Extra, Extra!

"Dude. Duuude! Duuuude. Dude."

Mango was more than a little surprised about what Print had told him while they were doing the dishes.

"She's like... a cheerleader!" he exclaimed.

"So? You're The Kid; you knew lots of cheerleaders, right?" Print asked. He shifted on his bed, a game of Retris on the GameColt in his hooves.

"Not in the biblical sense," Mango replied.

"Well, I mean, she didn't sound like she didn't like you," Print mused. Shooting Star had said that Mango was different from his other friends, but she'd left exactly what that meant open to interpretation. "Maybe I could introduce you."

"This is the first time I regret flubbing the kick," Mango sighed. He sat at his computer, casually playing a game that had only come out very recently. He was making a character run around with four others in a large trident, while an opposing team of five ran around because of... reasons. The game was too slow for Print's liking, but Mango (and everypony else, it seemed) loved it.

"You're still The Kid," Print asserted. "You probably could have drowned a foal in the moisture on the cheer bench during the games you won," he said, shuddering at the thought.

"Maybe," Mango said impassively. "She's going with you, either way. This means I have to find a date soon, otherwise I'll go down in history as being less popular with mares than my gay brother."

"It's probably not that uncommon," Print said. "I mean... I'm good with mares... Like, because I'm gay."

"I'm just glad you're not bi," Mango said, clacking a few keys on his keyboard as his character threw a bolt of energy at another player. "I'd never find a mare."

"Fillies don't like bi colts," Print stated, not really sure what difference it made.

"I know," Mango said sourly.

"What...? You're..?" Print said, sitting up and looking at him, fighting a grin at the idea.

"Maybe," Mango said.

"I'd think you'd know by now," Print said, leaning back and smiling.

"I'd fuck anything at the moment," he said. His character died and the screen went grey.

"Well there you go," Print said, waving his hoof dismissively. "You're just using a dry spell."

"What would you know about dry spells?" Mango shot back. "You're a virgin."

"Know any colts around who would do the deed?" Print asked defensively.

"Not me, if that's what you're thinking," Mango said.

"I wasn't," Print answered darkly. Mango changed the subject.

"So I heard talk that you—" he pointed at Print "—are a griffon-groper."

"What?" Print asked, annoyed, sitting straight up with a furrowed brow.

"I heard talk that—"

"No, no, I got that; who from?" Print asked angrily.

"A certain reporter of yours..." Mango said slyly as he turned back to his game, his character having respawned. Print said nothing. He was going to make Ee-sang's life a living hell, but that was a problem for later.

"So you don't deny it?" the green colt asked without looking away from the screen

"I have a thing for paws, alright?" Print confessed, blushing deeply. He was too uncomfortable to talk to anypony else about his desires, but he was always at ease with his brother. "And they're big and strong."

"So I take it you don't like the Fishslayer then?" Mango surmised.

"Ha ha, ha ha," Print laughed sarcastically. His fake smile went flat. "No." Emmett was a bigger griffon, but he was rotund and uncouth.

"So... Paws?" Mango asked.

"They're nice," Print admitted.

"But... beaks," Mango protested. "I kissed Porfira Merryfeather behind the gym in seventh grade."

"Was this before she got fat?" Print asked, sardonically savoring the thought of his brother kissing the griffon who was too fat to fly more than a few hundred feet.

"Uhhhhh, probably in the in-between stages," he said. "She had a nice pudge, but it was cute."

"Ah, right in the goldilocks zone," Print mused. He was approaching his high score in Retris, but the casual conversation seemed to arouse apathy to that fact.

"Precisely," Mango agreed. His character and several others were fighting over what looked like a defensive tower, and it looked like his team was losing. "Beaks, though," he continued.

"They'd probably be okay; I mean, they're not going to cut your lips or anything," Print said.

"I didn't mean your lips, bro," Mango said, taking a quick glance away from the game to give Print the suggestive eyebrows. Print groaned, but didn't reply. After a few moments, he spoke up:

"So who would you ask to Prom?"

