Years had passed since the end of the Equestrian Civil War. Pony against pony. Friend against friend. Many a life was lost in those dark days. And when the flames of war stopped raging, and had ceased to even be embers, the terror of those days warped the minds of those who had allowed themselves to be consumed by the inferno.
Friendships had all but been forgotten in the hearts of the ponies. Crime skyrocketed. And outlaws of every kind were showing up everywhere, committing crimes that no civilized pony would ever have thought before.
To combat those who would prey on others, Princess Celestia organized a task force to hunt down and kill the worst of the outlaws. The force had been made up of ex-soldiers who were loyal to her. Gunfighters, bounty hunters, and outlaws seeking pardon for their past crimes were recruited as well. The force went by many names by the common folk: Pony killers. Celestia’s executioners. Outlaws with badges. The only name that stuck was perhaps the most gruesome of them all. Scalp hunters.
A glass tilted, trickling out the rotgut whisky within toward the dry, unslaked throat of its holder.
The pale unicorn stallion relished the feeling of the drink in his mouth, sighing slightly as the burning sensation eased into his tongue. After letting it linger, he let it slide down his throat, warming his body from the inside with its sinful flavor.
It was the first drink that he had since he left Dead Rock. To him, the taste was something like cheap tobacco, mixed with something he could not place. For all he could tell, the mysterious flavor may have been similar to the snake venom he had once sucked from a wound.
After savoring the first sip, he quickly downed the drink, feeling more refreshed now than he ever had in days. He looked to his side at the stallion who was slumped over the bar, unmoving and unresponsive. In front of the unmoving stallion, the drink that he had not been able to so much as sip.
The pale stallion nudged his barmate’s hoof away from his drink, making it swing limply to his side, before the unmoving stallion himself fell hard to the floor, streaking a trail of red across the bar as he did.
Taking the glass, the pale stallion examined it, finding only a trace of red on the rim of it. Even if there was blood in the drink, he wouldn’t have cared. Nourishment was what he needed. And he would take it where he found it.
Once he finished the drink, he tossed the glass over his shoulder, hitting the body of a stallion who was sprawled across a table, guns still held in his cold, dead grip.
The saloon looked like a freshly made up graveyard, with all of the corpses ready to be buried, but not an open grave in sight. There was no time to dig them. Only time to die.
“Shame about this place,” the pale stallion said. “Place that serves drinks like this could have made a damn good name for itself.”
He took a bottle and poured it out behind the bar, over the bleeding barman who was lying on his back, clutching his bleeding chest.
“All I wanted to know was the whereabouts of your old pal, Old Dollar. I know you tip him off about the stagecoach and train routes that he robs. Instead, you and your friends sent yourselves on the express coach to hell,” the pale stallion said.
The barman said nothing, wincing from the stinging pain of the alcohol in his wound. He slowly reached for the gun that he kept hidden behind his bar. His fingers wrapped around the handle, and gripped the trigger.
A shot rang out through the bar.
The barman shouted loudly, and gripped the bloody gash where his ear had once been.
“I don’t usually give warning shots. But, that’s the only one you’re gonna get,” the pale stallion said, leaning over the bar.
“You lawdogs are all the same. You talk big, but that’s it. It’s like that old diamond dog saying. All bark and no bite!” the barman shouted.
The pale unicorn paid the barman no mind. He magically took a cigar from a toppled pickle jar near the cash register and bit off one end of it.
“Got a light, barman?” the stallion asked.
“Fuck you!” the barman said.
“That’s a ‘no,’ huh?” the pale unicorn said, chomping the cigar in his teeth and savoring the flavor of dry tobacco mixed with the residual scent of the pickling brine that had once been in the jar. “You called me a lawdog just now. ‘Fraid that ain’t so. I’m more than just a dog. So, you gonna tell me what I wanna hear? Or do I have to kill you and find somepony else who will?”
The barman winced, clutching his wounds. He glared up at the pale stallion, piercing him with his eyes.
“Old Mare Canyon. Southwest of here. That’s where you’re gonna die, dog!” the barman said.
One last shot rang from the saloon as the pale unicorn offered his thanks to the barman. With his destination revealed, the stallion left the saloon through the front, and was met with a gun barrel pointed directly at his face.
The stallion looked past the barrel, toward the enraged visage of an older stallion.
“Howdy, sheriff. Got a light?” the stallion asked.
The sheriff answered with a low growl and a twitch of his eye.
“You massacre half the ponies in my town without so much as battin’ an eye! And you want me to light yer fuckin’ cigar!?” he said.
The pale unicorn shifted the cigar in his mouth and opened his coat. On the breast of his undershirt was pinned a golden badge, shaped like a shield with a relief of a sun in the middle. Piercing the sun was a sword.
The sheriff glanced at the badge, then to the smirking face of the stallion. The gun he held shook in his grip as his teeth clenched. Slowly, he lowered his gun and holstered it.
“Damn scalp hunters! Nothin’ but mass murderers hidin’ behind the empire!”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” the pale stallion said, shifting his cigar again. “If you ask a shepherd how they protect their flock from timberwolves, they’ll tell you that they have sheepdogs. Thing is, a sheepdog will only yap and yowl, until the shepherd comes in with his gun to blow that wolf’s brains out. See, sheriff, you’re just a damn sheepdog. I’m the shepherd.”
The two ponies stared at one another, neither averting their gaze. The sheriff’s breath had slowed to a steady chug, like a locomotive fueled by hellfire. Nothing would please him more than to take that badge and flay the pale stallion with the pin that held it to his clothing.
“So, how about that light?” the stallion asked again.
“You just enjoy killin’. And you know it,” the sheriff answered. “I know exactly what you and yer ilk are. A pack of wolves that thinks they been tamed. But, everypony knows a wolf don’t stay tame for long. If you or any of your scalp hunter friends come near my town again, I’ll put you down like the rabid animals you are.
“Deal. ‘Cause if you ever point a gun at me again, I’ll put that pretty little gun of yours so far up your ass, you’ll be coughing lead,” the pale unicorn said. “See you around, sheriff.”
The town watched in mixed horror and curiosity as the pale unicorn walked out of town. With the arrival of one evil, another had been sponged out of their town. But, for how long?
As the sun set on that day over Old Mare Canyon, Old Dollar sat on the edge of his cot, smoking his last cigarette of the day, letting the smoke drift up through the hole in the ceiling of his shack. Every so often, he would reminisce about the name had been given. He was not always Old Dollar. It was when he killed his fifteen older siblings that had made him the oldest of the remaining five that had earned him the name, now that he was the oldest of them all.
He scoffed at the memory, then snuffed out his cigarette before he laid down for the night.
Far in the distance, he could hear the sounds of shouting and gunfire. Same as usual when his men got rowdy. Then, silence.
Old Dollar cracked one eye open. They never settle down so quickly, unless they passed out drunk. But, so soon?
Something fell through the hole in the ceiling, startling Old Dollar to alertness. What he saw terrified him. Staring at him with dead, open eyes was the severed head of one of his men.
The message was clear. Old Dollar picked up his gun and darted to the side of his front door. He listened intently, waiting for whoever was outside to make a move.
There was nothing. Not a sound.
Old Dollar knew that if he stayed in the shack, he was dead for sure. The door creaked as he slowly cracked it open and peered out. Nopony was there. He cocked his gun, ready to take the audacious intruder by surprise.
As quickly as he aimed, he was out into the last streams of daylight, facing the setting sun. Yet there was no sight of his enemy.
The sound of a gun being cocked behind his head made Old Dollar freeze completely.
“Start praying. That’s all you can do at this point,” the pale unicorn said.
Old Dollar said nothing. He began turning his head to look over his shoulder.
“Keep watching that sunset. It’s the last one you’ll ever see,” the pale unicorn said.
Old Dollar did as he was commanded and dropped his gun. Quietly, he began saying his prayer.
“O Silver Mother, who watches us from on high--”
The sound of a gunshot echoed through the canyon, vibrating the stoney walls and making a gentling ringing from the veins of metal.
Old Dollar laid dead on the ground.
The smell of tobacco reached the pale stallion through the gunsmoke. He reached into the dead pony’s pocket and discovered a pack of cigarettes, and a box of matches. He then retrieved the cigar that he had taken from the saloon earlier that day, and lit it with relish.
The gentle burn in his throat was released in a cloud of white smoke, just as the sun drifted below the horizon, covering the land in darkness. The only light left was the harsh glare on the edges of the pale unicorn’s face from the light of his cigar, illuminating his features darkly.
“That’s one outlaw off the list. Wonder who’s next?” he said to himself.
It was a sunny, cloudless day in the distant village of Greifburg.
