The Wastes

Bolopo brought his hands to his face, breathing heat onto them before once again returning them to the fleeting warmth of the fire that sat in the center of the circle he found himself a part of. The frigid breeze and the wayward snowfall bit at any exposed skin and chilled to the bone, and all around was white and stone.

No less should have been expected from the Wastes.

Shifting on the stone bench, Bolopo absentmindedly pulled the tattered cloak gifted to him closer around his shoulders in a futile attempt to stave off the cold. He eyed the other inmates surrounding the fire, most of them silent outside of the few who traded errant whispers about either him or the awful weather, before looking up to the guards posted at the high walls, all armed with muskets and crossbows as they overlooked either the courtyard or the Wastes outside of the Wall.

On the matter of the inmates he was surrounded with, they were… a rather distinct bunch. Gryphons, minotaurs, ponies, bugs on four legs, the list was expansive. It was all he could do to not go mad from the alien circumstances he had found himself in or the alien species that existed only in myth that he was imprisoned with, for he was pretty sure that he had already crossed that line the moment he was unceremoniously dropped here.

He would have normally chalked it all up to someone slipping hallucinogens into his last coffee, but considering the fact that he always made his own coffee at home and the fact that, no, these were most certainly not normal circumstances, he decided it’d make coping easier by simply rolling with the blows. And speaking of coffee, God he could kill for a steaming hot cup of joe right now.

His internal, caffeine-centered thoughts were interrupted by a dragging sound, followed by a thump as a bag half full was tossed to the ground near the fire, its contents, which happened to be potatoes, spilling out to the ground. The inmates spared no time grabbing as many of the somewhat hard vegetables as they could from the bag.

A black gryphon plopped onto the bench next to Bolopo. “Ahh. It is a beautiful day for a revolution, wouldn’t you say, Bolopo?” came a familiar, accented voice. “All we are missing is dumb muscle, someone light on their feet, an infiltrator, and with any luck a corruptible guard.”

“You and your revolutions, Reznov,” responded Bolopo, a small grin on his face as the closest thing to a ‘friend’ he had in this asylum returned from his food-grabbing errands. “You haven’t even made any headway since I got here, and I doubt you were any closer to your goal before that.”

The gryphon looked indignant at that. “I have told you time and time again that my name is not ‘Reznov’, Bolopo. It is Brinski! And on to the matters of the uprising, it is a… work in progress.”

“Two years in the making?” asked Bolopo, lip curled into a small, amused smile.

“Ugh, it will happen when it happens! It is all a part of the plan, I tell you!” the gryphon responded, wings slightly raised.

“Yeah, whatever you say, Reznov.”

“And with a name as ridiculous as yours, you should be the last person poking fun at others’ names,” Brinski bitterly chided, looking to the fire.

“Well, not like there’s much fun to be had doing much else here. Names are such fickle things, after all,” responded Bolopo, rubbing his hands together. “‘Sides, you remind me of a pretty famous individual from my home, what with the accent, the scarf, and the talk of ‘ascending from darkness’.”

“I know not of the connection from which you draw, but I will write it off as another of your mad ramblings.” Bolopo smiled at that. “Anyway, aren’t you going to grab a bite to eat? Those were not easy to obtain, and judging from the rapacious appetites of the others, they will all be devoured not too long from now.”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m still reveling in the fact that I managed to beat the ‘Card Master of the Wastes’ in a game of Blackjack on my first go, after all.”

Brinski scowled at that, glaring at the side of Bolopo’s head. “It was beginner’s luck! If we were to go again, then the story would be different altogether!”

“So, you wanna go again, then?”

“...Not at this minute, no.”

Bolopo’s smile grew wider. “Then my point still stands.”

“No wonder you don’t want to eat; you’re already full of yourself,” Brinski grumbled.

Ignoring that remark, Bolopo turned to his acquaintance. “So, what are this week’s revolutionary plans, then, Rezno-” The near perpetual smile Bolopo sported instantly faded. “Where’d you get that shiner?”

Noticing the look of barely contained wrath, Brinski waved a claw in a placating gesture. “It’s nothing to worry about, Bolopo. Truly. I simply had another run in with Pashi and his lackeys.”

“So that’s why the bag is half-empty?”

“Half full, Bolopo. The bag is half full.”

“Either way, there ain’t as much in that bag as there should be, which is another reason I ain’t touching it. And you didn’t answer my question, you dum dum.”

