The Plunderers Pub.
Norton Street, Maretopolis, Equestria
7/11/151 AGW, 8:45pm
The Plunderers Pub is a hole in the wall sorta place that in its long and sordid history has attracted various miscreants and fools. In the past it collected conspirators and would be tyrants who would later lose their heads or be turned to stone. Today it has a mixture of all the various criminal elements that make up our fine city. Gangsters, Gangbangers, the Mafia and this city's fine selection of costumed rogues have made this place their neutral ground. A place where they talked out their differences under a strictly upheld truce agreement.
Though it's less of an agreement and more of a... if you shoot this guy we all shoot you sorta thing. I have been coming here for the past year or so and as of the current date there have been three murders in this building, none of which were ever reported. And most likely never will be. I have never killed anyone, for all my hairbrained schemes none have ended with a fatality. This is one of the differences between me and my current table mates.
All of whom are rather agreeable.
If you ignore the fact that only rejects and nutjobs ever get into the caping business that is. Everyone here is a villain of somesort, some do it for money, others for glory or rage but me in all my madness have only ever done it for a single reason. Understanding.
I had pulled myself out of a steaming broth of chemicals into a world on fire. The scars from the chemicals and the aforementioned blaze hide beneath the costume but the source of my madness cannot be hidden even if only I understand it. Imagine for a moment that I am not sitting in this quaint pub and am instead in a dark room. A room with a single window in which light barely shines and when it does it reveals something about said room. This is my existence, a miasma of grasping confusion and darkness. Sometimes in my nattering rants or nonsensical scribblings there is a brief moment of clarity.
In those moments of clarity I dive my hand into my mane and pull from it my most precious possession. An item that ignites a great fear and grief in me. I do not understand where those emotions come from, only that they exist. It's a glossy black touchscreen phone with the remnants of an exterior casing. It's slightly singed, the screen is cracked and I have a newer model that I use in my day to day but still I hold onto it. A phone that might not even be mine and that I don't even know the password to.
My ears flick and I tap my left hoof gently against the ground twice. Something about that last thought isn't true and I don't know what. I clench my cocktail glass harder at The Twinge's unknowingly mocking reminder. I sip from the swirly straw with a scowl on my face as the table's occupants continue their conversation completely unaware of my growing rage.
I know the phone is mine, even if I can't even remember my own name. It just screams to me in the most backward way. It is hardy and practical compared to my newer one, a few years behind the current generation of phones and utterly devoid of fun. A civilian phone, of a mare who didn't care enough about the newest add-ons and just wanted something that would last. I give a side eyed glance into my mane where my new phone comes to the surface held in a single dense tendril. My dead gaze nearly glowers at the colourful thing before as if on instinct the screen turns on with a flick of my mane and a video plays.
A kitten trying to grasp the light from a laser pointer. I watch enraptured as the kitty pounces and the beam moves. A sudden twist? Or a betrayal? I do not know but still I watch this dramatic series of events... wait. The phone crunches the green bedazzled cover doing nothing to stop the small and fragile tool from being turned into a pile of plastic and electronics.
It's a distraction nothing more.
The scowl returns as I sip from the swirly straw again. It belonged to me even if I can't remember the password. There have been moments where I have wanted to share its existence with one of the few people at this table that I trust but I never have. Something beyond my understanding stops me, a deeper understanding if you will of those around me. Who I was before now could have been hated by these people and I certainly wasn't in a position to lose what little good will I have here.
I ponder that statement as the glass before me empties the last of its contents into my gullet. The mix of alcohol, fruit juice and syrup was good at getting my imaginative juices flowing and more often than not it led me down this familiar path. Back to the phone and its potential contents. I hate that this is always where it leads.
I grab my glass and stand from the table with nary a word only turning back to watch the television above with a glaring gaze. Nothing of importance shows itself so I quickly turn my attention away from it. The bar waits up ahead, a well polished wooden masterpiece if one was to ignore reality.
A quick skip and a hop lands my rear on one of its spinny chairs. I spin once, before spinning again and once again just to make sure. A maddened cackle leaves my lips, a few of the nearby patrons sigh and mumble to themselves.
To say I am taken seriously in the Plunderers Pub would be an utter lie. I am tolerated because of who I know and what I do for a living but only just. I hear the mumbles of those nearby when they think I'm not listening. Calls for agreements and meetings that I am never invited to and by my listening never would be.
