“Are all bounty hunters so stingy?” the courtesan asked, as the din of Haukhamn’s streets forced their way through the metal slits of the brothel’s windows. The mare's disappointment was clear as the griffon bounty hunter rolled off her and shamefully shuffled towards his pants.
Jean had overstayed his welcome, or at the very least, his coin-pouch.
"Chere, I do not see why ya are complainin’! Ya complained that I was takin’ too long, now ya are complainin’ I am leavin’ too soon...ya are breakin’ my heart," Jean lamented with a coy grin. "Why don't ya let me do some...contractin’ work pro bono?"
The mare scoffed, rolling out of the cheap bed before tossing a shawl over herself. Her features were hard to make out in the dim light, and Jean was not completely sober when the whole affair started. Her face was narrow; Saddle Arabian by the way she scowled. "I do not bone pro-bono, birdbrain. Do you not have seeds to pluck at elsewhere?"
"Ya are rather mouthy, ya know," Jean scolded with a low chuckle as he began to throw on his clothes. His armor was in the other room, with a more than likely mortified Paddy, along with his gun and hat.
"My dear...you did not complain about me being ‘mouthy’ earlier. I do not see why you are complaining now," the mare replied with a mocking tone. With that she politely opened the door to her boudoir and waved her hoof.
Although he was no unicorn, Jean vanished from the room like a magic trick out into the dingy halls of the Maregyptian Menagerie. The fake silk curtains and Colthaginian carpets hurt his eyes with their bright colors, but they were a step up from their prior living arrangements.
"Just because I said I would pay off your debt-" Paddy scolded as she swung open their room's door on the opposite end of the hall- "doesn't mean you can rack up more with a whore, Jean De Basse!"
Jean waved a talon, making his way towards the window. The Maregyptian Menagerie not only had the finest collection of entertainment that they could afford, but also a third story room overlooking the local chapter of the Intercontinental Bounty Hunter's Guild.
A hoof slapped him over the back of his head. Paddy's glare cold enough to freeze over Tartarus. "Start thinking with your brain again, Jean. What if she recognizes you?"
"She won't," he muttered. "It was dark."
"First, you have a massive scar over your smug face." The mare shook her head as she offered him a cup of coffee. "Second, it's eleven in the morning. Its not dark, you're just so damn hungover you can't think straight."
"How I spend my breaks are my business." Jean reached behind him to slide bits and pieces of his armor back on as he settled into the chair. The griffon tightened his holster to his side before he took the coffee from her. "...and thanks, Paddy."
Jean leaned against the window pane and looked down into the bustling streets of Haukhamn below. Mercenaries, pirates, and smugglers shuffled along the dingy, unkempt roads of Haukland’s capital. They did so freely though: each griffon, pony, or whatever else down there was in control of their own destiny.
As long as their freedom did not conflict with the Graf's rule, of course.
Haukland was a brief layover to hide out and plan their next move. After reviewing their options, a few things became clear. Another plane was out of the question after their reception at the airfield last week and almost all the ships that could make it to Equus were with the raiding parties sacking the Duchy of Rila on the Griffonian mainland.
"Almost all of the ships," Jean thought aloud as he sipped from his coffee. "Any sign of him yet?"
"No changes. He went in late last night and hasn't left." Paddy walked to the other end of their quarters, moving to pick up the rifle she had bartered for the other day. The mare traded away her Stalliongradian sidearm and uniform for some more inconspicuous attire: a mechanic's jumpsuit with a leather bomber jacket over top. At first glance, she looked like any other mercenary pilot strolling around the free city.
The most valuable mare in the world though was hardly inconspicuous in any other sense. It only took a few days before wanted posters with her face started to pop up on the streets. Paddy settled opposite of him in the extra chair, resting the carbine in her hooves. "Why don't you trade those in?"
"What?" Jean stayed by the open blinds, looking just over his shoulder towards her. "Trade what in?"
"Your revolver. Your armor. Maybe that stupid hat?" Paddy gestured to the worn hat resting on his cot, tucked into the corner of the room. "Get some new toys, a look that doesn't scream ‘mercenary?’"
"I ain't fittin’ to be lectured by a mare who looks like she crawled out of an auto-garage...I like the way I look," Jean began with a roll of his eyes. “The armor is practical, ya know. Enchanted halfway to Eyr herself, it can take a beating with anything short of a proper cannon and won’t sink in a river.”
“So it doesn’t sink, why didn’t you spring for something more useful?” Paddy asked with a cant of her head. “Maybe some armor that’d let you fly properly?”
“It don’t work like that, enchantments can't change the weight-” Jean started before cutting himself short as he caught a flicker of white from the corner of his eye. "He's leaving."
"I'll grab the bags! Meet me downstairs," Paddy said as she jumped out of her chair.
Jean shot towards the cot to grab his hat, plopping it down on his head as he ran a thumb across the brim. The hunt was on and their ticket to leave Haukland had just slipped out of the guild's office:
The albino stallion Edwin Clay walked the streets of Haukland below, tapping his cane with each long stride.
The marina of Haukhamn was only ever empty during a raid, when the mad Graff took all his cronies and pirates to loot the ravaged Griffon mainland even further. Fishing trawlers and tugboats crawled about the waters still, but all were dwarfed compared to the Self Made Stallion, the fastest pleasure yacht in the sea.
Three decks of the finest luxuries in the world, two dozen armed mercenaries, with munitions that would make the Equestrian marines blush.
But not a soul aboard had the common sense to hook a phone-line to the shore, so Edwin Clay was forced from his office and crammed himself into a small phone booth outside.
"September's tip was right on the money, the brothel's madam only confirmed it," Clay said as he leaned against the side of the booth. "Your daughter is in Haukhamn, sir."
"I will let Mr. Horse know that we appreciate the use of his best agent. Now about Paddy?" A gruff voice responded. Clay could tell Rockfeller lost patience for this affair weeks ago.
"One of the bounty hunters, Jean De Basse managed to get her in Azkaban. The cover story those Communists fed us, the ones who were trying to ransom her, say he's joined up with her now." The stallion looked out of the thin glass slit of the booth towards the street outside. The port never slowed down. Trucks sputtered by and carts full of fish were hauled away in a constant flow of goods.
A mare as sharp as Paddy and a griffon as armored as Jean stood out, even if they were trying to blend in among the rogue's gallery outside a local pub.
"They are tailing me now, actually. It seems the Reds were telling the truth after all," Clay mused with a short chuckle, looking away and pretending that he had not noticed them.
"Too late to dig them up from their nap out in the desert though." Rockfeller lacked any misdirection when he was properly agitated. "Kill the bounty hunter, get my daughter. Not a hair in her mane tussled. Got that, boy?"
"Understood, sir." Clay hung up the phone, stepping out of the booth before making a big show of walking towards the Self Made Stallion. He twirled his cane with all the pomp of a ringmaster, turning his head up towards the guards on deck.
"Prepare to cast off...then go down below and get ready for some guests," Clay ordered. The sailors and mercenaries around them shot into a frenzy as he strode back up towards his cabin.
"This here is exactly like a dime novel," Jean muttered through a drag of a cigarette. He flicked the newspaper in his claws down, shaking his head with a look towards Paddy. "I can't believe he didn't see us."
"No way he didn't. It's a trap, right?" Paddy rose from her seat slowly, the yacht at the end of the docks starting to push off at a painstakingly slow pace.
"Oh it's most definitely a trap, chere," Jean snorted as he tossed a few bits on the table. He started towards the docks at a slow pace, Paddy close on his heels. "Reckon we 'ought to walk right into it?"
"Think you can get us onto the deck?" Paddy said, slinging the carbine from her shoulder as she started into a fast trot.
