Mistaken Charity and Malevolence

by VANQUISHED

Rating: mature
Tags: Adventure, Alternate Universe
Length: 1644

Dusty Sunday used to be a wealthy aristocrat, but turned into a powerful drug lord because of her want to give "charity" to the poor, undergoing intense encounters with the law and its forces as she continues through. Rated M for drugs, sex

Venture through the intense and dramatic life of Dusty Sunday, whom was once a wealthy, aristocratic filly and now a powerful drug lord just because she mistook drugs as a form of charity for the lowest of social classes. For how long will she be able to keep this going with the law stalking close? Rated M for drug references, sexual themes, and strong language.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-08-18 02:04:47 UTC

Prologue

Prologue

~~~~~~~~~~

Well. Looks like this is the end of the line for me. The charity cannot be given now, I'm in prison yet again just like my first love, 72. He's been long gone and only those bits and pieces of the mnemonic time we spent together was way back when, but -- no. Those accursed ponies could never understand the charity I had sought to bestow to the poor. How dare they imprison me like this! Yet I -- SLAM! The loud slam of the door suddenly jerked me out of my train of thought. I remembered again I was sitting in the so-called "black room" that SEA (that is the Supernatural Enforcement Agency) officer put me in. Why would he need to put me here? Oh, I could see why now. That was no SEA officer I had predicted it would be, rather, it was some pony. A burly and stocky pony at that, dressed top to bottom in a stylish suit. I would have stood up to "properly escort" the stallion out the room but the anti-magic restraints and horn clip kept me from arising. I could faintly make him out, as I could tell he was intimidated by my presence even with me shackled down on the iron seat. He just cleared his throat then took a seat there across the table, still frightened at the notorious drug lord that I am. Some few moments pass as I lean forward staring perpetually into his trembling brown eyes. And suddenly, the door opens yet again. The room is overcome with a tidal wave of blinding light; so much light, even I had to close my eyes and look away. The door closed on its rusty squeaky hinges, piercing my ears with the sound of nails scratching long and slow on an old chalkboard. Another pony strolled into the black room with of all things...a camera. That's when I had realized, this is an interview?!

The two ponies across the room flinched at my sudden yanking and shaking the chair in vain attempts to try to break free, to tear off the restraints and burst out this room. But nothing happened, the restraints were too strong! The ponies backed up to the corners of the room now, pupils shrunken and faces of great shock plastered upon them. I gave up the fighting.

I hung my head low, next slipping out some words. "Fuck me..." The newsponies only grunted "Uhm" back to me and took position again. The stallion took his seat again and the other one hoisted headphones on his ears as he prepped the camera.

Still shaky and anxious, the newspony fumbles the words, "A-ah, Dusty Sunday, yes?"

"Who the fuck else, Sherlock?"

The newspony's pallor whitens somewhat. He hesitates before continuing, "Uh we at New Collar News Broadcasting will conduct an interview with you, Ms. Sunday, I uh.." Plainly this must be some new anchor, because I in all my days never seen such a pony be so intimidated just by being with me.

"Come on, just spew the questions so I can get this hellhole you call a black room," I impatiently hollered. "I don't have the patience for you slimebags." The startled newspony and his cameraman just looked to each other, nodding quick and proceeding to questions quickly. I expected to hear questions that needed a long answer, and if I wanted to nail those I'd have to pry my most ancient memories down to the last piece. I noticed him sweating while shuffling around papers which prompted me to sigh deeply at his impotence. That in turn just made him fiddle with his mane in anxiety, but eventually he managed to pull himself together as the cameraman with his imaginary bag of popcorn watched on. Making believe at looking at my watch and flicking my ashy gray mane out my eye and tapping my beige hoof on the chair's arm sure rushed the stallion to get himself together.

The newspony cleared his throat ready to give the first question: "Tell us in detail, what was your childhood like, including home, family, and personality?"

It appears that my hypothesis was right; I'll be spending a long time here and spending a long time recalling this interview.

Chapter 1: From not-so-humble beginnings

Chapter 1: From not-so-humble beginnings