Rolling his good eye, Brinski looked across the courtyard, seeing a particular group with more rations than they ought to have had. Bolopo followed his gaze, his eyes settling on the minotaur that led the ne’erdowells.

Pashi was a thug, plain and simple. He had the brains of a dumb bull and the brawn of a… well, a dumb bull. Born at the bottom, with no hopes of getting up in the world through a day of honest work, he took to flattening those around him in order to make them even smaller and by extension lower than even he. If he couldn’t intimidate someone into submission, then he’d let his fists do the simple speak. Bolopo respected that of a guy, making something out of next to nothing.

He stood up, Brinski starting as he took to follow. “Bolopo, what are you doing!? Now is not the time to pick fights!”

Bolopo slowed to allow the gryphon to fall into step beside him, still walking toward the horned punk. “Picking fights with something built like a truck that probably hits even harder than one? Hah! Please, you must take me for the rock-chewing sort. And buddy? Last I checked, I don’t got any pebbles wedged in between my teeth and I most certainly do not shit bricks. I mean, if I did, I wouldn’t have been cooped up in some tiny one-bedroom apartment for as long as I was back home.” Bolopo put a hand to his chin, looking up. “Come to think of it, maybe I should start chewing on rocks…”

His external thoughts were interrupted by a green eye manifesting itself in front of him, pleadingly into his own. Dammit, why did Reznov always have to interrupt his flow of contemplation? “This is no laughing matter, Bolopo! Pashi will crush you if you get on his bad side, and the guards won’t even bat an eye! You need to get your head out of your back end and think for a moment!” Brinski began shaking Bolopo before Bolopo calmly but firmly took his talons and removed them.

“Silly Brinski, there’s always a time for laughs! Except for at funerals, military application offices, and stand ups hosted by Nick Cannon.” Bolopo pressed a finger for each example. “And the only reason the guards wouldn’t bat an eye in the case of my untimely demise would be because Pashi’s already done the deed for them by batting yours in their stead. Now be a good little bird and still thy tongue. Trust me, I know what I’m doin’.” He began walking again.

Brinski fumed at that, again walking at Bolopo’s side. “Fine. You want to go and get your head crushed, then be my guest.”

“Thanks, dad. I’m really glad you’re allowing me to make my own adult decisions. I promise not to do anything too untoward!” Bolopo’s smile returned to his face, and despite himself, Brinski couldn’t help but find it infectious.

“Be home before midnight and make sure not to bed anyone you love. Only drama comes of relationships such as that. And remember to, how they say, 'wrap it before you tap it'. While faceless females do tend to be tasteless females, that only means they’re all the more willing to allow anything entrance.” A snort escaped from Bolopo at that, Brinski shaking his head with a grin before continuing. “And if you drink, dear Creator above, make sure it’s enough to wash away any memory of your embarrassing larks. Hangovers are always preferable to shame, though they often go claw in claw.”

“Brinski, you would make a terrible father.” Bolopo intelligently added.

“What? I’m just telling you the advice my father gave to me for such circumstances.”

“If we meet him at all, I’m going for a night on the town with that gryphon.” Brinski let out an unimpressed 'pfeh' at that. “So if your old man’s that cool, then what happened to you?” Bolopo teased. “You seem a lot more high strung in comparison.”

“I am not going to dignify that with a response.”

“C’mon, I’m pretty sure even Pashi is more genial than you, and we both know that that fool ain’t got even two brain cells to rub together. Sometimes I wonder about why he was put in here.. Was it because his parents didn’t want to take responsibility for someone with more cotton in their head than actual brain matter?”

“Oh shut it, Bolopo.”

“Not till the day I die, Brinski.” Bolopo turned to find his feathered pal absent from his side, the gryphon having stopped in his tracks with a look of terror on his face.

“Speaking of, that day may be today,” whispered Brinski. For some reason he was no longer focused on Bolopo, and instead stared fearfully ahead. “It looks as though you get to have that little ‘chat’ with Pashi you were so eager for.”

“Wait, what’s that supposed to me-” Bolopo shut up when he bumped into a wall of meat. Looking up and up and up, Bolopo found a certain minotaur looming over him, beady black eyes boring into his own. As a cloud of steam jetted from the minotaur’s nostrils, heating Bolopo up in an uncomfortable mist for a moment, he found himself sweating despite the freezing temperatures. Bolopo found out at that moment that shitting bricks wasn’t such an outlandish occurrence after all. “Oh.”

