A Dangerous Meeting
A Dangerous Meeting
None of the Orange Family members slept well that night, insomnia a trickster tormentor. Some waged wars within the confines of their minds, planning their next wave of attack. Others sought peace, pleading with Fear and Worry—the two demons that haunt us all in our darkest hours—to leave them be.
The servants’ shack was no luckier, the three remaining help-ponies whispering amongst themselves, sensing the change of powers and principalities.
“So… youze is sayin’ dat there’s gold in the West, Allspice? An' oil, too? How can youze be so sure?” one of Bernie Madhoof’s hoof-servants asked, his pupils wide with wonder.
“Greyhoof was a lot o' things, but he was no liar,” Allspice said. “He put up wit' mo’ than youze will ever know from dat bastard. There were otha things callin’ his name than the feel o' Bernie’s hoof ‘cross his maw.”
The other stallion was not as hopeful, having heard of more than one boomtown-turned-bust-town in his young days. Skeptically, he asked, “But, what if you’re wrong, Allspice? What if we hoof it to the hills, leave everything behind, and find nothing to greet us at dawn?”
Allspice laughed. “Youze fools. Did I eva say we should hoof it?”
“Well, what do you suggest, then?” the skeptic snapped, shifting the burden of proof back to the head servant.
“Bide. Watch. Pack. Accumulate. The signs will come. Youze’ll know.”
The three began to argue over the exact size, shape, and sense that these “signs” would take, as the lantern’s tiny flame began to disappear into a flicker, and then into nothingness.
~
Babs woke with a start, her wind-up alarm clock yanking her from the depths of what little sanctity she had found. Hours after the nightmare, Babs Seed had tried everything she could to will herself back to sleep, pacing, fidgeting, doing push-ups on her forehooves until her limbs were gelatinous. A few hours before her alarm was scheduled to pull her back to reality, she’d found rest at last, dreaming of blackness and silence.
Groaning, rubbing the last remnants of the Sandmare’s dust from her eyes, she hopped out of bed, trotting over the demonic device and slamming it quiet. “Enough o' dat,” she yawned, stumbling over her own hooves as she crept out into the hallway.
Jealous, hearing Citrus Blossom snoring the morning away yet again, Babs slicked into the bathroom. She stared at her reflection, her disheveled, tangled mane and her eyes that were still slightly bloodshot. From insomnia or from tears, she didn’t know.
Slicking back her hair with a hoof-full of cold water, Babs sighed and said, “Ohhh, Celestia, dis is gonna be a looooong day.”
~
Luckily for Babs Seed, Allspice had been feeling generous that morning, greeting her at the table with a stack of buckwheat pancakes. She devoured them all, and a few extra, making a mental note to compliment Allspice on her mane a little more often. Allspice was starting to warm up to the foal, and a little flattery usually helped to accelerate the temperature.
Galloping down the streets as Celestia’s rays began to burn her pupils, Babs's mind formulated a goal for the day: track down one of her tormentors and demand an explanation. Relaxation, let alone celebration, could not be truly had until she knew the reasoning behind their sudden change of heart. It was so out of character for the gang-ponies that Babs Seed couldn’t believe it was happening.
Rounding a corner, she let her thoughts wander into dark places. Maybe dey are jus' bidin’ their time, waitin’ fo' me ta relax, an' then when I least expect it, dey’ll strike? Rattlesnakes, are dey? O' maybe they’re timbawolves, an' I’m jus' some little foal who wandered inta their forest. Maybe I scared ‘em good, when I got Boone—straight in the faaace!—an' now dey don’t wanna mess wit' me! Yea! I’m a royal flank-kicker, aren’t I?
Approaching the schoolhouse at last, Babs Seed almost galloped right up the front steps. She caught Fencer walking up behind her out of the corner of her eye and jumped sideways, allowing Fencer to pass her by.
… Cold, hard ground on a dark night, tail pulled taut, feeling Fencer’s drunken and unskilled hacks at the long strands of red-and-pink mane, hoping against all hope that it would be over soon…
Babs shook her head, banishing the flashback to another realm. Fencer had said nothing, not even giving her a passing-glance or commenting on the hour and minute.
Somehow, that silence scared her, and Babs performed her mother’s breathing exercise before finding it within her to trot into another school day.
~
Bernie Madhoof laid against the sheets, back arched as he stretched. He was still sore, but not enough to cripple him any longer. He would feel like an invalid no more, he reasoned, rising slowly from his aptly-named king-sized bed.
