//------------------------------// // Chapter 19 // Story: Odysseed // by AuroraDawn //------------------------------// “Glad you could join us! Don’t worry, I didn’t cook tonight. It ain’t hot, dear, but it’s good at least!” Loose Cannon had erupted from his seat as Applejack walked in the mess, quickly grabbing a plate of the aforementioned hay and cider that Keelhaul had mentioned and placing it at a spare spot at the table. His grin stretched the corners of his muzzle, and as Applejack sat at the spot he clapped her hard against the back, cheering. “So, Keelhaul convinced you to come out of your cage, did he? What did it? The meal I didn’t cook, or the cider?” In answer, Applejack grabbed the tankard from the tray and brought it to her mouth, taking a deep draught. She was halfway done chugging the cup when she froze, the beverage foaming up out of her mouth as she coughed and sputtered. “Wassamatter, lass,” Half Pint jeered from across the table, “Too strong for you?” “Where’d you get this?!” Applejack demanded, slamming the tankard onto the table. The cramped room fell silent at the outburst, before Bilge Rat came out from the galley, holding his own mug. “On rare occasions pirates stupider than us will attack a merchant ship along the Equestrian coast. We trade goods as we get them, generally; there’s a couple ports that are completely lawless, moreso than Port Horse. This keg came from there.” “Let me see it,” she said, standing up and walking around the bar, following Bilge Rat’s pointing hoof. When she reached the barrel, she rolled it over and inspected the front, before starting to laugh. “What? Something wrong?” the deer on the crew asked, poking one of the unicorn twins in the temple with his antler as his head tilted in curiosity. “This is mine,” Applejack said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Tartarus’ teets it is,” Half Pint snapped. “Nothing on this ship ‘cept the stuff in your saddlebag is yours.” “No, this is mine. I made this batch. Look,” she said, pointing at the etched wood on the top of the barrel. This is the brand for my farm.” She peered closer at it, scraping a bit of dirt off from below the label. “Three years ago. Good year too, we had almost no junk apples. Made lots, sold most of it and drank the rest. I remember Las Pegasus making a big order for one’a their casinos. The shipment went and the money came in.”  She turned back to the crew, confused. “But if this is here, that means they never got their order. I had no idea any of this was lost.” “Casino, eh?” Loose Cannon said. “Well, big companies like that usually have huge insurance sums, as do the ships that carry them. Las Pegasus probably shrugged it off, made a claim once the shipment was lost, and procured something more local.” “That would explain why they’ve never ordered from us since…” she mused, coming back to her seat. “Honestly, I ain’t gonna complain. I got my bits, and now, halfway round Equus, I get to drink a touch of home.” With that, she grabbed the tankard back up, drained it, and belched. “S’cuse me,” she added. The crew erupted into cheers, whistling and laughing before cheersing their own mugs together and drinking. The energy stayed up for most of the meal, with jokes and jabs being traded back and forth as they ate and drank, and with the lubrication of alcohol Applejack started to learn a bit more about the pirates of the Infiltrator. The first thing she was told was to stay out of the twins’ way. Mangy Dog, and her brother, Scurvy Dog—or was it the other way around, Loose Cannon muttered to the side—were definitely cursed, and it was best to just let them do whatever they were doing. Even if it was a one pony job, and having four hooves instead of two would make things worse, just let them get on with it, he cautioned.  Mangy—or Scurvy—Dog heard this, and nodded. “It’s not a bad curse, really,” she said. “So long as we stick together, everything is fine. If we try to do different things, or if somecreature forces us to work separately, stuff starts breaking.” “Is it a curse or do you both just start breaking things because you want to be with your sibling?” Applejack asked. She saw Half Pint get struck with the realization of the possibility for what was likely the first time, flinching backwards even as he twisted in his seat to see the unicorns bearing sly grins. “Nope,” the brother replied, shaking with a chuckle. “Definitely cursed.” “Entirely cursed,” the sister added. “Besides,” they continued together, “What if you tested that theory and you were wrong? Then it’d be your fault.” Applejack slowly rotated away from them, looking fearfully at Loose Cannon. “Do they—” “Practice that sentence? Not that I’ve seen. They do that a lot too.” He sucked back a swig of cider. “Makes me believe the whole curse business, it does.” She returned to the twins, staring cautiously at them. They winked at her simultaneously, and she shivered. “Alright, alright, I get it,” she conceded, grabbing a mouthful of dry hay. As far as solid substance went, it was the best meal she had had all week, and it hadn’t even been salted. “So which one’a ya is Mangy and which is Scurvy?” she asked through a full mouth. “That one,” they replied, pointing at each other. “Oh, I see. Well I’mma call you Mangy—” she said, pointing at the mare, “And you can be Scurvy. That alright?” The two nodded in unison, smiling wide, and Mangy Dog spoke. “You pick up quickly,” she said, before taking a huge bite of her lime, skin and all.  “Most others just stay confused or demand to know which is which,” Scurvy Dog said, picking up another stalk of hay and snacking on it. “It’s good fun to watch them bluster about it,” Mangy said. “But it’s also kinda nice to not have to deal with it,” Scurvy said. “Oh, I’ve spent plenty of time around colts and fillies and the games they play,” Applejack said, winking. “I’ve got a sister myself who throws an awful fit if you don’t play along with her.” She left the twins to finish their meal, poking Loose Cannon in the ribs and leaning towards his ear. “Huh? Wazzat?” “What’s up with Powder Keg? She was up on deck with me but was locked up tighter than a librarian.” Loose Cannon glanced over at the Kirin who was standing up in the corner, slowly grinding her teeth on a smoldering bundle of hay while glaring at the room. “Resident tough kid,” he said loudly, “Aren’tcha, Keggy?” “Bite me, gelding,” she snapped. “I’d chip a tooth on that frozen heart of yours, you crazy kirin,” he replied sweetly. “Like the twins, she has her own game to play. You have to act scared and pretend to walk on coals around her, and she’ll jump in front of a cannonball for you if she thinks it’ll keep up the image of her being a terrifying hardass.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “We all have our games, really. Cuckoo’s playing on a different level of chess than the rest of us, o’course, but we’ve all got our things.” “What’s your game?” Applejack asked, avoiding eye contact with Powder Keg; though from the corner of her eye she could see the act of being wary seemed to bring a smile to the kirin’s face. “I’m a damn good sailor and know how to run a ship better than any pony on land or sea. But I’m also very kind, which is a rather major setback to being a captain.” He swirled his cider, looking at the deck above him. “Captain Keelhaul knows this, and lets me pretty much run the show so long as we aren’t in battle. Then it’s his time to shine. Unorthodox, yes, but it works for us. Plus the crew gets to blame the Captain if I screw up or make anyone mad, and he just eats the anger up and bulks up.” “That is one thick changeling,” Applejack agreed, biting into her lime. The citrus mixed delightfully well with the cider, and she made a mental note to order limes for the fall to sell on the side. “Heh,” she chuckled. “On the cider.” “Huh?” “O-oh, uh, n-nothing important.” “You doing alright there dear? Two tankards isn’t too much for a farmer like you, is it?” Half Pint mocked. “I could drink your weight and still buck a quarter-acre in an hour,” she replied, earning a sharp “What!?” in reply. “Half Pint’s game,” Loose Cannon laughed, “Is having the same amount of anger as any typical earth pony, but it’s all condensed down into the size of a chihuahua and gone critical. He hates having his size made fun of, and generally threatens to unmake whoever made the comment.” He chewed on his own lime. “Usually wins, too.” “Oh, I’m sorry Half Pint,” Applejack said, to which the shetland gave her a look of utter disgust. “No no no, don’t do that,” Bilge Rat said, placing a massive hoof on Half Pint’s head and pinning the pony to his position. “Don’t apologize. He wants ponies to make fun of his size.” “But he just said—” “That I hate it, yes,” Half Pint fumed. “But what I hates more is being treated all soft like, as if I’m still a colt!” “Well then what do you like?” The question stunned him. “Er,” he stammered, “You know, I hadn’t quite thought of it yet.” “Well, get on it,” Applejack admonished. “Clearly it ain’t gettin’ manecuts, but I’m sure you’ll think of something.” She winked at him, and surprisingly, he grinned back, growling a low laugh. “Bilge Rat doesn’t have a game,” Loose Cannon said. “He’s the ship’s rock. If you tell him to do something, he does it. If something needs doing, he does it. If somepony’s acting out of line, he stops them and sets them right.” “If it weren’t for Cuckoo hogging the crow’s nest all damn day I’d be the mother hen,” the low rumbling voice issued.  “You lay eggs then?” Applejack asked, standing up to refill her mug one last time. “No, but he’s got two great bi—” “Powder Keg!” She grinned, looking away from the mess down the rest of the deck, and Applejack wasn’t sure whether to laugh or blush. She chose to change the subject quickly instead. “You.” She pointed with her mug at the deer, who was currently trying to untangle an antler from a lantern, and singing his hoof in the process. “Oh, uh, hello!” he said, head tilted painfully. “What’s your game?” He frowned. “Deer, though many of my kind find being called game offensive—” “Your quirk, you idjit!” Half Pint groaned.  “Q-quirk?” Loose Cannon held a hoof up to Half Pint, taking over. “What makes Flintlock strange and memorably unique? His special talent, or personality trait? How about it, everyone now, on three.” He counted down, and on three, the whole crew let out a loud roar, shouting “Clumsy!” before laughing and clanking their tankards together. Flintlock just sighed, half-heartedly tugging at the lantern. After the laughter died down, Scurvy Dog magicked the lantern away, flipping it around and pulling the loop of chain off the bone. “Listen, these ships aren’t made for deer,” Flintlock explained. “They’re so small, and these antlers just get caught on things. And they’re a little top heavy, so when the ship really rolls, I lose my balance a little easy.” “Alright, I’ll bite.” Applejack said. “What?” “You’re always getting tripped up, maybe getting in other’s way. It’s especially bad when the ship needs you the most. What’re you good at that they keep you for?” His eyes lit up.  “You wanna fight?” he asked, bouncing in excitement. “Whoah, nelly, hold up,” she said, holding her hooves up. “I’m sorry if that crossed a line.” “Oh! No, sorry, I’m not—” he broke off, laughing. “I’m the best fighter aboard the Infiltrator. I mean, Marrow could probably knock out any creature he wanted with a quick punch, but asides from that there’s no other fighter like a deer.” “What makes deer so good at fighting?” “These, for one,” he said, tapping his antlers. “It’s like a built in helmet that’s also a pike. Very useful. I’ve got these smaller, sharper hooves, and nimbler legs. And I’m clumsy.” “How’s that help in a fight?” “You lunge left and try to jab at my side while I dodge right, except I fall over and accidentally trip you.” “Then he stands up and accidentally walks over you, trampling you,” Scurvy Dog said. “And then when you get up he falls again, twisting your leg in his antlers,” Mangy Dog said. “Then when he tries to untangle them, he usually ends up bringing your downstairs upstairs,” Powder Keg said. “We call it ‘getting racked’,” Half Pint said. “And that’ll take down anycreature, especially somepony like Bilge Rat.” The earth pony cringed, apparently reliving some awful memory. Applejack noticed he looked ill. “Anyways,” Flintlock mumbled, rubbing his shoulders. “Yeah. I’m good in a fight. That’s why they put up with me.” “And, uh,” Applejack paused, looking around the room and counting. “That leaves… Keelhaul and Marrow.” “Wellll, Marrow’s a Diamond Dog,” Loose Cannon said. “That’s about the extent of it, really. And it’s Captain Keelhaul,” he added. Applejack scoffed. “He ain’t my captain.” She looked up after a following silence descended on her, the weight of the sudden quiet feeling threatening. The whole crew was staring at her. “Uh, kidnapped, remember?”  “Oh, right,” Half Pint said, and the rest of the crew nodded in agreement, turning back to their plates. “You’ve been getting along so well I’d half forgotten about it,” Loose Cannon said.  “Well, I didn’t. Appreciate the cider and the meal, though,” she said. “I’ve been held prisoner a couple times in my life and this is by far the easiest time I’ve had of it.” “I don’t think Captain Keelhaul really means for you to keep that prisoner label, really,” he mused. “He did what he needed to do to get the map onto the ship. You ‘being’ the map threw a barnacle in the rudder chain, it did. But once we get this salsa or whatever you called it, you’ll be free to go wherever you want. I mean, I’m pretty sure he wants you to go tell your commanding officer or whoever where the artifact is and how much it’ll cost them, but really, it’s up to you.” He shrugged. “We would have just sent a letter if we didn’t have you.” “What, so I could just pop onto some passing ship and wave goodbye? You know where the place is now, anyways.” Loose Cannon leaned down, resting his chin on his knees. “Yeah, there is that,” he said, looking at Applejack out of the corner of his eye. “But I also get the feeling you’re pretty set on making sure nothing happens to this whatchamacallit. So would you even leave if you could?” She leaned back, took a long swig of the cider, and drained the mug before rubbing her mouth, thinking. “Nah,” she admitted. “Nah, I wouldn’t. You’re right.” “So why not help the crew out, get to sleep on a hammock, and get home all that much faster? Believe you me, most of us would love an extra set of hooves around the topdeck. We’re running a skeleton crew as it is.” Applejack set the mug down on her plate and pushed it towards the center of the table. “I’ll think about it,” she said. Two loud, dull thumps echoed about the ship, and Applejack watched as the entire crew froze and looked up. “LAAAAAAND HO!”