“Here you go. Safe and sound.” Romero texted you, attaching a picture of your beloved Tesla parked outside your apartment building.
“You’re late.” You replied.
“Sorry I’m out past curfew MOM” He sent back.
“Show me the bumpers.”
After a moment two pictures came in, one of your car’s front bumper, one of the back. You studied them carefully before replying.
“How do I know these were taken today?”
“Because going to your house in the middle of the night and taking pictures of your bumper before I wrecked it is a weird fucking thing to do?”
“Yeah, alright.”
You slumped in the faded fabric seat of Romero’s old grey Camry. Your massive boat of a Tesla was not only a very distinct car but very likely to get broken into or at least stolen in the warehouse district you found the address in. Romero agreed to trade you for a day, telling anyone who asked that you loaned him your car while his was in the shop. After a full hour of waiting outside the address your nav app took you to, the night was finally getting cool enough to make the inside of the car a tolerable temperature. You were spoiled by the unending cold air your car was capable of even when the engine was off, while Romero’s beater had no AC to speak of.
A minute later your phone buzzed. Romero had sent a picture of a plastic fork and spoon crossed like they were on a coat of arms across your license plate. “Believe me now?”
You started to type a reply when a green car pulled up in front of you. It was vaguely familiar, and you scraped your mind trying to remember where you’d seen it before when the driver’s door opened Walters stepped out of the car. You ducked behind the steering wheel, watching him behind Romero’s tacky dashboard hula dancer. He looked around nervously, then opened the trunk and bent over it. You took the moment to dart out of the car, being sure to click the lock as you did. Walters pulled a large box wrapped in dark cloth out of his trunk, balancing it on his hip while he locked his car. As he stood you ducked behind a trash can, watching him around the side as he looked around again, then started walking towards the warehouse.
You fell in behind him, trying to time your steps with his to avoid him hearing you. His burden seemed heavy, he kept adjusting it and switching which arm he had it tucked under as he walked. He stopped at a staff door on the side of the building, knocking gently. After a moment’s hesitation, a burly man answered.
“Here for the club.” Walters stated quietly as you caught up to him.
“Who’s your friend?” The man pointed at you.
Walters turned slowly, the confusion on his face turning to a mixture of fear and anger when he realized who you were.
“Hi, I’m Mary.” You shouldered past him before he could say anything. “Did he not mention I was coming?”
“Nope. You his girlfriend or something?”
You turned to him. “Am I?”
“I-I-I don’t-” Walters stammered, his face turning red.
“Bro.” The doorman said, crossing his arms. “You godda lock that shit down man.”
“He can take his time!” You said, linking arms with him. “He’s sensitive, I like that in a man.”
“Lucky guy then.” The doorman stepped back and you dragged the still spluttering Walters inside.
The warehouse was lit dimly, and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness you could see that this had clearly been hastily put together. The rafters still hosted a thick layer of dust and cobwebs and were wrapped with a mixture of christmas lights and hanging lamps. Tarps of all sizes and colors were pinned to the walls and cheap plastic drop cloths were layered across the floor. People from all walks of life milled around, crowding around a few booths and a large stage at one end of the warehouse. You saw a few people, mostly what seemed to be older men, wearing masks depicting caricatures of politicians or in one case the skin of a fluffy stretched and stitched to fit a human form.
“What the fuck are you doing here??” Walters finally managed to spit out, yanking his arm away from you and clutching his bundle tightly to his chest.
“Same question I could ask you. What is this place??”
“You shouldn’t be-”
“Davey!” A broad shouldered man made his way over, arms outstretched. “How ya been bud? Who’s your girl?”
“This- this is-”
“I’m Mary.” You spoke for him again, and shook hands with him.
“Pleasure to meet you Mary! I’m John, I didn’t know my boy had a girlfriend!” Walters turned red once again, pressing his face against the bundle he carried. “That your competitor?”
“Y-yeah.” He handed it to John who flipped back the cloth revealing it to be a small wire crate. He peeked into it quickly before flopping the cloth back down.
“Ooh, looks fun! You explain to her how all this works?”
