After a nasty split, one brother found fortune, while the other hasn't been so lucky. Now, the Flim Flam Brothers meet up once again. But this time, they aren't talking strictly business.
The Flim-Flam Brothers fully anticipated a couple of failures every now and then. It's not like it mattered. After all, there was still tons of opportunity to go around, right?
Not exactly. The little song-and-dance cider business never really panned out. After a nasty argument stemming from a particularly embarrassing failure, the two brothers decided it was best to split up and take their ideas elsewhere.
Well, one brother has hit the jackpot, while the other hasn't been so lucky. And now, after a long period of silence, the brothers find themselves meeting face-to-face once again. Only this time, they're not strictly talking business.
It’s been a long time since we last talked. I’ve heard that…
“No, no…wait,” the stallion muttered under his breath, crumpling up the parchment with his magic. He tiredly tossed the wad aside, where it plopped on the floor next to a trash bin overflowing with similar pieces of paper. Tapping the quill against his cheek, he pulled out a sheet from his desk for the umpteenth time and began to scribble.
Dearest brother,
How have you been? It’s been such a long time since we’ve seen each other! Word on the street is that you’ve found yourself some business up in Fillydelphia. That’s…
The quill froze in the air, and Flim found himself staring blankly at the ink scrawled before him. His lips silently moved, trying to find the word to finish that sentence.
Great? No. Fantastic? No. Amazing? No.
He systematically rolled through every possible synonym his mind could come up with, but for some reason, none seemed to do the trick. So the stallion simply shook his head, slowly got up from his desk, and decided to take a well-needed break. He crept past the lumpy mattress crammed into the corner of his room, and headed towards the kitchen.
Sunlight trickled through the semi-closed blinds, the only illumination for the otherwise dim apartment. A couple of cardboard boxes and apple crates were skewed around the make-shift living room; some still contained their contents, left to sit for more than a year in the same spot. A glass coffee table was in the middle of it all, and a stained green chair was the only object parked next to it. Lying on the table was a newspaper flipped to the Career section, with numerous red Xs littered across the page. The place smelled of old dandelion sandwiches and hard cider, but Flim paid no heed, making his way to the tiny niche he called his kitchen.
The stallion sighed as he pulled a glass out of the cupboard, filling it up with tap. He took a calm sip, cringed a bit, and kept on drinking while holding his breath. As he did so, his green eyes wandered to a calendar hanging from his doorway. The first thing he saw was a crossed out event that sent a shiver down his spine. “Job Interview-November 2nd”. That was three weeks ago.
With a furrowed brow, his eyes scanned further down the page, lighting upon a different date which sent the same shiver through his back. “Flam in Town-November 30th”. That was only a week from today.
Flim leaned against the counter, slowly running his hooves through his mangled red mane. He felt bad, truly he did. A twin was excited to see his other half coming by to visit, or at least, that’s what should ideally happen. But as much as he tried to conjure up some joy, to imagine that warm feeling you’d get from seeing an old lost friend, he only ended up feeling emptier inside. Then again, this wasn’t exactly a visit—more like a chance encounter really. Then there was the issue of the last time they met years ago, which didn’t exactly end on kind terms and quiet voices.
“Bah! Who cares, right?” Flim said to the floating glass. “I’m sure that’s all water under the bridge by now. He’s my brother, he’ll listen. He…he has to…”
Gulping down the last bit of water, the former salespony made his way back to his bedroom, kicking random bags and wrappers out of his path. He sat himself down at his desk, levitating the quill over the blank piece of parchment staring back at him. Taking in a few deep breaths, he touched the pen tip to the paper once again.
Before, part of him wanted to give Flam an unexpected surprise; after all, he figured he had enough charisma left in the tank for it. After carefully considering the last words he had said to his brother, that was certainly out of the question. So Flim forced himself to write a letter. So that maybe—just maybe—things wouldn’t be as dreadful as he expected them to be.
To My Dearest and Loving Brother…
The quill paused. Yes, this one could take a while.
A mustache-clad stallion stood at the side of a dirt road, a white cap dangling lazily from his limp hoof. The sun beat down upon his face, and the locks of his red mane were damp with sweat. He was leaning against a large odd contraption emitting a rumble, exhaust spewing out of its bottom. Rolling his eyes, the salespony let out an exasperated sigh and commented, “I don’t know about this, Flim.”
Suddenly, a head popped out from underneath the contraption. It was another stallion, who looked remarkably like the other, sans the mustache. Rubbing the thin layer of soot off his face, the other unicorn smiled and replied, “Nonsense, good ol' brother of mine! You mustn’t worry so much!”
Not even looking down, Flam said, “You don’t need to talk like that, you know.”
Flim slipped out from underneath the Super Cider Squeezy, using his magic to clean off the dust from his fur. Brushing back his mane, he answered jubilantly, “Sorry, Flam. Just trying to get into character is all. But I am being serious though. Don’t worry so much! I've got this thing fixed up and ready to go.”
"I'm not just talking about the machine."
After tossing a toolbox into a small compartment with a CLANG!, Flim turned to his sibling, dusting off his hooves. "Oh, pish-posh. You're just in a sour mood. It's going to go fine!"
He tried to put his foreleg around his brother’s shoulder, but Flam nimbly shrugged it off, taking a step back. He narrowed his eyes, letting out an annoyed huff. “That’s what you said last time around, and they didn’t take too kindly to the, ahem, performance.”
“True, true. But don’t you remember what we said before? We knew there was bound to be a couple of rough spots every now and then. Every new business gets them! That doesn’t mean we won’t get our break sooner or later!”
“But we—.”
Flim shoved his snout into his brother’s face, his eyes wide and his mouth pulled into a toothy grin. This time he forcefully took Flam into a close embrace, putting cheek against cheek. He theatrically waved a hoof towards the horizon, where a tiny village atop a hill surrounded by clouds could be seen. “Haven’t you been paying attention to what we’re singing?” Flim asked confidently. “There’s opportunity all over the place, my dear brother! I don’t care if we need to travel from town to town until we find the right fit, because I know it’s out there.”
“But what if it isn’t?” Flam quickly shoved his sibling away, much to Flim’s surprise. Seeing the hurt in his brother’s eyes, Flam’s expression softened. With a calm sigh, he continued, “I'm sorry, Flim. But don’t you think our act is getting a bit…I don’t know…stale? I mean after Ponyville, things haven’t had quite as much umph, you know? Why don’t we try changing things up a bit?”
The two stood in silence for a few seconds, staring into each other’s faces. Flam tilted his head, hoping for some kind of reply. But for a while, Flim was silent, staring at the ground with his hoof to his chin, as though he were lost in thought. Then he abruptly burst into laughter, shattering the stolid façade. Leaning against the vehicle, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye, he said, “Ha ha! Change things up? Pssh, now you’re talking crazy, Flam! This is what we envisioned, we ought to stick to it.”
“I envisioned us making money,” the sibling grumbled under his breath.
“And this is how we’re going to do it!” With a cocky smile, Flim climbed up the Super Cider Squeezy, reclining into the cushioned chair with his hooves behind his head. He gazed over the side to find Flam glaring up at him with fiery eyes, shooting up daggers. Recoiling a bit, Flim reassured, “Oh come on, don’t give me that look. This is the one, I’m sure of it. They’re just a bunch of stupid pegasi, what the heck do they know about the cider business? They’ll be amused by our little diddy and then they’ll be playing right into our hooves. I’m telling you Flam. This little venture we have is unique. The Super Cider Squeezy 7000 is going to be a smashing hit!”
“Only as long as you stop making bets with the costumers. I can let Ponyville slide. But Detrot and Las Pegasus? Really?”
“You’re never going to let me live that down are you? I promised I’d never do it again, isn’t that enough for you?”
His voice rising, Flam replied, “It’s not enough, Flim! Look, I’m just trying to say…I don’t think you’ve got your businesses straight. I think you’re forgetting what we’re here to do!”
“Well I think I’ve got a perfectly good grasp on things.” Just as he finished, a bell echoed out from the cloudy village, followed by the sound of a galloping stampede. It was lunchtime, and hungry ponies were swiftly flooding the streets for food—and drink.
Flim’s eyes lit up. Banging on the vehicle, he called, “That’s our cue! Put on your cap, Flam, and get on! Come on, chop, chop!”
