Chapter 3: Expect Nothing Less Than Critical Conditions!
“See you tomorrow Scootaloo!” Shouted Sweetie Belle as the two parted ways. Already the sun had begun to set as the three amigos headed off in their separate directions. They had stayed after-school for detention after all three of them had arrived late. How’d they end up being late? It involved a wagon, tree sap, and another one of Scootaloo’s crazy ideas. Oh, and a broken window; their classroom’s, to be exact.
“Yeah! See ya later Sweets!” Replied Scootaloo, waving behind. Applebloom had already dropped off seeing as how the farm was the closest building to the Schoolhouse. Scootaloo was just a couple blocks down from Sweetie belle, so more often than not, the two would find themselves walking home together. Scootaloo didn’t mind too much however. The walk was nice, what always greeted her at home; was not. Not even several feet from the small redbrick building however, she could already hear it. The evening evening fare. Opening the door, she was instantly assailed by the rank smell of unwashed bodies, booze, greasy food, and obnoxious laughter and yelling. Threading through the crowd like a pro, she reached the small walk up at the back of the building near the bar. Acting as fast as possible, she reached for the door, yanked it open, and was about to run up when she heard something peculiar.
“Scootsie! Good! Ya made it in time! Good!” Shouted her mother above the din. Onstage, something odd was happening. Screwball was sitting on a stool, strumming what appeared to be a crescent guitar. She was nearly shouting above the band as it did its best to keep up with the hectic beat. Everyone was hollering and screaming. The bar was at it’s usual madness, only it seemed to be escalating as they sang along with her angry lyrics.
Just because I come from Roma camp on the hill they put me in a school for mentally ill. Oppa, oppa didly daa! All their lies about Roma!
Scootaloo wormed her way behind the bar as the stallion onstage howled at full volume, more as a purging than anything else.
You love our music, but you hate our guts! I know you still want me to ride the back of the bus!
Oddly enough, she found herself tapping along to the music. It held some sort of odd charm. If she had known what the word was, she might’ve even said it was cathartic.
Opportunity for me is a red carpet to hell! But I’m a roma wunderkind I’m gonna break the spell! Break the spell! Break the spell! I’m gonna break the spell!
Soon enough, she found herself screaming along to the music, thoroughly swept up in it’s despotic insanity.
Like a pro, I pack your dance floor but you want me to come in and exit through back door! O-pa. Opa diddlydaa!
Now the nighttime crowd had become thoroughly immersed in the diasporic music. Screwball herself didn’t even acknowledge the crowd’s existence as she strummed along with the rest of the band. The stallion on stage was wild-eyed, wild-maned, and passionate and crazed beyond all shadows of reasonable doubt.
Though the music was booming and chaotic, and the room was filled with the stomping of ponies jumping in rhythm, a single mare at the bar Scootaloo’s attention; a mint green mare, staring into her drink. With a last look to the band, she walked over to the bar and hopped up onto one of the stools. Much of the song repeated itself so the little sanguine filly turned away, but before she did, she caught the last parts to the vocals:
We came from Rajasthan as non-militant travelers. The time in Byzantium made us even more advanced. And at the end I gotta say To conclude our little study. One thing about them gypsies, they never bored nobody!"
“Another drink, Berry...” the mare said, knocking her drink back in a single go. Another glass filled with brown liquid slid across the counter, the mare at the end squinting her eyes. Her tongue was still stuck out in concentration, foreleg outstretched as the drink collided with the green mare’s own hoof, “Thanks.” Scootaloo jerked a hoof to the mare screaming her head off onstage.
“Friend of yours?” She asked, or rather hollered above the din. Lyra turned to the mare now shouting something in a different language and throwing herself into the crowd. Grimacing, she simply tapped the table, Scootaloo understood immediately and poured a bit more into the shot-glass.
“Unfortunately.” Muttered the lime mare. Scootaloo tapped her chin. The light velvet mare looked so familiar. Then again, everpony in town looked familiar, it was just a matter of placing names to faces. Lyra followed her gaze and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Do you know her?” She asked, sipping lightly on the amber liquid. Scootaloo shook her head.
“No. But she’s so familiar...feels like I know her.” Scootaloo sighed as Berry finally emerged. Shoving and pushing through the crowd holding Screwball and the wild-eyed stallion.
“Give it up for our resident Romanis!” She jumped up on the bar and helped the both of them up, holding their hooves up as the crowd positively went nuts below. “DRINKS ARE ON THE HOUSE TONIGHT!” She hollered once more before escorting the two out for a brief break. Lyra watched the group go, a strange tingling sensation had begun in her gut.
“How long ago did Screwball move in again?”
