//------------------------------//
// Chapter 3 
// Story: Insipid 
// by SleepIsforTheWeak 
//------------------------------//

“Here they come again!” 

The young lookout’s excited shout from the nearby rooftop, overlooking the intersection of Eighth Avenue and Green Street, echoes down the alley. 

I scowl deeply at the hoofful of bruised and battered teenage Green Street Pirates that are ensconced out of sight in a trash-strewn basement stairwell. Other small groups of the Pirates are similarly hidden nearby, but casualties have been high during this afternoon’s running battle with the ferocious Untouchables from 33rd Street and I doubt if the Pirates can still field more than thirty or so able-bodied members. 

I lurch to my legs with a groan, favoring my injured knee, and extend a foreleg to help pull my best friend Shylock off the ground. The others in my group, all younger than either ‘Lock or myself, wearily follow my example, each reluctant to admit to fear by being the first to head home. 

“How’s it lookin’, Chief?” Shylock asks on a whisper. 

“I don’t give two damns. We’re fighting ‘till those scraps are bleeding into the drains.” I growl in reply, giving an eye to some of the more reluctant looking ones in the group, who scramble to straighten out and put on a fake grin.

With a grinning ‘Lock by my side, I lead the way up the stairwell and down the short alley back to Green Street, glancing over my shoulder to reassure myself that all my members are following and that all are still armed — a motley collection of bats, chains, blackjacks, pipes and knives, and with most of them also still carrying covers filched from garbage cans: The Untouchables have a nasty habit of hauling sacks of broken bricks to the battleground.

Approaching the end of the alley, I silently motion for my group to hang back while I risk a quick glance around the corner. Sure enough, a large group of maybe forty or so Untouchables are gathered at the intersection—the traditional heart of Pirates territory—bringing traffic to a standstill and making threatening gestures at any locals brave enough to protest the disruption. 

Directly across the street from me, approaching the end of their own alley, I see the second group of Pirates, led by the burly Sawbuck. Saw also risks a quick glance, and then ducks back looking worried. I raise a brow when he meets my eyes, and he gulps. 

Having second thoughts, the bastard. I grit my teeth. 

Granted, my call to split up the gang into smaller groups for an ambush and a decisive final clash seems to have been a bad move, but I would first lay down dead than let anypony in my gang know that. Saw deliberates for a few seconds, and then makes some vague gestures in my direction. He seems to be asking my opinion on what to do next, given that the Pirates are split into four or five small groups and the others are nowhere to be seen. Probably run off.

‘Lock whispers excitedly in my ear, urging me to advise taking to the street and facing off with The Untouchables, to draw them on into the ambush. He seems to believe the other nearby groups of Pirates would then attack them from the rear without hesitation, as planned.

More than two years had passed since I took up the threshold as leader of the Pirates, during which time I’d only once had my leadership challenged in any way. Shylock bears the scars to this day, but we have since become the best of friends and between the two of us have ruled the Pirates with an iron hoof, pounding all rivals—both within and outside of the gang—into the dirt. The Pirates were a medium sized group as gangs went, just under a hundred members, but had a reputation for being tough brawlers.

I ponder for a long moment, as it is always like this before a big battle for me—taking time to remember how I got where I am today, just in case I don’t make it out. Then I turn my attention back to the situation of the present. Frankly, Saw’s group consisted of the burliest mares and stallions in my whole gang and would make quick work of the ambush if my own group were to step out first. Naturally, most of the fights nowadays ended up with the two groups exchanging insults instead of punches, but my gang had a reputation to uphold and turf to protect—this battle would not be ending with words, not on my call.

I gesture my plan over to Sawbuck but he seems confused by my hoof gestures—he never was the brightest spark in the neighborhood—and I begin to repeat myself, frantically trying to make him understand, while beside me Shylock is doing his best to contain his laughter. 

