Chapter Five: The Fillydelphia Smile
It was night, and the rain fell; and falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood.
Pinkie hated the fact that she could see Baltimare from where they were on the slopes of the Foal Mountain Range. Sure they were far away from the coastal city, but they were too close for her liking. She hated that city. This wasn't saying much of course. Pinkie hated a lot of big cities. It didn't matter where they were, big cities just meant bigger assholes. Whether it be Vanhoover, Tall Tale or Stampede, it was always the same story. The rich stood on a foundation of slavery, poverty and lies whilst those less fortunate drowned in a sea of disease, squalor and abuse. Baltimare was simply better at being awful than everywhere else. Baltimare was simply where the slave trade was strongest. Baltimare was where Pinkie spent most of her time whenever she was east.
She bit her lip hard, almost drawing blood, and a savage pleasure rose up in her at the idea of blowing another slaver's yard off the map. Then she shook herself and looked back at the three young mares who were clambering up the rocky slopes of the mountain after her; along a winding narrow trail that she was sure only a handful of ponies knew about. The savagery inside of her subsided and she sighed. These youngs mares, they were more important than whatever plan she could be cooking up. How she didn't quite understand yet but if Death had been ready to let her go so that he could get his fingers around their necks instead?
Her eyes narrowed at that thought and she watched them climb steadily behind her. That was something she still needed to sit down and talk to the three of them about. Whoever the hell these three were, they meant something to Death. Something that went beyond his beloved sport of hunting ponies like her. Something so important it went all the way up to Diabolus.
Just thinking the name of the King of Tartarus was enough to send a cold pulse down her spine. Pinkie had never seen Diabolus and she thanked what luck she had that she had never laid eyes on the king of cruelty who commanded the demons who swarmed the Equestrian countryside, the God of Chaos who ruled Equestria or the Five Horsemen who kept him and everyone else in line. But she knew enough. She'd heard horror stories of those who'd seen him. Who'd seen those blazing red eyes, overflowing with the fire and brimstone of Tartarus itself.
Oh yes, Pinkie thought herself fortunate indeed when compared to those ponies who found themselves face to face with Diabolus and survived. They say the ones who didn't make it were the lucky ones.
She gave Baltimare one last, hate filled look, and allowed her eyes to move slowly across the horizon towards their first stop on their little pilgrimage. Indeed it was a few miles further away than Baltimare and, much to Pinkie's personal relief, in a much more northerly direction than the city she so despised. Fillydelphia was also one of a handful of large cities where the rule of Diabolus was most challenged, the others being Los Pegasus and Fillydelphia's close neighbour Manehattan. Though Pinkie preferred Manehattan and indeed that was their final destination, Pinkie knew they needed to stop in Fillydelphia for a number of reasons.
Her eyes flicked back to three mares who were now close by once more, and looking close to collapsing. In particular she looked at their clothes. They had claimed to be orphans, at least that's what Hard thought and she might have believed that. They didn't exactly look like they'd had an easy time; covered in a thin layer of grit and sweat, manes all messed up and small scratches and bruises a recurring theme amongst the three of them. But the way they dressed seemed off putting to Pinkie. Oh sure it was dirty and cut up but there was no way any orphanage in Equestria would pay for clothes that nice looking, especially out in the wilds, where clothes that fine were pointless and bound to get you killed.
There was something these three weren't telling her. And she was going to make sure they told her everything as soon as they got to Manehattan.
But it was the three young mares clothes that were the reason that they needed to stop off in Fillydelphia. Whatever value these three might have it wouldn't do any of them any good if they got clipped with a stray shot. Even the bluntest and clumsiest arrow would tear right through those clothes and into skin, and Pinkie was nowhere near the healer Redheart was. If any of them got an infection they were pretty much fucked. A well placed bullet? Definitely gonna kill them. And chances were it probably wouldn't be an instant kill. It wouldn't be as slow as infection but it would probably be a couple of minutes of pure agony.
She wasn't gonna let any of them get hurt like that. No matter how many secrets they had, they were still young mares.
'What if they work for Death?' said a voice at the back of her mind. Pinkie bit her lip fiercely as she began moving up the path again, traveling cloak billowing around her in a sudden wind.
'What if it's all an act?' the voice persisted as Pinkie absent-mindedly checked her revolver. She frowned when she saw that the number of bullets in the chamber hadn't changed. She had three left. She hadn't been able to resupply on ammo before she left The Bloody Nose so now she just had three rounds to work with. She hoped that no one would mind if she kept the rifle from the roadside hideout.
'You can't trust them. You don't even know them. They could sell you out' the voice whispered. Pinkie snapped the chamber back into place and holstered the revolver, blood pounding in her ears.
