I write a lot of stories that, sometimes, are dried out before I can reach the end. However. I figured I would post what I have of them here for the few that are interested.
I write a lot of stories that, sometimes, are dried out before I can reach the end. However. I figured I would post what I have of them here for the few that are interested.
There came the pony, wearing his iron mask, able to see but unable to breathe.
He limped into the the carriage. Calm music filled his ears and a golden glow blinded his eyes. The iron spheres of his mask were small, covering his lids, revealing only his iris. They were green. They were once bright.
And the party carried on.
The stranger in the iron mask limped across the lounge. It was vast—the biggest carriage on the train. The tables and chairs were filled with chattering friends. In the corner, unicorns sat along the counter of the bar, most drinking from fine glass.
And, at the end of the other side of the carriage, laid a floor unlike any other. Griffons danced here, underneath the glittering ball, beneath the banner the crossed across the ceiling. The Grand Voyage.
The stranger in the iron mask came to a table—one empty of life but filled with drinks. He took his seat, grabbed an empty drink, and brought it to his lips: feeling the glass clink against the iron. Smaller holes were scattered across where his mouth was supposed to be, giving him the tiniest amount of oxygen to breathe.
“Is this seat taken, young one?”
“No.” His breaths were heavy and his voice was light. Every word he spoke came out muffled. “Be my guest.”
“I think that I shall.” The elder took to her chair, groaning while she did so, until she took her seat. It was like a great exertion for her to do so. “Age is never kind on the old, let me tell you. Promise me to never get old?”
The stranger gave a strained chuckle. “That... won't be a problem, ma'am.”
“Good. Glad to hear it!”
The stranger swallowed.
“You sound parched,” the elder went on. “Would you care for another drink? They have everything here, you know. Everyone is free to help themselves to whatever they please: apple juice, orange juice, grape juice—“
“I'll... pass on the... juice.”
The elder frowned. “It's impolite to interrupt your elders, young one.”
The stranger didn't apologize.
“Would you like to hear a story?”
The stranger wanted to know everything about her, so he nodded his head, bearing the weight of the iron mask the whole way. It pained him in a pleasant way, the iron mask, one that was indescribable even to himself.
“My husband and I met on a train like this. It was a train, now, though it wasn't as big as this.” The elder coughed as she begun her tale. “It was a two story train. I worked on the top floor. He worked on the bottom floor.”
The stranger nodded despite the weight and the pain.
“One day, we... bumped into each other by accident! I was carrying a tray, he was wearing a suit, and we've been nothing but trouble to each other ever since.” The elder shook her head, smiling, the full story stuck inside her mind. “He's at home now. Too old to make a voyage like this. We knew it was for the best.”
The stranger wanted to speak, but his lungs ached from the lack of air. Every word had its own price, and as of late, he had run dry. So he sat there, silently, underneath the iron mask, glad that the elder couldn't see his expression.
An expression he couldn't see himself.
“Well then, I must be going.” The elder stood up at once, far faster than when she had sat down, driving fear into the stranger's mind. “You have been very pleasant company aside from a few unsavoury moments. To the new land.”
The stranger nodded again—painful, but easier than words.
And the party carried on.
Time went by. The stranger didn't notice. He tried to think, to reflect, to analyze that which he felt, all to invent naught. The weight of the mask disturbed him from his thoughts. Staying in place meant the mask would sink him into the ground.
So he got up and carried on, along the red carpet, in-between the groups of passing ponies. His throat was dry and his lungs still burned. Walking deprived him of air more than talking, but for whatever, he enjoyed the pain of the former slightly more.
“Seat isn't taken. Sit down.” The stranger stopped at the voice, glad to have done so, and spun around. It was a unicorn, one with a broken horn, hunched over a sparkling drink. “What are you waiting for? You're taking up space and wasting time standing here. Come, come. Sit down. Do something now.”
The stranger stood around only for a second, wondering if active was better than inactive. However, knowing he was under harmful gaze, obeyed like a slave, taking his seat next to the broken unicorn.