"Not without hitting the water first, but...trust me on that, c'est la vie!" Jean sputtered with a short laugh. The bounty hunter charged forward with the mare across the dock.
The yacht crawled forward, drifting away from its moorings. They nearly ploughed through a dozen fisherponies, but neither of them slowed down.
Jean was not able to fly in his armor, let alone carry a full grown earth pony with him. But, he was able to jump like Boreas himself lit a fire under his ass.
He swept an arm under Paddy and spread his wings.
Clay tapped his receiver against his desk, pausing for a moment before trying to confirm what he just heard, "They what?"
"They jumped! Straight off the dock, griffon got maybe about six feet with the mare before they splashed down." The confusion in the mercenary's voice was palatable. "Should we...stop the ship?"
"...stop the damn ship," Clay said as he rubbed a hoof into his forehead. The perfect trap set on the deck for a griffon that apparently could not fly.
All that was left though was to fish Paddy out of the harbor, that at least was simple.
The yacht slowed to a halt. Paddy floated in the water as she stared down the mercenary crew that emerged from behind crates and under the deck. When she began to curse up a storm, all eyes were on her as the ambush fell apart.
Jean found that most folks from Equus, even his fellow griffons, were not familiar with how enchanted armor worked.
When the mercenaries assumed he sunk and started the process of trying to fish an angrily flailing Paddy from the cool water, Jean floated like a wooden box towards the ship's mooring lines. Enchantments, like those on armor, could not add nor subtract mass.
They could however change an object's properties, such as buoyancy.
The enchantment in his cuirass turned the heavy plate into a cumbersome life vest. It had taken almost all of his effort to stay under the water rather than shooting above it after they jumped in.
That was the easy part, though. Jean had to climb the mooring rope now. The bounty hunter chuckled lightly to himself, exasperated as he quietly tried to scale the rope. "It's a short climb, Jean...all you gotta do is float over there and climb, Jean...it's not like you're the one being captured, Jean..."
About halfway up the line, the rope lurched around in his talons. He scrambled and nearly fell, but swiftly wrapped an arm around in the rope to hang on as a wench above began to spool in the line. "Thank you, Boreas."
The bounty hunter strained as he tried to get his sopping wet self over the edge of the boat onto the deck. A firm talon settled on the back of his neck and tossed the hunter, armor and all, onto the deck as if he were a fish.
A thickly accented voice rolled past the griffoness towering over him, "You ruined plan they had for you both on the deck. Moment I saw you hit water, I thought: he is doing the Vineyard job trick."
Jean rolled onto his back, looking up as he reached for his hat before the curved edge of a saber dug into the wood beside him. Jean knew this griffon. "Karaimovich...chere, ya know I haven't seen you since Skyfall."
A griffoness towered over him, saber in claw. She stood nearly a head taller than him, adorned in traditional cloth of the Zaphzian cossacks. Her cuirass held a laminar skirt and was worn over a traditional chokha. The large, fur cloak that hung from her shoulders matched the papakha resting on her head.
Her voice was smooth, but cut through the common tongue roughly as she twisted the sword into the deck. "You are sraka. Left without saying goodbye."
"Ya took a contract on me," Jean said as he cautiously drew himself up to stand. Karaimovich sauntered towards the opposite end of the deck, twirling the saber around in her talons with each step. "I ain't too keen to forget how this fine daughter of the Host never breaks a contract."
"And I...ain't surprised to see you still play role of Coltjun cowpony," Karaimovich teased. "You...'fixin' to draw your six shooter and cut me down?"
"Am I gonna have to?" Jean asked as he took a deep breath, reaching to pick up his hat and plop it down on his head. A bright smile grew on the cossack’s features as he ran a thumb along its brim.
"You still do that...I took Clay's black card just like you," she said with a nod. The cossack unclipped her cloak, letting it fall to the deck of the ship. "I help get mare to Las Pegasus, I get reward: contract is contract. I take care of you myself, rest of rich pony’s crew backs off, I double my cut."
"I didn't have a damn choice on the matter, so excuse me if I don't got your work ethic," Jean snipped back. "Paddy gave me a choice, an actual choice...damn right I was gonna take her offer instead."
"Spare me your proselytizing, Jean." The cossack settled into a low stance on her hind-legs, spreading her wings open. "Been some time since we danced, you still let lady lead?"
"I'll let you know when I see a lady present. Ya ‘ought to invite some." Jean snapped into action, drawing his revolver from his side to fire twice at the griffon. The first shot clapped into her cuirass, sending her staggering back before the waterlogged revolver choked on the second round.
"One and done, Jean?" The cossack fell upon him as he cursed, cocking the hammer back on his revolver too late. Her saber swung in wide arcs, slapping him with the flat of the blade as if it were a game. "Nothing ever changes with you, no? I get you all to myself now."
She was toying with him.
Jean scrambled out of the way, skipping back on his heels as he ducked under the edge of the sword. He rolled onto his back, wings pushing him back up to his feet as fired another two shots from the hip: click, click.
Jean made a mental note not to buy cheap ammunition ever again, if he survived.
"Lot of innuendos for someone tryin' to kill me," Jean grunted as he flipped the revolver around in his claws to make a crude club. He drew a small knife from his side to join it, settling into a low stance as he prepared for the brawl. "Was that there fine misty night in the vineyards not enough for ya'?"
The cossack scoffed, closing the distance between them again. She flipped the saber around in her talons, nicking him as she drove forward with a lunge. Jean twisted back and cracked the butt of the revolver against her cheek to a satisfying squak.
"Pizda! That was cheap shot!" Karaimovich lurched back around, slashing a deep cut across Jean's cuirass.
Jean staggered back, raising a claw to touch his armor and hissed as the slash against it burned. "Ya enchanted your fuckin' sword?"
"I do not use gun, enchanted sword works instead," Karaimovich answered as she flipped her saber around. The edge of the blade was red hot as if it had come straight out of the forge. "Perfect for pesky debtors in dead father's 'buoyant' armor."
"I hate that there magic and I told ya that in confidence," Jean replied as he charged forward again, swinging up his dagger to try and catch the blade. The saber, almost predictably, sheared right through it. The bounty hunter managed to side step the strike and bring a closed talon to smash into the cossack's face with the blunted remains of the dagger.
Karaimovich staggered and Jean swung his claw down to grapple with her sword arm. He managed to hook it under his left shoulder, twisting it at an odd angle while whipping her again with the pistol.
The cossack roared in anger, spitting blood in his eye as she dropped her saber. She turned into him, wrestling the revolver from his talons and delivering a headbutt that sent him down onto his back, "I have always been strong one between us, Jean. You cannot beat me like this."
"That right there is a good point...so why do ya punchin’ like a child," Jean huffed out through several ragged breaths, scrambling back up to his feet. He charged towards Karaimovich again, sweeping her legs out from under her as he whipped her onto the deck with the tackle.
The griffoness smiled, her legs flipping him onto his back as she spun up to her feet. "You are more valuable alive."
Jean started to rise again before a closed claw snapped his head back with a hard punch. The bounty hunter staggered and collapsed onto the side of the boat. He could hear the waves dancing below as the cossack sauntered towards him.
The boat was moving again. Jean looked over his shoulder as he saw them slowly taxiing out of the marina, the open sea spreading out before them on the horizon. "...Kara...I'm sorry ya know."
"Bit late on that, Jean." The griffoness lifted him up to his feet, holding him by his gorget. "You left, nothing changes that."
"Yeah well...I reckon I'm also sorry for that too," Jean clarified with a short smirk. The griffon shot an arm up, snatching at the wrist holding his armor as he dipped his weight under her. The hunter lurched up, swinging his hips with the help of his wings to toss Karaimovich over the side of the ship.
