His stomach growled audibly, interrupting his focus on his observations. It was so pesky, so demanding. His tummy's pain was ever-present and oh so inconvenient. He was beginning to really loathe the inevitable tremors that echoed around the cavity. His peeves aside, it would have to appeased at some point. The only thing more inconvenient than the constant hunger would be death. He hopped down off of his perch on the lid of a trash can and trotted from the alley.
The alley was a fantastic location to scout out all of the street traffic. Sometimes, bits of rotten food would even be hiding amongst all of the discarded wrappers and boxes inside the trashcan. Those were good days.
The streets were busy, packed with tourists and shopkeepers who yelled at the roaming customers to buy their many products, creating a din that fed upon itself as ponies tried to make themselves heard.
The little colt sauntered down the street, staying on the far left side so that he wouldn't get in anypony's way. He hugged a brick wall tightly as ponies in tropical shirts cantered past. Some wore aprons, indicating their status as business owners.
All of the shopkeepers in his immediate area already knew him; knew that he was a troublemaker and a thief. His dirtied brown coat contrasted with his bright blonde mane, making him easy to pick out among crowds and identify. The shock of sunny mane on his scalp was curse that he often loathed. It made him memorable.
Memorability was most definitely a problem. For example, somepony peddling fruit would be somewhat reluctant to sell him any after remembering that it was he who stole a good deal of inventory. Of course, he regretted being so greedy with his hooves - all the food had weighed him down enough to get caught. That had not been a good day, no sir.
So today he would actually have to buy his meal, with all the money he didn't have. Fixing that was at the top of his priorities.
Now, there are a few ways to get money as a street pony, and he was one of the best at acquiring it. As light and fast as he was, he excelled especially at the first method - pick pocketing. Some thieves believed it should be done by bumping into a passerby on “accident”, and making off with their wallet. The colt was neither big enough for that or convincing enough to pull it off. Besides, why risk confrontation when you can just slip a hoof into their bag and then back out without the drama?
Another method of retrieving bits was by begging, which he could have done well at if he were dedicated enough. He was young and small, attracting empathy and rich guilt everywhere he went. Trouble was, not everypony pitied him. One time, in the southwestern part of Canterlot, he had been begging for nearly 12 hours and had raked in some 20 bits, which was quite a haul. A couple of the other bums had thought so too, beating him, taking the bits and leaving him for dead. By his calculations, he had been about 5 years old then, and it had been only a year ago. He was probably still young enough to sustain himself with begging, but he just didn’t like it. It was boring and not nearly as rewarding as slight-of-hand was.
Stealing it was.
The many tourists that walked the streets were not accustomed to the homeless, and didn't know the mischief that followed them everywhere. He used their naivety to his advantage, carefully spilling open a coin purse here and a wallet there. It had to be slow going, or else he could get caught by the other pedestrians or stall owners by being sloppy. That had happened a couple times, and each time the colt had had to move to a different location.
He was small though, small even for his age. Yessir, he was small, quick, and smart. He knew who would be most vulnerable and the easiest to steal from.
Sometimes he'd follow a pony who was happily snapping pictures at the surrounding architecture, completely oblivious to the street culture surrounding them. They were so easy and stupid, he was almost sorry for them, but he needed the money more.
While the sightseer was looking through the lense of his camera or checking a map, the colt quickly -- oh so gently -- cut the pony's "secure" wallet from around their neck. In less than a second, the wallet was his, and he'd quietly slip away from the none-the-wiser tourist.
Or maybe he'd take special note of where a shopper stowed their bits after they made a purchase from a stall. He'd make his way behind them, quiet as a mouse, then take the money without so much as touching the sides of the hoofbag it was concealed in. He could only take small amounts though, or else the victims might tell the Guard that all of their money had disappeared and where it had happened, and then shit would really hit the fan.
So it was slow going, but he eventually had enough money to purchase a loaf of bread and some water. It wasn't much, but it would sustain him for at least a few days. After making his transactions with a more than suspicious vendor, the colt made his way back to the little trash can in his alley and hopped up onto it.
He first gulped down some of the water, as his alley that day was choked with the dust the heavy hoof traffic kicked up. The water was divine compared to the collected rain that he usually sustained himself on, so he made sure to take care in enjoying it.
Next was the bread, which would also be some of the first real nutrition that had reached his palate in some time. The colt feared that the more uppity ponies of Canterlot probably took this kind of thing for granted -- basic necessities such as food and water, that is. For the colt, however, it was about as common for him to taste real baked goods like this as it was for a new princess to be named.
In truth, he didn’t really pay attention to the princesses or the elite at all, so he wouldn’t know how often that actually was. The only government organization he kept an eye out for was the Guard, obviously. Besides, he had his own politics to look out for.
One of the most interesting things (he thought) about the street was the culture. Or at least, the culture of the ponies who lived like he did. Hundreds of foals, just like him, lived on the streets, and particpated in a most intricate system of government. Most were a part of crews, which operated a lot like gangs. They just thought they were above that title. Anyway, the crews had a very specific purpose.
In Canterlot, there existed numerous soup kitchens that provided stable, free food sources for those that could take advantage of it. Generally speaking, if a crew could take over the territory of any given soup kitchen, all of the food given out would be theirs for the taking. Based on how strong or intimidating a crew was, they could get either a large kitchen or a smaller one. The smaller ones lied in the territories of the weaker crews, and didn’t allow too much growth as far as strength goes.
Some crews though, managed to secure the major kitchens, places like Old Horn Church and Key’s, which could feed up to 100 a day each. Now, not even the most powerful crews could eat that much, so there was very often surplus. The smartest crew bosses had figured out that they could profit from allowing the smaller crews to eat at the big kitchens. By letting the small gangs eat there, they expanded their territory, influence, and could usually scalp a few good fighters or something from the smaller crews.
The geography of the city was pretty easy to understand. The castle, which was the main tourist hotspot, was in the Royal City, a very small section of the city in the northwest, about a mile square. Much of the north, however, was Dupont, a rich and vibrant community for fringe politicians and successful artists. It had grand architecture, with whitewashed domes and gold trims, all set against the castle in the background.
To the direct south of Dupont was the Old Town, which pretty much explained itself. It was the historic section of Canterlot, with more browns and beiges than whites and golds. It was also where the colt ate and slept, though it would be a stretch to call it “home”. The border between Dupont and Old Town was Embassy Row, a wide avenue that held every embassy in the known world. Huge hotels and parks lay on the road, too, making it a prime hotspot for tourists.
To the south of Old Town was Bridgetown, through which the Patrino River ran. Bridgetown's namesake was a set of five bridges that crossed the river. This end of the city was the southernmost piece of real estate, as well as the poorest. Not exactly a shanty town, but less wealthy nonetheless.
To the west of the Old Town was the Financial District, and one can imagine what happened there. It was relatively small, only larger than (and almost as guarded as) the Royal City. Banks, federal bereaus, and towering hotels all made up the skyline, their glittering windows testament to a newly industrialized land.
