Chapter 2: A Badge To Remember
A/N: Only the first chapter is first-person. I find it gets old real fast.
XXX
Zack bent down and touched his toes, holding the position for a mental count of five before standing again. Sighing, he shook his arms out to the side, bouncing on his bare feet, trying to limber himself up as quickly as possible. It wouldn't do himself justice to go into that last bout without at least seeming like he tried his hardest.
Settling down, he walked towards the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the break room and stared at himself. Dressed in a martial arts gi, Zack was the very definition of lanky with a—in his opinion—handsome face and dark-green pupils. He was never one to grow much body hair but rather liked the bit of stubble showing over his chin; it was a testament that he was really fifteen, finally getting up there in age.
His hair was neck-length and pulled back into a small horsetail. And colored silver. Zack hadn't been born with it—his roots were dark brown—but the seniors thought it funny to dye his hair for him. He didn't remember much about the incident as he'd been drugged during the proceedings but he distinctly recalled a toilet and permanent hair dye. Many suggested he cut it but Zack wasn't ready to make that move yet.
Why the supposedly 'fun' prank, or however the seniors explained it to the principle? Because Zack was a brony. Not that he flaunted it around like some of those other annoying fans of the show did, but he did carry around a black and white Rainbow Dash pin on the right sleeve of his school uniforms. Apparently, that was enough of a reason for him to be ridiculed and he went through the same motions day in and day out, adamantly refusing to quit wearing his pin.
He was not the only brony in his school—the fandom was too big for that—but he was the only one who was publicly known. The other so called 'bronies' hid themselves in amongst the haters, openly berating Zack whenever the moment seemed appropriate, doing anything they could to take the pressure off of themselves. Not really caring, Zack couldn't blame those cowards for 'hiding their power levels' or whatever the fuck the internet called it.
Who would really want to be ridiculed on the daily for enjoying what made them happy?
While most of the hate came verbally—the usual "you're a faggot" defense—a good majority tried putting their hands on him. For a time, that worked and Zack held daily meetings with the floor, lockers, walls, tables—it seemed every hard piece of stationary wanted to have a little word with him. After all that it came as a surprise when someone finally tried to rip off his pin only to be put into a submission hold that cracked their arm at the femur.
Given the reason behind it, Zack only suffered a week's suspension but when he returned to school no one felt much like bothering him anymore, least of all placing their hands on him. The news that he was adept in the ways of Wing Chun hadn't been something that Zack tried to hide but when he came back, he was shocked to find the entire school knowledgable of his other hobby. The physical threats widdled away into the usual sneers and insults.
"Oh, snap...almost forgot." Going back to his blue rucksack on the bench, he rustled through it for a moment before pulling out his emblem of standing, that same Rainbow Dash pin he'd been wearing everyday for two years. He fastened it to his right arm and stared at his reflection again, smirking slightly. "Now we're ready."
Despite the badge, his favorite of the mane six was not Rainbow Dash. It was Applejack. So why the badge? His mother had given it to him four years ago, trying to surprise him with what she thought was his favorite pony. He would have told her it was actually Applejack had she not been on her deathbed, tears in her eyes as she explained how happy she was that she had finally managed to buy him what he'd always wanted.
That was the day she died. That was the day Zack vowed that he would forever wear his Rainbow Dash pin. He wore it as a symbol of remembrance towards the woman who gave her very best to him whenever possible, who went out of her way to see him smile regardless of the tax put upon herself. Aside from memory, Zack wore it so he would never forget what he was fighting for, the reason behind why he shamelessly begged his uncle and aunt to enroll him in the martial arts branch of Wing Chun.
His mother hadn't died of natural causes. She was only thirty-six, had a lot of life ahead of her. She had been walking, on her way back from the grocery store when—from what the police report explained—four people attacked her not more than a quarter mile away from the parking lot. Beat her to the ground for the food she'd bought with the last of their money. Zack's father had long since abandoned them—he couldn't remember a single thing about the mannequin tagged 'father' by his mom—but knew he had taken everything they had leaving them in a constant state of squalor.