Jean watched her tumble down into the water before lazily tossing a life preserver over the edge of the ship down to her. "Ain't never heard ya mention 'buoyancy' with your armor, Kara! Consider us even!"
A flurry of the most unspeakable curses in old Gryphian and the common tongue nipped at Jean’s heels as he made himself scarce. Karaimovich's voice faded as the ship continued to plod through the water, slipping past the outskirts of the harbor and into the open sea.
Jean leaned down to collect his pistol, eyeing the cossack's saber as it laid on the deck unattended. He leaned down to pick it up, running a thumb over its hilt with a slow chuckle. "I...'ought to hold onto this for her...just in case."
"The Cossack just got tossed overboard, we stop and get her?" Clipper Builder asked as he stood behind the helm, keeping their course as the dozen sailors on the bridge scrambled about the complex controls of the ship. The bridge itself was the crowning achievement of The Self-Made Stallion not only because of its luxurious interior, but also due to advanced technologies like sonar squeezed between the occasional marble column and mahogany floors.
"...he's on board...they're still..." Clay muttered, tapping his cane in a quick tempo against the floor of the bridge. Clipper did not particularly care for this eccentricity, he would damage the hardwood at this rate. "Captain Clipper, keep our current course for Prance. Whatever happens, do not stop. We will handle our surprise guests."
"You're the boss," said Clipper with a small grin. The elder stallion adjusted a corncob pipe in his mouth, and a hoof rose to scratch at a grey beard as he adjusted a large straw hat on his head. He looked to the sailors who paused to eavesdrop on the conversation, and snorting out his snout he bellowed, "Get back to work!"
"Mr. Clay, if I might speak to you privately..." Clipper lowered his voice as he motioned for the first mate, an older mare named Staghorn, to take up his post at the helm. The old sea pony joined Clay as they moved out the back door of the bridge to the corporate stallion's office.
Clay moved with all the pomp and circumstance of a Canterlot noble, but he bore a sharpness that even made Clipper hesitate in writing him off as air-headed. Clay settled behind his desk and poured himself a healthy glass of whiskey, musing over the rim of the glass, "What's this about, Captain?"
"We fished out Ms. Rockfeller and your mercenaries have stored her down in the medbay," Clipper prodded. "Except your ambush didn't go as planned. Turns out that the griffon floats and doesn't fly...we got the girl, but we didn't get rid of the bounty hunter."
"Your point?" Clay asked past another sip of his drink. The albino stallion narrowed his freakishly red eyes at the captain as he took off his shaded glasses.
"That cossack was the contingency plan and she just got tossed in the drink. I'm not too sure if she floats or if she flies either, but she's outta the equation here," Clipper said as he walked around Clay's office. When Rockfeller's goons or the big boss himself were not aboard, this was usually his office. Most of the time his maritime paraphernalia was never fiddled with, but when Clay came aboard he had him clear it all out.
Now, the office was almost unspeakably bare, save for the desk, a chair, some liquor, and a cot in the corner.
Some ponies just did not have good taste.
"I need you to fill me in here, boss. What's the plan? We got maybe twenty armed mercenaries aboard and they're all spread out across three decks and the hull," Clipper lectured as he tapped a hoof on Clay's desk. His desk. "We got no more than sixty crew including your twenty odd mercs."
"Are you worried for their safety?" Clay asked with an arch of his brow. "I can assure you they're well armed."
"I'm worried about having to explain to the big boss the bullet holes in his favorite foyer and the loss of the...additional cargo," Clipper stressed with a shake of his head. He leaned back, walking towards the bridge as he gestured around the spartan cabin. "You know as well as I do that Paddy isn't the only precious thing aboard. We lose the cargo and it's your ass too--"
A quiet explosion underneath them was followed by the wail of alarms in the bridge. It rocked the deck slightly, but the shock was mitigated as the ship lurched onward.
Clay remained stoic, taking another sip from his glass as he waved a hoof, dismissing Clipper as if he had the authority to. "Hurry along, Captain. You have a ship to save."
"You are...the second worst passenger we've ever had," Clipper hissed as he pointed a hoof at Clay, scrambling back into the bridge as his sailors tried to hail the lower levels for a damage report. "What in the name of Celestia's ass was that?!"
Jean was surprised the first time by the amount of force it took to pull the pin on a grenade. He felt he would dislocate his talon with how hard he pulled, expecting the pin to fly off as it did in the pictures.
He was then surprised when he managed to pull the pin free.
"Merde."
He knew what was next, though, and promptly lobbed it down the hall while the mercenaries were reloading. The clatter of gunfire strafed over the boxes he hid behind was cut short with a flurry of curses.
The explosion was quieter than he expected, too, almost like a large balloon popping instead of a great fireball. The mangled forms of his pursuers ripped apart six different ways by the grenade ended the fight for now. The griffon rose from behind the boxes, leaning down and to grab his hat from the ground. He plopped it back on his head and ran his thumb along the brim.
Jean did not have a clue where Paddy was being held. He had hoped to quietly interrogate the first mercenary he caught. That attempt resulted in a brawl, that grew to a firefight, and now ended with a grenade. His talons fiddled with the cartridges as he loaded them into his revolver. "That was 'bout four of them fellas...and I got at the very least near a dozen more."
"I...I can't feel...are my boys okay..." a voice meekly called from the end of the hall. Jean frowned, looking back into the mass of bodies to see a lone stallion crawling around in the welter of his gore.
Jean swept the corridor, looking around for anyone rushing towards the sound of the grenade before dashing towards the wounded stallion. Revolver in claw, he pressed the barrel to the mercenary's head as he slammed a talon into an open wound in his chest to staunch the bleeding. "Where's the mare?"
"Sweet Celestia..." the stallion muttered incoherently, his limbs occasionally flailing as he tried to move what was left of them around. "The ponies are...in the cargo hold.."
"No...the mare, Paddy Rockfeller, where is she!" Jean hissed as he heard the soft clamor of hooves coming down the hall. "Tell me where she is and I'll do what I can!"
"Please, I...I...she's in the medbay...follow the signs," the stallion whispered. "I can't feel my legs..."
Jean looked around the narrow halls, finally settling his eyes on a red cross and an arrow pointing deeper into the ship. The voices grew closer, reinforcements were coming. Jean looked down to the stallion, lowering his revolver. "This whole job is a rougarouin..."
Jean found that killing was easier when he did not have to talk to the folks when they were dying.
The bounty hunter fished out a cigarette from the brim of his hat, setting it into the stallion's mouth and gave him a light. He rested a talon on the stallion's head and lowered him to the ground. He waited for a few moments before cocking the hammer back and then promptly left the pony there.
It was easier and smarter to save the bullet, not to mention his friends would slow down to help him.
He dove around the corner, scrambling on all fours and skipping every so often when the hall opened enough to let his wings open. The signs kept changing, pointing him in what fell like a maze. Left. Right. Left. Left. Right.
All the while the sounds of the alarm blared in the ship's hull. The grenade had alerted everyone on the yacht and given them his rough location in the hold. Jean figured that Paddy was at least expecting him now.
Finally, he reached the medbay, a small wooden door caught between the two metal walls of the ship with a green cross painted on frosted glass.
Jean leaned against the wall, managing to hear Paddy's muffled shouting as she argued with someone on the other side. He crouched low, looking up towards the glass as he used his revolver to knock three times on the door.
Then he waited.
Sure enough, the shouts died down and the shadow of a unicorn appeared in the glass. Paddy was not a unicorn so Jean was willing to take his chances.
He peaked up and loosed a shot towards the figure's head. The glass shattered as the pony's head snapped back, the shouting resumed as Jean flung himself through the door into the small room. The medbay was no more than one bed, a few cabinets, and a pair of chairs.