When Screwball did move in, Lyra’s life wasn’t a whole lot better. The Doctor was still gathering up as much money as he could, and Lyra was still playing out on the street for a spare coin from those that walked by. How long ago was that... two years? Hard to imagine how time flies when you live with a psychotic mare and an alcoholic.
Their first meeting wasn’t exactly a happy one, by any extent. It was raining, in hindsight, that rain was probably a sign, and Lyra was wandering around the market, trudging through the mud to get to the bakery. All the sales stalls had closed up after the storm warning was put out, and most ponies thought it smart to stay inside for the day.
And they were right to; the wind was pretty brutal, but the day’s shopping had to be done. Whooves had stuck the job on her, his flimsy reasoning being she was a unicorn and he wasn’t.
Stupid Doctor... he knows full well he could be doing this instead of me. I got the groceries yesterday too! Then again, he is cleaning up around the flat... wait, flat? It’s appartment, not... that darn Trottingham accent is getting to me.
She grumbled in the wind as the rain pounded down around her. It was a good thing she had a coat and hood, otherwise she’d probably be dead of a cold, or simply drowning the mud that just seemed to get deeper as she went along. She looked up to see her objective ahead, and a sigh of relief accompanied the halfway point of her journey; just gotta walk back n-
Lyra stopped in the street, brow furrowed. Did she hear something? Her ears swivelled, trying to pick the sound up again. After a few moments of waiting, she finally decided that she was going insane, and that a cold was the cause. She took a few steps before hearing the sound again. Just what was that?
She sighed and searched for the sound again. It sounded almost like a guitar...but it sounded so...sad. Ducking and moving from awning to awning, she found herself on a little side street. The hustle bustle of the market seemed to stop in this little sanctuary as all the ponies stopped to listen. A lone mare was sitting on a crate. She was sitting upright with one of her back-legs folded over the other. A crescent guitar rested in her lap as an old stallion by her side began singing.
What was here, now is gone.
Up and down like everyone...
Walked the earth, in lonesome cry
But when the sun comes up
When the sun comes uuuup...
It will be on your side,
it will be on your side.
Another sound joined in the music, a smooth sound compared to the beat of the guitar; a viola, worn strings still singing to the crowd as best it can. Lyra fell to the music, bobbing to the beat with the rest of the crowd. A chorus lit before the next verse, moving to the beat of the instruments.
To the sound of wheels,
all demons die...
Rays of joy, they multiiiply.
Harmonyyyy, you will be my bride,
but when the sun comes up,
I’ll let out last breath...
And slumber softly...
Into
The
Death!
The chorus picked back up, every string hitting harder, and Lyra added her tapping hoof to the magic of the beat. Every guitar strum was met with a stomp from the crowd, everyone following to the music. Another pony, a little filly by the looks of it, pulled out a little harmonica and joined the solemn song part way through the verse.
My half-breed, oooodessey,
Your orphan! Proooophecy,
Our destinyyyy, we will not hide!
When the sun comes up,
when the sun comes uuuup,
it will be on your side...
it will be on, our, side!
The chorus picked back up, adding to the melody of woes. Lyra found herself slowing down. The velvet mare in the front had a sombrero pulled low over her face, but from what she could see, tears were reflecting in the lamplight. Lyra slowly put down the bags as the rain drenched the long faced group. Some of the older men wore ponchos, and even the filly had a small, albeit it battered and old umbrella. The only one in the group who had nothing but an old mothballed cloak. When the purple mare finally lifted her head, Lyra gasped. She looked so young..yet so old. There were parenthesis around her mouth as she pursed her lip. Barely visible crows-feet around her eyes and frown lines around her forehead. Her eyes held a thousand-yard stare that seemed to settle on Lyra who simply looked on in amazement as they all lamented their woes.
When the sun comes up...
I’ll let out last breeeeath...
and I’ll slumber softly,
Inntooo
the
death...
“What type of hell does one have to go through to sing something like this?” Thought Lyra in a state of half shock, half sadness. There was anger. Anger and a sense of resignation here. If she let her thoughts wander, she could almost find the group on a trail in the eye of the setting sun, padding along slowly in a covered caravan. And indeed, even as she looked on, behind them was a covered Caravan. A couple of the crates must have been taken down to provide the group seating since there was none. Not a single pony spoke as the group continued..
She understood how music conveyed words, but music like this... this simply conveyed dreams and wishes that seemed to never come true, a crippling reality where everything was out of reach. She sniffed as the song ended, wiping her eyes, the final notes falling off like the dying breaths of an old pony. Bits were cast from the crowd to the ponies on the mediocre stage, and they all bowed, gladly accepting the tribute to their art.
With a few abject sniffs and sobs, the crowd broke up and headed home, hoods being pulled up to beat back the rain. A single pony was left behind, still looking to the guitarist. She paused as she placed her guitar gently in its case, looking back with her hoof on the lid. She blinked and raised an eyebrow, breaking Lyra out of her trance with a shake of the mint unicorn’s head.
