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St. Louis wasn't big enough for the both of them. Clyde, the world's first and only anthropomorphic Clydesdale (engineered by Anheuser-Busch during the final years of the Busch family's control of the company), had been generally secure in his position as the unofficial ambassador for St. Louis. Kids came up to him for hugs, people loved to take pictures with him, and he was frequently called on to give commemorations at civic events and graduations. Being a Clydesdale morph, he had the seventy-five year history of Clydesdale horses representing St. Louis to be proud of.

He enjoyed his de-facto position as the city's cultural ambassador. But there was that OTHER morph to contend with.... As AB had created Clyde, the NFL had engineered Rambo. The bighorn sheep morph paraded himself in front of the halftime crowds at every Rams game (always to cheers), and - according to rumor - courted human women as if he were the star quarterback himself. Older people and children paid more attention to Clyde, but young adults, particularly financially lucrative young men, considered Rambo to be the top representative of their city. Clyde preferred to showcase the museums, the Arch, Forest Park - he was all about cultivating an appreciation for the finer venues in the city. But Rambo was a party animal and a VIP at practically every club in the metro area. He'd get drunk, get into fights, headbutt guys who tried to talk smack to him. Though the attention he was drawing to St. Louis was, strictly speaking, negative, it was still attention that was leading more people to visit and move to the area. The mayor was considering giving him an official title of "St. Louis Ambassador," if he would agree to tone down the worst of his shenanigans.

The more stories that came out in the Post Dispatch about Rambo's stunts, the angrier Clyde got. "This morph thinks he's everything and a bale of hay," Clyde snorted as he reclined in his chair in his home built especially for him on the grounds of Grant's Farm. "Look at him making a fool of himself, and making a fool of St. Louis in the process! I cannot have this city be represented by this hoodlum!" He reached a hoofed hand for the small basket of apples on the table next to his chair, grabbed one, and munched away as he thought of how to disgrace the sheep. Simply writing about his displeasure at Rambo's antics to local editorials wouldn't be enough. He could be ignored, or mocked as being 'stuck-up.' A television interview where he candidly gave St. Louis his opinion of the ram? Only KETC would give him the time to make his case thoroughly, and so many people didn't bother with public television. Clyde wondered, "What can I do. . . ." That was something he found out quickly. His cell phone went off and jolted him to reality. He looked at the screen to see an unfamiliar number. Curious, he picked it up. "Hello, this is Clyde S. Dale?" "Having fun watching your 'stories,' old man?" Clyde immediately sneered. He'd heard that voice on television. He could practically hear Rambo's smug grin. "You know, I was only engineered two years before you were. And we both have the physiques of fit young men." "Ain't the point. You act like an old man, you think like an old man, you ARE an old man." The only thing worse about how offended Clyde was getting, he thought to himself, was how aware Rambo must've been of that fact.

"What do you want?" asked Clyde tersely. Rambo's tone of voice became more serious. "I wanna find out once and for all which of us should represent this city." "I will not get physical with you, Rambo." Much as he secretly wanted to throw Rambo down by those horns of his, Clyde felt that a fighting match would be unbecoming of him. Rambo laughed. "I'm not talking a fight! We both know I'd knock you out in five seconds." Clyde scowled as Rambo continued, "I wanna have a dance-off." ". . . What?" Clyde balked. "Look, dude," said Rambo, "everybody loves a good dancer. It's half of what gets put on Youtube nowadays. I'll have my people market it and I'll have every eye from Union to Belleville tuning in to see me strut." Clyde was flabbergasted. A "dance-off" would certainly garner lots of attention but...he preferred to show what he felt was a more dignified demeanor to the public. "You don't think that would be the slightest bit ridiculous?" "I'll take that as a 'yes.' We're doing it in a month. Better get some practice in, you're gonna need it!" Clyde couldn't get so much as a word in before he was hung up on.

Could a silly dance battle really inspire the masses to watch? The only person who would be surprised at that answer would've been Clyde. Out of all the one-off events advertised throughout the St. Louis area, one that starred the local talking animals aroused particular interest. Kids looked forward to seeing funny animals doing cool stuff, Rambo's groupies showed solidarity, fans of Clyde were curious as to why he would answer Rambo's challenge. 'Furries' worldwide were enraptured at the thought of seeing the creatures that were their childhood fantasies gaining press.

There was so much interest that the dance-off was postponed for several months in order to make it an official event. The money was paid jointly by Clyde and Rambo's "people" to set it up as an event in Forest Park, complete with a temporary stage built on the bottom of the park's Art Hill. Five judges, the best hip-hop dancers in the city, were recruited to make a definitive call on the winner. On the night of the event thousands of people surrounded the stage and local and national news cameras rolled. There was a live Youtube feed that had hundreds of thousands of viewers even before the stage lights came on. After the preshow the emcee came on stage and stated the order the contestants would go out: first Rambo, then Clyde. Each contestant would dance to the time of a single complete song.

