Way To Go, Minuette, Way To Go!

Chapters

Sweet Celestia, what did I do yesterday?
Are you okay, Minuette?
I was looking for some duct tape and this friggin’ box fell on my head, so I took a look...
“Ride of the Valkyries” on the radio and you can pour napalm on the zebras all morning.
It’s not medieval when you needed a virgin and a good sword to kill a dragon.
Screw psychology: I feel like inside of a giant vagina.
Yeah, and I’ve never tried to pee my name in the snow.
Actually, life must kinda suck when you can’t even trust your own ass.
And, above all, do we really need a user’s manual to take a dump?
Leave them and stop trying to tear the fabric of reality!
Our life is in the hooves of an insane inventor, adult model with questionable political views, a town drunk, two shy lesbians, and Vinyl.

Sweet Celestia, what did I do yesterday?

My name is Minuette. That’s the only thing I’m sure of at the moment.

Actually, since I woke up, I’m not even sure of that. You know, I opened my eyes and a list of various words, including a brand of a toothpaste, and the name of a character from some TV show ran before them. I already forgot most of them, but Minuette rang a certain bell in my poor, battered head. Not even a soft pillow helped me against my hangover.

Well, it’s not exactly a pillow. It’s blue and soft, but it’s also hairy and it has other things a pillow totally shouldn’t have, like a picture of crescent moon and a wand on it, or a pair of legs and a tail sticking out from it. Apparently it’s somepony’s flank.

Sweet Celestia, what did I do yesterday?

Okay, focus Minuette. Keep it together. The owner of the (quite curvy, I must admit) flank and I are in some wooden room, probably the interior of a carriage or a wagon of sorts. It’s dark, save from rays of sunlight getting through holes in the walls. The whole place smells of sweat and vomit. The unpleasant sensation in my stomach tells me that it could be mine.

I raise my head and look around. As soon as my gaze falls upon the pony I used as a pillow, something clicks in my head. A name.

Beatrix Cinderella Lulamoon.

Who in this world calls their child ‘Beatrix Cinderella’? Well, scratch that. In this country it’s perfectly legal to name a child Silver Spoon, Filthy Rich, Cheese Sandwich… Beatrix Cinderella is not a bad name. Another memory pops up in my head.

Trixie for short. The Great and Powerful Trixie for modest.

I look around the wagon, spotting some rather alarming details. First off, Trixie is resting on a couple of bags made of brown fabric, stuffed with bits. Like, thousands of bits; maybe millions. The holes in the wagon’s walls are a clear indication that somepony was trying to shoot us yesterday. The implications weren’t very reassuring.

Speaking of shooting, we aren’t alone in the wagon. Next to Trixie sleeps a skinny, white unicorn mare with electric blue mane. Her eyes are completely obscured by large sunglasses. She’s snoring while embracing a shotgun – its barrel is dangerously close to her face. To make matters worse, it’s a shotgun designed for earth ponies, with an enlarged trigger to make shooting it with hooves easier. The white mare rests her hind leg on it. One bad dream, one move, and her brain is all over the place. Assuming that she has one. Nopony with a half of a brain uses a friggin’ shotgun as a teddy bear, right?

Well, nopony with a half of a brain sleeps in a wagon that smells like an outhouse after a party that went horribly wrong, but I guess you catch my drift. I mean, since this day already seems to be really bad, I don’t want to make it any worse. And it would be worse if I had to scrap a pony’s brain off the walls. Every time my hooves touch brain, I’m "the Guns of Neighvarone".

Carefully, I aim my horn at her and levitate the shotgun out of her hooves. My magic is lazy, the aura falters and almost dies down, but after a few tries, I manage to summon the gun to me. I open the action. Of course, it’s loaded. Way to go, Vinyl, way to go… I heard from my brother that she swallows, but this load would be probably too much even for her. I take the shells out of the shotgun and place them carefully on the floor.

Vinyl. Vinyl Scratch. I just recalled that name and I feel a desperate need to go outside. My head is killing me, and apparently I spent the previous night partying with the Self-centered Large Ham, known as Beatrix Cinderella “Trixie” Lulamoon and the Horny Large Ham, Vinyl Scratch. Way to go, Minuette. Your mother was totally right. You’re not gonna die peacefully in your own bed, dictating your last will to the herd of foals, grandkids, great-grandkids and other family members, waiting impatiently for your last breath and looking hungrily at your money.

Well, sorry mom, but I actually like this idea. I never liked foals. Like, they creep me out. And I don’t have any money to give to my family. I look at the interior of the wagon one more time. Well, actually I have lots of money, as well as some empty cola cans, cider bottles, a mug with “Best Princess” written on it, a shotgun, and a mysterious briefcase lying on the floor between Vinyl and Trixie. I open the briefcase. Who knows what it contains? Maybe some diamonds, maybe someone’s dirty laundry.

Oh, fuck me. Did I mention that this day was bad? Well, now it’s, like, ten times worse. The briefcase is full of plastic bags with some white powder. Knowing my luck, it’s not flour. Okay, Minuette, inhale. Exhale. Repeat till you calm down. I walk out of the wagon. The air inside isn’t exactly suitable for breathing.

The fresh air helps me to clean my mind, but it also has a rather unpleasant side effect – just after leaving the wagon and taking the first deep breath I threw up on the ground. Apparently, my body decided that reminding me what I ate last night was the best way to fight my amnesia.

I spit on the sand. There’s a desert everywhere. Sand, more sand, some rocks, more sand, some sand in my mane and even more in my throat. Next to the wagon there’s a roadsign: "Las Pegasus" – too many miles for me to comprehend in my current state. "Dodge Junction" – even more miles. "Canterlot", "Manehattan", anywhere close to civilisation – friggin’ lots of miles. Just great.

I try to make any sense of it. We’re in a wagon, in the middle of the desert and apparently we were partying a bit too hard yesterday. During the party, we apparently broke into some bloke’s house and robbed not only his bits, but also his cocaine stash. Or maybe heroin. I’d take some on the tip of my hoof and taste it to find out, but knowing my luck, I’d immediately get high and do something irresponsible.

Well, the bloke we’d robbed probably got pissed (scratch that – he surely was pissed), and tried to make his revenge using, judging by the bullet holes, an assault rifle or two. And an anti-pegasus cannon.

Now, as I figure it out, my mind starts to present other pieces of information to me. The first of them is connected with Vinyl Scratch. You know, my brother used to rut her, so she’s kinda like family. After they broke up, she went to Las Pegasus and began romancing with some casino owner. I remember that a few days ago she called me, asking for a–

Oh, that’s just rich. That’s just too fucking rich. Minuette, you imbecile. You totally deserve to spend the rest of your life with Vinyl Scratch, your intellectual levels are exactly the same.

As you may guess from my cutie mark, I’m a skilled watchmaker. I never liked that, mostly because my brother has exactly the same cutie mark, which he got on the same day as me. And since he’s an earth pony, manipulating with the precise mechanisms was always harder for him and our parents were more amazed by his cutie mark than mine. Life is just not fair.

Much more I like my secondary talents: developments of the ability to precisely move the small elements with my magic. I can repair any mechanical, electronic or magical device: Phones, guns, cider presses, toasters, weather factory’s rainbow-making machine… everything.

And, above that, I’m a skilled locksmith.

I remember that I asked Vinyl why she can’t get a locksmith in Las Pegasus. But she insisted that she needed me and that the work was top secret. I thought that she simply got stuck in the toilet and didn’t want anypony to find out, or something like that. Then she promised me money.

As I said before, I don’t have much money. I’d like to say that I squandered everything I had on alcohol, expensive clothes and zebra stallions, but the reality looks much more pedestrian: the watches nowadays are quite reliable, so they don’t need to be repaired very often, the other watchmaker in town is a handsome single stallion (who is also my brother), and my landlord is a bitch. Thus, I take almost every oddjob I’m offered. Just call 555-08-08 and ask for Minuette. I will do almost anything, except maybe having sex with you or murdering your boss or relatives. And I don’t do windows.

Vinyl Scratch didn’t want any of these things, she just wanted a lockpicker, so Minuette, being a dumb ass she is, went to Las Pegasus and…

Crap. I barely started to speak about myself in third person, and I already summoned her. She walks out of the wagon, narrowing her eyes upon seeing the bright Sun. She looks around and her gaze locks on me.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie wants to thank you one more time!” she almost shouts.

Geez, my head. Chill out, Trixie, what I’ve done to earn such gratefulness? I think when she approaches and hugs me. I feel uncomfortable, mainly because I feel I’m sweaty, dirty, my breath smells of vomit, and Trixie isn’t any better than me in that matter. And then she says something that makes me feel even more uncomfortable.

“Trixie thinks that what you did to her was the best thing Trixie experienced in her whole life!”

Way to go, Minuette, way to go. Congratu-pony-lations. You just lost your virginity to a mare. Worse, to a mare who’s a travelling magician. While you were drunk or drugged out of your mind. My poor mother probably turns in her grave.

That is, she’d turn in her grave if she was dead. And I’d have lost my virginity if it wasn’t already claimed by Caramel, in the kitchen of The Sugarcube Corner, during the “Berry Punch Has a Baby” party. Fun times. Pinkie Pie caught us and made us clean all the mess up; that is, after we told her that we definitely didn’t want her to join.

“Trixie thinks that what you did with those two stallions was awesome!”

What. I cover my face with my hooves. I don’t exactly hear what Trixie is saying, only a bit about their ‘something’ wider than Trixie’s neck.

“C-come again?” I ask. If she’s not exaggerating, I should feel something, right? Like, I shouldn't be able to walk.

“Trixie said that she’d never fight two stallions whose biceps were wider than her neck. And you… you saved Trixie’s life!” She hugs me again.

Geez, girl, calm down. My head is killing me even without her yelling so loud that she’s probably heard in Appleloosa. Good news is that my metaphorical virginity is still safe and sound. Though, the threeway…

Calm down, Minuette. You’re a life saver now, you can’t think about threeways! Focus. But, how can I focus when I hear strange sounds from the inside of the wagon? More exactly, the sound of pony rolling on the floor and swearing like a sailor.

Apparently, Vinyl just woke up.

A minute later she’s outside, with her sunglasses on, smiling sheepishly at us.

“Hi, girls!” She shouts. “Can you believe it? There’s a suitcase full of cocaine inside!”

I feel like I’m going to explode. My poor, battered brain demands answers. I let out a scream of frustration, making Trixie cower in fear. Or maybe it’s pain – she’s hungover too, after all. Vinyl, on the other hoof, stands still against my outburst.

“Relax, Minuette, I’ll share with you…” she says.

“NO!” I shout, approaching her. Our noses are almost touching. “I don’t want any effing cocaine, effing money or whatever the hell else we have in this mother–effing wagon! I want to effing know why I am in this bloody desert, with the former-friggin’-DJ-currently-homeless-junkie and damned-to-Tartarus travelling magician?”

Okay, that’s not exactly what I said. It’d be dumb to say “effing”, don’t you think? Vinyl could think that I’m joking.

Well, I didn’t say “hell” also. Believe me or not, my mother always says that I used to be a cute, well-behaved filly. Vinyl looks at me, confused. It’s actually not much better than her usual expression.

“You should brush your teeth, sweetheart,” she says. “You almost killed me with your breath…”

You thought my previous cluster F-bomb was vulgar? Well, now I apparently manage to offend Vinyl’s mother, father, great-grandmother and a dozen other relatives in less than ten seconds. This finally makes her take me seriously; or maybe she just feels sorry for Trixie who’s at the verge of tears.

Well, crap. Now I feel bad for her too.

“I’m sorry girls,” I say. “I freaked out. The thing is, I have no idea how we got here and from what I suspect, we can all end up in prison.”

Seriously, I’m afraid of that. Remember when I told you that my mother thinks I was a cute filly? Well, many other ponies also think that I’m cute. Too bad, even in the prisons for mares cute ponies quickly learn that a shower is a dangerous place. And that they’re worth two packs of cigarettes.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we won’t end up in jail.” Vinyl tries to cheer me up, but her frown isn’t helping. “My ex-coltfriend will simply kill us.”

I can’t help but laugh hysterically. They stare at me, from their worried looks I can guess that they think I've finally lost it. Well, they’re not far from truth. I already lost it, the day I went to Las Pegasus.

“What the hell happened?” I ask when I stop laughing.

“It’s all Trixie’s fault,” Vinyl says. “We’d be safe and sound if she didn’t panic and start to shoot beams every–”

“And who made Trixie panic?!” Trixie yells, shaking Vinyl brutally. Luckily, I’ve already covered my ears, just in case. “Who told Trixie that the last unicorn who tried to rob your coltfriend was found with his horn in his ass? While still attached to the forehead?”

“I told that to you so you’d move your fat friggin’ flank a little faster!” Vinyl shouts. Trixie cowers, but it’s probably because her head hurts, not because Vinyl’s arguments are that convincing. When Vinyl runs out of breath, she counter-attacks.

“My flank is fat? Well, Trixie would rather have a fat flank than be a fucking coat-hanger like you!”

“Coat-hanger? You… YOU CHOLESTEROL FACTORY!”

What? I blink in confusion. Even Trixie is confused, but only for a moment. When she comes back, her great and powerful shriek tears the sky apart. Or were that just Vinyl’s eardrums?

“TRIXIE IS SICK OF YOU, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF DRAGON’S MANURE!” She lifts Vinyl effortlessly and pushes her against the wall of her wagon. “Trixie can’t even look at you! Any mention about you makes Trixie’s stomach twist… TRIXIE LOATHES YOU, YOU ABHORRENT ABOMINATION! YOU… YOU CATAMITE!”

Okay, time to bring end to this. They can insult each other till the end of the world if they want, but I’d rather get out of this desert alive. Also, at that rate they’ll soon resort to violence. I try to catch their attention, but they’re too busy with each other.

“Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo!” Vinyl yells, pushing Trixie away. Apparently she had some contact with classical education, probably when that cellist she used to stalk smashed her instrument against her head. Good thing Trixie and Vinyl are too hungover to cast spells.

“Girls, can you behave like adults?” I ask shyly.

“Fuck off, adults are talking!” Trixie shouts back at me. I hope she’ll never become a mother. I also wonder what kind of childhood she had. Well, now I kinda feel for her. My mother grumbles constantly about me being irresponsible (and, as you can see, she’s totally right), but even when I royally screw up, I can always get tea and sympathy from her.

Okay, definitely enough of this. While I’d like to see Vinyl pedicabo and even irrumabo Trixie (call me a pervert, I dare you. I guess you’d like to see that too), I have enough problems and I don’t want those two to become another one. I go to the wagon, pick up a shotgun and go back to them. Then I pull back the hoofgrip as loud as I can. It’s unloaded, but the sound it makes causes everypony with even a trace amount of self-preservation instinct to stop doing what they’re doing at the moment and look around.

“Minuette, what are you doing?” Vinyl asks, looking straight into the barrels. What kind of question is that? A pony holds you at a gunpoint and you ask them what they are doing? Nah, I just wanted to talk with you about our lord and saviour, Discord. The gun? What gun? It just helps in evangelization.

“It’s just a motivation,” I say. Then I point the shotgun at Trixie. Gun safety, my ass. Well, technically it’s empty, but still. “You will tell me what happened yesterday. Using first person past tense narration. Be brief, my head hurts and when I hold this long and hard thing in my hooves I feel like some kind of a cruel god…” I crack my most uncanny smile. As the shotgun is empty, the god is kinda dead, but still. As Celestia wouldn’t say in public, religion is opium for masses, after all. In this case, of a particular mass, consisting of two ponies who at the moment believe that I’m going to shoot them if they don’t stop calling each other catamites or threaten that they’ll pedicabo each other.

Before Trixie catches her breath, I think about Celestia: she actually never stated that she was a goddess. Sure, she rises the Sun, but that’s not the reason to be called one. And I don’t believe she really does that. Atheist-masochist, that’s who I am.

“So,” Trixie says, “Tri– I mean, I was recently unemployed…”

“Recently?” Vinyl chuckles. “You meant ‘constantly’...”

“Vinyl, that was strike one,” Trixie says. “Two more, and Minuette widens that void you have inside of your skull. Right, Minuette?” She smiles nervously at me. My makeshift cult just earned its first priest. I decide not to answer. The best god is the one who doesn’t talk much. Trixie smiles triumphantly and continues her story.

“I was recently unemployed, when this here idiot told me that she needs somepony who’d be able to get past two guards… Trixie can be very stealthy, you know.”

Yeah, I noticed.

“She also told Tri– me that I’d have to help another pony to get there with me. This pony was you.”

“Okay,” I say and turn to Vinyl. “Now you. Why did you need a locksmith and a magician, why is this wagon full of money, and why did some ponies try to shoot us?”

“Umm… do you know my ex-coltfriend?” Vinyl asks.

“Yeah, he’s my brother after all…”

“Not that one. The one that tried to shoot us yesterday. I guess this means he broke up with me…”

No, definitely not. I always try to shoot every guy I’m with, just to spice up our relationship.

Sometimes I wonder why I’m single.

“His name is Bacio della Morte and he’s the owner of a few casinos in Las Pegasus…”

Oh, give me a break. Vinyl, from what I learned during the time when you insisted on calling me “sister”, I know you aren’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But are you seriously telling me that you met a guy called Bacio della Morte and you thought that he’d be a pony you’d like to get old with? Or that you’d like to be the mother of his children?

“Too bad, as I later found out, he’s a cheating bastard. Not to mention that he makes lots of money and doesn’t want to share with me. I have needs, you know…”

Oh yes, I know. My brother mentioned something about that when he was trying to borrow 50 bits from me. He must have been really desperate – I haven’t seen 50 bits for ages.

“So, I came up with a plan. I knew where he kept money so I decided to steal some before breaking up with him. But I needed transportation.” She poked Trixie’s wagon. “I also needed somepony to get past the guards and somepony to open the safe. That’s why I asked you to help me.”

My hoof contacts with my forehead. Seriously, what I was thinking? That a guy called Bacio della Morte would forgive me? Geez. He was probably preparing concrete for our new horseshoes now.

“Okay, I get it. But what exactly went wrong? Why there’s a briefcase full of cocaine in the wagon? And why did we get drunk out of our minds?”

Vinyl smirks triumphantly. Probably it’s because telling me that would help her win a point in her pissing contest against Trixie.

“When we were going back, covered by Trixie’s spell, one of the guards looked at her. Like… like he knew we were there... She freaked out, the spell broke and then shit went down.”

Suddenly, all the memories of the last night appear in my mind. I put down the gun and collapse to my knees, overwhelmed by my own idiocy and possible consequences of what I just saw. Vinyl looks at me, the silence that ensued getting more and more awkward.

Finally, she decides to break it. “Excuse me, may we discuss this later?” she asks. “I really need to pee…”

Thank you, Vinyl. Just the information I needed. I turn my head away – I definitely don’t want to see this, also I need to wallow in– Not really, I just need to recall all the events exactly and think what to do next.

There’ll be lots of thinking, I guess...

Author's Note

After I finished "Berry Punch Takes Manehattan" part of my brain responsible for silly stories felt unemployed, so I finished that old idea of mine...

Are you okay, Minuette?

Las Pegasus. The city of sin. Everything that happens here stays here, except maybe herpes, debts, and an overwhelming feeling that the casino owners fucked us over. And now I am in the middle of it, invited by a mare I barely know, who wants me to pick her lock.

I think I saw a movie that started that way.

I walk down the crowded street not looking at anypony. I don’t notice the colourful signs above the bars, casinos, brothels and other places where a pony can make all their wishes, even those immoral, illegal or both, true. I didn’t come here to play, I’m here to work.

Finally, I find Vinyl’s house. It’s hard not to notice the tall, modern skyscraper. According to the signs, there’s a casino here, but Vinyl told me that she lives above it, in the penthouse apartment. Well, now I know why she’s not with my brother anymore.

I walk in and I’m immediately approached by two large guys wearing black suits and sunglasses, even though it’s dark outside. Typical bodyguards: big, strong and paranoid. They look at me as if I had a grenade and an assault rifle hidden in my bum. The one that looks a bit more intelligent clears his throat.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I was invited by your boss’ marefriend,” I reply, just like Vinyl instructed me. “I’m her former classmate.”

“Another one?” He shakes his head. Then he points somewhere behind him. “This elevator. Just push the button and you’ll get to the penthouse.”

In the elevator I start to wonder what did he mean by “another one”. Maybe the lock I’m supposed to pick is quite complicated. Or maybe there’s no lock, just some elaborate prank. In such case, she’ll have her ass kicked. Hard. You know, I don’t look like, but I’m half-earth pony (if you don’t believe, just look at my brother). When I was completely out of cash last Autumn, I decided to help Apple family with harvest. Best job ever, unless you’re severely allergic to apples. Free food, fresh air and an opportunity to watch Big Macintosh all day. Memories…

Well, there were also downsides. Once I got so distracted by a certain stallion bucking apples next to me that I accidentally wandered off to the wrong part of the orchard and started bucking trees in the sanctuary. Getting rid of vampire fruit bats’ shit from my mane was a real pain in the flank. Not to mention that Big Mac saw that.

With a quiet “ding!” the elevator stops. I walk out of it and meet another bodyguard. Do they clone them or what? Or maybe there’s a casting agency that can be found on yellow pages? Mook & Thug Inc, Bad Motherfuckers For Hire? He asks me what I’m doing there, so I’m telling him again about me being Vinyl’s classmate. As if she ever attended any kind of school.

He nods his head, pretending that he believes me, and leads me to the apartment door. I ring a bell.

“Come in,” I hear Vinyl’s voice.

It’s easy to recognize what kind of ponies live in an apartment, just by looking how it’s furnished. You know, I know almost everything about furniture. I used to work in a furniture factory before they kicked me out. Apparently tables should have all the legs of equal length. The furniture in this room is extravagant, shiny, and mostly impractical but expensive. In the middle of it, behind the glass table with various snacks stands a black leather couch. Vinyl Scratch, clad in the pink, frilly sleeping gown lies on it.

I stop dead in my tracks, stunned by that view, which reminds me of that movie I mentioned earlier. It sets off an alarm in my head. My mother was totally right when she told me that I’d end up as a fallen mare. For a moment, I consider running away, but then Vinyl speaks.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she says. “How are you?”

“Poor, like usual. Good to see that at least you are good,” I reply. You know, she’s the only pony allowed to call me “sweetheart”, “honey”, “baby” or whatever she wants to call me at the moment. Not that we like each other much, it’s simply impossible to talk her out of it.

“Yeah, right. You know, there are many problems of being rich.”

“I can see…” I look around the room. “Are your problems so big that you need a locksmith from Ponyville?”

She looks at me, playing with the belt of her sleeping gown.

“Well, honey, I could of course find somepony here, but I immediately thought about you. I know you could always use some cash…”

I’m not sure whether I should feel flattered or crawl into some hole, thinking about how obvious are my financial problems. Finally, I decide to focus on business.

“Let’s get it straight,” I say. “You have some lock to open, right? How much will I get for that?”

“I’ll give you twenty per cent of what’s behind it,” she replies.

Twenty percent? Hmm, it suggests some larger amount of bits… Though, after a moment, I think about the movie I watched recently again. Seriously, this stuff ruins your life.

“Umm… Vinyl…” I say. “Tell me that you don’t have a chastity belt under that sleeping gown…”

Don’t judge me, okay? I work all days and I have no time for dates. It’s the only way I can, umm… you know, maintain the healthy level of hormones in my system. Besides, the lockpicking scene was actually pretty accurate.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” She grins widely, amused by my expression. “I know you’re not like that. Your brother told me that you’re not into mares when I proposed him a three-way.”

Kill me now. Please.

“By the way, Minuette, dear, I have to warn you that it’s actually only semi-legal,” Vinyl continues. "Before I explain it to you–”

She’s interrupted by the sound of the toilet flushing. I look at the bathroom door in confusion. Vinyl didn’t tell me there’s somepony with us. On the other hoof, she wants to give me only twenty percent of what’s behind the lock. If it was a chastity belt, this’d mean… hmm, a six-way? Geez. Those rich ponies know how to play.

The door opens and the blue unicorn mare trots out of the bathroom. Her mane is light blue, almost white. I have a feeling that I know her.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is back!” she announces. Yeah, definitely I know her. A travelling magician and artist. Hobbies: fireworks, magic toys and Twilight Sparkle.

“What was the Great and Powerful Trixie doing in there for so long?” I ask. It was definitely a mistake.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is lactose-intolerant,” she replies. “And she drank latte before she realized what she was doing.”

Vinyl smirks. “So, basically, Trixie had to take a great and powerful sh–”

“Vinyl, please,” I cut her off, desperately trying to stop my imagination. “Can you tell me why exactly you brought me here, why is it semi-legal, how can anything be semi-legal in the first place, and why there was a travelling magician in your toilet?”

“Well, she’s lactose-intolerant and she had to–”

Oh, damn her and her mathematician’s answers! I slap myself in the forehead with my hoof. Vinyl knows well that it means that I’m about to lose it and it’s time to either hide or give me something sweet. A peanut butter cracker lands in my mouth before I’m able to say how much I hate her.

“Okay, listen very carefully, I shall say this only once!” Vinyl says. “You know my coltfriend, Bacio della Morte, right?”

“Trixie thinks he’s sexy,” Trixie says. I say nothing, too busy munching a peanut butter cracker. Besides, I’ve never seen the guy, so it’s hard to say whether he’s sexy or not. Though in my current state I’d probably consider everypony having an additional appendage between the hind legs sexy.

“Well, maybe he’s sexy–” Vinyl takes a peanut butter cracker and levitates a bucket of ice cream from the kitchen. Hide your wife, hide your foals, rant is on the way. “–but he’s also a cheating bastard, who has no time for me! Even now he went ‘fishing’! Fishing! Who the hell needs a bag of concrete when fishing? And he barely gives me money!” She bangs her hoof against the quite expensive coffee table. The wood it was made of is almost extinct. You know, after I was kicked out of furniture factory, I started to work for an organisation occupying furniture factories, so I know such things.

Vinyl continues her rant. “And he’s always surrounded by those scary ponies… Drug dealers, assassins, thugs and politicians…” It’s amazing how she’s able to whine and eat ice cream at the same time. Trixie pokes me discreetly. I look at her and she levitates a glass of whisky from the cocktail cabinet to me. I drink it in one go, feeling the liquid warming my body as it goes down my oesophagus. Suddenly, Vinyl’s ranting is much more bearable. The world is a better place, my debts are much smaller, there are no wars, and the little fillies, cured of cancer, are dancing and singing happily…

Focus, Minuette. You just took the first step down the path leading towards alcoholism. What’d your mother say? Trixie levitates another drink to me. I accept it without hesitation, then I tune myself in to what Vinyl is saying.

“...and when we’re in bed, he insists on…”

Oh, hell no! I pour myself another drink. I can feel a pleasant hum in my head and my vision gets a bit blurry. However, a part of me, the one who likes to remind me about my mother, begins to scream in horror. It’s hard not to listen to it: since I had breakfast, I ate only two peanut butter crackers, which means that I’ll soon be out. Not a good idea. I grab some cookies and sweets, hoping that it’d be enough to contain the process of absorption of alcohol in my stomach.

“...so, all things considered, he’s a friggin’ motherfucker and he needs to be punished,” Vinyl ends her speech. Trixie looks at her unsurely. She also had her share of whisky and her system is probably still a bit upset after the latte, so she’s not in the best shape at the moment.

“H-how do you want to punish him?” I ask. When I hear my voice I realize that I’m still in worse condition than Trixie. Not surprising actually. As most of my oddjobs take place outdoors, I’m thin, while Trixie is rather curvy. Not that I know something about other mares’ flanks, but I guess many stallions got caught in the gravity field of her posterior.

“That’s why I need you two,” Vinyl lowers her voice to a whisper, while looking at us, her eyes half-closed. “He keeps his money in the safe in the basement, guarded by two tough guys.”

I burst into laughter. I’m afraid it’s whisky-induced. “So, you want to rob him? And you call that semi-legal?”

“It’s semi-legal, because the money ain’t legal, sweetie,” Vinyl replies. “He won’t go to the Guard… That’s the beauty of it. We’ll get the money and run away to Hayland where we’ll eat, drink and fuck...”

Oh yeah. Till one day there’ll be a zebra waiting in my bowl of rice, ready to pop a cap in my ass. Thank you, but no.

“How many bits you think are there?” I ask. Or rather, three glasses of whisky drunk in only few minutes ask on my behalf.

“At least a million. Probably more.”

Shit. Part of me yells at me that I’m irresponsible and too dumb to live, but I can barely hear that.

“How do you want to accomplish that? You said something about guards…”

“Don’t worry about them. Trixie knows an illusion spell that will help us get past them,” Vinyl explains. Trixie smiles half-consciously. I’m quite sure Vinyl is the only sober pony in this room. Assuming that she’s ever sober. I sometimes think that she has some rare genetic condition that makes her system produce alcohol on its own.

“So, what are we waiting for?” Trixie asks. “Minuette’s here, so we can go to the basement and get the cash.”

“Wait!” I exclaim. Even when I’m about to break the law, I want to do it reasonably. It’s like jaywalking in Manehattan: when you do it, you look for the carts first and then do it fast. You don’t stop in the middle of the road, waiting for the cab to change you into a nice, red smear on the road. “Do we have some escape plan?”

“Trixie has a wagon,” Trixie replies. “It’s parked in the garage. Trixie has food and drinks inside, we’ll get out of the town in a few minutes.“

I sigh with relief. At least they thought about it. However, I still have some doubts.

“What if they spot us?” I ask.

“They won’t take us alive…” Vinyl says. She opens a closet with her magic and levitates a shotgun to us. While doing so, she accidentally aims it at her head for a split seconds, then she briefly aims it at me. I guess she keeps it loaded – an accident waiting to happen. You know, I repair guns from time to time. I also worked for a company that cleans the crime scenes after the royal guards are done with them. I resigned after we had to clean a room where some guy accidentally shot himself with the biggest gun I ever saw. I threw up exactly two seconds after entering the place and decided that it wasn’t a job for me.

“So, any more questions?” Vinyl asks. Trixie and I have none, so Vinyl gets up, takes off her sleeping gown and puts on a black trench coat. Then she hides her shotgun under it. It looks as if she had priapism, but it may pass if one doesn’t look close enough. Then she puts on a fedora hat. I shudder upon seeing the effect: she looks exactly like my ex. I almost wanted to marry him, but one day he decided that our sex life wasn’t interesting enough and talked me into a roleplay to spice things up. More exactly, he wanted me to dominate him and I did.

Five minutes later he was buying a ticket for a ship to Stalliongrad. Apparently not everyone likes duct tape, nut drivers and staple guns.

I take my tools, and we go to the elevator.

“Where are you going, ma’am?” The bodyguard asks Vinyl. He looks at Trixie, then puts his gaze on me. I realize that I smile sheepishly at him. Whether it’s an effect of the whisky I drank or the fact that he’s a quite handsome stallion, I have no idea. I immediately stop smiling.

“Girls night!” Vinyl exclaims, hugging Trixie. I’d hug her too… That flank…

Wait! I slap myself mentally. Chill out, Minuette. Once we have money, I have to find some calm place and make use of my hooves. I should be more concerned with the fact that Vinyl’s rapid moves may cause the shotgun to slip from under her coat. Then we’d be fucked. Unfortunately, not in the sense I’d like to.

Fortunately, the bodyguard doesn’t see my confusion. Maybe he’s like me: just a look at two mares innocently hugging makes the blood from his brain flow somewhere else. Too bad his suit makes it impossible for me to check that theory. We go to the elevator and soon we’re in the basement. There’s indeed a parking garage there, as well as some metal door. I look at them conspicuously. Vinyl notices that.

“You don’t have to open them, sweetheart, I have a key. But first Trixie must un-see us.”

“It’s called ‘von Unsichtbar’s Camouflage Spell’,” Trixie says in a slightly annoyed tone. “Technically we’ll still be visible, just nopony will be able to notice us.”

“Yeah, what she says.” Vinyl rolls her eyes. I actually don’t feel too confident about that. What if Trixie un-notices us forever? I mean, I’d be able to steal food from the shops and watch stallions in the shower, but it’d mean that I’d forever be a part of the background. A wallflower, whether I want it or not. A background pony.

Geez, I’d give everything for another whisky.

Meanwhile Trixie casts a spell. In fact I expected it to be more complicated. Spells like that usually involve some lengthy preparations and weird items, such as cat’s blood or a virgin sacrifice, but this one’s simple. Trixie’s horn just lights up and I see Vinyl disappear. That is, I can still see her when I look at her directly, but when I lose focus, I have to spend some time looking for her again. Judging by her confused look, the same thing happened to me.

“Okay, Vinyl, lead the way,” Trixie says. She’s also invisible… or camouflaged. Or whatever. We walk through the parking lot, carefully avoiding the carriages. The ponies in them can’t see us, after all. We realise that fully when a pizza guy almost bumps into us. I try to pat Vinyl to catch her attention, but it’s hard when I have to really focus to see her. Finally, I manage to put my hoof on Trixie’s shoulder…

“Hey! What are you doing to Trixie’s flank?”

Okay, it wasn’t her shoulder. But it’s not my fault, I really aimed for it.

“Trixie has to focus on maintaining the spell. But if you want, Trixie can show you the real magic later…” Trixie almost purrs the last words.

Oh, hell no. To change the topic, I point at the pizza guy.

“He’s going to the same door as we,” I say. “We have to sneak behind him. It’s better than the door opening on its own, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Vinyl replies. We follow the pony with pizza. Geez, I’m hungry. He stands in front of the door and pushes the button next to it.

“Who’s there?” we hear a deep, nasty voice from the speaker.

“I brought pizza,” the colt replies. I look at him, but I don’t find him very attractive. Too young, too skinny, too spotty. And he’s a pizza guy, so he’s probably poor too.

We wait a few minutes before the door opens. The stallion who appears in it is huge. Like, he’s probably bigger than Big Macintosh. Too bad I can’t compare all the measures, as he’s wearing a suit. He’s grey, he has a short beard and sunglasses. Maybe in different circumstances we could–

Vinyl pokes me. I realize that I’m drooling. Really, this itch needs to be scratched, no pun intended. Once I get rid of my partners in crime, I’m gonna lock myself somewhere with my share of money, vaseline, and the newest issue of Hot Flank magazine.

We sneak past the guard when he pays. I have one more occasion to see those muscles in close-up, but I’m quickly dragged away by Trixie. Unseen, we walk down the corridor. Vinyl slaps me in the back of the head.

“Since when you started to think with your honey pot?” Vinyl whispers loudly.

“With my WHAT?” I whisper even louder. Trixie looks at us as if we were crazy or something.

“You don’t have to whisper. Thanks to Trixie’s spell they can’t hear us either,” she deadpans.

Still, it feels weird for me. Vinyl, however, has no problems with getting used to that.

“With your Pink Sink,” she says. I try to make the most innocent expression I can muster, so she goes on. “Area 51. Foal Cannon. Umm… Muffin? Coin Purse?”

“Vinyl, how many more euphemisms do you know?” I ask. “I just want to know without you listing every single one…”

“One hundred forty-eight,” she replies. Trixie, of all the ponies, rolls her eyes and facehoofs.

Without talking more, we go down the corridor. We go past the small room where another guard waits for the one with pizza. He’s equally big and even more muscular. Gods are doing this to me on purpose. But, on the second thought… I’m invisible, or rather, as Trixie says, unnoticeable. I wonder if he’d notice me if I sneaked to him and…

Focus, Minuette, for fuck’s sake! You’d never be able to look into your mother’s eyes again after that. Besides, soon you’ll have enough money to purchase your own island and a bunch of huge, muscular zebra slaves, who are fond of watersports. You probably don’t know, but I just love windsurfing.

Finally we are at the safe. It looks solid – a tall box made of shiny stainless steel, at least two inches thick, with a rotary combination lock in the middle of the silvery door. But for me it doesn’t matter. Do you know that ninety percent of safes opens when you drop them? Too bad I can’t do that here. While the guards can’t notice us, they’ll surely notice the safe levitating itself and falling on the floor. I have to do that the old-fashioned way: by turning the knobs and listening to the clicks of the lock. I slowly turn the knob with my magic.

It takes time to learn how to listen to the lock. Most of the ponies are unable to do that anyway. I lean closer to the safe’s door and I hear the first click. I smirk. It seems that the whisky didn’t affect my skills. That’s actually what happened to my uncle: he was also blessed with such a skill, but one day he grew so confident that he tried to rob Fancy Pants’ safe while attending a party at his mansion. Of course, he got caught. I still visit him in jail from time to time.

I turned the knob and I hear another click. From what I know about safes like this one, the locks in them usually use five-digits codes. Three more clicks and we’re home. Come on… I can feel blood flowing faster in my veins. Sometimes I think that it’s better than sex.

Click!

Well, it’s even better than sitting on the top of the roof at night with a bottle of vodka.

Click!

And it’s even better than hay fries.

Click!

I open the safe. What I see inside is better than having sex on the top of the roof at night, while drinking vodka and eating hay fries. I turn around and after I focus, I can see Trixie and Vinyl looking at me with their jaws dropped.

“What are you looking at?” I ask. “Pack it and get out!”

“H-how did you do that?” Vinyl asks.

“You should have watched. Now pack the money and let’s go.”

One of the advantages of being a unicorn is that you can carry two bags of bits on your back and still you can levitate three or four more. Vinyl and I carry the money, while Trixie focuses completely on maintaining the spell. I wonder if she feels the same pleasure casting spells as me when I open safes.

We walk down the corridor. I must stop myself from jumping up and down like a little filly. I feel great. I feel like I could kick the whole world in the balls…

The guards are in the corridor with an empty pizza box. They’re talking about hoofball or something similar. I doesn’t seem they’ll go back to their room soon. We have to sneak past them. It’s not an easy task. As I mentioned before they’re quite big. When they stand next to each other there’s barely a place to walk between them.

I levitate the bags with money above their heads, then I trot carefully inches from them. Vinyl follows me. Even with her ridiculous coat and fedora, she’s skinny enough to sneak past them. Now it’s Trixie’s turn. I have bad feelings about this…

Of course, Trixie brushes her flank against the guard’s. He looks around, confused, then he looks directly at Trixie, who’s sweating, trying to shrink and hide in the dent in the wall behind her.

“Maintain the–” Vinyl shouts to her.

Suddenly, Trixie’s magic disappears.

“–spell,” Vinyl ends flatly.

I feel naked. Like, I’m naked most of the time, but this time I feel more naked than usual. It feels like my skin was peeled off, part of my muscles was removed and they were watching my organs working. How my heart beats. How my lungs breathe. How shit forms in my bowels.

Shit that is about to hit the fan.

“Run!” I scream. Even in such situation, I don’t release the bags I’m holding with my magic. To my surprise I can see Trixie overtaking me. Vinyl’s lagging behind, courtesy of her trench coat. The guards are about to get her, but then I throw one of the bags I’m levitating at them. It hits the grey one’s face, knocking him down. His companion trips over him. Vinyl runs like hell, trying to catch up with us.

Finally, we’re at the parking lot. We’re about to get to our wagon, when we see some ponies next to a large, luxurious carriage. One of them catches my attention: he’s smaller than the rest, his suit is more expensive. He’s a white earth pony with raven-black mane, tied in a ponytail. He has a piercing in his ear and he’s smoking a cigarette.

“Vinyl? What are you doing here?” he asks. What a dumb question. It just begs for a dumb answer.

“BREAKING UP WITH YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!” Vinyl shouts. Here we go.

“What the–” He just notices the money floating above his head.

“Sorry mate, no time for dealing with your shit!” I say quickly. I levitate the briefcase standing next to him and I slam him in the head with it. Vinyl and I throw the money to Trixie’s wagon, while Bacio della Morte’s bodyguards look at us, shocked by our audacity.

“Trixie? Where are you?” I shout. Then I curse under my breath when I see her surrounded by our old friends – guards, of whom one is really pissed.

“Vinyl, get in the wagon!” I shout, running to her. When I’m a few steps from the guards, I jump.

Contrary to what some ponies say about my cutie mark, I can’t slow down time. But I can levitate myself for a short while, which looks as if I was moving in slow motion. I even somersault in mid-air. The guards are watching me, stunned, when my hooves, trained by the whole season of applebucking, many moons of trotting from one workplace to another and my stress-relieving activities, contact with their faces. One of them collapses, but the other one stands still when I land in front of him. Before I can do something, he hits me with his hoof, knocking me out for a moment.

When I wake up, I’m on the ground. He’s standing above me, prodding me with his hoof. Yeah, motherfucker, you just hit a mare. A mare who just changed your friend’s face into a clue for a plastic surgeon, but still a mare. A drunk, frustrated mare, who’s now extremely pissed. I raise my head, my horn locking on target.

He screams when my spell burns a hole in his trousers and hits home. Or rather, his family jewels. I stand up and buck him in the face for a good measure. He falls to the ground, holding his burnt groin and howling. I watch him for a moment, in case he wants to continue the fight. Then I help Trixie up and we run to the wagon.

Fortunately, Vinyl decided to use her magic to propel it forward, instead of pulling it herself. It’s only a bit easier than trying to levitate oneself, and extremely draining for even the strongest unicorn. But it’s also much faster which in our situation is vital – when I turn around, I see della Morte’s thugs aiming their guns at us. I wonder where they hide this whole armoury: assault rifles, shotguns, submachine guns, revolvers, whatever you want.

“Sweet fucking baby Woona!” I hear Trixie’s voice. We get into the wagon and immediately lie down on the floor, hearing the bullets whistle above us, ricocheting off the planks. The splinters from the wagon’s walls tangle in our manes. Bacio della Morte’s briefcase falls on my head – I must have taken it together with the bits.

I breathe heavily, my heart is pounding against my chest. Actually it’s not that bad – at least I know I’m still alive.

While the wooden walls of the wagon aren’t the best protection against bullets, several bags of golden coins are. Vinyl still uses her magic to move the carriage and soon we leave the garage. The mobsters are still chasing us: two carriages and some ponies galloping with guns in their mouths. How it’s even possible to shoot like that? I guess their dentists are quite rich...

“Vinyl!” I shout.

“Yes?” Her voice is strained. She’s sweating, focused on maintaining the stream of energy around the wagon’s wheels.

“Give me your shotgun!”

She takes the shotgun from underneath her coat and throws it to me. I catch it with my magic and check if the shells are inside. The magazine is full, there’s also a round in the barrel. Normally, I’d tell Vinyl something about such carelessness, but now I want to hug her. Just imagine me, with my shaky hooves and magic, trying to load that thing. Knowing my luck, I’d probably shoot myself first somehow, even with the safety on.

I levitate the shotgun to the window, but on a second thought, I grab it with my hooves. Of course, I could fire at them blindly, using my magic, but I don’t want to shoot any kid accidentally wandering nearby. Or a pregnant mare. Or a pregnant mare with ten foals. I stick the shotgun out of the window and fire, aiming above their heads. I don’t want to kill anypony, after all.

Several bullets from the submachine gun whistle inches from my head. Automatically, I pump the hoofgrip back and forth and shoot back at the guy galloping closest to our wagon. The buckshot ricochets off the concrete, causing him to jump back in fear and trip over his own legs. I sigh with relief – I wanted exactly that, to scare him instead of killing him.

The carriage with more thugs runs him down. As you may expect, it’s quite messy, so I’m gonna spare you the details. Stunned, I watch this scene and suddenly I feel whisky and peanut butter crackers going up my oesophagus. I collapse on my knees and vomit violently.

“Are you okay, Minuette?” Trixie asks. Really, is it ‘Stupid Questions Evening’? I just saw a pony being almost cut in half with a wheel of a carriage and, to make matters worse, it’s kinda my fault. I vomit like a cat after eating sleeping pills. I think she can see that I’m not okay, right?

Slowly, I stand up and look at Trixie. Pale face, gritted teeth, I look like a friggin’ commando. That is, till I have to retch some bile. Luckily, it doesn’t land on her.

“Take the shotgun…” I say. My voice is quiet and raspy. “I’ll help Vinyl.”

Vinyl is at the verge of fainting. Her magic is flickering; she’s panting heavily. She took off her coat, but she’s still sweating. I pat her arm and light up my horn, while she collapses, too tired to say something.

“There’s only one carriage chasing us!” Trixie shouts. Not surprising. The crew of the second one probably still feels awkward after they accidentally killed their colleague.

A shot rings in my ears. Trixie reloads the shotgun, spent case landing in the puddle of my vomit. She pulls the trigger one more time, but nothing happens. Of course, the ammo belongs to Vinyl, who knows how she stores it. In her ass, maybe? Trixie waves the shotgun around, turning to me. Oh, fuck no…

“Minuette! It doesn’t–” The shotgun goes off. Hangfire, of course. I try to shrink myself, but I imagine shots piercing through me. What would my mother say?

Nothing nice, probably.

I open my eyes. Luckily the shots hit the ceiling of the wagon. Trixie screams and drops the shotgun. She looks at me, her eyes wide and tries to levitate it with her magic.

“Put it fucking down!” I shout, wiping sweat from my forehead. I still hear ringing in my ears. “Just put it down and don’t fucking touch it!” It’s a bit harsh, I know, but she just proved that she’s completely unfamiliar with guns. Well, it’s kinda my fault too – I should’ve ask her first if she ever shot anything before handing the shotgun to her.

Actually, it’s mostly my fault.

I focus on propelling our wagon forward. I navigate it carefully through the narrow streets of the Las Pegasus’ outskirts. The thugs are still chasing us, but they’re tired; none of them is a unicorn, so they have to pull the carriages themselves. Soon, we lose them.

I collapse on the floor next to Vinyl. Now Trixie is moving the wagon. She’s still shivering after the accident with the shotgun, but luckily it doesn’t affect her magic.

“How are you?” Vinyl whispers to me. She’s still barely able to move or use magic.

“Frankly, I feel like shit,” I reply. My horn hurts – I definitely overexerted myself. Vinyl reaches her hoof to the crate with our supplies and takes a bottle of vodka. She opens it, takes a sip and gives it to me.

I know I shouldn’t. I’m exhausted, dehydrated and hungry, but I take a long swig anyway. My vision blurs almost immediately. I don’t even try to talk – I know I’m unable to form any coherent phrase at the moment.

I barely notice the moment when the wagon stops in the middle of the desert and Trixie collapses next to us, panting heavily. Last thing I remember before falling asleep is me trying to put my head on her flank.

I sit on the sand, thinking of the events of the last night. My stomach rumbles, but I don’t care. Even my eyes hurt – the Sun jars them mercilessly. I hardly notice when Trixie sits next to me and gives me a bottle of water.

“Are you okay, Minuette?” she asks. It’s the same question she asked me earlier, but it doesn’t seem stupid anymore.

“Trixie,” I say bitterly. “They’re gonna kill us. They’ll find us and torture us... Then they’ll put our remains in the plastic bags and dump us into the river…” I try to get up, but Trixie stops me.

“Trixie doesn’t think it’d be that bad…” she says. “We have money, we can hide.”

“Hide where?” I ask. Seriously, I’m gonna cry. Trixie notices this and pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. Wow. Thanks, girl. Suffocate me, so I’ll at least die quickly.

“There’s a rock farm nearby. Nopony ever goes there. Trixie used to work there and she knows the owner. Once Vinyl finishes what she’s doing now, we can go there.”

“A rock farm?” From what I heard about rock farms, workers there are usually well paid. Actually, the only rock farm worker I know managed to purchase the Alicorn Amulet after only two seasons of being there, and enslaved my home town, but still. Bygones be bygones.

Too bad, Bacio della Morte doesn’t think that way. Not when his money is concerned.

“Yeah. It’s a big area, we can even hide our money there,” Trixie replies. There’s however one more thing that bugs me.

“What’s Vinyl doing?” I ask. “You said that–”

“Oh, she’s doing… umm… a number two.” Trixie blushes heavily. Eww… I’m not gonna turn around. Instead, I return Trixie’s hug. Absolutely non-sexually. I don’t want to try some funny things with her, I’m not like that. But it just feels… right, I think. She asks me those stupid questions ponies usually ask when they care… Or pretend to care. Maybe she cares about me?

I decide to not to think about that. Instead, I look at the horizon – to the rock farm where we’ll hopefully find shelter.

Author's Note

I guess it'll slowly evolve into a road fic...

I was looking for some duct tape and this friggin’ box fell on my head, so I took a look...

Filly scouts together, that is our song,
Winding the old trails, rocky and long…

“Vinyl, can you, please, shut up?” I ask. Normally I have nothing against filly scouts songs, but since Trixie’s wagon met its demise, we have to walk by hoof which pisses me to no end. Listening to the songs like “Filly Scout World”, “Bug Juice” or, to my horror, “I’m Thankful to be an Equestrian” doesn’t make it better. Not to mention that Vinyl’s singing voice is far from perfect – years of drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes made it sound a bit raspy. I’d never say that she’s actually younger than me.

“Hey, I always sing when I go on a hike,” she replies. “When I was a filly scout…”

I facehoof. “Vinyl, this is not a motherfucking hike, we need to get to Appleloosa before we run out of food!”

Actually, we don’t need to worry about that. Before we got officially fired, Inkie gave us enough food to survive a month, but anything is worth it to stop Vinyl from singing.

“Language, girl…” Vinyl mutters. “I don’t want to know what you do with your mother during the hikes…”

“You were a filly scout?” Trixie asks before I tell Vinyl to have an intercourse with herself.

“Yup. Cool times. Though later my brother screwed everything up…” Vinyl sighs. “I accidentally took his hashish cookies instead of the ones I was supposed to sell. The whole neighbourhood got high.”

Whoa Nelly. I can almost imagine eight-years-old Vinyl, an innocent, smiling little filly, trotting from house to house, selling cookies to the old mares. Mares who later went on a trip of their lives.

“And what did you do?” I ask her. I guess she panicked.

“I don’t know. We ate some of these cookies with Lyra and Bon Bon, then the humans came and put us in cages…” She shudders. “At least that’s what Lyra said. I remember something about The Fire Nation…”

Well, that explains many things. Something, however, bugs me. “And what Bon Bon remembers from that day?”

“She remembers freaking out and looking for someone to drag us, drooling and delirious, to the hospital. She didn’t eat as much as we did…”

“Trixie didn’t eat any hashish cookies,” Trixie says. “Trixie doesn’t need drugs to get high…”

“Yeah, we saw that yesterday…” I reply. “I guess it’s called ‘drunk with power’.”

“Maybe.” Trixie nods. “How about you, Minuette?”

Oh, how I hate that question. It always inevitably leads to me saying something I later regret.

“When I was a little, cheerful filly, my mom told me that drugs are bad. As I said, I was very cheerful so I couldn’t get why ponies take drugs to get happier. Then I grew up and became a teenager. I was less cheerful, more angry, I wrote angsty poetry, but I still remembered my mother’s words. Well, Berry Punch got me into alcoholism, but it quickly ended.” I pause to take a breath. I can see Vinyl and Trixie giving me worried looks.

“More exactly, it ended on the fateful night when Berry got knocked up, and I spent the whole evening bowing before the porcelain god before I passed out next to the clogged toilet. I realized that it could easily happen the other way round, so I stopped drinking and swore that I’d never ever have sex. Eleven months later I lost my virginity.” I look at Trixie and Vinyl, wondering if my story has any effect on them. Trixie’s eyes are wide in shock, while Vinyl smirks. Okay, time for the crazy part.

“It was fun at first, then I learned that most of the stallions don’t like when the mare is on the top.” I stare into Trixie’s eyes. She blushes heavily. “Meanwhile I grew up and got my first job as a watchmaker, just like my cutie mark was telling me.”

I make a pause, wondering about my lost innocence. It was so cute of me, thinking that I can do everything I want...

“Too bad, I didn’t make much money,” I continue. “Disappointment after disappointment, failure after failure… One oddjob, then the second… I wasn’t cheerful anymore, but I still remembered what my mother told me. Even when I started to drink again, just to forget. Even on that night when I wanted to just swallow my mother’s sleeping pills… And even now, when you two make me need a freaking drink…”

Silence. Thank you, I’m waiting for the round of applause.

“You have a wrong cutie mark…” Vinyl finally says. “You should’ve become a stand-up comedian…”

“Yeah, before my routine somepony would have to take from the audience all the things you can hang yourself on…” I chuckle. Bitterly, as always. I guess that’s how I roll.

We trot slowly down the dusty road. Our saddlebags are heavy – before we left the rock farm, we took some more money from the old mine. All we have are bits, food, the dead zebra’s sniper rifle and Vinyl’s shotgun and trench coat.

We also have a plan. We have some time before those two zebras get to Bacio della Morte to tell him that the three unarmed mares he wanted to catch are, in fact, two mares with guns and one who can get crazy enough to not need one. Before they do, we want to get to Appleloosa, catch a train to Dodge Junction, and, through Hayseed Swamps, get to Baltimare. Of course, we’re not gonna stay there, looking at the Horseshoe Bay. We want to board the first ship to the Griffon Empire we’ll find.

Of course, our plan has some flaws. For example, I don’t like the idea of going through the Hayseed Swamps. I don’t mind fires, chimeras or the settlement of hippies located there, but I’m afraid that either Vinyl will drown or I’ll drown her myself. That is, if she doesn’t stop singing.

Sombra has only got one ball,
Discord has two but they’re very small
Tirek has something similar,
But poor Chrysalis has no balls at all!

Okay, I guess it’s not a filly scout song.

“Trixie thinks this song makes no sense,” Trixie says. “Chrysalis is supposed to have no balls…”

“You never know with the changelings…” Vinyl replies. “Did I tell you how I woke up with a changeling in my bed? It was during Princess Cadance’s wedding...”

“If that story ends with you having some interspecies intercourse with that changeling, I don’t want to hear about it.” I wave my hoof.

