Chapter 40 - Odds, Ends and Errands
Somewhere, a rooster crowed.
In the middle of a God damn port city.
It was immediately followed by approximately all of the gulls, who either began cawing and calling en masse in his wake, or it was just Handy's imagination as he groggily drew himself from the murky depths of oblivion. His head pounded for a reason he could not quite understand, for he had made damn sure to remain rigorously sober for the past few weeks since the incident with the changelings. And so it was that he greeted the morning daylight with the disdain ordinarily reserved for sneering receptionists and telemarketers.
But oh no, dear reader. That was far from the worst thing to befall him that morning.
You see, somewhere out there, someone was singing.
He knew this because he was getting that odd tugging sensation. He did not know whether it was from being in this world for as long as he had been or something else entirely, but whenever he had encountered or been close to an instance of the spontaneous singing phenomena people of this world sometimes fell victim to, he increasingly felt compelled to… to join in. It was the damnedest thing, really. He had first noticed it in Skymount, when he had been walking down a particularly sunlit street one day. Some down-on-his-luck Joe Bloggs had been celebrating a major achievement of some life goal or another – Handy hadn’t been paying attention – and an entire quarter of the city had erupted into life in one of the grander and more alarming instances of the phenomenon Handy had ever witnessed. He passed no remarks, thinking nothing more of it until he noticed he had been humming along to the tune, keeping rhythm and pace with those other bystanders on the radius of the song's field of effect.
As you could imagine, Handy had not taken the moment with any degree of good grace.
Ever since then, he had been trying his hardest to avoid any potential spontaneous songs, both for the sensible reason that any sane man would find such things incredibly unnerving and creepy, and also because the idea of one such moment sweeping him along against his will was nothing short of mortifying. Besides, if he wanted a wildly inappropriate and random song to play at the drop of a hat at the most wildly inconvenient moments, he had an app for that… that he could not shut off no matter how hard he beat his phone. Stupid brick.
He had been hoping a town like Blackport would be exempt from such things based on his own observances. It was a hard-bitten town, shady bastards left and right, greedy merchants, dour architecture, the national colour appeared to be black – all that good stuff. Hahaha, nope. Motherfucker, you were surrounded by fucking ponies. You were going to get your songs and you were going to like them.
It had been pulling stronger lately. One night he had been lying awake and heard some lonesome bastard outside singing some song of self-pity. At first he thought it was an ordinary drunkard singing some tune he heard on his way home. To be fair, the pony both looked and sounded black-out drunk. At first. Then he felt an odd creeping tingle along his shoulders and down his back, then there was an accompaniment chorus of low, deep humming that seemed to echo through the street as other unfortunate, sleepless bastards got pulled in and… some low bass instruments sounded from nowhere. Then the drunkard started singing louder, clearer, and all round better than before. The magic, or whatever it was, seemed to be selective at that point. Handy felt compelled to not join in on this solo song, and it ticked him off to no end to not understand how and why it made him feel that way.
This morning, however, the song of the day was loud and bombastic. It had a full brass band accompaniment, with drums and marchers and more and more people joining it. Popping out of their windows and doors to add their voices to the musical cacophony, either to add their own non sequitur or to join the chorus. What was worse, the fuckers were coming down his street.
He tossed about in his too-small bed. The thin wooden frame creaked noisily but not noisily enough to drown out the noise. The compulsion was growing stronger and more obnoxious. Apparently the song really wanted him in it for some God-forsaken reason. He stuffed one pillow over his head. These were the worst, the absolute worst kind of songs. But why was that, one may ask?
Because they were the ones that involved the entire community. Absolutely everyone remotely involved in the main singer's circle, even tangentially, got sucked in. Be they lifelong friends, the local tailor or baker or even a passing stranger minding their own business. All hands on deck, fuckers, it’s show time!
And all for what? For the celebration of and glorification of a single, lousy, entirely selfish occasion that was of no relevance or concern to anyone else, but everyone was forced by the will of some invisible force to join in no matter what they were doing.
All because some bastard went and fell in fucking love.
Honestly, some people have no consideration for others whatsoever. The nerve.
'I swear to God,' Handy fumed, chewing on his pillow to prevent himself from inadvertently singing or humming or otherwise contributing to this… this affront to sanity! 'If this keeps up for much longer, I am going to kick a puppy. And if this city doesn't have any puppies, then one day I shall buy a puppy, come back here, and kick it for the sake of making good on my promise!'
Eventually the music stopped, although it seemed to continue on for a minute or so longer than appropriate. Correspondingly, that was when the compulsion felt the strongest. Handy sat up when it had passed and everything quietened down, shouting triumphantly. He had defied the music! Take that, world! Now…
If only he could stop feeling everyone around him.
Perhaps that needed a little elucidation. He had… subdued the changelings Thorax had sent his way back then, much to her alarm, mind you. Apparently she hadn’t thought he would use a tried and true method of making people unconscious without giving them grievous brain trauma. Given recent experiences, more fool her. If he only harmed and traumatised people when he bit them while starving, he seemed to put them into a kind of restful state or sleep when he wasn’t starving. Very useful. Or so he told himself at least, he really didn’t want to enquire any further into the matter.
Afterwards however, he had discovered a few things. Of primary importance was the useful ability to feel someone that he had first discovered in the forest. By that, he literally felt them, through the unique pinching sensation he felt in his mind which had become, shall we say, something of a headache.
That was a charitable way of saying Handy had been left writhing on the ground, cradling his head as the searing intensity of thousands of lives in his vicinity threatened to pull his own mind apart. Each and every single one had been a unique pull and pain, every single one informing them of their individual state of being and relative location to him in perfect clarity, overloading his mind with information and sensation. His only comparison had been when he had partaken of unicorn blood and had his audio-visual senses cranked up to eleven and had to concentrate to control and focus so as to not be constantly deafened by a million whispers half a mile off.
He had barely contained it down to a dull roar and gotten back to his feet by the time Thorax had finally bothered to show up. The entire world surrounding him had been a wall of pain that only broke off when he had faced the general direction of the ocean, where the least amount of lives were. That had meant the least amount of pinches and tugs on his mind, allowing him some degree of reference and respite from the sensory overload while he had gotten his shit together. Funny, he had never thought there were so many people all along the harbour when he had been out there. It was still raining pretty heavily at the time too. Where had they all come from?