“Oh,” parroted Pashi, a look of unbridled wrath contorting the muscles in his face.

“So, uh… you wanna chew some rocks?” offered Bolopo lamely as he smiled ruefully.

Pashi grabbed the human by the collar, lifting him into the air with one meaty hand. “You won’t be chewin’ on anything any time soon after I’m done forcing your teeth down your throat.”

Bolopo’s eyes widened as the minotaur reared back his teeth-loosening fist. Before matters escalated any further, however, an angel in the form of a raggedy, scarf-wearing, black-eyed gryphon jumped to the call to action. “Wait!” he shouted, being careful enough to not actually tackle Pashi as was his first instinct, lest the crew Pashi ordered around decided to join in the following skirmish and thoroughly kick his and Bolopo’s collective asses.

There was already a fair bit of attention settled upon them at this point, Bolopo’s once fearful gaze transforming into that of a manic smile as he was held aloft; other prisoners from all ends of the courtyard paying special attention to the tense confrontation; and the guards above gazing down with interest at what, from the looks of it, promised to make for a welcome change of pace from the overbearing sense of boredom they usually endured. Their weapons were still loaded and within reach should any dispute turn into a riot, but that was inconsequential.

“J-just hold on a moment! Let’s not do anything rash,” implored Brinski.

Pashi turned his head the gryphon. “Shut up unless you want me to crack that eggshell you call a braincase. You’s lucky I let Piper get at ya a minute ago.” A brawny Diamond Dog with a scar that ran over her boxy muzzle smirked savagely at that. Pashi’s glare returned to the captive audience in his grasp. “Now why shouldn’t I squash this chump like a rotten tomato, especially after all the hurtful things he’s said about me?”

“Because I know about the numbers, Pashi!” exclaimed Bolopo.

A perplexed brow was raised at that. “Numbers?”

“Yes, yes! Project Nova, the plan to kill the president, even the Crystal Skull entombed in the tangled jungles of the Amazon!” Bolopo ignored the fact that one of those belonged to a different story entirely, playing on the minotaur’s confusion to keep himself from being knocked into the next plane of existence. “What I’m sayin’ is this: ain’t no reason for gratuitous violence. We’re all cold, we’re all angry, and to be honest we all kind of need to shower. But one thing that won’t help any of that is for you,” he pointed at Pashi, “to turn my skull into a goblet.”

Pashi’s frown deepened as he dropped his fist to his side. Brinski’s jaw dropped at that. Pashi never passed up an opportunity to break bones, even for the smallest of perceived slights. For his anger to be quelled by some fool’s words that were actually harmful toward him by comparison to the lesser offenses he’d punished in the past? That was unthinkable! “You talk funny, but you’ll talk even funnier without a tongue in that garbage-spittin’ mouth o’ yours unless you cough up an apology.”

“Yup! Very sorry indeed, I am!”

“For what, ape? Say it loud and clear for everytaur to hear you.” Everytaur? Bolopo would have laughed if he was sure he wouldn’t get turned inside out for it.

“For three things, actually. First, is for my defamatory assertions and insults to you and your wonderful, virtuous entourage. Third is for my not shaking your hand to show my respect toward you as their capable leader.” Bolopo smiled at Pashi, who once again had a look of bewilderment on his face.

“You skipped over the second reason.”

“Well, would the first and the third suffice for now? The second is something that will take a bit of preparation and privacy between us before I can illuminate you to the explanation.” Bolopo smiled innocently, sharing a conspiratorial look with Brinski, who, after a spark of realization to the reasoning behind the stare, fervently shook his head.

Choosing to ignore the gryphon’s mad gestures (it was rather amusing to see his reaction, along with the looks on everyone else’s faces as they watched his reaction), Bolopo turned back to the minotaur who was still visibly attempting to decrypt what the second reason could have possibly been. “Now, would you mind gently placing me back down to the ground now, Pashi?” The minotaur once again looked hard into the human’s eyes as he smiled a disarming, but devious, smile. “You’ll get that second reason,” he teased in a singsong voice.

Another puff of steam escaped the minotaur’s nostrils as he huffed in frustration. Relenting, Pashi lowered Bolopo to the snow-covered ground. He pressed a large finger against the human’s chest. “I’ll be expecting that second reason to be pretty damn good. If it isn’t, though, I’m staining the grey of the stone crimson with your blood, ape.”