Despite what had happened, she was in good spirits even as Zack burst into her hospital room, having run all the way from school after being informed of what happened. Back then, he didn't understand how, even as her life ebbed away, how she could smile about being able to protect a crummy two dollar badge….
Now, older and wiser beyond his years, Zack had a more developed outlook on things, case in point why he never retaliated when verbally or physically assaulted. Unless they put hands on his pin then it was deemed superfluous. No one except his mother's killers would know his strength….
Zack bowed towards the mirror then turned and began walking down a brightly lit hallway, a series of mundane thoughts occupying his head instead of what really should. Namely winning this last round of the martial arts tournament for his school. When news got out that he was advanced in the ways of Wing Chun it came as no surprise that the founding members of the schools martial arts committee came calling. They asked—begged and pleaded more like—for him to join, explaining that they were sick of getting their asses handed to them by the other schools.
Why did I join again?
That was what he wondered as he stepped out from an alcove underneath the bleachers. All at once, like he had been deaf before, he could hear the thundering noise of several hundred people screaming, feet pounding, stands shaking. He ignored that and faced the square, roped off stage set up in the core of the vast gymnasium. On his side and dressed in the customary emerald school colors were seated the students, faculty, and parents of Ion High; opposite them, and clamoring in a wave of dark scarlet, sat the rivaling school of Portland.
Already in the ring was his last challenger and the announcer, a middle-aged man, short cut brown hair, and dressed in a black tuxedo that was far too ostentatious for such a trifling tournament. As he stepped into the light, the chanting began—
"Zack...Zack...Zack...Zack…."
He didn't lift a hand to acknowledge it nor did he smile encouragingly. The people chanting were the very same ones who always taunted him, only now that he was fighting for their honor, so to speak, he was suddenly worthy of being hailed.
Hypocrisy was indeed an ugly thing and Zack had no time for it.
Taking one of the elastic-like ropes in his hand, he flung himself into the ring and strode up to the announcer, his opponent doing the same. As they neared he saw that it was a determined looking girl his age, one with blonde-haired fixed into a winsome pixie cut and tense sapphire blue opals that were trained on nothing but him.
Hm. Blonde hair, blue eyes...lets see if this cutie's stupid or not.
"Ladies and gentlemen! After a grueling day of more than twenty matches we are finally down to the final event! The climax to the interschool martial arts tournament!" exclaimed the announced, speaking into the mic he held. His words were met with great fanfare and Zack looked around. "The finalists are Zack Summers from Io High—"
The green side erupted into applause and cheers.
"—while bringing up the Portland division is Miss Jennifer Gertlin!"
This time the scarlet side began stomping their feet, flags of red waving frantically through the air.
The announcer bent down between the two combatants, "Is there anything either of you would like to say before we begin?"
Expecting the girl to say nothing, Zack was taken by surprise when she snatched the mic and jabbed a finger at the badge on his arm. "What...is that supposed to be?" she questioned harshly, tossing the mic.
Without any forethought, Zack snatched it mid-flight, brought it to his lips, and replied, "It's a brony badge with Rainbow Dash over it. What's it matter?"
He tossed it back, ignoring how his side of the gymnasium fell into a collective embarrassed silence before starting up again.
"You watch that show? What kind of—it's for three year old girls."
She tossed it back.
"Then you show me a three-year-old who can process that show's dialogue and mature innuendo," Zack said easily, unperturbed. "It's geared towards girls age six and above."
The mic was flung again.
"Then why do you watch it? You're not a little girl...or are you?"
She went to toss the mic but Zack backhanded it to the mat where it bounced once, twice, then straight off the edge. The cheering from the sidelines was quelled down to a few confused and scattered murmurs with many people putting hands to their mouths.
