Hard As Diamond: The First Round

by jmj

Rating: everyone
Tags: Filthy Rich, Diamond Tiara, Alternate Universe, Human, Drama, Original Character, Equestria Girls
Length: 8502

Diamond Tiara is turning into an adult soon and what better way to celebrate than with her first professional fight?

Diamond Tiara has studied boxing for almost a decade and is ready to celebrate her 18th birthday with her professional debut! But trouble in the strawweight division may end her boxing career before it begins. What's a troubled young woman to do if she can't secure a boxing match?

Prequel to Hard As Diamond

Published 2021-08-29 21:20:00 UTC
Last updated 2021-09-14 20:47:20 UTC

At 115 pounds

Diamond Tiara liked running. The rhythmic pounding of her feet upon the asphalt was reliable, steady. It was the only thing in her life that could be counted on. Her feet beat the pavement in tune with the drummer of the Suicidal Foals playing through the earbuds of her cellphone as she left Canterlot High and followed the sidewalks towards Flicker’s Jab Joint. Taking the long route to build cardio, Diamond felt the burn in her calves, thighs, and buttocks as well as her lungs. Sweat dripped in large, rolling beads down her forehead to stain the black athletic top she wore. Pausing at a crosswalk, still jogging in place, she stared intently at the little red symbol of a man with a slash through him.

She was 17, turning into an adult in two months. Already her father, Filthy Rich, had planned a ball at the family mansion in celebration and had invited, not her few, limited friends, but his associates in business and members of the cultural elite. That would have been wonderful had it been what Diamond had wanted but it wasn’t, and, like everything she wanted, it didn’t figure into Filthy’s plans.

A bus rolled silently around the corner and passed Diamond as she waited. On the side was an advert for Rich Enterprise’s newest brand: Rolling Stock. The image of a day laborer tilting back a green bottle with a thumbs up under the words, ‘the working man’s choice of beer’ offended Diamond. The man on the ad was obviously an actor: handsome, well-built, and had never so much as picked up a pickaxe or drill in his life.

Diamond had met him at the commercial shoot and he had been vapid and as ridiculously cautious over his looks that the act of shaking his hand had nearly sent him into a tizzy over Diamond’s chipped, short nails and calloused hands. He was also the son of one of her father’s cronies and was given the commercial role as a favor.

Even worse, the beer was cheaply made in bulk, glass-lined vats in one of their numerous properties by underpaid, uneducated people who were thankful to have a job while her family prospered on the sweat of their labor. She didn’t begrudge her father’s business mind, but he didn’t treat those who worked under him with the dignity they deserved. The bus took the grinning face of the dimwit from her path and the light ticked over to the green man, finally allowing Diamond to cross.

Diamond jogged into downtown Canterlot and away from the main streets where everyone wore business suits or boho fashion that looked cheap but cost hundreds of bits. She found herself in a more tarnished area with burgeoning businesses trammeled into the backstreets by the big chains. The people she passed now wore t-shirts, dirty plaids, and grease lined white undershirts worn as a main article of clothing. They were plain people, working folks, and those who staffed the assembly lines, public facilities, and other day laborers who made families like hers rich. And she sort of hated herself for it.

She had everything. She had never gone without food. Her idea of ‘slumming it’ was wearing brand name pajama pants and reclining in her bedroom which was larger than many of these people’s apartments. She wasn’t one of these people but she couldn’t help but think of the conniving, swindling methods her father and his cronies used to amass their wealth. There was something noble about working for a living that those in her tier could not understand.

Diamond was lost in thought as she turned down another street and neared her destination.

“Hey DiDi! Your old man gonna let you take a fight or what?” Diamond barely heard the call over her earbuds and pulled one out with a smile, hopping on the balls of her feet while pausing at the chain link fence that sectioned off a construction zone. A sign read ‘Rich industries’ on the corrugated fencing. A trio of the workers met her on the other side. They were burly, hairy men wearing hardhats and sweat-stained undershirts with the sleeves cut, or, more likely, ripped off judging from the long tassel-like hunks that waved from the thread line.

“You guys got time to stand around hassling pretty young girls? The foreman won’t like that,” she answered wryly.

“Having a siesta, DiDi. One of many. We gotta wait for the jackhammer boys to break the old concrete floor before we can take it out. Watching girls is a national pastime when you’re waiting,” the one named Rock Pounder answered and grinned. “You shouldn’t worry, though. We only watch the pretty ones,” he jibed.

“Oh, I see. Guess I’m lucky then not to have your ugly mugs staring at me,” she said between breaths as she checked her pulse, not wanting it to drop too much. “What do you want with me today, Rock?” Diamond had become used to their good-natured ribbing. All of them had worked for Rich Industries for years and she passed by this site daily.

The middle aged, graying man named Rock Pounder, remembered her from a visit to a site with her father when she was very small. She had begged, bargained, and bawled to go with her father. He had only given in the one time and had abandoned her with a host of corporate interns acting as babysitters.

