Extra, Extra!

"Hey, dude, I bet you can't this really hot pepper!" Emmett said rapidly to nopony in particular as he materialized in the door, a wickedly red pepper in his claw. Not caring who the challenges was meant for, Mango, being the closest to the door, rose to his hooves.

"Uhh, I bet you I can! Gimme that!" he said equally rapidly so as not to miss a beat, snatching the pepper out of Emmett's claws. He gnawed on it as he would a piece of corn, devouring the whole thing in less than a second. He stood proudly for a moment, a smug look on his face.

Print covered his mouth in disbelief, expecting his brother to start sweating and request a drink at any second. Emmett wouldn't challenge them so if the pepper wasn't ridiculously hot. Mango said nothing, but widened his self-satisfied grin. Cometsong looked from Mango to Print and back again, as if checking to make sure if this was normal. Emmett's beak hung open in utter bewilderment, not believing that any pony would eat an unknown pepper so recklessly. Ee-sang watched with bated breath, sadistically waiting for Mango's mouth to start burning.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," Mango chirped happily as he sat back down and returned to his pulp novel.

"But... You just ate a phantom chili!" Emmett said in utter disbelief.

"That's what that was?" Mango asked impassively. He nonchalantly turned a page.

"Maybe it was a dud," Cometsong suggested. She was as shocked as Emmett.

"Nope!" Mango said, blowing a gust of air over to her. When her eyes began to burn from the pepper on his breath, she admitted he was right.

"He's insane," she cried. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her eyelids puckered as she comically ducked beneath the desk to recover.

"...He's brilliant," Emmett said, his face lighting up. "Mango, you could eat more of those if you wanted, right?"

"Probably," he mused.

"Provided he doesn't take a laxative," Print joked. Mango gave him the ‘Seriously?’ face.

"Ridiculous! Here's my article for the week!" Emmett squawked. "World record for eating those is three in a day. I have another five," he said solemnly, patting his backpack.

"Wait, you mean I can be in the paper?" Mango said, his smug smile lighting up into a more genuine grin of glee.

"National paper, if we get pictures!" the griffon cried. “They go nuts for world records!”

"WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?!" Mango roared. Cometsong facehoofed with one hoof and pulled out the Fast Times’s camera from beneath the desk with her other. Emmett snatched it and both of them were gone before Print had time to process what happened.

"How did he even get--?" he started.

"Just don't bother," she cut him off, wiping her eyes.

"But why does he have--?" Print asked.

"I don't even know," she stated flatly.

"I mean, WHO could have--?!"

"He's a blithering idiot!" Ee interjected. Print's head was swimming; there was truly no explanation for the events that had just transpired.

"Does he eat them like that normally?" Comet asked nervously. Print mused and ran a hoof through his mane; Mango had a reputation as a garbage disposal. He's drink nearly-boiling coffee without complaint, could drink a smoothie without brainfreeze as quickly as he could a bottle of water, and he never sweat from Mrs. Smoothie's hot curries that kept Print's mouth burning for hours.

"I think he has a superpower," Print said with a straight face.

"I'd warn Cloudia if I were you; that stays on the tongue for a few days," Comet said coyly.

"I don't think she'd mind; she likes the spicy wraps we have at the shop," Print said, oblivious to the joke. Comet took his innocence in stride.

"Can I interview you for my op-ed?" she asked, gesturing to her paper in order to change the subject. She probably wanted his opinion as an Earth pony, a minority in Canterlot.

"Nah, seems cheap," Print said. He didn't want to brush her off personally, but keeping source material in-house at a paper as prestigious as the Times seemed amateurish in his opinion.

"But if I pick some random Earth pony in the hall or something I have to get waivers/ and they have to sign and..." she trailed off with a pout. She turned her wide eyes to Print, hoping she could sway him.

"It's my reputation on the line as EIC," he said sternly. "So, no." She groaned and left to make copies of the tedious waivers she'd have to deal with in order to interview anypony.

Print turned his attention back to his books. He had half an article so far; not a front-pager, but a passable exposé on the history of socks. He pored over the books until it was dark out, scratching tediously at the parchment, crafting the perfect educational piece. He mentioned Flightus Adromecus, Whinneyopatra, and Atilla the Pone, and more as examples of how socks shaped history. Some because of their lust for socks, some for their expert use of sock-bolstered wiles, and some for stimulating the textile industry. He mentioned the great sock market crash, and modern Equestrian opinions on the controversial tubes of fabrics.

By the time he finished, it was much later than he had anticipated. Their mom expected Print and Mango home by 6:00, and it was already 6:15. She was going to have a cow. Print gingerly left his parchment on Mr. Cycle's desk so he could find it in the morning and send it to press, and slung his full backpack over his shoulders. He galloped off in search of Mango. After nervously flitting from room to room, he finally found Mango and Emmett in the woodshop.

"You're never going to believe this, Print," Emmett said gleefully as he snapped photo after photo. Mango stumbled around the woodshop, falling onto the floor with his hooves splayed in all directions. The green colt giggled as he saw his brother.

"What did you do to him?!" Print shouted at Emm.

"I think in large doses the peppers have psychoactive effects!" Emmett said happily, ignoring Print's worried ire.

"He's drugged?" Print asked, incredulous. It didn't seem possible that peppers would be able to induce a dissociative psychosomatic response.

"I think his body's turning the capsaicin into phlebotinol," Emm chirped happily, ruffling his feathers at the mention of the psychedelic molecule. "They're pretty similar chemically, so maybe there's enough blowback to produce a high." Mango ran his hooves over a 2x4, picking it up and appraising it as if it was a piece of fine art.

