around Moonbeam's neck, “The smoothies. The jams and jellies. The shortcake.”

Moonbeam salivated profusely as flashes of red fruity goodness and whipped cream danced in her head. She looked over at Midnight's grinning face, “How much?”

-----

Midnight took once last glance up and down the street at the tents and stands. The Garbonza was virtually dead. She walked over to her wagon and sat down next to it. Not really surprising. She grabbed the clock that was next to her and looked at it. Twelve-thirty. The morning crowd had gone home and the afternoon rush wouldn't start for another hour or so. She let the clock slip from her hooves and gently land in the grass that lay under her tent as she panted.

Or the heat had finally killed everyone and she was the last living pony in Equestria. One of those two. She hopped into the wagon and opened a small blue cooler that sat within. She pulled out a sandwich and a pear. If nopony was coming for a while, why not grab a bite to eat in the interim? She sat back down in her spot and unwrapped the wax paper from around her sandwich.

She took a big whiff of it to savor it. Tuna fish. Strangely, while carnivorism was taboo, almost nopony minded eating fish. It was the hypocritical exception to the rule. Thank Luna seaponies were only mythological or her one culturally accepted delicious meat source would likely be taboo as well. She took a large bit out of it.

She looked up. The tomato seedlings now outnumbered the strawberries. Next month, she'd definitely be doing strawberries again. That was for sure. They seemed to be a smash hit. She might even have to leave early at the rate she was going. There were only three dozen saplings in total left and the afternoon crowd hadn't even arrived yet.

Her vision shifted from the table of plants to the patch of smashed down grass where Mr. Tree had once sat. She sniffled and her eyes grew watery. It was always bittersweet selling her little trees. She nurtured them. Cared for them. Loved them. And then had to watch as they were slowly carried away to parts unknown. Would they get good homes? Would their new owners love them as much as she did?

She rubbed her eyes with a foreleg to clear them of the liquid that had built up. It was silly to get choked up, she knew. After all, it was Mr. Tree's dream to grow big and strong. To become the best apple tree ever. And to give his owners the plumpest, juiciest apples that would be the envy of all those earth pony apple farmers. She could never give him that dream. She could never give him the attention he deserved or the foals who would climb his branches and laugh at the joy he gave them.

So she had sold him to a nice couple who had just moved into town. With a little water and some luck, he'd be living his dream in no time. She might never be able to fully live out her dream as a gardener, but she'd be damned if she was going to stand in the way of someone else's dreams just to make herself a little happier.

After taking another bite out of the sandwich, she turned her attention to the pear to get her mind off of Mr. Tree's farewell. A shame it was still spring—although you wouldn't know it from the temperature—or she'd be gorging herself on a watermelon instead of the puny pear. But it just wasn't melon season yet. She'd have to make due with the cheap fruits that were available.

She clamped her fangs around the fleshy green skin and began to suck. She closed her eyes as the sweet, cold juices flowed into her. The pear started to shrivel and turn a dead, dry yellow as the bat pony extracted the nutrients and juice from its oblong form. After several more seconds, she spit the husk from her mouth and let it fall to the ground before she finished off her sandwich.

It just wasn't the same. It probably never would be. After Night Terror, fruits could just never replicate that. It was miles apart. She looked down at the dried pear. Still, it wasn't as though sucking fruits dry wasn't an enjoyable experience. That pear was just as tasty and refreshing as it had always been. It was just blood was so much more refreshing. Maybe the next time those nationalists came by she'd actually hear what they had to say. At the very least, they could point her in the direction of the nearest blood bank.

She got up and tossed the sandwich's wax paper and the husk of what used to be a pear into the metal drum of a trashcan that sat next to her table of fruits. Her ears perked at the sound of wings flapping in a frenzy above her tent. She leaned over the table and looked into the still cloudless sky.

“Oh, Midnight. Thank, Luna! Just the pony I was looking for. I was worried you had gone to lunch,” A dark gray bat pony landed right in front of her tent. She anxiously walked in and sat a small clay pot on the table, “Can you help me?”

Midnight looked down at the wilting eggplant. Small holes riddled its leaves and several of the leaves had begun to turn brown. She looked back up at the pony, “What can I do, Sword?”

