Chapter 25 - The Colour You Bleed
Handy did not like being touched.
He just didn’t know how to deal with it, for it left him feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Someone trying to hit him? Yeah, he could deal with that. It made sense to him. Leaning in to bite someone's neck? Food's food and you’ve got to do what you got to do. Anything else? No. He hadn’t known how to deal with it when Welcome Sight hugged him back in Spurbay, and Handy had ended up just patting him awkwardly on the back. He hadn’t known how to handle it when a blubbering blacksmith by the name of Heat Source had hugged him in Pawstown when he had tried reassuring her that she was not worst pony. He sure as shit didn’t know how to handle it when Shortbeak the Widowmaker, of all people, was hugging him now.
That she was inebriated was entirely incidental to the fact of the matter.
--=--
He and Godfrey had made it back to Handy’s tent to find the ever-enthusiastic Tanismore outside of it, along with Shortbeak who landed behind him a few seconds after they had arrived. Crimson, he noticed, was absent from the scene. “There you are Handy!” Tanismore waved them inside the tent. “I got us some food.”
“So I see,” Handy acknowledged, noticing the two large chickens roasting on a spit over a small fire pit he had set up. Handy was grateful the bird had the sense of mind to move the more flammable objects in the tent and to open up the buttoned-over skylights in the tent canvas above them so that the smoke wouldn’t smother them. His stomach growled, and the worries he had that night were seemingly forgotten in favour of imagining the taste of proper food. “Where hast thou been all day? Where are the others?”
“With the king,” Godfrey responded. The dark, blue-feathered griffon let out a small yawn. “He’s been busy being the guest of Goldtooth in Ironcrest.” Tanismore snickered at that.
“Yeah, remember what the guy was like in Canterlot?”
“I am vaguely reminded of a yellow beak entirely too fond of rambling about inconsequential particularities, yes,” Handy replied, recalling the interminable ramblings of the middle-aged king that caused debates to last hours longer than they otherwise would have back when they were in Canterlot. He felt a pang of sympathy for Joachim, who now had to endure that onslaught night and day while he and the others got to enjoy the festival. If he had the choice of being here, beating people senseless, and risking life and limb for the entertainment of the masses, and spending time in Ironcrest sharing in his liege’s agony, he’d pick the horribly dangerous option every time.
“Joachim rotated us out,” Shortbeak explained, taking off her helmet. “Really, we’re just there for show anyway. Ironcrest is perfectly safe. I still feel bad about not being at his side, though…”
“It’s him who feels bad for us,” Godfrey said. “He’s letting us off in turn because he doesn’t want to impose Goldtooth’s steam-powered beak on the rest of us. Which is what would’ve happened since Goldtooth never leaves the griffon alone.”
"Why?" Handy asked.
"It’s actually kind of funny," Tanismore said. "Goldtooth sees the king as inexperienced, so he insists on teaching him a thing or two."
"It’s probably just an excuse to rant to a hostage audience," Godfrey chipped in. "Certainly seemed that way to me anyway."
"Apparently he hates the festival, which is why you haven't seen the king today; hasn't had the chance to visit since Goldtooth opened the festivities," Shortbeak added.
"He must be miserable," Handy mused.
“Which is why…” Tanismore turned and pulled up a burlap sack behind him that seemed to be filled with glass bottles. “I figure a drink is in order, so we can do as our king wishes and relax!”
“I… don’t think that’s a good idea,” Shortbeak said, sitting down by the fire and pulling a wing from a chicken.
“Oh come on!” Tanismore said. “You skip out on us at every feast. Sit down and have some fun for once! Tartarus, you even volunteered to patrol the outer provinces at the night of the coronation!”
“I don’t like wasting time,” Shortbeak said simply, contemplating the chicken she was biting into. Godfrey shrugged.
“Well, we have nothing but time to waste as it is. Pass me a bottle,” he said. Handy looked down at the griffon as he took a seat by the fire, accepting the proffered bottle from Tanismore. The normally dour griffon was not one to agree with the gregarious Tanismore, much less actively partake in any of his suggestions. In fact, thinking about it, Handy had to agree with Shortbeak. It probably wasn’t a good idea to start drinking. He had an early start the next morning himself, and he was pretty sure they would need to return to their duties not long after. He moved to voice his objection.
But then he stopped himself. Looking at the griffons, he realized that these were the closest things he had to actual friends, not counting Joachim. That didn’t say much, as he tried his best to keep his distance from pretty much everyone when it could be helped. Tanismore’s ever-presence notwithstanding, the three others were more acquaintances than anything. He then recalled how he felt back on the lakeside, watching everyone else having fun with those close to them, and decided, for once, he’d willingly give in. “So be it then,” he said, sitting down to the left of Godfrey and taking a piece of chicken for himself. Tanismore looked up in surprise.
“Hah! And I thought I’d have to work to convince you! That’s the spirit, Handy,” Tanismore said, fetching a bottle for the human. He looked down and studied the label and found himself surprised when it wasn’t written in English despite Firthengart being a border kingdom with the Equestrians. Rather, it was written in the quasi-runic script he sometimes saw on old signposts or carved in the walls of the temples in Skymount. He uncapped it and took a few sips.
“Should you… really be indulging in that?” Shortbeak asked. Handy shrugged.
“Tis a festival,” he said by way of explanation, putting his helmet down beside him and tossing his carry pack behind him. Normally, he’d be anxious being this close to a fire, but he was sure enough that he was quite safe behind his armour to pay it no mind. Sitting would have been an awkward proposition had he not found a suitably sized rock that was currently holding down the wall of someone else’s tent. “Pray, what is this?” he asked, enjoying the delightfully fizzy aftertaste of the beer that actually accentuated the smooth texture of the liquid as it made its way down his gullet. It was strange.
“Firebrand,” Tanismore said. “A local beer; has a hell of a kick.”
“I don’t fe— Oh… there we go.” He was cut short as he felt himself briefly go light-headed, his body becoming flooded with wondrous warmth. Godfrey grunted in agreement as he continued drinking his own bottle. Shortbeak turned to look at each of them in turn before sighing.
“Feeling outnumbered?” Tanismore asked with a smile. She shot him an unamused look.
“Perhaps Tanismore is right for once,” Handy said, smiling down at his own bottle. He really did feel good. What was in this stuff? “I can attest that a few of these won’t do too much harm.” Shortbeak looked at the human before turning back to the proffered liquor. She seemed uncertain as she took it in her claw.
“Alright, but just one!” she said as she uncapped it. “Where did you even get these anyway? And how did you pay for them?” Tanismore rolled his eyes.
“Don’t worry about it; I know a guy,” he said. And so time passed as they ate, drank, and talked the night away, trading stories about their experiences so far in Firthengart. Handy had enough sense of mind to skip over certain questionable aspects of his night, especially about the witch he had unwittingly set free following him here. Or he assumed that was what she had done; could’ve just been an unhappy coincidence. Tanismore and the others spoke about Ironcrest, the Silver Arch Temple, and the waterfall gardens of the Iron Keep. The city was ancient and had a storied history, spoiled of course by Goldtooth’s constant complaints of the endless amount of things he didn’t like when he took Joachim on the grand tour.
The night wore on, and Handy learned a thing or two about his compatriots. Did you know that Godfrey was a pretty funny bird once you got him started? Handy didn’t, and apparently it was a surprise to the others as well. His dry observational humour lent itself well to his surprisingly adept skills at impersonation which helped get a few laughs. Tanismore felt fit to reveal he was actually an adept sculptor in his time off. The idea of the bird having the patience to sit down and chip away at a piece of stone for potentially days on end in order to create a work of art was a hard one to envision, but he swore by it. He said he would show them his work shed when they got back. Apparently he was currently working on a scale model of Skymount’s castle. Shortbeak’s demeanour finally cracked after her first bottle when Handy made a rather rude joke involving unicorns and horn sizes. She looked thoroughly embarrassed as any pretence of reserved professionalism was shattered by a surprisingly girlish giggle. Turned out she liked terrible jokes.
