SEEKING: FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH
Stallion, 53, buckball player turned coach, looking for a way to turn back the clock. Open to anything - PTs, yogis, homeopathic remedies, support groups, etc. Serious inquiries only. Offering season tickets for a season's worth of help.
Contact Braeburn, 6 Appleloosa Ct, AL
Braeburn -
Heard you were looking for a personal trainer to get BACK in the GAME! Ponyville's BULK gym is looking for new members - just 40 bits/month, and you can get your first month FREE*!
There's only one thing you can say to a deal this good: YEAH!!
-Bulk Biceps, owner and head PT of BULK
*for a limited time only, minimum purchase six months membership
Namaste, Braeburn -
Feeling a little low lately? Or super zonked out? Are your vibes off? Is your energy totally wack?
It's a sign that your chi is all out of alignment. The quickest way to realign your chi - and to find total inner peace - is to sign up for Manehattan Spiritual Center deluxe care package. It includes:
- Yoga classes
- Mediation training
- Pilates
- Members-only macrame bracelets
- Juice cleanse materials
- Medicinal-grade marijuana subscription
For just 70 bits/month*, you can realign your chi and find inner peace.
Don't let your spirit down! Revitalize yourself, and revitalize your life.
Hope to see you soon, friend
-Treehugger
*Limitations apply, check listings for a detailed price breakdown of available packages
Hello.
I'll cut to the chase - I know you were being clever with your want ad, but I can offer you what you're looking for. Eternal youth, that is. Or, rather, eternal life at whatever age you are now.
That may not sound like the same thing, but I think you'll find that eternal life gives you plenty of time to get in shape.
Only thing is I don't know you. I'm not too sure it's the solution you want.
Let me know what you think. I'm good to go with the flow.
Braeburn furrowed his brows and read the hastily-written note over again.
It was true, he'd been a little coy with the phrasing of his ad. He expected, at most, a coy-but-serious response in return. Mostly he just figured that ponies would see it for what it was (an attention-grabbing title in a sea of similar ads) and get on with their offers.
And here he was. A stack dozens-deep of formula letters for expensive treatments, poorly-written self-help books, doctors promising a renewal after liposuction-- and this. An anonymous letter politely offering immortality.
He turned the letter over. Apparently this mystical being had never heard of a return address.
Breaburn scoffed. "Let me know…" he muttered. "How in the hay am I s'posed to do that?"
He dropped the letter, and it fell with an unceremonious tap on the top of his tiny wood desk.
This was quickly followed by three more taps, and a soft "coach Braeburn?"
Braeburn looked up.
There, hovering in the doorway to his office, was a stallion he almost recognized.
He had an interesting face, dominated by a mustache that distracted brilliantly from his unusually small eyes. As he peered around the door, Braeburn could only make out the brim of his straw hat and the sleeve of his floral button-up, but it was more than enough to paint a picture.
As the early-morning sunshine fell onto his face, the name rolled to the front of his mind. Half a name. Something…
"Uh… Hondo!" The name suddenly leapt into Braeburn's mind as the stallion in his door smiled awkwardly. "Hondo Flanks, good to see you. Come on in."
As he spoke, Braeburn very discreetly swept the letter off the edge of his desk and into an open drawer.
Or perhaps not discreetly at all.
Hondo, being the good-natured fellow he is, said nothing about it and shuffled quietly into the room. "Hiya, coach."
He wasn't the most graceful of stallions. He looked a bit like the funhouse mirror image of an athlete; not exactly out of shape, but rather shrinking as you scanned from his gigantic hooves up to his tiny head. He certainly walked like it, too.
Braeburn noticed he was staring and looked down. "If you ain't on my team, you ain't gotta call me coach," he said, pushing his desk drawer shut. "Braeburn is just fine."
Hondo pushed the door closed with his rear hoof. "Okey-dokey, then, Braeburn."
Braeburn nodded kindly. "Why don't you have a seat?" he suggested, motioning to the chair across from his desk.
Hondo made a funny little scoff-laugh sound. "Now there's an idea, eh?"
He looked down at the chair and did something of a double-take. After a moment's consideration, he lowered himself down into it, and it creaked slightly under him.
Hondo grimaced, then shifted his weight to the other side. The chair creaked again.
"What can I do for ya?" Braeburn asked quickly.
Hondo looked up, the chair forgotten-- and seemingly everything else. His eyes were wide and almost utterly blank.
After a moment, though, it all came back to him. He heaved a deep sigh. The sort of sigh that precedes a long-winded and unnecessary explanation. "Well, y'know I'm a personal trainer over in Ponyville," he said. "Have been for a few years, now."
"I know it."
"Do ya?" Hondo smiled at this recognition. "Though-- well, 'course you knew that. That's probably how you know me."
Braeburn gave his visitor a small nod and an understanding smile.
"Well, anyways. That's just why I came here to talk to you-- wouldn'cha know it, I think I work with darn near every member of your team!" Hondo laughed. "That's includin' the reserves!"
"Well, sure," Braeburn said, reaching for his thermos of coffee. "They better be. I'm the one sendin' 'em all your way, after all."
If he was a little flustered before, Hondo was now completely confused. Not to mention more than a little red in the face. "Y'don't say? I guess I oughta… guessed that, eh?"
He trailed off.
Braeburn tried to give him the space to continue. He folded his hooves politely on the table and watched as Hondo tried to find his train of thought. After a moment or two, though, he noticed the way Hondo was scanning the papers on his desk.
Just as Hondo was leaning over to observe the stack of letters, Braeburn cleared his throat. "Any way we could cut to the chase, here?” he said, slowly pulling the stack of letters in towards his chest. “Sorry, but I’ve got a practice to oversee.”
“A’course, a’course…” Hondo removed his ridiculous straw hat and mopped his brow with the back of his hoof. “Sorry about the, uh… I mean, it’s just so darn hot out there!”
“A desert’ll do that to ya,” Braeburn said, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
Hondo swallowed dryly. “Sure will, eh?” he mumbled, setting his hat back on his head. “Anywho, I… well, I was figurin’ I could set up shop here in Appleloosa. I could drop by a few days a week and work with your team. Cut out the middle mare, so they say.”
Braeburn furrowed his brows. “Uh… I mean, I ain’t got nothin’ against it.” He cocked his head. “What’s got you so keen on the extra effort? My players were already comin’ to you by, what, train? It’s not like you gotta come to them.”
The question seemed to catch Hondo off guard. For a moment, that same dumbfounded look came over him, and he couldn’t seem to get a word to form at all.
“Hondo?”
He blinked rapidly. “Well, gosh, I just figured-- I mean, I’ve been a fan of your team a while now,” he explained. “I thought we could both get a heckuva lot more done if we worked together. Doncha think?”
Braeburn frowned.
It’s not that he didn’t like the idea. Quite the contrary, in fact: his players had been flagging lately, and an extra team member could only help. He wasn’t as good with training as he was with strategy, after all…
But something seemed off to him.
He couldn’t quite put his hoof on it. Perhaps it was the way Hondo seemed blinded by what little light shone on him from between the blinds, or maybe it was the way he seemed to be pulling down on his mustache with a feverishness that bordered on the painful.
Or maybe it was just his whole… frantic, northern dad thing.
With a heavy heart, Braeburn realized that he was likely the same age as this fatherly stallion. He sighed, softly and wearily, and glanced up at the clock. A good five minutes past when he’d meant to start practice.
And, as uncomfortable as the stallion made him, he couldn’t think of a good reason to dismiss him.
Braeburn sighed. “I’m headed over to the stadium now, actually,” he said, getting to his hooves and circling his desk. “You wanna come with? Feel it out?”
“Oh, could I?” Hondo stood up, and the suddenness of the motion caused the chair to squeal across the tile floor before tumbling onto its side. “Ope. Sorry about that.”
Braeburn grimaced as he watched Hondo struggle to return the chair to its upright position. Even with magic, it seemed to present a challenge to the klutzy unicorn.
Braeburn was having trouble remembering why he’d recommended this stallion in the first place.
“Sure,” Braeburn said. “No harm in it.”
“Well, gee, that’s just fantastic!” Hondo exclaimed.
In his excitement, he kicked the chair over again.
“Leave it,” Braeburn requested, polite but firm. “Come on, now. We’d better head out.”
