Year Three: Merciful Fate
Year Three: Merciful Fate
Clyde Pie sat on his haunches on his farmhouse porch, a cold glass of lemonade soothing his thirst. The spring equinox had come in full bloom. Out in the quarry below his home, his latest “workers” tackled their final mission for the day—moving rocks from the north field to its southern counterpart.
In truth, Clyde knew it was a ridiculous, unnecessary task. No transformation from stone to gem (or something of that variety) was initiated by their labor; there were no real reasons to move the rocks. Despite this, he exploited his laborers to the hilt throughout the duration of their stay. Criminal scum such as these two colts deserved all the humiliation he tossed their way.
Celestia’s Royal Guard served the two law-breakers with only one year of hard labor to compensate for their trespasses. Vandals and drunkards they were, so achingly young—thirteen then, with fangs glimmering in the darkness.
The stallion smiled around the brim of his glass. One year soon gave way to two. His “helpers” learned no reform or rehabilitation the first time they ran through his ringer. Most days of that long, ridiculous year, the colts lazed about the farm, neglecting their work and shooting their vulgar maws into the air.
The sight of two jaws nearly shattering, dropped at Clyde Pie’s insistence that another twelve months of farm labor would precede the colts' reintroduction into pony society, made his entire year.
~
Rocks. Every cursed day under Celestia’s blistering sun, there were rocks. Everywhere. North field, south field, east field, west field, Heaven and Hell. When Card Slinger closed his soulless eyes every wretched night, he dreamt only of an endless stone sea. His underling and companion through this defiling, inexcusable torment fared no better. If it weren’t for the telltale snoring of his comrade, Slinger swore Boone never slept.
The dark circles under Boone's eyes were only mere fur, not a sign of insomnia, but it didn’t seem that way. Slinger was no fool, but he could have been hoodwinked in that case.
Their master was unyielding and unforgiving in his lordship over them. The colts rose with the blazing dawn, toiling until the embrace of dusk. At night, both felt at home again—the atmosphere matched their own void.
Today would mark the end of two agonizing years. Clyde Pie would soon hold no power over them. One last ridiculous task in the fields, a visit from the Royal Guard, and Card Slinger and Boone would be on their way back to their roots.
“So… what youze gonna do once we get back?” Boone panted, pushing a particularly large stone towards the southern point of the compass rose. The rock offered no relief, refusing to budge, a patch of mud halting its journey. “Dammit!”
Slinger rolled his eyes. “Boone, youze a piece o’ work. Dat rock ain’t nothin’. C’mon, be a stallion an’ push it youzeself.”
“Stallion?! Buck, Slinga, youze ain’t any older than me!” Struggling, Boone pressed both his forehooves to the stone, finally freeing it with one push off his hindlimbs. He nearly stumbled muzzle-first into the mud, catching himself at the last instant.
Card Slinger laughed, his tenor tone dark notes on Old Scratch’s keyboard. “Ha! Youze a lil’ colt, still, Boone! An’ I’m the big dog! Howl fo’ me, baby!”
Dodging a forehoof thrown his direction, Slinger gestured to his own stone. “Dis one’s much bigger, an’ I ain’t bitchin’! Got strength on youze, Boone. Dat’s why I’m a leada, an’ youze ain’t.”
With a skeptical snort, Boone challenged, “Leada, huh? What kind o’ leada abandons his gang an’ then gets himself ‘rrested?”
“Youze questionin’ youze loyalty, Boone?”
Concentrating on his final task, the challenger refused to meet his opponent’s gaze. “No, I didn’t say dat,” he mumbled. “Youze jus’ neva told me—o’ anypony, I bet—what happened dat week.”
Two years ago, Boone, Fencer, and Switch were cast into Card Slinger’s dark, their beloved gang ringleader retreating to his shack and demanding nopony speak of or to him. Only Lucky Toss was granted access to their commander. Lucky (the weakest of them all, Boone surmised) abandoned Manehatten in a dust of his own several weeks after Slinger’s arrest.
Celestia’s reformed Manehatten Police Department barely slapped the hoof-cuffs around Boone's fetlocks when Lucky Toss left town. Two arrests were the hoof-writing on the wall for Lucky Toss. He’d had no reason to play the devil’s card game anymore.
More than Slinger’s riddles, Boone despised Lucky Toss’s betrayal. If their gang were to continue (and the mere possibility of if sent the colt’s blood on full boil), the title of second-in-command would fall to somepony among the two who remained. And Boone, like his father, would rather be cursed to the gates of Tartarus than serve under a filly.
