The Whimsical Adventures of a Mad Tyrant

The quiet proclamation carried across the room, seemingly making all other sounds flee with the exception of the ship’s pained creaking. Her stare continued, unwavering, as did her mad smile. Thorax found himself unable to look away, one of his deep red pools carrying within it the image of the sun, the other, her singular magenta eye. “You’re a weird one, aren’t you?” she muttered, her head tilting a tad. “I don’t think I’ve seen anything like you before. That makes you a treasure within itself,” she remarked, continuing to speak lowly. “But I can’t very well stuff you and throw you onto the pile, can I?” she said, mock disappointment heavy in her cadance. She pulled away, wearing an expression of thoughtfulness, looking out over her silent audience, before a toothy grin emerged on her face. “I keep all my treasures. Oddities, rare things and shiny baubles. You’re not shiny, but you’re rare, and most certainly an oddity…” she trailed off, turning her back on the changeling - her tail swishing in his face before she walked back to her throne with a natural sway to her hips. “I’ll have to learn more about you at a later date. When you have earned the right to my attention,” she said plainly, vainly, assuming her previous spot; the mares and stallions upon it redraping themselves across her. “But for the time being, Red Eyes, there’s only one role suitable for a stallion such as yourself... cabin colt,” she said matter-of-factly, branding him with her words, before smirking.

“Excuse me?” Thorax asked, unsure what she meant; seeing out the corner of his eyes as a few faces contorted into massive grins; a few snickers sounding out from the mob.

“Cabin colt!” she replied with serious volume, spittle surely flinging from her maw before releasing an amused cackle, the rest of her cohort joining in on the derisive laughter.

“What does that mean!” he called back, trying to yell over the rambunctious volume of the crew, their hooves stamping against the floor in applause.

“Welcome to the crew, Red Eyes,” Reed said in mock congratulation, wrapping a hoof around his own before tugging at him to follow.

“Wait, what?!” the changeling exclaimed, reluctantly following the uncouth mare. He looked back at the monarch, who resumed smoking, seeing her passive expression in the glow of her pipe. He couldn’t comprehend what just happened. As he continued to follow Reed, almost dazed, he came to regard the scene as a weird inverse coronation. Except lacking all of the obvious attributes of one. He had been coronated the ship’s new cabin colt, a title he already found to weigh heavy upon his pride.

Being led back out onto the main deck the changeling had to shield his eyes, the sun remaining at its peak above the boat, intense and bright. “C’mon. With me, Cabin colt,” Reed beckoned derisively, leading him forwards across the deck. The crew that had, moments ago, been gawking at him like a circus attraction, had now returned to their previous duties. Whatever those duties were, Thorax hadn’t the faintest idea. He saw ropes being tied and untied, ponies climbing up and down the shrouds and the deck being scrubbed with abrasive brushes - handled by either filly or colt. It looked… efficient, at the very least, he could admit that much.

“Reindeer, Red Eyes, Cabin colt,” Thorax listed off to her pedantically, trailing behind leisurely. “If you’re going to mock me with a nickname, pick one and stick with it.”

“I’m allowed to hit you, you know that, right?” Reed informed him, deadpan, flashing a smile behind her before sights ahead again. “Cabin colt ain’t a nickname. It’s your new job.”

“Job? As in work? Are you insane?” the questions were asked with increasing volume and anger, his brows furrowing ever lower. “I don’t work, it’s beneath me.”

“Were you put on tha’ island because you were so head-boringly annoying, or because you were useless?” Reed asked with a scoff, continuing to prance ahead. “But yes. Werk. While yer on Ma’s ship you’ll ‘ave ta pull yer own weight. Or we’ll chuck ya off like we do with the rest of the waste.”

Ma? Thorax didn’t have much time to ponder, for as soon as she finished her sentence he saw a younger looking stallion pout a bucket of Faust-knows-what over the forecastle’s railing; his muzzle wrinkling in disgust. “Message received,” he informed her with a distinct tone of disgust.

She scoffed. “First good thing that’s come outta yer yap since I’ve known ya,” she replied with exaggerated glee. “Keep that up, you might work yer way up’ta cook’s assistant.”

