Junkertown Crabby Hotel, Lot
Monday, 8:00 AM
Bedroom
A chilling breeze grazes my back, jolting me from my slumber. As I shiver, it's as if the heavens themselves command my awakening. Initially tempted to ignore it, the realization dawns upon me: there are tasks awaiting completion. With a gentle shift, I rise from my bed. Unfortunately, in my haste, I misstep, slipping on my shoe and tumbling face-first to the floor. Fortunately, luck is on my side, sparing me from colliding with the wardrobe.
Grunting from the pain, I also feel the cold seeping through my body, along with some water spilling onto my underwear. I curse under my breath, knowing full well that Trashbeard has left his sink running upstairs again. It's moments like these that make me dread what the day has in store.
"I fucking hate Mondays," I mutter to myself before mustering the determination to rise and shuffle over to the showers. I hastily throw on my clothes, shielding my eyes from the grime that threatens to cover my body, all the while hoping it dries up my damp underwear along the way.
"That'll be 15 bolts!" Grubsworth's voice breaks the morning haze.
I hand over the payment before grabbing my worn-out cloak and swiftly making my exit. As the wind whispers through the cracks, I catch sight of a poster adorning a nearby wall, its edges curling like a wilted flower, showcasing tonight's fight.
"Ah, Wrecking Ball against the runner-up? Heh, sadly, he won't win that fight," I remark, earning nods of agreement from some passersby. Adjusting my belt, I stride out, stealing a glance at the bell tower's time. It's 9:30 AM, just an hour left before I have to head to work. Wouldn't hurt to check the market for some more pork.
"Random stuff! Anyone want some random stuff?" I hear one of the shoppers say while I scan the bustling market, spotting the usual array of guns, trash, and metal parts. Making my way towards the weapon smith, I know I'll need more ammo for work. Asking for some simple bullets for my pistol should do the trick.
After a minute of searching, it becomes apparent that pork is not available at the market today. Hopefully, there will be more tomorrow. As I resign myself to this fact, a peculiar sight catches my eye. A girl and a dog stroll past me, both immaculately clean, navigating through the bustling market. I blink in disbelief, briefly entertaining the notion that I might be hallucinating. However, a second glance confirms it: this girl is indeed pristine in the midst of the grime and chaos of the junker market.
"Excuse me, have you seen a crown?" The girl's voice cuts through the market chatter as she addresses a nearby shopper. The shopper looks back, then suddenly shouts and hastily flees upon realizing he's facing someone clean. The girl exchanges a puzzled glance with her dog before continuing her search, only to be intercepted by a towering junker.
"Hello, little lady, what are you doing here?" the junker queries, leaning down intimidatingly. She instinctively backs away, only to bump into another junker. "Where are you going?" the second one demands.
"I, uh, am looking for help," she stammers.
"Oh no, not them," I mutter under my breath, recognizing Ricky and Ticky, notorious members of the wrecker crew known for their destructive antics. The girl visibly gulps as the purple dog steps forward, seemingly preparing to communicate in some manner.
"Leave her alone!" I interject, my voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. Ticky laughs dismissively before seizing the dog. "Spike!" the girl yelps, clearly distressed, as one of the junkers grabs her.
"Damn it..." I curse silently, feeling a surge of frustration. I pivot on my heel, then stride purposefully toward them. "Ah, there you are, sister!" I announce, breaking their focus and drawing all eyes toward me.
"You got me worried! Thank you, Wreckers!" I express my gratitude, offering them a handful of bolts. Ricky chuckles before releasing the girl and eagerly grabbing the bolts. "Don't mention it," he replies gruffly, nodding at me. Ticky follows suit, dropping the dog and offering a nod of acknowledgment.
I nod back at them, patting the girl reassuringly as we hastily retreat to a nearby corner and slip into the safety of an alleyway. Once out of earshot, I exhale heavily, cursing myself for losing a whopping 40 bolts in the process. "They're gone," I announce, glancing back at the now-empty street. The two companions blink in relief before sighing lightly. The girl settles down, panting lightly, and begins fixing her colorful hair. She looks up at me and mutters a quiet "thanks," to which I nod in acknowledgment.
"Now, what the hell are you doing here? You know Junkers don't take kindly to clean folks!?" I exclaim, incredulous at their apparent lack of awareness. They both frown at my words, as if I'm the crazy one.
"I... I did not know that," the girl admits softly.
"Wow, Rarity would hate this place," the dog jokes, earning a weary chuckle from me as I rub my face in exasperation. The pair looks at me with confusion, prompting the girl to ask, "Why did you help us?"
I glance away, observing the oblivious passersby before turning back to them. It's apparent that some dirt has rubbed off on my face. "I'm not like these people," I explain, gesturing to the bustling market around us. "But you should know, before you just walk right into—wait, how did you get in?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued. The girl nervously laughs, exchanging a glance with her dog. "I, uh... teleported here?" She offers uncertainty.
"Teleported? But they don't have that kind of technology here, unless..." My hand gravitates toward my gun as suspicion creeps in. "You're a spy," I conclude, my tone wary. The girl starts to wave her arms frantically, shaking her head. "Oh no, no, I'm not a spy! I was just looking for my crown!" she panics, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I promise, please! I'm from another world because someone stole my crown!" she blurts out, then hastily covers her mouth with her hands, as if realizing she's said too much.