That wasn't too alarming in itself. Once he had… well, not controlled, but at least found a way to ignore the general white noise in his mind's eye, he went about on the fullest tank of blood he ever had. Sure, there had been that one time he had drained Geoffrey fully and could go his longest period without worrying about anything, namely two full weeks before he was reminded of his hunger.
It had since been three and the hunger had returned. However, the power he had gained from the changelings wasn't going away. It was still there, muted perhaps, tolerable but definitely there. He couldn’t sense people up to nearly the same distance as he would have been able to on a blood high, or in perfect clarity, but he could still feel them. Somehow, after taking enough changeling blood, the abilities he gained had become more permanent. Intellectually, he wasn't sure how he should feel about that, but it was just one more positive aspect of taking from living people in preference over animals and frankly he was getting sick of how attractive that was becoming. Pity he didn't have anything more useful than a psychic radar, its not been the easiest month.
Although having said that, people he talked to seemed a lot more amenable to him when he was in the marketplace. No matter their demeanour, he always seemed to be able to argue down prices better without even resorting to intimidation, and apparently a pony mistook him for another pony at one point. Fool must have been blind.
He eventually got up from his bed – no sense lying in. He ignored the constant stream of sensation that helpfully let him know how everyone in his general vicinity was feeling, trying to reduce it to little more than white noise on his periphery. It was the only thing he could do since he couldn't, you know, shut it off, reducing everyone within… what was it, thirty, fifty foot radius? It was probably larger, though not as far as he could sense with fresh blood. It reduced them to little foggy blips on his awareness, not unlike being physically aware of everyone around you in a crowded hall, even if they were entirely silent. Handy very much would have liked to remain in bed, having stayed up until the wee hours of the morning when he was absolutely sure everyone in his city block was more or less asleep, even if he had ended up doing absolutely nothing during that time.
Think about it. He was able to feel everyone's relative locations around him and their relative states of being. He slept in a townhouse that was grafted onto the back of a brothel. Do the math. Handy had enough trouble getting to sleep most nights as it was, thank you very much.
He made his way to the glorified closet that housed the wrought iron toilet that he never had had the courage to use. The last thing he wanted was to contract a new and exciting variation of tetanus. Who even used metal toilets in this world anyway? It was not as though it was made from stainless steel. Wouldn't it be stupidly expensive? Unless iron was dirt cheap and easy to come by here in the Enclave. He ignored it and tried the sink which sometimes worked and sometimes did not. He couldn't complain, having learned the hard way to be grateful should a settlement have any facsimile of a working plumbing system whatsoever a long time ago. Even if it did lack warm water, beggars could not be choosers.
He lifted the small roll of leather from under the sink and unfurled it on the nearby counter. Fun fact: ponies had barbers. Plus, with how fastidious some of those bastards can be, barbers and other cosmetic businesses always seemed to do a good trade. It took some doing, but he managed to buy a barber's work tools for a modest price, even if it did take the last of the silver the deer had given him. Handy just wanted a few working pairs of scissors, which came in several varieties. A lot of ponies who worked with hair were unicorns, though not always, and scissors usually did not have looped handles. Instead, most had two straight grips for magic to grasp and control with fine motions, or they were larger variants with longer handles for use by earth pony hooves and more closely resembled garden shears. Handy had observed one barber at work with something that looked more in place in a Halloween movie, with Jason Voorhees wielding it. Rather than a pony dexterously going about a stallion's head and chopping with artistic precision. Handy wouldn't be caught dead in a similar position. Jesus Christ.
However, one barber he found happened to be a pegasus, and he did in fact have scissors that had looped handles. It had something to do with feathers – he didn't know nor care. So he had purchased a couple, along with a few straight razors, a sharpening belt, a comb, shaving soap, and a brush to mix it into a lather. He had to improvise on the aftershave being slightly more alcoholic than necessary, as pony beards were never shaved lower than the base fur of their face and thus never had much need of it. Beards on top of fur – that was so weird, and it was always their mane colour too, so it meant it was actually hair and not fur. He didn't know how the hell they managed to shave without cutting all the fur off their faces too.
One may wonder why Handy would care about such things. Why not simply let his hair and facial stubble grow wild and free? No one would judge him. And that, dear reader, was because Handy was not a faggot and considered himself civilized. And to that end, he had shaven cleanly and cut his hair properly and not hacked at it with a rusty sliver of metal that he wasn't sure why he still had. Besides, the more he thought about it, the goatee and moustache thing did look stupid. Joachim had been right all along.
Presently though, he considered himself in the broken mirror and then placed his hand under the cold water flowing into the sink basin. Nah, fuck it, he’d let the stubble grow for now. He was not in the mood for a cold shave. Instead, he began cutting his nails with scissors. What? Never had to cut your nails with scissors before? Well, not everyone had access to fancy nail clippers. Some people had to make do with what was available growing up. He took care to wash himself, which largely consisted of stripping, using several cloths, soaking them in soapy water, and getting to work due to a lack of even a wooden tub to fill with water to wash himself. It was cold, miserable work, but at the end of it, he felt clean, which was the important thing.
Nothing like the little things in life to make you feel more human.
He dried up, placed a towel around himself, and walked back into the room to begin the day. The only problem was that he found a very amused-looking Sea Crest standing in the middle of the room waiting for him, sans uniform, her eyes sparkling with mischief and holding a rolled-up scroll in her muzzle. He let out a yelp and fell back into the wash closet, slamming the door shut.
"The hells are you doing in my room!?" he demanded.
"My room. I think you'll find I own this whole block. Your door was also unlocked, so I let myself in," Sea Crest said softly, walking over and placing the little scroll upon the bed. "Letter for you."
"What?" Handy managed, hand firmly on the door handle, holding it shut. "Who sent it?"
"Oh my, I couldn't begin to imagine." She chuckled. There was silence for a time.
"…Yes?" Handy tentatively began.
"Hmm?"
"Was there anything else?"
"Oh no, I just find it adorable that you are hiding from me in there like a shy little foal, and I am making the most of it." There really wasn't any way for Handy to come back from that without somehow making things worse for himself.
"Yes. Well. I thank thee for the… delivery." He cleared his throat.
"Not a problem."
"I appreciate it."
"I am glad to hear it!"
"I'm sure thou art a very busy mare with much to be about doing."
"NNNNope! Day off."
"…Really?"
"Yep."
"Huh," Handy said as he quickly ran out of suitably polite alternatives for 'get the fuck out of my room'. He elected to simply stand there while the friendly Madame waited for him to leave the room. While he waited for her to leave the room. He quickly found himself tapping his foot in agitation. "Is there anything I might be of assistance to thee with?"
