Stroll

by re- Yamsmos

Holes

It was a silly kind of thing, now.

Something she'd probably find herself mulling upon for hours upons hours later in life—"later" being a mildly subjective term possibly, hypothetically indicating thirty minutes from now—and chuckling at, for, as she'd just admitted, it was naught but a silly, ridiculous little kind of thing with also admittedly terrible, horrible results that very easily made and broke her days wandering the busy streets, lounging at her cozy house, talking to an old friend, bumping into a stranger and getting her ear chewed off even while she was being as nice as could be and being called "ludicrous" which she was more than just one-hundred-percent sure her lousy opponent was misusing and then they'd called her fat so she took her umbrella and whacked at their tail and then she'd spent a night in the local prison for assault, and playing music at a concert she had ruthlessly been scooted into. It came to her at random times, all of which were times she'd much rather be listening to something else. Even the headphones she'd finally caved in and bought to listen to her record player didn't do much to stop it, drowning out Time Bomb's falsettos and Silent Sign's compositions to the point that she swore she'd grab Vinyl's revolver, place it against her own skull, and...

Huh, maybe that was a bad idea after all.

She was now at a relative amount of understanding, starting the assuredly long path toward finally realizing why Vinyl kept ammo and black powder-gun separate from one another in their own little green crates.

Going back to the subject matter of... whatever she was calling these—thought processes, rising insanity, internal monologues, or mindless drones—it was... actually very silly, thinking about it at this moment in time.

The happenstance itself wasn't the silly part; the fact that she was now waiting for it was more the kind of thing currently humoring her. Striking her fancy. Whatever whoever—whatever—was reading this preferred. Whatever whatever? Were you stup- no. In that context, double the word was exactly what she needed to broadcast the definition she was seeking. Was somepony reading this, perhaps? No. It wasn't like it was going anywhere. It was just nestled inside her dumb little head where it should have always been. No telling what the world would think of her if word got out she was... like she was inside.

Yes, though, she was... waiting for it now.

The names. Like fat, or ugly, and atrocious, occasionally rubbish, sometimes pitiful, absolutely disgusting. Octavia, too, even though it was her given one and not one she, pushing herself into the reality of it all, didn't even deserve.

The reminders. Her dogs, or her Academy days, or her music, or her stove (right?), or her schools, or her in general. Three in three, or four for three, or usually five for one for four, or three-fifty on the nose for eleven, or long twelve, or twenty-five in whole nearing twenty-six in fading.

The insults. She was stupid, one day, and then the next, while waking up, everypony hated her and she should just stay in bed, and then, later that afternoon, while sipping her coffee and crunching delightfully on a warm bagel, she should go outside and jump in front of a cart, and then half a minute following that, she was worthless, and then later that night, before turning off her bedside lamp on her nice desk, she should die in her sleep from projectile vomiting behind a pair of clenched teeth, and then the next morning she was a burden to everypony and Vinyl would be better off not having to worry about her disappearing overnight, and then later that day while walking home she was better off dead for some reason, even though she was getting food at Vinyl's behest for the both of them to share and laugh about later because Vinyl always got terrible fortunes in her fortune cookies but Octavia's were no better because they concerned love and the kitchen always went quiet but Vinyl was a mute anyway so it was kind of the same thing but still kind of not...?

She was waiting for an onslaught of ravenous self-deprecation, thoughtless second-guessing, bottomless self-doubt, slightly-verbal self-harm, and general self-hatred, and yet she was feeling a tad bit antsy that she wasn't hearing anything at all.

They were all things she'd known for a long portion of time, a particular oddity she'd been on a first-name basis with almost as long as she'd known all her physical friends. Of course, they couldn't be called spiritual, the first friends she was talking about, because, while they emerged from her malnourished head, rooted in her brain, they brought with them actions she'd involuntarily—but knowingly—make happen in a bodily manner. A hoof knocking over her glass of water; a tail flicking to snap at another one of Vinyl's innocent looks; a trip in her trot that sent her spilling onto the ground that caught the attention of seemingly every living pony on the block; a buried word on the back part of her tongue unearthed and unleashed for her present adversary to shy away from and swear off ever possibly encountering again.

She was waiting... and she'd been doing so the entire day since earlier in the morning talking with Sesame.

And now it was about seven or so in the morning, and even as griffons here and there tussled and toiled about their daily routines like moving this crate over here Paulie no not that one the other one yeah the one labeled porn no there's not actually no don't look in there you sick mother to hoisting sails at Andy's overjoyed request and finally to what appeared to be some kind of fishing competition over on the far side of the deck, Octavia stayed right in her little spot on the left side of the bow, watching the beautiful yellow sun rise in the east and hang above her gray little head with both her forelegs planted firmly on the ground in front of her haunches, a stereotypical stoic trying to look smart thinking much too hard about such a simple little thing. Such a simple little thing that was now bringing a little smile to her face that she certainly didn't wish to hide.