“N-no, I didn’t want-”
John cut him off again, clapping his hand on your shoulder. “So of course you get that this is hush-hush, right? Right.” He didn’t wait for you to reply before firmly spinning you around to face a small booth built of scrap wood. “That’s the betting booth, get yourself some money in play there. Actually, HEY ALANNA!!” A round woman jumped up into view behind the counter at his yell. “Get this girl some cash on the house, yeah? Fifty even. Oh, and a foal.”
“Sure, boss.” She replied.
“Oh! Uh, thanks!” You had no idea what he was talking about.
“Don’t mention it, my boy Davey needs all the help he can get!” You forced a laugh along with him as he turned you further, facing a small stage. “Down there will be the main event, should be a good show tonight! While we set up there’s some smaller fights going on to the left there.” He finally released you, your shoulder throbbing from his firm grasp. “You see anything escape you give it a firm stomp for me, yeah? Can’t let any of them get loose. If they’re in stomping range that’s a ring-out anyway so don’t worry too much.”
“I… can do that.”
“Good girl.” He clapped you firmly on the back. “I godda go set up, but you two lovebirds have fun!” He tossed the crate onto his shoulder like it weighed nothing, the creature within letting out a small squeak.
“You-you need to leave!” Walters hissed.
“And what if I don’t want to, Davey?”
He stared you down for a moment, grinding his teeth. “Fine. Don’t… don’t cause trouble.”
“I don’t intend to.” You followed him as he stomped over to the betting booth.
“Give me three hundred on Betty.” Walters muttered as he pulled out his wallet.
“You sure? She’s not looking so good.” The round woman, Alanna, pointed with her thumb at the chalkboard behind her. There was a list of names carefully written out with their betting odds next to them. At the very top was Persimmon with 1-9, below her was Layla with 2-5, and all the way down at the bottom, barely visible, was Betty with odds at 7-2.
“What?? N-no, she’s gonna do great!”
“Yeahhhh…” She leaned forward on the counter. “Just keep telling yourself that. You still want it?”
“It’ll be a big payout.” He shoved a fist full of fifty dollar bills out to her.
Alanna counted them out, putting them in a money box below the counter and printing him a small ticket. “And for you, new girl?”
“Uhhh…” You scoured the board, the names all vaguely feminine. “Let’s put it all on… Nora.” She boasted decent odds of 1-1 and was right smack in the middle of the pack.
“Alright.” She printed you a ticket, handing it to you. “Don’t lose that or give it to anyone but me, no matter what anyone says. You know what color foal you want?”
“Uh…” You trailed off, baffled.
“… I’ll just get one for you.” She dug around in a small bucket next to her. “Here, no one ever picks purple.” She handed you a purple poker chip. “Take it to the stand over there, they’ll let you pick out a foal for the races.”
“Thanks…” You looked it over, confused. One side had a large number 5, the other a relief of a fluffy’s face with bold X’s over the eyes.
“Have fun, honey. Sorry your boyfriend ditched you.” You spun around and Walters was nowhere to be seen. Slippery bastard.
You wandered over to the area Alanna pointed out, a rickety scrap wood barrier surrounded by a small crowd. As you got closer you could see the track between the patrons, a shallow slope leading up to a gold ribbon and lined with what seemed to be strips of coarse sandpaper. The lanes were a little wider than your hand with small barriers between them and you could see hints of traps to come poorly hidden along their length, silver wires stretched across the path, the trigger mechanism of a mousetrap, a series of thin holes through the floor where any manner of thing could come poking through.
“Come pick your foals! Get into the next race!” A well dressed man announced, holding out boxes of foals sorted by color. He saw you approach with your purple chip in hand and dug behind him for a small cardboard box. “Not the best pickings, no one ever picks purple.”
“The purple ones suck!” A thin, birdlike woman next to you exclaimed. “They’re always so spoiled and fat! Never worth it.” The gaggle of women she was with nodded their approval.
In the box were three foals, a three legged lavender foal that was sucking on its remaining front hoof, a purple-grey unicorn that stared listlessly forward, and a larger deep purple earthie that was trying to hide in the corner of the box. You scooped up the deep purple foal gently, cupping it in your hands. “Hey little guy, it’s alright.”
He quivered in your palms, hiding his face under its hooves. You could see its ribs poking out, its shoulder blades sharp under its thin fuzzy pelt. With a single finger you stroked his back, ignoring the jeers of the crowd around you. At a gentle touch the foal calmed, peeking a single eye out to look at you.
