1 - Revolution, or lack thereof
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.”
“So, I was going for a nice nightly walk, right?”
“Right.”
“Yeah, a real good way to clear the mind, y’know? Anyway, during that time, a guy thought it would be a good idea to mug me.”
“Uh huh.”
“And I was all like ‘Really? This fool must have a death wish or somethin’!’, but before I could do anything, he told me he was carrying. He had a piece pressed right into my spine to prove the point, and to drive it all home, I could hear him clocking the hammer or whatever that thing is.”
“Interesting.”
“But! Me - being the brave, money grubbing individual that I am - I wasn’t at all phased by this, and I turned around, knocked the sucker’s hand away, and decked him straight in the face!”
Brinski looked up from the map he had drawn of the facility, the gryphon looking worse for wear; it was made obvious by the rings underneath his eyes and the molting feathers on his wings that he had not gotten any proper sleep since yesterday’s meeting. His swollen eye was doing a bit better, at the least; he could actually open it a smidge.
“Really, Bolopo?” he asked in a tired, unconvinced tone that betrayed his fatigue.
Bolopo lifted his head from his crossed hands that served as a makeshift pillow (the human having had thrown the original at the changeling that bugged him to ‘give him love’, accompanied with a brief exchange of words not suited for young, innocent ears that resulted in the insect taking the pillow for himself as he left to again sweep the halls) to look at Brinski from the corner of his eye. A guilty smile graced his features, but he didn’t miss a beat.
“Heh, nah. I just about shit myself when he pulled the gun on me. I tell you what, I never pulled my wallet out so quick in my life! I swear I couldn’t be bothered to walk outside without a weapon of some kind in my pocket ever since that happened. That’s why I carry this,” Bolopo drew from his back pocket a switchblade, “around wherever I go. Better to be safe than sorry, I’ve learned.”
“Bolopo, do you mind? I’m trying to get this plan together so we can recruit a small team for our escape. Why don’t you go and, I don’t know, find some potential candidates for,” Brinski shuddered, “‘The Wastes’.”
Rolling his eyes, Bolopo grinned. “C’mon, Brinski, the name can’t be that bad. Seriously, you look like you’ve just watched an episode of Star Wars: Rebels with the tiniest ray of hope that it would be worth any of your time.” Brinski looked at the human in befuddlement. “Sorry, I keep forgetting the Disney Empire hasn’t yet expanded their influence to this place. Not entirely sure if that’s a blessing or a curse… Eh, I’ll go with the former. Still, you don’t seem entirely pleased with the name that we all agreed on during the meeting.”
“You mean the name that you appointed to the group. Plastadus and I never gave our approval of it.”
“Well, you didn’t seem averse to it enough to argue for a better one.”
Brinski dragged a talon down his face. “That is because I am more focused on getting out of this damned place than I am on some piddling name.”
“Alright. The Wastes, it shall remain!” Bolopo exclaimed triumphantly.
Rolling his eyes, Brinski went back to circling areas of interest and ‘x’-ing out places he deemed too dangerous. “Back to what I was saying before you so expertly derailed the conversation… again, would you go and, as inconspicuously as possible, search for potential volunteers?”
“You mean like the two coming here in just a few moments?” asked Bolopo.
“Yes, Bolopo, like the two coming in just a few mo- What!?” Brinski was up in an instant, the movement so quick and so sudden that it sent the provisioned chair he was sitting in careening toward the wall of the cell. A wild eye settled upon Bolopo. “What do you mean someone is on their way here!?”
Bolopo squirmed under the gryphon’s glare. “Exactly how it sounds, Brinski. While you were out, I took it upon myself to talk to two people who just may be interested in this little revolution of yours.”
“While I was out? I fell asleep? When!?”
“You took a small break from planning to slam your head on yonder table and catch some z’s. It was only for a few minutes, honest. You were just so adorable that I couldn’t find it in me to bother waking you up.”