Power was everything out here, and the colt did not exactly resemble power. He was malnutritioned and as a result his growth had been stunted significantly: he was shorter than the average 6 year old, and most foals were 8-12. Though he held prowess in thievery, the crews frequently had turf wars to gain more territory, and he represented more of a liability in a fight than anything.
As he chewed his meal and watched the ponies that cantered past, he allowed a few moments of blissful peace enter his mind. For now, he wouldn't be hungry. For now, he wouldn't be living from one second to the next, trying to take his mind off of his empty stomach.
"Hey runt, watcha got there? Food? You know, you really shouldn't steal." The pony that had entered the mouth of the alley unnoticed began tutting at the colt, apparently chastising him for stealing.
The colt found this rather ironic and snickered to himself. Scootaloo was one to lecture on being a good pony. She had bullied his food out of him from the beginning, giving it instead to her posse of street ponies. She always said that it was a partnership between them, an understanding of sorts, though she was faster to negotiate with her hooves than with her mouth.
She was the hot shot out here. She owned almost a third of the territory south of Embassy Row, which equated about three kitchens. Big ones, too. Scootaloo was the leader of an army of 200 homeless foals, not including the network of smaller gangs and individuals like him. Besides crew leaders like Boulder Fist, who led perhaps the most brutal group in Canterlot, she was the most powerful in the city. This is mind, she was very well fed. So why did she insist on ruining his meager supper?
She was always calling him runt, too. Was that his name? It had to have been, or else she wouldn't call him that all the time. He couldn't remember being called anything else, so he supposed his name was Runt.
The orange filly moved slowly towards the colt, who hadn't so much as breathed since his peaceful meal had been interrupted by the bully so rudely. She looked at the remaining half loaf in his hoof with anticipation, a glint of cruel joy dancing across her face.
"You know the deal, kid. Give me the food." Scootaloo reached out with her hoof towards the bread, but the colt backed away, refusing her this one time. If he didn't eat, he would die.
"What the hell do you think you're doing? Give me the food, or I swear to Celestia you won't die from hunger!" The cruel expression on Scootaloo's face had grown even darker the instant the bread was refused from her. Runt kept the food from her reach though, looking towards the light at the end of the alley, calculating whether he could get past the bully faster than the inevitable beating.
Scootaloo saw him look, however, "Oh no you don't. Give me the damn bread, you shit!"
She lunged forwards with an audible huff, left hoof extended. It connected with Runt's jaw, sending stars across his vision and a hollow thump through the alley. He couldn't take a beating, not while he was so starving and weak. He fell heavily to the ground, grunting as the breath was knocked out of him. Still, the bread was held in the crook of his hoof.
As he gasped for air, floundering about on the ground, his mind raced and the cogs turned in his head as the 'fight-or-flight' instincts kicked in. He tried to think of how he could overpower her, but nothing came to him. Scootaloo had an easy head on him, and more muscle than Runt cared to admit. She was faster, too. Being a Pegasi meant she was much lighter on her hooves than an Earth pony like him. He had to try though.
It was fairly simple: if he gave up this food, it didn't matter how sore he'd feel in the morning from a brush with Scootaloo. Already today, the lack of food and water had made him dizzy and lightheaded, nearly preventing his adventure amongst the tourists' pocketbooks from earlier.
Scootaloo walked towards the sprawled colt, looking forward to the punishment he would most certainly receive. Runt watched through half-lidded eyes as she strode towards him evenly. His heartbeat filled his ear drums, sounding out a tempo that seemed to pacify him a little. Like a metronome, it leashed the chaotic desperation buzzing around his skull and allowed a few sensible thoughts to escape. A plan began forming.
When Scootaloo was parallel to Runt's trashcan, he saw his chance. Lashing out with his back right hoof, he kicked the container sideways at the filly. It hit her in the flank, making her stumble and fall. The few seconds she was on the ground under the can was all the time Runt needed. He got to his hooves and galloped out of the alley, feeling dizzy at the sudden movement, but he was also elated. His heart beat wildly, and his lungs screamed in agonizing protest at all the sudden action. He dodged a few ponies, careful still to hold on to the bread that had caused him so much trouble.
The vendors had begun to close their stalls and were taking stock of their inventory for the day, so the streets were quickly emptying of ponies. Runt had plenty of room to sprint as fast as his weakened state would allow, and he took the opportunity to snag a fallen apple from a cart as he ran. He briefly registered that he was heading north-west, based on the position of the setting sun. He was going towards Dupont, where he could find sanctuary from Scoot's crew. They would most definitely want his head now, considering the refusal of food and the physical retaliation against their boss.
Being as powerful as she was, anypony that messed with Scootaloo was usually found dead the next morning. That’s how she got so much power -- she managed to scare the living shit out of everypony else, so there was no more competition.
He had been running for a few minutes when he passed Washington Park, which had been an old haunt of his. He didn’t exactly know how long he should run, so he stopped at the familiar location to think out his next move. Panting, he looked around him. The shadows under the trees were getting longer, and the late autumn air was beginning to cut to Runt’s bone. Maybe stopping wouldn’t be such a good idea.
Runt took off again, his tired legs reminding him of how much of an idiot he was. Passing strolling lovers and self-righteous aristocrats, his mouth started to feel a little like cotton. He galloped for as long as he could, until his legs burned and a stitch had formed in his side. Runt stopped running for a moment to clutch at his ribs, grimacing when the pain didn't go away immediately. With every breath, in fact, it seemed to grow within his stomach. He figured that it was because he was still dehydrated, so he leaned down to take a drink from the dirty water inside a gutter.
After gulping down the polluted water, he looked around again. Runt was about 5 blocks north of his original alley, and he was finally near Embassy Row, which marked the northern edge of Scoot's territory. They wouldn't dare venture north of it for fear of the Royal Guard, which had launched a campaign to clear the streets there.
He never even looked back to see if Scootaloo had followed him, he knew he had escaped for now. Even better, he had food. As he had kicked out and gotten to his hooves in the alley, he had gripped the bread between his jaws, so now he had the apple in his hoof and the bread in his mouth. Though, it had been damned awkward running like that, and it made it hard to breathe.
Outside of the tussle with Scootaloo, today had been good. This would be enough food to last him a week, providing there weren't any more unwanted surprises.
***
Night was beginning to fall, and so the cold was setting in. Runt would have to find somewhere to sleep for the night, and somewhere warm. He had been running and moving for two hours total, having crossed the border into safe territory about an hour prior. He didn't especially think his body would mind getting some rest, even though it would probably be on the hard ground in an alley. Runt had half a mind to make a motto for himself that somehow involved alleys, but he was too tired to do much of anything besides walk.