"Are you okay, bro?" Print asked, worried.

Mango didn't reply. Instead he stated at his hoof intently as if committing its every detail to memory. Emmett snapped another picture.

"This is medical textbook shit, man," he said. Print whirled to face him.

"You!" he said in the most commanding voice he could muster. "All you care about is your stupid world record!" he said viciously. The smile dropped from Emmett's beak at once.

"It's not just-"

"Help me get him up!" Print snapped. He was at his brother's side, struggling to lift him to his hooves. Emmett scurried over and hoisted him with ease, setting him back down in a standing position. The griffon simpered at Print, but the tan colt was too furious to notice. He was mad at Emmett for starting the whole state of affairs with his outlandish idiocy, and  he was mad at Mango for recklessly following.

"How many did he eat?" Print spat, brushing Mango off. Mango hummed a tune and rocked his weight from one side to the other.

"All five," Emmett admitted sheepishly. Print looked at him as if trying to make the griffon's head explode with his mind. His enraged face frightened Emm, but he took a picture nonetheless. Print snatched the camera from his claws, dragging Mango out of the room.

"Come on, you're coming with me," Print said with an air of command. Emmett snapped to follow without question, obeying nervously.

They made it down the hall to the biology lab, Mango blathering about how they had to step on certain floor tiles.

"Step on the black ones; we'll go faster," he urged. "The green ones heal us."

"This had better not be permanent," Print fumed as he walked into the lab to get Mango some water.

"What are you talking about?" Comet asked. She was spreading sand over her parchment to help the ink dry.

"Mango ate all the peppers and now he's tripping balls!" Emmett chirped helpfully. Print seethed, but nodded. Comet was off her chair in an instant, looking into Mango's mouth, checking his pupils, and feeling his coat.

"How bad is it; do we need to go to the hospital?" Print asked nervously.

"I don't think so," Cometsong said, relieved. "But he is pretty high."

"Your... head spike thingy is high!" Mango shot accusingly, looking at her horn. Print blinked before he could continue.

"So he's not OD'ing or anything," he asked.

"No, no," she assured him. Her parents were doctors, and had taught her quite a bit. She knew the signs of common medical emergencies when she saw them. "But you need to get him home."

"Can't you just teleport him?" Emmett asked, hoping the easier things went the quicker Print would be to forgive and forget. Comet shook her head. Emmett retreated to the lab bench to get Mango some water.

"I can only teleport myself. How far is your house?" she asked.

"A mile or so," Print estimated. The distance was no fun for a unicorn to walk, but earth ponies and pegasi never had any problem walking or flying to school.

"Mile and a half," Mango corrected in a moment of lucidity.

"We can make that in twenty minutes if we hurry," Comet said optimistically. Emmett returned from the bench with a cup of water. He offered it to Mango, who refused at first. Print grabbed him by the jaw and veritably forced it down his throat.

"Another," Print demanded. He made Mango drink two more, and then they set off.

Mango fell down once on the school's front lawn, and needed to be lifted to his hooves.

"Couldn't you levitate him?" Emmett suggested.

"The whole way? Who do you think I am, Princess Twilight?" she lambasted.

Print kept a hoof around Mango's shoulders, letting his brother lean on him when he needed.

"What are you seeing, dude?" Print asked out of curiosity. Emmett made sure to take mental notes.

"The ground... It's like a liquid, but only when we're walking. And I'm seeing these little triangles everywhere, man. Stuff's moving' around that's not s'posed to move," Mango struggled to explain.

"It's okay, man. It's okay," Print reassured him, squeezing Mango against his side for a moment. He was sweaty and cold, which Print didn't think was a good sign.

"Fuckin' triangles, man," Mango complained, dejected.

They took the back roads, since Canterlot was a safe city, even at night. They were in a group, which made them less likely to be accosted, and Print knew which were the dangerous areas to avoid since he had lived in some of them. Ar about the halfway point, in front of Party Platter's Noodle Shop, Mango threw up all over the sidewalk. Print silently apologized and made sure to remember to leave a big tip next time he went there. They scrambled away, Emmett starting to get really nervous. He was concerned for his position as a reporter, but Print was too focused on the task at hoof to worry about retribution.

"Hahahaha; you guys," Mango giggled. "You guys."

"What do you mean?" Print asked nervously. Mango just cracked at them, hooting and howling with laughter so intense his legs wouldn't hold him up. Print made them help him sling a convulsing Mango onto his Back so they could continue.

"I don't think this is good," Comet said nervously.

"Hospital?" Print asked, groaning under the weight that by all rights, Emmett should have been carrying.

"No, no... I just figured he would have calmed down by now." She eyed him, concerned. "You're not going to be able to hide him from your parents."

Print's heart dropped into his stomach. He had been so concerned for Mango's wellbeing that he had given nary a thought to the parental ballistics that would ensue.

"Can't be helped," he sighed, shrugging the giggling colt into a more comfortable position on his back and pressing on.

A few blocks from their house, Mango's laughter turned to rapturous tears of joy. He babbled inconsolably, unable to coherently articulate a thought, but clearly having some sort of religious experience. Commie and Emm shared glances of apprehension; they were uncertain as to how they were going to disentangle themselves from the situation.

When they came upon the Smoothies' lawn, Emmett was the first to flake out. He pointed to his side of the city and flared his wings.

"Hey, man, I gotta get going; it's late..." he said. Comet joined in immediately:

"Yeah, and I have to get up early on Thursdays, and I have to make dinner, and-"

"Did somebody say dinner?" came a voice from the front door. To Print's horror, there stood his mother.