She could probably open up any old history book and find an entire section entitled "Octavia's Affliction" that spanned the entirety of the one-thousand-page-long tome, going into each and every thing that it affected, which just so coincidentally happened to be each and every thing that Octavia ever tried doing before ending up doing something different, either entirely or the slightest borderline of barely. It was a fickle thing, really, and she didn't really know what its cause or its source or what any of it even was. She couldn't very well just call it a "black cloud", because even black clouds dispersed after a certain period of time. This was something more akin to a kind of blanket—a thick one that smothered her, and strangled her, and drained her very essence until she was nothing but a routinely self-insulting mess of a mare. Not to say it was doing too terrible a job, but it was doing much too good a terrible job.

That was the thing about it, in the end. She recognized what she was saying to herself. Every word, and proclamation of hatred toward herself, and every time she called herself fat and worthless and appropriately loathed was an instance she recognized as being a little more than majorly unhealthy, but there was a quick bandaging of sorts instantly following this, reminding her that she wasn't just being silly, and that she was more than majorly suitable for the things she was mindlessly, robotically spewing at herself. She was fat, and worthless, and everypony did hate her, and she definitely deserved it, no matter what she thought otherwise.

But that was another silly part, because she knew that that as well was a cover-up.

What in the hell was wrong with her?

It was a ridiculous kind of thing that second-guessed everything she ever did, even when she reassured herself that what she was doing was okay.

It puzzled her, and... kind of isolated her in a way. She looked at people she stuck around, either friends or random conversationalists at a concert or a shop of some sorts, and noted the lack of any add-on at the end of their sentences, like how she usually tacked on a very apt, "stupid idiot loser" to most of hers. Did they not feel the way she always felt? Did they always feel sure of themselves, no matter the situation or the day? Nopony was perfect, but was she an exception? Was she the only person who felt like this? When other people took compliments, they accepted it. Some ponies could be humble about it, but they didn't affirm that they weren't such a thing like she did, and go on and on and on about how they certainly weren't such a thing, and how they were nothing but a burden, and people should forget about her, laughing all the while as everypony else nearby just kind of gave her... looks.

And then the isolation continued.

She knew they were just concerned, or worried, but she also felt that they were thinking her insane, and foolish, and scary, and not a good pony to be around lest they grow attached and want to talk to her awkward stature and find out she wasn't as interesting as they'd thought and make fun of her and leave her and talk about her behind her back but right in front of her eyes but do this and do that and oh Gods she was doing it again find something else find something anything just stop it do it do it do it do it jump you coward jump– Noteworthy.

She sucked in a breath.

A long, long breath.

And then, opening her eyes, she blew it out, and felt a smile cross her lips again.

Okay.

You're okay.

No.

You're. Okay.

Okay.

She no longer heard the voice in her head.

And she knew that she wasn't jinxing it by saying it.

Because she'd been saying it for the past few hours to herself.

Which of course meant that she heard a voice in her head. It wasn't the voice in her head. How about that?

It wasn't the voice that sounded mostly like herself, sometimes like her father, and other times like her mother.

It just simply... wasn't. At all.

She put an ear up.

She put the ear down.

She put the ear up again.

Down.

Either she had gone completely, hopelessly deaf, and would follow the path of her great uncle by first overloading his musket and then going to the nearest crowded theatre, or something else was amiss. And she was fairly certain she hadn't gone deaf, because she probably would have freaked out by now to the point of near hysterics and borderline insanity. Gods, was it preferable to be deaf, or to be blind? Her father was getting along in the latter region these days, and her mother had been teetering for the past few years on the former, and she wasn't entirely sure which one of the two she would have favoured if they ever gave her a choice. Could she choose both and then just sit in a hospital bed for a few years? No. No, that was stupid. That would be Godsawful. She'd have to learn Morse code to let her nurses know she'd pooped herself again. How embarrassing.

Lifting a hoof, she brought it over to her other foreleg and brushed a few clouds of dust off it, then rose to all fours, stretched a little bit for a span of about one-and-a-half whole seconds—incidentally twice the amount of time she spent exercising every week—and began to walk around. The clips and clops of her hooves gave way to ample creaks and... longer creaks as she went about, mixing in with much heavier cousins that reverberated across the many floorboards in their feathered owners' wakes as they hopped in place, sprinted elsewhere, landed with thuds, were dragged along, ambled aimlessly, and marched like soldiers and not pirates, which was weird, because they were pirates and not soldiers, so they shouldn't have been doing a soldier thing, because they were pirates, and not soldiers. They were pirates.

What was she talking about again?

She'd been too busy in her usual, debatably "safe" place, and as such deserved the unintended elbow to her side—which knocked the wind out of her—and the very quick apology—"Whoops!"—that came afterward. Stumbling around and clutching her gut, Octavia sucked on her teeth and continued onward toward the destination she was now rooting through the scrambles of her head to recover. Not the bow... not the... was it the oh geez that hurt...

It was anywhere.

Well, of course it wasn't anywhere. She'd had a set destination in mind at some point or another, and now she'd forgotten it like some idiot as any regular pony would. But she was saying it was, and so it went. Was. Did? It was anywhere. Case closed. Zipped. Shut. Quieted. Smothered. Shot. Dead. Gone. Buried. Forgotten. Done.

