Sweeney Trot

Chapters

No Place Like Lawndon
The Worst Pies in Lawndon
Poor Thing

No Place Like Lawndon

A dark fog was heavy in the air as the waves rose and settled against the large boat, presently docked as a handful of ponies departed from the ship. Those who stepped off were noticeably ragged, several with filthy manes and coats of fur dense with layers of filth. What were presumably once brightly colored ponies were now mutely colored, as if to match the grim fog over the air around them.

One of the last to step out however, was a notable young stallion, Caramel, light amber coat and brown mane oddly devoid of the dark discoloration the others had. His blue eyes and radiant smile were out of place in amongst the others. His cheerful misdemeanor gave on the impression of an optimist, one who managed to smiled despite the less than uplifting atmosphere. He glanced around, taking in the familiar sights with a trained eye.

“I have sailed the world,

beheld its wonders!

From the Gardenelles,

to the mountains of Peru.

But there's no place like Lawndon!”

He paused for a moment to adjust the sack he had hoisted over his back. He gripped the drawstring in his teeth, pulling on it slightly to ride it higher upon his back. “I feel home again.” He smiled yet again, craning his neck up to gaze at the sky. “No there’s no place-”

“Like Lawndon.”

The yellow stallion found himself interrupted by another, a deep voice that spoke in the midst of his affectionate ramblings. He turned, seeing a familiar face from his voyage on the ship. Sweeney Trot, that large red stallion he had come to know in these past few weeks. He hadn’t spoken much, but Caramel had come to consider him a friend.

“Mr. Trot, sir.” Caramel greeted him curtly, smiling in his direction as he approached. His greeting was not returned.

“You are young. The world has been kind to you.” He spoke forebodingly, looking off at Lawndon itself. “You will learn.”

Caramel shrugged off the strange exchange, not one to let mere words get to him. “It’s here we go our separate ways.” Sweeney at last turned to face the other stallion. “Farewell Caramel. I won’t soon forget this bountiful boat or the young stallion who saved my life.”

“Oh, there’s no need to thank me for that, sir!” Caramel smiled as he recalled the incident in which he had seen Sweeney in the water, pitching and turning in an effort to avoid slipping beneath the powerful waves of the sea. “It would have a been a poor soul indeed who would have seen you tossing in the water and not given the alarm to the crew.”

“Many souls would have done just that, and not lost a wink of sleep over it.” Sweeney glared at a few passing ponies as he muttered under his breath.

“Alms, alms, alms for a miserable mare, on a miserable mornin’!” A harsh feminine voice filled the air as a mare approached, an old burlap sack open and held out in front of her. Rags covered her from head to flank, each one seemingly even more ancient than the last. Her voice quivered with each word she spoke, shifting from a high register to a rough utterance in a moment’s notice.

She stumbled over to the two half-hazardly, legs unsteady as she hoisted the bag towards the two stallions. Caramel’s goodwill urged him to drop two bits he had into the aged bag. “Thank ya’, thank ya’ sir!” Content with the collection of the bits, the beggar woman turned to Sweeney. “Alms, alms, for a pitiful woman, who’s got wandering wits?” In the midst of her maddened chanting, she ceased, staring at Sweeney from beneath her torn bonnet. “Hey, don’t I know you sir?” Her inane banter spilled forth once more.

“Off with you woman, must you glare at me?!” Sweeney raised his voice as he lunged his head towards the filthy mare, glaring at her with contempt. The mare danced back with a shout as she circled around the large stallion. “Off I say!”

“How would ya’ like to split me muff?” The beggar cried with a demented laughter as she stumbled about. “Mister, we'll go jig-jig! A little-”

“Off I said! To the devil with you!” One more shout from Sweeney and a swing of his hoof was enough to frighten the mare off in another direction, sending her begging somewhere else with her bizarre chanting.

“Pardon me sir, but there’s no mean to fear the likes of her.” Caramel interjected after the exchange, watching the fleeing beggar. “She’s only a half crazed beggar mare. Lawndon is full of them.”