Two sailors stood over Paddy, the mare tied to a chair with a few bruises, while two other ponies laid unconscious on the floor. The unicorn Jean had just shot crashed into a bloody heap against the singular bed in the room. Jean let the revovler’s barrel drift between the two sailors, "Sorry I'mma bit late, chere...ran into an old friend."
The two sailors looked at each other as they faced down the barrel of the gun. Neither of them was armed. The unicorn Jean had put down was the only other soul in the room with a gun. Paddy smiled, spitting out a bit of blood as she tilted her head back. The mare's black mane was a mess and her cheek was swollen slightly with a bruise; a blemish on usually sharp features, "I was doing just fine, Jean. Had them on the ropes."
The griffon did not doubt the mare as he looked down to the two limp bodies near the unicorn's corpse, "Ya want me to let you finish up this here tussle?"
"L-listen, we just tied her up," one of the sailors stammered out, the pony quickly punched in his arm by his colleague.
"Then untie her," Jean deadpanned, waving his revolver for effect. The sailors sprung into action as they began to quickly untie the heiress, profusely apologizing under their breaths as Jean settled in the doorway. Every so often he peeked out into the hall. "Alright Paddy, your turn. We're on the ship and we put down around ten of their mercenaries."
"Which means we got at least another ten to twenty left to deal with," Paddy said as the sailors finished removing the ropes. Adjusting her leather bomber jacket, she raised her hoofs up to tie back her mane. "And we still need to get up to the bridge, but we're down here in the hull...means we'll have to take the fire escape."
Paddy turned to look at the two sailors then, glaring at them as she sauntered around the room looking for her carbine. Jean paused for a moment, reaching down to his side to toss her Karaimovich's saber. "Gift from that old friend, ya slash it right around in the air a few times to turn it on...the deactivation rune is the pommel. Makes the sword hot as the sun itself, so be careful."
The pony caught the sword, feeling it in her hoofs before setting it over her shoulder. She smiled past her bruises, looking up at the sailors who had backed up into a corner now fear in their eyes, "...he never gets me anything nice."
Jean frowned, walking over to the unicorn and his compatriots underneath him. "These guys are gonna be wakin' up soon, we gotta move and the mercs got to know we're here."
"Alright, follow me featherbrain," Paddy said as she galloped past Jean. "Cargo hold is the closest place with a fire ladder all the way up to the bridge."
Jean looked at the two sailors, flicking his talons at them in a silent threat before running after Paddy. "How'd you know that?"
"I used to sneak down to the cargo hold to play with the other fillies when I was younger," she said with a tilt of her head.
They stopped near the corner of the cargo hold, where a pair of guards stood watch at the door rifle in hoofs. Jean found it odd though that both were facing the door to the hold rather than out into the hallway with all the commotion they were making.
He whispered under his breath, "Other fillies? Didn't figure there's a daycare aboard, pleasure yacht ain’t exactly kid friendly. Reckon it makes sense they gotta hide ya someplace for them oligarchic orgies on this here cruise."
Jean twisted around the corner before Paddy could say another word. He whistled once to get the guard's attention, drawing his revolver as he fanned the rest of his cylinder into each. Both guards collapsed to the ground without a word, not even able to raise their rifles up in time.
Paddy scooted past Jean, leaning down to pick up one of the rifles as she set her hoof on the door to the cargo hold. "There isn't a daycare."
"Paddy-" Jean raised a talon to rest on her shoulder "--ya sayin’...what I think you mean, right?"
The mare was quiet, opening the door to the cargo hold. It was dark, as only a few thin lights hung on the ceiling. Past the few large boxes Jean struggled at first to see anything.
He heard them first. The occasional cough or worried whisper crawled through the darkness. The hundred odd souls packed away like sardines in a can. A foul stench washed over them as Paddy walked into the hold.
Jean slammed the door to the hold shut behind them before following Paddy in. He had seen pony trafficking before, tartarus, he had been trafficked himself to get to Azakaban to find Paddy in the first place. This was different though, these were not political refugees or rich ponies paying their way to escape in a passing freighter's extra cabins.
These were the hungry, desperate, and the poor escaping Griffonia.
These were debtors.
Just like him.
"Clay wasn't bluffin' about what he does to 'liquid' assets," Jean deadpanned as he looked over his shoulder towards the hold's door. He twisted his revolver back, emptying out the spent brass as they stepped past a malnourished griffon family. "Do ya know where these here folk are goin'?"
Paddy paused, lowering her voice before turning to face him. "All across Equus to noble estates, factories, and maybe even the Changeling Lands as love supply."
"They're bein' forced into this?" Jean asked as he raised a talon to adjust his hat. The griffon stopped in his tracks as he carefully slid another six cartridges into his revolver. "This ain't no voluntary exchange?"
"Luna's tits, Jean...I know you're dense sometimes but yes these folks are essentially slaves," Paddy said with a frown, raising a hoof to punch his cuirass. "You're getting me all riled up here! Why you asking the obvious?"
"Paddy...we just took out the only guards outside and maybe ten or so before that. All the other armed guards on this ship are comin' our way right quick," Jean said as he looked around. A dozen or so of the debtors were starting to pay more attention to what they were saying. Some of the younger griffons and ponies were standing up, whispering to their friends as all eyes were slowly turning towards the heavily armed strangers in the center of the hold.
The light flicked in Paddy's eyes, "They outnumber them five to one."
The small crowd around them rippled with excitement, more eyes turning towards them. The door to the hull thumped loudly, tearing all eyes towards it.
Then, the firm sounds of hooves knocking on the door could be heard. The muffled cry of the mercenary's voices sent much of the crowd back to their hovels in empty crates. Jean pointed towards the door, lurching forward to grab one unicorn by his horn. "Ya either die here free or die somewhere else enslaved! Grow a pair, dammit!"
The first guard came through the door, his voice calling down to the debtors below. "Listen up! We're looking for two-"
Jean snapped around and fired a shot at the pony's silhouette in the doorway. His shot whipped the mercenary back, Jean's voice roaring out as he rallied the debtors. "Live free or die, ya desperate bastards!"
Jean was not the most convincing griffon in the world, but Paddy standing alongside him and firing up towards the doorway with the rifle she pilfered gave more than a few souls the kick they needed.
At first it was a few pegasi and griffons, flinging themselves up the narrow stairs before being cut down by the clatter of submachine guns and carbines. Then a thestral managed to get to get a pistol, firing off a wild haze of shots before falling. Another picked up a rifle, another grabbed a knife, and the riot erupted.
The wave of creatures rushing past Jean and Paddy towards the open door gave them a chance to slip away, only the infirm and the dead were left in the hold. None of them cared where the impromptu rebellion's leaders went as they slipped underneath a service hatch in the corner of the hold behind a large shipping crate.
"Turn the ship around!" Clipper barked from his seat. Word had just reached them that the medbay had just received two mercenaries with serious head trauma and another dead. Not to mention the bodies from the grenade and the dead the damned bounty hunter had already stacked up. "Get us back to Haukland."
"Were you not the one who was worried about having to explain any damages to...the 'Big Boss'?" Clay teased as he stepped onto the bridge. "No, stay the course."
It was chaos: pure utter chaos. Clipper never expected to have to deal with anything like this, even in all his years of trafficking the desperate and the rich around the world. The stallion was half tempted to throw Clay off right then and there. "Are you insane? Half of the armed crew is dead and if the cargo down in the hold figures out what's going on they're going to hijack the ship! They might be worth a few thousand bits all put together, but this ship is worth hundreds of thousands!"