The look over Zack's face was passive as the announcer scrambled for his mic. "I'm a brony. That's all you need to know." He pulled one arm in close to his side and extended his other hand out, palm up. He curled his fingers twice. "Let's go."
Smirking, Jennifer began to bounce on her toes, lifting both arms. "Don't go down too fast now…brony."
Huh...Mui Thai.
Before the announcer could fully raise the microphone to his lips to signal the start of their match, Zack and Jennifer were already running towards another, their bare feet pounding over the elastic ring—
XXX—XXX
Blood gleamed in splotches underneath the gymnasium's artificial lighting.
"HA!"
"HUAH!"
Zack delivered a powerful palm strike to Jennifer's lower jaw; he barely had time to enjoy the feel of contact before her knee crashed into his chin, painfully rattling all of his teeth to a breaking point.
As though being rammed into by a truck, Zack went stumbling back, dropping down to one knee to brace himself. He felt something metallic floating in his mouth and spat a scarlet glob onto the mat. The pain he could handle; it was the fact that his vision had been disorientated that made Zack scowl as he climbed back to his feet.
Across from him and wiping blood away from her bottom lip, Jennifer fixed him with a skin-chilling glare. "Didn't your momma ever teach you not to hit girls?" she jeered, falling back into her fighting stance.
Zack's chest tightened, his jaw firming. "She may have mentioned once or twice…."
"Did you ever think two mere kids could put up such a fight, audience?" the announcer yelled into the mic, sounding absolutely dumbfounded yet amazed. He gestured wildly at Zack and Jennifer, both of whom began to slowly circle one another. "These two titans of the arts have been fighting nonstop for the past forty minutes! Even though they're beaten, bruised, and bloody, neither is showing any signs of backing down! I think we may have to instigate some sort of time limit on this one, folks!"
"NO!" shouted Zack and Jennifer in unison.
"Let it ride," muttered Zack.
"It wouldn't do our schools justice to let it end in a tie," said Jennifer, her chest heaving.
In silence, the announcer glanced towards the judging table situated just outside the ring, stationed so that they had an up close and personal view of the exchanges. Behind it sat three professional looking people, two male and one female, and it was the female who nodded crisply.
"And so it will continue folks!" the announcer proclaimed with renewed invigoration. "This is truly a battle worthy of the greats—how long can these two go at each other?"
That very same question had been on Zack's mind for the past ten or so minutes. So much of his body hurt that it was a chore to continue breathing; he felt like one big, pulsating bruise. A while back, Jennifer had struck him in the nose with her elbow; it hurt like a knife to his brain and blood still continued to leak onto his gi, less than before but enough for him to keep snorting it back up. Across from him, wavering on her feet but still determined, Jennifer had trails of blood leaking from her busted right ear, a mark of Zack's counterstrike against his nose. She had to be partly deaf.
This girl's got more game than I thought. Shit...and here I thought she'd be as easy as her teammates….A smile couldn't help but show itself through Zack's blood encrusted lips at the sudden realization. He hadn't fought anyone so near his level in such a long time that it was almost a foreign practice to bring everything he had to the table instead of merely matching his opponent move for move.
The cheering from the spectators had long since been reduced to an annoying hum in the backdrop. Those idiots rooting him on solely to make their school look better...how would they feel if he just took a dive, conceded defeat on the spot?
The option was tantalizing...but then Applejack's face swam over his crossed eyes. From underneath her trademark cowboy hat, she smirked at him, like his current state of agony was something to laugh at.
Look at you, sugarcube. Are ya really gonna let some little filly whip up on ya? Land sakes, how're ya ever gonna find what yer lookin' fer with that kinda commitment?
And just like that...the urge to win was ignited—
Jennifer's fist burst through Applejack's face causing it to dissipate. Instincts taking over, Zack swerved to the left, wincing when her knuckles grazed his cheek with such force that the skin tore; he hooked an arm around hers, put his foot behind her advanced leg, and placed his other hand under her chin—
"You gotta go down now," he whispered and in one dizzying motion he spun like a top, taking them both to the mat with a ground-rumbling thud. The intended purpose was to slam into her with the weight of his body, possibly crushing her chest cavity, but he stayed himself at the last second, slamming a hand to the mat to soften the blow if only slightly.