She had seen Rock Pounder busting apart stones with a heavy sledge and wandered to him, much to the shock and horror of the babysitters. She had asked him what he was doing and he had been very candid with the small girl. He had even let her try swinging the massive hammer, supporting it and helping her bring it down on a stone a few times before the bravest of the babysitters took her away. She hadn’t forgotten and neither had he. This construction site had been up for three months and he had flagged her down on the very first day as she jogged past.

“So, seriously, I keep hearing you’re aiming to fight someone for real. Not those goofy amateur matches with the headgear and big old couch cushion mitts. Is that for real?” Rock Pounder asked.

“Yeah… if I can find somebody. Pretty hard right now,” Diamond answered, a slight tinge in her voice.

“Nobody wants to fight Filthy’s kid,” one of the other two stated and Diamond bit her cheek. She knew it was true. Even if her dad didn’t know what she was doing with her time, (he didn’t care enough to ask as long as she stayed out of his hair) he’d find out very quickly if she came home busted up from a fight. It could be bad for the person who did it. Filthy had a lot of partners, a lot of power, and a lot of strings he could pull.

“Yeah, well… we all have problems, I guess,” Diamond stated.

“Yeah. I'd rather have yours,” the other pony said. “Being a Rich and not having people want to punch you in the face ain’t too bad. My wife’s stepping out on me.”

“That’s a pretty bad one, for sure,” Diamond’s heart rate was dropping. She needed to wrap this up.

“I heard you have a good right hand. You wouldn’t beat her up for me would you?” he asked and Diamond chuckled to herself.

“She a boxer?”

“No. That’s the point.”

“Probably can’t get it sanctioned. Sorry. You guys go back to work and stop making money doing nothing,” Diamond said, picking her knees up a little higher, feeling her quadriceps light up.

Rock Pounder grinned and motioned to the Rich Industries sign. “We’re working for your old man, DiDi.”

“Oh, you’re right! Back to your siesta then,” she smirked and began jogging again.

It wasn’t long before she stood before Flicker’s Jab Joint. It was once a warehouse but had been climate controlled to keep whatever had been inside stored at certain temperatures. Flicker Jab, the owner of the Joint, had bought the place long after it’s primary purpose had expired but the building was still in tolerable condition. The huge AC had been sold and Flicker installed numerous fans hanging from the steel support beams ahead. They did a poor job of cooling the place, but heat was good for training.

The Joint had started off as a boxing gym, Flicker jab being a boxer too old to tangle with young men anymore. But, with all the extra space and the slow increase in interest of mixed martial arts, Flick had allowed other combat sports retirees to come in and offer classes. Little by little, Flicker Jab’s business molded into a mixed martial arts gym.

Most of the gym’s members were taking various lessons as a means to stay in shape, others were there to learn a form of self defense, and some were there to make a career. Regardless of their reasons, Flicker Jab tried to spend time with each of them and aid in their learning of certain striking techniques. The other coaches stepped in as well, creating a safe space for learning and ensuring the lessons they taught were conducted correctly. Diamond Tiara had been taking boxing lessons with Flick since she was 8.

Stemming from the denial to take karate lessons with her friend Silver Spoon, Diamond had made a scene that her father didn’t know how to deal with. He had allowed her to take any lady-like class she wanted. Diamond, even at that age, knew her father would never actually check into what lessons she took. She had already taken ballet, ballroom dancing, and a variety of other courses to which Filthy had never been. He was always too busy to come to recitals, too busy for anything that she had an interest in. Pettiness wasn’t cute but Diamond could be full of it when backed into a corner. And so, blackmailing her various nannies over the years, had kept her boxing classes a secret.

Soon, though. Soon she would tell her father what she was doing because she would be too old for him to deny her.

The stale smell of sweat and the pulsing, pounding of bags and mitts greeted her as she took the buds out, put them in their case, and entered the building. She had a spot in the long row of old, paint-chipped lockers. A piece of masking tape with ‘Diamond’ written on it in black sharpie marked one as hers. She placed the earbud case inside as well as a small backpack containing her school clothes and dainty, tiny purse. Inside were her training gloves. The walls of her locker had pictures of boxing champions of the past: Rainy Clouds, Flak Ores, and the first female champion Mariachi Masquerade.

Diamond slid the worn purple gloves onto her hands and paused to touch the image of Mariachi. She had come from Cloudsdale, a relative nobody in the sweet science. She had ties to Thundercloud Incorporated, a well known conglomerate and critics had laughed at her, saying she was a rich girl just playing boxer. And yet, she had taken to fighting like a duck to water when the first female weight class emerged in boxing.

Attendance had been low. The perception that boxing was a male sport had prevailed in Mariachi’s day and the women’s division was lauded as a circus. Mariachi had erupted onto the scene of the lightweight division. At 155 pounds, she had been a thunderstorm of furious flurries with impacts as loud as thunder and just as devastating. Little by little, fans were attracted to the female powerhouse out of Cloudsdale. By the time she fought for the first title, attendance had grown from a few dozen to several thousand. By the end of her career, eight years later and her 12th title defense, she had filled the largest stadium in Cloudsdale. 150,000 people crowded into the Cloudsdale Bay Arena to watch two talented women exhibit their boxing skills.

