Beeline | Bellbrooke --> Bellbrooke Reform School
A pale green earth pony watched as Beeline fiddled with the straps on his armor, repeatedly tightening and loosening the bindings holding the plates in place. “Where ya headed so soon, Bee?”
“T’the reform school,” Beeline grunted after a few seconds, satisfied with the fit of his armor. It wasn’t until he was deep into his coat that his roommate asked a follow up question.
“A job.” He looked up from his coat’s zipper. “Didn’t say what fer, jus’ told me the pay was good. Kinda job only a pony o’ my caliber could perform.” He slung his rifle over his shoulder, the hunk of mismatched metals fitting into a pair of loops on his saddlebags. “Figure there ain’t nothin’ wrong with havin’ a look, right?”
“But what about the artifact? You know, what we all came here for? You’re still going to help us, right?”
“Look. Fer all our sake, this magical, wish-granting whoozimawhatsit’d better be hearsay some merchant cooked up ta drive business out ‘ere,” he said as he adjusted his hat, “‘Cause I reckon if it is a real artifact, that can grant wishes...” With a derisive snort, Beeline stepped backward, through the doorway and out into the hall. “I don’t want any part in it. How do ya surmise Earth got the way it is?”
Beeline left while his friend was still distracted. He knew nothing he could say would dissuade the scavenger. The Artifact as he, and many others he’d come in contact with, had begun to call it, dominated every conversation. It was an obsession. Beeline could sense every ounce of it, and the simultaneous desire to feed upon and distance oneself from that gross mass had bred nothing more than resentment for his host.
He needed somebody new to latch onto. Preferably, somebody that wouldn’t lead him into a pit of greed and betrayal.
It didn’t take long for Beeline to cross the gap between the walls of Bellbrooke and the reform school. “Hello?” he called into the lobby as he shook the snow from his legs, “I’m here to see the headmaster.”