Sex, Drugs, and More Drugs
Origin Story - AKA - We’re kinda fucked up
High Ride was never sure why his parents had named him this way. He wasn’t a Pegasus, or even a Unicorn, so the odds of him flying were slim.
His whole life, growing up in the countryside, he had done what any self-respecting foal would do, attempt to find his cutie mark. Of course, up until this exact moment, he had never had any luck.
This exact moment? Oh, right. Guess I should explain.
High Ride went most of his life markless, and generally getting more and more bad rep from it the older he got. He was the laughingstock at Canterlot Highschool for being the oldest blankflank ever. Not to mention the fact that he was an orphan.
His teachers encouraged him the best they could, suggesting different hobbies and jobs he had tried already in his long quest for a “special talent,” but never able to do anything significant.
Then, one month into his first college year, at the strong age of 19, he encountered a shady classmate who offered him a “special” smoke for a few bits. Something new that had just been invented a year or two before.
Which brings us to this moment, a week later.
High Ride lay in the middle of the floor of his small dorm room with a sleepy, pleased expression and a furious Vice Principal plucking a smoking blunt from his mouth and stomping on it.
“You. Are. EXPELLED!!!”
This triggered a very unique response in young High Ride’s mind. One that he had never thought of before, being a respectful lad, yet it seemed to leap into his mind unbidden. He rolled to his feet, stood up, slouched absentmindedly, and shrugged.
“Whatever, I honestly don’t care.”
With a flash of light, and a little pop, a cutie mark was born. One that just made High Ride smirk and chuckle to himself.
“Heh. What are the odds?”
It was a small green symbol. A plant. With seven pointed leaves. It was weed.
He tilted his head back, and relished in the feeling of the Vice-Principal’s rage just bouncing off of him. He could piss a lot of ponies off like this, and he suddenly realized he wanted to.
You could make a ~~religion~~ life-philosophy out of this.
=====================
Hardline was much the same as High Ride, at least when it came to his childhood. He was raised by two distant parents who rarely talked to him, let alone cared for him. He spent a lot of his young years hanging around Cloudsdale until he ended up going to Canterlot College and cutting ties with what family he had.
He was a star hoof ball player at one point, set to go to the big leagues after forging his own path without any parental aid. His Team liked him enough to respect his privacy about his lack of a mark and often helped him cover it with war paint before a game. To the world, he was Hardline, the pegasus, the myth, the legend with brilliant blue fur and a blonde mane. His “cutie mark” was just a flaming hoof ball, but the public loved it. His career was going places, with money coming to him and jobs appearing everywhere.
Then, he got hit by a dirty tackle.
The one responsible somehow got away with it, but Hardline certainly suffered from the blow. A badly broken- no -shattered wing was the price he paid for being overconfident.
You might take a guess what happened from there. Doc gave him morphine to kill the pain, all too eager to give a little extra to the star player. He soon got hooked.
The unexpected variable was the bloodwork they did on him. Quite by accident, they discovered his blood was... unusual.
Somewhere in his life, Hardline had started producing more antibodies than the average pony. A LOT more. As a result, he was effectively immune to disease and infection.
The media pounced on the idea of an unassailable hoof ball player, and Hardline basked in the attention. After double checking with doctors, he publicly let poisonous snakes bite him just to prove a point. The world ate it up.
Of course, when he suddenly collapsed on the field from morphine withdrawal, all that attention suddenly turned hostile. Even more so when it was revealed his hoof ball cutie mark was actually a rusty syringe.
In his time away from the spotlight, Hardline made a rather shocking discovery, even to himself. He didn't want to be famous. He just wanted to play hoof ball again. However, anytime he went near a field, the media was sure to follow.
He developed a distaste for fame and high standing, and grew to hate the reporters that dogged him everywhere. His former team soon alienated him as his reputation hit bedrock.
He took to wearing an old, brown cargo jacket and a baseball cap to hide his famous features just so he could go to the store, but ponies always managed to find him eventually.
A black sheep celebrity, he did his best to keep his head down and out of the public eye. Eventually he put out a search for cheap housing that would support his... habits. He soon came across a 3 bedroom apartment with two owners looking for a third roommate who could be discreet.
A college dropout, much like himself, an earth pony named High Ride.
