Let Sleeping Ponies Lie...
For the sleepy little frontier town of Appleloosa all was quiet.
Celestia’s sun had just peeked over the mountain tops, bathing the town and the surrounding valley in its comforting light. With this light came the familiar dry heat that was the norm for the little town. It was an all-encompassing heat, one that could evaporate a bucket of water in mere minutes, but it was nothing that the town’s residents couldn’t handle.
All throughout the little town pony and buffalo alike conducted their business with the kind of slow, meandering pace that one could only find in a sleepy little town such as this. Nopony was in any hurry, there was no urgency to any activity; every pony and buffalo went about their day in slow and measured steps, just like they had the day before, and the day before that and the day before that.
Things were as they always had been. Nothing truly significant happened in this little town nowadays other than a bar fight or three. Nopony important came to visit, the weather didn’t change and everypony knew everypony else’s name. That was how many ponies in this town liked it and that’s how they were going to keep this town; sleepy, quiet, where nothing happened and nothing would continue to happen.
And this firmly held ideal would have been upheld for another day more if not for a figure making its way from the Badlands to the quiet little town.
At first the shimmering heat made the figure’s shape all but impossible to make out. But , as the minutes dragged on, one could see that dark blob that stood out in the reddish tint of the desert start to take shape and form. Though the mystery figure earned itself a few glances from some of the townsponies none really thought all that much of it. It was simply a passerby that was probably coming into town for supplies. They’d get what they needed, they might stay the night and they’d be gone. It wasn’t like it was anypony important after all. But as the figure drew near stallion, mare, bull and cow alike began to think that this average, everyday traveler was anything but.
Since this small, sleepy little town didn’t see much in the way of entertainment or unusual guests there was a lot of discreet standing around, pony and buffalo alike trying to look like they were busy as they waited for their soon-to-be guest to arrive so that they could get an eyeful and maybe a tale to tell their families around the dinner table.
The blob started to take shape. The figure was riding a monstrous beast, his or her features hidden under an old, dusty poncho and a wide-brimmed dark brown hat. The beast they were riding was a monster that was recognizable at any distance: a Manticore. And the Manticore, just like the being on top of the big beast, was wearing a hat, though, unlike its rider, the Manticore’s hat was of a floral design.
As unusual as it was for somepony to be riding a Manticore, ts was even odder to see one wearing a hat of any kind. So, sneaking peeks at the oncoming figure whenever they could, the little groups clustered around each other and started to speak amongst themselves.
Who was this lone figure? Why was he or she making their way into town? Why were they riding one of the most dangerous creatures of the Everfree? How did they manage to get the Manticore to wear that silly hat?
So enveloped in asking these questions and trying to find their answers many of the ponies didn’t notice as the figure slowly made their way past them. The figure did not spur his mount forward as he made his way into town, he did not stop to shout a greeting to any of the onlookers. This mysterious being just hid under his hat and let his mount make his way through the streets with an eerie silence that would put even the stoutest of hearts on edge.
Worn, calloused hands gripped the well-worn reins that guided the Manticore forward. From underneath the hat one could see a pair of icy blue eyes searching. An unlit cigar was clenched in the creature’s maw, fat and long and reeking of tobacco. His hat was worn and faded and covered in sand and dust, slightly too big for his head but small enough so that it didn’t move about his head with each lumbering step the Manticore took.
Suddenly the figure stopped his out-of-place steed and looked toward one of the crowds of ponies, revealing his leathery, sun-tanned face. “I’m looking for a tavern,” the creature said, his voice coarse and scratchy. “Do you folks know where I could find one around here?”
Startled, many of the ponies just stared up at the strange creature with their mouths agape. While they had been expecting someone new to come into town they never expected someone like this! This wasn’t some friendly passerby. This was a thug, an outlaw, a bad one, someone that good, mild-mannered ponies stay away from.
The creature’s mount growled, causing more than a few of them to jump in fright.
“I’m looking for a tavern,” the being repeated, a bit of impatience creeping into his voice. “Could you point me in the right direction?”
Looks were exchanged before, as a group, some ponies pointed to the one and only tavern in Appleloosa: the Saltlick Spittoon.