“Interspecies intercourse, what an ugly word,” Vinyl mutters. “Besides, fucking a changeling? It’d be like fucking a multi-tool knife… Do you know that female changelings have holes everywhere except the place they’re supposed to be one? When a daddy changeling wants to fuck mommy changeling, he has to drill–”

“Vinyl, stop it, I’m begging you…” I facehoof.

Hmm, do you know that feeling when you’re aroused but at the same time you want to vomit? I’m experiencing something like that. Changelings and their habits are awful, but any mention of fucking a tool makes me moist. A little, but still. Not that I ever tried…

Okay, I once did it with a screwdriver handle. I preferred it over most of my coltfriends, though, I must say, some of them were tools. Definitely, not the sharpest ones in the shed.

Hell, I still like that screwdriver…

Eww! Why did I even tell you that? To stop thinking about that I ask, “What will we do once we get to the Griffon Empire?”

“We have money, we’ll be far away from home… I guess we’ll drink vodka and fuck bitches,” Vinyl replies.

So much for stopping thinking about sex. Conversations with Vinyl always look like that; you start with something innocent, like the weather, and end up discussing whether during a three-way it’s better to be on the top or in the middle.

Not that I’m complaining. After all, sex is a part of life, just like anything else. It would be weird if we didn’t talk about it at all. Though, on the other hoof, we don’t usually discuss our bowel movements…

“Hmm, can you see any bushes here?” Vinyl asks. “Those broccoli I ate kinda upset my stomach…”

“We’re still in the semi-arid area, so no bushes,” I reply. “You either have to hold it, or find some comfy group of rocks.”

“But it’s gonna rip my ass apart!” Tears appear in Vinyl’s eyes.

Oh yeah. Every time I say something like a moment ago, life – or specifically Vinyl – takes that as a challenge. You see, Vinyl doesn’t know that there are some things ponies shouldn’t be boasting about. She also doesn’t know that the size of the dump you’ve just taken is definitely one of them.

Well, it all stems from the fact that Vinyl is a hypochondriac. When she was with my brother, she once caught a cold. I made a mistake by leaving my copy of Mareison’s Principles of Internal Medicine in a place where she could put her hooves on it. When I came back home, she was lying on a sofa, preparing to die of a combination of cirrhosis, hypertension, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, kidney failure, retinoblastoma, age-related macular degeneration and testicular cancer. I had to explain to her that it’s unlikely to have retinoblastoma and AMD at the same time, she definitely doesn’t have cirrhosis (yet) and the closest to testicles she was when she’d given my brother a blowjob the night before. As I said before, our house has rather thin walls.

Unfortunately, the only real condition Vinyl has (and likes to ramble about) is irritable bowel syndrome. Anything can upset her stomach, especially when she’s stressed. My eating habits would probably kill her. You know, when I was working as an accountant in some corporation, I used to drink two coffees instead of eating breakfast. I stopped when I learned that if I got a peptic ulcer, it’d be cheaper to fire me than pay for the therapy.

Luckily, there’s a conveniently placed group of rocks next to the road, so Vinyl excuses us for a moment. Trixie and I wait for her, trying not to listen to the noises she’s making.

Suddenly, we see a large cloud of dust on the road, slowly approaching us.

Trixie looks at me. “Are you pondering what Trixie’s pondering?” she asks.

“Friends of our zebra friends? I hope not,” I reply. The only place we could hide is a group of rocks, but I’d rather face the whole army of thugs than step into Vinyl doing her business.

Meanwhile, the cloud of dust gets closer to us. We can now see the vehicle inside. It’s one of the weirdest things I’ve seen in my life and I’ve seen some really weird shit. Not only because I once worked as a washroom attendant.

Remember that pegasus kid with a scooter? The one who always tries to kill me? Well, it’s something like that. Except it’s bigger, looks more like a metal cart with tyres, and there are two ponies driving that thing. One of them, a pegasus mare, stands in the back, flapping her wings furiously to propel that thing forward. The other one is inside of the vehicle, sitting behind the steering wheel. Why’d pegasi use such a thing when they can fly? I have no idea.

The vehicle stops next to us. The mare behind the wheel takes off her sunglasses and looks at us. She’s violet and her white and blue mane is styled in a way suggesting that its owner likes those neighponese cartoons. The mare in the back is quite similar. Her mane is blue; she has a pink bow in it.

“Hello, girls,” says the pegasus behind the wheel. “Where are you going?”

“Baltimare,” Trixie replies before I can smack her. Who knows, maybe they want to put us in the trunk and dump us in the sea.

“We’re not going there,” says the pegasus. “But we can drive you to Appleloosa if you want. By the way, my name’s Cloudchaser, and this is Flitter.”

“Trixie,” Trixie introduces herself.

“Romana von Colgate,” I say. Trixie gives me a surprised look. Really, am I the only one who knows that you can’t use your real name when we’re running away from mafia?

“Your parents must hate you…” Flitter giggles. Some ponies just deserve a high five. In the face. With a chair.

“Don’t mind her…” Cloudchaser says. “Her parents hate her too…”

I’m not surprised, but anyway I ask, “Why so?”

“Her father disowned her when he learned that we’re together…” Cloudchaser leans to Flitter and kisses her cheek.

“Yeah, I know such ponies…” I nod, remembering Quartz. I wonder what’s Inkie doing now?

“I guess he wouldn’t be so pissed if he wasn’t your father too…” Flitter replies innocently.

Wait, what? Am I the only pony in Equestria who doesn’t have any weird kink? Well, scratch that. I have my set of kinks too, but I don’t fuck my brother. Actually, when I look at Flitter and Cloudchaser I start to notice how similar they are. Take Flitter, dye and restyle her mane, and you’ll have two Cloudchasers. Before I’m able to express my feelings about that, Vinyl emerges from behind the rocks.

“Hoo…” she says. “It was like a waterfall…” She looks at Flitter and Cloudchaser. “Shame on you, Minuette… I was gone for five minutes and you already found the girls…” She smiles widely. “Twins, no less…”

“Friend of yours?” Cloudchaser giggles, eyeing Vinyl curiously.

“Minuette?” Flitter asks.

“That’s my nickname,” I explain quickly. I guess if I were really called Romana von Colgate, I’d definitely use a nickname.

“So, are we going to stand here, or what?” Cloudchaser asks. “You three are going to Appleloosa, right?”

“Yeah,” I reply. Cloudchaser walks to the trunk in front of their vehicle and opens it. When we’re putting our saddlebags into it, I take a look inside. Better safe than sorry, you know. There are no guns there, but it doesn’t means that the sisters’ luggage is boring.

The trunk is full of toys. Not toys for little fillies – rubber and latex toys for adult ponies, the kind you prefer to have delivered instead of walking to the shop and ask for it. I even noticed some chains and a couple of whips.

I changed my mind about those two. They can screw each other as much as they like and how they like. Hell, maybe we’ll even become friends. B.B.D.S.M.F.F.

“Yeah, we’re into that,” Cloudchaser smiles, noticing my gaze. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “We’re a match made in heaven – I love to dominate, while Flitter loves being my little slave…”

Okay, I definitely have to talk to her and share our experience. Unfortunately, I don’t have much of it. There aren’t many stallions out there who like mares wearing uniforms and whipping them while yelling obscenities in Pferdisch.

“Wait,” Vinyl says. “Are you two really together?” Seems that someone is late to the party.

“Yes,” Flitter replies, stepping on the back of the vehicle while we take seats inside. “Twincest is wincest.”

Vinyl looks at her hopefully. “Would you like to–”

“No,” Flitter deadpans. Vinyl makes puppy eyes, but she doesn’t budge.

“You guys are all perverts,” Trixie says. That’s something new. So far she didn’t mind, but apparently four perverts per square metre is too much for her.

Vinyl is so confused by the rejection that she doesn’t react when I call shotgun. Actually, even if she did, I’m the one who has non-metaphorical shotgun in her saddlebags, so she can kiss my flank. I sit on my seat, next to Cloudchaser. There’s a dry spot on the upholstery, as if something spilled on it. Knowing the sisters, it could be something icky.

Eww! Trixie’s right. There are definitely too many perverts here.

Flitter flaps her wings and the vehicle slowly moves forward. As she gets into the rhythm, the whole thing accelerates. I look at the steering wheel and the mechanisms connecting it to the wheels. Its simplicity and effectiveness is fascinating. I could spend hours looking at it. Wind blows through our manes; the speed is hypnotizing.

“May I try to ride it?” I ask Cloudchaser.

“Only I can ride my sister,” she replies. In the back seat, Trixie groans.

“I meant the vehicle,” I say.

“Nope. You know, when I was a little filly, my father taught me a rule: you never lend anypony your cart, your guitar and your wife. I don’t play guitar, but the rule still applies.”

“I used to play guitar,” Vinyl says. “When I was a filly scout, I was always the one who was singing the songs.”

“Now I know why so many filly scouts are deaf…” Cloudchaser deadpans. “They never hear me yelling that I don’t want cookies…”

Vinyl’s ears droops. If I were Cloudchaser, I would sleep with one eye open at night – Vinyl believes that revenge is the dish best served cold.

“Where are you heading?” Trixie asks, trying to break the awkward silence.

“Hollow Shades,” Cloudchaser replies. She’s completely focused on driving.

“Where’s Hollow Shades?” Vinyl asks. “The name sounds interesting.”

“It’s an enchanted forest a bit northwest from Fillydelphia,” I explain. “There’s a town there, I think.”

“Trixie was there once,” Trixie says. “Some filly threw a mango at her.”

“And what did Trixie do?” Cloudchaser asks.

“Trixie caught it with her magic and threw it back. Then the filly caught it in mid-air with her fangs and ate it.”

“Fangs?” Vinyl asks. “Was she, like, a bat pony?”

Welcome to Equestria, Vinyl. Last time I checked, every kid knew that Hollow Shades is the enclave of bat ponies. Well, every kid that attended school. I tell her that, minus the school part. As much as I don’t like her, I don’t want Cloudchaser to make fun of her more.

“Cool,” Vinyl says. “I love bat ponies. They always party hard.”

“That’s why we’re going there,” Cloudchaser says. “Everything’s better with a small orgy…”

Okay, she had me at “orgy”. A quick look to the back of the vehicle confirms that not only me.

“Maybe we’ll go to Hollow Shades too?” Vinyl asks. “We can go to the Griffon Empire from Fillydelphia or Manehattan.”

I facehoof. There go our secret plans. On the other hoof, you know what they say about bat ponies…

“You’re going to the Griffon Empire?” Cloudchaser asks. “Why?”

Okay, improvisation time.

“Do you know how many gay griffons are discriminated because of their orientation?” I ask. “We are going there to support them and make the Griffonian government pass a bill about gay mar–”

“How are you going to protest?” Cloudchaser asks, interested. Seems that I’ll have to go with it.

“I don’t know yet… I think we’ll just write some slogans on our coats and run around the Emperor’s palace naked…”

Cloudchaser almost loses control over the vehicle. I guess she imagined us naked...

“Naked?” She exclaims. “You’re naked anyway…”

Or maybe not.

“Yes, but… We’ll be, like, more naked than usual…” I reply quickly. You know, one of my biggest fantasies is to shave Vinyl and make her run around like that. I’ll have plenty of time for that during the cruise.

Luckily, Cloudchaser doesn’t think about it too hard.

“Maybe we’ll go with you,” she says. “We have the trunk full of bondage gear; I wonder what will the Emperor say when he sees the rocking horse…”

I won’t lie to you: I have a very vivid imagination. When Cloudchaser mentions the rocking horse, it goes wild. If I were a pegasus, Cloudchaser wouldn’t be able to see the road because of my massive wingboner.

“Good idea,” Vinyl says in a voice suggesting that her hormones also went crazy. “In fact, we can all wear it. I can even let Minuette walk me on a leash. She likes it.”

“How do you know I like it?” I ask. I don’t remember telling her that.

“Remember that one time when your brother and I spent a night in your house? I accidentally found your porn stash.”

“You found my…” I turn to her. They’ll never find the body…

“Hey!” Cloudchaser shouts. “No fighting in the cart!”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Vinyl exclaims. “I was looking for some duct tape and this friggin’ box fell on my head, so I took a look… Read some articles… Took a discount coupon for leather saddles…”

“I was looking for it later…” I pierce her with my gaze.

“I’m sorry… I don’t use this saddle anyway, so if you want…”

Suddenly Trixie makes a weird sound. Everypony look at her.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie suffers of motion sickness,” she says. “She’s trying not to tarnish the interior of the cart with her vomit, but the mental image of Vinyl clopping to Minuette’s porn isn’t helping her...”

“Hey, I wasn’t clopping!” Vinyl shouts.

“Yeah, right…” I deadpan. “I had to clean the carpet after I got rid of you…”

“I think that you’re missing the point here, girls…” Cloudchaser says when Trixie makes another sound suggesting that something great and powerful is on the way. “Flitter! We need to stop!”

She pushes the brake while Flitter ceases to flap her wings. When the vehicle stops, Trixie quickly opens the door and runs out of it, her body shaken by dry heave. We wait, watching her curiously. Nature is so fascinating.

Trixie also waits, panting heavily. Nothing. Finally, she raises her head, smiling sheepishly. “False alarm,” she says.

“Are you sure?” Cloudchaser asks. “It sometimes likes to come back…”

“I’m not surprised,” I say. “She had to sit next to Vinyl for so long… Everypony’s stomach would get upset.”

“Fuck you.” Vinyl glares at me angrily.

“With pleasure,” I reply, looking at Flitter, who stretches her hooves. After a long time of propelling the vehicle forward, she’s quite sweaty. As I said, I’m not a lesbian, but I like to watch...

“Hey!” she exclaims. “Can you stop looking at me like I’m a sexual object?”

Whoops. Apparently, I’m too obvious. She gives me a nasty look and turns away from me, so I can exactly see her rump. What a bloody tease.

“Sis,” she says. “Can we switch places? I’m tired.”

“Already?” Cloudchaser asks. “Also, last time I let you drive, you scratched the bumper…”

“Please…” Flitter makes puppy eyes. “Or I’m gonna fall asleep at night, unable to play with your bumpers…”

“Don’t you dare, slave,” Cloudchaser mutters through gritted teeth.

“Slave says: go and fuck yourself, sis.” Flitter smiles mischievously.

Cloudchaser thinks for a while. “Okay,” she says. “But tonight we’re doing the rocking horse.”

I think she’s too lenient. If I were Flitter’s mistress, she wouldn’t be able to sit down after snapping back at me like that. Maybe that’s the reason why no one wants to be my slave.

Flitter gets behind the wheel and prompts Cloudchaser to flap her wings. I don’t know much about the pegasi, but it seems to me that Cloudchaser is faster and stronger than her sister. Flitter is, on the other hoof, more reckless; the tyres screech when she takes narrow turns. I take a paper bag from my saddlebags and give it to Trixie, just in case. It doesn’t take long before she finds a good use for it. Luckily, Vinyl is sleeping. She can assess one’s health just by looking at their vomit.

“So… Flitter,” I say. Time to make some friends before Vinyl and Trixie will embarrass me forever. “You two are twins, right?”

Dunno if you noticed, but I’m terrible at smalltalk.

“Yup. ‘Chaser is five minutes older.” Flitter replies, still watching the road.

“Where did you get that thing?” I ask.

“Wild Fire’s Awesome Rides. They have a workshop in Vanhoover.”

Too bad Vanhoover is on the other side of Equestria. Now, when I have bits, I’d buy the most pimped-out one I could find. Possibly with a sexy pegasus to propel it forward.

“It must be fun to ride it…” I say.

“Can you stop talking?” Flitter gives me a nasty look. “If I make a scratch on it, my sis will not whip me…”

“Scratch? Somepony called?” Vinyl asks groggily. “Don’t worry, Flitty, I can whip you anytime…”

“Don’t even try…” Flitter says, turning her head to Vinyl. Not a good idea…

One of the wheels hits something. Flitter grabs the steering wheel and turns it violently. Luckily, we don’t roll over; instead, we skid to an abrupt halt. What’s worse, the contents of Trixie’s paper bag land on Vinyl.

“Flitter, what the fuck?” Cloudchaser yells from her stand, trying to be louder than Vinyl who’s currently telling Trixie that she’s a fucking mule. Kinda racist, if you ask me. You know, I’m half-unicorn, half-earth pony, half-Oatstralian, half-Equestrian and among my great-grandparents were a zebra, a bat pony, and a pegasus. It’d be stupid if I was racist or nationalist.

Such family is also a reason why I don’t want to have foals. With such genes I wouldn’t be surprised if I gave birth to a dragon. Which would ruin my cunt forever.

“I hit a motherfucking porcupine or something like that,” Flitter replies, pointing at the little pile of bones, guts and other things that generally should be inside of the body.

“I didn’t know there are porcupines here…” I say. What am I supposed to say in such a situation?

“Not anymore,” Flitter deadpans, giving me a look suggesting that she wouldn’t even flinch if I was in the place of that porcupine. I really prefer Cloudchaser. At least she wasn’t so creepy.

“Do you know that griffons eat porcupines?” Vinyl asks. “They are a delicacy…”

“There’s still some on the tire if you want to try,” I say.

“No, thanks. Who knows what was on that tire before…” Vinyl looks at the remains unsurely.

“Two cats, a pigeon, a snake and three foals. But they actually survived,” Flitter says innocently.

“And that’s why I don’t let you drive…” Cloudchaser sighs and rolls her eyes.

We go back to the car; this time I let Trixie take my seat. I’ve heard once that it’s better for ponies with motion sickness to seat in the front. What’s more, it makes Flitter slow down – she simply doesn’t want to get hit with Trixie’s stomach contents.

It’s evening when we get to Appleloosa. We barely enter the town, when Flitter has to brake hard – there’s some idiot standing in the middle of the road.

I must admit that he looks sexy. He has green eyes, yellow coat and mane like a fire. Yeah, the fact that I just said that shows fully my feelings towards him. He doesn’t even flinch when our vehicle stops inches from him.

“Welcome to Appleloosa!” he yells, waving at us.

“What the fuck?” Flitter mutters under her breath.

“Dunno,” Vinyl says. “Maybe he’s retarded. You know, like ponies from those small villages where they have to marry their cousins and siblings…”

Flitter and Cloudchaser glare daggers at her. If I were Vinyl, I wouldn’t sleep at night.

“Retarded or not, if it was possible, I’d turn straight for him,” Cloudchaser says, eyeing the stallion in front of us. He’s still smiling at us like an idiot. Very, very handsome idiot.

“I’m already turning straight for him,” Vinyl says.

“I am straight for him,” I say. “How about you, Trixie… Trixie?”

Trixie is not in the cart. She’s already next to the stallion, trying to hug him. Sweet Celestia, this isn’t happening!

“Hello, sweetheart…” Trixie purrs. Oh Celestia, it’s happening! “Do you want Trixie to show you some magic?” She smiles at him like a big, blue praying mantis.

“Umm… M-maybe we should… umm… get to know each other better?” he stammers.

“Oh, sure… The Great and Powerful Trixie.” She blinks, still trying to glomp him. “And now, tell the sexy Trixie what your name is…”

“Umm… Braeburn,” he replies. Braeburn, run for your life. Like, now.

“Sweet… So, Braeburn… Is there any place here where the Great and Powerful Trixie could have an intercourse with you?”

Way to go, girl! I lean to Flitter. “Can you do something? Like, run her over before she does something stupid?”

“With pleasure,” Flitter replies. “Sis, flap your wings!”

“But you’ll hit him too!” Vinyl shouts.

“Acceptable loses. Sis?”

Cloudchaser doesn’t propel the vehicle forward. Instead, she looks at the scene in front of us, barely containing laughter.

I look at Trixie and see that the situation changed. Poor Braeburn probably never heard the word “intercourse” in his life, so he ran away, leaving our magical friend in the dust. She charges her horn, aiming at him.

Time for intervention. I get out of the cart, run to her and smack her horn. Sometimes I just have to be brutal.

“Bad Trixie!” I yell. “No zapping stallions!”

“Ouch! What the–”

“No, no, no! I’m asking you ‘what the–?’! What were you thinking?”

“Umm… the Great and Powerful Trixie simply didn’t…You know. And your talks made her feel funny...” She blushes heavily.

“But why so aggressive?” I ask. “You wanted to eat him or what?”

“Umm… Too much?” She looks at me unsurely.

I sigh and roll my eyes. Apparently Trixie is used to the fact that what she wants she gets. Including the guys. And we apparently aren’t the best role models.

“Well, I can give you hoof lotion,” I say. “And since tomorrow I’ll give you some lesson how to approach a stallion without scaring him away. They don’t work, but at least you won’t be so creepy.”

Trixie only nods. I guess making her shut up is some kind of an achievement.

“Also, Braeburn is mine,” I say.

“No way in Tartarus! I called dibs on him!” I hear Vinyl’s voice behind me. Geez, girl. Don’t sneak on me like that, I know thirty two ways of putting a pencil through your brain stem.

“You called dibs on him? When?” I’m currently thinking about a way of putting a pencil through her brain stem. In fact, I know thirty three ways of doing that. I made them all up when I was a watchmaker and had annoying clients.

“It’s simple,” Vinyl says. “You called shotgun when we were riding that vehicle, I call dibs on the first sexy guy we meet. You gotta share, you gotta care, girl.”

“Vinyl, you swing both ways, so your list of potential partners is twice as long as mine, can you leave him to me, please?”

“Now that’s discrimination because of my orientation!” Vinyl exclaims.

“Exactly!” Flitter adds. “You’re oppressing us!”

“Shut up, you at least are getting laid tonight…” I say bitterly.

“And now you discriminate me, because I’m in a lasting relationship…”

“That’s not discrimination, she’s just jealous,” Vinyl says. “You’re gonna fuck your sister, I’m gonna fuck Braeburn, and she–”

“Now you discriminate us because we’re siblings,” Cloudchaser interrupts her.

I groan. “Shut up, all of you! No matter of race, gender, sexual orientation, preferences, favourite fetishes and your views on which Princess has better flank! Vinyl, you have a rare talent of turning all your allies against you. Trixie, you were first, you can go and ask Braeburn out. Just don’t scare him, okay? The rest definitely should stop thinking with our cunts. Any questions?”

“You said ‘cunt’...” Flitter says, smiling sheepishly. I really need to sharpen my pencil.

“That’s because I’m half-Oatstralian. Don’t discriminate me,” I reply calmly.

“Which Princess has better flank?” Vinyl asks. Or maybe I’ll just use a blunt pencil? It’ll hurt more.

“Luna. Anyone thinking otherwise can go and fu–”

“I think Cadance’s flank is better. She’s like, a thousand years younger. And I’m in her type,” Vinyl says.

“How do you know you’re in her type?” Cloudchaser asks.

“Have you seen her husband?”

“Okay, point taken. Though I doubt he’s that… umm… eccentric.” Cloudchaser chuckles.

Welcome to my world, girl.

“Trixie thinks Luna’s flank is the best,” Trixie says. “How about you, Flitter?”

“No butt like Sunbutt,” Flitter replies, yanking her tail. “How about you, sis?”

“I’m gonna be original and say Twilight Sparkle,” Cloudchaser replies. “She’s a sexy nerd with issues. I like girls with issues…” She hugs Flitter and kisses her cheek.

“Luna’s issues are better,” Trixie says. “Do you know what issues one can have after a thousand years on the Moon?”

“Sorry, I don’t like girls with issues that much…” Cloudchaser replies. “Also, when did it turn from discussion about discrimination to discussion about royal posteriors? You know, I can discuss them all the time, but not when I’m hungry.”

As she says that, I also feel my stomach grumble. Dealing with my companions requires lots of energy.

Luckily for us, Appleloosa isn’t a big town. Just a couple of wooden houses, sheriff’s office and a saloon called The Salt Block. The interior is welcoming. Well, after spending last couple of days on wandering through the desert, everything is welcoming. There are some patrons here, ponies and buffaloes; among them I can see Braeburn who cures himself from shock with large amounts of whisky. I sit next to him before Trixie can react. I guess if he sees her he’ll run away, so I’m gonna spare him this.

“Hello,” I say. Shit, I don’t remember how to pick up guys while sober. Time to improvise. “My name’s Minuette. I think we’ve met before…”

He looks in my general direction – whisky apparently kicked in. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently trying to form a coherent sentence.

“Oh yeah,” he says. “Ya were with that crazy unicorn…”

“Yeah, don’t mind her. She fell off the swaddling table when she was a foal. Since then she’s, like, not entirely normal. I, on the other hoof, am perfectly sane. I don’t try to seduce every guy I met, I don’t have thoughts about murdering everyone around and I certainly didn’t shove a screwdriver up my–”

“Can ya tell her to come here? Ah wanted to apologize for running away like that…”

Fuck. I’m certain I screwed something up. Really, Braeburn? You want to apologize to Trixie when I’m here, ready to be yours?

“Wait a minute…” I say. “Trixie!”

Trixie appears next to us as if she teleported. Maybe she did; her teleportation is like my ex’s boner – somepony, somewhere had seen it.

“Hi,” she says. “The Great and Powerful Trixie wants to apologize for her previous behaviour and she hopes that it won’t influence your decision whether to have sex with her or not.”

Braeburn gives me a panicked look. Sorry, mate, it was your decision. Deal with it.

“I’ll help Vinyl with our baggage,” I say. “Have fun, you two.”

The guest rooms are clean and cosy. As soon as Vinyl and I carry our saddlebags upstairs, I lay on one of the beds, trying to fall asleep before she starts to snore. Cloudchaser passes by, wishing us good night. I desperately try to fall asleep – you know, thin, wooden walls and two sisters in the rooms next to us, fucking like rabbits. Not a good connection. I’d rather be sleeping when it starts.

Not that I have a chance. Vinyl brings me supper – daffodil sandwich and a beer, weak as cat’s piss. I drink it quickly, hoping that it’ll help me go to sleep. Of course it doesn’t work; worse, I have to excuse myself to the toilet. When I’m back, Vinyl is sleeping, snoring like a motherfucking sawmill with hooves. Hooray.

I’m thinking about clopping myself to sleep, but it wouldn’t do. With Vinyl in the room, I can’t focus. What if she wakes up? Or what if Trixie comes back? No way, I’m not gonna embarrass myself like that. I know that it’s normal, even foals do that, but still… Eww. You know, my mom used to say that she’ll start to tie my hooves together for nights if she ever catches me clopping again. It didn’t exactly help, but I got into bondage.

Despite all my ponderings I must’ve fallen asleep, because when Vinyl wakes me up it’s long after midnight.

“What the fuck do you want?” I ask groggily. She should be happy it’s dark – I can’t kick her in the face.

“You’ll see yourself,” she replies giggling like a foal who just came up with the best prank in their life.

I get out of bed. From behind the wall I can hear… Well, to put it bluntly, I can hear Flitter and Cloudchaser fucking. Flitter is loud. I never thought she can raise her voice that much. Though anyone who can make that bitch scream like that deserves a medal. Way to go, ‘Chaser.

“Can you hear that?” Vinyl asks.

“Yeah, porn for blind ponies. Did you wake me up to ask me that question?”

“Nope. Look at this.” She points at the window. Behind it there’s a large tree. Its branches reach the window of the neighbouring room… “We can climb there and–”

“No way! We’re not gonna go there and watch them having–” Before I can finish, Vinyl opens the window and jumps on the branch. Then she slowly crawls towards the trunk.

“I’m so gonna regret this…” I mutter, following her. The branches next to the window of Flitter and Cloudchaser’s room are thinner, but Vinyl doesn’t mind. She sits there and stares at the window in awe. Her hoof slowly wanders south.

“Vinyl, don’t do that…” I say.

“Why not? You can make yourself comfortable too. It won’t be so awkward if we both clop…” she replies. I thank Luna for the fact that I can’t see her well in the darkness. Such view could scar my poor mind forever.

“I’m not talking about that I wanted to say–”

“Aaargh!”

Thud!

“–that if you don’t hold the branch you can fall off that tree…” I finish in an emotionless tone. Seriously, what did I expect? “Vinyl, are you okay?”

“My hoof!” I hear from the ground. “I broke my fucking hoof! What will I do now?”

“You’re gonna wank yourself with the other one…” I mutter, sliding off a tree. I land on the ground and I see her, cowering next to the trunk, hissing and cursing.

“Can you walk?” I ask. “I guess there’s a doctor somewhere here…”

You know, I once wanted to be a nurse, but I ditched this idea after I realised that it’s less about sexy uniforms and more about dealing with ponies who have problems with going to the toilet. Or dealing with ponies in general. Anyway, my attempts to fix Vinyl’s hoof myself would probably end in getting it amputated.

“I think I’ve seen a doctor’s office when we arrived here,” Vinyl says. She tries to stand and winces.

“Wait for me, I’ll get the money and we’ll find it,” I say. Then I quickly go upstairs, take my saddlebags and go back to her.

It takes us a while before we find a house with a large board saying “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Mare” over the door. I tell Vinyl to sit down and knock on the door. After a few minutes it opens and a mare in her forties with red, braided mane, probably Dr. Quinn herself, appears.

“Something happened?” she asks.

I point at Vinyl. “My friend had an accident,” I explain. The doctor gestures us inside and examines Vinyl’s hoof carefully.

“Do I need to get an injection?” Vinyl asks, watching the doctor unsurely. “I’m scared of injections…”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think it’ll be needed…” Doctor Quinn says. “Though, if it’s broken, you’ll have to get heparin injections every day. But it’s easy, you can do it yourself…”

“M-myself? Never…” Vinyl shots panicked looks at the door and the windows. I guess she wouldn’t run away too far on three legs, but still I’d rather warn the doctor.

“You’d better prepare ‘brave patient’ stickers,” I say. “She’s rather difficult when it comes to visiting the doctor…”

Trust me, I know what I’m saying. When she was with my brother, we once partied too hard and ended up on the ER. I took the rabies vaccine with dignity, but Vinyl was making trouble. The doctor who was supposed to sew her forehead got kicked in the nuts and the rest of the staff spent half of the night trying to find Vinyl. Finally, they managed to lure her out of the ventilation duct with candies and ‘brave patient’ stickers.

“Don’t worry, I have lots of experience with foals,” the doctor says. “Even the big ones.” She turns to Vinyl, “If you don’t want to inject heparin yourself, your friend will surely help you.”

Can you hear that sound? It’s my inner sadist cheering upon the news that soon I’ll give subcutaneous injections to Vinyl. Hey, a needle can always slip…

Vinyl probably has similar thoughts. She’s unnaturally silent when the doctor helps her walk to an x-ray machine.

“It seems that it’s just a sprain,” the doctor says after a few minutes. Vinyl sighs with relief. “Still, I’ll have to dress it. And, of course, heparin will be needed.”

“Fuck…” Vinyl mutters.

“If we don’t do that, the blood clots can flow to your lungs or brain and kill you,” I say. You know, I always liked medical textbooks. There are so many things that can go wrong…

“Blood clots?” Vinyl looks at her hoof as if it suddenly got a life on its own. “I don’t wanna die…”

“Don’t worry, I can give those injections to you…” I try to cheer her up. “Of course, there’s a chance that you overdose heparin and bleed out, but–”

Vinyl faints. Maybe it’s good that I didn’t become a nurse. My bedside manners suck.

While Vinyl regains consciousness, the doctor gives me a short lecture about not scarring the patients mentally. Then she finishes bandaging Vinyl’s hoof and tasks me with carrying her home. Just great.

Luckily, Vinyl isn’t heavy. She consists mostly of bones, skin, sorry remains of lungs, cunt, stomach and brain. The last three organs battle constantly for control over her body. Unfortunately, the brain is losing badly.

Finally we get to the saloon. I can’t carry Vinyl upstairs myself, so I walk to our room to get Trixie or, if she’s still with Braeburn, Flitter and Cloudchaser to help me.

Apparently, the little session of sisterly bonding ended up in the corridor because the first thing I notice after climbing up the flight of stairs is a white and blue sock lying on the floor. I want to go to our room, but then I see that the door is open – and I remember locking it.

Well, it can be Trixie. But it can be della Morte’s guys as well. Who knows what he has in store for us. Griffon assassins? Neighponese knife nuts? Psychotic ex-pornstar who suffocates her victims with her teats?

Too bad I didn’t take a shotgun. Though, actually, I’m not a fan of “shoot first, then try to ask questions” tactics. I much prefer “hit ‘em right between the eyes and then ask questions”.

I pick up the sock, trying not to think who was wearing it, and where it could be stuck. Luckily, it’s dry. Then I take some bits from my saddlebags and put them in it, making a provisional baton – also known as “blackjack” or “Detrot Sleeping Pill”.

As quietly as I can, I creep to our room. It’s dark, but I can see the silhouette lurking in the shadows. Luckily, the intruder is looking through the window, so I remain unseen. I can see that it’s an earth pony, so it’s definitely not Trixie. When I’m close to the unknown pony, I stand on my hind legs, swinging the baton.

“Say ‘goodnight’, motherfucker,” I mutter through gritted teeth. With a bling of the coins, my makeshift weapon lands on the pony’s head.

Shit. This fuck’s skull must be made of titanium, because he (or she?) doesn’t even flinch. Worse, he bucks blindly, and since I’m still standing on my hind legs, the kick lands on my stomach.

Fuck! My vision darkens when I roll on the floor. I didn’t lose my supper only because my body couldn’t decide whether I should vomit or shit myself. Holy crap, it hurts! Whoever is here, they kick like a steam hammer. I really hope I don’t have ruptured spleen. Though, if it’s one of della Morte’s thugs, this will soon be the least of my problems.

“Minuette?” The voice is definitely familiar.

“Inkie?” I ask as soon as I regain an ability to breathe. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you,” she replies, blushing. “Are you okay?”

Yes, I’m okay. My guts are still inside, so I’ll live. However, there are still some “What? Why? Did your parents let you…?”

“Well…” She looks down at her hooves. “I… I hoped that you’ll show me the world… and everything… So I ran away from home...”

Just great. Okay, kids, time for a tired movie cliche number 79:

“It’s not a good idea…” I say, trying to sound as dramatic as I can, despite my stomach yelling at me, protesting against mistreating it. “You’ve seen those zebras… The guy who we pissed off will probably send more of them. Being with us is dangerous. It’s practically a death sentence…”

“I’m not afraid,” Inkie replies. “I can defend myself.”

Yeah. My stomach knows something about that. Also, those tired movie cliches never work.

“It’s a bad idea,” I continue. “Who knows where we’ll go? We want to go to the Griffon Empire…”

“Cool…” Inkie smiles.

“Your parents will worry about you…”

“Meh. When Pinkie ran away…”

Seems that my arguments are just as effective as my makeshift baton. I guess even if I tied her and sent her home in a cardboard box, she’d come back.

“Okay…” I say, defeated. “But first, help me carry Vinyl upstairs…”

“Oh! Did something happen to her?” Inkie asks in a worried tone.

“Yeah, she had a sudden attack of stupidity… Nothing serious, she’s used to that.”

When we walk downstairs, first thing we see is Vinyl, running (sic!) to us, her eyes wide in fear.

“Help me!” she yells.

“Mafia?” I ask. Fuck, I left my baton in the room. Shotgun and sniper rifle are there too.

“Worse…” Vinyl replies, pointing somewhere behind. “I only asked her how the date with Braeburn was…”

We don’t have to come closer, we can hear everything perfectly from here. A raspy, lust and alcohol filled voice.

“Don’t even *hic!* mention this… this faggot in The Great and *hic!* P-powerful Trixie’s presence! He *hic!* is not worth *hic!*... not worrrth...”

“Not worth what?” I ask. Once again, life proves that curiosity killed the cat.

“NOT WORTH MENTIONING ON THE CARDS OF HISTORY!!!” Trixie yells, but her voice quickly degrades into sobbing and slurring. “Thith… this son of a skunk and j-jackal hhhassss a *hic!* set of *hic!* moral rules…”

“What?” I’m not sure if I should be angry or amused. If he took advantage of her, it’d be clear, but it seems that the situation is far more complicated.

“H-he *hic!* t-talked to The Great and Powerful Trixie a-and it w-was *hic!* fun and all, t-then we, like, went to h-his home and T-trixie was *hic!* all h-horny and stuff, b-but… *hic!* he said that he c-can’t… *hic!* he can’t…”

“Fuck?” Vinyl prompts. Inkie’s face turns red faster than the traffic lights in Manehattan.

“YES!” Trixie runs to us and grabs Vinyl, shaking her rather brutally. “HE DIDN’T WANT TO FUCK TRIXIE BECAUSE HE SAID THAT HE’D HAVE TO MARRY THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE FIRST!”

Suddenly, everything goes quiet. The only sound now is chirping of the crickets and the sound of three hooves slamming into their respective owners’ foreheads.

“Then what’s the problem?” I ask, trying my best to contain laughter. “Teleport him to Las Pegasus, marry him and let him enter the Great and Powerful Cu–” I take a quick look at Inkie. We’re not gonna spoil the girl. “–marehood.”

“Trixie *hic!* tried…” Her tone suggests that she’ll soon conjure a guitar and sing a blues song. “Trixie even used *hic!* her magic to… umm…”

Oh yeah. Unicorns can generally be divided into two groups: those who used their magic to pleasure themselves or their partners and those who say that they didn’t.

“And what did he do?” Inkie asks. Seems that before we “show her the world”, she wants to take some notes.

“He… *hic!* ran away… So T-trixie decided to have a drink… then *hic!* two… ”

“Then seven…” Vinyl deadpans.

“Ten,” Trixie replies. She staggers a bit and rests herself against the wall.

“Okay, Inkie,” I say. “Help Trixie with the stairs, I’ll carry Vinyl.”

Together, we manage to get to our room. Vinyl and Trixie fall asleep almost immediately afterwards – not surprising since one of them is drunk and the other survived a triathlon consisting of climbing up a tree, masturbation and running on three hooves.

This leaves one problem: there’s now four of us, and we have only three beds in our room. The floor is hard and cold and I can’t let Inkie sleep in Trixie’s or Vinyl’s bed; Vinyl needs place to stretch her sprained hoof, and drunk Trixie is like a ticking pipe bomb.

“So… May I sleep with you tonight?” Inkie asks, smiling sheepishly.

I sigh heavily. “Okay,” I say. “But you know what they say about sleeping with unicorns?”

“What?”

“You may wake up with an unwanted piercing…” I laugh.

“Cool! I always wanted to have a piercing…” Inkie smiles. Damn it, she doesn’t even know those old jokes… Really, living on the rock farm must be awful.

“Nevermind,” I say. “Unicorns’ horns aren’t that sharp anyway…” Yeah, unless someone sharpens them on purpose. I used to do that when I was young and edgy. Berry Punch still has a scar, but I’m not gonna tell you where.

“Too bad,” Inkie mutters while we try to fit ourselves in my bed. “Goodnight, Minuette.”

“Goodnight, Inkie…”

“It seems that you had a fun night.” Cloudchaser laughs when she sees us. I can barely walk. Two ponies sleeping together in one bed might be cute, but it’s horribly uncomfortable. Especially when the bed is small and Inkie is a cuddler. Vinyl limps with her bandaged hoof, and Trixie has a terrible hangover.

“Well, it was kinda hard to fall asleep with you two behind the wall…” I mutter. Unlike us, both sister look fresh like a morning breeze.

“Are they… like me?” Inkie whispers into my ear. Welcome to the world, girl.

“Yes,” I reply as quietly as I can. “But they’re also sisters, which isn’t widely accepted.”

Inkie nods and gets lost in her thoughts, probably pondering which of her sisters she should ask out. When you think about it, Maud could be hell of a dominatrix…

“Who is she?” Flitter asks, pointing at Inkie with her wing.

“An old friend of mine,” I reply. “She wants to protest in the Griffon Empire too.”

“I’m not gonna power the vehicle with five ponies inside,” Flitter says, frowning.

“But you will...” Cloudchaser grins at her. “You should definitely work on your wingpower, sis…” She pats Flitter’s wings and kisses her.

“And if you don’t, ‘Chaser will make you squeal more than yesterday…” Vinyl adds. Flitter shots her a nasty glare, but she can’t do anything else – judging by the spark in Cloudchaser’s eyes, she likes Vinyl’s idea.

“Okay, girls, time to go,” Cloudchaser says. “Next stop: Hollow Shades!”

Author's Note

A piece of inspiration for the rocking horse...

“Ride of the Valkyries” on the radio and you can pour napalm on the zebras all morning.

I look around the town. So, this is the famous Hollow Shades? Looks cool, if you like the fact that the thick canopy of the trees makes it impossible to see the sky. You know, technically we’re still in the forest and only the presence of the building indicates that we’re actually in the town. Most of the houses look like the late Golden Oaks Library, but there are also some brick buildings, mostly near the city centre.

It takes some time before my eyes get used to the dim light. I wonder how Vinyl can still wear her sunglasses. When we get out of the Flitter and Cloudchaser’s vehicle I start to notice the inhabitants of the town. Bat ponies are everywhere, walking, flying, hanging from the branches… Quite colourful group, I must say. Well, most of them are of various shades of grey, but their manes are as colourful as any other pony’s. I’ve never seen so many of them in one place.

Inkie looks at everything in awe. I guess if she had a camera, she’d be like those Neighponese tourists. You know, the ones who, during the tsunami, try to run away and take a photo at the same time.

I can feel Vinyl poking me. One day I’ll knock her teeth out. It can’t continue like that: I’m enjoying the view and she just pokes me as if we were friends or something.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“I just wondered if you ever heard that joke about three bat ponies who walk into a bar…”

“I think I heard it,” Flitter says. “If it’s the one about tea, don’t tell it. It’s gross.”

I don’t think I want to know that joke either. It must be really awful if somepony who agreed to become her own sister’s sex slave thinks it’s gross. Definitely not something I’d want Inkie to hear.

You may wonder how she survived the road with her innocence unscathed. It’s simple: before we left Appleloosa, I took a jar and told everypony that if they say any bad word, sex joke or anything I find indecent when Inkie is within earshot, they have to throw a bit into it. At first, we didn’t talk at all, but after a couple of hours Flitter deflowered the jar – her complaining about the uneven road and slow cart before us cost her five bits. Then, when there was time to give Vinyl an injection, the stash in the jar increased to almost thirty bits. I must admit, that most of them were an effect of my liberal use of the c-word.

Also, guess who eventually managed to inject Vinyl’s heparin? Inkie. That girl would be a great mother.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie would like to hear it,” Trixie says. She’s also eyeing the bat ponies interestingly. Maybe she hopes that some local Braeburn will soon approach us yelling “welcome to Hollow Shades!” while cracking a smile so wide that we’ll see the remains of a mango on his fangs.

“Trust me, you don’t…” Cloudchaser replies. She gives Vinyl a nasty look.

We walk to the nearby building. It’s big and old, made of wood painted white. The board above the door states that it’s called the “Princess Luna Hotel”. From what I know from my voyages around Equestria, if a hotel is named after one of the princesses, it’s surely the worst and the cheapest hotel in town. Hmm, maybe it’s some kind of a chain?

We walk inside. Well, it’s not bad. The reception is clean. The receptionist, a bat mare with a blonde mane and thick-rimmed glasses (why the hell a bat pony would need glasses?) is watching us with a bored expression. I guess she saw everything in her life, so a DJ, a travelling magician, a farmgirl, an incest lesbian couple, and, well, me is nothing new for her.

“Vhat do you vant?” she asks in a haughty tone. If they only accept blood as payment, I’m leaving. Well, I’m a blood donor, so it wouldn’t be a problem, but I have some rules.

“Three rooms for two,” Cloudchaser says. Praise the Sun, I won’t have to live with Trixie and Vinyl again. Also, maybe it’d mean that I’ll live far from Flitter and Cloudchaser’s room and I won’t hear them screwing each other senseless.

But, on the other hoof, double room means no clopping for me again. Too bad, though I think that a single room in an old hotel where most of the staff has fangs wouldn’t be a good idea.

“As you vish,” the receptionist says. We walk upstairs. The floor creaks, there are cobwebs everywhere – you know it looks exactly like any old building in a horror movie. There are even monuments and armours placed in the strategic points of the corridor. I wonder if they move? I walk closer to one of the armours and I discover that there’s a small inscription on one of the plates. I lean to read it.

“Made in Chineigh”

Okay, nevermind. I guess it’s only supposed to look like a scary manor from the movies. Though, on the other hoof, maybe they want me to think that…

Focus, Minuette, for fuck’s sake! Your racism-fuelled paranoia isn’t gonna lead you anywhere. You know well that bat ponies don’t drink blood and they need fangs only to suck the juices out of mangos.

We walk to our rooms. I shamelessly exploit Vinyl’s disability and call dibs on the room next to the staircase. That way, Trixie and Vinyl will have to live between me and Inkie and Flitter and Cloudchaser. Good luck sleeping like that, fuckers…

We unpack our stuff and I walk to Trixie and Vinyl to see how they’re doing. To my surprise I see Vinyl cleaning her trench coat with her magic and Trixie styling her mane.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“What are we doing?” Vinyl chuckles. “We’re going to a party, girl!”

“What party?” I ask.

“There’s always some party here,” Vinyl replies. “‘Chaser says that it’s the time when the mangos, bananas and stuff are ripe, and it’s kinda like mating season here…”

“What?” Part of me is worried, but the other part (and I can exactly say which one) is really happy.

“We’re so gonna score tonight…” Vinyl licks her lips.

“Vinyl, you can barely walk, how do you want to score?” I ask.

“Oh, Minuette… Your inner Inkie is showing…” Vinyl says, putting her injured hoof on my back. “Listen, all the guys in this town are bat ponies, right?”

“You don’t say. Where did you get that idea?”

“Your sarcasm is so lovely…” Vinyl smirks. “All the guys in this town are bat ponies, so they fuck bat mares, making sweet, little bat foals, right? Kinda boring, right?”

I’d never say that sex with a bat pony is boring. But Vinyl is kinda right – it’s all the matter of perspective.

“We’re the only unicorns here, girl. We’re exotic…”

Actually, I have a feeling that we’re exotic not only in Hollow Shades, but at least here someone may want to fuck us because of that. Also, I could use a drink. But there’s one problem…

“What we’ll do with Inkie?” I ask.

“She can go with us,” Vinyl replies. “She’s into fillies, right?”

“Trixie heard that bats have the highest rate of bisexuality among the animals,” Trixie says. She finished styling her mane, though it doesn’t look much different than usual. “Bat ponies are partially bats, so…”

“I’m not gonna let her go there… You know how she is… She’ll do something stupid if we let her go to a party like that…”

“A party?” I hear Inkie’s voice behind me. “I want to go! I haven’t been to a party since Pinkie got her cutie mark…”

Shit. I guess I’m outnumbered. It’ll take lots of my multitasking ability to take care of Inkie and look for a…

Wait, why do I even care? Inkie is an adult. She can drink, have sex, vote and get drafted and sent to Zebrica. I can focus on finding some nice bat pony to keep me warm at night. Or during the day… Wait, what’s the time? It’s hard to say here.

I ran to my room to prepare myself. You know, long time ago I was told that in a certain angle and a certain light I’m quite sexy. But it won’t hurt to help that a bit. The alcohol will fix the flaws of my character, but tonight I must look perfect. I’m not afraid that Vinyl would outshine me, but Trixie, with her flanks, and Inkie, with her natural look and shyness are quite a competition.

That reminds me: I have to talk with Inkie about some aspects of relationships she’s never experienced before. Just to make sure no one takes advantage of her. When she enters the room, I’m ready.

“Inkie,” I say. “I wanted to talk…”

“You’re nervous?” Inkie asks. “Strange. Vinyl said that you practise all the time…”

“No, it’s not that. And you can tell Vinyl that she apparently wants to have another hoof broken… I wanted to talk with you about guys...”

“I prefer mares…” She blushes.

“I know, but… If a guy asks you to do something you don’t want…”

“Refuse. If they insist, refuse again. If they still insist, kick them in the nuts. I’m good at that.” She smirks.

My stomach has something to say in that matter – I still have bruises.

“My mom told me everything about stallions. Not that she approved that…”

Quartz, you continue to surprise me. I guess the fact that all your daughters can probably crush a coconut by sitting on it is also your merit? Genes? Steroids in food? Celestia only knows.

“Okay, I’m glad we have this matter fixed,” I say. “By the way, don’t drink too much. If you feel that you can drink more, don’t do that. It always takes some time to work. And remember to eat something before.”

You know what? My life would be much easier if I followed my own advice. For starters, I wouldn’t be here, dealing with the mafia, Vinyl, Trixie, Flitter, Cloudchaser and adolescent mares looking for their sexual orientation. I’d be spending my boring life looking for better jobs and wasting my humble salary drinking with Berry Punch. Maybe I’d even have a foal?

Eww. I’m glad I’m here.

Speaking of Berry Punch: when I walk to meet the rest of the gang, I meet Cherry Berry on the corridor. Cherry Berry is Berry Punch’s cousin and, just like her, she drinks like a suction-hose. She also builds flying machines; she even let me fly her helicopter a couple of times. We even wanted to buy an airship and establish a shipping company, but then she crashed one of her prototypes. Since then she has a titanium plate in her skull and is a bit eccentric.

“Hello, Colgate!” she yells. “Merry Hearth-Warming Eve!”

“It’s summer…” I mutter, even though I doubt that such details bother her.

“Really? Shit, time really flows…” She looks at Inkie but she doesn’t seem to notice her. “Anyway, Aquafresh, I built a new helicopter! It’s designed for four ponies and has a new anti-accident system!”

“So, you can’t crash it?” I ask. You know, I’m kinda interested in that. Some ponies think she’s crazy, but I think her helicopters are the future of transport. Also, do you know how much fat can you burn while flying it?

“No, but when you do, you don’t die; you’re only paralysed,” she replies. “Anyway, I brought it here; I’m gonna show it to the ponies from this town. Tomorrow at that large platform on the top of the largest tree here. Maybe someone will invest into it?”

“Yeah, that’s a great marketing move…” I mutter. “Ninety percent of ponies here have wings…”

“Thanks, Minty Fresh!” she exclaims. “Anyway, gotta go! See you, River Song!” She slams the door of her room.

“Who was that?” Inkie asks, looking at the door, her eyes wide.

“One of the ponies I have to deal with,” I reply simply. “But life would be boring without her.”

We join the rest of the group downstairs. Flitter and Cloudchaser are wearing quite sexy leather outfits. I totally dig the Flitter’s collar. Vinyl has her trench coat (at least she doesn’t have the fedora) and Trixie wears her cape and hat. We look like a bunch of idiots, but we’re exotic idiots and it’s all that matters.

“So, where are we going?” I ask.

“I know a club here,” Cloudchaser replies. She takes a leash, attaches it to Flitter’s collar and grabs it with her teeth. Inkie is eyeing them curiously.

“What’s going on with them?” she whispers into my ear. “Does Flitter think that she’s a dog?”

“Long story,” I say. “But I guess you’d like it. It’s a kind of preference…” I whisper back. Sweet Luna, how to explain BDSM to her? I need a drink.

“Can ponies, umm… have relationships with dogs?” she asks. Sweet Tia on a stick, how do I need a drink…

“You mean ‘can’ as ‘it’s technically possible’ or ‘can’ as ‘it’s something you can be proud of’? In the former, yes, in the latter, no.” I reply.

“I almost banged a dog once,” Vinyl says. “It was a really nice shepherd…”

“Vinyl, shut up,” I command. “Also, when we’re back home, you’ll put ten bits in the jar.”

“Hey! Why ten?” She’s so distracted that she steps on her injured leg. Jumping on the other three hooves, she tangles herself in Flitter’s leash, almost strangling her.

“Because what you’re saying is highly inappropriate, not to mention gross…” I reply, ignoring Flitter yelling obscenities. Several bat ponies gather around us. Way to make it big here…

“Hey, I was drunk, he was drunk… And nothing happened!” Vinyl exclaims.

“Vinyl,” Trixie says. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is not amused by your ramblings, so please contain yourself from talking abou fucking dogs, at least till the time when we’re inebriated.”

Wow… Trixie never stops to surprise me. Vinyl is still silent when we get to the club.

The interior is dark and moderately crowded. There are a couple of round tables there, a bar and the DJ’s equipment in one of the corners. Behind the bar sits a bat pony, cleaning the glasses with blank expression. At the turntables sits a small filly with bright pink mane. She smiles widely and tries to play something. The results are terrible; most of the guests, however, don’t mind, too busy drinking or eating mangoes, bananas, lychees or fried grasshoppers. Yes, grasshoppers. Bats eat bugs after all, right? So grasshoppers are a delicacy among the bat ponies. I don’t mind that, though Vinyl and Inkie became a bit green.

I walk to a bar and sit on the stool.

“Hello,” I say to the bartender.

“Vhat do you vant?” he asks. Apparently I’m not the first unicorn he sees in his life. Or maybe he’s just professional.

“Bloody Mary,” I reply.

“Vith real blood?”

“Umm… I’ll take a bloodless Mary then…”

“As you vish,” he replies and pours me vodka. Hey, did anyone here heard about tomato juice? Nopony? Okay, nevermind. I like vodka too.

Well, “like” is not the best word. As my father once said: “the taste of vodka has to twist your mouth. If you start to like it, you have a problem”. For me, vodka without any additions tastes like the disinfectant I used to clean the tables when I worked as a lab technician. I quit that job, because it turned out that I’m allergic to mice.

I don’t like vodka. But I like the feeling I get when I drink it.

“Cheers, luv!” I say to Inkie and take a shot. Eww… Really, it’s like disinfectant. But when it flows to my stomach, it’s not vodka anymore. It’s just a warm feeling, blood rush, unpleasant thoughts going away…

Inkie looks at me and orders vodka too. She looks at the transparent liquid unsurely and gulps it in one go, just like I did. Of course, she chokes and spills some. Though, it wasn’t bad for the first time.