It was after the third song that Godfrey drifted off, for they were pretty blitzed by that point. Whatever was in this firebrand stuff hit hard and it hit fast. Not that Handy minded since it helped pass a few otherwise boring hours and let him genuinely forget his troubles. Crimson showed up somewhere around the intervening time, looking dishevelled and wearing something around her neck, but he didn’t pay any mind; he was too busy pretending he knew any of the words to the songs the griffons were singing. Apart from stopping to stare at them for a few seconds, Crimson soon disappeared under her own sheets as she went off to sleep. The song was ended abruptly by the sound of snoring as Tanismore fell backwards to Handy’s right. He and Shortbeak had basically sat on either side of the human as they sang. Tanismore’s paw fell away from around his shoulder as he passed out, and Handy made to get up, sensing the night’s frivolities had come to an end.
He did, however, fail in this task, as Shortbeak was decidedly inconsiderate in keeping her paw around him as she pulled him back down to his seat. “Come ooon, sing with me one more song!” she said happily. Handy blinked at her in annoyance at first. She seemed to be wobbling slightly as she looked at him with the half-lidded eyes of someone clearly trying to stave off sleep by any means necessary. He laughed.
“It’s getting late, Shortbeak,” Handy said, looking up at the sky through the tent canvas as the black-feathered griffon continued humming happily to herself. “Perhaps we’ve had enough.”
“Awww, wh— Hic— Had too much already? Heh,” she teased, leaning closer.
“No, but I think you may have,” Handy said. In truth, he was feeling pretty out of it himself, but he was getting a tad concerned for Shortbeak. Whereas he and the others had six of the bottles in them, Shortbeak was only on her fifth and was already close to passing out. Firebrand, it turned out, was not something you downed ten of if you planned on waking up sometime before six pm the following day.
“I’m fffffiiine, I just… I just… don’t get to do this often,” she said with a hint of sadness, her eyes downcast. He could easily believe that if this was how she got after a few beers. The fact that she joined him, Godfrey, and Tanis for their godawful quartet was one surprise amongst many from the griffon that night. “I’m not good with… you know, other griffons.”
“You? Shortbeak? Noooo, you think?” Handy said. She shot him an unamused look before smiling.
“What happened to all the ‘thees’ and ‘thous’?”
“I got drunk and stopped caring about decorum,” he replied. She chuckled at that, eliciting a confused look from the human who had not intentionally been joking. “But seriously, I'm not sure what you're talking about. You were plenty sociable tonight.”
“I don’t—” She yawned. “I don’t… trust griffons easily, so I don't do... you know… this." She gestured at the fire circle with her free claw. "I tend to not make many friends, and griffons keep their distance.”
“Can’t imagine wh— Ow!” That had earned Handy a smack on the back of the head with her wing. “Easy, I was kidding. But you can’t honestly be surprised. You aren’t the most approachable of people.”
“While that’s true, I just—” She yawned again. “This was nice, you know?”
“Yeah, it was,” Handy said, noticing her foreleg was still around his shoulder. “You should probably hang out with the rest of us more if that’s the case.” She frowned slightly at that.
“Okay, going to be honest? Most griffons I meet, I don’t particularly care for. Hell, most of the guys back at the palace barracks are little better than diamond dogs.” A snore interrupted Shortbeak, and she narrowed her eyes at Tanismore. “Or they’re just big children.”
“I suppose I can see that,” Handy said absentmindedly, trying to figure out a way to remove the claw of the very dangerous griffon from about his neck without appearing rude.
“You’re alright though.”
“What?”
“You’re an alright guy. I mean, sure, you’re a brooding, cynical, vindictive recluse-” she said, waving her free claw.
“Hey!” Handy said indignantly. Sure she was right, but still…
“-most of the time, but by and large? You’re okay,” she finished.
“Yeah well, thanks,” Handy said, “You’re alright too, I guess.” Truth be told, Shortbeak was a competent and capable warrior in his opinion, and while he didn’t get to see much of it before tonight, she was a decent person. Sure, he still held it against her that she had allowed him win all those months ago. It was a petty thing, and he knew it, but Handy was not a man to let go of grudges so easily. ’I could just yank her claw away and let her collapse. That’d be one way out of this,’ he thought as she put her wing around him. Handy suddenly felt apprehensive. ’Oh God dammit.’
“Heh, you know, sorry about the whole... treating you like dirt when we first met.” She yawned again. “Wow, I must be more tired than I thought.”
“Uhm, yeah. Yeah I guess we’re cool now,” Handy said, shifting uncomfortably as she laid her head on his left pauldron. “Shortbeak… are you alright?”
“Hm? Yeah, just resting my head.”
“…That’s solid steel you’re lying on.”
“I’ve had worse. Well, friends?” she asked.
“What?” Handy asked. He was a tad distracted. You see, on the one hand, drunken hugs; on the other, he had first-hand experience with how skilled the claws now around his neck were at destruction. Nothing about this situation was geared towards making the human feel comfortable. “Oh, right. Friends. Sure.”
“So what do you say, then?” she asked, smiling, “One more song? Come on!”
“You’re drunk.” She laughed and nudged him with her wing.
“Well yeah,” she said. “So don’t spoil it. Come on, s-sing…” She yawned once more. Handy was quite concerned now. This was not the Shortbeak he was familiar with. If she changed this drastically when drunk, he could well believe that not being a people person was only one of her reasons for not cutting loose. He looked up, searching for some excuse to get out of the awkward spot he found himself in. He found it in the lightness gracing the sky above him, signalling dawn’s approach.
“Actually Shor—” He stopped himself when he noticed the bird had actually given up the fight against exhaustion herself and was now fast asleep on his shoulder. “…Ah.” He extricated himself from the griffon’s embrace as gently as he could. That involved sacrificing his cloak to her, unbuckling the clasps and slipping out from under it. She could keep it for the night. He didn’t exactly have any spare blankets, for the one he did have was currently balled up in a cocoon and covering the pony who had claimed it for herself. Speaking of Crimson, where the hell had she been all night? He quickly decided he didn’t care as the distant drubbing at the back of his head foreshadowed the dreaded aftermath that was the fate of all revellers. He was going to pay for this in the morning, but that was future Handy’s problem.
Right now, he shambled over to his own makeshift bed, which was little more than a bundle of sheets on the ground, and contemplated trying to take off his cuirass at least before sleeping. Sleeping in your armour was uncomfortable as hell. He was used to it, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Eventually, after the third time trying to fumble with the catches of his armour, he decided to just lie down and be damned with it all. He hit the covers like a brick and proceeded to sleep like one.
--=--
Speaking of bricks.
"CARRY ON, MY WAYWARD SON!"
A lot of things happened at once as the blaring music suddenly flooded the tent and rudely awakened its occupants. For starters, the first thing Handy was aware of, aside from the thunderous headache that was, aided by the too-loud music, splitting his head apart like the hand of God shattering the firmament, was an errant wing smacking him in the face and knocking him back on his arse seconds after he had untangled himself from his covers and got to his knees. The others did not fare much better. He saw a small bundle of blankets in one corner that seemed to be having an apoplectic fit and was cursing up a storm. Crimson, he realised. The pony had become entangled and was busy trying to escape her blankety prison. Meanwhile, Shortbeak had bolted upright and her, frankly, monstrous wingspan shot out wide in instinctive fear-response, knocking Handy over and pinning a confused Tanismore to the tent wall.
"THERE’LL BE PEACE WHEN YOU ARE DONE!"
"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, JESUS CHRIST!" Handy screamed. Why the hell did he even have that song? He didn’t bother to take the expensive brick out of its pouch and resolved to simply and repeatedly hit it with the flat of his gauntleted fist. The infuriating device had proved shockingly resilient to physical damage ever since he had arrived in this world, so no matter how much he may have liked to some times, he never seemed able to truly destroy it. Perhaps he would take his hammer to it someday once his patience finally wore out and he felt like playing a little smartphone crochet.
"WHAT HAPPENED!? WHAT’S GOING ON!?" a wide-eyed Shortbeak demanded, sword drawn, her head snapping back and forth. Handy winced at her shouting as the brick finally decided to shut up. He looked up at her, his vision clearing momentarily, and his eyes widened.
"My cloak!" he exclaimed.
"Your cloak?" Shortbeak said, a look of confusion about her face as she looked down at the tattered remnants of the heavy white cloak she had ripped apart in her rush to get up and draw her sword. Strips of the expensive material littered the ground beneath her, and parts of it were still draped over one wing. Her confusion turned to a mixture of shock and embarrassment. "Your cloak!?" she exclaimed.
"Will you all shut up over there!?" a voice from a neighbouring tent shouted. Handy groaned and held his head, trying to still the familiar cathedral bells that were currently ringing out the New Year early in the cloistered halls of his mind.
