Clipped Wings

by Desrium

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Things rarely go according to plan. When they do, generally something terrible is going to happen.

It was an audio file. That same pony who had burst through the saloon doors proclaiming him to be an outlaw, Falcon Wing listened to him drawl on about an encounter he had a week prior.

"That pink peg'sus appeared again, askin' 'bout our wranglers. I don't know what a pony like her needs with all them wild animals but she's willin' ta pay caps like nopony else. I don't think she's makin' an honest living out here. I only sees her in that frilly dress of her's so I aint willin' to bet on her bein' a killer... probably some whore with good worth ethic. Doesn't explain the animal biz'ness but it makes me wonder if she's in need of a new client... the things I'd do to her-"

Falcon shut off the recording.

Erasure. She was in Dodge as a representative... the one arranging for animal trapping. Falcon Wing understood how she would be given such a role. She was a commanding figure to be around, stern as well. A pony who was able to get things done just by speaking.

For the saloon owner to call her a whore was an insult to the pony she was and made Falcon Wing grit his teeth. She might have been just as likely to murder him as any other enemy in the Wastes, but Erasure had firmly planted herself in his life as a mother figure. It would take some time getting used to the fact that he may have just been her way of dealing with a guilty conscience.

For him to record his fantasies... or perversions made the red colt furious.

But he only knew of them because he decided to jack into that terminal hidden away in the backroom of a bar. It was entirely of his own volition. Entirely because of his curiosity. His foolishness.

The place was a large gathering hall with many of its furnishings being a blend of pre-war flare and rustic Wasteland mishmashing of scrap. The wingless pegasus and caramel mare sat at one of the latter accommodations, their table being a rusty red passenger wagon door mounted on top of a barrel. Their stools were barrels cut in half, overturned so that their bottom ends were the seats.

It was not exactly comfortable but it was better than sitting on the floor.

The two were sitting close to the bar, Falcon Wing not partaking in the goods available while Alana helped herself to few carrots and celery stalks, enjoying the music that was streaming out of many radios fixed to the walls.

Falcon Wing was busy contemplating the decorations mounted on the walls in addition to the radios, mundane items that he would have written off as worthless scrap metal. Apparently there was an artistic beauty to bent wheels and struts that he wasn't seeing.

His ears flicked and turned under his hood towards the overpowering voice that was audible over the sounds of other patrons.

"Okay boys, that mare's been pokin' round these parts askin' for animal trappers for a while now. Now I'm not complainin' about the caps but I gotta mention how strange it all is!" he overheard the saloon owner from the table he and Alana were sitting at. Falcon looked over to the source of the voice: the bar.

The owner was leaning over from behind the long wooden counter. The pony was a light tan in color, wore a leather jacket and blue undershirt and had a torn up ten gallon hat on. Ponies of both genders looked at him admiringly, some more so than others.

One thing led to another. Falcon Wing eavesdropped on the conversation...which was not really eavesdropping seeing as the saloon owner was practically shouting. When his intrigue was piqued he asked about this mysterious collector, only to be turned away by a pony who "didn't have time ta deal with colts an' their questions."

So he excused himself to both the stallion and Alana, disappeared on the pretense of needing to use the facilities of the establishment and pursued his intrigue as a shadow. Eventually he found himself to the stallion's office. Found his terminal on that desk in front of a dingy upholstered chair.

Helped himself to its contents- or at least, attempted to.

"Boy, you must think I'm hella stupid if you expected me not to be suspicious of the hooded fuck that asks me a question then goes lurkin' in the darkness," the tan pony snarled when he opened the door, glaring at the red colt who stared back at him through green lenses.

"... Shit" Falcon Wing replied, yanking his Pipeye connector out of the console when he saw the stallion engage his buckshot battle saddle. The saloon owner must've put it on before his foreseen confrontation.

The red colt was upon the tan stallion in an instant, swinging himself around to kick the older pony hard into the door, stunning him, and then speeding out of the doorway.

The situation exploded right then and there.

It was just over ten minutes before he felt the sharp blow to the back of his head as that yellow pegasus drove their weight into him at speed. After that, things were fuzzy and then ultimately became black...

"Alana?" Falcon Wing said as the two departed Glyphmark, having voiced their many thanks for the assistance the Zebra foals gave before doing so.

"Yes, Falcon?" the caramel mare replied, looking to him with a somewhat worried gaze, still unsure of his emotional standing at the time.

"We're not welcome in Dodge City, are we?" the Wingless pegasus replied.

"...I shot one of their own. Not to kill... but still... I still shot him" Alana replied.

"Right. That's a no then"

Alana nodded.