“Can I help you?” She asked, closing the lid of her case.
“U-Um... I just wanted to say... that was a wonderful song,” Lyra scuffed the mud, “I’ve never heard something like it...”
“That is good thing.” the mare looked back to her guitar case, wiping some of the rain off the top. She adjusted her sombrero and stared off into space as the other ponies packed up the caravan.
“W-Well... uh...” Lyra gritted her teeth, trying to think of something to say, “I suppose that’s right... do you travel a lot?”
“Yes... we never stop for long, either.”
“Why not?”
“It is what we do. We are Roma. No place likes Roma.” The words came reluctantly to her as the purple mare sat there. “They...those ponies. They do not listen long da? Is too painful for them.”
“Ah... I understand where you’re coming from, it’s hard to make a living in music,” Lyra looked to her Cutie Mark, grimacing slightly at the ivory strings; it really was difficult to make it in the music world...
“Mhm.”
Silence once again, besides the pounding of the rain.
“This was nice chat. What is your name?”
“Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings... and... what’s your name?”
“Screwball, Screwball Hijinx.”
“Ah... that is good name...”
“... Shouldn’t you be home? Storm is not going to clear just for you.”
“Well, yeah... it’s just... have you tried settling down somewhere? Travelling so much...”
The mare smirked, looking over at Lyra. “Do not feel pity for us. We are Roma. We need no pity.”
“W-What? No, no! It’s just-”
“It is fine. Most towns we go to, they cannot hold us for long. We are too....how you say...passionate for them.”
“Do you need a place to stay?”
Screwball blinked, staring over at Lyra. “This is... strange offer.”
“W-Well, uh... it’s rare that I meet another musician... it’d be terrible to let them live like-”
“Like what?” The purple mare’s brow fell, her sombrero tipping off to the side as she turned to face Lyra.
“Well...”
“Like rat?”
“W-What? No!”
Her brow fell further.
“I-I didn’t mean any insult, I’m sorry... it’s just...”
“Come, say it green one. We live in horrible condition.”
Lyra mumbled something incoherent, looking off to the side.
“No?”
“Well... it’s just, I have friends here... and in this kind of rain, nopony should be left outside. Maybe you and your friends should stay over in town for the night?”
Screwball blinked, her furrowed brow rising slightly. It was pretty cold out... having a solid roof over her head would be great.
“Da... I will talk to them.”
“Of course, take your time. I live in the Bone Oak Apartments down the street, come to room two o’ four. I’ll be waiting!” Lyra smiled, picking up her bag. It was a rough start, but she managed to get a band to stay over in town. Their music was great... they had a lot to learn from each other, she was certain. The very thought of trading secrets about guitar and lyre playing set her heart aflutter; so exciting!
She practically bounced over to Sugarcube Corner, acting as if the rain was never even there, and as if she wasn’t getting mud all over her belly. She was way too happy to let such things keep her down now!
Aw, well isn’t that just peaches and plums? It appears our resident volcano-waiting-to-blow has a heart! Anyways, let us head back! I have a feeling this sad little story’s not even halfway over.
Lyra simply shook her head as the tiny purple maned filly made her way out back, most likely sick to her stomach at the behavior of the adults in the room. As she watched the filly retreat however, a strange sensation seemed to overtake her. Starting in her gut, it worked her way up her stomach and into her heart before setting fire to her brain.
Deja Vu. A very strong sense of Deja vu. Maybe it was her purple mane, but there was something about that little pegasus. Something very.....familiar.
Before her brain could make any kind of relation, somepony stumbled in through the front door. They made a beeline for the counter, crashed into a stool, and their chin hit the counter like a pegasus out of a freefall. The brown, swept-back mane was matted a bit, the eyes were drowsy, and the mouth was caught in a neutral area between a scowl and a smile. His eyes simply stared forward to the rows upon rows of alcohol, and his mouth finally chose a side.
“I’ll take a brandy on the rocks... make it quick, please,” the Trottingham accent was unmistakable, as if mane and coat weren’t; the Doctor. Turning to her flatmate, Lyra smirked.
“Tough night?” She asked leering playfully. Onstage, Screwball prepared herself to jump into the waiting hooves of the crowd below as she partook in the age old tradition of crowd surfing.
“In a way, yes. I just need a solid drink at the moment, Lyra,” Whooves blinked, groaning a bit. Down at the end of the counter, Berry leaned on the polished wood surface and took aim, lining up her shot. With a good shove, she planted the stout drink right at the tip of Whooves’ snout, proving once more why she’s the Equestrian Bar Shot Champion.
Too bad the contest was banned a year ago due to the judges getting trashed beforehand...