“Good good. You've taken action. That's better than nothing.” The broken unicorn didn't look at the stranger, instead beating his hoof into the wood of the counter. The knock roused the bartender, who came over, wearing a vest and all. “Keep. Two drinks. Whisky. Not sweet.”
The stranger did not drink and also did not object.
“I was a bartender once.” The broken unicorn looked over at the iron mask. “I tell you that? One of the first jobs I had. Well, before washing dishes. Stopped washing dishes when I was old enough to serve drinks. You get what I'm saying?”
The stranger did not nod.
“You seem like you should be washing dishes now. It'll be good experience. Gives you something to do and build up to.” The broken unicorn shook his head. “You work hard. I worked hard. Making drinks all night, showing up to school in a vest, sleeping during a test.” He whistled. “I worked hard, boy. And so should you.”
“The... mask,” the stranger barely said. “It... weighs... a...”
“It weighss nadda. You put that on yourself.” The broken unicorn shook his head and crossed his hooves over his scarred chest. “Speaking to a ruler that way? That was your work. Bad work ethic while we're at it.”
The bartender came back with two filled glasses.
“Don't think that punishment bars ya from workin'. Ya need to work.” The broke unicorn cupped his cup of whisky. “It's the only thing consistent in this life. You work hard: you get rewarded, if only in your own way. Sink hours into a friend, and then they can always walk away.” He downed his drink, rendering his throat dry. “Marry a mare, only for her to be a whore.”
The stranger swallowed.
“We're all off to new land, all of us.” The broken unicorn slammed his glass against the wood harder than what the stranger would have liked. “Doesn't matter who or what you are. What came before? It doesn't matter. We're all going to new land to explore. We're gonna make a new world.” He started into his empty drink. “And all we gotta do is work for it. We'll have towns and cities for it.”
The stranger spoke, “I... love you... and hate you... admire you... reject you...”
The broken unicorn replied, “Drink your drink or your words don't mean jack shit.”
The party never stopped.
The strange once more went through it all. He stopped in his limp, the lights above now dim, the frost on the windows quite trim. The world beyond the train was unseeable, though it felt grand, from inside the warmth of the lounge.
Beyond the pane of glass, tracks could be seen in the past, snaking behind a mountain they had already passed. Higher and higher, the train was rising, slowing in speed but gaining in altitude. None questions their direction; all enjoyed their distraction.
“Are you kidding! That story is mad, madder than mad, jokes.” The heavy griffon stopped in his sway. He was on the floor, four other griffons next to me, all forming half a circle out on the dance floor.
“I'm sorry, sir.” I limped past by the door when I heard her voice. It made me take a step back. “But you really do need to keep your arm still.” I caught the back of her head, a pink, fluffy mane done in a bun. “If we don't extract a blood sample, you'll—“
“I don't care!” There was elder stallion sitting in a big green chair. He huffed, glaring at her. “Find me another nurse to the test! I will not suffer anymore pain simply because this... this hospitalcouldn't have gotten more nurses with wings or a horn!”
Things looked like were going south... should I intervene?
“I'm sorry, sir.” The nurse sighed as she dipped her head. “But all other nurses in this wing have already gone home. Please understand that we're horribly understaffed, and that—“
“I don't want your excuses!” the elder yelled back. “I want better care! I want—“
“What you need,” I began to say to the room,having just limped in, “is a better set of manners. Don't worry! You're in luck.” I leaned on my cane as I walked, coming next to the stool the nurse was on. “The manner shop down is having a sale.”
“Who the heck are you!” the stallion said, his grey eyes falling down my frame. “What... are you?”
“Who am I? A nobody.” I took the stool next to the nurse, using it to roll over to the stallion's left side. “What am I? A human.” I patted my hand on the rest of his chair. “Don't ask how I got here though—spent the last six month spinning that question to no answer.”
“Well, whatever the heck you are, get out of here!”
