Pepsi® Twist
By: Argembarger
* * * * *
Twist flopped, exhausted, into the kitchen of her house. It had been such a miserable day at school. The sun had beat relentlessly through the windows of Ms. Cheerilee’s classroom, but in spite of the heat, they couldn’t turn on the air conditioning; Ms. Cheerilee said it was “out of the school’s budget,” whatever that meant. All Twist knew was that it had been a sweaty, awful day for everypony, and not much useful learning had been done.
Twist licked her parched lips and galloped over to the refrigerator. She gripped the fridge door’s handle with her teeth and flung it open, sighing in relief as a wave of chilled air rolled over her sweaty coat and mane.
Oh... Oh my, yes, she thought.
The filly stood there for some time, basking in the merciful coolness. She felt the heat of her sweaty brow fade away, replaced by mental clarity. She coughed, her dry and scratchy throat belying her thirst. She peered into the refrigerator, searching for cool liquid relief.
Her eyes scanned over many different options, all of them terrible. Milk, blech. Orange juice? Get real. Grape juice? Maybe if Twist was actually about to die. Vegetable juice? She hated Carrot Top a little more every day that she delivered a bottle of that filth. Twist briefly considered tap water, and then briefly considered suicide. Pepsi®?
...Pepsi®. Yes. That was just the ticket.
Twist reached in and gently pressed her teeth against the rim of that clear glass bottle, admiring its delicate curves and the little ripples that her disturbance generated in the surface of the wondrous brown elixir within.
She pulled it out and placed it on the kitchen counter with great care. It was the very last bottle of Pepsi® in the house. Her eyes widened as she beheld its immaculate form. Her tongue hung out in supplication in the presence of her brown sugary god.
Trembling, she brought the bottle to her lips and tilted it back. The rush of liquid euphoria never came. A barrier blocked access. It tasted of tin and forlorn hope. Twist set the bottle back down and licked at its luscious glass curves in despair. The condensation she gathered with her tongue provided a maddening mockery of refreshment.
She would need a bottle opener: this much was certain. The problem was that her parents never kept one in the house. Her father was alpha enough that he just used his teeth. Twist couldn’t do that; it was too hard, and the one time she tried, she had chipped a tooth and worsened her lisp.
Twist ran to and fro in and around the house, looking for anything that could pop the top of the Pepsi® bottle and give her access to the sweet, sweet nectar inside it. Her exhausting search took over two hours, and she stumbled back into the kitchen empty-hooved.
The bottle squatted on the counter like a spiteful demon, mocking her failure to open it. She glared at its shiny surface and resented the manufacturer’s decision to include a pop-cap. She thought about knocking the bottle to the ground and lapping up the drink from the floor, but the dual threat of germs and ingesting broken glass made that option an unsavory one.
Instead, she sat and stared at it, as one gladiator would stare at another before the bloodshed began. She locked her eyes on the bottle, and focused her thoughts and willpower towards finding a solution to the problem. She sat like that, unmoving, for another three hours before her focus was broken.
“Hey, Twist, would you be looking for one of these?”
A voice addressed her from somewhere behind, out of her range of sight. No matter. It was of little consequence.
“What are you doing? Just staring at it? Are you dumb or something?”
This must be an ordeal of some sort. Yes, that’s it. Twist refused to drop her resolve over such trivialities.
“I have a bottle opener, dummy.”
Ah, wondrous Fates, that hath delivered unto me this satisfaction. “Hold thee thtill, thcoundrel. I thall conthider your wordth, but firtht I mutht thee your fathe.”
“Talk normal.”
“Intholenthe! I won’t have it.” Twist brought her gaze around to the source of the voice: A gray earth pony filly, with turquoise glasses. Glasses she recognized. The glasses of evil. “Thilver Thpoon! Trethpather of peathe! By what meanth have you accthethed my inner thanctum?”
Silver Spoon rolled her eyes. “Your kitchen? The door was wide open. I saw you staring at that bottle from the street, so I went home and got a bottle opener for you.”