Because of Mariachi Masquerade there were now five women’s divisions in boxing. Diamond had enormous respect for Mariachi and had watched all of her fights on EweTube. She had wanted to become her, to make her own way in the world despite what others thought, unafraid of being who she was.

Diamond shut her locker and made her way to one of several empty heavy bags. She practiced her footwork, stepping around and into punches as the bag weaved and rolled. Most people outside of the sport thought heavy bags were there to work one’s punches, but it also trained movement. Diamond rolled around the bag, stepping away and placing her feet in familiar patterns, rhythms that let her body put more into each strike. A punch might land with the fist but it was a full body motion. Hips, legs, core, shoulder, and arm all came into play and transferred power into the blow. Diamond understood from years of practice that a strike began with the feet and she danced around the swaying bag, rolling away from it, dodging the imaginary strikes coming at her and countering with vicious combinations.

She had been working the bag for nearly an hour when Flicker Jab made his way to her. Diamond didn’t stop. Practice made perfect, continuing her movements, landing blow after blow and moving away from bag as it came back at her, getting angles on it and retaliating.

“Your elbow is too low when you throw the left body hook, Diamond. Raise it up to keep the transference of strength,” Flicker Jab called out and nodded as Diamond responded without question and sunk a left low punch into the bag. Flicker Jab knew more about boxing than anyone in Canterlot but had never been able to use his knowledge in the ring to any degree of success.

At middleweight, the once-large man had never been ranked in Equestria. He had fought 70 professional bouts, losing almost as many as he had won and had never broken into the top fifteen where a number was placed beside your name. But, the best trainers had never been ranked.

Flick, his gray hair and grizzled five-o-clock shadow shimmered under the yellow light as he hovered near Diamond and watched carefully, pointing out minor inefficacies or inefficiencies. Diamond heeded his words well and followed. In training, she didn’t question his advice. In other things, she could be quite stubborn.

“I’m ready, Flick. Get me a fight. A real one, not another amateur match. I turn 18 in a couple months and I mean to celebrate it by turning pro in the same month.” Diamond lifted her head, resting one hand on the bag and staring her cold, blue eyes into the man.

“Diamond, things haven’t changed. As an amateur, you have done well. 4 wins, 1 loss. That’s not bad at all. Why not take another fight there? Get some more experience before going pro?” Flick skated the question. He took the heavy bag in hand, moving behind it and holding it for her to strike. “Old fashioned 1-2, Diamond.”

Diamond lashed out with a left jab, right straight combination. The bag barely moved as Flick, not nearly the 185 pound man he once was, but still a healthy, strong person pressed against it. “Good. Body, body, right hook to the head.”

Once more Diamond followed instructions, slamming her fists into two body blows and coming up and around with a wide, arcing hook to end the combination. There were pep to her strikes that wasn’t usually there. She was letting off steam and Flick understood she was frustrated.

“It’s because of my name, isn’t it, Flick? Nobody will fight me. They are afraid of Daddy if I get hurt.” Accusation dripped from her words but they were also tinged with sadness. “He’s holding me back. Everyone’s afraid of him but me.”

Flicker Jab swallowed and barked out another combination to which Diamond slammed her fists into the bag hard enough to buck the older man back. He grumbled, “Keep control. Don’t waste energy on big shots. You’ll only wear yourself out.”

“What’s it matter? I’m not going to get to test them out anyway,” Diamond retorted.

“You could break your hands and not be able to throw a punch even in training for six months,” Flick warned his student. She stepped back wide into a karate stance and came forward, chambering a head kick before letting it crash against the bag. It landed heavily, far heavier than either of her fists. She snarled as it landed and Flick glowered at the young woman.

“What was that, Diamond? A head kick? Where credit is due, it was good form, but I’m not the Muay Thai coach here. I want to see some boxing. If you want to throw kicks, go talk to someone else.”

Instantly, Diamond apologized. “Sorry, Flick. I’m tired of being Filthy Rich’s daughter. I’ve come here for almost a decade and I’ve trained with almost everyone in the gym. I love boxing and want a fight. I’ve watched other people go pro at 18 so I know I can too. It’s all because of who I am, isn’t it?” Diamond stepped back from the bag, her eyes were sharp. They weren’t sad or self pitying but angry and hungry for what she had earned. Flick nodded and released the bag.

“Come on, Diamond. Let’s go talk in my office.” Flick turned and Diamond followed shortly after. Whatever he had to say was personal and didn’t need to be heard by others. Diamond had only been in his office once before and he had chewed her out for hitting another student when she was younger. She had cut the boy over the eye and it had needed stitches. Flick had protected her from the complaints of the boy’s parents but he had broken her down in his office to the point that she had never thrown another strike at anyone in the gym.

Flick’s office was cramped and filled with memories. Pictures, autographs, worn gloves adorned the old, wood paneling. It smelled musty like something brought out of storage. A poster of a much younger Flicker Jab headlining a fight card in Manehattan against ‘Rumblin’ Grove Green hung behind the desk. He had lost that fight but it had been close and went to decision, Diamond knew. She had found the fight in grainy footage online. It had been his only main event.