"You know, I've never actually seen a human before…"
'Oh God.' "Most people haven't, ma'am."
"And I was wondering if the rumours were true."
"…Rumours."
"Oh my, yes~." Alarm bells went off in Handy's mind.
"…Thou shouldst not believe everything you hear," he said very carefully. 'Any other day of the week, talking to anybody else, I could've had a ball with the rumour mill, but oh God I do not care for the tone of her voice.'
"Awww, that’s a shame…" Handy could practically hear her smiling, her dulcet voice goading in its softness. "And here I was hoping I'd get to know Jacques' mysterious friend a little better."
"I am flattered. Truly. But I must insist I have… business to attend to."
"Right now?"
"Yes. Immediately. If not sooner. Thank you for the letter."
"Oh very well, another time perhaps." He heard her walk to the door and didn't dare move until he heard it close. He slowly peeked through the door, just to make sure she wasn't faking him out.
That... had been rather uncomfortable. He wouldn't normally feel comfortable anyway with someone, whatever their species, walking in on him while just coming out of the bathroom from a wash. Especially not when he made the cardinal sin of leaving what passed for his undergarments on the wrong side of the door. But he was especially self-conscious about it since, you know, he seemed to be the only person in the world with everything on show. Kinda makes a guy self-conscious, ya know?
He got dressed in his ragged clothing and sighed. He missed Skymount. All his stuff was there, including cleaner clothes… or rather clothes that weren't rags. He was just checking the remnant of the money he had left and was about to move on to the mysterious letter Sea Crest had so 'thoughtfully' delivered when a knock came to the door. He opened it up to see a very happy and slightly breathless Jacques. His hat was askew and his cloak slightly damp from the morning drizzle that was falling from the sky.
"Morning!" he greeted with obnoxious cheerfulness.
"Morning," Handy grumbled. "What's got you so happy?"
"What? Oh, uh, nothing, just a good day is all. Really good day." Handy glanced out at the slip of daylight visible from his curtains. It looked like the drizzle was not letting up and was going to be annoyingly present for the rest of the day, neither disappearing nor becoming heavier. At the same time, it promised to neither blot out the sunlight to give people an excuse to stay inside, but at the same time promising to soak you to the bone by the end of the day. He turned to look back at Jacques, an eyebrow raised. He shuffled his left foreleg in discomfort. "…Relatively speaking."
"Hmph," Handy harrumphed, sitting down on his bed and unfurling the letter that was apparently addressed to him. "What is it now?"
"Oh, aheh, what makes you so sure I…" Handy briefly gave him a level look over the top of the letter. "Okay fine, I need a tiny favour. Got some things I need dropped off at the Lord Mayor's office in the Halls."
"Can't you do it yourself?"
"No."
"Nobody else?"
"Nobody I'd… particularly trust." Handy looked up at him. "Okay fine, I want you to do it because I know you can't read what's written in there."
"Your faith in me is touching, truly," Handy commented dryly. "And what makes you so sure I can't read French?" Jacques gave him a confused look, and he waved a hand. "Your language, what do you call it again?"
"Prench."
"…Of course you do. Why is it called that?"
"Because it is the language of Prance." At that moment, Handy wanted to punch everything, he really did. But he made himself ask the inevitable question.
"And where, pray tell, is Prance?"
"Oh, it's right over here!" Jacques said, hopping and landing a foot away. Handy just stared.
"What."
"And all the way over here!" He hopped a foot to the right.
"I don't… What are you getting at? Is this it? Is the Enclave Prance?"
"Oh no no no, mon ami, don't be silly," he said and hopped again. "It’s right over here, see?"
"All I see is you prancing about like a—" Handy caught himself, and Jacques wore the biggest shit-eating grin he had seen in a while. Handy was at a lost, caught somewhere between sighing in resignation or bristling with indignation. "I take it. That you mean. Prance is not a place," he said very slowly, through gritted teeth.
"Correct!" Jacques conceded happily.
"What is it then?"
"It’s a people. Mine, truth be told, hmhm. We move from place to place. Prench is the tongue of those who Prance."
"You know… I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that."
"So, can you do it, oui?" Handy waved him off.
"Yes yes, just leave it by the door. I'll be sure to drop it off. I suppose I can spare the time." He sighed, turning to read his letter. "Not as if I am in any hurry with my search."
"Which reminds me, how is that going? You've become a permanent fixture around the merchant's quarter."
"About as well as you might expect, endless days and nights marching up and down the streets, not a damn hide nor hair of Thunder. And just when I am about to quit, bam, another report of suspicious magic. Another scared merchant family swearing up and down they saw something suspicious in the night."
'Another God damn guard patrol breathing down my neck and watching me like a hawk. You know, if they didn't want me to stalk the streets at night, they could at least help. A few unicorns might come in handy.' Handy had to pause, crumpling the missive in his hands as he rubbed his face in it and cringed at his own thoughts. 'Oh, I can already tell this is going to be a bad day.'
"Problems?" Jacques asked.
"No nothing. Quite the opposite in fact. Your friends have gotten back to me."
"Oh?" he asked. Handy stood up and rolled the scroll up as he stooped to put on his armour.
"Mmm, turns out there are reports of the kind of magic I am looking for in Manehatten." He actually managed to spit out the name without cringing. Seriously, what was it with these ponies and place names? "And a certain white-blue, earth pony stallion using it. Pretty detailed actually. I think we found Thunder."
"Then who is it causing trouble here then?"
"Don't know. I'll give it one more pass today, though, before I make arrangements to move on. No sense chasing what very well may be an appetiser when I can get to the main course. Also, thanks for warning me that Sea Crest can just wander into my room at any time, by the by. Not like that was a nasty surprise or anything."
"Well, she is the landlady. I thought it went without saying. Did she bring you the note?"
"She did, and I'd still have appreciated the forewarning. I don't take kindly to trespass," Handy said, trying not to give any sign of his genuine discomfort and project a façade of grim annoyance. "And do you know what that was earlier?"
"What was what?"
"The singing."
"…Non, I have no idea what you are talking about," Jacques said, leaning against the doorframe. Handy grunted. Typical. Ask anyone what was going on during one of those impromptu song and dance shows, and they all feigned ignorance. It was as if it was some gigantic faux pas Handy was unaware of to even think of questioning the phenomena. That was his going theory, actually. He simply refused to believe they all were unaware of what was happening during one of those things. Jacques had to be out in it when it was going on. He was soaked, clearly dragged into the parade as an impromptu improv singer. He thought he had heard a familiar voice outside towards the end. Yeah he must've gotten dragged in, poor guy.