“As soon as I'm sure this lovely mare will no longer have to deal with the likes of you, then consider it done!” I glanced over at the nurse. “Disinfect his left arm for me, will you? You've already made his right sore enough.”
Nurse Redheart looked more confused than the elder. “Who... are you?”
“Anon for the moment,” I said. “Best way to avoid those pesky medical malpractice suits.” I glared back at the elder. “Now then, having just heard that, will you lay your arm... hoof thing against the rest?”
“W-Why should I?”
“Because I'll hold it down myself if you don't,” I replied. Looking over to the tray of medical instruments, I picked up the needle, turning a new vial into its top. “That, and I find you really annoying. See this hand here?”
His eyes focused on my now raised hand, and when he did, I started to wiggle my fingers. “See those fingers wiggling? Those are called fingers. They allow to be precise with my movements.” I sighed, watching him slowly lower his arm. “I hit your vein, we get your blood, all go their separate ways. Deal?”
The elder glared at me for a long while, which was nothing, because I glared back at him. I was quite good at glaring: I did it all the time as a passive hobby. I was also quite good at, judging by all the ponies who either said so, or the rest who simply ran away at the sight of me.
“Sir, I'm not sure I can allow you to do this.”
I glanced over at Redheart, offering the best smile I could manage. “Listen, Nurse Redheart , right?” She nodded at the words, and I continued. “Let me ask you something: you care about this job, right?”
Redheart did her best to not roll her eyes—I could see it in the way her eyes twitch. “Of course I do. Which is the reason why—“
“Which is the reason why only you are taking the night shift in the elder wing.” I tossed a nod in the stallion's direction. “You wouldn't be putting up with Mr. 'Frowns and Occasionally Brown Tail' over here if you didn't.”
The glare of the elder intensified.
“But it seems like your supervisors and doctors don't care about this place, or else you would have more help here.” I sighed, letting my shoulders drop. “I used to be a doctor before this, but I don't think my medical inclines applies in horsey world.” I made a fist and held it up. “So how about you and I stick it to the man!”
“Man?”
“Everyone not us!”
Redheart looked conflicted. She glanced over at the stallion, who said, “Either he does it, or you try again using your teeth.” She tucked her lip inward, and with a shake of her head, came off the stool. She brought the tray over on the stool, first tying his arm with elastic, and then next, using a disinfected wipe across his arm.
“You may want to close your eyes, old-timer.” I traced my fingers underneath the hoof, feeling a limp vain along where his wrist was supposed to be. “Seeing blood may remind you of the war.”
“What war?”
“Right, my bad.” I pressed the needle into the vein, using my thumb to pull back on the cap. Blood lethargically flooded inside the vial. “I forgot that war wasn't a pony thing.” I sighed, watching the stream of blood. “But it is a human thing. I wonder why's that?”
I popped the first vial out of the needle. “How many capsules for the patient?”
“Only two.” I glanced over to my left, finding the second vial held between her hooves. “All to be properly filled.” I took the vial and loaded it into the needle, and with that, I handed the first one back to her. “You're... doing good work so far.”
“You should have seen me in diagnostics.” I watched the blood filling up, and to be honest, it made me smile a tad. It'd been... too long since I'd done something of importance. “This your last patient of the night?”
“It should be,” Redheart said. When I glanced over, she was filling out some sheet—someone who took their job seriously in an seriousness wing. Interesting. “You are not to say anything about this matter to anypony. Understand?”
“Now what would be the fun in that?” I popped the second vial out, slowly withdrawing the needle. Redheart took it gently and disposed of it properly. “You fancy a coffee after this? Think you earned it after a night like this.”
“Me too,” the elder said.
“You can get your coffee somewhere else.” I took a cotton ball from the tray, pinning it against where he bled, used tape to keep it in place. “For now, sit here and rest. You can leave whenever you fee ready... or sleep it off in that bed to the corner.”
I turned and took hold of my cane. Feeling my hand tremble against it, I lifted myself up, leaning heavily into it once more. I limped out the door, coming out of sight from the room, but going no further than that.
