Cade YYZ's Unfinished Tales

Violo Scratch zipped past the guards at the gate of his mothers mansion, whooping with joy as he did so. His custom ZM-37 minibike worked perfectly! The iron-wrought fence engraved "Scratch" was within sight.

Flashing his signature fierce, yet casual smile at the open-mouthed guards, the indigo unicorn colt took his right hoof off the control bar for a second, taking it over with his magic as the bike's custom-made engine purred with delight. He shifted into second gear as he zoomed past old Scootaloo's house, rustling the autumn leaves in the perfectly groomed front lawn of the middle-aged Pegasus.

"Shit, man, I'm gonna catch some flak for that later!" He yelled over the roaring engine of the vehicle.

Violo Scratch was fourteen, and not bad-looking, considering the fact that he was stuck smack-dab in the middle of adolescence. His coat, a deep indigo, shined like a polished sword, despite the fact that most colt's coats ended up dull and drab during puberty. However, it was barely noticeable on him. The only sign that he was a teenager were his slightly long legs, which were only just lengthy enough to press down on the pedals of his new ride.

"Man, you know Scoots isn't gonna rat you out. He fuckin' loves you!" Replied Little Macintosh, sitting on the backseat of the bike. Lil' Mac's large stature and weight were reminiscent of his dad, Big Mac, while the only traits he inherited from his mom, Rainbow Dash, were his fire-colored locks of hair, which he spiked up with mane-gel.

"True that."

They continued to speed down the fiery , autumn street, watching for any sign of pursuers. Octavia, Violo's mom, had been known to throw little hissy-fits when her son "ran away". She had even called the police once.

Lil' Mac piped up. "This had better turn out better than last time. Remember, we had to go the entire trip with the Fuzz up our asses!"

It was true. The last time they had taken the bike for a spin, the police had been on their tails the entire time. Violo's other mom, Vinyl, had to disassemble their bike afterwards.

They pulled up to the "stop" sign at the end of the street, right at Sugarcube Corner.

"Let's stop. This bike's doing a number on my junk." Said Violo. And it was true. The way the seat was positioned, this was quite obviously meant for mares.

Violo put his hoof back onto the control bar, and put his magic into slowly depressing the brake.

The bike glided to a halt without a sound. Perfect.

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