A thought came to her as meekly and as tenderly as she probably would have a nice bowl of oatmeal, and she reached down and yanked it back up before it faded away into the back of her head again because Gods be damned if she wasn't going to eat every last bowl of oatmeal on this planet before she passed.

She couldn't hear the voice inside her head any longer—that was for sure. But... maybe she couldn't because there was something drowning it out. These somethings, numbering three, she approached cautiously, starting with the salty blue sea roaring and ripping and flowing and spiraling and bursting and turning and churning and tumbling and flinging and flying across the front of the Scuttlebug, drowning out any undisturbed conversations one was aching to hold up, causing any who tried to raise their voice to very high levels that, seemingly, everypony else besides her was already accustomed to, and found no real trouble in. Surely, she was still thinking now, so the sea may have struck a no. She moved on to the birds, and the Birds, the former of which continued doing their duties dutifully with chuckles and grins, and the latter helping them out as best they could even as their armor and guns got splashed by sprays of Octavia's first subject. Laughs, and points, and jokes, and insults, and Valkyrie pulling out a knife only for Lavi to snatch it out of her claws went about, but they weren't to her immediate sides and weren't as loud as she'd prior thought.

A welling in her stomach began to heat up, but she pushed it down and tried to ignore it even as it rose in volume and effect.

The ship itself was next, as massive as it was and as much of a cushion against the sea for the birds it posed. The Scuttlebug, in all its pride and glory and fish heads still haplessly strewn about the deck. Was it a war trophy of some sort, perhaps? A way to give the middle talon to the Gods, as if to say, "I can still catch these, jackasses"? Or maybe they held a fearmongering purpose, warding off any fish that could... possibly see them on top of the massive ship's top deck, far higher than any fish she knew could leap upward, and letting any upcoming victims know, as they were lifted from the sea and onto the unfamiliar wooden deck, that they were rightfully buggered. Maybe they were just there because the pirates reeling them in and harvesting them were lazy, but you couldn't really be considered lazy if you were a useful claw on a pirate vessel, could you? Everyone had a job, jobs that Octavia continuously seemed to interrupt.

She rose from the bucket she'd temporarily considered a seat, flashed her teeth at the smirking griffon reaching for it, and cleared her throat as she turned away.

Nothing was drowning it out.

The honestly-eye-opening realization only really came to her when she had just thought it just now—a slow lumbering of a Recognition Locomotive that would soon be barreling down an unstoppable path of giddiness rivaling those bullet trains across the pond she'd constantly heard about and had tried to hide under her covers from upon learning trains could even go that fast.

There was nothing drowning the voice out.

Nothing.

She couldn't hear the voice anymore.

A smile crested her lips.

Well.

Ahem.

Though they may not have drowned it out, they were a tremendous help toward her just cause, but, to be honest, the roaring and ripping and flowing and spiraling and bursting and turning and churning and tumbling and flinging and flying sea and the chuckling and grinning and laughing and pointing and joking and insulting birds and the massive ship could very well go shag themselves because she...

...had...

...a...

...plan!

She had a plan!

She had a plan, she had a plan, she had a plaaaaaaaan~!

She threw her forelegs toward the sky, shutting her eyes, shining her teeth, and letting out a little ungodsly noise that belonged to a substantially younger mare than she, then, jumping to her four legs, began to twist and turn and spin around.

She had a plan, oh by the Gods she had a plan!

She had to tell someone, right?! Good news was only better if shared; happiness was only real when shared, right?! Oh Gods, then, she had to tell somepony about it!

...

Somebody!

Her eyes landed upon a lonely-looking griffon sitting by himself in the corner, dressed in a tattered gray shirt and wearing a baseball cap not too dissimilar to hers! She fluttered toward him very casual like, poked him in the head, and shouted in his face, "I'm going to see Noteworthy!"

His response: "Mudslinger."

Bloody hell, she could throw some mud right about now, she was so excited! She was happy! She was excited! And happy! Oh Zacherle, who next?!

Oh!

"Tee! Tee! Tee!"

T looked up from his position literally two feet away on the floor. He looked back at his book. He looked back at Octavia. He threw his beak back into his book.

"Tee! Teeeeeeeeeeeee!"

T probably would have shat himself and elicited a few snickers from his nearby accomplices, but it didn't seem to Octavia that T ever ate anything, and so he simply raised a brow her way once she reappeared a bare inch from his eyes.

"I have a plan!"

"Was getting caught part of your–"

"I'm going to see Noteworthy!"

He smiled, probably because he knew who it was, and who who it was meant to her, and what who it was meant to her!

"Who's that?"

Her smile stretched across the galaxy, and, still just kind of... staring at T, she brought her forelegs up, waggled them around like an arm-flailing-tube-mare, and sped away to find someone new!

Someone new, someone new... oh!

"Sesame!"

The Unicorn paused.

As did Lavi, who was right next to him.

Both were wielding fishing rods, their respective lines cast over the deck of the Scuttlebug and into the far depths of Horseshoe Bay.

Sesame pressed his smile into his cheeks.

Lavi placed an arm against her hip.

"I have a plan!"

Sesame laughed, realizing, "Oh! Yeah, you already told me, Octavia!"

...

...

...

"Oh!"

"Wait, what plan?"