It's a strange existence living on the fringes of professional villainy. The villains and gangsters do not trust you and while they will hire you, it will never be for something important. My madness and my own personality marks me as a bumbling fool in their eyes. An assumption that I am in no mood to correct. They trust me to steal jewels sometimes but mostly I am asked to cause as much noise as possible. I have perfected the art of the distraction with a loudness and brashness that suits me perfectly. Few can hold the gaze of the Power Ponies for so long as I. Though now that I think about it that might be for another reason.
I spin in my seat again, cackle and chap the bartop with a large grin. "More brainjuice please! Mr Bartender!" I bellow with a giggle. A few of the nearby gangsters sneer and mutter cruel words. I feel the gaze of those at my table switch to me for barely a second. One lingers longer than the others. I spin around in the chair and blow a raspberry to the room, most scowl while a single pony in the crowd grins. My silly not quite friends don't understand the depths of my fractured mind and only one has ever even bothered to try but that is a thought for later. I grab my refilled glass of brainjuice in my mane and bounce back to our table with a slight sway in my bounces.
The villains don't take me seriously and the only one I can call a true friend sees me more as a pity project than anything else and for that I cannot blame her. I am broken but smart enough to recognise that fact. My insanity comes in random bouts, each more unpredictable than the last. And yet the phone remains a constant.
Twitch, Spasm, Flick.
Without a second thought I drop down to the floor in a perfect split and lash out with a wayward strand of mane. A heavy beer glass finds itself stopped mere inches from my face.
I smile a too large smile, beaming at the masked biker that had just attempted to glass me. The glass raises in a hearty salute. "Cheers, Friend!" I shout with a grin before downing what's left in the glass, some chuckle whilst others simply turn away. The biker sneers, a villain from out of town, I don't know his name and for all intents and purposes I don't care. I push myself up with the tendrils of my tail and raise the glass higher... before dropping it.
The world seems to slow as it does, a few people watch with confusion, I catch movement from the table I came from out of the corner of my eye. I know who it is and I know what they want to do. I also know that as enhanced as they are they will be too slow.
A small piece of my mane coils, twists and ties itself in the heavy mass of well groomed and washed keratin strands. The glass passes my spandex clad bosom without any noticeable movement from me, I giggle a small uneven thing that makes one or two patrons shiver. It happens too quickly after that point. A coiled clump of mane shoots out from the mass that flows down to my lower back and collides with the falling glass.
I can't tell how I calculate these things, I just do. Honestly even if I was given the numbers I still couldn't tell you that sort of science isn't my cup of tea. Physics is for nerds, real mares use chemistry to melt through concrete, steel and sometimes small dogs.
The mane bundle connects with the bottom of the glass at an unknown angle with an unknown force and sends it careening in a perfect parabolic arc... at the biker. He had made the mistake of turning from the person he just slighted, an insult that would cost him dearly. The glass collides with the back of his head causing the minotaur to snarl and turn. I reach him in less than a second. The hair in my tail had coiled and sprung me forth at him. As the glass shards hit the floor my right fist meets his jaw, there is no crunch or flinch, the product of earthpony strength and minotaurian resilience clashing is often an even bout.
Twitch, Blink, Nicker.
I dodge down and a heavy handed cross that sparks with electricity passes by a fraction over my exposed head. Small parts of my knotted tail slink along the floor between his legs and off into the bar at large as I leap up and drive my skull into his muscled throat. Headbutts are painful no matter how you recover but that doesn't stop me taking intense enjoyment in my liberal use of them during combat. Though I rarely get to properly use them given my advanced height and rather erratic demeanor.
Twitch, Blink, Snort.
He roars in rage and swipes forward for a grab. I sidestep as he does so, avoiding the attack by basically nothing. The knotted tail behind him grasps something out of sight, I don't know what it is but I still grin an infuriating grin at him before sending another punch towards his throat, he sidesteps and offers an equally quick punch in return. I will admit that I sometimes spend too much time infuriating my opponents and sometimes forget I'm fighting. It's a glancing blow to the shoulder that causes it to go numb, I hide the hiss of pain with an unhinged giggle as he makes another grab for me.
Twitch Blink, Click.
