Chapters Anon groaned, rolling to his side and away from the glaring rays of sunlight creeping through his window. Pulling a pillow up and over his head, he froze. Something wasn’t right; the sun shouldn’t be up before he…
“Oh no,” he grumbled, fumbling for his alarm clock.
Reaching for his night stand, after throwing the blankets back, something sharp and cold pressed into his palm - several somethings, in fact. As he pushed himself up and looked to the side, wondering what in the hell had jabbed him, he blinked in disbelief. Where his clock had sat, only glass shards, bent metal, and cogs lay scattered. What in the ever-living hell had happened to his beloved and faithful timekeeping contraption, he couldn’t say, but it had been ticked its last tock.
“Nord,” he hollered, suspecting his boorish roommate had something to do with the unwanted destruction, “did you break my -”
He fell silent, as a curious aroma tickled his nostrils. Inhaling through his nose, utterly perplexed, he tried to place the scent. It didn’t smell bad - hell, it actually smelled pretty damn fantastic, which only deepened the enigma. Drawn by the siren’s call of something tasty, he flung his legs over the side of his bed and got to his feet.
Stepping into his slippers, he shuffled into the hallway and out of his room. Every step he took left him increasingly confounded. Somebody was definitely cooking, though he couldn’t rightly say what they were making. Sniffing the air, led by the odd fragrance, he peeked into the kitchen; lo and behold, a king’s banquet awaited him.
Though most of the dishes were unfamiliar, every ounce of food looked absolutely delicious. His table was absolutely heaped with vittles, but that wasn’t the only thing of interest in the room. Lingering by the stove, bedecked in an undersized apron, Nord prodded something within a big iron pot.
Larger than life, far bigger than any pony he’d ever seen before, the mare stirred the heated pot. Covered in a creamy coat, with fiery mane and tail, she was nearly the size of an actual horse from his homeland. A great many mysteries revolved around her, though she’d inexplicably become his housemate for the foreseeable future.
To make a relatively short and confusing story even shorter, he’d been volunteered to be her tender. While she was massive and spoke in a nearly indecipherable manner, she really wasn’t that bad of a housemate - well, that is, when she wasn’t stealing his bed or accidentally breaking shit. As things were, with Twilight having asked him to keep an eye on her, he really didn’t have a choice in the matter.
“Ah, ah wis aboot tae wake ye up! Breakfast is a'maist duin,” she announced, smiling over her shoulder at him.
Licking his lips, Anon turned his attention to the arrayed feast. Scanning the different dishes, his eyes locked onto something that was clearly out of place. Atop a small wooden slab rested what almost looked like some sort of smoked fish, but that couldn’t be right. Ponies weren’t carnivorous or even omnivorous, so he was almost assuredly mistaken - right? Stepping closer and leaning in, he gave the suspect platter sniff.
“I...is this fish?” he asked, lifting his head and peering over at the titanic chef.
“Aye,” she smugly hummed. Wheeling around, pointing a wooden spoon at the various courses, she named them off one by one. “Arbroath smokie, butteries, tattie scones, white pudding, porridge, 'n' th' best pairt is juist gettin’ dane.”
As usual, Anon couldn’t tell what in the hell she was saying, but his hunger eclipsed his confusion. He could always attempt to puzzle out why she’d cooked a meat dish later - for the time being, his chief concern was the rumbling in his stomach. Pulling out a chair and taking a seat at the table, he tried to figure out what he was going to try first.
“You didn’t have to make breakfast for us,” he murmured, spying her fish something from her cauldron. “By the way, how did you afford all this?”
“Ah tore doon a hoose,” she proudly exclaimed, sauntering over with a large platter balanced on one forehoof.
“Well it was…” he trailed off, as she deposited a steaming, ball-like thing onto his plate. Whatever it was, it smelled almost as strange as it looked. Lifting his fork, giving it an experimental poke, he wrinkled his nose. “And this is…?”
“Haggis!” she bleated, hopping into the empty seat opposite him. Foregoing any silverware whatsoever, once she’d plated a portion for herself, she bit into her serving and loudly chewed away.
Of all the things she’d named, the last was the one he recognized, though he wished he hadn’t. He didn’t know the specifics of how haggis was made, but he knew it contained various innards and, if he wasn’t mistaken, some sort of grain. It was a less than appetizing prospect, causing him to knit his brow, which apparently didn’t escape his guest.
“Ah’ll hae ye ken, ah won th' local haggis contest fur five years straecht,” she sputtered, sending flecks of chewn food over the table. Nodding at his plate, she glowered. “Huv a go it, ah ken ye'll lik' it.”
Swallowing hard, not wanting to offend her, Anon sawed a small morsel from the dubious cuisine. If he didn’t try it, he ran the risk of pissing her off or worse - having her festoon the rest of their meal with bits of masticated haggis. Steeling himself, he lifted the bite and slipped it past his lips.
“Bonny guid, innit?” she inquired, watching him mechanically chew his forkful.
Anon forced a smile, powering through the mouthful and forcing it down. Whatever the hell the stuff was made of, it was palatable - if only just. Rich and with a very minerally taste, it was dotted with bits of oats. Truth be told, he was much more interested in the other dishes available, but those would have to wait - for the time being, he had to put an appreciable dent in his serving before moving on.
Doggedly working his way through his potion, forkful by forkful, an unforeseen issue reared its ugly head. Not only was he getting full, but he was quickly losing his appetite. The haggis was remarkably filling, leaving him to wonder how she expected him to enjoy any of the other cuisine she’d prepared. It wasn’t until he raised his head, averting his eyes from the sinister entrée, did he realize why she’d made so much food.
Nearly half of the spread had disappeared in what felt like a heartbeat. Glancing at the platters, his eyes wandered over to his guest. Nord, like some quadrupedal trash compactor, sat and gobbled from a pile of mixed courses on her plate. Quite literally burying her face in her breakfast, the hedonistic sight gave him a moment for pause.
It was an odd spectacle, though it did explain a few things. If the mare ate that prolifically on a regular basis, it was no wonder she was such a colossal size. The development was an interesting one, especially because she clearly had no reservations about eating meat, and he made a mental note to ask her about it later. Lowering his gaze, fixating on his partially consumed meal, he sighed.