Sword Parry paced around in front of the table, “I just don't know what I'm going to do. I tried peat moss, PureGrow fertilizer, even some ground up magical crystals from the Crystal Empire,” she rushed back over to the eggplant, “But nothing's helping!” she rubbed her forehooves together nervously, “I don't want to have to give up on my dreams of homemade baba ghanoush and stuffed eggplant.”

Midnight looked back down at the plant. Eggplant. She suppressed a wince. No need to alarm Sword Parry. But eggplant. Ugh. She even had issues with the things. They tried their hardest to grow strong—really, they did—but they were just so susceptible. There were so many things ready to kill them, or eat them, or use them as a host. They were like the Royal Guard of plants.

She knew those tiny holes anywhere, “Flea beetles.”

Sword looked at her, “What?”

She carefully examined one of the seedling's hole-riddled leaves, “You have a flea beetle problem. They're a small beetle that likes munching on eggplant—and tomatoes, and mustard... pretty much most plants, really.”

Sword's eyes widened in panic, “Oh no. You mean my tomatoes are next?!” This was an utter disaster. No baba ghanoush, no fresh made pizza sauce. What next? “What am I gonna do?”

Midnight grabbed her watering tin and drizzled some water on the eggplant seedling. In this kind of heat, it was really important to keep the fluids up, “It depends on how you want to approach it. A pesticide's the obvious choice, but if that's not your thing, you could try planting trap plants.”

Sword furrowed her brow, “Like, a Venus fly trap?” Where was she going to find enough of them to protect her garden?

Midnight patted at the damp soil that surrounded the small eggplant, “Oh, no. A trap plant is one that is designed to 'lure' the pests away and basically take the damage they cause. Something like a radish—you don't eat the leaves, you eat the root. So the flea beetles can munch away to their heart's content without actually causing damage to the crop.”

“B-But I don't like radishes!”

Midnight couldn't blame her. She wasn't a big fan of the things, either, “It doesn't have to be a radish. It could be another plant. Or, you could drizzle some oil, like neem oil, over the leaves of the plants to discourage the beetles from eating it.”

“Neem oil, right,” Sword looked down at her poor eggplant, “Is there anything else?”

Midnight gently stroked the plant's leaves, “Most importantly: keep calm. Your eggplants are already under enough distress. They don't need their owner freaking out, too. Just spray some pesticides, plant some trap crops, or coat them with oil. And read up on flea beetles. It's likely this fight will be a reoccurring one,” Horrible memories of the Great Aphid War flashed through Midnight's head.

Sword Parry picked up the clay pot and smiled, “Oh, thanks, Midnight. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

Probably just read an earth pony book about gardening, “No problem, Sword. I'm always happy to help aspiring gardeners.” The two exchanged waves as Sword took to the sky again, potted eggplant in hoof. Midnight's attention quickly shifted to a pegasus mare who had wandered up to her table, “Hello.”

“Hi. I was just looking around and your strawberry seedlings caught my eye. How much are you charging for them?”

*******

“What a day,” Midnight wiped off her forehead with the cold, wet washcloth before letting it soak under the bathroom faucet again. She took back the whole “it was a nice day” thing. The weather team had been wholly out of their mind. Eighty-five! It had gotten up to eighty-five. In spring. In a tent with no fan. She wrung the washcloth out before draping it over the back of her neck. She checked her face and fangs in the mirror to make sure everything still looked okay before walking out into the lobby.

Several tables of baked goods rimmed the concrete room. The old Hollow Shades Train Station was a great location to base the Garbonza from—especially since it had full running water and bathrooms. Wait. She checked the pie and cupcake tables again. There wasn't anypony there. Sure, the vendors took breaks throughout the day—she was taking one right now—but as she looked around the room, she saw there wasn't a single booth that had a pony behind it. They were all empty.

“Hello, is anypony here?” An uncomfortableness started to settle inside her. Please don't be the Benefactors. The last thing she needed or wanted was another fight. She walked out of the building and looked down the steps into the row of tents and tables. Behind of one of the larger tents that housed Urban Combat and his pottery it seemed most of the Garbonza had congregated around a radio.

“What is going on?” she mumbled before walking over. Was there some kind of weather alert? Maybe it was eighty because they were planning a big storm? She squeezed in between two white tents and popped out into the group of ponies.