And a unicorn by the name of Hungry Desire.
=======================
Hungry Desire.
Exotic name, Incredibly attractive, and not pained for money. One would wonder why she why she wasn’t married yet, and why she chose to split a dingy apartment with two strangers.
To know this answer, one need only look back 19 years, when a 5 year old unicorn played all day, with nary a care in the world. While she had parents at the time, she hardly remembered them now.
She was happy.
For awhile.
Then one day, one of her little friends tripped and fell on his face, getting a cut on his cheek. His name isn’t important, she can’t even remember what species of pony he was after all. All Desire knew, was that she liked him, even as a filly.
She had run over immediately, and hugged him and cried. She went to kiss his wound, and accidentally planted it right on a little drop of blood.
She found herself... unwilling to pull away. Sucking on the little bead of blood coming from the cut, licking playfully amid some laughter that soon turned to alarm as her teeth spread across his face.
Well... the rest was a wonderful blur. Her euphoria only left her as she jumped in the little stream behind her house to wash off the blood. As the blood flowed away, some red remained, in the form of a red, dripping heart on her flanks.
Of course, everyone noticed the missing foal near immediately, but they never did find a body, not that there was much left to be found with stripped bones thrown in the stream to be buried in the mud.
Hungry Desire lived her life without suspicion, even as many more foals and grown ponies disappeared over the years, and the riverbed grew speckled with white fragments.
As her body shaped up and became more attractive, she decided to go to school. After all, between horny teenagers and dark closets, all manner of things could happen.
Of course, without her stream to dispose of all of the evidence, she may have acted a bit hastily. The guard soon stepped in and began investigating after a grisly scene was found caked inside a disused janitor closet.
She fled when she was almost caught in the middle of the act. Unfortunately, a poorly placed classmate glimpsed a bloody unicorn running from a half-eaten corpse, and she was forced to cover her tracks.
She returned home and silenced her parents swiftly with a heartfelt goodbye and two mementos to remember them by.
She was never caught, and eluded any suspicion by forging a withdrawal from college and destroying her own birth records.
She began preying on drunk scumbags, preferably rich ones, that she lured away from bars and the like with promises of lovemaking. Sometimes she followed through, of course, she did get bored every so often, but not a single pony who entered her door left alive.
It was several years later, when she was 24, that she had an epiphany.
She was ~~lonely~~ bored.
...
She ~~missed~~ craved some proper companions that weren't her next prey- Ponies are naturally social creatures after all- and she had gotten tired of her daily routine.
Time to put out a Newspaper add.
TWO FLATMATES WANTED
-- Must be willing to put up with some weird shit.
-- Preferably outcast from respectable society.
-- For further questions, contact Hungry Desire at...
==================
It had hardly been a week before there was a knock at the door. She hadn't been expecting much, as her add had been made as unappealing as possible, and was pleasantly surprised to see an admittedly rough looking, but not sickly or demented looking grey earth pony in a green beanie and a black hoodie. If anything, he looked like an overly relaxed insomniac.
"Are you Hungry Desire?"
"Oh, right. Yeah, that's me. You here about the add?"
He nodded and pulled out a little wrapped package.
"Weed brownie? Made it myself."
She stared, open-mouthed, at the bold, completely unapologetic offer delivered by this strange stallion. He waved it again before shrugging and putting it away. A moment later, Desire finally found her words again.
"What's your name?"
"High Ride. Weed's in the name, Apathy's the game."
"...Come inside for a minute?"
High Ride strolled in without question and surveyed the simple, but not horrible living space, and nodded appreciatively at the humble little kitchen. He looked back at her with a raised eyebrow.
Desire settled her nerves and sat on her butt before saying her piece.
"So... deal-breaker time, what's your view on... cannibalism?"
High Rise paused and narrowed his half-lidded eyes a bit more.
"Is it going to happen to me?"
Desire scratched her head sheepishly.
"Unlikely. Unless somepony locks us in a room together for like six hours without some form of food. I still eat regular pony fare, just, you know, every once in a while... I need a "top-up.""
High Ride took his time thinking about his response, absentmindedly pulling out a brownie and devouring it in two bites before answering.
"You see, there's three things about me. I'm always high, I can't afford a decent apartment cause I’m broke as hell, and my Apathy is all encompassing. As long as it doesn't affect me, I couldn't give a shit, Desire. When can I move in?"
