Dang Cheaters

Sometime during the hottest part of the day, Soft had dozed off. Between the persistent headache, the heat, the brain searing sun and burning through all of her breakfast by pacing angrily in the sweat cart, she had simply gotten too weary and, predictably, passed out.

Normally, this turn of events wouldn't have been a problem. Between having food and water, shelter, and freedom, she could have trotted over to some shade, had a bit of water, or even trusted her companions to look out for her -  then again, normally she would not have been locked up in a cage with no shade or water in the first place.

So, when she was roughly jostled awake, finding her legs hobbled and her wings bound, her first response was panic. Throwing her head back, trying to leap into the air and fight off her assailants all at the same time, she only managed to topple herself over, bashing her own head into the cage, and knocking herself silly.

Being dragged out by her hobbles had done her no favors, but by that point, she had been in little position to argue.

Some hours later, having recovered a bit in a cool cell, Soft found herself waking up again, aching all over, and craving water to a degree that she idly wondered if she'd lower herself to drinking from a trough if given half the chance.

All of that, however, changed the moment she realized she was still hobbled, chained, and now sported a bit between her teeth that was keeping the muzzle strapped to her head.

A few moments struggling with her hooves served only to prove that, despite her adventure stories, jailers really did use things that worked to keep people from escaping easily.

Who knew?

With a snort of frustration, she glanced around the cell. Three walls, all of some kind of cream colored daub, a set of bars that ringed the whole place, and a wooden arch that helped divide the room before ceding territory to a stairwell. Two small openings in one wall served to let in light, though even from here she could see that they, too, were metal lined and barred. A series of notches in the walls held tapers, probably to a small oil trough located somewhere off in the building, which gave off a feeble glow from their tiny flames. Otherwise, the room was bare, only sporting a wooden bucket half filled with water, near the front of her cell.

Oh... and the anchor loop in the floor and ceiling which were currently being used as extra precautions, chaining her to the physical structure of the building itself.

In short, she was screwed.

With another snort, Soft glanced back and found her saddle pack was, predictably, missing. In fact, they seemed to have taken everything, down to the nails from her shoes. Idiots or not, she at least had to admit they had been thorough; a skilled thief could, after all, fashion a lockpick from just about anything... she'd seen Dawn do it.

Grumbling to herself, she paused and frowned even harder. With the bit in her mouth, she couldn't even understand her own muttering.

When she got out, and she promised herself that she would, she was going to make very sure that that prick in the market understood exactly how pissed she was.

And then, after a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, she staggered to the front of her cell and slopped up what water she could from the bucket..... like some dumb animal.

*****

"TWO DAYS! It took you TWO DAYS to get me out!?" Soft shouted at Bright Way. "First you think it's a great idea to set up Dawn, then you decide you USE ME in your plot, THEN... THEN you screw us BOTH over with your shit and THEN, on top of everything else, you dick around for TWO FRAKKING DAYS to get me out!?"

Bright way, despite normally being the calm center of the group, had taken to flinching slightly under Soft's verbal barrage. Admittedly, she was currently nearly upright with her front hooves pinning him to the cell wall, but the fact of the matter was that he still outweighed her by a good eighty pounds and stood a bit taller as well. It might have had something to do with the nearly murderous glares she had started giving him the moment he came down with one of the guards, or the fact that she looked like she hadn't bathed, or even tried to groom herself in days, or perhaps it was the fact that pegassi really didn't do too well in enclosed spaces for long periods of time... but whatever it was, Bright Way knew the instant she had been unlocked, that he was in more trouble than he had thought.

"Soft Touch, please calm down. You're free now and there's no -" Bright started, only to feel his head bounce firmly off the wall behind him, courtesy of a sharp shove from his pegasus ... friend.

