Author's Note

Octavia's family has always been destitute and poor. How did she pay to get into the Canterlot Philharmonic?

Cracked ribs, bruised backs, aching muscles, black eyes, and broken bones. Octavia never knew that MMA fights would be the price to pursue her dreams.

I have no idea where I got the idea for this one. It's likely it came from the fanon dynamic between Vinyl Scratch and Octavia herself. Scratch is always shown as the rambunctious one, but I like seeing the subversion where Octavia wears the pants in the relationship. Seeing her more dominant and primal contrasting with her publicly refined personality just seemed so fun to me. Not only does she have a sharp tongue in this instance, but she can beat the ever loving shit out of you, another interesting piece of contrast.

That's the problem here. That's a premise, not a story. I have nowhere to take it. I do have another scene after this one in mind where Octavia goes home, bruised and banged up, and encounters Vinyl, but that's still not enough. I did have the idea to contrast Vinyl's public boisterous personality and make her quiet and timid in private, contrasting with Octavia's aggressive personality in private, but, again, that's not enough for a story. Plus, currently, I don't quite like the way the fight is written. It makes coherent sense, but to me it's lacking some of the visceral feeling that comes with a bloodsport.

Here's a clip of what would have been the first half of the first chapter.

Pain is Weakness Leaving the Body [Octavia] [OC] [Mild Blood] [Pit Fighting]

The mare felt the abrupt surge of splinters and pain as she was forcibly slammed into the wooden barricade. The barrier had faced far worse abuse since its inception, but protested as her weight was violently shoved into it. The mare could feel the wood creak and groan, but the noise itself was lost to her when the crowd was split between delighted hoots and groans of disappointment. The taste of iron was heavy in her mouth. A thin line of spittle and blood trickled down her lips, and she spat out a wad of blood into the dirt. The padding on their hooves took out some of the hard keratin’s bite, but not all of it.

“Oh! Raven’s going to be feeling that one for the next couple nights. Give one up for Amethyst; the mare’s got a mean kick!”

Fresh roars of delight accompanied the MC’s remarks. Raven, her lengthy ebony mane done up in a ponytail—chopsticks, needles, and other such instruments were illegal in a fight—took a brief moment to scan the ring.

During her bullrush charge that knocked Raven into the ring walls, Amethyst had kicked up a cloud of dirt. Ten feet above the walls and a chain link cage separated the pair from the packed stands of onlookers. Raven couldn’t see them or the MC past the lights shining down on her, but she didn’t care; her attention was needed elsewhere.

Throwing her head back, Amethyst jerked a lock of oily violet hair out of her eyes and charged again. Being pinned against the wall was the absolute worst place to be in the ring and Raven was still shaking off the shock of the blow. A few bounds covered the distance between them, but Amethyst switched attacks mid stride. The mare twirled, forcing all her weight into her forehooves as a fulcrum. Her rear hooves, using her forehooves as a means to push off the ground, shot through the air and straight for Raven’s sternum.

Raven slid across the wall. Dirt and dust trailed Amethyst’s hooves and crashed into the wall right where she was a fraction of a second ago. Her foe did not let up and turned on Raven, but by then she was ready. She blocked a right hook with a foreleg. Amethyst took the intercept with ease and threw a cross. Raven blocked that one two, locking their legs together in the crook of her elbow.

Having their forelegs locked together, and their hind legs bracing themselves against their foe, Raven did the only thing she could think of: headbutt Amethyst

A gout of blood caked Raven’s hair and iron-gray fur as something broke in her foe’s nose. Amethyst momentarily went crosseyed, stunned from the blow. A line of blood trailed after the blow. The pressure slackened on Amethyst’s end. Raven jumped and kicked, ready to deliver the final knockout blow that would have ended the fight. Dazed as she was, Amethyst blindly waddled in random directions. Raven’s kick glanced off the side of her head and connected with her shoulder instead. Far less than optimal damage, but it was enough to send Amethyst reeling as pain overwhelmed everything. She staggered for a few steps before her knees buckled and set her sprawling. She moaned, getting her ragged locks filthy with blood and dirt.