“And now there are-”
“Two candidates for The Wastes on their way here, yes,” finished Bolopo as he sat up. “Jesus, why are you so worked up about this, Brinski? I mean, it’s already been three days, so I had to make a move. Not only did I already get what you were looking for done, but I did twice as much! That’s literally double the chances of us getting out of here.”
“No, that is double the chance of us being found out, you imbecile! Why direct some random hooligans to our cell over anywhere else that is more discreet!? Do you understand the nuances behind subtlety?”
Bolopo furrowed his brows as the gryphon bristled, looking ready to murder a man. He wanted to say something facetious, but decided against such course of action when he noted Brinski’s anger. He sighed. “Shit. I didn’t think that part through, I suppose.”
“Do you ever think these kinds of things through?” chided Brinski.
“Look, we ain’t got nothing to worry about. That I can guarantee. ‘Cause with the dumb muscle we could get out of this, our job is gonna be that much easier!”
“And what ‘dumb muscle’ would this be?” queried Brinski, his voice low and dangerous. He already had suspicions as to who these two individuals were, but he wanted the answer to come from the source of this issue.
“Erm, w-well, you see-” Bolopo was interrupted by distant footfalls that shook the very ground, the reverberations of the colossal stomps bouncing from wall to wall. Bolopo gave a sheepish smile as Brinski’s eye widened, the gryphon quickly folding up the map and stuffing it in his scarf. The pounding grew closer and closer to the cell, and it was upon them by the time it suddenly stopped. The harsh clacking of hooves was replaced with the soft pit-pat of paws.
Brinski stared incredulously at the Diamond Dog who arrived at the front of the cell door. Boxy muzzle, built brown body, scar, homicide in her eyes. Yup. There was no way that this wasn’t Piper. She had a bloodthirsty grin on her face as she stood behind the bars to the cell, seeing Brinski, her prey, in the room, seemingly all by his lonesome.
Piper opened the door, making her way in and slowly advancing toward the little birdie as she extended her claws. “Little Birdie got nowhere to run. Little Birdie and Piper gonna have a good day of fun!” She tittered as Brinski backed away, nervousness apparent as he readied his talons, looking off to the side at something out of view before nodding. Whatever it was didn’t matter, though, as she already had him cornered, and the fear in the air was palpable.
“S-stay back, Piper!” stammered Brinski. “We’re meant to just have a nice, bloodless talk.”
A sharp leer was his response, the dog still closing the distance. “Oh, we’ll have talk, Little Birdie. You talk, while I wrap my paws ‘round your throat and strangle you.”
“N-no, none of that is necessary. Look, let’s just sit down and be reasonab-OH!” Brinski ducked as Piper swiftly padded forward, swinging her large hand in a wide arc with the intent to knock his head off his shoulders. The gryphon nimbly moved behind her, being forced on the defensive as Piper put her weight on her arms and kicked back, knocking him off-balance.
While Brinski danced with the dog, finding it difficult to maneuver around every one of her attacks due to his halfsight and exhaustion, Bolopo jumped from his bunk and decided to join in on the tango. Bolopo used Piper’s focus on Brinski to his advantage, slamming a knee into where he believed her kidney was, bringing the surprised Diamond Dog to her knees. Now at his height, the human wrapped an arm around her neck, pulling back in an attempt to subdue her. He was rewarded with an elbow in his stomach for his troubles.
Piper growled, shrugging off the blow from Brinski when he struck her muzzle as she turned her attention to the human on her back; she grabbed Bolopo by the arm and roughly pulled him over her shoulder, smashing him through the table that once held the map. That effectively knocked him out of the skirmish for the time being, the human feeling naught but pain from both the force of the impact and the sturdiness of the table, wind knocked from his lungs.
Piper raised a fist and readied a finishing blow, a yelp of anger and pain escaping her maw when she was slugged again in her already weakened lower back. Brinski struck again and again and again, raising his clenched talon once more before a fist collided with the side of his head. He fell to the ground, struggling to pick himself up as the world around him spun. Everything came into focus, however, when he was picked up by the neck and held aloft.