After muttering something unintelligible, the twin reluctantly plopped the hat on his head. He crept his way onto the Super Cider Squeezy 7000, silently taking his place in the lawn chair next to his brother. Seeing the grimace on Flam’s face, Flim said, “I know you’re upset, brother. But I promise you, this one’s the one. Now put on a smile. Let’s give these pegasi a good show, okay?”
“…Okay.”
The two’s horns simultaneously lit up, and the contraption slowly started to chug forward. Then the brothers put on their best smiles—chin up, chest out, eyes open—just as they had rehearsed hundreds of times before.
"Well, lookie what we got here, brother of mine, it's the same in every town..."
When Flim awoke the next day, his head was lying on the writing desk in a small pool of warm drool. With his eyes still shut, he started to smack his lips together, detecting the slightest hint of green apple in his mouth. He let out a painful groan, slowly lifted his head, and pried open his eyes, easing his way into the oversaturated reality he knew was awaiting him.
Wiping the residue off his chin, he looked down to see a damp piece of parchment sitting before him, the words Dear Broth- scribbled crookedly along the top. Flam looked at it for a couple of seconds, a blank glare perpetrating from his narrow green eyes. Then, he hastily scooped it up and tossed it back, only to find the trash bin already overflowing. He could only vaguely remember why.
As he slid off his chair, his hoof struck something smooth and hard, causing him to stumble. He levitated the small green bottle off the ground, giving the opening a tentative sniff. Green apple. Letting out a sigh, Flim placed the bottle on his desk and sauntered out of his bedroom, rubbing his temple. It’s going to be one of those days, he thought, passing the full trashcan which started to make a whole lot more sense. Six more days…
Gathering up a set of bits lying on his kitchen counter, Flim threw on an old gray sweater and stepped into the cold morning air, his hood covering his unique red mane. South Gallopton really wasn’t as bad a place as most ponies said it was. After all, every town tended to look dismal and blurry coming off a cider hangover. Yes, the air was biting cold for half the year and dry for the rest. And yes, half the town’s residents were far below the poverty line—one of whom was Flim himself. But for the most part, Gallopton was livable. Had it been possible to live off dust particles and cider, however, Flim would have probably taken that option instead of going outside.
He trotted down the steps of his apartment, his head drooped low, his eyes trained on the crooked cracks slithering through the concrete. The frigid environment helped to clear his head, and although most of the night was still a huge blur, Flim was able to recall himself sitting at his desk with quill in hoof . His mind started to wander back to that letter, letting the rest of his dull, drab surroundings inch past. Later, he spotted a group of younger ponies wearing hoodies over their faces walking across the street. He could feel their eyes staring at him.
Dearest Flam…no, no, that’s not going to work! Come on, Flim. It’s just a stupid letter. But no matter how many times he’d tell himself it was ‘just a stupid letter’, Flim never shook that knot in his stomach, that nausea building up in the pit of his gut. All of the nausea, the turmoil...the anger—he managed to keep all of it hidden underneath that old gray jacket.
Finally, after walking down the street for what seemed like an eternity, Flim cast a sullen gaze up towards a glowing neon sign that read Gallop Café. A picture of a steaming hot mug of coffee took over half of the shop’s window, beckoning Flim to come inside and have a sip. He was much too tired to argue.
A tiny bell jingled as he walked in, sending a jolt of pain through his head. Sidling up to the counter, Flim adjusted his hood firmly over his head and started to scan the menu.
“Howdy-do, sir! What can I get for ya today?”
Suddenly, a mare wearing an absurd donut-shaped hat popped from behind, tossing a dirty rag over her shoulder. Her voice was shrill and strained, almost as fake as the toothy grin on her face. Flim gave an empty chuckle, and with a smile to match the cashier’s, he said, “Let’s see, I’ll have…how about just a regular cup of coffee? Black.”
“Black?” the mare said, feigning surprise. “Need something to wake you up, huh?”
“Something like that…”
“Alrighty. That’ll be three bits please.”
Flim hastily dug his hooves into his jacket pocket, knocking down his hood in the process, revealing his tangled mane. With wide eyes, he quickly slipped it back up and started to rummage through his pockets once again. He could see the cashier’s perplexed look out of the corner of his eyes.
Clearing his throat, Flim placed the coins on the counter, proclaiming jovially, “There it is.”
The mare rounded up the coins and opened up the cash register, the cha-ching sending another spike through Flim’s temple. As she clattered the coins into the box, she asked, “Say…have I seen you somewhere before? You look kinda familiar.”
Damn, Flim yelled in his mind. Flashing a charismatic smile, he faked a giggle and said, “Probably not. But don’t worry, I seem to get that quite a bit.”
“Huh. Okay,” the mare replied, giving a shrug. “Oh, by the way, what’s your name?”
“Pardon?”
“Your name? For the order.”
“Oh right. It’s, uh…” Hundreds of names began to roll through his mind.
“…Mac.”
“Okay Mac. I’ll have that ready for you in no time.” She started to turn around, but not before taking one last glance at Flim’s striking green eyes. “My name’s Glimmer by the way,” she said, giving a sly wink.
Flim raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, giving a confident smirk. Then he slowly turned around, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he crept towards an empty table.
There was a newspaper still on the tabletop, probably left behind from last night’s costumers. Rubbing his bleary eyes, Flim opened up the paper, having nothing else to do besides sit and mope. Every so often, he’d glance over the top to find Glimmer sneaking a peak in his direction. When that happened he would widen his eyes happily, covering his grimace with the large newsprint. After a few minutes of doing this, he soon grew bored and began to actually scan the articles spread out before him.
For some reason, his hooves automatically navigated to the Business section. His eyes glided across the paper, only half-reading the drivel plastered on the page. That is, until he found one small article that snatched his attention.
The Cider Master Extends His Reach
Flam Boiyánce (left), famous entrepreneur and inventor of the Cider Master, is rumored to be aiming for an agreement with Filthy Rich to extend his company down into Southern Equestria.
“Not even front page news, brother? I expected better,” Flim uttered to nopony in particular.
Flam burst onto the business scene two years ago, when his compact juicing machine revolutionized the cider and fruit industry across the globe. His innovative, magic-powered machine served to make the manufacturing and packaging of ciders and juices more efficient and cost-effective.
“Pfft. Innovation, my flank…”
Now, numerous cider farms in northern Equestria use his invention, including big-name companies such as Heineighken and Trotweiser.
“His invention?” He started to grind his teeth.
With such overwhelming success, Flam now aims to strike up a deal with Filthy Rich, the wealthy owner of numerous cider plants across southern Equestria, to spread the Cider Master to the rest of the populace , perhaps even aiming for a smaller product for commercial use. When asked about future plans, Flam said—
“Mac? Mac? Mac!”
Flim jolted out of his trance with a grunt, poking his head over the paper. “Your coffee’s ready,” Glimmer announced, placing the steaming cup on the counter. Flim set down the newspaper without folding it up, not even noticing the crumpled and torn spot where his hooves had been clutching.
Flim started to plod towards the counter, only to stop halfway and levitate the cup over to him. While he did so, Glimmer winked and gave a seductive wave, calling, “Come back soon, ‘kay?”
Without even looking back, the stallion replied coldly, “No promises.” Then, he pushed out violently with his forelegs, blasting the door open and stomping outside, breaking off the small bell in the process.
“Dear Celestia, I hate this town,” Flim muttered, levitating the mug of coffee next to his head. He took a sip, only to smack his lips and wince. It wasn’t even any good.
“Six more days…six more days of this. I’ll see Flam, and it’ll all be…okay.”
He kept telling himself that. He kept saying it as he continued his long trek back home, and even after he had stepped into his apartment and locked himself away.
A chorus of boos echoed over the hills of the small pegasi village, growing louder and louder with each passing second. A swathing cloud of dust was being kicked up, and at its base was a large red contraption headed by two very concerned-looking stallions. Pegasi soared behind them, their faces contorted and monstrous, their hooves carrying rocks and bottles and whatever else they could get their mitts on.
Flim stood on the rear of the Cider Squeezy, while Flam leaned over the front, trying to steer the bulky machine down the road. The former gazed up to find a hail of objects headed towards them. With a shriek, Flim began to shoot green magical blasts out of his horn, zapping a few of objects out of the air. But the pegasi were relentless, and the torrent of objects kept on coming with no end in sight.