Switch, in spite of her pining, belonged to the weaker sex. Boone would have none of it.
Card Slinger dodged, “Dat’s none o’ youze business, Boone, fo’ the last buckin’ time! Horseapples! Two years, an’ I think youze ask dis o’ me every month o’ so, an’—“
“Because youze neva answer! Jus’ answer me—“
Boone was lying in the mud before the gears of his fetid consciousness’ clockwork could comprehend what brought him there. He howled in agony, a dark, black bruise erupting on his side. He soon discovered the source of his position and pain.
Card Slinger chuckled, saying with a snarl, “Nopony interrupts me, an’ gets way wit’ it! Youze should know dat, bastard!”
Slinger towered over his fellow slave. “An’ nopony deserves ta know what youze ask. Youze ain’t worthy, Boone. Youze ain’t nothin’ ta me. An’ when I get back, youze can follow me inta the dark, o’ youze can chicken out, like dat pussy Toss.” Slinger nearly spewed his fury across the ground, his stomach churning its meager breakfast at the issuance of his last word. Toss. Lucky Toss.
His best friend. His partner in crime. His brother of the concrete and the graffiti. When Boone broke the harrowing news out here in this prison of stone, Card Slinger found an old weakness creeping into his heart of darkness.
He’d suppressed that urge, and shed no tears, replacing his sorrow with righteous rage. Lucky Toss carved his own entry onto his former leader’s mental shit list. Someday, if their paths crossed, Lucky would pay for his abdication.
“Pussy?!” Boone spat a mouthful of mud out of his mutinous maw. “Youze callin’ me a pussy?! Buck youze!”
“I’m sure youze want ta, pretty-boy!”
Stumbling to all four of his hooves, Boone shot back, “Well, dat’s strange comin’ from somepony who nearly cried afta I told him his ‘best friend’ left town! Oh, waahhh, call the wahhhhmbulance, Slinga, youze lova is dead, Slinga! Boo-buckin’-hoo!”
Card Slinger drew his forehoof back, preparing to connect, when a stallion’s gruff voice bellowed from the farmhouse porch, “HEY! Keep flirting with each other and I’ll have the Guard extend your sentence another year! Get back to work, maggots!”
Slinger let his forehoof drop to the ground. He mustered all of his meager self-control, letting the steam from his nostrils spell out his fury instead of his iron hooves. No insults, however biting they could be, justified extending his sentence among the stone.
Setting aside their quarrel, Card Slinger and Boone mumbled half-hearted apologies, returning to their final day of forced labor. Soon, the rain came, turning the entirety of both north and south fields into earthen soup.
The rocks resisted their best efforts. Clyde Pie watched them toil, lemonade in his forehooves, a grin across his grim countenance. Celestia gave way to Luna, and, by the assistance of nopony other than Fate itself, his two laborers completed their final task.
They collapsed in the mud, moonlight beckoning their slumber.
~
A rough, unshorn beige fetlock was smacking him across his back and shoulders. “Hey! Get up, scumbag! Royal Guard’s here!”
Card Slinger rolled over onto his back. His tormentor disregarded his defense mechanism, and began to pull him up by his forehooves.
Clyde Pie sneered and spat on the ground. “Hurry it up! Your coltfriend’s already at the carriage! Don’t you want to give him a kiss before you leave my beautiful farm?”
The stallion snorted, watching the mud-caked colt draw back his lips in a snarl. Shoving him in the direction of the awaiting Royal Guard and their transport, Clyde added, “One more word out of your criminal mouth and you’ll be having breakfast with me tomorrow morning! Stone soup!”
Card Slinger swallowed his pride, feigning obedience. Though he’d be returning to the city of concrete and cobblestone, graffiti decorations in the ghetto, the colt would avoid rocks in any way, shape, or form as much as possible. He’d had a lifetime’s worth of them already.
Under the glow of Luna’s lantern, master and slave made their way to a waiting carriage. Two pegasi members of the Royal Guard stood by the driver with smug grins. “Good to see you, Mr. Pie,” one of the stallions greeted.
“And good to see you. I come bearing a gift.” Clyde shoved Card Slinger’s shoulder, nudging him forward. “If he causes any more trouble, send him my way again. I’m sure he’ll enjoy his work a third time around,” he said with a snicker.
The guards-ponies partook in Clyde's laughter. Slinger bit his tongue, letting his rage stew in his veins. He glanced inside the carriage. There, in two pairs of hoof-cuffs, Boone sat in his haunches, staring at his hindhooves. Two sets of black irises met in silence and irritation.
This made for one hay of a carriage ride to come.