Runt had made it to the more uppity side of Canterlot, where the museums and concert halls were all situated, just east of the castle. There were numerous cafes and bistros resting in the shadow of the towering white palace, but no stalls or carts where he could get food after the apple and bread would run their course. And though the quaint corner bakeries and ice cream parlors were enticing as all hell, they were very nearly impossible to rob when the one doing the robbing was Runt.
To make matters worse, the ponies that frequented this part of town were of a higher class than he was used to dealing with, and he doubted pick-pocketing would be easy. He'd have to keep moving to better hunting grounds tomorrow.
Sighing, Runt made his way across a square with a large fountain in the middle and several high rises overlooking it. Ponies meandered about, toting shopping bags and snooty attitudes. It all made Runt gag a little. He decided to start looking or a decent place to rest, so he took a moment to study his surroundings.
In truth, the square he was in was more of a rectangle, which stretched 200 meters lengthwise and 50 meters width. At one of the far ends was an art museum and fancy restaurant. There was a bustle of waiters and waitresses running about in front of the establishment, where a covered patio was located. They were apparently setting the tables up outside for the night, and Runt found the seriousness of their hustle mildly entertaining.
At the other end of the square was an enormous building that left Runt momentarily breathless. At his previous residence in the poorer end of town, buildings like the one before him were only seen on postcards outside of knick-knack corner stores and the like. Which was not to say his last neighborhood had been run down or the slums of the city. It was the old district of Canterlot, and was home to the more cultured buildings that attracted the tourists Runt usually preyed on.
A sign in front of the massive structure read 'Canterlot Music Hall'.
Runt continued towards the building, which was squarish and painted a dull red, with beige columns all along the front. It had more columns supporting the central section of the building, which jutted out into the square. Runt knew he wouldn't be allowed inside, certainly not in the state he was in.
His coat was filthy and matted from the dusty Canterlot streets, and he did not doubt that his mane was disheveled with sweat. His curiosity was piqued, however, when he saw streams of ponies walking towards the building.
Much fancier ponies dressed in suits and ridiculous dresses were walking up the steps of the central section, where Runt supposed the entrance was. There must've been a concert going on inside. Runt trotted over to the left side of the building, where a small side street ran and less dressed-up ponies were gathering. They all wore black shirts over their fur, which led Runt to believe they were probably stagehands.
None of them seemed to notice Runt observing their movements as they rushed about in the side street, going to and fro with wires and microphones and the like. They were unloading all of it from two large crates parked next to a large doorway. Runt stood still and observed until they all had finished whatever jobs they had been performing, and in twenty minutes they had all gone inside. The access doorway was still open, so Runt moved towards it.
Again, he knew he could not go inside, or else he could get in trouble for trespassing. Instead, he stood just outside the doorway, listening for whatever was going on inside.
"...it is my honor to introduce the Canterlot Quartet, performing an original piece by their very own Frederick Horseshoepin, 'Uproar'!" Runt was taken aback by the volume of the announcer. He must have been right behind the stage! As soon as the polite clapping that followed the introduction ended, the crowd grew completely silent. After a few seconds of stillness, the music began.
A slow and mournful tune was layed out by two stringed instruments: a harp and another he didn't know. Runt's lack of formal education was really starting to irk him. The dreary duo continued for about half a minute when a piano joined them, its plinking keys ringing out over the hall. They all had at their somber piece for awhile, and just as Runt was getting bored, one of the stringed instruments took off in a flurry of notes, breaking through the underlayer of piano and the harp. The player was spinning a lighter melody, offsetting the rest of the piece.
It played faster and higher in a whirlwind of musical notes so complex it made Runt's head spin. It climbed higher and higher until, at last, it reached its peak and played its initial series of notes. This time, the piano joined it, its plinking keys ringing out across Runt's lobes. The instruments seemed to dance together, rising up past the dorrway and into the cool night air.
Then, another instrument joined the mix. A horn of some sort, deep and powerful, layed a melody that seemed to lift the piece even more. It sruck a deep rhythm, keeping tempo for the piano and that mystery stringed instrument. And when the song came to a great climax that nearly brought the hardened colt to tears, it all stopped. The music fell away very suddenly and the string instruments started their sad song again.
Runt groaned in frustration. He didn't want the depressing song, he wanted to hear the music really sing! Evidently, one of the stage hands heard his protest, because a large looking Earth stallion moved into the doorway towards Runt.
"Hey, what the are you doing back here? This is employees only!" The stallion chastised in a harsh whisper, closing the access door with the quietest bang Runt had ever heard.
Runt was off running the second the stallion disappeared behind the door, praying to Celestia he hadn't broken any laws or something by intruding on the performance.
He made his way back to the square, where he hoped he was actually allowed. The retseraunt he had seen earlier was now in full swing, with customers enjoying the nice evening with a glass of wine. Their laughter filled the rectangle, elevating Runt's mood once more. Between the musical high he had experienced at the Hall, this atmosphere, and his relative safety, he was feeling like a million bits.
Runt sat at the fountain, reliving the music he had eavesdropped on. He didn't replay the sad part, he didn't need that in his already gray (though admittedly lightening) life. Instead, he focused on the memory of the uplifting part in the middle, when all the instruments had stretched towards the sky and made Runt feel 50 feet tall. Made him feel on top of the world.
He sighed happily, stretching himself on the lip of the fountain's pool. He looked up at the night sky, wondering what life would be like for him far off into the future. Maybe one day he'd be looking back at the same stars, not as some nopony, but as an artist like the ones he'd just heard. He swore to himself that if that ever happened, he'd only play happy pieces, and he'd get famous for making ponies feel like they were flying towards the heavens.
His dreams for the future were interrupted by a decidedly unwelcome face.
"Hey, runt. This time you ain't gettin' away, right?" Runt looked towards where Scootaloo stood, and saw what she was talking about. She had brought her crew with her, 25 street ponies in all, and they quickly surrounded the fountain. They were a mean-looking bunch, some with torn ears and all of them had scars of some sort curving around their stomachs or faces.
This was very bad news indeed. If Scootaloo was willing to risk bringing a good amout of her gang up into the north part of the city, they really did want him dead. He had heard from another little colt that, following the Guard clearing the streets up here, the crew bosses on the south side were tightening security to make sure the royalty never got wind of their operations. This was ridiculous, though.
"You need your whole crew just to help take out a little guy like me? You're gettin' soft, Scoots." Runt's high, raspy voice caught scootaloo off guard, the sarcasm causing a cold fury to dance across her face.
She walked steadily towards where Runt sat, and he noted that she enjoyed theatrics more than just a little.
"Figures, the first thing to come out of your mouth is shit. My crew ain't gonna do nothin', just make sure you don't run like last time." Scootaloo finished by spitting a thick glob of flem and saliva at Runt.
Thinking quickly, he threw himself back into the fountain with an almighty splash. The spit missed by a mile, landing uselessly on the cobble beyond him. Runt stood up dripping, acknowledging that his escape from the spit had just gotten him a more soaked coat. It was more of an act of defiance than anything, though, and boy did it piss Scootaloo off something awful.