Flicker Jab sat back into a squeaky old chair that threatened to fall apart, motioning for Diamond to sit in a worn, threadbare chair on the other side of the coffee-stained desk. She took a seat, half expecting to be chewed out.

“Diamond, listen. You’re partially right. I have no doubt you can pass the exam to become a pro in this sport and you have a lot of skill. You’re probably the best boxer out of anyone in this gym, men included. Your fundamentals are rock solid, your technique isn’t perfect but it’s very good, and I know you have the drive to go out there and give everything you have.” Flick leaned over his desk, talking as if he would to a child. Not from lack of respect, but because he wanted to be as clear as possible.

“So what’s the problem? Are you afraid of Daddy, too?” Diamond wasn’t accusatory or goading in any way. Her words were genuinely questioning.

“No, Diamond. If I was afraid of your old man, I would never have taken you on as a student. I knew there was a risk but I also saw potential in you beyond just exercising. You have slick motions, always have. And you can be stubborn, obviously. That’s not a bad thing. In fact, in a fighter, that’s good.”

“Then, why?” Diamond asked softly.

“You never really grew like I thought you would. There’s barely enough fighters at 115 pounds in women's boxing and the ones I’ve approached don’t want to fight Filthy Rich’s daughter.” Flick was straight with Diamond.

“But I weigh 123! I could gain a couple pounds and come in at the flyweight maximum pretty easily. There’s a ton of women in the flyweight division!” Diamond sensed something was wrong with her logic. Flick would have already looked into a division change.

“Diamond, you just aren’t big enough to fight at flyweight. Those girls will have five or six inches of height on you, a couple inches of reach, and walk around in the 130’s or 40’s. Maybe you could win. I’ve known you a long time, enough to know that you aren’t a quitter. But, you’ll get hurt in that division.” Flick knew what was coming next and when Diamond started to speak, he shut it down with a bare-handed slap on his desk. “You don’t have the power, Diamond! You have technique, more than anyone I’ve ever trained! At strawweight you have enough strength to stun people with your combinations. Power isn’t everything and you make up for lack of one punch power with speed and your ability to see openings, stringing strikes together. But that’s only at 115!”

Diamond was quiet, introspective. Flick feared she may cry but Diamond just stared back at him, eyes like buzz saws. “I’ve fought at 125 in an amateur fight, Flick!”

“And what happened?” Flick was realistic, wanting to drive the point into Diamond’s thick skull. He hated conversations like this but they came up occasionally. Some talented fighters never got the chance to do more than train and he feared Diamond was one of them through no fault of her own. It was genetics, bad luck, and a powerful, possibly vengeful father.

Diamond shifted uncomfortably in the squeaking chair. “I got knocked out in the second round.” She hated admitting she had been sent to the shadow round with one clean shot. It had haunted her for a time after the fight.

“And that was with headgear, sweetheart. It left no cuts, didn’t damage your eyes, or break your nose because it was an amateur match and you wore thick headgear to protect you from the very real damage that you would have taken had it been a professional fight.” Flick sighed and shook his head. “I know it’s hard, Diamond. But you will get hurt at 125. You’re a natural strawweight and, at least for now, you aren’t going to be able to get a professional fight.”

Diamond sat very still, thinking about her situation. She was angry but not at Flick. He was doing right by her, just as he always had. He was protecting her from herself and from what the larger women could do to her. She, not for the first time in her life, begrudged her family. For as much as they gave, they took away. And what they gave, she sometimes didn’t want. “So what do I do, Flick?”

“Keep developing your skills. Sometime in the future we can work on getting you a professional bout. Until then, we can always make an amateur match.”

Diamond nodded and stood from the chair, her eyes to the floor as she fought with her emotions.

“You want to hit the mitts, kid?” Flicker Jab asked, recognizing Diamond needed to release tension. Her shoulders were tight and twitching.

“No. I think I’ll just head out for the day, Flick.” Diamond responded. Her words were strong, not broken or depressed. Disappointed, but rigid with fire and iron. Diamond just needed time to process.

“Take the day off, Diamond. Maybe a couple. Come back when you are ready to hit the bag again.” Flick stood and followed Diamond from the office. He worried for her future. The 115 division was doing poorly. Most women boxers were at least 125 pounds and there wasn’t even a top fifteen at strawweight, only a top ten with four or five novices floating around. All of which he had gotten in contact with about a boxing match and had been rebuked. He hoped more women would join the division but in the last few years, it had only shrunk. He watched the Rich girl collect her things, strap the pack on and step out the door.

Diamond Tiara liked running. The rhythmic pounding of her feet upon the asphalt was reliable, steady. It was the only thing in her life that could be counted on. Her feet beat the pavement in tune with the drummer of the Suicidal Foals playing through the earbuds of her cellphone. Diamond cursed her name and took the long way to Canterlot Heights where the mansion her family owned loomed and controlled every facet of her life. The Rich Family mansion was what many yearned to have, wished for, dedicated their lives to never be able to afford. But to Diamond Tiara, it was a beautifully constructed, 13,000 square foot prison.

Author's Note

Oh boy! Here we go! Another Diamond Tiara mma story. I loved writing the first one with Diamond in the middle of her career. Now it's time to look at how it started. There will be a few inconsistencies with the other story around the number of amateur matches but I think this story explains it a little better.