Piper smiled at his pitiful attempts to break free, the gryphon wearily dragging his talons across her forearms with just enough force to break the skin, blood trickling in shallow crimson streams from the cuts. She tightened her grip on the gryphon’s neck, her free hand joining the first whilst she went through with her promise of strangling the life out of the little birdie.
In that moment, all was going right in the world. Piper was ridding herself of Little Birdie’s troublesome presence, she’d collected a few more scars out of their little scuffle, and she was even planning something special for Little Birdie’s monkey friend for being the one to invite her to the cell in the first place.
Then came a stinging blow and the sound of splintering wood, and for some reason Piper found herself on the dusty floor of the cell in the next moment, her head swimming and her perception shifting from blurry and far away to crystal clear and in focus. She tried putting her paws beneath her to push herself up, but found that one of them was pressed behind her back in a decidedly uncomfortable position. She groaned as she fought to free herself from whomever was subduing her, but was rewarded with even more pressure being put into her arm for her troubles. Her struggling finally ceased as she felt something sharp being stuck against her neck, glancing sidelong at the wielder of the weapon.
Piper growled a low, rumbling growl, narrowing her eyes at the troublesome human as he held a pocket knife to her neck. Bolopo looked down at her with furious eyes as he kneeled on her shoulder, poised to sever her pipeway in twain. “Guess what, bitch. You’re. Beaten. Now, I suggest you be a good sport or else you’ll be playing dead in doggie Hell.”
Brinski coughed harshly, taking grateful breaths as he rubbed at his tender neck, pushing himself off of the ground. He kept his guard up despite seeing that Piper was for the moment placated. Blood spilled from the gash in the back of Piper’s head, the Diamond Dog still weakly attempting to get out of Bolopo’s hold. He increased the pressure on her arm, eliciting a whimper from her.
“She’s had enough, tough guy.” The deep, booming voice that rang from the entrance of the cell yanked Brinski and Bolopo’s attention from Piper, the pair discovering two beady eyes staring right back at them. Connected to these beady eyes was a horned, bull-like head with a short beard and the large body of a minotaur. On the other side of the bars, unable to fit through due to his gigantic size, was none other than the oh so venerable Pashi. “Why dontcha let her go before I bend these bars apart and come in there myself; when you do we’ll be more than willing to listen to this second ‘apology’ o’ yours.”
Silence reigned over the cell as the two pairs glared at one another through the iron bars of the cell door, Brinski and Bolopo on one side and Piper and Pashi on the other. Looking out into the hall at the hulking minotaur and his fuming oversized puppy, Bolopo cleared his throat to stave off the growing awkwardness between the parties.
“So, uh, about the apology…” he started.
“I’m all ears, ape,” pressed Pashi as he peered down at the human.
“Well, it’s less of an apology and more of an offer.”
As Brinski tiredly rubbed his aching head as his worst fears had been confirmed, Pashi pursed his lips in interest. “An offer, you says? And what can some waste like you offer to me?”
The answer came rather bluntly. “Freedom.” At Pashi’s dumbfounded expression, Bolopo allowed himself a small smile.
After another tense moment of silence, laughter echoed through the halls. Pashi slammed his fist into the cell door, shaking it with each jovial tap, as he wiped a tear from his eye. “Ohoho, that’s a good one. I took you for a punk, but never did I think you was a comedian!” More guttural laughter erupted from the minotaur before, after taking a minute to find his breath, Pashi again looked at Bolopo. “Now be serious, what’s the real reason you called us here?”
“I already told you, to make an offer for your freedom.”
What remained of Pashi’s smile faded into a soft scowl. “Okay, wise guy, the joke’s over. I got my laugh out of that crazy idea, so give me something that ain’t the stuff of fairy tales.”
“Do you want to get out of here or not?” asked Bolopo.