“Thtate your motivathion. You’ve held nothing but contempt for me for two yearth!” Twist spat on the ground near Silver Spoon. She would have to remember to clean it up before Father saw.
“Oh, why don’t we just put all of that behind us, eh? I’m just doing a nice thing for a good… friend.” Silver Spoon trotted up to Twist. Twist felt the villain’s breath against her ear. “Though, there is one thing I’d like you to do before I hand this over,” she purred. Twist caught a glimpse of something shiny and long that Silver Spoon was revealing. Her throat tightened.
“Drink some of this icy-cold, refreshing Coca-Cola® with me…”
Twist smacked the bottle away with a hoof and shoved Silver Spoon into the wall. “Never! I would thirtht for a thouthand aeonth before thwallowing even one thip of that thlop!”
The bottle rolled, coming to rest in the shadow of the Pepsi® on the counter.
“You sadden me, Twist. Coca-Cola® is superior to Pepsi® and always has been. I’m just trying to help you see the light, to share with you the euphoria I experience every time I take a sip. Please, just give it a chance. If you really don’t like it, you won’t have to drink it ever again.”
“Take your inthiped Coke® propaganda and your thickening thugar-water and get the hay out of my houthe! I don’t need your bottle opener. It’th thoiled, anyway. It’th not worthy to be in the mere prethenthe of a Pepthi® product.”
“Please, Twist. Just give it a tr—“
Twist’s hoof could always accomplish what her words could not. Silver Spoon hit the tiled floor of the kitchen, gingerly holding the side of her face.
“I told you to leave, Thpoon. Don’t make me tell you a thecond time.”
Twist used a rag to pick up the bottle of Coca-Cola®. She tossed both outside. The Coke® hit the street and shattered. A brown, sticky puddle of glass shards was all that remained.
With a primal roar, Silver Spoon tackled Twist. They rolled out into the front lawn, a cloud of biting, cursing, and hooves. The grass stained their coats as they began accumulating scratch after bruise, neither filly wanting to show any weakness.
Brand loyalty is a powerful force among ponykind.
Ponies began to gather around the fighting schoolmates either through curiosity or concern for their safety. Not one of them tried to stop the violence; each pony expected another to step forward. Soon, a small crowd had gathered, and upon hearing shouts of “Pepthi®” and “Coke®,” they began to murmur amongst themselves. Soon, small groups began splintering off, sympathetic to the plight of one or the other of the fighting fillies.
* * * * *
A burly minotaur trudged up the dirt road with his hand-cart. Nobody who saw his bright red body and despondent face would be able to recognize him as the bold and outspoken creature he had been just a few weeks prior. After ponies all around Equestria had heard about the failure of his seminar—Fluttershy’s refund—they never took him seriously again. His dream of becoming a motivational speaker ruined, he was forced to return to his entrepreneurial parents who dyed his coat and put him to work as a travelling promoter for their family drink, Red Bull®.
A sign told him that Ponyville was just ahead. Iron Will sighed and let the rhythmic rattle of cans in his cart dull his thoughts as he walked.
When he got into town, he saw a large crowd already formed. He approached it, eyebrow raised high. This was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Gathering ponies together was always the hardest part of his job, since his name was such a liability now.
The ponies had their backs to him. They were gathered in front of a house, and were muttering. Impatient, ungrateful ponies, as usual. Iron Will’s scowl deepened. He began pushing his way through the crowd, ignoring the protests. When he got through all the ponies, he turned and began unpacking his cart.
He made sure to meticulously organize his stock. Everything had to be in just the right place. His eyes had been shut tight since he first saw the crowd. He couldn’t bear to watch their eyes move over his garish body, or see the choked-back laughter. It was just too much, too far beneath the dignity of a proud minotaur. He had spent days training himself to do this shtick blind after the first humiliating experience, and he had gotten good at it. Most ponies never realized he couldn’t see them. Why would they? They weren’t looking at his eyes.
He prattled through his routine by rote. He explained what his merchandise was, and talked about its history. He expounded on its entertainment value and delicious flavor. The ponies didn’t sound like they were listening to him, which was rather unusual. Red Bull® was a product filling a very lucrative niche market. Ponies like these should have been tossing money at him by now.
