Equestrian Rejects

by Nordenfelt

Rating: teen
Tags:
Length: 2387

In a unknowing world, a band of idiots must fight off creatures unknown to all, except them, having front row experiences... These creatures hide in plain sight, royalty or common citizens.

Being the only ponies knowing secret information about creatures threatening existence, this group of opposites must protect their land, banded together were; a patriot, a nerd and a mischief pony, knowing this information because of a few odd experiences. But this story isn't over, something big is going on.

Teen rating: Gore, and explicit language

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-23 18:56:20 UTC

Reservoir Hunters

“Well, this is downright bullshit” Merc tapped Private’s paper on the headline “Twilight and her friends save Equestria... again!”

“You might want to calm down a bit there, Merc, people might stare” as Merc turned his head, Prof was right. Just about the whole café was either staring at him with dumb found looks or trying to glare him into oblivion. “Correct; will stare”

“Alright, Mister Smartass” Merc turned back to his coffee, staring into the cheap drink; he could make out a mound of the coffee mix on the bottom of mug.

Merc, Private and Prof were around a table in a café named “Flip Out”. Merc was baby blue, with a brown cap slunk over his eyes, its links were broken and were swaying, almost breaking off; his hair came out the back in a mullet, ocean blue with bits of dandruff. He wore a leather jacket, as brown as mud; it was scuffed from old times, and looked like it had survived for fifty years. His eyes had no colour, no hint of blue, brown, not even green, it was just black, his eyes looked like reverse eight balls. His legs were scarred and bruised; they were more blue, black and purple then blue. He had an urban accent and I-Don’t-Care attitude.

Prof was blizzard white; his mane was the same, just dustier. His hair was slicked back, but had been done lazily, as bits and pieces of hair gel were scattered in his hair. He wore a white shirt, his only one; it was stained with various sauces, foods and things unidentifiable. His glasses were as thick as a castle made out of it; they were jet black, looking like an outsider to his white obsession. Though it was almost invisible, his creepy pencil moustache still stuck out like a sore hoof. One of the most sensible out of the three, but shared his accent with Merc.

Private looked like a poker chip, flashy red and white. His skin and his mane held the same colour scheme, except his mane was darker. Unlike the others, he didn’t wear anything, he just went around normally, but normal wasn’t really in keep with the people they were. Even though he tries to look normal, he is one of the most distant people you would ever meet. He is so obsessed with weapons, it could be a mental disorder; he is terribly patriotic, but none of the gang actually knows where he is from. Though his obsession of weapons is extreme, he isn’t the world’s greatest fighter; he couldn’t break glass with a club but he could fight. Unlike his personality, he had a posh accent but his attitude is basically Let-the-others-do-the-work-I’m-better-than-them.

Only two things they had in common were: being earth ponies and their job.

“But seriously, we are busting our balls out there, beating these things to death; bare teethed, and these idiot mares,” Merc tapped the photo clumsily with his hoof, and the paper gave out a loud tear, but this time, no-pony turned around “just let the purple one do it,” he did jazz hooves, and then pointed at his cup; as if it would start dancing “just letting them go free, not killing them, dumb move, if you ask me, does anyone want to argue?”

“Guilty,” Private folded the paper and place it on the table, he raised his hoof “as charged, but seriously, that is the only argument you have?”

“Yeah, not killing them is stupid, Prof,” the snowy stallion looked up “help me out buddy”

“Oh, I’m not getting into this! No way!” He chuckled to himself; as if he was king of the world.

“Fine, I don’t need you, I’ll go in half cocked” He immaturely sniggered to himself; the other two rolled their eyes.

“You are the most immature,” Private made a throttling motion towards Merc; who immediately got a coffee mound thrown in his face “Ew! You ass-hole; what the fuck!?”

“It was in self defence,” He attempted to look posh and Normal, but instead looked like he was nodding off to sleep “I thought you were going to strangle me, can I help it?”

“You thought? You have a brain?” Most of the sentence was muttered or muffled; as Private was wiping coffee of his face and chest.

“Maybe he does, it’s probably it a jar in a science lab, though” again, Prof chortled to myself; while Merc glared.

“What were we even arguing about?” Both Merc and Prof rolled their eyes; both knew Private could be the stupidest pony on the planet.

“We were arguing about the Mane Six, remember? You were for them, I was against, got it?” The blizzard white pony stared wide eyed at him. “What, Prof, you want to buy me dinner or something?”

“No, it’s just that I thought you would say ‘We were arguing about who fucked your mother’ or something juvenile like that,” Prof still had the wide eyes “I bet even Poker Chips thought that” ‘Poker chips’ glared at both of them.

“Well, I can be mature, somehow,” he leaned back on his chair; almost falling off “Somehow”

“So; you hate this purple one?” Private tapped the picture; right on Twilight.

“Nope,” Merc leaned into towards the paper “Just,” moved his hoof above the paper “these six” he circled the entire photo.