Thankfully, I see Hellhound, one of my toughest, lean over to whisper in Saw’s ear his own interpretation of my signaled advice. Understanding finally dawns on Sawbuck’s face, and I share a grin with ‘Hound as he rolls his eyes behind Saw’s back. He’s a good kid, that one—doesn’t waste time on insults, lets his strength do the talking. Hell if something happened to ‘Lock, kid would be my first pick for a replacement lieutenant. 

Saw ponders my advice for a moment or two, but then firmly shakes his head in the negative. I roll my eyes and scowl, but nod my head. For all his dead brain weight, Sawbuck was a seasoned gang member and something of a tactics specialist. He begins gesticulating wildly in return, not realizing that in doing so he’s also pulling funny faces, causing Shylock and half my group to abruptly turn and swiftly head back down the alley, now desperately trying hard not to burst out laughing and inadvertently give away our position to the rival gang. I cannot help but crack a smile myself, although more at ‘Lock’s contagious merriment than finding any humor in the farcical situation itself.

It finally becomes clear to me that Saw is suggesting both our groups should head back down their respective alleys and try to locate and team up with the other scattered Pirates, forming two large groups. He seems to be saying that his group will then charge the Untouchables head-on in about twenty minutes from now, at which point he wants my group to be in position with all the others to hit them from the flank or rear.

I shrug lightly and then give a small nod—it was better than anything I had.

“Damnit, Butch,” says ‘Lock with a scowl when we head back down the alley and break the news to my members. “We should go out there now,” he continues angrily, always eager for the fight, “before they head back to their own turf.” 

“I hear ya... But it’s Saw’s call—this time.” I reply patiently, patting him on the shoulder. “‘Sides, once this is over with we can finally go out to dinner.”

‘Lock’s anger abruptly disappears, to be replaced with his familiar grin. He falls in beside me as I push my way through the group, saying “Let’s go round up some of the others.” With a wink.

“You really don’t wanna go that way. There’s an Untouchable lookout way down at the end of the alley... I can just see him from here.” 

Tense as a coiled spring, quietly leading my group in single file down a narrow alley between a warehouse and the rear of a tenement building, navigating around tall, jumbled piles of discarded packing cases, I suddenly jump, startled, as the voice comes out of nowhere and seemingly right beside me. I raise my bat in a swift reflex action, looking around frantically, and then my gaze is drawn upwards as a delighted giggle follows, coming from directly above me. 

Violette smirks mischievously, leaning over the railing of a fire escape balcony, with flaming red locks blowing high in the brisk breeze. Maybe a year or so younger than myself and Shylock, at just sixteen Violette is the object of fantasy for most of the local colts and fillies—well, the ones that swing that way anyway. And, to hear them talk, at least, many have had those fantasies realized. 

“Damnit, Vi, you scared the crap outta me!” I admonish her in a fierce whisper without thinking, then immediately turn red-faced at the sound of the muffled chuckles coming from ‘Lock and the others now bunching up behind me. 

Violette giggles again, then, noticing the colts all looking up admiringly, she throws back her head and shakes her long mane loose in the wind, while tensing her body and displaying her ripe figure to best effect. The collective intake of breath by those gathered is audible.

Without warning, Violette suddenly lurches forward and dives over the railing, but instead of plunging head-first onto the hard cobblestones below, she somehow maintains her grip on the bars, executes a controlled somersault, and lands lightly on her legs right beside me. Her mouth quirks wickedly at the astonished looks on the faces of everyone there.

I shake my head at her and scowl—the last thing I need right now is for my group to be distracted from the dangerous task at hand. Violette innocently bats her eyelashes at me, and then abruptly pushes past me to grab Shylock by the neck and pull him close for a deep, lingering kiss. With his curly blue mane, ruggedly-handsome features and ready smile, Shylock always got the best-looking mares. His innumerable scars only seemed to add to his appeal; a symbol of his tough reputation as a ferocious, head-stomping Pirate, and a badge of pride in this neighborhood in the form of the nickname, 'Scar'.

