Chapter 9
When Furious came out of the rather cramped bathroom, he found his bride splooted out on the bed. This position—with her legs kicked out behind her—caused her voluptuous thighs to be quite noticeable. She looked up from her book and he felt that old familiar sensation of being tongue tied. The graceful swell of her rump, the way her dock waggled when she saw him, and how her wings were spread out from her sides in a relaxed position. It was all too much to bear.
The body drier in the bathroom wasn’t very strong and Furious didn’t much care for those thrice-cursed contraptions anyhow. He was still damp and his mane clung to his neck in tendrils. His white spots were white and his ruddy brown spots were gleaming. Crop Duster’s eyes lingered on him in the exact same way his eye remained focused on her. After a whole lot of staring, it occurred to Furious that the mare on the bed had turned the blankets into a makeshift nest. If this wasn’t a clear message of acceptance, he wasn’t sure what was.
Was it wrong to stare the way he was?
His eyes never leaving Crop Duster, he made his way over to a small, compact loveseat placed beneath a narrow arched window. Her eyes followed him and he had a moment were he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. With the way he was, he couldn’t imagine that he was handsome, but the way she was looking at him suggested attraction. She wasn’t repulsed, but she appeared… curious?
“You forgot your eyepatch,” she remarked in a soft voice.
It was difficult to find the words to respond and he held out his wing where his eyepatch dangled from his primaries. “I had to leave it off for a while so everything can dry all proper.”
“What happened?” Her voice was soft and filled with genuine concern.
“Bad luck, that’s what happened.” Now, at this moment, Furious felt self-conscious about his empty eye socket like never before. When he sat down, he squirmed a bit, and he felt like he had returned to being a colt in school again. “There was a storm… a twister… a big one… it came up out of nowhere and started wrecking Ponyville. I didn’t listen to my teacher and I flew out the schoolhouse window to go fight it. It was a bad, bad wind that came that day. Had some powerful magic of its own.”
“So you were a foal…”
“Ayup.” Furious gulped, nodded, and continued. “That storm left behind a quite a number of orphans and many parents knew the pain of outliving their foals that day. I zigged when I should have zagged… I didn’t know what I was doing, but I was determined to cut that storm up with my wings. I got peppered with hailstones, big’uns. One took my eye… split my whole face open and fractured my skull. The doctor only had a mess left to work with and she did the best she could.” Relaxing just a little, his body sank into the sagging couch cushions and he reached up to touch his face with his hoof. “I got my cutie mark that day. I also dropped out of school ‘cause I had a bunch of detention waiting for me for flying out the window.”
Crop Duster almost laughed, but held it in.
How had this exquisite creature come to be his companion? What extraordinary luck had he been graced with? She was his, he knew that, but he was in no big hurry or rush to take her. He knew that if he waited until she came to him, the moment would be all the sweeter. At least, that is what his aunt had told him. There were so many things that she had said that he hadn’t listened to and now, he wished that he had.
“So how do you do it?” Crop Duster asked and her voice held an inviting warmth. “How do you fight a twister as just one pony? Entire weather teams fight these monsters and lose. Sometimes they die even… so how?”
Closing his eye, Furious settled into a ponyloaf position, but his bad leg remained stretched out. “You have to know the monster… you have to study it, what it breathes, what it eats, most of them are magical, ya see, and the one thing they all have in common is that they feed on fear… a weather team can actually be at a disadvantage… one spooks and the whole herd spooks… and then the twister gets stronger.”
“This is fascinating. Do keep going, I’d like to know more. This is a part of our heritage that I’ve never learned much about.” Crop Duster closed her book and her face now had a dreamy expression, but Furious did not see this since his eye was shut.
“So you can’t be afeared when you go to do battle with one. You gotta be able to feel… to sense the weak spots… and see ‘em too. But seeing ain’t all that and a cupcake. No, if the storm is real gritty and dusty, you gotta do it blind. You slip on yer goggles to protect your eyes and then you fly into the dust devil. But the dust is so thick that you can’t see the end of your own nose. So you have to rely on your other senses sometimes.” Furious’ eye opened and he blinked a few times while his ears perked, hearing a roaring wind that wasn’t there.
“The magic in our hooves allows us to form a kind of wedge, or a cone. I done heard it called a psychokinetic force, but I don’t reckon I know what that means exactly. The way I see it is, it is a form of mind over matter and for me, it all comes down to willpower. The wings and the hooves project force, and the magic that holds the dust devil together can be disrupted. It can be torn, like a piece of paper, and then it can’t go back together again. You tear it into small enough pieces, and the storm becomes nothing more than a bit of harmless wind.”
“So you make big rips in the magic?” Crop Duster asked and her forehead was furrowed from curiousity.
