Clipped Wings

by Desrium

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Know those around you. Fear the depths of their hearts. Be wise to the kind words meant to harm… or the harsh ones meant to protect.

Klaxon moved to lean against one of the stained cream colored walls. Steiner stood farther into the decently sized basement, looking at Falcon head on. A dim yellowish light inexplicably illuminated the cellar. Steiner waited specifically for Klaxon to the close the dumpster-entrance before he turned on the lamp beside him to eliminate any possibility of drawing the unwanted to their home, though through what manner it was powered Falcon was completely ignorant. It was a skinny metal thing with an ordinary rounded bulb. There was no shade, just the bulbous… bulb situated on top its simple and small brass column. It wasn’t plugged into anything and it rested on a small, rounded table. Internal battery? Perhaps. “How long have you two had that light?” Falcon asked with a gesture of his right hoof to the lamp.

“Few years now,” was Klaxon’s response.

“Are batteries that easy to find out there?” Falcon inquired next.

“Nope,” was his answer. Definitely not a battery, these ponies weren’t just sitting in here in the dark when their batteries were dead and they had to find more. The red pony’s face furrowed in confusion.

He looked at the two stallions that liberated him from his trash heap domain, deciding to take advantage of the light and study their features… while not being completely awkward and uncomfortable around the strangers.

Klaxon was an earth pony of an almost bronze colored coat that had a film of black and gray from the dust outside. His mane was a fiery orange and his irises were yellow. He wore a brown leather vest with numerous bandoliers. On his forehead were goggles with two small objects mended onto either side of them. Flashlights? How were they powered? Hanging off his sides were saddle bags. His cutie mark was a threatening looking owl, large golden eyes without pupils locked in a glare. The connotation of the image made Falcon Wing uneasy around the stallion despite his earlier words. If he wanted to hurt the colt, Klaxon would have done it already. Ignoring that, Klaxon was the epitome of a scavenger, a strong pony wandering the wastes and salvaging anything he could and gathering supplies and resources. A basement was a fitting place for him to set up shop. He didn’t look too worse for wear despite years living in the wild, wild Wasteland.

Steiner on the other hoof wasn’t dressed for hauling. Sure, he had his saddle bags to carry things but beyond that he looked like he wasn’t the scavenging type. That was because his attire was combat oriented: metal plating in addition to his leather barding, a battle saddle; assault rifle on his left and a combat shotgun on his right. He was meant to be as light as he could be, able to strike from afar and utterly demolish up close. Falcon was suddenly more wary of him. Klaxon sounded mean, he probably had one hell of a kick with how toned his body was from carrying all sorts of weights, but Steiner had guns. He was also of a dark coloration, navy blue coat, jet black mane that was unruly at the front and swept back down his neck smoothly. His eyes were stark contrast as they were the color of burning embers. From the mess of hair, Falcon could see the imprint of a scar from his forehead, curving with the bridge of his snout. Like his eyes, Steiner’s scar was a stark contrast to the rest of his dark body. That was because it was glowing. A faint glow, but against a dark blue pelt it was pretty damn noticeable.

Steiner picked up on Falcon’s shock. He looked to the red colt’s wing stubs, one swollen. The one he had his unhappy landing on. “You’re not the only one here who had part of themselves get taken from them,” Steiner said evenly, lacking emotion. He was simply stating facts here and yet Falcon could feel himself swirling inside. Or was that his stomach preparing to empty its contents? Steiner was… was….

“You’re a unicorn!” Falcon Wing blurted out abruptly. He paused. Thought. “Were a unicorn!” he corrected himself. The dark blue stallion sat on his haunches, mimicking what Falcon had done himself. Steiner spared himself the effort of mocking his expression as he deadpanned “And you’re a pegasus. Were a pegasus.”

That really hurt. Of all the beatings and of all the names he was called, that one statement caused Falcon Wing the most pain. To top it off, he -- as Steiner so graciously showed -- was on the receiving end of his own words and actions. He was just as insensitive at the other two stallions in disbelief as they were… normally. Falcon stared down at his hooves while another sound made itself known, one that made him feel even lower than low. Klaxon was laughing a cold, contemptuous laugh, his amusement at the expense of the two other ponies in the room.