"I'm sure you don't," Handy said, debating whether or not to put his pauldrons on. The flared sword breakers were great for protection, but he simply would not be able to cover most of his body in his new, shorter cloak. That meant he'd be running around blinding people in the sunlight. Then he decided, what the hell? He'd been having an awkward morning so far, might as well give everyone else a bad start to their Monday as well. He started to affix them. "And why are you not going to the mayor yourself? Got something else planned?"
"You could say that. Quite hush hush. You know me."
"Right. And how did you know I couldn't read your language?"
"Hm?" Jacques slid off a small pack bulging with documents. "Oh, I knew because you didn't break my face in when I showed you that newsletter the other week."
"…Why would I have wanted to?" Handy asked slowly, holding his helmet in both hands.
"Well you know…" Jacques said, lazily leaning against the doorframe, inspecting a hoof. "Considering the entire body of the letter went into rather explicit detail regarding your wonderful personality and many exceptional qualities and… other features." Handy stopped.
"Jacques. What exactly did it say?"
"Oh you know, nothing too personal," he said, shit-eating grin growing wider, faster as he talked. "Just this pretty young thing for the Porter's Digest, its Prench edition at least, stopped me in the streets and begged for anything I could tell her about the human from Griffonia. And, well, how could I not take the opportunity to talk up my good friend in the most wildly extravagant manner possible? I mean, for instance, I did reveal the real reason you always cover your hands was because they were always so fragile, smooth and delicate and were considered immensely intimate and private in your culture. Quite unlike minotaurs. You had a magical soft spot in the small of your back, you smell like lawn clippings and daisies in the rain, and a host of other things I made up as I got progressively more drunk. You know, small things like that."
There was a pause in the air as Handy digested all of this.
"So when Sea Crest came in here, wondering if the rumours were true…" Jacques eyes lit up in amusement.
"Ohhhhh, well, yes I supposed she would be interested in finding out if those particular things I told the reporter were true. I mean, you are, after all, a perfectly healthy, red blooded m—" Jacques didn't finish, too busy ducking under the thrown metal helmet that sped towards him and lodged itself in the far wall, the bladed wing tips digging into the wood, much to the alarm of a passing patron of the townhouse. Jacques rubbernecked his head through the doorway once more. "You'll still be a good sport about the delivery, right?"
"I WILL BURN YOUR SHIT!" Handy roared, flinging a boot at his head. Jacques ducked, but the boot managed to collide with his stupid hat, knocking it from his head. He hurriedly yanked it with his magic, much to the bemusement of the very confused-looking pegasi bystander in the hallway.
"Payment is in the third front pocket! Thanks for doing me this favour!"
"Jacques, you poncy French fuck, get back in here!" Handy shouted as he reached the door. Jacques was already thundering towards the stairs, laughing.
"Be sure to get right on that first thing? Right? Drinks are on me tonight!"
"Yeah," Handy growled. He turned to look at the pegasus standing in the hallway. It smiled nervously. He snorted, picked up his thrown stuff, and went back into the room. He eyed the package Jacques had left by the door evilly, seriously considering destroying its contents out of spite. "I'll get right on that, first thing."
--=--
So of course he put it off.
Frankly, he was far more interested in the news he had received than in doing the paid favour for Jacques.
Thunder. They had actually found the bastard. The sooner he got a hold of him, the sooner he could pay the bastard back for what happened at the tournament. The sooner he beat him silly, the sooner he could put the screws on him to find… whatever it is Chrysalis wanted him to recover for her. The sooner he got that, the sooner he could make his way to the Badlands to give it to her and wipe his hands off the changelings and the geas. And the sooner he was done with all that, he could return to Griffonia and maybe try to stop a potential war or whatever the fuck was going on up there.
All of this because of a bloody promise he made to Fancy Pants in Canterlot, made possible because he got wrapped up in a promised duel with Prince Blueblood that got him involved in the tournament that facilitated everything. And it all could have been avoided that morning after Johan's coronation when he offered him a way out of being dragged to Canterlot in the first place.
Hindsight was a bitch, and she took the kids in the divorce.
Of course, that leant itself to several problems. For one, he would be in Equestria, a major port city if he deduced Manehatten's location correctly. He'd deal with the Equestrians' undoubtedly lovely reception of him in due time. First he needed to figure out a way to get there. He needed money, and he had pitifully few bits, deer silver, and whatever Jacques had given him in payment for playing courier. Then he needed to take that money and pay a ship's captain passage to take him there. Problem: the last merchants had already left two weeks ago. Winter had set in at long last, and there were no ships available that weren't mothballed for Winter. Or so he thought – he had to be sure.
So, first order of business? The Harbour. He was now intimately familiar with every inch of this section of the city, the Merchant Quarter too. After all, he had spent nearly every waking moment investigating the lengths and breadths of it for any signs of old magic, stalking the streets in the dark of night and occasionally breaking into the odd warehouse on behalf of Thorax, who was doing changeling things. He no longer felt he owed her any favours, but while he was at it already, why not? Besides, turned out she much preferred him biting any changelings they ran into rather than, you know, give them extensive brain damage. Made them easier to cart away and store them wherever the hell she was keeping them. Handy didn't care – inter-changeling subterfuge was remarkably low on his list of worries. He pretty much just let her do her thing. Just a pity they never found more than the five ‘lings he had encountered the first night.
That said, he was a common sight here, most people not even deigning to notice the giant figure striding amidst them anymore. Several of the merchant kids playing in the street barely bothered to get out of his way either. Disrespectful fucks. The harbour workers treated him with the practiced apathy of workmen with better things to worry about, a few even giving a nod of acknowledgement, an assumed familiarity given his now common appearance here.
He made his way along to the Harbour Master's hut. Old Foamy didn't seem to be in and Handy grimaced. He needed someone who could point him in the right direction. He wasn't picky, so long as he got something that could take him to Manehatten. Eventually, his trek brought him to one of the city's fisheries, something he had always wondered about. There did not seem to be the raw economic demand for fish as foodstuff. There was, however, a host of tiny economic niches fishing helped fulfil. Of which soap making was a not insignificant part.