"Mmphffmmphff!" Shortbeak retracted one wing and allowed the disorientated Tanismore to breathe without a face full of feathers. "What the Tartarus was that!?" he shouted. Godfrey groaned somewhere in the dark of the tent, but continued snoring. Lucky for some, it seemed.
"Don't worry about it," he groused at last, relegating concerns over a tattered piece of clothing as secondary to concerns over a tattered mind. There was a brief, green flash of magic, and they turned to see a very annoyed Crimson had escaped her binds of woven cloth. Handy frowned at her. Did she really need to use old magic to get out of some tangled sheets? Pulling himself up and trying to ignore the armour cramp that was the consequence of anyone stupid enough to sleep in full plate, he gathered the rest of his gear. The sun was out, and he doubted he was going to have enough time to lie in before his next duel started.
"Sorry, I didn't -ow- mean to... Why... was I sleeping in your cloak?" Shortbeak asked. If Handy had been paying attention and not trying to stop his vision from doubling and the world from spinning about, he would probably have picked up on her anxious tone. As it was, he had very little fucks to give as he regretted the previous night's indulgence profoundly. He heard his shoulders pop as he moved. The destruction of his much beloved cloak wasn't helping matters, but it was, at least, not a physical pain. The worst part? The lack of any kind of perception of time passing when he was asleep not only resulted in the lack of any benefit dream sleep would have given him, but also resulted in him going from happy and buzzed to highly hungover and suffering in a mere instant from his perspective He was a happy Handy no longer.
"Don't worry about it," he repeated as he stumbled past the griffons.
"Wait, sir, you forgot your helmet." Crimson trotted up to him, his helmet in the crook of her foreleg. How ponies were able to walk effectively with only three legs was beyond Handy, but he gratefully accepted his forgotten helmet from the pony. "And don't worry; I'll clean up the mess here."
Crimson was a bro.
"Perhaps it was for the best that dame Shortbeak ruined your cloak." The griffon shot the pony an evil glare. "I always thought you looked terrible with it on."
Crimson was a dick.
He grunted in response as he put on his helmet and made his way through the tent city. Blinking his vision into focus as he tried to remember where he was going in the living maze of the festival, his head felt as if it was stuffed full of cotton. He tried to remember whether to take a right or a left at the tent with the image of a clown embroidered onto a wall so he could get to the duelling rings.
Why yes, of course he got lost a few times. Why do you ask?
--=--
He eventually found the duelling rings, or rather, the arena that replaced them. Getting there, once he decided to cut the bullshit and just follow whatever path led him closer to the spectator towers, proved surprisingly easy. Turned out that the crowds parted all too willingly to put distance between their eyes and the magnificence that was the shining, radiant faggotry of Handy's armour as the sunlight bore down on it unbidden and unimpeded. Yes, Handy thought. 'Share my pain, know thee the anguish I feel from my own foolishness; bask in—OhGodpleasestopspinning'. He'd normally feel a tad bit guilty for their abused corneas, but that was past Handy. Present Handy couldn't give a rotten Piccadilly fuck how they felt as he made a mental note to never let Tanismore pick the drinks ever again. Firebrand may bring you wondrous warmth and happy feelings, but it left you with nothing but pain and remorse, more so than most other drinks. His mouth tasted like ash and vinegar, and he was pretty sure his oesophagus had been scrubbed raw with steel wool. He shuddered as he felt cold sweat on his brow. "Never again," he swore.
The various duelling rings that he had fought in the previous day’s round of entertainment consisted of four sets of wooden stands that the spectators sat upon. Although it took a great deal of effort and most of the previous day to do it, the various craftsgriffons and labourers managed to disassemble the rings and combine them into one large makeshift stadium, doubling in height of a regular duelling ring by using metal girders and sturdy wooden scaffolding to place more seats higher off the ground. The entire construction was rigorously stress tested once completed the previous night under the king's instruction to ensure safety. Which, from what Handy found out by listening in on the talkative griffons he passed, involved a lot of swearing, flailing of gryphonic limbs, large hammers, exactly six thousand and twenty one individual nails, one of those godawful mysterious songs the people of this world were wont to perform at the drop of a hat, and a live trout. Some questions were just better left unasked.
"Name?" someone asked as he made his way to the approximate participant entrance.
"Mrghlbluh..." Handy replied intelligently.
"I'm... sorry?" the presumably griffon guard asked.
"Urgh... just... let me through, you silly bastard," he said, eyes closed as he stood before the participant's entrance. Just because he was fine with fucking up everyone else's eyesight didn't mean he wanted to make his headache worse by allowing the same sunlight that lit him up to poke his sensitive eyes. With the arena the way it was now, it truly towered over them, the support structures holding up the upper levels disguised behind large, thin plywood. This made the interior of the arena, the space underneath the stands, a makeshift room for the participants to ready themselves before going out to their respective fights. When he entered, he was met with blessed darkness and the sounds of quietly chatting fellow tournament contestants, which fell to a low murmur when he entered. He was also greeted with the smell of hundreds upon hundreds of people, but if you attended a festival, you got used to such things.
He ignored the other participants as he was waved over to the entrance to the arena's interior, barely opening his eyes to see the way, the dull roar of the crowd in the stands above him doing nothing to improve his mood. The guard said something about blades and covers. Handy grunted. He gripped his glaive and stepped passed the guard as he opened the door to let him out and into the open. He winced and screwed his eyes shut further as the sound of the crowd's cheer washed over him as some asshole announcer with a too-loud voice said something regarding 'the human' and 'Gethrenia'. He wasn't really listening. Thankfully for everyone involved, some astute weather griffons had ensured there was enough cloud cover in the intervening time to prevent Handy the human torch from blinding everyone present.
He opened his eyes fully at last. That was a terrible idea. Did you know the middle ages were actually extremely colourful? And the renaissance more so? The Festivals were nothing if not an explosion of pomp and splendour. The result was a colourful people, especially the fucking ponies in the audience, dressed in bright colourful clothing, seated in stands awash with colourful pennants and banners and paint on a particularly bright day. One pony near the front row had the most god awful cloak that completed the torture. Had he been sober, it would have been a pleasant, if somewhat garish sight. As it was, it was far too much stimulation for his poor eyes. 'I'll just rest them some more for a moment,' he thought, planting the butt of his glaive in the ground and leaning onto it. 'The world stopped spinning at least... just... a minute...'
"Snrk-huh?"
Handy woke up on the tail-end of whatever the loud-beaked announcer had been saying. It was the roar of the crowd that had wakened him. He felt embarrassed. Had he actually dozed off for a minute while standing upright? God, what the hell did those drinks do to him? Fuck, this was not the best condition to be going into a fight. Whatever random bastard he was up against was probably going to have a field day with him. He breathed deeply through his nostrils as he pried open his eyes to look ahead of him. There was a pony standing there on the arena floor, ten feet away from him and absolutely covered from head to hoof in gleaming, white armour. A stallion by the look of the build - big bastard too. Was that a horn poking out of the crested helm? Or was that just a decorative armour feature? He saw a few earth ponies running about with something similar. Made sense for equines to have something on their helmets to gore enemies in battle. He leaned forward on his polearm and willed his vision to focus further so that he could pick out the details.
The armour, he noticed, was smooth. Steel was overlaid with mother-of-pearl and inlaid with gold decor. The plate was extensive to the point where he wasn't sure if he was wearing mail under it or not. Perhaps it was coloured white as well? His flanks had several long steel blades attached, making it look like the pony was hauling two sheets of metal on either side of him. Looking down, his forehooves had distinct, curved blades, shining a bright silvery-grey of steel against the white of the armour. He wore an open-face helm in the Equestrian fashion of their royal guards rather than the full-face bassinets of their gold cloaks, complete with the crest of a golden plume and segmented plates running down his neck. It was not entirely unlike what he saw of what the sphinx had worn. Briefly, Handy wondered how he wore it properly without a bridle of some sort. The pony's blue eyes were wide, and his pupils were pinpricks as the human's gaze met its own. Handy could see it was white-furred with a strong jawline and... Wait a minute...
"Blueblood?" the human asked, disbelieving. The coarseness of his voice made the word come out less like a question and more like a statement of intent, his wrecked state lending his voice a helping hand and making it deeper, more rumbling and allowing his accent to slip through. It wasn't meant to be intimidating, but by the look of shock on the pony's face, he had not only heard it over the roar of the crowd, but had taken it the wrong way.