Braeburn didn’t wait for Hondo to reply, just pulled the door open and started down the hall at a brisk trot. After yet another moment of stunned confusion, Hondo scuttled after him, pulling the office door shut behind him.
“I’m just tickled pink to work with buckball players,” Hondo continued, though nopony had asked. “I mean, what an honor, right? We’re really makin’ history with this whole thing.”
“Pardon?” Braeburn gave his newfound companion a quizzical look.
“Oh, y’know. The sport bein’ so new and all.” As Hondo spoke, he rooted around in the saddlebag he had strapped around his midsection, searching for something which seemed to elude his grasp. “Now, I’ve always been more of a watcher myself. But gettin’ up close and personal with the sport is a terrific opportunity, doncha think? Ah-ha!”
Before Braeburn could reply, Hondo had pulled a tube of sunscreen from his saddlebag. He squeezed a liberal amount of the stuff out onto his rear end and began to massage it in with a swirl of blue magic.
“Uh…” Braeburn tried to put his thoughts together, but could only stare as Hondo applied what others may have called an abusive amount of sunscreen to his flanks. “If by ‘new’ you mean… relatively. Buckball’s been popular for near 25 years, now.”
This put a miniscule hitch in Hondo’s step, though he disguised it expertly. “Well, sure. Relatively speaking.”
Braeburn nodded.
With nearly half a bottle of sunscreen massaged into his fur, Hondo seemed satisfied. He capped the tube and stuffed it back into his saddlebags.
“I s’pose I know what you mean, though,” Braeburn replied. “I have to admit, it feels good havin’ my picture up in the museum. Nice to leave a legacy like that.”
Hondo nodded enthusiastically. “You betcha.”
“Especially since I’m… y’know, gettin’ up there,” Braeburn said, as casually as he could muster. “Not like I’ll be doin’ anything all that special with joints like these, will I?”
He gave Hondo a playful nudge.
Hondo gave Braeburn a pained grin. The sort you flash somepony when they’ve said something more than a little concerning, but you’ve decided to blow past that for their peace of mind. “Oh, yeah. Got, uh… got some bad joints myself, doncha know?”
As if to prove it, Hondo stretched one foreleg out in front of him. The joint made a horrible pop-click sound as it did.
“Nifty fifties my flank,” Braeburn muttered. “Shifty fifties, more like.”
Hondo laughed at that. It was a chirping thing, like a squirrel.
The hallway ended in a set of red-and-yellow double doors, painted with the Appleloosa team's logo. Through the tiny windows, Braeburn could catch glimpses of his players as they darted back and forth, tossing balls to one another and swooping in for interceptions.
He spared no time, not even slowing down as he shoved open both doors and stepped out onto the field.
"Alright, team! Let's line up!" he bellowed.
His players seemed almost to snap to attention, all nine of them gathering from disparate areas across the field. As they organized themselves, chatting easily and exchanging playful shoves and noogies, Hondo remained at the threshold.
Braeburn watched as Hondo eyed the dirt carefully. He reached out one tentative hoof, then almost immediately drew it back in towards his chest. His eyes then turned to the sky, as if he were searching for signs of a gigantic bird which might swoop down to carry him off.
"Hondo! Get a move on!" Braeburn called to him.
The team looked down the line at the misshapen stallion stuck on the threshold.
"A-alrighty!" Hondo replied, his voice barely audible. "Let me just…"
The team watched in relative silence as Hondo reached out again, only to wince and pull his hoof back into the shadows. Only the sharp chirping of a few early-morning crickets could be heard as all ten ponies waited for this stranger to come outside.
Hondo tried again, with similar results.
“Is he okay?” somepony murmured.
“That’s the guy from Ponyville Gym, ain’t it?” another asked.
Hondo thought carefully, tapping his chin with his hoof as he observed the hard edge of sunlight ahead of him. "Y'know, I think I'll stay here for now!" he said at last.
Braeburn blinked. "Why's that?"
Hondo was still for a moment.
A team member took a swig from his water bottle.
"Awful sunny out today!" was Hondo's only reply.
Braeburn closed his eyes and set his jaw, all in an effort not to sigh-- an effort which was quite obvious to his team.
"I think you'll find that Appleloosa is sunny more often than not!" he called back.
The team snickered at that.
"Shush!" Braeburn scolded them.
"All the same!" Hondo called. "I'll just stay here today!"
Braeburn squinted at his involuntary companion. "Can you even see what's goin' on from there?"
"Sure can! I got twenty-twenty vision, doncha know?"
This, for some reason, also elicited a bout of giggling from the team.
Braeburn did his best not to roll his eyes as he returned his attention to the team. "Anyway. I'm sure y'all know that stallion over there," he said, nodding in Hondo's direction. "Hondo Flanks is considerin' a new location here in Appleloosa, where he could sign on as a personal trainer for the whole team."
The team was silent.
"I'll work on him comin' outside," Braeburn added in a low growl.
This earned another brief wave of suppressed laughter.
Braeburn sighed. "Alright. Let's start today with some laps to warm up. Then we'll move into a few playbook revisions. Pegasi, I wanna see an alternating canter-fly, alright?"
The pegasi moaned in disappointment, while the remainder of the team seemed more than a little pleased to be sharing in their misery.
"Hop to it!" Braeburn ordered. "Go on, now!"
The team did their best to linger, getting in a last few stretches and game-faces before taking off at a trot around the outer edge of the buckball field. Braeburn watched like a hawk for all of them to pick up to a gallop before he shuffled back towards Hondo.
Hondo did his best to hide under the brim of his hat as he saw Braeburn approach. Shockingly, this had no effect on Braeburn, and he still managed to spot the burly unicorn from behind his clever disguise.
“You alright?” Braeburn asked carefully. He wasn’t sure what else to ask, really.
“Oh, pft,” Hondo scoffed, waving a dismissive moof in Braeburn’s direction. “I just got a… y’know, a bit of a condition. Skin condition. Makes me pretty sensitive to all this beautiful sunshine.”
Still, Hondo did not come out from under the brim of his hat.
Braeburn said nothing. He looked at that bit of straw, willing Hondo to break and sneak a glance in his direction, but had no such luck.
Hondo cleared his throat.
“Listen, Hondo,” Braeburn began, running one hoof along the back of his already-aching neck. “Not that this wasn’t a good idea ‘n’ all…”
Hondo stiffened slightly.
“I just mean, I…” Braeburn stopped himself, trying to think of the right thing to say. “We might need to put some thought into how this is gonna work.”
Hondo didn’t really try to argue that point.
Braeburn opened his mouth, intending to argue the point further, but a sudden thought stopped him. He glanced down the hallway back into the building, then over his shoulder at the team running laps.
“Do me a favor?” Braeburn asked, giving Hondo a small clap on the shoulder.
Hondo, at long last, looked up at him.
To say it was a sweet look may have oversold it. As usual, Hondo’s eyes had an almost glassy quality, as if he were intentionally holding back whatever it was he really felt. Deep down, though, Braeburn thought he could make out something halfway between embarrassment and gratitude.
Braeburn nodded to the team. “Make sure these slackers don’t quit before I get back.”
He didn’t wait for an answer--only a blink--and trotted back into the building. Even as he did so, he shook his head, muttering rhetorical questions to himself along the lines of “what am I doing?” or “just a monumental waste of time, huh?” or “is he really a PT?”
Braeburn pushed the door to his office open once more. Just inside, leaning up against the wall, was a lovely little parasol patterned all over with the team logo. It was one of many pieces of buckball paraphernalia that littered his workspace, most of it holdovers from his time as a player.
He snatched it out of the room, giving it a bit of a toss before catching it under his foreleg.
Here he paused, watching as the door to the office began to swing shut. His eyes scanned over his desk, past the pile of letters and down to the empty envelope which had held the strangest of the bunch.
For a moment, he wondered if there might be some truth to it.
“Nope,” he said aloud, shaking his head. “Just somepony pulling my leg. Somepony without much else to do.”
The sound echoed down the hall.
Hondo looked back over his shoulder. “Pardon?”
Braeburn cleared his throat. “Nothin’!”
The door to his office clicked shut.
Wasting no time, Braeburn broke into a light canter and skidded to a halt beside Hondo.
