//------------------------------// // Side-Job Time! // Story: NO MORE PONIES // by Brony_Fife //------------------------------// It turned out the next day, much to Travis’ great surprise, that in Equestria there were actually consequences to killing people. Newspapers had flown about, sensationalizing the Fashion Show Nightmare that had happened in Canterlot the night before. Royal Guards were on the lookout for… well, something—none of the witnesses could seem to agree on what kind of creature Travis was. The papers all had differing opinions on what Travis looked like, and what his motivations were. And none of them were accurate. Of course, Travis had the ultimate disguise: paper bag, plus Sharpie, equals nobody knows a thing. Behold the power of math. Travis discovered the ponies’ reaction by reading some of the newspapers as he delivered them. Yes, in addition to not expecting the entirety of Equestria to react to the brutal assassination of a fashionista, Travis lacked the foresight to grab any of the money Rarity shot at him. So once again, Travis Touchdown found himself facing the grim reality of menial labor—right now, a paper route he was probably two hours behind on anyway. The Schpeltiger growled as he slowly rode by the houses, tossing newspapers here and there, not really caring where any of them landed. One splashed into a birdbath while another socked some dumb kid in the head. Travis looked over his shoulder and saw some fat, balding pony running after him, yelling about how a newspaper had landed in the rose bushes or some other bullshit. Travis just rolled his eyes and disregarded him as another newspaper found itself flung into an uncertain direction. He heard a panicked shout, then a crash. But he didn’t care—no sir. Upon finishing his route, Travis drove back to the Hiring Center in Ponyville. This town was quiet, for the most part. Not crowded. Not polluted. Not choked with chain restaurants and shopping malls. Some of the ponies were kinda… odd. All told, it vaguely reminded Travis of Santa Destroy pre-Desperate Struggle. Travis had to duck his head a bit as he walked through the door, since pony buildings were obviously never built with humans in mind. He felt a slight shove at his side and looked down. Looking up at him was a pair of bright yellow eyes: one that focused on him, and one that… didn’t. They were set in a grey face framed by a blonde mane. The pony gasped as she fluttered her wings. “Oh! I’m sorry!” she said in a voice that was too deep and dopey for a girl. Travis shrugged, readjusting his paper bag mask. “Don’t worry about it.” The pony scrutinized him a little more with her good eye, her lips pursing as her face scrunched adorably. “Hey,” she said slowly, “don’t I know you from someplace?” The newspapers. But she couldn’t know what he looked like—there weren’t any pictures! Just hearsay! Not to mention his awesome disguise! Travis sweated profusely before stammering, “Uhhhhhhhh…. No?” Silence. With a blink—and a curiously well-timed chime—the pony bounced right back to perky. “Okay!” she said as she hopped up and down in place. Travis walked to the line in front of the reception desk, waiting for his turn. He heard a rhythmic sound from behind him: a clop—clop—clop. He turned his head around and saw that same pony from before bouncing in place with the biggest shit-eating grin Travis had ever seen in his whole, long, seemingly-never-ending, pathetic, squandered life. He cocked an eyebrow. “…Yes?” She continued to bounce. “…No?” she asked. An awkward pause. “…What?” “…Why?” Travis snorted impatiently. “Look, what the fuck are you doing? Are you following me?” She stopped her bouncing and stroked her chin as her face scrunched again. “Hmmmmm…” Back to bouncing. “I guess I must be! You’re all in front of me and everything!” Travis sighed and facepalmed, returning his attention to the line as more job-seeking ponies received work requests. The clop—clop—clop behind him didn’t cease. Travis turned to her again. “What’s your deal?” “I’m not making no deal,” she giggled. “No, you’re following me.” “Yup.” “So you must be working for someone!” Travis growled as he put his hands on his Rose Nasty, ready for a fight. “Well, I’ll be working for someone in a bit,” she said. “Isn’t that why everypony else is here?” Travis stopped and thought about it. He inhaled, exhaled, released his grip on Rose Nasty, and went right back to standing in line. It felt like it was taking forever to move… like the slowest caterpillar in caterpillar history. All the while, the pony behind him continued to bounce in excitement. Annoyed with her continued noisemaking, Travis turned around and pressed the pony down, holding her in place with his hand. “Can you stop that?” he nearly shouted. “It’s getting on my fucking nerves.” “Hey, you used that word again,” she said. “What’s it mean?” Travis raised an eyebrow. “What word? Fuck?” “Yeah, that.” Travis clicked his tongue. “Well…” “…and when you’re lying there on the come-soaked sheets, looking into each other’s eyes, you realize what a worthless shit you are and hope to God she doesn’t ever find another man,” Travis concluded. She stared at him wide-eyed, unsure of how to process what she’d been told. “…But it’s such a tiny word,” she said quietly. “But it means a lot,” Travis nodded as he finally walked up to the receptionist, leaving the confused pony to herself. He placed the empty newspaper bag on the desk. “I’m done with the job. How much I get?” The receptionist sighed. “Nothing. All the customers complained. Broken windows, KO’d kids, one of them mentioned a porn mag showcasing some rather bizarre bipedal animals somehow got into their mailbox…” Travis facepalmed. “Jesus H. Christ…” He calmed himself down, running his hand over the