“You wouldn’t know a good product if it bit you on the flank!” Flim yelled, tossing a rock back at the crowd.
“Flim! You’re going to make them even more angry!” his brother cried, casting a quick glance back. His hat suddenly whizzed off his head and into the dirt, knocked off by a well-placed wooden plank.
“I don’t think they can get any angrier, brother!” Just as Flim was about to unleash another beam, there was a loud crash next to him. The crowd let out a cheer, and Flim found his suit covered with bits of glass and his legs dotted with tiny cuts. Before he could make a remark, another volley flew into the sky, forcing him to take cover underneath the recliner.
For the next few minutes, the maddening chase continued. The odd contraption sped along the dirt road, with an army following close behind. Soon enough, that army started to dwindle into a mob, and that mob dwindled into a crowd. And then the brothers found themselves travelling alone, much to their relief.
The vehicle came to a sputtering stop, smoke spewing out the top, dents and scratches littering its once-unblemished exterior. Flam hastily leaped off, and leaned against the machine with his hooves over his face. His mane was tangled and covered with pebbles and debris. His shirt had come unbuttoned in the scramble, revealing a large bruise on the right side of his chest. A constant ache persisted throughout his entire body, starting from his limp horn, all the way down to his trembling hooves.
Flim remained sitting atop the Cider Squeezy, his eyes scanning the exterior. Every inch of his clothing was either tattered or stained. His hat was crooked over his face, his mane poking through a large hole in the top. Not only was his shirt torn, but tiny spots of blood were scattered across the striped fabric, marking the places where glass had cut through his flesh. He attempted to pull out a jagged rock which had lodged itself into a large shattered bulb. When he couldn’t, Flim let out a sigh and whispered, “They broke one of the magic diodes. It’ll take forever to fix that up.”
“The diode?” Flam quickly whirled around, nostrils flared. “That’s what you’re worried about? A diode? Because believe me, that isn’t the only thing we need to fix up.”
“Listen, good ol' brother of mine-.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Flim! We just got run out of a stinking village and got our asses beat at the same time! And all you’re worried about is a stupid diode!”
Flim hopped down to ground level, slowly stepping toward his sibling with an outstretched hoof. “Flam, you are blowing this out of proportion.”
Flam replied with a slight push, wiping the arrogant grin off Flim’s face. His voice slowly rising, the mustached stallion asked, “Do you want me to remind you what happened at our last business ventures hmm? Ponyville: Run out. Fillydelphia: Run out. New Haysburg: Run out. Trottingham…Run. Out.”
“But don’t you remember what I said, brother? Failure paves the road to success.”
“No! I’m tired of you telling me that, Flim. I’m through with being embarrassed town after town after town. After everything we’ve been through, can you really say this…” Flam’s hoof pounded the Super Cider Squeezy with a thunk, causing his brother to wince. “…this…piece of scrap is the road to success?”
“This is our livelihood, Flam!” Flim quickly rebutted, stepped over to the spot where his brother had so callously slammed it. Rubbing the dent like it was a wound, he continued, “This is what we promised to sell. We can fix it! We can make it better!”
“It’s not the machine, Flim. It’s us!” Letting out a deep breath, Flam lowered his voice to a whisper. “Listen...we’ve been trying to do this song-and-dance for too long, with no results. We need to change our image, or else somepony’s going to get hurt. Look at you! You’ve got cuts all over. Look at this bruise...it’s huge! This can’t be how we get business, Flim. Not by being a village’s punching bag.”
But Flim didn’t seem to be paying attention, his face turned to the side, a frown prevalent on his dirt-ridden face. He swiftly shoved his way past Flam, pacing along the dirt road, violently shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no you don’t understand Flam. This is what we envisioned, and this is what we’re going to do! We’re going to stick with it!”
“This is what you envisioned. But I beg you, Flim. We can be successful, but it has to be through another way.”
“Bah! How could you even say such a thing?”
“Come on, Flim. You need to think smart. Business is about chang—.”
“No!” Flim shouted, swiveled back to face his twin. Through clenched teeth, he uttered, “If you’re so confident in your ability to make something brand spankin' new, then…then why don’t you just go!”
“W-what?”
“You said it yourself! You say we ought to change things up, so go on, get out of my sight! How's that for a change, huh?” He galloped over to the vehicle and hopped aboard, not even paying a passing glance to his partner. He began to fiddle with a few wires, saying, “See how well your little idea’s going to go! Me? I can run this show by myself.”
Flam could only stand there in shock, watching his brother’s back with wide eyes and an open mouth. A piece of metal suddenly flew through the air, grazing Flam’s foreleg. “Y-you’re so stubborn!” he remarked, rubbing the wound Flim had opened.
“No you’re the one who’s stubborn!”
“Flim, please. Y-you’re acting childish.”
“I don’t need you here, Flam! All this you’re doing, all this negativity, it’s only going to slow me down. I’ll show you! I’ll fix the Super Cider Squeezy up and it’ll be better than anything you will ever come up with. So just go, and take your worthless ideas with you! I don’t need you!”
Flam faltered back a few steps, a trembling frown prevalent underneath his mustache—a frown that went unseen by his sibling. The whole time, Flim never cast one glance away from the machine, his head buried in a set of wires and gears. Flam waited for a couple of seconds, hoping that Flim would speak up once more, whether out of guilt or spite. Anything was better than the dreadful silence, which sent the ultimatum loud and clear. “If…if that’s what you think,” Flam muttered, his chin pushed against his chest. “Then…then I can’t stop you.”
The sound of clopping hooves echoed down the lonely street, fading away until all was silent once again. And when that happened, Flim cast a stolid glance back, only to find the dirt road completely empty. With cold steel and rusty gears as his companions, the brother laid back on his chair, mumbling, “I’m gonna make it big. I will make it big. With or without him.”
“Well,” you stupid idiot, “I assure you I am here for a very important matter.”
Flim leaned over the hotel receptionist’s desk, flashing a wide charming smile. He had been arguing with her for what felt like forever, somehow managing to keep us his cool exterior the entire time. The mare glared at him over her tiny spectacles, and with a raised brow, she said, “You’ve been loitering around in here for almost an hour.”
“It’s business, my dear. I’m here for business. I’m waiting for my partner to show up,” Flim replied, his voice faltering on the word partner.
“Uh-huh…what’s your name anyway?”
“Ma’am, do you really need my name? All I’m doing is waiting…”
“If you have a meeting with somepony, I need your name.”
Flim threw his head back and let an exasperated groan, his hooves grasped around the desk’s edge. He felt that ache starting in his muscles, beginning with a sharp pain in his chest. Letting out a deep breath, he muttered, “You know what, fine, okay, fine. I’ll step outside then.” He quickly wheeled around, but not before catching a cocky smirk on that mare’s face. Flim stomped out of the hotel lobby, plopping down on the front steps, his head resting on his hoof.
The pain in his chest began to subside, as his mind began to calm down with it. The pain was nothing new. He had felt it after he was thrown out of Ponyville, after the Super Cider Squeezy broke down for the final time—and most recently, a few days ago, after placing a small envelope into his mailbox. The moment he let that letter slip out of his hoof, the ache clamped around his body, never leaving up until now. Every morning he would creep out to his mailbox, finding yet another stack of bills and taxes, but no letters. So when the date of November 30 came with no reply, Flim felt another wave of anxiety flood his body, adding to the already-existing aches and throbs.
Flim began to run through the plan in his mind, only to remember he barely had one to begin with. He had woken up in the wee hours of the morning, taking time to get himself as spiffy as possible. His mane had been brushed out for the first time in weeks, and he had given extra effort into scrubbing out his fur until it was shiny and stain-free. He wore his only formal coat without holes, a white jacket that matched the hat tipped slightly on his head. Once he had been sufficiently dressed up, Flim made his way over to a hotel on the other side of town, where Flam was supposed to be. And then, once he was there….
Well, that part was still quite a mystery.
His hooves impulsively started to tug on his collar, pulling it snug against the nape of his neck. Scanning the road, he found crowds of unfamiliar faces trotting by. He had never been to this side of Gallopton, where hotels and businesses seemed to pop out of the ground like weeds. But no matter where he went, Flim always spied the eyes watching him, and the whispers. After years of living in the background, he had gotten quite good at catching them.
