Ordnance is Magic 2: Bombardment Boogaloo

by Perturabo

II. Real name, no gimmicks

Unsurprisingly, the city had begun to descend upon them the moment the gun had been fired.

After the brief stare-off between alien and stallion, in which Adamant Tower had still sat on his rump like some wide-eyed colt – which, in truth, was how he had felt – the former guard had done everything in his power to get away. The sight of his rescuer’s armoured contours, the bulk of his form, it all brought back memories he’d tried to forget racing to the fore. He’d been right after all; there may have been differences, but the resemblance between the figure before him now and the creature that had murdered the Princess was uncanny. The notion of even one of them being back on Equestrian soil elicited an undeniable feeling of horror.

And there wasn’t just one of the giant war-gods. There were nine of them.

The Guards had already formed a perimeter, spears lowered, what little magic could still safely be mustered. The crowds were massing behind them, all staring – some screaming in fear, some baying for the blood of the intruders. Adamant Tower’s contribution was to shuffle back, taking in short and panicky breathes, eventually rising and scurrying away into the crowd. Trying to stop himself shaking, and hoping the press of Pony bodies all around him would shield him from sight, the stallion turned around and dared to look back at the aliens.

That they couldn’t actually stop the Space Marines was self-evident. A single one of them had managed to overwhelm the Guards, last time, though he had admittedly had surprise on his side. But whilst defeating these invaders in open conflict was an impossibility, that the ponies’ blood was pumping hot through their veins was also self-evident. The objects of their hate, avatars of what had reduced their kingdom to the sorry state it found itself in, were standing right before them. Peaceful resolution in such a situation seemed impossible…from Adamant Tower’s own experience, anyway.

Two of the aliens raised guns with slow, almost mechanical, precisions, silver barrels tracking over the crowd. Ponies gasped, shying away, some foals crying as the Guards fought harder to keep their own tempers under control. Another revved his sword, the sound of an engine tearing through the street as the teeth whirred and chewed the air. The stallion couldn’t be sure, but an equally fierce growl seemed to leave the creature’s helm. A bottle was thrown from somewhere, smashing against the armoured thigh of a warrior in crimson and white. His hand twitched, reaching for the pommel of a sheathed blade, but in an impressive display of self-control he restrained himself. The last five, including the one who had slain the Daemon, remained as silent and inscrutable as statues, even as the crowd’s anger began to become more and more evident.

Tense silence persisted for a moment longer, as if both sides were waiting to see what the other would do. It was the Space Marines who spoke first, in the end.

“Xenos.” The one who had just been hit by the bottle took a step forward, the Guards bristling a little in response. He raised a red gauntlet, in an almost placating gesture. “We are representatives of the Imperium of Man, warriors of the Legiones Astartes…and we mean you no harm.” Those last words were spoken in an almost grudging tone, but he followed through nevertheless; the alien’s helmet swivelled round to regard his companion revving the chain-weapon, green eye lenses glowing. The warrior growled again in annoyance, but lowered the sword. He then passed the same scrutiny onto the two aiming their guns – they, however, did not even return his gaze.

“Why should we believe you?” Somepony in the crowd shouted, voice hoarse with anger. The muttering suggested to Tower that it was a view held by a majority of the crowd.

“They probably caused that big…eye thing to come today!” A mare added to the chorus, an accusation met by more jeers of support. Two of the silent warriors glanced at one another, one hand each still on the hilt of their swords. Those five all carried a blade by their sides, though the one who had saved Adamant Tower seemed to possess the most ornate of the collection.

“String the bastards up!” Came the third cry. The jeering then was the loudest of the lot, the Guards unable to keep the mob surging forward a little. Some of them even seemed inclined to join themselves. The Space Marines backed closer together, the sword-wielders drawing fractions of steel, the one who had spoken before still trying to keep the situation under control; that was a plan that was rapidly failing.

It left Adamant Tower strangely conflicted. He didn’t want to witness a massacre, and if the crowd slipped its bonds and descended on the aliens, that was exactly what would happen. He did, of course, want some measure of retribution for the death of Princess Cadence – it wasn’t something anypony had ever expected to have the chance to do. What parts of his brain were still making sense, however, told him that that wasn’t what they were going to be getting here. If the impending disaster was to be averted – and by this point, it seemed minutes away at best – somepony had to do something pretty damn quick.

And, he supposed, guess what lucky stallion was going to get that job.