Bolopo brushed himself off. “Believe you me, you’ll be very much appreciative of this second ‘apology’. Cross my heart…” started the human, running a finger in an ‘X’ motion over the aforementioned organ.

“...Hope to die.” Finished Pashi in a menacing tone before standing to his full height. “Three days, fella. That’s what I’m giving you.” He looked at Brinski. “Same deal goes for you too, bird.”

“Three days is all we’ll need,” responded Bolopo with the utmost confidence. Pashi walked off, pushing through his gang as they turned to follow, the scarred dog dragging her thumb across her neck in a slow, deliberate motion as she faced them before leaving as well.

On the outside, Bolopo looked sure of himself, cocky even. Interiorly, however, he was a disorganized mess of emotions. The three that stood out most to him were that of panic, determination, and most oddly of all euphoria. Who knew having your life threatened would be so exciting!? All of the unknowns of this world, along with the time limit he found himself on, only served to inflate these emotions. The thought of the other promises of adventure this land held, along with the amount of fun he visualized himself having taking part in them, made him positively giddy to say the least.

Needless to say, the endless possibilities that ran amok within the confines of his skull were again shepherded into the abyss of the world of consciousness by none other than a gryphon-shaped assailant. The snow on his face and the stars dancing in his vision were all the indication that he had of his newfound position on the unforgiving ground.

Brinski was some kind of mercenary or knight before his institutionalization. The bird never really specified what his occupation was, but two things were assured. One, he had one of Bolopo’s arms pulled behind his back in a decidedly uncomfortable position, the other held against the ground; and two, he definitely had some kind of military training under his pelt. “What in the twisted womb of Chrysalis was that!? Do you realize just how magnificently and irreparably you’ve damaged my plan in all but a few minutes, you bumbling buffoon? Not only that, but I had to stick my neck out for you to keep you from being killed right then and there, and now I, too, am in danger because of your folly!”

Bolopo gritted his teeth, his voice coming in pained gasps. “I didn’t ruin your fuckin’ plan, Brinski! I just hurried it along. I don’t know about you, but I do want to get out of these walls at some point in my stay here! And the sooner, the better!”

“Then why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut and simply apologize? Why tempt a beast such as that with more!” demanded Brinski, putting more pressure into Bolopo’s arm.

Bolopo grunted as he felt something on the verge of snapping. “Augh! Listen, listen! Okay, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but without risks, there ain’t the faintest hope for reward! You know this better than anyone! You’ve been locked up in this damnable place for more than two years, all because you’re too cautious!”

“Vigilant, Bolopo! There are dangers that must be accounted for when thinking of something such as this! Do you know what they do to those who attempt to escape this place? They line them up and decimate them if they have reason to believe they will be cause for large-scale trouble!”

“Brinski, keep it up! I think I can feel my arm breaking!” encouraged Bolopo.

“What?” questioned Brinski, baffled by Bolopo’s suggestion. “Why in Tartarus would you ask for me break your arm?”. Loosening his grip on the human’s outstretched limb in his distraction, Bolopo reacted immediately, pulling his wrist free and sending his elbow crashing into Brinski’s ribcage. The bird, caught off guard from the unexpected blow, reeled before Bolopo twisted and rolled so that he was from underneath him.

Now on top of the surprised gryphon, Bolopo held his talons down, staring down at him. All traces of his usual lazy smile gone, what remained were the hostile, calculating eyes of a furious creature. Brinski gazed defiantly into Bolopo’s eyes. “Well, now you’re on top. What are you going to do no-” and with that, Bolopo planted a peck on the unsuspecting gryphon’s forehead. This left Brinski speechless, a tint of red coloring his cheeks that were most certainly not a result of the cold.

“That,” started Bolopo, “is what I’m gonna do.” Standing up, he left the babbling gryphon to process what had just happened. Well, if anything, that should do a good job of pacifying him. “Now get up; everyone’s still watching.”

That seemed to snap the gryphon out of his dazed state, as he immediately hopped up, wings twitching nervously as he looked all around him at the equally stunned onlookers. Looking left and right, the flustered gryphon rushed after the fluttering green cloak affixed to the retreating form of the human. “H-hey, wait!” Bolopo didn’t wait. Brinski, seeing this, instead opted to speed up to keep pace.