“I beg your indulgence Caramel, my mind is far from easy.” Sweeney confessed as his gaze fell to the ground, eyes tracing up the road. “In the once familiar streets I feel a chill of ghostly shadows everywhere.” A brief silence ensued before he spoke again. “Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Caramel reassured the older stallion, smiling once more. Sweeney at last stood to leave, beginning to walk off in another direction.

“Mr. Trot!” Caramel called as the other began to walk away.

“What is it?” The red stallion looked back, stopping mid-step.

“You know that I’ve come to consider you a friend over this voyage.” Caramel started hesitantly, stepping closer to Sweeney. “And, if trouble lies ahead for you in Lawndon, if you need any help or money-”

“No!” Caramel’s offer was cut short as Sweeney shouted, turning away from him, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Oh, Mr. Trot!” Caramel was slightly exasperated as he attempted to lay a hoof on his companion’s shoulder, but he was briskly brushed off.

“There's a hole in the world like a great black pit,

And the vermin of the world inhabit it

And its morals aren't worth what a pig could spit

And it goes by the name of Lawndon.”

Caramel felt uneasy hearing such a filthy description of a place he had come to know as his home, but he did not interrupt at Sweeney continued his angry ranting.

“At the top of the hole sit the privileged few,

Making mock of the vermin in the lonely zoo,

turning beauty to filth and greed...

Yes, I too have sailed the world and seen its wonders,

for the cruelty of men is as wondrous as Peru

but there's no place like Lawndon!”

Sweeney’s expression softened in an instant as he halted his brisk pacing, mind going elsewhere. He stood like that in silence for a moment before opening his mouth once more.

“There was a barber and his wife,

And she was beautiful...

A foolish barber and his wife.

She was his reason and his life...

And she was beautiful, and she was virtuous.

And he was naive.”

Sweeney spoke softly as he referred to the two, as if recalling a fond childhood memory. Despite his radical shift in demeanor, it was not long before the stallion found himself filled with contempt for the world around him once more.

“There was another man who saw

That she was beautiful...

A biased vulture of the law

Who, with a gesture of his claw

Removed the barber from his plate!

And there was nothing but to wait!”

Sweeney’s head fell at his words, eyes looking the ground as his voice pinched slightly in the midst of his monologue.

“And she would fall!

So soft!

So young!

So lost and oh so beautiful!”

“And...the lady sir?” Caramel spoke after Sweeney ceased to speak after a brief period, fairly curious about the story. “Did she succomb to the man’s desires?” Sweeney’s eyes did not move from the pavement as he answered.

“Ah, that was many years ago...

I doubt if anyone would know.”

“Now leave me Caramel.” Sweeney at last made the effort to lift his saddle bag, hoisting it on to himself as he began to step away at last, moving away from the docks. “There is somewhere I must go, something I must figure out. Now, and alone.”

“But surely we will meet again before I am off to Plymouth?” Caramel called a last remark to the retreating red stallion, knowing he would be setting sail once more before too long.

“If you want, you may well find me around Fleet Street. I wouldn’t wander if I were you.” Sweeney didn’t stop or turn as he advised the younger stallion once more, intent on getting where he hoped to go. He had disappeared from Caramel’s view into the thick fog after only a few more moments.

"There's a hole in the world like a great black pit

and it's filled with ponies who are filled with shit!

And the vermin of the world inhabit it!”

The Worst Pies in Lawndon

Sweeney’s walk through London was not a refreshing one, fog still heavy and shadows still lingering everywhere. As he passed other ponies, he felt their stares drilling into him, each one another prick into his skin. He had grown accustomed to being look upon oddly however, and did not return a single gaze.

The air was silent outside the sound of hooves on the ground, and a fragment of conversation here and there. Sweeney found himself tuning out these sounds as he moved briskly ahead, passing each building with a passing glance. His weary eyes and quick trot seemed to imply he knew where he was going.