The thought of putting anything into his mouth aboard the ship would’ve of made him gag... if he possessed a pharyngeal reflex… and if he actually required the need to consume solid foods. Actually, the longer he thought on the matter, he realised his disgust didn’t pertain to just the food he had yet to see - his expression affixed into that of a permanent sneer at all that which surrounded him.

Reed eventually led him down a set of stairs, right before one would step onto the forecastle. Immediately, he was assaulted - made to wince - by the surprisingly immense volume of the first deck below. Light came in through the large grate that covered a lot of the main deck, giving Thorax more than ample view of its composition. Ponies were greater in number below deck, and passing by so many gave Thorax the feeling of being in a small town or city rather than a ship… a heavily armed city. Along each side were many, many guns. Large, steel cast cannons, each and every one having a companion of a large box of cannon balls. However, as Thorax was led down the aisle, coming under the checkered shadow of drainage grate, he noted a peculiar detail upon one of the bloated iron balls. A small, horn-sized hole on the surface of them. But again, his stoked curiosity was interrupted.

“Ah! Sorry, Reed,” a young, coltish voice yelped. Thorax looked at him, seeing a pinto patterned colt; clad in eyepatch and bandana.

“What’d I tell ya ‘bout running, Lil’ Pip?” Reed chastised, her voice lacking the edge that Thorax had heard thus far, sensing an odd aura of affection toward the runtish colt.

“Sorry, miss Reed,” Pip apologised, head down ashamed. However, his frown and guilty expression evaporated when he glanced a look at Thorax, eyes widening and lower lip hanging in what Thorax could only read as fascination. “Who's that?” he asked, a smile forming on his face, which lessened under Thorax’s annoyed glare. “And why is he staring at me like that?”

Reed threw a discouraging glare at the changeling, and out of threat of being poked in the ribs, Thorax relented, looking passively off elsewhere. “‘E’s the new cabin colt,” she answered him.

“He’s a little… big, isn’t it? To be a cabin colt I mean,” Pip replied bashfully, trying to avoid Thorax’s glare.

“He acts like one,” she quipped, wryly smiling at the changeling. “Don’t you, Reindeer?”

“Is that his name?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Thorax badgered, exasperated.

Silence hung over the three for a moment. Reed had no expression on her face, but after a few seconds she looked to the colt with a smile. “He prefers, Red Eyes.”

“Ugh,” Thorax groaned, shaking his head.

“Cool!” Pip replied, before giving the changeling a naive expression. “Is that because your eyes are red?”

“No, it’s because I get rare strains of conjunctivitis - of course it’s because my eyes are red!” Thorax chastised loudly, his words a harsh volley; earning a few glances from passing crew. Pip’s lips trembled, tears welling in his remaining eye, before the colt broke off in a bawl; galloping away from the pair. Thorax watched on, passively, until the colt disappeared down the stairs to descend deeper into the ship - releasing a bored sign. “Foals. What’s the point of the-”

His sentence was cut in half by something he was growing worryingly used to by this point. Reed delivered a swift blow to the side of his face - far harder than he had received from Half-Horn, his knees buckling from under him. Before he could voice his displeasure, another punch was delivered to the same cheek, splaying him out across the wooden floor. Again, before he could even act, Reed began delivering harsh kicks to his stomach, grunting with exertion - the ponies surrounding them carrying on like this was nothing. Despite the savagery of the beating, Thorax had to commend her on breaking several of his ribs. It was no easy feat through his carapace, although at that moment he was feeling anything but admiration for the mare.

After a few minutes of beating, the mare relented, semi-panting as she stared at the downed changeling. “Yer a real piece of work,” she told him, before spitting on him, disgusted. “If ya wanna give somepony an ‘ard time, do it to someone who can take it, ya bilge rat,” she advised, marking the end of her sentence with a swift kick to the ribs; earning another wheeze from the changeling. “Now get a move on. I better hear from ‘im you said sorry or I’ll strap ya to ol’ philomena for a week,” she threatened, before continuing on, expecting Thorax in tow.

