The Plan

The Plan.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Rumble was absolutely certain that he couldn’t look any better if he tried. His face was thin and sharp, and there was just the right amount of gel in his mane. Not so much as a single loose strand stood out from the rest; they all filed neatly in line and offered no sacrifice to the deadly hinderance known as ‘parting’.

Just below the mirror and to the left of the cracked porcelain sink, was a small bottle of Hoity Toity’s cologne ‘Perfection’.

He wasn’t normally a colt who would seek out the aid of faux-pheromones in a bottle, but tonight was special, so he unscrewed the lid, spilled no more than what would be subtle enough not to sting nostrils onto his hooves and slapped himself in the cheeks, under his pits, his throat and then — in a moment of privacy he hoped stayed between him and a mare later that night — around his crotch.

He stared at himself again and grinned.

“Rock ‘N’ Roll.”

His reflection grinned back at him and then winked.

Tonight was going to be mental. A classic affirmation of all the things right, good and proper about youth. The shackles of any and all forms of oppression were going to be thrown off. Tonight was about having fun, and Rumble was a pony who knew a lot about that.

***

Rumble stepped out of the bathroom, jolted down the hallway past his bedroom and Thunderlane’s. Theirs was a flop house, a revolving door for all the vagrants, vagabonds and wasted thrill seekers in Ponyville who wanted to seek shelter from the cold, hard realities of life in Equestria.

That was home; a two story, three bedroom blend of carved mahogany, drywall and plaster. It stood proudly on the same street as many of Ponyville’s prominent members of society — Fluttershy’s cottage was three doors down, on the opposite side. Beside it, Lyra and Bon Bon’s shared home — and was lived in by Thunderlane, Rumble, Brolly and Cloudkicker, with an open invitation for a spot on the couch, floor, kitchen or, if need be, the stairwell to anyone who called themselves a 'friend' of the four ponies.

Once Rumble reached the staircase to the main floor, he pushed off the ground with his legs and cleared twenty one steps in one lavish leap. His hooves touched down against the purple carpet of the the main floor and the vibrations from his contact with earth shook the house.

There was muffled laughter and muted cheering coming from the living room. Curiously, Rumble peeked his head around the corner to see who, or what, was the cause. When his head rounded the corner, an empty beer can struck him in the centre of his flat forehead.

Thunderlane was home.

Rumble wiped his brother’s backwash off of his forehead with the back of his left hoof, then glared at the ponies sitting in his living room. There were four of them; two stallions, two mares. All pegasi. Brolly — a thick necked, round chested stallion with a bone white coat, brown mane and hard eyes — sat on the black faux-leather couch with his his leg wrapped tightly around Flitter’s waist. In the puke green recliner opposite the couch was Rumble's brother — Thunderlane. Perched neatly on his lap, sipping beer out of a silver can, was Cloud Kicker.

Between the couch and the recliner was a coffee table, and on it was a case of a case of Lo-Brau beer — minus one crushed can that had been turned into the projectile that struck Rumble’s forehead — and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts and and burned out roaches. The lights in the room were dim, and somepony had taped two giant beach towels over the plexiglass windows. The air smelt foul and rotten. Cigarette smoke mixed with the stench of stale beer and fast food to create a heinous aroma that would etch itself in the couches and floor for months to come.

Rumble liked it.

“Hey, Rumble,” Thunderlane said, stealing the pegasus's attention. “You got time for a beer?”.

Rumble touched his mane once more to make sure that the neither the can — nor the traces of beer left behind by it — hadn’t done damage to his flow. It felt right, the shape was centered and no strands stood out. He relaxed a bit, grinned at his brother and flopped onto the couch beside Flitter.

“I guess I have time for one,” he said. “I'm supposed to meet Shady outside, and-”

“He can wait,” said Brolly, cutting him off. “Grab a beer.”

It was less a few words of friendly advice and more of a demand. Frowning, Rumble leaned back in the seat. From the corner of his eye he watched as Flitter too frowned, then leaned forwards and grabbed a beer from the case on coffee table. She turned to him and smiled.

“Here you go, Rumble.”

When she reached over to pass it to him, her leg brushed against the fur on his chest. She dropped the beer in his lap, then pulled her hoof back across his chest. Slowly. Her hoof brushed over his pectoral muscles and, instinctively, he flexed his chest. Flitter giggled, and then the faintest trace of a smile creased across his black lips.

Brolly's ears twitched when he heard his girlfriend's laugh, and then, he leaned his muzzle forward and kissed Flitter on the throat. She gave a playful laugh and threw her head back. Brolly's pink tongue made it's way from his mouth and ran over the fur on her neck. Flitter giggled and laughed, but Rumble could tell it wasn’t real. When he finished, Brolly pulled off of Flitter's throat — leaving behind a wet mark where he'd assaulted her with his tongue and lips — and stared at Rumble the hardest look he could manage.

Rumble just rolled his eyes

Flitter didn’t love Brolly.

Flitter didn’t do love (her words.)

The colt who could pick out a proper bouquet of daffodils (her favorites), slap the right kinds of cologne onto all of the sweet spots, afford to pay for both halves of a dinner at The Peasant Cookery or Industrial Chop, and knew which kind of chocolates she liked (those little coconut rum balls from Bon Bon’s shop) could get with Flitter. She went through stallions as quickly as Button Mash went through hoof lotion and boxes of double-ply tissues.

Once at a house party less than a year and a half ago, Flitter threw him into a bathroom and stole his innocence on the porcelain tiled floor. Despite how drunk he, and she, had been, Rumble remembered that night vividly. He remembered how she'd kissed him with an open mouth and a roaming tongue. How she'd told him that he was too adorable for her not to do it. How she'd spent twenty minutes after it was over talking about how much she wished he was older so that they could 'actually' date. She was still with Brolly then and Rumble couldn’t have cared less. Flitter was gorgeous, Brolly was an idiot. What they had together wasn’t ever going to see an altar or have them exchanging vows. Rumble regularly thanked the powers above for this.

Licking his dry and cracked lips, Rumble replayed that night in his head.

“How’s school, Rumble?” Cloudkicker asked.

She shifted her weight on Thunderlane’s lap, grinding her bottom against his pelvis and then smiled at Rumble. Her smile was less playful and flirty than Flitter's, and more straight forward.

Of all the girls that Thunderlane had brought home since he’d discovered the function of the organ between his legs, Cloud Kicker was by and far his favorite. It wasn’t just because she was hot, or that when she was drunk she flirted with him; it was something else. Something about her smile, and her voice, and the way she flicked her mane back with her hoof when she was excited.

There was something about Cloud Kicker that Rumble liked more than any other girl he’d met before. It didn’t make him want to screw her, or even get physical with her, he just liked to spend time in her company.

“School’s alright, I guess,” he said, “My english teacher’s got a huge stick up his ass, though. He gave me detention for calling Chowder a ‘Porkchop’ again. I’m supposed to write a stupid fifteen hundred word essay on why it’s wrong to ‘hurt feelings’. It’s lame.”

“Which one’s Chowder?” Brolly asked.

“Just this tubby little pony I sit beside in class who hasn’t learned how to work the knobs on his shower yet.” said Rumble. “The guy’s got ‘loser’ written all over him; I mean, he wore a fez to school once in third grade. Not ironically.”

Brolly laughed.

Rumble opened the can in his hooves and sucked the froth off of the lid. He swallowed two long gulps, set the can down on the coffee table and kicked back in his seat.

“You’re gonna end up like your brother if you don’t learn to behave yourself, Rumble,” Cloud Kicker said, scooting herself off of Thunderlane’s lap, “And the last thing this town needs is another uneducated hedonist waving his dick around like he's Celestia's gift to mares...”

She turned and shot Thunderlane a playful smirk, her eyes sunken and a wry-grin dancing up her left cheek. Revolted as he wasn't, Thunderlane just snorted a laugh, wound his left hoof backwards and slapped her on the right ass cheek with it. Cloud Kicker yelped and shot into the air.

“Oh, that’s really funny, ‘Kicker.” Thunderlane said once she'd landed on the ground, “If you don’t stop complaining I’ll have to find a fun way to keep that mouth of yours full.”

Brolly laughed loud enough that the vibrations shook the walls. A picture of Rumble and Thunderlane with their grandparents, wearing suits and not smiling, shook and a cracked vase wobbled on the shelf behind the couch.

“Wow, Thunderlane.” Cloud Kicker sighed, “Could you try and not act like such an asshole in front of your little brother?”

“I think he can handle it,” Thunderlane turned to Rumble, “You’re not offended are you, Rumble?”

Rumble shook his head and had another sip of beer.

“See, my brother’s got sack.”

Her eyes fell on Rumble. She opened her mouth, and it looked like she was about to say something, but no words came out. Instead, a pained and pitiful sigh escaped from her lips and she sagged her head.

Rumble swallowed, then took a longer sip of beer.

Thunderlane leaned back in the recliner and crossed his legs behind his head.

“Wanna make me a sandwich while you’re up?”

Brolly belted out a jovial chuckle, a muted laugh that rumbled from deep in his chest and bounced off the walls in the room. Cloud Kicker’s eyes narrowed into slits and her eyebrows sunk on down her forehead.

“Would it helped if I said ‘I love you’?” said Thunderlane, grinning a mouth full of white teeth at her.

“Asshole!”

Cloud Kicker stomped her way out of the room, and Rumble whipped his body backwards to watch her leave. She stopped just before the doorway to the kitchen, turned to him and he could see the hurt in her eyes. He tried to offer and apology for his brother's behavior through the soft smile he gave her, but she would have none of it. She turned into the kitchen without so much as a sigh or a whimper.

Rumble turned back to Thunderlane, who was still grinning.

“Mares...” he sighed, staring at Brolly.

“Yeah,” Brolly said, rubbing Flitter’s back with his left hoof, “What are you gonna do?”

“She wants me to take her to that new place, The Gilded Oat, right? Like my name is Filthy Rich or something?” Thunderlane said, “Can you believe that?”

“Yeah, but if you were Filthy Rich you’d be hooked up with a stuck up, rich bitch like Lady Rarity.”

“She does have a nice ass, though”

“Yeah.” Brolly nodded, “She’s a total hardbody.”

Rumble stared at Flitter now. She’d dropped her head and was having trouble bringing the smile back to her face. Empathetic as he was, Rumble stopped himself from making any form of movement to help ease her tension.

Living under the same roof as Brolly, and having strong feelings for the well being of the girl he used and abused so tastelessly made it hard for Rumble to keep her in good spirits without Brolly knowing it. He prodded her leg with the tip of his right hoof, and when she turned to him, he offered a goofy grin. He wiggled his eyebrows, aimed his hoof at Brolly and mouthed curses about the pegasus.

Flitter giggled.

Brolly sat beside them, none the wiser.

“I can’t believe Filthy Rich is hitting that!” said Brolly, “He’s gotta be, what; fifty? Sixty? And, shit, he’s got a kid too!”

“Yeah, Diamond Tiara,” said Rumble “I used to sit next to her in Algebra. She’s kind of a bitch.”

“Figures,” said Thunderlane.

“I’ve seen her around,” Brolly said. “She’s pretty cute for her age.”

“Pedo.”

The word slipped out of his mouth before he realized it, but no pony seemed to notice. If they did hear him, Brolly and Thunderlane didn’t seem to either find offense, or understand the definition behind the word. This was both relieving, and worrying to Rumble.

“I really don’t think it’s Filthy’s lack of looks that Rarity’s after.” Thunderlane explained, “I’d bet you a six pack that she’s just giving him the ride for as long as it takes for her to get written into his will.” he grinned, “She’s got ‘gold digger’ written all over her.”

Brolly nodded.

Rumble remembered the time that Sweetie Belle had lent him her quill and ink to scribble down notes in algebra. How she could come from the same bloodline that had created a mare like Rarity seemed like a cosmic injustice. Sweetie Belle was sweet. Rarity was something else, entirely. He never had any proper interactions with her, all he knew about her were the rumors, or what Thunderlane, Brolly, Cloud Kicker or Flitter said about her. They never had anything nice to say.

“I’d still hit it.” Brolly said, laughing. “I bet she’s nice and tight.”

“Yeah,” said Thunderlane. “You’re preachin’ to the choir, Brolly.”

Ponyville was a small town where gossip reigned as the leading source of information. According to the grape vine, somepony (who exactly, no one could say for sure) had caught Mr. Filthy Rich (the well known widower) and Ms. Rarity (who’d been shamed out of Manehattan) dining together at The Gilded Oat. The rumors came mostly from the mouths of bored housewives waiting in checkout lines at S-Mart, still, no one doubted their claims. Many ponies had seen the two together in recent weeks and so, as far as the rumor mill went in Ponyville, that also meant they were dating.

None of it surprised Rumble. Ponies liked to talk about what they didn’t know. The only thing that was mildly curious was this time the rumor hadn’t come from the mouth of Diamond Tiara, as so many others did.

Flitter, who had been sitting silently while her boyfriend, and his best friend talked trash about Filthy Rich and lusted over Rarity, sighed to herself while they continued to breath life into rumors of the two dating. She turned to Rumble and smiled softly at him.

He smiled back at her.

“So, Rumble,” she said, leaning towards him, “What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing crazy,” he said, “It’s Button Mash’s birthday today, so Shady and I are gonna drag the dork out of his masturbation station and take him out for a few drinks. Maybe see if there’s a house party somewhere we can crash?”

“Oh, fun, fun.” Flitter said and clapped her hooves together. “No wonder you’re all dolled up.”

Thunderlane turned his head towards the two and grinned. “Yeah, Rumble. Usually you look like dog shit when you get out of bed.” he said, “Looks like someone put on his big boy pants this morning.”

Brolly snorted so hard that beer came dripping out of his nose. Rumble felt his cheeks growing flush. He shook the look of embarrassment off of his face, took another sip from the can and threw a dirty look at Thunderlane.

“Blow me.”

Thunderlane leaned back in the chair and kicked his lower legs on the leg rest. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Rumble.” He said, leaning his head into the headrest so that it parted his mohawk, “Why don’t you just ask your little butt buddy, Shady?”

“You guys suck.” Rumble groaned, “There’s nothing wrong with Shady.”

“Uh, yeah there is, Rumble.” said Brolly. “He’s a fag.”

Rumble said nothing, frowned then took another sip of beer.

“I think Shady Daze is sweet.” said Flitter. “Who cares if he’s gay?”

Brolly glared at Flitter long and hard. She tried to smile, but it fell into a frown and then the room fell into silence. When Rumble realized no one else would speak in Shady’s defense, he finished his beer, crushed the can in his hooves and threw it onto the coffee table. It slid off the table and hit the ground.

No one in the room made a move to clean the mess.

“Well, listen, this has been fun and all,” Rumble said, shooting up from the couch, ”But I’ve got a lot of debauchery to get into.”

Thunderlane and Brolly nodded their heads. Flitter bat her eyes at him. “Have fun, Rumble." she said, "And, oh, don’t forget to tell Button Mash we say happy birthday?”

Rumble turned his head back towards her and winked. She winked back, reached for a beer and tossed it to him. “For the road.”

“Thanks.”

He cracked the beer open and swallowed back as much as he could before he made it to the front door. To the left was the door to the walk in closet. Rumble tore it open. The room was the second smallest in the house and a total mess. Nothing was hung on hangers. Instead, everything found a place hanging off of shelves or in piles on the floor. There were jackets on top of windbreakers and winter coats piled over top of them. He waded through the mess, careful not to crush anything in any of the pockets and moved closer to the back, until he found the one he was looking for.

Hanging by a sleeve under a pile of cardboard boxes was an apple green track-jacket with solid white stripes running down the sleeves. Rumble slipped it on, pulled it to his waist then pulled the zipper down just enough to show off his pectoral muscles.

There was a mirror in the closet that Rumble found himself fascinated with. He admired the himself; the shape his mane took was flawless and his chest was boastful of the last six months that he and Thunderlane had spent running the length of the gorge together. The muscles in his legs bulged against the fabric of the track-jacket. He flexed.

He looked good.

Great.

Drop dead handsome.

He was a sexy beast.

A weighted object in the right pocket of his coat peaked his curiosity. He reached inside and what he pulled out brought a smile to his face. A clear glass bottle, the size and weight of a cheap book, filled with translucent liquid. The label was scratched off, so Rumble twisted the cap off, brought it to his lips and took a swig to figure out what it was.

Potato vodka; something from one of the ass ends of Equestria (Trottingham, most likely) that was probably brewed in a bathtub and sold out in backdoor deals from moonshiners, to bar owners, to patrons.

But, where had he gotten it from?

The house party six weeks ago? He remembered trading four pressed caps of Candy Dust to someone, for something. Could this have been the end result? A bottle of unlabeled, bathtub brewed vodka? It made sense, and Rumble didn’t want to worry too much about it. He had the vodka now, which was all that really mattered.

Grinning at his reflection, he backed out of the closet, spun the door to his home open and decided to start his day off with a drunken smile.

***

The steps that made up the stoop outside of Rumble and Thunderlane’s home were concrete and cold. Five of them separated the front door from the ground, divided by a set of black metal rails on both sides. Between them, on the fifth step up, sat Shady Daze with an issue of Freak Power in his lap.

Time had been kind to Shady Daze, and it reflected in the ‘I- just-got-out-of-bed-but-still-look-sexy’ look he’d spent long years cultivating. He stood a head taller than most of the ponies in his grade, and was thin, but not lanky or malnourished. He kept his mane long, wild and wavy. Unlike Rumble, Shady Daze didn’t use product in his mane. Shampoo, conditioner and a quick dry with a towel was his rhetoric. Rumble liked to put chemicals in his mane. Shady Daze liked to look au naturel.

There were half a pack of Red Apples in the front pocket of his wool lined jean jacket and Shady fished them out. He shook one loose, bit it by the filter, lit the end and took in a lungful of cancer. When he exhaled he puckered his lips into an ‘O’ and tried to blow smoke clouds. It took half a cigarette for him to realize that he couldn’t. Instead of failing further, he flipped through the comic in his lap.

On the pages, Freak Power kicked Aunt Flow in the face and her exploded into a splash page of blood, skull, brain and gore. The colours were vibrant — deep reds, bright purples and chalky whites — and Shady Daze spent some time staring at them, admiring the art style.

He flipped through a few more pages and took another drag from his cigarette.

Freak Power stood on the rooftop of The Equestrian State building and gave a speech about

‘Truth, Justice and The Equestrian Way’. Shady Daze finished his cigarette, stamped it out on the steps until it was nothing but black ash and crushed orange filter, then flicked the butt over the fence.

Behind him the doorknob spun and the door flew open; Shady Daze turned his head to see Rumble standing in the open doorway.

“Sup, homo?”

Rumble flopped down beside Shady Daze and stared at him for a moment. He cocked his head to the right side, his eyes moved up and down, scanning his face, then a pitiful sigh escaped his lips. “You look like shit, Shady.”

Shady Daze ran his hoof through his mane, sighed then shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I didn’t really get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Aww, poor baby.” Rumble cooed, “Late night drinking merlot and reading Stallion Stuffer Weekly?”

“Something like that.” Shady yawned. “Twist let me stay at her place again and, like, she’s super nice about it — so are her folks — but, I can’t get a good night sleep in a bed that’s not my own, you know?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Rumble waved his hooves through the air, “You slept at Twist’s place? Again?”

Shady Daze nodded.

“Dude, this is like, the third time this week she’s let you stay over. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were just using that whole gay thing as a cover up for not wanting to tell anyone you two are back together?”

“Oh, Rumble.” Shady Daze said, sighing, “How many times did your parents drop you on the head when you were a kid?”

Rumble’s wings lifted with a shrug of his shoulders. He shook his head, rolled his eyes and slapped the concrete steps with his hooves.

“My place is just being fumigated.” Shady said, “She’s being a friend.”

“With benefits?”

“Don’t you have any filters?”

“Nah." Rumble said, "Growing up with Thunderlane made me pretty dead to the whole ‘empathy’ thing.”

Shady Daze rolled his eyes.“Yeah, obviously...”

Rumble grinned again, reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of potato vodka. He took a nip, swallowed hard then offered it to Shady. Shady took it from Rumble's clutches and sniffed the open mouth of the bottle. His nostrils scrunched up and his eyes snapped shut. Still, he brought the bottle to his mouth and took a nip for himself, before passing it back to Rumble.

“How come you didn’t just stay here?” Rumble asked, wiping saliva and backwash from his mouth with his left hoof and taking the bottle from Shady with his right. “We’ve got the room?”

“Yeah, right, and wake up to Brolly giving me a blanket party?” Shady’s body tensed. “No thanks, Rumble. I choose life.”

“You make him sound like hate monger, Shady.” Rumble said, “Brolly likes you.”

“Dude, he called me a ‘Fairy’ the last time I saw him.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Shady.” said Rumble. “Brolly’s an okay guy. I mean, yeah, he’s super dense. And, he definitely doesn’t deserve a girl like Flitter, but he’s alright other than that.”

“Whatever.”

“C’mon, Shady.” Rumble nuzzled Shady’s shoulder with his hoof. “Let’s see a smile?”

Shady turned to Rumble, rolled his tongue out of his mouth and blew a raspberry.

“That’s more like it.” cheered Rumble, slapping Shady on the shoulder.

Shady smirked, nudged the hoof off of his shoulder then turned to face Rumble. “So, what’s the plan tonight, anyway?”

Rumble scratched his chin and struck a pose artists would describe as ‘contemplative.’ He murmured a few quiet “Hmm’s” to himself before his face lit up.

“I thought since Button Mash is now legal all across this slab of dirt and pony-shit that we call home, we should celebrate another year of his cheating death with some good old fashioned bar hopping and see if we can find that little dork something to park his pecker in?”

“And he’s okay with this?”

“I couldn’t say for sure,” Rumble shrugged, “I haven’t told him yet.”

“Of course not. That would make way too much sense, right?”

Rumble nodded.

“Who’s the lucky lady?”

“I was sort of thinking we could get him drunk enough that girls think he’s being ironic when he talks about his kill-death ratio in Thirst for Blood. Then, we just throw him at something dumb and slutty and hope for the best?”

Shady Daze’s laugh cracked the air like a whip. “Sounds about right. What’s the first stop on our way?”

“Well, we’re doing cake at Button’s. Hence the day drinking,” Rumble said, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking another nip, “Then, we hit The Toad, grab a beer, see who’s all there. If it’s a bust we move on to the next bar, and so on, and so forth. But, I’ll be damned if there’s not a single available mare out on a friday night who won’t go home with a guy like Button Mash.”

“You’re going to have a really hard time selling this to him,” Shady said, “He told me at school today that all he wanted to do was take it easy tonight, you know? Kick back, play some games and have some cake. That sorta thing.”

“Oh, for Luna’s sake!” Rumble shouted, “He’s got the rest of his life to sit in his basement, filling his garbage can with all the sinful waste he makes when he reads Filly Fanny Fun and Moanin’ Mares!”

“Hey, I didn’t say I had a problem with it.”

“Well, good." Rumble said with a grin spreading up his cheeks, "Because, like it or not, we’re taking him out, and I’m not above foalnapping him either.”

Shady Daze chuckled. Rumble cracked his neck until it made the sound of a log snapping in half, and then ran a hoof through his mane. Light from the sun glistened off the grease on his hoof and reflected in his eyes. He leaned his head backwards, shut his eyes tight and spoke.

“How does my mane look?”

It was a question grounded in narcissism and redundancy; for as long as Shady Daze had known Rumble, the pegasus had never worn his mane any different than how it looked now. It was slicked backwards, sharp at the end, soft in the front. The same way it looked every single day of his life going back to the earliest memories Shady Daze had of Rumble.

“It looks fine.” he answered.

Rumble snapped his eyes open and tilted his face to Shady Daze. He was frowning.

“Come on, don’t make this weird,” said Rumble, “Do I look good or not?”

“Yes, Rumble." Shady Daze said, batting his eyes towards him, "You look absolutely darling.”

He spoke in a posh accent mimicking Sweetie Belle’s older sister Rarity, and to accent his point, he ran his hoof across Rumble’s chest and flicked the fur around his right pectoral.

Rumble furrowed his eyebrows further down his head and snarled a mouth full of pearly whites at Shady. “Fuck off, homo!”

Shady Daze grinned and rubbed Rumble’s chest again. He pet the fur around Rumble’s throat softly, until Rumble drew back and swiped Shady’s hoof away from him.

“C’mon, Shady!” he shouted, “Seriously! Don’t be such a-”

“-Fag?”

“Yeah...”

Rumble rolled his tongue over molars. “No offense, Shady,” he said, “But you’re acting super frou-frou right now.”

“Geez, Rumble.” Shady sighed, “Have any unresolved issues with ‘the gays’?”

“Hey!” Rumble snapped, “Just because I don’t want to have guys touching me where my bathing suit covers does not make me a bigot, Shady!”

“No, but it kind of makes you an asshole for saying it like that...”

“Oh, sorry for not being P.C. enough for you, princess." Rumble grunted, "But, I don’t pitch for your team, and I aim to keep it that way.”

“Being gay isn’t a disease, retard.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, I don’t know where your hooves have been..." said Rumble, cocking his jaw to the left, "I mean, okay, tissue... You know, like, skin cells and body fluids? They, like, transfer diseases through contact with skin, and...”

“Just quit while you’re ahead.” said Shady, “You're not going to catch my 'gay', Rumble.”

“I didn’t say that!” Rumble snapped, “I just don’t wanna get some weird homo disease… Not that you have one, just… Well, you never know, and-”

“-Seriously, Rumble?” Shady Daze gawked, cutting Rumble off. “Are you seriously saying this to me right now?”

“What?” Rumble shrieked,

“Nothing,” Shady Daze’s face brightened with an ear-to-ear grin. “It’s just, this is pretty weird to hear coming from the guy who got chlamydia twice from the same girl.”

Rumble swallowed hard and sighed.

“Yeah, well… I was drunk on Vagrant’s Choice, and Flitter came on to me. I’m only Equestrian, Shady!” grunted Rumble, “Besides, how was I supposed to know that Brolly turned her into a fucking petri-dish?”

“Aww cute,” Shady cooed, “Sharing is caring, eh?”

“Shut. Up.” Rumble hissed through gritted teeth. “Like you wouldn’t have done it if you weren’t into the boys?”

“No, I’d still have standards, Rumble.” Shady said, “You know those little things that make you say ‘No’ to girls who have V.D.?”

“Oh, you’re so funny, Shady Daze,” Rumble droned, “At least I’m getting laid. When was the last time you had a poke, huh?”

Shady Daze didn’t really want to answer that question, but found himself doing it anyway.

“Ah, c’mon now, Rumble." Shady said, trying to grin but finding it faltering, "A proper gentlecolt never kisses and tells.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t really want to hear it.” Rumble said, then he stopped, looked at Shady, saw the frown his best friend wore, and spoke again. “I mean… look, I’m totally okay with your, um…”

“Unrestrained lust for stallions?”

“Yeah… that thing,” Rumble’s shoulders popped and his back shook the same way it would if a chill were to run up his spine. He rubbed his neck with his hoof, then put on a smile. “But, tonight is about throwing off the shackles of oppression, getting good and drunk and, hopefully, finding us all something to take home as a consolation prize. Even if that thing happens to be a dude in your case.”

“Thanks,” said Shady “And, look, all I know is that if you’re not careful about who you choose to put ‘Lil Rumble’ in, it’s going to fall off.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk, mom.” said Rumble, “Maybe when you’re done teaching me about the birds and the bees we can go out and get some ice cream, too?”

Shady Daze stared at Rumble and Rumble stared back at him. Time passed and neither pony spoke, until a grin spread up the sides of Shady Daze’s mouth and he started to laugh.

Rumble did the same.

“You’re such a dick,” Shady Daze said, batting his hoof against Rumble’s side.

Rumble punched him back on the shoulder. “You love it!”

More punches were thrown between the two; Rumble hit Shady in the face — hard enough to tilt the colt’s head, but soft enough not to bruise the flesh — and Shady got a sucker punch on the soft flesh around Rumble’s kidney. They laughed and spit half-hearted curses at each other; Rumble was a “Butt-Wipe” Shady decided, and Shady Daze was a “Knob-Gobbler” according to Rumble.

It lasted a few minutes, and by the time they were done, Shady Daze had his upper left leg wrapped around Rumble’s shoulder and was head-butting the colt on the neck. Rumble pressed his hooves into Shady’s chest and pushed the colt away from him. He grabbed both sides of the railing and launched himself down the five step clearing. Grey wings spread outwards and he landed on the ground with the grace and dignity of a common housecat, then he bowed towards Shady Daze.

“Such elegance.” Shady Daze laughed.

“You bet your incredibly loose butthole.” said Rumble, “I’m the real deal, Shady. I’m witty, handsome, charming, suave, sophisticated and, on top of all that, I have something between my legs that all the ladies go nuts for.”

“Let’s not forget how incredibly humble you are,” Shady Daze lolled, pulling himself upright using the railing on his left side.

“Yeah, that too,” Rumble nodded his head and laughed. “Now, let’s get out of here. I’ve spent more than enough time talking about steamy guy-on-guy smut with you. I wanna get going.”

Dust and dirt flew off the ground when Rumble spread his wings. He gave a trio of strong flaps, more dust flew at Shady Daze’s face and then Rumble lifted off the ground. A few more flaps of his wings and he was soaring above Shady Daze, spiraling in circles around him the way a bird of prey would.

“Last one to Button Mash’s buys the first round tonight!”

***

Just outside the door to Button Mash’s humble abode were where Shady Daze and Rumble found themselves. Rumble had knocked and now the two waited patiently for an answer. Both had on their faces their softest smiles and largest pair of eyes that they could manage. Keeping up appearances was important, and Button Mash’s mom had no doubt in her mind her son kept good company. Both Rumble and Shady Daze aimed to keep it that way, especially considering the notion that Rumble was half-drunk from his mid-day brush with potato vodka, and Shady Daze wasn't far behind him.

The door swung open and Ms. Mash stood in the opening. She was certainly something to stare slack jawed at; for a mare with two sons, her body was incredibly tight, fit and youthful. Thinner hips and a well rounded rear end that drew stares wherever she went. She owed a large part of her body to a daily jogging ritual that took her from her door, around town, through the park and then back home. She did this five times a week, both in the morning and at night.

“Hello, Ms. Mash,” Rumble greeted cheerfully, smiling at her, “You look very lovely today.”

“Hello boys,” said Ms. Mash.

Her eyes scanned the forms of the two young stallions before her and her smile grew. She wore an apron (“Respect The Chemistry”) over her chest, which had white powder stains and splotches of yellow batter. The smell that wafted from the entrance was sweet and settling. Baking was underway.

“I can’t get over how tall you two are are these days.” said Ms. Mash, sighing. “I swear, you grow a few inches every time I see you.”

“You better believe it,” Rumble whispered under his breath.

She turned around on her hooves and invited the two inside. Rumble stepped in first and his eyes followed the movement of her rear with each step she took into the house. He nudged Shady, rolled the tongue out of his mouth and licked the air in small clockwise circles.

Shady Daze chuckled quietly

The house was a bungalow and designed with a focus on the kitchen. No room on the first floor was more than six steps from the kitchen and all the hallways were narrow and had pictures of Button Mash, his brother and Ms. Mash hanging on them. Noticeably absent in all the photos was the ex-Mr. Mash.

Ms. Mash stopped just before the door to the basement and rapped her hoof against the door three times.

“Button, Shady and Rumble are here to see you.”

No answer.

She knocked again.

Silence.

“Maybe we should go down and grab him?” Shady suggested.

Rumble nodded.

“If you two could keep him busy for about an hour that would be great?" said Ms. Mash, "I’m just waiting for a cake in the oven.”

“Double chocolate, right?” asked Rumble.

“Yes." she nodded, "Shaped just like ‘Daring Do’. Button was very specific.”

“I’m sure he was.” said Shady Daze.

Rumble chuckled beside him.

“We’ll keep him busy for you, Ms. Mash.” he said.

“Thank you, boys.”

“No problem.” said the two younger ponies in unison.

And then Rumble pried the door open.

Button Mash had moved several times since he was a foal. The latest was into a bungalow with a fully furnished basement. The stairs led on the left to a bedroom room (Button Mash’s) and on the right to an entertainment area that Button Mash had put his personal stamp on; shelves were filled with game cartridges and volumes of comic books graphic novels and mangas. There was a separation between two walls of shelves where a flat screen T.V. stood. There was a faux-leather couch, a fold out futon beside it and a green recliner that all faced the T.V. On the walls were framed posters for video games, movies and comic books.

Button Mash’s basement was a Nirvana for nerds.

Nerdvana.

None of the lamps were on in the room on the right and there were muffled panting noises coming from the door to Button Mash’s room. Rumble led the way with Shady behind him. He pressed his ear against the door, a smile creased his lips and he chuckled.

“No way,” he whispered.

Shady Daze’s eyes crackled with excitement and curiosity. “What?”

“Take a wild guess what he’s doing in there right now?” said Rumble.

“Oh…” Shady sighed and scrunched up his face when realization hit him, “Eww. Can’t you knock or something, dude?”

Rumble did. He beat his hoof against the door and a short second later a voice, panicked, wry and nervous, replied.

“Don’t come in! Don’t open the door! I’m… I’m changing!”

Button Mash’s voice, nasally and high pitched, came in muffled through the door, followed soon after by the sounds of sheets being lifted, tossed, a drawer opening and closing, hooves thumping against the ground and then silence.

Rumble tapped his hoof against the floor. “Hurry up, Button.”

“Just… gimme a minute!”

More thumping from behind the wooden door.

“Three seconds,” Rumble said.

“What!? No!”

“One.”

“Rumble, I’m, like, naked…”

“Ponies don’t normally wear clothes, Button.”

This minor tidbit of information was added by Shady Daze.

“Two.”

“Rumble… wait!”

Before he could even reach ‘three’ Rumble body-checked the door open.

Laying flat on his stomach on a bed with the sheets thrown all around it, was Button Mash. He was sweating, his brown fur matted down around his face, pits and chest. He wore a look of pure and utter shock, staring backwards at Rumble and Shady Daze.

If Rumble was fit, and Shady Daze was thin, Button Mash sat somewhere in-between. He had a natural sort of pudge on his body. Not fat, or thin, just a well rounded ‘averageness’ that complimented all other aspects of him which fit somewhere between ‘Dull’ and ‘Spectacular’. His pumpkin coloured mane had grown longer over the years, so that it fell just above his eyes and covered his ears like a big shaggy mop atop his head.

“Hey guys…” he squeaked, “Just, uh… doing some aerobics.”

Shady Daze and Rumble grinned at him like a pair of timberwolves.

“Hey, what’s this here?” Rumble asked, moving towards the bed.

There was the edged corner of a magazine sticking out from beneath the pillow that Button Mash desperately tried to hide. Rumble bit the magazine by the edge, plucked it out with his teeth and, as he did, a low and anguished groan came from Button Mash’s throat.

The magazine that Rumble dropped onto the floor had a picture of a pale coated mare with a cherry cutie mare winking towards the reader. The words ‘Filly Fanny Fun’ — embroidered and written in Silian Braille lettering — hung above her head and the tagline at the bottom of the magazine read 'Cherry Jubilee shows and tells all about life in small town Dodge Junction'.

Button Mash looked first at Rumble, then at Shady Daze, bowed his head and moaned into the pillow.

“Oh, hey. I read that one.” said Shady, “I thought the interview they did with Hoity Toity was pretty good. Didn’t you?”

Tres Amigos

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Tres Amigos

A wicked mess of ivory coloured flesh grew on the walls, floor and on the roof of the Royal Palace. This was a changeling colony, there was no doubt in any of the soldiers minds. The hive was a mess of scum and villainy, and it oozed with unnatural forms of life; bulbs coloured a sickly translucent green, grew from the grounds and the shadows of fetuses blinked inside them.

Swallowing his fear, Sergeant Max Power stepped forward with his unit just behind him.

“Hold up,” he barked to the fierce soldiers under his command.

His troops knew better than to second guess an order from the seargent and followed suite. Sgt. Max Power sniffed at the air, then clutched his rifle — A phased Plasma Rifle in the 40 watt range — tight against his chest.

Changelings were close. He could smell them.

“Are we going to die, sir?”

Sgt. Power turned to face the pony. He was a younger colt, half of the seargent's age, and of a much smaller size than the older pony. He was scared, and wore it long across his plain white face.

“Get ahold of yourself, private!” barked Sgt. Power, “No one’s dying on my watch!”

“Lame!” came a cry from one of the soldier's behind him.

A twitch overtook Sgt. Power’s left eye and he snapped his head to face the condescending voice in the ranks. The statement had come from a pegasus — grey coated and built the size and shape of an athlete — who now stood grinning at Sgt. Power.

“What was that, private?” asked the annoyed commander.

“You’re taking this too seriously, dude.” replied the soldier, without a single ounce of determination in his voice. “I mean, can’t we just frag some changelings?”

“That’s…”

Sgt. Power’s face contorted into a look of pure and utter disdain. Wrinkles creased his forehead, his brows snapped down, and then he slapped his hoof against his forehead and rubbed his right temple.

“We’re getting there, private.”

“Say the full thing!” commanded the insubordinate soldier, “Say my full name!”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

The sigh that came from Sgt. Power’s bounced off the walls of the changeling hive.

“Fine,” he said, “We’ll be ‘fragging changelings’ soon enough; Private Parts.”

The just recently named Private Parts belted out a laugh, “Dude,” he said between pants of laughter, “I don’t care who you are; that’s comedy gold!”

A movement caught Sgt. Power’s attention and he whipped himself around to spy, from the corners of his eyes. Black-skinned creatures — four legs, each with holes through them, with bodies the same size as ponies and pitch black bug eyes — climbed along the walls. There were dozens by his count. All of them advancing towards him and his troop.

“Changelings!” one of the soldiers behind him announced, and then just as quickly all six of the ponies were facing front with weapons raised.

“Finally!” shouted Pvt. Parts, “Let’s kill some shit!”

He raised his rifle and flashes of blue and white light erupted from the lengthened barrel. Before him, in the halls that made up the changeling nest, a sole changeling’s body blew apart. Lime green liquid ruptured from hoof sized holes that exploded out of the creature’s head, chest and legs. It screamed and whined, and an instant later, the changeling fell to the floor, dead.

This was it. There was no turning back now. Private Parts had played his hoof — curt and headstrong as he was — and soon the whole of the hive would be on the soldiers.

Sgt. Power readied himself, as did the stallions under his command.

Horrible howls erupted from the bellows of the changeling hive. Sneering sounds that sent chills up the spine.

And then, all the soldiers were firing their weapons at the hive. The changelings screamed in pain as parts of their bodies were torn off by the hail of lasers fired from the rifles of the soldiers. Bodies fell off the walls and off the roof, but there was no stopping the onslaught. Dozens and dozens filled the ranks, and suddenly Sgt. Power realized he was staring at the face of inevitable doom.

“Ugh.” groaned a soldier to his left, “I gotta take a wicked pee right now. I’ll be right back.”

The soldier first dropped his grip on his weapon, then his body slacked. His shoulders fell, so did his haunches, and then he stood still. With the exception of the rising and falling of his chest, Private Seymore Butts stood absolutely motionless while the world around him fell into complete chaos.

“Seriously?” groaned Sgt. Power.

Private Seymore Butts didn’t answer, instead remaining completely still and naive to the warring factions fallen into the throes of combat that surrounded him.

Sgt. Power grunted, shook his head then raised his rifle. He took pot shots at the incoming changelings, never missing. Green blood burst from wounds in the changeling hides, heads, limbs and wings, and their screams echoed loud in the halls.

“Dude, check this out.” came a call from Pvt. Parts.

Sgt. Power drew his attention to the private, who stood with the aim of his plasma rifle turned on his own troops. He fired, a Royal Soldier fell to the floor dead, and then Pvt. Parts began to unload more rounds into the soldier's body.

“Look at how his body jiggles when you shoot him,” said Pvt. Parts, shooting the corpse once more, “It’s trippy.”

“For fudge sakes!” bemoaned Sgt. Power, “Are you even trying to take this seriously? I want to rank up!’

“Chill the fuck out, Button.” gasped Pvt. Parts, turning to him. “We’re still having fun, right?”

“We were...”

Sgt. Power turned away from Pvt. Parts, and his insubordinate team-killing, looked back onto the slowly advancing horde of changelings. Somehow, in some way, they didn’t seem like such a menacing presence anymore, when just beside him was a sociopath with a gun who took joy in shooting members of his own brigade.

“We should hit them with a nuke,” suggested Pvt. Parts, “You’ve got one right?”

“No,” sighed Sgt. Power, “You need to be level thirty five to unlock the nuke…”

“What level are you?”

“Thirty three.”

“Already?”

“Yeah,” said Sgt. Power, “I’ve been playing this all day, Rumble.”

“Right,” said Pvt. Parts with a smirk “Except for that extended window of time between when your hoof found itself between your legs and me and Shady stumbled in on you whacking it?”

“I told you,” snapped Sgt. Power, “I was doing aerobics!”

“Button,” said Pvt. Parts, “I’ve seen you fake notes from Doctor Stable to get out of gym class. You were definitely not doing ‘aerobics’.”

“That’s-”

Before he could finish his thought, a changeling was on him. It tackled him to the ground; tearing, biting and gnashing at his throat with teeth which were sharp as daggers. Sgt. Power was dead before he had time to realize what had gone wrong, his body, and the bodies of his soliders, nothing more than feed for the changeling hive.

“Game over.” announced an ominous voice in a deep and gruff baritone.

“Aww,” said Pvt. Parts.

Everything faded to black.

***

Button Mash threw his controller on the ground and sighed, low and heavy. “Thanks a lot, Rumble!” he grunted, “Ten more kills and I would have ranked up to Sgt. Second Class.”

“Geez, Button,” said Rumble, “It’s just a game.”

“No,” said Button Mash, “This isn’t ‘just a game’, it’s Thirst for Blood IV: The Re-Bloodening!”

“Yeah, like I said; it’s just a game.”

Button Mash sighed again and slumped down further into the couch.

The boys — sans Shady, who had excused himself to use the bathroom — had been at Button Mash’s house for the better part of forty minutes now. After their encounter with the birthday boy and his strenuous ‘exercise’ program, and after Shady and Rumble had recovered from a fit of laughter, all three had settled into the entertainment room for some proper bonding time between friends — slaughtering armies of virtual changelings by the dozens.

That had been the last forty five minutes. Now, the game was over and the joys of a fresh baked cake was still to come. Rumble’s buzz was wearing off, slowly but surely, and Shady Daze was still in the bathroom.

The sound of a toilet flush cut through the air, then, a sink turned on and off. Seconds after, Shady Daze trotted with light, cautious steps back into the room.

“What did I miss?” he asked, “Did we win?”

“No,” sighed Button Mash.

“How’s Pvt. Seymour Butts?” Shady asked, flopping down on the couch beside Button Mash, “Did he make it?”

“No,” repeated Button, “We all lost. Everyone died because Rumble,” he paused to turn towards the colt who smiled back at him, “Killed half of our team.”

“Aww, you’re such a Negative Nancy, Button,” said Rumble, slapping Button on the shoulder. “It’s your birthday. You’re with your two best friends. Your mom is making us all cake, and, on top of that, me and Shady have the best night of your innocent little life planned for you.”

Button Mash’s eyes grew wide and his eyebrows rose high up on his head. “Really?” he asked, “Are we going to check out The Gargoyle’s Dungeon? The new issue of The Trotting Dead just came out, and I hear they’re finally going to kill The Senator in that one…”

Rumble shook his head and sighed. “No… We’re not… No!” he grunted, “We’re not taking you to buy comic books for your birthday, Button!”

“Oh…”

Button Mash tapped his hooves together and stared at the floor, then at Shady — who was smiling, softly at him — back at the floor, then again at Rumble.

“Um,” he said, tapping his hooves together, “Then, uh… what are we doing?”

“Pub crawl!” announced Rumble, “You, me and cock-breath over there are going bar hopping!”

“Offense taken.” said Shady.

“Bar hopping?” asked Button, his eyes falling dim “I don’t know, guys. I mean, my mom’s making us cake, and I think she thought it would be fun if we stayed in and just played a few games of Scrapple tonight...”

“No. Absolutely not!” said Rumble, slapping the couch with his hoof. “I know for a fact that if we stick around here, we’re going to be stuck playing Scrapple all night long! And, as much as I love your mom, Button, I am not, repeat, not, losing another game to either of you two dicks again!”

“I can’t believe you thought there was a ‘Q’ in ‘Custodian’.” said Shady.

“Yeah, Rumble.” said Button Mash, snickering, “How are you passing english class again?”

“First off; shut up. ‘Custodian’ is a tricky word. Secondly: shut up. Again.” Rumble extended his hoof and offered Button Mash the bottle of vodka, “We’re going for a pub crawl and you’re coming with us even if me and Shady have to drag you by your legs. Got it?”

Button Mash bit his lower lip and nodded his head.

“Good,” said Rumble, “Now, what do you say we all take a few nips to get you in the mood?”

He reached a hoof into his right pocket and pulled out the quickly shrinking bottle of vodka. What was left wasn’t very much, just enough for a few quick passes around the room, something to get the blood flowing, the mind loose and the liver hurting.

“Ugh, c’mon, Rumble,” groaned Button, “I don’t wanna get blackout in front of my mom. Can’t we wait until after we have cake?”

“Just a sip?” begged Rumble, “We can turn it into a game if you want? Go another round of Thirst for Blood? Maybe take a shot every time one of us gets a triple-kill?”

“I’ll just take a sip, alright?” asked Button.

“Yeah, dude,” said Rumble, “Don’t go overboard, I just want you to get your head in the game.”

Button nodded his head, then reached for the bottle and took it from Rumble. Hesitantly, he unscrewed the lid to the bottle. He sniffed it first and his face recoiled in horror; he scrunched his nose, his cheeks lifted backwards and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

Button Mash had never developed a taste for strong drinks.

“Button, don’t just stare at it,” said Rumble. “Drink it.”

With his eyes shut tight, Button Mash lifted the bottle to his lips, kissed the mouth of the bottle and took the tiniest nip of spirits Shady Daze or Rumble had ever seen. When he finished, he coughed into his hoof.

“Ugh, it tastes like kitty litter, Rumble!”

“Gross,” said Shady.

“Grow a pair,” said Rumble.

Button stared at Shady Daze, amply hoping for some kind of reprieve from the pressure Rumble was putting on him. What he got was a shoulder shrug from Shady, then a menacing glare from Rumble.

“You guys are the worst,” Button sighed, and raised the bottle to his lips once more. He took a sip, then another, then set the bottle down on the carpet and coughed loud enough for video game cases and comics on the shelves to shake.

“Everything okay, hunny-bunny?” came the worried voice of Button Mash’s mom through the open doorway.

“We’re fine, mom!” he shouted back, “Rumble just had a mini-asphyxiation attack.”

“Well played,” said Shady.

“Okay, sweetie,” said Button’s mom, “The cake should be done in about ten minutes. Make sure you boys bring your appetites?”

The sound of her hooves trotting along the floorboards followed her from the basement door to the kitchen. When he were sure she was out of earshot, Rumble’s lips spread up his cheeks with a warm smile.

“Dude,” he said, “Your mom is the best.”

“Yeah, Button,” said Shady, poking his head forwards and towards Button Mash, “My mom couldn’t even remember which day of the year my birthday was.”

Button Mash’s once brown and fluffy cheeks became stained with a pinkish hue. He puffed his cheeks out, blew a raspberry, and then spoke.

“My mom’s alright,” he said, scratching his neck with his hoof, “But, like, sometimes she can be really stuck up, too. Like, last week; she wouldn’t let me go to the midnight launch of Disemboweler because it was on a Tuesday and I ‘had school the next day’.”

“Wow, what a slave driver,” Shady droned, rolling his eyes.

“I know!” exclaimed Button Mash with an upwards wave of both his left and right legs, “I mean, I still got it, but it was a day later and I missed out on the day-one bonus because I didn’t make the midnight launch. Now everyone online has ‘blood vision’ and I don’t.”

Thinking about it made him grumble something low and guttural from the furthest reaches of his throat. He’d drooped his head and his ears had fallen with his head. Shady Daze touched a hoof to his left shoulder and gave him two gentle pats on the back.

“There, there,” he said, condescendingly, “You’ll be alright.”

Button Mash picked his head up again and smiled at Shady Daze “Thanks, Shady.”

Rumble slapped his hooves against the sides of his waist and lifted himself up from the couch. He leapt onto the floor, shook his rear into the faces of Shady Daze and Button mash, then jolted to the collection of video games, comics and movies that Button Mash kept on the wall-sized shelves. He ran his right hoof over the cases, mouthing the names on the boxes, until he stopped, gripped the box and pulled it from the shelf.

He glanced over the box, reading the words in his head, and grinned.

“‘Disemboweler’,” he read aloud, “‘The game where convicted criminals dig at each other with rusty hooks.’...”

No surprise there. This was the sort of game that made up the entirety of Button Mash’s vast collection. Senseless violence was a recurring theme in the tastes that Button Mash had in video games.

“Sounds like a cultured and educational experience,” said Shady Daze, grinning at Button Mash.

“Oh, it’s awesome!” cheered Button, “You can rip off your opponent’s leg and then beat him to death with it! Plus, the graphics are totally sweet, there’s a twenty six character roster and there’s a thirty hour story mode, too.”

“Do we have time for a quick round?” asked Rumble, tearing the case open and then plucking the C.D. out with his mouth, holding it between his teeth. “I’m game for tearing off some legs and beating your sorry ass to death with them!”

“Sure,” said Button Mash, “Put it in.”

“Thaths what thee shaid.” Rumble said through his filled mouth.

“Nice, Rumble.” said Shady, “Really nice.”

Rumble responded with a thrust of his pelvis in Shady Daze’s direction. He set the game down gently in the disc tray, slid it into the console and grabbed a wireless controller. He stumbled a few paces backwards, holding the controller in his mouth, then fell backwards onto the couch beside Button Mash.

“Ready to get your ass kicked, Button?” Rumble asked, turning his head and sneering at the birthday boy. Button furrowed his brows and put on his best war face — which was really a half serious, half goofy sort of frown.

“You’re on!” he said, plucking a controller from the carpet.

Shady Daze kicked back in his seat, ready to watch a tasteless scene of blood, guts and carnage unfold.

That was how Rumble, Shady Daze and Button Mash killed the time between then and when Ms. Mash called the boys up for cake.

***

They sat around Button Mash’s dinner table; four of them — Button Mash at the head of the table. His mother beside him, and Shady Daze and Rumble filling ranks on opposite sides to the left and right. As promised, the cake before them was shaped like a winking Daring Do and the words ‘Happy Birthday, Little Adventurer’ were written in white vanilla frosting just below her hooves.

“The cake looks great, Ms. Mash.” said Shady Daze, smiling up at the older mare beside him.

“Yeah,” agreed Rumble, also smiling, “It looks way better than anything at you’d find at Sugarcube Corner.”

“Aww, boys,” sighed Ms. Mash, “That’s sweet of you to say, but Mr. and Mrs. Cake make their living off of those cakes and pastries. It would be a pretty awful thing if a single housewife could out bake two trained professionals.”

Button Mash licked his lips. “Can we give it a taste test, mom? Just to be safe?”

“Of course, dear.” said Ms. Mash, “But, first, the birthday song?”

“Agreed.” said Rumble.

“For he’s a jolly good fellow!” Cheered Rumble, Shady Daze, their tones carrying a mostly subtle drunken pitch, with Ms. Mash — who was far more sober compared to the two — joining in a much more contained and soft tone of voice, “For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! And so say all the lads!”

Rumble danced his hooves on the table, leaned his body over the cake and across the stretch of wood that separated him from Button. When his face was next to Button’s, he rubbed his muzzle against Button Mash’s left cheek. Button’s face ran red and he turned himself away from Rumble while mumbling ‘Thanks’ beneath his breath.

“Now. Cake!” said Rumble, pulling his face back from Button’s cheek and slapping two hooves on the table.

There were few things in life that got Rumble more excited than Ms. Mash’s cooking and baking. Among them, only great sex, good drugs and free booze ranked higher than a proper home cooked meal by his favorite surrogate mother figure.

It showed on his face. He licked his lips ecstatically while his eyes and mind worked together to divide the Sugar based Daring Do into square slices.

Ms. Mash, seeing Rumble’s excitement, stood up, drew a knife from the table and set about cutting the cake. She started with a square from the top of Daring Do’s head — one that took a large chunk of her hat — which she placed on to a plate and then gently lay before her son.

“Thanks, mom!” Button Mash said, smiling and lifting a fork. He wasted no time before he stabbed the fork into the cake, tore off a chunk of brown and black cake and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed with an open mouth, swallowed and then took another forkful into his mouth.

“Manners, Button!” his mom chided, shaking her head disapprovingly towards him. “You weren’t raised on a barn, were you?”

Button Mash swallowed another mouthful of cake, then stared up at his mom.

“Sorry, mom!” he said, then dug out another section of cake that he shoved into his mouth just the same as he’d done the last two.

She sighed and cut three more slices. A modestly sized piece for Shady, a much bigger one for Rumble and then a thin one for herself. She put the plates with the cake before Shady and Rumble, then herself, sat back down in her chair and lifted her fork.

“Thank you, Ms. Mash.” said Shady, slicing a respectable portion of cake off with the edge of his fork.

“Yeah,” said Rumble, chewing a mouth full of cake, “This is tops, Ms. Mash.”

She raised her fork to her mouth, took a nibble of double-chocolate cake then wiped the corners of her mouth with a folded napkin. She smiled at Shady Daze and Rumble.

“You boys are sweet.” she said, “Button is so lucky to have two friends like you, you know that?”

“Here, here,” agreed Rumble, grinning and raising his fork into the air in mock salute. Shady Daze followed his lead, then Button Mash, and, moments later, even his own mother.

“Happy Birthday, Button!” Rumble cheered, “Here’s to a hundred more.”

“Amen,” said Shady.

Button Mash was all smiles, grinning back and forth between Shady, Rumble and his mom. He leaned backwards in the chair and rested his head against his folded upper legs. “Thanks, guys.”

Ms. Mash leaned back in her seat. She folded her upper hooves, then nestled her head onto her folded hooves. “Rumble, honey,” she said, “How’s your brother been?”

Rumble cocked his head in her direction. “He’s alright,” he said, “I mean, he’s working a lot. Which is good. He’s getting paid really well, and he’s happy about that.”

“How is Cloudkicker finding living at your place?”

Rumble bit his lip and thought back to earlier in his day — pre drinking — when his brother had made an open mockery of his girlfriend in front of his best mate, his best mate’s girlfriend, and also Rumble himself. He wiped whatever sour look he might have worn off of his face, smiled and then answered as best as he could

“Oh, she’s good too.” he lied, “They’re real happy together, and she really likes living at our place just fine. She’s does a lot of the cooking and cleaning, which is cool, ‘cause Thunderlane and Brolly are real slack about following the chore wheel we have.”

“That’s good,” said Ms. Mash, smiling and nodding her head, “They make such a lovely couple.”

Rumble bit his tongue before he spoke, “Yeah,” he said, “They’re good for each other.”

He was lying; Thunderlane wasn’t really ‘good’ for anyone. He was alright on ‘good’ days, but Rumble would be hard pressed to call Thunderlane’s influence on mares an inspiring one. Still, telling Ms. Mash this would only ever give her reason to worry, and Rumble was utterly dedicated to keeping the divorced, single mother in high spirits.

In the meanwhile Ms. Mash just smiled, then turned her sights on Shady Daze — who was filling his mouth with a fork full of cake.

“What about you, Shady?” she asked, “How are your parents doing?”

Shady Daze swallowed his cake, scratched his neck and hesitated for a few moments before answering.

“They’re okay,” he said, still tussling the fur along the back of his head, “My, uh, dad just got back from Dodge Junction last week and he’s sort of having a rough time settling back in.”

“Yes,” she replied, nodding, “I saw him at S-Mart last week. He looked…”

She stopped and rolled her tongue over her lips.

“Stressed?” Shady offered.

Ms. Mash nodded. “Just a bit.”

“He’s had a rough couple months.” said Shady Daze, “Farm work was sorta killing him.”

“He’s been gone for a while, hasn’t he?” asked Ms. Mash.

“About half a year. Yeah,” Shady answered, “We haven’t really had a lot of time to talk since he’s been back.” He sighed, ran his hoof through his shaggy mane, then forced a smile, “But, he seems like he’s doing okay. I guess?”

A frown formed across the pink lips of Ms. Mash and her brows furrowed. She raised a hoof, and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She closed her mouth, put on a smile and then leaned herself forward a few inches and rubbed the top of Shady’s left hoof with her own.

“Give him some time,” she suggested, smiling “I’m sure he’ll come around to his old self.”

Shady Daze nodded his head.

They ate slices of cake and drank soda in silence for a while after that. Occasionally, through the corners of their eyes, Rumble, Button Mash and Shady Daze would sneak peeks of Ms. Mash staring at them, and when they did, she was smiling. Hers was a soft, motherly smile. A proud and parental sort of smirk which spoke volumes of her character. These were ‘her’ boys. Even if they weren’t biologically her sons, Rumble and Shady Daze were just as much family to her as Button Mash himself. She loved them, and in turn, they loved her. This was an unspoken bond. Something sweet, sincere and from the heart.

Cake eating wrapped up fifteen minutes after it started, and then Rumble and Button Mash ran off back downstairs to play Disemboweler while Shady Daze — polite as he’d been trained through years of practice to be — stayed back to help Ms. Mash wash dishes.

They — Ms. Mash and Shady Daze — found themselves in the kitchen now. The sink was on, a half tray of clean plates in the left sink and a stack of dirty ones on the porcelain counter to the right. Ms. Mash held a wet rag in her mouth, Shady Daze a dry one.

“You know, hun.” said Ms. Mash, passing him a scrubbed clean dish to dry, “You’re always welcome to stay here for a night or two if you need some time away from home?”

Shady Daze took the plate from her, ran the dry rag over it in clockwise circles, then placed it on the rack with all the others.

“I appreciate that,” he said, turning towards her and smiling, “But I’d just end up being a bother after a while.”

“Nonsense,” said Ms. Mash, “We have a perfectly good guest room, and-”

“-It’s fine.” Shady said, curtly. “I mean… I appreciate what you’re offering, but I’m happy at home.”

The sentence stayed in the air for some time, with Ms. Mash finding reason to frown and Shady Daze suddenly wishing he could have neglected to ever make any mention of his father, or his home life.

“Okay, Shady.” Ms. Mash said in a soft, sensual tone of voice. “Just remember; if you ever find yourself wanting to come over; our door is always open. We’d all be more than glad to have you as our guest.”

“Thanks,” was all that Shady Daze had to say to her offer.

While Shady Daze wiped traces of soap and water from a green circular plate, Ms. Mash watched him. She alternated between biting her lip, frowning and making motions which implied a desire in her to speak about it. She ended up saying — and doing — nothing.

“Should we do presents now?” she found herself asking.

Shady Daze turned to her, “Sure,”

She smiled, reached her hoof to his head and rustled his shaggy mane. As a cat would, he bowed his head and tilted his head in tune to her touch. A purr, low and grumbled, came from his throat and surprised both him — and Ms. Mash — when it did.

“You’re really such an amazing pony, Shady,” she said, still ruffling his mane, “You and Rumble both are.”

“Thanks, Ms. Mash,” Shady Daze cooed, unable to pick out the words to form an otherwise proper sentence.

“I’m so glad you’re around to keep Button out of trouble.”

If she only knew what they had planned for her youngest son…

***

They were back around the dinner table now; Rumble, Shady Daze, Button Mash and his mother. They sat in the same spots as before with the only difference now being the stack of wrapped boxes that stood in place for the cake that had once sat on the table. The presents were many; nearly two dozen — each wrapped in a different colour of wrapping paper and all topped with a bow.

Button Mash sat on the edge of his seat, his tongue barely held in his mouth. He was excited. Ready to tear open each and every present that sat before him. He was contained — for the time being — by his mother, who demanded that he at the very least read the attached cards.

Button Mash wasn’t thrilled with this.

“I’m going to have to write so many thank you letters,” he whined, slouching his shoulders and sinking deep into his seat, “I don’t want to to do that!”

“Button!” Ms. Mash practically shrieked, drawing her son to his fullest attention, “Most of these presents are from your aunts and uncles out of town.”

He sighed, “I know…”

“And, thanks to Ms. Hooves, they all managed to make it here for your birthday.” she reminded, “The least you could do is take twenty minutes away from all your video games and write back to your relatives.”

“I know, I know,” said Button Mash, staring over his presents with lust burning in his eyes, “I just…”

He didn’t speak another word. Instead, his hooves reached forwards and he plucked the first package within his reach; it was a box, wrapped the same as the others and twice as big as his chest. He tore off the wrapping paper without a second thought — and in spite of the condemning look his mother shot him — to find a simple cardboard box. Like with the wrapping paper, Button Mash wasted no time ripping the cardboard box open, only for his eyes to sink in size and his brows to droop, sadly, down his forehead.

“What is it?” asked Rumble, leaning forwards, trying to get a view of the contents of the box.

Button Mash reached inside and held the item out in his hooves for the room to view. It was a hoodie, fit two sizes too big for his body and coloured an exceptionally bright pink. The words ‘Equestria’s Coolest Grandson’ were etched into the chest in bright, fuzzy yellow letters.

What started as a snicker from Rumble quickly grew into a wheezed and hardly restrained chuckle from Shady Daze, until neither could keep it in anymore and both began to pant out lungfuls of laughter. Shady Daze fell out of his chair, clutched his stomach and rolled on the floor. Rumble slammed his hoof on the table.

“Dude,” he managed between laughs, “That is, hoofs down, the sexiest sweater I have ever seen in my life!”

Button held the hoodie before him with all the care and concern he would with a roll of used toilet paper. His lower jaw quivered, tears built up in his eyes and his eyes moved towards his mother’s figure. Ms. Mash held a hoof over her mouth, but it wasn’t enough to hide the fact that she too was giggling.

“Mom!” Button whined, “This is so lame!”

“B-B-Button M-Mash,” she said, stopping between syllables to regain her breath, “Your grandmother was kind enough to knit that for you. At least… try it on.”

Button Mash grumbled then slipped the hoodie over his head. It fell well past his waist, with sleeves that ran twice as long as his upper legs. The hood was long and heavy, and covered well past his eyes. It was a hoodie so large that even a bigger stallion like Big Macintosh would look shrunken in size wearing it.

Button Mash slipped the hood off his head and rolled up the sleeves up as high as they could go.

“Mom, I can’t wear this!” he moaned, “I look like a dork!”

“Button…” said his mother, tapping his shoulder through inches of knitted wool, “It looks great on you.”

“But mom-”

“-No ‘buts’, mister!” snapped Ms. Mash.

Button Mash’s facial features all shrunk, and then dropped. He was bested, and knew it. “Okay…” he mumbled, quietly.

He turned his eyes to see Shady Daze and Rumble still snickering between themselves. They covered their mouths with their hooves, as to be polite, but the sounds of huffs of laughter and snickers still came through.

With a woefully deflated ego and a hoof knitted hoodie several sizes too big hanging loosely around his waist, over his legs and around his neck, Button Mash sighed — high pitched and nasally.

Sensing his anguish, hurt and sorrow, Shady Daze nudged his knee into Rumble’s leg, leaned his face towards him and whispered words into the pegasus’s ear. Rumble nodded his head, then whispered back into Shady’s ear.

“Hey, Button,” said Shady, “Me and Rumble put some money together and got you something that, uh, should make up for that…. erm, delightful, hoodie your grandma knit you.”

A flash of light took life in Button Mash’s eyes. His ears perked back up, his head lifted and he was smiling once again. “Really?”

“Yup,” said Rumble, “Shady’s got it in his pocket,” he turned to Shady “Hurry up with it, would you?”

Shady’s eyes rolled and he reached inside of his left pocket — opposite the one his issue of Freak Power comic was rolled and neatly placed — and pulled out a small square shaped package wrapped in the day before’s newspaper and tied up with brown twine.

“It’s nothing special,” he admitted, passing the package to Button, “But, I thought you might get a kick out of it.”

Button Mash grabbed the package from Shady Daze. It had a sturdy weight and feel to it, a mostly flat, rectangular object with rough and round ridges he could feel even through the newspaper.

“Open it, dude.” urged Rumble, smiling, “It’s not gonna bite.”

Button Mash did. He unwrapped it with more care and concern than he had with his grandmother’s gift. What lay behind the paper and twine was something that made his Ms. Mash gasp.

A chrome picture frame, with carvings in the metal, shaped to form the names of ‘Button Mash’, ‘Rumble’ and ‘Shady Daze’ at the top and and the words ‘Three Amigos’ — the rarely used, but highly treasured nickname for the three pony group of friends — at the bottom. The photo in the frame was an old one of Rumble, Button and Shady on a Nightmare Night years and years ago. Rumble was dressed as a Greaser; he wore on his eyes knockoff Oatley sunglasses, and had a faux-leather jacket with a purple handled switchblade sticking out of the front pocket over his chest. Button Mash wore a fake moustache, a stetson hat over his head and a brown vest with a silver star on the left side of the chest. Shady Daze was dressed as Holden Coltfield.