“How can you drink that…” she gasps. “It tastes like…”

“Disinfectant?” I prompt.

“Like that thing we use to wash the rocks when they fall on some worker…” Inkie replies. She slowly regains the ability to breathe, but her face is still red.

“Well, maybe we started a bit too hard,” I say. “You need something for vodka to go down with. I’d suggest a juice or something like that. Some ponies use cider or beer, but that’d be suicide.”

“Why?” Inkie asks. Oh, come on… Someone tells you that something is a suicide and you ask why? I tell the bartender to pour me another vodka and turn back to Inkie.

“You see, your liver doesn’t like when you mix too much. It can get upset or worse – gain sentience. Life’s not fun when your liver keeps asking you what the hay are you doing…”

“Really?” Inkie looks at the place where liver usually is.

“No, you’d just get a really bad headache and you’d vomit like a cat after meds. But enough of that…” I see that the bat pony, assuming that we’re together, also poured Inkie a glass. I levitate mine and drink it. Shit, that’s some good stuff. Inkie learned her lesson and now she drinks much slower.

Next to us, Vinyl looks around the club nervously.

“Hey, dude,” she says to the bartender. “That kid behind the turntables sucks!”

“Vell, she has a lots of enthusiasm… What do you want?” the bartender replies calmly. Behind us, the pink-haired filly jumps up and down, trying to make the equipment follow her orders. Flitter and Cloudchaser dance. Trixie tries to.

“What’s the strongest thing you’ve got?” Vinyl asks.

“It’s called ‘Freight Train’,” the bartender explains. “The name comes from the fact that railponies use it to clean rusty engines. Also, when you drink it, the effects are similar to getting hit by a train…”

“No, thanks,” Vinyl replies. “I’ll take bison grass vodka with mango juice. Inkie, you should stick to it too. Drinking with Minuette usually ends badly.”

“It’s drinking with you that ends badly,” I reply. “By the way, may I try that Freight Train? The name sounds interesting.”

“As you vish,” the bartender replies and pours me something violet. The colour reminds me of some Berry Punch’s friend who, when he had no cash, started to drink denatured alcohol. From what I know, the photo of his liver is shown to the medical students during the toxicology lectures. Vinyl and Inkie get the bison grass vodka.

“In Ponyland they drink it with apple juice,” Vinyl says to Inkie. “But when in Hollow Shades, do what the bat ponies do…”

I take a careful sip of the Freight Train. Oh, by Celestia’s teats! Have you ever had a feeling that your oesophagus is ripped from your body, tied into a knot, fried and stuffed back into your body, but through the anus? Well, that’s exactly what I feel now. Crikey! My vision blurs for a while. The world around me becomes brightly coloured. I can see Vinyl looking at me unsurely. Sweet Celly, she looks so cute today…

“Are you okay, Minuette?” she asks.

“Yes, of course,” I reply. If we stretch the definition of “okay” to include “I have a feeling that my liver exploded, splaying gore around”, then we can say that yes, I’m okay.

“Good.” Vinyl turns to the bartender. “You know, I’m a DJ too…”

“If you vant to get behind the decks, you must first lure Heartbeat out. Candies will do.”

“Okay,” Vinyl says and takes a sip of her drink. “Minuette, hold my coat.”

She gives the filly some candies and steps behind the equipment. Some dancing bat ponies look at her as she examines it, pushing seemingly random buttons. Finally, she puts her sunglasses on and levitates a microphone.

“Hello, fillies and gentlecolts,” she says cheerfully. “My name is DJ Pon3 and I came here to cum into your fluffy ears!” With this words she spins a record. A monstrous wave of bass assaults my brain, still recovering from the trauma caused by the Freight Train. Suddenly, there are lots of bat ponies around. One of them grabs me and takes off. Help me, I’m being haped! And I’m scared of heights! And, what’s worse, judging by the fluffiness, the pony who grabbed me is a mare.

Still hugging me, she lands on the dancefloor. My head spins. My new friend decides to take another step and kisses me, or rather assaults my mouth with her tongue and cute little fangs... She kinda smells of strawberries… Eww! I jump back. Next to me, I can see Inkie who was also taken by surprise. Unlike me, she seems to enjoy her kiss.

“Oh, sorry!” The mare exclaims. She has nice black mane and yellow eyes. She’s wearing a leather jacket and a white scarf, like pegasi during the First Griffon War. “I just love to kiss! By the vay, my name is Symphony! Symphonie des Grauens, actually, but call me Symphony!”

“Okay!” I reply before the crowd separates us. Somewhere in the distance I can see Flitter and Cloudchaser. Similarly to the bat ponies, they not only use the floor to dance, they also fly to the ceiling and try to hang upside-down from it. Too bad, their tails aren’t that prehensile. Wonder what else those bat ponies can do with them…

I bump into Trixie. She doesn’t even notice me, too busy levitating three tankards of beer. Judging by how she staggers, there are not the first. Before I manage to ask her something, someone tackles me.

“Hello again!” Symphony cheers. “I didn’t get your name…”

“Minuette,” I reply. “Listen, can you get off me? I’m not comfortable like that…”

“Oh, sorry!” Symphony replies. “Vhat can I do to make you more comfortable?” She winks.

“Umm… grow a dick?”

“Too bad, I can’t… But hey, I know some guys! You’ll like them!”

Okay, I’m starting to like that party.

With me on her back, Symphony flies above the crowd. A couple of bat ponies – one of the mares holds Inkie – joins us.

“You know, in the basement there’s a couple of secret rooms for VIPs,” Symphony says, suddenly dropping her accent. “You can talk, drink or fuck there… But first, VE ARE GONNA DANCE!” She dives into a crowd, almost making me lose my breakfast. Before I can protest, we’re close to Vinyl’s turntables, Cloudchaser and Flitter half-dancing, half-making out next to us.

Someone gives me a glass. I gulp the contents in one go and I immediately recognise the taste of mandrake booze. You know, it doesn’t work for too long, but it makes you see fairies and shit like that. Also, even the grumpiest pony, after taking a shot of it suddenly becomes very eloquent. Like, they are the fucking masters of speaking; their speeches can easily convince you that going to Zebrica, becoming an airship gunner and getting shot down by the rebelliants is the greatest motherfucking idea in the world. Though, they can often drift too far in their speech, jumping from one topic to another. Speaking of the civil war in Zebrica, I once wanted to enlist. You know, I know how to shoot a gun, I constantly need money… I’m the best target for ponies who look for morons to convince them that there’s no smell like smell of napalm in the morning. But then, I imagined myself in that beautiful desert camouflage uniform, shot multiple times with a heavy machine gun, with my pants full of shit. You know, everyone who says that death is like falling asleep should see a pony dying. No matter how tough you are, you’ll shit yourself. And that’s how my military career ended before it even began.

Wait… where was I? Something about airships? Where’s my gun? Those separatists surrounded us! Help!

“Minuette!”

“Get down!” I yell.

“Trixie thinks she’ll be okay…”

“Are you with us, Minuette?” Vinyl asks.

I look around. This must be one of those VIP rooms Symphony told me about. It’s well-furnished, with a round table in the middle. I notice that I lie on the couch. I can feel the taste of whisky in my mouth. Trixie is standing above me, levitating a bottle. At least I didn’t need an adrenaline shot to the heart.

Around the table sit Vinyl, Inkie, Symphony, Flitter, Cloudchaser and some other bat ponies.

“If any of you, idiots, tries to give somepony mandrake again, I’m gonna rip your balls off!” Symphony yells at them.

Vinyl smokes a pipe. From the smell I can guess that it’s not tobacco. The whole group drinks whisky and eats mangoes, watermelons, grapes and bananas. Inkie’s face is red, but maybe it’s because of whisky.

“Okay,” says Vinyl calmly when I sit down and drink some whisky. “Since Minuette is back with us, we can go back to the topic. And maybe even ask her for an opinion in a matter of great importance.”

From her tone I can guess that I’m not the only one who had mandrake. Maybe she’s less sensitive?

“What’s that matter?” I ask.

“What kind of porn do you like?” Symphony asks.

Now I understand why Inkie is so red. “Watersports, bondage and those in which a mare with a strap-on fucks a guy in the–”

“Okay, we get the idea,” Vinyl says, shuddering.

“What’s watersports? It has something to do with swimming, right?” Inkie asks.

Vinyl, Trixie, Flitter and Cloudchaser look at me. The rest of the company looks at Inkie, unsure whether she’s joking.

“Kinda,” I reply. “But it’s more like bathing… With a golden shower…”

“That seems extravagant… Who has so much gold?” Inkie asks.

Oh, my sweet summer child…

“I’ll explain that to you later, when we’re both sober. Though I guess I won’t dare to do that without first having at least a couple of beers first,” I say.

“Maybe you should just show her?” Flitter asks, smiling mischievously.

“Maybe you two would demonstrate?” I reply, glaring at her angrily.

“Not a good idea,” Cloudchaser says. “Last time we tried, she choked…”

Thanks for the mental image, really. Do you know that awkward feeling when you want to vomit and clop at the same time? Yeah, that’s it.

“Don’t derail the discussion,” Vinyl says. “Inkie, what’s your favourite porn?”

“Umm… lesbians?” Inkie blushes even more. She gulps her whisky. “I have no idea… I first clopped to a Wonderbolts poster…”

“Don’t worry, there’s a room here, vith a large screen and lots of tapes,” Symphony says. “I think Wonderbolts Casting Couch is there too…”

Inkie has a rather bad poker face and I can read what’s going on in her head easily. It’s something like “not sure if want”. She pours herself another whisky and gulps it in one go. She gets used to it far too quickly if you ask me.

“Mmmaybeee I’ll go…” she mutters. Okay, I was wrong. Her taste buds got used to whisky quickly, but the rest of her system apparently didn’t. She burps. “I need to… I need to…”

“I’ll go with you,” I say quickly. “Where’s a bathroom here?”

Symphony also notices that situation is dire. She quickly points me the right way and I half-drag, half-lead her to the bathroom. Damn, how much did she drink when I was out? Earth ponies have more copies of alcohol dehydrogenase gene (I used to date a doctor, so I know such stuff) so they can drink more, but still their first times with alcohol may end up badly.

I almost obliterate the bathroom door with my magic and I help Inkie position herself. Hey, I’m good at that – I even managed to grab her mane before the mix of whisky, chunks of undigested mangoes and whatever else she ate and what is now unrecognisable, managed to tarnish it.

“You okay?” I ask after the first wave of vomit flows down the toilet. Inkie nods weakly.

“Are you sure? You know, never retreat, never surrender. It’s better to get rid of everything now…”

“Yeah… *hic!* I think I’m gonna go to sleep…” Inkie says.

“Good idea,” I say. Then I help her go to the sink to rinse her mouth and drink some water. You know, vomiting while drunk is fun, at least for some ponies. Dehydration isn’t.

By the way: I can easily guess when I should stop drinking. It’s always the moment, when toilet humour starts to amuse me.

We go back to the rest of our group. Flitter and Cloudchaser went somewhere, probably to dance, watch porn, fuck, or all of the above. Trixie sits by the table and eats pine cones, while Vinyl and Symphony watch her curiously.

“Can you help me?” I ask, dragging Inkie to the couch and placing her on it.

“No,” Vinyl replies.

“Why Trixie eats pine cones?” I ask, putting Inkie in the safe position so that she won’t choke if she vomits again.

“Trixie likes them,” Trixie replies, levitating another cone and crushing it with her teeth.

“You do realise that the only ponies who eat pine cones are the ones who suffer from chronic diarrhea?” I ask. “It’s like eating concrete…”

“Meh. Trixie never had constipation in her life!” she replies. Judging by the fact that the word “constipation” doesn’t make me laugh like an idiot, I can still drink something. And I’ll promptly do that.

“So, you’re not talking about porn anymore?” I ask Vinyl and Symphony.

“Nope. She’s far more interesting,” Symphony replies, pointing at Trixie. I notice that now, when she’s slightly intoxicated, she remembers how to pronounce her w’s correctly. “Did she tell you how she defeated the narcissistic vampire?”

“Yeah, she mentioned that…”

“And Vinyl told me a great joke about a bat pony drinking tea. I must really try that…” Symphony says.

“You’d better not try that with one of yours…” Vinyl giggles. “That’d be autocannibalism…”

Do you remember how I told you about my warning sign telling me that I drank too much? Vinyl has such sign too. When she uses words that have six syllables, you know that it’s really bad.

I take a sip of whisky. The only way to survive a calamity known as Drunk Vinyl is to be drunk myself. Soon, I feel a pleasant warmth. Too bad, Trixie chewing the pine cones starts to annoy me.

“Can you stop?” I ask her.

“Fuck you, Trixie can eat all those pine cones!”

Okay. I guess she’s not in a mood. I finish my whisky and pour myself another one. My vision blurs a bit and I feel like doing something stupid. Well, I do stupid things all the time, but this time I actually mean it.

Focus, Minuette! You’re, like, drunk. Probably. I’m not sure. Leave that whisky… yeah, the one that you’ve just drank. Too late… *hic!* Nevermind. I don’t care. Next to me, Vinyl finishes a beer and burps loudly. Bat ponies give her a round of applause.

Meh, I can do better than that. I inhale and I burp as loud as I can. Vinyl shots me a nasty glare.

“You dare to challenge me?” she asks, trying to focus her gaze on me. I’m not sure if she managed to do that. I can actually see two Vinyls now, so I guess something’s wrong with her. Or with me. Or whatever…

She gathers all her strength and tries to burp louder than me. Technically, she managed to get rid of some gas from her system. Too bad, it was through the orifice other than she intended. I dive under the table, trying to contain laughter. Stop laughing, moron, for fuck’s sake! And actually, go to sleep, Minuette. You’re drunk. I really need to stop laughing. It can end in throwing up…

No, I totally didn’t just vomit on the floor! And I’m not drunk, fuck off! Wait… Where am I? Where are everypony? Hello? Vinyl? Trixie? Where are you? Talk to me, please… I’m so lonely… Come on! Come back here, cunts, and talk to me! The Great and Powerful Minuette demands your attention!

Vinyl? Where the hell are you? Vinyl, come here… I may be thinking that you’re an incurable idiot, but it’s not like I don’t love you. Not “I’ll stick my horn into your ass and spin” kind of love, but I love you. And I even love Trixie… Just come here and help me get up, go to bed and stuff…

Wait. I can kinda see some guy in front of me. Yellow eyes, fluffy ears, wings. A bat pony? Oh wait, I’m in Hollow Shades. I think. So, a bat pony. He looks at me. From the position he’s standing I assume that I’m lying on the floor. Not good, not good at all! He’s a stallion. He has a dick. Minuette loves ponies with dicks.

I get up. Or at least I try to. After a couple of attempts I manage to achieve an effect resembling standing straight and sober. Or at least I hope so.

“Hello,” I say, looking at him, my eyes half-closed. Time for my best pick-up line. “Do you wanna fuck?”

He raises his eyebrows. I guess he’s just impressed by my improbable cuteness. “Thank you for the offer,” he says. “But I have to refuse.”

Refuse? No such word in my dictionary.

“Why?” I ask. “I’m a sexy, exotic unicorn! Come here and mount me! I demand it!”

“No, thanks,” he replies.

“What? I insist!” I swish my tail to the side, revealing my little treasu– Oh, fuck it. I reveal my cunt.

“Still, I have to refuse,” he says.

“Are you a faggot or what?” I ask.

“No. You’re drunk and therefore unable to consent.”

Therefore? Consent? Who needs consent when I need to get rutted? Do I have to clop again? I’m too drunk to aim my hoof at my clit, how am I supposed to do that?

“But I can make you a tea and carry you to bed if you want. You need to sleep it off,” he says.

Okay. Maybe. He lifts me from the floor and puts me on his back effortlessly. Geez, I can feel those muscles with my teats… My face is close to his tail… I reach under it with my hoof…

“Excuse me,” he says. “I think I’ll have to keep you far away from them…”

“Sorry…” I mutter.

“Nevermind. You’ll thank me later…”

We’re in the kitchen, I think. And I think I’m drinking tea. Not sure. It’s definitely not alcohol. Already too much blood in my alcohol. Or something like that. Tea good. Sleep good. Yeah, sleep…

Fuck! Whoever created hangovers should be assraped by Tirek after consuming all the magic in the universe. Ouch, my head. My dumb, fucking head. Nevermind, time to grit my teeth and run the “hangover morning” checklist.

All limbs in place? Check. Not in a hospital? Check. Not in prison? Check. No one drew a dick on my horn? Hard to say, it’s too dark here. Was I a cunt to someone yesterday? Hmm… Oh shit! I need to find that guy and apologise. And thank him for putting me in… Exactly, where? It seems like bed, but it has walls… and a ceiling. Wooden ceiling…

Oh, holy fucking mother of all the cunts! What am I doing in a coffin? They buried me alive? Or… or maybe della Morte’s guys got us and put us here? Crap. Okay, don’t panic, Minuette. Breathe. Do you remember that one party when you locked Berry Punch in a coffin? It must be something like this.

I knock at the lid. Thank Celestia, there’s not a layer of soil above it. A one spell should…

Yeah, one spell. In my state, it’d fry my brain. Time to do that the earth pony way. I gather all the strength I have and kick at the lid. Ouch! I must admit, it’s a good, oaken lid. When I die, I want to be buried in something like that. Worms and necrophiles would have to look for someone else.

After the third attempt, the lid gives up. I get up, stretch my hooves and look around.

First thing I see are some sleeping bat ponies, hanging from the ceiling. When I watch them, I think that coffin wasn’t a bad place to sleep. After all, they could’ve hanged me upside-down on my tail.

Next to me there’s another coffin; Vinyl sleeps on it. She kinda looks like some lady whose knight fell in battle and now she cries on his grave. Except ladies don’t usually snore, lying on their backs with hind legs spread. I avoid looking there. You know, when you look into the abyss for too long… Also, fallen knights don’t usually bang their hooves against the lid, yelling “Help! The Great and Powerful Trixie has claustrophobia! And she needs to pee!”

Sweet Celestia! On one hoof, I’d like to see Trixie getting into omorashi, but on the other, it’s a good, antique coffin which doesn’t deserve to be tarnished like that. A piece of art, I’d say.

I get out of my “bed” and, without saying a word, I push Vinyl off the coffin. A second later, when she tries to get her bearings, yelling obscenities at me, she’s hit by the lid, opened abruptly by Trixie’s magic. I can only see a blue blur when she runs away, simultaneously making some kind of potty dance.

“Vinyl, you okay?” I ask.

“Fuck you… My head…”

“I take that as ‘yes’. Can you help me find Inkie?”

“Stick a garden hose up your flank and turn on the water…” she replies. I guess she spends too much time with me.

I shrug and leave her in the room. Whoever built that place probably wanted ponies to get lost in it. Everything consists of narrow corridors full of wicked turns. Finally, I find the room where, if I recall correctly, we left Inkie. She’s there, sitting on the couch and drinking tea with a bat pony who seems familiar.

“Hello,” he says, smiling at me. “How are you?”

“I woke up in a coffin. Try to guess. You couldn’t find a bed?”

“Closest thing I got.” He smirks. “Still want to, umm…” He looks at Inkie unsurely.

“No,” I reply. “And I’m sorry for that. When I’m drunk–”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed...”

“Did I do something stupid yesterday?” Inkie asks. She has bags under her eyes and her voice is even weaker than usual.

“No, just standard things,” I say.

“Yeah, unlike Minuette…” the bat pony smiles. Did I mention that he has a really nice smile? And his mane… I really like his mane!

“What’s your name?” I ask. Well, I ruined my first impression, but I can fix that. At least I hope so.

“Tyluan,” he replies. “May I talk to you in private?”

“Of course!”

We leave Inkie with her tea and walk to the nearby room. There’s no bed in it, but it’s not important. Yet.

“I’ve got something to tell you…” he says.

“Yes!” I reply. We’ll have to marry in Las Pegasus. It may be kinda hard, but maybe mafia won’t expect us there?

“No, it’s not that…” he laughs. “Do you know a guy called Bacio della Morte?”

Fuck. Not only he has to chase us, he also has to cock– I mean, cuntblock me.

“Let’s say I’ve met him,” I reply. “What’s going on?”

“Remember Symphony? The girl you’ve met yesterday. Her father, Nosferatu des Grauen is a don of local mafia.”

Oh, fuckity fuck. I can’t even get drunk without mafia stalking me. What the hell I am, mafia magnet? “Let me guess,” I say. “He’s at war with Bacio della Morte?”

“Not really. Des Grauens and la Familia della Morte are friends. Just yesterday, one of della Mortes came here and said that they’re looking for, quoting, a slightly pudgy blue unicorn, another blue unicorn with a hourglass cutie mark, and a lanky white idiot.”

Oh, come on. Vinyl wouldn’t be amused by that. She’s not white, she’s slightly yellow.

“Why did you tell me that?” I ask.

“Do you want to know what happened to the last guy they wanted to find?”

“Okay, nevermind. Why haven’t they caught us yet? I’d say we’re quite memorable…”

“Della Morte’s pony shared his message with the only member of the mafia who isn’t drunk now.” He pointed at himself. “Too bad, Herr Nosferatu will wake up soon and della Morte’s emissary is already waiting to tell him the news. You have maybe half of an hour.”

“Great… Thanks, Tyluan. I need to hurry…”

I run to find Vinyl. Luckily, she’s still next to the coffin, scratching her head.

“Getupnotimetoexplainmafiaischasingusweneedtoescape!” I yell at her. It’s surprising how quickly she got this. Any trace of hangover disappears instantly. She’s on her hooves, ready to go. We run to the toilet and I kick the door open.

On a second thought it was a bad idea. Trixie sits there, reading a newspaper. She lowers it and gives us a surprised look.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie thinks that you should knock,” she says. I can hear some faint trace of suffering in her voice.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, even though the answer is kinda obvious.

“Pine cones…” Trixie blushes. “Trixie can’t get rid of them…”

I facehoof while Vinyl bursts into a fit of laughter. “Just great…” she says, trying to catch her breath. “Mafia will soon get us and your biggest problem is that you can’t take a–”

“Vinyl, please, have decency…” I say with a sigh.

“Why when you say ‘Vinyl please’, it always sounds like ‘bitch, please’?” Vinyl asks.

“I’ll explain that to you later. Now, we need to do something about her…”

“She’s lactose-intolerant,” Vinyl says, watching Trixie carefully. “Let’s give her a gallon of milk. It’ll be like a bottle of champagne…”

Thanks Vinyl. I’ll never be able to look at champagne the same way again. “Maybe we should do the same thing as with my mother,” I say. “Once I went to the chemist’s to buy some meds for her, but I met Berry Punch on my way and we got drunk. When my mother saw me in such a state, she shit herself…”

“Maybe you’d just leave?” Trixie asks, giving us a painful look. “Trixie can’t focus with you two here…”

“Or maybe I’ll just do it the hard way…” I mutter, aiming my horn at Trixie. I know that I shouldn’t do it when hung over; a slightest mistake and the pieces of Trixie’s colon will be found in Stalliongrad.

The blue light flashes and we hear the sound of something hitting the water. Trixie looks at her stomach unsurely. I know that feeling; nervous system is not used to things suddenly disappearing from the organism without a trace.

“D-did you just…”

“Yes, I teleported the contents of your bowels out of them,” I reply. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Minuette…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t do that anymore.”

“Wait,” Vinyl says when we walk down the corridor to pick up Inkie and go to the hotel. “Did you really teleport the shit out of her ass? I thought it’s impossible!”

“I didn’t know it was impossible,” I reply. “That’s how great inventions are made.”

“Can we not speak about that anymore?” Trixie asks. “Trixie still feels violated…”

“Well, one could say that you penetrated Trixie with your magic…” Vinyl says innocently.

“Trixie’s right,” I say, hitting Vinyl at the back of the head. “Let’s never speak of this again.”

We find Inkie and we run to our hotel. I bang at the door of Flitter and Cloudchaser’s room.

“Girls, we need to leave the town! Like, now!” I shout.

“Fuck off!” I hear Flitter’s voice. “We’re kinda tied here!”

“Can we at least borrow your cart?” I ask.

“Just try and I’ll tear your legs out!”

“We can still steal it,” Vinyl says. “They’re tied; they won’t chase us…”

“Yeah… But we need wings to use it…” I give Trixie a meaningful glare.

“Hey! Trixie would be an alicorn long time ago if she wanted…” she exclaims.

“Yeah, right… But since none of us can fly…” I mutter. “Wait! I have an idea!”

I run downstairs, to Cherry Berry’s room. The door is open. Cherry’s inside, hugging an empty barrel of whisky.

“Cherry, we need your helicopter!” I yell at her. She mutters something incomprehensible.

“Oh, come on… Get up, you old drunk!”

I’m not sure whether she said something as a reply or just snored. I try to shake her, when the rest of the gang enters the room. In this whole mess I forgot that Vinyl can’t walk fast.

“Seems that our only hope went to fuck itself,” Vinyl mutters, looking at Cherry Berry.

I can feel that my throat is dry. “There’s something else,” I say. “I know where her helicopter is. I once flew one of the older models…”

“That’s crazy…” Trixie says.

“You speak like it was something that could stop us…” Vinyl smirks. “What are we waiting for?”

Inkie and Trixie go upstairs to take our saddlebags while Vinyl and I try to find the biggest tree in the town. It’s not hard: after all, it’s hard to miss a huge oak with a large platform on the top. Hell, they even built an elevator inside, so Vinyl doesn’t have to walk all the way upstairs.

Luckily for us, no one guards the helicopter. Probably they assumed that no one would want to steal it anyway. I look at it, trying to find any similarities to the model I flew. Unlike it, this one has place for four ponies: a pilot, two ponies powering it by pedalling and an observer-navigator. I look at the controls, trying to figure them out.

“Inkie, Trixie, you’ll pedal. Vinyl, you’ll take the maps and guide us to Fillydelphia, south-west from here.”

“Why Trixie has to pedal?” Trixie asks.

“Because it’s good for your figure, cures hangover and problems with bowel movement. Also, Tyluan gave us thirty minutes, so no discussion,” I reply, sitting behind the centre stick. Cherry Berry put lots of stuff here; gauges, speedometer, altimeter, lots of colourful lights… “Vinyl, take a shotgun. In case they chase us, you’ll scare them away.”

Trixie doesn’t ask why she can’t take the shotgun. After the last time she had it in her hooves, I’m not surprise. Vinyl takes the gun and loads it. We have about twenty shells of unknown quality (after all, they’re Vinyl’s), not to mention the zebra’s sniper rifle with damaged sights and only five rounds. I put my forelegs on the stick, hind legs on rudder pedals. Suddenly, I see a duct tape, a sheet of paper and a pen lying on the cockpit.

“Wait a minute, I have an idea,” I tell to the rest of the crew. I take the sheet and write a short letter:

Dear Cherry Berry,

I stole your helicopter.

Sincerely,
Nosferatu des Grauen

Not exactly a smart trick, but, after all, Cherry Berry is kinda dense. Maybe she’ll go and try to kick that old bat’s arse? I tape the letter to the platform and order Trixie and Inkie to start.

With a terrible screeching, the rotor start to move. Soon, the rhythm gets more steady as the oil pump begins to work. I pull the stick and the whole machine slowly lifts off the platform. Soon, we’re higher than the tree tops. Several bat ponies looks at us, unsure if we’re real or just a side effect of yesterday party.

“Where’s West, Vinyl?” I ask. Vinyl points to the right and I push the rudder pedal. The helicopter moves swiftly in the intended direction. I push the stick and we begin to move forward, slowly leaving Hollow Shades.

I think that Cherry Berry chose the wrong place to advertise it. She should’ve gone to the Army with that. Imagine that thing, armed with autocannons and rockets, flying up the river in the middle of the jungle. “Ride of the Valkyries” on the radio and you can pour napalm on the zebras all morning. Too bad all we have is a shotgun and a sniper rifle. If we had napalm, we’d just fly to Las Pegasus and drop it on Bacio della Morte’s head. And a couple of other heads, I guess. Then we’d rebuild the town. With blackjack and hookers. That is, more blackjack and hookers than is there already.

“Minuette, are you okay?” Inkie asks. “You look scary when you smile like that…”

Me? Scary? Well, maybe. Okay, maybe I should stop showing my teeth. Vinyl is throwing nervous glances around.

“I have a feeling that I’ve been here before…” she mutters. “But it was an airship…”

“Don’t worry, this thing is faster than any airship,” I say.

“Faster than those six bat ponies who are flying behind us?” Vinyl points at the six dark silhouettes barely visible on the sky.

“Fuck…” I mutter. “Trixie, Inkie, can you go faster?”

At first, the only reply is panting. “Trixie… tries…”

“Then Trixie should try harder…” I reply. “How’s the situation, Vinyl?”

“They’re approaching us!” she screams. “On six o’clock… They have guns!”

Crap. Not good at all. I grab the stick with my both hooves, ready for evasive maneuvers. Meanwhile, Vinyl levitates the shotgun and tries to aim it at them. Considering the range, we’re fucked. Forty metres at best versus typical gangsters’ submachines… Not to mention that we make a rather big target.

Suddenly, Trixie turns backwards and charges her horn. We’re slower now and we lose some altitude, but if it means the increase of firepower…

“Minuette! To the left!”

I jerk the stick to the left. For a moment, my vision darkens. I can hear the rapid gunfire, punctuated by the sound of Vinyl’s shotgun. Behind me, Inkie screams. We slow down and a couple of bat ponies flies past us. One of them is clearly lagging behind, while the rest reloads their guns.

Vinyl levitates fresh rounds while Trixie tries to lock the target of her magic on one of the attackers. I focus on the controls; it’s not easy to keep the helicopter steady with those two running around like idiots.

“Got one…” Trixie mutters.

“Terminate,” I say. “With extreme prejudice.”

The magic beam flies through the air. It turns sharply and explodes in the middle of the formation. The bat ponies seem okay, but at least they had to scatter. One of them charges directly at us. He aims his gun at me…

Bang! Vinyl’s shotgun almost deafens me. The bat pony pulls up at the last moments; some buckshot hits his legs, then he gets caught by the turbulence caused by our rotor.

The helicopter shakes violently. I can hear some wet sound above me and Inkie’s surprised scream when the pedals suddenly start to resist. I look behind and see that the tail of the helicopter is sprayed in something red. Why it always happens to me?

I turn right, hoping that the rotor is still intact. Vinyl looks around, searching the sky for the bat ponies. Finally, she spots four of them, sitting on the cloud, probably rethinking the strategy.

Trixie aims her horn at the cloud. The bat ponies immediately take off, but anyway one of them get hit by the lightning and has to go back with his fur smoking visibly. Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker.

The remaining three charge at us from the Sun. I prepare for another sharp turn when suddenly I see something strange.

Two pegasi wearing the Equestrian Air Force armours jump from behind the nearby clouds and charge at the bat ponies. They have rifles and heavy machine guns in their battle saddles, but they don’t even use them; they just tackle the bat ponies. The sheer mass of them and their equipment wipes them from the sky.

What the hay? We were that loud? Before they disappear I can see one of the soldiers saluting at us. They wear helmets and goggles, but I have a feeling that I’ve seen them before.

I salute back and focus on the stick. Trixie goes back to the pedals and we head to Fillydelphia. Vinyl still searches the sky, but it seems that Herr Nosferatu des Grauens decided that his friendship with Bacio della Morte isn’t that valuable.

“I can see a town!” Inkie exclaims. Indeed, the first skyscrapers appear on the horizon. Soon, we’ll be close…

Suddenly I hear a terrible creak. We look around. Apparently, it comes from the transmission of our helicopter. Trixie and Inkie lose the rhythm when the pedals start to resist. Slowly, we’re losing altitude. I open the toolbox and levitate a hammer to Vinyl.

“Try to hit something with it,” I say. “I guess the guy whom our rotor changed into Estufa de morcego blocked something…”

Vinyl approaches the wall of the helicopter and hits it several times. The only answer is more creaking. Vinyl hits stronger.

Suddenly, we hear the sound of something snapping and the pedals go loose. The whole helicopter shakes.

“Aaargh!” Vinyl screams. “I don’t wanna die!”

“You won’t…” I mutter, trying to steady the helicopter. I can still hear the sound of the rotor turning. “Autorotation is on our side…”

“Auto-what?” Inkie asks.

“Autorotation…” I reply. “As long as the air turns the rotor, we have enough lift to find some safe place to land. Cherry Berry is a master of landing with the damaged transmission…”

I’d rather not tell them about that one time when the rotor got blocked with an empty vodka bottle. Fifteen metres above the ground Cherry lost lift and crashed into the ground. Since then she can’t remember my name and has a titanium plate in her skull which allows her to receive signals from the aliens. Or at least she says so.

Hopefully, there are no empty bottles here. I look at the ground, looking for some even place to land. I can see the road and some cottages. Good enough. Now, a bit to the left… And a bit to the right. We lose altitude a bit too quickly, but I can correct it easily. Thank you, Cherry Berry, for the improved controls. The earlier models were weird. There were so many things in it that could go wrong that they could kill you even before taking off. I even proposed her to name that thing “Flying Coffin”.

Slowly, we’re approaching the ground. Some guy looks at us with his jaw hanging low. Vinyl waves at him cheerfully while I struggle with the wind. Suddenly, a cabbage field grows right in front of me…

“Watch out!” I yell. We hit into the cabbage and my head comes into a painful contact with the windshield. The chopper skids to a halt. Then I hear a quiet “pomf!” and the airbag hits me again, throwing me back into my seat. Really, Cherry Berry? Anti-accident system?

“Everyone’s okay?” I ask.

“Yeah…” Inkie says.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is in a good condition.”

“Fuck…” Vinyl mutters.

“Let’s get out of here…” I say and rise from my seat. Shit, my spine… I’m never gonna fly that thing again, even if I get paid for that. I open the door and face about a dozen of villagers approaching us with torches and pitchforks. Oh, come on… I’m too tired for your shit, guys…

“Nothing to see here!” I exclaim, standing up. “Can any of you tell us how can we get to Fillydelphia?”

Author's Note

For those who know German: guess at which point I was listening to Die Arzte's Claudia hat 'nen Schaferhund while writing...

It’s not medieval when you needed a virgin and a good sword to kill a dragon.

What can I say about Fillydelphia? Well… you know Manehattan, right? Fillydelphia is a bit similar, but has no statue, smaller port, the rich ponies aren’t as rich as those in Manehattan, and the poor ponies can’t afford firearms and have to threaten you with knives when they want to rob you. When I think about it, Manehattan and Fillydelphia are nothing alike.

Okay, screw it. I’m not Trenderhoof, I don’t have to tell you about all the sights, famous restaurants, historical events and whatever the town I’m in has to offer. We aren’t even going to stay here for long. As soon as we arrived, we went to the port. Currently, we’re looking for the next ship to the Griffon Empire.

Or rather, Trixie and I are looking for the next ship to the Griffon Empire. Vinyl still can’t walk well, so she sits with Inkie in some bar. We’re walking from dock to dock, talking to ponies.

You may not believe me, but when I want, I can get on well with ponies just fine. It usually happens when I want something. Trixie is rather extrovert and, unlike Vinyl, knows where are the borders one shouldn’t cross if they don’t want to end up with a knife in the back, so she’s also a great help.

“Good morning,” I say to an old pony wearing a sailor’s uniform, who’s sitting on a deckchair next to a large steamship. “Where’s this ship going?”

“Mareseille, Prance,” he replies. “But we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“So, you’re not going to the Griffon Empire?” I ask.

“There’ll be a ship to Greifenhagen next week,” he replies. “If I recall correctly, there are none this week…”

Next week? Great. Till next week, della Morte’s guys will find us and skin us. Then des Grauen’s guys will dig us from the ground, revive us, drink our blood and skin us once more, for a good measure.

“Mareseille is good too,” Trixie whispers to me. “Trixie was there once. It’s a large port – there are lots of griffons, ponies, zebras, caribou and antelopes from Prance, Griffon Empire, Germaney, Ponyland, Great Bridletain, Neighterlands, Zebrica, Zebrakistan and whatever country you can think of there. It’s easy to hide.”

“Okay,” I say. “Can we buy four tickets to Mareseille then?” I ask.

“Sure,” the sailor replies. “Any weapons?”

Shit. I hope he’s not gonna take our shotgun and sniper rifle away.

“We have some,” I reply. “B-but we’re certified dragon slayers and we need them…”

When you think about it, it’s not so stupid lie. Imagine the four of us surrounding a dragon. Trixie protecting us with her spells, Vinyl blowing stuff up with her shotgun, Inkie as a virgin bait… and me, sitting somewhere far away with a sniper rifle. Though, on a second thought, it’d be suicide. It’s not medieval when you needed a virgin and a good sword to kill a dragon. A simple anti-aircraft cannon would be much better.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll only put it in the locker during the cruise. Safety regulations.”

“Okay,” I reply. “I don’t think there’ll be any dragons on our way…”

We walk away to find Inkie and Vinyl. Our surroundings aren’t very welcoming – a bunch of rusty containers, ubiquitous steam, smoke, and the smell of dead fish. I guess I’ll feel great during the cruise. Trixie probably thinks about the same thing.

“Is it possible to survive two weeks without eating?” she asks. “Trixie gets seasickness just by looking at this ship…”

“I don’t think so…” I reply. “Well, maybe Vinyl could do that… Her brain doesn’t consume much energy…”

Trixie looks me directly into the eyes. What the hay? She’s gonna attack me or what? “Why are you always such a jerk for her?” she asks.

What?

“Am I?” I ask.

“All the time,” Trixie replies. “For her, for Trixie… Basically for everyone except Inkie.”

“Umm… Because that’s the way I deal with stupidity?”

“Are you suggesting that Trixie is stupid?”

What’s wrong with her? Time for evasive maneuver.

“Of course not,” I say. “Just… one of my rules is ‘stupid until proven otherwise’...”

Trixie sighs. “Are you suggesting that Trixie, who saved your sorry flank at least two times, not to mention killing a narcissistic vampire and defeating an Ursa Major, didn’t prove that she’s not stupid?”

Seems that it’s time for evasive maneuver number two.

“What happened to you?” I ask. “Why are you suddenly asking me why I am a jerk?”

“Because Trixie just realised that she’s going to spend two weeks on a ship, probably vomiting all the time. Also, that time of the year comes and she doesn’t want to kill anyone… And you’d be first in line.”

“Okay, Trixie, you’re not stupid. You seem to have some planning skills…” I say. “Since then, I’ll be nice to you… and to Vinyl if you want…”

“Thank you,” she says. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is glad that we have this matter settled.”

I sigh with relief. I’d rather not know the wrath of The Great and Powerful Trixie. A small sample I saw on the rock farm is definitely enough for me.

We trot next to some another bunch of containers (which look exactly the same as the containers we’ve seen before), when suddenly I hear something.

“They have to be somewhere there… Those two blue ones are smarter. We need to watch out, lads,” some mare on the other side of the container says. She has that distinctive hissing manner of speech one gets when they have fangs, but her accent is nothing like the bat ponies I’ve met. In fact, she sounds like she was born in the docks of some town in the northern part of Great Bridletain.

“Do you think they may be our friends?” I ask Trixie.

“Trixie thinks so,” she replies. “What are we gonna do? Run away?”

It sounds like a good idea. After all, we don’t know exactly how many “lads” are there with our mysterious stalker. But suddenly, a terrible thought appears in my mind.

“What if they find Vinyl and Inkie before we get to them? They won’t defend against them,” I say.

“And we will?” Trixie asks.

“Don’t worry, we have numerical superiority,” I say. “There’s two of us here and they’re alone…”

“That doesn’t convince Trixie…”

“I have a good plan,” I say. “I’ll go back and face them and you’ll circle that container and attack them from behind. One spell in the nuts and we’ll run.”

“You really want to kick some flank, don’t you?” Trixie asks.

“Kinda. You know, I used to be a hoofball fan when I was young,” I explain. “I know how to fight…”

“Yeah, Trixie remembers. But she still thinks you’re a nutjob.”

“Maybe. Let’s do this…”

Without waiting for her to say something I go back and circle the container. One of the “lads” probably hears my hoofsteps, because I can hear him saying, “Hey, Wild Hunt! Someone’s there.”

I step into the alley between the two containers and stand in front of them. Not bad. A bat pony mare with cherry mane, a black griffon and two grey earth ponies who look exactly the same as della Morte’s bodyguards. Maybe he clones them?

“Hello,” I sing. “Is it me you’re looking for?”

“Oh yeah,” says the mare,whose name is probably Wild Hunt. Though I bet she pronounces it “hoont”. “Della Morte family wants to talk with you. Not to mention that my boss, Nosferatu des Grauen isn’t happy about what you did to his ponies…

I chuckle. “Well, they should know that one doesn’t simply get into the rotor of the helicopter and survive. Also, it’s not that bad. We missed an occasion to deflower his daughter…”

“That explains why she didn’t want us to chase you,” Wild Hunt replies. I can see Trixie walking behind her and aiming her horn at a griffon. “Anyway, we don’t have time to talk.”

“What now?” I ask, seeing that Trixie needs time to charge the spell. “‘My name is Wild Hunt! You killed my father! Prepare to die?’”

She doesn’t reply. Instead, the griffon darts forward and tackles me. Trixie’s spell misses him by an inch. Ouch! My whole left side hurts. Wild Hunt also flies to me. Shit, she’s not like one of those talkative villains.

Time for a counter attack. I headbutt the griffon and hear him screaming when my horn leaves a nasty scratch on his face. Wild Hunt tries to bite me, but I dodge her and punch her at the back of the head. Fuck! She has a rather thick skull. She and the griffon fly a few feet above the battlefield and dive at me. I duck at the last moment and the griffon misses me, instead hitting the container with a loud thud. For a moment I can see Trixie fighting with two earth ponies, but then Wild Hunt rams into my injured side, knocking the air out of my lungs.

I don’t like to have debts, so I kick her in the stomach and catch her neck. She grabs my horn, preventing me from ending a fight with a clean little fireball to her face. Holding each other we roll on the ground. I grit my teeth – the griffon’s first attack left me with claw marks from my front leg to my cutie mark. I’m bleeding and I definitely need stitches.

Luckily, the griffon is still knocked down after a contact with the iron wall of the container and some of my blows managed to injure Wild Hunt a bit. I get on her back, tearing some hair from her mane. She flaps her wings furiously and suddenly I see that we’re flying above the alley. The griffon regained consciousness and looks at Wild Hunt, unsure what to do. The earth ponies are cornered by Trixie who shoots spells at them.

Meanwhile, I’m in the middle of a fucking mid-air rodeo. Wild Hunt tries her best to shake me off her back and I, of course, hold her as if she was my loving mother.

“You Wild… cunt…” I mutter through gritted teeth.

“Fucking muppet!” she replies.

“Friggin’ Scouse!” I yell, hitting her in the back of the head. On a second thought, it’s not a good idea – we’re, like, fifty feet above the ground.

“Bloody Oatsie!” she hisses. Oatsie? Well, my father has a distinctive accent, but my is almost unrecognisable. But, after all, bat ponies have good hearing.

“Bitch!” I shout. I’m kinda out of ideas.

“Whore!”

Okay, she crossed the line. Remember when I mentioned bat ponies’ good hearing? Well, her sweet, fluffy ears are right below my face. I open my mouth and grab one of them with my teeth.

Forgive me, I’m not gonna tell you what was her reaction to such treatment. My mother would hear that story and she’d go to Hollow Shades and kill her. You know, my mom kinda doesn’t like when someone implies something about her. Also, I have better things to do. The griffon is in the air behind us and prepares to attack.

Still holding Wild Hunt’s ear with my teeth I slid off her back a split second before the griffon rams into her and crashes into the ground. What an idiot. Not only he, me also. The pavement is getting close a bit too fast for my liking. I’m not Fluttershy, butterflies won’t save me now...

“Minuette!” I hear Trixie’s shout. A moment later, a wave of magic slows me down. Instead of becoming a bloody stain on the concrete, I gain a couple of new bruises. Also, since Wild Hunt landed on Trixie just after she fired a spell to save me, the earth ponies now turn their attention to me. And guess what? The griffon is unconscious again. Maybe it’s better for his companions.

I stand up and feel that I have something foul-tasting in my mouth so I spit it out. Eww… Seems that I accidentally pulled a Mike Tycolt on poor Wild Hunt. Seeing the approaching earth ponies I light my horn and aim it at one of them. I choose the one on my left side. When I fire the spell, the other one will surely tackle me and I’d rather be hit from the side without four pretty wounds after the griffon’s claws.

I see that Wild Hunt currently poses no threat. She’s lighter than Trixie, so she practically bounced off her and hit the pavement. What’s more, Trixie now stands on one of her wings and aims her horn at her in a manner saying “make one move and you’ll need an eyepatch”.

“Hey, you,” I say to the earth pony I aim my horn at. Some blood escapes my lips, but I don’t care. “My spell’s target is locked on your balls. Even if you dodge it’ll reach them. If you or your friend try to attack me, your griffon friend will have your fried cojones for dinner...”

Maybe you don’t know, but intimidation is my second name. Or, actually, third. The second is Romana, but don’t tell anyone.

“Umm… Steve?” the earth pony says to his friend. I can see bullets of sweat on his forehead. “Maybe we’ll reconsider this…”

“Don’t worry, Steve,” his companion says. “She’s bluffing. If she could really do that, she’d already do that. Unless we deal with the case of ‘Daring Do villain stupidity’...”

“You mean, when the villain explains his whole plot to Daring Do instead of just shooting her?” Steve the First asks. “I’ve never liked that trope. So, you think that she’ll now start a lengthy monologue, hoping that we’ll run away?”

I sigh and fire a spell at his balls. He screams some more bad things about my mother and collapses, holding his family jewels. Steve the Second charges at me blindly. He’s much heavier than me and, for the second time today, I experience the joys of flying. This time, on much smaller altitude, but it doesn’t change the fact that gravity is a harsh mistress.

The whole world spins around me. Steve the Second stands above me, while Trixie is still holding Wild Hunt. It seems that we have a draw.

“Give up,” Trixie says to him. “Or Trixie will snap her neck…”

“Oh, come on…” Steve the Second rolls his eyes. “Mexicolt standoff now? I don’t even know her. I’ve met her only yesterday…”

“But you could still make friends with her,” I mutter. “Friendship is Magic, after all…”

“I didn’t ask you for an opinion, coat hanger…” he says.

“That’s racist…” I reply. “Also, thanks for reminding me…”

“Reminding you of what?”

A second later a wave of magical energy throws him off me. He lands on the ground with an expression of someone who just discovered that he was cheated by the shop owners during the post-Hearth’s Warming Eve sales.

“You were holding my hooves and forgot about the horn,” I reply. “Sorry, mate, c’est la vie.”

“Shit,” he mutters and tries to stand up, but my spell holds him in place. It works for an hour or so and you don’t want to know why I learned it in the first place. I do the same to Wild Hunt – they’ll have some time for bonding.

We slowly walk back to the bar where we left Vinyl and Inkie. I can barely move – the wounds in my side aren’t deep, but they bleed like… like… like something that bleeds very much. It’s definitely not healthy to bleed like that. Not to mention that this griffon could have something on his claws. Tetanus, gangrene, avian influenza… Everything. I’ll die before I see Prance…

Seems that my Vinyl is showing.

We approach the bar and we see a large crowd gathered inside. I wonder what’s going on. Maybe Vinyl was attacked by a gang of lesbian mud wrestlers? Who knows whom della Morte hires. After seeing Steve and Steve, I think that lesbian mud wrestlers may be quite legit.

“Make place for the Great and Powerful Trixie!” Trixie yells. The crowd slowly moves to the sides. Trixie walks through it like an ice breaker, with me in her wake. Even though my vision is getting darker, I can still hear Vinyl.

“...and then the old pony says ‘when I was young I fucked a peacock and now I wonder if you’re my son’!”

The crowd laughs. I stagger and collapse. Now that’s what I call the show. Everything goes silent. Or maybe it’s just my hearing failing. No, definitely it’s not that, since I can hear Inkie’s scream. Hey, it’s just like in the movies. You know, someone suddenly passes out, someone screams, then there’s cut, you wake up and see a doctor with a cane who says that it’s definitely lupus. Or sometimes you don’t wake up at all and some ginger tells a cheesy one-liner over your body while putting on his sunglasses.

This time it’s a bit of both. When I open my eyes I’m in a hospital. There’s no doctor, but there’s Vinyl.

“See? I knew that she…” She puts on her glasses. “...would come unscratched!”

Yeah. My whole side is numb and when I look at it I see the bandages covering three long rows of stitches. Hooray for me…

“Did you try to fuck a peacock or what?” Vinyl asks. She sits on a chair next to my bed, resting her injured hoof on it.

“We were attacked by your friends,” I reply. “Including a griffon.”

“Helmut?” Vinyl looks at me curiously, as if she was trying to compare my wounds to the claws of her friend. “He’s dumb…”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed… But anyway he managed to get me...” I rub my side and hiss. “Fuck… Do you have any whisky here?”

“You’re on some crazy meds,” Vinyl says. “Antibiotics and shit. You can’t drink.”

“Great… Can we get out of here? We have a ship tomorrow, you know…” I grit my teeth, feeling a wave of pain from my side.

“You have an i.v.” Vinyl states the obvious. “It says ‘morphine’...”

Well, that explains why I feel a bit high. But I’m okay. I’ll get out of that hospital and somehow survive the cruise on painkillers and vodka.

“Also, you have some examinations scheduled. Including a colonoscopy…”

“What? Vinyl, by Celestia’s teats, I was beaten by a griffon! Why the hell do I need a colonoscopy?” I exclaim. Sorry, but that hole is one-way only.

“It was for free,” Vinyl replies. “Hey, I’d get one too. Do you know how much undigested food rots in a pony’s bowels? You can get really sick from that. I wonder if they do colon hydrotherapy here…”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “In your case it moved to the brain and that explains why you’re a shithead. Sweet Celestia! If lobotomy was for free, would you tell ‘em to do it to me too?”

“It is for free. And I was considering it,” Vinyl replies. “But, for some reason, Trixie told me not to do that.”

Trixie, once I get out of here, I’ll buy you a beer. Or two. And I’ll even make a massage. With a happy end. Just come here and save me from that amateur doctor!

Just when I think that, the door bursts open and Trixie comes in, followed by Inkie. “We have a problem,” she says.

“I have a problem…” I mutter, pointing at Vinyl.

“We need to get out of here…” Trixie says, apparently not noticing me. “Before they kill us…”

“I need to get outta here before Vinyl kills me…” I say. “Wait, what?”

“Call the neurologist,” Vinyl says. “It’s echolalia. She has brain damage!”

“Shut up!” Trixie and I yell simultaneously. Vinyl’s jaw hangs low, but, luckily, she obeys our command.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“The hospital just admitted new patients,” Inkie says. “A griffon with a concussion, a bat pony with cracked ribs and an earth pony with second-degree burns on his… umm…”

“Sounds familiar…” I sigh. “How about Steve the Second?”

“He’s somewhere here,” Trixie says. “With some friends…”

I know two foreign languages. I can swear in, like, ten more, including Zebrikaans and Neighponese. Yet, I can’t find a curse that’d fit that moment. Perkele? Kammelneuker? Ima Shelcha Matzetza Li Etmol?

“Let’s get outta here,” I say, trying to stand up from my bed. I get dizzy immediately. Crap, what happened to me? I felt quite good before I got there. Well, except of that passing out thing. But now? They brought me here to die and sell my organs. It’s surely Vinyl’s fault.

I feel that Inkie takes me on her back. Is that some new tradition? Minuette’s down, let’s carry her somewhere? Last time it happened, I woke up in a coffin. We walk down the corridor, Vinyl and Trixie carrying our stuff. This is not gonna end well.

“What’s going on here?” someone asks. I turn to look and see some nurse standing in our way. “Where are you going with the patient?”

“The patient feels better,” Trixie says. “We can’t miss our ship.”

“She doesn’t look like she’s better,” the nurse replies, watching me curiously. You don’t say. My mouth is drier than dead dingo’s donger and I feel like throwing up, shitting myself, or both, but I know one thing – I can’t stay here with a bunch of della Morte’s guys who can pay me a visit at any time.

“I always look like that,” I reply, trying to smile. It’s kinda hard when I have a revolution in my stomach. Whatever I ate, just proclaimed the New Lunar Republic. It can only end it one way.

“Are you sure?” the nurse asks. “If you always look like that you may have cancer. Or you’re malnourished…”

You know what’s the best way to deal with a revolution? Banishment. Too bad, I’m not princess Celestia, so I couldn’t banish the contents of my stomach to the moon. Instead, when I opened my mouth, some of them landed on the floor, some in Inkie’s fur and some of the nurse, who backpedalled.

Vinyl isn’t the kind of pony who thinks twice when provided distraction. “Run for your lives!” she yells. Luckily, nopony questions her orders. Trixie and Inkie start to run down the hospital corridor. Someone chases us, but slips on my vomit. You know, the shaking when Inkie started to run didn’t help my stomach.

We trot down the stairs and Inkie, for lack of better word, loses me. I mean, at one moment I’m on her back and then I suddenly on the floor. Why it always happens to me? Why can’t I be like Trixie? I’d have a combo of heat, constipation, motion sickness, and sudden aggression attacks, but at least I wouldn’t lie on the floor now, my vision blurry after I fell on my injured side.

Inkie picks me up and runs behind Trixie and Vinyl. We run to the hospital’s garage and stop in front of one of the wagons they use as ambulances.

“Inkie, put Minuette in the back,” Vinyl orders. “Trixie, you’ll pull it.”

“How about you?” Inkie asks.

“I’ll turn on the siren. I’ve always wanted to do that,” Vinyl replies. They put me on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance and we ride through the garage. There’s a barrier at the gate, but for Trixie it’s not an obstacle; she breaks through it and we’re on the street.