Octavia looked over at Lavi with, apparently, enough speed to make the battle-hardened griffon jump in place, fumble with her fishing pole, and continue jigging it.

"I'm going to see Noteworthy!"

"Literally who," Valkyrie said from next to Lavi, chugging a can of what Octavia presumed to be beer.

Lavi tossed her head, rolling her eyes, "It's a porn star, Val. We watched one of his videos, remember?"

Valkyrie went beet red. "Agh, we, no...! That was... we...!"

Lavi clicked her beak. "Wait, no!" She nodded, shaking a talon. "That was Note Pad, not Noteworthy!" Lavi laughed. Then she stopped. Then she looked at Octavia. "Who the hell is Noteworthy?"

But Octavia was already speeding away to find someone else to tell the good news to.

She had a plan, and she was going to see Noteworthy, and they were going to get some lunch, and they were going to talk, and she was going to see him and oh Gods she was going to see Noteworthy because it was all a part of her plan! Which reminded her: she had a plan! She had a plan, she had a plan, she had a plaaaaan~!

She hopped onto a table—hoppity—and stomped her hooves—stompity—and opened her mouth—.........—and screamed, "I have a plan!"

The griffons around her became quiet. The sea, even, seemed to stop.

And Octavia beamed, for that was just what should happen if she ever, ever had a nice day in her life.

She was standing, now, on her hindlegs, with her forelegs stretched toward the heavens and a massive, toothy grin plastered on her mug, and she opened her eyes...

...to find W staring at her.

She blinked. Her smile faltered.

Without a word, she fell to all fours, dropped to the floor, felt a blush on her two cheeks, and cleared her throat as she walked away from the scene.

A plan.

Yes.

She had a plan in her mind and reason in her step, and though she had to continuously restrain the part of her brain manning the controls to the latter—which would have carried her right over the lip of the Scuttlebug if it got its wish—such a thing wasn't unwelcome to her, nor was it unfamiliar in any way. The idea of "planning", as a matter of fact, wasn't something she was exactly unfriendly with. She'd taken after her parents, as another matter of fact, who had long grocery lists, and sprawling checklists, and filled calendars that ended up looking like those fabled music pieces whose notes made the whole thing appear to be just as soulless and dark as herself that black hole ponies had always said lay at the center of their universe. Well, not their universe, persay. The universe they all shared. Collectively. With everyone else on the planet. Not including ponies, but... also including them.

Planning!

She had her own grocery lists, and while they—more times than she wholly liked to admit—contained different kinds of noodle cups, microwavable pizzas, cute little coffee creamers in the shape of donuts, and cookie dough ice cream tubs from fifteen various brands, she still made absolutely sure to write them down when they were needed and gather them when they were desired. Most of the time, she'd go alone because Vinyl was a massive putz and would probably make her buy healthy things like spinach and two-percent milk, but other days, with the headbanging Unicorn dancing next to her, she'd enter the local Conserve-Sums, grab a nearby cart, wave at the kindly old greeter in the front, and zoom away to the freezer section to hide for awhile until Vinyl, surely searching for her, would give up and just head to the deli for a quick bite. Then, and only then, could Octavia shop in peace and grab whatever the hell she wanted.

Vinyl's hoofwriting was a pile of burning rubbish anyway. Octavia much preferred both writing their lists down and shopping for said things on said list by her lonesome, because the only real friend she needed was the bitter, freezing tub cradled in her forelegs and the tears streaming down her cheeks that would spiritually connect the two proponents.

Planning ahead, in general, was an oddly novice task to her, and more than a few times did she catch herself wondering why people tended to procrastinate and procrastinate, only to lose their shit when what they'd been procrastinating on (?) was finally due. Pardon, but didn't they know what was going to eventually occur? You have to know what you're prolonging in order to not do it, but, then again, she was being an undeniably massive hypocrite at the moment, so what the hell did she know anyway?

She'd gotten it all from her parents, as she'd earlier explained. They both seemed to know exactly what to do at the exact time duty called, and it baffled her at a young age to the point that she began carrying around her own notepad to try learning at her own pace. Then again, that was more an intuition type of thing she was describing, wasn't it? You didn't really plan for your tap to suddenly burst apart and flood the upstairs bathroom, you just sloshed down the cascading waterfall toward the garage, grabbed your toolbox, and fixed it. You didn't necessarily think your bow would snap after gingerly placing it against your bass' strings, but you still gently set the accursed thing down, rose from your seat, adjusted your bowtie, walked out of the room, descended the dry staircase, grabbed your peacoat, snatched up your umbrella, shook the damn thing open, threw the door wide, left the house, walked down the street, took some turns or something she'd forgotten, entered the local shop, purchased a new bow, added on a piece of chocolate just for yourself, left the establishment, walked back home, did all the things you'd done before, and resumed playing Hot Cross Buns for your daughter to learn.

For the record, she wasn't the one who broke the tap. Forte did, by slamming his head against it repeatedly at her approval.

No word on that bow, however. No telling what in the bloody hell that all was.