“And Amethyst is down! What an upset! Nice hit! I’d ask Raven out if she wasn’t able to kick my lanky ass.” The crowd roared with hoots of delight. “ Come on everypony, start the count! One!”

The crowd chanted with the MC as the countdown began. As per the rules, Raven stayed away from the downed mare in order to give Amethyst a chance to stand on her own four hooves. It wasn’t sporting to attack a downed foe, after all.

“Two!”

Raven sat on her haunches and used her precious and hard-won seconds to take a moment to catch her breath. She wiped the sweat from her face and spat another dark gob of blood.

“Three!”

Amethyst’s slow writhing had become more focused and controlled. She managed to get all four hooves flat on the ground, but still needed to muster the strength left to stand. Raven wiped a leg across her brow and her charcoal fur came away with a dirty smear of red. When did that happen? Right; that wasn’t hers.

“Four!”

Raven ran a hoof across her breast and chest. Stabs of pain followed in her wake, but nothing a little time, her special ointment, and her roommate’s magic couldn’t cure. At least nothing felt broken or cracked.

“Five!”

Amethyst’s legs were shaky, but she was finally back on her hooves. Raven also rose.

“Give the mare a round of applause! It looks like we’re going to have a winner shortly!”

Stomps thundered from the stands above the blinding ring lights. As much as she hated to admit it, the MC was right. Her muscles were screaming from fatigue just as much as pain. Amethyst was what the biz called a chisler. Her preferred tactic was to drain the stamina of her opponent and finish her off when she couldn’t put up so much of a fight.

It was working.

“Come on, ladies; it’s not a staring contest. Nor is it a time to lock lips, although I admit that would be equally entertaining.”

The two mares simultaneously spat in the direction of the MC’s voice.

“Sorry, I’m pissed off. It’s hot up here and my boss won’t even give me a glass of water until the match is done. Tell you what, your next shot’s on me.”

She really wanted a scotch right about now.

Amethyst charged first. Letting her momentum carry her, she raised both hooves for a kick. It was a fake out. Just as Raven braced herself to guard, Amethyst immediately sunk low and struck Raven’s left knee.

Grunting in pain, Raven wrapped a leg firmly around Amethyst’s neck and brought a knee to her face. Amethyst blocked, but Raven kept up the punishment, hammering away at her defenses. Her opponent brought a foreleg up to shield her face. Again and again she struck, but she wasn’t breaking through her defense just yet. She could feel herself beginning to slow down.

Instead of preparing to attack again, she let go of Amethyst to disengage and find another opening. That was the opening Amethyst was looking for. Digging her hindhooves in, Amethyst shot forward and brought Raven to the ground. Both sides flailed wildly and Amethyst got a shot in on her gut before pulling away again.

Not this time.

Amethyst could not be allowed to turtle up and wait out a beating. That was a cornerstone of chisler strategy.

Raven dashed forward and stumbled. Cursing silently to herself for the oncoming blow, she felt somewhat relieved and confused when it did not come. Amethyst chose defense over offense and waited. Disappointing. Raven may have gotten an advantage then,

She rammed a hoof forward, only for Amethyst to counter and deliver a kick of her own into her shoulder. Her ribs had started to complain. Broken?

No time to think of that right now. She tried one of her few attacks that seemed to get through the mare’s defenses and headbutted the mare. Amethyst had closed the distance and overextended herself. Raven felt something give and her opponent snorted in pain, and then again. Raven had full on broken something in her snout this time.

Raven dug in again, but this time pirouetted in place for a vicious kick. Amethyst blocked and fumbled a grapple. Redistributing her weight, Raven kicked out her other hindhoof and broke through her defenses.

Amethyst’s guard dropped for only a moment as she’s been pushed back into the wall. The crowd hollered for blood. Blood they had been given and more they shall receive. Raven twirled around and reared her legs up for a stomp. Amethyst suckerpunched her in the ribs just as she was falling and felt a burst of pain shoot through her side.

Now that felt like a broken bone.

It didn’t stop both hooves from smashing into Amethyst’s collarbone. Her hooves buckled and she took a knee. That wouldn’t be enough for the MC to start the countdown. Raven raised to her hindhooves once again. Her gut spiked with pain and her cry was swallowed by the exuberant crowd. She stomped once more. Then again. Again . Something broke under her hooves, but until Amethyst tapped out or downed, she was fair game.

