Xenophobia

Tats

One Day to Employment Deadline

“… bi-i-ites, but so do I! Yeah, so do I-I…”

The radio crackled in the front of the jeep, playing an old metal track. Despite the music’s apparent age, it was unfamiliar to Raymond, who was busy double-checking the contents of the loading tarp in the back of the combat vehicle, nestled under the heavy rotary cannon.

He may not have recognized the track, but Raymond couldn’t help but tap his fingers against the vehicle’s tan chassis as he inspected its cargo.

“… r lips so pale and vicious:

you’re foaming at the mouth.

You’ve suffered in the darkness.

I’ll suck the pain right out…”

“Detcord, rifles, armor, both helmets, patched Grayle suit, explosive rounds, grenades, Jer’s guitar, Jer’s rucksack, one canister for the rotary, one EXTRA canister for the rotary, my rucks—”

“MISTER RAYMOND!”

Ray jumped, letting out a yelp that was rather unseemly for someone of his age, and turned to the source of the outburst. Three young fillies fidgeted before him, meeting his baleful glare with pleading grins and the biggest puppy dog eyes he had ever seen.

The human tried to keep up his mock glare, but failed miserably, conceding a small smile. Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo perked up immensely and the little unicorn started bouncing impatiently on her hooves.

“Well, c’mon AB! Ask him!” she whined, looking insistently at her friend.

“God help this planet if they figure out how cute they are,” Ray thought to himself, watching the display. “They could rule the world.”

“Um, Raymond?” Applebloom started, shuffling a little bit with her hooves in the dirt. “Can we ask ya somethin’?” Ray’s heart almost gave out at that, it was so damned adorable, but something wasn’t right.

“She’s nervous? That’s… odd. Oooh, this is going to be an awkward question, isn’t it?” Ray groaned inwardly. He remembered having several uncomfortable conversations with his parents about… things, and they usually ended with his dad saying something like: “And that’s how ya came outta my dick, son.”

Ray didn’t want to talk about that with a bunch of little horses. It was more along Jer’s line of expertise, really.

Wait… scratch that.

Sighing, defeated, the former armada-man hoisted himself onto the jeep’s back bumper to sit, leaning heavily on his thighs. “Ask away.”

The Crusaders grinned excitedly and Applebloom stepped forward.

“We were wonderin’, well, if it ain’t too much trouble that is, if ya could maybe—” she began before being unceremoniously cut off by Scootaloo, who looked even more impatient than Gerald when there was work to be done.

“Howd’ja get your cutie mark?”

“Whenamommyponyandadaddypon—wait, what?”

Applebloom glared at Scootaloo. “What Ah was tryin’ ta say was: we were wonderin’ if ya could tell us yer’ cutie mark story.”

Well, that was a relief. Ray took a couple deep breaths and considered the girls’ question. He knew what a cutie mark was—having listened to Scootaloo spout on and on about it to Jer over the past two days—and, like nearly everything else on this reality defying planet, Raymond chose to ignore it.

Tattoos that appear on your ass when you find something you’re good at? Bullshit.

Still, he couldn’t leave them empty-hooved. “Sorry girls, I don’t have one. Humans don’t get those kinds of things.”

“Yer lyin’!” Applebloom spouted indignantly. “Ah saw it when you were all bandaged up at Zecora’s! There was a picture on your flank!”

“Yeah! I saw it too!” Scootaloo chimed. “When you were changing in the ship, I saw a black picture on your right side!” Ray stared at the orange pegasus, perturbed that she had been watching him dress. Lack of nudity taboo aside, it was a little disconcerting. He knew exactly what they were talking about, though, and he needed to set them straight:

“That is not a cutie m—”

“Oh, come on Ray! Just show them your special talent already!” Ray glared at the source of the new voice: Jer, who had just walked back into camp with a sack of wild edibles slung over his shoulder. “Take that pole outta your ass and show ‘em!”

“You have a pole in your ass?” Sweetie Belle queried, shooting Raymond a concerned look. “Do you need to go to the hospital or something?”

“No, Sweetie,” Ray groaned, “it’s just a figure of speech.” He turned to Jer, growling at his interrupting comrade. “The one time you get me plastered you drag me to a tattoo parlor.”

“Why would Jerry cover you in drywall?” Applebloom muttered, furrowing her brow in confusion. “An’ what’s a ta-two parlor?”

“Forget I said anything,” Ray mumbled, holding his face in his hands. “Ugh, fine. I’ll show you.” He slid off the jeep’s bumper, the suspension giving a little rock back and forth, and began to undo his belt. He quickly stopped himself, remembering the age level of his audience. “I’ll uh… I’ll just draw it in the dirt.”

With the snap of a button, Raymond withdrew his Company-issued combat knife from its sheath on his belt and crouched down next to the three fillies. He jammed the blade in the ground and dug a rough outline of the tattoo he’d had done several years ago in Siam, one of the first areas completely purged of xenomorphs during the Earth Campaign. It was true he’d been drunk, but he couldn’t completely blame his friend. It had been Ray’s idea, really.

Finished.

“Uh, what is it?” Applebloom asked, tilting her head to the side to get a better view.

