Beat to Quarters

Pipsqueak was in heaven. He was sitting on a beach in the beautiful Maribbean sun, a native mare in one foreleg, a bottle of rum clasped firmly in the other. He could see his ship, Mad Jenny, bobbing gently at anchor.

What a life.

A loud banging sound jolted him from his reverie, and more importantly, caused him to drop his rum to the sand.

What the…? Is that cannon fire? It almost sounds like knocking… *NO!! Good dream, good dream!***

He woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in his bed. Or, he would have sat bolt upright, had he not been sleeping in an attic apartment with a sloped roof. As it was, he got about six inches off the mattress before his forehead met unyielding Trottingham oak.

Ahh, Celestia dammit, that hurts.

He rolled out of the bed, rubbing his head with one hoof while pulling on his trousers with the other. The knocking continued unabated.

“Wake up, Pip! This is important!” He groaned when he heard the adorable voice crack.

Sweetie Belle. That mare’s gonna be the death of me.

“One second, love! I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of seeing you this fine… uh,” He threw open the shutter, allowing the blinding light into the room and searing his retinas, “morning!”

After winning the vicious struggle with his trousers, he conceded defeat to the waiting belt and woolen shirt, and trotted over to the door. He peered through the peephole before swinging it wide, revealing a very distraught Sweetie Belle and a shell-shocked Apple Bloom.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, ladies?”

At that, Sweetie Belle began to weep softly into her hooves, and Apple Bloom continued to stare glassy-eyed like some sort of Zebrican voodoo zombie.

Right. Smooth, Pip. He ushered them inside and locked the door behind them.

“Alright, Sweetie Belle, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

And why does Apple Bloom look like she got into Rarity’s opium?

Sweetie Belle sniffled and gazed up at him with watery eyes.

“Scootaloo didn’t come home last night. We went out to the pub to celebrate her eighteenth, you know, and I came home early, Apple Bloom walked her most of the way home…” Apple Bloom lowered her gaze to the floor and bit her lip. Sweetie choked back a sob before continuing.

"Scoots wanted to watch the ships for a while, and she was drunk, you know how she gets... So Apple Bloom just came home, said she'd wait up for her, and..."

Pipsqueak gently placed his hoof on her lips, cutting her off before she could really get going. At any rate, he’d already heard enough. His gut sank.

“You said she was watching the ships? Down at Quayside?”

Sweetie nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. Apple Bloom looked on worldlessly, lost in thought.

Pipsqueak sighed. He’d been afraid of that.

“If she'd been anywhere else, I’d tell you she could handle herself and that she was probably asleep in a doorway somewhere. But since she was by the docks, chances are she’s been impressed.”

Sweetie Belle cocked her head slightly and raised an eyebrow.

“Well the ships have always impressed Scootaloo, but I hardly think that explains why she’s been gone all night,” she replied huffily.

Pipsqueak choked down the urge to jump out the now-open window. This mare.

“Pressed into service, Sweetie Belle. Forcibly enlisted in the Royal Navy. It’s happened to more than one of my crew as well. The Admiralty’s been having trouble filling quotas, what with all this business with Prance.”

“So how do we get her back?”

He chuckled darkly. He’d often asked himself the same question. The truth was, it was near impossible to get recompense at all, much less get the Navy to part with its precious crew. Of course, he didn’t have the heart to tell the fillies.

“I’ll ask around the port and see which ship she may have been taken aboard. If she was tricked into volunteering, we can pay her bounty to the captain.”

This seemed to mollify Sweetie Belle, and even Apple Bloom looked a little more aware. Pip began to pick up his effects from their messy pile on the floor, and managed to get his shirt and belt on with a struggle.

He heard a loud galloping on the stairs and snatched his pistol off the nightstand, leveling it at the open door in one lightning-quick motion.

A small blue-and-grey pegasus skidded around the corner, blanching when he saw the muzzle of a pistol aimed firmly at his chest.

Pip sighed and lowered the gun.

“What is it, Breaker? Did our letters of marque arrive?”

Breaker grinned widely, showing a mouth full of golden teeth.

