Time will tell.
Just gonna say I'l work on a post after I perform other posting priorities. Needless to say, the past few days have skewed my balance of attention among RPs and I need to give one of my longest running works some fatherly lovin'. When I write a couple parts for a post for that - or even finish it, mood depending this evening - I'll restart my cycle of posting and work on one in the future. I got an easy post to do for one, which will come before this.
Dinh AaronMk
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Bio
Harry Potter is not a world view, read another book or I will piss on the moon with my super laser piss.
Most Recent Posts
I could do a post, I certainly have the opening. However I also want to work a bit for another RP I run; Precipice of War.
I know that thing can generally go for a week without people posting and no one panics. But I've waited my week to do a post. So I should get to it. Maybe once I write a couple sections of a post for that I'll turn around and do something for this before the night's out.
I know that thing can generally go for a week without people posting and no one panics. But I've waited my week to do a post. So I should get to it. Maybe once I write a couple sections of a post for that I'll turn around and do something for this before the night's out.
Seusebi Camp
The mud and the grass rose and fell. The space was clear. Abandoned tents stood, fabric flapping in the wind. For all purposes amid the noise, there were no signs. Niyo stood at the edge of the scene, careful to not go further. As a hunter he knew being too careless would disturb any of the signs he needed to track. And as a warrior he knew he had to do it right.
Still, all the same looking into the Bugan section of the camp he could not help but feel the acidic burn of guilt crawling within him. He had been naive enough to leave his brother with them. Were they too poorly defended themselves to hold a fight and thus routed? Or could this be a plot? The questions sparked a wide number of implications, giving rise to the prince to question himself. It scarred him. It wormed in his chest. This was it. This was the feeling of guilt in its deadliest of forms.
He lowered himself to his haunches. Bending over the powdered clay. There hadn't been fighting here. Not as much as elsewhere. How many raiders had attacked their camp? It seemed enough to soak the ground and turn over the grass. Here the ground was dry and baked. The grass was thick, hardly flattened. Stalks were bent, but not flattened to the ground. It hadn't been stampeded.
Rwan and cried out to him to not leave. Had the young satyr known something wrong was going to happen? Had he felt it somehow? There was a deep seated terror in Niyo that he had not paid attention. He hadn't seen or heard the signs. There was a deep burning concern and fear he had not listened to Rwan. Perhaps if he had taken him to his mother's tent to join the battle he would be OK. Or he would have been guarded by several of his mother's retinue, and his brothers in arms.
Moving carefully through the camp he brushed his fingers through the dust. Feeling the depressions and indentations. Trying to tell their stories. Feeling and looking at which way the hoof was turned. Their size. How deep they went in. Every so often he came across a drop of blood. Rwan's probably.
On the side of his hooves and the tips of his fingers and crept over the scene like a spider. Following the trail as it weaved through the camps' clearing. It came into a tent briefly. The droplets of blood closing in on proximity. The interior was largely untouched. But things had been moved.
The matting that covered the floor was a mess of blood. Had this been where they took his brother to be treated for his injuries? Mami's medicine shaman?
In the corner was a pile of messy cushions, pushed aside against the wall, and large dry red stain on the woven thatched carpet. Nearby a pile of rags, soaked with blood. It had bled into the fabric deep, staining them vibrant shades of maroon red and deep crimson. Several flies were just beginning to busy themselves on the discarded fabric.
He knelt in the middle of the tent. Looking over the belongings that remained. Trying to imagine what had gone missing. Trivial artifacts and personal effects littered the ground and a small end-table alongside where his brother had rested. Niyo picked himself up, and moved over to it.
Small stone and wood idols covered the tables. The horse-like depictions of the spirits of health, surgery, and herbal medicine. He didn't know all their names, but I imagined if Rwan could see them he would name them all. Twenty in all made a clustered kingdom on the bed-stand, alongside needles and a dish holding a thin film of water at the bottom.
From outside he heard the sound of hooves on barren clay. He looked up at the tent entrance, and sighed. “Bui Niyo?” a voice called out. The prince stood up, walking to the tent's flap.
Shoving it aside he walked out into the faint morning sun. Glistening in the orange and yellow light stood a handful of able and ready men. Still dressed for battle, they looked to have not even cleaned their armor. Blood still caked the mail and their spears still dirtied and coated in the blood of the slain. Niyo knew them all. At their head was Idii, ready as he could be.
“Brothers.” he said smiling.
“Niyo.” Idii said, bowing, “Have you found anything yet?” he asked
“I just started. I found where they tended Rwan soon after I got him here. But it doesn't look like they were ready to move him off before tending to his wounds.” he said, gesturing to the ground at his feet. “A trail of blood – I presume his – goes in. But none comes out.”
