//------------------------------// // To Appleloosa! // Story: NO MORE PONIES // by Brony_Fife //------------------------------// 04: APPLEJACK “Let’s dance, cocksucker!” There was a noise nearby that drew Braeburn’s attention from the newspaper he was reading. He glanced up through the window to see a strange, hulking contraption with wheels that spun, spokes that steamed, lights that blinked, whistles that screamed. It rolled through the center of the street, its various sounds joining together into an odd melody. Many ponies’ and buffalo’s attentions were caught by the sight and the sounds, and they followed it to the center of Appleloosa. Braeburn got a glimpse of the contraption’s drivers as they went by: the horns on their heads, their red-and-white manes, the barbershop-quartet look of their clothes, their near-identical appearances save for one’s moustache. They matched a certain description his cousin Applejack had given him some time ago. He sighed, taking one last draw from his coffee before folding up his newspaper. He set both objects back down on his table along with a tip and grabbed his hat. “Thanks fer breakfast,” he called to the waitress on his way out. His hoof-falls went from the empty creaking of wood to the dusty crunch of desert earth as he followed all the commotion. Braeburn’s green eyes scanned the gathering crowd. He spotted Little Strongheart among them, the biggest smile on her pretty face, the cutest look of curiosity in her eyes. He called out to her and got her attention right away. “Braeburn!” she chirped. The two hugged. “Ah ain’t seen you in a coon’s age, Strongheart,” Braeburn said. “Where ya been?” Strongheart smiled shyly and shrugged. “Oh, y’know… Places.” “Keepin’ it a mystery, eh?” Braeburn asked slyly. He elbowed her gently. The crowds gathering broke their conversation—especially when music began to play. The two looked to the contraption’s owners as they sang and danced, getting the crowd in on the song. Little Strongheart looked to Braeburn as his eyes squinted as they performed, his lips pursed, his whole body language changing. “Something wrong?” she asked. Braeburn glanced at her, then relaxed. “Oh, n-nothin’,” he said dismissively, “They’re just… familiar.” “Keeping it a mystery, eh?” Strongheart returned. They shared glances before chuckling. Up on the contraption, the Flim Flam Brothers broke from their verse to deliver their pitch. “Have you been reading the papers, Flim?” asked Flam. “Certainly have, Flam!” said Flim. “And I gotta say, I’m really worried for our safety!” That much was true, Braeburn thought. The newspaper he’d been reading that morning followed the recent series of vicious killings. Among the victims were two of his cousin’s best friends, as well as several Wonderbolts. The body count was rising by the week, with still no progress made in catching whoever was responsible. It didn’t help anything that the witnesses to the first murder spree couldn’t agree on what he looked like—not to mention that poor Wonderbolt cadet who had to be carted away to an insane asylum. “Fear not, Flim!” said Flam. He turned to their gathered audience. “And you lovely folks shouldn’t fear, either!” The two brothers parted and presented to Appleloosa their machine. “Behold!” they announced, getting back into their song. Braeburn’s hunch that the Flim Flam Brothers were up to no good proved true—these two conponies were capitalizing on this tense situation. He groaned and rolled his eyes, pushing down his hat in consternation as everypony else looked on, entranced, applauding. Flim flipped a switch on their control panel. Suddenly, with a familiar transformation sound effect, their contraption stood up like a pony. On four strong legs, it paraded with thuds that shook the earth. “It serves!” proclaimed Flim. “It protects!” exclaimed Flam. “It’s a monarch among mechs!” the Flim-Flam Brothers said as their monstrous machine loomed behind them. “The Gut-Shaker Face-Breaker Widow-Maker 8000!” As he observed their presentation, Braeburn made a double take. “Braeburn?” Strongheart asked as she watched the color fade from his face. “Braeburn, what’s wrong?” About the most Braeburn could get out of his mouth was a surprised croak. He cleared his throat and turned to Strongheart. “Didn’t you see it?” he asked. “See what?” Braeburn looked back to the brothers. He could have sworn… …their eyes were glowing green. They had to have been—it couldn’t have been a trick of the light. When the Widow-Maker stood up, it cast a shadow over the brothers, and when it did, their eyes were… A chill crept up behind him and played sour notes on his spine. He blanched, taking a few careful steps back as everypony cheered. “Braeburn?” Little Strongheart asked, her voice shaking. “Braeburn, where are you going?” “A-Ah hafta go,” Braeburn as he turned to run. Suddenly, he slammed into somepony, sending them both to their rumps. “S-Sorry,” Braeburn said as he got up. When he got a good look at the pony he’d run into, Braeburn froze. It wasn’t a pony at all. It was a