“Here y’are,” Braeburn said, passing his companion the parasol. “Should help with the sun.”
Hondo carefully popped the parasol open, and took a hesitant step into the sunshine. His mustache curled with his smile.
“Now, get a move on!” Braeburn ordered. “We’ve got a practice to run!”
SEEKING: MISSED CONNECTION
I put out an ad looking for help feeling young again. You replied with the promise of eternal life.
Maybe it's a stupid question, but are you pulling my leg?
I'd appreciate it if you leveled with me - I only got so much time to root through all this junk mail.
Contact Braeburn, 6 Appleloosa Ct, AL
Braeburn read his second ad over a few times, scratching absent-mindedly at his scalp as he did so.
It felt stupid.
For a lot of reasons.
Mostly because he couldn't figure out how to make it sound any less desperate. Partly because he couldn't really explain why he wanted more information in the first place.
A little bit because he actually felt a fluttering nervousness in his chest, the way one's heart thrums before climbing into the front seat of a roller coaster.
He sighed.
Part of him wanted to twist around and pass the draft to the patron in the next booth over, just to get a second opinion, but he pushed that instinct down as far as he could. The Salt Lick wasn't exactly the friendliest place in the world, even with the way the Appleloosa tourism scene had grown these past few years.
Actually… now that he thought about it, Braeburn figured tourism had likely pushed this place to become as insular as it was.
Now that anypony could just wander in, even fewer ponies were actually welcome here.
Funny how that works.
Braeburn tapped his hooves arrhythmically on the tabletop, reading through the ad once more.
It got stupider every time.
Just as Braeburn was about to crumple his draft into a tiny ball and chuck it under the table, a creek rang out through the Salt Lick.
The place went silent in less than a second. Everypony who wasn't already dead drunk searched instinctively for the source of the sound.
It wasn't hard to find; the saloon doors still swung against one another as Hondo Flanks stood, frozen and awkward, only a few steps inside.
He chuckled, a strained and awkward sound. "Howdy, folks," he said. He added a small wave, the sort a shy foal would give their kindergarten class.
The patrons seemed to grumble in unison, all of them returning to their drinks.
Braeburn sank lower in his seat, tipping his hat downward to disguise the flush of second-hoof embarrassment rising in his cheeks. Though he couldn't see Hondo, he could very easily hear the way the floorboards squeaked under him as the clumsy stallion crossed the room.
"Howdy, there, coach," Hondo said, his voice an out-of-breath hiss. "Tough crowd, eh?"
Braeburn tipped his hat back on his head, and peered up at Hondo.
He had a funny way of smiling. Actually, it was rather funny that he was smiling at all. But he stood there, his lips pressed shut, his mustache curling upwards in the suggestion of a colt-like grin.
"Howdy, Hondo," Braeburn murmured.
Despite the sarcasm, Braeburn's greeting seemed to relax Hondo. He let out a breath of relief and squeezed himself in the seat across from Braeburn (with no small amount of grunting).
"Thanks again fer comin' out like this, coach," Hondo said as he settled into the seat. "Boy, I tell ya-- it's quite a relief to be outta that hot sun. Downright icy out there at night, eh?"
"I told you not to call me coach," Braeburn said. "Braeburn is just fine."
"Right, right…" Hondo waved dismissively in Braeburn's direction. He then took off his straw hat and set it down on the table, exposing a strangely thick dark brown mane that unfurled onto his forehead.
Braeburn eyes it with some measure of jealousy. After all, he had already noticed some thinning on the back of his own scalp.
He reached up to touch at the balding place. He supposed being a personal trainer paid off when it came to things like this-- after a few years, you know all the best tonics and remedies for nearly every little thing.
Hondo clapped his forehooves together. "Okay, then! Let's get down to brass tacks, Braeburn," he said, rubbing his hooves together in a sort of glee. "I wanna hear about those players a'yours. See, I find that coaches always know better than the players themselves when it comes to strengths and weaknesses."
Braeburn nodded, a bit of a smirk creeping onto his face. "Right you are," he said. "I brought along some notes. I think, in general, the reserves need--"
He looked down at the pad of paper in front of him, and his ad nearly leapt off the page and bit him in the face.
He froze.
Hondo, being the nosy stallion he is, stretched up a bit to see what had Braeburn tied up in a knot. The seat creaked under him.
This was enough to snap Braeburn out of his momentary paralysis. He quickly, messily, flipped back a few pages to the scribbled lists of notes he'd been keeping.
"Uh… sorry, what was I saying?" Braeburn asked.
Hondo flashed his weird grin again. His mustache twisted up into a furry crescent. "Erm… the reserves?" he suggested.
Braeburn grunted. "The reserves, right. I think the reserves need, uh…" He scanned over his notes again, trying to gleen anything from them at all, but found that the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks somehow clouded his vision. "Well, they need the most work, I guess. They're reserves for a reason, ain't they?"
"What kinds of work did you have in mind?" Hondo asked.
"Um…" Braeburn looked back down at his paper. He tried to smooth it out a bit, but found that the pressure from his hoof only smeared the pencil around. "Mostly stamina-type problems? Reaction time takes a dive by the fourth round or so. Anything you can do for that?"
Hondo leaned back and sighed, deeply and thoughtfully. "It's not my usual sort of thing, but I betcha I can figure somethin' out," he said.
"Good, good…" Braeburn leaned down a bit and squinted at the paper. He sniffled a bit as he struggled to read it. "Consarnit, don't tell me I need glasses now…"
Hondo held his tongue as Braeburn struggled to make out his notes, squinting and grimacing and sliding the paper about on the tabletop. Braeburn tried very hard not to splutter out something stupid in the heat of his own embarrassment.
He could only hold his tongue so long, though.
"So," Hondo said, drawing the word out as long as equinely possible. "Putting out another ad, eh?"
Braeburn stiffened.
"I'm guessin' you didn't hear back from anypony worth followin' up with?" Hondo continued. "That's a darn shame. I thought it was such a good idea, too."
"I, uh…" Braeburn cleared his throat, then smoothed his pad of paper out again. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."
Hondo furrowed his brows. "It had your name on it, there, didn't it?" he asked. "I'm only bringin' it up on account of… well, I was thinkin' about replyin'. I just figured you probably got so many responses that my little letter wouldn't make much of a splash."
Braeburn looked up at his dining companion, head cocked in confusion.
"I'm a personal trainer," Hondo reminded him. "You asked for 'em specifically in your ad."
"Right!" Braeburn smacked his forehead with one hoof. "Of course, I-- sorry. Of course."
It was Hondo's turn to stare at Braeburn in a mix of confusion and concern. As his abnormally fluffy brows knit together, he appeared to have a second mustache creeping down his forehead. "Pardon me for askin' but… you're actin' awful hinky about that ad. Did something happen?"
Did something happen?
An excellent question with a less-than-excellent answer.
"No, no…" Braeburn shook his head. "Just piles 'n' piles of junk mail. I'm beginnin' to regret ever even postin' that thing, t'be honest."
Hondo clucked his tongue. "Ain't that a shame. I was thinkin' about trying it out, myself. It was such a neat idea."
Braeburn grunted his acknowledgement, though he didn't quite agree. He didn't find the ad to be 'neat' at all-- just desperate and smelling strongly of a mid-life crisis. He hated that he was becoming the sort of pony to complain publicly about his age. That was what old stallions did.
And Braeburn wasn't old.
Right?
He sighed, sliding down a bit in his seat. The motion only put unwanted pressure on his spine, though, and he found that he had to noisily haul himself right back into an upright position.
Hondo, being the kind stallion that he is, stayed politely silent.
"I s'pose I… did get one response that's been buggin' me," Braeburn said.
As soon as the thought left his mouth, he wished desperately he could stuff it back inside.
What was he thinking? He didn't want to talk about this. Especially not with Hondo Flanks, of all ponies-- he hadn't exactly marketed himself as the sort of stallion you could have deep conversations with, after all.
Hondo blinked. "Y'don't say?"
Braeburn gave a half-hearted shrug. "Somepony with far too much time on their hooves wrote me a letter sayin' they could stop me from agin'," he said. "Or… y'know. Somethin' along those lines."
There was a little flicker of something in Hondo's eyes. To call it shock wouldn't have been quite right, though Braeburn couldn't think of any other way to interpret it.