He looked up at the towering clock face just down the road. It was almost noon, which meant he had been waiting for an hour. The bells started to clamor, sending an ache through Flim’s skull and a shiver down his spine. He had wasted an hour on these steps, and Flam was still nowhere to be found. Is he not coming?, Flim asked himself. But…I waited…no, he has to be on his way. He has to be.
“Probably just running a bit late,” Flim muttered with a chuckle, drawing a confused stare from a tiny filly as she walked down the street with her mom. He spied a coffee shop just across the street. Springing up, he said, “If he’s running a bit late, I suppose I could get some snacks.” He galloped across the busy intersection with his chin up, while his heart seemed fit to pound right out of his chest.
Thankfully, there was no Glimmer this time around to flirt with, so Flim ordered a hot coffee and a biscuit. “It’s a bit chilly out there, don’t you think?” Flim asked the cashier.
“I guess,” the young cashier mumbled, handing Flim his change.
“Uh-huh, right…well, nice talking to ya, sport.” This town...full of ungrateful brats...
The stallion perched himself at a table occupied by another mare, who was too busy reading the papers to notice. Flim’s eyes ventured out the window, where the roads where crowded with carriages and the sky was covered by dark gray rain clouds.
The coffee and biscuit was placed on his table, but Flim simply sat there, continuing to stare out the window. His eyes were trained at nothing in particular, just wandering around the blurriness that Gallopton had long since become. And to make matters worse, the place only seemed to grow darker as time passed. He watched the unsettling clouds, the ponies fumbling through the gray, the carriages creaking down the road…
Suddenly, something popped out of the corner of his eye. Flim paused, captured by a sleek black carriage pulling up to the hotel. The carriage’s doors swung open, and a duo of buff pegasi dressed in suits stepped outside. The two lined up on either side of the door and stood erect, their eyes covered by dark shades.
And then, another stallion stepped out. The figure was quite tall; he was mostly made up of his long and lanky limbs. He wasn’t showy, only wearing a plain white coat, eerily similar to the jacket Flim was wearing. His red mane was slicked back, and a glowing horn protruded out of it, levitating an attaché case at his side. A glowing smile protruded from underneath his thick mustache.
Flim let his biscuit fall onto the table, and his legs go limp at his side. There he was—Flam, in the flesh. The only things separating the two twins were a measly road and a duo of burly pegasi. The stallion licked his dry lips, sweat starting to pool on his brow. This was moment he had been waiting for months, ever since he saw that newspaper announcing Flam’s arrival. All he had to do was step outside and holler.
And yet, he could not. His body wouldn’t let him.
His legs felt like they were made of concrete, stuck to the floor and unable to manage even a tiny quiver. Whenever he tried to clear his throat, a raspy whimper would escape. Flim was frozen in his seat, unable to take his eyes off the figure strolling up the steps. His mind screamed at his body to make a move, but there was no response. All he could do was stare into the city of gray engulfing his vision. Even after the figure had sauntered through the doors and disappeared, Flim could only stare.
After a few minutes—or seconds, or hours—of watching those glass doors, Flim finally broke down. He buried his face into his hooves, letting silent tears seep into his sleeve. It had slipped through his grasp. In that coffee shop packed with ponies, Flim felt utterly alone.
When he finally uncovered his face, the mare sitting across from him was long gone, replaced by an older, sleepy-eyed gentlecolt. The coffee was no longer steaming. The hard biscuit still lay messily on the table, crumbs strewn all over his jacket. It had begun to drizzle outside, but there were still scores of ponies walking down the sidewalk, umbrellas held over their heads.
Flim rubbed his red eyes, the tears long since dried up. He looked at the clock, startled to see just how much time had passed. He figured he had dozed off, especially considering just how exhausted his body felt.
Casting one more glance at the hotel, Flim levitated his half-eaten goods and started to stand up. As he backed away from the table, his flank bumped against somepony. “Beg your pardon,” the stallion mumbled, slowly turning around.
He stopped with a jolt, almost spilling his coffee across his coat. With wide eyes, Flim came face to face with himself—plus a bushy mustache.
The duo stared at each other for quite some time, the same perplexed glare coming from their green eyes. Sounds murmured from Flim’s dry throat, unable to form them into coherent words. Even after months of planning, he never imagined he’d come this far, or be this close.
Finally, his sibling licked his lips and gave a forced chuckle. “Well, uh…long time, no see…hasn’t it, Flim?”
For a moment, everything—the ponies, the rain, time itself—seemed to come to a complete stop. The reunited siblings stared into each other’s eyes, a sight neither had seen in such a long time. Flam gave a sheepish grin and, scratching his head, he began, “Well…it’s, uh…good to see you again. I’m…I’m sure you’ve been busy.”
It took Flim a few seconds to register those words, as well as the hoof extended towards him. He silently grasped it and returned the gesture, rigidly moving his leg. With a chuckle, Flam remarked, “Well now…I don’t ever recall you being so speechless before.”
Shaking his head, Flim instinctively straightened his collar, and replied, “Oh pardon, I just…um…how have you been, Flam?”
“You think we could sit down?”
“…Of course.”
The duo took a table in the corner of the café, separating themselves from the rest of the patrons. Flim noticed his sibling levitating a biscuit and a hot coffee near his chest—heavy cream and two sugar lumps, same way he liked it. “So everything’s been going well. Business is booming,” Flam began, shifting in his chair. “Just finished talking with one of my business partners, actually. Had to convince my assistants to let me get some coffee to pass the time. I didn't want them, you know, but my agent insisted. So anyway...what about you?”
Flim didn’t miss a beat, reciting, “Oh I’ve been getting along. Work is a killer, but I get by.” He started to vigorously rub his hooves along his leg, hiding it underneath the table.
“Ah, I understand,” Flam replied, only half-convincingly. After another long break, he added quietly, “By the way, I, uh, I did get your letter.”
“Did you?”
“Yesterday, actually. I wish I had time to respond back...really I do. If could have written you back, I would have.”
“Oh…I see.”
Flim started to bite into his cheek, his lips puckered into a short, bitter frown. He didn’t say anything else however, crossing his hooves and keeping his eyes trained on the floor. Flam looked skeptically at his brother, but he simply brushed it off for now, saying, “But I’m…I’m glad we managed to meet up anyway. Really, I am. I guess it must be fate or something, huh?”
“Right.”
“You know, I’ve always loved Gallopton. It’s a nice city, but maybe with a bit more rain for my taste.”
“Well you haven’t seen half of it,” Flim muttered crossly under his breath.
“Oh?”
“Oh nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
Flam gave a slight nod, taking a fake sip out of his already-empty coffee cup. He glanced at Flim out of the corner of his eye, seeing a devious half-smirk plastered on his face, which made his stomach churn. Flam had forgotten just how much he dreaded that smile. “So…what brings you here?” he said, trying to keep his mind off the somersaults his stomach was doing.
Flim opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. The smile faltered for a brief second, but soon reappeared with twice the audacity, replying, “With my job, I’ve had to travel around a lot. I soon realized that we were visiting Gallopton at the same time from the papers, so I wrote you that letter.”
“Wow…what a coincidence, huh?”
“Yes, a coincidence.”
Growing tired of the perpetual smirk on his brother’s face, Flam looked out the window, now seeing thick raindrops pattering against it. Clearing his throat, he began to stand up. “Well, the day is getting late,” he muttered, starting to turn around. “I suppose I must leave. My guards must be getting antsy.”
“Wait!” Flam stopped in his tracks, shutting his eyes. Behind him, Flim called out innocently, “I was wondering if you’d like to meet me for dinner. You know, like good old times.”
“Good old times?” the mustached stallion repeated with a spiritless chuckle. “Come on now, Flim. Don’t you think that’s a bit too...sentimental?”
“Oh please! I just want to spend some time with my brother. We haven’t seen each other in ages! We need to catch up. Maybe you can tell me about all the exploits you’ve had.”
Flim leaned back in his chair, slinging a hoof over the back in a mockingly relaxed pose. The knot in Flam’s stomach returned, and an inexplicable shiver ran down his back. Something felt off about Flim’s confident disposition—if only he could put a hoof on it.
But despite that, this was still his brother, and that was a detail Flam could not escape. He reluctantly answered, “Only if you tell me yours.”