A plan, though. Yes, of course she had one. She was Octavia Philharmonica, esteemed Canterlot Bassist and part of the Big Five in the Symphony itself, otherwise composed of Frederick Horseshoepin on piano, Parish Nandermane on harp, Beauty Brass on sousaphone, and Concerto on a plethora.

She'd first wait for the Scuttlebug to dock at Fort Luna, and then she'd head off the ship, ask around the Fort for a carriage ride, and head to the nearest town or train station to get along on her merry way to Ponyville. And there, she'd sprint away from whatever thing she'd rode in on, enter town proper, and prop herself right on Noteworthy's doorstep like some kind of lovesick homestallion waving a stereo around blaring Caught On A Feeling to his upset Ess-Oh.

Simple, and very, very effective.

She was ready—oh by the Gods, she was more than ready—but the smell of the fresh sea water and the sound of the steady waves was beginning to intoxicate her. Worried she might not want to leave, she reached her hooves up and flattened her ears against her head, pouting out her lower lip and scooting away from the edge of the Scuttlebug's port side. Which was... left. Yes, left. Wait... yeah. She was pretty sure. Pfft, she wasn't new to the different areas of a boat. Why, she'd... already gone over her experiences with boats, hadn't she? Hm.

No matter. She was going home, and she had a plan that would help her along the way, and–

"Cap-taaaaaaain!"

Oh what in the hell now?!

Octavia whipped her mane around, unknowingly smacking Sesame who had walked next to her with a cup of morning brew, his magic never ceasing its hold on his fishing rod. Rising from her makeshift seat on the admittedly wet floorboards, she adjusted her bowtie, worked her white collar around, made sure her ballcap was on just right, and looked around for Andy, who would surely be heading for the source of the voice that had just called him. Lo and behold, the young griffon came hopping down the nearby staircase, did a little T-shaped pose as he hit the bottom, and trotted over to his subordinate. Octavia, feeling much too curious for her own good—and feeling she was a tad entitled to whatever it was the two were going to discuss—calmly cantered over to Andy's side as well, with the telltale sound of Sesame's hoofsteps following her in hot pursuit. Whether it was because he was wary she'd make another scene or because he was in wonder, she couldn't tell.

Stopping little less than half a foot from Andy—who regarded her and Sesame with a flash of his teeth—Octavia cocked her head as his caller spoke quickly.

"The Jackdaw be tellin' us those four ships at the mole have been awfully still, Cap'n."

Four ships?

Octavia looked to Sesame for the answer. He shrugged at her and scrunched his nose, clearly in the dark as well.

Andy set his jaw. "Must be traders, I reckon. Pro'lly takin' turns an' such." He took a step to turn away, adding, "Keep our course," before the other griffon cut him off by grabbing his sleeve. Though Octavia had seen such a thing happen many times in movies and shows, and had definitely seen the consequences, it seemed that the truth was much milder than fiction. Andy simply spun around again to face his crew member quietly.

"They're broadsidin', Cap'n."

Octavia cocked an eyebrow.

Sesame, apparently, was in the middle of reeling a fish in, if the tight cranks and whirring lines were any indications. Even so, he stood perfectly still next to her as if he wasn't doing anything else. She wouldn't even be able to tell he was holding a fishing rod if she didn't know it prior.

Andy, meanwhile, drew a glare upon his brow. He hummed down in his throat, pondered the floor for a short while, seemingly found himself involuntarily fixated on the fish that Sesame had just flung onto the floor, turned away, adjusted his tricorne, and stomped away. At once, as if they'd been snapped out of an unearthly enchantment, the Scuttlebug's entire crew dropped what they were doing and began to pull out long sticks from nearby buckets, shouting at one another out of sequence and sync.

Octavia placed a hoof on Sesame's left shoulder, prayed he knew what she meant, and trailed behind Andy as he started toward the bow of the ship.

"Who the hell's at the gates?!"

A griffon strode up to him and attempted to keep pace.

"Four ships, sir! All broadside, our way!"

Andy thrust a claw into the pirate's chest. "Get a note to the Jackdaw. Tell 'em t' keep on their toes."

"On it!" and away he ran.

Octavia took up residence by Andy's side. "Andy, what's going on?"

Andy shook his head. "Dunno, lass. Somethin' ain't right– oi! Crow's Nest, whaddya see, boyo?!"

"They're pretty s̴̴̨p̴͘͟a̶̕c҉͠e̡d͏͠ out, sir... I'll keep watch...!"

"Ya do that, boyo!" Andy returned his attention in front of him just in time to avoid tripping up the small staircase, though Octavia, having watched it the whole time, still about stumbled her way onto the bow of the Scuttlebug alongside the pirate captain. Immediately, Octavia noticed a large grouping of griffons huddled around the front of the ship, all staring dead ahead at the four shapes in the distance. Murmurs, shouts, and arguments went about aimlessly, but one in particular rang out to Octavia with all the force of fifteen rumbling locomotives.

"They're blockin' the path, Cap'n!"

Octavia's heart halted, and she had to hyperventilate to get it working again before she simply bellyflopped onto the floor. No. No no no no no no.

Andy winked at her, despite. "Tell you what, lass. Droppin' you off at the mole is gonna be one hell of a sight." He turned away again in a flash and butted in to the middle of the gathering by the top of the battering ram. Having successfully parted the crowd, he threw his two claws on to the railing before him and asked, "Gimme somethin', lads."