Rumble and Shady Daze had their legs wrapped tightly around Button Mash’s shoulders and all three boys made faces at the camera; Rumble held his tongue out, Shady Daze showed two rows full of perfect teeth and Button Mash’s mouth was mostly obscured by the broom bristle moustache.

“I know it’s kinda silly,” said Shady Daze, breaking a silence. “But, I found that picture in my room the other day and we figured, you know, it would be nice or something?”

“I mean, that’s us, right?” asked Rumble, “The Three Amigos.”

Rumble said this and drew half a lifetime’s worth of memories to mind for Shady Daze, Button Mash and himself. They’d been just that — best friends — since as early on in their lives as any of the three cared to remember. There had been a time that they weren’t friends, true, but that was something none of them looked fondly on.

“Yeah,” said Button Mash with the warmest, smartest smile drawing wide across his pink hued cheeks, “Best friends for life.”

Paint It Red

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Paint It Red

The mid evening air was cool and a breeze blew in from the north. The sun was setting in the east and left the sky a bountiful collage of red, yellow and orange. Three ponies made their way through the streets of Ponyville with thoughts of hedonism and debauchery on their minds and desire burning in their hearts.

The evening was calm, and the small — but slowly growing — town of Ponyville was about to cross paths with the illest intentions of three of it’s most rambunctious citizens.

Rumble led the way. He bounced back and forth between skipping, jumping, dashing, leaping and racing down the streets and ahead of his companions — who were still Shady Daze and Button Mash and whom were trailing behind him at slower, more restrained speeds. Shady Daze held his head high, letting the early evening wind brush his against his face and tussle his mane. Button Mash, too, did this. Both colts wore unbreakable looks of pride and determination on their faces.

At the corner of the street where four roads converged, the threesome stopped to catch a breath of fresh air. Rumble flopped down onto a park bench, Button beside him, while Shady pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit up with a gold plated lighter.

“I can’t believe we left without opening the rest of my presents,” said Button Mash, his smile faltering and slipping down his cheeks, “This ‘secret present’ you couldn’t tell me about at my place had better be really good.”

Rumble — who was taking a nip from the unlabeled bottle of potato vodka — turned his head to Button Mash. He swallowed a mouthful of spirits, wiped the back of his hoof across his mouth then allowed his face to reform into a smirk.

“Button. Trust me when I say this; what we have planned is better than anything any of your aunts or uncles would have gotten you.” Rumble smirked, “By and far.”

Shady Daze exhaled smoke through his nose, and with the cigarette clenched between his lips, nodded his head in agreement with Rumble’s assertion.

Button Mash’s lower lip came up over his upper one and he snorted a sigh through his nostrils.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I was really looking forward to at least getting to open some of my other presents.”

Thoughts of the pile of gifts sitting on his coffee table at home filled his head; Freak Power comics, Daring Do books, Fullmetal Pegasus mangas, Doctor Colossus action figures. Envelopes with cheques and cards with painfully unfunny birthday jokes. All of them so alone, dolled up in wrapping paper and topped off with pretty little bows, without anyone to enjoy them.

Button Mash sighed again.

“I know it sucks to have to leave all those presents behind,” he said to Button Mash, “But, you have to believe us when we say this; what we have planned is going to be the absolute best birthday present you’ll ever get. Bar none.”

Button Mash’s eyes grew wide with the promise of a present beyond the realm of his imagination.

“Is it a Game Sphere?” he asked in an anxious, jittery tone.

Rumble wrapped his hoof around the back of Button Mash’s neck and pulled Button’s head to his chest, strangling him into a headlock. He mussed up the colt’s mane with the fetlock of his right hoof, knocking back his beanie-cap, and laughing.

“No, you little dork!” said Rumble, “I’m talking about glistening, melt in your mouth, pussy!” Rumble took a pause to roll his tongue out from his mouth and lap at the air in a faux-display of cunnilingus — an act which he was more than familiar with.

“You know what I mean right, Button? I’m talking about gash? Snatch? Slit? Twat? Va-gi-na?” he cocked an eyebrow and his cheeks spread apart with a knowing grin, “Me and Shady Daze are going to find you the perfect mare to lose your V-Card to tonight.”

Rumble released Button Mash from his grip, and the colt drew his head back. He squared out his wild mane and readjusted the beanie cap onto the centre of his head. Either from embarrassment, or from exhaustion, his cheeks turned red and he kicked the dirt on the ground before him. He lifted his head and smiled, shyly, up at his friends.

“Really?” he asked, glancing with the wide eyes of a foal on Hearth’s Warming Eve towards Rumble — who smiled — and then at Shady Daze — whose face was strong with a neutral grin.

To answer his quandary, both colts nodded their heads.

“Wait,” Button Mash stated, “Before I say how stupid it was for you guys not to tell me the plan before we left my house, can I say how stupid it was that you guys let me leave my house still looking like this?”

He gestured to his outfit, consisting of his omnipresent beanie cap and the pink knitted hoodie that he wore over his chest, down to well past his waist. The same pink knitted hoodie gifted to him by his grandmother. A request from his mother to wear it out was the logic behind why he was still wearing it, as Button Mash was a pony who didn’t like to disappoint, discredit, or in any way shape or form upset his mother.

“We wanted it to be a surprise,” said Shady answering Button Mash’s question, “Though, now that you mention it, it does seem sort of silly that we didn’t mention it...”

Button Mash rolled his eyes. “Gee, you think?”

“That hoodie looks fine, Button.” reassured Rumble. “Right, Shady?”

“Oh, yes,” nodded Shady Daze, “You look quite dapper.”

“And that’s coming from Shady Daze,” said Rumble, turning to face Shady, “Who, like all the rest of his kind, I naturally assume has a strong familiarity with the world of fashion?”

Shady nodded. “Of course.”

“Yeah, but...” Button Mash tried to protest, only to have Rumble shove a hoof in his face and over his mouth.

“C’mon, Button.” he said, “Girls will think you’re going for an ironic look.” He removed the hoof from Button Mash’s mouth, and when he was sure no more words of ill gotten will about what he was wearing would come out of his friend’s mouth, Rumble continued “Besides, you won’t be wearing it for long when we find the right girl to tear it off of you, right?”

A pink and crimson blush broke out across Button Mash’s cheeks. He bit his lower lip as his eyebrows lowered, before he nodded his head.

“So, uh, you guys really think I have a chance at scoring tonight?” he asked, “I mean… you’re not just planning to, you know, hire somepony or something…” he pricked up a single eyebrow, “Are you?”

“We did think about it.” Shady said with a smirk drawing across his lips and up his cheeks, “But then we spent most of our money on that picture frame we got you, so it looks like you’ll just have to rely on being your charming self instead.”

“Yeah,” Rumble smirked, “Tonight you’re going to have a taste of the holiest of the holy courtesy of your wit, charm and good looks..”

“Well, I am good looking,” Button Mash said, puffing out his chest, “At least, that’s what mom tells me that all the time. And, I know that she’s never lied before,“ Button Mash smiled softly, only for it to falter into a frown seconds later, “It’s just, well… Sometimes I get shy around girls, and then I get nervous, and once I’m nervous I start to sweat and then I feel like a big gross mess, and I always feel like girls pick up on that?“ he licked his lips, “Do you think they do? Can girls smell fear?“

“I… Um... I really don’t know how to answer that one, Button.” Shady Daze said and turned to Rumble. “Rumble?”

“Yes,” Rumble said, nodding his head, “Girls can definitely smell fear.”

“Are you sure we can’t turn around and go back to my place super quick?” Button Mash asked, “I could just slap some cologne on? Just to cover up the smell of this hoodie?”

He lowered his face to the hoodie and buried his nose deep into his chest. He inhaled slowly through his nostrils, then drew his face away from himself, rolling his tongue out of his mouth. He made the same sounds a pony did before doing the big spit; gagging, coughing and wheezing.

“What’s it smell like?” asked Shady.

Button Mash sighed, “It definitely has that old pony smell.” he said, “Like, remember that time we took a field trip to the retirement home for ‘community awareness day’ when we were in grade nine?”

Shady Daze and Rumble recalled, rather unpleasantly, that particular excursion and just how traumatic an experience in their lives it had been. Shady Daze’s cheeks had been bruised for a week afterward from all the pinches.

For Rumble, it was a different experience than Shady Daze. He had a grandfather who lived across the hall from his grandmother in the retirement home, and, on a whim Rumble had snuck into his grandfather’s bathroom and swiped a bottle of pills.

What Rumble didn’t know was that his grandfather came from a generation of Pegasi that greatly distrusted ‘Dirt Ponies’ and ‘Horners’. Using this biased logic, his grandfather had switched the labels around on all of his pill bottles so that the ‘Horner’ orderlies couldn't do exactly what his grandson had done.

What should have been a bottle of doctor prescribed painkillers instead turned out to be a bottle of doctor prescribed laxatives. Rumble’s lesson in the pitfalls of petty theft had come when he’d spent the next two days of his life becoming acquainted with the many bathrooms across Ponyville.

“Yes,” Rumble groaned through tightly clenched teeth, “I remember that.”

“Well,” said Button, “This hoodie smells almost as bad as that…”

“You’ll be fine, Button,” said Rumble, expanding the length of his left wing outwards and draping it over Button’s back “But, just to be on the safe side you might want to take a more few swigs of this? Liquid courage is really the best confidence booster I know of.”

He offered Button Mash the vodka, and a shaky, repressive hoof from Button Mash reached to grab it. Cautious and anxious, he searched both left and right for any sight of witnesses to his participation in public intoxication. When he was quite sure the coast was clear, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a nice long swig. As he finished, he burped into his hoof, though he was still frowning. The charms of alcohol had yet to take their affect on the troubled colt.

Sensing this, Rumble placed a hoof onto Button Mash’s shoulder.

“Chin up, eh?” said Rumble, petting the colt on the space between his neck and back twice, “Remember: Sex. Tonight. With girls.”

Button Mash’s cheeks turned red and a lopsided, goofy smile crawled up his face. “Yeah. Sex with girls...”

He tapped his hoof on the ground, checked left, right, then took another long sip of vodka from the bottle. Bolstered by a stomach lined and filled with liquid courage, he put on a grin more goofy than before.

“You guys really think I’ve got a shot?” he asked, staring towards his companions with soft, needy eyes.

Rumble nodded his head. “Just follow my lead, don’t be such dork, and you should do alright.”

“Right, ‘Don’t be a dork’, yeah…” Button Mash smiled and leapt up from the park bench, “So, uh… Whoa…” He took a step back, his eyes bulged outwards and he whipped his head from the left to the right; his shaggy ginger mane flew across his face. “I’m getting kind of light headed…”

He staggered backwards a few paces, stopped and shook his head again. He took in a deep breath of air and exhaled, belching. Strands of saliva flew out of his mouth and his eyes rolled backwards.

“You okay, Button?” Shady asked, moving towards him.

“Oh, yeah.” Button Mash nodded his head and smiled a crooked grin. “I’m cool, dude. I’m totally chill.”

Rumble snorted then slapped Button Mash on the back. “That, my friend, is the attitude of a colt looking to lose his virginity.”

The goofy, lopsided grin on Button Mash’s face lifted higher up his cheeks. He shook his rear from the left to the right, puffed out his chest and then trotted in proud, confident steps forwards, holding his head high with pride.

“Yeah!” he cheered, kicking himself off the ground and clicking the heels of his back legs together, “I’m getting laid tonight!”

“Damn right!” Rumble laughed.

Once again Rumble pulled what little was left of the vodka from his pocket and when he did, he took a long, boisterous chug; his throat expanded and deflated for a few long moments while he swallowed back the cheap vodka. When he finished, he belched then gave a loud, jovial “Awoo” at the tops of his lungs.

A curious thing happened in a quiet moment between the three colts. The second that the bottle was stuffed back into Rumble’s pocket the world around him drifted away. Basic instincts and impulses took over his mind, and dictated his actions. These impulses sent him bolting down the street again, with Shady and Button Mash trailing behind him.

He had a song stuck in his head. It came from an album of Post-Punk Rock music that Thunderlane liked to play at parties. He couldn’t remember the name of the song to save his life, but he did remember the lyrics, and for reasons he couldn’t explain to any higher powers, he felt the need to share them with the rest of Ponyville. Which is what he did.

Skipping left, dashing right, lunging forwards and occasionally stumbling backwards, Rumble danced and sang his way down the street for his audience; the citizens of Ponyville unlucky enough to be within earshot and eyesight to watch his unfolding.

“I’ve got a terrible feeling itching/About a mare and her non stop talk!’” He screamed, leaping over the cracks in the pavement he walked on, popping his shoulders and swaying his waist violently to the left and right. “In a couple weeks she’ll be bitching!/Show her the door and make her walk!”

Watching one of his best friends become undone before his eyes — screeching lyrics about all the pitfalls of dating mares — Shady Daze was hit with a sudden curiosity; one which concerned how Rumble ever managed to have ‘adult relations’ with things that weren’t toasted bagels, pies, or inflatable polymer lovers shaped like Princess Celestia, Princess Sparkle or Princess Luna.

“She’ll go out at night and won’t leave you a bit!” screamed Rumble, “Laugh about it with her friends and won’t give a shit!”

He darted forwards, lifted himself off of the ground and grabbed onto a lamp post. He swung his body around it, once, then twice, and then released. His wings spread outwards and with the grace and dignity of a feather falling to earth, he landed on his hooves, stopped to shake his waist once more, then again he was tearing down the streets of Ponyville.

“Try your best but she’ll never smile!” he shouted, “Give a mare an inch and she’ll take a mile!”

On the street opposite Rumble, Shady Daze and Button Mash, Mr. Cake was walking with his two foal-aged children — Pound and Pumpkin. Curiosity hit him, his eyes fell on Rumble’s form and he stopped to stare. There were no words or phrases which could be strung together to explain the fear and loathing in his eyes. He tried, feebly, to shield first the eyes, then the ears, of his children. To protect them from the dastardly fiend they watched with innocent curiosity. But, four eyes and four ears were too many to shield with just his two hooves and he abandoned whatever parental interests he had in protecting his children. Rumble had won a battle he never knew he was fighting.

The thought that one day, years ahead in the future, the adult Pound or Pumpkin Cake would be laying on a velvet couch in a therapist’s office explaining to a pony with PHD’s on his wall that a traumatic event in his or her childhood had stolen their innocence hit Rumble. A warm feeling burned inside of his stomach. Stll singing, he spun left on the tips of his hooves, towards the Cake family, smiled and waved.

Pound Cake waved back.

Mr. Cake nearly fainted.

Rumble took off laughing.

“See, the trouble with mares today is...” He reared himself onto his hind legs, lifted his chest upright and slapped and strung the imaginary strings of an air guitar. “Their mouths won’t stop!”

Mayor Mare, minding her own business — as was her right — walked the street paces before Rumble. Oblivious to the living embodiment of the term ‘trainwreck’ half a block ahead of her, she hardly registered the offense to good taste that was the drunken, singing, pegasus.

Rumble did not afford her the same respect.

When his eyes fell on her he lowered himself back onto all fours and dashed towards her, still shrieking the misogynistic lyrics at the top of his lungs. His tone was off key. He was drunk and Mayor Mare was about to become the victim of an incident that would, if all went according to Rumble’s plan, either enhance or ultimately ruin the rest of her day. Rumble wasn’t picky, either option was good enough for him.

When Rumble reached Mayor Mare, he again lifted himself onto his hind legs and threw his left hoof around her right shoulder. He hugged himself against her body, and began bumping his waist into her. She fought, pushed against him and spat curses, but Rumble would have none of it. He lifted her leg with his right hoof, slapped his left hoof to her waist and tried, in vain, to force the older pony to spin.

Mayor Mare did not take kindly to this and mouthed something which looked an awful lot like “Not today…”

Shady Daze was six seconds too late to do much else but watch as Mayor Mare struck Rumble across the face with the backside of her left hoof. It was a classic slap. The kind that ended arguments between mares in the kinds of dramatic movies that he hated. Rumble, having taken more than his fair share of blows to the cranium, was entirely unphased by the slap. He laughed, spun himself so that his back was to Mayor Mare, then pressed his rear up against her waist and rubbed the cheeks of his rear against her.

Absolute and utter revolution overtook Mayor Mare. She screamed more curses, threatened jail time, kicked, slapped and shoved Rumble, who remained entirely ignorant to her words and actions.

It was Shady Daze who wrapped his hooves around Rumble’s chest and tore him off of the mayor. He threw Rumble to the side, smiled softly at the older mare and gave her a sympathetic look which would, hopefully, explain that; ‘Yes, he did understand the consequences of Rumble’s actions, but that his punishment would better be decided by the hooves of karma and the whim of the great magnet, than by her and the Equestrian legal system. Besides, juvie really wouldn’t even help a colt like Rumble. It would breed him into some kind of anti-authoritarian mutant, who, upon release, would torch everything in his path with an earned sense of vengeance. This would be entirely her fault. Of course.’

“Sorry about him,” was what he ended up saying, giving the mayor another soft smile, “We’ll just be going...”

Mayor Mare’s stone glare came on him so strong that Shady Daze’s belly filled with ice. For a brief moment he considered abandoning his friend to his fate, letting the powers that be see fit to punish Rumble while he high-tailed it to the train station to catch the next ride out of Ponyville. He wanted to hide away in some backwater town like Dodge Junction where he could spend the rest of his life praying no pony ever heard from him again.

“Get it together, boys.” said Mayor Mare, staring at him with cold, hard eyes.

By this time Button Mash had joined them, but was smart enough to know that keeping his mouth shut tight and playing ignorant to the events that had unfolded would look much better on his rap-sheet than aiding and abetting his friends. He stood still, with his head bowed and traced his hoof along the pavement, dragging tiny pebbles and dirt across the crosswalk.

Mayor Mare’s eyes moved from Button Mash, to Rumble, and then onto Shady Daze once more. There wasn’t so much as a single trace of humor or good nature on her face; the lines in her fur — earned through age — were creased and formed a malicious frown; one which spoke volumes of her disappointment, anger and distaste for the three ponies.

Sensing this, Shady Daze swallowed a lump in his throat then nodded his head. “Sorry, ma’am…”

She stared through him, then again turned her gaze to Rumble, and then Button Mash. Button Mash’s head was still hanging to the ground, though he lifted his eyes to meet the mayor’s and offered — as best as he could — an understanding, appreciative smile. She stared next at Rumble, who ignored her entirely.

Mayor Mare sighed, shook her head and then did and said no more about the three. Instead, she trotted away, muttering curses about ‘the youth of today’ while looking like she’d just become the victim of a heinous sexual crime — which was only a partial truth.

When she rounded the corner, and Shady Daze was sure that no authority figures would swoop down on them and throw them in a dark damp dungeon cell for the rest of their lives, he turned towards Rumble and glared.

“Do you have any idea how lucky we are right now?”

Rumble was still dancing, shaking his hips and chest in unison, and rocking his head from left to right. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Can you please try and calm down a bit?” Shady begged, “We’re not even going to make it to the bar if you keep going like this...”

Rumble stopped his jig and stared Shady Daze dead in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he groaned, paused, then a laugh escaped from his mouth, “Actually, no. I’m not sorry. I am so fucking stoked! It’s my best friend’s birthday today!” He stopped, reared himself back onto his hind legs and beat his hooves against his chest. “He’s finally legal, and he’s getting fucking laid tonight! That’s a milestone, Shady! That’s an event horizon!”

Rumble dropped back down to all fours, leaned his muzzle towards Button Mash’s face and pressed his lips, wet with vodka and saliva, to Button Mash’s left cheek. His lips made a wet *Pop* noise when he pulled away, and left behind two wet trails of saliva shaped like his lips. Button Mash’s cheeks flushed bright pinkish hues, and he pushed Rumble off of him.

“Shady does have a point,” he said, scratching at his neck, “You were just… twerking with our mayor.”

“I’m sure she loved it!” Rumble laughed, “In fact, I bet either of you a case of Lo-Brau, that, that’s the most action she’s gotten from a stallion in eons!”

“You’re mental, Rumble,” said Shady. “Seriously. She could have arrested you just now.”

“For what?”

“Oh, I don’t know; Public Drunkenness? Sexual Harassment? Public Indecency?” Shady Daze sighed, “Pick one, Rumble.”

“You pick one, Shady!” Rumble fired back.

“Nice one,” sighed Shady, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever,” grunted Rumble, before taking another long drink from the bottle of vodka. As he finished, he screwed the cap back on, shoved the bottle into his pocket and threw his head in the direction of road that the mayor had left on. Snarling, he grunted and spit a loogie onto the ground.

“Mayor Mare can go defile herself with the fun side of a cactus for all I care!” he shouted, “In fact, so can every stuck up pony who thinks that they’re too good for this town; Mayor Mare, Filthy Rich. The good lady Rarity. Diamond Tiara. Silver Spoon. Sweetie Belle-”

“Hey!” Button Mash snapped, “Don’t talk about Sweetie Belle like that, okay? She’s really nice...”

A smile crept it’s way up Rumble’s face. “You’ve still got a hard-on for Sweetie Belle, Button?”

“I don’t have a crush on her!” bellowed Button Mash hotly, “She’s just really smart, and pretty, and she smells really good. Like, sometimes she’ll sit beside me in class, and she has this perfume that she wears, and when she gets up to go to the bathroom or something, you can still smell it on her book bag and... ”

Blank faced and blinking, Rumble and Shady Daze stared at Button Mash completely silently for minutes.

“Oh, nerts!” Button Mash groaned, “That was out loud, wasn’t it?”

Rumble and Shady Daze nodded.

Button Mash’s face fell, and he sighed.

It started with a snicker from Shady Daze, then another from Rumble, and then, before he knew it, Button Mash’s two best friends were doubled over with laughter, all of it directed at him. Shady Daze pulled himself together, dusted the sleeves of his jacket off and then moved towards Button Mash.

“You know, aside from how creepy what you just said was, I think it’s actually kind of cute that you’re still into her,” Shady said, rubbing Button Mash’s back. “I mean, I get it. You guys did hang out a bit when you were younger, and you used to have ‘Milkshakes Mondays’ at Sugarcube corner. I think you’d make a cute couple.”

“Uh, thanks for that, Shady.” said Button Mash, rubbing his leg. “But, um, could we maybe keep that part about, erm, how I like how she smells between the three of us?”

Shady Daze and Rumble nodded, then Rumble broke away from the group and reared himself onto his hooves.

“Enough time wasting. No-more-stopping until we hit The Toad!” he declared, “Come on, it’s-” His eyes darted around the street until they scanned the digital clock in the window of The Quill and Sofa. “-Shit! How is it not even five o’clock yet?”

“That’s what I’m saying, Rumble!” sighed Shady Daze, “You two are either going to get arrested, puke, or pass out before we even make it to the first bar on this merry little adventure of ours.”

“Nuh uh.” Button chimed in, pacing forwards, stumbling left, right, and then straightening himself out. “We’re okay. The Toad’s only two blocks away, Shady. Plus, we’re not that drunk. Plus, I’m getting laid tonight. Plus, it’s my birthday, so we all get to do whatever we want!”

He raised his hoof, lost his balance and staggered left.

“Yeah, Shady,” Rumble said, “You heard the birthday boy, right? Instead of being such a dildo, why don’t you help me finish this bottle and join the dark side with us?”

Rumble’s hoof found itself once more in his pocket and then, just as quickly as it disappeared, it reappeared right before Shady’s face with what was left of a once entirely full bottle of vodka.

There were two blocks separating them from The Toad In The Hole now. Shady Daze could hardly see how much harm an uncultured hedonist and a lonely virgin could get into from then until they made it to the bar. With that in mind he took the bottle from Rumble’s clutches, clamped his eyes shut and took a strong enough gulp to keep him in good spirits.

Fire ran through his veins, his head got lighter and then, before he knew it, he was smiling again. Any and all negative thoughts about Mayor Mare, Rumble, Button Mash and the night ahead were gone.

Grinning to himself, he skipped paces ahead of Rumble and Button Mash, towards The Toad In The Hole.

***

Along with The Gilded Oat, Pastelles, Cranky Mule’s Pawn Shop and Evergreen, The Toad In The Hole was part of a trend of businesses that had pushed themselves into Ponyville in recent years and transformed the quaint town into a would-be hub stop. Unlike the previously mentioned restaurants, shops and businesses, The Toad in The Hole was a proper shithole.

The decor inside The Toad in The Hole was tacky and more than typical for a pub that drew it’s inspirations from Trottingham; the chairs creaked and wobbled and every single rectangular table had curses carved into the wood. The interior was dark, dingy and stunk of smoke and spilled spirits. The bodies behind the counter were more often than not just as drunk as the patrons they served, and they played the same Dirty Fetlocks album on repeat from open until close. There was a jukebox, a dartboard — with a picture of Prince Blueblood’s face in the centre — and a billiards table. The bathrooms had graffiti tagged across the walls and all live acts were shoved into a small corner in the far back where a stage too small for a single pony to stand properly faced the bar.

Of all the watering holes he had yet to be banned for life from in Ponyville, The Toad in The Hole was the one Rumble liked the most.

He entered through the doors with a drunken skip to his step. The second that tasteless Neo-Progressive Post-Punk music hit Rumble’s ears, he raised himself onto his hind legs and threw his upper legs out.

“Here I am, world!” he shouted, “Who wants to love me?”

He got no answer.

He lowered himself back to all fours and turned to Shady Daze and Button Mash.

“More drinks.” he sang, “More drinks! More drinks! More drinks!”

And then he was off again. Wading his way towards the bar, kicking at the air and snapping his head to the left then the right.

Shady Daze and Button Mash trotted calmly after him.

Rumble reached the bar, flopped into a barstool and slapped his hoof against the counter. “Service!”

A thin, frail looking, earth pony with box frame glasses, walked towards them. “What’ll it be, lads?”

“Six shots of Tequila Mockingbird,” Rumble barked, “And three pints of Lo-Brau.”

Shady Daze looked to Button Mash, who looked back at him. Both ponies shrugged their shoulders and took up places on opposite sides of Rumble at the bar.

“Six shots?” squeaked Button Mash. “I… uh, I feel like I could maybe do one.”

“Pussy,” grunted Rumble. “It’s your-”

“‘Birthday today’,” sighed Shady Daze, “We get it, Rumble.”

“Just take the shots, alright?”

A tray of drinks was set down before them; Six small, single serve glasses of liquid that looked the same colour as water from a rusty pipe, with three pint glasses filled with sudsy piss coloured beer.

“You’re looking at forty five bits,” said the bartender.

Rumble nudged Button. “Can you cover this, birthday boy?”

Button Mash blinked. “Are you serious?”

“C’mon, Button. I’ve, got, like…” he paused and lowered his voice, “I don’t have a lot of money on me tonight. But, I’m good for it.”

With a sigh, Button Mash reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small satchel of coins that he threw onto the counter. The bartender pushed his box-frame glasses up his face and cleared his throat.

“You gotta tip, too, Button.” said Rumble.

Button Mash sighed, slipped his hoof into his pocket again and pulled out a hoof-full of bits that he tossed onto the counter.

The stallion behind the bar scooped the extra bits into his pocket, turned on his heel and moved away from the trio of colts, who sat staring down at their drinks.

“Happy birthday, Button!” Rumble cheered and lifted a shot glass off the table, “Should we do an ‘Awoo’ on three?”

Shady Daze and Button Mash grabbed their shots and nodded their heads.

“One.”

Shady braced himself.

“Two.”

Button swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Awoo!”

Rumble, then Shady and finally Button Mash swallowed back two standard ounces of mixed bottom shelf tequila and whiskey.

Tequila Mockingbirds were heinous and terrible things to take as a shot. The whiskey fought with the tequila on the tongue for control of taste buds, but by then the mind would already be recoiled in horror. Swallowing brought the mix down to the stomach, where half an hour after consumption, it would resurface in one way or another.

It wasn’t uncommon for most ponies to throw up after a shot of Tequila Mockingbird. Rumble was not one of those ponies.

He wiped traces of whiskey and tequila from the corners of his mouth with the back of his left hoof, hocked a loogie up in his throat — which he spit onto the floor the moment the bartender’s back was turned to him — then slapped the bar hard with his hooves.

“One more?” he asked.

Coming from Rumble, it wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement. His hoof had already gripped the second shot tight enough that with anymore pressure he’d have had shattered the glass. He was ready and it was only the vaguest notions of patience and respect for his friend’s well being that kept him from taking it.

Button Mash sighed. “Sure,”

Rumble didn’t do a count down. The second that Shady and Button’s hooves reached towards their shot glasses he’d already swallowed his, slammed it on the table and grabbed for his pint glass.

Half of the beer made it into his mouth, the rest of it ran down his chin and over his upper lip, then fell to the floor. When he was finished, he wiped the froth moustache away from his face with his hoof and slammed the empty glass onto the counter.

“Alright then,” he said, clapping his hooves together, “Who’s buying the next round?”

***

For over an hour, Rumble, Button Mash and Shady Daze had been slumped over the counter, trading barbs and throwing insults at each other.

A true and proper bar hop was a slow build. Something that required patience, an iron stomach and an affinity, familiarity and respect for the drink; If a pony drank too much too fast, he (or she) stood a chance of losing focus.

This was something you wouldn't want to do.

Rumble, and Shady Daze — and to a lesser degree, Button Mash as well — were quite familiar with the ins and outs of a bar crawl, and so they’d been pacing themselves over the last hour, moving from strong drinks to lite-beers or, in Shady’s case, a Bloody Maree.

His curious choice in drink was now the topic of discussion among the three.

“You realize what you’re drinking is just a glass of ketchup with vodka in it?” Rumble asked, “You just paid seven bits for a cup of the same condiment they have for free on all the tables here. You know that, right?”

Shady Daze slurped from his straw. He released, belched into his hoof, then licked his lips. “Yeah, but mine came with a bendy straw and ice cubes.”

He slurped his drink again. Rumble rolled his eyes. Button Mash spun himself around in his seat.

“Sure you don’t want one?” Shady asked, inching closer to Rumble and wiggling his eyebrows, suggestively. “They’re really good.”

“No thanks, Shady,” Rumble said, pushing Shady away, “I’ll just stick with beer and my pair of testicles, thanks.”

Shady Daze rolled his eyes and took another sip from the straw.

“Waste of vodka,” Rumble muttered, shaking his head.

Beside the two of them, Button Mash sat idly stirring around the last sips of beer in his glass, and watching the bubbles float to the surface. He drew his eyes away from his beer to stare around the bar, sighed deeply, then stirred his glass again.

“I thought you guys said there were going to be girls here?”

“Oh, they’ll come.” Rumble said, leaving obvious implications in the air.

“When?” asked Button Mash. “We’ve already been here an hour?”

Rumble stared around the bar and drank in his surroundings; there were ponies present, almost a dozen, spread out across the bar, hunched over drinks and staying quiet. None of them, however, were mares. He tapped his hoof on the counter and short seconds after the bartender — whose name tag read ‘Morty’ — came to his call.

“What’ll it be?”

“How about an explanation for letting this place turn into the saddest gay bar in town?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Morty,” said Rumble. “This place used to be alright on a Friday night, now it’s shit. Real shit. You should be ashamed!”

“Listen, lads,” said Morty, tapping the tips of his fetlocks against the bar counter, “I put up with a lot here; I’ve had ponies wipe shit on the walls in the bathroom. I’ve had ponies stand up and take a piss on my counter, and I’ve seen an Earth pony get stabbed with a unicorn’s horn. I’ve more than earned the right to not have lip from the likes of you. If you don’t like the bar, I can gladly toss you three out into the alley?”

Shady Daze leaned over the bar and blocked Rumble from Morty with his body.“He’s sorry,” said Shady. “Right, Rumble?”

Rumble grunted.

“Buncha’ tossers,” Morty groaned as he walked away.

Shady Daze turned to Rumble, “What was that about?”

“It’s this place, Shady!” Rumble grunted, “It’s killing my buzz. We’ve been here for, like, an hour and nothing worth shaking Button’s cock at has walked through that door!”

Just then the door to the pub opened with the sound of a bell chime. Rumble snapped his head to see the new arrival’s and his eyes grew wide and hungry. A smile creased across his lips.

“Do you believe in karmic justice?” he asked, “Because, look who’s platonic slumber buddy and her two single, sexy friends just walked in?”

Shady Daze and Button Mash turned their heads.

Standing in the doorway were three mares, just as Rumble had promised. Peppermint Twist, Dinky Doo and Archer, all smiling, searched the bar with their eyes.

Twist had aged just as Rumble, Shady and Button had. She’d grown up and evolved into a cultured and refined young lady of taste and class; she’d cropped her mane short, traded in her box frame glasses for a slicker pair of Oatley lenses and, thanks to speech therapy, no longer talked with the same lisp and stutter she once had.

Her body too had developed, no longer was she short or stocky, instead, she stood the same height as Flitter and Cloudchaser and carried herself with just as much elegance and dignity. She was shapely — a few pounds past ‘fit’ — but not in any way that made her unappealing to the eye.

Dinky, too had grown into herself; she wore her blond mane long and straight, combed behind her ears and held in place with a butterfly hair clip. She was taller than Twist and thinner. Not quite curvy, or buxom, she had a more classic sense of beauty to her.

Finally, rounding out the three, was Archer the pegasus. She wore her royal blue mane short and wild, but not unkempt. A proper length with a respectable look to it. Her body was fit, narrow and athletic. Reasonably muscular legs and thighs, thinner waist and a flat rear.

Those were the girls.

Twist wore a black button up petticoat. Archer a moss green hooded sweater -- with the hood over her head and Dinky had a light blue sweater pulled over her chest.

When Twist saw Shady Daze she smiled and waved towards him.

“I wonder what they’re doing here?” asked Button Mash, “It doesn’t seem like the kind of place they’d go on a Friday night.”

“They probably just got lost on their way to a gangbang.” said Rumble.

Shady Daze slapped Rumble hard on the shoulder.

“First off; that was totally uncalled for, Rumble!” said Shady, “And secondly: can you not talk about my ex and her friends like they’re something you’d lure into your fucking dungeon after a party?”

“Look at you standing up for your ex of the wrong sex,” Rumble grinned, “When are you guys getting back together, already?”

“You’re a dick,” said Shady Daze, “And because you’re a dick, I’m going to go over there, say ‘hello’ to the girls and then tell them that both of you have taken a vow of celibacy.”

“Whoa, what did I do?” said Button Mash.

“Yeah, yeah.” Rumble said, waving Shady away. “We’ll both be right here if you need any moral support to deal with your backwards sexual identity crises.”

With that, Shady Daze took the last sip from his Bloody Maree, pushed himself out of his bar stool and made his way towards Twist, Dinky and Archer.

***

“Hello, Shady.” greeted Dinky, with cheer in her voice. A soft, dainty little flush spread up her cheeks, and she smiled warmly to greet Shady Daze.

The girls, and solo stallion, stood a few steps from the doorway all together.

“Hey, Dinky,” Shady greeted back with a polite and courteous head nod towards her, “Archer,” another head nod to the pegasus, “Twist.” a final nod to his ex-girlfriend.

All three of the girls smiled back at him.

“What are three upstanding tax paying citizens like yourselves doing in a dive bar like this?”

Archer snorted, “Is that really what you’re coming to bat with, Shady?”

“Hey, I’m a little rusty when it comes to talking to your kind.” He smirked and scratched the back of his neck, “Go easy on me?”

Archer chuckled.

“But, really, what are you guys doing here?” He asked, “I mean, this place is sort of… sketchy.”

“I think we can handle it, Shady.” Archer grinned, “But, if any of these sad old drunks decide to hit on us, maybe we could throw you at them as a distraction or something? You’re into that, right?”

“You’re exceptionally peppy tonight, Archer” Shady grunted. “What gives?”

“Just making conversation.” she said cheerfully.

Twist and Dinky rolled their eyes. This was Archer’s way; she wasn’t one for rude assertions or back-hoofed compliments, her familiarity and friendliness came out in self-assured confidence and pride.

“Right.” Shady nodded. “You still didn’t answer the question, though?”

“Oh, we just stopped in for a drink.” answered Twist, smiling at Shady. “We’re trying to get to Diamond Tiara’s house, but, she’s not having ponies over until seven, and this is the only place that serves a half decent, affordable, Crystal Island Iced Tea in Ponyville.”

“Diamond Tiara’s?” Shady asked, cocking his jaw to the right, “Doesn’t she, like, hate everyone who’s name isn’t ‘Silver Spoon’? Isn’t that her thing?”

“I know, it’s so weird!” Archer said, “The last few weeks she’s been, like, a totally different pony. She actually told me I looked nice the other day. And then, today in algebra, she handed Twist this note that said she was having Applebloom, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo over for a shindig at her place, and asked us if we could come. It’s trippy.”

“Yeah,” said Dinky. “I’ve never even had a conversation with her before today, now, out of nowhere, she wants us all to be best friends?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing crazy. It’s probably just the end of days.” Shady Daze grinned, “Which would suck, I finally found a mane-stylist I get along with.”

“Wow,” Archer said, “You’ve really taken to that whole gay thing, haven’t you?”

Shady Daze’s cheeks turned red and he scratched his neck a little harder.

It was only in the past few months that Shady Daze had come to be known as irresistibly attracted to stallions to all of Ponyville. He was fine with it, as were most ponies — whose names weren’t Brolly. Still, the experience of having his recently discovered sexuality used against him — however lightly and good natured as it was intended — from anyone who wasn’t Rumble was still an experience he had yet to get comfortable with. In time, he hoped, he could take lighthearted stabs at his same-sex attraction more lightly.

Scratching his neck once more, he grinned back at Archer, if only to assure her he wasn’t in fact disgustingly offended by her quips.

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t think you guys should go to Diamond Tiara’s place tonight.”

“Why not?” asked Twist.

“I dunno, it feels wrong to me. She’s-” He stopped his sentence and swallowed. “She doesn’t just do nice things for ponies. There’s gonna be a catch somewhere.”

“Maybe she’s evolving?” said Dinky, retrospectively. “She has been hanging out with Sweetie Belle, Applebloom and Scootaloo a lot lately. Maybe they’re teaching her how to be decent?”

“More like she’s just trying to gain leverage on you guys for some kind of heinous rumor,” said Shady, “Remember that time Button Mash got a hernia and had to go to the hospital? She told everyone at school that he was having a Doctor Colossus action figure surgically removed from his ass.”

Archer snickered, Dinky hardly cracked a smile and Twist turned her head away to hide her cheeky grin.

“Or, how about the time she started telling everyone that Snips and Snails held ‘Mutual Masturbation Mondays’ in the school bathrooms?”

Again, Archer was the only one to snicker. Twist’s head was still turned away, so Shady couldn’t tell if she recalled this memory with humor or detest. Although, it was Dinky — who wore a frown long across her pink face — that looked to take the most offense to this statement. She raised a hoof into the air and scratched the underside of her chin.

“What about what she did to you?” Dinky asked.

Shady Daze bit his lower lip. “Yeah, there’s that too…”

"That, um, wasn't really funny..." said Archer slowly, fidgiting on the spot. Her ears fell, her lower lip came up over her upper one and she sighed.

There was no reason now for any of the four to chuckle.

"No, it wasn’t." said Twist, sternly. “It was mean and absolutely uncalled for…”

Shady Daze fell silent, recalling — rather unhappily — the time he’d been made a victim of one of Diamond Tiara’s rumors. Sensing his hesitation, Twist put her hoof on his shoulder, stroked the muscles in his leg gently and smiled. He smiled back.

"Why don't you guys have a drink with us before you make any serious decisions about tonight?" Shady offered, changing the subject. "It's just me, Rumble and Button Mash. I promise I’ll keep Rumble on his best behavior.”

"Button Mash is here?" Dinky asked, staring past Shady's shoulder towards the colt in question, who was once again spinning around aimlessly in his bar stool.

“Yeah,” said Shady Daze, “It’s his birthday, so Rumble and I thought we’d take him out for a few drinks. It’s nothing crazy.”

“Girls night out, eh, Shady?” Archer laughed, prodding Shady on the belly with her hoof.

“Something like that...”

“I guess we could stay for a few drinks?” suggested Twist, staring at Dinky and Archer. “We were going to go to a Care-Okay bar, but, we can do that after. That’s not a problem, right?”

Both girls shook their heads.

“Cool, cool,” said Shady, “I’ll go tell Rumble and Button. You guys wanna grab a table?”

Twist nodded her head and then the two parties split way; Shady Daze trotting towards the bar, Twist, Dinky and Archer making their way through a crowd towards a quieter corner of the room where a table sat alone and unattended.

Author's Notes:

A huge round of 'Thank You's go out to SomeoneLostInTheWorld, MaskedFerret, The_Weatherbug, Einhander, Cola_Bubble_Gum and anyone else who I probably forgot to thank (But who should totally leave a scathing comment about that in the comment section).

There are, I think, the most Pop-Culture references of any chapter of any fic I've written in this one chapter. Internet Kudos, a shout out and my undying respect and admiration go out to the guy (or girl) who can find the most. Also, as a side note, there's a bit of dialogue here almost word-for-word from my favorite character, in my favorite trashy British Melodrama 'Skins' here, that, if anyone can figure out, will definitely become Best Pony in my mind for.

Otherwise, enjoy the chapter and don't forget to leave a comment if you liked it/hated it (IT helps me out big time as a writer to know what you guys like/don't like about a chapter).

Boys And Girls

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Boys And Girls

Dusk in the small town of Ponyville and the witching hours were still young. Six hours of night lay ahead, and for Rumble, Button Mash and Shady Daze, this meant a town with it’s back turned to their particular brand of antics.

The Toad in The Hole was half empty; a legion of ponies filled the bar stools and square tables in single units — with little difference that made way for the occasional twosome of ponies. Among them, the usual Friday night crowd had once again convinced themselves that a night ‘here’ was better than a night wherever they called home. Berry Punch, Cranky Doodle Donkey and his wife Muela. Familiar faces surrounded the boys. None of them dared to make eye contact with the three.

This was an unspoken rule of Dive Bars.

Rumble — with a skip to his step and a sideways-leaning gait — approached the bar counter with a foolish grin spread across his grey cheeks, and holding a tray of drinks between his teeth. Of the glasses two were of the usual design — fat around the rim, with edges and a handle. Filled with piss coloured Lo-Brau — while the third was a thinner, hourglass shape that lacked the handle and was filled with a darker, ink black liquid — which was Hoe-Carten.

“Here we are, boys,” said Rumble, setting the tray down and taking his seat in the stool between Button Mash and Shady Daze. He was greeted with head nods from Shady and Button.

Rumble kicked his lower legs around the barstool, tapped Shady Daze’s thigh with the tip of his lower-left hoof, and then set the fancier of the three beers just before Shady Daze. He did this and punctuated his actions with a knowing wink towards his friend.

“One exceptionally queer beer for my exceptionally queer friend,” he said, then set down the two remaining glasses of beer before himself and Button, “And, two regular, normal, beers for me and Button, because we are both regular and normal.”

Shady shot Rumble a smirk, then took a sip of his so called ‘Gay’ beer. Rumble too took a sip of ‘Normal’ beer and gave a content sigh.

“Regular in the literal, or the figurative?” asked Shady, raising a cynical brow towards Rumble, “Because, there should be enough fibre in that Lo-Brau to fix that up for you.”

“Hardy-har, Shady,” choked out Rumble, setting his glass down and then belching afterwards. “As much as I’m sure you’re just dying to know, what goes on with my butt is really my business and my business only. Unless you want me to start screaming ‘rape’?”

“You know,” Shady Daze said, rolling his pink tongue out from between his dry lips and burying his eyebrows down his forehead, “If you ever wanna take a trot on the wild side, Rumble…”

“Pass,” said Rumble without a moment of hesitation. “Your kind just can’t hold any candles to the beauty of the feminine form.”

Beside Rumble, Button Mash’s ears twitched twice when the words ‘Feminine Form’ escaped out of Rumble’s mouth. A lowly, pitiful grumble came from his lips and he dropped his head until his chin landed in a bowl of peanuts.

Rumble rubbed Button Mash on the shoulder, “What’s wrong, champion?” he begged.

“I don’t… really know how to talk to girls,” Button Mash sighed, lifting his pint-glass to his mouth and taking a swig. “It’s, like, they’re from another planet or something...”

He cocked his head towards a squared off table in the corner of the bar where three such creatures — the dreaded ‘girls’ of which he spoke — sat. They talked amongst themselves, giggled, laughed, snickered and acted in all the ways that girls enjoying a night out did.

Button watched them silently for a moment, then another anguished groan came from his mouth and he buried his face deeper into the peanuts on the bar counter.

Though he seldom cared to admit it, Button Mash’s experiences with mares was lackluster, unexceptional and more than not limited to his family tree. His mom, grandma, aunts, great aunts, cousins and the occasional ‘step-cousin, twice removed’; These were the mares and fillies that Button Mash drew his wealth of knowledge about the inner machinations of the feminine mind from.

Them, and Sweetie Belle.

He’d never kissed a girl. In his youth his mom and Rarity had arranged ‘play-dates’ between himself and Sweetie Belle, though, aside from sharing milkshakes, ice skating together one winter and the occasional dabble into the realm of cooperative video gaming, they’d never been anything more than friends.

That was the entirety of Button Mash’s love life.

He sighed again, lifted his beer and sipped greedily until the glass was empty.

“Listen, Button,” Shady said and touched his hoof to Button’s shoulder, stirring the colt out of his tranquil getaway from reality. “Your name isn’t Snips, or Snails, is it?”

“No…” replied Button, warily.

“And, you’re not mentally retarded. Are you?”

“No,” grumbled Button, “My mom had me tested when I was eight.”

“R-right, yeah…” Shady Daze stuttered and paused for a second. He traced his tongue along his lips and then continued, “Um, moving on… Do you have a dick between your legs?”

“What?”

Shady Daze reached his hoof down to Button Mash’s waist, lay it flat against the colt’s lap and brushed it down the side of his thigh, growing closer towards Button Mash’s never-touched special region.

“Whoa, hey!” Button Mash screamed, slapping Shady Daze’s hoof away from him so hard that it would bruise later. “Knock it off, Shady!”

“Okay, okay,” Shady said, grinning, “But, you’ve got a penis, right? A cock? A rod? A fuckstick? A-”

“I get it!” Button Mash shouted. “And, yes. I do!”

“And, from the number of times that I’ve walked in on you when you’re having your ‘quiet time’ with a copy of Filly Fanny Fun, I can tell that it works.”

“Yeah,” Button Mash grunted, “I’m starting to think it’s not by accident anymore…”

“Don’t misdirect!” Shady commanded. “Now, since you’re not anything less than a normal male in the prime of his life, with a healthy libido, I’m convinced that there’s absolutely no reason you can’t talk to these girls tonight. Agreeable?”

“I don’t know…”

“Button, one of them is Twist. And, you know her, right?” Shady asked. “I used to bring her around to your place all the time back when we were, you know… together.”

“Yeah.” Button nodded. “That’s true. She’s nice.”

“Yeah, she is. The other two you know from school,” said Shady. “Dinky really wants to get in to Princess Sparkle’s School for Gifted Youngsters in Canterlot when she graduates, and Archer plays hoofball and listens to The Dirty Fetlocks. So there’s something you can talk about with them.”

“I suppose…”

“How much money do you have on you?”

“What?”

“Money?” Shady asked. “How much?”

Button Mash shrugged, “Maybe like eighty bits left?”

“You should buy the next round.”

“No way!” Button snapped. “I already bought the first round!”

“Button, I’m trying to help you out here. Now, Twist likes Crystal Island Iced Teas, Dinky drinks Cosmarepolitans and Archer likes Whiskey Sours. If you buy the girls a round of drinks it’ll make you look charming.”

“But, I got this money in a card from my aunt. And, she told me to spend it on something that matters, and-”

“Button!”

This time it was Rumble who interjected. He stared cold and hard into the eyes of the emotionally cowering colt beside him, and wore a face neutral of any emotion. Button Mash swallowed a lump in his throat and prepared himself for a pep talk from his best friend.

“This is something that matters,” said Rumble “Buying the girls a round of drinks is like putting a down payment on pussy. It shows them that you’re charitable, which chicks love.” he raised his chin. “Besides, Thunderlane does it all the time. And look how well he does with the ladies.”

“Yeah?”

Rumble nodded.

“Look, Button. You can sit here all night, with us, and, yeah, Shady will probably make out with you later tonight if you get drunk enough-”

Shady Daze furrowed his brows at Rumble, who ignored him

“But it’s not going to get you laid, is it?””

“No...” said Button Mash.

“Or, you can buy the girls some drinks, get them a little less anxious, a little looser, and before you know it you’ll be snorkel deep between the thighs of Dinky, or Archer.” He stopped, laughed, then slapped a hoof to Shady Daze’s shoulder and flashed a grin. “Hells, I bet you could even go home with Twist.” He looked at Shady. “That is, you know, if you don’t mind sloppy seconds or potentially catching Shady’s ‘gay’...?”

“Fuck you, Rumble.” sighed Shady. “Seriously...”

“Aww, c’mon Shady,” said Rumble, brushing the other colt’s head with the fetlock of his hoof. “I’m just dicking around, is all.”

“Just cool it with all the vulgar jokes about Twist, alright?” said Shady.

“Fine,” said Rumble, “We cool?”

Shady Daze took a sip from his drink, swallowed, then nodded his head.

“Anyway, Button,” Rumble continued, “What do you say to that idea? Buying some drinks, getting the girls a little more familiar with how we do our thing? Making sure everypony is nice and comfortable with each other, before you get really comfortable with one of them?”

“Yeah… Yeah, okay!” Button Mash said.

“I’ll buy the drinks while you and Rumble go over there and say ‘hello’,” offered Shady, reaching his hoof out towards Button Mash, “Sound good?”

Button Mash nodded his head and reached a hoof into his pocket. He pulled out a treasure of small gold coins that he traded to Shady Daze. “This will work, right?”

“Absolutely.” said Rumble.

Shady nodded too, before breaking from the two and prancing towards the bar with a mouthful of Button Mash’s bits — wrapped in a cloth coin pouch — in his mouth. This left the Button Mash, cautiously unsure of himself, and Rumble, grinning like a wild-child.

“Wanna head over?” Rumble asked, nudging Button Mash in the soft fur of his belly. “I’ll take Archer. We’re both pegasi, so, you know, we’ve got that in common. You can get Dinky or Twist?”

“Sure, yeah,”

“Righty-O,” Rumble cheered, pushing out of his seat. “Let’s go pay the pussy buffet a visit!”

***

“Girls!”

Rumble greeted the table with all the charm, elegance and class of a colt taken with a good drunk. He was soused and not a pony at The Toad in The Hole would argue against the fact. He had on a stupid expression — half a smirk, and half an open mouthed smile — with eyes bulging outwards and glazed over.

This was ‘The Ever Elegant Rumble’ in his natural sedated/inebriated state. To the girls, this was nothing new. Since he was a lad of thirteen, and his brother had first left out a cup of vodka that he’d mistaken for water one late night, Rumble had been slowly sliding down the slippery slope. Tonight wasn’t much different.

When he fell into his seat, the chair wobbled, tipped to the right. It was only a firm grip on the hoof rest from Button Mash that kept Rumble, and chair, from further making a spectacle of their entrance.

Rumble didn’t pay this any concern.

Button Mash was terrified.

“How are we doing tonight?” asked Rumble, popping his shoulders, splaying out his wingspan and, then leaning forwards onto the table so that his chest touched chestnut wood and his body’s weight pulled coasters and bowls of peanuts to him.

His question was directed at the duo of quarter tables which currently sat his audience, who were Archer, Dinky Doo, Peppermint Twist and Button Mash. None of them looked at him with anything less than a studious curiosity in their eyes. He was a case study to them: the end product of a pony with too many ounces of liquid courage running through his veins and not enough conviction to work past it.

Rumble, however, was unmoved by the glares he received. Too far gone — mentally — and far too drunk to care, Rumble was content with riding the strong positive vibes his body shot through his system. Gone was any sense of shame or humiliation he might have once had (pre-drinks) Now replacing them was a strong sense of invincibility.

Rumble was riding the crest of a strong and beautiful wave.

“We’re okay.”

It was Twist who answered, never looking Rumble in the eyes, knowing full well that he’d consider that more than a compliment in his current state of inebriation.

“That’s good,” purred Rumble. “Everyone’s feeling prim and proper?”

The girls nodded their heads. Skeptical as they still were, they had the good faith and a voucher from Shady Daze that Rumble wasn’t in fact a sexual predator, and that this was actually him being kind. It wasn’t much, but it did keep them feeling safe.

“You all look great by the way,” he said, “Is that a new sweater, Dinky?”

Dinky smiled, softly, then nodded her head. Her eyes moved from Rumble’s drunken form onto Button Mash’s, who found himself locked in a curious staring contest with a coaster he twirled on the table.

“Shady’ll be right back with some drinks, courtesy of our little birthday boy.”

He patted Button Mash on the forehead, parting his mane and digging into his skin. Button Mash came to life; he groaned and with his left hoof threw Rumble’s leg away from him.

“Happy birthday, Button,” Dinky said.

He lifted his eyes to meet hers and he smiled softly. “Thank you, Dinky.”

“Barely legal, right?” asked a smirking Archer.

Button Mash nodded. “Yuppers,”

“That must feel good?” asked Archer, leaning forwards, readjusting herself into her seat and smiling at the birthday boy. “Finally old enough to buy copies of Moanin’ Mares without any trouble, eh?”

Rumble laughed, so did Twist — though with the common courtesy to cover it with her hoof. It was only Dinky who didn’t. Instead, she fired at her friend a glare which went ignored by the sole female pegasus of the table.

“Uh, heh, yeah…” Button said, reaching his right hoof behind his head and scratching at his mane, “I guess…”

“I remember my birthday,” said Archer, tapping her hoof on the table, “Me and my sister went to my cousin’s place in Cloudsdale and we got absolutely trashed on these Skynoff jello shots my cousin made. After that, I drank two litres of Dodge Junction Mudslides that my cousin made with expired milk she had in the back of her fridge, and I ended up doing the big spit in the toilet! Celestia, I didn’t even make it to the bar!”

“Fuckin’ rights, Archer!” Rumble said, then laughed and beat the table twice with his right hoof. Drinks and coasters shook. “I’m sure Cloudsdale’s much better off that way.”

Archer leaned forward and put on her worst pair of curious/enraged eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rumble waved an intrusive hoof at her face, “Nothin’,” he said. “It’s just, I’ve seen how you get at parties. Remember that time at Scootaloo’s birthday? I don’t think I can ever hear ‘Equestrian Rhapsody’ again without getting a hard-on.”

Archer shrunk back into her seat. “Shut up,”

Rumble grinned. “All I’m saying is you really know your way around wall mounted fixtures. Especially ones that look suspiciously like stripper poles.”

Archer fell back further in her seat and with her wings covered her face, hiding her blush and dropped eyelids.

Dinky looked at Button Mash, Button Mash at Dinky, then Rumble, then Twist. She rolled her eyes, turned towards Rumble and tapped him on the shoulder.

“How about you, Rumble?” Twist asked, with a sly grin spreading across her lips. “I’m sure yours must have been a night of refined culture and decadence.”

“It was most definitely a grand ol’ trying time,” admitted Rumble with a cheerful grin. “Brolly and Thunderlane threw a house party for the weather team after they stopped that tornado last summer, and, since it was my birthday we amalgamated the two. See, me and Shady were already at my place, celebrating with whiskey...”

“As per the usual,” Twist added in with a wry grin.

“Right, yeah,” nodded Rumble, “And, Button, you had a touch of I.B.S. that day, didn’t you?”

Slight pause in Rumble’s story for him to look over at the red-cheeked birthday boy.

“It was just a stomach flu,” grumbled Button Mash, folding his legs across his chest and frowning.

“Are you sure?” Rumble asked, “I remember your mom telling me and Shady that you locked yourself into the bathroom with a couple volumes of The Trotting Dead and your Joy-Boy in the morning and that you hadn’t come out since then?”

“That never happened!” Button Mash snapped, still red in the cheeks. “It was just the flu!”

“Anyway,” continued Rumble, “So, the weather team shows up at my place, Brolly’s drunk and Thunderlane gives me a bunch of caps of Candy Dust for my birthday, being a gent and all. Me and Shady took ‘em all at once,” He paused to laugh and slap himself in the forehead with his hoof, “And, shit, I remember getting fucked out of my mind on that stuff. I mean, I was dancing, and drinking vodka and cranberries that Blossomforth kept pouring me, and then, the next thing I know, I’m humping Flitter in the bathroom. I must have blacked out after that, cause I don’t remember much going on afterwards…” He stopped again to scratch his head, “When I woke up, the tub in the bathroom was half-filled with piss, Thunderlane was passed out on the lawn, and Shady was cuddled up in my bed, snoggin’ my Wonderbolts pillow.”

“How romantic.” Archer, who had regained her pride, sneered at Rumble. “You guys sure are close, huh?”

“Two peas in a pod,” shouted Rumble, “And, no, he didn’t get a chance to put anything inside of me during those lost hours of my life, Archer.”

“The thought never grazed my mind,” said Archer, smiling towards Rumble.

And, speaking of Shady Daze…

Carrying a tray of drinks and waltzing into the room, with a twist in his hips and lunging his neck right to left, came Shady Daze. He set the tray down on the square tables, then hopped into an empty seat between Button Mash and Twist.

“Drinks for the table,” said Shady, reaching for a pint of Lo-Brau. “You lot can thank Button Mash’s big wallet and even bigger heart for that.”

Five pairs of eyes fell on the colt, who smiled back. “Oh, hey, it’s really no problem.”

“Thank you very much, Button,” said Dinky. She reached forwards to grab her drink. When she did, she brought her hoof back, giggled and stared at the flustered colt before her. “But Button, ponies are supposed to buy you drinks on your birthday.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to Rumble,” Button mumbled into his glass.

“Well, what if I buy you your next drink?”

Button Mash’s ears perked upwards. He lifted his eyes from counting bubbles in his glass, to staring into the soft round pupils of Dinky Do’s eyes. She was smiling.

“R-really?”

“Sure,” she said. “If you’d like?”

“Yeah, that would be great!” he cheered.

Rumble kicked him in shin. He bit his lower lip.

“I mean, cool,” he gasped, then leaned backwards in his chair and threw his left leg over the legrest. “Yeah, that would be really cool, Dinky.”

Dinky giggled again. Her eyes studied his form, they scanned from his nervous, sweaty forehead, past his brows — arched in worry —, down to his trembling hooves. She smiled, then grabbed her drink with two hooves and took a sip from her Cosmarepolitan.

“Cheers,” Rumble said, raising his glass into the air.

“To Button Mash.” said Dinky.

“To Button Mash!” repeated a chorus from the table.

Dinky Doo was a pony that Button Mash hadn’t ever spent an exceptional amount of time around. He knew her through Twist and from around school. He knew that she was smart and that on their latest history test she’d gotten an ‘A-’. Her interests, personal, professional and otherwise, however, he decided he wanted to know more about.

“Um, so, hey, Dinky?”

It came out in a stutter.

“Yes, Button?”

“How are, uh… how’re things with you?”

She smiled at him. “Very good. Thank you.” She took another sip from her drink. “And you?”

“Really, really, really, good,” said Button Mash, “I just finished reading Volume Three of Fullmetal Pegasus, and, I was really looking forward to Volume Four, but then Rumble and Shady said I had to leave before I could open my presents, so I didn’t get a chance to see if my mom bought it for me for my birthday, like I asked her too, but…”

He clapped his hoof over his mouth.

“Don’t be a dork.”

The words echoed in his head.

“You read manga?”

Button Mash froze. Ice ran through his veins and his stomach clenched tight.

“Um, well, not like, a lot, or anything,” he squeaked, “I mean, sometimes I do, er, which is to say, that I like the art style, and the characters, and…”

He looked around the table to find five pairs of eyes staring at him. His company sat completely silent.

“Ah, nerts,” he groaned.

“Calm your teats, Button Mash,” Archer said, with a roaring laugh. “Dinky reads those ultra-nerdy kinds of rags too.”

Button Mash turned his eyes back towards Dinky, who nodded her head in agreement.

“You read Fullmetal Pegasus?” he asked.

“Yes.” she nodded, “I do.”

“But, like, you’re cool…”

“Reading comics and manga doesn’t make you a dork, Button,” she sighed. “Who told you that?”

Button Mash turned his head at Rumble and shot him a dirty look. The pegasus responded with a wink, then raised his glass and took a sip of beer.

“No one…” Button Mash sighed.

“When’s the fuckin’ honeymoon already?” said Rumble.

A flash of crimson spread across Button Mash’s cheeks. He kicked his leg into Rumble’s shin, who just ignored him with a whimsical whistle in the tune of ‘Here Comes The Bride’.

“Anyone up for a smoke?” Shady asked.

Twist raised her hoof, and Shady shot her a quizzical look. She shrugged it off and lifted herself out of her seat. Rumble smiled.

“If either one of you two come back with hickeys on your necks, I’m going to make fun of you for the rest of the night. Especially you, Shady Gays.”

“How clever, Rumble,” said Shady as he got out of his seat.

Shady Daze shrugged him off and headed to the outside porch, followed closely by Twist.

***

The mid evening air was cool and crisp. The sun had for the most part set now, leaving only faint traces of red in the sky. Shady Daze fished a Red Apple cigarette out of the pack, bit the end, then offered another to his company.

Twist rejected his offer with a polite wave of her hoof, reached into her pocket and pulled out a thin pack of Pom-Pom cigarillos — small, hoof rolled cigars the shape of a fatter cigarette with a built in plastic filter on one end and twisted up on the other. She accepted the gold plated lighter that Shady used to light his cigarette, lit the tip and then puffed a cloud of smoke.

“Since when do you smoke?” asked Shady, “I’m pretty sure I remember a time back when we were dating that you made me wash my hooves and brush my teeth before I could even hug you after a cigarette.”

“I don’t smoke,” she said, blowing smoke through her nostrils. “At least... I try not too. It’s really just when I drink.”

Shady Daze took a long drag from his Red Apple, and exhaled smoke through his nose and around his lips. “That’s how it starts,” he said, offering her his own brand of sage wisdom on the topic of cancer sticks.

She made a face: puckered her lower lip, scrunched up her nose, and Shady Daze laughed.

“So, how has Twist been since this morning?” he asked.

She blew another smoke cloud, then smiled.

“Twist has been good in the seven hours since I last saw you,” she said, dryly, “You left that black toque at my place though.”

Shady chuckled. “Keep it as a momento.”

A loud bang followed by a crash and shouting sounded from the bar, and both Twist and Shady Daze turned their heads to stare at the scene through the window. Rumble stood on his hind legs with his right leg on his chair and his left on the table, he was thrusting his pelvis at Archer’s face and pouring Lo-Brau down his throat. Beer splashed off his jaw and around his lips and fell onto the floor. Morty — the bartender — was screaming at Rumble from behind the bar.

When Shady Daze turned back, Twist was frowning.

“I can’t believe you still hang out with Rumble,” she said. “I know he’s your best friend, but he’s also kind of a dick.”

Another loud explosion from inside the bar had both ponies turning back towards the window.

They watched together as Archer, laughing, slammed her hoof on the table and threw golden bits at Rumble. Rumble was rotating his pelvis and shaking his flanks. Dinky sat, shrunken in her seat, with a revolted, embarrassed look to her, while Button Mash just bowed his head. Morty, the bartender, was still screaming at them, waving his hooves. Rumble said something to Morty, then dropped from the table and collapsed back into his seat.

“Nah.” Shady Daze shrugged. “Rumble’s alright.”

“Shady,” Twist said, tapping his shoulder, “He used to make, and eat, mud pies when we were kids.”

Shady Daze laughed a little louder.

“He still does,” he said. “That’s part of why I like him.”

“Come on, Shady,” Twist said, nudging him on the shoulder. “You’ve gotta be getting tired of that whole ‘Put-my-dick-in-any-pony-who-has-a-pulse’, thing by now?”

“He’s not that bad,” said Shady, “He’s got a few quirks, but he’s worth a few laughs. Besides, I have a pulse and Rumble’s never tried to put his dick in me.” He paused and his face fell. “Do you think it’s cause I’m not pretty enough, Twist?”

He faked a laugh, which Twist corrected with a stern, commanding eye. He swallowed and bowed his head.

“Sorry.”

She waved his false sympathy away with her hoof.

“I get why Button Mash likes him,” said Twist, “Button’s sort of… impressionable, and Rumble has a big ego and he can bed stupid girls-”

“And how,” said Shady.

“But you’re smart,” she finished.

“Thanks.”

“All I’m saying is, he needs to grow up.”

Shady Daze stared through the glass at Rumble — still dancing in his seat — then took a drag from his cigarette. Twist did the same. They stood for a moment, smoking, stealing glances at the other, before Twist broke the silence.

