Everfree Island

by scrungusbungus

Fishing Chickens

---

^Ponyville

"Well, it was a reasonable assumption. Seems you had their age range a bit skewed, hm?" Faust teases, idly flapping beside him, keeping up with ease.

Huffing and puffing, Anon retorts loudly.
"They're small and cute, I thought they'd still do naptimes and shit! I never bothered to figure the age comparisons!" Anon shouts, glancing back over his shoulder, his tied-up jacket sloshing and shifting weirdly, filled with a few wet fish as he runs with it slung over his back.

"Cute? Faust asks, glancing behind them.
"Nope, no nap for these guys, apparently. Better keep hauling, they don't look happy to see you." Faust comments. "Take that back, actually, some of them look real happy to see you, and I think that's worse. Are they drooling?"

"Oh-ho-ho fuck no." Anon gripes as he kicks it up another gear, his shoes flinging dirt.

After catching a few fish and squaring them away in his makeshift bag, Anon and Shoulder-Faust tried to cut back through Ponyville rather than skirt around it, on a gamble that Cheerilee's little hellhounds would still be down for their nap.

They got spotted by one of the wandering foals who screeched loudly like a banshee, alerting the pack.

Probably close to a dozen knee-high, tribal spear and knife toting foals were chasing after him, shouting childish insults and making frankly adorable-yet-terrifying horse noises. It'd be kind of cute, if they didn't continually bring up how they wanted to eat him. They try to throw one or two of the spears, but their aim is pretty dogshit, going WAY wide. Lucky him for now, but they've got the numbers, and it's only gonna take one them to not miss.

Anon thinks he can see Cheerilee at the back of the pack, dressed up like the rest with a big crown, but it's hard to get a good look while hauling this much ass.

Something bumps against Anon's heels -- an especially nippy one gets a little too close, and gets punted for it. Think that was Silver Spoon. Oh well, she probably had it coming.

Faust glares at him for it, but Anon is pretty sure he's got a pass for a little pony punting in this situation.

Anon is surprised that they're faltering when he glances back -- until he realizes he's getting near the Boutique. They ward wide around it, avoiding it like it was some taboo place as they shout and whinny. Had a feeling they didn't like it, since they avoided it and boarded it up. There's a bunch of childish scrawlings of warnings and skulls across the walls and boards, mostly of skulls and jagged lines.

Stopping here helps get him a moment to catch his breath, but he's still not ecstatic about it, huffing and puffing loudly as he pauses to lean on the Boutique wall.

Some of the rat pack are doubling back in confusion, others tentative on an approach. A short rest, before Cheerilee catches up, rallies them, and does some shit like surrounding the Boutique. Silver Spoon is right at the edge of the group, holding a very large stick. With nails sticking out of it.

"You're not very fit, are you?" Faust questions, a little annoyed his head is bobbing around to much to land on properly.

"Shut... up!" Anon manages between staggered breaths, retightening his grip on his fishy prize. "I'm healthy for my age!"

"Sure, sure. Just..." Faust mumbles, glancing down at his leg.
"Oop."

Anon blinks, following her stare.

Sweetie Belle is stood directly beside him. Numerous jangly little bracelets and necklaces made of small animal bones hang from her, and she wears a leathery mask that sits squarely over her face. Her horn is glowing softly, a knife fashioned of bone floating beside her as she stares up at him.

Doesn't say a peep. Just levels the knife at him, sharp edge uncomfortably close.

...Right. This one doesn't care about the Boutique taboo, he saw her in front of this place earlier. Shit.

"Hey... Sweetie." Anon says as he startles, holding his hands up in surrender.

No response. Beyond threats to his life and bets to his taste, the foals hadn't been a talkative bunch so far.

"You, uh... here to visit Rarity?" He tries, nodding at the Boutique.

Sweetie's attention seems to drift, the knife lowering slightly as she looks towards the closest window. She stares at it for a surprisingly long moment.

"Quick, while she's distracted." Faust whispers, urges. Predictably, it falls on deaf ears.