He looked up under his sopping mane, and saw Scootaloo rushing towards him. He turned around and jumped over the lip of the little pool, just as Scootaloo hopped in after him, displacing more water. Runt allowed himself a laugh at her expense when she let loose a string of curses.
"What the buck?! Stand still, you shit!"
Runt looked at the ring of hostile ponies surrounding him, trying to spot any weaknesses. One of Scootaloo's crew was a little smaller than the rest, a chubby Saddle Arabian with a grimy mane and a gimpy hoof. It looked like Runt could get past him. While Scoot tried to make her way out of the bubbling fountain, Runt rushed the weakling. The pony flinched, but another larger one stepped in front of Runt.
"Where you goin', compadre?" He shoved Runt reeling back towards the middle of the circle, where Scootaloo was waiting, having finally gotten out of the chilly water.
"Stay still, runt." Scootaloo swung at him, but he sidestepped quickly.
Making another dash for the fountain, Runt took off. He made another splash, sending water in the direction of a very unamused Scootaloo. It seemed to be in vain this time, however, because she just stayed outside the lip and waited for Runt to emerge from his little sanctuary, while the circle began tightening around them. Escape was quickly becoming more and more unlikely.
The older ponies started to yell, and soon insults filled the air around Runt.
"You're nuttin' but a little shit!"
"Nobody fuckin' loves you!"
"Scoot's gonna kick your ass!"
Runt tried to shut it out, tried to replace their words with other sounds. He focused on the sounds of the city beyond the square, where all of the clubs and raves that were beginning to come to life. This did nothing for him though, because the city was also haven for fighting in traffic jams and ponies arguing about prices of food or taxi fare. That feuding brought him inevitably right back to the fountain, where Scootaloo was starting to close in.
Then it came to him. Runt closed his eyes tight and imagined he was back at the concert hall, listening to the quartet when they made their glorious climax and pushed him towards the heavens. It lifted him up, and at that moment, he was invincible.
It was exactly what he needed, to slow down and think for a second -- just like when he was back in the alley. He could always out-think these dolts. He looked down at the water he stood in and noticed the bits that ponies threw into the fountain for good luck resting on the bottom of the pool. Part of him wished he had known about the displaced currency earlier, when he was hungry, but he simply shook his head. He needed to focus.
Runt stooped down and picked up a few bits, rolling them around in his hoof.
"Oh, that for me? Thanks!" Scootaloo said sarcastically as she jumped towards Runt, her hoof heading straight towards his snout. He let the music fill him again, and he knew what to do. He ducked quickly so that he was under the outstretched form of Scootaloo, and then pushed off with his hooves. His curled right hoof connected with her ribcage, which sent her sprawling into the water.
Seeing his chance, Runt again moved towards one stallion in particular in the ring. The pony Runt was running at smiled, looking forward to hitting Runt back towards Scootaloo. Runt kept running at him, raising the hoof that held the loose bits. He aimed carefully, and waited until he was close enough to the pony and then let the bits fly. The stallion shrank away under the fire, but recovered faster than Runt had calculated. The pony lunged towards Runt, knocking him to the ground with an almighty thud and pinning him down.
"You fuckin' prick!" The stallion picked up his hoof and brought it down across Runt's face.
For a second, the colt had trouble discerning the lights that swam in front of his eyes from the stars in the sky. In a few seconds, his vision cleared enough to see Scootaloo once again walking towards the pinned Runt. This time, however, she wasn't going to give him any chance to escape.
She took a knife from one of the other fillies in the ring, flashing a smile, before making her way to Runt. He could see that he wouldn't make it out of this one, no matter how much time he had to think. The music filled his head again, though this time it was the somber part of the tune. He understood it now, why it was there. It comforted Runt on some basic level that he couldn't really comprehend, but he played it in his head all the same.
Moonlight and stars flashed across the blade of the knife as it was brought down in time for the piano to join the stringed instruments, its plinking keeping away the pain in Runt's head as Scootaloo went to work on him. He knew exactly what she would do, since he had been watching her and all of her crew for entertainment and academic purposes since their beginning. They did the same thing to each of their victims, and it was a gruesome routine.
First, Scootaloo would severe the tendons in Runt's hind legs, leaving him immobile. Though the conscious knowledge that this would happen to him was certainly sobering, the pain caught him off guard on the same level as an electric shock. The pain was razor sharp and pulverized every other thought in Runt's mind. Lights raced across his eyes as bile made its way into his throat. It dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, making him choke and cough.
Runt began to slip into shock, and the music left him. The screaming pain in his lower body broke through every mental barrier he put into place, and darkness was filling his vision. To add insult to injury, Scootaloo wiped a forehoof under Runt's snout, which was covered in bile and snot. She made sure that her hoof was thoroughly covered before rubbing the mess into Runt's leg wounds, ensuring a raging infection even if Runt managed to survive the immediate trauma.
Runt screamed. Tears immediately filled his eyes, and he started lashing out wildly, trying to fight the iron hold on him. He lifted up his head spastically, smacking the stallion holding him down in the snout, making him clutch at his nose. Runt picked himself up and lashed out at Scootaloo, knocking the knife out of her hoof. He tried moving towards her, but found the only direction he could go was down, since his hind legs were all but rendered useless.
Now, a different song filled his mind, one that he had never heard before. It was a screaming melody that completely filled him with rage and anger. It was one of screeching horror, brought forth by the immense pain and suffering. His own cries accompanied the song as he started dragging himself and his now useless hind legs towards the slightly dazed Scootaloo. When she saw that he could only crawl, she seemed to gain some confidence, and a sick grin twisted its way into her face.
She made large strides towards Runt until she stood over him. She lifted up her hind leg and unmercifully, unceremoniously bucked him in the face. He cried out, collapsing again. His screaming and crying finally brought help, as one of the stage hands that Runt had seen outside of the Hall galloped over to see what all the ruckus was about.
The gruff pony yelled about calling the Royal Guard when he saw that it was a gang fight, and Scootaloo's crew scattered. Runt was left lying next to the fountain, blood dripping from his cut legs. He was panting heavily, and more blood was running heavily down his face. He looked back at the night sky, and the somber music filled his head again. Just as that string instrument broke through the melody, his world faded and the darkness closed in.
Author's Note
I just want to say thank you for reading, even if you didn't necessarily enjoy it. It took a lot of effort, but here it is. If you have any constructive criticisms, I would very much appreciate your feedback. I'm gonna whisper this part, ok? *I guess I'm a noob or somethin', but I don't know what groups I could add this to, or if it's good enough to do so. If you actually like it a little, if you wouldn't mind terribly pointing me in the direction of the appropriate group, I would be very grateful.* Shhh...
