Tales From Wary Wardens': a Cupid in Crime and a Thief

A baton smashed against the bars of the cell “wake up! Come on; get up, you lazy slobs!” Spike’s eyes were bloodshot; tears almost rolling down his cheeks; his eyes stung like a hornets’ nest was in his head. As he rose from his minor slumber, his eye lids hung down; he looked half dead, maybe more. “Come on, up and at them!” The warden was right outside the Dragon’s cell, banging against the metal; trying to keep him awake. In his half dozed state; he snatched the stick and threw it at the guard’s head “Oh, you want to play? You, dirty rat, you want to play?” The other inmates roared with jeers and cheers; it was like a coliseum, a gladiator and a lion; well, a gladiator wearing a jumpsuit and a lion with hooves.

“Look, brown bucket, I’m Spike T. Bursa, the Dragon convicted into ‘Wary Wardens’’ the most dangerous place in this prison, now, now let’s say I’m thinking like you, well, you are saying: I’m going to pick a fight with an inmate from it. Do you think that makes the slightest bit of sense?” He swept his hands down; his claws were colliding with the bars; sparks jumped everywhere. “Look, I’ll cut you some slag, fatso, leave now, you leave with all four legs, deal?”

“Yes-s-s-s-s, sir” then he continued; trotted through the block, waking up the others.

Spike walked the block in a line of other convicts, all different shape, sizes; but all ponies; no other dragons, not even a changeling. The line was walking down the corridors, through the other blocks; the other inmates backed off as the Wary Wardens’ residents passed; some almost trying to dig into the wall with their backs. Fear was the only thing that haunted this place; no ghosts, no ghouls, no demons, just plain old fear; whether it was the inmates getting scared or the wardens getting cold sweats; it was the same none the less; Wary Wardens’ powered the generator and the generator controlled the terror. The line was going to do their chores; whether it was washing clothes or cracking stones, it was yet to be debated. Although out the line, whispers were trying to slip around; most were about the morning and the truncheon; the loudest was a stallion behind him, you could probably hear him over a thunderstorm with hurricanes; he just wouldn’t be quiet for a minute. After halfway down this corridor, Spike’s slither of sanity snapped; mental tape doesn’t hold that well. Spike lobed his claws at his thought, gagging him; his irritating words becoming a pitiful wheeze; the line’s murmurs stopped. He let go of his throat; there was wounds where spike had clenched his claws.

“Could I please ask a favour?” His gruff voice swarmed the silence of the hallway; but a sea of nodding heads followed it “Would all of you please shut up about me!” His shout shot through the corridor like an arrow; again, followed by a sea of nodding heads. “Thank you, now let’s keep going!”

They continued their stroll onwards, but the murmurs didn’t continue, but it had split into two things: Some looking back at him, and some trying to burrow into the back of his head with their eyes. But Spike bottled the rage and continued. When the long line stopped at a brown door, groans began to go off from different areas in the queue. When the door was opened, it went out into a large hall, wooden walls, brick walls and it stank of fat guys’ sweat and cheap soap. While the line bustled around, attempted to get into the hall, a green Pegasus leant against the wall; tooth pick in mouth; eyes beady like a raven. She was watermelon green, her mane was even greener; she looked a bit like a garden. She wasn’t wearing the suit, like the other wardens, just the shirt and tie, no hat; but this made it even worse, as her hair was shooting out into different places. Her cutie mark was a heart, split in two. She was Watermelon Lace, but, because of rumours and another obvious reason, she was nicknamed ‘the heart breaker’, but she would most likely break your spine first.

When the colts had stopped their hoof tapping, made a bit of a crowd, and were completely silent; the Warden spoke:

“Okay, you are going to the pits, we’ll see you here in about six hours or in hell, which one comes first,” She was still leaning against the wall, barely no emotion in her voice, but a slither of boredom was there; it seems commanding a whole cell block of the most dangerous criminals isn’t really a rush “six hours, pits, here or hell, got that?” She spat the tooth pick at the crowd, hitting one of them square in the chest, it was ‘bulldog’ his skin could be amour for tanks, he was scarred and battered, his left eye was blind because of a slash attack by a lone mugger, he was, apparently, a murderer; killing his own brother. He had a brown mullet and pale cream skin, the pick snapped on contact; he just grunted, and glared a bit harder. The crowd shifted uneasily; he grunted loader and they stopped shuffling; but then he spoke:

“Let’s go,” his voice was as gruff as a train running on sand paper; the crowd didn’t move, just stood there “Ahem. Let’s go!” He said again but it seemed gruffer; now the crowd moved, out of a door; as the line went through, ‘Bulldog’ smirked at ‘Heart breaker’; he looked even more horrifying when he was smirking.