“Appreciated, miss,” The stallion pushed himself upright and hooved the drink, before taking it and washing his throat down with the thin, blissful liquid.
It was right about this time that Screwball crowd surfed to the seat next to Whooves and ordered “una tequila por favor, senorita.” Whooves’ furrowed his brow and looked over at her, glass still up to his lips, the last of the drink trickling into his waiting maw. “I picked up a couple things here and there, what did you expect?” Screwball shrugged and grabbed the small shot glass, downing it in one go and slamming it back down. “Another please. Actually, scratch that, I’d like five right off the ba-” during her order, Scootaloo had walked in, and as Lyra and Whooves watched, Screwball seemed to pause mid order and watch her. “Um, Berry, a word with you in private please.” She stated very flatly, leaning over the bar and grabbing her counterpart by the scruff of the neck and roughly shoving her to the door, leaping over the bar and following her out the staff exit as Lyra and Whooves watched the two go; Whooves with apprehension, and Lyra with curiosity.
“What’s gotten into her?” Asked the little orange filly, refilling the brown earth pony’s drink.
“Obliged, little miss,” Whooves stated with a nod, swirling the ice around in his drink. He’d never truly appreciated the bar scene, simply looking into your drink before sending it down its one-way trip to the blood stream, but now it seemed appropriate to simply stare and think. The amber waves crashed against the beach of his sub-conscious, viscous yet palatable, and he looked on in thought, “To answer your question, however... I haven’t seen her act like that before. Lyra?” The lime mare shook her head in a negative. Whooves quirked his mouth up, returning his eyes to his drink; things just kept piling up, didn’t they? First Redheart, now Screwball...
“Mares.” He thought glumly, taking a long draught of his liquid spirit before sucking in another lungful of air in preparation of what he was about to do. He turned his eyes to the door and looked on, two silhouettes perceived through the deep-blue window. With a sigh, he got off the stool and walked around the counter, every step becoming slower as he approached the door.
“Okay Screwbuh-” Whooves stopped mid sentence as the two mares sat in the dust, obvious signs of emotional distress were visible. Both had tears streaming down their faces, Screwball was sporting a snotty nose while Berry had red eyes. The bartending mare simply got up and rubbed her eyes.
“Oh don’t mind us. ‘Just a bit of a girl’s chat is all.” She joked.
“... I’d protest, but I’m worried I may spark something, and asking about how you are seems stupid at the moment... shall I simply leave you two alone?” Whooves inquired, hoof still to the door at his side. Screwball whipped her nose and got up.
“No. No, call Lyra out if you can. It’s about time we talked about my end of the bargain.” She stated, shaking her mane to free it of dirt and dust. After a moment of consideration for what may occur with three mares, two emotionally distraught ones at that, in the same room, he reluctantly nodded his head. He turned his head back to the counter and moved himself to prop the door against his back, then gestured for Lyra to come in.
“Somepony called?” She asked, swinging in through the doorway. Screwball straightened up and cleared her throat, gesturing for Berry Punch to leave, a request that was quickly followed. After the mare’s hesitant exit and a cursory nod from Whooves, the stallion moved into the room and the door swung shut. It wasn’t ensured privacy, but it would have to do.
“Alright, I think it’s time we got this out of the way.” Started Screwball. Turning to Lyra, she said “Lyra, to this day, I thank you for entertaining me and my group, even if they...have moved on. I will always thank Celestia that we met on that rainy day. That out of the way, you have serious anger management issues that I’m starting to think are affecting your ability to work.” Screwball had lost her ramblomatic, silly tone, opting instead for a barren heartbroken one. “And you, Whooves, you’ve been hitting the bottle a little too hard these past couple weeks, and that too is bothering me.” She took a deep breath. “And I myself...well...I have my own demons. Ones I thought buried in my closet years ago. Guess they came back, and in a big way.” She sighed again, rubbing her temples. “Now, I’m not saying this out of the blue, or lightly for that matter. I’ve been watching you all, and....and...I...I just can’t let this happen to my friends. To my family. I can’t have them falling apart in their own little worlds of sadness, blocking themselves from the outside world to suffer by themselves. I’m not going to stand by as it happens. Not again, and not in this lifetime.” She firmly stated.
The Doctor looked on at Screwball, nary a blink crossing his features, “Hmm... so you wanted to have a chat about the problems we all have? Unexpected, though I’m rather certain the sky is falling from the tone you’ve taken,” he scuffed the floor with a hoof, “My problem with the bottle isn’t based around depression, rather simply coping... either that, or habit.”
“This is really random though, even for you, Screwball. What’s up?” Lyra blinked, raising her eyebrow. Addressing her aggression issues right now would dig up a lot of skeletons she’d prefer to leave in her own closet... but they’d come out eventually.