Growing more annoyed, Pashi leaned down to look Bolopo in the eyes, the human returning his gaze. Searching for any hint of deceit or dishonesty, and finding none, he huffed. “You must be outta your mind, human. No one who comes to the Wastes leaves. No one.”
“Do you want to leave or not,” reiterated Bolopo. “It’s a yes or no question.”
“Of course I want to get out of here, ape. But that ain’t possible!”
“With that sort of attitude, ain’t nothing possible, my bullheaded friend; but would you rather rot away in here, or rot away out there?”
“One of those options involves a lotta uncertainty, a lotta cold. Least in here we’re fed, even if it’s hardly enough to go by, clothed, and relatively sheltered from the cold.”
“True as those reasons may be, this is nothing more than a gilded cage at the end of the day. How long until seeing the same gray and white everywhere drives you as batty as it has Bad Boy Brinski here?” Bolopo motioned to the bird, who glared at him in return.
Pashi stroked his beard. “You been saying a lot about breakin’ outta here. About escape. But how’s I supposed to know it ain’t just a bunch of hot air you’re blowing? What’s the plan?”
“That,” responded Bolopo before pointing a finger at his cellmate, “is what Brinski’s here for.”
Brinski frowned, rubbing the fog out of his eyes before looking to Pashi and his mutt. “Yes, well, it’s a work in progress, but it all essentially boils down to this…”
A long, long day, it was. Reports of unrest on a global scale, resulting in a number of governments being overthrown and demesnes razed to the ground; drakes and wyverns migrating away from their ancestral territories to escape whatever was on the horizon; the days growing shorter and the nights longer. All of this due to the growing chill that had taken hold of all of Orbis over the past few decades.
It had started small, barely noticeable or even concerning the minds of anypony, but that all changed when one day the Princesses found-
“Sir, do you have a moment?”
Shining Armor looked up from the sea of paperwork barely contained on the top of his desk. Normally this wasn’t his job, considering he was no longer truly a prince, but it took his mind off of more upsetting matters.
“What do you need, soldier?” he tiredly asked the guard who rather impolitely barged into his office. By office, of course, he meant cell. A pretty cage ‘gifted’ to him by the Princesses after what had transpired at the Crystal Empire all those years ago.
“I-I’m sorry for forgetting to knock, Captain, it’s just that-” the guard took note of the bags beneath Shining’s eyes. “Have you gotten any sleep as of late? You don’t look to be in the best shape.”
“I’ve gone longer without. Considering recent circumstances, I’d say that I’m coping rather well.”
The guard shifted for a moment, his armor creaking over his winter wraps. “We’re sorry for your loss, Captain. If there was more we could have done, you can guarantee we would have exhausted all other options to save her.” Shining didn’t respond, looking instead down to his paper. “A-are you sure you’re alri-”
“I’m fine,” hissed Shining, the hostile look in his eyes and the unkempt state of his mane combined with his snarl making him appear to be a wild animal. That’s how everyone looked nowadays. “Now, tell me what it is you need to and dismiss yourself.”
The guard stood at attention, reacting admirably to his captain’s outburst. “Of course, sir. You are needed at Canterlot Castle immediately. The Princesses have news of a plan on how to combat Equestria’s, nay, the whole world’s latest threat. And they say you are integral in this fight.”
Shining’s frown, a common sight for those who had the rare chance of seeing him out of his quarters in this day and age, deepened as he furrowed his brows. “Why me? What do I possess that would make me any more valuable to them than any other pony?”
“They said they would answer any inquiries you have upon your arrival, Captain.”
A cloud of misty air was exhaled from Shining. “And what if I decline?”
The guard sat unmoving, his face a mask of emotionless professionalism but his eyes a whirlpool of conflict. “This is an order by the combined power of the Regent of the Sun and the Weaver of the Stars, Captain, it is no choice on your part whether you will go or not. Should you prove obstinate or recalcitrant, however, there is a squad of their hoof-selected personal guards just outside that door that are here to ensure your compliance.”