By the time everything was said and done, he was absolutely stuffed. He hadn’t even been able to finish his portion, before he felt like he was weighed down by the dense substance. Fortunately or unfortunately, leftovers wouldn’t be much of an issue. As seemingly impossible as it may have been, Nord was able to polish off damn near all of the food she’d made. There were a few scraps left, but he didn’t feel like he’d be very hungry for the remainder of the day.
The mare loudly belched, proudly patting her full belly and hopping from her chair. Sauntering over to the stove, she retrieved the pot from which she’d fished the haggis. Awestruck that she was going back for more, his assumption quickly turned to dread. As she trotted over, plopping a second haggis onto his plate, he grimaced.
“Sloch up, ye need some bridie oan yer bones,” she chuckled, playfully elbowing his side.
Later that morning, after helping clean up, Anon had trudged into the living room to recuperate from his meal - sure, he may not have been thrilled with his choice of breakfast, but it had left him extraordinarily full and satisfied. Apparently at some point, while resting on his sofa, he’d slipped into a calorically-induced coma. While he couldn’t say exactly when or for how long he’d dozed, he awoke to his leg being gently nudged.
“Oi,” Nord grunted, poking his thigh, “A'm needin' yer hulp.”
“Wha …” he groaned, unsteadily pushing himself up.
Rubbing his face, questioning if he should just crawl back into bed, he was met with an unexpected sight. With a pair of spectacles balanced on her snout, wearing a rather professional looking button-up shirt, the mammoth mare gazed down at him. Exactly where she’d acquired the dapper getup was a mystery, though it gave her a professional air and suited her remarkably well.
Grumbling to himself, he hauled himself from the couch. “What’s going on?”
“Dae ye ken whit a stock exchange is?” she asked, cocking her head.
“Stock exchange?” Anon repeated, recognizing the two words.
“Aye, ah heard ponies ur trying tae mak' dosh thare - micht hae a few ideas fur thaim,” she explained, as if he could understand her perfectly.
Though he hadn’t the foggiest idea how she could help anyone with investments or marketing advice, Anon shrugged. “Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”
One of his larger concerns for her was finding something to keep her busy - preferably something involving making money. As things were, his meager income from working at the bowling alley would be keeping them afloat. He had no doubt that she could get a job that fit her bizarre and unique skill set, but finding a fitting career for her would be tricky.
In addition to the Castle of Friendship, the School of Friendship, the Cafe of Friendship, and the Paper Mill of Friendship, Twilight had recently constructed a Stock Market of Friendship near the heart of town. He wasn’t sure what the teeming masses of ponies trading commodities had to do with friendship, but that wasn’t his problem. If the Princess wanted to promote a healthy economy, that was her prerogative.
With nothing better to do, hoping the walk would help him shake his lethargy, he walked to the door and waved for his guest to follow. If nothing else, seeing how she’d react to a hoard of excited business-ponies scamper about and screaming to buy or sell this or that, may be entertaining. With his guest turned housemate in tow, he led the way into town and towards the newly erected commercial hub.
Blazing overhead, the mid-morning sun was as pleasant as ever, while the pair casually trotted to the little village. With most ponies already at work or attending classes for the day, the streets were relatively vacant and quiet - that was, until they drew nearer to their destination. Before they could even see the building, the sound of stomping hooves and raised voices caught the man’s ear. Rounding a corner, the pair got their first good look at the place.
Designed almost like a convention center, with ponies scampering in and out the front door, the structure was nearly as large as the town hall. The exchange was definitely one of the busier places in town, even if he didn’t fully grasp what went on there, but that only piqued his interest. Walking alongside Nord, he pressed through the throng and into the entrance.
Though the place was pretty active on the outside, the inside was absolute chaos. Various creatures were screaming and damn near fighting, paperwork was flying everywhere, and scrolls magically teleported to and from the facility in droves. Honestly, he couldn’t make heads or tails of what was going on; thankfully, that didn’t seem to be a problem for Nord.
Stepping forward and coolly looking around, the mare raised one hoof, cleared her throat, and issued one of the most resounding stomps he’d ever seen. The marble shattered under her keratinous appendage, a thunderous crack rang through the building, and the room fell deathly quiet. Everyone and everything seemed to freeze, as all eyes turned to the giantess.
“Oi!” she boomed, leering at anyone who dare meet her eye, “A've git something tae say.” Not a single soul spoke or budged, too shocked or fearful of their enormous visitor, though everyone present gave her their undivided attention. “If yi'll waant tae mak' dosh, buy peat, barley, iron, 'n' wool,” she commanded, sweeping a forehoof towards the masses. “Whit urr ye waiting fur? Dae it noo!”
No sooner had she issued her nonsensical demand than the room became a maelstrom of activity. The magical correspondence doubled - no tripled , as messages appeared and disappeared from the air. Ponies teleported to and fro, the intensity of the shouting increased, and it sure as shit like all hell was breaking loose. Periodically, over the din of the crowd, voices could be heard yelling for the items Nord had so magnanimously suggested.
“Hah,” she laughed, sidling up to the man, “Ah knew it wid wirk! They'll a' be rich afore this efternoon!”
“Huh ,” Anon grunted, astounded that her plan had worked.
As hectic and inexplicable as it seemed, Nord’s words had clearly made an impact with the entrepreneurial equines. If they were lucky, maybe one of the capitalistic ponies would offer her a job after this! The moment the hopeful thought crossed his mind, things suddenly and unexpectedly took an alarming turn - literally .
Sirens blared, bells started ringing, and warning lights flashed frantically. The energy of the room, though still bewildering, became one of panic. Unlike the excited and competitive voices of before, ponies wailed and grieved some great and unknowable misfortune. It was as bizarre as it was incomprehensible, although Anon suspected what had set it all off.
He was no financial expert, so he was left to assume his guest’s suggestion had initiated some great economic calamity. The lamentations of the brokers warred with the klaxons, leaving Nord and Anon as islands of calm in a sea of madness. Turning to his companion, the man brought his muzzle to the mare’s ear.
“I thought you said you know what you’re doing?” he hissed, barely audible over the ruckus.
“Whit?” she balked. “Peat, barley, iron, 'n' wool ur important! Ye cannae bide comfortably or mak' cratur wi'oot thaim!” she blithely insisted, jabbing a hoof to his chest. “Thank goodness ah broke th' speirins tae thaim. They'd be in trauchle wi'oot me!”
