A red sun hung over the barge, distant, dull, obscured by fumes.
Monket's steamships lingered between the canals of the northern struts. Servants and slaves strolled across the vessels' surfaces, scrubbing the decks and polishing the hulls.
The slaver of waves himself stood on the bow of one steamship. His dreadlocks drifted in the sea breeze as he squinted eastward, scanning the horizon for returning messengers. The stallion glanced at a watch dangling from his vest, sighed audibly, and marched his way back below deck.
Along the multiple struts to the south, dredgers and laborers milled about. The only tasks available were exceptionally menial ones, requiring redundant brush-overs of pipework and metal junctions. Several stallions simply sat on the edge of the artificial canals, fanning themselves and muttering incoherently as they waited for the dirty day to die.
Nixkit oversaw this—and several other sights—from the upper balconies of the centralmost platform. Pacing along the edges of the Skag Hole, the high-ranking dredger sighed and resumed his stroll under the shrieking song of seagulls.
Deep in the brig below deck of the southern struts...
Keris sat slumped in his cell. The Lieutenant's thin eyes fluttered awake. He glanced across the frame of his prison door, then towards the bars flanking his side.
Beyond the narrow metal slits, Digiff could be seen. The stallion sat at a desk, going over daily reports. The dredger rubbed his bearded muzzle, sighed, and fought yawn after yawn.
Blinking, Keris squinted past Digiff, looking into the cell opposite the walkway.
It was hard to make out, but Keris could have sworn he saw the hint of a fuzzy blue figure seated deep in the shadows. A ruby lightning bolt pulsed gently... persistently... ticking off the liquid seconds of the gray day.
Along the inner ring of struts surrounding the central platform...
Laborers returned to their families after their early morning shifts.
Stallions and mares reunited with ritualistic nuzzles. Elders looked on, sitting in the shadows of tall rusted apartments built out of conjoined ships' hulls. Fillies and colts chased one another, playing giggling games and shouting into the polluted air.
From a distance, Saxon sat in his guard tower. As his part of the struts rocked and shifted, he lazily swung a harpoon turret around. Squinting down the sight, he pretended to aim at the scampering foals, then mouthed “bang” with his muzzle before chuckling breathily to himself.
And yet... the day limped on, insurmountably uneventful...
Deep below in the seafoam hold...
Quint sat at a table, counting bags of reserve rice. He scribbled a few notes down onto a sheet, turned aside, then spoke to a few of his fellow companions.
Two colts shuffled up, standing at the ready. At Quint's commands, they nodded, then scooped up a total of six tiny bags. As he waved a hoof at them, they scampered off to the furthest edges of the rusted orphanage, distributing the “nibbles” as Quint saw fit.
A few spaces over, Whony lay slumped on his mattress. The bored colt glared across the dim interior, his nostrils flaring.
He couldn't help but notice that a specific mattress in the furthest corner was curiously empty...
Swab sweated, gritting his teeth.
With firm, sudsy strokes, he mopped the surface of a second tier hull along the eastern struts. A filmy surface of slick moisture coated the once-dirty metal, bringing the strut to a near-shine.
He paused briefly, panting for breath, wiping his brow. Then, gradually, his body relaxed. He stared at the floor beneath him, nostrils flaring.
With a splash, he dunk his mop back into a nearby bucket. He leaned over, staring at his one-eared reflection in the wet metal. His yellow eyes blinked. He reached a hoof down, drawing the edge of his fetlock against the surface. With jagged motions, he formed a “lightning bolt,” then topped it off with a poofy cloud.
Another sigh escaped his lips. He leaned against the stick of his broom, smiling liquidly into the design he had just made. A salty breeze swept over the platforms, disturbing the wet surface. When the ripples settled, he saw the reflection of a frail filly and her sunken eyes bouncing back at him.
“I think I've figured it out,” Croche droned.
“...??” Swab turned to look at her.
“She's put a spell on you,” the filly muttered. “It's the only reasonable explanation.”
Swab squinted back at her. His one good ear flicked, and he said, “Or maybe I'm just addicted to doing nice things for a pony.”
Croche slowly shook her head. “It can't be that.”
“Why not?”