Screwball took a deep, deep breath and closed her eyes. “Well... just now... I had a very brief, but meaningful chat... with an old, old friend of mine.” She paused to sniffle and wipe her eyes. “And..she told me something very, very important.” She twisted her hooves around each other and averted her gaze. “It was around...ten or so years ago. I was in a..a very low point in my life. Some ponies made me do things that I didn’t want to do, but I had to do them to keep my fa-band from starving.” She exhaled sharply. Lyra took her side and wrapped a hoof around her neck as she continued. “Unfortunately, one thing led to another...and I....I got pregnant. It was..it was a little filly.” Screwball, true to her name, screwed shut her eyes and continued. Her voice grew huskier and her wording seemed to slip. A distinguishable accent formed on her tongue, dulling and distorting her words. “I..I left the little one with a friend’s family here in Ponyville.” She stopped, opening her eyes to stare at the ceiling. “Celestia.....she was just a two day old when I left her, squealing. Her eyes weren’t even open yet.”
Lyra pulled her close into a quiet hug as Whooves averted his eyes, both obviously troubled by the story. Lyra seemed to slowly rock back and forth with Screwball in her hooves, putting her head on hers as the two sat in silence for a while.
“This is a difficult story to hear, Screwball... I’m sorry you had to go through such a thing,” the Doctor whispered, turning his eyes back to the mare, “I’m glad Lyra managed to convince you to stay, however... I dread to think of what would have happened, had she not.”
Screwball stared off into space for a little while before answering. “I... would have been dead, thousands of miles from any place I’ve called home.” She stated plainly, almost as if it was a fact. “You may or may not know this, but outside of Equestria’s borders is a hostile and cruel world. It’s not made for ponies out there Doctor, and trust me when I say that would’ve been the end of me.”
Sadly, he fully understood what kind of threats could be out there, especially so close to home. He simply sighed, lowering his eyes to the floor, “Then... let us be happy that you two met that day, and that you and your band were able to stay. I’m still rather amazed how Lyra convinced the local hotel owner to grant your band food and board for so long... but I shan’t press that. It’s good to get such a thing of one’s chest, Screwball... and I feel you chose the right ponies to open up to.”
Screwball merely smiled at this.
“Thank you, but I am not the only pony in the world with such a sad story. And every pony suffers in different ways; I suffered visibly, but others suffer silently. And to each, one must grant an ear, for while we perceive our pain as only ours, it is our families and our sisters and our brothers. It is облигационный, bonded.” She smiled, surprising the two with her insight.
“Rather... sagely of you, Screwball. I suppose we all hide things from the world, whether they could benefit it or not,” Whooves raised his brow, finally blinking again. Celestia, his eyes felt dry... a quick rub and a bout of swift blinking returned his eyes from their desert condition, and he continued listening.
“Sadly however, our suffering isn’t going to end with just us telling each other what we’ve gone through. We still have to pay the bill, and it’s only a couple weeks away, which is why I have a proposition.” She cleared her throat. “Berry Punch mentioned it to me during our...spirited conversation, a way to pay our debts. Blacksmiths in Canterlot are well known for their alloys, capable of heavy duty abuse and light weights, they stand out as a beacon of excellence. Amongst the metals they use however, there is one that stands,prized above all: Dragon scale.” Screwball stopped, letting the implications of her words sink in.
Whooves’ eyes shot wide in disbelief as Lyra broke off from Screwball. “That’s absurd!” The Doc started, taking a step forward, “That’s absolute insanity! You can’t honestly be suggesting we do that?! Celestia forbid you do it on your own!” Screwball jumped up.
“I know for a fact that both you and Lyra aren’t getting your paydays till two weeks,are over , unfortunately, they’re going to be a day after our rent is due, and you know our landlady. So!” At once, she returned to her peppy, cheerful, psychotic happiness “I propose we steal Spike. You know, the baby dragon? And tear off just a couple of his scales, not too many! Just enough to cover our rent for this month! I swear, that’s all I’m going to do, just a couple of scales!”
Whooves’ eye twitched as his jaw fell slack. Is this mare insane?! Wait... that’s redundant, ok, does she not care for her own status in society?! If we’re caught in a foalnapping case, over a dragon, then we can pretty much kiss of scraping-by lives goodbye! C’mon, Whooves, think of an alternative! Think!!!
His analytical brain ran through every scenario Screwball could find herself in, most involving legitimate work while others involved criminal acts; every single one turned up squat, either due to a mistake on her part, some stupid trip up, or somepony finding out. She wasn’t suited for anything! His eye twitched again as his brain finally gave up on looking for a way out; she had no skills that could go towards a legitimate job, and... well, she was right about rent being due a day before paychecks were handed out.
There was one way out of the foalnapping case though...