As he reached the human’s side, Bolopo made a motion with his hand to keep quiet as he walked into a dark corridor that expanded into a large room holding the cells of this courtyard’s prisoners. Pulling out his key, Bolopo unlocked their cell door and pulled it open, the rusted thing making a harsh grating noise as it protested the action. Stepping aside, Bolopo waited for Brinski to enter the room, the mildly uncomfortable gryphon hesitating for a moment before complying.

The interior of the room wasn’t anything special at all. It had spartan accommodations, with but a hole in the dust-covered ground, bunk beds that were built into the wall, a sink, and a small window tinted with age and grime that allowed heavily filtered light from the outside to pour into it. Faded paint peeled from the walls, there was a cockroach or ten scurrying about the ground, and the electricity bill had not been paid in decades. Everything considered, this place still had more going for it in terms of cleanliness and maintenance than Circus Circus.

Shutting the door behind them, sealing them off from the outside world, Bolopo turned back to Brinski. As he advanced toward Brinski, taking off his cloak and tossing it to the side, the bird gulped as he bumped into the wall on the far end of the room. With Bolopo standing over him, Brinski felt exposed, looking into the human’s eyes with his. “W-we’re not going to do anything unseemly, are we?” The gryphon’s answer came when Bolopo growled, ripping the scarf from his neck and leaving him bare. Bare for a feathered, fur-coated bird at least.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Brinski,” said Bolopo. “As much as you’d probably like that, we have more important matters to attend to concerning this ‘revolution’ of yours that you seemed all too happy to shout out and inform damn near everyone in the courtyard, guards included, about.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” responded Brinski, a claw over his racing heart. Relief washed over him as he realized this was not, in fact, going to play out as he’d imagined it would. With another game of Blackjack. Seriously, Bolopo got pretty hyped up when it came to cards, and Brinski wouldn’t have been surprised if he was making a point to make him as uncomfortable as possible in another one of those mind games he liked to play during competitions such as that. As was mentioned before, this determination is what broke Brinski’s perfect record. His eyes widened, however, as the rest of what was said caught up with him.

Plastadus was just your average changeling spy. Though he now recently had an occupation as a janitor who swept up after other inmates whenever they all decided to congregate outside in the courtyard, it was generally assumed that he and most other changelings were spying on others in search of either information on other races or viable sources of Love. This was a good assumption to make, because if there were changelings around, these tended to be the primary reasons behind their espionage.

While assimilation went widely unnoticed most of the time, with most changelings staying at the Hives to protect it from rival Hives and to manage the flow of Love the Infiltrators brought back with them after extended journeys, that was largely due to the fact that Infiltrators were - contrary to popular belief amidst the other races - rather rare. Those who were sent out into other cultures were given the best education and training that could be offered to anyling, rivalling the education of even the most learned of nobles and all but trumping the orientation of the innermost royal protectors. Only the most disciplined and talented were ever sent out to mingle with non-changelings for long periods of time.

That was why no one even really knew of the existence of the changelings until the overt attack on Canterlot a few months ago by that fool Queen Chrysalis and her starving horde.

But despite all of this, Plastadus was still locked up in here, sweeping the corridors and cells. Why? Was it because he was discovered? Was it because he had ever slipped up? No. It was because he, back when he was Sweeping Stride, a wealthy businesspony by all rights and purposes who had dominated the market for cleaning agents and tools for the better part of twenty years, had evaded paying taxes.

Sigh. Such a promising and interesting life crumbling before his very eyes due to a single year of such an incident. Ponies took their taxes seriously. The various salt stands and underground pony trafficking railroads probably didn’t help his position overly much, but those were incidental. His true identity as a changeling hadn’t even been discovered when he was arrested, and though he largely forgot the militarized society of his Hive in favor of creature comforts and wealth, the ponies he did traffic were often sent to his Hive. They were naturally never seen again, but Plastadus did his best not to dwell on that. Even changelings, abominations in the eyes of evolution, needed to eat, and his contributions kept him from being dragged back in a bodybag. Instead, when he noticed just how many other changelings this institution had within its confines upon his being transferred there from the small holding cells of Manehattan, he decided it best to let Sweeping Stride be thought dead, dropping his disguise at his earliest convenience when no one was watching and living a rather dull life ever since.