Vinyl, for once, had a good idea with the siren – everyone who’s on the street runs away from us. Or maybe it’s just the sight of her holding the reins. In terms of reckless riding, she’s better than Flitter. If I were seriously ill, I’d be afraid of my life. Currently, I’m a little hazy. Maybe it’s the blood loss, maybe it’s morphine. I can’t see where are we going. I think we’ll go to the port, board on the ship and stay there till tomorrow. At least that’s what I would do. Currently, I’m standing in the corner of the ambulance, watching my own body and I have no influence on the decision my companions will make.

Wait. What did I just say? I’m standing in the corner of the ambulance doing WHAT?! Oh fuck. Just great. I’m here, my body is there. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. At least that what I think so. I don’t know. For over twenty years I’ve been inside of my body and I got quite used to such state. Also, if I’m not in my body, shouldn’t I be, like, either in Tartarus, playing poker with Tirek, or in Elysium, where I’d got a pair of wings, an aureole, and a harp. Where the fuck are my wings? I’ve been cheated, for fuck’s sake!

Great. If I’m still here, it may mean that I still have something to do on this cruel world. Like, saving those three idiots from being thrown to the river by the mafia. Just awesome. How am I even supposed to do that without my body?

I can see Inkie staring at it, her eyes widening in panic. “Vinyl!” she screams. “There’s something wrong with Minuette!”

“What’s wrong with her?” Vinyl asks, trotting into the back of the wagon and staring at my body.

“She’s not breathing,” Inkie replies, poking my body unsurely.

“Why do you think it’s wrong? I’d say it’s a stable condition.” Vinyl smirks. She lifts my hoof and releases it. The sound it makes when it hits the stretcher makes me cringe. Can ghosts even cringe?

“But it’s not supposed to be like that,” Inkie says. “You know, we had another sister, but when she stopped breathing, our father buried her under the tree.”

“Hmm…” Vinyl watches my body carefully and licks her lips. “I think I know what we should do. I’ve seen it in one movie…” She takes a deep breath and leans to my mouth.

No way! You’re not gonna resuscitate me, you stinky cunt! A moment later, I’m back in my body, screaming at the top of my lungs. One of my hooves reacts instinctively – I smack Vinyl’s face, sending her back at the wall of the carriage.

“Ouch!” Vinyl yells. “I’m saving your life and that’s how you treat me?”

“Your breath smells,” I reply. “I actually came back from the afterlife just at the sight of you helping me…”

“My breath smells? You threw up on that nurse! Do you know how you smell?” Vinyl exclaims. “Also, I’m going back to the reins. You kinda died and you know what usually happens to you after you die…”

Oh shit. Literally. Now I’m gonna die for the second time. This time of shame. I close my eyes and try to fall asleep. It’s kinda hard when Inkie pokes me from time to time, checking if I’m dead, but finally I manage to do that.

I wake up in a bed, clean and with fresh bandages. There’s a small, round window here and when I look through it I see the ocean. Woohoo! It seems that we made it. Unless, of course, it’s a kind of some really fucked-up afterlife.

The door opens and Inkie walks in. She sits on a chair next to my bed.

“How long I’ve been out?” I ask. I’m surprised how weak my voice sounds. Geez, it’s the last time I’m getting into a fight on my own will.

“Two days,” Inkie replies. “Luckily, there’s a doctor on this ship…”

“Great,” I say. “How’s the rest?”

“Vinyl is in the bar and Trixie is in the toilet, fighting the effects of heat and seasickness…”

Eww! The very image makes me dizzy. I’m not gonna use that toilet. In fact, I don’t want to think about that. I lie back in my bed, gathering strength. The cruise is long. My wounds and Vinyl’s hoof will have a time to heal.

It takes me a day of gathering strength before I manage to walk out of my room. During this time barely anything happens. Inkie feeds me, Vinyl sometimes visits me, drunk, stoned or both. When there’s nopony here, I imagine Big Macintosh. My hooves are getting sore and my head aches from time to time because of that – I guess I shouldn’t overexert myself. But what can I do? Trixie’s hormones are floating in the air.

Anyway, after a day or so, I get up from my bed and trot to the deck of the ship. It’s quite spacious and luxurious, with two bars, a swimming pool, and a casino. With my poor head, I’d rather not risk going to the casino, though I’m sure that Vinyl already managed to lose her share of della Morte’s money there. Instead, I choose one of the bars. No, I’m not gonna drink either. I limp to the counter, sit next to a violet earth mare with blonde mane and thick-rimmed glasses and order a glass of sparkling water.

“Bad day?” the mare asks, pointing at my stitched side.

“More like ‘bad last two weeks,” I reply. Then I levitate a glass of water and take a sip.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad… At least you don't have to travel with a crazy musician, an idiot who talks in third person, and a shy, closeted lesbian…” she says.

The glass freezes halfway through the way between the counter and my mouth. “H-how do you know?” I ask.

“Oh… you do?” She suddenly extends her hoof to me. “Grace Manewitz,” she says.

“Minuette,” I say, bumping my hoof against hers. “So, how are yours?”

“Well, we’re travelling to Prance as a part of Octavia Melody’s World Tour,” Grace replies. “I have to take care of Octavia and two ponies responsible for her clothes – Photo Finish and Coco Pommel.”

“It doesn’t sound that bad,” I say. “You know, I’m running away from mafia with a DJ who fell into a cauldron with magic weed as a foal and since then she’s constantly stoned, a travelling magician with parental issues, and a teen who ran away from the rock farm…”

“I’m jealous…” Grace replies. “Octavia snorts coke like a vacuum cleaner and I have to take care of her so she doesn’t join the 27 Club two years early, Coco once fainted when she heard me swearing, and Photo Finish is from Germaney…”

“Is it really that bad?” I ask. After all, they make a good beer in Germaney.

“I’d like to remind you that my surname is Manewitz,” Grace says. “She keeps telling me that when she was young…” She rolls her eyes. “And she has underwear with Aryanne…”

“Eww…” For the umpteenth time in the last few days, my mind was assaulted with an unpleasant mental image. “Okay, so she thinks you’re an Unterpferd. I must admit it’s worse than all those ponies who think I’m a lesbian…”

“Oh, it also happened.” Grace waves her hoof dismissively. “It took me a while before I explained Coco that I’m not.”

“Same with me and Inkie,” I reply. “Also, Vinyl is, like, totally unaware of what happens around her. You know, like a kid playing with a grenade.”

“You should see Octavia when she’s high…” Grace shows me a scar on her stomach. “I once tried to get her out of a bar full of psychopaths. And guess who did that to me…”

“Well, you’ve seen those…” I point at my stitches. “The mafia sent a griffon. I almost died and when I woke up, Vinyl was trying to resuscitate me.”

“Lucky you!” Grace exclaims and orders another whisky. “If something like that happened to me, Octavia wouldn’t care, Coco would freak out, and Photo Finish would throw me into the furnace…”

“I don’t think it’d be that bad,” I say. “At least you didn’t have to hitchhike with two sisters being in BDSM lesbian incest relationship…”

“I wish I did…” Grace rolls her eyes. “Fashion industry and show-business… I know a guy who married his dog…”

“Is that even legal?”

“No. He had to go to the Neighterlands.”

For a moment we sit in silence.

“Trixie has problems with aggression,” I say. “She almost took over Equestria. Two times, actually.” I order another water.

“You should see Photo Finish when she’s angry.” Grace straightens in her seat. “Why is zat not done yet? I, Photo Finish say zat it should be done, you dirty Schweine! You must do better! Faster! Mehr power! Wenn die Kraft zum Kämpfe um die eigene Gesundheit nicht mehr vorhanden ist, endet das Recht zum Leben in dieser Welt des Kampfes. Sie Gehört nur dem kraftvollen „Ganzen” und nicht dem schwachen „Halben”!!!”

The ponies in the bar look at us unsurely. One of them faints, though it may be an effect of vodka.

“Okay, you win,” I say quickly. “Just don’t do that anymore. Though I bet none of your friends is crazier than Vinyl. She kinda was my almost-sister-in-law.”

“She was your what?” Grace raises her eyebrows.

“My brother’s girlfriend. Fun times, if you consider waking up in jail or waking up to see that she emptied your fridge fun. And they were, umm… loud.” I sigh. “But I miss those times. I had a job and I wasn’t chased by mafia.”

“Having a job isn’t that fun,” Grace says. “Look, I have a job and it sucks…”

“Still, I’d prefer to have a job. I’m poor, bored, and my sex life is almost non-existent.”

Grace chuckles. “Sex life? What is it?”

Suddenly, I have an idea one could consider great. That’s not much. Remember, last time I had a great idea, I ended up in Trixie’s wagon with lots of money and a suitcase full of cocaine. “You’ve mentioned that Coco is a closeted lesbian?” I say to Grace. “I think we can do something about that…”

We lay on the deck chairs next to the swimming pool, tanning and watching Coco and Inkie sitting on a blanket in front of us and… Well, in fact, they’re just sitting. I don’t get it. Coco is cute, she has blue mane, cream coat, and that kind of face that makes me want to change my orientation. That doesn’t happen very often, mind you.

Vinyl trots to us, levitating a drink and lies on a deck chair. “Did they say something to each other?” she asks, slurping her drink.

“Apart from ‘hi’? Nope,” Grace replies and stretches her hooves.

Vinyl looks and Coco and Inkie and nods her head. “You know, when I was at school, I had chemistry…”

“You were at school?” I ask. “That’s new to me…”

“Shut up,” Vinyl mutters. She produces a cigarette from… well, I’d rather not know from where. And it’s not exactly a cigarette. I mean, it’s not tobacco inside. She lights it with her magic and inhales the smoke. I hope she doesn’t blow it everywhere. I didn’t plan to get high today. “I had chemistry, you know. My teacher kept telling me that I had talent. When I made ethanol…”

“To the point, Vinyl…” I say. I know her long and I know that if I let her talk, she won’t end till the evening.

“Okay… So, I remember that sometimes two chemicals don’t want to react on their own…” She inhales the smoke and points at Coco and Inkie. “They need, like, a catalyst. It seems that it’s the case here…”

“What do you mean by catalyst?” Grace asks unsurely. I think I know the answer.

“Wait and see…” Vinyl says. She rises from her deck chair and trots to Coco and Inkie. “Hi, girls!” she says. “Do you want a joint?”

“No, thanks…” Inkie replies. Coco blushes deep crimson.

“Are you sure?” Vinyl asks, levitating her joint to them.

“I think it’s non-hygienical…” Coco mutters under her breath. I already love her. Inkie’s strong; she’s reasonable. I ship that. Pun not intended.

“Okay…” Vinyl sighs. “Maybe you want some cider?”

“Yes, please,” Inkie replies.

“I don’t drink…” Coco says, blushing even more.

Vinyl sits next to her and wraps her hoof around her, causing her to squeal. “There’s always a good moment to start…” she says, blowing smoke into her face. Coco coughs adorably. Well, contact buzz is also a good way, though I wouldn’t recommend that. Who knows what demons sleep inside Coco, only waiting to be awoken. You know, at one moment she squeals and blushes and then she puts laxatives in your coffee.

“Umm… okay, I’ll take some cider too…” Coco says. Way to go, Vinyl. This ship will soon sink because of you. I don’t know why exactly, but it’ll be somehow connected to the fact that you made Coco drink. I’m sure of that.

“I have a feeling that she just pushed a stone that’ll soon escalate into an avalanche which will sink this ship,” Grace says watching Vinyl walking to the bar.

“Are you reading in my mind or what?” I ask, but Grace doesn’t listen to me. Instead, she looks at a grey mare who’s standing on the deck, more or less halfway between Vinyl and the bar.

Vinyl sees her too. “Tavi!” she exclaims. Oh shit. That name brings memories.

Long time ago, before Vinyl started to go out with my brother, she was in a relationship with a cellist she always called “Tavi”. Depending of Vinyl’s mood when she was telling me about her, Tavi was either an angel who fell from Elysium, or a demon from the deepest pit of Tartarus. I notice Grace’s scarred expression and then I realise something.

“Tavi” and Octavia are the same pony.

“Tavi!” Vinyl shouts, approaching the grey mare. “Love of my life! Queen of my dreams! My favourite, loveliest, sexiest…”

Thud!

Well, that was unexpected. Vinyl rolls on the deck, holding her jaw and muttering curses under her breath. Octavia stands above her, staring at her with disdain.

“You!” she exclaims. “You left me, punk!”

“What?” Vinyl asks. “It was you who left me!”

“Me?” Octavia pushes her. I’m seriously going to intervene. Only I can abuse Vinyl. “I went to visit my mom!”

“And you didn’t come back after two months!” Vinyl yells at her.

“And when I did I found that you left, stealing two thousand bits from the safe!”

I think I’ve heard that story before. Moral: when you’re with Vinyl, even a safe won’t help you.

“I only borrowed ‘em!” Vinyl replies. “I can give ‘em back!”

“I don’t want them!” Octavia yells. “I only want to know why did you have to shit on the carpet before leaving!”

“Hey, it wasn’t me!” Vinyl gets up from the deck and stands before Octavia, staring her into the eyes.

“Yeah, right. Who else would stick toothpicks into it and write ‘beware of the hedgehog’ on the wall?”

Vinyl smiles sheepishly. “Well… Maybe… Anyway, Tavi, I’m so glad to see you here, you know. I really missed you… You know, when I left you, I realised that I made a mistake and–”

I flinch, hearing the echo of another slap. Apparently, Octavia knows how to deal with Vinyl, but still, it’s painful to watch. After all, I’d like to join her.

“If you really missed me so much, let’s go to my bedroom and prove it…” Octavia says, helping Vinyl up.

“Sure,” Vinyl replies. “You’ll beg me for release…”

They slowly walk away. I slowly turn my face to Grace and I see that her eyes are wide in horror, as if she suddenly saw an iceberg approaching our ship. Who knows which of us would drown because of an inability to hold the door floating on the surface of the sea…

“D-did they just…” Grace stammers.

“Yes,” I reply. “Excuse me for a moment. After what I witnessed, I need to throw up.”

I trot away. I really need a quick walk and some fresh air. My wounds kinda hurt, not to mention that my head is still slightly battered. I walk about half of the deck, when I see a foal balancing on the top of the rail.

What the hell? Where are the parents of that kid? It’s a small, cute, yellow earth pony with orange mane. Probably a colt, though he has a diaper so I can’t tell. Those little shits are all the same.

Just before the kid finally falls into the depths of the ocean, I catch him with my magic. He starts to laugh; kinda like Vinyl when she’s stoned. What the hay? I levitate him to me and try to look him into the eyes. It’s hard, because he still looks at my horn, laughing so hard that he snotted himself. Not to mention that, judging by the smell, he needs a diaper change.

“Yeah, I know it looks like a dick. Now stop guffawing,” I mutter. “Where’s your mommy? I need to tell her a couple of things about raising foals.”

“Ba!” he replies. Just great. What did I expect?

“Can you at least tell me what your name is?” I ask.

“Ba!”

“Okay, you can’t talk. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. Say after me: ‘my mommy is a dumb cunt who’ll get me killed before my first birthday’.”

He starts to cry. Way to go, Minuette. You’re a really bad parent. Still better than this kid’s mom, but you suck anyway. I levitate him and put him on my back. He cheers up and tries to bite my ear in a way reminding me of Wild Cunt, or whatever her name was. He doesn’t manage to do that since he has no teeth.

“Minuette!”

Crap. I recognise that voice. Before I even manage to turn around, Lyra Heartstrings is in front of me.

“Hello!” she exclaims and points at the kid. “Is it yours?”

“No, thank Celestia,” I reply. “Mine would be a red and black alicorn with bat wings and tragic backstory…”

Lyra looks at me unsurely. I think I know what she means – with me as a parent, every backstory would be tragic. “Then whose kid is he?”

“No idea. I found it here trying to become a shark bait. If I don’t find the parents, I’m gonna sell it to some circus.” I sigh and levitate the kid off my back. Judging by the sudden change of the way he was sitting on it, he now needs a diaper change more than before. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m going with professor Yearling to Minotauria,” Lyra replies. “We’ll excavate the ruins of the labyrinth…”

Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that Lyra is an archeologist. They travel around the world with professor A.K. Yearling, digging some ancient shit and occasionally almost getting themselves killed by some elaborate trap put in a temple built by some unknown tribe. Which reminds me of…

“I found it in an abandoned mine,” I say, producing a ring I found in the place where we hid our money. “Can you tell me what that is?”

Lyra looks at the ring curiously. “To be honest, it’s boring,” she says. “It’s a relic of creatures that inhabited the world before ponies, but wiped themselves off the face of earth with some unknown technology. Those rings are actually quite common. If it was a skeleton...”

Okay, I’m not gonna mention her that in fact there was a skeleton there. She’d get there, even if she had to swim. And then she’d find the rest of our money.

“Anyway, we need to find the parents of that kid,” I say. Meanwhile, the foal tries to bite my leg. He has a fetish, or what? “I can’t keep it.”

“Why not?” Lyra asks. “He’s so sweet… Did you know that dogs are as intelligent as 2-years-old foals?”

“Yeah. But I guess it doesn’t mean that dogs are wise; it rather means that foals are dumb…” I reply.

“Why so negative?” Lyra asks. “Once could think that you eat pets and small kids…”

“I simply don’t consider anyone who eats their own shit wise,” I mutter. “About eating, you said that he’s sweet…”

“Ba!” The colt waves his hooves, still trying to bite me.

“See? He agrees.”

“Excuse me…” I hear a mare’s voice behind me. Seriously, why everypony sneaks on me like that? One day I’ll accidentally kill someone… “That’s my child.”

“Oh really?” I ask, turning to an earth mare, who shudders, seeing my smile. “He almost fell off the rail. Where were you?”

“I… I was with my husband...” she replies.

“Good advice: don’t make a second foal when you can’t deal with the first one.” I levitate the kid back to his mother and put him on her back. Too bad his diaper doesn’t leak. “What’s his name, by the way?”

The mare sighs with relief. “Hannibal,” she replies. Then she quickly turns around and walks away.

“Wow…” Lyra mutters. “You don’t only eat kids, you also like their parents…”

“That’ll teach her,” I reply watching the mare as she walked away with little Hannibal and approached her husband – a brown earth pony stallion whose cutie mark is exactly the same as my. “Oh fuck…” I mutter.

“Minuette!” Lyra exclaims. “You didn’t mention that you became an aunt!”

Author's Note

If I recall correctly, this chapter contains lines in, like, six languages: English (no shit, Sherlock...), German, French, Finnish, Dutch, and Hebrew.

Screw psychology: I feel like inside of a giant vagina.

I’m gonna tell you about the greatest success in my life. I spent two weeks on the ship, with Vinyl, Octavia, Trixie, Inkie, Lyra, my beloved brother Time Turner, my not-so-beloved brand new sister-in-law Rose, and their kid, my nephew, Hannibal. Dear Princess Celestia, who names their child Hannibal? Signed, Minuette Romana Turner. Friend with Berryshine Andromeda Punch and Beatrix Cinderella Lulamoon.

Anyway, I spent two weeks with that cabinet of curiosities and I didn’t kill anypony, the ship didn’t sink and I’m still as sane as I was before.

It wasn’t easy. I’m still pissed after a conversation with my brother. Well, “conversation” is a bad word. We had a small argument.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you have a wife?” I yelled at him.

He was throwing nervous glances around. You know, he knows me since we were born so he knows that it’s sometimes better to hide. However, he decided that a counterattack would be better. “Maybe if I knew where you were, I’d tell you that!” he shouted.

Shit. I actually wanted to visit him after I came back from Manehattan, but then Vinyl called me. You know the rest of the story. “You had eleven fucking months before your kid was born! Couldn’t you find me or what?”

Bingo! He shifted his hooves nervously. “Well… I didn’t know if you’d like…”

I facehoofed. Luckily, before I said something I’d regret, the door to my room bursted open and Vinyl stood in it. Her mane was in a mess; there were traces of lipstick all over her fur and she smelled of weed and Octavia’s perfumes. “Hello, guys,” she said. “Can you be, like, a little quieter?” She backpedalled, seeing our glares. Before we could reach her, she was in her room. Time also left me. Maybe he thought that since Vinyl didn’t stay, letting herself get beaten, I’d punch him to relieve some stress. Who knows, maybe I would?

Anyway, I didn’t and as you can see, I didn’t kill anyone and I’m really proud of it. Time to get out of the ship and see what Prance has to offer.

I know Equestria and I assume that you know it too. Mareseille is kinda like Equestria. The word “kinda” is the key. Since it’s quite a big and important port, Mareseille is kinda like half of the civilised world. Ponies, griffons, zebras, minotaurs, caribou, kirins, and all those genetic mindfucks that happen when you crowd an insane amount of horny individuals of various species in one, not so big place.

While I stand on the pier and watch the crowd, stunned, Trixie walks through it like an icebreaker. She’s still slightly sick after the cruise and her heat (well, judging by some stallions in the crowd, the scent of her hormones is still detectable), but it doesn’t stop her from doing what she does best. That it, pissing everyone off.

“Get back!” she yells. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is here!”

It can be seen that we’re not in Equestria anymore. The reactions of the crowd are, to put it lightly, rather mixed.

“Was ist los?” asks a bat pony in leather trousers when Trixie spills his beer.

“A ta czego tak drze pizdę?” A grey earth pony turns to his companions, watching her carefully.

“¡Me cago en la leche de tu puta madre!” yells a large, black minotaur when Trixie stomps on his foot, causing him to drop his battle axe on some griffon.

“Merde!” the griffon exclaims, when the axe lands inches from his head.

“Sacrebleu!” another griffon adds.

“Chuj wie. Chyba mówi, że zaraz jakaś Wielka i Potężna Trixie tu przylezie i mamy stąd wszyscy wypierdalać.” says the grey pony’s companion philosophically. Or at least I think so, since the only words I understood are “Trixie” and two swearwords.

“¡La caballa loca!” the minotaur yells behind her.

“Żebym ja jej zaraz nie wypierdolił…” Okay, that sounds threatening. I run behind Trixie, prompting Inkie and Vinyl to do the same and apologising to everyone in sight. Finally, we catch up with her somewhere next to the magazines.

“Are you okay, Trixie?” I ask. The minotaur and a bunch of grey earth ponies are still observing us. Not a good sign – they don’t seem to be interested in attacking us, but the minotaur has an axe.

“Trixie spent last two weeks vomiting and masturbating. Try to guess.”

“Can we get back there and say goodbye to the others?” Vinyl asks, looking for Octavia in the crowd. Hey, I’d like to talk to Grace too and I think Inkie and Coco would also spend an hour or so not talking to each other. But on the other hoof, I’m more than glad that I lost my sister-in-law somewhere there.

“We can wait for them here,” I say, suddenly seeing that Photo Finish is also walking through the crowd just like Trixie a few minutes before. The reaction of the crowd is pretty much the same, except she now crashed into a couple of zebras.

“No matter how hard you want to stay on track, there’s always somepony who doesn’t give a fuck…”

“To pull such a stunt, one has to be a cunt…”

“Schiess doch, Unterpferde!” Photo Finish yells at them.

The zebras look at each other. “What she’s just said – does it make you mad?” one of them says to the other.

“Oh yes, my brother, let’s go and… and… Whatever.” They trot to Photo Finish. Coco hides behind Grace who gulps.

“Będzie wpierdol…” one of the grey earth ponies who meanwhile stood next to me says. “Stawiam dychę na zebry.”

I didn’t understand the words, but I understood the tone. “I give ten bits for Grace Manewitz,” I say to him.

“Who’s Grace?” he asks, looking at me. His accent is hard, yet rather clear. “I guess you’re not talking about this old witch?”

“No, it’s her assistant. The blonde with the glasses. She’s okay…” I explain.

He chuckles. “When your name is ‘Manewitz’, you just have to be okay…”

Meanwhile, somepony lands next to us, unconscious. I look at the crowd. The zebras are fighting someone, but I can’t exactly see the details due to the dust. The minotaur dropped his axe, too long to use it in a crowd and smashed a barrel of wine on somepony’s head. Ouch.

Suddenly, someone runs from the cloud of dust. Well, two someones. They run closer to us and I recognise them as Coco and Grace. Grace pants heavily; her mane is in a mess and her glasses are slightly askew. Coco, on the other hoof, is unscathed.

“How did you…?”

“I know krav maga,” Grace replies quickly. “Let’s get outta here!”

What did I expect? “How about Octavia and Photo?” I ask.

“Last time I’ve seen Octavia, she was trying to strangle a minotaur with a cello string. About Photo, I don’t give a shit,” Grace says. “I guess they’ll join us later.”

I shrug. That girl apparently wants to be fired.

“Besides, our carriage is waiting,” Coco says quietly, pointing at the most pimped-out carriage I’ve ever seen in my life.

It’s long, it’s white, and it’s pulled by six white ponies with blonde manes. I still think somepony, somewhere has a cloning facility. Shit, I’ve even met my lookalike at the bar once. I was slightly drunk and I beat the crap out of her, thinking she was a changeling.

I wonder who was generous enough to send such a pimpmobile to us? Let’s see. We stand in a formation. Grace and I in the front, Vinyl and Trixie behind us, and Inkie with Coco as our rearguard. Coco wouldn’t be any use if we really had to fight, but Inkie, just like all her sisters, is a one-mare-army when somepony threatens her.

We walk to the carriage and Grace knocks on the door.

“Who’s zere?” somepony inside asks. I expected a Prench accent, but this one sounds harder; kinda like the one some bat ponies had.

“I’m Photo Finish’s assistant,” Grace replies. “She and Octavia will come later, but she said to transport the technical crew to the mansion.”

Okay, we’re a technical crew now? Works for me. No matter if it’s a fashion show, gig, or whatever, I’m in. You know, I used to be a roadie for a band called Radioactive Foals. For some reason, they never got popular.

Also, being a roadie is not fun. I spent a few months dragging a cart full of equipment through all of Equestria.

The door opens and we enter the carriage. The interior is, well, pink and soft. The seats are made of pink silk, which also adorns the walls and the floor. Screw the psychology: I feel like inside of a giant vagina.

Giant luxurious vagina. There’s Prench champagne here, grapes from Neightaly, bananas from Zebrica, whisky from Scoltland, our host, vodka from Ponyland, peanut butter crackers…

Wait. I think I forgot something. It probably has something to do with that white earth mare with blue eyes, pale blond mane, and a heart with an eastern symbol of luck as her cutie mark. She lying on one of the couches and looks at us, utterly confused.

To my surprise, I realise that I know her. She’s, if I recall correctly, a well known, umm… model. Her photos are a very important part of my por– I mean, my collection of artistic photos of young mares.

“Are you ze technical crew?” she asks.

“Oh yeah…” Vinyl winks seducingly. “If you want, I can show you my technical skills…” Apparently, she also feels that we’re inside of an enormous cunt and interprets it in her own way.

“Maybe later,” the white mare replies, eyeing Vinyl curiously. Shit. If I remember her bio correctly (yes, I actually read those once I’m done clo– I mean, admiring the beauty of the models), Vinyl is kinda her type. I mean, Vinyl isn’t exactly a white unicorn – her coat is more or less of the same colour as watered-down piss, which is especially visible when she sits next to somepony who is actually white. Just like now. She sits next to our host and her hooves are creeping towards her. “Where’s Photo Finish?”

“She had to, umm… see a stallion about the dog,” I say. I hope she’s not fluent in Equestrian sayings. “She’ll join us later.”

“Gut. By ze way, my name’s Aryanne. Do you vant some vater? Vith or vithout gas.” She asks, looking at us unsurely. Her accent gets thicker the closer Vinyl is to her. I guess she’s not used to see so many strangers in her vagina. I mean, carriage.

“It’s ‘still’ and ‘sparkling’, sweetheart…” Vinyl says. “And I prefer whisky.”

“Still for me,” Grace deadpans. “I have bad feelings about gas.”

Aryanne looks at her and suddenly tears appear in her eyes. “It’s because of my cutie mark, isn’t it?”

“Well…” Trixie looks at her flank much longer than she should. “Trixie thinks it may be kinda… controversial…”

“I can always make you a dress that will cover it…” Coco mutters.

“And I will rip it off of you because I don’t care…” Vinyl purrs, leaning closer to our host. Suddenly, a white hoof hits her muzzle, causing her to retreat. Wow… I’ve never expected such a Blitzkrieg.

Inkie examines the cutie mark in question curiously. “What exactly is this?” she asks.

“I’ll lend you a history book once we’re in some safe place,” I reply before turning back to Aryanne. “Cutie mark means nothing. It’s all about who you really are.”

“Well, I like burning juice,” Aryanne says. At least I hope that she said “juice”. Since Grace is now piercing her with her gaze, I guess she understood something else. Luckily, Vinyl knows how to discharge a nervous atmosphere.

“Hey, what’s this?” she asks, pointing at a bottle of something white standing in the cocktail cabinet. Why I’m not surprised that it brought her attention?

“It’s kumis,” Aryanne replies. “Mein Freund from Hooviet Union gave me a few bottles. It helps for ein Katzenjammer…”

“I’m not sure what it is, but I’m sure I have it,” Vinyl says. “Can I?”

“Sure.”

Vinyl opens the bottle in a way indicating her experience with drinking various shady liquids. She takes a large swig. “It’s good,” she says. “What’s it made of?”

“Mare’s milk,” Aryanne replies.

Okay… It’s the first time I see Vinyl spitting out anything white that’d gotten into her mouth.

Our pimped-out vagina-carriage stops. A zebra servant opens the door. We walk out of it to see… umm… an even more pimped-out, hopefully not vagina-looking mansion. It’s large and absolutely hideous.

I lean to Grace. “Umm… What are we supposed to do here?”

“Prepare Octavia’s show,” she replies. “I guess Octavia will come here… sooner or later… Coco will take care of the wardrobe. Luckily it’s already here… But since they have a rather big hall here, we need to plug in all the speakers.”

“Speakers?” Vinyl asks. When nopony was looking, she stole a bottle of whisky and was now disinfecting her throat with it. “I know speakers. I can plug them with my eyes closed!”

“Okay,” I say. “I can do that too, without accidentally building an electric chair, so I’ll help you. How about you, Trixie?”

“Trixie can make a show in case Octavia perishes in the brawl we started…” Trixie replies.

“A brawl you started…” Grace deadpans.

“Trixie thinks it was Photo who started it. She shouldn’t have called them die Unterpferde…”

Aryanne stops and looks at Trixie. “I’m no longer like zat!” she shouts, again at the verge of tears.

“Yeah, sure…” Grace mutters.

“Like what?” Inkie asks.

“I said I’ll tell you later,” I say and turn to Aryanne. “Please, forgive my friends. They tend to be intolerant sometimes.”

“I’m intolerant to intolerance,” Grace says.

“I have nothing against you, it’s die Unterpferde I hate.” Aryanne sighs. “By ze way, can somepony tell me what does ‘perishes’ mean?”

Grace and Trixie look at her unsurely, the former trying to process what Aryanne just said and the latter slowly realising that her manner of speaking may be difficult to understand for a non-native speaker.

“Well, Trixie was afraid that Octavia may have di–”

“May be stuck in a traffic jam!” I yell. I don’t want to upset a pony who can unleash some kind of a Wunderwaffe on us.

“Traffic? I know strawberry jam but not traffic jam...” Aryanne says. “Also, zat sounds... how you say it? Kinky?”

“It’s not that kind of jam,” I say, trying to recall my early childhood, when I was learning Pferdisch. “I mean... Umm... Verkehrsstau...”

“Ah, ja,” Aryanne mutters. “Sprichst du Pferdisch?”

“Nein,” I reply, just in case. We walk towards the mansion. The garden is large, so it takes us some time. There are more zebras here, as well as some ponies, both mares and stallions. Very, very sexy stallions. I have to stop myself from thinking with my private bits. One look at Trixie ensures me that she has the same problem.

“Wait...” Grace says, looking at Aryanne as if she saw her for the first time in her life. “You’re ein Unterpferd yourself! You’re an earth pony!”

Aryanne stops suddenly. She slowly turns to Grace, her blue eyes watering. Shit. She may get angsty. Hope no art academy is going to reject her soon, or she’ll conquer half of the world. Starting with my sorry ass. “I know...” Aryanne says. “I always wanted to be a white unicorn... Zey’re so dignified...”

Behind us, Vinyl burps. “I’m sorry...” she says. “I shouldn’t have mixed that milky stuff with whisky. Do you think someone will mind if I puke in those fancy bushes?” She points at the row of meticulously trimmed bushes. I’m afraid they’d wither if somepony touched them, not to mention any closer interaction.

“Chill out,” I say, seeing Aryanne’s eyes going wide. “Can’t you use the toilet like normal ponies do?”

“I’m afraid it may get worse...” Vinyl mutters. “And I like to do it outdoors when the wind chills my–”

“Enough!” Trixie shouts. We actually reached the mansion and entered it, so Vinyl’s desires are a bit outdated. “Vinyl, you will defecate in a lavatory! Behave like a proper white unicorn you are and don’t prick poor Aryanne’s bubble!”

“You want to do what to my what now?” Aryanne asks, raising her eyebrows.

“I’d rather pop her cherry...” Vinyl mutters. “But first I need to... Where’s the toilet here?”

“Zat corridor, third door to ze left,” Aryanne says. When Vinyl leaves, she asks, “What she wants to do to my cherry? I’m allergic to cherries!”

“Don’t worry, it was a metaphorical cherry you probably don’t have anyway,” Trixie says. Everypony looks at her. I mean, everypony who knows what cherry Vinyl meant – which excludes Aryanne and Coco. Inkie, judging by her blush, knows what’s going on. But, after all, she hangs out with us. “What?” Trixie asks. “We are grown mares! Every single of us was with a stallion!”

“I wasn’t...” says Inkie quietly. “And you know that I prefer mares...”

“I... I prefer mares too...” says Coco even quieter, watching the ground beneath her hooves. “And I’ve never... like that...”

“We can... Umm... have a drink together...” Inkie wraps her hoof around Coco. What? She definitely hangs out with us for too long. Soon she’ll be like Vinyl.

“Wiz a stallion?” Aryanne asks, ignoring the fact that Inkie just took a first step on the path leading to being more open. “If it means what I sink it means, zen I never got past ze second base... I’m not an Equestrian slut!”

What the hay? She doesn’t know what “perish” mean and she knows what’s going on with the bases? Even I don’t know that! And remember that we’re in a country where nopony knows what baseball is about. And they think hoofball is that game which is called “soccer” in Equestria...

Well, they’re all wrong. The only true hoofball is Oatstralian hoofball, hooves down. Anyone who thinks differently will get hit with a cricket bat.

Vinyl comes back from the toilet. “Did I miss something?” she asks.

“Aryanne never got past the second base,” Grace mutters. Vinyl stares at her in disbelief. You know, when it comes to baseball, Vinyl accepts only home runs.

“You know, we can play baseball together,” Vinyl says, approaching Aryanne. I look at Grace – her smirk convinces me that she did that on purpose.

“I’ll go and plug in those speakers,” I say quickly. Before I leave, I can hear a sound of a hoof connecting with Vinyl’s face and yells in Pferdisch. As I said, I know it a little, but I’m not sure whether Aryanne wants to fuck Vinyl or to shoot her.

Finally, I can do something I know how to do. Plugging the speakers in a way they work properly and everypony will be able to hear everything is a great way to chill out, at least for me. Before Vinyl joins me (she doesn’t want to speak about how she managed to avoid Aryanne’s rage), I’ve managed to plug everything in and double-check it. After all, technical difficulties happen, especially when electronic and technomagic are involved. For example, a radio failure almost caused a war between Equestria and the griffons.

Actually, it wasn’t exactly a failure. Few years ago, Berry and I had nothing to do and we decided to join the Equestrian Army. Funny times. It was just after that new bill about religious freedom for the soldiers. You know, when you praise the Sun, you have a free day during the Summer Sun Celebration and so on. Berry told them that she was a follower of a Minotaurian god of wine, Dionysus, so she could get drunk once a week. I registered myself as a Nightmare Moon cultist, since it involved a right to an orgy once a month. Too bad, I was the only Nightmare Moon cultist in my detachment. Orgies aren’t fun when you’re alone.

Anyway, our carrier was short, but quite eventful. Soon after the Crysal Empire reappeared, we were sent there for the war games. We were taught stun spells, we also had prop guns that could stun the opponent. We were supposed to go north from the Crystal Empire and engage a platoon of crystal pegasi who were pretending to be griffons. We kinda did. Half of our platoon got stunned and we were prepared to “die” while fighting till the end, when a blizzard started. Later I was told that the pegasi evacuated those who were stunned, but two squads, including mine, got lost.

We tried to use our radio to call for help, only to find out that our signaller, Berry Punch, had a nasty habit of trading radio parts for vodka. You know, she was a really devoted follower of Dionysus and getting drunk once a week wasn’t enough for her. So, we went what we thought was south, and what turned out to be north. After a day or so, we encountered a griffonian patrol. They didn’t see us coming when our stun spells rendered all of them unconscious. We had no idea that during our trip we crossed the border and now we were in the griffonian enclave twenty miles north from the Crystal Empire. We seriously thought that we intercepted the vanguard of the griffonian invasion.

Since none of the officers was stupid enough to get lost in the blizzard, we had no real commander. Or rather, they got lost, but not in the same place as we did.

I vaguely remembered a lecture about Equestria’s plans in case of invasion – cross the border, claim the area, and wait for the main forces to arrive. Since I was a bit less dense than the rest of guys who were there, I got field-promoted to sergeant and led the group further north.

After walking two miles, we saw a small griffonian fortress. Well, very small: two watchtowers, a wall, barracks, two heavy machine guns, and twenty griffons who were so bored, that they fell asleep at night without even leaving sentries. When they woke up, they were all tied and locked in a barrack, while we were trying to contact Equestria. Too bad, the instruction to their radio was in Griffonian, and its design was jarringly non-intuitive. I broke it in two minutes.

Meanwhile, someone in the Griffon Empire realised that their fortress in the frozen north suddenly stopped replying to their calls. Their air patrol tried to bomb us when they saw the ponies, but missed. Luckily for us, the Emperor Edgar XVI decided that it was no use to start a war because of that shithouse, and instead sent a diplomatic note to Princess Celestia, asking her what the fuck was going on.

Princess Celestia then sent a note to Prince Shining Armor, asking him why the fuck he invaded the griffonian enclave in the frozen north, that according to the peace treaty from 784 after Discord was a part of the Griffon Empire and no pony was allowed to even take a shit there without a certificate of approval. Prince Shining Armor scratched his head and sent a letter to the commander of the Crystal Empire Army, Colonel Tungsten Heart, asking him who the fuck started a war with Griffon Empire. Colonel Tungsten Heart then went to Captain Flash Sentry, asking him pretty much the same question.

Captain Flash Sentry replied that he had no bloody idea, but he was worried, since two squads of soldiers got lost during the war games and those weren’t the usual squads, but rathers those compiled of the biggest idiots in the whole army, so in case of war they could send them on a suicide mission. Colonel Tungsten Hears nodded his head and sent a letter to Prince Shining Armor, saying that he has no bloody idea, but there was a bunch of morons running around, and that Captain Flash Sentry needed to be made a staff officer. Prince Shining Armor sent a letter to Princess Celestia saying that he has no bloody idea and that the Equestrian Army should make IQ tests for soldiers compulsory. Princess Celestia sighed and rolled her eyes, then sent a letter to the Emperor Edgar XVI saying “fuck me if I know, mate”.

Meanwhile, a rescue party, led by Flash Sentry was sent to find us. They barely crossed the griffonian border when they were caught by their patrol, mistaking them for invasion forces. That was probably the only battle in the history when the both sides wanted to surrender to each other. The griffons were first to realise that something was wrong and thus Flash Sentry and his ponies became the POWs.

The Emperor got pissed and sent a letter to Celestia saying that he was going to nuke the whole area. Celestia sent a long and diplomatic reply that was, more or less, saying “Bugger off, it’s your area, nuke it if you want”. A second rescue party was sent to rescue the first rescue party that had been sent to rescue us. They didn’t find Flash Sentry, but they found us. High time. We ran out of vodka, our griffonian POWs were bored, not to mention that the whole place was really cold. Seriously, once I went to take a leak at night and my piss froze before it hit the ground.

Anyway, they explained us what was going on, and we used their radio to contact the griffons. Finally, after a week of a diplomatic clusterfuck, Shining Armor and I signed a peace treaty with griffonian general called Nevermore, stating that we were going to retreat from their territory and exchange the POWs. On the next day, I was a civilian. Not sure why – after all, I was only following orders.

“Hey, maybe we’d put some turntables here?” Vinyl asks. Lost in my memories, I haven’t noticed her.

“Why would they need turntables?” I asks, looking at her as if she was an idiot. Or scratch that, I’m looking at her in the same way as always.

“You know... In case Octy doesn’t come, I may play some music...”

“What you play is not music,” I say. “Music is something one can listen to.”

“Hey!” Vinyl exclaims. “You can listen to dubstep!”

I sigh. “You can dance to dubstep. It only sounds well when you are in the club, with lots of other ponies around you. When you want to listen to it alone, it’s as funny as anal masturbation with sandpaper.”

“Never tried that,” Vinyl mutters. “Do you have any sandpaper here?”

“Vinyl?”

“Yes?”

“Sometimes I’m not sure if you’re kidding or you’re really that dumb...”

“I’m not gonna tell you. I’d lost the element of surprise,” Vinyl replies, grinning.

“So, you have some hidden depths?” I ask.

“I don’t know if they’re hidden, but I’m pretty deep,” Vinyl says, waving her tail. “I managed to shove a foot-long di–”

Geez. That mental image will haunt me. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in that...”

“Too bad. Have you ever checked how deep you are?”

Before I can reply, we hear some noise from the other room. Soon, I can recognise two voices, one with distinctive Pferdisch accent and a soft, more refined timbre. It sounded refined even though the owner was apparently not in the best mood.

“I just cannot understand it! I had to fight with some dirty sailors while you took some bloody technical crew with you? We don’t even have a technical crew!”

“Schiess doch! Nopony’s gonna scream at me at mein own Haus!”

“What did you say?”

Vinyl shakes her head. “Angry Octy... That makes me wet...”

“Don’t short-circuit the wires,” I say. “I didn’t put this whole stuff together only for you to blow it up with your vaginal secretions.”

“NEIN, DU FOTZE! DU KANNST MIR NICHT SAGEN WAS ICH ZU TUN HABE!!!”

Vinyl ducks automatically, shielding her head. I must say, I was expecting a burst of gunfire too.

“Seems that Aryanne is in a foul mood...” I say. “Stay here and don’t touch anything. I’ll try to negotiate a peace treaty.”

Too bad, my attempts to stop those two hurricanes called Octavia and Aryanne were more or less as successful as Oatstralian warriors during the battle of Gallipony. Though, actually, I managed to change the focus of their rage.

“Bugger off!” Octavia shouts after I finished my lecture about peaceful cooperation between nations.

“Verpiss dich!” Aryanne adds.

“With pleasure,” I mutter and walk away.

Since I’m not in the mood to talk with Vinyl, I walk upstairs to find Trixie, Inkie, Grace, Coco, or whoever’s gonna talk to me without yelling in some foreign language. I walk through those corny, marble-clad corridors, pushing various door open. Seems that not only Aryanne lives here. In one of the rooms, I see some model snorting coke, in the other a grifoness and a zebra stallion having sex, and in the third room I find Inkie and Coco.

Seems that they got inspiration from their neighbours. They sit on the bed, Coco’s tie is lying on the floor, they both blush and stare at each other intensively.

I look at them in awkward silence, then I backpedal. When I’m about to close the door, Inkie says, “Umm... can you stay with us? We have a problem...”

“If you want me to stay while you do that, I’ll have to decline the offer,” I reply. “First times are awkward even without witnesses...”

I recall my first time. Me, young and almost innocent. Sugarcube Corner. Caramel, plundering my tight, virgin pussy with his massive... Pinkie Pie! Her complete lack of shame. She actually told us what we were doing it wrong and asked if she could join. When we refused, she made us clean the kitchen. It’s not easy with cum leaking out of your tight, not-so-virgin cunt. You know, when Pinkie walked on us, Caramel blew the whole load into me.

I really think that little pink gypsy put some curse on me. Since then, my sexual life has more downs than ups.

“Yeah... About that...” Inkie says. “We...”

“We don’t know how...” Coco mutters, avoiding my gaze.

“Exactly. I’m not sure how to... umm... with other mare...” Inkie adds.

“Well, I’m not really experienced in that matter...” I say. Really, that one time with Berry Punch doesn’t count. We were drunk, she thought I was a stallion, I thought she was a stallion... Not to mention that screwing each other with beer bottles isn’t something I’d recommend to them. “I think you should do that the same way you do that, umm... alone.”

“I had that funny-shaped rock back at the farm...” Inkie says.

“Umm... Once I put a spool up my coochie...” Coco’s whisper is barely audible.

“Okay.” I nod my head and flip my mane, as if I was a teacher proud of her student’s accomplishments. “I guess you should get some toys. Maybe you should ask Aryanne...” Then I remember that Aryanne would probably send them back upstairs with some Wunderwaffe up their asses. “...or maybe you should improvise something. Just don’t use anything that may break. In case anything else fails, remember that hooves are your best friends.” With these words, I walk out of the room and close the door.

Time to find Trixie. I guess she didn’t find any stallion brave enough to plunder her Great and Powerful flank, so we can always have a drink and whine about our pitiful lives. I sigh and trot to the next room, hoping that I’ll find her.

Well, I found her. With twenty stallions. When they see me, they all aim their guns at me. And, sadly, I don’t mean any euphemism here. I mean real guns that shoot bullets that may kill you before you can recall your mother’s words when she told you that you were gonna end up in the river with concrete horseshoes. Trixie is in the middle of the crowd, tied and gagged.

“Watch out,” one of the stallions says. “If she shoots magic at somepony’s balls, change her into salami.”

“What are you doing here?” I decide that it’s my turn to ask dumb questions.

“Your friend, Photo Finish, said that Ms. Octavia’s new technical crew is suspiciously similar to the ponies my idiot cousin Bacio della Morte is looking for,” the stallion replies.

Oh, fuck me with a beer bottle... We’re in Prance; Neightaly is not far away from here. Bacio della Morte is from Neightaly, it’s sure as fuck that he has family here...

“So, what are you going to do?” I ask, trying desperately to think of some way to escape. Too bad, my only hope is Vinyl. “Kill us?”

“Of course not.” He chuckles. “You stole my cousin money and were able to run away for so long... You proved that you may be quite useful...”

“Er... What?”

“It’s simple, Ms. Turner,” he says, trying his best to look like a mafioso from an old movie. It’s hard, since he looks kinda like his cousin. “We’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse...”

Author's Note

Translation of more difficult phrases:

Was ist los? - What's going on? (German)
A ta czego tak drze pizdę? - Why's she yelling so much? (Polish. Literal translation is "why's she tearing her cunt so much?)
Me cago en la leche de tu puta madre! - I shit into your whore mother's milk! (Spanish. I'm still not sure what they have against milk)
Merde, Sacrebleu - French swears
Chuj wie. Chyba mówi, że zaraz jakaś Wielka i Potężna Trixie tu przylezie i mamy stąd wszyscy wypierdalać. - Who the fuck knows. I think she's saying that some Great and Powerful Trixie's gonna come here soon and we all have to get the fuck out. (Polish. Please note the lack of repetitions in original text)
La caballa loca! - Crazy mare! (Spanish)
Żebym ja jej zaraz nie wypierdolił… - I'm gonna make her get the fuck out soon... (Polish)
Schiess doch, Unterpferde! - Shut up, underhorses! (German)
Będzie wpierdol… Stawiam dychę na zebry. - It's gonna end with a fight. I give 10 bits for zebras.
Katzenjammer - hangover (German. Literally "cat's shriek")
NEIN, DU FOTZE! DU KANNST MIR NICHT SAGEN WAS ICH ZU TUN HABE!!! - No, cunt! You can't tell me what to do! (German. Google translate is surprisingly accurate with that one...)
Verpiss dich! - Would you be so kind and go away from here? I'd be very grateful (German. More or less)

Yeah, and I’ve never tried to pee my name in the snow.

I look at the guy in front of me, unsure if he’s joking. “An offer, you say?” I ask.

“Exactly,” he replies. “It’s very easy: you’ll do something for us and we’ll forget about my cousin and his money.”

“And what if I don’t?” I ask. Not that I don’t want to do that, I’m just wondering what are the limits of their creativity.

“Do you know Wild Hunt?” the stallion asks, glaring daggers at me.

“Why wouldn’t I? I bit her ear off...”

“She proposed an enema made of battery acid. How do you like that option?” He smirks in a way telling me that he’ll be more than glad to perform that on me.

I had quite a few horrible things in my ass, but that’d be too much for me to handle. “Okay, so what do I have to do? I have to warn you – if you want me to kill somepony, it’ll fail. I’m an assassin like goat’s ass is a trumpet, you know.”

“Well, I know a griffon in Scoltland who plays bagpipe... And it’s made of goat’s ass...” he says. “But that’s not the point. The point is, we’re kinda impressed.”

“By what?” I ask. “That we’re still alive despite your best attempts?”

“Just between me and you, my cousin is an idiot surrounded by idiots. You live because you were a little wiser than they.” He smirks. “The thing is, you somehow managed to break into his safe. I’m pretty sure one more will be easy for you...”

Shit. Am I, like, an expert now? My mother would beat the crap out of me with a shovel if she heard that I became a professional burglar. “Where’s that safe?” I ask.

He looks at me like an expert looks at another expert. “Not far away from the town there’s an old castle. We’ll drop you there. In the dungeon, there’s a chamber where the owners of the castle keep an ancient sword of The Great and Powerful Cedric Lulamoon.”

“Who?” I look at Trixie unsurely, but she also looks completely clueless. “Let me guess, only the rightful heir of that sword can touch it?”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s just a very expensive piece of rusty metal, which, according to the legends, protects its owner against magic,” he says. “Still, we’d really want to have it.”

“Well, I’ll need Trixie anyway,” I say. “She can cast a camouflage spell I need to get there. I assume that the sword is well-protected.”

“She’ll go with you,” he replies without even a moment of hesitation. “But don’t even try to escape, or else we’ll kill Scratch...”

I try my best to keep a straight face. Unfortunately, I fail.

“Okay,” he mutters. “We’ll kill Scratch and those two who are currently trying to figure out fillyfooling in the nearby room. Then we’ll proceed to your brother, his wife, and their child.”

I sigh. “Can you kill his wife anyway? I hate her.”

“We charge at least one hundred thousand bits for that.” He sounds as if he was speaking about buying groceries.

“I can afford that, but I wouldn’t be able to live knowing that I wasted so much money on that cunt...” I say. Still, I’m tempted to do that. But, on the other hoof, I’d have to take care of Hannibal then.

“Yeah... We all have that one family member we’d rather see on the bottom of the sea...”

Bacio della Morte, if I were you, I’d watch out for that guy... Suddenly, my common sense whispers something into my ear. Finally. I haven’t heard it since I started to hang out with Trixie and Vinyl.

“Is there a possibility to see the castle before we go there?” I ask. “I’d rather not go there without knowing what awaits there for me...”

“Sure,” he replies. “After all, it’s a museum...”

Finally, I feel like a tourist. Those guys even gave me a camera, a shirt with flowery pattern, and a silly cap with “I love Prance” written on the front. Trixie’s wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, a beret, and a t-shirt saying “My friend was in Prance and all I got was that crappy t-shirt”. In other words, we look like a pair of typical tourists from Equestria who made a stop in Prance to see some sights before going to Neighterlands to smoke weed and marry each other.

“Trixie likes this castle...” Trixie mutters, watching the enormous gate in front of us. We’re standing on the bridge with a group of other tourists, mostly elderly griffons. “It’s a very nice castle...”

“Qu'est-ce que vous avez dit?” one of the few ponies in the group, a young mare taking care of a griffon so old that he probably fought in the battle of Stalliongrad, asks.

“Trixie likes this castle!” Trixie replies, this time slower and louder. I don’t know why, but many ponies think that if you speak Equine slowly and loudly, everypony will understand you.

The mare nods. “Merci,” she says. “But who’s Trixie?” she asks, pronouncing ‘r’ in a really sexy way.

“She’s Trixie,” I reply. “Don’t think about that for too long.”

The guide appears and we follow him inside. It seems that first we’ll have to look at the old walls and pretend that we’re interested in the fact that the mortar was apparently made of eggs. Of course, since that time, the castle has been repaired way too many times to count and the eggs are now replaced with concrete.

“Cameras,” I mutter to Trixie. “Lots of cameras.”

“Don’t worry, we have a spell for that,” Trixie replies.

“Iron grating. I guess they lower it at night...”

“We’ll have to tell our new friends that we need a hacksaw...” Trixie says, checking if nopony listens to us.

“Too much time, even with your spell.” I wave my hoof dismissively. “The guards may see that something’s wrong with the grating... Maybe we’ll dig a tunnel? No, it’s even longer... Or maybe we’ll get a balloon...”

Trixie scratches her chin. “How about... a catapult?”

“A catapult?”

“We’d hurl ourselves into the castle... Over the gate!” Trixie replies.

“That’s retarded...” I facehoof.

“Well, Trixie doesn’t see you coming up with anything...”

Suddenly, a thought hits me like a freight train without brakes and with a drunk crew consisting of three Vinyl’s clones. “We’re unicorns... You can teleport us inside...”

“Trixie hates to admit it, but it sometimes fails,” Trixie replies. “Like, you could end up with your head switched with your ass...”

“Not much of a difference...” I reply. Something tells me that this explains many things.

“Excuse me,” the guide says. “Could you, please, be a little quieter? Most of the tourists are more interested in the history rather than their partners’ asses...”

