Extra, Extra!

"So what’s the difference between a sub and a hero, anyway?" Mango puzzled. He scratched his scruffy chin. The sun beat down on them, heating the street until the horizon shimmered.

"I think it's what part of Equestria you're from," Print answered, wiping the sweat from his brow. He took a moment to admire their handiwork; the whole side of the Smoothie Smoothie was whitewashed, and there was no trace of the bricks that lay beneath. Their mother had set them to prime the whole side of the building in preparation for some famous artist that was going to adorn the side of the blend shop with a mural.

"Then what's a hoagie?" Mango said with a furrowed brow. He let his brush fall into the bucket, pleased that they were finally done with their punishment. They'd explained as best they could, but their mother's ire saw no logic in their prodigal gaming.

"It's hot, maybe?" Print offered absentmindedly. He stood still trying to imagine what the side of the building would look like when the mural artist was finished. "Is it the same thing as a grinder?"

"All in the sandwich family," Mango mused. They cleaned up their buckets and brushes and went inside. It was midafternoon on a Sunday, so the post-lunch crowd was sparse, but there were a few ponies enjoying smoothies in the booths all around the shop.

"All finished up, boys?" their father asked from behind the counter. Their mouths filled with paint handle, they could only nod in the affirmative. The white stallion had two smoothies ready for them by the time they got back from putting the paint away in the closet; Print's favorite, still-green bananas and dark chocolate ice cream, and Mango's, a mix of kiwi, papaya, pawpaw, and of course, mango.

"You two should be getting home soon," Strawberry Smoothie suggested in his good-natured Ponjab accent. "I hear you're making us dinner tonight."

"Print is making us dinner tonight," Mango corrected, who had long since mastered talking while drinking without taking the straw out of his mouth. Print nodded; he felt bad that he had failed to deliver on his original plan, even if it was supposed to be a surprise.

"What are you making?" the pink-maned stallion asked, more amused than anything. He'd never seen Print cook; since both he and Papaya were excellent chefs, Print had never had to cook for them. His adopted son had picked up a little while bouncing around between foster families, even staying in a home or two where he made all his own meals. His cooking wasn't good, but he felt like he knew the basics.

"Umm, some sort of gumbo, I think," Print said, weakly gesturing with his hooves. "It's still in the embryonic stages." His father chuckled.

"Well, don't let me stop you," he said with a smile, gesturing to the door. "And Mango, lend him a hoof."

Mango groaned and upended the rest of his smoothie, which was more than half, into his mouth. The first time Print had seen him do that, he was positive he was insane, but Mango seemed to be utterly immune to brain freeze.

"Fine, I'll make the garlic bread," he sighed, dragging his brother out the door.

"Garlic bread isn't the answer to all of life's problems," Print said, nodding sagely, still sipping his shake.

 "It solves most of them," Mango replied, his eyes glazing over as he thought of tasting the sweet, salty, warm, crunchy bread.

"I wish my favorite food was dirt cheap," Print said, somewhat jealous. He had taken quite a liking to the spicy curries their mother made, but his stomach still cried out for the first food he had when he visited the Ponjab: saffron milk and Turkish delight.

"I'd eat garlic bread for every meal, if I could," Mango said as they trotted along, Print doing so awkwardly because of the shake in his hoof.

"You'd get fat," Print teased.

"Bread makes you fat?" Mango asked, incredulous.

"I'm actually surprised you aren't fatter than you are," Print said, honestly not sure why Mango didn't share proportions with a balloon. "You eat a lot of bread, snack on candy all the time, drink beer… And all you do is lay around and play games..."

Mango just grinned and flexed between steps.

"I'm hella athletic dude, what are you talking' about? You're talking to the Kid," he said proudly.

"Yeah, but... you don't do any upkeep," Print said, still baffled. He certainly wasn't athletic himself, but he didn't eat but half of what his brother did, and they both had stomachs as flat as ironing boards. Their flanks weren't big, either, though Mango's were certainly more toned.

"Good genes, bro," Mango said. "Sucks that you didn't get any."

"Yeah, it does," Print agreed flatly, not bothering to keep the annoyance of of his voice. Noting how perturbed Print was, Mango backpedaled.

"What about you? Your parents give you anything cool in that department?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh, not that I know of," Print said, catching on to Mango's train of thought. "I wasn't upset about the whole fat thing; I was just sort of annoyed we weren't blood brothers."

Mango slowed his pace down a little, brooding.