"Calm down? Seriously? That's what you're going to say to me after that crap?" Seeing him starting to open his mouth again, Soft gave one more quick shove and stalked to the stairwell. "Bright, There ain't a Queen's damned thing you can say to excuse this. You KNOW I hate these places. You KNOW I was innocent. And you damn well know that not a single freaking thing better be damaged or I'll have your head right after that bastard, goat fucking, merchant sleaze bag!"

The guard, who had been standing off to the side through the entire exchange, took a step forward and placed a guantletted hand upon Soft's withers, only to yank it back as she spun and snapped her teeth where his fingers had been a moment ago.

"Now miss, there's no need for that kind of behavior," he said, though his other hand slid towards his club.

"I'll tell you something there, mister guard," Soft's voice dropped to a hiss, "I have every right to be beyond pissed. I have every right to take out my alloted 8 minutes of vengeance, and I have every right to knock that idiot's head into the wall until he sees two of me. And you," she punctuated the statement with an angry stomp, "have got some nerve touching me after this whole thing."

After a moment, the guard nodded slowly but didn't remove his hand from the slip of his club. "Aye, but I can't be letting you go if you're standing here spitting threats against the good people of the town."

Soft's muzzle scrunched up into a silent snarl before she snorted and glared at Bright Way once more. "Get my stuff, mister guard. I'm not making threats, I'm reminding the local law enforcement of the laws they're supposed to be following." She looked back over to the guard once more, a calmer, though no less upset frown on her face. "And just to clear things up, that merchant... the 'good person' you're worried about me threatening... he wanted me to be spayed for 'stealing' his crap when I hadn't even been in town long enough to recover from a hangover and the MUGGING I went through the night before."

The guard cleared his throat to speak but was cut off again as Soft just shook her head and started up the stairs. "Just.... get my stuff, mister guard. I shouldn't have been here in the first place and I'm not going to stay here longer just to argue about it."

Bright Way and the guard both watched in silence as Soft stormed up the steps with the soft clattering of unshod hooves.

"You know, this isn't going to be a very nice day for you, right?" the guard asked as Bright started up the steps as well.

Bright paused for a moment, to look back at the guard. "No... no it is not. And it truly is a shame that it was an innocent that got caught up in your town's prejudices."

Whatever small amount of understanding the guard had for the unicorn evaporated almost instantly. "Right... because we make your kind crooks," he muttered.

Bright Way pretended not to hear as he simply slipped off up the stairs.

*****

Soft Touch was livid.

Not only had she been stuck in a cell for two days for some trumped up charge by a slimy merchant, not only had one of her team set the events in motion that had led to it, not only had it only happened because the most prominent thief in their group had decided to go legit for some reason, but those greasy fingered sleazeballs they called 'guards' had gone through her stuff.

There was also the threat of being spayed, and the fact that that particular thought only occurred at the end of her internal rant made her pause for a moment.

Extreme personal harm against indignity and violation of privacy. Hmmm.... priorities.

Nope, at the moment, she was okay with her list. She could always freak out more about it later.

But right now, Soft Touch was just a hair's breadth away from flying over the chest high counter, bucking the clerk, and then throttling every last one of them.

She might have also been desperately craving a bottle of something alcoholic to take the edge off, but that was beside the point.

"Look, I just want my stuff back. I've been locked up for two days and they just let me out... I just want to get my stuff and get out of this crap hole," Soft explained.... for the third time.

The clerk, a sweaty, bearded, midget of a man, screwed up his face in a look of jaded frustration... or constipation... Soft never was terribly good at telling the difference on humans. "And I told you, you dumb dust mop, it ain't happening! Your possessions have been confiscated in relation to the aforementioned crime and will be returned if, AND ONLY IF, you are cleared of all charges." The little man huffed and lifted himself up just the tiniest bit as he placed his palms on the counter.

"And I told you THEY LET ME OUT YOU OBNOXIOUS RUNT! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING SO THEY HAD TO LET ME GO!" Soft planted her front hooves on the counter, fully ready to pounce across at the toadstool of a man, when she felt a bit of cold steel rest across her shoulder.

