Hard As Diamond: The First Round

by jmj

At 115 pounds

Diamond Tiara liked running. The rhythmic pounding of her feet upon the asphalt was reliable, steady. It was the only thing in her life that could be counted on. Her feet beat the pavement in tune with the drummer of the Suicidal Foals playing through the earbuds of her cellphone as she left Canterlot High and followed the sidewalks towards Flicker’s Jab Joint. Taking the long route to build cardio, Diamond felt the burn in her calves, thighs, and buttocks as well as her lungs. Sweat dripped in large, rolling beads down her forehead to stain the black athletic top she wore. Pausing at a crosswalk, still jogging in place, she stared intently at the little red symbol of a man with a slash through him.

She was 17, turning into an adult in two months. Already her father, Filthy Rich, had planned a ball at the family mansion in celebration and had invited, not her few, limited friends, but his associates in business and members of the cultural elite. That would have been wonderful had it been what Diamond had wanted but it wasn’t, and, like everything she wanted, it didn’t figure into Filthy’s plans.

A bus rolled silently around the corner and passed Diamond as she waited. On the side was an advert for Rich Enterprise’s newest brand: Rolling Stock. The image of a day laborer tilting back a green bottle with a thumbs up under the words, ‘the working man’s choice of beer’ offended Diamond. The man on the ad was obviously an actor: handsome, well-built, and had never so much as picked up a pickaxe or drill in his life.

Diamond had met him at the commercial shoot and he had been vapid and as ridiculously cautious over his looks that the act of shaking his hand had nearly sent him into a tizzy over Diamond’s chipped, short nails and calloused hands. He was also the son of one of her father’s cronies and was given the commercial role as a favor.

Even worse, the beer was cheaply made in bulk, glass-lined vats in one of their numerous properties by underpaid, uneducated people who were thankful to have a job while her family prospered on the sweat of their labor. She didn’t begrudge her father’s business mind, but he didn’t treat those who worked under him with the dignity they deserved. The bus took the grinning face of the dimwit from her path and the light ticked over to the green man, finally allowing Diamond to cross.

Diamond jogged into downtown Canterlot and away from the main streets where everyone wore business suits or boho fashion that looked cheap but cost hundreds of bits. She found herself in a more tarnished area with burgeoning businesses trammeled into the backstreets by the big chains. The people she passed now wore t-shirts, dirty plaids, and grease lined white undershirts worn as a main article of clothing. They were plain people, working folks, and those who staffed the assembly lines, public facilities, and other day laborers who made families like hers rich. And she sort of hated herself for it.

She had everything. She had never gone without food. Her idea of ‘slumming it’ was wearing brand name pajama pants and reclining in her bedroom which was larger than many of these people’s apartments. She wasn’t one of these people but she couldn’t help but think of the conniving, swindling methods her father and his cronies used to amass their wealth. There was something noble about working for a living that those in her tier could not understand.

Diamond was lost in thought as she turned down another street and neared her destination.

“Hey DiDi! Your old man gonna let you take a fight or what?” Diamond barely heard the call over her earbuds and pulled one out with a smile, hopping on the balls of her feet while pausing at the chain link fence that sectioned off a construction zone. A sign read ‘Rich industries’ on the corrugated fencing. A trio of the workers met her on the other side. They were burly, hairy men wearing hardhats and sweat-stained undershirts with the sleeves cut, or, more likely, ripped off judging from the long tassel-like hunks that waved from the thread line.

“You guys got time to stand around hassling pretty young girls? The foreman won’t like that,” she answered wryly.

“Having a siesta, DiDi. One of many. We gotta wait for the jackhammer boys to break the old concrete floor before we can take it out. Watching girls is a national pastime when you’re waiting,” the one named Rock Pounder answered and grinned. “You shouldn’t worry, though. We only watch the pretty ones,” he jibed.

“Oh, I see. Guess I’m lucky then not to have your ugly mugs staring at me,” she said between breaths as she checked her pulse, not wanting it to drop too much. “What do you want with me today, Rock?” Diamond had become used to their good-natured ribbing. All of them had worked for Rich Industries for years and she passed by this site daily.

The middle aged, graying man named Rock Pounder, remembered her from a visit to a site with her father when she was very small. She had begged, bargained, and bawled to go with her father. He had only given in the one time and had abandoned her with a host of corporate interns acting as babysitters.

