Prologue
All in all, it was a pretty good day for Slackjaw. He had got the mare, and he was with all his friends at his favorite bar in this rather unimportant town. He couldn't ask for much more than what he was already enjoying.
Of course, if the mare would shut her fucking mouth for once, this day might just be perfect. It was funny how a gun pointed at one's head wasn’t enough incentive to keep them quiet, they were always whimpering and crying.
“Hey! Bartender!” Slackjaw's friend, Cracker Jack called out. “Why don't you make yourself useful and get us another round over here! We're still trying to play cards!” The dirty white unicorn waved his gun around, which was enveloped in blue magic, matching his eyes.
The mustached barkeep dashed behind the counter quickly to provide them with the alcohol they wanted. What a pathetic excuse for a stallion, Slackjaw thought. That didn't matter though. He was in a generous mood today. No one needed to get a bullet in the head unless they were asking for it.
The blue and white mare he leaned upon at the table took the time to whimper and sob again, causing his anger to flare for a short instant. “Shut your muzzle before I decide to put something in it,” she kept quiet after that. Perfect.
No other ponies bothered coming into the saloon. They knew better than to mess with Slackjaw and his gang. Good, he didn't need any distractions while he and his pals played cards. The less ponies around, the better for him.
Cracker Jack immediately slapped the scotch ale that was presented to him by the bartender when he came around, the glass falling to the ground as he ordered something stronger. Slackjaw took his own shot, though. If Cracker Jack wanted to be an idiot and get plastered, the more bits he would win. The other ponies around the table seemed to have the same idea too.
The six shooters laid at their holsters for the rest of the evening while they played. Some laughed and spat out on the floor, making the barkeep come clean it up. They kicked him and sent him packing with a singed flank, the result of some crude self taught spells.
“Damn all ya’ll and your Cutie Marks,” one of them shot out loudly. “Never had a Cutie Mark in my life, and I've been doing just fine.”
Slackjaw looked at his own flank, as blank as the ones of all of his companions. They'd never had the time to be taking into any sort of school or learn from anypony. It had been a frustrating life growing up and they had never found out their special talents. They had all managed just fine though. They banded together and took to taking what they wanted. A fair enough life for a Blank Flank, he supposed.
While they were all hooting, Slackjaw kept silent with his eyes remaining on the cards before him. He wasn't going to let the rabble distract him from taking all their bits. The bitch next to him was keeping quiet for much longer than usual, which helped him concentrate further. Maybe he'd keep her after he was done with her later tonight.
It was at that moment that the saloon doors parted ways to make room for some idiot. He didn't bother eying the stranger immediately, he was too focused on his cards. He would deal with this dead stallion in a moment.
“Whoa, what in Tartarus is that?”
“Some sort of fancy two legged thing.”
Slackjaw broke his gaze from the two cards floating in front of him. Even he went 'slack jawed' when he saw the stranger. They were right, this clothed creature did indeed walk on two legs. Those legs were covered in some strange rough looking leggings and he wore a lean button up shirt. His face was lightly bearded, some scraggly brown and white whiskers breaking free from the shorter majority, and wore a cutter style cowcolt hat atop of his head.
They stared at the creature as it walked to the bar, taking a seat on one of the round stools. For a minute, they just kept looking at the thing, and it didn't seem to give two shits whether or not the eyes were on it.
“Barkeep,” the thing suddenly said in a gruff voice, identifying its gender. “Come here and do your job.”
The mustached stallion left the table side of Slackjaw's group to oblige the request. This unnerved the ruthless unicorn. Whatever the hell this creature thought it was doing, it was going to pay for it.
“What'll I get ya?” The barkeep asked the clothed stranger.
“Gin,” the creature answered, his head drooped low and hidden under his hat as he began to lean on the bar counter.
“Just a second then, sonny...” The stallion dropped under the counter to reappear with a bottle of gin and a shot glass.
“Mind if I take the whole bottle? I'll pay you for it.”
The bartender tossed the shot glass to the side, shattering it against the wall, a nervous wreck. “Of course! I'll just go over there and just clean up the mess...” He darted off to the wall where he had thrown the glass at.
Slackjaw definitely did not like this new guy. Some balls this one had, but he'd be sure he didn't have any after tonight. He said, “Why don't a couple of you go over there and show this freak to know better than walking into our bar?”
A few of his sleazy companions nodded and left the table to head to the counter. They circled the sitting oddity, laughing mischievously. It didn't react a bit to the four stallions surrounding him though, uncorking the bottle and taking a swig of the gin.
“Hey, freak. Why don't ya get up off your flank and leave this place. We'll give ya a chance since you're new here,” one of the lackeys said while the others hooted and hollered.
The creature took a deep breath and exhaled, keeping his gaze down and away from the ponies that stood around him. “Suppose I could...” he started, “but I'm sure you all can understand how weary my legs must be. You see, I'm not a native of these parts...”
