This War of Ours

by Swan Song

DAY FORTY-ONE

Scootaloo took a deep breath, picked up the small cup, and downed its entire contents in a single second. With a monumental effort, she swallowed the pungent liquid, and was duly rewarded with a sudden coughing fit, her throat burning as if she had consumed a mouthful of pure fire.

“Aggghhhh!!” Scootaloo dropped the empty cup, which bounced off the hardwood flooring with a harmless clink.

All of the girls in the room burst into laughter.

“Oh Stars almighty, that was so worth it!” said Apple Bloom, choking back her giggles.

Despite the raging inferno in her throat, Scootaloo couldn't help but manage a smile at the atmosphere of the room. For the first time in a long time, the Crusaders were actually... happy. Thanks to the trader, who had resumed their route once again—and begun bringing all sorts of interesting components, to boot—Apple Bloom had managed to gather enough scrap to set up a small distillery for brewing moonshine.

It had become a brilliant investment—not only did it raise everypony's spirits by giving them something to keep busy with, the product had become incredibly popular throughout wartime Ponyville. After all, ponies wanted to drown away their sorrows, and what better way to do it than by sharing in a good ol' cup of mind bleach?

At this point, the Crusaders' output had become high enough that they could basically get anything they wanted, just by having Scootaloo drag around a sack of moonshine to trade—which meant that, for the first time ever, there was no longer any shortage of supplies. Even looting activity had died down, ever since the product had been introduced into the streets. After all, a drunk bandit was a merry bandit... and also a terrible shot.

All in all, it had worked out wonderfully for the Crusaders. There was only really one downside to the whole deal.

Apple Bloom needed taste testers.

“I hate both of you with an undying passion,” growled Scootaloo coarsely, grabbing a glass of water and downing it voraciously.

“Don’t hate the mare, hate the dare!” said Sweetie Belle with a grin.

“Yeah, great.” She coughed again, clearing her throat. “Can we try not to make the dares eat into our own merchandise though?”

“Aw, c’mon, it was just a shot,” reassured Apple Bloom. “We’ve got plenty o’moonshine, and we can always make more when the trader brings by more sugar.”

“Yeah, but we won’t have anything to trade for any more moonshine supplies if we drink all the moonshine.”

“Oh Scootaloo, quit being such a wuss,” giggled Sweetie Belle.

“Oh yeah?” Scootaloo whirled on Sweetie Belle, vengeance in her eyes. “Well guess what, missy? Now it’s my turn.”

Sweetie Belle gave her a devilish smile. “Do your worst, you stone cold killer, you.”

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

“You killed her,” said Scootaloo in a low growl as she advanced on the mare cowering before her.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” the mare cried, scurrying away from Scootaloo and backing into the far wall of the Doo family kitchen.

Pain surged into Scootaloo’s heart, threatening to overtake her. It was a pain that she thought she would never feel again. She had been wrong about that, of course. Right now, she felt more pain than ever before.

“You killed her,” Scootaloo repeated, stomping towards the mare.

“She had a gun! I thought she was a bandit!”

Luckily for Scootaloo, she learned something valuable about pain.

It’s a fantastic way to fuel the flames of fury.

“You KILLED HER!” roared Scootaloo. “YOU KILLED DITZY DOO! YOU KILLED MY GODMOTHER!”

Scootaloo leveled the Gryphosi pistol at the mare.

“And now I’m going to kill you.”

“...NonoNO, WAIT, PLEASE—!“

The world went white as Scootaloo screamed into the night, her voice a wretched howl of misery and rage, bullets loosing from the barrel in an endless stream of hellfire.

The pistol clicked empty. The air was filled with the burning smell of smoke and lead.

Scootaloo waited.

As it faded, the mare's body slowly swam into view. She was curled up on the floor, lying perfectly still, her face frozen in a look of abject terror. A pool of liquid formed underneath her body.

The smell hit Scootaloo’s nose. It reeked of urine. She wrinkled her muzzle in disgust, but grinned almost manically.