“They saved me.” For a moment, Tower still didn’t realise that he’d spoken out loud; he almost immediately regretted it. The crowd’s eyes turned almost collectively on him, some confused, most outraged. The Space Marines looked down at him too, the aliens’ scrutiny making him almost physically squirm. At least they weren’t pointing the guns at him, though.

“T-they saved me…” He went on anyway, inwardly cursing himself as he stood on quivering legs. “He did, at least…” He gestured to the alien with the ornate sword. There was no response. “He killed one of the…the…the things, too.”

That got their attention, at least. The crowd followed his hoof direction, making an array of disgusted noises as they backed off from the shredded remains. The Space Marines just watched, as if trying to judge what his game was. He wished he knew. Again, the weight of assembled scrutiny bore down on him, as if it were a physical thing. “I…”

It was one the aliens, once again, that saved him. “We are Legiones Astartes.” The warrior in crimson and white repeated once more, voice presumably amplified by his helmet. “Servants of the Emperor of Man…we wish only to speak with your lords. You seem reasonable…for Xenos.” That last bit was added under his breathe, and Adamant Tower wasn’t even sure he had heard it. Still, their combined efforts had managed to change the mood in the crowd. Where once anger had been the dominant feeling, now uncertainly reigned. The cries to execute the intruders…somehow were still there, but now mumbling was the prevailing noise. Adamant Tower had to admit, his heart was still slamming out a furious rhythm against his ribcage. Tension crackled through the air.

And then, with a growl, the Guards relented.

They at least had the sense to relieve the Space Marines of their weapons, this time – the two who had been aiming their guns looked like they were about to burst into furious action, but a word from the hooded alien who had saved the stallion brought about their grudging acquiescence. The crowd parted to let them through, still lining the streets, still glaring with barely-disguised loathing. As they were led away, it gave Adamant Tower his chance…he’d already attracted enough attention for one day. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on them, slowly backing off into the mass of ponies all around, not wanting to act too swiftly.

He made it about five steps.

A hoof on his shoulder stopped him, the sudden applied pressure making the stallion’s muscles lock. Sighing in beaten frustration, he turned, locking eyes with one of the Guards. It wasn’t anypony he knew. Most of them were probably dead.

“You stood up for them.” The Guard said, voice hard as crystal. “So you get to come with them.”

Adamant Tower was quiet for a while, meeting the soldier’s grim expression with a blank one of his own. “Well…aren’t you generous.”

***

They were, at the very least, a varied brotherhood.

Two of them, warriors in black and silver, were the silently fuming, gun-totting Marines who had nearly sent the situation spilling over to violence earlier. Voss, Legion Seeker, and Moulkain, Battle-Brother. Both of the ‘Iron Hands’ Legion, from the 19th and 23rd Clan Companies, was all they had said. Adamant Tower wasn’t entirely sure what a ‘hand’ was – presumably some type of hoof – but he had noticed the atmosphere in the room immediately darken further the moment the word ‘iron’ had been spoken.

The warrior with the chainsword was a beast in storm-grey, a clash between old and new. His snout-nosed helmet hung by his side, servos whining each time he moved, yet a cloak of what looked like bear pelt was draped from his wide shoulders. Tribal fetishes and charms were criss-crossed across the chest, and festooned the casing of his huge gun. Helsturnn, a Grey Hunter, he had introduced himself as. The Marine claimed he was one of the ‘Rout’, but the others had called him a ‘Space Wolf’; again, the discrepancy was odd, but few dared question it. He wore his smouldering anger much more openly than the Iron Hands displayed their evident cold rage, his face like thunder. He was quiet, though, besides the occasional wet growl.

Zuriel was next, the diplomat, who had up until now done nearly all the speaking. He named himself an Apothecary of the Ninth Legion, the ‘Blood Angels’, 27th Company. Of them all, he seemed to be the only one not furious in some way. He had removed his helmet in some gesture of compromise, and his face was both patrician and noble, but the look in his eyes was…haunted, perhaps, as he spoke. A deep darkness lay there, smouldering beneath the service, forced down only by formidable willpower. Whatever it was, Adamant Tower didn’t want to know.