From Canterlot, Equestria

Diamond had wanted to run when Fleberwitz, her father’s personal butler, waited for her as she descended the large, curling staircase of the Rich family mansion. He was a pompous man, his nose pointed perpetually towards the ceiling and he was forced to look down the thin, blade-like bridge to address someone standing before him. He waited at the bottom where his gray, cold eyes could rest in a more natural angle following her with his hands behind him, his narrow chest sticking out of the pressed, black suit he wore.

“Miss Diamond, your father has expressed his desire for me to accompany you to La Gaala. It is urgent that you select a dress for your 18th birthday event.” He was matter-of-fact, straight-laced, and very direct. There wasn’t a fun bone in his body. Diamond thought Fleberwitz’s idea of a good time was ironing perfect creases in his socks.

“I’m busy today, Fleberwitz,” Diamond attempted to pass the tall, older gentleman but his speed was uncanny and he blocked her path in a motion so quick and fluid that Diamond could barely register it.

“It was your father’s request that I, personally, attend to the matter.” A small, pencil-thin mustache twitched beneath the hummingbird nose. Diamond paused. She really didn’t feel like dealing with this today. She wanted to jog, to clear her head of the disappointment she felt from the day before. What she wanted the least was to try on dresses that cost nearly as much as tuition at the prestigious Canterlot University. She didn’t want a ball of unknown people showing off their cash for her 18th birthday; she wanted a fight. But, she never got what she really wanted. Only what was expected of her.

Diamond attempted to sidestep the old codger but the man was unbelievably spry for his age. She knew that it would be better to just get it over with.

“Okay, okay, you old weasel. Let me go for my morning jog and we’ll spend the rest of the day doing whatever Daddy wants.” Compromise. Surely the arrow-like butler could understand that. Diamond slumped when Fleberwitz’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I’m sorry, Miss Diamond. Your father was very strict in his wishes.” His beady eyes looked in disdain at the tight exercise wear that Diamond sported. There were tiny holes here and there, giving them a well used, punkish look. She also wore a loose cut off top with ‘street princess’, the name of a local band, printed across it. “Would you like to change into something befitting a member of the Rich family or would visiting an establishment as elegant as La Gaala in the attire of a common fille de joie better suit you?”

Diamond grunted at the insult. It was an awfully tasteful way to say she was dressed as a whore. Her lip pouted forward and she glared at the skinny man hard enough to wither most servants. None would dare speak to her in such a manner. None but him, and, worst of all, he knew he could. His word was that of her father’s and even she couldn’t contest it.

“It will take a while to get ready, Fleberwitz. Bring the car around like a good servant.” She wanted to put him in his place, to make him feel small for doing so to her. It was a cheap, unlikeable tactic but she had very few options.

“I will inform the chauffeur, Miss Diamond.” Fleberwitz had been in this position for a long, long time and had served in other households before his tenure with the Rich family. Snarky slips of the tongue were less than nothing to him. Diamond turned, blood rushing to her face, and began the ascent up the stairs. “Oh, and spare us both the drama of having me wait below your window for your inevitable escape attempt. It will serve only to make the day longer and more tedious for the both of us.”

Diamond snarled, stomping back to her room. That old weasel was far too sharp for his own good. She couldn’t even have her own thoughts in this blasted place!

Diamond found something in her walk-in closet that was just presentable enough. She imagined Fleberwitz before her and fell into her stance, snapping a lead jab, right straight, commonly referred to as a one-two, directly into his needle nose. She followed it with a left shovel hook, right straight that would have sent the man falling into the void of unconsciousness. She’d never actually hit him, but she would shadow box his imaginary nose crooked. Throwing the lilac dress out of the room, she followed angrily.

Petulant. She was being petulant. Just like a spoiled child. That wasn’t her. That...wasn’t who she wanted to be. Diamond closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Rhythmic, controlled.

Her stance came naturally, hands up to guard her head from incoming blows, body turned to the side, feet facing the direction of her chest. In. Out. This was how they got to her. They could control her anytime they wanted and there was nothing she could do about it. How she had kept her secret lessons a mystery for so long was uncanny. It was all she had, her one piece of individuality and rebellion. Her feet moved, guiding her hands.

“Work the jab. All things come from the jab,” Diamond said under her breath, tossing a single, quick strike and then a double pumping lead. She imagined fighting a taller opponent, lifting her punches upward, aiming for the chin. A cross followed, meeting the high mark. She followed it with a liver collapsing body shot and another right, low this time, working the ribs. Her feet moved with her, bringing her forward and to the side at angles to slip the counterpunch and set up a retaliatory blow. She could see the strikes coming back at her in her mind’s eye, missing their mark by the barest of margins, the wind from the glove slashing at her cheeks as she rolled and moved with the punches.

“Roll with them, Diamond. Roll with the punches. They can’t touch you. They. Can’t. Touch. You.” Diamond spoke to herself, calming her furious mind. In. Out. She couldn’t let them get to her or she had already lost. She wasn’t the bratty rich kid anymore. She was a woman with her own thoughts, her own wants, and her own personality. She had to defend who she was even if it meant letting them pressure her. Letting them control the fight. The illusion of control brought with it many openings if one knew where to look.

