Close to Home Superbowl 2014 Special

>Super Bowl Sunday.

>After weeks of waiting it's finally here.

>You look at the arrangement of snacks.

>Wings? Check.

>Chips? Check.

>Salsa? Check.

>Nacho sauce? Check.

>Spinach dip? Check.

>More chips? Check.

>You look at the other table.

>It's covered in bowls full of pretzels and cheese puffs.

>The other table is taken up by a pizza the size of a car tire.

>In one corner of the room, a portal leading to a tidy apartment on Boylston Street shimmers. After a minute, a brilliant flash of light heralds your companion's return.

>Celestia cracks her neck loudly and puts down the two kegs she was carrying.

“Y'know, I coulda carried one a' those.”

>She rolls the kegs over to the pizza.

>”I needed yuh ta keep an eye on th' grill.”

“Touche. Dawgs uh done, by th' way. Put 'em on the plate by th' pizza.”

>”Perfect. Still time?”

“Caws. What beeah'd yuh get?”

>”Kegga Guinness anna kegga Sammy.”

“Winna ale?”

>”Regulah”

“Aight. We fuhgettin' anythin'?”

>”Gawt the dip?”

“All ninety of 'em. Tonna chips, too.”

>The Princess looks all around.

>”Think we've gawt it all, hun.”

>You slink over to her and wrap an arm around her waist.

>She inches closer to you before flashing a smile.

>Another blinding light hits your eyes as you're pushed back. Celestia flares her now-revealed wing and pulls you back to her.

>”Where do you think you're going?” she coos.

>You're about to go in for the kiss when Celestia's ear perks up.

>”It's on!” She dashes to the crystal ball and pulls the snacks into a circle around her, leaving room for you to wedge yourself next to her.

>”Ready?” She asks.

“Yuh doin' a good jawb dealin' wit this.”

>Her eye twitches.

>”Shut up.”

>She lights up the ball.

>The announcer introduces the event.

>”Welcome to the 2014 Puppy Bowl!”

1/

 

>One hour in.

“Did that dawg just take a shit on the field?”

>Celestia is slumped forward. There are bags under her eyes. She robotically reaches for another chicken wing.

“This is totally as good as the Supah Bowl, right?

>Celestia shovels a small pile of nachos into her mouth before groaning. ”I wanna die... How lawng has this been going?”

“Like an houah? I dunno. I lawst track at the cat cheahleadahs.”

>You pour another beer.

> “This was a mistake, wasn' it.”

“It was good fuh like... ten minutes.”

>”Maybe we ahn't drunk enough?”

“Maybe. Pass the seven-layah dip?”

>The Princess floats a nearly-empty casserole dish over to you.

>A puppy on the field flops over and trips another one.

>You scoop as much dip as you can onto a single chip and silently wish you had stronger beer.

2/

 

>Two hours in.

>The Guinness keg is empty. The chicken are gone and the nachos have disappeared.

>You're leaning on Celestia now.

>She's leaning forward, eyes wide and locked on the crystal ball.

>”Anon! Anon lookit 'is little paws!”

>A golden retriever puppy ecstatically bounds up the field, then promptly collides with a collie and falls over, eliciting a loud squeal from the princess.

>You feel around for the chips and spinach dip.

>Celestia grabs you and points your face at the orb.

>”Omigawd why've I nevah watched this befaw? Look! He's chasing his tail!”

“Yuh really gettin' inta this, ahncha?”

>”Yessssssss.”

>She downs another cup of Sam Adams.

>”Oh Sammie... You make everything tawlerable.” There's a tinge of reminiscence in her voice.

“Hey, Celly?”

>”Yeah?”

“You knew 'im, didncha?”

>”Yeah.” She watches you for a second before it dawns on her. “Oh! No, hun, it's nothin' like that. Fahk, it was like a thousin' yeahs ago. 'Sides, ol' Sam's gawt nuhthin on you. We had good times, though. Good times...” She swishes what little remains in the cup around.

>Something catches her eye.

>”Fahk! Lookit! His floppy liddle eahs! I want one!”

“We should geddit frum home. It'll be a puppy fuh like... faw yeahs insteada one.”

>Celestia's eyes go wide as dinner plate.

>”Yer a genius! That's what we'll do tuhmarrah!” She grabs you and squeezes hard.

“Glad I could help...” you wheeze.

3/

 

>Three hours in.

>The beer is gone. You're down to salsa and cold pizza crusts.

>Celestia has flopped onto the floor.

>You're lying on her back.

>Both of you are still staring at the ball.

>”...'s it still goin?” Celestia mumbles.

“Mmmphguhhuh,” you answer.

>A puppy scampers across the screen. The two of you track him with your eyes unenthusiastically.

>The princess lets out a deflated groan.

>”This is my punishment fuh gloatin' about the Pats, isn' it.”

>The announcer enthusiastically yells about some facet of the intricate tactical sport of puppy football.

>”Jesus Christ why do people watch this!?”

>There's a knock on the door. Before both of you can get up to react, it opens.

>”Celly! Oh my Goahd are you essited about the game?”

>Celestia's eye twitches violently.

>”The Giants ahn't even playin'. What do you give a damn faw?”

>Cadence slinks into the room and leans down over the two of you.

>”It's IN Jahrsey, though! I can go! Lu's awready there. I just wannida let ya know I was goin.”

>”Thank you so much,” Celestia growls.

>”Well, I should head oahf. Don' wanna be late! Nice ta see you, Anoahn!”

>You wave weakly, feeling Celestia twitch underneath you.

>When the pink princess leaves, the sun princess gets up. You cling to her, trying not to get dropped onto the empty plates.

“Waddaya doin?”

>”We...” she starts, throwing open the portal, “ah goin out ta get plastah'd.”

End