And lastly, the group of five, the main force of the disparate band of Space Marines. Their armour was universally scarred, deep gouges cut into it in some places, but it was still recognisably the deep and brutal green of a forest. Cream linen robes, equally defiled, were draped over them, the hoods sheltering helmets reminiscent either of beaks, or knightly apparel. These men had introduced themselves as ‘Dark Angels’; Gideon, Joshua, Uzzael, and Baramiel, under the command of Sergeant Nehemiah. It was the latter warrior who had saved the stallion from the Daemon, though he hardly seemed pleased about it. They still stood motionless, their stoicism matched only the Iron Hands, though these five were even harder to read. A furtive air of secrecy clung to them, shrouding the air. Again, the stallion didn’t want to get too close. He was far too close as it was.

They had assembled in the chamber that had once belonged to the Princess. Once. The throne was unused now, none quite daring to sit upon it – to dishonour the memory. The elegant carpets and tapestries were gone, consumed by fire. The door still held the marks of the blaze, scorched onto its very surface. In their place were maps, charts, as well as the occasional memorial to those who had fallen. When your world was a warzone, it paid to try and keep on top of it, even if you were losing.

The council that faced them were a varied group – six members, none of whom were pleased. Three had always been servants of the Crystal Empire, even before the Fall, two mares and a stallion. Before they had held some low-ranking positions perhaps, but greatness – or at least responsibility – had been thrust upon them, and in the absence of royalty it was up to them to steer their kingdom. The other three were all of a unique origin. A Mare who had somehow managed to escape Canterlot, and had worked in the treasury there; an envoy from the Griffon Kingdoms, sent a few weeks after the first Daemonic incursions began to hit their lands; and a Saddle Arabian, with much the same story. These were the six that ruled the last true bastion of Pony Resistance for leagues…and these were the six that currently stood in judgement of the Space Marines.

Or at least, they thought they did.

“Tell us again,” The former Canterlot Mare began, voice laden with mock sincerity. “How exactly you nine came to assemble, let alone be here? You cannot deny, my lord, that it all sounds very suspicious.” She was the one that was doing most of the talking. The Crystal Ponies were having trouble just controlling their anger. To speak with disrespect to one of the aliens, Adamant Tower considered, was practically suicidal, but he supposed he could forgive her the anger. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he didn’t feel it himself. The Marines might have saved him, but he could not forgive them for what their silver counterpart had done all those moons ago.

“As I have said, in the aftermath of a great war in our species, many of us came to be separated from our Legions.” It was the Blood Angel speaking again, predictably. “To continue the war against the Archenemy was all we desired, but over time, our paths crossed. Though there was…reluctance, from many of us, we reasoned we could punish our foes more by working together.”

“Yes, yes, you’ve said this before.” Said the Griffon, tapping his talons on the desk. The Space Wolf bristled slightly at such a dismissive attitude, even if it was all engineered, but he managed to keep his temper in check. “In truth, how your little brotherhood was formed is irrelevant. What we want to know is how you came to walk this world.” Tower was about to point out that they had only been answering the mare’s query, but thought better of it.

“There was a wound.” Adamant Tower jumped a little, and even the other Marines turned in muted surprise, as Sergeant Nehemiah spoke. His voice was similar to the Blood Angel’s, perhaps a little deeper. They all sounded the same when they wore the helmets, though. “A rip, in the fabric of the universe. We had….seen something similar before, something that we were trying to find. It looked similar enough…and we trusted to hope.” He tensed subtly, armour giving a faint whirr. “We were…mistaken.”

“So…to clarify…a ‘rip’.” One of the Crystal Ponies interjected, in a voice that would perhaps have been intimidating to anything else in the cosmos. “A ‘rip’, like the ones these monstrosities are known to appear from…and you simply decided to walk in?”

“They killed the Shaytan on sight, my friend.” The Saddle Arabian pointed out, turning to look at her. “That cannot be denied.” He spoke with an accent, a trait from his homeland, and he couldn’t help but slip into the dialect – ‘Shaytan’, Adamant Tower knew, was Saddle Arabian for ‘Daemon’. He was also the only one who seemed willing to give the aliens a chance, and the Blood Angel wasted no time in capitalising upon that.

“Lords, ladies, I do not claim to know what has happened here. But I swear, on the blood of my Primarch…” He hesitated a moment, fingers curling into a fist, before relaxing. “…I swear that these abominations are as repulsive to us as they are to you. My Legion has suffered at their hands, exactly the same as your kingdom has! We find ourselves with a common enemy, and if my brothers and I are to be trapped here, then we wish nothing more than to take the fight to them!”