The changeling spat out some fluid - haemolymph - which was likely to leave a distinct crimson splotch if it weren’t scrubbed away. After a minute of waiting, some of his internals moving back into place before climbing to his hooves. He gave the mare a furious glare but didn’t say anything, simply releasing a sigh before continuing to trail behind her - with a fast fading limp. He followed her even deeper into the ship, traveling down the steps he saw the colt go down. The light seemed darker down there; sun replaced with many lanterns. Almost as if he were descending into the very pits of tartarus itself… which made him feel nostalgic. Tartarus made for a very appealing vacation spot.

At the bottom, he noticed that the scene was identical to that above. Crew were scattered about, doing something or other. Bandana ponies hefted around cannon balls, others cleaned the barrels of the guns, obviously preparing them for use at some point. By this point, Thorax found counting them all internally to be overbearing, and he summoned enough will to part his mouth. “How many ponies live on this squalid bucket?” he asked, trying not to sound too curious.

“Last count was eighteen-’undred,” she answered promptly, looking off to her side. “Over two ‘undred guns. Forty knots in the right winds, thanks to the masts. She’s a real beaut,” she spoke with audible admiration, smiling.

Thorax rolled his eyes. “I asked how many ponies lived here, not its entire feature list,” he grumbled, “I need to know how many I need to kill to remove the stain this place has left on me.”

“Anymore talk like tha’ and I’ll start ta think yer serious,” she ridiculed him, smirking. “Wanna know what tha Ma’ will do to ya if you’s serious?”

“I can very well imagine...” he replied. Seeing as she was Celestia. Albeit, a more… abrasive one, he immediately pictured fire. Fire was fine. He could survive fire. Although, he was as much afraid of being left afloat in the water as well. However, if she were the sort to anger quickly, he could expect an immediate retort. Perhaps she’d use one of the many cutlesses he saw around to orchestrate a beheading. Being a head would afford him a chance to bounce back, now that he thought about it. She’d likely keep his head as a trophy. He did, not to toot his own horn, have a splendid head. Then, perhaps, one day after biding his time, he could take her throat to fang city - namely, his fangs. Her throat. Yes...

“Why ya smilin’? Some sort’a masochist?” she asked, perplexed expression on her face.

“Something like that,” he replied, lying.

“Weirdo,” she commented, turning her neck away from him.

The two continued walking…

The ship was long both in length and depth. A couple more decks down and the changeling furrowed his brows. “Where are we going again?” he asked.

“Never said,” she replied.

He groaned. “I hope at the very least you’ll be telling me what I’m actually suppose to do as cabin colt,” he said, pouring malice into the damnable title. “The only thing I hate more than being pressed into servitude is being aimless.”

She arched a brow. “Ain’t you ever been a ship b’fore?” she asked, confused. “Ya ‘ad to be put on that island some’ow.”

“Yes,” he replied, curt and simple.

“Care to ‘laborate?” she asked.

“No,” he said, firmly.

She held her expression on him before rolling her shoulders in a nonplussed shrug. “Alrighty then,” she said, looking back ahead. “You jus’ clean. Fill an’ empty buckets. Deliver messages. That sort’ve thing.”

She said it so simply, so idly and passively, yet each duty struck Thorax like an insult. He growled. “If I must. I can tolerate being here until we reach a dock, a port. I’d rather have my hooves on some land rather than-” A scoff from Reed interrupted him. He looked at her expectantly, expecting to hear an expansion upon her dismissal, but instead got none. “What? What?” he repeated, second time louder. “Care to explain yourself?”

She looked at him, expression smug. “Nah.”

Thorax nodded, releasing a curt gibe of his own. “Oh, I bet you think you’re real clever. Fine, be that way. Two can play at this game, and I’ll have you know I’m an astute games mast- hey, where are you going!” he called out to her as she picked up her pace, prompting the changeling to grumble. “I hate ponies…”

He followed her down yet another set of stairs. However, the visage of the new deck was unlike the others. On the upper decks he spotted a few hammocks, but on this level there were many, many bunks. He spotted a few stallions sleeping, and a few sharing the same mattress. Whether that was due to simply conserving space or for other more… intimate reasons, the changeling didn’t want to ponder. On the decks above he heard occasional chatter, however, down her it was far louder - coming primarily from a singular source.