“Heh.” She spat. “I think that alone was worth wasting my entire magazine on you.”

She stepped closer to the motionless body.

A long, dead silence hung over the room.

“…Get up.”

The mare blinked, her ear twitching.

“Get. Up.”

She blinked again. She turned around slowly, jaw agape, staring at the halo of bullet holes on the wall above her head.

“GET UP!” Scootaloo kicked the mare, who yiped in response. “Get up. And just go. Get out of here.”

“You… you—”

“Go,” she growled. “Move, and get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind.”

She scrambled to her hoooves.

“Thank you, thank you, I’m so, so sorry, I promise I’ll be careful next time—“

“ONE.” Scootaloo slapped a fresh mag into the pistol.

“Eep! Sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll go! Thank you— eek!” She tripped over herself, faceplanting on the floor.

“TWO!” Scootaloo racked her gun with an intimidating click-click.

“EEP!” She scrambled back to her hooves. “Sorry! Going!”

She rounded the bend and disappeared from sight.

After a moment of silence, Scootaloo released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Slowly, she turned to the fresh corpse on the floor, just a few feet away.

The body of her godmother, Ditzy Doo.

Scootaloo closed her eyes.

The fury that had overcome her had dissipated. And it had taken all the pain with it.

She opened it again, staring at her godmother. Even in death, she looked at peace. Her eyes were closed, and—aside from the gunshot wound—it merely looked like she was asleep. Scootaloo hoped that her death had been as tranquil as it seemed.

“I’m sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn’t save you sooner.” She sniffed. “Rest in peace, Miss Doo. And thank you... thank you for looking after me for all these years.”

Scootaloo bowed her head, holding a curled hoof to her heart, and prayed.

“May the Sun and Stars protect you evermore."

Without another word, she left the room.

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

Outside, the night was quiet. The town blanketed in snow. Not a single gunshot. No signs of battle.

Just a few meters away from the door sat a small pony. While her eyes bore signs of tears, her face was dry, and her gaze was fixed to a point in the distance. Scootaloo turned to follow it, and caught the tail of the mare from before as she rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

With a sigh, Scootaloo turned back to the filly.

“Dinky,” she intoned dully. “I’m done.”

The filly sniffled, not moving her eyes from the alleyway.

“You… you didn’t kill her.”

“No,” said Scootaloo with a sigh. “No, I didn’t.”

"Why not?"

"Because I'm better than that."

There was a moment of silence.

Suddenly, a bright flash lit the street. “Shit!” Scootaloo raised her weapon. “Dinky, get behind—”

"Wait, Scootaloo, look at yourself!" the gray filly gasped, pointed a shaking hoof at Scootaloo, who blinked in response.

"Huh? What? What about me?"

"On... on your flanks," she stuttered in awe.

Scootaloo's eyes widened. Slowly, she turned to look.

"...Huh." She blinked. "Well... there we go, then, I guess."

Another moment of silence passed.

“C’mon, Dinks,” she said, turning to her cousin and pulling her to her hooves. “We can’t stay outside. Let’s go. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

“…Okay, Scootaloo.” A sniffle. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, cuz.”

Silently, they walked off into the night. Dinky turned back, staring at their old home one last time, before they turned a corner and it vanished from their sight forever.

Comments

[Zaid ValRoa]

I don't know how to feel about the time jump. It kind of robs you of the actual development of the characters and the other plot points by going from point A straight to point B and not showing you how it got there, though it still manages to avoid dragging the story through every minutiae that happens during the war.

On the other hand, you can always go back and write another chapter for one of the days in-between if you feel like adding something.

[Swan Song]

5550765 The contest has a 15,000 word limit.

I did have another scene in mind though. I was thinking of adding one where Sweetie Belle actually confronts Scootaloo about her desensitization to murder.

[Csquared08]

Huh. That's a way to get your cutie mark, I guess.

[Average_NZ_Bronie]

Nooo they got derpy