"And if you paid any attention to the world outside this bridge. you would understand that Mr. Rockfeller's daughter is worth millions of bits. This is the only ship in the entire damn sea the 'big boss' trusts," Clay said flatly, tapping his cane twice against the floor. "We have to get to Prance with Paddy in tow or we are truly doomed."
The voice of a sailor rattled up from one of the speaking tubes darting across the bridge. "Captain! The cargo! They've gotten loose! We need help or we're going to lose the engine room!"
Clipper stood still for a moment, taking a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair. Even if he managed to seal the lower decks, they would lose the engines to the cargo eventually. If they lost the engines, then they would be lucky to be rescued by someone that was not a naval cutter wondering why they were illegally transporting ponies.
"Captain Clipper, I am going to need about half of the ponies in this room along with anyone else who is not essential to actively steering this ship." Clay moved past him without skipping a beat. The albino stallion prodded half a dozen ponies out of their seats in a matter of seconds with his cane. "Let me be clear. You will all die if you do not kill the cargo first. I have several firearms, not to mention a near...dozen or so mercenaries left."
"We are going to save them. You will be rewarded," Clay said as he reached underneath his suit jacket and tossed the closest sailor a sidearm. "We have a ship to save. Captain Clipper, the bridge is yours."
The captain was stunned for a moment, rising from his chair as most of his crew followed that ablino freak out of the room. Only his helmspony and first mate remained behind, the pair's stations too essential to leave and join the fight. Clipper may have had the bridge, but after that display...the ship belonged to Clay.
Jean slid open the hatch at a snail's pace, his hat mushed down on top of his head as he scanned around the room. It was hardly what Jean expected the Captain's Quarters on the most expensive luxury mega yacht in the world to be. The room was bare: save for the desk, a chair, some liquor, and a cot in the corner. "Its clear, allons."
Jean scrambled out of the hatch, reaching down with a claw to help pull Paddy up as he looked around the room. Jean smiled slightly at the sight of a half filled glass of whisky on the desk. He stalked towards it slowly, reaching down to pick it up with a chuckle as he ran a thumb over some loose papers on the desk's top. "...Million Mare March planned in Manehatten in the coming weeks for...Thestral rights? Paddy, ya got a stake in this?"
The mare looked over her shoulder with a glare, stomping back towards him to snatch the whisky glass out of his claw. She poured it out across the floor with a frown and shook her head. "Everyone deserves an equal lot in life, just like I deserve a friend who isn't trying to get plastered while we're hijacking a fucking ship!"
"It was just one drink there, Paddy," Jean frowned as he adjusted the hat on his head, running a thumb along his brim. "It ain't gonna slow me down."
"Its always just one drink with you, Jean!" Paddy stammered out, looking completely surprised at the griffon as if he was plucked naked. "I've known you a few weeks and half of that time was spent coddling you after a stupor or being shot at with you."
"I..." Jean looked towards the bottles of liquor tucked away on the opposite side of the room. "I'mma bit thirsy, that's all."
Paddy followed his eyes as she adjusted the rifle in her hooves. "Jean."
The way she said his name, with deep wells of disappointment looking up from wide eyes gave him pause. Jean hated when folks got in his way with this sort of thing. What's the problem with a few drinks now and again? It made him feel good, made him shoot faster, fuck better...
And it made Paddy look at him in a way that made him feel downright terrible.
"O-okay...let's...I know what you're thinkin', I ain't blowin' this off but..." Jean tried to explain himself as he leaned against the desk, flicking his talons through the paperwork absentmindedly. "I promise ya, we will talk about it...just...stop lookin' at me like that, savvy?"
"Alright," she offered softly, looking at him with the same determination he saw in that hanger in Stalliongrad.
Jean smiled at that, even if it meant he was getting feathers chewed off later. Leaning down to pick up one of the letters, he flicked it around in his talons, "...half of these are telegrams sent to someone in Prance named...September. Rest is receipts of purchase and shipping orders from HorseCo. Everything is going to Manehatten too?"
"Well don't keep me in suspense, Jean. What's this about HorseCo and September?" Paddy asked as she leaned to read over his shoulder.
"No...no I mean there's just some receipts for electronics? Microphones and stuff like that," Jean explained. "The correspondence with September is...odd, the dates are all close together but the sender's location is all over the place."
Offering one of the slips of paper to Paddy to get her off his shoulder, the griffon stalked towards the other side of the room. He paused for a moment, moving to lean his head against the door before instead moving to stand beside it. Jean was not about to dawdle too long in front of any doors any time soon, not after Azkaban.
Paddy poured over the papers, stuffing a few away into her jacket before trotting over to stand beside Jean. "Neither of us know how to navigate a ship, so you gotta take somepony alive. I don't know who is in charge now, my father changes out the crew every few years."
"In less polite terms, chere. We need at least one?" Jean said with an arch of his brow.
"We need some of the slaving bastards...but once we catch sight of Equus we can dump them in the water for all I care," Paddy said with a glare. "No way you work on a ship like this and not notice what goes on aboard it."
Jean cocked the hammer on his revolver back.
They only needed one.
The speaking tube next to Clipper practically shook as it carried the noise of the firefight up from the bowels of the ship. Clay's voice was unmistakable, even past the deafening sound of the clustered chaos. "Clipper! We are driving them back towards the cargo hold---"
Another blast from a grenade down below shook Clipper quite a bit. The pony raised a hoof to his head as he thought about how much cargo was just lost.
"---but I need you to send me anyone else you have up there! The fire ladder in my room leads down to the hold! There is also a bag underneath my cot. You will fine a pair of firearms inside, take both and sneak below! Use whatever else you can find and hit them from behind!"
"Fine...fine, I'm sending the last two ponies on the bridge down. I'm stayin' at the helm while you clean up your damn mess, Clay!" Clipper roared into the tube. He rose from his seat, pushing the helmspony from the ship's wheel as he waved to them both. "You heard the mad bastard. Staghorn, take the rookie: get to his quarters there, grab the guns, and clean up his mess for him!"
It was reckless, definitively idiotic. Most of his crew had already been sent down to a meat grinder below, what difference were two ponies more going to make? At that point though, Clipper took solace in Clay digging his own grave. The loss of cargo and maybe even the death of Paddy?
Clay would not survive that, and with the way he had been protesting the albino's actions Clipper figured he would at least live through Rockfeller's outburst.
"Captain?" Staghorn stammered out from behind as she swung open the door to Clay's quarters.
Clipper looked over his shoulder to see an armored griffon towering over his sailors on hind-legs, weapon drawn. The bounty hunter adjusted his hat, looking around the room. The scar on his beak bent as he spoke. "Which one of ya is in charge of this here ship and its contents?"
Clipper blinked once, raising a hoof. "I'm the Captain of this ship--"
Clipper saw the flash of the muzzle and felt something strike his chest before he heard the roar of the revolver. He was shot, the damned griffon shot him. It surprised him when he hit the deck, the pain of falling hurt more than the bullet. It was too fast, it could not be over like this. He was supposed to survive, he was going to survive.
He came to his senses as Jean De Basse hung over him, the griffon offering only a glare as he meekly raised a hoof.
He saw the muzzle flash again.
Jean lowered his revolver as he finished off the ship's Captain. The elder stallion on the ground twitched slightly, fading away as Jean ran a thumb over the brim of his hat.
"Ship's captain gotta know what the cargo is, no?" Jean said with a quick shrug to Paddy. The mare did not glare at him, offering an almost approving nod.
"Either of you know that you're transporting ponies down in the hold?" Paddy asked, looking between the two sailors.
"R-right...the passengers," a younger looking pegasus stallion said with a nod. "...refugees, we're just transporting refugees."
The older looking one, a mare with an orange coat and white hair, stared down Paddy with a squint. She looked at the pegasus beside her and shook her head. "Cargo. We're transporting cargo. Lets get this over with."