The landing left him sitting on her mid-section, dripping blood unceremoniously down onto her as he clutched her throat with one hand, the other pulled back and in a fist. "Do you...concede?" he panted, ready to strike her full-on in the face if the answer was anything but positive.
It was clear that the wind had been knocked out of Jennifer; she was gasping like a fish out of water, her face contorted in terrible agony. Her legs twitched underneath Zack so he knew no spinal damage had occurred. As he waited for her to regain her breath, he only faintly became aware of the fact that the crowd for his school was going crazy with cheers and celebration, as though the match had already been decided. The announcer was head over heels with excitement as he explained Zack's reversal in detail. It was all background noise and Zack pushed it from his ears, narrowing his weary eyes at the girl below him.
"You have five seconds to answer...do you concede?"
He felt her throat vibrate in his hold and before he could stop her she'd already spit a glob of blood into his face.
"Did Miss Gertlin just hock blood in Mr. Summer's face?" the announcer questioned, his tone heavily coated in disgust.
A combined groan rose up from the Io High side while the Portland visitors laughed.
It took all the self-control that his sensei had taught him for Zack not to imbed his fist in Jennifer's skull and just deal with the jail time that would come with it. While silence reigned around them, both sides eager to see how he would handle that unsporting act, Zack unclenched his aloft hand and lowered it to her exposed collar bone, his unnaturally soft causing her to shiver.
"W-what are you d-doing?" she grunted, cheeks flaring red despite herself.
"Give up or I'll rip off your gi and leave you naked," he muttered, letting his fingers drip down her admittedly smooth skin.
Despite her ear injury she seemed to hear that just fine and gnashed her teeth. "That's not proper sportsmanship—you'll be disqualified."
She sounded like she very much wanted to be believe that the consequences for such a thing would sway him.
Wrong.
"You just spit blood in my face," he reminded her tersely. "And honestly, winning for my school doesn't mean jack all to me. I was basically forced into this so the outcome of winning or losing is meaningless. I only fought to test myself, and you helped me see I have a long way to go," Zack said, beginning to tug loosely on her gi jacket. "I'll lose, yeah, but your peers and everyone from my school will see you barebacked. Imagine that spreading through facebook and twitter…."
Jennifer gnashed her teeth like a cornered panther.
"I...I…."
XXX—XXX
"She really hadn't been that bad," Zack confessed to himself as he walked down the sidewalk; there were rows of houses to his left and, across the street, more houses, all of them properly delivering the message that 'yes, the people who live here are rich as hell'.
It came as no surprise to him when Jennifer conceded on the spot, mentally beaten to the point where she let slip a few angry tears at the way she had lost. Sure, it had been a dirty way to win but continuing any longer and Zack knew broken bones would have become part of the fight and that was the last thing he needed. After changing clothes, listening to the disinclined congratulations, and participating in the phony party, wherein he was pushed to the side so everyone could admire the trophy won for them, that the 'brony' won for them, Zack found that Jennifer had waited for him outside of school.
Her words for him were not pleasant and, despite how calm she seemed about it, were filled with a type of rage that suggested she were seconds from shooting him. He was called 'a deviant, a little girl hopelessly obsessed with a little girl show who didn't know the true merits of winning honorably'. After listening to her rant for nearly a quarter hour, Zack told her he had to get home only to have her respond with, "I will fight you again. And I will win."
That was a threat, of course, but like so many before it, Zack didn't put much stock in it other than adding her face to the very long list of people who wished to harm him. It seemed that list grew on the daily.