“Where are you staying tonight?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow, “I’m not sure how late this thing at Diamond Tiara’s is going to go, but you’re welcome to come by? You can even bail us out if it’s lame. Then, we can just head back to my place? My mom set up a cot for you and everything.”

“Thanks, but I’ll see if Button’s okay with me crashing at his tonight,” said Shady, “I really don’t want to keep troubling your folks.”

“Shady,” Twist snapped, “you know for a fact that it’s not any trouble. I really wish you’d stop playing that stupid sympathy card with me.”

“Sorry,”

“It’s fine,” said Twist, smiling softly. “This is just… a very unfortunate series of circumstances. Agreeable?”

Shady Daze nodded.

Twist frowned and cocked her head towards him. “You know, just because your dad-”

“It’s cool, Twist,” said Shady.

Twist leaned her body forwards, her hoof rising up to catch his left shoulder, “Shady…”

He brushed the hoof off of his shoulder, blinked his eyes and bit his lower lip between his teeth. “I really don’t want to talk about it right now. All I want to do tonight is get totally shit-faced, make sure Rumble doesn’t commit any heinous sex crimes and try and have a good night. Comprende?”

“I worry about you,” she said. “You’ve been doing so good this year, with all the crap you’ve had to put up with, and with him coming back into your life, now, and doing what he’s doing to you-”

“He’s not so bad,” Shady said, cutting her off, “I mean, I wouldn’t be much good as a ‘stallion stuffer’ if I didn’t have a disapproving, violent, angry drunk for a dad, right? Besides, since the accident he can hardly throw a left hook, and-”

Twist didn’t speak a response, instead, she trotted a few steps forwards and rested her head against Shady Daze’s left shoulder. She rubbed her face into the faux-fur collar of his jacket, then reached two hooves around him and pulled him tight against her body.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Shady,” she said, “I get that you don’t want to talk about this, here, tonight. And, we don’t have too. But, I really think we should? One day, at least? Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean I don’t still care and worry about you, you doofus.”

“I’ll be okay, Twist,” he said. “Seriously. I’m chock full of sass, remember?”

He didn’t know if he was telling her the truth or not: so far all the signs pointed to the polar opposite of what he’d just told Twist to be true, but, then again, Shady Daze was an eternal optimist of the highest calibre and lived to see the silver lining on every cloud.

“Wanna head back in?” he asked, flicking his cigarette butt over the fence so that it landed on the cobblestone pavement just outside the bar.

“Sure,” she said, smiling softly. “We might as well watch Rumble get dragged out kicking and screaming.”

A Dork, A Girl, And Two Headless Horses Between Them

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A Dork, A Girl, And Two Headless Horses Between Them

“Hey, Button?”

The colt in question lifted his eyes from watching the volume of beer in his pint glass shrink with each gulp he took, then stared at Archer, who had posed the question.

“Yeah-huh?”

“What’s with that totally goober sweater you’re wearing?”

He stared down at his chest, frowned, then stared around the room; he met eyes first with Dinky. Hers were soft, approachable, but still with a sense of playfulness to them. He turned to Archer, whose eyes were hard and hungry, then at Rumble, who was grinning.

“Well, uh… it’s… um… ironic, you see.” Button Mash mumbled into his pint glass, then swallowed another mouthful of beer.

“What’s ironic about it?” Dinky asked.

“Oh, well… uh…” he stuttered.

He could feel it; small beads of sweat starting to form along with the growing fear in him that made his heart race in his chest. His mane felt damp, his forehead slick and wet. He inhaled a breath of air, patted his chest, then looked over at Rumble. He gave the pegasus a pleading look; one which — hopefully — would tell his friend that he needed something said to distract the group.

Rumble smiled, “Yeah, Button. What’s with the get-up?” he asked, arching up an eyebrow and grinning with his signature, shit-eating smirk. “And why is it such a faggy shade of pink?”

What a butthole.

“Er, well, um…. it’s pink, because, uh,” he mumbled. Impulses and neurons fired away in his brain. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, clouded by the drunk he was on. “It’s… to… raise awareness for the cure for the Feather Flu. You know, they use pink as their ‘colour’, or whatever...”

“Why does it say ‘Equestria’s Coolest Grandson’?” asked Archer.

“Well, that’s just because… um my…. grandma heads up a ‘Feather Flu Awareness’ committee, so the, uh, other volunteers who work with her thought it would be nice to knit that on for me. She’s, um, eccentric like that.”

He was lying. Never once in his life could Button Mash imagine his grandmother even considered the notion of doing charity work. She seemed to quite enjoy her retirement on her beachfront home on the coast, living on a diet of Maremosas and menthols. Furthermore, aside from a few school projects, outings and field trips, Button Mash had never once worked — or volunteered — so much as a day in his life.

This he decided not to share with present company.

“And what’s ironic about that?”

The pairs of eyes still blinking at him were growing bolder and more curious. Similarily, the dampness he thought once to be just a fear was making itself even more present and real. He could feel it; a terrible bout of the fear sweats were coming on. Quite soon his stomach would tighten, his hooves would start trembling and then the stinky, salty mess of water would come out of him and there would be no going back.

He took another sip of beer and felt himself dance his fetlocks against the tabletop.

“What?” he asked.

“I said,” repeated Archer, “What’s ironic about wearing a ‘Feather Flu’ hoodie, knit by your Grandma’s volunteer program?”

“Uh… well, I’d say it was ironic because, er, I…”

His brain ceased to work in conjunction with his mouth and he found himself mumbling a sentence of unintelligible gibberish to the table which sounded awfully close to “I think… which is to say… ‘ironic’…. is a strong word… And, also, you might be using it out of context? Besides... who ever said I said it was ironic, really?”

He was panting now. Heaving almost.

“It looks nice,” said Dinky, smiling softly towards him, “It’s a bit too big, and it’s definitely goofy looking, but you make it work.”

She said this and reached her steady left hoof over to his trembling right one. Hers touched his, then she rubbed the fur of his leg with her fetlock. A high pitched, whine — a few octaves higher than a newborn kitten — came out of his mouth before he even had time to be embarrassed by it.

Three pairs of eyes stared blankly at him. The dampness in his coat returned, stronger than before. He could almost smell the sweat he must have been oozing buckets of from his pores, and, fearful that if he could, it just so might be that the girls would as well.

Button Mash decided to deal with it.

“Oh geez,” he groaned, “Listen, um, I… am going to grab a drink… and… will be leaving, now, for a few minutes… to do that thing I said I was going to do…”

He had a plan; make it to the bathroom, pray to Celestia that no one but him was inside, wash himself clean and then casually stroll out. It was elegant in it’s simplicity. No one would suspect a thing if he pulled it off right, and then after a few deep breaths, and following along with the most basic steps of Miss Pinkie Pie’s ‘Early Morning Stress Reducing Party Pony Work-Out’, he could strut out of the bathroom without a single pony in the bar any the wiser.

“I’ll come with you,” said Dinky, “I still owe you a birthday drink after all.”

She smiled. She had such a pretty smile, Button noted. Teeth the colour of snow or porcelain. All of them devoid of any imperfections. Cheeks that ended in simply divine dimples that looked like little pitches in her fur.

Dinky Do was a very pretty pony, Button Mash decided.

“Oh, er, um…” Button Mash stammered out, stringing together sounds that made up borderline intangible phrases, and then firing them out rapid succession. He stopped, then stared up at Dinky once more. “Sure.”

As her smile lifted higher up her face, and she ever-so-politely lifted herself up and out of her chair, Button Mash came to find that his fear of mares, and their infinite judgements of his character were deeply unfounded in any reality. If Dinky wanted to buy him a drink it meant that she wanted to spend time with him. If Dinky wanted to spend time with him, it probably meant he was less of a pathetic, dweeb than he’d been self-conditioned to believe. If he wasn’t as much of a pathetic dweeb, then, maybe, just maybe, he stood a chance at having a polite conversation with a girl that night.

He was okay with this.

Before he left with Dinky in tow, Button Mash spun his head towards the table and caught a fleeting glimpse of Archer, and Rumble, leering at him like a pair of jackals. The thought bothered him only slightly. Through the speakers over their, The Dirty Fetlocks were singing ‘Shipping Up To Trottingham.’, Dinky Doo wanted to buy him a drink, Shady Daze and Twist were stuck in limbo, and, for the first time he could rightfully remember, things were looking up for Button Mash.

And then Button Mash and Dinky were gone. Twist and Shady Daze were still outside on the porch, sucking cancer and playing catch up. This left two pegasi alone at the table — Archer and Rumble.

Rumble stared at Archer, Archer at Rumble. Rumble gripped his beer by the rim and took a sip. Archer took a drink from her Whiskey Sour. Nothing was said between them.

This went on for what could have been eons, until Rumble, ever the gentlecolt, decided to say something of weighted, intellectual value.

“My brother had the feather flu once,” he said, “I think I was eight or nine at the time. I remember he was sick with it for a few weeks. And, Cloudkicker used to come over to make sure he was doing alright. Actually, that’s when they got together... I think.”

“My sister had it too,” Archer said. “All she did was puke, cry and scream at my mom. So, really, it was just business as usual.”

Archer’s grin to Rumble was cheeky and full mouthed, displaying with wanton regard two rows of pearl coloured teeth to the male pegasus. Rumble responded in jest; he raised his glass in the air, invitingly, and Archer met his with the mouth of her own. The glasses met and clinked.

“I think Button might have a hard on the size of a baby carrot for Dinky,” said Rumble before taking another drink from his glass. He swallowed and then set the glass down. “What are your thoughts?”

“That wouldn’t really bother me,” said Archer, “Dinky talks about Button Mash’s ‘cute’ butt so often when we get together I almost want them to hook up. At least then she’ll shut up about him. Besides, I think she could do a lot worse.”

“Most definitely. Button’s a stand up fellow… when he’s not being socially retarded,” Rumble laughed, leaned forward until his chest hit the table and his face was parallel to Archer’s. He raised up one eyebrow and smiled, “What about you, Archer? You up for a poke?”

“Please, Rumble,” Archer laughed, escaping from his gaze and leaning back in her seat, “I might not have all the upper class sensibilities of Silver Spoon or Diamond Tiara, but I definitely have enough dignity left to turn down a chance to watch you do push ups on top of me for twenty seconds and then cry yourself to sleep.”

“Really, now?” Rumble mused. “Cause, I could put ‘Equestrian Rhapsody’ on the jukebox, and…”

“You are so funny, Rumble,” she droned, rolling her eyes. “Seriously, like you’ve never made a mule out of yourself when you were drunk.”

“Nope,” Rumble shook his head, “Not even once.”

“How about the time you and Shady both showed up to fourth period English class absolutely staggered?”

“We had a couple of drinks,” grunted Rumble, “What’s so bad about that?”

“Oh, let’s play this game,” Archer grinned, “How about the fact that you pissed yourself in front of the class when you were stumbling your way through your oral presentation on ‘Daring Do and The Temples of Syrinx’? Or, how about the fact that you called Principal Cheerilee ‘Mommy’?” Archer leaned back in her seat, crossed her hooves behind her head and found inner zen at the frown forming long across Rumble’s face. “That’s check and mate, I’d say.”

“Aww, for fucks sakes,” Rumble groaned, “That was the fifth grade, Archer! Isn’t there, like, a statue of limitations on taking cracks about me for something like that? That’s, like, ‘inadmissible evidence’.”

“Ponies don’t forget that kind of stuff, Rumble.” Archer reminded.

Rolling his eyes, Rumble finished his beer then slammed the empty glass on the table.

A gust of cold wind rolled through the bar and Archer and Rumble took a moment away from trading jests and insults to stare towards the source; Shady Daze held the door to the porch open for Twist, who thanked him with an elegant, overdramatic bow of her head. Smiling, Shady shut the door behind her and the two trotted the length of the bar until they found their seat again beside Archer and Rumble, respectively.

“Welcome back,” said Archer, smiling towards Twist, “Hope all that cancer was worth it?”

“Yeah,” said Rumble, “You know how bad those things are for you? They make ‘em with pesticides, and they’re full of carcona… carcono… car-cee-no-ge...”

“Sound it out, Rumble.” Shady grinned.

“Cancer!” Rumble spat. “Those things are filled with cancer!”

“Good job, Rumble.” Twist said, smiling towards the colt, “Way to pay attention to at least one of Princess Twilight’s mandatory Equestria-wide lectures on ‘The Importance of Good Health’.”

“Shut up,” Rumble groaned.

Snickers and giggles came from the three ponies at the table who weren’t Rumble, while the offended colt stayed silent. When the laughter died down, all four ponies turned towards the two empty seats, then towards the bar where the bodies of the vacant seats stood.

“She’s finally making her move?” Twist asked. Archer nodded and then Twist smiled, “Good for her.”

Shady Daze turned away from the bar, cocked his head to the side and stared at Twist with two raised eyebrows, “Dinky likes Button?”

“Mhmm,” Twist hummed. “It’s been like this for a while, hasn’t it?”

Archer nodded her head. “Yup,” she said, “As far as I’m concerned she’s in good hooves with him. He might be a bit of a goof, but he certainly lacks the Down’s Syndrome vibe I get from some of the ponies he calls friends.”

She tilted her head towards Rumble and winked.

“Hey, Archer,” said Rumble, “Don’t you have some offs to fuck?”

“Oh, good one, Rumble,” Archer said. “Don’t you have an extra chromosome you should be trying to get rid of?”

Another round of snickers and giggles came from Shady, Twist and Archer, while Rumble groaned and grunted. He bowed his head to the table in defeat, then stared back towards Button Mash and Dinky.

“So, like, how long has this been a thing?” Shady asked.

“Oh, gosh,” said Twist, “Three or four weeks, at least. I think it started when he stopped wearing that stupid propellor beanie to school.”

“Yeah, it was definitely around that time.” said Archer. “Honestly, all joking aside, I think it’s kind of cute actually. I mean, I can’t see Button Mash being a bad influence on Dinky. With how nervous he gets around girls, it’s not like she’s going to wind up pregnant anytime soon.”

Shady Daze grinned. “Are you kidding? The way Button’s mom raised him, I’d be surprised if he didn’t wait until they were married to go in for a peck on the cheek.”

More muffled laughter from the table. This time even Rumble’s dampened spirits lifted and he snickered along with the crowd who’d just recently made him their victim. He lifted his head from the table, grinned towards Button Mash and Dinky Doo, then turned back towards the three ponies who sat with him.

“Button’s a solid guy,” he said, “I think this’ll work out.”

“That’s shockingly kind of you, Rumble,” said Twist. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” said Rumble, “Crusader’s honor. If Dinky Doo can, in any way, shape, or form help Button Mash from becoming the forty year old virgin, I’m all for them getting together.”

“Wow, Rumble,” Archer sighed. “You either have a soft spot buried somewhere beneath all that macho-chauvinist bullshit, or you’re really drunk tonight?”

Rumble shrugged his shoulders, “Meh,” he grunted, “I’d say I’m at a six out of ten. Maybe a seven. ‘Sides, I think Dinky’s pretty cute for a soft spoken, nerdy, bookworm.” He paused and turned towards Archer; his eyes glazed and dangerous, “I bet she’s freaky inbetween the sheets?”

Archer slapped her hoof against his cheek and Rumble’s head spun. Unphased, he re-formed his shit-eating grin and once more aimed it at Archer. “Bad touch!” he shrieked. “Bad touch!”

Archer and Twist groaned. Rumble picked up his smile, clapped his hooves together then pressed them flat onto the table. Shady Daze still had a few sips of his beer left, Twist half of a highball glass of her Crystal Island Iced Tea and Archer had made serious headway on her second Whiskey Sour of the night. Noticing no pony racing to finish their drinks, Rumble casually raised his hoof and hooked it around Shady Daze’s glass of beer, sneaking it to his lips and finishing off what Shady Daze hadn’t.

“So, then,” he said after he’d wiped froth from his mouth with the backside of his left hoof, “Who’s for kicking back, ordering another round and watching this Equestrian drama unfold?”

***

At the plain and boring looking bar counter, Button Mash heaved his heavy body into a stool, lay his head flat against the hardwood and sighed in anguish. He’d been doing alright — not fantastic, but far from awful — so far that night in dealing with his commitment to the pub crawl. He’d taken drinks, and shots, and all in good fun, without ever giving half a mind to the concern that, eventually, at some point, it was all going to catch up to him.

And, here came that moment now.

His stomach growled and his head felt heavy. A gentle prodding of a hoof into the fur of his left shoulder had Button Mash spinning his head towards the source; Dinky Doo. She stared at him with the same withdrawn smile as every other time he’d seen her that night, though now there was concern in her her eyes.

“Are you alright, Button?” she asked in a voice so soft and so lovely.

“Mhmmm,” he moaned back to her. “Just a bit light headed is all.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Not much,” he lied. “A few beers here, a little bit of some vodka Rumble had. That’s it, really.”

Yes, it was a lie. But, Dinky didn’t need to know about his triumph over the forces of sobriety, or about his accomplishment of topping his personal best for most ounces of alcohol consumed in a night.

Little white lies were what kept ponies happy.

Dinky tilted her head to the side and stared — quizzically — towards the pony, “Are you sure you still want me to buy you a drink?”

He could tell that one more drink might become his last of the night, but, here was Dinky Doo, pretty, smiling and so wonderfully nice, offering what no one else that night had been kind enough to do; initiate him into the world of young-adulthood by way of purchasing him his celebratory birthday drink.

It seemed rude to turn her down.

“Oh…” he said, and smiled meekly. “Yes, please.”

Dinky smiled too. She threw her hoof in the air and waved it towards Morty, who nodded his head. Button Mash tried to think of a drink that was both masculine enough to impress Dinky, and sensibly non-alcoholic and fruity enough to leave his stomach at peace.

“Can we get,” Dinky said, then turned towards Button Mash, “Two…”

What would Rumble drink?

What would Shady?

What did a pony without the guts, bravado, wit, charm and iron-lined stomach that both Shady and Rumble seemed to have drink?

“Er, uh,” he mumbled.

Morty’s stone-faced glare stabbed at his self esteem. The look on his face was challenging. No doubt in revenge for Rumble’s earlier antics, as if, somehow, in someway, Rumble’s poor personality and abrasive actions were encouraged by Button Mash.

Dinky was staring at him too.

“Headless Horses.”

The words came out of his mouth before he realized the danger he was in for having said them. Gone was the challenging eye from Morty, in it’s place a grin which could only properly be described as ‘Respect’.

Dinky looked worried. “Are, um, are you sure that’s what you’d like to drink?” she asked.

Button Mash looked at her, then Morty, then down at his hooves. He lifted his head and smiled at Dinky. “Yeah.”

“Comin’ right up,” said Morty.

Morty fixed the drinks. Button Mash stared at Dinky and Dinky stared right back at Button Mash. He noticed, now, that her smile was infectious.

Two square glasses of liquid the colour of rain water collected in a drainpipe were placed before himself and Dinky.Button Mash stared at his murky reflection in the glass, tapped it once, watched the ripples and took in a breath of air. The smell that struck his nostrils was strong and not unlike the industrial strength chemicals that the janitor used to clean the hallways at school.

This did not bode well for Button Mash. His hesitation was swept away the moment he watched Dinky Doo make herself comfortable in the seat beside his, scoop her glass of — what he could only imagine to be a double of bleach. Neat. — towards her and levitate it into the air with the magic from the horn centred on her head.

He was in for the long haul, he realized. He swallowed a lump in his throat, reached forward with a trembling hoof and gripped the glass.

“Heh,” he laughed, running his right hoof through his mane, stopping at the back of his neck then scratching feverously. “Bottoms up?”

Dinky’s smile back at him was soft and not entirely confident. “Yeah,” she said, softly, “Bottom’s up.”

And then they took their shots, and nothing went wrong. No waterfall of projectile vomit came out quite like he’d expected. No declaration of war was called in his stomach. In fact, if anything, the drink tasted quite good. Not at all like the fire burning sensation he’d imagined.

This made him comfortable.

A fire pulsed through his veins and, this time, when he stared at Dinky he found reason to speak. He wanted to know Dinky Doo, he’d decided that almost an hour ago, but only now found the strength to voice his desires.

“Dinky,” he said, smiling from ear to ear, “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded her head and smiled. “Sure.”

“What’s it like… being a unicorn?”

The smile she wore fell to form a contemplative grin and she scratched the underside of her chin. “Um,”

“Because, well, I’ve always been an Earth pony,” he explained, “And, I don’t know… I’ve always been curious to know, I guess?”

A bashful ghost of a grin spread along the left side of Dinky’s mouth. “Really?”

Button Mash nodded without restraint, “Yeah,” he said, “Magic seems, like, really, really, really cool… Is it?”

The grin on her left spread up to the right of her face. “Yeah,” she said, “It really is.”

She spun herself on the stool to face him, lay her left hoof flat against the bar and placed her right on top of his knee.

“I…” Dinky began, then flush spread across her cheeks and she shook her head, “This is… gosh… Maybe I’ve had a bit too much to drink. This is going to sound silly.”

“No, no,” Button said, “Go on.”

“I… Well…” She stopped and frowned, then shook her head. “You know how my mom is, right?”

Button Mash had to stop and ponder the question; he knew two things about Miss Hooves. That she worked for the Equestrian Postal Service, and that she had very unfortunate luck. He wasn’t sure, which — if either — of these traits Dinky was talking about.

“Kind of,” he said, giving a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve seen her in town, and, I know that she always orders muffins from Sugarcube Corner in boxes of twelve…”

“Yeah,” said Dinky, softly. “Well, um, what I meant was… she’s a pegasus. Which isn’t a problem, but, well, with me being a unicorn, and her not, I found that…”

Dinky paused again and stared longingly into the bottom of her glass. For whichever reason, Button Mash found the strength and desire in him to touch her on the shoulder and rub against fur. “It’s okay,”

She turned to him and smiled. “Thanks, Button.”

She readjusted herself in her seat and straightened her back. She danced her hooves on the countertop, leaned left, right, and then stopped fidgeting and spoke again.

“I love my mom,” she announced, “I do. She’s… well, she’s the only mom I’ve ever had, but, she means the world to me. But, when I was younger, and with her being a pegasus and me a unicorn, I wasn’t quite as close to her as I am now.”

“I see,” said Button Mash.

“I used to really like borrowing books about magic from the library when Miss… Er, I suppose, it’s Princess Sparkle now. Isn’t it?”

Button nodded.“Yeah,” he said. “How weird is that?”

“Oh, I know!” Dinky erupted. “I mean, I used to take weekend classes with her and it seems like just yesterday, now, well, she’s in Canterlot, and she’s a princess!”

Button Mash blinked. “You… used to take weekend classes with Princess Sparkle?”

Dinky’s face flushed again and she rubbed her thighs together. “Well… Yeah,” she said, “I was trying to learn as much about magic, and unicorn heritage, as I could. And, um, Princess Sparkle, back before she was a princess, of course, was always so glad to teach anyone about anything-”

Button Mash chuckled.

“-And.” Dinky stopped abruptly to stare on at Button, laughing into his hoof, avoiding making eye contact with him. “Hey!”

He turned back to her, swallowed, then laughed a tiny giggle. “I’m sorry,” he said, “It’s just… it’s funny.”

Dinky arched an eyebrow towards him. “What is?”

“Well, I remember when she was just, regular old, Twilight Sparkle too,” he said, “Like, back when she did all kinds of goofy things. Back when we were kids.”

Dinky giggled, “She did do goofy things, didn’t she?”

Button nodded his head. “Remember when that weird magician came into town; Twinkie? Twistie? Twinklie? Oh heck, what was her name?”

“Trixie,” Dinky said, “The Great and Powerful, even.”

“Yeah!” shouted Button Mash, “When Trixie came in, and she got Snips and Snails to work for her, and then that giant space-bear thing attacked the town?”

Dinky nodded, laughed, and then raised her hoof, pointed it towards her glass, and then Button’s — silently begging Morty for a refill. Morty came, collected their empty glasses, filled two more and set them just before the quietly conversing ponies.

“I do remember that,” Dinky said, “And, of course, Princess Sparkle saved the day.”

“Yup,” said Button. “Things were always pretty crazy when she lived here.”

“Mhmm,”

Both ponies, during the moment of silence, reached for their glasses and sipped quietly from their drinks. What started as a soft smile from Dinky, grew to be a proud and goofy grin on Button Mash’s face, which went mirrored by Dinky.

“What kind of Manga do you read?” he found himself asking.

Without Rumble’s influence, he imagined that unless Dinky Doo were to suddenly stop him, he might actually enjoy a conversation about the things which he enjoyed and not have to hear about how they were ‘nerdy, faggy, lame’ or otherwise ‘unbecoming’ for a colt of his age to partake in.

He was more than thrilled that Rumble wasn’t there in that moment.

“Quite a bit,” Dinky said. “Fullmetal Pegasus, Seven Pegasi, Astro-Colt.”

“Really?”

Dinky nodded. “I’ve read a few comics too; The Trotting Dead is pretty good.”

“Yeah,” said Button, “I heard Flank Darabont wants to turn it into a movie.”

“I’m sure it’ll be awful,” Dinky said with a grin, “Comics to movie adaptations are always terrible. Just look at what they did with Watchmane.”

Button Mash cracked his mouth open to speak, took a moment of pause and instead opted to sip from his glass instead. When he was finished, and another glass was empty, he set it down on the counter and, throwing caution to the wind, spoke his mind.

“How are you so cool, Dinky?”

Dinky turned to him with a stunned expression. “I’m cool?”

“Yeah,” he said, “Like, I don’t know any other girl in the entire town who’s ever even heard of half of those comics. And you’re sitting here, with me, talking about them.”

“Oh, uh... Thanks, Button,” said Dinky, softly. Her voice hardly louder than a whisper.

“I mean, I guess it’s different with Shady and Rumble,” Button explained, stopping for a moment to sip from his glass, “Like, we get together a lot. But, Rumble says that books about stallions wearing tights are ‘for fags’, and, all Shady reads is ‘classic literature’ about guys in boats hunting giant whales and old Freak Power comics.”

“I totally get that,” she said. “I had to promise to ref half a season’s worth of intramural hoofball games just to get Archer to come to last year’s Comet-Con with Twist and I...”

“You went to Comet-Con last year?” Button Mash shouted, as his eyebrows rode the height of his forehead and his eyes bulged. His pupils grew twice their size.

The eyes of patrons in the bar — especially those of their mutual friends — fell onto the scene Button Mash was quick to create. The colt, unabashed and unashamed, waved his hooves wildly in excitement. Dinky bowed her head and hunched into herself. Shrinking in her seat.

“Yeah…” she hushed under her breath.

Button Mash, who took no social cues when they were given, continued to rant and rave. “No way!” he shouted, “Dinky, I was there too! I didn’t see you, though? Were you dressed up, or… ?”

Dinky locked her eyes on the tiles of the floor and kicked her legs against each other. “Yeah, I… was a bit… incognito,” she said, softly. “I, uh, I went as Mare Do Well.”

“That was you?”

By this point, it was clear that there was no end the the heights that an excited Button Mash could reach. Social grace and compassion for keeping their private conversation exactly that were disregarded, and still, Dinky Doo found it just the tiniest bit humbling: staring at the colt beside her, with the wild and hungry eyes, talking — loudly and in the strongest sense of love for the craft as he could muster.

She smiled as she realized he was still touching her, and her him.

“Dinky,” said Button Mash. “You had the best costume there! It was so awesome! I mean, you nailed the look, and, like, you had the perfect body to pull it off. Not to mention it was one hundred percent accurate too! Where did you buy it?”

“I, um… I made it, actually.” Dinky said, “Sweetie Belle taught me how to use her sister’s sewing machine, and after that it was just a lot of luck. Rarity accidently placed a double order on nylon — which I used for the body, and let me use some of the leftover felt she had from an order to Canterlot — that I used for the hooves. And… well, the rest was just a lot of hard work.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Button Mash said, nodding his head. “Wait… didn’t you take home the gold for ‘Most Accurate Costume’ ?”

“Silver,” Dinky corrected.

Button Mash leaned against the counter and pressed his hooves into his cheeks, pushing up the fur and flesh. “That’s-so-awesome,”

A wry, playful, smirk snuck its way up and across Dinky’s lips. From the corner of her eyes she watched the ever-excitable colt, with all of his boundless joy and joviality, stare with wide-eyed wonder at her.

Silly thoughts filled her head and she felt her heartbeat quicken. She sipped the last few drops of her latest drink from the glass and into her mouth, then an ice cube, and finally decided it best to order herself, and Button, another. If only for the purely selfish reason of keeping him here with her, instead of there, away, with Rumble, Archer, Twist and Shady Daze.

***

“Well, I’ll be a horse’s cock,” Rumble said, leaning back in his chair and throwing his left leg along the back of Archer’s. He turned to Shady and grinned something fierce. “Our little boy’s all grown up.”

Collectively, all four ponies had been watching — observing, more so. And, definitely not spying, or prying — the conversation between Dinky Doo and Button Mash for it’s entire length up and until that moment in time. Now, Button Mash was doubled up with what did appear to be some form of admiration — leaning his head on his hooves and staring with stupid puppy eyes — at Dinky, who was paying for another round of drinks for the two of them.

“I’m just shocked he hasn’t sweat through that hoodie.” said Archer.

Twist nodded and so did Shady Daze.

“Yeah, it just goes to show,” said Rumble, “The dork spends enough time with the most drop-dead handsome, and undeniably suave stallion in all of Ponyville, and he picks up a few tricks. Now look at him! He’s a lady-killer!”

“Rumble, please.” Shady Daze broke his silence with a laugh, then turned towards Rumble. “If Button really learned from your examples, Dinky would be filling out a restraining order and half the mares here tonight would be in line right behind her.”

Rumble scrunched his nose and slid his eyebrows downwards along his forehead. His tongue popped out of his mouth, he blew a raspberry at his friend, then mouthed something which looked like it might have rhymed with ‘Truck’ and ‘Roo’.

Shady Daze just laughed. Twist and Archer not long after him.

“Fuck off, Shady.” Rumble groaned, “Shouldn’t you be strapping on your knee-pads before you try and find the fun side of, what I can only assume, is the least sexy glory-hole in all of Equestria they have in the bathroom here or something?”

Shady Daze’s smile faltered, then fell.

“Nice, Rumble,” Archer snapped, tapping the colt on the nose with her hoof, “Aren’t you two supposed to be friends?”

“Hey, just cause I can dish it out twice as hard as I can take it, and, Shady’s fascination with male butts ‘n’ dangly bits makes him a big flaming target, doesn’t mean I don’t like him.” said Rumble, throwing a smile at Twist, “Besides, even if he were normal — like me — he’d still be getting second-prize when it comes to picking up mares. I’m the reigning champion of pounding vag.”

“Yeah, and catching V.D., from what I’ve heard,” Archer interjected to a glare from Rumble.

“Fuck off!” grumbled Rumble. “The both of ya’!”

Rumble, by this point, had forgone any desire of containing the table’s conversation to a private experience. He was shouting, and in doing so, also drawing the attentions of stranger’s and towns-ponies alike. Berry Punch, Cranky Doodle and other townsfolk whose names escaped the minds of the four ponies at the table, drew their condemning eyes towards the table.

There was a certain methodology to Rumble’s actions, and, justifiably, his reactions. He lived within the realm that all others existed, though, he found himself an alien to the thoughts and feelings of others. He was a stranger in a strange land when it came to understanding, and dealing with, emotions. Especially his own. This much Shady Daze had been aware of since the two were eight. Shady Daze kept this in mind when he made his next move.

“Simmer down, Rumble.” he insisted, laughing and scratching at his neck. “Seriously. Turn the rage-gauge down a few notches. We’re just messing with you.”

Rumble didn’t.

“What? So, you can all rag on me, slander my good name and call me a homophobe when I make a few exceptionally witty jokes about Shady’s lust for cock, and that’s fine? But, I can’t get offended at you dicks for making fun of me and my sex life?” screeched Rumble, “Talk about double-fuckin’-standards!”

“Rumble!” Shady snapped, “You’re acting like a fuckin’ queen right now! And that’s me saying that!”

Rumble stood himself up with such speed and force that it wobbled the table and sent two of the empty glasses, and one of the half-empty ones, sliding across at Shady.

“You would say that!” Rumble shrieked.

“I am saying that!” Shady shouted back.

Tension in the air. Twist, and Archer, hapless and innocent to what came next as they were, stared nervously at each other. Shady, meanwhile, sat leaned onto his hooves and staring straight at Rumble, waiting for someone, or something, to make a move.

“Sit yer arse down y’ doss cunt!” came a shrill raspy cry to Rumble’s left. All eyes in the bar fell on Morty — the bartender, who on his face wore a look that betrayed the idea that he might have once, in kinder times, enjoyed the antics of the rambling pegasus. “If’n yer havin’ such a terrible time at my bar, p’haps you’d rather take yer’ sel’, an’ present company, to a lesser establishment? Might I recommend the drunk tank?”

The second the grin spread across Rumble’s black lips, and that familiar, frightening, fire ignited in his eyes, Shady Daze realized that it was too late to hope for anyone else but he, himself, to fix this situation. This was a classic scenario; Shady Daze, the selfless hero, come to save the enigmatic Rumble from his better/worse judgement.

He drank from his glass the last sips of beer that he’d ever have at The Toad in The Hole, pushed himself upwards in his seat so that he stood nose to nose with Rumble, and then did something he’d never have considered if the situation wasn’t quite as dire as it was now.

He licked Rumble.

His tongue, wet and tasting of beer, vodka and clamato, met the dry, warm and fuzzy fur of Rumble’s left cheek and, when it did, it quickly made a trip up to his ear — which twitched and cowered at the feel of warm, wet flesh.

The bar went silent.

For a few tense — but dumb — moments Rumble stood completely silent with a stupid look on his face. Then he blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. His chest lifted and fell. His eyebrows rose, and his eyes waded towards Shady Daze who stood before him.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

With a smile across his face, Shady Daze kicked the chair out from behind him.

All was quiet and the familiar sense of calm surrender returned to The Toad in The Hole.

“Let’s get out of here,” Shady Daze suggested, “I think we’ve worn out our welcome. Ten fold.”

“Dude,” was all Rumble said, before blinking again. He touched a hoof to the wet streak on his cheek, pulled it away and blinked once more. “What. The. Fuck?”

“Fine, stay here and get thrown in the drunk tank, Rumble,” Shady Daze said, excusing himself from the table. “I’m going, though…”

Rumble looked left, right, then touched his cheek again. “The fuck just happened? “

Rumble stared around the room at all the ponies, and mules, the guys, girls and everything that fell in-between, who were all staring at him, wearing grins. He kicked his hoof against the ground, bowed his head and then followed after Shady in a nervous shuffle. He didn’t bother to stare back at Twist, or Archer, or anyone else for the matter. He just kept his head to the ground and his eyes on the floor.

Shady stood by the door that was to be their exit point. Ever the proper little gentlecolt, he held the door open for the still dumbfounded Rumble. Through the corners of his eyes he gave Twist a look which, hopefully, had told her he was sorry for the way Rumble acted, but that somone had to make sure the colt stayed the path as clear of the fabled Ponyville drunk tank, and that, sadly, no pony was more capable than he himself. Twist seemed to get it, she offered back a sad, understanding pair of eyes to Shady, then trotted along after Archer as they made their way to the bar.

***

Sitting in the barstool next to Dinky Doo, Button Mash couldn’t find the inner strength to speak. At the door, ready to leave were his two best friends, in the stool next to him a girl who enjoyed his company. Before him was a drink half finished, behind him the entourage that his present company kept.

A dilemma the likes of which he’d never encountered once before in his young life presented itself to him that moment: on the one hoof he could leave with Rumble and Shady and continue on with his night. There were more than enough watering holes in Ponyville to stumble into next, and no lack of a good selection of mares who would maybe be interested in helping him on his quest for his first ever sexual encounter. On the other hoof, up until that very moment he’d really been enjoying his conversation with Dinky.

It was moments like these that Button Mash wished he had more of a backbone to lean on. He wasn’t cut from the same cloth as either Rumble or Shady, for Rumble, getting shamed out of a bar and losing what little respect he’d earned that night from present company was all part of the game. For Shady, well, it only made sense that Shady would follow the path of fire and scorched earth Rumble carved out, trying his best to run damage control on the pegasus.

To Button Mash, however, the only logic and reasoning he could find in making his decision came from a timeless adage bestowed on him by the genetically imprinted ‘Male Code of Honor’ he’d been born into...

Bros Before Hos.

If he didn’t leave with Rumble and Shady, he’d be throwing their night off. If he did, well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, and, besides, maybe he would run into Dinky again sometime that night? Hadn’t she, or Twist, or Archer said something themselves about leaving at some point? Where too? Ponyville wasn’t too big, and too heavily populated, that it wasn't impossible to imagine them meeting up again that night. Plus, worst case scenario, he could just sit beside her sometime at lunch and pick up where they left off.

“Button, you comin’ or what?”

It was Rumble asking, as he shuffled awkwardly in the doorway, still, focusing on the floor, not daring to meet eyes with anyone in the bar who’d just witnessed his masculinity’s unraveling. He kicked dirt and dust off the floorboards and grumbled under his breath.

Button stared at Dinky again.

“I… should probably go with them,” he said, noticing that his voice took on a shaky uneasiness.

“Oh…” said Dinky, giving half of a smile. She tapped her hooves together and kicked them against the bars of stool. “Right… Right, yeah…”

Button Mash pushed himself out of his seat and took a few steps forward.

“Button, wait…”

He stopped, spun around and watched Dinky loosen herself out of her chair, touch down on the bar-floor and trot towards him. When she reached him she threw her legs around his neck and hugged him to her until her chest and his touched. The weight of her body pressing up against his sweater tickled him beneath his fur.

“Thanks for sharing a drink with me,” she spoke softly into his left ear, “Um, maybe I’ll see you around school, or something...?”

“Yeah, yeah. For sure, Dinky,” he answered without any hesitation, “Have a good night, I guess...”

She pulled off of him, took a few backwards paces and Button noticed that there was a crimson touch to her cheeks, which he found odd. She kicked the floor, scratched her neck and looked up at him.

“Thank you.” she said, “Be safe tonight, okay?”

“Mhmm,” he replied. “You too.”

“C’mon Button, before Morty actually calls the guards on us.”

“I’m coming, Rumble! Just gimme a second, okay?” Button Mash shouted back.

“Coming,” Rumble chuckled, “Didja hear him, Shady? Button’s ‘Coming’...”

“Yeah, I heard him.” Shady replied in an emotionless deadpan, “Turn six, okay?”

“Bite me, cock-breath.”

This was just the prelude to another mind-melting back-and-forth between Rumble and Shady Daze, and Button Mash realized it. He looked back towards Dinky — still smiling at him, kicking her hoof against the floor and looking shy and nervous.

“I’ll see you later, Dinky,” he said, waving to the mare, then her friends. “You too, Archer and Twist.”

“Later days, Button Mash.” said Archer.

“Nice seeing you.” said Twist. “Take care of Shady for me, alright?”

“Goodnight, Button,” said Dinky. “Be safe.”

Button answered all of their demands, commands and good willed gestures with a polite, courteous, nod of his head, then took off in the direction of Shady and Rumble.

The night was young and he was soused. He had his best friends and things were just starting to get going. He found it only a tiny bit curious that he stopped at the door to look back at Dinky — just to make sure she was okay — but said, and did, nothing about it.

And then he was gone, chasing the bobbing tails and hind-parts of Rumble and Shady Daze as they took off into the night, all three waiting to see what fate, and fortune, had in store for them next.

Worth A Million In Prizes

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Worth A Million In Prizes

“So, what the fuck do we do now, then?”

Shady Daze and Button Mash stared at Rumble. He stood leaning against the plexiglass window of Cranky Mule’s Pawn Shop — the weight of his body pushing into the faux-glass, creating a ripple in the plastic. He was sipping, casually, what he could from the glass bottle of Potato Vodka that he’d been chipping away at for the better part of the night. All that remained was slowly washing down Rumble’s throat.

They were half a block from The Toad in The Hole and no one but Button Mash looked back the way they came. Rumble, in particular, looked to the unsure future. Ponyville had no shortage of bars, this much he knew, but which one exactly would become their next adventure was still up in the air.

“Dunno,” said Shady, shuffling on his hooves and reaching a hoof forward, begging for the vodka from Rumble. He grabbed it out of Rumble’s open hoof and was quick to take a swig for himself. Then a second. His throat burned and his stomach turned. Still, a quarter of a lifetime worth of engaging in sinful behavior had trained Shady Daze for the merits of hard drinking. He finished off the bottle — to a scornful look from Rumble — then tossed the empty container onto the grass beside the road.

“There’s a few decent places to get a drink around the next block or two…”

Button Mash, noticing the glass bottle and the blue-plastic recycling bin beside it, skipped forwards, grabbed the bottle off the grass and put it away gently in the recycling bin. Smiling to himself, he stood silently and waited for Rumble, or Shady, to offer their insight into what came next for the night.

“Yeah?” Rumble asked. “Keep in mind that no one but you wants to go to any gay bars except for you, Shady.”

“Duly noted,” said Shady with a nod of his head, “I guess we could skip ‘The Cock and Plunker’, ‘The Sweatlodge’ and ‘Buddy’s’...”

Rumble snorted, “Fuck off, Shady. Those aren’t real gay bars…” He raised an eyebrow. “Are they?”

Shady grinned, “Just ‘The Cock and Plunker’. It’s in Canterlot, though…”

“That's a shame,” Rumble said, still laughing, “I really, really, really wanted to watch Pokey Pierce try and seduce you with Maremosas, Cosmarepolitans and whatever else your kind drinks.”

“Aww, you’re no fun, Rumble.” Shady said, groaning. “Pokey’s cool.”

“Yeah?” Rumble asked, “Cool enough for you to let him… you know what you, in your you know where?”

Shady Daze snorted, slapped his thigh and then stared up at Rumble. “Are you asking me if I, a boyish lad, just legal as of the last eleven months of my life, would engage in coitus with Pokey Pierce, a stallion nearly a decade and a half older than me?”

“Not in so many words,” responded Rumble, staring away from Shady and bowing his head.

Shady Daze shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe I would.” He grinned as he watched Rumble’s face fall flat and he trotted nervously in place. “I mean, he is a very handsome colt, and, he’s certainly my type; well educated, lovely vocabulary. Extremely independent...”

Groaning, Rumble shook his head from side to side. "And just like that I'm reassured completely of my heterosexuality."

"That's too bad," said Shady, licking his lips slowly. "How will I ever find the strength to carry on?"

"Guys!"

Rumble and Shady turned their eyes on Button Mash: standing straight up with a proudly puffed out chest. He stared over the two with the hardest pair of eyes either had ever seen him wear. He had a mean look on his face, or, at least as mean as a colt like Button Mash could bear to muster. This was uncommon and it worried Shady and Rumble.

"You two keep doing this!" he said. "You’ve been arguing all night. Can’t we just, like, relax for a bit? We’re all friends, right?"

Shady Daze bit his lip and Rumble stepped forward. He slapped his hoof against Button Mash’s left shoulder, patted him through the hoodie and smiled. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yeah,” said Rumble, “I know things got kinda fucked up back at The Toad, and, I’m not saying it was anyone’s fault, least of all mine. That place was just a shitty venue. See, we need to find a place where hot and heavy, emotionless sex definitely is on the menu.”

Button Mash swallowed and dug his left hoof into dirt. “R-right. Yeah.”

“Now, what you need, Button, is a place where the mares are drunk, horny, and without any sense of shame.” Rumble said, “Where drinks are strong and cheap, and so are the ladies.”

Shady Daze snorted, chuckled, and then jolted a few paces towards his friends, smiling all the while. “And, where, pray tell, is this magical, mystery land, Rumble?”

Rumble turned to him wearing a foolhardy smile of his own. “I know a place,” he said.

Shady Daze and Button Mash stared at one another and found an equal sense of worry, dread, confusion and intrigue reflected in each-other’s eyes.

“Yeah?” Button Mask asked.

Rumble nodded. “Just follow me, don’t ask too many questions, and try and look as tough as you can for the bouncer. They’re usually dicks this time of night, and, I could be wrong, but I think the thought of blood gets them hard.”

Sketchy and vague as they were, the details didn’t quite matter to Button Mash, who’d already filled his mind with of thoughts about the opposite sex. He could see them already: the mares — all beautiful, with tight flanks, athletic bodies, beautiful faces and — most importantly — loose definitions of what exactly constituted a proper stallion.

It was this thought and this thought alone that motivated him to agree with an unrestrained and clear head to Rumble’s proposition.

“Sounds like fun,” he said.

Shady Daze, being a colt who fancied colts, wasn’t so easily persuaded by Rumble’s honeyed words.

“I’m picturing myself sitting alone in a bar stool with two stacked, ten thousand watt speakers killing my eardrums and nursing a gin and tonic, while both of you dance to the worst of what passes for music with mares too drunk to know how to say no.” he explained with dismal and uncomfortable tones in his voice.

Rumble, ever the optimist, skipped on light hooves towards him. He circled around, until he was side by side, flank to flank, with Shady, then wrapped his left hoof firmly around his neck and brought Shady’s head tight against his chest. He wrapped the fetlock of his left hoof against Shady’s skull.

“Shady, Shady, Shady,” said Rumble in a melodic sing-song. “Oh ye of little faith. Don’t you realize that none of tonight is, was, or will ever be, about what you want? This is Button’s night. And, Button wants to have an unrivaled, first ever, sexual experience.” He turned to the colt in question. “Right?”

Button nodded. Truthfully, he was nervous about the promise of the ensuing ordeal. Mares. Talking to them. Getting to know them. Staring them dead in the eyes while he tried to discuss mutual interests they shared together, all the while stifling his nervous habit of sweating profusely from every pore in his body. If he could curb the fear sweats, and steady his nerves, he might, maybe, stand a chance at making a move on a mare. He’d seen Rumble do it a thousand times; lots of physical contact — a hoof gently to the shoulder, thigh or, if the mood was right, the cheek — a consistent unbreakable smile plastered across his goofy face, and, most importantly, putting her input into the conversation above his own. That was how Rumble scored, and, Button Mash could only imagine that following in his example would be a succesfull effort for himself.

He snapped back into reality when he heard Rumble’s voice crack the aura of his methodist mental plains. Rumble still stood beside Shady, leering at the colt with judgemental eyes while he continued to trade barbs and throw cunningly worded passive aggressive reminders of who exactly the night, and all the stops along the way, was intended for.

“So, really, by being a biggity bitch — like you are — you’re only hurting Button.” said Rumble to Shady Daze.

Shady Daze responded to Rumble’s accusations with a low and anguished grumble. He fired a look, half menacing and half unimpressed, towards Rumble, raised his head up towards the sky and puffed his chest out. Rumble, in jest, did the same, but kept his eyes firmly fixated on Shady’s form. Leering and grinning while he did.

“Look, when it’s your next birthday, I promise we can go fag it up at your queer-bar of choice.” Rumble told Shady, taking time between his thoughts to throw a fool-hearty grin at his gay-best friend. “Hell, I’ll even tell you which dress I think you should wear, but-”

Shady Daze, still with his chest puffed out and with that serious look to his face, took a half step towards Rumble. He raised himself up onto his hind legs, pressed his upper hooves flat against Rumble’s chest and pushed the away from him. “Fuck off, Rumble.”

Rumble staggered backwards a few steps, gained his composure and stopped suddenly in place. Stunned, Rumble he stood still and stupid, giving Shady Daze a pair of lost puppy dog eyes. “What?”

Shady Daze snorted, shook his head and sighed.

“You’ve been throwing stupid homophobic shit my way all night, and, yeah, it was funny at first, but it’s getting mean now.” insisted Shady, who took a moment to make sure that Rumble, his friend, understood the gravity of his accusations by glaring with a stone cold look towards him.

Rumble shrugged the weight of Shady’s pleas off. “C’mon, Shady.” he said, “You’re just a little tense because of what happened at The Toad. And, I get that. It doesn’t mean we have to throw down, though.”

Shady brushed Rumble’s hoof off of his shoulder, and snarled. “No, I’m pissed because you’re acting like a fucking douchebag, and have been all night. In fact, quite frankly, I’m not surpised that-”

“Guys!”

Both colts spun around to once again face Button Mash, staring at them with a pleading, desperate softness in his eyes. A kitten, or puppy, couldn’t master the same bewildered, pleading innocence that Button Mash managed to pull off so frequently.

“You’re doing it again!” he said, staring sternly between the two scrapping friends. “Shady Daze and Rumble; you two hug each other right now and say that you’re sorry, or I’m going home!”

“Button, come on now-”

Button stamped his hoof against the cold pavement. It hurt a little, but the vibrations echoed all around them and it seemed to do the trick in reassuring Shady and Rumble about the severity of the situation and the reality of his threats. He would, for their sake, throw away the supposed best night of his life if it meant keeping the two on speaking terms.

“I mean it!” shouted Button Mash, realizing he hadn’t raised his voice quite this high or commanding before in his life. He imagined it was the potent cocktail of vodka and beer brewing in his stomach and coursing through his veins that did the trick to boost his confidence in his words.

Rumble looked towards Shady. Shady back at Rumble. The two stood tense for a moment, before Rumble trotted a pace forwards, hugged his legs around Shady and pulled him tight against his chest. Shady mirrored his actions, and the two hugged each other beneath the light of the overhanging lamppost.

“I’m sorry, Shady.” said Rumble.

“S’all good.” said Shady, “Just, cool it with all that homophobic stuff, kay? You’re starting to sound a bit like Brolly, dude.”

There was an unfamiliar look on Rumble’s face. One of understanding, and, an ever-elusive sense of compassion that Shady had almost forgotten the pegasus was at all capable of reaching. Rumble, in his own way, understood the damage he’d unknowingly — and perhaps, unwillingly — done and was, in his own way, ashamed of it.

“Totally.” he said, nodding his head and smiling a faint, dainty little thing towards his queer best friend.

Recognition of the work he’d done showed all across Button Mash’s face. He was chubby cheeked with a wide smile, studying the two friends stuck in a platonic embrace, knowing full well in the midst of his mind that it was a byproduct of his quick wit, genuine concern and, above all else, gentle and kind mind set.

Hug therapy was one of the greatest ways to ease tensions, second only to apologetic cakes and other fresh baked goods of a spiritually cleansing nature.

“See,” said the pride filled colt, grinning wickedly at his friends. “Don’t you guys feel better, now?”

Neither Shady Daze nor Rumble would argue against his logic. They broke off the hug, stepped backwards from each other and then Rumble shook his rear, his neck, head, then lunged forward. He flapped his wings, dust and grass flew around him and into the faces of his friends — who quickly brushed it off — and then Rumble was feet above them, floating around their heads, staring down at them.

“Okay, so, now that we’re all back to normal, let’s get a move on?” Rumble suggested, cocking his head down the way of the road. “Club’s only about a ten minute trot from here, plus, this time of night, the line will be as dead as Sombra to boot.”

He flew a lap around Shady Daze’s head, zig-zagged towards Button, did the same, then returned to the ground and hid his wings behind his back. He looked to Shady Daze, smiling softly. “Shall we?”

If Shady had any more reservations he didn’t voice them. He stared at Rumble — so confident in his ways. Then at Button — stoic and, uncommonly eager and excited and realized that to voice concern would be both amiable and shameful. No one wanted to be a wet blanket in this situation, least of all him and his unassuming, neurotically pessimistic ways. Even if he’d had any concerns to bring out, he decided well against them.

“Let’s do it.” he said.

And then, without anyone else to bring any sense of argument to the table, the three were off again. Rumble, followed by Button and Shady, broke into a half drunk and half cocked jolt down the cobblestone paths, laughing, singing and cheering. Lights in windowsills flickered on as they passed. Ponies out and in their path passed judgement through hard glares, but, it was all in vain. Nothing was going to stop Rumble, Button Mash, or Shady Daze.

***

Rumble stopped to catch his breath a few long paces away from a building without windows and shaking from the life inside. It was black, metallic, and in the same design as a filing cabinet — a post-modern, square shaped eye-sore in a town with themes and inspirations that could be described with the words ‘rustic’ and ‘charming’.

This was their destination; Club Black, home to weekend warriors, bar-stars, club whores, vagabonds, douchebags, assholes and the morally corrupt. On weekends, Club Black was the host of the greatest collection of good looking — and often, very misinformed on the subject — ponies at anytime, in any place, in Ponyville. The club was a gathering of every young, and young at heart, colt, mare, filly, foal and stallion who prefered the dredges of the drink and narcotics, loud music and poor conversation to the thrills of staying in and catching up on classic literature. At least, this was how Shady Daze saw it.

To Rumble and Button, Club Black was a welcome matt to the world of emotionless sex, drugs, booze, mares with hard bodies and stallions who only existed to stand between them and the aforementioned upsides of club life.

That was Club Black.

A velvet carpet, supported on the cobblestone foundation and side-lined by brass pillars, led to two double sized solid chrome doors. A Gryphon, wearing purple tinted Oatley sunglasses and a black shirt — two sizes too tight, to the point where the veins and ripples in his skin past his fur flaunted themselves through the material — stood before the doorway..

“Fuckin’ aye,” said Rumble. “This place is bumping, huh?”

“Yeah…” Button Mash’s eyes never left the building, or blinked, as he nodded.

“Let’s not waste anymore time, eh?” said Rumble, sniffing at lingering traces of the mare’s perfume in air until his eyes would roll back in his head. “There’s a mare, in there, who owes Button Mash the night of his life and we’re just the handsome, charming colts to help you find her.”

When he’d had enough of snorting at feminine odours, Rumble slapped Button Mash on the shoulder, then Shady. He was smiling ear to ear. Before either could respond, he’d already made a break for the entrance. Dashing at top-speed towards the velvet carpet, then down it, leading to the front doors.

Both ponies followed after him.

“Everybody’s gonna have a good time/Cause we’re going to a partay!” Rumble sang, getting onto his hind legs and slapping his chest. He trotted like that — on his hind legs — up the bouncer, smiling and singing. And, why shouldn't he? After all, the night was young and opportunity was just around the corner.

Once Rumble approached, the bouncer raised a golden claw into the air. Light bounced off of the gold and silver rings he wore on his fingers, until he lunged his open claw forwards and pressed it firmly into Rumble’s chest, stopping the colt in place.

Rumble stared up at the bouncer. “What’re you doin’?”

The bouncer stood stoic. “Not comin’ in.”

Rumble snorted. “How’s that?”

“Don’t like the look of you.” explained the Gryphon, “You’ve got a face that screams trouble. We don’t want trouble here.” He said to Rumble and then turned his head and gestured with a head nod towards Button Mash, “Plus, this one’s wearing a hoodie with gang colours.” he stopped, then nodded to Shady, “You seem alright, though.”

Flattered in spite of himself, Shady Daze grinned at the compliment.

Rumble, however, was snarling two rows of teeth.

“Seriously? Gang Colours?” Rumble scoffed, “What fucking gang wears hot pink? The Fillydelphia Fighting Faggots? Now, come on, quit fuckin’ around and let us in? We’ve got money. It’s not like we’re gonna wreck the place, we just want a few drinks and to maybe snog some mares with low self esteem.”

He stared up at the bouncer expecting a grin. What he got was a frown.

“Like I say,” said the bouncer, “You two are not comin’ in. Third guy,” he stopped and nodded again at Shady Daze, “Ten bit cover and you’re good to go?”

Shady shook his head.

“Fine.” said the bouncer. “Take a walk.”

Rumble took a step back from the bouncer, ran a hoof along down his face, then slapped it against the velvet carpet. He spit on the ground by the bouncer’s feet, then, with his neck craned backwards and his chest proudly puffed, he moved forwards until his chest and the Gryphon’s chest touched.

“Listen to me, you stone hearted gargoyle!” Rumble spat, trying on his most menacing face of the night. “You may rank above me in terms of size and strength, but, I have something you’ll never have.”

The bouncer rolled his tongue alongside the left cheek of his mouth and a bulge appeared in the soft plastic-like flesh of the crevice between the up and down of his beak. He tilted his head left, his eyes studied Rumble — with his proudly puffed out chest and mean gleam in his eyes — then he cocked up an eyebrow and flashed a grin. “Yeah. What’s that?”

“Yeah. I’ve got the capacity to love! What do you have? This shitty fuckin’ job? Like they couldn’t just grab any thick-necked cocksucker off the street and have him do what you do?”

Here the bouncer cracked a grin and for a brief second Rumble humored the idea that maybe he’d done right by this obstacle in their path and won himself, and present company, entrance into the club.

“Maybe you’re right,” the bouncer sighed, looking deflated, “Maybe I am just a bouncer? Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be? Maybe the three years of community college were all for nothing?... But, the cunt they get to replace me wouldn’t let you three fags in either.” He stopped looking defeated and started looking intimidating. He squared out his jaw and flexed the muscles in his pecs for his crowd. “Now, would you three homos kindly fuck off?”

Snarling, Rumble spat on the ground again then spun himself around — waving his ass at the bouncer’s face. The bouncer didn’t flinch and Rumble trotted away muttering more curses and spitting more on the velvet carpet.

Back to square one.

“Fuck that guy.” Rumble shouted back at the direction of the velvet carpet. He leaned up against the side of the club. “Gang Colours? Honestly?” He put on a mock-accent, one that was half part ‘Inebriated Douche Bag’ and the other half ‘Tough Acting Cunt’. He sighed. “It’s like… who even says that?”

Shady Daze shook a cigarette from his packet of Red Apples, chomped the filter and lit the tip. He inhaled, slowly, held it, then exhaled. Button Mash, standing beside him, waved a cloud of smoke away from his face.

“What happens now? Do we leave, or…?”

Rumble, still snarling, spit up another loogie against the side of the building. “No. No way! We’re meant to be here. This is the place to be right now. I can feel it.” he turned his head towards Button Mash and Shady. “Can’t you?”

Shady Daze shrugged his heavy-feeling shoulders. “All I feel is emasculated.”

“Screw that!” shouted Rumble. “There’s a fence in the back by the smoking patio. It’s only about a head taller than any of us. We could just climb over? It’s not barbed or anything. Should be an easy one, too...”

“Sneaking into clubs, Rumble?” Shady said, turning his head from the left to right. “Are we really that desperate?”

He took another long drag from his cigarette, flicked ash onto the grass and then pressed the back of his head against the cold feel of the wall. He blew smoke out of his nostrils and the cloud wafted, again, towards Button Mash’s face.

“Shady, come on,” Rumble insisted with a gentle, encouraging, nudge to Shady Daze’s stomach. “It’ll be like grade ten all over again. Remember Cloudkicker’s birthday in the park? After the guards got called on us cause Thunderlane got caught pissing on the statue of Princess Sparkle? What did we do? We hopped a fence and hid in Mr. and Ms. Cake’s thorn patch to get away from them. Remember?”

Shady Daze grimaced. “Yeah, I remember. And afterwards I had to use one of those inflatable rings to go to the bathroom for a month when Doc Stable was done pulling all the thorns out of my ass…”

Rumble sniffed, twice, then burst out with a full-bodied laugh that resonated all around them. He grabbed his stomach, tight, then fell onto his knees and beat the the ground with his hoof. It was no less than five minutes of Rumble, rolling on the grass, clutching his stomach and spewing out well-intentioned laughter before he found his inner zen and stopped himself. Getting onto his hooves, he wiped leaves of grass and flakes of dirt off of the unrolled sleeves of his track-top, cracked his neck and calmed himself

“Oh, dude…” he laughed, stopped, and then slapped his left hoof against his forehead, “Dude! That’s retarded! Are you serious?”

Biting his lip, and regretting sharing a page from his life’s story with his friends, Shady Daze nodded his head. “Yeah…”

By now even Button Mash — innocent and non-threatening Button Mash — was finding it hard to hide his smile from Shady. He chuckled, quietly, and tried to cover his mouth with his hoof to muffle the sound.

Shady Daze couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at the two.

“Look here, boys.” Rumble commanded once the air had been clear of giggling and once again turned neutral. “We can do this, alright? Who are we? We’re The Three Amigos!”

Rumble’s rebellious spirit was infectious. Both Shady Daze and Button Mash both found themselves susceptible to Rumble’s charm and silver tongue. They could do this. They would do this. The only thing that separated them from a night of fun and debauchery was a non-barbed fence standing only a head taller than either three of them.

The semantics were just that; semantics. It could have been a trio of rottweilers guarding the back entrance to Club Black that night, or, it could have been a precocious kitten, it didn’t matter. One way, or the other, Shady Daze, Rumble and Button Mash were going to make it into the club. That much they knew.

“C’mon then,” Rumble cheered, leading the trio towards the fence, “Shady, you boost me up, I’ll unlock the door and then we just sneak in. Easy as a fat girl at a frat party.”

Button Mash and Shady Daze stared at the fence between them and good fortune. It was thick with black solid-steel bars, each ending in a particularly threatening looking point, and stood feet taller than any of the three could reach on their hind legs. Still, it was only just a fence, and, less than that, only an obstacle in their way.

“So, like, I get on my knees and you climb over me?” Shady asked.

Rumble nodded.

“I don’t know about this, Rumble.”

Shady Daze and Rumble turned worried eyes on Button Mash, who stood kicking dirt and shifting his weight between his right and left side. “It seems… illegal… and-”

“-Button,” Rumble snapped, “You know what’s on the other side of this fence? Mares. Girls with low self esteem who would screw away all your anguish the second you tell them they’re pretty. All you have to do is stop being such a nay-sayer.”

“I really wish you’d stop doing that,” Button grumbled, fidgeting in place. “I just don’t see this working out…”

“Look, here.” Rumble nudged Shady and Shady trotted to the fence, pressed himself sideways against it and stood stoic, “I’ll go first. If anything happens, you two book it back to my place and wait for me to talk my way out of any trouble, like you both know I can, and then I’ll just meet you back there. Sound good?”

“No…” grumbled Button, before realizing that there it was only wasted breath.

Rumble was already climbing atop of Shady Daze, using the arch of his bent back as a step-ladder while the tips of his forelegs poked the spiked reaches of the fence.

“Arch your back higher,” Rumble urged to Shady, “I’ve almost got it…”

“I am arched!” Shady snapped, “Be taller!”

Rumble’s hoof brushed against the side of Shady’s cheek. “Almost got it.” he said, wrapping his hooves around two bars of the fence. “I’m… going to have to kick off of you. Just… be ready?”

“Fucks sakes,” grunted Shady, “Hurry it up, tubby.”

“Hey!” Rumble snapped, “Have you seen the madness that is my upper chest, Shady? I’m pretty damn sure I’m more ripped than you, porkchop!”

“Doesn’t feel like it from down here, lard-ass.”

“Blow me.”

Rumble’s left lower-leg kicked against Shady Daze’s face again.

“Rumble!”

“Okay, on three. Ready?”

“No.”

“One.”

Shady arched his back as upright as it could possibly go.

“Gah,” he groaned when Rumble’s weight pressed on his spine. “What do you eat? Bricks? I mean, seriously...”

Rumble’s hoof pinched a mound of fur and flesh between Shady’s shoulders and the colt/makeshift stepping stool gave a high pitched, flamboyant yelp.

“Two.” Rumble counted.

Button Mash bit his lower lip, tilted his chin upwards so that his eyes watched the stars above twinkle, and took a moment to pray to the higher powers that his best friend wouldn’t bung this up. Maybe Celestia was listening? Or, Luna? Maybe even Princess Sparkle would offer Rumble a boost of karma?

“Three!”

Rumble kicked off of Shady Daze’s spine. Shady Daze grunted. Rumble, still propelled in the air, kicked his legs barely inches overtop the spikes of the fence and then disappeared into the blackness beyond.

Shady Daze and Button Mash waited.

And waited.

The *Clink* of metal scraping against metal drew their eyes towards the darkness beyond the fence, then, the sound of metal scraping against metal, muttered cursing, and finally, a small part of the fence swung towards them and Rumble, grinning and winking, stood in the newly lit path towards the smoking patio attached outside the bar.

“Ladies,” he said, swiping his hoof before him and the opening in the fence.

Button Mash, with a stupefied expression on his face, spoke his mind. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” assured Rumble with a wink towards the colt, “Now, can we get moving?”

“This all seems kind of… easy.” said Button, his eyes darting from Rumble, the fence, the behind of the club, Shady, and then back to Rumble. “We… just get in now?”

“Yes!” Rumble groaned, “Now, come-the-fuck-on! Night’s-a-wastin’, my sexually frustrated friend.”

There were only two options left as far as Button Mash was concerned. The first was to turn on the tips of his heels, spin himself around and leave. The second was to follow after Rumble and face the great unknown that sneaking in through the back gate to Club Black offered. Going home now meant, among other things, no chance at scoring with a lady. Stepping into Club Black meant their deceitful entrance might be found out, but also that perhaps, if he was lucky, a mare who was pretty and kind and caring (and drunk) might offer herself up to him on a silver platter.

Button Mash weighed his options for a moment. He chewed his tongue while he stood stupidly still and motionless.

“What’s the hold up?”

