Day 7
Mac and company had left the library and braced themselves for the worst. Surprisingly, they managed to get through 'The Library' quite easily, almost as if all the mares were elsewhere. They managed to get through the area without seeing a single mare.
Mus' be the sneaky cloaks, Mac thought to himself.
The hard part came when they entered Discord's Alley. The patrols were upped and the mares were on high alert, searching everywhere they could. Mac and his fellows had to perform a few hoof chops to get their way through the territory, silently creeping towards the center of the area and into the proverbial lion's den.
They had reached the heart of Discord's Alley after a good half hour, expecting a den of sex and stallion-held misery. Their findings of no such events taking place puzzled them. Perhaps they had him locked up somewhere.
As Mac signaled for his cohorts to follow him, they overheard the sounds of conversation. They quickly scurried under a stage that had been used for public speakers back in the day, back in the day being a week ago. As they hid, Thunderlane noticed the opened cage next to the platform. Nudging Mac, he whispered as quietly as he could muster, “Maaaac, look at thiiiiis”
Mac was preoccupied, though. He was intently listening to the conversation of the mares passing by, a patrol of 5. They were speaking in hushed, nervous tones to each other.
“But what if we were quick to assume?”
“No way. We all saw them fall and we saw them all scattered on the ground like that. There is no way those stallions could be alive. Either way, we can't keep talking about this!”
“But Raindrop, we killed them! It is our fault they are dead! Do you know what happens to mares who kill stallions? They don't get laid, murder is usually a pretty big turn off!”
“I don't think they are dead. There would have been a big ruckus from those ponies of Rainbow Dash's if they found dead stallions in their area.”
“Fracas,” one of them said, the last audible part of the conversation that Mac could hear.
Mac looked to his companions, who were both intently staring at Macintosh. They were probably waiting to see what he would do next or where they'd have to go now.
Mac sighed and rubbed his temples with his hoofs, “Welp, we're headin' into the next terr'tory over”
Soarin looked uncertain, “Mac, you heard them, Braeburn could be crazy dead!”
“Ah don't care anymore. Le's jus' go find him. Don't care if he's live or not, we'll jus' get him.”
The other members of his company were beginning to have very strong worries about Mac, all this strain could not be good for him. He did not even seem to care when he found out his cousin (and others?) may be dead. But, rather than talk about it, they just followed Mac, afraid of what would happen if they were to call him out on it.
!---~~~---~~~stop.---~~~---~~~scene break.---~~~---~~~---~~~and listen.---~~~---~~~!
Back in the library, Twilight Sparkle was giving a speech. A speech on her certainty of betrayal by her very own assistant, Spike. She backed this up with many facts and statistics she had gathered over the past few days.
She spoke to her underlings over the stack of papers that was her speech, “In conclusion, as can be seen on page 128 in the handouts I have passed around that due to the uncertainty in Spike's voice and the avoidance of the Pinkie Promise by way of pretending he did not hear me, I am certain that what he says, that Spike is alone in the library, is to be false. From this and the facts presented on page 29 in the handout, we can gather that the only other creatures that could be in the library are stallions. This is why I prepose we siege the library and acquire said stallions. Though magically protected, the defense shield protecting the library should collapse with the combined force from every mare in the area. So, what do you say?”
Twilight looked out to the mares she was speaking to, most of whom had fallen asleep or lost interest after the first half hour. One mare, Rarity, stood up, trotted to the podium that Twilight stood at and spoke, “Hey, everypony! There are stallions at the library!”
The sleeping and bored mares suddenly came to attention as they tore from the seating area, like a brutal wave from the stormy sea. They charged towards the library, which came into view in moments. As they made their horny way, one of the occupants of the library heard something.
“What is that...?” Spike said, looking up from his comic book.
Doctor Hooves, still tied to the sofa, turned his head the best he could, “I don't hear anything.”
“No, no, I hear something. Sounds like thunder, ya hear it?”
Hooves listened for a moment, picking up on the increasingly loud rumble, “Oh yeah! I do! Huh, might be in for a spot of bad weather. You should untie me.”
Spike shook his head, “Sorry, dude. No can do,” Spike said, waddling over into the kitchen, opening the bottom cabinets.
“I'm gonna make something to eat, what do you want?”
“You mean I have a say in it?”
“Sure, I guess. I could ma-okay, this is so loud, what is with this noise?”
At that, the herd of mares slammed into the front of the library, causing the protective spell to burst like a bubble, shaking the library violently. The door smashed to pieces, splinters flying all over, the wave of mares pouring into the library.
Spike jumped, “AH! KEEP YOUR HOOVES OFF MY DRAKE GEMS,” He cried, pulling a pan out from the cabinet. He jumped into the pan, blowing fire into it, causing it to fly back up, engulfing him. Spike suddenly dematerialized into smoke, flying into the air and out the window.
Hooves stared in horror, unable to move (due to him being shocked, but also, he was tied town), looking at the dozens of mares staring back at him. He gulped. Then, they pounced on to sofa, the mare-mass swallowing it whole.
Over the roar of the mares, the pitiful cry from a stallion feebly rang out.
!---~~~---~~~Hello, is it---~~~---~~~scene breaks---~~~---~~~---~~~you're looking for?---~~~---~~~!
Braeburn's merry males had silently found shelter in a torn up house. The house was lacking a whole wall, but was still mostly intact, for the time being. The mares of the territory had been tearing apart homes and businesses to build up their great wall to keep out any intruders, using any materials they had to spare.
They constructed a ramshackle wall to keep out peeping toms, using floorboards from the upper level and a door. They did not have any amenities or beds, but they had shelter. They had tacked up the map against the new wall and plotted where they would go in silver marker, over the black.
Never once did Davenport stop grumbling about how they should not be there, “This is so bad. This is very freaking bad. We are in deep doo-doo, for sure. What are we doing going into there? We need to find a way out of here...”
Cranky Doodle Donkey had had about enough of his negative attitude, snapping at him, once again, “Will you SHUT UP!?”
Davenport promptly complied. Cranky was, as his name so elegantly put it, a cranky donkey. He had always been, and in situations with such astronomical levels of stress as this, he was not a nice donkey. He became as vicious as Nightmare Moon and quick to conflict.
Noteworthy put a hoof on Cranky's shoulder, pulling him into a hug, “Just hug it out,” he calmly said, “Just hug all the feelings out”
Cranky pushed him away, “I don't need your hugs.”
“Everypony needs hugs,” he said, matter-of-factly.
The stallions had decided to sleep for a few hours, getting as much sleep as they could. Sleep was a rather difficult thing to come by when you're always on guard. They all hunkered down in a large blanket that Filthy Rich had pulled from his saddle bag, not having enough room to pack bedding for every stallion.
They all laid down in a line, the order going: Filthy Rich, Noteworthy, Cranky, Caramel and Braeburn.
Braeburn had tried to not be next to Caramel, feeling a tad uncomfortable sleeping next to him, but sure as sugar, Caramel had trotted right over and plopped his self down next to Braeburn. The night had gone on mostly without incident. Mostly.
In the dead of night, Braeburn woke to find a pair of hooves wrapped around his chest and a head nuzzling up to him. The head and hooves belonging to none other than Caramel.
“Caramel. What are ya doin'...?”
“Shhh, let it happen.”
“Please let go of me.”
“Hold me closer tiny dancer”
“What?”
“Count the headlights on the highway”
“ah don't know what those are”
“I been 'fraid of changing 'cause I built my life around you”
“ah've known ya fer a few weeks.”
“I'm referencing something”
“Am ah asleep?”
“We are the music makers, we are the dreamers of dreams”
“Please stop.”