Sweeney turned on a corner at the end of yet another street as he looked up and down the road, eyes tracing across the structures. His eyes never lingered for more than a moment before he moved on, never stopping. The next street he arrived at however, seemed to throw him for a loop. He stopped dead in his tracks on the road, eyes instantly lifting to a high rising building. A narrow sign was laid against one of the ancient windows. Pinkie Pie's Meat Pies was sloppily scrawled onto the rotting wood. The stallion made a beeline for the door of said establishment.

At the open of the building’s swinging door, a bell fell from above, hitting the floor without so much as a single ding. The interior of the shop left much to be desired. Everything was covered in a layer of dust that had to have been piling up for weeks. It was barren, not a soul in sight beside the mare behind the counter in the back who was currently building a small amusement park out of what appeared to be simple dough, complete with a tall wheel on a post, somehow spinning steadily. Her mane, pink as candy floss, fell across her eyes, both narrowed in concentration, as she attempted to craft some other small shack. She kept this up for several moments. She hadn’t noticed him enter at all. Sweeney almost considered walking out before her eyes at last lifted up to him, a beaming smile suddenly appearing on her face as she quickly shot up, turning around to face a small crocodile, sitting motionless on a counter behind her.

“Gummy!” She squealed to to the pale green creature. It didn’t move as she scooted closer next to it, pointing a hoof at Sweeney. “It’s a customer, a real life customer!” A bright giggle filled the room as she bounced over to him, eyes practically twinkling with giddy abandon. Her front hooves wrapped around him as she backed up, dragging the stallion further into the room.

“Wait, what’s your rush, what’s your hurry?”

“You gave me such a fright I thought you were a ghost!”

“Half a minute, can’t ya’ sit, sitcha’ down, sit!”

“All I meant is that I haven’t seen a customer for weeks!”

Sweeney felt himself being shoved onto a small stool which groaned underneath his weight as the mare dashed away behind the counter. With a quick sweep of her limbs, her entire doughy park was shoved aside, revealing a few trays on the counter, each with a few crusty lumps on them, presumably the meat pies she advertised. She plucked one up in her hoof and placed it on a plate as she bounced back over to Sweeney, forcing it into his hooves. She paused for a moment before picking up the pie for a moment and blowing on it, pushing up a cloud of flour and dust off of it before she returned it to its place on the dish.

“Did you come here for a pie, sir?”

“Do forgive me if my head’s a little vague!”

Her hoof returned to the pie once more, picking up a small black bump from on top of the pastry. It wriggled in her grasp as she brought it closer to her face, inspecting it closely with one eye, grimacing. It was a roach, she had seemingly disturbed it when she picked up the pie.

“Euuugggghhh!” Pinkie squeaked as she held it away from her, showing her distaste for it. “What is that?” She hurled it behind her, not bothering to see where it landed, or what it could have landed in. She returned her attention back to Sweeney whilst stepping behind her counter once more.

“But you’d think we had the plague!”

“From the way that ponies keep avoiding-"

Pinkie was interrupted by her own sharp squeal, recoiling away from the hard-wood surface of her counter.

“No you don’t!” She cried indignantly as she lifted a pink hoof above her head for a moment before smashing it down, lifting it to reveal another roach, this one crushed against the counter. She quickly grabbed a rag to wipe away the insect’s remaining residue.

“Celestia knows I try sir!”

“But then no one comes in,”

“Not even to inhale!”

“Right you are sir, would you like a drop of ale?”

Pinkie Pie whirled around to grab a mug that was next to the crocodile, which still hadn’t moved an inch since Sweeney had entered. The mare idly patted his head as she grabbed the mug and turned it over, allowing a small collection of streamers and confetti to fall out. She picked up a nearby pitcher in her teeth as she began to pour a substantial amount of ale into the mug before handing it off to Sweeney.

“Mind you I can hardly blame them!”

“These are probably the worst pies in Lawndon!”

“And even that’s polite!”

“The worst pies in Lawndon!”

“If you doubt it take a bite!”

At the urge to try her pie, Sweeney lifted the crusty morsel, slightly intimidated by how obtuse and filthy it looked. He lifted it to his mouth apprehensively, taking a small bite. He immediately regretted the decision, an unthinkably horrifying taste filling his mouth. His throat swelled with saliva instinctively as the awful crust and filling began to rise in his mouth. He forced his jaw to clamp in an effort to keep himself from spitting it straight onto the floor.