He found the door open and entered. The building was a particularly large warehouse, low to the ground at sea level around high tide. The wooden floor panelling had three large, rectangular omissions through which seawater could be seen beneath. Baskets and nets, woodworking tools, and other detritus of business lay about along the walls. Cages for catching crustaceans, buckets of clams, barrels of fresh fish – it was rather extensive although he knew it was nowhere near as busy as it otherwise would be in good weather. The smell of gutted fish was rancid and permeated the air, and despite himself, Handy struggled to resist the urge to retch for a bit until he steadied himself.
"Hello? Anyone here?" he called. The room was dark, the only light either coming from the door behind him, the few boarded windows that were propped open, or refracted sunlight from the water below, dark as it was. "Maybe no one's in for work yet."
As he turned to leave, he heard a splash of water and a gasp of breath. He looked back and saw a pink pony with golden-orange hair floating in the water, about waist deep. She was absolutely drenched and for some ungodly reason didn't appear to be shivering from what had to be freezing cold water.
"A bit early for a swim, isn't it?" he asked. Amused, the pony smiled, keeping her balance remarkably well in the water. Of course ponies could swim and keep upright with their back legs in the water. Why wouldn't they be able to? Logic? Pfft, how dare you even consider that?
"Sorry, was just busy with something. How can I help?" Handy didn't bother asking what business could possibly be so urgent that one would need to dive head long into icy cold waters in the early morning.
"I am looking for passage to Equestria. I have not been able to get a hold of the Harbour Master for several days now. Pray tell, you wouldn't happen to know of any captains willing to brave the early winter? I've missed most of the ships."
"Hmmm." She placed a hoof on her chin and screwed her face up in thought. Huh, apparently she was a unicorn. He almost missed the horn in her mane as it was so short. It was oddly curved. And there was something odd about her eyes now that he thought about it, but it was so dark in the fishery that he wasn't sure what exactly was bugging him. "Oh! You'd want to find Ship Wright! He's actually in town on a short layover, was delayed coming from the Hebrides up north. He'll be on his way south today if I'm right."
"Excellent. Where can I find him?" Handy asked, pleased he was getting somewhere. She waved a hoof.
"Ehhh, he'll be around. Just hang around the harbour. His ship's the Ironmonger. Has a big, bull head figurehead, white flag with three golden pony shoes. I think it's weighed anchor at the far end of the harbour. You can't miss it!"
"I'll be sure to catch him then. Thank you for thy help, Miss…"
"Jyrla," she replied happily. Handy frowned slightly at the odd name.
"Miss Jyrla. My apologies for keeping thee from thy business."
"Oh it's no bother really, glad I could help!" Handy nodded and turned to leave, making a mental note of the good captain's location and tried to piece together how he was going to scrounge together enough coin to convince him to take Handy with him.
He'd need to square things with Jacques and inform Thorax that they needed to hop town regardless of whatever changeling shenanigans she was currently up to. Handy wanted this geas good and gone, and he'd put that necessity ahead of whatever she was currently up to. He briefly considered whether this desire to fulfil the geas was part of the geas itself he was duped into putting upon himself, a kind of subconscious impulse, or whether it was genuine desire to just be rid of it on his part. Or you know, the entire thing could have just been Chrysalis fucking with him, although that was doubtful. He remembered the demonstration of the geas causing all thoughts of wilfully harming the queen melt away in his head. He didn't want to test the magic in case he actually broke it and ended up in a less than desirable position.
And lost in his thoughts as he was, he failed to notice the splash of water as Jyrla dived back under its surface.
Nor did he see the fish-like tail briefly wave in the air behind her, before it too was swallowed up by the water.
--=--
Jacques was up to the oh so arduous task of lying back on his bed, forehooves resting up above the back of his head, one hind leg over the other and happily humming away. Truthfully, he was just going to spend the day with Thorax whenever she bothered to show up, and he only had a single chore to take care of, but he figured he'd dump it in Handy's capable… hands.
Quietly, he did math in his head, for Jacques oh so did love to get paid, almost as much as he loved his friends. And how he loved the confusion of navigating the mires involved where one conflicted with the other. He always loved the challenge. How does one get paid to do a job that might compromise one's friends? Why, by doing everything in your power to ensure your friends remained safe of course!
Oh, and if you could get your friends to pay you to help along with that, all the better. There was nothing quite like getting paid twice.
He had a real nose for this sort of thing, and it had never led him wrong yet. Every hunch, every gut feeling, every seeming leap of logic he made in his mind all seemed to add up in the end. He had long since learned to trust his instincts. He didn't believe in no-win scenarios and had resolved that should one emerge, then and only then would he turn down a job.
Working for the spooks from the Viceroyalty was as close as he came to such an occasion. Every job they had sent his way, every suspect thing he had to do for them because he just so happened to wind up in a bad place a few years back, all of them were no-win scenarios.
Jacques accepted the challenges offered and regularly made off like a bandit in spite of them.
But it was the real reason why he had revealed Handy when he did. The excuse he had given him, that he'd only hurt himself rather than help if he opted to stay in that damnable box throughout his entire search, was certainly true enough. But in all honesty, it was in his best interest that the Viceroyalty did not suspect he was undermining the Black Isles. And the best way to do that was make him visible. And, of course, putting himself forward as the agent 'minding' him while he was in the country wouldn't hurt either.
That and he wanted the Viceroyalty to know that he now had options, just in case they ever did give him a 'no win' scenario.
It was to that effect that Jacques did not mind racking up a hefty bill owed to Sea Crest for the use of her lay-low house, for three rooms no less. He didn't mind all the odds and ends that were owed to him on the 'Handy' account, particularly the rather painful sum he had to hoof over to his buddies in the seedier underbelly of the world to help out with Handy's little quest. He didn't mind if Handy didn't ultimately end up paying. He'd just keep a note of that little debt and, should the time come that Jacques needed to suddenly find a safe haven very far away, there'd be a certain baron in Griffonia who could certainly afford to put him up for a while on the sly.
True, he'd miss his long-time home here in Black Port which, now that he thought about it, he hadn't set foot in once since coming back into the city, but one had to make little sacrifices.
He listened to the soft, soothing sound of the drizzling rain, enjoying the cold light of the winter's sun. Despite the winter morning chill, his window was open and he was enjoying the light while he waited. He frowned as he noticed something blocking the light and looked up, tipping his hat back with an ear.
Just in time to see a very harried-looking Charity Bell scramble through the window and land on top of him. He let out an ‘oof’ as she collided bodily with him on the bed and scrambled as she hurried to push herself between him and the wall.