=======================
A month later, Hardline showed up at her door. He initially had a much more extreme reaction to her eating habits, but was soon eagerly sweeping it under the carpet. As it turns out, Desire unintentionally had included a large percentage of the press into her menu. Hardline was all to eager to look the other way to get some revenge.
High Ride had taken one look at Hardline, nodded once, and took a puff from his bong. In response, Hardline pulled out a dingy syringe and jabbed himself.
A mutual understanding. You have your thing, I have my thing. Touch my thing, I’ll buck you up. That’s how friendship works.
=======================
One Year Later...
They all woke up late. As usual. They all had their reasons, from staying up late watching tv, sneaking off to a hoof ball field at midnight to practice, or enjoying some good company.
High Ride rolled off the bed and lay on the ground for a moment before deciding moving was worth food. With a habitual kick, the bed sprang back and folded back into his couch. He tossed the cushions in the right general direction and stumbled over to the kitchen as he simultaneously shoved a hoof into his hoodie pocket for another brownie.
Hardline grunted and sat up in the recliner he used for a bed. He noted he still had gear on from his midnight practice and shrugged out of it before stretching his sore muscles and looking about the floor for an unspent morphine bottle. He soon swiped one up and jabbed a needle into the top without care for cleanliness. He was immune to all infections, after all. He called through the open bedroom door as he heard clattering in the kitchen.
“Dibs on shower!”
A pan was promptly thrown the ground.
“Damnit! You’re always first!”
“Learn to call dibs, High!”
“Buck you, Hardline!”
Soon another voice jumped in, with some thinly veiled venom mixed in.
“Good morning!”
“... sorry Desire.”
“Sorry Desire.”
Hardline soon let out a hiss of relief as he walked into the common room/kitchen with a loose cord draped on one wing, a normally lethal amount of morphine clashing with his own hyperactive immune system.
An orange unicorn with a red and purple mane was already at the breakfast bar watching High Ride cook. High Ride never did anything for free, so there was two bits already sitting on the counter.
Desire looked sleepily in Hardline’s direction with a red stain on her cheek. He pointed to his own face and she quickly wiped off the blood before he sat down with a chair between them.
“How goes it boys? Anypony looking to help me dump another inconspicuous barrel definitely not full of bones? I filled up another one.”
The pegasus and earth pony just cocked an ear in her direction.
“I don’t care.”
“Nah, got better things to do.”
They both gave her suggestive eyebrows, waiting patiently.
“I’ll pay-“
“I SUDDENLY CARE!”
“HELL NO! IM STRONGER!”
“YOU WANNA FUCKING GO, FLYBOY!?”
Author's Note
A cannibal, an unkillable morphine addict, and a pothead walk into a bar...
Sex, Drugs, and More Drugs
"Why the everdying fuck are we here? We aren't nightclub ponies."
High Ride sighed and turned to face his flatmates as he adjusted a heavy backpack. Heavy, blaring rave music and multicolored lasers spilled out of the door ahead of them, and a bouncer stood nearby.
"Business. Clubs love me. This is where most of my income comes from."
Hungry Desire rolled her eyes.
"Let me rephrase the question: Why the everdying fuck are Me and Hardline here?"
"I get out more than both of you combined even if I didn't have a job. Two social recluses are two too many under one roof."
"None of us have jobs, High Ride. We have "an intake of cash from questionable sources.""
"You know what I mean."
High Ride turned and put on a charming smile for the gruff bouncer. Hardline and Desire both looked on in bemusement as the bouncer surprisingly returned the smile.
"'Sup, BJ? How's your brother doing?"
"Aw, he's doin' great, Rider. His donut shop's doing pretty well after the princess herself went there once. As for here? Ya' kno' how it goes down these days. Throw out the odd skank or two- same old, same old. Ya here on business?"
"As always! Got some groupies this time. Think you can let em through?"
The towering bouncer cut a ridiculous character scratching his chin as he looked them over. After a minute of judging some values he shrugged and looked down to the hopeful weed-dealer. He threw up his hooves in defeat before nodding.
"2-for-1 deal. That's as low as I'm going, Rider."
The shorter earth pony jumped up and hugged the bouncer affectionately.
