Ring Out

by LitMatchStick

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, Violence, Human, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 5733

A retired pugilist decides to reminisce in the middle of the night. The middle of the night decides to interrupt the retired pugilist.

A retired pugilist decides to reminisce in the middle of the night. The middle of the night decides to interrupt the retired pugilist.

Published 2019-12-23 01:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-12-23 01:20:01 UTC

An Eventful Night

A night in the Everfree: dark, scary, dangerous. One was considered a fool for wandering the forest at that hour. Yet, as unwelcoming as it was, its newest denizen found a reason to stay in its often calm skies and eerie ambience.

Wearing his tattered orange jumpsuit, glowing bright in the moonlight, the lone man hopped down from the raised shack he called home. He fell nearly two meters and landed on both feet, neither tipping nor staggering. Rising to his full height, he gave his surroundings a once-over.

He stood at the edge of a mostly flat clearing, the ground being half dirt, half grass. Crooked trees surrounded him on either side — of which some were crushed. Overall, it was the same as it always was.

After taking in the forest air, he proceeded towards the center of the clearing so he could begin his nightly routine. He started with some quick stretches, twisting and turning this way and that, popping and flexing whatever he thought necessary. Then came the light exercises: a few push-ups here, maybe a couple sit-ups there. At last, a few laps around the tree line to get his blood flowing.

Once he was done warming up, he returned to the center of the clearing, gave himself a minute to catch his breath, and closed his eyes. He brought his right foot back and turned it nearly a quarter circle clockwise. His other foot remained up front, pointed only a few degrees to the right. He raised his arms up to his chest, his left further out, the other closer to his chin, and both hands balled into fists. Then, he opened his eyes.

'Ladies and gentlemen, starting the night off with four rounds in the welterweight division, in the red corner, weighing in at 146 pounds, wearing the silver trimmed and striped black trunks, hailing from Tucson, Arizona, and making his first professional debut — Raphael, 'The Tornado', Wilcox!'

He threw a left jab and followed it with a cross. Seeing his imaginary opponent coming in with a right hook, he ducked his upper body forward and to the left, barely missing his forehead by a few centimeters. Now close to his vulnerable opponent, he raised his body upward, and threw his right hand in a rising arc, striking his opponent square in the jaw.

'Miller comes in swinging — BUT WILCOX WEAVES THROUGH AND HITS BACK WITH AN UPPERCUT!'

His opponent responded with several punches sent his way. He took a few to the torso and shoulder, but the more his opponent swung, the better his reactions got. Eventually, he was dodging everything, hardly moving from his spot.

'It's only been one minute in the first round and it looks like Jameson already has Wilcox on the ropes. Jameson looks like he's planning on ending it — BUT WILCOX RETALIATES WITH A CROSS RIGHT TO THE JAW!'

Following up on his counter, he began dishing out a flurry of punches into the defenseless air before him. While seemingly random, he struck with both power and focus, consistent with each hit. Faster and faster he went, delivering so many blows with so much ferocity that the space around his arms couldn't keep up, and began to distort.

'—and Jenkins, feeling the fury that is The Tornado!'

'With another KO, Wilcox is up to his eleventh win-streak tonight!'

'Just like that folks, Aquino is down for the count at just ten seconds in the second round!'

'-ENDING IT WITH HIS FIFTH ONE-HIT KO!'

'What a night it's been! Let me tell you folks: never, in my career, have I ever witnessed a kid such as this. It's like Jeremy here stated, he moves like Ali and hits like Tyson. Nothing seems to be slowing this guy down—'

A sudden crunch echoed around the clearing. A tree by the far edge, once whole, now had a deep crater in its trunk.

The boxer, roughly six meters away, brought his gaze down from the smashed wood to his right arm, currently extended forward. It had mostly faded, but there were still bits of distortion visible in the air around the forearm. Swallowing, he stood with his feet together, his left hand hanging loosely by his side, while his right was raised up to his face.

'Upcoming news: Raphael Wilcox, rising superstar in the boxing world, revealed to have strange abilities. Fascinating? Or Frightening? Find out more, tonight, at seven. In other news: strange disappearances happening around the globe—'

'Wilcox! Wilcox, sir! Is it true you have superpowers? Were you aware of these powers before you signed up to be a boxer, and if you did, were they being used to give you an unfair edge in your matches— He-Hey! Get your hands off of me—"

'—Raphael, 'The Tornado', Wilcox!'

'Boo! Get him out of the ring!'