"Thorax, wh—?"
"Shhhhhhh, damn it! Close the window! Close it close it!" she whispered frantically. Jacques did so. And as he lied back, he noticed a couple of pegasi flying by, stopping in mid-air over the street to scan their surroundings. One barked an order at the other and both sped off. Jacques turned and cocked an eyebrow at the mare huddling beside him, seemingly trying to hug the wall.
"Get yourself into some trouble then, chére?"
"Ugh, don't start." She rubbed her face with her hooves. Although he knew it wasn't real, her fur was a mess. Jacques' horn lit up as he closed the curtains. "Where's Handy?"
"He's off doing a favour, should be by town hall. Why?"
"We… kinda got on the wrong side of the local changelings," Thorax confessed. Jacques gave her a sideways look. "We took out a few of them. I have them… indisposed at the moment, and I was basically raiding their lairs."
"Care to share why?" She gave him a blank look, harmless green fire washing over her body as she returned to her true form. "Can't blame me for trying."
"You already got enough out of me as it is."
"Aw, don't be like that chére." He leaned against her, and she looked away. "Think of it as a good opportunity for practice."
"Whatever," she mumbled. "We need to get Handy. He sticks out, and they'll be coming for him."
"Going out there now will only draw them to you. They know what your… heart self is? Is that the right term?"
"No, but yes, they know how to pinpoint me now, disguise or no disguise."
"And Handy can more than take care of himself. The town guard is practically watching him like hawks, and he'll likely stop back here when he receives the invoice from the mayor. He doesn't want to end up paying that, so he'll likely take it straight back here to me. He should be back shortly."
"I don't know…"
"Relax, Thorax" Jacques said, to which he received a disgusted look for the horrible wordplay. "It is literally a straight run. What's the worst that could happen?"
--=--
Two dozen pairs of eyes belonging to the solar and lunar royal Equestrian guards respectively trained on him as soon as he opened the door. The room was wall to wall ponies in armour and spears, with an additional four onyx-armoured ponies of the Enclave Viceroyalty's Black Guard regiment for good measure. There was also the Captain of the city guard, mail hauberk, grey cloak, and armoured half helmet. There were also the two familiar ponies he recognised as the spooks Jacques had brought him to meet weeks ago, the hooded pegasus and the dark-eyed earth pony. And in between them all was the flustered-looking lord mayor. Voluminous sable robes devoured him as he wrung his hooves together, a too-large, puffed hat on his cranium with a comically-undersized, singular white feather at the top. A chain of office, a mixture of blue-gold and silver, rested about his withers. His various bureaucratic attendants were cowering in the corners, against the walls and behind their desks, trying their best to not make a damn sound.
And there Handy was, hand on the door handle, pouch of French documents in his other hand, and a gawking face behind his steel helmet as he slowly took in the sight before him.
The room was very, very quiet.
--=--
"Another!" she shouted as she slammed the glass on the counter. The Fishermare was a smoky, smelly mess of groaning bodies. The smell of stale beer, burnt tobacco, peat smoke from the fireplace, and particularly greasy food as somepony managed to fix up something resembling a hangover cure filled the air. The curtains were drawn, with only the faintest light spilling in from the morning outside. They had all come here for a birthday bash the previous night, only to end up having to be locked in when it became clear nopony was going home when it came to fifth candle.
"I think you've had enough, Shocks," the barkeep told the agitated mare.
"I'll tell you when I've had enough." She narrowed her eyes at her hoof and waved it in front of her face. "Ha! See, I only have two hooves in front of me! I'm still good to go!"
The barkeep eyed her singular, lonesome hoof, and noted her other was on the counter by her empty glass. She was wobbling pretty badly. He sighed. She was literally the only pony left standing.
"Shocks, you're a great customer and all, but I really, really need to go to bed. And I stopped serving hours ago."
"Don't care. 'Nother." She looked around as the barkeeper resigned himself and fixed her up another drink. She snorted and started mumbling to herself. "Dirty, flea-bitten, leather-winged, rasenfrasen…"
"What was that?"
"Bat ponies!" She slammed her hoof on the counter suddenly. The sleeping stallion beside her started awake. His head had been resting on a hoof and hit the counter hard, before he slid and fell to the ground, groaning in pain. "Ever see the like again and I'll… and I'll!"
"Chase them out of town with beatings like you did to every single one you've found in the past month?" the barkeep asked, clearly bored. She slapped the counter.
"Exactly!" She downed the new drink in a single swallow, and placed the glass on the counter with a satisfied sigh. "Another." The barkeep sighed. "An' you know what else? Me an' my crew. That's who, we'll do it, every single one until I find that rat bastard frangle frumble…" She trailed off, shifting her green scarf.
"Mmhm."
"An' I don't care who they are, or… or how much money they got!"
"Yeah."
"An' I don't care what ponies think. I ain't racist." She downed another drink. "Just all thestrals are bastards. Another." The barkeep weighed his options. He could tell her to rightly buck off, that she'd had enough. On the other hand, she was Shocks.
His shoulders slumped and he filled her another.
--=--
"Lord Mayor?"
"Y-Yes?"
When in doubt, be audacious. He who dared, won. Fortune favoured the bold.
Alternatively, there was a fine line between brave and stupid, and Handy decided to gamble on which side of that line he now stood on. He had marched up, calmly and quietly between the ranks of Equestrians, not sparing them a single glance as he passed. He walked straight up to the lord mayor of Black Port, flanked as he was by the pair of spooks and their escort of Black Guards to his right and… Holy shit, was that White Boy? Handy indeed turned his head to acknowledge the golden clad pegasus to the mayor's left. Grim-faced, piercing blue eyes, lose-him-in-the-snow whiter than white pelt, pale blonde mane poking beneath his helmet. Yep, it was him alright. His face betrayed no emotion. He turned back to the mayor.
"I was requested to make delivery of this package to your office. I would have left it with thine staff but… I see they are kept quite busy," he said, taking the package out of his own side pack and leaving it, gently, on the mayor's desk. In full sight of everyone. Nice and slow, with no sudden movements.
"Oh… Oh alright. Heh. That's… Thanks?" the mayor said unsurely, eyeing the black-cloaked spooks who were giving him a curious look. Handy gently nodded his head.