“Fair enough.” Idii said, stepping aside, “I've your men. We'll follow you for as far as you need to go. And further if need be.” he declared, smiling.
Niyo nodded. He would have smiled, but it would've felt lost. “We'll need to find their trail.”
The mud and the grass rose and fell. The space was clear. Abandoned tents stood, fabric flapping in the wind. For all purposes amid the noise, there were no signs. Niyo stood at the edge of the scene, careful to not go further. As a hunter he knew being too careless would disturb any of the signs he needed to track. And as a warrior he knew he had to do it right.
Still, all the same looking into the Bugan section of the camp he could not help but feel the acidic burn of guilt crawling within him. He had been naive enough to leave his brother with them. Were they too poorly defended themselves to hold a fight and thus routed? Or could this be a plot? The questions sparked a wide number of implications, giving rise to the prince to question himself. It scarred him. It wormed in his chest. This was it. This was the feeling of guilt in its deadliest of forms.
He lowered himself to his haunches. Bending over the powdered clay. There hadn't been fighting here. Not as much as elsewhere. How many raiders had attacked their camp? It seemed enough to soak the ground and turn over the grass. Here the ground was dry and baked. The grass was thick, hardly flattened. Stalks were bent, but not flattened to the ground. It hadn't been stampeded.
Rwan and cried out to him to not leave. Had the young satyr known something wrong was going to happen? Had he felt it somehow? There was a deep seated terror in Niyo that he had not paid attention. He hadn't seen or heard the signs. There was a deep burning concern and fear he had not listened to Rwan. Perhaps if he had taken him to his mother's tent to join the battle he would be OK. Or he would have been guarded by several of his mother's retinue, and his brothers in arms.
Moving carefully through the camp he brushed his fingers through the dust. Feeling the depressions and indentations. Trying to tell their stories. Feeling and looking at which way the hoof was turned. Their size. How deep they went in. Every so often he came across a drop of blood. Rwan's probably.
On the side of his hooves and the tips of his fingers and crept over the scene like a spider. Following the trail as it weaved through the camps' clearing. It came into a tent briefly. The droplets of blood closing in on proximity. The interior was largely untouched. But things had been moved.
The matting that covered the floor was a mess of blood. Had this been where they took his brother to be treated for his injuries? Mami's medicine shaman?
In the corner was a pile of messy cushions, pushed aside against the wall, and large dry red stain on the woven thatched carpet. Nearby a pile of rags, soaked with blood. It had bled into the fabric deep, staining them vibrant shades of maroon red and deep crimson. Several flies were just beginning to busy themselves on the discarded fabric.
He knelt in the middle of the tent. Looking over the belongings that remained. Trying to imagine what had gone missing. Trivial artifacts and personal effects littered the ground and a small end-table alongside where his brother had rested. Niyo picked himself up, and moved over to it.
Small stone and wood idols covered the tables. The horse-like depictions of the spirits of health, surgery, and herbal medicine. He didn't know all their names, but I imagined if Rwan could see them he would name them all. Twenty in all made a clustered kingdom on the bed-stand, alongside needles and a dish holding a thin film of water at the bottom.
From outside he heard the sound of hooves on barren clay. He looked up at the tent entrance, and sighed. “Bui Niyo?” a voice called out. The prince stood up, walking to the tent's flap.
Shoving it aside he walked out into the faint morning sun. Glistening in the orange and yellow light stood a handful of able and ready men. Still dressed for battle, they looked to have not even cleaned their armor. Blood still caked the mail and their spears still dirtied and coated in the blood of the slain. Niyo knew them all. At their head was Idii, ready as he could be.
“Brothers.” he said smiling.
“Niyo.” Idii said, bowing, “Have you found anything yet?” he asked
“I just started. I found where they tended Rwan soon after I got him here. But it doesn't look like they were ready to move him off before tending to his wounds.” he said, gesturing to the ground at his feet. “A trail of blood – I presume his – goes in. But none comes out.”
“Fair enough.” Idii said, stepping aside, “I've your men. We'll follow you for as far as you need to go. And further if need be.” he declared, smiling.
Niyo nodded. He would have smiled, but it would've felt lost. “We'll need to find their trail.”
I often write posts that might climb up to ten pages. So it's not too difficult for me.
Resting his head on the rough wood of the counter Rusted Bit felt as though he could fall back asleep. It was in all matter of respects what I wanted. Or felt he wanted. And the flickering neons of the kitchen interior weren't helping his eyes. Sparking on the walls they flickered on and off in random patterns. It was painful to watch. He held his eyes close tight as he frowned.