She had seen Rock Pounder busting apart stones with a heavy sledge and wandered to him, much to the shock and horror of the babysitters. She had asked him what he was doing and he had been very candid with the small girl. He had even let her try swinging the massive hammer, supporting it and helping her bring it down on a stone a few times before the bravest of the babysitters took her away. She hadn’t forgotten and neither had he. This construction site had been up for three months and he had flagged her down on the very first day as she jogged past.

“So, seriously, I keep hearing you’re aiming to fight someone for real. Not those goofy amateur matches with the headgear and big old couch cushion mitts. Is that for real?” Rock Pounder asked.

“Yeah… if I can find somebody. Pretty hard right now,” Diamond answered, a slight tinge in her voice.

“Nobody wants to fight Filthy’s kid,” one of the other two stated and Diamond bit her cheek. She knew it was true. Even if her dad didn’t know what she was doing with her time, (he didn’t care enough to ask as long as she stayed out of his hair) he’d find out very quickly if she came home busted up from a fight. It could be bad for the person who did it. Filthy had a lot of partners, a lot of power, and a lot of strings he could pull.

“Yeah, well… we all have problems, I guess,” Diamond stated.

“Yeah. I'd rather have yours,” the other pony said. “Being a Rich and not having people want to punch you in the face ain’t too bad. My wife’s stepping out on me.”

“That’s a pretty bad one, for sure,” Diamond’s heart rate was dropping. She needed to wrap this up.

“I heard you have a good right hand. You wouldn’t beat her up for me would you?” he asked and Diamond chuckled to herself.

“She a boxer?”

“No. That’s the point.”

“Probably can’t get it sanctioned. Sorry. You guys go back to work and stop making money doing nothing,” Diamond said, picking her knees up a little higher, feeling her quadriceps light up.

Rock Pounder grinned and motioned to the Rich Industries sign. “We’re working for your old man, DiDi.”

“Oh, you’re right! Back to your siesta then,” she smirked and began jogging again.

It wasn’t long before she stood before Flicker’s Jab Joint. It was once a warehouse but had been climate controlled to keep whatever had been inside stored at certain temperatures. Flicker Jab, the owner of the Joint, had bought the place long after it’s primary purpose had expired but the building was still in tolerable condition. The huge AC had been sold and Flicker installed numerous fans hanging from the steel support beams ahead. They did a poor job of cooling the place, but heat was good for training.

The Joint had started off as a boxing gym, Flicker jab being a boxer too old to tangle with young men anymore. But, with all the extra space and the slow increase in interest of mixed martial arts, Flick had allowed other combat sports retirees to come in and offer classes. Little by little, Flicker Jab’s business molded into a mixed martial arts gym.

Most of the gym’s members were taking various lessons as a means to stay in shape, others were there to learn a form of self defense, and some were there to make a career. Regardless of their reasons, Flicker Jab tried to spend time with each of them and aid in their learning of certain striking techniques. The other coaches stepped in as well, creating a safe space for learning and ensuring the lessons they taught were conducted correctly. Diamond Tiara had been taking boxing lessons with Flick since she was 8.

Stemming from the denial to take karate lessons with her friend Silver Spoon, Diamond had made a scene that her father didn’t know how to deal with. He had allowed her to take any lady-like class she wanted. Diamond, even at that age, knew her father would never actually check into what lessons she took. She had already taken ballet, ballroom dancing, and a variety of other courses to which Filthy had never been. He was always too busy to come to recitals, too busy for anything that she had an interest in. Pettiness wasn’t cute but Diamond could be full of it when backed into a corner. And so, blackmailing her various nannies over the years, had kept her boxing classes a secret.

Soon, though. Soon she would tell her father what she was doing because she would be too old for him to deny her.

The stale smell of sweat and the pulsing, pounding of bags and mitts greeted her as she took the buds out, put them in their case, and entered the building. She had a spot in the long row of old, paint-chipped lockers. A piece of masking tape with ‘Diamond’ written on it in black sharpie marked one as hers. She placed the earbud case inside as well as a small backpack containing her school clothes and dainty, tiny purse. Inside were her training gloves. The walls of her locker had pictures of boxing champions of the past: Rainy Clouds, Flak Ores, and the first female champion Mariachi Masquerade.

Diamond slid the worn purple gloves onto her hands and paused to touch the image of Mariachi. She had come from Cloudsdale, a relative nobody in the sweet science. She had ties to Thundercloud Incorporated, a well known conglomerate and critics had laughed at her, saying she was a rich girl just playing boxer. And yet, she had taken to fighting like a duck to water when the first female weight class emerged in boxing.

