//------------------------------// // What Is This Place? // Story: Veritatis et Veniae // by rattythepuppet //------------------------------// Chapter Two: What is This Place? “I don’t belong here, we gotta move on, dear; Escape from this afterlife, Cause this time I’m right; to move on and on, far away from here...” As he fell through this strange abyss, he realized that his music player had switched on, and of all the irony... ”Afterlife” was on. The chorus really stuck out to him at this point; it seemed so fitting. The music, it had a numbing effect on him. The music, the sound, the tone...it all made him forget about his current condition. He then noticed that as he was tumbling through the void, his blood was splattering all over the abstract tunnel-like emptiness. He urgently put pressure around his wound, a grimace on his face. “That’s my blood...That is a lot of my blood...God-damn! How much longer am I going to be in this hellhole?” As if on cue, a blinding light both stunned him, and sent him into more mind-delving blackness. …...... He awoke (what seemed like) several hours later. His head hurt. Almost more than is stomach. One thing was for sure, he needed help. He shakily got up, amazed that he had the strength, amazed that he felt stronger than before...more powerful. He instinctively took in his surroundings, noticing that something was very off. Everything looked...so...different. The closest description would probably be...cartoony. He could feel the stone under his feet, through his shoes. He felt a midnight breeze maneuver through the trees, meeting his skin. He smelled a very earthy smell...he also picked up a hint of a very pungent odor...it was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t think of it. He noticed then that he was in the middle of some sort of ruins...presumably, it used to be a castle of sorts...he preceded to pick up a very unsettling sight. A large expanse of forest lay before him, looking ominous; but he knew that the only way to get out of here was to move and keep moving.      He then pulled off his satchel and checked it’s contents: one pack of cigarettes, a zippo, his cell phone (probably useless); he pulled it out for a second to check...and sure enough, it didn’t work. He went back to his inventory: an empty flask, a bullet (of course, of all nights to forget his weapons...) a small “bag of happiness,” and...      ”What the hell...?” He reached his hand into the bag only to pull out...a tampon? What the fuck was that doing in there? He shrugged it off and decided to use it to sop up some of the blood; the wound seemed to be clotting, but there was plenty of the red liquid still wetting his epidermis. “Now...which way...” He scanned in each direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of a light, a person, anything really. He closed his eyes for a moment, just listening.      He had a good set of ears on him, that being the understatement of the year. People often compared his hearing to that of a dog. He heard a faint rustling in the bushes, far off from here. He also noticed the hint of that odor again. He decided to follow it. He gathered up his things and went on his way, trudging ever so painfully through the forest, admittedly jumping at the several voices of nature. As time passed, he slowly compared the scent to that of his empty flask. He had came to the conclusion that it was indeed a strong alcohol. It had been getting stronger and stronger the further he went. He eventually came upon the source of the noise, and upon closer inspection, the source of the smell too. He parted the shrub to find a magenta...animal of some sort...he would guess (judging by the apparent hooves) that it was equine in origin. The curiosity of why this creature smelled so strongly of alcohol had crept it’s way into his mind. Also, it seemed to have a strange marking on it’s... He struggled to remember what the rear-end of a horse was called. He thought for a moment, eventually pulling up the imaginary file in his head. Flank. The mark almost had a tattoo-esque appearance. It was a simple picture, like that from a clip-art program. A strawberry, and a bunch of grapes. Side by side. As he elaborated on the subject, his concentration was broken by the creature’s stirring. “Huh? Oh, it’s waking up...” The magenta mare slowly dropped the weights of slumber from it’s eyes, letting in the gentle moon’s glow. She scanned around for the source of the rustling that jarred her from sleep. As she lay her eyes on the creature, she realized two things: She had passed out in the woods (again)...and a strange creature had woken her up. Another thing occurred to her. What if this thing was dangerous? She sprang up, still rather drunk, but sober enough. “Hey...w-what are you...?” She slurred in between a hiccup. He was surprised at it’s trouble getting up. It really was drunk. He had come to the conclusion that some cruel bastard had made her bathe in alcohol, but it turns out it had been drinking it. He heard a voice. He gazed at the small horse-like creature in amazement. “Was that...you? Did you say that?” Before she could answer, he was already looking around for any other possible explanation. She hiccuped once more before answering. “Y-yeah...holy crap. You can talk?” “Well...yes...I can...” He said to the creature. My God, this is remarkable! “How, may I ask, are you talking?”      The colorful creature stared at him for a moment. “Dude...everypony can talk...I’m-” She hiccups once more. “...how you can...you’re an animal.” “I’m not an animal. I don’t know where I am but-” He was interrupted by a cry of pain from the...pony. That’s what it is. Some sort of pony. “What’s wrong?” “My BUCKING HEAD! The damn migraines are back! I guess I’ll go wake Fluttershy’s flank up...” He quickly piped up, “Who’s that?” She gave him a look as if he asked her who Celestia herself was. She started to walk. “Y-you...should probably follow me...she can probably help with that, you know.” He looked down to the large knife wedged in the clotting laceration she was referring to.    “I hope you’re right...I really do...” He trailed off as she pulled out a bottle of liquor, drinking it down thirstily. Without thought, he lunged for the bottle. As he both drank the (surprisingly harsh) liquid, and poured it over his wound, the pony just stood there, looking obviously disgruntled.       “What the buck do you think you’re doing with my baby?” She screamed, in a distressed tone. “Helping myself.” He retorted with a chuckle. She snatched it back, throwing the bottle in the bush. He assumed that she was aiming for him, which just made him flow into a full-fledged laugh.      “Hey tailhole! Stop laughing at me!” Slurring her words more, she continued, “I’m trying to help you.”      After apologizing, they made their way off into the moonlight, with nothing but silence and each other as their company.      So, the adventure begins. He sighed to himself as he followed his reluctant companion.