The Contract

Six weeks have passed since the conversation with Ozean.

Six.

Long.

Weeks.

Now Skai is in Ballen, Germaneigh, sitting at the Ballen International Zeppelin Port with only a light saddle bag and instructions to meet a “Jela” upon his arrival at his destination.

His frame had grown bigger over the course of his rehabilitation due to plentiful exercise and one cranky hag that would not stop feeding him his protein meals and bagels. However, even though Skai feels heavier, he still does not think he is heavy enough, so he has used his allowance to buy himself a small snack, which is comprised of: protein bars, bagels, chips, crackers, protein milk, bagels, more chips, cheese muffins, flavored water, bagels, cookies, bagels, and -just to be healthy- an apple. The apple tasted nasty, though, so it found its way to the garbage can very fast. But as grateful as he is for being able to buy the modest snack, he does not like the disgusted eyes on him. It is embarrassing. But he does not let that show and he would dare anybody to fight him if they mentioned him being a pig for enjoying something beyond prison grub.

Food aside, Skai has more reasons than just good zeppelin port food to be in a state of bliss and wonder, and that is the actual zeppelin itself. He remembers from his childhood how zeppelins were. They were big balloons with long baskets hanging underneath, decorated with nice furniture, operated by well dressed servants and passengers got complimentary warm clothes, blankets and hot drinks. They really were for rich griffins to use, but he was a lucky lad since his father worked in the zeppelin kitchen, so he got free rides. Skai even recalls a particular trip where he heard rumors of the Altain Imperial Government wanting to build flying cities based on zeppelin designs. That vision did not exactly come true, but from what Skai is seeing of the zeppelin now, it is becoming very close to reality.

No matter how much Skai wills it, no matter how much he demands it, his eyelids will not move, putting his yellow eyes in a permanent state of disbelief as he looks out the massive window of the Port. Outside is a titanic craft that dwarfs any zeppelin he has ever seen. Its elongated metal plated balloon sits snugly on top of a cabin that is six stories tall, its exterior is decorated with golden rays that explode from the nose, like the afternoon sun. Blue coats its body with a white stripe runs along its side, and each level has plenty of round windows to give the passengers a nice view of the sky. At its tail are four fins, with each crook having a long tube-like engine with pipes snaking along its side and disappearing into the lower levels of the craft.

A sudden, loud crackling overhead jolts Skai out of his trance, and his head snaps to the source, which is a collection of speakers attached to a pole in the middle of the main walkway, packed with ponies going about their business. As the voice leaves the intercom, Skai hears a couple of snickers and one quick look leads to him having a stare down with a young colt and filly.

“Attention, Flight 5137-Z will be boarding in thirty minutes,” says a mare over the intercom in Germane.

The filly leans against a mare who is talking to a stallion and points at Skai while the colt keeps their evil smile on him as the translated message bellows out.

“Look at the ugly bird, mama,” says the filly in Equestrian. “He's scared of the big voice.”

The mare stops talking to the stallion, takes one look at Skai, then quietly chides the child and ushers the foals to a seat, leaving Skai to observe them with narrowed eyes and ruffled feathers. The mare reaches into her saddlebag, gives each of them a book and orders them to read, which they do with pouts weighing down their faces.

Meanwhile, Skai sniffs and looks around and realizes that there is a big circle around his bench. Ponies will be walking along and then suddenly make a long curve just to avoid bumping into him. Not wanting to think too much about it, he looks at his ticket.

Flug 5137-Z
Sitz 33-2-A

He looks at the zeppelin and sees the flight number painted on the side. Looks at his ticket. Looks at a giant clock hanging above the gate to the zeppelin. Looks the flight number painted on the side. Looks at his ticket. Looks at a giant clock hanging above the gate to the zeppelin. And just for good measure: Looks at the flight number painted on the side. Looks at his ticket. Looks at a giant clock hanging above the gate to the zeppelin. Seeing plenty of time he looks over his shoulder to a row of gift shops with various books, magazines, shirts and overpriced disposable merchandise sitting in glass display cases.

After checking his money, he goes to the nearest gift shop and peeks inside the display case, watching the ponies in the reflection casting him uncomfortable looks. Some are less than graceful when they move to avoid him. Most are as discrete as a civilian can get, leading to another obvious shift in the tide of traffic.

“Can I help you with anything?” asks a bored stallion behind the counter in Germane.

Skai shakes his head, replying in the stallion’s language. “Just looking.”

Skai looks across the counter at a shelf fully stocked with white coffee mugs that have detailed paintings of cities, villages and natural scenery with a banner of their names underneath the pictures. He rummages through his brain's dusty memories, trying without much luck to remember what Arnica liked. Flowers keep coming to the front, but that flower turns into a new mess of its own.

What kind of flowers did she like?

What colors did she like?

Do the flowers she like even come in the colors she likes?