Original concept comes from the book 'Ender's Shadow', though it's not really similar at this point. I don't really like this chapter as much compared to the stuff in the works, since I have to lay the foundation for the Canterlot world with this, and I feel like it might be a little cumbersome. Anyway, I'd like to thank my editor, Squeaky, and good luck to you brother. It's a cold world out there.
Part I: Unify
“Can you comment on the controversy revolving around your Crop plan?”
“Let me say this. Equestria, Canterlot included, has always been a place of haves and have-nots. Our economy by nature allows the few to collect mass amounts of wealth, while the majority hold only a small sum. The wealth gap has been thinning, with the creation of a healthy middle class through the spread of industrialization within our nation. What’s more, Equestria has signed a trade partnership with both Saddle Arabia and the Griffin Kingdoms for the first time, ensuring economic prosperity for many years to come.”
“But?”
“...We can take all the strides towards wealth and comfort we want, but it doesn’t really matter. Because there will always -- always -- be the have-nots. There are 7,000 homeless ponies living in Canterlot alone, and of that, half are foals. These statistics remain stubborn, despite our efforts to provide job opportunities and housing through traditional programs.
“‘Traditional’ ways of addressing this issue are no longer sufficient, considering the unwavering number of starving and destitute. It is a crime to allow so many of our own die in the cold, no help available from the government -- or anypony for that matter.”
“And that’s where the Crop comes in?”
“Yes. Real progress has been made in Dupont, the northern sector of Canterlot where our Crop prototype was implemented . The Crop program, designed by Luna and myself, provides housing in the emerging towns and communities of Equestria, where job growth is the highest. This provides the two things needed here most -- a home, and a job. Before Crop was utilized, Dupont was home to over 600 homeless. Now, we are very proud to say that zero remain in the cold in that area.
“Today, it is my honor to present a plan for a large-scale implementation of Crop, throughout the city of Canterlot, and based on its success, Manehattan.”
“The economics of this…”
***
11 months later; 257 Days until Collapse
Feather Tress shook her wings out, snorting at a few leaves that swirled around her trembling form. She was exceptionally small, so the harsh wind cut right through her. The only way for her to stay warm at all was to hop from hoof to hoof, which made her feel like an idiot amidst the crowds of bundled-up aristocrats and designers.
She was standing in Bobigny Park, in the Hampton crew territory. Tress had taken position under a large bronze statue, depicting a very heroic Celestia, in the hopes that it would keep the wind from reaching her. Of course, this had only resulted in a shift of wind direction so that it once again met her head-on. She was inevitably brought to bear against the oncoming winter.
“Oh, Bone. Where are you?” She said between chattering teeth.
She was waiting for a friend. More than that, really -- family. Bone was perhaps the nicest pony she had encountered. Tress had run away from home after her father had started caring more about his flask than her. Because of her father’s hobbies at the bottom of a bottle, she was used to negligence and indifference. In fact, she too had hardened her little heart to the world when she disappeared into the inky night, not knowing what the next day or week would bring.
Actually, it had only been about three days before she had reached her breaking point. Starving, hooves sore, stomach empty. The relentless heat of the summer and nothing but endless hunger rapidly drained her, making her wish to be back with her father. She was on her last legs, with nowhere to go, and she was lost and desperate. She had stumbled into an alley just before nightfall, hoping to just curl up and die while she slept.
Instead, in that alley that she had been so prepared to perish in, she had found life. Sitting on top of a dumpster, hooves crossed and a curious look on his face, was a hardened yet empathetic earth pony. Bone Sew had taken her in, given her food and somewhere to recover.
He had taught her that ponies really could care, and that some were worth investing some love in. After seeing so much numbing pain and suffering, this gift was one she truly treasured.
Tress and Bone had been inseparable ever since. Well, it had only been a few months, really, but she liked to think they'd be as close as family for the foreseeable future. He had shown her how to survive, and how to enjoy the freedoms that the law usually restricted.
The only trouble was, they weren’t in a crew. Crews brought stability and food. If you were in a good crew, you knew exactly where you were getting your next meal and where you’d be sleeping at night. Tress supposed that Bone just prefered to fly solo, having taught her that sometimes a pony can only really depend on themselves.
This was all fine in theory, but when the going got tough and winter rolled in, a pony needed warmth and sustenance. Bone told her that on nights after a bad snowstorm, as many as 20 homeless died, alone and hungry.
So naturally, being in a crew was a good thing as far as survival went. The problem that the duo faced was that most crews stopped recruiting with the threat of winter, not wanting to take on freeloaders. They were effectively barred from any and all crews. Bone had berated himself nonstop for his lack of foresight in not joining a group earlier in the year, when recruiting was still going on. He hadn’t let up since. That is, until word of a new gang in Dupont had reached his ears.
Word was, this gang was hiring. There was the minor issue that they were allegedly based smack-dab in the middle of the northern half of the city, which presented a couple difficulties. One, since it was in Dupont, it was a great distance from where Tress and Bone usually operated, and travel was a very involved and sometimes dangerous process.
Travel, especially long distance travel like the trip to this crew would require, could take a pony through all kinds of places. Hostile crews, the Guard, weather, and hunger in general all posed very real threats to travelers. Well, only homeless travelers. Messing with somepony who the Guard would listen to wouldn’t do the pony who jumped them any good.
Tress and Bone specifically lived in the southern end of the Old Town, pretty near Bridgetown. This meant that going north would mean skirting the edges of both the territories of Boulder’s crew and Scoot’s crew, and it was anypony’s guess whether they’d try to stop northbound trekkers or not.
Boulder controlled the western edge of the city, including the Financial District and much of Old Town and Bridgetown. They only controlled one of the bridges of the five though, which was a point of tension between Boulder and the Hoe Boys. The Hoe Boys (shortened to ‘Hobos’) was taken from myth regarding homeless Humans. The Hobo crew aimed to control all five bridge so that they had a securable border between them and the rest of Bridgetown.
Scootaloo, on the other hoof, held the eastern end of the city, which included a lot of Old Town and Bridgetown. There were about 15 blocks separating the two, and only a few crews were suspended in that middle ground.
The second issue presented by the northern location of the new crew was that even if Bone and Tress did get to it, there was the issue of the Guard. For about a year, Bone had told her, homeless had been up and disappearing as a result of Guard deportations in Dupont. Nopony on the streets knew what happened to the abducted ponies, but none of the speculation was optimistic. It had been common knowledge that nopony operated in Dupont any more, until word of this new gang started getting around.
Effectively, the northern end of the city was a no-go zone for almost every crew in Canterlot. There was no guarantee that a pony’d get out of there once they went in.
So this new crew, as promising and inspiring an opportunity it was, held some risk. Bone, being as caring as he was, had decided to minimize as much risk as he could by finding out the details of this crew -- to see if the rumors held any actual weight. After all, a trip past Embassy Row, the natural north-south border of Canterlot, should be avoided if possible.
Bone had heard that the leader of the Hampton crew, whose territory Tress was in now, had some information.