“Huh, I was wond’rin’ where the first mate was at,” Reed remarked, eyes drifting toward the source of shouting.

Near one of the corners, Thorax saw a large gathering of ponies, all cheering and whooping at some unseen spectacle. He felt pain. Exhilaration. Joy. A good fight, no doubt. “How do you know the first made is there?” Thorax asked, brow raised.

“Only, Shiny will draw a crowd that big,” Reed answered, wearing a full grin.

“Shiny?” he said the name aloud with furrowed brows, before they shot up; his eyes bulging outward, fiery. “He’s the one who shot a cannonball at me!”

“Yep. Good thin’ ya got found after ‘is afternoon drink. Then ‘e wouldn’t have missed… but then again, he prolly wouldn’t ‘ave shot at ya if he hadn’t drunk to begin with. Heh. Catch twenny,” she finished with a light chuckle.

“Twenty two,” he corrected contemptuously, throwing her a pompous look, before directing his eyes back to the large gathering.

He heard sounds of exertion as Reed led him closer to the otherside of the deck. Suddenly, she came to a stop a quarter of the way there, eyeing the crowd with a grin. “E’s usually won by now. Somepony mus’ be at the end of a serious beatin’.”

“Who?” Thorax asked, the crowd growing louder in volume.

As if to answer his question, there was a gradual escalation in the roaring mob, Thorax stepping backwards instinctively. Suddenly, two figures erupted from the mob, tumbling across the deck floor until one was straddling the other. The Overlord recoiled backwards; jaw becoming firm at the sight before him. He couldn’t believe how the contrivances kept piling atop one another. He sneered at the two stallions before him, his entire body tensing on instinct. My enemies continue to pile up, he remarked internally, glancing between the two with contempt.

A gamboge stallion had his face pushed pushed against the deck, struggling and writhing in place; one of his hooves was held behind his back in forcible restraint. Atop him was an ivory white unicorn stallion, wearing a large roguish grin. He wore a purple spotted bandana, his mane greasy with either grime or gel. Thorax noted that amongst the pearly whites, there was a single golden tooth, which shone brightly... Shiny… Oh, how clever, his internal voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Now, say it for… what is this? The eight time now?” Shiny asked rhetorically, his tone mocking the stallion beneath him.

“C’mon, Shiny,” the stallion pleaded with a grunt, trying to push back against Shiny’s hoof. “I’ve been in love with your sister for years. Just let me transfer to her ship, you just gotta.”

At the mention of love, Shiny scoffed, the mob of onlookers concurred with a gaggle of mocking laughter. “I know Love,” Shiny put particular emphasis on the word, shaking his head with a chesty chuckle. “Love and I have shared words. What you have towards Twily? It ain’t it.”

“It’s for real, I swear!” the hopeless stallion pleaded, continuing to uselessly struggle against Shiny’s restraint.

Shiny rolled his eyes. “Say it, Sentry. I wanna hear you say it,” he egged on, applying more pressure.

“Arg, c’mon!” he whined back.

“Say it!”

Sentry growled. “Fine, fine! Sentry, Sentry, wets the bed-ie!” he called out. The response to this was a loud concophy of cheers from the mob, Sentry’s surrendering limerick was said aloud with mocking repetition.

Shiny released the broken stallion, standing over him with a large toothy smile, striking a raised chin pose before the crowd; earning a greater cheer in response. “Thank you, thank you,” accepted the praise eagerly, and Thorax felt the pride ooze from him in spades. Suddenly, Shiny turned his neck towards him, and if it were possible, the smile grew even larger. “Hey, I fired a cannonball at you,” he remarked casually, releasing a bray.

“And missed,” Thorax sassed, wearing an expression of disgust. It seemed, regardless of universe, Shining Armour was drawn to hindering and annoying him at every opportunity - if he wasn’t trying to kill him, that was. “Maybe you don’t live up to your reputation.”