'He's a dirty, lying cheat!'

'Kill his contract!'

'Cheater!'

Shaking his head clear, his eyes widened when he noticed the distortion returning around his fist. Not wanting another misfire, he eased the grip from the appendage, and waved it around for good measure until the air cleared up again.

He briefly glared at the offending hand before resting it by his side and looking at the damage he caused. There was now one more tree with a scarred trunk lining the far side of the clearing. Counting this night, that brought the total number up to seven in the past two months.

Looking up at the moon, he slowly breathed in, filling his nostrils with the scent of the forest once more. Even after the explosion of sound, the ambience returned to its eerie, yet serene quiet.

Before the boxer could turn around and return to his shack, a rustling of leaves drew his attention back to the edge of the clearing. He had grown accustomed to the creatures of the forest and knew a little roughing up would be enough to convince them to leave. Putting his hands up, he prepared himself for whatever the Everfree would throw at him this time.

Then the forest decided to throw him for a loop and hurled two foals out instead, falling on their sides and skidding to a stop a few yards from the tree line.

One was a brown earth pony colt with an unkempt tan mane, and the other was an off-white unicorn filly with a curly blue mane. They both had a number of scratches and bruises, but, unlike her unconscious companion, the filly was still awake. Taking what strength she could muster, she began dragging both of them further from the edge, one hoof hooked under the colt's foreleg.

The boxer froze, looking to either side of him and wondering if what's happening before him really is happening.

He remained stuck in thought for a few seconds more when the filly's pained grunt brought him back to reality. She had just collapsed and was clutching one of her forelegs. With that, the boxer subtly shook his head as he walked towards the foals.

Upon hearing his footsteps, the filly lit her horn and glared up at the man approaching.

Seeing the aura on her head, he stopped, letting the filly observe him while he did the same. There was a certain look of resolve on her face that didn't seem to wane, even knowing the current state she was in.

In an effort to appear less threatening, he showed her his empty hands, keeping them in front of his chest, as he resumed his approach at a slower, calmer pace. The filly narrowed her eyes but didn't do much else to warrant backing off. Eventually, he got close enough to kneel beside them, at which point, the filly dimmed her horn and rested her head against the ground. Her half-lidded gaze still watched his every move, though he could tell she was a little more relaxed.

He began reaching for them but stopped when he saw his hands hovering over the injured foals.

'Johnny? Oh god, Johnny!'

'Somebody call an ambulance! Hurry!'

'Get that monster outta here!'

'Th-there's been an assault a-at The Shanty. W-we need m-medical services and — and — Please just send help! The victim's been smashed over the counter and he isn't moving! Please!'

Out from the darkness of the forest, a black vine shot out, quickly wrapping itself around the boxer's left wrist. He grunted in pain when he felt his skin being punctured, noticing there were blue thorns covering the vine. Gritting his teeth, he tried to pull at the vine with his other hand, but found it too strong to rip apart.

Before he could think of something else, there was a flash of blue and the vine was cut near his wrist.

While it squirmed to a stop, and the rest retreated back into the forest, the boxer looked over at the filly. Her horn had just flickered off and her head limply fell back to the ground, eyes closed. Like her companion, she seemed to have finally succumbed to exhaustion.

When the boxer heard more rustling coming from the forest, he scooped the foals up in his arms and dove out of the way without a second thought. As he rolled onto his back, a plethora of vines emerged from the tree line, swarming his previous spot.

Quickly rising to his feet, he steadied himself for another dodge, but found nothing coming his way. Instead of lunging at him, the vines carried their momentum across the clearing, towards his lowly shack.

He could only watch as the vines began destroying his home. Walls were torn, boards were shattered, and ropes were cut. It wasn't until they went after the underlying supports did the shack finally collapse, turning his one and only home into nothing more than a pile of debris.

The vines lifted themselves up from the rubble, bits and pieces falling off. They stood in a similar fashion to a snake, their 'heads' high and turning in different directions. It was only when one of them faced the boxer that they swiveled around, all pointing towards him.

'Well well well, if it isn't the rising superstar, Raphael Wilcox. Why, I haven't seen you in person since you first got into the big leagues. Now tell me, what in the world are you doing, walking through this here alleyway, at this part of the city, at this hour of the night?'

'Heading home? Sure, sure, no problem. I can let you go... right after we discuss a long overdue debt. Oh, I wouldn't mind the boys. They're just here for... insurance, is all.'