It's too fast to properly sidestep so I drop completely to the floor and use my mane to catch me as I pull my left knee up before sending it forward in a blind strike. My tail tendril tugs at whatever it's trying to use and it doesn't budge, I send more of my tail its way. My hoof strikes something meaty before I spring back up onto two hooves. He bellows and I can collectively feel the male population in the bar wince and yet he still stands. A different type of rage is lit in his eyes now.
"Your dead you fucking joke." I sip my brainjuice daintily as he lunges forward with an electrified punch. I dodge left, the first strike misses. I dodge right and retaliate that glancing blow with a jab to the throat. His blows get faster and with a snarl so do I. His stance is of a boxer even if his control is obviously lacking, his punches come in well practiced rhythms and his defence from that point is flawless.
My untrained, unconditioned technique is no match and with that in mind I dip into my pot of villainous staples and pull out an old favorite. I cheat.
My tail tendrils launch whatever they had caught at his back... which turns out to be a rather solid looking chair. He staggers forward as I duck low and pivot my body for a leg sweep. He goes down and as quickly as possible I bind what I can and go fully on the attack. "That could have got in my mane you fucking cretin!" Wham! Crack! Wham! "-Do you even understand how hard it is to get stuff like that out!" Bash! Bash! Bash! Thump! "All that conditioner and shampoo would have been bloody wasted!" Smack! Wham! Bam! "Stop resisting you filthy goddamn nutjob!" Pow! Bang! Crunch! "Now you're getting blood on my suit you selfish cun-" My rant is stopped by a rather well muscled mare tackling me from behind.
I spit, snarl and struggle before a scratchy but familiar voice breaks through the violence emboldened rage. " Hey Mane, you need to calm down, you nearly spilled your brainjuice.", I glance at the fruity mixer still held tightly in my mane's grasp and at the single droplet about to fall on my mane. I panic and my mane goes crazy as the drink holds steady. The mare swears under her breath and places something in front of me before snapping her finger and pointing. "Hey Mane, look. Kitty." She mumbles with a lackluster tone but I have already stopped listening. My gaze latches onto the blue eyed treasure chasing a laser pointer, he goes in for a lunge and the laser moves. A betrayal or something else I do not know. What was I doing again? Suddenly the screen goes black.
"Wait! What happens next!? " I shout/scream as the weight leaves my back and I am guided by a slightly calloused hand back to the table. High Heel smiles earnestly at me as we take our seats and I plop my swirly straw back into my drink. I look around the table. Leaf pets her rabbit and sneers at me, Bastet holds her head in her claws as she nurses her drink and Circus is looking right past me. I follow her gaze to the bloodied minotaur being checked on by the bar's in-house doctor, a rather terrifying looking changeling mare (you wonder why we have one until stuff like this happens). I stare confused before turning back to the table and meeting Heels concerned gaze.
I examine my companions for the evening.
Heel is a stout earthpony and while she works out religiously I have the advantage with more natural earthpony magic. Her advantage comes with her specially made boots. She can run faster than a car or leap between buildings and that's just with the most basic models. She is the closest thing in this strange world that I can even remotely think of as a friend. The rest of the table though... not so much. Wild Leaf is a tiny pegasus with wilderness powers who says the animals don't like how I smell (she is a liar I smell the best of us all).
Bastet is a jewel thief, one of those bipedal kitties and a stone cold cunt. Circus is a changeling I think, she dresses up like a clown and sometimes she has wings or a horn. Though all of that doesn't really matter when you're a Grade A psychopath like she is. These are the folks that make up a rather notorious all mare villain group commonly known as The Fury's.
I am not one of theirs, really the only reason I sit at this table is that High Heel likes me for some reason (as in enough to let me sleep in her guest bedroom). Though it's more than likely that I am only brought here to stop me mixing flammable shit from Heels household chemicals. The intricacies of our shared living arrangement don't completely go over my head (you melt someone's microwave one time and you never hear the end of it ). And while I am not officially part of the gang, we collaborate at times. I mainly serve as a distraction for the group's more time intensive heists.
I take one last glance around the table before turning to Heel and voicing my own query at the situation.
"What the fuck happened to that cunt?" I sip at my brainjuice as my free hand doodles on a napkin. Heel sighs. Leaf snorts dismissively. Bastet hisses into her clawed hands. And Circus does the strangest thing of all, she bursts out laughing. I stare around the table utterly confused as she does so, I feel around the mass of my mane for a particular item. The phone is safe and with it the world feels far less confusing.
I stare at her harder before shrugging, sipping my straw and joining in on the madness.