'One for each head and down the slope. Who'd even know? You're just looking after yourself right?' the voice giggled almost. Pinkie stopped in her track,s closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. When she opened her eyes again the voice was silent. She shook herself and continued onwards as she heard the other three catching up. She didn't like acknowledging the voice and the thoughts that it brought. They weren't hers she knew, but they weren't anyone else's either. After all, complete sanity was a luxury in today's world.
Applebloom lay flat on the ground next to Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle. They were on a high ridge at the point where the slopes of the Foal Mountains ebbed into the flatlands that surrounded Fillydelphia. They were on a ridge just a little ways from the roadside watching as Pinkie slowly made her way towards a security checkpoint. The checkpoint was one of eight they were told, each one placed on a cardinal point of the compass rose, each one serving as entry portals to the city. The entire city was walled off from the outside, but it was clear to Applebloom even from where she lay that the wall was not very well maintained, and the checkpoints were barely manned, if they were manned at all.
"We're gonna have to tell her," Scootaloo said. Applebloom looked at her.
"Tell her what? We made a deal with some purple Alicorn and turned the world screwy? That we're the reason her life's turned out so messed up?" Applebloom looked back down at Pinkie who was gesturing up at the ridge to the three of them. "Ah dunno about you Scoots' but Ah for one wanna keep the pony who's keepin' us safe, happy."
"I don't like lying to her though," Scootaloo said, as the three of them got to their feet. "I mean... come on. It's Pinkie."
"It ain't though remember?" Applebloom said as she led the way down the ridge, hunkered down low and moving as quickly as she could. "Pinkie's pro'ly sat around watching the Eclipse with Applejack 'n' Rarity 'n' Rainbow Dash."
"She's right," Sweetie Belle piped up, almost half-heartedly. Scootaloo looked at her pleadingly but Sweetie simply grabbed her arm and looked away a little. "I mean... we don't know this Pinkie. She looks like her sounds like her and has the same... y'know? But she's not."
Scootaloo bit her lip as they approached Pinkie, who was leaning against the city wall almost bored. She looked up as they approached and pushed herself back into a standing position, stretching her arms above her head.
"We got lucky," Pinkie explained, jerking her head towards the checkpoint. "Freelancers. Just looking for extortion. And ones who know better than to rat me out."
Applebloom looked at the 'freelancers'. They were a motley crew but didn't appear very well trained. There were four of them, all stallions and only one of them seemed to be taking the post seriously, a scarlet red stallion who was watching the other three with contempt. The other three were just standing around talking amongst themselves, throwing shady looks at Pinkie Pie. Two of them, one a dirty orange and the other deep maroon, kept pointing at her and their friend, as if they were making comparisons between her coat and his. applebloom couldn't see what they were going on about. The stallion's coat was a lightish red surely.
"We okay to go on through?" Pinkie asked the gruff scarlet brute. He gave a dismissive snort and jerked his head in affirmation. Pinkie smirked and walked on through, Applebloom and the others following suit.
"That was surprisingly easy," Applebloom muttered.
"Fillydelphia ain't exactly one for enforcing the rule of Discord," Pinkie Pie replied as she began directing them down the first street they came across. "Checkpoints like that are more for keeping folks who work for the Riders away. You're really unlucky if one of them's manned by a guard who won't accept bribes."
"Where are we going?" Sweetie Belle asked, looking over her shoulder fearfully as she heard someone shout in an alleyway they passed by.
"Someone who owes me a favour," Pinkie replied. "They'll be able to get you three kitted up."
"What's that mean?" Scootaloo asked. Pinkie stopped and turned to look at them.
"It means making sure you don't get dead the first time something stronger than a fist hits ya here," Pinkie said, jabbing Scootaloo painfully in the sternum. "Why do you think I wear this?" She opened her cloak to the three of them and allowed them to see what she wore underneath. Applebloom's eyes widened a bit as she saw the leather armour. Real leather, not some facsimile material Rarity had created but tough, hard and resilient. The armour was a dark red in colour, almost the shade of dried blood. The cuirass was held in place by several buckles along the side of her abdomen, holding in place almost like a waistcoat. It had a high collar that hugged her throat so tight it almost looked constrictive, but it flexed and relaxed with every breath. The pauldrons were both segmented flowing almost naturally into the formation of the brassarts. These too seemed to merge seamlessly into the vambraces guarding Pinkie's forearms. The cuisse and greeves seemed to be a single piece of armour but this was only an illusion. Such material must surely creak with every flex of Pinkie's muscles or with the motion of every joint, and yet the armour remained whisper silent.