"But we are blood brothers, for all intents and purposes," he said after Print slowed down accordingly, allowing him to catch up. "It says so on your birth certificate."

"Yeah, but Mom didn't, you know, have me have me," Print said matter-of-factly. "I don't look like either of them."

"Is it a big deal?" Mango asked, worried he might have brought some tension to light.

"Well, sometimes. Sometimes not. I had another mom and dad," Print said. "I still love Mom and Dad, but it's weird to remember there were other ponies who loved me the same way."

Mango chewed on that for a minute.

"But you didn't have another brother," he said. Print smiled, glad his brother had found peace in the situation, and threw a hoof around him.

"That I didn't," he agreed.

"It is still sort of weird, though," Mango said, "I can't imagine having a family before this one."

"Well, it definitely is hard to sympathize with," Print agreed. "Sometimes when I remember back to when they were still around, when I was really little... I think it's our Mom and Dad. Like, not only that it's them, but I feel like they remember doing things with me as a foal, too."

"Woah," Mango said, stunned. "So you mix them up?"

"Not really," Print said. "If I think about it it's obvious who's who, but when I'm not thinking I'll mention something that Mom or Dad doesn't know about, expecting them to remember. Like, they used to take me to the park near the School for Gifted Unicorns when I was really young," Print said, doing his best to explain.

"The one with the statue of Ericious Symphonia?" he asked.

"Yeah, that one! If I wasn't thinking about it, I'd just casually thank Mom for doing that or something. Or ask Dad to make the griffonese toast my other dad used to make. Simple stuff like that."

"Man..." Mango said, floored by Print's explanation. "That's some mindgamey stuff, dude."

"You know what's even weirder? Sometimes I forget, and think Mom and Dad are my other mom and dad."

"What do you mean?" Mango asked, shaken.

"How do I put it... I guess the easiest way to explain it is… It’s like when you write the wrong year after New Years’ for a few weeks. You just sort of get in the habit of expecting something since it was there for a long time. So sometimes I wake up in the morning and expect to see Mom with a coat and mane like mine,” he explained. “Because I see her and Dad as loving me the same way as my mom and dad.”

“That’s heavy,” Mango murmured, trying to imagine the sensory detachment Print described.

“And the weirdest part, the part that completely blows my mind," Print said, finishing his shake for emphasis, "is that I never did that with any other family. I don’t think any of them expected to keep me, so I was just around. For about ten years, I felt like I was on my own, completely forgetting my mom and dad, then Mom and Dad show up and I start remembering things again."

"Like repression?" Mango asked.

"More like association, I think," Print said. He didn’t know much about psychology, but he didn’t get flashbacks, so he was reasonably sure his memories hadn’t been repressed. They just hadn’t been relevant.

"Because you have a family that loves you again," Mango said happily, glad to have found the root of the Print's feelings. "Does it bug you?"

"What? No way! It's awesome that I feel at home again!" Print said, tossing his cup into a nearby trash bin. "I think it's a sign that something is right."

"Man," Mango said, still struggling to comprehend. "This would make a great article."

"Ehhhh," Print said, his voice wavering. "I don't really like harping on you guys. It makes me feel like I'm crying for attention."

"That's cool, that's cool," Mango said, nodding. "I guess just the once, then?"

"Yeah, yeah, I wrote about you guys once and I didn't even expect it to get off the ground. But I don't want to write about my life," Print said. He hated being the center of attention, and he especially hated talking about private things like that with anyone besides his family.

"Oh well, you can write about my blend," Mango suggested.

"The one with the pomegranates and mangos? I don't think I could fill a column with that, much less a page..."

"So, do an exposé on me!" Mango laughed, bumping into Print's side. “All my smoothies and how I’m the best all-around gamer in Canterlot!”

"Naaaah," Print dismissed him. "If I did that I'd have to write about all your incidents!"

"What incidents? The noodle incident?"

"No, that one's too risqué for the Fast Times, but the Lac Incident and the Blastoff Affair would do nicely," he teased.

"Lac is an incident now?!" Mango gasped, horrified.

"I'm sure Lac will tell her foal about 'The Mango Incident', " Print laughed.

"Ohcelestianoooo," he moaned, shrinking away from Print. They walked in silence for a few moments, Print holding back laughter, before Mango piped up again.

"You'd have to include the 'Pillowplot' incident," he said in a small, triumphant voice, a smirk painted on his face.