"Welcome." He turned his head once to his left and then to his right. Yep. That sure was every pair of eyes in the hall trained on him. Handy did not dare to raise his new awareness to try to get an inkling of what they were feeling beyond the low rumblings of animosity and confusion coming from every living soul. Fear from the mayor and his staff, amusement from someone for some God forsaken reason. Ah right, the golden eyed thestral behind White Boy was apparently on the verge of laughter. The hell was she smiling at? And of course, the blank voids that were the pair of black-cloaked ponies and their own guards. That was fucking unnerving. He could tell they were there without looking, but he could not read them. They were like little pockets of grey in a sea of bright lights. He didn't linger on the issue and turned right around and strode from the room "I shall leave thee to it then. Good day to you all."
The heavy oak doors closed behind him, his boots echoing on the marble floor as he walked out of the sepulchral quiet of city hall, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to ensure the doors stayed closed. He sped his pace. By the time he exited the building, the rain had stopped and the sun shone through the clouds, causing his armour to glint and strobe periodically as he passed beneath the shadows of buildings and awnings. He was about ten paces from the buildings when he broke into a jog, raising a few eyebrows from the passing city folk going about their day. He was flat out running by the time he got to a knick-knack shop, his armour clanking noisily. He looked behind him – still no one. He broke out into a sprint, uncaring for how uncomfortable it was to do so in heavy armour, making a beeline for the townhouse. He suddenly needed to very much get on that boat very soon, and he unfortunately left whatever money was in the delivery package back at city hall. He needed a little help.
"Jacques!" he began shouting, as if the pony could hear him from this far off as his sprint began picking up momentum as he crested a rise and thundered downhill towards the northernmost Hair, tearing through the nearly empty marketplace. It'd take him either to the brothel or the townhouse, depending on which side of the next junction he ended up going down. He kept checking over his shoulder, to see glints of gold and the shine of polished onyx in the distance. He was little more than a thundering ball of light and metal blazing past the shop fronts, shouting at the top of his lungs.
"JAAAAAAAACCCCCQUUUUEEEESSSS!!"
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Damn, might need a miracle.
5965860 damn, i wasnt first...
Hahahaha! *Applauds* Well done! Very well done.
The teasing, stop the teasing! It's too good!
Who needs sanity. Who needs rest. 'Nother!
So changeling blood turns him into Charles Xavier, what would alicorn blood do or god forbid Discord's blood!
....
Get that glorious bastard some god blood!
As much as I am enjoying this, I'm still awaiting Tia's reaction when Lulu tells her who is back on town.
img0.derpicdn.net/img/2013/1/18/216170/full.png
Because I love when Handy trolls ponies
Dammit Jack, you just had to say something.
His vampiric charisma, or a side effect of changeling blood?
i2.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/170/301/Twitableflip.png
Y'know, if Handy were willing and resourceful, he should keep multiple vials of different species' blood. With the varying abilites they give him, it'd prove useful.
5965860
Wait! Do you mean a Miracle?
5966107 XD
Huh, a seapony...
5966278 God damnit, I knew someone was going to do that.
See, all the guards were staring at him because they were wondering just who it was that smelled like lawn clippings and daisies.
It must've been such a delightful smell.
5966074 unless he finds some magical way to preserve said blood in the vials... that would be highly impractical as the blood wouldn't last that long. At most a temporary solution.
I wonder if at some point in the future the princesses try and hire him, and he says his compensation will be to drink directly from princess luna herself.
5966383 In a world where magic can move celestial bodies, magical preservation isn't outside the realm of possibility.
5966419 i know. Like i said, he needs to find a way ^^
5966298 I couldn't resist
Well looks like our dear Handy walked in on something he probably shouldn't have, well lets see where this goes!
5966278 That or a siren.
Then again, you'd almost think if it was, it would get an immediate case of 'oh god I ate too much' from all the hate coming off handy.
Am I the only one that was more amused by the song stuff at the beginning of the chapter than what happened at the end? Seriously, that offers so much potential fun down the line as he is unwillingly drawn into musical numbers, especially because it is basically guaranteed that Shortbeak will break into song when they are reunited given the way she feels about him.
Fragile? Or language/accent?
5966708
Well, considering how close the "u" key is to the "i" key...
5966716
I know that, but fragule is a word of another language. Don't know what it means, but it's there
"fragule"
fragile?
5966298
It was the joke this story needs, but not the one it deserves.
*cue bat theme*
Also, fuck your sanity an give me another! Shocks says so!
That’s what happens when the magic-less human shaped eldritch-abomination starts drinking the blood of magical beings…. The magic gets in you... and then the magic starts affecting you with all its weirdness.
For some reason, whenever I picture handy I cant help but see Nomak from Blade 2...
img3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20080821204720/marveldatabase/images/5/55/Jared_Nomak_01.jpg
images2.fanpop.com/image/photos/12600000/NOMAK-luke-goss-12683683-1024-576.jpg
static.comicvine.com/uploads/original/11111/111113402/3925770-2436115-jared_nomak_04.jpg
I know he doesn't look like that at this point, but hey, who knows what long term effects his vamprisim could have...
I would laugh my ass off if he got back to the griffin kingdoms and Joachim found him looking like final form dracula from blade trinity... complete with weird splitting jaws.
5966278
THE HORROR!!!!
5966012
Blood for the Blood God!
I wanna see Handy walk up to the pony that's leading the song and dance number and knock them the fuck out and then walk away.
No words just -wham- and then silence.
Holy shit. Handy can build his powers permanently when he gorges himself on blood? I mean I know those are beneficial as opposed to the inhuman weaknesses but that's another question of the 'just how human will I be?' variety.
Also, Jacques you silly fool. From the direction Blackport is going it looks like your backup option home just turned you into Handy's resident bitch, second in line to one Crimson Shade, who is currently on holiday. Unless, y'know, you're okay with fucking off into the wilderness and living as a penniless wild man.
Seapony yay
So, if Handy gorges himself on enough of a type of blood all at once he gets a slight permanent ability? Or am I interpreting it wrong.
Ahahahahahaa! I loved this chapter beyond measure. Poor Handy, bad shit just keeps happening.
5968574 HERETIC
but no srsly guys, he's bullshitting you.
5966278
5966629
5968395
Handyman is going to kill me for spoilering the audience but I hope you, and everyone loving the seapony cameo, realize that she isn't what she seem. This particular seapony had just dragged everyone in the fishery underwater and drowned them. That was why Handy didn't see anyone when he went there except her. She thought about taking him down as well, but given his size, it would have proven too difficult. Instead, she aided the oblivious human and gave him the information he needed in order to get rid of him faster.