The cobblestone streets had been ornately decorated with banners and pennants of all colors, which hung flapping from the draped ropes above.
Long tables covered in pink gingham dotted the fountain square where much of the town had gathered for song, dance, laughter and fun. But, on this day, there was no laughter to be heard.
Hushed murmurs were exchanged of the dismay and disgust of what the festival had become. Though the nearby band played a lively tune, the dances were half-hearted. Smiles were forced. The only sign of any merriment was the festive maypole, where almost all of the chicks in town had gathered to hold a ribbon in their beak as they ran circles around it. In the distance, the sound of wagon wheels drew the attention of the crowd in the square. To their delight, there came a wagon from the fields beyond town.
The griffins nearby all hurried to greet the wagon driver, eagerly awaiting the latest haul from the fields. Surely, something had been left for them. Something that would make their festival worth celebrating.
They met the wagon driver’s eyes, and saw reflected in them the same dismay and disappointment that had begun since the prior evening. The driver woefully looked up and slowly shook his head. As he passed the townsfolk’s hearts sank. In the back of the wagon, there were the many heads of leafy green cabbages. Not even the ripest cabbages, but the ones that had almost gone to rot.
“Mehr Kohl…” one of the griffins sighed, amidst the disappointed groans of the others.
As quickly as they had come, the griffins all dispersed to resume their dismal festivities.
Among the crowd, one of the chicks noticed something in the back of the cabbage cart. Something that he knew was not supposed to be there. A black hat was poking up above the back of the cart. And if he looked closely, he thought he could see the top of some creature’s head. He began to follow the cabbage cart, curiously trying to peer over the top.
“Was du tust? Es ist nur Kohl,” called one of the griffin chicks friends from nearby.
“Dort ist etwas im der Kohlwagen,” the chick answered.
“Was?”
The cabbage cart hit a loose cobblestone, making it jolt hard and send some of the loose cabbages popping out of the top. With them came a second surprise. The black hat bounced out as well. With it, the unseen owner.
There was a terrible thud when the owner of the hat landed on the ground. In spite of the hard impact, he laid limp as a boiled asparagus across the cobblestone.
The two chicks were joined by others as they gathered around the strange creature. His hat had fallen over his face, keeping them from identifying him. He had no talons at the ends of his four limbs, but hooves that stuck out from the hems of his jacket and trousers. An examination of his tail yielded equally unusual discoveries, such as how it was made up of long, black, unkempt hairs, and not feathers.
“Was ist das?” one of the chicks asked.
“Ich nicht weiß. Aber, ich denke ist es tot,” said another.
They all stared at the dead thing in the road, puzzling over what to do with it.
“Ich wage dich es du stupsen,” said one of the chicks, nudging his large friend next to him.
Never one to back down from a dare, the large chick cautiously stepped forward. He looked at the thing in the road, knowing for sure it was dead. But, something stayed his steps. He edged closer and closer to the dead thing and reached out a single talon to it. The eyes of his friends were all locked onto his back. If he bailed now, they would never let him hear the end of it. Putting all other things out of his mind, the large chick touched his talon to the nose of the dead thing and nudged it hard.
The dead thing snorted loudly, blowing up the dust from the cobblestones into the face of the large chick before him. The chicks all scramble away, knowing for sure that they had incurred the wrath of something horrible from beyond the grave.
“AUGH!! Rennt um euer Leben!! Wiederganger!! Wiederganger!!” one of the chicks shouted.
“Huh...Weeder-what…?”
The pony in the road stood up in a daze. To his greatest shock, he could see nothing but blackness. But, there was music playing somewhere. And voices and footsteps. At once, it dawned on him what was happening, and he adjusted his hat to uncover his eyes.
“This isn’t where I fell asleep earlier,” the pony said to himself.
No, indeed. Far from the cold open field where he had fallen asleep the night before, he was in a place of color and civility. In his travels so far, the stranger had encountered many different towns. This one was by far the most lively that he had encountered. The music. The dances. All that was missing was a performer.
Straightening his collar, the stranger went to make a spectacle of himself. And he started by stepping on a cabbage and stumbling head over hooves into the road.
Years of performing had not gone to waste. The stranger quickly recovered with a graceful cartwheel and allowed the errant cabbage that he had slipped on to roll up his rear leg, and along his back. He popped his shoulder up to send the cabbage into the air, and caught it spinning on his hoof.
From the corner of his eye, the stranger saw a group of griffin chicks watching him. He glanced at the spinning cabbage, then back to the chicks. His audience was found.
The stranger threw the cabbage high into the air and spun along the ground to scoop up two more of the cabbages that had fallen from the cart with him. One went into the air with the first, but the last was rolled down his back and bucked upward.
The first cabbage fell from the sky and was rolled from one outstretched hoof, across the back of his shoulders then to his other hoof and thrown upward.
The second cabbage landed on his back, and was spun all the way around his middle as the stranger gyrated his waist.
The show had caught the attention of the other nearby griffins, who watched in wonder of the stranger.
With his audience grown, the performer started pulling out the stops. He stood on his front hooves and caught two of the cabbages with his rear hooves. He then tumbled forward to catch the third with his front hooves.
Without stopping, he kicked one cabbage up to his front hoof and stood upon the one that remained upon the ground. He spun about atop the cabbage, all the while rolling the other two across his outstretched hooves, around his body, under his arms, and across his chest.
The band nearby caught wind of the lively performance and started playing their song at a faster tempo. Taking the cue, the performer started rolling around the fountain square, never once missing a beat as he danced and juggled for the growing crowd.
The griffins watched in rapt awe at the spectacle. The day was sure to have been dismal, but not one of them could have expected the stranger to have stumbled upon their festival.
It was time for the finale. The stranger swooped up all three cabbages and threw them into the air. After them, his hat was thrown up.
One cabbage was caught and thrown over the performer’s shoulder, where it balanced perfectly on the spouting water. The second was caught and thrown even higher into the air, and mysteriously never came down. Before the third cabbage fell, the performer pulled his head inside of his shirt, and the cabbage landed in his open collar. After it, his hat drifted down and set upon the cabbage, creating a perfect likeness of a cabbage-headed pony.
The crowd loudly applauded the show. The stranger took a bow, allowing the cabbage to roll off. Catching his hat before it ever hit the ground, he twirled it twice, before he flipped it onto his head.
“Thank you! I’ll be here until the party’s over,” the stranger said, waving to the crowd.
After traveling for so long with no break in between, the stranger decided to take time to allow himself a proper rest. And if stumbling upon a festival wasn’t a good enough place to do it, he didn’t know what was.
The nearby buffet tables drew the stranger’s eye. Plates upon plates were heaped with dishes. The very sight of them made the stranger’s stomach rumble. Too long, he had not had a proper meal. Living off of the wild carrots and radishes that he found on the roadside could only sustain a pony so far, and now it was time to eat like a king.
Whatever was on the plate nearest to the stranger was hardly seen, as it was dumped into his open mouth and instantaneously swallowed. The moment he did, he wished that he hadn’t.
A sickening, molded, sour, musky taste lurched up from his throat, up his nose and into his forehead. For a brief moment, the stranger saw stars sparkling before him, then fade all at once. It all culminated as he could feel the color of his face change from white to green, and a feeling in his stomach as if he had swallowed compost.
“You're quite something. The agility of a show horse, and der appetite of a draft horse. Not even ve griffins are able to eat a plate so large,” said a female voice next to the stranger.
Looking to his side, the stranger saw a tan and white griffin wearing a festive dress. He swallowed hard, and opened his mouth to speak, but only gagged quietly before he found his voice.
“I th...I think you need to tell somepony that the food’s gone bad…” the stranger said.
“It’s not bad. It’s vorse than that. It’s sauerkraut,” the griffin sighed.
“Even the name sounds bad,” said the stranger, who started shuffling down the table to look for more edible morsels.
“Ja. But, it’s all ve have this year,” the griffin said.
“You’re not serious,” said the stranger.
A look down the length of the table let him know that she was indeed serious. All along was sauerkraut as far as the eye could see. At the end of the table an elderly griffin looked unappeased at a plate of the wilted cabbage dish, and took a bite of the clean plate next to it instead.
The stranger winced at the sight. “Yeesh...Must have been a bad crop this year.”
“Actually, ve had a splendid crop. So splendid that der mayor decided to haul it for himself,” the griffin grimly replied.
“Because he really likes vegetables?”
“No. Because he’s a greedy, self-centered dummkopf who has only looked out for his own interests since--” the griffin paused and exhaled quietly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you our problems. It’s not as if they concern you.”
“It does if I’m eating it too. Couldn’t you just ask him for some of your crops back?” the stranger wondered.