After a few seconds of this, I pointedly clear my throat, knowing that time is swiftly running out. ‘Lock reluctantly breaks the kiss and Violette turns to pout at me, but the look in her deep, smoldering green eyes says, you’re jealous, and you damn well know it. I manage a bland look in return, and then my customary scowl when she winks at me.

“We don’t have time for this, Vi, get out of the way,” I bark, meeting her eyes dead-on.

“Aw, come on, Tea, I can help you out. Get rid of that guy.” Violette whines and I roll my eyes. Violette has been trying to get into the gang for the past several months, endlessly pestering me with requests and offering to do favors. 

“This ain’t a good place for you,” I tell her gruffly, like I always do, and then push past her and start stalking down the alley. “‘Lock, you come with me,” I throw over my shoulder, “Everypony else wait here... and you sure as hell better still be here when we get back,” I add in stern warning, turning to continue down the alley. Violette’s sharp tone sounds from behind me.

“Don’t go, Scar, she ain’t the boss of you,” she insists. I stop dead in my track and turn around with a fierce glare, just in time to see Violette gripping hold of ‘Lock’s shoulder to keep him from following. Shylock shrugs off her grip, only to be rewarded with a resounding slap. For a split second it looks like he’s about to punch her, but instead he suddenly grabs Violette’s neck, pulls her close, and kisses her fiercely, then abruptly lets her go and turns to follow me. Violette staggers back, looking furious, but her anger instantly melts into a soft, secretive smile. 

“What can I say? The filly loves me,” ‘Lock offers apologetically as he catches up with me, grinning and rubbing his bright-red cheek. 

“Yeah... you and half the friggin’ neighborhood,” I mutter in a sharp riposte, then instantly duck his fake punch. We both chortle quietly as we continue down the alley. 

Less than two minutes later, the Untouchables’ lookout is laid out cold in the alley, bludgeoned into senseless oblivion, and I send ‘Lock back to bring up the rest of the group.

“Looks like we made it in time,” I say, panting softly from that last dash, both pleased and immensely relieved at the same time. Most of The Untouchables still seem to be milling about the intersection of Green Street and Eighth Avenue, and Saw’s group clearly has yet to attack them. 

My group and I make quick work to team up with two other small groups of Pirates crouched in their hiding spots. All of them nod as I explain the new plan, and then gear up. I breathe a sigh of relief as my group has now swollen to almost thirty in number, waiting quietly in an alley beside Chuck’s Place. 

Suddenly an almighty roar erupts from the nearby intersection and I peer around the corner to see that Saw’s group has charged The Untouchables from the north, catching the first few by surprise. However, they quickly recover from their shock and, outnumbering as they do Saw’s group by more than two to one, soon regain the upper hand, easily driving the Pirates back up Eighth Avenue. I instantly realize that Saw’s group is falling back on purpose, both to avoid being easily overwhelmed and to give my own group the best chance of attacking the Untouchables, as they now mostly have their backs to us. 

The only question in my mind is whether to attack immediately—before Saw’s group is completely overrun—or to wait a little longer until even the most timid of the Untouchables have entered the fray, so making it less likely my own will be noticed until it’s too late, but at risk then of Saw’s group already being soundly defeated...

“Butch, we gotta get in there,” Shylock mutters urgently to me, eyes panicked. 

“Let’s go!” I whisper fiercely after a nod, rising to my hoofs and signaling the attack. “And not one friggin’ sound until the very last second!” 

I lead the way out the alley at a dead run, barging my way past local onlookers gathered in the street to watch the two gangs clash. The sound of running hoofs seems strangely loud in my ears, but not a single Untouchable turns to look behind them, so focused are they on surrounding the remaining members of Saw’s group, who have finally stopped retreating and are now making a stand. 

Fifty feet, forty, thirty... the distance closes rapidly, and I can now clearly make out Hellhound in the center of Saw’s shrunken line, grinning maniacally and lashing out with a whirling chain, keeping a mass of Untouchables at bay. But both ends of Saw’s line are beginning to crumble as the numerically-superior rival gang begins to flood around them and attack them from the flanks and rear. Groaning, bloody bodies are scattered everywhere, and I lash out with my bat to smash one rising Untouchable back to the ground as I race past him, catching him full in his startled face.