"You don't say," Hondo repeated. It came out slower this time, less of a friendly question.
Braeburn grumbled wordlessly.
Hondo tugged at his mustache with a tendril of blue magic. When that didn't suffice, he switched to combing it downward with little glittering claws of mist. "If y'don't mind me askin'," he said, "what's buggin' you so much about that?"
Braeburn scoffed. "I think you'll agree it's a mighty strange letter to get in the mail," he said. "If I had it with me, I'd letcha read it-- certainly more than a friendly joke."
"You don't think it's a threat, do you?" Hondo asked, a measure of panic rising in his voice.
"What?" Braeburn laughed-- actually laughed. "No, no. I just meant… well, it sure didn't give me a chuckle."
Hondo made a face. It wasn't quite a grin, though it did spread his mustache across his face like an inchworm. A grimace? A look of sympathy? A look meant to look like something while communicating nothing.
Braeburn sighed. "Anyways. I won't lie, I've been a mite distracted. But--"
"You think you'd do it, then?" Hondo asked.
"Pardon?"
"Take the offer," Hondo said. "Assumin' it's real, a'course. Do you think it's real?"
"It ain't real!" Braeburn argued. "For the love of-- you can't seriously think somepony out there is offerin' immortality to whoever happens to post an ad."
"But if it was," Hondo said. He leaned across the table, peering at Braeburn with his strange, beady little eyes. "Would you do it?"
He was serious.
The stallion was actually serious.
Braeburn narrowed his eyes, daring Hondo to drop the subject.
Hondo did not back down.
Braeburn nickered softly and threw himself back against the inside of the booth. "How about you ask me after a drink, Hondo?" he muttered.
He reached out to snatch his notepad off the table, intending to launch back into his discussion of his somewhat deficient buckball players, but Hondo's hoof shot into the air.
"Waiter? Uh-- 'scuse me, waiter?" he called.
The bartender paused his wiping of the pint glasses to scowl in Hondo's direction.
Braeburn reached over to tug down Hondo's hoof. "Hondo, that's not how you--"
"Pardon me, there, sir!" Hondo continued. "Two sidecars, please!"
Other patrons were starting to stare. The bartender slowly set down his glass, now using his whole being to give Hondo a dirty look.
Braeburn released Hondo's foreleg to bury his face in his hooves.
"You like bourbon, doncha, coach?" Hondo asked. "I thought I had you pegged as a bourbon fella. Course I can getcha an old fashioned if that's more up your alley. Or-- say, how about a sarsaparilla?"
Before Braeburn could even pull his face out from under his hooves, there came a heavy sound of glass on wood.
Braeburn peeked out at the table. Two sidecars--albeit in pint glasses--sat before him.
He turned his eyes up a little higher. The bartender stood over their table, inscrutable as always.
"Boy, you're a quick one," Hondo commented. "Thanks a million, sir."
Braeburn sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Sorry about my colleague, here. He's not from around--"
But the bartender didn't wait for Braeburn to finish. He just turned and lurched back over to the bar.
"Interesting fella," Hondo commented.
Braeburn scoffed. "Could say the same thing about you."
Hondo shrugged. "So ponies tell me," he said. "Have a sip. You ever had a sidecar before?"
"I don't think anypony's had a sidecar in about forty years," Braeburn muttered.
Hondo only laughed. It was a fatherly laugh, a mischievous little tittering sound not unlike a comic book villain's moderately bumbling sidekick. He reached out to grab his pint glass and began suck down the strong drink with ease.
Braeburn tried not to comment on that, taking a sip from his own glass.
The stallion practically sizzled in the sun, yet he could put away bourbon like a damn draft horse. Not a bit bothered by it, either.
Hondo set his glass down, let out a mighty sigh of satisfaction, and smiled that strange mustachioed smile. "Alrighty, then. We've had a drink, so answer my question."
Braeburn chuckled. "I think you mean you've had a drink, my friend," he said. "I've had a swallow."
"Would you agree to immortality?" Hondo asked again.
Braeburn shook his head, laughing at the mere idea, and took another small sip of alcohol.
"C'mon, coach," Hondo teased. "No better way to shake the feeling than to talk it through. Tell me what you're thinkin'."
"This ain't a therapy session!" Braeburn argued, laughing all the while. "This is work!"
Hondo took a deep breath, then let it out in a slow snort. "Y'know, I got two beautiful daughters. Workaholics, both of 'em," he said. "If I know one thing, it's that pushin' down your problems fer the sake a'work never led to a job well done."
Braeburn sighed heavily. He ran his hoof around the edge of his glass. "Married, huh?"
"Eh… was." Hondo looked down at his lap. "But you quit changin' the subject! Would you take the deal?"
Braeburn shook his head. "This is nuts…"
"Not hearin' an answer…" Hondo prompted gently.
"Aw, for the love of-- I dunno, Hondo," Braeburn said, throwing his hooves up in exasperation. "I mean, who wouldn't want a chance like that? Imagine all the stuff you could do with all that time, even with joints like mine."
"Couldja really, though?" Hondo asked.
Braeburn furrowed his brows. "Pardon?"
Hondo opened his mouth to answer, then quickly snapped it shut. "Er. What I mean is… well, seems like this pony's keepin' eternal life to himself, don't it?" he stuttered. "Maybe… y'know, maybe he needs to keep it on the down low. Couldn't be showin' off all the time-- other ponies would figure it out right quick, don'cha think?"
Braeburn pulled his drink in closer. "If that's the case, you wouldn't be able to do much more than watch." He took a sip from his drink, then chuckled. "I'm an athlete, Hondo. Couldn't watch if I tried!"
"Don't know about that. I think you could pull it off," Hondo said softly. "You certainly seem to be a mighty good coach."
"And how would you know that?" Braeburn asked. "You've only been to one practice."
"Well, I am a watcher, doncha know?" Hondo said. "Always have been. And, in all my years a'watchin', I never seen anything quite like your buckball team."
He said it softly. Genuinely.
He said it while looking across the table at Braeburn, his mustache curled up at one end, his beady eyes brimming with admiration.
He said it in a way that almost made Braeburn believe it.
Braeburn looked down at his lap to disguise the smirk on his face. "Aw, shucks, I… I dunno about all that," he murmured. "And besides. Coachin' and watchin' aren't near the same thing."
"They could be, though," Hondo said. "Y'know. Workin' behind the scenes, pullin' all the strings. Could make a lotta difference never even showin' yet face, if y'think about it."
"If you can get anypony to listen to you, that is," Braeburn said. He tipped his hat back with one hoof and groaned softly. "Sometimes I feel like everything I say to those yearlings goes in one ear and out the other."
Hondo raised a hoof and wiggled his very thick eyebrows. "Which is where I come in, eh?" He wiggled his brows a few more times, hoping for a reaction but getting none. "Good ol', two-pronged attack. Whip 'em right into shape. If we can get our stories straight, that is."
Braeburn laughed wryly. "That's the trick, ain't it?" He looked down at his hooves, studying the cracked and clouded surface. "Even so, who's gonna listen to two old coots like us?"
"You sure talk a lot about bein' old for somepony barely into their fifties," Hondo said.
"Call it a mid-life crisis, I s'pose…" Braeburn muttered. "Though, to be fair, I have worked my body harder than the average fifty-year-old."
Hondo shrugged. "Touché."
The pair fell silent.
For a moment, Braeburn actually felt guilty. Here he was, a former athlete, likely in better shape than anypony else his age-- including, of course, the stallion who sat across from him. Despite his career and his cutie mark, he was quite the uncoordinated klutz.
And yet…
As Braeburn looked at him, at the way his eyes glimmered behind his thick, dark bangs, he realized he couldn't place the stallion's age at all.
He knew he was around fifty. Factually. That was certain. But his eyes were older, and his smile so much younger. His care in choice of word and turn of phrase-- it seemed clumsy, what with all the stuttering and the simple words and the heavy accent, but it was always perfectly thoughtful and exact.
Braeburn, for perhaps the first time, truly considered the stallion across from him. By all rights, he should have been the one having a midlife crisis. But he wasn't. He was here, contently enjoying life and rolling along with the flow.
"No responses, then?" Hondo said.
Breaburn blinked, torn out of his nebulously rolling thoughts. "Huh?"
