Extra, Extra!

"Pepperoni and green peppers, mushroom, olives, chives..." Mango recited, reading labels as he trotted behind his brother navigating the supermarket. "What are you even planning on making?" he asked.

Print took a can of stewed tomatoes down from the shelf. Weighing it in his hooves, he opted for a second can, placing them both in the cart.

"Some sort of gumbo," he said in an easy tone.

"You don't know what you're making?" Mango chided, half-surprised, half-incredulous.

"I have a general idea, and I'm going to throw in whatever looks good," Print said. He didn't cook often, but when he did, he usually used whatever was around. More often than not the results were edible.

Mango leaned against him in despair.

"You're such a faaaaaaag~," he whined. The tan colt brushed him off.

"Isn't that what you do when you make smoothies?" he asked defensively.

"You can't go wrong mixing fruits," Mango replied, leaning on Print again, harder this time. He put most of his weight on him, eventually shimmying up onto his back draped across him like saddlebags. Print's legs, though not weak, weren't quite athletic, and he collapsed in the middle of the aisle. He shrugged a giggling Mango off of him, checking to make sure nopony saw. Luckily the store was mostly empty on Saturday afternoons.

"Philistine," Print mumbled under his breath, brushing himself off, and inspecting his clothing for tears. Mango, in his tanktop and beanie, couldn't care less.

"Can I propose a side dish?" Mango said, hijacking the cart, which was already halfway full with gumbo-makings.

"Let me guess," Print deadpanned.

"Garlic bread," they both said at once; Mango gleefully, Print exasperated.

"You know that typically accompanies a pasta," Print pointed out, reclaiming the cart.

"It would go with gumbo, dude," Mango said, gently shoving and nudging Print's side in rapid succession. "It goes with everything."

"Even with z-lax and hot peppers?" Print snarked. Mango flushed as he remembered the "Blastoff Affair", as it had come to be called among the residents of Starswirl Street.

"Those were the best fuckin' s'mores I ever had!" Mango replied angrily. As Print retorted, an ear stuck up two aisles over.

The ear belonged to Stump Chunkman, the captain of the stormball team. He held up a hoof, his face screwed up in concentration. His fellow players, Buff Drinklots and Blast Hardcheese, came to a halt. Over the vapid muzak playing over the PA, Stump heard the two brothers' voices.

"It's them," he said.

"Who?" Blast asked.

"'The Kid' and his faggot brother," he said softly. Instantly, the trio wheeled around the corner.

"It's anything with chocolate and bread, fucknut," Mango explained angrily.

"Oh yeah, so you think tapas and fondue are..." Print trailed off when he saw the three big pegasi stalking towards them. Mango saw his face and caught sight of them too.

"Man-go Smoothie..." Stump said in an oily voice.

"Not now, Stump," Mango said in a warning tone. "We're in public, dude."

"No, this is Pone-Dixie," Blast corrected. Ignoring his utterly vacuous lackey, Stump continued:

"You cost me a lot of money, you know," he said menacingly.

"You shouldn't have bet on your own team to win."

That sent Stump into a rage. In one fluid motion he took Mango's legs out from under him, lifting him by his tank and pinning him to the freezer door.

"Maybe you should have buckin' made the kick," he seethed. "Dirt pony," he spat, as an afterthought.

Print was paralyzed, numb all over, not sure what to do, or if he even could do anything. Mango had been the kicker for the stormball team last year, one of the few positions a non-Pegasus could play. He wasn't amazing, but he was good (and young) enough to earn the affectionate nickname "The Kid". He was something of an in-joke amongst the varsity players, and for the first time in his life, Mango had been swimming in fillies. The season came down to a final deciding kick against Canterlot High's rival school, and Mango flubbed it. He didn't much care, since he rarely cared about anything, but the rest of the team hated him immediately. He was still somewhat of a polarizing figure in school; some liked him for what he was, while others hated him for choking at the wrong time. Most just forgot and moved on. He didn't bother play stormball again this year.

"Call me 'dirt pony' again," Mango said darkly, somehow managing to seem intimidating despite being pinned.

"What are you going to do?" Buff Drinklots laughed flippantly.

"You've seen me buck," Mango said, stonefaced.

"You couldn't hit me if you tried," Stump said, pushing Mango against the door even harder. "And your faggot friend isn't going to stop me either. Are you, dick-lover?"

"He could hit you!" Print said defiantly, some flame of passion roaring to life within him. "He could hit you right in the stomach. And if he misses by a little... Your sternum’s not an easy bone to set, and if he went lower..."

Stump stared at Print, grudgingly moving his torso farther away while still keeping Mango pinned.

"You know, Stump, I really ought to thank you," Mango said, a smirk creeping onto his face, curtained by his long black bangs. "If I never got on the Stormball team, I never would have gotten to fuck your sister."