“KILL THEM!” I finally give vent to the rage and pumped-up adrenaline flooding my body as my group hit the rear of the rival gang at a dead run, slamming my bat into the back of one stallion’s head just before he swings some sort of meat cleaver into the legs of a downed Pirate. I shove the next stallion straight into Hellhound’s whirling chain, then swivel and sweep the legs out from under a third Untouchable, sending her crashing to the ground. A swift blow breaks some ribs, while ‘Lock’s hoof lashes out and kicks her in the head, to keep her down. 

Within only a matter of seconds, it’s all over. Broken and bloody Untouchables are sprawled everywhere, and any still moving are being instantly set upon by a pack of howling ponies with flailing weapons. Only a bare hoofful made their escape down nearby alleys and side streets, but the Pirates are for the most part too stunned and joyous in their superb victory to bother pursuing them very far. 

“What kept you?” Hellhound asks with a wide grin, throwing his now bloody chain over his neck and leaning down to help a battered and bloody, shaky younger colt back to his legs. 

“We ran into Missus Shylock...” I reply, throwing him a suggestive wink when a resounding ‘hey!’ sounds from Shylock. “It’s a question of priorities,” I add impudently, matching his grin and helping a small filly up also.

“Heh, this was awesome, Butch!” Sawbuck rams into me from the side in a rough half-hug, half-tackle. 

“Watch it, Meathead, you’re getting blood all over me,” I snap, but only half-heartedly as my grin shines through. Saw pulls away and swipes with disinterest at his bloody nose. “Most of it ain’t mine, Chief.”

“Chief!” I stiffen slightly and look ahead of me at the panicked scream. A young colt comes stumbling out of the alleyway, soaked in blood and half dead as he pushes his broken body into the wide intersection. “Star Spiders!”

Sure enough, rapidly approaching from the south, Eighth Avenue is now crammed with a number of The Untouchables missing from this recent fight—including their leader, Larkspur—together with a mass of new reinforcements; a street gang from just south of Green Street, and long-time bitter rivals of the Pirates. It seems last week’s successful raid into their territory has annoyed the Star Spiders enough to put aside their own differences with the Untouchables: ordinarily the Spiders waged implacable warfare against any and all gentiles. 

I swallow hard, a cold chill clenching my stomach instantly. The odds are now at least three to one, and most of the Pirates are far from fresh. The bright, cold sun suddenly slipping behind a dark mass of cloud serves only to reinforce my growing sense of impending doom.

I startle awake, bolting upright and hitting my head. I curse bitterly, dripping with feverish sweat and shaking uncontrollably. The nightmare memories of that terrible day five years ago flash through my mind: it was the day my best friend Shylock, barely seventeen and so full of the sheer joys of life, had died. 

During the worst defeat the Pirates had ever suffered, ‘Lock had been relentlessly bludgeoned and kicked to death by Larkspur and two or three other Untouchables—pure, malevolent revenge for the scars and severe beatings Shylock had inflicted on Larkspur in earlier clashes. It was personal. 

I crawl from my bed, grunting and cursing and sobbing under my breath, kicking aside the empty bottles of cheap, rot-gut whiskey, my vision blurred and with sharp pain lancing into my skull from the worst hangover I can ever recall suffering. Ordinarily, I would drink a gallon of water then go back to bed and just sleep it off, but today that was simply not possible.

I often wondered about the injustice of the life some were handed. Was there somepony who decided what circumstances a pony was born with. If there was, where were they and how could I kill them?

I stumbled from my boat on weak, shaky legs that threatened to give out with every step, all the while bumping into my broken ass furniture and accumulating unfelt bruises. I threw myself overboard, crawling the short distance to the thicker part of the woods before emptying out my guts. Then I curled up into a ball on the hard, cold ground and sobbed for my best friend like a little baby, right beside my stupid puddle of vomit.