Three days.
Aiden Pearce had been running on fumes for three days now.
Psychologically, he was used to not eating properly. Hell, when he and his nephew met for the first time in years he was stealing his snacks and dumping stressful information on him instead of pausing to eat something and connect.
That was a dick move, now that I think about it.
Physically though, his body was highly maladjusted for such a lifestyle and very much hurting for something more filling than just apples and strange black tree fruit. More than once he'd wanted to have stolen something from the local bakery, a "Sugarcube Corner", and quickly found himself sprinting away because of the errant twitches of an increasingly clued-in bubblegum pink pony. Most of the other restaurants didn't have anything that would be out in the open or ready to break into with ingredients he could use. Dumpster diving was out of the question, both because he had fruits he could pilfer, and rotting hay in the shape of fries does not sound appetizing. He did, however, eat an entire stick of butter.
He had rushed to finish a more proper hide-away since he discovered what he dubbed the Shopping District and since finer pieces of soil had been digging into his fur (A growing nuisance he had yet to know how to tend to) and his jacket. (A much easier thing to wash)
His new home was painstakingly dug by hand, he was even forced into making a crude stone ax that was used as a shovel, and his claws were dulled from using them as tiny little saws. Branches had been cut, clay dug and watered, stones pilfered from the riverbed, and moss and grass were taken from fields far away to disguise his home.
It looked like a mound of raised earth supporting the trunk of a dead oak, but upon a closer look, one could see the stones suspiciously stacked like a chimney, and a tiny burrow-like entrance behind a door made of branches. Everything was heavily coated with live foliage, a feat he saw fit to revel in considering he never really had a green thumb.
Pride, however, fills neither stomachs nor wallets, as reality lovingly reminded him of this fact with a loud groan and an agonizing pain in the gut. He'd been trying hard to not turn his merchandise destined for sale into food, since that'd leave him with the rudimentary dolls he'd made as the only thing to sell. Ironic, he was avoiding eating so he could have money to buy things to eat later. His hunger-addled mind wasn't the sharpest, no matter how much he focused it took time to operate in its fog. He mulled over his situation again as he chewed on a particularly thin branch, even if there was a bit of irony in selling food for money for more food, that money, bits as it was called in this strange new world, could be used for more important reasons.
Medicine, he wasn't a medical graduate by any means but new body parts meant new and possibly different ways to take care of one's body, he was technically bipedal but had no idea where and what injuries would be fatal, what his body could heal and what would never heal the same way again. Human ankles would sprain and break, and took ages to heal and to learn to walk and run on the mended thing, and the way he saw it he was lucky not to have fought the timber wolves one of his books mentioned. That, and he was almost entirely sure he didn't have an appendix, so his organs were likely different.
How easy is it for me to go deaf? He thought, tentatively touching his left ear.
He thought of another use of money while hopelessly starting a fire, the chewed-up wood devoid of its barely nutritious sap now smoldering. Medicine was an important thing, but what about tools? He was entirely limited to the stone age unless he opened himself to the economy that sat just beyond that wooden door, it was going to be highly unlikely that he could machine a rifle, or even a pistol, out of stones and sticks. Beyond his favored weapons, tools made things easier, cutting wood, refining things, compasses, maps, writing, everything he'd need to get properly started on his feet required some level of interaction and technology he lacked. The glass jars he'd carefully sterilized were proof enough of that.
How have I not dropped from hunger yet? Aiden Pearce calmly stirred two pots, one in his head and the stolen one in front.
Interaction - He hadn't a clue how society out here worked, relations, goods, and evils. His old-world involved lots of killing in the dark underbelly of a modern world, sometimes even finding the victims of those unfortunate enough to just get caught in the crossfire. They didn't always survive. Neither did the victims of human trafficking in the year two thousand twelve.
As far as he knew, he might be the race of a sworn enemy of the ponies. Unlikely, of course, but it's usually safe to assume prey don't feel comfortable around predators. The recording of a mule kicking a coyote to death suddenly brought itself to the front of his mind as he poured the viscous liquids into its crystal storage.
As he let the jars of condensed fruit cool, he came to a realization. He was alone, and entirely on his own. There would be no phone to guide him, no Damien Brenks, and no missing persons. There would be likely no aid for his injuries in a land that catered to ponies, which meant that just like in the old days he'd have to put himself back together in his hideout. A distinctive setback of being a well-known vigilante was that the hospital was more or less off-limits.
He was alone, but free. No Damien Brenks to keep his remaining family hostage, no affiliation or association with his previous dirty jobs or DedSec meant that he had nothing to bite him in the ass later. He was free of every chain except for his morals, the only chain he'd prefer to hang on to.