The man looked toward the building, his eyes narrowing slightly. Looking back at the group he flicked his hat. “Much obliged,” he said politely with a nod, spurring the Manticore on once more with a gentle kick to its barrel.
Like its name suggested, the Saltlick Spittoon wasn’t Appleloosa's most respectable establishment. This was where the town’s laborers and ne’er-do-wells would hang out after a long day of debauchery. This was the place where cider of all kinds was drunk and cards were played.
The sheriff and his deputies did their best to steer ponies clear of that place whilst doing their best to contain the roughhousing to that single building. It was a hard place. A place that had been built during Appleloosa’s founding. As tough as a withered oak tree and as mean as a mangy possum, only the toughest and the baddest could walk into that tavern and hold their ground.
Though it was barely lunchtime, the Spittoon was nearly filled to brim. Though there wasn’t as much cider being drunk out of dirty glass mugs as there would be in the evening there was card playing aplenty, along with hooting and hollering and an all-around jovial atmosphere. Just like the town itself, all was well in the tavern. There hadn’t been any fights yet, only two ponies had been thrown out (physically of course) for cheating at Go Fish, and even the floors were relatively free of its usual grim and dirt. But like a water in the desert, it was only temporary, and that peace was about to come to an end.
Over all of this laughing and carrying on, one might have been able to make out the sound of spurs tapping against old floor boards. Over the shouting and pushing and playful banter you would have been able to hear heavy footsteps just outside the door. If you would have looked toward the saloon doors you would have seen the silhouette of a hulking giant of a man and the shadow that he cast. You might have even seen two big, rugged hands grabbing onto either one of the batwing doors.
While most of the saloon’s patrons were too busy to notice all of these little sights and sounds not a single one of them could ignore the squeaky, almost ear-splitting sound of the doors being thrown open.
All conversation stopped, each and every pony and buffalo turning toward the doorway to stare at the rugged stranger. Said cowpoke ignored the stares, quietly taking off his old, worn out hat and slapping it against his hip, sending dust and dirt everywhere. The sound of iron spurs spinning could be heard with each step he took toward the bar. A pair of stallions quickly hopped out of their stools as the stranger drew near the bar and sat down.
“You need something, stranger?” the barkeep asked, spitting into the glass mug that he had been cleaning for the past two hours with the same dirty rag.
Slowly the cowpoke took his unlit cigar out of his mouth and placed it into his pocket. “Lemonade,” he growled, slapping his hat on the table. “In the biggest glass you got.”
The request garnered some murmurs from the other patrons as the bartender reached under the counter and grabbed the biggest glass that the bar offered: the Thirst Quencher. “One lemonade coming right up.”
Not another sound could be heard after that as everyone at the bar eyed this strange creature that had just walked through the door. Eyes nervously scanned the room, ponies began mapping out exit plans in their minds. Though they didn’t know who the heck this stranger was they could tell that he was trouble. Something was going to happen; something not very good at all.
An earth stallion by the name Grassroots finally broke the tense, overpowering silence. “I ain’t seen somepony like you before, mister!” Ignoring the looks that the other patrons of the bar were giving him, the threatening aura that the stranger was giving off, and common sense itself, Grassroots hopped out of his seat and trotted over toward the strange creature with a big grin on his face. Jumping into the seat next to him the stallion smiled and extended a hoof. “The name’s Grass Roots! It’s nice to meet ‘cha mister!”
The stranger said nothing as Roots hoof stayed extended; he just continued to stare straight ahead, almost as if he hadn’t heard the colt. Roots smile faltered, his hoof slowly lowering.
“S-So what brings you all the way out here, stranger? We usually don’t have many ponies coming t-through these parts.”
Roots jumped as a mug slid down the counter. Still staring straight ahead, the stranger extended a hand and caught the mug filled to the brim with lemonade.
“I’m just passing through,” the man finally said. “Just finished some work in the dragon lands and decided to come through here to get to bugbear country.”
“Oh? And what work were you doing all the way in the dragon lands?”
The stranger said nothing, staring down at the glass of lemonade. The smile on Roots’ face fell off his face completely as the stranger picked up the glass and brought it to his lips. The patrons of the bar watched in awe as the cowpoke drained the big glass mug in three gulps, smacking his lips as he sat the mug back down.
