Lost of thoughts

by CraftAids

Flank attributes and assets control the world.

He was sitting in a tall chair next to a tall, small, round table and hanging over a cold glass with a straw. The sword was next to him, on the chair. He was inside, next to the tent wall. The glass contained strawberry milkshake.

The fair was still in Horsetown. He had hoped that would be a good thing. He had learned some things today.

The stallion in charge of hiring and firing was Chuckle Shuffle. He had been directed to Chuckle by the other ponies operating stands or rides or performing. He had approached Chuckle Shuffle and asked to join.

“What’s your cutie mark for?”

“My what?”

Shuffle looked at him for a moment. “Your cutie mark.”

“What’s a cutie mark?” he had asked.

Shuffle didn’t move or say anything for a good 5 seconds. Shuffle looked to the sky. “I don’t have time for this.” Shuffle walked around him and looked at his butt. “Blank flank. Okay. I don’t need any more blank flanks. Have a nice day.” Shuffle ignored him after that.

After that, he had asked strangers about cutie marks.

As it turns out, a cutie mark is a naturally occurring, abstract representation of the purpose of a pony's life. It indicates that a pony has extreme talent in something and would be happy if they focused their life around it.

As a result, every job was either given to an expert in the related field, or a blank flank. No employer wanted a blank flank. There were ponies with generalized marks for cleaning and organization. If you weren’t skilled, you were probably filler employment with someone who hoped you would develop a mark and stay with them forever.

The pony he asked only told him what a cutie mark was.

“So, it’s kind of like a degree?”

The mare looked confused, and said, “Those things that say you’ve been to a school?”

So, he came to this tent and spent a bit. He sucked on the straw, hard, until he tasted the shake.

As a horse, strawberry milkshake tasted exactly like a strawberry milkshake.

His face became hot and, slightly, his eyes stung.

“Now, there he is! It is the one who will devour the brightest star! His march is not halted by ends! He is an infection from behind the fabric from which all things rise! Even now, he has brought un-death to the most powerful warrior! His buck has brought him to lake-oblivion! We choke on his disengagement! He is doomed to disregard! I can hear it, the dark stone shaft’s erosion from within its wooden coat! The will ticking time on drags us to our completion! It speaks as thus!”

He looked up, towards the yelling. A hoof was pointed directly at him. The pony pointing was small and out of breath and sitting a few meters away. No one was looking but most weren’t talking. The small pony giggled. The pony's eyes darted around and their laughter rose. A light flashed near the pony's flanks.

“A-and that guy,” he pointed at a stallion at the bar, “That guy-”

A tan furred pegasus covered in silvery and yellow-ish metal got up, which left him standing on his stool. “We-e-e-ell! Did somebody just get their cutie mark?” The stallion hopped down and approached the doomsayer. His irises were red.

The colt nodded enthusiastically. “Y-yeah! Yeaah! And, you’re gonna-”

The stallion shoved a hoof into the colt’s mouth. “I don’t believe I asked you to ruin my life. I would suggest you go find people who actually want your predictions, but you got your cutie mark for public slander, so… I’m telling you to.”

The stallion was, apparently, intimidating enough for the colt to leave. The stallion sighed as the idle chatter returned. The stallion looked around and spotted him, still sitting next to his milkshake. The stallion looked concerned and glanced at the other patrones. The stallion reared up and pressed a hoof into the side of his own glass and, when he pulled his hoof away, the glass remained stuck to the hoof. The stallion approached on three legs, holding his cup up by its side with the bottom of his forehoof. He watched in aw. The stallion hopped up and sat across the table from him.

“So then,” the stallion pulled a spoon full of yellow ice from the cup and ate it, “You up for a bit of the rough and/or tumble?”

He hadn’t quite recovered emotionally, from any of it: the strangeness of the world, his one sip of a taste like home, a horse grabbing with no fingers. If you could see the skin on his face, you would see a wide patch of slight reddening. “What… what was that?”

“Well, see, first, some stallion is kind enough to replace your teeth with a hoof. After that, they shoves’ a hole down your neck. Lastly, it exits through your backside. And, that is, roughly, the rough and tumble.”

“Not that.”

“Lemon slushie.”

“No. No, um, how did you get it over here?”

“… I walked?”

“Could you be more specific?”

“I picked it up in my hoof and carried it here with my other hooves- WFLPT” The stallion sharply shook his head while squeezing his eyes shut before looking right back at him. “Why are you still here?”

“Milkshake.”

“Wha-excu…”

He looked down at his hooves and then down at his sword, in his chair. He reached down and pressed his hoof into the handle. He raised the sword, dangling it in his grasp. Those who were sitting near him held still and it got just the slightest bit quieter. He dropped it and it stuck into the dirt. Everyone went back to their own business.

The stallion looked down at the sword and then back up at him. “Well! It seems you do think you're some sort of bad-flank. How many fights in a beverage shop have you been to?”

“Excuse me, am I being threatened? Is that what is happening now?”

“No?”

“Then, why would I be in a bar fight?”

“Okay, I know most fortune tellers are bogus, and the real prophecies can’t be stopped, but… listen to me. It doesn’t stop folks from trying. The ponies here just heard that kid say that bad things will happen because you are alive. Some of them might want to be a hero, might attack you or anyone around you, like me.”

He took note of some of the glances he was getting. They didn’t seem particularly pleasant, but he couldn’t really be sure what those looks meant. He thought he had an idea, though. “I…” he looked down, at his cup, “I’m not leaving this.” He pulled the lid off with a hoof, “But, I will drink fast,” and started drinking his shake.

The tan stallion watched, then smiled. The stallion removed his spoon and chugged his slushy.

The empty slushy cup was slammed down first. The stallion refused to cringe.

He finished his milkshake in two or three goes. He put down his cup and hopped off his chair. He was standing on two legs, and he pulled his blade from the earth. “Why are you still in here, then?”

The stallion’s smile widened. “I don’t think you understand.”

The tan stallion with the red eyes hopped down and spread his wings. They were almost all metal. Silver strips ran where his feathers should be. Yellow metal replaced the upper edges. A mess of small, metal spines and white strands of mane hair ran along his spine. Plates of rounded metal covered the upper part of his barrel and neck. One forehoof was clearly prosthetic. His cutie mark was a steaming, copper gear. “I’m Hot Air, and,” he reached into this saddle bag and rooted around for a moment, pulled out nothing, unfolded nothing to the right and nothing to the left, and then put on imaginary sunglasses while two shaded pieces of clear plastic descended from his metallic head piece and covered his eyes, “I am some sort of bad flank.”

Comments

[alamais]