Anon follows Sweetie's gaze. Seeing inside is nigh impossible with the way it's been boarded up from the outside, with whatever they've probably ransacked from the now-decrepit local hardware store. But there's a glimpse of a worn dress, slumped on a broken mannequin inside.

---

"Anon... for how long for you plan to wear the same thing each day?" A hoighty, trying-to-be-nice voice asks him.

"Well, it's about the only thing that came with me when I woke up here, so..." Anon shrugs.

Sweetie points over her shoulder at him, like 'get a load of this guy', getting a frown from Anon.

Rarity puts a pin in her latest work, setting the loose fabric aside with her magic as she turns to face him, taking in...

Cargo shorts, a loose t-shirt, and dirty sneakers. Charming.

"Well, Anon, the option to not wear something is always there for you. You're aware of this, right?" Rarity tries prompting, but Anon vehemently makes an X with his arms.

"No way. My stuff doesn't... work the way yours does." Anon tries to carefully allude, remaining PG for the filly present.

He got dragged to Rarity's place because Twilight was getting concerned for the quality of his clothes. He bathed himself and kept his clothes washed, but his refusal to be naked around any of the ponies was starting to get concerning. So, Twilight shoved him to Rarity's, hoping as the local fashionista, she could help with this clothing crisis.

"...So your kind... need to wear clothes? Goodness, darling, if I'd been born as one of you, I'd never be out of work." She laughs to herself, a measuring tape floating over from one of the nearby tables.

"Why do they need to wear clothes?" Sweetie pipes up, stepping off the well-cushioned chair she'd been doing her homework on."

"It's... a cultural thing." Anon tries to offer, as Rarity starts lifting his arm, extending the tape to check his dimensions.
"Rarity, what are you doing?"

"Well, we certainly can't have you wandering around and wearing down the same drab fit, Anon. I'll make you something new to wear -- your odd proportions should give me a good challenge."

"Oh, I don't have any bits." Anon tries to refute, but Rarity's got a good grip on him.

Rarity scoffs, waving a hoof dismissively.
"Fret about that once you land a job. Or, well, manage to keep one. I heard about what happened with Applejack. That life isn't for everyone, so try not to worry."

"Oh. Uh... thanks Rares."

"Rares? Hmph. That's Miss Rarity to you."

"Oh uh..."

"Messing with you, Darling. Chin up."

Sweetie slowly circles him, tilting her head.
"Why are you so long?"

"For picking bananas out of trees." Anon jokes, getting a snort out of the filly.

"Here, Sweetie -- get me one of my pincushion, would you?" Rarity nods to Sweetie Belle, who goes trotting across the Boutique to dig one out of one of the shelves.

---

"Anon. Listen this time. You don't--" Faust tries to protest. She sees the look on his face; it's the same as when he saw Twilight. He seems to be snapping out of something.

Sure, the Friendship thing was nice, and she was glad he was getting through to some of them. Yeah. Great. Maybe not when the rest of the pack is slowly encircling the Boutique, testing how close they're willing to get? She swears she can hear Cheerilee shouting in the distance, getting closer.

Anon kneels down beside Sweetie, digging through one of his pockets. The knife gets closer as Sweetie glares, watching -- but Anon goes slowly, as he pulls out some of those colorful rocks he'd grabbed before leaving, holding a few of them out in his palm for her. His backup barter plan, or whatever he had in mind. Last ditch effort to not get stabbed.

Sweetie looks down at his hand. It's hard to read her stoic expression, but the knife continues to lower away from his more stabbable areas, until it's almost touching the ground.

Slowly, three of the little rocks start to lift from the collection. A yellow, and orange, and a white one.

"So you do remember." Anon mumbles. Anon was starting to clue in that all these changes weren't quite as deeply rooted as he expected.

Sweetie's head tilts, looking at him as he speaks. But then her head tilts back, looking straight up.

Anon and Faust follow her gaze, towards the roof of the Boutique above them.