creature that stood on two legs, like a minotaur or a diamond dog. Dark hair. Black leather shoes. Torn blue jeans. A dull purple shirt with the word “Do!” written on it in vibrant pearl. A black leather jacket, a checkerboard pattern going along the sleeves. The creature adjusted pink-tinted glasses as it muttered, “Watch where you’re fucking going.” The creature got up and walked through the gathered crowd slowly, his hands at either side of a red belt that seemed to be longer than it needed to be. From this belt hung what Braeburn at first thought were slim cans, like the kind you’d hide spring-snakes in for a prank. He got the feeling whatever they were, they weren’t designed for silly jokes. Strongheart watched the creature as well, giving it a hairy eyeball as it passed her by. It glanced in her direction and sneered, as if to ask her the fuck you lookin’ at? As the creature made its way towards the Flim Flam’s presentation, Braeburn looked to Strongheart. “Go back to your tribe,” he instructed. “Gather as many braves as you can. Ah’m gonna get the Sheriff. Ah get th’ feelin’ some real shit’s gonna come down.” “R-Right,” Strongheart said, worried. She turned and ran down the nearby alley. Braeburn got back up and, like Little Strongheart, skedaddled. Travis drank in the scene before him. The cheering ponies and buffalo. Half a barbershop quartet singing and dancing to apparently sell the giant Transformers pony. He sniffed nonchalantly and shrugged. “So,” he said as Thunder Ryu finally appeared. “You sure this is the place?” “Pretty hard to hide secrets from the dead,” Thunder Ryu said with a tired smirk. “I know she’s here. Just follow the scent of apples, and you'll find an Apple. Kinda runs in her family.” Travis raised an eyebrow as the crowd before him cheered at the presentation. “Yeah?” “Yeah. I once met her Granny, and we—” “Not interested,” Travis said, cutting off his mentor before he would be given yet another pony-related nightmare. “I just need to know this bitch’s weaknesses and strategies.” Thunder Ryu folded his arms and scowled, his beady eyes focusing like a laser beam. “Fine, be that way. Disrespectful little fuck.” Before Travis could argue with the person only he could see, he noticed all the ponies and buffalo near him looking at him suspiciously. Suddenly, he heard a voice from afar. “A-ha!” cried Flim. “It would seem we have a volunteer for a demonstration!” Ponies and buffalo began whispering. Their muttering waves sounded panicked. They backed away from Travis as the Widowmaker took a few menacing steps forward, the ground shuddering beneath each powerful hooffall. Its purple chrome body glimmered under all the sunlight as it snorted a puff of dark smoke. The Flim Flam Brothers mounted their mechanical beast. “Behold!” they proclaimed. “The Gut-Shaker Face-Breaker Widow-Maker 8000!” Travis groaned as he reached for the Peony. Thunder Ryu rolled his eyes. “What?” Travis asked him as the townsponies all scattered. “You know what you owe me,” Thunder Ryu said bitterly. The Peony growled to life, its deep red shaft extending seven feet ahead. “No way! You were gonna launch into one of your fucking creeptastic pony stories. I’m not having that shit!” The Widow-Maker barreled down on Travis, its gargantuan forelegs crushing the earth where he once stood. Picking himself up from the impact on the earth beneath him, Travis ran up one foreleg, hoping to end this fight early. As he reached its head, the Widow-Maker’s red eyes began to glow. Travis brought the Peony up in a defensive position as the laser eye-beams shot forth at him, whipping shot after shot at its otaku antagonist. The Widow-Maker then tried standing back up, its foreleg becoming less inclined. Travis dodged an eyebeam blast as he jumped for the other foreleg, sinking the Peony into it like a long red fang. He slid down, opening the foreleg, exposing its mechanical insides and spilling oil and sparks. Travis brought the Widow-Maker down to one knee. Its head was bowed for only a second—but a second was all Travis needed. He whipped the Peony up for a mighty swing, and with a sound of screaming metal, the giant beast’s head flew off in a trail of oil. It landed nearby with a shuddering sound. The Flim Flam Brothers glared daggers at Travis. He wasn’t especially fond of them either. “This was—” “—our life’s work!” “You know what they say about putting too much effort into one project, right?” Travis said snidely. He brought the Peony up. “You get fucked in the ass by some jerk with a beam katana.” Thunder Ryu facepalmed. “Who the fuck ever said stupid shit like that?” Angrily, the two brothers launched themselves at him before he could swing the Peony. (It had always had an annoying delay between swings, so Travis wasn’t about to blame himself for this.) Thunder Ryu observed the ensuing battle with a keen eye and a twisted mouth. The beatdown on Travis was nothing short of savage. Every swing was graceless and every kick was brutal and every bite was animalistic. Travis’ returned blows didn’t seem to