Equestria: Fabrication

When Klip awoke, the sky was still pouring out its guts relentlessly. It was peculiar, really; whenever it had rained back in the village, all she had wanted to do was run outside with her pink wellingtons on to jump in the puddles with her neighbours. Now, she just wanted to cry.

But was this pain so bad? She couldn't quite decide whether this curse was such a hindrance; pain was natural and perfectly normal, so what right did she have to ignore it? Pain meant suffering and loss and, at times, sacrifice. Surely it was everypony's duty to this respect and mourn for those who had given up so much.

For those who had died.

Klip groaned and pushed herself slowly off of the bed with her good hoof and winced as the injured was moved ever-so-slightly by her doing so. She took a moment to catch her breath before she then slowly began to step closer towards the edge. There was nothing else for her up here, except for maybe the rainbow; after a moment's consideration she gritted her teeth and stashed the small pot in her tail before she then crouched down low and took a glance about. The stallion's words still sounded in her mind, slightly obscured by the quiet but undeniably present screams and explosions.

When she saw nopony who could be of any threat, Klip took a few slow, deep breaths and began to shuffle forwards. She kept her injured leg close to her chest when she then made the short but risky leap; her working foreleg was able to grab the weak remains of the wall and she just about managed to get her rearlegs to touch the brick at the same time, thus saving the wounded limb from being crushed once again. Her success was short-lived, however, when the wall instead began to crumble away beneath her weight; a moment later, despite her best efforts, she felt the brick slip and she plummeted down.

Klip hissed as she fell but swivelled in midair, using her powerful rear legs to spin herself around before her three working hooves then smashed into the floor below with such a force that a shudder went through her bones and made her cry out in pain. She didn't have time to hang around, though, in pain or not; with tears threatening to fall she then stood as tall as she could and limped slowly from the house.

She was, however, still lost. She had never visited these parts before—not that she remembered, at least—and so couldn't even fathom a guess as to which direction she ought to head. She had no wings or unicorn magic, either, so could not elevate herself through any means to get a better look at the landscape. And so, with her head then low, her ears drooped and her tail clamped to her flanks, she inched forwards across the uneven landscape. Her stomach growled as she walked, but the thought of a detour to find food was unpleasant.

"Buck off!"

Klip yelped and spun around most unceremoniously, stumbling on the uneven and overgrown ground as she did so. A larger pegasus mare, whose feathers were completely missing and whose coat was matted and clearly ridden with mites, galloped forwards. She flapped wildly as she did so and tossed her head with snorts and barks; a moment later, she hurled a stone in Klip's direction. It struck just below her shoulder and made her scream; she backed up lamely, unable to run, and looked about wildly. She heaved as she stumbled backwards, her gaze kept pinned with terror on the mare before her who was, without a doubt, a Wailer. And an angry one at that.

But, despite the mare before her's insanity and lack of injury, Klip was well aware that she still had an advantage over her; magic. She still had her earth pony strength whereas the pegasus Wailer was completely grounded, only able to rely on her desperation to fuel her attacks. And so, with only a moment's hesitation, Klip picked up the nearest rock, leapt up into the air with a wince—it was going to hurt—and then lobbed her makeshift projectile towards the Wailer. She was no master at aim, but the rock made its mark nevertheless when it collided with the mare's foreleg and made her fall to the ground just as Klip, too, landed. She screamed and fell to her underbelly at the impact but quickly struggled back up to her agonising hooves, aware that her foe was down. And, before the Wailer could hobble off of the ground, Klip limped backwards and gave one good, strong buck to the mare's head. Her heavy hooves and powerful blow snuffed out the insane light in the pegasus' eyes; they also made Klip yelp and fight to bite back yet another scream.

No. She would not cry out; she had more important matters to attend to. One was her suddenly dry throat—despite the torrential rain which soaked her, she was parched—and the other was, in a word, survival. She wasn't sure where she was or how she had gotten here, and probably should have asked the stallion before she ran out on him, but she knew that it would be a reasonably long walk before she could return to the village. Hence, she needed supplies—and though the thought was grim, something that only a Mena would ever consider (she was not a Mena), the now-dead pony before her had to have something.

With a scrunched up muzzle and a now-shivering body, Klip lowered her head to begin the inspection of the Wailer. A look inside each of her hooves proved fruitless, but once she lifted up the bony wing she was quite surprised and pleased to find the folded-up hood of a raincoat. It wouldn't do much good, truthfully, but it would at least keep her mane and face dry. The Wailer's rotten carrot was left forgotten, though.

With gritted teeth, Klip slowly began to walk forwards again, her heart suddenly pounding harder. It wasn't that she was particularly hurt by the prospect of just having killed another pony; no, that sort of thing didn't get to her. What did get to her, though, were the screams that had once again amplified in volume, now blaring in her ears. She couldn't hear the roar of the rain anymore, though she took little consolation in that particular fact.