What if he gives her the wrong flowers and colors after being away for thirty years?

Does she even like coffee?

Who buys a coffee mug for their sweetheart after being gone for thirty years?

Why would ponies even sell coffee mugs if they have hoofs!?

“This is turning into prom night again,” grumbles Skai under his breath in his native language of Altain.

“I'm sorry, I did not catch that,” says the clerk.

Skai looks at the cups again and spots one with a field of flowers painted on its pale surface. He holds up his talon, wanting to point at the cup, but his insides twist into a knot and he quickly leaves, quietly excusing himself as he hurries back to his bench.

When he sits down he takes a long, deep breath and exhale to expel the sickness festering in him, and he stares at the clock again.

Four minutes have passed.

He drums his talons on the arm of his chair and wiggles his toes, looking at each and every equine walking by. All of them are mainly minding their own business as they scurry along like oblivious drones, and with boredom guiding him, he groans and slumps into his seat, rubbing his face and closing his eyes. With his eyes closed, every word sounds louder. Every differing language clearer. Every step its own special beat that is distinct and easy to hear.

“La 'ahtum mird alhusul ealayh algiam bih.”

“Viaggi sicuri? Che schifo!”

“Boo en usted, buen señor!”

“Whoever mentions Romaneia one more time is walking!” threatens an aggravated stallion.

Skai drags his palms across his face and barely tilts his head to see a group of four stallions hurrying through the crowd, carrying large saddles and wearing red shirts with patches made of a white “D” with a wing on its back in a black shield. He twists his head a bit to watch them until his neck complains, then he resumes his original, comfortable position and rubs his neck. As he rubs his neck he watches the attendants at the zepplin's gate, smiling and chatting without a care in their uniforms of lavender vests with gold buttons over an airy turquoise blouse and a white ascot tied around their necks. One is leaning against the podium. Her eyes have a slight red tint to them and her hoof is twitching. She has a bucket of water nearby, which Skai is certain she has used it liberally since her muzzle is soaked. The second is stiff and while she is talking and smiling, Skai notices a pinch of pain on her face and her habit of lightly lifting her hind leg. She also keeps looking at the clock, which drives him to look at it, as well.

Three minutes have passed. Twenty three minutes left until boarding.

“Ugly birdie,” says the filly from earlier.

Skai scowls and looks over his shoulder at the evil grin the foal has, and he flicks his eyes to the mare. She's now talking to another stallion. Her ear and tail flicks with her giggling, and Skai turns his attention back to the kid.

“How does it feel to be ugly?” asks the foal.

With a heavy sigh, Skai pulls out a thick book from his saddlebag and smacks the filly over the head with it. There is a BANG that no one seems to notice, a moment of quiet as the filly stares at him with wide eyes and drooped ears, and then her eyes water and she gallops away, sobbing: “Mama!”

Seconds later there is some chatter followed a horrified gasp, and Skai casually brings his book up, titled: Beginners Guide to Zebrican, and he quietly reads the introductory chapter.

Very soon after a shadow falls over him and a hoof pushes down the book to reveal a very, very pissed off mare.

“Excuse me. We need to talk,” says the mare.

Skai puts his book back up.

“I'm sorry, I do not speak Equestrian,” he says in perfect Equestrian.

The following conversation goes about as well as a bunny in a gas chamber, but Skai regrets nothing.

Several minutes later, Skai finds himself taking his seat in the zeppelin. The one-sided conversation took up the remainder of the time, and while the mare scolded and condemned him for whacking her child over the head with a book, he quietly wondered how many stallions she had to get drunk just to get laid. She is a good looking mare, but she strikes him as the controlling type, and unless something has changed, he is certain that her controlling nature is a turn off. In Skai's case, he would love to put her in her place over a counter, or on a bed, hell, even a bathroom would do just for the sake of breaking his thirty year dry spell, but all he could do was tease her by lifting his book up every time she pulled it down. It was amusing in its own way, even though her verbal onslaught drew a crowd, and like all things fun, the guards that were suspiciously on his side from the start had to come and ruin it by escorting her and her children away. Very far away.

While the family was being escorted away, the filly stuck her tongue at Skai, and he appropriately responded by waving farewell, but now that problem is gone and Skai is on the zeppelin, staring the seat he had been assigned to, which is a middle aisle seat and has left him with another dose of surprise.

The seat is surprisingly wide and well padded with the ability to recline, and a pair of dials sit on its arm, which a quick observation tells him that they connect with the light and the fan above him. The designers also somehow managed to fit a tray on a sliding platform, as well as put pockets for a pillow, blanket and reading material. Seeing such a luxurious site actually gives him pause, and he only moves when someone clears his throat.

“You gonna move?” says a familiar stallion.