Unsure of what she’d said, or why she seemed so pleased with herself, Anon concluded that she had no idea what she’d done - for fuck’s sake, even he didn’t fully understand what she’d done. He knew things were bad, but he didn’t realize just how bad they were until a golden and cobalt flash caught his eye.
He gulped, spotting the diarchs appear amidst the pandemonium. He’d only ever met Celestia and Luna once, but their presence signaled that things were far, far worse than he’d imagined. As the sibling alicorns consoled the ponies, doing their best to put out the figurative and literal fires which had been set, his blood ran cold. Before the siblings figured out who was to blame, he and his colossal companion really, really needed to see themselves out.
“We really should be leaving now ,” he muttered, tugging at her shirt.
A confused look crossed Nord’s face, as she sighed heavily and turned to follow him. Though she didn’t appear too upset, she was obviously displeased with the development. It was the umpteenth job prospect she’d unintentionally bungled and, sadly, the prospects for finding her suitable work were growing increasingly dim. Anon really did feel bad for her; it wasn’t her fault that she spoke gibberish and was a walking disaster!
Reaching out, resting an arm over her shoulders, he patted her withers. “Come on, let’s get out of here…”
While he really wouldn’t have minded going home and relaxing for the rest of the day, the tempestuous experience struck a nerve. She really was a good pony, so far as he could tell, and he’d be damned if he’d let her day be ruined after she’d made him breakfast. It didn’t matter if she was like a bull in a china shop, or that her cooking was rather questionable, or that she’d broken his clock. With Celestia as his witness, he would help her find a gig that fit!
Here Comes a New Challenger!
With his crestfallen companion trotting along beside him, Anon shrewdly rubbed his chin. There had to be a job out there that would accommodate her eclectic skill set. She was easily the strongest pony he’d ever met - too strong, in fact - but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It did seem to be possible for her to rein in her herculean might, if only occasionally, so there may be hope for her.
“Step right up and see if you have the skills to make a few quick bits!” a duo of voices loudly called, shaking the man from his thoughts.
Slowing and turning his head, he spied a large congregation of ponies gathering around a pair of slender stallions atop a raised platform. Adorned in matching striped shirts, ties, and boater hats, the two were almost identical. The only discernible difference between the pair was that one had a spruce mustache and the other did not, though they could easily pass for…
“That’s right, folks! The world famous Flim Flam brothers have returned! But we’ll not be selling wares this time! Oh no, not this time! This time, we’re bringing the opportunity to make a quick bit to you !” one of them declared, waving a hoof at the gathering onlookers.
At the mention of earning coin, Anon ground to a halt. The dubious sounding siblings were more than likely staging some sort of scam, given their remarkably upbeat and carefree demeanor. Without ever having met or seen them before, he could tell they were up to no good - after all, only con artists and swindlers would have people or ponies believe making money was easy .
“You heard right! My brother Flim here meant every word. For the low, low fee of five bits, you can quadruple your investment!” Flam stated, waving to his sibling.
Shaking his head and moving to his twin’s side, Flim hung a foreleg around his double’s neck. “Now now, brother, don’t be so frugal! I say that the fine ponies of Ponyville can win one hundred-fold the expense!”
Even if there was some kind of hook, which there undoubtedly was, Anon couldn’t help but see what they were up to. Since he didn’t give a single, solitary shit about calling the hustlers out, he did just that. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he drew a deep breath.
“What’s the catch?!” he shouted, momentarily robbing them of their attention.
“Catch?” the pair coughed in unison, holding their chests as if stricken.
“My good - er -” Flam faltered, possibly unsure of how to address the biped, “creature , there is no catch!”
“That’s absolutely correct!” Flim interjected, stepping in front of his brother. “All anypony as to do is agree to a small feat of strength against our assistant!”
Anon still wasn’t buying it, but the mention of strength did catch his ear. In spite of the fact that whatever game they were playing was most likely rigged, Nord was a veritable titan! If they were relying on some doctored machine or gimmicky ploy, there was a very real chance that the enormous equine could brute force her way through it. Nodding towards them, he leaned over to his quadrupedal accomplice.
“I’m not sure what their game is, but do you want to give it a shot?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “It’s only five bits, so I’m not really worried about it - if they cheat you, that is.”
“Ah'ament scared o' they twa dandies,” she spat, scowling over at the duo. Rolling up her sleeves and setting her brow, she bulldozed her way through the audience. “Oi, ye poofters, ah’ll tak' yer challenge!”
“Mares and gentlecolts, we have a taker!” Flam announced, waving her forward.
Sticking just behind Nord, Anon approached the duo. As they moved through the masses, he noticed the pair lingered by a large, empty patch of earth. A broad circle had been painted on the ground, beside an immense, covered carriage; the whole setup looked like it was some sort of an arena, although the specifics of their trial were yet to be seen.
“Ahem -” Flim coughed, extending an open forhoof towards him.
Fishing into his pocket, Anon retrieved a handful of coins and paid the stallion. “And this feat of strength is…?” he let the question hang, folding his arms over his chest.
“Quite simple! All the little missus has to do is stay in this circle for five minutes,” Flim explained. Beaming over at the towering mare, he and his sibling beamed.
Flam ushered her into the arena, opposite the shrouded cart, before backing away. “Now remember, stay within the lines. That shouldn’t be too hard - right?”
Inspecting the roughly twenty-foot diameter circle, Nord nodded. Unless the entire area had concealed booby traps, trap doors, or hidden mechanisms of some sort, there shouldn’t have been anything to worry about - shouldn’t in that there had to be something to give the siblings an edge. Squaring her shoulders and taking a braced stance, the mare readied herself for whatever they planned to throw at her.
With all the pieces in place, the duo retreated and hefted an oversized, wind-up timer. “On your mark,” one stated. “Get set,” the other continued. “Go!” they decried in unison.
The first few seconds ticked by without incident, but it wasn’t long before the wagon sat beside the circular area started to rock. An ominous stomping emanated from within the veiled confines of the wheeled carriage, moments before an enormous hand emerged from behind the curtain. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, as a monstrous form emerged.
Striking a dramatic pose, the minotaur flexed his obscenely swollen arms and smiled. Though Anon had only ever heard of the mythical creatures, he’d had no way of knowing they were that large. Standing a head taller than himself and absolutely covered in muscle, the beast was among the larger Equestrian creatures he’d ever seen - excluding fully grown dragons, of course. Surprised by the grand reveal, it took the man a second to put the pieces together.