“Where’s your mummah, little guy?”
“Babbeh nu knu…” He mumbled.
“That’s a shame.” You almost felt something for this little foal. He was so small, so scared.
“…Be nyu mummah?” The foal asked, lifting his head hopefully.
“…Maybe.”
“Diabolical.” The man handing out the foals said, a wicked grin on his lips. He plucked the foal from you and held it in front of his face by the scruff. “You win the race and you get your nyu mummah, little rat!”
“O-o-o-otay!” The purple foal shook in his grasp. “Wiww win fo’ nyu mummah!”
The crowd roared with laughter as your foal was set in lane three. “When the buzzer goes off the door will drop and the foals will race! If you touch the foal or the lane in any way your foal is eliminated and you won’t get your money back.” The man jumped up on a crate to overlook the track. “First one to the end wins, beyond that anything goes! Are we ready?”
The crowd cheered and your little purple foal looked back at you. On one side of him a yellow foal sucked his hoof, the green pegasus on the other side was trying to climb the walls to get out of his lane.
“AND… GO!” A buzzer sounded, and the little gates holding the foals back fell.
The green foal darted forward, seeing a way out.
“Green two takes an early lead!” The announcer called and the buyer of the yellow foal cheered loudly.
“C’MON YOU STUPID FUCK RUN!” someone else yelled, prompting most of the foals to start trying to climb the surface.
Your foal was making slow but steady progress when the green foal reached the first obstacle, thin metal wires stretched across the lane. It ran into them at full speed, which wasn’t all that fast but was fast enough for the razor wire to cut across its nose.
“SCREEEEEEE! WAI HUWT!” The foal fell back, tumbling down the slope back to the gate it started at. The crowd roared with laughter again as the buyer of the foal cursed.
The purple foal tapped the wire inquisitively with a hoof, yelping as the sharp wire bit into its flesh. It shied away from the wire, then turned to look at you. You gave it an encouraging nod, and its eyes filled with determination. It turned back to the wire and pressed itself flat to the sandpaper, dragging its stomach against the rough ground as it crawled under the wires.
“Oooh, purple three has figured it out! Will the others be able to?” The announcer called. As if on cue the blue pegasus on the end of the track started screaming as the wires sliced off one of his wings. “Blue six isn’t looking so good!”
“GOD DAMNIT!” A man on that end yelled, stomping his foot.
“C’mon, go!” You found yourself cheering the purple foal on as the wires shaved the tiniest bit of purple fuzz off its back. It managed to free itself from the razor wire and sat up carefully, its belly red and irritated from scraping along the sandpaper.
At the very back of the pack the green pegasus climbed back to the wires. It tried to hold its bleeding nose as it walked, squinting in pain, and pressed its front leg firmly into the wires. It screeched, pulling its leg back and slicing off a large chunk of flesh and fluff. The crowd cheered as its blood sprayed out across the lane, and it fell forward into the wires. Your smile slid off your face as the poor foal screamed, the wires cutting through its body as if it were butter.
“AND GREEN TWO IS OUT!!” The announcer called over the rabble of the crowd. “WE HAVE OUR FIRST BLOOD OF THE NIGHT!!”
The red foal in the first lane had turned and watched the green foal bleed out and die, frozen in horror. Your purple foal had a splatter of its blood on his flank but continued on unhindered. You could see the trigger of the mousetrap up ahead, but the base of it had been painted to look pretty similar to the flooring of the trap. You held your breath as the foal approached the yellow trigger, praying it would notice and see something was up. He hesitated for a moment in front of it, sucking its cut hoof. The crowd quieted down somewhat, waiting to see what he would do. The foal sat back on his hind legs, readied himself, and leapt over the yellow plate.
SNAP. “SCREEEEE!”
The metal bar landed firmly down on his hind legs, you could see the bones flattened by the trap. “AND OUR LEADER PURPLE THREE IS OUTTTTTT!” The crowd cheered their reply, jeering at the injured foal. You watched him sob into his hooves, wishing there was something you could do. If you jumped over the barrier to rescue him you’d out yourself as a hugboxer, so all you could do is watch.
The blue foal on the end also met its end in the trap, pressing down on the trigger as if it were a button the metal bar smashed down into its skull, sending bone and brain matter flying. Another cheer from the crowd rang out as the foal twitched.
