//------------------------------// // Chapter 02: A Homecooked Hoedown // Story: The Trying Times of Ahuizotl // by Rego //------------------------------// The waning sunlight shot its tiny beams of scattered light through the cracks of Leota Forest’s canopy. Native species of all sorts busied themselves using the last smattering of light leaking through the sea of leaves above as every creature prepared for the coming night. Birds fluttered by peacefully, moving onwards with clear direction and purpose towards wherever their instincts were taking them. Oh, how I envied them. If only my course was as easily laid before me as theirs in this miserable woodland. Then I wouldn’t be completely dependent upon my still-dancing compatriot, Lacerunner, who refused to let our journey continue without frivolous guessing games!    I had hoped after the first hour she would either run out of songs or at least have the decency to tire out, but her boundless stamina for dancing and humming an encyclopedia of tunes turned out to be just as impressive as it was aggravating. Trying to ignore her proved fruitless as well. Lacerunner had a way with spinning her dance moves into my gaze no matter where I turned. I stay quiet, she hums louder. I ask her to stop, she dances harder. I tell her I give up, and she does not accept the answer! I would wish such endless torture upon my worst enemies, but most of them being ponies, they’d probably enjoy it. I started to make up titles to her little ditties to ensure she at least kept her pace in our journey. None were ever right as I never bother learning the name of anything not worth my time.   “Trying of Patience in D major,” I grumbled having lost all hope for peace and quiet.   “Nope, try again!” Lacerunner bubbled as she loosed one of her many lacy sashes from her side. With fluid, melodic spin, she foisted the fabric skyward, catching the fading sunlight to cast an array of colors across the blackened bark of nearby trees while her voice held a whole note.   “I do not want to try again!” I huffed in reply, most certainly not impressed by her display.   “Tsk, tsk, so close, but that song is from their third album, try again Ali.”   I couldn’t tell if the pink showmare was joking or not as my jaw fell slack. It took every ounce of willpower I could muster to suppress my overwhelming urge to snap her whimsical neck on the spot. The only thing, or rather smell, that stayed my hands was a slow, creeping odor encroaching upon my nostrils. It snapped me back to reality as I realized the topography had made a distinct change from a dense forest to the swampy wetland.   It was an infernal smell of humid backwater and filth only soggy mud could muster. I knew from the moment it had drifted to me upon the wind, we were nearing our destination. The excitement of nearly being rid of this mare was quelled before I could take the briefest moments to enjoy it as I began narrowing down what could be causing such foul aromas. Beyond the summit, the list of possible offenders scampered through my head had finally settled upon the only loathsome creatures able to make such a foul concoction of putrid pleasure.   “Ah, Ali! We’ve arrived!” Lacerunner bubbled as she swept a pristine hoof across the filthy hellhole before me. “Welcome to Willowbrook Bayou!”   Unsurprisingly, it was a dreary swamp town, ramshackle and odorous with its homeliness stinking among the cattails and algae near the slow bayou’s shoreline. The settlement, and I use that term loosely, was a haphazard spread of various wooden cottages, some on stilts, some sinking into the mud below, but all strung with assorted mishmashes of lights and dotted with zigzagging tin chimneys. I looked up, hoping to cast my gaze away from the sheer depravity of the town below, but the drabby sky granted no solace. The setting sun was slightly obscured by the overcast clouds behind a dense forest of weeping willows and chestnut swamp trees which seemed to plaster the town in depressing shades of brown, grays, and faded greens. I narrowed my eyes as I growled the bitter name of the only bottom feeders capable of such muddy mirth.   “Cajun ponies…”   There they were; stupid, stinking ponies actually enjoying themselves in a veritable breeding ground of small pests and parasites with a sickening adoration for their notable, terrible cuisine. Where my homeland’s cooks enjoyed adding pleasant amounts of spice to give meals a distinctive flair, these fools simply bathed their meals in hot sauces and spices with the intent to destroy one’s ability to ever taste again. Colts and fillies wallowed in the mire, playing with balls and sticks as they were the only tools for pleasure I could see coming from such a place. Seeing their parents along with the rest of the townsfolk, I could wager the collective intelligence of every pony could very well equal a three-watt bulb. Such a waste of space and mockery of interwoven cultures, spun together into dirty dishrags and left to rot in the filth they enjoyed as pigs relish in refuse. How anything could enjoy existing here day in and day out was beyond me.   