“I’m afraid not. Der last griffin who tried had der mayor’s enforcer set on him,” the griffin said.
“When was that?”
“This morning,” the griffin said, pointing to a griffin-shaped hole in a nearby wall.
A tiny bead of sweat perspired on the stranger’s forehead. Of all the places that he could have woken up in, a town run by a tyrannical mayor was by and large one of the worst that he could have chanced upon. It was in his nature as a traveling performer, a searcher and a wanderer to not stay in any town forever. But, something about the way that the griffin was looking at him gave him pause. Something let down, which he thought he knew how to fix before he left.
He reached into his jacket and produced a single wild carrot.
“Here. I know it’s not much, but it’s probably better than rotten cabbage,” he said.
“You’re too kind,” the griffin said, smiling as she accepted the tiny vegetable.
The two stared at one another in silence, and the stranger watched as the griffin’s smile grew bigger.
“Vould you like to dance?” the griffin asked.
“Huh? Dance? With me?”
“Of course. I saw how deftly you dance alone. I vant to see how you dance vith a partner.”
“Well--Hwuh!!”
And that was all the stranger had time to say, before he was dragged by his wrist into the middle of the fountain square, where several other griffins had paired up to dance.
The griffin started dancing on her own, while the stranger surreptitiously tried to sneak away. His escape was halted by another dancing couple bumping into him and sending him back toward his partner.
The stranger recovered from his stumble with a graceful spin, which was complemented by a twirl from the griffin.
Melodies from the band began swirling around him in perfect time with the dancers. He could feel the rhythm. He could see the crowd. It was taking him over.
No more hesitation. Some power of the festival possessed the stranger to dance for all he was worth. And his enthusiasm had spread to his partner, who danced like she had never danced before.
The stranger took his partner by her talons and twirled with her and the other dancers around the maypole. Barely seconds into their dance, one of the maypole dancers bumped the stranger from behind, pushing him into his griffin partner.
“Vell, vell. Coming on a bit strong, aren’t ve? I usually make sure my dancing partners know my name, before ve are this close.” the griffin said with a sly smile. “I’m Ghislaine. Though, you may call me Ghi.”
“I...I’m…” The stranger stammered to find his voice. “I’m-I’m--I’m looking for somepony. A mare with a white coat and a purple mane.”
Something inside of him clenched when he saw Ghi’s eyes lower.
“So, I don’t suppose you’ll be staying long,” was all she said.
The stranger opened his mouth to explain himself, but before he ever got the chance the entire festival stopped. The music suddenly went silent and the dancers all froze. The only thing that sounded was a distant rumble that made a nearby sign start to sway over a door.
As the rumbling came closer some of the griffins ran for cover indoors. The plates on the nearby tables started to rattle in cadence with the rumbling. The griffin who had chosen to eat his plate rather than the sauerkraut on it dropped the last bite of his meal, which shattered on the ground.
A hoof the size of the stranger’s head stepped out from around a corner at the end of the fountain square. What followed it was the biggest minotaur that the stranger had ever seen. A giant, grey bull with horns that were almost as long as his arms. In one hand, he carried a gigantic baseball bat.
Accompanying the bull was a griffin companion. Though much shorter and older than the minotaur, the griffin looked no less intimidating. For every two steps he took, he clacked his cane upon the ground, clutching the top threateningly in his viciously clenched talons. His hunched back and wrinkled, nearly featherless face were as horrible as an underfed vulture. Worst of all were his eyes, which conveyed nothing but a lifetime of hatred and resentment for all other creatures that he saw.
“They’re not guests too, are they?” the stranger asked Ghi.
“That der mayor and Knuckle Duster,” Ghi answered.
“Who?”
“Der enforcer,” Ghi said, pointing to the griffin-shaped hole from before.
“Oh…”
They watched as the two newcomers walked to a nearby table and started examining the contents. Not so carefully, as Knuckle Duster cleared the table with his bat then lifted it over his head as the mayor looked underneath.
“Ve should go,” Ghi said, as she guided the stranger away by his hoof.
The stranger did not even look back at the scene, before he suddenly felt something cold and heavy hook over his shoulder. Glancing, he saw the gold, hook-billed head of the mayor’s cane.
“Wo denkst du gehst hin, Pony?” the mayor roughly said.
“Der mayor asks, ‘Vhere do you think you’re going, pony?’” Knuckle Duster translated.
“I-I don’t want any trouble. I’m just a street performer,” the stranger said.
“Der Idiot sagt er nur ein Straßenkünstler,” Knuckle Duster translated for the mayor.
“Does ‘idiot’ mean the same thing in my language that it does in yours?” the stranger nervously asked.
The only response he got was an entirely mirthless laugh from Knuckle Duster, who roughly grabbed the stranger by the shoulder and turned him to face himself and the mayor.
The mayor began speaking in his native language, all the while translated by his minotaur enforcer.
“You are a new face in our town...As a newcomer, you must be acquainted vith der vays ve operate our village...You vill surrender any contraband upon entering der town gates...You vill perform your vocation to der standards that are set for you...You vill give der mayor der respect he deserves...Any questions?”
“Have you seen this mare?” the stranger said, producing a locket from under his shirt and showing the picture inside with a shaking hoof.
The stranger’s hoof was smacked back down to his side by the mayor’s cane.
“Verschwinde mein Sicht! Bevor ich mehr als dein Huf poch mach!” the mayor growled.
“Der mayor requests you to get out of his sight, before he makes more than your hoof throb,” Knuckle Duster translated.
Ghi guided the stranger away, until the mayor thrusted his cane in front of them.
“Halt!” the mayor ordered.
Ghi and the stranger both froze as the mayor’s cane traced it’s way down to the pocket on the front of Ghi’s dress. The griffin winced as she felt the mayor’s cane press slightly against her and shimmy the contents of her pockets upward. Collectively, the nerves of the crowd shattered as a single, small carrot fell to the ground.
“Schmuggelware…” the mayor grimly stated.
“And you know der penalties for possessing contraband,” Knuckle Duster said, as he patted his oversized bat in his palm.
Ghi shrunk slowly to the ground as Knuckle Duster towered over her.
Without a thought, the stranger stepped between Ghi and her assailant.
“Hold it! That’s my carrot! I brought that into town to share with her!” the stranger said.
“Oh, so?” Knuckle Duster said.
The stranger was suddenly lifted off the ground, suspended upside down by his hooves as he was shook violently. From his pockets, all manner of wild vegetables fell. More carrots, radishes, cloves of garlic, and even a half eaten pea plant.
“Uh...Is there a chance we can talk about this over a plate of carrots?” the stranger offered.
“Der time for talking is over,” Knuckle Duster said, as he wound up his arm to swing.
The stranger felt his entire body swing upward, and soon saw the crowd far below him. During his brief moment of hangtime, he kept his hat from falling off his head before he went plummeting back down toward the ground.
Knuckle Duster gripped his bat and wound up his arms to swing.
The stranger fell nearer, and he saw Knuckle Duster’s bat swing toward him. He saw briefly the words etched into the side, ‘Hallo zu Auf Wiedersehen!!’
The minotaur felt the bat hit home with a satisfying crack.
The stranger was nowhere in sight. Knuckle Duster rested his bat over his shoulder and shielded his eyes from the sun to see where his equine target had flown to.
“Was ist du machst, dumm! Er ist noch hier!” the mayor shouted.
“Was?” Knuckle Duster asked. He noticed his bat felt somehow heavier, and examined it.
There, clung to the very end of the weapon was the stranger, clutching the bat in his shaking hooves.
“Can I just leave and we’ll call it good?” the stranger asked.
Knuckle Duster snorted viciously and lunged with his free hand to grab the stranger.
The stranger rolled around the bat, deftly avoiding his opponent’s grip. He stood on the bat, jumped to Knuckle Duster’s head and somersaulted to the ground.
He hardly had time to recover from the landing when the mayor’s cane swung at his head.
The stranger ducked, allowing the cane to hit Knuckle Duster in the back.
The bull bellowed loudly and swung his bat around to the side.
The mayor ducked to avoid the swing, but the stranger wasn’t so quick. Even though he only caught the tail end of the attack, he was knocked off his hooves and into the fountain.
Gasps waved through the crowd as they watched the stranger pull himself back up over the side of the fountain, soaking wet. No creature remained conscious when Knuckle Duster hit them. Yet there he was, spitting out a mouthful of water.
“Er ist im noch Bewusstsein! Hol ihn!” the mayor ordered, pointing a shriveled talon at the stranger.
Knuckle Duster snorted ferociously and charged toward the fountain. He jumped into the air, his bat raised over his head.