A smaller griffon next to him reached to his side, pulled out a small cylinder of some kind, extended it, brought it up to his eyes, and peered through it. Andy and a few others took a step out of the way.

The telescoping griffon suddenly lowered his tool, shaking his head. His eyes were wide, and he began to ravenously gnaw on his talons. "I don't like the face on those flags, Captain!" He backpedaled, holstering his telescope, and pointed a violently shaking claw at the four ships next to the mole. "That's the face of death, Captain!" He turned tail and ran away, screaming at the top of his lungs like a child on a tiny rollercoaster.

Octavia felt around for a pair of binoculars, found one, and yanked it free from its owner's grasp... who turned out to be Valkyrie, knowingly there because Andy was there as well. She was sure Val had said something vaguely similar to, "Hey!" but the sound of her own thumping drumline of a heartbeat drowned it out more aggressively than she was sure the churning waves would below deck.

Adjusting the two scopes, she opened her mouth in a small o-shape and looked at the four vessels blocking their path.

Waving in the wind from a pole on each respective mast was a single white paw print amidst a sea of black.

Octavia raised an eyebrow at the Scuttlebug's apparent seer, who was now cowering inside a barrel next to the staircase. Her attention now drawn toward the rear, she watched as the busy top deck rolled out cannons by their wheels and chucked milk crates full of large black spheres to each other to set next to each one. Sesame was nowhere to be seen. T looked to be loading his boxy Magicarm. Lavi was... eating. W appeared at the top of the stair, clutching Candidate by her barrel and holding the rest over his right shoulder.

She swallowed a lump down her throat.

"Andy," W began.

"I know, I know! We'll have t' figure somethin' out for 'er! Ah!" He turned her way and gave her a chipper smile. "How do ya like bein' lifted by yer belly?"

Octavia blanched.

W knew what that entailed, but she noticed him holstering Candidate all the same as he approached her and Andy. "How close can we get?"

Octavia shook her head.

"You're not–!"

"I'm getting you home, Octavia," W said, dipping his head and almost knocking her in the forehead with his own as he passed her. To Andy, "How close, Andy?"

Andy scratched his chin. "Ehhhhh, we'll have t' see." He brought up a claw before W could protest, and stuck it straight toward the long stretch of wood protruding from what she assumed to be the dock of Fort Luna. "That mole only stretches for about fifty or so yards, and I doubt we'll be gettin' close enough for 'er t' just hop off. If those ships aren't lookin' t' be our mates, they'll be right up on us the instant we make for it. Hell, they'll pro'lly set their sights on the dock before they do us."

"They think we're traders," W spoke slowly.

"'cisely," Andy confirmed, nodding.

Octavia opened her mouth. "Horseshoe Bay couldn't possibly end right here! It's a massive strait!"

Andy shook his head. "This part's land-blocked, lass. The strait of Fort Luna is much narrower than the other side, but it's the only one with a Fort on it."

Octavia mimicked Andy's gesture with much greater strength, trotting backward as well. No no no no no no no this... no no no...

"Sesame! How's your teleportation?"

"Can't do any of that worth shit, I'll tell you that."

"Looks like I'm taking you, Octavia," W said, reaching into the pouches on his chest and pulling out a pair of gloves. "I'll try not to scratch you while we're up there."

Andy cleared his throat and began to walk around as the Scuttlebug continued at full steam ahead around him. "Load those sides, boyos! Someone grab the flints out of the hatches! Yes, that one you fool!"

Valkyrie sucked in a breath. "Don't they know that Fort Luna's literally in spitting distance from them?!"

This seemed to stop Andy, who swiveled around on a piston with a blank look on his face. At once, it shifted... to horror.

His head spun to face the front of the Scuttlebug, which was now nearing the blockade.

Octavia could make out figures on the opposing four ships now. All seemed more than ready for whatever was about to happen.

W, pulling on his backpack, paused as he seemed to realize the gravity as well.

Andy threw his mouth open and grabbed hold of a nearby handle.

"Brace yourselves, boyos!"

"Sputnik!"

"Holy shit!"

Octavia flung herself to the floor and landed hard on her stomach.

She grit her teeth as hard as she could and crossed her forelegs over her head.

The world looked at its watch for just a second of her time.

She sucked in a breath.

BOOM!

Octavia struggled to remain still, and began to slide to her right as the Scuttlebug veered sharply to the left at an almost sixty-degree angle.

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit...!" went Sesame's voice, accompanying a particular floundering across the newly soaked deck. A large spray of water leaped over the bow of the Scuttlebug, drenching its inhabitants to the bone and eliciting cries of surprise from the victims. Octavia, having been shifted to the corner, was fortunately spared.

Almost immediately, the yelps of shock gave way to uproarious cheers. Flurries of stomps, hops, and shouts echoed across the ship.

"Hell yeah!"

"Kick 'em in the ass, hoofies!"

Octavia jumped to her hooves and looked over the edge of the ship where the other crew members were facing.