The Royal Guards grabbed Card Slinger and snapped steel cuffs across all four of his fetlocks. Without a word, they grasped him by his mane and shoved him into the carriage.
“We’ll be flying from above, scumbags! If you try to escape, it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do!” a guard warned. Powerful forehooves slammed the carriage’s door shut, and, with a few clicks of a strike, locked the two inside.
“Thanks fo’ wakin’ me up, asshole,” Slinger hissed. He turned to the window, taking one last glance at his prison. Rocks. Everywhere, just rocks, and a smiling, waving stallion in the middle, watching the taxi-pony take to his hooves towards the city.
Above, Slinger and Boone heard the rush of feathers against thermals, guardians of Celestia’s reign keeping a cautious but observant distant from the carriage. Slinger groaned. He refused to acknowledge his helplessness, staying silent, counting the blades of grass below their churning wheels.
Hours passed (or was it minutes?) before Boone shattered their peace. “Slinga… look. I’m sorry, alright?”
One thousand and one blades of grass. One thousand and two. “Fo’ what?” Card Slinger snapped in response, glued to his most interesting of pasttimes.
“Fo’ everythin’. Not wakin’ youze up, fightin’ wit’ youze, everythin’.” With a sigh, Boone mumbled, “I jus’… I…”
“Youze jus’ what, Boone? Spit it out.”
“I jus’… look. Dis is gonna sound real weak an’ soft, but… youze is like ma brotha, Slinga. The brotha I neva had. An’ when we get back ta Manehatten, I want ta continue the gang wit’ youze.”
Card Slinger paused. One thousand and ten. One thousand and eleven.
Casting aside his hesitation, Boone continued, “Youze don’t have ta tell me what happened two years ago, iffa youze don’t wanna. Whateva youze want me ta do, I’ll do it. I miss the streets, Slinga. I miss the parties, the runnin’ wild, the fights.
“Doin’ dat stuff is powerful. Nopony tellin’ us what ta do o’ how ta be. We jus’ create it. An’ wit’ a leada like youze, Slinga, we can create much mo’ than what we had.”
One thousand and twenty. One thousand and twenty-one. Finally, Card Slinger whispered, “What are youze thinkin’ o’, Boone?”
“Revenge, Slinga. Celestia thinks she can clean up the dirtiest city o’ dem all? She thinks we gonna be goody four-horseshoes now? C’mon. Youze an’ I both know dat’s a lie.”
Card Slinger lost count. Revenge.
He’d failed in his mission two years prior, too weak to even take down a foal younger than he. His knife found its resting-place in the Earth, tasting only a few, insignificant drops of blood. Somehow, he’d survived the filly’s enraged assault, every inch of his skin, fur, flesh, and keratin in torturous agony in her wake.
He’d dug up that blade a few days after the battle—relieved to recover his most prized possession--cleaning it, sharpening it, stashing it in his mattress, where it would wait.
It would wait and bide for its true purpose. The orange mogul, the tycoon of the entire industry, who ruled over life and death in his madness over Manehatten. It was that awful stallion who Card Slinger sought, in truth.
His failure, however, led to more contemplation than he desired. Slinger zoned out the carriage’s tiny window with no mathematics to distract him.
“Slinga? Youze okay?”
If Babs Seed could defeat Card Slinger, what more could Bernie Madhoof—a full-grown stallion with the bits to buy the entire city if he wanted—do to him? Slinger couldn’t fathom what the answer might be. All he knew, in the corners of his pickled brain, was that the sins of the father did not follow the daughter in this case. Nor did the cowardice.
It pained him to admit it, but he could not lie this one away. Babs Seed destroyed him that night.
He’d been bested, deserving of death, and she granted him none. In that moment, she proved to be something far greater than the stallion whose namesake she bore.
The colt would spare her if she someday crept back into the heart of the ghetto. She, too, had left Manehatten in her dust, Boone’s grapevine providing him with this wondrous information. She was still a blankflank and a daughter of a devil. The two strikes against her could not be erased. She would never be his equal, his comrade, his friend.
But her mercy, however, kept her out of Card Slinger’s sights… for now.
Bernie Madhoof was his ultimate goal. His family gravestones cried out for retribution.
Tearing away from the window, Card Slinger looked over to him and proposed, “Boone, how would youze like ta be ma right-hoof stallion?”
Boone nodded so quickly, Slinger was sure his head would break free of its vertebrae and roll upon the cramped floorboards.
Clasping his forehooves together—the best he could, at least, while they were restrained—Card Slinger declared, “Good. Once we get back, let’s show ‘em, Boone. Let’s show ‘em all who we are, what we can do.”