"And I told you to behave, criminal," the voice of the guard from her cell caused her to grit her teeth.

The clerk's face broke into a smug grin as he settled back into his chair, folding his pudgy little hands across his waist and shrugging. "Like I said, there ain't nothing I can do about this turn of events Ma'am."

His greasy little pig eyes told Soft quite the different story.

Of course, having a sword resting across one's shoulders, held by a guard, while completely naked, tends to convey a particular sense of submission to most people. Most people, for example, stalwartly favor the safety of cities, numbers, and the known dangers of the world. Most people shy away from trouble. Most people only tempt fate with the most gentle of teasing.

Most people weren't bounty hunters, mercenaries, rogues, wizards, or acrobats; and while Soft Touch wasn't a wizard by any stretch of the imagination, she could technically fill most of those other titles.

"Take that sword off me this instant," she said slowly, " or I will begin my eight minutes of retribution starting with you."

The clerk, oddly enough, lost his smile. "Wait, you're a merc?"

"That, she is," came the rich voice of Bright Way, as he sidled up to the counter with a raised brow at the scene. "And I'm sure you understand that, as a mercenary under the employ of this village, she is entitled to a full guild backing if it is found she has been mishandled during any point of this.... " Bright pursed his lips for a few moments before continuing with a slightly sarcastic tone, "investigation."

The Clerk frowned slightly before looking passed Soft Touch and shaking his head ever so slightly.

When the blade didn't immediately move, Soft finally had had enough and simply rocketed her right hind leg directly backwards into the armored leg of the guard.

In retrospect, she thought, this was a bad idea. Kicking a guard was generally frowned upon. It tended to implicate one in any number of illicit activities (whether or not you were ever involved in the first place), angered the local populace, and would tend to remove a thin layer of safety that one experienced while in civilized places.

It also, much to Soft's chagrin, did things like cause the guard to fall down, the sword with him... and as swords tended to also be long knives at their most basic level, pulling a knife across one's shoulders and side tended to inflict a degree of injury upon oneself.

The resulting scene did little to dampen Soft's anger or engender sympathy from the guard. One moment, she was angrily preparing to sock the clerk and the next there was a loud ringing of armor, a spray of blood fur and feathers, and the shrieked curses of a very very angry pegasus.

*****

"And that, Soft, is why I told you to calm down," Bright Way sighed from a few feet away as he watched her lying on the hard clay floor of her cell..... again.

"Fuggin' corn head," was Soft's reply as she did her best to keep still.

"Yes, yes.... do blame me for getting you out of that lovely cell of yours. Had I known you enjoyed it so much, I wouldn't have gone to such trouble to have you released."

"Go buck yourself, Bright. You did shit and you know it," she hissed out as she twisted her head to glare at the unicorn who now shared her cell.

*****

They say that familiarity breeds content, contempt, or offspring... but at the moment, Soft Touch would have been happy with a cold bath, bandages, or a drink.

As it was, after her little 'outburst' with the clerk, the guard had seen fit to return her to the cell and gift her with the simply riveting company of Bright Way himself. She huffed again, no small amount of frustration behind the gesture, as she lay upon the hard clay of the cell floor, doing her best to ignore the gnawing hunger that was fighting for attention against the craving to throttle her company.

Sure, it wasn't technically Bright's fault that she was back in the cell, but he had set everything in motion and his 'help' so far had been dismissable at best.

Seriously, what self respecting merc would suggest to just 'sit down and enjoy the quiet' when they were unjustly imprisoned?

Snorting again, Soft turned back to the bucket of tepid water at the corner of their cell and slurped up a few mouthfuls to slack her thirst.

Unsanitary, to say the least, and unsatisfactory at the most generous.

Flopping down, she glanced over at Bright again, seeing the relaxed expression and calm form of him laying in the small pool of sunlight that came in from the barred hole of a window. Damn unicorn was content to just lay there, soaking up the light and waiting. Figures.... dumb corn-headed ponies thought they could just magic their way out of anything... and when they couldn't, they'd sit around and act like that wanted to be there.