Despite the disgusting grime, the completely out-of-place dancer simply spun around as she beckoned me towards the marshlands, her flashy pastels completely destroying any hopes of blending in with our dreary destination. “Come Ali, let us find little Lyra in this most quaint of little towns!”     We descended into the mud pit of a town, the ponies exchanging neighborly “how ya do’s” and friendly waves, most directed towards Lacerunner as the majority met my eyes with confusion and wonderment. I would have preferred fear and respect, but I wouldn’t think many of these hicks would be able to read, much less even know of anything regarding the outside world. I kept my distance from them, but eyed the entire scene curiously as I noticed that so many were wearing clothes. Caps, overalls, spring dresses, and holey t-shirts ran amok as I wondered why they bothered wearing more clothes than most ponies do in colder climates. Equestria makes no sense.   “Gar ici! Cher Lacerunner’s come by to see us!” a rather stout, suspender wearing earth stallion chortled warmly. Each syllable from the bearded, cream-coated fool was laced with a backwater bumpkin drawl. Forgoing words, Lacerunner cantered up with a frivolous hip sashay, punctuating some melody buzzing in that hollow head of hers, and embraced him like old friends would before taking a seat in a rickety old picnic table. Though one would expect her to take a moment to rest, the annoying dancer simply couldn’t be asked to sit still. She rested her head on her forehooves, pivoting it back and forth to keep up with some random rhythm she couldn’t suppress as he joined her at the table.   “Been too long since me and momma seen you ‘round Willowbrook. Where you be hidin’ all this time?”   “I know. Mister Kirth has kept me awfully busy since our last encounter. But I always try to make time for you, Rustaford, my spicy boo-boo!” she assured, punctuating her point with a cute grin while batting her eyes. He guffawed heartily as she gave him the quickest of nuzzles upon his dirty cheek. Apparently I was not the only male she sought to sweeten with honeyed words.   “An’ I see cher brought a kinda cat thing with her,” Rustaford hollered towards me, beckoning me closer with a friendly hoof wave. And with that, my hopes of being ignored in light of the over stimulating dancer fell to pieces. I flashed my fangs angrily as once again my species was mistaken, and slowly pulled closer to the table.   “Ahuizotl, you tick-breeding yokel,” I spat in a corrective reply as I took a seat for myself.   “Eesh… saleau knows how to make a fine first impression.”   “I assure you, the only impression I intend to make here are footprints leading away from this—”   I suppressed a high yelp as Lacerunner stomped one of her dainty hooves upon my tail. “What my Ali means to say is that we have come to meet Lyra.”   “C'est magnifique! You go helpin’ her at Greasy Griddle? Coo wee, I better get momma down too or I won’t make my next birthday!”   “Ah! So she has already arrived then?” she asked while clicking her hooves together with staccatoed excitement.   “Mmhmm,” he nodded as she stood up to take his leave. “Figure you weren’t far behind when she came through bein’ so close to tomorrow and all.”   “Oh, thank you, boo-boo!” she exclaimed as she sauntered over to embrace him once more. The only delight I took from the exchange was his blind love for the changeling. Oh, if only he knew who else was under that colorful coat of hers…     It had only been ten minutes and I was already entirely fed up with the slum of a town. Every pony was so needlessly happy. The dim lights buzzed on with the setting sun, bringing a warm glow to the shacks that had strewn them about in an uneven, lopsided mess. There was a festive flair caught in the atmosphere as Lacerunner and I followed a steady stream of ponies and a few cows to a rusty, old monitor barn on the edge of town. As we drew closer, their pitiful excuse for music began its relentless assault upon my ears. Hooves ran up and down washboards accompanied by cowbells as a banjo started up an introduction, clearly the lowest form of folk rubbish.   “Why would a lyrist wish to come here of all places?” As we came upon the entrance, my attention was drawn to the shoddily painted banner reading ‘The Greasy Griddle’ strung above the sliding door. “A lyre seems to be wasted on such a lowbrow festival.”   “Sweet little Lyra does not just play the lyre, Ali,” she sniggered with a brash, toothy grin spanning her entire face. Without warning, Lacerunner burst through the crowd at full tilt, deftly navigating the small gaps between patrons like only a dancer, or rather a changeling, could. She leapt atop a large table in the center, spinning around while brandishing one of her swirling sashes, all without bumping a single partier or knocking over a single plate brimming with food on the table. She sprang to her hind hooves while tapping deftly as to not upset the table’s stability while still in tempo as she pointed to the crowd.   “Play me to my heartstrings, Lyra, my bint jameela!”   Without missing a single beat, from across the barn, a mint-green unicorn with a silvery cyan mane burst onto the table, lifting a bow and fiddle with her aura of vivid amber magic. The very moment the bow touched the strings, it was as if a floodgate of noises erupted as the entire party exploded into an obnoxiously loud, country-cooked musical number. With every thrum of the washboard, Lyra vaulted from table to table, nearing the center stage to join in the performance.   