There was a beat, followed by a soft, “…Absolutely.”
“Alright. Where to?”
“I was thinking Telstar Bistro downtown. You’ve heard of it?”
“Okay. Sounds good. I’ll see you in, uh, two hours?”
“Two hours it is. I’ll make the reservations.”
With slight a tip of his hat, Flam swiftly exited the café, where his guards were already waiting with a large umbrella. They trotted across the muddy street and into the warm hotel, where they would surely be treated with cozy beds and some fine cider. A few minutes later, the second brother galloped into the relentless rain, hoping that two hours would be enough time to scrounge together some bits.
xxx
Flam’s hooves sloshed across the puddle-ridden concrete, an umbrella protecting his freshly groomed mane. Rain was still pouring down on Gallopton, and it didn’t seem to be letting up any time soon. The stallion cast a somber look up at the swirling gray storm clouds and shook his head. “Maybe it’s a sign,” he muttered to nopony in particular.
The thick raindrops were relentless. The town smelled of asphalt and smog. The air was frigid enough to tickle the hairs on his moustache. In fact, it seemed as though Flam had every reason not to be outside. He couldn’t help but wonder why he had gone through all the trouble of talking his guards into leaving, of sneaking out of the hotel underneath a trench coat, of braving through this storm to meet his brother.
Well…that’s just it, he thought, trying to convince himself. Flam dug himself into his coat, ignoring the chills running through his body.
Finally, the unicorn found himself standing in front of a large restaurant at the corner of the street. Bright lights surrounded the words Telstar Bistro on the building’s façade. Through the windows, Flam could see the interior was dim. Ponies sat at cloth covered tables, holding porcelain tea cups or glasses of sparkling cider in their hooves. Muffled jazz music could be heard above the pitter-patter of rain. Drawing in a breath, the unicorn crept inside.
Walking up to the host, Flam said, “Hello. I have a reservation.”
With a raised brow, the mare took a quick, confused glance at Flam and inquired, “Didn’t I just talk to you not too long ago?”
“Oh…ha. You were probably talking to my, um…my brother,” he said, slightly surprised that Flim had already arrived. “We’re actually twins, you know.”
“Really? Must make life pretty interesting.”
“You honestly have no idea.”
The host led Flam to a table right in the middle of the restaurant, where (still to his surprise) Flim was already sitting, his hooves placed flat on the table. When he spotted his brother approaching, Flim put on a grin and beckoned, “Flam! There you are! Not very nice to keep a pony waiting…”
“Sorry about that.”
Flim reached over and slapped his sibling on his shoulder as he sat down, which made Flam wince. “Oh I’m only joking, brother. It’s quite fine! I just arrived here a few minutes ago, so no harm done.”
“This is a nice place.”
“It’s marvelous, isn’t it? The food is delicious, and the entertainment is amazing!” Flim pointed towards a small stage, where a group of suit clad ponies where playing a lively jazz piece. The drums pounded out the swift beat, while saxophones and trumpets blasted the melody. A pianist’s hooves danced along the ivory keys, unable to keep from bouncing on his stool. A couple of ponies were dancing in front, swinging around each other with wide smiles on their face. “They only have music on Saturdays, Flam. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Actually, yeah. That’s really nice,” Flam replied, having to raise his voice just a tad bit over the pulsing drums.
The brothers ordered a sandwich or a salad or something else like that; they weren’t really paying attention. A saxophone unicorn stood up and started to play a blues tune, slowly swaying back and forth. Flam was captivated; his head bobbed to the tune, listening to the sax sing its sad story.
“So…how’s life been treating you, brother?” a voice called out across the table, snapping Flam back to reality.
“It’s been going pretty well, Flim. Business is good, but I think I’ve told you that earlier,” Flam answered, refraining from asking the same question.
“So tell me more about your invention! What’s it called, the, uh…?”
“The Cider Master.” Trumpets began to sneak in. Cymbals resonated as the sax continued to play. The stage light seemed dimmer.
“The Cider Master, right. I’d love to hear more about it. From what I’ve read, it’s helped a lot of ponies out.” Most of them anyway…
“Alright, I guess I could do that,” Flam replied, levitating his water glass to his lips and taking a swill. “So, as you probably know, the biggest problem for the cider industry was inefficiency. We were able to get away with those clunky machines and outdated factories for a while, but with the demand for cider at the highest it’s ever been, we needed to make something smaller, quicker, and easier to produce. So that’s where the Master came in.”
“Fascinating,” Flim dragged out, her eyes staring off into the distance. The blues piece had come to a smooth, quiet stop. The drummer started to tap an up-tempo beat on his cymbals, a toothy grin plastered on his face. Nodding his head wildly, the bassist joined in the fervor.
“So first, I made the Cider Master smaller and compact with a help of a few engineer friends of mine. And then, instead of using things like timber or coal for fuel, the Cider Master uses magic instead. That way, we reduce the amount of resources expended just to make the thing go, while boosting output thanks to the raw power of magic itself. Once I did that—.”
“You got it from the Super Cider Squeezy, right?”
“What?”
“I mean, from what you’re telling me it’s a lot like the Super Cider Squeezy.”
“Not…really,” Flam replied, his eyes set on his brother’s somewhat distasteful frown. The music was swift; the band had all jumped in. Another group of ponies started to dance in front of the stage. He continued, louder, “I suppose you could say they’re both powered by magic…but I had to adjust it for the smaller scale.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Anyway…so I worked on the thing for almost a year or so. I was incredibly busy in that time span. You have to get the dimensions just right, and then there’s the problem of making your cider actually taste good. I swear, I probably made hundreds of prototypes for the blasted thing before I actually found one that worked!”
“Seems like quite a bit of work. Too much for a single pony,” the suspicious sibling remarked. An alto saxophone slithered sinisterly amongst the ruckus.
“Well…looking back now, I guess so.” Giving an uneasy, chuckle, Flam continued, “So…once I found somepony to back me, the whole thing just took off. I was really surprised actually. I didn’t expect it to become so popular. I never thought the Cider Master would find its way to Trotweiser or anything like that!”
“You must be living quite the lavish lifestyle now, what with your patent and your money and all that.”
“Just a little bit. I wouldn’t say lavish…but I admit, I do like to indulge myself every now and then. Maybe just little purchases, maybe some new clothes—.”
“Maybe buy some gifts?”
“Uh, sure…every now and then.”
Flam glanced over at the stage, his hoof twirling around the top of his wine glass. A plate containing a sandwich or salad lay untouched before him, as it had been for the past few minutes. The music was loud—almost unbearably so. Every pop of a trumpet made his stomach twist; every low slide of a saxophone made his skin crawl.
“Hey, brother?” The mustached stallion turned towards the shady voice, putting on his best grin. “So how much money do you make?” Flim said nonchalantly, just as the entire band flared up into a crescendo of sound.
Taken aback by the sheer bluntness of the statement, Flam inquired with a raised brow, “Pardon me, but why would you like to know?”
“Oh I’m just curious is all.”
“Well…that’s slightly personal, Flim. No offense. I’m just not comfortable with discussing my finances. ”
“Come on, brother. There’s no harm in doing so. I’m just interested in the family business!” Flim countered, leaning forward with narrowed eyes.
“I think it’s more than just family business, Flim.”
“On the contrary, this isn’t anything but family business!”
Flam seemed to shrink in his seat. He certainly felt tiny, an insignificant little speck sitting before a ruthless giant, whose head had seemed to swell to a monstrous size. That half-smirk was, and has always been, the stuff of nightmares. When that smirk came in, all reason went out. He absolutely hated that smile, hated all those times it had reduced him to a whimpering colt at the mercy of the giant’s will. There was nopony in the entire world who could make him feel more like dirt—no, below dirt—than his beloved brother.
The music stopped.
With only the muted chatter in the background, Flam said in a low voice, “Flim. I just ask you to respect my decision and just stay out—.”
“All I want is to know!”
“You’re not listening to me! You…you…”
“I what?”
Flam bit his lip and lay back in his chair, his hooves crossed over his chest. “N-nevermind,” he mumbled, mentally kicking himself.
“Fine, I won’t press you any further. I just thought since we were trying to come together, you’d be able to trust me.” Like a dagger to the heart. “You always struck me as the trustworthy type, you know.” Another dagger—or more like a spear. “Ah well, no harm done,” Flim said, hiding his cruel joke behind a faux smile.
