Ghost: Fruit Meister Extreme

Cranky kept his eyes on the oaken barrier. A simple door, it had three locks. One sliding, the other in a knob and one doubling as a beam of wood for improvised self-defense. The asinus kept his boomstick readied, ever-so-expert in knowing where and how to bend his forelegs to make a shot. They watched and listened in silence, not an hour passed. Kindling the fire, Ghost continued their little trip down memory lane.

"Oh, uh, I know how you feel, buddy... My father was a gamblin' man. Sold all our taxidermy for his drinks and shined shoes between dinner and breakfast. Real solid American man, you know. Just wish it wasn't games and internet calls these days." He relayed, avoiding eye-contact for manner's sake.

Outside, the wind howled and though Ghost couldn't hear it, a whinnied echo breached the night. Before, he'd upset a creature very obscured to tourists of Equestrinadia. Only one in ten got to see the beast. He, luckily, had no memory of it's sickening, crunch-prone maw riddled with thorny teeth; or to know it's features skinless and coated with white-bleached bone.

"Workin' man doesn't mean family man, does it." Cranky replied, swigging his flask of whiskey.

"Pa told me how to shoot, but, he never did tell me how to love. Never did know a way to kiss a girl and make it all right. Or, even... make a good host if someone ever came in my neck of the woods. Pinkie comes 'round here all the time and I don't really talk much. We're good friends, but, we don't know each other. That's why, whenever I see another pony er' anything else, I keep my gun close. Don't know what ponies'll do these days. Specially not bring a Yeti here." He added, drawing a pipe or something similar from beneath his chair.

It was red and velvet, but torn about the sides. As if some creature clawed it's smooth, friction-less surface. What monster would do that. A man's chair was his throne and all who said else were fruits, Ghost knew. A man worked for his station in life and there was no doubt about it. All those bleeding heart liberals could learn a thing or two from his pa, if he were alive.

"What's a yeti...?" Ghost murmured, fixing his bandana.

"Well..." The donkey started, giving his tobacco some ample time to light.

"A yeti's sort of like a wendigo. You went up to Cowgirly and brought somethin' fierce down with you. We could hunt it down if we carried a cinder enchantment or something. But, since we're just two, jaded little mama's boys, nothin's stoppin' it from breaking the door down any minute now. Like this cottage. It's not made of metal." His friend clarified, making several points about their hunger of hatred and resentment, in the Yeti's case.

They chatted on about their lives as old-fashioned masculinity. But, eventually, Ghost started to doubt his own prowess as a person. How his cranky companion, though gruff, still had that tinge of decency to him. He was self-taught in everything after his father's death, and somehow, he had sympathy for liberal fucks like Tubguy and transtesticles. Why, Ghost had no idea. But, his rugged companion gave a necessary requiem to hovering insecurities about who he was and America's state of being. Eventually, he asked a single question to break the others.

"Said you were drafted...?"

"...Yeah, I did." Cranky hushed, grainy and smoke-ridden with memories long-gone.

"You ever think they're wrong, all those hippies that said you were wrong for doin' what you did. You ever... you know, get mad about how America remembers the war, but, not you?"

It hit him like a backwoods rapist getting his first taste of city boy tush. Though he never reflected much, Cranky'd considered that tiny conundrum about the fields of Equestria. It's sands and cityscapes, but not it's people remembered the Grand War. It was fresh in his mind with pies, clown fetuses and flooding bullet storms from the jungle people. The asinus, deep in thought, waded through his comrades. His stare was drilling and Ghost, knowing it, interrupted with a tiny, averted glance.

"Doodle."

"Wha... Yes. I do get mad. I just get why they're angry, though. You get all this hype about the movie stars and celebrities and their charities, but never us. Not the boys in uniform toting our rifles, yeah. Because we're part of war, friend. We're soldiers and drafthorses. Not idols or saints. Nopony's gonna thank us when they hear about a G.I burning townsfolk. So-" Cranky recovered, watching the embers crackle.

"I can get mad. And I can scream my old fart ass all over about it, but, you know what, Ghost..? Times change. Ponies change and you have your nightmares, but, you're alive. Sure, stallions might be different. Sure, mares'll forget what chivalry means- that's the point of living to see the rain. You come back and see home differently. Now, that bitch Mary Sue doesn't seem like such a bitch anymore. She can get her food without a safety tax. Or, Gary can't beat his kids because he learned pain in the rain-forests. You move on and watch the flowers grow."

In his hooves lay a picture of someone lost. Maybe not a girl he wanted gone, but somedonkey different. Young and pretty. Matilda. How long had it been since their last fight. He couldn't remember. But, grief twisted a pony like watching the world blur. Sometimes, you felt old. Too old to do anything. So, you took it out on everyone else and ended-up shouting at some whippersnappers painting along interstate. Life, he learned with Ghost's company, was good.

Life was fine the way it was. If anything, he wanted to give back to Equestria for making his service count. Free political immunity from the gun control laws and security from war crime charges, his record set him for simple joys. Simple pleasures in that cold mess of life ponies today knew. When he was growing up, a stallion could take a warehouse job and lift boxes to support his family. They showed-up ten minutes early every morning and came to work with a smile. Theses days, he thought, ponies had to track their schedules with computers and bounce bills and taxes after their mandatory math degree and associate's, then bachelor's to not be in debt their whole lives.

"Hmm..." Cranky rumbled, ears-perked.

"Yeah?" His friend asked, trotting near his seat.

"... The howling stopped."