Diamond once more descended the stairs, the lilac dress accented with shining pearls around her neck and wrist. A small, black purse hung from her shoulder around her waist. She stepped with honor and pride. Fleberwitz nodded his approval and presented the door to the young lady, issuing a short bow. “This way, Miss Diamond. And what a radiant young lady you are when you embrace your heritage.”

“Thank you, Fleberwitz. I apologize for my appearance earlier. I do forget myself at times.” Diamond tasted bile in the back of her throat but dismissed it, controlling it, as she stepped to the long black automobile. The chauffeur had waxed it that morning just for her and it shined in the morning light. There would be no mistake that the lady inside was a Rich. She thanked the servant for holding the door for her and slid into the burgundy leather of the limousine’s rear interior. Fleberwitz took the front seat beside the driver, leaving Diamond alone in the back. The privacy window that separated the driver from the back was up and Diamond sighed as she slumped into the seat.

Diamond bit the inside of her lip so hard that she tasted blood as the car pulled away, following the ornately decorated path around the fountain and out of the main gate. Staring out the window, she watched the world pass her by. Soon she would legally be an adult. Soon she would be the master of her own destiny.

Or, at least, have a say in it.

La Gaala was highly recommended by the upper class and the Madame who owned the establishment was the wife of …. someone her father knew. Of course, she was. Some rich old hen peddling fabulous dresses at incredibly high prices to the daughters of her husband’s friends. It was a racket, just like everything else her father and his cronies did. Old money kept new money from becoming anything more than lucky. No other dress business in Canterlot could compete with La Gaala and those that tried failed miserably. The clientele for such a business were all family of the boys club her father was a member of and they washed each other's hands in cold, hard cash. Diamond had always hated places like La Gaala. Where rich people did favors for one another under the guise of enterprise. It took monumental effort not to sneer as she stepped from the limousine, the eyes of the public watching in envy as she did, towards the shop.

They thought she thought she was better than them. She had to play the part but felt embarrassed as Fleberwitz warded her, keeping the passing people a few feet away as they looked the fancy girl or the limousine over.

La Gaala wasn’t open to the public, to the poor, or even the middle class. One made reservations to visit such a high class establishment and even that cost a great deal of money. Fleberwitz rang the buzzer to signal they had arrived.

The door buzzed and a strong lock clacked inside the frame. Fleberwitz pulled the antique bronze handle for Diamond. Closing the door behind her, he returned to the limousine. Servants, even those as respected and powerful as he, were not allowed in La Gaala. It was a personal experience for each young lady and the matron of the shop tenaciously protected the sanctity of a visit. The windows were tinted so dark that passersby on the street could not see inside despite how they might try.

Diamond, in her long, tight dress stepped through rows of fabrics and exquisitely dressed mannequins. Each one wore clothing that would be right at home in the bougiest of mansions and cost in the tens of thousands of bits. There was nothing as tacky as racks in La Gaala. Each garment had its own mannequin or its own spot on the ivory-colored walls. Diamond couldn’t help but feel appalled at the extravagance people like her sought. The material, as fine and wonderful as it was, couldn’t have cost more than one hundred bits and yet they would spend ridiculous amounts of money on them for one event.

“Diamond Tiara, how nice to see you again, my dear,” the matron of la Gaala welcomed her from betwixt rows of colored fabrics. She was tall and thin, older than Diamond’s mother but twice as preserved. That was the word. Preserved. Face lifts, tummy tucks, and injections of line reducing chemicals preserved one’s appearance more than enhanced it. Her lavenderish skin showed no signs of surgery, meaning she only saw the most qualified, recommended cosmetic surgeons. Her skin tone was similar to Diamond’s and she saw what she may look like in 40 years if she embraced the life her father planned for her.

“It is a pleasure, as always, Lady…” Diamond had forgotten her name! What a horrible faux pas. Word would get back to Daddy and he would send Flerberwitz to correct her or, for such an embarrassment, even take time from his precious business to do so himself.

“Vicuna. Vicuna Lux, my dear,” she corrected. If she had taken offense, Diamond couldn’t tell but that was the act, wasn’t it?

“My apologies, Lady Vicuna. It has been too long since my last foray into your establishment.” Diamond curtsied, a sign of deferment and respect. Hopefully that would make up for her forgetfulness. Vicuna’s smile was as fake as her forehead.

“Yes, indeed it has. Shall we dispense with the pleasantries and cut, as they say, to the chase? Someone is having their 18th birthday and such a once-in-a-lifetime event demands a once-in-a-lifetime ensemble.” Vicuna was already selling Diamond on something insanely expensive.

“I suppose so, Lady Vicuna. Do you have any suggestions?” Diamond didn’t care. If she had her drothers, she would wear an oversized t-shirt, panties with green stripes, and eat ice cream in bed rather than an overpriced dress consorting with all the other rich, entitled brats that would attend her party. Her tone must have slipped because Vicuna’s head tilted, twitched momentarily as if Diamond had said a curse word.