“Screwball, a-about Spike... what if we simply extracted the scales with his permission?” Whooves smiled sheepishly, praying that it was enough; he wasn’t completely sure who this ‘Spike’ fellow even was...
“Pft, please. Asking him voluntarily would be like asking you to rip off your own horseshoes.” She laughed. “Besides, if we sedate him, we can easily pluck em’ without him feeling the pain! It’ll be that much easier, plus, we’ll have the scales and have him back for dinner!” She smiles hopefully, eyes shining in that puppy dog way when she wanted something badly.
“Oh, yes, let’s foalnap a dragon that we know nothing about. That certainly won’t alert the authorities. And why are we discussing this here, anyway? What about Berry? Won’t she be linked to this bloody conspiracy?” Whooves brought his voice down to a hiss.
“Nah, Berry’s fine with it, even came up with a cover to distract whatsherface if she notices he’s missing.” She finished proudly.
This is absurd. This is insane. This is crazy. Stupid. Idiotic. Way out of left field. Bollocks. BOLLOCKS. BOLLOCKS!
“I... must ask what this cover could be,” Whooves blinked, a smile growing on his face as he forced himself onto his flank. His slightly-calm face betrayed the whirlwind of psychosis currently inhabiting the space where his brain used to be.
“Simple really, get her tipsy. Twilight’s been asking Berry about some alcohol for some experimentation or something. If Berry convinced Twilight to...sample some of her most potent brew, well... let’s just say she’ll be out till the next day.” Screwball answered, cackling as she opened, and then leapt out the window. “Catch you guys later!” She called before plummeting into the thorn bushes outside of the window. Whooves and Lyra looked out the window, seeing Screwball flail among the deathbed of spikes, thorns, and assorted other sharp things.
“Lyra, we should stop her,” The stallion, now terrified by the thought of Royal Guard soldiers kicking down the door to their flat and storming the place, moved to the door back into the bar. Lyra sat staring at the broken window for another five minutes, frozen solid. The only thought in her mind being along the lines of ‘This. This is why we can’t have nice things.’ Sighing, the green mare stood up and walked out shuffling.
“In the morning. I have work to do. Carrot Top’s going to destroy me since I never got around to making her repairs, and I’m expecting a warrant for my arrest in the next couple days anyway.”
As she stepped out into the bar area, she realized Whooves was long gone; probably off chasing after Screwball. She looked around at the bar, full of happy, red-faced patrons laughing and shouting at each other, some even singing while swinging their mugs around. Well, at least somepony’s day was going right, right? She let herself smile while making her way to the door, not wanting to set her storm cloud over anypony else’s head; her burden, not anypony else’s.
The sip of another martini, who knows what number this was, echoed through the black void. ”Ok, this is getting pretty good now. I’m smashed, and I’m reading about a mare who’s planning to kidnap this Spike fella. Exciting!” The voice exclaimed, taking another sip of his drink. He swished it around for taste while he contemplated how he had a mouth, ”Wonder how the others’re doing in this? Lotta ponies out there just waiting to be bothered by this plot! Oh, what about that chick, the one in the nurse’s cap?” The voice chuckled in excitement; he wasn’t allowed to watch that, but no one was gonna stop him from seeing how that encounter ended! He wasn’t about to say what it was like, for fear of his bosses catching wind. Did he have bosses? He wasn’t gonna risk it either way... bosses had a tendency to pop up when someone’s lips are loose.
”Onwards, dear Camera! Ooo wait a minute, actually, go back to that one scene with Doc and the Nurse.”
The Camera sat still.
”Oh come on! I know you want to see it to, you’re about as perverted as I am.”
The Camera still wouldn’t move.
”Oh don’t give me that. I told you already, that was one time. One time! And we went potholing in Croatia. I wasn't even looking at her! She was thrusting her ass into my eyesight. No! No it’s not the same thing! One’s voluntary and the other’s statutory rape! No. No. No! You’re not listening! Yes, I know rape is bad but- Would you just listen!? It could basically equate to the same thing. Rape sticks with you. Well, sometimes literally, but that’s not the point. The point is it’s something sexual that you don’t want happening to you. Yes, it’s relevant to this argument! Oh just shut up and let me finish would you? Anyway, that was the same thing. No! No she was not attractive enough to warrant it as voluntary! Her ass looked like the faces of two fat cocaine fiends glued together! Oh that’s not cruel. Cruel is calling her mother a drunk and her father a whore. Yes this relates to an argument featuring a single scene with- oh just shut up and go back to it already.”