Scootaloo, looking particularly feathery, hangs off the edge of the drain that encircles the roofs edge. Her claws, also looking incredibly sharp at this angle, dig into the wall and tile as the oversized, orange once-filly stares down at them.

"Uh... Hey, ScoOOooo--"

Suddenly, Faust finds herself with no shoulder to perch on, idly flapping in the air. Scootaloo is gone -- and so is Anon. It's just her, Sweetie, Anon's spear, his jacket of fish as they slap to the ground...

"...Anon?" Faust asks aloud, glancing back and forth.

Sweetie points past herself with her hoof, towards the sky.

There's an orange dot, carrying another larger, flailing, displeased dot into the distance.

Both are quickly getting smaller.

"...Oh, shit." Faust curses, quickly flapping after them.

Sweetie looks down at the tied-up jacket that was left on the grass, nose scrunching after giving it a sniff.

---

^{Above Ponyville}

"scccCOOOOO -- OW, SHARP!" Anon yells, limbs flailing. The wind is whipping past him as Scootaloo grips into his shoulders with her claws, trying to fix her grasp on him. Anon has little intention of letting that happen, wriggling like a feral cat. His spear was long gone, dropped when he got grabbed.

Wait. How high up was he?

Anon risks a glance down.

Oh. They're already higher than any other building in Ponyville. Great. Sweet. Epic, even. He's totally not just absolutely panicking right now.

Scootaloo makes an odd noise as Anon latches to her clawed legs, grasping tightly with both hands. Or, one hand, finding his other hand occupied. Why does he have Sweetie's bone-knife? When did he get that?

Following initial take-off, Scootaloo seems to be struggling to lift him further following his incessant refusal to sit still, grunting as she flaps harder. She might be a bit bigger and able to fly now, but maybe she wasn't too used to the practice of carrying something Anon-sized just yet.

Or maybe he needed to lose some weight. Either way, Anon wasn't complaining.

Obviously, he doesn't want to fall and die. He can't just stab her, either. That's death in two ways, where it'd be a race between the fall, and Faust for who rips him a new one first.

But considering Scootaloo was wearing a skull and greeted him with talons, she probably didn't want to have him over for fucking tea.

And even if he does live, the ratpack is below, ready and waiting to catch up to him and his mangled legs, running after them both now that they're away from the Boutique.

Anon feverishly looks for a solution. Would be easier if he could just land on a roof or something, and figure it out from there.

Hang on. Landing on something. There's an idea.

Anon shoves the handle of the blade into his mouth, gripping it tightly with his teeth. He reaches up, grabbing Scootaloo's feathery side with a tight fist and yanking down, hard.

The sudden shift in weight spins her away from the Schoolhouse and towards the canopy of Ponyvilles edge. If he could just keep a good grasp on her, and force his weight, he could abuse her inexperience with flight. Maybe. Hopefully. She's trying pretty hard to shake his grabby little hand off of her, but no dice.

"Anon!" A distant-but-closing voice calls from behind. Anon risks a glance -- it's Faust, flapping as hard as she can to catch up.
"Hang on!"

No shit, Sherlock. He'd love to yell it, but there's a knife in his mouth. He settles for a loud noise instead.

They coast overtop some of the overgrown shops, needing to lift his leg to avoid hitting the edge. Scootaloo is already losing steam, audibly panting. But the edge of the jungle is close, and the little terrors don't tread beyond the border.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Distantly below, they're starting to trail, more and more of them getting demotivated or distracted as Scootaloo gets some distance, trading height for speed.

It actually gives Anon a chance to look at Cheerilee, who follows far in the rear... oh, god, she looks like a centipede. That one's going to give him nightmares. She's got that Twilight corruption going on, but elongated, dressed up like some tribal chief. Too many legs. Way too many.

Anon instead tries to focus on the impending trees as they near, Faust now flapping beside him.

"What are you doing?!" She calls, glancing between him and the jungle.