It was clearly light as Pinkie had given no indication that she had even been wearing it underneath that cloak of hers. And it had clearly seen it's fair share of wear and tear as well. It was pockmarked and had deep scratches and slivers of leather cut out from where blades had nicked it. There were burns too Applebloom realised, not just on the vambraces but on Pinkie's hands. There were stains too, spattered over that no amount of scrubbing or hot water could ever remove. Spatters of mud, tree sap and a coating of tar. Applebloom had a horrible notion that the armour had not been the reddish hue it was now when Pinkie had first worn it.
Buckled to her hips were two long hunting knives that Applebloom hadn't seen before, strapped to a bandoleer that Pinkie wore loose so that one side hung lower than the other. The bandoleer had small hoops fastened on so Pinkie had a place to keep her rifle bullets, as well as a place to hang a pouch that jangled with the heavy sound of minted coin. And of course there was the gun holstered low against her thigh. Pinkie was right. Next to her Applebloom suddenly felt very naked. How had none of them been picked off on their way here? How was she not a body riddled with holes? She was struck with the notion that this world was far more dangerous than she had thought it was as she looked at Pinkie's armour clad form.
Pinkie closed the cloak and turned on the spot, throwing her hood over her head and setting off again.
In stunned silence, Applebloom and the others hurries after her, almost snagging their feet on the hem of her cloak they were so close.
"So who's this guy you know?" Applebloom asked.
"Just a friend who owes me big time," Pinkie said. "He works as part of some underground movement I never really understood what. He ended up in the hands of some unsavoury types a few months back. Would've had his head if I hadn't been passing through. I just hope the little bastard's good for his word."
"Sounds like he owes you his life," Scootaloo surmised. "He should be good for his word."
"Debt isn't something that really exists in this world," Pinkie grunted. "Not when the people who owe you might be dead in the next week." She looked over her shoulder at the three of them. "I don't really like to hold favours over people I consider friends anyway, but this time calls for it."
"Right," Sweetie Belle said, nodding quickly. Pinkie snorted and looked back ahead. She stopped suddenly and held out her arms so that the others wouldn't pass her.
"Aw hell," Pinkie mumbled to herself, as laughter echoed down the alleyway towards them. She turned around quickly and whipped her head left and right before she ushered the three of them backwards and pointed to a large stack of crates stacked against one wall. "Behind that best you can and hunker down," she hissed. "And do not, seriously do not look out for anything okay? And if I tell you to run you run and you don't look back. Okay?"
The three of them nodded briskly and rushed back to the stack of crates. Pinkie watched them go before turning back to the group of ponies making their unsteady way towards her. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. Sure Fillydelphia wasn't one to enforce the rule of Discord and Diabolus, but that didn't change the fact that Equestria was sick with their plague. And plague ran on the backs of rats. Pinkie had met this type of pony gang before. Low lives who styled themselves as badass rogues who played by their own rules. Who didn't give a damn about the lives they ruined or the people they killed or which side they were on, so long as they could get drunk and engage in whatever sick depraved savagery that got them off.
Pinkie twisted her head from left to right, popping the bones in her neck with a series of satisfying clicks as she weighed her options. The alleyway wasn't what she would call cramped but it would stupid to take out her knives to a fight. There wasn't enough room to safely maneuver without jarring or spraining her wrists is she accidentally smacked a wall. Given the number of bullets she had she knew guns had to be a last resort and not a very effective one if it came down to it. There were over twice as many of them as the bullets she had chambered and swinging a rifle around in a space like this was liable to be a very bad plan.
There was only one way Pinkie was going to get this done she knew. And that was the fun way.
It wasn't the sound of the fighting that really upset Sweetie Belle as she cowered behind the crate stack with her eyes screwed up tight and her hands clapped over her ears. Oh the sounds of fists hitting bodies and legs kicked stomachs ponies bouncing off of walls were awful. Not to mention the sickening crunches and snaps that shook her to the marrow.
It was the screams.
More specifically it was how they were cut off before they reached completion, usually accompanied by an awfully loud crack. The cries of pain that were died out or worse, subsided into a sickly gurgling sound.
She flinched at the sound of shattering before a panicked voice was drowned out in a high pitched shriek of terror. The last sounds of the fight died out and footsteps approached them. Sweetie Belle uncovered her ears and let herself be helped to her feet by Applebloom and Scootaloo. Applebloom was ashen faced and Scootaloo's hands shook uncontrollably as Pinkie rounded the corner.
The smell hit them first. The tangy coppery raw smell of blood. And it was easy to see why. Her boots were covered in rapidly coagulating blood. The sleeves of her traveling cloak were stained dark red. Her knuckles were red raw and her hands were soaked and dripping. But her face held the worst of it. Though her hood had remained up for the fight some blood had spattered across her muzzle. And though she looked at the three of them with a dead eyed sense of serious authority, the spatter made it look like she was smiling.