Biting back the angry retort to her own thoughts, Soft gently extended her right wing and felt how the wound was knitting.

"A fine job you did there, little filly," she could almost hear Dorgoth's voice booming in the cell, "gone and got yerself a new scar! Ah Hey! Bet there's a stallion out there just looking for a fine little mare like you, eh? I hear the big ones like a little adventure in their lives... love the scars, them boys do!"

She gritted her teeth as the scabbing pulled just a bit too tight and retracted her wing with a fresh blossoming of red near her shoulder joint.

Oh... and Grault would just smirk and start counting off his own. Huzon, well, he'd probably smile and pat her head like a puppy... but then again, he did have more scars than the other two combined.

Mortar would probably start licking himself or rubbing his face on the wall... not too bright, Mortar.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key being turned in the lock at the top of the stairs. Heavy metal clacked and pinged as the various sounds funneled down through the stairwell, followed by the thumping of one of the guards.

But Soft was shocked to see, not a member of the guild, but the old phoenix wolf from the Cracked Barrel pacing down behind him.

"You're sure you want to let these two trouble makers out there, Conflagration?" the guard asked before approaching the cell door.

"Yes, Anthony, I'm sure. And those two, for your information, are the reason you got to enjoy that last batch of jerky from Tourlene. They're the ones who cleared the trade routes and cleaned up that mess with the goblins. Ain't no troublemakers so much as easy targets for greedy lumps with too much money and not enough sense between 'em."

The guard shrugged and stepped up to the cell, slipping the key into the lock and sliding his opposite hand to the hilt of his sword.

Soft blinked, then chuckled quietly as she spotted the heavy dent in the armor of his left shin.

Bright Way, for his own part, simply opened his eyes and got to his hooves, shaking the dust from his back before stepping to the door.

The guard nodded perfunctorily to him before glancing over to the pegasus in the corner and frowning. "You know, if you hadn't kicked me, you would have been out of here last week, right?"

And just before Soft could snap off an acidic remark, Bright Way surprised her as he simply kicked the door open and glared. "And you know that the only reason you're not sitting in there right now - locked in there with her, is because we FOLLOW the laws, even when you misuse them."

Before anything else could be said, Conflagration simply snuffled, emitting a small cloud of smoke with smoldering embers, reminding everyone present that he did not enjoy being underground.

*****

It took Bright Way nearly six minutes to get to Soft and, when he did, he lightly cleared his throat before asking if anyone had thought to check the time.

While this might seem out of place in most situations, most situations did not involve the carefully codified set of agreements that allowed mercenaries and 'adventurers' the leeway to enact 'justice' when it could be shown that they had been wronged. As it was, in the particular town in which their guild hall resided, such laws prescribed a strictly controlled period of not less than seven and not greater than eight minutes in which anything short of permanent disfigurement or maiming was allowed. The premise, of course, was that if you were willing to bare false witness, you should be willing to risk the wrath of those you willfully wronged. The counter, likewise, was that if you made a simple mistake, the punishment for the crime your testimony assured would likely be easily paid, and thus, the anger of the wronged party would be just as easily sated.

What such laws allowed, in practice, however was for unscrupulous individuals to mete out their own brand of 'justice'... often one that came at the cost of confused travelers, curious (but honest) visitors, and those that did not have a full understanding of the system. When a local could trump up a charge, point to witnesses, and have a clueless vagabond slapped into slavery to pay off an untracable debt, or simply executed to cow their compatriots, very few would risk upsetting the populace.

Merchants and traders they were, but strength in numbers and the solidarity to enforce their will had made a fair number of them overzealous in their accusations.

Of course, the 'accident' of an unfortunate misunderstanding had led to no few number of stories.