Every sweep of his broom was an irony, and it was all he could do to not simply break it and be done with it all. Life was really dragging on in the Wastes for him, and while he finally was able to show his true face without being judged too harshly (despite the fact that fantastic racists would kill those like him out of principal if they were still particularly nationalistic, but that went on for most everyone), he wanted out.

So imagine the surprise he was possessed of when he heard a loud, birdlike shriek of frustration and despair pierce the silence of the halls.

“AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUG-mmph!?” The impressively loud shout of Brinski was cut short when Bolopo covered his beak with his scarf. Brinski, being in the logical, thinking mindset he was in at the moment, decided the next best course of action would be to bang his head against the wall as Bolopo, being the helpful person he is, watched in morbid amusement for a moment before grabbing the gryphon and pinning him to the floor of the cell.

“Listen to me, Brinski! Alright? I’ve been doing enough of this yelling shit today and the same goes for you, and to be frank, I’m getting sick of it. Now, shut the hell up and calm your avian tits!”

The struggling soon ceased as reason once again usurped mania for the throne inside Brinski’s head. A muffled sigh escaped him as his once flared wings went limp.

And this is how a changeling found them. A gryphon pinned to the floor with a scarf tied around his beak as a strange lanky creature, presumably the human from his unique physique and abundance of clothing, kneeled over him.

A lecherous grin came to Plastadus’ face at the sight. “Oh my.”

The pair looked at one another when the gryphon pulled his scarf from his face, the gryphon once again red in the face as the human chuckled to himself. “This… is exactly what it looks like.”

“Would you mind if I were to join in, in that case?”

“Y-yes, we do mind,” said the gryphon quietly.

“Only if you can keep it between us three,” replied the human in a low voice.

“But of course.” The changeling trotted on in. “For introductions, you may call me Plastadus. Before we begin, may I ask you your names?”

“I am Bolopo, and this,” Bolopo nodded his head to the gryphon still underneath him, “is my prison bitch.”

“Oh? I hardly meet gryphons who are into that sort of thing.”

“They all are into that sort of thing when I’m around.”

Plastadus snickered for a moment before adopting a businesslike expression. “Now, why was Brinski there screaming bloody murder but a moment ago. I could have sworn Pashi had finally given his dog permission to leave a knife in his back from the sounds of things.”

Somewhat surprised that the bug and the bird knew one another, Bolopo decided to answer that question for Brinski. “I already told you, he’s my prison bitch.”

“The humor is in the novelty, Mr. Bolopo, and I am afraid that that joke got stale rather quickly.”

Bolopo’s shit eating grin remained despite that. “Everyone’s a critic, ain’t they? Anyway, up you go, Brinski. Your old pal ‘Plastadus’ wants to speak with you.” Bolopo stepped away from the gryphon in question.

Brinski got up and dusted himself off, moving to speak before the human interrupted him. “Also, how did you know this wasn’t some friendly lark or something? You immediately asked about the screech and went detective mode.”

“I am a changeling, Mr. Bolopo. That means I eat emotions.”

“Bad. Ass,” interjected the human. He had heard tale of the little bugs being able to change their forms, but never was he told of them being emotional leeches. That made them even more fascinating.

“...And your emotions, while well hidden, are nothing warm or ‘friendly’. While you may smile, there is a great schism inside of you, and it is this that shows your emotional disparity.”

Bolopo was, for the first time Brinski had seen him, speechless. Either that, or he had something to say, but thought it wise to simply not derail the conversation at hand by retorting. Both possibilities were equally disquieting. Brinski looked to his associate. “Plastadus,” he said by way of greeting.

“Brinski,” responded Plastadus in kind. “If you would, let us cut to the chase. What had you so riled up earlier? And don’t bother lying, it doesn’t take a changeling to see that you’re conflicted about something.”

Brinski rubbed the back of his head, looking to Bolopo who, surprisingly, remained silent.

“W-well, would you believe me if I were to say it was an exercise meant to stabilize my sanity?”

“No,” answered Plastadus. “Suggesting that anyone in here is sane simply proves just how crazy you are. Now, the truth,” pressed the changeling.

Brinski sighed, casting a small glare over to Bolopo. Bolopo coolly held his gaze, crossing his arms. “Just tell the damn thing. It ain’t exactly a big secret no more.”

“Fine, fine!” looking back at Plastadus, Brinski set his jaw. “We are planning an escape. I just was outraged by the fact that I let such a thing slip from my tongue in a lapse of thought.”