"Bouncer Joe, you are the best bouncer ever! Thank you sooo much! And as promised..."
He dropped back to his hooves and fished around in the backpack for a moment before withdrawing four wrapped up blocks.
"Four of my home-cooked brownies! Just for you big guy!"
The bouncer laughed and waved them through as he happily tore into one of the packages.
Hardline and Desire felt shellshocked. The casual banter and spontaneously animated High Ride was so startlingly out of character compared to the apathetic slacker they saw at any other time that they began to wonder if he had started taking a more volatile drug.
"You guys gonna be alright?"
They both snapped back to their senses to realize they had migrated inside the club, and were mere hoofsteps away from joining the moshpit of raving ponies in various states of bliss and depression. They gave synchronized nods and Rider waved them off before melding into the crowd, already peddling his illegal wares.
Hardline and Desire met eyes for a moment before splitting off towards different targets.
Hardline went ears deep into the moshpit, scanning ponies as he went through. Every so often a blue hoof would shoot out and retract instantly. He soon emerged from the other side of the crowd and snagged a poorly lit seat beside the bar and began emptying his wings. Over a dozen coin purses and wallets fell out and he stripped each one of anything valuable. A few minutes later, he began flicking them back out onto the dance floor, now devoid of any usable bits.
"Well, well, well. Hardline? The disgraced druggie/star hoof ball player pick-pocketing? What a story that will make."
Hardline froze, but soon resumed flicking wallets into the crowd as he heard the tone of her voice. She recognized him, but she wasn't from the press. He had learned to recognize journalists just by their words out of necessity. He finished chucking the evidence and turned to the owner of the voice. A smartly dressed grey earth pony mare with a black mane had sat down beside him, idly fiddling with her purple bowtie.
"What's a fancy mare like you doing in a place like this?"
"Well, mostly to support my friend. She's performing tonight and asked me to come watch her show. Not really my scene, but hey, friends are there when you need them."
She paused as Hardline suddenly barked out a laugh.
"HAH! Not my friends. We tolerate each other at most. I got dragged out here just because Rider doesn't like me sitting on my ass when I don't have stuff to do."
"Is he the one going around selling marijuana?"
"What gave it awa- High Ride, I swear to Faust if you don't put down the lighter right the fuck now you will find at least seven needles lodged in your chest."
High Ride sullenly sulked away with a pout as the mare suddenly burst out laughing.
"I take it he does that often?"
"You have no idea. How he managed to light my best hat on fire while I was wearing it I'll never know."
The mare was losing it now, slamming her hooves on the table repeatedly as she fought to regain her breath.
"Oh My Celestia! That's amazing!"
"It's really not! He took a picture of me panicking and lorded the camera around as a threat before I chucked it out the window. Of course, then I had to stop the stupid bastard from falling seven stories after he fucking caught it!"
It was five minutes later that they both finally stopped laughing at High Ride's insanity. The mare stopped first and smiled cheerfully.
"I have to admit, Hardline, you're nothing like the surly, grumpy drug addict the newspaper makes you out to be."
"Well the addict part's right. The other stuff is because that's the only response those little shits are gonna get. Faust-damned leeches is what they are."
He took another shot and waved to the bartender, the hard liquor only just starting to make a dent in his immune system. He suddenly blinked and raised an eyebrow at her.
"You know, I never caught your name."
"Oh, right. I actually approached you because I'm something of a kindred spirit. Ever heard of Octavia?"
Hardline nearly choked on his drink.
"The Octavia!? From the Galloping Gala mishap two years ago? How could I not? Your reputation almost fell as fast as mine. Oh shit- sorry, sorry! My condolences and all."
Octavia waved him off with a smile.
"Don't worry about it, it was the morphine talking."
"GOOD EVENING MARES AND GENTLECOLTS! DJ PON-3 is in the house!"
They both turned to see a white unicorn with a neon mane bounce onto stage amid cheering and dubstep. She was definitely an eye catcher with her risque dancing, loud music, and the dozen glow sticks swinging off of her limbs.
"Oh hey, there's my friend."
"Well that was a rather lackluster response for your friend, don't you think?"
"I AM HIGH AS A KIIIIIIIIITE!!!"
"Oh shit. He got the DJ."
"Same to you."