“Is that just disgusting?”

“You have to concede it!”

“It’s nothing but crusting.”

“Just drink that, you’ll need it.”

Sweeney regarded the pink pony’s advice as he forced the food in his mouth down his throat rather uncomfortably before lifting the mug to his lips, letting the ale fill his mouth. It was noticeably watered down, but he could not have cared less, he was simply content to wash the taste of the pie off his tongue. His skin crawled with the mere memory of the texture of it. Pinkie Pie sighed, knowing full well that her pie had scarred and traumatized another patron.

“The worst pies in Lawndon,”

“And now wonder with the price of meat,”

“What it is, when you get it!”

“Never thought I’d live to see the day,

“Ponies would think it was a treat,”

“Finding poor animals, that are dying in the street!”

Her excitable disposition ceased as she slumped, glaring out of a nearby window, seemingly eyeing another pie shop up the street.

“Mrs. Cake has a pie shop,”

“Does her business, but I noticed something weird,”

“Lately all of Rarity’s cats have disappeared!”

“Have to hand it to her,”

“That's what I call, enterprise,”

“She's poppin' pussies into pies!”

She shook her head at the notion, feigning a gag complete with her tongue sagging out of her mouth.

“Wouldn’t do in my shop!”

“Just the thought of it’s enough to make you sick!”

Despite the brief moment of pride in her measurably more honest work methods, Pinkie soon slumped yet again, sighing deeply.

“And I’m telling you those pussy cats are quick!”

Sweeney raised an eyebrow. The more time he spent in the company of this mare the more he felt like walking out the door, even when he knew he couldn’t do that.

“No denying time is hard, sir!”

“Even harder then the worst pies in Lawndon!”

“Only lard and nothing more,”

“Is that just, revolting?”

“All greasy, and gritty!”

“It looks like it’s molting,”

“And tastes so-"

Pinkie stopped suddenly, apparently embarrassed by where she was going with her train of thought.

“Well pity, a mare who’s alone,”

“With limited wind,”

“And the worst pies in Lawndon!”

She sighed once more, laying her head onto her counter, not caring about the dough and roach that had gotten caught in her curly mane.

“Ah sir,”

“Times is hard,”

“Times is haaarrrd!”

Sweeney sighed, getting the feeling that the mare would make this a very long morning.

Poor Thing

AN: OH MY GOD me when did I ever make fics?! Enjoy if you can I'm sorry

Pinkie Pie sighed as she walked over to Sweeney, taking the dish from him.

“Spit it out, mister.” She advised him, noticing his grimace and tearing eyes. Sweeney looked to both of his sides, looking for something to spit it in. Pinkie shook her head at this. “Go on, on the floor. There’s worse things than that down there, that’s for sure!” Not wanting to question the opportunity to get what was left in his mouth out, Sweeney turned around on the stool he seated on, spitting a spray of crust and ale out of his mouth. Pinkie retired behind her counter, tossing the bitten pie at a nearby wall, not bothering to watch it splatter and stick to the wooden surface.

“Wasn’t that a room up there, above your shop?” Sweeney finally spoke in his raspy tone, referring to the upper half of the building. Out on the street, he had seen that the building was easily high enough to support 2 floors. There was even a single window, black as night, showing a glimpse of something up there. “If times are so hard, why not rent that out?” He questioned, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. Many young ponies looking to start a profession would simply rent out rooms to set up shop in, so to speak. “Should bring in something.”

“Up there?!” Pinkie asked incredulously, craning her neck up to eye the ceiling as well. She laughed at the thought. “No one will go near it, silly! Ponies think it’s haunted.” She dropped her gaze down back to Sweeney. “Ya’ see, years ago something happened up there.” She looked to her left and right warily, looking for nobody who could possibly be listening in on her story. She approached him, lowering her voice. “Something not, very, nice...”

