An Equestrian Rogue

Thorne felt warmth radiate through his body. It was primarily located near his feet, but it washed throughout him like gentle flowing waves. It slowly dawned on him that he was in a bed and the waves he felt were likely the too-and-fro of the ship rocking. When those golden eyes actually opened, he noticed Doctor Cheer Heart at the foot of the bed, her horn aglow as she focused intently on his un-bandaged appendages.

The immediate reaction of the man was severe. He recoiled away and gave her a worried look. The doctor was quick on the uptake and simply gave him a smile. “It’s okay, dear. Just a simple cantrip to heal some of those wounds,” she said in that accent of hers. It was enough to make him relax.

“Sorry,” Thorne commented, his gaze flowing over her horn and then away.

'Magic cast from anyone seems to have some warmth. Noted. Maybe it depends on intent. Felt nice, though.'

“A distrust of magic, hmm?” She asked, her horn lighting up again to continue the work.

‘That probably looks suspicious.’

“It’s not that I don’t trust it, it’s just… surprising, is all. I come from a world where it’s myth and legends, and yet, here it is. And being used by beings we thought were even more far-fetched: unicorns.” Thorne responded. He had his eyes on a very interesting plank just outside the non-existent doorway to the aid station. He let a deep sigh. “Instead of magic, my people use tools to accomplish many great feats. And a part of my mind tells me that magic in this world is just as potent as some of the tools we used. A spell to stop a heart. A spell to enthrall. A spell to rob you of your senses and leave you to die.”

The doctor looked up from her work, her face aghast. “Your world sounds violent! And you say they don’t have magic?” She watched Thorne shake his head. “What has happened to you to put you on such a defensive…?” She questioned.

'If only you knew,' his mind said sorrowfully.

“It is just in our nature to be wary when everyone and everything is against you,” he stated flatly, his eyes going back to hers. He saw the flame of sympathy ignite within her pupils. He gave a soft smile as he saw her nod and go back to healing him.

‘Easily dodged.’ He thought.

“Well this world certainly won’t be against you. You may look different--even a bit scary--but once we’re back in the mainland and the air is cleared, I’m sure you’ll find your way.” Doctor Heart’s tone was hopeful, trying to steer away from the minefield that was the differences and new challenges his arrival brought.

“I’m sure I will, Doctor Cheer Heart. Might take a little time to get my bearings, but I’ll manage. I always manage.”

Thorne stood on the deck, the wind whipping through his hair and the toga he had been given. They confiscated his poncho. They had asked about his arm, but once telling them it was a simple prosthetic--of course showing it off for the ego stroke without revealing the hidden blade--they left it alone.

His wrists were still shackled, but he didn’t mind it. They weren’t tight nor uncomfortable and he respected that they were taking that precaution. Try as he might to worm his way out of them verbally, they were still wary of him. He appreciated the challenge.

What he didn’t appreciate was the upcoming scan while he sat in a jail cell at the port barracks. Since he had woken up it had been gnawing at his mind. He didn’t want to jump to being plastered on wanted posters if he could avoid it. That and he needed time to prepare his self. He needed gear, clothing, weapons, and tools. All of which he’d either have to make for himself--likely even gather the material for himself in order to make such things--or he’d have to gain the ‘bits’ to pay for it.

Deep down, he enjoyed that their currency was called ‘bits’. But he didn’t have time to spare at the moment to enjoy it fully. Instead he got into a discussion with the captain about a way to earn said bits which led back to mercenary work, which led him to pointing out that he’d need tools, weapons, and apparel in order to do such a line of work. Which this logic had left the captain stumped. But he, his first officer, and a few crew, did share a laugh as Thorne told them how funny it would be if he could continue to cavort around in his birthday suit.

Thorne took a lot of solace that the sloop was far faster than his tiny paddle boat. A part of him was even tickled pink that the raft had been left to float at the mercy of the winds. It meant his Master wouldn’t be getting it back. Even if it was a petty victory, it was a victory he relished.

Hardened eyes scanned the upcoming horizon. Another night began to bloom into existence, but in the distance, the familiar light of a bustling city drenched the skyline. It erased the stars and turned the majestic blues and blacks of tranquil night into lukewarm violets, pinks, and yellows.

‘All avenues of escape are impossible, so now we face the improbable. Will their magic detect this other type of magic? Will this be my final bow? I can only hope if they choose to kill me, they make it clean. Open casket would be appreciated, but we all know assassins get burned to ash.’

The human shuffled about on the deck, eyes going to the two scouts that watched over him. He had learned through listening their names were Spring Showers and Summer Flowers. Two very deep cobalt blue pegasi. Their manes and tails were almost cloud-like in color. Thorne complimented them on being scouts, due to them blending so well into the sky. He quite enjoyed the smug look the stallion had while his cohort tried to stay professional.

He let a sigh and gazed back to the incoming city. “Nervous?” the mare said as she eyed him curiously. Thorne shook his head in denial.

“Of course he’s nervous! Stranger in a strange land! I bet the tabloids have a field day with you!” The stallion shouted over the wind.

