Paper Prince

by JLB

Day Six: Ravenous Animals

DAY SIX

Prince Blueblood, withdrawing from his recently discovered alcohol addiction, and painfully sober, scowled with rampant indignance, hurling hard objects and insults at the ceiling. Raven was knocking on the entry door that separated their cabin from the main maintenance/housing area, with little luck. Their cabin was in relative order, discounting the persisting spiritual residue and Blueblood’s projectiles. At the very least, it rocked lightly and let in the lulling magical hum from the outside, which both of them knew was an improvement.

That said, the evident, much harsher rocking had been troubling both of them for the past few minutes.

And for the past few seconds, the distinctive sounds of claw scraping against metal were causing them a small amount of panic.

“QUIT IT AT ONCE!” yelled the withdrawal-suffering stallion, coat pale and eyes bloodshot, at the incessant, rabid sounds above. “YOU’RE BEING ORDERED! CAN YOU EVEN HEAR ME?”

Raven had picked up a small statue of the sun that the Prince launched at the mostly innocent ceiling bars, using it to hammer on the metal door.

“I suggest you say that to the crew!” she attempted to keep neutral in wishing for him to simply keep quiet. “It’s like they’ve all gone deaf!”

“You…” the stallion took a breath and a cough to recharge for another tirade. “YOU DERANGED DEBAUCHERS! HEARTLESS HOOLIGANS! I’M AN EQUESTRIAN PRINCE! AN ACTUAL PRINCE, OKAY? I HAVE DOCUMENTS! ARE YOU—”

Blueblood had ran out of lexical capacity and proceeded with roaring and growling. Raven, in the meantime, had ran out of patience, and took to hammering a crystal plate not far from the restroom instead. They both ended up succeeding, in one way or another, and neither’s success made them feel any better.

The Prince’s guttural attempts at domination made it alarmingly clear that he was not the only one making such noises - what they thought was the Equestrian banner flapping especially hard, combined with the exhaust pipes passing magic dust again, was more… in origin. Raven, having managed to extract a formerly-pristine-now-accidentally-hammered crystal periscope, took a glance at what it was on their roof that caused so much ruckus. Before the mare’s jaw dropped fully, the large, no less than three square ponies in size (three in width, three in length, and three in height), wolf-like creature clawed at the oculus. Even in that faint glimpse, Raven counted at least four of them on the roof.

“You… ANIMALS! YOU ARE ANIMALS!” the stallion conceded, his throat unable to express rage for that long. Not continuously, at any rate.

“Prince Blueblood, sir, it’s…” Raven’s distraught worry deepened as she realized that not even with her knowledge of the wildlife of faraway lands could she tell what species this was. “It’s wolves!”

“Wolves?!” the Prince reflectively checked left and right, eyes growing far larger than they were to begin with.

“Yes!”

For a few seconds, the two officials stared at each other. Then, both of them rushed to the door, and rammed it, trying again to get the other cabin’s attention. After that failed, both of them, without verbal coordination, yelled and unleashed two streams of sparks at the door, one much brighter and less wavy than the other. A bright flash overcame the two unicorns, and both looked hopefully at what remained of the door.

The door remained in its entirety, badly bent in one area, and barely grazed in the other.

“That was supposed to melt even fosvare!” the secretary glared at the deep mark.

“Uh… Yes, that it was!” Blueblood nodded, passing a glance at the smaller one.

“No, no, this can’t be for real… the one time they make something properly…” Raven held her hoof by her temple, speaking out of the corner of her mouth, staring at the floor intensely.

The Prince trotted nervously around the room, passing by a large chest full of flasks, filled and not. He was just about to swing it open, but a thought halted him.

“Wait! I just realized,” the stallion nearly shone. “If we couldn’t blast through something as simple as the door, then how is this presumptious pack of wolves to claw through the ceiling? We’ve nothing to fear, they’ll tire soon enough, and we’ll be on our way in peace!”

Raven’s face curved, eyebrows furrowing and closing onto one another, eyes wading off, as if caught having to confess to someone that their Hearth’s Warming presents came from their parents at best.

Before she gathered the strength to say it, and before the stallion, overtaken by his own brilliance, could continue, a thunderous crack emitted from above. Then another, and then another, in quick succession, they were then followed by sounds of metal being bound, and magic dust dropping on the floor in piles.

“Blueblood,” the mare spoke, shaking her head slowly, staring with realization on the sparkling dust dropping down. “Never, NEVER assume anything to work for you in an Equestrian design.”

The Prince was looking up and down, stepping back and into the wall, mouth open. Loud, dedicated grunting came from up above.

“They never plan for anything.”

He saw Raven lift up the small sun statue she used to bang on the door, commit blasphemy by hitting it against the wall and breaking off a part of the weak stone, and leave a sharp stub of what used to be a magnificent orb. Before he could droop his ears in silence for lack of anything meaningful to say on the matter, the loudest crack of them all saw the room grow colder in an instant. Wailing winds, errant tiny icicles, and many snowflakes launched themselves in the stallion’s face. A reeking far outweighing his own attempts to sober up came onto them, accompanied by no less than four huge shapes.

They were, indeed, wolf-like, and positively immense. Light grey fur, razor-sharp even at sight, fangs with multiple tips, plain white claws, and massive yellow-and-black eyes. Only three of them fit into the room through the crack, and the last was left swiping a forepaw, biting the air in exasperation, as he got stuck in the admittedly small hole they had made. One remained standing atop the pedestal on the round sofa, another stepped down right in front of Blueblood, and the third just sat down on the cushions, scratching the humped back.