“I see. Well, given your skin tone, I think a silvery teal would look absolutely breathtaking on you. I would know, I see much of myself in you, Diamond,” the owner said, turning to a wall of fabrics and selecting three bolts that, as far as Diamond could tell, were the same color. She approached Diamond, asking her to have a seat on a posh, luxurious bench, and stretched each bolt before her, laying them on a rolling table so as not to touch the thick, fancy carpet.

Diamond feigned interest as the dress designer explained differences between the colors and materials. Diamond couldn't help but think of how funny a boxing glove made of this material would be. A small smirk appeared on her face.

“Oh, Diamond. You like the lotus flower silk? That’s my personal favorite.” Vicuna admired the fabric and smiled.

“Yes. It is… vivacious and beautiful. What a wonderful texture it has as well.” Diamond’s answer was as forced as Vicuna’s smile. Again, the shop owner twitched and Diamond began to wonder if it was a side effect of the chemicals injected into her face. She had heard from some other snobby girl that Botox was known to trigger strange spasms in some people.

Taking the fabric, Vicuna Lux walked behind the counter, writing a small tag and placing it with the fabric. She returned, beckoning Diamond. “Now, let’s find a design that suits you. We have many on display and, if you don’t like those, a book of my own designs. For your birthday, you should feel like a princess. Here we have…”

Vicuna led Diamond down a gallery of dresses. Each one was beautiful, one of a kind, and exquisitely made. Diamond paused at one, looking up and wondering how many families it would feed. Vicuna almost purred, “This is one of my favorites, Diamond. Of course, ladies your age typically want to show a little more skin than this. It is dated but it’s hard to forget the classics. That being said, I don’t think it would suit you. Let me show you this design that another young lady fell absolutely in love…”

Diamond felt like crying. She didn’t want a dress. She wanted to be allowed to do what she wanted. And that was fight. Her expression drooped unknowingly and Vicuna turned back, seeing the young girl.

“Of course, if you really like this one, I’m sure we can modify it to … to…” the designer stopped speaking and Diamond looked at her, lips turning up in a gentle, lying grin. Vicuna sighed and stopped her pitch, staring into Diamond’s soul. “You don’t want to be here, do you, Diamond Tiara?”

Diamond froze, she began to say something and stuttered. It wasn’t polite to pay so little attention and Filthy would surely find out if Vicuna took offense. People paid just to be here and Diamond was not only squandering her time but doing so with disregard to the owner. There was an act she had to follow out of respect. It was never allowed to appear disinterested or aloof in such company as Vicuna Lux. She would earn a bad reputation and that meant embarrassing her father. Something he would not tolerate.

“What do you want, Diamond?” Vicuna’s voice was soothing, understanding. It was not what Diamond had expected. It broke her façade and she shook her head gently.

“I just want to be an adult and make my own decisions. Not what my father wants of me. Not balls, not fancy dresses, not playing a princess in front of his friends.” Diamond was candid, it was unheard of to be so openly disobedient and dismissive of the lifestyle she had been born into. Vicuna surely would be furious with her. Diamond’s blue eyes found the gold of the shop owner’s and saw a soft, real smile on her lips.

“Can we be open, Diamond? Would you like that?” Vicuna asked.

“Very much,” Diamond answered, confused by the demeanor Vicuna exhibited.

“I hate working with snotty girls looking to spend as much money as possible out of their father’s wallets. It’s always the most expensive, least comfortable garment I can make. And the colors, my word, the hideous colors they choose: pink and red, gold and blue, orange! Oh my goodness, orange has never been acceptable except in flannel and, of course, I don’t have any of that here. Much too comfortable and cheap for these spoiled kids.” Vicuna plopped down in a seat before Diamond. It was an unladylike move and Diamond turned her head to the side a little, a small grin appearing on her lips. “But, do you want to know a secret? I wear flannel pajamas to bed. Every. Single. Night.”

“Really?” Diamond asked. It was so strange to see someone as respected as Vicuna Lux so openly discuss such topics.

“Every night, dear. You have to be who you are sometimes. My husband hates it, but who cares what he thinks? It’s my body and my comfort,” Vicuna stated, defying the unsaid laws of their class. She motioned for Diamond to sit.

“It’s… hard to be yourself with my father. I’d rather not go to the ball. There’s other things I think would be a lot more fun and it’s my special day, not his.” Diamond watched the older lady, searching her features and seeing her as who she really was. Not what she had to be.

“Tell me about it, dear. I didn’t want to go to my ball either but my father, rest his soul, saw it as a time honored tradition. So, who am I to trample upon such a thing? I went. I hated it. And the following day I ate so much mint ice cream that I made myself sick. It used to be my favorite but I can’t stomach a bite since that day.” Vicuna said.

“Was there anything good about your birthday ball or is it as awful as I think it’s going to be?” Diamond asked.

“Well, I met my husband there. I don’t know if that is good or not. He, after many arguments, allowed me to open this store. I’ve always loved designing clothing. Not stuff like this, just normal things. I wanted to see my designs walking down any city street in Equestria. But, compromises must be met, I guess.” Vicuna popped a cigarette from seemingly nowhere and lit it. She took a deep drawl and shook her head as the smoke rolled from her nose.