“You didn’t say anything about anyone trying to get her out of the stupid ring!” Anon cried.
“No, but you didn’t ask about it either,” Flim tutted.
“You just have to stay in the arena with Iron Will !” the minotaur bellowed, arrogantly displaying his brawn and inexplicably referring to himself in the third person. “Not to worry though, Iron Will would never hurt a lady.”
Squinting over at the hulking biped, Nord’s face twisted in disdain. “Whit?”
“I just said you don’t have anything to worry about, little lady!” Iron Will chuckled. Casually sauntering over to the mare, he leaned in and booped her snoot. “Be a dear and just step out for me, I’d hate to have to - Oof!”
Whatever condescending bullshit the bull-man had been about to spout was cut short, as Nord reared back and headbutted him squarely in the solar plexus. With the wind driven from his sails and lungs, the minotaur staggered back. Evidently he hadn’t anticipated her putting up much of a fight, looking both surprised and pained by the blow.
“T...that - Cough - that was pretty good. Well then, now that you’ve had your fun, I think it’s time you move along,” Iron Will growled. His tone, while still mockingly playful, took on an ominous edge. Even if he was trying to play it off, it was clear to see he wasn’t pleased with her recalcitrance.
“Let's gie it a gang , ye dunderheided fud. Ah'ament scared o' ye, ye muckle, glaikit bas,” Nord responded. Pawing at the earth and lowering her center of gravity, she stared daggers at her foe.
Anon would have interjected, had his curiosity not been piqued. The titanic equine was remarkably sturdy, huge, and impossibly robust. If there was one pony who could physically overpower the imposing minotaur, he’d put his bits on her. A grin crept across his face, as an insidious idea started to coalesce.
“Hey,” he grunted, elbowing Flim’s side, “how much do we get if she throws him out of the ring?”
The twin rose his hoof and opened his mouth, but remained silent. “If we could just have one moment...”
Turning towards one another and stepping close, the siblings struck a heated discussion. Whatever they were saying was lost on the man, though they fiercely whispered about something . Nord and Iron Will idled within the makeshift arena, watching the twins silently deliberate. After a short but heated exchange, they backed away and faced the man.
“Sir, we’ll have you know that this is a competition of strength - not some boorish brawl,” Flam clucked.
“But ,” Flim continued, “if you were willing to quadruple your stake, we could amend the rules.”
“Yes indeedy!” Flam chirped. “For another fifteen bits, your cumbersome friend here could wrestle Iron Will!”
Without a second thought, Anon retrieved the bits from his pocket and jammed them into the stallion’s hoof. “Deal.”
“Everypony, gather ‘round! Here, for the very first time, we’ll be hosting the premier Flim-Flam Wrestling Competition! Make your bets! Who will win? The massively macho minotaur, Iron Will or the mysterious mountain mare?”
The prospect of a legitimate competition stirred the crowd, sending ponies rushing over to gamble on who would win the impromptu match. Between the pair of siblings, several hundred bits must have exchanged hooves. It was hard for Anon to keep track, but almost everyone seemed to place their wager on the minotaur; he couldn’t blame them or anything, since he was slightly larger than the mare, although it did get him thinking. Digging out the last of his cash, he tapped Flim’s shoulder.
“What’re the odds against Nord?”
“We’re going with five to one odds. Care to fork over a few more bits for your bonny lass?” the stallion haughtily inquired.
Passing the pony the last of his coin, Anon walked over to his housemate. “No stress, but I just bet what little money I had on you,” he muttered. “You think you can take him?”
She sternly nodded, eyeing her opponent from head to cloven toe. “Aye, ah kin tak' him. A've fought worse in mah d-”
Ding Ding Ding
Spinning around, drawn by the clatter, Anon spotted the pair ringing a boxing bell. Besides the brief introduction, there hadn’t been any formal declaration for the match to begin; a fact which Iron Will was all too happy to exploit. The only warning he had was the sudden stomping of hooves and a tremendous snort, as he bulky bull charged. Acting on instinct, diving to the side, he narrowly avoided the great beast.
While he didn’t see the impact, he sure as hell heard it. The meaty Thump of two bodies colliding cut through the air. Rolling to the side and scrambling backwards, he retreated from the conflict. Had he been a split second slower, he would have been crushed between the two! Coming to rest outside the arena, seated on the ground, he watched the conflict.
Much to his horror, Iron Will had immediately taken the upper hand. Slamming against her chest, with his head lowered, he’d slipped to her side and wrapped his arms around her chest. With a mighty grunt, the bull-man rose to his full height, hauled the mare off her hooves, and slammed her onto her back. The most unsettling thing about the exchange wasn’t the raw power which was required for the feat, nor the fact that he’d somehow laid her out in an instant, but the look of abject surprise on the lass’ face.
“That is for catching Iron Will off guard,” the minotaur huffed, pompously resting his hands on his hips.
Shaking and clearing her head, Nord spat on the ground. “Didnae lik' that, eh?” she asked, rolling over to her belly. “Mibbie this wull dae ye better!”
Kicking out, she swept the legs from under her opponent. Iron Will windmilled, desperately trying to catch himself, but it was too late. Falling onto his back, with his arms outstretched, he was left staring up at the heavens. It was a fitting change of pace, one which gave Anon a glimmer of hope, but Nord was far from finished.
Swiftly getting to her hooves, before her opponent could react, she tensed her legs and leapt into the air. As she launched herself nearly ten feet straight up, every head present lifted to watch her ascent. The sight was as insane as it was gravity defying, though it didn’t last for long. Slowing, seeming to hover for a fleeting moment, she began her earthbound descent.
Locking her forelegs together, she “Hawp ye'r duin fur seconds!” she guffawed.
With that grand declaration, she executed what may have been the most brutal elbow drop in Equestrian history. The minotaur’s eyes bulged, a pained wheeze escaped him, and Anon could swear he heard bones creak. Nord quickly withdrew, hopping up and triumphantly wheeling around to face the crowd. As she looked to her friend, a brazen smirk split her muzzle.
“See, hee haw tae worry aboot,” she laughed, dusting herself off.
