Follow the Worms

by argomiam

1 – Don’t Slouch

There were a great many things Stop Light hated in this world. He hated changelings, and their failing occupation; he hated the unicorns that sneered and stuck up their noses, and the pegasi that were ever so compliant in holding that order up. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure which of these he hated more. Sure, in his mind, the changelings were certainly the immediate threat, yes... but they didn’t quite have the same history of spitting on the earth ponies. It was something he’d have to think about more later, bringing a thermos full of tea to his lips and sipping.

Without warning, the car rumbled to an ungraceful halt. The earth pony rolled his eyes at the unicorn driving -- he had almost spilt tea on his blazer. Typical, really. But, it was no matter, for one day he would be in charge and he’d have somepony proper driving him around, not some damn fool hornhead taking him between pubs, most definitely. He opened the door, also something he believed he wouldn’t have to do in time, and got out of the car without so much as a ‘thank you’.

They were a unicorn, after all. A thousand years of nobility was payment enough as far as he was concerned.

The taxi was already paid for, courtesy of his organisation. Now that was real friendship. Its driver, however, would certainly be brought up at the table.

The building in front of him had history. It was the place he’d met most of his work colleagues. Since those early party days, the building was a lot busier; changelings had replaced seats that were once filled by ponies since lost to the Great War (or vanished away to some labour camp), and a whole bunch more ponies had come to drink themselves into a stupor to escape the boring monotony of changeling-occupied Bales.

But Light was not here for drinks, despite his love for the occasional cider, or two... or six. He was here for his friends, the lovingly dubbed Worms. He hadn't looked long before he found them sat together at a table for four with an extra little table quickly pushed together on the end to seat two additional guests. That brought a slight frown to Light’s face. He figured he could guess why they were there, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant. He stopped and made his way to the bathroom.

He stood by the mirror for some time, combing his mane furiously and perfecting every little button, making sure the collar popped out a little, that the jacket sat right on his shoulders and his shirt tucked in nicely.

It wasn't an unhealthy obsession with appearance. He had to look good. Image was everything.

“But I’m just saying, Starlight and Trixie?” The hushed voice of his friend, Proper Gander, was the first he heard. “They both have horns. It’s ridiculous. I say we do our own thing. We can align ourselves with them, sure, but let’s not pretend we have any love for their group. They’ll dismiss us right away like they have for the past… thousand years. This is our chance now.”

Light thought back to his question. The changelings, despite everything, had certainly prepared the right conditions for their ideology to take root. Perhaps credit could be given for that.

He pulled up his seat, saved for him, and looked about the table, particularly eying up the two new guests, one an earth pony themselves, and the other a rather uncomfortable looking pegasi. Choosing to ignore them, he cleared his throat to speak.

“Which one of you hired me a hornhead to drive me here? Buckers.” The table went silent, a few smirks appearing. The two guests, however, did not seem to find his language quite as amusing, with the pegasi awkwardly fidgeting and the pony to her side frowning silently.

“So, why are you two here then?” Light finally addressed the guests, or, more specifically, just the earth pony of the two. “Best get this over with, your friend’s already looking like she’s about to run.” He nodded over to the pegasus at last, saying ‘friend’ as if it hurt to get the word out of his throat.

Lucky cleared her throat, Coin gesturing for her to take the stage.

She knew there was a fat chance of getting any help from ponies like them, but the uprising was imminent. More and more ponies were getting ready to rise every day, and with a group that held, regrettably, a good number of loyal and oh-so-militant ponies, differences had to be set aside.

The Worms were not the largest of political organisations in this new Equestria, but they were certainly one that poor changeling management had allowed to flourish. Nationalist, supremacist, and with an awful good amount of explanations on why Equestria had gone through everything it had, it was the perfect group for the dejected and down-trodden.

Partly why their speeches had done so well in pubs.

Particularly, earth ponies loved Stop Light. He was passionate, he was brave, he blamed everycreature with nothing but praises to sing about the earth ponies – he could most certainly incite a crowd. He was everything everypony needed in this post-friendship world.