Attendance had been low. The perception that boxing was a male sport had prevailed in Mariachi’s day and the women’s division was lauded as a circus. Mariachi had erupted onto the scene of the lightweight division. At 155 pounds, she had been a thunderstorm of furious flurries with impacts as loud as thunder and just as devastating. Little by little, fans were attracted to the female powerhouse out of Cloudsdale. By the time she fought for the first title, attendance had grown from a few dozen to several thousand. By the end of her career, eight years later and her 12th title defense, she had filled the largest stadium in Cloudsdale. 150,000 people crowded into the Cloudsdale Bay Arena to watch two talented women exhibit their boxing skills.

Because of Mariachi Masquerade there were now five women’s divisions in boxing. Diamond had enormous respect for Mariachi and had watched all of her fights on EweTube. She had wanted to become her, to make her own way in the world despite what others thought, unafraid of being who she was.

Diamond shut her locker and made her way to one of several empty heavy bags. She practiced her footwork, stepping around and into punches as the bag weaved and rolled. Most people outside of the sport thought heavy bags were there to work one’s punches, but it also trained movement. Diamond rolled around the bag, stepping away and placing her feet in familiar patterns, rhythms that let her body put more into each strike. A punch might land with the fist but it was a full body motion. Hips, legs, core, shoulder, and arm all came into play and transferred power into the blow. Diamond understood from years of practice that a strike began with the feet and she danced around the swaying bag, rolling away from it, dodging the imaginary strikes coming at her and countering with vicious combinations.

She had been working the bag for nearly an hour when Flicker Jab made his way to her. Diamond didn’t stop. Practice made perfect, continuing her movements, landing blow after blow and moving away from bag as it came back at her, getting angles on it and retaliating.

“Your elbow is too low when you throw the left body hook, Diamond. Raise it up to keep the transference of strength,” Flicker Jab called out and nodded as Diamond responded without question and sunk a left low punch into the bag. Flicker Jab knew more about boxing than anyone in Canterlot but had never been able to use his knowledge in the ring to any degree of success.

At middleweight, the once-large man had never been ranked in Equestria. He had fought 70 professional bouts, losing almost as many as he had won and had never broken into the top fifteen where a number was placed beside your name. But, the best trainers had never been ranked.

Flick, his gray hair and grizzled five-o-clock shadow shimmered under the yellow light as he hovered near Diamond and watched carefully, pointing out minor inefficacies or inefficiencies. Diamond heeded his words well and followed. In training, she didn’t question his advice. In other things, she could be quite stubborn.

“I’m ready, Flick. Get me a fight. A real one, not another amateur match. I turn 18 in a couple months and I mean to celebrate it by turning pro in the same month.” Diamond lifted her head, resting one hand on the bag and staring her cold, blue eyes into the man.

“Diamond, things haven’t changed. As an amateur, you have done well. 4 wins, 1 loss. That’s not bad at all. Why not take another fight there? Get some more experience before going pro?” Flick skated the question. He took the heavy bag in hand, moving behind it and holding it for her to strike. “Old fashioned 1-2, Diamond.”

Diamond lashed out with a left jab, right straight combination. The bag barely moved as Flick, not nearly the 185 pound man he once was, but still a healthy, strong person pressed against it. “Good. Body, body, right hook to the head.”

Once more Diamond followed instructions, slamming her fists into two body blows and coming up and around with a wide, arcing hook to end the combination. There were pep to her strikes that wasn’t usually there. She was letting off steam and Flick understood she was frustrated.

“It’s because of my name, isn’t it, Flick? Nobody will fight me. They are afraid of Daddy if I get hurt.” Accusation dripped from her words but they were also tinged with sadness. “He’s holding me back. Everyone’s afraid of him but me.”

Flicker Jab swallowed and barked out another combination to which Diamond slammed her fists into the bag hard enough to buck the older man back. He grumbled, “Keep control. Don’t waste energy on big shots. You’ll only wear yourself out.”

“What’s it matter? I’m not going to get to test them out anyway,” Diamond retorted.

“You could break your hands and not be able to throw a punch even in training for six months,” Flick warned his student. She stepped back wide into a karate stance and came forward, chambering a head kick before letting it crash against the bag. It landed heavily, far heavier than either of her fists. She snarled as it landed and Flick glowered at the young woman.