He snapped his head towards Rumble, leaning halfway into the darkness, and smiled a dim, soft thing at his friend. Shady Daze was already to Rumble’s left and stood like a guard dog; docile and non-threatening. He looked, more or less, unenthused; a night of mingling with available attractive mares he had no interest in — sexually, or otherwise — ahead of him. No, Shady Daze wasn’t in it for the ladies, or the booze. He was in it for the comradery. It showed on his face; smiling, but, without the same fire of excitement in his eyes that Rumble had. To Shady Daze, this was just another Friday night. Nothing more, nothing less.

Button Mash swallowed a wad of saliva, tapped his hoof against the ground and then picked his head up.

For better, or for worse, an evening spent at Club Black offered more to him than turning around and heading home with his tail tucked between his legs and his spirit beaten down. All that awaited him at home was the latest issue of Moanin Mares — still laying beneath his bed, in the plastic wrap month’s, untested — video games, leftover birthday cake and, above all else, an empty bed.

Without a sigh or single offer of frustration, Button Mash picked up his smile and trotted forwards, ready for anything.

Weekend Warriors

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Weekend Warriors

The bassline to the track playing inside Club Black shook the walls of the smoking patio in intervals of five seconds. The wooden deck of the smoking section — which was, in reality, just a porch — was lined with torchlight lamps, giant unfolded umbrellas and small multi-pony tables of a Gryphon inspired theme. Good looking stallions chatted with beautiful mares. The noise of Club Black was unintelligible. Half shouted words from the crowds met with electronic sounds of the music, and it sounded like the worst mess of static and noise that anypony had heard. Ponies screamed drink orders, and about how utterly and completely destroyed they were going to get, and yet, none of that mattered. Shady Daze, Rumble and Button Mash had made it this far, and now, only the wall of bodies separated them from the twin steel plated doors into the club.

They made their way through dozens of ponies who were in all likelihood, drunk — and quite possibly, for more than a few semi-familiar faces among the crowd, also on drugs. Rumble, with his natural sense of alcohol addled direction, led, with Button behind and Shady Daze taking up the rear. They moved as one, each step Rumble took forwards was mirrored by Button and then Shady, both hoping in the backs of their minds that he was leading them towards something more than the back entrance to the club.

It was the fear of an aimless march towards an unclear goal that made Button Mash raise up his left hoof and tap Rumble’s rear twice. The colt snapped his head around quickly, though, he wore a smile that led Button Mash to believe — honestly and truly — that no snark, cynical or ego-defeating comment was going to come from his best friend’s mouth.

“Yo!” Rumble shouted over the noise around him, “Sup?”

“Where are we going?” Button Mash shouted back.

Rumble looked left, right then shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno? Back entrance?” he said, “Right now I’m letting Mr. Booze do all of my thinking, but, he hasn’t steered us wrong so far, so why fix what ain’t broken, right?”

“Business as usual, hey, Rumble?” shouted Shady Daze from just behind Button Mash.

Rumble grinned and nodded. “Firstly, I’m not that drunk! Secondly, I’ve got room in my cast-iron liver for at least another half dozen Lo-Braus, a couple more shots of cheap, gut-rot bourbon and something faggy and girly to cap my night off like a Maremosa. It takes more than a few cheap domestic beers, a few Tequila Mockingbirds and mickey of shitty bathtub vodka to knock me out.”

“That’s gotta be quite the accomplishment,” shouted Shady, “Did you get a trophy to go with that? You could probably hang it up alongside all those clean bill of health S.T.I. tests you’ve got up on your wall.”

“Ha-fucking-ha, Shady!” Rumble shouted in a faux flighty tone of voice, “I’m sure next to your giant cock shaped trophy for ‘Longest time spent trapped in the closet’ all of my accomplishments must look real small, but I’m still proud of who I am!”

Again Shady Daze was ready to explain to Rumble that even his well-developed and exceptionally cultured sense of humor had it’s limits, and that Rumble was once more reaching that threshold. Instead, he reminded himself that his friend was drunk and more than likely his social grace was suffering more and more with every beer he drank.

“Touche,” he said to Rumble. “I know when I’m bested.”

Smiling, Rumble slapped a hoof to Shady’s cheek and pinched the flesh. “You’re a prince, Shady. The fuckin’ Duke of Dick” he shouted, “But you’re also not nearly as clever as you think you are!”

He let go of Shady’s cheek and twisted his waist, giving a dance that flaunted his tight and athletic rear to the crowd around them. Shady, in the meanwhile, grabbed hold of his sore cheek, stared at Rumble, opened his mouth to speak and then said nothing instead. He didn’t need too.

Button Mash, standing between the two, had decided hours ago that he was sick of the back and forths they shared. Rumble was the sort of colt who desired distraction, and, since he held nothing shiny in his pockets, he needed a new outlet.

Fortunately, Celestia, Karma, or perhaps both, were kind enough to offer up the best kind of distraction for a guy like Rumble; A mare.

“Rumble?”

He recognized the voice before he even turned his neck to see her. Blossomforth. Cloud Kicker’s best friend since anyone in town could remember, and, more than that, a sexually uninhibited young soul for him to trade flirtatious wit with. If she was here — and he only had to turn his head to her to be sure — it meant that, most likely, so was Cloud Kicker, and by extension, Flitter, Brolly and his own brother. Possibly others.

The night became more exciting with this latest revelation in the forefront of his thoughts.

“Blossomforth!” cheered Rumble, spinning on the heels of his hooves to meet her face to face with the kind of winning smile he liked to use on older girls who still saw unlimited innocence in him.

And there she was; a head taller than he himself, thin in the chest and stomach, rounded in the waist and rear, and, all around, quite a sight to gawk at. She wore her mixed purple and green mane straight, and styled in a way so that the bangs were chopped just before the eyes while the rest was allowed to fall just around her face and neck. There were freckles on her cheeks that Rumble's eyes were drawn too for a moment.

She was smiling when she met eyes with his.

“I knew that was you,” she said, taking a few paces towards him, “I could recognize that goofy slicked back mane anywhere. How the fudge are you?”

When she reached him she hugged him tight and he felt her breath on his left cheek. He could smell the vodka and soda on her breath. This was when Rumble decided it was safe to not only hug back, but push his luck. In no quick movement, he moved his left leg down her back — over her wings — and then stopped inches above her rear.

Blossomforth offered no protest, although, charismatic and hungry for release as he was, Rumble decided not to press his luck. He drew his right hoof from the small of her back, then the left from the back of her neck and took a step backwards.

“I’m good! Great even!” he answered, giving her a toothy grin. “Hey, who are you here with? Is Flitter here?”

“Yeah! Crazy story!” she shouted back. “I came here with Flitter and ‘Kicker and their saggy balls and chains. Talk about a small world, huh?”

Rumble nodded, “No doubt.”

Blossomforth stared at Rumble, then behind him at Button and Shady, who stood stiffly in place, waiting for the courteous introductions. Both knew Blossomforth, and she knew them, though neither Shady or Button could say they’d ever had more than a dozen conversations with the mare. Rumble noticed the exchange and rolled his eyes.

“You remember my platonic male companions, right? Button Mash and Shady Daze?” he asked, nudging Button and Shady. “Boys, you know Blossom’, hey?”

A round of polite and courteous head nods were shared by the three. Blossomforth took a step towards Button and studied his face with a quiet intensity. “Didn’t you clog the toilet at Thunderlane and Cloudkicker’s party that one time?”

Button Mash bit his lower lip. “Yeah…”

Instead of a verbal joust the likes of which he knew he’d lose, Blossomforth pulled him against her chest, allowing her hooves to roam the flat of his back, and then, slowly, back up to his mane.

“You were so adorable,” she said to him. “I’ve never heard a guy apologize so many times in my life. It was so sweet.”

Her hooves traced along his spine, down to his rear and then she gave his left and right ass cheek a pinch. In response he yelped, but the sound of his high-pitched wail got drowned out by the noise of the ponies and thumping bass on the patio.

“How’ve you been, Blossom?” Shady asked, smiling sweetly towards the mare. “Are you still trying out for The Wonderbolts?”

Blossomforth took her hooves off of Button Mash’s asscheeks, dropped them onto the ground and turned her head towards Shady Daze.

“Nah,” she said shrugging her shoulders, “I don’t stand a chance against the new recruits. I thought having Dash on the team would give me a fair chance, but I guess she’s still pretty pissed about the time Flitter, ‘Kicker and I tagged Tank’s shell.”

Rumble snorted a laugh and slapped his thigh at the same time Shady Daze gave a polite, and restrained, chuckle.

“Leave it to fuckin’ Rainbow Dash to carry a grudge for almost half a decade,” said Rumble, “It’s too bad she’s totally into girls. She seems like she’d give a guy a real workout, if you know what I mean?”

“You are, literally, the most vile and disgusting pony I know,” Shady said to Rumble, “I seriously wonder some nights how you’re not still a virgin.”

“Girls with low standards and daddy issues,” Rumble responded, giving Shady Daze a grin exposing two rows of fangs, “It’s amazing how far you can get with a nice smile, a few honeyed words and a body with dangly bits sculpted by Celestia herself.”

“Seriously, Rumble,” Shady sighed. “You’re the worst.”

Rumble leaned sideways and hugged Shady around the throat. He rubbed his face into Shady’s neck, pulled back and then smiled. “You love me, Shady.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shady grumbled. He knocked Rumble off of him with a shrug of his shoulders, then arched his spine so that he stood upright; stoic and stern faced. “And you’d be bagged, tagged and stuck in a body bag a dozen times over if it wasn’t for that platonic love I’ve got for you. Just remember that, okay?”

Rumble stuck his tongue through his pursed lips and blew a wet and tasteless sounding raspberry at his best friend. When he finished, he rolled his tongue back into his mouth and eyed the colt before him dopily. “You know I love you too, you butt-pirate.”

“Holy! When’s the honeymoon you two?” Blossomforth laughed. Rumble tried to hide his shame and embarassment at the offending statement with a snarl, while Shady bit his upper lip, shrugged his shoulders upright and then turned his head away from Blossomforth and Rumble.

“Listen, whenever you guys are done making moves on each other, you should follow me inside.” Blossom suggested when her laughter at the situation had died out. “We’ve got a private booth at the back and there’s definitely more than enough room for all of us.”

Rumble turned to Button, then to Shady. Both colts stared at him with soft eyes and turbulent looks on their faces; imploring their recently decided leader to make the decision for them. Grinning, Rumble turned away from his friends and onto Blossomforth.

“Sounds dope.” he said, “Why don’t you show us the way?”

***

There were five ponies sitting at the private booth in the farthest corner of Club Black; Thunderlane — nursing a Lo-Brau —, Cloud Kicker — beside Thunderlane, sipping on a Gin and Tonic —, Flitter — beside Cloud Kicker, drinking a Whiskey Sour — and, finally, Brolly, who sat leaned into his seat with one hoof thrown over Flitter’s shoulder and the other spilling big sips of beer across the table.

“Well, shit. They’ll let any three cunts into this place nowadays, won’t they?” were the first words, shouted out of the mouth of Brolly, as he watched the foursome of Blossomforth, Rumble, Shady Daze and Button Mash approach the table. His eyebrows furrowed down his face while he glared at the approaching party, then his eyes locked onto Shady’s figure and his face fell flat. “Isn’t there some kind of ‘No-Homo’ policy here?”

Brolly exploded into a low and ruckus laugh that none of the other ponies sitting at the table bothered to join. Shady rolled his eyes, sighed and put on his most charming and forced smile of the night. Dealing with Rumble was one thing; a burden, sure, but there was still a wealth of respect and care for the other’s well being — mental, physical and spiritual — that they shared between them.

Shady Daze had no respect or love for Brolly, and he could only imagine the feeling was mutual.

“Hey, dork,” Brolly snapped at Button, drawing fear across the younger colt’s face. “Don’t you know there’s a dress code?” Brolly asked, spilling a few splashes of his beer in his lap as he took a sip from his pint-glass, “They don’t usually let homos wearing pink in here. What’d you do, sneak in the back door or some shit?”

Button Mash stared down at his chest and was reminded — for the first time since his earlier conversation with Archer and Dinky Doo — about how stupid and unattractive the hoodie he’d been wearing all night looked on him. He frowned, trying to hide his face from those who sat around the table.

“Stop being such a dick, Brolly,” Blossomforth said. “This kid is a total sweetheart. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

“Eat me, Blossom,” Brolly grumbled. “He looks like a total fucking pussy to me.”

“Nice to see you too, Brolly,” said Rumble, leaping into the booth ass first. He took the spot beside Flitter, who gave him a friendly smile which he returned. “Why don’t you take a walk to the bathroom, get someone inside to help you take that giant stick out of your ass, come back and then we can all relax a bit, huh?”

“Mind your P’s and Q’s, Rumble!” Brolly growled towards him, before taking a sloppy sip of beer from his glass. More beer rolled down the sides of his face and hit his chest then made it to his mouth. Clearly, this was not an issue to Brolly.

The table fell silent.

Button Mash shuffled in place, waiting for Rumble, Shady, Blossomforth, Thunderlane, or someone — who specifically wasn’t Brolly — to do or say something to ease the tension. Button Mash had never been the type of pony to hold a grudge — it wasn’t in his nature —, but there was a short list of things he actually enjoyed about Brolly; he liked that Brolly had never acted on any of his threats to beat him. He also liked that sometimes when Brolly got too drunk, he’d pass out and then Shady and Rumble would take an electric razor and shave phallic shapes and cuss words into his coat. Aside from that, there was nothing to like about him.

“How’re you doing, boys?” asked Cloud Kicker, throwing herself into the conversation. Saving the three from yet another verbal taunt from Brolly. “You three look like you’ve seen some real crazy stuff tonight?”

Shady took the empty spot beside Rumble while Bottom Mash sat next to Cloud Kicker, across from Shady Daze. This left an open spot beside Button Mash that Blossomforth was quick to grace.

“It’s been a trying time, yeah.” said Shady, folding his legs across the table and falling into himself. “Between keeping these two in check, all the booze, running afoul of the mayor and all the other bullshit we’ve gotten into tonight, I’ve hardly had time to breath.”

“Oh, that’s not even how it happened, Shady!” Rumble snapped, slapping the table with his hoof, “You were every bit as much at fault as either of us. Don’t try and pin all the weirdness on me and Button. Stop acting so high and mighty. It’s not like you’re doing a public service here or anything.”

Shady Daze turned his face to his best friend and grinned, “Aren’t I, though?”

Cloud Kicker snorted a laugh, Flitter giggled, Blossomforth chuckled and Thunderlane snickered. Rumble rolled his eyes. In submission of his own defeat, Button Mash just bowed his head. It was only Brolly who offered a challenging glare towards Shady, who let it pass without protest.

Brolly cleared his throat, spit a loogie over Rumble’s shoulder and then slapped his legs down on the table and spoke, “How did you three retards find time away from your busy schedule of blowing each other in back alleys to get down here?”

Thunderlane snorted and slapped a hoof against his thigh. Rumble shot his brother a dirty look that went ignored by the older pony.

Flitter bat her eyes, then turned towards Button, Shady and Rumble. “Why don’t you boys tell us about your night?”

“Heh, well, it has been pretty crazy,” Button Mash said, before he had time to consider the notion that adding his voice to the ongoing battle of wits was a bad idea. Suddenly eyes belonging to ponies he wasn’t one hundred percent comfortable conversing with even if he’d been sober were turned to him and the familiar feeling of a fear-sweat was coming over him “We… um… had a pretty wild night… doing things… and some stuff… most of it silly...”

“Oh, you can’t stop there, Button.” said Cloud Kicker, “C’mon. We wanna hear about it.”

The eyes, faces and expressions attached to them were growing softer. More friendly. If he’d had reservations before, they were slowly being worn down by the feeling of brevity and unity that was building up towards the ponies he was surrounded by.

“Well, heh, we um… we got kicked out of The Toad in The Hole.” Button Mash said, scratching a hoof against the flat of his neck and smiling down at the table, “That was kinda… crazy.”

“Fuckin’ Morty,” Thunderlane whined, “Did he give you guys that ‘Sit down and shut yer traps.’ speech?”

Rumble stared at his older brother, nodded his head and then reached his hoof towards Thunderlane’s half finished beer. He cupped it, pulled it towards him and took a sip. Nothing was sacred when shared between immediate family, least of all a pint of cheap domestic beer and the potential backwash associated with it.

“Yeah,” said Rumble, putting the pint glass down on the table, “We weren’t even doing anything wrong, either.”

Despite the lie he’d just told, neither Shady Daze, nor Button Mash, had it in them to offer up the truth of the matter. Instead, they opted for casual head nods.

“Yeah,” said Thunderlane, squeezing Cloud Kicker by the shoulder, “Morty likes to act like he’s hard. I mean, the dude’s seen some shit, no doubt, but, he’s all talk and no cock to back it up. Y’know?”

A gleam built in Rumble’s eyes. He stared up at Thunderlane and nodded his head.

“I heard Morty’s an Ex-Royal Guard?” said Cloud Kicker.

Thunderlane shrugged, “Maybe?”

“Hey,” said Flitter, turning to Button Mash and smiling sweetly at the younger pony, “Somepony told me it was your birthday today?”

The eyes on him, and the mixed looks care and concern, intensified. Shrinking a little in his seat, Button Mash put on his best, most polite, smile, and nodded his head. “Yeah…”

He felt a hoof touch his back, then rub him gently through the material of his hoodie. It was Blossomforth, looking at him with soft, sweet, eyes and smiling. His left leg twitched, then his right one, when her hoof fell along his spine and drew closer to his rear once again.

“Hey, happy birthday, buddy!” said Thunderlane, grabbing at his glass and raising it in the air. “Seriously; someone’s gotta buy this kid a drink or something?”

Blossomforth’s hoof was touching his butt. Again. She took the time to pat him on his left cheek, then she stroked away the hurt. Button Mash bit his lower lip as hard as he could without drawing any blood and fought his instincts to purr/moan/cry out. Instead of drawing attention to himself, he turned away from Blossomforth and stared at Thunderlane.

”S-Sounds good to me,” he said.

“I’ve got this,” Thunderlane said, raising himself upright in his seat. “What are you drinking tonight?

Blossomforth pet him on the bum, making Button Mash almost swallow his tongue. “Uh… Lo-Brau,” he squeaked.

“Cool. I’ll be right back,” said Thunderlane said, spreading out his wingspan and lifting into the air.

Rumble watched Blossomforth’s borderline-molestation of Button Mash with a curious — and mostly jealous — eye before a thought grazed his mind. An idea, so simple and, yet, so elegant, made it’s way to the forefront of his mostly drunken consciousness. For the first time that night he put himself, and his interests, aside, and decided to do something for the benefit of Button Mash. If it worked out, it stood to be known as the greatest single birthday present the dork would ever get in his life.

Rumble had no reservations.

“Yo, Blossom’,” he called, “Can I steal you for a minute?”

Blossom stole herself away from Button Mash to glance over at Rumble. She nodded then lifted herself out of her seat, passing her hoof over Button’s waist as she left. “Sure.”

The two snuck out of the booth and found a quieter spot in the far corner of the club. The music had switched from bad techno to even worse Dub-Trot noise. Blossomforth looked at Rumble, Rumble back at her. Both were smiling.

“What’s up?”

“You should dance with Button Mash,” Rumble suggested. “It’s the little guy’s birthday and he’s sorta got his heart set on proving his masculinity to himself. You don’t have to bang him, just, you know, throw a few dirty moves his way, maybe some grinding? I mean, the kid could use a break and-”

“Done!” Blossomforth said.

Rumble threw his head backwards. “Really?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said. “I think he’s fucking adorable, Rumble.”

Rumble cocked his head to the side, “Really?” he asked. “You know we’re talking about Button Mash, right? Not Shady? And, definitely not me, right?”

Blossomforth turned her face away from Rumble and drew her hungry squint towards Button Mash. Her tongue came out of her mouth, ran over her upper lip, her lower one then rolled back into her mouth. “Mhmm,”

Confused as he was, Rumble wasn’t about to question Blossomforth’s logic. If socially awkward virgins were her fetish, who was he to voice any arguments? If it helped Button Mash rid himself of the burden that was his virginity, where was the real harm in throwing a clearly sexually charged mare with a taste on her tongue — and quite possibly between her legs — for colts like him?

Rumble scratched the back of his neck and bowed his head, “Well, uh, alrighty then...” Rumble mumbled. “I guess, uh, you should go grab him and…”

His words fell towards the empty space where Blossomforth had stood, instead, Rumble caught the twitching tail and heavily accented and bouncing ass cheeks of her backside as she swayed and sashayed her way towards the table.

Still confused at the prospect of a girl appearing to look at Button Mash as a sexual object of desire, Rumble shook his head and followed after her.

***

Button Mash had been enjoying his night for the most part. Sure, there had been a few times when he’d have much rather been seated in his faux-leather recliner, an issue of Moanin’ Mares in lap, hoof lotion to the right of the tissues and with the lights dimmed to a nice, romantic, mellow.

Tonight wasn’t his first foray into the world of drinking with Rumble or Shady Daze, and in that sense he wasn’t a virgin to the needs and desires of his best friends, still, the extra focus on him was nice and he greatly appreciated the efforts they put in to make sure his night was tailor fit to his heart’s content. It was nice of them to think about him. But, in truth, so far the highlight of the night — so far — had been talking with Dinky Do. She was pretty, and neat, and definitely much cooler than he’d ever given her credit for in the past. Getting shamed out of The Toad in The Hole had made a good story, certainly, but, it was also a pitfall in his night since it had been a brick wall thrown into the mix.

He thought about where Dinky Do might be in Ponyville and found himself smiling. Then a hoof touched him on the shoulder and he spun his head to face the grinning face of Blossomforth. He smiled back as best he could.

“Hey?” he said as she took her seat beside him, “What’s, uh,… what’s up?”

She scooted herself closer to him, until her left cheek touched against his, and threw a hoof across the broad side of his shrugged shoulder. Her face drew towards his until he could feel her breath brush the fur on his cheek.

He blushed and clenched his legs together to hide his growing pride at the situation.

“Wanna dance?” she whispered into his ear.

“D-d-dance?” he stuttered, “You, um, want me to dance... with you?”

Blossomforth’s giggle tickled the fur around his eardrum, “Yes you, doofus.”

Button Mash swallowed a wad of nastiness in his throat, then suppressed a yelp when he felt Blossomforth’s hoof touch against his waist. She rubbed up his thigh, stopping inches before his crotch, then blew against his ear.

“Whaddya say, stud?” she whispered. “Wanna show a girl a good time?”

How could he possibly argue…

Thoughts of Dinky came over him again, only now he tried to push them aside and replace them with the idea of moving in as one with Blossomforth. Dinky was pretty, there was no doubt about it. But, Dinky wasn’t here with him right now. Blossomforth was.

Decisions... Decisions...

He studied Blossomforth for a moment; stared over her curvy figure, her tight waist, supple hind parts. She was definitely a pretty mare. Beautiful even. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d stuck some kind of karmic goldmine here tonight. Yep. He was a lucky colt.

“Uh… yeah.” he said, smiling softly, “Sure. Let’s do that.” ¸

Beers, Billiards and Brociopaths

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Beers, Billiards and Brociopaths.

Over the noise of the bar and all the ponies in it, Button Mash could distinctly make out the sound of an angry Zebra screaming the words “Shake That Ass, Bitch!” coming through the double-sized, megawatt, ear-splitting speakers all around him. His eyes were glued to the backside of the older mare who had asked him to dance no more than fifteen minutes ago;, Button Mash had not too long ago come to the realization that he was a lucky, lucky pony.

Blossomforth led the charge and like any obedient hungry dog who’d never been neutered, he followed not after what his heart desired, but what the dangly organ hanging between his legs wanted; Blossomforth’s rear to bounce against his waist while she danced with him.

If a pony had asked him a week ago if he’d ever find himself in this situation he’d have turned red in the cheeks and rebuffed the idea, clinging onto the mental image to use later. Now the chance was here and he wasn’t a pony dumb enough to let it go. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

In the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by countless sweating, panting, grinding, groping, dancing bodies, was where Blossomforth took her pause. She spun around, her mane flew sideways and then she stared him dead in the eyes. Hers were hungry — the same way a jackal might look before it made a kill — and if he wasn’t mistaken she was also wearing a playful smirk.

Button Mash swallowed back a wad of something nasty that had been caught up in his tight, and dry throat. It went down hard. Harder than any of the rank smelling and foul tasting shots he’d taken that night. He blinked his eyes. He was still standing. Blossomforth was still before him, smiling.

Wordlessly, Blossomforth started moving her body to the beat of the song playing. It started slow. She began to twist her rear left and right, catching each bass-kick of the song with a snap of her waist. She shook her tight, toned ass — there was no better word for it in Button’s vocabulary — to the left, again to the right, pause and then repeat. That was her rhythm.

Without a moment’s notice she threw her left hoof forward and cupped it tight around the back of Button’s sweat-dampened neck. He didn’t have the time do much but give a half-hearted ‘YELP’-like noise before she pulled him to her, holding him tight against her boisterous chest. Blossomforth propped herself upright so that she stood on her hind legs, dragged Button Mash’s smaller, mostly limp body up with her, and then draped the second of her free legs around him; holding him tight to her and pressing her face into the space between his shoulder and face and messing up his fur with her cheek.

“Let’s dance,” was all she said before her hooves traced along his back, grabbing at as much of his mildly pudgy flesh as she could get a grip on, before she reached the cheeks of his butt — which she, again, pinched tighter than any grandmother had ever done to the cheeks on his face.

The tightness returned to his throat, along with a painful sort of pulse that came from the area between his legs. It hurt, yeah, but it also felt good. He recalled a thousand and one times he’d felt that same pulse soar through him. It usually started with him cracking open a fresh copy of Filly Fanny Fun.

Her hooves grabbing him by the ass and her buxom chest rubbing against his flat and plain own. Button Mash tried his hardest not to physically express how much he was enjoying this moment in time and space by staring at the ponies in the crowd who were watching him. Looks of shock, awe, and, most importantly to him, jealous scorns adorned the faces of older stallions all around him.

He was a lucky colt. He had a beautiful mare wrapped around him in ways he’d never imagined one to be. There was hard liquor and vibrant energy pulsing through his veins. The night was young and nothing would break this moment.

Button Mash had never been the type of pony to allow any good thing that happened to him not be ruined by his set of deep seated insecurities, fears and worries about who he was, and the small space he represented in the face of the cosmic spectrum. So, like every other time in his life, he began to worry.

What was he doing with Blossomforth?

Why was she attracted to him?

Was she using him?

Was he using her?

What would Dinky Doo say if she walked in through the front door and saw them together?

Why was that a worry he held in his heart?

At the start of the night he'd been told he'd have a night he would never forget, and, beyond all the ounces of liquid courage, the cheers, birthday wishes, presents, and good company, the humbling promise of the prospects of losing his virginity remained. His virginity was a shame he he couldn't seem to shake (though certainly not for a lack of trying). Today was his birthday and he was an adult now in the eyes of Equestrian Civil Law. He was old enough to vote, or to join the ranks of the Royal Guards, or even apply for a loan. Still, he would never be anything more than a colt until he could manage to wrestle away that pesky virginity of his.

Rumble had lost his first, to Flitter, almost two years back, Shady not long after to Twist (and then again, and more properly in tune with his newfound sexual identity, to a stallion named Spark Plug after a DJ Pon3 show in Canterlot). Now, here was Button Mash, the last third of the equation. The missing puzzle piece. The Third Amigo flying solo.

If dancing with Blossomforth was going to get him any closer to his proper introduction into stallionhood, Button Mash wanted a part of it.

He smiled with her, found courage he never knew he had and wrapped his once loose and feeble legs around her waist, bringing her body to his. The song switched from sexually charged rap screamed by Zebras to a more popular, well overplayed pop song that Button didn’t know the name of, but that Blossomforth seemed to love hearing. She put her head on his shoulder and Button brushed his hoof through her mane. She smelt exactly like what he imagined pretty to smell like; hints of cinnamon, vanilla and jasmine.

Were the boys and girls back at the table watching him like a pack of predators, judging his every mis-step? Were they smiling and laughing about how he couldn’t maintain a proper rhythm to save his life?

He drew his gaze away from Blossomforth’s shoulder, past the crowd and towards the table where the gang of ponies he’d joined earlier sat drinking, laughing, cheering, and chatting.

That was when Button Mash started to feel characteristically uncomfortable.

***

Presently, despite Button Mash’s mental conditioning, the colts, stallions and mares at the table were not sitting around, drinking and laughing at their friend’s — and mutual acquaintances — expense, but instead waiting patiently while Brolly prepared to share a witticism with them.

“Picture the scene,” Brolly announced to the crowd gathered around the table. There were five of them now. Thunderlane sat holding onto Cloud Kicker, Flitter — leaning forwards on her elbows, listening intently and batting her eyes. Beside her, Cloud Kicker, then Rumble — sipping on a cold Lo-Brau, smiling at Flitter — and finally, rounding them out; Shady Daze — tapping the table with his left hoof so that all the half empty mugs and beer bottles shook, and rolling his eyes.

Brolly, looking just about ready to continue on with his story, cleared a loogie out of his throat, twisted his body backwards, leaned over the reaches of the seats in the booth and hacked the phlegm in his throat over the railing. It fell with no grace whatsoever and landed on the backside of a mare dancing on the floor below. Brolly watched her wipe the spit from her back with a disgusted look to her and then smiled to himself. He twisted himself back towards the table and decided to continue on with his story.

“The other week,” he said, stopped, then cocked his head sideways as if he was unsure of himself and which direction the story he was telling would go. Flitter touched his leg beneath the table and he smiled. “Yeah, no, just about last week, me and Thunderlane were down at The Legion, takin’ particular advantage of their two-for-one special on Voddy and Soda’s. We were shooting stick. You know, talking shit about this guy and that girl. Who’s fucking who. Who’s getting fat. Who’s rich. Who’s poor. That sorta stuff. Anyway, so we’re engaged in what could possibly be the most intense tournament of billiards this shit town’s ever seen. Now, I’m playin’ like Paul-Fuckin-Newmane in The Hustler. I mean, I’m making shots behind my back, around the bend, turning those little bastards into my own personal mockeries y’know? And Thunderlane’s gettin’ his tanned hide taken for a ride by yours truly...”

Brolly stopped and gave his friend a grin. Thunderlane returned it — half assed (Rumble could tell) — then held Cloud Kicker’s body tight against his own. Cloud Kicker was Thunderlane’s prize in the same way that Flitter was Brolly’s. A nomadic mentality was present at the table, one that lowered the likes of Cloud Kicker and Flitter from proud and independent mares, to nothing more than trophies to be flaunted. Prizes worn around, and shagged between, the legs Brolly and Thunderlane. Neither of the two older stallions were doing much to reverse rampant misogyny and tireless sexism in Equestria, but at least the girls didn’t seem to mind.

“Right!” jabbered Brolly, “So, anyhow, all of a sudden this hard lookin’ prick steps into the bar. You know the type; long greasy mane down his face, mustard and sweat stained wife-beater, muscles like he’s been juicing for years. A prick. A total fuckin’ knob. And, hey, look; You all know me. I’m not the sort of guy to go looking for a fight, but I ain’t afraid to finish one someone else started. That’s just me.”

Pause for Brolly to grab hold of Flitter by the waist, squeeze her smaller frame hard and then pull her towards him. This was, of course, just in case anyone at the table had forgotten who she was sleeping with night after night. He held his prize with all the force he could muster, and flashed the table a toothy grin, flaunting two rows of yellowed teeth to the crowd. He sipped his beer and continued.

“So, this is the set up; I’ve got the eight ball in my corner, all my others are well past sunk and all I gotta do is get that little black ‘n’ white bastard into the corner hole to win the game. Meanwhile, this fuckin’ prick pops a squat right across from me and starts staring. Looking right fuckin’ at me, as if to say ‘Hey, chump. Let’s go!’ And, are you kidding me? I’m not there to throw down with some deadbeat faggot over something so little as this, but I’m also not opposed to sticking the fat end of my pool cue up this guy’s puss and turning him into a popsicle, either. Granted, this guy’s clearly from the wrong side o’ the tracks and of a different mind than I am, but it’s a pride thing, right?”

Brolly stopped to look at the faces staring back at him with worried expressions worn long across their faces — save for Thunderlane. Of course. It was as if, somehow, the notion that this sentiment; defending one’s own honor in the face of adversity, wasn’t shared with his audience. Thunderlane nodded his head at Brolly and, beneath the table, nudged his brother with his leg — urging Rumble to do the same. Rumble smiled the same faked and forced grin that his brother had on towards Brolly and nodded his head in sync with Thunderlane’s. The girls were smiling, completely oblivious. Only Shady Daze, proudly wearing a rebellious look of disinterest, showed his true colours. Brolly stared him cold in the eyes, rolled his own and then took a firmer hold of Flitter’s waist.

“So what’s a guy to do?” he continued, giving a hearty, confused, shrug of his wings. He stopped to allow someone to answer what was in reality a rhetorical question — since only he knew the answer outright — and when no one made a move to answer, he smirked. “I’ll tell ya what a guy’s to do,” he answered., “A guy like me doesn’t aim to be made a mockery of. So, I waltz right up to this pinko faggy looking cunt, and I give him the eye, right? The glare that says ‘Come on, kid. Let’s do this.’ And what does that cunt do? He shits the fuckin’ bed. Puts down his drink, swallows his pride and high tails it the fuck outta there!”

Brolly accented his point by slamming both of his upper hooves on the table. Drinks shook, glasses clinked and curious, wary and judgemental eyes from the crowd were drawn to their seating arrangement. He turned his happy-go-lucky grin into a scowl and then aimed it squarely at Shady, who found himself being swallowed into the cold plastic depths of his seat in the booth. Convinced of his victory over Shady — for whichever reason it mattered to him — Brolly leaned backwards in his seat, flashed another toothy grin to the table, hugged Flitter tighter with his right leg and lifted his beer from the table with his left.

“And after that,” he said, boastfully sipping from his drink. “Well... the game was mine.”

That was Brolly’s story. Another timeless tale of triumph over impossible odds perhaps, or just another random warning; a flashing of verbal muscles to warn the likes of Shady Daze and Rumble that he was still very much aware of those who sat at the table who he considered friends, and those who were outsiders. Either way, the girls seemed to like it. Flitter snuggled herself further against her boyfriend, throwing a leg over his shoulder and finding a place to rest her head against his broad chest. Cloud Kicker tickled the fur beneath Thunderlane’s throat with her hoof, tilting his face to hers to catch his mouth with her own.

Rumble gave a dry heave then downed the rest of his beer.

"Cool story, Brolly."

The table turned to draw a unified, half nervous/half curious glare towards a very laboured looking Shady Daze.

He gave a slow clap, fanned his hoof over his mouth to cover a yawn he was faking and then smiled at the growing scowl on Brolly's face.

"And what-the-flying-fuck would a, limp legged, cum sponge like you know about telling a good story?" spat Brolly, "Gonna enlighten us all about your latest trip to The Cock and Plunker’s glory hole are ya?"

Shady Daze glared at Brolly. Brolly back at him. The world around them froze while they gave ugly at each other.

Around the table, the gathered ponies made moves of their own: Cloud Kicker shook her head, trying in vain to warn Shady of the approaching shit-storm he was steering himself into. Thunderlane leaned backwards in his seat, threw a leg over the headrest of Cloud Kicker's seat and waited for the gongshow that came next. Flitter blinked her eyes, and when Shady looked at Rumble, there came to be a soft, worried look about him.

There was no kindness to be found anywhere on Brolly's face. He was snorting through his nostrils and curling his lip to bare fangs at Shady.

Flitter's giggle broke the silence. "Stop being so silly, Brolly." She laughed, "Shady's just joking around. Your story was wonderful."

She stroked his chest with her hoof then dove in to kiss Brolly's, throat, cheek and mouth.

Distracted, Brolly hooked a leg around the back of Flitter's neck and made it public to the table how much he wanted to give her the ride when the night was through. He felt up her chest in broad view of the table, turned away from Shady and attacked her mouth with his.

Rumble sank into his seat, cupped two hooves around his half empty pint glass and tried to stare anywhere but at the two soon-to-be-fucking ponies at the table.

"For shit’s sakes, Shady." Thunderlane laughed., "You've really got a pair, eh?"

He leaned across the table and slapped a hoof against Shady's shoulder, raised it and punched it, playfully, against his cheek. Shady cocked his head left, grinned and grabbed for his beer on the table. He pulled it towards him, raised his cup and tipped it towards the still grinning Thunderlane before taking a sip.

“I thought all you gays were supposed to be sissies." Thunderlane continued. “You could teach Rumble a thing or two about growing a set of testicles.”

Rumble perked his head up. “Fuck does that mean?”

Brolly flared his nostrils and furrowed his brows. “It means you’re a fuckin’ pussy!”

Brolly laughed, Thunderlane snickered and even Shady gave a grin. Brolly rolled his tongue through his pursed lips and dragged it along the side of Flitter’s throat. Rumble groaned. He gave a look towards Shady. One that was equal parts scorned and bitter and curled his lips into a scowl at the still prideful colt sitting across from him. Shady smiled back, waved his hoof daintly towards the colt and sipped his beer.

“Now then,” said Brolly, clapping his hooves together. “What do you say you ladies go get a few more drinks in ya while us stallions discuss some business?”

The ladies — Cloud Kicker and Flitter — nodded their heads and Shady Daze stood up to excuse them from the table. The girls moved past him, smiling, and just as he was about to retake his spot at the table Brolly fed his left lower hoof into Shady's rear, knocking him a few paces forwards so that he lost his balance, stumbled and then fell to the floor. Brolly gave a booming, bass heavy laugh. Thunderlane a high pitched snort. It wasn’t until he heard Rumble give a giggle that Shady Daze died a little on the inside. He picked himself up, wiped a hoof across his rear end to brush the dirt and grime off, then turned to look back at the table.

The boys were laughing; Brolly slapped the table hard, gave Thunderlane a hoof-five and then snapped out a line to put the final nail in Shady’s coffin. “When I said ladies I did mean everypony at the table who likes cock.”

Shady Daze, always the sharpest knife in the drawer, was ready with a witty comeback to knock Brolly off his egotistical throne, but the moral of Brolly’s earlier story weighed heavily in his mind; if Brolly was willing to beat the living piss out of a pony just for staring cock-eyed at him, who could say what he’d do to a colt who stood his ground in his presence. For all the pride that Shady Daze had, his desire to live another day without having to piss through a plastic tube was stronger.

Brolly could have this one.

The first thing he thought to do was look to Rumble for some kind of shield from Brolly, which is what he did. He stared across the table at Rumble, who stared back at him with a softness in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, then, closed it just as suddenly and ran a hoof across his slicked back mane. Rumble turned to Thunderlane — still chuckling — and then Brolly, who was giving his best open mouthed giggle. Rumble smiled, laughed and Shady Daze knew exactly what this was.

Sighing, Shady Daze picked his head up again. “Whatever,” he grumbled, “I’ll be at the bar if any of you need me.”

Rumble’s eyes followed Shady as he took long, deliberate steps away from the table. He stopped for a second to turn and stare back at him, then shook his head and turned away. An ugly feeling turned Rumble’s stomach cold and he took a long last sip of his beer to chase it away. He tore his eyes away from his friend, and back to the table where Brolly and Thunderlane were staring at him, smiling.

“Well, it looks like someone’s sleeping in the dog house tonight.” Brolly stated, still laughing.

Thunderlane's cackle came out as a snorted, high pitched and nasally sounding thing. Brolly's laugh followed quickly after. He slapped the table again with his hooves and threw a mean and vicious leer towards the sunken Rumble.

"For fucks sakes, Rumble," said Brolly, "You seriously need to stop hanging out with dorks and fuckin’ fags and get some real friends.”

“Yeah,” Thunderlane nodded his head, “Ponies are starting to talk shit about you, little brother.”

Rumble cocked up an eyebrow, “Like what? Who?”

“Hoops and Dumbbell, dude. Two kids from the Cloudsdale Weather Team who moved here last summer. They’re telling ponies that you three have weekly circle jerks. I mean, those guys are both borderline retarded so no one believes them, but still…”

“Matter of principle,” said Brolly. “You either ditch Shady Fuckin’ Gays and turn Butt’n’Ass into a winner, or no mares are ever gonna wanna look at your naked cock again. Then you’ll be stuck playing grab-ass with Shady.” he grinned, “Unless... you two do that already?”

Rumble dragged his tongue over his molars. He found the courage in him to lift his head and glare, nastily, towards his brother and Brolly. "Hey, fuck you guys, alright?" He grunted through tightly clenched teeth. "Do I look like a homo to you?"

Brolly drew his head back and sneered "Yeah. You look like you've seen one up close."

Rumble's nostrils flared. "Fuck off, Brolly."

Thunderlane slapped a hoof against his brother's shoulder, rubbed the fur he found and flashed a grin. "Chill, dude," he said, smiling. "We're telling you this for your own good. I mean, okay, Shady can be funny sometimes, but he’s still a homo, right? And that kid, Button? Dude, he’s kind of a loser."

“He’s the definition of ‘The Anti-Poon’,” argued Brolly, “Sure, I’d love to tie his mom to my bed for a few nights and give her the wood, but that kid of hers? Shit, he’s a grade-A, bonafide retard. Through and through. I’d be fuckin’ amazed if he didn’t need his mom to help him put his clothes on and strap on his special helmet in the mornings.”

Rumble groaned and took a sip from Thunderlane’s beer. He lifted his eyes, glared at his brother, then Brolly, took another swig from his brother’s glass and sighed. “You guys suck.”

“Nah,” said Brolly, “We’re just telling you what you already know.”

Rumble turned his eyes across the room, to the bar, and watched Shady Daze, standing on his hind legs, hunched over the bar, waving for a bartender and getting ignored in favour of the girls — Flitter and Cloud Kicker — who were being happily serviced by the over enthused bartenders. The cold empty feeling in his stomach came back.

He groaned again.

Brolly's mean and ugly glare turned soft. He smiled, shook his head and reached for his beer. "You're so sensitive, Rumble. Is it that time of the month again already?"

Rumble sighed, quietly, and hunched his shoulders. “Whatever. Can we just get this ‘business’ shit you were talking about over with?”

Thunderlane nodded his head, “Right, yeah.” he said, “We’re going to need a few things first; mainly, we gotta make sure the bathroom is empty…”

Rumble’s eyebrows perked up and he stared, oddly, at his brother. “For what?”

“Drugs, Rumble.” said Brolly, shaking his head and sighing. “You are still cool, right? Or did all that hanging around with Shady Daze and Button Mash turn you into a total fuckin' pussy?”

Thunderlane and Brolly turned their hard, stoic gazes to Rumble, who just scratched the back of his neck with his hoof. He turned away, back towards the bar, where Shady Daze still hadn’t been served by a bartender, and, instead, was idly twirling a coaster advertizing a brand of cigarettes he knew that Shady didn’t smoke. Shady, it seemed, was still waiting in vain for someone, anyone, to notice him. The cold pit in his stomach grew, but there wasn’t any beer left in his mug to chase it away this time.

His older brother and Brolly were still staring at him like a pair of hungry vultures; leering with hard, judging eyes. He ignored them, for a moment, and stared around the bar once more; Across the way, on the dance floor, he caught a glance of Button Mash and Blossomforth dancing together and it made him smile. If nothing else, maybe he could leech some good vibrations off of Button Mash’s soon-to-be successful first time with Blossomforth. Still, it was an empty feeling and so he kept staring around the room.

He caught eyes with Flitter — still standing with Cloud Kicker, sipping what looked like a Vodka Lime out of a plexiglass hiball glass from a straw. She smiled, waved, then turned back to the bar. That familiar, comfortable warm feeling came over him again. He swallowed a lump in his throat, raised his head and smiled at his brother, then Brolly.

“Sure. Why not?” he said, grinning, “Let’s get fucked up. Good and proper.”

Of Asses, Assholes and Asinine Situations

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Of Asses, Assholes and Asinine Situations.

“And, it’s a story that I’m sure you’ve heard before. Or, at least, one that I’m pretty sure I’ve told you once or twice?” said Flitter, looking quite unsure of herself. She cocked her head to the left, her smile fell to form a frown and suddenly she was looking almost as if she was unsure of if she should continue on with her story. A reassuring, platonic and sensually comforting smile from Cloud Kicker gave Flitter all the encouragement she needed. Smiling to herself more than her present company she decided to continue on. “But, well, I met him during a pretty dark period in my life. I’d just been kicked out of the Wonderbolts training camp for bringing in contraband, which I thought was stupid since all I really did was sneak a few bottles of Gentlecolt Jack in with me, and, I mean, everyone else was doing it. I guess I just was unlucky enough to get caught?”

Cloud Kicker, listening intently to her best friend’s story, blinked her eyes heavily made up eyes and nodded her head. Shady Daze, also present, paid the mares, and the story that Flitter, told, half a mind. He’d heard this story before. Many times, in fact. Usually this admittance came when Flitter was just as drunk as she seemed to be now. But that was just Flitter being Flitter.

Bored with the story, and rattled from his earlier encounter with the likes of Brolly, Thunderlane and an especially douchey acting Rumble, he scanned the bar again and wondered just what kind of offense he could have possibly given either of the two bartenders who were ignoring him. Was it because he wasn’t a pretty mare with a broad chest and a stacked ass? Did they know he was gay? Did they secretly resent him for it? Maybe it was something worse; maybe they somehow realized that he’d snuck in the back door?

Semantics. It didn’t matter what their reason for ignoring him was, all that mattered was that despite how hard he tried to get that one drink he wanted more than anything else, and the more the bartenders — for whichever reason — flat-out ignored him, the more Shady Daze felt he needed a drink.

Whatever. At least he was with good company.

“Anyways. I had no job, no money and I was back home, living with my mom, and I thought that’s all I’d ever have going on for me. I mean, Ponyville is great and all, but, once you get a taste of the outside world, well, it just seems so small...” Flitter admitted this with a sigh, and a bowed head. If anything she seemed truly dejected. Defeated.

Shady, knowing full well where exactly this story was going, played along. He swallowed a wad of resentment, smiled at Flitter, and, when she smiled back, he felt comfort in knowing he was at least making one of the three ponies seated at the far end of the bar feel alright with themselves.

Cloud Kicker, to her credit, kept up with Flitter’s pace. She, too, had heard this story a dozen and one times over, and, just like Shady, she played along. She nodded her head, smiled along with her friend and silently, with a hoof to Flitter’s shoulder, urged her to continue.

Shady was uninterested. That drink was very much in need of being ordered and finished, and yet, there was no one to take his order. He met eyes with one of the bartenders, a sort of cute looking male-pegasus, flaunting an impressive chest beneath his pink V-neck shirt. Shady, always a charmer, gave the older stallion his winning smile. This was wrong. The bartender turned away as if he’d just been witness to a murder-suicide. Disgusted, or ashamed, it really didn’t matter. He turned to the other bartender and whispered into his ear, then both colts stared at Shady and shook their heads condemningly. Shady Daze decided then and there that he wasn’t really that thirsty anyway.

“So, when I ran into Blossomforth during Winter Wrap Up a few years ago, and she said that she knew a cute guy who was single, well, I couldn’t really say I had any reason to say ‘No’. The next week Brolly took me out to The Alibi for drinks, we went for a walk down to Sweet Apple Acres, through the apple trees, and, well, the rest is history I guess?”

Cloud Kicker gave her friend a gentle pat to the shoulder, offered a kind, understanding sort of smile and then turned her gaze, and by extension, Flitter’s, onto the sole, homosexual pony sitting at a bar stool with a furrowed brow and a downtrodden look about him. Both girls made moves towards him now. Flitter took the seat to his left, Cloud Kicker to his right.

“You doing alright, Shady?” Cloud Kicker asked, putting a hoof to his shoulder and rubbing him. She was playing dirty; there were few parts of his body that, when met by a delicate, soft touch, completely submitted him into a state of blissful fluffyness. His shoulders, neck, back, and mane. Cloud Kicker must have known what she was doing.

He purred and all the anger and sorrow at having his so-called best friend Rumble turn the other cheek and throw him under the cart in the face of adversity melted away. The pangs of guilt and the seeds of betrayal were still there, but they hardly bothered him as much now.

“I’ve been better,” He answered, trying his best to ignore the table where Rumble, Thunderlane and Brolly sat, quite possibly collectively taken up with sharing stories about him and his fledging homosexuality.

Cloud Kicker’s hoof dug into the ultra-tense muscle of his shoulder blade. A chill crawled all across his spine and a rush of something warm, numbing and ticklish hit his brain.

“Hey, forget about those guys, Shady.” she said, “Why don’t you tell me all about what’s going on with you these days?”

Shady raised a brow as another wave of blissful goodness from her petting hit him. “Huh?”

“With you?” she repeated, “What’s new with you? I’ve hardly seen you around the place in the last few weeks? Is there a ‘Mr. Daze’ eating up all your time? Someone I should know about?”

Shady’s ears perked up, then his smile lifted and spread up his flushed cheeks, “N-nah,” he said, trying to play cool but failing at it, “It’s nothing like that. I’ve just been busy.” His left ear twitched, then his right, he scoped the bartender at the bar, the cute one, who was busy flirting with a mare who looked like Roseluck. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m like one hundred percent of the population of gay kids in Ponyville. Unless the rumors about Snips and Snails are true...”

Cloud Kicker chuckled. “Don’t get so down on yourself, kiddo,” she said, “There’s plenty of respectable, charming, gentlecolts for you to woo off their hooves.”

Flitter prodded him on the shoulder, “What about Pokey Pierce?”

Shady Daze snorted and giggled. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Cloud Kicker hugged the younger pony to her chest, brought her free hoof to his mane and stroked his tussled mane not unlike how she would pet a cat.

“You’re too cute to be this single,” she amended, “Trust me when I say this; one of these days you are going to make a very special stallion feel very happy.”

His cheeks ran red. He bit his lower lip and tried hard not to look up at Cloud Kicker, or Flitter, who he knew were probably grinning goofily at him.

Shady Daze glanced again at the table of colts he’d just been ejected from. He huffed under his breath, sighed then stared up at Cloud Kicker. “Yeah, well, a lotta fuckin’ good being a charming homo is doing me tonight.” He ran a hoof ragged through his mane, “I’m pretty sure I’m perpetually just one witticism away from having Brolly break all four of my legs.”

“No, no, no, Shady.” said Flitter, “Brolly likes you.”

Shady Daze realized, that Flitter truly believed, that the words she’d just said were true and not just avoidance of reality.

The poor girl.

“He’s got a really funny way of showing it.”

“Oh, he’s just trying to act tough because Thunderlane is here. Trust me, Shady. You don’t know him like I do,” she said.

Shady frowned and Flitter, sensing his hesitation to understand her viewpoint, spoke again in Brolly’s defense.

“He can be a bit… rough around the edges, especially when he’s been drinking. But, in private, when he’s sober, he’s just the sweetest, most amazing guy.”

He imagined that she really meant what she was saying, but, the words ‘Sweetest’ and ‘Amazing’ didn’t seem to fit the description of the same Brolly that Shady Daze had seen beat a dorky looking colt over the head with a billiards stick down at The Legion over a packet of peanuts.

Maybe there was a side to Brolly he had yet to see?

“Yeah?” Shady asked, “Like, he’s sweet enough to read you poetry, pick you flowers, give you chocolates and stuff? Do you still even go on dates?”

Flustered, Flitter tried to smile, but it fell and then she was frowning.

“Well, no…” she said, “He doesn’t read me poetry… or take me out anymore... but… well… he’s...” she sighed, “He is nice, Shady. He loves me, and... isn’t that enough?”

Shady felt it; that nagging, heart- sinking feeling he got every time he did or said something stupid to someone who just wasn’t ready to hear his brand of silver-lining-free truth. Flitter had clearly convinced herself that after a lifetime of failing at all her goals, personal, professional and private, Brolly was as good as she’d ever get. That right there was a tragedy worthy of its own literary trope.

He bit the side of his lip while he watched Flitter’s face. She was struggling to smile, but her lips weren’t having any of it, and her eyes were bland and boring to look at. Hurt and dejected. It was written all across her face.

Shady snapped his tongue. Now, more than ever, it felt like an appropriate time to change the subject.

“What’s the deal with Blossom’ tonight?”

“Please don’t get me started on her,” Cloud Kicker groaned, “Some guy she was seeing dumped her for a mare from Trottingham a few weeks ago and I guess he broke her heart or something because she’s been on an all-dick diet ever since.” She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I know that there’s supposed to be a grieving, rebound sex period after a breakup, but, she took three guys home with her last Friday. And that was after she offered to go down on Filthy Rich.”

“And right in front of Rarity, too.” Flitter added, flicking a lock of her mane away from her eyes.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Shady said between panted coughs while his brain ran laps trying to come up with a sentence that was more than an intangible mismatch of words without reason. “So, uh, let me get this straight here… she’s just looking to hook up with Button? That’s it?”

“Well, yeah…” said Cloud Kicker, “I thought that’s what you guys said he needed? Didn’t you, or Rumble say that Button was just looking to get laid tonight?”

It sounded so much more hedonistic when it came from Cloud Kicker’s mouth now than it had when Rumble had said it earlier. That was the power of language though.

Shady Daze tapped the bar counter with his hooves and fooled around with his tongue, running it over his molars.

“Trust me, Shady. No one will give a guy like Button a better first time than Blossomforth,” Cloud Kicker explained, “She’s the reigning champion of breaking ‘em in.”

“Yes she is,” Flitter agreed, nodding her head, “She’s not ashamed of it either.”

“Nope. Not even a little.” Cloud Kicker added. “If anything, she’s proud of it.”

“Yeah... Right...” Shady, trying to make sense of what he was hearing, and what he was saying, sucked his lower lip. “I mean, I guess if she’s on an all dick diet...” He scraped his tongue against his upper teeth, “But still...”

Cloud Kicker touched her hoof against his cheek. “Trust me, Shady.” she said, smiling so innocently and endearingly that he was left to believe she saw nothing unordinary in her statements. “Blossomforth will turn him into a proper stallion when she’s done with him.”

The pit of despair. There it was. That low, heavy feeling in his stomach that came about whenever a morally grey situation he was a part of became just a few shades darker. Shady Daze turned towards the dance floor. He caught sight of Blossomforth, humping her pelvis against Button Mash. Button looked happy, and, by all accounts this was what he wanted. Still, it didn’t exactly leave Shady feeling warm and fuzzy on the inside to think about.

“I guess it’s really up to Button.” he said.

***

There was something more than hypnotic about Blossomforth’s ass. This much Button Mash was keenly aware of. It was more than the way that her perfect, moulded by Celestia herself, ass cheeks — devoid of even an ounce of unnecessary fat or flab — bounced in time to the rhythm of the song over the speakers. No, he could watch her shake her ass all day, but truthfully it was the fact that, that same ass was now attached to his waist that was really what was making Button Mash’s night.

Blossomforth detached herself from his waist, spun towards him, got onto her hind legs and ran her hooves through his mane. Button Mash followed her lead, got up on his hind legs and held her by her waist. Blossomforth placed her muzzle by the side of his face.

“Don’t be shy,” she told him, “You can put your hooves on my ass if you want?”

Button Mash gave a tiny, throaty, nervous chuckle. A ‘Heh-Heh’ sort of laugh, then allowed himself to slip his hooves down her back until they fell on those soft, perfectly round, cheeks.

“I want to do bad things to you,” Blossomforth whispered into his ear, “You want that, don’t you? For me to do bad things with you?.”

Button Mash swallowed hard.

“Y-Yeah.” he panted.

Blossomforth ran her tongue up his cheek and into the soft fleshy bits of his left ear. “Squeeze my ass, Button.”

He did.

Her butt was as incredibly soft and perfect as he’d ever imagined a mare’s ass to be. All the years of reading Moanin’ Mares and Filly Fanny Fun had been for not. Nothing in life could have properly prepared Button Mash for the sensual enjoyment that was squeezing a girl’s ass for the first time.

It was getting harder and harder for him to not fully express his enduring joy. It took crossing his lower legs together as tight as he could to keep from stabbing Blossomforth in the abdomen with his growing physical appreciation for the situation.

“I am so going to take you home with me!” she whispered into his ear, “I can’t wait to steal all that innocence away from you.” Once again her wet tongue traced a path up his cheek and into his inner ear. She left behind a streak of wet, matted fur that shone against the overpowering lights of the club.

When she was finished, and Button Mash’s heart resumed beating, she ran her tongue back down the trail of wet, then once over his lower lip, then his upper one and then both of hers.

“Yum," she whispered, "You taste like whiskey and Lo-Brau. I like it.”

Button Mash’s heart skipped another beat.

The room was getting hotter. Someone must have turned off the AC. His forehead felt hot, so did his cheeks, and he could feel the leakage from the pits under his legs seep into his hoodie. This wasn’t good.

The stains would be bad, but he worried most about the smell. Nothing in all of Equestria could possibly more embarrassing than him stinking like sweat, and then it somehow transferring to her. By way of osmosis, he imagined.

The leakage continued and began to spread. He could feel little beads of sweat starting to form across his forehead, between his lower legs and against his back. It wouldn’t be long now before everything went horribly wrong and he was left a sweaty, smelly, ugly mess in a hot-pink hoodie. Virginity intact, only now with the added bonus of having deeply offended Blossomforth.

Lucky him.

He pulled his head away to a curious, dumbfounded look from Blossomforth.

“Uh… heh, maybe, er...” slight pause for Button Mash to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and away from his face. “Can I grab you another drink?” he asked in broken up mess of high and low octaves, “Like… maybe we should, uh, do another shot? I’m buying! Anything you want!”

Blossomforth’s once wide and curious eyes narrowed down to a mostly seductive squint. The kind of look he’d seen many girls give many guys who weren’t him throughout his life. A predatory, hungry and knowing grin spread across her damp red-lipstick painted lips.

“Do you really want to leave me all alone, Button?”

A lump of something nasty was starting to build up in his throat, and, no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down, it remained lodged in his throat like an unending reminder of his lack of social grace. The areas around his pits were soaked through. The fabric was a wet, stinking mess by now. His heart was racing. Sweat rolled down his forehead and fell onto the floor.

He turned his eyes away from Blossomforth. “M-maybe…”

“Really, Button?”

That was when he felt her hoof trace a path from his back, to his chest, then down into the pocket of his hoodie where she squeezed his stomach.

Button Mash’s heart stopped for a few seconds when he felt her touch him in the place where only his own hooves had ever dared venture. She grabbed hold of him firmly and Button Mash let out a high pitched yelp.

Eyes drew onto them. Button Mash felt sweat break through his mane and decided then and there something needed to be done about it.

“I need to use the bathroom!” he blurted, turning away from her and making a mad dash away. He hoped, truly and sincerely, she’d understand why he left.

***

“Door’s locked and the coast is clear, boys.” Thunderlane said when he came into the bathroom stall. “We’re good to go.”

It was a handicapped stall, designed to fit the needs of disabled ponies. There were rails on the wall to guide a pony from wheelchair to toilet, and could accommodate both comfortably, or, alternatively, three pegasus ponies looking to snort drugs.

Rumble sat on the toilet, tapping his hoof on the ground. Brolly was rested against one of the guard rails to his right and Thunderlane leaned against the door.

“So, what are we doing?” Rumble asked, looking first at Thunderlane, then Brolly. “Salt? Or…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brolly told him, fishing a hoof into the pocket of his jean-jacket. “Just remember to thank me after you're finished fucking some chick for the sixth straight hour tonight.”

Rumble’s hoof tapping against the cold porcelain floor was the only sound in the bathroom for a few minutes while Brolly searched around in his pocket. When he was finished, and found what he needed, he pulled his hoof out and with it drew out a small ziplock sandwich bag with what looked like an assortment of white, blue and red mints. Small, chalky looking things; some circular, some squared.

“Dude…” Rumble sighed as he looked up at his older brother. “The fuck are we doing?”

“I told you,” Brolly snorted, “Don’t worry about it.”

Brolly stepped forward until he stood beside Rumble and the toilet he sat on. With a face neutral of any kind of emotion, he shook a few pills loose from the bag and onto the top of the toilet bowl. With his left hoof he crushed them into a powder, then turned towards Rumble and Thunderlane.

“You got a card?”

Thunderlane nodded, reached into his pocket and passed Brolly one of Filthy Rich’s laminated business cards.

Rumble’s heart-rate took on an unhealthy speed. This was different from the norm. Darker. More nasty. The scene was getting ugly now. This, whatever it was exactly, was heavier than Rumble was used to seeing from his brother and Brolly. Usually they, and himself included, would take a hoof-full of caps, generally Candy Dust, the kind of stuff that made you love every pony, made dancing more fun and gave you the most terrible hangover the next day. Semi-occasionally they’d dabble in sniffing some salt too, but this was different.

Brolly plugged one nostril with his hoof, blew snot from his unplugged one, and then set about chopping the crushed pills into fat lines of powder. When he’d finished there were three lines, as thick and long as a cigarette. Content, Brolly leaned his face down to the toilet bowl and pressed his nostril flat against the porcelain and right atop one of the fatter lines.

Both of Rumble’s legs were tapping the floor now.

Brolly sniffed back a line, threw his head back and Rumble watched his eyes roll back into his head. He stayed like that for a few moments like he were stuck, until his eyes rolled back and his head dropped. He sniffed the air, ran his tongue around in his mouth and nodded his head.

Thunderlane looked over at Brolly, “Good shit?”

Brolly’s eyes were bloodshot, red veins pulsed in them, and his smile was a morbid display of yellowed teeth and cracked, bloodied lips. “Fuck. Yeah.”

He sniffed the air again, rubbed his nostril, and then motioned with his hoof for Thunderlane to take a turn. Thunderlane moved forwards, Rumble got up and out of the way, and then sat against one of the rails in the bathroom with his back against the stall and his front facing his brother and Brolly.

Thunderlane did his line with a loud snort, pulled his head back rubbed his nose, then him and Brolly looked at Rumble. A few drops of blood spilled out of Thunderlane’s right nostril which he rubbed away with the back of his hoof.

“So, uh,” Rumble jabbered, “I don’t want to sound like a pussy or anything, but, I’m seriously having some second thoughts about this…”

“Fucks sakes do you ever complain a lot, Rumble.” Brolly grumbled, “Does your fucking vagina come with its own vagina?”

Thunderlane wiped more blood from his nose, sniffed, swallowed, then smiled with full teeth at Rumble. He trotted beside his brother, threw a leg around the colt’s shoulder and shook him a few times. “C’mon, Rumble. Free drugs are free drugs. And you can’t beat free, right?”

Rumble made a sour face, he scrunched his nose, puckered his lips and lowered his brows. There was nothing in the world he wanted to do than a line of this new mystery drug. Literally. He’d take a firm kick to the cock if it meant he didn’t have to keep putting up with Brolly and Thunderlane tonight. The flipside, of course, was that at the end of the day he still had to live with the two of them, and any hint of weakness was like blood to a shark for a pony like Brolly, who would, most likely, never let Rumble forget about this night should it go sour.

Besides, what was the worst that could possibly happen from snorting a line of what was most likely a near-toxic mix nitroglycerine and arsenic?

Rumble looked up at his brother and snarled. Fucking Thunderlane, with his stupid haircut three seasons out of style, and that even dumber proud smirk on his face like there was nothing strange about sneaking into a public bathroom to snort lines of illicit substances. Fuck THunderlane and fuck Brolly too! Brolly, broad in the chest, short a few cells in the brain. Completely lacking any sort of redeeming moral fibre and flaunting it.

Rumble clicked his tongue. “Just a bump, right?”

Thunderlane grinned and shook Rumble by the shoulder again. “Hop to it, little brother.”

He did. Rumble detached himself from the wall and walked towards the toilet bowl. The lines were staring at him teasingly, each one of the four left somehow looked thicker and longer than they had been, and, the closer he got to them the faster his heart raced and his chest hurt.

Any sort of distraction was welcome. If Shady Daze trotted into the bathroom to take a piss right then and there, Rumble was more than a little convinced he have to kiss the colt for saving him from all of this stupidity.

No one was coming to save him. He realized this when he stood right before the toilet bowl, with the four fat lines of drugs lined up to face him, and two imposing figures of peer pressure at his back.

There was no backing out now.

He lowered his face until his nostril touched against the cold porcelain. He line his nose up with the smallest of the chalky, neatly organized mess. He should have, honestly, turned around and fled, grabbed Shady, Button, dragged them back to his place, opened a bottle of whiskey and spent the night in close comfort with ponies he liked, but instead he was stuck in a bathroom stall, with ponies he begrudgingly looked up too, peer pressuring him into taking drugs.

“Any day now.” said Brolly, tapping his hoof against the floor.

Rumble swallowed, plugged his left nostril and with his right snorted in air and powder until he’d dragged his nose across the toilet bowl and there was nothing left for his nostrils to devour.

Fuck, did it burn.

He threw his head backwards. His nose fucking hurt. Bad. He took a few steps backwards on what felt like clouds beneath his hooves, until his back touched something that felt like a wall made of jello, then he scratched the itch out of his nose with his hoof and wiped away a few traces of wet blood that fell from his nostril.