The yellow foal managed to just barely avoid the trap, it seemed to put together that the noises of suffering it could hear had something to do with the yellow trigger and carefully sidled around it.
“YELLOW FOUR IS NOW IN THE LEAD! WILL HE MAKE IT ALL THE WAY??” The announcer continued whipping up the crowd, feeding off their bloodlust. You chewed your lip, watching your purple foal sob into its hooves.
“HEY!” you called to it. “YOU CAN DO IT! MUMMAH LOVES YOU!!” The crowd roared with laughter at your wording but the foal turned to look at you, tears streaming down its face. You nodded at it, urging it on. With a grunt, the foal stuck its front hooves out and dragged itself forward, mousetrap and all.
“WHAT’S THIS? PURPLE THREE ISN’T OUT YET? CAN A MUMMAH’S LOVE REALLY MAKE HIM GO ALL THE WAY??”
You cheered as he dragged himself, starting to build up some momentum. His little lips were moving as he did but you couldn’t make out what he was saying over the noise of the crowd.
“SCREEEEEEEEEE!” Yellow four had stepped on one of the triggers of the next trap, and thin metal spikes stabbed out of the small holes in the floor, piercing into it. It stumbled forward, screeching in pain and stepped on a second one and the spike stabbed into its eye. It reeled back, plucking the eye from the socket.
“YELLOW FOUR ISN’T LOOKING SO GOOD! CAN PURPLE THREE CATCH UP??”
Your foal had dragged itself to the first trigger. He avoided stepping on it directly, but the wooden plank of the mousetrap was only a little more narrow than the lane itself. He pulled itself forward once more, pressing down the trigger and the spikes shot into him.
“OWWIES!” He yelped in pain as his front hooves were pierced, but the wooden body of the mousetrap protected his internal organs from the attack.
“I DON’T BELIEVE IT FOLKS, THE SHITRAT IS WEARING ARMOR!!!”
Slowly it pushed forward, moaning in pain as the spikes dragged along its hooves leaving deep gouges. The rest of the spikes were thin enough that the weight of the foal and mousetrap were heavy enough to bend them down and out of its way. It was reaching the end of the track as the yellow foal stepped on the last trigger, a spike shooting into its chest and stopping it dead.
“CMON, CMON!!!” You shoved past the crowd to stand on the side so the foal could see you as it dragged itself forward. “YOU’RE ALMOST THERE!”
With one more push the foal was under the golden ribbon, and reached up for it with a bloody hoof.
“HE’S DONE IT FOLKS! ALL HE HAS TO DO IS PULL THAT RIBBON AND HE’S WON!”
“YOU CAN DO IT!!!” You shouted over the crowd. His injuries weren’t critical, for sure something you could fix without needing to take him to the hospital. His hind legs would need to be braced but he could clearly drag himself around just fine while he healed. The spikes had gone all the way through his legs, but from what you could see they were shiny new metal, so minimal risk of infection.
His hoof hooked over the ribbon above his head as you put together his treatment plan, and he looked at you with teary eyes and a wide smile. “BABBEH GET NYU MUMMAH!!!” He pulled down on the ribbon and the floor dropped out from under him.
“SCREE-” With a roar of machinery your foal landed between two spiked metal rollers that chewed him and the mousetrap up into a fine paste. It happened in seconds, he was there for a moment and then he wasn’t. You watched in shock as what remained of him dripped down into a collection vat, bits of wood and purple fluff just barely visible through the red paste that remained of him.
“WE HAVE A WINNER!!” The announcer grabbed your arm and yanked you into the air by the arm, holding you out over the crowd. “AND WHAT A WINNER IT WAS!”
“BULLSHIT!!! SHE CHEATED!!” A man yelled, clenching a betting receipt in his fist.
“Now now, she followed all the rules I set.” The man put you down and handed you a small bundle of the colorful chips used to buy the foals. “All of that was allowed.”
“BULL. SHIT.” He stomped up to the announcer who gave him a firm shove back.
“You don’t like it, you can bring it up with John. This gal won, you lost. Don’t be a bitch about it.”
He grumbled to himself for a moment then turned and stormed off. You took the moment to dart away while the crowd busied themselves yelling about what the rules of the races really were. Your heart was pounding in your chest, you could feel the nervous sweat building up on your shirt as you plopped down on a bench on the corner. You really did think you could save that foal. You, for a moment, thought that if he made it to the end you could heal him up, keep him at your place until you found something to do with him. Maybe even give him a name. What the fuck was wrong with you?