Skai quickly sits down, noting from his peripheral vision how it is the same stallion complaining about Romaneia. The complainer is an earth pony with orange fur, orange eyes, and his black mane is messy with a red stripe on the left side and a musket for a cutie mark. He pretends not to pay him or his group any mind by pulling out his book, but as the other three pass he spots a unicorn, a pegasus and another earth pony. All of them are still carrying their heavy bags and make their way to an area marked: Erste Klasse.

Envy immediately moves in when Skai watches the group enter the spacious, luxury area through a velvet curtain that shows just enough to tease the passengers with a bar, seats that might as well be beds, and a table. They are also greeted by a stewardess that offers them a bucket of champagne and giggles when the orange pony pecks her cheek. Skai's eyes narrow and when the curtain is shut he huffs and makes himself comfortable with his second class seat, and then tries to distract himself by reading his book. However, he is interrupted when a pair of ponies move next to him, chatting and putting up their bags in the most obnoxious way possible. The mare even manages to bump her flank against Skai's arm, and he glares at the couple, wanting to push them away. But he is already on the zeppelin and he does not want to press his luck with Ozean. Yet.

Skai tries reading again, but the mare bumps into him yet again, and he throws down his book and stares fire and brimstone at her. The mare -a unicorn with a burgundy coat, a curled mane of blue and purple, with purple eyes and a cutie mark of a needle surrounded by a swirling thread- sees this and offers an apologetic smile as she sits down.

“I'm sorry about that, dear. Are you our seat mate?” asks the mare.

Skai hates her already. “Yes. Just please stop bumping into me.”

“Oh, you won't have to worry about that. Me and my husband are all situated.”

“Hello!” says the stallion, a unicorn with a light gray coat, a white mane, blue eyes, and newspaper for a cutie mark.

Skai hates him, too.

“I'm Ribbon Wishes. What's your name?” asks the mare.

“Skai,” he says flatly, suddenly craving a drink.

“Oh, what a beautiful name.”

Skai ignores her and grabs the menu hanging on the side of his seat and flips through it, taking special interest in the alcohol section and snacks. He can tell by the flamboyant designs of the labels that ponies still don't know how to make good alcohol, but the cheese crackers look nice and alcohol is alcohol. He really needs some for what he has to do and is about to deal with, and he highly doubts he will have a hangover when he reaches his destination.

“We're with the Church of Solaria on a mission trip to Zebrica to spread the teaching of Celestia,” says Ribbon Wishes.

“That's nice,” says Skai with about as much enthusiasm as a corpse, keeping his eyes trained on the wimpy menu in a feeble attempt to find the manliest of sissy brands.

“Oh it is going to be so much fun! Bright writes for the Solaria Tribune and I work as a seamstress, so while I fix and make clothes for those poor dears he will be recording everything for the biggest story of his career!”

Sighing inwardly, Skai pulls down his tray and waves a stewardess over, an earth pony with the zeppelin uniform.

“Trikken bitte?” asks Skai.

The mare uses her mouth to tip a pitcher of water into a cheap plastic cup sitting on a tray, only filling it half way before she carefully gives it to Skai. and Skai's hope for a drink dies on the spot. Any hope of a good mood is actually bludgeoned by disappointment, but some of the pain fades since he sees others drinking water and a simple lock on the cart. With that in mind, he flashes a smile and briefly raises his cup to the stewardess while mentally plotting ways to sneak into the first class chamber and steal some alcohol from there without getting kicked off.

“Vielen Dank,” says Skai.

The stewardess resumes pushing her cart without acknowledging his thanks, and Skai's brows raise as he inspects the water in the flimsy cup. One quick gulp later and he regrets his decision of not waiting. Prison shower water tasted better than the lukewarm liquid he just poisoned himself with, and to make matters worse, the words leaving the lips of the neighboring mare register in his ears.

Skai slowly turns to her, eye and talon twitching, really wanting to shove a pillow in her mouth to stop her constant stream of speech.

“-And so that is when we decided that blue would be better than red,” says Ribbon Wishes. “I think blue would look good on you, actually.” She looks at Bright and points at Skai. “What do you think? Would blue look good on him?”

“Blue would look smashing on him. Blue and white,” says Bright Wishes, smiling.

“Have you been talking this whole time?” asks Skai.

Ribbon Wishes looks at him and blinks obliviously while her husband nods and flashes a beta-male smile that would no doubt lead to his murder in Altai.

“Yes. Why?” says Ribbon Wishes.

Skai scoffs and slouches in his seat, shaking his head and grumbling quietly in his native tongue with the flimsy cup breaking in his talons. “Kairos help me.”

This simple phrase gives Ribbon Wishes all the permission she needed to resume talking. This time her one sided conversation is about fragrance and soap that she has brought for the needy, and Skai sinks lower into his seat and pulls out the complimentary pillow from the side of his chair and covers his face with it.

He is in for a long flight.