faze them much. It was strange, not to mention wrong. Thunder Ryu’s hunch was slowly being proven correct. Finally, Travis had had enough. He sheathed the Peony and went for the Rose Nasty. “Here, I got one for each of you assholes!” As the brothers, their bodies bloodied and their clothes tattered, shrieked at him like furious evil spirits, Travis swung the Rose Nasty with a graceful twirl. By the time the twins suddenly found themselves as triplets, it was too late. Flim held his brother’s upper half as the lower half toddled about awkwardly, spilling blood all over the ground before finally falling flat. He died with a gurgle. Flim held Flam’s head to his chest, tears streaking down his face as he rocked himself, babbling. The battle over for now, Travis sheathed the Rose Nasty. Thunder Ryu shook his head. “That was largely unnecessary.” “They started it,” Travis defended. “No, I meant sheathing your swords.” Thunder Ryu tilted his head in the direction of some incoming carriages. The carriages, black and intimidating, skidded to a halt. The ponies (strangely dressed like cowboys) pulling them unyoked themselves as more cow-ponies exited the carriages. They must be some kind of local law enforcement, judging by the stars pinned to their chests. An older-looking pony rockin’ a mean ’stache—whom Travis guessed was their leader—began barking orders to the others. The silver star he wore glistened in the sunlight. He turned to Travis. “This is my town, you little shit!” he yelled. “And Ah ain’t havin’ yer nonsense! Come quietly or we’ll be forced to take extreme measures!” Out once again came the Rose Nasty, each one coming to life with their ominous hums. The sheriff nodded to the others and they responded in kind—many of them had hats that glowed and lifted, revealing unicorn horns that shot fucking LASER BEAMS, complete with awesome sci-fi sound effects, like—chu-chu-chuchuchu-chu! “Oh, shit!” Travis cried as he instinctively blocked a few shots. One bolt struck the dusty ground next to his foot, forcing him to move. The unicorns moved forward slowly, acting like a slowly encroaching wall of death. As Travis ran, dodged, and rolled, he didn’t quite see the pegasi descending on him like vultures until one landed on him, knocking him ass-first onto the ground. “Distractions,” Travis hissed as another pegasus landed a kick or two on him. “Fuckers are getting smart!” First things first, the laser beam-happy unicorns had to go. Travis ran in a zig-zagging line as he continued defending himself from shot after shot, finally reaching the creeping wall of unicorns. When he was close enough, he suddenly ran into something solid—yet invisible. “Forcefields?!” Travis cried. “Seriously?! Fucking forcefields?!” As the unicorns continued firing, as the pegasi descended, as Travis dodged and rolled and generally got the shit beat out of him, Thunder Ryu reclined midair and watched almost dismissively. If Travis was having such a hard time just getting to his next target, she’d waste him without a second thought. He was tempted to lend his spectral hand... But no—unlike Travis getting zapped on his way to the Wonderbolts Academy, now was no time to just jump to the rescue. There were still pieces waiting to be pushed into place for his main intervention to happen anyway. Finally, Travis figured out a strategy—not that it was rare, mind you; he was just preoccupied with not getting beat up or shot at. Holding the Rose Nasty at specific angles, Travis was able to bounce the laser beams at the descending pegasi, getting many of them dead on, while others had their wings clipped. He managed to mince the fallen pegasi before they could react. Travis could feel his bloodlust building, his anger marrying the stressful situation while planning to divorce it later so it can take its stuff. It was like he was ready to fucking explode! With a feeling in his body that electrified him head to foot, Travis bellowed, “STRAWBERRY ON THE SHORTCAKE!” Thunder Ryu cocked an eyebrow as the world around them suddenly slowed down and became grainy. The colors washed away like a receding tide, along with the sound. This should be interesting. Travis’ form had changed slightly. While he was badass before, he was ten times as badass now—his hair had gone all Super Saiyan and shit. He took slow, menacing steps toward the unicorn wall, intent on breaking them. He saw their eyes s l o w l y widen, their irises steadily shrinking. Travis licked his lips. He could taste the fear. He inhaled. He killed. He exhaled. As his murder spell broke, Travis felt the once-rising anger within him somehow smooth out, like coming down from a fucking awesome orgasm. The electricity had escaped from his body and into the bodies of his victims, exploding them all to pieces with sounds like thunderstrikes, their blood showering the desert floor gloriously. The unicorn wall stood no more. The only pony left was the sheriff. His eyes darted this way and that, taking in how wicked-scary-fast Travis had mowed down his reserves. He took one careful step