Jean wore a short smirk as he leaned down to pick up the corpse of the captain, dragging him towards one of the side doors to the bridge that let out onto the observation deck. "Ya know there is such a thing as a wrong answer. Older mare like yourself might want to remember that."
Paddy waved her rifle, motioning for the pegasus to step to the side. The stallion hesitated before the older mare pushed him firmly to the side. "You going to execute me or what? Clipper lied to the newbies but never to me."
Paddy stared at the mare, checking the bolt on her rifle before looking to the stallion. She braced herself for the rifle's kick, Jean saw that flash of anger in her bright blue eye, yet she kept her hoof off the trigger. "How many does it take to steer this ship?"
"T-two! At least two!" the stallion said with a quick shake of his head. "Listen lady, you don't have to kill her. Captain's dead, your friend delivered as much justice as you can! Big boss back in Las Pegasus is one who caused all this nasty and that albino stallion down below!"
The older mare did not offer any protest, instead she just frowned a bit deeper when Jean tossed the body of the captain over the railing down into the sea. Jean gave her a grin, he was gonna let Paddy end this one way or another.
"I'm Paddy Rockfeller, I know how much of a bastard the big boss can be." Paddy lowered her rifle, setting it to the side as she looked around the bridge. "We need your help to reach Equus so we can make sure he can't do this sort of thing again."
"O-okay sure..." the young stallion said with an eager nod, looking up at the older mare with a smile. The mare glowered down at him and he shifted on his hooves. "...but uh...we need some guarantees."
"Which are?" Paddy asked as she settled behind the helm, running a hoof over the ship's wheel.
"You keep your bird from killing us and keep the refugees from doing the same," the older mare said. "Then we get to walk away. That's it."
Jean slowly stalked towards the pair, flicking the revolver around in his claw habitually. Part of him wanted to blame the pair for even participating in the trade, but he was not so self-righteous as to forget he killed ponies and other creatures for small bags of bits just a few weeks ago.
Even if he was killing for a cause now, Jean could not get away from the fact he was still killing.
"I reckon that there's a fair bargain, chere," Jean said as he raised a talon to tip the edge of his hat at the older mare. The mare spit towards his talons, growling under her breath.
"Quit antagonizing them," Paddy chastised with a light chuckle as she stepped away from the wheel. Waving her hoof for the two sailors to get back to their posts, they went without any more fanfare. "How long until we reach Las Pegasus?"
"We aren't going to Las Pegasus," the orange coated mare chuckled as she stepped behind the wheel. "Our port of call is Prance. Don't have enough fuel to get anywhere else."
"Why don't we just refuel and take a little pleasure cruise around Equus?" Jean asked, looking down as the pegasus stallion nearly tripped over-himself as he took his post behind a complex looking radio set.
"Because we've got illegal cargo, dead bodies probably down in the hold, and a missing captain," the older mare deadpanned. "Not to mention we'll be flagged in a few days."
"What First Mate Staghorn...I guess C-Captain Staghorn?" the young stallion stammered out with a questioning look towards the mare who gave an approving nod. "...what Captain Staghorn means is that we wouldn't make it before the ship is reported captured by pirates."
"And with the pull my father has we'd be the prize for any intrepid pirate hunters or navy officers," Paddy said with an understanding nod.
"Alright...so Prance it is," Jean said as he loaded his revolver, emptying the spent canisters onto the floor. "I'm gonna take care of the rest, make sure that Clay and his cronies don't stop us."
"I'll stay here and make sure we stay on course," Paddy said with a nod as she settled herself into the captain's chair.
"Clipper lied to a lot of the crew about the cargo," Staghorn said from behind the wheel. "Doesn't mean he lied to all of them. At this point whatever is going on down there might be an all out brawl, just...don't execute anymore of my crew if you can help it."
"I just want Clay and his mercenaries," Jean said with a nod to the older mare. "No one else gotta die."
"We all die someday, bounty hunter," Staghorn rolled out with a frown. The mare gave Jean a nod before the griffon turned tail. "Once Clay is gone I'll be able to tell everypony else to stand down. Call up through one of the speaking tubes when it's done."
He slipped back through the Captain's quarters and to the emergency hatch. Flinging it open Jean slipped his revolver to hold into his beak and began the quick descent back down into the cargo hold.
The clatter of gunfire and chaos reached up to meet him.
The squalor of the cargo hold was not improved by grenades or bullet holes.
As soon as Jean scampered back into the hold, he had to dive for cover as a submachine gun peppered the ground around him from the distant side of the hold. A few shots skipped off his armor and the griffon faked his death by going limp and lazily rolling himself into cover.
There were only a few dim lights left and the muzzle flash of nearly three dozen guns were the only indication anyone was alive down here.
He peaked around the edge of his cover, a rather large shipping crate, and looked up towards the door to the rest of the ship. It was wide open, but the stairs were covered with bodies. The twisted and trampled forms of desperate creatures and decimated mercenaries laid across each other in clumps.
"Maar's beat me here," Jean mumbled as he dipped back down. The griffon remained quiet, sneaking around in the dim light from crate to crate.
He drew towards the clatter of the pony that had nearly strafed him earlier, a unicorn a chef's hat with a sous-chef behind him hurling knives into the shadows. Jean found the sight grimly amusing, and he wondered if the pair had actually managed to hit anything.
He peaked out from the crate again, cocking the hammer on his revolver back as he barely made the pair out in the thin lights.
Then he remembered something Paddy had said: his revolver, his armor, and his stupid hat all screamed mercenary.
He raised his claws over his head and said a short prayer, scrambling towards the pair. "Hold your fire fellas, don't shoot! It's me!"
The sous-chef hurled a carving knife into his cuirass rather ineffectively but was stopped by the other chef, "Francois wait! Its one of the corporate clown's cronies!"
"It is a fine mess that you and your boss have made, salope!" Francois spat out as he turned around to chuck a cleaver at a shadow that scampered by to surprising effect.
"Je m’en fous! Where is Clay? I lost him when we broke in here!" Jean said as he met the sous-chef with his own Aquielian.
"Aimon, look at this! This leech is from the homeland too! Or at least whoever cracked open his egg taught him how to butcher our tongue with that atrocious 'folksy' accent," huffed out Francois as he patted the unicorn in the chef's chat who was busy fumbling with the submachine gun.
Jean frowned, reaching out to take the gun from the griffon and finish reloading it himself. "Where's Clay?"
"Clay is somewhere to our right last time we saw him! There's only maybe ten of us left, these damn refugees killed the rest! The ungrateful wretches!" Aimon bellowed, snapping back down to the ground as a bullet ricocheted off the deck near them with a sharp whistle.
Jean looked over the stubby gun in his claws, shaking his head once. "You two stop fighting, keep your damn heads down. Orders of Captain Staghorn."
"Captain Staghorn, merde! Clipper owed me bits dammit!" Francois barked as he hurled his last knife and laid flat on his stomach. "Hurry up then mercenary, go get your boss!"
Jean flung himself out of cover again, rising to his hind legs as he fired blindly into the darkness wherever there was a muzzle flash. He aimed high, mostly, in hopes of just making sure whoever was on the receiving end kept their heads down. It only seemed to make him a bigger target, as a rifle round slammed into his cuirass and sent Jean tumbling onto his back. "Merde!"
"Whoever that is with the automatic, get over here now! We're about to make the final push!" a pompous voice called from the shadows to his right. In the thin red shine of the emergency lights around them, Jean saw an albino stallion with a blood stained coachgun in his hooves.
Clay.