The demands and facades of the corporation had not dropped at Libra’s kick, though the mare would’ve ceased all operations if she could have. Her husband knew that underneath her high-society masks and airs, Libra Scales was still an Appleloosan mare, mere dirt under Manehatten hooves. A train ticket and an academic scholarship couldn’t purify her blood of its influence. Why he had let himself marry such poor stock, he would never know. He was a different stallion back then, weak, flexible, open to all sorts of foolish ideas.
No matter. The pendulum would swing his way once again, and soon.
Rummaging through one of his finely-carved wardrobes, Bernie Madhoof found his salvation: a pair of loose-fitting black cotton slacks. These would hide his shame and his wounds until his body returned to its former strength.
Until then, there was business to attend to.
~
The corner desk was next to Lucky Toss this time, and Babs Seed seized upon it as roll call began. The instructor was dressed in a military uniform today in preparation for his lesson on nuclear energy, or, as he called it, “the beginnin' o' the end times, maggots!”
The schoolfoals paid no special attention to his antics. Nuclear energy was a new, emerging science, offering itself to the lips of the wisest scientists in all of Equestria. These scientists, of course, spoke of it like it was the fabled Fountain of Youth. Nuclear promised to be the cleanest, safest form of energy ever tapped, far beyond the limitations and drawbacks of coal or gas. Only time would tell.
“’Ten-shun!” the instructor bellowed, smacking his yardstick on the desk. “I see dat we’ve got ourselves a colt who’s gone AWOL! Dis will not be tolerated, seedlings! Youze there!” He pointed an accusatory hoof at Lucky Toss, who merely blinked in response.
“Hey, kid! Where’s youze friend? Why’s he been playin' hooky fo' almost three weeks?!” the teacher demanded, striking the measuring device again for emphasis.
“Sir, I don’t know who youze is talkin’ ‘bout,” Toss responded mechanically. “I’m not sure who youze is referrin' ta.”
“Dat red one! Youze know… red colt, black mane, horrible color scheme? Always causin' trouble in?!”
“Sir, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what youze is talkin' 'bout,” Lucky said, his voice deadpan, devoid of all emotion.
Babs blinked rapidly, then shook her head, then blinked again. Nope, she was still awake.
This had to have been the work of some twisted sorcerer. Surely, Lucky Toss must be under a powerful spell, his mind wiped clean of all memory and independent thought. That, or he had been bashed on the head several times, hopefully with a large object. Beyond brain-damage or hexes, Babs Seed could think of nothing to explain the utterly bizarre exchange.
The stallion’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I’m watchin’ youze, boy,” he muttered before turning back to the chalkboard. “Enougha dat, troops! Now, today we shall learn how Equestria will end an' the Earth, pathetic pale blue dot it is, will turn ta dust…”
Aw, forget him. There’s more important things goin’ on right now. Stranga things.
Pretending to take notes, Babs Seed shot intermittent sideways glances at Lucky Toss, hoping to catch him glancing back, to confirm that he was still in possession of all of his mind. The colt fidgeted in her gaze, but did not move or speak. As the instructor continued to drone on and on, crafting a dark tale of future doom and destruction—“An' the heavens will BURN from our arrogance!”—Babs tried a new tactic.
“Hey, Toss. Pssst. Toss.”
Lucky Toss yawned and stretched, then took more rapid notes, balancing a pencil between his hooves. Writing had never been his strong suit; but then again, what had, other than gambling? The colt paid her no mind.
Disappointed, Babs Seed tore a piece of paper from her notebook and crumpled it up. She drew her hoof back and whipped it at the colt’s head, barely missing his ear as it passed.
“Mwop mwop ancient pony prophesy mwop mwop incomplete calendar… Hey! Quit passin' notes back there!” the teacher yelled, not once removing his eyes from the chalkboard. He continued to spell out the meaning of life and death for the young ponies in chalk, no need to turn his head, letting his warrior’s instincts detect all tomfoolery.
A foal sitting in the desk directly ahead of her turned to Babs Seed, glaring with disapproval.
“Heh, heh, sorry…”
“Shh! You’ll make him repeat himself,” the filly hissed before turning back. There was no fate in Equestria crueler than interrupting the eccentric instructor, especially when he waxed dramatic. The hot air in one of his lungs alone could keep an entire family of ponies warm through relentless winter.