The only blessing was the smell of hot food. It helped him forget the smell of piss and shit and brahmin sweat. He could hear the sizzling of something on a griddle. The heavy aromatic aroma of freshly grilled food.
The blue unicorn had nearly carried Rusted Bit through the streets in an envelope of his own magic. He couldn't claim it felt good, it was more a tugging on his mane. But disoriented and swimming in a painful haze that clouded his mind it was perhaps for the best. His stomach turned. He felt as though he would throw up again. But he had done that all previously. All he had was the two-punch discomfort of an empty belly twisting about itself, feeling as if it were drilling a hole through him. He felt completely tied up on the inside.
There was a soft thunk on the wooden counter. He weakly opened his eyes to see. A tall glass of water rested in front of him. A timid yellow unicorn stood nearby, giving Rusted a fearful anxious look. He wondered briefly if it was from last night. But he wouldn't know for sure. And he doubted anyone would tell him. But it didn't matter. Not to him.
“Drink, it'll make you feel better.” Rusted's suited companion barked. He sat next to him on the short row of wooden crates dragged up to the counter as rough chairs. Cushions full of dry dead grass and hay had been added to try and add a little been of comfort to the dining experience, but they did nothing but make his ass itch. Over head the sound of rain pattered across corrugated iron. The ferocity of the weather had picked up, and now the rain was more than a drizzle, but still less than a full proper rain. One could see the droplets falling to the muddied streets at least.
The entire diner was open-air. An effect of the building it was built into having been bombed out during the city's final days after the war, or as an effect of centuries of neglect and misuse. It was one of the sturdier structures in all of the ruins of Vanhoover, heavily over built from concrete, the walls were nearly as thick as a large pony, and just as solid with a skeleton of twisted steel rebar; most of which was being reused to hold a variety of coffee mugs and pans. The roof pulled over the dining area was more a shelter against the persistent elements in north-western Equestria. Even with the SPP towers restored Equestria was still clouded here. Some had hazarded it to several centuries worth of entropy gnawing at the vertigo-inducing concrete and steel spines that dotted the towers. At least one was known to have been knocked out during the Pegasi invasion ten years ago.
“It's not going to be piss again, is it?” Rusted Bits grumbled, shutting his eyes tight.
“No, I had quite enough dumping that over your head for the morning. I don't want to ask anymore Brahmin to piss into a bucket.” the blue unicorn smirked, levitating a shriveled carrot to his mouth. With a soft crunch he bit into and chewed delicately. Not really eating. More appraising it.
“No, it's clean water; or so I've been assured.” he said, “I should hope. I'm paying out good caps for this.”
“I don't feel like it. Could you give me half a day?”
“I'm afraid we don't have the time.” the unicorn sneered, “Now you're going to drink what I'm paying for or I will hold you down and force it in.”
Rusted hesitated on the sharp threat. Considering the glass of water. Grumbling he picked himself up and rose his head. He winced back at sharp searing pain as it tore through his brain. Eventually working himself up enough to shakily pick up the water and carefully drink from it. It passed his lips and dried cotton tongue, whetting them. He felt it fill his belly, and he fought to hold back the threat of vomiting. Instead only burping wetly. He still groaned at the searing pain of the rest of his external stimuli, but at least the drink had restored a little confidence in his prospects of eating.
The unicorn smiled alongside him, “Great. Keep drinking it. My employer wants you to be refreshed before you meet him.” he said invitingly, tapping his hoof on the wooden table and demanding a second glass of water.
“Your employer?” Rusted Bits said, between eyes clenched shut.
“We all work for someone in the wasteland. From top to bottom. It's all about service.” the blue stallion replied philosophically, “You're no stranger to this economic model, so why should it surprise you?”
“Because a stallion dressed as you are generally is the one being served.”
The blue stallion chuckled, grinning sardonically at Rusted. “Hardly. Though sometimes I get the pleasure. Not even my employer is the top of his chain. Keep drinking, by the way.”
“I am.” rusted croaked, taking another deep swig of the glass. “Who is your employer?”
“Just someone connected to a very large investment that we need resources to be allocated into.” the blue one sneered, “If part time.
“I'm not at liberty to discuss all the details. But I can tell you he's willing to make a large down payment on principle of you assisting us.”
“Can I back out if I don't like it?” Rusted asked.
“You could, but it would be an unwise move. But if I may ask: what would make you consider doing so?”
“I'unno. Depends.” the hungover stallion shrugged, “Can you at least tell me the job?”
“Courier. That's as far as I can go.” the blue unicorn said flatly, spreading his front hooves on the counter.