“I’m sorry,” I reply. “I was just explaining my friend a difference between a catapult and a trebuchet.”

The guide nods and continues telling us the history of the castle. We go into the dungeon – I don’t usually have claustrophobia, but when I do, it’s in the places like that one. Dark, moist, and smelly, with torture devices on display. I really need to ask the guide if I can borrow the iron maiden. I’d lure Vinyl inside with candies.

“Terminal,” Trixie mutters to me. I look at the wall near the door. Indeed there’s a magical terminal there. Its colour makes it almost indistinguishable from the wall, but there’s a small screen there and a microphone. When we walk through the door, I take a quick look at it. Luckily, it’s not one of the newest models with retina scanning and voice recognition. We won’t have to poke somepony’s eye with a spoon or record their voice to get through. We’ll just need a password or somepony to hack it.

Or rather, we’ll definitely need a password. I suck at hacking.

Finally, we’re in the chamber with the sword. It lies in a display cabinet – the kind of lock is one of my favourites, I can open it in two minutes with nothing but a pin. The guide stands next to the cabinet and begins a story of the battle of the Briard Hill. Apparently, soon there’ll be 950th anniversary of this battle between ponies led by Starswirl the Bearded, his beloved son-in-law Cedric Lulamoon, and his not-so-beloved son Shining Sparkle, and Diamond Dogs, led by their king, Fluffy the Terrible.

The whole story was really long, but actually quite interesting, at least for me. Forgive me that I’ll tell you the shortened version.

First off, the battle is known as the first one in which a firearm was used. It wasn’t very widespread – Starswirl the Bearded himself said that this rusty pipe filled with gunpowder and using stones as ammo, brought on the battlefield by a young archer called Apple Buck would never catch up. According to the chronicles it was pretty dangerous to everypony standing next to it, but Apple Buck was apparently fearless. Before the battle, he shot down one of the five griffon scouts working for Fluffy the Terrible. One of the sources mentions that the griffon’s brain sprayed on Starswirl the Bearded, another adds an exchange between Apple Buck and another archer just after the lucky shot:

“Jolly good shot!”

“Jolly good shot mine arse,” Apple Buck replied. “Ah aimeth at ye griffon in ye middle.”

According to the sources, he was using his bow during the battle.

Anyway, three thousand warriors, the half of the ponies’ forces, led by Shining Sparkle, engaged the Diamond Dogs on a plain. It was a fierce battle, not to mention that archers from the both sides were firing at them constantly. Meanwhile, a smaller group of spearponies and warriors, led by Cedric Lulamoon, was walking through the swamps to attack Fluffy the Terrible and his elite guards – Diamond Dogs and some minotaurs, hidden behind the archers. They were pissed, since the pegasi led by General Firefly didn’t arrive and they had no air support.

At the same time, Shining Sparkle’s spearponies managed to break through the first line of Diamond Dogs’ forces, but their losses were so big that they retreated, letting the heavily-armoured infantry charge at the second line of the enemy, who was quite busy trying to convince the remains of the first line to not run away. Soon, they all had to make it up, after Shining Sparkle rammed into them. According to the chronicle, the guts of those who were unlucky to be in the front landed on the archers standing two hundred metres behind.

Cedric Lulamoon encountered a small problem. Fluffy the Terrible stood on the top of the hill, surrounded by the archers and his elite warriors. Charging at them would be a suicide, so he decided to stand in the woods and look menacingly enough to scare the Diamond Dogs away. Additionally, his warriors engaged in a psychological warfare, throwing at the enemy insults like “ill-born fen rat”, “I fucketh thy mother”, “onion-eyed oaf”, "Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries", or “catamite”.

According to the sources, one of the loudest soldiers there was a spearpony called Minuet. Starswirl the Bearded mentions him in his memoirs as the most foul-mouthed pony he’d ever encountered; he also said that Minuet was the most skilled in peeing his name in the snow and had a nasty habit of aiming his spear at the enemies’ private parts.

Anyway, Cedric Lulamoon waited till Shining Sparkle charged at the Diamond Dog archers first and attacked Fluffy the Terrible from behind. Most of the sources say that he beheaded the king with the sword I was looking at, but one of the minotaurs who survived the battle later wrote that, in fact, it was the moment when the pegasi finally appeared above the battlefield. According to him, General Firefly shot Fluffy the Terrible with her crossbow just when Cedric was charging at him. The minotaur even mentions that Cedric looked at the sky and yelled, “Thou stealeth Ye Great and Powerful Cedric’s kill, arseling!”, to which General Firefly replied “Go and fornicate thyself, thou harlot!”.

The battle was won. According to the legend, Minuet cut the balls of Fluffy the Terrible off and kept them as a trophy.

Hmm, and I wondered what was in that ancient jar I once found in the attic. Can you believe that Vinyl almost opened it? She thought there were pickles inside.

Okay, time to go back to the present times. Our trip slowly ends. Trixie and I walk out of the castle and go back to the cart where our mafia friends are waiting for us smoking cigarettes and playing poker.

“And what do you think?” I ask Trixie.

“Cedric beheaded Fluffy the Terrible,” Trixie replies. “Trixie doesn’t care about what some minotaur said.”

“Yeah, and I’ve never tried to pee my name in the snow. It’s kinda hard when you don’t have a dick. But I meant, what do you think about our chances.”

“The terminal will be the hardest part,” Trixie replies. “But my spells and your skills will be enough for the rest.”

We approach our escort. One of the ponies, a really nasty guy with a scar across his face, looks at us and asks, “Done with the sightseeing? Are you gonna do that tonight?”

“We’ll need some time,” I reply. “Three days will be good.”

“What?” He raises his eyebrows. “Remember that we can kill you, your friends, and family...”

“Listen, dickhead,” I say. “Have you heard about things that can be done cheap, quickly, and well?”

“No,” he mutters. “Also, call me a dickhead again and you’ll eat a stew made of your teats.”

“Kinky... We must try this sometime,” I say. “Anyway, things can be done cheap, quickly, or well. You can only choose two of those three things and, since your boss decided to hire us, you apparently are already settled on ‘cheap’. It can either be done quickly or done well. And guess whose balls your boss will put in a jar for the next nine hundred and fifty years if we fail?”

He scratches his head. “Okay,” he says. “You have three days.”

We spent those three days being quite busy. First thing I did was getting a catalogue of Golem Magical Protection Inc. (Trixie and I actually forgot to check the name of the system, so we had to send Vinyl and Inkie to the castle, disguised as tourists. Vinyl set the alarm off in order to read the brand name on the terminal during the ensuing chaos) and reading it thoroughly.

I don’t know if you know that, but every magical alarm system has a different spell which may be used to disable it. Most of them are easy, as the producers assume that their clients are idiots who’ll surely forget the password they set. The key is stored on a crystal, but a skilled unicorn can cast a disabling spell easily, if they know its matrix. After reading the catalogue, I had a general idea what kind of spell is used by the guys from Golem Magical Protection Inc. and a short trip to the local library allowed me to learn the general pattern. It may need some adjustments, but it won’t take long.

Before you ask, the magic books in the library were in Prench, but Aryanne went with me and translated it to Pferdisch and to Equine for me. You know, when I repair various things, I usually have to read user’s manuals translated to Equine from Neighponese by an old zebra hermit living on the top of the highest mountain in Maretonia, so it wasn’t that hard to figure out what was going on.

Now I only had to think about the conventional locks. I asked Mr. della Morte for some tools and I got the best ones available. Remember my uncle who got caught robbing Fancy Pants’ house? Well, before that, he taught me almost everything he knew. Opening doors without key, opening safes just by listening to the clicking of the lock... Hell, most safes don’t even need to do that. The most popular model of safe in Equestria has a six-digit code. In the factory, they set the locks on one of three default codes: 000000, 123456, and 654321. Guess how many buyers bother with changing them. And even if they do, it’s usually their date of birth.

Of course, I usually open only those safes whose owners forgot the codes or inherited them from somepony and wanted me to open them. I’m not breaking into other ponies’ flats, unless someone asks me to because they lost a key or something. And I don’t approve of burglary. And if Berry Punch ever tells you a crazy story about me breaking into Princess Celestia’s palace to steal her gem-encrusted slippers, remember that Berry is the only pony who survived having a BAC of 1.5% and most of things she says is a drunken rambling. And I really didn’t jump out of the window to land in some thorny bush. It really hu– I mean, it’d really hurt if I did.

Anyway, we’re ready. It’s night, we’re wearing black spy suits (I’m not sure why – after all, we’re supposed to be invi... pardon, unnoticeable, not to mention that Trixie’s ass doesn’t really fit her suit). I also wear a vest with pockets for my tools. I even have a rope I stole from Inkie and Coco – Aryanne had given it to them when they first heard about bondage. I took it away from them since they’d almost surely strangle each other.

Trixie casts a spell and we approach the gate of the castle unseen by any guards or cameras. The grating is lowered. At least they don’t raise the drawbridge for night. Not that it’d stop us.

“Ready?” Trixie asks. I still don’t know why she whispers. After all, we’re unnoticeable, not to mention that, since she’s usually very loud, when she does whisper, she tries too hard. As a result, I can barely hear her.

“Ready when you are,” I reply, instinctively whispering too. I guess it’s just some kind of reflex.

She embraces me and focuses on teleporting us and maintaining a spell. I close my eyes. Not that it helps much when the botched teleportation changes your eyeballs into jelly, but I just prefer not to see as magic changes my body into a cloud of thaums only to materialise it in some different place (sometimes in a few places at once) a split second later.

The spell turns my stomach upside-down for a moment. Trixie is rather rough with teleportation; normally I’d teleport myself, but Trixie said that it may cause a thaumical interference between my magic and her magic and the consequences would be unpredictable – maybe I’d get a cunt itch, or maybe pieces of my brain would land on the head of some filly in Vanhoover.

The magic vortex calms down. I open my eyes to see that we’re still on the same side of the grating at before. Trixie scratches her head and looks at the gate.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Some small horn disfunction?”

“It’s that grating,” Trixie replies. “It’s enchanted and we can’t teleport through it...”

Crap. Why didn’t we think of this? Invisibility... Sorry, unnoticeability spell, terminal hacking spell, a skilled burglar... I mean, Opener of What Shall Remain Closed, and we forget about checking if we can teleport through the gate? This universe fucking hates me.

“What now?” Trixie asks. “Trixie thinks we should go back and ask those guys for a catapult.”

I sigh and glare at her like somepony who’s about to set a school full of orphans on fire. “Stick that catapult into your ass and spin,” I say slowly. “Even a bat pony would do... Though I’d rather not let a pony like Wild Hunt carry me anywhere...”

“So, we’re going to get some bat pony then?” Trixie desperately avoids looking into my eyes.

“Fuck bat ponies. I have a rope,” I reply. “It’s long enough to make a lasso and throw it at the battlement.”

Before she can say something I start to spin the rope. I’ve seen Applejack doing that hundreds of times, it can’t be that hard...

The first throw misses not only the battlement, but also the wall. I really hope the rope is also affected by Trixie’s spell, or else somepony could just observe a disembodied rope flying through the darkness. The second throw isn’t any better. Then the rope wraps around the battlement. Almost.

“Can Trixie say something?” Trixie asks.

“What?”

“You can just levitate the rope. There’s no need to throw it...”

Oh... Indeed. “But... How about the interference?” I ask.

“Levitation shouldn’t disturb Trixie’s spell.”

Shouldn’t? Not very reassuring... But I have to try. It goes better than expected. I manage to tie the rope around the battlement and I start to climb. After covering a few metres, I feel that the tip of my horn is getting cold – a sign that it’s outside the range of Trixie’s spell. I turn my head to see that she’s still standing on the bridge.

“What’s going on?” I ask, sliding back to her.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is afraid of climbing...” Trixie replies, smiling sheepishly.

Just great. Time for a motivational speech. “You’ll go first,” I say.

“What?”

“If you fall, I’ll catch you,” I reply. Good luck with that, but she doesn’t have to know about it. “Hope you won’t need to drop a deuce on my head halfway through in order to be lighter?”

“No, Trixie went to the toilet before we left,” she says, blushing. “Though Trixie feels she needs to pee... Can we go to those bushes?”

“Those bushes are the very fancy garden, don’t be like Vinyl... Feel free to use the moat,” I say with a sigh. “We’re under your spell, nopony will see you.”

“But you’re still here...” Trixie mutters, wincing and shifting her legs nervously.

“I won’t be watching...” I reply. I don’t want to creep her out by saying that I find it kinda hot, so I walk as far from her as the spell lets me (which is the other side of the bridge) and look into the water. Hey, it’s like playing poohsticks, but without the sticks. I don’t think it’ll ever catch up – it’d be hard to see the water turning yellow, even during the day.

It takes some time before Trixie manages to free her strategic places from the catsuit and relieve herself into the moat. If I recall correctly, the water was dirty before, so it won’t get much worse.

“Okay, Trixie can climb,” Trixie says.

“Wait a minute... How about me?” I ask. You know, I also feel that it’s better to take care of some things now.

“What about you?” Trixie looks at me unsurely and facehoofs. “For Luna’s sake, Minuette...”

“Simple psychology: you mentioned it, I have to do that too...” I reply. Before she manages to say something more, I simply move my catsuit out of the way, lift my tail, and begin to make changes to the moat’s ecosystem. Trixie winces; I’m not sure why, she sees only my front. Call me shameless, but I’m not gonna drag that load up the wall.

I finish, letting the last drops sink into my catsuit (after all, washing it will be the mafia’s problem) and approach Trixie. “C’mon,” I say. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She starts to climb slowly. After she’s about two metres from the ground, I climb behind her. From time to time, she throws nervous glances down, sweating profusely. I don’t have a problem with that – why should I look down when her preety, pudgy posterior, wrapped in a tight spandex, is right in front of my face. If she slipped, I’d deflower it with my horn...

Shit. Shouldn’t have said that. You know, I’m heterosexual, but my cunt doesn’t exactly know about it. Especially now, when my hind legs are wrapped around the rope which rubs my teats and what lies below them. I’m tempted to look down but I can’t take my eyes off Trixie. The smell of her sweat, her muscles working as she climbs up the wall.

Aargh! I slip down the rope. Fortunately only a bit, but the pressure on my... umm... body almost sent me over the edge. Really, I need to find someone to scratch that itch. I got really sensitive down there.

I climb to catch up with Trixie. It’s not easy – a part of the rope got a bit slippery for some reason, not to mention that I’m panting and moaning with every move upwards. My suit got torn when I was sliding and now I’m directly exposed to the rough surface of the rope. Ugh... Only a few more metres to go... Ah... Trixie is already on the wall; I can see her crawling through the crenel. Ooh... Soon I’ll be...

Oh. Oooh!

When I join Trixie, my cheeks are flushed and I’m still panting. She looks at the back of my catsuit and winces. “Are you sure you took it off before you urinated in front of Trixie?”

“Yes...” I mutter. “It’s not...”

“Then what... ewww!” Trixie moves as far from me as possible without leaving me outside the spell. “We need to find the other way to get out of here. Trixie is not using that rope again!”

“I know, I’m sorry...” I say, trying hard not to add “worth it”. “I think I’ll get rid of that suit... It’s useless anyway...”

“What if there’s DNA on it?” Trixie asks. “Trixie thinks there may be some...”

Some? As the wind chills my private bits, I feel that I left on the catsuit enough DNA to clone me several times and make a tape called “Minuette Fucks Herself Repeatedly”. After considering all the options for a while, I take my suit off, fold it, and hide it in my saddlebags. Same with the rope.

We walk to the courtyard. There are several guards there, but their gaze slips from us. Sometimes they’re staring through us, but never at us. As long as Trixie maintains the spell, we’re safe.

The door to the dungeon is locked. I tell Trixie to look if the guards aren’t interested in a lock opening by itself and levitated my tools. A minute and twenty four seconds later, we’re in the dungeon. I light my horn – it’s pretty dark in here but I don’t have to worry about guards spotting me. Though I guess they wouldn’t spot us even without the spell – judging by the sounds coming from behind the iron maiden, two guards, male and female, are very busy with each other. We walk through that place as fast as possible.

“Do you think there may be any ghosts here?” Trixie asks, looking at the walls.

“Well, the only ghost here would probably be your great, great, whatever, great-grandfather,” I reply. “I guess he won’t mind that you take his sword...”

“Trixie hopes so,” Trixie mutters. “Of course, Trixie would be able to scare away every ghost...”

Yeah, right. She’d probably challenge The Great and Powerful Cedric Lulamoon on a duel in chewing the scenery. And I’d rather not be in the same place with them.

Finally, we’re in front of the passage leading to the chamber with the sword. The terminal is blinking, there’s also a kind of pink mist in the passage – an indication that the spell is working. If somepony walked into it, they’d be stunned, blown across the room, and shot with a tranquiliser dart. And then, of course, the system would call the guards to scrap the unfortunate burglar off the wall.

I, of course, don’t like being scraped off the wall, especially only three weeks after a near-death experience – I’m trying not to show that, but I still have headaches that make me even more short-fused than usual. Though, on the other hoof, I just had the weirdest orgasm in my life, so I can die happy.

I aim my horn at the terminal, casting a hacking spell. Nothing happens. That is, not exactly nothing – Trixie’s camouflage spell flickers a bit.

“We have an interference,” I say to Trixie. “Are there any cameras here? You’ll have to drop the spell for a moment.”

“There’s one, there,” Trixie replies, pointing at the camera. A moment later, the camera is disabled by her spell. We actually bought the same model for Trixie to practice – she’s able to make it look like a camera is still working, showing the empty corridor. Trixie drops the spell and I aim my horn at the terminal again.

This time, something finally happens.Two words flash on the terminal’s screen.

Code Outdated

“What?” I ask. For some reason, the spell gave me access to logs and options such as changing the colour of the screen. In fact, it gave me access to all the option but turning it off and changing password. I open the log – maybe I’ll find out what the hell just happened. After searching through numerous “System Check – Everything’s All Right” messages, I find the right one:

12/7/04 – Changed the matrix of the spell. The old crystal had bugs and was too easy to access by an unauthorised pony. Gizmo Poindexter, IT Specialist.

Fuck! Celestia should gather all those IT specialists in one place and send them to the Sun. I turn to Trixie, who, seeing that I finished, casts the spell again.

“Some idiot changed the matrix,” I say. “We need a password... What do those historians think about all the time?” I ask myself.

“Minuette...” Trixie mutters.

“Historians... Hmm... They’re all nerds... ‘Slut’?” The pink mist is still there. “‘Dirty whore?’”

“Minuette...”

“Okay, I was joking. Too much stress.” I sigh and roll my eyes. “The password is probably ‘Cedric Lulamoon.’”

Nothing.

“Umm... ‘Cedric’s Large Sword’? Fuck, I was never good in that...”

“Minuette!” Trixie yells. I really hope her spell is as good as she claims it to be. “Listen to Trixie when she’s talking to you!”

“What?” I ask. “Don’t you see that I’m trying to guess the password?”

“Maybe you should start with that yellow sticky note on the wall, with ‘Password’ written on the top?” Trixie points at the said note. Well, that’s far too easy...

I reach for the note and read it. Well, that was easy. “We’re supposed to read it aloud, clearly and correctly, huh?” I ask Trixie. Even I can hear that my voice sounds like I’m going to charge at the bathroom door with an axe.

“Yes, why are you asking?” Trixie looks at me unsurely and backpedals.

“Look.” I pass the note to her. She reads it, furrowing her eyebrows. Then she scratches her head, trying to read the note upside down.

“What’s that?” she blurts out, giving me the note back.

“No idea,” I reply. “How’s your Prench?”

“Doesn’t exist,” Trixie replies. “How’s yours?”

“My closest contact with Prench was when I walked in on Vinyl blowing my brother,” I reply. “Unforgettable experience, but it’s definitely not enough to pronounce ‘si ces six cents six sangsues sont sur son sein sans sucer son sang, ces six cents six sangsues sont sans succès’ correctly. Not with my lisp.”

“You have a lisp?” Trixie asks. “Since when?”

“Since I nearly died and woke up only because I saw Vinyl preparing to resuscitate me,” I reply, glaring at the terminal angrily. We were going to die because none of us knows Prench. So unfair. “Maybe my brain got damaged. You may not hear it, but I can feel it.”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie doesn’t think you have lisp.” Trixie shrugs. “Also, you just said it.”

“Said what?”

“‘Si ces six cents six sangsues sont sur son sein sans sucer son sang, ces six cents six sangsues sont sans succès.’” Trixie replies. “And then that pink barrier disappeared.”

“Oh...” I look at the door. Indeed, the terminal is no longer working. We proceed inside.

The sword is in the display cabinet, just like before. Finally, I find a lock I can open without having to take weird stuff into account. Just me, my tools, and that tight piece of stubborn metal. Two minutes and the lock is open.

For a moment, I admire the beauty of the sword. Its pommel made of a red ruby, a smooth grip, a perfectly balanced, still sharp edge; A crossguard with the words “Mater tua me irrumavit” engraved on it. I levitate the sword gently and grab it with my hooves.

Immediately, I feel cold and I realise that I’m perfectly visible. Shit. I totally forgot that this sword protects the wielder against magic, which apparently includes the spells cast by your allies. Good thing nopony’s here, except of those three masked pegasi flying just below the ceiling, who’re now diving at me...

Wait, what? Before I realise what’s going on, one of the pegasi tackles me. The sword slides on the floor to Trixie, who levitates it. She drops her camouflage spell and throws her head backwards, her eyes burning. When one of the pegasi flies at her, she swings the sword, nearly slicing them in two.

I have no time to watch her, though. I jump backwards, turn around and kick one of the pegasi in the stomach. I roll on the floor to avoid the third one. My backpack makes it a bit harder, but it also gives me an idea. When the pegasus I kicked flies at me again, they suddenly get a serious case of a wet catsuit to the face. Poor guy. I almost felt sorry, when they hit the wall. Almost.

In accordance to the family’s best tradition, I should now get a spear and cut their balls off. I run towards the body and reach my hoof to check something...

Fuck tradition. It’s a mare.

Meanwhile, Trixie managed to hit the other pegasus with her magic, stunning them. She raises the sword, ready to behead them...

No, no beheading in my presence! I charge my horn and hit the pegasus with a spell, causing them to collapse when Trixie’s sword misses.

“Hey!” Trixie yells. “You stole the Great and Powerful Trixie’s kill, asshole!”

“Suck it.” I chuckle and then I’m tackled by the third pegasus. Trixie rushes to help me, but it seems that my spell didn’t hit her opponent as strong as I hoped – they managed to get up and catch her legs.

My pegasus proves to be quite competent. For a moment, I manage to get an upper hoof, only for them to slid off my grasp and pin me to the ground. That’s one flexible motherfucker, if you ask me. Next to me, Trixie is held in a similar fashion. The third pegasus wakes up and turns the light on.

“Time to end that masquerade,” she says in a familiar voice, limping towards us. She takes off her mask.

“Hello, Flitter...” I mutter, smiling sheepishly. “W-what are you doing here?”

“Going to puke after somepony threw a rag they’d wanked themselves into on me,” Flitter replies. The pony holding Trixie takes off her mask, revealing herself to be Cloudchaser. Mine turns out to be a pale mare with green and lavender mane.

“Trixie thinks we should get out of here,” Trixie says. “The guards–”

“We’re helping the guards,” Cloudchaser says. “They won’t disturb us. And, if you shut up and listen to us, we’ll also help you. Blossomforth,” she turned to the mare pinning me, “Release her. Let’s go to the social room. We need to talk.”

The social room is just like any place in the universe where the workers go to drink, eat, think about the string theory, or keep a chained and gagged hostage. Luckily, we’re not chained and gagged. We just sit at the table, drinking tea (due to some law of the universe, there’s always more cups than workers there), with Cedric Lulamoon’s sword lying between us and the group of pegasi.

“So,” I say. “Can you explain us what’s going on?”

“Long story short, we’re agents in Princess Celestia’s secret service,” Cloudchaser replies. “Our current task is to destroy the della Morte mafia.”

“Agents?” Trixie asks. “B-but… You two are sisters who, umm…”

“I don’t see why it’d be a problem,” Flitter says. “Also, it’s a great cover. When I opened the trunk of our cart, you only saw the sex toys. Didn’t notice our other gadgets.”

“Blossomforth is our martial art specialist,” Cloudchaser explains. “She’s probably the most flexible pony in the world.”

You know, I could stop myself from asking that question. But I didn’t want to. “Can she eat herself out?”

“I can, but I don’t,” Blossomforth replies. “Not after, umm… a certain accident I still haven’t quite forgiven you for, guys.” She gives Flitter and Clouchaser a nasty look.

“Okay, nevermind,” I say. “You want to put della Mortes in jail and I’m fine with that. But then, why do you need us?”

“You’re our only chance, unfortunately,” Flitter replies with a sigh. “We had to chase you across half of the world covering your ass. Hope it was worth it…”

“Covering my ass?” I exclaim. “When exactly? Because I don’t remember you doing anything except of giving Vinyl wet dreams when you were with us…”

“Yeah, and who stopped those bat ponies from shooting you down after you stole that flying blender in Hollow Shades?” Flitter asks.

I try to recall those events, which costs me a headache. But I do remember the two armour-clad pegasi I’ve seen just before we had to crash land in the field. “Thanks,” I say. “What do you want us to do? Give the sword back?”

“No,” Blossomforth replies. “Exactly the opposite. You’ll bring that sword to the mafia and get out of our way. We’ll do the rest.”

“Just you three? Are you sure?” Trixie asks. “There are lots of ponies there, with guns and everything…”

“We can handle this,” Cloudchaser say. “You get Vinyl, those two lesbians in training, that blonde smartass with glasses, and your sorry ass back to Equestria. We don’t want any collateral damage. Got it?”

“Get Vinyl, Inkie, Coco, Grace, and my sorry ass back to Equestria and don’t fuck around because we may accidentally get shot by Flitter. Ten times.” I say. “By the way, how do you know about Coco and Grace?”

Flitter smirks in a way that even I, the master of creepy smiles, don’t like. “We’re watching you sleeping,” she says. “In fact, we’re watching everypony… We know what Vinyl thinks about before she goes to bed and what’s the name of that guy with moustache Aryanne clops to.”

“What does Vinyl think about before going to bed?” I ask.

“The same what she thinks all the time,” Cloudchaser replies.

“Oh…” I can’t help but chuckle. “You know nothing then…”

“Very funny,” Blossomforth says with an expression as if she was training before a staring contest with Maud Pie. “Now, get your sword and get out of here…”

Author's Note

Qu'est-ce que vous avez dit? - What did you say? in French

I have no idea what "si ces six cents six sangsues sont sur son sein sans sucer son sang, ces six cents six sangsues sont sans succès’", but well, try to say it quickly.

Mater tua me irrumavit - I fucked your mother in Latin

Actually, life must kinda suck when you can’t even trust your own ass.

I feel like an astronaut who just came back from a long mission during which all the crew but me and my cat died. Or at least, I have such an impression when I open the door to Aryanne’s mansion in the early morning and at the same moment I’m pinned to the ground by something fast, slender, and slightly smelly.

“Minuette!” Vinyl exclaims, planting a kiss on my cheek. “You’re back! I was so worried about you!” She hugs me again and helps me up. “I was so worried that my irritable bowel syndrome kicked in and I spent the whole night sitting on the toilet...”

Oh great. Vinyl and her irritable bowel strike back. Actually, life must kinda suck when you can’t even trust your own ass. Luckily, she leaves me alone and runs to Trixie who, seeing what happened to me, braced herself, stopping Vinyl from knocking her over.

“How was it? Did you make it?” Vinyl asks her. “Did you have a fun time?”

Trixie looks at her, stone-faced and levitates the sword of Cedric Lulamoon. “We fulfilled our duty towards the della Morte family,” she says grimly. “Lead us to Mr. della Morte.”

“Umm... Trixie?” I ask. “Are you sure your ancestor’s ghost didn’t possess you when you took this sword?”

“Trixie is pretty sure such thing didn’t happen,” Trixie replies, waving the sword and nearly cutting Vinyl’s head off. Few blue hair fall on the floor.

“You know... I’ll better take it...” I say. Apparently Trixie is as bad in handling melee weapons as she is in gun safety. Luckily, she gives the sword to me without protesting. I levitate it and immediately my mind is filled with the image of some battle. Go and fornicate thyself, Ceddy! I think. The image disappears immediately.

The Great and Powerful Cedric smells Minuet’s blood in thee, fair maiden, says some strange voice in my head. He always thought no mare would want to bear this son of a whore’s child.

Yeah, I’m surprised myself, I, umm... think back? Now, get the fuck out of my head, old fart. Go and haunt your descendant or something.

As thou wish, my fair lady.

I feel that I’m alone in my head again. It feels so good... All my dirty thoughts are mine and only mine.

“Minuette,” Trixie says, blushing suddenly. “Why does Trixie feel like her great, great, and fifty more greats-grandfather just shown her a list of your fetishes?”

That old, creepy, cunt-licking, cock-eating son of a spotty skunk-smelling harlot! I’m gonna find him and kill– Oh, wait. “Do you know, by any chance, where is he buried?” I ask as innocently as I can. “I feel like taking a dump on some grave...”

“And you’re always angry when I want to do it in the wilderness!” Vinyl exclaims. “I’ve heard it’s really healthy and–” She shuts up when I give her the coldest of my cold stares.

“Can we continue this conversation when we’ll be back in Equestria?” I ask, my voice as cold as liquid nitrogen. I trot upstairs, passing by Aryanne, who looks at us unsurely. Apparently, she heard at least some snippets from our conversation. I hope she didn’t understand much, just for the sake of her sanity.

“Herr della Morte is sleeping,” she says once she stops looking at the sword I’m levitating. On the other side of the corridor, the door opens.

“No, I’m not,” says Mr. della Morte, walking towards us. Indeed, he doesn’t look like he was sleeping: he’s wearing a suit and while he’s kinda similar to his cousin Bacio, he looks much more threatening. Luckily, soon our ways will part. “Do you have it?”

“As you can see,” I reply, levitating the sword towards him. He takes it and looks at the lettering on the hilt, impressed. “So...” I say, wondering if I should give them some alone time. “Can we go?”

He immediately stops smiling and looks at me. “Not yet,” he says. “If I recall correctly, you want to go back to Equestria, so why don’t you take it to my dear cousin?”

“That’s not what I agreed to...” I mutter, knowing well that it won’t help me much.

“The bay here is quite deep,” Mr. della Morte replies. “Nopony ever resurfaced. Do you want to check if you’re lucky?”

“Okay, we’ll take the sword to Equestria,” I say quickly. You know, I feel that my limit of luck for this year was greatly depleted by not being accidentally shot by Trixie, coming back from the clinical death back in Fillydelphia, and having an orgasm while climbing to the castle. I’m not gonna check if I can swim that well. “How are we supposed to do that?”

“Oh, it’s easy,” he says. “Ms. Aryanne is soon going to Canterlot with her private airship. Nopony’s gonna look for the sword there...”

Judging by Aryanne’s expression, she’s as happy to hear that as I am. Which means that if I were della Morte, I’d watch out for a three-legged pony with an eyepatch who’d put a suitcase under his table and quickly run away. When he walks back to his room, Aryanne turns to me.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Zey just came to me... I owe ‘em a lot, you know...”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” I reply. Some rusty gears are turning in my head as we’re walking downstairs. Flitter and Cloudchaser don’t know that we’re going to take the sword to Equestria. The easiest way would be to inform them somehow, but there’s one problem: those two secret agents wannabe pornstars didn’t tell us where to find them.

“Zey are not going to leave you,” Aryanne says. “Do you have any plan?”

“Well, it depends.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “If you, by any chance, know how to contact three pegasi in this town...”

“Do you know vhere zey live?” Aryanne asks. “I have my vays of finding ponies in zis tovn...”

“Yeah, I’ve read the history books...” I reply. “But the problem is, I don’t know.”

“Oh...” She nods and gives me a look of pity. “Zen you’re fucked...”

“I know.” I sigh. “I’m fucked longer than I remember. And about zen, I need to start meditating or I’ll end up invading some country or something...”

She frowns. “Is zat some allusion? Manewitz rubs you?”

It takes me a while before I understand what she meant. “It’s ‘rubs off on you’,” I say. “I don’t like to be rubbed by other mares, you know...” Suddenly my mind is assaulted by a picture of Trixie’s ass. Struggling to throw it out of my head, I add, “I’m sorry, I’m just stressed.”

“Don’t worry,” Aryanne says. “Mein zeppelin is rather comfy...”

“Smother me with Celestia’s tits...” Vinyl mutters. “That thing is huge...”

Indeed, it is. We enter the hangar to see a large, white, cigar-shaped balloon and its four gondolas – one for the pilots, one, bigger for the passengers, and two smaller, each housing an engine. I wonder what they run on – steam would be dangerous, since the balloon is filled with hydrogen, not to mention that coal would make this whole thing too heavy. Electricity? Maybe, though again, batteries would be heavy and not very practical. Magic engine with crystals and silver turbine? Expensive, but hell, you could buy a small country for that airship. Maybe they have money for that.

Unless, of course, there’s a really big hamster wheel inside.

There’s also internal combustion engine, but those I’ve seen so far are small, heavy, and not powerful enough. Maybe in a few years... Note to self: fit one into a carriage. Equestria will never be the same again.

Anyway, we’re standing here with Trixie, Vinyl, Inkie, Grace, Coco, Photo Finish, and Octavia, watching as the crew tries to pull the airship out of the hangar. There’s a large picture of Aryanne’s cutie mark on the side, which would probably get us banned in most of the civilised countries and get us shot down in a few less civilised ones.

“Well, zat’s vhat I like...” Photo Finish says. Aryanne joins us, wearing aviator goggles and a leather jacket, complete with a white scarf. No, she’s not gonna fly us to Equestria herself. Celestia forbid. She has a crew, consisting mostly of griffons named Helmut, Sigurd, Berthold, Carsten, Fritz, and Manfred Albrecht von Löwenstein-Wertheim-Rosenberg. Only a mechanic is a pony, a grey earth mare with orange mane, called Hexagon Nut.

“Welcome,” says the captain of the airship, Manfred Albrecht von Löwenstein-Wertheim-Rosenberg. “We will have to wait a bit for Mr. della Morte, so I guess it’ll be the best to get on the deck and take the seats.”

“Woohoo!” Vinyl jumps up and down. “Dibs on the seat next to the window!”

“Trixie wants a place close to the toilet,” Trixie says. The rest of our group stares at her. “Motion sickness. How long are we gonna fly to Equestria?”

“About three or four days, depending of the winds,” one of the griffons, Carsten or Fritz, replies. “The cruise speed is about fifty knots.”

Nice. About five times shorter than the ship. The sooner I get rid of this freakshow, the better. Also, knots? I know there’s “ship” in “airship”, but you can’t just throw a line with knots out of the gondola and check the rate of knots. Miles per hour, or, since the crew is from the Griffon Empire, kilometres per hour would be more reasonable.

A quick calculation later I learn that fifty knots is almost ninety three kilometres per hour or fifty seven miles per hour. I’m kinda an engineer, I have to know my units. Eighty four hooves per second. Eighty six point eight verstas per hour, if you are from Hooviet Union. Zero point zero seven Mach. Rainbow Dash would eat us for breakfast.

“Do you think they’ll leave us alone?” Inkie asks, interrupting my mathturbation. She’s now carrying the sword in her saddlebags, since she’s apparently immune to the shit Cedric’s ghost says.

“I hope so,” I reply, trying not to think about all kinds of “accidents” that can happen to us on our way to Equestria. Aryanne is probably on our side, but the della Mortes... And we didn’t even have time to find Flitter and Cloudchaser.

The interior of the airship is furnished in style Aryanne apparently adores: white walls, pink couches – a giant vagina, full of champagne and exotic food. Grace stands next to me, staring at everything in a mix of awe and disgust. “Whoever built it was self-conscious about something...” she says.

“It belongs to Aryanne, after all,” I say, pointing at our host, who’s now talking to Helmut or maybe Sigurd. “You know, small moustache, small dic... tator.”

“Exactly,” Grace replies. We get on the deck. Vinyl is already lying on one of the pink couches, getting all touchy feely with Octavia. Inkie and Coco watch them curiously, while Trixie looks like she’s going to puke, even though we didn’t even left the ground. The sword of Cedric Lulamoon lies on the table next to a bottle of champagne and a tray of peanuts. I guess that old fart is turning in his grave.

Since I don’t feel like sitting with them at the moment and I also like to know many things, I walk to the back of the gondola, where, surrounded by pipes, levers, pumps, and gauges, is Hexagon Nut, the mechanic. She’s standing on her hind legs and banging a hammer against a copper pipe.

“It’s not gonna blow up, is it?” I ask.

She looks at me, shrugs, and goes back to prodding various pipes with her hammer. Reassuring.

“Umm... you know that we’re gonna fly this over the ocean, right? I have enough problems with mafia and I don’t wanna deal with some defect a thousand miles from the nearest shore...”

She turns to me, flips her orange, grease-stained mane, and says, “Kochana, chuja rozumiem z tego co mówisz, ale chyba wiem co na to poradzić...”

Oh. I wonder how did she survive on that racially pure airship? While I stand there, dumbfounded, she walks to a small, dirty cupboard and produces two glasses that look like they were mustard jars in their previous lives and a barrel with a tap, labelled “fuel”. She puts the barrel on the floor and pours some transparent liquid to the glasses. Then she gives one of the glasses to me and drinks hers in one go, without even flinching.

I look at my glass unsurely. I don’t normally drink stuff labelled “fuel”, even if it doesn’t smell like it. On the other hoof, she drank it and is still alive. I levitate a glass and, mimicking her moves, drink it.

O w pizdę jeża! I mean... Umm... By hedgehog’s cunt! Wait... Does such saying even exist in Equine or did I just translate something from a language I don’t even know... Anyway, the contents of the glass makes me feel like my guts were ripped out, thrown on the ground, and jumped on. Then somepony took a leak on them, and put them back in me.

Hexagon Nut looks at me curiously, waiting till I stop choking. “Can you understand me now?” she asks.

Somehow, I can. I’m not gonna question it. I guess I’d just get another glass of that rocket fuel. Sweet Celestia! I’m not sure, but I think this stuff is banned in Oatstralia for some reason. “Yes,” I reply. “What the hell was that?”

“We use it if we run out of kerosene,” she replies. “I also clean the rusty parts with it... What’s your name, by the way?”

“Minuette,” I reply, still blinking to get used to the world suddenly getting more colourful after a glass of the foul liquid.

“Nakrętka.” She offers me her hoof. “Changed it to Hexagon Nut because nopony remembers about the tail under ‘e’. But you can call me ‘Hexie’.”

“Cool. Listen, Hexie, I’m kinda interested in machines. What engines does this thing use?”

“Two turboprops with contra-rotating propellers. I can show them to you.”

We walk through the narrow passage leading from the passenger gondola to the left engine. It’s actually a rather small, aluminium room, mostly occupied by an engine – a massive turbine with a pipe running through the middle of the room to the fuel tank, and various other fixtures crammed nearby. In the back of the gondola there’s a gearbox and small, round window. Through it, I can see a part of the system of two coaxial propellers. I guess it gets pretty noisy when the engine is working.

When I get out from the narrow space on the engine’s side, I see something familiar. Something I haven’t seen from the outside, since it was obscured by a closed hatch.

“Umm, Hexie... Is that an autocannon?” I ask, pointing at something that clearly looks like a 20 mm caliber barrel on a mount, complete with a drum magazine.

“Yes, why are you asking?”

“Why the fuck do you need an autocannon on a cruise airship?” I ask, completely dumbfounded. Knowing ponies’ tendency to make stuff symmetrical, there’s another one in the second gondola. And maybe ten more hidden throughout the whole zeppelin, in case of an autocannon emergency, because why not? There’s always a good day to put a two-centimetres-wide hole in some motherfucker.

“Because of the taxes,” Hexagon Nut replies. “It was registered in the Griffon Empire. It’s much cheaper to register an airship there as a military vehicle, since the government can always use them in case of war. But, of course, it has to be armed.”

“But why autocannons?” I ask. Of course I know that law is like a tall pole – one cannot jump over it, but it’s easy to walk around it, but this seems like an overkill. “Couldn’t you, like, put a few BB guns here?”

“No, it had to be at least a heavy machine gun. Also, the crew is armed with magical energy guns, and we also have a bomb bay.”

“And what do you have in the bomb bay? A tactical nuke?”

“No,” she replies. “A hundred or so barrels of beer.”

That’s much better. Still, there’s something that bugs me. “Why is the crew armed in those crystal toys?”

You know, most of magical energy guns contain two crystals which, upon being struck with electricity, fire a beam – killing or stunning the target. Still, one battery lasts for about ten shots, not to mention that the beam is slower and more visible than a bullet, so you can dodge it easily. Also, it’s not as cool as firing magic yourself, especially when you can, like me, aim precisely at the opponent’s balls.

“Stray rounds don’t destroy the equipment.”

Yeah... I wonder how often the crew shoots at their passengers? I’ll definitely have to warn the rest of my... friends? Okay, all those strange ponies that consider me their friend. A sound of a siren stops my ponderings about semantics. Hexie shows me the way back to the passenger compartment, so I trot there to take my place. At least Vinyl and Octavia keep their hooves off themselves. Trixie drinks whisky – is she scared of heights or what? Needs further investigation. Coco is sleeping in Inkie’s arms while Grace reads a newspaper and watches Aryanne, who now talks with our old friend, Mr. della Morte. The conversation probably doesn’t go well – she yells at him in Pferdisch. Too bad, the “fuel” Hexie gave me doesn’t make understanding it any easier. I sit next to Grace and soon we’re joined by Aryanne. Della Morte walks away to another compartment.

“I don’t like it,” Aryanne whispers to us. “Mein crew listens to zis fokker’s orders.”

“Just great,” Grace mutters. “Are they gonna make us walk the plank?”

“I talked to the mechanic.” I decide to add my ten bits. “Those guys are armed. Aryanne, I don’t know if you heard that you have autocannons on this junk...”

“Ja, I know zat,” Aryanne replies. “And eine Haubitze on ze front...”

“Eine what?” I ask. Really, is there some Pferdisch fuel? That’d revolutionise the whole language teaching process.

“Howitzer,” Grace says. “But it’s safe as long as it can’t be used to shoot us while we’re inside.”

“Yeah, unless they shoot it at something important and run away, leaving us to be shot down...” My voice drowns in the sound of two engines being turned on. Even though we’re in another gondola, the noise is deafening. I hear the hissing of the hydrogen and we slowly start to move upwards, above the green field. We also gain some speed, leaving the hangar behind.

I actually like airships. They don’t shake as much as normal ships and are more resistant to wind than Cherry Berry’s helicopter. I try to remember exactly how those engines look like. Cherry would probably be able to reverse engineer them and I’m already thinking that if I ever get to the money hidden in the old mine next to the rock farm, I’ll donate it on research on flying machines.

Even though it’s awesome, it’s not very fast. Grace and I start to solve crosswords – her newspapers is in Prench, so we kinda suck at it, but at least we kill some time. After a few hours, we leave Prance and, the seashore still below us, fly above Northern Zebrica. Desert below us, we’re moving swiftly through cloudless sky. Sun shines through the windows, its light reflecting in the blade of the sword. I take it from the table. It won’t help much against magical guns, but they won’t take me alive.

Trixie still doesn’t vomit. Maybe she’ll even start to like flying? Who knows. Vinyl is humming some tune, staring at the window. Suddenly, she turns to us, asking, “Do you know any rhymes to ‘blunt?’”

“Apart from the most obvious one?” I ask. “Hmm... ‘The wondrous land of Punt.’ It’s some country from Daring Do novels...”

Vinyl nods. “Hmm, if it was a Daring Do novel, this airship wouldn’t survive...”

“Hey!” Aryanne exclaims. “No Daring doing on mein Zeppelin!”

“Okay, don’t worry,” Grace says. “I really hope this journey will be uneventful...”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind some beautiful stallion rescuing us from danger.” Octavia looks through the window and sighs.

“Am I not enough?” Vinyl asks. “Also, if any stallion tried to rescue us, Minuette would surely cut his balls off with that sword and then Trixie would fry them with her magic. You two, girls, are cuntblocks...”

Trixie looks at her coldly. “If it wasn’t for us, you would be dead. Trixie doesn’t remember you doing anything except breaking your hooves and defecating in the bushes...”

Vinyl clears her throat. “What? And do I have to remind you who got drunk because a gay cowpony in Appleloosa didn’t want to screw her?”

“Do I want to know?” Grace asks me. I shake my head.

“Also, I saved Minuette’s life!” Vinyl exclaims.

“Gay cowpony?” Aryanne asks. “I like gay cowponies...”

“Only in Appleloosa,” I say. “But the town is kinda boring. Mostly desert and apples.”

“I need to visit it,” Aryanne mutters, nodding her head.

“I’ll give you an address to a mare who has a helicopter,” I say. “It’s slightly blood-stained, but she probably managed to rebuild it...”

Aryanne nods. Behind the window, the sun slowly sets. We’re now above the ocean. The roaring of the engines got quieter, or maybe we just tuned it out. Aryanne yawns.

I feel a headache incoming. Maybe it’s some side effect of the fuel I drank. Seeing that everypony is dozing off, I get up, take the sword and walk to the back. I want to find the bomb bay and all the beer hidden there. Not the best way of curing hangover, but definitely the funniest.

Levitating the sword, I push myself through the maze of pipes and wires near the passages to the engines. I wonder where’s that bomb bay. If I get lost, I’ll simply go and find Hexagon Nut.

Suddenly, I hear somepony moving. I raise the sword and look into the darkness. My magic casts eerie shadows on the walls of the airship. Between the pipes, I see something that looks like a shadow of the wing.

“Blossomforth? Is that you?” I ask.

“How did you know?” Blossomforth’s voice sounds slightly disappointed.

“Flitter or Cloudchaser wouldn’t fit their flanks into that arsehole and I hoped you’d be wise enough to get that something is wrong even without me noticing you,” I reply. “What are you doing here, apart from pretending to be a Tetris block?”

“Before you took off, this important motherfucker put something in the balloon,” Blossomforth replies. “He also mentioned something about reaching Equestria and parachuting away.”

“I guess we’re not invited?” I ask.

“Don’t worry,” Blossomforth says. “Flitter and Cloudchaser are on it. You’re safe...”

“Since they’re on it, I nearly got killed a few times, died once, had to break into a castle, and travel through half of the world with a bunch of friggin’ nutjobs... I don’t really feel safe...”

“Well, shit happens,” Blossomforth mutters.

“That’s my middle name.”

“No, it’s ‘Romana’.” Blossomforth gives me an odd look. “Don’t think we didn’t check it in our database.”

Shit. Princess Celestia is watching you forever. “What else is in that database? Not that I’m interested...”

Blossomforth gives me a smirk. “Princess Celestia is slightly over ten thousand years old. When you were in Maneaus, you had a problem with some bat pony. Soylent Green is made of–”

“I don’t wanna know that,” I say quickly. “Also, you’re just guessing, like Trixie when she tries to predict a pony’s future. I’ve never been to Maneaus. I don’t even know where it is...”

Blossomforth only smiles mysteriously. “Okay... That’s something I shouldn’t have told you. But maybe you’ll be interested in the fact that the father of Berry Punch’s child is also the father of little Dinky Hooves.”

“Bullshit,” I say. “They were both born on the same day, but Ruby was conceived in Canterlot, while Derpy lived in Vanhoover when–”

“He had a bike.”

I give her a weird look, or rather try to, since she disappears between the pipes. I don’t believe a word she says, but still, I’m not gonna buy Soylent Green in the nearby future. I shrug and turn around to go and find something to drink, since my head is killing me. After walking only a few steps, I face one of the griffons from the crew.

“Hello, Berthold,” I say. “I totally wasn’t talking to anypony here...” I laugh nervously. “Do you know where can I find some beer?”

“My name is Sigurd,” the griffon replies and shoots his magic raygun at me. Motherfu–

Wait. He shot me. The ray was red, so technically, I should lie there, dead, with a large wound in my chest, my innards cooked. Sigurd probably thinks the same, judging by the panicked look he’s giving his gun. He fires again, this time aiming at my head.

The bolt disintegrates a millimetre from my horn. Sigurd’s eyes widen in fear. I guess I’d look pretty badass, taking shots without flinching, if it wasn’t for my “too surprised to shit herself” expression. I decide to counterattack and levitate the sword.

Oh yeah. That old piece of junk protects its wielder against magic. Suck it up, Sigurd, or whatever your name is. Soon, you’ll be a chicken soup...

He probably realised that his gun can’t do shit to me because my first swing is blocked by a piece of pipe he picked up from the floor. Same with the second and the third. I jump, avoiding the pipe, and smack him with my hoof. Ouch! He blocked it and tried to hit me, but the pipe meets my sword.

May I tell you something? The voice of Cedric Lulamoon says in my head.

I’m kinda busy here, old fart, I reply, swinging the sword at the griffon. He blocks it effortlessly.

You spend too much time watching plays in the theatre, Cedric says, watching me swinging my sword furiously at my opponent, pushing him in the engine gondola’s direction.

What do you mean? I ask, narrowly avoiding the pipe.

Sword fighting is not about hitting the opponent’s sword to make the loudest ‘ding!’ possible. You’re clearly aiming at his pipe, imbecile.

Oh... Really? I levitate the sword as high as possible, making the griffon give it all his attention. He raises his pipe to block it and at the same time I dart forward, headbutting him. He backpedals, staggering, and drops the pipe. I swing my sword and hit his beak with its pommel. Twice, for a good measure. He falls to the floor, revealing two other griffons standing in the passage leading to the engine and aiming their guns at me.

“Come at me, motherfuckers!” I yell, raising my sword and running towards them. Few bolts fly at me, disappearing just before hitting me. I’d really feel better if the shield was a bit bigger. Those are a bit close for comfort.

The griffons realise that something is wrong when I’m close to them. I swing the sword at one of them, cutting his gun in half. I jump on the fuel pipe and try to hit the other.

“Fritz!” the first griffon shouts, tackling me. Luckily, the sword is still in my magic field. I kick the griffon off of myself. My head is pounding and my ribs burn as if they were filled with liquid fire. I take a moment to stop and catch my breath, leaning against the gondola wall and shielding myself with the sword. Not gonna go into melee with griffons again. The first one, Carsten or Helmut, tries to outflank me, while Fritz grabs the autocannon. Silly Fritz. Autocannons are for firing at the stuff outside. One doesn’t build an autocannon mount in a way it can be fired at the engine. A mole among the crewmen would destroy the whole airship... Building cannon mounts that flexible wouldn’t be reasonable, right?

Right?

FUCK!

I dive under the engine case, chased by the stream of bullets. The engine roaring changes its tone when the turbine is hit. Several holes appear in the floor and the fuel pipe. A blue tracer flies centimetres from my head...

Wait, if they had tracers, do they also have...

Fwoosh!

Incendiary rounds! Fuck me sideways!

A wall of fire rises between me and the griffons. At least the shooting stops – Fritz probably realised how dumb he was. I drop the sword and fire a water spell. It doesn’t help much against the burning fuel, but at least the griffons have extinguishers on their side. The fire is still burning, but at least I’m not gonna become a pony-flavoured toast anytime soon. The griffons, now armed with firepony’s axes, flee through the autocannon hatch. Come back here, cowards! Finish quenching the fire and face my wrath, cunts!

Thud!

Oh... You can as well cut the ropes connecting the engine gondola with the balloon. The airship can fly with one engine. Unlike it, I can only fly in one direction. Down.

My head hurts, I’m half-deaf from the engine roaring, and soon I’ll land in the ocean. Considering the height, I could as well fall on the concrete. Yet another fucked up day.

I grab the sword with my teeth and focus on the picture of the airship. I’m moving; the airship is moving; there are so many factors I have to take into consideration...

Fuck it. I teleport. The vortex of time and space swallows, chews, and shits me. I open my eyes. Well, I’m not in the gondola anymore. I’m a few dozen metres higher, but I’m still falling. Wind ruffles my mane and tail, but when I turn, I see a loose rope hanging from the place where the gondola used to be.

I focus on the rope and teleport. Aargh! Blood flows from my ears and nose, I’m gonna throw up, but at least I’m holding that fucking rope with all my hooves. I levitate the sword out of my teeth and try my best at not puking.

I look around. The griffons are circling here like two vultures, axes in their claws. Fritz flies at me and tries to hit me with an axe. I block it with my sword and rock on the rope, kicking him. The axe misses me, but at least my second kick hits the jackpot. Fritz flies away, holding his balls.

The other griffon (I’m pretty sure it’s Helmut), dives at me. In five seconds, he’ll kick me off the rope.

Four seconds. An idea appears in my head. Or rather, it starts in my stomach, where a revolution takes place.

Three seconds. I remind myself everything what I know about levitating liquid and runny substances.

Two seconds. My stomach can’t stand it anymore and I throw up, catching the sorry remains of my lunch and supper with my magic.

One second. The griffon’s eyes widen in fear when he sees a strange, slightly green and chunky projectile just in front of his face.

Zero seconds. The griffon misses me and rams into the gondola of the second engine, leaving a griffon-shaped dent in the aluminium wall. He falls off and goes down. Luckily for him, he regains consciousness somewhere halfway to the ground and instead of crashing into the water, he lands in it. See you never, motherfucker.

I’m just thinking about the way of getting to the passenger gondola that doesn’t involve teleportation (just the thought about it makes me want to vomit again), when I see Fritz flying behind the airship and aiming his raygun at me. The bolts misses and hits the balloon, leaving a scorched place.

Silly, silly Fritz. I have the magical sword. Didn’t you see that your puny guns don’t even tickle me?