Horseapples. He won’t fess up ta knowin’ Slinga, nor will he speak ta me, nor will he turn… what does dat leave me ta do?
Watching the strange stallion at the front of the room—the treasured and trusted government-funded guardian of a class full of impressionable foals—begin to draw one of his twisted diagrams upon the board again, Babs Seed knew her answer, and grinned.
~
Perched in the top floor of the highest office building in all of Manehatten, Orange Enterprises held its doors open for business 365 days a year, twelve hours each day with the rise and fall of the morning star.
With the bits he saved from keeping such a skeleton security crew (employing them just under the hours cutoff for decreed benefits), Bernie Madhoof decorated the offices of his life’s work with fine, hoof-carved furniture, imported art from all over Equestria, fragrant houseplants and expertly-woven throw rugs. His office overlooked Manehatten Lake and the hills leading to his humble estate—the finest sight in the city—with a pair of grand bay windows. Yes, the stallion had it good.
Well, at least, he used to, before this madness with Libra.
He couldn’t make up for lost time. He possessed no device that would allow him to bend back the hands of the clock, sending him to a place and time where he could have instilled fear in the mare. No, Libra was too headstrong for her own good, and much, much too clever.
Hopefully, the stallion’s guest would be able to assist in that department.
Bernie Madhoof laid back in his chair, kicking his hooves up on the desk while he waited for his visitor. He closed his eyes for a moment, catching a few winks in his sanctuary. Interrupted a few minutes later by a light rapping of hooves on mahogany, Bernie called out, “Come in!”
A stallion dressed in a black, pinstriped suit casually strolled through the great mahogany doors, letting them shut behind him. He tightly grasped a large, metallic suitcase in one of his hooves and a solid black cane with a diamond pommel in the other.
“Mista Orange, it’s a pleasure ta see youze again,” the visitor, trotting over to the grand desk in the center of the oval office. “Do youze mind if I set dis on top?” he asked, gesturing to the heavy suitcase.
“Of course not, my dear friend. Please. Make yourself comfortable.”
The stallion nodded, sinking into the guest’s chair opposite the desk. He put the luggage down as lightly as he could, careful not to scratch the polished surface of the cherry wood, and leaned his cane against the desk as well. Smiling, he began, “So… from what youze telegram said, youze is in a bit o' a pinch, ain't youze?”
“That’s a bit of an understatement.” Bernie chuckled. “More like a… vice.”
“Hmm. Mare troubles again?”
“To say the least.”
“Ah. So… who’s it now? One o' the reception-fillies? The nice bar-pony down the street?”
“No,” Bernie said. “That little ditty is gone for now, and that temptress with it. They replaced it with some blue-collar horse-hockey. Nothing but hicks and thugs drink there anymore, and the bartender’s some kind of tramp who cuts manes in his pub. Disgusting. No, this one’s a bit more… personal.”
His guest raised an eyebrow. “How personal are we talkin’, sir?”
Bernie Madhoof sighed. “Let’s just say… bits can’t buy off this one.”
~
The rest of the school day had dragged for Babs Seed, each second warping and stretching into some cursed minute, each cursed minute evolving into an agonizing hour. Recess had been another great success, the Manehatten CMC inviting her to a game of four-square this time. This was much more of an individual game rather than a team sport, and Babs hadn’t dominated in any sense of the word. Regardless, it had been fun, and she looked forward to tomorrow, when, at the Crusaders’ insistence, she would get to pick the game to play.
Finally, after mustering all of her Earth pony magic to speed the hands of the clock, the bell rang for the end of the school day, releasing a classroom full of foals from the choking hooves of Boredom itself.
“Awwwright, youze bunch o’ brats, start studyin’!” called the instructor as his wards began to file out. “Test is in two days—not two weeks, fools, two days!—an' youze better bring youze best!”
“Yeah, right,” Babs muttered, waiting for the gang of hopefully-ex-bullies to pass her by before she exited. I can do dis madness in ma sleep, fo' all youze repeat it.
All four gang-foals—the complete Manehatten juvenile delinquent crew, sans one Card Slinger—chatted amongst themselves excitedly as they headed out the back door to the classroom and into the locker bay. Babs followed a few feet behind them.
A swarm of fillies and colts began to flood the locker bay as the other classrooms emptied their contents, lesson plans thoroughly trashed and useless at the call of the bell. The four Manehatten toughs made no stops at their lockers, continuing to tread through the sea of ponies towards the opposite end of the hallway.
