Equestrian Rejects

The three opposites were sitting in a warehouse. The room smells strange, no doubt due to the weird sheets of black slime that drip from cracks in the ceiling and spread across the floor. The slime seeps from the shattered stone of the ceiling at a snail’s crawl, forming a mess of dangling walls of gook. Bit by bit, the stuff separates from a sheet and drops to the ground with a wet plop, making a cloud of black smoke; within the cloud was the smell of burning garbage. Smashed bookcases and their sundered contents litter the floor. Paper rots in mould-spotted heaps, and the shatter woods had been scavenged to make some temporary weapons. The band was around a stained oak table, with hooves of cards, all slightly cindered around the edges.

“Alright, prepare to get slaughtered, and prepare to pay back the tip,” Merc and Private looked across the table; puzzled faces on their faces. “The tip, the one you two dicks ran out on”

“We paid the tip” Merc smirked; either the answer of the mischievous grin was in the cards or another babyish joke; probably both.

“No you didn’t” Prof didn’t smirk; just frowned, while pushing his cards back onto the table “also, fuck”

“We did,” the childish stallion was still smirking “and, the pot is mine” he chortled to himself while dragging the chips over to him.

“The game is still going, also, fine, what did you pay the waiter with?” Prof picked up another pair of cards

“Well, my beautiful face, don’t you know anything more fucking handsome then my face?” He placed his cards down on the table and holstered his face in his hooves.

“This black fucking glue on the ceiling,” as if by magic; when Prof pointed up, a wad of the black stuff fell and landed on the table; completely destroying it, covering the shards in a toxic stench “Holy fucking hell!” Silence fell across the whole warehouse.

“Shit, that’s the end of the poker game” Private breaking two silences; the warehouse’s and his own.

“You weren’t even playing, you bastard” Merc anger rose as he was about to win his yearly money from Prof; twenty bits.

“So? It’s fun to see you bicker like a married couple” Private chuckled like a clown.

“Indeed it is, my old chap, hey Private” Merc started to trot to the side of Private; almost walking past him.

“What?” Private’s puzzled look was as priceless as seeing your friend get shot down.

“Heads up,” Merc quickly picked up a large piece of shattered wood, and slashed Private’s chest “oops, sorry, chest up” Merc smirked in the way that you only see the moment a pony who had went insane.

“What the fuck?! You son of a bitch!” Private reached for his chest; it was only a cut; but the splintering had filling the place with sharp shards of wood.

“Hey! Just lost twenty bits and you know,” one of the shattered bookcases shook the floor when it destroyed on the concrete floor, then a scurry was heard. It appears the idiots weren’t alone...