'You're not the only one who's had a bad night. Earlier today, business was going so bad, I had to visit a few clients personally and had 'em pay what they owed. We still came up short, but I'd blame that on the fact that most weren't able to pay with money.'

'You'll pay us later? Ha. Very funny. I can hear the sirens coming; I can see the blood you're trying to hide underneath that hoodie. Do you really think I'm going to let you go and hide behind a cozy cell? Cough up.'

'Getting you into that ring wasn't cheap, Wilcox. I doubt a collapsed lung is enough to cover it.'

Quickly rising into the sky as one, the vines plummeted down, aiming to collapse right on top of him.

The boxer dove to the side again, barely avoiding the vines as they plunged themselves into the ground. They wriggled around in an attempt to pull themselves free, causing cracks and bumps in the dirt. The struggling went on for a few seconds more until, suddenly, they stopped.

A few stray vines that didn't manage to dig themselves into the dirt, peeled away from the main 'arm' and gathered next to it in a smaller, looser swarm. Beneath them, the dirt was slowly rising.

The lone man watched both the loose and stuck vines tentatively, bringing his right foot back and raising the heel ever so slightly.

After all the strays had gathered, they lunged at the boxer. Unlike the main arm where they attacked as one, these vines dove at him individually.

Holding the foals close, the boxer made several short hops backwards and sideways to avoid the smaller volley. While each one he avoided would bury itself into the ground, there would be another vine to come striking down after. It was a constant barrage of vines that didn't seem to let up. Fortunately, when at last the boxer checked to see how many more there were, he found the last of the angry flora readying itself for another attack.

Making one more hop backward just as it came down, his back collided with wood and thorns, puncturing through his jumpsuit and scraping against his skin. His grunt of surprise and pain was cut short when the vine lashed him across the face, knocking the foals out of his arms and sending him staggering backwards. While his back was once again subject to the thorns, the vine promptly coiled up the unconscious foals and took them away.

The boxer stumbled away from the wall, catching himself from falling forward. He brought a hand up to his cheek, approaching where the throbbing was most uncomfortable. On contact, he felt a sharp pain that made him wince and pull back. Splotches of red stained the tips of his fingers.

Glancing behind him, his eyes widened when all he saw was a wall of vines. He snapped his head from one side to the other as his gaze followed the wall on either end. Eventually, he reached both ends of the wall — converging near the same spot at the edge of the clearing — where the vine was holding the foals.

When the initial swarm reached across the clearing towards his shack and then back at him, they had created an oval shaped-enclosure where he now stood. Although the ensuing volley didn't finish him off, it did corner him against the opposite side of the enclosure, furthest from the tree line and away from the vine.

As he gawked, the ground beneath the suspended foals rose in a mound, later exploding into a mass of vines and roots. They weaved through each other, braiding together into larger tendrils and raising the wall a little higher, leaving the boxer all but trapped.

Without any chance of escape, the remaining vines gathered around the foals and began amassing once more. Several layers of blackened flora enveloped the foals, absorbing them into a dense, thorny cocoon. Above that rested a toothy maw over three times as wide as the man was tall, taking the shape of a wicked smile. Lastly, a set of two hollow eyes — formed on top of everything else — emitting a cyan glow and staring down its prey.

A look of utter disbelief was on the boxer's face as he gazed upon the monstrous head. For a moment, he thought he saw a pair of tiny hooves in its mouth, sinking into the back of its throat.

The next thing he knew, the monster brought its tendrils down on him, hard. They whipped him twice across his torso, cutting two long tears across his jumpsuit, and two similarly long gashes across his chest and abdomen.

A third strike came, one with multiple tendrils, but the boxer recovered his senses in time to block it by bracing himself behind his forearms. He protected his body at the cost of cutting up the back of his arms. However, the combined force of the blow sent him flying, once again, into the wall of pain.

The thorns and spikes easily pierced through the jumpsuit and into his back. He let out a cry of pain as he felt them sink deeper than before, riddling his back with holes. As slid off the wall and fell to his knees, his jumpsuit ended up getting caught by the thorns, the back tore off, leaving reddened strips of polyester hanging on the wall.

All he could feel was the sharp and persistent pains across his body. From his abdomen, to his arms, all the way to his face, everything just stung. It was almost numbing, barely feeling the mix of blood and sweat trailing down his back.

'God, damn it, Dick. Why'd you knock him into the dumpster?'

'It's empty. Of course it was going to make noise!'

'Damn, I think I can hear the fuzz coming too. Well, Wilcox, looks like you're out of time.'