5965860 When does he not need a miracle?
5965896 Better luck next chapter.
5965903 =]
5965964 What teasing?
5966001 In good time.
5966012 Assuming Discord wouldn't have some hilarious prank in mind if Handy ever had the balls to try and take from him.
As for alicorn blood... ehhhhh.
5966026 "Hark dear sister, the human liveth!"
"What!?"
"I hath seen it in mine viewing glass, the villain walks the world once more."
"Okay... okay this is good, maybe we can use this knowledge to-"
"No need! For I am already ahead of thee, Tia! Already I hath dispatched mighty warriors to capture him!"
"What."
"They are crossing the border as we speak!"
"WHAT!?"
5966037 Of course he did, =]
5966074 A little bit of both, we got a little sneak peak at all three powers changeling blood gives him at the start of the forest arc, Thorax knows of two of them, but didn't tell Handy shit, and Handy is well aware of the third but Thorax doesn't know of it. Funny how that works out. Its not a secret anymore so I might as well explain. He has the power of compulsion, to pin someone with his gaze and make them more likely to see things his way, noted by Thorax when she realized whenever he looked at her while on a high, she felt something compelling her to back off and become more intimidated than she already would have been.
Simply because that is the feeling Handy wanted to inspire. It can operate on a subconscious level and, later as he will discover, a conscious one. Hence the tidbit about him getting along surprisingly well in the marketplace in terms of haggling. It isnt a foolproof power, since Thorax was able to withstand and shake it off as soon as she realized what was happening, it'd probably be more difficult to do so if Handy was really trying, and if he was on a blood high meaning his power would be increased. But a general rule of thumb is if you have a strong enough will and/or you're aware of what he is doing, you can shake it off more easily. However wether it is fully a changeling granted power due to blood, or something he always had as a vampire that is only now coming to the forefront due to the rapid effects his body is undergoing, remains to be seen.
As for the pony mistaking him for another pony, thats something else, you'll see next chapter.
5966074
5966383
5966419
5966481 He already has a means of blood preservation. He has enchanted wooden capsules he manage to 'acquire' from a hospital in Skymount using contacts from his business interests there. He used them extensively to take animal blood with him whenever he had to leave the city so he had a measurable, weekly ration of blood, like he did in the canterlot arc, hell one such capsule (little more than a cylindrical wooden jar with a screw off cap) was key to the scene with him and Twilight towards the end. The BIG problem with taking jars of different kinds of blood with him everywhere is A) its fucking unneccessarily creepy and B) "Excuse me good sir, kindly relax while I take a pint of your blood and store it. For reasons."
The man has already given in to hunting, finding someone and biting them if he needs to, he is hardly looking forward to yet another reason to look down on people as livestock. Not saying its not a neat idea and that he may not try it out eventually, just right now? Good luck sitting him down and telling that to his face and expecting a kind reaction.
5966096 Quiet you.
5966107 What the fucking fuck.
5966371 Don't you start.
5966409 Pfft, noooo, why would you think I'd ever consider a story where the princesses actually try working with Handy down the line?
That... Th-that'd be ridiculous...
5966529 Well you should of!
Shoo-be-do, shoo-shoo-be-doo!
5966572 Poorly.
5966629 Nah, Sirens are different from Sea Ponies, though related. And both are not even in the same species family as the mermares and take great offence at the comparison.
5966632 Handy would sooner wear a muzzle than participate.
5966723
5966720 Fixed, thanks for pointing that out.
5966739 Go home, you're drunk.
5966789
5966847 Oh we're well past the point of weirdness.
5967702 THE PAIN!!!
5967866 SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!
5968088 And thus was the party summarily pooped.
5968415 No, you pretty much got it spot on.
5968395 Essentially, it was an idea JBL pitched to me a while ago. I was going to 'balance' it off, that the more and more permanent abilities Handy gains, the greater and more deadly his hunger becomes. But I scrapped that last bit, that'd be going a bit too deep into the rabbit's hole in terms of unrelenting darkness, think of it as a means of him evening the playing field considering what the story pits him up against regularly (and the boss characters waiting in the wings). Its still possible to defeat him even if or when I make him more permanently powerful.
Think of it on its own, Unicorn audio-visual, and olfactory sense heightened to crazy levels, including the weird, mystical sights Handy could make out infusing the world around him, The Earth pony blood to see life through walls visually, compounded with the changeling blood to sense their relative emotional states and understand, intrinsically, their positions relative to him and, assuming he gets enough of it, night vision and heightened reaction speeds granted by thestral blood (and simultaneously the ability to process information to make this possible) in conjunction with these other powers would make Handy utterly terrifying. He'd be able to see, hear, understand, feel, predict and outmaneuver a foe on the far side of a wall, beneath ground in the pitch black darkness. Feeling them in his mind's eye, seeing them literally with his real eyes and hear their beating heart and every breath at thirty paces at the least. This is not even considering all the other abilities those bloods grant him.
And yet, I can guarantee you, no matter how powerful I make Handy, he will always be capable of being defeated. Even, if I need to do it to prove it, by a child. Of course I could always also have him learn some magic, but one thing at a time please.
As for Jacques, well, he'll have his own problems soon enough.
Also shoo-be-doo.
5968553 Yes it does, poor guy.
5968795
Oh, please, tell me it is so! Between Luna and Blue they'll soon empty the treasury from all the reparations they have to pay.
5966012 Not quite sure if he isn't just awakening some "natural" Vampire powers. Since life-sense is a classical power in that category, will we see some proper transformation in the future, I wonder?
5968795 i certainly hope so, i might need that luck, cause in a few hours, i may or may not get a job...
5968795
YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!
Leaving us on such a interesting cliffhanger!
GRRRRRRRRRR
5969002 No idea what you're talking about.
That ending was totes legit.
You know, once again I'm rather disappointed that no one noticed my sneaky, rather lewd insertion into the chapter.
i.imgur.com/fV9Xu7w.jpg
5968795
That's what makes it so funny.
The song will be triggered by him walking through the door so there will be no way for him to get out of it, and he will absolutely hate every minute of it. Then you throw in the fact that it will be a happy, upbeat song featuring Shortbeak gushing over the fact that the guy she may or may not be crushing on isn't dead and Handy's misery will be absolutely epic. 
5970439 i.imgur.com/tKVf2QF.gif
5970697 Oh come on, we all know you love tormenting Handy.
5970708 Actually, JBL at times seems to be the only voice in my ear begging me to cut Handy some slack.