“Mary… you good?” Walters stood next to you, fiddling with his fingers nervously.
“Yeah… fine.” You composed yourself, brushing some of the gunk off your skirt. You weren’t going to think of it as anything more than gunk from an unidentified source. “It just got a little heated over there.”
“Yeah… some of these guys… aren’t great.” He shuffled his feet on the plastic lined floor.
You sat in awkward silence. Walters kept opening his mouth like he was about to say something to you, but would close his mouth in silence again a moment later. You wished you could ask him what the hell he was doing here without blowing your cover.
“MAIN EVENT STARTING, GET YOUR ASSES OVER HERE!” A woman in a sparkly sequined dress yelled across the warehouse and the crowd slowly began to form around her. Walters sighed and got up, shouldering his way up to the stage. You followed behind in the small space he made.
While cages were lined up against the back wall you reminded yourself why you were here. This wasn’t a place to save any individual fluffy. You could hope to shut it down but you knew deep within you this was not the only place this was happening. Some of those wearing masks were for sure politicians, public figures, people who couldn’t afford to be seen in a place like this but for sure could afford to fund one. There was nothing you could do for these ones. You just needed to survive the night and you could go drink about it.
“GOOOOOOOOD EVENING ladies and gentlemen! Do we have a show for you tonight!” The sequined woman announced, standing on a podium at the back of the arena. “Tonight is our first annual MUMMAH FIGHT!! Tonight we have a selection of the best mummahs we could provide, trained to fight and desperate to save their foals!” With a flourish of her hand one of the tarps dropped behind her, revealing a long line of foals tied to a peg board. They were sorted into threes under what was presumably their mothers name.
“Tonight’s losers will have their foals given to our reigning champ, BRUNO!!” She pointed to a pen to the side, where a heavily scarred brown fluffy stood in a tiny wire cage, erection on full display. You gagged at the implication while the crowd laughed and jeered, calling for various foals to be first.
“The ladies have been informed of the rules, but just for y’all let’s go over them. Every time someone draws blood the victim will lose a foal. Three strikes and…”
“YOU’RE OUT!!!” the bloodthirsty crowd replied.
“Correct. Losers will get wrangled back into their cages, but don’t worry, we have more plans for them! I’m sure our fighters would love some new enfie mares!” There were more jeers from the crowd and more bile rising in the back of your throat. “Ring outs are instant losses, and you all know what to do with those!”
A chuckle was passed around along with a few loud stomps.
“Let’s get introduced to our contestants!!”
A man leaned over the low barrier at the back of the arena and popped open the first carrier, lifting a struggling orange mare with a green mane into the air.
“Our most popular mummah tonight is Persimmon! She’s an old friend to some of you, daughter of Bruno himself!!”
Persimmon was lifted up to a trio of yellow foals pinned to the board and tried to reach out for them. Behind her another person opened up another cage, lifting a small green mare into the air with a blue mane.
“Next we got little Layla! Don’t be fooled by her small stature, she’s a cold blooded killer with more notches on her cage than I have on my bedpost!”
Layla was calm as the crowd hooted at the sequined announcer, saying something quietly to her terrified foals. Behind her another cage was opened and another mare was pulled out, a pink one named bubblegum that screamed and screamed as she was shown her captive foals. Nora, your bet for the night, was a calm dark blue mare with a black mane, she didn’t seem to react to the foals behind her.
As more and more fluffies were paraded out in front of the crowd you saw Walters step up to the last cage in the line, the one wrapped in the same dark cloth he brought it in. You squinted at him, something glinted from his sleeve as he started unwrapping the cloth from around the crate.
“Last but certainly not least, a new gal with nothing to her name, brought in by one of our regulars, BETTY!” The sequined announcer held her well manicured hand out to where Walters lifted a white unicorn with a pink mane into the air, she kicked her hooves and it looked like he was going to drop her for a moment before turning her to the foals on the pegboard. As he did you noticed him press the heel of his hand against her flank firmly, in a way that looked like he was just supporting her rear end. A memory came to mind, one from your training in which a doctor showed you how to hide injections from fluffies by slipping the syringe up your scrubs sleeve. Most fluffies when distracted by a fun snack or, say, their foals, wouldn’t even notice the pinch of the needle. And a bloodthirsty crowd distracted by a woman in a low cut sparkly dress wouldn’t either. You couldn’t see any of it, so there was no way of knowing what exactly he injected her with. Not a sedative, for sure. Maybe some pain relief?