'Should've gone with my gut and never helped you out in the first place.'

Click.

G'night, champ.'

He clenched his hands, his fingers digging into the blood-stained dirt. The space around his forearms began to distort, emitting a barely audible hum. Gritting his teeth, he slowly picked himself up, ignoring his body's signals to stay down.

As the viny monstrosity looked on with displeasure, the boxer took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes, never closing them. He brought his right foot back, pointed them a near quarter-circle clockwise, and kept the heel slightly lifted. His left foot was also turned a few degrees clockwise, just enough that the toe aligned with his right heel. Distributing his weight a near fifty-fifty between them, he then relaxed his arms before raising them up. His drew his right hand close to his cheek, his left further up front, both balled into fists. Releasing his breath, he slowly tucked his head in, his eyes unhindered by the growing distortion around his arms.

The monster growled, the ground rumbling around it, as it swung a tendril at the man. It came up high and fell towards him at an angle. Combined with being cornered at the narrow end of the enclosure, there was very little room to dodge.

Even knowing this hit could be his last, the boxer did not flinch. He watched the tendril as it came down, noting its structure of braided vines. Then, the second before it struck, he hurled out a jab and ducked.

At the full extension of his arm, there was a brief, but violent rush of wind as a portion of the distorted space launched from his fist. The translucent wave shot up towards the sky, warping the air as it went, straight for the incoming appendage.

A loud, wooden crack echoed across the clearing as they collided. The wave smashed into the viny limb's midsection, leaving a fist shaped crater. The force of the blow altered its downward trajectory, and caused the vines on the other side of the impact to snap, partially severing it. The tendril swung right over the boxer's lowered head, crashing into the wall behind him.

The monster roared as it struggled to free its tendril from its own wall. On its last pull, there was a visible expression of anger on its face as the tendril finally split where it had been struck. Reeling the severed portion into the wall, the rest of the tendril began to unravel, freeing the individual vines into a small swarm.

Without another moment's hesitation, the vines began stabbing at him from multiple directions.

The boxer ducked and dodged here and there, never staying still for even a quarter of a second. He had initial trouble with the constant assault, the vines being much quicker apart than when they were braided together. Still, with every close call, the faster his reactions became. Eventually, where he once felt the vines connecting with his flesh, he now only felt the small rush of air around him.

Behind the veil of vines attacking him, he saw the growing frustration on the monster. The more he dodged, the more the monster frowned, and the faster it attacked.

Other tendrils began creeping up on the boxer, unraveling as they approached. As fast as he was moving, he knew a few extra vines could very well overwhelm him. Taking one last glance between the tendrils surrounding him, he waited for the next attack.

He threw a jab with his left directly in front of him, and a wave of distorted air plowed into the vine diving right for him. It tore right through it, reaching the rest of vines of the same tendril and smashing them into bits.

The wave dissipated, and the monster recoiled, letting out an unnatural, creaking roar. It quickly redrew its other limbs, braiding the vines back together. The severely damaged tendril was brought up to its face, briefly observing the severed ends hanging limp. The scowl returned to its face, and it roared once more as it thrust several of its tendrils into the ground.

The boxer could only make it halfway across the enclosure before everything beneath him trembled. He looked around and noticed trails of rising dirt mounds snaking around him.

He began throwing punches, aiming for the ends of the rising dirt mounds. The waves crashed into the ground, leaving fist-shaped imprints, and throwing up dirt and blackened wood into the air. He was able to stop a few of the tendrils, but with the dirt acting as a cushion, the rest were able to sustain the damage and continue burrowing towards him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a tendril erupt from the ground, shooting straight for him.

He leaned the opposite way, barely missing his temple by a half a centimeter, before he threw another punch. The wave smashed the topmost portion into pieces, but the rest remained, slinking back to where it sprouted. He meant to throw another punch before the rest of the limb could retract underground, but then he heard the dirt erupting behind him.

There wasn't enough time to face the incoming appendages, so he ducked forward instead. Wind rushed up his back and neck as he felt the cyan thorns combing the ends of his hair. He was able to quickly turn around by sliding his right foot back and to the left, past his left foot. As he pivoted the rest of his body into a left-handed stance, he cocked his left hand back before throwing it out into a cross.

A larger wave of force escaped the fist, tearing through what ended up being two tendrils that had missed his head. Unlike the other waves, this one did not dissipate shortly after impact. It continued past where the tendrils sprouted, tearing up the ground and blackened flora as it went. Anything it threw up was immediately scattered by the wild winds behind it. Then, a loud crash rang across the clearing and beyond, followed closely by a creaking roar.