“Fuck.”

Brolly started to laugh. Thunderlane snickered.

“You said it.” Brolly was saying, pushing past Rumble and moving towards the toilet bowl again, “It’s hard to come by, and there’s never enough of it when it’s around, but good Flash really grabs you by the fucking nads, don’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” Rumble said, nodding his head, “Flash, eh? What is that, like, amphetamines?”

Thunderlane nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Medical grade amphetamines,” Brolly corrected, “Stolen from a friend of a friend. Lucky bastard gets them monthly for his attention deficit.”

“‘Medical Grade’ means they’re pure.” Thunderlane explained, “As in; not cut with anything like codeine, or mixed up with filler. This here is just plain, old-fashioned, wholesome goodness.” Thunderlane prodded his brother’s chest with his hoof. “Scientists made ‘em, and you gotta trust scientists, right?”

Rumble just nodded. He started to tap his hoof against the wall of the bathroom stall.

Brolly, bent over, turned his head back to Rumble and grinned. “Pretty soon you’re gonna be fucked off your ass.”

Rumble fooled around with his tongue, running it along the smooth surfaces of the backs of his teeth, then the fronts. “Guess so.”

Brolly laughed again, then shook his head. “First timers always get like that. Just wait until it really kicks in, you’ll be dancing like a spastic retard and dry humping Shady like I know you want too.”

Rumble rubbed his nose again, took a step forwards and puffed his chest out. Fuck Brolly. Fuck his stupid laugh, and his stupid grin, and his stupid, fucking, attitude.

“Fuck off, Brolly.”

Thunderlane put two hooves on each of Rumble’s shoulders and stopped his younger brother’s advance, “Down, boy.” Thunderlane laughed, “That would be a really good way to ruin the night.”

Brolly sniffed his line, did a wild, violent head shake, and threw his head backwards to meet Rumble’s eyes with his. “I would beat your faggot ass into the ground, Rumble.”

Rumble snarled, spat on the ground and rubbed his nose again. He shrugged Thunderlane’s hooves off of his shoulders, shot his brother an ugly glare, then sunk back into a slumped position against the wall.

The sound of a hoof beating, desperately, against the bathroom door from the outside drew Rumble, Thunderlane and Brolly out of their self-focused attention on each other and into the realm of reality where other, more sober — relatively speaking — ponies, with full bladders and bowels, existed. They were still in a bathroom, granted, one that had been made into a contemporary drug den, but its primary function was still very much for public use.

“Shit!” Brolly groaned. He threw a glare at Rumble, “Keep your fucking mouth shut about this, and go check it out.”

Rumble would have asked why, but Thunderlane threw the stall door open and pushed him out too fast for him to really voice any opinions. His heart was still racing, but, it felt good now. Everything felt good. The floor, the way his muscles all worked together to move his legs, and how they didn’t move without the say-so from his brain. It was a lot to think about, the science behind how his body worked as a unit, and it kept him occupied before he reached the door, pulled it open and found a goofy-looking Button Mash standing in the open doorway.

“Rumble?”

“Button!” Rumble cheered, throwing his hooves across his friend's neck and pulling the birthday boy into a tight hug. Salvation had a curious face, or, at least a funny one.

Button wiggled himself out from Rumble’s hold, took a few steps back, dusted himself off then stared at his friend. His jaw was tight, his eyes wide and his face both curious and worried. The stupid pink hoodie his grandmother knit for him was a mess of sweat stains around the pits and smelt terrible. Still, he was here, now, and that was all that mattered to Rumble.

“What’re you doing in here?” Button was asking. “And why was the door locked?... And what’s up with your eyes? They’re all bloodshot. Have you been crying?” He bowed his head and smiled softly. “Do you need a hug?”

A loud laugh, coming from the handicap stall, bounced off the walls.

“Is that fucking Butt ‘n' Ass?”

Button Mash raised an eyebrow. “Is that Brolly?”

The door to the handicap bathroom swung open so angrily that it shook the hinges loose until a few of the screws fell out. Brolly came out first, his head held high with the proudest of smile’s worn across his face. He was followed by Thunderlane, also smiling, looking proud of what he’d just done.

Thunderlane took to his brother’s side while Brolly circled around Button Mash like a bird of prey. He made a pass, shook his head, stared at Button and sighed. On his second pass, Brolly tapped Button Mash’s shoulder, circled around him again, then followed with a second, firmer, push to his shoulder on his third pass.

“And just what the fuck are you doing in here, Button?” he asked, looking and sounding not unlike a grizzled detective from a bad crime caper. “Shouldn’t you be buried all inch and a half of your tiny cock deep in Blossomforth’s gigantic gaping vagina by now?”

Brolly pushed Button again, who winced and tried to avoid making eye contact.

Button turned away from Brolly, blushing. “H-hey now…”

“C’mon, Brolly.” Thunderlane, yearning to play good to Brolly’s bad cop, was quick to throw a comforting hoof around the back of Button Mash’s neck and pulled the younger, nervous wreck of a colt against his shoulder, “Why’re you always giving this kid such a hard time? Pretty soon he’s gonna be one of us. A total fuckin’ stud.”

When Thunderlane smiled at him, and winked, and nudged him with his elbow, as if they shared an inside joke, Button Mash felt a tiny bit of pride and comfort in himself. It wasn’t much, but every little bit helped. Especially when Brolly was being such a turd-blossom.

Brolly snorted and stamped the ground with his hoof like he were putting out a cigarette, “Like Blossomforth is a real hard chick to get into bed.” he sighed. “I had her once, a while ago, and the only good thing I have to say about it was that my dick didn’t shrivel up and fall off afterwards.”

“You probably don’t want to mention that to Flitter,” Rumble reminded.

Brolly shot a dark and dirty look at him. “Say a word of this to her and I’ll break your fuckin’ legs, homo.”

“Damn, Brolly,” Thunderlane said with his smile falling a bit, “I know she’s sorta… open minded and heavy into all that free love stuff, but you’re making her sound like some kind of vampire. But for dicks.”

Brolly cracked his jaw and threw a playful hoof at Thunderlane’s shoulder. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Thunderlane.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, smiling and waving away Brolly’s hoof. “We used to fool around a bit, but, granted, that was before I was with Cloud Kicker.” He turned to Button and winked at the younger pony, “She’s still a sweet girl, though. You’ll like her.” Another pause for a wry grin to spread across his cheeks, “She does this one thing with her tongue…”

Brolly cleared a loogie from his throat to interupt Thunderlane’s storytime and spat it on the floor right before Button’s nervously tapping hooves.

“Fuck her.”

“In the literal let’s hope?” Rumble asked, turning his head to Button and grinning, “Right?”

Sheepishly, Button Mash’s face ran flush and he nodded. “R-right. Yeah.”

“Good luck with that, Butt ‘N’,” Brolly said, sneering at the younger colt, “She’s a fucking sluttipus.”

Button really didn’t like what he was hearing. Not one bit. It was crass, rude, unjustified, misogynistic, homophobic, and wildly offensive. Still, he’d made an excellent stay at avoiding any and all confrontation all throughout pre, middle and high school, and Brolly was a much larger pony than he was.

On top of an imposing presence, Brolly must have also been some kind of psychic, because the grin he wore, and the way he leered down at Button Mash’s shrinking form, screamed that he could tell exactly what the other was thinking.

“Don’t worry too much about going in for sloppy one-thousandths, Button.” He said, smiling with that ugly, mean looking grin of his, “I’m sure you won’t catch anything…”

Rumble, deciding he’d been quiet long enough, and that Button Mash wasn’t about to spontaneously develop enough spinal fluid to stand up to Brolly, took it upon himself to remedy the situation. He wasn’t afraid of Brolly, at least, not as much as he normally was.

Maybe it was the drugs?

“Shut up, Brolly,” he spat at the older colt.

Brolly shrugged. “Eat me, assface.”

Button Mash brushed his mane, felt all the wet, sweat soaked strands of fur, and suddenly found the floor a lot more interesting to stare at than his public restroom faring companions. “So..uh… I really just came here to pee…”

“Well, go ahead.” Brolly said, waving a hoof past Button and towards the urinals, “Take a piss.”

“It’s uh…” he scratched at an itch on his left leg, then stood stupid for a few seconds looking back and forth between the pairs of eyes staring at him. “I feel a little uncomfortable doing it in front of you guys. Could you, uh, like, maybe turn around?”

Brolly shook his head then spun around. Following his lead Thunderlane turned his back to Button, then Rumble did. Button Mash trotted up to a urinal, got on his hind legs and started started to pee.

“Fuck, Button!” Brolly cursed. “Even your piss hitting the urinal sounds fuckin’ limp-dicked and fruity!”

Button Mash ignored Brolly, finished his business, then walked to the sink and washed his hooves. Lathering his hooves with soap from the dispenser, he splashed cold water on his face, then slapped his cheeks with wet soap and scrubbed away all the sweat and stink from his fur that he could. When he’d finished, he dried his face with paper towels, tossed them in the wastebasket and headed towards the door. He stopped just as he was about to leave and turned his head back to face the three colts for a moment.

“Well, uh, thanks for the pep talk.... thing... I guess?”

And then he was gone, letting the door slam shut behind him. In an instant Brolly was on it, locking the handle, then slamming the deadbolt into place before spinning around and facing Rumble and Thunderlane.

“More?”

Thunderlane shook his head, “I’m good.” he said, “I think it’s time I go check up on Cloud Kicker and make sure she hasn’t found herself another guy or something.” He chuckled, then turned to Rumble, “You comin’ lil’ bro? I’ll buy you another beer and a shot?”

Rumble smiled, softly, then nodded his head. “Sure.”

“Brolly?”

Brolly shrugged his shoulders, then clicked his tongue. The sound bounced off the walls in the bathroom. “I might as well get a few more in before last call.”

Plan B

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Plan B

Button Mash was on his way back from the restroom, and his extremely odd and mostly uncomfortable run in with Brolly, Thunderlane and Rumble when he decided to avoid the dance floor and take the long way around, heading towards the bar. He still had a fair bit of coin left in his pocket, more than enough for at least another beer to help clear his head, or, alternatively, give him the motivation to make good on Blossomforth’s generous offer of taking away his virginity.

Step by step, he pushed through the crowd and when he finally did make it to the bar he came across a curious looking Shady Daze, seated in a bar stool, sipping a Crystal Island Iced Tea from a straw.

“Hey,” Button said on approach.

Shady Daze popped the straw from his mouth, looked up at his friend and smiled faintly, “Hey.”

Button Mash took a seat beside Shady. Shady set his drink down, and then turned to the birthday boy, smiling, until his eyes found the worried wrinkled frown worn long across Button’s puffy, flushed face.

Shady arched a brow, “What’s wrong, Button?”

Button snapped his tongue and bit his lower lip, “Um...”

His eyes scanned left of the bar, then right, and when he was sure that Cloud Kicker, Flitter, Brolly, Thunderlane and — especially —, Blossomforth, were nowhere within earshot, he sighed and fell into a slump across the bar counter. Shady was quick to put a comforting hoof to Button’s back. He pet the younger boy’s back.

“I think I’m making a mistake tonight, Shady.” said Button, “I mean, Blossomforth is really, really, really, really, hot-”

Shady, grinned and nodded his head. “That’s true.”

Button, frowning, dragged his head across the bar counter wearily and with great hesitation. He kept his muzzle buried in the lengthy folds of his hoodie, but his eyes rose up to stare at Shady.

“She’s really, really, hot,” he admitted, again, while his cheeks ran flush with traces of crimson, “But, I don’t know if I can just... you-know-what her tonight.”

It was quiet for a minute between them, until Button lifted himself up, shrugged Shady’s hoof from his back and then, when he was sure no one was watching him, he tapped the fetlocks on his hooves together nervously. His left leg danced against the steel legs of the bar stool, which clinked and clanked every time his fetlock touched cold metal.

Shady took a moment to think. This kind of statement, and Button’s fragile emotional state, lent themselves to a softer, kinder sort of approach when it came to giving advice. With a guy like Rumble, Shady could easily slap sense into his thick head, but — thankfully — Button wasn’t Rumble, and the softer, and more gentle Shady Daze was with him, the more his words would carry weight.

After a long minute of thought, Shady smiled softly and tapped Button on the shoulder again. “The fact that you can’t say you want to fuck her is probably a sign.”

Button gave a low and guttural grunt, then his brows dropped down his forehead to form a goofy looking frown. “But if I don’t go through with it I might never get a chance like this again!” he blurted, “And, I’m an adult now, Shady! I want to do adult things! Like you, and like Rumble! And, I want to lose my virginity too! It’s not fair! I know I’m not cool. I never get to be cool! Not like how you guys are cool! I never get to be as cool as Thunderlane, or Brolly, or-”

“Brolly is not cool!” Shady asserted, “He’s actually a douche bag.”

“Yeah, but, he still gets to go out with Flitter, and she’s, like, super hot too,” he sighed and blew a held breath through his nostrils. “If Brolly’s a douche bag, and he gets to go home with Flitter every night, what does that say about me, Shady? I mean, I’m a nice guy, right?”

“Yes. Yes you are.” said Shady, “One of the nicest guys in Ponyville. Probably even Equestria. Which is why it really sucks to see you so down right now.”

“Well, okay, if I’m such a nice guy, then why can’t I ever be cool and stuff? I mean, having sex would be awesome-” he tore himself away from Shady’s gaze to scan the bar again for any prying set of ears or eyes. When he was sure that no one around him was a spy working against him, he continued “-But I don’t think that I want my first time to be… sleazy, Shady. I want-” He took in a deep breath of air, puffed out his cheeks and then exhaled slowly, “I want someone in my life. Someone who likes me, for me, and someone I can read comics with, and play games, and who my mom likes-”

Shady Daze nodded his head as he followed along, “Right, right,”

“And, I don’t really think Blossomforth is that kind of pony,” said Button, “And then… I think about you, sometimes. Like, when you were with Twist? You guys looked so happy, even though in the end it turned out you’re-”

Button took pause to scratch his neck and gave an imploring, wondering look up at Shady.

Shady cocked his head to the side, “Gay?”

“Yeah.” said Button, “Even if you’re gay, and you broke up because of it, well... you and Twist still looked so happy together.”

“We were,” said Shady, smiling dimly, “We still are.”

“Well, that’s exactly what I mean, though.” Button sighed, “You're happy being you, and Rumble’s happy with... y'know, like, just having sex with girls, and, I mean, that’s good for him, but I don’t wanna just be like Rumble, or like Thunderlane, or Brolly.”

“Then be like Button,” said Shady, “Just be yourself.”

Button deflated again. “I don’t know, Shady. I’m bad at this stuff.”

“C’mon, Button,” Shady said, gently prodding the colt in the soft flesh around his kidney, urging a smile onto his friend’s, “No one’s forcing you to do this tonight. If you’re not ready to have sex, you’re not ready. Plain and simple. There's no shame in that either, dude.”

“Yeah, but then Thunderlane, and Brolly, and Rumble, are all gonna pick on me for turning her down, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings-” he stared down at the floor “Plus, I also really, really, don’t want to die a virgin...”

“Button, dude, c'mon now. You obviously don’t want to do this, and, that’s totally fine, Button.” Shady said, then paused to take a sip from his drink, swallowed, then took another. “And, hey, guess what? Fuck Brolly and Thunderlane if they make fun of you, alright? Seriously. You’re a great guy and, maybe we don't say it enough, but it's true! You're really great, Button.” he lifted his drink to his chin, coiled his tongue around the straw and sucked up what little was left from his glass, “Besides, do you honestly want to be anything like Brolly?”

Button sucked in his cheeks and pouted his lips like a fish, “If it gets me closer to being with someone...”

Shady sighed, put his drink down and shook his head, whistling a quiet ‘Tsk, tsk,’, “The right answer is actually ‘No’, Button.” he said, “You really don’t want to be like Brolly.”

“But I want to be happy…” Button mumbled, “Y’know, like... with someone.”

“What about Dinky?”

Button Mash raised a brow, “What about her?”

“Oh, come on, Button!” Shady said, chuckling as he brushed wrinkles out of Button’s hoodie, “You guys are totally perfect for each other. Ask yourself; how many girls in Ponyville have even heard of Comet-Con, let alone had a twenty minute conversation about it? Or about how her costume won the silver medal, no less.” Shady rubbed another wrinkle from the hoodie, near Button’s neck, then gently tapped the colt’s cheek, “Dinky is totally the girl for you, Button.”

Button tried to fight the rush of blood to his cheeks and forehead, “She is pretty cute...”

“Oh, dude, Dinky’s adorable,” said Shady. “And, you’re adorable, and, I think that you guys would be absolutely adorable. Together.”

“Well, um, does she like me?” Button asked, his face falling victim to a crimson flush, “D-does, uh, does she say ever say anything about me?” he kicked his right leg into the bar, “Like, uh, does Twist, or Archer? Do they ever say that Dinky ever talks about me?”

“Only any chance they could get tonight,” said Shady, proudly flaunting a whole-hearted smile to his friend. “Twist told me tonight that, apparently, little Miss. Dinky Doo has had a little bit of a thing for you for a while.”

“You butthead! Why didn’t you say anything at The Toad?” Button grunted. “If you knew that you should have said something before I left with you guys!”

“Hey, dude, we got kicked outta there so fast…” Shady said, “I mean, between Rumble being a dick, and Rumble acting like a prissy little bitch, and Rumble offending Morty, and Rumble getting us banned for life-”

“Still though...”

“Look, tonight is your night, Button,” said Shady, “Everything we do, we’ll do because you want to do it. If you don’t want to have sex with Blossomforth, I totally understand, and, I would never judge you because of it.” Shady stopped to crack his jaw, “If you really want, we could just get out of here? Head back to yours? Maybe play some more video games, eat some cake, and have a few more beers, then call it a night?”

“What… What about Dinky?” Button asked, “What if I said… I, maybe, wanted to hang out with Dinky tonight?”

Shady stopped and scratched his chin “That might be hard. Her, Twist, and Archer were going down to Diamond Tiara’s, and, I sorta get the sense I’m really not welcome there. Not that I’d ever want to go either, mind you. But that probably means you and Rumble aren’t welcome either.”

“They’re all going to Diamond Tiara’s place, huh?” Button asked, tapping the barstool with the tips of his hooves, “But, she, like, hates everyone who isn’t Silver Spoon, I thought?”

Shady Daze snorted, “That’s almost word-for-word exactly what I said to Twist and them when they told me...”

“Diamond Tiara’s the worst!” Button said, rolling his shoulders, trying to even out an ache in his back, “Remember when she told everyone at school that I was in the hospital getting an action figure taken out of my butt?”

Shady, despite his best intentions, snorted, “Yeah...”

Button’s eyes softened up, “And then there’s that thing she did to you...”

Shady brushed the fur at his neck until his fetlock touched skin. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“That was really mean of her.”

Again, another sigh escaped from Shady’s throat. He dug into the pink flesh under his light blue coat with his hoof. After a while it started to hurt and he stopped. “Yeah,”, he tried to clear the dry feeling by clearing his throat, “Whatever though.”

“You were pretty upset with it when it happened.”

“I was.” he said, “I still am. Not a lot, but, it was a pretty shitty thing to do to a guy. Especially given the circumstances.”

“Yeah,” said Button, gazing away from the soft, incredulous look on Shady’s face and instead at his own dangling legs, “I… I’m glad you’re okay though.”

Shady Daze snapped his tongue and tried to sip whatever liquor was still left in his glass, “Relatively speaking, of course.” he said, taking a moment to run his wet tongue across his dry upper lip. “I guess it could have been worse, though.”

Button Mash swallowed his words and said nothing. When he looked up Shady was still wearing that soft, sorrowful look on his face. Gone were any and all traces of joy, this was Shady Daze at his weakest and most defeated of the night.

Button sincerely regretted ever bringing up the subject.

“The worst part,” he said, “Was that I thought we were friends. That’s what sucks the most,” he grunted “I thought, after all the stuff with the Foal Free Press, that her and I, and Featherweight, and the… whatever... the ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’, I thought we were all sorta friends-” his eyes felt a little wet, which was probably just from all the sweat and musk in the air, but he wiped them anyway, “I don’t even know why she did it.”

Button’s heart kicked in his chest while he tried, desperately, to peace together a sentence to take Shady’s mind away. That horrible, painful, look on Shady’s face was one that Button hadn’t seen in a long, long time, and nothing about it made him want to see more of it.

“Shady,” said Button, tapping the bar with his fetlock, “Are you doing alright?”

Shady Daze shrugged. “I think so.” he said, meaning it. “Why? What’s up?”

“Well, it’s just… I know how much you hate talking about this kind of stuff?”

Shady Daze gave his friend a hearty, toothy grin. He scrunched his nose, snorted through his nostrils and then threw his left leg around Button’s shoulder. He rubbed his face into the many wrinkled folds around Button’s neck, then pulled back.

“Yeah… Uh, well, thanks for listening, Button.” Shady said to the colt beside him, “Sometimes I forget how good you are at that.” he would have smiled, but, instead Shady’s nose scrunched and his lips peeled back, “You should probably give that hoodie a wash after tonight though. It’s getting pretty rank.”

Button Mash sniffed at the hoodie and gagged. It did smell incredibly foul; like sweat that had dried long ago, coupled with stale beer and little drops of whiskey that somehow hadn’t made it past his lips.

His eyebrows sank and he spun around in his barstool.

Shady nudged the colt, “Why don’t we do this? I’ll go find Rumble, you go tell Blossomforth, as politely as you can, that she’s a good girl but you’re just not interested in her that way, then we’ll get outta here and head back to yours?”

Button fidgeted in his seat. He wiggled his rear and moved his head from side to side while he mulled over his options; staying here, with Blossomforth, wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do, and, meeting up with Dinky Doo seemed like it wasn’t going to happen for him.

What other options did he have?

As if he could sense his hesitation, Shady pet him around the cuff of his collar.

“You know what makes you really cool, Button?” Shady asked, poking the colt on the shoulder to draw full attention, “It’s that you’re not an asshole.”

Button arched his head sideways. What did one say to a statement like that?

“Seriously. You’re like a pony born without any sort of ugly, black, cancerous spots on your soul. You’re just… good. Wholesome, even. You’re a really, really good guy, Button. And, I think, no matter what happens here, or there, or wherever tonight, or tomorrow, or for the rest of your life, if you just follow that good little soul of yours you’ll end up okay.”

Button’s turn to turn flushed and speechless. He could hardly muster the courage to form a sentence to show Shady just how strongly that impromptu speech had been received. The weight of the words, and the meaning behind them, wasn’t lost on him however, as he smiled at his friend.

“Thanks, Shady.”

Shady smiled.

“Hey, uh, are you and Rumble okay?” Button asked, “You guys seem kinda… off tonight?”

Shady took in a sharp breath and tried to hide his face from Button. After a moment of pause, when Shady was sure his face wasn’t too flushed and puffed out, he turned back. “He is being an exceptional asshole tonight,” Shady answered, shaking out a cold chill that crawled up his spine, “But, hey, that’s just his charm, right?”

Button grinned, faintly, then nodded. “If you want, I could talk to him?” Button offered, “I mean, you could tell Blossom I’m, uh, like busy, and then we could all sneak out, or….”

Shady grinned, “You’re not getting out of this that easy, amigo. Part of being a grown up is dealing with responsibility, and part of your responsibility tonight is letting Blossomforth know you’re not interested in letting her steal away your sacred virginity.”

Button gave a quite, humbled, chuckle. “Right…”

“C’mon now, Button.” Shady said, slapping the bar, “If we leave soon I bet we can still catch the last screening of The Dodge Junction Hedgeclipper Massacre down at the Icarus. My treat.”

Button smiled. “I do like cheesy slasher movies…”

“That’s the spirit.” said Shady, petting the colt on the head and tussling his mane, “I’ll go find Cloud Kicker and Flitter, tell ‘em we’re on our way out, then we can all get outta here. Sound good?”

Button nodded. “I guess I’ll go find Blossomforth, then?”

***

Thunderlane pushed and shoved himself a path through the crowd of Club Black with Rumble and Brolly only a few steps behind him. The air was wet with sweat, the lights brighter than they had been half an hour ago, and, since somepony had turned on the fog machine near the dance floor the whole room had a haunting, radiating misty aroma now.

The drugs were kicking in. Rumble could feel them. There was a lightness to his body and a steady pace in his heart that rushed blood throughout him. His veins burned, his head felt clear and easy and his focus was solid and singular. There was an unbreakable smile spread across his black lips.

Everything was great. Everything was awesome.

Every so often, when he looked past Thunderlane, he’d catch a glimpse of a mare smiling at him, or of a mare’s backside, and it caused a yearning in him for something lewd and raunchy. Every mare out tonight looked impossibly hot and totally fuckable. Each ass looked good enough to eat off of, or, more hopefully, to have bouncing on his lap and against his crotch. Mares. All of them looking so unimaginably attractive. Each girl who threw a wicked, or inviting smile his way made it harder and harder not to immediately pounce on her.

This was Rumble’s newest dilemma of the night. Booze was good, sure, and drugs were too, but what was a night like this without a good bit of the old in and out? Nothing made a better night cap then busting a nut against the backside of some impressionable older girl’s backside after she finished moaning his name into his fluffy feather pillows with the Wonderbolts cases.

Curling back his upper lip so that the cracked skin tickled his pink gums, he tried to fight the urge to break off from Thunderlane, run up to a mare and ask her if she had plans later.

Thunderlane was entirely ignorant of his condition. His older brother trotted forwards happily, moving through the crowd without a care or concern — other than if Cloud Kicker had found another suitable mate. Rumble picked up speed to catch up with him, until he was trotting beside his brother. He tapped the older pony on the shoulder, bringing him to a halt.

Thunderlane turned to him. His brother’s eyes were bloodshot and his pupils dilated. “What’s up?”

Rumble shuffled, “Am I supposed to be like...” he crossed his hind legs, “Uncomfortably-fucking-hard right now?”

Thunderlane’s laugh came out as sharp as a whip. He stomped the floor and whipped his head back so hard that, even with all the gel in his mane, it still flew backwards. “WHAT?”

“Shut up!” he shrieked at his brother, “I just really need to get my rocks off!” he growled, sniffed in and cleared his throat of phlegm, “Am I... Am I supposed to want to get my rocks off while I’m on this stuff?”

Thunderlane’s laugh picked up, turning from a throaty chuckle into something close to maniacal. He whipped his head from side to side and Rumble realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with him, or Brolly for the matter, so he did and said nothing but followed after his brother.

At the bar Shady Daze sat sandwiched between Flitter and Cloud Kicker, talking, or joking, about something that was making Flitter giggle into her curled hoof, and Cloud Kicker slap his back. When he saw Rumble’s approach his open mouthed, teeth flaring, grin fell into a frown, his eyebrows creased down his face.

Rumble bit the inside of his cheek.

Shady looked away.

Whatever. If Shady Daze wanted to be a miserable git about it all fucking night long, that was absolutely, one hundred percent, fine with Rumble. He was really only hurting himself by being a sad little homo about it.

Instead of looking at the sad sack that was his friend, he turned his eyes to Flitter and a yearning took a firm hold of him. A red stage light above the bar cast a healthy aura all around her, and it did it’s best to make her look as stunningly sexy as he’d ever seen her before. When she giggled, his heart skipped in his chest.

He knew what he was looking for now. Shady, Button, Brolly, Thunderlane, the rest of ‘em could go fuck right off as far as he was concerned. What he needed was a nice, long, passionate dance with Flitter.

Beside him Thunderlane kicked up his pace. He threw himself into an empty bar stool beside Cloud Kicker, threw a leg over her back, pulled her away from Shady and Flitter and pressed his mouth to hers. Her eyes went wide, then fell close. After a few too many minutes of watching his brother make out with his girlfriend, Cloud Kicker, thankfully, put her hooves into his chest and pushed Thunderlane away from her.

“What was that about?”

Thunderlane rubbed his chin against her forehead. He licked the space between her ear and head, then her ear, then brought his mouth to just beside her ear. “I just wanted to show you how much I love you.”

“Oh?” Cloud Kicker moved her face to catch her muzzle against his throat, “Lucky me.”

Thunderlane snickered, “You know it, babe.”

Rumble rolled his eyes and sized up the empty spaces left at the bar; There were three chairs left and none of them were beside Flitter. Instead, beside her, was a dorky looking colt — wearing horn rimmed glasses and a green and black, plaid checkered button up off the rack of a thrift shop — who was stirring the ice cubes in his gin and tonic.

Rumble would have asked the colt to politely move, but before he could Brolly — flexing his muscles — made his move. He pushed Rumble out of his way, then when he trotted up to the younger, nerdy looking pony, he didn’t have to say so much as a word for the dork to understand what was happening. Quietly and never looking up at Brolly, or Flitter, or anyone else, the colt grabbed his drink and trotted away with his head at his feet.

The lucky bastard at least got to walk away without a scratch on him. It could have been the drugs, but, Brolly was being kind tonight, or, at least as kind as a guy like Brolly could possibly muster.

With an empty seat to his name, Brolly hopped in the chair and hugged Flitter. She giggled while she lay her face against his squared out chest, and Brolly wrapped his hooves around her.

Rumble’s scowl grew.

Cloud Kicker had taken it upon herself to stand up and offer Rumble a spot beside Shady while she and his older brother made out in full view of everyone around them. Fighting the urge to vomit at the sight, he quickly stole her spot and turned to the still frowning Shady Daze.

“Sup, homo?”

Whatever resentment he’d been brewing inside him, Shady pushed it aside and grinned at Rumble. “Not much.”

Rumble tapped his hooves against the sides of the barstool and fidgeted like a spastic mental patient in his seat. Shady couldn’t place his hoof on it, but the need and want in Rumble, all the quick glances around the bar, the look on his face and the eagerness to get up and move turned Shady off.

“You doing alright, Rumble?”

Rumble nodded a bit too eagerly. “Yup. Yup. I’m doing good. Great! Fantastic, even!” he cheered, “I’ve never been better.”

His eyes were bloodshot and he kept running his tongue over his lips, which were dry and cracked. Every so often he’d crack his jaw, or sniff at the air, and then Shady Daze realized what was going on.

Rumble was on drugs.

Great.

He was more than a hooffull to deal with sober, two hooffulls of effort to deal with when he was drunk, but Rumble under the aid of narcotics was a whole different story. There was a boundless energy radiating off his best friend, who’s eyes danced around in their sockets, while his gigantic, dilated, black pupils took in his surroundings. He danced happily in his seat, watched the crowd, then turned to look past Shady Daze.

“I thought you were gonna buy me a beer, Thunderlane?” He shouted at the older pony.

Thunderlane pulled his face back from sucking on the nape of Cloud Kicker’s neck, leaving behind a wet ring in the shape of his open mouth, and smiled at Rumble. “Yup.”

He spread open his wings, wrapped his left one around Cloud Kicker, his right he folded around himself, then he threw a hoof in the air, slammed it violently on the bar counter, spilling drinks and shaking glasses, and beckoned for one of the bartenders.

A bartender came over. One of the ones who’d ignored Shady earlier, and Thunderlane shouted drink orders at him; a blue-collar beer with a shot of tequila on the side for Thunderlane, the same for Rumble and a double vodka, rocks, for Cloud Kicker. He went to pay, reaching his hoof to his pocket, when Cloud Kicker fed her elbow into his stomach and turned her head towards Shady.

Thunderlane cracked his jaw and sniffed at the air, “Hey, Shady.”

The colt raised his eyes, “Yeah?”

“You want a drink?”

“Oh, uh,” he turned red in the cheeks, trying to hide it by turning his head away from Rumble and Thunderlane, “Sure.”

“Better be careful he doesn’t slip something in yours when you’re not looking, Thunderlane.” Brolly said.

Thunderlane turned to Shady and grinned, “You know they don’t make Roofie Coladas here, right?”

Far to his left, Brolly’s mad cackle cut through the air, followed closely after by his hooves beating against the bar counter. Thunderlane fought hard to contain a snicker, but it didn’t last. Soon, he was cackling just like Brolly was. With Thunderlane to his right and Brolly to his left, and both of them laughing, Shady was surrounded by it. He frowned, rolled his body forwards and lay his head in his folded hooves.

Rumble groaned when he heard his friend sigh.

There were too many negative emotions in the air. He couldn’t deal with this. The nasty back and forths between Brolly, Shady and Thunderlane. Especially Brolly’s contribution to it. Whatever Brolly’s problem was with Shady’s homosexuality, well, that was really between him and himself. Still, offering any encouraging words of wisdom on the subject probably wasn’t going to sway Brolly to give up his hatred of Shady. He said nothing, but gave Shady a comforting sort of smile.

“Stop being a fuckin’ turd sniffer, Thunderlane. Just get him a regular beer,” he suggested, “And a shot of whiskey. Same as you or me.”

A humbled, well earned, fire took kindling in Shady Daze, which Rumble was proud of. The (only slightly) younger, (and very much) gayer, pony’s ears twitched, then lifted, and when he raised his head, Rumble saw the proudly worn grin spread across his face. Rumble, beaming with pride, smiled.

He’d done good.

He rapped Shady around the flab behind his left ear and then messed around with his mane.

Yessir. Rumble could happily claim that among many other titles — role model, community leader, emotional saviour to the lesser of Equestria’s creatures, friend to the small minded and simpler types, and, folk hero to the common pony — he could add ‘LGBT Rights Activist/Crusader’ to that already outstanding list.

Seeing Shady happy made him happy.

“Thanks for that, Rumble.” said Shady, flaunting a mouth full of white teeth to him and trying, in earnest, to hide the red of his cheeks by burying them between his folded legs.

Rumble flashed his friend a goofy, open mouth, full toothed, grin in return and then winked at Shady, “Anytime, you butt pirate.”

A return to normal. Tempers around the bar had all cooled down, his brother was about to buy him and his best buddy a shot and beer combo, and, more importantly, in a matter of minutes, once the shot and beer were polished off, Rumble planned to ask Flitter to dance.

All he needed now was a plan to keep Brolly distracted.

Their beers came, then the shots. Brolly made another crack at Shady, who chased away whatever negative emotions came with it by taking his shot first then slugging back as much beer as he could in a breath. Just the same, Thunderlane did his shot, took a drink from his beer then resumed his public display of affection for Cloud Kicker by pulling her onto his lap and tasting her throat with his tongue.

Watching his brother love his girlfriend made Rumble uncomfortable, and then, uncomfortably aware of how badly he wanted to fuck Flitter’s brains out again. He needed it; she was the perfect release. She knew how he liked it between the sheets, and he knew how she did too.

Time to formulate a plan.

Contemplating just how deep the hole he was digging himself would be with Brolly, Rumble reached for his shot first, fired it back, then chased the foul taste of whiskey away with a few good sips of Lo-Brau. The booze, as always, would help clear his mind up and help him form a plot.

What were the elements?

1) Brolly was drunk and on drugs.

2) Flitter was with Brolly.

3) Flitter could do so much better than Brolly.

4) Shady, being both single, and also gay, was trapped in a hetero bar.

5) Brolly didn’t much care for Shady Daze.

6) He (as in Rumble) had the tools to remedy the situation between Shady and Brolly and still get to go home with Flitter.

7) It was great being him (as in Rumble).

He (still, as in Rumble) took proud sips of beer until the bottle was empty. When he’d finished, he set it down and spent a while pondering; There were too many factors; too many moving, volatile solutions to the mix. This was that puzzle he hated more than anything; Brolly had to be taken out of the picture so he could have some alone time with Flitter. Shady and Brolly needed to resolve their differences. Flitter needed to do that thing she did with her hooves between his legs.

Shady and Brolly. The two squares trying to fit into a circular entrance.

He did have a plan. It was going to be a very hard sell to Shady, and, an even harder deal for Shady to sell to Brolly, but, Rumble was a dreamer who believed, truly and sincerely, that with enough imagination, motivation, reassurance and the promise of a lifetime of favours in the far future, well, anything could be accomplished.

Smiling at just how fucking clever he was, he stared at his puppet, Shady, who was drinking from his bottle of beer, blissfully unaware of what Rumble was planning. Watching Rumble watching him, Shady perked his head up and smiled.

Rumble smiled back.

All the pieces were starting to come together.

When The Ship Starts To Sink...

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When The Ship Starts To Sink...

Despite a mountain of contradictory evidence that existed in the pages of the books hidden in the furthest corners of the former owner/current princess Twilight Sparkle’s library (Which had, of course, been borrowed under a false name and to a very perplexed, and, perhaps, curious look from her young dragon assistant), the mere whiff of a sweating male’s body — their musk to be more precise — wasn’t enough to turn Shady Daze into a raging gay hormone monster. In fact, if anything, the smell of sweaty stallions actually offended him.

Who didn’t wear deodorant out?

The heat radiating from all the bodies, the offensive stink of mares and stallions who bathed in cologne and perfume, the fact that he couldn’t make the seven step path from the bar to the quiet(er) corner of Club Black that Rumble had dragged him too — and that he now stood in — without brushing shoulders or bumping against other ponies. It was all taking it’s toll on him.

Shady Daze was a little upset.

Rumble, and his latest scheme, weren’t helping.

His windbreaker had wrinkles around the pits and throat. His eyes were wide, his pupils large and dilated and he shifted his jaw, and licked his lips, frequently. He was staring at Shady with an imploring, begging look to his face.

Shady had more than grown accustomed to this look.

“It really only makes sense,” Rumble was saying.

The awful sound of what someone had earlier called ‘Dub-Trot’ came to Shady’s ears, muffled by distance from the speakers and all the other stupid, pointless, go-nowhere conversations he could half make out all around him.

Sighing, Shady shook his head. “How?” he begged, “How does it make sense?”

Rumble lifted a hoof to his face and pulled it back, long across his forehead, then his scalp, so that his mane left a slick grease trail across his fetlock, “Look, just do me a favour okay?”

Shady lifted an eyebrow.

“It’s so fucking simple, Shady,” Rumble huffed in a way that made Shady almost feel like he were being dumb to turn Rumble down, “I dance with Flitter. You distract Brolly. It’s the classic ‘bait and switch’-”

Chortling quiet enough that Rumble couldn’t hear, Shady shook his head again; Rumble tried so hard sometimes. Really, he did. It was almost adorable to see him think of himself as such a clever and intellectually superior pony, when, really, he was just a mess of social faux-pas and malapropisms.

Rumble must have sensed Shady’s mental pondering of him, because he scowled and spat on the floor. He wiped drool off his chin, then grunted, “Or… whatever the fuck it’s called, Shady.”

“Alright,” said Shady, clapping his hooves together excited at the prospect of putting Rumble in his place, “First off; That’s not even close to what that expression actually means,” he explained, with a proudly worn smirk followed closely behind by a giddy, nerdy, snicker, “Secondly; This is a very stupid plan you have here,” another pause for Shady to hit it home, “And, finally; how are you this dumb to not see how incredibly stupid this plan is?”

Deeply offended, or, as close to offended as he could be; Rumble whipped his head backwards in moderately restrained concern, “What’s dumb about it?”

“What’s dumb about you dancing with the girlfriend of a guy who we both know is a violent sociopath who happens to hate you and I?” Shady asked, bringing his hoof to his chin to scratch the fur he found there, “Gee, I’m not sure, Rumble. Why don’t you tell me what part of this sounds smart to you?” he waved his hoof from his chin to just in front of Rumble, but offered his other no chance for rebuttal, “Not to mention the fact that when you say ‘dancing’ what you really mean is you want to hump her on the dance floor for twenty minutes, then have sloppy drunk sex back at her place.”

Rumble gave a laugh, then stomped the ground at Shady’s feet with his hooves, “Well, I mean, that’s kind of the plan here, Shady...”

Shady stepped away from Rumble and his stomping hooves, “What am I even supposed to do say?” he asked, “Do you want me to just walk up to Brolly and go, ‘Hey, buddy! I know you hate my faggy guts and all, but, let’s totally forget about all that and hang out — just the two of us — for the first time, literally, ever’?”

Rumble rolled his eyes, “I don’t see it being that hard…”

Shady tucked his brows, “I don’t see it being easy,” Shady paused to run his tongue against his left cheek while he pondered the nature of the inner machinations of Rumble’s drug assisted mind, “Or possible. At all.”

“C’mon, Shady. I’d owe you a favour, for, like, the rest of your life!” Rumble ranted, waving his hooves wildly at Shady, “Maybe, you could buy the guy a few drinks and get him good and drunk? Try something, Shady! Anything! Fuckin’ improvise! You were in Ms. Heartstrings drama class, right? You should know all about improv and shit?”

Shady sighed. Logic and reason were falling on Rumble’s deaf, unsympathetic, ears, tonight. There was an upside, of course, which came in knowing that any minute now Button would grab the two of them and they’d be on their way to a corner store for beers and then after to The Icarus Cinema to catch a horror flick.

Humoring Rumble was Shady stalling for time.

“Dude, the second I say ‘Can I buy you a drink’ he’s gonna think I’m, like, flirting with him or something,” said Shady.

Rumble gave that same mischievous, eyes-twinkling, half smirk/half grin of his, a product of years and years of his well honed roguish charm at work, “Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it…”

Sadly for the pegasus, Rumble’s charm had long ago worn out it’s welcome on Shady Daze, who, groaned low and heavy towards the ground. For a minute neither Rumble, nor Shady, said, or did, anything, until Rumble prodded Shady’s shoulder with his wing and Shady bat it away with his hoof.

“Fuck,” Shady sighed, pressing his hoof to his forehead and pouting his lips, “You are the all time MVP of being a son of a bitch! You know that right?” he blew a breath of hot air through his nose, “It’s like... every time I think you’ve peaked as this incredibly selfish, totally conceited, immature, asshole, you have to do something exactly like this! Blowing my already low expectations of you out of the water and putting me in a very uncomfortable position-”

Rumble chuckled, “-Phrasing!-”

“-Shut up!” Shady barked, “The worst part is that I’m probably going to say ‘Yes’ because you’re my best friend, and I love you.”

“Platonically, I hope?” Rumble said, still chuckling, drawing the unrepentant ire of Shady, “Cause it would be kinda weird otherwise...”

“Fuck off, Rumble!”

Rumble wasn’t laughing anymore. “Okay, okay,” he said, smiling faintly at Shady, “I know that I’ve been an asshole tonight, and that I’m selfish, and that I’m a prick, and that I really should be up my own ass, and all that, but, can you please do me this favour?” he arched a brow and threw a pathetically desperate look on his face, “I’m begging you...”

Shady scoffed, “No offense, Rumble, but, you are a very, very, stupid asshole.”

Rumble’s face fell flat and a sorrowful, pitying, sort of look spread across what had once been his joyful and wild features, “Dude, c’mon now…”

“Oh, don’t give me any of that false sympathy shit, Rumble!” grunted Shady, “Like I’m supposed to think you really fucking care now? All night long you’ve been a gigantic asshole to me, and to Button, and to everyone else we’ve run into. And, now that you can’t get your way, the one fucking time this entire night that you haven’t, you’re begging me to help aide and abet you in some totally fucked up, totally twisted, love fetish you have with Flitter.”

The flat, pitiful look on Rumble’s face grew softer, “Hey, don’t be shitty...”

“You don’t be shitty, Rumble!”

“It’s one little favour, Shady,” Rumble stated, “It’s not going to kill you to spend some time with Brolly.”

“Honestly?” Shady said, gasping, “There’s a really good chance it could!”

“Why do you have to be such a dick about this?” Rumble asked, lowering his eyes and hunching his shoulder, “You’re being really… self centered right now, dude.”

Shady Daze snorted a laugh so vicious and cruel that he was almost convinced it had come from a pony more sour and bitter than himself, “Are you seriously calling me self centred, Rumble?”

Rumble raised his eyes, and, when he saw the mean, ugly, look on Shady’s face he threw it right back at him. Fuck moral hangups, Shady was being an asshole. Rumble was sure of it.

“No, Shady,” Rumble drawled, “I’m sarcastically calling you self centered.”

Shady would have scowled, or snorted, or huffed, or done any number of things to show Rumble just how much he resented being used like a puppet, but, he realized that there was no way Rumble would let it go. Button, wherever he was, certainly hadn’t done his end of the exit strategy, and now, as always, it was up to Shady to do something.

Story of his fucking life.

“So, hey,” he said, “It’s going to look like I’m walking away right now, but…”

He’d find Button, then, they’d leave. With, or, without Rumble. He started moving back towards the bar, then the dance floor, when a hoof caught him by the shoulder and spun him around. Shady was now face to face with the saddest, most desperate and needy looking Rumble he had ever seen.

Rumble blinked his eyes, “Shady, please…”

“Don’t fucking do this to me, Rumble!” Shady groaned, shaking Rumble’s hoof off of his shoulder, “You don’t get to have me feeling guilty about turning down a chance for you to make a huge fucking mistake that, realistically, could wind your stupid, dumb, selfish, ass in a full body cast the second Brolly realizes he can’t stand more than five minutes of me, or, vice versa, and he catches you dry humping the shit out of his, not your, girlfriend on the dance floor!”

Rumble sniffed the air.

“-You’re like some stupid, fucking, lovesick puppy for her,” Shady stated, “And, you know what? It’s not healthy! Not for you, and definitely not for her! She’s a nice enough girl, and she’s totally trapped thinking that somewhere between you and Brolly’s little pissing match she’s going to end up happy, and, she’s not! She’s gonna get hurt. You’re gonna get hurt, and, fuck, maybe even Brolly gets hurt too! All because of you.”

“Hey…”

“You think you’re in love with her, but you’re not, and, she’s definitely not in love with you! And all the while she’s getting used by you, and by Brolly!”

Rumble scanned the eyes of the crowd, making sure that nowhere within ear shot of this argument were Brolly, or Flitter, or Thunderlane, or Cloud Kicker. When he was sure there was no one important listening he made his move.

“Fuck off!”

“No, you fuck off,” Shady said, shaking his head, “It’s fucking day after day of this bullshit with you! You’ll do something stupid and then, oh boy, it’s me, Shady Daze, to the rescue! Carrying your weight, and mine, while you torch everything in your path to prove to your asshole brother and his asshole best friend that you’re cool.”

Rumble took a step forward. He puffed his chest out, flaunting to Shady all the muscles of his pecs to the thinner colt before him making wild and undeserved accusations about him.

“Hey, asshole, let’s get something straight here; I never asked you to ‘carry my weight’ around, okay?” Rumble shouted, “You choose to do it. Just like you choose to pretend to be this gigantic fucking victim of circumstance every time something dumb and stupid happens!” he stepped forward, still waving his broader, more masculine frame around like a weapon, “If wanting to fuck Flitter’s brains out is my fetish, than being this mopey, whiny, little bitch is your fucking fetish!”

Another step forward brought Shady a few steps backwards, until his butt touched against a wall and he had nowhere else to back away.

“It’s like you just fucking love the idea of being this hapless, helpless, innocent, doe-eyed victim!” Rumble shouted, “,‘Aww heck, looks like I just fucking have to keep saving Rumble from all of his little messes while being a humble little martyr at the same time. Oh, woe-is-me...’.”

With his back against the furthest wall of the club, and Rumble still making moves towards him, Shady wasn’t sure what came next. This could be bad. Real bad. There were hard drugs in his system, fueling his actions, and, it didn't’ look like he had any sympathy left in him.

“If you’re so sick of it why do you keep hanging out with me?” Rumble asked, stepping forwards again, “Why the fuck did you even come out tonight if you thought it was gonna turn out like this?” he pitched up an eyebrow, “Huh? Why keep coming and hanging out with me, and my ‘asshole brother’, and that ‘asshole’ Brolly?”

It could be rhetorical. It could have been literal. Shady Daze wasn’t sure what to say, so he kept quiet.

“You wanna know why you keep coming out?” Rumble asked, “It’s because you fucking love feeling like a victim! It’s your thing.”

Shady Daze swallowed then stepped forwards until his thin, lanky, frame met Rumble’s. Their chests touching, Shady scowled and snapped his jaw, “Fuck you.”

Rumble backed away, laughing. He threw his head backwards, shook his head so that his mane inched sideways, left, right, then back to normal and then, when his head came down, he threw at Shady the most brutally imposing look he could.

“Oh, no. No, ho, ho! This! This shit…” he chuckled, “This is classic Shady Daze right here!” he kept laughing and shaking his head, “Yeah, fuckin’ pout, and bitch, and moan, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m absolutely, one hundred and ten percent right about all of this and you fucking know it!”

“Fuck-” Shady began before a snap of Rumble’s tongue cut him off,

“-No, you fucking know it! You do!” Rumble shouted, “You act like everything in your life sucks so fucking much, and, that’s just as fucking annoying to be a part of as any of the shit I do is to you!” he snapped his tongue again, “I’m sorry that life, and fate, and luck have all been an asshole to you! I’m sorry that your dad drinks way too much! I’m sorry that neither of your parents hugged you enough as a kid! And, hey, I’m really sorry that Diamond Tiara — that toxic mega cunt — outed you to the entire fuckin’ town!”

Shady’s eyes fell to the ground where he could see Rumble’s fetlocks digging into the porcelain tile floor of Club Black.

“But, you know what?” Rumble snapped, “I was the one who was there for you when she did! You’re pretty quick to forget all the nights of both of our lives when I was there to listen to you, and to be a shoulder to lean on, and a fucking sponge for you!” Rumble licked his lips, “I was a fucking friend to you when you needed me, and you act like that shit doesn’t matter!”

Shady stayed quiet. He lifted his head, slightly, and stared up at his friend, who looked so much meaner and taller now than he had ever before in the past.

“Well it fucking matters to me, you prick!” Rumble screamed, “If you think that I don’t care about you then you’re a real asshole! And, hey, when you’re not too busy sitting in the corner, breeding all these negative emotions to realize that there’s been a lot of times when you’ve been exactly where I’m standing right now and that I was there for you, let me know!”

“Rumble…”

“No, don’t do that!” Rumble grunted, “You’re wrong, I’m right and you know it. Now, you’ve made a real good show of being a dick tonight but you owe me, and you know it! You owe me just as much as maybe I owe you, but, all I’m asking for is for you to do me one stupid favour and not complain about it. So, are you gonna do it, or do I have to remind you of all the times I’ve had your back in the past decade of our lives?”

Shady growled the way a dog would; scrunching up his nose, peeling back his lips and throwing Rumble one of the ugliest, nastiest looking glares he could. This was only to satisfy his mind, which told him that Rumble’s plan was indeed infinitely stupid, and that somehow, making an ugly face would make it more apparent. When it didn’t, and after a few minutes passed of Shady Daze doing a mean guard dog impression, he re-formed into a perfectly well adjusted looking pony and resigned to his fate.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Rumble huffed.

They split apart without either one looking back at the other; Shady headed towards a quiet corner of the club where a drunk, and on drugs, Brolly sat alone in a V.I.P. booth, surrounded by empty beer bottles and highball glasses, idly nodding along to the sound of the music, grinding his teeth and every so often sniffing or rubbing his nose. Rumble moved towards an empty barstool right beside the girl he had every intention of playing a round of ‘The Casual Sex’ game with.

Neither of them worried about what Button Mash was doing.

***

He’d parted from Shady Daze not long ago, and, now, alone and scared for his wellbeing, Button Mash was wading and weaving through a crowd of bodies so impossibly larger looking than his that it frightened him.

What was he doing? Really? What was his plan?

Shady had said something about talking to Blossomforth, and, it had made sense at the time, sure, but, now, alone and without Shady as his guiding light, well, it just didn’t seem as likely that he’d be able to pull it off. Talking to mares — and especially a drunk and, apparently, in heat (or something) one — had never been a specialty of his. Rumble was better suited to the task. Rumble had that skill. That gift. Rumble could pick a mare — any mare — from a crowd and in no less than two hours after introducing himself to her, could take her back to his place to do all manner of wicked, sinful things with her behind closed doors.

Button Mash was not Rumble.

Also, for good measure, he was not Shady Daze, who had some kind of supernatural ability to strike up the most comfortable of friendships with a girl minutes after meeting her. Shady was friends with Twist, and Archer, and Dinky, and Scootaloo, and Applebloom, and Sweetie Belle, and Aura, and Berry Pinch, and a hundred and one other mares in Ponyville.

Button Mash cussed, quiet enough that if the music wasn’t so loud that his eardrums wouldn’t feel like they were bleeding, internally, no one probably would have heard him anyway. A curious thought drifted through his mind; this night so far had been one of the most eventful of his entire life, and yet, nothing truly dreadful had happened to him. Schemes had been concocted. Drinks had been consumed. Cake had been baked and devoured at his place. He’d touched a girls ass for the first time, and, through it all, nothing textbook bad had really happened. Through thick, thin and Rumble’s scheming, he was no better or worse off than when he’d left his house hours earlier. Karmic neutrality. Good had happened (Touching Blossomforth’s butt, having a conversation with Dinky which could lead to more conversations in the future), and so had bad (Getting perma-banned from The Toad in The Hole, having to spend more than sixty seconds in the same room as Brolly), but nothing had gone so terribly wrong enough to discourage him from keeping going.

The big pony in the sky — the grand schemer — was watching over him and smilingly. Dimly.

A girl — A hot girl — one who was definitely in the double digit club on the ‘hot’ scale and who also happened to be leaps and bounds out of his league, was waiting for him on the dance floor of a club he’d never imagined stepping hoof in.

He certainly had luck on his side that night. Luck, and a fair bit of stupidity as well.

Holding his head high and puffing out his chest as proudly as he could, Button Mash decided to keep calm and pony on. He sauntered forwards, locking eyes with ponies he’d normally shy away from — bigger, stronger looking stallions, and, far hotter mares than he’d be comfortable gawking at in public —, who all returned his goofy grin. Tonight Button Mash was one of them; a winner. Not a pony to be trifled with.

Yes sir. He was a winner alright. Just like Rumble, and Shady, (and even Thunderlane and Brolly too.)

Blossomforth was still dancing just as she had been when he left her, only now, she had another temporary dance partner; Roseluck. They together danced like they’d been doing it their whole lives; hips shaking, bottoms touching, heads whipping back and forth, neither ever nearing becoming out of synch with the other. During a lull in the song, when the bass was low and the track was almost inaudible, they turned to spot Button Mash and devious, dastardly smiles crawled across their cheeks.

The girls had dirty things in mind for him. He could tell.

Button swallowed a lump in his throat.

Two girls. One Button.

Roseluck excused herself from the twosome with a polite head nod to Blossomforth, who waved after her, smiling and giggling. As she passed by Button Mash, Roseluck took the time to lean her face to his, brushing her lips against his ear and whispering “Good luck, stud.”

When she pinched his ass, Button yelped.

Stick to the plan.

Somewhere in the club, a sad and lonely Shady Daze, and an eccentric, anxious, maybe on drugs (Button couldn’t tell, but it sure had seemed like it earlier) Rumble were waiting for him to tear himself away from Blossomforth and find them. And, in a small part, he wanted that just as much as they did. More maybe. The promise of a double feature of throwback slasher movies at his favourite cheap-seat theatre with his two best friends, followed up by an all night long marathon of his favourite video games, fueled by more beers and the kind of energy drinks that had warning labels on them, was stronger than his desire to lose his virginity to a mare who objectified him as an adorable walking erection.

Blossomforth was licking her lips when he approached her.

“Where’d you get off too?” she said, wrapping her hooves around his frame and pulling her to him.

“Uh...”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, groping his behind, “You’re here now.”

Blossomforth was fifty shades of over-attached.

“About that,” Button said, clearing his throat, “Uh, can, er… maybe,” that lump in his throat returned so he cleared it out, again, “Can we talk?”

Blossomforth pinched his flesh tighter, hugged him closer to her and, with her mouth to his ear, dragged her tongue across his cheek, “Somewhere private?”

“Uh,” he squeaked, “Yeah…”

Her tongue found his inner ear, her grip on his rear softened, and all the blood rushed from his cheeks to the once soft dangly bits between his legs.

“I like the way your mind works, Button,” said Blossomforth. “Let’s find somewhere really dark and very quiet, okay?”

Why in Equestria did it sound like she had something dirty in mind?

Just stick to the plan.

Soon enough he’d be sipping cold beer, or malt liquor, from a bottle, resting comfortably in the furthest seats of The Icarus, his legs up on the chair before him, Shady to his left, Rumble to his right, Shady wincing at the sight of gory dismemberment, Rumble cackling at the same thing. The killer, Patchface, would be slaying impressionable, ditzy, teen bimbos with the titular pair of hedgeclippers.

The Icarus seemed so far away…

Like before, Blossomforth led and, like the emotionally smaller pony he was, Button Mash blindly followed her — watching with guilty joy the way that the two perfectly round, plump, mounds of flesh and fur that were her butt, bounced and jiggled with every step she took.

Pulling him along, Blossomforth ducked, dived, bobbed and weaved through the droves of thinner, fatter, smaller and larger bodies all around them. She could slip between cracks in the crowd, flawlessly, Button noted in the few times he wasn’t being struck in the face by outstretched limbs, or scratched across the cheeks by sharp zippers and cufflinks attachments to jackets, or splashed in the face with droplets from spilled drinks.

Finally, after some time, they came upon a quiet(er) spot of the club where Blossomforth, with his hoof in hers, stood Button up on his hind legs, did so herself and pushed him, violently, against the wall.

Then she did something that made Button excited and scared at the same time.

She kissed him. Hard. On the lips. Her tongue, all wet and tasting like the last drink she’d had — a gin and tonic, if he had to guess — pushed up against his lips, and, when her hooves pinched his ass cheeks and he yelped she invited herself inside his mouth. She ravaged him with her tongue, and her hooves playing with the flabby flesh on his hind, and her body, so warm and comfy, pressing, needily, against his.

Button’s sense of pure and wholesome innocence took a nosedive and landed somewhere deep in the pits of ‘seedy, drunken, hornyness.’.

Maybe The Icarus, Rumble, and Shady could wait just a little longer...

***

The way she moved made him hot and bothered. She wasn’t even doing anything overtly sexual, just sitting beside Cloudkicker and Thunderlane, smiling, laughing, being cheerful and adorable. When she saw him, and she smiled at him and waved him over, Rumble knew that he’d made the right decision tonight. Fuck, Shady Daze, this was what he needed. She was what he needed.

He was going to go home with Flitter. He was sure of it.

She meant so much to him. She always had. She’d been his babysitter when he was just a stupid, babbling, foal, on nights when Thunderlane would go out with this mare, or that one, or get trashed with Brolly. Thunderlane would leave, Flitter would come over and everything would be great. Together they would play board games, build towers out of blocks or stay up watching ‘R’ rated movies, drinking chocolate milk and eating chocolate chop cookies on the couch.

The glory days of his innocent youth were far behind him. Still, Flitter had been around for almost all his life, from morally pure and sound, doe-eyed foal, to the boundless, mare-laying, depraved and enviable young stallion he was today. She herself had brokered him into adulthood one night not long ago when she’d taken his innocence in a drunken night of passionate sexual intercourse.

He had a lot to thank her for, least of all was that.

He moved towards the trio of ponies; Thunderlane, Cloud Kicker and Flitter, with an arrogant strut; rolling his shoulders, shaking his rear and whipping his head side-to-side along with the beat of a song playing. Spotting him, Flitter giggled into her hoof and Rumble’s heart skipped a beat.

She was so fucking sexy it hurt (mostly in and around his crotch).

“Look at this happy-go-lucky bastard,” said his brother, grinning, “What’s got you so amped up?”

“No too much,” said Rumble, “Except that I just convinced Shady Daze to patch things up between him and Brolly because I’m an awesome-possum.”

Cloud Kicker peered at him, “Really?”

“Yup,” Rumble said, “Those two could really stand to get along, and, me, being the infinitely intelligent and undeniably handsome guy that I am, convinced Shady that, really, all he needs to do is spend a little one-on-one time with Brolly,” he flashed a toothy grin to the trio, “Before you know it those two are gonna be best buddies, all thanks to me.”

Thunderlane stroked his chin and looked to be gearing up to say something — probably negative — when instead he grinned, “I dunno, dude. Brolly really, really, really, dislikes Shady,” he said, then looked at Rumble again and hushed his tone, “This isn’t going to end with Brolly going away for murder, is it?”

“Naw,” Rumble said, waving away Thunderlane’s hesitant look with a flick of his hoof, “Shady’ll straighten Brolly out. Just wait.”

Thunderlane snickered, “Kind of an ironic choice of words there, Rumble.”

No one laughed with him.

“I never got what Brolly’s major hang-up with Shady was,” Cloud Kicker said, “They were kind of friendly before we all found out he was gay-” This earned her a set of wide eyed, quiet, stares from her companions, “-As in; Brolly never openly threatened to maim him before he knew that he liked guys.”

“Eh, there’s always some kind of drama with Brolly,” Thunderlane said, “I mean, we’re friends... the fuckin’ guy rents a room in my house, and half the time I don’t even know what the fuck is going on in that twisted brain of his. Sometimes he wants to go out for drinks, he’ll gets plastered and then he’ll just rant about things that piss him off, like paying taxes, or geriatric old farts. Sometimes though, Brolly scares the absolute shit out of me-”

Rumble, half listening, half not, found his undivided attention drawn from Flitter’s chest, to his brother at the older pony’s admittance that there was something in life he was afraid of. This was uncommon from Thunderlane, who pranced about life without a care or concern, always leaping when he should tip-toe and never looking both ways before crossing a street.

“Sometimes…” said Thunderlane, uneasily, “Hanging out with the guy… It’s like all he wants from life is to just kick the ever-loving shit out of something small and defenceless; like a puppy, or a marmot.”

Rumble’s eyes crackled with life, “Huh?”

Thunderlane, mulling over how to phrase his statement, shooed the girls away for the time being and turned to Rumble. There was honesty on his face — which was also quite uncommon for his older brother — and the cocky grin had been replaced with a neutral, soft, smile.

Curious as he was, Rumble’s eyes still followed Flitter away from the bar, towards a quieter end, where she waved to him and him to her. Then he turned back to Thunderlane, smiled, and prepared himself for whatever his brother had to say.

“So, uh... look,” Thunderlane said, rubbing his temples, “Don’t tell the girls this — especially Flitter — but that story he told about playing pool earlier? That was total bullshit.”

Rumble’s eyebrows lifted, “What?”

“See, what he didn't mention was that, the big, bad, ‘hard looking cunt’ was actually some ninety pound nerd — probably your age — who was there with his girlfriend,” Thunderlane explained in softer, more drawn out words than Rumble was used to hearing him used, “And that the kid didn’t do anything wrong either. There were no mean looks... No tension between him and Brolly... Nothing! The fuckin’ kid, this scrawny little dork, is just sitting there, minding his own business, and Brolly is absolutely fucked on Flash!-”

Thunderlane lowered his tone when he noticed ponies around the bar begin to stare at them. Rumble leaned forwards until his chin rested on his crossed legs and his crossed legs rested against the backwards, backrest of the barstool.

“-He was fucked,” Thunderlane said, again, “I’m talking the; ‘bloodshot eyes popping out of his head, grinding his teeth so hard I’m surprised they didn’t turn to dust’ kind of fucked. He’s playing the worst game of pool that I’ve ever seen, and, I would be ripping on him, but he’s got a dangerous look in his eyes, so I don’t; I just keep playing, hoping Brolly’s luck gets better, and that, if it doesn’t, he won’t be using me as a scapegoat, y’know?”

Rumble nodded.

“Well, anyway,” Thunderlane said, “Brolly’s luck gets no better over the night. It’s like, the harder he tries, and the more he drinks, the more he just keeps missing all these easy shots. The fucking guy is scratching left and right, and, I guess it all starts to get to him, because, this time when he scratches so bad his pool cue tears into the table, everything goes totally belly up-”

Thunderlane stared across the room, searching the crowd for hide or tail of Brolly’s presence as not to offend.

“-Brolly misses his shot, and he’s so fucking pissed about it that when that kid — the dork at the bar with his date — laughs at something his girlfriend must have said, Brolly marches up to him and, without a word or anything, fucking cracks the kid over the head with his pool cue!” Thunderlane accented this by swinging an imaginary pool-cue at Rumble and adding a ‘Crack’ sound when the would-be stick would have met Rumble’s cranium, “The next thing I know, I’m dragging Brolly out of there by his fucking waist while Brolly’s kicking, thrashing and screaming about how he’s going to ‘burn the place to the fuckin’ ground’, how we have to ‘bury the kid’s body’, and that if we didn’t we’d be looking at life behind bars!”

Thunderlane sighed, “I’m sure the kid is fine — maybe some very minor brain damage, but still breathing — But, I swear, for the next two months after that every time someone knocked on the front door I was sure I’d open it to find an entire platoon of Royal Guards on the other side there to haul Brolly off to the dungeons,” he paused for a minute then shrugged his wings, “Brolly’s a fuckin’ psycho, dude. I mean, I know he’s my best mate, but still…”

“Fucks sakes…” Rumble breathed, hardly above a whisper.