"There must be some mistake," he heard the stallion say. "This isn't supposed to happen."
'What?' Handy asked himself, his brain trying to catch up with itself. 'What does he mean...' Then the memory came to him, about Jacques and what he had told him about Blueblood's duplicity. "Son of a bitch..." Handy whispered. "That Francophone tosser actually came through." A small smile graced his lips despite the jackhammer boring into the interior of his head. The stallion had turned back to the door he had come from, only to see it close, dooming him.
"No. I wasn't supposed to... This is not what was agreed!"
"Trouble?" Handy asked, taking a few steps forward. The stallion rounded on him, and he paused. There was something about the way he looked at the human. There was fear in those eyes, but also something else. No matter. "Not enough pieces of silver perhaps?" he teased.
"You..." The pony almost spat the word. “What did you do?"
"Me, highness?" Handy said in mock deference, bringing his free arm up to his chest in wounded innocence. His free arm was attached to his shield. He was in no mood for offensive combat that morning with the way that he was and figured a defensive posture with the glaive might keep him alive long enough for him to get out of there and dunk his head in water. "Why, I did nothing..." Handy loved this. Thoughts came to him unbidden of vengeance at hand, and the original anger that started this whole mess bubbled up from the pit of his heart. Those could wait to be entertained however. Watching the princeling squirm was doing wonders in terms of making his morning bearable. "I was merely remarking that silver is sublime, but gold is greater still."
Blueblood snorted, and his head turned as if searching the gathered crowd for something. "Fighters, at the ready!" That was the cue. Handy spread his legs apart and shifted his centre of weight. His head continued to pound something awful, but he suddenly found himself not giving one rotten damn. Here before him stood the uptight little shit who hid behind dear old Ciara's skirts after going out of his way to piss Handy off and shit on the memory of his mother. Everything else simply did not matter right now, and the world could just go and promptly fuck off while he got his murder on. The stallion look agitated, his eyes wide as he continued to glare at Handy, uncertainty written across his face. "Begin!"
'Well. This should be short.' He grimaced. The prince may be wearing expensive armour, but it looked like it was all show and no substance unlike his own, which was both. Handy took a step to the side as he began closing the distance, raising his shield and lowering his glaive. The glaive was intended to be wielded by the user mid-flight and was balanced accordingly, making it an excellent short spear for someone of Handy's stature. The one major advantage of the short polearm was that it was quite easy for him to use one-handed so long as he didn't overstretch himself. Blueblood nearly tripped over himself in his hurry to keep Handy at a distance, and the pair were soon circling around one another. He tried blocking out the noise of the crowd so he could focus more, but there was only so much he could do. For a moment, he almost missed the prince speaking to him.
"Pardon?" Handy asked.
""Foul rogue!" Blueblood shouted. From his perspective, this morning had been going absolutely delightful right up until he came out the door and saw the blasted human standing there like some terrible sentinel of his own personal doom. "You! You're the cause of all my troubles! You're the reason Aunty Celestia threw me out! You're the reason I had to endure living like... like some kind of peasant! Or... or some lower house scion looking to advance in life through soldiery!"
"What?"
"Quiet, knave!" Blueblood sneered, his eyes still wide. That rotten chancellor he paid off had gone back on him! Blasted bird; what did the human promise him!? He was up there, somewhere, probably in the tower hosting the royal viewing box with the king. He had been so nervous yesterday when he went into his first boorish fight. A young griffon squire had been his opponent, and he remembers screaming stallionfully and not like a little filly at all when the fiend's halberd fell apart mid swing. His sword made short work of the poor bird, embarrassing the weaponless griffon three rounds in a row. Blueblood grew more confident and bold with each win. By the time he reached his second duel, this time against some waif of a dog, he quickly made short work of the nervous creature. It had been harder, but he could handle himself. He was a prince of Equestria and the equal to any of its elite royal guards! He had only to realise it! Oh, how he thought his aunties were furious with him!
It all made sense now; they had been preparing him, making him into the pony he was supposed to be! Why, in that case, it only made sense why the thestral guard Luna had assigned to him was participating in the tournament. She was there to protect him from the sullied riff-raff. Yes, that was it. It was only logic that she would help him separate the wheat from the chaff so that when it came to the melee, they would work together to emerge victorious in this farce of a spectacle. In the end, all would see Equestria prevail!
--=--
"So you're only here to increase the odds of Blueblood facing the human in combat?" Cloud asked. The white pegasus would have been resplendent in his golden armour had the pair of them not been under the shadow of the stands, watching the duel through a hole in the wooden wall before them.
"Precisely that," Stellar Eclipse replied, not entirely truthfully. "Fight opponents, do all I can to fight the heavier hitters, and if I end up fighting Blueblood before the human gets to him, I was to throw the fight and let Blueblood advance. It’s either that or outright bribing the griffons to have the matchups fixed. The princesses wouldn't think of stooping that low." The thestral eyed the pair out in the arena with interest. Blueblood had been so cocky that morning, but now she could tell he was all but quaking in his schynbalds.
"Hmm," the perpetually glowering pegasus grunted. "Why go through the bother, though?"
"Politics, apparently. Help shore up relations with Gethrenia and Griffonia in general and forget about the entire debacle once and for all. If that means giving the human what he wants, then so be it."
"So Blueblood's a sacrificial lamb," Cloud mused. "Well at least that's useful."
"Seeing as you're in a talkative mood for once. Why're you here at Bluey's side? Lose a bet?"
"Won one actually." Cloud grimaced, remembering the dig he gave Midnight when he placed that thousand to one bet and regretted how smug he had been when she couldn’t place one of her own. Now here he was, ‘volunteered’ to suffer Blueblood's tantrums and complaints while she was back home on leave, 'minding' his winnings. All the while, he could just imagine her laughing and laughing and laughing.... "Turns out betting against your superior officer is a bad idea, even if you win."
--=--
His horn lit up as he drew one of the swords from his sides. It was a long, single bladed weapon that had a pointed tip designed for punching through armour. The blue magical aura shortened, now only covering the handle of the blade. Blueblood made a show of swinging it, the nervousness on his face lessening somewhat. "I'll show you what for!"
"What for?"
"Yes what for!"
"For what?" Handy said. Slowly, ever so slowly, the old familiar rage was building within him, but he was keeping it at bay. The fear, confusion, and frustration in the prince before him was too delicious to spoil just yet.
"For what? For what!?" the prince nearly screeched in indignation. "You know damn well what for!"
"Wh—"
"Be quiet!" Blueblood drew a second sword. Both of them levitated in the air and levelled at Handy as the prince lowered his head in the manner of ponies about to charge. "I am... going to give you such a thrashing!"
"Oh, that was just radiating with confidence. Really, I'm shaking in my boots," Handy teased, wincing slightly under the torment of his own hangover. 'When I get out of this... I need to show Tanismore what for...' Blueblood stamped a hoof, and one of the blades shot out. Handy raised his shield and stepped to his right. The sword impacted the shield with surprising force, and the crowd roared as the fight finally got underway. The shield surprisingly did not react as it would have done with magic, the pony's grip only holding it by the hilt. The sword was spun out of Blueblood's grasp and became lodged in the ground, the human knocked back a step.
Blueblood stood there, as if stunned by what he had just done. Handy turned to look at him as he resettled himself. “Well then,” he said, letting his anger boil at last. ”If you’re that eager…” The human hefted the shield and advanced purposefully towards the pony. Blueblood started and drew another sword with his magic and waved it warningly. Handy was undeterred and closed the distance rapidly. The prince swung the sword down in a wide arc, and Handy deflected it with a flick of his wrist, sending the glaive's blade to intercept it and knock it away. Blueblood struggled to bring the sword back around but let out a yelp, his magic losing control of the weapon, and he jumped out of the way as Handy thrust forward.
The prince tripped over his legs as he landed badly on his forehooves, his armour clattering. Handy withdrew, turned on his heels, and brought his glaive down level with his opponent, resting against the side of his shield. He wobbled for a bit but quickly moved his foot before anything could become of it. Trying to wreck someone’s shit while hungover was an interesting experience. He looked at the fallen blade out of the corner of his helmet slit. It was long and absurdly thin, bladed only on one side. It was hiltless, with only a narrow hooking mechanism which he assumed was how Blueblood connected it to his armour. Its entire mass was otherwise dedicated to a slashing piece of metal. It looked fragile, but as the force of the first sword taught him, it was anything but.