After the dust and debris settled, the boxer lowered his arms just enough to see the monster glaring back. Where it had two eyes, it now only had one. Its right was nothing more than a hole, and the cyan from the left glowed more intense.

The rumbling started again.

In addition to the dirt trails rushing to the boxer, so too did the enclosure itself. Its walls were unraveled, and the vines approached him from all around. Once the monster was sure he was completely surrounded, they came all at once.

He punched this way and that, moved here and there, doing whatever he could to survive the thorned onslaught. Bare misses became small cuts, and smashed tendrils became unraveled vines. There was no end in sight, yet he held on.

The debris scattering around him began to pile underneath him. As the mound rose, so too did the man. One limb destroyed would be another step the man would take. Soon, there was a small hill of dead foliage and dirt, barely surpassing the height of the vine wall.

As the boxer defended himself from the never-ending barrage, he failed to notice the debris below him moving.

Out from underneath, a single vine shot up and impaled him through his gut. He grunted in pain as he attempted to pull himself free of the appendage, but it wrapped itself around his waist and suspended him above the air. As he kicked his legs around uselessly, a few more vines stabbed various parts of the legs and torso. Reminded of the limbs still surrounding him, he spread both his arms out wide before punching his fists together.

A shockwave blasted out of his hands, reaching as wide as half the enclosure. Any and all vines in and around him were torn to pieces. The top portion of his jumpsuit, and the tank top he wore underneath were also shredded away. Even the front of his torso, and everything past his forearms suffered heavy bruising and lacerations.

Yet, despite all his damage and fatigue, he landed on both his feet. With his hands shaking, he clenched them once more, and looked down from the top of the hill. For the first time since it showed up, there was a visible look of panic on the monster’s face. Raising his forearms, he tucked his head in behind them, and ran down the hill.

The creature's eye widened and, in a last-ditch effort, unraveled the vines that made up its head. They reformed into one last monster of a tendril, aiming menacingly down at the man, who was now at the hill's base. Behind the tendril, now unconcealed by the layers of foliage, was a black and blue seed from which all the vines originated, cracked and disfigured by the touch of harmony. Below that, lying on the ground, were the two foals, further scratched up, and seemingly malnourished.

Digging its last limb into the ground, the seed proceeded to throw up a small cloud of dirt before thrusting the oversized tendril through.

When the boxer saw it break through the haze, he drew a sharp breath and slid to a stop. He extended his left foot far forward than normal, which turned his torso clockwise and lowered his body from the wider stance. Cocking his right arm back, the air violently rippled against it, causing further damage.

Like a spring compressed to its limit, he reversed the entire motion. He pivoted on the ball of his right foot, his leg pushing up on his hips, and twisted them back counter-clockwise. His entire upper body followed the turning movement, pulling his right shoulder forward just as the tendril was upon him. With the momentum finally reaching his right arm, he propelled his fist into a cross, cyan spikes grazing against the side of his forearm, and barely scraping the surface of his cheek.

A huge burst of energy exploded out of his fist, and the forest shook from the sound of thunder. The immense wave drilled through the tendril like paper, not losing the slightest bit of momentum as it went. Even as it smashed into the seed, completely disintegrating it, the wave continued ever onward, up past the canopy and into the night sky.

The man stood tall for a moment, breathing in the nightly scent of the forest. Though it was tainted by the smell of burnt wood and flesh, he could still sense it, and it brought him back to a moment of calm.

After falling to a knee and struggling to get back up, he limped over to the unconscious foals. He cradled them both up in his left arm, using the other to hold a piece of his tank top he found lying around to keep pressure on his abdomen. As he was about to enter the tree line in direction of the nearest town he could remember, he hesitated.

He wanted to look back. He wanted so badly to see the state of the clearing, of his shack, so much so that he started turning his head back.

He felt a shuffling below him, and he stopped. He cast his gaze down and saw the two malnourished foals clinging on to each other. They felt weak.

Taking one careful step in front of the other, he entered the Everfree, following the safe path once showed to him by its other resident. He didn't stop once to look back at the trail of blood.

"Don't move!"

The man didn't, not that he needed to be told. The blood around him made it hard to move.

"Christ! What the hell happened here!?"

"Is... Is that the boxer...?"

"Put your god damn hands behind your head!"