The stranger rolled out of the way, and jumped when the ground shook beneath the blow of Knuckle Duster’s weapon. He rolled backward until he was on his hooves again and jumped over the next swing of a bat.
He backpedaled to the edge of the fountain, and was struck from behind by the mayor’s cane, forcing him back toward his enforcer.
The stranger slid on his knees to dodge the next attack from Knuckle Duster and spun to take one leg out from under him.
Knuckle Duster knelt sharply and hit his head against one of the fountain heads, cracking it slightly.
The stranger was near the edge of the fountain again, and was ready this time when he dodged another attack from the mayor. He found himself facing Knuckle Duster again, who ripped the head off of the fountain and raised it to smash his opponent.
“Catch!” the stranger said, as he tossed his hat into Knuckle Duster’s face.
Knuckle Duster released the concrete fountain head to swat away that, only to allow the fountain head to land on his hoof.
As the bull hopped up and down, swearing and spitting as he held his throbbing hoof, the stranger yanked the hose out from the broken fountain head and started whipping it around himself to strike Knuckle Duster.
The crowd watched, mesmerized and terrified. If he weren’t in a fight for his life, it would almost have looked like the stranger was performing some show the way that he made the water splash upward between every twirl and swing of the metal hose.
Knuckle Duster found an opening and swung his bat again.
The stranger wrapped the fountain hose around the bat and directed the spraying water into Knuckle Duster’s eyes. His opponent blinded, and the stranger jumped to unleash a double-legged dropkick into the bull’s head.
Knuckle Duster yanked his arm, pulling more of the hose out of the fountain and throwing it down.
The stranger slid between Knuckle Duster’s legs, narrowly dodging a downward swing, grabbing the hose and tangling his opponent’s legs. The bull tripped again with a loud crash, and the stranger readied to attack again.
Beyond the fountain, the mayor opened a panel and turned the valve inside as high as it would go.
There was a low rumble from the fountain, until all of a sudden water shot forth from the fountain with the force of a fire hose. The stranger’s hose suddenly sprang to life, thrashing about with it’s hapless handler being tossed through the air.
He could no longer keep his grip. The stranger let go of the hose and landed outside the fountain, face down on one of the tables. Looking up, he saw that he was only inches from a plate of sauerkraut.
“That was close,” he said to himself.
The sight of the mayor rushing toward him snapped him to alertness. He sprang to his front hooves, just as the mayor’s cane crashed down on the table. Another swing from the cane, and the stranger’s hooves were taken out from beneath him.
He looked as the mayor raised his cane to break his face.
Quick as lightning, the stranger threw the plate of sauerkraut he nearly landed on at the mayor, who gagged as the wilted cabbage dish dribbled down his face.
The stranger rolled off the table and backpedaled into the open square, where the crowd parted to allow him movement.
The mayor was upon him in an instant, swinging his cane with a fury and speed of a griffin half his age.
The stranger hopped to avoid each hit, bringing to the crowd’s mind a kind of jig. One that the stranger had clearly danced many times.
The mayor thrusted his cane in the stranger’s chest, hitting home and knocking the wind out of him. He then cracked him on the head, struck him on the hoof, and jabbed him again in the chest for good measure.
With no thought, as the stranger staggered back he reached his hoof out to his side, and caught the cabbage he had juggled before. The one that never came down when he had thrown it up in the air when he first arrived in town. Surprised by the happenstance, he could not meditate on it, as the mayor thrusted his cane again.
The stranger spun out of the way and threw the cabbage at the mayor’s head, allowing it to bounce back into his hooves to throw at Knuckle Duster, who was trying to attack him from behind.
In the crowd, Ghi watched as the stranger juggled the cabbage between his two opponents. Seeing one pony stand up to the tyrants who had oppressed the griffins of Greifberg for so long inspired something within herself. Something that made her want to do something to help the best chance for normalcy that had come in a long time.
Ghi picked up one of the cabbages that had fallen from a table and whistled for the stranger’s attention.
“More cabbage!” she shouted, as she hurled the vegetable to the stranger.
The cabbage barely touched the stranger’s hooves, before he threw it at his opponents. He kept a perfect rhythm of catching, throwing and dodging as he was attacked from both sides.
Knuckle Duster batted one of the cabbages back to the stranger, hitting him directly in the face and sending him flying backwards.
It was only his incredible sense of equilibrium that allowed the stranger to stay upright when he landed. He stumbled and saw the mayor toss the other cabbage to Knuckle Duster, who batted it as well.
The stranger somersaulted backward and caught the flying vegetable in his rear hooves. He placed one hoof atop the cabbage as his opponents both charged him, and kicked it forth with a precision that made it hit them both at once.
The crowd cheered at the display as if it truly were a performance.
As Ghi readied to throw more cabbage into the fray, another griffin’s voice stopped her.
“Mehr kohl!”
From somewhere in the crowd, more cabbages were thrown to the stranger, who caught and threw them at his opponents with ease.
As he dodged more of the flying projectiles, Knuckle Duster caught sight of the cabbage cart where the stranger’s ammo was coming from. He snorted loudly, lowered his horns and charged toward the wagon.
The crowd cleared out of his way, as the bull crashed into the cart, destroying it and sending its contents rolling away.
“Nicht mein Kohlwagen!” one griffin shouted, lamenting the loss of his cabbage cart.
The griffins scrambled to recover the juggler’s weapons, but were knocked aside by Knuckle Duster as he rejoined his employer to fight the upstart pony.
The mayor swung his cane over and over, barely missing the stranger each time. Whenever his opponent moved to another cabbage, he quickly batted it away.
The stranger looked frantically around for something else to use, but found himself at a loss as his opponents closed in on him.
“Stühl!” another griffin’s voice shouted.
The crowd parted, allowing a chair to be pushed into the fight.
The stranger looked at the chairs, and felt a sudden sense of relief. He was armed again.
Knuckle Duster raised his bat as the stranger climbed onto the back of a chair and balanced on one hoof. The bull felt nothing as his bat sailed between the chair and the jumping pony, who landed with pinpoint precision on the chair again to spin it around and smash down on his opponent’s hoof.
The stranger fell over backwards, chair and all to dodge beneath the swing of the mayor’s cane from behind, grabbing the mayor from the ground, the stranger swung him into the chair and sat him up, just as Knuckle Duster was swinging again.
Time stopped for the bull, as he felt his bat connect with his employer, who went spinning away on a broken chair.
When the mayor fell to the ground, he raised his head to glare violently at Knuckle Duster, who knew he was in for something far worse than what they planned for the stranger.
“Platten!” another voice called from the crowd.
The stranger deftly made his way to where he saw something flying into the arena and caught what he found to be a stack of plates.
The moment he landed, he tossed the plates up and started throwing them from the bottom of the stack at his opponents.
Some of the plates hit their mark, but others were blocked or deflected, sending the broken shards flying.
The griffin and minotaur inched closer to the stranger, who had to roll between them as they both swung at him.
The stranger stood back up and tossed one plate behind himself and used his rear hoof to push it into the mayor’s face.
The mayor backpedaled, as the stranger shuffled back on three legs, keeping the plate in his face.
Knuckle Duster swung his bat over and over at the stranger, missing every time he bobbed to the side.
The mayor grabbed the stranger by his ankle and spun him around, winding up his cane to swing.
The stranger kicked his outstretched leg into Knuckle Duster’s stomach, shattering the plate against his abs. Before the mayor could attack him, he launched forth the stack of plates that were balanced on his head, hitting the mayor in the beak. Knuckle Duster grabbed the pony’s neck from behind and picked him up. When they were eye to eye, he took a moment to squeeze a little harder, before he threw the stranger forward.
The stranger hit hard against the maypole, making the tassels that were tied around it wave.
He rolled to an upright position, and saw a double image of Knuckle Duster charging him with his horns lowered.
Not sure which one was the real minotaur, the stranger pivoted on his flank to behind the maypole.
The pole rattled and shook violently as Knuckle Duster’s head slammed directly into it.
Stars filled the vision of the bull, and it was only more clouded by the falling tassels that he had shaken loose.
The stranger stumbled back, wowed by the sight of the colorful tassels that filled his double vision. If only his life weren’t in such danger, he would have had time to enjoy it.
He wobbled forward, just in time to stumble out of the way of the mayor’s slashing talons and a subsequent swing of his cane. Another attack and the stranger spun around, easily dodging the blow as he spun around to face the mayor.
His vision was slowly coming into focus, and he saw the mayor’s hateful eyes planted squarely upon him. It was then that the stranger realized that only one of them was going to leave the town.
Sensing danger, he dropped to the ground as Knuckle Duster took a swing at the back of his head.