“Even you aren't that stupid,” she muttered. “All of the stuff you see day by day... all the mean things that Quint and his cronies do to you.” She gulped. “Doesn't take a genius to know that there's no point in being nice to anyone in this life. Especially some strange monster from the west.”
Swab leaned his head to the side. “Do you really think that's the case?”
“I know it,” Croche exhaled, glaring.
To that, Swab only smirked. “Then what's the point in you stopping by to express your concern to me?”
Croche did a double-take. Her teal pupils shrank. “It's not concern.”
“Heehee... really?”
“Don't laugh.” Croche frowned. “That's even worse.”
Swab shook his head. “Didn't think anything was funny.”
“So why did you bother?”
Swab took a deep breath. “Just... for the first time in as long as I can remember, there's something bright behind all of this muck.” He gulped. “If you caught a glimpse of that, wouldn't you want to know more? To feel more?”
Croche sighed, hanging her head. “No. I'd want to bury it.”
“Why?”
“Because...” She sniffled. “...it smells too much like hope.”
Swab bit his lip. He released the mop entirely and strolled towards her. “Croche. It's okay to feel sad. If it helps at all to know, you're hardly alo—”
POWWW! The bulkheads behind them exploded.
The sheer shockwave of the blast sent both foals flying a dozen feet, shrieking. They landed awkwardly, showered with a wave of metal shrapnel and rusted debris.
Each strut of Red Barge shook.
Down in the sea foam hold, dozens upon dozens of foals fell off their bunks and tumbled across the floor.
Whony rolled against a bulkhead, grunting.
Quint leaned against a metal pylon. The entire floor shook and swayed while barrels full of burnt soot rolled past him. As children shrieked and yelped, Quintflashed a frenzied look towards the sunny spaces in the fractured ceiling.
Keris stood up, beak hanging open. His talons scraped across the floor of his cell as the brig rocked... rattled...
Just outside, Digiff jumped up, grabbing a shark prod. There was a loud crack, and the dredger looked up. He gasped to see a loose bulkhead crashing down through the jail. With a grunt, the dredger leapt aside, barely avoiding several slabs of rusted metal collapsing over him. THUDDD!
Keris shielded his face with two manacled' talons as a wave of dust and smoke filled the cells.
The struts of Red Barge rocked and grinded against one another amidst a chorus of scattered screams.
And yet...
P-POWWW! A second blast erupted across the western strut.
Followed by...
KA-POWW! A third blast struck the north hulls. The bodies of three dredgers went flying in seven different directions. As the red mist and shrapnel settled, a burning chasm could be seen in the middle of the strut.
Monket peered over the edge of his steamship, gasping. His eyes scanned the northwest horizon—finally settling on three sets of scattered smoke. He gnashed his teeth.
Another booming noise echoed across the murky waters.
Breathless, Nixkit scampered towards the northwest corner of the central platform's upper balcony. Within seconds, Skagra and several other dredgers had scrambled out of the top dredger's office to join him.
Five ships dotted the horizon. Three turned broadside, reloading their cannons. Meanwhile, a burning red projectile soared in from a fourth.
BLAMMM! It flew into a smokestack just to the right of the Skag Hole. With a thunderous crash, the smokestack teetered over, shattering into a dozen smoldering bits. Nixkit, Skagra, and several other dredgers coughed and wheezed into the surmounting debris cloud.
“Mrmmmff... whelp...” Skagra waved the fumes before his muzzle. “...there goes my libido for the day.”
“Boss! I think they're pirates!” a dredger yelped.
“Yeah. No shit.”
“Those explosions...” Nixkit gritted his teeth. “You smell the powder in the air?”
Skagra was already exhaling. “Dredge coal...”
“They're attacking us with our own supply!” Nixkit glanced aside. “Boss, you know what this means?”
Pow!
The fifth ship fired while several small skiffs roared towards the Barge on rumbling motors.
“One sec, Nixxy!” Skagra waved a hoof as he and his fellow stallions scrambled for cover. “I'll get back to you when I'm finished pissing—”
POWWW! The projectile impacted the tower two floors below, incinerating screaming laborers in hellish plumes of flame.