"Oh, that's an incident?" Print asked, surprised and incredulous.

"Yup," Mango said, smiling smugly. Print flushed and said nothing until their house, a simple two-story on Starswirl street, came into view as they turned the corner.

"At least I didn't need a wet noodle to-"

"OH HI MOM." Mango called as loudly as he could in order to drown out Print as they entered the house.

Print set the pot down on the table, carefully ladling out servings of the gumbo. It was a simple affair, a low heat with chunks of vegetables, and it was passable for a first attempt. His parents tasted as soon as he had finished serving everybody, but Mango didn't touch his spoon. He eyed the bowl of red soup warily, munching on a piece of garlic bread he'd forced Print to make.

"This is excellent!" Their father exclaimed as soon as he swallowed his first spoonful. "Great use of pepper, and the vegetables are cooked perfectly!"

"This is a lot like an Equestrian style of curry," their mother mused. "I like it a lot; great job Print!" Noting Mango’s hesitation, she tried to goad him. "Come on, Mango, try it."

"I don't trust it," he said, eyeing the bowl suspiciously. Print had only tried to cook for him once before, and Mango had only narrowly escaped having his tail burnt off. He was still leery of anything that involved Print and food.

"It's not going to bite you," their father encouraged.

"Well that works out nicely, then," Mango said, taking another bite of bread, "because I don't plan on biting it, either."

Print shot him a look. "Seriously?" he asked. Mango gave him a look of pure disdain, pulling a face that could be interpreted solely as 'only-for-you.' He lifted the spoon to his mouth and swallowed. The disdain melted, giving way to a look of pleasant surprise.

"It's... actually pretty good," he mused. "Not what I was expecting."

Print relaxed a little, now that he had universal approval. His parents might blow smoke in the interest of his self-esteem, but Mango would tell it to him straight.

"Hot sauce?" he questioned.

"Counter," Print answered.

"So I want you two in bed early tonight," Papaya cautioned. "School tomorrow and all that."

Mango groaned and Print sighed, but there wasn't much to be done about it once she got an idea in her head. Mango traipsed back to the table and proceeded to dilute the gumbo so much it was barely recognizable.

"Do you want some gumbo with your hot sauce?" Strawberry snarked.

"That can't be good for your digestion, dear," Papaya agreed.

"It tastes good," Mango defended himself.

"Three," Print said.

"What?" his parents asked in unison, not sure what he had said.

"Two," Print said as Mango raised the spoon to his lips. He had no doubt that his tongue could handle the spice, but his other end...

"One," Print continued, his parents beginning to suspect something was wrong with him.

"Blastoff," Print whispered evilly. Papaya rolled her eyes, and Strawberry gave in to a fit of giggling. Mango pounded the table and Print could see gumbo dripping from his nose as he struggled not to spray it all over the table from laughter. He swallowed, hacking on the hot liquid, taking a moment to dry his eyes of tears from the heat.

“You bastard,” he coughed. “You utter bastard!”

Mango cleaned himself up, finishing what remained of his gumbo as the rest of them talked. Print went unpunished, as the Smoothie family abided by the rule of funny: anything was excusable if it got enough laughs. Similarly, the law of conservation of dishes was in full effect: the cook didn’t do dishes. Usually that meant the work was split between Print, Mango, and whoever had closed up the blend shop instead of cooking, but that night Print was off the hook.

He took the time to pick and press an outfit for the next day, choosing a casual permutation of a jacket popularized by some long-dead Ponjabi minister. It was light, breathable, and complemented his form well. He was known around school as a bit of an eccentric dresser, contrasting to Mango’s simple “tanktop-at-the-most” philosophy, but he enjoyed his style unironically. Canterlot was one of the few places in Equestria where most ponies wore clothes all the time for the sake of fashion, but Mango never quite got the memo. His friends had grown to like Print's style, though, and he actually enjoyed gossiping fashion with the fillies in his homeroom.

“Too gaudy?” he asked, holding it against his body in their bedroom.

“Honestly, man,” Mango said, flopping on the bed, “I think you overdress.”

“Stallions like a sharp-dressed colt,” Print said with a pout.

“They also like them naked,” Mango retorted, covering his eyes with his hooves. Print stuck his tongue out at him, knowing he couldn’t see.

“Want to play some AngelRing?” Print suggested. Mango wearily agreed, having not yet hit his night’s second wind. They gamed into the night, quietly, killing each other softly so their mother wouldn’t hear.