“Better, skipper. The Navy’s put to sea… we’re at war with Prance!”

***

Scootaloo couldn’t hear the gulls, and that meant something was very wrong. They were ever-present in Newcolt, bold and vocal. She could smell the salt air, which meant she was still on the coast, but she wasn’t home.

She tried to move, but her front hooves were held immobile, fixed with chains to some solid wooden structure in front of and above her. She was also blindfolded.

All in all, not a great way to start a morning.

“H-hello…?”

Her voice was raw and low, and she realized upon using it that she desperately needed a drink. She heard another voice, loud and imperious, off to her left.

“Ah, the prisoner’s awake. Mr. Backstay, please order all hands aft for punishment.”

Scootaloo heard hoofsteps moving closer, and the blindfold was pulled off in one motion. She blinked back tears at the sudden brightness. Gaining back some sight, she squinted at her surroundings.

Looking left, she saw wooden stairs leading up to a balcony of some sort, upon which stood a line of unmoving Royal Marines.

That’s strange, why’s everything made out of wood? And why are there ropes… and cannons? A ship?

She squeezed her eyes shut shook her head fiercely, trying to beat back the fog in her mind. She gasped as the events of last night floated hazily in her vision. The pub. Going down to Quayside. The navy stallion, Whitecap. And then... She shuddered to think of it.

When she warily opened her eyes again, she was looking directly into the eyes of a deep gray unicorn with a black mane. He wore a blue jacket adorned with golden cord, and an ornate black hat.

“Good morning, seamare. You’re actually rather lucky you deserted when you did. Any later and you’d be hanging from the yardarm, not just tied for twelve lashes.”

Scootaloo gaped at the stallion.

“Seamare… I’m not even in the Navy! You kidnapped me!”

He frowned at her.

“I have the Admiralty’s full assurance that you volunteered. In fact, the Impressment Officer who recruited you is a dear personal friend of mine,” he looked off at something behind her, “Eighteen lashes, then, for violation of Article 16, simple desertion. Get another bosun to lay on the next six.”

A gruff voice sounded from behind Scootaloo, “Aye, Cap’n Shoals.”

The captain… He’s gotta be reasonable. She gave him a pleading look.

“Wait, sir, this is obviously a misunderstanding. I’m not even a sailor. I’ve never been on a ship before! You definitely don’t want me on your crew.”

The captain’s face hardened, and he leaned in close to her. She could smell tobacco and rum on his breath as he whispered.

“You’re right, Miss Scootaloo, I don’t want you on my crew. A landsmare who doesn’t know the difference between broad reach and a broadsword. But we are at war, and you’re what I’ve got.”

He stepped back and motioned again to the bosun.

“Do your duty, Mr. Backstay, or you'll take her place. A good hard drubbing, if you please.”

Scootaloo heard a whistling noise, and the exposed area between her wings exploded into pain. She screamed and wrenched at the chains on her forelegs. The sensitive nerves that controlled her flight feathers were exploding in a paroxysm of agony. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped and bit the inside of her cheek as hard as she could. She tasted coppery blood.

Dear Celestia please make this stop make this end mercy mercy...

“One.”

She heard the infernal whistling again, and the second blow landed high and left, sweeping across her wing and tearing out a pinfeather. Blood began to trickle freely from the wounds in her back as she writhed. The cries passing her lips came from deep in her chest, low animal sounds that twisted into piteous moans.

Two.

"Please no more... please..."

The third blow came from the right, slashing diagonally across the path of the first, and tearing a ragged fissure through the already damaged flesh. Gore dripped onto the wooden deck, audible over the dead silence of the officers and crew. Scootaloo's entire world had been reduced to the wooden grate in front of her, and she saw black spots on the edge of her vision. She hung her head and retched, earning a short reprieve and a muttered curse from the captain as he stepped back in haste. She heard his haughty voice ring out clearly through the cotton in her thoughts.

"With more force, Mr. Backstay. I don't believe the lesson has fully sunk in."

Scootaloo let her tenuous grasp on consciousness slip through her hooves, and she sagged against the chains before the fourth blow fell, out cold and utterly defeated.