And that was the guy he’d just left Shady with…

If he wanted to look back in the crowd for Shady, it wouldn’t have done him any good; the deal had already been made and signed by Shady after a round of cursing and grumbling. To go back on it now would be admitting to Shady that he was right all along. Regardless, Rumble, momentarily, peeked his head above all the bodies to make sure, just for the record, that Shady Daze didn’t have a pool-cue sized bruise jetting out of his head. A flock of gryphons — large, imposing, black feathered ones with angry looking patterns dyed into their coats in white, red, grey and blue — blocked his view.

Rumble bit his lower lip so hard he cracked open the skin and bled a little bit into his mouth.

Shady was going to be okay.

Right?

***

“Fuck did you just say to me?”

Brolly, leaning backwards into the pleather back-rest of one of Club Black’s private booths, his legs tossed behind him and over the headrests of the seats, stared up at Shady Daze with, somehow, both a scowl and a disgusted look to his face.

Shady swallowed hard and repeated himself, “Um, I said; do you want a drink, or… something?”

Rumble was a very stupid pony, and, it only then occurred to Shady Daze that some of that stupidity was going to rub off on him, or already had. He was, afterall, the one standing before Brolly, staring stupidly at the older pony, stitching together words clumsily while he rambled and tried his hardest not to look too dull.

Brolly sniffed, pursed his lips and a twitch overtook his left eye. He blinked, once, then snorted, spat a loogie over his left shoulder, and, when he turned back he shook his head at Shady, “You tryin’ to fuck with me, lumber-lover?”

Shady swallowed again. “N-no,” he said, softly, to the floor and not at Brolly, “I… uh, well, Flitter…” he licked his lips and glanced back up at Brolly through strands of his mane that had gone loose and wild, “She, uh…”

“What?” Brolly gawked, “Spit it out for fucks sakes!”

“She said that, maybe, since we don’t really get along all too well, that, uh, we could, like, chill for a bit?”

How was that for improvising, Rumble?

“Chill?” Brolly scoffed, “Flitter wants you and me to ‘chill’? Together?”

“Yes?” Shady said in a high-pitched squeak, “She, uh…” he scratched his shaggy mane, “Well, she said she was gonna go dance with Cloud Kicker, and since you’re here alone… and, I’m here... and... also alone... and since we’ve never really hung out before-”

“With good reason,” Brolly snorted, “You’re a fuckin’ cum-guzzler!”

He accented the last two words, ‘Cum’ and ‘Guzzler’, by slamming his left hoof on the table in what Shady assumed was something close to a physical little show of his disgust and hatred for Shady Daze and his ulterior, queer, lifestyle. Shady, so used to being the punchline of one of Brolly’s jokes, was unfazed.

“You know,” he started, “There’s more to me than my insatiable lust for cock, Brolly.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “I used to be the goalie for my road hockey team when I was a kid? I was the staff photographer for my school’s newspaper? I make Equestria’s greatest grilled cheese sandwich?”

“Celestia almighty! You are the least interesting fucking pony I have ever met in my life. You know that, right?” he rolled his eyes. Light from one of the overhanging power lights bounced off the slicked, ink black mane atop of Brolly’s head, “Wait… you’re not seriously fucking proud of yourself for any of those things, are you?” he cocked his head sideways, light bounced off his mane again and got in Shady’s eyes so that he had to squint. Brolly laughed so loud and barbarically that it drew curious looks from the ponies — and gryphons — around them, “Holy fuck! You are, aren’t you?”, he beat his hooves against the table, “You are so very fucked in the head!”

When he was sure the crowd wasn’t watching them anymore, Shady sighed, but kept his head held high, “Whatever,”

What a surprise; befriending the juggernaut of intolerance and hate that was Brolly was going to be the death of him. He’d been right all along...

...and yet, somehow, being right didn’t make him feel any better.

“C’mon, Brolly, let’s just have a couple beers, and, you know, shoot the shit, or whatever?” Shady said, leaning his weight onto his left legs and kicking the ground with his right, “I think, maybe after a few more drinks you might decide that you hate me a tiny bit less than you did yesterday, and the day before and the day before that,” Shady said, using all of his willpower left to lift his cheeks into a smile as plain and polite as he could muster, “Where’s the harm in making a new friend, right?”

“I have an image, you shit-sniffer,” said Brolly, “Y’know; a reputation? My social standing would take a very hard plummet if I was caught chatting with you by certain ponies in this town.”

“Oh, right, because being a violent, drug addicted, drug dealing, homophobe has opened so many doors for you,” Shady said to a deadpanned, expressionless, look from Brolly.

Shady Daze: One.

Brolly: Still a good deal more, but Shady would get there...

“How ‘bout you fuck off to whatever shithole you came from, and I enjoy the rest of my night without having to worry about getting date raped?” said Brolly, waving the colt away with his hoof. “Or, did you want to save me some time in the future and let me to take you out back now so I can beat the gay out of you?”

Rumble. He was doing this for Rumble. Because Rumble was his best friend and he owed Rumble, and this was going to make Rumble happy, and that’s what best friends did; they made each other happy. It was worth it, Rumble had assured him, and, maybe, somewhere in the near future Rumble would repay him in kind when he needed it most?

Maybe...

But it wasn’t likely…

“Don’t just fucking stare at me with that stupid expression,” Brolly snapped, dragging Shady Daze out of his head, “You look fucking retarded.”

Shady Daze had gotten tired of the constant swallowing back words and bad-feeling emotions. Brolly certainly wasn’t making this easy, and, if anything short of Rumble having the best night of his life happened, he owed Rumble a kick to the scrotum.

“Dude, hate it or love it, Brolly, but we are hanging out,” said Shady, “It’s… important to Flitter,” — he was lying —, “And, well, for some reason she kinda loves you, and, you love her, right?”

In place of another jab at his sexuality, or a curse about how much time of his life Shady was wasting, Brolly nodded his head.

“So... yeah… Think about Flitter,” Shady smiled, “I mean, I’ve made it this far without you… like… breaking my face. That’s gotta be something, right?” he wiggled his eyebrows, “And, despite how wrong I’m already sure that I am, I’d really like to imagine there’s more to you than just being a very angry, hateful, pony.”

Brolly leaned backwards, “Why the fuck is this so important to you?”

Because it was important to Rumble...

“Because I’d like to live in a world where I’m comfortable coming over to Rumble’s place and not having to worry about leaving the next day with ‘I AM A HUGE FAG.’ shaved into my fur, or with feathers glued to me, or having you dye my coat pink — again —, or covered in bruises from another round of; ‘Pin-The-Takeout-Menus-On-The-Shady’ that I have to tell my teachers I got from falling down the stairs-” he threw a glare at Brolly, “-Again.”

“Learn to take a fuckin’ joke, cock-breath,” Brolly cussed, and laughed for a few minutes afterwards. After winding down, he looked up at Shady, “I will be totally honest; I thought it would take way more than a month for that dye to wash out,” he snickered again, “It was supposed to be, like, totally water resistant. You must have really been scrubbing hard, eh?”

Shady hooked a hoof around the back of his neck and scrubbed absentmindedly at his mane, “Yeah…”

Brolly’s face, large, imposing and glaring, softened just slightest while he smiled at the memory of the hot-pink coated Shady Daze. Giggling, he crossed his lower legs and let his wings unfold and surround his body like a shield.

“That was a good one,” Brolly insisted to himself, grinning up at Shady through the feathers of his wings, “One of my best. In fact, it was almost as good as the time I blasted you off the couch with that fire-extinguisher-”

Shady felt the patchwork markings of where skin had been skillfully stitched back together from where his head had hit the coffee table and left that ugly scar that one could only ever really see if you looked hard enough for it, “I vaguely recall…”

“-Or the time I used an entire air-horn on you at six in the morning-”

Shady’s left eye twitched, “-Doc Stable said my hearing is still kinda iffy from that…-”

Brolly snickered, “-Or, when I poured you a double shot of ipecac and told you it was a Tequila Mockingbird on your birthday-”

Shady sighed, “It was your bed I ended up puking in...”

Brolly’s face turned hard as stone, “You still owe me forty bits for those bedsheets, Shady.”

Silence. Nothing but silence while Shady Daze tried, as hard as he could, to remember what specifically was on the grocery list of good deeds that Rumble had done for him, and, why exactly they were worth cashing in for this.

“So, here’s what I’m gonna suggest we do,” said Shady, “I am going to buy us both a drink, and then we’re both going to try really, really, hard to be friends for as long as it takes for those things to never, ever, ever, happen to me again,” he stared hard at Brolly, “Capiche?”

Brolly shrugged, “Whatever you say, Shady Daze. A free drink is a free drink,” he furrowed his brows, “But, I swear if you come back with anything that’s got an umbrella in it, or ends in ‘Tini’, the next time you stay over you’re going to wake up with a broomstick so far up your ass you’ll be coughing sawdust for weeks.”

Shady sighed, then, remembering that he’d made it this far without Brolly acting on any of his threats, he smiled, “Right,” he said, nodding at Brolly, “No Roofie Coladas then?”

The teensiest, tiniest, blink-and-you’d miss it, sort of smile crawled up along the left and right sides of Brolly’s mouth. He didn’t laugh, or snicker, and, after a short second his face fell back into the perma-glare and scowl look he’d worn all night, but, for that one millisecond in time Shady saw a side of Brolly that didn’t want to kill him.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be the death sentence he’d thought it was after all.

Exit... Stage Left

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Exit... Stage Left

Rumble clenched his jaw tight and let his eyes fall over her thin and gorgeous frame once more. She really was a beautiful creature. He smiled at Flitter and raised his left hoof for her to take in her own. He gave her the grin; the one that wasn’t cocky enough to make him look conceited, but still came with all the boyish charm he’d developed over the last decade of his life.

“Wanna dance?”

Flitter, sipping what was left of her latest in a long line of Gin and Tonics, smiled courteously. There was a moment of hesitation that came across her face, where she did nothing but stare at him, then past him but it passed quickly and then she was wrapping her hoof around his and letting him pull her out of her seat.

“Always.”

Rumble smiled as the well familiar warm and fuzzy feeling flowed through him.

Thunderlane, with Cloud Kicker pressing her waist against his, tapped Rumble on the shoulder, “Mind if we join you?”

He did, actually. Very much.

“Go for it,” he said to Thunderlane, though throwing a glare to his older brother that, hopefully, told him in no simpler terms that he needed to have some alone time with Flitter and that Thunderlane and Cloud Kicker, while usually welcomed company, were intruding.

Aloof, or pretending to be, Thunderlane didn’t pick up on the subtlety of Rumble’s looks and body gestures, choosing instead to lead his girlfriend, then Rumble and Flitter, away from the bar and towards the dancefloor.

Growling curses about his brother to himself, Rumble’s spirits lifted when Flitter touched his back. He turned to her. She was smiling — all lips and no teeth. Soft and gentle — then, when the four reached the centre of the dance floor he lifted her to her hind legs, got up on his own and the dance began.

He was a stallion with pride in all the right places; his body, his mane, how he dressed, how he kept up with current trends and styles, how he was charming, and handsome, and clever and witty. Among the many, many, great things he had to offer, being an amazing dancer was just another one of them.

The mares danced sexually; throwing their hips, rocking their pelvises, using their bodies like weapons against the desires of their male dance partners. To his credit, Rumble could withhold all his strongest desires to lose himself and replace it with practiced calm and patience. Dancing, politely, came first, then later he could work off all that animalistic sexual energy in bed with her.

So they danced, Flitter moving like it was second nature, him, withholding just enough to be both polite and gentle. She would touch her butt against his, or run her hooves along his chest, or through his mane, but he never took the bait. That came later.

Rumble was biding his time and waiting for that one perfect moment, when the song was right and the lights were on her and him — and Thunderlane with his pension for gossip was nowhere to be seen — to make his move on her.

Watching her rock and shake her bottom the way she was made it harder for him to do.

She stopped long enough to throw herself against his chest, pet his mane and with her face to his ear she asked him; “When did you get so good at dancing, Rumble?”

Grinning, he took his hooves, grabbed her by that wonderful ass of hers, then replied with “Since forever,” he chuckled, “Duh.”

She giggled a soft rising laugh into his ear. Her breath tickled against the fur of his cheek. He did little to fight the flush spreading across his cheeks.

Oh, yes. He was certainly taking her home tonight.

In a move that would have been rude and overt to anypony who wasn’t her, he cupped her cheeks and became startled when she pushed her hooves into his chest.

“Easy there, tiger,” she said, giggling, “Let’s keep this light and fun, okay?”

“Light and fun?” he repeated, huffing, “C’mon, Flitter. You’ve been giving me the eye all night.”

She drew back from him and gave him another sort of eye, the kind that wasn’t hiding sexual connotations but was actually confused and even surprised. “Huh?”

“You,” Rumble stated, “You’ve been giving me that look-”

“What look?”

“This one,” Rumble said, creasing out ripples in the fabric of his windbreaker. He stopped, geared his head towards her, raised a single eyebrow and licked his lips slowly. “Y’know; those ‘Fuck me' eyes...”

“Rumble…”

She stepped away from him.

To his credit, Rumble kept smiling, “Don’t pretend you haven’t been,” he said, taking a step towards her, “I know you, Flitter.”

He stepped forwards again and he hooked a hoof around her waist and pulled her towards him. Revulsion, or something close to it, took hold of her and she pushed him away and shot him an incredibly not-sexy look.

“Rumble. Stop.” she said, curtly, “I’m here with Brolly.”

“Oh, Brolly’s a gigantic asshole!” Rumble grunted, “C’mon, I’m, like, two hundred times the pony that he is. We both know it.”

“Rumble, please,” Flitter sighed, turning towards the crowd on both sides of her, “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah,” he said, “So?”

“So,” she stated, sighing, “I’m here with Brolly, who happens to be my boyfriend.”

This again?

“C’mon, Flitter,” Rumble said, smiling, “I got Shady to distract his goofy ass so we could fool around. You know you want too.”

He grinned; that same charming grin that he’d used to melt her heart hundreds of times before. Only now it didn’t work. Instead of the flutter of her eyes and a goofy grin back to him, she gave him a stunned, dumbfounded expression.

“You did what?”

“I got Shady to distract Brolly,” he said in a dull, uninterested monotone, flicking his mane backwards, “I did it so we could hang out. What’s the problem?”

She looked stunned, “You... used Shady?”

Rumble cocked his jaw sideways, “Used him? What are you talking about?”

“You used Shady,” she repeated, “You… used your best friend so that you could get with me? Rumble that’s really low.”

“No, no, no,” Rumble said, chuckling, “See, I’m killing two birds here, Flitter. Shady’s my wing-colt, right? Being a distraction is practically in the job description, and, besides, we all agreed earlier that those two really need to get along, didn't we? So, if you think about it everyone wins! We get to dance. Shady gets to… uh… He gets-” he scrunched his nose and bit his lower lip as he pondered, “W-we get to dance,” he sighed, “How is this not making sense to you?”

“Rumble, you’re… That’s a horrible thing to do to him,” Flitter stated without a single trace of sympathy in her tone, “I like Shady, and, Cloud Kicker likes Shady, and Thunderlane, I think, might also like him, but, Brolly- Rumble, Brolly really doesn’t like Shady,” she shook her head, “H-how- No. Why would you do that to him?”

He rolled his eyes, “I did it so we could dance. Duh. Like, c’mon, Flitter. You know Brolly would never let me dance with you if he knew I wanted too. So, I had to get Shady to keep his dumb-ass busy… And so what? I was doing us a favour.”

“That’s… Rumble, that is really, really terrible of you,” Flitter stated, tears appearing in the corners of her eyes, “This might be the meanest thing you’ve done to him-"

Panicked, Rumble’s eyes grew wide and he came up with an earnest defense to retain his honor; “No it’s not!” he said, “This isn’t that bad, and, also, what do you mean it’s terrible? I did this for us, Flitter!”

Flitter stepped forwards and put her hoof to his cheek, “Rumble,” she said, “There… there really isn’t an ‘us’.”

“What are you talking about? Of course there is!” Rumble grunted, “We’re… Flitter, we’re, both, like, totally into each other. We’ve had sex for fucks sakes!” he sighed and drew in heavy breaths, “Y-you want me, Flitter...”

“Oh, Rumble,” she gave him that soft and gentle smile of hers then pinched his cheek, “That-” she sighed, “I really- I didn’t think it would have to come to this, but, Rumble... this is all a huge mistake.”

Rumble peeled his lips back, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I… I was drunk… and, you were drunk, and Brolly was being an ass... “ she stopped long enough to sniff, “And you looked so cute-” she sighed, “But I’m with Brolly, now — still — and that was forever ago. And, obviously, a very big mistake.”

“But... we’ve had sex,” Rumble stated again, coldly, “Like, lots of sex. Together.”

Flitter shook her head, “No… No we really haven’t-”

“What?”

“Rumble, the last time we, um-” she tapped her hooves together and tried to smile at him, “That time when you were drunk on Shady’s birthday, and you wanted to… um… do things with me, and-” her hooves made a very annoying ‘clink’ noise each time that they touched, “I was more than happy too, because Brolly was out of town, and I wasn’t exactly sure what we were as a couple, but, um-” she bit her lip, “You couldn’t… exactly, um-“

“What?” Rumble snorted, “I couldn’t what?”

“You really don’t remember?” Flitter asked, “Maybe- Look, Rumble. We can forget all of this. You’re drunk, and I'm pretty sure that you’re on drugs too?” it was the work of a moment to quickly step back for her to glance, sideways, at Rumble, looking him hard in the eye before she nodded to herself as if she was suddenly reassured of his triumph over sobriety in all its forms, “And, this is honestly a conversation we really should be having when we’re both sober-”

“No!” Rumble grunted, “Say it now. I want you to say it, Flitter.”

“You… You couldn’t…” she sighed, licked her upper lip, her lower one and hushed her tone, “Rumble, the last time we tried to have… sex… well… you couldn’t get it up.”

Rumble said nothing. There was nothing to say. Time passed while he took in and pushed out deep breaths of air, before Flitter touched his shoulder again and he found himself looking her in the eyes.

“If- Rumble, look... If you’re…” she stopped, sighed, then when she looked back at him he could make out streams of tears forming in her eyes, “Gee. I didn't think it would be this hard to say. I honestly thought I’d be asking you this sober, but-” it came out so softly he could hardly hear it, “Rumble, if you’re… gay, I… I mean, I’d understand, and I would never judge you,” she smiled and pet him on the head, “And I think Shady would really-”

“What the fuck are you talking about!” Rumble shouted, “Gay? You think I’m a fucking faggot?”

Heads turned towards them.

“Rumble!” Flitter snapped, all traces of sympathy gone, as she bristled her wings and glared at him.

“No, no, no! Fuck this shit!” Rumble shrieked, “I am not a fucking queer, Flitter. Okay? Shady — Fuckin’ Shady — He’s the fucking fag! And… and fuck that guy! The fucking whiney bitch that he is!” he ground his teeth, “I don’t know why you’re making such a fucking fuss about this. Calling me a fucking homo-”

Flitter turned her eyes to the floor. Unable to respond to what was clearly his superior argument.

“So, what?” Rumble spat, “Now, all of the sudden, we can’t have sex because your boyfriend is here, and that makes me gay? What about when Brolly was passed out and you dragged me into the bathroom? I wasn’t ‘gay’ then, was I? What was so different about that night?”

“That… was obviously a mistake,” she admitted, eyes still watching the lights change on the dance floor and not the way that Rumble shifted his weight from his right side to his left, “I… Rumble, you’re a really sweet guy, and, I really like you, but…”

“But what?”

“But in a year, or two, if you keep going the way you are you’re just going to end up like Thunderlane, or like how you think Brolly is, and then what?” she sighed, “Let’s say… Let’s pretend I wanted to dump Brolly for you-”

“Okay.”

“Then what do I do when you decide you want to work for the weather team, like Brolly, and like Thunderlane? You’ll still live in the same house as them, and drink, and do drugs, and party just like how you do now, and how they do, and before you know it you and me will be having this exact same conversation again? What am I supposed to do then?”

Rumble curled his lips, furrowed his brows and bit his teeth together.

“Rumble, you’re… I’ve known you since you were seven! Since you were a colt!” she said, smiling up at him, “And, I love you, Rumble. I really do. Just not in that way,” she went to reach for his cheek but he turned away, “I’m sorry, Rumble, if I led you on. I really am. I swear I never meant to hurt you, but… this is something I think we both know is for the best.”

She lifted her stare from the dance floor, up to him and he could see she was faking a smile. He shrugged, grimaced and then looked away from her.

“Whatever,” he snorted, “If you don’t wanna fuck me tonight then what are you even still doing here?”

Her eyes turned soft and easy, “Please don’t be mad, Rumble...”

“I’m not,” he lied, “But if you’re not gonna have sex with me then I’ll go and find someone who will.”

“Rumble,” she reached, again, to him, but, again, Rumble brushed her off.

“Sorry for wasting so much of your life,” he groaned, “I hope you have a great fucking life with Brolly. And, hey, when you’re not too busy riding on his cock you might also want to ask him where it’s been-” he smirked wickedly at her, "Not that it's any of my business.”

When he broke away from her, and moved away from the bar, he couldn’t think of a pony he was there with who he wanted to be around; he didn’t want to see Brolly, he didn’t want to even look at Shady, Button was off getting his rocks off with Blossomforth and there wasn’t a pony left who he’d been with earlier that he cared for.

Instead he stomped towards the bar.

***

Wet, slimy and tasting like gin, tonic water, saliva and something fruity; that was Button Mash's entrance into the world of making out as Blossomforth’s tongue left his mouth. He loved every second of it. There weren’t enough words in his vocabulary to make him express just how much he did, but he certainly hadn’t expected his first ever kiss with a mare be a messy, open mouthed, tongue wrestling make out. In fact, Button Mash hadn’t expected his first kiss at all — At least not until he’d met the mare of his dreams that was —, and while Blossomforth was certainly a mare he would dream about, those were the kind of dreams where he’d wake up and have to run his sheets through the wash in the morning.

It had been short — too short — and now, as she was pulling her face away from his, she clenched her front teeth on his lower lip and pulled it back.

She had that look in her eyes; the one he’d seen too many times on the faces of the girls in Moanin’ Mares and Filly Fanny Fun; eyes half squinted, pupils small and hungry, smirk up the one side of her cheek, the other something playfully close to a smile.

He let go of the breath of air he’d been holding in for far too long.

“You’re a really good kisser,” Blossomforth said, tussling the fur on his cheek with her hoof, “I bet the girls at school are all over you, huh?”

Oh yes, that was him alright: Button; the total stud! Button Mash, who girls literally trampled over themselves all the time to get with! Button, who could definitely, totally, absolutely, walk up to a mare he thought was cute — like Sweetiebelle — and ask for a pencil, or an eraser, or whatever without getting so nervous that the sweat soaked through the fabric of the clothes he was wearing, or he would trip over his own hooves halfway there, or stumble on his words and get sent to the nurse’s office for signs of undiagnosed head trauma, or for fear of a case of undocumented autism.

Button Mash; the lady killer.

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout, Button?” Blossomforth pondered, and Button had to wonder that himself.

Nothing.

Oh wait… the plan.

Aww, heck.

“Uh, Blossom…” he stammered, tapping the floor with his tail and rubbing his leg, “So… hey, listen. I really, really, really, really, really think you’re great! And… you’re cute, and sexy-” he looked her over again; “Yeah… definitely super sexy, but, uh, I can’t really-”

The rest came out mumbled so quietly under his breath that even he couldn’t hear himself say it. Evidently, neither could Blossomforth, who leaned forwards on the tips of her hooves and batted her lash at him.

“What was that, Button?”

He brushed a hoof through his shaggy mane, pulling out loose strands that fell against the neck and shoulders of his hoodie, “I said; I don’t want to-”

Again he mumbled the rest of the sentence under his breath. This couldn’t happen. Not now. He looked at her, and then faces of the crowd. Nowhere near him were Shady, or Rumble, or Thunderlane, or Brolly, or anyone else who might overhear him and form opinions based on what he knew he had to say to her.

Taking in a quick breath of air, he smacked his lips and tried as hard as he could to smile up at Blossomforth.

“I can’t hear you, Button.” she said, sweetly.

He held onto another breath of air until his vision faded then, on release, he uttered a sentence he really wished he could have gone without saying for his entire life:

“I DON’T WANT TO HAVE SLEAZY DRUNK SEX WITH YOU TONIGHT, OKAY?”

It came out louder than he expected, and, because he'd apparently offended the higher powers in control of his fate his exasperated plea came at the exact same moment that the track playing came to a sudden stop and silence fell over the club.

Typical.

It was deathly silent now. Each and every pony in the surrounding area around them stopped entirely whatever it was that they had been doing to stare perplexed, bemused, grinning and laughing at the two of them.

As if his luck wasn't bad enough already.

Blossomforth stood motionless. She had her mouth open, stunned, and then she blinked the horrified look from her eyes. For a few minutes she stayed like that, standing still and staring at him. Blinking. Mouthing and mumbling words to herself, until, slowly she recollected herself.

“Excuse me?”

Button Mash kicked the ground at his hooves, “T-that might have came out wrong...”

“W-what the fuck did you just say, Button?”

Her stunned expression had turned nasty; her brows were furrowed, her mouth peeled back to a scowl while in her eyes — which only minutes ago had been very nice to gaze into — a fire burned. If there was any humour in the situation, she certainly didn't see it. Neither did Button.

Not a single pair of eyes throwing glares at him came with sympathy for him attached to them. In the usual, outlandish and impossibly unlikely way, Button Mash had once again made himself the centre of attention. Ponies, tall, short, fat, and thin made him the object of unwavering hate and disgust. He could have just kept his mouth shut. He should have. Really. Like so many times in his life, he could have gone the entire night without voicing his opinion and things would have been just fine. Instead, he’d listened when Shady, and Rumble, and Brolly, and Thunderlane had painted a vivid portrait of Blossomforth as a virginity stealing succubus. Staring at her now, it was clear to him that they were very, very wrong in thinking that.

“I… uh...,” he was mumbling sounds that almost made words, trying hard not to meet Blossomforth’s horrible look, “Er... um....”

“You… You fucking pig!” Blossomforth snapped at him, throwing her weight forward, “I can’t believe- No... What are you even- I thought you were supposed to be nice, and- Did you really just fucking say that, Button?”

As she leered at him, ponies around her snorted, giggled and snickered. They whispered cusses and rumours to each other. Mostly about him. To his credit, Button Mash had never really been one to take criticism to heart. Then again, watching Roseluck whisper something obscene about him to Carrot Top — both of whom knew his mother — and then seeing Colgate — who was his dental hygienist — tap Comet Tail and Daisy by the shoulders and point an a condemning hoof at him really wasn't doing much to boost his self esteem.

He hunched his shoulders until the extra inches of stitched together fabric formed folds in the hoodie. With a quick snap forwards of his neck he tossed the hood over his head, until all but his chin was covered and found a tiny bit of comfort in his makeshift hideaway.

There was no way in Tartarus that what little reputation he’d had would ever recover from this.

“N-now just hold on a second here,” he panted, choking on his words and trying to ignore the dryness in his throat, “I... I am nice, and, I’m- Now, wait... I was just being honest…”

“Honest?” Blossomforth scoffed, “Oh, I see. Just like how you were being totally honest with me when I asked you to dance and you sure as hells didn’t say a word about how you thought that meant I wanted to have sleazy drunk sex with you then? Like that? Or, did you mean like how you were being even more honest with your feelings for me when you were feeling me up like a Neighponese business pony riding the metro just now?” she snarled, “Yeah, right! You’re a very honest pony, Button Mash!”

The crowd watching them had somehow grown double the size from when he'd last dared to look at them. They were still muttering to themselves about him; pointing and laughing, smiling and whispering. Putting a very ugly spotlight on him and Blossomforth.

“B-but Shady and Rumble said-”

“They said what?” she huffed, throwing her hoof into his chest, pushing through the padding of the hoodie with just enough force to make him wince at her touch, “That it’s okay to assume we were going to fuck because I was just some stupid slut? Because any mare that your tiny dick'd, loose butthole'd, jerk-off fucking friends all call a tramp must be one, right? Because Shady Daze and Rumble know so much about what it’s like to be me?” she stepped towards him, “I… I cannot fucking believe you right now! I really thought you liked me.”

“I do,” he gasped, “It’s just-”

“It’s just that you don’t like me enough to respect me as a mare? Is that it?” she snapped, “I’m just some ‘babe’ who wants to pick you up because you’re so insatiable and I’m such a shallow, ditzy, cock junkie?”

By now all the eyes of all the ponies surrounding them had turned so vicious and cruel that Button Mash could hardly even hold his body up. His knees got weak, his body felt extra heavy and when he exhaled he fell. He huddled backwards, pulling himself ass backwards along the floor until his back came against the wall. He pulled his legs to his chest, inhaled a sharp breath, then looked up at Blossomforth. She stood towering over him. Looking a million feet taller and a hundred times more dreadful.

“Er, um…”

“You’re such an asshole!” Blossomforth said. She curled her neck and her wings flapped open, “Seriously! I… I can’t fucking believe you right now, Button! I thought you were this sweet and innocent guy and I…” she sighed and sucked in a breath of air, “And I really wanted to like you-” she exhaled and scowled again at him “I thought we were having fun?”

“Wait,” Button squealed, “I am nice. I am. And, we were totally having fun. And… I’m really not a sexist pig. And-” he whimpered and his body shook. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, or the crowd, so when he mumbled it came out softly and hit the floor, “And… I should have kept my mouth shut.”

Blossomforth snorted, “You think?”

Still curled up into a Button Mash shaped pretzel, he swallowed and tried to remember the first few steps to the workout videos his mom had, specifically, how to control his breathing; his heart was hammering away in his chest. He was ashamed of himself.

“All of you fucking stallions are the same, you know that?” Blossomforth groaned, “It’s such a fucking double standard too! Oh, sure, any fucking guy can just go out with his fucking bros and pick up some dumb, slutty, blonde bombshell and he gets hoof-slaps and cheered for it, but, when a fucking mare shows a little interest in a guy, who she thought was a sweet and adorable colt, well, she’s just some skank.”

He heard the stomping of hooves, then, a curious sound after; claws, and talons scraping against the floor. Button Mash swallowed; there was no shortage of the kinds of creatures in Equestria with claws and talons, and, from his experiences, the ones who were on the same baseline level as ponies had an innate, bred-in code of honour that dictated trouble for so claimed 'Sexist Pigs' like him.

When he peeked a glance from behind his hoodie he saw Blossomforth turning to face the biggest, meanest, toughest Gryphon he’d ever seen in his life. The same Gryphon, who, coincidently, had been the one to turn him, Rumble and Shady away from the doors a few short hours ago.

It was clear to him now. The higher powers, or, the hoof of fate — whichever it was — took great joy in seeing the lowliest types of creatures suffer.

Button Mash prepared himself for a swift and sudden end.

***

If there was one good thing about that night for him, it came from knowing that somewhere between jogging from Button’s Mom’s house to The Toad, then fleeing from The Toad to Club Black, where they trotted from the back of the club to the front, and, after zipping through openings between all the dancing ponies around him, there was a good chance he was getting his thirty minutes of cardio for the day. He was sweating — not quite like how he was sure Button was sweating — but a thin layer of wet stink had broken out across his forehead and soaked into his fur.

He was trying to balance a flat reflective drink-tray with two freshly poured beers between his teeth. Somewhere ahead Brolly was waiting for him.

For the shortest amount of time he'd thought about going up to the bar, ordering two of the gayest sounding drinks he could think of — two cosmarepolitans they would have been — and then setting them down in front of Brolly, playing entirely ignorant at the same time. That was until he realized that only one of them would see the humour in it, and that the other would probably beat him with a broomstick later in life.

Brolly certainly had that charm about him.

Brolly might have been a proper asshole of a pony, but Shady Daze was the one who’d been talked into buying the drinks, while Brolly was the one sitting comfortably, and who was probably going to go home and have sex with a girl he pretended to love.

From an outside perspective if someone had to point a hoof at who drew the short straw out of the two of them...

The desire Shady had to drop a fat glob of throaty bile in the centre of Brolly’s beer came and went just as quickly as Shady Daze decided that he could very well be the bigger pony. Emotionally speaking, of course. Brolly hadn’t maimed him yet and if anything Shady was pretty sure he was making progress in turning Brolly from a rude, crass and homophobic douchebag to, well… a rude, crass and slightly less homophobic douchebag.

Truly, he was channeling the best of Princess Sparkle’s teachings.

“I did ask for a couple of umbrellas, but they looked at me funny,” Shady said with a wry grin playing across his lips while he set the tray and the beers down on the table, “Sorry.”

Brolly gave him a dirty look, reached for his beer, closed shut his left eye then inspected it for with his right.

“The roofie’s probably already soaked in,” said Shady, still grinning and taking his seat in the booth, “Just in case you were worried.”

“Fuck off,” Brolly grunted, popping his shoulders and flexing until meaty looking veins popped in his neck, “One more fucking word and I will-”

“-Beat me to a pulp,” Shady finished for him, “I know. You’ve only said it, like, ten thousand times already.”

Brolly said nothing. He took a long drink of beer without taking his eyes off Shady. He smacked his lips as he put the beer down and big drops of saliva popped out from his mouth and hit the table.

“Tastes alright,” he said, “I’m fucking amazed that you didn’t manage to fuck this up.”

Shady grinned at him, “Yeah, well, once you’ve grabbed enough beers for Rumble, and heard him say, literally, the same exact thing enough times in your life, you learn a thing or two...”

Brolly grinned. Sincerely. A thin, almost unnoticeable little grin crawled across his lips, “Rumble’s a fucking loser,” he stated, “Not quite like how you’re a fucking loser, or like how Button’s a fucking loser, but he’s definitely a fuckin’ dickweed.”

“Huh,” Shady said, scratching his chin, “I… Uh. I was actually under the impression that you guys were friends?”

Brolly snorted, “He’s my landlord’s little brother, and that gives him a free pass from getting his try-hard, wannabe ass beat. That’s it,” he turned his glare onto Shady, “Not like you, or Button, who I would happily kick the piss out of anytime.”

Shady gave a nervous giggle, “Duly noted.”

“That fucking kid is the definition of a poser,” he said as if it were a matter of fact, “Don’t get me wrong, you are definitely a loser if I’ve ever met one. But, at least you don’t pretend to be something you’re not. So you’ve got that going for you.”

Shady scratched his neck and ran his hoof through his shaggy mane, "Uh... Thanks," he lifted a brow, "I think?"

“And, Button? He’ll always be the anti-poon,” Brolly stated, “There’s no way in the seven hells that he’ll see his first real vagina until he saves up his bits to afford it. But even he doesn’t try to pretend to be cool.”

“O-okay,”

“But then there’s fucking Rumble,” Brolly grunted, “A fuckin' pussy cunt, who’s spent his entire life with his nose so far up Thunderlane’s asshole that he’s got skid marks on his snout.”

The level of sincerity, coupled with comfortability, in Brolly’s tone bothered Shady. For as long as he’d known Brolly, he’d always been a boxed-in, shut-off and totally unsympathetic asshole. Hearing him open up like this was new, and Shady couldn’t place the feeling it spurred in him.

“Rumble’s alright,” he found himself saying with a soft smile, “I mean... Yeah he’s a bit of a goof, but he means well… Or, at least I think he does.”

“My fucking ass he’s alright,” Brolly shouted, “He’s almost as much of a fucking knob-gobbler as you are.”

Shady swallowed, “Huh?”

“Even I can tell that he doesn’t respect you,” said Brolly, “I could give less of a fuck. Honestly. It means nothing to me. But you’re dumber than you look if you think that Rumble would ever stick his neck out for you as hard and as desperately as you do all the time for him.”

Shady opened his mouth to speak, but, Brolly kept going.

“Not that it’s any of my business,” he took another long sip from his beer, “Whatever lover’s quarrel you two fags have going on is really between his cock and your asshole...”

Shady took as many sips of his beer as he could on a single breath before setting the almost empty glass down on the table and cocking up his eyebrows, “Whatever...”

Brolly glared at him, “Don’t pretend like this makes us friends by the way,” he grunted, “We’re not.”

“But?”

“There’s no ‘but’,” Brolly said, “I’m not giving you life advice here, Shady.”

Shady finished his beer.

“I don’t know how you do it, but somehow each one of you is more pathetic than the other,” said Brolly, “Straight up. You three float on your fairy wings around this town like you own it, like there’s nothing greater than you three, but, really, you’re all just a bunch of losers,” he raised his hoof and threw it at Shady, “You are going to end up catch some homo disease, and you’ll spend what’s left of your sad little life shitting yourself to death in a hospital bed. Button is going to die humping a blowup Celestia doll, and, if I don’t kill Rumble, someone else will.”

“That’s kinda… harsh,”

Brolly said nothing for a minute, and then, when he did speak again it was to ask something that made Shady panic.

“Where the fuck did Flitter get too?” He shouted, tearing his eyes off Shady and staring aimlessly around the club, “And why in the fuck am I still sitting here talking to you? Have we bonded enough yet? Cause, I swear if Flitter doesn’t give me a ‘Thanks for taking care of the extra special one’ blowjob later, it’s going to be sodomy-by-broomstick-handle the next time I see you, Shady-”

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

“Uh… uh…” Shady licked his lips and drew in deep breaths of air, “Uh… Hey, how about a cigarette?”

“Huh?”

“A smoke?” Shady begged, wiggling his brows, “Let’s go for a smoke.”

Brolly furrowed his own brows, finished his beer in three long gulps then slapped the empty glass onto the table until a spider’s web of cracks appeared in the empty pint-glass, “Fine.”

“Cool,” said Shady, “Smoking patio is just outside, uh, it might be hard to navigate through the crowd, but-”

“Fuck that,” Brolly groaned, “It’s crowded as shit out there. We’re smoking right here at the table.” he curled his nostrils up, “I’m not moving.”

“But… I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to go outside to smoke,” Shady said, uneasily, “The rules are pretty clear, and-”

“Fuck the rules!” Brolly shouted and snapped his hooves towards Shady the way he would to a dog, “Now give me a cigarette, Shady.”

“R-right. Fuck the rules...” Shady repeated, reaching his left hoof into his pocket, “You only live once, right?”

He pulled the pack of Red Apples out of his pocket, tossed it to the table and before he had a chance to do much else Brolly’s hoof was already on them, pulling the pack towards him.

“I would have thought you'd smoke menthols,” Brolly huffed.

“I know this has been super hard for you to wrap your head around, but I’m actually not that different from a guy like you,” Brolly glared at him and Shady tapped his hooves on the table, “T-that is to say, uh... except for the whole ‘Liking guys’ thing, of course.”

Brolly shook his head, sighed, and Shady found himself sinking back into his seat, waiting for him to throw another harsh criticism his way.

“Are you still talking?” Brolly grunted. He pulled a cigarette out from the pack on the table, popped it between his pursed lips and glared down at Shady, “Are you not done yet? Is there a reason why you keep speaking?”

Shady’s fetlocks tapped against the floor and a twitch came over his right eye.

“Lighter.”

Shady nodded, fished the lighter from his pocket and passed it to Brolly, who tore it from his grasp, lit his smoke, inhaled and held the smoke in his lungs for a long minute of silence — where Shady lit his own cigarette. Slowly, Brolly exhaled smoke through his nostrils then sank backwards into his seat.

“Are.. uh… You’re sure we’re allowed to do this?” Shady asked, taking a soft drag, “I don’t wanna get kicked out or anything.”

“Still?” Brolly grunted, “You’re still talking?”

Shady said nothing but took another drag and ashed his smoke in an empty pint glass on the table.

“I’m going to be honest here,” Brolly said, “If I didn’t already know who your deadbeat daddy was, and that your mom was some dumpy little barstool slut he picked up at The Alibi… Well, I’d swear that your parents were related.”

“Shut up,”

Shady found nerves pinching in his throat, around his eyes, and then his hooves slammed into the table. Empty pint glasses shook, cocktail napkins danced with the sudden swift movement.

Brolly, with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, gave him a bemused smile, “Touched a nerve, did I?”

“It’s just...” Shady sighed, reforming his composure and trying his sincerest to look emotionally neutral, “Look, I really don’t care what you think of me, but dragging my family into this? That’s taking it a bit far.”

“Poor-fucking-Shady,” Brolly cooed while wiping crocodile tears from the corners of his eyes and sniffing, mockingly, at the air, “Are you ashamed of the fact that your family's nothing but low-class, dirt hoofer trash?"

Shady grunted, “That’s not cool, Brolly.”

Brolly blew a cloud of smoke at Shady’s face, “Yeah it is.”

Waving the smoke away, Shady sank back into his seat and took another long drag from his cigarette.

“Your parents must have been hitting the pipe pretty hard when they fucked you into existence,” Brolly jeered, “How else does a colt end up with so many birth defects?”

“Shut up, Brolly,” Shady shouted, “You’re being an ass, alright?”

“Grow a pair of balls you little cock-fag,” Brolly said, taking another drag from his cigarette, “It’s really no wonder that your daddy ended up how he did. If I had to deal with raising a little bastard like you, I'd be on the liquor too.”

Shady Daze, without any more beer left in his mug, puffed on what was left of his cigarette.

"I can't tell what the saddest thing about you is, Shady; The fact that you don’t have half the sack to stand up to me right now. The fact that you’re a whiney little bitch,” Brolly — sneering — mused. His eyes grew wide with excitement and a nasty grin spread across his lips, “Or that extra faggy thing you've got for your best friend.”

“What are you talking about, Brolly?”

“Don't pretend that you don't know what I'm saying,” asserted Brolly, leaning his weight forwards so that the blood ran through the pulsing veins in his flexing muscles, “You want to smoke Rumble's pole so bad that it's almost painful to watch.”

“S-shut up.”

Brolly’s laugh came out sounding sharp and cruel, and with his heavy hooves he slapped the table again. More drinks shook, a nearly empty beer fell onto it’s side and spilled across the table.

“Holy fuck. Did you just- No... There's no fucking way-" he saw the defeated look on Shady's face and burst out with another deep-gut cackle, beating the table harder, "You totally do want to fuck him. Don't you?” the beer rolled across the table and fell, drop by drop, between Shady’s racing legs, “This is- I mean... I was just trying to fuck with you, but... Shit. This is too good," Brolly chuckled some more and shook his head at Shady, "You really are a fucking loser."

Shady put his cigarette butt in one of the half empty beer bottles on the table. It hissed as it drowned and a tiny cloud emerged from the neck and out the head. His head thumped and his eyes felt wet. He didn't want Brolly to see him. Not like this, so he shut his eyes and tilted his head down.

“Why the fuck would anyone, ever, want to like you? You dress like shit, you mope around like you were molested as a kid, and, on top of that you’re unbelievably annoying.”

There were so many places in Equestria better than being here with Brolly, and none he could imagine being worse. A cold damp prison cell under the royal palace would be nice as long as he was alone in it.

Brolly, sensing Shady’s reluctance to contribute any signs of fear or anguish, threw his body forwards. Shady jolted in his seat and then Brolly laughed.

“You’re such a fucking fag,” said Brolly, “Rumble will never find you attractive. No one will. You’re going to spend the rest of your cock-sucking life waiting for a day that isn’t ever going to come,” Brolly snorted and foam came out of his nose, “And fucking everypony who knows you will move on with their lives, and you’ll be stuck behind in the dirt just waiting around for the day that you die. That’s all you’ve got to look forward too in your life.”

Nothing was worth this. Not Button, and certainly not Rumble. He had dignity, pride, decency and self respect, and to sit here and take abuse from Brolly was far from showing of that.

He chose to do something about it.

“You really are the fucking worst, Brolly,” he shouted, “You abuse the one girl in this entire terrible town who is naive enough to think that you are the best she can do with her life! Which, by the way is total bullshit! She can, and probably will, do so much better than you one day,” he drew in a breath of air, “And you’re going to kill yourself with drugs and booze twenty years before you ever get a chance to realize how much of a fucking piece of shit you really are.”

Gasping for air, Shady lowered himself back into the seat and stared, impassively, at Brolly for a long time. For what could have well been eons neither Brolly or Shady broke eye contact or spoke more than a grunt, or a huff, or a groan, until Brolly smiled, ear to ear, and broke the silence.

“It took some fucking balls to say that,” he said, “It doesn’t make what I said any less true. But, you’ve got a serious set of dangling bits on you. If you weren’t a such an annoying fag, I’d say I almost respect that.”

Shady said nothing.

“Let’s get one thing straight though,” said Brolly, “If Flitter, — who for some fucking reason likes you —, wasn’t here tonight, I would take you outside and kick your head in until there was nothing left but skull and bits of brain matter,” he flexed, muscles rippled, but Shady remained stoic, “But, since she is here, and, she does like you, I’ll let this slide until the next time we’re alone. Then I promise I’m going to shave you down, staple every last take-out menu at my place onto your ugly naked body, and kick you around Ponyville for the entire town to see.”

Brolly looked at Shady. Shady back at Brolly. Both of them were breathing, heavy, until Brolly moved, Shady flinched, Brolly grinned and Shady sunk back into his seat.

“Now,” Brolly said, cracking his neck and then smiling at Shady as if nothing he’d said over the past twenty minutes had been in any way shape or form at all uncomfortable for Shady to hear, “How about you get me another beer, Shady?”

Swallowing, Shady tried to smile but found that he couldn’t.

***

“Is there a problem here?” asked the bouncer, “Are you alright?”

He stood impossibly tall, and looked impeccably imposing; snarling at Button Mash's tiny frame.

“No,” Blossomforth shouted, “No... I'm not alright.”

The bouncer’s glare turned to Button Mash — who was still sitting on the floor, curled up into himself and praying to a higher power that he could be anywhere else but here in that moment of time and space. But, since Equestria didn’t run on the whims and wishes of desperate, belittled geeks Button Mash had no such luck.

He was going to die a virgin.

Big surprise there.

Gold and yellow flashed against the overhanging lights as the bouncer’s claw uncurled. It took less time than he could realize what was happening but a claw flew forwards and wrapped around the floppy folds of the neck on his hoodie. Each finger of his claw curled inwards, talons scraped the fur of his throat, and then the bouncer was pulling him from the floor.

Button Mash gasped for air and his legs flailed clumsily beneath him. The floor got further and further away, and the bouncer’s beak got closer and closer to his muzzle

“I know you,” he said, “Did I not turn you and your little homo posse away at the door a few hours ago?”

“U-uh,” Button stammered, “M-m-maybe it was someone who looked like me?”

Smooth. Very smooth.

The claw around his throat grew tighter and more of Button’s baggy hoodie became wrapped around his throat.

“No, I remember you. You were with that loud mouth fucking pegasus. The one who wanted to fight me.” assured the bouncer, “It was you, him, and that other kid,” said the bouncer, “I thought I gave you the boot then?”

“W-w-well,” Button panted between breaths, “We- Um, well you see- I mean, w-which is to say, I think-”

“So you turned around and snuck in?” said the bouncer, curling his claw until Button could feel talons tear past his flesh and scrape against the pink skin of his throat, “Just so you know… you’re as good as dead now.”

Hopeful that Blossomforth would understand his position in all this, he turned to her to give her a look which, hopefully, told her that as mad as she could possibly be for him and his misinformed, unintentional sexism, this bouncer was certainly much, much, more upset about him sneaking in.

Sadly for Button Mash, Blossomforth was wearing her worst ‘This-Is-What-You-Get’ face.

Button Mash would have swallowed the dry lump in his throat, but the bouncer’s claw was doing a good job of blocking it from going down.

“He was sexually harassing me,” Blossomforth shrieked.

“B-b-Blossom’,” Button panted, staring at her, “I… I wasn’t trying to s-sexually harass anypony. I wasn’t. And-”

“You’re harassing one of our paying clients?” The bouncer asserted, pulling Button to a position so close to his chest that Button could feel the feathers tickle his fur through his hoodie, “Let’s take a little walk, kid.”

“No, no, no!” cried Button, “I… I wasn’t harassing anypony! I swear I wasn’t! I’m a nice guy!” he turned towards Blossomforth, “Tell him, Blossom! Tell him I’m a nice guy!”

Blossomforth huffed and turned her head away.

Button Mash felt tears grow hot in the corners of his eyes.

“Stop bitching and shut your fucking cock-holster,” stated the bouncer, “You’re lucky I’m only throwing you out.”

“B-b-but,” Button stammered, “I… Well… What about the other guys and-” It dawned on him how stupid of a thing that was to say just then, “Oh fudge!”

Of all the infinitely unintelligent things to blurt out, it had to be that. Didn’t it? Because, naturally, Button Mash was a colt whose life was marred and weighed down by piss-poor luck, it only made sense that he would accidentally mention his co-conspirators here.

“Those other two dicks had the balls to sneak in with you?” asked the bouncer, tossing Button onto the floor, leaning down until his beak was pressed against Button’s snout and then snorting air against his face, “Tell you what, kid; if you point ‘em out to me I promise to take it easy on you.”

Button Mash was many things painful to admit; a coward, a dork and a virgin. However, he wasn’t a snitch. He would never, ever, sell out his own friends. Certainly not for this thick necked, vein-pulsing, bouncer.

“They didn’t come in with me,” he stated with what little was left of his decency and pride as he puffed out his chest, “It’s just me, and-”

“They’re over there somewhere,” Blossomforth said, throwing her hoof towards the dance floor, and then again after that towards the V.I.P. booth section, “Those fucking sexist assholes… I hope you teach them all a lesson.”

The bouncer lifted Button Mash over the heads of the quickly growing, gawking, staring and laughing crowd of ponies gathered around him and held him there, “Let’s go find your friends, hey?”

“Oh heck,” said Button Mash.

Bummer

View Online

Bummer

Somewhere between the dance floor — where that bitch Flitter still was — and the bar — where that double whiskey, neat, and a Lo-Brau chaser he needed were — Rumble found himself drinking in a curious, dumbfounding, and then ugly scene.

Furthest to his right, Rumble watched some sort of event happen between Button Mash and Blossomforth. One that was entirely nonsexual in nature. She — Blossomforth — shouted words at Button, he cowered, a bouncer came and Rumble realized, then and there, that Button’s night was over.

Oh, well. It sucked to be him.

At least that was what he’d thought. Then Blossomforth was pointing her hoof at him and the the bouncer was barreling towards him. He held Button by the neck and pushed aside mares and stallions left and right.

So, as it was, Rumble dusted himself off, shook his rear, straightened out his spine and put on the friendliest, most charming sort of grin.

Time to play it cool.

Flitter. What she’d said to him he would never forget, and, probably never forgive either. The insinuations she’d made about him, the way she’d been so fucking serious and not ironic when she’d said them, the way she’d so flatly rejected him in favour of that fucking poster child for abortion Brolly made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to hurt something. Anything. He wanted to thrash, and kick, and punch, and snap, and break a pony worse off than himself.

The bouncer bouncing towards him wasn’t going to stand in the way of him having a good night.

“Alright,” said the bouncer as his chest bumped into Rumble’s and knocked him steps back, “Let’s not make a scene out of this.”

“Suck my fucking cock, asshole,” Rumble fired right back, “You look like you get down that way.”

The bouncer snarled.

Good.

“If I wasn’t on probation,” stated the bouncer, shaking his head, “I’d take you and this fucking cock-sucker-” he pulled Button beside Rumble, “-Outside, kick you until you were retarded and drop your faggot asses in the Everfree for the Timberwolves to gnaw at-”

“Yeah, well, here’s the thing,” began Rumble. He licked the insides of his mouth and scanned the Gryphon’s much larger, undoubtedly more intimidating frame with a studious, irritated, glare, “You’re a pussy bitch.”

With the claw he wasn’t using the hold Button firmly around the pony’s tiny throat, the bouncer swung a curled, clenched, fist that hit Rumble on the side of his jaw, thrashing his head sideways and sending him tumbling backwards until he hit the ground.

It took a minute of absolute quiet in the club while Rumble lay on his ass, rubbed his cheek and moaned. He scratched his mane, leapt back up to his hooves and popped his back straight so that his chest pushed forwards. The bouncer’s open palm hit him flat on the chest and he fell onto the floor again.

Sighing, the bouncer lifted Rumble’s deflated body up by loose neck of his track jacket. With Button held by the neck in his left claw, Rumble like a kitten by the scruff in his right, the bouncer moved forwards.

He carried the two for the entire club to see; walking on his hind legs, he lifted Rumble — wiping blood off his chin, nose, and from the corners of his mouth — and Button Mash — who had submitted to his fate and had let his body go limp, with his head bowed to the floor — over the heads of the jeering crowd.

Rumble had other thoughts floating around in his head. Shady Daze was still out there somewhere and it disgusted Rumble to know that he was getting away with the same crime him and Button were being punished for.

“Hey, cock-face,” Rumble called, stopping thrashing about long enough to gear his head towards the bouncer, “If we’re getting kicked out, you might as well drag fuckin’ Shady over there with us! He was the one who came up with the plan to sneak in,” he lied with a proud smirk, “I think that it’s only fucking fair!”

Button’s face ran flush, “Rumble...”

Button and Rumble were still dangling well over the heads of ponies around them. A group of pegasi — who Button recognized but whose names he couldn’t recall — were tossing ice cubes, straws and other tiny projectiles at him and at Rumble. The chewed up husk of a lemon wedge hit him on the cheek, left behind a wet mark and when he was done blinking the sting of citrus out of his eye he could see a pegasus laughing at him.

Great.

Rumble was firing curses at the ponies below him, still wiggling his body, trying to escape from the bouncer’s grip. The more he turned, twisted and coiled, the deeper the bouncer’s claws cut into the back of his track jacket, which, now, looked mangled and torn. Button admired Rumble’s resilience here and nothing else. It was almost sad to him to watch Rumble try so hard and fail so spectacularly.

They were still marching through the club, and, when they found Shady he was standing still behind a pair of ponies waiting in line with his head hung low, shoulders slouched. Fear, sorrow, than recognition all played across his face when he watched the bouncer approach, and, when the bouncer aimed his head towards the door he offered no resistance. He trotted forwards, dragging his hooves, to the entrance with the bouncer, Rumble and Button, all behind him. He did stop — Button, but not Rumble, noted — long enough to look back at the faces of all the club goers, gave a low, pained sigh then slouched.

A large metal door swung open, Rumble flew from the bouncer’s claw, hit the concrete face first and then lay with his legs and body sprawled outwards. Button came after him, landed on his rear, yelped, then got to his hooves. Shady, trotting casually, was the recipient of a violent kick to the ass that struck him so hard it launched him forwards and had him crashing onto the ground chest first.

“I don’t ever want to see you three here again,” the bouncer warned in a dead monotone, “If I do, I’ll-”

The threat of violence had came so many times, and so frequently, that Shady could brush this latest threat off. Water under the bridge, really; ‘Something, something, kick your teeth in, blah, blah, dead and buried, yada-yada pick my teeth with the bones,’

Whatever.

After the bouncer was gone and the door slammed shut behind him, Rumble was the first to get up. He groaned as he lifted himself up with shaking legs and grunted when he rolled his neck and it snapped into place. He turned to Button Mash and Shady Daze with a glare long across his humourless face.

Button was next to get up, propelling himself to his legs with all the force he had left to muster, then, bowing his head to the ground, he watched Shady get up, dust gravel and dirt off his shoulders, legs, chest and back then step before Rumble.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Rumble?”

Rumble licked his lips, sucked his teeth then sniffed the air. He said nothing to Shady, until Shady nudged him on the ear and drew his eyes towards him. Rumble’s face was hard as stone.

“I said, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Shady shouted, “Why is everything always such a fucking travesty with you? Can you honestly not go more than twenty minutes without-”

“Shut the fuck up, Shady!”

Rumble threw himself forwards. His chest slammed against Shady’s and knocked him backwards and onto his ass. Looming over the fallen colt he spat in the space between Shady’s spread lower legs.

“I don’t want to hear any of your shit, alright?”

Shady got to his hooves, “No. No, it’s not fucking alright. It’s far from fucking alright. There is honestly something fundamentally wrong with you.”

Button, standing to the left of the two, scratched the concrete with his hoof, “Guys...”

Rumble bumped his chest against Shady again and threw his face forwards until only a breath separated them, “You better watch what you say, bud,” he warned, “I’m not in the fucking mood for one of your gay little hissy fits.”

“Eat me, asshole.”

Rumble didn’t budge, “I’m fucking warning you, Shady...”

“Guys- Guys, hey,” Button stammered from their left, “C-c’mon now... Can we not?”

“Shut up, Button,” Rumble snapped, throwing his head towards him.

Shady Daze pressed his hooves against Rumble’s chest and pushed him back, “Don’t yell at him.”

Rumble recovered, quickly, then pushed Shady, “Don’t tell me what to do, Shady.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that someone has too,” Shady shouted, “You sure as shit can’t take care of yourself if someone isn’t there holding your hoof and looking after you like you should be wearing a fucking special helmet, Rumble.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Shady chuckled, but it was mean, and condescending, “What do you think it means, Rumble. Please... I'd really like to know.”

“Hey, retard. I’m not playing twenty fucking questions with you, alright?” said Rumble, “So say whatever the fuck it is you want to say.”

“I really don’t understand how you can be so stupid that you can screw up this much in one night,” explained Shady, still cackling at Rumble, “Honestly. Are you fucking eight years old, Rumble? You really act like you’re slow in the head sometimes.”

“Oh, you are going to talk to me about messing up?”

“That’s right,” Shady nodded, “I am.”

Rumble bent sideways so that his rear end faced Shady and began to wiggle his ass, “How about you kiss my fucking ass, Shady? How about that?”

“Guys, please…”

Neither Rumble nor Shady paid Button an inch of attention.

“How can you be such a fuckin’ prat?” Shady pondered, “Seriously. You came up with the plan, and look how well it turned out,” he puffed a sigh through his pursed lips and it came out sounding dreadful, “But, who’s really surprised though, right? It’s not like anyone couldn’t see this coming from a thousand miles away. I mean, it was your plan, and you are so very horrible at coming up with them,” he ran his tongue over his cracked, dry lips and sighed, “That, and you’re stupid.”

“This is the last time I’m going to tell you to fucking drop it, Shady,” Rumble insisted, “You don’t even know what you’re talking about. So shut your fucking mouth,”

Button, seeing a lull in the conversation, asserted himself, “C’mon, guys… Let’s not do this tonight, okay?”

Once again his pleas went ignored.

“Oh? I don’t know what I’m talking about?” Shady mimicked, throwing a faux whiney pitch to his tone, “I happen to know that you’re an inconsiderate dick. I know that you’re totally conceited. I know that you’ve gotten us kicked out of two fucking bars tonight now, and that you haven’t even apologized for it. And, on top of all that, everyone in town now knows that you can’t even get a girl who you swore up and down was totally nuts about you to go home with you.”

“Guys… Please don’t do this-”

“-I’m fucking warning you, Shady-”

“-Fuck you, Rumble,” Shady snarled, “You fucking begged me to sit there with that douche-bag Brolly, and I did. And, I told you he was going to be a dick, and, imagine my surprise when he was. And, yeah, I complained, but all you fucking had to do was live up to your end of the bargain and your dumb ass couldn’t even do that. All you were supposed to do was dance with Flitter, and, because everything you touch turns to shit you couldn’t even do that right.”

“GUYS!”

Rumble and Shady turned to look at the colt who’d dug himself into the ground and leered at them.

“Guys. Look… We all messed up a bit in there,” said Button, “But, hey... let’s not let this ruin the night, okay? I mean, it’s hardly past midnight. We could still make it to The Icarus to catch a movie, or something like that.”

“Oh, you’re really one to talk, Button,” said Rumble to a pleading, gentle, look from Button, “Yeah. I heard what went down with you and Blossomforth. You’re just as much at fault here as any of us. More, probably.”

Shady turned to Button, “What’s he talking about?”

“That… That was your fault,” shouted Button, “Both of you.”

Shady lifted up a single brow, “What’re you talking about, Button?”

“You guys kept saying all that stupid stuff about how Blossom wanted to take me home with her,” said Button, “Y-you went on and on about it! You kept telling me about how all she wanted was to have sex with me-”

“Yeah. Because she’s a fucking slut,” Rumble snorted, “So what?”

“Well, actually she didn’t want that,” shouted Button, “Or… maybe if she did want that, she definitely doesn’t now. Not after I embarrassed the heck out of myself in front of half the freaking town. She… she said she thought that I was sweet, and nice, and then, when I told her I didn’t want to, um… you-know-what with her, she called me a sexist pig. And, I’m not a sexist pig! And, it only happened because I listened to you two… jerkwads talk about her like she was some, frickin’, pornstar, or something.”

Unrestrained from his usual self conditioned tactics of restraint, hardened by self-pity, shame and anger, and with a mind half swallowed by liquor’s loosening emotional effects, Button Mash spoke what was on his mind.

“All night long both of you buttholes have been telling me what to do. All night. You told me all about your stupid plan for me to have sex, which-” his cheeks turned red, “-I was alright with at first, because I thought it would be fun. Well, this isn’t fun. None of it is. You two have been fighting, and arguing, and yelling, and screaming at each other all night. That was bad, but what’s worse than that is that you’ve been telling me to do all these stupid things all night, and you know what? I’m tired of it,” Button panted, “And, you know what else? Neither of you two even asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday.”

Shady looked ready to speak, but a stern, commanding look from Button told him otherwise.

“Now, I’ll tell you what I wanted. All I wanted to do was spend some time with my friends. That’s all. I wanted to have cake, and open gifts, and play videogames until my eyes bled. I didn’t want to ‘get laid’ for my birthday. I didn’t want to get wasted. I didn’t want to get kicked out of bars. And, I really didn’t want to get embarrassed in front of ponies I know in town because I listened to bad advice from both of you two... dolts!”

He looked back and forth between Shady Daze and Rumble’s, saw the dumb and stupid expressions on their faces. He sighed. He’d said all that needed to be said. Hopefully they got the message, now.

Silence came over them as they stood stupidly in an open, empty lot outside the club. They fidgeting with their hooves, and took turns balancing their weight from one side to the other, but never did they make eye contact with each-other for more than thirty seconds without turning away. This was until Button broke the quiet.

“It’s not too late to make it to The Icarus,” he said. Giving the faintest trace of good natured enthusiasm for Rumble and Shady to feed from, “I think we’ve all had a pretty silly night, and, I don’t want to jinx us or anything, but I feel like we’re all mature enough to make it there without anything stupid happening?”

Rumble turned his gaze past Button and towards Shady, who he leered at. His lips rolled back to show the pink of his gums and the white of his teeth, “I’m not going anywhere with that dick-wad.”

“Blow me,”

“You’d fucking like that wouldn’t you?”

“Asshole.”

“Dick.”

“Retard.”

“Takes one to know one, you shit-sniffer.”

Shady grinned at Rumble in a mean and callous way, “That’s the pot calling the kettle black, Rumble.”

Rumble’s head flew back. He puffed out his chest, and a growl escaped from his throat, “Fuck does that mean?”

Shady’s grin back to Rumble was as wicked as it was seeping with self-justified resentment, “Like you don’t already know. Put you, Brolly, and your brother in the same room and suddenly you’re Equestria’s biggest brown noser.”

“Fuck. Off.” Rumble said, and then cleared his throat obnoxiously loud and spat a sickly yellow ball of phlegm and snot at Shady’s front hooves. Shady stepped back, turned an ugly glance at Rumble and spoke again,

“You want so badly to be them,” he said, baring his teeth at Rumble like fang and sneering, “And don’t pretend like you don’t, either. See, I’ve been thinking about it, and I realized something. That shit with Flitter? How you think you’re in love with her? The real reason that you want her is because Brolly already has her. That’s all.”

The smirk crawling across the sides of Shady’s mouth made Rumble want to gag.

“But, I think you already know that.”

Finished, Shady smiled and Rumble spat another wad of nastiness beside him,

“For the last fucking time, Shady. If you say another fucking word about Flitter I will fucking deck you.”

To their right, Button stood shaking his head and rolling his eyes, “Are you guys serious right now?” he spat, choking a little on disdain, “Are you really back to this again?”

Rumble turned to look on him with all the good natured enthusiasm he could muster up, “Look, Button. I’m down for whatever. Just so long as fucking cock-breath over there can promise to keep his mouth shut,” he said with a scowl he threw at Shady, “But if he says another word-”

“Oh? What’re you gonna do, Rumble? Hit me? Yeah... I’ll bet you would. Because that’s what Brolly would do, right? And we all know how much you love Brolly’s sloppy seconds-”

The cold, hard, fetlock of Rumble’s right leg struck him hard across the cheek. Rumble put his full weight into the punch, and the force of the hit made Shady Daze stumble. He tripped over himself when his left leg fell against his right and landed backside on the hard concrete.

“I fucking warned you, Shady.”

Rumble was screaming and throwing himself on top of Shady’s chest, straddling the pony by the waist, pulling him by the neck of his jacket so their eyes could meet. Hot breaths of air travelled like gunfire from his nostrils, to Shady’s swollen face and sweat damp fur.

“I fucking told you what would happen.”

A pair of weak, trembling, hooves grabbed the mangled, torn, remains of Rumble’s track top and then he was being pulled off of Shady. Button, shaking spastically, threw Rumble to his right then fell back a few steps. When he regained his balance he wiped sweat from his brow,

“Rumble, stop,” he cried, “What- What are you doing?”