The Narrator and Camera sat there, staring at each other. Non-existent eyes stared blankly into the non-existent lens of the Camera, never daring to blink; this stare would convince the Camera to bend to the Narrator’s will, it would break the machine’s spirit, and it would follow the Narrator’s orders to the letter.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the infinite multiverse, far more interesting things were happening in almost-as-dark places. Well, almost-as-dark would be an overestimation; there was a lamp in the corner of the room giving some illumination, and the full moon was up in the single, curtained window... made the room look eerie.
What looked even more eerie was the white-coated mare sitting on her bed, staring out towards the full moon through her curtains. The light glinted against her irises as she squinted, a search through her mind turning up blurs and mumbles... what happened at work? She was relaxing in her office chair after another therapy session with two rather resistant patients, daydreaming about her last stallion, when a rather rude knock came to her door.
She remembered being rather bothered by such an intrusion... wasn’t it Doctor Synapse coming to disturb her again? No... it was that new colt, the one who started work that day. The familiar disgust from remembering his face welled up in the mare’s gut, but she kept it down, the sickness coming through in a grimace aimed at the celestial body before her. That blasted colt came to disturb her... papers in his mouth, an apologetic look in his wandering eyes, it was violating the way he looked at her.
She thought it’d be fun to bring him in and play with him... what a game it was, until her memory went blank.
It was exciting, charged, hot. He was competitive, aggressive, far better than the other five stallions she’d played with... but when they got to her special room in the decommissioned Mental Wing of the hospital, everything blurred. Emotions came through fine; anger, sadness, fear... lust... but the images were all blended together in an incoherent soup. Just a mess of weird images and voices...
“Nnngh,” Redheart mumbled, swaying slightly; what happened? Why does she feel so warm when it comes to the end of that torrent? Slipping, being eased onto her back, the feeling of... something on her, and that pink cloud of lust filling her mind.
Nothing connected! The next thing she remembered was being back in her office, sorting through the paperwork the new colt brought in... medical reports about Screw Loose and her daily dosage of medicine; her disorder was a strange one, believing she was a dog. Her bark was well trained, she even growled when she felt threatened... increase on her benzodiazepine... that was the compound name, wasn’t it? Depressant used around the hospital, benzo something.
She shook her head; that wasn’t the point right now! She could remember that part fine, but what came before it?! She went back through her mind, trying to clear up the mud covering her memories.
New colt comes to door. Colt comes in, talks, blushes, eyes start wandering. Idea to have some fun comes up, act on it, fight...
Redheart rubbed her neck, a shaky smirk coming across her face; ohhh, that fight... very exciting. She could still feel the electricity from that bite, the delicious sensation of his teeth sinking in like hers did to him. He tasted good, hopefully he thought the same of her.
“Focus, Care,” she shook her head again, whispering to herself; now isn’t the time to take a trip down Fetish Lane! Why were her memories giving out?
The backroom... focus. The new colt walked past her, looking around, and she slammed the door shut. His eyes locked with hers, they circled each other, she pounced. They fought and rolled, and she tossed the colt up onto that blood stained bed. A crazed grin crossed her face as the memories of those dominated before that colt came back. She’d always let them leave with a smile; neither side left that room unsatisfied during her games, though the stallion leaving would always have quite a hobble in their step.
But this colt... she was so close to taking his rear and feeling that pressure again, punishing another stallion, when he kicked her legs out and grabbed her again! That damnable grin, those confident eyes...
That kiss...
Redheart’s eyelids lowered and she swayed again, her crazy grin falling away; that kiss, that skill... he fought like a soldier coming home from war, for Celestia’s sake! She felt her cheeks heating up, a rumble going through her body, a tingle from-
No! He’s a stallion, untrustworthy, punishable... push back, Care! Push back!
She quickly shook her head, trying to remove that pink haze from her mind. Her burning cheeks remained as she continued thinking, trying to find her way through the swampy slur of her recollection.
She pushed away from him, showed off her strength; she was close to beating him. His eyes were tired, his movements slow, one more tackle would do it! She charged, slammed into his side, they wrestled...
He got a leg on her chest, just inside her left foreleg, and pushed through his roll. T-That really happened...
No... i-is that w-
Her mind fell back to her awakening, that black dildo of hers not strapped to her flank and covered in blood, but lying on the floor like a defeated mutt. Eyes widened in shock as the jaw tightened, teeth gritting.
I lost. I-I lost.
I lost.
I lost?
I lost! I-
Something snapped. Her vision blurred. Her heart beat harder. That tingling sensation turned to lightning... something rubbed up against where it was...
I lost... I can’t believe t-that I lost... to a new colt, a stallion, that brown bastard...
Her memories carried on, now simply not inhibited anymore, rather than being searched. She gave up, turned, offered herself to him. Impossible. She’d never lost before... what made him so special? So lucky? Her senses sharpened slightly, but the moon wouldn’t come back into focus, hiding itself in the water-color of Care’s world.