Blueblood let out a strangled noise as he drew two more blades. “Y-You… b-brute!”
“I’ve been called worse,” Handy said, advancing again. The prince came to his senses and backed off.
“Y-You come strolling into Canterlot, r-ruin my life!”
“That tends to happen when you bring someone’s mother into things.”
“A-Aunty Celestia had me evicted from the castle! I-I had to endure two months of torment because of you!”
“Glad to see Sorcha had the sense to put thee to some use!” Handy closed the distance with a charge. He raised his shield above his head as Blueblood brought a sword down on it, swinging his glaive out and catching the second blade, then swiping at the confounded pony with the backswing. Blueblood let out another yelp as he ducked, the blade shaving the top of his helmet’s crest. Handy kneed Blueblood on the jaw and sent him to the ground. Handy brought his glaive up and prepared to bring it down, ending the first bout. The temptation was there, in that half second at the back of his mind, to put more power in the swing than necessary, accidentally ending the rest of the duel and the good prince’s life. He swung.
--=--
Blueblood opened his eyes. Was he dead? He could still hear the roar of the crowd surrounding him and the weight of the armour on his body. He looked down, his jaw level with the dusty wood chipped strewn floor. No, he wasn’t dead. It was worse than that. The realization hit him as soon as he felt the sweat on his skin and spotted splotches of matted fur around the fetlocks between his hoof-boots and leg armour. “I’m filthy!” he whined, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Round to Handy the Milesian!”
That snapped him back to reality. He turned his head to see the silver figure of the human looming above him. The black T-shaped slit that served as the face of the helmet looked down at the pony, the creature’s expression invisible behind the impenetrable blackness. He turned away and hefted the glaive in his right hand as he walked away. “Wh- What?” Blueblood blinked in confusion. He hadn’t killed him. Why… Blueblood got shakily to his feet. The swords he carried at his flanks clinked noisily as he moved. The crowd were cheering, cheering for the human.
He looked up to the announcer, a griffon in a ridiculous festival costume, placing a green flag into a box held over the side of the wall of the arena. The crowd were cheering that he lost.
He stood there in shock, hardly believing he lost. He had felt so invincible before, scared yes, but invincible. He felt so alive basking in the cheers of the crowd when he won his victories the other day, and now this… this human stole that from him. That was why he let him live; that was why he didn’t engage in his bloodlust – the human wanted to humiliate him. He ground his teeth. How dare he? Howdare he!?
He felt the familiar warmth in his forehead as power coursed across his flesh to gather in the bony protrusion. He felt his fur underneath his helmet stand on end as static electricity ran between it and the metal of his armour. His horn surged with power, grabbing his three fallen blades and drawing them back to his sides at speed.
The human turned, taking a bad step as if not entirely in control of his own feet. Blueblood launched the swords at the human, taking a step after each blow. The human raised his shield and deflected one, knocking it out of Blueblood’s admittedly weak grasp, while another one continued to swing away, bounding off the human’s shield again and again. The third launched like a rocket, but the human swung his glaive and knocked it out of the air. Blueblood wasted no time and charged at the human. Handy looked down as he swung his glaive around, but the remaining blade in the air managed to get through his shield’s defence and cut across his cuirass. The blow knocked him off balance, and his swing went wide.
Blueblood barrelled into him, leaping and ducking his head, colliding bodily with the human and sending both of them to the ground. The glaive was knocked out of his hand as Blueblood scrambled up and began pounding at the human’s head and chest with his hooves to little actual effect. The human punched Blueblood, but the helmet took the brunt of the blow. Blueblood didn’t seem to notice, so the human swung his shield around, knocking the sense out of the pony. Handy kicked the pony off of him as he rolled over and hurried back to his feet. To say that Handy was surprised would be a bit of an understatement.
He stooped over, picking up his glaive again before turning just in time to brace his shield as the unicorn bucked him. He was knocked back a few steps but thrust out his glaive, clashing against the swords still clasped to the pony’s right flank. Blueblood snorted as he hurriedly put distance between them. “Brute!” He drew the remainder of his swords, and Handy soon found himself facing a unicorn with six disembodied blades. This meant several things; for one, despite being a unicorn, the pony was not using any offensive spells. Perhaps he couldn’t? Not that it’d do him any good. Perhaps he could use that… “I-I’ll show you what it means to insult Equestria!” the prince cried.
“Insult?” Handy asked, his voice deadly calm, his resounding headache forgotten. “Insults are what got you here, boy.” He gripped his shield and readied his glaive. The six blades hovered on either side of Blueblood, splayed out in mock imitation of flared wings.
“Y-You strike at a prince of Equestria…”
“I strike at a mere pony unworthy of his airs.”
“You assume familiarity with Auntie…” Blueblood continued, not paying attention to the human’s words. “C-Calling her by that foul name.” It was at that point that Handy noticed something off about the prince’s demeanour. There was a… wildness there. He saw the fear and the anxiety from before, true, but the look he was getting from the stallion now…
“Struck a nerve, have I?” Handy continued, taking a few steps forward. Another blade shot out, this time clashing heavily against his shield in a short, quick arc before retreating to the prince’s side once more. “And I believe I shall call the princess whatever I damn well please.”
“You-!” he began before taking a few steps forward and lashing out at Handy with two blades repeatedly.
’That’s it,’ Handy thought. ‘Keep at it.’
“You will show Princess Celestia respect!” Blueblood nearly shouted, taking a few tentative steps forward. The human backed off slowly, the sound of metal resounding as the swords continued clashing against his shield. They were coming quicker and harder now.
”Why should I?” Handy replied. ”Your princess effectively ruined my life, or perhaps thou hast not quite heard about that, didst thee?”
“Celestia would never ruin anypony’s life!”
“Oh? Did I not hearest thee complain about how she kicked thee out of the palace?” he probed. There was a brief lull in the assault on his shield. He didn't get to see the expression that question left on Blue's face before he lunged forward, thrusting his glaive. Blueblood yelped in surprise and jumped to the side, the blade of the glaive grazing the side of his armour. He recovered quickly enough and lashed out with one of his blades, managing to catch Handy in his exposed right side. The armour took most of the blow, but it set the human off-balance as he struggled to regain his footing. He turned to face Blueblood and, more importantly, the remaining hovering blades.
"She..." Blueblood seemed uncertain for a moment before huffing, eyes closed momentarily, as if remembering something painful. "She had her reasons! Auntie Celestia and Luna..."
"Are embarrassed of you..." Handy completed. Blueblood's eyes opened up in shock. 'Come on, get mad.' "Or did I assume incorrectly when dearest Ciara had to actually stop and consider whether or not to save thy life back there on the streets?"
"She just— You be quiet!"
"I am right, aren't I?"
"No!" The shout was accompanied by a furious wave of attacks from the six blades. Handy actually felt his shield arm go slightly numb as he was forced back step by step under the assault of the six swords. "Stop talking about them like that!" Handy didn't respond, for the blows were coming faster and faster now. Briefly, he wondered if his little plan might just backfire on him. He got his answer when Blueblood finally realised the advantage he had. The six blades retreated from the human, and he looked over his shield.
And found the six blades now surrounded him. 'Shit.' Now, it was a rookie mistake that, when surrounded, you sat still and waited for some idiot to make the first move. It was what they did in the movies right? For one thing, such action assumed you were surrounded by assholes who would attack you one at a time, and who you can strike down, not disembodied swords. Secondly, it was fucking stupid. What you really do when you are surrounded is get un-surrounded as quickly as bloody possible before you got cut to ribbons. Handy ran forward, shield first. Two of the blades closed ranks and dived at Handy. He bashed them away with his shield before immediately turning and swinging his glaive in a wide arc. He caught one sword that was slashing down and deflected it. However, another sword came at him horizontally, and he got struck across his midsection for his troubles.
He grunted but held his ground, now facing the six blades. However, he did not do the same for the pony, who let out a strangled yell and ran to the human, turning on the spot and bucking him in the back. Handy stumbled forward, his defence lost as three of the blades rushed forward and bore down on him. He held up his glaive awkwardly to try to ward them off. The swords crashed against the haft, causing it to splinter and break, but halted their assault. Handy reversed his grip on his now broken polearm, whirled around, and swung. Blueblood had remained where he was, hoping to capitalize further on the human's bad footing and had had several feet of wood broken across the side of his head for his trouble. The horn flickered and died, and the prince hit the ground hard, his vision spinning. The swords dropped to the ground with a clatter that was barely audible over the crowd.