They had actually amassed quite a following, particularly down closer to Appleloosa and with the veterans. He definitely had his critics, but it hardly mattered. The changeling military governor of the area actually looked at him quite fondly. He kept unicorns and pegasi in check, and as far as the changelings were concerned, he was working well with them. He never seemed to talk ill of the changelings, not in his public speeches anyway, and The Worm himself was quite cordial with military-police across the country, known to be a good help in certain cases.

The truth couldn’t be any further from this, however. He loathed the changelings, just as he loathed the unicorns, and the pegasi, and the nightmare-loving thestrals. However, they were good for him. Rallying after the love harvests had proven to be greatly effective, and their marches had always seemed to ‘coincidentally’ follow wherever the changelings were harvesting. Of course, marching when everypony was the most susceptible to anger certainly came with its fair share of brawls, but The Worms had never shied away from that.

“Well, firstly… we appreciate your hospitality,” She glared at the group, staring daggers at Light in particular. Her voice dropped suddenly, looking around the room. “We ask your help in assisting Equestria. I’ll leave a card as we leave. My name’s Lucky Break, my friend…”

“Coin Toss. Hope to work with you all.” the earth pony nodded, with a practised diplomatic smile.

Stop Light looked across the table, surveying the looks on everypony’s faces. Between them was Proper Gander, a short, snide pony in charge of writing and designing the party’s materials. Roly Poly sat to his left, and Walkie Talkie to the left of her, the former the pony that organised party events and the latter being the pony that ran their paramilitary. All earth ponies, of course.

They had all been quiet since the proposal. Coin Toss had begun eyeing their friend nervously, a little concerned for their well-being. Lucky, on the other hand, looked like she was about to bolt, wings flicking and twitching nervously.

Light was almost content in leaving them in suspense, but Gander clearly thought differently, taking a deep breath and leaning in with a proposition of his own.

“Would you like to see Equestria rule again? That’s what we always said.”

There was a collective nod from the table, causing the two outsiders to give a cautious glance at each other.

“All you have to do is follow the Worms,” continued Walkie. “Still bothered by the name. I’m running what is basically an army, and you’re having me call it The Worms.”

“It’s not an army, Walkie.” corrected Roly.

“Regardless. They’re well-organised, well-dressed, well-disciplined, and you’re having me call them Worms? It’s unbecoming, frankly.”

“You’re starting to sound like a unicorn, Walkie.” smirked Light, who finished his stein of cider in almost record time. “Better temper that ego.” He gave a few taps to his temple.

It was a joke, but it was hard to tell what was a joke around Light. He had this strange, condescending air to him that made discerning sarcasm difficult. It gave Lucky a strange feeling; it was half-joke, half-threat. Was this really how far down the E.L.F were stooping?

“Well,” she continued, seeing it as her time to speak. “To get things back on track...” she eyed around the room. The changelings were leaving, which was always good. Still, with the amount of collaborators they’d cumulated over their years-long occupation, it was always wise to lower your tone either way. “We have cells all over the East, and we’re reaching out westwards. Glimmer calls it an all-ponies front now. Regardless of your politics, we need you to stand with us, if not for the good of everyone, for the good of your home.”

“Cut the harmonist, do-goody-good bullshit, please.”

That was certainly not half-joke. Light looked bored, and especially annoyed he didn’t have another drink in his hooves. He was not the sort of pony you wanted bored – he seemed almost itching for a fight. He was not a big pony; he was tall, his back legs touched the floor from his stool where nopony else’s did, but he was scrawny and looked slightly gaunt. However, the difference came in the fact he had no concern of the honorability of letting somepony else fight in his place.

“We’re not trying to push politics here, I apologise if that was the impres-” Coin spoke, but was promptly cut off by Light with a hoof to the table, clearly needing no more apology.

“Look, you don’t like us. Your... faction, if you want to call it that, fears our policy, but you still need us, much like how the princesses needed those Marksist freaks in Severyana. I get it, uneasy alliance. However, I love this nation much more than you do, frankly. I will assist any cause to liberate it - however, I need guarantees, especially working with... unicorns.”

The rest of the Worms nodded, murmurs of agreement flying and glasses shifting along the table.