top of his bag mask. “Well, OK. Fine. There any other work? Lawns need mowing? Trash needs collecting? I’m gonna need something…” The receptionist shook her head as she pointed to the nearby board. “Pick one, then bring it here. And be serious about it this time, please.” The candy shop was in a bind, and had been ever since Bon Bon’s only help—her best friend Lyra—had to go out of town to Canterlot. Her apprentice, Twist, was only so good at spinning the caramel or baking the fudge, and often made mistakes that cost Bon Bon quite a bit in losses. So when the guy from the Hiring Center showed up, Bon Bon felt both a wave of relief and a sense of uncertainty. This creature was nothing like she’d ever seen—dark glasses over a box-shaped head, walking on its hind legs. Still, it was wrong to judge somepony based on their species, and Bon Bon (after reading over the recommendation written by the Hiring Center) put him to work almost immediately. She watched over him for the first hour, making sure she didn’t make a mistake in hiring the first guy to answer her demand for additional help. But then she smelled smoke and ran to the kitchen, only to find that Twist had once again annihilated the refrigerator. While Bon Bon cleaned what was left of her kitchen off the walls, Travis took care of the customers—at least, as much as he could be patient with. He’d had harder part-time jobs than this, obviously, but a candy store attracted quite a bit of unwanteds. He’d never be able to figure out how Bon Bon could stand the tantrum-throwing children—or their tantrum-throwing parents, for that matter. (Answer: alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.) It wasn’t until later in the day that a trio of kids came in. The first two were one of those winged horses, while the other was just a regular pony. The winged one had a purple, feather-shaped hairdo and eyes to match. The other one, the regular pony, had a color scheme that greatly reminded Travis of apples. He might have seen her in the show once or twice—what was her name again? He couldn’t remember. But the third one to come in after the first two took her time in entering the store. Her footsteps (Hoofsteps?) were sluggish and tired, the tiny sounds they made as she walked across the linoleum floor hitting like gentle raindrops. She was a little white unicorn that looked the type little girls would adore—curly hair, bright colors… But there was something missing, and it destroyed the whole thing the kid had going. With all other kids, Travis could look in their eyes and see a spark. There was genuine life and activity behind the eyes of kids, suggesting hyperactive brains that produced wild imaginations that could have adventures with nothing more than a cardboard box. This kid didn’t have that spark. That’s not to say her eyes looked more adult or grown-up—they looked more like she’d skipped her teen years, her adult years, and her senior years, fast-forwarding all the way to the grave. There was nothing behind her eyes: no happiness, no joy, no imagination, no adventure. Nothing. Travis observed this little group of kids as the first two tried leading the third around the store, asking what candy she wanted. She didn’t seem interested in anything her friends suggested. Her voice was quiet and damp—like a tissue used then forgotten. Travis drummed his fingers on the counter, uncertain. “Come on, Sweetie Belle,” the orange kid said. “Candy usually cheers you up!” Sweetie Belle looked at her but said nothing. The neutral line of her mouth curved into a frown. The apple girl put a hoof on Sweetie’s shoulder. “Look, Sweetie Belle, don’t do this. Y’know how bad yer Ma ’n Pa took the news. Just… Just be brave fer them, OK?” Sweetie lowered her head. The nothing behind her eyes became something that second—and it was something Travis didn’t like seeing. There was sorrow behind her eyes. Hurt. She sniffled as her eyes began to shimmer with tears. The two others wrapped her in a hug as Travis heard her stifle a bawl that threatened to erupt. Sweetie put her face down into her front hooves. To hide. Travis sighed, then looked around. Bon Bon probably wouldn’t like it if he just… aw, hell, who cares what Bon Bon thinks? She has a stupid name anyway! Travis “accidentally” knocked a peppermint stick off its stand, and onto the counter—technically making it unsellable. “Whoops!” he said, his theatre degree finally coming in handy for once. “Looks like I can’t sell this anymore.” He looked up to the three kids. “Hey, since I gotta throw this one away anyhow…” Travis walked over to the three, peppermint stick in hand, and put it forward. It hovered just before Sweetie’s face. “Here,” he said gently. A pause. Sweetie hutched a bit, once again trying not to cry. She reached out and took the candy. “Thank you, m-mister,” she said quietly. Travis nodded. “Don’t mention it,” he said. He looked over his shoulder to see if Bon Bon was done cleaning up her kitchen. Once he saw the coast was clear, he leaned forward and added, “Seriously, don’t mention it.” Sweetie smiled. The way her little lips curved was adorable—and totally worth it. She jumped up and wrapped her stubby forelegs around Travis’ neck, holding him there for a few seconds before breaking away. After that, she and her friends all left the store, Sweetie proudly sticking the peppermint into her mouth like a cigar. Travis stood back up as he watched the trio leave, his hands on his hips. He breathed a victorious sigh, then turned around—only to be met with a scowling Bon Bon. “Uh” was about all he could get out before Bon Bon thrust out her hoof. “Apron,” she demanded. Travis undid his apron and handed it over. Then Bon Bon pointed to the door. “Out,” she commanded. With an inward groan, Travis left.