There, Babs Seed saw, foals of a lesser grade began to march out of their classrooms as well. They were small ponies, barely half of Babs’ height and even shorter than her Manehatten CMC recruits. Manehatten, in spite of all its economic prowess, used the same schoolhouse it had built in its founding year to this present day. As a result, foals of ages ranging from six to sixteen roamed the halls, seedlings and saplings alike. It made for some problematic situations at times.
As one of those tiny foals smacked into Lucky Toss’s chest, oblivious to his surroundings, it appeared that one of those situations was about to unfold. Babs Seed ducked behind a row of lockers as she saw her tormentor’s fuse begin to spark.
“Hey! Watch it, youze!” Lucky Toss thundered, glaring at the small Earth pony colt below him. The little guy barely made eye-level with Toss’s die-crossed flank.
“I-I-I’m sorry!” the colt squeaked, backing himself into a corner as the much larger male approached him. “I-I-I didn’t see youze there!”
“Well, dat’s jus' a shame, isn’t it, pipsqueak? Perhaps a little pussy like youze should be walkin’ on stilts, huh?” Lucky snapped back, stomping his hooves towards the tiny offender. Fencer, Switch, and Boone began to urge him on, hooting and hollering to their de-facto leader to rile him.
He’s jus' a kid! Babs growled inside her mind. Youze worthless piece o’—
Babs jumped from behind the locker bay, feeling her muscles spring into action. As a Cutie Mark Crusader—and a leader, no less—it was her duty to protect foals from bullies like these. Lucky Toss may have been able to lie to the teacher, but he was still the same colt he’d been in the alleyway. This spectacle proved it beyond all reasonable doubt.
“'Ey! Youze, stop da—“ She was interrupted by the squeak of a colt’s voice, the tone even more soprano than hers.
“'EY!”
Rustler emerged from around the corner, calling out Lucky Toss with his eyes. “Youze leave him alone! He’s jus' a lil’ foal!”
“Oh? Really? Is dat so?” Lucky Toss turned his glare from his prey, who promptly took his cue and exited stage right. Trotting to meet Rustler, Toss bellowed, “An' what are youze gonna do 'bout it?”
“I’ll… I’ll… I’ll kick your flank!” Rustler warned, pushing his muzzle towards the older male’s.
The group of bullies burst into laughter.
“Heh… heh… youze hear dis kid, guys? He… he thinks he can kick ma flank!” Toss hooted, throwing his mane back in laughter. Rustler said nothing, standing strong, standing his ground, however uneven it was. His face gave his antagonist no relief or satisfaction.
Babs Seed began to draw a deep breath, prepared to rumble out a baritone battle-cry and leap to her soldier’s side, when out of the woodwork came the rest of the Manehatten CMC, forming a triangle behind their brother-in-arms. One solitary foal was suddenly four defending together.
“No, we think we can kick youze flank!” Flora said, bracing her hooves on the tile. “An' youze know what, Lucky Toss? My Da’ works wit' youze Da’ down at the marmalade factory, an' I’ll tell him ‘bout youze bad attitude, too!”
As if the filly had just shoved a cork into his maw, Lucky Toss ceased his torrent of laughter, turning white. To the disdain of his fellow bullies, the unlucky colt threw his hooves up in surrender, shaking his head. “No! No, dat’s not necessary, Flora, I—“
“Wait! Toss, youze know dis blankflank?!” Switch shrieked, turning to the de-facto ringleader, charging him with guilt by association.
“No! No, she’s jus' a foal ma pa knows, from his work parties o' summat! It’s nothin'!”
“Oh, sure, youze say dat now, Toss,” Flora mocked, beginning to circle around him, “but youze weren’t saying dat last year at the factory Hearth’s Warming Eve party, were youze? Tryin’ ta catch me beneath the mistletoe…”
Now, Lucky Toss had two gangs of ponies (and one extra foal hidden behind the locker bay) laughing at him. At him. Not with him.
“C’mon guys, I was… I was high then! I didn’t know what I was—“
“Oh, stop, it,” Flora said, taking his muzzle in her forehooves. “But, I think I’ve made ma point, don’t youze? Now, leave ma friend alone, iffa youze know what’s good fo' youze!”