But, the guilds made such agreements possible in the first place. The locals, staunch and unified as they were, remained at their cores, little more than merchants and farmers. Uppity, pretentious, and confident in their own domain, even the most bold would cower outside the village walls at night.

The guilds allowed such laws, because without them, there would be no laws at all.

Which put Bright Way in a unique position as he surveyed the marketplace. Carts and stalls were toppled left and right, goods scattered and hanging shades pulled free to drift in the slight breeze. Sellers and buyers alike had skirted away, choosing to instead find shelter in doorways and the ends of alleys. Broken pottery and damaged trinkets flew with the fervor of a rampaging bear, and yet, through it all, only one individual could be seen darting amidst the wreckage.

A nearby clothier sighed as he watched the furious pegasus hurling jugs and scrolls, kicking baskets of grain and tearing through stall after stall as she chased a panicked and screaming merchant through his tiny, crumbling, empire.

"She's been here for about six minutes. Guards says we can't touch 'er and than Beatey's got the bill for the damages."

Bright Way looked over to the heavily tanned man and shook his head. "Two more minutes then. I certainly hope the esteemed Mister Beatey has enough wealth to cover the damages."

With a nod, the merchant recoiled slightly as he noticed Bright Way looking at him. "Ah... I'm quite sorry about that. Just a bit jumpy since she tore in here."

Bright nodded and glanced back as a series of heavy thumps alerted him to Soft's recent use of chamber pots as projectiles. The aroma would certainly continue to serve as a reminder of not 'hunting for sport' in the market.

"She's... she's not going to kill him, is she?" the clothier asked as he regained his composure.

Bright Way sighed as he surveyed the carnage. "No... but she is certainly going to make sure he understands that there's a price to pay for trying to cut out his pound of flesh, as it were." Bright paused at the man's puzzled expression, "you do know he wanted her rendered sterile for his amusement, don't you? He made up the charge... no mistake... just wanted to prove he could do it."

At the horrified look on the man's face, Bright nodded softly, "You're a better man than him."

At that moment, Bright stepped out, towards the mayhem of the wrecked market, and whistled shrilly.

Soft Touch froze, hoof half way across a stall and glanced back with a frown. "That's eight?"

Bright smirked as he glanced around. "Depends... are you feeling better yet?"

Soft's muzzle scrunched up before she lowered her hoof and snatched an intact wooden box from the counter. "This expensive?" she directed at the cowering merchant who looked more like a victim of riots than the bastard liar that nearly had her spayed. With a quick glance, he nodded.

She smiled and glanced back towards Bright with a nod. "Then, yheah, I'm good."

Bright way chuckled as he looked over the wreckage, "Then we're close enough that we'll call that eight minutes. Consider your debt paid, you scummy excuse for a worthwhile use of flesh." The merchant, covered in bruises, swallowed as he closed his eyes, apparently saying his prayers of thanks.

Soft smirked and opened the box she had claimed, her expression quickly turning to one of confusion. "You've got a bag in a box. The hell?"

Rolling her eyes at the idiocy of greedy humans, she simply tossed the box and slipped the bag onto her side, using the drawstring as an improvised cord. With a final glare in the merchant's direction, she turned to go, only to freeze as she drifted toward the ground.

Reaching out, she plucked up a remarkably mundane looking coin purse, tossed it twice, before chuckling and looking over the crowd. "There you go Dawn... found you coin."

Dawn, who had been watching from a nearby doorway, laughed as he gestured back to Soft. "Keep it, Soft. I paid you before those dicks stole it.... besides, you've earned it."

With a grin, Soft nodded and opened her new bag before tossing it in. Turning, she was just about to glide out of the market when a whistling sound started to rise in volume.

Confused people glanced around before Bright and Dawns eyes both widened at once.

"Get rid of-" Dawn shouted.

"Soft! Ditch the-!" Bright screamed.

And before Soft could even begin to respond, her new bag imploded, tearing a wagon sized hole in the universe... and taking her with it.