“You know you’re going to most likely be killed in the process of bringing that plan into fruition, correct? That is, if you actually have a plan?”

“Of course I have a plan! I just… need a bit of time putting everything together to make it a good one.”

“Do you have a plan, or is it merely an idea with no foundation?”

“Okay, I have pieces of a plan. It would have been much better if Bolopo hadn’t forced my claw.”

“Speaking of…” Plastadus and Brinski looked to Bolopo, the human stroking the stubble on his chin as the cogs in his head spun. The crafty smile didn’t bring any comfort to either of them. “Would you like to join us in our endeavors. Things would go much more smoothly with a being of your capabilities in our ranks.”

Brinski balked at the idea, spinning to face Bolopo once more. “What do you mean by that!? He isn’t in the plan! Have you got a screw loose!?”

“Yes. But that’s beside the point. The meat of the matter is this: we need a crew, an infiltrator to be specific, and this little critter right here can help us. That is, if he’s willing to put up with the likes of you and I. Not to mention the high chance of us being bullet-riddled corpses at the end of all this. And that’s if we’re lucky. Still, optimism being something that I don’t often dabble in, I gotta say that outcome won’t come as readily if we got us someone who can shapeshift.”

“He doesn’t even know the full details of the plan!”

“Then you will inform me. I’m in.” Two sets of eyes, one confused and one pleased, settled on Plastadus. “I’m getting sick of sweeping these halls anyway; and I need to report back to my queen about the circumstances behind my disappearance.”

“That was easier than I’d expected,” said Bolopo as he pushed himself off the wall to approach Plastadus. A hand was extended to the changeling. “Welcome to The Wastes.”

“Really, Bolopo? ‘The Wastes’? You couldn’t do any better than naming the group after the land?”

“What? I just thought it was ironic enough to be amusing.”

Brinski slapped a talon to his face. Bolopo turned back to Plastadus, shaking his hand to draw attention back to the current matter.

The changeling looked at the offered appendage for a moment with narrowed eyes before reluctantly placing his holey hoof in it, the two shaking on their agreement before breaking contact.

Brinski watched quietly before rubbing his temple with a claw, an exasperated sigh escaping his beak as he furrowed his birdy brows. “Excellent. Just perfect. My apologies, but I suppose I haven’t been thinking straight since the debacle in the courtyard. The cold’s been getting to me lately. We’re happy to have you helping us, Plastadus.”

“Just get me out of here, Brinski. You’ve got a head on your shoulders, and since you’re apparently the leader of this little escapade, I expect you to use it. If this monkey here can string together rational thoughts, then you should be capable of much more.”

“Yeah, what the insect said. Don’t let him down, Brinski, because if we all die at the end of this, not only is it going to be anticlimactic as all hell, but I’m going to go out of my way to haunt your ghostly form in the afterlife.”

“How does that even work? A ghost can’t haunt a ghost.”

“I dunno. Death’s the greatest unsolved mystery next to Family Guy’s continued success. But I’m pretty sure I could make that work. Now, let’s brainstorm our little ‘revolution’ and blow this popsicle stand. I dunno about you guys, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my days chewing on near-frozen potatoes and rotting away in subzero weather behind these ramparts. I needs mah sunlight, hombre.” Bolopo sat on one of the bunks, covering himself with his cloak.

“I am in agreement with Bolopo, Brinski. There is much more to this world than is offered by this prison, and if we’re to make a move, it’s going to have to be soon.” Plastadus sat on the spot, his blue-shelled eyes resting on Brinski.

Brinski nodded, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “Alright. Alright, you’re right. We make a move now or we’ll be stuck in here until we’re naught but sad piles of bones. So, let’s consider how we can get out of this cesspool…”

As the three inmates tossed ideas around and pieced their scheme together bit by bit, the Wastes seemed to grow just that much colder.

Outside the Wall, a set of eyes radiating a fierce blue light pierced through the rising gusts of snow and ice. A staff was slammed into the ground, cracking the ice blanketed by snow; a grey, gnarled, clawed appendage grasped the frost from which it was made. The hunched over figure, cloaked in shadow and devoid of a form purely physical, shifted and writhed, its fur crackling with magical energy.

“Soon,” the creature spoke, its wispy voice carried on the winds as they picked up. An unearthly glow emanated from the staff the creature held in its clawed hands as it stood to its full height, several more manifestations of black materializing on the horizon on a rise to the call.

“Soon, all will be ice.”