When the emcee left the stage, the lights dimmed for several minutes. The crowd, with people sitting on blankets, lawn chairs or standing close to the front of the stage, murmured fiercely. There was a general consensus that what was going on was very silly indeed - and yet for these special creatures, the spectators felt as if they just had to watch their antics. If Mickey Mouse suddenly became real and strolled down the street, who would be able to resist turning their heads to stare? Suddenly, a 'doooon!' was heard from the blacked out stage. A few more seconds, and another 'doooon!' Colored lights flashed on to reveal a topless Rambo strutting his way to the center of the stage. A drumming hip-hop tune came on as he received raucous cheers from the audience. He made it to center stage and started bouncing energetically to the beat of the music. Suddenly Rambo adopted a splayed stance and stayed still as the music came to a momentary lull. When it thundered back on full blast, he began alternating his arms up and down in a staggered fashion while simultaneously performing a motion with his hooves that approximated a Moonwalk at a standstill. He sidestepped and jutted out his right hand while staggering his left leg forward. This fighting stance suddenly morphed into reaching forward with both arms while slowly bringing himself to his knees. Then another musical lull came along. During this Rambo turned back to the audience (who was cheering and flailing around in excitement) and gyrated his hips while waving his arms pointed away from his body. He continued to mesmerize the crowd with his cool moves and his muscular form, and when the song ended, strolled off the stage with confidence.

Rambo walked off the stage and purposefully shoved his shoulder into a waiting Clyde. Clyde glared; Rambo only gave him a sneer and a confident smirk in response. Several minutes later: "Alright, people, now it's time to see Clyde bust some moves! Can he beat the bad boy Rambo? You're about to find out!" Quiet, and then a tune the crowd quickly recognized to be...country? The audience snickered at the banjos duking it out on the speakers. Whisperings of Clyde's routine being "lame" broke out. Then lights. And Clyde center stage. And the banjos suddenly being combined with a bass drop. Clyde got into the dubstep music in a way no one thought the normally reserved horse morph could. He performed what in decades past was called "The Robot," fluidly stopping and starting in a staggered pose, with his arms alternating, or reaching away from him, or trying to "grab" at the audience. He delicately balanced on his hooves - an impressive feat without toes to keep his body connected to the floor. As he moved the colored lights interplayed with the strands of hair on his mane and tail to make him practically shimmer on the stage. He moved in sync with the waves of the beat, becoming an embodiment of the music itself. When his time was up, Clyde ended his routine with a "spacewalk" to the stage exit, to the clapping and cheers of the crowd.

Now the judges convened to decide. Debates raged within the crowd as to who had the better routine, who deserved to win, even tangential debates on the level of sentience Clyde and Rambo possessed. After a short while, white lights flooded the stage and the contestants were summoned. Clyde and Rambo stood next to each other, Clyde looking serious, Rambo looking cocky.

The emcee walked over to the area set aside for the judges' table. He conferred with them for a moment, and then sprung back onto the stage. "Alright! The two of you both had awesome routines. Let's show St. Louis' morphs some love!" The crowed whopped in adoration, a melding of the words "Rambo!" and "Clyde!" mixing in the air. Both morphs had a surge of pride well up within them.

"You wanna know who the winner is?" The crowd enthusiastically answered the emcee. Rambo grinned, sure his name would be imminently called. Clyde had a blank expression, his attempt at coolness betraying his inner worry. "Well guess who won, guys? Both of them did!" "What?!" exclaimed the both of them. From the crowd came a mix of confusion, shouts of approval, and a smattering of insults from those fans who were firmly in one camp. At the judges' table one judge grabbed a mic and explained, "Guys, you don't need to go around trying to prove which one of you is the best. Do you realize what you are? You're freakin' talking animals! We like rams...we like Clydesdales...we want both of you around just the same! Isn't that right, everybody?" Even the 'haters' came to agreement. The cheering made a clamor that left no doubt that both Rambo and Clyde belonged to this city.

Rambo and Clyde stared incredulously at the audience, then at each other. "Well," said Clyde at length, "...maybe they're right. Maybe this town IS big enough for the two of us." He gave Rambo a tentative smile. Rambo eyed Clyde with a raised eyebrow. But if there was one thing he enjoyed, it was positive attention from the masses. Despite the fact that half of the adulation of the audience was going towards his "enemy" he had to acknowledge that purely by nature of what he was, no matter what he did, he would still be one of the most beloved creatures in the city. In the nation. On Earth.His suspicion changed into cheekiness. "It's still my world, but I'll let you live in it."