//------------------------------// // 23: Chasing Butterflies [Adventure] [A.U.] // Story: Thirty Minutes Shy // by Esle Ynopemos //------------------------------// ((Prompt: Re-imagine MLP: FiM as cyberpunk.)) A pony ain't nothing more than a lump of muscle and bones. My granny told me that once. She's as sweet an old mare as you'll ever meet in this world, but one of the hardest lessons this century has taught me is that grannies are wrong. Love never solved nopony's problems, wishin' on stars just gets you a sore neck, and a pony is so much less than muscle and bone. Take my friend Rainbow, for example. She lost a wing in a tram accident, and the doctors gave her a new one made of metal and ceramic. Trouble was, it didn't balance well with her good wing, so she had them lop that one off and replace it, too. She ain't the mess of feathers they hauled out the back of the hospital. She's that steel streak rattling the windows on all the buildings in the lower commerce district. Muscle and bones don't mean squat to what a pony is. I keep telling myself that while I do my best to stare down the lump of muscle and bones that's scowling at me from the other side of the counter. My brother's big, but this guy looks like he could toss him like a beach ball. He's got real old, rusted prosthetics slapped on him, making him blend into the junk he's trying to sell, and he's got one cybernetic eye that keeps flipping colors while he stares at me. It gives me the impression he's winking at me, and it don't do nothing to make him any less intimidating. I cough to clear my throat. “I, uh...” Damn mouth's gone dry. “I'm lookin' fer some celery.” The eye flips colors again. “Try a supermarket, kid. This is a scrap store.” His voice don't quite match up with the way he looks. Too high, too nasal. I get a bit angry, and I bang my forehoof on his counter. “I know what I'm lookin' for, dangit! I heard you got it.” He stares down at me. That dang eye flips colors one more time. Finally a grin spreads across his ugly face. “Ah. You must be the one Hob Nob said was lookin' for some Princess, aren't you?” I push my hat back and nod. “You got it or not?” The big guy glances around the shop. It's empty except for me, but he still takes a suspicious sweep around the room. Apparently satisfied, he bumps a switch beneath his counter, and a cool hiss fills the air as a compartment opens up underneath. “Can't be too careful,” he said, pulling out a small black box. “Authorities've been cracking down on this stuff. Ain't hardly worth keeping around anymore.” “This'll make it worth it,” I tell him, slapping down almost half a year's pay. I don't need to count out the bits; I know the going rate for Princess by heart. His grin broadens as I slip the box into my saddlebag. “Can I interest you in any accessories?” he asks, gesturing toward a rack of items that were a bit... erotic in nature. “You know what they say about P. It gives you wings...” I scowl at him. “Have a nice day,” I say tersely, and walk out. I don't stop 'til I get home, locked up safe in my room. Only then do I take the box out and open it up. 'And gets you horny,' is the other half of that saying, if you were wondering. The libido is the first thing the little metal rings work on. It makes them real addictive; that's why they're a controlled substance. Well, that and the fact that if you're not careful they'll make your brain leak out your ears. Lots of ponies went into comas or died chasing some kind of high off of them when they were first invented. I ain't looking for no rush, though. I'm after something different. I flip the things on, and the first thing I see lets me know I'm on the right track. It was just a flash in a jumble of sounds and images and thoughts, but I know it was there. A pair of pink butterfly wings. See, Princess wasn't designed to be some kind of drug. The point of it was to form a connection, build a bridge between the minds of everypony that had a set. That means I'm sharing a headspace right now with one hay of a lot of addicts and burnouts sitting on a curb somewhere trying to forget their crappy lives. But it's the only way for me to find her. They tell me that she's gone. That I should give up on her, because she disappeared, and ponies that disappear the way she disappeared don't ever come back. But I know she has access to Princess. I know that whenever I get my hooves on a set, I see her cutie mark everywhere. She's out there, somewhere, and she's calling for me. I know I'm close. I just have to follow the butterflies, and I'll find her. Maybe not her bones or flesh, but I'll find her. I'm comin' for you, Fluttershy. And maybe I don't know how just yet, but I'm gonna bring you home, just you see.