“What was that, Diamond? A head kick? Where credit is due, it was good form, but I’m not the Muay Thai coach here. I want to see some boxing. If you want to throw kicks, go talk to someone else.”

Instantly, Diamond apologized. “Sorry, Flick. I’m tired of being Filthy Rich’s daughter. I’ve come here for almost a decade and I’ve trained with almost everyone in the gym. I love boxing and want a fight. I’ve watched other people go pro at 18 so I know I can too. It’s all because of who I am, isn’t it?” Diamond stepped back from the bag, her eyes were sharp. They weren’t sad or self pitying but angry and hungry for what she had earned. Flick nodded and released the bag.

“Come on, Diamond. Let’s go talk in my office.” Flick turned and Diamond followed shortly after. Whatever he had to say was personal and didn’t need to be heard by others. Diamond had only been in his office once before and he had chewed her out for hitting another student when she was younger. She had cut the boy over the eye and it had needed stitches. Flick had protected her from the complaints of the boy’s parents but he had broken her down in his office to the point that she had never thrown another strike at anyone in the gym.

Flick’s office was cramped and filled with memories. Pictures, autographs, worn gloves adorned the old, wood paneling. It smelled musty like something brought out of storage. A poster of a much younger Flicker Jab headlining a fight card in Manehattan against ‘Rumblin’ Grove Green hung behind the desk. He had lost that fight but it had been close and went to decision, Diamond knew. She had found the fight in grainy footage online. It had been his only main event.

Flicker Jab sat back into a squeaky old chair that threatened to fall apart, motioning for Diamond to sit in a worn, threadbare chair on the other side of the coffee-stained desk. She took a seat, half expecting to be chewed out.

“Diamond, listen. You’re partially right. I have no doubt you can pass the exam to become a pro in this sport and you have a lot of skill. You’re probably the best boxer out of anyone in this gym, men included. Your fundamentals are rock solid, your technique isn’t perfect but it’s very good, and I know you have the drive to go out there and give everything you have.” Flick leaned over his desk, talking as if he would to a child. Not from lack of respect, but because he wanted to be as clear as possible.

“So what’s the problem? Are you afraid of Daddy, too?” Diamond wasn’t accusatory or goading in any way. Her words were genuinely questioning.

“No, Diamond. If I was afraid of your old man, I would never have taken you on as a student. I knew there was a risk but I also saw potential in you beyond just exercising. You have slick motions, always have. And you can be stubborn, obviously. That’s not a bad thing. In fact, in a fighter, that’s good.”

“Then, why?” Diamond asked softly.

“You never really grew like I thought you would. There’s barely enough fighters at 115 pounds in women's boxing and the ones I’ve approached don’t want to fight Filthy Rich’s daughter.” Flick was straight with Diamond.

“But I weigh 123! I could gain a couple pounds and come in at the flyweight maximum pretty easily. There’s a ton of women in the flyweight division!” Diamond sensed something was wrong with her logic. Flick would have already looked into a division change.

“Diamond, you just aren’t big enough to fight at flyweight. Those girls will have five or six inches of height on you, a couple inches of reach, and walk around in the 130’s or 40’s. Maybe you could win. I’ve known you a long time, enough to know that you aren’t a quitter. But, you’ll get hurt in that division.” Flick knew what was coming next and when Diamond started to speak, he shut it down with a bare-handed slap on his desk. “You don’t have the power, Diamond! You have technique, more than anyone I’ve ever trained! At strawweight you have enough strength to stun people with your combinations. Power isn’t everything and you make up for lack of one punch power with speed and your ability to see openings, stringing strikes together. But that’s only at 115!”

Diamond was quiet, introspective. Flick feared she may cry but Diamond just stared back at him, eyes like buzz saws. “I’ve fought at 125 in an amateur fight, Flick!”

“And what happened?” Flick was realistic, wanting to drive the point into Diamond’s thick skull. He hated conversations like this but they came up occasionally. Some talented fighters never got the chance to do more than train and he feared Diamond was one of them through no fault of her own. It was genetics, bad luck, and a powerful, possibly vengeful father.

Diamond shifted uncomfortably in the squeaking chair. “I got knocked out in the second round.” She hated admitting she had been sent to the shadow round with one clean shot. It had haunted her for a time after the fight.

“And that was with headgear, sweetheart. It left no cuts, didn’t damage your eyes, or break your nose because it was an amateur match and you wore thick headgear to protect you from the very real damage that you would have taken had it been a professional fight.” Flick sighed and shook his head. “I know it’s hard, Diamond. But you will get hurt at 125. You’re a natural strawweight and, at least for now, you aren’t going to be able to get a professional fight.”