“Yeah, something like that. A weather team, they’s pegasus ponies, but not all pegasus ponies are the same. The common weather team, they kill a storm by making a thousand tiny cuts. We dustpunchers, we make big, bold tears and we rip that storm a new one. I done heard it said that we’re like the unicorn wizards of the pegasus tribes, and we keep the old ways alive. It’s magic, make no mistake, and it is our magic. I don’t understand it, well, not much anyway, I just do it. The difference between a unicorn and myself is that a unicorn can do his magic from far, far away and be safe, while I gotsta get up into the face of the dust devil and punch its lights out.”
On the bed, Crop Duster rolled over, wiggled, kicked, and then settled on her back. Her legs kicked out in random directions and fell, leaving her rounded stomach visible. Now, she looked at Furious with her face upside down and her eyes were half vanished behind a ridge of blanket. Reaching down with her front hooves, she began to rub her own tummy while making faces that showed obvious discomfort.
“Sometimes, when my stomach gets like this and everything starts to spasm, my teats get hard and they hurt. I mean, they really hurt. Like now, it hurts to lay on them. It’s like the muscles freaking out beneath them irritate them or something.” After heaving an uncomfortable sigh, she closed her eyes and then tried to lay still while still rubbing her stomach.
“I’m sorry, darling.” Furious was sorry, and he felt even worse because he didn’t know what to do. After racking his brain for a while, he had an idea that might help and his head began to nod up and down with his growing enthusiasm. “Sweetie pie, I’m gonna go and get you some medicine. Dustpuncher medicine, if’n I can find it. I know what makes me feel better and sets me as right as rain when I’m all busted up and sore.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you!” One eye opened but the other remained closed. “So incredibly sweet of you… you’ve been so nice to me. This is going into my romance novel.”
“I’ll be back as quick as I can. They’re bound to have it in one of these stores around here somewhere.” With surprising speed and ease, Furious launched himself from the love seat and bounded across the room to where his hat and satchel was. “I’ll be back before you know it, Dusty, and then we’ll get you sorted out.”
First he hung his satchel from his neck and then he stuffed his bucket hat over head. In his hurry, he forgot his eyepatch, and he trotted for the door, eager to help his ailing bride in whatever way he could. Mustache quivering, he slipped out the door, off in search of medicine.
When Furious returned, he found his bride right where he had left her, on her back and looking silly. If she wasn’t in so much discomfort, her current position might appear inviting, sexy, even enticing, but all he could think about was making her feel better. Shutting the door behind him, he strode over to the bed, pulled the strap of his satchel over his head, accidentally knocked off his hat, and set his old, beaten up oilskin satchel down on the bed with his wings.
Opening the flap, two strips of cloth could be seen, one blue, the other orange. The blindfolds, strips of cloth, were now irreplaceable treasures. The flap flopped and the magnetic clasp clicked closed. Scowling, Furious opened the bag once more and Crop Duster let out a soft giggle that didn’t disturb her body too much.
“Here we go.” Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a long glass bottle and held it out to his new wife. “Dustpuncher medicine.”
“Furious, that’s hard liquor.” The mare laying on her back snorted and she waved her hoof at her husband. “That’s a bottle of liquid sin.”
“It’s medicinal,” he said in a defensive tone. “I promise it’ll make ya feel better. Mockingbird Tequila is a cure for darn near anything.” He held up the bottle with one wing and eyeballed the golden liquid in the light shining in from the window. “Wait, don’t your parents work for the liquor industry?”
Squirming, Crop Duster squeezed her hind legs shut and looked up at the bottle of tequila. “I’m not supposed to drink that stuff. It’s against the rules—”
“Sugar Bubble, you’re a grown, married mare, and now it is your turn to make the rules.” Furious gave the bottle an inviting shake. “You don’t need to drink much, just a few little sips will take the edge off, and then everything will be okay.”
Looking up at her husband, the supine mare gave him a sour look. “This is how I get pregnant, isn’t it? I don’t listen to my mother, I get soused on my wedding night, and eleven months from now I’m going to be trying to squeeze a head the size of a bowling ball from out betwixt my nethers.”
“I can tell that you’ve finished school,” Furious remarked and this gave Crop Duster a bad case of the giggles. “Look, I didn’t jump your bones the moment we walked in the door and I didn’t ravish you like a romance novel ravisher feller. Out on the prairie, this is medicine. It gets used on achy arthritic joints, bad backs, coughs, fevers, it cleans out infected wounds like magic, and mothers slip a little drip into a foal when it’s colicky to help it calm down and feel better.”