“No shit, halfwit,” the lackey spat out. His muzzle was covered in slobber and snot. “You ain't a pony. Yer some two legged abomination, and you talk all funny too. Like yer from around Canterlot,” He suddenly put his face right up next to the stranger's, whispering in his ear. “So why don’t you just get lost, freak.”
Silence took the saloon. Even Slackjaw watched intently to see what would happen next. He hoped this strange thing took the warning and walked out. Today was supposed to be a good day.
“You know,” the thing began. “I might just be a freak. I mean look at these fingers of mine...” The creature brought up his forearm slowly.
“Fingers? What in Tartarus are th-OH!” The lackey took a shot right to the face with the bottle that the foreigner had purchased, reeling back in a torrent of pain, blood, glass, and alcohol, soon falling over.
The creature stood up as all of Slackjaw's companions went for their six shooters. What surprised them all though, was the fact that the creature was already with one of his own pointed right at him, the only one who hadn't went for his gun. He must have known he was the leader. Damn.
“Easy there,” the creature said, taking a few steps to the side where the injured unicorn laid. They all watched him with eyes of caution and hate. One wrong move and their boss would be dead. If Slackjaw wasn't pissed that this happened, he might have been flattered. Yet they had managed to be pulled into a stalemate by some foreigner that didn't even talk their talk.
The creature moved steadily over to the lackey who was gasping in pain. The only thing that moved was his fist and the guns they were all using. He stopped when he was standing above the injured unicorn, his eyes and gun still pointed at Slackjaw's head.
“W-what should we do.. boss?” Cracker Jack asked, his magically held gun wavering just slightly.
Slackjaw didn't say anything just yet, he studied his situation further, trying to find a way out. He prided himself on his quick thinking, but he seemed to be at an impasse here. The only thing keeping him alive was the integrity of his stallions, which he knew was little to none. “Whatever you are, you picked a bad place to have a drink.”
“I wouldn't call it bad. Maybe the people in it, but not the place itself,” the gun wielding biped countered.
“People? We're ponies mister. People! Hah!” Cracker Jack began to snort in laughter. Slackjaw suddenly wanted to hit him over the head now. Instead, he sufficed with a simple command.
“Pipe it down, ya idiot,” He could have said something much more vulgar. He wondered why he didn't.
“Aww, c'mon boss...”
That did it. He reeled around and bashed the annoying lackey right in his face. Cracker Jack fell back and went into a similar position as the thug that had already been put on the floor by a glass bottle.
The second Cracker Jack hit the floor though, Slackjaw had realized his mistake. His men had all turned their gaze to see the hoof being thrown into Cracker Jack’s face. That had given the foreigner the time needed to put out his shots.
What a short time it was too. In a matter of a few seconds, five shots ran off and five of Slackjaw's stallions hit the floor, blood gushing from wounds in their necks, a message that showed suffering, not mercy. The boss pony scanned to see how many of his lackeys were left and cussed when he found that the rest had begun to make a run for the door.
What were they thinking? He has only one bullet left! He was nearly frothing mad, but didn't let any of his anger bubble over into being visualized. He looked at the human once more and an idea began to form in his head.
“Well done, mister foreigner,” Slackjaw gave a nervous laugh. He had to make sure it worked. He needed to signal for Cracker Jack to stand back up and assist him. He turned to make sure he could get the bloodied unicorn on the same page as him, but suddenly found the ground he had been laying on to be empty.
No! NO! Now he had to hope that he was quicker than this creature. After seeing the work he had done on five of his lackeys in just a few seconds, he wasn't sure he had the skill. There was one thing left, though. The mare, she was sobbing uncontrollably now, trying to stifle herself but finding it hard to do after seeing the five swift deaths.
Slackjaw slowly began to levitate the revolver from his holster at his side, hoping the creature would get the hint of what was going on. It seemed to be working and he put the barrel of the gun to the mare's head. She began to cry out, no longer attempting to keep a lid on her volume.
“You'll let me walk out of here, won't ya mister foreigner? Don't want a mare's death on your hooves, do ya?” He stood up, forcing the mare to follow him. They both began to slowly step backwards to the exit of the saloon.
The creature showed no emotion, his gun still trained on Slackjaw's head. Why wasn't he faltering? Whatever, he didn't seem too willing to take the shot. It looked like he was going to be in the clea- “Ow!!” He cried out as the mare threw a hoof into his own face, sending him back.
She jumped away from him as the pain made the gun falter from her head. She quickly crossed the saloon to fall in behind the foreigner who now held the reins to his life. She sniffled as she looked back at him, a smile of revenge creeping across her muzzle. Fucking bitch.
“Looks like you've got nothing else to fall back on,” the foreigner said with a monotone voice. He held the revolver still pointed right at him. It was over now.
He could beg. He could beg and grovel. This creature had to be merciful, or else he would have shot him when he still had the mare. He had to try, at least. “Mister foreign-”
“No,” the creature announced, his voice still monotone. “I’m done talking.'”
Oh no. It was going to happen. “Hold on! Wai-”
Everything ended with a flash of light and a bang.