Anon’s joy turned to abject dread, as a large figure rose behind the mare. His heart froze and his voice hitched in his throat, leaving him unable to speak. Though he threw out a hand, frantically trying to warn her, his desperate signal came an instant too late. Iron Will draped himself over her back, locked his arms round her, and performed an absolutely flawless german suplex.
The earth beneath his feet quaked, as the mare’s head and shoulders were smashed into the packed earth. Seeing the move carried out between two bipeds was startling enough, but witnessing it happen to a horse was downright horrendous. Nord’s teeth clacked together and her face came perilously close to her loins, while her body was nearly folded in half.
“Oh Yeah!!!” Iron roared, righting himself and pretentiously posturing for his onlookers. “Iron Will wins again! There isn’t a pony around I couldn’t crush !”
The blood in Anon’s veins ran cold, seeing the devastating display. Though he’d only known Nord for a short time, he would have never suspected she’d be utterly destroyed by a flagrantly exhibitionistic, muscle-bound steer. Grief-stricken, praying she wasn’t dead, he rushed towards her - that was, until she fell to her side and stirred.
“Ye think ye'r sae pumpin' tough,” she snarled, faltering getting her hooves under herself. “Muckle, glaikit besom, acting sae muckle 'n' ill. Ah will shaw ye a thing or twa…”
“That wasn’t enough for you?” Iron conceitedly chuckled, slowly shaking his head and keeping his back to her. Sadly for the steer, his hubris was his undoing.
The mare rested in a squat, tensed her hind legs, and front flipped at the bovine. As her lower half came towards him, he was gone. Anon did a double take, wondering what in the hell had happened. Where Iron Will had stood, only an empty space remained. With her lower limbs fully extended, Nord flopped to the ground where her foe had loomed. A deafening boom to his left caused him to start and instinctively glance to the side.
The wagon had vanished, replaced by splintered, moldering debris of ruined timber and shattered iron. Whatever the hell had happened was over and done with in a flash, quicker than the eye could see, which left the audience speechless. A lone, outstretched arm reached from the shattered remains of the once pristine carriage, a testament to the ruinous force that was the pony out of time.
“That wull shaw him, glaikit hurdie,” Nord groused, pawing at a tear in her shirt.
An unshakable relief washed over Anon, coming to grips with what had happened. Fuck if he could give the exact details, but he presumed his friend had defeated the beefed up beefcake with some sort of apocalyptic drop kick. It was some of the craziest shit he’d ever seen, even though he didn’t technically see it. Running over and throwing his arms around her neck, he buried his face under his chin.
“Don’t scare me like that!” he murmured, pulling away and peering up at her.
Despite her disheveled state, her cheeks darkened. “Bah! 'Twas hee haw. Na need tae worry aboot me…”
“Our cart!” Flim and Flam wailed in tandem, dashing over to their razed wagon.
It was then that ponies started cheering, hooping and hollering at the bizarre and extraordinarily violent spectacle. It was the first time Anon had ever seen any residents of Equestria react to something so brutal and he dearly hoped he and Nord hadn’t unintentionally sparked the flames of blood-sport among the peaceful society. Potential concerns aside, the man had something much more pressing to address.
Strolling over to the siblings, watching them haul the dazed, semi-conscious, and likely concussed Iron Will from the wreckage, Anon cleared his throat. “My payout, please?”
Flam frowned over his shoulder at the man, abandoning his efforts to free the minotaur. “A rather bold assumption, given the damages you’ve imparted on our property and our associate. What makes you think we’re going to pay out?”
The man smirked and ever so slightly dipped his head towards Nord. “I’m sure I could think of something.”
Steadily turning to face them, leaving his brother to ineffectually haul the minotaur from the rubble, Flam sat his sack of coins down and started counting. It was rather telling that he’d prioritized his cash over the quite possibly injured Iron Will, though that only made Anon feel better. Even with the cost of their sundered wagon and impending medical bills for their bovine buddy, they’d made a ton from the betting alone.
“Here,” the stallion sourly pouted, waving to a heap of bits, “I hope you're happy.”
“Don’t forget that I bet on her,” Anon clucked, his smile broadening.
Flam rolled his eyes and haphazardly scooped out another hooffull of bits. Whether or not it was the exact amount of his winnings wasn’t much of a concern, given the fact that it was still a massive windfall. Squatting down, jamming coins into his pockets, he quickly realized he’d need some additional storage space.
“You got a bag or something?” he asked, looking up at Nord. The mare nodded, producing a small sack from within her damaged shirt for him. Hastily gathering up his earnings and issuing a halfhearted salute to the pair of con artists, he made his leave. “Hey, Nord,” he called, drawing her attention, “you want to do something to celebrate? I mean, you did just earn us this haul.”
“A'm juist crabbit that mah sark git torn,” she grouched, pawing at her somewhat worse for wear outfit.
Left to presume she was upset about her damaged clothing, Anon pursed his lips. “Tell you what, maybe we can get you a new shirt on the way home.”
“'N' some dinner?” she countered, expectantly grinning back at him.
“Sure, why not,” he laughed.
He couldn’t fathom how she could be hungry, after having wolfed down enough food to feed a small army, but he wasn’t about to complain. After battling and besting a minotaur in pitched combat, she’d more than earned a meal and a new blouse. Trotting along beside her, with coins jingling and jangling about his person, he led the way towards the shop district...
With the sun having just crested, starting its descent towards the horizon, the man and mare swung by the Carousel Boutique, dropped off Nord’s shirt for mending, then began their return back home. The path they chose wasn’t the fasted, though it would lead them by Sugarcube Corner and a number of the other eateries in town. Even if Anon was still stuffed from earlier, the vicious competition from earlier had apparently helped his friend work up an appetite.
“You want anything in particular?” he asked, cocking his head and glancing over at her. “Something sweet? Maybe something savory?”
Impassively shrugging to herself, she lazily eyed the various shops and stalls they passed. “Nah, ah dinnae care. Juist feeling a bawherr peckish.”
“Did someone mention sweets?!” an animated voice chirped, causing the pair to turn. Hopping onto the titanic mare’s back, like a sucrose-fueled acrobat, Pinkie Pie casually seated herself. “If you two are hungry, I have just the thing for - WHOOP!” she giggled, shaken free by the gigantic equine.
“Begone, sugar de'il, ah’ll hae none o` yer evil promises!” Nord barked, raising a hoof to strike the Element of Laughter.