“Did you make your own dress?” Diamond asked, listening intently.

“Heavens no. Though, I did want to. It would have been something spectacular. Something so unique,” the designer grinned, lost in her own thoughts. ”It was basically a tube top with frills and lace and a mini skirt. My father would have hanged me.” She chuckled gently. “But, I did make a hairbow for myself. It was cheap and shiny. It looked like a rose made from aluminum foil. Reflective surfaces were all the rage those days and I wanted to be different from all the other girls. After all, as you said, it was my special day. I wasn’t allowed to leave the house for a week because of that hairbow. But, it was worth it.”

“I think your dress would have been nice, Vicuna. You should be yourself,” Diamond said, watching the older woman smoke.

“Tradition is tradition, Diamond. My generation embraced it. Yours, I think, is more open to change. Individuality is tolerated a little more. And, I’m a woman owning a business. I work. My husband and I are very wealthy and yet I stitch every dress by hand against my husband’s wishes. It may be minor, but I get to design and create works of art here. Even if they aren’t what I thought I would make in my youth, it lets me be free in my own little way.” Vicuna crushed the cigarette and smiled sweetly. “Now, let’s talk about your dress. Lotus flower silk sounds wonderful but it chafes something awful. And silvery green? Please, that’s so what my husband would pick and he doesn’t know teal from chartreuse.”

Diamond chuckled to herself. “What would you really suggest, Vicuna?”

“Flannels. Top to bottom. Purple and black to match your wonderful complexion. But good luck getting that by your father,” Vicuna smirked.

“I do like the purple and black. What fabric since the flannel is out?” Diamond asked. She had no idea someone like Vicuna could be so down to earth. She felt a sadness for her. Times were different. Other women had made changes little by little for Diamond Tiara. People like Vicuna had been trapped. Their dreams stolen or imprisoned behind a wall of expectations.

“Oh, honey. Let me tell you about this linen over here. I can make the most comfortable dress you have ever had in your life and it’s virtually indistinguishable from cashmere. Nobody will know the difference but you and I.”

Diamond was led by Vicuna, whole secrets of the trade were revealed to her and Diamond felt closer to the woman than she thought she ever would. She looked at designs from Vicuna’s book. There were many wild, interesting ones that Diamond had never seen before. Each more unique than the next. They chatted, Vicuna explaining which ones would look good on Diamond and which ones wouldn’t. Time flew and soon Vicuna began checking her watch.

“I have another appointment soon, dear. How about you take this book and find something you like. You’ve got plenty of time to make a decision but I will need a week to put the dress together. Call me when you have made a decision.” Vicuna sighed, she looked as if she didn’t want to meet whoever was coming in next. Diamond nodded and took the book.

“Thanks, Vicuna. I think this will be a lot better because of you,” Diamond admitted.

“I just want you to cherish the dress and not throw it away because your father made you wear it. It’s important that your transition into adulthood be a fond memory.” Vicuna crushed another cigarette and began waving away the smoke, fetching a can of spray to cover the stench. Diamond headed towards the exit, touching the knob. Vicuna was close behind, seeing her out. Diamond paused, looking back to the shop owner.

“What if I ask for something special? My own personal version of your hairbow?”

“Well, every lady must have something special, Diamond. I’d be happy to include something to help you stand out,” Vicuna smirked.

“Thanks. I’ll figure something out,” Diamond pulled the door open, exiting to the street where Fleberwitz stood waiting and the chauffeur held the car door. Once more Diamond stepped with pride, holding her head high in the play she never wanted to be a part of.

From nowhere a man appeared, pushing a paper into Diamond’s hand. He held a stack of them and was chattering quickly, “Come see the big event, miss! Tell your friends! A mixed martial arts event like you’ve never witnessed on the local scene! Just two months away! Keep the flyer and get ten percent off the ticket price”

Fleberwitz was quick to push the man away, citing a call to local police for blatant harassment and assault. The man argued with him, pulling a knit cap from his head and waving it in Fleberwitz's face. Still, the butler had his way and the man bounded away, still barking about the big event and handing out flyers to people, interested or not. Diamond stuffed the flyer into a tiny purse accessory she wore before Fleberwitz could detach himself from the man.

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Miss Diamond. Trash like that litters the streets these days. Even those of your stature must endure their low class idiocy,” the butler declared and stood guard as Diamond slipped into the back seat of the limousine. She watched the butler and chauffeur get into the front but the privacy window was still up and she pulled the handout from her purse.

It was crumpled but still legible. “Cantercrase MMA presents Cantercrase 115. Fury Vs. ‘Rampaging’ Rex Tarnish. Five unbelievable bouts of high level mixed martial arts. Main card begins at noon. Prelims to be announced.” Diamond gasped. The event was taking place on her birthday. Prelims to be announced, that meant the fight card hadn’t been finalized.

Diamond didn’t feel the rumble of the car. She didn’t think about the designs in Vicuna’s book. Nothing mattered to her but that date. If she acted fast…

Even if it wasn’t boxing, maybe there was still a way she could fight on her birthday.