“Are you threatening me, Sergeant?” Shining asked after quickly glancing at the rank pinned onto the chestpiece of the guard’s armor.
“I’m just following orders, sir.”
There was a pregnant pause, the chill running that much deeper the whole time. “Hmph.” Finally, Shining relented. He hopped out of the chair at his desk, walking around to face the stallion face to face. “Lead on, then, Sergeant.”
As the two of them stepped out of the room, Shining caught sight of what awaited him on the other side of the door. In the hall was a contingent of guards, Thestrals and Solars interspersed into a larger squadron. Trotting up to meet him was a Thestral with a white mane and red eyes, both oddities in both the pony and Thestral community.
“Good to see you again, Captain,” she said, holding out a hoof. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”
He wanted to spit at her hooves; he wanted to walk away and not be bothered with any more of the Princess’s nonsense. However, doing either of those things would only make a bad situation worse, so for the sake of professionalism and duty, Shining swallowed his pride and his bitterness and all his other emotions to reach out to shake her hoof. It took a surprising amount of willpower.
“We all do, Lieutenant Evergraze. Now, would you be so kind as to escort me to the princesses?”
Lieutenant Evergraze pulled out from under her scarf a ring. Shining narrowed his eyes at the sight of it. A magic dampener. “Just standard protocol, Captain. We would’ve had you in chains, too, but the Princesses felt that would unnecessarily sour the deal.”
Shining’s glare didn’t lighten in the slightest as he responded. “Do what you need to, Lieutenant. I understand the need for precaution.”
As he lowered his head, Evergraze ran the ring down the ice stalactites on his jagged horn as best as she could, Shining grunting ever so often in mild pain before she seemed satisfied with its position.
“It’s time to get a move on, Captain. The rest of Division 14 is waiting for you outside.”
Shining’s eyes widened. The Excaliburs?! They haven’t seen deployment since the Changeling Invasion! “Why Division 14 of all squadrons?” he asked, confused.
The Lieutenant turned around and began trotting off in a certain direction, him in tow. “Let’s just state the obvious and say something rather big is going on,” she responded.
“And you have unwittingly been swept up into the center of this mess.”
Author's Note
Yup. Things are most certainly happening.
Bolopo’s mind had been consumed by a lukewarm sea of diluted nostalgia, landing him back in a place where, while life wasn’t exactly enjoyable, there were at least media-covered stories of people who had worse lots than he to comfort him, and coffee―unsullied by creams, sugars, or additives of any kind―to warm him. He relished the thought of that homely black liquid, mysterious yet so intimate in its familiarity, as he pulled his cloak over him in a poor attempt to stave off the errant breeze.
Only his cloak was no longer covering his shivering form.
Bolopo groaned his displeasure at such a cruel turn of events, popping open a bloodshot eye and groggily searching the small prison cell for his disappeared comforter. It didn’t take too long to find it, as, with a particularly loud snore, he discovered it was attached to a certain changeling. Who he discovered was attached to one of his legs. The adorability of the situation was ignored. Bolopo wanted his damn cloak back.
Pushing aside his disgruntled thoughts of simply tossing Plastadus wayward and telling him off for his intrusion of his personal space, and worse, his interruption of his coffee-centered fantasies, Bolopo grabbed the cloak and yanked it towards him. Despite his show of force, the clingy changeling had still not lost his hold on the thing, snoring all the while.
After two more attempts to remove Plastadus from his impromptu blanket, Bolopo frustratedly decided the endeavor wasn’t worth the hassle or stress. And then a thought crossed his mind.
The breeze had felt… off for the past few weeks. It was still cold enough to freeze one’s feathers off, and the noise carried with it was still calamitous, but there was something missing that Brinski couldn’t quite place his talon on. Inhaling deeply and allowing the sharp air to awaken his lungs, he narrowed his eyes, a fleeting thought thankful that the cold had reduced the swelling in his bad one to nil.
