//------------------------------// // Funny Fenris // Story: 'Versing Space // by Shadowhawk //------------------------------// Pinkie Pie was a disturbing creature, far too like Farle for your likeness. It had danced, sang and stuffed confectionary products from the monstrousity known as 'Cupcake corner' into your maw. It was almost as if diabetes had power enough to bend reality and then decided to infect you. The patron's of the establishment had long since departed, no doubt assisted by the dual-party popping pair of Pinkie Pie and Farle. Farle decided to consume most of the 'freely given' product of this crazy cake factory and had lapsed into a food coma. Drooling into one of the tables with soft smile. After acouple minutes he came around, looking faintly ill but still hyper as all fuck. "I think I'm in love, Fenris." Farle whispers to you, "she says she's going to throw us a party." "Then let us hope her Gods are merciful." You whisper in reply to a grinning Farle. "You love Pinkie? But you've only just met!" Twilight sparkle sounds incredulous, "And what do you mean 'Hope her gods are merciful?'" "Its just an expression, Twilight, its not actual love. Also, Farle's abit of a party animal, things tend to get crazy." You offer her. This seems to pacify the curious purple pony, although not as much as you'd hoped. Eventually, the pink one returns and her and Farle start talking about parties. Boasts, drinking competitions and all manner of ungodly bantering. Fucking hell, I need a break from this insanity. "I'm off." You say to no-one in particular, "Need some air, back in abit." "Comm you later!" Farle yells after you. You had decided to retreat into the forest, the desire to be rid of such a hyper-enhanced pony that seemingly lacked the rules of physics, math or even a Farle-level of sanity. Don't need to be too deep, they did specify this place as dangerous, just far enough away that you won't be seen. You walk for maybe ten minutes before finding a small clearing, the grass looks invitingly soft by one of the trees. Tugging the cannon off your back, you take a seat and press afew buttons on the silver box. It slides open and reveals solar panels that start sucking up photons. Time for alittle music. You think as you pull a roll of plastic from inside the cannon, its a flexi-piano from the same place you bought the Breitenbach. Wierd shop that was, all they had was guns and pianos. Only in the Glitterband could you find that wierdness. Ah! To play these pathetic plastic keys once more! You start with Strauss, the Waltz. The dream from the morning sending you down a trip to memory lane, the dance, the night, perfection! Ah, introspection. No. Lets not think about that now. But its too late, you're not even really thinking about playing anymore and the music sounds darker. A freeflowing new piece that sounds depressed and sorrowful. The night Sarah, your SarSar, had left you, screaming that you were abusive, cruel, useless. You had no idea what she was talking about, you'd taken her dancing, movies, dinners, all the things a good man was supposed to do! You'd never argued or fought over anything at all! Somewhere deep down you realised she was just making things up so she'd have an excuse to leave, an excuse so she could get rid of you and find some new plaything. That rationalisation didn't make it hurt any less, but it helped as you left her house. A week later, she called you out of the blue, crying, depressed at how things ended and wanting to get back together. Only you'd been by her house once before to drop off some of her things and heard the orgasmic screams of her and another man. A good thing I found out now, you told yourself over and over. Telling her to fuck off and never come back was liberating! And depressing. Later, you found yourself in a dump of a pub called 'The Swan'. The floors were sticky, the air moist and filled with bottomfeeder drinkers. The perfect place for alcoholics to worship the spirit/s of their choice for their particular woes. After five plus...however many drinks, you used the jukebox to put on the Waltz to try and recapture that beautiful dance. The revelry was interupted by some lanky idiot in a baseball cap from across the bar. "What the fuck is this?! Who put this gay shit on?!" He half-shouted. The rational part of your brain told you to ignore him. The rational part of your brain pointed out that he wasn't worth the energy, that he couldn't stop the song from playing. Unfortunally, the drunk part of your brain was larger, stupider and now angry at this upstart. "Ah put it on!" You half-slurred, "You got a problem with that?" The young man was apparently trying to be intimidating as he struted over to you, puffing out his chest and trying to walk tall. It only made him look even more pathetic as his two equally skinny friends try to do the same. He pokes you in the chest with a finger. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't want no shit gay music in my pub." He breathed at you, stinking of beer and weed. "Is tha really the best response you have? The gangster routine?" You laugh in his face. "Your pub? You look like you just got out of nappies!" He took a swing at you, connecting very lightly with your jaw. You laugh at his attempt to harm you, your helicopter parents may have not been actual parents, but atleast they cared enough pay for some self-defense classes. A quick jab to the solar plexus and he collapsed into a barely breathing heap. Two left. The other two idiots looked simultaneously surprised and outraged at your adept defense. They obviously decide that they can't take you alone and back off to their table, friend in tow. 'Time to go!' the rational part of your brain tells you and even the drunk side agrees. As you make it to the door, you hear a yell from behind, its that lanky dumbass and eight. Eight. of his idiot friends. The temptation to run is high, but all that means is you get your ass kicked while tired. 'We're dead' rational brain says. You get outside, acouple of other people are either smoking or too drunk to go back inside. The group of idiots arrive, smirking and probably considering how easy its going to be to pound you into tomato sauce. Lankyboy pulls a knife, a small thing, but it still a fucking bladed weapon. Its appearance causes one of the drunks to wake up abit and speak up. "Now boys. Come-ons now! No need for fittin' like that! Knivs ain't sportin! Less the other guy has one too!" He slurs most of his words, but is atleast understandable. "Fuck off drunky," Lankyboy replies, "This ain't your problem, its his." The drunk looks over at you: "Eight verses one, huuuh?" You nod. Suddenly, the drunk lunges forward, grabs Lankyboy by the wrist with his right hand and twists. Lankyboy screams as the knife tumbles out of his hand, while he screams the drunk slams his balled left fist into his jaw in an uppercut. Using his grip on the wrist, he somehow manages to spin lankyboy around so he's facing back into the shocked group and, releasing his grip, gives him a boot in the arse. The group falls over like a bunch of idiotic bowling pins, cussing and yelling in surprise. "And that's what you get for trying to start an unequal fight while I'm around!" The drunk yells, "Goddamn plastic gangsters!" You just stare at him agast. What kind of idiot.. "Name's Farle!" He offers a hand while the idiots try and regroup. "And if you run away from this fight now, I'll kick your ass too!" He grins. "Fenris." You shake the proffered hand. Lankyboy's group has finally managed to reorder themselves, he yells out the usual stuff and they rush the both of you. Since you're all pretty drunk, the fight is largely a rugby scrum of them charging to ram rather than punch. Three of them grab you, tackling you to the floor while a crapped up lankyboy tries to (ineffectually) wail on your head with his weak fists. Acouple of semi-expert blocks, grabs and throws renders all your attackers disabled. Farle, however, is apparently taking his time. While he's obviously not an expert in hand to hand, he's got power and a certain lack of self-preservation. One of the four throws a roundhouse, which Farle blocks and then charges in closer for a..bearhug? Somehow Farle manages to pick up the weed of a man by his chest, then starts using him as an impromptu weapon. The combo of flailing legs and sheer strength take care of the other four in short order. Farle throws the last guy down, his will obviously broken and turns to you again. "That was fun! Fenris, right?" "....Yes, Fenris." "Lets go out and celebrate!" He looks at the groaning pile of bodies, "somewhere else, perhaps?" "Fuck it, lets do it!" Farle looks at you with a half-smile. "I get the feeling this is going to be the start of a beautiful....binge drinking session." The memory broke as you hear something sniffing, snapping you back to that forest clearing. Several teary eyes watched from the forest, some small, others much larger. It was a bear, some squirrels and a mouse. All of them looked both entranced and sad. How the hell can a bear look sad? You bring the music to a conclusion and one of the squirrels slowly walks over to you. Its carrying an acorn and it offers it to you with a teary smile. You take it gingerly and it runs back to the others. "Thank you." Thanking a squirrel, yea this world is wierd. "For my next piece, how about something abit more cheery? Its called 'Flight of the bumblebee'." You play and they perk up.