The center-left ship was completely on its side in the water, its masts, sails, and posts either snapped in two or set completely aflame. What looked to be Diamond Dogs flailed uselessly in the water, clinging to whatever floating object they could to keep from slipping under the surface.

Octavia's heart dropped a level and buffeted.

Andy's voice came over the crews' celebrations. "Let's give 'em some help, huh boyos?!"

A singular, "Aaaaaaaaaah!" answered him back.

One of her hooves was shaking terribly fast.

Her teeth embracing tightly, she dared a look down, looked back up to make sure nopony was watching, then looked back down and lightly stamped the hoof in place...

...and the ship responded by sliding her idly to the left, prompting her to let out a small shriek and begin tumbling onto her back as it veered hard to the right to go parallel with the leftmost ship now caught between a rock and two hard places.

Octavia, rolling over onto her stomach and tremblingly hopping to all fours, looked up... and stared directly into the eyes of what seemed to be hundreds of Diamond Dogs all lined up at the left side of their own ship, swords, muskets, and flintlocks all at the ready, teeth bared.

The Scuttlebug faltered.

Andy came at once, "Port side! Leeeeet 'em eat ahhhhhhrn!"

BOOM!

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM -OOM -M!

Octavia covered her ears quickly, the wind and the spray of the sea whipping at her mane as she watched Diamond Dogs sailing into the air from the eight direct hits. Wood splintered in terrifying cracks, creaking and thwacking against other parts of their ship that was now on a path toward the bottom of the sea.

Octavia felt like she'd just been socked in the chest.

"Gods' sake!"

"Fire!"

Octavia curled at her stomach, shutting out the now barely audible little thumps that signified yet another successful volley from both her sights and her hearing. She finally opened her eyes just in time to see the ship sinking about halfway into the water.

"We're pullin' through, boyos! Watch the starboard side! Ready on cannons!"

Octavia's eyes darted around to find W collecting his stuff. Adjusting Candidate across his back, he nodded at her quietly and began to run her way. "On me, Octavia! Time to go!"

Her mouth wide open and her expression surely looking as dumb as possible, she nodded in kind and followed W toward the middle deck. The smell of black powder and iron was nauseating, and twice did she have to shake her head to dispel its effects on overwhelming her. All around him and her, griffons raced to cannons, sticking long rods down their barrels and chucking one of the black spheres inside. A few began pumping thin sticks down muskets. T, Lavi, and Valkyrie were checking ammo and exchanging what they each had. Lavi noticed W and Octavia and gave a two-talon salute that Valkyrie and T immediately mimicked.

BOOM!

W snatched Octavia's ballcap from her head, turned it around, and placed it bill-back onto her scalp. She blew at the locks of her mane protruding from the fastener in the back.

"Don't freak out when I grab you, okay?" W asked her, setting her down in front of him.

Octavia shook her chin up and down.

"How's the rail, Sesame?"

THUNK!

"We're clear, W!"

W looked at Octavia and beckoned her along. Standing back up again, he led her toward the port side of the Scuttlebug, where Sesame had laid out the plank Octavia was prior sure wasn't actually a thing they put on pirate ships.

The two defeated ships were now completely submerged in the surf, only jutting out with a few remaining masts. Their crews floated hopelessly on coffins, bits of deck, and crates, waiting to be picked up by Guards from the Fort. Far off in the distance, she could make out a long stretch of wood trying its damndest to reach out to her... and a massive semi-circle sunk into the ground behind and above it presently smoking at the end. Fort Luna's fortress gun had already dealt a large number to the Diamond Dog blockade, and they had cleared the way for her to reach them. Safety. Home.

She felt a weight coil around her stomach and lift her from the ground.

She pursed her lips and widened her eyes in response.

"Here we go!"

Thump thump thump thump THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

Octavia's breathing... stabilized. In fact, she was actually caught in the middle of a breath.

W had carried her across the plank, and had jumped clear from the Scuttlebug with his other foreleg stretched out right in front of him.

The dark, relatively shaded exterior of the Scuttlebug gave way to piercing sunlight as Octavia and W escaped its influence, and Octavia felt... warm. Whether it was the sun-baked body armor currently kissing her body, or the sun itself, she couldn't tell, but, just for a second, she debated whether or not to simply snuggle in her position and wait to reach the mole.

She felt W shift, and opened her eyes to find him unfolding his magnificent wings.

He was flying.

And he suddenly snapped to the side, crumpling up but not letting her go even as a spittle-encrusted wheeze escaped his beak. Octavia dreaded blood, but wiped her cheek only to, thankfully, find phlegm.

W didn't let out a single word.

But a brilliant mustard yellow aura quickly surrounded him and her, and the two were flung back onto the deck of the Scuttlebug rolling and kicking up dust.

Octavia tensed, gritting her teeth and shakily rising to her hooves again.

She looked over at W to find his chestplate completely dented, as if something had hit him while they were up there.

He cursed in a language she... hadn't actually had the mindset to begin learning.

"Sohn einer verdammten Schlampe!"

"W! What the hell happened?!" Lavi shouted, running up and gathering the old griffon in her arms.

"You got hit by a swivel! Holy shit!" Valkyrie claimed.