This source of intel, Bone said, was unpredictable and not to be trusted. Based on this, he had made the decision to talk to this pony alone for Tress’ safety, leaving her in the middle of Bobigny Park underneath a great bronze statue, shivering.
She was perfectly willing to wait, actually. She had grown up fast in the past few months, and didn’t need anypony to hold her hoof anymore. Be that as it may, she was still 7, and patience was not something she specialized in.
Of course, one of the first thing a mind does to entertain itself is think. Thinking, as wonderful an invention as it was, did not help in this situation. All she could keep her mind on was the likelihood of Bone abandoning her.
The worst part was, she couldn’t blame him if he actually had. They were about to start across Canterlot for the northern end of the city, and they had to get there before the first snowfall. Really, if they didn’t get somewhere warm by then, they’d die. Tress would just be dead weight until then, though (and after, for that matter). Another mouth to feed.
Tears were stinging her eyes from a combination of the sharp wind and the very possibility that she had been left behind in this park.
Tress stopped her efforts to squeeze body heat from her tiny frame and shivered almost immediately. Like pinpricks, she felt goosebumps running up and down her legs. The whole ordeal was becoming more than a little uncomfortable.
She scanned the leafless tree line and the walking paths that spider-webbed the park, hoping to spot a familiar face. There were ponies with bright scarves and puffy coats, trotting and playing in the dead leaves that carpeted the cold ground.
All of these ponies who probably had houses, beds, and best of all, a family to go to. No worries about what the night would bring, about where the next meal would come from. They were happy. And why not? She wasn’t their problem, and nor was Bone or any of the other ponies who littered the streets.
Sighing, Tress sat herself down. She moaned lightly at the frigid concrete that met her bum, and tears once again washed her eyes clear. Self-pity filled her, and the inevitable questions flooded her mind like they had those many months ago.
Why did I leave? I could be in a warm bed--
“Boo. Hope I’m not interrupting anything, you look kinda busy lying on the ground like that.” The warm, deep voice screamed its way into her head, and elation soon replaced dread.
Tress squealed, “What took you so long, ya big doofus?”
Turning to face Bone, a second involuntary cry escaped her lips. Placed deftly on his grey head were two hats, and around his neck two scarves.
“Picked these up for us, should make our adventure a little more enjoyable, huh?” He said with a smirk.
His face was hard and square, though the ever-present half smile he wore did a lot to make his features more pleasant. Atop his head was a short crop of black hair, shaggy and untidy in the harsh wind. At 15, he was very large, with a strong set of shoulders and a heavy chest. He was a brilliant fighter, from the little that Tress had witnessed.
There had been the time that a much older pony had tried to take some of the food that Tress and Bone were stocking up earlier in the year, and Bone had beaten him back in a flurry of hooves. He had been very careful to keep her sheltered from that kind of thing, however, and she liked to think that he really did love her in a sister-brother kind of way.
“Picked them up, or stole them?” Tress asked, moving towards her friend.
“What do you think, munchkin? I totally paid for these.” He put on a sarcastic grin, “Too bad I’m keeping them for myself, they’d look good on you.”
Tress laughed, making a go for a yellow scarf that hung around his neck, but he was faster.
Sidestepping, he chuckled, “My dead grandma could move faster than your sorry flank!”
Tress was about to lunge at Bone again when a third pony entered the ring. Short and solid, King was Bone’s best friend. He was the one who had told Bone about the new crew, actually. He had been in Scootaloo’s crew as a fighter before deciding with Bone that they would all go north together. He was light red in color, with a blonde mane that hung short.
"You pick up somethin' for me too? I'm very fragile, you know." His voice was a little high-pitched, and his humor crude, but Tress had grown used to it in the past few weeks. He was another friend.
"All your blubber'll keep you warm, ya loaf." Bone opened fire. They'd never stop now.
"Oh yeah? I happen to know firsthand that your mother is very fond of flab. Says she likes bein' put in her place by a real stallion."
"That'd be true if you were a stallion at all, asshole."
"Why don't you try tellin' her that yer --"
"Pardon, I don't mean to come between you two, but shouldn't we get a move on?" Tress nodded her head towards the sinking sun, her eyes betraying sarcasm.
Her two companions grumbled their assent, and they turned northwards. Bone tossed a red hat and the yellow scarf to Tress, who smiled widely. The articles of clothing brought her ears and neck immediate relief from the wintry air, and put a bounce in her step.
They walked in silence out of the park, King and Bone thinking of how to piss the other off most efficiently. It was Tress who decided to disperse some of the tension.
"So, what were you doing besides getting this stuff and dragging lard-butt over here? What did the crew leader say?" King shot daggers with his eyes at Tress for the jab.
"I talked to the guy. Colt named Atlas who used to run around with Scootaloo, an' he was telling me about the crew we’re headin’ for in Dupont. Said that around a year ago, right when the Guard started rounding ponies up, a little guy who used to be a supplier for Scoot ran north. She didn't want him goin' to the Guard about all the shit that went down back then, so they chased him all around Canterlot.
"Atlas says that when they finally caught him, the squirt got cut up pretty bad. Couple ponies started to threaten calling the whole damn military, so they ran. They came back a few times lookin' for him, and never found nothin'. Atlas thinks that the little guy got nabbed by the ponies in uniform, but Scoot swears that he's still alive. Which is probably why she wants whoever's runnin' this crew up north on the end of a stick." Bone swung his head around to meet Tress' gaze, who looked back at him with big, wondering eyes.
“Wow. You should totally write that down, Boner. So that way we can read it whenever we want and stuff, it was that good” King said.
"Look, the point is, Atlas told me where I could maybe find this guy, if he's still around. ‘Cause he’d know for sure where this crew is, if he isn’t already in it. Up by Canterlot Music Hall, in Ruder Square. It's about an hour's run north of Embassy Row, Atlas says. Which puts us at about a five hours walk all the way, since we're so far south. I timed it so that we'll be past Embassy Row by nightfall, that way the Guard can't see us. Kapeesh?"
King broke in, "Man, you're retarded. The Guard wouldn't stop us during the day up north, but we're, like, 10 times as suspicious at night."
Bone rolled his eyes and kept walking.
Tress looked at her hooves as she walked, thinking about the upcoming journey. She had thought it would be a lot longer than 5 hours, to say the least. It was just that Bone and King made such a big deal out of it before, and it had seemed that the trek would be more daunting than five hours. Was it really that dangerous where they were going that they go through all this preparation?
“Hey, Bone?”
“What’s up, Tress?”
“If this trip is really so short, why did you make such a big deal out of it before we left?” Tress looked up at Bone, curiosity spelled out in her eyes.
“Uh… I didn’t know we played it up that much. Look, the thing is, nopony we know has ever gone north, except for Scoot and the guys who were in her crew a year ago. That was all before things up there really started gettin’ bad. Atlas told me that the north is like the Badlands. No rules; no big crews holdin’ everypony together. Down here, most everypony’s in a gang, and everypony who is has gotta job to do. Get food, or get money, the list goes on. Atlas said that up there, it’s everypony for themselves ‘cuz there’s only the one crew.