"Mr. Wilcox... you are under arrest. "

The ride was short. The interrogation shorter. The stay behind bars was not.

"Mr. Wilcox is just... confused, your honor. He doesn't know his own strength and... his second encounter points heavily to self-defense."

"Self-defense or not, the force that he used was much too extreme. Mind I remind the court of the pictures?"

"We don't know the extent of his powers, and neither does he."

"Then that makes him all the more dangerous. He needs to be kept away from society; Reduce the risk of this happening again, or worse."

"How do you plead, Mr. Wilcox?"

The man took a while to respond. There was too much to think about. Too many thoughts to collect. Too many questions to ask. Too much to remember what he pleaded.

The trial went on for another week. At times, it felt like a day. Others, a month.

"Your honor, the jury finds the defendant guilty of several cases of manslaughter."

"The court will adjourn on a later date to discuss sentencing. In the meantime, Mr. Wilcox is to remain in a maximum security cell, away from any and all inmates."

Time dragged along. There weren't many people he saw in his new cell. Even those that oversaw his stay were reluctant to watch him.

In court, the severity of the punishments varied greatly depending on who was talking. The compassionate ones suggested life. The official ones suggested experimentation. The scared ones threw the phrase 'ticking time bomb' a lot.

In the end...

"Mr. Wilcox, I hereby sentence you... to death."

...fear won out.

A few years passed before the day of execution. It might have been three, could have been four. It was supposed to take no longer than a year, but the official ones were persistent with their appeals.

The guards were quiet when they escorted him. His numerous chains, locks, and braces were top-of-the-line, but it didn't stop them from keeping at least one eye on him.

Standing behind the door leading into the chamber, the man was calm. He didn't want to think of what anything meant anymore.

When the guards led him in, he followed without hesitation.

The light in the room was warm. As he sat there, limbs strapped to the chair, nothing else seemed more soothing. He took one last look at the reflection in the window before closing his eyes.

Author's Note

I started writing this thing a month or two back. Was listening to some song from the fake dragon band where they shout believer a whole lot and thought, "Huh, story?" Along the way, I also listened to that one song from big hero school, the one that has that cool violin part somewhere in the middle.

Then this.

Practicing some action. Action is difficult and strange.

A Promising Morning

It was just past the early morning. The dew had melted away and the sun was now a little higher up in the sky.

Among the waking sounds of the Everfree, stone striking wood was one of them. They came in regular intervals, occurring up to four times in a row, and then pausing.

Sitting on a rather large stone, set beside the stump of a tree, was a lone man. He wore an unusually fashionable button-up shirt and jeans for one living in the forest. Out-of-place as they were, they did a decent job at hiding the bandage wraps underneath. The only things they couldn't cover up were the bandages on his arms, specifically, the cast and sling holding his right.

Straightening his back, he observed his work. There were two halves of a thin tree trunk lying on top of the stump. Next to it were two stones — one shaped like a wedge, and the other, more spherical.

He looked to his right and saw the struts of the new shack standing bare. Taking one of the halves in his good hand, he stood up, but was stopped before he could take a step. He heard the foliage on the far side of the clearing rustle, and the familiar sound of hooves.

Looking over, he saw two familiar foals, each carrying white boxes on their backs. Accompanying them was a third pony — an earth pony mare — carrying a saddlebag lined with tools.

When they saw the lone creature, both earth ponies slowed their pace. They glanced between each other and the filly, who continued on ahead. "Are you sure this is the one?" the mare said.

"H-he looks busy," the colt said, "Maybe we can come by later?"

The filly ignored them both and continued to approach. Neither reacted to one another, nor made a peep. She avoided making eye contact even as she sat herself down next to the rock he used as a stool.

Enveloping her box in magic, the filly brought it to her hooves, and stared down at it. There was a symbol of a cupcake on top.

"...I—"

Her mouth was open, but no other words came out, and she was still looking down at the box.

"I want to... umm..."

The two other ponies had stopped a few feet behind her, a concerned look on their faces.

"I... w-want to..."

The man — who had only turned his head in their direction — fully rotated his entire body so that he was facing them. He squat down, his gaze, too, falling on the box.

Closing her eyes, the filly breathed through her nostrils once and tilted her head up.

When she opened her eyes, she wore the angriest scowl of any foal. "Thank you. I want to say thank you."

Hearing that along with her expression, the boxer couldn't help but crack the slightest smile at the very edge of his lips.

Author's Note

No, I am not planning on doing anything else with this.