Nodding so fast, it was hard for her hooves to keep a grip, Lucky Toss said, “Yes, Flora! Yes! O’ course!” He turned to the Manehatten CMC, mumbling an apology, leaving only when he saw that his original victim had long ago crept away.
Lucky Toss had got out of this one easily—without a report to his father, there would be no branches waiting for him at home—or so he thought.
“Babs Seed!” the Manehatten CMC cried in unison, seeing their leader finally emerge into the hallway. The three remaining victimizers shot her a quick glance before suddenly splitting directions, mumbling sudden pressing needs to excuse their departure.
Rustler was just about to turn to Babs, beaming with pride, wanting to celebrate their success, when the foal took off on her hooves, galloping out the door after Lucky Toss, calling his name.
~
“… I see,” his visitor said at least, squirming uncomfortably in his seat at the details of Libra’s assault. “An' dis jus'… came outta nowhere?”
Bernie Madhoof nodded. “I’m afraid so, my friend. I fear what she may do to the fillies when I’m not around. Her anger has just escalated over the past few days. And her decisions have been, well… less than exceptional. Do you know what she’s done to the account?”
“Oh, I know, sir. I was reviewin’ the paperwork on ma way ova, per youze request.” The stallion tapped the suitcase. “I think I may have found us a loophole heeya, summat we can use ta untangle dis mess. I’ll have ta do a bit more diggin’, especially wit' the details youze have kindly provided heeya, but I think I can get the balance shifted back ta normal.”
“No!” Madhoof barked, lurching forward in his seat. The stallion pounded the desk, his eyes wild with rage. “Weren’t you listening to anything I was saying, you nitwit?!”
Holding up a hoof in surrender, the visitor stuttered, “Sir, I thought youze wanted—“
“You thought wrong!” WHAP! sounded the other hoof against the rich cherry-wood of the workstation. “I told you—or ‘youze,’ you illiterate ruffian—that the clause needs to be switched completely in my favor! Libra Scales shall have nothing of this company, especially when she’s trying to run it into the ground!”
Shaking, the stallion slowly pulled his suitcase off the desk and into his grasp, fumbling with its locks. “But, sir,” he said hesitantly, ruffling through a stack of papers, “I have the TPS reports in heeya somewhere. I remember the results, plain as day. Eva since she has had a hoof in… more o' the accountin’… youze profit margins have… have…”
Bernie Madhoof rose from his desk, trotting on his hindhooves to the bay window, forehooves folded in defiance. “Oh, I know. Trust me, I know. I’ve read those reports as much as you have. I may not be able to decipher them as well as that walking encyclopedia known as Libra, but I know what’s going on. Orange Enterprises is doing much better than expected under her watch.”
“… Sir… I… forgive me…. but… Why… why do youze want me ta do dis, again?”
Turning slowly, the stallion taller in stature (but not in spirit) smiled, licking his lips. “Revenge.”
~
“Toss! Toss, youze brute! Come back heeya!”
Her hooves pounded through the grass, pursuing her quarry through a vacant meadow south of the Manehatten schoolhouse. She gulped down as much air as she could, sending up unseen offerings to the Most High in need of its blessing. Jus' a little faster, she urged herself, only a few feet from the colt’s long, full tail.
Running through the burning sensation in her lungs and the trickle of sweat down her neck, Babs Seed continued the chase, unwilling to leave the toss of the dice to the colt himself. She knew that only if she had cornered one of the bullies, she would she find answers to those haunting questions. She needed to know why she had become a ghost to her tormentors, if it was by reason of religious revelation, sickening guilt, snitching fears, or something far more sinister.
The colt’s muscles began to burn, his throat drawing in insufficient oxygen to his lungs, resulting in a buildup of lactic acid. He trudged on through the pain. He continued to pant as he led Babs Seed all over the meadow in a zig-zag pattern, trampling both flowers and weeds underhoof. He prayed to his own dark gods that Babs would run out of steam soon, as his body began to betray him.
Unfortunately for Lucky Toss, Babs Seed was no steam locomotive. She was a bullet train.
Once she felt the very tip of his tail brush her snout, Babs Seed knew that it was time to strike. Now! She pushed off her hindhooves, launching herself forward towards the colt, forehooves stretched out to meet him. POW!
Lucky Toss howled as he came crashing down, the heavy weight of the filly on top of him. There was a quick struggle, two orange coats wrestling against one another, the colt raking his hooves across the field in hopes of gaining an edge. Lacking claws, he found no traction, and was pulled cruelly into the ground, feeling powerful hindhooves squeeze his torso.