The next bolt flies just past the rope I’m holding. You know what, Fritz? Fuck you. That’s totally unfair!

Fritz smirks and aims exactly at the rope. He’s about to pull the trigger, when suddenly something cream-coloured tackles him, causing him to drop the gun.

“Blossomforth!” I shout. Finally, cavalry arrives.

Okay, I was wrong. Without the element of surprise, Blossomforth really sucks at being cavalry. Soon, Fritz hands her ass to her, scratching her with her claws and pushing her at the propeller. She barely misses it (I’m pretty sure she somehow managed to fly through it without getting cut to stew, but I couldn’t see it exactly due to having another attack of nausea). Fritz tackles and punches her while I can’t do anything to help her...

The sword. I levitate it as far as I can and throw it to Blossomforth. Fuck. She’s as bad at catching as she is in fighting. The sword misses her and breaks one of the windows of the right engine gondola. Blossomforth dodges another punch and Fritz hits the wall behind her. He grabs her throat and tries to punch her again when something appears in the broken window.

A harpoon hits Fritz’s wing. He looks at it, dumbfounded and releases Blossomforth. Our saviour pulls the rope, causing the griffon to hit the wall. Fritz’s body goes limp and hangs from the rope like a bait for piranhas. Hexagon waves at me from the gondola and smiles.

“Blossomforth, you okay?” I ask. She’s barely flying – a meeting with the griffon left her with a couple of deep cuts, black eyes, and at least one missing tooth. And I let her immobilise me? Shame on me.

“Yeah,” Blossomforth replies, smiling. It looks kinda scary with blood on her face, but I guess she’ll play toughest than she really is.

“You won’t leave me hanging, will you?” I ask, looking down at the ocean. The very sight of it causes the world to spin around me. Good thing I have nothing to throw up with. Or maybe it’s bad – who knows how many more griffons are here.

“Don’t worry,” Blossomforth says. “I’ll only gather some strength...” She flies to me and gets me off the line. Almost instantly we drop a few metres down, but she flaps her wings harder and flies with me to the right engine gondola. We drop on the floor next to Hexie, panting heavily.

“We need to go,” Hexagon says, pulling the unconscious griffon and putting him on the floor next to us. “We have to check what’s with the rest.”

“We’re here!” I hear Trixie’s voice coming from the other side of the passage. I get up immediately – I don’t want her to see me as weak.

Trixie walks into the engine gondola. She has a long scratch on her cheek. Next to her walks Inkie with a black eye, Coco, whose mane is ruffled and whose collar is torn, limping Grace, and Aryanne, also with a black eye, waving a magical raygun. Visibly pissed Octavia, several scratches on her side, walks with Photo Finish, her glasses missing, dress torn and covered in griffon feathers.

“The griffons ran away,” Trixie explains. “They took della Morte...”

“Coco managed to get him before we ran away,” Inkie says. “I don’t think his eye will ever get better.”

“Ze griffons look even worse zan us,” Aryanne adds. “I shot one in ze Arsch...”

“Nice.” Blossomforth tries to get up. “Flitter and Cloudchaser will catch them...” She coughs. “For piracy...”

“Yeah, but what about Bacio?” I ask. “We still need to catch him...”

“It’s simple,” Blossomforth says, pointing at the sword in Hexie’s hooves. “We’ll bring it to him...”

“Trixie thinks it’s suicide,” Trixie says. “Those guys wanted to kill us...”

“They still may.” Blossomforth coughs again. Inkie walks to her and checks her wounds. What about me? “They left something in the balloon...”

Suddenly, the whole airship shakes when we take a sharp turn. I’m thrown at the wall and Blossomforth lands on me, groaning. After a few more shakes, she ends up being sandwiched in a four-way between me, Aryanne, and Octavia. Good thing nopony sees us – ponies would start to talk.

“Wait...” I mutter when we untangle ourselves and get on our hooves. “If the crew ran away... Then who is steering the airship?”

Nopony answers. The way they look at each other, however, tells me more than a thousand of words.

“Which of you, cunts, thought it was a good idea?!” I yell, running through the whole airship, leading the charge to the cockpit. My head hurts and I feel that I’m gonna kill somepony, but it doesn’t matter. The danger is really serious. I bust the door to the cockpit open.

“Wooow, shiny!” Vinyl cooes, looking at a red light next to the rudder wheel. Dubstep blasts from the speakers, the howitzer, judging from the lights, is ready to fire, and, judging by some gauges we may somehow explode and lose hydrogen at the same time. “Wonder what that stuff says...”

“It says that our left engine is disabled,” I reply, pointing at the large pictogram just next to the light.

“That’s bad, isn’t it?” Vinyl mutters, looking at the light and simultaneously turning the rudder wheel. The airship turns slightly, almost making me fall again. “How can I turn it on?”

“You can’t. We lost it,” I reply.

“How do you know?”

“I was there...”

“Really?” Vinyl looks at me and pulls the column with the rudder towards herself. The airship starts to climb. “I haven’t noticed...”

“You haven’t noticed many things,” I reply, sitting on the second pilot’s seat. “Can I?” Before Vinyl can protest, I turn the safety of the howitzer on, reduce the throttle by half, and do something that I hope will change the pressure of air in the ballonets so we won’t explode. The hands of the gauges slowly go down, out of the red zone. I switch the radio so instead of dubstep I can hear the crews of the ships below us.

We’re still a bit tilted to the right. I guess it has something to do with our missing gondola and I’d pump the fuel from the right tank to the left one to compensate that, but I have no idea how. Those controls totally don’t look like the ones of a helicopter.

Vinyl, however, sees nothing wrong. “Coco was pretty badass,” she says. “She, like, beat the crap out of that guy and then I went to the cockpit and the second pilot, like, saw me. So he, like, turned to the first pilot and yelled ‘Manfred Albrecht von Löwenstein-Wertheim-Rosenberg!’, to which Manfred Albrecht von Löwenstein-Wertheim-Rosenberg replied ‘what?’. And then, the second pilot was like, ‘behind you!’, and then I hit him with a bottle...”

“Vinyl, could you, please, shut up?” I ask. “My head hurts and I’m, like... Umm, I mean, I’m the only pony who, while not knowing how to steer that, at least knows how not to crash it...”

“Hey!” Vinyl exclaims, her voice piercing my ears like a drill. “I did something badass for once, let me boast about it for a while!”

“Can you boast somewhere else?” I ask, looking at a gauge that I think shows the temperature of the engine. It’s still going up, even though I put the thrust lever on half the maximal power.

“If you say so...” Vinyl mutters. “I’m gonna have a cigarette and–”

“No cigarettes,” I say. “There’s a large balloon full of hydrogen above us.” Suddenly, I get an idea. “Go and find Hexagon Nut. She’ll know what to do.”

Vinyl salutes mockingly and walks away, leaving me with the board full of colourful, blinking lights. Is that stuff supposed to be modern? For me it’s confusing, but maybe it’s because of my headache. I need a freaking drink, not a crash course in piloting the airships, celestiadammit!

“Co jest grane?” Hexagon Nut asks, entering the cockpit.

“What?”

She looks at me unsurely. Then she nods her head and walks out of the cockpit. She comes back after a few minutes with the barrel labelled “Fuel” on her back.

“What’s going on?” she asks once I’m able to understand her. Or maybe she’s able to understand me? Who knows. This stuff is magic they don’t teach in Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns.

“Something is fucked up with the temperature here,” I say, pointing at the gauge. “Also, all those lights are blinking and I have no idea what they try to tell me...”

Hexagon looks at the controls and pulls one of the levers. “Additional cooling for the engine,” she says. Then she pushes a few buttons and switches. About half of the lights stops shining. The temperature drops, so I push the thrust lever a bit. The engine gets louder and we accelerate... to 30 knots. A quick calculations show that if we continue to fly with that speed, we’ll reach Equestria in five days. Unless, of course, the engine dies earlier.

The sun slowly rises behind us. The gauges look as normal as they can, taking the missing engine into account. The clock and the compass work, which means that we can navigate... Or at least we could navigate if any of us knew how to do that. Since we can’t, we can only go to the west and hope for the best.

Grace knocks at the door of the cockpit. “How are you?” she asks. “Coco and Inkie are taking care of Blossomforth and Fritz. Blossomforth wants to use the radio to call Flitter and Cloudchaser.”

“Tell her to tell us the frequency and what to say. She shouldn’t overexert herself,” I say.

Grace looks at me, or rather my wounds and shakes her head. “Inkie should see you.”

“I’ll manage,” I reply. “Now we have to catch that bastard...”

Grace leaves the cockpit and soon goes back. “Blossomforth says that you can catch Flitter on 4721, 2791, or 11175 kHz,” she says. “The message is ‘DM ran away, going NW, piracy, SNAFU here.’ Start the message with ‘delta, india, charlie, kilo’, then use Morse code.”

“Morse code? I have no idea how to–” My gaze lands on a large Morse code table pinned to the ceiling of the cockpit. “Oh... okay.” I turn on the radio and tune it to the first of the frequencies. Silence. The second frequency is apparently taken. The only thing it does is repeating ‘4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42’ in monotone. It doesn’t react to my attempts to talk, so I switch to the third one. Bingo! Through the layers of static, Flitter’s sweet voice can be heard.

“Get the fuck out of my frequency, punk! I’m in the military! If you don’t leave this frequency, we’ll nuke your town and pieces of your brain will be found on the fucking moon!”

“Calm your tits, Flitter,” I say, pushing the PTT button and cutting her off. “Let’s assume that I just said ‘dick’ in the International Phonetic Alphabet and I’m going to transmit the message, okay? Over.” I release the button.

Flitter probably followed my advice. “Send.”

I push the button and start to click on another switch to pass the message. D --. M --

After a few minutes I’m done with the combination of longer and shorter beeps. Wonder if Flitter can decipher them? Probably she’s trained to do so. After another few minutes I receive an answer.

“Copy. Flitter out.”

I turn the radio back to the frequency used by sailors. Apparently they’re waking up, judging from the amount of swears. “Will you need my help?” I ask Hexie.

“Not now,” she replies. “Go to your friends and let them patch you up.”

I rise from my seat and limp to the passenger gondola. I drop on one of the pink sofas unceremoniously and fall asleep to the view of Coco pretending to be a nurse. Too bad she doesn’t have an outfit. No wonder Inkie fell in love with her...

I wake up and feel that my muscles are awfully stiff. The sky behind the window is dark, so I slept for at least twelve hours. Though, who knows – we’re also crossing several time zones on our way to Equestria, so it’s hard to guess. I turn on the sofa to see Blossomforth, wrapped in bandages, sleeping next to me. It’s Vinyl’s revenge, I’m sure.

My muscles hurt when I get out of my makeshift bed and try to stretch my limbs. I’m sure I forgot about something. Maybe it was connected with Blossomforth?

Wait. How long was Hexie steering the airship? I rush to the cockpit as quickly as it’s possible in my current state. I swear, one day I’ll cross the ocean without getting injured along the way. I open the door to the cockpit...

“The Great and Powerful Trixie didn’t think it’s so easy!” Trixie exclaims. Hexie sits next to her with a cup of tea, watching her pushing various switches and knobs with her magic. The speedometer currently says forty knots. I guess it’s because we don’t have to worry about pegasi flying at night.

“She’s a quick learner,” Hexie says, noticing me.

“We got a message from Flitter and Cloudchaser,” Trixie adds. “Della Morte is currently getting back to Prance, together with the griffons. The girls will soon catch up with us.”

“I wonder if they manage,” I say, pointing at the speedometer. “How fast we’d go if we had both engines?”

“Seventy five knots or one hundred and forty kilometres per hour,” Hexie replies. “One of the fastest in the world.”

“Well, there are, like, ten of those...” I mutter. “Aren’t we going a bit too fast? It won’t fall apart, will it?”

“The engine is okay,” Hexie replies. “Also, the wind is on our side.”

“Good.” I nod. “How about the rest?”

“Aryanne and Vinyl are watching the griffon, Grace and Octavia sleep, Photo Finish should soon change Vinyl, and whatever Inkie and Coco are doing, Trixie’s not going to check on them. They’re noisy.”

“Okay,” I say. “Blossomforth was sleeping last time I saw them. I think I’ll go to help Photo guard the prisoner.”

I walk to the bomb bay, where we keep Fritz. He sits, bound, on a barrel of beer, with his wing bandaged. Aryanne and Vinyl are sitting on the floor, drinking beer.

“I hate sea,” Vinyl says. Aryanne, looks at me like I was a saviour coming from the sky. “I really, really hate sea. It’s not normal... So many creatures there, and we don’t know anything about them. Krakens, Cthulhu, seaponies, sirens...”

“Cthulhu doesn’t exist,” I interrupt her. “And the sirens are just a legend.”

“How do you know?” Vinyl asks. “I’ve read that Starswirl the Bearded banished them... So they must be real!”

“Not everything Starswirl did must be real,” I reply, trying not to laugh at Aryanne’s pained expression. “They are a legend. Do you know why? Everything in this world goes in friggin’ circles. If Starswirl the Bearded really banished the sirens a thousand years ago, those three cunts would now be back and Twilight Sparkle would have to deal with them. Get it? Nightmare Moon – a thousand years. Discord – a thousand years. Tirek – a thousand years too. Friggin’ circles.”

“Oh... If you say so...” Vinyl mutters. “But seaponies are real!”

“I’ve seen a seapony vhen I vas a little filly,” Aryanne says. “She vas beautiful...”

I hear hoofsteps on the stairs and turn to see Photo Finish walking to us. “Guten Abend,” she says. “Are you gonna guard ze prisoner vith me?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Vinyl, Aryanne... You may go. Check on Blossomforth before going to sleep. And if any of you has to go to Coco’s bedroom, knock first.”

“Okay,” Vinyl says and finishes her beer. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Photo Finish sits next to me, pours herself a beer and produces a deck of cards. “Poker?” she asks.

“Sure,” I reply and turn to the griffon. “Hey, mate, wanna play with us?”

“I’m kinda tied here...” he mutters.

“I’ll hold the cards for you,” I say levitating the deck. “Do you have any money with you, Carsten?”

“It’s ‘Fritz.’ That stinky one stole everything when Fraulein Aryanne went to the toilet,” Fritz replies.

“I sink you don’t beat her enough,” Photo Finish says. “She’s completely demoralised... Ordnung muss sein...”

“Ask her parents for that,” I reply. “Also, unlike some griffons, I don’t beat mares... Unprovoked.”

“You’re not gonna forgive me that, huh?” Fritz asks.

“Maybe. But Blossomforth certainly won’t.”

“Like I care. Soon, we’ll all–” He shuts his beak.

Photo Finish jumps to him and pushes him off the barrel. “We’ll all what?” she asks, pinning him to the floor. “Tell us or we will drop you to ze water!”

“Photo, dear, your approach is bad,” I say, charging my horn. “I know some spell... Some say it’s my signature spell...” I aim my horn at the griffon.

“Meh,” Fritz says. “I’ve been trained to endure pain. Your magic can’t do shit to me...”

“How about second-degree burns on your balls, mate?”

“There’s a bomb in the balloon,” Fritz replies quickly.

“Where is it?” I ask.

“Inside of the balloon!” He screams, panicked. “There are four more, but I don’t know where! Don’t shoot me!”

Five bombs? We’re fucked.

“I’d shoot,” Photo Finish says. “He knows.”

“I don’t think so,” I reply. “No one ever lied with a battery on his balls...”

“I’m not lying!” Fritz exclaims. “Really, Carsten and Helmut planted the rest of the bombs! I have no idea where! They’re gonna blow up in two days, when we were supposed to get to Equestria!”

“See, Photo?” I say. “You can get much farther with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone. Or a gun alone for that matter. I’m going to the cockpit. Flitter and Cloudchaser have to talk with Carsten and Helmut.”

“Helmut is the one you shot down,” Fritz says. “I don’t think they got him.”

Shot down? Nice word for being knocked down by a ball made of vomit. On the other hoof, this guy wanted to slice me to kebab with a firepony’s axe, so he definitely deserved it.

“We’ll think about it later. Now I’ll have to find Trixie...”

Hexie and Trixie (to think about it, with those names they could be main characters in some cartoon) are still sitting in the cockpit when I get there. Hexie is sleeping on her seat, while Trixie curses under her breath trying to see anything in the darkness. The radio is on; the radio operators on the ships somewhere below us are probably really bored, judging by the fact that they’re telling jokes and riddles to each other.

“Hello,” I say. “May I talk to you without raising panic?”

“Trixie already feels a bit panicked,” Trixie replies. “When you say such things it usually means bad news.”

“Calm down, Trixie,” I say, trying to be delicate. “We have two days...”

“Two days to what?” Trixie asks, looking at me unsurely.

“There’s, umm... a bomb on the airship.” I see Trixie’s face getting pale. “But I know where it is! Don’t panic! You know where your towel is, don’t you?”

Trixie nods.

“The bomb is in the balloon and it’s going to blow up in two days,” I say slowly and clearly.

“Meh,” Trixie mutters. “In books, the hero stops the bomb seconds before blowing up.”

“Somehow that doesn’t bother me,” I reply. “At the moment I’m more worried about the four other bombs... I don’t know where they are.”

“WHAT?!” Trixie freezes in her seat. Hexie wakes up and looks at us groggily, muttering something about ponies who don’t let her sleep.

“We’ll worry about them later,” I say. “Now you have to help us disarm the one we know about. Who else can we wake up without changing this place into a brothel on fire?”

“Grace,” Trixie replies. “Aryanne, maybe Octavia... Definitely not Vinyl.”

“Okay,” I say before turning to Hexie. “How can we get to the balloon?”

“There’s an airlock in the back,” Hexie replies.

“Screw it,” Trixie mutters. “Trixie’s a unicorn...”

Before I can stop her, she teleports. A few seconds later, she teleports back, knocking Hexie down and dropping on the floor panting heavily.

“Don’t breathe on anything flammable!” I shout as she regains consciousness. Good thing she was able to get back here and not miss the airship by a mile. She blinks and looks at me with her bloodshot eyes – probably a side effect of rapid teleportation.

“You forgot about the hydrogen, didn’t you?” Hexie asks, facehoofing.

“Yeah,” Trixie replies, blushing. “Do you have any diving tanks here?”

“There’s one in the back,” Hexie says. “In case I had to repair the balloon mid-flight.”

“Okay,” I say. “Trixie, are you going to try again?”

“No, thanks,” Trixie replies, panting. “Trixie will stay here, watching the controls...”

I nod and we walk to the back, to Hexie’s workshop. On our way, we wake Grace up. Unlike Trixie, she doesn’t do anything weird when we tell her about the bomb. I guess that, just like me, she suspected some dirty trick.

Finally, we’re in the back of the passenger gondola. The airlock is in the ceiling, complete with a ladder. I put on the oxygen tank. My ribs start to hurt, but I hope it won’t take long.

“Remember, no magic,” Hexie says. “There shouldn’t be any oxygen in the balloon, but there’s still some in the air you’re exhaling. Not to mention that there may be some hole in the envelope.”

Just great. I forget about that and the remains of my body will be found everywhere. It’ll be raining me...

“Take care,” Grace says.

I smile under the mask and climb up the ladder. The airlock closes behind me and a second later the other hatch opens. I crawl into the balloon, feeling my eardrums protesting against such treatment. They were already a bit damaged after I had to teleport to the rope, but I hope they won’t give up now.

The inside of the balloon looks like guts of an enormous whale. The envelope is white so at least I can see something in the moonlight. I hoped that it won’t be claustrophobic, but I was mistaken; I have to push myself under the ballonet first and then wander between the elements of the framework. Crap. Not to mention that I have no light – a small spark would send me to Tartarus.

Since my vision is hardly any use here, I decide to focus on other senses. I can only smell the air from the tank, but at least I can hear something. There isn’t much of it – the wind outside, hissing of the gas, creaking and cracking of the framework... I walk on the timbers, hoping that those guys didn’t want to take long walks in that place and simply dumped the bomb somewhere near the airlock.

After a few minutes of trotting aimlessly, I start to feel cold. This thing is huge and I only have air to sit here for an hour. What if I don’t find it? I sigh and look at the ceiling. Then I curse under my breath.

A few metres above me, attached to the timber, there’s a small package. I hold my breath and I can hear silent ticking coming from it. Eureka! But how to get to it?

I sigh and climb on the framework. Almost instantly I feel another wave of headache and vertigo incoming. The balloon is cigar-shaped, so I’m climbing on something like a large circle. My labyrinth definitely doesn’t like that. I grit my teeth and continue climbing towards the package. My hooves don’t want to listen to me and I almost slip when the oxygen tank starts to rub my back. I feel that my fur is drenched in sweat, but I don’t stop climbing.

Finally, I’m next to the package. It’s not very elaborate: a few cylinders of dynamite taped together, a couple of wires and an old alarm clock. I want to levitate it, then I remember about the hydrogen, and reach it with my hoof.

A second later, I’m at the bottom of the balloon. Luckily, I didn’t smash my head on any of the parts of the framework, but I landed on the soft envelope. My head and ribs protest. My lungs soon join them when I realise that I lost the mask. Fortunately, the tank is still on my back so I grab the mask and inhale, trying to steady my breath. I look around and see that at least the bomb fell with me. I grab it with my shaky hoof, put it on my back, and walk quickly back to the airlock.

“You okay?” Grace asks as soon as I get out of the balloon. I take off the mask and pant for some time, before I regain the ability to speak. Then I point at the bomb.

“Let’s see...” I mutter. “It’s usually like, a green wire and a red wire, huh?”

“Yeah,” Grace says. “Though it varies between movies which one you have to cut...”

Hexie turns on the light and I look at the bomb. “That bastard!” I exclaim. “There are seven wires here... And all of them are pink!”

“Ku Fartzer...” Grace mutters. “So, which of the pink wires we have to cut?”

I pause to look at Grace. “Cunt eater?” I ask. “You spend too much time with me...”

“It’s you who spend too much time with me, if you can understand it...” Grace replies.

“You should meet my mother...” I mutter. “Though she’s kinda pissed at me because I didn’t become a dentist...”

“Oh yeah...” Grace chuckles. “She lost an occasion to tell her friends, ‘my daughter, the dentist...’ And I guess she wanted you to marry a nice colt with an apartment in Manehattan...”

“Kinda. She didn’t want me to move out, ever,” I say. “Though it was the only time dad started to argue with her. He thinks the children should be given a knife at the age of three and left in the bush to kill crocodiles with it. He taught me a few tricks, you know.”

“That explains many things.” Grace looks around. “I think we should really do something about that bomb. I know we have almost two days, but we still have to find the other four...”

“Well, I think that since there was one in the balloon, there’s also one in each gondola,” I say. “That’d mean that we already got rid of the one in the left engine...” I look at the bomb. Or rather the place where I put it. “Where is it? We need to cut those wires!”

“I threw it out of the airship,” Hexie explains, blushing. “You were so busy talking and I thought one doesn’t have to cut the wires to get rid of it...”

“Oh...” I nod my head. “Yeah... We could also do that...”

“Nevermind,” Grace says. “As you said, we need to find the other four. Or three, if your theory is correct.”

“Yeah... I wonder where they could be...”

“We can start with the right engine gondola,” Hexie says. “It’s not that big... The worse will be the one in the passenger compartment...”

“Hell, they can even be on the outside of the fuselage,” I say. “How do you think, will Blossomforth be able to look for them, or will we have to wait for Flitter and Cloudchaser?”

“We can ask.” Hexie trots to the passage leading to the engine.

Suddenly, we hear somepony walking to us. We raise our heads, waiting for the pony to push themselves through the maze of pipes between the passengers’ bedrooms and Hexie’s kingdom.

“Here you are,” Vinyl says, standing in front of us. Despite the darkness, she has her sunglasses on and she’s levitating something. “I heard some noise. As if a vulture took a shit on the balloon...”

“A vulture? Above the ocean?” I ask. “That was probably me falling from the framework...”

“Why did you climb on the framework?” Vinyl asks. “Anyway, it woke me up so I thought that since I’m not sleeping, I can as well wake up Octavia and play with her a bit, because I don’t know if you know...” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “...that Inkie and Coco were having–”

“We know that,” says Grace dryly. “And if you’re going to tell us how you fucked Octavia, then we’re not interested...”

“No, it’s not about that,” Vinyl replies, levitating something to us. Something really familiar. “I looked under the bed, because I thought I left a banana there and I wanted to surprise Octy with it, and I found this cool alarm clock...”

“Three or two left...” I mutter.

Author's Note

The frequencies, if I recall correctly, belong to Ramstein Air Base.
Translations:
Kochana, chuja rozumiem z tego co mówisz, ale chyba wiem co na to poradzić... – (Polish) Honey, I don't understand shit from what you're saying, but I think I know what to do about that...

"Nakrętka" refers to any kind of nut, but I guess Hexagon Nut researched all of them to find something that sounded well before translating her name. Though I briefly considered naming her Sex Bolt.

And, above all, do we really need a user’s manual to take a dump?

“You see, Minuette, there’s no way the princesses can deal with all that themselves!” Vinyl yells, crawling on the floor next to the engine of our airship. Her glasses rest on her horn and she’s overturning every single speck of dust, looking for another bomb. I can barely hear her voice due to the sound of the engine and the fact that we’re both wearing earplugs.

“With what exactly?” I ask, removing the ammunition drum from the autocannon and looking inside to check what’s there. No bomb, just ammo.

“Well, there’s the sun and the stars, huh?” Vinyl replies, levitating a hammer. “And each of them is like a small sun…”

“They seem small because they’re far away,” I say. “Some of them are bigger than our sun.”

“So, let’s say that there’s a planet next to any of them.” Vinyl swings a hammer around. “Is there a princess who moves the sun on it?”

“Our sun doesn’t move,” I explain, staring into the barrel of the cannon. Of course not from the side it shoots from – I’m not Trixie, after all. “Princess Celestia basically moves the Earth around it, while Luna makes the moon revolve around Earth.”

“So, are there other princesses?” Vinyl asks. I see what she’s going to do with the hammer and block it with my magic.”

“Inside of this casing, there’s a turbine that spins faster than all the planets in the universe combined,” I say. “Banging at it with a hammer wouldn’t be reasonable.”

“Okay,” Vinyl mutters. “But still, are there any other princesses somewhere out there?”

“Maybe,” I reply. “Possibly four per every planet, just like here. Someone has to take care of their citizen’s sex life while the first two are busy with the sun and the moon. And, of course, there has to be someone who smiles, waves, and does all the dirty jobs while the other three are busy.”

“And what if a planet has more than one moon?” Vinyl asks. “I once had nothing else to read in the toilet and I ended up with a copy of Scientific Equestrian. Some planets have more than one moon and there can be also two or more stars next to each other. Does it mean that the princesses have more work there?”

“Possibly,” I reply, looking under the cannon mount. “Or maybe there’s just more of them…”

“Wouldn’t that strain the magic field too much?” Vinyl asks and bangs her hammer against the fuel pipe. “I’ve heard somewhere that a sufficiently big spell would drain the universe’s magic reserves and it’d all go down like Trixie’s dinner after she drinks milk…”

“I guess it’s not easy to make such a big spell,” I say with a sigh. “Also, stop banging at this pipe. If the bomb was inside, it’d probably make less fuel go to the engine and you can hear that it works good.”

“Maybe,” Vinyl replies, and bangs at the pipe a bit higher. “But where does that magic come from? It had to start somewhere…”

“In the middle of the universe, there’s a really big hamster wheel,” I reply. “The bomb’s not here.”

“I think that in the middle of the universe there’s a planet with a big sea. In the middle of the sea there’s an island. On the island, there’s a forest and in the middle of it, there’s a high tower. At the top of the tower, there’s a guy who sees us and laughs at us and our idiocy, because he knows we’re not gonna find all bombs until there’s only a few minutes left. He kinda sounds like you.”

I laugh. “Vinyl, your problem is that you think he’s also a pony. The space is big enough for possibilities, you know. He may be a shapeless mass of tentacles, floating in the vacuum and playing flute to many similar idiots. And he doesn’t laugh at us, because he doesn’t care about us, puny ponies.”

“Maybe.” Vinyl nods. “And, a propos flute: one time at the band camp–“ She pauses when the hammer she’s banging against the pipe suddenly makes a different noise. She bangs at it once more, tilting her head. “Something’s inside…”

“Maybe it’s some sensor or something?” I ask. We can’t find a bomb anywhere, but I’d rather not turn the engine off and strip down the whole pipe.

Vinyl shrugs and bangs at the pipe again, as if she wanted to poke a hole in it. “We don’t have any plan of it, do we?” she asks.

“I can ask Hexie,” I reply. “She’s in the cockpit, I think.” I crawl through the passage to the passenger gondola and walk all the way through it, to get to Hexie. Really, we need to have a radio installed there. That is, right after we get a new left engine. Let’s hope Aryanne is rich, because she also needs a new crew.

“I have some news for you,” I say, entering the cockpit. Hexie is focused on steering, while Trixie and Photo Finish are also looking for a bomb. Judging by their expressions, it’s rather hard. Currently, they’re wondering if they should unscrew the main panel.

“Trixie wants the good one first,” Trixie says.

“There’s no good news, just bad and worse,” I reply. “The bad news is, we think we may have found the bomb.”

“Zat is bad news?” Photo Finish asks. “Vhat is ze worse news zen?”

“We’ll have to turn off the engine,” I reply. “The bomb is probably inside of the fuel pipe.” I turn to Hexie. “Is there a way of checking what’s inside without, like, screwing up everything?”

“Not really,” Hexie replies. “I don’t think they could’ve opened it to put a bomb there. Where exactly did you find it?”

“Near the place where the pipe comes from the wall,” I reply.

“It’s probably the sensor that measures the flow of the fuel,” Hexie replies, pointing at some gauge on the board. “But we may check it. Photo, will you stay here?” She pushes a few knobs and I hear the sound of the engine slowly dying down. We have a tailwind, so we won’t lose speed completely.

“Okay,” Photo Finish replies. “Zat machine ist safe wiff me...”

“How so?” I ask. I can get that Trixie learned to pilot the airship, or at least keep it in the air, but Photo?

“It’s like a big camera,” she says. “Except it doesn’t make photos. And it has no film or lenses. It’s like a camera, but not exactly like a camera, if you know what I, Photo Finish, mean.”

Okay... That’s probably the most unorthodox approach to piloting the aircrafts I have ever heard about. Though actually, the most common approach to aircrafts in Equestria is “why don’t we hire a pegasus for that?” All the ponies in this country are lazy.

Walking back through the whole airship, I can’t help but wonder what we’ll see in the engine gondola. I really hope Vinyl, hearing that the engine stopped, didn’t start to dismantle the whole pipe.

What we see, after crawling through the narrow passage between the gondolas, proves once again that to predict Vinyl’s behaviour one has to use the mathematical model of Brownian motion. Which makes sense, since her head is probably filled with some gas that somehow gained sentience.

When we enter the gondola, the first thing we smell is a strong, pungent odour of burning herbs. Vinyl is sitting on the floor and smoking a joint. Seeing us, she levitates it and exhales a large cloud of smoke towards us. I’m trying not to think of where she keeps rolling paper and weed; my imagination tells me scary things. I open the hatch covering the autocannon to prevent Hexie and I from getting baked.

“Peace, girls,” Vinyl says. “Wanna puff?”

“I don’t wanna puff,” I reply. “Vinyl, for Celestia’s tits, what are you doing?”

“I’m thinking,” Vinyl says, staring at the ceiling. “That pipe, for example. There’s, like, fuel inside, huh? Hard to reach.”

“Exactly,” Hexie says. It seems that Vinyl can understand her without the “fuel” I have to drink every twenty four hours. “They didn’t plant a bomb there. We have to look for it in some other place. Maybe in the gearbox?”

“Wait.” Vinyl waves her hoof and inhales a lot of smoke from her joint. “It’s like with some fillies. You know, some of them won’t let you approach ‘em from, you know, the front, but they just love, you know, riding the chocolate train...”

“Vinyl, one more ‘you know’ and I’ll kick you off this airship,” I say, approaching her and getting into the zone contaminated by smoke. “And get to the point instead of thinking of chocolate trains, please...”

“Don’t yell at me, okay?” Vinyl puffs the smoke and continues, “You know, it’s like with those pipes here. There’s one with the fuel and the other one that goes, like, outside. What’s in that pipe, anyway?”

“Air,” Hexie replies.

“Air, okay...” Vinyl tries to make her expression look intelligent, but she only looks more stoned. “Where do we store air? Fuel is, like, in tanks, but where’s the air?”

I smack my forehead with my hoof. “We don’t store the air. There’s plenty outside.”

Vinyl walks to the window, rests against the autocannon and gives the seascape a long and, in her opinion, very meaningful look. “I can’t see it,” she says finally. “Where’s the air?”

“Celestiadammit, Vinyl...” I mutter. “Air is invisible! Just like your brain! But, believe me, it exists! Quite unlike your brain!”

“Oh...” Vinyl nods. “Maybe. So, this pipe is, like, open, huh?”

Okay, I get it. Vinyl’s train of thoughts currently goes from Ponyville to Canterlot via Baltimare, Fillydelphia, Manehattan, and Hollow Shades, its average speed being ten miles per hour. But I think I can easily see what’s in Canterlot and get to that point while Vinyl is still floating over the tulip fields of Neighterlands.

“So, you’re trying to tell me that the bomb is in the pipe that transports air to the engine?” I ask.

“Yes!” Vinyl exclaims, pulling me into a clumsy hug.

“Chill out, Vinyl,” I say, freeing myself from her grasp. “Did you, in your infinite, cannabis-powered wisdom, figured out how to get there?”

“We’d have to land,” Vinyl replies.

“We can’t,” Hexie says. “There’s ocean below us...”

“There is?” Vinyl asks. She looks outside. “Hey, there’s ocean there! With waves, cute dolphins, and stuff!”

I shake my head while Hexie rolls her eyes. “Dolphins rape each other for fun,” I say. “There’s nothing cute about them.”

“They do?” Vinyl asks. “So that’s why I never liked Sapphire Shores...”

I have similar concerns about my ex-roommate Sea Swirl, but I guess Vinyl doesn’t know her. Also, Sea Swirl doesn’t want to talk with me anymore after, when we were both students, she woke up in a vomit-covered bed with Berry Punch, who was claiming that she confused her with me. According to Berry, we’re both pretty similar.

“So, what are we gonna do?” Hexie asks.

“We’ll need a rope and a volunteer,” Vinyl says. “Umm, girls... Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why can’t Trixie do that?” Vinyl asks, hanging upside-down from the rope attached to a harness she’s wearing. We’re trying to help her get to the pipe, but it’s kinda hard due to the wind.

“She’s scared of heights!” I shout.

“I’m scared of heights too!” Vinyl exclaims.

“But you’re thinner. And you’re high anyway...”

“But this wind kills my buzz! Why couldn’t you wake up Blossomforth? She’s a pegasus, for fu–” A gust of wind makes it hard for me to hear her.

“She’s wounded,” Hexie explains. “Also, she has a fever now and Coco had to take care of her.”

“How about that griffon we keep hostage?”

“He had a serious case of a harpoon to the wing,” I reply. “And before you ask, Photo, Inkie, Coco, Hexie, Aryanne, and Octavia are all earth ponies. What if the bomb is deeper and you’d have to levitate it out?”

“That’s racist!”

“You’re right. They’d probably get offended if they heard that I think a unicorn is more suitable for that task than them,” I say, swinging the rope a bit, so she can catch the pipe. “Right, Hexie? Are you offended?”

“Somehow I don’t feel discriminated...” Hexie mutters, watching as Vinyl stares into the pipe.

“How does it look like?” I ask.

“Like a pipe!” Vinyl shouts back. “It has walls, air inside, and all the pipe-thingies!”

“And are there any bomb-thingies inside?” Seriously, I’m getting impatient. If I were Vinyl, I’d try to find any bomb as soon as possible, so I wouldn’t have to hang there like a pinata. But well, I had my share of hanging on the ropes recently and frankly, I’m tired of them.

Meanwhile, Vinyl sticks her head inside the pipe. “There’s some package here, taped to the wall,” she says, her voice resonating in whole gondola. “I’ll levitate it out...”

The sound of torn tape echoes through the pipe. With some effort, Vinyl gets her head out of the pipe and levitates something in her magic field. It is indeed our bomb – very similar to the previous ones. Vinyl lets go off the pipe and hangs upside-down on the rope.

“Okay, now pull me inside!” she exclaims and drops the bomb. Her sunglasses almost fall, but she catches them with her magic. Priorities. Hexie and I pull the rope and drag Vinyl inside. She drops on the floor, panting heavily and looking for something in her mane.

“Got it,” she muttered, producing a small box. Inside, there are some dried leaves and rolling paper. “See? I have to do that again...”

“Can you smoke that somewhere where there’s no fuel?” Hexie asks. “In the toilet, for example?”

“Yeah, sure,” Vinyl replies, and walks out of the gondola. We follow her – after all, we still have one more bomb to disarm.

On our way, we visit Coco and Inkie who take care of Blossomforth. Our flexible friend is sleeping, while our wannabe nurses are sitting on the bed in a pose saying “we totally weren’t making out before you came here”.

“We have only one bomb left,” I say. “The cockpit one. Who’s there now?”

“Photo and Aryanne,” Coco replies. “Octavia and Trixie are guarding Fritz, and Grace is protecting the beer barrels from Octavia.”

So, we have a racially pure crew now? Great. They’re gonna fly to Canterlot and make us an Adlertag. I decide to check on Octavia, Trixie and Grace on our way. It’s not like this bomb is gonna explode soon. We still have two days or so. I walk to the bomb bay and stick my head inside.

“DA GREAT AND POWAFUL TRIXIE CAN SPEAK COCKNEIGH NOW!”

“Told ya not to give ‘er beer,” says a voice that may belong to Grace, if Grace spoke in a fake cockneigh accent.

“Sod off, cunt.” This voice probably belongs to Octavia. Drunk Octavia who lost her refined accent somewhere, but still Octavia. “Didn’t know she was a bloody lightweight.”

“But ya knew she was bonkers,” Grace replies. “Well, ya are bonkers, ya fuck another bonkers... Dat place is insane...”

“Trixie would like to fuck somepony...”

I spot Fritz between the barrels. He senses that he’s being watched and looks back at me as if he was saying “get me outta here!” No chance, mate. You wanted to blow us up, shoot me, and kill Blossomforth. I’m pretty sure you can handle The Drunk and Horny Trixie.

I walk to the cockpit to see how Photo and Aryanne are doing. Photo is still holding the rudder, while Aryanne, who can’t pilot anything that doesn’t come with a long, hard stick in the middle, is looking for a bomb under the cockpit. Apparently they get on together really well.

“Wenn ist das Nunstück git und Slotermeyer? Ja! Beiherhund das Oder die Flipperwaldt gersput!” Photo says and laughs in a way many ponies from Germaney do – instead of laughing, she just says, “ha, ha, ha.”

Aryanne also laughs. At least she can do that, though her laughter sounds like a cackling of a mad scientist who just figured out how to make mind-controlling candies.

“Ich kann diese Bombe nicht finden,” Aryanne says to Photo. “Und in zwei Tage werden wir gefickt...” She sighs with frustration.

Cedric Lulamoon was right. I watch too many movies and I automatically assumed that two ponies from Germaney would talk to each other in perfect Equine for my convenience. Not to mention that I’m actually a minority in this cockpit, since Hexie also speaks perfect Pferdisch.

“Did you try unscrewing the panels?” I ask. I vaguely remember that they discussed that with Trixie, but I don’t know if they got around to that.

“Trixie went to get a screwdriver and disappeared,” Photo replies.

Hexie produces a screwdriver from... somewhere. I guess it’s the same place where Vinyl keeps her weed. It’s a pretty nice screwdriver – after all, she’s truly a professional. I also have those. The handle of my cross-recess driver gave me one of the best orgasms in my life...

While I wonder about the alternative uses of tools, Hexie unscrews the panel. I only have a jeweller’s screwdriver with me, not suitable for working with airships and too small for my other needs. If there’s something small inside, then it’ll be useful, otherwise I’ll have to get my saddlebags.

“Done,” Hexie says. I levitate the right panel away and look inside. There are mostly wires there, leading to various gauges and lights on the cockpit. There’s also a lot of dust here, and a dead rat. Must’ve died recently, or else it’d stink so badly that nopony would be able to enter the gondola. I levitate it away. Aryanne looks at it in horror.

“Ist das ein Männchen?” she asks. “Seine Klöten sind großer als sein Kopf...”

“What?” I ask. “You know, I learned Pferdisch from old war movies, so I know only stuff like ‘nicht schliessen!’, ‘Feuer frei!’, or ‘Heil–’” I’m interrupted by Aryanne’s hoof suddenly appearing next to my head. I notice that she’s standing in attention, her right hoof straightened.

“I’m sorry,” she says, blushing. “It’s a reflex.”

“What did they do to you when you were a filly?” I ask. To think about it, she could go to Trixie and, over a barrel of beer, talk with her about their parental issues. Fritz would probably cut himself with liquid soap or something equally unsuitable.

“Umm...” Hexie mutters, looking into the depths of the wires and other stuff under the panel. “I don’t want to interrupt you, but you have to see that...”

I take a look. Well, bugger me blind. Several wires don’t belong to the stuff that should be here, judging by their pink colour. They lead to a shapeless mold of something orange-ish attached to the casing of the machinery. Seems that della Mortes ran out of the dynamite and decided to spend some more bits and blast us with Semtex. I can’t see the battery, but I have an unpleasant feeling that everything is wired to the airship’s auxiliary power unit in such a way that cutting the wires will fry us.

“I need Trixie,” I say. I have no idea if she has any experience with that stuff.

On a second thought, she managed to travel around Equestria in a wagon full of gunpowder and C4 without changing herself into a red splatter on the road. She probably knows how to handle explosives.

I walk to the bomb bay and, trying not to look at what exactly goes on here, I say, “We found a bomb, but we can’t just throw it out of the ship. We need to disarm it.”

“Now?” At least Trixie doesn’t speak cockneigh anymore, but her voice still reeks of beer. “Trixie was just going to sit on this griffon’s face!”

It probably says a lot about me that my first thought was that I finally found what’s Trixie’s kink. To think about it, her arse is good for that, though I wouldn’t try to do that on someone who has a beak.

Maybe I’ll go back to the topic later because now, if we don’t hurry, soon my bum will be closer to my face than I’d like to. “Leave him,” I say. “You need to help me.”

Trixie staggers towards me. I notice Fritz giving me a relieved look. Same with Octavia and Grace. I don’t get them. Is seeing the great and powerful ass in action something bad? I have my opinion about it, but it’s between me, Trixie, and the rope we were climbing on.

Soon, we’re back in the cockpit. Trixie looks at the bomb and nods her head. “Trixie needs a drink,” she says.

“Another one?” I ask. “Will it help?”

“No, but Trixie will feel better when dying drunk.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, fighting the urge to facehoof or run away. “There’s surely a way to get rid of that...”

“Of course, it won’t kill us...” Trixie hiccups and thinks for a moment. “But it’ll, scientifically speaking, fuck the whole cockpit up. No radio, no instruments...”

“Okay, I get it,” I mutter. “What can we do about that?”

Trixie points in the general direction of the pink wires. “Trixie can’t see a battery... Where are those going?”

“To the APU,” Hexie replies.

Trixie tries to focus her gaze on her. Or maybe she’s just not drunk enough to understand her. “WTF is APU?” she asks.

“Auxiliary Power Unit,” Hexie explains. “It’s a small engine that provides electricity to all the devices on the airship.”

“Can we turn that thingy off?” Trixie scratches her mane. “Also, Trixie needs to take a leak. Too much beer...”

“Vinyl is smoking weed in the toilet,” I say.

“And we can’t turn it off,” Hexie says. “We wouldn’t have access to the instruments, steering would get difficult, and the heating would turn off too, so we’d either freeze or crash.”

“Can’t we simply cut those wires?” I ask.

“Cutting one would blow us up,” Trixie says, resting herself against me and almost killing me with her breath. “We’d have to cut all of them at once... And some of them are hidden behind the plastic, so we can’t reach them...”

“Great... What are we gonna do then?” I ask.

“Drink more beer?” Trixie staggers. “They thought about...” She hiccups. “Everything. We can’t disarm it or throw it away...”

“There has to be a way...” I look at the panel. “How can we turn it off without having to turn off the APU?”

“Leitungsschutzschalter...” Aryanne replies.

“Gesundheit,” I say. “Did it mean that you wanted to kill me or fuck me?”

“Nein, that’d be wollt ihr das Bett ins Flamen sehen?” Aryanne replies. “I meant... Leitungsschutzschalter is... well, Leitungsschutzschalter.”

“Circuit breaker,” Hexie explains. She walks to the panel on the right wall of the cockpit and opens it. Inside, there’s a set of circuit breakers. For some reason, they’re labelled in an alphabet I can’t read. The “Made In Sankt Ponysburg” sticker explains why. Really? An airship built in the Griffon Empire, crew from Germaney, labels on the cockpit in Pferdisch, port of registry – Mareseille, Prance, circuit breakers made in Hooviet Union? What’s next? Toilets made in Saddle Arabia?

While I wonder about the multinationality of our airship, Hexie turns off the circuit breaker labelled “Кокпит - право”. The lights on the right part of the cockpit go off. I look inside to see that the same happened with the lights on the bomb. Trixie tries to use her magic to unplug the wires from the piece of Semtex, but it goes kinda sloppy, so I help her and levitate the bomb out. Unlike the previous bombs, I decide to keep it – we’re not that far from the shore, so who knows where it’d land and who’d get it. Not to mention that it may come in handy if, for example, I’d need to go shopping just before the Hearth’s Warming Eve and wanted to get rid of the crowd.

“I think that’s all,” I say. “Now, if that’s okay with you, I’ll go to my bed and have a heart attack...”

Trixie walks out with me and goes to the bomb bay. She probably has some drinking and face-sitting to do. Only when the bombs are gone, I feel how exhausted I am – adrenaline was keeping me awake for, like, forty-eight hours or so, and I’m a bit loopy. On my way to the bedroom I meet Vinyl – of course, she’s higher than a giraffe’s cunt, so she’s basically lying on the pink couch in the living room and laughing to herself.

“Hey, Minuette!” she exclaims. “I can read the toilet user’s manual!”

“Congratulations,” I mutter. “At the age of twenty-six, you finally learned to read...”

“No, look...” She gestures me towards herself. “It’s in Saddle Arabian, I think. At least those letters look like worms...”

I walk to her to see that the user’s manual is indeed in Saddle Arabian. Why didn’t they translate it? Why did they put it there?

And, above all, do we really need a user’s manual to take a dump?

Thinking about such things, I walk to my bedroom. Unfortunately, there’s Blossomforth in my bed. She’s sleeping and doesn’t seem to care about me. I pat her shoulder.

Exactly 2.8 seconds later, I’m lying on the floor, while Blossomforth is trying to strangle me. Luckily for me, she’s not in her top form – she releases me and drops on the floor, rubbing her ribs.

“Don’t sneak on me like that...” she mutters. “I could’ve killed you with, like, a thousand of things in that room, including the room itself...”

“Don’t sleep in my bed then,” I reply, sitting down and rubbing my neck. “I just wanted to hit the hay...”

“Okay then,” Blossomforth says and lies back in my bed.

I stand next to her and clear my throat. “I think there was a misunderstanding,” I say. “Or maybe Fritz hit you harder than I thought. My. Bed. You. Get. Out.”

“It’s big enough,” Blossomforth mutters, turning to the wall and leaving me some place.

“I clopped in it.”

“Me too. And it’s not the grossest thing I’ve ever heard off. Do you know why Cloudchaser was almost kicked out from the Wonderbolts Academy?”

“No,” I reply, lying in bed next to her. Fuck it, I’m tired. “Why?”

“They aren’t allowed to drink, you know. One day they had a little party in Thunderlane’s room with Rainbow Dash, Lightning Dust and some other guys, when they heard that Spitfire was patrolling the corridors. They tried to sneak out back to their rooms, but Spitfire almost caught them and they had to hide in the clouds storage.”

“So far nothing gross,” I mutter, yawning.

“Wait a moment. While they were hiding there... You know, they had a couple of beers each. And, well, it all goes back to nature. Having to choose between getting caught by Spitfire and letting their bladders explode, they took a third option. They found a cloud and, umm...”

“Okay, I can imagine...” I say. I can so imagine... In fact, I’m trying not to, since clopping in bed when I’m alone is one thing, but doing that with Blossomforth would be exhibitionism and doing that with Blossomforth would make everypony think I’m a lesbian.

“Later they covered it with a bigger cloud so it wasn’t so yellow,” Blossomforth continues. “Nopony would notice, but guess which cloud Spitfire chose the next day to show the new recruits how to clear the sky...”

“Eww!”

“Exactly. She wasn’t amused. According to Cloudchaser, she said, quoting, ‘I’m gonna fuck you all out of the Academy.’ Didn’t know she liked her students that way...”

“Yeah,” I mutter, closing my eyes. I don’t know what you expect from us, but I’m tired, so I’m going to sleep. Minuette and Blossomforth, lying on a bed, S-L-E-E-P-I-N-G...

I wake up about fifteen hours later, with Blossomforth’s wing in my mouth and an unpleasant feeling that at least one of my hooves is numb. If it wasn’t for Blossomforth sleeping next to me, I’d snatch the opportunity to, umm... play with it. Though, Blossomforth is still sleeping, so...

Big Macintosh walking to me, while I’m resting under the tree after the whole day of applebucking. He smiles at me, revealing the reason why they call him “big.” I’m gonna need a wider mouth, seriously. I want to get up, but he gestures me to stay there. He puts his large, muscular hoof between my legs and, while I’m biting my lip in excitation, he starts to gently caress my–

“What are you doing there, naughty girl?” Blossomforth whispers groggily. With the image of Big Macintosh still in my mind, I turn to her and finish staring into her eyes. Ah! That’s much better! I get out of bed, wipe my hoof with the sheet and walk out of the room.

“Bitch,” Blossomforth mutters.

I walk to the cockpit, where I meet Hexie, teaching Inkie how to steer the airship. She turns to me, saying, “We got a message from Flitter and Cloudchaser. They’ll catch up with us soon.”

“Great,” I say. I’d drink some coffee. And maybe eat something. I’m always hungry after a good sex. “I missed those rascals.”

“Soon we’ll reach the shores of Equestria,” Inkie says. “And I hit a seagull...” She points at the reddish spot on the windshield.

“All according to the plan,” I say. “How about the rest?”

“Trixie has a hangover, Photo sleeps, Coco is taking care of Fritz, Aryanne is reading some book about camping, Octavia and Grace are guarding Coco and Fritz, and Vinyl is sitting in the toilet, giving gifts to the gods of sea.” Hexie chuckles.

I nod and sit next to Inkie. “I can help you with that if you want,” I say, staring at the gauges and lamps. They are blinking out of sequence. Can I make them blink in sequence? Probably yes, but then something wrong would happen. Those things are always connected.

Inkie points at some small screen next to the rudder. “According to this, we’ll be in Equestria tomorrow.”

“What’s this?” I ask.

“It’s a land where all the ponies are free and which we love more than anything else in the world, but that’s not important at the moment.”

“Okay,” I mutter and go to the radio. I turn the knob, trying to catch Flitter and Cloudchaser.

“Nitwit One here!” A voice from the radio says through the static. “Is that you, Kumquat Three?”

“It’s our callsign,” Inkie explains. “It’s Flitter.”

“Flitter, who the hell invented those callsigns?” I ask. “Pinkie Pie? Come here and talk with us without using your stupid spy slang.”

“Slow down a bit, cowpony, will ya?” Flitter yells. “It’s kinda hard to catch up with you after three days of flying one hundred sixty miles per hour on average!”

“Roger, Nitwit One,” I reply and pull the throttle lever. The sound of the engine lowers a bit and we’re slowing down. Inkie turns the valves regulating the gas pressure in the ballonets, so we lose some altitude. The weather is sunny, with a bit of fog just above the sea. When I get a spyglass, I can see the outline of land before us.

Twenty minutes later, Flitter and Cloudchaser board on our airship. Hexie and Aryanne walk to the cockpit with them.

“Hello, Nitwit One,” I say, snickering. “I guess Cloudchaser is Nitwit Two?”

“Fuck off,” Flitter mutters. “It’s not my fault the command is a bunch of nutjobs.”

“I know, I had a contact with our brave army before,” I reply.

“How much ballast should I drop to compensate for your weight?” Inkie asks. She stares at Flitter and Cloudchaser. “Two hundred fifty kilos?”

Cloudchaser looks at Flitter and gives Inkie a nasty look. “Two hundred. And most of it is Flitter...”

“Don’t make me smack you, sis,” Flitter mutters. “Anyway, on our way here, we got a message. The griffons we captured started to talk. We know where the bombs are.”

“Right in time,” I say. “We got rid of all of them.”

“Are you sure?” Cloudchaser asks. “Let’s check. Under one of the beds?”

“Found it,” I reply.

“Balloon, taped to the envelope?”

“Cost me a few bruises, but I got it,” I say.

“Right side of the cockpit, under the panel?” Cloudchaser looks at the panel, crudely screwed together. “Okay, I see... Air pipe of the right engine?”

“Sure.”

“Fuel pipe of the left engine?”

Suddenly, the whole cockpit goes silent.

“Where in the fuel pipe?” I ask. “Because, you know, we lost, like, half of it together with the gondola...”

“Somewhere closer to the passenger gondola, I think,” Flitter replies. “I mean, that guy wasn’t very precise about the...” She makes a dramatic pause.

“Do you know what’d be the best sign that the universe hates me?” I ask.

Maybe Flitter wanted to answer that, after all rhetorical, question, but at the same moment, an explosion in the back throws us at the panels of the cockpit. For a moment, I can see blinking lights very close to my face, but then I land on the floor, with Aryanne on the top of me.