The mayor’s cane came down, and the stranger pivoted on the top of his head to dodge the hit, then dropped again to dodge Knuckle Duster’s bat.
It was not long before the pony was entangled in the loose tassels of the maypole. A situation that his opponents took full advantage of.
Knuckle Duster kicked the stranger, sending him sprawling around and tangling him up in the tassels so that he was suspended in the air.
The mayor was the first to take a swing at him, only landing a glancing blow as the stranger twisted his body.
He swung toward Knuckle Duster, who landed a more solid hit that sent the pony swinging around the maypole entirely. He turned around to face the pony again, his bat at the ready.
Unknown to him or the mayor, the stranger had prepared for them.
As the pony came swinging back around, he gathered more of the tassels in one of his outstretched hooves. By the time he arrived back at his opponents, he loosened himself to lower himself beneath Knuckle Duster’s bat.
The tassels that he held made the stranger whirl around the arms of his bovine adversary, tying him up tightly. He then swung back around to get the bull around his waist and hoist him up to hogtie his ankles.
Without touching the ground, the stranger twisted and contorted through the dangling maypole tassels to dodge the mayor’s attacks. He caught the old griffin’s cane in a tassel and yanked it out of his talons, then threw the tangled cane around.
The mayor lashed out with his talons, determined to slice the pony who had disrespected and flouted his rule of the town. One miss and the mayor’s wrist was wrapped in a tassel. Before the old griffin could cut himself free, he was struck in the back of his head by his own cane, which was still swinging around the maypole.
The stranger took full advantage of his opponent’s stunned state and tangled him in more of the tassels, until the mayor looked like a festive butterfly cocoon. Once he was done, he swung forth with his hooves extended, crashing into the mayor and sending him into the hanging Knuckle Duster.
Griffin and minotaur went spinning around the maypole, getting ever closer as the length of their tassels was wrapped around the center.
The crowd of griffins saw their chance. They all took the tassels around the pole and began dancing in a circle, as though the festival were going on as normal. Even the band started playing again, as the two tyrants were tightly wrapped up. In several minutes that felt only like seconds, the entire length of each tassel was wrapped against the maypole.
One griffin from the crowd rolled in an empty cabbage cart, and the maypole was lifted from the ground. Without any regard to the two creatures tied to it, the pole was slammed roughly into the cart and rolled out of the square, and down the main street. Crowds of griffins danced and cheered on the sides of the street as the cart was rolled to the edge of town. Finally, they all watched as the cart was pushed down the winding and bumpy road down the hillside, where it splashed into the distant river. They all continued to watch it, until the cart with its unwilling passengers floated out of sight.
In the fountain square, the stranger was overwhelmed with the cheers and congratulations he was getting from every griffin in town. Most excited of all was Ghi, who clung tightly with her talons around the stranger.
“You’ve done it! In less than an afternoon, you’ve rid us of those Tyrannen!” Ghi said.
“Thanks,” the stranger answered, his breath shaking. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’ll be glad when this festival’s over.”
“Over? This festival is only beginning! And der rest of it is dedicated to you,” Ghi said, before turning to the crowd. “Zum Helden der Tag!”
“Zum Helden der Tag!” the crowd refrained.
The music resumed, more lively and jovial than ever. And for the rest of the day, the town celebrated as they never had before. The cache of crops was recovered from the mayor’s mansion, and the preparations were made in case the tyrants ever tried to return. All thanks to the witless nopony who dropped into their midst.
“There is one thing I vish to know,” Ghi said, as she danced with the stranger, “I haven’t yet learned your name.”
“My name?” the stranger said. “Well, I’m just Nopony.”
It had been a busy night for Click Bait. He had already watched two videos of ponies playing video games, and disliked one of them as soon as one of the player’s made a slightly inappropriate comment. He then listened to his favorite podcast to hear all of the latest news about the oppression of anypony who didn’t look like himself. Just by listening to the podcaster, he felt empowered. She knew things that others did not, and could put people like Click Bait into a higher state of being. By hearing about the struggles of everypony who was not himself: mares, ponies in other countries; Click Bait knew that he could help those others just by knowing what he did. Once the podcast ended, Click Bait wrote down all of the main points of it for the premise of his next video that he would stream.
Then came his usual news feed. Another politician said something stupid. Another blockbuster movie performed better than he wished it had. Another killer was on the loose in the city. Another fire started somewhere in the rural areas outside the city limits. The usual.
He then watched three music videos for the Rainbooms. Even though it would have normally taken a little bit under ten minutes to watch all three, nearly twenty minutes passed as Click Bait repeatedly paused the videos during his favorite parts. Rarity looked positively ravishing in her silver gown, contrasted against the golden light of the sunset. And Fluttershy. Sweet Fluttershy, who obviously had no idea how titillating she looked as she thrusted her hips against her tamborine. When the last of the videos ended, Click Bait noticed on his phone just how much time had passed. It was now the early hours of the morning, and he was not at all ready for sleep. There was still time enough for one last thing to do for the night.
There would be no rest for him if anypony found out about his love. His passion. His favorite hobby. If any of his online followers found out, they would ruin him. If just one word of it reached the online community, his career was over.
Putting his cash in his pocket, Click Bait wore his largest overcoat and stepped out into the darkened streets of Canterlot City. Taking his car was not an option. If there was any chance of somepony recognizing his car, he was done.
Several blocks later, the streetlights stopped. The only light came from the few signs that hung in the broken windows of the shops. Click Bait’s feet treaded lightly over the cracked sidewalk, until one of his toes caught the edge of a raised chunk of the broken concrete.
Click Bait stumbled, barely keeping his glasses from falling off his face. Ahead, he saw a group of stallions loitering in front of a building. Just looking at them made him nervous. Everything about them. Their loose clothes. The color of their coats and manes. Their accents. It all screamed danger. Just one misunderstanding between him and them, and they would be all over him.
He was walking closer, glancing from the side of his vision at the group of stallions. If any one of them tried anything, he was going to be ready for them. How, he didn’t know. But, it was going to be him or them.
One of the stallions glanced over at Click Bait just as he was passing by. At the same time, there was a loud bang from across the street.
Click Bait ducked in cover behind the nearest car, and heard the poppling rumble of a motorcycle go speeding down the street from where he was.
The loitering stallions all laughed at him, pointing and mocking. Even though Click Bait couldn’t understand what they were saying in their language, he somehow knew.
“Look at this fucking guy! Scared of a fucking motorcycle!”
“Baby boy’s a long way from home. Think we should help him back?”
“Naw. I say we show him how we do things in the ‘hood.”
“I-I don’t want any trouble!” Click Bait said, as he hurried away.
He could hear the stallions laughing at him as he ran, like he had just told the greatest joke they had ever heard.
Click Bait’s nerves were shot from the encounter, the laughter of the stallions pounding from the inside of his head like a thousand hammers. His fists clenched at his sides, knowing that he could have done something to defend himself from them. If he had done it, then he would have been the one laughing in the end.
The marquee of the theater was in sight. The light at the end of the tunnel. All other thoughts were put out of his mind as he hurried his steps to make it to his destination. As he got closer, he could see the bold, black letters of the marquee. According to the time on his phone, he was just in time to see that night’s late feature: Bloodlust. From the sound of it, a gory, blood-drenched action movie. Or a horror flick with a gorgeous, blood-sucking vixen of a vampire villainess. Either way, he knew he was in for a good time.
He paid his admission at the box office, and got his bucket of popcorn. He had long ago looked up on the internet what it was that movie theaters put on their popcorn instead of butter, and found it to be an odd mix of ingredients that had absolutely no butter in it. As much as he touted on his streaming channel about how much he hated synthetic products, he always ended up not requesting to have his popcorn without toppings. In fact, he found that in this dingy, B-movie theater, the topping that they used tasted much better than what they used in other theaters. Because of that, he requested extra to be put on his popcorn.
After getting his popcorn, Click Bait had his ticket torn and was ushered down the hall to his theater. Number nine. The best in the house, in his opinion. That was where the one corner at the back had the one busted light, where he could sit in total anonymity. No fear of being recognized by any of the thousands of anonymous faces in his audience.
He walked into theater nine. The air of the room seemed somehow still, as if it were awaiting his presence. The seats were sparsely filled with other patrons who were awaiting their bloody good time. On his way up the steps to the back row, Click Bait saw that there was nopony up there. The only problem was that on the way, he could see an audience member who was sitting very near the aisle, feverishly kissing the mare that he was with. If either of them looked up and recognized him...If they knew what he was into…
The lights began to dim. In the darkness, Click Bait hurried past the amorous couple. Safely to the back row, and across to the darkest corner.