“I’ve got youze now, buddy-boy!” Babs shouted, leaning down into his ear. “I guess now youze know what it feels like ta be trapped, huh? Do youze like it?!” She shoved her face down at his, aiming for his eyes, making him flinch right before she pulled back. “HUH?!”
“Please! Please, let me go!” Lucky Toss cried, struggling against her vicegrip around his organs. “Please! I didn’t do anythin’ ta youze! I don’t even know youze!”
Are youze buckin’ SERIOUS?
“Seriously?” Babs took one hoof to his chin, forcing him to look up into her intense eyes, wanting him to see the fire burning within them. “Youze don’t remember? Well, allow me ta refresh youze memory.” She let go of his muzzle, letting gravity smack it back into the dirt with a hollow THUD!
Toss moaned in pain. She grasped his jaw again in both hooves, forcing it up towards the sun once more.
“Okay, okay! Stop! Please! Please, Babs Seed!” Lucky Toss whined, terrified of the filly’s strength and his sudden helplessness in her hooves. “Please! Babs! I’m sorry! It wasn’t ma idea! I’m sorry! Youze had a beautiful mane!”
“’Had,’ huh?” Babs released him, slowly bringing his head down into the grass but otherwise keeping him trapped. “Hmm. I guess I’ll take what I can get from the likes o' youze. Now tell me... why have youze all been actin’ like I up an' went invisible? It’s nice, I won’t lie,” she said coldly, refusing to pry her eyes from his, watching for any signs of betrayal, “but it’s kinda creepin’ me out.”
The colt took a deep breath, and bit his tongue.
“I… I don’t know anythin' 'bout dat.”
She clenched her teeth, then leaned down and grasped his muzzle again. “Wrong answer!” Babs said as she tightened her grip. “I’ll give youze one mo' chance. That’s mo’ than youze gave me.”
“Dammit, filly, I don’t know who youze are o' what youze is talkin’ bout! I’ve never talked ta youze outside o’ class, an' even then I don’t talk ta youze, so I don’t know what’s goin’ on heeya!” Lucky Toss bucked against her weight and flailed his head in her hooves. Babs Seed held tight, digging herself deeper into the dirt. “Why don’t youze quit bullyin’ me?!”
“Me?! Bullyin’ youze?!” Babs Seed spat back.
“Yes! I’ve never met youze befo' an' I haven’t met the red colt either an'… oh, dammit, don’t youze get it?!”
With his last line, Lucky Toss’ strength returned, and he bucked again with all his might. The filly's hooves separated from the Earth, and in the split-second of her hangtime, her prey slipped out from under her. She smacked down to the ground, feeling pain vibrate through her ribcage, crying out. She looked up to Lucky Toss’s eyes, and found a curious thing hiding there: fear, and… pity.
“Babs Seed,” he said as he gasped for breath. “Dis conversation neva happened, but… youze need ta get outta heeya. Outta all o’ heeya. Slinga… he’s… he’s—”
“He’s what?!” She choked, coughing at the dust the colt’s hooves had sent flying into her trachea.
“I… I can’t. I’m… I’m sorry.”
Before she could stop him, Lucky Toss gave the filly one last look, almost appearing to be a pony instead of a demon. In that instance of independent apology—nopony on his back demanding it—Lucky Toss almost looked sad for her, as if his magic eight ball had spoken some sort of ancient and vital proverb instead of the gibberish hers had issued.
Spitting out dirt, Babs Seed let his words echo through her mind, attempting to decipher the meaning within his cryptic words.
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okay me is confused
1801751
Well, considering she can enter anypony's dreams...
1802778
About..?
The plot thickens....... even more...... MOAR
1802787 it is 1am i can't brain yet
so good and bad, good first this chapter came right when I needed it and it was as good as I hoped now with foreshadowing!
bad: boss found out I've been on here on the clock and now he reads fimfiction stories. very odd outcome indeed!
I sense imminent attempted rape in the future. Oh please let the Manehatten Crusaders be there.
I imagine either something dramatic like a shank...or something silly like a Rube-Goldberg inspired prank.
Whoa, shit's getting real...
Lucky Toss shows a strand of remorse for the attack on Babs. This shows that he's also a victim of Slinga's terror, possibly even the rest of the crew. Expect a lot more LT from now on; he's finally starting to open up from his forced hoodlumism.