“You make being a delivery horse a shady proposition. I haven't ever been a hitman, but I didn't think this shit would come down to this sort of secrecy.”
“Oh, believe me my dear mud pony. My employer would prefer to keep it shady. He likes security.”
“I just hope his security doesn't make things look too suspicious. Some ponies get mad when things are suspicious.”
“It'll all come together.” the blue unicorn replied. Leaning back as a large plate loaded down with all varieties of piled on food was slid over to Rusted.
The caravaneer gave the plate a suspicious look. Piled in an indescribable lump were bits of red and fried green. Greasy white and caramelized browns. Alongside it was a glass of thick white milk. “The hell you order?” he asked.
“Doesn't matter. Eat it. We got a little over half an hour to go.” the blue unicorn snapped.
The only blessing was the smell of hot food. It helped him forget the smell of piss and shit and brahmin sweat. He could hear the sizzling of something on a griddle. The heavy aromatic aroma of freshly grilled food.
The blue unicorn had nearly carried Rusted Bit through the streets in an envelope of his own magic. He couldn't claim it felt good, it was more a tugging on his mane. But disoriented and swimming in a painful haze that clouded his mind it was perhaps for the best. His stomach turned. He felt as though he would throw up again. But he had done that all previously. All he had was the two-punch discomfort of an empty belly twisting about itself, feeling as if it were drilling a hole through him. He felt completely tied up on the inside.
There was a soft thunk on the wooden counter. He weakly opened his eyes to see. A tall glass of water rested in front of him. A timid yellow unicorn stood nearby, giving Rusted a fearful anxious look. He wondered briefly if it was from last night. But he wouldn't know for sure. And he doubted anyone would tell him. But it didn't matter. Not to him.
“Drink, it'll make you feel better.” Rusted's suited companion barked. He sat next to him on the short row of wooden crates dragged up to the counter as rough chairs. Cushions full of dry dead grass and hay had been added to try and add a little been of comfort to the dining experience, but they did nothing but make his ass itch. Over head the sound of rain pattered across corrugated iron. The ferocity of the weather had picked up, and now the rain was more than a drizzle, but still less than a full proper rain. One could see the droplets falling to the muddied streets at least.
The entire diner was open-air. An effect of the building it was built into having been bombed out during the city's final days after the war, or as an effect of centuries of neglect and misuse. It was one of the sturdier structures in all of the ruins of Vanhoover, heavily over built from concrete, the walls were nearly as thick as a large pony, and just as solid with a skeleton of twisted steel rebar; most of which was being reused to hold a variety of coffee mugs and pans. The roof pulled over the dining area was more a shelter against the persistent elements in north-western Equestria. Even with the SPP towers restored Equestria was still clouded here. Some had hazarded it to several centuries worth of entropy gnawing at the vertigo-inducing concrete and steel spines that dotted the towers. At least one was known to have been knocked out during the Pegasi invasion ten years ago.
“It's not going to be piss again, is it?” Rusted Bits grumbled, shutting his eyes tight.
“No, I had quite enough dumping that over your head for the morning. I don't want to ask anymore Brahmin to piss into a bucket.” the blue unicorn smirked, levitating a shriveled carrot to his mouth. With a soft crunch he bit into and chewed delicately. Not really eating. More appraising it.
“No, it's clean water; or so I've been assured.” he said, “I should hope. I'm paying out good caps for this.”
“I don't feel like it. Could you give me half a day?”
“I'm afraid we don't have the time.” the unicorn sneered, “Now you're going to drink what I'm paying for or I will hold you down and force it in.”
Rusted hesitated on the sharp threat. Considering the glass of water. Grumbling he picked himself up and rose his head. He winced back at sharp searing pain as it tore through his brain. Eventually working himself up enough to shakily pick up the water and carefully drink from it. It passed his lips and dried cotton tongue, whetting them. He felt it fill his belly, and he fought to hold back the threat of vomiting. Instead only burping wetly. He still groaned at the searing pain of the rest of his external stimuli, but at least the drink had restored a little confidence in his prospects of eating.
The unicorn smiled alongside him, “Great. Keep drinking it. My employer wants you to be refreshed before you meet him.” he said invitingly, tapping his hoof on the wooden table and demanding a second glass of water.
“Your employer?” Rusted Bits said, between eyes clenched shut.
“We all work for someone in the wasteland. From top to bottom. It's all about service.” the blue stallion replied philosophically, “You're no stranger to this economic model, so why should it surprise you?”
“Because a stallion dressed as you are generally is the one being served.”