“I can only hope they get my good side,” Thorne snarked in a tone that was hidden by the rushing wind. They saw his lips move but didn’t quite catch his words. Both of the pegasi looked at one another and shrugged, deciding to leave it alone.

‘Mom would be so proud of her boy! He’s about to be in the papers!’ Thorne said internally with enough sarcasm to choke a pony. ‘And not for causing an international incident this time! Instead, it’s interdimensional!’

The gangplank slammed into the wooden dock with force and verve; wood-on-wood violence echoed in the harbor. The sounds of water lapping against the moored ship, pushing it until it rubbed against the dock in needy groans filled the night. The sounds of the city were distant but ever-present. It was night and most well-mannered citizens of Vanhoover were fast asleep. But like most metro areas, there was always a bustling nightlife.

Thorne stepped onto the ramp and peered out into this new world. His new world, fresh and ripe for the picking. If he could manage to stay alive. For the first time since arriving, he truly felt like he was in another place and time. He had pondered if this reality ran at the same pace to his own. Had they had thousands upon thousands of years of evolution, the same as humans? The urge ran deep to hit the books to learn. It truly fascinated him.

But he had things to do before he could see the places he wanted to see--places he knew he’d learn about. It warmed his black heart to see in the distance, ponies milling about as they about their night. He even heard someone shouting for a cab. That actually drew a short, pleased giggle.

His musings were brought to a halt as his eyes fell upon a stern looking mare at the end of the walkway. He continued to step down, escorted by the two scouts behind him and the captain in front of him. Thorne’s face went neutral; eyes glazing over with disdainful compliance.

“Buck, you weren’t kidding. He’s something alright,” the stern mare had an even sterner voice that sounded as though she had been put through the ringer. Gray mane and tail, braided, with a wine purple ribbon accenting both. Her coat was a lighter purple--almost a lilac in tone. She was an earth pony as well, same as the captain. Her eyes, however, were different.

The pupils looked as though crystals had grown there instead of what was natural. Yet her irises seemed untouched. They were a beautiful shade of wine purple, bringing the complimenting ribbons together. Though Thorne couldn’t understand what her rank may have been, for all she had on was a set of golden armor and a helmet. It was regal in its appearance, but Thorne thought it out of place. Upon trying to sneak a glance at her cutie mark when she turned to point the captain to where he should go, he found it covered by the armor.

The captain simply nodded and motioned for Thorne to follow along. Taking one last glance to the golden-armored mare, Thorne gave a nod of appreciation without breaking his neutral expression. Bare feet slapped along the wood to the beat of leading hooves as they traversed into the dockyard proper. It took every fiber of Thorne’s being to not raise a question about the mysteriously armored mare. And it became harder as he noticed more and more of those uniforms peppered into the dockyard population. It wasn’t many--maybe five at most--but it stood out.

All of them were looking at Thorne as he passed. It unnerved him deeply. His mind began to race yet again as sweat formed on his brow. He felt his heart starting to steadily rise as the fear started to creep in.

‘Stop being weak. Stop being fearful. You have this under control. No point in panicking! They couldn’t possibly know. They’re just suspicious. But what do they represent…? Oh gods, do the ponies have a secret police? Do the Princesses rule with an iron hoof?! Is… Is that why I’m here? Oh shit, am I a liberator?!’

Thorne inhaled deeply and rolled his shoulders and neck. He actually stretched, bringing his shackled wrist above his head. The loud sounds of his joints popping got a response of “Stop that,” from Spring Showers. He turned his head slightly and nodded, “Apologies. Just stretching. Stiff is all.”

‘They aren’t very secretive if they are the pony version of it. And given how Master rates on the ‘big-bad-villain’ scale, I would say I’m likely not a liberator…’

They approached an unremarkable gray building with two, what Thorne assumed, were some type of police. They nodded, allowing Captain Depths and entourage to enter the building. Dread went washing over Thorne as he passed the threshold. He was escorted down a winding hallway and his mind began to sketch out exits, entrances, push areas, retreat holes, and cover. His eyes darted around like a beast in a cage, drawing a mental 3D map of the installation. Each step was measured and he counted them off, keeping track of how many it took to reach certain areas between other mentally marked off boundaries. Instead of any questions or lingering doubts as to his fate, his mental faculties went entirely to their defaults.

He was either fighting his way through and would wade through a river of blood to freedom, or he would simply walk out the door again. Those were his options. They brought him to a simple singular cell for keeping overnight prisoners. He didn’t acknowledge anything said--he didn’t hear it. He was far too focused on those two options he laid out for himself. He instead sat himself down and stared at the wall in a moment of sheer solitude. His mind went back to the one place he called home.

He could hear the audience gathering in their seats. The theatre thrummed with excitement. The band began to tune their instruments. His fellow actors were all in a mad dash to put on their faces, their masks, their costumes. Last minute line prep happened all around him. He was ready, of course. He was the lead!

He simply needed to wait for the curtain to rise.