“There’s no scent of blood on the wind,” he thought, surprised at the deduction. Sure there was still the stench of shame to fill the absence, but that was something everyone in the Wall grew numb to after being incessantly assaulted by its odor day in and day out. But Brinski wasn’t worried about the fact that there was no blood shed as of yet so much as he was of the implications behind it. Pashi had been, for better or worse, inactive for the most part since their little deal. “But why?” he asked no one in particular, his voice echoing off the interior of one of the upper-level cells. He had come up there to think. His relationship with Bolopo, the plan, home, he just wanted some time to himself to allow his mind to drift… Which was why he was startled out of his reverie when a deep voice growled from behind him.
“Because, featherhead, Pashi busy,” the all too familiar voice of Pashi’s second-in-command answered, seemingly reading his mind.
Brinski’s heart dropped. Spinning around, he sure enough found he was faced with Piper. The dog leaned against a wall, arms crossed at the chest as she glared daggers that sent more pronounced chills down his spine than even the coldest of tempests could.
“W-what are you doing here?” he said, cursing the uncertainty in his voice.
“No worry, Piper not gonna tear away chicken’s wings. She here for self; want word with bird.”
“So you’re not here on behalf of Pashi?”
Piper shook her head. “No, Piper here of own accord. Got questions… and warnings.” Her voice dipped back into its usual menacing tone.
Brinski, feeling as though he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, decided to humor her. So long as she wasn’t trying to beat him into a fine, beaked paste, he was more than willing to speak. “Well, I suppose I could spare a moment of my time.”
Piper adjusted her jacket, pulling the collar up. “Birdie want to help, but not powerful. How can weak little birdie help strong Pashi?”
Brinski wouldn’t have been lying if he said he felt just a bit insulted by that. “Well, there’s more to strength than brawn. Sometimes, you have to know where to apply that muscle in order to maximize its effectiveness.” Piper tilted her head the ear that wasn’t torn in half raising slightly. Brinski tapped a claw against his beak. “When you’re not strong, you have to use your brain and get those who are strong to want to help you out with what you can’t do alone. I’m offering to help you and Pashi in return for your aid.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Brinski parroted. “Why what?”
“Why you want Piper and Pashi?”
I really didn't. “Well, you two are definitely some of the strongest individuals here. I most certainly got a lesson in that when you struck me in the eye.” Piper smiled, chuckling loudly at that. “You both carry a lot of influence here, and I’m sure you can keep the other prisoners from poking their noses into business not of their own while I get the plan in working order.”
“Why?” Piper pressed, a sense of urgency in her tone.
“Well, I assume you and Pashi would like to see the other side of the Wall, yes?”
Piper shook her head, glaring again at Brinski. “Death. And white. Forever white. No life, just empty. I hate death; I hate white; I hate empty. Piper prefers cage with freedom over freedom with cage. Why she give that up?”
Brinski opened and closed his beak a few times, genuinely floored by the question. “Because you can’t live in a cage. You have to at least try to fight to be released from your shackles.”
“Freedom is death, birdie. Not life. Cage is life for us. Not best life, but still life.”
“There is an entire world out there, Piper. One that holds more than snow or suffering. One that gives us an opportunity to be more than prisoners waiting to freeze to death. We can reunite with our families, find our place in the world. Don’t you want that?”
Piper froze up when he mentioned ‘family’. “Piper home here. Piper family here. Piper Pashi here.” She breathed deeply to calm herself down, the dog shaking with her fists clenched and her eyes snapped shut. Suddenly, though, her eyes shot open, narrowing, and she briskly closed the distance between them, leaving them beak-to-maw. “Pashi means world to Piper. He reason she want answers.” She pressed a single finger on Brinski’s chest, lowering her head to eye-level with the gryphon. “Pashi leave, I leave. Pashi get hurt, you leave.” The thinly-veiled threat was not lost on Brinski as he nodded his head earnestly. Satisfied, Piper again stood to her full, intimidating height and with nary a glance or word stalked off, her paw pads masking her footfalls.