W shook his head, still sitting on the floor but now trying to get up. "Get. Octavia. Off."

Lavi looked over at Octavia and instantly sprinted over.

The Scuttlebug pulled another turn, and the Fort's mole disappeared from sight.

Octavia gasped.

"One on our tail, Captain!"

"Make that two!"

Octavia shook her head, her mind going numb. Andy looked her way as she shouted, "What about the dock?!"

He seemed to be in a dilemma, clenching and unclenching his fists, before taking a claw and swiping it down at an angle. "Forget it! Not with swivels on our rears!"

She spun around in a panic and looked at her friends.

They had nothing for her.

Two seconds went by in and out of volume.

"Toss the barrels!"

"Unaccounted for, Captain!"

"Grr..."

BOOM! BOOM BOOM!

"Somebody tell the Jackdaw to pull away!"

PHOOOOM!

Octavia didn't need the entire starboard rail to see the large plume of flames burst from the Jackdaw's side.

A hush went over the Scuttlebug, but was quickly ceased as the entire ship rocked three times in rapid succession.

Just as quickly as the Jackdaw fell, the remaining Diamond Dog duo pulled up in front of it, concealing it from view. Its respective crews sprinted across their decks in a frenzied blur, getting ready to answer the griffons back with their own volley of iron balls. The amount of time they had to wait was short-lived, and Octavia had to fall to her stomach again as a small dot in her sights grew quickly in size and soared above her head with a high-pitched eeeeeoh!

She looked back toward the aft deck to find Andy at the wheel. Stamping his right hindleg on the ground, he clutched the spokes with his claws and threw all his weight into it, sending the Scuttlebug to the left and away from their pursuers, who didn't even bat an eyelash and matched his turn like a mirror. His clear instincts kicking in, he let out a roar and pulled the same maneuver about halfway before—after hissing something to himself—yanking the wheel to his right. Keeping one claw on the wheel, he turned his head and followed Octavia's gaze, watching as the leftmost ship at their rear narrowly skirted the coastline Andy had intended to get them to strike.

"Damn it!"

He chanced another look, adjusted their course, and chanced another look.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn!"

"We're headed toward a storm, sir!" Someone called out.

Andy gave no reply... even as two massive objects appeared from either side of the Scuttlebug's rear, bringing with them hulking, bipedal figures wielding long sticks of blades and steel.

The one to Octavia's right shrunk ever so slightly before growing exponentially, knocking the side of the Scuttlebug and sending her—and about everyone else around her—spilling to the ground. It did it once more, the sound of the impact shaking her stomach and reverberating there like a springy doorstop. This time, however, it remained there, and continued to rattle against the Scuttlebug's port side as if to trade their exterior paints. The ship to Octavia's left ambled far back, its occupants aiming their cannons ahead to try and intercept the Scuttlebug if it dared break its course.

Octavia's gut plummeted.

The Scuttlebug continued rocking to and fro due to Andy's frantic turns, but the adjacent ships were having none of it.

She looked to her left and to her right in a daze.

It almost looked like the Dogs were trying to squish them!

She tried to speak, but found her throat dry. Her voice came out quivering. "Wh-what do we do?!"

Andy closed his eyes.

He let out a long breath of air.

Two wooden clacks sounded against the Scuttlebug's sides, accompanied by long wooden beams.

His claws went to his belt.

And he pulled out two weapons.

Octavia blinked.

He was... he was looney!

With a very dead trout flopping in both claws, Andy raised his arms up and shouted, "Arm yourselves!"

Octavia sucked in a breath, and it seemed to silence the entire world around her just for a second of her life.

"We're being boarded!"

A thundercloud roared overhead.

And at once, she heard countless landings on the deck.

And all hell broke loose.

Comments

[the other sans]

Ah yes, the voices. The ever present voices that crop up when you think you did a mistake regardless of whether it was a mistake in other's eyes or not but still a mistake in yours which was filled with doubt then mistrust then insanity mild paranoia leading it to first take hold in that one little corner at the back of your mind but grow ever so slowly as you wade through the cesspool called life gorging whatever nutrients they have to give you whether it be via insult, compliments, or somewhere in between life certainly always has a monkey wrench to throw your way just about any time.

By that time you've managed at least the average of say maybe 730000 days of average living then maybe the doubts creep back up again. Though for others they come in when the natural disasters called 'examinations' happen, be it educational or physical. That doubt will claw its way back up from the black depths we call our minds and hearts under lock and key and possibly give us 'health' problems and subsequently leads to more of these 'examinations' which in turn multiplies them like rabbits on viagra which makes them frighteningly self sustaining in a way but then life also throws wrenches into those plans because life is just ambiguous about things and that wrench size is probably the size of a godsdamed mansion with the impact force of a atomic bomb that can't only affect one single being and subsequently drives those plans awry. Hah, plans, lists, they mever help certain beings and instead they rely on their faulty memory which is of course easily affected by said black clots from before the bomb but still they do it anyways because it's the only way they know how and lists can't help them because it feels too foreign to use them so much so it might as well be a blunderbuss being pointed directly at their face and they'll say "Son of a goddamed bitch" in another language so fluently they might as well have heard a foreigner say it.