Sweeney narrowed his eyes in confusion as the pink mare took a seat next to him.

“There was a barber and his wife,

“And he was beautiful.”

“A proper artist with a knife,”

“But they transported him for life,”

“And he was beautiful...”

Pinkie trailed off for a moment before nodding slightly, giggling. “Apple his name was. Macintosh Apple. With his old wife, Cherilee.”

“What was his crime?” Sweeney asked aloud, eyes furrowed in confusion. Pinkie leaned back a bit, inhaling before answering.

“Foolishness.”

“He had this wife you see,”

“Pretty little thing,”

“Silly little nit had her chance for the moon on a string!”

Her eyelids lowered in a depressed glance, tracing along the rotting wooden floor.

“Poor thing,”

“Poor thing.”

Pinkie looked out the closest window, recalling the details of the barber’s wife, Cheerilee, and her fate after the deportation of that handsome barber from nearly a decade and a half ago.

“There were these two ya’ see,”

“Wanted her like mad.”

“One of ‘em a prince, t’other one his beadle!”

“Every day they’d nudge and they’d wheedle!”

“Still she wouldn’t budge from her needle!”

She shook her head, eyes closed. Cheerilee was nothing if not faithful to her husband, the father of her only foal. She didn’t once succomb to the suductions Blueblood had tried to entice her with. Not even bouquets of flowers got her attention in the slightest.

“Too bad,”

“Pure thing.”

It was then that the prince took matters into his own hands, and had Big Macintosh arrested, before sending him off to Australia nearly immediately afterwards.

“So they merely shipped the poor blighter off south they did,”

“Leaving her with nothing but grief and a year old kid!”

“Did she use her head, even then?”

“Oh no, god forbid!”

“Poor fool!”

“Ah, but there was worse yet to come, poor thing...”

Pinkie Pie stopped the story for a moment, raising a hoof to her chin in a moment of consideration, pondering something. Sweeney almost considered speaking before she reared up with a dramatic gesture upwards and a shout.

“Fluttershy!” She proclaimed victoriously. “That was the foal’s name, pretty little Fluttershy!” After recalling this, Pinkie began to bounce back behind the counter, seemingly willing to leave the story there.

“Well?!” Sweeney raised his voice as he stood, catching her attention and approaching her briskly. “Go on!”

“Wow, you do like a good story don’t you?” Pinkie giggled as she turned to face Sweeney again and seating herself, returning to the story at hand.

“Well the beadle calls on her all polite,”

“Poor thing, poor thing.”

“The prince, he tells her, is all contrite,”

“He blames himself for her dreadful plight,”

“She must come straight to his house tonight,”

“Poor thing, poor thing.”

True to his word, the prince was very insistent on having his beadle bring Cheerilee straight to his lavish estate, and making certain she came in without a fuss.

“But of course when she goes there,”

“Poor thing, poor thing,”

“They’re having this party all in masks!”

“There’s no one she knows there,”

“Poor dear, poor thing,”

“She wanders, tormented, and drinks, poor thing!”

“The prince has repented she thinks, poor thing!”

“Oh where is Prince Blueblood she asks!”

As the night went on, finding herself forced to stick it through the overblown celebration, Cheerilee took to drinking more and more, not able to make any conversation or do much of anything without seeing Blueblood. She hardly noticed as she got more and more tipsy.

“Oh, but he was there alright,”

“Only not so contrite!”

It was anything but a relief when the drunken mare finally saw Blueblood eyeing her from behind one of the white masks. Attempting a smile and wandering over to him as best she could whilst so dizzy, she didn’t see the heavy hoof that hit her across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor, Blueblood landing on her a moment later.

“She wasn’t no match for such craft ya’ see,”

“And everyone thought it so droll,”

“They figured she had to be daft, ya’ see,”

“So all of ‘em stood there and laughed, ya’ see!”

“Poor soul!”

“Pooooor thing!”

“Noooo!” Sweeney’s screech echoed through the empty shop, frightening Pinkie enough to cause her to jump. He stood there, breathing heavily with a hateful glare plastered on his face. “Would no one show her any mercy?” Pinkie’s face broke out into a beaming smile.