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Reed look at him with widened eyes, her jaw indecisive on whether to open or steel itself; leaving her mouth to switch between opening and closing slightly. Shiny’s grin shrinked a little, and with deliberate steps, he began to walk towards the changeling. Thorax was expecting to be struck again - he was used to it by now - looking down at the stallion as he stopped before him. Who matched the stallion’s grin with a scowl. He watched as Shiny’s hoof rose. He wouldn’t bring himself to flinch. Not in front of Shining Armour, regardless of universe. He kept his eyes locked with Shiny’s, bracing for the punch… that never came?

Shiny patted him on the side of his hoof. “We’re gonna get along just grand,” he said, placing particular emphasis on the word, before leaving him; not uttering another thing.

“What… what just happened?” Thorax asked aloud, sincerely confused. He watched the stallion leave. Another fight broke out amongst the crowd, so their attention was immediately focused on something else.

“You just set a fuse, Red Eyes,” Reed said, firmly, tugging at his hoof; encouraging him to follow.

“Are you going to be vague with that too?”

“Yep,” she replied in a chipper voice, leading him on.

Thorax sighed, rolling his eyes… or, well, imitating the gesture. He had no eyes to roll.

He was lead to the penultimate deck of the ship. It was dimmer than those above, almost… cozy, in its own way. However, the changeling immediately noticed something distinctly off putting. Colts, and filles, were everywhere. Sleeping in cots and hammocks, wearing distinct bright bandanas. He heard some chatter, others played games, chasing and laughing; foalish joy…

How repulsive.

“Here’s your quarters,” Reed revealed, pivoting before him and gesturing around, wearing a large knowing smile. It annoying him.

“You can’t be serious,” Thorax shook his head, looking around with a smarmy look.

“It’s where all the cabin colts and fillies stay,” she informed, smirking. “Don’t think we’d treat ya any diffren’ ‘cause ya big?”

“I am over twenty years old! I will not be debased any further by bunking with… foals,” he shuddered, looking at a passing filly with disgust. “I demand better accomod-”

Suddenly, although not unexpected, Reed swung at him. It was a deft punch, not too much force, but still enough to send a message. After that, Thorax looked at Reed with a bored expression, Reed wearing a smug look. “Not in’a state ta be makin’ demands, Red Eyes,” she reprimanded. “Ya better get a new schtick. Ah’m startin’ to get bored of ya.”

“Oh, you know how much it would displease me to leave you bored,” Thorax leaned heavy on sarcasm, snorting. “You know, for the name Reed, you don’t sound like you don’t read much do you? Has anyone ever told your accent is the oral equivalent of a crippled toddler?”

At this, Reed wore a blank expression. Thorax was expecting to be struck again, but instead she simply continued to… stare at him. He grew uncomfortable, more seconds passed, and he even began to feel remorse. Perhaps, just maybe - a thoroughly stretched maybe - he went too far. After a full minute, a smile formed on her face. “Ey! Kids!” she yelled, attracting the many, many eyes of the colts and fillies that surrounded them. Thorax stepped back in fear, watching the many younglings encroach and surround. He was getting flashbacks, flashbacks to Trottingham. He gave a fearful eye to Reed. “Take a look at the new cabin colt!” she announced, and Thorax felt genuine fear fill his heart.

“Nooo!” Thorax called out as he was swarmed by the small horde of colts and fillies. They curiously gawked and prod at him. Some released awed coos, and muttered amongst themselves speculation about the changeling. He cast a worried glance to Reed, the mare simply walked past him, giving him one last deriding smile before leaving him to his fate. “Please, don’t leave me!”

“Get settled, Red Eyes,” Reed advised, throwing back to him a coy grin as she climbed the steps. “You’ve got a long life of service ahead of you.”

“Wait-”

“How old are you?” a curious colt asked, tugging at his hoof.

“Where are your eyes?” a filly asked, who leapt onto his back from a hammock.

“Are you really a colt?” a skeptical voice sounded behind him, poking into his rump.

The questions were relentless. Wherever he looked, he found somepony looking back. The tiny, beady eyes of colt or filly, all ravenous… with curiosity! He kept standing despite their accosting, hoping his continued silence and feigned lack of acknowledgement would be enough to make them simply go away. But it became quickly apparent that the litter of runtlings were starved for stimuli. Even when Thorax remained still and quiet, they continued to loiter around him, looking upon him as if he was some sort enigmatic art exhibit.