He took a deep breath and sighed, chewing idly on another branch as a faint green glow went unnoticed. With his time of clear and level-headed thoughts done, for now, he checked the temperature of the jam and found it unsuitable. The fire crackled gently behind him as he wondered if he could roast an apple over it, something as simple as a knob of butter over an apple would probably be good eating in his situation, had he not exhausted his supply of cooking fat already. His jacket, while dusty, was, for the most part, clean and he checked its pockets again, the same as he did every day, hoping that maybe this world would throw him a bone (in this case, his phone and a gun.).
He didn't need his phone, he'd doubted it would work in what looked like the medieval ages, but it was just something that was comforting to have, much like his jacket. The gun would be very useful, even if it didn't come with much ammo to spare.
'No point in stalling for time, Aiden' Aiden Pearce slipped his jacket on with little fuss, dusting it off before taking some leaves and tying them on, giving him a naturalistic look if he'd ever thought of something like it. The leaf fabric was a pitiful attempt at making bags, so he settled on wrapping the sack to his torso and tying the jam jars together like strange six-packs of beer, which had the added benefit of making them not directly touch each other and hopefully less likely to break. That was the idea at least, he had no clue what this did outside of also making them aesthetically pleasing and making the jars easier to take out.
With his merchandise set up, and the last-minute addition of a hastily made vine mat, he finally felt ready to hit the market. Legitimately.
As he made his way down an unseen path in the shrubbery, Aiden Pearce was unable to shake the disturbing thoughts that came to his mind. He felt unusually paranoid, and he assumed that this was hunger catching up to him. Lacking a mirror he hadn't a clue how he was built, but he felt slightly lankier than he should have been in his prime. The sun wasn't beating down on him as much as it did usually, the cloud cover being welcome relief since he had both fur and coat on.
Aiden Pearce had found his way to the very end of the open-air market, having avoided detection so if he were to be recognized, he could hopefully play it off. His plan of attack was to make his way from the bottom to the top of the market, the topmost section being the closest to Ponyville, which would make an obvious route backward for him to take in order to once again avoid being recognized, and more importantly, followed. Old habits were coming in handy today. Possibly not. He was flip-flopping on whether or not this was a good choice, already he was feeling exhaustion creep into his bones from carrying what he felt was possibly the absolute minimum he'd packed with him. "How the hell can I handle building but not a damn trip to the market? Cursing inwardly he shifted the weight around trying to relieve the growing pressure on his back, but it was for nothing. He saw the market come into view and had another glaring realization.
Did taxes exist here? Was someone charging the ponies who used this plot of land? He hoped this spot was free game, he was already here with his equipment and would prefer to run than have to pay up his measly six bits that he'd found on the ground at night. The little golden coins would always glint sharply in the moonlight, making them easy pickings when nobody was looking. First, he let down the mat, realizing that presentation likely meant a lot to the ponies with fancy houses and gaudy buildings, pastry or otherwise. He hoped that it'd be enough to attract a single customer, despite his species difference and being at the far back of the market. Or is it the start of it?
With the mat out, he took his bag off and set it down, opening it up to reveal its contents. Six jars of jam, and six little dolls made from dried cordage which had been shaped into a pony. It was harder than the traditional humanoid form, but with hands and time, there was virtually nothing you couldn't accomplish. How do ponies even make things with hooves?
He was fortunate enough to remember to pack the dolls at the last minute, his forgetfulness was starting to make him concerned. Hopefully, with a half-decent payday and food in his system, it'd be resolved quickly, easily, and without fuss. Especially if the purple unicorn that tried to catch him didn't show up. Aiden Pearce fidgeted with his shortened claws as he thought about how to even deal with customers. If his schedule he made from eavesdropping around the town was correct, he could expect Applebloom to show up, or just about any kid for that example. They were curious, hardly afraid, or incredibly foolish judging by all the times she's been scolded for wandering into the woods. Kids also carried bits!
The dolls were set up in pairs seated next to each other in a neat row of two, similar to the jars. His bag was next to him, which also held inside it a baton, a fanciful word for a flexible tree branch. He'd rather not have a weapon in a market, but he preferred to have it and not need it. His preparation for the worst situations got him out of them quickly. The gray fox hummed a low tune as he waited for customers, the lightly shaded sky was pleasant and meant he wouldn't be getting overheated any time soon so long as it stayed that way. He hadn't packed water and had no idea what things were valued at. Was a 'Bit' like a dollar where it could be broken down into smaller denominations? Or was it like yen? He rubbed his face in frustration. 'Damn it Aiden.'
He waited, the first ten minutes were that of peace. His hearing only picked up distance foot- hoofsteps, and he passed his boredom by trying to hone his hearing better, struggling to discern if he heard two ponies, or four.
Another ten minutes passed, and occasionally he'd hear a word or two of conversation in the distance, the number of ponies in the area slowly rising as more and more started showing up to his part of the market. The rare few that spotted him said nothing and just gawked at his form before quickly scampering off, it left him irritated, but he was damned if he left without some sort of success today.