The blue stallion chuckled, grinning sardonically at Rusted. “Hardly. Though sometimes I get the pleasure. Not even my employer is the top of his chain. Keep drinking, by the way.”
“I am.” rusted croaked, taking another deep swig of the glass. “Who is your employer?”
“Just someone connected to a very large investment that we need resources to be allocated into.” the blue one sneered, “If part time.
“I'm not at liberty to discuss all the details. But I can tell you he's willing to make a large down payment on principle of you assisting us.”
“Can I back out if I don't like it?” Rusted asked.
“You could, but it would be an unwise move. But if I may ask: what would make you consider doing so?”
“I'unno. Depends.” the hungover stallion shrugged, “Can you at least tell me the job?”
“Courier. That's as far as I can go.” the blue unicorn said flatly, spreading his front hooves on the counter.
“You make being a delivery horse a shady proposition. I haven't ever been a hitman, but I didn't think this shit would come down to this sort of secrecy.”
“Oh, believe me my dear mud pony. My employer would prefer to keep it shady. He likes security.”
“I just hope his security doesn't make things look too suspicious. Some ponies get mad when things are suspicious.”
“It'll all come together.” the blue unicorn replied. Leaning back as a large plate loaded down with all varieties of piled on food was slid over to Rusted.
The caravaneer gave the plate a suspicious look. Piled in an indescribable lump were bits of red and fried green. Greasy white and caramelized browns. Alongside it was a glass of thick white milk. “The hell you order?” he asked.
“Doesn't matter. Eat it. We got a little over half an hour to go.” the blue unicorn snapped.
TheSovereignGrave said
I don't think the culture is really that big of a deal. I mean, the Hanarth have names like Napizzi, Uthros, Elotian, Suthra, etc. while both Frisstreek and Marmon people use names like Russell, Henri, Henry, Gregory, and Sara. And it's not like there's a sort of unifying factors among the myriad societies.
Names generally aren't the sole thing in a culture, and pretty fairly over-simplifies the concept.
Though it is possible for two to not "match". But in these events one or the other are not as local to the area. Or they need to inhabit two completely different biomes and have some very major geographic division between them that would have limited cultural exchange or forced exchange to become ultimately irrelevant. Other factors might boil down to how readily one's agricultural practices may translate to someone else's (which is a long and complex Guns, Germs, and Steel thing). But you'd be looking at the differences between Incan and Amazonian tribes in comparison to the Aztec and Mayan, or pre-Islamic Iranians to pre-Islamic Turks.
Hungarian culture and language is a fairly big example of how one can differ from their neighbors. The Hungarians are in actuality not Slavic, they're more closely related to Finnish than they are the Russians and the Poles and originate from the edge of Siberia. Through tribal migration and invasion they came to fill in the underpopulated Carpathian Basin and ultimately divided the settled Slavic tribes between South and East Slavs.
Hoover, North-Western Equestria
The stink of the brahmin pit was no less stifled by the cold heavy air that punched deep into the fibers of the very city's being. Or perhaps city was hardly an apt term to use. A ruin was more accurate. One great urban ruin pocked with a dozen small settlements throughout. All of them in some way claimed the name of Vahoover in some way. It was just a way of finding which was which to find someone or something. It was just what happens in the gray stormy overcast weather.
“He doesn't look like much.” a staunch stuffy unicorn commented. His blue coat glistened with the heavy drizzle that fell over the city at a near constant. His pin-stripped suit turning soggy on his shoulders. Heaps of once-finely trimmed mane fell about his broad snarled face as he eyed the stallion passed out in the middle of a feed. The two headed cows in the pen gently ate around the dozing body of the mottled brown stallion with a bottle in one hoof.
“Appearances can be deceiving.” hissed the other. Though he was willing to give the figure the benefit of the doubt there, he certainly was far from impressed. His deep fluorescent green coat was untouched by the heavy drizzle as caught in his light-blue magic he held a heavy umbrella over his head. His oily black suit clean and pressed, despite having crossed over the whole of the wasteland.
“Well that's fine and all, but we could have passed the package along to the griffon at the tavern.” snarled the blue unicorn. He flared his nostrils as he gave a hearty sneeze through the cold rain, “And for fucks sakes I feel like I'm coming down with a cold in this weather!” he protested loudly, “Let's just go back to the hotel suite and find another.”
“If we gave the package to the griffon then she would have no doubt passed it to someone else for easy caps. She had the air of a dash addict around her. We can't trust those types.”
“And a booze hound?”
“Generally more reliable between paychecks.” commented the green one, “And besides, a lot of ponies drink these days, even with the sun in the air. They work well enough. Dash and stampede doesn't eat at them like booze.”