“Wait!” Anon pled, stepping between the two and averting a catastrophe. “She’s ok, I promise,” he added, disarming his overly suspicious guest. With Nord assuaged - at least, for the time being - he squatted down and brought himself to Pinkie’s eye level. “You said you had just the thing for…?”
“We’re hosting a competitive eating competition down at Sugarcube Corner! Whoever can eat the most food wins!” the hyperactive pony explained. “If you friend here entered, you two might even have a chance to defeat the reigning champion!” she added, stifling a titter. “After all - Snrk - this big mare probably eats like a horse .”
Self-aware humor and nonsensical probability of stumbling upon two competitive events in one day aside, Anon saw no reason not to go for it - that was, if Nord was game. Considering her staggering appetite, he’d be more than happy to pay for her to glut herself on whatever fare Pinkie and the Cakes were serving. Looking over to his companion, he cocked his head.
“Want to give it a shot?” he inquired.
“Whit's oan th' menu?” Nord responded, peering over at the pink party pony.
“Oats!” Pinkie exclaimed, excited hopping in place. “And we’ll make ‘em however you want! Doesn’t matter how they’re cooked! The only thing that does matter is who can pack the most away!”
“And the cost?” Anon pressed, raising a brow.
“Only ten bits! The Cakes mostly do it to thin out their reserves; it’s better than letting supplies go bad!” the hyperactive mare replied.
Pushing himself up, Anon stood. Though he hadn’t expected to stumble across two contests in one day, the opportunity was too good to pass up. Not only would he get some additional entertainment for the day, but there was a very real possibility that they’d win more bits for themselves; add to that his roommate would undoubtedly get a full belly and he was completely sold on the idea. Dipping his head in the direction of the bakery, he extended his arm.
“Lead the way.”
With the giggling Pinkie Pie bouncing along ahead of them, the duo strolled along towards Sugarcube Corner. After a short walk, the pastry shop came into view. Unlike the flock which Flim and Flam had gathered, only a handful of ponies dallied around the bakery. Along with the small crowd, a number of tables had been arranged end to end. A small cooking area was set up to the side, where Mr. and Mrs. Cake worked over a massive, bubbling cauldron.
The sight was relatively commonplace for such competitions, with one exception - there only appeared to be one other contestant present. Seated before a large, empty bowl, with a bib tied neatly around her neck, a mint green mare rested with her eyes closed. She almost looked like she was meditating or silently psyching herself up, tranquilly waiting for the event to begin.
Moving around the spectator side of the tables, Nord proceeded around to her competitor’s side. It was quite the little setup, although it did raise a question. Though there was more than enough room for nearly a dozen ponies to stuff themselves, there were only the two contenders present. Unless they were very early, something felt off.
“Hey, Pinkie,” he called, catching the cheerful pony’s ear, “where is everyone?”
“Unless we get a last minute entry, you’re looking at them,” she grunted, hauling an obscene sack of oats towards one of the outdoor cooking stations.
Weaving through the crowd, he moved towards the baker. “Why? Even if you’re just serving oats, you should have ponies lining up for this!”
“Oh we used to, until Lyra started competing,” Pinkie grumbled, shooting a cold look in the minty mare’s direction. “Ever since she started coming, contestants stopped showing up.”
Flummoxed, Anon scratched his head. “Why?”
“Because she always wins! There isn’t a single pony, gryphon, kirin, changeling, yak, or dragon who’s even gotten close to beating her. It’s like she’s an oat eating machine!” she squawked, waving at the seated pony.
Anon suppressed a chuckle, dismissing the impossible claims that a regular pony could accomplish such voracious feats. There was simply no way yak could be out-eaten by a pony, let alone a modestly sized one like Lyra. Setting his entry fee near the gathered oats, dried fruits, and various spices, he just had one last question that needed to be addressed.
“So how does this usually play out?”
“Something like this,” Pinkie began, waving at the pair of contestants. “What type of oats do you want?”
“Wi’ honey!” Nord declared.
Shuffling closer to the table, Lyra smiled. “Rum raisin for me.”
As their orders were completed, the Cakes and Pinkie went to work. Dividing the cooked oats into two equal portions, ladling the thick stuff into two large bowls, the trio worked to season the dishes accordingly. Nord’s insanely huge portion was mixed with honey, butter, and a pinch of salt, while Lyra’s received a splash of rum flavoring, raisins, spices, and brown sugar.
In a matter of minutes, the two competitors had what appeared to be a gallon of gruel sitting in front of themselves, though that wasn’t what concerned Anon. For some reason, instead of going to watch the competition, the Cakes were starting up a second batch of oats. Unless they were planning on giving the stuff away or possibly selling it to spectators, he couldn’t understand why they were cooking more cereal.
“Aaaaaaaaaaand GO!” Pinkie shouted, signalling the match to begin.
The duo of mares went face first into their bowls, loudly and very messily wolfing down mouthful after mouthful of the prepared grains. Despite Lyra being roughly a quarter of Nord’s size, she was devouring the oats with as much zeal and efficiency as her foe. The sight made Anon a bit uneasy, though he tried to convince himself it was nothing to be concerned about. Of course he didn’t have anything to worry about; there was simply no way in hell the little minty mare could win…
On and on the pair went, chowing down like it was their last day on Equestria. The only breaks they gave themselves were to breath, take a swig of water, or to mop the errant gobbet from near their eyes. It was an awe inspiring sight - doubly so, given the disparity of their sizes - and the crowd absolutely loved it.
The reigning champion was the first to finish her bowl, mopping her face and raising her hoof. “Number two!”
Nord wasn’t far behind, polishing off her serving and waving at the bakers. “Oi!”
And so Anon was privy to one of the most bizarre sights he’d ever seen - which was saying a lot , given all the weird shit he’d been privy to. It wasn’t until they’d each cleared their third bowl that he noticed something as curious as it was terrifying. Seated as they were, resting on their haunches, he could see their bloated bellies beneath the table - well, no, only one bloated belly…
Nord’s tummy grew heavy with what had to be nearly twenty pounds of oats, whereas Lyra’s stomach looked pristine. The little green mare was definitely eating the food, but it didn’t seem to be affecting her in the slightest. He couldn’t tell if it was some bullshit unicorn gimmick or not, but her pace didn’t slow either - whereas his behemoth companion did just that.