“S’at a banana? What’s that weird circle thingy?” Scootaloo added as she walked around to Raymond’s left side, likely trying to see it from his angle.

“Yeah, and what do those scribbles mean?” Sweetie Belle finished the line of questioning pointing a hoof at the word written in the space beneath the Ray’s picture:

מדביר

“S’Hebrew for ‘exterminator’,” Jer answered for him, mouth full of some blackberries he picked from the sack of wild eats. “It’s an old language, and has to do with his family’s beliefs.” He directed his gaze towards Raymond. “Right?”

Ray gave a brief nod. “It also means 'sanctuary'. My father taught it to me.”

“Okay, so the picture has to do with your job? What does exterminating have to do with bananas?” Scootaloo questioned, giving the humans skeptically.

“It’s a metaphor. Apparently, I think I’m really clever when I’m drunk,” Ray heaved. “The circle is a ‘crosshair’, and means that banana won’t be alive for very much longer.”

“Bananas aren’t alive, Ray,” Applebloom piped, managing to sound condescending despite the squeakiness of her voice. “Ponies don’t eat living things.”

“Well, if we’re gonna get into technicalities here…” Jer began, but silenced himself when Ray gave him a glare. “Hehe, never mind. How about you girls run along with Ray so he can show you how he got his cutie mark, eh?”

“Jer…” Ray warned, “We don’t have ti—”

“Oh Ray please can we? Please?” Applebloom pleaded, cutting the human’s protest short.

“Don’t look. If you look it’s all over.” Ray looked. “Dammit…”

“Fine, lets go be snipers for a few hours.”

“CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS SNIPERS, YAY!!!!”

After they left, Jer started laughing, and didn’t stop until a grey pegasus crashed into their defense barrier.

The air deep in the orchard of Sweet Apple Acres was crisp and clean, and the sun hung brightly in the sky, casting but thin shadows on the grassy orchard rows. Atop a fence post near the edge of the orchard, a lone apple sat waiting. It was of the red delicious variety, the majority of the bumper crop for that season—or so Applebloom claimed—had comprised of these delectable fruits, so there was quite a bit to go around.

Ten yards further along the fence, another apple sat, and another, and another. Like soldiers at attention they remained still and steady upon their pedestals, even as their brothers vaporized before them.

The COM in Ray’s helmet crackled from where it lay next to him: “Raymond, you copy?”

A loud crack split the peaceful, afternoon air, and one of the apples disappeared in a mist of juice and white, pulpy flesh. Two fillies cheered, while another moaned unhappily.

“I copy. We rolling?”

There was a sharp, electric crackle over the COM. “Yeah, train station at 1700. Meet there?”

“Copy.” Another apple exploded in the afternoon sun with a sharp noise, like a walnut split asunder. “I’ll bring the girls.”

“Sounds good, over and out.”

“Jer no one says that anymore…” Ray noticed too late the call had ended and sighed. He directed his attention to the other beings with him. “Status?”

“Hit,” Scootaloo groaned. She sat slumped on her haunches, wings drooping, and sighed heavily. “Can we go do something else now?”

“Wind speed?” Ray asked, ignoring the complaints from his least enthused spotter.

“Uh… eleven knots… um… west?” Applebloom answered back, clearly guessing at this point. He’d shown the three fillies how to work the tripod-mounted scope he’d brought along with him, but it was complicated. The only one who actually knew what she was doing was Sweetie Belle, and the other two fillies wouldn’t even let her get a word in edgewise.

“That looks right, AB,” she sighed. The white unicorn trotted around Raymond’s prone form and sat next to his head. Her hooves tapped hollowly on the wooden boards of the Apple Family Hayloft, the perch the four snipers had decided on when they’d escaped the boundaries of Everfree Forest. “Raymond, why don’t you give us another chance, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Please! It wasn’t like we were aiming for Winona!”

“Sorry, Sweetie, but I am not going to be responsible for you three killing anyone.” “Besides,” the human thought to himself, “I need the practice.” Ray swiveled left, pointing the barrel of his rifle further south out the gaping window in the Apples’ loft. He was aiming at the Gala on the next fencepost, angling his shot so the round would bury itself safely in the ground behind the fence. “Next target.”

“Ugh… clear,” Scootaloo mumbled, throwing a foreleg over her eyes as she lay back against the wall, not even looking through the scope anymore.

Ray squinted his good eye as he looked through “Wrath’s” scope, zooming in with the toggle at his thumb. A red and yellow-splotched apple grew in size until it filled the window, its center perfectly lined up within his weapon’s crosshair. Bypassing the trigger guard, Ray lightly pressed his finger against the metal lever that would spell the end for the unsuspecting fruit.

“Firing…” Ray stated calmly, slowly depressing the trigger. He was on the threshold of making the shot when his scope was dominated by orange fur. The human quickly relaxed his trigger finger, grunted angrily, and slowly zoomed out. “Scootaloo. I though you told me that uh… um… woah.” Ray’s jaw unhinged.

“Mother of Ass…”

A sudden flash of light erupted from the south, followed closely by an explosive roar. Ray flinched at the unexpected stimuli and his finger tightened. The but of his rifle slammed into Ray’s unprepared shoulder and he hissed in pain. He knew he fired, but the sound of the shot was lost in the ringing of his ears.