I regain consciousness seconds after, woken up by some alarms. I stand up and take a look at the gauges. The pressure in the balloon dropped a bit, same with our altitude. The temperature of the right engine rises, getting dangerously close to the red field. I pull the throttle lever and turn it off.

Aryanne, Hexie, Inkie, Flitter, and Cloudchaser get up. It seems that we weren’t very damaged. Even the windshield is still in one piece. Inkie checks the rudder – it resists a bit more, but the airship responds to her attempts to turn it.

“Check the damage,” I say to Flitter and Cloudchaser. “Hexie and I will join you soon...”

While they’re flying to the back of the airship, I run through the gondolas with Hexie, getting fire extinguishers with us. Trixie joins us along the way. It seems that the rest of our passengers is alive: Coco is bandaging Octavia’s head and Photo Finish is still snoring on the couch – apparently it takes more than an explosion to wake her up.

While we’re pushing ourselves through the narrow corridor along the bedrooms, the door to one of the toilets opens and Vinyl walks to us, blushing.

“Hello,” she says. “I had some serious constipation and I pushed a bit too–”

“Get out!” Trixie yells, pushing her back into the stall. We trot to the window at the end of the gondola, ready to put out any fires caused by the explosion.

Well, except that there’s no fire.

“How does it look?” I ask, seeing Flitter and Cloudchaser flying around the remains of the pipe.

“Good thing it was only a piece of pipe,” Cloudchaser says. “Most of the energy went through it, like gunpowder in a gun...”

I lean outside to look at the damages. Indeed, the damage is smaller than I thought, but still, the pipe was torn apart and the debris made lots of holes in the balloon and the right engine gondola. Also, we’re leaking fuel – apparently the valve we closed after losing the left engine got destroyed.

“Stop it up,” I say, pointing at the leaking fuel. “I’ll check the engine... Trixie, go to Blossomforth and tell her to help them. She seemed all right when I woke up...”

I trot to the right engine gondola. Its wall has several holes and everything is covered in some white smoke. I retreat immediately, coughing – apparently the cooling system got hit and everything is full of ethylene glycol. The smoke, however, dissipates quickly, leaving only puddles of coolant of the floor.

“Do we have any sand here?” I ask Hexie. We need to clean the spill first if we want to make the engine running again. I’d rather not get poisoned. You know, Berry Punch drinks that stuff and lives, but she’s Berry Punch.

“In the ballast sacks,” Hexie replies. She goes back to the window to tell Cloudchaser to bring a sack.

“I can’t!” Cloudchaser yells to us. “Maybe you haven’t seen that, but we’re losing gas!”

Indeed, the part of the balloon above the engine gondolas looks like a sieve. We will need a very big thread and needle.

“How long can we stay in the air?” I ask Hexie.

“With those holes?” She looks at the balloon. “Two hours at best.”

“Shit. What are we gonna do?”

“We can call help,” Flitter says, flying to us. “I mean, we can sew some holes, but we’re close enough to Equestria to get help from our floating pegasi bases.”

“Those floating pegasi bases Celestia said don’t exist?” I ask.

“Whoops... I always forget it’s classified.” Flitter smiles sheepishly. “You won’t tell about that to anyone, will you? Or I’ll have to kill you.”

“Sure, no problem,” I say. “Just make this help discreet – I don’t want della Morte knowing that army and intelligence are on his ass.”

“Okay,” Flitter says.

An hour later, three squadrons of pegasi, two small blimps, and a helicopter (one of Cherry Berry’s early models) are surrounding us. One of the squadrons patches our balloon, while the second puts the ropes in the front of the airship to pull us to Equestria. The third is above us, protecting us from an attack of the dragon or something. In the blimps, there are bat ponies who use echolocation to provide the picture of the whole situation.

We cleared the engine gondola only to find out that the debris damaged the transmission and the prop won’t work anyway. I’m currently sitting in the cockpit with Inkie, listening to the radio.

“When are we gonna be in Equestria, guys?” I ask. “We’re getting kinda bored here and despite those patches, we’re still low on hydrogen...”

“Let the Army do its job, civilian,” says some asshole who was, for some unknown reason, given the radio.

“Civilian?” I ask. “That’s sergeant M. R. Turner speaking, cuntnugget! I survived a week stranded in the Frozen North!” Of course, my promotion to sergeant was never officially confirmed and, unlike my brother, I don’t usually use my surname, but fuck it.

“Sergeant, huh? My name’s wing commander Star Hunter. For you morons from infantry, that’d be lieutenant colonel. When I tell your commanders what you called me, you will wish you were still in the Frozen North.”

“Blow me,” I say. “I retired. Hey, can any of you tell me when we’ll be in Equestria?”

“Five hours.” Another voice, this one belonging to a mare. “We’ll try to take you to Canterlot. That’s where you wanted to land, right?”

“Excuse me,” Star Hunter mutters. “She just offended an officer and I won’t–”

“This is your group captain speaking.” The other voice is so sweet that I’m gonna puke. “You’re ordered to shut the fuck up. Understood?”

“Understood, ma’am!”

By the way, I have to make some better nom de guerre for myself. Colonel Rusty Gate would be good. Col. Gate.

I grab the rudder while the pegasi are pulling us to Equestria. We threw all the ballast away so we can keep this piece of junk in the air despite the lack of gas. Inkie is staring at the surface of the sea, searching for the shore. I can understand her. I miss this land of nutjobs too.

I look at the gauges. Speed – 54 knots. Altitude – 660 feet. Whoever designed those controls had some deeply enrooted hatred towards the metric system. It’s actually strange, since most of the stuff seems to be produced in the Griffon Empire, Chineigh, and Hooviet Union. Griffons use metric system, if I recall correctly, same with Germaney. Is it a way to confuse the pilots?

While I wondering about that, speed rises to sixty knots while the altitude drops to six hundred and forty. I try to calm myself down – twenty feet isn’t much, maybe it’s because of some air current, or maybe one of the pegasi got tired...

When I look at the altimeter again, it shows six hundred and twenty. What the hay? Maybe it’s damaged? But no, I can clearly see the hand of the gauge moving further down.

“The sea is getting closer,” Inkie says. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“The altimeter also says so,” I reply and turn on the radio. “Good morning, guys. We have a teeny tiny problem with the altimeter. It currently says that we’re flying at five hundred eighty five feet and going down about a foot per second. So if you don’t want to have an airship-shaped boat here soon, I’d recommend to do something about that.”

“It seems that you’re losing gas again,” someone on the other side says. “Try deflating the ballonets and use the rudders to lift it a bit. We’ll call the Charlie squadron to pull you up.”

“Copy,” I say and turn the valves while Inkie pulls the rudder towards herself. The altitude rises to about five hundred and sixty, then sixty five. Sixty seven... Seventy... Sixty nine...

I feel a little shake when another group of pegasi attach ropes to the airship to lift us a bit. The altimeter raises to six hundred feet and we can now clearly see the seashore. Maybe we’ll even reach it before this whole clusterfuck of pegasi and ropes with us in the middle falls apart to horseapples.

I wipe my forehead. The beach slowly moves under our airship. I can even see a few ponies staring at us as we pass above them. We’re somewhere between Baltimare and Fillydelphia and soon I can see the forest and two mountains in front of us.

“Hey, guys,” I say to the radio. “How are we gonna pass those mountains? Also, those trees are a bit too big for my liking...” Not that I’m complaining, but soon the treetops will start to brush against our airship.

“We’re doing what we can,” some strained voice replies. “Turn right. We’ll fly north of those mountains, above the rail tracks and try to land you on the meadows south of the Foal Mountains.”

“Okay,” I say and get the map from the drawer. Actually, it makes sense: we’ll land not far away from Canterlot, in the rather flat meadow. If we tried to fly south from the mountains, we’d end up in Dodge Junction, or above the Everfree Forest. Or, if we were unlucky, we’d land in the Ghastly Gorge.

Thirty minutes later, we pass the two mountains. Our altitude drops to five hundred feet. Strong wind is blowing from the Foal Mountains, pushing us further south, despite my best attempts. Inkie and I struggle with the rudder, but we can clearly see that we’re going towards the Rambling Rock Ridge rather than the Foal Mountains.

Of course, I can always turn that flying brick completely north and land it in the middle of Hollow Shades. Nosferatu des Grauen can blow me, especially since his daughter almost did. Or maybe she wanted to blow Inkie? I don’t remember, I was drunk.

“We can’t drag you upwards anymore,” some pegasus says on the radio. “Can you turn a bit more to the right?”

“I’m trying, but the wind pushes me to the Everfree,” I reply. “Can the guys who pull us get a bit faster?”

“Well, we can always join them and pull you to Ponyville,” the pegasus replies. “How do you like landing in the lake?”

“I don’t like it at all,” I reply. “But the altimeter says four hundred and fifty feet and I don’t like it even more.”

“We’ll try to pull you faster. Tell us if the airship starts to fall apart.”

“Okay,” I reply and switch the radio to the intercom. “Guys,” I say to my passengers. “It’s Minuette speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts. Vinyl, throw that joint away. If you have any IDs or last wills, roll them and stick them up your asses, so the rescue team will have it easier to identify you. Don’t panic. Always know where your towel is.”

“Minuette,” Inkie says. “Don’t motivate me. Ever.”

“I don’t think there’ll be an occasion.” I watch through the windshield as the pegasi grab the ropes in front of our airship. They flap their wings and soon our speed rises to one hundred twenty knots. Holy crap! Everything in the airship starts to vibrate. The altimeter goes down to two hundred feet, but the Everfree Forest changes into a continuous green blur below us.

Thud! We lost something? I hope not. Or at least I hope it wasn’t important. Another thud. I hear trotting and Vinyl walks to the cockpit, holding a tree branch.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“It got stuck in the bomb bay,” Vinyl replies. “Also, we lost bomb bay doors. Fritz almost shit himself.”

We hit another tree. No wonder, we’re flying at one hundred feet above the forest. Vinyl grabs some lever, but she collapses to the floor anyway.

We cut a few more treetops and finally we leave the forest. Under us, there’s a lake. I’d rather not land there, especially since we don’t have the bomb bay doors and we’re losing the beer barrels (which at least makes us lighter).

“Slow down!” I yell at the pegasi. With some luck, we’re gonna reach the shore of the lake, but we fly fifty feet above the surface of the water. I can almost see Ponyville from here. Just withstand some more, you dumb machine... The pegasi stop in the air, trying to slow us down, but I can’t help but remember that we’re over two hundred tons of wood, metal, fabric, and a mixture of hydrogen and air that can blow up if we catch fire upon landing.

“I’ll try to land in the shallow water,” I say to Inkie. “How’s our speed?”

“Fifty knots,” Inkie replies. Shit. Still too much.

Thirty feet... Pegasi slow us down to forty knots. It’s gonna be a rough landing. I grab the rudders, trying to make us fly more or less in parallel to the lake. I look through the windshield and I see several ponies sitting on the beach and staring at us, their eyes wide. Hello guys, soon you’re gonna see the first airship crash-landing in Equestria...

Twenty feet... Ten... Splash! Once the gear hits the water and reaches the bottom, we’re slowed down quite hard. I hit my head against the rudder and, still holding it, collapse on Inkie’s knees. Vinyl shouts something behind us. The whole airship shakes, skidding to a halt. The water hits the windscreen and everything shakes again when the front wheels reach the beach. Finally, a heavy toolbox smashes itself on the floor next to my head and everything goes silent.

“Minuette? You’re bleeding...” Inkie says.

“You don’t say...” I mutter, getting up on my hooves and almost collapsing again due to a head rush. “Let’s get outta here...”

We walk to the passenger gondola where we join the rest of our friends.

“Did I miss something?” Photo Finish asks, yawning.

“Nothing,” I reply, thinking that bombs weren’t the worst thing those guys could put there. What if they filled the bomb bay with snakes? I’d have to open some fuckin’ windows. We leave the airship and walk to the shore, surrounded by pegasi lying on their backs and panting heavily. Flitter, Cloudchaser, and Blossomforth grab Fritz and fly with him to the station. Or maybe a little black room with a lamp, or whatever our intelligence agencies have.

To my surprise, I spot Berry Punch among the ponies on the beach. She’s standing there, staring unsurely at a bottle she’s holding. Her daughter, Ruby Pinch is also staring at us in awe. If those two are here, where’s Berry’s cousin, Cherry Berry?

“Aquafresh!” someone yells into my ear. “You’re back! And you brought that big flying thingy with you!”

Stop hugging me, you brain-damaged moron! I stole your helicopter, remember?

“While we are at it,” Aryanne says. “Where can I repair it?”

“Totally lost cause,” I reply. “You’ll have to call someone from the Griffon Empire to come and repair it...”

“I can do that,” Cherry Berry exclaims, still holding me. “I repair everything that flies. It’ll be even better than before!”

“Watch out,” I whisper to Aryanne, freeing myself from Cherry’s grasp. “Don’t let her add anything that will ‘make that old cunt go faster’. For your own good.”

“Jawohl,” Aryanne replies.

Berry Punch approaches us. “Am I drunk, or did you really just fly here with an airship?” she asks.

“You’re not, mom,” Ruby replies. “I spiked all your alcohol with laxatives few weeks ago. I haven’t seen you spending too much time in the toilet, so you’re definitely clean...”

Berry looks at her daughter unsurely. “Who gave you that idea?”

“I learn from auntie Minuette,” Ruby says. “Mom? Where are you going?”

“I need to, umm...” Berry runs away to the nearby outhouse.

“You know?” Vinyl mutters. “I’ll go there too. After all that flight, I just need to...”

I facehoof. Why am I not surprised. “How about you?” I ask the rest of our passengers.

“Photo Finish needs to catch a train to Manehattan,” Photo Finish replies. “Grace!”

“Yeah, I’ll get you a ticket,” Grace says with a sigh.

Trixie walks to me, holding the sword of Cedric Lulamoon with her magic. “We still need to take this to Las Pegasus,” she says.

“Just great,” I mutter. “Della Morte and his friends will kill us...”

“I’ll go with you,” Inkie says.

“If Inkie goes there, I’ll go too,” Coco whispers.

“Me too,” Vinyl adds. “Once I take a shit.”

“Trixie won’t leave you.”

“I can help you,” Grace says. “Sorry, Photo, your ticket can wait.”

“Anything you need.” Hexie pats my back.

“I think I have a plan...” I say, smirking and looking at Cherry Berry who tries to get on the airship, despite Aryanne’s protest. “Just... I need a place to think...” I smile. “And I think I know where to find it...”

Nothing changed about my parents’ house since the last time I was there. I grab the key from under the doormat and open the door.

“Wonder if mom’s home,” I say to Vinyl, Trixie, Hexie, Coco, and Inkie. Grace is buying a ticket to Manehattan for Photo. Too bad. My mom would like her. “We’ll see soon...”

“Who’s coming here at this unprincessly hour?!” somepony yells from the upstairs. I’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“It’s me, mom!” I shout. “Your daughter, Minuette!”

“Where were you?!” my mom yells. “Your brother got married, you know... luckily, with a good girl, not that piss-coloured shiksa!”

“I’m more white than yellow!” Vinyl yells. “And his wife is more yellow than me!”

“Oh... I mean, piss-smelling shiksa!” my mom replies.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie can relate...” Trixie mutters. Vinyl tells her to go and have an intercourse with herself.

“Did you bring some friends with you?!” my mom asks. “Tell them not to use such a foul language in here.”

“Okay, mom!” I yell back. “Trixie, behave yourself and don’t speak like some cunt, okay?”

“Okay,” Trixie replies.

“Same applies to you, Vinyl,” I say. Inkie and Coco don’t swear anyway and Hexie only swears in Pferdisch, Ponish, or Prench.

Before I proceed upstairs to meet my mom, I hear the door opening behind me. I turn back to see a large, earth pony stallion with moustache, Oatstralia-shaped chest hair, and a hat adorned with crocodile’s teeth. This stallion happens to be my father, and he’s smiling at us.

“Minuette!” he exclaims, running to me and nearly smothering me while trying to hug me. You know, my dad isn’t exactly subtle.

You know, my father, just like many stallions his age, loves fishing. But, unlike other stallions his age, he usually goes fishing in the Ghastly Gorge. He even brought a dead quarray eel he threw at Vinyl while he was running to me. I think I know what we’ll eat for supper.

“Welcome back,” he says, releasing me. “And you brought Vinyl with you! Finally, someone to have a drink with!”

“H-hello, dad,” Vinyl mutters. “I hope you’ve been training, because now I’m a drunken master...”

“Well, too bad my son got married,” my dad mutters. “But Minuette is still free...”

“Dad, I’m not a lesbian...” I say. He doesn’t seem to notice me.

“Nice to meet your other friends too!” he exclaims, patting Trixie’s flank. “I hope you’ll stay and eat with us, huh?”

Remember the spearpony called Minuet? After the victory over Fluffy the Terrible, he decided that Great Bridletain was an okay place to live. He stayed there and made quite a lot of descendants, such as Page Turner, the scribe, Filly Turner, the well-known lover, Chastity Turner, the mistress of two Prench kings, and Lock Turner, the burglar who was banished to Oatstralia to his crimes. He also made quite a lot children, bushwhackers and swagmares, who were stealing jumbucks by the billabongs, hunting crocodiles with their bare hooves, or killing spiders with their arses. My father, a great, great grandson of Lock Turner ran away from Oatstralia for some reason and moved to Equestria.

At first, he met my uncle, Cunning Runt, a locksmith and a burglar. Cunning Runt was going to go to prison and asked him to take care of his sister. As a result of “taking care”, my brother and I were born. When uncle Runt left prison, he quickly became my favourite uncle. I especially liked when he was hiding candies in some locker and I had to open it without a key to get them. Soon, we switched to different lockers. Then to safes.

Good, old uncle Runt. Too bad they caught him again.

“By the way,” my dad says. “Some cunt crashed an airship in the lake. Have you seen that?”

Author's Note

Ich kann diese Bombe nicht finden. Und in zwei Tage werden wir gefickt... - I can't find this bomb. And in two days we'll be fucked...
Ist das ein Männchen? Seine Klöten sind großer als sein Kopf... - Is that a male? His balls are bigger than his head...
Wollt ihr das Bett ins Flamen sehen? - Do you want to see the bed on fire?

Leave them and stop trying to tear the fabric of reality!

Author's Note

Gore tag added, just in case.

Leave them and stop trying to tear the fabric of reality!

What can I say about the rock farm? Well, whatever comes to my mind is rather obvious. It’s a rock farm. There are rocks here. Rocks, some more rocks, even more rocks and guess what? Rocks! There’s also an old, abandoned mine nearby. Few years ago there was a miners’ settlement here, but then something happened. According to Trixie, who was told that legend by a rock farmer’s daughter, a vengeful ghost came to them, killed a few and scared the shit out of the rest.

Hmm, if we weren’t being chased by mafia, maybe we’d investigate into that. I mean, we have a wagon, there’s a brainy chick – me – in the party, Vinyl’s a lanky stoner, Trixie is the sexy one... We only need a sexy blonde dude and a talking dog, and we can ride along all of Equestria, solving mysteries. At the end of the day there’s always a pony behind all of the ghost stories.

Well, maybe in different circumstances. But now, the abandoned mine is the best place to hide the money, as well as the briefcase with cocaine (Vinyl strongly opposed to my plan to simply dump it in the middle of the desert).

“We’ll come back here when everything calms down,” Vinyl says when we finish putting the bags in the darkest corner of the mine, next to the skeleton of some prehistoric monster. It looks weird: it has only two legs and hands like a minotaur. The remains of something resembling a gas mask are still on its skull; its fingers are clenched on a metal pipe (a barrel, maybe?), almost completely eaten by rust. When I touch it, it falls apart, revealing something on the creature’s finger.

A golden ring with a large ruby. In the middle of the gem, there’s a silver sickle, crossed with a hammer. What the hell is that? Some kind of a symbol?

Hmm, that calls for Daring Do. Or Lyra Heartstrings – a lunatic, even by Ponyville’s rather low standards. I take the ring with me – if I ever meet her again, I’m gonna show it to her.

We finish hiding our money (we took some bits with us, just enough to carry comfortably in our saddlebags) and go out of the cave to our wagon. We don’t use magic to propel it forward anymore. Instead, we pull it, switching places every few miles. Now it’s my turn, but since the wagon is a bit lighter now, it’s easier for me to pull.

“So, how’s the rock farm, Trixie?” I ask. “The owner won’t have anything against the fact that we’re being chased?”

“Trixie doesn’t think so,” she replies. “They barely hear any news. You know, there’s just the farmer, his wife and their three daughters there. One of them is weird.”

“Sounds like an ideal companion for us,” Vinyl says.

There’s more and more rocks around. I start to wonder why I didn’t work here yet. From what Trixie told us, it’s a quite well-paid job. Of course it’s hard, but unicorns are more than welcome here: they can use a pickaxe with their hooves first, and then, when they’re completely exhausted, they can work for some time with their magic.

I think it’s called ‘exploitation’.

Finally, we see a silhouette of a pony in the distance. When we come closer we see that it’s a grey mare with a violet mane. She’s staring at the ground, as if she was looking for something.

“Hello, Maud,” Trixie says. The grey mare raises her eyes on us. Her expression is dull, seemingly uninterested.

“Ah, it’s you. Welcome,” she says and goes back to her searching.

Now I understand what Trixie meant. Maud doesn’t look like somepony who’d tell Bacio della Morte about us. I wonder if she’d even notice him.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

“I’m playing ‘camouflage’ with Boulder. I swear, he gets better at it every day.”

“Well, we played that game with Trixie recently, but it didn’t end well…” Vinyl says, smiling as Trixie gives her a nasty look.

“Cool,” Maud says and goes back to searching through the pile of pebbles.

I need to get to know her more. After spending just two days with Trixie and Vinyl, whose preferred method of communication is yelling at each other, her calm demeanor is something I’m desperately craving. Also, I caught a glimpse of hard muscles underneath her dress.

Did I mention that I still didn’t have an occasion to, umm… relieve stress? We slept in a wagon and Trixie is a very light sleeper. I’m not very noisy, you know – I used to live with my mother and our house has rather thin walls, so I grew up to become an orgasm-ninja – but still it’d be awkward if Trixie caught me.

“Oh, here he is,” Maud says. She picks a small pebble from the ground. “Boulder, say hello to Trixie and her friends…”

“Hello, Boulder!” Vinyl says, waving her hoof at the pebble. “I’m Vinyl. How are you feeling?”

“He doesn’t feel. He’s a rock,” Maud says. Vinyl looks at her, unsure if she’s joking.

“And I’m Minuette,” I say, trying to be as calm as Maud.

She looks into my eyes. It’s oddly chilling. I mean, over the last 48 hours I broke into a safe, beat the mobster with a briefcase full of coke, his friends tried to shoot me, I got drunk and spent a night on Trixie’s flank, but I can barely withhold that look.

“You’re looking for a job?” she asks.

“Sure,” I reply.

“Good. We can always use somepony with strong hooves.”

Vinyl smirks sheepishly. She probably forgot that as I’m pulling the wagon, I can easily buck her in the face.

“Just go to our home and talk to my father,” Maud says. She then walks to a nearby rock and kicks it. It immediately shatters into pieces. “I need to stay here for a while.”

Wait. Did she just pulverize the rock with her bare hooves? What do they eat here? Steroids? I stop thinking about it when Vinyl hits me with a whip. She has it going: when it’s her turn to pull the wagon, I’m gonna change her life into hell. Maybe she’ll even start calling me ‘Mistress’.

“So, that was the weird one?” Vinyl asks when we’re out of the earshot.

“Maud? No,” Trixie replies. “Maud is okay.”

Hmm, a pony who plays hide-and-seek with a rock and probably is able to crush a coconut with her buttocks is not weird? Well, how are her sisters like, then? We’re about to find out.

Or maybe not about – first we meet the parents. When we get to the house and knock on the door, we’re greeted by a grumpy light-brown stallion with grayish mane. He invites us in and ushers us to the kitchen.

“New workers, huh?” he asks. “Quartz, come here!”

“Yes, Igneous?” a grey mare asks, entering the room. She looks at us conspicuously. I’m actually not surprised. We’re sweaty, tired, and generally we look like a bunch of mares who ran away from prison. Except of Vinyl – with her sunglasses she looks like she ran away from the looney bin.

Quartz suddenly pokes Vinyl’s flank. Vinyl jumps back and looks at her unsurely.

“Skin and bones,” she says. “I don’t know if she’ll manage.”

“Granny, you should see me when I’m high…” Vinyl replies, cracking the wide, uncanny smile. Quartz is unfazed. Her expression kinda resembles her daughter.

I notice a pair of eyes in the dark corridor behind the door of the kitchen. A grey filly – or rather a young mare – is observing us carefully. I guess it’s another of Igneous’ daughters. I wonder if it’s the weird one? Igneous notices her.

“Come here, Inkie,” he says.

In comparison to Inkie, Maud can be considered colourful. Her coat is grey, her mane is of a bit different shade of the same colour. Her cutie mark is a rock, split in half. Maybe crushing boulders with bare hooves runs in the family.

A slap in the flank brings me back to reality. I turn around to see Quartz.

“Skinny, but muscular,” she says with a smile.

Well, fuck you too, old hag. Touch me one more time, granny, and you’ll wake up tied to a bed, with a shotgun shoved up your flank. I know it’s kinda overreaction, but there’s something each of my ex-coltfriends learned sooner or later.

I hate being touched. My personal space is probably twice as big as any other pony’s. When I initiate contact, it’s okay, but stand too close to me, and I may get nasty.

“What’s your name?” Quartz asks me.

“Minuette,” I reply automatically. I notice that Inkie is looking at me, interested.

“Okay, Minette, Beatrix and you will start gathering rocks from the North Field tomorrow, and this poor, blind girl will sort them…”

“Minuette. With ‘u’,” I correct her. I’m quite attached to the ‘u’ in my name. When I was younger, I didn’t mind being called ‘Minette’, but then I learned that it’s a Prench word for, as Vinyl would probably call it, carpet munching. I thank Celestia that kids in school preferred to call me “Colgate”.

Too bad, Quartz didn’t seem to listen to me. She looks at Trixie, considering checking her muscles, but then she remembers that she used to work for them.

“How can I sort rocks when I’m blind?” Vinyl asks suddenly.

“By touch,” Igneous says. “It’s easier than to rely on eyes.”

“Vinyl,” I whisper theatrically, “you’re not blind…”

“What? Oh, yeah…” Vinyl slams her hoof against her forehead. “I’m not blind, actually. I wear sunglasses because… because…”

“You’re an asshole,” I prompt her. She gives me a nasty look. Apparently, she’s not that dumb.

“So, you know what to do,” Igneous says, breaking the awkward silence. “Now, you can wash yourselves and join us to eat supper. Inkie, show our guests the bathroom and find Blinkie and Maud.”

Inkie nods and we walk out of the kitchen. Inkie leads us to another part of the farmhouse. In fact, it’s a basement drilled in the rock. Or maybe it’s a cave? Nevermind. There’s an underground creek there – the water in it is hot and smells a bit of sulfur. Geothermal energy or something, I guess. There’s something here that looks like a big bath or a small swimming pool. Water from the creek flows to it through the copper pipes.

Well, on the outside they look like an ordinary family of farmers, but inside they have a small spa. I’m starting to like this place. I turn to Inkie to tell her that, but before I do, she speaks first.

“Where are you from?” she asks.

Tricky question. I’d rather not tell her about everything. Bacio della Morte knows that Vinyl’s from Ponyville, and he’ll probably try to look for ponies from there. On the other hoof, Maud saw where we came from.

“We’re from Las Pegasus,” I say finally.

“Oh… Mom says that it’s the city of sin…”

Quartz, while I hate you with the intensity of a thousand Suns, I just can’t disagree with you.

“She says that ponies there never work, they only drink alcohol and do drugs…” Blinkie continues.

Still with Quartz on that one. Exhibit A, Vinyl Scratch, just jumped into the swimming pool, spraying water on Trixie.

“And she once said,” Inkie lowers her voice to a whisper, “that mares there have sex with other mares!”

Okay, another reason for me to hate Quartz. While I’m not a lesbian myself, I have nothing against them as long as they don’t fuck in front of me. Though I must admit that sometimes I like to take a look.

“I want to go there one day,” Inkie says innocently.

What? I look at her unsurely. “Don’t go there,” I say. “You wouldn’t survive a day there. That town will eat you, digest you and–” I’m not sure if I should continue that metaphor down the digestive tract. I curse too much, all my friends are pot-mouths, and Inkie is the only pony I talked to recently who prefers saying “have sex” over “fuck”. One look at her face convinces me that she wouldn’t get the message even if I continued.

“I don’t think it’d be that bad,” she says, blushing. “Okay, I have to find Maud and Blinkie. See you!”

She leaves the bathroom. I sigh heavily and join Trixie and Vinyl in the swimming pool.

“Before you ask,” Trixie says. “She’s the weird one.”

“I noticed. I think she just want to break free…” I reply.

With a loud splash, Vinyl emerges from underwater. I see that she actually took off her glasses before diving.

“I think she wants the D,” she says, flapping her mane.

“Vinyl, according to you, half of the world wants the D…” I reply.

“Trixie thinks the world would be a better place if they got one,” Trixie says. Et tu, Beatrix, contra me?

“I think she’s in the closet. Close to the door, but still…” I say.

“Just like you, except you’re so deep inside, that you can almost see Marenia,” Vinyl says.

I splash water at her. “I’m straight!” I shout.

“Trixie isn’t sure. From all the places to sleep in my wagon you chose Trixie’s flank.”

“I was drunk and tired, okay? Also, the only alternatives were bags with bits and Vinyl.” I sigh. “Can we change the topic? What do you think about the rest of the family? For me they’re like one of those families who live in remote areas and eat ponies...”

You know, I used to be a reporter for some Manehattan tabloid. I was writing cool articles about ponies eating their own foals, wives beating their husbands, assistants trying to kill their bosses with poisoned coffee… Such stuff. When you deal with such things every day, you get a bit paranoid.

Well, my paranoia actually saved my life. It told me to kick that weird, old stallion in the family jewels and run away before he and his friends had a chance to make a Currywurst of me. Such things change ponies. The next day I resigned from that job.

“They’re cool guys,” Vinyl says. “I bet the mommy was hot when she was younger… And the daughters…” She licks her lips and takes another dive.

“Trixie doesn’t think they eat ponies. Trixie would notice that last time she was here. Also, Quartz is really nice when you get to know her better…”

“Yeah…” I mutter. “She’s the only pony, except maybe your parents, who call you ‘Beatrix’. And I’m afraid I’m gonna be ‘Minette’ forever…”

“Trixie’s parents never called her ‘Beatrix’,” Trixie says. Suddenly I see that her face is wet, and it’s not the water. “For a while, Trixie thought her name was ‘worthless little shit’...”

As I said many times before, I’m not a lesbian, but now I can’t help but hug Trixie; let her face sink in my coat.

Too bad, it’s also a moment when Vinyl emerges from underwater.

“Wooohooo!” she cooes. “Straight, huh? Straight like my pubes, I’d say…”

“Vinyl,” I spit that name with disdain, still holding Trixie in my hooves. “Go and fuck yourself with the largest pickaxe you can find here. Bonus points if you manage to shove it up your cunt head first.”

“Kinky…” Vinyl says. I want to drown her and make it looked like an accident. Unfortunately, I already washed myself and from what I know about dying ponies, they have a nasty habit of soiling themselves.

Trixie is still sobbing when we dry ourselves with towels. Vinyl is totally oblivious to that, as well as the fact that I’m currently glaring daggers at her. We walk out of the basement and go to the dining room, where the rest of the family awaits us.

Maud just looks at us with her usual, indifferent expression. Unlike her, Inkie is eyeing us as if we were aliens. The third sister, Blinkie, is too busy talking to her mother to notice us. She’s a bit older than Inkie; her coat is violet, more or less like Maud’s mane. And guess what colour her hair is? Yes, you’re right. Grey. I think it’s a matter of evolution. In the place where everything is either grey, greyish, black, dust-coloured, colourful ponies were probably quickly eaten by enormous eagles or whatever haunts this part of Equestria. Grey ponies could camouflage better, so they survived, had foals, who later had foals and so on.

Now I wonder if those eagles are still here. My blue coat isn’t exactly stealthy, same with Trixie, but Vinyl definitely takes the cake. In such environment, her snow-white fur is distinctive like a baboon’s arse. If something here eats ponies, she’d be the first to die.

Awesome.

I wonder what’s for supper. We’re on the rock farm, so… Hmm, do they eat rocks? I hope not. I once ate a rock, when I was completely out of cash and I was too proud to ask my mother for help. It’s amazing what you can eat with mustard. Too bad, ten visits in the toilet later I learned that it’s really hard to digest a rock.

Inkie and Blinkie bring food from the kitchen. Good news: it’s not made of rocks, nor it is made of ponies. The daffodil casserole with cheese and button mushrooms looks normal. First bite convinces me that it’s also pretty tasty. It’s also the first proper meal I have since I went to Las Pegasus. I barely talk myself out of devouring it in one bite. Vinyl doesn’t have such problems – she eats her portion quickly and looks lustfully at Trixie’s plate.

Trixie eats slowly, still lost in her thoughts. I guess we’ll need to talk about that later, without Vinyl around. If she wants to talk, of course. Generally, I don’t like dealing with other ponies’ shit, but it was me who started talking about her parents, so I have to fix this. My mother would be proud of me.

“So, Minette, why did you decide to come here?” Quartz asks me. Apparently the family decided to ignore Vinyl and they already know Trixie, so I’m the only interesting pony to talk to.

Just. Fucking. Great.

“You know, I used to buck apples and I kinda got into farming. Then I heard about this place and decided to try something new…” I reply, smiling sheepishly. I guess she’ll think that I’m either sarcastic or retarded. A quick look at her face tells me that she chose the latter.

“So, you’re from Ponyville, right?” Blinkie asks. It’s the first time I hear her speak; it’s doesn’t sound like Inkie’s excited voice, but it’s far from Maud’s monotone too. “Pinkie told me that her friend owns an apple orchard there…”

You little, motherfucking, rock-farming Sherclop Holmes! I can see Inkie looking at me reproachfully. Also, what does Pinkie have to do with them?

“Actually, I wander from place to place, looking for a job,” I say. “I’m like that swagmare who camped by the billabong…”

You guessed right – my father was from Oatstralia.

“That explains many things,” Maud says. “I think I remember you from Ponyville…”

I look at her unsurely. Now, when I think about it, I remember that I saw her with Pinkie Pie once. Later, Lyra told me that they were sisters. I could hardly believe that. Now I feel that Vinyl was totally right. Quartz definitely was hot when she was younger, and judging by how different Pinkie looks from her sisters, she probably had a one-night stand with somepony. Maybe a Discord statue?

I’m trying to get rid of the mental image from my head. For a moment I fix my eyes on Inkie and I see that she’s looking at me, blushing slightly. She probably saw my confusion and tries to contain laughter.

“I’m tired,” I say. “I think I’m gonna go to sleep. You know, we have to get up early, right?” I poke Vinyl in the rib.

“Yes, right!” Vinyl says. “Rock sorting and stuff…”

We go upstairs. There are a few guest rooms there, probably mostly used by seasonal workers.

“Do we really have to work?” Vinyl asks when Inkie leaves us alone. “We have money…”

“Vinyl, you have the best job, so shut up,” I reply. “We need to lay low for a few weeks.”

“Trixie thinks it’d be good for you to work,” Trixie says. Her voice almost matches Maud’s.

“Yeah, you came from the city of sin where mares have sex with other mares.” I laugh. Vinyl shoots me a nasty glare and tells something about me having a romantic relationship with my mother.

“Yeah, I love you too, Vinyl,” I reply. “Goodnight.”

She leaves my room, telling nothing. I shrug and turn to Trixie.

“If you want to talk about, umm…” You see, I’m not the best in such talk. Actually, I’m not very extrovert, and I suck when it comes to cheering ponies up.

“Trixie is okay,” Trixie says, her voice cracking. “Trixie doesn’t need to talk about her parents. She overcame her issues and is now a happy pony…”

“Well, maybe Trixie’s happy.” I reply, sitting on the bed. “But I’m not sure about Beatrix…”

“I’m fine,” Trixie says. “Really. You don’t have to worry about that. Goodnight, Minuette.”

See? When I’m trying to help, no one wants it. But when I’m busy, everyone behaves as if I had ‘tell me about your problems’ written on the forehead. Well, I guess she’ll come to me when she’s ready.

“Goodnight.” I lie on the bed. It’s much more comfortable than the cold floor of Trixie’s wagon and soon I fall asleep.

I wake up from a quite pleasant dream. For a moment I look around, hoping in vain that the apple orchard and Big Macintosh weren’t only products of my subconsciousness. Too bad, I’m still in the house in the middle of nowhere, hundred of miles from Big Macintosh. Or any-good looking stallion in general.

The thought about that reminds of something I should have done long time ago in order to maintain the sorry remains of my sanity. Trying to focus on the image of Big Mac, I stretch my hooves and spread my hind legs. Too bad, I can’t see any hoof lotion or anything similar in sight. Well, not the first time I’ll have to go without it, and probably not the last. My hoof is about to go south for an adventure, when I notice something big and grey, sitting on my windowsill.

I give out a muffled scream, hiding under the blanket as if it could help me.

“Hello there,” the pony says in a nice-sounding, female voice.

“Inkie?” I ask. I’m trying not to yell at her, but it’s kinda hard. “What the f– flying feather are you doing here?”

“I like watching you sleep,” she states simply. Yeah… totally not creepy at all. I’m at the verge of freaking out. Not only because, according to my ex, when I eat too much before going to sleep, I tend to have a really bad gas. And not only because I just almost gave her a one-mare show.

“Why are you watching me sleep?” Just when I say that, I realize that it’s a dumb question. It’s like asking a clubhoofed, one-eyed pony wearing a black trench coat, who somehow can walk faster than you run, why he is waving a knife in that dark empty street. Too bad I have nowhere to run away. Before I went to sleep I locked the door to avoid Vinyl bursting in and waking me up to ask where the toilet is.

“I don’t know,” she replies. She jumps off the windowsill and sits on my bed. Hey, girl, not so close! “I just walked by and saw how peacefully you sleep…”

Walked by, my ass. My room is on the upper floor. She had to climb up a rachitic tree behind it to get here. Also, everyone would sleep peacefully if they had a dream about Big Macintosh shagging them senseless in the shadow of an apple tree.

“So… do you want anything in particular?” I ask. “You know, I have to get up early and...” I don’t know what to say. Sorry, honey, but you interrupted my date with my hooves?

“Don’t worry, I won’t take much time,” Inkie says. “I just… umm… I wanted to ask about…” She blushes heavily. “About you and Trixie…”

Oh, Luna have mercy on me! Is that some kind of revenge for making you watch me dream?

“Trixie and I are not dating or having intimate relationships,” I say. “We’re both into–”

“Oh, so you’re free?” She smiles and I feel her hoof on my shoulder. Oh fu– Or, actually, don’t fuck me. Life fucks me enough.

“I am, but sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not into mares…” I shake her hoof off.

“No?” She looks kinda cute when she looks at me like that. “But mom says that all the mares in Las Pegasus–”

“I know what she says,” I reply, shaking my head. “I guess she tells that they’ll all end up in Tartarus?”

Inkie nods. I sigh – really I should write ‘tell me about your problems’ on my forehead. It’d save me a lot of effort.

“I just have… you know… dreams,” Inkie says. “I’m not sure… I feel ashamed, but… I’d like to try it with a mare… And I thought...”

Well, what can I tell her? I have dreams too. And even though I’m straight, I sometimes dream about other mares. Hell, it got really disturbing when I was helping the Apple family. During time spent there, I had at least one rather suggestive dream starring each of the Apples. Including Apple Bloom and Granny Smith. Eww.

I tell her that (except that part about the Apples). I tell her that there’s nothing wrong in liking other mares. I wanted to tell her that, for example, Vinyl loves both mares and stallions equally, but I don’t think Vinyl’s a good role model. Hmm, actually I don’t think Vinyl limits herself to ponies… Nevermind. The more you know… and so on. I tell her that I’m not gonna have sex with her just because she wants to check something. Fucking fillies, especially sheltered fillies with issues isn’t my thing.

“How about Vinyl?” she asks. “Maybe she could…”

I gave her that kind of look that always makes other ponies shut up. Oh, poor, naive girl. Of course, Vinyl would have sex with you. Maybe she’d fall in love with you. She’d even let you pee in her mouth, if that’s what floats your boat. But then she’d get bored of you and leave you, just like she left my brother or Bacio della Morte. Well, maybe leaving you wouldn’t have so dire consequences for her and me, but it’d definitely leave you scarred for life.

“If your only motivation to have sex is to check something, then don’t do that,” I say. “It’s more about love, you know…”

Whom am I kidding? As if what happened between Caramel and I in the kitchen of the Sugarcube Corner had something to do with love. When I think about that, I realise that Inkie is actually the second Pie sister who wants to have sex with me. Way to go, Minuette, way to go. If it continue like that, soon you’ll screw the whole family, including momma Pie.

Of course, I don’t tell any of these things to Inkie. I have to promote the morally correct attitudes, right?

“Yes…” she says, nodding her head. She seems a bit embarrassed – like she’s afraid of her own audacity. “I think you’re right… I must go. Goodnight, Minuette.”

She leaves the room the same way she entered it – through the window. I close it behind her and lie down in bed.

I can’t fall asleep. Too many thoughts crowd in my head. Inkie, Trixie, Bacio della Morte… I get up and go to the toilet. Seriously, there’s no better place to think. All the greatest inventions in the history of ponykind were probably made when their authors were sacrificing to the porcelain god. Hell, I bet that when Celestia first thought “Hmm, I wonder if I can move the Sun with my magic” she was sitting on the other kind of throne…

Well, I’m not in the mood to make any great inventions. Just after I lock the door, the image of Big Macintosh appears in my mind.

Fifteen minutes later I walk out of the toilet much happier than before. Nothing fazes me; not even my sore hooves. I know that Trixie’s parents still were jerks to her when she was a foal, Inkie still has a problem with her sexuality and somewhere in Las Pegasus there’s still a motherfucker who wants us dead, but now I don’t care. Well, I do care, but less than before. You know, my mother always keeps telling me that I care too much about other ponies. You wouldn’t tell that about me, would you?

Yeah, deep inside that failure of a mare there’s a caring pony. But even deeper there’s a total jerkass.

Shit, I’m getting moody again. Maybe it’s time for a second round? I lock the door and check if Inkie’s around before jumping into the bed. What happens later doesn’t need any poetic metaphors, lengthy descriptions and such stuff – I simply clopped myself to sleep.

Remember when I told you about applebucking? Well, let’s say that working on the rock farm is nothing like it. No shadow, no gentle breeze rustling the leaves on the trees, no Big Macintosh, just rocks and Maud who checks on us from time to time.

Trixie looks much better than yesterday. She probably slept as well as me, because she got really talkative – which, actually, pisses me off to no end.

“And then Trixie told them ‘Trixie bets you can’t do that!’. Then Trixie started to conjure the spell… It’s quite hard, it requires lots of concentration but Trixie can really focus…”

“Can Trixie now focus on her pickaxe?” I ask innocently. “Minuette doesn’t want to have an additional hole in her body.”

“Sorry,” Trixie says and levitates the pickaxe a bit further from me. “Did Trixie tell you how she’d defeated Ursa Major?”

I sigh and roll my eyes, then I hit my pickaxe against the rock, imagining that it’s Trixie’s skull. “Listen, I saw how you deal with Ursas… I’m from Ponyville, remember?”

“Oh, right…” she droops her head. Not for long. “But Trixie also defeated a narcissistic vampire!”

“What vampire?” I almost hit my hoof with the pickaxe. “Do narcissistic vampires even exist? I know about vampire fruit bats, blood-sucking vampires, lesbian vampires and emotional vampires, but I’ve never heard of narcissistic ones...”

“Yeah, because Trixie defeated him,” she says proudly. At least she stopped waving her pickaxe in front of my face.

“And how did you do that?” I ask. I kinda prefer to listen to her crazy stories instead of picking rocks. After all, we’re doing it, as Vinyl put it, for camouflage.

“Trixie took a photo of him and gave it to him,” she replies. “When he was busy contemplating it, Trixie levitated the stake…”

“I’m sorry, but I can hardly imagine Trixie stabbing somepony in the back. Even a vampire…” I interrupt her. One of the rocks reminds me of my ex, so now I’m smashing it to pieces.

“Trixie was just before heat…” she says, blushing a bit. “She also had to travel ten miles by hoof just to get there, it was raining and there were no vacancies in the hotel…”

Note to self: never piss Trixie off. And pray to Celestia that this whole crazy adventure ends before our heats synchronize. That’d be the end of Equestria as we know it.

For a moment we work in silence, the only sound being ringing of our pickaxes against the rocks. After a while, Maud comes with a cart to gather our yield. I’m surprised how easy is for her to load the cart and pull it.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“Not bad,” I reply. “It’s quite easy once you get started…”

“Good,” she replies. I’m sure that she’d say “good” even if we told her that we’re dying of exhaustion. Or if she found us dead, with pickaxe-shaped holes in our bodies.

“Is she always like that?” I ask Trixie when Maud leaves.

“Well, Trixie once saw her drunk. You know, there’s a small town nearby, we went to a pub on weekend…”

“I can hardly imagine that. Does she get more, umm… emotional?” I ask.

“No, she’s still like that, but she starts to recite her poetry and beat ponies who dare to not like it…” Trixie says. From the look of her face I can easily guess who was unreasonable enough to question Maud’s writing skills.

“So she gets emotional… In her own way,” I conclude.

“Yeah… It was first time Trixie managed to conjure a shield while drunk…” Trixie replies, pain in her voice. “By the way, did Trixie tell you how she defeated a dragon?”

“Yes. Twice.”

“Oh…” To cover embarrassment, Trixie starts to dig the rocks faster. “How about you? Did you defeat something?”

“Yes. Unemployment, hunger, and unbridled lust. Each of these victories was pyrrhic and temporary.”

“You aren’t a very happy pony, Minuette…”

Trixie, Trixie, Trixie… I kinda like you – or at least I hate you less than Vinyl. I can stare at your flank in a completely non-sexual way for hours, but say something like that one more time and you’ll find the joys of having a pickaxe in your frontal lobe.

“Yes, I am… So what?” I ask. “I have the right to be unhappy… Even when I have money, I have to pick rocks…” I kick a pebble and it hits Trixie’s leg. “I have no normal job, my landlord is a psychopath, and my mother just loves to remind me how much I disappoint her...”

“That’s still better than Trixie’s mother!” She yells at me. I know I just wandered into a dangerous territory, but I just can’t stop.

“Did your mother keep comparing you to your siblings?” I ask. We’re now close to each other; our noses are almost touching.

“Did your mother chained you to the wall for a month?” Her shout echoes through the farm. One look at her confirms my worst fear: I pushed her too far.

Oh Celestia, what the fuck have you done, Minuette? In a few seconds she’ll either burst into tears or smash my head with a rock. Worse: she’ll beat me with a rock till the sorry remains of my stupid brain will flow through my ears. And the worst of it all will be that she’ll be totally right.

I’m surprised that she didn’t start yet. Instead she stands in front of me, breathing heavily while I cower in fear.

“T-trixie…” I mutter.

“Fuck you!” she spits with disdain. Then she turns around and begins to hit her pickaxe against the rocks furiously. I’m sure I know whose face she imagines when she does that.

Great job, Minuette. Fucking great job. To call you a dumb mule would be an offence for mules. There was one pony in the world, except your mother and brother, who cared about you enough to ask you if you were okay when you were down. Who was about to honestly talk with you about the reasons why you are unhappy, when you basically took her care, threw it on the ground and shit on it. No wonder why everypony hates you.

The handle of the pickaxe breaks in Trixie’s hooves. She throws it on the ground, then she collapses next to it, panting. I walk to her. I want to help her up, but she turns back from me.

“Listen, Trixie… I really didn’t mean to…”

“Get out!” she yells.

“Trixie, I’m really sorry…” I say, my voice quivering and cracking. “I’m a complete and total ass who should shut up and think before saying anything...”

Trixie grumbles something as a reply. I’m not sure, but maybe she wants me to continue.

“Listen, I’m an anti-social imbecile, okay? But I’m trying to change, for fuck’s sake! Can we… just… forget about it? Move on?”

Who am I kidding? She’ll never forget. Even if she says she does, she’ll always hold a grudge. She’ll just wait for an occasion to shove it down my throat and watch me choke.

“Minuette,” Trixie says, getting up slowly. “Shut up. We can work together, we can travel together, but just shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

I only nod. On one hoof I’m still worried about the issues between us, but on the other, I can’t help but hope that our silence will be mutual.

We work like that for about half of an hour, when Maud comes again and tells us that the dinner is ready. We follow her to the small gazebo where Vinyl and Blinkie wait for us. Unlike Trixie and I, Vinyl isn’t sweaty or dirty. She eats vegetable stew and chats happily with the Pie sisters.

“Hello, girls!” she says, waving her hoof at us. “How are you? I’m so tired…”

Trixie gives me The Look. From what I know about such looks it says “Trixie still hopes that you’ll die of anal cancer, but at least you’re not Vinyl Scratch.”

“What’s up?” Vinyl asks, when we sit by the table in silence. “Why so serious, girls?”

“Eat your stew, Vinyl,” I say. “Didn’t your mom tell you that you should eat to grow bigger?”

“Lovers’ argument?” Blinkie gives out a contemptful chuckle. Even Maud looks at her with disdain – or at least I think it’s disdain, it’s hard to tell. No wonder why Inkie prefers to stay in the closet.

“Lovers? With her?” Trixie shakes her head. “How? Even changelings would starve in her company…”

“That does sound like a lovers’ argument,” Vinyl says and starts to laugh. “And I thought I’m the only gay pony here…”

I notice that Blinkie keeps a safe distance from her. I think I know which of the sisters is mom’s favourite. I think she has nothing to be afraid of. I have a theory that Vinyl has a calendar with words like “gay”, “straight”, “bi”, “only non-ponies” or “today I’m gonna fuck a cactus” written under each day. Basically, she loves everypony equally.

I decide not to say anything during the dinner. Trixie is also unusually quiet; we only listen to Vinyl who brags how hard rock sorting is. Blinkie and Maud exchange condescending looks. I guess they both do that for the whole life, so listening to the noobs amuses them.

We finish the dinner and go back to our workplace. Seriously, I can’t look at these rocks anymore. Where do those ponies sell them? There’s not enough towns in Equestria to use all of them.

Trixie probably feels the same. She looks around. There’s a large chunk of solid rock in front of us and there’s no way to move it, especially now, when Trixie destroyed her pickaxe. We look at the boulder – it’s a huge thing, almost like a small mountain. I look at Trixie, unsure whether I can tell something. She gives me a look usually reserved for a piece of dog’s shit in the middle of the very expensive carpet.

“Trixie has an idea. Be right back,” she says and trots away. I sit on the large stone, hiding my face in my hooves. I think all my dreams tonight will be about rocks. Not a big change in comparison to the last night when I dreamed about co–

Okay, nevermind, Trixie comes back, carrying a large bag and a clew of wire on her back. She then puts the bag on the ground and takes something that looks like plasticine from it. She looks at the big rock in front of us and mutters something under her breath. Some calculations maybe? She takes my pickaxe and starts to make holes in the base of the rock.

“Wait,” I say looking at the plasticine-like substance. “Is that–”

“C4, yes,” Trixie replies absent-mindedly. “Trixie uses it in her fireworks. It’s better than gunpowder.”

“How the hell did you get it?” I take a step back. If everything blows up it won’t help much but at least I try to save myself.

“Trixie has her secrets,” she replies. Secrets, my ass. The Royal Guards somewhere should have the hot oil poured on their balls for letting a mentally unstable mare who knows a camouflage spell steal a bag of C4 from their magazine.

I shiver. She has a bag full of fucking C4 in her wagon. Recently, della Morte’s guys were shooting at it. It’s a fucking miracle that it didn’t blow up to bloody little pieces. We’d be sprayed all over the street. The forensic guys would have a hard time trying to put us together and eventually I’d wake up in the afterlife with Trixie’s leg and Vinyl’s cunt. Ugh.

“Don’t worry, C4 doesn’t explode when shot,” Trixie says. Either she can read my mind or I make a really weird expression when I’m scared out of my mind. “Those two bags of gunpowder could, however, blow up.”

Shit. She has enough explosives to send a school full of foals straight to Tartarus. Celestia, give me strength… Meanwhile, Trixie puts C4 into the holes. She also connects them with a wire.

“You’d better hide with me,” she says. “It’d be hard to explain to the Pies if you suddenly disappeared.”

Yeah, thanks for caring. We hide behind a rock, as far from the one we want to blow up as possible. Trixie touches the wire with her horn and sends a spark of her magic through it. I cover my ears with my hooves.

It doesn’t help much. The explosion almost shatters my eardrums. What’s more, some piece of debris almost hits my head. I turn to look at it.

“What the fuck?” I ask nopony in particular.

Next to me lies a bit scorched sniper rifle. The sights are damaged, but it looks quite new. Shiny metal, wooden stock, ten rounds magazine… I want to take it to my workshop, clean it, replace the damaged parts and find it some new home where somepony would care about it just as much as I do.

Trixie looks around and suddenly she gasps. I follow her gaze and I see a zebra stallion lying on the ground about twenty feet from us.