It was little consolation as the one Blueblood had been staring at, slowly losing track of what he willed to whom when he was making budget and possession reaccounting five years back, stood up on his back paws. Although wolves were quadrupeds - not that the Prince was too sure of that, or anything much, in his state - these clearly possessed the body structure to stand straight, as well as crawl. Somewhat peculiar of a creature, he realized (or the small part of him that did not consider suicide after seeing the monster brush thick lines of metal off its claws). Better yet, this one seemed to be paler and larger than the rest.

“Equeshtrrriansh,” the wolf creature growled, blinking at the Prince. “Rrrare.

“What?..” the stallion whimpered, eyes widening, various parts of the mind battling to not be in control when its owner was mauled to death.

“Dun shee you offen. Norrrmally,” — the apparently talking wolf tilted his head — “Thickcoatsh inshtead.”

“Northern locals,” Raven’s drained voice elaborated. She stood staring at the wolf on the sofa, who eyed her just the same, and her facial expression had trouble deciding between primal terror, natural curiosity, and a variety of other, less identifiable feelings. The sharp-edged statue fell on the floor, missing a good chunk of it. The wolf she stared at was rubbing his chest, picking out stone dust with a look of annoyance on his face.

“And… uh… to what do we owe?” Blueblood asked the giant talking bipedal wolf thing.

“Gun eat you. Obvioushly. Jush currrioush.” It shrugged.

“No you’re not,” the Prince stated, staring right at the wolf. Idiocy had lost in the battle of the mind.

“What.”

“Get out. I order you. I’m an Equestrian Prince. I’m not going to be eaten by some rampant wolf freaks.”

“Parrrdon? the creature tilted its head even further, squinting at the apparently suicidal stallion. He stared back at the gobsmacked predator, and turned to open the chest, uncork a flash, and down the entirety of its contents. It took Blueblood about five seconds to gulp the whole thing down, and release a breath of raging spiritual fumes right at the wolves, who stood in the opening, slowly filled by snow and sparkling dust.

“Get out,” the pony raised a commanding hoof, not yet fully shaking, but definitely much more in-tune now that he was back to step one for the end of his existence. A loud, raged roar was his answer, and the stallion’s last reflex was to lunge at the thing, aiming for it with his horn.

“SHPARRRKLESH!!!” a much higher pitched growl came from above, where the fourth wolf was stuck, right next to a few leaking pipes. A loud booming, hissing sound came over the ViP cabin.

Soon, everything took on a higher pitch, and became a quartet of panicked howling. Blueblood was quite surprised to count himself among the living, clearly feeling his horn nearly bend against the thick coat. His face hurt all over, cut by the fur in many places, and his suit was a mess. Worse yet, the headache came uncalled for- the immense loudness of the screams was not fit for his ears.

It was after having considered all that on his way back from supposed death, that he realized he was on fire.

“FIRE,” Blueblood stated squeakily, staring at the sleeve of his suit being danced over by bluish flames.

The roaring had turned into howling, and was much, much further away now - the crack had became a touch bigger, and no towering wolf things were in sight. Below the crack, the cabin was also on fire.

Amazingly calm for someone who just drank a whole flask of bourbon, attacked an undocumented sentient wolf weaponless, and then was set on fire, Blueblood stared at Raven staring at the whole picture. It took her about two seconds to take it in, run to the restroom, and emerge with a small, pink, sparkly fire extinguisher. The mare shook it in the air, and released a wave of bluish dust. An incredibly loud sizzling sound came over the room, and the fire was gone. Just in time, Blueblood realized, as the smell of burnt mane was now almost clearly among the odors.

“Are you okay, sir? Did they hurt you, h-how bad is the burn, do we—” Raven’s eye twitched as she shot questions at him, shaking in place herself, shuddering from the cold and the snow landing on her back.

“I’m fine,” Blueblood replied, slowly, monotonously, biting his lower lip till it bled, mostly by accident. “What did you do?”

“I, uh… It was y-y-you, sir. It… it turns out, they used the ca-capacitor dust that had to have been decom-m-mmissioned years ago,” the secretary shook a little, stuttering, albeit somewhat calmed by being lulled into having to explain things to ponies ranking higher than her. “It’s… It’s inflammatory when coming in con-nnntact with alcohol, in a... any capacity.”

“Ah,” the Prince stared at her, slowly feeling that his face was quite cut up, his suit was singed, and bits of his flesh clearly caught some of the fire. He processed the pain, but not the panic to come from it. “Wonderful.”

As he said so, the entry door was rammed in, and their cabin was instantly filled by technicians. Overtaken by panic, they looked first at the hole in the ceiling, and then at their ViPs.

Raven turned to them before their head could say anything, and reported:

“It’s over. We’ve dealt with the threat. P-please, install an opening valve on our side.”

It was only when she caught the definite suggestion of mixed confusion and irritation that her eyes went over the bit of the main cabin. It was full of burst pipes, also on fire, and no less than three bodies of the same wolves lay motionless, charring in place. A much bigger hole was in their ceiling as well. Only some of the screeching the machinery produced was audible through the knocked down door, the rest of the main cabin covered in impeccable soundproof plating. So as not to trouble the ViPs’ sleep.

“I did something useful,” Blueblood stated out of his corner, having already downed three more flasks of bourbon in that time.

“...we’re just glad you’re fine,” the head engineer brushed a hoof across his moustache, and shook his head, looking at the damage all over again. There were claw marks on his clothes, and at least half of his comrades were covered in abominably dark blood.

Once again, their journey was to take a pause.