Thirty minutes passed, and for once he heard steps that were coming towards him. One set of heavier steps compared to a smaller one, trailing off behind the smaller one ten, or fifteen feet away. He didn't dare to look at them directly even if he knew there was one incoming, lest he frighten a buyer and go home without coin in his pockets.
It would also be far worse if he ended up with a ribcage kicked in just for being part of a predator species.
Oh wait.
"Thanks AJ!" He heard in the distance. So, someone was off of chores today, at most five bits profit if by some chance she showed up. His ears tilted as he heard the hoofsteps get lighter and all was quiet once again, until someone else showed up.
A grey pegasus with a blonde mane appeared, a lady probably. Previous realizations were keeping him from making direct eye contact right now in an attempt to not possibly frighten anyone. "' 'Scuse me, how much for one of those dolls you have?" She asked in a bubbly voice. The voice sounded familiar enough, if he was right, then he figured it might be the mailman, mail mare? He wasn't sure if the name was Derpy Hooves or Ditzy Doo, but it was something along those lines. "Just doll?" Aiden Pearce tilted his head to get a better look at the mare, his eyes had been narrowed to the point of appearing closed, but oddly enough he could see relatively fine. He just hoped he was giving an inoffensive and non-aggressive expression to his customer as he was slowly confirming to himself that it was the lazy-eyed mail pony he had spotted flying and trotting around the town. The mail pony nodded with a light smile, so he shrugged and gave a narrow, toothless smile and spoke again. "Three bits."
"Alright then, here's yer money, mister!" The gray pegasus fished some coins out of a bag on her back that Aiden hadn't noticed, spilling them onto the mat haphazardly. They looked to be the standard gold bits he kept seeing around, judging by the color and shine that wanted to blind his unusually sensitive eyes. With a pawed hand he offered the doll gingerly to the pegasus, which was taken without much fuss and was placed in the saddle bag before she trotted off somewhere before he later heard the sound of wings flapping away in the distance.
Suddenly, he wasn't so sure if he wanted to have the little sister of the farm pony show up. The fact that he had overlooked something so obvious made him want to shoot himself to see if maybe having a second death experience would unscramble his brains and reroll his body into something less like his moniker. The fact he had opposable thumbs made it oddly worth the trouble though.
Back to his main thoughts, if Applejack was any bit as protective of the family as he was, -continued to be, then it was likely he could expect a violent outburst or a barely controlled remark followed by an attempted beating. In theory, his skill at hand-to-hand take-downs would come in handy, but without proper nutrition, he wasn't so sure about his ability in taking down a horse that kicked trees for a living. Sure, he could take down enforcers in their heavy ballistic armor, but that was typically with the element of surprise and having plenty of energy to burst in, strike the gun away, then continue with another flurry of strikes with his trust-worthy baton.
And then Applebloom showed up right as he was busy thinking. One of Aiden's ears flicked nervously as he put the three bits into a neat stack to his right, his eyes still close to being shut as he decided the supposed neutral expression was still the safer option. Just in case.
The fox tried to distract himself with finances as the foal started getting closer, if he had six bits previously from last night, and had three today from one doll, he had eleven things to sell, if he sold twelve objects for three bits then he would get thirty-six bits plus the six bits he already had. If he sold the jars for four bits, and the dolls for three, he would still have thirty-six bits- "Howdy, uh. Mister Fox? Ya are a mister, right? You awake there mister?" He felt a hoof bump against his side as the kid he was originally hoping showed up was trying to get his attention in the most incessant way possible.
It almost reminded him of his niece. Those were dark times to think about on an empty stomach.
"Mhm, did you need something?" He said impassively, though not aggressively. "Yeah! So, those are mulberry leaves right? On the jars? Granny Smith was talkin' bout our cousins who farmed 'em once but that's not important, I always wanted to try some, so how much would it be for a jar o' jam? Also, are you a Diamond Dog? One o' my friends Sweetie Belle said Rarity got kidnapped by a bunch o' mean dogs but you don't look like a dog. Are ya mean mister?" Aiden Pearce raised a brow at this information, but gave a friendly smile instead of a shrug.
"I don't think dogs and foxes get along, kid. I'm definitely not a mean Diamond Dog, I'm just a fox selling some things. The jam is three bits a jar, by the way." he added absent mindedly.
"Three bits? Yeah! I got three bits!" Applebloom bounced around about as much one could in place as she fished out three coins from somewhere, placing them on a neat stack next to her before she went to grab a jar. With the coins out, Aiden moved forward slightly as he reached out his arm to move the stack next to the small growing pile of money. "So, do you have any interesting stories Mister Fox, see me an' my-"
"GET AWAY FROM MA SISTER YA FILTHY VARMINT!"