Handy took a breath as he looked around, spotting the foot of metal that used to be the blade of his glaive. He picked it up by the small length of wood still attached to it, holding it like a makeshift sword he strolled back over to the dazed pony and rested its point at the tip of his muzzle. The crowd roared, the umpire called out another victory, and another green flag fell neatly into its slot. Handy had been expecting the prince to use his advantage to attack Handy from multiple directions from the start. When he didn't, Handy had figured it best to egg the prince on to continue attacking him directly where he could control the fight, a plan which had been working well towards the end Handy wanted. If he could not kill the prince, then public humiliation would have to do. He placed the glaive blade on his belt and stooped up to pick up a weapon whose weight was a little more familiar to him. One more victory should do it. Now the question was: should he break legs or ribs?
He stopped and wobbled. His head spun, and he felt a sudden weakness in his knees. The aftereffects of the firebrand were still affecting him, in waves no less. He gritted his teeth and pushed through it, getting into a good position while waiting for the pony to come to his senses.
Blueblood's eyes rolled, and he felt something build up in his throat. He hacked and coughed, spitting up a mixture of phlegm and blood. The pony lay there for a few seconds, breathing heavily, staring pointedly at the bloody concoction he had spewed forth.
"How dare you."
Handy looked at the pony who struggled to get back to his hooves. "How dare you treat the princesses with such disrespect?"
"What do you care? They threw you out."
"Because of you!"
"Because of you. I imagine they weren't all too pleased at having to pay compensation for your careless words. Normally I'd judge people harshly for throwing their relatives to the lions, but in your case? Yeah, I ca—"
"Stop talking about them as if you know them, you bucking barbarian!" Blueblood stamped his hoof. "Auntie Celestia is just kind a-and patient! Noble and wise!" Blueblood's eyes seemed to dart around, looking at the ground. "A-And Luna, she... she's brave! And honest and selfless and..." There was a conflicted look on the prince's face as he mumbled something to himself that the human couldn't quite hear. Thoughts of their rebukes of his character filled his mind, conflicting with how he used to think of them… how he thought they thought of him, all of it shattered by the reality of being thrown into a nightmarish training regimen.
There had been times when he had alternated between silently cursing them and trying not to call out to them for mercy, as if they could have heard him. He took what little pride he could in his new circumstances, trying to salvage his dignity by performing well in this tournament for Equestria's sake and, well, for his own, to be honest. His head had swum with thoughts about what he'd do once he came back to court, victorious. How he'd ingratiate himself back into high society after his less than dignified ejection from the court. How he'd relate to the princesses after what they did to him, unsure whether he wanted to distance himself from them or just hug Celestia like they used to when he was but a small colt.
Hearing this human talk about them with such... contempt in his voice sent him over the edge. Something inside of him stung, because despite his anger at the human’s words, he could not refute them. At least, he could not when they were talking about him. When he had looked into those pitiless, piercing eyes months ago, he feared they had looked right through him and into his soul. Perhaps they did; perhaps the human was right. "They're everything I'm not..." he whispered to himself in sudden realization. A realization that almost cost him his head again as he suddenly noticed the human was now less than a foot away from him. He screamed and ducked, the silvered warhammer swinging over his head. He saw the human's armoured boot rush forward, aiming to kick him in the face, and he rolled instinctively, avoiding the blow.
A desperate primal instinct welled up within him, and he threw all of his strength into summoning up magical energy. His horn shone with light as he strained himself, reaching out, grabbing the hilts of his swords with tendrils of aetheric energy. The human had righted his footing and turned around, shield held before him and hammer swung upwards, preparing to bring it down on the prone pony.
Silver blur met silver blur as a sword hurriedly intercepted the falling hammer, knocking the human's arm aside and the sword out of Blueblood's grasp from the impact. Another hit his shield, and another became lodged in the flare of his left shoulder guard, piercing the metal, leaving the human with a blade that was an inch from the back of his neck. The startled human reeled backwards. Putting his hammer into his shield hand, the human reached up in order to pull the thin blade away before the pony thought to use it against him. As he was not on the ground, the presence of a 'killing blow' did not count as a defeat, and Handy desired very much to keep it that way.
Blueblood, incensed and wide-eyed, tried to grab the blade, but the human's gauntlet shone brilliantly when his magic tried to grasp the hilt. The human successfully pulled away the blade, and Blueblood nickered. His horn flared with power once again, and the remaining three blades sped towards the human. Handy turned in time to see it and swung his shield around, knocking two from the air but catching the third full in the chest. There was a horrifying second where the human didn't move and Blueblood wondered, seeing only the human's back, if he had managed to pierce his armour. He was disappointed when the sound of a blade hitting the ground met his ears. The human snarled in anger and whirled around. The captured blade still in his right-handed grip, he flung the sword at the prince with all of his might.
Blueblood blinked, finding himself shaking but not knowing why. The human just stood there, passing his hammer to his right hand. Where had the sword gone? He felt something wet and warm run down his right fetlock and looked down. There was his blade piercing his own leg. The sword cracked the mother of pearl overlay and pierced the steel plate and chain beneath. Slowly, his brain caught up with the pain he was feeling, and he screamed, collapsing to his left knee. The wound was deep.
A shocked hush came over the crowd as the prince lay there, screaming in agony. The human paid no heed and walked over to the prince. Blueblood’s eyes widened in fear and panic, his horn flickering with power as he held his swords aloft once more. The human stopped as the swords drew away from him, but remained aimed in his direction. With a yell and a surge of power, the swords flew forward. Handy was forced to drop to the ground as the blades clashed in the air above him. Blueblood snorted and held the blades above Handy, refusing to loosen his grip as he flung the blades downwards. Handy rolled but his left arm got caught. A blade cut through his vambrace, piercing the metal and pinning it to the ground. Handy yelled as he felt the blade cut his flesh and struggled to pull his arm from the ground.
Then he noticed the blade hovering several inches from his noseguard, and he froze.
“Round to Prince Blueblood of Equestria!”
“What!?” Handy snarled.
“Wh… What?” Blueblood asked, his breathing ragged. The pain in his leg was terrible. An orange flag was placed in the slot next to two green ones, and the crowd erupted in cheer at the unexpected turn about. Handy struggled to remove the blade from his vambrace but found he could not. The leather straps of his shield were twisted about it awkwardly from where it had pierced them. He unbuckled it and left it and his gauntlet on the ground. As he got back to his feet, the stunned, wounded prince was still on his knees. The cheering only increased in volume and enthusiasm as the human hefted his warhammer in both hands.
The announcer griffon gave another call to signal the next round, and the human immediately went into action, forgetting his shield for the time being. Blueblood struggled to get back to his feet. “I-I won! I can beat you!”
“No,” the human responded, his voice like ice. The blood from a rather nasty gash on his left forearm seemed to pour out. Blueblood’s horn lit up once more to grab his swords before it flickered and died at long last. His pupils shrunk to pinpricks in disbelief. “Way I figure it,” the human said as he closed the distance and swung up with his hammer. Blueblood tried to dodge, but with his bad leg, he stumbled and got struck full on the barrel. His armour dented but held. “Despite being a unicorn, your magic isn’t all that strong.” Another swing, this time to the side. Blueblood took it on the withers and fell to the ground. He clenched his left hoof, and the hoofblades swung down. He swiped at the human’s feet, forcing him back. “Otherwise you would have been casting spells from the start, for all the good it’d do you. It was only a matter of pushing you far enough until you ran out of power and your swords became useless.” Handy waited for the prince to shuffle far enough away from him to be safe from the hoofblades. “Or I got an opening. Whichever came first.”
Blueblood was pressed against the sides of the arena as the human bore down on him. He held up his good hoof, trying to ward him off. “Please…” he pleaded. “I… I’m sorry.”
“I’ll bet you are.” The human’s pitiless voice chilled the pony to his core. “Good night, sweet prince,” the human said as he swung again, hitting Blueblood’s helmet, tearing it off and knocking the prince to the ground. The pony was no longer moving, and the crowd’s applause rung out as another green flag joined its cousins on the wooden block.
--=--
"Hey you! Yeah you!"