"I'm guessin' you didn't get any responses to yer ad?" Hondo asked. "Not any good ones, anyway."
Braeburn sighed. "I dunno. Plenty good ones, if I'm honest. I got exactly what I thought I would."
He didn't finish his thought.
"Eh… but?" Hondo prompted.
"But…" Braeburn thought a moment. "I didn't take any of the offers. There just wasn't anything special. Not sure why I thought there would be, really. Just a bunch of ponies tryna make a few bits."
Hondo nodded slowly. "Are you still lookin'?"
Breaburn shrugged. "Maybe. Possibly. Not so actively anymore."
"Well. Only reason I didn't reply was because… y'know, I thought you'd hear somethin' better," Hondo said. He tapped the tabletop with one hoof, slow and rhythmic. "The way you're helpin' me with all these new clients… I mean, it's the least I can do, doncha think?"
Braeburn sat up a little straighter. "I don't see what you're gettin' at."
"You wanna start tossin' a ball around a few times a week?" He said it quickly, as if he shouldn't have. As if he were blurting out a much more intimate confession. "Long as you don't mind doin' it in the dark. I can give you some advice and… heck, help ya stretch and all that."
Hondo peered up at Braeburn through his mane.
Braeburn frowned. "You wanna be my personal trainer?"
"Not-- I mean, if that's what you think you need, then sure," Hondo said. "But… maybe I could just be somepony to talk to, y'know?"
"Is that right?" Braeburn mumbled.
"Well… I'm goin' through lots of the same stuff, doncha know," Hondo continued. He used a little swirl of blue magic to sweep his mane out of his face. "In a way. Could be nice to talk about it, 'stead a'spending all your time with athletes half your age."
He laughed.
It was a belly laugh, but one that he was desperately trying to tame. A deep, round thing that he forced up through his nose to sound small and fatherly and friendly.
And it made Braeburn think that maybe this stallion did know a thing or two about getting old.
Braeburn picked up his drink and held it out for a toast. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Flanks. I'll just have to take you up on that."
Hondo beamed, that mustache-twisting smile spreading over his face. "Oh, I was hopin' you'd say so, coach," he said, lifting his own drink to toast with Braeburn. "I'll show you a good time, I promise."
Braeburn chuckled as he drew his drink to his lips.
Hondo tried to force down his smile as he, too, sipped from his drink. It clung to his mustache like seafoam on kelp.
"Wait. Did you say you wanna toss a ball around in the dark?"
Howdy, Braeburn -
I've been thinking it over. The eternal life thing, that is. I'm starting to think it might be good for you. Or maybe not necessarily good, but certainly not bad.
That sorta thing can really change a pony. I can't go dishing it out all willy-nilly. Gotta think carefully about this.
That said, you seem like a good stallion at heart. You also seem like the sort of pony who might do something good with eternal life, instead of just frittering it away like some other ponies.
I need to think about this a little longer. Just thought I'd give you an update.
Night in the desert is cool. Refreshing, almost. When that occasional breeze curled through the stadium, filling Hondo's shirt like a windsock and threatening to take Braeburn's hat off his head, it seemed almost like night anywhere else. Like night in the suburbs, maybe. Or night by the pool.
But it wasn't quite that. It may have been the same night--physically, you know? It was the same dark sky and moon and stars as any other place--but it didn't feel it. And the feeling was beyond the coolness of the breeze or the dryness in the air. It was something inexplicable, something that sank down to your bones and told you that this was someplace altogether different.
Maybe it would have been the same if Braeburn had just kept his eyes closed.
But… no. He knew he was in the desert. You can't quit knowing. Not even if you close your eyes.
Braeburn breathed deeply of the cool, dry air before the kickoff.
Hondo, as always, made a little sound of surprise. He seemed to have trouble predicting where the ball might go nearly every time-- which was as funny as it was deeply sweet.
Breaburn chuckled to himself as Hondo dove for the ball, only just barely catching it in the basket he clutched with his magic as he slammed chest-first into the ground.
"Hondo!" Braeburn called. "How many times I gotta tell ya-- use your magic, not your legs!"
Hondo coughed up a bit of sand as he got to his hooves. "How else am I s'posed to get any exercise?" he yelled back, wheezing ever so slightly.
Braeburn only shook his head, still chuckling all the while. "Toss it back, now!"
"A-alrighty!"
Hondo's face contorted into a look of deep concentration as he hovered the basket beside his head. He seemed to be doing some sort of calculation, perhaps on angle or power, before he whipped it in a circle around his head and released the ball straight towards Braeburn.
"Whoa!" Braeburn whirled and gave it a powerful kick with his hind legs, sending it sailing back the other direction.
Hondo dove for it again, this time managing to catch the ball without slamming into the ground.
"Hey-hey!" Braeburn whooped at the catch, waving one hoof wildly in the air. "Good catch, Hondo!"
That made Hondo grin. A rare, open-mouthed affair as he tried to catch his breath.
The tiniest bit of moonlight glinted off his perfectly white teeth. Even at this distance, Braeburn wondered why he'd ever tried to hide them.
Howdy, Braeburn -
Me again.
I've been wondering what you think you would want to do with eternal life. Would you change careers, maybe? Travel? Get married?
Goals are important things to have, especially when you have eternity to attain them. It's easier than you'd think to just become the world's best couch potato.
I'm still thinking. But you should think, too. Maybe write a list. Figure out what it is you want out of life before you commit to having one.
"So, what do you want to do?" Hondo asked. "Y'know, bucket list type stuff. Since he asked 'n' all."
"Me?" Braeburn nickered to himself. "Gee, I don't really know. For a while, I wanted to be the greatest rodeo pony of all time! Then buckball came along and… well, that felt just as right as the rodeo ever did."
Braeburn gave the ball a kick, and it skipped and hopped over the uneven bits of sand towards Hondo.
Hondo stopped the ball with his forehoof and held it there a moment. "And coachin'?"
Braeburn shrugged. "I dunno. It's not really the same…" he said softly. "Then again, I thought that about buckball, too."
Hondo nodded. He wordlessly kicked the ball back in Braeburn's direction.
Braeburn caught it easily. "Maybe that's just how it is, right? Less one true destiny, more a set of talents and a certain type'a attitude. Y'know?"
"Ooh, that's a lil too philosophical for me, there, coach," Hondo said, a light chuckle escaping him.
"Speakin' of, I been meaning to ask," Braeburn said, pausing to keep the ball under one hoof. "Were you ever an athlete?"
"Me?" Hondo guffawed out loud and shook his head. "Oh, no. No, no, no-- not with these hooves. Or these legs. Or these eyes. Or any of it, really."
Braeburn scoffed. "Dunno what you're goin' on about. You're a plenty fine athlete, far as I can tell."
He gave the ball a firm kick with his forehoof, and it went flying over the sand towards Hondo.
Hondo stopped the ball under his own forehoof and looked up at Braeburn. "I'm just doin' what I did with my girls. And what I do with my clients from time to time," he said. "A friendly game of catch is one thing. A game of buckball is a whole other animal-- you know that."
Braeburn shrugged. "You have what we in the business call 'good fundamentals'."
"Aw, heck-- it's my business, too, coach!" Hondo gave the ball a kick, and it went careening off at an odd angle. "Ope! Sorry about that!"
Braeburn wasted not a second in taking off after the ball at a gallop. He, thankfully, managed to tackle it before it bounced off into a nearby patch of cacti.
Hondo made a face of distress as he surveyed the near-disaster. "Uh… good catch, there!" he shouted.
Braeburn laughed. "You gotta get better at usin' your magic! For my sake!"
"Oh, for your sake…" Hondo muttered.
He took his hat off his head, then used the back of his hoof to wipe sweat from his brow.
The breeze whipped up around him. It ruffled his mane, sent it twisting about his horn in a great tangled dance.
For a moment, he just soaked it up. He stood there with a strange, wistful smile as the breeze cooled his sweaty face. Then he shivered. Perhaps it was a little too cold.
He sat his hat back on his head.
Braeburn took off at a light canter towards him, juggling the ball between his two front hooves as he did. It was as familiar to his mind as it was foreign to his joints-- or perhaps the other way around.
"We wrappin' up, coach?" Hondo asked, his exhaustion more than apparent in his labored speech. "Only been around an hour."