Luckily, he wouldn't have to deal with his aunt and uncle as they were away on a business trip. Zack almost snorted. Business trip, right. Just another one of their excuses to get away from him. He'd always wondered why they had never helped him and his mother as she and his aunt were sisters. Apparently, from what his mother told him before her passing, she and her sister didn't get along very well due to circumstances concerning their father. It was all too complicated for Zack at such a young age so he hadn't bothered asking her to elaborate further.
He found out when he was reluctantly taken in by them that their father had split a vast amount of money between the two women. While his mom worked on saving hers, his aunt had apparently gone crazy with it (or, in her words, "merely indulged in all life had to offer"). His mother, being the kindhearted woman Zack knew her to be, then gave up a large portion to her sister who once again blew through that as well but found luck by marrying into wealth. When Zack's father left them, stealing everything that was once worth anything, his mother came by asking for help. It was then his aunt decided that the circumstance befallen her sister were due to her own negligence and failure to find a suitable man.
She turned her and her child away with, "If I helped you out of this then what you learn, sister?"
Staying with his aunt and uncle made Zack sick on a level that far transcended just spending hours on his knees vomiting into the toilet. It hurt mentally, drained him physically, knowing he had to live within such close proximity to those who were inadvertently the cause of his mother's death. If they had only helped, returned what they had been so graciously given….
Just thinking about it caused a spring of anger to erupt within Zack and he struck out a hand sending his aunt and uncles mailbox, which was meticulously handcrafted to look like a castle and cost over four hundred dollars, crashing to the sidewalk. Almost robotically, Zack trotted over it, smirking as he envisioned the horrified looks that would surely adorn his dear aunt and uncles faces when they returned and saw their treasure in rubble.
By the time he walked down the ridiculously long path through the grass that led to the front porch, Zack was tired beyond belief. He'd left school after winning without seeking medical aid. Probably not the smartest thing he could have done as his nose throbbed with an unholy agony; his right shin felt splintered; and he would swear one of Jennifer's kicks had broken a rib or two. He wasn't coughing blood, a good sign, but the pain had his stomach flipping with nausea.
He put his key inside the lock and turned the knob. The smell of tasty treats quickly assaulted his aching nose along with the rush of cool air that circulated the house. Aside from his suddenly watery mouth, now Zack's stomach clenched with dread. His aunt and were...home? Damn, what if they saw their mailbox?
Like a deer in the headlights, he stood frozen in the foyer that led into the living room. Swallowing, he followed it, cautiously, realizing in the all the fear he held that he had not seen his uncle's black ferrari in the driveway.
They weren't home.
But somebody else was.
And...they were baking treats?
Clinging to the wall, Zack crouched and inched along it, squeezing behind the numerous chairs and sofas that decorated the vast living room. The kitchen opened through a saloon-style door, the ones used for bars in western times; he went to peek under it when the sudden clatter of dropped pots made him duck back, his heart pounding.
"Horseapples," fumed a slightly annoyed tone from within the kitchen, "...how do them human work these hands? It's a wonder Ah been able to make anythin' 'round here!"
Zack's mind nearly exploded. That voice...he knew that voice; he loved that voice. It was the voice of…of….
That's not possible. Quit thinking stupid, it'll get you killed, his mind berated him, and he clenched his leg muscles, preparing to pounce. It's an intruder, Zack...and they've got to go down. Hard.
Licking his lips and exhaling slowly, Zack began a countdown from five in his head. The moment he reached one he whirled around the corner, throwing his shoulder into the swinging doors—the kitchen was a moderate size with an island that took up a great majority of the floor, and it was on the opposite side that Zack made out a bright orange blur as it rushed up to meet him—
"Son of a—"
He took a surprised step back, scowling at his hesitancy, before throwing his palm forward, aiming at the person's head. He might as well have been offering his hand for shake for all the damage it did when the intruder knocked it up and away with the back of one of their hands while they grabbed him by the face with the other.
"Yer a feisty one, ain't cha?" the intruder asked rhetorically.