Stump clocked Mango in the mouth. Print made as if to help him, but he froze in place, the fire inside dwindling to mere embers. Mango felt around his mouth with his tongue. No teeth missing, he noticed, as Stump seethed.

"Sorry, man," Mango laughed, spitting blood. "If I'd known she was the only filly you could fuck I would have left her all to you."

Stump roared an incomprehensible slur and let him drop, planning to buck him into the wall with his hind hooves. Mango wrenched out of his grasp sooner than Stump expected, dashing away before the bruiser's buck hit the freezer door, just inches from where he was. Grabbing Print by the neck, Mango bolted from the aisle as soon as he could, making a beeline for the exit.

The three pegasi pursued on hoof, as indoor flight was illegal in Canterlot except for designated areas. They were bulky, and slow without their wings, so Print and Mango had quite a lead on them as they bolted out the door.

"Faggots!" they called.

"Dirt ponies!"

"Go touch dicks!"

Mango swished aside his tail, showing them his plot, and gave his brother a quick peck on the cheek, grinning maniacally.

"That ought to excite them," he panted, still running.

"We gotta find somewhere to hide," Print said, panicking as he glanced over his shoulder to see them still in pursuit.

"I know a place," Mango said, still riding the high from pulling one over on his ex-teammates. They sprinted a few blocks down the street, melting into the crowd as best they could. Mango's dark green fur and black mane didn't draw attention, nor did Print's tan coat and brown mane, unlike some of the more gaudily colored ponies, like pink, purple, and red. Mango stuffed his beanie inside Print's shirt as soon as he was able, trying to reduce his visibility from the air. After a few blocks, Mango had them pull off into a small video arcade, the both of them scrambling behind the island of booths in the center so they couldn't be seen from the door.

"Think we lost them?" Mango panted, with a small grin. His mane stuck to his sweaty face.

"I have no bucking idea," Print responded, fixing his coif and straightening his shirt. He noticed the colts and fillies in the arcade were starting to notice them, having caused a ruckus.

"Bullies," Print wheezed. The denizens of the arcade gave them a knowing look and nodded, but said nothing. They'd probably been in a similar situation.

"While we're here..." Mango said, starting to catch his breath.

"Road Brawler?" Print completed the thought for him.

"Super Road Brawler," he corrected. "4."

They played for a while, praying to the arcade gods that Stump and his goons wouldn't find them; happily, they never did.

“What was that kiss about?” Print asked offhanded, feeding a bit into the machine.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I forgot I did that,” Mango chuckled, gripping the fightstick. “Was it that weird?”

“I guess, sort of,” Print admitted, not sure how to feel about it. The game started.

“It was for them, man,” Mango reassured him, dashing towards Print’s character. “Just to piss them off.”

“Thank Celestia,” Print said, relieved, blocking all of Mango’s hits. “I was afraid for a minute…”

“That what? I was into you?” Mango asked incredulously, his eyes focused on the screen.

“No, not that…” Print said pensively, countering poorly-spaced attacks with jabs. “Just like… You were exploiting me, almost.”

“Naaaaaaaah,” Mango said dismissively. “Anything to rile ‘em up.”

“Okay….” Print said, still not sure how to feel. It was one thing for Mango to tease them, but getting a kiss, even one so non-sexual and brief, felt overwhelmingly odd, especially in the context of running away. It made him feel… Naughty, or bad. Associating that with his brother, even if he wasn’t related by blood, couldn’t be a good thing.

"So, um" Print asked nervously, "did you ever actually fuck Stump's sister?"

Mango looked down in despair as he lost by a hair. "Nah, but she's looked like a full grown mare since sixth grade. Even back then she had a fatass plot! I was like 'What are you doin' with that! I'm just a colt, and you look like you're college, of course I'm going to like you!'" he laughed as they both shoveled another quarter-bit piece  into the machine.

"So you never fucked her then?" Print absentmindedly said, a little relieved.

"No, she started dating a senior as a freshman. GIve a boy time to develop some game, jeez."

Print laughed it off, and they played on.

After three hours of intense gaming (Print actually coming out on top in terms of score, for once), Mango glanced at the clock.

"Holy shit, dude, it's 7:30," he said, the grin dropping off his face and going stone white.

"Oh, buck," Print said, scared.

"Mom's going to have a cow," Mango said, holding his head in his hooves.

"How far are we from home?" Print asked, having only been to that arcade once or twice, and having lost track of his bearings during their escape.

"A half hour walk," Mango gulped.

"We should run," Print posited nervously.

"We're dead either way," Mango said, trotting to the door.

"Dad gets home at 8:00. Do you want the figurative sleeping bag, or 'Gunka Galunka?'" he asked, following him out the door.

"Sleeping bag!" they said in unison, bolting for home as soon as the words left their mouths.