“Barkeep? I’d like another if you don’t mind.”
Longhorn, a professional ne’er-do-well and one of the taverns regulars, slammed a hoof against the table that he was sitting at. “The stallion asked you a question, stranger,” he snapped, glaring at the back of the traveler’s head.
“I heard ‘em.”
“Then answer the question! Didn’t your momma ever teach you to answer ponies that asked you questions?”
The stranger looked over his shoulder at the big stallion before he turned toward Grassroots. His eyes scanned the colt’s bearded face, searching, before he turned around. “No. Why don’t you mind your own business and play your cards, partner?”
Longhorn’s eyes widened. “What the hay did you say to me?!” He was about get out of his chair when one of his fellow shirkers stopped him with a hoof as he shook his head.
Longhorn’s table glared at the back of the stranger's head as the bartender slide him another lemonade.
“Oh? So we got a tough guy here?”
“Who does he think he is?”
“Somepony needs to teach ‘em a lesson.”
“His poncho looks dumb.”
Still glaring, they rose out of their seats and made their way toward the exit, all of them mumbling threats and curses under their breaths. Though he could hear everything that they said the traveler paid them no mind, simply sitting there and enjoying his big glass of lemonade. The bartender once again grabbed the glass that he had been cleaning and pulled out the dirty old rag he had jammed in his waistband, eyeing him in irritation.
“You know there’s better ways to get yourself a pie in the face, stranger,” he said, nudging his head at the door that the group of card players had just walked through. “The colt whose feathers you just ruffled was the outlaw Longhorn, and them that he was with were his boys.”
The stranger took a sip of his drink. “Oh?”
The barkeep nodded. “Yep, and you’re lucky that they just didn’t go and pie you in my bar.” He lifted up the glass toward the light. Making a face he once again spit in the mug. “Though that don’t mean that you’re gonna be safe until you leave town. From what I saw you riled Longhorn up real good; if I were you I’d watch your back until you crossed the river.”
The stranger quickly drained his glass until there was just a bit of lemonade at the bottom of the glass. Swirling around the backwash he set down the mug and pulled out a bag of bits, tossing a few golden coins onto the counter. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said, picking up his hat and placing it on his head. “I just came into town for a drink. I’ll be out of town before suppertime. Thanks for the drinks.”
The sounds of a Manticore snarling and ponies jeering and yelling filled the air as the traveler made his way toward the exit. But the stranger didn’t stop or increase his pace,he simply walked over to the door and threw it open, two dozen eyes on his back as he did so.
“Yeah! Take that you overgrown cat!”
“Whoo! Look that ‘em twitch boys!”
“Hit ‘em in the face again!”
Upon opening the door the stranger saw that his mount, who he had tied up near the saloon’s watering trough, was covered in bits and pieces of apple pie. In fact it was so covered in pies that it’s usually yellowish, tannish fur was all apple-y and crusty and its mane was in ruins. The beast looked none too pleased by the pie shower, its tail flicking back and forth and it’s bat-like wings flapping against its sides as its eyes wildly darted around. It looked about ready to tear the pole it was tied to out of the ground so it could get at its attackers, who were none other than Longhorn and his gang.
“Hey, pass me another pie, Bo. I wanna see if I can hit its tail!”
“Yer an ugly thing ain’tcha?”
Stepping onto the porch of the saloon the stranger took in the scene before him calmly before clearing his throat. “Excuse me.”
The stallions stopped their wicked pie throwing to stare at him. Smirking, Longhorn came into view, a pie in either hoof. “Did you need something stranger?” he asked.
Reaching into his poncho, the traveler pulled out his cigar. Sticking it into his mouth he started to gently chew on it. “That’s my mount you’re playing with.”
The stallions grinned. “We thought that your monster needed a makeover,” one of them said, tossing his pie at the Manticore as the others chuckled and jeered. “Hope ya don’t mind.”
The stranger stepped off the porch and made his way over to his mount, causing the stallions to retreat a few steps. Though the Manticore looked as muffed as ever it seemed to calm down a bit as he laid a hand on its side, a low purr escaping its throat. Patting his beast’s thick hide a few times he once again turned toward the gang.