Each was weaker than the last with her side splitting like it was, but Raven couldn’t let up. Raining blows was the only way to keep Amethyst under control. It took just one instance of Raven’s rearing hooves taking too long for Amethyst to roll out of the way. Her face was completely drenched with blood from a broken snout. Raven was wearing down and her broken gut wasn’t helping. Amethyst’s eyes were tight and hard, but even she looked tired.

“Looks like our lovely ladies are winding down!”

Pieces of the crowd had broken into a drinking song while the rest shouted obscenities and cheers. Raven had learned to ignore the crowd if for no other reason than to tune out the catcalls.

Amethyst was just a split second from getting to her hooves. Before she even knew it, Raven was airborne. All four hooves came down on her foe and Amethyst screamed and crumpled.

“Damn! Amethyst is down! Start the count. One!”

Raven’s momentum caused her to stumble, but a quick roll brought her to a stop. Her hooves buckled. Standing was hard with the pain splitting her hard. She realized how labored her breathing was and she collapsed to her knees.

“Four! Raven ain’t lookin’ too hot. Are we gonna have a dual KO?”

By the rules if Raven collapsed within the count, it applied to her as well.

“Five!”

‘Just five more seconds,’ she chanted to herself. She managed to get one hoof under her.

“Atta girl! Six!”

Another hoof. Each breath felt like a spike driven into her side.

“Seven!”

Amethyst stirred.

“Eight!”

There wasn’t enough time.

“Nine!”

One of Amethyst’s hooves moved to push.

“Ten! We have us a winner! Give Raven a round of applause!”

The bloodthirsty crowd exploded in cheers, laughter, and cries. Boos and catcalls intermixed with the jubilation but were overwhelmed by the winners and those lusting for blood. Raven couldn’t help but swell with a little bit of victorious pride. Adrenaline ate through her veins, and with the battle over, she was overcome by a feeling of pure, primal exultation. To overcome an enemy out for your blood, a foe willing to stomp you into the dirt in order to win....

Oh, she had some really good feelings right now.

Raven took a victory lap around the ring, the pain in her side all but gone from memory as the victory sunk in. As she circled around, she stopped in front of Amethyst. Her snout was caked in blood and dirt. Raven noticed Amethyst favored her left hind leg more than the right.

Raven extended a hoof. They were all stars in the ring.

“Here?”

“Just hurts. A little more there. Ouch! ”

“Alright then.”

Bonesaw looked about as scummy as a back alley unicorn surgeon could be, but there was no doubt of his skill. With a brown mane and a pond scum green coat, along with the perpetual smell of tobacco smoke wafting in his presence, Raven was always worried that the ring’s doctor and surgeon would end up going to work drunk and getting one of the fighters killed. Time after time, fight after fight, the stallion proved his worth after every bout.

But if the veterans could be taken at their word, Bonesaw was even better when he was drunk on the job.

“It’s not broken as far as I can tell, but you’ve got some pretty severe bruising. You can shrug off everything else easy enough; it’s mostly superficial. But I’d advise no strenuous activity for a month in order to let it heal, and get an X-ray at a hospital. No fights for six weeks, but I know none of you little bastards listen to me anyway, so I’ll just preemptively say ‘I told you so.’”

Bonesaw kicked his hooves out and rolled his office chair rolled across the locker room and to the medical cabinet. He opened a freezer and tossed her an ice pack.

“Thank you, Mister Bonesaw,” she said as she set it down on the bench and lay across it. She winced as the cold bit through her fur, but the dulled throbbing was more than worth the price.

He shook his head. “Canterlotians and their manners.”

“There is nothing wrong with a little common courtesy.”

“Tell me how good manners are when you’re missing teeth.”

He kicked against the wall and rolled his chair over to Amethyst. Raven’s own raven locks still needed a good washing, but Amethyst’s mane was absolutely filthy. Dried blood caked her mane and snout and was acting as a glue keeping the two together. Bonesaw had washed off most of it prior and told the mare to hold a roll of gauze against her nose.