“I don’t want to meet Trixie, or Starlight, mind you. Both are fiends of their own, I have no love for them or anypony that supports them. I need guarantees, however, that my group will be given political protections and will not receive an attempt to snuff us out as soon as one of your stuck up mages parks their flank in Canterlot.” Light spoke in the most matter-of-fact tone he could muster, readjusting his ‘party uniform’ (no more than a matching colour scheme of jacket, shirt and pants) to make himself seem more nonchalant. “I know your kind. We’ve had enough magocracies.”

A threat. The atmosphere of the table turned icy. Light had this nasty glare on his face, but never directed it towards the earth pony of the two.

“Very well.” Coin nodded to her rebel pal. “We’ll certainly bring up what you’re asking for.”

“No, dear,” Light shook his head after the uncomfortable comment, staring daggers at the two. “I need a guarantee. I will not be stopped just for the mistake of showing a kindness. We will assist, as a separate entity. We will have our own command, we will have our own forces, we will not be forced to bend to the will of a unicorn.”

He leaned past Gander, who shifted uncomfortably, even for a member of his standing and views. He made sure the two were looking into his eyes. Gander winced, but never tried to stop him. He knew well enough that Light didn't back down when he started with this – he was far too proud.

“Unicorns will not rule me. Not after the changelings. I am my own pony, I control fate now. This is my time. This is MY time.” He slammed his hoof down on the table. “I will not return to another foul order, never another thousand years of humiliation. I will rip apart the foundations of every system they’ve laid down.”

He was practically frothing at the mouth with rage. Lucky leaned back, wings fluttering as they prepared a dash whilst Coin eyed her, a little betrayed by their willingness to abandon him if things got mean.

“They adore me. They ADORE me out there. Do you hear me? They ADORE me.” the leader repeated. “Bucking CHARIOT PONY. CHARIOT PONY AND A SYMPATHISER THAT BENDS THE KNEE TO ANY FREAK PLAYING MAGICIAN!” Spit was actually flying from his mouth as he spoke.

“Sir, please.” Gander tried calming him, without results. Gander could only press his hooves to his face and pretend he wasn’t there.

“Sir! Not now!” Roly joined.

“What’s the matter with you, sunshine?” He raised an accusatory hoof at their winged guest, who was currently preoccupied shifting in her place. “Failed to become an athlete? Couldn’t complete the winged sprint quick enough to become a wonder bolt?!”

Talkie stood up. He was a tall stallion, physically imposing. He was the pony responsible for orchestrating most of the ‘accidental’ beatings that occurred at any of their marches. He simply walked calmly over to Light and sat him down with a quiet “hmph”.

Light was silent, grabbing a napkin and wiping his mouth. The rest of the Worms were silent, Gander quietly in disappointment at the fact Light would listen to Talkie but not him.

The two sat very uncomfortably. Lucky actually looked quite hurt by the outburst, swallowing hard and looking down at their glass. Their friend looked to them with a reassuring nod, a quiet sort of ‘don’t listen’.

The bar was silent, even the other tables were looking now. There was only the dull buzz of the lamps that illuminated the building dimly. It felt as if there was a lump in the leader’s throat. He straightened his jacket and collar, silently steadying his breath.

“My apologies.” he finally murmured. “It appears that I got rather carried away.”

Gander looked across the room, almost embarrassed if it weren’t for the unnerving frequency that his superior exploded like this. Usually, it was quite useful. Folks in this age loved a passionate orator, and he could really whip a crowd into a frenzy, but in times like this? He doubted the E.L.F would even consider helping them any more. Worse still, he worried they’d actually be against them, and that was the nightmare scenario. He felt himself shrinking in his seat. Hay, how he just wished he was back at the headquarters with his typewriter.

“We apologise. We’re quite a passionate group, for a passionate time.” Gander had automatically moved to damage-control, which was becoming alarmingly regular. “We’re still looking to be very cooperative with your group. If anything comes up, you have our forces. Still, if you would, please look into formalising the requirements we’ve set. I hope it causes you no trouble.” Gander smiled genuinely and nodded to the two, defusing the situation fairly effectively.

“Riiight.” Lucky frowned, still quite hurt. She tapped her companion on the shoulder, prompting the other to pass a card over. Her wings had stopped twitching now.

“Well. We’ll be in contact. Mutual friends will… uhm…” The rebel searched for the right word, tapping her hoof against the table in concentration, not trying to overstep wherever she could. “In touch. They’ll give you ord-”

“Requests.” Lucky interjected suddenly, already frightened enough without this pony agitating them further.