Zack couldn't answer even if he wanted to, what with the hand clenched tight around his face, cutting off air and circulation, adding unbearable pressure to his swollen nose. Glancing through the fingers that held him, Zack beheld a sight that stilled his oncoming struggle, his eyes widening in disbelief.
A woman, taller than he, stood before him. That by itself was not what struck him as odd. It was her skin, which was colored a healthy bright orange, that shocked him the most, followed by her hauntingly emerald iris's that shined with a type of dare-devilish exuberance. Her face was of a porcelain beauty, smooth edges and a cute nose with flared nostrils like she was inhaling his scent. White freckles adorned her cheeks and, as his eyes traveled up, he saw that covering her lengthy golden-blonde hair was a leathery cowboy hat. She wore a plaid shirt of red and brown with a pair of blue daisy-dukes.
Again, Zack's mind fizzled. There's...there's just no way! But she looks just like her, sounds like her—
The woman holding him let loose a loud laugh, then squeezed his face harder. "So how's it taste, sugarcube?" she asked, her voice sending thrills down Zack's spine. "Mind ya, it ain't the best of what Ah can do considerin' these newfangled hands."
It was only then that Zack realized that this woman had shoved something into his mouth when she grabbed him. It was flaky...and tangy...and...sweet. Stomach superseding all else, he began chewing the piece of apple tart forced on him and found it almost tear-jerkingly delicious.
"There we go," cooed the woman and when she released him, Zack dropped to the tiled floor on his bottom, jaw working feverishly.
He stared up at this woman, this intruder. She...had very powerful looking legs; her calf muscles were incredibly toned, which explained her speedy takeoff earlier. He knew...just by taking one look at her he knew this woman had him in every category that pertained to achieving victory in a fight. She could have quite easily snapped his neck earlier and, as he sat there chewing what tasted like a little slice of heaven, he wondered why she hadn't.
"What's yer name, stallion?" she asked, turning and walking back towards the main sink area.
For a moment, Zack's eyes were trained on her lithe walk, how refined it seemed, not to mention her backside. He shook his head clear of such thoughts and swallowed his mouth empty. "Zack. Zack Summers."
"What a name," she remarked with a content sigh as she set to washing the dishes she'd used to make her treats. "Summer...apples grow best in summer. Why ain't yer first name Summer?"
"What's your name?" Zack staged, ignoring hers.
She glanced back at him with a wink that made his heart skip a beat. "Sugar, ya already know my name. Ah been in yer room—seen so many pictures of myself Ah almost didn't know what was happenin'."
"Applejack." The word fell from Zack's mouth like a stone, hard and foreign like it was first time he'd uttered it. "You...you're Applejack."
"Yeah, Ah know that," she said with a slight giggle. "Now Ah'm gonna go out on a limb here and say Ah'm yer—what's the phrase 'round here?—fav mare or somehin'?"
Just hearing her say that caused the color to raise in Zack's face but he was left with no words suitable enough for an answer. His brain was still desperately trying to work out how one of the mane six from a children's show was here in real life, and in human form no less. Had the pain in his nose reached such a pitch that he'd begun to halluci—
His stomach grumbled with an all consuming roar, obviously hungry for more pastries and not only did it cause the woman named Applejack to snort but it cemented the idea that yes...for some reason or other, this was really happening!
But that woman, she couldn't be Applejack. Applejack was a pony!
"Sounds like somepony enjoyed my apple tarts," she concluded with a satisfied nod. "Ah was powerful worried cuz Ah've nevuh had 'hands' before. Wasn't sure how it'd turn out."
"This...this doesn't make sense," Zack finally managed to muster, gripping both sides of head as he felt a very constricting migraine settling in.
"No, little hayseed," and Applejack turned around, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed a coy smile spread through her gleaming lips, "what doesn't make sense is that ya say Ah'm yer favorite—which Ah must say is most flatterin' and all—but yer wearin' a Rainbow Dash pin. Mind explainin'?"
Ah, shit.