Raymond froze.

“Wow! What WAS that!” Scootaloo cried, as she rushed to the window, pushing the Wrath’s barrel out of the way. “Holy Celestia! That tree is flying!” The other two fillies quickly joined her, each shoving to get a good look.

“I’ve never seen that many birds scatter all at once!”

“I don’t think those are all birds, Sweetie Belle.”

“What in Terra’s name could have possible done that?”

The girls’ babbling slurred into one huge mess of droning sounds, and Raymond stared blankly ahead, praying to the Company that what he thought happened didn’t.

“Hey, Applebloom, isn’t that your sister?”

Ray tensed. His knuckles glowed white from clenching his rifle.

“Yep, I guess it is!” Applebloom answered, cheery. “Hey Applejack! Watcha doin’ coverin’ yer head like that?”

“Oh shit… Oh SHIT!” Ray jumped to his feet and fled from the loft, sliding down a conveniently placed rope dangling from the rafters. He hit the straw-laden ground running, ignoring the sharp pain he felt in his shins, and burst from the barn doors. “APPLEJACK!”

The blonde farmpony in question was several yards away, sprawled twitching on her stomach with her forelegs firmly wrapped above her head, covering it with her battered Stetson. Ray skidded to his knees next to her and immediately tried to flip her over.

“Fuck! Applejack! Say something!” The panicking exterminator attempted to pry her forelegs away from her hat, but he was swatted backwards. Surprised, Ray fell on his spine, knocking his head against the ground. “Ack!”

“Oh gosh! Ah’m sorry Raymond! Are you alright?” a familiar voice broke through the ringing in his ears. Ray opened his eyes to find Applejack standing over him, her blonde mane cascading around her face due to a snapped red hair tie. A look of genuine worry tinged her emerald eyes, and she leaned in closer, her mouth forming words that Rays ears caught several seconds late. “Raymond! Raymond speak ta me!”

Her head seemed intact: no blood, no brain, no bone. Raymond glanced at the fencepost behind her where the apple he’d been aiming for once sat, now gone. He looked back at Applejack her face strained and upset—honestly afraid for his safety—and laughed.

Eventually, the upset mare joined him, and they both rolled around in the dirt, giggling hysterically at nothing. They looked at each other and shared a warm smile, and Ray noticed that, sometime during their laughter, her hat had fallen off. Spotting it, the human reached down and picked it up, running the fabric through his fingers for a moment. It had a nice feeling to it: an interesting texture. Turning back to Applejack, he carefully placed the hat back in its rightful place.

The orange mare’s cheeks tinted red, and she looked down at her hooves. Ray quirked an eyebrow, and was just about to ask what was wrong when a shot rang out above the echoes of their previous laughter.

The fencepost behind the pair exploded in a shower of white splinters, and Raymond dove on top of the mare beside him, trying to shield her from further gunfire.

“What in the hay was that!?!?” She screamed, once again hiding beneath her hat. Ray grimaced, and directed his attention to the barn. A gunmetal grey barrel poked out of the loft window, swiveled erratically for a moment, then disappeared as another shot smote the air.

Several yards away, a low hanging branch from one of the orchard's many apple trees exploded.

Ray closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Sure, he’d left three fillies in the loft with a veritable hand cannon, but, God forbid he say it, things couldn’t get any worse, right? Suddenly, an indignant shout rent Ray’s thoughts asunder.

“Human! Just what do ya think yer doin’ with mah sister!”

There was another gunshot, and a geyser of dirt sprayed the exasperated man in the face.

“Fuuuuck…”

Several Minutes Earlier

“Just a teensy bit more, Mistress, please! I can’t take much more of this!”

“Quiet slave! Uhm, I mean… please quiet down while Mommy cracks you like an egg.”

Yellow hooves pushed and pulled, and the great wooden wheel underneath Zecora’s hollowed tree creaked under the strain.

“Uhn! Mistress!”

“Shuddup and rhyme to me!”

“Nngh! Oh pegasus soft as a newborn—erk! Duck! Pl-Please hurry along so we can—”

An explosion of epic proportions rocked the Everfree Forest, shaking the hut to its foundations.

“EEEP!” Fluttershy squeaked, accidentally jerking the tension wheel in her hooves a little too far. The ropes that kept Zecora pinned on the torture device under her tightened. The loud crack of bones rearranging themselves brought the butter yellow pegasus back to her senses, just when the ropes holding her friend down snapped.

Zecora fell forward, slumping to the ground and letting out a loud groan.

“… oooooooooooo…”

“Oh no oh no, Zecora! Are you okay?! Please be okay!”

“…ooooooooooh Celestia that felt good.”

“Zecora… no! I am still your mistress, hey! It’s not time for hoovsies yet! Eeep!”

Miles away, Cpl. Gerald Hanes felt a nagging feeling in the back of his mind:

“Y’know… maybe just flying the jeep out would have been easier.” He glanced at the now almost completely repaired Ugly Duckling, nestled against the giant oak at the edge of the clearing. “Nah.”