Desert Summit
Desert Summit
A Breaking Bad Conversion/Crossover
The night was starting to lay its blackened sheet on the sky as the sun descended on the very flat, dusty horizon. The orange ball of light cast wicked shadows of the sparse plant life and rocks, winds picking up the dry dirt of the desert and tossing it gentle back to the ground. The only living beings in this desolate, isolated place was a few of my colleges, Duster and Marble Craft who stood at my side. I preferred the term colleague because it made conversation and the “workspace” easier as well as give the illusion equality.
But of course they knew who they worked for and what they are in. Along as they knew that then we could have a long “partnership”.
I yawned quietly, my legs starting to get a bit sore as I had stood here for a little over, of what I believed to be, four hours. The desert winds and heat would soon give way to a radical drop in temperature, something that I would very much like to avoid. Patrols usually ran up and down the N57 every night, so despite our very generous distance from the road, it would take one mere hours to find us. It was unlikely, but possible.
Pushing my glasses a bit farther up my beak, I raised a clawed hand to my forehead and scanned the horizon.
Nothing to the west, nothing to the north, and-
Oh, look at this…
I could see a far distance from me what seemed to be a caravan cart, spouting up dust in its path. It was oddly brilliant how the setting sun contrasted the figure, making their shadows transform them into something of a phantom. My patience had been growing thin, and time was of the essence. This need to happen now or never.
Quickly, I gestured toward Marble, the smoky gray mare coming a bit closer.
“ Get the record.” I spoke with cold efficiency as she came back a second later from our own cart with a glowing purple gem, which I took in my hand. It was a seemingly bare gem, having only a steel bearing on the tip of its slender, cylindrical shape. I tucked it into my woolen coat, noting its purpose in this situation.
I continued to watch as they neared, and was struck with another sting of disappointment. There had been some one very important I was supposed to meet here today, a pony that has been providing me with a superb product for the past three months. A pony that I intend to pay, though with a pinch of disdain, for her service and craftsmanship.
Instead I was rewarded with his junkie partner and a random, nameless pony I have never met.
Bottling my rage with an emotionless face, I observed the duo stop their wagon about twenty feet away from me and began unstrapping their harnesses. They both looked very battered and shifty, nervous, just as I had expected. The missing cooks partner was clothed in a dirty overcoat, his brown light saddlebag not doing much better. His silver mane seemed to have dulled from years of substance abuse, falling into a messy heap as he neglected to keep properly maintain it. Dirt stained his lackluster aqua coat, which, under the same conditions as the rest of his body, was far from its normal shade.
Bags hung under his amber eyes, which held a slight pink tint, possibly due to crying about personal matters. Nothing that I liked to discuss to business partners.
They pony beside him was much more healthy looking than him, his dark beige coat and black mane up to hygienic norms. Thought his chin scruff had seemed to gone a few days without proper care, and started to invade his cheeks.
Before they had undone the last strap, I felt the need to break the ice first.
“ Where is the cook?” I said coldly, referring to drug addict. He was fairly nervous, as was to be expected. They only answer that I really got was a sort of quizzical stare from him, which seemed to say, your looking at him.
“ Mr. Ember you are trying my patience,” I maintained eye contact, watching as he scratched his scalp, “something that I don't have much left to speak of.”
“ I have no idea Miss.” He said that sentence with a bit of a snarky tone that only made my blood boil at a faster rate. Thought his response seemed genuine, I seemed to have just the thing that would jog his memory.
Pulling out the recording device, I displayed it clearly to him, “Listen.”
I pressed the steel bearing on the top of the crystal and it began to play:
“ Can she see us?”
“ No she’s gone- but what do you want? What can you possibly have to say to me?”
“ Rise…”
“ You put my ass on the line for the what, the sixth time? You dont think Im getting a bit sick of that?”
“ Rise just-”
“ Or how about when you made me-”
“ Rise will you shut the fuck up! For five seconds, shut you fucking mouth!”
Silence.
“ Look, we could talk about previous events now, but at the moment we have bigger fish to fry.”
“ What? After the last few days, I think I'm done frying fish alright?”
“ No no no no Rise, you see, this time its different.”
“ Different?”
“ I think its time.”
There is a very long pause in the recording, leaving me to assess Ember’s reaction, which seems to vary from shocked to traumatized. Not knowing whether or not he will be dead in the next few minutes.
But soon the conversation started up again:
“ Like, you mean, now now?”
“ A few weeks time now, yes I believe so.”
“ So, uh, how you gunna do it?”
“ Me?”
“ Well you don't expect me to come up with anything. I normally don't have a contingency plan to avoid being gutted by some whacked up griffin, alright?”
“ Were both doing it! Thats it, there is no negotiation!”
More silence followed, following by even more bickering between the two as they essentially went over the plan. A plan for me to meet my own demise. The plan itself was, I’d have to admit , rather brilliant, this cook knew what she was doing. Plans that seemed to have actually had the impression of going over revision, rather to being a simple gun in, gun out tactic.
The recording cut out after a while, to unknown means, possible the bug recording them fell off, but I still had enough to know they were trying to kill me, understandably of course as some of my earlier decisions have created rather, numerous, occupational hazards for them both.
No matter, deception, while not always having a zero tolerance policy, was not without its own repercussions.
In one swift motion, I tossed the recording crystal to the ground. Waited for several seconds smiled, pulled out my revolver and shot Ember’s companion in his forehead.
“ Oh shit!” Was his response as he sprung away from the pony that slumped to the ground, Ember falling onto his back. He tried to rise be was too shocked by the action to properly get to his hooves, the dead unicorn’s blood cutting through the dusty ground, soaking into the rock.
Without a seconds hesitation, I took aim for the appalled Ember, and shot him in his right hind leg.
“ Ah! Motherfucker!” He shouted, lying on his side, his incapacitated leg bleeding profusely. He clutched it gently, but ultimately was overcome with pain and withered on the ground in pure agony.
Cocking the revolver once more, I took a brisk walk to the earth pony that now shuddered in pain directly below me. Giving him no time to respond, I quickly grabbed him by his neck and held him in a choke hold, my claws digging into his cheek. I walked backwards, to distance myself from the cart, keeping my gun pointed at the caravan cart they had arrived in.
Once, at what I felt to be suitable distance, I began to shout, “ Sparkle! Get out here! Now!”
What seemed to be like years passed by real life seconds was a sharp crunch of small rocks and fine sand. I saw the purple hooves slowly make their way to the edge of the carts length, which lead right into my line of sight. Soon, she stepped into my vision, revealed to be rather calm and well-maintained emotionally.
Her greyed mane was tied into a bun, the violet and rose streaked black mane losing its luster to time, a few strands hanging above her left eye. Her purple coat, although having maintained some of its color, was also rather dirty, from recent activities that seemed to disturb me. Twilight was incredibly smart, that one fact alone made her somewhat of a challenge to deal with.
Especially since she was completely unarmed, utterly bare. Nothing to protect her from the bullet that could easily have shot off if it wasn't for her to say a simple sentence.
One that made me feel I had missed something. Something I left out, something that I was most definitely going to pay for.
Her head raised, violet eyes ripe with age, she only said:
“ Hello, Glida.”