July 3-4 1969 Califoalnia
The walls of the old house rumbled with the sounds of the party going on. The loud rock n’ roll rattled the windows. The smell of smoke and booze filled the air. But far from that boisterous atmosphere, another, more quiet congregation was taking place.The Luna Angels Hierarchy was holding church in the garage. Coastie arrived and looked around, seeing everypony muttering amongst themselves, wondering what the hell was going on. Church was only called when something serious had happened. They all knew what had happened, and why the sheriff had come calling so early that morning. So then, what was this all about?
“You call this meeting?” King asked from his seat atop an old, half-dismantled hog.
“Wasn’t me,” Coastie shrugged.
“Thor?”
Thor simply shook his head, before sipping his beer.
Heavy steps were heard coming toward them. In the harsh glare of the sun beyond, Sun Dance approached, his entire body turned into a shadow by the sun. He stepped in, smelling like fresh joints and loose women. In his teeth, the joint he had been smoking flared up. He held his breath and passed the joint to Blue Jay, who was leaning back on a lawn chair.
Blue Jay took a long drag on the joint, getting ash on his braided beard. He flicked the ashes off onto the patch of filthy, white rabbit pelt spaulder he wore on his shoulder, then leaned back to listen.
Sun Dance released the smoke from his lungs, covering himself in a cloud of haze.
“Does anyone know why I called this little powwow?” he asked.
“Something about us blowin’ up those Diamond Dogs?” Coastie jokingly asked.
“Heh! The only good dog is roadkill!” Thor chimed in.
“I say we keep this war goin’! More dogs to kill!” King said, throwing up his fist.
“It’s not the dogs we’re at war with,” Sun Dance said.
There was no humor in his voice. Whatever was going on, Sun Dance was taking it seriously with every fiber of his being.
“What do you mean?” Coastie asked, genuinely curious.
“You know how those shitbag dogs are. They ain’t got the money, the dogpower or the balls to start a war with us. It’s got me wondering what’s changed,” Sun Dance said.
“You think they got a new leader?” Thor asked.
“I think they got a new supplier. Whatever it is, they think they got protection,” Sun Dance grimly said.
Blue Jay took another long drag on his joint, flexing his forearm to show the bluejay chained to the world that had been tattooed there so long ago.
“Maybe it’s the doobie talkin’, but it sounds like it might be the Rose Throne family,” he said.
Thor took a heavy sip from his beer and belched loudly, “Naw…They know it’d be bad for their business to deal with those fuckers. Even if they were, they know we’d just frag ‘em.”
Everypony grunted in agreement.
“So, we take out the dogs! They got nothin’ on our firepower anyway!” Coastie declared.
“That won’t solve anything,” Sun Dance said. “We could take them out easily. But their supplier could just as easily find another shitheel gang to push around. We gotta take care of this at the source.”
“Easier said than done,” King muttered.
Sun Dance hummed quietly to himself, trying to figure out the next move. To his side, he noticed Blue Jay was still toking away on the joint he had been given.
“Shit, brother, quit bogartin’ that joint and pass it on!” Sun Dance said, pulling it out of Blue Jay’s grip.
He took a toke of it himself, before passing it on to King.
“I say we have us a sit down with the Rose Thrones,” King said. “They might not be pulling the dogs’ tits, but I bet they know who does.
Bound for the halls of Vallhalla!
Burning on Olympus Mount!
Legends of Blood and Thunder!
Their bodies now in the ground!
A wager in gore and death!
For this angel that you see right now!
We ripped the hell armies asunder!
For I was just…Another pony from Hell!!
The heavy metal tune blasted from the speakers of the clubhouse, playing a tune as fast as any hog. For Big Mac, it was the first time that he had heard such music. His usual fare was something about Uncle Sugar’s War, or something he would play in the backseat of a mare’s car. Doing his best to tune it out, he walked into the establishment.
There was a makeshift bar that was nothing more than a couple slabs of plywood, some nails and some milk crates, which Big Mac immediately drifted toward. He passed by a circle of hippie mares who were laughing maniacally as they ate sugar cubes. Whatever made those cubes so good, Mac felt he had an idea. Especially as one of the mares started describing the diamond sky with pink cupcake monkeys.
As he approached the bar, the stallion tending it gave him a suspicious look.
“Thor sent me,” Big Mac said.