“For Celestia's-fucking-sake then, let's at least find somewhere to get out of this damnable weather. I would have much rather stayed back at Manehatten in any fucking case.
“I shit you not, I swear the more we stay out in the rain looking for runners – true or not – the more I feel the paycheck isn't worth the congestion.”
“If you stop your moaning then maybe I'll find something to knock your sinuses out.” the green one promised, shooting him a wry impatient expression.
“Oh yes sure, because two-hundred year old cold medicine will do anything!” the blue unicorn groaned sarcastically. He sneered at the sheepishly grazing bovine with an expression of utter contempt.
“It will if you apply the right persuasion.” smiled the green unicorn, turning.
“Fuck, that.” the blue one sneered, “I've seen what you've been able to do. Last thing I'd like to drink down is some swill you somehow irradiated.”
“The pleasures of being a doctor.” the green one chuckled. He turned to face his companion. What smile he had washed off as he caught his colleague following him. “Did I say you could come with me?” he said, his tongue was sharp and biting.
“I-” the blue one stammered weakly. He backed off a few paces, “N-no?”
“Exactly, I did not.” the green unicorn shot. His anger betrayed a thick, heavy tone. “I'm going back to the suite. I want you to sober this gentlestallion up. As I've heard, his abilities as a courier is admirable in this part of the old country. I want him coherent and in our room in an hour. Are we clear?”
“Yes sir.” bowed the blue one.
“Fine thinking.” his superior nodded, “Now from the looks of him it looks like he had a hard night of drinking. When you get him up make sure to find him some rad hog bacon and straight uncut brahmin milk. Plenty of water. I don't know how wholesome he might find it, but it'll keep his head from hurting.”
He gave a proud smirk, and turned away, holding the umbrella ever higher as he trotted along the cracked street. Stepping around puddles that lay open to the sky above and filled with cool murky water. Rivulets of discolored water trickled from the stock pens that surrounded the square, built over the ruins where buildings used to be.
As he drew out of hearing range the blue one turned to the drunken pony asleep in the animal pen. “Fucking excellent, forced to babysit a drunk.” he moaned, “Shit better be worth it.”
He looked over to the penned animals. He snarled angrily at them. “Right, I doubt you cows have any clue how to get him up.”
“Nope.” one said quietly from the far back.
****
Rusted's heart kicked hard into his chest as the sensation of being drowned washed over his body. Throwing himself up off the ground with a start he opened his eyes to a bucket's worth of warm water being thrown over his face. Caught instinctivly in a gasp for breath it took in a mouth full of the waste water, lodging his throat closed so as not to drown.
Reflex getting the better of him he soon discovered too his painful horror that he needed to breath. His chest heaved emptily against the mouth full of liquid and he threw himself to the side, rolling in the thick black muck of wherever he was and coughing out the bitter, putrid water that found itself in his mouth. Heaving, he spat out the water as his heart raced in his chest and his head was a firestorm of agonizing pain. It felt as though his head was cleft in two by an axe. All the while his chest burned from the shock and his shoulder ached.
Sprawled in the mud he groaned. Shutting his eyes against the piercing reflection of light in the piss-yellow puddles in the hoof tilled muddy ground. The smell and sight of it turned his stomach over, and to his duress he quickly found the summation of his previous night bubbling up from the depth of his stomach. Splitting hangover combined with the sickening stench of manure and he retched up the contents of his stomach, emptying out into the muck a viscous clear slime of several possible alcohol mixes. It reeked as such too.
“They say drinking too much like this will kill you.” a voice chimed mockingly behind him. It was a painful voice. High pitched and shrill. Rusted Bit would have rather dug razors into his ears than listen to whoever talk. It also made him sick again.
Letting out a burning wet burp he took deep breaths as he sat slouched over the muck. He didn't want to know how he got there. And he kept his eyes sealed shut. If he couldn't see where the pain was from, maybe it would stop hurting.
“What?” he croaked. His voice dry and strained. His breathing was deep and his head spun like a devil.
“You heard right,” the voice said again, “Drinking too much'll kill ya. Dont'cha know?”
Rusted Bit groaned and rubbed his temples. His nostrils were full of all sorts of sickening smells, and his mouth tasted like shit. “Do you want a job?” the same voice said again.
“Fuck would I want with work?” Rusted Bits protested angrily, staggering to his hooves. His entire world felt heavy.
“Because you'll get paid and I won't throw another bucket of piss on you.” the voice said again, “Now you going to crawl out of there, or will I need to douse you with some more?”