back… then turned and ran for his life. But a hand clenching his tail stopped him mid-flight. The sheriff got all of one girly little scream before he felt a pair of hands around his middle, a sense of being lifted off his hooves, and then finished by intense pain as he was suplexed onto the ground. The Rose Nasty then fell down from the sky where Travis had tossed them, impaling the fucker with extreme prejudice. Travis pulled out the Rose Nasty and looked around, making sure there weren’t any stragglers. Then he cleared his throat and looked back to Thunder Ryu. “You gonna tell me more about this bitch or not?” Travis asked. Thunder Ryu rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he said almost angrily, “Listen. And listen good.” Nearby, Flim, largely ignored during the fight, had crawled back to the decapitated Widow-Maker. Travis and Thunder Ryu hadn’t noticed him during the fight. They hadn’t noticed that he was quivering and mumbling like a mad pony. They didn’t notice when his eyes began to glow green. “Applejack’s the kinda girl who’s really up close and personal. She’s never been one to take any shit from anybody, so she’s gonna be less than happy to see you especially.” Flim flipped open the Widow-Maker’s hatch and began to rewire it. He hummed a disjointed song as he did so. “She can take as much punishment as you can. I’d recommend fighting defensively. Let her tire herself out, then go in for the kill.” “That’s it?” Travis asked. “That’s like—I don’t—” His anger swept him up and he stomped his foot while gesturing wildly. “I COULDA FIGURED THAT SHIT OUT MYSELF!” Thunder Ryu shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted my advice.” The Widow-Maker lurched and hummed. Flim giggled maniacally. “Well, you said that she has family. I don’t think I saw any… Apple… ponies. Like, their asses—” (he pointed a thumb to the bodies behind him) “—didn’t have any apples on them. I kinda thought she’d have, like, an army of cousins or something.” Thunder Ryu waved his hand. “She doesn’t want her family getting mixed up in this shit. I mean, you can feel for her, right? You wouldn’t want some asshole to cut up your brother when what he really wants is a piece of you, am I right?” His statement gave Travis pause. “So… she’s tough… and honorable.” He nodded approvingly. “An honorable enemy. This should be fun.” Finally, Flim got the Widow-Maker back on its feet. His eyes glowed greenest as he witnessed the rebirth of this vengeful beast. “So, where would she be here in this town?” Thunder Ryu looked behind Travis. Travis turned around, and saw a great orchard in that direction. Applejack. Apples. Like, duuuuuhhhh. “BEHOLD!” cried Flim as the decapitated Widow-Maker stood back up. “WE LIVE AGAIN!” With one mighty step, the Widow-Maker’s foreleg crushed Flim underhoof. The sound Flim made was barely audible over the angry whirring of the damaged machine. Before Travis could think, the Widow-Maker was already barreling forth clumsily. The wound Travis had left on one of its forelegs was enough to slow the fucker down, but not by a whole lot. Already beaten within an inch of his life, and electing not to take any chances in a second round, Travis turned and ran like hell towards the orchard. “Good luck,” Thunder Ryu called, noticeably lacking interest. The Widow-Maker, being unable to see thanks to not having a fucking head, stumbled over the carriages left behind by the cow-colts, allowing Travis more time to escape. He arrived at the orchard’s gate—but as was his own misfortune, the fucking thing was locked. The lock itself was bullshit incarnate: it had six holes, each a certain shape. Beneath the holes was a short riddle that Travis didn’t have any time to read. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he grumbled. “As if anybody has time for some bullshit gate-opening puzzle. All I need now is zombies running ar—” But not willing to push his bad luck any further, Travis cut himself off. The ground beneath him shook violently. He turned around just in time to see the Widow-Maker galloping toward him. Travis licked his chapped lips, certain that the answer to the gate riddle was in front of him already. “As much as I hate using the same act twice,” Travis said as he ran towards the Widow-Maker, “it looks like it’s time for a repeat performance!” He slid on his knees between the legs of the oncoming Widow-Maker, taking out the Peony and holding it upwards, dragging it deep along the Widow-Maker’s belly. The damage sustained was enough to send the Widow-Maker crashing clumsily down, obliterating the obnoxious gate. A few seconds passed before the dust settled. The ominous hum of the Peony was cut short as Travis sheathed it and placed it back on his belt. He whistled “Walking on Sunshine” as he tip-toed over the fallen Widow-Maker and entered the orchard. His eyes descended on a nearby apple tree. The orchard’s caretakers probably wouldn’t like the surprise he was going to leave for them, but he heard it made good fertilizer. He squatted by the tree and Saved.