Unable to take any more of it, the mustached unicorn stood up, slipping on his trench coat. “Listen Flim, I’m not feeling too well. I-I think I should go…”
“Wait!” Letting out a long sad sigh, Flim admitted quietly, “Listen…I’m really sorry about this. This dinner was supposed to be fun, but it’s turning into just more drama. It’s my fault really. I…I should have known it wouldn’t have been this easy, especially after all these years. Please, Flam. Don’t go just yet. Let me make it up to you.”
Suddenly, his ears perked up, just as a low saxophone rumbled out a couple of notes. “Hey…hey, I know this song.” The drums soon joined in, playing a rhythm that caused Flim to tap his hooves on the ground. “Yes…I remember it! You remember it too, don’t you Flam?”
“…Well of course,” the sibling mumbled. “It’s our song…the one before we started selling cider.”
His green eyes twinkling, Flim flipped his hat onto his head, saying, “Well…don’t just stand there!”
“What?”
“Come on, you can’t tell me you’ve forgotten the dance!”
“Dance? I don’t know, Flim. I’m not feeling too well, and it’s been a while…”
Flam’s brother extended a hoof. “It’ll be in good fun, brother. Come on! Just one dance. Please? It'll be like the good ol' times!”
The mustached stallion trained his gaze on the yellow foreleg pointed towards him, intentionally diverting from the grin on his sibling’s face. But the drums were thunderous, and the brass instruments rang out like a rally cry. The swirling ponies in the middle were practically mesmerizing, their skirts and jackets flying every way imaginable. The rhythm rippling throughout the room caused hooves to thump under the tables, and Flam was definitely no exception.
Eventually, the allure of the swing was too much for him to ignore. Reluctantly slipping off his coat, he let out a huff and replied, “Okay. One dance.” He clasped his leg around his brother’s, and the duo launched themselves into the fray.
After a few minutes of uninspired shuffling, the aching feeling in Flam’s stomach started to disappear. He closed his eyes and began to let the melody weave its way into his limbs. Soon, he was gliding and hopping across the dance floor, sometimes partnering with ponies he didn’t even know. He let out a hearty laugh, a humongous grin painted on his face. For that moment, he no longer felt small. He was living large—lavish, as his brother would say. As the music poured out and one dance became two—then three, then four—Flam realized he actually felt good, something he didn’t think would happen when he first stepped into the Telstar Bistro.
In fact, he was feeling so good, he didn’t notice the fact that he had lost his brother in the crowd. Nor did he see the pair of yellow hooves sneaking something out of his coat pockets.
Flam trotted off the dance floor, his face slick with warm sweat. He glanced out the window to see it was dark, and rain was still ravaging the town. He made his way back to the table, surprised to see his brother already back in his seat. “My, it’s pretty late,” Flam commented. “Have we been dancing for that long?”
The sibling answered, “Time flies when you’re having fun, dear old brother of mine.”
Flam flinched. Levitating his trench coat around his body, he took a seat and stated, “And we haven’t even touched our food. Do you think they’d let us stay here and finish it?”
“Of course, I don’t see why not. They’ve always let me hang out here late and listen to the music!”
With raised eyebrows, Flam inquired, “Oh…so you’ve been here often? For what? Do you go here for business a lot?”
The question was quite unexpected, but if Flim felt blindsided, he certainly didn’t show it. His twinkling green eyes never faltered, and he replied, “Why yes…I’ve come to Gallopton quite a bit, and I always eat here.”
With a slight nod, the mustached stallion took his first bite into his dandelion sandwich. Between bites, he said, “Sorry for the random questions, Flim. But for the record…you did say you’d tell me about your exploits too.”
“Mmhmm. So I did.”
The two brothers ate in silence. The stage was now empty; the band had taken a break. Many of the ponies had already left the restaurant, leaving only a handful of late-night diners. Aside from those ponies’ whispers, the room was quiet.
Flim couldn’t take his eyes off his brother, or more specifically, the trench coat wrapped around his brother’s body. Flam levitated the sandwich up to his mouth, only to pause in mid-bite. “…You’re looking at me funny.”
The brother shook his head, replying, “Oh. I’m just zoning out, is all. Sorry about that.” Placing his hooves on the table and resting his head atop them, Flim asked softly, “So how’s the food, brother of mine?” He watched Flam shift ever-so-slightly in his seat, and with a delicate grin, he added, “Everything you’ve expected? Maybe even more?”
Gulping down the last bits of bread, the mustached stallion replied, “Not bad, Flim. I think you were right about this place. It’s great.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Well…since we’re finished with the food, might as well pay the bill now, right?” Flam started to reach into his coat pocket and pull out his wallet.
“Oh no, no! That isn’t necessary! I was the one who invited you after all! Here, let me handle it.” Flim firmly grasped his brother’s foreleg and slowly guided it back down, much to Flam’s confusion. “No need for that ol’ wallet, eh Flam? I’ll go pay up front,” he said, and with a wink, he sauntered off to the host’s podium.
Flam watched him out the corner of his eye, deliberately sliding his wallet back into his jacket. He could see Flim mouthing something to the mare, but unfortunately, they were speaking too quietly to hear. So he instead turned his attention to the drone of the raindrops on the road outside, a few of which plopped upon the window.
Come on, Flam. You can’t let this charade go on any longer… He found his gaze drawn to one of the droplets slithering along the window.
You need to call him out…just say it. His eyes trekked along the window, following that cold drop as it blazed a crooked path across the glass, engulfing the smaller entities in its way.
I won’t let him—. But soon, the heavy droplet spiraled downwards, falling far short of the ever-receding edge. And every single drop seemed to follow that path, struggling against the pull of gravity and the torrent of rain, only to hit the bottom over and over again.
“Bill’s been paid, brother.”
“Oh?” a distant voice replied.
“Bill’s been paid,” Flim repeated with a curt nod. He sat down, following his brother’s gaze out the window. For a moment, he was captivated by the sparkling droplets. But he quickly lost interest, turning to the wine still left on the table. Levitating the glass to his mouth, he asked, “Why don’t we have a toast, hm? Tie this night into one neat little bow!”
Flam silently lifted his own wineglass, putting on a timid smile. Clinking the glasses together, Flim stuck out his chin and proclaimed, “To your achievements…and to our continued success!” The brothers took a simultaneous sip. It tasted bitter, but the alcoholic beverage made Flim feel warm inside.
The mustached unicorn glanced over at his sibling, whose mouth was contorted into a devilish grin. Clearing his throat, he started, “Dinner’s been fun, Flim, I-I won’t lie.” He gulped, but his throat stung. Expelling a deep breath, he finally inquired, “But…but really now, what is it you want?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Flim replied, feigning innocence.
“I mean…why did you want to talk to me all of a sudden?”
“Because I miss you, brother. Work’s been keeping us both so busy, and I...I just wanted to reconcile with you.”
“Don't..." Flam's voice trailed off, his green eyes making a silent plea. Finally, he muttered, "Please...please don’t...lie to me, Flim. I'm not mad, brother. But I'm not stupid either. So please...respect that.”
“I don’t understand.”
Flam leaned forward, hiding his shaking hooves underneath the table. He whispered, “I know your personality better than anyone else, and this…this ‘bonding’… is most definitely not like you.”
Flim simply shook his head, scoffing amusedly. With a shrug, he answered, “I’m a changed pony, Flam. Really, I am. I’ve been places, had time to really think. All I ask is for you to take me back.”
“I…I wish I could believe you.”
“What do you mean? How could you possibly say that? After all that I’ve done for you?”
“Don't you dare guilt me again.”
“Why are you so jumpy? I am your brother, Flam, you know you can trust me.”
“Stop it, Flim!” His hoof pounded the table, causing the glasses to rattle. Such force seemed to surprise Flam himself, as he swiftly withdrew his hooves and began to rub his temple. Flim was sitting with his back erect and eyes wide. The remaining ponies in the restaurant cast nervous glances over at the two.
Flam said softly, “I…I know about what you’ve done…what you’ve failed do. I've heard the stories. And now your brother's coming to the same exact town you’ve parked your flank for the last couple years...I know it almost seems too good to be true.”