No time to answer -- knife handle in the mouth and all -- so Anon decides to lead by example. As is, Faust watches as Anon suddenly yanks one of Scootaloo's wings, and crashes both himself and Scootaloo into the leafy fronds of the jungle leaves, tumbling through them towards the ground. She loses sight of him for a moment as Ponyville becomes hidden by trees, Anon and Scootaloo careening through branches and vines, slowing their fall.

By the time Faust catches up, both are sprawled on the grassy floor, panting heavily in a little clearing.

...Surrounded by curious, wild chickens. Probably escapees from the Apple farms. They curiously peck at Anon's clothes.

"You alive?" Faust asks hurriedly, landing beside him.

Anon slowly plucks the knife from his mouth, huffing loudly.
"...Yup."

Faust glances past him to Scootaloo -- though she's panting, glancing around like a lost, cornered animal, she's already flaring out her oversized wings to try and take off again.

"Anon, careful, she's about to get up!" Faust urges, landing and shoving his shoulder with her hooves.

Anon groans, sitting up, one of the chickens clucking loudly and flapping away.

... That gives Anon an idea, as he looks at the knife in his hand. Scootaloo wobbles, trying to stand.

---

"Shit, kid -- you alright?" Anon asks, rubbing his very sore shins.

"Uh... yeah, yeah, I'm good." The orange filly mumbles, awkwardly reaching up to mess with the helmet that's slumped down to skew her vision after their impact.

Anon had been walking back from the market with a few things for Twilight, when this absolute speeding bullet on a silver scooter biffed a turn and slammed into his legs. He was holding it together for now, but he'd probably have a cry about this later. Scooter to the shins was no joke.

"Try to watch where you're going, alright Scoots?" Anon scolds through gritted teeth, trying to remain some level of friendly.

"Hey!" She suddenly squeaks, right as she fixes her helmet.
"How'd you know my name?"

"Scoots?"

"Scootaloo!"

"Huh. Lucky guess?" Anon shrugs, like every one of these colorful horses wasn't conveniently named after the one thing they did the most, or not even remotely similar.

The local librarian? Twilight Sparkle.
The filly on the scooter? Scootaloo.
And so on.

"Well, sorry about your hooves. Why do you only have two of them? And why do they bend like that?" She asks, tilting her head, staring with big, curious eyes.
"I haven't seen anything like you before."

"Sweetie asked me the same thing. Just the way I am, I guess." Anon shrugs, still bent over, rubbing his ankles as they get red. God, that hurt.

"You know Sweetie?!" Scootaloo suddenly squeaks, getting much closer.

"Uh... met her while visiting Rarity?" Anon offers, to the filly rapidly encroaching his personal space.

"Cool! Do you know Applebloom, too?"

"Applejacks sister? Sure?"

"She's my other friend! Well, if you know both of my other friends... we should be friends too!" She announces firmly, practically lifting off the ground in excitement, her tiny wings fluttering.

Was it okay to be friends with kids? Was that a thing here? He didn't feel like catching a case.

"Uh... sure?" Anon tentatively agrees, getting strong-armed into a friendship as the orange one grins widely.

"Nice! Okay, see you around, new friend!" Scootaloo announces, hopping back on her scooter. Before Anon can even say anything, she's already ripping down the road, a few walking ponies yelping as she tears right between them.

"...Gonna ask Twilight about that one." Anon mumbles. He stands up, his ankles not getting any better without an ice pack. Speaking of Twilight, maybe she had one. At least the groceries weren't damaged.

---

"Remember what I --" Faust tries to say, snapping him out of his thoughts. Anon cuts in, waving a hand around.

"I know. Just trust me!" He inhales, quickly and roughly pushing himself to his feet.

Scootaloo squawks in surprise as Anon returns the earlier favor, and tackles her to the ground. Pinning her underneath him with a leg, he raises the knife.

Author's Note:

extra images

Comments

[ThunderBasilisk]

An awesome chapter. And damn Cherrelee let herself go.

[Verdauga]

Neat.