War

War never changes

The great Equestrian-Zebrican war left the world in a swirling vortex of death and disarray for the better half of two centuries. When civilization started to return in the form of small settlements and towns in the ashes of the old world, many of Equestria's previous hot spots and thriving hub cities became nothing more that hives for scum to find the next lucky kill or meal. maybe even both at the same time.

One such city, was the once great party destination of Neigh Orleans.
This previous home to thousands was built in the time where Equestria was starting to thrive, and the demand for more living space in a small area was growing at an unprecedented rate. On the fateful day when the world was consumed, destroyed and re-birthed in a few hours, the bale fire bomb aimed at the main centre of the city by a mile, hitting the northern dockyards and ports, effectively eradicating that 1 cubic mile of land from existence forever. This is not what dammed the proud carnival fuelled town.

The subsequent weather that year was rough, and fires from the bomb were pushed down into the many residential blocks of the south quadrant, and those who were not lucky enough to be incinerated by the blast, we're quickly consumed by the ensuing fire storm.
This started a chain reaction leading to most of the surviving citizens of the southern sectors, flee the city itself or to try and hide in the underground Stables, underground havens for those who could afford such the luxury of safety, situated in a few hidden back ally ways as not to draw too much attention from the drunken party goers in their alcohol induced stupor.

Now 150 years after that blight on the worlds history, the descendants of the hub have come back in droves returning and repopulating with their own 'twist' on what is now modern life.
Packed and squashed in housing has now become a free-for-all area for mercenaries and raiders alike, making the once party hot spot into a hive of wretched scum and villainy.

Gangs started to sprout up, vying for rule of the ruins of the New port, the slums, and the recently 'refurbished' rich sectors. Traders quickly set up routes from other towns and settlements across the wasteland, wanting to give precious goods for a food source which was considered the least foul and tainted. Fish.

For a while the gangs warred, having receiving the salvaged weapons from the delicacy hungry traders, and once again the city was plunged into violence. That is until the Queens reared their ugly heads.

Headed by their nameless leaders and Dressed in their signature purple plate armour, The Queens quickly poured in, their own citizens and settlers involving themselves in the boiling gang violence, threatening to spill out past the city and into the wastes itself.

With the promise of ending the legendary gang wars of Neigh Orleans, The Queens placed checkpoints and guarded each of the cities more ravenous areas. Most though, think this is nothing more than a façade, a way to cash in on the new supply of food while disposing of the fighting gangs by creating a war on their own terms.

And War

War never changes.

Monday.

I'm guessing that you are pretty much like me, and despise this dreaded day with as much volition as I do.

The problem is not the day itself, it's more for me the people around me on that day. I'm not gonna sugar coat it sister, but I am a recluse. Someone who would rather stay in and talk to friends who live possibly thousands of miles away on Skype, then go to the pub for one or two drinks with real friends.

Don't ask me why, I don't even know myself.

Anyway, people the night before go on booze ups, trying to make that precious weekend last a couple more minutes longer. This causes, you guessed it! some grouchy ass bastards the morning after on that oh so lovely Monday.

What did make me a grouchy ass bastard right now was things breaking, and the sound from downstairs gave off a noise that was extremely similar to a glass falling over off the side and meeting its untimely fate with the floor.

So, lying in bed, I have to think why did mum put on the washing machine in the morning again... But alas, she was probably in a rush with dad as to avoid the morning squash in the tube networks.

Okay John. Get. Out. Of. Bed.

I could just go back to sleep... the teachers know me anyway, so they wont mind me missing just one lesson... will they?

No! Mum and Dad will go fucking berserk if they find out that your attendance isn't at least 90% so come on, get your lazy arse out of bed and get down stairs. There's left over Chinese anyway

Ok, if that last point wasn't the right amount of get-the-fuck-outta-bed-material, then the first one sent a deadly chill down my spine.
Hell hath no fury like an overworked Mother's. So, getting out of bed I saw myself in the Teen sized mirror opposite the bed. If my chubby body didn't give it away, then the dark rings under my scrunched up did. i. was. tired.
Okay, one leg out, next leg out of the bed. now stand up!
Ok! step one of the day over, get out of the bed: done!

Now with my feet firmly planted on the blue carpeted floor after a few seconds of trying to balance myself, I stood at my full height, I got a grand view of myself in the accursed mirror. standing at around 5'11 and with a slightly overweight body, people had constantly said "oh, you'll even out!" but no, I got taller and the chubby belly stayed prouder than ever. What I did need was a haircut, with the current dew getting to just above my eyes. given the pasty white skin, with what some would consider to be almost feminine looks for a boy. That last point, yeah it got me some pretty great comments.

My mood was improving a little since the first opening of my eyes.
I like to think of myself as a kind person at heart, someone that is easy to get along with and that you can find just one thing in common with. For 17 years I have enjoyed my life to its fullest extent, my family helping by instilling a sense of adventure in me by travelling the world whenever we could. What I don't like to admit, is that i am a wimp. A coward, someone who is afraid of the simplest of things. I need a kick start to get me out of this habit now, as this Trait of my mine has left me ruts that I cant figure out, its doesn't help when my closest set of friends are lively and bloody insane. I find it hard to understand when they're joking or when they are being deadly serious. It causes me to freeze up at points, not being able to speak and I just sit there in an awkward mess.
Again, it doesn't help that i bottle myself in, not allowing most emotions apart from happiness and excitement to escape. Most of the time when something annoying happens or I get angered, I just take it and move on, not caring for what was just said. Most of the time I do that. It's what lead me into the Art world, a way for me to truly express myself and in the end you had one standard Art & Design college student, ready for the world to throw whatever it could at him.