“Naw, come on now, good ol’ brother of mine, you can’t really-.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“I’d appreciate it if you don’t interrupt me, Flam,” Flim uttered, his voice steadily rising. For the first time all night, he looked visibly emotional.
“Sorry. It's just that…whenever you call me that, I know what you’re trying to do.”
“And what, dare I ask, is that?”
“You are my brother, Flim. And…I love you like one. But your problems aren’t going to be solved by hopping aboard whoever has the most money. And I’m not going to let you waste your time trying to charm me into it. I can’t help you—.”
Suddenly, the other brother quickly stood up, his chair falling backwards with a loud thump. Slamming his hooves on the table, Flim bellowed, “And who the hell said I wanted your help?”
Flam stared straight into his brother’s icy eyes, which sent a chill through his body. Trying to back away, he begged quietly, “Come Flim, not here.”
“Why would I want help from the pony who stabbed me in the back?”
“Stabbed you in the…I did no such thing! Y-you were the one who…”
Flim reached across the table, jabbing his brother in the chest. His blood was boiling, and his mind and heart were racing at a hundred miles per hour. Rage started to flood his veins, almost covering up the slight ache he felt in his chest. “We were a team, Flam. We were supposed to stick together! But you never supported what we were doing! You had to run off and leave me to dry! When I needed you most, you weren’t there.”
“Flim, these baseless accusations—.”
“Baseless! Your entire business is baseless! The Super Cider Squeezy was my idea, and you used it to make your damned overpriced juicer!” He sucked in a couple of hot breaths, his hoof rubbing his chest. But the pain only seemed to get worse.
“But you just said we—.”
“You never would have gotten anywhere without me! All I want is my fair share! My cut of the profit! Is that too much to ask? You’ve let me rot in this dung-hole for too long! The plan was to make it together, as a team! But you threw that away and left me to fix it.” That ache had transformed into a searing pain. His heart pumped faster and faster, trying to compensate for the lack of oxygen, which was making his head spin.
Flam grasped his seat, holding up a leg to protect himself from the spittle flying from his brother’s mouth. The smell of fresh alcohol wafted into his nostrils and stung his eyes. He replied shakily, “Flim, if we could’ve stayed together, we would have. But …you kept gambling away our savings and spending whatever you had left on...on booze! You say we were a team, but everything we did was to suit your mood. Even the performances and the towns…you kept them all under your hoof. Now I’ll admit I deserve some of the blame, but…but that does not mean you’re getting off scot-free. It...it hurts to see that you actually believe what you're saying. I've tried to...”
“Shut up! You never tried. Just look at me! I’m a damned...d-d-damned...”
The words never came out, instead turning into choking gurgles coming from Flim's throat. His hoof was clenched tightly to his chest, where he felt as through a knife had stabbed him through. The pain began to radiate out—into his torso, his limbs, his head. The restaurant was spinning uncontrollably, outlines meshing into one smeared mess.
It took only a second for him to fall. Thousands of memories, names, words bounced through his mind. His heartbeat started to slow, every weak pump sending another jolt of pain. Down and down he went, spiraling into the dark abyss where his demons were waiting to pounce. It was like he was being dragged down by their wicked, cider-smelling claws, beating against the current, gasping for air. The thumping continued.
His jaw struck the side of the table on the way down with a crack, opening up a nasty gash. Then his body fell onto the floor as he clutched his burning chest. He felt the erratic thumping against the ground, and he was reminded of that wide-lipped drummer pounding away.
“Flim! Flim! Help! Somepony call an ambulance! Help!” his brother shouted. Placing his hooves on Flim’s back, Flam began to chatter frantically, but the words seemed to merge into an incoherent blur.
Dear gods, I’m thirsty, Flim thought as the vortex continued to swirl around him. So thirsty…damn thirsty…
He caught a glimpse of a puddle of wine—or was it blood?—pooling near the top of his head. Then, his brother’s cries faded away, and the world went black.
This isn’t anything but family business…family business…
…
Gods, I’m so thirsty…so damn thirsty…
The light turned on. The thumping began.
The first thing Flim heard was the sound of his own raspy breaths, accompanied by an incessant, high-pitched beeping. An ache still lingered in his chest, but the pain had died down, much like the thumping of his heart. He kept his eyes shut, trying to remember those last few moments before he collapsed. But it was all fuzzy, a fragmented piece of memory that he struggled to piece together.
Flim opened his eyes into slits, seeing that he was situated in a dark room, underneath some unfamiliar blue sheets. He shifted his head to the right towards a window, where it was still dark and rainy. Then he turned his head to the left, where a lone figure sat beside the bed, his head resting on his hooves.
Suddenly the figure glanced up. When he saw his brother awake, Flam’s eyes widened, and he let out a sigh of relief. “Flim? Oh thank goodness,” he muttered softly, rubbing his tired face with his foreleg.
Flim tried to respond, only to find his mouth wired shut, and a bandage wrapped tightly around his head. All he could do was grunt and shoot a resentful glare. His brother half-grinned, despite the sadness perpetuating from his green eyes. “I take it you’re probably upset,” Flam said. “I know I’d be if I couldn’t talk. You hit the table hard, really hard. Broke your jaw, and opened up a huge gash. Doc said thirteen stiches.”
He waited for an answer, out of habit more than anything. It was futile, of course, as Flim simply closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow. He attempted to move his limbs, but they felt heavy and almost detached, as though his brain was still establishing a connection with the rest of his body.
“You know, brother, I’ve always feared this is how we’d wind up together.” Flam propped himself on the side of the bed. “Only you’d smell like cider and I’d be bawling my eyes out. Only one of those is true, you know. I’ll let you guess which one.” Flim opened his eyes, noticing the crooked trails of matted fur going down his sibling’s cheeks.
“You’ve always had a fiery temper, brother. You were always insanely competitive. I…I suppose it’s good one of us was. Maybe that’s why we were such a good team.” The faintest hint of a smile tickled the corners of Flam’s mouth. He glanced to the side, as if the remnants of the past would come flying across the room. But after a while of useless pondering, he sighed, adding, “…You know, before everything went to hell.”
Flam noticed his brother’s breathing quicken and his eyebrows arch menacingly. The beeping on the monitor sped up. Flim looked like he wanted to scream, but his jaw remained locked in place by the bandages and wires, and his weak body remained motionless.
Flam quickly placed a hoof on his brother’s shoulder, knowing he couldn’t shrug it away. “Brother, please...you can’t be so angry all the time. Your heart can’t take it. The doctor said you’ll be fine, but you’ll have to take medication to keep your blood pressure down. And no strenuous exercise or outbursts like that again.” Pausing, he whispered, “He…he said you were lucky. Said you had years of strain on your heart. It could’ve given out anytime.”
He let out a long sigh, followed by a soft chuckle. Wiping his nose on his sleeve, he continued, “It’s…crazy, Flim. I don’t know about you…but when the doctor told me that…it felt like my heart was gonna explode or something. I-isn’t that crazy? I think it’s crazy.”
Another empty silence, only pierced by a couple beeps on the monitor. Flim’s eyes were turned away from his sibling, focusing on a black mark—maybe a fly, or some dirt— on the window. Behind him, the voice continued, “I'm sorry you can’t respond. You probably have a lot to say…you always do. Well this time, so do I. I’ve had a couple of years to think about this stuff, actually. It’s just…too bad it took this to make it happen. I know you probably don’t think so, but I never stopped caring for you, brother. If you thought I never thought about you, well you’re wrong. Not a day went by when I didn’t wonder where you were. But you had disappeared off the face of the earth, and the only things I heard about you were from snippets in newspapers.”
Same goes for you, Flim thought, only able to roll his eyes.
“When I got your letter…I didn’t know what to feel. I guess I looked forward to seeing you, and dreaded it at the same time. I…I wanted it to be like old times, you understand? I wanted to act like brothers again. And for a little bit, at dinner, I was having fun. Real, bona-fide fun. I guess among all the jazz and the dancing and the wine, I thought I saw a chance. I thought we’d changed.”
Flam looked down and, for a split second, locked onto a pair soft eyes staring up at him. But they quickly flickered away, hardening once again. Drawing in a deeper breath, he continued, “Who…who are we, Flim? All we’ve been doing is trying to run away. But no matter how far we try to go, or how much we try to pry ourselves apart, we always end up right here, in the same spot. The two of us…stuck together. Maybe…maybe that really is our fate."