Midnight looked at the gathering of ponies, “What's going on?”

Tower Defense turned to her, “Didn't you hear? Princess Twilight's making an announcement. Apparently, something happened to her friend the other day.”

Midnight froze in place. Her friend? The one she forced into a bottle? She had to admit to herself she hadn't really thought about the ramifications of defeating Rainbow Dash. It was another pony. Another paycheck. Defeating Spitfire hadn't sent the Wonderbolts after her, after all, so why would defeating Dash be any different?

It was nothing. It had to be nothing. Princess Twilight had other friends. Maybe one of them had been foalnapped by a cult. Or gotten food poisoning and there was going to be some food reform. Or was trapped in a bottle by a greedy would-be gardener and—she needed to sit down. It had been a hot day and she was getting heatstroke or something. Why else was she starting to sweat?

Tower's face grew concerned, “You okay, Midnight? You don't look so good.”

“Y-Yeah, I'm fine,” she pointed at the washcloth on her neck, “Just a little hot.”

“I know the feeling. I think we need to buy the weather team a dictionary. They seem to have forgotten the definition of 'spring',” he put a hoof on her shoulder, “Just take it easy, okay? Maybe lay off that fighting league for a bit.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Alright,” he turned back to the radio, “I sure hope this announcement isn't anything serious. I can't remember Princess Twilight ever making an announcement before. She's always been the reserved one.”

Yeah, what could possibly be the reason? “I-I'm sure it's nothing.”

He looked back and her and chuckled, “You know, that's a very guilty tone you have there, Midnight. You haven't been up to anything, have you?”

She tried her best to not smile nervously, “Of course not. I've been here all week. I haven't done anything clandestine or illegal.” Probably. She wasn't a lawyer.

“Come on, Midnight. You know I'm only joking. Sheesh, that heat must be really getting to you.”

A short chime from the radio caused both to focus on it, “This is an NPR Royal Announcement. Her Majesty, Princess Twilight Sparkle, will now speak.”

“My little ponies. I know this may be a little odd. I'm not usually one for public addresses, but this topic is just too important to leave unaddressed, and too personal to pass off to Princess Celestia or Luna. Over the last few months, as I'm sure many of you know, a new sport has taken Equestria by storm. For those who don't know, or, like me, don't really follow sports, it's called the Underground Fighting League.”

Oh no. No, no no no no no no. Midnight fidgeted in place. This wasn't happening. She was currently passed out from heatstroke and this was just a hallucination. Or she had been killed in that first fight against Echo and this was all just a dream as she slowly died on the warehouse floor.

“Many have been caught up in its spectacle—even one of my close friends, Rainbow Dash—but I've discovered that it is far more sinister than it let's on. Dozens of ponies, ranging from Captain Spitfire of the Wonderbolts, over to rank and file members of the Royal Guard, and even my close friend, have been injured by this organization.

“It ill behooves Equestria to allow this dangerous spectacle to continue. As we cheer and root for our favorites, the fighters are inflicting a terrible cost on not just each other, but those around them. Foals and adults alike are being lured in by the promises of fame and fortune. Innocent ponies are being caught up in, and hurt by, the greed of others,” Ouch. If Midnight didn't know any better, she'd say that last remark was targeted at her.

“Attorney General Cloudy Skies has been investigating the UFL for weeks, and while I thank him and the efforts of the Ministry of Justice, those efforts are not enough. Every week another group of ponies are injured. Another life is ruined. And countless bits worth of property damage occur. It must stop.

“So, under the authority granted to me by the National SAFE Act, and Article Three of the Equestrian Charter, I am hereby ordering the closure of the Underground Fighting League and a full investigation into the league's dangerous activities.” Midnight's ears flattened. Looks like she'd have to find a new alternate source of bits.

“Furthermore, to prove that actions have consequences and that we will not tolerate these sort of activities any longer, the Office of the Vanguard is offering a one hundred thousand bit bounty for the successful capture of Midnight Dream, the mare responsible for the injuries to Rainbow Dash.”

End of Chapter Seven

Author's Note:

Once again, there's no fetish scenes as the plot sets things up for the last three chapters.

If you're curious about the bit sign (ѣ) or don't have the right unicode information, it's a yat, the 36th letter of the old Cyrillic alphabet.