“What have I got to lose?” Crop Duster writhed on the bed a little more while keeping her hind legs squeezed shut. “This is what I wanted, after all. To be married and to occupy these nests I keep making. Look, if this is going to happen, I might as well try to enjoy it. I’ve already thrown caution into the wind, so why not live a little more dangerously? All I ask is that you try not to hurt me, and please, don’t leave me feeling degraded. Try to make me feel special, okay?”
“Wait.. I… no… you… that’s not… wait…” Furious stammered and he was unable to form a coherent sentence. He stared at the bottle with his one eye for a time and then looked down at Crop Duster, who had her thighs clamped together, obscuring her entire crotch from view. “Look, maybe this is a bad idea after all—”
“My mother says that hard liquor is promiscuity in a bottle and it gives mares a whore’s itch that they can’t resist scratching,” Crop Duster said while she looked up at her husband with wide, shy, curious eyes, and her thighs rubbed together while she rubbed her croup against the bed.
Unable to help himself, Furious responded in a way that perhaps he shouldn’t’ve: “Yer ma lied to you, Dusty. That is a boldface lie. She told you that to protect you and keep you sheltered from the wicked ways of the world, but what she had to say just ain’t true. I’ve seen a fair number of whores that don’t drink anything stronger than sarsaparilla so they’s can keep a level head while doing business.”
Flinching from her husband’s candid words, Crop Duster’s mouth contorted into a moue and she glared up at her husband while stormclouds gathered in her eyes. For a moment, it appeared as though the gathering storm would turn loose its fury, but then the pegasus mare’s face softened a bit and her lips puckered. Now, she looked nothing like a mare at all, but more like a confused, hurt filly, and instead of anger, there was hurt in her eyes, perhaps the pain of realisation.
“I’ve lived quite a sheltered life,” she whispered and she reached out to touch Furious. “I lived under the wings of my parents and I did everything they asked of me. I was a good filly, or tried to be, I listened and I obeyed and I did right because they told me to do so. Then, one day, I got thrown out of the nest and I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. It’s part of what brought me here, to this place, and how I ended up with you.”
“Have a little drink with me, Dusty, and give me a chance to be good to you.”
“I’d like that, Furious, I would.”
“Perhaps we can head back out on the town afterwards,” he suggested.
“That’d be great, if these cramps will go away.”
“Well,” he began, “let’s see what we can do about those…”
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I like this pair a whole lot.
And how do you pump out chapters so fast? Tell me your secrets senpai.
8369278
Spare the child and the spoil the rod, I have not sold myself to God.
I am an Unholy Abomination and I apparently do not sleep. It is 3:21 in the morning. Woot!
I am suprised. Between eating things that don't agree with her stomach and the fact she is feeling a lot of strong emotions she should have had something go by now. Discomfort would be a mild term for what she has to be feeling physically right now and has to be putting on a brave face. And further if she is doing everything she can to hold it back then she could just be hurting herself.
I can see her reasoning. She doesn't want to scare off her new husband with what she perceives to be the thing that makes her undesirable. Let them get more attached to one another in hope that it will help overcome it. But she isn't doing herself any favors. She needs to just say "Furious I am giving you warning now I am about to let this go because if I don't I am going to hurt myself holding it back any longer" and have him ready to take the stretch aware it is coming. He may not be the smartest stallion but he knows it is going to be bad and he has been warned a lot about it by her at this point. I am sure he can take it or at the very least not be disgusted by her for it if it really is that overpowering.
She needs the stress relief of letting it go. If it is basically IBS she has could have hot roasted blood in digestive track from the digestive track bleeding from the stresses it is under along with rush digested food and yeah that smells horrible. But holding it back it back is just going to cause more bleeding and can be the kind of thing that lands you in a hospital. IBS is one part sensitive digestive tract and greater part psychosomatic reaction to stress and hormones and right now stress and hormones are in overdrive for her.
8369290
What she has is too much fermentation in her hindgut. Real condition in horses. And yes, she is miserable. Notice all of the clenching of her hind legs as she's trying to contain the beast.
8369285
I thought you just finished the story before you first published it. Wow, it takes me more than a week to pump out 1 or 2 thousand words.
This is one of those stories where I wish I could favorite it a thousand times.
The lies parents tell to protect the young
Betwixt is a fancy smancy word that needs to be used more
Hillarity to ensue in 3...
8369296
She's going to outer space, isn't she? Blasting off while blasting ass?
Is this medicine Blanco, Reposado, or Añejo?
8370240
I was thinking Mezcal. Rough, mean, and violent going down.
8370248
Nice, I dig it.
And then they farted.
8369285
Wait...does this mean you're a ginger and therefore have no soul? I ask this as a ginger myself
8401428
Well the you’ve just got to take one. You get a freckle for each soul you steal, or haven’t you heard?