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It was supposed to be the best night of Spike’s life: the prom. But his excitement quickly turned to dread when he realized he had made a colossal mistake — he had asked both Octavia and Rarity to be his date, unaware of their ongoing rivalry. Octavia, the elegant, poised musician, and Rarity, the glamorous, confident fashionista, had been enemies since the first day they laid eyes on each other. Both determined to be the queen of the school, their rivalry reached a boiling point tonight. Now, standing in the middle of the prom hall, with Spike nervously watching from a distance, the two were ready to tear each other apart.

Rarity: “Oh please, Octavia, darling. I’m surprised you even managed to find a dress that could squeeze around those love handles of yours. You look like you’ve been raiding the snack table before the party.”

Octavia: “Tch, coming from the girl who probably used an entire roll of tape just to hold herself together in that outfit. What’s wrong, Rarity? Afraid someone might notice how much your ‘curves’ are more padding than substance?”

Rarity: “Padding? My dear, this is all natural beauty. Unlike you, who looks like you’re trying to hide a dozen donuts under that bowtie. Face it, Octavia, you’re nothing but an overhyped cellist with no real style.”

Octavia: “Ha! Style? I’d take my grace over your tacky, over-the-top costume any day. You look like a discount princess who missed her beauty sleep by a week. Besides, at least I have a brain under all this hair, unlike someone who thinks bigger gems mean bigger brains.”

Rarity: “And at least I don’t need an instrument to make people notice me. You play the cello because it’s the only thing that’ll sit close to you without running away in terror.”

Spike: “L-Ladies, maybe we could—”

Octavia: “Stay out of this, Spike! I can’t believe you invited this prissy princess, thinking she could even compete with me. I have grace, talent, and brains—qualities she’ll never had.”

Rarity: “Grace? Talent? Darling, you wouldn’t know grace if it danced the tango with you! And talent? My designs have been featured in every major school event. All you have is a stuck-up attitude and second-rate musical skills.”

Octavia: “Second-rate? You wish! I’m a prodigy! What are you? A fashion disaster who covers herself in tacky gemstones to make up for her lack of real personality.”

Rarity: “Tacky? Says the girl whose wardrobe screams ‘I shop in the clearance section’! You look like you’re trying out for a church, not prom!”

Octavia: “Keep talking, sweetheart, because in about two minutes, I’m going to knock those overly-painted teeth right out of your mouth. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

Rarity: “Oh, I’m shaking! Is that supposed to scare me? I’ve beaten down more than just your type, darling. You wouldn’t last two seconds against me in a real fight.”

Octavia: “Big words for someone who can’t even throw a punch without breaking a nail. I’ll have you on the floor, begging for mercy before you can scream ‘mascara.’”

Rarity: “Begging? Ha! Once I’m done with you, you’ll be the one on your knees, pleading to save your precious face. Imagine it, darling—your broken nose, your black eye. No amount of makeup will be able to hide that humiliation!”

Octavia: “You talk a big game for someone who’s about to be toothless. I’ll make sure every mirror you look into reminds you of how I beat you, how I crushed you under my heel. You’ll never be able to show your face at school again!”

Rarity: “Oh, please. The only thing you’re going to crush is your own dignity. I’ll make sure you leave this prom in the back of an ambulance, crying like the little coward you are!”

Spike: “Please! Please stop! I didn’t mean for this to happen—”

Octavia: “Zip it, Spike. I’m not done here.”

Rarity: “Neither am I. Once I’ve finished with her, we’ll see who the real prom queen is.”

Octavia: “And it’s going to be me. When they see you limping off stage, defeated and disfigured, everyone will know that I’m the one who truly deserves the crown.”

Rarity: “Crown? Darling, you won’t even be able to stand by the time I’m done with you. The only thing you’ll be wearing is a hospital gown, while I accept my tiara with grace and poise!”

Octavia: “Grace? You? That’s rich. Let’s see how graceful you are when I send you flying into the punch bowl!”

Rarity: “Bring it on, darling. By the time this night is over, you won’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. I’ll make sure of it!”

Octavia: When I’m done with you, you’ll be the one crying in front of the mirror, trying to fix what’s left of your face!

Spike (panicking): “Uh… okay, this is really getting out of hand, maybe we could just—”

Both girls (in unison): “Shut up, Spike!”

The air grew thick with anticipation as the two girls prepared for an all-out brawl. Their insults had escalated to threats, and it was clear that neither was backing down. Spike, still caught in the middle, could do nothing but watch as his night descended into chaos. Who would walk away the victor and who would be left sobbing, her pride shattered and her face unrecognizable? Only time—and fists—would tell.