“So it is you!” She squealed, bouncing up and down. “Macintosh Apple!”

“No! Not Apple!” He recoiled at the sound of his former name, approaching Pinkie treacherously, leaning in closer. “Trot now. Sweeney Trot.” His face softened as he asked of her, “Where is she?”

“Oh wow, you’ve changed!” Pinkie’s eyes widened as she circled around him, noting just how much a difference 15 years had made in the stallion. His formerly bright red coat has dulled considerably, as if the bleakness in the world around them had manifested itself inside of him. Even his once bright green eyes seemed to have paled to a lifeless shade. “What did they do to you down in Australia or whatever?”

“Where is my wife?” Sweeney repeated as he spun to face Pinkie, staring her directly in the eyes, pleading with her. “Where’s Cheerilee?”

“Oh...” Pinkie stepped back at the memory, her voice wavering slightly. She sighed, shaking her head, trying to find the words. “She poisoned herself. Arsenic, from the apothecary down the corner.”

“What?” Sweeney asked under his breath, nearly illegibly.

“I tried to help her,” Pinkie hastily assured him, disappointment crossing over her features. “But, she just wouldn’t listen to me!” Sweeney shuddered, eyes clenched shut as he shook for a moment before looking up.

“And my daughter?” He queried, desperately.

“Fluttershy?” Pinkie asked, head quirking to the side. Sweeney nodded. “Oh, he’s got her!”

“He?!” Sweeney asked incredulously, stepping back, instantly knowing what she had meant. “Prince Blueblood?”

“Even he had a conscious, packed away somewhere I guess!” Pinkie mused as she nodded vigorously. “He adopted her like his very own!” The pie maker giggled despite to mood. “You could almost say it was good luck for her!”

This notion was met with a pained wail from Sweeney, startling Pinkie slightly.

“Almost.” She squeaked in reply.

“15 years of sweating in a living hell on a trump-dump charge,” Sweeney began in a trembling shout as he crossed the floor to a window, laying his forehead against the cool glass. “15 years of dreaming that perhaps I might come home to a loving wife and child!” His voice rose dramatically as the stallion whirled around violently, bashing a hoof into the shop’s wall, leaving a sizable dent. “Let them quake in their boots, Prince Blueblood and his beadle, for their hour has come!”

“You’re gonna’ try and get ‘em?!” Pinkie threw her head back in uproarious laughter, smiling widely. “You old nobody, a runaway convict? Noooo, don’t make me laugh!” She wiped a tear from her eye as she coughed out a few more chuckles. “You’ll never get a chance at either him, or the beadle, not in a million, zillion years!”

Without a response from the stallion at the other side of the room, Pinkie approached, tapping him on the shoulder. “Have you got any bits?” Not receiving a reply, she urged further. “Hey, listen to me, do you have any bits?”

“No bits.” Sweeney shrugged her off as he glared out the window, pondering his situation.

“Well that how are you even gonna’ live?” Pinkie’s eyelids lowered in frustration.

“I’ll live.” He assured her in a low growl. “If I have to sweat in the sewers, or in the plague hospital, I’ll live!” He shook with anger, clenching his teeth. “And I’ll have them!”

This notion was met with a bout of cackling from Pinkie Pie.

“You poor thing!” She managed in the midst of side-splitting laughter. “Ya’ poor thing!”

She ceased her swaying and giggling nearly instantly as she stopped, gasping, eyes wide.

“Wait!” She proclaimed as she dashed off behind a nearby door, the sounds of popping balloons and party blowers muffled behind the creaking door. Not sure how long she would be back there, Sweeney took a moment to get acquainted with the alligator that was still on the counter, unmoving even then.

The stallion laid a hoof on the green beast’s head. It was cold, lifeless. A taxidermy. Presumably a home job done by Pinkie herself. The thing was practically hollow even. It had to have been dead for years.

Another creak of the door alerted Sweeney that Pinkie Pie had re-entered the room.

I'm gonna update I promise but until then cliffhanger