"Another world? Somepony? What are you even talking about!?" I demand, my skepticism evident as I holster my gun. She looks away sadly before speaking again. "I'm all alone out here, me and my... dog," she says, meeting my gaze once more. Despite my doubts, her eyes and emotions seem genuine. I'm torn between disbelief and uncertainty, unsure of what to make of her story.
"Who are you?" I inquire, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. She rises to her feet, brushing herself off and adjusting her hair before responding, "My name is Twilight. Twilight Sparkle," she introduces herself before gesturing towards her dog.
"And this is Spike," Twilight introduces her canine companion, who nods up at me. 'Twilight? Spike? Boy, these names sound like they're from some fantasy,' I muse silently, before sighing and extending a hand. "Names Anon. Nice to, uh, meet you... Twilight," I say, pronouncing her name slowly. She nods in understanding, then glances at my hand before tentatively taking it in a gentle shake.
"Never shaken hands before?" I inquire, curious.
She shakes her head, then holds up her hand. "I never had hands before," she explains matter-of-factly. It's a surreal notion, considering her claim of being from another world. Spike, her dog, hops onto a nearby dumpster and looks over at me. "So, what's with you?" he asks, breaking the momentary silence.
"What?" I reply, caught off guard by Spike's direct question.
"Why are you here? If you're not one of them, then why?" he presses, his curiosity evident. I shift uncomfortably, realizing that it's been years since I've engaged in a conversation like this. Sure, I interact with junkers frequently, discussing the underground circuit and the champions they admire. But deep down, I harbor secrets of my past, a past I've worked hard to keep buried. Memories of him resurface, threatening to derail my thoughts. No, I can't afford to dwell on that now.
"I've been living in this city for quite some time, just... hiding, really," I admit, wiping the sweat off my face with my hand.
Twilight furrows her brow but doesn't pry further. Instead, she moves or rather, wobbles over to a nearby wall, peering out cautiously at the menacing figures lurking beyond.
"Can you help me?" she asks, her voice tinged with desperation.
"With what? Your crown thingy?" I snort, adopting a skeptical tone as I lean against the wall. Twilight nods eagerly, hope shining in her eyes as she gazes at me. "You may be the help I need to find it. My whole world could be in danger," she pleads earnestly.
"Yeah, and seeing those guys and that black-masked thing is one scary ordeal," Spike chimes in, his concern evident.
I sigh, rubbing my face in frustration. I'm already late for work, and getting involved in this situation could land me in serious trouble. Yet, as I glance back at Twilight and see the hope in her eyes, I feel my instincts to protect someone kick in once more. I sigh again, feeling conflicted as I mull over what to do next.
"Okay, fine. I'll help, but you'll need a bit of a dress-up," I concede, my decision made. Grabbing my knife, I approach Twilight and offer her the blade.
"Junkers wear ripped and torn clothing. It's best to look the part," I explain, handing her the knife. She fumbles with it, dropping it to the floor. "Uh, sorry, still don't know how to use my hand yet," she laughs nervously.
I sigh, then show her how to hold the knife properly before demonstrating how to cut her dress to achieve the desired effect. Once done, I stand up and gather some dirt, proceeding to cover her body with it to complete the disguise.
"So why do junkers have to be covered in dirt?" Twilight asks as I pick up some dirt, preparing to disguise her. I pause, considering her question, before responding.
"It's just part of their tradition. The queen demanded it," I explain, lifting the pile of dirt and preparing to throw it over her. Twilight closes her eyes as I scatter the dirt over her, completing the illusion.
"Queen of junk?" she questions, clearly puzzled. I chuckle at her confusion before clearing my throat to respond.
"The Junker Queen rules over all of Junkertown. She sets the rules, and the junkers follow. However, junkers are divided into different factions," I elucidate, pulling out a tin plate to reveal my license plate emblem, symbolizing my affiliation.
"I'm a scrapper, and those big dudes back there were Wreckers," I confirm, tucking my plate back into my pocket. Spike settles down nearby, listening intently to our conversation, while Twilight wears a frown, clearly displeased with the explanation.
"That's... senseless!" she exclaims, voicing her disapproval. I nod in agreement with her outburst, understanding her perspective. Adjusting my scarf, I meet her gaze along with Spike's, nodding lightly in acknowledgment. It's clear that this journey is going to be anything but straightforward.
"Well, that should do the trick!" I say, patting Twilight's back reassuringly as we emerge from the alley. This time, the townsfolk don't react with panic upon seeing her. "That's just... strange," she remarks, struggling with her steps. I offer her assistance, and Spike does the same, as we continue our walk through town.
"Well... welcome to Junkertown!" I announce cheerfully, eliciting a few cheers from nearby junkers as we proceed onward. 'This day can't get any stranger, can it?' I ponder silently as we approach the Crabby Hotel, making our way to my apartment.
"This is going to be a strange day indeed," I muse to myself, bracing for whatever peculiarities lie ahead.