Extra, Extra!

Print was surprised at how little fallout Shooting Star had caused him. When he went into class on Wednesday, he faced the same problems: lack of sleep, the occasional shove from a jock or two, and a homophobic critic lambasting his cute style of dressing himself. Mr. Packet still bored everypony to death, Mrs. Ju-Xi still blathered unintelligibly, and the halls still brimmed with ponies bigger than he was. In fact, there was so little reaction that he wasn't even sure other ponies knew that he was going to prom with a mare.

"It's not a big deal; colts go with fillies most of the time, you know,"  Mox Opal reminded him in homeroom. Moxie-O, as Print called her, was the biggest gossip in their grade, so it was no surprise that she knew.

"But I thought ponies might get mad that I'm... you know... Taking a filly," Print said, gesticulating nonsensically. "Away from them."

"Well, I heard Stump was mad about it," she said offhandedly, "but I don't think most people were expecting her to take anypony. She hasn't been sweet on anyone since middle school," she said, her face twisting into a coy smile. "And you know how that went."

Print buried his head in his hooves, dreading seeing Stump anywhere. He was worried for Mango, too. He and his brother both took the advanced classes, which were on a different side of the school building from Stump's classes, and they didn't share a lunch period, but that didn't mean problems weren't going to arise eventually. It was only a matter of time. He groaned, wishing life wasn't so complicated.

Classes that day went smoothly. After biology, Mr. Cycle pulled him aside and asked if everything was alright, offering help if he needed it. Print told him it there weren't any problems, but thanked him. During lunch Kai asked if he could have her instead of going with Crystal Blur, and Sessile Roads made cunnilingus signs at him during gym class; otherwise the day went by without issue. Print had long since learned to ignore the trifling philistines. He hoped that someday somepony would notice his pluck.

The last bell rang, and instead of walking home like the rest of the school, Print made his way to the library. He had dug his own grave, and now he needed to fill it; he checked out all the books he could find on the art of clothing, fashion, and textile manufacturing. There wasn't anything in the Canterlot High library specifically about socks, but Print was determined to make do.

'The first leg and hoof warming garments were produced by protohistoric Neighnanite cultures,' he read out to nopony in particular after he'd lugged the tomes from the library to the biology lab. Cometsong, who was deeply embroiled in her own writing, scarcely noticed. 'The development of fashion followed, and some garments became associated with cults of fertility.'

"How did that even happen?" Mango asked, somewhere between incredulous and sarcastic. He had come to the Fast Times meeting for the day, since the mural artist was going to paint the wall the day after. Their parents wanted both of them to be there, and since minors was only allowed to work so many days by law, Mango had the day off. All the better it was on a day where Mr. Cycle didn't officially stay to sponsor the paper, instead entrusting them with the room key and hoping they'd clean up whatever mess they would inevitably make.

'While initially utilitarian in their implementation, leg coverings became an important social feature of nearly all pony societies, primarily in the interest of increasing mares' suitability for marriage. Certain practices involving fashionable leg coverings were reputed to increase fertility,' Print read, abjectly disgusted. "Gag me with a spoon."

"Well when you put it that way, it all makes so much sense," Mango deadpanned.

"You should interview Tosret," Ee-sang suggested from the corner. He was playing AngelRing so silently that Print had almost forgotten he was there.

"No, no, Print wouldn't do that to her," Mango said dismissively.

"Then Bé--" Ee suggested.

"Him neither," Print said with an air of finality. Poor Bé and Tosret, a pair of zebras who had recently transferred in from the great grasslands, had made a great effort to appear as Equestrian as possible on their first day of school. Due to their limited exposure to Equestrian media, they had thought it appropriate to turn up in striped socks. The brother and sister had been enthusiastic at first, and so had the other students, mockingly and cloppingly, but the administration had stepped in and sent them home. They'd been rather quiet ever since, save for the friends they made from their inadvertently audacious display. Mango had been one of them.

"They would be worthwhile to reference, though.... As an expert opinion, maybe," Mango said nonchalantly.

"No, that would be Cloudia," Print asserted.