It was not even halfway through the back row that Click Bait saw to his greatest dismay that his corner was already occupied. There, quietly sipping their drink was somepony else. His chance for total anonymity was blown. Slowly, as if he had meant to all along, Click Bait sat down in the center of the row and looked toward the screen. Though his mind lingered on the squatter in his corner, and how he would forcibly remove him to take the seat that was rightfully his.
The movie started with almost no warning or announcement. There was a flash of steel, and a head was severed. In the spray of blood, the title of the movie splattered itself across the screen, before cutting to a scene of a fanged, scantily dressed mare who was slicing apart her attackers with a kitchen knife. Click Bait had hoped for bloody action or sexy vampires. In a twist of luck, he had gotten both.
By impulse, he glanced over to the patron who had taken his corner. There he sat, idly flicking the foot of his crossed leg as he watched the film from the best seat in the house, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Nor did he even think about how somepony else might want that corner he was in.
No. Not ‘he.’ No stallion had such finely tapered legs that snaked out of a miniskirt so tantalizingly.
The faint taste of blood filled Click Bait’s mouth as he bit his lip and unknowingly leaned closer to the unknown squatter in his corner. Through the dark, he almost thought he could see her breasts heaving ever so slightly as her glossened lips closed around the straw of her drink, teasing it with her tongue with every sip. Finally, he saw something that he knew he didn’t imagine. A faint glimmer from her eye.
His breath released, and Click Bait gasped quietly to himself as he quickly turned back to the screen. The opening credits were almost done. The producer’s name appeared in a burst of flame, as the heroine used a zippo lighter and a bottle of spray deodorant as a flamethrower. The writer’s name appeared next in the broken rubble of a wall. Finally, the director’s name, the same as the writer’s and producer’s, appeared superimposed over the breasts of the heroine as she licked the blood of her enemies from her lips.
A sudden feeling of warmth and tingling through his body made the bucket of popcorn rise ever so slightly in his lap. That mare on the screen was gorgeous. Perfect. She was exactly the kind of mare who would ignore him if he walked past her on the street. And that thought made his warm feeling wane slightly.
He reached down to take a kernel of corn, and felt something that he knew that he shouldn’t have.
There was another hand in his bucket. One that took an entire handful of popcorn, and brought it to it’s owner’s mouth.
There she was. She was everything that Click Bait had imagined, and more. Her legs hovered so close to his that her toe almost brushed against his shin. Her lips were as red as the blood that covered the screen. Her breasts were barely contained by the top she was wearing. And her eyes. Those striking blue eyes that pierced him, even though they were focused ahead. She was perfect. And she was sitting right next to him. Best of all, she was looking at him.
She took another sip of her drink, holding Click Bait with her gaze.
“I haven’t seen you here before. Come here a lot?” she asked.
“I...Yeah. Sometimes. You were in my seat. So, I sat here,” Click Bait answered.
“Yeah. I like sitting over there too. It’s funny that we’d only now find each other. What do you like about that seat?” the mare asked.
It didn’t seem like the mare recognized him from his videos. But, he couldn’t risk revealing his reasons.
“Uh...Why do you like...sitting there?” he asked.
“I asked you first,” the mare replied.
Click Bait’s throat paralyzed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. After so long, he had not prepared for what would happen when actually talking to a mare.
“Since you’re such a smooth talker...” the mare suggestively said, “I don’t really know. There’s just something about sitting in the total darkness of that corner that gives you a certain--I don’t know--mood. Something primal. Something taboo.”
The tub of popcorn shook as the mare’s hand reached in again for more. Click Bait clenched his knuckles around the sides, steadying their quaking.
“So,” the mare continued, “I guess you’re here with somepony.”
“What do you mean?” Click Bait asked.
“Haven’t you heard the news? There’s a killer in Canterlot. It’s not safe to travel alone at night, you know,” the mare said, her eyes focused on the screen.
“I-I-I think I’ll be okay. What are the odds of finding a killer out of all the hundreds of other people I’ll see tonight,” Click Bait said, suddenly recalling the close call with the group of loitering stallions. How he wished the mare could see him handle them all the next time they gave him shit.
The mare smirked as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
“Just in case, I’ll stick by you. A strong, brave stallion like you can protect me. Won’t you?”
There was something in her voice that made him want to do something to stop her constant teasing and probing like she was some half-assed psychoanalyst. What did she know about strong, brave stallions that she could compare him to them? Instead, Click Bait cleared his throat and offered his answer.
“I don’t know. I think a strong female like you can protect yourself. I don’t want to impose--I mean, I don’t want you to think that you’re less than equal to me. Because I think you are. You’re the strongest female ever. I mean, I know about how females can feel intimidated by a male presence. Like he’s going to try and walk all over her--But, I’m not like that,” Click Bait stumbled to say.
“You don’t talk to mares very often, do you?” the mare said, taking more popcorn from Click Bait’s bucket.
Click Bait’s entire skull tingled unpleasantly. And the way that the heroine in the movie was titillating her prey wasn’t helping him.
“It’s alright. It’s never too late to learn. The only downside is that it’s more embarrassing to admit the longer you take,” the mare said.
The tingling sensation in Click Bait’s skull spread to the back of his neck.
“Stick around, stud. You might learn a thing or two,” the mare said, adjusting her legs so that her toe brushed against Click Bait’s shin.
“Le...Learn?” Click Bait asked. “Like what?”
“Well, let me think,” the mare said, pretending to puzzle over something, “You don’t seem to know what the back row of a movie theater is usually used for.”
“I...use it to sit in that corner over there,” Click Bait said.
A sudden breathy heave drew his attention to the screen. The vampire heroine was now in the throes of love with the stallion she had just been teasing. A fiery, passionate, display of carnal pleasures that Click Bait had never known.
“Usually,” the mare said, reclaiming Click Bait’s attention and pointing to the screen, “That’s what the back row of the theater is for. Just with less bloodletting. Unless you want it.”
The way the mare smiled made Click Bait’s blood run so hot that it nearly made him drop the bucket of popcorn. The only thing that stopped him was the hand of the mare reaching in for more.
“I’m-I’m--I only came to watch the movie,” Click Bait stammered.
“That’s a pleasant surprise,” the mare said.
“How--How do you mean?”
“Nothing. It’s just that by looking at you, I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who appreciates a classy flick like this.” On the screen, the killing blow was delivered. The heroine plunged her fangs into the neck of her lover, who moaned in agonized bliss. Streams of the most artificial red squirted from his jugular, spraying the mare on top of him in a staged mess of gore.
For Click Bait, it was an in. Finally, there was something that he had in common with the mare, and he was going to take full advantage.
“Oh, no. I love these kinds of movies. Like, I really love to laugh at the bad acting and the cheesy dialogue. And the special effects that you know were made in the director’s garage. Like, it’s awesome to know that these kinds of movies get made, and the people who make them expect people to watch them,” Click Bait said.
He could see it in the mare’s eyes as she sipped more of her drink. She totally agreed with him. And a sudden weight was lifted from his shoulders.
“So, what else do you like about these movies? Besides tearing them apart and focusing only on their shortcomings, I mean?” the mare asked.
“Hey, I don’t just focus on what’s wrong with them!” Click Bait said, feeling as if he had just been punched in the gut.
His mind stopped when he saw a kernel of popcorn drop onto the mare’s breasts. Without realizing it, he bit his lip again.
“Touchy, huh? I bet your friends have a lot of fun getting a rise out of you,” the mare said.
“Uh--Well, I don’t talk to my friends much,” Click Bait said.
“Why not? Isn’t that the point of having friends?” the mare asked.
“Yeah. But, we just talk a lot online. Usually when they comment on the videos I post.”
His eyes landed again on the single kernel of popcorn on the mare’s breasts, and quickly shot back up.
“What about your real friends? The people who you can meet in places like this?” the mare asked, as she watched the movie. “Or are you here alone for a reason?”
There she went again. Acting all high and mighty, as if she had met Click Bait before when she didn’t know a damn thing about him. Why couldn’t she just fuck him already and get it over with? He could tell she wanted to. Or was he going to have to make her?
The mare smiled sweetly as she adjusted in her seat, shifting her breasts so that they almost came out of her top. She stopped moving, and glanced down to the kernel in her cleavage.
“Mind getting that for me? My fingers are all oily,” she said, indicating the popcorn that she had been eating.
Click Bait eyed the piece of popcorn like it was lit dynamite. Some force beyond his power made him raise one shaking hand to the mare’s breasts, homing in on that one, tiny kernel. The tips of his fingers flicked and pinched at the kernel, ever careful to touch nothing else.