“Why?” He further questioned Merc’s opinion; and furthered stretch the limitation of his patience.

“Well, it seems unfair that they have all the fame, waiting for their fucking princess or the purple one to do some magic shit,” he repeated his jazz hooves and pointed at his mug “While, we are breaking our balls, killing these bastards, that none of this world know exist, and that is my argument, can you bring some back? Bitch!” He shot a pointed hoof at Private, who had spots, dyed brown, by the watery coffee mix.

“Well, they kill things that are threatening the existence of...” He was hushed by a shushing motion from his opponent.

“Okay’ did you say ‘threatening the existence’? This is some priceless shit! The first time they defeated someone together was nightmare moon, for promised eternal night, next it was Discord, just changing reality, then weird shape shifting ponies, just wanting to steal love birds. ‘Threatening existence’ my,” he smashed the table “fat,” he bashed it again “ass” he hit the table so hard it shook; only a few looked around though.

“A world without no light, no order and no love isn’t a world” he smirked; as if an argument with Merc would be ended with logic.

“It is a world, Merc’s world, and baby, it looks like a good world” the ponies that were sane, two out of three, rolled their eyes.

“So, you would live in a world without light, without order, and without love? You sociopathic bastard” Prof didn't raise or fall the argument, just stretched Merc’s patience even further.

“Look, no light, no bitches complaining about tans, no order? Who gives one? We could go around, doing our job, instead of being glared at as we are bastards of hell. No love? No marriage? No divorce? No giving some mouthy bitch half your stuff, my world beats this one’s ass, hooves down!” He hit the table again; making the mugs jump and dance around the cloth.

The only person who looked now was the mare behind the counter, glaring directly at Merc. Merc saw and he waved.

“But without light, we would all be blind, simple as” Prof crossed his arms, and glared, same as the mare.

“So? Then every-pony is equal,” Merc saw the upraised eye brows on the puzzled idiots “Some-ponies are blind, then every-pony is blind, everyone is equal”

“What about those who are deaf? Or paralysed?” Merc glared across the table; it seems in this group, glaring is second nature to them.

“Well, not equal for everypony, but more equal than before, can we get to the real argument?” They all nodded their heads in time.

“Well, it the naked eyes of normal people, we are mindless monsters going around killing of normal ponies or royalty” Prof took a gulp of his tea; a spitting noise was heard after, a result of him spitting out the powder.

“Not mindless, we are methodical” Merc carefully tapped the table; as if he was finding a good hand of cards.

“Well, methodical as we are, to the naked eye, we just kill random people” Prof put his mug down; his was purposely deforming his face to get the taste of coffee mix out of his mouth.

“How do we even find these things?” Private interrupted the verbal warfare, stopping it temporarily; but might have turned a war on himself.

“You don’t know?” Both Prof and Merc said together; with the same level of confusion.

“Jinx” Merc said, as childish as possible.

“We aren’t foals anymore; stop being one, but seriously, Poker Chips, you don’t know how we find these things?” Prof was disappointed with the both of them.

“Nope, so what do we do, run a device around an area and detect psycho kinetic energy?” If Private’s eyebrow rose any higher, it could be on the moon.

“A bit like that, you see,” Merc rustled around in his pocket, “come on, where is it?”

“What are you doing?” Private wondered; being too thick to know Merc’s unique sense of humour.

“Looking for the unicorn dust that we use” Private’s eyes lit up like a filly’s when a sweet shop is in sight.

“Unicorn dust?! What’s that?!” Private was as excited as a pony seeing their love of their life.

“Oh, its magical dust from angels’, crafted in lightening and forged in rain, oh, and,” Merc threw dust in Private’s face “it doesn’t exist”

“Why did you trick me?” Merc rolled his eyes.

“Because, you are a dumb as a rock, no wait, that is mean to rocks, you are as daft as brushes” Private was too lazily to wipe it off and was attempting to blow it off.

“Fine, you ass,” Private folded his arms; still attempting to blow off the dust “what do we do?”

“Before Merc answers this with another shitty pun, I will,” Prof straighten his glasses “we check for emotional changes and if they life for strangely long, so when we find these, we go and put them away” his glasses was dirtied by his hoof.

“Which one did we have to learn another language to kill it?” Merc piped up; almost sniggering.

“It was one of those lechies things; they’re disgusting, aren’t they?” Prof spoke up

“Amen, who did it possess, again?” Merc said; almost dying from laughter at the thought of the lechies.

“Some florist, come on, I pay the bill, you idiots tip” Prof got up and went other to the counter; rummaging in his pocket for his bits.

“Hey,” Merc whispered over the table “run out on tipping?” His mischief burned best in his voice at the moment

“Come on, we need to sprint though; the warehouse?”

“Yeah,” Merc slowly and quietly got up “three, two, one,” Then he shouted: “RUN!”

Pony With the Iron Cards

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...