“Are we ready?” The announcer asked.
“FIGHT!! FIGHT!!! FIGHT!!!” The crowd chanted as the fluffies were lowered into the arena, still held tightly by their captors.
“RELEASE THE FLUFFIES!!” She called, and those holding the mares jumped back.
Most of the mares, including Betty, turned back towards their foals and started trying to climb the barrier to get to them. Persimmon, however, turned to Layla and reared up for a stomp. The smaller mare was ready for it and dodged away deftly, slamming her forehead into Persimmon’s hip and knocking her onto her side. The two wrestled, snapping their teeth at each other but never drawing any blood.
On the other side of the arena, while the crowd watched the only two fighting fluffies duke it out, Betty froze. You could see her breathing heavily as she slowly turned to look at the pale yellow mare next to her, eyes wide and bloodshot. With a hoarse scream she charged into the yellow mare, ramming her horn into her and slamming her into Nora on her other side. Blood squirted out of the wound just below her ribs and splattered onto the plywood floor of the arena.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WE HAVE OUR FIRST BLOOD!! TAKE THE FOAL!” The announcer called. John walked up and ripped one of the yellow mare’s foals off the board and tossed it aside roughly.
“NUUU BABBEH!” the yellow mare screamed, kicking wildly. One of her hooves connected with Betty’s face and knocked her aside, pulling her now bloodstained white horn from the wound. Nora seemed to have put together what she needed to do and started stomping the yellow mare on the ground, tears streaming down her face. Betty lunged back in the second she had her footing, stomping down on the yellow mare’s face and sending teeth flying across the floor. With a yelp another foal was tossed aside.
You watched in shock at the ferocity of the attack, as foamy spittle began to form at the corners of her mouth and her eyes dilated to a degree that you wondered if she could even see anymore. What did Walters give her? You’d never seen anything like it. It was like she was on meth or something.
“SCREEEE!” On the other side of the arena Persimmon had Layla pinned and ripped her ear off with her teeth.
“ANOTHER FOAL DOWN, CAN LAYLA RECOVER?”
The smaller mare struggled, managing to land a solid hoof to Persimmon’s nose and distracting her long enough to wriggle out from under her.
With a loud crack Betty slammed her hooves through the yellow mare’s skull. John ripped the last of her foals off the wall as she rushed towards Nora. The blue mare dodged and Betty spun on two hooves to rush her again. Looking up you saw Walters grinning, a cruel glint in his eye you’d never seen before. It was hard to reconcile this with the Walters that was so kind to Ella and Nugget and the other residents of the psych wing. He spoke so kindly with them, handled them so gently and cared for them so well… and yet here he was facilitating more of their kind fighting to the death. Something you guessed you’d have to get used to; a caring exterior hiding something much more vicious underneath.
He caught your eye and his smile faltered as he looked away quickly. Coward.
“CAN SHE DO IT? CAN LAYLA COME OUT ON TOP?!” Back in the arena, Layla was clinging to Persimmon’s back as she tore out chunks of mane with her teeth. Persimmon bucked and spun but Layla was clinging far too tightly for her to shake off. With fury in her eyes she bit down on the orange mare’s back firmly, eliciting a scream and a small spurt of blood. “WE HAVE REVENGE FOLKS!!!” John pulled one of the yellow foals off the wall roughly, its back hoof snapping with the force.
“BABBEH! NU!” Persimmon reared up and fell firmly onto her back, slamming down onto Layla. There was a sickening crunch audible even over the rabble and you winced in sympathy. She rolled over, the smaller mare staying flat on the ground. “MUMMAH SAB’ BABBEH!” She reared up, hooves lifted over the mare, tears streaming down her face.
Then she was thrown to the side as Betty slammed into her. “WHAT’S THIS? DOES THE NEWCOMER HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO WIN??”