It was certainly sincere in principal, even if Zuriel’s words were perhaps a slight embellishment. It was obvious that the Space Marines had a distaste for the Ponies – or Griffon – for the sheer crime of being different, but it was also obvious that any mention of the Daemonic incurred a greater hatred still. The stallion, to his own irritated surprise, found he believed the towering Apothecary. The opinion of the Council, however, was harder to judge.

“…No.” The former Guard felt his stomach drop – it’d been doing that a lot this afternoon – as one of the Crystal Ponies shook her head and slammed her hoof onto the table. “No, I won’t believe it. These…these things, I won’t risk their destroying the Empire! Not whilst I draw breath!”

“You are being blinded by your hatred.” The Saddle Arabian insisted, his face drawn in a frown. “They wish to help, if not directly alongside us then at least striving against our enemies! You would deny them, and us, that aid?”

“It’s easy for you to say.” The former Canterlot pony snapped. “You haven’t suffered as we have, you didn’t-“

“But their weapons can kill the Daemons.” The Griffon pointed out, speaking slowly, lion-like tail flicking a little. “That he’s here is living proof of that.” Adamant Tower suppressed a gulp, shying away a little as all the eyes in the room – Equestrian or alien – turned upon him once again. “They can reliably kill the things, or at least send them back to wherever they’re from. That is more than we have so far accomplished.”

“Yes, and they also seemed to have few qualms about wandering into one of the portals used by these Daemons!” The Crystal Pony stallion shouted across the table at his fellow members. “For which they still haven’t given convincing reason! We can only assume that they are in-“

“We lost our Chaplain.”

The room went silent, even the Space Marines once again looking round in surprise as Nehemiah spoke again. The Wolf glared, his distaste written evidently, but both Zuriel and the Iron Hands seemed equally wary. It took a few moments for Adamant Tower to realise why – they didn’t know. Whatever the sergeant had meant by that, this was new to his companions, too.

“…my deepest condolences.” One of the Mares sneered, utterly without sympathy. The hooded Marine looked a little uncomfortable, like he’d already said too much, but he was evidently smart enough to know the situation wasn’t going to be diffused any other way.

“He is not dead. We…lost him. My squad was accompanying him, upon…” He hesitated, gesturing to the other Dark Angels. “Upon a mission. During this mission, a gateway was presented to us. We passed through it together, but upon emerging out the other side he was no longer with us.” The shame of failure clung heavy to his every word. “We have been searching for him, far and wide, allying with our companions here to continue the war as we do so. Upon seeing this second portal, we thought that perhaps it bore some connection to the first. Instead we ended up here…and now, we are speaking to you.”

Silence clung to the room, heavy in the air. The Marines still stared at their brother, and the Saddle Arabian looked at one of the Mares, a small but triumphant smile on his face. Adamant Tower was simply trying to stop himself shaking in a distinctly unmasculine fashion.

“You see?” The Griffon said, finally breaking it. “No malice. They did not even intend to be here, and now they are they wish to strike back.”

“You certainly changed your opinion swiftly.” A Crystal Pony mare muttered, glaring at him. “A few fancy words, and you’re drawn in.”

“I’ve certainly heard this story before.” The mare from Canterlot admitted, not sounding like she believed it a moment.

“You act like this because you want to believe them evil.” The Saddle Arabian maintained. “To do so justifies your hatred, you are hearing only what you wish to hear from them.”

“Well, can you blame us?” The stallion who sat the council barked in response. “After last time, we can’t-“

“Last time?” They all froze, a few eyes widening, as Helsturnn – the Wolf – finally spoke. His bare head had snapped round from the Dark Angels to stare at them, golden black-pinned eyes intent. “You said last time.” He repeated with a growl, when no answer was forthcoming. “What did you mean?”

Now, the Council seemed apprehensive. Adamant Tower wasn’t sure he blamed them; though logically it made no sense, they had all been assuming the Space Marines knew of how the doom of Equestria had been delivered. Trying to decide who it would be to explain was an awkward job, to say the least.

“You are…not the first we have ever had dealings with…” One of the mares admitted, the arrogance gone from her voice now, a small shake beginning to creep up her body. “There were others…who brought the Daemons here in the first place…others, l-like you-“ She stopped, ears flattening against her forehead, as the atmosphere in the room grew even darker. As Adamant Tower slowly backed away, Nehemiah took a step forward. His voice was the sound of tombstones slamming together.

“What…others?”

***

She stared down into the mug, and wondered how they’d reached this point.