"Chef Aimon! That's you, yes? If you ever want to puff another pastry, pick up your flank and get over here now!" Clay bellowed as he hunched over a speaking tube. Around him eight mercenaries huddle together behind a crate as Jean drew himself closer slowly.
"Captain Clipper! This is Clay! I want you to turn on the main lights in the cargo hold on my command, do you understand!" Clay bellowed into the speaking tube as Jean took off his hat and settled beside the other mercenaries in the darkness. Without the audacious paraphernalia, his silhouette looked like the others mostly.
A muffled voice confirmed the order from the speaking tube, the young stallion on the bridge put on a good impression of the late captain.
"Close your eyes and get ready for the lights to flash on, we'll only have a few seconds. Pick your targets, don't miss. They still outnumber us but we've whittled them away to something manageable," Clay commanded to the mercenaries. "Lets earn our bits today."
"Captain Clipper! Now! Do it now!" Clay roared into the mic, Jean heard everyone beside him take a deep breath as a slight whine hung in the air.
A deep series of loud thumps came from above as light suddenly washed across the cargo hold, illuminating the bodies churned from the fighting, the last desperate survivors, the cowering souls of those who chose not to fight, and the griffon of the hour standing right next to them with a submachine gun.
Jean did not say a word. The bounty hunter swiveled up and cut through Clay first as he tore into the rest of the mercenaries. He kept the stubby automatic controlled, firing in short bursts as he hacked into them without remorse. Those who did not die in the first onslaught found themselves cut down by the griffon's revolver as he finished off the rest.
It took longer than Jean thought to put them down, and by the time he was finished he had spent all that he had.
The broken bodies of eight mercenaries laid on top of one another, with Clay off to the side clutching at his stomach as the albino stallion shook his head in protest. "You...son of a whore."
Jean scampered over Clay as the occasional bullet from the survivors whizzed over his head. He picked up the stallion's coach gun, making sure it was loaded as he screamed into the speaking tube. "Clay is down! This is Jean! Clay is down!"
The ship's PA cracked to life as Staghorn's voice cut through the fighting: "Attention to orders, attention to orders...everyone stand down. All crew stand down, the Captain is dead and the Self Made Stallion is no longer on contract with the Rockfeller family...all refugees will be transported to Equus free of charge. Cease fire, everyone stand down!"
The last few pops and cracks of rifle fire echoed out for a moment before the fighting died down completely. A quiet cheer erupted from the survivors, the relieved crew saying audible prayers as they peaked out from behind cover discarding their weapons, and the mercenaries laid still.
Dead to the last.
"...this changes nothing..." Clay croaked out a hoof desperately pressing down into the three holes across his chest. "...you're gonna die, Jean De Basse...and you're gonna suffer."
"C’est la vie...we all gotta die sometime," Jean mused out as he settled the old shotgun in his claws. "Who's September? You tell me and I make it quick. He your boss?"
The name 'September' brought a wide smile to Clay's face, the stallion sputtering out a laugh. "You don't even know...what the hell is going on, do you? Whatever you're...planning...just keep her safe."
"I'll make sure I do," Jean said as he rested the twin barrels of the coachgun against the stallion's chest. "Ya should've left me in the Frontier."
"...we all have regrets don't we?" Clay said with an amused smile. "See you soon, Jean..."
Jean emptied the shells from the coachgun, tossing the weapon aside. He walked away, letting Clay wear that smile as if he won as he faded away into a pool of his blood.
The moon hung over the sea as the Self-Made Stallion cut through the waves. The waters were calm, a deep enchanting black with occasional white roll of foam painted in the moonlight. The stars hung above, bright and free in an ever expanding horizon reminded Jean just how small he was.
The bounty hunter stood at the bow of the ship without his armor. He took a long drag from a cigarette, blowing the smoke from his nostrils, and let the bite of the cool air wash him of the day's killings. The salt mixed with the bitter tobacco on his breath and brought out a smile on his beak.
No matter if he died, he killed, or if he just walked away: the moon would rest in its dark shroud, adorned with a thousand different jewels.
"More than enough to make a blue sky jealous," Jean muttered to only Boreas himself as he took another puff.
"They say that Luna herself paints the sky." Paddy's voice floated on the gentle kiss of the wind, the mare appearing behind him without a sound.
"Merde," Jean rumbled out with a slow chuckle. He had not heard her coming, but he was not about to jump out of his skin."I'm assumin’ there's no gettin' out of this?"
"Nope," Paddy said with a shake of her head. "No armor?"
"No armor. Need to just let my feathers here breathe a bit, chere." Jean rose up to his hind-legs, stretching his wings and arms out before settling back on all fours. "...It makes me feel clean."
"There are showers in the main cabins," Paddy added with a nod as she settled beside him. Reaching down into her jacket, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes to offer the griffon. "Golden Griffon Cigarettes, figured they're better then whatever you've been rolling."
"Ya really are that spoiled rich filly deep down, aren't you?" Jean teased as he took the smokes.
"Some things are just hard to shake, but I've gotten better with time," the mare said with a nod. "I need you to stop drinking, Jean."
"Not even beatin' around the bush?" Jean asked with an arch of his brow, flicking his cigarette off into the waters below. "Why?"
"Because I need you watching my back, not looking down the bottom of a bottle." Paddy turned to look towards him. "You said back in Azkaban that you aren't what I need, but you're all that I got."
"And I wouldn't ever lie to ya," Jean mused as he ran a talon over his face, looking away from the mare's eyes as he settled on the rail of the ship. He looked down into the water, the moon reflecting off of it and staring back up at him.
"So what's the answer you keep looking for with the drink?" Paddy asked as she leaned beside Jean, looking out across the ocean as it rolled by.
Jean was quiet for some time. He counted the stars above and tapped his talon against the railing at a tempo that would make a machine gun jealous. The bounty hunter never regretted the killing or the fighting. The money was too good and he didn't mind that it was blood money. All it always was just a necessary evil to be free of his debt.
He drank before that too. Jean only got his debt in the first place because he kept getting drunk in Skyfall and gambled away his earnings. He killed there also, and fought for the highest bidder. All that mattered for years now had been the debt and the killing. How much did the ammo on a job cost, how long it would take, and what was the reward measured against the struggle for his freedom. What was his freedom? He was a mercenary, a thug, a bounty hunter: always had been since he put on his father's armor.
Jean laughed at himself, voice choking slightly as he slumped against the railing. He held his head in his talons, "I wanted to be a knight."
Paddy set a hoof on his shoulder, the gentle touch sending the bounty hunter into a spiral. He felt weak in his knees as he let out another low, mournful laugh. That childish fantasy, that was why he put on the armor. He killed the first patron who tried to hurt his mother at the brothel, the son of the whore all grown up with his dead pere's armor on.
And it felt good. That self-righteous feeling washed over him every time he pulled the trigger, he only ever needed an excuse. Needed that release, that ability to have a small bit of power in a world which trampled over him every chance it got.
"Never drank to forget all the killin’...I drink cause I like the fighting, gods help me. I drink cause I like it," Jean muttered into his talons as he embraced that honest truth.
"You drink because you're ashamed that you like it," Paddy said with a shake of her head, pulling down his talons and twisting his head to force him to stare at her. The mare's amber eyes sent chills down his back as she bore into him with the same determination that gave him pause in Azakaban. "That bit of shame means you still got that bit of knight in you. I see it, you need to see it too. You gotta stop drowning that knight in liquor so he can come out more."
"I see him every time you rush into a fight, every time you put down a monster in a pony's skin," Paddy continued with a small smile as she released the griffon's head. "Promise me, right now...no more."
The mare's words cut deep and Jean nodded his head once, slumping against the railing as he cleared his throat. "...I...I promise...thank you, Paddy."
