Trouble Rain
Badmiral Biscuit

Amongst the earth ponies, nearly every mare wanted a big, strong stallion. That was a fact, that was something he’d been told since he was a colt; that was something that he’d overheard young mares whispering about. That was something his father told him as he got bigger and bigger

And bigger

Until he was his present size.

Deep down, he knew that he was clumsy and awkward and rather unlucky (which might have been caused by the first two problems), and the truth was if he had a marefriend and if he kept her long enough to actually get down to the sex part of a relationship, he’d probably screw that up. Stick it in the wrong hole, or miss entirely.

The closest he’d come to sex—not counting the crook of a forehoof—was the time in Appleoosa when he had a few bits to his name and tried his luck with a prostitute.

She eyed him up and down, then told him to drop his little stallion.

His not-so-little stallion.

“Sweet Luna’s teats, there’s no way that’s gonna fit in my cooch.” She reached out a hoof and reverently prodded it. “That is the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. You should be proud.”

“Ain’t much use to me,” he muttered. “Since nopony wants it in them.” Admittedly, he didn’t know that as an actual fact, having never gotten that far with a mare before. “You could suck it maybe?” Everystallion said a blowjob felt almost as good as actual sex.

“I’m not a snake,” she told him. “I can’t unhinge my jaw to swallow that monster.”

Troubleshoes sighed, accepted a refund of his bits, and wandered back to his cabin, completely unsatisfied.

•••

Equestria was a big land, and he’d heard rumors of ponies nearly his size in Saddle Arabia, elegant mares who wore lacy veils and bridles. He’d seen pictures in magazines, and if he kept working as a rodeo clown long enough, he might be able to afford boat fare to Saddle Arabie in another dozen moons.

He thought about it sometimes. He’d managed to save a clipping from an exotic foreign magazine, a glossy full-page photo of Haakim. Her slender muzzle and chestnut fur—so like his own—her long legs and thin barrel, barely concealed under the decorative saddle blanket she wore. He could only imagine what it would be like to be with her. She was almost as tall as the Princess!

He could save his bits, buy passage on a steamer, and if his bad luck stayed in abeyance long enough for the ship to arrive in Saddle Arabia, he’d have spent all those non-refundable bits to get rejected by every Saddle Arabian mare he encountered, he just knew it.

Or, if he got lucky enough (ha!) the rodeo might decide to have an exhibition show in Saddle Arabia, and then his ticket would be paid for.

•••

As luck would have it, the next exhibition rodeo was to be abroad, but Wrangler wouldn’t say where. Whenever anypony asked, she’d just stick out her tongue and say ‘it’s a secret, and if I told somepony it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.’

Troubleshoes knew, because he’d asked.

Several times.

And he was as surprised as anypony else when Wrangler finally did make the announcement—they were going to Yakyakistan.

Well, yaks were big; maybe he’d get lucky.

•••

There were a few stars in the rodeo, and they got their own rooms on the train. They didn’t have to pack up all the gear and load it onto the train, and they wouldn’t have to unload it when the train arrived in the next town—or Yakyakistan.

Troubleshoes wasn’t a star. He did get his own room, but only because he was so big.

He was settled onto his couch/bed, head resting on the windowsill as the train climbed up the mountains leading to Yakyakistan, getting one last view of the land before he settled in for the night.

He’d been paying attention as they’d crossed over the prairies—sometimes he felt like he didn’t belong with the other ponies, but out in the grasslands, living free.

They’d passed a herd of ponies living off the land a few minutes ago. Plain-colored like him. A couple had stuck their noses up as the train chugged by, while the rest had continued eating the fresh, free prairie grass, completely unconcerned.

He sighed and settled back on his couch, rested his head on the pillow and tried to drift off to sleep, his mind as always returning to Haakim and Saddle Arabia.

At first, he didn’t notice the unusual banging coming from just behind him. It was a subtle pulsation, not quite rhythmic, and it didn’t stand out from the normal train motions.

Then it got worse, and came with a creaking noise, and then it got louder and harder to ignore.

Nopony else seemed to have noticed, and he thought about ignoring it himself, but he instead pushed the covers off and opened his door. The car was deserted—tomorrow would be an early day, and everypony on the train was safe in their cabin for the night.

When he opened the door on the vestibule, he could really hear it, and his ears focused down to the coupler. The knuckle was partway open, and as he watched it creaked just a little more open with a puff of rust dust.