"It's a gift shop, not a sex shop," Mango said, grating his teeth. Mango's potential Prom date worked at a variety store in the mall. They mainly carried t-shirts, but they had quite a few novelties as well.

"They have vibrators and lube," Print tutted. "And socks."

"Definitely a sex shop," Cometsong concluded, setting her quill down and massaging her horn. She'd been writing for the better part of an hour; unicorns tended to get headaches if they used magic for more than a an hour at a time.

"Mishar," Mango spat in Ponjabi, summoning the little he did know, which was limited to curses.

"Mishahr," Print and Comet corrected simultaneously.

"Whatever. You know what I meant," the dark green colt grumbled.

"Well, one's a curse and one is a type of bread," Comet clucked.

"Fine," Mango spat. "Mishar derembi mishahr."

Print and Cometsong both laughed.

"You called her a 'bitch sandwich,'" Print giggled petulantly.

"How does Print know this and you don't?" Cometsong chuckled. Print cringed internally. It was a bit of a sore subject.

"He's better than me at learning," Mango spat.

"That's... not true," Print said consolingly, reaching a hoof to the desk next to him to put it on his brother's shoulder. He shrugged it off.

"You picked up more Ponjabi in 2 years than I did in 17. And you know fucking everything about the culture," Mango said, dejected.

Print felt bad for having an advantage in that regard; his cutie mark was for reading and writing, and he had spent a good amount of his time reading the newspapers in the Ponjab. He was utterly fascinated by the gaudiness, dryness, and completely serious tone on which things were presented, especially the sections devoted to arranging marriages. He learned the basics of cultural interaction quickly, shortly after he got a handle on the language.

"It's complicated," Comet offered, seeing how upset he was getting. She wasn't the biggest fan of Mango, but she tolerated him for the sake of her friendship with Print. Even so, she hated seeing another pony in pain, especially from her own words.

"Too complicated for me," Mango said, slumping onto the desk and burying his face in his hooves. Print didn't know what to say.

"Do you consider yourself Ponjabi now?" Mango asked after a spell. Print turned it over in his head.

"I guess, I have dual citizenship," he said evenly, hoping the diplomatic response would placate him.

"No, no," Mango said, shaking his head. "You know what I mean." He wasn't in the mood for diplomacy. Print had to think hard. He loved the culture, but it was clear he wasn't from the area. He didn't have the mane, the eyes, or the ears the his Mom's side of the family had. He was adopted too late to become completely enculturated, but he wished he had been able to grow up with his family sooner.

"No, I suppose not," Print said honestly, feeling a little defeated. "None of my ancestors are from there, as far as I know."

Mango looked Print right in the eyes, longer than Print felt comfortable with.

"Shut up," he said. It took Print my surprise. Mango put a hoof on his shoulder.

"You're the one who has to carry on the Smoothie family tradition. I know you aren't... like, genetically like us, but you're a better rep for the culture than I am," Mango said, his eyes still level with Print. Comet looked on apprehensively. Print wasn't sure how to respond. Mango continued in response to Print's stunned silence:

"Unless I end up marrying a Ponjabi filly, which would just be a coincidence, and probably won't happen, you have to make sure the family stays Ponjabi. You're one of us now."

"I... I didn't know you cared so much," Print stammered. Mango closed his eyes and assumed a posture of indifference.

"A smoothie with no flavor is just crushed ice," he said sagely.

"Then why didn't you bother learning the language?" Ee asked. Print shot him a poisonous glance.

"I tried," Mango replied wistfully. "I just couldn't do it, no matter how much effort I put in."

"It's harder than Equestrian," Ee conceded.

"I'm good at other stuff, so I'm not too broken up about it," Mango said, a shadow of his usual impish grin reappearing on his face.

"Like all the games I'm into," Print complained, thinking of how Mango dominated him at almost every game they tried.

He was happy to be off the subject. At the very mention of video games, Comet rolled her eyes and delved back into writing, and Mango took to explaining all the different socks he could put on his character in Land of BattleCraft. Comet's quill scratched furiously, almost masking the heavy pawsteps and clacking claws rushing down the hall. Print and Mango's ears stood up, expecting somepony to yell at them for being in the room without a sponsor. They got something entirely different.