Speaking about an Art student, my room reflected it. Cloths strewn all over my side of the room, with the odd tissue here or there. My single bed tucked away in the corner was opposite by a TV, some consoles and my brothers bed which was the same red stripped pattern as my own. My brother had drawn the dark blue curtains on the two windows in the room, one above my bed and one opposite his and I dared not touch them, as he treasures his own precious equilibrium in the room. Seeing that he was not present, I remembered that everyone leaves the house at around 7 in the morning for work, leaving me alone for the next few hours and drawing the first of the days grin to my face as lessons started at 9:00 AM.

Checking the phone next to my pillow, i saw that it was 8:42 AM.

Fuck.

Rushing to my bedroom door I did the dance of my life along the way, flinging my Pyjama's off and whipping on my jeans'n'green T-shirt combo, not caring if I wore them the day before.
A took a quick glance into my parents room as I stumbled down the spiral carpeted staircase, knocking my shoulder into the wall and hissing in pain as i sprinted to my fridge in the kitchen, only to trip over something as I came through the white framed door. If the fall didn't hurt, it was the belly flop on the various shards of glass on the PVC floor. I had landed just in front of the knee high white cupboards which contained the various plates that my family had collected over the years. It felt like nothing had pierced into the skin of my stomach and chest so I guess the pain of the multiple shards of glass poking and almost ripping into me was the first thing to deal with on top of the dull throbbing in my shoulder. Gritting my teeth, and scrunching my eyes tight, i mentally prepared myself for just a tad more pain as I turned over slowly onto my unhurt shoulder, which so happened to be my right, and flipped onto my back as elegantly as a sloth high on LSD.

Staring up at the ceiling, I took a brief second to contemplate life, its complexities and the universe as a whole. Well, I may or may not have emptied my lungs in a single shout as I let the situation wash over me. Yeah I contemplated some philosophical bullshit lets roll with that. I was so caught up in my 'thoughts' that it took me a second or two to notice the other voice in the room.

"Boy! you do scream loudleh, whatever in the name of Tatarus you are..."

Taking my tear filled eyes off the ceiling and down to where the voice had come from, I would let my eyes bulge from their sockets in a comical fashion but one particular point of glass was digging into my back, and ruining my shirt in the process.

What greeted my eyes was what could only be described as a 'what the hell moment'
Beak? Check!
Wings? Of course!
Body of what looked like a.. lion? 5 stars to whoever shouted that out!

It was a fucking Griffon, and if I could discern anything from its face, and the not so nice look if was giving me, it had been in some sort of brutal fight. If the Scar running down its left cheek and across its beak wasn't the tell tale sign it was the fact that its body, which currently was standing on its hind legs against the open door causally smoking a.. cigarette?, was covered from head to claw with several layers of leather Armour and the odd piece of plate metal here or there.
From what I see of its fur and plumage, the wings and main body were a chestnut colour, while its white feathers seemed to have a tint of gold on the end, the Feathers on its head was a dark steel, each small feather ended in a light navy. What drew me the most to its overly expressive face, considering it had a beak, were its eyes. One a shinning grass green and the other being a cloudy orange. Its pose against the door, front arms crossed and its hind legs up into a standing position gave the impression that it didn't care what happened, and the way its eyes looked at me was with abject curiosity while its beak curled up into a subdued smile.
This thing was in control, and I was in its sights.

I think I had the most logical reaction.

"aaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

I scrambled back not caring for my palms being cut on the glass under me, staining the pale purple floor a light tinge of red. Slamming against the Cupboards I looked at it with frantic eyes, it currently giving me the look of what I could only guess as extreme irritation.
"Is that how yer kind talks? huh?" Its voice dripping with annoyance and an unmistakable American accent, still filled with youth but with the husk of a chain smoker "in screams n' shouts? cus' if thats the case, I might just shoot you, take whats here and fly off on back to the city" Brandishing what appeared be a small shotgun, it emphasized its point by gesturing it in my direction. Hold on John... Its a he, His had a male tone to it. Letting out a puff of smoke through the holes in its beak (nostrils maybe?) I watched the cinders cascade down from the lit end and past the puffed out chest armour, going-
"Hey! you lis'nin?" He interrupted my thoughts with his gruff voice, lifting the gun up with both arms now pointing it firmly at me. "You have exactly five seconds befo' I blow you away boy, so if you can, git talkin!"

Jesus fuck this cant be happening, this cant be real at all!

"five"

Its beak is still moving and English is coming out so-

"fo'"

No no no no no no-

"Three"

Please god say this is a dream.

"Two"

GOD FUCKING DAMNIT JOHN YOU HAVE A MOUTH SPEAK

"One"

Shrugging it lifted up the gun for him to get a shot at my head. "Well at least I ain't goin' hungreh t'night..."

Finally, I screamed "I CAN TALK!"

He pulled the trigger anyway.

Author's Note

Cheers for giving it a small read. I know it probably isn't going to be the most liked story in the world, and criticism is welcomed happily.
If it gets enough likes I'll continue it as I have a plan for the story.