The stallion nodded and reached under the bar and placed a warm bottle of whiskey before the newcomer. Big Mac poured himself a drink in a glass he was surprised to see was clean. He swished the drink around in his mouth, getting out the lingering scent of catnip and the buildup of trail dust in his throat. He swallowed it and loosed a satisfied sigh.
As he poured another drink, one of the hippies from the circle swayed her way over to the bar.
“Whoa! Fuckin’ Jolly Red Giant’s come buckin’ for his apples!” she giggled.
“Nope,” Big Mac said, pouring another drink.
“Dude! Your voice is makin’ my fuckin’ tits vibrate! Do it again!”
“Nope,” Big Mac repeated.
The mare moaned in sensual pleasure as she rubbed her nipples. She laid her back on the bar, making the barstallion push her back up.
“Dude! You got some huge fuckin’ hands. How about helpin’ me get the little purple ponies outta my pants, mister catcher mitts?” the mare said.
“Nope,” Big Mac repeated again.
Across the way, he could see something else. There were two teams. One made up of prospects with nothing but their denim cuts. The other, members who proudly wore their patches emblazoned on their jackets. Between the two teams, a large, shallow pool that looked like it had been filled up with whatever was found in the septic tank. Each team held opposite ends of a long rope in their hands, glowering viciously at one another.
A stallion was taking bets, calling for any takers before the match began. Nearby, another, much older hippie stallion was lecturing a dog that Big Mac assumed to be the club mascot.
“You see, my four-legged brother, that this tug-o-war that you take for granted is the very essence of our lives. They pull against us, but we pull back! But if we do not find the strength to resist, they bring us down! Down! Into the pits of shit they dug up for us! That–That’s just like the best fuckin’ metaphor for life! You understand?” the old hippie said.
The dog answered by lifting its tail and farting in the hippie’s face.
“Friend o’ yers?” Big Mac asked the mare.
“Hold up. Giggle Smoke is nopony’s friend! He is the universe! He is, like, the most out there thinker! Fuckin’ Plato and Socrates could have learned from him!” the mare said.
“I can talk to animals too. Guess that makes me a universe,” Big Mac shrugged.
“Yeah. But, do they answer?” the mare said, before drifting dreamily back to her circle of friends for more of her psychedelic sugarcubes.
The stallion taking bets called for all betting to stop, then pulled a snub .38 from his belt. He pointed it into the air, and the blank cartridge popped loudly with a cloud of smoke.
The match was on. Both teams tried to pull one another into the putrid pit. Every time one got closer, they pulled away just as much and pulled the other team, going back and forth. Big Mac, however, kept his eyes on the old hippie.
“Druids,” the barstallion said.
“Hm?” Big Mac asked.
“The Danú Druids. Bunch of weirdos and trippers. Get their kicks by sucking down barrels o’ LSD cubes and going on ‘spirit trips,’ or some shit. They ain’t enemies, so we let ‘em hang around. Since they got no money, we make ‘em pay by keepin’ us alive when we need it,” the barstallion explained.
“They med school dropouts, or somethin’?” Big Mac asked.
“Healers.”
“Ain’t that just a pretty word for a doc?”
“No,” the barstallion said. “I mean, they got something that ain’t natural. Giggle Smoke there is supposed to be dead about ten times now. But there he sits, suckin’ up dog farts.”
There was a cheer from the betting pool as the prospects started inching closer to the pit. As soon as they were about to fall in, they stopped and started slowly pulling back. Just when it seemed like they were safe, a large member with a beer belly came in from behind and yanked half of the prospects into the pit.
Loud cheers came from the bettors. Whether they won or lost, it was worth it to watch a bunch of punk prospects eat shit and puke it back up.
“Hey! The applewood by the bar! You look a bit lost. Come on over, and let’s have us a session,” Giggle Smoke called.
Big Mac assumed that he meant him and took the bottle of whiskey, leaving his payment on the bar. The circle of mares howled quietly as Big Mac passed them on his way over to Giggle Smoke.
For much of the day, the two of them talked. For Big Mac, it sounded like a bunch of nonsense that never came to light. He was, however, quite surprised to learn that Giggle Smoke knew more about agriculture than he did, and even learned a few new things.
Just as Giggle smoke was getting to the medical uses spirulina, he spotted his old friend tromping into the clubhouse.