~~~~~~~~~~

My hometown of Crüzer, New Collar is quite the living example of rolling green hills, extravagant mansions, beautiful weather, and wealthy aristocrats that roamed. for ages in this place. Numerous palm trees were littered across Crüzer in accompaniment with skies free of thunderheads. The laughter of rich ponies and their friends fluttered around. Most of the time, often by myself, I took trips to the marketplace on hoof with a hundred bits from my parents to spend. The marketplace was so cool! Stores for food, grooming, apparel, tools, and whatnot stood wall to wall in the marketplace. Albeit crowds swarmed here like a bees in a hive, I thoroughly enjoyed my time here especially at the convenience store Tinkertop. Only a few days ago I was there to look at the daily newspaper. Headline stated: "The six faces of harmony", some article about six mares abolishing an evil dude named Discord. Just reading the article made my eyes roll. What a load of jabberwocky, I've heard of better stories. The owner of Tinkertop begged to differ by going on to tell me if I lived in Ponyville I'd think different but my only response was: "If I lived in Ponyville I'd think I would go back here."

Even through the paradise of a place Crüzer is, there had to be something unusual from the get-go. I didn't notice anypony who had some lack of money to do things, namely leisurely things. I was born into a family of aristocrats who swam in pools of bits and owned the most luxurious pads anypony had laid their eyes on.

Suddenly I snapped out of my anecdote to the loud voices of my parents talking to each other. It was effective enough to drag me out of my bed and drowsily trot downstairs to see them. Mom already left for work to leave just me and my dad here.

As I fumbled down the stairs my dad Richard Powers (be it ironic that "rich" and "power" was even in his name) waved to me and softly spoke, "Ah! Dust, baby, good mornin'!" He is such a jolly stallion, with his mane white as ash and a chubby figure.

"Good morning, Daddy!" He happily came up to me and patted me gently on the shoulder. He smiled cheesily and said in a rustic sort of voice, "Hey, how does pancakes and fried hay strips sound for breakfast? Mm, delicious ain't it?" I nodded quick while we made our way through the big living room to the kitchen. It was a beautiful living room at that; a marble bust of my dad stood up on a fancy pedestal beside the grand fireplace. Up there a large portrait of our family  hung on the wall: just me, my mom, and my dad. Other than those the rest of the decorations included a crystal chandelier, a white arc shaped sofa with a gold lined table in the center, and plenty other elegant décor joining the clean white carpet and sleek tan-colored walls.

But before we cooked I took a seat on the sofa. I had a question on my mind I really wanted to ask my dad, so I asked, "Daddy?" He turned to face me, "How are we so rich?" He clicked his tongue then sat across from me on the sofa looking at me with his steely blue eyes.

"Well, Dusty uh," He looked up to try to remember. "the stock market's become far much better ever since New Collar moved out the economic recession. I remember that..." Dad just kept rambling for what seemed to be hours (but was actually just 20 minutes) about the economy and stocks and such.

Eventually he gave the point with: "Welp, low stocks = less money. More stocks = more money. We have more stocks. More money for us!" I was confused. Us? What about donating to help other ponies? I tapped my hooves together and wondered aloud, "But why don't we donate some money to the poor ponies?"

"Hahaha, Dusty baby, we don't donate! This is our money, we'll be the ones using it! Besides, those poor ponies got their drugs 'n' stuff, they'll just keep on using that and I'll just leave them to that." Dad scoffed and laughed heartily. Eventually he recollected himself and grunted out, "Urgh, now how's 'bout that breakfast. I'n starvin'. C'mon, let's fill our stomachs." I narrowed my eyebrows at his greedy remark but I only waved it off since the hunger was too strong.

Nothing remarkable else happened today. But I found myself wondering, after some heavy sessions of gaming in the dead of the night inside my room, why my dad was greedy keeping our family's money just to us. Was mom like this too? Can I try to donate? How much do drugs influence the poor? It was all an endless list of questions that needed answers as soon as possible. Maybe I'm wrong. I guess I'll see how that will turn out tomorrow when I ask mom if we can donate.

Thinking of all these questions wore me out along with the exhaustion of my intense gaming. I didn't bother to clean up. I just turned everything off and flopped onto the bed. My smooth dark gray mane lied on my face while I lie on the bed for a time. Soon enough the drowsiness set in, which prompted me to turn the light off and sink under the covers into sleep. Questions, questions, questions...