“Right, yes. Requests. Sorry.”

“You should be.” Light replied, getting a gentle kick from Talkie under the table. “Anyway, I think that about concludes this.” Light smiled warmly, and offered his hoof to the two. The two hesitantly gave in and shook it, sealing… whatever deal they had made, it was beyond them, but any excuse to get out of this situation was decent enough.

“Yep, off you go. On your bikes.” Light shooed them out with a snarky grin and turned back to the rest of his table, clearly satisfied enough with how much grief he had given them. “Bunch of fucking hornheads is what they are. One of them was a damn earth pony too. What a crying shame.”

Roly and Gander were silent, more reflecting on the disaster of a meeting that they’d hosted. Talkie, however, was nodding solemnly.

“Terrible, really. They’ve forgotten where they came from. That’s the fate of all Manehattan urbanites, I’m afraid.” Despite his position and appearance, the paramilitary leader had a surprisingly eloquent accent.

“And that state the Protectress leads! Dreadful!” Gander joined suddenly, lavishing any opportunity to truly express his distaste for the eastern protectorate.

“Not only that,” Talkie continued. “The class of people over there. It’s astonishing. They’re all communists out there. It’s no surprise that they’re all like that, it’s more unicorn than pony over there, what did you always say about communism, Light?”

“Oh, I always said it was a damn unicorn ideology. Pure and simple, really. The lot of them, they all hate work. Damn unicorns. Never worked a bucking day in their lives. Not one of them, that is. It’s a degenerate ideology for them and them alone, and it damn-well fits. No work? Equal pay? Oh, I’m sure they’d all bucking love that, whilst sending us down to the mines so they can afford to prance around their pretty little… modern bloody…”

“Oh yes, it’s all very clear, they simply hate working for anything more than themselves-”

“DON’T FUCKING CUT ME OFF! Pegasympathiser! I saw the way you looked at those two! Don’t you start parroting me!”

“Light, Light, I wasn’t, I meant no offense, you know that’s not true…” Gander held his hooves up, keeping them close to his chest. Talkie seemed almost amused.

“...hmph. Well, anyway, they're bloody worker’s-rights-paradise-no-work-factories, where they get pampered at every corner, and we’re covered in coal dust with lungs full of poison. You know damn well they’ll then come up with their own little magic spell to move a bag of dirt and pretend they’re the hard-working heroes. No good, communist, backstabbing unicorns."

Gander sat back straight, staring longingly into the bottom of his glass. It was a rough day. Light, despite everything, had his absolute adoration, and it crushed him to be so jarringly reminded of his flaws. He had lived a fairly quiet life of normalcy before finding the orator speaking at a bar he frequented, and ever since that it felt like his life had been entirely uprooted, and he was confused if it was in a good way or otherwise. It had been much more satisfying than his prior job as a typist, but he had this lingering feeling that he was just far too impressionable in his beliefs. But no, he had kept his devotion to Stop Light’s Worms; even when his friends left him in disgust after realising he was part of a supremacist group; even when his coltfriend had told him he couldn’t stand his new slogans. All this had to have meant something!

And so he stayed. Rubbing his cheeks, reeling from a telling off for the stallion he had halted his old life to follow, promising himself that dawn will come one day, and Light would be the pony he had convinced himself so fervently to be. Those doubts were being pushed from his head, replaced by the usual nationalistic awe of their soon-to-be ‘great leader’.

Sometimes he wished he could be like Talkie, and just not have to worry about such issues. Talkie was a thug before, and a thug afterwards. He had unquestionable loyalty, not that any in the party’s leadership harboured hopes that there were any questions flying through that mind to begin with. He was more of the party’s dragon than anything else – a face to give those who resented the party, or the idealist troop they gathered to fill his ranks. He was without a doubt a genius in many regards, but he was just so very… vapid, the sort of pony that could be convinced one plus one is three if you said it with enough charisma.

The table’s silence was interrupted by the clunking of glasses against the table, a signal the next round was here. Finally, Gander thought, he would have something to do with his hooves.

Author's Note:

yayayay first chapter i am so joyous