“Yes, Slinga, yes! We will, ma colt!”
Grinning, Slinger began, “An’, Boone?”
“Yes, Slinga?”
Under the watchful patrol of the pegasi guards, Card Slinger vowed, “Neva let me forget the name ‘Bernie Madhoof.’ Neva let me forget his name. Come time when we got an army o’ our own, we’ll have a siege ta run. Youze gonna march wit' me?”
Creature of habit he was, Boone unsuccessfully attempted to rub his chin with a forehoof. Disregarding his restraints, he raised a curious question. “Youze know I would, boss, but… youze know how rich he is, don’t youze?”
“O’ course. What does dat have ta do wit’ anythin’?”
“Well… iffa youze can beat ‘em, join ‘em, right?”
For the first time in a long time, Card Slinger complimented his right-hoof-stallion. Through the remainder of their long journey back to the land of graffiti decorations, the two hashed their plans. Their greatest enemy would first become an ally.
By the power of bits and blood, they would build their empire, and shove King Orange off his throne.
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and so the plot thickens
2057425
Glad you enjoyed it! That's a damn good game BTW.
2057548
The feels on the bus go 'round and 'round, 'round and 'round. And the bus drives me even as I write them...
2058684
I know, right?!
2058887
1) Well, to be honest, I first thought of it when I saw this picture. It makes sense to me as a plausible ship, and it's cute, and I'm OK with it. (Closer than first cousins and I say no.) Now, I say this knowing full well I am guilty of my own bias as a homosexual, but...
Babs Seed strikes me as masculine/androgynous. So, her being into fillies (or both) in my headcanon makes sense to me. (As in, it's not a huge stretch. Most of these characters don't have a definite orientation, so it's all creative license, but that's what I see in Babs, anyway.) As far as Apple Bloom goes, she's a caring filly, especially to family, and how I drew them together in TR and in my one-shot for them I could possibly see happening. It's cliche, but the whole catharsis-leading-to-empathy-and-more has proved true for me, on both ends. As far as orientation goes for AB, I don't see her in the way I write this as concerned about labels (other than being a blankflank) as Babs is. I've found city folk IRL to be worried about concrete definitions than country folk--the latter of which tend to follow their hearts. I think she would follow her heart if she felt that way about Babs.
I wrote AppleSeed before Apple Family Reunion, where they seem to be closer/nicer to each other, so at the very least, they are "best cousins" despite their little interaction. (And I thought it was kinda funny that the episode came up after I've been writing AppleSeed....not that it means anything in the canon of course. Shipping goggles, you know.)
TL;DR I ship it because it's adorable and I don't see it as completely impossible.
2)
I would go straight or at least bi for Braeburn3) Awesome! I'll have fun pestering you!
2059137
Eeyup, my friend, it does.
Looking forward to how this turns out
I assume this is mainly here to help set up the sequel, Severed Roots I think it was called? Anyway, it'll be interesting to see little Babs Seed all grown up, and dragged into what's shaping up to be an all out gang war. Alright, yeah. You've convinced me that a sequel is probably a really cool idea.
Something tells me that Bernie won't live to see the end of the story.
The banners are being called and the Plot is thickening
Oh two antagonists fighting each other that will be fun.
also forgot I think I sub conciously described an oc similar to card slinger.
2059379
I'm not using the Apple Family Reunion in this story.
Herp derp on the second one though. I'll fix that real quick.
2059379
I forgot that Libra did see Apple Bloom in TR (after the Slinger battle). Other than that, she was upstairs or working with Madhoof. So, she did see her...just not in the best of circumstances. Thanks for the catch, though, friend.
2059240 2059313 2059340
We'll just have to see.
2059257
Yup, the last story in the series will be called "Severed Roots." Hopefully, that story will not disappoint--that's all I have to say about the rest for now.
2059360
Indeed, it will be.
I wouldn't be surprised. Card Slinger is the stereotypical bad OC. 
2059423 More please?
2059446
No spoilers! But you shall receive moar story!
2059421
Beautiful. Simply beautiful.
2059423 Yes bad ocs are evil
2059456 When? I demand to know when!
Wow, three updates in three days. I am impressed.
I'd talk about the chapter more, but I'm kind of tired. So, a "good job" will have to do.
I got to feel bad for slinger in the last story, and I'm always happy to see the Orange King brought down. This is relevent to my interests.... please continue...
2059473
2059475
Soon, my friend. :D I'm hoping next update by Sunday at the latest.
2059544
Thank you!
Get some sleep, though, friend!
2059572
Oh, will do. This isn't the last we've seen of Big Slick and King Orange in this series.
