The Mechanic

by NightInk

The Smith

Just as Oats had said, it wasn’t far to the broken down old shop. The shop didn’t quite look like it was on fire, but he supposed it was close enough. The orange glow of the forge was comforting to him, reminded him of home. His own workshop. The young woman on his back squirmed a bit and splattered a little more blood on him, also reminding him of days past. He looked back and saw that the mechanical limb was about to fall off and into the dirty street, which wouldn’t do it any good. He trotted just a little faster to try and beat the inevitable drop. He only just made it.

Clang! He winced at the sound of the metal hitting the ground. It wasn’t the fact that it had fallen that really bothered him, it was the fact that it sounded so hollow. A good piece of ambi-tech should have more workings than a wagon axle, not less. He didn’t bother calling out to ask if anyone was in, the sound of the hammer against the metal told him the smith was working late into the night. Looking around the shop, the hooded pony could see that despite the shoddy, flaming look on the outside, the smith was doing very well for himself. Many high quality items hung around the main room, ranging from lances and shields to forelegs and flanks. Well, from the uneducated perspective, the forelegs and flanks looked to be of high quality. The stranger scoffed looking at them, seeing only a sad bastardization of the art that was required for ambi-tech.

The room was filled with smoke and felt as though it was over a hundred degrees. The stranger, looking at the filthy state of the tables in the room, decided not to put the injured girl down in a pile of soot. When the smith came out, alerted by the sound of the leg falling to the ground and the sound of the girl crying, he rushed to a door at the side of the shop and ushered the pair through.

“Quickly,” he rumbled. His voice was hoarse from all his time working in soot and ash. “Bring her in here before she gets covered in dirt.”

The stranger slipped by him, noticing a long streak of black appear on his cloak as he brushed against the large pony. The black coloration rubbed off on him, but did not come off of the smith. Either his coat was black as well, or the ash and soot were so ingrained in his coat that he was permanently dyed the color. The room they had been led to, on the other hand, was remarkably clean. The walls and floor were both made of a polished and cleaned stone, and the ceiling was made from a treated wood of some kind. He didn’t know what kind, he was never good with wood. In the center of the room was a table, and under the table was a large drain covered by a fine grate, made to let only small things through, like bits of dirt and dust, and keep larger items from washing away, like scalpels and metal plates. He put the still crying waitress down on the table, trying to be gentle but involuntarily wincing as she unceremoniously hit the table with another clang.

“Do you have any half decent tools in this… I hesitate to use the word workshop.” He grumbled, looking around the stone room. At least it was clean…

The big smith snorted indignantly. “Why, I’ll have you know that this is the finest forge and ambi-tech workshop in the whole of Equestria! It’s-”

“It’s a piece of crap,” the stranger interrupted rudely. “The worst place for the creation and application of ambi-tech is a forge! The steel used is thin enough to be worked without such extreme heat, but durable enough to survive being landed on by even the largest of ponies! This,” he added, gesturing abruptly at the mangled leg beside him. “This isn’t strong enough to last her jumping off of a tall table! Now go clean yourself up! On the off-chance that I need help, you’re going to have to do, and you are not touching any blessed tech covered in that amount of dirt and filth!”

The pretty waitress couldn’t help but stifle a giggle as she watched the smaller pony chew out the large smith pony. It was comical, the little figure in the hood taking the giant over the proverbial knee. The smith slunk away like a scolded child, washing up before dinner after his mother found him playing in the mud. At the sound of her laughter, the stranger turned and faced her, and suddenly she was reminded why she was afraid of him. The same glint that had startled Oats pierced her and seemed to gaze into her heart. A shiver not entirely unpleasant ran through her body, a shiver of fear unknown.

She bit her lip to keep from crying again and forced herself to smile. “Little harsh on him, weren’t ya?” She batted her eyelids at him, hoping it would take a little of his edge off.

He didn’t flinch as she fluttered her eyes. He didn’t even react. “He deserved it. His manner of attaching ambi-tech is a danger to the patients he draws in here. Ambi-tech should be made carefully, with love and compassion. A true Tech-Worker sees and empathizes with the pain their patients are in, and craft every piece specifically for its owner. If it were ever attached to a pony it wasn’t intended for, it wouldn’t feel right.”

She lifted an eyebrow almost seductively. The bleeding stump of a leg ruined some of the appeal. “Ooh. Tough guy has a soft spot. That’s good, though. Sensitive guys are hot.”

He scoffed, uninterested in her advances. He did, however, begin to actually look at her. Before this moment, he just saw a patient. Finally he started looking at a mare. She was admittedly pretty. Prettier than he would have guess some waitress would be. She had a long, flowing, yellow mane, and her coat was a near exact match, perhaps a little bit darker. It wasn’t common for the coat, mane, and tail all to match so closely in color, but she pulled it off nicely. Her eyes, when she wasn’t batting her long lashes at him, were a striking shade of green. It made the strange stallion remember the Great Sea. He had only been there once, a long time ago… With her…

He shook his head at the sudden memories that flooded his mind. He couldn’t go thinking about her right now. He had to pay attention to this mare, the one bleeding in front of him. But now that he remembered, they both had the same color scheme, too. How could he have missed that?! He wanted to kick himself, but he would probably topple over. His balance wasn’t all it could be. And after this, he wouldn’t be able to afford anything. Maybe she would be able to pay for something too.

He was interrupted in his thoughts, confused as they were, but the sound of the smith entering the room again. He was a little wet from washing up, but the ash had seemed to have been washed from his coat. He was frowning a little bit, but didn’t say anything to the stranger that could be considered risky. He was very respectful in his tone when he addressed the still cloaked pony in front of him. “You going to do this with that hood still on?”

The stranger sighed. He often forgot that he was wearing the hood. His eyes were used to the eternal shadow they peered from. “Yeah. I’m going to wear the hood.”

The smith grunted like he disapproved, but he was scared enough to keep quiet. He did, however, make the mistake of trying to help. “Here,” he grumbled. “Let me at least give you a little bit of light.” He pushed a part of the wall and it opened up, revealing the fires of the forge. The flames lit the room splendidly, though there was no grate to cover the flames.

“Close that back up, you idiot!” the stranger bellowed. “Do you realize how much ash and soot you’re letting in here?! Do you want to get her leg infected?!”

The poor waitress began to whimper again, just a little. “I’d really like to keep my leg…”

Grumbling, the smith closed the panel back up. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a bother. I was just trying to help.”

The stranger let out a long, shuddering sigh. “I apologize. But I know what it takes to make true ambi-tech. Please fetch for me the foreleg hanging on your wall, third on the right as you enter through the front door.”

“That limb is for the left foreleg.”

“Do you want to help or not?!”

The smith shot out the door like his tail had been set on fire. The pretty waitress giggled again. “You know, as flattering as it is having you so worked up over little old me, I think it might help to be a little nicer to him.”

He grunted and brushed at a blood stain on his shirt. “I’m here to do a job, not be nice. Thinking of which, are you planning on paying for… anything? I can’t afford a bunch of repair costs.”

“She has all of her repair costs covered.” The smith reappeared in the doorway, holding the metal leg. “If you need anything, you will need to pay. She is an old friend. You are not.”

The coin pouch nearly hit the smith in the face as it flew from the stranger’s hoof, despite the smiths assertions.. The smith grumbled something, undoubtedly impolite, but the stranger moved swiftly and plucked the heavy metal limb out of the smiths grasp. “Come on, we need to fix her up before she loses any more blood.”

“Yeah, that may be a good thing, dearies. I’m getting a teeny bit light headed…”