“So I guess we was just stressin’ it so much ‘cuz we don’t wanna be underprepared. That’s just the fact of the matter.” Bone articulated the last sentence with his hooves, and he nodded excitedly at his answer.
Tress still had another question, “Wait, aren’t you in Scootaloo’s crew, King? Or, were, I guess. Anyway, wouldn’t you’ve gone north with her?”
“I wasn’t with her a year ago. Like Bone said, only the guys in it back then went uptown.”
Tress frowned, “What about how Scootaloo got mad at the pony who first ran north. You know how she chased him? Why doesn’t she get mad at us?”
Bone laughed, “I reckon Scoot’d probably want our heads, yeah. That is, if she actually knew what we were doing.”
“What was her crew like, King?”
“Celestia, you don’t shut up, do you?” King rolled his eyes and grumbled. Tress shrugged.
King continued, “I dunno. Like, I was a fighter, so I was kind of a big shot compared to all the other guys. At the bottom are the suppliers, who basically operate on their own except they give all their shit to Scoot, in exchange for part of the cut of food and protection. Those guys make up the biggest part of the crew. Above ‘em is the fighters, who keep control of the soup kitchens and fight for territory sometimes. There were only, like, 20 fighters when I was there, including me. 'Bove us it’s Scootaloo and her friends."
Tress nodded, showing she understood.
“The problem is that when winter’s comin’, the suppliers start bringin’ in less and less loot, so you have to rely more and more on the kitchens. With that, the kitchen can only feed so many ponies, so eventually somepony’s not gonna be eatin’. Nine times outta ten the ponies who go hungry are the suppliers, ‘cuz they’re smaller than everypony else. I dunno, I just think that’s really shitty, to let some guys starve while Scoot and her friends who don’t do nothin’ eat like royalty.”
Tress scratched her chin, taking it all in. What if this crew they were going to worked the same way, and she was the one who went hungry first? That was a legitimate risk, right? This just made it more apparent that this trip north was a huge gamble, so their current crewlessness must’ve been a lot more dire than she had first realized.
Tress was looking at her hooves as she walked, thinking about all that King and Bone had told her. So deep in thought, she didn’t see that Bone had stopped ahead of her. She bumped into him suddenly, which put her on her butt.She let out a loud grunt, and looked around to see what the hold-up was. Then she saw it, the Hyatt Hotel, which pretty much marked the farthest Tress had ever traveled north.
It was a total of six stories tall, whitewashed with dark, tinted windows. A neon sign above the covered entrance announced that it was indeed the Hyatt, though the place held no real significance with any of the three except her. Even when she hadn't lived in the alleys and among the rats, she had never strayed far from home or school, and her father never cared enough to take her someplace worthwhile. The most exciting part of her week, actually, was shopping at the grocery, because that alone did enough to break the monotonous cycle of the first grade.
"You ready for this, Tress?" Bone looked into her eyes, concern thick in his voice.
"Born ready, doofus." Tress put on a mask of stoicism, trying to be tough for Bone.
They stood like that for a time, Tress acting tough and Bone trying to call her bluff. He'd never make the trip past the Hyatt if she didnt want to go.
"Do you guys, like, want me to take a picture or something?" Tress rolled her eyes and looked at King, who giggled haughtily. Bone punched him hard in the shoulder, his eyes most definitely rolling.
“Whatever, asshole. Let’s just get goin’ Tress.” Bone started towards the Hyatt, north bound once more. Tress stayed at his side, sticking her tongue out at the King.
For his part, King nursed his injured shoulder, pouting dramatically. He finally noticed the shrinking forms of Bone and Tress, making their way uptown.
“Wait, you’re not going to leave me here, are you? Hey!” He trotted after them, a hoof outstretched.
***
“Son of a bitch, this is all your fault.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re the one who insisted on checking out this buckin’ square!”
“I didn’t know this buckin' shit was happening!”
“Guys, shut the hell up. They’ll hear us.” Tress interceded, her voice a harsh whisper.
They were crouched down in an alley, darkness enveloping them. The East Falls building, which served as the soup kitchen for the East Falls crew, burned across the square. It was not a church, but was gothic and had stone steeples that stuck out above the thick smoke. Stone bricks turned black by soot and the air choked with smoke, the building was ablaze. Smoldering support beams collapsed in an almighty roar, and the arching roof caved in. It sent thousands of sparks and jets of flame shooting towards the stars.
The windows had long ago popped from their frames under the intense heat, so tendrils of fire licked their way into the cool night air, as if beckoning for somepony to come near. Come near they did.
Not Tress, nor Bone or King, to be clear. Five small ponies stood near the burning kitchen, grinning at their handiwork. They were young, fillies and colts at least. Too young to be arsonists, one would think.
Closer to where Tress was hiding were two more ponies, though much larger than the little criminals that watched the fire. These ponies were armed, large sections of pipe held in the crooks of their hooves. They stood watch, guarding the burning building as if somepony could stop it if they tried.
Bone had led them nearly to Embassy Row when King had spotted the dazzlingly bright lights that had shone from a block over. Stupidly, King had walked them right into the square they were parked in currently. They watched, horrified, as the youngsters torched the place, throwing matches into a decidedly gas-soaked building.
One of the big ponies must’ve spotted them before they had ducked into an alley, considering the careful watch that kept them rooted to the spot.
Tress swore under her ragged breath, hoping against all hopes that the thugs wouldn’t think to look in their alley. Her little heart made up for its size with volume, pounding in her head with vigor, creating a sort of sadistic song that matched the fire as it roared.
The armed ponies stared hard into the night, determined to hang high any intruders. Any witnesses that lived to tell the tale and the Guard would do the same to them.
Their faces were cast in shadow by the light source behind them, but Tress could see enough to make them out. They were mean looking, scars dotting their coats as if they were patterned quilts. One was a dark blue, with no mane and a torn left ear. On his face was a scowl that could scare a bogeyman.
His partner looked much gentler looking, with light brown coat and black mane. He didn't wear an ugly frown like his cohort, but looked just as serious. Of course, Tress couldn't overlook the fact that they were both wielding blunt objects, assumedly for hurting. That made them slightly more intimidating than they had already been, and they'd be plenty scary without the pipes.
“How do we get out of this?” Tress asked feebly, trying to keep her voice from being heard by the sentries.
“If we knew, do you think we would still be here, you twit?”
“King, shut up. Bein' an ass won’t do anypony any good. We just gotta think about this.” Bone’s collectiveness calmed Tress, and silenced King entirely.
Silence filled the alley for a moment while the friends tried to outfox their oppressors.
Bone snickered before continuing, “Actually, there’s jack we can do right now. We gotta wait it out, guys.”
