//------------------------------// // Body To Body, Job To Job: Filth // Story: The Two Idiots Of Canterbury (Part of Equestria: Z) // by SUPERCHARGER2001 //------------------------------// Bob wakes up. Unaware of the damage he had done to his room, again, he witters back under the covers and hoped for another wishful sleep. Pretending never got him anywhere, so he violently thrusts his arms out and the covers glide over his body, with the ends prickling his face. He snorts and hacks, and immediately coughs up a dark brown gob of spit out his mouth, and into the garbage by his bedside. The bed he never bothers to clean, the bed he promises that he wouldn’t puke in anymore after a midnight binge with alcohol and his many demons. The bed he promised to get new sheets but never has the time to, so he snuggles up in the same stench because he knows that his life is an absolute wreck. Tempted by whipping up another glass of homemade brew that he, himself, created after confiscating and charging some elder for illegally making moonshine in the first place. He fidgets with his scraggy chin, before placing his forehoof on his right leg and getting rid of that painful itch that had been annoying him since he passed out drunk the night before. He looks at the same battered walls, and the same once-white door that had now turned slightly darker, more yellow after constant smoking on his part; he didn’t mind. No, at least it kept him interested when everything became more or less repetitive in his usual antics. Or lifestyle, the more appropriate term. He tried, no, he, with great strides, tried to understand and comprehend his main goal in all of this. He wanted out of Europoniea. “Wanted” was the right word, why did he “want” out? Simple, he could easily suggest. The rabid infected individuals, the whole continent both turned into a martial law state and a corrupt jurisdictional uprising by both, the citizens and the government. You had looters, helpless citizens all scourging for the pot. Topped off by a divided government bent on controlling certain sections of the dystopian land. Than backed by bandits, mercenaries, terrorists, and the stray thug and finally coated with the infected ponies all finely chopped together in the bunch. That is the main reason he wanted out. It’s not like he lacked any potential skills that could help the war-aid, but being alone with his thoughts and staying alive were above his major top priorities in life. Oh, and Royce also. His lug-nut of a friend… Bob swoops off the smelly bed, deprived of any comfort anymore. He goes on his two back hooves and lets out a sneer as he cracks his back into cop mode. He lands back on the floor, shaking off whatever there was to shake. He walks over to the mirror with kiss marks covering the whole thing, he once stole a women’s crimson dress off a coat hanger in the back of her yard in the middle of the night while he was on shift - while intoxicated, and planted the fine piece of clothing over his long black mirror that rested comfortably on the side of the wall facing the left side of the bed, staying closer to the main door that had patches of holes all around it. The dress was covered with dandelion flowers and the outline was finished with almost lime green tint. Whenever his urges get to him, he often wants to, but ends up chickening out of fucking the piece of glass. Than later gets mad at it, throws an empty bottle of swish along the wall and beats his head against another section of the wall before crying his woes out and falling asleep only to rinse and repeat the next day. Checking his appearance, everything seemed to appear in order. Slightly scruffy, but not too the point of looking like a poor-hygiene asshole, he wanted to look like a good, well dressed asshole, instead of a dirty one. His lightly browned body looked more or less, good today. Maybe a hot shower could start things up, he grinned. Taken aback, he trots over to the door, finally at two sides of life between his inner self, and his public life, he steps out of his own safety grounds and glances one more time at his piece of shit excuse for a room. His nightstand littered with take out and garbage, alcohol half-full while others remained empty or full. His weapon at the real station while he was just a watch house keeper like his other partner/friend – who slept down the hall from him in a cleaner environment. Wishing he could get rid of those paper-red themed walls, he always said another day. Hoping that day would come far sooner… “Man, fuck this day of all days.” Bob sounded out, not too loud, but enough that he could hear the echo’s bounce off the wall and ring through his head for the next twelve hours. He walked down the hallway and reached for a towel on the rack beside the bathroom door before heading in. He closed the door quietly, not wanting to wake his friend. He turns the tap on and chucks the towel over the bathroom sink before jumping in. Bob raised the temperature until it was as close as it got to bristling hot, the steel valve already heating, he sat down and gently took a nice hot piss over the shower mat. Royce didn’t care either if he did it or not, Royce just hoped that Bob wouldn’t one day shit in the tub, and boy did he want to several times just to get a scowling reaction from his dear friend. The water would wash the piss away by then, anyways. After being done, he jumps out and sits down once more on the cold floor, his ass doesn’t sit well with this he gets up only to place his towel onto the floor so he could sit back down again. He takes a few minutes to himself, not wanting to relive the same day over and over; they had only been here for a few months, but this seemed like hell at its own gate. Sure, there was free liquor, a free bed, shelter, authentic job with his name on it. Even he had a friend with him, but this life seemed more unforgiving than he initially thought. He couldn’t quite place a hoof whether it was the oppressing way this town ran, the high crime rates, the lack of real law enforcement, the fact that the Equestrian force black listed this petty town of a thousand and a half residents. Still, it had its perks. Addiction wise. Mentally, he could master it. Psychically, he could hack it. Emotionally, however, it was becoming to be a toll all on its own. He begun to understand and appreciate the fact of helping ponies, but despite his efforts, the town was a feral mess. Sure, it seemed okay in some areas, but that’s only in some. The latter to him, at least, was in its own spiral of disarray that this job can make a burden on your shoulders. And this seemed to become a hefty burden, if not severe already. Bob raced back up, wiped himself off quickly, and got outside quickly enough to not let the sudden coldness bring him down. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a loaf of bread with his teeth and slammed it on the table and began tearing into it so he could make toast. Ripping the front open, the little clip that kept it all tugged in got stuck in his tooth, he played around with his tongue in order to un-lodge the plastic piece, popping two pieces of bread into the toaster he set the timer for two and a half, tossing the rest of the loaf aside. He focused on this nagging piece of plastic that didn’t want to budge. Unable to rid of the dreaded thing that had become a bigger problem than expected, he sought his friend who could help him in this situation. Bob Stooch trampled through the room with one goal in mind, he nudged Royce until his sleepy eyes awoke. “Hey, Rice, cold ya fucking get dis outta me?” Royce smacked, then coughed, “Huh, buddy?” “You. Fumper. Fug you and geth dis ting outta me, dammit.” Bob stifled. Royce shook his head, a little more concerned, “I can’t comprehend you, sir, what is it?” “Look. Yeller-beller corn-dog.” Straining to make the most coherent voice possible, “Fucking. Get. This. Thing. Out. Off. My. Moutha!” Pointing one hoof at the blasted little plastic blue-clip. “Oh, sorry boss. I’ll get right on it,” he whisked the blankets off of him and swooned forwards to the side of bed facing Bob, before stuffing his face in front of him, causing Bob to slightly blur his vision he takes a couple steps back and berates the stallion once more. “She’s stuck hard, hehe, making that’s a good sign, eh-er boss. Maybe we might find a nice mare tonight and show her a good-” Bob slapped the living day-lights out of Royce that suddenly made him jerk violently backwards before tumbling into his dresser door and smashing it through. The piece finally lodged out but with a little bit of blood following it, it must have broken the gum line in his jaw a little if blood started to leak out. Even the little pain was no match for Bob’s roaring belly laughter as he watched his friend shaking his head frantically to try and wrap his head after what just happened. Bob could nearly cry out in tears of joy if he wanted to, and he did. Loads of laughter, tears and a good sense of fun seemed to cloud a wonderful aura over this occasion. Something that neither of them ever get too often when they’re in both of each other’s company. Royce couldn’t laugh it off, though. He wanted to cry in agony because he felt that Bob was making fun of him, and indeed he kind of was. But Royce sucked it up and just went with the flow while Bob continued on making a mockery of him. Eventually Bob had to stop to take a breather and hold himself on a metal bar that appeared on the side of the wall just so he didn’t fall and piss himself again. “Come on, man. It’s funny, you should lighten up!” Bob fixated himself with another shrieking laughter before attempting to wave over a hoof in good kindness. Royce crudely reaches over and grabs hold of his hard wrist that felt like a brick than a normal wrist should. Despite Bob’s age and his addictions, the guy could pack a mean punch if he felt to do so. Fortunately, he wasn’t much of a threat psychically as he was too himself, instead. Bob knew that Royce was going to be in a tough, moody and shitty mood today, but this was all for it. When was the last time Bob ever laughed like a little boy? Royce was a little bigger than Bob. They both glanced at his standard brown closest dresser, the wooden bar above it was split in the middle thanks to Royce’s thick skulled head. The clothes were all down and the coat hangers were also, both empty and not. Royce knew that this was his friend’s fault, not his. He knew it, but being his protector, and guided teacher who taught him almost everything since they were young lads down in the fishing port haling trout, crabs, lobsters, jack fish, whatever the company wanted to process and sell to the market. They went and found it. Europoniea, and other countries ran under different restrictions, while Equestria didn’t condone meat as a viable source of food. Which made ponies like Bob even more pissed, Europoniea did. That was probably the only reason both of them could find in staying there. Meat. Both of them marched out of room, one exhaling between coughs, laughter, while the latter tried tending to his wounds. That was when the call came through. Bob reached for the scanner on the tableside with the now cold toast in the kitchen across from it. The scanner could trace whatever calls came through from other departments, there was a couple places, the local hospital, the fire department, the post-office, pretty much anywhere that was government official, and could receive calls providing assistance for whatever location the ponies might be in. “Help, help, som-” – Citizen stated. “Excuse me, hello mam, mam, what is the situation?” – Fire department guy, Todd asked. “My father’s garage! It’s on fire, dammit. Those blasted kids tarnished his place, and now it’s on fire, fuck it’s everywhere. Please, come help, there were three little ones, one filly, and two boys. There was a man they were running from, one of them is still inside the building. I-” – Citizen responded before being cut off. “Mam, wait there, don’t get too close to the fire, and stay within a safe distance. Where on our way, have you called the paramedics and the local police?” Todd reassured. “What the fuck do I want the police, for? I said I wanted help, not a pack of hounds, dammit! Now are you coming?” – Citizen fumed, practically sneering into the phone. “Alright, on our way, well call them then.” Todd said, finally. Exiting off the channel. Bob grabbed his light brown stray jacket on the crouch and tapped Royce’s right arm to tell him that they need to go. “I know this garage, Terry Philip’s place. Ugly bastard died a few months back, just after we got here, weeks after. Now come on, we got ponies to save here.” Royce following him like an idiot, they braced onto the street while their door was left wide open. Bob running effortlessly while his partner struggled immensely. Despite what was happening right now, two things didn’t leave his mind. His good too bad to good too awkward conversation with the Lyra chick, and that crucial word he wished he could take back when he left his room, because he now knows that this day is going to become fucking hectic. Man, fuck this day of all days.