I should tell somepony. There was a brakemare in the caboose; she’d know what to do.

They weren’t supposed to visit the caboose; a pony had to jump across and it was dangerous for somepony untrained. Troubleshoes had a broad gait, and he could just step across—

It was just his luck that the coupler failed with an explosive crack as he was mid-step, and he just managed to grab onto the end railing of the caboose as it parted ways with the rest of the train.

His first thought was that he was going to be blamed for breaking the train. His second thought was that he was about to die—first the caboose tried to drag him under as it bled off its forward momentum, then it started to roll back down the grade, bouncing his hind legs off the ties.

Troubleshoes struggled forward, finally managing to pull his body up onto the end platform. He scraped his belly on the rough wooden edges, managed to bang both his sheath and balls against the cut lever, and lost a shoe to one of the railroad ties.

All told, he got off lucky.

The caboose door was locked, which he only realized after he’d broken the latch off.

He’d never been in a caboose before, and he had a moment to appreciate how nice it was. There were several beds, a seat with a desk, a stove, and a couple more seats in the cupola.

The only signs of life in the caboose were a collection of stallion pinups tacked on the walls. None of them were as well-endowed as he was, he noted with some satisfaction.

“Miss?” He’d seen the brakemare before, and he’d expected that she’d stay in the caboose when the train was in motion. Where else would she go?

Did she jump? He hadn’t seen her jump.

Then he caught a glimpse of windblown mane through one of the rear windows and remembered that the caboose had porches on both ends.

He also remembered that there was a brake wheel on one of the porches.

Troubleshoes stumbled on his hooves as the caboose jerked to the side, rocking and tilting like a ship at sea, then it straightened out and continued to rocket down the mountain. He could feel a shimmy under his hooves and a whistling noise he didn’t like as the wind whipped past the car.

He trotted through the car and to the end platform, where the brakemare was frantically trying to spin the heavy steel brakewheel.

“Uh, we came off the train,” he said, mentally face-hoofing the moment he said it—of course she’d know that.

“I know! Help me turn this moon-cursed wheel before we go in the ditch!”

Troubleshoes nodded and grabbed hold.

Even for him, it was stiff—she wouldn’t have had a chance.

He leaned in and pushed and the wheel didn’t budge. “Stubborn thing,” he muttered, and set his hind hooves as best he could on the rocking porch.

Up ahead, another curve. He gave up his attempt and held on for dear life as the caboose rocketed around the turn, tilting enough to shear off pine fronds before it settled back on its suspension and roared onto a trestle.

Troubleshoes braced and jerked his back and the wheel protested but started to turn.

•••

The caboose finally rolled to a stop in the foothills, its brake shoes smoking. Both ponies breathed a sigh of relief.

“I thought I was a goner,” the brakemare admitted. “I was gonna join the birds, but by the time I got down from the cupola we were on a trestle, and when we got off, we were going too bad. I thought I’d be in the ditch for sure.” She nuzzled him. “Good thing you . . . where did you come from, anyway? You’re one of the rodeo ponies.”

“I was gonna warn you about the coupler, but just my luck, I was too late.”

“You were just in time.” She looked around. “Okay, they’ll figure out we’re gone sooner or later. I’m glad you’re here, that’ll save me some wear on my shoes. I need you to take a couple torpedos and the shiner down that way to protect our caboose, in case another train comes along. I’ll head up the mountain to meet up with the rest of the train, or if they’re still going, I’ll send a message at the next telegraph shack.”

“Torpedoes? Shiner?”

The brakemare nodded, and started pulling equipment out of a cabinet. The lantern, he recognized, but the flat discs with straps were a new thing. “These are torpedoes,” she explained. “Walk a mile or two back and clip them over the rails; if another train comes along it’ll set them off and they’ll know to stop. If you don’t have the torpedoes down, wave the lantern. You think you can do that?”

Troubleshoes nodded.

“Once you have the torpedoes in place, you can come back here and wait until the train comes back.”

“Okay.”

•••

Trouble Shoes was a clumsy, unlucky pony, but he wasn't a stupid pony. It might have been easier to walk on the tracks, but a train could come along and squish him, so he walked in the grass alongside.

He had no idea he was being watched.

Author's Note

(Haakim was also a stallion, but Troubleshoes didn’t know that.)