Anger boiled up inside him as he heard those words. But he felt too sick to do anything about it. He tried moving fast, squinting against the needle-like pain that bore in his eyes and wrecked havoc on his hungover head. He thought of charging over the gate and tackling whoever it was. But the thought of moving too fast just made him feel even dizzier.
Staggering to the gate he collapsed against the posts. “What's the job?” he asked bitterly.
“I'm not inclined to discuss it here.” the voice said again. Clearly stallion. To Rusted, he still looked blurry and bright, but he looked green. Wore a nice suit. Too nice, perhaps.
“But I can promise you it's not shoveling Brahmin shit.” the mysterious stallion said, nodding behind Rusted. He turned around, finding the familiar if hazy figures of well over several dozen Brahmin watching them.
What did he do last night?
“I'll also treat you to breakfast.” the stranger invited.
“Charity...” Rusted scoffed, “Fucking great. So how are you going to kill me then? A knife to the back, or will you be upfront about it as I eat some preserved carrots and shoot me in the face?”
“From the looks of you, both would be merciful. But I have to say it's neither.”
“Could we talk about it here? I'll move out as soon as I sleep off this hangover...” Rusted Bits said hopefully.
“I'm afraid that's not an option.” his perspective employer said, “Now come on, before you catch phenomena in this rain.”
The stink of the brahmin pit was no less stifled by the cold heavy air that punched deep into the fibers of the very city's being. Or perhaps city was hardly an apt term to use. A ruin was more accurate. One great urban ruin pocked with a dozen small settlements throughout. All of them in some way claimed the name of Vahoover in some way. It was just a way of finding which was which to find someone or something. It was just what happens in the gray stormy overcast weather.
“He doesn't look like much.” a staunch stuffy unicorn commented. His blue coat glistened with the heavy drizzle that fell over the city at a near constant. His pin-stripped suit turning soggy on his shoulders. Heaps of once-finely trimmed mane fell about his broad snarled face as he eyed the stallion passed out in the middle of a feed. The two headed cows in the pen gently ate around the dozing body of the mottled brown stallion with a bottle in one hoof.
“Appearances can be deceiving.” hissed the other. Though he was willing to give the figure the benefit of the doubt there, he certainly was far from impressed. His deep fluorescent green coat was untouched by the heavy drizzle as caught in his light-blue magic he held a heavy umbrella over his head. His oily black suit clean and pressed, despite having crossed over the whole of the wasteland.
“Well that's fine and all, but we could have passed the package along to the griffon at the tavern.” snarled the blue unicorn. He flared his nostrils as he gave a hearty sneeze through the cold rain, “And for fucks sakes I feel like I'm coming down with a cold in this weather!” he protested loudly, “Let's just go back to the hotel suite and find another.”
“If we gave the package to the griffon then she would have no doubt passed it to someone else for easy caps. She had the air of a dash addict around her. We can't trust those types.”
“And a booze hound?”
“Generally more reliable between paychecks.” commented the green one, “And besides, a lot of ponies drink these days, even with the sun in the air. They work well enough. Dash and stampede doesn't eat at them like booze.”
“For Celestia's-fucking-sake then, let's at least find somewhere to get out of this damnable weather. I would have much rather stayed back at Manehatten in any fucking case.
“I shit you not, I swear the more we stay out in the rain looking for runners – true or not – the more I feel the paycheck isn't worth the congestion.”
“If you stop your moaning then maybe I'll find something to knock your sinuses out.” the green one promised, shooting him a wry impatient expression.
“Oh yes sure, because two-hundred year old cold medicine will do anything!” the blue unicorn groaned sarcastically. He sneered at the sheepishly grazing bovine with an expression of utter contempt.
“It will if you apply the right persuasion.” smiled the green unicorn, turning.
“Fuck, that.” the blue one sneered, “I've seen what you've been able to do. Last thing I'd like to drink down is some swill you somehow irradiated.”
“The pleasures of being a doctor.” the green one chuckled. He turned to face his companion. What smile he had washed off as he caught his colleague following him. “Did I say you could come with me?” he said, his tongue was sharp and biting.
“I-” the blue one stammered weakly. He backed off a few paces, “N-no?”
“Exactly, I did not.” the green unicorn shot. His anger betrayed a thick, heavy tone. “I'm going back to the suite. I want you to sober this gentlestallion up. As I've heard, his abilities as a courier is admirable in this part of the old country. I want him coherent and in our room in an hour. Are we clear?”
“Yes sir.” bowed the blue one.
“Fine thinking.” his superior nodded, “Now from the looks of him it looks like he had a hard night of drinking. When you get him up make sure to find him some rad hog bacon and straight uncut brahmin milk. Plenty of water. I don't know how wholesome he might find it, but it'll keep his head from hurting.”