As the fifth serving came and went, Anon realized they were screwed. Sweating, heaving air into herself, Nord languidly shoved the empty container aside and warily lifted a forehoof. Her foe was nearly three portions ahead of her and showed no signs of stopping. As implausible as it was, things were looking dire.
“O...Oi!” the fiery maned mare croaked, drawing Pinkie’s attention.
With a hop, skip, and literal jump, a sixth bowl was delivered. The giantess clearly wasn’t ready to throw in the towel, yet she faltered. Peering down at her gruel, possibly grappling with some deep, existential dread, she buried her muzzle in the sweetened cereal and started chewing away - that was, until her eyes rolled back. Her body went slack, collapsing atop and subsequently flipping the table onto her limp form.
Muttering an incomprehensible string of expletives together, Anon dashed over to her. “Nord? Nord?!”
After a few well placed and resounding slaps failed to rouse her, he pried open one of her blurry, unfocused eyes. She was definitely breathing, which meant she wasn’t dead, but she was definitely unconscious - honestly, he couldn’t say how bad off she was, since he wasn’t a horse doctor. Squatting over her, wondering what he could do, a frizzy pink shape bounded over and came to rest beside him.
“Another year, another championship,” Pinkie sighed, watching Lyra victoriously lift her bowl.
“I don’t care about that!” Anon barked, tenderly stroking his friend’s mane. “We need to get her to a doctor!”
“Doctor?” the party pony balked. “She doesn’t need a doctor , she needs a nap. Wait right here.”
Kneeling at Nord’s head, his concern eased just a bit. The mare’s breathing was deep and steady, meaning she was probably ok - well, besides the possible diabetic coma. Before he knew what was happening, Pinkie returned with an oversized wheelbarrow.
“Help me get her on here,” she remarked, digging her hooves under the mare.
Anon nodded and complied, hauling Nord’s slack form into the industrial wheelbarrow. It took Pinkie, the Cakes, and himself to accomplish the task, but they managed to heave her onto the wagon. Though the vehicle groaned under the weight, it withstood the load of the softly snoozing mare. Wiping his brow, dreading the thought of lugging her home, he halfheartedly smiled over at Pinkie.
“Thanks,” he huffed, “I’ll bring the cart back later.”
“No rush! Maybe she’ll have better luck next year!” Pinkie tittered, hopping away to help with the cleanup.
With little else to do, the man arduously wheeled his companion in the direction of his abode. Though there were still a few hours left in the day, he had little doubt that he’d be exhausted after wrestling Nord inside - if he could wrestle Nord inside. It was an odd end for an odd day, but he wasn’t going to complain - if anything, he felt a little bad. Literally passing out wasn’t a fitting end for his guest’s day, especially after she’d won them a ton of bits. Humming to himself, he mused on how he could make it all up to her...
“Nnnnnnngh,” Anon moaned, clutching at his head and wishing he was asleep or dead. It wasn’t because he’d accidentally kicked the foot-board, stubbed his toe and woken himself up which left him pining for death - no, that had started the day prior.
Though the precise details of the evening were still a disjointed series of images and flashes, what had led up to his afternoon was crystal clear. The day had started on a high note with a magnanimous and ingenious plan, though things had inevitably gone off the rails. After the bizarre events from two days prior, when Nord had subsequently caused a stock market crash, won a “wrestling” match, and lost an eating competition, he’d wanted to do something nice for her - as such, he’d devised a somewhat elaborate scheme.
Given that he knew perilously little about her, he’d been left to work with what information he did have. She spoke gibberish, was a literal giant pony, could be prone to acts of unintentional destruction, and had apparently spent hundreds of years hibernating in a huge barrel of apple brandy - with all that in mind, he was stricken with a eureka moment.
If there were some way he could invite her out drinking, without suffering the catastrophic consequences, he would almost assuredly give her a fun evening. The prospect would have been simple for a regular pony, although she was anything but - therefore, he’d have to be creative. Getting her tanked and letting her run amuck wasn’t an option, so his scheme involved an interesting and innovative twist.
Equestria was full of a great many wonders, both magical and alchemical, which would be the key to his plot. He hadn’t been sure exactly how he could pull it off, but he had a few ideas of whom he could speak with about the matter. After getting up and checking on his guest, who loudly slumbered on his couch, he’d set off to run a few errands.
His first stop had been Zecora’s home, deep within the Everfree forest. The striped and rather exotic equine was some sort of savant with potions and had helped the denizens of Ponyville on several occasions. After a relatively short and uneventful trip, he reached her abode, politely knocked, and was greeted by the mohawked mare.
Admittedly, his request was a bit unconventional, though she hadn’t seemed bothered in the slightest. If he was intending to get Nord tanked, he’d need a fail-safe. The best solution he could think of was getting drunk along with her, though there was no possible way that would work without some sort of a handicap. After a bit of questioning, he found out that Zecora did have a concoction which would supposedly make him virtually immune to the effects of alcohol.
“Imbibe this bottle and you will think,” she rhymed, handing him a flask, “without the influence of the drink.”
It was absolutely perfect . Thanking her profusely and giving her a hefty tip, he’d rushed off to complete the rest of his errands. He’d had no way of knowing just how long Nord would sleep through her carbohydrate-induced coma, and he didn’t want her to wake up without him home, so he practically jogged back into town.
For nearly an hour, he collected the other components he’d be needing. First and foremost were groceries to restock his fridge and larder - both of which having been nearly emptied by his gargantuan guest. Once he’d loaded up on foodstuffs, including plenty of snacks for their evening, he’d headed to Filthy Rich’s shop.
Ordinarily, he hated going to the affluent and snobbish stallion’s establishment for anything , though this time was an exception. Filthy was one of the very few ponies around who sold hard liquor; with few other choices to pick from, Anon was forced to give the affluent pony some business. Keeping his visit as brief as possible, he’d ordered two gallon kegs of the strongest peach schnapps he could get. With his hooch and provisions acquired, he returned home.
Fortunately, Nord was still asleep when he crept through the door. Seeking to return the favor from the other day, he snuck into the kitchen, stored his supplies, and made breakfast for the two. The scent of frying eggs and toast had been enough to awaken his companion, luring her into the kitchen for the relatively early meal.