"I told you to quit callin' me coach," Braeburn said. He cocked an eyebrow in Hondo's direction as he nudged the ball his way.
Though there was only a few feet between them, Hondo lunged for the slow-rolling ball. "Yeah, but… well, I like it. It's kinda like a nickname, doncha think?"
"How are you ever gonna feel okay about givin' me advice if you keep on callin' me coach?" Braeburn asked.
Hondo rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine. You want some advice?" Hondo pursed his lips, and his mustache stuck out like an awning over them. "Stallions our age give nicknames to darn near everything."
Braeburn cocked his head. "Is that a fact?" he asked, feigning surprise and interest. "Why, that'll surely help me get through this midlife crisis. I'll just start actin' my age, huh?"
"Make all the jokes you like, coach," Hondo said with a shrug. "But nicknames sure do bring a bit a'joy to the little things."
"So the secret to a happy life is to start makin' up names for things?" Braeburn asked, a sneer tugging at his lips.
"Long as you don't go dishing 'em out all willy-nilly-- you gotta be precise!" Hondo raised a hoof in the air, as if he were some great (and very out of breath) orator. "Nicknames are earned."
"You sayin' I earned mine?" Braeburn said, giving his friend a nudge.
Hondo tilted his hat forward, disguising his rapidly reddening face with all the grace of an elephant. "Would you get back in position? I'm chargin' ya for a full session whether or not we use all the time, doncha know."
"You told me these were free!" Braeburn scolded. His glee was poorly disguised, though.
"Well, I changed my mind," Hondo said, snout in the air, smile barely hidden under his mustache.
Braeburn gave his friend a shove.
Hondo shoved back.
Braeburn lunged at Hondo, tossing his hat off his head and trapping him under his foreleg for a noogie.
He didn't fight it.
Braeburn thought Hondo's mane felt remarkably soft.
Hondo thought Braeburn's touch was just the same.
And they laughed-- nasally but raucous, like colts doing something they shouldn't.
And that's rather what they were. Because stallions their age didn't play-wrestle, and they didn't giggle, and they didn't talk like these two talked.
But there wasn't anypony there to tell them otherwise.
Hiya, Braeburn -
To be honest, I'm not quite sure why I keep writing you when I know you can't write back. I'm sure it must be mighty frustrating.
I just wanted to let you know that I think I've decided to talk to you. You know, pony-to-pony, face-to-face. There's only so much thinking I can expect you to do when we can't talk back and forth.
You probably have questions, too. It's best to get those worked through, don't you think?
Anyway, just be ready. I'll try to find a good time for it, but that's no guarantee it won't be a shock for you.
"You alright, there, coach?" Hondo asked.
"Hm?"
Braeburn looked up from the ball. He realized, with some measure of embarrassment, that he had been passing it gently between his own forehooves for the better part of a minute now.
Silently.
"Y'alright?" Hondo repeated. "You seem, eh… well, I dunno what you seem. Just different."
Braeburn scratched his temple with one hoof. After a moment's contemplation, he kicked the ball over to Hondo.
"Ain't nothin' worth worryin' about," he said.
Hondo kicked the ball back without pausing. "You sure about that?" he asked. "Like to think, after a few months, I know ya pretty well. Ya don't seem yourself, there, coach."
The ball made a hollow sound as it bounced off Braeburn's hoof. "Just thinkin', I guess."
"What about?"
Another hollow kick.
The ball skipped over the sand like a stone over water.
Braeburn caught it under one quick hoof, and froze there. Considering. Rolling the ball gently from side to side under his hoof.
"Coach?"
"I got a weird letter today," Braeburn said simply.
Hondo cupped a hoof around his ear. "Huh? Whaddja say?"
Braeburn looked up. "I got a weird letter today!" he repeated, this time from down in his chest. "And I just… I dunno, it's been making me think."
"Eh… that so?" Hondo's brows furrowed into one long, furry ferret. "About what, exactly?"
About what, indeed?
Braeburn took a long breath. The air was cool and dry, yet still held the memory of heat within it. It must have been all wrapped up in the smell, he thought.
"We know one another pretty well by now, don't we?" Braeburn called back to Hondo.
Hondo shrugged. "I like to think we do."
"Maybe you can give me some advice, then," Braeburn said.
He abandoned the ball in its place in the sand and trotted towards Hondo.
"I'll do my best, coach," Hondo said with a chuckle. "You may have to settle for a friendly headpat or two."
Braeburn snorted. "He said, as if his whole job wasn't givin' other ponies advice."
"All the same." Hondo tugged down on his mustache. "Got a feeling this might be a bit different."
"Might be," Braeburn admitted.
He sidled up next to Hondo, very nearly touching him, before lowering himself to the ground. The sand still held some warmth from the sun, and it radiated up into his chest.
Braeburn looked up at Hondo. "Why don't you have a seat?"
Hondo blinked. "Uh. Sure. Why not, eh?"
With considerably less grace and a wider dust cloud, Hondo managed to get himself down into the sand beside Braeburn. He tugged on his mustache again, then pulled his hat down as low as it would go.
Braeburn sighed. "That fella who's been writing me says he's gonna show up soon," he said simply.
Hondo was quiet for a moment. "Uh-huh."
"It's just got me thinkin'," Braeburn said. "Not that I really believe in eternal life or anything. Just hard not to think about, huh?"
"I-I guess so," Hondo replied with a little chuckle.
Braeburn chuckled in response. "I know it sounds corny," he said, looking down at his hooves. "I just-- well. Seein' as you're more of a watcher 'n' all. Would you take it?"
Hondo's eyes went rather wide. "Me? Take…" He pointed to himself, as if shocked by the very idea. "Well. I guess I never really thought about it."
"Not even with all the talkin' I've been doin'?" Braeburn asked. "No way that's true."
"Sure is!" Hondo argued. "I mean… you get used to life bein' one way. Nopony ever asked me if I liked it, doncha know?"
His face sort of contorted into an odd grimace. Braeburn watched him carefully, wondering if he may dispense some of his more expected wisdom, but he said nothing. He just stared down at the ground--at a little pebble, it seemed--and chewed the inside of his cheek with a strange ferocity.
"Alright, alright-- different question," Braeburn said, giving his friend a clap on the shoulder. "Didn't mean to send you into an existential crisis, there, Hondo."
Hondo gave a half-hearted and breathy laugh.
"You're a-- well, you're a once-married stallion," Braeburn said. "Would you, uh… would you do it again?"
"Get married?" Hondo let out a long sigh. "Boy, that's a heck of a question. More'n you probably think."
"Not married. Not necessarily," Braeburn corrected quickly. "Just… y'know, the whole romance thing. Would you do any of that again? Don't have to be the whole nine yards."
Hondo cast his friend a glance out of the corner of his eye. "Still a hard question, there."
"Alright, fine, fine," Braeburn huffed.
He tried to say something, but the words seemed stuck. His mouth opened, closed, opened again-- then he took off his hat and slapped it down into the sand.
"Shoot," he said. "I guess what I'm askin' is-- well, seein' as a might be immortal soon, you think it's wise to start datin' somepony? Or would that be irresponsible of me?"
Hondo laughed. "That depends on who you're thinkin' of datin', don't it? You got a princess on the hook that I should know about?"
"Consarn it, Hondo, I meant you!"
That sure shut him up.
Hondo's brows climbed up his forehead, higher and higher, until they vanished completely into his floppy forelock. He tried to keep his eyes trained on the ground, but Braeburn caught them flick his way once or twice.
Braeburn just tried not to say anything else stupid. He bit down on his tongue as a bit of extra assurance.
Hondo cleared his throat. "Oh."
"For the record, I was plannin' on sayin' it a lot nicer'n that," Braeburn said. "Dunno exactly what I was gonna say. But I was plannin' on it bein' better."
Hondo lifted a hoof to his mouth and pulled down on his mustache. "That… sure wasn't what I thought you were gonna say," he said softly. "Listen, coach, I--"
"Don't call me coach, Hondo," Braeburn interrupted, burying his face in his hooves. "I'm already embarrassed enough as it is, I don't need--"
"Braeburn."
A breeze wound its way through Braeburn's mane as he looked up at his friend.
"I need to be honest with you about somethin'," Hondo said.