He felt the familiar psychic tension of eyes upon him, and glanced up to see the mare smirking at him. In one fell movement, Click Bait swept the kernel clear and let it fall to the floor. The feeling of flesh against his fingertips made his whole hand tingle with an acidic delight. Something that made his entire arm almost go numb.
“Why so tense? Don’t tell me that this is your first time,” the mare giggled.
“Wh--What? Why--” Click Bait stammered, trying not to shout angrily.
“Relax. I’m only teasing,” the mare said, before taking more popcorn. “A handsome guy like you’s probably been with a lot of mares.”
Click Bait’s entire body grew hot. He wanted to yell at the mare about how she was just like all the other mares who made him feel like shit. But the feeling of her elbow against his as he shifted closer to him quelled his fury.
“Ah...Well...Some friends tried setting me up on a few dates back in high school. But it didn’t...Things didn’t work out,” Click Bait said.
He was dead silent after that. A glance at the mare on the screen reminded him all about his frustrated romances and unfulfilled desires. Every mare who had turned him down or ignored him completely. What was it that they didn’t like about him? Or could they sense something deep within him that they never wanted to see exposed. It was a problem that he had been blissfully ignoring since high school, and that lasted well into his adulthood. All that seemed to fade, now that he was sitting with a mare like the ones he only fantasized about.
There was movement in the corner of his vision, and Click Bait saw the mare next to him sip more of her drink.
“So, it’s been a while,” the mare said knowingly. “Or maybe...Never?”
“...Yes…” Click Bait whispered so lowly that he barely heard his own voice.
“You’re honest. I like that,” the mare said sweetly.
“Heh...Yeah…”
The mare raised her hand toward the bucket of popcorn again. Instead of taking any more kernels, she passed the bucket and placed her fingers on Click Bait’s chest.
“Your heart feels so strong. I bet you’re so beautiful on the inside,” the mare said.
Yes. He was not muscular. His skin, though unblemished, was oily. His jaw was not strong. But, he was a beautiful person on the inside. A good, kind, thoughtful person who always thought of others before himself. Who understood the inner feelings of those around him and tried to make friends. Who knew the plights and struggles of those less fortunate and oppressed. Click Bait knew that he was one of the greats, even if he didn’t show it.
“Maybe...If you want...I’ll teach you what happens in the back row,” the mare whispered.
Click Bait could feel her toes through her flats stroking his leg. Her hand entwined around his. And her lips softly pressed against his own.
For just a second, Click Bait forgot where he was. He felt as if his whole body had become weightless, and he was floating in an endless expanse of darkness with his new love.
His breathing intensified as he felt her tongue swimming into his mouth. And further and further in until it was nearly in the back of his throat.
A sudden stinging pain on his tongue brought him back to reality. His eyes opened, and he nearly screamed at what he saw. Two glowing red eyes glared at him through the darkness, as a hideously fanged mouth opened wide, allowing a long, thrashing tendril to lash out and force its way into its victim’s mouth.
Click Bait’s agony was muffled by the speakers of the theater, as another bloodbath was taking place. He tried to run and yell for help, but was pinned to his seat by the unnatural strength of the mare-creature.
An incredible pain shot through his shoulder, as it was impaled by five claws that pierced through the back of the seat. He wanted to tell her to stop, but it was no use. His lips had already been chewed off by the beast’s needle sharp fangs.
He loosed a muffled yell as hundreds of pains were felt in his throat, as if a tree branch covered in thorns had been force fed to him. His voice was shredded like paper as the tendril snaked down his neck, and into his chest.
Blood poured out of Click Bait’s mouth as his chest bulged from the inside. He had never been stabbed before, but felt as if he had just been gouged with a chainsaw. The worst kind of pain gripped his chest, as he felt something snap inside of him. The tendril was pulling out. Click Bait’s lungs rapidly shuddered in short, shallow breaths as the monstrous appendage was retracted. He wanted to shout, but his voice was gone. Reduced to a few bloody scraps of meat in his throat. New horrible pains were felt as something too large to be in his throat was pulled up into his mouth. Something like a hunk of raw meat filled his jaws, and was pulled past his teeth.
He could no longer feel his heart beating against his chest, and his vision began to fade. The last thing that Click Bait ever saw alive was the end of a clawed tendril protruding from the mouth of the mare-creature. Clutched in its claws was a single pulsating, bloody chunk of meat. What was once Click Bait’s heart disappeared into the monster’s unhinging mouth, and was messily chewed apart as he blacked out.
The mare-creature closed her mouth around her meal, and swallowed it in a single gulp that made her throat bulge. A satisfied sigh issued from the chest of the monster, whose claws and fangs retracted, and whose eyes returned to their normal blue. A mare again, she licked the blood from her fingers, savoring every drop.
“A joyless, self-loathing, virgin with no friends outside of the internet. Nopony’s going to miss you,” Heart Breaker said, before reaching for more popcorn and continuing to enjoy the movie.
Rarity cringed at her bedroom door. She listened to the crashes and wet splats of thrown blood and flesh. No way she was leaving her bedroom to find out what was going on. The afternoon had started out so nice.
Just an half hour ago, she had been enjoying the company of Ancient Find(AF), an archaeologist friend from Saddle Arabia. AF told such wonderful stories about the horses and ponies in that area. She knew how to make history interesting. Rarity probably knew more about that region than some professors. The items and pictures were also intriguing too.
Rarity had five folders of clippings and photos of her childhood friend's adventures. AF sent Rarity a knife. No, must not think about that now. They had met in school. AF liked to talk a lot and get into trouble. Somehow the two managed to strike up a friendship that lasted for years. Well, until this afternoon.
AF showed up at Rarity's Dress boutique with two bulging saddlebags. Business was slow so it was easy to put up the closed signs.
"What wonders are you going to show and tell me?" Rarity asked warmly.
She could not wait to hear the latest news. Ancient Find gave a wan smile. Rarity felt a pang of worry. What was wrong with her friend? AF usually showed up at her door a little tired but this was different. She seemed weaker, less vibrant, drained.
"Rare, stop worrying. The last dig was just a bit too much," She said and smiled. Rare was her pet name for Rarity.
Some of the old AF was there but it was still weak.
"Why don't you take the bags off and sit down and I will get you some tea," Rarity offered.
Ancient Find nodded yes slowly.
Rarity ran out to the kitchen to get something to eat and drink. Her mind whirled with thoughts about what was wrong with her friend. Deep down she wondered if it was worse than she could imagine.
Later on, Rarity came out with the lemon cookies and violetgrass tea. They took a slow trot down memory lane. In some ways it was nice but others it just made Rarity feel worse. Her friend had changed that was true but why and how? Rarity looked at her friend to see if she could get some ideas on what happened.
AF is a earth pony with a beige coat, brown mane and tail. Her brown eyes looked back at Rarity. A look of fear flitted across her face and was gone. She looked at her saddle bags.
"OK, Rare, lets get this done. Confession is good for the soul," Ancient Find said with a tired voice.
"AF, you can stay here overnight or as long as you need," Rarity offered.
"I know, thanks," AF said tiredly and gave Rarity a smile that was just a ghost of AF's usual smile.
Rarity almost wanted to cry but she managed not to. Her close friend of many years was in such pain. There was probably nothing Rarity could do to help. Maybe.
In a halting voice AF told Rarity about her latest adventure.
"We went to a new area, Zifar I'rradhim. Looking back now, I should have just said no to the cider stinking stallion professor but I was curious. I am not a cat, I am a pony. Things are not going to end up well for me. Anyway we poked around, dug up stuff and we found clues. They were vague but somehow we ended up getting a bunch of them and we got closer to the truth," AF stopped and showed Rarity pictures and her notes.
"Thousands of years ago there was a cult that worshiped something alien and evil. The cult had enough power to build a city far out in the desert. We found the city. This was the worst dig I have ever been on! During the days, it felt like we were being watched but we could not see anypony watching us.
Every night one pony would disappear from our party. A dwindling scream and thats it. We would search for hours in the night and cold but we would not find the missing pony. Here, look at these. I plan to burn them when I get home," AF continued and showed Rarity four photos from the city.
Rarity looked at the pictures. There was something familiar about the designs on the weathered columns. She had seen them before but where? She got a chill. Her fur on her back bristled.
"We were going to leave after we lost the second pony but a brutal sandstorm came in from nowhere. I guess it was a sandstorm. I have been in many but this one was different. The suddenness and the voices. Could not understand what they said. There was a lot of shrieking and howling. The other ponies acted like they could not hear them.