Bonesaw put on a pair of gloves over his hooves and moved her hoof aside. Using his magic, he carefully pried the gauze away from her nose.

“Let me see... well, the bleeding’s slowed. You’ve got something broken alright, but I can fix that in a jiffy. Looks like Raven came out on top in more ways than one.”

“Bitch.”

Raven smiled. “The better mare won, Amethyst.”

Amethyst chuckled. “Let’s hope no one breaks your perfect little Canterlot face or breaks in that rump, you uptight little virgin.”

“You are terrible at trash talking.”

“Fuck you I’ve got a broken face.”

A sickly green hue encircled Amethyst’s mouth to shut her up. Bonesaw levitated a needle and thread. “Quiet. I know you’re both going to ignore what I say and get back in the circuit as soon as rent’s coming up, but ignore me after I’m done. Raven, you’re good to go.”

Raven slid off the bench and winced when she put her weight on her legs. Holding the icepack with a foreleg, she limped out the locker room.

Book the bookie waited for her outside. His parents were either geniuses or scumbags to name him as such. Or it could have been a simple fake name. It wasn’t like hers was any bit real.

“Well ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, Canterlot. Doc give you the all clear?”

“Indeed.”

Book was a tiny stallion. Raven wasn’t all that big herself, but she did have a bit of lean muscle under her plush gray coat. He still had to look up to meet her tired eyes.

“Well,” he filched through his jacket for some papers and handed them to her. “Here’s your cut. Three hundred on yourself? Ain’t you on a budget? That’s a little risky of you.”

Octavia took her winnings in her mouth and walked to a row of lockers. Finding her own and opening the lock was all muscle memory by now. She shoved them inside and said, “Amethyst hasn’t been through as many fights as me. Betting odds were in my favor two to one.”

“Yeah, Amethyst was the underdog in the fight but three hundred down the drain and only bruises to show for it?”

“Rent’s due.”

Book shrugged. “Rule of two.”

“Money and blood,” Raven finished. There were only two reasons to enter the Pit.

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m heading out and gotta talk to Bonesaw. See ya.” He nodded and walked past Raven.

Raven walked returned to her locker and removed her effects. Bags, prize money, a small medkit to help supplement items Bonesaw doesn’t comp, a spare set of clothes if needed, and a bottle of whiskey. Setting down her icepack, she unscrewed the cap and took a long slug.

It was a cheaper painkiller than morphine.

Sighing, she packed everything up, walked up the steps, and stepped through the door guarded by a particularly large stallion named Kronk. The janitorial staff were having a time cleaning up after this week’s round of fights. Trash and broken bottles littered the stands, and while the locker rooms were restricted to fighters and staff, that didn’t stop unruly guests from breaking the rules every so often. Thus, Kronk had a job. The stands themselves and the visitor entrances were all on the top floor, with the fighters and staff having the lower levels to themselves. Each pit fighter had their own set of fans, but there was a time and a place for mingling. Getting beat to all hell and being tired did not make her a good conversation partner.

Raven picked at the adhesive patch on her flanks. All pit fighters fought under stage names and masked their cutie marks. Anonymity was an asset for both their safety and reputations. Disgruntled fans with an axe to grind, other fighters, or even the long arm of the law were all things to watch out for.

The Pit.

Book and Bonesaw knew of doctors, clerics, lawyers, and priests that entered these shady and bloody walls. Smiles, happiness, music, and manners. Some people just snap and and want to let out that animal within. In the Pit, all fighters were anonymous, all patrons were equal. All that primal rage, regret, and anguish were allowed to come to the surface as two ponies beat their hooves against each other until they could taste blood in the air. One night where you could do what you want instead of what was proper.

Perhaps that was why Bonesaw spoke of manners with derision. He’d seen a thousand so-called noble ponies come to the Pit looking for bloodshed.

After all, what would the world say if the renowned and excruciatingly dirt poor Octavia of the Canterlot Philharmonic was found in a bloodsport?

Octavia sighed. She was too tired for philosophy. It was time to leave the raven-haired Raven in the Pit where she belonged. Octavia needed to talk to her room mate.

Rent was due next week.