Perhaps a demonstration was in order. Iron Will asked for a volunteer. No one responded, but he heard two fillies barking up a storm, obviously fighting for his attention. This was normal. Iron Will assured them that they could both try the drink, pulled them off of each other, and brought them up to the cart.
Iron Will forced some enthusiasm into himself. “Now then, are you fillies ready to try some Red Bull®?”
“No way, Jothé,” the one spat. “I only drink Pepthi®!”
“Why would you even do that to yourself? You should really come to the Coke® side.”
Iron Will felt them lunge at each other again. He spent the next two minutes pulling them back apart.
“I think both of you girls can agree that Red Bull® is tasty. Give it a try. If you don’t like it, I’ll buy each of you a case of your favorite drink.” Iron Will was pulling out all the stops now.
“Well… okay, but jutht because you offered free Pepthi®,” the one with the lisp said.
“Sounds fair,” said the other, haughtier-sounding one.
“Okay, drink up and enjoy!”
* * * * *
Twist and Silver Spoon twisted through the air, dodging each others’ blows and diving at each other recklessly. Their new wings were quite strong and agile, and the fillies flew like they’d been doing it for years. They tore up the sky like a couple of dogfighters, bucking clouds at each other and straining their bodies to gain advantageous positions.
Meanwhile, Iron Will blindly continued his show. He informed the crowd of the effects of his drink. He assured them that the wings were temporary and would disappear after a certain time, or from overuse. He further assured them that they would be guaranteed a gentle glide to the ground if their wings expired in mid-air, and that the Red Bull® GmbH would be happy to refund their purchase price in any other case.
A young pegasus practically jumped on Iron Will’s head, begging for a drink.
“Sorry, miss. This stuff hasn’t been tested on pegasus ponies.”
Another little filly came and dragged the pegasus away.
“Let go of me, Sweetie Belle! Just one drink, please, I’ll do anything. Please!”
Poor thing must have broken her wings. Iron Will could sympathize. He knew what it was like to lose your favorite thing in life.
Back in the air, the two soda-loving fillies were settling their dispute the only way they knew how—through raw, tempered, furious violence. They slapped each other. A lot.
They slapped each other for ten minutes straight. They didn’t even try to defend themselves; it was one hundred percent offense from both of them. The crowd was impressed.
When their wings disappeared, they continued smacking each other as they drifted to the ground. When their hooves touched the grass, Silver Spoon shoved Twist away. Both of them were beaten and exhausted.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere, Twist. But I know what will.”
Silver Spoon slammed her hooves into the ground, and a deep crack in the earth widened underneath her. A red light began spilling out of it.
“By the ingenuity of Pemberton! By the savvy of Candler! I beseech the world’s most valuable and recognizable brand! The great national temperance beverage! Pure as sunlight! Around the corner from anywhere! It’s the real thing! Be really refreshed! Open happiness! I’d like to buy the world a Coke®! By these slogans combined, I summon you, the Coca-Cola® Company’s most profitable marketing icon: Santa Claus!”
The red light shot into the sky, traditional Equestrian family values visible for miles around. The crowd scattered in fear. A booming laugh rocked the countryside.
A huge, fat creature with a beard drove a group of reindeer through the sky. It sat on a large red sleigh, and in the back of the sleigh was a source of abject fear and terror for ponies everywhere: an Ursa Major.
It was drinking from an enormous Coke® bottle.
Both the bear and the strange bearded creature bore down on Twist, who stood her ground.
“I’m not afraid of your cheap marketing trickth, Coke®,” she said. “I have my own thurpritheth.”
Twist closed her eyes and began contorting her hooves in arcane patterns. A vibrant blue glow radiated from her body as she chanted. “Pepthi® ye pyaath heh bari. Yeh dil maange More! Refrethca tu Mundo. Pepthi®. Tharap magbago. Badal do Zamana. Pode ther bom, pode ther muito bom, pode ther Pepthi®!”
A silence fell over Ponyville. Even Santa Claus quit laughing. The ground shook, and the Ponyville Evacuation Siren blared. Ponies began fleeing from the town in droves. It was an average Wednesday.