The storm uncovered some sort of hallway. I should have pushed harder to leave but the other ponies wanted to study the hallway. To leave now without something to justify the deaths of the other ponies seemed wrong. Damn! We should have left! Sorry Rare I destroyed the photos of what we found later. It was just too awful. We did get this. I can't bring myself to destroy it," AF said regretfully.
She rummaged through the other saddle bag and put a sealed grayish white vase on the table using her mouth.
"What happened to the evil cult?" Rarity asked.
"That area is a desert now but back then it was a fertile area supporting many cities and towns. The ponies in the other areas attacked the city and razed it. The cultists were all killed," AF finished her story and looked at the vase.
At first it was just a plain gray white vase but there was something subtle in the shading on the surface. Rarity looked closer. Yes, there was more to this. Hidden designs revealed themselves to her. Each one was more sophisticated than the previous one. Have to memorize these, could be really useful for my dresses, she thought. More designs came to her delighted eyes but there was something not quite right about these.
The newer designs seemed more playful, wait not quite, tricky. Later patterns moved to playful, naughty, rebellious, mean, malicious and worse. Rarity stopped looking deeper and just looked at the vase. Now it just seemed to be a foul crouching thing on her table.
"Rare! Are you all right?" AF asked.
"What?" Rarity replied in a daze.
"You have been staring at that vase for five minutes without saying anything," AF said.
Rarity looked back at the vase. Now it was just a pretty thing smeared with something disgusting. No way was she going to put her hooves on that.
"Really?" Rarity replied.
"Rarity, you have been a real good friend to me. I am quite lucky to have known you," Ancient Find said. A strange look was on her face. It was a mixture of fear and resignation and something else.
Rarity's eyes stung and filled with tears. It sounded like AF was going somewhere and never coming back. She would never see her again. Why was Ancient Find talking like that?
"Its been an honor," Ancient Find whispered.
She turned and kicked the vase to pieces with left rear hoof. A grayish pink mist rose up. The fog wrapped itself around Ancient Find. She started groaning.
"Ruuunn!" Ancient Find screamed before the mist tore her apart.
Rarity had been watching the fog but when AF told her to run she managed to gallop into her bedroom with tear filled eyes. She had been spared the sight of her friend's death. Rarity was not spared hearing her friend die. Thank goodness Sweetie Belle was not home. Who knows how she would have handled what happened or if she did not get into the bedroom in time... Rarity made sure the door was locked.
Whatever was on the other side of the door was pretty busy. She could hear all sorts of sounds coming from the boutique area. The silences were the worst. Maybe the vapor was outside her door listening to her? Then the noise would start up again. What was going on?
After a long silence, Rarity heard hooves. How did another pony get in? No, the doors are locked. Maybe the gray mist was a pony now? She could hear the sound of hoof steps walk up to her bedroom door.
"Rarity, lets talk like civilized beings," The mist or what ever it was said.
"Why should I talk to something that killed my friend?" An angry Rarity replied. Poor Ancient Find.
Why did the fog's voice sound so male?
"You can call me N'riss. I will keep it short. Your time is so limited. I need worshipers and a high priestess. You are a good candidate for both. There are many rewards to serving me," N'riss offered.
Rarity could smell the scent of an aroused stallion wafting under the door. Its been a while but somehow she managed to keep her focus. No one is going to kill me with my tail raised, she thought.
"The choice is real easy. You serve me or I come through that flimsy door. It won't be too pleasant for you. I will give five minutes for you to make a decision," N'riss said.
This time it was not the smell of a frisky stallion but more of a battleground of rotting dead ponies sliding under her door. Rarity backed away with her hoof over her nose. After a minute, the stench stopped assaulting her. She looked around her room to find something, anything to fight back.
While looking though some boxes, her magic sense was drawn towards a small box. Inside it was the stone knife Ancient Find sent her. Rarity remembered the two weeks of strange dreams and the time she spent staring at the dagger. After that she resolved never to open the box and look at the dagger ever again. Why did Ancient send me this? Nothing else in her bedroom came close enough to being a weapon though.
Rarity used her telekinesis to open the box. The dagger sat inside but it was different. Strange patterns danced on its surface. Almost against her will, she looked closer.
Rarity found herself in a strange restaurant. Everything was all sharp angles, no curves could be seen anywhere except on Rarity. A gray pony sat across from her at a triangular table.
"Let me do what I am supposed to do, white furball!" The angular gray pony said.
"What? I am not a furball! My name is Rarity!" Rarity replied.
"White furball Rarity listen to me carefully. I have been made for the purpose of tasting the blood of the Avatars of N'riss. You have little time to waste. Work with me and you will not have to fear what waits outside your door," The gray pony said.
"What is going on? I also do not appreciate your tone of voice or what you are calling me!" Rarity was getting angry.
The pony put its head in its hooves for a second then it looked up.
"Listen to me white furball Rarity if its the last thing you do!" The gray pony said in a tone that was serious as Death and as sharp as a newly honed blade.
"N'riss is a being of great evil. He will change your world in ways that will make you wish for death as the best thing but you will be denied! Your friend had most of the story right. I will fill in the missing parts. A hero found me and used me to slay the Avatar and his many followers. Once the Avatar died the cult fell apart. The city fell and was forgotten. I was dropped by the dying hero when he slew the Avatar.
Unfortunately, I did not slay the whole Avatar. Some of it was stored in a vase inside the throne. A trusted cult member hid the vase somewhere. Your friend found the city. N'riss was able to influence the minds of her party so they were able to find the vase and restart the cult. Your friend killed the rest of the party members but she took the vase with her. Now the Avatar is here. Fight with me or flail and die," The gray knife pony said.
"How do you know these things if you are just a knife in a box?" Rarity asked.
"I am MORE than just a knife in a box. I can see the past and some of the future," The angry knife pony replied.
"Why would my friend take the vase after killing her party members?" Rarity asked.
Its almost unbelievable that Ancient Find could just kill her friends like that. Rarity had pictures of them in her folders. They seemed so happy back then.
"Your friend did not know the connection between the vase and N'riss. N'riss also wanted to start a cult somewhere with a lot of followers. It would have been easy for him to guide your friend with subtle clues after she destroyed the cult members," The gray knife pony explained.
"So the Avatar told Ancient Find to come here to me?" Rarity asked.
"Its possible near the end that your friend suspected what was going on and tried to go to someone who could help or she was still being manipulated. Enough about your friend! Are you going to help me? Time grows short!" Knife pony said and stared at Rarity.
Rarity said yes and she found herself looking into the box. The stone knife had changed. The blade looked sharp enough to cut the wind.
"I need some of your blood to anchor myself to this world," The knife said.
"Well?" Rarity replied.
How much blood does this thing need? She sensed annoyance coming off of the weapon in waves.
"You have probably spilled more of your blood in small accidents over the years," The pissed off knife said.
Rarity sighed and said, "Fine."
She held out her left leg and picked up the knife using telekinesis. A quick stab. A ruby red drop appeared on her leg. The dagger sucked up the blood. She raised the dagger.
"No! You must put me in your mouth like an earth pony. N'riss has a great affinity for unicorns. If you use your magic, he will snatch me away and you will die," The knife explained.
She lowered the knife slowly to her mouth. The handle is kinda big. While Rarity was still deciding what to do the knife jumped into her mouth. She choked and gagged a bit.
"Open the door and run at him so I can taste his blood," The knife sounded almost hungry.
Rarity opened the door and galloped straight at N'riss. He had a surprised look on his face. She had a quick look at his muscular gray and pink body until the knife impaled him in the chest. Darkness and pain covered her. Somewhere a pony was screaming. Before Rarity passed out she recognized the voice as her own.
One and a half months later:
Its cold and damp but Rarity wanted a bit more time at Ancient Find's grave marker. There was no body in the grave. It was not found in the ruins of Rarity's Dress boutique. Other than Rarity nothing was intact. The upper floors just turned into a pinkish gray dust. Rarity was found half way buried unconscious.
She tried not to dwell too much on her time in quarantine. The weeks of having her fur removed or not being able to see any ponies face to face was almost too much to bear. Rarity had picked up some strange magic that caused ponies to become obsessed with patterns on her fur. The obsession led to insanity. No pony could look at Rarity until the strange magic was gone.
Rarity was almost isolated. Ponies could talk to her from behind a wall and letters were appreciated. The worst part was hearing the yearning in Sweetie Belle's voice when she visited. She wanted her life to be back to normal. Back then it seemed like Rarity would never be free of the strangeness.
Now the whole affair is over. Time to carry on. Rarity could see Sweetie Belle waiting in the carriage. Soon they will be going to their new home in Ponyville. Good bye Ancient Find, AF. I miss you terribly. The rain mixed with Rarity's falling tears as she slowly walked back to the carriage.