Five minutes ago, Bon Bon had been on her back, nose bleeding and some part of her afraid she might actually die here – foolish, of course, but given the circumstances she could perhaps be forgiven. Now the girl had been brought into the yard of the school she’d been observing, sat on a picnic table bench, given tissues to wipe her nose clean. A small mug of piping hot tea had been handed over, the vapours creeping up her nostrils and rubbing against her brain. They were surprisingly soothing.

Amazingly, Lyra had managed to find her. It might have been her fault they were in the situation in the first place, but Bon Bon cared for her friend enough to forgive her. Hugs had been shared, apologies made – but the strangest apology didn’t come from either of them.

“Forgive me, my lady.” Said Mordecai, as Lyra slowly sat beside her friend.

He was the boy who had loomed over Bon Bon when she’d fell, but he was also the one who had helped her to sit, and given her a drink from his flask. He was…odd. Polite, but odd. His skin was a deep grey, eyes flecked with green. The boy was dressed well; not exactly clad in suit and tie, but certainly better than most of his contemporaries even at Canterlot High. He was handsome, certainly, cheekbones defined and eyes gleaming with wry amusement. That amusement spread down to his lips, which were pulled in a small smile that Bon Bon had trouble believing ever left his face. There was something uncanny about him – a strange sense that she’d seen him before. Bon Bon knew she hadn’t, but the nagging feeling she couldn’t quite place remained.

“Urm…no problem.” Lyra said, looking at him with similar confusion. She seemed far from mad, if anything she’d been grateful he’d helped her friend out, but for once Lyra didn’t seem to know how to react. Bon Bon couldn’t blame her. “I…thanks, for looking out for her, if something had happened I-“

“Think nothing of it.” Mordecai assured, holding up a hand to silence her. He was still smiling. “To chance upon your dear companion here was certainly unusual, but far from unwanted. It is so very rare that we get any visitors here…especially from such an esteemed locale as Canterlot High.”

She hadn’t told him that she was from Canterlot High, Bon Bon realised suddenly. She hadn’t told him much of anything, besides her name, and what she’d been doing there. Even so, she just couldn’t bring herself to distrust him. Lyra nodded, accepting his words blithely. Mordecai’s grin grew a little, something…chaotic flashing behind his eyes. It was so swift, she wasn’t even sure she’d seen it. His grin was infectious, and Bon Bon had to take another sip of tea to maintain a straight face. It was as if there was some big joke that she was missing, and only he knew the punchline.

“Although…” Mordecai began, chuckling softly to himself. It was an attractive sound, she couldn’t deny. “I’m afraid not all of us here would feel the same way…we’re not exactly the friendliest to newcomers.” He sat up a little, looking over Bon Bon’s shoulder. “Are we, my friend?”

Lyra looked confused, turning to follow his eyes. Bon Bon wasn’t, but she looked anyway – she knew exactly who his words were directed to.

The boy who had been sitting on the other side of the two girls, and until now hadn’t deigned to say a word, gave a small grunt that didn’t really answer anything. He wasn’t dressed as well, though from what she could see of his skin, it was lighter – more silvery. She thought he was glaring at them; the reason she only thought it, was because the boy’s entire head was encased within a tined motorcycle helmet. The visor completely blocked any view of his face, the glass pretty much sheer black, and she wondered how exactly he could see out of it. That was only the least of her questions, but answers weren’t forthcoming – when she’d asked why he was wearing it, both boys had completely ignored the question.

Lyra looked like she was about to ask the same thing; a quick shake of the head from Bon Bon stopped her. Lyra shrank back, hands moving into the pockets of her hoody awkwardly. Mordecai didn’t seem like he was paying any attention to that, instead focused on speaking with his friend…or at least, Bon Bon assumed they were friends.

“Now now, when we have guests here, we must try and be polite.” He insisted, speaking slowly, as if to a child. “I know you realise that, Zuko.” Zuko – that was his name – gave a snorting sound from behind the helmet. It could have been a laugh, or a growl; perhaps it was both. Bon Bon shuffled away from him a little more on the seat. She’d never heard a boy growl before.

“I…like…where is ‘here’?” Lyra asked after a moment, and to her credit it wasn’t a bad question. Bon Bon followed her eyes, and Mordecai followed both of theirs’, all three of them gazing at the slab-sided building in whose courtyard they sat. Its very walls seemed to exude bitterness. He gave a magnanimous, if exaggerated, bow.