It was at this point Anon’s memory got a bit dodgy - not because they’d started drinking, but because nothing of note occurred for some time. If he had to guess, they’d gone for a walk or tried to find her work, although he couldn’t be sure - regardless, after dithering about for the remainder of the morning and early afternoon, they eventually wound back up in his living room. Shortly after settling in for the afternoon, things had kicked off.
Going to fetch herself a snack, Nord had stumbled upon the trove of booze. When she’d questioned him about the spirits, he’d responded in earnest - they were to celebrate her victory and their lucky break, while helping ease the pain of her loss with Lyra. Though he’d hoped to hold off on drinking until after sunset, she’d insisted they crack open the high-proof liquor right then and there.
It was a mild upset in his plan, but it made no real difference. After excusing himself to the restroom, where he stealthily downed the tonic he’d purchased from Zecora, he sauntered into the kitchen, retrieved two glasses, and made ready to entertain his guest. He recalled the schnapps tasting pretty damn good, almost dangerously good, though he hadn’t been concerned. Little did he know, his self-assurance would come back to bite him in the ass hard .
The first hour or so of their evening had been lucid enough. They chatted and laughed, while swapping stories of their pasts - sure, he still couldn’t understand most of what she’d said, but her mirth was infectious. Before he knew it, they’d downed one of the tiny casks and cracked into the second.
Things got increasingly fuzzy from there on out, but fragments and flashes did remain. He recalled them cuddling up on the couch, guffawing and tearfully reenacting comedic scenes they’d seen or experienced, but one memory stuck out. Apparently, at one point or another, they’d gone out for more liquor. The only reason he knew they’d ran out for additional hooch was because he’d fallen and scraped his elbow while leaving Filthy’s shop.
Be damned if he could say just how much they’d ended up drinking, but it had clearly been more than Zecora’s elixir could manage. He didn’t know when or how he’d gotten into bed, seemingly traversing time and space to awaken beneath his covers with the worst hangover he’d ever had. Ruminating on the poor choices of yesterday, wondering if he could get a refund from the striated alchemist, something heavy rolled against his back.
Fur pressed against his bare skin, shaking him from his thoughts. Twisting his head, praying it wasn’t what he thought, he spied of a fiery mane and cream colored snout resting behind his shoulder. Waking up next to a large and imposing equine would have been startling enough, but that was only the beginning of his problems.
Lifting the blanket, peering down at himself, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. He was as naked as the day he’d been born, curled up beside Nord. Exactly what had compelled him to remove his clothes was a mystery, one which he didn’t dare ponder for long, but he’d done so all the same. With everything that had happened the night before, it was possible that he’d traversed the interspecies -
“Mmmmmm,” Nord dreamily hummed, causing the man to start, “Ye cannae git awa' fae me… ”
Anon had no way of knowing if she was still asleep or not, since he couldn’t see her face - nevertheless, she reached out, wrapped one titanic foreleg around him, and pulled him against her chest. Even if he’d wanted to get up, it would have been an impossible task. Feeling like death, caught in the iron grasp of the ancient and baffling pony, he screwed his eyes closed and desperately tried to remember exactly what they’d done.
Try as he might, the best his pickled brain could do was give him fleeting glances of something . They’d stumbled and crashed down the hallway, haphazardly helping one another along, before bursting into his chamber. Peeking out, seeing his door was off its hinges, his eyes flitted across the room for any clues which may trigger a flashback.
His pants hung from the ceiling fan, lazily revolving on one of the blades, which didn’t quell his growing concern. Twisting his head ever so slightly, taking care not to disturb the mare, he spotted her shirt draped over his headboard. Though he didn’t have the best view of it, the bed felt like it was damaged - listing to one side and having a sizable indent towards its center. Vague recollections of them stripping and getting onto the bed flashed by, sending him into a cold sweat.
The sight triggered another memory; for some reason or another, possibly inspired by the copious amounts of dutch courage they’d imbibed, he’d actually tackled Nord onto the mattress! Quick to retaliate, yet being gentle enough not to harm him, she’d grabbed his shoulder and pinned her beneath himself. Staring into her eyes, his laughter had died off when she leaned in, breathed hotly on his face, and pressed her silken lips to his.
A hind leg extended over Anon, locking over his hip and drawing him even more tightly to her body. Even more trapped than before, stuck as the massive mare’s little spoon, his heart leapt into his throat. The heat of her bare chest and loins pressed against him were excruciating , filling him with all manner of unwanted and wholly inappropriate thoughts. The one silver lining was that the lingering effects of the libation ebbed marginally.
As her weight settled upon him, the reality of the situation sank in. He was trapped in bed, cuddling with a talking, insanely strong horse that he’d more than likely bedded. The absolute worst thing about the entire situation was that he honestly didn’t know what they’d done! It would be bad enough to have the visceral and doubtlessly depraved details in mind, but his thoughts were left to wonder on the specifics of what may or may not have happened.
“Mah wee jimmy ,” she sleepily whispered, draping her head over his shoulder, “a'm gonnae tak' guid care o' ye …”
The unmistakable sensation of something warm against him sent a shiver up his spine, yet that wasn’t what caused his pulse to quicken - no, that was because it was a decidedly moist heat. Gyrating her hips, while she slipped her other hind leg under him, she ground her nethers on his rump. Along with the balmy sensation, a pair of erect nubs teased the small of his back. While he was far from an expert on equine biology, it didn’t take a genius to figure out his guest was feeling just a bit amorous.
He couldn’t decide if he was aroused or appalled, a fact which certain parts of his anatomy didn’t seem to struggle with. By the grace of some higher power, her hooves rested well away from his groin and the shame which lingered there. Whether or not her grip would shift lower was a matter of debate, though if she did there’d be little he could do to stop her - a fact which exacerbated his anxiety to unfathomable levels.
Confused, scared, and more than a little turned on, Anon swallowed hard. He was stuck with the lass, in more ways than one, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even if she did remember what they’d done, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it; somethings were best left unsaid. Snuggling against her, doing his best to get comfortable, he closed his eyes. If nothing else, napping off the aftereffects of his heavy drinking was better than being awake and miserable.
What she would do, after she finally awakened, was beyond his control, though that was a problem he could eventually deal with later - for the time being, he took an odd comfort from her embrace. Whatever had happened had happened, there was nothing he could do to change the past, so he tried not to worry about it - after all, his situation wasn’t all bad. In the end, something told him he’d made a damn good, albeit peculiar, large, and destructive friend…
