The Outcasts

It was rather dark in the alley next to the Moonlight Bushel, and Sugar Buzz didn't feel at ease, due in great part to the fact that he was alone in the dark in a part of the city he was unfamiliar with. He almost never left his home, and if he did, he didn't venture very far from it. Nervously, he looked up to the nearby clock tower. It only read 8:29. Time felt like it was hardly moving.

Okay, guess I got here a bit early. I still got a minute to wait though. Sugar's thoughts feverishly began formulating several scenarios of things that might happen to him in this alleyway.

"Ah, Sugar Buzz! You made it." The young colt nearly jumped out of his coat before quickly turning about to see Steelmane standing almost right next to him. The commander's arrival was poorly timed, as a scenario involving a gunman coming from behind had just played through the boy's head.

"Please don't do that sir... I'm skittish enough as is!" Sugar Buzz griped, his voice firm but panicked. He looked at the clock tower again. 8:29 still. "Well, we're both a minute early, but I'm here, and not getting tackled by guards." After saying that, the colt looked about rather anxiously. "At least not yet anyway..."

Steelmane rolled his eyes. "Lighten up kid. You really think I'd go back on a Pinkie swear?" Sugar Buzz considered the thought for a second. Several flashbacks of guards knocking his front door almost entirely off its hinges came to mind.

"Well, as many times as you and your goons caved in my front door, I'm really not too sure, but I'll roll with it anyways." The commander chuckled to himself. The clock tower bell rang eight times to signify the hour, then a shortened ring to signify a half hour. The commander stomped his hoof twice on the ground, stirring up small clouds of dust.

"Eight and a half, boys and girls! Get out here!" Steelmane shouted. Ponies began climbing out of various spots on the three buildings that made up the alleyway, nothing more than large black silhouettes that moved with ease on the side of a wall, hopping down to the road off the tops of jutting windows, or climbing out of dumpsters that looked full to the untrained eye. They all assembled around the commander and his companion in a sort of lazy circle, slowly walking about. Sugar Buzz nervously glanced at each one of the shadowy figures as they continued circling him and Steelmane. His mind was just screaming run, run, but his body wasn't responding so well.

"Uh... Sir? Should we run now?" the colt asked. The commander simply shook his head, then adjusted his cap.

"Enough with the silhouette march, guys, you're scaring the poor kid." he said sternly. A loud pop rang out and orange-tinted lighting suddenly filled the alleyway. The power had returned to the street lamps, due in great part to a mare sitting next to a switch box on the nearby power pole. She wore cylindrical goggles with reflective lenses. Even bathed in orange light, Sugar Buzz could tell her coat was pink. Her mane and tail were ridiculously puffy, like cotton candy.

"Heya Sugar Rush!" she called down to Steelmane's companion, waving frantically. The commander eyed the mare like she was out of her mind, which most would assume she is.

Sugar Buzz instantly recognized the overly perky voice. "It's Pinkie's nickname for me. I'd just roll with it." he explained. Steelmane kicked a pebble across the ground before looking about himself.

"Best not stay out here any longer. The guards won't take too kindly to their commanding officer talking with a bunch of slum-runners who may or may not have warrants out for their arrest." He took off his cap and felt the inside of the headband as he walked over to an old cellar door. Steelmane brought a key out of the hat and opened the padlock that held the door shut, promptly swinging the rickety door open after doing so. He motioned for his colleagues to go in quickly.

Once Sugar Buzz stepped inside, the commander shut the door and closed the padlock around a chain on a loop in the stairwell. This wasn't a cellar as it had first appeared to be. Instead, it was an independent room all its own, cleverly disguised to blend in as the basement for the bar above, fully insulated and furnished with wooden tables, cushioned chairs, a radio, and several decorative light fixtures and paintings. It felt like home to Sugar Buzz, which helped to calm his nerves. A blue stallion approached him.

"So you're the lad Mister Steelmane's told me about. Name's Trott. Don't call me 'Trotty', otherwise I'll be seein' you out meself. Nice makin' your acquaintance lad!" The stallion spoke with a thick Trottish accent, and had a rather short beard. He was dressed in black like the rest, but carried a pair of saddlebags stuffed to bursting with ginger ale, cider, and several sets of mugs and glasses all wrapped in bubble wrap. He didn't shave often, as evidenced by his rather thick beard. The two bumped hooves and Trott turned about and began placing the glassware on the tables that dotted the room. Sugar Buzz let his eyes wander about the room a little more, until they came to rest on a familiar grey mare.

"Octavia?" he thought aloud. The cellist glanced at him momentarily, then resumed unpacking her instrument. Talk about an interesting day. First I learn that Steelmane knows the Pinkie swear, now I see Octavia in a cellar club? What next, Applejack doing backflips?

Tink, tink, tink! The sound of metal against glassware rang through the room. Steelmane stood next to one of the tables, wielding his sword in one hoof, and a mug in the other, waiting until the room fell silent.

"Well, good to see everypony's here! Now, I'm sure all of you met our newest addition to the Outcasts Club, a kid named Sugar Buzz." Several ponies nodded their heads. "Good, good. Now, we all have one thing in common. Oh hay bales, I forgot it... Can anypony here remind me what it was we have in common?"

"That we all can't stand Stalwart's crap!" spat a yellow mare.

"YEAH!" they all cried in unison.

"That Stalwart's a racist bastard who thinks awful high of himself!" added a green stallion. Again the cry came.

"YEAH!" The commander stood there, still as a statue with a smug grin on his face as ponies left and right shouted the reasons they had for disliking their leader. Their unanimous cry was like a choir to his ears, and was part of the reason he started this club, to have a spot for ponies to speak out against the dictator that ran their city without being suspended by the nearest guard. Kicking out ponies like them for having wings or a horn? That's not right. Killing a pony with wings and a horn? That's downright unacceptable! Everypony here could agree on that.

Steelmane finally brought his sword down onto the table, embedding the blade in the shoddy wood.

"Then whadya say we have a few drinks?! They're on the house!" A cheer rose up from the whole group, several pops and the clinking of glasses following suit. The musicians gathered their instruments and began playing a lively, rowdy tune to keep the mood pleasant. Steelmane leaned back in his chair, a mug of cider held high and tightly in his hoof. "To the Outcasts!" he shouted.