“Oh, how rude of me! My dear ladies, allow me to welcome you to Olympia High! Finest educational establishment on this side of the town!” There was pride in his voice, but it was undeniably sarcastic. “Primarily, of course, because it is the only educational establishment on this side of the town.” He giggled to himself, and Lyra giggled too, though she looked surprised about it.

“I’ve never heard of it.” She admitted, before catching herself – at least Lyra realised how rude that could sound. “Like, sorry…there’s the junior school and all, but no-one’s ever mentioned this place…”

Mordecai didn’t seem offended, at least. “I would imagine not; why ever would you? As you can see, we are hardly a shining bastion of quality and care. There is certainly none of the opulence of Canterlot High – but be assured, we know of you.” He nodded sagely, seemingly to himself. “Oh yes, after the exciting little debacle at your last Fall soiree, you were the hot topic of conversation for almost a whole week!” Another sage nod. “High praise, high praise indeed.”

Of course, news about the whole thing with Sunset Shimmer had spread fast, it was always going to. At least one person had uploaded a video of it, and it was clocking a fair number of views. Still, to hear that it’d been such a point of contention here was more than a little disturbing – Mordecai at least seemed perfectly nice, but the building gave of an aura of malice, as had every other student Bon Bon had seen, even in passing. Lyra, apparently, thought the same thing.

“Well…umm…this has…been nice.” She nodded, with a smile that was clearly plastered on as she slowly stood. “But, like, it’s getting dark…we should be getting home…”

“Yes, sorry…” Bon Bon added, handing the mug back. “Thank you…for the tea…it helped.” She smiled at that, sincerely. Mordecai’s smile back was equally sincere.

“Of course, forgive me, I did not mean to bore you for so long with my lecture.” He set the mug and flask down, pointing down a side street. “Down there, if you maintain a direct path, you will find a bus-stop. I cannot claim the service is perfect, but it will take you where you wish to go.” He smiled again. Bon Bon merely turned her head slowly, eyes shooting daggers into Lyra. The other girl blushed, nodding slowly. With another awkward wave, they began to walk – first leaving the courtyard, then crossing the road. Both of them left it until they were completely out of sight before starting to run.

Mordecai and Zuko watched, the former still with a smile on his face as he refilled the mug. “Well…they were certainly pleasant.” He mused, taking a sip.

“He’s going to go apeshit.” Mordecai turned to look at Zuko as the helmeted boy finally spoke, but offered no more reaction. “You know that, right?”

“When does he not?” Mordecai pointed out, utterly unconcerned. Zuko gave another grunting sound.

“…True…but that’s not the point! You shouldn’t have brought her here, and you shouldn’t have told them all that stuff.”

“Why ever not?” Mordecai frowned now, setting his drink down and folding his arms. With his general tone, it would have been easy to think he was being sarcastic. Only one who’d known him for a long time could tell his confusion was utterly sincere. “What would you have had me do, old sport? Simply leave her there?” He scoffed. “We are not brigands, by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Yes, but…everyone was staring.” Even if his face was hidden, how uncomfortable that made Zuko was evident. He was right, too – all the other boys had been staring as Mordecai helped Bon Bon in. They’d swiftly, none of them wanting to sit around with anyone from Canterlot High. To say that the classy, fancy, oh-so-elegant school was unpopular around Olympia High was an understatement – though there was one who went even further than that in his dislike. They both knew who it was, too.

“You have to admit, if nothing else it was an intriguing distraction.” Mordecai nodded, retrieving his tea. “I don’t even really recall what we had been doing beforehand.” Zuko looked away, as if trying to remember himself.

“…I think we were beating the shit out of each other.”

“Ah, yes, that was it.” Mordecai nodded, as if Zuko had just said they were watching TV. “Do you remember what inspired such a dreadful scuffle?”

“”You kept calling me a pea-“

“MORDECAI.”

Zuko was cut off in the middle of his sentence, the sheer intensity of the voice making them both sit up a little straighter. Mordecai’s smile grew again. “Ah…that’ll be him now.”

The figure who had shouted was stomping across the courtyard, amber eyes – a similar shade to Lyra’s - blazing with suppressed fury. His hands were clenched into fists by his side, face locked in a dark cowl, brown hair falling in front of his face. His skin was the same shade as Mordecai’s, his shirt decorated with yellow chevrons on a black background. A bold fashion statement, to be sure. He carried an aura of weary, agitated confusion with him at all times, though right now that was forced under by rage. The boy behind him seemed far calmer, and just amused to see what was going on – skin a bronze colour, eyes blue. He smirked at Zuko as they reached the table, whilst the first slammed his hands down on it, leaning in closer to Mordecai.