Looking at them all for a moment he sighed and put his hands on his hips. “She’s feeling real bad.”
The gang members looked at each other in confusion. “Huh?” One of them said.
The stranger looked away as he took his cigar out of his mouth and spat. “My Manticore,” he said matter-of-factly. “You got her all riled up throwing all of those pies at her like you did.”
The Manticore growled, bits of whipped cream and pie filling flying all through the air as she shook her head.
The gang looked at each other. “Are you making some kind of joke, stranger?” one of them demanded, hefting a pie threateningly.
“No, no,” the traveler said with a shake of his head. “See, I understand that you fellas were just playing around with my old girl here. But the Manticore, see, she just doesn’t get it.” His almost friendly and calm demeanor became tense. “Course, if you all went and apologized…”
Without a second thought the gang threw their heads back and laughed, all except Longhorn, who stared at the man with narrowing eyes. As they laughed the stranger looked down for a moment, his face hidden under his hat, and without another word he threw back his poncho. The laughter in the air died when the gang got an eyeful of the occupied twin holsters on the stranger’s hips.
Taking the cigar out of his mouth and placing it inside of his pocket, he looked back up, his gaze cold and hard. “I don’t think it’s nice… you laughing.”
One of the gang members took a step back. The others readied the pies sitting on their backs. There was a tension in the air, one that could, and was going to, boil over with the slightest of provocation.
“See, my Manticore don’t like people laughing,” the stranger continued with a growl, his eyes narrowing down to slits as his hands glided over his holsters. “She gets the crazy idea that you’re laughing at her.” He took a step forward, prompting the stallions to take a step back. “But if you all apologize, like I know you’re going to, I might be able to convince her that you really did mea—“
With a cry one of the stallions launched the apple pie that he was holding as hard as he could. The second that that pie left his hoof the other’s started throwing their pies. Before any of those pies were anywhere near their target the stranger gracefully stepped out of their path and launched himself forward toward the group of stallions.
“Get ‘em! GET ‘EM!”
“HE’S A’COMIN’ FELLAS!”
Before anypony could reach for another pie the traveler was within arm’s length of one of the thugs. Eyes widening and a sound of panic escaping his lips, the stallion tried to backpedal so that he had enough time to grab another pie. But the stranger with the pale blue eyes was too fast. Reaching out with a hand, extended his fingers, he quickly booped that stallion right in the center of his nose before anypony could do anything to stop him.
“AURGH!”
The stallion’s nose scrunched up violently and his eyes crossed. Before anypony could say anything his body tensed, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his ears wiggled vigorously, as he flopped onto the ground like a sack of potatoes, out like a light and as stiff as a board.
“Clydesdale! You SOB!”
Pie after pie was launched at the strange creature with the old, worn hat and the dusty poncho, but they may as well have been trying to hit a bolt of lightning. The stranger was inequinely fast, his pale blue eyes shining in the harsh desert sun as he made his way toward his next victim.
“LOOK OUT RAILROAD! HE’S AIMING FOR YER SNOZZLE!”
Flinging his pies off his back, Railroad the part-time delinquent spun around and bucked as hard as he could, trying to knock his opponent into next week with a kick, or at least stop his advance. Amazingly, the cowpoke didn’t even slow down. Crouching down impossibly low, the stranger dodged the buck and continued forward. Before the stallion knew what had hit him he was on his back with his hooves up in the air.
“What in tarnation? Get away from me ya va—not! Don’t you go don’t that now! Don’t you go—HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STOP IT! STOP IT!”
The remaining gang members watched in horror as the stranger, his eyes still narrowed, squatted down and placed his hands on the stallion’s belly. The second that his fingers brushed against Railroad’s stomach the stallion giggled and his hooves playfully kicked. The fingers on one of his hands moved up and down the stallion’s belly, sending the colt into a laughing fit.
“Who’s a good pony?” the man growled, his other hand reaching up to tickle Railroad under his neck. “Who’s a good pony?”
Railroad squirmed, trying to get away from those surprisingly soft hands. Tears were streaming down his face as he struggled to get in a breath in between laughing fits. Though it hadn’t even been a minute, he could feel his body screaming for mercy. It was too much; he needed the tickling to stop.
“I’M A GOOD PONY! I’M A GOOD PONY!”
