//------------------------------// // A Pansy for Your Thoughts // Story: Bad Apples // by Lidocaine Varnish //------------------------------// Bad Apples A Pansy for Your Thoughts “So…looks like we’ve got ourselves a Big Mac here.” The desk was impeccably neat—ink blotter, inkwell, pens—everything arranged square with the edges of the desk. A single neat stack of papers was immediately in front of him, centered perfectly. The Unicorn behind the desk was dressed just as impeccably. He seemed quite proud of his uniform. It was clean and pressed, and everything on it looked bright and new. Captain Pansy was a little slip of a Unicorn, with a hairline moustache. A dainty little pince nez completed his outfit. Big Mac had found the tittering and snickering of the Pegasus guards strangely unnerving; now he was as hard pressed as they were not to grin. “I have here a warrant for your arrest—“ “Sorry to interrupt, cap’n,” Big Mac said, “but that looks more like a grocery list…’less that’s my name ‘twixt the eggs and butter.” Pansy flustered, and moreso when Big Mac asked in a deadpan voice, “You makin’ cupcakes, Pansy?” “None-the-less,” Pansy uttered each syllable distinctly, “There IS a warrant for your arrest at the capital, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Not to mention the price on your head, which we’ve saved the taxpayers by catching you ourselves.” One of the guards stifled a groan. He would have favored a cut of the bounty in lieu of the 3-day pass he was likely to get out of it. “Don’t you know how dangerous this pony is?” Pansy scolded. “I want to see him in irons IMMEDIATELY!” None too quickly, one of the guards trudged out to comply with the order. Big Mac was caught, and this time, there were no doubts about his true identity. It was almost a relief—he didn’t have to maintain the charade of being a nopony, keeping his head down and trying not to be noticed. It was small comfort against the prospect of being sent to some Luna-forsaken hellhole like Andersonville had been. Hopefully Andersonville had been dissolved. He’d only had a couple of blissful weeks out of that place before he’d been caught again. He almost snickered at the thought that it’d been a good thing he hadn’t been caught so often at the BEGINNING of the war. The good captain looked as though he might be turning pink beneath his glisteningly-white coat. Big Mac was glad he’d managed to stifle the snicker at himself--he didn’t need to do anything to make his predicament worse with the captain. Whenever he needed to straighten his face, he could always brood over the fact that he’d probably get a very lengthy imprisonment, as long as they didn’t charge him with treason. If they DID charge him with treason, execution would be likely. He’d been careful—but they probably picked up his trail when he’d gone back to the Hollow to look for his sisters and Granny. He was sure nopony in the Hollow would have turned him in…but there was that Luna-damned Fort Lincolnlog nearby. Although Applejack and Apple Bloom had already gone, at least he knew they were still alive. And he knew what had happened to Granny Smith. Details were scarce, but he was sure she must’ve gone down fighting. He had these thoughts to console him while the dainty captain gloated. The private returned with the irons, and started to fasten Big Mac’s front hooves together. His front hooves chained together with iron, the private moved to his back hooves. “What the FUCK am I doing?” he asked himself suddenly. He’d been cooperative the entire time. It was easy to do at the beginning, being caught unprepared before so many guns. He’d habitually fallen into the broken demeanor he’d assumed at Andersonville, and come in without a fight. As the back irons snapped shut, he tried to look as though he was just shifting his weight. Then he bucked the private in the face. When his weight came down, he reared up, catching the guard on his other side beneath the chin with his two iron-bound legs. It was the hardest blow he could muster under the conditions, but hobbled, it wasn’t the hardest blow he could deal. More than anything, the guard was momentarily startled. With armed guards in the room, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to slug it out with them—he had to surprise them, and then run like hell before they could shoot him. Without even waiting for his front hooves to come down, he launched himself across the desk at Pansy. He launched awkwardly—he hadn’t thought it entirely through before he’d started. Now there were curses and gunshots, and he slipped into pure terrified survival mode, striking blindly in Pansy’s direction with his forehooves and mouth. He caught a glimpse of Pansy’s terrified expression, Pansy raising his hooves before him in defense. Big Mac’s hooves didn’t connect with Pansy in any meaningful way, but he seized onto Pansy with his mouth, clamped down, and snapped his head to the side. Electricity galvanized his jaw, the muscles contracting so tightly he could only imagine the fibers would be snapping. His head felt as though ablaze, and he had a vision of his own skull blackened and charred, with all the flesh itching, burning, and sloughing off. The black empty pits of his eye sockets were erupting with blue flames. He couldn’t even scream, as the flayed bones of his jaw were still clamped shut. There was a weird “THWUP” sound, and all sensation was blotted out by a blinding blue light. Instinctively, Big Mac scrambled to his feet, feeling his hooves sinking into soft earth. He launched himself into a gallop… And ran immediately headlong into a tree. Staggering to the side, he broke into a shaky gallop, flinching every time the shadow of a tree passed over his face. It seemed as though his eyes were crossed, or something else was amiss with his vision. Things didn’t seem quite right, but they seemed to be getting slightly more…normal. He was struggling for air, his breath coming in short pants. He forced himself to take a deep breath, to slow down…to try to focus on his surroundings. He noticed his jaw was still clamped tightly shut. There was a bright blue flicker in his vision that was intermittently blotting out his sight. He struggled to a halt, and tried to spit out whatever was in his mouth. He thrust a hoof into the side of his mouth, pulling and prying. Nearly falling over with his efforts, he finally got his jaw open, spitting out whatever was in it. He sucked in a deep lungful of air, expelling it quickly through his newly-opened mouth and took in another. “Dafuq?” he thought. Thought was returning to him, as was his vision. He shook his head to clear it. He was standing in the woods, surrounded by trees. He looked down, and shuddered with revulsion as he realized what had happened. He’d broken off Pansy’s horn with his mouth. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped, dropping to the ground. He retched a few times, but perhaps trained by Andersonville, didn’t throw anything up. Unicorns could teleport, couldn’t they? He struggled upright, looking around in a panic. He was alone. No soldiers, no fort, no Pansy…except for the fragment of his horn. Big Mac shuddered again. Killing a pony was one thing…but tearing a piece off one just seemed…revolting. Much less to do it with one’s mouth. It was nothing he would ever plan to do. He’d been fighting for his life, and it’d been an accident. He didn’t REGRET doing it…he just wished it’d happened a different way. What do you do with a Unicorn’s horn? he wondered. Was it like a pony that was dead? Should it be buried? He backed away from it. He surveyed his surroundings. Right now, he had nothing but his hat—and— and no irons on his legs. Damn weird. He didn’t need much. A gun would be nice. A blanket for some comfort would be good. Looking at the sky, he determined which way was west, and trotted off in that direction.