Fate? Don't get me started on fate...gods, that beeping...that incessant beeping! And that mark, what is that? Flim shifted ever so slightly in his bed.
“Before I came here, I told myself I wouldn’t help you. No matter what you said, I wasn’t going to give you anything. I tried to distance myself from you. But now I realize…that’s impossible. I’m not going to give you a share of my money. I can’t hand you something you haven’t earned. But I can give you a job. Nothing big; you know that. But it will be something. I assure you this is the best way, Flim. You’ll get some money to support yourself, I’ll make sure of it. But not without some hard work, you understand? Please…please give me a sign.”
He glanced down, hoping to find those eyes staring back at him once again. But all he received was a bandaged cheek. Casting a frustrated sigh, Flam kneeled down next to the bed, clutching his brother’s limp hoof. Holding it to his forehead as though it might slip away, he whispered, “I don’t want to leave you like this. I…I can’t. I’ve failed to help you before, and I can’t let myself do that again. You are my brother, and I’ve got to take care of you.” He planted a kiss on the foreleg, holding back the tears welling up in his eyes. “I-I'm so, so sorry, Flim. I just want both of us to be fine.”
The brother kneeled silently by the bed, the clock ticking away the slow seconds. The endless drone of the storm continued, as did the beeping. There was no sign of stopping.
Suddenly, a muffled sound began to grow from Flim’s throat, the short wheeze of a labored breath. Flam looked up, eyes wide. Flim’s head was turned away; his eyes kept staring at the mark on the window.
“Go……….awayyy……Flam...”
The words hung in the air for a moment, before crashing down right atop Flam’s scruffy mane. Three words, three seconds—opening up the floodgates holding back years of worry and guilt. He slowly stood up, letting out a quivering breath. Standing there, watching over the blanketed figure that he knew would never respond, he let the tears fall onto the tiled floor. “I’ll…I’ll always have a spot open for you,” Flam said feebly. “You…you know how to contact me, okay?”
Levitating a cap to his head, the brother made his way toward the door. He stopped halfway, casting a pale shadow which engulfed his brother. Turning his head, he whispered, “I love you, Flim. Someday I hope you’ll believe me.”
The sound of clopping hooves echoed in the hallway, fading away until all was silent except for the rain. Flim found himself staring at those droplets on his window, jaggedly travelling along the glass. The unknown black mark was still there, a still shape in the constantly moving torrent. A trembling hoof slid out from under the covers, trying to reach for the windowsill, for the tiny black smudge. But like the countless raindrops fighting the relentless pull of gravity, it fell far short of the edge.
The light of the lantern was blinding, causing the migraines to rack his skull once again. He shut his eyes once more, this time slowly easing his way back to reality. Throbs pounded right in the spot where his horn met his head, but now they were accompanied by the pounding in his chest. Flim sat up on the mattress, his head wildly jerking about, trying to figure out where he was. When the familiar writing desk came into view, he let his head fall back down onto the pillow, letting out a long sigh.
It had been almost a month since Flim had been released from the hospital to trek home alone in the cold winter wind. Since then, he had continued his search for a job—a fruitless endeavor—while warming his insides the only way he knew how.
The unicorn lay motionless, hoping that slumber would wrap its claws around him again. But he never received such luxury, leaving him to wallow on that dirty mattress as the scent of cider wafted out of his mouth and into his nostrils. Eventually the burning became too much to bear, and Flim sat up once again.
Rubbing his hooves across a pair of sunken bloodshot eyes, he glanced at his window, surprised to see it was still dark. The silence was maddening, so he laboriously stood up, scratching his neck with a yawn. He knocked over a pair of empty bottles by his bed, the clanks sending another shot into his skull. “Dear gods,” he mumbled, placing one hoof on the wall to regain his balance. Using the wall as a guide, he stumbled toward the kitchen.
He made his way to the counter, passing the living room, still packed with crates and boxes. The newspaper was still flipped open, red Xs filling the page. Levitating a bottle to his lips, Flim tried to take a drink, only to find just a single drop falling onto his lips.
“Damn thing,” he muttered through gritted teeth, vigorously shaking the bottle over his head. With a growl, he tossed the bottle at the wall, shattering it to pieces. He waited, staring at the serrated glass. But nopony outside responded, and silence reigned once more.
“Damn thing,” he repeated, turning back toward the living room. He plopped down on the stained green chair, scooping up the newsprint in his hooves. Skimming the words with a blank stare, Flim sat there with his head lolling to the side.
Finally, he flipped over to the Job Listings, where numerous Xs stood out. There were many of them, countless, an endless scene of Xs dotting the page like craters on a barren lunar landscape. Each of them glared at him, taunting him, mocking him. He couldn’t turn away from them, and his failures continued to stare back, just as they had done in last month’s paper, and the month before that, and the month before that. He found himself tearing off a piece, then another, then another, ripping the newsprint until it was nothing but confetti in his hooves, a guttural moan growing in his throat. Then with a scream, he tossed the wad at the wall, exploding into tiny red and white remnants all over the floor.
Flim sank to the bottom—of the chair, of that vortex that always seemed to suck him back in. He cast his eyes up, as though looking for the salvation that waited in the heavens above. The mark on the window followed him around now, popping up on the walls, on the ground, and in the air. At times it would morph into many different spots of color, a ruthless takeover of his vision. This time around, the red spots coincided with the throbbing in his head.
Almost blinded by red, he began to stand up, only to trip over something lying by the chair. The bundle was a coat—in fact, the very same one he had worn to dinner that night very, very long ago. Focusing in on the bundle, he was compelled to rummage through the pockets. The first thing he pulled out was a handful of gold coins—the same ones he had pilfered from Flam’s jacket. An image of the casket of cider the coins could buy came to mind.
His other hoof searched the rest of the coat. At first, it appeared to be stripped clean. But soon, his hoof grazed the tip of something flat, and thinking it was more money, Flim hurriedly pulled it out. It was no dollar bill or gold coin, but a folded up wad of paper. In his haste to pick it up, a tiny card slipped out from its folds. Levitating it off the ground, he began to read.
Flam and Co. Cider Innovations
Opportunity seekers…nonpareil.
212 Boardwalk Blvd, Fillydelphia
Flim tilted his head and furrowed his brow, unable to remember taking a business card from his brother. He flipped it over, where he was greeted with a picture of Flam’s warm smile. Flim almost returned the gesture, until his eyes lighted upon the quote next to his head. One minor alteration in particular caught his attention. A single dark letter had been penciled in.
“It’s your’s for the taking!”
With a frown, he unfolded the other piece of paper to find a short note scrawled in ink. The words were jagged, written by a trembling quill.
Maybe the businesses change…but our family doesn’t.
Love always, Flam
P.S. This time, you can keep the change…good ol’ brother of mine.
He stared at the two silently, glancing to the shredded pieces of paper on the ground, then back to the papers floating before him. A long moment passed as he sat back on his haunches, while the words started to sink in. Memories came rushing back, but this time they weren’t the usual bitter reminders of poverty-stricken life, but the bright remnants of days past. And there was only one pony who was in each and every one of them.
Flim clutched onto the tiny picture of his brother, pressing it against his throbbing heart, trying to keep steady in the ever-changing, swirling vortex. Opportunity seekers. That’s what they had called themselves. And yet, he had let the biggest and most important one slip through his hooves.
Or perhaps not. All of a sudden, the living room looked so unbearably big—or was it he felt so small? He couldn’t tell if he was hallucinating again, or if it was the alcohol doing the thinking. But the apartment now felt far too oversized. And empty.
Flim felt sick to his stomach; the stench of alcohol on his body made his insides churn. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now the scent was amazingly strong. He crept back to his room, leaving the notes and the hoof-full of bits in his coat. Using his magic, he cleared the floor of the glass bottles, shoving them into the trash bin. Making his way to his writing desk, he took out a piece of parchment, levitated a quill to the paper, and began to write.
Dear Flam,
These past few weeks have given me time to think about what you said, and maybe...I...I
The quill paused. After a minute of silence, he began to furiously write once more, blinking back the tears in his eyes. It was still dark outside, but Flim didn’t feel tired in the least.
After all, opportunity wasn’t going to seek itself.