“H-he was on that rock…” Trixie stammers. “T-trixie killed him…”

“I think he might be alive…” I say. “It only threw him, like, fifty feet into the air…”

Suddenly a large boulder, thrown into the air by the explosion, falls from the sky. With a loud thud and a wet splash it lands on the zebra. I can see Trixie’s face suddenly becoming very, very pale. Well, actually I’m about to faint or vomit too, but I’m trying my best to not do that. The dinner was too good to just let it go like that.

After making sure that there are no more flying rocks around I walk out from behind our cover and look at the effects of Trixie’s playing with fire. I can see striped hind legs protruding from under the rock. If it was a book, the yellow brick road would soon appear here, leading us to the city made of emeralds where Trixie would meet another guy referring to himself as “The Great and Powerful”. Hmm, maybe he would even give Vinyl a brain.

Too bad it’s not a book and all we have here is a zebra who just became a really flat character.

“W-what will we do now?” Trixie asks. We? It’s amazing how a dead zebra can bring two ponies together.

“Well, he had a sniper rifle, so I guess he was one of Vinyl’s friend…” I say. “I’ll go there and ask her if she knows him.”

“And what am I… is Trixie supposed to do?” She asks. Well, judging by her expression she’ll either pass out or throw up soon. Hopefully not both. One dead zebra is enough of a problem – I don’t want Trixie to make another corpse by choking on her own vomit.

“Stay here and check if he doesn’t come to life. I don’t want him to stalk us saying that he knows what we did last summer,” I reply. Then I walk to the storehouse where Vinyl sorts rocks.

When I enter, I’m greeted with Blinkie’s cold gaze. It basically says “what are you doing here? Go, crawl in some hole and die”. I wonder if she’s really homophobic, or she just hates everypony equally.

“What do you want?” she asks.

“I need to talk to Vinyl for a moment,” I reply. Inside the building I can hear rattling of the rocks and occasional swears.

“Hey, Blinks!” Vinyl yells. “Those green ones should go with the blue ones or did I screw something up again?”

Blinkie facehoofs. Okay, I guess half of her attitude comes from the fact that she has to foalsit Vinyl for the whole day.

“Light blue ones with the green ones, dark blue ones with the red ones!” Blinkie yells back. “Your friend wants to talk with you.”

“Which one?”

Blinkie looks at me carefully. “The less retarded one!” she shouts back. I guess I should be flattered.

Vinyl comes to us. She casually juggling a few pebbles with her magic.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“We need to talk alone,” I tell her.

She smiles at Blinkie creepily. “Cigarette break,” she says.

“Five minutes. The medical insurance for our workers doesn’t cover lung cancer,” Blinkie deadpans.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Vinyl replies. Blinkie only sighs.

We walk outside and stand next to the pile of rocks.

“So, what’s going on?” Vinyl asks, lighting a cigarette with her magic.

“I wanted to ask a question about Bacio della Morte’s thugs…” I say. “Do you know if there were any zebras among them?”

“Zebras? Hoo, girl…” She blows the smoke into my face. “Three brothers-assassins. A sniper, an arsonist and a crazy guy with an axe.”

Just great. Just. Fucking. Great. Vinyl inhales the smoke and blows it into my face again. Shouldn’t she rather start to scream in horror? I kinda want to do that.

“Don’t worry,” Vinyl says. “The sniper never kills mares and he doesn’t let his brothers do that either. If Bacio sent them after us, it means that he wants to negotiate.”

The sniper? I remember the rifle that almost landed on my head. Shit.

“What if… hypothetically… something happened to that sniper?” I ask. “What would his brothers do?”

“Oh, they’d probably rape, burn and kill everyone and everything in ten mile radius. Not necessarily in that order…” Suddenly Vinyl looks at me carefully. “Why are you asking?”

“Umm…” My voice is unnaturally high-pitched. “Let’s say that the sniper had a little accident involving Trixie, C4 and ten tons of motherfucking rock…”

“Rocks have mothers?” Vinyl raises her eyebrows.

“I guess Maud would explain that to you, but that’s not important at the moment. The thing is, there are two zebras here who are going to kill, burn and rape us. Not necessarily in that order. What should we do about that?” I ask.

“Umm… panic?” Vinyl throws a cigarette on the ground and stomps on it. Then she lights up another one. I guess that’s how she expresses panic.

Suddenly we hear a high-pitched scream somewhere in the distance. Vinyl takes a step back, startled.

“Trixie!” I shout. “Stay with Blinkie, I’m gonna save her!”

Running to Trixie I think what will I do to those zebras. I know some cool moves, but they are probably armed. I stop for a moment and levitate a large stone lying next to the path. It’s better than nothing.

“Hello, Minuette,” I hear a familiar, deadpan voice. I turn to see Maud in front of me. “You’ll never believe what happened.”

“What happened?” I ask, feeling that my throat is dry like that skeleton we found in the mine. Maud’s voice is calm so it’s probably nothing important. Though, her voice would probably remain calm even if she announced that the balefire bombs were dropped on Canterlot and Manehattan and we have to evacuate to the stables.

“I was going to check on you and Trixie. Some zebra with an axe tried to attack me. I had to kick him in the testicles,” Maud replies.

“Is he alive?” I ask. Well, even if he is, he probably can now sing in the opera. As a falsetto.

“I think so. He ran away. When you’re done with the rocks, you’ll scrap the remains of that other zebra off of the boulder and dump them in the pit next to the Southern Field. The one where we bury the workers.”

“What?” I have an unpleasant feeling that we’ll also land in the pit soon.

“Accidents happen,” Maud says. “But don’t worry, there were only two in the last seven years.”

Yeah, that’s very reassuring.

“Also, if you want to demolish something, you just have to ask first,” Maud says and walks away, leaving me dumbfounded.

I walk to Trixie. She sits on some stone, rocking back and forth. It’s easy to see why – when Maud was there, she overturned the boulder we’re supposed to clean, exposing the zebra’s insides (which now are his outsides) to the world.

“What’s up?” I ask. She gives me a panicked look, but says nothing. “Vinyl told me a fairy tale about three brothers. One of them was okay and two others should have been thrown at the wall head-first just after being born. Guess which one is here…” I point at the boulder.

“S-so there’s two of them? With axes?” Trixie asks.

“No, not with axes,” I reply. “The other one could be your friend. He likes to play with safety matches.”

“Trixie’s not gonna sleep at night…” she says. Well, I’m not gonna sleep either. I take the zebra’s sniper rifle. Even with a broken scope it increases our firepower.

We spend the rest of the day scrapping the poor zebra’s body off of the boulder. In moments like that I’m really happy that I’m a unicorn. Imagine doing that with hooves… ugh. When we get home, Trixie decides to skip the supper and go upstairs. I want to do that to, but then I see Inkie’s face. Poor girl, spent half of the day cooking for us. Really, I may not look like it, but sometimes I really have a soft heart. I join Vinyl and the family at the table.

“So, how was your first day?” Igneous asks. Maud keeps her poker face, but Blinkie smirks behind her father’s back.

“Cool,” Vinyl replies, her mouth stuffed with food. Quite delicious food, I must admit. The whole family awaits for my answer.

“Yeah, it was okay,” I say. What else can I tell them? I’m tired, I pissed off Trixie and then we made zebra pancakes. “Okay” is kinda a good description. Luckily, they don’t ask me about anything more. We eat supper in silence, only Inkie is still looking at me.

When Vinyl and I walk upstairs, I lead her to my room. Trixie is already there, together with Vinyl’s shotgun and our newest loot – a sniper rifle (I told Trixie not to touch any of the guns. I don’t want her to accidentally shoot herself). I give Vinyl a shotgun and sit next to the window with the rifle.

I hope I’m overreacting. Like, they’re two zebras who just lost a brother. Of course, they’re batshit insane, but it’s night, they don’t know the terrain, and one of them got kicked in the bollocks by a mare who can buck you to the next Friday without even getting sweaty.

Somepony opens the door. Vinyl and I immediately aim our weapons at the incoming danger…

“Oh,” Inkie says. “I just wanted to ask if you want some tea…”

“That’d be great,” I reply, lowering the gun and prompting Vinyl to do the same. When it comes to gun safety Vinyl is only a little better than Trixie, and I don’t want to explain Igneous and Quartz why there’s a bunch of 12 gauge holes in their youngest daughter.

“What are you…?” she asks. Well, that’s a good question. Basically, we’re sitting in a room, armed to the teeth, waiting for two zebras to come and… Hmm, what can they do to us? Sneak into the house and murder the whole family? Burn down the house with us inside?

Just when I’m pondering that, the explosion shatters the glass in the windows. We get down on the floor. Dust and pieces of planks fall on us. Of course! They can also set Trixie’s wagon, full of gunpowder and other explosives, on fire. Is it bad that I hope that they got killed in process?

“Are you okay?” I ask Inkie. I realise that I’m holding her in my hooves and that she’s crying. I get up and grab my sniper rifle. It’s better for those guys if they’re dead…

Well, I’m not the only one who thinks that. Trixie is standing next to the window, completely not caring about the fact that our opponents can be armed. She’s looking at the burning remains of her wagon, her face frozen in an expression of pure hatred.

Remember that time when Tirek destroyed the library in Ponyville? Remember Twilight Sparkle’s reaction? Well, then you can probably understand what’s going on in Trixie’s head now. Her eyes glow white, her horn sends blue sparks around. I can see the silhouettes of zebras hiding somewhere, probably scared shitless by the explosion they accidentally set off.

With a loud snap, Trixie teleports out of the room. Wow. Never thought she could do that. I look out of the window and see her, advancing slowly towards the zebras. The air around her vibrates from the sheer magical energy she’s about to unleash.

One of the brothers decides that it’s enough. He pulls out the gun and shoots at Trixie twice. Holy crap. Have you ever seen a bullet melting in mid-air? Well, I just did. Inkie and Vinyl are hiding behind me, hugging each other closely.

Magic flashes, and for a moment the night is as bright as a day. Two zebras are sent flying into the air, but they don’t fall down. Instead, they hang upside-down in Trixie’s magic grasp.

“You two!” Trixie yells. Her voice is now deeper and echoes through the rock farm. Kinda like Royal Canterlot Voice, but not as deafening. “You had a choice. You could leave us alone and go home… But you just had to keep pestering us!” A lightning tears the sky, because why not? Trixie starts to laugh. “Soon, you will know The Wrath of The Great and Powerful Trixie! For your deeds you shall suffer the Unspeakable and Cruel Punishment! Thou shall be Eviscerated, Drawn, Hung and Quartered! But Trixie will keep thee alive, listening to thy screams, getting drunk with thy suffering! Thou will beg Trixie to let thee die! And then Trixie will look down upon thee and whisper…” She drags them closer to her, smiling at them like somepony who went bonkers and is now going on a murderous rampage. “Fuck. Thee. In. The. Ass.”

The Alicorn Amulet? Bullshit. Deep inside Trixie there’s a worse motherfucker than Tirek, Discord and Nightmare Moon together. Let’s hope she never flips, or we’re seriously fucked. In the ass. Without lube. By Tirek after stealing the princesses’ magic.

Hope? What hope? She already flipped. Bend over, Minuette, this is gonna suck. Since Vinyl and Inkie are shivering on the floor, I guess it’s time for me to save the day. Again. I stand up and run to the window.

“Trixie!” I shout. “Can you stop behaving like a six-year-old whom somepony nicked a candy? Leave them and stop trying to tear the fabric of reality for fuck’s sake!”

“Trixie Can Not!” she yells back at me. It’s getting dangerously close to the Royal Canterlot Voice. If she suddenly sprouts a pair of wings, I’m leaving. “They Dared To Challenge The Great And Powerful Trixie And Now They Must Die!”

“Trixie! Do you really want Twilight Sparkle and company to come here and blast you with that rainbow-whatever-thingy? Do you want to get us banished to the Moon?”

“I second that…” says Vinyl weakly, still holding Inkie in her hooves. “I don’t wanna go to the Moon…”

“SPARKLE SHALL BE NEXT!” Trixie replies. I can’t help but facehoof. “SPARKLE HAS A PALACE AND WINGS, WHILE TRIXIE– Ouch! Fuck!” Trixie’s magic falters, the zebras fall to the ground. They try to get up, but it goes rather slowly.

“Sorry, I had to do this again,” Maud says, looking at Trixie, who lies on the ground holding her stomach with both forelegs. “I hope I didn’t kick you too strong.”

“No…” Trixie whispers. The glow disappeared from her eyes. She looks quite miserable, but it’s not the effect of pain. She’s kinda… ashamed, I think.

“Okay, now you,” I turn to the zebras. Their weapons disappeared; they look at each other unsurely. “Get out of here and stop chasing us or I’ll tell Trixie to send you back to Bacio della Morte in a cardboard box. Really small cardboard box. Understood?”

“Understood,” says one of them. I look into his eyes. I can read in them like a book. Chapter 1: “In Which We Were Supposed to Kill Three Unarmed Mares, but Encountered a Wannabe Supervillain and a Sociopath With a Gun”.

A minute later they both run away from the farm. Vinyl and I walk downstairs. Vinyl still calms Inkie down, which involves lots of hugging and nuzzling. I help Trixie get up.

“What the hell was that?” I ask her.

“Trixie overreacted a bit.”

Overreacted a bit? Oh really? Nightmare Moon overreacted a bit a thousand years ago…

I can see Igneous and Quartz walking to us. They also look like they’re going to overreact a bit. I’m not surprised. The front wall of their house is a bit scorched, the windows are shattered and the powerful wave of arcane energy Trixie had created will probably cause their hens to lay square eggs for at least a month.

“Well, I guess you’re fired…” Maud deadpans.

Our life is in the hooves of an insane inventor, adult model with questionable political views, a town drunk, two shy lesbians, and Vinyl.

I have a plan.

Yes, you heard me right. For the first time since I, against my better judgement and common sense, went to Las Pegasus to fix Vinyl’s lock, I have a clear plan in my mind.

Actually, I also had a plan of getting the sword of Cedric Lulamoon out of the castle, but you remember how that ended. This plan, however, is different. It will totally work.

No, I’m not gonna tell you about it. You’ll see it when I do it, right? Telling you about it now would be redundant, not to mention that if I did, it’d probably backfire horribly. And I’m done making plans on the spot.

So, here I am, eating a quarray eel with my parents, Vinyl, Trixie, Inkie, Hexie, and Coco. I have nothing against some proteins, actually. Vinyl also had worse things in her mouth, but Coco apparently has a problem with eating something that was alive, even if it had teeth that could bite her arse off. Or maybe the stories Vinyl is telling are that nausea-inducing.

“... and then I said, ‘man, how come you have two?’ and he told me that it was some freaky genetic mutation and he bought me a drink and then I told him that I’ve never had anypony who’d have two and that it was probably the only occasion, so we went to the–”

“Reminds me of kangaroos,” my father says, wiping eel’s fat from his moustache. “They have three.”

“Male kangaroos?” Vinyl smiles widely. Or maybe she's just checking if her mouth could handle it.

“Nope, the sheilas,” my father replies.

Vinyl is still smiling, counting something on her hooves. “That’d make... lots of possibilities...”

My father smiles. “I still wonder why you didn’t marry my son...”

“I praise the princesses everyday because of that,” my mom adds. Honestly, I agree with her. My sister-in-law is a bitch, but at least she’s not a pony who got banned from the zoo after a rather interesting experiment involving magic and elephant’s private parts.

“Trixie also thinks it’s not something we should discuss while eating,” Trixie says, staring at something on her plate. Coco nods. Her face is a bit greenish.

“What is a kangaroo?” Inkie asks.

“Hmm...” My father scratches his head, staring at her like he used to stare at me when I got an F in Equestrian Literature. “Have you seen a zebra?”

“Yeah,” Inkie replies. “It was smashed by a rock, but I generally know how a zebra looks like.”

“So, a kangaroo is not similar to zebra at all,” my father says. “It can kick you like my daughter when she’s mad, though my daughter looks slightly better, I think.”

“Thanks, dad,” I mutter. “Somepony else has a way to embarrass me further?”

Vinyl smiles widely. “How about that one time when you almost died and lost control over your–”

“That was a rhetorical question, cocklicker...” I reply, glaring at Vinyl.

“Minuette!” My mother exclaims. “Stop speaking like a zhlub!”

“Yeah,” Vinyl leans over the table to pat my mother’s back. “You tell her, mommy...”

“Mom, I’m twenty eight...” I say, groaning. “Also, Vinyl is–”

“An idiot, nafka, and retarded shiksa, yes,” my mother says, pushing Vinyl back on her seat with her magic. “But it doesn’t mean that you have to be like her. Why don’t you stay with nice ponies, like Beatrix or that little girl here.” She looks at Inkie, who blushes. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Incredentia Minerva Pie,” Inkie replies. “But you can call me Inkie.”

“By the way,” my father says, looking at Trixie who probably wonders whether to scold my mother for calling her “Beatrix” or keep a low profile. “Beatrix totally looks like that cunt who enslaved the whole town last year...”

“That was Tri... my twin sister!” Trixie exclaims, almost choking on her food. “She’s slightly, you know...”

“Retarded,” Vinyl prompts.

“So are you,” my mother deadpans and turns to Hexie. “At least this one here looks intelligent... Maybe because she doesn’t speak at all.”

Hexie shrugs. We ran out of “fuel” long time ago, so the only way to talk to her is to suddenly start speaking Pferdisch, Ponish, or Prench. “Nic nie verstehen,” she says. “Totalnie.”

My mother raises her eyebrows. “Trzeba było tak od razu...”

To everypony’s surprise, they start talking quickly in Ponish and I recall slowly that I have an aunt in Ponyland. Yay. Seems that I’m the only one linguistically retarded in the family. I mean, I know Pferdisch a bit and the dialect of kangaroos (my father’s fault. Also, it's not that hard – one just have to have a powerful kick), but, as you can see, my own mother tops me in that matter.

“I think I’ll go home,” I say. “Girls...”

“Hexie will stay with us,” my mother says. “And you said that your friend Grace Manewitz will come here too, right?”

“Right,” I say, glad that I’ll only have to find a way to house Vinyl, Trixie, Inkie, and Coco in my house. Vinyl on the floor, Trixie on the couch, Inkie and Coco on something that can be cleaned easily...

We walk out of the house and see Grace walking towards us. “Hello,” she says. “Octavia’s going to Canterlot, Photo’s going to Manehattan, Aryanne will sleep in her airship. I’m done.”

“Good,” I say, staring at the evening sky. “There should be some eel left. My mother found a common language with Hexie, so she stays with you. You’ll probably be sleeping in my old room, so you’d better not look under the bed. And remember what I told you about the thin walls.”

“Of course,” Grace says.

“By the way,” I mutter. “What do you mean by ‘Aryanne will sleep in her airship’? Did she pulled it out of the lake?”

“One of the ponies from the town helped her,” Grace replies.

“Pink, blonde mane, cherries on her flank, slightly insane?” I ask. “Aryanne won’t recognise her airship after she pimps it out...”

“That’s her problem, not mine.” Grace shrugs. “Gonna go. I heard something about the eel...”

We say goodbye to her and walk through Ponyville. It’s quite dark and most of the ponies are in their houses. I wonder if I wasn’t evicted yet. But hell, I have money, so I can–

“Hey, maybe we’ll visit a pub?” Vinyl asks, interrupting my train of thoughts.

“No,” I say. “We have to wake up early tomorrow.”

“Is that a part of the plan?”

“Yes.”

“You should tell us more about the plan,” Trixie says. “After all, Trixie is supposed to go to you to Las Pegasus, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll go to those guys while Vinyl and–”

“Inkie! It’s you!”

“Oh crap...” I mutter.

“Inkie!” Pinkie Pie shouts, tackling her sister. “My Pinkie Sense was just telling me that one of my sisters is in the town, but I thought it was impossible, since Maud was going to–” She is interrupted when Inkie pins her to the ground.

“Don’t forget that you have three sisters,” Inkie says.

“You got stronger.” Pinkie nods, apparently not caring about the fact that Inkie is strangling her.

“I’m training.” Inkie smiles. “You should train more too...” Before she can tell something more, Pinkie slides from under her and throws her on the ground.

“I prefer dexterity over blunt force,” Pinkie says, smiling.

“Dexterity? Body mass, I think...” Inkie mutters.

Pinkie lets her go and helps her up. “So, will you stay with me at the Sugarcube Corner tonight?” she asks.

“Sure,” Inkie says. “But my marefriend...”

“You have a marefriend?” Pinkie exclaims, waving her hooves. “Cool! I always knew you were into fillies! Who is the lucky one?”

Inkie raises her eyebrows. “Was I... that obvious?”

Vinyl chuckles. “Girl, your closet was as transparent as contents of my head...”

“Shit...” Inkie mutters to my shock. “Anyway... Pinkie, meet Coco.”

“Oh! You’re that girl who works for Rarity!” Pinkie exclaims, hugging Coco. “That calls for a party! We should get the girls and–”

“A party?” Vinyl asks. “May I join you?”

“You? Always,” Pinkie says. “Just don’t bring that white powder again...”

Before I can protest, they walk away, leaving me with Trixie. Just great. I smack my forehead and hiss in pain – before I went to my parents, I visited the hospital to have it stitched. It went without complications, apart from an argument with a runty nurse. I’d totally win with her, but then I saw that she’d apparently stuck a thermometer in Rarity’s arse. Seeing that, I ran away to the trauma ward. I’m not Vinyl, putting random stuff in my rectum doesn’t give me a ladyboner.

Okay, maybe a bit.

Anyway, my forehead is now stitched and I have to deal with Trixie being in my house. We walk to it and I open the door, inviting her inside.

The room is a bit dusty, but still, I’m home. Alive. Not insane. With all legs still in their places. Not pregnant.

Trixie winces looking at it, but quickly sits on the couch, puts the sword of Cedric Lulamoon on the table and rests her hooves on it.

“Hey!” I exclaim. “Wash your hooves first!”

“Trixie is tired,” Trixie replies. “Do we have something to eat?”

“You just ate,” I say.

Trixie sighs and pats her flank. “A good figure needs maintaining,” she replies. “And Trixie prefers to eat whenever there’s an occasion. Who knows when she’ll get some food again...”

“Tonight you’ll dine in Tartarus if you piss me off...” I mutter. “And get your hooves off my table. Two stallions sandwiched me on it.” It’s not exactly true. My ex and his brother made me a sandwich once and put it on this table. But Trixie doesn’t have to know.

Trixie immediately takes her hooves off the table. “How about that couch?” she asks. “Trixie would rather sleep in bed. Her back is killing her...”

“I never did anything on the couch,” I reply. “But the bed... You could probably make a PhD in biology examining everything that was ever spilled on the mattress...” It’s mostly my drinks and sometimes certain bodily fluids (if I was too lazy to get the tissues), but again, Trixie doesn’t have to know.

“Okay, Trixie will get the couch,” she mutters. “How about the shower?”

“Oh, shower is safe,” I reply, mainly because I don’t want her to stink. After all, she doesn’t have to know what Vinyl did to my shower. “It’s upstairs, by the way.”

“Great,” Trixie says, darting upstairs.

“Watch out for my rollerskates,” I mutter.

“Aargh!”

“You okay, Trixie?” I ask, walking to the stairs.

“Yeah. I levitated myself.” Trixie replies. “It slowed down the fall a bit.”

“Slowed down?” I ask. “Most of the ponies are able to levitate themselves at least for a few seconds.”

“Trixie was eating a bit too much recently...”

Of course. I get some pillow and blanket for Trixie while she takes a shower, then I shower too and go to my bedroom. Good, old bed. Good, old collection of porn under it. I’d make some use of it, but right now I’m too tired. I look out of the window to see what time it is on the clock on the tower and wind up my alarm clock according to it. Then I lie in my bed and fall asleep.

Suddenly, I’m woken up by a scream. I open my eyes and look at the alarm clock. 3 AM. I hear another scream and sound of a magic beam firing. What the hell is Trixie doing there?

I walk out of my room and trot downstairs. Trixie is not on the couch, but when I look around, I see that the light in the kitchen is on. I grab the Cedric Lulamoon’s sword from the table and run there.

Trixie is sitting on the floor in front of the fridge. There some spider-like creature lying on the floor between them, charred and apparently dead. I poke it with the sword, but it doesn’t move.

“What the hay is that?” I ask.

“Trixie doesn’t know,” Trixie replies. “Trixie went to get a late snack and it was in the fridge...”

Just great. There’s an alien civilisation in my fridge. Sometimes I just love this town. I open the fridge and look inside. There’s nothing strange in here, except of the fact that anything that contained hay disappeared. There are still eggs left, but they are here since I’ve left to Las Pegasus. I guess we’ll eat something on the train.

“Okay, since you’re done playing the monster slayer, I’m going back to sleep,” I say, levitating the Fridge Horror from the floor and throwing it out of the window.

I sleep for the rest of the night without any disturbances. In the morning, I walk out of the house to check if everything is ready. Trixie is still sleeping, but I don’t wake her up. We still have some time before our train arrives.

My first destination is Berry Punch’s house. It used to be closer to mine, but now, after a freaky incident involving a love potion, it’s near the Carousel Boutique, so it takes me a while to get there.

I push the door, but it’s locked. For a while I think about getting my tools and opening it, but then I remember that I’m in Ponyville, not in Prance or any other place where I’m known as a burglar. Instead, I choose a polite option and knock on the door.

“Who’s there?” I hear a voice that definitely doesn’t belong to Berry. “If you’re one of my mom’s drinking buddies, you will be shot.”

For a while I wonder if I count as Berry’s drinking buddy. Let’s hope not. “It’s me, Ruby!” I exclaim. “Auntie Minuette.”

The door opens. Ruby is levitating a BB gun I gave her for her birthday. “Hello,” she says. “Mom ain’t home.”

“First off, don’t aim at me if you don’t want to shoot me,” I say, pushing the gun to the side. “Second thing, it’s ‘mom isn’t home'. Third thing, did you train like I told you?”

“I couldn’t, since Dinky shot herself in the ass,” Ruby replies. “Mom took my pellets away.”

“She shot herself in the ass?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “How is that even possible?”

“Don’t ask me, it’s Dinky.” Ruby sighs. “Do you know what she did with a potato yesterday? Sparkler had to take her to the hospital.”

I can kinda imagine. From what I know about Dinky, she’s kinda like Vinyl, except Vinyl already did the most stupid things in her life and she doesn’t have to prove anything.

“Anyway, where’s Berry?” I ask.

“She’s with auntie Cherry,” Ruby replies. “And auntie Cherry is in her workshop. She dragged that airship there and is now holding the owner hostage or something.”

“What?” To think about it, Cherry Berry would be capable of doing that. But on the other hoof, Aryanne doesn’t seem like somepony who’d let anyone take them without a fight. “I’d better go to them,” I say. “Come to me later, we’ll discuss philosophy while shooting empty cans, okay?”

“Sure,” Ruby says.

While I’m walking away, I wonder if I’ll be able to keep the promise. After all, I’m going to meet the mafia boss whose cousin already tried to kill me. He is dumb, of course, but still he has a lot of armed sidekicks who probably didn’t forget that I bit off an ear of one of them, fried the balls of a few more, and caused one of them to get hit by a carriage. I really hope my plan works, or else they’ll send my head back to Ponyville in a cardboard box.

As I approach Cherry’s workshop, I can hear loud voices coming from the inside. I can also see the damaged airship standing next to it – without hydrogen, with one engine gondola missing and the other cut to ribbons by debris, it looks rather pathetic. Also, there are some parts scattered around, which look like elements taken from the cockpit. The hatch in the front, hiding a howitzer, is open, with some colourful wires protruding from it.

The door of Cherry’s house opens and I see Berry Punch walking towards me. “Hello,” she says. “How’s your plan?”

“Good, I think,” I reply. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure she understood,” Berry replies. “She’s too busy trying to get as much money from that blonde genetic experiment as she can.” She leans closer to me. “I checked. It’s big enough.”

“Great,” I say. “I’ll talk to Cherry.” I smile at Berry reassuringly and walk inside of Cherry’s workshop.

“... this flying thingy needs reworking, if you wanna use it in a battle, Kendra, I’m telling you.” Cherry Berry pats Aryanne’s back.

“I’m Aryanne.” Aryanne mutters, rolling her eyes. Good luck with that one. Cherry is incapable of remembering anypony’s name, and she certainly doesn’t listen to anything that is not connected to “flying thingies”.

“Anyway, Eva, who thought that unshielded fuel pipes were a good idea?” Cherry Berry shakes her head. “One shoot and kaboom, you’re a million teeny tiny pieces of tissue falling to the ground like a red, salty rain. I’ll fix that for you. And forget about those shitty Griffonian engines, I’ll make them much better, just give me this one you’ve got and I’ll make it fly faster than sound.”

“Is zat safe?” Aryanne asks.

“I have no idea!” Cherry Berry shrugs. “And then, Gertrude, we’ll paint the whole thing red.”

“Red?” Aryanne’s eye twitches. “Why?”

“The red ones go faster!” Cherry Berry exclaims.

I clear my throat. Cherry Berry looks at me. “Aquafresh!” she exclaims. Long time no see! Do you know that some batty bastard stole my helicopter? I went to him and tried to beat the crap out of him. I got the helicopter back, but it was all bent and had some bat pony all over it.”

I smile sheepishly. “And how is your new helicopter? Ready to fly?”

“Totally,” Cherry replies. “With all the thingies I got, it’s perfectly flyable.” She smiles a bit too wide for my liking and hugs Aryanne, who shudders and nearly passes out. “And with the money I get from my little friend Helga, I’ll soon build the second one!”

“Why is she doing zat?” Aryanne asks. “Und why is she speaking like she’s völlig bekloppt?”

“It’s ze sound of progress, mein friend,” I reply. Somehow, her accent rubs off on me.

“I don’t want zat progress...” Aryanne whispers.

Cherry Berry seems to be blind to her Weltschmerz. “I need to get some fabric. Lots of fabric.” She freezes for a moment, listening to something outside and runs from the workshop. We follow her, in case she grabs an axe and goes on a murderous rampage around Ponyville.

I sometimes wonder if the titanium plate in Cherry’s skull somehow affects her hearing. She somehow heard that Rarity is walking by the workshop, accompanied by some tall, white unicorn. I think she’s a model or something.

“Hey, you!” Cherry exclaims, running to Rarity. She bumps into the taller unicorn and points to the airship. “See this big, dick-shaped, blowy-balloon-thingy? Need fabric. Lots of fabric. Enough to make a second thing like that. Waterproof, wind-resistant, fireproof, idiotproof, everything-proof. Red. Like, now.”

Rarity helps her companion up, whispering something that sounds like, “I’m sorry, it’s a village idiot.” Then, she looks at the airship and her eyes start to shine. Perhaps she’s counting how much the fabric will cost.

“Aryanne, run!” I exclaim, only to see that Aryanne is not next to me. I look around and see her standing next to Rarity’s companion.

“Fleur Dis Lee!” Aryanne exclaims. “I am your biggest fan!”

"Qui est cette pouliche et pourquoi essaye-t-elle de me lécher les sabots?" Fleur asks.

“I’m a model too,” Aryanne replies. “And I sink white unicorns are ze master race. I’m a unicorn too. At heart.”

Fleur backpedals slowly, staring at Rarity who is busy calculating the amount of fabric needed. I think I’ll better go. I have a train to catch.

I look at the view behind the window, slowly changing from the fields and meadows surrounding Ponyville to much rougher, deserted landscape. Luckily, our compartment is empty, so we don’t have to explain why one of us has something that looks like a sword wrapped in gift paper in her saddlebags. And that doesn’t even cover the rest of my luggage.

“Do you think they will show up in time?” Trixie asks.

“I’m asking myself the same question, actually,” I reply, realising suddenly that I’m playing idly with a shotgun cartridge that slipped from my saddlebags. I hide it back there. The conductor could’ve gotten suspicious. “On one hoof, Grace is with them. On the other, our life is in the hooves of an insane inventor, adult model with questionable political views, a town drunk, two shy lesbians, and Vinyl. What can possibly go wrong?”

Trixie looks at me, wide-eyed. “Trixie is going to write her last will.”

“May I ask you who’ll be lucky enough to inherit your stuff?” I ask. Not that I’m very interested in that. The road to Las Pegasus is simply that long.

“Trixie will bequeath all her debts to Twilight Sparkle.”

“You have no debts,” I say. “One-third of all the money hidden in that old mine is yours.”

“Then Trixie will give them to orphans,” Trixie replies. “And then she’ll give her cape and hat to Twilight Sparkle. How about you?”

I shrug. “No idea. Guess I’d share it between Inkie and Ruby Pinch. Kids need to have some fun.”

“Ruby Pinch?”

“Berry’s daughter. Annoying little brat, but she’s gonna grow up to be like–”

“You?” Trixie asks. “No way. There’s no way somepony can be a worse vagina than you. Except Vinyl, but she’s annoying in a completely different way.”

I give her a nasty look. “Then why did you even agreed to work with her? When I got there, you were already in her toilet.”

“Trixie needed money.” Trixie smiles sheepishly.

“Trixie should’ve known that stealing is bad and stealing money from mafia is super bad,” I say. “Since you can end up in a griffonian restaurant. In the stew.”

“Trixie knows...” She sighs. “Trixie just wanted to settle down...”

“... get a husband, build a house, give birth to triplets referring to themselves in third person?” I ask.

“No. Trixie thought about some business. A theatre or a casino...”

Before I can imagine Trixie as a casino owner, the door to the compartment opens and two stallions walk in. They’re twins, pale yellow guys with red manes. One of them has a badass moustache, the other doesn’t.

“Hello, dear ladies,” the one with the moustache says. “May we propose you buying something?”

“We have almost everything,” the other one says, levitating a wire hanger. “May I interest you with–”

“I’m not pregnant,” I say. “Nor is my friend. She just looks like that.”

“Blow me,” Trixie mutters through gritted teeth.

“A propos,” the moustache guy says. “We have fans. Ideal for the desert this train will be riding through.”

“No, thanks,” I say. “Do you have a delay-action fuse?”

“Fifty bits,” the guy without the moustache says.

“Forty,” I say. Seeing that they open their mouths, I add, “I’ll give you fifty if you have some 12 gauge shotgun cartridges.” I still have some, but they are Vinyl’s and I don’t trust them.

“That’s sixty bits per box!” the one with the moustache protests.

“Forty five,” I reply. You know, I learned to bargain from my mother. “Forty for the fuse; that makes eighty five. Since I buy two things, I’ll pay you seventy five.”

“That’s–”

“Seventy five and I won’t blow this train up, okay?” I mutter.

“Okay,” the brother without moustache says, levitating the cartridges and the fuse. “If you need something, ask for Flim and Flam.” They take the money and retreat quickly.

“Which of them was Flim and which was Flam?” Trixie asks.

“Who knows. Go and ask them, if you really need to.”

“Do you think they’ll tell someone that you threatened to blow up the train?” Trixie looks into the corridor.

“First they’d have to tell them that they’re walking around selling ammunition and bomb parts,” I reply, watching the cartridge I got from them. It’s in a bit better state than those I got with Vinyl’s shotgun. Then I stare at the fuse. It’s one of those truly evil models that explode five seconds before the clock goes to zero. Batteries not included.

“So, what will you do if we survive?” Trixie asks. “With the money, I mean?”

“Spend everything on vodka and bi–” I think for a while. “Or maybe, invest it in Cherry’s inventions. Then, I’ll get ten times more money and spend it on vodka and bitches.”

“How about gambling?” Trixie asks. “I hope you’ll be a frequent guest in Trixie’s casino...”

“Sure...” I mutter. Trixie doesn’t have to know that, since I’m an engineer, numbers are basically my life. Few days of me playing blackjack in her casino and she’d be homeless again. Unless, of course, she hired a bunch of Diamond Dogs, who’d beat the crap out of counting guys.

“If we survive, Trixie’s gonna go to the casino,” Trixie says. “She’ll get drunk and lose some bits...”

“I’m not sure if they’ll let us inside any casino,” I reply. “Not after the stunt we’re about to pull off.”

Somepony knocks at the door. Maybe those two idiots again? Or maybe guards? I stuff the cartridges into my saddlebags and stand up to open the door. On a second thought, I discreetly levitate the shotgun out of the saddlebags. The look Trixie is giving me tells me that I’m not that discreet.

I open the door to our compartment. Behind them, there is a pale yellow, ginger-maned filly scout. She takes a deep breath and says, “Goodmorningma’amdoyouwanttobuycookiesthreebitsforaboxitsfora–” She pauses to take another breath and notices the shotgun I’m trying to hide behind my back rather unsuccessfully.

I look at Trixie, who is sweating and smiling sheepishly at the filly scout who is standing in front of us like a deer in the headlights of an incoming freight train.

“How much fat do they have?” Trixie asks.

“No cholesterol,” the filly scout replies. At least she started to speak slower, though it may have something to do with hyperventilation. “Except Trios, which have fifteen grams and Toffee-tastic, which have ten. But Trios are gluten-free...”

“Shi... That is, Trixie means, oh bother,” Trixie says. “Two boxes of Toffee-tastic, then.”

“Two boxes of peanut butter patties,” I say and give the poor filly scout thirty bits. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you,” the filly scout whispers, gives us the cookies and runs away.

I hide the shotgun in my saddlebags, sit in my seat, and open the box with cookies. Now with less trans fats, huh? I’m gonna be healthy.

“Wait,” Trixie says, opening her cookies and levitating two into her mouth. “You bargained with those two guys and then gave a filly thirty bits for cookies worth twelve?”

I levitate a cookie and take a bite. “I gather good karma,” I reply. “Also, it was extra money for her bravery. She didn’t left the floor mess after seeing the shotgun.”

“You’re telling Trixie that because you don’t want Trixie to eat all the cookies, don’t you?” Trixie sighs.

“Kinda.” I reply. We stop on some station in the middle of the desert. Some old lady walks into our carriage and puts a cat on my knees. She has two other cats in a basket next to her.

“Umm... Good morning!” Trixie exclaims, but the granny doesn’t seem to acknowledge her existence. She opens the basket with her five cats and cooes at them.

“Trixie is allergic to cats,” Trixie mutters.

“You’re Trixie?” the granny asks me and takes her cat from me. It joins the other ten cats playing on the floor.

“She’s Trixie,” I reply. “I’m not allergic to cats.”

“Then why did she–”

“It’s the question of the century,” I say, watching fifteen cats apparently trying to fuck each other. Trixie looks at her cookies unsurely, her face a bit green.

The old mare doesn’t reply, too busy trying to make her twenty cats stop following the call of nature. Trixie sighs and eats a cookie anyway.

“So, why are you going to Las Pegasus?” I ask when the cats are back in the basket. There are, like, thirty of them there, even though I feel it’s not scientifically possible. The cats, however, have probably never heard of science.

“I got my pension,” the mare replies. “I’m going to have some fun.”

“And what about those cats?” Trixie asks and coughs.

“Well, I usually leave them with my husband, but last time he died and they ate him,” the old mare says. “But I’m still collecting his pension, so it’s okay.”

“Trixie doesn’t feel well,” Trixie mutters, staring at the cats, who stare back at her. Some of them are licking their lips.

“I was joking.” The mare laughs. “He got hit by a train fifty years ago.”

“That must’ve been painful,” Trixie mutters.

“I don’t think so. It was quick,” the mare replies, stroking one of her cats. “Not to mention that I inherited his money.”

“And what did you do with them?” Trixie asks before I can give her a warning look. If that mare learns that we have money, we may “accidentally” get hit by a train.

“I spent everything on cats,” the mare replies. “Hey, it seems that we’re close to Las Pegasus.”

Twenty minutes later, the train stops on the large railway station. Like all the stations, it looks awful, but at least has toilets. We grab our luggage and walk to one of them. We pay two bits each for the right to do anything we want there and we lock ourselves in a stall.

“Okay,” I say, levitating the piece of C4 I got from the bomb in the airship. I attach the fuse to it. “Stage one: we get some batteries for that, you cast the invisibility spell–”

“Unnoticeability spell,” Trixie mutters. “You’re still visible, just not noticeable.”

“Nevermind,” I say. “You’ll take it for a walk to della Morte’s safe and hide it somewhere there. I’ll wait for you and then we’ll go and give the sword to him.”

“Sure,” Trixie replies. “Trixie will be right back.”

“Take care,” I say. I walk out of the stall. Trixie stays inside.

“What?” she asks. “Trixie needs to, umm... you know...” She locks the door.

Oh yeah. If it was a movie, we’d visit a toilet only to buy drugs, sell drugs, build a bomb, fight a troll, or patch ourselves up after fighting ten thousand ninjas. But since it’s life, we sometimes have to use the toilet in a way it’s supposed to be used.

Speaking of which, I’ll visit the stall too. I paid two bits, I don’t want to waste them.

I hate waiting.

I take a sip of my coffee and look around the small bar opposite of Bacio della Morte’s skyscraper. Trixie is still not back; she’d put a spell on herself and disappeared, leaving me in that crappy place, drinking crappy coffee and wondering if everything in the plan goes smoothly. If not, we’re already–

“Right behind you.”

I shudder, barely stopping myself from punching the air behind me. “Trixie!” I hiss. “Don’t sneak on me like you were going to stab me!”

“Okay,” Trixie mutters. “Can you go out of here? Trixie can’t drop the spell without creeping out the patrons.”

“Oh, come on,” I whisper. “Make a flash like with teleportation...”

The flash nearly blinds me, but I can see Trixie appearing. Well, “appearing” is not the best word. Once she’s visible, I realise that she was behind me all the time, blending with the background. She sits at the table.

“So, how was it?” I ask. “Did you plant it in the safe?”

“Better,” Trixie replies. “They have a meth lab there. They’ll never find it there.”

“Great,” I say. “Time for phase two...”

I push the door of the skyscraper open with my magic and walk to the receptionist’s desk. My hoofsteps echo through the corridor. Trixie is walking behind me. She levitates the sword out of her saddlebags and unwraps it.

“Lead us to your boss,” I say to the receptionists a pink, bubblegum-chewing mare, who looks at the sword raising her eyebrows.

“Do it swiftly, and we shall not behead thee,” Trixie adds.

I give her a nasty look. “What did I tell you about possessing your descendants, old fart?”

“Forgive me, fair maiden,” Trixie replies. “I shall now leave madame Beatrix alone.” Trixie blinks. “What the hell just happened?” she asks.

The receptionists pushes some red button on her desks. “There are two freaks here who wants to get to Mr. della Morte,” she says. “I’d kick them out, but they have a really big fucking sword and I’m not gonna risk my life for two bits per hour.”

“Let them in,” someone says from the speaker. In the background, I can hear the sound of the guns being loaded. So much for a friendly exchange.

“May I get the microphone?” I ask.

“Soon you’ll talk to Mr. della Morte personally,” the receptionists replies.

“Or I’ll tell Trixie to skin you...” I mutter. Trixie waves her sword and almost cuts off her own tail.

“Okay,” the receptionist replies and gives me the microphone.

“Listen, mate,” I say. “We’re coming to you unarmed. We’ll give you the sword and fuck off once and for all. Tell your colts with guns that we don’t wanna see them or else things will get nasty.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bacio della Morte replies. “Go to the elevator.”

We walk to the elevator. The door close behind us and we ride up. Trixie lifts the sword while I grab the shotgun from my saddlebags and load it. I hope I’m gonna send a few guys to Tartarus before they change us into oatmeal.

The elevator stops and the door opens. Nopony shoots at us, so we walk out of it. There’s a desk in the middle of the room and I feel that we’re standing on the very expensive carpet. Behind the desk there’s a really big window, just like I thought. I can see the back of the armchair. Fucking villain antics.

“Why so nervous?” Bacio della Morte asks, turning with his armchair to face us. “We’re here to make a deal, right?”

“Yeah.” I lower the shotgun. “We’ll leave you the sword and fuck off, just like I said. Trixie?”

Trixie walks to the desk and puts the sword on it. She’s about to turn back and go to the elevator, when we hear the sound of at least twenty guns being raised.

“You didn’t think I’d let you go after my cousin got arrested, did you?” Bacio della Morte asks. Twenty mooks surround us slowly.

“You’ll regret shooting us,” I say.

“Why?”

“Umm... because your guys will shoot each other while shooting us?” Trixie raises her eyebrows.

“Shut up, your Vinyl is showing,” I say. “Listen, mate, remember that piece of C4 your cousin left in the airship? It’s now in your precious meth lab.”

“So?” Bacio della Morte asks. Geez, this guy is a really slow thinker.

“It’s fully armed,” I reply. “We either leave unharmed, or your meth lab will be all over the place, for every cop to see.”

“Clever.” Bacio nods. “But still, we can find it before killing you.”

“That’s not what gentlecolts do,” I say.

“Do I look like a gentlecolt to you?”

“Well, judging by the fact that you have a meth lab, lots of money from uncertain sources, your cousin sent a bunch of cunts to blow us up, and you don’t want to leave us alone even though we brought this ancient piece of junk to you, I must admit that you’re a common arsehole with manners and taste of a pimp from some shithole in the middle of the desert, not a gentlecolt. Oh, and you fucked Vinyl, which means that you don’t really care about quality...”

“How can you know that?” Bacio della Morte asks, raising his eyebrows. His mooks look at him and shrug. Their expressions cause everyone whose IQ is higher than their horseshoe size to pity them.

“My brother told me,” I reply. I hear a familiar noise in the background. I only need to buy more time...

“How does he know?” Bacio asks.

“He was there before you,” I reply. “Just like half of the stallions in Equestria. And many mares. Though, to think about it, I’m surprised that Vinyl wanted you. Her standards are usually higher.”

“Can we shoot them, sir?” one of the mooks asks.

“Not yet,” Bacio della Morte replies. “How dare you? We loved each other...”

“If she loved you, she wouldn’t ask Trixie and me to help her steal your money,” I say, smiling and waving my shotgun.

Trixie backpedals slightly. “Trixie didn’t know what she was getting herself into...” she mutters.

“Bullshit!” I exclaim. All the guns are aiming at me, but I’m laughing because I hear the sound of the helicopter rotor behind the window. It gets louder and louder. Soon, the aircraft shows up.

It’s the biggest helicopter Cherry built so far. It looks even more menacing with the autocannon and the howitzer from Aryanne’s airship duct-taped to it. Cherry herself is piloting it. Aryanne is sitting behind the howitzer, megaphone in her hooves. Good. Her accent is more menacing.

I don’t get, however, why did they gave Vinyl the autocannon. This idiot can shoot everypony in the room, Trixie and me included. Maybe, unlike Inkie, Hexie, Grace, Berry Punch, Coco, and Octavia, she was unable to pedal.

“Okay, fokkers,” Aryanne says to the megaphone. “Now, you vill leave Minuette and Trixie alone, drop your veapons, and lie dovn on ze floor or ve vill change zis room into ze Schlachthof. Verstehen?”

“I don’t verstehen,” Bacio della Morte says.

“If anypony in this room shoots, they’ll shoot too,” I reply. “And they can bring the whole building down, you know.”

I don’t tell him that it’s just a theory. If they fired a howitzer, the recoil would probably tear the duct tape and cause the weapon to make a really big, Aryanne-shaped hole in the helicopter.

“So, what do you want?” Bacio asks me.

“I want you to give up,” I reply. “The guards will probably notice this whole shitstorm soon. And frankly, we don’t trust a shit like you enough to leave you free.”

“They have no proof,” Bacio says. “I’m a humble casino owner.”

“Your guys hold us at a gunpoint, there’s a stolen sword in this room, and Trixie planted a bomb in your meth lab,” I say. “They’ll find something.”

“My lawyers–”

Vinyl has enough. She grabs the megaphone from Aryanne. “Listen, jackass!” she yells, almost breaking the window with the raw volume of her voice. “You’re the worst piece of manure I have ever gotten fucked by. Including an actual piece of manure that cost me a month in the hospital. And you weren’t even that good. Hell, even that cunt that works at the reception desk for two bits per hour was better than you. She ate me so hard that her gum stuck inside of–”

“Vinyl!” Grace exclaims.

“Okay, okay, I’m shutting up,” Vinyl mutters.

“As you can see, mate, you have no other choice,” I say. “So, are you gonna give up, or will we wait for the guards.”

Bacio della Morte shakes his head. “I can always take you with me...” he says. Some of his henchponies are still aiming at us, while the rest aims at the helicopter.

“Umm... guys?” Trixie mutters. “M-maybe we’ll negotiate? You probably don’t want to die for him and this is what will happen if anypony here pulls the trigger.”

“We’re his family,” one of the mooks says. “A family always stays together.”

“Crap,” Trixie mutters under her breath. “Trixie’s not joking. Our friends are total nutjobs and they’ll not hesitate to massacre everypony...”

Vinyl nods and aims her autocannon exactly at her ex’s head. I wonder if she knows that it was designed to shoot at big targets, such as other airships. As such, its sights are rather rudimentary.

“And who’s fucked now?” Bacio della Morte asks and takes the sword from the desk. When he touches it, his body twitches as if he was electroshocked. He blinks and raises the sword.

“Don’t get us killed, old fart...” I whisper, closing my eyes. Soon, however, I open them.

“Gentlecolts!” Bacio della Morte exclaims, waving the sword and looking at his guards. “Lower thy weapons. We shall find a peaceful solution to this Gordian knot!”

“So, are we giving up, boss?” one of the ponies asks.

“Nay!” Bacio shouts. “We are just going to retreat and think of a new battle plan! But we shall come back stronger and defeat those filthy peasants!”

Some of the thugs lower their guns. Some of them, however, still aim at us. It’s kinda uncomfortable, especially since Trixie uses me as a pony shield. What a coward.

“I don’t think so, boss,” the most stubborn thug mutters. “We can just shoot all of them. We have, like...” For a moment he counts something. “Many more guns.”

Oh, come on! If this guy had a child with Vinyl, their kid would be so dumb it’d need headphones with “inhale, exhale” recorded on the tape, or else it’d forget to breathe.

Bacio della Morte (or maybe Cedric Lulamoon?) probably thinks the same. He swings his sword so the blade stops an inch from the thug’s neck. “Those who oppose their commander shall be beheaded!” he exclaims.

The thug drops his weapon immediately. Bacio turns to the window, smiling triumphantly.

“What’s going on?” Trixie whispers to me.

“Your ancestor possessed Bacio and saved our sorry flanks,” I reply. “But it’ll only last till he puts the sword back.”

“Trixie thinks we’d better go away,” Trixie mutters.

We’re about to go back to the elevator, when I hear the sound of flapping wings. Like, a lot of wings.

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS!” someone yells through the megaphone. “MY NAME IS FLITTER, A CAPTAIN OF THE EQUESTRIAN ARMY AND I’M HERE TO ARREST YOU ALL!”

Several pegasi in full body armours break the window and tackle Bacio della Morte and his thugs. The sword falls out of the mafioso’s hoof and lands before me.

“What’s going on?” Bacio della Morte asks Cloudchaser. Instead of a reply, she closes cuffs on his forelegs. “My lawyer–”

“Your lawyer will shit himself when he hears about this,” Cloudchaser replies.

“Hey, you! In that flying blender!” Flitter exclaims. “Land and give up! You’re surrounded!”

“Blow me!” Cherry Berry replies. “I have the big shooting thingy which is bigger than your big shooting thingy!”

“I’m sorry for my friend,” Grace says, stealing the megaphone from Vinyl. “She has a plate in her skull that makes her dumb. Of course we’ll land and give up.”

“Hey!” Blossomforth exclaims, pointing at me. “This one is armed!”

Two pegasi tackle me and Trixie and cuff us. Blossomforth lands before us. “They’re similar to those two who stole Cedric Lulamoon’s sword in Prance...”

“You let us,” I mutter. “What the fuck, Blossomforth?”

“Shh.” Blossomforth leans to me. “Internal regulations.”

“So, you’re going to arrest us too?” I ask.

“Not for long, Minuette, not for long...” She winks at me.

And this is how the story ended. They brought us to the station, put me in a cell with Vinyl and Trixie and left to fill out the documents. After a few hours, they released us. Just in time, since Vinyl wanted me to make her a prison tattoo. She ended up with a hoof-shaped bruise on her ass.

Anyway, we were discharged, just in time to see Bacio della Morte’s lawyer losing his shit (luckily, not literally) when he heard about what his client did. Not to mention that, while we were arrested, his meth lab exploded, shooting meth around – roughly ten hours before the time I’d set. The guards almost came when they saw this. Finally, they had a proof that Bacio was a dealer.

On our way back from Las Pegasus, we told Cherry Berry to land on the rock farm. Inkie introduced Coco to her family, while Trixie, Vinyl, and I went to our stash in the old mine and shared the cash. We had to make two trips to get all this to Ponyville, actually. Inkie’s family took all this surprisingly well.

Give me some wine, my dear, I talked to you for hours and my throat is dry like dead dingo’s donger. What? You want to know what happened then? I guess you know, judging by the fact that it’s Inkie and Coco’s wedding. Trixie and I gave them the money we received as a prize for helping the guards catching Bacio della Morte. We don’t need it, and those fillies will surely find a good use for it.

What about my money? Not gonna tell you. I have some plans, but they may wait. Grace? Where are you going?

“Once the wedding is over, I’m going to the pub. Haven’t seen a nice stallion in ages. Going with me?”

Oh, sure. Once I’m done talking with those young ponies here. So, yeah... Every good story should have a moral, so... Don’t be like me. Don’t be friends with Vinyl. Don’t buy fuses from Flim and Flam. Don’t do all this things I did, or you may get arrested. Eat well. Sleep long. Have safe sex. Hey, you – this filly was looking at you whole night long. Find some quiet place to talk.

I’m leaving. I guess you now think that I exaggerated some things for the sake of storytelling, but I don’t care. See you later, guys. I hope we will see again soon.

We will, for sure.

The End

Author's Note

Trzeba było tak od razu... - You should've told me earlier...
Qui est cette pouliche et pourquoi essaye-t-elle de me lécher les sabots? - Who is that filly and why is she trying to lick my hooves? (translation by Inomsim)