Perfect way to rush anybody.
“Y-Your blood results should be back within the week!” I could hear her scrambling in the other room, her hooves clopping against the ground. “Take as l-long as you need to recover. Shout if you need me!”
I could hear the squeak of the tray behind her. “Anon! A-Anon!”
I chuckled as she came out of the door running. Leaning into my cane, I grinned while she breathed heavily. “You didn't have to rush, you know.” My smirk grew. “Not exactly a runner with the cane.”
Nurse Redheart glared at me. Somepony was learning. “Just... what are you doing here, Anon?”
The question made my smirk drop. My eyes wandered downward at her words. “Here for my leg.” I laid a hand against it, holding it, squeezing it as I looked back up at her. “The transition to this world wasn't a pleasant one.”
A look of concern washed over her face. “I'm very sorry to hear that.”
“Don't worry about it,” I replied, “I wasn't doing much with it anyways. Besides, you know, walking and running and enjoying life and all that.” I gestured down the hall. “There's a coffee shop still open around these hours. You fancy a cup?”
Redheart seemed to consider it for the moment. I had to admit, for how mares went, she was pretty cute for one. Soft silky hair at the perfect amount of thinness. The bun was a good touch, if not for the collection of hair, but at how some of it came out, making her look slightly dishevelled but mostly sexy.
“Allow me to turn in these sample,” she said, “and I'll see about meeting you there.”
She came me a head start on getting a booth, which every crippled was thankful for.
Of course, she could have just been standing me up, but I hoped that wasn't the case, or else it would make bumping into her a lot more awkward. Out of all the nurses I'd been watching during my recover, she was the only one who caught my eye. I mean, her heavy flanks did that at first, but I knew there was more to that mare.
She was the only mare that did overtime in the elder wing. That's what had tipped me off at first. I stocked it up to her needing bits, but she never talked much about money, or ate anything extravagant. Redheart kept herself clean, but she didn't polish herself.
“Aw... fuck.” You stopped the pair of wooden doors, and with a sigh, turned to look at the mare to your right. “We can't go in together, Rainbro.”
“The fuck?” Rainbow was not pleased by that shit. “Why not?”
“This is a bar.”
“No shit it's a bar.”
“Yeah, but we're going into a bar together.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Fucking so?”
“Ponies will think we're dating and shit!'” You replied, crossing your arms. “We'll be giving them clues and cues and shit, you know, if we go in there at the same time.” You shrugged. “They'll think there's shit between us.”
“And since when have we ever cared what anyone else thinks?” Rainbro flapped her wings and ascended to your eye level. “You've got my back and I got yours. Fuck everyone else.”
“Profound shit, Rainbro, but does that shit imply we're dating?”
“...what?”
“You and I are tighter than some witty comparison here shit, but in real talks, are we dating?”
“I uh. Uhhhh.....”
“See?” You crossed your arms. “Our backs may be pressed together but our lips sure as hell ain't. We don't wanna be giving the wrong image when we roll in, right?”
“... … ...”
“Right?”
“... yeah, I guess.” Rainbro landed, and after looking down for a few moments, found her voice. “But... would that be all so bad?”
“What you talking about?”
“Ponies thinking we are dating and shit.” Rainbow looked back up at you. “We already hit the gym and shit together all the time, so it isn't too far of a stretch to say we've been dating for some time.”
“Rainbro?”
“... yeah?”
“That's hella gay.” You shook your head. “You're not worried 'bout ponies thinking we're gay?”
“Well, gay isn't exactly the word I'd used.”
“How the fuck not?”
“Well, I mean, my name is Rainbow Dash,” said Rainbro. “And second of all, you are male, and I'm a mare...”
“... but you're also my bro!” You threw up your hands. “Bros don't do that kissing and dating shit unless their in jail, homes! Or like that one day you needed to experiment my fingers on your—“
“Ack!” Rainbow flew up and quickly pressed her forehooves against your lips. “We don't talk about that one aloud, remember?”