Woah, this is a nice twist... not nice for Babs (oh the terrible things my mind came up with) but wow this shall be good readin'.
.... and for a sec I thought that was an assassin in Madhoof's office
Too much Detective Conan... every mysterious guy in black is gunna kill someone. Retrospect, Madhoof is much more of a long term torturer than a quick fix guy. 
I sense the fan drawing nearer... and the urge to laugh villainiously grows with it.
Yeeeees
Oh and as always, great work.
(breaking emote records here! wootwoot!)
Mutter Gott...(Mother of God in German)I feel like Babs is going to be attacked and injured..
Wow. Intense chapter. I'm sorta glad I have insomnia for being able to read this chapter so quickly! I think...
Insomnia still sucks though... I have split thoughts on the issue.
I'm really happy to see the Manehatten CMC members form up like that. Truly inspirational. Let me ask you this though: Why did the gang suddenly stop interacting with Babs and their ringleader? I've fought some tough adversaries before in this crazy social structure of ours, but this is a case I've never seen... Very interesting indeed....
an excellent chapter. things are looking interesting.
OK sire I am now confused! Enlighten me, Has this become an alternate reality fic?
Ohhhh looks like I was right about Bernie....
Why do I have the feeling Babs is gonna wake up in Las Pegasus married to Turner?
Ok, who here is expecting an "the outsiders" style Rumble in the next few eps combined with beat it in the background?
1803402
Hey bud (typing from Android on break, will address other comments later) this is indeed an Alternate Universe fic. Added that tag around Chapter Five/Six. I imagine canon Manehatten isn't exactly sunshine and rainbows, but it's prolly not like this--hence the tag.
1804050 Sorry I did not mean it that way sire, I meant it as a "she has travelled to another dimension" kind of dealio
I'm going to assume there will be rape or some other form of assault soon. and Lucky Toss suddenly lost his memory
This should be interesting.
1804061
Oh no, not that kind of dealio.
Your math seems to be a little off, or at least your policies are confusing. If the guardsponies do 3 days 12 hour shifts and then 2 days of rest then they do another 3 days of 12 hours then in 7 days they do 60 hours. Plus any hour past the 8th hour in a single day is considered over time even if their hours don't total past 40.
1804576 Thank the gods!
1803008 I figured he was a victim from his reactions the day Bab's mane was cut. He seemed scared.
intense mang...and I can still feel Bernie's pain....Ouch
1804818
Thanks for pointing this out!! It was getting a little late last night on me, it seems.
I corrected it: I actually meant four-on, three-off, eight hours each (32 hour weeks). Must have been thinking about work too much...I actually work in the security industry, and 12-hour shifts are fairly common. You only are paid overtime (at least in my state and on my company's dime) if you work over 40 hours in a week of your pay-period, regardless if you work only eights or throw some twelves and fours in there. You can set up the week on the schedule to run from Friday-Thursday (like at my job), so that you can theoretically work someone ten days straight without paying OT as long as one week rolls into another. But thanks for the catch, I've corrected it.
1802932
I can never brain, LOL.
I get what you meant though!
1802960
Whoa! Your boss is on here now?
Well...that's pretty damn cool! Glad you liked the chapter!
1802962 1802988 1803126 1804233
There is a lot in store for our favorite Cutie Mark Crusader. That's all I can say for now.
1803008 1805468
We'll be seeing a bit more Lucky Toss in here, definitely. If you read back to Chapter 3, he was the only one of those three hoodlums who wanted to let Babs go. One of these things is not like the others.
1803485
1803043
Thanks! Woot, woot, emote records!
But yeah, so far Bernie's nameless guest is not an assassin.
1803223
Insomnia and I have a complex relationship as well.
I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! It's a bit strange what's going on with Slinger and his cronies, isn't it? Well, I can't say too much, but this question will be addressed.
1803319
Thank you!
1803461
Indeed.
1803958
I love MJ. gifsoup.com/webroot/animatedgifs/210893_o.gif
1805720
Ouch indeed...I can only imagine that most of the males reading this story got more than a little squeamish.
can madhoof get everything he wants only to find out that all he had in the end was a big empty house a failing company and no servants so he dies alone and mentally and emotionally broken. that would be lovely
MAGGOTS!
1806013 Bring it on
I was dead at the time!
As to Allspice, a 19th century poem
We can live without conversation
We can live without books
But civilized man
Can not live without cooks.