King groaned, beating his head against a wall behind Tress.
They didn’t have to wait long, it seemed, as the thuggish ponies decided the coast was clear. They shouldered a sack of cans, probably from the smoldering kitchen, and walked over to the group of foals by the fire. They had apparently had the decency to rob the charity before burning it to the ground.
The congregation of thugs whispered amongst themselves before retreating onto a street across the square. Bone, King, and Feather Tress waited another few tense minutes as the flames continued their march towards the stars to see if they came back. Tress’ heart still pounded, the sight of the armed ponies with the great inferno behind them etched in her mind forever.
Finally, Bone decided they were safe.
“Well shit. Good call on waiting it out, bud.” King patted Bone on the shoulder as he passed him, heading out of the alley.
“Wait up. Who the fuck were those guys, King? I’ve lived out here for a long time, an’ I never saw anything like that.”
“No clue, compadre. I’m just glad I live to tell the tale of the 'Dickholes Who Burnt Down a Charity'.” King laughed, leading the party once more, "Seriously, who the hell does that? The East Falls crew... Celestia, dude. They're gonna go hungry for a while."
Their shadows danced on the buildings to their right as they walked, the fire's light making them look huge. Smoke still choked Tress' lungs, but she didn't want to cough to clear her airway in case somepony heard. It was an irrational fear, considering King and Bone had been talking freely only moments before, but Tress was frightened. Besides the rare tussle between a thieving bum and Bone, she had never seen a great amount of violence on the streets. The greatest threat to she and Bone was hunger, and the very real possibility of starving.
And now, she had seen a few ponies just condemn an entire crew to that fate by burning down the kitchen. Hell, that building had been the crew's namesake. Maybe what Atlas had said was right, maybe this part of town was the badlands in comparison to everywhere else. What's more, they weren't even past Embassy Row yet!
It was while Tress was thinking these things that she heard the first fire whistles begin to fill the air, and shortly after, Guard whistles. Somepony had reported the fire, and if they had seen the trio near there, they might be blamed for it. This could spell trouble.
As if on cue, a gruff voice called out from the darkness, "Hey! I found 'em!"
It wasn’t a guard, though.
A buff pegasus colt stepped from an alley beyond where Tress stood, two more ponies behind him.
“This is the East Falls crew, Bone. I seen ‘em before.” King whispered to Bone, who nodded.
“Hey, guys. What’s up?” Bone’s methods of diplomacy were less than perfect, evidently.
“You fuckers know 'what’s up'. What the fuck is wrong with you psychos? Seriously. Burnin’ down our damn kitchen? Not fuckin’ cool.” The lead pegasus said, an intimidating grimace on his face. The colt’s voice was surprisingly calm, as if nothing was uncertain, and punishment had already been dealt.
“Well those’re some pretty heavy allegations. What d’you have to back it up?" King challenged the pegasus, stepping in front of Bone.
"What proof? Buddy, you see any other ponies out here?"
Hey, we was just passin’ through, an’ we saw your building burning.” King said, a threat at the edge of his voice.
“Yeah, ok. And who do you suppose burned it down, passerby?”
“Man, I don’t know--"
"Bullshit. Why shouldn't we beat your buckin' skulls in right now?"
"Alright, alright. We saw five ponies standin’ next to it, two of ‘em armed. Couldn’t tell if it was a crew or not.” King’s words made the lead pony’s ears perk, a fire in his eyes.
“What did they look like? The armed ones, I mean. Prove you saw ‘em.” His voice wasn’t even anymore, and gravelly adrenaline lined his speech.
“Er, one of ‘em was bald and had a torn ear, and the other was pretty normal lookin’, I guess. It was dark out.”
“Torn ear? Hey, filly, you see a torn ear too?” The pegasus turned to Tress, his eyes boring into hers.
“Eh, yeah, one did. Like he said, it was hard to see.” Tress tried to sound as confident as she could.
The air between the two trios of ponies was silent for many seconds as the pegasus considered Tress. She was afraid she had said something wrong, and she felt insecure with the pegasus scanning up and down her face.
The two ponies behind the lead pegasus looked ready to hurt somepony, hoofs clenched tightly and their eyes slits. The unending silence while the pegasus wieghed Tress made her wonder whether they could take this crew if push came to shove. Bone was an excellent fighter, which was also King's job in Scoot's crew. These ponies looked tough though, with scars criss-crossing their sides and anger all over their faces. Plus, Tress certainly couldn't fight.
She decided that it was an even match, even with her as a liability. She just hoped it wouldn't come to that, but it all depended on if the pegasus believed them or not. Finally, he nodded.
“Yeah, I know who you’re talkin’ about. Sounds like somethin’ he’d do, too.”
Tress almost jumped for joy, and she could see that the two ponies behind the pegasus looked relieved, too.
Bone chuckled, “So who are they? We kinda found it hard to believe somepony’d burn down a kitchen.”
“Part of Scoot’s crew, they wanted some of our fighters and the East Falls bulding, but we fought ‘em off earlier today. The asshole with the torn ear is named Motivator, Celestia knows who came up with that buckin’ name. Didn’t motivate us none.”
King laughed, “Eh, that guy sounds like a big softy. Don’t see why you didn’t hand over those fighters. What’s your name, captain?”
The lead pegasus smiled, “Doppler. Named after weather equipment, yeah? Doin’ me a lotta good out here on the streets." Tress laughed at this.
The pegasus flashed her a grin, "...an' these two are Cleaver,” Doppler pointed to another gruff pony with a buzzed mane, “and Eden.” Doppler gestured towards a light green earth filly.
“Hey Eden, Cleaver. These two troublemakers are Feather Tress and Bone Sew. We was just goin’ up to Dupont, ‘cuz we heard a new crew up there is hiring.” King bumped hooves with Doppler.
“Alright, pleasure’s all mine, ponies. What with our burned down kitchen, we gotta go up to that crew too. We know those guys pretty well; figure they could give us a hoof or somethin’.”
“So they do actually exist? Shit, King, you were right. I’m glad, too, or we woulda been bucked for winter.” Bone punched King in the shoulder, relieved laughter spilling out onto the streets.
“Yeah, well. We should probably get movin’, the Guard’ll be here soon for the fire.” Doppler said, “The rest of our crew is already sleepin’ for the night, so why don’t you fellas come with us to the Dupont crew?”
“Yeah, alright. Let’s get movin’.” Bone, King, Tress, and their new companions set off, northbound once more.
As they continued their journey, Tress couldn’t keep a feeling of elation from rising in her stomach. Things were starting to look up after all.
***
Author's Note
Now we're gettin' somewhere. Again, thanks a bunch for reading this, even if you didn't necessarily like it. If you have any constructive criticism, please feel free to leave feedback.
Thank you also to Squeaky for partially editing this. Stay safe out there, brother. In other news, I am in need of a reliable editor.
Ya'll have a good day.