Looking at her as the wind nipped at his neck every so slightly, the bounty hunter nodded again. "Thank you."
The rolling green hills of Prance sprawled over the horizon, the famous Equestrian port city known for its beauty and it's wine lived up to the legend. Among the assembled crew of refugees and sailors waiting on the deck to catch sight of Equestria, some let out excited mummers as they saw it for the first time. Jean himself stood among them in his armor, the hunter running a thumb along the brim of his hat as he found himself...smiling.
The port of Prance was situated in a large cove and surrounded by the greenest hills he had ever seen. A vineyard stretched across each rolling grove. Even from a distance, the bright colors of Prench world famous countryside dazzled him as the Self-Made Stallion lurched towards the docks.
Staghorn had told Jean about the crew's plan earlier in the day, but first they would be unloading the passengers and refueling before hightailing it back to Haukland. No pony had been a fan of trafficking refugees and with both their bosses dead there was no chance that Rockfeller would let them keep their jobs. Not to mention let them keep working their ring on his prized ship after helping his daughter escape, even if they were held at gunpoint.
Rockfeller would have preferred if they were killed as opposed to acquiescing.
Some of Staghorn's crew thought about selling the yacht to Meyer, others wondered how much Skyfall's oligarchs would pay for it. All that mattered was that the buyer had deep pockets and did not ask questions because the amount of bits it was worth was enough help for anyone to start a new life with.
It was not the most imaginative plan, but Jean figured it was better than beaching the ship and scattering into Equestria. The town of Prance looked welcoming anyway, the rows of white buildings stretching up towards an ancient looking castle in the center of town. Orange tiled roofs and a countless number of ocean-side cafe's looked picturesque.
"All set?" Paddy's voice tugged Jean away from his ruminating as the mooring lines were tied down to the docks.
"I am, though I might take insult that we're just passin' through the finest wine country in the world without samplin' nothin'," Jean teased as he leaned down to pick up his rucksack from the deck.
"Celestia help me, you are hopeless," the mare said. The ramp being extended down signaled for them both to trot down at a leisurely pace.
The refugees that decided to try and make it to Equestria trailed behind them, families with babies clutched in hoof and claw smiling despite everything that happened. Jean stared at them for a moment as they began to walk down the docks. "Is Equestria really like ya ponies say?"
"What'd you mean?" Paddy asked, the mare following his eyes to watch the families. She turned up to him, punching him in his cuirass with her hoof. "...the streets aren't paved with gold and there's some bad apples. Things are stagnant, but it's home. The Princesses don't turn away ponies who need a helping hoof either. They'll have better times for sure now too. Rather chivalrous you know, knightly even. Saving them from a slavery made from debt."
"I told ya that in confidence," Jean muttered with a chuckle as he pulled his hat a bit lower on his head. He nodded for the mare to follow as they began to walk towards the clean, cobblestone streets of Prance.
Bits flowed like water around the town. Ponies in fine suits and hats stared at the strange pair as they walked along the sidewalk. The sidearm by his hip and the armor beneath his cloak painted a rather grim image, most ponies cast a wide berth between the pair. Paddy herself was not exactly welcoming either, still wearing her leather jacket and mechanic jumpsuit with the butt of a rifle poking out of the bag on her back.
"Las Pegasus then?" Jean asked after a few minutes of walking, the pair settling by an unoccupied flower stand. The rainbow of orchids and tulips around the stand pulled Paddy towards them. "We got some bits on claw if ya wanna buy something, chere?"
Paddy looked over her shoulder with an embarrassed smile, the mare having indulged herself in poking around the displays of the pastel colored cart. She ran a hoof over a group of yellow roses, smiling as she shook her head. "When I was younger I used to sneak down and help the gardeners with my mother's flowerbed."
"How'd you go from gardenin' secret like to flying planes?" Jean asked with a cant of his head, squinting a bit as he looked around the cart for its owner.
"You know a pony's interests aren't just tied to their cutiemark, right?" Paddy corrected as she prodded at a few of the bouquets. "I like flowers and I like flying, plants and planes are both easier to understand then ponies."
"These ones," Paddy declared simply, picking up mixed bundle of lilacs and lilies. "Do you see anypony?"
Jean turned his head towards Paddy to say something before a gaunt, gray pony appeared behind them. The stallion's sudden arrival had Jean snap his head back in surprise, "Merde."
His coat was gray, completely gray. He had no mane or tail, wearing instead a bland half-suit with a fedora resting on his head. A pair of binoculars rested on his flank. The only colors he wore were a black tie and white shirt, his entire ensemble painting a sharp contrast as he settled behind the colorful cart.
He was instantly familiar and just as easily forgettable.
Paddy set a pair of bits onto the cart slowly as she squinted her eyes, "Just this bouquet, please."
Jean frowned, the monochromatic pony just stared at Paddy for a beat before sliding the bits back. Grey eyes drifted between Jean and Paddy, his words rolling out in a colorless monotone. "They are free for you, Ms. Rockfeller."
"And Mr. De Basse," the pony said as he set six bullets onto the counter. "I advise you against rash action."
Jean blinked as the bullets hit the wood, quickly drawing his pistol to hear an empty click as he tested the stallion's trick. "Ya are a...spooky bastard, stranger."
"I have been told." The stranger looked down as Paddy opened her mouth. "Mr. Horse sent me."
At the mention of Mr. Horse, Paddy closed her mouth and turned a cautious look into a cold glare. "What does that ghost want?"
"For you both to finish what you set out to do." The stranger set two tickets onto the wooden cart. "These tickets will take you to Manehatten. Your father, Ms. Rockfeller, is planning something there."
"All the...shipping orders and receipts," Jean said as he remembered the papers they had pocketed back on the ship. "You're September, ain't ya?"
"Let it never be said you are not astute, Mr. De Basse." September slid the tickets forward. "Once you put a halt to Rockfeller's plans in Manehatten, I will come and collect you."
"All those telegrams pointed to you and my father working together, September," Paddy said with a sharp frown, pushing away the tickets. "Why is Mr. Horse all of a sudden trying to stop him?"
"Because things are in motion far beyond our control, Ms. Rockfeller. Your father's plans now are a danger to the interests of HorseCo.'' The stallion frowned and shoved the tickets forward. "Stop Rockfeller in Manehatten and Mr. Horse will get you to him in Las Pegasus."
"Sort of a gamble relyin' on a runaway and a mercenary, wouldn't ya say?" Jean asked as he gave Paddy a small nod, reaching forward to take the tickets.
September wore a faint, barely noticeable grin as Jean took the tickets. "Mr. Horse is aware of the stakes, but he does not gamble. You two are the ace in the hole."
Paddy looked up to Jean with a frown, but ultimately nodded her head. "As long as you uphold your end of the bargain, September."
"Mr. Horse does not lie, Ms. Rockfeller." September paused for a moment as he began to walk away from the stand. "And he always wins."
The pony disappeared as quickly as he arrived, the stallion drifting into an alleyway between two pale white buildings across the street and fading from sight. The ponies of Prance around them went on with their lives as if nothing happened, only registering the two odd creatures next to the flower cart with a frown.
"Manehatten is a big city, Paddy. Where ya think we're gonna start?" Jean asked as he looked down at the tickets in his claws.
"We can follow where those electronics were shipped to and start asking questions from there. I have an old friend who works in customs," Paddy said, adjusting the bag over her shoulder. The mare motioned for Jean to follow as they walked deeper into the city. The train station was not too far from where September had appeared; a straight shot from his stand.
Jean could not shake his feeling they were playing right into someone's claws. Something was chasing them that was bigger than his debt. He swore he could even feel it in the air, a hushed static that tickled at the back of his neck. A storm was brewing, but first things first:
They had a train to catch.