“Who’s a pretty little pony?”
“I AM! I AM!”
“Who’s a little cutie?”
“I AM! I’M THE CUTEST!”
As quickly as they came the stranger’s hands left Railroad’s belly, leaving him panting on the floor a giggling and sweaty mess. Standing up, the traveler dusted himself off and turned toward the remaining stallions: two colts who looked ready to run, and Longhorn himself, who was sporting an apple pie in each hoof and a snarl on his face.
“Look at what ya did to my boys!” Longhorn roared. “You’re gonna pay! I swear to Celestia that you’re gonna—”
Finally the stranger reached onto the holsters on his hips. Whatever else Longhorn had to say died in his throat when he saw a pair of brushes in each of his hands, one for the mane and tail and one for a pony’s coat. Both the stallion and the man glared at each other as the other two stallions slowly began to back away. Their bodies tensed as they waited for the perfect moment to attack. One wrong move, one misstep, would end in either someone getting pied or somepony getting the brushing of a lifetime.
“You know that you can still apologize to my Manticore over here,” the stranger growled. “I’m sure she’ll still take an apology if you’re offering it.”
Longhorn turned his head and spat. “There’s no—” And just like that the stranger was in front of him, his brushes at the ready.
“BOSS!”
“LONGHORN!”
Eyes widening in alarm, Longhorn tried to smash the traveler in the face with both of his pies as the brushes came flying toward him. Both the stranger and Longhorn’s hats flew off their heads as the pies hit the worn, mangy thing on the human’s head and one of the brushes knocked Longhorn’s brand new iron studded hat away. Now weaponless, the stallion tried to back away to get some breathing room when a hand roughly grabbed him by the collar of his vest.
“Got ya.” Standing to his full height, the stranger lifted Longhorn bodily into the air and held him at arm’s length.
“GET OFF OF ME YA VARMINT!” the stallion snarled, kicking and wiggling as hard as he could kick and wiggle. “GET OFF—“
Without saying a word the stranger sat down cross legged on that dusty dirty road. Ripping off Long Horn’s vest he sat the little pony in his lap and raised one of the brushes to deliver the killing blow.
The last two remaining gang members could only watch as their leader had his mane, tail, and eventually coat brushed. And not only was he brushed he was brushed with the dedication and thoroughness that only came from years of experience brushing ponies and other furry critters. This… monster in front of them had done this many times before, and from what they could see he took great pleasure in doing it.
Sick to their stomachs and terrified beyond belief, the stallions turned tail and ran as fast as they could, hoping with everything that they had that the stranger wouldn’t get them.
Longhorn struggled weakly against the traveler’s grip as his tummy was gently brushed. “You can’t… I didn’t… plea…” His eyes slowly fluttered shut, his front legs tucking themselves against his chest as he slowly drifted off into sleep.
The stranger was a merciless man however, so he continued his brushing even after the stallion had fallen asleep. It was only when every inch of the earth pony’s body had been brushed so that his fur was gleaming in the sun and softer than the softest silk did he stop.
Gently laying the stallion onto the ground, the stranger stood up and dusted himself off and slipped his terrible weapons back into their holsters. Bending over, he reached down and grabbed the fallen stallion’s hat. After looking it over for a minute or two he set it on his head and made his way over toward his patiently waiting mount.
As he passed an alley he saw an elderly stallion working on a pair of bedframes. “Bed maker?”
The elderly stallion looked up as the stranger pulled out his cigar and stuck it back into his mouth. “Did ya need something, lad?”
The traveler looked back at the three sleeping stallions that were lying in the middle of the street. “If I were you I’d have three more beds made by suppertime.”
“Three you say?” the stallion said, scratching his head as the stranger once again made his way toward mount.
The stranger’s eyes hardened. “Yeah,” he said simply, his hands grazing his brushes. “Three.”
As the bed maker watched the odd creature walk away he couldn’t help but wonder if somepony else was going to have to make some more beds in the next town that this stranger walked into. Something told him that that’d be the case.
Author's Note
I don't know where this came from. Maybe I didn't get enough sleep, maybe I was watching too many cowboy movies. But here it is. I think.
I might write some more if I feel like it. I haven't decided yet.
