Cleaning the Wound

Garble knew a lot of words.

It was a weird thing about him compared to other dragons, but you had to know a lot of words to properly write poetry. How could he truly say he wrote a verse correctly if he didn’t use the exact word needed to evoke the emotion he wanted? That emotion usually being rage, since he preferred to write slam poetry and that was anything but nice.

Due to this, he had a lot of words on claw to describe Ponyville. Quaint. Rustic. Small. Cozy. Pleasant descriptors for a place very unlike his homeland. Words he would use if he was nice.

But he wasn’t, so he would describe Ponyville as vexatious, flagrant, and horrendous. The fun part of using those kinds of words is that it would take these yokel idiots a moment too long to figure out their meaning, which would make the ensuing offended rage all the more satisfying. Not to mention the offense that a dragon knew bigger words than them.

Seriously, the town was a dump. Small buildings, small ponies, and more colours than anyone — anything — needed. He hated it here and was already nostalgic for his cave back home.

Some had tried to approach him. They were easily dealt with. A bit of showboating, a few wide grins filled with too many teeth, and a snort of flame here and there made them run off.

If he was gonna be here for the long haul (which he expected, because Spike was an idiot), he needed everyone to know that he was on top. How else would he rebuild his circle of trust? He didn’t come all this way just to be stuck with the purple bomb and the runt. These ponies would be even better, because there was no way any of them could possibly stand up to him or turn on him.

Good to show dominance out early. Made things easier when he started picking his friends.

“Do you have to keep doing that?” Twilight asked.

She looked uncomfortable. Good.

“Yeah, I do. What’s it to you, dweeb?” Garble retorted.

“You could be nicer,” Twilight replied.

A pony was glaring at him. He showed them his teeth. They scurried off.

“Look, I do things my way,” Garble said. “I only agreed to help the whelp. Doesn’t mean I have to act like one of you dumb ponies.”

Twilight clicked her tongue. “Right.”

She picked up her pace, Garble keeping stride easily.

They stopped before one of the buildings in the center of town. It was a large tree. He wanted to immediately dislike it on principle, but he caught the scent of must and paper. It was a library, and he was hard pressed to hate something like that.

Squashing any outward tells of excitement, Garble asked, “you live here?”

“Yes. The Golden Oak—”

“Lame,” Garble interrupted.

“Why— nevermind.” She glared at him. “Please try to be nice?”

“No,” Garble said.

“But—”

“You want me to be his friend. I’ll be his friend.” He jabbed his chest with a thumb. “But I do it the dragon way.”

“What's the difference?”

“A lot, but mostly means I don’t have to be all sunshine and rainbows—” He waved his hands “—around him. Now, let’s get settled into this dump.”

Twilight looked ready to argue, but instead knocked on the door.

It opened.

“Twilight! You’re—”

Spike stopped mid-sentence as he looked up at Garble.

Garble smirked. He turned to Twilight, who had an uncomfortably wide smile plastered onto her face.

“Surprise!” she said.

A pause as the implications settled in.

“...Why?!” Spike cried out.

Garble leaned against a bookshelf.

He’d carefully arranged himself to look like he didn’t care, but had pointedly maneuvered his wings and back spines to not damage anything while he did so. Just because he had an image to maintain doesn’t mean he should take it out on the literature.

Twilight and Spike were having a hushed argument on the other side of the room, out of earshot. Or at least they thought so, since he could hear every word very clearly, even as far away as he was.

Both were frustrated, particularly Spike, and Garble considered that a win.

While he waited, his eyes perused the shelves, taking in all the available options. He spied a section of avid interest for him, as he was certain that was where the poetry collection was being kept. One such book spine denoted the pages within to be compiled from the Sappho, which he was ready to commit murder to read.

Their conversation seemingly concluded, the siblings approached him.

“Okay. We talked it out,” Spike said. “You can stay, but there are conditions—”

Garble snorted. “Hah! Funny.”

“What is?”

“I’m not following your dumb rules, dweeb.”

“B-But—!” Spike’s face twisted into anger. “You have to!”

“Says who? You?” Garble smirked. “How are you even going to make me? Have me sign a contract then wave it in my face whenever you don’t like what I’m doing?” A bark of laughter. “I’m a dragon. I don’t care.”

“You—!” He tugged on his sister’s leg. “Twilight!”

She sighed. “Unfortunately, Spike. He has a point. There isn’t really any way to enforce what you want.”

“Then why would I even agree to this?!” Spike demanded. “It’s Garble! What could he possibly offer—”

Garble blew a small bout of flame into the air. The gout morphed into the shape of phoenix, circled around the library then fizzled out.

That got Spike’s attention. He had the look Garble was expecting. That spark of want every dragon had. His senses could feel the Greed in him roil within its (impressively) tight restraints.

“...What was that?” Spike asked, awe in his voice.

“Dragon magic. I’ll teach you. My way.” Garble crossed his arms over his chest. “Take it or leave it.”

Conflicting thought raced through Spike’s eyes. He could see the tug and pull of benefits versus downsides. However, Garble already knew how that argument was going to resolve.

“...Okay, fine,” Spike said.

Garble grinned.

“Are you sure?” Twilight asked.

“He’s a jerk, but I can see that he’s a useful jerk,” Spike replied. “We can keep him around.”

“Like you could have stopped me if you didn’t,” Garble said.

Spike scowled.

“Well, your room will be on the ground floor, just in the back.” Twilight’s horn glowed and arrows appeared along the floor leading toward a door on the farside of the room. “Feel free to—”

Garble tuned out the rest as he walked toward his new dwelling. He’d gotten what he wanted, so nothing else they said mattered. He swiped a few books discreetly from the poetry section on the way, excited despite himself.

To get in, he had to get down on all fours. Not something he enjoyed doing. Inside, the actual space was pretty big and the ceiling was tall enough for him to stand. It was minimal, but that suited him fine since he had no intention of staying inside besides to read.

Dropping his bag to the ground, he took out his keystone chest and shoved it under the bed. His treasures hidden, he curled up onto the bed and started to read the books he swiped.

Red.

Everything was red.

It filled everything around him, in him. He was drowning in it. It clogged his throat. He couldn’t breathe.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

Hands and hooves grabbed at him. Clawed and furred.

‘Why you not protect me, friend Garble?’

‘Why’d you have to freak out like that, Garble?’

‘Why’d you have to be such a pathetic son, Garble?’

Voices joined the chorus, adding their truths to the mix. He hadn’t meant for any of this. He hadn’t meant for things to go so wrong.

They pulled him up. Dragged him to his feet. There was a blue dragon before him. She looked up at him. Two defiant eyes. One sparkled in the weird light of the red. They goaded him. Pushed him. Told him to do it.

Do what dragons do.

Be a dragon.

Do it.

Do It.

DO IT.

DO—

He swiped at her.

Her eye was his now.

Garble woke up.

His heart pounded in his ears as he struggled to breathe. He groped under the bed and dragged out his chest. He clutched it tight to himself.

Wood dug into his scales, little splinters trying to pierce through his tough hide. A deep breath. The musky scent of old items and the earthy scent of jade. He flicked out his tongue. The dry taste of dust. He listened. Faint birdsong signifying the start of dawn. He looked. The room was bare and wooden, just as he’d left it.

He could feel his breathing begin to even out, his heart to settle.

One more squeeze then he put the chest back into its hidey hole.

Sleep wasn’t going to happen, despite how exhausted he felt. He got out of bed and stretched out the kinks in his body. He could read until morning officially came, but he didn’t want to mix something he loved with how low he felt.

That meant only the usual option was left.

Go work out.

Surely there was something around here he could beat into submission.