She wandered on quietly for longer than she wanted to think, her tail dragging through the muddy puddles in a most repulsive way. Her hooves cried out each time that she placed them down and her body trembled with each rush of wind, but she could not hear anything at all; nothing that was truthfully there, at least. The screams drowned them out continually—for a while. And then, when she pulled herself into the ravaged garden of what was once (probably) a farmhouse, she collapsed muzzle first in the mud and simply lay there. A moment later, before she could drown most unceremoniously, she rolled over into her back so that her damp, but not quite sodden, underbelly was exposed. She then whimpered quietly before she burst into tears, quivering as she wiped her eyes with a muddy, bloodied hoof. The cries in her mind died out as she did so; the deafening crack of thunder then made her jump and she shot inside as fast as her half-ruined legs could carry her through the bog.

Why was she being so stupid? Klip shook her head and pinned her ears as she crawled over to a nearby couch, upon which she promptly fell onto. She kept her hooves over her ears and winced at each new roar; she couldn't quite understand why. Thunderstorms were fun, normally; exciting, even! But now, for whatever reason, she felt predated upon by the noise.

Klip grumbled and took a few slow breaths as she ran her hooves through her sodden mane. She winced at the little knots and whimpered when the strands tugged at her neck; she quickly abandoned that endeavour and instead pushed herself unwillingly off of the couch, landing with a muffled whine before she began to make her way towards the half-decent kitchen. There was nothing to be found there, however, and so she lamely began to tread towards the stairs—and would have done so had a small scrap of paper, pinned to the wall with a knife, not caught her attention first. After a glance around to check that nothing was going to attack her, she then limped forwards to read the hastily scribbled note. It was with a sinking feeling that she realised the words were scrawled in a sickening shade of red—and the “ink” was still somewhat damp.

The Stripes are here and I’m trapped. If anyone finds this, please help. I’ll make it worth your while. My name is Buckshot, I’m a dappled grey with a Chineighs Lantern cutie mark. Hurry, please!

Klip frowned and rubbed her chin with a hoof before she glanced at the ground and lowered herself down. It was hard to see through the darkness—the thick cloud cover was something of a hindrance—but, lo, there was no denying that something had happened here; a little way away from the note, the wooden floor was scratched and damaged from hooves which had tried to find some grip. Small smears of red could be discerned on the floor, too, which led towards the back door of the half fallen down house. Klip could only be glad, now, that it was dark; if she had seen this in the daytime, she would surely have retched a little.

Killing the Wailer was one thing, but smears of blood of a reluctant and terrified victim… It made her shudder and, a thought which made her feel somewhat unnerved, made her feel an overwhelming sense of déja-vu.

Maybe the stallion had been right in his words. Her past, her life before the pills… Everything was blurred and long forgotten, concealed by the blissful influence of the vast quantity of Rainbow that she had taken. She was no Mena, nor was she a Wailer, but she couldn’t help but feel a sense of duty to remember who she was, what she had been through—and if she had to stay off Rainbow for just a few days? Well, maybe it was worth the sacrifice.

But right now, she had more pressing matters to attend to, even more pressing than the stranger’s note. She was filthy, coated in mud and blood after only a few short hours outside. And she was in no mood to go on a dangerous rescue mission looking like this—though, injured as she was, going on any mission at all seemed foolish. But that thought did not put her off as she began to climb the stairs slowly, wincing with each little movement of her legs, and let her mind wander to thoughts of adventure. In the village, she had been content with her quiet and simple little life—but out here, something in her just screamed for a little excitement.

What was wrong with her? Klip grumbled and cracked her tail by her head in some odd form of self-punishment and shook her head quickly. “Stupid mare,” she then hissed to herself when she began to hop forwards, headed in the direction of the bathroom (it was easy to find when the walls were all broken down). “Be realistic, Klip; this isn’t a game.”

She was silent for a moment before she guffawed and flicked her tail, eyes suddenly alight with somewhat-insane and desperate glee despite the pain-fuelled tears which glistened in them. She then limped forwards slightly faster, smiling to herself for whatever reason—something about her words just struck a chord in her, though why she could not tell—and sat down in front of the bathroom mirror which lay in pieces on the floor. The screams returned as she looked into her fractured image and she laughed again, eyes the size of pinpricks as her tears suddenly began to fall in torrents. Her giggles were high pitched and uncontrollable; her glee was an angry, hate-driven pleasure which sent spasms throughout her body and made her twitch.

“This isn’t a game!” she cried, chortling and snorting all the while. She stumbled up to her hooves and gave a loud whinny before she then repeated, in as loud a voice as she could muster, “This isn’t a game!”

The rain roared louder in response to her shouts and she threw her head back in a cackle before she dragged herself over to the shower, the pain which laced each step making her only squeal and shout louder. She did not once stop her laughing as she fumbled for the on button; when she found it, she slammed her hoof onto it heavily and then snorted, her tears falling thick and fast now.

It was a few moments before the water gurgled in the pipes and slowly began to flow. At first, it was nothing but a grimy trickle of mud and dirt; a few seconds later a massive spurt of ice-cold water shot from the shower head. It drenched an already soaked Klip to the skin and made her cry out as she scampered backwards; when she fell on her rump with a yelp, she then felt her world settle slightly and she looked around herself in puzzlement.

After a few deep breaths, Klip  shuffled slightly closer to the freezing water, wincing when she reached it, and began to coax the filth from her fur and coat and mane. She shivered violently as she wept, with only one thought plaguing her mind; what had happened to her before the meds?