I rolled my eyes as Lacerunner began singing a folk song of small town merriment as Lyra continued her little tabletop quest to center stage. Along with the music, the Cajun ponies began clearing the tables near the center of their food and drink as they pushed five of them together forming a makeshift stage. They either trotted to the back to finish their food or simply tossed their greasy plates of fried vegetables and sauces aside so they could join in dancing with muddy merriment.   Finally, Lyra arrived at the table Lacerunner was dancing upon. With a flourish, Lyra dropped her magic as she back flipped to her hind legs, catching the fiddle and bow in her forehooves as she started playing the instrument like an earth pony. Double-jointed indeed; she stood on her hind legs in a way I’d only seen younger dragons carry themselves. The two mares kicked and spun around each other with folksy fervor as they danced like no equine ever should. Both sang of good food, home, and hearth as they exchanged lyrics in their makeshift duet. Every now-and-then, Lyra would throw the fiddle into the air, allowing it to play itself as the passionate pony and miniature horse jigged, dosey doed, and performed all other sorts of overly exuberant dancing before taking it in hoof again to strum the strings with physical pleasure.   I drew myself outside of the door and began tapping my finger impatiently as their guttural merriment further sullied my mood. After a moment, I realized my finger tapping was in time with their infectious little song. I stiffened my scowl, reassuring myself that I was not enjoying this plebeian party.     Once the two had finished their sets, more bumpkins took to the floor to sing and dance to fill the void left by Lyra and Lacerunner. Being beckoned to follow by the dancer out rear doors of the barn, the three of us made our way out the back to sit across from a rustic bar on the back patio, the minty unicorn eyeing me curiously the entire way. As we took our seats, a brittle old stallion placed three scrap metal tankards of some unknown fruit cider in front of us before tipping his mesh cap and muttering some Cajun compliment I couldn’t understand. How such loose languages tended to sprout from rural villages in the middle of nowhere was beyond me.   “So Lace, what’s with the weird chimera?” Lyra leerily cocked an eyebrow towards me as she took the tall, metal mug in her hooves for a drink.   “Ahuiztol, I am an ahuizotl,” I seethed while barring my fangs for dramatic effect. “You would do well to remember that.”   Lyra gurgled, choking on her drink as her eyes went wide from shock. Her hooves slipped from her mug, dropping her drink to the floor. Her coughing almost prevented her from catching her drink with her magic. “Ahuizotl? Like the Ahuizotl from those books?”   I grinned with grim delight; finally, a pony who knows to fear the very utterance of my name. It had been far too long since I had beamed with such confidence. Deciding to take a swig myself of the mystery cider, I drew in the strangely delicious fruity flavor, reveling in the idea that I would have the upper hand in our dealings as long as she feared—   “So,” she started with a coy grin, “how does it feel to have your flank constantly handed to you by Daring Do?”   It was my turn to choke. She bellowed a hearty laugh at the flakes of my dignity being coughed up with what little cider I had enjoyed up to that point. “Now see here, foal,” I snarled, taking to my feet, looming over her with terrible ferocity, “I am infamous the world over for stealing the most powerful artifacts anything has ever seen! I will not be talked down to by some… some minty, floozy fiddle player!”   “Ah, I see,” she laughed not even batting an eye to my intimidation as she wiped a tear from her eye. “So, if you’re all higher and mightier than us ‘foals’, why are you hanging out with me and a barrel dancer the night before Mardi Graze in a peaceful little town like this then?”   “I have my reasons, Lyra. Pray you do not anger me further or I will have to—”   “My poor Ali is completely broke!” the pretty pink buffoon interrupted happily.   I hadn’t heard any pony laugh so hard in my life as I slammed my head down onto the table. Any modicum of power I held wisped away upon the soggy wind, flying into the muddy bayou to be carried off by its smelly tide.   “It is not a laughing matter, Lyra. Ali suffers greatly!” Lacerunner insisted, only causing the unicorn to laugh harder, nearly falling over. “He finds himself needing to… how did you say?”   “Lie low…” I huffed angrily, still letting my head rest on the table, nose first.   After finally finding it in herself to cease her snorts and giggles long enough to speak, she almost started her banter until a hiccup caught her by surprise. Taking a long, breathless gulp of her drink to rid herself of the ailment, she looked to Lacerunner for answers. “So, what do you want me to do about it?”   “I...” Lacerunner started until she trailed off, the confidence tapering off as she thought more of the question. “I am not certain. Kirth said nothing to me but to introduce you to Ali.”   “Kirth? Who’s Kirth?”   “A mutual friend,” I answered, raising my head to meet her inquisitive gaze. “I find myself in need of asylum, and the only place I am not a wanted criminal is in your Equestria.”   “So wait, let me see if I get what you’re saying here: you want to move to Ponyville?”   “No! I do not desire to live in your little pony town, but I have very little choice in the matter!” I clarified as I tried to buy a moment with my cider again. I briefly found myself sidetracked wondering if the drink was free or not. By the gods, how far I have fallen?   “And you want me to do… what exactly?”   I opened my mouth to speak, until I realized there was nothing to say. Had I thought that far ahead? I could have sworn I had that answer somewhere in the back of my mind. Thinking back to my last conversation with Kirth, all I remember is slurring “schounds great!” blearily, accompanied by a thumbs up to Kirth after he had relayed the plan to me. The rest of the talk remained locked behind a black gate of foul smelling rum. It suddenly dawned on me that I had followed an irritating dancer into the middle of a swamp for a reason I couldn’t recall.   “Perhaps Kirth wanted Ali to live in your dwelling place for a time. I know I thoroughly enjoyed you and your Bonny Bon’s hospitality during my visits to the charming village of little ponies!” she innocently suggested. I nearly slammed my first upon the table for her suggesting such a desperate plan on my part until their familiarity struck a chord in my head.   “Yes, I believe that is what he suggested,” I admitted quietly as I traced around the rim of my cider mug with my finger.   Lyra sat perplexed as she idly sipped some more of her fruity drink. There was a long pause as she seemed to bounce the idea back and forth in her head as she bobbed from side to side, her eyes shifting with her musings.   “You’d pay rent, right?”   “Err… Something like that,” I tepidly answered, hoping to weasel my way into her favor.   “That’s a yes or no question, Zotey,” she clarified with little amusement.   My eye twitched upon hearing another nickname attributed to me. A low rumbling of frustration rose in the back of my throat as the desire to tie the mare up and toss her stupid plot into a quicksand pit matched my ire. However, with her being at least open to the idea of providing me a place to say was more than I had expected from a sassy pony such as this one.   “Within reason, yes.”   “Well if that meek animal keeper can handle a spirit of chaos, I guess I could try getting along with a small time villain like you.”   “Small time?!” I yelled in indignation, my voice crackling in disbelief. “I will have you know I am wanted the world over for transgressions your precious little Daring Do wishes she knew. The atrocities I’ve inflicted upon even those who would call me an ally make grown stallions quake with fear!” I stood up, raising my voice as I leaned over the table, narrowing my eyes to drive my villainy home.   “Anything you could possibly imagine pales in comparison to the crimes I’ve committed as you’ve lived a sheltered life in your pretty little pony village under the guiding wings of your prissy princesses.”   I would have kept going on my tirade, but her deadpan stare stopped in my tracks. I would not say I found her scowl intimidating, but it seemed about half of what I had barked proudly fell upon deaf ears. I might as well been a whiny child as she took a long, patient sip from her mug. I blinked several times, uncertain if I should continue rebuking her.   “You done?” she grumbled flatly, not even looking me in the eye as she tuned her fiddle with her magic out of what I could only describe as sheer boredom.   “Umm, no…?” I found myself quavering in reply as I sank back into my seat. What once felt like raging winds fanning the flames of my wrath reserved for the insolent and ignorant quickly died down to a silent, somber breeze. She slammed her mug down, ensnaring my attention with a grim glower to match my own. She pressed against the table, leaning on her steady foreleg as she made her presence known.   “Look, let’s get some real talk out of the way. I live in a town constantly bustling with strange, dangerous, and sometime paranormal activity. We deal with life threatening situations on almost a weekly basis with how close we are to the Everfree Forest, especially with Twilight and her friends being lightning rods for trouble. If I can deal with being brainwashed by an evil bug trying to suck all the love out of Equestria, I think I can handle a grumpy archeologist with a slight ego problem.”   With the steam completely flushed from my engine of evil, I slowly sank to my drink, once again trying to find escape within the comfort of a liquid. Sadly, this was not the hard cider I would have preferred as my friend through the rough times. Lacerunner on the other hand, or hoof I should say in her case, barely contained her ecstatic glee as she almost took off dancing with wild abandon again.   “Is it not wonderful, Ali? You have a place to call home now!”   “Don’t mention it,” Lyra said with a devious smirk. “This isn’t the first time we’ve taken in a stray cat.”   “HEAVENS ABOVE, I AM NOT A CAT!”