Only when he was absolutely certain the Diamond Dog was gone did Brinski allow himself to release the breath he had been holding since she had appeared. Feeling on guard whenever he was around that psychopath did nothing to calm his nerves, and the fact that she had a point about the other side of the Wall left him uneasier still. He had come up here to clear his mind, only to be left even more anxious. The breeze once again chilled him to the core, but he waited until he was absolutely certain that Piper was truly gone and not lying in wait to snap his neck up ahead. As he descended the stairs from the upper floors, Brinski still couldn’t shake the thought of there being something wrong with the wind.
Captain Medula Ilfreja felt right at home. She had never really enjoyed the sun as a cub; she was far too sensitive to enjoy it. So her reassignment to the Wastes, while usually taken as a mark of disgrace for a Captain such as herself, didn’t much bother her. Still, I gotta wonder what’s so damn special about this place, she thought to herself, the smallest signs of a frown to pull at her aging beak. There were no resources this far north aside from the supply drops, few and far between as those were; the prisoners were more worried about food rations and staving off the cold than they are of entertaining thoughts of escape―fat lot of good that would do them if they did by some miracle manage it―to do anything other than complain and beat each other senseless… Why must we guards freeze our tail feathers off as well?
Being something of a stickler for southern Gryphonian tradition, down to the point where she carved an opening into the side of her beak for a makeshift whistle with a file to quickly get the attention of her troops whenever she absolutely required it and always kept her father’s feather on her person at all times as something of a now moot heirloom and charm, Captain Ilfreja did not much agree with the relocation of perfectly capable soldiers and medical personnel to wastelands in the middle of nowhere where nothing ever happened aside from the rare sighting of some winter-coated beast in the wasteland. Sure, most of the guard detail had been exiled from their service for some reason or other, and were here because they were honorbound, homeless, or forcibly reassigned, but their work was needed elsewhere. Especially considering the bleak situation back in what was once civilized society.
But those were just the surface of the thoughts plaguing the Captain’s mind. Chief among her “worries”, for lack of a better term, were the whispers of two rowdy insurgents, one a gryphon and the other some kind of hairless yeti. They had caused quite the commotion in the middle of the courtyard about a week ago and were apparently plotting their escape. And where there was one rat―or two in this case―there was a family hidden nearby.
All she had to do was wait for them to make their first move, if they were going to actually act, and snuff it out as soon as possible. But on the other hand, if she were to pull a few strings and manipulate events in her favor she could have her own personal little “helpers” with whom she could maneuver without any documentation or prying whatsoever…
As the cogs spun in Ilfreja’s head, she permitted herself a grin. “Relieve Weidrew from his post and have him sent to my office,” she ordered, both of her guards standing at attention. “We have a matter of importance to discuss.”
Bloodshed.
So much bloodshed.
He stared into the eyes, long void of life, of the young cub he carried in his arms. Only after he was sure the pulse he felt was the result of his own rapidly beating heart did he pull the knife from her neck.
Screams echoed in the distance as the flames rose, drowned out by the laughter of vagabonds and the gunfire of mercenaries. But all of this was immaterial to him. He couldn’t look away from her eyes. Those eyes that pierced his very soul.
Shaking his head, a tired sigh escaped Brinski’s beak. He had been walking about the grounds of the institution, what had at first been him scoping the place for ideal locations to bust out devolving into him aimlessly strolling as his mind grew foggy. The gryphon decided that it would be a good idea to head back to his cell for a nap to clear his mind. And possibly get a swig or two of the liquor he had managed to, through numerous favors and handoffs, snatch from a fresh shipment unseen. Not even Bolopo knew he had the thing, Brinski was so paranoid. He didn’t drink unless it was a special occasion, but at the moment he felt like making an exception.