Diamond sat very still, thinking about her situation. She was angry but not at Flick. He was doing right by her, just as he always had. He was protecting her from herself and from what the larger women could do to her. She, not for the first time in her life, begrudged her family. For as much as they gave, they took away. And what they gave, she sometimes didn’t want. “So what do I do, Flick?”

“Keep developing your skills. Sometime in the future we can work on getting you a professional bout. Until then, we can always make an amateur match.”

Diamond nodded and stood from the chair, her eyes to the floor as she fought with her emotions.

“You want to hit the mitts, kid?” Flicker Jab asked, recognizing Diamond needed to release tension. Her shoulders were tight and twitching.

“No. I think I’ll just head out for the day, Flick.” Diamond responded. Her words were strong, not broken or depressed. Disappointed, but rigid with fire and iron. Diamond just needed time to process.

“Take the day off, Diamond. Maybe a couple. Come back when you are ready to hit the bag again.” Flick stood and followed Diamond from the office. He worried for her future. The 115 division was doing poorly. Most women boxers were at least 125 pounds and there wasn’t even a top fifteen at strawweight, only a top ten with four or five novices floating around. All of which he had gotten in contact with about a boxing match and had been rebuked. He hoped more women would join the division but in the last few years, it had only shrunk. He watched the Rich girl collect her things, strap the pack on and step out the door.

Diamond Tiara liked running. The rhythmic pounding of her feet upon the asphalt was reliable, steady. It was the only thing in her life that could be counted on. Her feet beat the pavement in tune with the drummer of the Suicidal Foals playing through the earbuds of her cellphone. Diamond cursed her name and took the long way to Canterlot Heights where the mansion her family owned loomed and controlled every facet of her life. The Rich Family mansion was what many yearned to have, wished for, dedicated their lives to never be able to afford. But to Diamond Tiara, it was a beautifully constructed, 13,000 square foot prison.

Author's Note:

Oh boy! Here we go! Another Diamond Tiara mma story. I loved writing the first one with Diamond in the middle of her career. Now it's time to look at how it started. There will be a few inconsistencies with the other story around the number of amateur matches but I think this story explains it a little better.

Comments

[the dobermans]

EweTube

Brilliant.

In all seriousness, excellent start. It's like the first scene of a movie.

[jmj]

10956396
Appreciate it, sir.
We'll see how it goes. I was tired of not writing. Diamond's introduction to MMA is fun to me and that's what I want to write for now. Something fun for me.

[Jinxed]

Your writing is on point, the grammar is on point, and the descriptions are on point.
It should be featured because it's interesting, pony boxing, but I think therein lies the issue, you've gone for humanised.
If this was anthro or proper pone, I think it might gain a little more traction, but that's just my guess.
Then again, some bloody awfully written self-insert bollocks is featured while something well done like this is overlooked, so I don't know if I can say for sure. I'm gonna go and read the first story before this prequel came along, I reckon it'll be a good read given this was also good.
Hope you feel like continuing it.

[jmj]

10957898
Thank you for your comment and I'm very happy you are enjoying the story so far. I'm no stranger to not being featured. In fact, I think only 2 of my stories have ever touched the feature box and not for any real length of time when they did. I used to get offended by it but not anymore. It's just how it goes. I'm just happy when someone reads something of mine and takes the time to let me know what they thought.

Hope you enjoy Hard As Diamond and I do plan on continuing this story as well.

[Jinxed]

10957985
I'd figure at over 250 followers that you'd get featured a bit more often than that.
But fo' realsies' I like this a lot, reading through your first DT fic. It's visceral and detailed.

[jmj]

10957990
I joined in 2012 and got to about 220 followers in the early days when it was way easier to them. If I had a story that didn't get 300 views in the first day or two it was a failure. I took like a 3 year break and came back to a fandom in decline. It's such a different place now. I hope the new movie/season will bring a bunch of new people into the mix so there can be some positive changes made.

I would bet 80% of my followers are abandoned accounts at this point.

Glad you are enjoying Hard As Diamond. I really enjoyed writing it and thought the story was very good. The mma was the vehicle to tell the story not the story itself.

[Jinxed]

10958067
That makes a great deal of sense as to why some accounts net 3k and barely get half that in likes tbh.
It's gonna be nice to see how the early days of DT pan out.

[Blast]

I can get into this one.