… That wasn’t where the memory cut off? Didn’t they... no, she wasn’t taken then and there... she wasn’t ravaged, or even violated. She didn’t feel anything then.
Just... heard. Words. They spoke to each other.
What was it about? Was it about her? Him? She told him her name before offering. He used that first name.
What was with that tone in his voice? The way he spoke, it felt... insulted. Hurt.
She blinked, looking down at her hoof; it was stuck, frozen, between her hind legs like some voyeur caught in the act. She simply stared at it, feeling its pressure against her, as the memories carried on, a new will against the movement of her hoof running an undercurrent.
Was he talking to me? About me? About my past, about him, about that p- no, he wasn’t a pegasus, he wasn’t even a he, a pony... it was just a monster. Some monster that- stop it, Redheart! Stop going back to those memories! You’re trying to figure out what happened, not send yourself into another depressing downward spiral!
Her eyes squinted slightly, trying to focus. He refused to take her, she decided to take him instead... he grabbed her, crushed her in his grip, his teeth ran up against her crotch and pulled... so that’s why the dildo was on the ground next to the bed.
But everything goes blank after that. It all just becomes a mess of black and white, and further on, it’s all just gone! She rubbed her temple, pulling the hoof against her crotch away to support her; why was that last memory gone? And why was there a single line that came through so clear before it?
“I can help you, Care... you just have to let me,” she whispered, moving her hoof to her forehead. The moonlight cast a shadow over her eye, the diamond iris reflecting the limited light, shrinking as her mind processed what she just said.
Help me? Help me?! How can he help me!? HOW!? No, he can’t help, he can’t help me, he can’t do anything! Nothing short of killing that monster would help! Nothing! Every stallion in the world is worthless!
Worthless!
Worthless!!
EVERY LAST ONE!!
She lowered her hoof, fixing a glare on her curtains, the window, the moon, the source of that light... everything just turned red to her.
He can’t help... he can’t. Why bother offering if you can’t fix the past? Why?
She sniffed.
Why did he offer if he can’t do anything? Is it some way to get to me? Some way to lower my guard? He can’t be honest, can he?
Her cheek burned as something ran down it.
He can’t be telling the truth... he can’t honestly want to help me. The damage is done, what can fix it?
“I said you can’t do anything,” Redheart whispered to herself, eyes falling to her bed as tears ran down her cheeks.
“And that the past is the past... if I can’t change that,” a voice rang out in her head, and she froze; why is- “Then let me change what will happen.”
It was him. That new colt... his voice was so clear. Redheart looked around, only perceiving the familiar shadows of her bedroom; where was he!?
“Is anyone there?” She asked the shadows. Nothing came back except a light breeze in the trees outside; there’s no way somepony would come this far to the edge of town just to talk to her, right? “Whooves?”
Still no answer, no eyes blinking in the dark, not even a movement. She really was alone... so why did his voice come so true to her? Seemingly in response to her statement?
He said it. Did he mean it? Her memories seemed even more muddled than before, her heart beating like a drum. Did he mean it?
Did he truly mean it?
Was he a stallion she could trust? Give her heart to? She’d already done it once with that black pegasus, and it all fell apart for her...
No. She couldn’t trust him... not yet. Giving her heart away so quickly would just be a repeat performance. A thought popped into her mind through the crashing tide of her sadness, and a crazed grin broke through the steady trail of tears, her eyes turning back to the sky beyond her window.
She still had to pay him back for her loss.
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I approve.
1698263
Glad you enjoyed the story, bud.
1698355 Yes, I did quite a bit.
And crap, I just remembered I kind of forgot about that story I was going to help you on... I'm sure it's probably too late now. My bad
1698365
Not at all. Chaos Rules Once More has been put on a half-hiatus due to school anyway, so it's gonna take me a while to finish Chaos Of Command. That, and I have to convert the entire story over to past tense.
College, bleh.
1698424 Haha I know exactly what you mean... college. Especially with finals coming up.
I still feel like kind of a jerk though... I just kind of ignored you. I did want to help you on your quest for getting featured though...
1698465
And I'm still chasing the dream. Once Christmas rolls around and I'm out of my final-exams-induced coma, we'll collab on the fourth chapter. Bounce ideas, write together, treat the thing like a big RP.
That's how Life was done, and it was pretty successful.
1698785 Well, I'm hoping I can help you make that dream come true... someone as nice as you deserves it a lot more than I did with the crap I wrote...
I mean, someone like you in the TWE who I assume helps out struggling authors with their fics... it's the least I can do. I wish I could ever do what you do.
Anyways, I definitely have a lot to learn about writing myself... so it should be fun. I really look forward to it.
1699397
Awesome. It's a date then.
As for the TWE, I help out where I can. We were all where those authors are right now, so someone's gotta help pick em up, right?