“Heeeyy! Blue Jay the viking! Dia duit, my friend! I was just in the process of helpin’ this poor, lost soul on his way. Speaking of, have you stopped smokin’ all that poison ivy?”
Blue Jay rolled his eyes. “For the last time, Brother Smoke, I didn’t know that Wild Kaya had poison ivy mixed in it!” His eyes fell on Big Mac, who was leaning back into the beanbag that Giggle Smoke had offered him. “You must be the guy King found on Rout 66. Heh. They said you looked like an outlaw.”
“I ain’t no criminal,” Big Mac sternly said as he lit up a cigarette.
“Easy. I meant no offense,” Blue Jay said. “Me neither. None of us here are criminals. But we’re outlaws.”
“You sayin’ there’s a difference?” Big Mac asked.
“You have just said the magic words,” Giggle Smoke said. “As learned as I am, Blue Jay knows more about these nuances than me. Take it away, Brother.”
Blue Jay took a half burned cigarette from an ashtray and sat on an old crate, before he explained.
“You see, criminals is what they call people who do crimes. And the reason for doing a crime is for the profit. Everything a criminal does is for the money. And they go to any lengths to get it. But us outlaws? It’s just how it sounds. We exist in a world outside the law, the government, and the man. They expect us to follow all the laws that the business fat cats that got ‘em in their pockets ignore. They want to piss on our backs on the weekday, and fuck us up the ass on the weekend. It’s an outlaw who says no to all that.”
Blue Jay could see the tiniest smile on Big Mac’s face. He didn’t know if he was ever going to be a member of the Luna Angels, but he surely would be a brother.
“Fuck them, an’ Uncle Sugar,” Big Mac said, raising his whisky bottle.
A young, sharply dressed griffin walked through the polished halls of the office building. The briefcase at his side swung slightly with every step, bumping the crease that he had worked so carefully to keep on his slacks.
The office was up ahead, and the door was open. The young griffin walked inside and closed the door behind him. Nopony was there but himself. His eyes drifted to the private bathroom in the office, and his face wrenched uncomfortably. He hated doing business from there. Sometimes, he thought the meetings were timed so that he would have to put up with the boss’s irritable bowel syndrome.
He gripped the handle to the bathroom door and breathed deeply. The door was swung open, and in he went.
The bathroom was as bright and pristine as the rest of the office building. The only sign of any kind of filth was that horrible smell that filled the place. Behind the griffin, the hydraulic door hissed shut, and he walked over to the single bathroom stall.
“What happened to my drugs?” an elderly voice asked from the stall.
The young griffin straightened his tie, trying not to picture the murderous face of his employer beyond the door.
“Destroyed, sir. Burned in a fire in one of their hideouts. We–!” he gagged as the boss’s condition rattled the walls of the bathroom, prompting the boss to give a courtesy flush. The young griffin took a matchbook from his pocket and struck it promptly, waving it around as he collected himself. “We have already taken the bodies from the wreckage and harvested their organs to make up for the lost revenue.”
“What about my fuckin’ drugs!?” the boss impatiently asked.
“We know already that it was the Luna Angels,” the young griffin said, lighting another match. “Trail Dancer and the Shotgun and Bullet brothers have already been called to take care of them.”
“The old S&B boys, eh?” the boss said. “Let’s see them smug mother fuckers get away now!?
Stats
Page generated in 0.031 seconds
Total duration
609 users online
889,836 hits today, 1,996,409 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Still here and happy to see it continue. Can’t wait to see what happens next, as well as if Mac will be a brother or join Lunas Angels. Also curious if Macs ever gonna here back from those he left behind.
11312242
Big Mac is joining, Right now he is considered a hang around also Big mac will hear or go see his family I just don't know when. Sorry for the wait
11312444
It’s fine, after all. All good things are worth the wait. And this story is a good thing and I’ll continue to wait patiently for whenever there’s an update. And always read it when it comes
11312460
If you have any cool ideas for the story I would love to hear them.
11312509
so i was wondering, was Mac a regular soldier, or did he occasionally do some off the books missions like black ops. Like was he apart of MACVSOG
11313805
He was with the 101st airborne. He manned the m60 on patrols he was also part of some key battles in the war I'm going to do a somewhat flashback about it. Also I feel like special forces are overused in stories plus I didn't want Big Mac fighting like special forces I wanted him to fight mean, nasty and unpredictable.
Review and Feedback I did your review.