With a heavy sigh, Thorax decided to humour them. “What?” he barked over them, the surrounding foals looked at him with wide eyes. A unicorn colt with blue coat raised his hoof. Thorax rolled his non-existent eyes. “Yes?”

“What are you?” he asked. Apparently it was on a lot of minds, the mere voicing of the inquiry prompting murmuring conversations amongst the crowd.

As soon as Thorax parted his mouth to speak the voices died down, paying close attention. “I’m a changeling.”

“What’s a changeling?” asked a random voice from the audience.

“Better than a pony,” he answered promptly, vaguely; earning a few unimpressed whispers.

“Where’d you come from?” asked a filly as his side, looking up at him with her large emerald eyes… sickening.

“Another world,” he answered bluntly. “Anymore questions or will you leave me alone now?”

The answer to this was the rise of over a hundred hooves.

Thorax sighed.

The process was gruelling, and by the end of his his jaw began to ache. He felt like an overtaxed parent, forced to answer every single question that popped into their foal’s head – only he was a broodmother, and the collective entirety of the cabin colts and fillies were his brood. He didn’t keep count of time. He did feel his legs weaken, and soon he was laying on the deck floor as questions were continuously barraged him. After a while they began to disperse, their attention fleeting. The behaviour of foals was the same across realities it would seem. By then, he seriously began to long for punches over the questions. Much to his relief, the final filly that hadn’t lost a curious glint in her eye raised his hoof, despite being the only one present before him.

Thorax gaved a tired exhale. At last. The final question. “Yes?”

“W-w-w-what...” the filly had a stutter. He gave her a tired look. He was even too drained to even scowl, his annoyance stores thoroughly drained – although they rapidly refilled. She had a plain white coat, with a scarlet red mane which possessed a dizzying number of curls. “Y-your n-name?”

That was a surprise. Thorax raised his brow at the filly. The rest of them were faceless, but her, he actually deigned to remember her face. It was bookish, with a cracked pair of lenses at the end of a snout-like muzzle. He also threw a glance to her flanks. Her cutie mark was two candy canes overlapped.

“I’m... I’m Thorax,” he answered

“I’m S-Stam,” she replied, doltishly, smiling. She extended her hoof to the changeling. “N-n-nice t-to m-meet-”

Thorax prematurely met her extended hoof, forcing an end to the awkwardness. “Likewise,” he spoke in a formal tone, his expression that of authorial acknowledgement – a tinge of contempt – which compared to how he looked everybody else that day was practically a look of benevolence. “I’ll remember you. Not particularly strongly, or fondly, but you’ll be remembered by me, nonetheless.”

“Uh?” she tilted her head, as her hoof continued to go up and down with Thorax’s, still wearing that dumb smile. “O-okay!” she said with a chipper voice, before dropping her hoof to the deck. “S-s-see ya a-around, T-T-Thorax.”

With that she left him, skipping off with a cheerful gait. The changeling kept a close eye on her, before forcing them away, laying his head on the deck. Now that he was no longer the centre of attention all the colts and fillies continued doing, well, whatever it was they were doing. He saw a few run up the stairs with bucket handles in their mouths, others were cleaning the cannonballs – for what reason, he didn’t know – and a few were looking over some weird crooked devices, constructed from metal and wood. The changeling was curious, but not enough to go look at it, nor had the will to stomach more foal-talk in his ears.

Instead, his sights came to land at the end of the deck, where he noticed stairs descending even further into a dark below. He gave a final distasteful look around him. The deck was loud, bright with many lanterns, which, considering the fact they were on a vessel made of wood put him at considerable unease. All in all, it would probably be a lot better for him if he found some place else to rest. He tried not to attract any eyes as he rose back up, skulking over to the far end of the deck, descending into shadow of the below deck…

It was dark. There were a few lamps dangling from the ceiling, gently rocking back and forth as the water currents collided with the ship’s hull. There were boxes, large and small, everywhere. Some large kegs too. It looked like a large warehouse, storing all manner of thing for their voyage. It was also dank, with bits and pieces of greyish mould growing in places particularly damp. It wasn’t aesthetically pleasing, warm or by any means cosy. However, it looked like ponies rarely came down here...