"Dunno," he said whilst scratching his scruff. "I'll probably ask Cloudia Hail; she comes in the shop almost every time I'm working." Mango worked Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at the Smoothie Smoothie. Print only joined him on Fridays, since the Fast Times went to press on Thursdays, and any weekend news got reported back to him on Monday, so his afternoon was free. Originally he had felt bad, not working as much for more or less the same amount of pocket money as Mango, but his parents had made an excellent point: the shop was going to go to Mango, since he was the one with the smoothie cutie mark, and running the paper would help Print get a job at a national paper, anyway, so in they end they panned out even.

"The goth?" Print asked. "You think she has a thing for you?"

"She's not a goth, she's punk," Mango corrected. "And yeah, I think it's possible." He frowned; his team seemed to be losing. Print missed a block, which set off a pileup he couldn't undo. He barely beat his high score, but not by enough to feel worthwhile. He pouted.

"You have to tell Mom and Dad, you know," Mango said in a small voice. Print groaned again.

"I bet I'm the first 'cuddler in history to dread telling his parents he's taking a mare to Prom," he sighed.

"They'll be all like 'Ohhhh, Print, you're such a sellout!'," Mango teased.

"Shut up," Print said scornfully. "Want me to tell them you're bi?" he continued, hoping it would quiet him.

"That I'm maybe sorta-kinda bi? Knock yourself out, buttercup," he retorted. "They'd have a cow if they knew you were into griffons."

"It's not an exclusive thing!" Print spat. "I just like them equally! Besides, I'd just quote 'Hirushna Mataram nu Ridash' at them,” he said, the name of the Ponjabi ballad rolling off his tongue.

"That's the one where...?" Mango trailed off curtly, prompting Print to explain.

"Where Hirushna, the princess of Felhi Pradesh, fell in love with a griffon and married him, and the pradesh was ruled by hippogriffs for probably 200 years."

"And you bucking memorized that?" Mango asked incredulously, surrendering and turning around in his chair to face Print on the bed.

"Parts of it," Print defended himself. Mango sighed.

"'I like them equally,'," Mango intoned. "Says the guy who memorized ancient poetry defending it." Print said nothing, turning over to look at the wall.

"Do you want me to tell them about Star for you?" Mango asked. Print nodded weakly. Mango slid off his chair and trotted downstairs. Print heard the muffled sounds of conversation, and twelve hooves clip-clopping up the stairs to their room. He turned to face the door. He saw his mother and father, with Mango close behind.

"So you're taking a filly to prom," his mother stated.

"It's either that or go alone," Print sighed.

"We should really fight to get that changed," Papaya said, looking at her husband. "It's not fair that somepony like Print would have to take a... friend to the dance like this!" Strawberry was thinking differently.

"Agreed, but in the meantime, he's taking a cheerleader to Prom, Papaya. Most colts would kill for that sort of opportunity," he reasoned. She shot him a sardonic glance.

"Because they have nice hips-and-plots-and-things-that-go-boom?" she said, overemphasizing her Ponjabi accent. "That's not what he's after, Sweetieberry."

"No, no, this isn't about what I'm after," Print said, holding up his hooves and blushing. "It's just that... She's a good friend from when I was in middle school, and she figured I needed a date since I don't even know any colts I could go with."

"A good friend? How come we have never met her?" his mother asked, curious and mildly annoyed.

"We sort of... went our separate ways after middle school. She used to have a crush on me, and when I came out she thought I was leading her on the whole time." Papaya's expression softened. She realized that even though Print was gay, he was still a colt. And colts never picked up on when a filly had feelings for them, regardless of whether he is interested or not.

"I see," she said in a small voice.

"But you're back together now?" Strawberry asked. "As friends, I mean?"

"I guess," Print shrugged. He closed his eyes and ran his hooves through his thick, flowing mane. He found it very hard to talk about romance or sexuality with anyone besides Mango, so having his parents grill him like this was torture. He opened his eyes and continued: "She's alright; I think she's over me now, in a romantic sense, at least."

Papaya and Strawberry looked at each other.