His tone was so deadly serious that it nearly stopped Braeburn's heart.
"Boy, I don't really know how to say this…" Hondo said. A nervous chuckle escaped him, curling that fuzzy caterpillar on his lip.
Say what?
You don't like stallions?
You don't like this stallion?
There's somepony else?
"Oh, shoot, I…" Hondo sucked in a small breath. "I'm the one that's been writin' you those letters," he whispered.
That did it.
That stopped his heart.
"And… I wasn't lyin', either," he continued, lifting his head and, at long last, flashing his friend a grin.
A toothy grin.
A fanged grin.
"Surprised?"
Hiya, coach -
You probably don't wanna hear from me right now, otherwise you'd have reached out yourself. It's not like you don't know where to find me, after all.
I figured that, just in case you weren't willing to make the first move, I'd send you a letter. I'm sure you recognize the hoofwriting by now, and know it's me by the envelope.
Look: I know now I shouldn't have sprung that on you. To be honest, I don't know what I should have done differently-- probably just not said anything in the first place. With the letter, I mean. But I guess that cat's long out of the bag, ain't it?
Anyway. You can write me back if you like. Or don't. I guess either's fine.
Sorry.
-Hondo
Howdy, coach -
Been a bit, hasn't it? Two weeks? Two and a half? Boy, time sure does fly when you're missing a good friend.
I got a little paranoid that my last letter was lost in the mail. Plus, I'm not sure it did a good job of outlining what exactly I was sorry for, so I figured I'd give it another go.
See, I made a bunch of choices for a whole mix of reasons, and I didn't really take the time to untangle them all til I was barrel-deep in consequences. I shouldn't have written the letter, sure-- I also shouldn't have shown up the way I did. I shouldn't have kept writing letters, and I shouldn't have kept forcing my way closer to you.
I respect the heck out of you, and I wanted to meet you, and I figured I had a few good reasons to do that. So I went ahead and tried them all. Stupid thing to do, eh?
I'm sorry for doing all of that. I really tugged you around, and that isn't fair. I knew it was all gonna come crashing down eventually, but I just kept kicking the can down the road.
That's what I get for being a watcher.
Anywho, I hope you're doing alright. And I hope you forgive me eventually. Your players are a bit confused over what happened, and I sure don't know what to tell them.
Maybe the truth?
Let me know what you think.
-Hondo
Hi again -
I know it's been a little more than a month now, and you're probably sick of hearing from the world's most boring vampire, but I just wanted to say:
I'm still willing to help you out.
It's not too bad. Coconut water is an excellent substitute for you-know-what, and really all you have to do is stay out of the sun. All that stuff about garlic and sleeping during the day comes from vampire fruit bats, actually. Common misconception.
Think about it. I can keep it professional.
-Hondo
SEEKING: PERSONAL TRAINER
Stallion, 53, buckball player turned coach, looking for personal trainer (or similar). Offering bits, season tickets, and/or memorabilia. Serious inquiries only.
Contact Braeburn, 6 Appleloosa Ct, AL
Hello, Coach Braeburn -
You're probably good and sick of me by now, but I thought I'd truly toss my hat in the ring this time around. My usual rate is 55 bits per hour session, with a discount if you pay for three up front (total 150 bits).
Let me know if you're interested. I have open slots Thursday and Friday night, 8-12 pm.
Thanks for the opportunity,
Hondo
Hondo-
Thursdays 9-10 fit my schedule. Will see you next week.
Bits enclosed.
-Braeburn.
To say that Hondo was nervous about what awaited him this Thursday night would have been a vast and terrible understatement.
A small part of him thought that Braeburn might only be coming here to tell him off. Loudly. In front of his clients and coworkers.
Of course, that was ridiculous. Braeburn wasn't the loud and angry type. His was more of a seething anger, the sort of thing that sizzled quietly under the surface until just the right moment arose to let it out. Usually in a snappy string of obscenities.
And yet… he had paid in advance. 165 bits (notably not taking advantage of the discount) up front.
So he couldn't mean to cause a scene.
In fact, one could even read this as a tip. A tip in advance. That was rather kind of him.
It didn't stop Hondo's hooves from shaking, though.
He had been working very hard on growing out his mustache longer. He wasn't quite sure why (Braeburn had already seen his fangs, after all), or even how (because… well, how does one encourage a mustache to grow longer?), but he sure was thinking about it quite a bit.
He actually thought it was sort of working. He tugged down on it, combed through it, and felt a few long hairs curl down to tickle at his chin.
Yes. Excellent.
Now if only he could encourage himself to burn a little less easily…
"Mr. Flanks?"
Hondo startled and looked up at his door. "Eh… yes?"
The gym's receptionist was leaning against the door frame, looking more than a little concerned at the way Hondo seemed to have disappeared into his own thoughts.
"Your nine o'clock is here," he said. "He's warming up in weight room C. Want me to let him know you're on your way?"
"No, no!" Hondo leapt out of his chair and tried to scoot out from behind his desk, taking out a cup of pens in the process. "All good, there. Be down in a jif."
The receptionist nodded. "Alright. Give a shout if you need anything."
"Sure, sure. Thanks, kiddo."
Hondo squeezed past the colt in his doorway, sweat already building on his brow. He forced his hat down a little lower on his head, hoping to disguise the sheen, but only found that the closeness of the straw made the problem worse.
"It's alright," he muttered to himself. "It's just fine. Braeburn's a nice fella, he's not gonna tell you off."
He couldn't help but feel like a great lumbering mess as he barreled down the hallway. Sweaty face, big hooves, pounding heart-- even his mustache was bringing more discomfort than usual.
"He wanted to see you, darn it!" he told himself, perhaps a little louder than he had intended. "What's he gonna do, tell the whole gym you're a--"
He paused.
Through a large window on his left, Hondo could peer into weight room C.
It was dark. Darker than usual, even at night. At a glance, Hondo figured that hardly one third of the lights for the whole room were on at all, and the ones that were seemed to be relegated to one far edge of the space, leaving most of the room shrouded in shadow.
Despite it, though, Hondo could see that there was only one pony inside. He sat on a bench in the center of the room, a towel draped around his neck. For the first time since Hondo had met him, he wasn't wearing his hat or his polo. His balding scalp was on display. He slumped forward, the skin under his forelegs pallid and sagging.
And yet… he was here. His back to the window. Very still.
Hondo hesitated by the door. For a moment, he thought that he ought to just slip the bits back under the door and forget it.
Then Braeburn turned around.
He had a strange look in his eyes. Familiar, but not. As if he were trying very hard to see Hondo for the first time and simply couldn't.
Hondo grimaced and waved at Braeburn.
Braeburn's chest hitched, as if he had laughed at that. He waved Hondo inside.
It took Hondo a few tries to get the door open. He wasn't exactly sure why that was, but it certainly didn't calm him down at all.
The weight room was cool. Not quite like a desert night, but it reminded Hondo of the feeling nonetheless. Especially in the dark like this.
"Howdy, Hondo," Braeburn said. "How've you been?"
Hondo swallowed hard. "Uh. That's a tough question, there, coach."
"Yeah, well. One of many, I'd say," Braeburn replied.
Hondo blinked, unsure how to respond.
"Well! No sense sittin' around," Braeburn said, getting to his hooves. "I'll start with some stretches, if you could help me out. My flexibility ain't what it used to be."
Without waiting for an answer, Braeburn lowered himself onto the mat, stretching out his spine as he went. He then rolled into his side and pulled one of his hind legs in towards his chest.
Hondo just watched.
Something in his brain had disconnected-- or perhaps it was Braeburn's mind with a loose wire or two.
Braeburn grunted softly as he gave his leg an extra tug. Hondo heard a joint crack. Then Braeburn released the limb, and began to point it out behind him, as far as he could.
He looked up at Hondo. "Lil help, here?"
Hondo's heart started again. "Oh! Sorry about that, let me just--"
His words were lost as he rushed to the mat beside Braeburn. After a moment's hesitation, he gripped Braeburn's hind leg at the hock and began to gently pull it back. He tested the limits of the joint carefully, gently, and precisely. Like a professional.
"Uh, Hondo?" Braeburn said. "'Member what we said about you usin' your horn more?"
"Oh, shoot!" Hondo released Braeburn's leg, and it sprung back to a neutral position.