So it was Thorax’s kind of place!

He walked down the box lined hall, before arbitrarily deciding to squeeze through a gap. He appeared to have walked into a maze of sorts, deciding it was probably a possibility he could get lost down here, unable to find his way out, forever damned to walk the maze of boxes for the rest of his life… but if he was lost, he could never be found. And if he could never be found, he could never be pressed into doing menial work. The prospect of which made him shudder as he navigated through the gaps.

However, his intention to find some deep dark place to hide himself brought him some to the opposite. He squeezed through a narrow gap, and came to find himself in a rather snug space, unoccupied by a large box or a large collection of smaller ones. It appeared to be a den of sorts. There was a lantern held up by a nail hammered into a box, illuminating a floor covered partially in a few different sheets and covers, some pillows were strewn about also. However, at the back near the actual hull, there was a netted hammock nailed from box to box.

The hammock was occupied by an ivory unicorn mare with a messy cobalt mane. She was spread languidly on her back, staring at the ceiling with her hooves crossed behind her head. From her, Thorax sensed a great deal of apathy. He stood there for a while, wondering if his presence had even been noted. He took a step forwards, ensuring it was heard, and yet no reaction came from her.

“Are you ignoring me?” he said with furrowed brows, disbelieving of her gall. His presence – by no means ‘mere’ - could be akin to a raving lunatic in how much attention it would draw, yet she didn’t even deign to throw a cursory glance at him. “Hello? I’m speaking to you-”

Glare.

The mare threw an eye to him, a single cerise coloured orb; filled with only a tincture of interest. She didn’t utter a word, but she didn’t need to. Thorax could sense, despite her stoic expression, feelings of contempt, curiosity and confusion. A typical C.C.C case, at least from his experience.

“I didn’t think anyone would be down here,” he remarked. At that he sensed chagrin. “I, too, enjoy the merits of isolation,” he concurred, his words were met with her affixing both her brilliant red eyes upon him; her brows furrowing. “Oh? Surprised are you? I don’t need words to know what you’re feeling, I- what? Oh, well, it might be creepy to some and invasive but I don’t think it’s all that ba- hey! Clean your head! We’re not sailors… well, technically you are, but that’s besides the point...”

Thorax went on converse with the mare, something he found incredibly easy so long as he was the only one speaking. He was able to perceive what she wanted to say but chose not to, through a combination of emotions and facial expressions. He felt a degree of kinship with her, be it because he was able to ascribe it to her due to her lack of voice, or because they were similarly red in the eye department. However, after a while, by which point he had taken seat upon a cushion close to a box, he felt the need to address a particular attribute of the mare.

“You’re mute,” he stated directly, bluntly. He wasn’t one to avoid truisms. She nodded with a raised brow. “Any reason for that? Horrific accident, traumatic event, your voice a siren’s song?” he listed off, saying the final one with a non-serious jeer, although peculiarly it was the only one that prompted thought from her. “Wait, wait. You can’t speak because it’s dangerous?” again, she nodded. This time with a shrug. “I don’t believe that,” he responded simply, earning a shrug and a roll of the eyes from her. “Well, sorry if I’m skeptical, but you don’t exactly look like a seapony. Not nearly enough scales and off-putting smiles,” he mused, at which she shot to him an excessive grin. “Close, but no,” he smirked.

“Red Eyes!” he heard a familiar voice call out from somewhere on the deck. “Cabin’ colt. You’ve got work ta do!” she continued, speaking in a derisive coo. “You can’t hide forever!”

Thorax sighed. “Do you think she’s wrong?”

The mare shook her head.

Thorax groaned, throwing an eye to the gap between the boxes that served as both entrance and exit. He had, at the very least, discovered a place of isolation and quiet from the rest of the crew. It would give him a place of semi-decent contemplation, to bide his time until a solution arose from the waves, or from the mouth of that dastardly alicorn on top deck.

He rose to his hooves.

Took a breath.

And prepared to suffer.