Rumble stood in place, exhaling deep breaths of air and snot from his nostrils while his whole body shook. His eyes had turned cold and hard. There wasn’t a trace of joy or goodwill on his face.

“Fucking faggot.”

Once the words had left his mouth, him, Button and Shady understand what this was. This was the climax to something that had started light and jovial, and turned way too ugly far too fast.

This was the beginning of the end of the night.

Button’s eyes wandered to Shady, then back to Rumble, "Dude…”

Snarling, snapping his jaw and breathing deep and heavy, Rumble was a proper mess of misplaced emotions. He stood like that for a moment, never shrinking or calming, aiming his malice at Shady who lay, groaning. Rumble’s nostrils grew and shrunk, his eyes stayed small and focused, and when Shady started to get back up, Rumble moved to charge him, until a sharp look from Button stopped him.

Shady groaned.

A punch to the face was nothing new. Often they came because Rumble was running his mouth and Shady was running interference between him and a third party, or because he’d stepped between Rumble and Brolly, or Rumble and Thunderlane. A punch in the face from Rumble, as opposed to a punch in the face for Rumble was something new.

He couldn’t say he liked it.

It stung fiercely across the right side of his head. His back, too, was sore from where his back had twice now struck against concrete. The liquor in him did little to dull the pain. He had his eyes turned to the ground while he lifted back up. He didn’t bother to stare at Button, or at Rumble before he spun to face the open stretch of empty road that led back to the town square.

Quietly, he trotted forwards.

Behind him he could hear Rumble mumbling to himself something that sounded a lot like justifying his actions. After that came the sound of frantically dashing hooves picked, then a hoof tapped him by the shoulder and when he turned Button Mash was standing before him with a muted softness in his eyes.

“Shady, wait.” he said and threw himself in front of Shady as a symbolic gesture to stop him. Shady could get around. Shady was faster than Button. Button knew this.

“Please don’t go,” Button begged him, “We- I’ll talk to Rumble. I promise. I… I swear, Shady. He’ll say sorry. I know he will. Just please, please, don’t leave?”

“I’m tired, Button,” said Shady, softly,

“No. Shady, c’mon,” said Button, “Let’s- Okay, listen. Let’s just go to The Icarus. Just me and you? Rumble… he doesn't’ have to come if you don’t want him too? I promise. Crusader’s honor. I don’t- I just don’t want you to end your night like this.”

“Why the fuck shouldn’t he?” Rumble called from behind them, “He knows what he did was wrong.”

Button whipped his head backwards, sharply,

“Shut it, Rumble,”

He turned back to Shady, dropped a hoof onto his shoulder and smiled, dimly, at him, “Shady. Dude. It’s still my birthday, you know? And no one should feel bad on their best friend’s birthday, right? That’s, uh- Well, it’s, like, a party foul or something. And-”

“Talk to him about party fouls, Button,” Shady groaned and tossed his muzzle at Rumble, “I’m not the one who’s ruined everything for both us tonight, and, I’m definitely not the one who just called me a fucking faggot.”

Before Rumble could speak in his defense, and explain to Shady all the reasons why he did deserve it, a quick glance from Button kept him quiet. Facing Shady again, Button let himself move closer to the other.

Button gave a soft smile. Shady feigned his.

“He- Shady... I’m sure he knows how wrong that was. I can’t- I won’t pretend like I know how it feels to hear him say that, but-,” he stuttered, “But, dude. You know how Rumble is. You’ve known him longer than me, even. He’s- He’s freaking Rumble, Shady. He’s a dolt, and a dummy, and he doesn’t look before he leaps, and he’s selfish, and vain, and-”

He paused.

“And?” Shady begged.

“And… well, you did say some pretty mean things about him, and Flitter, too.”

Shady made moves to speak. He opened his mouth, but this went ignored by Button who continued,

“What Rumble did was totally, totally, uncalled for,” he said, “But, you’re smart enough to know that you were… You were baiting him, Shady. What he did was stupid, but neither one of you is totally right, or totally wrong here. That doesn’t mean the night is over though. If… if you just apologize, then, he’ll apologize and we can just put this past us-”

“Fuck that,” said Shady, “I’m not apologizing. Not to that asshole.”

The hoof Button had against his shoulder squeezed the tense muscles. Button’s smile dipped into a frown and his eyes got soft and wet, “No. Dude, please,” he said, “You know he didn’t mean it-”

“Then why did he say it?”

For an unimpressive amount of time Button stayed quiet.

“Shady,” said Button, “After all the crazy messed up stuff tonight… We can’t let it end like this.”

Shady sighed, shook Button’s hoof from his shoulder and turned his eyes to the ground, “Sorry, Button.”

And then he was back to heading towards Ponyville square.

“Yeah, walk away,” Rumble called out, “You fuckin’ pussy.”

Button turned a hard glare towards Rumble, “Will you quit it?”

When he turned back Shady had already began the slow trot back towards town. He was paces ahead of Button and Rumble and from the determined strut he showed no signs of stopping. Not for Button, or Rumble, or anyone.

“Shady,” Button called out, picking up his hooves and racing after the fleeing pony. “Shady, wait. Just-” he stumbled over a rock, fell forwards, picked himself up and caught his breath, “Just hold on a sec.”

Shady didn’t look back.

Grumbling, Button kicked the stone that had tripped him far to his left. It bounced against the grass and skipped forwards. Shady was far ahead already. Too far gone. Even if, by chance, Button could catch up — which he could — there was no amount of apologetic words he could string into a sentence to convince him to stay the course of the night. Button realized this now. He watched Shady’s body as it shrunk against the backdrop of empty road and lifeless buildings with the lights out. Then, Shady was gone.

This was when he turned back to Rumble.

“Rumble, for Discord’s sake,” Button groaned, “Are you happy with yourself? That’s your friend too who you just chased away.”

“Yeah, well... he was asking for it,” said Rumble, “If he’d just kept his fucking mouth shut-”

“Rumble,” said Button, sternly, “You... You said- You called him a… a faggot, Rumble. You shouldn’t have ever said that. Not to Shady.”

Button said the word ‘Faggot’ with a whispered softness worthy of the taboo attached to it.

A moment came where Rumble’s face grew as close to guilt as he could muster; his eyes softened and he moved his jaw around like his tongue felt uncomfortable in his mouth. This passed, and, once again he was scowling and wearing the familiar look of self-assured excellence he’d had on all night previously.

“At least I’m still here,” said Rumble, “No sense in ruining what’s left of our night, eh?”

He trotted up beside Button, threw a leg across his neck and hugged the colt’s head against his shoulder. He brushed his cheek against Button’s neck, pulled back, and gave his friend a dopey grin.

“C’mon. We don’t need Sir. Pussy-Pants to have fun,” Rumble insisted, nudging Button’s waist, “Let’s go have us a hoot and a holler. Eh? Eh?”

Button opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There wasn’t anything left to say. Not at this point in the night. Rumble wasn’t in any condition to make amends to Shady, and he certainly wouldn’t chase after him. Not how he was. A drunk — and on drugs — Rumble was a stubborn, hard headed ass. Something he’d proven time and time again over the course of the night. The full weight of his actions wouldn’t occur to him until sobriety kicked in, and Rumble was far away from that.

Shady could be fine on his own. Rumble would not. Not with the toxic cocktail of hard-drugs, cheap beer, and choice liquors in his system. Button had seen the wreck and decay Rumble could cause, and that had been with both Button and Shady close enough by to pull him away. Left alone, and to his own devices there was no telling what Rumble could do.

Following Rumble, and not Shady, Button was saving the later from getting himself locked away in a damp, dark prison cell. At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Let’s get a bite,” said Rumble, “I’m fucking starving.”

Button stared back at the spot where Shady had taken away, then at Rumble. He shook his head. Rumble didn’t see it. He couldn’t, or he wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter. Someone had to be there to keep him grounded. Button would have loved for that to be him and Shady, but the reality was that it wouldn’t be.

Giving up on having one more existential crisis that night, Button Mash shrugged his heavy shoulders, slumped and glanced up at Rumble.

“Alright.”

Stranger Danger

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Stranger Danger

In the cold, hushing, darkness of night, with a silver moon hanging over his head, Shady Daze walked alone. The jacket hugging his body wasn’t fit for the weather; there were holes in the denim from times he’d fallen asleep with a still smoking cigarette after a wild night and the wind cut through them sharply.

He shivered.

Midway through the Starswirl Memorial park a young couple blocked his path just long enough to gawk. Dark and dirty looks were worn long across their faces as they sized Shady up. No surprise there. He was a proper mess. Yet, he was polite and courteous always. He gave the couple a grin — quite a charming one — but felt defeat when the gentlecolt with her shook his head, and the lady uttered a few bad words under her breath.

No surprise there.

He rolled his eyes and let them pass. He searched the road for any nearby bodies of murky rainwater to see for himself what was so worth being rude about. He found a shallow puddle that reflected the spitting image of an uglied, worn down, bruised, and broken pony back at him.

Shady sucked his teeth.

There was a nasty looking welt growing around his left cheek and fat, saggy flaps of skin had begun to develop under his eyes. It had been a long, long, time since he’d had a good sleep.

Shady fixed up his mane. He pulled loose sweat-stained strands behind his ears until they took and after that, on another look, he reassured himself that he looked less like shit and more like a half decent, respectable, tax paying Equestrian citizen.

Onwards he walked.

He came across a park bench, lonely and empty, and collapsed backwards into his seat. He stretched his legs out and sprawled as openly as he could. Sore. Tired. Deflated. Unabashed. Unashamed. The quietness in Ponyville was alright with him.

He could do much worse. Clearly.

He needed a plan. A scheme. He’d been lying when he told Button he was going home. Home was never a good option. Not for Shady. Not because it was being fumigated, because that had also been a lie, but because coming home drunk any time after sundown on any day of the week that ended with the letter ‘Y’ was just as fun and exciting as walking into a Canterlot Dungeon ass-first and flaunted.

And, yes, he was being sarcastic about that.

He sucked in and bit hard against his puffy cheeks.

A well dressed, older stallion approached from his left. He strutted casually in slow deliberate movements. He dropped himself on the empty spot on the bench beside Shady, grinned and then nodded.

Shady smiled back.

“Good evening,” said the older pony.

Shady nodded, “Evenin’,”

The older pony’s attention drew towards Shady. His soft grey eyes studied the younger pony’s form. He crossed his lower legs, softly slapped his thighs, flashed a grin then turned towards Shady.

Softly, he spoke, “Lovely night for it,”

Following the older pony’s lead, Shady tilted his head up. It certainly was a nice night. All things weather considered. The sky was free of clouds, the stars did that lovely twinkling thing they did, and the largest, fullest moon that Shady had seen in some time hung above them in tranquility.

Yes. Indeed. It was a nice night. One absolutely besmirched by a dumbass named Rumble.

The thought made Shady quiver, and, it must have been notable. Beside him the older pony’s smile only grew with and then he was reaching his hoof into the pocket of the finely pressed suit jacket he wore to withdraw a pack of cigarettes. Shady made moves to grab one of his own only for a sullen realization to strike him; he’d left a half pack sitting on the table back at Club Black.

Typical…

Feigning a smile at the older colt, he was gracious to accept a cigarette. Lighting his cigarette, he grumbled and this time when he did the stallion beside him cocked up an eyebrow and rolled his head towards him,

“Something on your mind?”

Shady sniffed at the air, “It’s… pretty dumb,” he huffed, trying to smile, “Actually… It’s the definition of stupid. Really.”

The older pony nodded, “Please. By all means...”

“Well, okay…” Shady scrapped a fetlock across his left leg to ease the tense muscles, “It’’s like-” he bit his lower lip and scrunched up his nose, “There’s this... guy. And, um, okay- See, I have this friend. Now, yeah… He’s a really good friend. A- Well, a great friend. Like we’ve been friends since we were eating mud pies together on the playground...”

The stallion stayed quiet for a moment, then nodded, “Okay,”

“And, once you’ve known a guy for that long, I mean-” Shady stopped to suck his teeth, “Um… Well, the thing is, you get to really know that guy-” another pause for Shady to drag his tongue across his cracked, swollen, lips, “Platonically speaking… of course.”

The older stallion grinned at him, “Of course,”

“And… Like I said; I’ve known him for years and years, and over the last- Geez, two, or three… I mean, who’s really been counting, right?” his brows dropped, then he hunched, “Okay- See- It’s just that… Something changed with him. And with me- With us I guess you could say? And, well it sucks. I fucking hate it. Really. There’s- Okay, look... There are days where I can’t even look him in the eyes because of it.”

The older pony dropped a hoof against Shady’s thigh, rubbed it, then smiled, “What changed?”

“I did? He did? I don’t really know,” Shady shrugged his heavy shoulders and let his neck slack until his face fell to his chest, “I guess we both did?”

He could see the stallion looking him over. His soft grey eyes drinking in his form while his face tried to express a neutral emotion. His mind clearly undecided on what to think of the shrunken, drunken, sad little homo sitting next to him. Did he pity him? Maybe he resented him?

Who fucking cared?

After hearing all the bullshit that Brolly — who really was the poster child for abortion —, or Thunderlane — who had good genes but was still a douchebag — or, worse than them both, Rumble — who he could have sworn was supposed to be his friend — what did one more pony’s opinion of him really matter? Honestly?

The older pony’s aged features softened. His brow sank, but he smiled and then Shady was smiling back. A tiny bristle of confidence reemerged within him. It wasn’t much. It didn’t convince him that everything was going to be okay. But it was a start. The older stallion leaned his body towards Shady, “And how do you feel about this… friend of yours?”

The insinuating tone attached to the word ‘friend’, coupled with the warmth radiating from the older stallion was enough to have any fleeting traces of worry quickly leave him. An old, familiar tingle spread up his body, to his cheeks, and then Shady was burrowing his head comfortably into the folds his crossed legs made.

“It’s complicated...”

He said it so quietly that he was almost convinced he hadn’t said anything at all, until the older stallion chortled. It wasn’t a mean or callous. It actually made him feel good. Almost. There was that tiny bit of resentment hidden in the back of his tone that sent a chill up Shady’s spine.

“Hey! S-shut up,” Shady demanded, puffing his chest, “It’s not- This isn’t funny, okay?”

Again the older pony laughed, “It is a bit, though…”

“No. No it’s not,” Shady stated through a sharp breath, “Maybe this doesn’t mean anything to you, but to me it’s-” he stopped to give the older pony beside him a harsh and scolding glare, “Why do you even care anyway?”

The older pony sat quietly for a minute then shrugged, “I’m just trying to be friendly,”

Shady grunted, “Oh, sure, yeah. Friendly all the way up until I’m just a head floating in a pickle jar with all the others you have in your dark, unfinished, basement cellar, right?”

The older pony laughed. Hard. He smiled and when he’d finished laughing his face got as close to serious as Shady had seen him muster. This came between short-winded giggles, “Relax, would you?” said the older pony, “I swear to Celestia that I’m not some… deranged, psychotic axe murderer.”

Shady snorted, “Yeah, right. That’s exactly what a deranged, psychotic, axe-murderer would say…”

The older pony giggled, “Do you think you’d still be breathing if I was?”

Shady hummed, “Oh, that’s very reassuring.”

This time when the older pony laughed it was loud and booming, “My goodness, are you defensive,” he scolded, shaking his head, “Just what did this guy do to you to make you so-” he stopped and made a sideways scrunch of his facial features, “Standoffish.”

Grunting, Shady moved a half buttcheek’s away from the pony beside him, “Nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” said the older pony, “It actually- You seem quite a bit… hurt.”

“I- I don’t know-” Shady paused and huffed, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. But, since I’m still not totally convinced that you’re not some serial killer, and that might also make you the last pony that I ever talk too-”

“Then what?”

“I just need to get this off my chest,” said Shady, “Because, to be totally honest here… it took me a long, long, time to be okay with who I was, alright? I spent months staring at myself in front of my stupid cracked mirror at my dad’s house just telling myself that it was fine to be the way I am. That it was okay for me to be, like… this. That there was nothing wrong with being gay. That no one would think any less of me because of it,” he dropped his brows to look as mean as he could, “So if you’re going to just ream me- Or, if you’re going call me a faggot... Or if-”

A delicate and precise slap from the older pony’s right hoof to Shady’s left thigh shut him up. Entirely.

“Relax,” said the older pony. Quite softly, “You’re spoiling the mood.”

Shady, curious by nature, wondered about just what the older stallion meant. He said nothing about it. In place of his curiosity he found the older stallion’s hoof making it’s way across all the sprains, aching muscles and strained tendons across his back. Rubbing out the pain like wrinkles in bedsheets.

When a purr escaped from Shady’s throat it brought a spread of crimson to his cheeks.

“So this colt means quite a lot to you?” asked the older pony, giving Shady’s tense left shoulder a rub, “Clearly.”

“I guess,” said Shady, “He’s kinda- We’re friends, yeah...”

Another soft touch from the older pony reminded him of another time he’d been touched like this. Gently at first, and then harder later, when it mattered.

He shuddered.

“It sounds like you really like him,”

“Yeah,” said Shady, dropping his face until his cheeks brushed against his thighs, “I don’t, um... I don’t really know when it happened. I just sorta- Over time, I guess? It just, sort of, turned into this thing where we’d spend all this time together, and, like, I kind of found that it meant- means - something different for me than it does to him. If that- Does that make sense?”

He didn’t check to see if the stallion beside him made any moves to acknowledge his statements, but a shift of his body against Shady’s side seemed to say that he had.

“And it’s like,” he said, “There are-” he clicked his tongue, “There are some days where I just look at him and I… Fuck! This is- I’m, like, blackout or something. I really shouldn’t be saying this.”

His groan came out like nails on chalk.

Another firm touch from the stallion beside him reassured Shady that he wasn’t steering the conversation into an uncomfortable place. The heat radiating from the body to his right got warmer. The stallion slid closer towards Shady.

“I don’t know,” Shady grumbled, “I fucking love that stupid ass-hat. For sure. But at the same time he’s also a gigantic douchebag.”

The older colt nodded, “Right,”

“And, he also-” Shady licked his upper lip, “Well, fuck. I’m just sick of the way that he gets away with hurting me, y’know?”

The older colt’s eyes widened,

“Oh no, no, no. Not like that,” Shady said, “Not physically. Rumble’s an ass, but he would never-”

He cut himself off. There was a quickly swelling welt tainting his cheek that told another story.

“He just… He’s fucking dumb. I honestly don’t think he ever thinks about what he’s doing when he’s doing it, right? And, maybe that makes it worse?” Shady let out a quiet hum, “He’s just some stupid fucking kid trapped in an adult’s body. And he’s totally aloof, immature, stupid, and an asshole-” a grin crossed his lips, “Oh, yeah. Rumble’s definitely an asshole,” he blinked, “But still...”

He growled and popped his shoulders forwards. The older pony’s hoof fell from his lap, and, suddenly, he was glad for the cold feeling that came with it.

“See, the thing is… Even after all that. I’m the one who still keeps trying,” Shady admitted, quietly and into his lap, “Doesn’t that make me the fucking dumb one?”

Quiet.

For what might as well have been an entire lifespan to some lesser creatures nothing but silence filled the area while Shady hid himself away from the scrutiny of admitting what he had and the pony beside him judged him.

“I think that’s the worst part of it,” mumbled Shady, quietly, “It’s like… you’d think I’d have learned by now that a fucking idiot like Rumble is always going to be a fucking idiot like Rumble, right? You think I’d know that tonight would have gone down exactly like it did, hey? Because that’s how it always happens. And then... here I am, bitching to you about it like some kind of asshole.”

The pony chuckled, then Shady did, then he sighed and bowed his head,

“I really don’t even know why I try,”

He felt a nudge at his waist while the stallion beside him shifted his weight from his left side to his right, pushing up against Shady’s body. It almost felt nice. Almost.

“I think you do,” said the stallion, “You seem like a smart enough guy.”

“Smart enough?” Shady repeated, “Smart enough for what?”

“You like him,” said the stallion.

“What? No. No way,” Shady grunted, throwing himself forwards in his seat and meeting harsh, judgemental eyes with the still soft, gentle, ones of the stallion, “That’s dumb. You’re being dumb.”

The older stallion reared his left eyebrow upwards, “Am I? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Shady asserted, bluntly, “I mean, yeah, we’re really good friends, and, like, yeah he’s definitely got a nice body, and-”

Fuck.

The grin from the older stallion came hard like a kick to the scrotum, “And? I don’t mean to offend you here, but you’ve been sitting here talking about how great this kid is so much that I want to meet him.”

“Fine,” Shady sighed, “Okay. Let’s say I do like him? So-fucking-what? That doesn't change the fact that he’s a two faced, shit-eating, ass clown.”

“No,” the stallion said, sighing, “No it doesn’t.”

“Well then what good is it?” Shady asked, “It’s not like if he knew that, maybe, I wanted to jump his bones it would really make him feel the same way. And… Oh, fuck. Let’s say you’re right and… Let’s say I’m gay for Rumble. If fucking Thunderlane, or, oh Celestia, if fucking Brolly... if either of those two pricks knew? Oh, geez. They already wail on me enough as it is. I really, really, really, don’t need to find out how much worse it can get for me."

The stallion pet him. Shady fell under the touch. He twisted his neck to meet the feel of the fetlock digging into him, rubbing the aches and pains while he bit his lower lip so hard he split dry skin open.

Shady sighed, “It… It fucking sucks, dude,”

“I know,”

“No… No you don’t,” said Shady, “I… want- I wish it could go back to the way things were, and-” he clenched his jaw and shook his head, “And who fucking cares? Honestly? Who cares? Like in the grand scheme of things this is such a dumb thing to complain about. Really. There’s like… There are zebras starving to death out there. There are Buffalos loosing land to settler ponies, and all the Manticores are going extinct, and-”

The older pony’s hoof fell on his lap, rubbed him and Shady found himself grinning despite his best intentions not too.

“So what if I like Rumble,” he said, “He’s still an ass. That’s not going to change.”

Years. Months. Days. It didn’t matter how long he’d been waiting to say it, because, right here, right now, it made more sense to admit it out loud to a stranger than it had ever contemplating it in his head.

He felt a hard surface press into his side and realized the stallion beside him was prodding him, “Feel any better?”

Shady rubbed his cheek. The bad one. “Not really.”

The stallion hummed then lurched upright, “I’d like to use the stallion’s room I think,”

The stallion trotted forwards, towards a dusty cabin which Shady assumed was the public restroom. He stopped, midway, and turned back to face Shady with a soft, enduring, sort of grin playing across his face, “Coming?”

Shady cocked his head sideways, “Am I… coming to the bathroom with you?”

The stallion tapped the spot under his nose, above his upper lip, “You’ve got some, um, blood there…” he said, “You might wanna wash up?”

Shady touched his lip with his hoof and when he pulled it back he could see wine coloured blotches staining his fetlock, “Oh…”

It must have been from one of the many falls he’d taken that night, or from the force of Rumble’s hoof connecting with his cheek. It didn’t really matter. A good washing was in order. Not just to get rid of the blood, but also the dirt, and the mud, and all the other filth he’d accumulated on himself from his many rigorous physical lectures in the pitfalls of gravity that night.

He got up and followed the older stallion to the bathroom.

It was dark, and dingy, and reeked of mismanagement and underfunding towards the parks and recreation department. The fluorescent bulbs flickered, there were an infinite number of curses written on the walls and it stank of lemon scented antiseptic chemical wash.

Class was an elegance this public bathroom lacked in spades.

The older stallion trotted to a urinal and got to his hind legs while Shady walked to the cleanest part of the mirror; even through the cracks, and looking past where some highly educated colt with access to a magic marker had written; ‘Gryphon pussy tastes like feathers’, he could still make out the mess that he was; heavy bags under his eyes, a fat, swollen and bloodied lip, an ugly lump on the side of his face, grey from where dirt had stuck to his fur.

Quietly he turned the sink on, splashed cold water on his face and started to scrub his face with his fetlocks. Blood and dirt mixed with soap and water and rolled off his chin and down the sink. After several minutes of scrubbing he pulled his hooves away and glanced at himself again; he looked clean(ish) now, the blood was gone, so was all the dirt, but the fat lip and welt remained.

Shady snapped his tongue. The noise bounced off the walls. He watched the rest of the murky, brown/red water circle the drain when he felt a very warm, very furry, surface press against his back. Then a pair of appendages wrap around his waist.

Something hard prodded him in the back.

The fight part of his defensive mode kicked in. He pushed the older pony off of him, spun around and faced him with a sneering scowl while he took a defensive position.

“Dude... WHAT THE FUCK?”

The older stallion’s eyes got sad and he frowned, “What?”

Shady swallowed, “Are you… Did you just try to…”

“I’m just being friendly,” he said, once again, “What’s the problem?”

“You’re fucking… You just tried to molest me!”

“Molest?” The older cocked his head sideways, “No, no, no... Not at all. Are we not going to be doing this, though? You seemed quite excitable earlier.”

“Do?” Shady gawked, “What the fuck do you mean ‘Do’,?”

“You don’t have to be so guarded. I promise that this is a safe place for it,” said the stallion, “Nopony who judges ever comes in here past ten. Trust me.”

“What… What the fuck are you talking about?”

The stallion’s eyes shrank, his brows fell and he dropped his head, “I’m too old. Is that it?”

“Too old?” Shady said, “I don’t- What… What exactly is happening here?”

“They said this spot was great for cruising,” said the stallion, sniffing, “I- It’s me, isn’t it?”

“Cruising?” Shady asked, “As in, like… Do you mean, like, gay sex with strangers? Is that… Is that what’s happening?”

At the words ‘Anonymous’, ‘Gay’, and ‘Sex’ the stallion’s ears twitched and he lifted his head. A hopeful, dopey smile spread across his face, “Well, yes,” he said, tapping the floor, “This is the spot I was recommended at the spa.”

Shady felt his tongue trying desperately to suffocate him. He choked it up, blinked his eyes and when he was finished found himself not awake from the nightmare. He was still staring at the older pony, who still looked just as ready to pounce him as he had five minutes ago.

Shady coughed, “Dude…”

A blush spread across the older stallion’s cheeks. He kicked an empty toilet paper roll across the floor, lifted his head softly and smiled at Shady, “You- You could call me ‘Rumble’ if you’d like too?”

Shady hacked, “Weak, dude...”

The signs had all been there. The touching. The rubbing. The brushing. The older pony taking an interest in his gayest, saddest, sob story. The way that the older pony’s eyes had glistened after he’d admitted to wanting a stallion he couldn’t possibly have. Shady might have considered himself a tease, if the situation wasn’t so terribly awkward...

“I… uh… Well, um- So, hey… Here’s the thing,” Shady began, “Um, uh- If I came across as flirty, I’m- I’m sorry about that. But, I can’t- I don’t want to do this.”

The older stallion’s sagged, pained, expression came over his face again and he moved backwards until his rear hit a stall wall and he slumped against the dirty floor.

“But, see I-” Shady continued, “Um… There’s, uh- Now, look, not that there’s anything wrong with, uh, y’know… cruising, or anything. I just- I don’t, um, personally, enjoy it?”

Hopefully this might keep the older stallion from either A) Killing himself, or — far worse — B) Killing Shady.

“But, um, you’re… certainly an attractive enough guy,” Shady said, and, in fact, he wasn’t lying; he was good looking. He wasn’t quite Shady’s cup of tea — in fact, Shady tended to lean more towards self destructive heterosexual colts who boozed, did drugs, loved to flaunt their sexy bodies around their best friends ignorantly, and also who sometimes happened to strike him in the face after calling him horrendously homophobic terms — but the older stallion certainly was good looking in his own way.

The older colt’s dim frown lifted and his eyes peeked up at Shady, “R-really?

“Oh yeah. Totally,” Shady nodded, “You’re, uh… totally a hunk. And, um… So, like… maybe… I mean- There’s definitely bound to be someone out there who’d, uh, totally want to cruise with you someday, dude.”

The stallion moved forwards and when he lifted his left leg Shady flinched backwards, until it landed softly on his shoulder, “You’re… very, very, kind,” said the stallion, “Kind, and cute.”

Shady flinched, “Uh, thanks…”

“Are you,” the stallion wiggled his eyebrows, suggestively, “Quite sure you don’t want to do this?”

Shady’s face fell flat, “Very.”

“Hmm, I can’t say I’m not disappointed,” said the stallion, still smiling, “Or that you’re not missing out. I’ve been told I’m quite a… generous lover.”

A hefty combination of stomach acid, bile, beer and whiskey boiled in his stomach and made it up to Shady’s throat. He swallowed it down.

“I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” said the stallion with a boyish grin, “If you ever get tired of pining after this Rumble, or if he never realizes how lucky he is… and begin to realize how much of an ass he is, do come and find me? I work at the post office. I’ve been told I look quite dapper in my uniform,” he grinned, “Although I certainly look better without it.”

He growled.

The desire to vomit — profusely — anywhere near enough to the older stallion that he could use it as an excuse to leave came and went, and, even with the still pleading, inviting, look on his face, Shady shook his head, pushed off the sink and trotted out the door. Only looking back to reassure himself he wasn’t about to get pounced on.

Outside the bathroom Shady waited a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t likely to be followed, then decided to leave for the unknown. There weren’t many options he had. Twist’s place was too far, and, on top of that without Twist there he’d just be keeping awkward company with her parents, trying desperately to act sober. Button’s house wouldn’t work either. Once Ms. Mash noted the suspicious absence of her son, and then saw the welt on his face she’d ask questions that he didn’t really want to answer.

What options were there?

The Rumble/Thunderlane/Brolly/Cloud-Kicker abode? That was one. They kept the back door unlocked for stragglers. There were Wonderbolts sheets in the linen closet and the couch in the living room had been broken in to the point of almost being comfortable to spend a night sleeping restlessly on. His hesitations came in two forms, the first was that at some point Rumble was likely to stumble in and he’d have to deal with him, and the second came from knowing that after his conversation with Brolly he was probably going to wake up shaved naked and with a sharpie marker shoved up his rectum.

He grunted.

Having cocks and curse words shaved into his fur wasn’t much worse than spending a night under some bridge like some desolate hobo, he figured. If he was lucky there might be a few grams of cloves and some rolling papers lying around that no one would notice go missing. This would make the entire ordeal far more bearable.

Smiling, Shady kicked off the park bench and trotted towards Rumble’s place.

***

“I feel a powerful lust for ethnic food,” Rumble was saying, “Saddle Arabian, maybe. I could munch up on some fuckin’ samosas right now. Y’know? Or, like, a falafel or something.”

Button was busy watching the way that his hooves made funny looking patterns in the moist grass every time he lifted one of his front hooves. He turned his eyes up and smiled, dimly, at Rumble, “Uh, yeah. Falafels are alright. I guess...”

Rumble licked his lips, “I’m pretty sure that place Secretariat’s is open all night. I think they sell beers and malt liquor too. Talk about a total fuckin’ win-win, eh?”

“Right, right,” said Button, staring past Rumble and towards the stretch of concrete road and empty, lifeless, cottages ahead, “Falafels and malt liquor. That’s always fun.”

Rumble tapped him on the shoulder, “What’s up with you?”

Button turned to him and blinked, “Huh?”

“You’ve been like a fuckin’ zombie for the last couple blocks,” said Rumble, “Why? What’s up?”

Button shrugged, “I’m just a little tired, Rumble.”

Rumble stared solemnly at him with a darkness in his eyes that cut through him, “Is this about what happened with that bitch-ass, Shady?”

“Actually? Yeah. It is,” Button said, his tone more commanding and domineering than he’d expected from himself, “You were a real butthole to him, Rumble.”

“Oh fuck off about that shit,” Rumble grunted, “He’ll be fine, Button. I’m sure he’s probably super fucking busy worrying about where to flap his vagina next-”

“Rumble. Geez,” Button hissed, “You’re being a real jerk about all of this. You know that, right?”

“What-the-fuck-ever,” Rumble rolled his eyes, “That jizz-mop really didn’t have to say any of that shit about Flitter...”

“Okay,” Button Mash glared ugly at him, “But you really didn’t have to call him a gosh-darned faggot either, Rumble.”

The tone in his voice had turned cold and nasty. Rumble could sense the resentment, and the anger, and, he smiled a pitifully weak thing at Button.

“He’s a big boy,” Rumble insisted, “I reckon our little mouthy amigo can take care of himself.”

“Maybe. But he wouldn’t have to if you’d just frickin’ apologized to him,” Button said, curtly, “It’s like… Sometimes it seems like- Well… Do you even care about him, Rumble? Honestly? Do you? I know he can get a bit melodramatic about this stuff, but he’s still our best friend. And he’s out there somewhere, totally ticked off, all alone… and you’re here talking about wanting to get some stupid falafels? That’s pretty messed up.”

Rumble stopped for a moment and stayed completely silent. The lines on his face creased while he moved his jaw from the left to the right. Bloodstained pupils shrank. For a few minutes he looked as close to remorseful for his actions as he had all night.

“It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it,” he said.

Button Mash noted his hesitations, and considered for a moment the limitations of Rumble’s fragile understanding of other ponies emotional states. He sighed and shook his head,

“Not unless you want to, Rumble.”

Coyly, Rumble allowed his wings to expand, wrap around his body and stopped moving long enough for Button to notice. When Button turned to him, he was biting his lower lip and clicking his tongue.

“It’s not my fault that he’s such a freaking drama queen, alright?” said Rumble, “C’mon, Button. You know what he’s like when he gets like this; Shady’s like a fuckin’ menstrual cycle wrapped in heat flashes and menopause,” Rumble said, then rolled a hard ‘R’ off of his tongue, “We’ve been friends since we were, like, five or some shit and even I don’t understand the guy sometimes-”

“Yes. You have been friends since you were five. That should mean a whole lot more to you than it does,” Button huffed, shaking his head, “And what’s even to get? He’s angry at you because you really hurt him Rumble.”

“Well… like, if he’d just… stopped when I told him too,” Rumble said, biting his lip, “Like, if he’d just fucking listened to me when I-”

“Then what?” Button said, “Then you wouldn’t have punched him in the freakin’ face?”

A glimmer of light got caught in Rumble’s eyes. He blinked and when he did something that looked like wet streaks across his cheeks shined. Bowing his head, he dragged his tongue across his dry, cracked, lips.

“I really shouldn’t have done that,” he said to the ground, “That was wrong.”

“Yeah. It was,” Button hissed, “It was really messed up.”

Silence for a few minutes. Rumble still hugged himself with his wings and Button stood quietly kicking the ground, until he lifted his head up.

“I don’t understand you two sometimes,” he said to a curious look from Rumble, “It’s not like this is the first time you guys have ever fought before. And… um, well, it’s not usually as intense as tonight. But you two do fight a lot for two guys who say they’re best friends.”

Rumble licked his lips and huffed, “Shady’s got some strong opinions about things,”

“So do you, Rumble.”

Rumble picked his head back up, un folded his wings and stepped forwards, “What am I supposed to say here, Button?” he said and then grunted, “Do you want us to go look for him? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Button stomped his hoof into the ground, “It’s the right thing to do.”

“If he’s still pissed…” Rumble began, then stopped and hummed, “Look, I… If I get a chance tonight I’ll try and make it up to him, okay? But, right now he’s probably too pissed off to want to talk to either of us, and- Yeah. Space, Button. Shady needs some space from us. That’s what he needs right now.”

Button threw a mean and ugly glare at Rumble for insinuating that he was in any way, shape or form at all to blame. This went ignored by Rumble, who only spread his wings open, folded them across his back and cracked his neck. He shook in place, shaking a cold chill out of his spine, then slapped a handsome, charming, smile to Button.

“I say give it a day or two and he’ll be a-okay,” he said, still smiling, “Shit, I bet by the time he wakes up tomorrow he won’t even remember half of the crazy stuff that happened tonight-” he got a pleading, pained expression from Button that he brushed aside with a wry grin, “Trust me, Button. Everything will be fine by tomorrow.”

Button grumbled an exasperated ‘Hmm’ under his breath, “If you say so…”

“Chin up, eh?” Rumble said, nudging Button’s stomach with his elbow, “Stable Avenue is only a few blocks from here. We’ll get some cold beers, some good munch, and then we’ll figure out what to do with the rest of the night. Sound good?”

Not really.

“Sure,” Button said, “I guess...”

Rumble smiled. Button faked his, and then they were off again.

Tussle With Giants

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Tussle With Giants

It was only a matter of looking quite stupid and toying around with the broken, rust coated latch on the back fence before Shady Daze was facing the rugged maze that existed between the fence and the backdoor to Rumble’s house.

Swallowing his fear he braced himself. He moved forwards with the practiced patience of a surgeon; his first step pushed through the tall, untended, grass and landed his left hoof into a puddle of something sticky.

No surprise there.

Pulling with his all his might, he snagged his hoof free fiercely, losing his stability and balance in the process and tumbled to his left. He landed face first into another wet puddle of what he hoped was only just beer.

He took in a breath and groaned. It didn’t smell like beer.

Wonderful.

Picking himself up, again, he decided to be much, much, more cautious. He kept his eyes on the ground and moved forwards. Two more steps had him avoiding an empty beer bottle with his left hoof, another step right and he dodged past a frisbee, leapt with all four legs across a tiny pond of hose water, then, finally, he was facing the wooden steps leading up to the porch.

He quickly ascended the steps — which creaked and shifted under his weight —, slid open the back door, and, when he was sure he was safe, took in a few steps inside.

Without any of the owners home the house was eerily calm and quiet. This was good. It could be hours before anyone came home, and, in that time Shady had every intention of taking advantage of his freedom. His plan was simple; settle on the couch in a nest of blankets and pillows and get some rest. He’d be happily nestled in a warm quilt-cocoon before Brolly, or Thunderlane ever got a chance to take a magic-powered razor to his fur, or a sharpie to his forehead. First, though, he needed to wash his face — again — and after that get a bite to eat.

The kitchen was clean, which was surprising, and when he opened the fridge he was hardly surprised to find what little he did; a few grapefruits in the vegetable drawer, a jar of mayonnaise, butter, a dozen slices of processed cheese, a half empty bottle of value-brand cola and close to two dozen bottles of beer.

Shady grabbed two slices of cheese, butter and a bottle of Lo-Brau.

The key to Equestria’s greatest grilled cheese sandwich — as expertly crafted by Shady Daze — was simple; butter spread on both sides of the bread, two slices of cheese, and a pinch of dry garlic salt. That was all.

And Rumble had laughed at him when he’d chosen to take home economics as an elective…

Throwing a pan on the stove, he turned the dial to medium and set about fixing up Equestria’s greatest grilled cheese. In true Rumble/Thunderlane/Brolly fashion a pile of dishes stood in the sink with an impressive collection of dirt and grime attached. The cutlery drawer was bare save for a single rusted fork, a spatula — which he would need — and in lieu of a butter knife — which he would also need — he could only find a large, rusted and incredibly dangerous looking kitchen knife.

If it had been anyone else’s home he would have been surprised, but, this was where Rumble lived. He’d been done with being surprised by how he managed to stay alive and keep himself nourished ages ago.

Shady popped the cap off his beer and took a few quick nips while he waited. His drunk had mostly worn off, a mix of time, liver function and his frightful first experience with the act of gay cruising had sobered him up considerably. One beer wasn’t going to bring him back to the brink, but it never hurt.

Once the bread had been toasted to a soggy, greasy, golden brown, and the cheddar had melted with it, he fed the spatula underneath the bread then flipped it soggier side up onto a paper plate. Rumble’s house lacked many amenities and a steady supply of clean kitchenware was among them.

He took a few more sips from the bottle, until it was empty, set the empty bottle down beside a trio of others near the sink, then with the plate stuck between his teeth waded through the kitchen and towards the living room. He tossed the plate and sandwich onto the coffee table and made for the linen closet.

The Wonderbolts sheets were unwashed, sweat stained and lay on a pile on the floor next to a stack of coverless pillows. He grabbed them, and the cleanest pillow he could find. Wandering back to the living room, he flicked on a lamp and then fell backwards onto the couch. His rear touched something big and bulky and then he was pulling a pair of bulky headphones out from beneath him. A cord from the headphones led back to a record player and a stack of records held in a milkcrate. Curiosity getting the better of him, Shady decided to put off eating and investigate what types of music his best friend, his best friend’s brother, his rival and Cloud Kicker listened too.

Punk rock, thrash metal, hip-hop, electronic and something called ‘Dub-Trot.’ No surprise there. These would all belong to Brolly, or Thunderlane. Maybe even Rumble. What was curious was a lone Poni Mitchell album. The last in the milkcrate. Probably something from Cloud Kicker’s collection.

Smiling, he put the record on, then the headphones and leaned backwards until his back touched the almost soft cushions on the couch. The first keys to Poni Mitchell’s ‘Blue’ kicked in while Shady took a bite of his grilled cheese and searched the coffee table for any traces of harmless illicit substances. Along with his plate, there were bottle caps, empty beer cans, lighters, an ashtray, a signal flare and a cigar box on the table. The cigar box was his best bet, and, as he opened it, Shady realized he was onto something good. Inside were packages of rolling papers, a small baggie with red and blue pills, a smaller bag half full of white powder, and a prescription pill bottle with fat bushels of cloves.

Jackpot.

Shaking a few nuggets out from the bottle, he grabbed the rolling papers, crushed the cloves down with the tips of his hooves, spread the crushed bits evenly over a flat rolling paper and went on to roll a joint. The finished product was a fat, perfectly cylindrical thing, with a rolled bit of torn paper on one end for a filter and the other twisted tight. Simple and effective. It offered no thrills, but Shady didn’t need thrills to get by. Just the melancholy thrills of getting good and baked.

Smiling, he bit down on the joint by the filter and lit the tip with a lighter from the coffee table.

He took a deliberately long haul from the joint, then another, and another, until his head got light and his chest burned and clenched. He held the smoke in his lungs for a minute, then a second, and on his exhale he blew smoke from his nostrils the way he could only imagine a rebellious teenage dragon might. Pillars of white skunky smelling smoke billowed from his nostrils. He coughed a few times, cleared phlegm, spat into the ashtray and by the time the lightheaded, flighty feeling took over his brain everything about the night started to become a secondary concern.

He shut his eyes. He took another drag. He listened to Poni Mitchell sing. Heard her croon about something or other. Some stallion. The darkest pits of despair. It didn’t matter. Poni Mitchell was ambient background noise.

Another drag, another, and a tiny one to round it out, and then he put the joint down on the edge of the ash tray. He reached for his sandwich and bit and chewed away at greasy, carb filled, cheese and breaded goodness until he was holding a charred crust between his hooves.

He smiled. It was crooked, and goofy, and if he’d had seen himself in a mirror it only would have made him giddier. His eyes glazed and red, his head fuzzy and filled with half interesting thoughts about nothing.

Baked. Toasted. Flying. Shady was working his way towards a wonderfully lucid state of mind.

He tossed the crust back onto the plate, picked up the joint and puffed away at it until it was nothing but burned filter. He crushed the roach into the ashtray and lay back. A song ended and another one came on. One about a stallion.

He shut his eyes.

Past the music he could hear what sounded like the back door sliding open, hooves dragging across the floor, stopping and then nothing.

Great. Rumble was home.

He opened his eyes and…

There was Brolly.

Shady smiled and waved, daintily, “Hey, Brolly.”

Brolly’s nostrils flared. Thick veins pulsed across his chest and his legs. His muscles bulged and then he threw his right hoof forwards. The fetlock clipped Shady by his left ear, knocked the headphones off of his head and left behind a sharp sting. Without speaking, but instead giving off long, and heavy guttural grunting noises, Brolly grabbed Shady by the mane and tore him from the couch.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Shady was panting, “Easy, Brolly. Easy.”

Strands of his dark blue mane were torn out of his head. Brolly stiffened his hold on Shady, threw his body forwards and marched him through the living room and into the kitchen. Shady tried to keep the pace, but his hooves couldn't keep to the ground long enough to find firm footing, and Brolly's pace was too quick that Shady gave up and let himself get dragged instead.

“B-Brolly. Hey- Ow. Hey, c’mon,” the words slipped out of his mouth, “What- Fuck, dude- What gives?”

In the kitchen Brolly stopped and tossed Shady onto the floor. His left cheek slapped against the checkerboard porcelain tiles. His rear faced upwards. Brolly kicked his hoof between Shady’s cheeks, hitting him in the soft fleshy point between butt and crotch. The kick had Shady sliding across the floor until his face hit the underside of the refrigerator.

Rubbing his cheek, Shady picked himself up just enough to sit on the dirty floor, “Oh geez,”

He coughed and he could see bits of wet lint stick to his hoof. Groaning and rubbing his rear end, Shady turned to look up at Brolly. There was still that familiar look of disgust and hate on his face. Misplaced, of course. Shady was an innocent victim here. Still, Brolly’s mean glare sent the coldest sort of chills through Shady’s tiny, curled up body.

“You cock sucking, ass riding, dick bag,” said Brolly. He made a move to lunge forwards. Shady shuffled backwards into the fridge. A box of cereal fell from above him, landed sideways on his head and spilled a mess of ‘O’ shaped toasted oat circles across the floor.

Shady brushed bits of cereal out of his mane, “Brolly. H-hey, Brolly?… What- What’s going on here, dude? Let’s just take a second here to think, and-”

Brolly spat at the floor. The loogie landed between Shady’s spread legs and bits of it splashed against Shady’s chest.

“Fuck you,” he shouted, “I’m going to kill you and then skull fuck your corpse.”

Well, that sort of resentment was certainly uncalled for...

“H-hey. Look… I don’t, uh- I don’t really know what’s happening here, dude. Can you try to, er... Just relax a little bit. Okay? Just... let's be calm and mellow.”

Brolly’s upper lips peeled back, then his lower ones. Two rows of ugly, bloodied gums and yellowed fangs were worn at Shady, “Eat shit.”

He made a move. His left leg twitched, then he flexed and Shady bounced backwards again. His back hit the fridge. This time a stack of mail — unpaid bills, mostly — bounced off of his head and spread across the floor.

“Brolly. Dude,” he panted, “Stop.”

Brolly snorted, “Do I look fucking stupid to you, Shady?”

“What? No. No way,” said Shady, “Not at all. In fact, I think some ponies might write you off as kinda dull, but you’re certainly smart enough to know how to-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Brolly roared, “Stop trying to kiss my ass, bitch-face. I know all about what you and that little fuck-tard Rumble were up too.”

“What?” Shady cocked his head sideways, “What did he… What are you talking about, Brolly?”

Brolly stomped the ground again and a pint glass fell from the counter cupboard, hit the floor and shattered into a dozen pieces of glass. Shady shook.

“You think I’m fucking stupid,” said Brolly, “You and Rumble. You both think I’m some kind of slack jawed, drooling retard. Don’t you?”

Slack jawed? Certainly. Drooling? Not so much. Retarded? That was more a matter for an I.Q. test to determine, but...

Brolly snarled and Shady curled into himself. In place of a sarcastic comment or a backhooved insult, he kept quiet, swallowed and tried to smile up at Brolly, “H-hey, look... If you… If we can just talk about what’s got you so upset, Brolly. I-I’m sure that we can both find a way to deal with whatever it is, that, uh, you seem to be so angry about and-” Shady brushed his mane with a shaky hoof, “What are you even doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be back at the club giving some ditzy blonde syphilis in the coat check?”

Wrong answer.

Brolly swung his right leg at Shady. His heavy hoof caught the dazed colt on the same cheek where Rumble had hit him earlier. The blow knocked him back onto the floor.

That’s what he got for thinking he was funny.

Brolly snarled, “You done funning with me?”

Shady lifted his eyes up to Brolly, winced when the bigger pony twitched, then nodded his head.

“Good,” said Brolly, “Now that you brought it up, though... I think we should talk about your little butt-buddy Rumble, and how he feels about adultery.”

“Oh, uh...” Shady swallowed a tight, dry lump in his throat, “We should?”

Brolly lifted himself onto his hind legs and snorted. His head whipped back, but his ink coloured mane, slicked backwards against his skull stayed hard and firm. He landed back down again, hooves first, and the home shook. Glasses in the cupboards clinked and rattled, plates from the stack in the sink toppled and fell. Somewhere in another room a ball fell to the ground and rolled across the floor.

Shady ducked backwards.

A Brolly who was drunk, and angry, and — quite possibly — on drugs wasn’t anything new. The trepid heartbeating in his chest and the coldness in his legs and cheeks certainly were to Shady though. There was something different about Brolly’s anger. Something far more sinister. The most concerning bit, to Shady, came from knowing that it was just the two of them in the home together. Thunderlane could curb Rumble with a joke, Flitter with a bite to his neck or a flick of her tail against his cheek. Even Rumble could keep Brolly busy by offering up a cold beer. Thunderlane, Flitter and Rumble weren’t around though, which meant that Shady had only his wits and his charm to fall back on. Experience had taught him enough to know that neither of those were going to do him much good.

“Back at the fuckin’ club,” Brolly said, “You trying to hang out with me? Pretending to want to be my friend? Are you kidding me? That was bullshit. Total fucking bullshit. And don’t for a fucking second pretend it’s not either, or I’ll smash your skull in.”

And there it was: the moment that Shady had told Rumble would exist. This was Rumble being wrong, and Shady being right. While there was no surprise there, one upping Rumble usually offered more thrills than this did.

Looking up at the dead-eyed pony looming over him, Shady squeaked. His heart slamming against his ribcage, he struggled to take in breaths of air as he stared up with squinted eyes at Brolly. Sweat had started to drip down his mane, it got in his eyes and every time he wiped the wetness off his brow, more seemed to take its place, “No. No, no, no, Brolly… I… I really was just trying to get along with you, dude. Honest Buffalo.”

Brolly lurched forwards. Shady jolted backwards. His back hit the fridge again. The muscles across Brolly’s naked chest bounced, the ones in his legs popped and rippled, coming alive then dying. He snarled, and then spat a loogie at Shady. It landed on his cheek. Shady didn’t bother to wipe it off and let it fall off his chin and hit the floor.

“I want you to lie to me again, Shady” said Brolly, “Please. Try me-”

Shady opened his mouth to speak, when he caught a look from Brolly that told him the bigger pony hadn’t finished speaking. He cleared his throat, turned his eyes away from Brolly and kept quiet.

“-It really doesn’t matter what you think you can say about it now,” Brolly said with the faintest trace of something as close to sympathy as he could probably afford, “Truth is, as much as I’d love to hear you beg and cry… It won’t matter. Not really. In about five minutes I’m going to have you hanging upside down from the lamppost outside by your ballsack with a broomstick handle up your ass.”

Shady took in a breath, slowly, then exhaled sharply. Then another, and another, and a few more after that, “L-look. If you just take a few breaths I know we can, uh, like… get to the bottom of this, and-”

“Didn’t I fucking just tell you that it doesn’t matter what you say anymore,” shouted Brolly, “I know all about what Rumble, and you, were doing back at the club.”

His soft-blue pupils exploded. Eyebrows lifted. His right leg danced against the floor and made an awful tapping noise. He was done for now. Finished. Vanquished. Ended. Bested. Defeated. Destroyed. Dejected. Detached.

Shady sucked in air and bit his lip before he spoke again, “That’s, uh-”

Brolly had never looked so massive before. He shared his time balancing his lusts for mares, drugs and alcohol with long hours spent on self improvement at the gym, or racing laps around the gorge, and his body flourished because of it. He’d always looked tough in Shady’s eyes, but now that he looked so much taller, more muscular, and threatening Shady’s life made him all the more monstrous now.

Shady let his right lip fold back into a lazy grin while he looked up at Brolly again, “D-don’t you think that, maybe, you’re being just a little paranoid, Brolly? This is all just, uh hearsay, right? Really. It’s just a huge misunderstanding. A miscommunication even.”

The dark, ugly, scowl Brolly gave him told Shady that killing them with kindness was an outdated practice.

“Are you calling me a fucking liar, Shady?” Brolly spat, “You’re going to sit there, lie to my fucking face and pretend that I’m too dumb to know that Rumble’s been trying to get with Flitter since he had his first wet dream?”

“D-don’t you think, that uh, maybe you should wait until Rumble and Flitter get here?” Shady suggested, still smiling at Brolly, “It sounds like… if you three all sat at the table, and, uh, you had someone mediating, y’know, like playing referee or whatever… I really think that you guys could sort this all out…” he swallowed, “Maybe.”

Brolly whipped his left leg at Shady’s face so fast the younger pony didn’t register the movement as another punch until his cheek stung and he was pulling himself off of the floor again.

“What did I say about talking?” said Brolly, shaking his head,“Here are the facts; That little shit-eating cunt had you sit with me so he could try and put his micropenis in my girlfriend. He knows it. You know it. Flitter knows it, and I know it.”

“That’s-”

Brolly gave him a dark look. Shady pulled his legs against his chest and hugged himself tight as he could, “Who… Who said any of that, Brolly? Did Flitter…? Look, whatever she said about any of this... I’m one hundred percent sure she didn’t, uh, get the whole side of the story.”

Brolly grinned, “Oh, she didn’t have to tell me anything, Shady. You’re doing a fine fucking job yourself.”

“Oh… Fuck me sideways,”

“So, now here’s the thing,” said Brolly, “As much as I want to drag Rumble by his tiny cock out in the street, kick him around, break his legs, crack his jaw and then curb stomp that little prick, he’s also Thunderlane’s brother. And, since I rent a room from Thunderlane, I couldn’t get away with murdering him.”

Shady nodded, “R-right,”

“But then there’s you,” said Brolly, “You, and that faggot Butt ‘N’ Ass. Thunderlane hardly gives a fuck about either of you two. Which means that anything I want to do to Rumble, I’ll just have to do to you and hope it makes me feel better,” Brolly smiled, “Pretty clever, huh?”

Shady coughed, stared down at the floor then mumbled, “You know, you’re being a huge dick right now.”

Brolly puffed his chest out, curled his leg to his face and rubbed his chin, “Well, hey now. You can relax a little, Shady,” he gave him a soft smile that would have seemed boyish and innocent, had it been worn on anyone else’s face, “I’m not just some violent psychopath here. I’m actually a pretty decent guy. I’m the sporting kind, y’know? So, I’ll tell ya what: I’ll let you pick which tool from the closet I use to sodomize you with,” He turned his eyes down to the cowering pony beneath him, smiled, then reached his hoof forwards to pet Shady on the head, “That’s pretty fair. Right?”

Shady twisted his head away from Brolly’s hoof. A wetness, not just from the sweat, had started to form and he didn’t want to run the risk of having Brolly know about it.

Brolly pulled his hoof away from Shady’s head and lifted his left eyebrow, “Hey. C’mon, Shady. Don’t tell me you’re going to try and make this hard for me, are you? Because that would make me really upset. And when I get upset, I get really, really, really mean...”

Shady gulped and Brolly leaned his face forwards. His breath twisted the fur on Shady’s snout, “I don’t think you’d want me to be mean about this. Do you?”

Shaking, Shady steadied himself just long enough to throw a pitifully weak, mean intentioned glare up at Brolly, “Leave me alone, Brolly.”

Brolly’s grin fell neutral. His eyebrows drooped, he frowned then clicked his tongue, “Aww,” he cooed, “See because you’re being such a giant bitch about this, now I’m gonna have to pick for you,” he scratched his chin and hummed to himself for a minute, “Personally, I’m still leaning towards the broom. Something about that just screams ‘Classic’ to me.”

There was a chance here for an escape. Brolly was too busy gloating to ever notice that there was a separation about a half pony wide between him and the kitchen door. After that it was just a matter of getting through the minefield that was the backyard, hopping the fence and praying to Celestia that somepony decent and kind hearted was awake enough to stand between himself and Brolly.

He pressed his hooves against the floor and lifted himself up. Sore as he was, he managed to get to his hooves while Brolly still had his head turned away from him. He kicked off the ground with all the force he’d never once shown in a gym class in his life and made his break. Darting forwards, he sideswiped past Brolly’s body, and checked the bigger pony in the fleshy side of his stomach with his rear end. A little ‘fuck you’ to accent his exit...

He was free, or so he’d wanted to believe for a second. His delusion of escape came to an abrupt end when a sharp sting came crawling up from his tail. He whipped himself backwards to watch Brolly clamp down on his tail.

He was fucked. Fucking-Fuckity-Fucked.

Brolly pulled on his tail and Shady came crawling across the floor, kicking his legs. With another strong tug on Shady’s tail, Brolly had the younger pony upright and front facing. His legs trembled. He could barely keep himself up. For a minute he didn’t have the strength to spare a glance at Brolly, and when he found it in himself to stare he did just long enough to watch Brolly fling himself backwards, so that his ass faced Shady. He pounced onto his front legs, raised his lower ones in the air and kicked Shady in the chest.

The blow lifted him in the air, his back came together with the hardwood edge of the kitchen countertop. A powerful sort of hurt came racing throughout his body. He fell forwards, and landed on the ground chest, face, legs then tail. For a good deal of time he lay flat against his stomach, motionless apart from the rapid rising and falling of his chest. He was wheezing, trying to suck in as much of the dirt-kissed air that he could, while regretting every single cigarette he’d ever smoked, and the burning in his lungs they brought with them.

In anguish Shady gave out a groan he hoped would wake the neighbours.

Someone had to be around to recognize what was happening… Right?

“Don’t fucking move,” said Brolly, slapping Shady’s cheek, “I’m back in two seconds. If you move an inch I’ll make this so much worse for you...”

Shady shook his head and his body followed. Brolly nodded, grinned and dashed out of the kitchen, into the main hallway.

Groaning and hugging his chest, Shady heard the door to the closet open. This was immediately followed by what sounded like Brolly tossing heavy and extremely fragile objects against the floor. Just what were they; glass sculptures? upscale dishes? Since when had Rumble/Thunderlane/CloudKicker/Brolly ever owned so many heavy and fragile things?

“Where the fuck...?” he heard Brolly grumble, “I could have sworn it was in-… Oh... Here we go.”

Shady put his left leg forwards, then his right. Everything still hurt, but hugging himself hadn’t done much to help and now it was time to do something that could. He grabbed the underside of a cupboard door, spread it open and then with his left hoof reached inside. His fetlock touched against the cold handle of something. Picking it up he felt the weight of it; light at the base, heavy closer to the end. A pot, or a pan, something comically weighted just enough that he could swing it at Brolly. He didn’t plan on hitting Brolly, that would be too stupid, but if he could convince Brolly that he would hit him, maybe he could save himself the discomfort of waddling to Doctor Stable’s practice and having a broomhandle surgically removed from his ass.

Hooves beating against the floorboards grew closer and closer. Shady pulled the pan from the cupboard and pressed the head against his side. He looked left just in time to catch sight of Brolly stomping his way into the room with a thinly bristled push-broom clenched in his teeth.

“Brolly, please,” Shady said, “Please don’t do this.”

Brolly reared himself to his hind legs, held the broom against his chest, under his left leg the way a royal soldier held a spear, then snorted out a cruel sounding chuckle, “Oh, would you stop your whining?” he groaned, “Just close your eyes and pretend that it’s Rumble.”

The flat underside of the pan felt cold against his stomach. Brolly was making strides and when only a few feet separated the two, Shady whimpered, “I’m warning you, Brolly.”

Brolly laughed “Oh yeah? What the fuck are you gonna do?”

He cleared the distance between them. Shady could smell that same horribly offensive aftershave — Perfection, maybe? — long before he could feel the heat from Brolly’s breath beat against his cheek.

This was it. If he did nothing now he’d always be a victim of Brolly’s bullying. If he survived, of course.

Quickly, without much in the way of a second thought, Shady swung the pan by the handle at Brolly’s face. He’d judged the distance in his head so that the flat side of the pan should just barely miss hitting Brolly on the snout by close enough that, hopefully, Brolly would be too dazed to make a second move.

It would have worked too... if Brolly hadn’t taken that exact moment to lean his face forwards to snarl. The pan connected with the left side of Brolly’s nose, something cracked. Brolly howled. The weight of sudden stop shook Shady’s left leg.

Brolly recoiled in horror, grabbed his snout with both of his upper hooves and let out a curse of “Cock antlers.”

A steady stream of merlot coloured wetness rolled over the tips of Brolly’s hooves and fall, in fat droplets, onto the floor. Shady watched it happen, watched the blood drop onto the floor, and felt himself clench every muscle he could. Even ones he thought he couldn't.

Oh, boy...

He was dead now. He was sure of it. If every other thing tonight was him digging himself a grave, hitting Brolly in the face with a frying pan was him putting the full payment on the plot of land and burying himself in dirt. The headstone would probably read; ‘Here lies Shady Daze, who dared to tussle with giants.’

“You fucking dickless mother-humper,” roared Brolly, “I’m going to murder you, Shady. I swear to fuck. You’re dead. Fucking dead.”

Brolly had his eyes squinted shut and held onto the bridge of what Shady was sure was a broken nose with his left hoof. He swung at nothing but air, in all the places he wanted Shady’s face to be, with his right. Each time one of his lower legs stepped on the floor he would shuffle left, or lose his balance and stumble.

It made Shady a tiny bit giddy to watch. After all the bad that Brolly had done to him that night — and, also the dozens more like it in the past — he felt comfortable enough with his karma to crack a grin and let out a chuckle.

“Don’t you fucking laugh at me,” Brolly hollered, taking a wild swing at the air far to Shady’s left, “I’ll kill you, Shady.”

Brolly continued to thrash through the kitchen with all the grace and dignity of a wino on a bender. He heaved his heavy body to the left, swung at more empty space and fell against the cupboards for support. His eyes were shut tight by this point, wet with blood wiped against his forehead from his hooves. He looked so stupid prancing around and swinging at nothing.

When Shady snickered — and, really, it was actually a mean and cruel thing to do — Brolly’s ears twitched. He pushed himself off the cupboards and pounced. Only, his left hoof stepped into a mound of crushed cereal flakes that cost him his balance. He twisted backwards and fell, front facing, towards the sink, where Shady realized two seconds too late that the same kitchen knife he’d used to make his sandwich was pushed up against the counter’s edge. The sharp side facing towards Brolly’s quickly approaching hips.

Shady’s stomach turned.

The noise that came when Brolly’s pelvis and the kitchen knife met was something neither of them could say they had ever planned to hear in their lives.

‘Schlick’

Every time Shady had ever squirmed during a showing of The Dodge Junction Hedgeclipper Massacre this was so much worse. He felt cold, and sick, and when Brolly’s collapsing weight pushed the blade past skin, and it sank even deeper into Brolly’s left thigh, a shrill screech came out of his throat. It was a noise Shady had never heard Brolly make before, and it made him want to be sick across the kitchen floor.

The Worst Guys

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The Worst Guys

They marched across cobblestone streets, over gravel paths, cut through back alleys, trampled bushes and flowers in yards for a long enough time that Button Mash seriously doubted Rumble’s claims of an open-late restaurant tailored to his appetite. They’d definitely walked more than the two blocks Rumble had promised it would take. Button decided to add ‘Poor time-to-distance ratio’ to the list of faults he kept about his friend in the back of his mind.

“Where is this place?”

Rumble, fresh from a gallant leap, stopped, stood in place and spun on the tips of his fetlocks to face Button. Looking quite stupid doing it, with one brow raised, the other sunk. His pupils still two giant pink dilated orbs.

“Just around the corner, bud,” he said.

Button scratched at his neck, “You said that, like, three corners ago, though…”

Rumble grinned and moved to Button. He threw his left leg over the back of his shoulder, rested his weight against Button’s side and pulled him closer.

“This time I mean it,” he said, “Crusaders’ honour.”

Button shook himself out of Rumble’s grip and stepped backwards. He turned a half hearted, but serious and stern look at the older colt, “I can only fall for that so many times, Rumble.”

“Won’t have to anymore, bud,” said Rumble. With a proudly cocky grin and a wink, he took off again down the street again.

Button held back for a moment and waited. Somewhere in Ponyville was Shady Daze. All alone, with no great promise of cheap fast food to keep his belly warm. And where was Button Mash? Desperate in his tries to keep Rumble from a five-to-ten year turn playing the ‘Pick up the soap and find your happy place.’ game in the communal showers in one of Canterlot’s finest dungeons.

Big sigh from Button. What really was the price of having friends like Rumble?

“Y’coming, Button?”

He heard Rumble’s shrill, raspy voice begging for him. He pricked his head up and pushed all those nasty, ugly, feelings that resembled hesitation, embarrassment, shame or fear down in that deep dark emptiness inside him. He pricked his head upwards and smiled.

“Sure.”

Shady would be okay. He was a survivor of some of the worst neglect Button had ever known to exist between parent and child. But he certainly had flourished. He was charming, and dashing, and friendly, and strong, and cool, and brave. Especially he was brave. Waking up and facing Ponyville everyday with a target painted on his back had made him that way.

Button Mash steadied himself, scrunched his face and nodded to no one.

Shady would be okay.

Rumble’s rear end bounced left and right until it disappeared past the light of the last street lamp and into the darkness. Button Mash’s left eye twitched, then he took off after his friend.

Shady would be fine.

Right?