As he neared the door to his cell, Brinski softened his gait and listened. Hearing no noise from the other side aside from some snoring, the bird took the handle and twisted it slowly, so as to not wake up his excitable cellmate. He didn’t feel like sharing, after all. Slipping inside and lifting one of the tiles, Brinski reached inside of the hollowed out interior and pulled out a finely aged St. Gravelbeak’s Bourbon, supposedly shipped directly from Holsburgh, the old gryphon’s hometown. This thing was worth a small fortune, he wagered, replacing the tile and turning to jump to his bunk.
But what, or rather who, he saw already there broke his reality.
Lying on the bottom bunk were Bolopo and Plastadus, the former big spooning the latter. Through his surprise, Brinski noticed that Bolopo had one of Plastadus’ ears in his mouth, nibbling on the thing softly as the changeling squirmed and moaned, nuzzling the underside of the human’s chin from within his possessive grasp. On the floor Bolopo’s cloak lied forgotten.
Brinski inspected the liquor in his claws with a nod of approval. “Well worth a small fortune, indeed,” he thought. Upon returning his gaze to the two inmates he saw Plastadus’ were now open, and the bug was staring back at him. Their eyes remained locked for an uncomfortable length of time before, with a cheeky smile, Plastadus put a hoof to his mouth in a silencing gesture. The bug then made himself comfortable, sighing as he pressed his back into Bolopo’s chest, wings buzzing just slightly. Bolopo continued sleepily dragging his teeth along Plastadus’ ear.
Brinski’s eye twitched.
A smash tore Bolopo from the comfort of his dreams, causing him to nearly fly off the bed in fright.
“Curse this damned liquor!”
Bolopo didn’t notice until then that 1. His friend had just wasted what looked to be a perfectly good bottle of bourbon, and 2. He was spooning a bugpony, its ear covered in his saliva. Being a man of priorities, Bolopo was about to say something along the lines of “You’d better rebottle that shit in the next 5 seconds or so help me God…!” when the insect in his grasp beat him to the punch, a frown in its voice.
“Splendid, Brinski. You ruined our little moment. And I didn’t tell you to stop, ape,” Plastadus commanded, flicking his ear in Bolopo’s confused face. Shrugging and deciding to ask questions later, he did as he was ordered, gnawing lightly on the changeling’s ear.
Brinski, looking rather restless but a moment ago, visibly deflated, dragging his claws down over his face as he realized what he had done. “Ugh, cursed conniptions…” Bolopo was beginning to drift back into the coffee-scented seas of unconsciousness when, out of nowhere, a weight landed on top of him. “I am joining the two of you,” said Brinski, wrapping an arm of his own around Brinski and Plastadus. What confused Bolopo most of all was when Brinski rested his head upon his shoulder. Probably some kind of gryphon thing, he reasoned to himself.
Just as sleep was about to finally retake its grasp over his mind, a familiar booming echoed from the halls, stopping just at the cell door. “Uh… am I interrupting somethin’?” Pashi questioned with his deep voice.
Bolopo’s ear-chewing intensified, but didn’t quite reach Mike Tyson levels, fortunately, as Brinski answered, not raising his head. “What do you need, Pashi? Can you not see I am busy?”
“It’s got somethin’ to do with the plan, Brinski. The Wall, it’s… you’re gonna want to see this, trust me.” The bona fide layer of unease in the otherwise stoic and tough minotaur’s tone was more than enough incentive for Brinski to rush out of the bunk and to the cell door.
“What is it!? Has someone broken through? Has there been an escape?” Brinski asked with urgency.
“No, nobody got out. I don’t know how to explain it, but I think something tried gettin’ in… You won’t believe what I have to say till you see it with your own two eyes. C’mon, I’ll show you.”
As the two left, Bolopo was about to settle down for a bit more shuteye, but his cuddlebug shifted, groaning in disappointment. “I suppose I’ll get the broom and clean up this mess.” Plastadus wriggled free of Bolopo’s grip and left as well, leaving the human staring at the wall on the other side of the room.
Upon closing his eyes, the image of the young girl’s lifeless gaze flashed in his head.