“Khr came to find me.” He said, voice low and threatening. He was surprisingly good at that, and it was just a shame that Mordecai was nearly impossible to threaten. “Said you had some friends here?”

“Why were you talking to Vhalen?” Zuko asked, sitting back and folding his arms. “You two were gone an awfully long time.”

“He came to find us.” Barbus, the last boy, explained, taking a seat on the table and just watching the exchange. The other, however, would not be distracted. He growled again, leaning in a bit closer. Though he was undaunted, Mordecai leant away a little all the same.

“They were two perfectly pleasant girls.” He insisted, voice calm. “I thought-“

“They’re the enemy!” Lorkhan’s hand slammed down on the table before he stood back up, expression still furious. Unlike Mordecai, he wasn’t handsome. Few of them were. “You’re…you’re fraternising with the enemy!”

“’The enemy’?” Mordecai parroted, looking truly stunned now. “Lorkhan, my boy, I understand your dislike for them. It is commendable, it truly is. But-“

“You shouldn’t have let them go!” He insisted, arms folded as he spun back around to glare at Mordecai. “They’ve been close now, they know where we are! That makes us…vulnerable!” Well, at least his paranoia was still intact.

“So?” Zuko’s voice was muffled by the helmet as he spoke; though he had been arguing a similar platform moments ago, Lorkhan’s hatred for anything to do with Canterlot High had to be controlled swiftly. “What are they going to do? Who are they going to tell?”

“That…this…it…” Lorkhan was eloquent as ever, working himself into more and more of a petulant fury. Barbus and Mordecai shared a glance, both of them shrugging subtly.

“Say we went along with your plan, then.” Barbus began, tilting his head sidewards in a way that looked almost intrigued. “What exactly would we do?” Lorkhan’s face screwed up thoughtfully as he thought it over, one foot tapping against the hard stone floor.

“We…we could grab ‘em.” He suggested, at last. “Grab them, and-“

“Don’t be stupid.” Zuko snapped, growing weary of this already. “What are we, some kind of…super-soldiers?”

“Fuck no.”

“That’s idiotic.”

“It is rather unlikely, Lorkhan.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Somebody could’ve died.”

Barbus’ last pronouncement seemed to end it, Lorkhan having shrunk in on himself a little as their disapproval became more and more apparent. He wasn’t going to give up on this, because he never did, but it at least brought the immediate argument to a close.

“Right…now we’ve established that us being super-soldiers is an utterly ridiculous idea, I’m going home.” Barbus nodded, standing and slipping off the table. “Zuko, you want a lift?”

“Are you taking the Growler?” The helmeted boy responded. Barbus grinned.

“By ‘the Growler’, do you mean the Honda you bought off your Granddad?” Lorkhan grumbled, still pissed about Mordecai letting anyone from Canterlot High go before he got to them. Barbus was the only one of them who could drive, and so he was the one who provided the taxi surface. “Do you even know what ‘Growler’ means?” Barbus’ smirk answered that question, at least.

“Yes, I fear I must be going, too. Things to do, people to see, and all that.” Mordecai nodded, standing and screwing the mug-lid back on his flask. He picked his schoolbag up, hanging it over a shoulder. “Until tomorrow, gentlemen.” None of them said anything as he turned to leave, but the polite boy didn’t mind, humming quietly and merrily to himself as he made his way down the street.

“I’m coming too.” Lorkhan mumbled, looking round at Barbus.

“You want a lift now?”

“You know that you’ll give me one.” Lorkhan pointed out. With that, his attention turned to Zuko. “I need to come round to yours for a bit, anyway. I want to watch the video.” Even in spite of the tinted helmet, the sensation Zuko screwing his face up in disgust was palpable.

“Lorkhan, can’t you do that in your ow-“ He trailed off as he his friend’s angry glare deepened, the meaning finally clicking for Zuko.

“Oh…that video.”

Author's Note:

What...did you think we were gone forever?

I blame Equestria Girls and everything in that movie for providing this idea.

Comments

[Murder Knight]

Oh no... whelp, this story needed someone to replace the chaos sorcerer. And what better replacement than the exact same person?

[auburn12]

yes.