He gave a proud smirk, and turned away, holding the umbrella ever higher as he trotted along the cracked street. Stepping around puddles that lay open to the sky above and filled with cool murky water. Rivulets of discolored water trickled from the stock pens that surrounded the square, built over the ruins where buildings used to be.
As he drew out of hearing range the blue one turned to the drunken pony asleep in the animal pen. “Fucking excellent, forced to babysit a drunk.” he moaned, “Shit better be worth it.”
He looked over to the penned animals. He snarled angrily at them. “Right, I doubt you cows have any clue how to get him up.”
“Nope.” one said quietly from the far back.
****
Rusted's heart kicked hard into his chest as the sensation of being drowned washed over his body. Throwing himself up off the ground with a start he opened his eyes to a bucket's worth of warm water being thrown over his face. Caught instinctivly in a gasp for breath it took in a mouth full of the waste water, lodging his throat closed so as not to drown.
Reflex getting the better of him he soon discovered too his painful horror that he needed to breath. His chest heaved emptily against the mouth full of liquid and he threw himself to the side, rolling in the thick black muck of wherever he was and coughing out the bitter, putrid water that found itself in his mouth. Heaving, he spat out the water as his heart raced in his chest and his head was a firestorm of agonizing pain. It felt as though his head was cleft in two by an axe. All the while his chest burned from the shock and his shoulder ached.
Sprawled in the mud he groaned. Shutting his eyes against the piercing reflection of light in the piss-yellow puddles in the hoof tilled muddy ground. The smell and sight of it turned his stomach over, and to his duress he quickly found the summation of his previous night bubbling up from the depth of his stomach. Splitting hangover combined with the sickening stench of manure and he retched up the contents of his stomach, emptying out into the muck a viscous clear slime of several possible alcohol mixes. It reeked as such too.
“They say drinking too much like this will kill you.” a voice chimed mockingly behind him. It was a painful voice. High pitched and shrill. Rusted Bit would have rather dug razors into his ears than listen to whoever talk. It also made him sick again.
Letting out a burning wet burp he took deep breaths as he sat slouched over the muck. He didn't want to know how he got there. And he kept his eyes sealed shut. If he couldn't see where the pain was from, maybe it would stop hurting.
“What?” he croaked. His voice dry and strained. His breathing was deep and his head spun like a devil.
“You heard right,” the voice said again, “Drinking too much'll kill ya. Dont'cha know?”
Rusted Bit groaned and rubbed his temples. His nostrils were full of all sorts of sickening smells, and his mouth tasted like shit. “Do you want a job?” the same voice said again.
“Fuck would I want with work?” Rusted Bits protested angrily, staggering to his hooves. His entire world felt heavy.
“Because you'll get paid and I won't throw another bucket of piss on you.” the voice said again, “Now you going to crawl out of there, or will I need to douse you with some more?”
Anger boiled up inside him as he heard those words. But he felt too sick to do anything about it. He tried moving fast, squinting against the needle-like pain that bore in his eyes and wrecked havoc on his hungover head. He thought of charging over the gate and tackling whoever it was. But the thought of moving too fast just made him feel even dizzier.
Staggering to the gate he collapsed against the posts. “What's the job?” he asked bitterly.
“I'm not inclined to discuss it here.” the voice said again. Clearly stallion. To Rusted, he still looked blurry and bright, but he looked green. Wore a nice suit. Too nice, perhaps.
“But I can promise you it's not shoveling Brahmin shit.” the mysterious stallion said, nodding behind Rusted. He turned around, finding the familiar if hazy figures of well over several dozen Brahmin watching them.
What did he do last night?
“I'll also treat you to breakfast.” the stranger invited.
“Charity...” Rusted scoffed, “Fucking great. So how are you going to kill me then? A knife to the back, or will you be upfront about it as I eat some preserved carrots and shoot me in the face?”
“From the looks of you, both would be merciful. But I have to say it's neither.”
“Could we talk about it here? I'll move out as soon as I sleep off this hangover...” Rusted Bits said hopefully.
“I'm afraid that's not an option.” his perspective employer said, “Now come on, before you catch phenomena in this rain.”
Anywhere and everywhere.
It helps if you have a roadmap in mind already. I know what to do, roughly where it'll be headed, and some things that'll happen along the way.
It helps if you have a roadmap in mind already. I know what to do, roughly where it'll be headed, and some things that'll happen along the way.
Goldeagle1221 said
Well, incredible historical isolation might solve culture schisms.
And generally such things tend to only work long-term if they were an island and didn't get invaded.
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