Braeburn barked in laughter, pounding his forehoof on the mat once or twice.
Hondo held his hooves over his mouth. He had to press them in deeply to stop from laughing, himself.
"I'm just jokin' around, Hondo," Braeburn said through the echoes of his laughter. "Honest, I am. Boy, you're talkin' this mighty serious."
Hondo began to pull his hooves away from his mouth. "You were just, uh… just pullin' my leg, eh?" he offered softly.
Braeburn looked up at him, a coy smile curling over his face. "Now there's what stallions our age are s'posed to say."
Hondo forced an awkward chuckle. "You betcha."
Braeburn locked eyes with him for a moment. A long one.
Then, before Hondo could find anything more to say, Braeburn rolled to his other side and began to stretch his other hind leg.
"So," he said, a hint of strain evident in his voice. "Tell me about yourself."
Hondo furrowed his brows. "Pardon?"
Braeburn scoffed. "I know you ain't a liar, but you certainly haven't been tellin' me the whole truth," he said. "So I'm givin' you a chance. Tell me about yourself. Uncensored, y'know?"
"Eh…" Hondo scratched at his temple. "Boy. I don't even know where to start."
"Start at the beginning," Braeburn said.
That made it sound so simple.
Braeburn released his leg, and Hondo wasted no time in wrapping a hoof around it to stretch it backwards.
"Well," Hondo said softly, tugging gently at Braeburn's leg, "I'm a little more'n a thousand years old. Stopped keepin' count a while back."
Braeburn's brows leapt up into his mane. "Wow. That's, uh… I thought you were gonna say you were a hundred or so."
Hondo felt a blush blooming on his cheeks. "Uh… no, I'm a tad bit older. Don't remember much more'n the past hundred years, though. Not specifics, anyway."
Braeburn made a face. "Really?"
"'Fraid so," Hondo said. He forced another small, awkward chuckle. "I told ya, coach. I'm a watcher. I don't get myself all involved in things-- never have. Makes it easy for the littler things to slip away."
Braeburn didn't say anything. He had the strangest look in his eyes, like some sense of profound disappointment was growing in his mind.
"But I remember important things," Hondo said hastily. "Big picture stuff. Things I did, ponies I knew. That sorta thing."
"Like where you were born?"
Hondo looked down at Braeburn. Beyond the surface-level fascination bordering on the morbid, there was something genuine in his eyes. An interest that went deeper than the superficial. A need to know about Hondo himself-- not just about his unfortunate condition.
"Well, sure," Hondo said, releasing Braeburn's leg. "I was born up north, near the Crystal Empire. Spent most of my foalhood in a small unicorn village up there… that was back when a lot of places were still kept separated, a'course."
Braeburn rolled up onto his stomach. "So your cutie mark… it's from that long ago?" he asked. "Is that why it's so… I mean, what are those, anyway?"
Hondo looked down at his own flank. He laughed, as if surprised to see that his mark was still there. "Oh, these!" He ran his hoof fondly over the long, pointed shapes. "These are from a much older ball game-- we called it whirlyball. Us unicorns had our very own game that was all about usin' magic, doncha know?"
"Wow…" Braeburn stared at the shapes on his friend's flank. "I've never heard a'that before. Never seen a ball like that, neither."
"Well, distance was the name of the game in whirlyball," Hondo explained, his chest swelling with pride in his expertise on the subject. "That shape helped it sail through the air straighter and further than just about anything else."
Braeburn sort of laughed in disbelief, his eyes still trained on unfamiliar shapes.
Without thinking about it, he reached out to touch one. His hoof grazed Hondo's fur softly and gently enough to cause him to shiver and snap his leg in towards himself.
Braeburn withdrew his hoof and held it to his chest in guilt.
Hondo bit his lip.
"So…" Braeburn cleared his throat. "You were… y'know... all that time ago, huh?"
"Turned." Hondo nodded. "Yessir, I was."
"And… Your wife and daughters?" Braeburn asked. "How did… I mean, when did… well. You know."
Hondo heaved a great sigh. "Oh, y'know. My eldest is about your age, I think. She hasn't spoken to me in a very long time, though." He looked down at his hooves. "I'd bet the farm that both my girls have a bit of… well, that they'll live a good bit longer than their friends."
Braeburn nodded. "Do they know?"
Hondo sniffed once, sharp and unemotional. "No."
"Your wife?"
"Eh… no," Hondo said softly. "I left her a while back. Before she could go gettin' suspicious about things."
Braeburn furrowed his brow.
There was a long moment where neither of the ponies spoke. All that could be heard was the constant humming of the fluorescents and the distant whistling of the custodian as he mopped the floors.
The lights flickered. Total darkness encompassed them, but only for a moment.
"Why tell me, then?" Braeburn asked. "I mean… not your daughters? Not your wife?"
Hondo took a deep breath, then let it out slow. "Hard to say, really. I'm not sure I have a good answer," he said. "Maybe I'm just… I mean, if there's one thing that can show you just how lonely this is, it's trying to settle down, eh?"
He tried to force a smile. It came off as nothing but a pained grimace.
"You wouldn't have picked this, then?" Braeburn asked, softly and down to the floor.
And the implication was clear.
Why give this to me when you yourself wouldn't have taken it?
Hondo looked down at his hooves. "Uh… gee, coach. I dunno." Using his magic, he pulled his hat off his head, and set it on the mat beside him. "Maybe, way back when, I would've. Heck, I know I would have. In a heart beat, I would have.
"But… knowin' what I know…" he continued. "It's lonely. It's goodbyes, and a lot of 'em. More than any decent pony should ever have to see."
"Ain't all goodbyes, though," Braeburn said. "You get more hellos than anypony else, too, doncha?"
Hondo gave a half-hearted shrug. "I s'pose."
"I mean, I feel like I just keep finding new things to fall in love with," Braeburn continued. "My first love was the rodeo. Then it was buckball-- first as a player, and now as a coach. Who knows what new and amazing thing could be out there, just waiting for me to find it?"
Hondo looked over at Braeburn and chuckled. "That sure is an optimistic way of lookin' at it."
Braeburn smirked. "Well, call me crazy, but I think somepony like you is in need of a little optimism now and again."
Hondo chuckled. "Maybe. Maybe."
"And, no offense or nothin', but y'all don't have the monopoly on feelin' lonely," Braeburn continued. "You better believe us mortals can find plenty of time for loneliness. Y'don't have to be old to be alone."
Hondo sighed. "It's different."
"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't," Braeburn said, pushing himself upright. "All I know is… well, these past few weeks are the least lonely I've felt in a good long time."
Hondo's heart skipped a beat.
He glanced over at Braeburn, in just enough time to catch the stallion slipping his forehoof under his chin and tilting it gently upwards. That made his heart skip another beat or two, though it still managed to flush his cheeks with ease.
"I know you're a mite older than I am," Braeburn said softly, a sarcastic sneer curling on his lips, "but I think the both of us are havin' the same midlife crisis, don't you?"
Hondo snorted in some sort of embarrassed laughter. "Oh, boy. I dunno about that."
Braeburn dropped his hoof back down to the mat. "Well, tell me: do you still feel lonely when you're with me?"
Hondo swallowed the knot building in his throat. "No. No, I don't."
Braeburn smiled. It was a lopsided and coltish little thing, mischievous at its core. "Thought so."
Hondo smiled back. His was an older smile, one which curled his mustache up on both sides.
"Now, then," Braeburn said authoritatively, scooting in closer to his companion. "Let's take a look at those pearly whites, shall we?"
"P-pardon?" Hondo edged away. Even so, he cautiously opened his mouth to expose his fangs-- only the tiniest, most necessary amount.
Braeburn leaned in close for inspection.
"Eh… does this mean you wanna--"
But Braeburn didn't wait for Hondo to finish his question.
In one quick motion, clumsy as it was sincere, Braeburn planted a kiss on what was probably the strangest friend he'd ever made. Hondo's mustache tickled his lips in a way he wouldn't have guessed-- his whiskers were soft and fluffy, like the fur on a cat's stomach, not at all the wiry tangle he'd expected.
It was over before Hondo could react, though. He hardly had time to blink.
"I'll need to think it over," Braeburn said simply. "Your offer, that is. But something tells me I'll have plenty of time."