Iron Will packed up his drinks and walked away, cart in tow. There was no other explanation: Ponyville was insane. He didn’t want anything else to do with it.
From a distant hill, a gargantuan silver biped with the Pepsi® logo on its chest sprinted into view. An unseen chorus of heavenly voices heralded the creature’s arrival, “Pepsi®man!”
Pepsi®man was made entirely out of a strange metallic substance that bent and warped unnaturally. It had no face to speak of, although it moved its head as if it could see and hear. It gazed up at its nemeses, the tools of Coca-Cola® marketing.
Santa and the Coca-Cola® Ursa stared back at Pepsi®man. Twist and Silver Spoon sat back to see which of their brands would emerge victorious.
Santa Claus smiled its creepy grandpa smile and pointed at the sky. A blizzard formed in the sweltering summer air, and snow began coating the landscape. The Ursa Major leapt off of the sleigh and advanced on Pepsi®man, Coke® gripped in its paw. The bear reared back and swung the bottle at Pepsi®man with bearlike strength.
Pepsi®man caught the bear’s arm and strained to hold the bottle away from its head. Pepsi®man knew that touching Coke® meant death. The Coke® bear and Pepsi®man struggled, the bottle slowly approaching Pepsi®man’s silver chrome body.
Pepsi®man dropped down and kicked at the bear’s legs, and the bear, now over-extended, splayed out and hit the ground. Pepsi®man opened the space in the front of its face in a macabre mockery of a mouth. The dark abyss on its head whirred like a vacuum, spraying Pepsi® all over the bear. The bear’s final scream sounded nothing like a sound that any natural bear would make, and the bear dissolved.
Santa Claus frowned, its normally ‘jolly’ demeanor twisted into something darker at the death of its bear friend. Santa retrieved a bag filled to the brim with colorfully-wrapped Coca-Cola® six-packs. It hefted several out with one hand, glared down at Pepsi®man, and threw them.
Pepsi®man rolled and dodged, trying desperately to avoid not only the Coke® cases but also the wet explosions that followed their impacts with the ground. Pepsi®man looked up after a series of flips and dives, and if it had emotions of any sort to speak of, it would have screamed.
It was a Coke®-Bomb. Santa aimed true. It would not miss. Pepsi®man had only one chance.
Pepsi®man opened its nightmare-hole and spewed a geyser of Pepsi-Cola® at the Coke®-Bomb.
An explosion of red and blue light delivered Twist and Silver Spoon to the comforting clutches of unconsciousness.
When Twist awoke, Santa and Ponyville were nowhere to be seen. The town had been flattened by the release of pure cola energy. Everything was also sticky.
She saw Pepsi®man’s disembodied head laying a few meters away from the burnt husk of Santa’s sleigh. She wearily walked over to it and held it in her hooves. It was missing several pieces, but what was left twitched and regarded her with a warm serenity. She felt a carbonated probe in her mind.
O Prophet of the Pepsi-Cola® company, you have done well this day. You have shown a Coke®-savant the light. Retrieve your reward, and continue blessing our brand with your wondrous existence.
“Wait, Pepthi®man! Will I ever thee you again?” Twist was on the verge of tears.
Fear not, child, for whenever you close your eyes and dream, I will be there to refresh your mind. I must go now. Farewell.
Pepsi®man’s metallic face slumped and dissolved in Twist’s arms. She let the tears flow freely.
She felt a tap at her shoulder. She turned, and in her blurry vision, saw her rival Silver Spoon.
“Both of our brand mascots are gone. I’m so sorry, Twist. We shou—I shouldn’t have fought with you. We both like different things. I shouldn’t try to push the things I like on anyone else. Here, take this. I hope you can forgive me, someday.”
Twist felt Silver Spoon press a small object into her hoof. It was a bottle opener. Twist smiled and gave her new friend a hug.
She went back to the wreckage of her house. There, on the floor, miraculously undamaged, was her Pepsi®. She opened it, and took a swig.
“Ew, it’th too warm.”