"This might be the start of the healing process," Strawberry suggested. He look expectantly at his wife, hoping that was the end of the conversation. He was certainly fine with how Print was, but he wasn’t very keen on delving into details, romantic or physical. Print wished his mother was that way, but she insisted on knowing everything.

"She's not expecting to date you, after this, is she?" Papaya asked, concerned. She knew what went on in a filly's head.

"I sure hope not," Mango chimed from behind them. His parents fixed him with a glare, and he withered with chagrin.

"No, she just wants to go to Prom and help me get to know people," Print said honestly, laying out her intentions as she had explained them. He left out the bit about social appearances, though; he didn't want his parents to think he was being used. "It's going to be fun!"

"You're sure?" his mother asked.

"Yeah; it's not like I'm marrying her or anything," Print laughed nervously, hoping his whimsical facade would get her to back off.

"Thank Celestia," Mango responded. He preemptive my held up his hooves in weak apology, before Print and his parents could give him the 'laser eyes'. "She's a cheerleader," he offered, as if it made his frivolous hope completely transparent.

"Well, as long as you think it's the right thing to do..." their father said. "I suppose all we can say is to have a good time."

"Sure will!" Print chirped with feigned enthusiasm. They shuffled out of the doorway, Mango squeezing past them. As soon as they were out of sight, Print flopped back down on his bed, relieved. He hated talking about romance.

"Come on, sweet flanks; Smack Bros," Mango demanded. Print groaned a dejected affirmative, and lazily slid off the bed like a snake, his plot high in the air with his chin on the ground as he fumbled for a controller.

"That wasn't so bad," Mango said consolingly. He booted up the game and they picked their characters.

"Still sucks," Print croaked. The game started.

"Print and Mango are playing Smack Brothers," Mango said in an affected Trottingham accent, mocking Sir Neighvid Appleburrow.

"They said they were going to talk to the school about letting colts take colts," Print moaned, dreading the inevitable scene their mother would create. He'd be dragged into the office and forced to watch as Papaya went "mama-bear ballistic" on Principle Athens. He hated people making a big deal over his sexuality, but even more so, he hated being responsible for strife. He'd end up shrinking back into the chair, wishing he was invisible, bathing in the awkwardness of having been the root of it all.

"Each player has four lives, or stocks; when a player loses all four, the game is over," Mango continued with his mockumentary-worthy imitation. He sat passively, making extremely uncharacteristic errors against Print's despair-fueled attacks. He lost one life, then another shortly after.

"And I'm sure they're going to try to talk to Star's parents or something," Print pouted as he took Mango's third life, oblivious to Mango's joking. "I wish I could keep all this separate."

"He will lose three lives on purpose," Mango intoned as his character fell off the screen, his character's last life floating down from the heavens and dropping him on the stage. "Now, he will try."

Print was caught off-guard as Mango's character began moving faster than Print's eyes could follow, dashing around the stage quicker than he thought was possible. His troubles were temporarily forgotten as Mango turned up the heat, fluidly taking two of his lives without getting hit once. Mango's controlled clacked clicked while his hooves jumped over the buttons.

"How is possible for a player to be so fast and precise," Mango resumed. "That even the great Print Inkwell is no match?" he finished, killing Print one last time to end the game.

"He doesn't have a girlfriend, for one thing," Print answered derisively, simultaneously annoyed that his brother led him on as well as amazed that he was able to dominate him so hard.

"The noble Inkwell offers weak excuses for his ineptitude, appealing to the basest of reasons," Mango chided from within his charade. He started up the next game, this time selecting the worst and most useless character in the game. Print was expecting him to play harder this time, playing harder himself.

"Is it entirely possible that 'The Inkwell' has no answer for 'The Kid'?" Mango teased.

"Is it possible that 'The Kid' has no cock?" Print shot back sardonically, mimicking the accent even better than his brother could. Even though the match was more even, Mango still beat Print with ease—and style. The match finished, and Mango grinned wildly. Print ignored his smug face and snaked back up onto the bed, mumbling “The Inkwell is defeated.”