Handy was assaulted by unremitting jubilance in the form of antlers that nearly reached his face, sharp antlers with metal blades attached along their lengths. He very carefully-minded looked down upon the gleaming smile of the stag before him. The deer was... not what he was expecting of Whirlwind. He was practically hopping in place in excitement, dancing a hoofy dance. He seemed young, quite young. In fact, had it not been for his rather impressive set of antlers and body size, Handy would have assumed he was barely older than a fawn based on how he sounded and acted.
The stag was chestnut brown with a lighter shade of fur running down the front of its neck and barrel and to his short tail. His face, like ponies, had a short muzzle and possessed large, pinkish eyes. Discounting the antlers, the deer averaged off at four and a half feet, perhaps a shade higher, for he seemed taller than most pony stallions, though lithe and lighter in build with thin legs. A well-worn, short, green cloak with ragged hood graced his neck and covered the thoroughly damaged chainmail coif he wore over his withers. His antlers, ten points per horn, seemed to be a dark yellowish colour and possessed groves that curled up and back on themselves. No two grooves seemed to connect at any point. 'Decorative, perhaps?'
"Yes?" Handy asked.
"Oh, I've been hoping to bump into you! Yes, when I heard you wanted to talk to me, I was so excited. Pleasure to meet ya! I'm Whirlwind as you know. Can you stay for a chat? I bet you have a lot of stories you could tell! I do so love a good adventure. I go on lots myself. Oh right! Can you tell me about that time you rescued the changeling princess from the roving band of pirates!?"
"Wh—"
"I've heard three different versions of that story myself, but now I can get it straight from the horses' mouth, hehe, so to speak!"
"I di—"
"Or the tale about the troll bridge! Oh! Wait! I got it! We'll trade! You tell me one, I'll tell you one! No wait! You won your duels, didn't you!? Oh, we could fight with each other in the melee now! Or against each other! Oh what fun!"
"He is excitable, non?" a familiar voice piped up as the deer kept talking excitedly. Jacques was leaning against a nearby iron pole in the underside of the stands. The three of them were off to the side, away from the other competitors, so they could talk in private. Tipping his slightly burnt hat, revealing... His beard was now green, and he was sporting two black eyes. What the hell had happened to him?
"Quite, er, sir Whirlwind?"
"—and don't get me started on his daughter! That was a fiasco, how— Eh? Oh, right, sorry. I get carried away sometimes."
"That’s quite alright. Thou hast heard correctly I wished to speak with thee about..." the human turned to look pointedly at Jacques "... a somewhat private matter."
"What about?" Whirlwind asked happily. Jacques had a lazy smile on his face and had turned to regard the other competitors over his shoulder. Ears pricked up, he could easily overhear them.
"Perhaps we could discuss it in private?" Handy suggested. Whirlwind chuckled.
"Silly, we are in private here!" he replied. Handy didn't exactly trust the pony in their midst, and the topic at hand was... suspect. It paid to be cautious.
"...If thou art sure about the company thou keepst." He turned back to face the stag. "I have something for thee, from a... mutual friend in Canterlot."
"We share a friend!? Oh boy! Who!? I know lots of ponies from Canterlot!"
"A rather fine fellow by the name of Fancypants," Handy said simply.
"Wooooww!" Whirlwind replied, a happy smile on his face. There was a second of silence. "Who?" he asked, the same expression on his face. There was another few seconds as Handy recalled that Fancypants was actually a friend of Whirlwind's uncle, not the quadruped himself. He withheld a sigh.
"... Ask thine uncle when thou seest him."
"Which one?"
"All of them," Handy decided to say. This was falling apart fast. "Anyway, I have a package. I was asked to give it to you specifically."
"A package? What is it?" Whirlwind asked excitedly. Handy described the silver jewellery and the box it came in to the deer. The deer took a moment to respond, raising a hoof to his muzzle. "Huh, sounds pretty nifty. Wonder why this Fancyprance guy wanted me to have it?" Handy let out a small sigh. You know what? Fuck it. It didn't matter if the deer didn't know who Fancypants was, nor knew what in the hell Handy was carrying. At the end of the day, this was the Fall Festival in Firthengart, this was a deer named Whirlwind, and Handy got paid in advance. Time to dump this thing and make it someone else's problem.
"I knoweth not. But if thou wishes, I can give it to thee after the melee. I have to fetch it."
"Oh! Of course, I do so ever love gifts."
"Whirl," Jacques interrupted. "Your name is up, time for you to go out."
"Magnificent! Haha! I hear I am up against a rather fierce fellow. This should be great fun!" The deer had the biggest smile, as if news of fighting someone known to be skilled and take pleasure in breaking legs were akin to receiving birthday cake. "I shall speak to you again, Handy the human. Perhaps even in the arena! See you then!" Whirlwind said before prancing off, leaving the human with Jacques, who looked quite pleased with himself. Handy coughed.
"Well?" he asked. Jacques looked up.
"It wasn't easy, but you got what you wanted, qui? I kept my promise, non?"
"Blueblood certainly seemed to have been surprised. Is that the reason why thou sports such wounds?"
"Que? These little gifts, ah, affections of a mare who spurned my admirations, I'm afraid."
"And the beard? The hat?"
"Really spurned. Let’s just say some mares take compliments about their flanks better than others," Jacques said. He still had that cocky smile on his face. Handy couldn't help but feel a small tug of satisfaction that the smug bastard got a walloping. He took it with grace at least.
"I suppose now thee wilt be wanting thine pay."
"Suppose that I might."
"Very well."
The pair of them exited the arena. Handy winced as the sun hit his eyes, and he angled his helmet. Everyone else winced as the glare of the sunlight hitting his armour burned their eyes in turn. It wouldn’t last, for there was to be a short shower of rain scheduled for the afternoon, and clouds were already being rolled in. The pair made their way back to Handy's tent, and as the human approached the tent flap, holding his head as the last remnants of the hangover made their final, desperate bid to prolong his misery, he heard whispering coming from within. "Crimson?" he asked as he entered the dark tent.
"Oh, sir!" the red pony turned quickly and put something on the ground. He spotted her in the corner on her haunches, shuffling her hooves nervously, her tail swishing. The griffons had already left evidently.
"Were you talking to someone?"
"Myself sir; just thinking about magical theory and some things I learned in the alchemist's guild. I was not expecting you back so soon."
"I had to get something." Handy noticed her looking out the tent flap. "It’s alright, he's a... an acquaintance." Jacques had remained outside. Crimson did not let up her stern gaze at the pony who was busy humming to himself. Handy got a small bag and began counting out the agreed sum from his bags. One bag of changeling coinage and gems emptied, and the other one was significantly lightened by now as he withdrew the cash from the traveling bank of Handy. Crimson eyed his actions curiously as he returned outside. "Here," he said, holding the bag. The unicorn's horn lit up a purple hue as he lifted the bag of gold from the human.
"A pleasure, monsieur, perhaps we could do business again?"
"I am sure that thou would love to," Handy said cynically.
"And who possesses such a lovely voice?" Jacques said, turning his head to the tent. The flap was closed now, hiding Crimson.
"That would be none of thy business," Handy said pointedly. Jacques held up a hoof.
"Oh say no more, mon frere, say no more. I was merely curious. All the same, I wish you luck, mon ami. You'll certainly need it."
"What makes you say that?"
"Besides the drake?" Jacques chuckled. "I suspect you will have your hands full at the melee. Put on a good show, eh?" Jacques said as he trotted away. Handy watched him leave before returning to the tent.
"Crimson."
"Yes?"
"I need you to do something," he said as he took off his helmet and loosened the straps on his shoulder armour. "Do you know where Silvertalon is?"
"I... He should be near the ship still."
"Good, get him to go to my quarters. There's a loose floorboard in the portside corner. Underneath it is the piece of silver I got from Canterlot. The magical jewelry, remember it?"
"...Yes."
"Get him to take it down to you and bring it to me." She looked at him questioningly. "Just do it," he said with a bit of irritation in his voice. "And wake me once you get back."
"Of course... sir," she said before exiting the tent. Handy waited till he could no longer hear her hoofsteps and turned to look at where she had been sitting. She seemed nervous when he came in, but a quick search about the tent revealed nothing out of the ordinary apart from the blackened patch of grass where the firepit was. Crimson had been acting strange ever since she asked to come with him. He was going to have to sit her down and investigate it, but right now, what he really needed was a quick nap before the melee that evening.