Hmmmm... now I'm curious as to how youze plan on takin this
2059695
Youze'll have ta see, ma friend.
2059704 listen to us with our horrible Brooklyn accents! (right out of that old TV show Welcome Back Kotter.
2059715
I know! xD I've written these accents so much, it's become second-nature to me.
lol, me phail at writing accents!
The closest I can do is write lolcat
2059615 Also my notifications kinda went
'cause it says you responded to one of my comments but you responded to both. I love this site 
some days it's perfectly others you want to beat the crap out of it
2060347 The chapter titles are kind of implying a few year skips, I think. Plus it even said in this chapter itself that they're 'teenagers now'.
2059728
sarahnicolas.com/files/2011/06/smart-lol-cat.jpg
2060347 2060418
I'm counting "Year One" as the first few months after TR. Babs left Manehatten around the fall, and Hearth's Warming Eve I place at the end of the year (in this story). When they meet up with Citrus and Libra at last, it is in the second calendar year, around August. Slinger/Boone is two years after TR, and quite some time after the prior chapter. Sorry for the confusion there, though.
The chapters are now going to skip more around during the chronological years, but I'll be sure to imply/state the passage of time. Babs and Bloom are 13 in Year Two (they have summer birthdays). Boone and Slinger are about 1.5 years older than Babs Seed.
HA, I wasn't even reading the chapter names. I need to slow down, sorry
2060502
No worries!
This is a totally different style of story (well, collection of stories) so I don't mind the inquires. 
2059735
I know that feel.
I guess Card Slinger and Boone haven't figured out not to chase those Waterfalls, aye?
Seems like you plan to have multiple plot lines running in parallel. I like, I like. I wonder what happened to Toss, he was an alright bloke.
-Isaac.
2059615 I look forward to it my liege
2061075
Nope, they haven't...
2061314
We haven't seen the last of Toss in this series. We shall see what became of him.
2062221
Thanks GreatKyn!
2062240 Always a pleasure fair maiden
2064482
Let me hear it!
2064722
It's all good, man! Party on!
2066059
The only error I see is this:
Should be "now." Other than that, I enjoyed these three paragraphs.
As for the paragraph you are thinking of deleting, I argue that you do not really need it. Personally, if I were to keep it, I would rewrite it as such:
2065852
The first six chapters of TR takes place before "One Bad Apple" and the rest is after the episode. However, I am not using I "Apple Family Reunion" in TR/SAA or the final story in this timeline/series. (Alternate Universe creative license. It really doesn't fit this story IMO... if you look closely at the group photo in Apple Family Reunion, Aunt and Uncle Orange are on the far right corner of the photo. The personalities/appearances I have written for them in this universe are far different from the canon, of course, but they are still there. Nice little continuity by the show writers.
)
Seedverse, huh? I like it!
Heh heh, thanks for the idea. And I changed the line about Libra seeing AB--originally, I wrote that she hadn't seen AB since she was born, but Libra did see her in TR (after AB brought Babs home on her back). That was a herp derp on my part. I've changed the line to refer to when Slinger attacked them, so you are correct though. :)
2066296
Are your questions answered now, Liam? (I hope you got my replies to your comments earlier, but FimFiction has been messing with my notifications also lately...)
2066100
Fair enough. :) And no, I don't mind if you send me the whole thing when you are done. I'd like to read it.
2067838
I see. Well, cliches are often true. Practice makes perfect, and read what you would like to write. Perhaps there is a published author whose style impresses you?
2067862
I read both King and Koontz. I prefer Koontz moreso because of his demeanor, his descriptors, and his underlying messages. The way he ties characters and plots together intrigues me as well. I would agree that I got a little King vibe from Silhouette.
2067898
I would recommend any of the below from Dean Koontz:
-The Door To December
-Cold Fire
-Hideaway
-One Door Away From Heaven
-By The Light Of The Moon
-Odd Thomas
As far as general writing? Just keep experimenting and working at it. You already are a pretty good writer and have a pretty good grasp of vocaublary and imagery. Keep challenging yourself. (And this all goes for me as well...I would like to say that through writing TR and this, I have improved, and I hope to continue to improve through SAA and the final story before I change genres. After writing all these feels, I'm gonna try my hand at some comedy...)
2067948
Well, whatever you do, good luck!
2067980
2068002
I gotta say, though...worst King novel I ever read was "From A Buick 8". Spoiler alert: it's not scary, and no one dies.
Sorry my friend was a dick about the fandom again
2067980 well what about his non-scary stories like The Green Mile, and 1963