Splattered with the remains of Nora and the other mares she carved her way through, Betty slammed her horn into Persimmon’s hip. Her eyes were dark and blank as the mare screamed. Another of Persimmon’s foals was discarded and she roared in rage at Betty. Layla was slowly getting to her hooves, it seemed her spine was undamaged but she for sure had broken ribs by the way she winced with every step towards the fighting mares.
“AND LAYLA IS BACK FOLKS, STUBBORN GIRL AIN’T GOING DOWN QUITE YET!!”
Persimmon managed to get atop Betty, pinning her down with hooves on her shoulders. Betty snapped her teeth in every direction she could, hooves flailing but found no target. Persimmon grinned as she bit down on the bloodstained white mare’s ear, ripping it off in a smooth motion. She spat the ear out triumphantly, watching as John ripped one of Betty’s foals off the wall. She leaned down to bite the other ear when Layla bit down firmly on her heel.
“LAYLA KNOWS WHAT SHE’S DOING, SHE’S GOT SOMETHING PLANNED!”
Persimmon squealed and kicked out her rear hooves, sending Layla flying. With her captor knocked off balance Betty rolled out from under her, knocking Persimmon off her hooves entirely. She managed to roll away just as Betty slammed her horn into the plywood floor. The force lodged her firmly into the soft wood and gave Persimmon time to get to her hooves and attack once again, going for her intact ear. With a screech of rage the ear was ripped off, and another of the white unicorn’s foals was pulled off the board.
“WE HAVEN’T SEEN A UNICORN WITH BLOODLUST LIKE THIS BEFORE! CAN SEE TAKE DOWN THE REIGNING CHAMPS??” The announcer continued whipping the crowd into a frenzy, you were being pushed and jostled from every angle as people tried to get a better angle on the carnage.
Layla had gotten back to her hooves and was circling around the mares carefully, looking for an opening. When Persimmon turned to watch Betty’s foal get ripped off the wall she darted in, clamping her teeth down on the orange mare’s mane. Persimmon bucked, spinning in circles, seeming to have forgotten her earlier technique in her panic. With a groan of pain and exertion Layla ripped a small chunk of hair out, a tiny splatter of blood coming with it.
“THREE STRIKES, PERSIMMON IS OUT!!” The sequined announcer called, and John walked to the other end of the board to where the last yellow foal sobbed.
“BABBEH!!!” Persimmon bucked Layla off and ran to the barrier. “NU TAEK NU TAEK!! NU WAN!!”
John ignored her, throwing the yellow foal aside and grabbing her by the scruff. “DON’T WORRY FOLKS, YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE LAST OF HER!” A cheer went out as the struggling mare was dropped back into her crate.
With a roar Betty pulled her horn from the wooden floor, now sporting a visible crack. It took a significant amount of force to do damage like that, enough that she risked cracking her own skull. What the hell had Walters given her??
Layla crouched low as Betty charged her, horn lowered. She waited until Betty was almost on top of her to attempt to leap over the frenzied mare. This was clearly her signature move, she had the timing and positioning down.
With her current injuries, however, it was not quite enough. What Layla did instead was line her chest up with Betty’s lowered horn. You watched as she was run through like a bullfighter, the horn slamming between her broken ribs as Betty ran her into the scrap wood of the barrer. Layla struggled feebly as her blood leaked around the horn and Betty pressed into her, bones cracking. Finally she fell still, hoof coming to rest on Betty’s nose.
“WE HAVE OUR WINNER!! NEW GIRL BETTY TAKES DOWN OUR OLD CHAMP LAYLA!!”
The crowd surged forward, arguing about bets and prizes and the rules, pushing you back. The path to the door was clear and unblocked, even Alanna and the doorman were in the frenzy. You made your escape, pausing in the doorway for just a moment to see Walters struggling to cram the still frenzied mare into her carrier. He made eye contact with you for just a moment before she bit down on his hand and he yelped, nearly dropping her. You’d find out what he gave her one way or another.
Outside the air was cool and fresh, you didn’t realize how stuffy it was in there. You hurried to the car, sure that someone was following behind you but you were alone on the dark street. Just you and the cars. You opened the car door, intent on getting out of this horrible place but paused, looking at Walters’ car in front of you. You pulled a receipt off the floor of Romero’s car and a pen from the center console and scribbled a note to stick under his windshield wipers.
You’re going to tell me everything I want to know
or I’ll tell them how you cheated.