After pretty much downing an entire water skin to stave off the dehydration that had nearly knocked him out on the arena floor and taking off the majority of his heavy armour bar his chain, that was exactly what he set about doing. Idly, he inspected the remainder of his glaive, now little more than a foot of viciously sharp metal with a wooden handle. He smiled. The thought to use it as a sword came to mind, but the balance was off, and it was far too light for his liking. Perhaps he could use it as a tool. There was after all, no end to the uses of having a large, sharp piece of metal. He placed it beside his makeshift bed before lying down, draping one of the covers over it. It simply would not do to cut himself on it after all, but he still wanted it nearby. Just in case.
A familiar itch drew his attention to his right wrist. He had meant to put some salve on it the other day but had gotten distracted. Now that he thought about it, he had several aches and pains he could do without before the next fight. He rolled up his chainmail and looked down at his wrist as he reached for another bottle of the salve. Odd, when did he get a rash? Briefly, a thought occurred to him that the rash did not appear by ordinary means, and he wondered if it was entirely wise to indulge in this particular vice any further. He quashed the idea as nonsense. The urge to feel the soothing substance on his flesh compelled him to ignore it. Hell, if anything it should be able to get rid of the rash for him. After all, healing was what it did, wasn’t it?
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Great chapter.
Dare I ask what happened with the month gap between chapters?
4427034 In real life? Writer's block coupled with soul destroying job coupled with a rather depressing search for a master (becoming a lawyer in Ireland is basically a master-apprentice thing, we're like wizards that way I guess) equals a Handyman who is not very good at updating.
Lets leave it at that. Hopefully I'll get on top of things soon.
4427034 *Snerk* Are you sure you want to know?
4427066 Fair enough, and best of luck.
I admit it. I cannot help but feel some sympathy for Blueblood. He is at least trying to grow up.
4427101 Just wait till you see what's next for old Bluey.
YAY it updated, and got ALOT more interesting
Gosh darn, no romance. I always found that appealing, that no matter the world (Or universe for that matter.) you would always manage to find it. Wheather it be a person, pony, changeling, a bond could possibly be formed. However, I must retract my previous statement. A bond is all I care for, really. A friendship, rivalry, even hatred! If a bond is presented to the best of it's description, it will always grasp me within it's interest. And that's exactly what this fiction managed to do actually. I feel somewhat enraptured when I read the words upon this webpage, that someone is actually capable of writing such a myriad of genres into one very unique stories. And I'm also happy that this character [handy] does not fall into the character of emotionless pessimistic Gary Stu that many fictions of this genre (Human.) seen to place upon their characters, as if a human is a combination of Goku, Superman, Batman and Lelouch Britannia, as if every human outside their own universe is a brilliant tactician and fighter as well as immortal and did I mention God? So it is indeed very nice to come across such a fiction as this. I congratulate you sir on your writing of fiction and I eagerly await the next chapter of such a great fiction.
Good Evening.
4427224 This has got to be one of the better comments I've ever gotten, I thank you for taking the time to type it out and I am glad you've been enjoying this story. I apologize for the lack of romance, like I said before romance and most other things take a back seat to the overarching purpose of adventure and if its one thing I have always loathed about most romance fictions its how fast the relationships develop, and if I ever take a turn and decide to add a romantic interest for Handy, it will not be a quick one. I do appreciate your approval of how I've been handling Handy as a character, I try to emphasis just how mortal and ordinary he is (vampirism not withstanding) and overall how 'human' and flawed he is as a person, because I do not see enough of that anywhere.
I was just finishing reading another, somewhat similar HiE fic when I wondered "Bad Mondays hasn't updated in a while."
Speak of a motherfucker, and they'll turn up.
Another good chapter as always.
I really liked the emotions in this chapter, they were very well written.
4427374 *Those flexing manly muscular minotaurs*
4427494 Don't you start.
4427503 The people want romance. We shall give them romance. In the Worst. Possible. Way!!!
4427101 So much growing to do, so little time.
4427193 I'm certainly glad you think so!
4427377 I admit it has been a bit of a while since it last updated, I'm glad you enjoyed it all the same.
4427405 Thanks, I was worried how I was going to convey the internal conflict.
4428914 ...I'm not apologizing.
Good stuff, though he seems to become a worse and worse person as time goes on, haven't seen many of those redeeming qualities lately. It's sometimes hard to enjoy the adventure when the main character doesn't.
4436056 Glad you caught that. Its something Handy himself noticed a while ago and yes, it does go somewhere later on in the story.
Ever since I entertained the thought of Handy and Shortbeak dueting Opposites Attract the song can't be seen any other way
4465796 Ireland. He was referencing a cultural hesitance there regarding eating horsemeat. There's nothing wrong with it practically or morally, its just culturally taboo. Like eating dog, really. Its a hangover from our long history as agrarial peasantry where a horse was practically worth their weight in gold. It was also topical at the time given the horsemeat scandal here in europe recently, led to a diverse reaction from country to country, some people shrugged, others, such as the French, were delighted whereas the Irish were less then pleased to learn the meat they bought at supermarkets had horse in them
4466901 IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!
4468298 Wait my fault?... (crap not again
)
4509233 Handy is, somewhat, of a stubborn fool: "By God I earned this gold and I am not dropping it now!" He almost got himself killed for that, but hey, it'd be boring otherwise.
4515372 Let's not forget the Jarhead shenanigans in a world full of tiny, intellectually stunted, technicolor horses! I can see it now, a Staff challenging Celestia to a drinking contest, only to find out that alcohol had been banned two years after Luna's banishment. Turns out, Luna is also appalled by this revelation, and teams up with the marines to create the biggest payback ever. In the history of ponykind, that is. Not much can really top something that everyone should (hopefully) know about on this site. Remember kids, my Karma ran over your Dogma.
Also, this is now a story idea, and is hereby owned by ME!!!! No touchies!!
This is a incredibly good story, better than some of the more recent novels I've picked up off of the shelves at my local Barnes and Noble.
Also, absolutely hilarious. I was laughing so hard at some points I couldn't make any sound, just rocking back and forth soundlessly as I tried to breathe through the laughter! Can't wait for more!
4554474 Effectively, yes.
4554563 Handyman also likes to munch on musky minotaur meat.
4555441 Both. Definitely both.
4556817 I will fucking eviscerate you.
4556837 Sounds kinky.
I was going to leave well alone, but then Everfree Sparkle said the M word.
Perhaps he got the wrong Whirlwind?
Alright, I'll admit, I was just a tad disappointed when Blueblood didn't learn anything from those months training.
But this epiphany he had mid battle did away with that disappointment, and I'm very interested in seeing where this goes.
Blueblood's still alive? Disappoint.
He hasn't mentioned his blood thirst in a while, figured something would have stirred when he drew blood from Blueblood.
Shit like this frustrates me! I know that he doesn't know what we know, and he's acting totally in character for not giving a shit, but still! So frustrating!
So, not quite caught up, but I'm working on it. Loving the story so far. I just had to comment after reading this line:
I could hardly breathe. The expensive brick is now my favorite character.
Period between 'perspective' and 'He'
Space between second 'How' and 'dare' in 'Howdare'
I have a niggling feeling that that was the wrong whirlwind.
Also, magic brick strikes again.
5808470
XD its one of my favorites as well.
Is it really normal that he is using 'qui' that much? The French stallion I mean. As much as I understand the translation it doesn't even mean 'what', rather than 'who' or 'whom', in most instances. I'd believe ending his sentences in question for 'mutual understanding', words like "[...], non?" or "[...], oui?" should be more fitting.
'Pepe Le Pew' does that a lot, as well as some other french characters I know of.
Alternatively he could say "[...], bon?", which means right, as in way of requesting to be asured "that he is right."
Examples:
"It is unfortunate, non?"
"We seem to be in the same *situation*, oui?" *french accent
"I believe we both are satisfied, bon?"
I'm enjoying the story so far, but i'm having a hard time relating to Handy simply because I can't work out his motivations. I find it easier to get into a story when I know how the protagonist ticks, and if anyone could help it would be much appreciated.
Croquet
Looked
The " has been doubled!
Missing space
What is the point of using a warhammer? its worse than a sword in almost all ways.
11281272
For someone like Handy who is always fighting in armor and regularly faces armored opponents, a blunt weapon like a hammer is a vastly superior weapon to a sword. I would write up a long explanation, but coincidentally Matt Easton of scholagladiatoria just put out a video discussing exactly this topic, so I'll just drop that here instead. I strongly recommend watching the entire thing because it's full of great information (as are all his videos), but if you want to jump straight to the discussion of military applications that starts at 14:22.