He let himself stare off into the dark distance between the street lamps, sagged his body low, felt his head fall half towards the ground. There was still fun to squeeze out of the night. No doubt about it. A light shade of a smile crawled across his left cheek. He turned back towards the blackness Rumble had ran towards and took off after him.

Shady was gonna be fine. Rumble was going to be fine. He was going to be fine. Tomorrow, when they were all sober, he’d sit them down and make them sort their problems out. Tonight, however, he was due for just a bit more of the debauchery.

***

“How the fuck are you telling me it’s five bits for three samosas when the sign out front says I get four for five?”

Rumble slammed his hoof against the counter top and a tip jar tumbled onto it's side. Loose change spilled across the counter of Secretariats. Button stood behind Rumble, fidgeting with the loose strings of his hoodie, trying not to meet the cook’s hard gaze.

“My friend... I’ve been trying to tell you,” the first cook spoke. His voice was thick with a Saddle Arabian accent, but shaky and nervous, “That offer is for our lunch menu.”

Rumble stumbled for a second, and an undignified expression grew across his face, “Well, they they say it’s always five o’clock somewhere, eh?”

The first cook tossed his head from side to side, and then when Rumble had his eyes locked on him put on the hardest glare he could fathom, “I don’t think so, champ.”

Rumble’s black lips peeled back. He snarled. “I’m not paying five bits for three samosas,” he said, “I can tell you that right now.”

The first cook sighed, “Please, sir. It’s quite late, and I really don’t want any trouble.”

Fat red digital letters in the clock over the top shelf of kitchenware switched from; 12:34 to 12:35. The cooks stood well in place, never showing any signs of backing down.

Rumble grunted.

“Three for four?” he begged, giving each cook a grin which he imagined would reassure himself as less of a rebellious scamp and more of a well intentioned young stallion, hungry for the finest Saddle Arabian dining that could be found at this late of an hour. He was, after all, a well adjusted — if a bit rambunctious — tax paying Equestrian.

Neither cook smiled and Rumble felt his own grin fall with the hard looks from them.

“C’mon, champ,” he begged, “I’m hungry as a so ’n’ so over here.”

The first cook turned to the second and they shared words. They both spoke in voices rich with a thick Saddle Arabian accent, but their tones were different. The first cook seemed calm and understanding, the other enraged and irate. Neither Button, nor Rumble could understand the specifics of what they were discussing, but the inflections in their tone went well noted.

While the cooks argued, Button tapped Rumble by the shoulder and drew the older stallion into a huddle.

“Rumble. It’s fine. I’ll pay for your samosas," he said. “Could you just try and, not… well… turn this into another thing please?”

Rumble sniffed, loudly, and cleared the last bits of dirt, dust and drugs out from his nose out, then spat a wad of green coloured nastiness onto the floor between the counter and where Button stood.

In the name of Princess Luna, first of her name, owner of — arguably — the most incredible ass known to the Royal Family, where did Button Mash get the sack to imply he was capable of that kind of mischief? What had he ever done to anyone?

Oh, right… There was all of that melodramatic bullshit from earlier in the night.

And then it happened that what had once felt like the world’s gushiest orgasm throughout his mind turned ugly. He felt cold, and dim, and miserable.

His brows curved down. He puffed his lower lip out and blew out his cheeks.

A hundred examples of him at his worst made themselves well known in his mind. There was that nasty business at The Toad that probably made him look like a douchebag in front of the girls earlier… And that that one sided shouting match he’d had with Flitter… And, had he called her a bitch too?

Rumble let his jaw sag.

And then there was his best right hook connecting with his best friend’s face.

If anyone ever deserved an award for being Equestria’s most gigantic gaping asshole...

He bowed his head and rolled his eyes to the floor, “Right,”

The intruding clicking of the analogue clock hands. Something mechanical in the back hissing. One of the cooks cleared his throat. The other hushed a few words. Someone tapped the counter with their hoof and Rumble forced his biggest dopiest grin.

“So, uh…”

He turned his body so that he faced the counter. He slapped his hoof against the clicker on the tiny bell that sat on the counter, and drew the attention of both cooks. The first cook was still quiet and uneasy. The second cook looked hard and mean. Rumble remained caustically unphased by the growing tension. He was in a league all by himself. One which transcended sobriety and delved far into the depths of depravity.

Then again that was just Rumble being Rumble…

Button Mash bit at the flabby folds of what could be considered the neck of his hoodie. Long ago he’d prayed for quiet resolve to the events of tonight, and, since that was clearly not an option he could only beg that Celestia, Luna, Twilight, or Cadence would hear his calls for some form of sober intervention.

Once a long, long time ago Button Mash helped Twilight Sparkle carry grocery bags into her kitchen. Maybe she kept tabs on things like that now that she was a princess? Maybe she could repay that kindness by giving him the strength to carry on now when he needed it most?

He waited patiently for all of eleven seconds before he gave up hope.

“How about this,” Rumble began, flashing white fangs to the cooks, “I give you fifteen bits for five samosas? Than me and my buddy, ” he paused to motion towards the cowering Button Mash, “We take a couple bottles of Colt Four-Five for the road? How about that? We’ll be outta your mane as soon as you say ‘Get the fuck out’. Sound good?”

Rumble stopped himself. This time he rolled his chest across the counter to play with empty glasses and plates. He took his hooves off of a pair of plates and stared looked deep into the eyes of the first cook — Who, he’d decided, was the nice one. He smiled, charmingly, and spoke,

“It’s his birthday...”

The first cook recoiled and moved to the back of the kitchen and then, once again, the two cooks shared words. This time it seemed softer to Rumble and Button. Finally, after a time, the second cook stepped up to the counter, locked eyes with Rumble and spoke,

“Fifteen bits,” he said, “You get five samosas. Two bottles of malt liquor. I throw in some special samosa sauce, and I don’t see you in here past ten again for at least a month?”

Rumble grinned, “Deal,”

The angry cook grumbled a few more words Rumble couldn’t understand and moved into the kitchen. The first cook smiled, softly, at Button — not Rumble — then ducked under the counter. A fryer in the kitchen came to life. A fridge popped open, and then the first cook popped up with two bottles of Colt 4-5. He set them down on the counter. Rumble tossed a cloth sack onto the counter, the cook grabbed it and then Rumble snagged the bottles. With a gentle head nod motioned for Button to follow him to the back. Button did.

Rumble fell into the plastic booth backwards, kicked his lower legs up and wrapped his wings around his body. He popped the lid from his bottle off with his teeth, spat it onto the floor and took a swig. Button heard a Clink when it touched against the wall. Quietly and softly he dipped into his own seat and unscrewed the cap to his bottle.

“Like mother’s milk,” Rumble said when he finished sipping from the bottle. He wiped a froth moustache from the fur over his upper lip and grinned at Button.

Button smiled back. Gently.

Silence came over them. Other than the noise from the sounds of the fryer, curses from the two cooks in the back, and the static flicking from the fluorescent lights, there were no sounds. Rumble was experiencing the pitfalls of harsh reality.

The drugs were wearing out.

All of the joys that had come with doing nameless medical grade amphetamines were starting to run thin. He could feel it. That weak and vulnerable feeling of defeat dared to edge itself up, and, with it came a brutal stack of truths he didn’t have half the sack to admit; He had been a dick, and a prick, and an asshole. A real piece of shit.

Softly, he spoke; “Are you… mad at me, Button?”

The birthday colt sat silently for a moment. He sipped from his bottle, stared at the flat topside of the table, at the salt and pepper shakers, the napkin holder, and everything that wasn’t locking eyes with Rumble. until he did, and he answered,

“I’m not mad. I’m just...”

He took a long sip from his bottle, and then another. It was near empty when he placed it down on the table.

“Upset,” he said, “I’m a little upset with you, Rumble. If you’re even honestly asking me?”

Rumble rolled his body across the table. The tips of his hooves touched the tips of Button’s. The birthday colt drew back, but a desperate, needy look from Rumble turned his hard scowl flaccid.

“I am, Button," he said, "It's just that... Wha- Er, no. I know what you’re mad about.”

The hiss from the fryer in the kitchen fell dead and silent, then the sounds of heavy hooves bearing down against the floor came and took it’s place. They rang from the kitchen, past the counter, and stopped soundly at the booth where Button and Rumble took residence. The first cook stood there, with a brown paper plate held between his teeth and a soft sort of smile on his lips. He set the bag down equal distance between Button and Rumble, and let it fall to it’s side and spill out it’s contents; samosas rolled across the table and left behind flakes of crust. Beside the bag, the cook also placed a single styrofoam plate where a bran muffin with a lit pink candle stabbed into it sat.

“Happy birthday,” he said, and gave Button — and not Rumble — a sad sort of smile before scampering away quickly on swift and light hooves back to the kitchen to argue more with the second cook.

Giving his own brand of soft, near invisible smiles, Button blew out the candle. Smoke from the tip wafted towards the ceiling. The smell of melted wax and plastic coated wax filled his nostrils. Button took a bite from the muffin.

For some time both boys sat and said nothing to each other. Rumble grabbed for a samosa and took a bite. He chewed on it, swallowed, then took another, and another, until nothing was left but crumbs that he wiped from his fur. Button nibbled on his muffin. He let himself stare across the room, at the floor tiles, the photographs on the walls, the bathroom doors. Everything that wasn’t Rumble.

“You think I’m an asshole. Don’t you?”

Button lifted his eyes and let them fall onto Rumble’s slouched, deflated body, “Huh?”

“I know I’m not the smartest guy in Equestria, Button. But, I’m not fucking retarded either,” said Rumble, “And I know that look on your face. You’re mad at me…”

“Uh,”

“You’re mad at me because I fucked this night up for you. Aren’t you?”

Button opened his mouth, then shut it. Better to let Rumble wear himself out than offer insight and rekindle a slowly fading flame, he reckoned.

“I know that I fucked up. I get it. I, uh,” Rumble scratched at his mane and scowled so that his jaw lurched forwards and his lips peeled back. For a minute he sat like that, then he continued, “Tonight was supposed to be all about you, Button. You were supposed to be the one getting laid. You were supposed to get fucked off your ass on every substance known to ponykind since Luna was banished. You were supposed to have the best night of your life. And then we—” he stopped himself, “Or… I mean I totally fucked it up.”

Button dropped his hooves onto the table and made it shake, “Rumble…”

“Tell me that I didn’t, Button? You can’t. Because I totally did,” Rumble said, “I fucked it up. I fucked all of it up. I came in, wagging my stupid fucking ego around like it was my second cock. Acting like John fucking Mayne in True Gritty. It’s what I do, Button. It’s all I ever do. I fuck things up.”

Button Mash juggled the muffin between his hooves. Rumble wasn’t wrong…

Shady deserved… a lot. More than what a hug and a well thought out apology from Rumble could provide. But, he would be okay. Rumble wouldn’t. Rumble wasn’t Shady. Rumble was weak in all the ways that Shady was strongest. Rumble’s mind — drug rattled and booze addled — was a minefield of misplaced emotions, poorly constructed schemes, cocksure confidence and unbreakable stupidity. Shady Daze, even alone and drunk, had a much tighter hold of himself. He was as well composed as a stallion their age had ever been made to be.

Shady Daze, for better or for worse, would be fine. Rumble probably wouldn’t. Not without adult supervision. It was just a shame that Button Mash had to be that adult. Really though, he was doing Ponyville a favour...

“It’s not… all bad.” he said.

Rumble’s groan came like nails across a chalkboard, “Yeah it is,” he said, “What if…”

“What?”

“I’ve done a lot of stupid fucking things in my life, Button.”

“Yeah...”

“And, I’ve said a lot of stupid things too.”

“Granted,”

“And what if...” Rumble sucked his lips, “Button… How bad was it? What I did to Shady? It was bad, right? I know… It has to be fucking bad? Real bad?”

Button lifted his head. His eyebrows popped, “Huh?

“I’ve said a lot of stupid fucking things to Shady,” he said, “And, I know, that he knows, that I didn’t mean it. I’m sure a therapist could fucking retire on all the shit he’d have to hear about me from Shady, but…”

Rumble ran his tongue across his lips. “I know that even when he’s upset... He’s never really mad at me. He just rolls with it. He’s cool like that. But then… Then there’s tonight,” he shook his head. His gelled, slicked mane shook but never fell apart, “I can tell he’s pissed off at me, y’know? And, he has every reason to hate me for what I said. I mean, dude... I called him a faggot, Button. I think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever said to him.”

Button reached his hoof across the table and let it fall on Rumble’s shoulder. He gave his friend a gentle pat then rubbed away the mark he left in the fabric of his windbreaker. Rumble blew a breath of air through his nostrils.

“I’m just worried,” he started and shook his head, “What if this time… And, I mean, I don’t think that it’ll be this way, but… Maybe…”

“What, Rumble?”

Rumble let his face fall into the tussled, mangled folds of his windbreaker and groaned, “What if when I tell him I’m sorry this time he doesn’t forgive me, Button?”

He hid his face in the folds of the left sleeve of his windbreaker. Button bit his lower lip before he spoke; on one side of things Rumble very clearly wanted to make it up to Shady, on the other he most definitely had done and said things that were unforgivable.

Button decided it was better to say nothing either way.

The lights over Rumble’s head flickered and cast an eerie, unsettling fluorescent glow around Rumble that accented all his beaten features. The fur around his eyes was dark with dirt and tiny bits looked held together by sweat, or dirt, or both. His eyes were dry and thick blood coloured lines gave them a crazed, dangerous look. His lips were dry, and cracked.

Button drew back. He looked bad. Like a corpse parading around as his teenaged, drug addled, boozed up friend.

It wasn’t a very good look on him.

Quietly, Rumble spoke; “I mean I’ve called him a homo… like a lot. A million times more than I ever should have. And, like I said, he’s always been… Well ‘okay with it’ isn’t the right thing to say... But I never called him that before.”

Button ran his hoof through his mane, “No. No you haven’t.”

“So what if this is it?” Rumble let his face fall against the table, “What if this is the one time I’ve pushed Shady too far, Button? It’s like- Well. Honestly? Would you forgive me?”

“Rumble.”

Button drew his hoof away from Rumble. The loss of contact made the other lift his head and their eyes to lock. Rumble’s were enormous, wet and rampant with thin pink veins. Comparatively, Button was sure his looked fine.

“What?” Rumble said.

“You’re not wrong,” Button asserted, “You do act really stupid, and say a lot of hurtful things when you’re drunk. Especially to Shady… And to me. Sometimes.”

Rumble shrunk. His eyes fell to the table.

“But, we’re still your friends, doofus,” he said, smiling, “You, me and Shady? We’re the Three Amigos. Nothing that happens is going to take that away from you, or me, or Shady. It’s our thing. Ours and no one else’s.”

Thin black lips spread up and across Rumble’s cheeks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Button, “We’ve all been friends for, like… Gosh, Rumble. It’s been almost ten years. I know Shady’s angry at you now, and, he does have every right to be—”

Rumble winced. Button kept sturdy, but let himself slip enough to pet Rumble by the cuff of his collar and a smile to play across his face,

“But there’s no way that if you promise him this will never, ever, ever happen again, and you really show him that you care about him… Well, he’s going to forgive you, Rumble. I promise.”

The dirt-kissed fetlock of Rumble’s left front-leg found his cheek and he scratched what he found there. He tore aside thick bits of grey mane from his cheek, to his chin and dug at the skin that hung underneath. He was smiling.

Button smiled back.

“Y-yeah,” said Rumble, “You’re right.”

“You’re not Brolly, Rumble,” Button began, giving a little giggle, “He’s, like, the worst example of a jerk. And you’ve got a long, long, long way to go before you have to worry about being like Brolly.”

He punctuated his statement with another firm tap at a patch of fur by Rumble’s neck, then a broad and goofy smile. Rumble rolled the back of his head against Button’s leg, and offered no resistance when the younger pony scratched him.

“Brolly is such a loose butt hole, Rumble.” Button said, “I mean, I don’t like to say this about anypony, but I think that Equestria might have been a better place if he’d never been born.”

Rumble chuckled, quietly and rubbed his cheek against the fur on Button’s leg, “Right? Brolly is a fucking douchebag, eh?”

Button grinned, then nodded.

“And, you know what, Rumble? You’re better than Brolly.” he said, “There are a lot of ponies who hate Brolly. I don’t think they’d say it to his face, because that’s kind of a death wish, but they do…”

Rumble nodded his head. He thought about his brother, and Cloud Kicker, and Flitter, and a score of other ponies in town who barely tolerated, but never encouraged or agreed with, all of Brolly’s ways.

“No one hates you Rumble. You’re a good guy. Even if you pretend not to be,” he paused and took a bite of his muffin, chewed it and then spoke again, “Sometimes you act like you’re this really tough, really mean, jerkwad. Like you wanna be Brolly or somethin’, And a lot of ponies probably think that’s just who you are, but then… You probably wouldn’t be here talking to me about wanting to fix all this if that’s the kind of pony you were. Right?”

Rumble rolled his face into an open fold between his crossed forelegs to hide the spread of red that broke out across his cheek. He bit his lower lip with his upper set of teeth and hoped that Button couldn’t hear the way his lower left leg tapped the floor. It was in vain. Button could hear all of it.

“And you know what else?” Said the younger pony, “I don’t think that a guy like Brolly would ever try to apologize to Shady for being such a butthead. Brolly probably won’t even apologize to your brother, or Cloud Kicker, or- Well, he really, really, really, really mistreats Flitter too.”

Button saw the way that Rumble wrapped his face against his leg and let his thought fall apart.

Rumble smiled up at Button., “Heh. Yeah. That’s true,”

“But you would, Rumble.” Button insisted, “Maybe, and now this is going to sound silly, but- Maybe this is actually not as bad as it looks? I mean, like, you sound really… Well, you want to make this right, don’t you?”

Rumble nodded his head enthusiastically, “Yeah. I do, Button. I really, really do.”

“Well, I think if you showed Shady that he means more to you than just- Er,” Button cocked his jaw to the left side.

His eyes wide, begging for an answer, Rumble waited.

“Um, well… A gay joke, Rumble,” Button said, “There are a lot of times — certainly including tonight — that you talk to him like the fact that he likes guys bugs you. L-like he’s worse than you or me, or something?”

Rumble’s head lurched forwards. “But it doesn’t, Button. I don’t fucking care if Shady’s gay. You know that.”

“Well,” Button Mash ran his tongue across his dry upper lip until it felt wet, “Then you really should show him that Rumble. Sometimes, uh— ”

Rumble’s eyebrows dipped, “What?”

“Sometimes when it’s just me and Shady hanging out… Like, the other day when you got detention for calling Chowder fat? Well, we were in my basement playing a bit of Blood Harvest waiting for you to get out. Only, Shady was, kinda, hitting the vodka pretty hard...”

Rumble leaned forwards and his eyes grew wide, “No shit?”

“Yeah... It was weird, Rumble. It wasn't like happy drinking. It was— Well, he was—" Button pulled his hoof across his face, "He was miserable, and he was drunk, and he kept going on about all of this crazy dark stuff. Like... about himself,” he pawed at the wrapper of his muffin and sniffed, “It was, uh… pretty sad. I've never heard him talk like that before.”

“Fuck, dude...”

“I know,” Button nodded, “I sorta… I really didn't know what to say, right? And, really I just wanted him to cheer up. So I let him get it all out, and then when he was a bit more sober we talked. Just the two of us.”

“What did he say?”

“Lots,” said Button, “I, uh... I don't think that Shady is a very happy pony, Rumble," he sniffed at the air before he spoke again, "I don't think he's really comfortable with being, y'know... out?"

“Shit,” Rumble said, “I never really... thought about that.”

“Yeah. Me either,” Button said, quietly, “It's gotta suck, dude. Like, he kept it all bottled up and then, in the end, he didn't even get a chance to tell anyone. He didn't even tell us. Diamond just... Well, everyone knows what happened there."

Rumble sucked his teeth, "Right."

"And, like, for the most part I guess that he's gotten over it," Button slipped through his teeth and ran it over his upper lip, "But then there's how everyone just messes with him now..."

"Huh?"

"Well, it's like... When we're kidding around, that's all we're doing, right? We're just goofing around and stuff, and Shady gets that," Button cocked his jaw to the side and pondered how to word the rest of his thought without deeply offsetting Rumble, "But, dude... Your brother and Brolly are totally brutal to him, like, all of the time. Brolly especially..."

Rumble signed, "I know..."

"I know Thunderlane's your brother, and he's cool sometimes. But he did hold Shady down when Brolly stapled all those takeout menus onto him that time," said Button, "Not even the kids at school were that mean."

Rumble chewed on his lip, "Yeah..."

Button sighed, "It's stuff like that, Rumble. I think Shady just lets it all build up until he's gotta get it out of his system when he's hammered... And, I'm totally okay with being there when he does, but it's probably not healthy for him... I wish there was more I could do, but..."

“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Button?”

“Well, he was really, really, embarrassed the next morning when I told him about some of the things he said, and he made me promise I wouldn't say anything to you..."

"Oh..." Rumble tapped the table, "So then... why are you telling me?"

"Because I think that you and him need to talk about this kind of stuff. Just the two of you... Sober," Button traced his tongue over his lower lip, "I know there’s some, uh…" he scratched his neck, then his chin. His left ear twitched, "There are a few things I think that he probably wants to say to you about… stuff.”

Rumble sighed, “If he'll even fuckin' talk to me after tonight...”

The soulless expression on Rumble’s face told Button Mash to act on his impulses, so he did. He reached out his left leg across the table, lay it against Rumble’s back and gave the older boy a few soft pats.

“It’ll be okay, buddy.”

Maybe he wasn’t lying?

He was twelve. His older brother was slamming the ground with his hoof from two floors up, trying to get them to shut up — Which, of course meant that he had to get them to shut up. Rumble and Shady. Fighting. Like always. Rumble had Shady Daze in a headlock. Shady was feeding punches into the soft flesh between thigh and rib cage. Rumble was telling Shady that his dad was a loser. Shady was shouting for Rumble to mind his business. Button Mash was stuck in the middle.

Flashforwards a few years and nothing had changed. Not really.

“Button,” Rumble said, rapping his left hoof against his leg, “What’s up?”

“Nothin’,” he said, “Just thinking.”

Rumble squinted and let his left eyebrow prick upwards, “What about?”

“Nothin’ really,” he stopped, “I’m just… I know that there’s going to be a point sometime tomorrow, or the next day, where you, me and Shady all sit down and actually work our way through a couple matches of Thirst For Blood,” he said, and smiled, “Just like old times. Everything’s gonna work itself out. You and Shady are still gonna be friends by tomorrow, Rumble. I promise,” a flash of proud cocksure confidence spread across the younger pony’s cheeks, and face, “And since I’m totally legal now, I’ll even bet you a case of Lo-Brau that you guys are gonna hug it out when it happens.”

Button’s smile was infectious, and reflected across Rumble’s lips. The older pony was chuckling when he said, “Shady does like giving hugs.”

“And you know what else?”

“Hmm?”

“Up until the last hour or so, I did actually have a really good time tonight,” said Button “I got to have a few drinks with my best friends, and uh,” he pulled his pink tongue across his lower lip, then his upper one, “And I even made out with Blossom’ a bit…, Uh, even if it didn’t turn out so well for me. And… Oh... Oh!” his cheeks turned hot and he smiled like a drunkard, “Shady said that, uh, that Dinky Doo thinks I’m hot,” he folded his legs across his chest, and threw his head back, “So, that happened too… Which is totally flippin’ sweet. Right?”

“No shit?” posed Rumble, creasing out knots in his back, leaning into his seat and grinning in the most predatory way towards Button.

Button nodded, “Yeah-huh. Shady said, that Twist said, that Dinky, um, kinda likes me.”

The wet sounding slap of flesh meeting with flesh sounded when Rumble slapped his thigh. “Dude,” he said, grinning like an asylum patient, “That is the teats, Button. I mean, I kinda heard something like that, but I wasn’t sure...”

“Mhmm,” Button moaned, “So, like, maybe on Monday I’ll, uh, well— Maybe I’ll sit with her at lunch and we can talk more about manga and stuff? And, well, if it goes well I could like, uh, take her to a movie or something?”

Rumble, beaming, shook his head, “No way, dude.”

“Hmm?”

“Naw, dude,” said Rumble, “We should go back to The Toad. We weren’t actually, like, officially asked to leave or anything. It was more of a polite exodus on our part. I’m sure Morty’s chill enough about it now, though.”

“I don’t think she’s even there anymore, Rumble,” Button said, “Cause Shady said, that Twist said, that they’re all going to some party at Diamond Tiara’s place, or something...”

“Really? Diamond Tiara’s having a bash?”

“Yeah. That’s what Shady said that Twist said, and— ”

“Oh, shit son,” a bright smile broke out and crossed up Rumble’s cheeks. The familiar look of the bloodlust for excitement came over him, “Dude this could be fucking fun.”

Button swallowed a lump in his throat before he spoke again, “What could?”

“A party at Diamond Tiara’s place. One with, I’m naturally going to assume, nothing but girls,” that look almost frightened Button Mash, “Dude, this is like the quintessential birthday bash. I mean, shit, we’d have no competition.”

“Rumble, now just hold on a second here. We’re not about to crash— ”

“Crash? No. We’re not assholes, Button. We’ll just knock at the door and I’m sure that if Scoots is there she’ll totally tell us to come in,” said Rumble. The grin on his face grew predatory, “I’ve seen her stare at my ass like it belongs in a fucking museum, dude. She totally wants a slice of beefcake.”

“Rumble,” Button sighed, “Can you not see that this is sort of exactly the kind of thing that ponies get upset with you about?”

“What’s to get mad about, Button? This is just harmless fun,” said Rumble, “We show up. Knock on the door, and someone tells us either ‘Come in and have a beer’ or ‘Fuck right off’. Like, dude, if Dinky is there, and, it’s a party, and you’re both drunk—”

“Stop that.” Button groaned. “I’m not— We’re not going to this party, Rumble. We weren’t invited. Plain and simple.”

“You know,” Rumble said in a tone of voice that Button couldn’t call anything other than ‘husky’, “Cloud Kicker used to tell me that when she was younger and she’d throw parties like what this sounds like it is, that all the girls liked to practice doing stuff with each other.”

Button choked a little, “S-stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” Rumble’s eyelids sank and a smirk crawled up the left side of his face, “The type of stuff that usually involves fun things like cock shaped fruit, or plastic moulds of stallion’s dangly bits,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “You know; the type of stuff you’d see in Moanin’ Mares.”

Button licked his lips, “C-cut it out, Rumble…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there’s almost a one hundred percent chance that by the time we walk in all the girls are going to be playing ‘Crazy drunk and totally horny for stallion’ twister. Y’know? Sweaty drunk and sexy bodies rubbing against sweaty drunk and sexy bodies. Girls on top of girls—”

“W-we’re not going, Rumble.”

“Sounds kind of like you do want to go though…”

“Even if what you’re saying is true. Even if it is. Even if Dinky, and Archer, and Twist, and Scootaloo, and Applebloom, and Sweetie Belle, and Silver Spoon, and whoever else is there all want us to come and hang out, it’s still Diamond Tiara’s party,” said Button, “And there is no way that after what she did to Shady I’d want to hang out with her. She is the worst.”

Rumble clicked his tongue, “True.”

“So, we’ll go find Shady, and you’ll apologize, and he’ll forgive you, and we’ll all go back to my house and play video games, and eat chips, and drink soda, and beer, and do that until Monday when we have to go to school again.”

“What if Dinky wants to bang you?”

“W-what?”

“What if Dinky Doo decides she wants to have S-E-X with you tonight?” he asked, “I mean, stranger things have happened, and—”

“Stop doing that,” Button bellowed, “Stop objectifying mares, Rumble. And stop being a totally sexist pig. And, also, stop trying to tell me what I want to do.”

Rumble sighed, “Am I doing it again?”

“Yes, Rumble.” said Button, “You’re doing it again. I don’t want to go to Diamond Tiara’s house. No matter how much imaginary sex that won’t happen you tell me I’ll have. I don’t like Diamond Tiara.”

“What if we get back at her?”

“Huh?”

“Look, we both know that she got off too fucking easy for doing Shady like that. Far too easy. A month of detention? For what she did? Fuck that shit, dude,” Rumble growled, “But, her daddy is the richest guy in fucking Ponyville—”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, Button. So she’ll never get what’s coming to her. Not in this fucking lifetime”

“So what? Sometimes life isn’t fair.”

“What if we could make it fair, Button? What if we go there and play all nice, and, hey, maybe we even have fun? But once everyone’s all sloppy drunk and passed out we, like, shave her mane off? Or, we take a piss in her shampoo bottle? Or, we, like, read her journal, take out the dirty bits and post copies around school?”

“Rumble, that’d be like doing exactly what she did to Shady.”

“So-fucking-what, Button?” Rumble barked, “I don’t care if ponies think we’re scum for doing it. She deserves a karmic kick in the cooter. And I aim to give it to her.”

Button shook his head, “Rumble, just take a breather.”

“No. Fuck that,” Rumble groaned, “I’m set on doing this. Never been more set on doing anything in my life.”

“Rumble…”

“Hey, look, if you don’t wanna go with me…”

“No, no,” Button sighed, “Look. If we’re going to go — and that’s a big if — if we go, please, please, please, please, please don’t do anything, well… Don’t be stupid, okay?” he let his calm surrender break long enough to glare at Rumble, “If we’re asked to leave. We leave. Okay?”

“So, you do wanna go?”

“If we have too…”

Rumble smiled, “Fantastic.”

***

“This is it, huh?”

They stood, both of them, before two solid wood doors supported by steel frames on the front porch of a home large enough to be a hotel.

Rumble was having none of it.

The Filthy Rich/Diamond Tiara manor was less of a home and more of a postmodern tribute to excess. It only took the quiet trip from the gate, through the garden, and to the doorway before Rumble could check near every box on a long checklist he’d made of things that he told himself he hated about the upper class. It irked him to know that this place existed, and bothered him worse that he’d never had a chance to give it a once over with toilet paper, spray, and flaming bags of turds on Nightmare Night. Fucking Diamond Tiara. He’d wager good money that there was a pool beside a tennis court in the back. They probably kept some underprivileged Zebra employed with the sole purpose of wiping after their trips to the washroom.

Eat the rich, Rumble thought. Even Twilight Sparkle didn’t live to this extreme, and she was a princess.

“I think this is the place,” Button said, “I did a geography project with Diamond and Silver here once back in the seventh grade…” he faltered, then snickered, “But I was really into Curse Of The Gargoyle Blood back then, so that whole year is kind of a blur of green and black Joy-Boy screens for me.”

Beside him Rumble joined in with a heady, jolly snort, “Typical.”

“It’s, um, definitely big enough to be her place though,” Button said, kicking his hoof into the welcome mat, “Don’t you think?”

“Too true,” Rumble said, “Let’s just knock and see what happens. Best case scenario is that we’re both getting laid tonight. Worst case, someone tells us to leave, and then we take a piss on the lawn on our way out.”

Button nodded his head.

Rumble broke from Button and raised his left hoof. Above the handles on both doors were a pair of brass door-knockers shaped like Mr. Rich’s cutie mark.

Rumble rolled his eyes.

He slammed his hoof against the door and then they waited. Through the door he could hear laughing ponies and trendy pop-music playing from a stereo system. The type of music that he bitterly detested. If this was at all a sign of things to come he did worry about his future.

A minute passed before the sound of a latch turning came about, then muffled speaking,

“That’s gotta be Twist,” a voice from behind the door said, “Hope she got the good stuff.”

The door swung open. Bright light enveloped Rumble and Button’s forms. In the doorway stood an elegantly stoic earth-pony with a fire-red bow tied to her crimson mane. The sight of her brought a playful look to Rumble’s face.

“Rumble?”

The stallion grinned, “Applebloom.”

“What’re...? What are you…?“ the pegasus poked her head through the doorway and stared at Button Mash, bashfully kicking the ground with his leg and not looking her in the eye, “Button Mash? What in Discord’s barbed pecker are the two of ya doing here?”

Button looked up at Applebloom, “Um…”

“Ah, we were just around the neighbourhood,” Rumble said, “I was telling Button here I could have sworn Diamond Tiara lived here, and, he was saying ‘No, No. This is definitely Pokey Pierce’s place’, and… Wouldn’t you know it? Looks like he was wrong, eh?”

Rumble stepped forward, brushed past Applebloom and stopped in the doorway. He poked his head inside. “Hey, it sounds kinda rowdy in there? Are you guys having a party or something?”

Applebloom cocked her jaw to the left, “Uh…”

“What’s the major holdup, ‘Bloom?” the distinctly harsh, and, quite drunk sounding, voice of Archer the pegasus called out from inside the house, “If that’s not Twist with my— ”

Archer entered into the hallway, Scootaloo and Silver Spoon just behind her.

“What the butts is Rumble doing here?”

“Ah’m not really sure,” Applebloom said, turning back and giving Rumble a very inquisitive look, “What exactly are ya doin’ here?”

Button Mash would have considered this the turning point in a conversation (If one could even call it that?) It sure seemed like the proper time to cut all loses, mumble out some apologies to the girl’s hooves — never making eye contact, of course — then head back home, make sure mom was asleep, grab this month’s Moanin’ Mares, the good lotion, the soft tissues from the main floor bathroom and get to work.

Of course, Rumble wasn’t Button Mash.

“Just thought we’d pop in and say ‘Hey’,” he said and turned his eyes onto Scootaloo. He smiled sweetly, “Sup Scoots?”

Scootaloo grinned back, “Hey Rumble.”

“So, hey, if we’re not interrupting anything…?”

None of the girls answered him.

Rumble pushed himself through the open doorway, and smiled broadly. There was opportunity here to do bad things with good ponies. Certainly. Although, the girls didn't seem to be on his level.

Maybe a different approach was needed?

The girls formed into a huddle, and their voices went soft. Not soft enough, however, for the keen ears of Rumble, who was trained in the art of eavesdropping. The conversation went as follows; Applebloom spoke about politely rejecting them at the door, and Silver Spoon shared this enthusiasm, only with replacing 'polite' with 'forcibly'. Archer, however, stood in their defence. She said that Dinky would probably love to see Button Mash, because she was ‘pretty drunk’ and that Rumble was necessary baggage he came with. Scootaloo made it known that she believed Rumble was a decent fellow. This was emphasized by a quick glance from the girls towards him.

Finally the huddle was disbanded. Applebloom broke from the group and trotted forwards.

“It’s really not a huge thing,” she announced, “I don’t really reckon y’all would like it too much.”

“We’re cool with whatever,” Rumble insisted, “As long as we’re not being… rude?”

“Neigh,” said Scootaloo.

“Cool,” said Rumble, taking the opportunity to establish himself in the hallway, “Why don’t you guys show us where the all the fun’s at?”

Button Mash tugged on Rumble’s shoulder. Rumble leaned his head towards him, and frowned.

“Rumble. I’m pretty sure they’re just being polite,” he said, “Maybe we should go—”

“Is that— Button Mash.”

He bit onto his cheek and turned towards the source of the sudden, shrill, call for him. At the furthest end of the hallway, shifting her weight from her left side to her right, and tracing the ground with her limp hanging limbs, was Dinky. Her eyes were wide and wild, and across her face was a sultry grin.

Button had to wonder why this felt so familiar.

“Oh, uh..." The noise of Button Mash clearing his throat of phlegm and saliva was all that sounded in the hallway for a moment. "H-hey there, Dinky.”

She charged at him. He hadn’t expected it but she galloped past Archer, and Applebloom, and down the hallway that all of them existed in until she had her front hooves wrapped tightly around his throat and then she was pushing his back against the wall behind him.

The moan that came from him was girlish, and weak, and made the other girls in the hallway, and Rumble, grin and snicker.

After a throaty cackle Archer spoke, “Hey, Dinks. I remember my first beer too.”

She turned against him, twisted her head to her friend and scowled, "Rude.”

Archer rolled her eyes, “Lightweight.”

Rumble had a grin spread across his cheeks that he felt he should share with Scootaloo, Silver Spoon, Applebloom and Archer. If there had been tension before — and, it was possible. He really wasn’t the best judge of character when it came to those sorts of things — watching Dinky madly grope against the perpetually frightened, neurotic, and nervous Button Mash had cleared it up.

“Hmm, Button,” Dinky said and pushed her face into his chest so hard that her snout pushed through the cloth of his hoodie, “I didn't think I'd see you again tonight, but I'm really glad you're here."

He felt the rush of blood from his head, past his cheeks and someplace far more sacred. Which was bad, he imagined. An intangible erection would certainly not make the situation any better for any pony involved.

He tried to remedy it by scratching the back of his neck and thinking about unsexy things. When the other girls caught sight of his blush they giggled and snickered at him. This did nothing to boost his confidence.

“Uh, w-what’s that now, Dinky?”

“Nuh-uh. No talking. I need you to shush for a second,” she moved to put her hoof to his mouth, but missed and instead jabbed him in the left eye.

Button winced. The girls giggled, and Dinky frowned, "Oh, geez. Sorry, Button."

Button rubbed his eye, "S'okay. Dinky..."

From behind them Rumble cheered and beat the ground, “Let’s get the party started, eh?”

Nothing Nice Grows Here Anymore

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Nothing Nice Grows Here Anymore

“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.”

Shady Daze screwed his eyes shut. His chest, tight and burning, and his heart fought madly to break out of it’s cage and seek solace miles and miles away from here. A hard swallow that stung his throat, and he checked his breathing. Slow, and steady. He needed to remember Nurse Redheart, and all the advice she’d ever given him to cope with being prone to hyperventilating.

“Breath slowly, and count backwards from one hundred,” she’d told him, “And everything will be okay.”

His heart kicked up again, crashing into his chest and burning. Hot streaks of wet rolled out from the corners of his eyes and fell down his cheeks.

It sure didn't feel like everything was going to be okay.

He remembered the knife, and Brolly, and the noise that they made when they joined together. How the knife pushed through fur and skin in Brolly’s thigh, how bit by bit the steel disappeared into him. How shiny all of Brolly’s blood looked against the light while it came pouring out from the wound. How cold and alone he felt when he heard Brolly slump over and fall to the ground.

More hot wetness rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the floor.

As if karma hadn’t asked him to bend over and grab his ankles enough already...

His throat was dry and it hurt just to swallow. Every inch of his coat felt wet and heavy, and a smell worse than the dirty gym clothes buried under a pile of unfinished homework assignments in Rumble’s locker seemed to have worked its way into every fibre of his being. Each time he pulled his hooves through his mane, more strands of wet, stinking, Shady updo came attached with them.

Nothing was going to be okay.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fu-uh-uh-uck.”

All he could think about was the knife… and Brolly… and how gross, and nasty, it had been hearing them connect… and how cold he felt watching Brolly’s face twist up into that awful, awful, expression… and all the blood dripping down his leg… and all the colour draining from his face…

And all of the blood...

Oh, Luna, Celestia, and the stars above. There was so much blood in the kitchen.

Air. He needed air. And space. And a strong drink. And a cigarette. And to be a thousand miles away, on the beach someplace warm, with palm trees, straw huts, hammocks, a nice view of the ocean, an endless supply of maremosas, and the rock hard rear of someone straight and well built to stare at from behind a pair of oversized novelty sunglasses, and...

“Shady Daze. You stupid fucking faggot.”

Praise be to Luna, Celestia, the sun, stars, and everything in Equestria good and wholesome. There was a higher power, and he/she/they/it — however it chose to self identify — still cared enough about him and all of his ministrations to answer a few of his prayers (Still no sign of a ruggedly handsome grey pegasus to come carry Brolly to safety, and then Shady into his bed. But the night was still young…)

Absolutely drunk on his relief, Shady Daze giggled in the flightiest tone his voice had ever taken. His giddiness was quickly corrected by the still very much alive Brolly;

“I’m going to murder you and skull-fuck your corpse.”

Shady frowned and slowly peeled his eyes open. Brolly was flat on his ass, and looked incredibly stupid doing it. His back was pushed against the door of the wooden cupboard. He had his eyes opened wide, with his brows high up his forehead. His jaw was quivering and his left leg beat the floor.

Brolly was scared, which was bad because Shady was scared too. So very, very, scared.

Without thinking he let his eyes wander from Brolly’s contorted, scowling face, down past his rapidly rising and falling chest, to his sturdy waist where the black handle of the most dangerous kitchen knife in all of Equestria stuck pointing out from Brolly’s right thigh like an insult.

Shady swallowed.

Three inches higher and a little more to the left and Brolly would have been a eunuch. He giggled foolheartedly. Brolly probably would have been a lot less angry that way...

The nervous giggle Shady Daze gave came out sounding high pitched and effeminate. Brolly grumbled.

“Yes. Yes. You’re alive!” Shady cackled, ignorant to the now murderous gaze coming from Brolly. “Oh, you’re not dead, Brolly! This is good. Very good. I could just k— ”

“Don’t you dare finish that fucking sentence, Shady.”

Shady’s face fell. Brolly’s brief brush with mortality hadn’t done much to change him for the better. He was still an angry dick-wad. The flip side, of course, was that the higher powers — in all of their divine and infinite wisdom — saw fit to ensure that Brolly could still spawn a brood of asshole Jr's in the future.

“You just killed my dick, faggot.”

It came on swiftly that Shady realized the shock and awe of being stabbed (accidentally, of course) really would be messing with Brolly’s mind. Shock was funny like that. A soft and gentle approach — like taming a wild animal — was definitely needed from here on out if either of them were going to make it out of this alive. Shady Daze especially.

“W-what? No, Brolly. No. I didn’t,” he stammered, tapping at the ground with his legs, “I-it was an accident.”

“I cannot believe this fucking bullshit. You stabbed me. You. Not Rumble. Not Thunderlane. Not some prick in a barfight. Mother fucking, faggot-ass, Shady ‘I-Suck-Cocks’ Daze… This is fucking bullshit." his eyebrows dropped down his forehead, "I’m going to die now. Probably,” he slammed the counter with his left hoof, “You fucking little turd-licker. There is a mother fucking kitchen knife stabbed into my mother fucking thigh, three fucking inches from my fucking cock— “

“Accidentally.”

“No. It’s your fucking fault that it’s there, Shady. I swear to Celestia if I survive this I’m going to drive a nine iron right up your— ”

“Y-you pushed me, Brolly. You were gonna do things…” Shady rubbed his hind legs together, “With a broom… t-to my ass... You said you were going to rape me with a broom handle, and—”

“Oh, and so that makes it okay that you just tried to fucking murder me?”

“M-m-murder?” Shady blurted, “N-n-no, Brolly. I would never, and— You have to listen to me, Brolly. Please just listen to me.”

Brolly sneered and spat at Shady, “Eat shit.”

“Brolly, if you don’t listen to me this is only going to get worse— ”

“Is that a fucking threat?” Brolly said, “You’re threatening me now?”

“What? No. Are you… Are you dense, Brolly? I’m trying to save your life here.”

“Oh bull-fucking-shit. Why in the fuck was there ever a kitchen knife out in the first place, huh?” begged Brolly, “You set this whole thing up. I know you did. You were probably sitting here, alone, waiting for a chance to sneak into my bedroom and stab me in the face, weren’t you? I swear-to-fuck that if I survive this shit… You’re gonna spend the rest of your life bending over to pick up the soap in a dark jail cell. But, seeing how you’re such a fag, I’m sure you’re just going to eat it up—”

“Brolly. That- That literally makes absolutely no sense. You, uh, you do realize that right? Why would I ever try to, what? To murder you? Is that… Brolly, can you not see how psycho that sounds? Are you, like… Are you really that paranoid?”

“Oh, like you don’t have any reasons to want to kill me? Like all the times that I’ve put slapped you around haven’t made you want to— ”

“Enough, Brolly. Please…”

“What?

“I-I’m… I’m a little scared, okay? I don’t want anyone to die. Not even you, and… I don’t want you to hit me anymore— And I’m… I don’t do well with blood, and body injuries— I can’t even watch The Dodge Junction Hedgeclipper Massacre all the way through. I-I get squeamish... And, I really don’t want you to hit me again. And… And...”

“Spit it out you fucking retard.”

“Just… Can you please stop yelling at me? I’m trying to work this out in my head, alright? It’s really bad right now, Brolly. I totally get that. B-but, I can fix this. I can. And then… I’m going to save your life, and, maybe after that you won’t want to hurt me anymore?”

“Oh. You don’t even want to know about all the shitkicking I’m going to put on you, Shady. First I’m gonna shove that broom all the way up your ass, then I’m going to get all those little faggot friends of yours, and make ‘em watch you try and pull it out—”

Shady winced, “Please, Brolly. Just give me two seconds, here? Can you, please, for two fucking seconds, be quiet and reasonable enough to stop talking and let me think? I… I really need to think, so I can try and fix this.”

“You are so dead, Shady. I’m going to drag you by your ballsack into the street and make you eat pavement. Then I’m going to curb stomp your faggot ass—”

“I said let me think!”

“I’ll strangle—”

“Do you have a kit?”

“What?”

“A first aid kit? Do you have one in the house?”

“How in the fuck should I know?”

“Because you live here? Every house in Equestria should have a first aid kid… It’s— It’ll be upstairs, I bet. Cloud Kicker, yeah, she’s responsible enough to keep one,” he mumbled, tearing his eyes off of Brolly, “Gotta be upstairs...”

He stood up, dusted himself off and went for the open doorway to the hall when a firm tug on his tail spurned a girlish squeal from his throat and brought him tumbling back to the floor so that he landed flat on his finely toned ass. He whipped his head backwards to catch sight of Brolly with a mouth full of Shady-tail stuck between his pursed black lips. The injured stallion spat the tail out of his mouth with all the indignity he would to a truffle he’d found to have a cow-pie filling.

“Where are you going you little fucktard?” snarled Brolly.

Shady Daze eyed the knife handle… and the blood streaming, slowly, from the wound. The way that Brolly tensed his muscles forced a small part of silver to spit from his leg. Shady Daze caught a mess of sick in his throat before he had a chance to upchuck.

Blood. Of all the things to be deathly fearful of it had to be blood. Blood, and gore, and wounds caused by the accidental lodging of deadly household kitchenware into the body parts of angry ponies who hated him with a passion bordering on madness.

Shady swallowed down his sick, blinked his eyes and opened his mouth, “U-upstairs, Brolly. If there’s a first aid kit it’s gotta be in the bathroom… or in Cloud Kicker and Thunderlane’s room, and, I need it to…”

“Fat-fucking-chance, Shady,” Brolly spat, “You’re gonna split the second you’re out of my sight. Leave me here to fucking bleed to death...”

Shady blinked. “Brolly, that’s ridiculous,” he stuttered, then tightened his jaw and stood upright, “I know that it’s probably not what you want to hear, but I’m kind of your only chance of, you know… not bleeding to death all across your kitchen floor tonight.”

A growl rolled off Brolly’s tongue, “What the fuck are you gonna do exactly, Shady? Put a little bandage over my boo-boo? It’s a knife you gigantic fucking retard. It’s going take a little more than some gauze and a few band-aids.”

“I… Well,” stuttering again, Shady felt his legs loosen and his firm grip on his spine slack until he found he was slouching, “Brolly. You need to get to a hospital. ASAP. Now, I… have no idea how we’re going to get you there…”

A whimper from Shady made Brolly’s right ear twitch. The lines across the older pony’s hard and worn face softened. His brows shrunk. He flattened his ears against his head and puffed out his cheeks.

Shady took a pause and scratched hard against his forehead, “Um, but for now… If we can stop the bleeding and clean the wound— Uh, preferably without, um, removing the knife… Somehow,” he clicked his tongue, “See, okay. I took… uh, I did first aid training as part of, um,” he fumbled with his hooves. Brolly cocked an eyebrow, “It was for the babysitting course. But I passed my first aid level one exam with the top marks… Er, well, third highest behind Pipsqueak, and Applebloom—”

“You are such a homo.”

“Hey. I really wanted to earn some money that summer, alright?”

“I swear, Shady,” Brolly grumbled, “Each time you speak I feel myself get a little more stupid.”

“Just… Brolly, please. Stay put for, like, thirty seconds? I’ll get some bandages, and some rubbing alcohol, and, uh,” he scratched at his mane as he tried to shake off the fire burning in Brolly’s eyes, “Maybe some real alcohol for me…”

Time passed slowly. Brolly, who was remarkably resistant to showing even the slightest hint of hurt from his wound, stared back and forth between the sad smile on the younger pony’s face and the knife stuck in his leg. After a minute of this, he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“If you’re not back in two minutes, Shady...” he began, then realizing he didn’t have much weight to put behind his threat, he sighed, “Just… Don’t you dare leave me like this.”

It occurred to Shady that, maybe, just maybe, Brolly was more afraid than he would ever let on. It made him feel funny on the inside. It wasn’t sympathy for the older stallion — he had none of that for Brolly — but seeing him as close to weak and vulnerable as he’d ever looked before brought a frown to his face. He let himself smile, if only to show Brolly he was confident enough in his abilities, “I promise.”

“Get-fucking-going then, Shady.”

Shady nodded, “Right.”

And then he was off, scampering madly through the hallways and up the crooked wooden staircase on a half-assured quest to find ailment for Brolly’s wounds. The trip up the stairs was remarkably short, but, then he was in a hurry. Like always they cracked and shook under his weight. The fourth stair up, like every other time, dipped when he put weight on it. The seventh and eighth stairs did that familiar wobble thing that never really made him comfortable. Past them he felt confident and kept his steady pace.

Thunderlane and Cloud Kicker’s room was just up ahead.

Prying wasn’t anything he cared to do, but the situation did call for it and he felt no shame when he butt-checked the door wide open.

Cocksure, drunk on adrenaline and desperate, he didn’t bother to double-check his steps as he entered, and was quickly made to feel stupid for not. The first step he took into the room landed uncomfortably on something wet, squishy and cold. He lost his balance when he drew his hoof back, the slight made him slip forwards, pushing his weight up from his backside and then he face-planted onto a pile of sheets.

He took in a breath of air and the want to be sick from his stomach came back stronger than ever. One whiff and he caught all the traces of musk, sweat, dried body wash... and sex. Filthy sex. The ‘Thunderlane and Cloud Kicker had totally made time for a quickie just before leaving home, but not enough time to wash the sheets so they threw them on a pile by the hamper, and, oh-sweet-Celestia where did lube end and sweat begin? And, oh geez, there was a very wet, rather sticky stain where his cheek had touched’ kind of sex. Someone in the not too distant future had to burn these sheets.

Shady’s resolve broke.

The whiskey, and the tequila, and vodka, and beer, and everything he’d shot back in the last four hours surged up from his stomach and into his mouth. He blinked hot tears out of his eyelids, wiped wetness he hoped wasn’t what he knew it was off his cheek, and swallowed back all of his vomit.

The room really didn’t need to be made into any more of a mess, he figured.

He looked away. He had too. Only, now he saw the thing that he slipped on coming into the room. Between the door and a tiny waste basket was what could have passed for a dehydrated jellyfish, but was actually just a condom.

Shady Daze squinted his eyes and his stomach kicked up again.

A used condom.

Maybe if he started crying now, by the time he came down his eyes would be dry enough that Brolly wouldn’t make fun of him for it. No. Brolly would. He’d see the puffy cheeks and the redness in his eyes and be mean, and cruel. Crying was pointless. He still had a job to do. There was still a first aid kit to find. Maybe.

He got to his hooves and moved around the rest of the room on the hard tips of his fetlocks. The floor was lava. Sacred ground. Something not to be touched.

He floated to the closet and ignored the desire to critique Thunderlane’s wardrobe (Did anyone really need that much flannel?)

Inside there were comic books, video game cartridges, a broken water-bong and one that worked. In the corner, a plant of highly questionable legal status grew under heat lamps. There were magazines on body building, kung-fu tapes, porno, cans of spray paint…

… All of it exactly what Shady Daze expected to find, just, maybe also with a first aid kit in pristine condition. Somewhere past all the jars of protein powder, the empty packs of menthol cigarettes, the roses growing out of beer bottles and all of the stained band shirts there had to be one?

Only, there wasn’t.

It had to happen this way. Anything else and he might have assumed he still stood a chance at being happy.

Shady scrambled out of the room as quickly as he’d entered with the hope that his shame would wash out later, and that he’d never be forced inside that pit of suck and despair again.

Next he thought to try the bathroom. Hopefully in the cupboard behind the mirror there would be something? There had to be. Cloud Kicker wouldn’t possibly allow three stallions like Rumble, Brolly and Thunderlane to co-exist in the same house without planning ahead.

Right?

He didn’t have to prepare himself for what lay in the bathroom. Cloud Kicker’s influence, and even her upstanding adherence to the art of cleanliness weren’t strong enough to change the fact that she lived in a household with three unclean, uncouth and uncultured stallions, and the bathroom suffered the worst for it. Pubic hairs clung bunched together against the edges of the toilet seat. Bits of soap, and dry, crusted, body wash were streaked across the mirror. There was a wet towel growing a culture of mould squished against a corner that acted as a sponge to soak up drops of clean water that leaked from a rusted over pipe in the small corner of the room that lacked a ceiling tile.

Shady Daze had never been a fan of using the washroom at Rumble’s home, and this latest adventure inside did nothing to change his opinion on it.

He walked into the room gracefully, spun on his hooves, tore open the mirrored door of the bathroom cubby and was astonished that aside from un-labeled pill bottles, worn out toothbrushes, razors, shears, eyeliner brushes, mane brushes, and combs, there was also very much a first aid kit.

Shady Daze leapt at the comforting sight, clicked his heels together, landed and grabbed for the it. As quickly as he could, he pulled it from the cupboard, held it in his mouth and left the washroom without ever stopping to look backwards. In the shortest time possible everything would be back to as close to normal as it had felt all night. Which really was saying something of him, the company he kept and the situations he found himself in, but that was a moot point by now.

Sooner, rather than later, the nightmare of dipping his hooves in the wading pool of unfiltered bull’s shit that made up his luck would be over for long enough that if he could just close his eyes — without having to worry about Brolly making sure he never opened them again — he could still get a nice six or seven hour nap in before dawn came calling for him, or the royal guards did. Whichever came first.

“Brolly, Brolly, Brolly,” he called out in a falsetto sing-song, “Everything’s gonna be fine, and—”

In the kitchen in place of a pegasus, or the fresh corpse of one, there was the kitchen knife on the floor, and un even streaks of fresh blood leading into the living room.

Shady Daze chewed on his lower lip.

Why was it that every single thing Brolly did had to be polished with a fresh coat of extra-stupid?

Red. In his hasty getaway — the logic of which Shady failed to understand — Brolly had painted a path across the floor with fresh blood. It began where he’d once been sitting, continued along the floor and out of the doorway leading towards the living room.

Idly chewing his lips and cursing his dumb luck, Shady followed where the all the redness led him.

Groaning and curses half moaned and half mumbled came from the spot where Shady had earlier imbibed. This was when Shady realized what had happened; Brolly, in some kind of idiotic wisdom, had decided to find a more comfortable spot to let unconsciousness seep in. The couch was where he found Brolly, laying flat on his back and with his face nestled between two couch cushions. Blood from the wound in his thigh leaking out into a quickly growing stain on the couch.

Shady fought every impulse he had to scream, cry and abandon all hope of resolve.

Quietly, in the softest, kindest and most approachable whisper he could muster, he spoke, “B-Brolly?”

The pegasus moaned, “I'm really... tired…”

Shady approached slowly, moving forwards on the tips of his fetlocks so that his steps made little sound and barely carried weight with them.

“Brolly,” he said again, “I really, really, really, need you to get up.”

“Fuck off... homo.” Brolly groaned, “Just… need to rest… my eyes.”

Shady whimpered, “Please, Brolly.”

Brolly turned. His head twitched, and so did his wings, “Gargle... my…fuckin’ balls, cuntf—”

Brolly didn’t have to finish the sentence for Shady to piece the rest together. Pouting his lips, and blowing air through his nostrils, he trotted up to a wide enough distance from the couch that any of Brolly’s jabs would still miss. He stood upright, arched his back until his body formed a lowercase ‘R’ and, putting his hooves on Brolly’s chest — which he was half ashamed to admit felt much firmer than he’d have thought — he rolled the massive pegasus onto his back.

Brolly’s eyes flew open. They were wide and filled with fear, and in his half-cocked, drunken blind panic, he swung at Shady. Desperate to hit anything, he only made contact with the empty space between Shady’s chest and where his reach ended. Disappointment shone across his face, then a few seconds later he gave up and allowed his limbs to fall limply onto the couch.

With a saggy jaw mawing open, he spoke softly, “What’re you doing?”

Shady spat air through his teeth, “Trying to save your life.”

“Already done... homo.” Brolly said, “I took the knife out.”

“Yeah. I saw,” he scrunched his nose and slapped a hoof into his forehead, “Why did you do that, Brolly?”

Brolly’s wings rose and fell in a lazy shrug, “Saw it… in a movie.”

“That’s stupid,” Shady told him, “B-but, listen. I found the first aid kit you guys have. So it should be okay… ish. Um, I really, really need to disinfect that wound. And I still need to get you to a hospital. You’re, uh—” he paused to look at the leaking red from his leg, and the steadily growing stain it left on the couch cushions, “Bleeding all over everything.”

“I’ll be... fine,” Brolly said, “Just need to… sleep it off.”

Shady dropped the first aid kit onto the coffee table, right beside the knife. The table shook. “Yeah,” he said, “That’s not a very smart idea, Brolly.”

Brolly’s coat was fantastically pale, and where his cheeks had once burned red with inexpressible rage, his face was now bleak and lifeless. Blood loss, probably. He’d already lost more than Shady imagined he should have, and from the endless way it still spilled out of his wound, he didn’t expect it to stop anytime soon. Not without intervention, of course.

It was time for Shady to be a hero.

Maybe one day in a future when he hadn’t bled to death in his own home, Brolly would sit before a roaring fire and the adoring gaze of a brood of his own making and reiterate the tale of how his life had been saved, and how he’d come to find respect and admiration in the gay community after that.

Shady chuckled. Of all the bullshit lies he’d had to tell himself to stay strong, that was quite possibly the heaviest.

“I feel… cold.”

Shady turned his eyes to Brolly and frowned, though his resolve never broke. There was still work that needed doing.

The first aid kit wasn’t really a kit, more of a metal box, poorly crafted from thin sheet metal that had maybe earned Rumble, Thunderlane, or Brolly a ‘C-’ at best in metals class. No surprise there. There weren’t locks holding it closed, but tiny rusted latches. Once Shady flipped them and opened the box he almost wanted to laugh at what he found inside. He would have too, if it didn’t make him want to cry.

The empty wrappers of Wonderbolts band-aids, a roll of duct tape, three thin cotton swabs, tampons, unwashed yellow sponges, and a note written on the back of a torn microwave vegetarian burrito box explaining that Rumble was due to replace everything inside with fresh products. Dated three years back.

Brolly was doomed.

Shady bit his tongue. With the few hours he had before the sun came up, and with the money he’d hidden under the floorboards in his room, he could probably make it as far as Tall Tale and live in extreme poverty under an assumed name for at least two weeks before he was caught. Prison probably wouldn’t be that bad either. Three meals a day, a cot to sleep in, a pot for his waste, a roommate, free access to a gym, an all night long buffet of unwanted anal-sex.

No.

Giving up was stupid and pointless. If he showed enough effort now, and if through some miraculous twist of fate enough ponies witnessed him putting in effort, there was a good chance of having his sentence reduced from First to Second Degree Murder. With good behaviour he could be released at eighty-five.

“Shady?”

The younger pony blinked, “Y-yeah?”

“Thought… you were gonna… fix this?”

Rumble, and Thunderlane, and Flitter owed him, but none of them anymore than what life owed him after this was over.

He bit onto lower lip and nodded, “Yeah...”

From the first aid kit he pulled out the duct-tape, set it down on the table, got to his hooves and dashed towards the kitchen. His left hoof touched against something warm and wet which his mind refused to process as blood, and the slight moment of mental collapse made his limbs turn to jelly. He tripped over himself, his speed gave him momentum and his crash had him sliding through more of the wet, sticky wetness across the floor until a cupboard broke his movement. His weight pressing against it split the wood in half.

Typical.

He shook himself out as he stood up. It hurt. His ass, and his chest, were all swollen and sharp from the other times he’d tripped, or been pushed over. His cheek stung. His lungs burned. But Brolly hurt so much more.

From the countertop Shady pulled as many clean and dirty rags as he could find and shoved them into his pocket. That would take care of the blood, and the bleeding, but the knife had probably come out of the drawer crawling with germs, so he needed something to disinfect the wound with. Antiseptic, of course, was the best option, but the few splashes left in a bottle of Partymelon flavoured Skynoff was what he had, so he grabbed it.

On his way back to the living room Shady chose to be slower, methodical, and attentive enough to step over the wetness. Tripping once was an accident, tripping twice was Equestrian, tripping over the same exact thing thrice was lowbrow comedy.

Without incident Shady made it back to the couch, and back beside Brolly. He didn’t dare to look at the mess, but kept his eyes trained on his own doings while he unscrewed the lid to the bottle.

“This is going to hurt,” he said to Brolly, “Like… a lot.”

Brolly snorted, “Do it already, faggot.”

Swallowing, Shady took the bottle and raised it over the spot his gaze dared not wander. He shut his eyes, steadied his hooves and shifted around the weight in the bottle from the buttend to the head.

There was no going back now.

A horrible noise born in the furthest pits of Tartarus and raised by Tirek came out from Brolly’s throat. He thrashed like a spastic seizure patient. He twisted his waist, kicked his lower legs against the couch, spat, cursed, and shrieked.

And Shady panted, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

A groan rolled out from Brolly’s mouth, and silence followed. His thrashing ceased. His body fell limp. He chewed his teeth together, and the lines across his face came across thick and strong, “H-hurts like a fuckin’ bitch.”

Shady bowed his head so that his eyes met the floor, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Tears. Actual, honest to Celestia, tears made from salty wetness ran out of Brolly’s eyelids and rolled across his cheeks and left behind black stains in his fur. Shady reached forwards with a heavy, trembling, hoof and lay it flat against Brolly’s chest. He surprised himself to find that Brolly’s coat was soft, and felt nothing like petting a pony made out of rusted razor blades, or diseased hypodermic needles.

He gave the older pony’s chest a pat, “I… You’re really brave, Brolly. I, uh—”

With his second most violent jab, Brolly slapped Shady’s hoof away from his chest, “Stop fucking talking.”

Shady killed a nervous giggle before he could give it life, and pulled his hoof tight against his chest, “S-sorry.”

Eyes back to his waist. From his pocket Shady pulled out rags, and in his lap he sorted them into two piles. There were ones fit to maintain the bleeding. Those ones went to his left. And there were ones that would probably give Brolly sepsis, or typhoid. Those ones went in a pile to his right. Tempted as he was to finally get something as close to revenge as he could on Brolly, he slighted and reached towards the clean rags.

And he paused.

This next bit was going to be the worst of it, if only because he’d be doing it willingly blind. In his head it made sense that enough rags tied to Brolly’s thigh would, eventually, stop all of th bleeding. Maybe. He’d done repairs to the pipes back at home the same way, and while Brolly’s leg wasn’t the D grade plumbing his father had opted for, nothing about patching him up was too far removed from fixing pipework.

Slow melodramatic sigh from Shady.

If only there wasn’t so much blood to deal with...

He rolled a few of the rags together in his left hoof, and held the tape tight with his right. If he squinted just hard enough it was just like patching up pipes. A large, twitching, furry pipe. And that all the blood leaking from it? Well, that was just really dirty water...

The dopiest, most unbecoming sort of smile came crawling lazily up the sides of his face. Yeah. That worked... Sort of.

He reached forward with the hoof holding the rags, let it hover over where he was sure Brolly’s thigh and injury were, then pressed down. He cocked his jaw. Something wasn’t right. Brolly’s thigh felt way too thin… And soft, and fleshy. Why wasn’t it furry? Why was it twitching so much? Why in Equestria did it feel like he had a coin purse hooked under his leg?

“Shady!”

“Y-yeah?”

“That’s not my thigh...”

“Oh?” his eyebrows shot up his forehead, “Oh... Oh geez.”

Brolly snapped his tongue and spit at the floor, “Could you please... get your filthy fucking hoof off of my cock?”

“Yes! Yup! Got it. Done and done,” Shady pulled his hoof back, and sought to laugh away all the tension in the room. He giggled and smiled in a way that looked crooked and mad, “Um, so, uh… I won’t tell Flitter if you don’t?”

Brolly snorted hard through his nostrils. Hot air blew apart fur across Shady’s neck. The younger boy swallowed.

“Shady...”

“Mhmm?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Colts

by Guy_Incognito

The Plan

Tres Amigos

Paint It Red

Boys And Girls

A Dork, A Girl, And Two Headless Horses Between Them

Worth A Million In Prizes

Weekend Warriors

Beers, Billiards and Brociopaths

Of Asses, Assholes and Asinine Situations

Plan B

When The Ship Starts To Sink...

Exit... Stage Left

Bummer

Stranger Danger

Tussle With Giants

The Worst Guys

Nothing Nice Grows Here Anymore